Just a little story I wrote on a random flight of inspiration and wanted to share.

I've fallen into this trope of Arthur tossing Merlin in the dungeons after finding out about his magic because he's not sure what to do about it. Except this time, it's from the perspective of an outsider. Inspired by earlier stories like this, so kudos to the authors who did it first.

IDOM

Setting: Sometime after S4, AU (Reveal happens at some point before this story begins)

Warnings: None really. Just some brief, gory descriptions.

-Cat

Things Kept Underground

Col was certain of one thing. He was going to die.

He twisted his hands until his skin burned. The jangling sound of the chains was barely audible over the roaring in his ears. Oh god, would he get the pyre? Or would it be something more merciful like a beheading? And what if… what if there was a flogging preceding his inevitable expiration? He shuddered, making the jangling even louder. He'd seen floggings before. His vision swam with the memory of blood on the post, blood on the ground, blood on the leather straps, blood weeping from wounds.

He'd never seen a burning. But he imagined that it would be much worse. Oh, so much worse. He could barely focus now, allowing the strong grip on his arms to drag him along passages and up stairs.

Suddenly, there was a loud echo of large doors opening, swinging inwards. A low hum of voices was drifting towards him. There were worn flagstones beneath his feet as he was shoved forwards. Then they ceased and the buzzing in his ears stopped at the same time. Silence, heavy as lead. He swallowed. Once. Twice. Then dared to look up.

He had no doubts now.

Col was definitely going to die.

He was nailed to the ground by the stare coming from the throne. Eyes like twin chips of blue ice grazed over him like a blade, then came to rest on the man holding his left arm.

"Sir Leon, report."

King Arthur's voice was hard. As hard as the man Col had been told he was. All the tales told in Odin's court were at the forefront of his mind. Camelot was a brutal place ruled by an iron hand. Col would find no mercy here. He glanced sideways at his fellow prisoner. Bertrand was glaring with contempt at the king. Col flinched and looked away.

"Sire, the patrol took the regular path northwards and was beset by bandits two hours from Camelot. These two were captured. The rest escaped."

"Injuries?"

"Sir Elyan has a head injury which we treated ourselves," said Sir Leon steadily. But his grip became impossibly tight on Col's arm. Col had to swallow three times to keep the gorge from rising into his mouth. "And… Sir Oswald sustained a grievous wound to the stomach. Sirs Forthal and Edmund stayed behind with him. I sent out a company with Gaius and a cart to bear him home, but I'm afraid that he will not survive long."

The king's jaw clenched, but his expression was unmoved as he surveyed the two prisoners before him. Fearfully, Col's gaze went to the beautiful woman at his side. Her face was just as somber, but kinder, even though she looked at Col with anger. He hurriedly lowered his eyes. His mouth was dry as cotton.

"One of my knights is dying at the hands of your company," said the king. "Have you any defense?"

It took Col several seconds to realize that he and Bertrand were being addressed. His heart leapt into his throat. Odin never addressed his prisoners. What sort of trick was this? He started to panic, then Bertrand spoke.

"No defense," sneered the bandit through yellowed teeth. "Only proud that we have rid the world of another scarlet-cloaked pig!" Then he spat on the flagstones, the glob of spittle darkening the place where it fell.

Col sucked in a breath.

Bertrand had practically sealed their fates. If he was not certain before, now he was doubly sure. He was going to die a horrible, gruesome death. It would be the pyre for them. Flogging and the pyre. Oh god, oh god, oh god…

The king studied Bertrand with an air of vague disgust. Then Col found himself under that icy gaze once more. It took all he had not to whimper with fright. It seemed like ages that he was stuck there, pinned down like an insect by those cold eyes. Then, with a barely imperceptible twitch of his blond eyebrows, the king looked to the knight again.

"Take these men to the dungeons. I will wait until I hear the fate of Sir Oswald before I pass judgment. Dismissed."

Blurs of people began to filter out of the hall. The queen took her husband's hand in hers. His fingers tightened, but his face remained still as marble and his stare was far away.

Col might have blacked out. Or his brain simply skipped time. Either way, he could not remember the journey down into the depths of the citadel. One minute he was shivering in the throne room, the next he was in a cell with Bertrand. It was large enough for two, with three stone walls and a fourth made up of vertical iron bars, which looked out into the dim hallway. A single slot at the corner of the ceiling and the top of the back wall served as a window, showing the feet of passers-by. His manacles were removed and the cell door slammed shut with a force that made him jump.

"Get a grip," snapped Bertrand as he slumped to the ground and leaned back against the wall. Col couldn't look at him. He curled up as far from Bertrand as possible.

The knight-Sir Leon-turned the keys in the lock and gave them a final, forbidding stare. Then, he did something strange. Instead of following the guards that had accompanied him out of the dungeons, he took a step away from the exit, turning towards the cell directly next to theirs. His stony face softened and he gave a slight nod to the occupant. Then, he spun away, crimson cloak swirling, leaving the dungeons in silence.

For the rest of the first day, Bertrand ignored Col. This suited Col just fine, as he preferred to be left alone with his wild imagination than be terrorized by his cellmate. His senses were hyper-alert. The slightest sound yanked him from gruesome images of pyres and blood to reality. But after a few minutes of the solid silence of the cells, he was inevitably taken once more by his mind. He only had a vague notion of passing time, flashing between nightmares and dungeons.

The light from the slotted window was turning orange when there were soft footsteps on the stairs. Thank God something was happening to keep him grounded, if only for a moment. The footsteps were accompanied by a rustle that Col could not identify until the owner stepped into view. It was the queen, wearing silk skirts that brushed over the floor with a sound like forest leaves. Col could not help but stare, startled by her presence here. Her beauty contrasted sharply with the dusky despair of this underground warren of shadows and metal bars. Why was she here? She did not look in their direction, but continued past their cell with a platter covered in a cloth. Whatever it was smelled wonderful and Col's stomach growled. They'd been given hard bread and dried fruit some time ago, but it had settled in his belly like stones.

One of the guards unlocked the next cell for her and then returned to his post, seemingly unconcerned about leaving the queen alone with the other prisoner.

"Gwen, you're spoiling me," said a man's voice. It was soft, not gruff like the rough bandits that Col lived with in the forest.

"Cook is spoiling you. I'm just the person who delivers the meals," said the queen gently.

"Surely not Mary. She can't stand me."

"Well, it seems that she has a soft spot for you after all."

"Does Arthur know you're here?"

"He knows I visit."

"No, I mean… I don't think he'd be pleased that you're coming to the dungeons when there are prisoners other than myself here."

"Okay, so I didn't tell him."

"Gwen…"

"I brought you some more candles. I noticed that yours were getting low."

"Thank you. But Gwen…"

"And Arthur will just have to deal with it," said the queen firmly.

There was a pause.

"He has a lot to deal with just now. He cares too much."

"I know," sighed the queen. Her voice lowered and Col did not catch what she said next. But he figured it out quickly enough, because the man was asking periodic questions or making small comments.

"Is Elyan alright?" and "Yes, I heard them leave. They have not yet returned," and "What does Arthur think?"

So they were discussing them. Col glanced at Bertrand. He was either asleep or faking. Col could never tell and did not want to get close enough to really check. The conversation in the next cell became too soft for Col to make out. Straining his ears began to give him a headache, so he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the queen and the prisoner.

Time passed. Much longer than appropriate for a visit to the dungeons for a queen. The voices became lighter and every once and a while Col would catch small bits of castle gossip. Had the queen really come down to tell this prisoner that Agnes the kitchen maid had her baby? And that a horse named Jewel was being well cared-for? Col's confusion grew (obscuring his fear of death for the time being).

Finally, the queen seemed to be bidding their neighbor farewell.

"Please try and get some sleep," she instructed, her tone one of fondness and slight scolding.

"You know I do my best, Gwen."

"If you don't I'll stop bringing you books and parchment."

"Mmm, I'm sure Arthur would love what I get up to when I'm bored," the man answered the threat. It sounded like he was smiling. "Maybe I could sneak out and wreak havoc a few nights a week. How do you think his royal prat-ness would feel if looked in the mirror and saw a rather… wider reflection?"

Col did not understand this jibe, but the queen did. She chuckled. "Try not to antagonize him, Merlin."

So the man's name was Merlin. That was a peculiar name. Col remembered a bird of prey called a Merlin in Odin's falconry.

"It would be such a shame to waste one of my many talents."

There was movement on the other side of the wall, then a loud squealing as the cell door opened on un-oiled unhinges.

"Since Gaius may not return until tomorrow, let Elyan know that if his head is bothering him he should drink some willow-bark tea. And someone should be waking him every hour tonight."

"Don't worry, Merlin. The knights have it covered."

"And tell Arthur if he keeps frowning like that, he'll get premature wrinkles and it won't be very attractive."

"How would you know what facial expressions my husband is making?"

"Because I know him." This Merlin sounded far too confident to be bluffing. "Are you telling me he hasn't been perpetually wrinkling brow?"

"Fair. Goodnight Merlin."

"Goodnight Gwen. And thank you. For visiting."

The queen had backed out of the cell and Col could see her face in the gloomy torchlight. She seemed sad, leaving Merlin behind. It was odd. The man seemed harmless enough, but he had to be down here for a reason. Col quickly dropped his gaze to his knees and pretended to be indifferent. In his peripherals, he watched the queen leave, slippered feet and hem rustling. Keys jingled in the lock at Merlin's cell and the guard tramped back to his post after a perfunctory, awkward goodnight to his charge. And Col, no longer having a distraction, went back to being preoccupied with his own mortality.

Col was awakened by a boot slamming into his side.

This was not that unusual.

Ever since leaving Odin's court, since wandering lost in the woods, since getting caught up with stupid bandits in those stupid woods and agreeing to join them in exchange for his life-well, Col was used to being awakened by boots. And dirty water. And all manner of unpleasant things.

"Wake up, Cold Feet."

That was his nickname. Because the first time he'd gone on a raid with Bertrand and the rest of the bandits, he'd frozen. The hilt of his borrowed sword was heavy as lead in his hands and the screams of the women echoed through his head like the screams of the flogged man. Col got cold feet. So that's what he became. Probably for the rest of his miserable life, he reflected morosely.

He rolled onto his back on the hard ground. Bertrand had taken the corner with the pile of moldy straw.

I was still very dark outside. The torches in the low-ceilinged hall were lit. There was a clatter of dice against stone in the dungeon entrance and the murmur of guards' voices.

"Yer going to listen to me and yer going to listen good and proper," growled Bertrand. Col refocused on Bertrand's dirty face. In the dim firelight, it looked more forbidding than usual. "That knight has probably snuffed it by now, which means we're both dead men, you hear me?"

Col was mortified by the whimper that escaped his throat. Bertrand shook him by the collar. "Y-yes, I hear," stuttered Col.

"Good. You'll do nothing to try and get out of this, Cold Feet. Cuz if you start whining and blabbing about who slaughtered the pig, there'll be hell to pay."

Col was not sure why he said it, but his mouth somehow shaped the words, "W-would it matter? We'll both be d-dead s-soon."

With a roar of fury, Bertrand grabbed his head with both hands and slammed it into the ground. Stars exploded across Col's eyelids and he yelped, loudly. Vaguely, he registered that Bertrand was ranting about something like loyalty-as if he were someone to be loyal to. But it was hard to make sense of anything when punches were flying at his face, his chest, his stomach.

"Stop!" cried Col desperately, shielding his head with his arms and curling into a ball. "Please, I won't tell, I won't tell, I won't tell-"

"Bors! Cerdic! Help!"

The shout was very close. Suddenly, Bertrand was hauled off him by a tall, lanky silhouette. Col's head throbbed painfully, but his wide eyes caught the glint of armor as the guards came rushing towards the-open?-door to the cell. They were too late to stop Bertrand from catching his rescuer with a heavy blow to the cheekbone. The next second, they were on top of him, twisting his arms behind his back as Bertrand practically steamed with rage.

The lanky man had not fallen to the ground, but he had spun around into the bars and caught himself.

"Ouch," he muttered ruefully, struggling to get his feet underneath him.

"Merlin are you alright?" panted one of the guards.

"Fine," answered Merlin in a clipped tone. He straightened and glanced towards Col, who was still cowering in his corner. "I think maybe you should separate them for the rest of the night. If they kill each other before dawn Arthur would be displeased."

"Agreed," grunted the other guard.

"Gerroff me!" snapped Bertrand, bucking against the guards' grip.

"Screw this," said the first guard. He unsheathed his sword and brought the pommel down hard on Bertrand's temple. The brutish man dropped like a stone. Calm settled over the cell. Merlin appeared only mildly perturbed by the sequence of events as he surveyed the scene.

"Well, I ain't dragging this lug to a new cell," announced the second guard. "Can you walk?"

The attention turned at once to Col. Shakily, Col scrambled upright and nodded. Then swayed into a wall. Fiery pain licked at his torso. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head, which felt full of heavy fluid. Two or three blinks later, a face appeared in his field of vision, much closer than Col expected. Col started and jerked backwards, which only served to make the spinning of the room worse.

"Whoa, easy friend," said Merlin. "Bors, could you hold him steady please?"

The guard who had knocked out Bertrand stomped over and stood on Col's other side, the side that was not against the wall. Col swayed into the larger man, who stayed solid as a tree trunk. Long fingers prodded at his head and Col winced when they grazed the wet hair on the back of his skull. Merlin withdrew his fingers with a slight frown at the viscous red liquid that dampened the tips.

"Bring him over this way, Bors."

Bors guided Col out of the shadowy cell and into the hall where the torches were burning brightly. Too brightly. Col shut his eyes tightly against the light, only to have one eyelid forced open by a narrow thumb. His open eye caught Merlin squinting back at him. Now in the orange glow, he could see the man properly, if a little blurred.

His face was young. Merlin could not be more than a few years older than Col himself. His cheekbones were high, giving him a nearly elvish quality, despite the redness marring one side. Ears stuck out too far beneath ebony hair. And even in the flickering orange light, Col could see that his eyes were blue. Incredibly, impossibly blue. Almost otherworldly. But warm somehow, unlike the king's. Col suppressed a shudder when he remembered King Arthur's distant stare.

Merlin released his eyelid without warning and his vision sputtered.

"Pupil reaction is a little sluggish. You're probably concussed, judging by the way you're swaying like Gwaine on a… well on any given night I suppose. Guess neither of us will be sleeping tonight." Somehow Merlin managed to sound cheerful about this. "Bors can he be put in this cell?"

"Er… no. Sorry, Merlin, king's orders. No one was to be put in the cell across from yours."

Merlin muttered something that sounded like, "Bloody prat." Then he sighed and said, "Fine, just put him across from this dunderhead. I'll be able to see him there just as well."

And so, Col found himself in a new cell, with his own straw bedding, across the hallway from Bertrand. The other guard-Cerdic-locked Bertrand's cell and Col's. Then he turned to Merlin and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Ah," said Merlin. "Of course. Back to my quarters."

The lanky man retreated into his cell and waited patiently for Cerdic to turn the key in the lock. Cerdic did so, looking slightly pink. Then, without another word to each other, Bors and Cerdic left the prisoners to themselves.

Col took the opportunity to appreciate his new viewpoint. From this angle he could now see into most of Merlin's cell. It was distinctly less sparse than the other cells. For one, Merlin seemed to have acquired a cot, blanket, and even a pillow. Beneath the cot was a small stack of parchment, kept flat by two large books. A stash of four candles were haphazardly placed next to these. A fifth was snugly wedged into a brass candle holder, a flame floating serenely on its wick.

The occupant of the cell was settling on the floor, cross-legged so that his knees were pressed against the bars. He brought the candle around and set it next to him. It lit his angular face from below, enhancing the slightly inhuman quality of his features. But the man was definitely human. He rubbed his damaged cheek and worked his jaw, his blue eyes lighting on Col.

"So… I guess it's my job to keep you talking until morning. What's your name?"

"Col," Col replied.

"I'm Merlin."

"Yeah."

"You don't look like a bandit. Or a sell-sword."

"You don't look like a criminal," retorted Col, blood rushing to his face. This only served to make his head throb more, so he sank to the ground and leaned against the wall diagonal from Merlin. Merlin did not seem bothered by this critique at all.

"I'm a servant to the king."

"What did you do?" Col asked.

"I lied."

"That's all?"

"Among other things."

"And your sentence is just… prison?" Col tried very hard not to sound hopeful. Perhaps the king was more merciful than his first impression. A few weeks in jail did not sound bad. He would be fed, sheltered, protected. No, not bad at all. And if it was an option…

"Ah. No. Not exactly."

Col's little moment of hope burst.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, technically the sentence for my crimes is death." Merlin stated this as casually as if he were discussing the state of this year's crops.

"Oh."

"It's okay," said Merlin. It was odd, like he was comforting Col about his own sentence. This whole conversation was turning out to be strangely backwards.

"It is?"

"It is."

"So… how long do you have?" Col cringed as he asked this. Stupid question. He should just change the topic. But his thoughts were too muddled and jumbled inside his aching skull. Plus his ribs were really starting to hurt now.

"As long as Arthur needs," answered Merlin.

Col wondered if Merlin was being purposely obtuse.

"How long have you been down here?"

"Twelve-no-thirteen days." Merlin's expression then softened into pity for Col's utter confusion. He added, "Don't worry, Arthur doesn't want to kill me. He won't, in the end. Probably."

"Uh. That's good for you, I guess."

"So what about you? If you're not a bandit or a sell-sword, how did you end up with that lug?" Merlin gestured towards Bertrand through the wall with a tilt of his head.

Col did not know why, but the whole story came spilling out. He told Merlin about growing up in Odin's court, the bastard son of a wash-maid. He told him about how he had become so miserable and depressed and stuck that he'd finally run away. Only to stumble onto a bandit camp and basically get enslaved as their new underpaid lackey. How Bertrand had a particular grudge against Camelot and the Pendragons. He spent nights around the fireside ranting and raving about how he would kill every last knight in Camelot. And maybe even the king, if he was lucky.

Merlin was a good listener, reacting to everything and commenting as he had when the queen had visited him. He even looked disgusted by Bertrand's fantasies of regicide, as if the very king that Bertrand wanted to kill was not the one who had condemned him to the dungeons to anticipate a potential death sentence. But when Col explained about Bertrand's mother and the magic pendent and the burning… well, Merlin's face went curiously blank. So Col quickly moved on.

When Col had finished (barely stopping himself from admitting his utter terror of burning at the stake), they fell into a comfortable silence. Even Col's injuries seemed less… potent. He leaned his head back against the wall, struggling to keep his eyes open. There had been a few times during his tale that Merlin had sharply reminded him to stay awake. He looked down his nose at his new companion. Merlin was watching him with a thoughtful expression. The bruise on the side of his face was now an ugly purple which ended at the corner of his eye. Bertrand had yet to stir, though through the window Col could now see the blackness of night was turning charcoal gray.

"How did you get into our cell?" Col wondered aloud.

"One of my many talents," Merlin said cryptically, echoing his statement to the queen.

"Well. Thanks. I think." After all, Col was probably going to be executed today. The thought of his impending doom was less frightening at the moment, like he was slowly going numb with the mantra. Or was too exhausted to comprehend that his hours were numbered.

How many hours did he have left?

The arrival of a newcomer was once again announced by loud footsteps on the stairs. Every muscle in Col's body tensed and his heart rate doubled. Merlin, however, grinned widely and pulled himself to a standing position.

"Merlin, a fine morning to you!"

A knight strode into view, his cape billowing behind him. Col eyed him suspiciously. He was rougher-looking than the other knights, but in a way that no doubt made the ladies swoon. He had long brown hair that was effortlessly messy and a rakish grin split his unshaven face. But the smile became slightly fixed when his gaze landed on Merlin's bruised countenance.

"Getting into fights, I see," said the knight, a dangerous edge to his voice.

"Stand down, Gwaine. I was rescuing Col here from his roommate."

Sir Gwaine spared Col a passing glance. It was flinty, and Col remembered that besides Merlin, most of the people of Camelot believed him to be a blood-thirsty, knight-murdering outlaw. The knight then glared at the unconscious huddle that was Bertrand like he was something nasty he'd found on the bottom of his shoe.

"Scum. Did you knock him out?"

"Bors did the honors."

"Knew I liked Bors. Remind me to buy him a drink next time I'm at the tavern. "

"You know, I'm really not supposed to have visitors," Merlin said conversationally. In Col's opinion, it seemed that the entire castle had not been informed of this.

"Eh, Princess is too busy with the stick up his ass to notice," Gwaine scoffed. Col was not positive, but it sounded like the knight was speaking of the king. He was shocked by the casual display of disrespect by a knight. Merlin merely rolled his eyes. "Besides," Gwaine continued. "I'm here on my daily errand to offer you freedom via a glorious and dastardly clever escape plan."

"Thank you, Gwaine, but-"

"You're exactly where you want to be, I can see that," Gwaine finished for Merlin, surveying his cot and books. "But it's my duty as your friend to offer anyway."

"You and everyone else," Merlin muttered. Col once more reflected on how backwards his companion's situation seemed to be.

"Arthur is aware, trust me. I just got off my second night in a row of patrolling the ramparts. He's doubled the guard since locking you up, you know. It seems he took your comments on his poor security personally."

Merlin looked rather smug at this.

"How's Elyan?"

"Grumpy. Percival kept him up all night."

"Good. And Sir Oswald?"

Gwaine's jaunty mood shifted into somberness. "They sent a messenger ahead this morning. He died during the night. Gaius will accompany his body back. They should be arriving in the afternoon. Arthur says he'll pass sentence then."

Merlin's eyes flickered to Col briefly.

"I'd like to speak with him before that."

"I'll let him know, not that he'll listen to me." Gwaine paused. "He still hasn't been down to see you, has he?"

"No."

"Clotpole," said Gwaine.

"My word."

Gwaine snorted. Col didn't understand the joke.

"I'll knock him out and drag him down here, if that's what it takes," Gwaine promised. "He can't avoid you forever."

"He's trying. You know he's had a cart parked in front of my window so I can't see out into the courtyard?"

"Seriously?"

"It seems he took offence when I shouted at him from my cell while he prepared for a ride."

"Mmm. Did you call him mean names?"

"The truth hurts," shrugged Merlin. Then he winced slightly, as though wishing he could take that particular comment back.

"Yeah," hummed Gwaine. He rocked back and forth on his feet, his crimson cloak swaying with him. "Hang in there Merlin."

Then the knight reached through the bars and clapped Merlin on the shoulder in a brotherly gesture. Merlin smiled at him but it did not reach the blue of his eyes.

"You should get some sleep, Gwaine."

Gwaine yawned widely. "Yeah. See you later, Merlin."

Bertrand awoke shortly after Gwaine's departure. But finding himself alone in his cell, he settled in the corner and spent the morning shooting Col dirty glares and occasional threats. Col did his best to ignore them and the curses that Bertrand was muttering under his breath. He could see it still, the sick delight in Bertrand's face when his sword gouged deeply into the knight's stomach. Col felt his nausea rise once more when he remembered the gaping hole, bursting with dark blood and tangled organs. That the knight had lasted hours like that… Col swallowed convulsively.

Would the king of Camelot care who killed his knight?

Col doubted it. Camelot was not known for clemency. Odin's ravings had taught Col that.

Besides, Col was not entirely innocent. As sick as Bertrand's victim made him, it was nothing compared to the hollow feeling in his chest when he remembered how the dark-skinned knight had dropped like a stone when Col brought his club down over his skull. Col curled his fingers tighter where they were clutching his biceps. If only he hadn't been there. If only he wasn't desperate enough to depend on banditry. If only he hadn't left his miserable job tending Odin's hounds. If only he'd been born a noble instead of a bastard. If only, if only, if only…

Life had decided to turn on Col from the moment of his birth, he thought bitterly.

His dark mood continued until noon, worsening when clopping hooves from outside announced the arrival of the rest of the patrol and the dead knight. A pitiful meal was brought down. Bertrand insulted the guards, but ate it anyway. Col took it wordlessly, but Merlin thanked the guards quietly. Col ate his against the back wall, where he could sulk without being annoyed by Merlin's easy contentment.

About half an hour after the guards took their empty plates, Col had another distraction from his anxiety, which had shown no signs of abating.

Merlin's third visitor was an older man. His hair was silver-white and draped over his shoulders like a mantle. But he moved like a man ten years younger than himself, briskly passing Bertrand and Col with a leather satchel slung over his shoulder. Merlin was on his cot, a large tome open over his long legs. He had taken the liberty of making annotations with a scraggly quill in the margins. When he noticed the older man he smiled (Col felt a twinge of irritation at this, but not as strong as earlier).

"Gaius, you're back!"

"Yes I'm back. And I see that even locked up you've managed to get yourself into trouble," admonished Gaius. He produced a key without needing to call for the guards and let himself into Merlin's cell. Merlin slapped the book shut and stood. Gaius enfolded him in an embrace. Those long, slender fingers curled in the faded red material of Gaius' robes.

"Oh, my boy," muttered Gaius after a few moments. "Let me see." He released Merlin and examined the side of his face. His cheek was now a mess of dark, shining purple. The skin hadn't broken, but Col could see the burst blood vessels from here.

"It isn't broken," said Merlin, wincing when Gaius prodded his cheek anyway.

"I can see that. Gwaine does have the tendency to exaggerate. That was probably for his majesty's benefit, then."

Merlin started to roll his eyes, but stopped immediately.

"Headache, I suspect? I have a remedy prepared, and a salve for your face."

"Thank you, Gaius."

The pair went back to Merlin's cot, where Merlin settled and Gaius pulled a small pot of the salve from his satchel. He applied it slowly, with something more than a physician's care.

"Gwaine said Sir Oswald died last night," said Merlin lowly.

"Yes," Gaius replied. "I've just finished preparing his body for his family."

Col had to swallow his bile once more.

"It's been a long time since a knight has died in an ambush in the forest," observed Merlin.

"Percival said much the same thing. In fewer words."

Merlin grew quiet. Gaius finished his administrations and returned the salve to his bag. There was a clinking of glass before a vial was withdrawn and placed in Merlin's hand.

"For the headache," said Gaius, breaking their brief vigil for the knight. Merlin downed it and shuddered.

"How is Arthur taking it?"

"Not well. But he doesn't take anything very well these days."

Merlin grimaced.

"I suppose that's my fault, then," he murmured.

"He misses you."

Merlin let out a small, sad chuckle. "Does he?" It was the most despondent Col had heard the other man. Up until now, Merlin had been inexplicably optimistic. Col felt horribly guilty at the brief satisfaction that had bloomed at Merlin's tone. If his mother could see his thoughts, he would be in for a scolding.

"It won't be much longer, Merlin."

Merlin's mouth quirked and his gaze fell to the yellowed pages of the book on his cot. "I've been doing the research you've sent down. At least I won't die of boredom. These herbs from the south have some interesting properties…"

And like that, the subject was changed. Col's attention wandered. Plants were not particularly fascinating to him, not in this dark corner of the world, and not ever. Misery engulfed him again, now weighed by guilt. Merlin had been nothing but kind to him. His mood swings and irritation were pathetic. He huddled against the stone and waited, suddenly desperate for silence.

It came soon enough. The old physician bid farewell and hugged Merlin tightly once more. Merlin watched him go, blinking rapidly.

Merlin caught Col watching him and gave him a small, but genuine smile, his blue eyes rimmed in pink. Col couldn't help it. He smiled back.

A slant of warm light pierced through the window in Bertrand's cell and landed in a square block on the grimy floor of Col's, where it moved in a steady, golden path. Merlin's cell remained in deepening shadows, and he lit one of the candles… somehow. Evening approached, and for the fourth time, Col heard footsteps on the stairs. He was no longer surprised by this, as it seemed that Merlin was friendly with everyone in Camelot despite being a prisoner. Col watched as Merlin's head cocked to the side, listening. His expression did something very interesting. Then went perfectly blank. But he did not move from his position on his cot, where he was lying on his back with his arms supporting his head.

Col limped across his cell to get a better look at this next visitor. And immediately shrank back.

It was King Arthur.

The air was suddenly difficult to breath. All of his horrific imaginings slammed into Col at once. The king was probably here for him and Bertrand, to tell them exactly when and how painfully they were going to die. He certainly looked ready to hand out death sentences. He swept through the corridor, blue ice gaze straight ahead, fists tight. But just when Col thought he would stop before his and Bertrand's cells, he continued on, ignoring Col's cowering and Bertrand's jeered insult.

No, the king was here to see Merlin.

He twisted and stopped just outside of Merlin's cell. Col shifted as quietly as he could so he could see.

Merlin stared with apparent disinterest at the ceiling. The king stared at Merlin. They stayed like that for a long time, still as statues. The back of Col's neck prickled as the stagnant atmosphere began to feel more like the early warnings of a lightning storm.

Col startled when the king finally moved, jerkily reaching to his belt and withdrawing a folded piece of parchment. One that suspiciously matched the color and size of the stack under Merlin's cot. Merlin remained unmoved where he was. He did not even twitch as the king brought it violently up to the light so he could read it.

"'Dear Arthur,'" read the king, imperious and severe. "'I saw a donkey outside today and it reminded me of you. Your humble servant, Merlin.'"

Col gaped. A slow smile spread across Merlin's face. The king's shoulders tightened.

"Merlin."

"So you have been getting my letters."

"You made this up," the king accused bluntly.

"Did not," argued Merlin, smile widening.

"You did. I got this one today."

"Maybe I saw the donkey last week, before you placed a cart outside my window. Thank you, by the way, for that. It has made the view spectacularly interesting."

"Merlin. I got this today."

"It could have taken a long time for my messenger to deliver it."

"There are no messengers," hissed the king dourly.

"Okay fine. I made it up."

The king paused briefly, astonished that Merlin had given up so quickly. Then he seemed to swell. "Merlin, why the hell do you think it's funny to call the man with your life in his hands an ass?"

"Oh, I don't know, because he's acting like one!"

"Better an ass than a liar," retorted the king. His voice was as cold as the ice in his eyes. Col shivered. "Tell me, did I ever really know you?"

Merlin was no longer smiling. Col tasted foreboding on his tongue, realizing that he preferred the cheerful Merlin to… whatever was rising.

"You must think me more than a fool to keep up an act that long. No, Arthur, I only ever lied about what I was. Not who I was."

Merlin's eyes flickered to Arthur and away like striking lightning. Col caught a flash of anger and barely concealed fear. Oddly, though, the king did not continue the argument. He sighed heavily, stuffing the letter into his belt and looking much older than he really was. Then he dragged both hands over his face, pulling at the skin under his eyes and around his mouth. Merlin resumed his contemplation of the ceiling, taut as a bowstring.

"Merlin," the king started, then hesitated for a moment. He inhaled, slow and controlled through his nose, then exhaled a question Col did not expect. "Are you okay?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The energy in the dungeons twisted.

"Your face," said Arthur, giving a spasmodic gesture with his hand and looking like he regretted asking. "Gwaine said-"

"Oh Gwaine said, did he?" barked Merlin, positively bristling. He snapped upright from his cot stiffly and began to pace. "Or was it Gwen? Or Gaius? Or hell, any of the knights because all of them have come down to talk to me except you. Did you know that friendships are built on communication? Because your knights seem to know that even if your thick skull can't comprehend the basics-"

"Merlin."

Col was beginning to think that the king had an obsession with saying the other man's name. And that Merlin had finally cracked and this was his way of speeding things along to the sweet embrace of death.

"You know, sire-" Merlin's inflection turned the title into a barbed insult. "-I accept you wanting to avoid me for as long as possible, but you could at least do me the courtesy of making a decision about my fate instead of leaving me to rot for days and days and days wondering whether you're going to kill me. Did you know that you could? That I would let you? Hell, Arthur, I could destroy Camelot with a thought but I would stand still and let you run me through with that sword-"

"Merlin." The king's face was white. Merlin ignored him, still rambling and pacing back and forth along the bars.

"It would have to be that sword, just so you know, because it's the only blade that even could kill me. Stupid right? One blade in the entire world and I've been the sucker belting it to your waist for years-"

"Merlin."

"Hell if I know why I lead you to it in the first place. Oh right, because you'd lost all hope and belief in yourself and once again I had to restore it-"

"Merlin, stop it." The command thundered against the stones and Merlin's jaw snapped shut, his teeth clicking audibly. His pacing ceased abruptly and he stood facing the wall, hands held loosely at his sides. Then, absurdly gentle, the king said, "Merlin I'm not going to kill you. I… I couldn't."

"Why, because I'm the only friend you have and you couldn't bear to lose me?"

This could have been cheeky, but Merlin's voice was shaking and Arthur tensed like Merlin had struck him. All Col could think was, who was Merlin, that he could speak to the king this way?

"I'm fine," said Merlin flatly to the wall, as if he had not just been struggling with some emotion seconds ago. Col had a sensation of whiplash and was certain the king felt it too.

"What?"

"You asked if I was okay."

"Merlin, I'm… I'm not even going to begin to dissect why you sound ridiculous right now."

An uneasy quiet settled between the pair. Even Bertrand kept his jaw tightly shut, intrigued by the back and forth between the king and his prisoner. His servant. Col's fear of the king had not really lessened as he absorbed the interaction, but it had… changed somehow. Especially now, seeing an Arthur that was not ice, but human. Perhaps the king and the prisoner really had been friends once. Perhaps they still were.

"Why did you come down here, Arthur?" Merlin asked. He sounded exhausted, all fury drained. He lowered his head to meet those long, pale fingers, which massaged the bridge of his nose.

"I…" Arthur hesitated. Then he chewed the inside of his cheek, like it was a nervous habit. "I don't know. You betrayed me." But this did not sound like an accusation. Instead, the vulnerability of it was painful.

"Arthur, I know you know that's not true," Merlin whispered, his fingers falling to his sides but his head still hung low. "Everything I've done has been to protect you."

"You lied."

"Yes. I lied. And for that, and for the hundreds of mistakes I've made, I am sorry."

"Are you?" Arthur murmured, sounding just as exhausted as Merlin. But he did not wait for an answer. "How long?"

"Haven't you spoken Gaius?"

"Not about this. I want to hear it from you."

At this, Merlin's gaze when straight to the king. Those impossible blue eyes caught the light like crystals. The king's statement had surprised him. He took a deep breath. Then one more, before sighing out, "All my life."

The man grew inexplicably taller as he said this, his eyes steady on his king's. His spine lengthened as some burden had rolled off his shoulders. The king watched this transformation and stared, long and thoughtful, before finally nodding and looking down at the ground between his feet. Like it was a confirmation of something he'd always known. The two men seemed to have traded places. The king became just a man, while the servant became something more. Col felt like he was intruding on a moment that was private. Yet, a moment that pivotal for everyone in Camelot. Perhaps everyone in all the kingdoms of the world.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," said Arthur slowly.

Merlin's eyebrows rose just slightly and his mouth twitched, like he had a retort but barely refrained from saying it.

"Shut up," Arthur said irritably.

"I didn't say anything," Merlin replied.

"Well let me finish and we'll see what that smart mouth of yours has to say," Arthur grumbled. He ran a hand through his golden hair, making it stand on end. "I was going to say, I'm sorry. Sorry that I can't forgive you yet. Don't sulk Merlin, I know you know me well enough that this shouldn't surprise you. After all these years, after every person I-" Here Arthur stumbled over his words and collected himself with another glare at Merlin. "-after every person I love has lied or left, I thought… the last thing I thought was that you would be one of them."

"Arthur-" Merlin looked stricken.

"Don't interrupt me Merlin, you know I hate this girly, emotional stuff," said Arthur sternly. He gathered himself once more. "Maybe you're not. I can see now that you've stayed by my side despite how… despite how I must have hurt you. I'm not stupid, Merlin, I know that I have. But I need time. You didn't trust me and… I don't know if I trust you anymore. To be yourself. The real you. I still… I still trust you with my life. And no, I'm not going to kill you, but something has to give. And if it's the law…"

Merlin's entire body did a funny spasm that ran from his toes to the top of his head. Arthur did not notice.

"If it's the law, it's not going to happen overnight. Or even in a few months. So… so if I can ask you to-to continue to be patient with me… I'm trying. But these changes… it won't be easy."

Merlin's eyes were rimmed in red.

"Don't get all weepy on me Merlin."

"I'm not," said Merlin in a voice that was very unconvincing.

"You are such a girl."

Merlin sniffed. "And you are such an ass."

"I'm the king. You can't address me like that."

"Sorry. You are such an ass, my lord."

For the first time since the king had descended into the dungeons, his face broke into a genuine smile. The difference it made in his terrifying countenance was astounding. Col averted his eyes to the dirty floor between his boots, feeling a strange ache in his center.

When he looked back up, he flinched. Violently.

The king was now gazing at him, the smile replaced by a frown.

"I see you've taken it upon yourself to rearrange accomodations in my own dungeons, Merlin."

"Not my fault Bors and Cerdic listened to me."

"Yes, it seems that all the guards have developed an unhealthy attachment to you."

"I wouldn't call it that..."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, glancing between Col and Bertrand (who sneered).

"May I advise speaking to them separately before passing judgment?" Merlin recommended innocently. He winked at Col from where he was standing. Col blinked incredulously back. Surely, whatever the relationship between the former servant and the king, the king wouldn't-but the king's frown deepened. He was actually considering…

"Why?" demanded Arthur, whirling back to Merlin.

Merlin cocked his head. "I mentioned it to Gwen, but Arthur, you really should be careful about wrinkling your eyebrows like that-"

"Mer-lin!"

Merlin grinned. Was this man trying to get Col exonerated or executed? "Okay, okay," Merlin murmured, the wicked grin fading into something softer. "Listen to the whole story, Arthur. You'll understand why."

The king hesitated, but Col sensed it was just for show. Then the king shouted to the guards. "Guards, please bring these men to me in the throne room one at a time an hour hence. I'd like to hear them separately."

"Yes, my lord," said the guards.

Oh, hope felt like… like rebirth. Air rushed through Col's lungs. Dirty, dank, dungeon air, but Col could not care less because he could breathe. Tears stung at his eyes. And he'd only suffered one night. Merlin had been suffocating for days. Col's wonder at the man's resilience and general cheeriness expanded tenfold. His sudden, unprecedented anger earlier did not seem so strange anymore.

Oblivious to his prisoner's relief and newfound perspective, the king rounded back to Merlin and pointed an accusing finger at him. "Stop gossiping about me with my wife. Honestly, you're like a pair of old washerwomen."

Merlin made no response except to look inordinately pleased about this. Arthur hung his head and made a soft, frustrated noise. It was good-natured, but to Col it had a melancholy lilt as it echoed through the stone corridor.

And for the first time, he wondered. Who was this king, that he would have mercy on a stranger based on the word of a man he called liar?

But Col immediately remembered what else Arthur had revealed in this bizarre, intense, broken encounter.

The man he called liar was also the man he called loved.

Again, Col felt that ache deep inside his chest. This time he identified it as longing.

"You'll come back?"

Merlin had spoken, soft and probing.

"Yes. This time it won't be so long."

"I understood. I know thinking is hard for you."

"Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."

With one last glance at Col (whose belly did a backflip as he tried to look as non-threatening as possible), Arthur spun and strode purposefully down the corridor to exit the dungeon. But he stopped just before the exit.

"Oh, right. I nearly forgot. Merlin?" he called over his shoulder.

"Yes, sire?"

"Use magic to escape your cell again and I'll reconsider my clemency about letting you live."

A second passed. Two. Then, Col's jaw dropped, everything clicking into place. Merlin was a sorcerer?! That was why he was down here in the dungeons? How on earth was he not dead already?

(The answer came to him quickly. Because this sorcerer was loved by the king. And this king… was not the king Col believed he was).

Arthur was still waiting for a witty retort.

Merlin merely snorted and said quietly, "Wouldn't dream of it, my lord."

The corner of Arthur's mouth quirked upwards, then he disappeared in a swirl of crimson.

Col could feel it in his bones. He barely understood what it was he'd witnessed here in the dark, below the city. Light. Magic. Change, even. An ending. And Col hoped one thing. That he would live to see the beginning.

Hope you enjoyed! Please review if you have time. -Cat

To Victoria.