I do not own Merlin.

This was going to be a one-shot but it got a little long, so it's now in two parts. It is however, all finished.

I would like to thank two of my good friends, Caldera32 and Veilwuarrah. Caldera32 not only produced the beautiful cover art for this story but once again was my beta. She is a very talented lady and I feel I have learned a great deal from her over the past few months. I am very grateful for all her time and patience. Veilwuarrah encouraged me to start writing in the first place, and I thank her for all the advice she has offered.

A little story with lots of whump, hurt and comfort, angst and bromance. I hope you enjoy it – your feedback as always is very welcome.

In Deep and Out of Control

Merlin's heart banged against his ribs like a caged bird fighting for release. He could not catch his breath nor hear anything over the roar of blood thumping through his brain. His heel struck the ground and his forefoot propelled him forward, stride after relentless stride. He was moving faster than he thought his body capable. Attempts to bat away the foliage were futile; branches scratched his face and hit his chest, his feet struggled against the uneven and unforgiving terrain. He had to continue, but could not keep up this intensity. Acid pumped through his veins making the muscles of his thighs and back burn, his ligaments and tendons were already stretched to capacity – something had to give, and it did.

It was now or never; Arthur was far enough ahead to not see. Merlin rotated his trunk, outstretched his arm with a splayed palm, and sent out a blast of pure magic. He had not the air to say the words but his gift knew his intent - the wild boar was thrown against a tree, the threat extinguished instantly. The warlock did not have time to revel in the victory – fate had other plans. Merlin's body uncoiled but his left foot had caught on a rut in the ground and remained stationary, all that momentum and rotational force was transmitted through his fibula and the little bone could not cope. A sickening crack was heard as it fractured, matched only by the scream rent from the lungs of the body it belonged to. Merlin crashed to the floor as a searing pain shot up his leg.

A guttural cry cut through the air, chilling the king's blood. Merlin had been right behind him; he spun around in time to see the figure in the distance crash to the ground like a felled tree.

"NO!" Adrenaline fuelled his movements, giving Arthur the extra energy to sprint back to his friend. He drew his sword, ready to slay the beast that dared to attack.

The warlock grasped at his useless limb, attempting to draw it into himself, but that action alone was enough to cause another wave of pain to engulf him. He couldn't even pinpoint which part had been injured; the whole leg was on fire. His breath came in ragged gasps as sweat and tears mingled, streaming down his face, obscuring his vision and stinging his eyes. His thin shirt was wet and stuck to his back. All warmth evaporated, his body cooling down far too efficiently.

Merlin tried to sit up by pushing through the heel of his left hand; his arm shook beneath him and it was then he registered that it was not earth and vegetation he rested upon but planks. The view was blurry and he had to blink several times to clear the moisture from his eyes; yet there was some part of him that instinctively knew where he had landed. Twice in a lifetime; what were the chances?

He lay amidst a circle, concealed by plants but unmistakable – a covered well. The warlock stilled, his heart rate began to climb as icy tendrils of fear crept up his spine, paralysing him. Not again, never again. The ground beneath creaked ominously; Merlin slapped both arms down, pinning himself to the unstable surface, and screwed his eyes shut.

"Merlin?"

The warlock had not even registered the king's frenzied approach.

Arthur's run had slowed as his servant came into view. He could see Merlin was not being attacked by the wild boar; however, he did appear to be hurt. The king re-sheathed his sword. This was serious, Merlin was in obvious agony; the writhing movements coupled with a rotated and distorted left leg suggesting a break.

"Merlin?"

The dark-haired man opened his eyes wide and stared into the blue irises of the royal. Arthur took a stride towards his friend, ready to help the injured man up. As soon as the royal's foot landed on the flimsy structure the rotten wood gave way, plunging the king and his servant into a black abyss.

The two men plummeted downward, the circular patch of light above them shrinking at an alarming rate. Arthur's stomach flipped and he saw his life flash before him; all his mistakes and regrets... then time seemed to slow down just before the moment of impact. They hit something solid and the royal violently jerked. Splinters of wood, debris, and dust kicked up and Arthur instinctively covered his head against the small rocks that rained down, stinging as they hit his back and shoulders. The pummelling eventually stopped, the cloud dissipated and Arthur cautiously lifted his head to survey the damage. How they could have survived such a fall was beyond him but somehow they always did. Both men were alive and in one piece – well the king was.

"Merlin?" the monarch croaked. He had to turn his neck away to spit and clear his throat. "Merlin, are you alright?"

The royal realised he was sprawled on top of his gangly friend and clambered back immediately, easing his weight off the younger man. The monarch seemed to have escaped serious injury, his body was shaken but he'd only sustained superficial scrapes and nicks. Even in the gloom the king could tell Merlin had not been so lucky. The servant appeared to be unconscious; his eyes were closed and he was very still.

Merlin had a broken leg, this before the ground gave way, and Arthur dreaded to think what else his friend had suffered. He carefully brushed the dirt away from his servant's jacket; his clothes were ripped in places, revealing grazed skin, and there was a small cut on his forehead. Merlin had always been pale but in the eerie light the man practically glowed. Arthur pushed back the black fringe, feeling the scalp, checking for further bumps or bleeding. The lanky man winced, his eyelashes flickered and he let out a groan.

"Sleeping again, Merlin?"

"Eh?" The servant blinked rapidly, coughing.

"A bit of an extreme way to get out of your chores, don't you think?" The royal said in jest, trying to cover up his own fear.

"You were the one that provoked the damn pig," Merlin grumbled, letting his eyes slide shut.

"No you don't - stay awake. You could have a concussion." Or be in shock; or have internal injuries, he added silently to himself.

"Then, then..." Merlin smacked his lips together, his tongue clearing the dust that caked them, "I'll worry about it when I wake up," the young man slurred, letting his head roll backwards.

The royal was both anxious and exasperated by the servant's behaviour; he did not have many options so fumbled for his water skin, uncorked it and promptly threw the contents in Merlin's face. The soaked sorcerer shook his head, now fully alert. He lifted a hand to wipe his cheek and took in his surroundings; the steep curved walls covered in lichen and moss, the sound of trickling water and the dark enclosed space. His heart sank. I can't do this again. Merlin frantically scanned the area, need to get out, his breath became ragged, there has to be a way.

Arthur was expecting some sort of verbal comeback after the douching but instead his servant's gaze flicked back and forth, not resting on anything - almost as if he were afraid.

Would Arthur notice if he used magic? He'd slowed their descent without detection. His gift flared deep inside, ready to do his bidding. What can I do, what can I exploit without being seen? Nothing. There's no cover, no space, no hope. He forced the magic back down but it was like trying to close an overstuffed chest.

Time stretched on like a never-ending path - it was difficult to keep track. Merlin had no inclination to speak, all his effort was directed at trying to keep his breathing steady. How could something so automatic be so difficult? He couldn't get enough air, his ribs felt like they'd shrunk, preventing his lungs from expanding.

Arthur had thoroughly explored the confines of the well in the hope of finding something useful but had uncovered nothing functional. He'd thrown a few idle comments at his servant but they'd all been ignored. The king was worried now- Merlin was too quiet; he always talked incessantly unless something was wrong.

"Merlin?"

The warlock looked skyward and spotted the silhouette of a bird soaring above. He let out a snort. It was as if the creature was taunting him with its freedom. I could call Kilgharrah... but the dragon would not be able to reach them and Arthur was here. He cursed at the idiocy of such an idea.

"Merlin, answer me."

The warlock made a desperate attempt to scramble up. I need to do something - anything. His fingers grasped ineffectually at the debris that was scattered about the floor. Trapped - need to move. Terrified, the man shifted his weight; a strangled yell rang out as white hot pain seared through his body and struck him immobile.

The king grabbed Merlin's shoulders, shaking the struggling man. "What the hell are you thinking?" he scolded, "You can't move with that leg."

Arthur found himself slammed against the opposite wall. Winded and stunned, the royal wondered just how Merlin in his incapacitated state had managed to kick with such force. Adrenaline and fear could achieve more than the combined strength of many men, he'd seen as much on the battlefield but had never expected it from his servant. Merlin's head was down, shaking from side to side; he was muttering something indistinguishable and his arms were braced, fists balled. The king rubbed his aching side and crawled towards the distraught man.

"Listen to me, Merlin, you need to calm down or you're going to hurt yourself." The king had made it to his friend; he tentatively reached out his hand and placed it lightly on the servant's shoulder. "Look at me, Merlin," he said softly.

The dark-haired man's eyes were scrunched up and his face was set in an unfamiliar grimace. "Open your eyes and look at your king." Arthur stated firmly.

Merlin squinted at the royal, the man was trembling uncontrollably and Arthur berated himself for not noticing sooner. It was cold and not only did Merlin have less flesh on his bones than the king but his clothes were threadbare and did nothing to protect against the dank chill. Hypothermia was not something the knight wanted to add to the ever-growing list of misfortunes that beset the pair. He brought his torso close to his friend so their bodies touched and draped an arm over the thin man's shoulders. "It will be alright, we will get out of this." The king could hear his companion's teeth chattering and feel the vibration through his thin frame. He pressed on, "The knights will be looking for us; they know where we were supposed to be." Arthur bumped Merlin playfully, "It would be hard for them to miss the trail of destruction you left behind." Merlin did not rise to the jibe; staying uncharacteristically quiet. Arthur was out of his depth; he had no idea how to rally his sombre friend. "We will get out of here – understand?" He eventually said, squeezing his friend's arm in reassurance.

The warlock nodded, biting his lip. All around were reminders of the ordeal he'd successfully suppressed for years. He shut his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. It was hard; his magic was frantic, in turmoil, constant pins and needles under his skin threatening to explode again. What if I hurt Arthur? What if I'm found out? No matter how he tried he could not escape the memory of that terrible event. How he'd clawed repeatedly at the walls trying to climb up the slippery surface only to fall again and again, nails bent and bleeding. How he'd screamed until he'd lost his voice but no one had heard and how he'd used his magic until he'd collapsed, exhausted. My gift was useless. Nothing had worked; he remained alone and imprisoned in the dark. At the time he felt he deserved it somehow, that it was punishment for what he was.

The warlock started to count and recite spells silently – anything to keep his mind occupied.

They sat in silence, eventually the king felt Merlin's head bob and his breathing even out as the injured man slipped into a fitful sleep. Perhaps I should wake him? Merlin would only damage himself further in this state – he needed the rest, if only for a little while. Arthur felt a little shaky himself although he would never admit it. He ached; his muscles were starting to stiffen after the abuse of running and the jarring of the fall. He sat in silence, save for an incessant drip, and reflected on all that had happened.

The royal's eyes had adjusted to the poor light and he looked around – there was no escape. Despair crept into his heart; they had no provisions and Camelot was at least a day's ride away. For all the hopefulness he'd displayed earlier, the king felt the full weight of their predicament. Arthur missed Merlin's playful banter and positive attitude - he could sure as hell do with it now - but, although physically next to him, the man was absent.

He awoke with a start - damn it! - he'd not meant to doze off. There was a scrabbling sound and Arthur caught movement; the fat pink tail of a rat coiled round a loose stone, then disappeared into a pile of rubbish - but the rustling remained. Great. Could things get any worse?

Merlin's lower leg had doubled in size; the fabric of his servant's trousers was now taut against his left shin – Arthur was no physician but this was not a good sign. The blond man let out a sigh, rubbing his temple; how did they end up in these impossible situations? In the past something always turned up and they would be victorious - every time there was a miraculous solution to the problem. He had to believe they would be lucky on this occasion too.

Merlin always knew what to say to lift the mood; the royal had never seen him like this. For all the times the king had called the man a coward he knew that was not true. Merlin had faced sorcerers, dragons, and all manner of foes with a resilience knights would be proud of; he was optimistic and resourceful in any circumstance. There was more to his current reaction, there had to be, but how well did Arthur really know his servant? Merlin could read the king better than anyone else, better than the man himself. He saw all the monarch's fears, insecurities, and aspirations but would often deflect conversations that centred on himself. The servant babbled incessantly and talked rubbish and wisdom in equal measure but, for all that, revealed very little of his true thoughts and nature.

Only a few days ago Arthur had seen a side to Merlin that had amazed him and the servant had been completely oblivious. A visiting dignitary had presented the royal with a puzzle box some years previously. He had been unable to fathom the damn thing and no one at court had worked it out either – not even Gaius. Arthur assumed it must be a joke or broken. The useless trinket had gathered dust on a shelf like all the other prizes the royal collected. Then Merlin had tumbled into his chambers asking for a day off and had nervously picked up the puzzle box, manipulating the wooden structure in his fingers. The royal had watched, mesmerised, as the long, pale digits had effortlessly glided over the smooth mahogany; breaking it open, forming intricate patterns, and flattening it out before putting it back together. The servant had absently placed the box back where he'd found it and Arthur had been so shocked by the display he'd granted Merlin's request. The jubilant man had left with no idea what he had just done.

Merlin was the enigma that Arthur intended to solve - someday. Right now they needed to get out of this hellhole. He had to do something; Arthur extradited himself carefully and got up. He scanned the walls, hands on his hips; maybe he could climb, get help and winch Merlin out?

"It won't work – you'll fall."

The king turned towards the sound of the voice, "How do you know? I've not even tried!"

Merlin looked away and bit his lip.

"Then I'll call for help, someone will -"

"NO!" The warlock interrupted, "it's unstable - the noise could make it collapse!"

"What are you talking about?" Arthur snapped, but then he looked at his servant. Merlin's lip trembled slightly and perspiration dotted his brow. The monarch crouched down opposite the invalid, "What happened to you, Merlin?"

He shook his head, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Claustrophobic?" Even as the words left his lips he knew that was not the case; they'd been in plenty of tight spots and Merlin had even hidden under his bed for several days when Uther had married Katarina, the enchanted troll (the royal shuddered at the memory).

"What then? Talk to me!" Arthur pushed.

There was a long pause; Arthur held the servant's gaze – he was not going to let this go.

Merlin turned away, looking in every direction bar the king's; he swallowed, bracing himself. "Fine, I got trapped down a well when I was a child," he stormed, almost challenging the king to mock him.

"You fell?"

The warlock's head dropped and he started pulling at his hair with his hands.

"Merlin?"

"They held me over the edge – to teach me a lesson - but the wall gave way..."

"What?" Arthur was incredulous, "Who would do that? The bas-"

"They were children, Arthur… they didn't understand."

"That's no excuse!" Fury punctuated the words.

"I've told you, I didn't fit in... did not know when to shut up…Their prank went wrong - it was an accident...they were frightened...ran away..."

"To get help?"

Silence.

"They left you there?"

No response. The only sound a steady drip, drip, drip. Arthur could stand it no longer, he was desperate, "Then how did you get out?"

When Merlin did not answer, Arthur asked again. "How?"

The warlock finally looked up, hysterical, "I don't know!" He bellowed.

"How can you not know?" Arthur waved his hands, completely absorbed in the quest for information and forgetting the unstable condition Merlin was in.

"I was eight, I can't remember!" Merlin beat the ground with his fists. "I was down there for a day - two days...no one came... I couldn't get out, it was dark, cold...I thought I was going to die... then... then..." his breath hitched and he rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, letting out a small cough, "I woke up in my mother's house. My injuries had been tended to, but I don't know how I got there. We never spoke about it, I couldn't, I did not want to." His face crumpled, "Please Arthur..."

A loose stone dislodged above, echoing as it ricocheted off the walls and narrowly missing the two men. Merlin flinched, bringing his hands over his head. A second stone followed, then a third. The warlock's throat constricted, restricting his air. We'll be buried alive! His heart raced and his magic surged. Camelot – need to get out, have to get out - now.

Arthur watched in horror as Merlin curled in on himself, muttering incoherently and banging his head against the wall.

"No, Merlin. Please, slow down... breathe," Arthur had hold of the servant but was distracted when a shadow was cast over them and there was an ominous rumble. He looked up just in time to see bricks and earth cascade down. Arthur threw himself over his friend, shielding the younger man – it was all he could do. Time seemed to slow, just as Arthur had heard it did in the moments before death. Suddenly there was a blinding light; this is it – well, we're together at least. Arthur clung to his friend as his heart felt like it was being ripped from his chest. Then he knew no more - engulfed in a sea of darkness.

TBC...

So what did you think?