AN: So sorry again for the delay. I WILL NOT abandon this story. Thanks to all who have continued to review and favorite. Your support is invaluable. Kitty O, thanks once again for your Jedi mind tricks and getting my butt in gear. Starkid191, thanks for the not as obvious, but just as insistent, urges for me to finish this chapter.

Reminder: this is unbeta'ed, so all mistakes are mine. I am a greedy person...

Chapter 7

Arthur really despised this room.

Upon getting dragged into the torture chamber, he was immediately lashed tightly to the same pole where he had his earlier meeting with the cat of nine tails. This time, however, no whip was dangled in his face. After what Merlin had just told him, he decided that this was a bad thing. After all, he could prepare himself for the pain if he knew what he was in for.

He couldn't prepare himself for the unknown.

This time, one of the thugs stood in front of him, and he could hear another just behind. After a shouted "begin" from their leader, he saw a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye before he felt a burning pain in his right shoulder. He glanced up just in time to see the knife and smirk of the man in front of him before he felt another cut from behind, this time on his back, right above his bandages. He barely registered the trickle of blood down his back before he felt another cut on the front of his torso, followed almost immediately by another to his upper back.

And so it went on. Arthur could not predict where they would go next. Sometimes they went for a relatively unharmed piece of flesh, others they seemed to enjoy trying to see how closely they could match the cut on an existing area in one quick swipe.

Arthur knew all about getting cut with a blade, though. It was painful and horrible, especially when done repeatedly, and the dripping blood left a person feeling squeamish and unclean, but it was a sensation he'd felt before. He had not become the best swordsman in the kingdom without his fair share of scars, after all. So, instead of focusing on the pain of each cut, he turned his attention to guessing where they might cut next and what he would do to all these men if he wasn't chained to the bloody pole. He took his mind away, entertaining himself with these games, and the torture became bearable. He even became amused with what he now considered meager and pathetic attempts at breaking someone. Merlin could withstand this! Clearly these men weren't prepared to deal with the training that came with the likes of the future king of Camelot.

He was so buried in his mind that he almost didn't notice the bandages around his torso betting unwrapped or the ceasefire in the stabs to his body.

It was his biggest mistake. He was not ready.

Fiery, burning agony erupted all over his body. It had no start and no end and never abated, remaining intense from one instant to the next. He bit back a yell of anguish.

Princes do not scream.

Arthur managed to open watering eyes he hadn't even realized he'd closed and tried to see what these monsters were doing to him.

Salt. Salt was being poured in the new injuries in his front and back and in the old slashes the whipping had created. Slat was literally being rubbed into his wounds.

"Not so immune now, are we, Pendragon?" the man behind him chuckled.

Arthur did not open his mouth, afraid of what would come out. Princes do not scream. It took all he had, but he remained quiet. Camelot depended on his silence. Merlin needed his silence.

Princes do not scream…

Merlin could only look on with horror from where he hung in his chains as his best friend was dragged, semiconscious, back into their shared cell. The two men hauling him threw him to the ground and left. Malend followed behind and entered the cell, crossing to Merlin's wall to unlock his shackles.

"Are you willing to talk now?" he asked, gesturing at the lump that was the motionless Arthur. The prince's slightly opened eyes were the only indication he was awake and at least a little aware.

"Why? What do you want?" asked Merlin, rubbing at his freed wrists. Malend still hadn't stepped back from where he had moved into his space. His magic might not be good here, but he had to do something! Maybe if he moved fast enough he could catch Malend by surprise…

Seemingly ignorant of Merlin's plans, Malend continued to talk, shocking the young warlock out of his musings.

"I want to take over."

Merlin waited, but no more information seemed to be forthcoming. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. Besides, it might be best to try to keep Malend talking, he thought as he continued to rub at his wrists.

"But why? Did Uther do something to your family? Do you not approve of his hatred of magic? What?"

"Uther has never done anything to me or my family," Malend sneered, "and I've never had any interaction with the man. And I could not give a damn as to whether magic is oppressed or not. It can stay banished, for all I care. The Pendragons have been in power too long. I want the riches, I want the might, and I don't really care who I have to go through to get it."

At this, Merlin lunged at the evil man, but Malend seemed to have been anticipating it. Merlin managed to strike him twice in the head before he received a blow to his stomach so hard the breath went out of him. He sank to his knees, gasping and hunching over with his arms wrapped around his middle.

Malend walked to the door, pausing and turning around briefly as he threw it open.

"Right now, servant, your prince is in my way. He will always be in my way. If you give me the information, however, I might decide to let him live. Think about it." With that, he left, lock thudding into place behind him.

Still panting slightly, Merlin sat up until he was fully on his knees, staring at the door Malend had just stormed out of.

The man had practically no motive.

He did not want revenge or hate what Uther had done or need money. He just was in it for gold and glory. A man with so vague a goal did not need to have reasons or honor. Merlin understood this.

What he also understood with horrific clarity was that a man like this would have no limits to what he would do to Arthur.

Arthur.

With that reminder, Merlin whirled to where the prince was still on the floor, cursing himself for his distraction. He needed to remain focused! Arthur needed him to remain focused…

"Thought you'd forgotten about me for a while there," Arthur said with a weak attempt at his usual cockiness, once he seemed to notice he had Merlin's full attention.

Merlin was having none of it, not with Malend's warning still ringing in his ears. "What have they done to you?" he asked, even as he reached for the blonde to lay him out gently on his side. He noted the almost imperceptible winces made by the young knight, but decided to make no comment. Not yet.

"Nothing that awful. Just got a little more acquainted with some pieces of weaponry," Arthur commented mildly from where Merlin had positioned him like a rag doll.

Merlin snorted and examined the prince more closely, almost managing to hold back his exclamation of dismay. "They tore off your bandages," he remarked absently as he lightly brushed the cuts that littered Arthur's entire upper body. Upon retracting his hand, he noticed a white substance on the tips of his fingers. Looking more closely at the wounds, he realized that they were dirtied and clotted by this same substance. This solution dawned slowly and terribly.

"Is this… salt?" he questioned with trepidation.

Arthur mumbled something a little sullenly and certainly too quietly for Merlin to hear clearly.

"Arthur! Answer me!" Salt water helped with healing, but straight salt rubbed repeatedly into wounds was a torture as painful as it was creative. Merlin needed an honest answer immediately. The salt was probably still burning even now.

"Yes, alright?" the prince snapped back. "Who died and made you king?"

Merlin flinched. That was not even a little funny. Arthur at least looked a bit contrite and spoke in a softer tone.

"Look, Merlin, it is just a few scratches. I'm fine, honestly." He gave a valiant attempt at a smile.

That was it.

"No, Arthur! You are not fine. I know you also heard what Malend said, so you and I both know that you will probably not be fine at any point in the foreseeable future. So stop pretending this is just another lark. You don't have to be strong in front of me, Arthur! I'm your friend!"

"I especially have to be strong in front of you!" Arthur roared back, shifting to try to sit up in an obvious attempt to get bigger and reassert some of his authority. Unfortunately, he moved too quickly and too soon. Merlin saw the exact moment his face blanched and rushed forward. He managed to reach Arthur just before he collapsed onto his back. Gently, he maneuvered him back onto his side.

"I especially have to be strong in front of you," Arthur repeated softly. "I know what it is like to see someone hurting and to believe it is all your fault. I may not be able to do much in this situation, but I can damn well try to do two things. I can make you believe that you are not at all at fault, and I can try to make this easier for you to bear. Believe you me, I will do whatever it takes to achieve these goals."

"I don't know what to do," Merlin admitted quietly.

"You do not give up, and you do not give in." Arthur followed this with a firm nod, as if that were all there was to it.

"But they will just hurt you more! I will not be the reason you die."

"Malend will be the reason I die. You will be the reason Camelot lives. You must think of the future of Camelot."

You are the future of Camelot, thought Merlin. Despite his musings, he merely nodded in acquiesce. Then he looked at Arthur.

"I was not given any water or bandages this time. I cannot wash out your wounds. I'm sorry."

Arthur curled a bit tighter into himself where he lay and sighed. "It will be okay, Merlin. A little salt never hurt anyone."

Merlin chose to ignore the obvious exception. "Says the man who thinks too much about his stomach."

Arthur had closed his eyes, and Merlin knew he was fading fast, the day's events catching up with him. However, he found enough energy to blearily blink open one eye and glare at Merlin.

"It is all muscle, servant. I am not fat!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sire." Merlin grinned his first true smile in what felt like years at Arthur's sleepy grumble. He stared fondly down at his charge as the blonde succumbed to his exhaustion.

On a whim, he untied his current neckerchief and laid it gently over Arthur's torso. The sudden slight warmth caused the prince, generally a light sleeper, to stir, lashes starting to flutter.

Merlin stopped the motion with a carefully placed hand to his friend's shoulder.

"Sleep, Arthur."

And for once in his life, his prat of a best friend listened to him.

Uther was holding court in the throne room, its normally regal atmosphere changed to reflect that of war. He stood at the head of the table, looking over a map and planning his latest conquest. To his right stood Arthur's second in command, who had quickly risen in Uther's estimation after coming directly to him with the news of Arthur. No one else was present, as the disappearance of the Crown Prince of Camelot was not information that could risk being leaked to the general public. The people loved Arthur and panic would ensue. The neighboring kingdoms would sense weakness and war would follow. And Uther would be unable to search for what he considered his greatest accomplishment of his long, violent life.

No one else was in the room, but Uther imagined Ygraine floating off to his left, just barely in his line of sight, glaring at him. Sometimes he forgot that Arthur's stubbornness and willpower did not all come from him.

I'll get our boy back, Ygraine. I swear it.

"The route the prince chose to take was here, Sire." Leon was drawing a trail on the map with his fingertip, leading towards the little village. Uther noticed that it was neither the most direct nor the fastest he could have chosen. He raised an eyebrow at Leon, who seemed to anticipate the question.

"He had many of the newly knighted men with him, Sire. He wanted to give them more practice, more of a chance to get used being in the saddle and riding out to battle. He believed that a problem like that the village posed was the perfect opportunity to get a small fight under their belts and increase their confidence."

Uther felt a small flash of pride, but smothered it before his traitorous mouth could reflect it with a smile. There were more pressing matters at hand.

"So Arthur would have been travelling in the forest most of the time," he mused. Something about that area seemed familiar…

"Correct, my lord. But that's the problem. There is nothing in these woods. I've been through them thousands of times. Arthur has been through them even more. We've never been attacked and never come across anything that might pose an issue. Even the villagers have never had cause for complaint until the animals started attacking their crops and animals."

Uther was listening, but he continued to stare at the map. Something about it…

His eyes widened slightly, memory rushing back. His rage at finding his precious wife dead, killed by the magic he trusted to give them a son. His determination to wipe out every trace of the evil that had destroyed his family. His order to build a fortress in the deepest part of the fortress, forcing sorcerers to cast spells to prevent magic usage and then locking them up in the belly of their own creation. No magic user who entered the place ever left again.

When the threat of magic seemed to be fading, Uther had ordered the stronghold to cease its efforts. He had left the building standing, just in case a need ever arose again.

And then he forgot, the knights had forgotten with him, and the castle had sat unused. At least, as far has he knew. At least, until now.

"Here." Uther reached out with sudden certainly and pointed to an unmarked place in the middle of the forest. "Arthur is here. There is a small citadel. He must be held there."

Leon shot him a short, calculating glance, but said nothing and did not question. Uther mentally raised his opinion of the man yet again. Arthur had chosen well.

"I'll ready the knights then, shall I?" He squared his shoulders and faced Uther more fully. "We will leave at once."

Uther nodded, once, shortly and benefitting a king. Leon seemed almost disappointed. He bowed and started to exit.

As the king watched the younger man go, he thought about his younger days as a warrior. He thought about how nothing would ever stop him from fighting for his family. He thought about how sick at heart he felt when something had happened to them that was out of his control.

He remembered holding a tiny baby in his arms. A small tuft of yellow hair was just starting to sprout and huge eyes like the color of only one other person stared up at him. The infant was not crying or screaming, just studying. A little arm finally reached up to bump his chin and a laugh burbled out at the contact. Uther swore then that nothing would ever happen to this child.

When had that changed?

"Leon!" he called. Leon turned from where he had been pulling open the door.

"Yes, Sire?"

"Ready another horse. I'm coming with you." It hadn't changed; he had just forgotten for a while.

Leon seemed to be struggling with a grin. "Of course, Sire." He took his leave.

Uther smiled to himself once he was alone. Nothing was going to stop him from getting back his boy.

He strode out of the room to meet the knights, pausing just once as he left to whisper "I'll get him back" to the empty room behind him.