The much awaited second part! This chapter is still rated T for gore, torture, scenes of threat and all-round cruelty to Merlin. It's very…free-versey as prose goes, so if you don't like the style then…sorry. But I was trying to encapture the emotions of the characters in the style of writing, not just the language. (That's what English Literature has done to me. Ah!)

For those who aren't/won't be happy with this or who just don't want the Merlin-torture/whump to end just yet, there is an 'alternate ending' of sorts uploaded called 'The Body' (though it could also be seen as a stand-alone one-shot)

I don't own Merlin, the BBC has that pleasure.

"Arthur, please…"

The words swirled around Arthur's head as he sat, brooding, at his desk. He glared at the papers scattered over the wooden surface; papers that should have been neatened into straight piles by his manservant by now.

"Merlin, what's going on?"

"Arthur?"

"What are you doing? Is that…magic?"

He was quite alone now. Gwen, who had tried to talk to him, left long ago when he had yelled at her. Guilt stabbed at his heart as he looked over at the door. His manservant should have burst through it by now, disarrayed hair flicking about his ears, apologising for being late with his dinner. But no; his dinner was already there, delivered on time by a kitchen maid and now sat untouched and unwanted.

"Arthur, please…"

"No, Merlin. You are a traitor and a liar."

Arthur groaned. Despite all of the anger, hurt and utter betrayal he felt, there was still that small inkling of guilt that would not leave him. He hadn't even let Merlin explain himself; there was little justice in what he had done.

"But-"

"Leave. Now. Get OUT OF MY SIGHT. Leave Camelot and never return if you value your life."

He shook his head. No, that wasn't true; he hadn't been completely heartless. The boy wasn't executed or sentenced to death on the spot; he hadn't ordered him to be thrown in jail. He had granted the boy his life, allowed him to leave Camelot and live. But he still couldn't get the way he had looked at him out of his head. Those eyes – wide with terror – skin paled to an almost sickly white.

Merlin…

"Arthur, I can explain!"

Merlin…

"If you'd just let me-"

Merlin…

"Arthur, please…"

Merlin…

"But-"

Merlin…

"RAH!" A loud roar escaped Arthur's throat as he slammed his fists on the desk. Why was Merlin still tormenting him? Why wouldn't he leave him alone?

His first thought: Sorcery. It was some spell he had cast to emotionally torture him forevermore. He should have killed him; banishment wasn't enough. He should be dead; if not for his crimes of sorcery then for the years of lies and deceit.

Arthur cried out again, but this time with a broken voice. Deep down he could see himself for what he really was; pathetic. He was pathetic for trying to shift the blame for his emotional mess on Merlin, as he had been pathetic for driving away the first true friend he had ever had.

Friend…

"Leave. Now. Get OUT OF MY SIGHT."

His friend…

Merlin…

His first true friend…

Arthur was tired. He was unbelievably tired. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and drift away, away to a place where he didn't feel betrayed, where he wasn't alone, where everything was right. But whenever he tried, the memory came flooding back. The anger, the hurt, those eyes…

"Merlin, what's going on?"

"Arthur?"

"What are you doing? Is that…magic?"

"Arthur, I can explain!"

"No, Merlin. No; I can't believe you did this! You idiot!"

"If you'd just let me-"

"Merlin."

"Arthur, please…"

"No, Merlin. You are a traitor and a liar."

"But-"

"Leave. Now. Get OUT OF MY SIGHT. Leave Camelot and never return if you value your life."

"Arthur, you don't understand!"

"You're right. I don't understand. I don't understand how I keep falling into the same trap over and over again! Who else have I trusted, only to be betrayed? Morgana, Agravaine, Lancelot, even Gwen! But you, Merlin…you were the one person I thought would never end up on that list."

"Please."

"Go. Just…go."

"Arthur-"

"GO!"

SMACK.

Arthur stared at his fist as his hand began to shake. His knuckles were blanched, the skin stretched tightly over the bony joints. His nails dug painfully into the soft flesh of his palm, but he was unaware of this pain. All he was aware of was those eyes, burning in the back of his mind, burning in the back of his eyes, burning in his fist, burning everywhere. Everywhere he looked he could see those eyes.

"Arthur, please…"

No…

"Arthur, please…"

No…

"Arthur, please…"

NO!

"ARTHUR PENDRAGON!"

Arthur's head snapped around to stare at the murderous Sir Gwaine in his doorway. The knight's eyes were narrowed into deadly slits and his hand was hovering threateningly above the hilt of his sword.

"What did you DO?" Gwaine demanded, barging into the King's chambers. Arthur didn't seem particularly fazed until the knight grabbed him by the front of his shirt and almost lifted him into the air.

"Gwaine, unhand me."

"Sir Gwaine," he spat, but complied and let go of the King. "Bring him back."

"I can't, Sir Gwaine. He's gone; he left days ago." Arthur looked away, toward the window facing the forest, the forest which Merlin had most likely left through. He couldn't bare look at the knight's face any longer, couldn't bare see the tears threatening to fall from Gwaine's eyes. "He's gone."

"Fine," Gwaine snapped. "I'll go find him myself."

"No. You will do no such thing."

He barked out a short laugh. "Oh really? And I suppose you're going to stop me?"

Arthur took a step toward the knight then hesitated. He wasn't sure what he could do to stop him; Gwaine's loyalty lay with Merlin, not Arthur. He sighed. "Sir Gwaine, I can't just let you go. It's better he's gone."

Gwaine paused in the doorway and turned to glare at him. "I don't care," he hissed.

"He's a sorcerer!" Arthur cried.

"He was your friend!" Gwaine shot back. "I'm going to go and find him. Unlike you, I don't turn my back on my friends." And with that he stalked out of the room, leaving Arthur alone once again.

Merlin tried not to groan in pain. It was dark, all torches in the windowless room had been extinguished, and he was still tied down to the table. He found it difficult to keep his eyes open as he gently twisted his head to see how much damage had been done to his mangled hand. There was a jagged tear in the palm, covered in tattered flaps of red-stained skin. His arm was barely visible for all the blood. He almost fainted again, but managed to stay awake. Reaching inside of himself, he tried to find some area of magic, something to loosen the bonds around his wrists and ankles, but he was too weak.

"Áslæccan þás wítebendas!" he mumbled. His eyes glimmered gold for a second, but with little result. He was still trapped. Closing his eyes, he thought back to what began the entire incident.

Cleaning the prat's armour. Was meant to be back an hour ago, but still so much work to get through. No one's around…

A glint of gold

The hum of magic

The armour floats a foot above his head, cleaning itself. Then…

SLAM.

"Merlin, what's going on?"

The armour clatters to the floor.

"Arthur?"

"What are you doing? Is that…magic?"

Panic. Should have known it couldn't have lasted. Must explain, make him understand.

"Arthur, I can explain!"

The attempted explanation, cut off almost immediately.

"No, Merlin. You are a traitor and a liar."

"But-"

"Leave. Now. Get OUT OF MY SIGHT. Leave Camelot and never return if you value your life."

Flinch. That hurt. Leave Camelot? What about Gaius? Gwen? The knights?

"Arthur, you don't understand!"

Too right he doesn't understand. Can't leave…What about destiny?

"You're right. I don't understand. I don't understand how I keep falling into the same trap over and over again! Who else have I trusted, only to be betrayed? Morgana, Agravaine, Lancelot, even Gwen! But you, Merlin…you were the one person I thought would never end up on that list."

Hurt. Betrayal on both sides.

"Please."

Finger pointing to the door, quivering.

"Go. Just…go."

The voice is broken, words almost whispered.

"Arthur-"

One last chance, please listen…

"GO!"

SMACK.

A fist flies.

He clambers to his feet and runs toward the forest as the sun begins to set.

Merlin winced. He had been careless, too careless, and it very well may have cost him his life. Merlin opened his eyes again and almost smiled as the realisation that he was quite alone finally sunk in. His torturer must have left when he fell unconscious, and hadn't yet returned. Merlin tried his magic again, knowing that that if he were to escape, now would be the time to do it. His eyes glimmered again as he hoarsely whispered "Áslæccan þás wítebendas!" But the only effect was a touch more freedom in his left foot.

The annoying thing, Merlin thought bitterly to himself, was that he could easily have defeated the men had he not been so emotionally drained.

Walking, alone, through the forest. Hands shaking, tears falling. A scribbled note under Gaius door reading, 'He knows, don't try to look for me'; short and to the point.

"He's the king's manservant."

"He must be worth something."

"Knows everything about the King."

Hurried whispers all around. Tries to concentrate.

Betrayal, hurt.

Get away, run.

"You are a liar and a traitor"

Blast them back, use magic.

A fist flies.

RUN!

Frozen to the spot, shaking, sobbing. Surrounded, no escape.

Thud.

Clang.

Smack.

The man, hidden in the shadows behind; the hilt of his sword against the back of his head and he was falling…falling…falling…

What am I doing? Arthur asked himself as he hoisted himself onto the horse. "I'm going after Gwaine. I'm going to drag him back to Camelot so I can lock him up," he mumbled in reply, earning an off look from the stable boy. "No, it's Merlin. It's ALWAYS MERLIN!"

"Are you okay, Sire?" the now frightened boy squeaked.

"I'm fine," Arthur snapped back before kicking his horse into riding away as fast as he could.

All anger had vanished, leaving only guilt. He should have listened. He shouldn't have been so impulsive, so quick to judge. Merlin had to be found.

Merlin…

"He was your friend!"

Merlin…

"Unlike you, I don't turn my back on my friends!"

"You are a resilient thing, aren't you?" the dark voice hissed. He motioned with his hand to the five men, all wielding knives, who stood at Merlin's feet. One of these knives was brought down to nick at his heel, to which Merlin responded with a small wince. It hurt, but nowhere near as much as his previous tortures had. He gave the men a hard, albeit slightly confused, look over his shoulder then wished he hadn't as his neck was very sore. The man in front of him, who was wearing a nasty grin, carried on speaking.

"We will break you, boy. No man yet has withstood what we've got planned next."

Merlin shivered. How many men's blood had been spilt onto the stone table he was tied to? The man motioned again and once more a knife bit into his foot. Merlin grunted; it hurt more this time as the blade had been drilled much deeper into his flesh.

"This is your last chance, boy. Tell us what we want to know." The man lowered himself to Merlin's level, noses almost touching. There was a tense pause then Merlin spat at the man's face.

He was not impressed. "Very well. Proceed."

Merlin shrieked as the other five men held up their bloodied knives and descended upon his bruised and battered feet.

Arthur was tired; he had been riding around the forest for almost an hour now and had found no sign of his manservant, nothing to say the young man passed through. He was beginning to lose hope; Merlin was most likely long gone, probably back to Ealdor. However, that didn't make sense; the King was riding along the path Merlin would have taken had he been travelling to his home town. The boy wasn't on a horse – there were no animals missing from the stables – and he would have caught up with him by now. Perhaps something had happened; he might have been attacked by bandits or wild animals…

Arthur was quick to squash these worries from his mind. If Merlin wanted to travel, he would have used magic, right? Surely there was some transportation spell he could have used? It was then that Arthur realised the ground was littered in broken sticks, and the leaves had been heavily disturbed; conclusive signs that a struggle had taken place. His felt his heart jolt when he spotted the small, leather pouch on the forest floor, immediately recognising it as Merlin's.

He jumped down from his horse and snatched up the pouch, hoping he was wrong. No such luck. Arthur then began searching the area for a trail; something to follow to find Merlin. Whoever had snatched the young boy was good, but not good enough for the King's trained eyes as he soon found a trail. It wasn't too old; three days at the most. Arthur quickly threw himself on his horse and began to canter through the undergrowth.

"Ah…Ah…AhhhHHHH! AH! AH!" Screams poured from Merlin's lips as pain erupted in his feet and racked through his body. He had been moved from the stone table to a chair. His arms were strapped down, as was his torso, and his legs were being held in a tight grip by two of the men. A third wielded a bag of pink-stained salt which he rubbed eagerly into Merlin's wounded feet. The man – whose face was long and thin and resembled a rat – dug out another clump of salt and held it in his claw-like grip. He moved to press it into the still-bleeding gashes but paused when the leader of the group stepped forward.

"Are you ready to talk, boy?"

Merlin didn't answer at first. He just glared at the inside of his eyelids, trying to stop the tears running down his cheeks. He cracked one eye open slightly and took a deep breath before opening them fully then moved his head to stare at the man.

"Alright." He breathed in deeply and lowered his eyes again shamefully. "Alright, I'll tell you…about…the King…" He paused and the men leant forward, the beginnings of smirks slowly forming on their faces. "The King…he…he…can't make his own bed…"

With a snarl the leader drew back his hand and smashed it against Merlin's face. "I don't take kindly to jokes. Are you going to talk properly?"

The defiance was back in Merlin's eyes as he shifted his gaze to look him straight in the face once more. "I'm not going to tell you anything." His rasp was followed by another shriek as the bloodied salt was forced into his foot. The pain-sensitive soles stung and he writhed in agony. Merlin angrily bit down on his tongue in attempt to stop his screaming. He didn't want to give them the pleasure, didn't want them to think they were breaking him.

The leader moved so he was right next to Merlin and loomed over him, mouth at his ear. "What is your King's weakness?"

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and refused to say anymore. The leader hissed his demand again but still got no answer. With a tired sigh he nodded at his men and stepped back. The bag of salt was pushed closer as two men guided his bloody feet into the sack, completely submerging his feet.

A strangled groan escaped Merlin's mouth. He sucked in a ragged gasp but lost it quickly. His fingernails dug into the chair's arms, creating small semicircle depressions in the wood. His toes curled, unintentionally pushing the salt further into the slashes underneath. Forcing another shuddering breath in, he pressed his chin against his chest, more tears leaking from his eyes.

A hand on his hair forced his head up. Eyes half-opened to see the leader in his face again, smirking. "Well?" he pressed as his grip tightened, tugging at his hair painfully.

"N-no…" Merlin spluttered. "No…won't say a… a-anything…"

And with that he fainted dead away, from pain, stress or a mixture of both the torturers didn't know, but nor did they care. The leader let go of his hair, letting his head fall and lie limply against his shoulder, and sighed in disappointment. "Leave him there."

The men lifted Merlin's feet from the bag and started to scrape the salt off his soles and into the sack. Some had become so saturated with blood that it stuck together like a red piece of dough. Picking up the salt, the men left the room, leaving Merlin alone once more.

Arthur didn't stay on his horse for long; the forest had soon become too thick to ride the animal through, and so he had taken to walking on foot, following the trail closely. Before long he found himself in front of a small, run-down shack. It didn't look particularly interesting or important; in fact it seemed quite empty – but it was where the tracks led to.

Checking his sword was still in place, Arthur creaked open the door, which hung in the frame by a single hinge, and stepped inside. Within was much like the exterior; old and seemingly untouched, but Arthur knew he was in the right place as there were disturbances on the dust-covered floor. With a heavy heart he began searching.

"Leave him there."

Arthur heard a man speak in a gruff voice, followed by footsteps. He was standing in a small space below the hut, accessible only by a trapdoor. The small space split into two narrow tunnels – so dark they were barely visible. Drawing his sword, Arthur set of in the direction of the voice. As he rounded a corner he came face to face with a man

The man looked quite surprised then smirked grimly. "Look what we've found here," he said as other men appeared behind him. "Just the man we were talking about."

"Who are you?" Arthur asked sharply, eyes narrowing. The man made no immediate response, but merely watched Arthur curiously. Other men began to congregate around them, trapping him.

"What a surprise we have here, lads," he said loudly, smirk turning into a grin. "Kingy has walked right into our nest. It seems that worm of a boy was useful after all…"

"Who are you?" Arthur repeated in a dangerous tone, but still the man didn't answer him. Instead he clicked his fingers and pointed at the King.

"Get him."

Suddenly, a hundred grimy hands rained down on Arthur, some holding swords and daggers, others with blunt instruments. A few were left empty-handed, but used their fists and brute strength as weapons. Arthur barely had a chance to tug at his sword hilt before he was knocked off his feet by a hard blow delivered to the side of his head. A crash echoed as he clattered to the ground, but was down only for a second before he clambered to his feet and kicked out at the nearest man. The bandit fell, dropping the knife he was holding. Arthur scooped up the tiny weapon and turned to face the other men, quickly engaging in battle. Despite being outnumbered and at a definite weaponry disadvantage, he managed to floor a few more men within seconds, and found a few-second gap long enough for him to pull out his sword.

The rest of the men were no match for the King's many years of training as a knight of Camelot, and it wasn't long before his opponents lay dead, unconscious or groaning on the floor. The leader was among them, lying propped up against the wall of the tunnel. Arthur walked over to him, panting heavily, and pointed his sword at the man's throat.

"Where's Merlin?" he asked quietly.

"Merlin?" The man coughed and spluttered, bringing up a small amount of blood. A small smirk made its way onto his shining mouth. "Is that his name? I had wondered…"

Arthur's booted foot came down hard on his face and a sickening crack echoed down the corridor. Scarlet liquid poured from the man's nose and dripped down his face. The king repeated his question. A weighted pause followed then the beaten bandit slowly raised his hand and pointed down the tunnel. Arthur nodded, turned and ran through the dimness of the corridor.

When he came to an open door, he didn't hesitate before skidding in, and almost threw up at what he saw. The pale, dark-haired young man was slumped over in a wooden chair, cuts and bruises decorating the tapestry of his skin. He quickly ran forward and untied the bonds, fingers fumbling with the blood-sodden ropes.

Then, hauling Merlin out of the chair, he carried him back out and down the tunnel, stopping only to hiss at a groaning man on the floor, "You will pay for this."

"I was afraid of that…" he mumbled before falling sideways, unconscious.

"Who's there?" Gwaine's voice cut through the silent night air, which had previously been disturbed by the sounds of a fight or struggle from somewhere nearby. But all the knight could see was a small, run-down shack. He heard the creaking of floorboards and a hushed voice mumbling. Gwaine bent into a fighting position, his hand already gripping his sword, and waited to see who emerged from the shack. He was quite surprised when he saw the King hobble out of the building, cradling something against his breast.

"Arthur? What are you–Merlin?" Gwaine almost tripped over his own feet in his eagerness to reach the battered boy. "Merlin? Is he-"

"He's alive," Arthur said bluntly through clenched teeth as he stumbled over. Merlin's pale face looked as white as death against Arthur's red tunic and the scarlet blood staining his forehead and cheeks. Mottled purple and green patches adorned his eye sockets, and his nose was wonky, as if it had been squashed sideways. "We need to get him to Gaius."

Gwaine merely nodded silently, a dark rage beginning to boil and bubble inside of him. A burning sensation replaced the cold chill in his gut, until his entire body was engulfed by this angry fire. His fisted hands began to shake, nails digging painfully into the soft flesh of his palms. Arthur noticed this and shook his head.

"Sir Gwaine, we need to get him back. Now. There's no point going after the men who did this, they're in no state fit to fight."

A strangled growl escaped Gwaine, followed by a forced sigh. His shoulders dropped and he managed to calm himself down. For Merlin's sake. Arthur was right; the best thing they could do for him now was to get him back to Camelot, to Gaius, as quickly as possible. Hanging around for revenge wasn't going to help anyone.

They managed to find their horses; Gwaine's was only a few metres away from Arthur's, hidden by a couple of trees. The knight helped hoist Merlin onto Arthur's steed, into a position that meant Arthur could hold onto the reigns with his arms supporting Merlin against his chest. Soon, they were speeding back through the woods, and were more pleased than ever to see the towering gates of Camelot peeping in the distance.

Merlin slept for days. When Arthur and Gwaine turned up on Gaius' doorstep, a half-dead looking Merlin in the King's arms, the old man nearly fainted. He ushered them inside and laid Merlin down on his bed, then promptly threw Gwaine and Arthur out, to tend to his patient in peace. He wouldn't allow either to see Merlin until the boy was far along the road of recovery.

Arthur knocked, for the umpteenth time, on Gaius' door. If the situation wasn't as it was, he would have demanded he be let inside by order of the king, but things being what they were, he waited patiently, despite the fact that for the past four days Gaius had only answered the door to send him on his way after a couple of words.

However, this time, when the aging physician opened the door his face creased with a smile. "Arthur, come in. You're here about Merlin, I presume."

The King merely nodded and stepped inside, looking around for the boy. Gaius gestured the door at the back and said, "He's in his bedroom. He hasn't woken up yet, but his wounds are healing nicely, as are the broken bones."

Arthur felt guilt stab through him: all his fault. He cleared his throat with a small cough and quietly thanked Gaius before slipping into Merlin's room. It was tiny, much smaller than he had imagined, and cramped. But he paid little attention to this, focused entirely on the boy on the bed.

Merlin was looking much better; the cuts and bruises on his face were fading, and his nose was straighter – though it was still slightly off. His feet were bare, and Arthur could see the criss-cross of red scars – which were healing slower than his other wounds. Arthur took a seat by the bed and sighed.

"Merlin…" he murmured, shaking his head. "What did I do?" He paused, staring at Merlin's face – so calm, at peace. Not evil in the slightest. "What was I thinking? I-" he faltered and hesitated before saying, "I'm sorry. I made a mistake – one that almost ended in you losing your life." He sighed again and put his head in his hands. "If you'd died Merlin…I don't know what I would have done. How I could have lived with myself."

"Alright, I get it. I've never heard you sound so sentimental…"

"Merlin!"

Said boy grinned and was about to say something else when Arthur leant down and enveloped him in a hug. Merlin's eyes grew wide and slightly confused but before he had a chance to return the hug, Arthur pulled away quite abruptly, flushing slightly. He coughed and looked down. "Merlin, I mean it. I am truly sorry for what happened, and if I could go back and stop it I would without hesitation."

"I know, Arthur." Merlin was smiling softly. "And it's fine. I forgive you."

Hurray for stupid endings you end up writing when you can't think of a better one! … Didn't like it, seemed rather anticlimactic and not-very-dramatic for the dramaticness of the preceding events. :L Oh well…

You know that School is finally getting to you when you get excited about slipping in some Pathetic Fallacy into your writing…

And sorry it took so long to upload this chapter. I…I don't know; I don't really have an excuse other than generally failing at life. :L Please forgive me?

Review please, you lovely people of awesomeness.

P.S. Anyone out there seen the ending of Series 5 yet? Not gonna spoil it for those who haven't but…it was a bit rushed, methinks.

And I am planning to write a story (longer, hopefully) set afterwards… it's probably already been done by others who have seen it (or will be when others have seen it) but I DON'T CARE. I have thought of scenes of lolness and they make me lol so mneh.