Something.. something.. "a-little-bit-of-in-between"

Need a bit more time to have Chapter 9 ready for "Growing Secrets"

Meantime.. something else.. something different.

Hope you like, review, enjoy~

..

They dragged Gwaine back and Merlin only needed to take a glimpse of him to realize he had never seen the knight so beat up. He wanted to rush to attend to his wounds as much as his skills, available recourses and their unfortunate circumstances permitted, but he wasn't let near him.

"Gwaine!".. - But he got caught off, pushed against the wall, cornered and held down by two men twice his size and once his arms were held securely behind his back he got led out the dungeon cell towards, where he presumed Gwaine has been.

He put up a fight, but it was futile and almost went unobserved by the two somber meat towers forcing him to walk along the dirty dim corridor.

He could hear sounds nearing, as if some sort of feast was being held in a chamber nearby.

His heart was racing. Just where are they taking him… and where is Arthur?..

But nonetheless a plan started to form in his mind; as much as a trouble it was right now, he tried to focus on its details as he got dragged along the two wooden doors, with the sounds of a feast echoing from behind them.

He would use magic. He had to.

He would use his birth gift and fight back. He would find Arthur, help Gwaine and meet up with the rest of the knights while escaping this damned place. Make them all pay..

He would…. He would… - his heart pounding in his throat as the doors got opened and he got showered into the light that seemed all too sudden and too strong for his eyes that got so used to the dimness of the dungeon cell through these passed few days that he'd been held there.

He got shoved forward and his feet quickly stumbled and he fell face forward to a dirty floor. The crowd laughed. – as it became obvious to him he was in some sort of arena; the stone floor of it littered with dirty hay, stained with dark patches that could only be blood, pits of trash of leftovers tossed in by the excited crowd; or who knows, even parts of previous competitors that were unfortunate enough to be hauled in here and denied the chance to ever get out; and the cheering feast was all around him. He tried to get to his feet, managing only after some tottering to do so.

The lights were blinding him still and couldn't see well.

"Bow before me, your king!" – the dark-haired and bearded man yelled and the crowd laughed and cheered.

"Never!" – he screamed feeling some spit flying along with that word.

"Oh how loyal he is!" – the mocking voice yelled back and the "guests" erupted in laughter.

"Bow boy!" – and someone gripped his hair tilting his head back, and in the same time he felt a kick from the side on his knee and it painfully made the bowing for him as he fell to the ground with the hurting limb beneath him.

He groaned in pain and sat still as the hands held him down. – figuring it's the two brutes from before, that soon left his side.

"Alas! Dear guests! The next number has arrived! Lets see if he entertains us as much as his fellow vermin did!" – and the gathered ones once again cheered and yelled and Merlin tried to look around to see where he was and what was he up against, but then he spotted a man showing up at the other end of the arena, and he barely managed to stagger to his feet; his opponent came charging at him and before he could think or move a sudden swoosh made him lose interest in the crowd and the place and rather jump back as the man in front of him was wielding a blade that unlike the place itself, looked very sharp and looked after; not to mention he still had his hands tied behind his back.

"Go on Brutus!" – he heard the previous "kings'" shouting through the crowd, and he could've sworn he heard another familiar voice shouting his very name but couldn't find the time to go look for him, as the next one of Brutus's attempts got a little too close and he felt his shirt rip and the sharp blade came in a painful contact with his stomach. He jumped back again but was met with the arena wall.

Brutus was showing off his blade to the crowd who cheered on continuously.

"First blood!" – and the gathered ones produced an insanely loud response.

Merlin could spot a shimmer of red on the blade and quickly realized where it had come from; looking down he saw the gap on his newly torn shirt and there was a growing red mark that urged him to do something about all this, and fast.

He looked down trying to gasp for air, then a flash of gold none seen, - none seen. Because he got so used to hiding his magic.. it felt natural to use it in secret - and when Brutus charged the next minute, he was surprised to find his opponent no longer had his hands tied. Merlin watched the incoming brute and gripped his wrist just in time. The blade made a small cut on his cheek but it was better then losing all of his head. It became clear to him in no time that Brutus wasn't just twice his size but was well overpowering him as well, so he changed tactics. A flash of gold and the man let go of his blade with a scream – he had to, it was burning his palm like iron out of a blacksmiths forge. - Or so it felt to him.

Merlin picked up the dropped blade without hesitation, and Brutus too didn't stand around wondering at his burnt palm for too long. Someone tossed him a sword and gripping it in his other hand he was charging straight at the skinny young man once again.

Merlin kept defending himself for what seemed like forever. Has he really got used to not using magic? – his mind retorted, as his body struggled to defend himself against the powerful blows.

A flash of gold and the brute started stumbling on his own feet for some reason; another set of blade clashes and the young man escaped with a cut on his shoulder, but was much luckier then Brutus, who had a blade sticking out of him, and after some clumsy steps fell to the ground with a loud thud.

The crowd roared at the loss of their obvious champion and the so called king of this fest was no calmer about it.

Merlin tried to use the little time to look around again, but the two meat towers rushed in once again and a heavy backhand got him rolling on the ground, and the world spinning in front of him.

"You have killed my champion.." – the king echoed. And the young man felt someone grab hold of his dark mane once again and pulled him off the ground, his wrists gripped by strong hands.

A rope got tossed across the large candle holder in the ceiling and Merlin froze at the sight. They were going to hang him…..?

The two brutes dragged him to the rope and all he could do is protest, but then the ropes went around his wrist instead of his neck and he felt somewhat relieved, even if it still didn't promise anything good as he got hoisted towards the ceiling until his feet barley touched the ground.

"You will pay with sweat and blood for that boy.. You will have to entertain us without a fight!" – the man yelled once again followed by the crowds vivid reaction and it sounded all too threatening.

What was he fiddling around for?... – he snapped at himself. He let his magic build up and contemplated meantime where to strike first, but then the king continued.

"..maybe it will show your precious master how willing you are and change his mind to do the same." – and Merlin felt his guts freeze as he looked up next to the dark-haired man and then to his side; and there sat Arthur; tied up; and looking at him. Looking straight at him….

He cant do magic in front of Arthur… Can he? No.. not even in this situation.. Not yet... He can't… then… what is to come of him?...

A glance of desperation from both sides got cut off when someone walked up to Merlin and his attention caught site of the knife the man had. He tried to pull back as much as his roped could let him, cutting into his wrists, but it was quite useless; and the man stepped up to him with a horrible grin on his face and grabbed his shirt.

Merlin then heard ripping sounds and realized his shirt was being cut off of him. And before he knew it, he was standing there bare.

This was not good. So not good.

The crowd continued to holler and shout and laugh and yell things at him and he felt exposed and shivering and scared. Very scared.

"See how stubborn you are now, boy…" - the man with the knife laughed leaning close and grabbing his jaw gave him a little push.

Merlin spat at him. It was a well targeted one, and it earned him a heavy fist in the stomach that left him coughing struggling for air for some time. Then another and another one..

He hasn't eaten in a few days. That didn't help either, and he felt that iron taste in his mouth and inevitable drops that rolled off from the corner of his mouth. He didn't have to see them to know they were of the color red; and tasted of blood.

He was left alone with his agony for a bit, while the noises of his surroundings continued to wave around him.

He could only see in front of him, not knowing what's going on behind him, but he dreaded it cant be anything good.

"Should he?" – the king shouted motioning to something behind him, that Merlin couldn't see, yet the gathered ones shouting and cheering didn't promise anything good. He tried to turn around to see what was going on but then he wished he didn't.. He caught sight from the corner of his eye of one of the brutes, that was standing in the middle of the circle dipping something in a bucket, and when he pulled it out Merlin could see it was a rather rough and long whip.

Merlins eyes shot up at Arthur and the complete dread he saw on his face matched his own.

No.. they are trying to convince Arthur of something.. using him. Making him watch what was being done to his servant to change his mind. But with Arthur's watchful eyes he cant use magic…he just cant.. not yet..

So there was nothing to be done - he realized with dread and heard the cracking of the whip behind him as the man tried its hateful swing out in the air..

It got him teary of the fear that he will be feeling that crack on his own exposed back all too soon, but if nothing else, he was determined not to let his king see his pain. So he closed his eyes. It was the least he could do..

And the whip came down. Hard. And merciless. And eyes squeezed tight, and jaw clenched but he couldn't hold back a flinch and a groan of pain from it..

And it didn't stop there; it came slamming down again and again on his hurting skin; ripping it, lining it; the long stinging tongue hatefully licking at the swellings it created before. Merlin felt it go numb, yet he could feel each and every strike and even if he kept his eyes shut or averted from his king, his voice was betraying his determination not to let them know just how much it hurts. And the crowd cheered and laughed, and he could hear Arthur yelling and the world was becoming numb as all his mind focused on the burning pain on his back and sides.

Suddenly all became to a halt and though his sweat and tears he could hear the dark-haired man say something and through the tear-dimmed windows of his sight he could see he was addressing his king.

"D… don't do it.. ARTHUR!" – he roared with the very last of his strength pushing the sounds passed the blood in his throat and saw faces turn towards him, then another hit befell on him, this time a blunt and close one; a fist - he guessed, and his attention went back to the coughs and pain again. Then a sudden splash of cold water over him, he gasped for air as the angry red lines all ached at once on his back as response to the liquid.

He then heard the whip crack again and the roars echoed in his head he feared the torture will continue shortly, but then ..it didn't.

There was commotion amongst the crowd. Something was amiss. Looking up he felt rather then saw that the gathered ones were startled and moving.

The knights of Camelot have come. – he thought to himself with little relief.

Percival, Leon and the others… he helped them escape and now they have returned with the rest of the knights… it will be all right. - He couldn't be sure, but wanted to believe it. Believe it very much.

Everything will be okay.. Arthur will be safe too..

He didn't know how. He just knew.

He heard his name being shouted, but it was very far away on the brink of consciousness. To far for him to reach.

To far to reach him.