Chapter Text
The boy that lay unconscious in the dungeons was hardly worth another glance. Raganhar thought he was hardly even worth considering, with his tattered clothes and his scrawny figure. He wouldn’t even make a good servant. Raganhar thought it best to find whatever valuables they could find on his person and get rid of him as soon as possible. He hardly expected to find anything at all.
Merlin. He called himself Merlin— like the bird, Raganhar thinks.
It looks like they did find something.
Raganhar inspected the sigil in his hand; A bird mid-flight with a cross. It wasn’t the most extravagant design, and neither was the silver polished and gleaming, but the power that it held was what caught his eye. It belonged to the house of de Bois— previously known to be in the hands of the late Queen of Camelot.
“Found it in ‘is jacket,” said one of the mercenaries. Raganhar didn’t bother learning their names. They hardly made it past a few months.
Not many would recognize the importance of sigils, and most definitely not a peasant boy in tattered clothes.
Not a peasant, he corrected himself. He had to agree; the peasant garbs made an efficient disguise. He almost didn’t believe it, but now that he looked closely, the boy did paint a pretty picture.
“Move him to the cells and make sure he’s well-fed,” Raganhar instructed. “And send King Arthur an invite; tell ‘em either he restores the right to my lands, or it’s his consort’s life.”
It was the perfect opportunity to reclaim his land from the King. His father was executed during the Great Purge, and his lands were distributed among various other Lords. Raganhar was forced to live as an outlaw ever since.
But no more. Arthur Pendragon wouldn’t deny his ransom. The fact that his precious consort carried around his sigil everywhere must have meant something. Besides, it wasn’t every day that you held the Prince Consort of Camelot captive. He best make good use of it.
***
Merlin woke up groggy and disoriented; he could hardly tell what was up from down and left from right. His head hurt, and his throat was parched. He took a few minutes to recall how he ended up behind bars when the last thing he remembered was feeding Athiusha some fish.
It was the boy with the sprained ankle, Merlin remembered. On his way back to Camelot after sending the little dragon away, he had stumbled across a child clutching his ankle. He’d introduced himself and tried to help him out, but the next thing he knew, the world went dark, and his head throbbed with the force of a thousand animals trampling all over him.
Right, Camelot. He really hoped Arthur didn’t notice his absence. He didn’t know how long he was out for, but Merlin could probably escape without Arthur noticing he was gone. If he failed, he probably had a mountain of chores waiting for him as punishment.
Once his limbs felt functional, Merlin looked around and noticed a plate of bread and a cup of water in the far end of his cell. He didn’t want to take a chance, but the bread didn’t smell stale, and the water wasn’t muddy. In fact, out of all the times he’s been held hostage, this might be the best treatment he’s ever received.
He took a sip of the water. It didn’t taste like it was poisoned. The same went for the bread.
Merlin made a mental note to hold back as much as he could against his captives and proceeded to devour his meal.
His head kept throbbing, but his magic still worked. He decided to get this over with as soon as possible.
Merlin peaked out of his cell, noticed two guards standing a little over to his left. He whispered a silent sleeping spell and winced as the pair fell unaided to the ground with a thud. After that, it was pretty easy to unlock his cell.
There was a table on the side of the room, filled with assorted objects. Merlin spared a glance and kept walking forward, but a glint of metal caught his eye.
It looked suspiciously like the small knife he used to gather Gaius’ herbs.
Merlin checked his boots, only to find them empty. So it was his knife.
Another thought occurred to him. He quickly checked his jacket, and then his whole body, but he couldn’t find it. He’d lost it. He’d lost Arthur’s sigil. The sigil Arthur had entrusted him for safekeeping, the one that Merlin vowed to look after.
It must be here somewhere, Merlin thought desperately.
“Looking for something?”
Merlin turned back, scolding himself for not paying attention to his surroundings. It should have been impossible not to notice a brutish man’s footsteps approaching.
“Who are you?” Merlin asked, clutching his small knife behind his back. It was practically useless against a man of that build, but if Merlin aimed correctly, he could nick one of his major arteries and deliver the man a slow, painful death. Sometimes it pays to be the physician's apprentice.
“Raganhar,” the man answered. Merlin thought he'd heard of that name before but couldn’t place where. “Would you, by chance, be looking for this?”
Raganhar pulled out something from his pouch, holding it up for Merlin to see.
Merlin grit his teeth, recognizing it as his sigil.
Suddenly, just as Merlin was about to answer, he heard footsteps from the other end of the corner. Two, no three, more guards appeared, drawing their weapons when they saw the two guards on the floor.
“Give it back,” Merlin spat. He could easily knock out the three guards behind him, but first, he needed the sigil to be safe.
Raganhar frowned and shrugged, twirling the sigil in his fingers. “I’ve got no use for it,” he said and tossed it towards Merlin.
Merlin couldn’t catch it, which was quite embarrassing. Raganhar and the guards laughed at his clumsiness, but he was used to people (namely Arthur) making fun of his uncoordinated limbs.
Now, however, with the sigil safe in his hand, Raganhar had lost his only form of protection.
“But I have got use for you,” Raganhar continued, walking forward. “Your Highness,” he added, which made Merlin pause for a second.
“It would be best for you to return to your cell without any fuss, I’d recommend it, personally. I’d hate to start a war over a scratch on your body,” Raganhar said, but Merlin was still hung up over being referred to as your highness.
Was he being mistaken for Arthur? No, it can’t be. No one would be stupid enough to confused Merlin for Arthur. They were polar opposites, completely different.
All this thinking made his head hurt even more.
Raganhar was only a few steps ahead of him, and Merlin could hear the three guards closing in on him. Merlin glanced back.
Once the four men formed a circle around him, Merlin broke into action. The three men on his back were close enough to be knocked unconscious by his blast of magic, but Raganhar still looked lucid enough.
“Magic,” Raganhar accused. He was still lucid enough to speak, apparently. “How…?”
“I’m grateful that you held on to this,” Merlin cut in, gesturing to Arthur’s sigil. “But I’m sorry to have to do this.”
Merlin sent out another blast of magic, flinging Raganhar to the opposite wall. A faint crack echoed through the silent corridor, which couldn’t be right because Merlin wasn’t aiming to kill—
Merlin knelt in front of the limp body, checking for a pulse. He could hear one, but it was faint. He guessed it must have been a head injury.
He hesitated for a second. These men had seen him do magic. When they woke up, they would know what happened to them, and if word got out and they somehow reached Arthur’s ears…
No. Merlin wasn’t worth remembering. No one cared about a servant, and neither would they hunt for him because they failed to kill him the first time. To these men, Merlin was just a mere peasant. They didn’t even know Merlin was the manservant to the King.
It wasn’t worth taking their lives, Merlin decided. Putting the ones he came across to sleep, Merlin made his way out of the castle.