Chapter Text
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With the rapid pace Ragnor was setting, and nothing to eat for two days,
he'd need to come up with an escape plan quickly, or they would lose the strength to make the attempt. Not that Merlin had much strength to lose, of course--such a weakling.
Once Arthur had cobbled together a rough escape plan, he whispered it into Merlin's ear, closing with "Just go along with it."
"I don't know, Arthur. Is this the best option we've got?" he whined back.
Gritting his teeth, Arthur spat out, "This is NOT up for discussion, Merlin!" And to squash any further debate, he put the plan into action, yanking the stacked supplies off the wagon bed, using his lead rope. Merlin copied his actions, without any further argument.
As expected, Ragnor stopped the wagon, and guided his horse back to the first handful of prisoners, and dismounted. He focused his scowl on Arthur and Merlin.
"What the 'ell have you done, ya worthless scum?! I've 'alf a mind to kill the mighty King o' Camelot for making such trouble." With that, he unleashed a fierce punch directly into Arthur's gut, knocking all the air out of his lungs in one big "oof."
Breathe, just pull in some air, Arthur pleaded with his body. Before he could steady himself, Ragnor's knee to his groin turned his world even whiter than the surrounding snow, with more explosions of pain. He crumpled to the ground. So far, this escape wasn't going to plan.
Merlin threw himself at Ragnor's back, trying to bowl him over, even as Ragnor's boot stomped on Arthur's forearm. A horrifying crunch was heard, quickly followed by a sharp grunt from Arthur. With a roar, Ragnor threw Merlin off his back; the slight manservant was no match for sturdier slaver. Merlin fell back into the arms of one of Ragnor's men, who quickly hit Merlin's head sharply with the pommel of his sword, felling him to the snow, unconscious.
By this point, the rest of Ragnor's underlings had gathered closer to their leader. His lieutenant joined in the king-bashing by kicking Arthur in the back several times, while Arthur tried to curl his body around his no-doubt broken arm.
He then hauled Arthur up to his knees in front of the smirking Ragnor. "Well, how does the pretty king like being on his knees in front of our 'Lord' Ragnor?" the lieutenant mocked.
A casual voice intoned, "Is this really necessary?" Mordred had stepped to the rear of the wagon. "I'm sure the Lady Morgana won't take kindly to damaged merchandise. She's got her own plans for Arthur," he sneered.
Ragnor, not happy with the Druid interfering in his fun, narrowed his eyes as he looked Mordred over. He stepped closer to Arthur, speaking lowly. "Just so you don't forget, 'Your Majesty', who's in charge here," mocking Arthur's honorific. He landed a forceful blow to Arthur's face. The king fell back, blood pouring out of his nose. Arthur unsuccessfully tried to staunch the flow without moving his injured arm. All he could really do was to tip his head back to slow the flow of blood somewhat. Gods, now his nose was broken in addition to his arm. This really was not going as planned, not at all.
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