Hengist has captured Merlin instead
They're going to love you, Merlin had told him.
The crowd outside the cage certainly loves him, would love him both victorious and with his guts spilled — depending on which side they have bet on. The cheers and the boos wash his skin with grime and blood, but they welcome him and love him, nonetheless.
Lancelot tries not to wonder what Merlin would think of him now. Merlin is far away in Camelot, and Lancelot would be long dead before Merlin would think of him, would learn of his fate. The knights didn't love him in the end, so Lancelot settled for someone who would, someone who could use his sword, and that, unfortunately, was only ever someone like Hengist.
Lancelot skips towards the center of the cage and takes in his opponent. The guy is a mountain of a man, and the bloodthirsty crowd goes wild around him. If he wins against that, it's going to be a whole bag of gold, and if not — well, Lancelot wouldn't need to worry about it then.
He throws a last look towards their host to gauge his mood and stops short.
On Hengist's right hand, pale against the opulence of furs and skulls, sits someone who should have been safe and happy in Camelot. Their gazes meet over the rambunctious crowd, and it's the start of the battle that makes Lancelot avert his own, but something vile and shameful spikes his veins as the blue eyes of Hengist's guest keep following him.
But soon, those blue eyes have to leave his mind, for he's moving around the cage, slashing and parrying and pushing — all the usual moves of his favorite dance. He doesn't mind the pain, the blood, the grime; they're all a package deal to what he was born to do, and a twisted sense of belonging fills him while he fights to kill amidst the lowlives' gazes, all while blue eyes still pierce him from high above.
The finishing moves of his dance bring his sword to the man's throat, and he knows what he must do; he has done it before. The sword inches further, grazing the neck in a death's chaste kiss, but the weight on his shoulders makes him look up and meet Merlin's eyes over the hungry crowd that urges him to kill, kill, kill.
Lancelot stays his blade.
It is against the rules of the cage, and maybe Lancelot has allowed this sick place to permeate him, grime and blood long stuck under his fingernails, but he can't fall even lower in Merlin's eyes. He sheathes the sword and doesn't look at the terrified eyes of his opponent, and he leaves the cage behind him. With the hungry crowd booing at him for his bloodless victory, his feet bring him to Hengist.
He tries to look at Merlin only briefly, to not show his interest in front of their host, but what he sees leaves him paralyzed, cold sweat running down the temples and heart beating frantically, like a rabbit in a snare.
What first gets his attention is a bruise, blooming red on Merlin's cheek, right under his eyes, bright with disbelief. He can't look at them, though, as his gaze falls lower to the neck where Merlin's usual neckerchief is missing, some bulky, ugly collar clasped tight around his throat.
While his eyes are fixed on Merlin, he misses Hengist's face going ripe red with anger and him giving a sign to his men.
At once, two thugs step forward, grip him by the shoulders, and push him to his knees. His sword at the hip clinks uselessly against the stone floor. He can't run, there are too many people, and like vultures, they would eat him before he even reaches the cages. He can't run and leave Merlin here.
He stays still on his knees as Hengist spits at him. "There's no mercy in this place, you stupid rat." And again, the hungry crowd shouts and urges for the kill, kill, kill. "You should have known better. I will always have some blood, one way or another."
Hengist gives another signal, and Lancelot hears a thug drawing a dagger, still dirty with another's caked blood, and swallows his fear at the kiss of the blade on his throat. He doesn't want to leave Merlin here alone, but he can't run.
"Wait!" Merlin shouts. His voice is hoarse and weak, and his eyes seem feverish. "Don't kill him. Please."
"Would you look at that," Hengist laughs, and bile reaches Lancelot's throat as the lord's attention shifts to his prisoner. "My pet sorcerer took a liking to you."
Sorcerer. Is it good that Hengist knows about it, would see him as valuable enough to spare? Is it bad? Lancelot doesn't know.
"What's it about, hm?" Hengist watches them. "Is it the way he fought? Would you ask the same for any of my men, pet?"
"No," Merlin answers bluntly, defiance still shining through his features despite everything.
"Then why?" Hengist indulges him, a twisted smile stuck on his face.
"He has a kind heart. It should not be wasted."
Lancelot looks down, shame piercing that same heart. What value is it if he's here of his own volition, fighting and killing for money? Has Merlin really looked at it, or does he still remember that naive lad from when he first came to Camelot?
"A kind heart?" Hengist laughs with abandon, and his thugs echo him. "And what do you think it's worth? A gold piece a pound? A silver? I'll tell you what it's worth — nothing."
Hengist raises his hand to give another signal for his execution, but Merlin grabs at it. "Don't!" The shackles on his wrists clink with an ugly sound, and Lancelot despairs at the sight. "Don't hurt him. I'll do what you want, just don't hurt him."
Hengist seethes at the touch and grips Merlin's shackled hand with his own, hard, squeezing it until he cries out. Hengist doesn't release him then. He stands up and, his meaty palm still on Merlin, strides purposefully towards the cages, Merlin stumbling after him.
They stop at the entrance, the crowd going silent with curiosity around them. The thugs turn Lancelot around, curious as well, and the dagger grazes his throat at the careless movement.
Hengist puts Merlin's back to him and reaches for one of the heavy keys strung at his neck. He unlocks the shackles and the collar at Merlin's nape, and in one swift movement shoves him brutally into the cage. Merlin crashes hard onto the rough stone, scraping his palms against it.
In front of him stands the cowering form of a giant Lancelot spared, his sword long gone to the vultures outside the cage.
Behind him, the door slams shut, with Hengist leaning against it, and Lancelot can't see the sleazy smile on his face, but he can definitely hear it.
"I'm feeling kind today," and the crowd cackles with him. "I'll give one of you rats another chance."
At these words, the giant stops cowering, and a huge bloody smile shines on his face. His eyes go to the still kneeling form in front of him. Merlin is still panting and coughing and doesn't get up. Lancelot would shout for him to get up, but the dagger presses closer to his neck, and he has to swallow his words lest he soaks them with blood.
"You," Hengist addresses the warlock. "If you lose, or decide to spare him, I'll kill that rat over there," he pauses to let that sink in. The weight of these words falls heavily on Merlin, as he struggles to get up on shaking legs. "Show me what you're worth."
And it is all the signal the giant needs. He surges forward, as if pushed by his chance to stay alive and keep the worthless life Lancelot desperately regrets sparing. He throws himself at Merlin, crushing into him with all his weight, and brings him back down onto the bloody floor.
Lancelot watches, helplessness and misery clawing at his throat worse than any dagger could. He thrashes against his captors, but their iron grip locks him in place, and a heavy fist buries itself deep into his gut, knocking the breath out of him along with all the struggle, and only the sickening nausea remains. He is forced to watch, and he won't blink, won't avert his gaze from whatever happens, because it's the only thing he can do for Merlin, and he should see the consequences of his own actions.
The giant brings his hands to Merlin's neck, pushing into where the collar was just a minute ago, and Merlin lets out a pained and breathless gasp, his own hands going weakly for the giant's. Still, the thug's hands cling to Merlin's neck, like he clings to his own chance to live. There's no regret or shame on the bloody face, only a smile of a man breathing in his freedom.
Merlin's hands fall down. Lancelot's heart skips a beat, and there's a moment of sick triumph on the giant's face before he is suddenly, violently thrown back by an invisible force. The man's massive frame flies easily through the air and crashes into the iron cage with a rattle and a wet, loud crunch of bone. It slides heavily onto the floor and doesn't get up. Blood leaks from his fractured skull in a thick stream, and his lifeless eyes stare wide, frozen in a permanent, glassy gaze of horror directed right at Merlin.
Merlin stands up shakily, his breath fast and gulping, and stares at the body with golden eyes.
Hengist appears at his back and snaps the collar back around his throat, and the sun in Merlin's eyes instantly dies out, giving way to the feverish, dazed blue. Merlin's breath hitches loudly, painfully, and he brings his shaking hands to the collar and then jerks them away, as if burned.
All the while, Hengist laughs amidst the uneasy spectators and leads the sorcerer out by his arm. He nods at Lancelot's captors, and he is set free, and at once he rushes closer, stopping at the edge of the crowd.
Up close, Merlin looks even worse now. His skin shines with sweat, and he wheezes with each breath, and a new bruise blooms under the metal collar. It was put there by another's hands, but those as well may be Lancelot's own. Lancelot yearns to close the distance and to rip away the damn collar which must be hurting him somehow, to plead forgiveness for his mistake Merlin had to pay for, to take him away from Hengist.
He stays, rooted to the spot, afraid of making another mistake. Merlin doesn't look at him.
Hengist reaches for a bag at his belt and throws it at Lancelot. He catches it on a reflex, and the gold burns his hands.
"For the entertainment," Hengist comments and watches him before once again shifting his attention to the prisoner. He grabs the sorcerer by the collar, dirty nails biting into the skin. "You truly think that guy's heart is kind?" Someone from the crowd laughs on reflex but quickly shuts up at Hengist's annoyed glare. "That rat kills just like anyone does. All for a bag of gold."
The statement punches him in the gut and once again knocks all air and struggle out of him. It's the truth, and it settles heavy on his shoulders, a perfect fit. It's the truth, and it flays at his chest, reaching toward his heart with each bloody memory, each murder. It's the truth, and Lancelot looks down in shame, not wishing to see Merlin's disappointed look, not deserving of the blood on Merlin's hands.
It's no matter. By the time he finds the courage to look up, both Hengist and Merlin are gone.
The crowd disperses, finally sated with their bloody meal, and the dirty bag of gold burns a hole through his hands and falls down on the floor.
~~~
ch 1/3. I'm posting it on ao3 as well ✍️
