I can't help but pity the boy that I, just a few days ago, was leading towards Camelot for his execution. Would I really of executed him? I honestly have no idea. It was hard enough to remember that he was a traitor to Camelot, to not think of the friend I once thought he was, when the bandits came into the room and abused him. They knew that he wouldn't affect my ransom, and that if he were to die, I wouldn't care. They knew he was my prisoner, and now, he is theirs.
It took all my willpower to block out the screams when they threw him into the table, ripping off his trousers while the other men held him down onto the rough wood. I did everything in my power not to call out and help my former manservant when the large, sweaty bandit thrusted in and out of the boy. He sobbed and cried, embarrassed and overwhelmed with unbearable pain. The men paid no heed to his discomfort as they all took their turns.
It was bad enough when that happened, but this is almost worse. The boy sits in the cell corner, sobbing, not out of pain, necessarily, though I'm sure it's unbearable as is, but out of the pure loss of hope. His eyes are slashed and raw. His ears are drilled and ruined, leaving him without any sense of sound. He cried out a few times, calling out my name. It was a plea in itself. A plea for help. A plea for pity.
He gave up many minutes ago, scooting away from the spot the bandits had thrown him to when they were last in here. He felt the wall, finding the nearest corner to place himself in. He sobbed quietly, tears burning his bloodied wounds. The boy would never see, nor hear again. Perhaps if he had had medical treatment immediately, the organs could of be saved, but the rescue party would not arrive for many more days.
I hesitate, before silently scooting over to the boy. I eye the enchanted manacled, blaming myself only partially for telling the bandits of his magic. The look in Merlin's eyes was of one of such betrayal when it happened, but I didn't care. He had betrayed me. It's only fair. That is, at least, what I keep telling myself.
I touch the man's hand only slightly, but he flinches violently, whimpering as he attempts to hit me away. No doubt he thinks I'm one of the bandits. Atleast, I hope that's what he's thinking as he attempts to escape my hold. I grip both of his wrists gently. He cries out, trying to kick me away. I move his hands upwards towards my face, letting him feel the features. His eyebrows scrunch in confusion as his struggling ceases to some extent. His figures search out my face and into my hair.
"A-Arthur." He chokes out, his voice full of tears and sorrow. I nod into his hands, making the boy let out another choking sob. I wrap an arm around him. He stiffens slightly before relaxing into my chest. He wets my shoulder with his tears as I rub small circles into his back.
This goes on for a few minutes before his sobs turn into hiccups and he pulls away from my arms. He wipes away the tears on his cheeks, though it does nothing for the blotchiness. I wipe the hair out of his eyes, even though I know it will do anything to help him see. He flinches initially, but does not pull away. I want to tell him that I forgive him for lying to me. I want to tell him how much he means to me, and how sorry I am for bringing him into this, for not letting him explain before putting a sword in his back and tying his wrists together with rope. I want to tell him how sorry I am for telling the bandits about his magic so that there was no way for him to escape. I want to tell him how sorry I am about waiting this long before going to comfort him. I want to tell him how sorry I am… for not being there for him when he needed me the most.
Alas, I can't.