(DISCONTINUED) Merlin burst into the room, slamming the door open with all the carelessness of someone in a hurry.
"Murdock lied."
Arthur paused, his quill hovering above the parchment like a reluctant bird of prey.
"Merlin," the Prince started, hi...
"It's some... kid." Elyan called uncertainly - failing to prevent concern from seeping into his tone - as his fingers skimmed over the boy's damp skin, searching for a pulse.
"There's no way he could have survived the water if he was in it for more than an hour." Sir Leon stated morbidly, staring down into the gully like a vulture as Merlin scrambled ungracefully down the muddy slope to join Elyan.
"H-he's alive," announced the knight, his fingers recognised the weak pulse as a sign of hope for the boy.
Hours previous, the knights had set off from Camelot to search for Morgana. Of course it was futile - even Arthur knew that - but they couldn't give up. Not when they knew she was out there, somewhere, alive. Of course she wasn't foolish enough to hide in any of the surrounding territories - not for a long time, at least - but the King's worsening condition was an urgent appeal to at least attempt to find the witch.
And so it happened that Merlin, Elyan and Gawain - led by the ever-hopeful Leon - were riding through Darkling Woods, headed North towards the outlying villages to inquire of any sightings of Morgana. Arthur had planned to come, but news from his Uncle had stopped him short. The four men had paused to let their horses drink from a stream when Gawain had announced - quite crudely so - that he needed to relieve his bladder.
Yet, no less than a minute later - and with a panicked shout - Gawain remerged, hastily pulling up his trousers and glancing fearfully over his shoulder. Merlin frowned as Leon stood up and drew his sword, the metal glinting in the sun.
"Catch sight of yourself in a mirror, did you Gawain?" Elyan jeered, earning a dark scowl from his victim as he lurched into the clearing.
"No, Elyan - I'll have you all know there's a dead body in the river." Gawain grimaced and looked back over his shoulder.
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2 HOURS BEFORE-
"It wasn't me, I swear I didn't take anything!" The boy sobbed openly, tears cascading down his cheeks as the blade sank further into his neck, threatening to pierce his fair skin and spill rosy droplets to the forest floor.
The man adjusted his grip on the knife-hilt and tried again, his other hand tightening on the boy's shoulder, holding him down on his knees amongst the dry leaves.
"Well, who was it then?" He asked slowly, - dragging out the syllables as though time was not of the essence, as though Murdock wasn't counting down the seconds until his neck was slit - his voice dripping with threatening menace that promised a grisly outcome if this boy didn't give a satisfactory answer.
The boy stopped whimpering to inhale a single, choking breath. His mind tumbled and roared like the churning river behind him; the river that would surely carry his lifeless body away if he didn't come up with something fast.
"Answer me!" An explosion of impatient rage erupted from the boy's interrogator as he tangled his free hand into the boy's hair, jerking his head back, the intricate blade now even more of a stark difference against the boy's pale outstretched throat.
From this perspective, things seemed brighter to Murdock - literally, of course, not metaphorically - as the sun beamed gloriously down on the autumn clearing and cauliflower clouds drifted lazily through a canvas of interminable blue above. Had Murdock not had his hands tied behind his back, or a knife to his throat, or a hoard of vengeful bandits surrounding him, he might have rested his head against a tree to bask in the warmth and peacefulness of the day.
Alas, that was not the case.
"The knights! Camelot's knights - Arthur, and his men. They passed through here yesterday, looking for the King's ward - they could have taken it, surely?" Murdock babbled shakily, hating how high and strained and panicky his voice sounded, pausing only to breathe when his lungs squeezed and his throat tightening. Of course, it was all gibberish - Murdock had attempted to steal the men's gold - and anything else he could lay his hands on, for that matter - but he wouldn't admit it.
All he could do was pray that these bandits were stupid enough to think that the Prince and his men would want their meager goods.
Murdock's arm hurt. Oh, how his arm ached and splintered with pain that ran up and down his body like a cold shiver.
The man leaned over him suddenly, blocking out the morning sun, meaning Murdock could finally get a good look at him. He was huge, imposing and brutal, and not someone Murdock would usually meddle with. Small, squinted beetle-black eyes bore into Murdock's own watery-blue ones, searching for the trickery, the lies hidden beneath the boy's fabricated excuse. With a nose squat and pig-like, a face littered with scars and a dirty scowl hiding cracked, broken teeth, this man was almost everything Murdock was not.
