The Cult of Emrys
Chapter One
Disclaiment: The Author only owns what she owns, and nothing she doesn't

A\N: Hello Merlin fandom! It's been a while, hasn't it? Well anyways, I've decided to write this fic. It's probably going to be super short, under five chapters for sure. The basis of this is it's an AU where Merlin's magic was revealed when he was still in Ealdor and a scheming group of sorcerers get ahold of him to rule Camelot. Merlin's not exactly down for that, but without control of his magic, he doesn't see many options in his future. Arthur gets kidnapped by this group, known as The Cult of Emrys, and the two will have to sort out the proper destiny and all that. It's set pre-series time, probably six months before the first episode. Ok, I think that's about it. On to the story! Charge and all that! FOR THE LOVE OF CAMELOT! *large army ventures forth with dramatic horses*

"How are you doing?"

Prince Arthur of Camelot was sitting on the damp ground of the forest with his hands shackled together and a metal band around his neck. Not only had he been miserably taken prisoner, but his captors had had the gall to use magical restraints on him. If he even tried to escape, the cursed collar would begin to burn- even thinking about it too hard made it itch.

So he wasn't exactly doing great.

He wasn't even going to respond to the dark haired boy when he noticed that he was also wearing a metal collar, although his was thicker and had even more of those sorcerous runes on it. Was this another prisoner? Arthur really doubted the young man was making a fashion statement.

"I've been better." Arthur managed to say only bitingly instead of murderously in a show of curious magnanimity.

"I can imagine." The other, possible, prisoner nodded his head, "Far cry from ruling a kingdom?"

"As if you know anything about royalty? For all you know, I could be kidnapped every day before breakfast." Arthur sneered superciliously; secretly amused by the odd turn this conversation had taken. He wouldn't let the peasant know though, anybody really. It hit Arthur how starved he was for stimulation that this was the least boring thing to happen to him since he'd been kidnapped.

"I don't think so. You certainly don't look as if you've missed any breakfasts recently."

"Did you just call me fat?!" Arthur was more than a little surprised, this was almost getting surreal.

"That would be rude, of course not!" He responded, "I just insinuated that your princely lifestyle-"
Arthur cut him off with a look. He was incredibly bemused, not sure whether he should be angry or to start laughing. On one hand, the prince was quite indignant about being talked to in such an insulting, familiar manner, but on the other it was strangely amusing.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" The prince inquired.

"I'm just Merlin," the dark haired boy shrugged, "I've been here for years. They captured me and burnt down my village a long time ago."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, wondering what they had taken Merlin for. Was he some sort of slave? Or was he some kind of political pawn? Arthur had assumed he was a peasant but presumably Merlin would have to be of import for them to destroy a village to get him. Of course, Arthur reminded himself, who was he to know how the minds of sorcerers worked?

The captors were a surprisingly large group of sorcerers and Druids who wanted to put a man called Emrys upon the throne of Camelot. For years this group had grown in strength and power until they had the influence to bribe the castle guards and capture Arthur from his own bed after his glass had been drugged with a powerful sleeping draught. These sorcerers were dangerous and a very big problem.

So what could the Cult of Emrys want with Merlin?

"Any way to escape?" Arthur had to ask.

"Not for me," Merlin said glumly, "I don't even have anywhere left to go. I don't know about you. If they have you on a tracking spell, then no."

"There has to be some way out!"

"Death?" Merlin offered darkly, scowling,

"My father will send a rescue party after me. It's not the most dignified of escapes, but I'll get you out."

Merlin shook his head, hand reaching for his own metal band. "See this symbol?" It looks like a squaggly 'Q' with a curved mustache extending from its middle. "If I don't stay close to Dras then I'll die a painful death. Or something of that nature. I tested it once, I was free for about three days but it got to the point where I was convulsing it was so bad. They found me soon after that and put even more wards on me."

"What if you got the collar off?" Arthur asked, disgusted about such cruel magic. Did he have that symbol carved into his?

"Then I would... I don't know." Merlin admitted, "It could quite possibly kill me. I've had it on for so long that magic- I don't know. I've never managed to even scratch the metal so I don't thinks it's possible to take it off without magic."

"You're just full of optimism, Merlin."

"Sorry, prat, but if I knew how, I would have left years ago."

"So you're just going to accept there's nothing to be done? You're not going to fight?"

"I've fought enough." Merlin replied, "If it wasn't much use then, back when my fury raged from my mothers death, my best friend lying in the dirt with an arrow in his side, and my freedom stripped away. If I could have done anything at all, I would have done it then. I tried everything, but my hate and desperation destroyed me.

"So yes, I have accepted my fate. If there was anything I could do to stop it, I would."

Arthur wasn't sure how to respond. Things had gotten too personal and they were only strangers. Arthur had hoped that he could get some help, he had never wanted a tragic defeatist rant. In some ways, Arthur was scared that Merlin was right, and the prince wouldn't get out of this mess.

Merlin let out a nervous laugh, and gave an awkward shrug, "Sorry. You didn't need to hear that. I suppose I'm still bitter, probably always will be."

"I still believe that my father can get us out of this." Arthur stated, still not ready to abandon all hope.
Merlin gave an odd looking smile, as if trying not to laugh but nodded and managed to give a serious answer, "I hope that you're right."

"Do these cursed collars actually do damage or does it make us just feel the pain?" Arthur's collar had been itching incessantly and he was wondering if he could just brave the pain and run regardless. It wouldn't be easy, but as long as the pain was only in his mind, Arthur was willing to fight with his stubbornness. However, if the band was actually burning his neck, Arthur would prefer to refrain from killing himself and getting a rather unattractive brand.

Merlin winced, making Arthur worried, "Usually, it's just pain. Dras can change that with a thought though." He lifted up an edge of his own collar, showing a nasty looking burn scar.

Arthur gave a sober nod and went back to his background planning. The main thing to do would be to get the collar off then, no matter how impossible Merlin claimed it to be. What would he know? Arthur was still assuming he was a peasant, and peasants weren't exactly known for their agile minds or warriorcraft. He knew that wasn't exactly fair, it came from the part of him that his father has instilled, but the prince needed some way to believe that he wasn't utterly doomed. If Merlin was an equal, and his rage hadn't even let him escape, then Arthur had less of a chance. As the Prince, Arthur was used to leading and guiding all his subordinates, protecting them and taking charge. So both habit and fear had him put Merlin as a less capable victim who Arthur also had to save.

"Who is this Dras you keep speaking of? Is he Emrys's right hand man?"

"What?" Merlin's eyes bulged almost comically,

"Emrys, the man who wants the throne."

"I can assure you," Merlin said slowly, "That Emrys does not want the throne of Camelot."

"But-"

"Dras wants a puppet king. He's the one running the show. He found a prophecy that suited him and twisted it to his advantage."

"So the Cult of Emrys is not actually run by Emrys?" Arthur raised an eyebrow at that. He hadn't even heard about this Dras character.

"No. It's Dras."

Arthur took a second to mull it over. In the end, it didn't really matter. All sorcerers were the same, weren't they? Whether the name was Emrys or Dras didn't really matter. His father would put them both on a pyre all the same.

It was strange though.

"Then who's Emrys?"

Merlin paused, brushing some hair behind his uncommonly large ears, "Well, you've heard of the prophecies."

"No. I've-" well, Arthur's father, "never concerned myself with the superstitions of sorcery."

"Emrys is supposed to be the most powerful sorcerer of all time. With him, a Golden Age is supposed to happen, the Once and Future King. Magic shall be freed, Albion united, and all shall stand equal before the king."

"Why would anyone believe that? Everyone knows that sorcery is a corruptive that will only lead to evil. No good could ever come of a sorcerer, certainly not this Emrys."

"It's a prophecy." Merlin said slowly, not quite wincing, shrugging. "The Druids believe that it will happen. I know I'm not convinced it's happening in this century."

"Camelot will never have a place for magic as long as my father is on the throne."

"Notice how Dras is trying to remove your father from said throne?"

Arthur growled, "A group of sorcerers will never defeat the knights of Camelot!"

Merlin shrugged again.

Arthur knew that, well, perhaps he was being overly confident. Ok, confident wasn't the right word. But did a word exist for "arrogantly repeating his father"?

He thought not.

But Arthur was not one to show weakness, and unfortunately, he was reduced to borrowing his father's. How pathetic!

Even Merlin seemed to realize how weak it was because he looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Do you want me to get your hands loose? I know it won't help much, but-"

Arthur looked around, and seeing that the rest of the camp was occupied, he held out his hands. Merlin clumsily fumbled the shackles off with a small belt knife and a rock as aides.

"You're trusted enough for that?" Arthur gestured to the dinky looking blade.

Merlin looked at him as if he'd done something unbelievable, and threw the opened shackles to the ground. "Prat," he muttered. Arthur had no idea why. It didn't occur to him that maybe his new ally of sorts might have wanted some kind of thank you. The prince passed the whole thing off as a strange peasant custom and ignored it as Merlin went on to another explanation. "I took it a year or so ago and no one bothered to take it back. Dras and the rest of his goons have enough magic where a little knife isn't much of a threat to them."

"Could you get me a sword?" Arthur asked, itching his neck.

The other prisoner tilted his head quizzically, "A sword?"

"Yes. I want you to give me my sword. But any weapon you can find will work as well."

"Do you want a plate of roasted boar along with that? What about a pile of gold?" Merlin asked dryly,

"What else does his royal pratness require?"

"Merlin, I'm trying to get us out of here. Do you not want to get your freedom? Do you not want to make this Dras pay for all he's done to you? I understand that you are scared, but I can help you. You just have to trust me."

Merlin paused, once again, and looked down. He gave a sad little smile and looked away.

"I'll help you however I can. I don't this Dras will notice I removed your shackles. I am going to leave before we draw too much attention."

He started walking away, leaving Arthur all by his lonesome.

"Idiot." Arthur muttered with no actual venom in his tone, shaking his head.

He thought he heard the faint whisper of "Prat." in response.

Merlin had some thinking to do. A lot of thinking.

It was better than boredom he supposed, definitely better than never ending guilt and rage.
But Merlin was used to boredom. It had become his coping method, his alternative to losing his mind from grief and unavenged loved ones. There was only so long that one could keep a white hot anger burning without a way to release it. After finding that there was absolutely nothing he could do about Dras and the others, Merlin forced himself to calm down and bide his time. He realized even that was unhealthy when he started to plot out ten different extermination schemes every night. Now his vengeance had to be stuffed into immature minute annoyances he could cause- making food taste awful, hiding money, being as sarcastic as he could imagine-nothing was too small. These little things were the only breaks in boredom.

For some reason, Merlin had made nice with the prince.

The prince of Camelot who would kill him when he learned the truth, who thought sorcery was inherently evil and that it all should be exterminated.

Years ago, he would have scared him. Years ago, Merlin would have disagreed with him.

After all, what had sorcerers done? Killing, kidnapping, stealing- Dras and his followers were not moral paragons.

For some reason, Merlin found himself liking the Pendragon. He was rude and arrogant but seemed to have a good heart in spite of all his prattishness.

Arthur was also Dras's enemy, so an alliance was attractive. It was destined to be short-lived, and would be ended as soon as certain truths were revealed. Merlin was more than sure that he had just arranged his own death but he couldn't find it within himself to care.

Merlin had surprised himself with what he had told the prince. Merlin had hedged around his identity, but other than that he'd been pretty truthful. Perhaps it was an effect of having no one to really talk to for years? Merlin had been a very friendly person, and although he had never had many friends he was likable enough that he never had true enemies until Dras had come into his live. His village could have made his life a lot harder than it was if Merlin hadn't been such a nice boy. He'd largely grown out of that- or, well, tried his best too. He had to become tough, and his outstanding anger at the people who had killed all he had loved and otherwise destroyed his life wouldn't allow him to forgive anyone related to Dras or his minions enough to hold a polite conversation.

So yes, Merlin recognized that he was being a fool. He was clumsy at any socializing that didn't have him grinding his teeth and glaring. But, in some ways, the little surviving bit of 'Merlin of Ealdor' was desperate so someone to talk to.

Even if the someone didn't say a simple thank you when Merlin had broken open his shackles. Honestly!

Now he had to find a sword.

Where was he going to bloody find a sword? This was a camp of vengeful sorcerers with a lot of power available at their fingertips and a few less-than-peaceful druids. Why would they waste time on swords when they could throw fireballs? He could possibly find a bow since a few of the men when hunting but he wasn't entirely sure Arthur would find it useful.

Luckily no one paid him any attention any more. Even a year ago, there was always someone watching him. Sometimes in awe, sometimes with suspicion- There was always a pair of eyes following him. However, by now, the men had gotten used to his unbreakable captivity.

Due to his collar, everyone knew he couldn't escape. He couldn't go too far, he couldn't use any of his stolen magic, and he couldn't hurt any of them. There was even a control on the stupid thing that made it impossible for Merlin to intentionally burn any food that he might cook. That was added two years before when Dras's cousin Arell had tried to make him useful and had him help with cooking dinners. Merlin had of course made everything intentionally awful, if not sickening, and Dras eventually grew tired of adding more controls on the band just to match his cousin's whim, so those chores where stopped fairly quickly. That was the last time that the camp had tried to make Merlin do anything other than exist.

Living was a waiting game. Dras had plans that wouldn't be interrupted for the world, and since Merlin had been controlled, he hadn't had anything specific for him to do until the coronation. More boredom, really.

Merlin, however, also had plans. Unlike Dras, Merlin was pretty sure the charade wouldn't last long. The average druid might recognize Merlin as Emrys (which Merlin doubted since he was fairly certain he wasn't Emrys, but since he had a lot of magic the druids thought he was) and obey him, but he doubted that they'd follow Dras. Merlin knew he wouldn't obey any of Dras's instructions, the butcher lacked leverage after all, and he'd do his best to alert everyone to the actual arrangement of Camelot's leadership. After that, he hoped there'd be a civil war of sorts and Dras's puppet kingship would eventually be toppled.

Dras always overestimated his control of Merlin. Yes, he did have all his vast magic under his control, but Merlin still had his spirit.

Dras only knew how to forbid Merlin from doing things. He had a background in the slave trade and runes, and rarely ventured to other branches of magic. Merlin had heard of magics that could possibly take his will, but luckily Dras had never expressed interest in any of them.

Overconfidence would be his downfall, Merlin would see to it.

Yet, Arthur was so sure that Dras would never get that far to the throne. He was arrogantly sure that his father would never be deposed. He thought that a silly little sword could make a difference.

It was hope rather than cynicism, and Merlin found himself drawn to this attitude. Even if Merlin knew the whole venture was useless, he let himself get swept away into Arthur's charisma. Maybe Arthur could catch Dras unaware at least?

To his surprise, Merlin actually located a sword in Arell's tent. He wrapped it in an old blanket that

Arell often used for picnics to conceal the weapon, not wanting to risk it. Then he made his way back to Arthur, curious on what the prince would do next.

…

When Merlin actually returned with a sword, Arthur was actually surprised. After some thinking alone, he had decided that asking his new ally for a weapon was actually kind of dangerous for him. Arthur was extremely glad that he hadn't gotten Merlin killed.

It was even his own sword! What luck!

Arthur even gave an approving nod to the dark-haired boy. Merlin rolled his eyes a little and didn't comment.

"So, what's your plan? I'm sure it's wonderful."

"I challenge this Dras to a duel." Arthur made up on the spot. He really hadn't thought much ahead. Things always seemed clearer when he had a sword in his hand, so he had left his planning till now.

"He's a sorcerer." Merlin stated.

Arthur raised his eyebrows and shook his head slowly, what did that have to do with anything?

"He's not exactly a knight you can just throw your glove and get an honor-bound, one on one death match. He could make you fall asleep with one word, let alone kill you."

Arthur considered this. How had his father dealt with sorcerers in the past? He knew the armies of Camelot were mighty, but how had they dragged people with this power to the pyre? Uther had always just claimed that Camelot was infallible but as a commander, Arthur knew that strategy was quite important.

Did this mean he needed a strategy?

Great.

"I'll work something out." Arthur shrugged, confidently.

"I wish you luck." Merlin gave a small smile that seemed to say 'I don't see how you'll do this but I'm extremely interested to see what madness you'll do next'.

"Idiot." Arthur said, slightly offended. Merlin just kept the smile and added a head tilt and a shrug.

A twig snapped and Arthur turned to face the noise. Standing not ten feet away, was a tall man, around thirty years of age and clean shaven. His hair was long and a shade between blond and brown, straighter than any Arthur had ever seen. His nose was comparable to a hawk's who had ran into a cliff on Sunday in pursuit of a squirrel.

"Dras." Merlin provided, and Arthur lifted his chin slightly, inspecting his enemy.

"Emrys, what are you doing with the Pendragon whelp?" He asked with a voice that was unbelievably warm and friendly. That explained his mass of followers, Dras was apparently very charismatic. Only his accusing hazel eyes betrayed that he wasn't talking to his best friend of all time.

Arthur looked around for Emrys, not seeing anyone but Merlin. What? Was Dras a madman? Did he usually talk to thin air, or was Emrys invisible.

"An answer, Emrys? You know I hate it when you sulk."

Merlin was glaring as the man with so much hatred that Arthur was chilled. Yes, given his history with man, Merlin had cause to hate him, but this measure of fury was something that Arthur never thought that the peasant was capable of. The contrast was startling.

"My name is Merlin." Merlin growled, putting so much emotion in his tone that Arthur shuttered.

So Dras was a madman who mistook people for this Emrys character! Maybe he could use this as an advantage.

Dras laughed, "And here we are again! I'm worried how little you've learned in all these years. Your denial is always so amusing." Dras walked closer, so graceful it was closer to a dance, "But you still haven't answered my question Emrys. I'm waiting."

Merlin refused to speak and Arthur was thinking about drawing the sword out from under the blanket. If he was quick than he could maybe kill Dras during his hallucinatory episode. If Dras just stepped a little closer…

"Emrys." Dras said shortly, an unspoken threat hanging in the air.

Merlin didn't seemed cowed but spoke anyways, "Talking, Dras. I'm sure you've heard of the practice. You certainly run your own mouth often enough."

"But the Pendragon? Why Emrys, think of his unworthiness! I mean, great Emrys, speaking to the Pendragon butcher! The absolute sacrilege. " Dras said mockingly, "Are not your servants better conversationalists? Someone will surely take offense."

Arthur felt himself start to get riled. He wasn't a butcher! He was a prince! Soon to be the Crown Prince even! Not a townsm- oh. Dras had meant it as an expression, not another mistaken identity.

Well, with crazed madmen it was hard to tell…

Unless he wasn't mad. Unless Merlin was the sorcerer Emrys!

A/N: I hope you enjoyed. I will try to get the next chapter up in a timely matter. I'm kind of hoping you review, because I love every review. Seriously, they're awesome.