Can I just tell you how terrible I feel for not updating my other stories? Pretty fucking horrific. I'm sorry to those who are eagerly awaiting my update for my other three stories, but inspiration has been lost on me. I'm waiting for some plot bunnies, and I will definitely try to get them up and running again soon.
Summary: Merlin and Morgana have spent six months in the dungeons in Arida, a far off kingdom to the north. They have their weak and their strong moments, and they always have each other. They are planning to escape, and upon their return to Camelot, Arthur and their friends notice that there's something... off... about the two. Merlin won't let anyone lay a finger on Morgana, and Morgana hardly allows anyone to even breathe on him.
While the witch and warlock's friends are trying to understand their fluctuating tendencies and odd behavior, they have to come to terms with what happened in those cells, and worry about how far their captor will be willing to go to get them back.
Secrets are nothing new to the two, but now there can be nothing hidden between them if they want to keep themselves, and Camelot, safe. And now a third party may come to play.
There's something... dangerous, lurking in Merlin and Morgana. A darkness they're fighting to escape. Can they? Or will they succumb to the darkness within them, and leave their destinies behind?
Nothing is as it seems in the city of Camelot. How will fate come to play?
Merlin bit harshly into his tongue. Pain and blood blosomed on his back, the rivers of red blending with the older, dried ribbons.
"Please!" Morgana cried, "I'm begging you, stop!"
Another lash.
Merlin groaned. Morgana wept.
"This was his choice, woman," the monster of a man barked, lashing the whip again.
Her chains rattled as she desperately tried to move closer to her brave friend. Her best friend. Her love.
"Let him go!" she screamed.
"M'gana," Merlin practically growled through grit teeth, "Shut. Up. Please."
By the end of his words, his growl had melted into a beg.
Eyes watering again, Morgana nodded her head weakly.
Her eyes never left his as his torture raged on; whips, knives, fists, and words battering his body and mind.
Each time a sop slipped from Morgana's lips, a calloused hand would roughly make contact with her face with a sharp whack, and Merlin would growl would snarl and pull at his chains a little more than before.
By the end of the cruel session, Merlin's breaths were shallow and the whole side of Morgana's face was turning a molten purplish-blue.
They were tossed mercilessly into their cell. Merlin propped himself up with a groan. Noting the tension in his body, Morgana crawled on her hands and knees toward the warlock, reaching out and grasping his hand firmly.
He was her anchor, and she his. They held each other to reality, reminded each other what compassion and love felt like, what it was to be caressed instead of beaten. Morgana soon found that the touch of any other would burn like the flames of hell, no matter how gentle it was supposed to feel.
It had been six months since they were brought to these cells, and Morgana was not sure how much longer Merlin would last. He took on all of her beatings, have her larger rationings of the meager proportions of food and water that were given to them, protected her from horny guards who thought they could get lucky.
He was strong. Powerful. He knew how to fight, and that was what surprised her the most. Back at home, in Camelot, he stumbled and fell, he bumbled about, could barely lift a sword.
But here, he was fierce. He could throw a knife from across a field and still hit the target. He did.
When they had first been attacked, Merlin had panicked. Morgana had been pushed to the cold, harsh ground with a sword held to her neck. Merlin had been too far away to attack the man head on. So he had grabbed a knife and prayed to whoever was listening that he wasn't toorusty with a blade.
Back in Ealdor, as hard as it was to believe, Merlin had been the protector of the small settlement. He was brilliant with knives and a just as skilled archer. He never really could get the hand of a sword. But what he was trulygood at was hand-to-hand. Wrestling with Will and getting into fights with other kids who called "freak!" across the clearing taught him through experience. He got better and better, until it didn't even matter when a bandit broke his bow.
Paired with his magic, Merlin was a great warrior, but he preferred to keep it hidden. He wanted neither the attention nor praise that would come of his display of skills.
So when Morgana had the sword held firmly to the pale flesh of her throat, Merlin was ashamed to admit that he had hesitated for the smallest second.
But his moment of doubt went as soon as it came.
The knife flew.
It hit the man in the neck, right below his jugular. He had quickly bled out.
Morgana had looked on in wonder, but Merlin wasn't even close to being done. The knights accompanying them were long since knocked unconscious or dead. Merlin claimed a few more blades.
The knives he had obtained were quickly lost. More and more men had arrived. It was then that realization had dawned on Merlin. These men were not bandits, but mercenaries.They had been set up.
Merlin had fought with all his power, but all of his efforts failed in the end. Had he chosen to continue as he had been, they would have lost far more than they had bargained for.
So Merlin made a split second decision. He used magic. It had just been him and Morgana left, and strangely, he did not feel any regret, even as he was knocked unconscious by a harsh blow to the back of his head. The last thing he heard was Morgana scream his name.
She had questioned him ruthlessly in the cells, and she had soon sucked every last bit of information from him.
It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
Morgana had seen the relief and regret in his cobalt blue orbs, and after a few hours of pouting and more shouts, she forgave him.
As the weeks had come and gone, they grew closer and closer. They went from acquaintances to friends to best friends, to maybe something a little bit began to hold each other closer and closer; it became less and less about warmth and more and more about wishing for the comfort of the feeling of their bodies pressed together.
And they shared everything with each other. From the happiest memories, to the most painful: one time a mother gave Merlin a full meal for protecting her baby from bandits- something he had never had before; Arthur one time disguised Morgana as a man so that she could learn swordplay; Merlin had felt the lash of a whip before; Morgana had been degraded by Uther and her status as a Lady of the Court.
The chains binding his magic were weak, and often times they conversed in their minds, rather than out loud. The chains still held him though, even as they weakened by the day from his power. Healing became increasingly difficult for him as he was deprived of his power- of the very essence of him. At the beginning, he had shuddered and emptied his stomach of its contents, his body unable to handle the strain. He was glad the chains were not stronger, for if they had, he would have spiraled into a coma, and fast.
Morgana took to calling him 'Emrys' as they discussed magic, and 'Em' or 'Emmy' as a nickname. He wasn't really just Merlin to her anymore. He was everything, and as a result she had found a mixture of magic and man.
Merlin called her 'love', and neither commented on the true meaning of that word until much later in their imprisonment. At first it was used in a teasing, friendly way. But as the weeks passed, he became increasingly sincere, until 'love' became 'my love' and Morgana's heart became decreasingly cold and bitter with her hate for others. She still loathed Uther and his ideals, but she understood Merlin's adamancy to protect Arthur and the people of Camelot. She announced to him that as long as Arthur cared for Merlin and never hurt him intentionally, she would not take action against her brother. Merlin thought this fair and was, deep down pleased in her fierce protectiveness of him.
"Em, we must escape soon,"she whispered to his mind, once she saw him regaining a semblance of his strength.
"Yes,"he agreed.
Morgana was surprised. Usually he disagreed and said something about patience.
"I have been plotting, my love. I have just recently thought of an idea. These bonds on my magic are weak. I can feel them getting weaker by the day as my power itches to be released. By tonight they will be nothing more than chains that will easily be broken. My injuries have hindered me, but I will be ready. I do not wish to see you suffer here any longer."
Morgana smiled and hummed into his shoulder.
They would bide their time.