This is another re-upload.
Warnings: violence, child-abuse,intense angst, mentions of torture, blood. Slash or not is left ambiguous and up to the reader.
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"Father tells me that you're a Dragonlord," says the young prince, his forehead sporting a large frown, too big for his small childish face. His stern eyes scan up and down your six year old body, assessing your worth. You grasp your mother's cloak tighter as you try to hide behind her, away from the intimidating gaze.
"My father's a Dragonlord," you correct him behind the woman's legs. "He says I don't get those powers till I'm older."
This did not seem to please the young prince at all, who opts to snatch you from behind your mother and throw you unceremoniously to the floor. The guards escort your mother forcibly from the room when she tried to reprimand the spoiled prince. You are left alone and unprotected. You hear her cries slowly fade, as she is escorted further down the hall.
The prince stands before you, a look of disdain, never leaving his features. He unsheathes a small knife and approaches you; the jeweled hilt glowing as the light hits it. Beautiful, you think, before your ears catch his heavy steps. Beautiful and deadly. You scoot further back as he advances, his frown growing into a malicious grin with every step; it grows wider and wider, until you can barely see his eyes under the distorted smile.
You gulp.
"Then... What use is there to keep you alive?" The deadly voice slices the air. You duck the attack just in time, only to realize that he's trapped you on the floor.
The boy chuckles.
Your eyes grow wide. He'd planned this all along. Your life is a game to him!
Your gaze follows the handsome weapon as he flicks it, holding it in the appropriate position to strike an exposed chest.
And as you watch, the blade fly down towards you, you feel your magic burn your eyes, as it pushes the prince through the air with a tremendous force. You gasp in awe as the magic leaves your body through every pore in your skin. You hear the smashing of objects as the prince's body makes impact across the room, his face once so deadly, now contorting as he cries out in pain.
You snort. Some tough prince!
"What is the meaning of this?" A booming voice rips your attention away from the crying youth and you feel terror creep within you once again.
A tall, ferocious man is standing in the room's only doorway, his royal cloak seeming to sway with his aura of power. You rub your eyes, checking again to see if it's magic. It's not though. Just your body and mind trembling with fear.
The man's gaze falls on his son's crying form before redirecting toward you. Murder is in his eyes. You forget how to move. You forget words as he marches towards you, grabbing you by your short raven locks, dragging you forward and throwing you face down on the flagstones, next to the prince. He places his boot on your head when you attempt to rise off the floor.
"You let this peasant defeat you?" You hear the man above you roar, hissing when he digs his boot further onto your skull.
"He has magic, Father!"
You hear a resounding slap.
"Of course he has magic, Cenred! That's the whole point of bringing the last Dragonlord here!"
You feel the weight of the man's boot lift off your head, replaced by rough, leather gloved fingers hoisting you up by your hair, indifferent to your protests.
"If you cannot control the Sorcerer," you hear the voice boom near your ear, as the rough hands throw you forward, sending you crashing into the chest of the prince. "Then, he will be removed from your ownership. At which point, you will be a disgrace to your entire family and the kingdom."
The prince doesn't budge when you hit his chest, instead, standing unwavering in perfect poise in front of his, you guess, his father,the king. You watch blood trickle down the prince's face from the smack. You try to step away, but his arm holds you in place.
"Yes, Father." The voice wavers, still clutching you tightly to his chest as you try to fight your way out of the unyielding grasp.
"I have given you a profoundly important task, Cenred," the ruler says, the voice less dangerous but still just as stern. "The future of this kingdom and of defeating Camelot depends on your task."
Finally, after several grueling minutes, you hear the heavy footfalls as the King leaves, followed by the slamming of the two large oak doors. The prince looks down at you; watching you, studying you as you try to break free from this unwanted embrace.
You cannot tell if it's a smirk or a dissatisfied frown that mars his face when he finally speaks to you. "Father says that you should listen to me, that I have to tame you." The lips tug into a definite sinister expression as you feel his other arm reach behind your back, feeling the metal of the blade run along your spine through your thin shirt.
"Now, you are going to do as I say, Sorcerer." You cringe as he applies more pressure on the blade, slicing your skin in a thin line, "And, if you try anything funny again, he waves the dagger at you, this will go straight through your mothers heart. Got it?" Your struggles cease, your body halting in fear. You look up at the smirking face, finding nothing good there.
You gulp, swallowing the threat down; understanding it and accepting your fate.A fate no child could imagine.
His sickening smile grows as he releases his hold. It's taking all your willpower to steady your arms by your sides, cementing your feet to the ground. All you want to do is run away from this place, your mind is screaming at you to escape.
"Now," your captor begins, sauntering towards the door, "Let's go test where your loyalties lie, shall we? I'm sure there will be some unwilling servants on whom we could test your deadly magic." He demonstrates his command further by pretending to run the blade across his own throat.
You blink back tears, hushing your magic as it tries to explode around you, nodding in submission.
Finally, you follow him, leaving a part of yourself behind in that room, the click of the large doors sealing it away forever.
You don't find out until well over ten years later that your father is dead. That the king of Escatia had him killed the minute he confirmed that you were the Dagonlord's son; his first born son, to be more exact. As next in line for the Dragonlord lineage...you are now a Dragonlord!
You don't find out that horrible truth, till Cenred that awful man, tells you. Until, his father finally dies, handing your master the crown.
Your new King and old master smiles, as he studies your reaction to the terrible news. It brings him pleasure to cause you mental harm; to see your eyes stare blankly into space while you fully digest the information; to see the tears as it fully sinks in.
He enjoys watching you, silently mourn a father you cannot even remember, but for whom you shed silent tears nonetheless.
Then again, when hasn't he enjoyed watching you wallow in your misery?
"Does it hurt you, Merlin?"
His voice is low and controlled as always. You've known him long enough, dealt with him long enough to know, that he is anything but calm. You catch the sinister, malicious undertone to his words. It's the same ones he's used with you whenever he's wanted to see you in pain. Whenever he's wanted you to kill or torture someone for his pleasure.
"Do you like the sounds of a little girl's screaming?" He once asked you, the room filled with the loud, painful wails of a child. When you shook your head, he had you silence the screams. He had you kill her slowly, tearing the little girl's limbs from their sockets with your magic. Then, he'd have you repeat those lessons on the battlefield.
Through the years, you've tried to learn how to avoid the consequences of that low and controlled tone, but the former prince is more clever. He's always found a way to twist your convictions, to wet his sadistic appetite.
"Merlin…" his voice seethes, hand gripping the bottom of your chin, redirecting your gaze toward your new King. His face is very close to yours; it's suffocating you as he invades your personal space. The sinister smile never leaves his features; those uncaring eyes continuing to stare, a little too close to your own.
Despite all the years you have been with him, been his Sorcerer, you never got used to him. You still want to shrink into oblivion, or fold into the floor, where those cold eyes cannot find yours.
Your muscles jump when his hands graze the strands of your hair. You wish he wouldn't touch you like that. You wish he wasn't here at all. Your muscles tighten when one of those hands grasps and jerks a lock of your hair.
Your body and mind remember what he's done to your body over the years. The images invade your mind like a knife plunging into your heart,painful and sudden. You cannot, stop the images pushing their way into your vision.
You remember how it felt, how horrible it was when he once set your hair on fire. He let the flames burn, only long enough to frighten you, so there was no permanent damage to your scalp.
But, like all the other memories, it was the torture that came after the act that was always the worst. The cruel man was dedicated to keeping the memory fresh in your mind. Keeping the feeling of fear and lingering death untarnished and unforgotten by the forces of time.
He knew what you thought about, whenever he touched your hair; knew your thoughts whenever he pulled your head close to a lit torch;whenever he held a blade close to your throat. There were so many memories,which each part of your body recalled, in relation to this man. He enjoyed exploiting each and every one of them.
Everywhere he touched you, held a purpose, a deeper, darker purpose. Everywhere he touched you, held a memory.
He made sure to keep them alive for you, each and every day. Then, if he thought you were forgetting those days, those events, the unique fear you felt; he'd make your life a living hell, by once again torturing you in the same way.
He's trained you never to forget, never to move on. And the weight is heavy on your heart, the jagged, sharp edges of the memories piercing your soul like a thousand blades.
You try to keep calm. Keep poised. Steady your breath. Calm your heartbeat. You look into those eyes, but your mind is elsewhere. All the while those fingers go through your hair, your mind is busy pushing the memories back, but to no avail. It never works, yet you try regardless.
"Merlin…" the voice begins to seethe. You look away briefly, before your gaze shoots back into place, looking at the man, you've grown to hate, but depend on, both at the same time.
" It...it... hurts me," you stammer. He's always liked it when you stuttered; when your emotions are too hard to ignore, and your feelings and memories begin to impede your speech. When his intimidating presence cuts apart your mind and you fail to pick up the pieces properly. Maybe if you give him what he wants, what he craves, he will leave you alone this time.
Fortunately, there's a knock at the door, and you are saved for a few, precious, wonderful moments. The new ruler's steps echo across the empty throne room as he walks towards the large double doors.
"What do you want?" You hear his voice bark. He's in a bad mood again. You shudder, contemplating the long, painful evening ahead of you at the mercy of that newly emerged temper.
"It's the Prince of Camelot, he wishes to speak with you, your Majesty. He arrived only a few minutes ago." The ruler growls agitated, sending the servant scurrying off.
He sends you off as well, with a promise that this evening, you have to yourself. He will make up for it tonight.
The lurking night and dark promise once the sun dies, haunts your thoughts for the rest of the evening, festering in your mind during one of the rare moments when you should be feeling at ease. But that is to be expected, he would never allow you a few, precious moments of tranquility.
Nothing stops that man, from shattering whatever hope you have of internal peace. Nothing stops that man leaving the shards of your being, to rot and decay on the floor.