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He was sixteen when Morgause found him, carefree and innocent, happy to keep his magic a secret only to let it burst forth in the woods beyond the village and send flowers into bloom wherever he stepped. He understood his mother's cautions and whilst he never was happy with the fact he had to deny the truth about himself, he never thought to fight.
Until she came.
At first she had tried to talk him into joining her cause. But Merlin had said no, his mother's hand tight in his.
She had taken him from his mother, and talked to him again, persistent that Uther needed to be overthrown, that magic needed to rule. He had said no again and her anger flared up, she hit him across the face and he staggered back. No one had ever hit him before.
She'd taken hold of his arm and whispered a spell, transporting them into a world of darkness before the darkness solidified and show a courtyard, filled with people, a pyre built in it's centre, a woman bound upon it.
"Where are we?" Merlin had asked, trembling with fright.
"My memories," Morgause had replied coldly.
The pyre had been lit, the woman had burned.
"Who was that?" Merlin had asked, once they had left her mind, the woman's screams still ringing in his ears.
"My sister, Nimueh."
"Why did she die?"
"Because she had magic."
"But -"
"But nothing Merlin. That is the fate that faces every single one of us because of who we were born to be. Our duty is to stand up and fight."
When they returned to Ealdor, Merlin went to his mother and explained what he had seen.
"I have to go, you understand mother?"
She nodded, then cried and Merlin held her.
"I just hope you're still my boy when you come back."
He left with Morgause, his magic immediately put to use in aiding bandit attacks throughout the kingdom.
He never liked to kill, but somewhere along the way, he got used to it. And, as Morgause often reminded him, it was for the good of the cause.
Somewhere on his journey, perhaps after his mother died when Uther failed to send aid to Ealdor in times of need, perhaps then was when the darkness crept in. When he forgot about the boy who loved to bring the world to life and turned into the sorcerer who was feared for his destruction and the death that followed his every step.
They left Arthur alone in his room, still in a state of untidiness from where he had had to run and aid the knights against the magical attack.
They'd managed to get his father out of the city, and for that Arthur was glad, but the sorcerer's men had closed in on him and taken him to the throne room.
Break him. Well if that was what they planned to do, they were going to have a hard time.
They had locked the door and he presumed it was guarded on the other side. Going to the window, he looked down and grimaced when he saw the courtyard swarming with enemy soldiers.
Trying a different tack, he immediately began searching the room for weapons.
His sword he'd lost in the fight but he retrieved his dagger from under the bed and slid a knife, left behind from his breakfast, into his belt. Then he began assessing the room for places to hide. He reasoned that when taking on a sorcerer, an element of surprise was key. He had no gauge on the sorcerer's powers but any enemy could be taken down if they were unprepared for a fight.
His searching for a suitable hiding place was cut short when he heard footsteps approaching the door. Dashing to conceal himself behind the cupboard, Arthur steadied his breathing and tightened he grip on the dagger as the door opened.
The footsteps paused, the sorcerer, and he presumed it was the man, hesitating as he found the room empty. The man walked further into the room, into Arthur's line of sight and looked around in slight confusion and a pinch of worry in the middle of his brow.
Arthur waited.
The sorcerer walked to the bed and knelt to peer under it.
Arthur seized the opportunity and sprang from his hiding place, dagger raised to strike.
His blow never landed however. When he got within a meter of the sorcerer, he hit some sort of shield and was blasted backwards off his feet.
The sorcerer turned, a smirk tugging at his lips as he surveyed Arthur, lying winded on the floor.
With a glow of his eyes, the dagger in Arthur's hand grew suddenly boiling hot and he dropped it with a yelp.
"You would be wise to realise you are powerless against me," the sorcerer said.
"I had to at least try and escape didn't I?" Arthur grumbled slightly, cradling his burned hand.
The sorcerer raised an eyebrow in amusement. "And for that I commend you, but we can't allow it to happen again can we?"
He chanted a spell and from nowhere a thin silver chain sprang into being, one end fastened to the bedpost, the other to a cuff on Arthur's ankle.
Arthur reached to pull at it but as his fingers brushed the metal, burning pain shot through his flesh.
Snatching his hand away, he winced as he realised both his palms were now burned.
The sorcerer rolled his eyes.
"And they said you were intelligent."
Arthur reddened at the insult, getting to his feet and moving away from the sorcerer. He walked until he reached the end of the chain and then dropped down to sit with his back against the wall. His breakfast knife, he noted, was still in his belt.
The sorcerer rolled his eyes and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Arthur blurted.
Pausing the sorcerer turned to face him.
"Does it concern you?" he asked bluntly.
Arthur shrugged. "You've captured me ... I don't even know your name."
The sorcerer blinked. "It's M-" he hesitated, then swallowed. "Emrys."
He was gone in a swirl of his cloak and only once the door was shut did Arthur let himself cradle his hands, blinking back tears at the pain. He forced himself to snap out of it almost immediately however. He was the Prince of Camelot, he had been trained to master all kinds of physical pain. He needed to stay strong, for Camelot.
Getting up, he paced a little, trying to figure out a plan. He couldn't escape until the chain was removed and that wouldn't happen until the sorcerers believed they had well and truly broken him. So, he had to let them think that.
The idea repulsed him but he needed to do what was necessary. He made plans to see if anyone else still loyal to Camelot was still in the city, imprisoned or in hiding and then he thought through every action the sorcerers had made against him and Camelot so far, trying to determine how powerful they really were.
His conclusions weren't happy ones but he satisfied himself knowing that every enemy, no matter how strong had a weakness.
Eventually, he grew tired and looked around the room for somewhere to sleep. The bed seemed like too much of an open invitation and so he took one of the rugs from the bed and spread it on the floor as near as the chain would allow him to the warmth of the fire.
Curling up, he lay facing the door, ready in case anyone should come in. After a long time waiting with no one arriving, he let his eyes fall shut, drifting into an uneasy sleep.
