It's a thought in the back of his mind — that where are all the guards when you actually need them? — as he tears through the castle. Empty hallway after empty hallway Merlin runs with fear pumping the blood through his veins and spurring his legs on to move faster.
Why did I never bother trying to learn that bloody transportation spell?!
He opens doors with a whisper, berating himself for not acting quicker, for being distracted by —
No, Mithian is not a distraction.
But Arthur is everything.
And Morgana is in the castle, and she knows that I'm Emrys.
It happens quickly.
Arthur wakes when his door slams open; Guinevere jumps awake, pulling the covers close and gasping. Arthur turns to reassure her, only to be slammed back by an unseen force. Magic, then, he groans.
His back hits the stone wall of his room, hard, and his breath is chased from his lungs and he's left momentarily stunned; he hears Gwen cry out from a similar attack, on the other side of the room.
"Guinevere," he chokes.
But a figure steps in front of him, claw-like fingers wrapping around his throat; Morgana holds him against the wall with her bare hands, golden eyes never flickering or dimming.
"Hello, brother," she coos.
His heart clenches. "Morgana."
She presses him harder to the wall, her magic cold and dark against his skin. She sneers at him, lips pulled too wide and skin too pale.
"I want your head, dear brother. I want your head and I want Emrys' blood and I want what is rightfully mine!"
Arthur chokes again as she slams him back once more. Gwen cries out for him, but he can see she's completely immobile, held with her arms spread wide against the wall opposite from him.
"You don't want Guinevere, then. Let her go. You only want me, let her go."
She scoffs, "No."
She's angry, Arthur notices. Angrier than he's ever seen her, with a crazed glint in her eye and a constant tremor in her frame.
He also notices that he recognizes her dress; simple and black and with a headpiece like one a servant of Nemeth would wear.
"You're Mithian's maid. You — you're holding her hostage." But something ruined her plans.
Morgana ignores him in favour of stroking his cheek with the back of her hand, her expression turning to one of feigned pity. "Oh, poor Arthur. It's remarkable, truly, the number of traitors you have in your court."
"Mithian is no traitor — you're holding her hostage."
She laughs, "He truly does have everyone fooled!"
Arthur shakes his head. "What are you talking about, Morgana?"
Immediately her eyes turn cold, glinting in the low light of the room. She steps into his space, just a breath away. "You've a sorcerer in your midst, brother dear," she whispers, eyes wide and playing innocent. "Will you have me tell you his name, so that you can burn him in the morn?"
"Quit playing games, Morgana,"
She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Who would have thought, Merlin, a sorcerer?"
Dread settles like a weight in his gut, blood turning cold in his veins. "You're lying."
"What reason would I have to lie about this?"
And Arthur can see it, can see that this is the reason behind her rage. "You actually believe that."
She goes to answer, but stops and quirks her head to the side as if listening to something. She smirks and turns to the door, mouth widening and eyes gleaming. "Well, you'll see now just how true it is, I suppose."
The door bangs open a second time, and Merlin storms into the room, furious and haggard. His eyes widen when he sees the state of the room, Arthur and Gwen both pinned to the walls by Morgana's magic and Morgana's hands around Arthur's throat.
"Morgana," his voice is low and hums with power and authority in a way Arthur doesn't recognize. "Let them go."
"Or what, Merlin? You'll poison me? Perhaps something other than hemlock, I think I've developed an immunity."
Merlin narrows his eyes, and Arthur recognizes the flash of regret that crosses his expression. Their actions speak of a history unknown to Arthur, and it throws him off balance. Doubt creeps into his mind, sounding eerily like the voice of his father. Can you really trust anyone, Arthur?
"You're a traitor to your king and you're a traitor to your kind, Emrys." She hisses, keeping tight her hold on Arthur. "Who are you, to receive such a title? Such a destiny?"
Merlin paces slowly with his hands held at his side, but Arthur can tell it's only an appearance of relaxed. He can see Merlin's shoulders are tense and his eyes dart quickly around the room, checking on them both and making sure to watch Morgana's every move.
"You are too quick to twist things for your own convenience, Morgana. You wish to paint yourself the hero. But you're hurting them, Morgana. Arthur has never done you any wrong."
"He's a Pendragon."
Merlin's eyes flash, anger and impatience known in every line of his face. "So are you!"
"Don't you dare speak to me like that! Uther Pendragon was no father of mine!" And that's what makes her snap, what gives Arthur a split second to react and slip between her magic and push — and then he's on the floor, gasping, reaching for anything he can use as a weapon.
He sees Excalibur, set across his desk. Too far, too far.
Morgana screeches something behind him, something in a language he doesn't understand and then Merlin is responding in kind and Arthur can't think about that, can only try and reach his sword —
A hand appears in his sight, hovering over his; dark and smooth and soft and then Gwen is grabbing hold of him, pulling him out of the way of Morgana and Merlin and their treachery, pulling them back until they hit the side of their bed, panting and watching with eyes widened by fear and betrayal.
Morgana is the one pinned to the wall now, held in place with magic and Merlin's arm pressed across her throat. Both of them are breathing hard, and the dagger he keeps tucked in his boot is now gripped tightly in hand, pressed between Morgana's ribs.
Morgana snarls at him and tries to push him away with magic, but Merlin's hold is strong; he puts the slightest weight on the dagger and it bites into her skin. She barely flinches.
"No mortal blade can kill me," she hisses. Quick as a snake, she pulls her own dagger from her sleeve and drives it into Merlin's gut.
Gwen cries out and clutches Arthur closer to her, but Arthur remains speechless; traitorous thoughts of but he's a sorcerer, and perhaps this is for the best, cross his mind before a choked, broken gasping brings him back to the present.
A laugh.
Merlin is laughing.
Morgana rears back as much as she can when already forced against the wall, taken aback by Merlin's reaction. She pulls the dagger from his core, blood already staining his tunic.
Merlin leans forward, bearing more of his weight down onto Morgana. "I am the one who walks in your shadow, Morgana. I am your destiny; I am your doom," Morgana's eyes widen in recognition at the words, but Merlin pays no attention to her growing fear.
He leans down until he is looking her right in the eye. "I am Emrys. Why would you think a mortal blade would kill me?"
Morgana's whimper is the only break in the awful silence as the dagger slips deeper into her flesh; Arthur unconsciously pulls Guinevere closer to him.
Merlin, traitor and monster and completely unknown to him, doesn't break eye contact with his sister as he growls, "Leave."
And she does. She falls from his grip and runs right for the window; it blows open with a single, frantic wave of her hands and she leaps into the night, turning to smoke and a murder of crows, leaving only darkness in her wake.
Mithian sits, dazed, in the physician's chambers. She's wringing her hands but barely notices; Gaius paces, casting nervous glances her way.
He wants to go after Merlin, she realizes. But thinks he can't leave me alone.
She thinks of Merlin's hands, strong and calloused but gentle. When she looked at his hands she could see his loyalty, his faith and his strength. His loneliness. She thinks of the way she didn't hesitate to go to him first, instead of Arthur.
And who can he rely on, in such a situation? She rises from her seat; Gaius stops his pacing and looks at her in surprise.
"My Lady?"
She hides the shaking of her hands by tucking them into her sleeves. "We're going after Merlin."
He gapes, shocked; she lifts her brows in challenge. "Well?"
Gaius flounders. "My Lady, I'm glad you are not upset by what Merlin has revealed to you, but he is going after Morgana, a sorceress who has until just tonight been keeping you hostage. It would be wise to wait here."
Mithian sighs, giving Gaius a small, sad smile. She approaches him and lays a hand on his arm. "But you're worried about him," she turns, searches the room until she spots a carving knife on the table. She picks it up, twists it in her grip. "There. Now we aren't completely defenceless, either."
He smiles at her, and if he notices the slight waver in her voice he doesn't mention it. She's grateful for it.
"Thank you, my Lady."
She shakes her head, "It's the least I can do, Gaius. He doesn't deserve to be alone in his fight."
Merlin doesn't turn around to face them. As soon as Morgana is gone, his body loses some of its tension, shoulders dropping and head low; one hand is held up to the wound in his gut, the other is held tightly in a fist at his side. Arthur can hear his laboured breathing from the other side of the room.
Given the circumstances, he almost looks calm.
Does that mean he isn't scared of me? And for some reason that angers Arthur, but he doesn't take a moment to wonder if it's anger at Merlin or anger at himself — why would the thought of Merlin not being scared of him make him angry? — it's immediate and overwhelming and it makes Arthur's teeth hurt he's clenching his jaw so hard.
"Who are you?" Arthur asks. Merlin shifts, stands taller, and starts to turn around; Arthur stops him.
"No! No, don't turn around," he hisses. "I don't want to see your eyes, sorcerer."
Merlin stiffens. "Arthur," he says, voice hoarse. "You know me."
"No, I don't." Arthur stands, hands shaking with anger. "You lied."
"Only because I had to," Merlin whispers. He tries to turn around to face Arthur again, but Arthur reacts only by leaping for Excalibur on his desk. The blade rings as it swings through the air and the tip stops a breath from Merlin's spine. He flinches, and then goes still.
There's a pool of blood collecting under Merlin's feet.
"You never have to lie, Merlin."
"And look at where the truth has gotten me," he says, choking on a laugh. It's a sound cracking on hysteria, and Arthur can almost picture the broken smile on Merlin's face, that resigned defeat, that sadness that colours his features every now and then. But Arthur can't trust it, not anymore.
He know that if Merlin turns around, he'll believe it. And he can't let himself be fooled again. Not even for Merlin.
Arthur hears his own voice as if from far away, and he twists Excalibur to force Merlin forward. "Merlin of Ealdor, I hereby banish you from Camelot, and should you ever return you will be executed on sight."
"Arthur, you can't really —"
"Do not speak, sorcerer." Gwen grabs at his arm, but he brushes her off. "You have until dawn to gather your things and leave."