Chapter Two: Layers And Layers

Some Time After The Incident

The world spun slowly as he laboriously climbed his way up to consciousness and opened one eye. It was dizzying, and he couldn't stop a low groan. He shut his eye firmly again, concentrating on breathing so he wouldn't be sick. In. Out.

In. Out.

His tongue felt… odd in his mouth. A useless piece of meat, too big, too dry. Water, he realised, he needed water, and desperately so. But he would need to open his eyes for that, and he didn't think he was quite ready yet.

So he stayed a bit longer, breathing in, breathing out.

The next time he carefully opened one eye, the world wasn't spinning anymore, even though it looked suspiciously blurry and dark around the edges and there was a buzzing in his ears he rather suspected meant he still wasn't completely safe from the risk of passing out again. He dared open the other eye as well.

Oh. The dungeons. Right.

A sharp pang of panic, regret, horror. Arthur knew. Uther knew.

To his immense relief, a bowl at least half-full with water stood just a few feet away. He should be able to reach it. In a little while. As soon as he could bring himself to move. For some reason, it didn't feel very appealing at the moment.

He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious for. From the light that fell through the windows further down the corridor and made the dust dance, he judged it to be mid-day now, possibly early afternoon, but of course it was impossible to tell of which day. Had he been gone day? Perhaps more, considering how thirsty he was. Or maybe whatever Gaius had used to drug him with had a side-effect of dehydration. Also possible.

There was a dripping sound coming from somewhere. Fitting, for a castle dungeon, or so Merlin thought. Other than that, his own breathing, and the occasional crackle from the torches, it was quiet. Not even a guard snoring or impatiently tapping his fingers on the small table. That was odd, now that he thought about it. Shouldn't there be guards? At least one? He was a dangerous sorcerer, after all.

Water first. Thinking later.

With a rather ungraceful jerk he managed to roll his body over to lying on his belly instead of sprawled out on his side. He considered it quite an accomplishment that he still stayed awake.

Disregarding all dignity, he half crawled, half heaved himself forward towards the wooden bowl. He didn't notice how his hands were shaking until he had taken the bowl in both hands, swaying slightly as he sat on the dirty straw on the floor, and had to concentrate as to not spill it all over himself as he drank.

Fie, he felt terrible.

The water tasted stale, as if it had been in the bowl for at least a day. That was alarming. It hadn't been here when he was last awake. He must have been out of it for longer than he had thought.

He drank it too quickly - he knew he should have taken a little at a time but he was just so thirsty - and then spent far too long sitting with his head between his knees, breathing, trying to not bring it all back up again.

When he finally trusted himself not to be sick all over the floor, he shuffled over to the wall and leaned against it.

So the first of Uther's many ideas had been to keep him sedated, in hope that would break the curse over Arthur. Merlin could see the logic. It would make sense for the spell to need proximity, and what other reason could a sorcerer have to stay so near the crown prince of Camelot, endangering his own life, than to make sure his curse would be reinforced regularly? None, surely.

He hadn't quite figured out why the crystal had reacted to Arthur's blood. Uther had told him it had with such a vicious triumph in his voice, that Merlin had no reason to believe he was lying about it - but he also knew the crystal hadn't reacted due to any curse or spell that would control Arthur, simply because he had not put one on him. It might react due to the events surrounding Arthur's birth, maybe - Merlin didn't know if magic could leave traces for so long, but if it could, it would make sense if magic of such power did. Some lingering trace of some stupid spell or another that someone had put Arthur under at one point? Anhora's curse, perhaps, that had been powerful too. He had performed magic on Arthur himself only last week - only a shield, a quick one and not very powerful, as they fought bandits in the woods, but maybe that had been enough? Or maybe Arthur's blood would be recognised as magic all by its own, as the blood of the Once and Future King of the Druidic prophecies? Impossible to know. And he hadn't quite had time to neither think nor ask more about it before he had been drugged.

He rubbed his shoulder remembering the hard hands of the guards who had held him, as Gaius poured the sedative down his throat. It didn't ache now - well, no more than the rest of his body. Also a sign he had been out of it for longer than he had first thought. Three days, then, perhaps? He felt queasy at the thought. Oddly enough, he didn't feel hungry at all. Maybe he would, as soon as he didn't feel ill anymore.

And of course there would be no change in Arthur. He wouldn't feel the curse lift. He wouldn't feel different, just because Merlin had been unconscious for a few days.

He wondered whether he should escape.

Uther knew he had magic. Arthur had seen it. The guards who had found him fighting Uvalor had seen it.

Damn that man anyway. Just another petty sorcerer, bent on revenge on the Pendragons, of the like which Merlin had seen so many by now. He hadn't wanted to kill him - sometimes it felt like he paved his own road to hell with all the magic users he killed in the service of Arthur - but he had had no choice. It felt deeply unfair that he should have managed to hide his magic for so long, only to be revealed by just another common sorcerer with a half-thought through plan of revenge. Still, there were too many powerful artefacts in the vaults, and even a mediocre magic user could pose a real danger to Camelot if they had gotten their hands on them.

In any case, it meant he was a dead man walking, as long as he stayed captive. If it had been only Arthur who had seen…. maybe, maybe he could have managed to convince Arthur he was on his side. That he was protecting him. Used his magic for good. For Arthur.

But the guards had seen too. Sir Montague, one of Camelot's most honourable, most dutiful knights, and old Sir Cador, who Merlin had been told had been one of Uther's most faithful during the Purge, had been among them. They had seen him, golden eyes blazing, the last words of the Old Religion having barely passed his lips - had seen the whirlwind that had felled Uvalor, crashed him into the wall never to rise. They had seen what he could do. Arthur could not have protected Merlin even if he had wanted to.

He had probably not wanted to. Fie, what a miserable thought.

And Arthur had heard them talk - enough to hear Merlin not deny Arthur being his pet king, making him decent, whispering in his ear. Agreeing with Uvalor had seemed like the quickest way to end the conversation at the time, and so he hadn't bothered correct him - he had just wanted the man to leave, damnit, and to understand Merlin would fight to protect Arthur so there was no point in him trying - but he bitterly regretted not contradicting him now. He knew what it must have sounded like, and it wasn't good. He didn't blame Arthur for thinking the worst, he truly didn't. Didn't blame him for telling Uther all he must have heard.

Didn't blame him, but might still wish he hadn't. Might still wish he had demanded an explanation from Merlin first, instead of walking away.

Irritably, he drew his knees closer to his chest. The empty water bowl clattered to the floor, but he couldn't be bothered. The world had begun to spin again. He briefly wondered what in the world Gaius had given him, and if he'd meant to do this. He rather hoped not.

With a pang of guilt, he suddenly really, really hoped Gaius was alright. That he hadn't done anything stupid. It had looked like Uther was convinced Gaius was completely loyal to him, when they had been down here drugging him, but if that was days ago, anything could have happened…

He wondered what Gwen was thinking.

He then decided he actually didn't want to think about what anyone thought of him.

He didn't dare reach for his magic just now. With the way the world still blurred and shook and buzzed, he suspected the sedative hadn't left his body completely just yet. With his luck, he'd be able to spell himself out of the cell only to faint in the corridor outside. He'd have to wait until he felt better before escaping. If he wanted to, that was. Getting to talk to Arthur was the first priority, but Merlin rather suspected he might get to do that if he just stayed put.

Arthur would feel betrayed. Hate him, maybe. That made sense. But the Arthur Merlin knew tended to face his fears - often with utter fury and a sword in his hand - and considering his own state at the moment, it seemed rather likely he would get to talk to Arthur sooner if he stayed, rather than if he tried to seek him out on his own. He wouldn't even make it up the stairs just yet - but Arthur might make his way down to confront him.

Merlin let out a shaky breath.

Maybe, just maybe, Arthur would let him explain.

Maybe he'd listen.

Maybe he'd understand.

Shivering slightly, listening to the drip drip drip of water from somewhere, both wishing and not wishing for footsteps, for something to happen, Merlin settled against the wall to wait.

He wished he had been just moments later. That he hadn't seen the cloaked figure turn a corner further down a corridor and gone to investigate. That he had made a mistake following him, losing him before he heard voices. That he had decided to get more guards instead of deciding to listen for clues. That they had heard him and he had interrupted them before they could say all they had said.

Or even, childishly, that they afterwards hadn't heard him as he moved, inadvertently rustling the heavy tapestry behind him. That he could have stayed behind the corner. Pretend it hadn't happened for another half hour. Pretend to have had seen nothing, heard nothing, wave it all away.

Merlin couldn't have magic. It wasn't possible. They had all laughed about it together a few years past, when he'd confessed to it himself.

He couldn't have had concealed it for so long. Merlin was a terrible liar. He couldn't have managed.

But apparently he had, and apparently he could.

Day Five

The servant girl tried to be quiet, he knew that. He tried to ignore her as she went around her business; gathering plates and leftover food in a little basket, wiping down the table where he had spilled wine yesterday with a cloth, putting a log in the fireplace and gently blowing on the embers to make it ignite, picking up his belt from beside his bed and putting it back in the chest beside the bed. He kept staring out the window, studiously keeping his attention on the two guards looking bored in the courtyard, but the small noises that told him exactly where she was and what she was doing at all times still drew his attention.

Odd, how such normal, familiar sounds could annoy him so much. Normally, he took no notice of them. He wondered whether it was because he had gotten used to the silence in his chambers (he doubted it) or because she did it all wrong (if he was honest with himself, he seriously doubted that too, but he wasn't really in the mood to be reasonable).

Suddenly, the guards down on the courtyard straightened visibly, even from this distance, and Arthur straightened along with them without thinking. The king, with his black cloak flowing behind him, and his little entourage - Gaius was there, at least, and two knights; Arthur couldn't quite make which out from this angle - approached the old wing. His father exchanged a few words with the one to the right, who shook his head when he replied. The sun stood low in the sky now and it glinted off of the guard's helmet and blinded Arthur for a brief second.

He wondered what hallucinatory and inducing of delirium would mean. Babbling nonsense? Confessions? Would it work as some sort of truth serum - giving clues as to how to break the curse?

He wondered whether he would feel different, once the curse broke. Whether there were parts of him screaming to be let out, fighting the force influencing him. Whether his true self was buried deep underneath layers and layers of magic, enforced every day for years and longed to be set free.

He wondered whether he would recognise himself, once it had broken - and he hated the thought that maybe he wouldn't, and he hated the thought that maybe he would.

The king, Gaius and the two knights had apparently finished their conversation, because they entered the doors behind the guards. They would turn left now. Follow the stairs down. Pass through the guard's room - and the guards there would rise quickly, startled by the prominent visitor, Arthur knew - and open the heavy door with bars in the small window, that led to the inner corridor of cells.

When he had been to see Arthur earlier that day, Gaius had said Merlin hadn't woken yet as far as he knew, but since he hadn't been given another dose, he most probably would wake today. He would most likely be awake then, when the king, Gaius and the two knights entered.

He wondered what it did to a man to be sedated for four days. He hadn't wanted to ask Gaius.

He wondered why no one had seemed worried over the fact that the known sorcerer they kept in the notoriously unsafe dungeons would no longer be sedated when the king came to interrogate him. Maybe that was related to the having been sedated for four days. Maybe that would… inhibit someone's magic. Arthur didn't want to know. Nor did he want to reflect on if, or why, his father would know that.

He ran his hand through his hair and tried to pretend it wasn't shaking. He had finally admitted to himself that he was… disconcerted, by this whole… thing. Something everyone else probably had seen days ago, if he was honest with himself. He was uncomfortable. It had affected him - as in, he wasn't unaffected, he wasn't impassive, and yes, damn it, it did bother him that his manservant had used him and had used magic to do so and he had thought -

Well. It didn't matter what he had thought. He had been wrong.

They would have reached the cells by now.

"Sire?"

The voice was high pitched, submissive.

Arthur sighed. He considered to keep staring out the window, to keep his vigil until either his father came back over the courtyard, having finished the task he had come for, or the sun had truly set and he wouldn't be able to see who passed below. That would be stubborn and childish, however, and he certainly wasn't either. So he turned to face her, and said: "Yes?"

The girl - named something or other, Arthur was sure she must have said at one point these past three days - looked at him with that slight judgemental look in her eyes only very well trained servants had when they were going to make a very strong suggestion. Arthur hated it - just say what you mean damn you or hold your tongue - but he couldn't very well blame the girl for trying to do her job.

"Would you perhaps like me to put out a fresh change of clothes for you, Sire?" she suggested in that light voice of hers. Like a rat's squeak. "And for me to take your clothes to the washroom?"

Arthur stared at her. She dared suggest he smelled, did she?

Then he almost burst out laughing, which he kept himself from doing, because only madmen laugh when they are locked up in rooms.

Well. She was probably right.

He took one last look out the window. The sun had sunk beneath the walls of Camelot, and the courtyard lay in shadows. He took a deep breath. No use thinking about it now. He would know, sooner or later. He started unlacing his shirt in the front.

"Yes, I would. And tell someone to bring me water for a bath."

The corner of the girl's mouth twitched once. She bobbed a quick curtsey.

"Yes, Sire."

Some Time After The Incident

He must have been asleep, because when the door to the inner corridor of cells opened, he startled awake, and scrambled to a seating position before he had a mind to think.

The torchlight lit up the dim corridor and Merlin blinked. It looked to be around sunset. He must have slept for hours.

Then he had no more time for musings.

"Sorcerer."

Uther stood flanked by Sir Montague and Sir Leon. Leon was a surprise - he was mostly one of Arthur's knights, Uther rarely used him anymore - but Montague made sense. He'd been part of this since the beginning.

Merlin scrambled to his feet and willed himself not to look weak. One should stand in the presence of the king. "Sire." Too late, he remembered one should not make eye contact with the king and had time to see Uther's eyes narrow in anger before he set his eyes on Uther's feet instead. He thought he might have spotted Gaius behind the king but didn't want to aggravate Uther by looking up again.

He felt better now, he found. He could probably reach for his magic, if he needed to. He wondered if -

"Are you ready to confess?"

Merlin took a shallow breath and exhaled through his nose. He should probably have spent more time thinking about a strategy regarding what to say to Uther, and less time worrying about what Arthur thought. "I have confessed to all the crimes of which I'm guilty, my lord."

Having magic. Practicing magic. In its own twisted way, it had been a relief to finally, finally be able to answer yes to the question do you admit you are a sorcerer, because even though he wasn't technically a sorcerer, it was close enough to count, and even though he knew he'd signed his death warrant with that yes, at least he didn't have to lie anymore.

He'd always hated lying.

"You still refuse to lift the curse you have put on Prince Arthur?"

"I have put no curse on Prince Arthur," Merlin said and couldn't help but look up, meet Uther's gaze and try to will him to understand, even though he knew it to be futile. A thought struck him. "I'm not sure why his blood reacted that way actually but maybe if I could see him, I could - figure it -"

Idiot. He shut his mouth with a snap as soon as his brain caught up with it, but the damage was done. They'd see any attempt to contact Arthur as a threat - that was stupid -

Merlin was suddenly very glad of the thick iron bars that separated him from the king, because Uther was livid. Merlin had no doubt he would have struck him down with his bare hands, had he only been able to reach, and Merlin took a small step back - just to be on the safe side.

"You will never", Uther hissed through clenched teeth, "speak to the Prince ever again."

The complete certainty in the king's voice settled as a heavy weight in Merlin's stomach. For one so terrified of magic, Uther sure acted fearless. There was no hint of fear in his face - only anger, and something Merlin thought might be triumph. He did not break eye contact - and even as Merlin thought You will not be around forever, and then it's Arthur's choice what to do and He will keep killing innocents until the day he dies and I could kill you in an instant, do you even know that and You will never be my king, Sire, he felt… almost impressed with Uther's bravery. Or stubbornness.

Well. Merlin could appreciate the virtue of being truly stubborn.

"Gaius", Uther said, still looking at Merlin. "Prepare what you need to. I want answers."

More herbs, then.

That most likely meant he wouldn't be tortured. Yet, anyway.

That, in turn, meant he had made the right choice, staying put in his cell. Even if it had been Uther this time… next time, it might be Arthur.

Merlin said nothing as Gaius sent Sir Leon to fetch a chair from the guard room, poured something leafy and green into a wooden bowl and put it on the chair, mixed it with something powdery from a bottle, sniffed the mixture, and then nodded to the king.

Gaius had not made eye contact with Merlin during his ministrations, but he did so when Sir Montague unlocked the door to Merlin's cell. His face was impassive, impossible to read, and it hurt damn it that Merlin couldn't ask him something as little as what's in the bowl, because he thought that if he started talking to Gaius, he might just start bawling. Like a girl, as Arthur would say. Start demanding advice. Start yelling at him, for not having visited, for not having told him anything about Arthur, about what Uther planned, about anything at all. Start accusing him of poisoning him with whatever the hell it had been in the sedative and fie Gaius had he not realized he would feel lonely and unsure and hurt when he woke up?

But Gaius looked unhurt. He had not been charged with harbouring a sorcerer - so Uther must believe he hadn't known - and Merlin could keep it that way, just by keeping his mouth closed. And that was worth - that was surely worth - feeling a bit lonely for.

Merlin willed away the burning behind his eyes that was completely different from the tingling he felt whenever he used magic, and embarrassingly close to what someone who just possibly were quite close to tears might feel.

He didn't really think Gaius would just stand by and actually poison him, whatever he might have thought a second before, so he wasn't scared, as such, when Sir Montague and Sir Leon grabbed him by his arms and forced him to his knees. Uncomfortable, perhaps. Especially with the way Montague held him - that would bruise, and he winced slightly. Might already have bruised, actually. Yet more uncomfortable, when his head was forced just over the bowl on the chair and held there. What was in that damned thing anyway? More sedatives? Something painful? Some kind of truth potion? He should probably have listened more closely when Gaius explained the properties of the herbs in his cupboards and on his shelves…

"Tell us about the curse, sorcerer."

"There's nothing to tell", Merlin said, and he heard the nervous tone in his voice. "There is no curse, my lord, I swear it."

There was no reply. He tensed, waiting for something, whatever would come that he didn't know of - and then he still flinched, when someone - Gaius? - threw a small, burning stick into the green mess in the bowl. He wasn't particularly fond of having fire that close to his face, thank you very much.

Some pieces instantly started smoldering, creating little islands of light that quickly spread. The smoke was dark and it tickled in his nose.

He sneezed.

Montague's hand tightened in his hair and he let out a little involuntary yelp - and then sneezed again, inhaling deeply. The smoke seemed to be everywhere, when he opened his eyes - his nose, his mouth, his lungs, his brain, and he felt sick again. Drifting, floating.

Heavy. Slow.

Someone spoke behind him, but he couldn't quite make out the words.

"What?" he said, loudly so that they'd hear him asking for clarification.

No answer, only more mumbling. The glow in the bowl before him looked like tiny eyes, wandering over the sky. Like cats.

No. This is not right.

Merlin shut his eyes.

The sparks in the bowl seemed to follow him into the darkness, and he just had time to panic, realising that this, whatever this was, was apparently the desired effect, and he hadn't had time to understand it yet and how was he supposed to counter something he could not understand, when someone spoke his name.

"Yes." He willed his eyes to open.

Someone met his gaze. They looked like a cat. Wandering over the night sky.

No, damn it, that isn't right.

They looked human. They looked human.

"Tell me about the Prince, Merlin", the human said.

"The Prince", he repeated.

"Yes. Tell me about Arthur."

Arthur. He knew Arthur. He nodded. "Arthur." He sneezed again. "My King."

"Yes", said the human, and its eyes started to smolder. Like fire. Like longing. Like fear. Like hate. "Tell me about your King."

A/N: Sir Montague made a brief appearance in 4:1, so he's not mine.

A HUGE thank you to those who has followed, favourited or/and especially reviewed! I'm really, really glad you like my characterisation, because that's maybe the single most important thing for me when I write fanfic, and I hope I will continue to do them all justice in the chapters to come.

Next chapter will bring a lot more dialogue than this very description-heavy one, the beginning of something resembling plot, and more of both Merlin and Arthur.