Title: The Man With The Dragon Tattoo – Chapter Twenty-Six.

Author: Woodland Goddess.

Rated: M

Author's Note: Hope you guys enjoyed the last chapter. Here's another for you.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Cruel Intentions

It was a shout of his name that startled him awake, limbs flailing briefly, almost sticking his foot in the embers of the campfire by accident. Chest heaving from the fright, he glanced around the campsite, feeling distinctly unsettled. Blonde hair swept back in a sleep-messed braid, Alona continued to snore faintly, head cushioned by her saddle and blanket not far from him, her father's signet ring glinting against her finger. A contented smile tugged lightly at her lips, eliminating the stress and frustration that had marred her face the last few days.

He quickly ripped his gaze away, scrambling up from the ground. The simple act of looking at her seemed to increase the weight of unease in his gut, just as it had since Her Majesty's Ship, the Igraine, had docked in Denmark. Lips tightening in a furious line as he recalled Gwen ordering him to set sail from Albion and leave for the Nordic lands upon receipt of invitation from the Danish Crown, he turned from the campfire in a flurry of brown fabric. Hugging Arthur's old coat closer to him with one hand, he set about incanting protective enchantments in a circle around the campsite.

Merely a precaution, in the interest of her Royal Highness' safety; it would not do to get his head chopped off by an irate and grieving King. Such a thing would destroy the fragile trading routes between Denmark and Albion, and Merlin could not allow that agreement to dissolve. The future of Arthur's Kingdom rested firmly in his and Gwen's hands; they would not allow it to founder. And when the Once and Future King returned he wound find a land of peace and justice and prosperity.

Taking previous experiences into an account, it would hardly surprise him if the shout that had awakened him had been a figment of his wistful imagination. The soft murmur of Arthur's voice against the shell of his ear, the teasing glide of large and callused hands along the flesh of his thighs, had woken him on countless occasions in the past, each time more humiliating and disheartening than the last when he discovered there was no one there. No one had breathed tender endearments or words of encouragement against his skin, and no one would.

Swallowing thickly, Merlin left the circle of the campsite after tying a pouch to the belt at his waist. Using an orb of light to guide him, he collected edible berries and herbs that they could use for breakfast. Though he would much rather be in his chambers back in Camelot, he realised he had to at least be helpful and civil while acting as Albion's ambassador. As he moved through the forest he could feel the earth's magic reaching out to him, tendrils tangling with his ankles and wrists playfully.

For a moment it felt like home, causing an almost serene smile to stretch across his mouth as he paused within a brilliant shaft of sunlight as it pierced the roof of the forest. Tipping his head back, his eyes drifting closed momentarily, Merlin allowed himself to bask in the first feeling of warmth and contentment that he had felt in almost seven years now. The touch of sunshine against his pale skin felt remarkably like a kiss, soft and affectionate. He knew it was time to continue moving when a tear slipped free of his lashes before he had even realised tears had been welling in the first place.

Lowering his head, he brushed the lone tear away with a frustrated gesture and glanced around him as his hand scraped across three-day-old scruff, just to be certain there had been no witnesses. In the years since Arthur's passing no one had seen him cry; he would very much like to keep it that way. Anger was permissible, silence was acceptable, but not tears. There could be no weaknesses in the chinks of Albion's armour, not now when Gwen was counting upon him to be strong.

Continuing on, his actions confident and measured, Merlin filled his pouch in silence. The forest was alive around him: leaves rustled as bugs and animals lost themselves in their daily routines; branches swayed in the breeze that lifted and tugged mischievously at the fabric of his coat and the strands of his hair; the rich and varying scents of blooming flowers was heavy. The sorcerer was drawing the strings of his pouch to a tight close when he heard it once more, emanating from somewhere in the distance.

"Merlin!"

The tendons in his hands seized painfully as his gaze snapped upwards, their blue depths wild. Again the familiar voice came, and again; each time it seemed increasingly angered, just in the manner that he remembered, though tinged with a rising level of panic. Heart pounding a furious rhythm against his ribs, Merlin stood frozen in the forest. It simply could not be a figment of his imagination, not when he was wide awake. Such a thing had never happened before. He was running before he was aware that he had moved, his coat tail billowing in his wake as he followed the sound of that voice.

The only voice he had ever wanted to hear in the long and painful years that had passed since the Battle of Camlann.

Bursting from the cover of the forest, expression crumpling with the sheer surge of hope that surged within him, Merlin found himself standing upon an outcropping of rock that extended over the waves that crashed vigorously against the land. Two muscular arms, pale from a lack of exposure to the sunlight and trembling from exertion, clung to the outcropping fiercely as the waves pounded against a man with golden hair. "Arthur," said the sorcerer in a broken whisper, tripping across the outcropping in his haste, crashing to his knees alongside the edge.

A flash of gold in his eyes quelled the sea and Arthur sagged somewhat limply against the rock as Merlin reached for him. Hands sought to assure themselves that it was truly not an illusion, that his King had finally returned to him. Eyes like forget-me-nots flicked open as a shaking hand sank into the sodden mess of hair atop his head, pale fingers carding through it with a desperation he had not felt in years. "Arthur," he whispered again, the name becoming a chant that was both grief-stricken and joyful at once as he voiced it over and over.

A joint force of trembling hands and magic hauled the King from the water and into his arms. "Merlin," Arthur answered, his normally confident voice small and vulnerable as the sorcerer held him, face buried in the drenched skin of the man's shoulder. Tears welled as Merlin clung to him, desperate fingers digging in to the muscular expanse of Arthur's back, an action that surely had to be uncomfortable, though the man made no move to protest it. A sob caught in his throat as the muscles constricted sharply, the sound choked as it lodged there.

After a moment Arthur's arms slipped around him in return, one large hand losing itself in dark hair. When Merlin found the strength to withdraw, eyes feasting hungrily upon the sight of his friend like a man starved, he cupped the King's face in both hands. Uncaring of propriety, or boundaries, or the Queen awaiting her fallen husband in Camelot, he surged forward and kissed him, eyelids fluttering closed even as Arthur stared at him in brief surprise. Hardly a moment passed before the King seemed to give in to the kiss Merlin bestowed upon him, salty lips parting accommodatingly as the sorcerer's tongue sought entrance.

Muscular arms tightened around him, hands turning vice-like as they gripped him, hauling him closer abruptly. The world around him seemed to fade as Merlin groaned into Arthur's mouth, the sound vibrating between the pair of them. Tears continuing to slip wetly down his cheeks, the sorcerer slid his arms around Arthur's neck. Something indefinable pulsed between them and the man's kiss morphed into an obscene sucking action that sent a jolt of agony right down into the swirling depths of his magic, and burrowed deep into it like a barbed harpoon.

Eyes snapping open, Merlin struggled against the man's grip, hands pushing frantically against his chest as agony seared through him, his magic crying out for aid as it was forcibly torn from his body and soul. The sky spun around him as they grappled, the man...the thing parading around in Arthur's visage toppling them over the edge of the rocky outcropping. Icy water stabbed at him like a thousand knives as the creature, whose willpower was an iron force, dragged him beneath its depths. Legs tangling in the swirling fabric of his coat, his fight to free himself seemed impossible.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours. He could hardly fathom how much time passed as he beat and pounded at the solid figure before him, his lungs screaming for breath and his mind uttering panicked commands not to give in. The creature sucked and sucked the magic out of him, eyes burning like rubies in the growing darkness as they continued to sink together. Merlin was ready to give up his struggles when he heard a distant crash, the sound rippling through the water and striking his ears like a harsh slap.

The creature wrenched itself away from the sorcerer with an inhuman scream as a blade was thrust through its abdomen. It jerked and writhed upon the blade, body quivering, and before Merlin's very eyes the countenance of Arthur Pendragon melted away, revealing the hideous and leathery visage of a monstrous beast he had never before encountered. The sword twisted in the creature's abdomen before it was torn free, the beast continuing to sink as its ruby eyes flickered as it succumbed to the throes of death.

An urgent arm encircled Merlin's waist as spots danced in his vision, the burn in his lungs even more intense, and he was being dragged upwards. Two heads broke through the surface of the sea simultaneously, dark and fair, and Alona gripped the sorcerer's head with shaking hands as he coughed and spluttered, struggling to catch a breath that did not burn as though a hot brand had been applied to the tender flesh of his innards. "What was that?" Merlin demanded hoarsely when he could, gesturing towards the depths beneath them with a flailing hand.

"A siren," she answered, tugging him forward roughly and pressing her forehead against his as he squeezed his eyes shut. "They prey on the grieving and heartsick, and devour the magic of their victims. I told you not to venture near the shore unattended! I told you! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!" Alona was shouting towards the end and all he could do was struggle to keep the melancholy at bay, his face crumpling with emotion as she pulled back to glare at him. "You damned fool." When she kissed him Merlin was too surprised to do much more than tremble against her womanly frame, his clothes sodden and clinging to him, his appearance reminiscent of a drowned rat.

Merlin woke to the crushing feeling of being smushed into the mattress by a heavier man, whose body sprawled across him luxuriously, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed. Blinking tiredly, he gazed down at the blond head resting against his scarred sternum. Raising a tentative hand, he brushed a lock of golden hair away from Arthur's forehead. A brief swell of affection surged in his chest as the man unconsciously leaned into his touch, the faintest smile tugging at an arrogant mouth.

Shivering from the memory that had visited him in his sleep, Merlin abruptly pulled his hand away. He reached for his magic instinctively and almost dropped the man in surprise when it came to him easily. Catching hold of the magic before it could release, he slipped out from beneath Arthur and lowered him back down onto the bed, where the man buried his face in the pillows with a low grumble. For several moments he stood naked beside the bed, swaying minutely, just feeling the magic course through him like blood, golden and pulsing as it did so.

Just because he could, he reached for the magic once more and used it to tug the blankets and sheets up, tucking them snugly around his lover. Silencing his every movement, he dressed hurriedly. Merlin did not bother to head in to the bathroom in order to brush his teeth and otherwise freshen up; the magic worked to primp and polish him as he made his way to the front door of the flat. He knew he would return later – perhaps before his lover even woke up – but the sorcerer needed time away from the admittedly comfortable cage that had entrapped him since he had returned to consciousness following the shooting.

Idly, he rubbed the centre of his chest through his t-shirt. His magic tingled beneath the scarred area, reminding him of the numbness involved in the moment he had fallen to the floor of the lobby, almost lifeless in appearance. The memory of Arthur's hands clutching him close in terrified desperation assaulted him, then, and he was uncertain whether he wanted to turn around and return to the man's bed or flee even faster from the premises. His throat tightened as he descended the staircase, passing the investigators' offices and heading down to the lobby.

The scene of the assault.

Neither the investigators nor Gwaine had arrived yet. It was still far too early for their work to begin. That was good; being surrounded by his friends as they flung concerned questions at him was more than he was capable of stomaching at the moment. He was just glad Arthur had kept most of them busy while he was recovering. The sorcerer could imagine the argument that would have erupted between the former King and Gwaine on the matter. Shaking his head, he pulled his mind quickly away from that thought.

Merlin froze at the bottom of the staircase, almost in the same spot where Arthur had been that day. A shiver raced down his spine and he wrapped his arms around his middle as the coppery scent of blood assailed his nostrils as if it were spilling afresh before him. Whether it was his own blood or that of Nim Black was irrelevant. He hesitated to move forward, tension tightening his every muscle, and allowed his gaze to flick around the lobby, taking in everything that lay before him.

Police tape had initially cordoned off a section of the lobby, but it had been cut at some point; it hung there, a dark reminder for anyone that had been there that day. The carpet had been ripped up during the days that had passed since the shooting, revealing the concrete beneath. There was a dark reddish-brown stain upon the concrete where the blood had seeped through the fibrous material. His lungs struggled to take a sufficient breath as he surveyed the area and the sorcerer found he had to reassure himself that his scar was truly that, and not a gaping wound from which his very life would drain drop by crimson drop.

Hands gripping his sides with bruising force, Merlin tore his gaze away from that dark stain and hurried across the lobby with his eyes fixed upon the revolving door. As soon as he reached the door he pressed his hand against it and allowed his magic to flare up within him, eyes flashing gold briefly. He quickly pushed his way through to the other side and took a moment to lock up once more. Pressing his forehead against the cool glass, Merlin hesitated to leave. It felt dishonest, leaving whilst Arthur slept.

But he had to.

He had to.

Sucking in a shaking breath, he squeezed his eyes shut. Eventually, he dragged himself away from the revolving door and turned away from the building. Keeping his head down, Merlin strode down the street, arms still wrapped around himself protectively. He was a mere few metres away from the face of the building when a figure slowly emerged from a side-street still cast in darkness. The man was huge, taller and broader than even Percy – and he was virtually a god among men – and clad in a suit dark enough to hide even blood.

Almost as dark as his skin.

The colour of the suit made sense when the man's hand glinted dully and Merlin's attention snapped to the brass knuckles through which the man's fingers had been curled. Flicking his gaze back up, he took an immediate step back. Magic swirled readily beneath his skin, waiting for his rapid command. The giant of a man smiled at him, the expression sinister as it highlighted the scar that ran through the eyebrow above his left eye and the fact that his nose had been broken at least once on a previous occasion.

"An associate of mine would like to have a private word with you, Mr Dragan; you'll need to come with us."

Two sets of hands seized him roughly by the arms suddenly, similarly clad men having crept up behind him without his knowledge. He had to assume they were using aura-dampeners, which were collars that been designed for those who worked for Killer, allowing them to get the drop on practitioners of magic or those merely suspected of the crime. Before the sorcerer could even use his magic he was struck in the small of his back. The sharpened end of a lengthy rod jabbed into his skin through the fabric of his t-shirt. An alarmingly high current of electricity shot through him in an instant. Muscles convulsed wildly, his limbs jerking within the restrictive hold of the other men as the first man's smile broadened with cruel intent. A blinding white flared in front of his eyes, and the world faded to black around him.

When Merlin woke it was with a groan of pain as he lifted his chin from where it had rested against the top of his chest. A harsh ache flared up in the stiff muscles of his neck and shoulders. Blinking blearily, he peered through the darkness that surrounded him like a blanket in the stifling heat of midsummer. His eyes had not even adjusted to the darkness when light flared to life before him. Hissing, he squeezed his eyes closed and turned his face away abruptly, ignoring the pain in his neck.

"Welcome back to consciousness, Dragan." The frosty voice that spoke to him in crisp aristocratic tones was immediately recognisable; it was Aredian "Ian" Killer himself. The Prime Minister's presence indicated a matter of great importance, and that was decidedly a dangerous thing where Druids and sorcerers were concerned. As far as Merlin knew, no practitioner of magic had ever been graced with Killer's presence during an interrogation except, perhaps, Nim Black.

Ice ran down the sorcerer's spine. It took every ounce of his willpower not to shiver, not to let Killer see that he had something to fear. Once his eyes adjusted to the light before him Merlin glanced around. There was nothing special about the room, just four barren walls, a rectangular table with a steel surface and two chairs. "You were out for so long I was beginning to think it was permanent." Snapping his gaze back to his captor, he watched as Killer rose from his chair and came around the table. "Now, I'm going to unchain you and we're going to have a nice...chat."

Killer disappeared behind him and a soft jangle of keys met his eardrums. Twin locks were opened, allowing Merlin to bring his hands to the front. Though the chain securing his hands to the floor had been removed, the manacles remained heavily at his wrists. The things were hideous and large, bearing sigils and wards to keep his magic at bay. He was certain he could break free with enough force, but he knew he would be tempting fate. It would be better to sit through this interrogation and be released when it became clear they had no justifiable reason to keep him in custody.

Not that the government truly believed they needed a reason, of course. But Merlin simply refused to give anyone a reason to rip away his freedom, or his life. It was imperative, after all, for him to return to the Once and Future King's side. Watching Killer return to his own side of the table, clad in a suit as well-tailored as anything Arthur had worn, was like watching a serpent slithering with hungry intent upon its reptilian face. Voice cracking from disuse, the sorcerer asked a question he knew he would receive no honest answer for. "Where am I?"

Killer sat down elegantly and eyed him without reserve. A cold smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. "An undisclosed location of my choosing, of course," he replied genially. An agonised feminine scream echoed faintly in the distance. The Prime Minister's smirk broadened into a wicked smile as Merlin tensed in his chair, hands curling in to fists so tight his knuckles whitened. Realisation burned through the sorcerer's mind like fire: he had been taken to the Facility. It took an immense amount of effort to force himself to relax.

"Why?"

Smile vanishing as his gaze sharpened like knives, Killer leaned forward threateningly. "That's enough questions from you, Dragan," he said coldly. After a moment Killer leaned back marginally. "Now, I'm certain you must be hungry; it's been at least seven hours since you were brought here." Killer snapped his fingers sharply, the action summoning the entrance of a nervous young man carrying a tray laden with tea and sandwiches. The man spared no glance for the Prime Minister and vacated the room as soon as he had set the tray down upon the table.

The mere sight of the food earned a hungry grumble of Merlin's stomach, but he was no fool. Who knew what kind of drugs or poisons or truth serums the food and tea had been laced with? He would partake of nothing until Killer had done so first. Making no move to reach for what had been provided, Merlin stared hard at the man sitting opposite him until Killer grudgingly conceded to the sorcerer's suspicions. The man poured himself a cup of tea – black with one sugar – and selected a sandwich for himself.

Alert blue eyes watched Killer intently for several minutes after he had consumed his sandwich and taken a sip of his tea, waiting for the slightest hint that they had been tampered with. It was only with the certainty that they had not been that Merlin allowed himself to take a sandwich from the dish. And even then he merely nibbled on it. Reluctantly. Denying himself the satisfaction of gobbling up enough to fill his stomach. "Judging by your actions," said Killer with crisp amusement, "one might think you had no trust in your government, Dragan."

"Anyone who places blind trust in a figure of authority is a fool, and you know that very well or you wouldn't have raised the subject," answered Merlin slowly, his gaze hardening somewhat as he nibbled on his sandwich. Killer's eyes glistened frostily at the other side of the table and the sorcerer stared in to them without hesitation as he spoke. "There isn't a body on this earth that has never fallen victim to the flaws of mankind, particularly those who hold the seat of power. Even as we preach kindness and compassion we breed hatred and corruption with equal fervour. Being sceptical of authority is a natural, and well-advised, response to the inherently cruel nature of humanity."

Raising his cup with cool equanimity, Killer sipped his tea. The man set the cup back down slowly, fingers lingering briefly around the hot ceramic. Merlin knew immediately that they were about to get to the heart of the matter, that casual discussion was to be set aside. "You've been absent without leave from work for the past five days. I'd like to know why."

"I fell ill," Merlin replied with an apologetic smile. It was not far from the truth; he had been ill. His illness just happened to be an unfortunate side-effect of being shot in the chest with a bullet designed to paralyse his life force. Knowing the best lie was the closest to the truth, he continued with, "I had a nasty bout of the flu, and could hardly move I was so exhausted. Picking up the phone and calling my boss was a virtual impossibility at the time; I'm sure she'll understand once I explain." And she would, he knew. Knowing her since he was a child would certainly smooth the wrinkles between them.

A chilly smile graced Killer's face. "Strange that it should coincide with the assassination of Doctor Black, don't you think?"

Blue eyes narrowed fractionally as Merlin set his partially-eaten sandwich aside. "What are you implying?"

"Oh, I think you know what I'm suggesting." The Prime Minister rose from his chair and circled the table, disappearing behind Merlin. "This is the second crime to which you've been tied, Dragan, and we both know it can't possibly be a coincidence." When Merlin made to get up, to turn and face him, Killer's hands came down hard upon his shoulders and drove him back down. With an alarming amount of strength Killer kept him pinned to the chair, nails digging into his flesh hard enough to break the skin. It took every ounce of his strength not to flinch in pain.

A hand slipped into his dark hair and wrenched, yanking his head back aggressively. Biting back a cry of pain as the hair was almost pulled away from his scalp, the sorcerer met Killer's glacial gaze. "I'd advise you to make this easier on yourself. Speak truthfully and I will be lenient with you." Killer raked his gaze across Merlin's face. The action seemed coldly possessive and assessing, as if he believed he owned every inch of Merlin's person and would have it do as he instructed, regardless of the consequences. As if the government owned his very existence. "Do you work for the Syndicate?"

"I'm clearly part of a Yakuza family; my tattoos were done in invisible ink."

Killer's hand tightened in his hair. "Don't be smart with me, boy. Answer the question."

"No," answered Merlin, "I don't."

"Give me one good reason why I should believe you."

The sorcerer's expression hardened. "Because trading one murderous tyrant for another isn't something I'd ever pledge my life to." Killer shoved him forward so vigorously his face almost smacked against the surface of the table. It was only quick reflexes that saved him from the pain of a broken nose.

He watched as the man stalked around to the other side of the table. Each step was measured, but he could detect the faintest hint of frustration in his gait. Silence stretched between them for several moments until finally Killer spoke once more. "I believe you speak the truth regarding your involvement with the Syndicate, Dragan – such utter contempt could never be falsified. Still...it cannot be ignored that the woman helping to investigate the case of your father's abduction was murdered in cold blood."

"I was never labelled a suspect by the police while the case was in their hands."

The man turned to face Merlin while standing behind his chair, ageing hands gripping the back of it lightly. Pale fingers drummed an agitated rhythm against the upholstery. "And with two of your friends investigating the disappearance that's hardly surprising, is it?"

"We weren't friends when the case was opened." It was a struggle to remain calm while Killer's frosty eyes glittered suspiciously from the other side of the table. Accusations of involvement, if not outright orchestration, of his father's abduction was not something he had been expecting to hear today, nor in the near future. He had not thought it would ever be an issue, though he knew family members were often the prime suspects during initial inquiries in other cases. He had not stopped to think...had never realised...

"If that's the case, your relationship with them has certainly flourished in the past three weeks since your father's disappearance." The scoff lacing his cold chuckle was painfully apparent. Killer moved around his chair and sat down upon it, staring at him almost frankly. "One might think you'd poured Miracle-Gro upon the budding bonds between you, much like with your recent romantic entanglement with Private Investigator Arthur Pendragon. Are you aware that, should it be proven that he was exacting sexual favours as payment for the service he provides, he would be stripped of his license?"

Cold rage flared within the sorcerer, its icy claws itching to be released. No one insulted Arthur and got away with it. No one, except him. Eyes narrowing darkly, Merlin leaned forward with his hands pressed flat against the surface of the table. "Arthur Pendragon is the most honourable man I've had the fortune of meeting, Mr Prime Minister, and would never even think to do such a thing. I'll ask you not to slander his character further with these outrageous aspersions. I have every intention of providing monetary payment for the official service he has been, and still is, providing since I set foot in his office."

A frostbitten smirk tugged at the corner of Killer's mouth. "Perhaps you're not involved in either case, then, but that still leaves one crime upon your shoulders: sorcery."

Heart skipping a beat in his chest at the abrupt change in direction, Merlin replied calmly as he leaned back in his chair with subtle conviction, "You have no evidence to prove your claim."

"Oh, I think I do. You see, Dragan, Arthur Pendragon has a type." The man seemed to produce a manila envelope from thin air. He tossed it upon the table as his smirk deepened. The envelope slid across the table, coming to a slow stop in front of Merlin. "You needn't look at it, now." Killer snapped his fingers, summoning two of the men that had abducted him from outside Pendragon Investigations. One of the men seized Merlin with a powerful grip when he lunged away from the chair, toppling it to the floor in the process. The man crushed him to his torso when the sorcerer began to thrash in his embrace. A moment later the other man slid a hypodermic needle into the pale flesh of his neck and sank the plunger. As the effects of the drugs took him, he saw Killer lean over him as his vision began to blur. "Give it to Arthur; consider it a gift."

To Be Continued.

Aredian! *shakes fist threateningly*

Feel free to let me know what you think, guys!