"Well, this is a nice change of scenery."
"It's a prison cell." Merlin cast unbelieving eyes at the absolutely moronic prince he had the displeasure of being imprisoned with. Was Arthur really this stupid?
It wasn't even a nice cell.
Little more than a hole in the ground, really. The floor was roughly hewn with stone and dirt, the walls damp, gray stone that were frigid to the touch.
Goosebumps rose on his shoulders from where they were unceremoniously pressed against the wall.
The lone door to the cell was elevated, a single layer of stone running underneath it; just high enough that one would have to step down in order to enter the cell. Light shone weakly through the cracks in its surface. Providing just enough light that Merlin was able to make out Arthur's silhouette in the gloom.
"I was being sarcastic, Merlin. " said stupid prince gritted out. His blue eyes glaring at him incredulously, like it was Merlin who was being a bloody idiot.
Merlin scoffed, turned his face away, and dragged a heel through the dirt of the cell.
Stupid prince.
Never taking anything seriously.
Acting like it was the highlight of his day to be stuck in a dingy hole in the ground that was barely big enough for the both of them. The cell was barely a man's length across and two men's length long.
Merlin's toes could have brushed against the opposite wall if he stretched his legs out.
His shoulders ached from where they were wretched backward, his wrists dangling from the chains shackling them to the wall.
His neck and shoulders cried out from the uncomfortable position, begged piteously for some relief that stubbornly would not come.
A quick glance confirmed that Arthur was faring no better.
Like Merlin, his arms were strung high above his head. Blood stained the left side of his face. A leftover from the skirmish Merlin doesn't remember fighting. Though one thing's for certain, they must have lost and lost badly before being dragged to who-knows-where.
Nasty purple bruises were blossoming like morbid flowers on Arthur's skin, barely visible beneath the collar of his torn shirt, decorating his face and arms.
His armor having seemingly been lost somewhere between then and now.
It looked no more comfortable than it felt and Merlin winced. His own strained shoulders ached in empathy.
At least, Merlin thought, they were able to sit.
At least they weren't forced to stand on tiptoe, on bowed legs as they were forced to stand for hours and hours. All their weight balanced on the delicate stretch of their wrists, manacles parting the flesh of their wrists as they hung; no relief to be found.
Merlin had heard the horror stories whispered between the knights who'd been held prisoner by Morgana. Of the grief and torment they shared between them like wine, hidden, concealed in the cover of night. Heedless of the serving boy who eavesdropped just around the corner.
The serving boy who shouldn't have even been out of bed and yet…
There he was.
It had been unintentional.
An honest mistake unthinkingly made as he snuck down to the catacombs to visit Kilgharrah. He'd frozen in place when he'd heard the voices ahead of him, unable to leave, unwilling to listen, unable to do both.
He remembered the horror and grief and disgust that had raged through him as he'd listened.
Heart sore and sorrowful in the face of such callousness.
How could people do this to each other?
How could Morgana have done this?
Morgana who had always been so caring and stalwart in her dedication to others and life. Who had protested time and time again against injustice and cruelty.
Who had fought beside him in Ealdor simply because she'd cared for him.
Morgana who he had ripped to shreds himself.
It was him who had broken her down, reworked her entire being with a single drink of poisoned wine.
Who had turned her into a monster.
How, how, how…
He squeezed his eyes shut, leaned his head against the wall.
Being forced to hang would have been no less than he deserved.
But still, a small, traitorous part of Merlin was unbearably glad that they'd ( he'd ) been spared that particular pain.
The thought wracked him with guilt.
It was cowardly.
It was shameful.
It felt everything he'd been trying so hard not to be.
Not to be the child who cowered at the mere thought of pain. Who cringed away from the very mention of magic in fear. Who had dreamed of burning fire eating away at him, breaking him down piece by piece, choking him with smoke and sweltering heat while he screamed and screamed and screamed.
He cringed.
Okay, maybe he was still a little afraid of being burned at the stake but, he was supposed to be Arthur's shield.
And shields didn't falter in the face of a little fire, a little danger, he scolded himself.
Merlin mentally shook himself.
This was no time to be thinking of these things.
First, things first, he had to figure out how they had gotten here, where here even was, and, most importantly, how they were going to escape.
"How do we keep getting into these situations?"
"Two years of friendship and I still don't know."
Merlin snorted, a grin lighting his face. "That's not what I meant and you know it."
Arthur's eyes glittered with mirth, "Well if you actually said what was on your mind instead of dancing 'round the issue like a girl we wouldn't have this problem, would we?"
"We can't all be reckless brutes. But really, how did we get here?"
"Bandits. They knocked you out pretty early on in the fight and I got knocked out trying to keep your stupid head on your shoulders."
Merlin stuck his tongue out at him, "My dearest apologies Princess Prat. Not all of us can be meatheads like you."
"I always knew you were a wimp, Merlin. There's no need to be ashamed," he teased. "We all have our different strengths and yours is just…," he trailed off.
If Merlin's hands were free he would have thrown something.
Stupid prince.
"Anyway, what's our exit strategy?"
"Our what?"
"Oh my god, we're going to die."
"Now, see here, Merlin-"
The banter was easy, familiar, and Merlin let himself fall into it gratefully.
A comforting anchor in this frightening, anomalous situation.
A light in the dark.
He can almost pretend that they're not being held captive in some dank, dungeon just waiting for what comes next.
He wonders if it's as comforting to Arthur as it is to him.
He hoped so.
Time ambled by slowly, the lack of windows and the inky blackness messing with his sense of time.
So they talked and they teased and tried to ignore the looming danger ahead of them.
Merlin's was in the middle of passionately arguing about why these hunting trips are a bad idea and how they should stop partaking in them immediately when the door opens.
The sudden influx of light was blinding.
Tears immediately welled up from the sudden onslaught. He blinked rapidly, black spots dancing in his vision as he tried fruitlessly to force his eyes to adjust.
"Rise and shine, boys," a feminine voice trilled, "I hope you're ready."
Her gaze settled on Merlin and her smile seemed to sharpen. Like a predator staring down a rabbit; a scornful priest condemning a sinful man; a sister ready to take revenge for the wrongs done to her family.
Merlin's eyes widened.
Uncertainty crept over his face, he can feel his jaw start to tremble.
The emotions he'd pushed down rapidly rising within him like soap bubbles, popping against his breastbone, lodging in his throat. He suddenly couldn't breathe around the lump in his throat.
He swallowed convulsively.
"Morgause," he gasped shakily.
Her smirk widened. The edges of her smile stretching her pretty face into something grotesque, as she glared daggers at Merlin.
"Ready for what," Arthur interjected warily.
Worried eyes lighting upon Merlin.
"Why to play of course," she grinned cruelly, "We're going to have so much fun together."
Notes: Hmmm, okay. We're just gonna pretend there was a time gap between defeating Morguase and Merlin releasing the Great Dragon. Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey shenanigans going on