Merlin gasped as he woke to a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. He scrambled backwards, only for the movement to be cut short by the chains holding him fast in the middle of a castle dungeon's cell. He reached for the magic that usually thrummed through his blood like music, but he met only silence. The chains on his wrists and ankles burned the more he strained. Merlin's heart pounded in his throat as he strained against the chains, whose clamor sounded like hundreds of mocking shrieks.
A woman chuckled coldly. "I wouldn't try to use magic if I were you. Those chains were forged in the eternal flame and quenched in the blood of a dragon. Your magic is useless against them. The more you fight them, the faster they will drain the life from your pathetic body."
Merlin stopped struggling to look at the woman who stood before him in the cell. She wore an intricate, form-fitting midnight gown bedecked with sapphires and diamonds around her waist and neck that glimmered even in the dim lights of the dungeon. Raven hair curled elegantly around her shoulders. She had the beauty of a princess and the cruel smile of a demon. Morgana.
A bucket hovered to her side which she lowered with the flick of a finger.
A cold feeling seeped into Merlin's bones, far deeper than the chill of the water on his skin. What was he doing here? His head throbbed as the memories came back. Morgause and Morgana had been plotting to kill Arthur and Uther using a cursed amulet in their possession so that Morgana could take the throne once more. Merlin had destroyed it, but he'd been discovered by Morgana. Merlin's head gave a particularly painful throb as he remembered being slammed into a pillar before everything went black.
Morgana crouched over Merlin. "I should've known you weren't some mere dim-witted servant. Your power is unmistakable now, knowledge of the mark of Emrys has been passed down priestess to priestess for centuries. I'm impressed you managed to keep it hidden for so long."
She traced a finger along Merlin's cheek. He tried to pull away, but found himself frozen in place. He couldn't so much as breathe.
"I haven't forgotten what you did to me, what you did to my sister. You nearly killed her. You will pay for that dearly, Merlin," She said tauntingly. "You are worse than Uther. He at least does not betray his own kind like you have. I will enjoy ripping you to shreds."
Merlin knew he was going to die this time. Kilgara had told him that the success of this quest and the future of magic in all Albion depended on a bitter choice. It seemed Merlin had made his choice without knowing it. There was no escaping with a clever bit of magic or a stroke of dumb luck this time. He was powerless and trapped by a High Priestess of the Old Religion and nobody was coming to the rescue.
The force freezing Merlin in place suddenly vanished. Merlin's head slammed onto the stone floor. Red and white lights flashed before his eyes.
"I didn't want to hurt you, Morgana," he said when the flashing lights had mostly faded. "You were my friend. I want magic to be allowed in Camelot again, just like you, but killing Uther and Arthur is not the way to do it. You will only make more enemies of magic—Aaagghh!"
Fire burned in Merlin's blood. He couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He just burned. His scream had emptied his lungs of air but he could not fill them again. The burning continued for what felt like hours before his consciousness began to slip. The burning faded enough for him to gasp a breath, then another before returning full force.
And so it went on for how long, Merlin could not tell. Just as he was about to sink into unconsciousness, he'd be allowed to breathe only for the pain to return in what seemed like ever increasing strength. In the gaps, Merlin could hear Morgana's laughter.
The fire fizzled out of Merlin's blood. He gasped for air and braced for its return, but it did not come. He pressed his cheek against the cold stone beneath him. The chill of his soaked clothes was a balm to his fevered skin. A wave of exhaustion overcame him. A part of his brain registered that his pants were soaked now too. He'd soiled himself from the pain.
Morgana's boot nudged his face so that it was facing up again. Merlin gave her a hate-filled stare. She smiled smugly. "As entertaining as it is to watch you writhe on the ground like the worm you are, I could do with a little more variety."
With a wave of her hand, Morgana summoned a chair behind Merlin. Merlin couldn't recall whether it had been in the room before she'd started torturing him. There was just enough length in the chains for Morgana to force Merlin into the chair. He mentally strained against her control, but as he did so he could feel what remained of his strength diminish. Leather straps tightened around his wrists and ankles of their own accord. His hands prickled with the loss of circulation.
Morgana twirled her hair thoughtfully. "Let's see, what should we do next? I suppose we can start with the nails, you have no need for those now, do you? You!"
She gestured to a man dressed in all black, the top half of his face obscured by a cloth mask except for the eyes, which glittered coldly. How long the man had been outside the cell, Merlin couldn't say. The masked man opened the cell door and stepped inside. Two more men came after with a table laden with sinister looking tools and set it on one side of the room before leaving.
At least he'd been able to save Arthur one last time, Merlin thought as the masked man examined the tools, occasionally lifting one or another and turning it over in his hands. He'd saved Camelot, Merlin repeated to himself in his mind.
But who will know what happened to you? Arthur will never know all that you've done for him. He will think you abandoned him. That you were never anything more than a stupid, bumbling, good for nothing servant.
Merlin shook his head at the thought. No, it wasn't about recognition. It was his destiny to protect Arthur, to help Arthur become the person Albion needed him to be. Perhaps dying here at the hands of Morgana was his destiny. Maybe Merlin had saved Arthur for good.
And what about the next threat that comes for Arthur? He has enemies in his own court and all across the land. He won't last a day without you. All you've sacrificed will be for naught.
Stabbing pain zinged up from Merlin's fingertip all the way to his shoulder. He howled in pain. He dared to look at his hand. A shaft of wood stuck out from under the nail of the second finger on his right hand. Blood dripped from the end. The masked man pressed down on the shaft, prying the nail off of Merlin's finger. The nail came free. Merlin screamed.
Morgana gave a satisfied sigh. "Yes, this is much better. Remove them all."
He wanted to look away, to see anything other than torn skin, the rivulets of blood, the growing pile of rust colored nails at his feet as the torturer removed nail after nail first from his fingers, then his toes, but he couldn't look away. He could only scream and scream and scream until he tasted blood in his throat.
What followed next was a symphony of pain with Morgana as the conductor. The torturer ground his fingers into misshapen sausages filled with bone shards. He was whipped, beaten, branded. Strips of skin peeled off with a skinning knife. Then came the hammer which broke Merlin's ribs.
Each breath was excruciating. He could feel at least two ribs stabbing into his lung with every breath. Blood pooled around Merlin's feet. There wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt in at least three different ways. His body shook uncontrollably. His vision blurred, but unconscious evaded him in its cruelty.
Broken ribs must be tightly bound, Gaius's voice said in Merlin's mind. If not, you risk puncturing the lungs. While the patient may survive a small puncture, most will prove fatal.
Blood burbled from Merlin's mouth. He didn't need to be a healer to know what that meant. He had lost too much blood. He should've lost consciousness long ago. Was Morgana using her magic to prolong his suffering? It seemed the most likely conclusion given the strength of her hatred for him.
"I think we've had enough for today," Morgana said.
She chanted a spell and the stabbing in Merlin's ribs lessened. He grit his teeth as the bones ground against one another.
"That's to ensure you live through the night. We wouldn't want you to miss out on all the fun we have planned for you tomorrow. Sleep well." Morgana cackled.
The chair and table with all its instruments disappeared. Merlin slammed into the stone floor with a groan. Morgana's absence was little relief. Every nerve was raw and screaming without end. The cold that had been a relief between bouts of fire now gnawed at his brutalized body. The involuntary shivers sent bone grating against bone.
Merlin wanted to call out to someone. Arthur, Gaius, his mother, anyone. Even if he'd had the strength though, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to do it. He'd failed at his destiny. He'd failed Arthur and all the others who unknowingly depended on him to keep Camelot safe. He had made the wrong choice somewhere along the line. He had failed.
