A/n: Hello again! Sorry this took longer than it should have...

Special thanks to DwaejiTokki, Aaronna, and mersan123 for their continued support. And to answer your general worry: Yes, Arthur will eventually find out Merlin is alive, but alas, not in this chapter! Maybe not for a little while, and they're going to have to work to get there (well, Merlin is). Sorry! I'm introducing some of the bigger plot at hand, so I hope that I answer some of your questions today.

*Notes on canon: I just realized I never gave this story a real timeline alongside canon. Please disregard any slip ups and take this story for the mess that it is. I'm thinking it's roughly the end of season four, only I'm kind of disregarding the whole Arthur/Gwen thing (solid Lance/Gwen shipper here), Arthur already has Excalibur, and this plot is more...instead of the finale. Forgive my incongruities!

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, and I am certainly not profiting off this endeavor. All mistakes are my own.


A Criminal's Burial

Chapter 3

Laughter bubbling up in her chest, Morgana erupted with a single bark as she saw Merlin slump to the ground in defeat. Her eyes traced the figure in the scrying stone, mouth curling into an unpracticed smile. She found joy in the discouraged curl in the man's knobbly spine, the slack expression on his face as it melted into the stones, and the smatterings of blood and filth littering his sallow, bony frame like poppies across the countryside. In fact, she could barely distinguish the original color of the servant's remaining garments—his shirt and pants—as they were nothing more than glorified tatters that only clung to him because they had adhered to his wounds.

As much as she would love to have that despicable manservant in her own clutches again, she was quite pleased with her ally's technique, though it had yet to yield any results. The boy always was stubborn, not to mention frighteningly loyal. However, if he were to break, he would be a valuable source of information; if not, regardless, the boy would have to earn his death after days—possibly weeks—of torture, and Arthur will be devastated. Arthur was devastated, distracted, vulnerable. Yes, she decided, killing the servant in this manner was particularly satisfying in the long run, information or not. Not only would the boy be out of the way once and for all, but she could enjoy her brother's anguish as he loses both his dearest friend and his beloved kingdom.

A knock yanked her from her reverie, and Morgana's gaze shot towards the door, where Agravaine was already entering unbidden. After an eye roll and a terse castigation, Agravaine was quick to apologize, stammering and stumbling over himself. "My Lady," he offered in subordinate greeting, giving a low bow the witch ignored in favor of examining the rigid image of the manservant.

"Have you succeeded in organizing my men within the citadel?" she inquired, watching the boy's body wrack with full convulsions.

Agravaine cleared his throat and responded, "Yes, my Lady, is there news on the"—he pointed to the crystal—"situation?"

"See for yourself," she said, proffering the stone.

Together they watched as the servant's face contorted, compensating for the closed eyes and clenched jaw, which was holding fast around his gag. His convulsions grew more violent, thrashing bodily, each limb acting as independently as it could manage, movement barely halting as he crashed against the floor or caught against his restraints. Within seconds, the boy slackened completely, sinking formless to the ground as he briefly blacked out. Stomach visibly contracting, the servant woke and doubled over, fighting to either delay his sick or force the gag from his mouth.

The two watched in morbid fascination, torn between the pleasure of the boy dying here and now and the thought of him surviving another day. Morgana's hand tightened in anticipation, consumed by the crystal's apparition, which was stiffly working its jaw, terror wrought in its ghastly brow.

Just as the witch was sure the boy would not survive, he pushed past brink. The gag fell to a crude necklace in time for the servant to spit out its companion and retch immediately thereafter.

Though Agravaine could not hear the boy's heaves, he turned his head away, stomach churning in sympathy as the servant expelled what little he had left. Morgana, however, turned her attention to the way the boy's stomach pulsed, insistent on purging itself of its irritant.

Though his body throbbed in a meager effort to restore itself, the manservant's face smoothed with relief. He hadn't died. That was certainly something. Completely exhausted, dry heaves expended, he slid to the ground once more, careful to avoid his latest rancid addition to his immediate surroundings, and slipped into a disoriented sleep.

Now certain that the fun was over, the witch banished the image from the crystal and set it aside. "He should break soon," Morgana mused, replaying the boy's pained face in her mind.

Agravaine shook his head. "I'm surprised he hasn't already...Do you have another plan if the boy were to...expire?"

She eyed Agravaine and then the siege tunnel map he acquired earlier in the week. "If he fails to get the information from the servant," she spat. "Then we will just have to leak something for Staunton to use." Displeasure twisting her mouth, Morgana continued, "But that would be unfortunate. I quite liked the thought of him getting cocky."

"Why is that, my Lady?" Agravaine asked, still unsure of Staunton's role.

"Why?" she parroted, smiling to herself. "Why, if he believes that he is the only one who has plans to the city, he will believe he is the only one who can take Camelot. He will attempt to cast away my allegiance at the first opportunity. He will underestimate us, and he won't even see our betrayal coming. He's the perfect distraction."

"And if we have to slip him the plans?" he continued as Morgana slid into the chair behind the map.

Fingering the edges of the parchment, she replied, "I will just say that my inside man had been asking around and he heard about these"—she gestured to a tunnel—"from one of the castle guards or some such. Regardless, I told him I did not have enough men to orchestrate such an attack. He will not be terribly suspicious, I presume."

"But my Lady, isn't that too great a risk?" Agravaine asked.

The witch glared up at the man, who was still awkwardly shifting in place, and returned, "No, considering how many men we already have on the inside and the plans I have made to infiltrate with a second wave, we will have the advantage. My men will be the only ones who know who they are fighting, and we will far outnumber whatever Staunton can scrape together."

Though he wasn't confident that Morgana's plan was perfectly sound, he figured it could yield better results than a straight-on siege. After all, he had spent the last several months settling hundreds of men in the castle, finding them work, lodging, and weapons. When the time arrived and the battle horn sounded, they would cut down every dutiful Camelot guard and knight in sight. Camelot's defenses would be fractured, and they would be able to garner control for themselves.

It just might work.


Stretching as best as he could manage given his surroundings, Merlin soon regretted the action as his ribs ached with a renewed fervor. After he clumsily repositioned himself, he pushed at them experimentally, hissing as they shifted back beneath his touch. Merlin sucked in a gasp as he removed his hand and rode through the pain. Definitely not good, he thought. Once the worst of it had passed, Merlin gingerly placed his hand back, whispering a spell under his breath. Though he was rubbish at healing magic, surely he could coax his errant bones into place.

As his bones ground into position, Merlin choked, trying to get a handle on the pain. Bracing himself, he pushed again at his ribs. They throbbed, but held steady. At least he was no longer in danger of them shifting further and puncturing his organs. Who would have thought his usual telekinetic spell and a bit of will would push bones back into place?

A spell. Merlin's eyes widened at the realization; he had not cast one the entire week, too knackered to so much has focus his thoughts. Though he was now sporting a smarting bruise across what felt like half of his face, his mind felt clearer than it had in days. Had Lewis not adjusted the dosage of that potion? Perhaps he was starting to gain a bit of a tolerance? Not enough of one to sidestep the potion's adverse effects, of course, but if it allowed him to wake up sooner, he could strategize. Maybe he could even find a way out of here, find Arthur and a way back to Camelot.

Unsure of when Lewis would return, Merlin settled back down with his thoughts. If his tormentor were to return, Merlin could not risk the man upping the dosage. It might incapacitate him further, assuming it didn't kill him outright. He simply could not afford that, and he had to fix what he could now.

Figuring the probably was relatively low that he did not have some sort of infection, the sorcerer wracked his brain for any sort of spell that could possibly work. No outright healing spells coming to mind, Merlin tried to think more creatively. If a telekinetic spell could move bones, something relatively familiar could possibly do the trick. An infection, an impurity in the body. An impurity.

Arthur's foul socks and smalls.

The servant grimaced, trying to to shove the thought from his mind, unsure of how it arrived there to begin with until it hit him. An impurity. Dirt. Grime. Something that wasn't supposed to be there, something tainting the original form. Grinning to himself, Merlin felt the corners of mouth crack as he practiced the words in his head before saying them aloud.

Any shred of consequences flew from his mind within a split second, and the sorcerer whispered the spell, directing it internally instead. Though he felt no immediate effects, Merlin felt he had done the best he could have. If it hadn't worked, well, no harm no foul, he supposed. At least he didn't turn himself into a pair of Arthur's socks.

Amused by the thought, Merlin smiled, only to feel his lips crack further. God was he parched. He licked his blood-crusted lips, trying to generate some sort of moisture, but failed, tongue sticking and pulling at his lips as he tried to remove it. Swallowing thickly, he wondered if there was something he could do about it.

He tried to summon water to no avail. After trying a few more times, Merlin gave up entirely. He would either have to escape with these injuries or hope he was given something, which seemed just about as likely as escaping right now. Then again, if Lewis wanted him to speak louder than a standard whisper or croak, he'd have to give him something.

His stomach sounded at the thought of something, and he immediately tried to banish the thought. He was more likely to be watered than fed.

Deciding that if he were to ever escape this dank dungeon, food would be one of his primary concerns, the sorcerer turned his attention on thoughts of how to escape in the first place.

If he tried to leave right now, there was the chance he would run into Lewis. However, if he stayed and waited until Lewis's next session, there was a chance that he would be worse off than he is now, possibly even dead. Merlin tested his limbs and gave up on the former idea; he still would not get far were he to run.

Then there was the whole matter of finding Arthur. He just had to still be alive. He had to.

Before he could consider much else, the metal barred door opened with a jarring creak, and a large shadow emerged from the dim hall lighting. Merlin froze in place and clamped his eyes shut, hoping that his breathing would not give him away. Did he normally have the slowness of slumber or the quick pace of poison?

Thankfully, Lewis did not seem to notice anything amiss and proceeded to ritualistically light the torches encircling the room. His heavy footsteps sent vibrations through the stone floor, and Merlin shuddered, his manacles seeming tighter than before. Breath hitching, chest constricting, the sorcerer tried to fight off the sheer terror consuming his body and hijacking his mind.

As the heavy footsteps grew louder, Merlin struggled weakly. He pulled at his chains, fingers clasping around them as if he had the strength to uproot them entirely. A chuckle filled the air, and its echoes arrested what little free space the cell possessed, stifling the captive with his tormentor's seemingly redoubled power.

"Wakey, wakey," Lewis sang, mouth twisting in a cruel smile as he pushed Merlin onto his back with a foot. The servant greeted him with a wild look, eyes darting rapidly, unseeing.

"Good, good. I see you survived," he said, surveying the kerchief that was still tied around the boy's throat and the new bile coating the stones. "Are you going to tell me something useful today, boy?"

Merlin shook like a leaf in response.

"I take that as a no," Lewis supposed. "But, I'm afraid I must offer you an ultimatum: either tell me something today, or I will gut you here and now and leave you here to rot." He paused, watching the servant's face fall, before he added with increased severity, "And I will make sure you die knowing that I will take someone else. It might be a fellow servant, a knight...Perhaps a child if I get bored. But I will get what I want. I am giving you the chance to end it with you."

Grappling for his magic, the sorcerer grounded himself as he felt it there waiting for him. "I-If," Merlin began, voice scratchy and harsh, "If I tell you?"

"I'll have to ensure you aren't lying to me, of course, but I will provide you with a quick end," he guaranteed with a solemn voice and face.

Merlin studied the other man's face, looking for any hint to indicate he was lying. Though he knew Lewis was a skilled actor, the servant was convinced the offer was genuine. "And in the meanwhile?" he rasped, "While you are checking?"

"I will ensure you do not die and nothing worse befalls you," Lewis answered in the softest tone Merlin had heard him speak.

Merlin nodded, swallowing back some of his raw emotion. "And what of Arthur?" he asked with his brow wrinkled in concern.

"He will die," he stated. Merlin took a shuddering breath as the other man elaborated, "Regardless, tomorrow, we send the king back on a full envoy. Once we know how troops can infiltrate the castle, we will have our men on the inside kill him. With no one to organize a counter-attack, we will invade. Regardless, he will die. It just depends on you, whether you tell us, or whether we have to ask someone else."

Bowing his head in resignation, Merlin took a moment to reconcile his next action. He took a deep breath and looked up, meeting his captor in the eyes.

"Fine," Merlin breathed, "I will tell you."


End of Chapter 3


A/n: That's it for today! Does this answer some questions? I hope so! Did it raise a few more in their place? I hope that happened, too! Any predictions as to what Merlin's doing here? I promise it's a bit crazy.

This chapter was exceptionally difficult for me to write, but I would not have gotten through it were it not for all my lovely reviewers. So please, be sure to review! Even if it's a quick some such like "pls update", I really appreciate it. University started again last week, so please give me the motivation to procrastinate to your benefit.

~gecko