Man, this chapter was loooong. I just couldn't seem to find a good place to cut it off. So I'm going to post it rapid-fire as a few separate chapters. A good portion of this is flashback, but let me know if that gets confusing, and I will try different formatting.
Warning: Descriptions and details of torture.
Enjoy!
~Ra1n
Previously...
"You used bloodletting?" Gwen demanded.
"No! No, I just thought of it when… when it happened."
"When what happened?"
Arthur's lips parted, and it was like he was reliving the experience again as he spoke.
Arthur sat at his desk, attempting to stomach his way through reading the latest weekly report of the sorcerer's interrogation. At the beginning, the reports had been filled with one or two interrogation techniques and then long, hefty chunks of dialogue. The sorcerer had mouthed off and fought like a wild animal, and Arthur had been fascinated to see the true nature of his ex-manservant.
But now, the reports were shorter, the lists of methods grew longer and more complex as the dialogue grew shorter and less coherent, and Arthur's logical mind was struggling with the tiny part of him that stubbornly refused to be apathetic. It was the same childish part that cringed when he went hunting, or mourned when he went to war. Arthur had long ago learned it was irrational, had learned how to ignore it, but reading the reports somehow caused it to come clawing to the surface once again.
"Heat applied to sensory point - Spoken: Please don't."
"Additional heated instruments applied to critical points - Spoken: Please, I c-can't-"
"Process repeated - No verbal response."
The report began, and then continued, with lists of actions and reactions. Arthur felt like he was going cross-eyed.
"No verbal response."
"No verbal response."
"No verbal response."
"Whimpered, No verbal response."
Occasionally he would perk up when the pattern changed, but it was always useless dialogue.
"Spoken: Please stop."
"Spoken: It-It h-hurts."
"Spoken: L-Let me go."
"Spoken: I don't understand."
The dialogue was always unnervingly detailed, and sometimes the useless scribe would even include the dialogue that didn't make sense, as if the meaningless syllables somehow mattered to him.
"Spoken: I'm not- I-I-I-"
"Spoken: Puh-ah! Ah! Stuh-op?"
"Additional round of iron dust started - tremors have increased ten-fold, consciousness erratic, No verbal response."
Arthur felt like he was on the verge of something, as if he was standing in the calm before the first fat drops of rain fell from the sky and soaked him through, but he needed to figure out how to get there. It was obvious from the reports that Merlin was waning, he just needed a final push to make him spill what he knew. Merlin would be telling Arthur all of his plans with Morgana soon, and just in time. Her attack could not be delayed for much longer.
But what could he do?
Looking out the window, Arthur could see the moon spilling its way across the treetops. He sighed. Previously, he hadn't taken a night stroll alone for years, but he had picked up the practice since Merlin's imprisonment. He now needed to be alone to think. The walls of his chambers always seemed to press in on him as he thought up ways to push Merlin over the edge, and that small piece of him wouldn't shut up. He pushed out his chair and stood, sheathing his sword at his hip before venturing into the castle's darkened halls.
His boots tap-tapped against the cobbled streets as he slowly made his way to the gates. He could only really go into the woods unaccompanied at night, when nobody could stop him and insist that he take a guard or two.
He sighed as the trees came into view and he entered the near-total darkness of the forest. Here, he could arrange his thoughts logically:
If he wanted to be a formidable force against Morgana, he needed all of the information he could get. What was her battle strategy? How large was her army? Exactly how much intel had the sorcerer syphoned off? Merlin knew, Arthur was sure of it. But even weeks into the interrogation, the sorcerer stubbornly refused to give up anything. The only reasonable conclusion, then, was that the approach they were currently using was flawed, and Arthur knew why.
The problem with the methods so far was that they relied too heavily on pain as an incentive, and Merlin was stronger than anybody had anticipated. Although publically Arthur was blaming the guards for their ineffectiveness, he knew it was actually a matter of pain tolerance... And the sorcerer's was unnaturally high. So he needed to try something else, use a different approach.
Gaius was no longer speaking to Arthur, so Arthur was forced to try to remember everything he had ever heard Gaius say about magic and magic-users when it came to developing new ways to convince Merlin to speak. He couldn't recall anything about a difference in pain management or resisting torture, but there had always been an awful lot of talk about blood. Magic in the blood; the blood tie between a dragon and its kin; the effect iron had on a sorcerer's magic, and therefore blood flow; it all seemed to be tied together, and Arthur wondered if he could use that information to his advantage.
He glanced up at the moon and the light shifting through the trees. It was funny how peaceful everything could seem whilst someone's head was in chaos. He stopped walking and leaned against the nearest tree, sinking down to rest his elbows on his knees.
If a sorcerer's essence seemed to be in their blood, could Merlin be drawing his strength from it? The collar had been partially designed to slow the blood, and it had been extremely effective in subduing him. But the collar only slowed the movement, the circulation. Was there a different approach? One that could help Arthur diminish Merlin's strong will?
He stared at the moon for a little longer. The leaves kept brushing through its milky depths, and despite the fact that Arthur couldn't feel the wind where he sat, he knew that the kingdom probably could.
If he couldn't slow the blood, could he reduce it?
The idea struck him very suddenly, and he felt like an idiot for not coming to the conclusion earlier. Gaius didn't support the practice, but bloodletting had been a medical ritual for years. Sure, it was a little messy. If there was less blood in Merlin's system, the effects would be devastating enough to make him speak, either because he would give up or because he would be too dazed and exhausted to be aware of what he was doing. Surely Arthur could find someone willing to perform it on Merlin. Without the vitality, the sorcerer would surely break.
Arthur smiled. This walk had been most productive.
He stood slowly, turning the idea around in his mind. He would need to find someone who wouldn't betray his secret. Someone he could trust to see Merlin alive and not tell a soul. Someone who-
A twig snapped somewhere to his left. Arthur froze, placing his hand warningly on his hilt.
"Hello?" He called. He could see movement somewhere further back in the trees.
"Come out," he said loudly. He didn't expect whatever it was to actually listen to him, but it felt good to at least pretend he had some kind of control. However, another twig snapped, and then another, and Arthur was surprised when a hand reached through the thicket a few feet from him.
Instinct kicked in, and Arthur was on the other side of the clearing he had found himself in with his sword in his hands before he realized he had moved. He watched as the hand became an arm, and then a shadowed face, and finally a full-sized figure, robed in a long, obscuring cloak.
Arthur lifted his sword threateningly. "Who are you? Speak!"
The figure tilted its head, then raised its hands in a peaceful gesture. Arthur kept his sword in place. Unperturbed, the figure lifted its hood away from its face, revealing the lined face of a man with a shock of grey-blond hair.
"Arthur Pendragon," the man said. His voice was full of authority, and despite Arthur's royal status and weapon, the king felt that the man had the upper hand in this situation. He breathed.
"I said, who are you?"
The man looked at him with neutral eyes. "We have met before. Do you not remember?"
Arthur didn't respond. Indeed, the man seemed a little familiar, but Arthur had been in contact with many strange, cloak-wearing men, and they'd started to blur together.
"I am Iseldir, Chieftain of the Druids," his face grew solemn, "And I need to speak with you."
Immediately, Arthur's sword raised. "I do not consort with Druids," he hissed, "and certainly not a Druidian leader."
"No?" Iseldir took a step closer. The leaves rustled as the wind finally reached the clearing, "In that case, let me rephrase: I am going to speak with you, whether you consort with Druids or not."
"You will do no such thing."
The wind grew louder. Iseldir's hands twitched. "And you believe you have that choice, sire?"
There was something in the way that Iseldir said "sire" that made his skin crawl. Arthur shivered.
"...because you don't. You will come with me."
Arthur took a step back. "No," he said, his sword still raised. The Druid matched his steps, remaining just a little too close. Arthur kept speaking, "no, there is nothing to speak about."
The wind was more forceful now, whipping leaves around the clearing. The pair needed to raise their voices to be heard over the roar.
"Not even your manservant?"
Arthur scowled. "I already know of my manservant. He is a sorcerer, a traitor like you and your kind!"
The man laughed, "and you know what he has done?"
That surprised Arthur. He'd never heard of a Druid betraying a fellow magic user. What did Iseldir gain by telling Arthur of Merlin's crimes? Nothing good, certainly.
"I already know enough."
"And Morgana? Do you know of her?"
That got Arthur's attention. His sword dipped slightly. Iseldir smirked.
The wind abruptly ceased.
"I guess that answers that question."
And then Arthur knew no more.