Thank you to everybody who messaged and commented and kicked my ass back into gear. I moved recently and kind of lost the ability to focus on the story. But I'm back!
Enjoy!
~Ra1n
By late that evening, Percival had left to go on patrol and Gaius had left to attend a birth in the lower town, leaving Gwen in charge of the unconscious Merlin. She spent the hours of waning light alternating between holding his bony hand and flipping through Gaius's dog-eared volumes in hopes of finding a way to remove the collar. As night approached without any improvement, Gwen stared at the ever-darkened windows and fought back tears.
On the other side of the castle, Arthur, not for the first time, lay in his bed unable to sleep. He had grown familiar with the patterns of his canopy in the moonlight, though he'd never truly appreciated them. He'd always been searching for a solution to a problem, or playing events out over and over again. He'd always had an answer, until now.
He rolled onto his side, tearing his eyes away from the canopy in favor of looking out the window. It seemed wrong, somehow, that the view from his window hadn't changed since the night that Iseldir had appeared; so many other things had.
Merlin was no longer an enemy of the crown, nor was he a prisoner, yet he might not live to know it. Gwaine was riding out to look for a Druidian leader per orders from Arthur himself, and that was just a start. Even the very essence of magic had been called into question.
And yet, the moonlight-speckled trees remained the same.
Arthur closed his eyes and let a breath out from his nose. He needed to sleep. He needed Merlin to be alright. He needed to stop Morgana. He needed to fix the mess he had made. He needed to make a plan to do all of those things-
But he knew nothing.
He twisted in his sheets, burying his face in his pillow. He stared at the blank darkness in front of his eyes and thought of Merlin, languishing in that cell for weeks, starving, cold, in pain. How much could a single man take? How could Arthur possibly fix anything that he'd done? He closed his eyes, and Merlin's voice filled his head.
It was the second day. Merlin was officially dead, had been dead for nearly twenty-four hours now. Initially, Arthur had been worried when Merlin didn't wake up immediately after the collar was put on him, but the guards had just reported that Merlin was beginning to regain consciousness in the cell, and Arthur knew he needed to be there.
As he discreetly made his way to the dungeons, Arthur felt his nerves tingling with anticipation. Never before had he felt fearful of his manservant. He needed to mentally prepare himself for the following encounter; it would be so easy to slip back into normalcy, for the sorcerer to deceive him as he had for so many years before.
He arrived at the dungeons more quickly than he had wanted, still partially unprepared. There were two guards waiting for his arrival.
"Sire."
The head guard, the one that had been appointed as incharge of the sorcerer's interrogation, took a step forward. He was standing at the entrance to the lower dungeons, a ring of keys held loosely in his gloved fist.
Arthur took a moment to regain his composure, then inclined his head in response. The guard continued,
"The sorcerer began to stir only a few minutes ago, sire. He should awaken very soon, if he has not already."
Arthur once again nodded and tried to ignore the whirl of anxiety in his chest.
"Please, follow me."
Arthur followed.
He had never liked the dungeons as a child, and he could honestly say that that had yet to change. The smell, the cold stones, the deep shadows; none of it made Arthur the least bit comfortable. Sure, he supposed that was basically the point of a dungeon, but it still didn't make him feel any better. The lower dungeons were always the worst, too. Arthur didn't want to think about how uncomfortable it would be to live in them. Then again, he felt a strange pang of satisfaction thinking about Merlin living in them, so perhaps they weren't so bad after all.
Arthur was so preoccupied with his thoughts, he didn't realize the guard had stopped until he nearly walked into him. He let out a grunt of surprise and came to a halt.
"Just in here, sire," the guard said softly, and Arthur realized they were standing before a cell. Merlin's cell. The very cell Arthur had ordered him into the day before.
He peered inside.
There was the sorcerer, curled into a tight ball in the back corner, against the wall. His pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness, and it made Arthur's head spin, how something so small could hold so much evil inside of it. Arthur shuddered. And to think he would have trusted the creature with his life only days ago...
The sorcerer moved, curling further into itself in an attempt to banish the cold of the cell. Arthur couldn't stop the look of disgust that flitted across his features. He wished the dungeons were colder.
A groan came through the bars, and with a start Arthur realized he didn't have a plan, didn't know how to begin an interrogation on a person whom he had trusted so thoroughly. What was he supposed to say? He turned towards the guards.
"You are dismissed," he said, and then, "leave the keys."
The guards looked like they wanted to protest, but a single look from Arthur had them fleeing without comment. He watched them leave before turning his attention back onto the cell and the prisoner within.
Perhaps he could use this... anxiety to his advantage. Even if Merlin was an evil sorcerer, he could surely experience some kind of fear, especially in the face of such a situation, bound as he was. If Arthur felt anxious, then it must be the same the other way around. And where there was fear, there was also hope. Arthur could utilize the trust they used to share, bend it to his advantage. What was a better way to break a man than to give him hope and take it away? If nothing else, it was a start, at least.
He breathed. He had a plan, even if it was a flimsy one, and just in time, too. Merlin was waking up, moving in his cell, turning his face towards the door. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.
"Wh-what-?" He twisted to look at the ceiling, the stone walls, and then back at the bars. His eyes fell on Arthur, wide and impossibly blue. "Arthur?"
Arthur looked down the bridge of his nose, turning his head up at the eye contact. Merlin's confusion deepened, and he went to sit up, his arms shaking to support his weight. Of course he would be confused. He'd been unconscious the moment the collar had closed.
He managed to prop himself up against the far wall, and his hands instantly went up to his neck, a hiss of pain escaping through his clenched teeth.
"Arthur, what's going on? Why am I here? Why-"
His fingers met the collar, and realization dawned on his face. Realization and fear. He looked at Arthur again.
"I-I can explain," he started, but Arthur held up a hand to silence him.
"I do not wish to hear an explanation," he said, and then he began to carry out his plan. Swallowing down his disgust, he lifted the keys and unlocked the cell door, stepping in quickly before shutting it behind him, unlocked. God, his lip nearly curled at the show of hope and relief that filled the creature's face.
"You don't?" Merlin went to stand up and look Arthur in the eye, but only managed to get into a squatting position before giving up and leaning against the wall again. He tried to muster up a smile, the deceitful little runt. "Think you could take this off, then?" He asked, motioning towards the collar. "I can't look you in the eye from down here."
Arthur wanted to shout "never" and flee the room, to leave the sorcerer to rot. But instead he took a deep breath. He needed to give the creature hope. If he ruined it now the sorcerer would shut down. "I don't think that is an option right now, mate." The last word tasted foul on his tongue.
"Why not?"
"Because things are complicated. You're a known sorcerer."
Merlin twisted suddenly to look at the part of the wall where the upper dungeons had a window, but was met with dark brick instead. "What time is it?" he asked frantically, "How long have I been out?"
"Twenty-four hours. It's morning."
Merlin paled. "Can I leave? Are you going to kill me?"
His voice sounded so small, a tiny bit of Arthur nearly pitied him. Everything was afraid to die.
"No."
"No, what?"
"You can't leave," Arthur said, and the servant looked sick, "But I am not going to kill you." The amount of relief that radiated from the man was palpable.
"Then what… why am I stuck here?"
"I'll come back," Arthur said, trying to dodge the questions, and a part of him even believed it. Merlin's eyes widened.
"Arthur, you can't just leave me down here."
Arthur's composure slipped a bit. "You are a known sorcerer. I cannot allow you to leave."
Merlin's brow crumpled in confusion at the sudden coldness in tone. The king scrambled to recover the facade.
"You know that the people fear you. If I release you now, there will be chaos in Camelot."
"But-" Merlin's eyes traveled around the cell, taking in the stone and dirt. He wrapped his arms around himself, and Arthur had a brief moment to realize his jacket had been confiscated at some point between now and when the collar had been placed on him.
"I'll be back. I promise. Just hold on."
Arthur stood to leave and found an odd sort of satisfaction when Merlin tried and failed to follow. The collar had worked faster than he had hoped for.
"Please," he said from the back of the cell where he had yet to move from, "Don't do this, Arthur."
Arthur closed and locked the door behind him.
"Just wait," he said, retreating down the hallway, "I'll be back."
And then he was gone, handing the keys to the guard.
"Prepare him for interrogation," he muttered. And if he had felt any remorse before, it all disappeared as he made his way back up the stairs, the sounds of chains rattling behind him.