Happy New Year, everyone!

Enjoy!

~Ra1n

Previously...

"Arthur," the voice came again, tinny and this time devoid of emotion. Arthur shivered. It was coming from behind the closed door. He thought maybe he knew the voice, but it was hard to tell.

Steeling himself, Arthur walked up to the door, pulled it open, took a step, and let out a shout.

As Arthur's foot met empty air, he didn't even have time to pull back before the threshold he was standing on melted away and he was falling into a pit of absolute darkness.

Arthur shivered.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

The surface below him was hard and cold, like polished obsidian. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it against the palms of his hands and through the fabric of his trousers. The air around him was cool and dry and dark.

Everything was dark.

Even squinting, Arthur couldn't see his hand in front of his face. He could have been in a space the size of a castle or the size of a broom closet. He could have been nowhere at all.

He thought the last one seemed to be the most likely.

He stood carefully, unsure of his own footing or even where the floor actually was, and looked up. Above him the darkness stretched endlessly, no indication as to where he had fallen from.

If he admitted it to himself, he wasn't even sure if he had fallen, or at least not in a conventional sense. It had certainly felt like he was falling, but then he was suddenly sitting, quite calmly, in the dark, and that didn't really tend to be how landing worked. He would have thought about it harder if it weren't for the fact that the things leading up to the fall were infinitely stranger.

He didn't want to give that much thought, either.

Arthur cast another glance into the sky. Nope, still no explanation. Dropping his head again, he slid his foot forward a few inches and felt to make sure there was ground in front of him. It was solid beneath his foot, and perfectly smooth and flat, and although this should have been reassuring, Arthur just found that it confused him more. With his hands out in front of him, he took another step, only to have the exact same result. There didn't seem to be any resistance or break in the monotony of the dark and the floor. With no change after an additional three steps, Arthur could only pray he was going in the right direction.

And thus began the longest, and perhaps the most hellish, walk he had ever been on.

Periodically, he would blink to see if maybe his eyes were closed, because he had never witnessed darkness this complete. But every time he opened his eyes again, he was still blind.

He kept walking.

Hours passed. Arthur wasn't sure if time was moving, but if it was then it was absolutely crawling by. There was nothing to mark how far he had gone or for how long, and the only sound was his boots scratching against the ground.

Eventually it got to a point where Arthur was absolutely sure he was going to go mad. He couldn't even remember if his eyes were open or closed. He'd taken to whistling to keep himself focused on something. His legs felt numb and his mouth felt dry and he was cold-

And then he stopped, his legs buzzing with the sudden change in pattern, and focused on the temperature.

Had it been this cold before?

He thought, surely, that it hadn't. After wandering for hours Arthur was sure the air was colder and refused to believe otherwise. Even just a few moments ago, it had been warmer than it was now. And even now the temperature was still dropping.

He stopped whistling and let out a breath of relief-at least something in this desolate no-man's land had changed- before he felt his eyes widen in shock-- his breath! It billowed from his mouth in an opaque white cloud. It was faint, but it was certainly visible. He breathed again. Now that he was paying attention to it, it was difficult to miss. It was impossibly bright against the darkness, and try as he might Arthur couldn't seem to find the sudden source of its illumination- the light seemed to be coming from somewhere inside of him, somewhere behind his teeth or in his throat. He breathed out again, deeply, and the white mist floated up and out of him, shimmering and hovering in the air before dissipating.

The air around him was crackling with cold now, his fingertips tingling with it. His toes curled in their boots. Every breath he took was an icy stab to his lungs, but he kept watching his breath hover in front of him. He was tired, and frustrated, and confused- but at least now there was something to focus on. He didn't know if it was going to help him find Merlin in any way, but he decided that any change was better than none at all.

He was starting to shiver. He needed to think clearly, but it was difficult to focus. His clothes were very thin.

"So," he said aloud, listening to his own voice echo around him, "do I go towards the cold or away from it?"

Of course, there was no answer. Arthur knew he sounded like a lunatic, but it wasn't as if there were other people to hear him. He sighed.

"I wish I had my sword," he muttered, absently touching his hip where his scabbard usually lay.

"And how would that help you?" Came a voice from somewhere above and behind him. Arthur took a sharp breath and spun around, but it was too dark to see anything.

"Show yourself!" Arthur exclaimed, before realizing he wouldn't have been able to see the person anyway.

"Typical Arthur," the voice said instead, and Arthur realized it was the same disembodied voice that had lead him to fall in the first place.

"What do you want?" The king snapped.

"Always so demanding. Do you think a sword will protect you?"

Arthur tipped his head back as the voice moved directly above him, "Who are you?" he shouted.

"Just give up now. You have no power here."

Frustration wormed its way into Arthur's gut.

"Answer me!"

The voice got further away. "This is your fault, you know," it said.

Something akin to rage, hot and sharp, filled Arthur's chest. "Tell me who you are!"

"Just give up now, little king."

"NO!" The word burst from his chest and Arthur roared it into the sky. His breath billowed from his throat in a great glowing stream, and Arthur jumped, horrified to see that it was gold.

Instead of dissipating immediately, it threaded its way far above his head before disappearing.

"I was wrong," The voice said after a beat of silence, and Arthur felt his mouth go dry as his heart jumped into his throat. The temperature of the room plummeted to the coldest Arthur had ever felt, like the very heart of winter had plucked him up and devoured him whole. His muscles seized at the change, and he found himself trembling as shivers pushed themselves down his spine.

"You," it continued, the anger palpable in the very air, "Are not Arthur. And you are not welcome here."

There was a great whirring, and Arthur felt the air being squeezed from his lungs as his body shook and his meager vision of his own breath blinked out. Dark. Dark. It was dark again and the pressure was impossible, there was no way his ribcage could take it, no way for his bones to not shatter under his skin-

And then suddenly it was warm again, and Arthur found himself kneeling. With a start he knew that the voice was gone, at least for the moment. His teeth were chattering. His eyes were squeezed shut. Slowly, Arthur's heart stopped pounding, and he managed to pry his eyelids apart.

His mouth dropped open. He hadn't moved; he was still in the lightless space, but now he had something else in there with him: a large door stood just a few inches from his nose.

His hands shaking, Arthur reached up and touched it. It was cool and solid, and like his breath, was illuminated by something within. The wood was a warm, rosy red with brassy hinges. Running his hands along the golden detailing that worked its way along the sides and center and culminated in a fine, heavy knocker, Arthur thought it was one of the most finely crafted doors he had ever seen. Without even thinking, he found himself wrapping his fingers around the handle, squeezing the metal, turning it until the latch caught...

The door swung open with an audible creak, and Arthur had only just managed to get his wits about him when the door opened fully and revealed what was inside.

A dungeon cell. Beyond the unlocked, ornate wooden door there was a stone cell almost identical to the ones in Camelot. The walls of damp gray stone glistened with torchlight, although Arthur couldn't locate any torches. Rotting strands of hay were scattered across the floor. It was almost a mockery to have such a beautiful entrance to such a horrid interior. What prisoner wouldn't be insulted being given a beautiful, unlocked door? It implied such a helplessness, as if even given the opportunity to escape, they would be unable to.

But what prisoner would be so feeble?

Arthur cast his eyes about the room. There were hundreds of rings set into the walls, each one sporting layers of manacles and chains. As his eyes neared the furthest wall, the amount of chains increased as the light decreased, and Arthur found himself squinting at a tangled ball of them.

His heart dropped.

From amidst the darkness and chains, a pair of dull, confused eyes peered sightlessly at Arthur's torso. Arthur could just make out the whites that glinted from beneath the deeply sunken eye sockets. As his eyes adjusted he began to see more: a mop of matted, oily hair. A thin, pallid hand, curled lifelessly, held in midair by a snarl of chains coming from every direction. There was a sliver of hollow, grimy cheek, and when the light caught just right, Arthur saw a blue iris roll just above the cheekbone.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat, and he choked on nothing, panic swelling his chest for just a moment-

"Wh-Who-?" Arthur managed, but trailed off. Taking another step closer erased any doubts he might have had; there was no mistaking the figure for anyone else. "...Merlin?"

Merlin's chin lifted just enough to allow his eyes to look at Arthur head-on, then dropped again. He blinked slowly and dragged his eyes up once again to look at Arthur through his lashes. He didn't lift his chin.

"Arthur…?" He rasped. His voice was brittle and reedy. He blinked again, then squeezed his eyes shut, swaying, unable to finish his sentence. .

"H-How did you…?" Arthur once again found himself at a loss for words as his eyes raked over Merlin's body. Someone had wound thick chains around what looked like every inch of him- there were chains wrapped around his torso, digging into his ribcage through his threadbare shirt, locked tightly to manacles enclosing every joint of every limb- God, there was barely enough space for Arthur to get a finger in. Even his neck was occupied by a grotesque necklace of chains.

Immediately, Arthur wanted to run to him. He wanted to seize the chains and break them in his fists, send the prison walls crumbling around them, grab Merlin and carry him away. But then he lifted an arm to do so, just slightly, just enough for him to realize that his instincts were very much present-

And Merlin flinched, violently, his eyes snapping open. The chains protested and clanked, jerking against their rings, digging more deeply into Merlin's skin as he fought to pull away. The movement must have only lasted a moment before Arthur pulled his arm back and stepped away, but it felt like an eternity before Merlin calmed again, his body trembling from exertion or fear or both.

Arthur had somehow forgotten that although it had been days since he had pulled Merlin from the dungeons and forgiven him, Merlin had had no time to pass judgement at all. Arthur was still the monster that hurt and abandoned.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, trying to keep his voice soft, trying to keep Merlin from flinching and hurting himself even more.

Merlin didn't seem to hear him. One of his long white fingers twitched, his brow furrowed, one of his boots scraped against the stone floor, and Arthur realized that he wasn't even holding himself up. The chains kept him standing upright.

"...you shouldn't be here," Merlin murmured, his eyes threatening to close again. Arthur could tell he was forcing himself to stay alert, to keep his eyes open and on Arthur. He was barely succeeding. Fear was keeping them open for the time being, it seemed, but unconsciousness was slowly gaining ground.

Arthur opened his mouth but was unable to find anything to say. He didn't understand this world, this situation, this frail, bony Merlin.

He jumped when he thought he saw the dark circles beneath Merlin's eyes grow longer.

"You… should go," Merlin sighed, his eyelids fluttering shut.

"What?" Arthur took a step into the room, placing his foot down as softly as he could.

"I said, you should go. Please." Merlin's voice was barely audible, and it was pleading. He shifted one of his legs and the chains clinked. There was a cuff around his ankle, around his calf, around his thigh. He seemed to be trying to move backwards, but was inhibited. His eyes opened and then only half-focused, landing somewhere above Arthur's head. He lifted his head up. "Now."

"But-" The king took another step, and Merlin's irises lazily moved down, as if trying to track the movement in slow motion. There was a chorus of heavy ringing as one of his legs twitched again, then an arm.

"Please, Arthur," he slurred. His tongue came out to lick his chapped lips, and it looked thick and heavy.

"I just want to help," Arthur said. He was squatting now, trying to appear smaller, like Merlin was a skittish colt and Arthur was trying to calm it down. Not that Merlin could bolt or even move away from him at any capacity other than a twitch.

The feeble prisoner behind the mockery of an elegant door.

"I don't…" Merlin's chin suddenly dropped, hitting hard against the metal at his throat. The skin split to reveal raw, pink flesh, but there was no blood. His mouth gaped open and he took a shallow breath, the chains preventing him from taking a full one. The material of his shirt wrinkled around his protruding ribcage, and with a start, Arthur realized the servant was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the day he had been ordered to the dungeons. They were torn, and dirty, and looked slightly bigger than they usually did, but it was not an outfit Arthur would soon forget.

In fact, he even had bits of breakfast caked to his boots.

In short, Merlin looked like he had the moment Arthur had put the collar around his neck, minus the collar. Arthur's stomach churned. He was sure those clothes had been destroyed-probably burned- once they'd been confiscated.

"...I don't think you can," Merlin managed. His lips were blue. The gash in his chin had yet to bleed. "Just leave me be."

"Merlin, I can't just lea-" Arthur didn't finish his sentence. As he uttered the very beginning of his protest, he found himself lurched backwards, landing on his back a few feet from his original position. He gasped at the pain in his spine.

Staring at the grey stone ceiling, Arthur had only one thought: What had just happened?

He winced and rolled over, sitting up to face Merlin again.

The young warlock was slouched further, gasping quickly. His eyes were trained at the ground. He was trembling. Arthur noticed that the chains had taken on a distinctly bluish hue, but it faded quickly enough.

"You- need- to- go," Merlin said between each frantic breath. His tone was commanding. "Please- just- listen- to- me- now," the thin material of his shirt wrinkled around his protruding ribcage and creased and un-creased with each of Merlin's words. "You- can't- be- here-"

"Merlin," Arthur said. He kept his voice level, but Merlin just shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

"You don't understand," he moaned, his fingers curling into weak fists, "You can't. You can't help me. You can never help me. I can't be helped. You need to go, before things get worse."

"What could possibly get worse?" Arthur asked, the words coming out before he could even think about the possible repercussions.

Merlin let out a broken sob. "Please trust me," he said, "you don't want it to get worse."

"Don't want what to get worse?"

Merlin looked Arthur dead in the eye.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he whispered just as his breath seemed to lodge in his throat. His eyes widened as he began to choke, and he looked desperately at his own chest. A chain had tightened around- no, a chain had appeared around Merlin's chest, tighter than the ones before it. Merlin's mouth gaped open as he fought to fill his lungs with air.

"Go," he mouthed, his breaths stuttering. Arthur watched in horror as Merlin coughed and shook, tilting his head back to expose the white column of his throat, working to breathe. Arthur got his wits about him and surged forward, his fingers finding the chains and pulling-anything to relieve some of the pressure on Merlin's chest-but the bonds were locked tight and unyielding, and beneath his fingers Arthur felt Merlin's movements slow and then stop altogether, his head falling back limply.

His chest ceased to move.

Arthur stood there in shock, his hands still wrapped around the chains. He couldn't move. Couldn't make a sound. Couldn't comprehend what had just happened-

Merlin's chest was still. His eyes were wide and unseeing.

Dead.

He was dead.

Arthur could do nothing.

Tears in his eyes, he loosened his hold on the chains. He reached a hand up to touch Merlin's chest, then his cheek, then to close his eyes out of respect-

And then, as if on puppet strings, the warlock's head twitched to the side, just a little. Then again. Slowly, his neck straightened and twisted. Arthur pulled his hand back, his task undone. Merlin's head tilted forward until his face was level with Arthur's, his jaw slack and hanging. Arthur looked with terror into Merlin's cloudy blue eyes.

"Ar...gur…" Came a wet gurgling somewhere deep in Merlin's throat. His chest didn't move. His jaw didn't shift. His eyes didn't blink.

"...Merlin?" Arthur squeaked.

The gurgling stopped. Merlin's face remained suspended. Silence fell in the room.

And then there was screaming.