A/N:

This is my first time writing a multi-chapter fic, and a Merlin one too. So feedback or comments would be helpful!

Disclaimer: I don't own the show of Merlin.

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Prologue

Merlin awakes with a deep gasp, eyes snapping open.

The first thing that registers in his head, the first thing that he thinks of is that it's so damn cold.

He doesn't know why that is the first thing that comes into his mind – perhaps because it's a cold so intense that it seems to burrow into his very bones, a cold that is white white burning through his skin, wrapping his soul in icy tendrils, a cold so cold it feels as if he has been submerged in a hard-frozen lake, his whole body completely numb through. Numb… he can't feel his hands. Or his arms in general, come to think of it. It is just so, so cold.

The second thing that he notices is that it is dark. Really dark. In fact, it is pitch black – he cannot see anything at all. It is like silence painted black with deep ink, obscuring his sight, choking him in dark tendrils, drawing closer around him like a snare every time he takes a breath.

And the third thing he notices – and it should've been the first thing he notices because how could he not tell how did he not realise before – is that there is an absence inside of him. A gaping, yawning hole inside that aches and bleeds and is raw as if someone just ripped his heart out of his chest and left the wound open, seeping, hurting, and oh gods it hurts so much he can't breathe because there is something vitally missing in him that should be there and it isn't. His blood isn't flowing with the same fervour and energy as it did before – it is sluggish and barely getting by – his breath coming out in short painful gasps, and his head is pounding and his chest hurts. There is something brutally, vilely wrong.

There is something missing in him that should be there – something that's been there since before he can remember, that feeling of steady accompaniment, of safety, of shimmering gold threaded through his veins. Its gone.

Merlin's magic is gone.

And now he cannot breathe because the panic is setting in and his body feels like it's turning out of its skin because this is repulsive and a violation and he is tainted inside with a different kind of magic; something dark and cruel and parasitic. There is a gaping hole in him, the absence of everything he is, the absence of his life essence and it hurts so much and he can't breathe oh gods he can't breathe because he is missing and his blood feels empty and it aches and he needs it back or he can't survive –

"I see you've become acquainted with my father's delightful contraption, then."

A very familiar voice breaks his thoughts. An ice-cold weight slams into the bottom of his stomach and nausea and disbelief rings in his head. No no no no no no no it can't be -

He lifts his head as a dim light flickers on, revealing the person in front.

Arthur stands, smirking, in front of him.

Merlin's world comes to a stop.

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-Chapter 1-

Arthur had found out about Merlin's magic months ago.

It had not been in the midst of a battle, Merlin saving Arthur's life in a blaze of glory, the way he had always envisioned it would be. Well, he had saved Arthur's life, but it hadn't been heroic or brave or self-sacrificing. It had been cowardly and desperate, a rush to get Arthur out of the immediate range of danger.

The dagger whipped straight through the air, sharp flashing silver on a deadly course – right toward Arthur. And Morgana's aim was always true; she never missed.

Later Merlin would wonder why Morgana hadn't just used magic to attack Arthur, instead of using a mortal weapon and physical force, when she was a High Priestess. But in that moment all he could think of was Arthur Arthur Arthur and the adrenaline racing through his veins like liquid fire as she flung the dagger straight to where Arthur's heart was.

The tip of the blade spun over the hilt in a shining arc as it sang through the air, right to Arthur's chest, about to pierce his chainmail and plunge itself into his heart –

And Merlin did the only thing he could do.

The dagger froze in mid-air, its tip poised an inch away from dealing Arthur a fatal blow.

It hovered, quivering slightly, bright silver gleaming – and it seemed an eternity that they were stuck in that position, blade frozen, Merlin's hand outstretched, Morgana's eyes flashing green with rage. But the worst part came when the dagger clattered to the floor, and Arthur turned around to look at him.

Merlin would never forget the look on Arthur's face then.

From then, they had only drifted further apart. Arthur grew colder towards Merlin, more distanced. He had expected everything – anger, hatred, feelings of betrayal, but not this. Not this coldness, a hardness in icy blue eyes that had always been full of warmth. And it hurt. Watching his best friend drift away from him, fade away as if Merlin was no longer there. Arthur didn't take him out on hunts anymore, didn't maintain that playful banter they'd always had.

And so, in that split second, everything changed.

But how could a few harsh words and cold distance become… this?

Because now, as a smirking Arthur stood over a broken, hurting Merlin on the floor, he was unrecognisable. He wore the same hair like spun gold, the same rich red tunic, the same Excalibur strapped to his side – yet it still wasn't right. Because Arthur didn't smirk like that at a man in pain. Arthur didn't stand imperiously over a defenceless, chained man, no matter who he was. There was nothing of the compassionate King that he knew so well in those icy eyes, in that sneering mouth, in that cruelly twisted face. It was all wrong.

"Enjoying your stay, are you?" Arthur said, those unrecognisable eyes flashing with malice. "I picked those chains and that collar just for you."

With a dawning horror and a sickening feeling, Merlin realised that was the reason his magic was missing. He reached his hands up to his throat to feel what he wished was not true.

A cold band of metal was collared round his neck, as if he was some kind of animal. Immediately, his fingers scrabbled desperately, futilely, against the collar that stayed hard and freezing, unmoving. More panicked, his breathing sped up as it did not give way, only for it to suddenly tighten further as if enchanted with some kind of spell. It clamped tighter around Merlin's neck, digging into the skin, squeezing his throat, reducing the air he breathed. His breathing spiralled, panicking now, and he felt his vision start to go black at the edges as he struggled more, in absolute desperation.

"A – Arthur," he choked out. "Please!"

Arthur only looked darkly amused. "Please, what? Are you not enjoying your new accessory?"

"I – I can't – can't breathe –" Merlin was gasping now, tears beginning to run down his face in despair and anguish. His vision was tunnelling, and his head was whirling and pounding. More than the current lack of air was the present question screaming over and over in his head. How could Arthur do this? This is not him it can't be it can't be it's not possible he would never how has he become this?

Suddenly, Arthur's face twisted into an expression of pure loathing and rage and he burst forward, slamming Merlin's head against the wall. He cried out as a shock of electric-white pain exploded in his temple. However, the collar inexplicably loosened as he slumped back against the wall, breathless with pain.

"Filthy sorcerer," Arthur spat with contempt.

Merlin's head was pounding, crushing pain throbbing viciously, and he could already feel the blood, hot and thick, running down the side of his temple. But he still struggled to sit up. "Arthur -"

"Do not speak to me!" he hissed savagely in reply. "Stay where you belong, sorcerer. You are no friend of mine."

Merlin fought against the pain. He wasn't giving up. "What are you doing? Arthur, believe me, whatever lies Morgana – or – or Agravaine – have fed you -"

Arthur let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "Oh, you think this is the work of Morgana, that vile witch who calls herself my sister? No. This," he moved closer to Merlin on the floor – an action to which Merlin flinched – and grabbed his chin roughly, tilting it up so their eyes met,

"This is all me."

The words made Merlin shiver – struck a shard of ice to his core.

Arthur lashed out with his boot, kicking Merlin in the stomach roughly. He gasped as the air was knocked from him, curled in on himself in pain. Another kick to his unprotected shins, this time. Merlin looked up, wincing, at Arthur, eyes blurry with pain. His friend did not look like himself; a thin sheen of sweat covered Arthur's face as if from some exertion, his jaw was clenched and teeth gritted, and his eyes were incandescent with an inexplicable fury. He was breathing heavily, nostrils flared, eyes wild, looking almost manic.

"String him up," Arthur ordered roughly. He stepped away from Merlin's shaking body curled up on the floor.

Seemingly out of nowhere, guards appeared, dressed in tough black leather and helmets. Merlin scrambled back when they moved swiftly towards him. "No – no – Arthur!" There were four of them advancing closer, rope wound around their knuckles and chains at their waists. Arthur merely watched, breathing heavily, as they grabbed his arms and pulled him up, releasing the manacles around his wrists.

The faceless guards stretched his arms above his head and lashed a rope around them, tying his hands to chains hanging from the ceiling.

Oh gods, oh no no no –

Merlin's breathing accelerated again when he realised what was happening. They were going to leave him there, hanging by the wrists for … who knew how long? Gaius had told him of this being a torture method – victims subjected to being strung up by their wrists often ended up dying through suffocation because of the pressure that restricts breathing, not to mention the torn ligaments in wrists and shoulders, if not complete dislocation.

He could not end up like a hanging piece of meat, pathetic and bloody, like a doll to be broken. He would fight with all he had – magic or no, Merlin was not giving in. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated everything he had into the centre of him, focusing intensely on where his magic should be. If he pushed hard enough, he could feel the smallest spark of life buried deep within layers of dark magic. He tried to reach for it desperately, with all his energy. Nothing budged. He was not getting out of this with magic.

Hung up by the wrists, feet just skimming the ground, Merlin's head spun. "Arthur," he tried. "What are you doing?"

Arthur looked at him as if he couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing, eyes wild. Eventually, his face smoothed into an almost practised sneer.

"What needs to be done." The words were cold, practised. He turned to leave.

As Arthur began to walk away, Merlin struggled despairingly against the chains that bound him to the ceiling. "Please," he tried one more time. His head pounded and his chest burned. He didn't understand.

Arthur only turned his head around to look back at him, and smiled.

It was a cold, terrible, mirthless smile. A smile so sharp he could cut himself on the edges. Cruel and twisted and razor-sharp.

And he turned back around. He walked away, locked the cell door behind him, with guards outside.

Merlin was left inside, back in the suffocating darkness and cold, hanging from the ceiling. Alone.

Merlin was alone.

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A/N:

Yes, I understand this was a very short chapter, but I think it felt fitting to end it here. The rest of the chapters will most likely be longer.

Hopefully, I will update this story regularly! Feedback and thoughts would be appreciated.