Hi!

Here is the 23rd chapter of Conspiracies, as promised :)

I saw Star Wars VII (in IMAX, hehehe) yesterday and it was amazing! I loved it! (I have already read a dozen of fics about it in the SW archive... :D)

Thanks to Jessieklove and What about Yesterday for reviewing/following/favoriting :D

Enjoy!

Arthur could only watch as his best friend collapsed and as King Mycroft ran into the flow of magic and was blasted into a wall by the sheer force of the ritual. The King of Semloh flew into the hard wall and passed out in a painful-sounding crack. Enemies were running into the room, but Arthur felt too numb to fight. He managed to parry the worst blows but was soon overwhelmed. He felt his arms being pulled behind his back, and exchanged an anxious glance with Sherlock and the druids, who were being subjected to the same treatment. He was swiftly knocked out by a blow to his temple.

Merlin felt numb as he gradually crept his eyes open. Arthur, his brothers and the two druids were uncounscious, bound and gagged like him, sprawled on the ground of a small and damp cell in Camelot's dungeon. He faintly made a mental note to mention the decrepit state of the dungeons to Arthur and make him renovate the cells for the next time they ended up in them.

He was suddenly assailed by a terrible emptiness. He closed his eyes to open them again in distress. His magic was not there.

His breath came in too short as he inhaled painfully through the gag. The world seemed colourless, his normally sharp senses hauntingly dulled by the absence of his magic.

Feeling a too warm, too achingly reassuring unconsciousness rush back at him, he tried to calm down. Next to him, Mycroft opened blurry eyes which soon cleared out as they focused on him. Merlin tried to convey some comfort, but his pain-filled expression betrayed his utter panic. Reaching out again, he tried to feel some magic in him, like he had when he had had the magic-suppressing collar. But then, he had been able to feel something. Now, he was met by a foreboding void which sent him into a new wave of anguish. Trying to even out his breathing again, he looked at Mycroft and tried to reassure himself they would find a way out. But his magic was gone. He remembered the words of Kilgharrah: his magic was the essence of his being. Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the fact that he could feel his force fading away with each passing minute.

Alaric had never been knocked out before. Sure, he had passed out from magical exhaustion more than once – it happened to all magic apprentices, after all -, but being in a battle and waking up gagged and bound in a dark, humid cell certainly was a new aspect of his life. He painfully opened his eyes to see Iseldir passed out in front of him. A quick visual inspection assured him that the druid chieftain was not injured. He breathed out in relief.

He could feel other people behind him, and twitched around to look at them. King Arthur was unconscious as well and sported a non life-threatening, but painful-looking gash to his side. Sherlock's eyes were open, and the Prince met his gaze when he looked at him. He tried to smile to him through the gag, before looking at Mycroft. The King of Semloh looked exhausted, and was staring at his younger brother. Merlin had his head down and was trembling violently. Alaric closed his eyes, trying to block out the distressing situation. Before being knocked out by one of Moriarty's sorcerers, he had seen the evil King of Essetir begin to conduct some kind of ritual, but the young druid did not know what it was. Alaric tried to reach for his magic to probe at Merlin's magical aura, but his powers were reflected back at him. He was collared. Even if this was only his first experience of war, he knew that the situation was dire, and could not help but dread as he tried to nudge Iseldir awake with his foot.

The silence was deafening in Camelot's streets. The rebelling Camelotians, after the defeat of the small group in the throne room, had been magically restrained by a newly-empowered Moriarty and a surprised and worried Morgana. She had not known about this plan, and she hated to think about the consequences... Moriarty, with Emrys' powers, could well be her prophesized doom. She sighed and headed to the throne room for a meeting with her beloved ally.

Sherlock was thinking. His brother had just been brutally robbed of his magic, and he knew that Merlin was so linked to it that he was going to die if he did not recover his magic soon. Even if there seemed to be no way to reverse the odds and save his brother and Camelot, Sherlock refused to sit around in this definitely uncomfortable cell and do nothing.

Moriarty had stolen Merlin's magic through a ritual... a ritual... Sherlock remembered a ritual led by a dark sorcerer in Semloh years ago, that rejuvenated the caster through stealing the victims' life force. An entire village had suddenly aged by ten years. Sherlock had hunted down the sorcerer to make him reverse the ritual, and after some convincing from Sherlock's part, the sorcerer had revealed that nothing could counteract the magic. But Sherlock's powers had flared up and the villagers had returned to their normal age. He wondered if such a thing could happen again. As he met Alaric's anxious gaze, he could only hope so.

He continued to rub his wrists together – he had done so ever since waking up half an hour ago -. He could feel them reddening, but ignored the protests of his skin. A few minutes later, two guards walked down the dungeon's corridor, followed by King Arthur's knights. They were unhurt, and looked vexed to have been captured. One of them, the one called Gwaine, who had attacked him during his first visit of the dungeons a few days before, met his gaze. Sherlock nodded, trying to look confident to maintain the knight's morale, and promised himself they would get out soon.

Just as he did so, the ropes fell off his wrists. He grinned, and untied his feet before walking over his friends and freeing them, taking the magic-suppressing collars off the druids. Alaric looked up at him with relieved eyes, and lunged at a waking Iseldir with a small smile.

Sherlock looked around. Merlin was extremely pale, but his expression displayed a strong, unwavering determination. Everyone was awake and set on defeating the two residing evil dark lords. Now, how to get out of a heavilly guarded dungeon?

Merlin!

Merlin jumped as he heard a voice in his head that he had thought never to hear again in such a way.

Kilgharrah! You cannot believe how relieved I am to hear you! How am I even able to talk with you like this, as I have lost my m...magic...?

Merlin shuddered at the terrible admission and closed his eyes, hoping for a positive answer to clear his seemingly dark future.

A dragonlord's bond to a dragon is stronger than a mere ritual. And so is your bond to magic. No spell could ever completely break it, young warlock.

Merlin exhaled as he released a part of a dizzying anxiety that assaulted him.

I am glad to hear that, Kilgharrah.

Looking at Sherlock, who was still trying to come up with a way to escape the dungeons, he thought to Kilgharrah:

What do you think about breaking us out of Camelot's cells?

I'd love to read some reviews before 2016 *hint, hint* :) Happy New Year in advance everyone, and I hope you liked this chapter!