Arthur stirred in his bed. The sun's blinding beams somehow managed to shine perfectly into his eyes, causing the king to wince. The lighting was a bit off, he realized. It was too bright in his room; it must have been noon, at least. Where the hell was that blundering idiot of a servant—

And just like that, Arthur's peaceful state of mind disappeared.

He sat up, quicker than his body was prepared for. Gods, his head hurt. He'd been up half the night, pacing and fuming and practically pulling his hair out. When the first signs of dawn emerged in the dark sky, Arthur resigned himself to crawling into bed, defeated and unwilling to think any longer. But even the bliss that accompanied him during sleep had to go eventually.

Magic! Of all the bloody things… magic?

He always knew Merlin was a mystery. He knew the clumsy servant would prove to one day be more trouble than his worth. But he never in his wildest dreams would have expected this. Not only was he a sorcerer, but also a pretty powerful one, if all the hype about "Emrys" was anything to go by. And with that thought, Arthur was again thrown for a complete loop.

"Strong" was never a word that came to mind when thinking of Merlin. In fact, if one were asked to describe him, Arthur was sure the last thing on anyone's mind would be anything physically adept. It just didn't make sense. For what felt like the hundredth time in the past day, Arthur fumed.

Acting like an idiot. Tripping over nothing. That annoyingly contagious grin. Was it all an act? If it was, Merlin had preformed brilliantly. It was deceitful. It was disloyal. It was downright treasonous! It—

It hurt.

Most of the pacing he did last night—the hours of cursing a man who wasn't even there—was his heart's own way to defend itself. It was trying desperately to deny. To deny his anger, his pain. To deny the fact that the scrawny servant had managed to have this kind of effect on him. He didn't want to admit it, but he had gotten close to Merlin during the years that he served him. There was something about his presence that always seemed permanent—comforting, even. Now, he had to question everything.

And it hurt.

Arthur sighed. He needed to stop. This inner turmoil was getting him nowhere. No, what Arthur needed now was the truth. The confused king had no clue what he'd do when he confronted Merlin—gods, it hurt to even think his name. He might yell—even Arthur had to admit, that was very likely—and he might storm off. Hell, he might even banish him. Arthur had no idea. All he knew was that he needed to talk to his servant.

Swinging his legs off the bed, Arthur pushed himself to get ready. It wasn't like it was difficult to carry on with his daily activities without assistance—a running joke that Arthur was not amused with. It was just hard not to notice when something was missing, after years of constantly having it by your side. A certain black haired something, for instance.

Of course, it made perfect sense for Merlin to have not shown up this morning. Arthur had practically thrown him out of his chambers the night before, so the klutz of a servant would have been mad to knock on his door and act as if nothing happened. Still, as angry as he was, Arthur couldn't ignore the issue. If he didn't talk to Merlin soon, he felt like his head might explode. With a deep breath, Arthur headed out the door.

In the two minutes it took him to get down to Gaius's quarters, Arthur's tension had returned to him tenfold. So, as most situations dictated when his emotions got the best of him, Arthur steeled his face into a mask of apathy. He pushed the door open.

He was greeted with the familiar sight of Gaius's cluttered chambers. Glass vials littered the tabletops, and dusty books sat patiently atop every flat surface that was available. Gaius himself stood in the center, prodding at some sort of concoction he'd whipped up. When he noticed the young king standing in his doorway, he gestured for Arthur to come in.

"Sire," the old man gave a small bow. "Do you need something?"

"Yes, actually. I was wondering if Merlin were around."

Gaius frowned then, a worried look crossing his aged features. "That's strange. I was going to ask you the same thing. He never came home last night."

Arthur's brow furrowed at that. It was late when Merlin had come to him the night before. Arthur had assumed the man would've gone straight home after their discussion. Unless—

Unless… he left.

Obviously, the two of them didn't leave off on the best of terms. If it were any other person, any other man in the world, Arthur supposed a newly discovered sorcerer would run for his life. Pack his bags, leave Camelot, and never look back.

Suddenly, all of the anger he'd been trying to suppress boiled over.

He left! He ran like the coward he was! Instead of telling him the truth, instead of facing him like a man, he ran. Just like he did that day in the tunnels. Just like he did the past seven years.

With all of the remaining composure Arthur could manage to muster up, he nodded at the old physician and turned back towards the door. "Thank you, Gaius."

"But Sire—"

Arthur didn't stop. He didn't want to risk taking his anger out on the poor man, which would surely happen if he didn't calm down soon. As he strode across the room, Arthur felt another emotion playing havoc with his heart. It was a sad disappointment, one he'd grown rather accustomed to throughout the years of his life.

Regret.

But that couldn't be right. The king of Camelot did not feel regret because a traitorous servant decided to skip town. No, Arthur determined, it definitely was not regret.

Just as Arthur reached the door, something on the floor caught his eye. It was a familiar red, splattered haphazardly in streams of beady crimson. After leaning down to get a better look, the king called back to the old physician.

"Gaius," he started slowly, "did you have a patient in here earlier? An injured one, perhaps?"

Gaius frowned again, and headed towards the king. "No, Sire. Why do you ask?"

Arthur was afraid he would say that. As Gaius drew closer, and spotted the reddish liquid that covered the ground, he dismissed his previous question for another.

"Is that blood?"

Arthur swallowed. As if things weren't complicated enough.

As Merlin slowly crept back into consciousness, he realized a number of things at once.

One, his head hurt. A lot. The last time it felt this bad was when that Mercian assassin—who, of course, was out to kill Arthur—whacked him in the head a few months back. Merlin vaguely noticed a sticky substance trickling down his brow, but wasn't willing to assess the connotations of that realization.

Two, it was cold. He wasn't saying the room he had in Gaius's quarters was particularly warm and cozy, but it certainly beat sleeping out in the freezing night air. Which is what he felt like he was doing now.

And three, he was laying on what he undoubtedly recognized as the ground. Very rocky, uneven ground, to be exact. By piecing those three bits of information together, Merlin came to the conclusion that he was not in his cot at Gaius's. He wasn't even sure he was in Camelot at all.

Where am I?

Merlin hesitantly cracked his eyes open, afraid he wouldn't like what he'd find. He didn't. Cerulean eyes were met with the dark and damp surroundings of a dungeon cell. Merlin groaned internally, but kept surprisingly calm, despite the circumstances. After years of posing as a servant-slash-guardian sorcerer, Merlin had grown accustomed to waking up in horribly bleak situations.

Still, he thought as he sat up against the stony wall, it would be nice if the bad guys gave me a break every now and again.

Merlin sat in silence, trying to recall the last bit of memory he had. He remembered his talk with Arthur—quite possibly the only thing that unnerved Merlin, at the moment—and then heading home afterwards. He even thought he recalled getting inside of Gaius's chambers when… nothing. Everything went black after that.

There was a horrible second when a possibility occurred to Merlin. Arthur had been upset, that much was certain. But despite Merlin's generally accomplished talent at reading his emotions, he couldn't tell just how mad Arthur was.

Mad enough to knock him unconscious and lock him in the dungeons?

And in an instant, he dismissed the thought. One, it definitely wasn't Arthur's style. If the king truly couldn't accept Merlin, he would confront him personally. Ambushing him from behind would be too cowardly for Arthur's tastes. And two, Merlin could recognize Camelot's dungeons anywhere—having been thrown in them more than once—and these were unquestionably not them. These cells were wrong. Rather, they felt wrong. Tiring, almost.

Which left the question at hand; where the hell was he? Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how he looked at it—Merlin didn't have to contemplate for long.

"Did you enjoy your nap, Merlin?"

Merlin froze. Of course, he could recognize her voice anywhere. She had been the foundation of his nightmares for a very long time now. He supposed he should be used to the snarky sneer in her voice, but it never did get any easier.

He looked up. Blue eyes met green.

"Or should I say… 'Emrys'?"

Morgana growled his alternate name with utter contempt. She looked at him as if she'd never seen him before, as if Merlin were a completely different entity. Which, in a way, Merlin thought, was true. She'd never truly seen him before today. Not really.

Suddenly, Merlin felt extremely vulnerable.

It's not as if he necessarily enjoyed being underestimated, but even he had to admit that he probably wouldn't be alive if every person he came across didn't see him as a blundering fool. Now that Morgana saw him for what he truly was… well, Merlin wasn't exactly thrilled about being looked at like a prize. So, in response to her unsettling glare, he reached for his magic, anticipating the fight that would undoubtedly break out soon.

To Merlin's complete horror, he realized he couldn't.

He couldn't call his magic.

It was like reaching for a sword, only to discover you had no hand to grab it with. Merlin panicked. This had never happened before. Magic had always been a part of him—he could always feel the warmth it seemed to radiate throughout his body. And he still could feel it, just barely. He just… couldn't grab hold of it.

Seeing the alarmed look on Merlin's face, Morgana smirked.

"Don't bother trying to use magic. It's no use." She snaked her way to the side, taunting her ability to roam freely on the other side of the cell bars. "You see, the cage you're in is special, Merlin. I made it just for you."

Call him ungrateful, but Merlin really didn't appreciate the gift. Reluctantly, he glanced around the small room. For the most part, it looked like your average doom-and-gloom medieval dungeon. The exception was the markings—curvy patterns that snaked around the bars and walls, much like the witch that stood beyond them. The designs may have looked harmless enough to an untrained eye, but those who practiced the craft of the Old Religion would recognize the markings as anything but innocent.

Understanding his situation, Merlin sighed, resigned. "Congratulations, Morgana," he said, little enthusiasm in his voice. "You've finally managed to catch me. I'm a bit surprised it took you this long, to be honest."

When a flash of anger crossed Morgana's face, Merlin's eyebrows furrowed together. Why did it take her this long? He'd assumed that Morgana had known about his other identity for months, back when he discovered Mordred and Morgana's alliance. Mordred would have surely told her by now. But the spark in her eyes told a different story.

"Don't tell me… he's only just told you who I am?" When Morgana's jaw clicked together with a snap, Merlin smirked. He didn't know what Mordred was playing at by keeping his secret for so long, but he knew better than to question it. Mordred had always been hard to read—sometimes Merlin thought he saw a genuine smile on his face when he practiced with Arthur. Merlin wondered if the boy even knew whose side he was on.

"That's funny. I'm pretty sure I've been Emrys this whole time." Perhaps taunting Morgana wasn't the smartest thing to do at the moment, but unfortunately for Merlin, his sarcasm and witty comments were his only weapons.

"I don't know why Mordred kept the truth from me," she started slowly, in a vain attempt to look unbothered. "But it hardly matters now. You see, Merlin, I've spent all of my time focusing on my idiot brother, when I should have been going after his precious guard dog." She spared a mocking glance at the captive warlock. In response, Merlin jeered right back.

"You figured that out all by yourself, Morgana? Well, not all by yourself, considering you needed Mordred to tell you who the 'guard dog' was. Still, I'm impressed. And it only took you five whole years—"

"Enough!"

At the demand, Merlin's mouth snapped shut. Despite what people liked to believe, he did have some sense of self-preservation, however slight that sense may be.

"Don't you get it?" Morgana took a step closer to the cell bars. "Your king is defenseless! His shield has been taken from him," her voice lowered into a dangerous half-whisper, "and now he will be completely at my mercy."

When she saw the truth dawn on Merlin's face, her signature smirk returned.

"Don't worry, Merlin. I'll see to it that he doesn't suffer for too long."

Satisfied, Morgana turned and strode out of the dungeons.

"He's missing?"

The queen of Camelot sat in her place at the Round Table, her shoulders tense in worry. She had her hand placed protectively over her chest, as if holding something dear within her grasp.

Minutes earlier, Gwen and the other knights had been called into an emergency meeting by none other than the king himself. Due to recent events, they all assumed it had something to do with the newly denounced knight of Camelot—whose name no one dared speak aloud.

Arthur had reacted badly to Mordred's betrayal. Gwen hadn't seen sight of him since he locked himself in his room the night before. Now, he sat next to her, his hand curled in a half-fist over his mouth. Even as he sat in his chair, he did so in silence. She hadn't known what to make of her husband's stoic manner. Her only guess was that it had something to do with Mordred, which, as it turned out, wasn't entirely true, either.

"We believe he was kidnapped, my lady." It was Gaius who spoke then. In fact, it was Gaius who had retold the events that had led to the current meeting. Arthur hadn't said a word.

"I don't understand, Gaius," the queen looked across the table where he stood on the opposite end. "Who would want to kidnap Merlin?"

To put it bluntly, Gwen was confused. Looking around the room, she realized—with some relief—that she wasn't the only one. Merlin was one of the sweetest people she knew. She couldn't think of a single soul in the castle that wanted to bring him harm.

Before Gaius could reply, a stern voice echoed throughout the room.

"Morgana."

It took Gwen a second to realize that her husband had been the one to speak—the first word she had heard out of his mouth in over a day. It took her a couple seconds longer to realize the implications to what he meant.

Yes, Gwen was completely and utterly confused.

Everyone in the room turned towards Arthur. The king had yet to look up from where he was staring angrily into space. There was definitely something wrong with him, Gwen decided. Only in very desperate situations had she seen him like this—so lost in thought and silent frustration. She wondered idly if the men in this castle would ever stop worrying her.

It was Leon who spoke the thought that hung in everyone's minds. "Morgana? No offense, Sire, but why would Morgana target Merlin, of all people? He's hardly worth much to her."

"On the contrary, Leon. He's quite possibly the only person worth more to her than I am." Arthur finally looked up, straight at Gaius. "Don't you agree, Gaius?"

Confused by Arthur's accusing tone, Gwen looked over at the old physician. Arthur couldn't be sending that suspecting glare at Gaius, could he? But when the old man's face lit up with a startled guilt, Gwen was again lost for words.

What in the world was going on?

"…Yes, Sire." Gaius started, slowly and cautiously. "I was thinking the same thing."

Gwen glanced back and forth between the two of them. By their guarded expressions, it was clear the pair knew something that the rest of them didn't. It saddened Gwen that her husband hadn't chosen to confide in her with this obviously upsetting information, but now was not the time. Her friend was in danger, so whatever Gaius and Arthur were hiding would have to wait.

"All right," Gwen interrupted the stare-down with surprising confidence, "let's say Morgana has him. How does that help us? We haven't the slightest clue where to find her."

It was Leon who spoke next. "Actually, my lady, that isn't entirely true." He gave a nervous glance towards Arthur. "We have several informants who claim to have spotted a knight of Camelot fleeing to the Mercian boarders, towards a rundown fortress in the east. If we're to assume it was Mordred, and that he is regrouping with Morgana, it is the most likely place to find her."

"All right, then." And there was Gwaine, standing up as if he intended to go off looking for Merlin at that exact moment. Which, Gwen thought, he probably was. "It's settled."

"Now hold on, Gwaine—"

"I don't see why I should." His tone seemed playful enough, but the defiance in his eyes said otherwise.

Leon gave him a sturdy look. "You know I am as fond of Merlin as you are, Gwaine," at that, Gwaine gave him a look that said he very much doubted that, "but we can't risk it. We know practically nothing of Morgana's achievements from the past few months. For all we know, she could have an army of men at her disposal."

After a few seconds of tense silence, all eyes turned to Arthur. He was ultimately the final decision maker, after all. The problem, unfortunately, was that the king refused to interact with the group. He and Gaius were still locked in what seemed to be a staring match—Arthur, eyes narrowed and searching, and Gaius, shoulders tense in anticipation. Gwen saw a look on the old physician's face then, one she had never seen there before.

He was pleading, she realized. Pleading with Arthur. For what, exactly, she couldn't be sure. But if she had to guess, it more than likely had something to do with a certain blue-eyed servant.

Whatever it was, they didn't have time for this. Gwen knew Arthur was still reeling from betrayal—and her heart hurt for him, it did—but his attitude towards his friends was inexcusable.

Carefully but firmly, she reached for his hand. "Arthur," there was a sensitive command in her voice that only Gwen could pull off. "You need to make a decision. Tell us what to do."

He held his gaze with Gaius for one rigid moment longer, and then dropped it with a sigh. "I know."

He looked at her then, and for the first time she saw the vulnerability in them, the sadness and the confusion. "I know," he said again.

Arthur looked back at his men, and in an instant he was the king again, confident and determined. "All right," his voice boomed throughout the room. "This is what we're going to do."

A/N: Anyone have a guess about what Arthur plans to do? … Because I don't.

;P That's not entirely true. I know where I want to go with the story, it's just taking my brain a bit longer than expected to figure it out fully. Sorry if my updates are a little sporadic from here on out. Please review ^^