Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin
Exhaustion didn't even begin to describe the feeling the warlock was feeling. Merlin could come up with a dozen and one words that could explain his desperation. At times his body felt numb, unable to process the large amount pain inflicted upon him; other times pain seemed to radiate into every fiber of his being.
Pathetic.
Weak.
Worthless.
He was nothing, for what but nothing would just stand back and allow such atrocities. When Morgana and her pet wasn't busy carving into him, Morgana would gloat in her victory. How the knights followed her every bidding, casting aside the King who had left them to their fate. How sorcerers from every corner of Albion traveled to Camelot, making a mockery of the anti-magic laws and laying waste to all who opposed Morgana's reign. At times, Morgana brought the next to be executed, those who lacked any ability to wield magic and dared defy the witch, to force the warlock to watch as man, woman, or, gods forbid, child, begged and wept for mercy while the witch laughed, running a blade through their heart.
It sickened Merlin.
When they brought the first "traitor" before the servant, Merlin chose to look away; he closed his eyes and tried to keep his mind from what took place before him. His mind muddled at the time; consciousness was difficult when, seconds ago, Merlin undergone the cruel bite of the whip.
Never before had Merlin suffered flogging, and the malicious practice proved to be just as excruciating as claimed to be. It left his previously unblemished skin marred with lacerations that crisscrossed throughout the expanse of his back. The wounds wept, each one bled, losing enough blood to make him dizzy in its loss. Tara, wielding the whip, laughed when the warlock's legs gave way in pain when moments before the man stood strong against her.
It was as Tara coiled the whip to set aside when Morgana entered the cell, in one hand a sword and the other dragging, by the hair, a young girl, who looked to have barely seen fifteen summers, and tossing her into the center of the cell in front of the chained servant. Merlin can still remember the heart-wrenching sobs as Morgana read her crimes against the kingdom; insults made against Morgana, likely made in fear and hatred, on the tyrant's sovereignty. Then lifting blade, Morgana took a stance, prepared to give the girl the fatal blow.
Morgana thrust the sword but stopped inches from killing the girl; the witch noticed Merlin's averting eyes. Instead, the witch tossed aside the blade and opted for the use of magic. The quick death turned into an extensive, harsh process. The sobbing turned to shrieks, shrieks into moans, moans into gasps until Morgana's magic left the girl collapsed onto the ground in her own waste and vomit, writhing in pain and grasping against the stone floor as she tried to crawl away from the agony. It seemed to last an eternity before the girl's rattling breath halted, her twitching body giving one last spasm before lying still. As her eyes returned from gold to green, Morgana approached her prisoner, smirk in place as she admired the horror that stretched across Merlin's face.
"Next time, you watch," Morgana sneered before stalking away.
From then on, that was what the warlock did. The girl's death was the price of his defiance and though Merlin tried to rebel against the witch at every possible moment, he could not bring himself to do so at the expense of the innocent. He was failing the kingdom enough already, no reason to worsen situation. No reason to extend the innocents' sufferings.
At the thoughts of Morgana's transgressions, Merlin felt the familiar rush of magic erupt from within him. Unlike the early weeks of his captivity, the magic tore him from the inside. It was easy to get lost in pain during his sessions with Morgana, distracted as his body tried to cope with the agony that radiated throughout his body. It was the hours alone in the cell, with nothing but the patter of the rats' feet and the dripping of water to accompany his thoughts, which proved to be the most grueling for the servant. When left to his thoughts and emotions began to run high, the instinctual magic rose to his defense, needing to protect the warlock from unnecessary harm but clashing into the walls that contained it. Its need to escape, defend, did more than just burn.
It seared his very core.
The power had built up to extraordinary levels, an outlet no longer available to vent the excess magic. In his entire life, Merlin went without a day in which he did not use magic. The warm flow of his power was a constant companion when he worked through his chores in Ealdor and later in Camelot. Though Hunith and Gaius warned him on using sorcery on inconsequential things, they did not fully realize the difficulty of denying the servant his magic nor could he allow himself to feel neither shame nor fear for a part of himself.
Now he felt his magic again. It felt as if hundreds of daggers carved into him from the inside out, gutting him. Rather than the warm touch of the chains that bound his magic, the metal now burned white-hot, the restraints straining to keep the power contained. War waged within the warlock's body, a constant push and pull between the two opposing forces as each sought dominion over the other. It was all the warlock could do but refuse the temptation of breaking the bonds, not matter the pain and consequences.
As the magic grew more and more rebellious, Merlin threw back his head against the wall, forcing his eyes open to stare at the cracks the traveled and branched across the ceiling. The warlock forced his mind away from the cell to the village at the border of the kingdom, Ealdor. He thought of harvest time and the festivals. He thought of the pranks he and his best friend would pull on the villagers. The mother who scolded his misbehaviors. The cold winter that forced him to snuggle into her embrace, comforted in the knowledge that he was safe. The soft caress that glided through his dark locks.
Taking deep, even breaths, Merlin regained control and the magic receded, calm once again; however, the warlock knew the relief was only temporary, that magic would react again for it desired to flow freely once more. It would have to be released soon lest it became too much for the restraints and he truly lost control. He could not even imagine what would happen the moment the chains were removed and the feeling of raw power rushed out his very core. He did not want to risk discovery but knew he would have to tempt fate and force a small portion of the power past the enchanted chains. If he did not, the warlock risked the magic becoming too powerful to control from breaking the chains and allowing Morgana to discover how powerful the servant truly was. From there, it would not be that great of a leap for the witch to connect Merlin to Emrys.
But what could he do? What incantation should he try inside a cell that would be enough?
Footsteps echoed through the hallway and Merlin tensed and prepared for the next encounters.
Gwaine looked up from his spot on the ground when the cell doors clanged open and the guards bodily threw Percival inside. It had been about four months since they were imprisoned. Four months since Camelot was taken over and Arthur usurped from the throne by his own sister. Now the once proud Knights of Camelot, those few who were the closest to the King that remained in the witch's clutches, toiled daily doing the demeaning work of slaves.
"How was your day of catering to her Highness," Gwaine asked, his voice dripping in sarcasm.
"About as well as one of Arthur's training days when he is in a bad mood, " Percival joked as he slumped beside Gwaine, who gave a small chuckle.
"I got lucky; I only had to scrub the floors of the entire castle."
Gwaine passed Percival the bucket of stale water, who gave it a grimace before he took a drink.
"She is getting worse isn't she?"
Percival nodded, "She burned three more people at the stake today."
"I heard the screams, what were their crimes?"
"Sorcerers for refusing to pledge their allegiance to Morgana and a Druid for refusing her… information," whispered Percival.
"Emrys?" Gwaine asked
Percival nodded once as they both sat silently on the dungeon floor.
It had only taken a day of subservience to Morgana that the knights realized what they were doing with Merlin. From what Gwaine could gather when he forced to watch one of Morgana's session with the servant was that Morgana wanted the identity of a man by the name of Emrys. Though Gwaine wondered how the servant would have knowledge of a sorcerer, it did not stop the knight from initially trying to prevent further harm to his friend. Of course, that only led Morgana to become more severe on the servant and later punish the knight. From then on, Gwaine stood silently aside, doing as the witch demanded, to keep his friend from further pain, though he hated every second of it.
"I overheard talks about movement at the border between Camelot and Nemeth," said Percival.
"Movement?"
Percival nodded, "that was how she captured the Druid. One of the patrols found a small group traveling to Nemeth; the one they captured was left behind to give the others a chance to escape."
Gwaine gave a sigh as he leant his head back against the wall. The knight knew that Arthur and Gwen had fled to Nemeth when Morgana took over, that much was obvious during the countless times Gwaine overheard Morgana laugh at the pitiful army Nemeth was growing, not to mention several reports before of people escaping into the kingdom though never had the knights overheard of the Druids' exile.
Compared to Morgana forces, any other armies were pathetic. The combination of Alined's soldiers and the Blood Guard and the added might of the sorcerers and strange creatures had created an unstoppable force; one that all of Albion had every right to fear. The only hope they had was if Alined managed to break free from Morgana's control and take his army away; however, that hope was diminished the moment Morgana had Alined declare that the soldiers would follow all orders from Morgana before mysteriously taking his life the next night. Though the soldier weren't loyal to Morgana, none wanted to tempt fate and defy her after she had so easily dispatched of their king, not when they were surrounded by beasts only she could control. Even the Knights of Camelot, aside for Gwaine and Percival, followed Morgana's order to a certain extent after she had threatened lives.
Heavy footsteps echoing from the hallway interrupted Gwaine from his thoughts as he met Percival gaze, both tense. There was only one reason why anyone would be down in the dungeon this late at night not long after locking the knights in.
Merlin.
"What are they doing back already," whispered Gwaine angrily with clenched fists, "they just left an hour ago."
Percival shook his head in confusion as they watch two guards walk past their cell.
"Neither of the bitches… just guards…" Gwaine trailed off.
They waited for a few more minutes before the footsteps approached again. This time, held between them was the thin form of the servant. He walked with a limp that caused him to stumble every other step as his weak body tried to keep up with the guards' quick pace.
Gwaine held his breath and felt his heart ache at the sight of his friend. The months of torment had taken a toll on the servant; though a guard blocked the knight from seeing the full state his friend was in, Gwaine still noted the man was struggling by the heaviness of his breathing. It was a wonder that he had not given in to the demands or even survived this long. The familiar feeling of helplessness rose, as Gwaine had to acknowledge that he could not help the servant.
It was as they were passing the cell's door when Merlin stumbled and fell his knees jarring painfully against the stone. The guards mumbled in irritation as they tried to drag the servant back onto his feet, gripping his arm painfully while they lifted him up. More insults spewed from each guard as Merlin struggled to regain his balance only to fall back onto his knees.
Gwaine would have usually been right up against the bars yelling abuse for the treatment they were showing Merlin, but he sat frozen as his eyes met the stormy blues of Merlin's. They were indecipherable; Merlin gave nothing away of himself in that stare until his eyes sparked in realization and his lips twitched into a small, sad smile. Then those stormy blues flooded with gold at the same moment Merlin gave a gasp and pitched forward onto his hands. His chest heaved as he began to hyperventilate and his body trembled.
It was as if he was in pain.
Above him one of the guards, impatient, kicked Merlin against ribs then grabbed onto his lank raven hair and pulled. The pain forced Merlin back onto his unsteady feet, barely managing to stay upright before once again the guards continued, dragging Merlin more forcibly as he struggle even more to walk. Even when he stumbled, the guards did not relent, not caring if the servant were to fall again. They would drag the man if they needed to.
It wasn't until they were gone from the dungeon before Gwaine turned to Percival.
"Did you see that?"
Percival nodded, "Magic."
"Merlin's a sorcerer? When the hell did that happened?"
Percival gave a shrug, "I'm more wondering about what he just did."
Gwaine nodded. Then froze.
That smile.
There was no way he could do that… could he?
Gwaine got up from the end of the cell and approached the cell door. Slowly he laid his hand against the door and pushed. It gave way easily, smoothly. Merlin had unlocked the door for them. Then Gwaine had another thought. If the door was unlocked, then…
The knight reached his hands to his neck, where the collar Morgana had gladly locked onto him had encircled his neck for the past couple of months. At first, he thought it was still firmly clasped to his neck, but a quick tug changed his mind when it, just as easily as the door, unlocked and fell to the ground. Behind him, he heard Percival mimicking Gwaine's example and tossed aside his own.
"This is our best chance to escape," murmured Gwaine.
Percival gave another nod before he got up and followed Gwaine as he left the cell and they quietly made their way out of the dungeon. When they reached the guardroom, they were surprised spotted at the sight of two guards, different from the ones escorting Merlin earlier, slumped on the table, one still holding a pair of dice loosely within his hand. Gwaine and Percival once again shared a look of disbelief before each went to a guard and took the swords belted their waists.
"We need to get Merlin. I refuse to leave him here longer. I don't know how he lasted so far and I doubt he can last any longer. If only we knew where the guards took him…" Gwaine wondered.
"Morgana. They must have taken him before Morgana. Who else would it be?"
"Of course! The must be taking him to the throne room then. Come on, mate, we can't get him from there but there's the balcony above we can watch and wait for an opportune moment."
"Wait, Gwaine."
Gwaine gave Percival a questioning look.
"We won't be able to get Merlin out."
"Wait, why? We can't leave him!"
"And we can't take him with us. Of all the prisoners Morgana has, he is the most highly guarded. She would notice immediately when he is gone, unlike us who are mere slave to her. It is best we get what information we can get right now and report to Arthur than risk killing all three of us to save Merlin."
Gwaine felt himself wilt as he listened to Percival's reasoning.
"If I find even the smallest opportunity to take him with us, I will take it," swore Gwaine
"And I'll help you, but only if there is a chance."
"Fine, let's go," Gwaine said irritably, leading the way out of the dungeon.
They carefully made their way through the castle, initially slowly in fear that they may run into guards, but it soon became clear that hardly anyone was wandering the castle's halls. They sped up their pace, though still remained cautious until they reached the small staircase that led to the balcony above the throne room. There Percival and Gwaine quietly climbed the steps and snuck to the edge of the balcony, to keep from sight while also gaining a view of the entire room.
Gwaine clenched his hand around the hilt of his sword. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Percival tense up as well, jaw tightening as they both witnessed the events unfolding below them. The throne room was full of various members from Morgana's small army of sorcerers and soldiers, along with the court of Camelot. At the back of the room, upon the throne, sat the witch herself with several of the Blood Guard standing behind, her dark smile feigning confidence but her eyes showed frustration and anger towards the small group just entering the throne room. Gwaine could only assume that they had reached the room first was due in part to Merlin unable to keep up with his captors.
Before her, the guards approached holding between them the lanky, pale man with a mop of raven hair caked in blood and clothed in ragged garments. Reaching the foot of the throne, the guards threw Merlin carelessly on the ground and, unlike earlier in the dungeon when the guard was in the way, the knights had a much better view of the condition their friend was in. His clothes hung loosely from his starved frame, and instead of the bright, cheerful grin that was a constant with the servant, Merlin now wore an emotionless mask, his eyes sunken in his face with dark bruises beneath each. From the skin exposed through the tears in the grimy tunic the servant now wore, cuts and bruises can be seen scattered around. It pained both the knights to see the man in that condition.
"How pathetic you look Merlin. A far cry from the irritating servant whose wit seem to have a mind of its own. Tell me, how much longer can you go on before you snap? You have only to give me the information I seek and all of this can end."
On the ground, Merlin pushed himself from the ground, his body shaking in the effort as he tried to push his feet beneath him. What took only a few minutes felt like hours to Gwaine as he forced himself to watch his friend's struggling form. Now standing his full height with arms tightly clasped behind him, Merlin lifted his chin up and boldly glared at the witch before him, even as he trembled in effort. Even in defiance, Merlin stance was that of a proud servant of Camelot, loyal only to Arthur.
At the gesture of her hand, Morgana had the guards forced Merlin back on his knees.
"Insolence will not be accepted within my court. Right now you are nothing but filth, worth no more than dirt on the ground," Morgana snarled, voice laced with hatred as she leapt out of the throne, strode to the warlock, and grasped him by the chin, jerking it upwards so that green eyes met blue. Merlin did not even flinch as her nails dug into his skin drawing blood while he met her glare with one of his own. Irritation flickered in her eyes before Morgana relaxed her stance; her hand began to caress the side of Merlin's face.
"Oh Merlin, just give up," Morgana crooned, "You have only to swear fealty to me and give me the information I seek and you will have want of naught and the respect our kind has been denied all these years. You can end all of this and live in comfort for the rest of your life, no longer a servant forced into demeaning work, hidden in fear from a tyrant king."
"I'll rather rot in the dungeons to face Tara's blood thirst than swear to you," Merlin chuckled as he finally spoke up, his voice sounding hoarse, "Arthur may be a prat but doesn't make him a tyrant. Blind hatred only led you to follow in the footsteps of Uther Pendragon and bringing yet another tyrant to the throne. You will get nothing from me."
Morgana's eyes hardened. She pulled her hand away only to bring it crashing across the warlock's face, Merlin's head whipped to the side as he let out gasp. It took him a moment to recover, during which the witch had return to sprawl across the throne, the anger never leaving her eyes but a dark smile once again spreading across her face.
"So be it. You leave me no other choice then Merlin. I have been patient with you for far too long and it is about time I had the truth from you. I tried to play nice but your refusal has forced my hand. This is your last offer, tell me the identity and location of Emrys, accept a position amongst your fellow kind, or," Morgan extended her hand and, with a quick incantation, a fireball began to form, its deadly dance seemingly hypnotized her in fascination, "or I will have all of Ealdor burned. I assure you that the villagers will be forced into slavery or slaughtered for their defiance, whatever fits Tara's fancy who also has full authority to do as she wishes with Hunith, as long as it results in death. Give in and I can promise you the safety of Ealdor. Continue in defiance and there will be no hope of survival."
Whispers broke out amongst the nobles of the court as Merlin stared at Morgana, his eyes wide in fear, the slight trembling of his body increased while his hands formed into fists from where they laid next to him, his knuckles white. The warlock was backed into a corner facing a choice that was impossible for him to decide without guilt. Condemn a whole village, his mother included, or condemn him and an entire kingdom. Gwaine felt his ever-increasing anger flare and his heart ached for the servant. Neither offers gave much for the captured warlock. It wasn't until the tightening of Percival's hand on his arm that caused Gwaine to be brought out of his thoughts as his attention diverted to his fellow knight.
"Gwaine, we should find a way out of the citadel while we can," whispered the large knight.
"I'm not leaving Merlin."
"How do you suggest we get him out then?"
"Wait till they return him to the dungeon and break him out."
"His cell is heavily guarded by soldiers and sorcerers. We were lucky to get out and I doubt we can handle even a handful of guards."
"Are you suggesting we abandon Merlin?" Gwaine snarled, hand tightening over the hilt of the sword.
Percival was about to respond when, suddenly, his face grimaced and returned to watching below. It took Gwaine a moment to register the soft chuckle that had caught the knight's attention.
The chuckle that was slowly building up in volume until it became manic laughter that echoed across the hall. There was no mirth to be found, only insanity, as Gwaine once again found himself watching his friend in shock. Merlin knelt, doubled over, his body shaking uncontrollably as the laughter racked his body. Soon the warlock was gasping for breath, his body further folded up and face pressed against the stone floor. Trying to catch his breath and wiping tears that sprung from his eyes, Merlin was unable to stop the snorts and giggles as he began to straighten up and face the throne.
The knight felt a shiver run down his spine as he beheld the wild look of his best friend. A twisted grin spread across his face, tear tracks still glistening down his cheeks, as he met the witch's in insolence.
"You got me Morgana. You found my weakness!" Merlin let at another bout of giggles, his trembling arms began to wrap around his middle as if attempting to hold himself together. "How can I refuse you? How can I sacrifice even more to a kingdom that you consistently love to remind me as being thankless?"
Morgana straighten up, her hands clenching the arms of the throne as she began to lean forward in expectation. With a lift of an eyebrow and a smirk, Morgana asked, "Well?"
The laughter stopped. Merlin's arms unfolded from himself and his hand lay upon his lap. All the servant did at that moment was stare into his palms, into the hands that had, without hesitation, done everything to protect the kingdom; had sacrificed everything for the kingdom. Friend, lover, father, his own innocence, what more must he sacrifice? Must his mother and village be part of the burden? Yet Merlin knew what he must do, must endure.
"I refuse."
"Fine then, guards, remove this filth from my sight." Morgana snarled as the guards took a firm hold of the dejected warlock's arms and dragged him from the room. Rage twisted the witch's face as she let out a shriek and lashed her magic out; one of the guards nearby, unfortunately, crumpled to the ground, dead, as he took the brunt of Morgana's tantrum.
The witch once again regained control of her emotions. She must control herself. It was only a matter of time before she got what she wanted, Emrys will be found and killed. Then, only then, can she tie that last loose end and destroy the only remaining Pendragon for his protector would be gone. She will ensure Arthur's death.
"Tara, prepare the soldiers. You will march upon Ealdor at dawn. Make sure to bring the head of that bastard's mother." Morgana ordered, her tone dismissing the court as she rose from the throne and strode out of the room. The raven-haired woman standing to the side of the room gave a curt nod before following the witch out.
"Come on," Percival said, grabbing Gwaine arm to pull him away to the door, "there is nothing we can do for Merlin. The least we can do is warn Ealdor and ensure his mother's safety before Morgana's men get there. Then we can find Arthur and the others."
With a nod, Gwaine reluctantly followed Percival out, turning his back to the throne room.
"I'm sorry mate, truly sorry," murmured Gwaine, "the least I can do is protect Ealdor."
Still Gwaine could not help shake the feeling that they abandoned the servant as he and Percival snuck out of the castle, stole horses from the stables, and slowly picked their way out of the city before finally entering the Darkling Woods.
Even as the sky darkened into night, the two journeyed on to Ealdor in hopes of reaching the small village in time to warn the villagers. With Morgana orders to leave at dawn, the two knew they would be able to reach the village. They could only hope they had time to evacuate the people.
It was the least they could do for Merlin.
Sunlight broke through the night as the rising sun appeared across the horizon. Morgana stood by the window and watched Tara pack her horse with ten other sorcerers to leave for Ealdor. Morgana laughed as she thought of the destruction they would soon bring upon the village. Merlin's precious village.
Oh how it would burn.
The one regret Morgana felt was that she would not be there to bear witness of the fear and despair as the sorcerers slaughtered every villager unfortunate to live there. Or how Tara would cut Hunith down bit by bit, screaming until the pain is too excruciating to express; her agony lengthened as Tara's magic keeps her alive long past when her body would had given out.
Morgana felt giddy in her excitement as she thought of the look upon Merlin's face the moment when she would toss his mother head before him. She would leave it there for days. Let him stare into his mother's dead eyes; realize he was responsible for the death of his mother before the witch stomped head into the ground. A fitting end for some peasant woman who brought into the world an arrogant, bastard child.
Then she would execute the knights before him. Make sure they died screaming in agony, much like the many traitors she had already executed before him. The knights' pain would be ten times worse than what his mother would go through. She would rip the knights apart until Merlin breaks.
Until Merlin revealed Emrys.
Emrys would be hers. Once she destroyed what was left of Merlin, after he gives her the information she seeks, she would prepare. She would be ready to confront the sorcerer. Then when she had him trapped, with no way to escape, she would tell him how his friend was killed, how hundreds were sacrificed into keeping him safe from her. She would make him regret for taunting her all these years, for foiling every plan she had made.
For protecting a tyrant.
For betraying to his kin.
For allowing Uther to burn hundreds of innocents upon the pyre.
And for daring to threaten her.
Emrys would never be her doom. She was too strong to be threatened by such a coward who hides in the shadows before greater sorcerers. The Cailleach was wrong about him. It was for her false prophecy that would be the downfall Emrys.
The Cailleach had showed Morgana her true enemy.
Once Emrys is disposed of, there would be no one left for Arthur to stand behind. There would be no one left to protect he dear brother. Emrys death was merely an appetizer to the main feast.
Arthur death would be oh so wonderful.
Morgana continued fantasizing the coming days with a smile while Tara and her company of sorcerers left the courtyard.
For now Ealdor woud burn.
For now, she would be patient with Merlin.
Every man had his limits, she only needed to find Merlin's.
AN: Managed to get this in before Sunday, awesome ^^ Thank you everyone who reviewed/favorite/alerted so far!
The next chapter should be posted at latest next Saturday, but due to upcoming travel plans, it may be another week if I don't post by Thursday, so sorry ahead of time of that happens!
Hope you enjoyed and let me know if you see any grammar/spelling errors I can fix (I already know of a few in the last chapter that I will go back and fix when I find the time)
Thank you for reading and reviews and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated!