Didn't mean to post but I saw we had new readers, and I didn't want them to wait! Hope you like it (thought of the reveal while writing parts of this so I hope it worked out well!)

One More Night: Maroon 5

Merlin looked up to where his arms were chained. It was dark in the cell, the only light trickling from a vent at the top of the room—the sunlight taunting him, sneering at his bound form. So strange to be chained again, so strange that he should be feeling like this so soon. His breath came slowly, eyes unseeing as they looked to the barred doors to freedom. He had already tried breaking through the chains, failing. Now he hung exhausted, his arms groaning. Merlin was still and silent, the clinking of his chains that only sound in Camelot's ancient dungeons.

But inside, feelings roiled, bubbling up within him, growing with each minute that crept by. Shock still stabbed him with every breath, and disbelief still clouded his vision.

How could I have been so stupid?

How could he have fallen for the trap? He hadn't noticed anything, everything had felt real. Perhaps that's why he should have known—everything had been too good to be true.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps. They rang on the cold stone, heavy and quick. Four guards and Uther Pendragon appeared at the other side of the bars, with them a familiar face.

Gaelic.

The warlock hissed, stiffening in his chains and straightening his back.

"Not so tough now, are you, sorcerer? Bound and waiting for death?" his former captor sneered.

"Funny – your friend said something like that before I destroyed The Mine. These chains won't hold me forever, and when I'm free, there won't be a dragon to protect you."

Gaelic laughed nervously and Merlin smirked as he sidestepped behind the king.

Uther nodded at the guards, and they approached the warlock. Merlin struggled as they tore his shirt from his lean body, the cold air biting his bare flesh.

The king circled the bound man, taking in the long whip marks that marred the pale skin.

"Your work, Gaelic?"

"Yes, my lord."

He was quiet, circling to stand across from the warlock, eyes studying Merlin's face. Motioning, more guards walked in, rolling in hot coals whose heat Merlin could feel from where he stood.

"I wanted to torture you—make you suffer. But I decided against it," Uther said softly. "But I want to make an example of you, sorcerer, to prove that even the most powerful of your kind is weak under our hands. So that no one will dare challenge me."

A guard walked over, a long iron brand in his hand. Merlin stiffened as he flinched back, but escaping was impossible with the chains locked so tight. He struggled as the soldier approached him, the iron a bright red, smoke rising from its burning surface. It hissed as it embraced the cool air of the dungeon. Merlin couldn't take his eyes from it.

"This mark brands you as a sorcerer. Superstition says the symbol traps the demon within you so it doesn't spread. If I were you, I would remain still—try to relax."

Without warning, the guard wrapped an arm around Merlin's spine—keeping him from moving—and pushed the brand into the skin below the warlock's right shoulder.

He couldn't help it. Merlin's screams tore through the air, the king watching with satisfaction as the iron tore away flesh. Rough hands held him tight and kept him immobile, but his legs twitched below him as his body wracked with pain.

It was excruciating, the brand pressing into his pale skin. He could feel his flesh peeling and hardening, blood begging to fall but held back by the terrible heat. Spots dotted his vision as the pain took control. Setting his body aflame, Merlin bit his lip to keep from screaming more than he already had, but as the guard shoved it deeper, cries ripped out of his body. Breathing was difficult. Thinking was difficult. It was just pain, where he began and it ended indiscernible.

His screams went ragged.

Down the corridor, seated on the stairs of the dungeon, a blonde haired man closed his eyes. His hands made fists, his jaw clenched, something within him tearing.

"Arthur?"

The prince turned to see Morgana standing at the top of the stairs, one hand bracing her lean figure against the stone wall. Her face was streaked with tears, eyes red, lips bitten.

"Morgana."

"What are they doing?"

"I don't know."

Another scream echoed from down below and Morgana let out a strangled sob, her whole body shaking.

"Go to your room, Morgana. You shouldn't be here."

"How can you just sit here and listen to him scream?"

Arthur turned away from her, looking down at his clenched fists. "Go to your room."

The king's ward shook her head, ebony locks in disarray. She disappeared down the hall and the heir of Camelot buried his face in his hands as the screams grew louder below.

In the cell, Uther watched his prisoner with satisfaction. The boy held to consciousness by a thread, body limp in his chains. The mark that branded his skin was a brilliant red, slowing turning white as it began to jut out from the smoothness of his torso. His chest rose and fell with each shallow gasp. Soft moans could still be heard from his opened mouth, eyes looking forward, glazed in pain and unseeing.

The guards left the room, leaving the king alone with the warlock. Merlin's breaths the only sound between them as they each looked at the other. Uther felt a small shiver trickle down his spine, as the sorcerer, chained and suffering before him, jaw tight and eyes clouded with pain, still managed to seem menacing in his silent rage. His abilities roiled beneath his pale skin, and for a moment, the Pendragon realized he wasn't just dealing with a boy, but a creature of the Old Religion.

But he dismissed the feeling, walking out of the room and leaving the warlock to the darkness.

Finally alone, Merlin let out the strangled sob he'd been holding. It came out of him in a quick gasp and salty tears spilled from his blue eyes. The pain was unbearable. Though the iron had left his chest, the warlock could still feel his flesh burning and pulling apart. Looking down made it no better. The burn was dark and ugly—it made his stomach turn.

He remembered the last time he had received a burn similar to this—the night of the masquerade. The pain of it had brought him to his knees. But this time there was no Gwen stroking his face, or Gwaine holding his hand, or Gaius rushing to make the pain go away. Here the agony remained, and even as he begged his mind to let go of consciousness, it clung onto him—keeping him away from blissful unawareness.

The sound of his cell door unlocking pulled his attention away from the pain, but seeing the face there only brought on a different kind of hurt.

And rage.

"What are you doing here? Come to watch the show? I'm afraid you're a little late," Merlin spat at Arthur, angry that even while he spoke, his voice choked with the pain.

The prince only studied him, eyes running over the warlock's torn trousers, the blood dripping from his wrists where the chains had cut into his skin, his mutilated lower shoulder, his tear stained face. Blue eyes glanced at the links of iron that kept Merlin helpless, a small voice wondering how simple a thing could stay such raw power—a power he had grown used to over the past month.

"Gwenivere is safe," Arthur finally said. "The knights are taking her to Glendale's border now."

Merlin looked up at the window above him. Where sunlight once danced, the darkness of night remained—he hadn't even realized the passing of time. He stiffened when the prince approached him, something clenched tightly in his palm.

Arthur opened his fingers to reveal a necklace Gwen always wore—a ring casted in simple iron. Her father had made it for her when she was a little girl and the princess never took it off.

"She asked that I give this to you," the blonde murmured softly, reaching over and pulling the worn thread chain over the warlock's head. It fell just above his clavicle, the weight of it strangely comforting.

"Thank you," Merlin replied softly, looking at Arthur's expressionless face.

As the prince turned to leave, he stopped at the voice behind him.

"Why? Why did you do this, Arthur?"

The prince turned to see Merlin's desperate face, so pale, so broken. Not the same boy that Arthur had known in the morning.

"You have magic," he replied softly.

"I was born with it," Merlin said with a choked cry, his body shaking with sorrow and rage.

"Merlin—"

"WHAT WRONG HAVE I HAVE DONE YOU?" Merlin struggled against his chains, a small cry escaping his lips as the movement pulled at the wound in his shoulder. "LOOK AT ME," the warlock begged, rage barely contained in his words when the prince turned from him.

Arthur looked reluctantly at the warlock, commanding his heart to stay strong. But it was difficult with the tears spilling from the pale man's eyes, the blood streaming down his bare chest where he had been rudely thrown and cut, feet scuffling against the rough stone, bare footed, trying to stand, but failing.

"What wrong have I have done you to deserve this?" Merlin asked, voice ragged and laced with pain. "What wrong have I done to deserve this treatment, this torture? What have I done that warrants my imprisonment, my betrayal, and my blood? Have I not saved your life? Have I not been loyal? What wrong have I done other than been born with this ability I have no strength to control? IT'S NOT MY FAULT THAT I'M A MONSTER. I tried so hard, so hard to redeem myself in your eyes. But still you look upon me with cold indifference, like we were not friends, like I am one of the many sorcerers your father has imprisoned in these dungeons—and I am soon to be one of many your father executes. So before I burn on the pyre they build in Camelot's vast courtyard, tell me. Just tell me what I have done to force your hand, and was the friendship I had come to value a lie—the final proof of my naivety?"

Arthur took a deep breath, his eyes finally revealing the pain at the core of his being. "I arrived in Glendale with a single purpose—the gain your trust. It was easy, and soon you, too, won mine. But I am the prince of Camelot, and you are a sorcerer. We don't write our destinies, and we can't change them. And though it pains me, I know that this is what's best. Your power could bring my kingdom to its knees, and my duty is to my people, not my heart. I am sorry, Merlin. But magic corrupts, and it is better you die innocent than die twisted, heart blackened with the dark power of the Old Religion. I am truly sorry, but this is the way it has to be."

The prince turned around, ignoring the desperate cries as he locked the cell door and walked from the dungeons. Once he reached the top of the stairs, he angrily brushed away a tear and disappeared into his quarters.

Morgana braced herself as she prepared to enter the dungeons. She had slipped past the guards with ease—she was the king's ward after all. Taking a deep breath, she walked down the steps and into the silent dungeon.

It was dark, so dark. And cold, terribly cold. He was in the last cell, at the end—the darkest and coldest corner. She let out a quick intake of breath as she looked at him, a small tear slipping from the corner of her eye.

He wore only trousers, hanging from the ceiling, wrists rubbed red and raw. Small shuddering breaths the only proof that he still lived. Merlin's eyes were closed tight. Every once and a while his body would involuntarily shiver as the cold whispered tendrils across his bare skin.

The crimson blood was the only color in the dark cell. There was so much of it, it puddled at his feet, and fell in lines across his chest from where the chains must have sliced his wrists as he struggled against the brand that now marred his already scarred body. Morgana unlocked the door as quietly as she could—having stolen the key from Arthur before he slept. She set the bucket of warm water as softly as she could on the stone floor, bending down and wetting a soft cloth.

"Don't touch me."

Morgana froze, cloth inches away from his skin. The water dripped from it, each droplet a strike of lightening in the unbearable silence.

She looked up to see his cobalt eyes open, expression unfathomable. Morgana swallowed, talking hurriedly. "Let me just clean the wounds, keep them from infection…"

"I'm going to die in a matter of hours, so it doesn't matter, does it?" His voice was cold as ice, every word a sharp knife.

"Merlin—"

"I gave you the key to my fate. I entrusted it to you, and nobody else. When I told you, a little voice in my head told me to stop. That I shouldn't do this, shouldn't get involved. But your lips were velvet and your kisses red wine, smooth, rich, and intoxicating—taking away my sanity and replacing it with stupidity. I was a fool, drunk on you, and now I bleed from polished chains as a punishment for my love."

"Believe me, Merlin, please. I didn't want this…"

"THAN WHY AM I IN A DUNGEON?" his voice echoed loud in the silent space, Morgana shrinking back. "Why am I hung from the roof in utter agony, awaiting death? Why? I can understand Arthur—he hates magic. He sees me as the enemy. But you, you're just like me. You have magic. You're as much a monster as I am."

"I had no choice…Uther, Arthur, they are the only family I have. Uther made me say, I came to Glendale first with every intention of betrayal. But I fell in love with you, but by that time I was in too deep. I couldn't do anything but tell them—"

"There's always another choice. There is always another way."

"Merlin, stop," Morgana pleaded. "Please listen to me. In my nightmares I saw Camelot burning. I saw dragons in scarlet stained armor, up on the battlements, wings outstretched. I could hear people screaming, and two great armies clashed in the vast fields before the citadel—fire and blood as far as the naked eyes could see. And I saw you there, in black and silver armor, seated upon a dragon whose very eyes were as golden as yours. In my nightmare I knew it was your war. This is what future lay ahead, one of death, blood, and despair, and you were right in the middle. The dreams, I had them again and again, and when I discovered I had magic I only knew that they would come to pass. So I had to make the choice—let things be, and watch the world burn because of my feelings for you. Or I could watch you die and the destiny fail."

Merlin shook his head. "You had no right—"

"Didn't I? I'm a seer, Merlin. Not only that, but Edwin told me I'm one of the most powerful sorceresses he's ever met, my power almost equaling yours. I have as much a part to play in the future of these kingdoms as you, and though it pains me, I know I have no choice. To lose you will be losing warmth, but I'd prefer a world of ice to a world of fire. Your death now, it will save thousands of lives."

"Morgana, destiny is not a fickle thing. If I die tomorrow, than that future will still come to pass, one way or another."

"Maybe, but I can't risk those lives. "

The two were silent, and Morgana walked tentavily towards him, gently cleaning the brand and the cuts on him. He shuddered under her fingertips, pain keeping him speechless. After seemingly eternities of silence, Morgana pulled back, the cloth in her hand stained ruby.

"Tomorrow, when I'm tied to the pyre, promise me you'll be there. So that as I burn, I can see the look in your eyes and know if the love between us was real or not."

"Merlin—"

"Morgana, I don't want to die."

The king's ward covered her mouth as an involuntary sob was ripped from her, tears flowing freely down her face.

"And I don't want you to die."

"Then don't let me."

"Merlin—"

"It doesn't have to be like this, we can find another way."

"There is no other way."

"It's time."

Merlin looked up to see Arthur standing in the cell, six guards flanking him. He hadn't slept all night, each minute seemingly a thousand years, but still the warlock wished for the bitter cold hell to the knowledge that he would be ashes before noon.

"Please… Arthur…" the warlock said softly, lips cracked and body raked with hunger and thirst.

But the prince said nothing and turned to walk from the cell as the knights behind him unhooked the man from the roof, pushing him to his knees. They gave him a worn white shirt to cover his bare flesh, carefully ripped so that the brand on the warlock's chest could be seen.

Merlin struggled, desperately calling on his magic as they pushed him down the hall and towards the entrance to the courtyard. But the chains did their job and soon the warlock hung limp in their arms as they pulled him into the sun.

Silence.

It was the first thing Merlin noticed. In all his nightmares, when he was pulled into the courtyard where he was sure to die, the onlookers jeered and taunted him. But here, in reality, everyone was silent. Somehow that made it all the more terrifying. As his eyes accustomed to the brightness, he could see the mob of people in the square. They were parted, making the path to the tall pyre clear. Knights in scarlet stood before it, and up on the terrace of the citadel stood Uther and Arthur Pendragon.

Morgana wasn't there.

The scuffling of his feet on the white stone was loud in the quiet courtyard, a light breeze brushing the clothes of the onlookers. Their faces were stony and cold, no cruelty, but also no sympathy on the faces that Merlin didn't recognize.

The light shined down from the clear blue sky, and the birds sang happy tunes on their perches on the castle walls. Looking out onto it, he longed for clouds to roll over the sky and for the sunlit courtyard to turn dark because in all the great novels, the world cries when someone is about to die. And here he was on the doorstep of death, and the skies laughed, taunting him.

But still he moved closer to the pyre, and in his heart he began to lose hope. He thought that Gwen would get here on time, that Gwaine would ride in now and bear him away to safety.

No one was coming.

Fear gripped him tightly, and he couldn't help but want to scream and sob as his feet bore him unwillingly to the tall pile of wood. He'd thought of death, thought of death many times when he was locked away in the Mine. But he'd always felt like his death would be something more heroic, and would come at a later hour—he never thought he was fated to die by fire, the betrayal of the woman he loved and the man he considered his greatest friend tying him to the pyre.

Merlin was afraid.

The guards hoisted him up, binding him tightly to a long wooden stake. Wood and kindling cracked under his bare feet, so loud in the silence.

Horns suddenly sounded up high, and drums slowly began to beat. Slow and loud, Merlin's heart tightening in his chest.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Uther's voice began to ring in the courtyard, loud and clear.

"Let this serve as a lesson to all. This man, Merlin son of Hunith, is judged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic, and pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed such practices are banned on penalty of death. I pride myself as a fair and just king, but for the crime of sorcery there is but one sentence that I can pass."

The king raised his hand and the drums began to beat faster, the crowds still silent. Merlin watched with desperate eyes as a knight in a scarlet cloak lit a torch with flame, walking towards the pyre slowly.

Looking up, the warlock met Arthur's eyes. He was happy to see pain there, pain and uncertainty. Blue eyes locked together, and Merlin knew that the fear was plain in his own. He longed for Morgana to be there so he could see her face, one last time.

Lifting up the torch, the knight looked at the warlock as he let the flames touch the wood.

Merlin closed his eyes.

Whatcha think? TELL ME! Should I update the next chapter or is nobody interested?