Chapter 3

Warning/s: Bit of torture. Not much.

A/N: So…guess whose school is going to see The Tempest at the Globe, which Colin Morgan is acting in as Ariel?

ARGGH OMG SO EXCITED

And now that that's over: thank you so much for being so patient! School's being hectic and life is being a bit iffy right now and I have basically no time to write anymore; it takes me about a week to write a chapter this length because I do it in bits whenever I have the time. So yeah, it might be a while…sorry!

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or anything to do with it.

When Merlin panicked, he had a system. He'd developed the system when he was young and used it often. The system was to catalogue everything around him, one by one. It helped him to stay grounded.

So when he was thrown down in front of Morgana with his hands bound that was exactly what Merlin did.

Sight – Morgana, wearing a revealing dark purple dress and a menacing smirk. A dark, cold, stone room, with no furniture.

Smell – something metallic that was probably blood. Morgana's general reek of insanity.

Hearing – a leak in the roof that was causing a slow dribble of water to land with a splatter on the hard floor. Heavy breathing – his and Morgana's.

Taste – blood, both fresh and the slightly more metallic old stuff.

Touch – the harsh ropes on his wrists. The coldness of the floor seeping into his skin through his thin trousers.

He calmed slightly, though not by much. "So good of you to join me, Merlin," the witch chuckled. "Tell me," she carried on, slowly ambling towards the manservant, "what brings you out here? Could it be destiny," she yanked his chin up so his eyes met hers, "by any chance?"

Merlin refused her the luxury of an answer and sought to keep his face impartial to everything, although inside he was a jumble of emotions.

Morgana evidently wasn't satisfied with that answer and continued, releasing his face, "Answer me this, Merlin," she put an Arthur-like spin on his name, "who's Emrys?" She squatted down to his kneeling level and curled her arms around her knees. The only thing obscuring Merlin's view most of the way down the top half of her dress was his own stubbornness. "I've heard words and rumours that you're Emrys," Morgana practically cooed. "But that's just ridiculous, isn't it? You would never let countless people die just to keep your little secret safe, would you?" She regarded Merlin coolly for a few seconds. "You'd be just like me then."

Abruptly she straightened up and backed to a few feet away from him. "The other alternative," her voice was suddenly a lot colder and more business-like than before, "is that you know who Emrys is. So which is it? Are you, or are you not? And if you're not, who is he?"

Merlin looked her dead in the eye, something he'd realized to be quite unerring to his unfortunate enemy. "I know…nothing."

"I know you know!" Morgana shrieked. Her hands automatically went to her hair and she tugged at it, then flung it over her shoulders and faced Merlin, chest heaving with the exertion. "You will tell me Merlin. You will."

Merlin shrugged to the best of his ability (it was quite a hard thing to do with restricted hands). "I don't think I will, actually."

"Then I'll make you." An insane light had entered Morgana's eyes and she smiled manically. With the bright red lipstick that she had smudged across them, it seemed more like the painted on smile of a wooden doll than an actual threatening or remotely scary gesture.

"Beran sames!" Morgana cried, accompanied with a wild flung out palm.

Merlin coiled in on himself with the worst pain he'd ever experienced. There was a pulsating pressure in his skull that made it feel like it was about to explode; every nerve was screaming out in white-hot pain. His arms were on fire; so were his legs. His organs were rattling around inside of him, consumed by a temperature that was both achingly cold but dreadfully hot.

White hot lashes whipped across his eyes. Merlin closed his eyes, only to find that the action worsened the effect. He breathed deeply and began to list the senses.

Sight – black, from his closed eyelids. Ribbons of light that occasionally would dance into the otherwise unmarked abyss.

Smell – a lot more blood. Was he bleeding?

Hearing – Morgana laughing. The ropes on his wrists straining to hold him as he struggled. His own quick, shallow breathing. The leak in the roof.

Taste – saliva. Blood. Panic.

Touch – the ropes on his wrists that were digging in much more now. And now that he thought about it…a lot more coldness.

He refused to cry out, or scream. He would not. He would not break under Morgana.

Seeing that her tactic obviously wasn't working, Morgana tried again. "Feolan hige!"

The pain abruptly stopped but pins started to poke at his brain. They began to unravel it, strand by strand, picking his mind apart until they found the answer they wanted.

"It's-"

"Go on," Morgana said eagerly, raising her hand and clenching it into a fist. The pain magnified tenfold and Merlin groaned.

Merlin felt certain he was going to shout it out, and bit his lip to restrain himself. It started to bleed but he didn't notice. Eventually, when he felt he really couldn't hold it any longer, he muffled his voice by shoving his face into his sleeve. "It's me! I'm Emrys!" Fairly satisfied that she hadn't heard him, he dropped his arm.

"Ætstandan," Morgana said, satisfied but slightly mystified, not able to make out the muffled words.

Merlin glanced up and saw the witch striding towards him. "I have to admit, Melrin, I do admire your bravery. Very…touching."

"Thank you," Merlin said, mock-polite.

A flicker of annoyance reared up in Morgana's eyes but just as quickly as it came it went. "I have a treat for you, actually, for being so courageous."

"Really?" Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"But of course." Morgana smirked; he didn't trust that smirk.

Before Merlin could react, Morgana leaned in and crashed her lips to his. At first, he was too shocked to do anything apart from wonder what the hell is she doing but after a few seconds, he pushed her away with great difficulty, considering his hands were tied and clumsy

Morgana laughed; a menacing thing that ricochet off the stone walls. Her lipstick, smeared across her cheek, glistened in the firelight like blood. Her messy, uncombed hair and pale face only added to the effect; her cackle froze its way into Merlin's skin and shudders possessed him, petrifying him.

A/N: Thanks to Autumdragon for the beta.

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