Chapter 8

Warning/s: None, just some descriptions of torture (but it's not graphic).

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

A/N: This has taken me ages to write, I keep writing half of it and then deleting it, then having no idea what to write, then writing the entire chapter and trashing it because I don't think it's good enough. That being said, I wrote all of this in one go, but I'm uncertain of how brilliant it is. Please let me know in a review so I don't spend the entirety of next week thinking oh my God why do I even write or similar thoughts, and let me know where you think the story is headed.

"Bloody hell," Gwaine complained, hacking at the dense curtain of vines with his sword. "Isn't there another way around?" he called to Arthur, who was slashing through the abundant layer of ferns on the ground.

"If you want to add another three days to our journey," Arthur panted heavily, pausing for a moment to clean his brow of sweat. "The forest isn't too great, if we carry on going straight it should take only half a day at most."

Gwaine stared at his king, disbelief morphing his features. "With this shrubbery?" he asked. "It's taken us half a day to penetrate the opening!"

"Just keep going, Gwaine," Arthur ground out through gritted teeth, irritation threatening to overcome his sense. He knew Gwaine was unhappy with the situation and anxious about Merlin, but so was he – and he had to try and encourage them to get there as well.

Gwaine huffed in annoyance and Arthur prayed that he wasn't going to answer back smartly like he usually did. Out of the corner of his eye, the king spied Percival elbowing him harshly in the ribs. Arthur felt a sudden rush of gratitude towards the large, graceful knight for handling Gwaine well – he was starting to lose the control he once had over what was happening.

Merlin was already conscious when Morgana came down to fetch him. Her ridiculous heeled boots – so impractical for everyday life, Merlin had always thought – were the first indication of her approach. The clicks they created when they hit the stone stairs echoed and bounced towards him. Her dress rustled as it trailed behind her, the sound ghostly and unreal.

"Good morning," Merlin said, not bothering to turn over. He was currently lying on the damp floor of his cell. His right side was numb from the freezing stone, but his back was burning red hot from the healing gashes of the whip.

"Nice to see you haven't lost your manners," Morgana laughed, and what was once a pleasant sound that Merlin loved to listen to was now derived and harsh, rough against her throat.

"Nice to see you have," Merlin countered, knowing that he was treading into dangerous territory.

Sure enough, Morgana's voice turned from falsely innocent to a snarl. "I lost my manners when you poisoned me, Merlin." He couldn't see her but he knew her well enough to know what she was doing.

Her casual pacing, although they had some form of purpose to them, transformed into fast, tight strides as she stalked towards the cell door. There was the harsh scraping of metal on metal as she shoved the key into the lock and yanked the door open, pressing her heel against his bare back, right into one of the slashes she had caused yesterday.

Merlin yelped in pain but then squeezed his mouth shut, biting his lip to prevent any more noise escaping. He felt blood ooze from the wound again and trickle down his horizontal back, causing an uncomfortable stickiness when it pooled against the floor.

"Get up," she ordered, jerking her heel back out of his wound. Merlin moved his arms stiffly to attempt to stand, wincing when every muscle in his body protested at the movement. He managed to make his way to his knees, breaths escaping his nostrils in short, irregular pants before Morgana grew impatient.

She hauled him to his feet by his hair and shoved him forward. Merlin nearly tripped from the sudden pain and light-headedness he felt and steadied himself against the cell door, his hands wrapping around the cold steel bars.

There was a sheering pain along his back as Morgana pushed him forward again, her hand unforgiving against the slashes in his skin. "Outside," she instructed.

Warily, Merlin shuffled towards the door at the end of the corridor. His back was pulsating and overheating, and it made his movements stiff and slow. Morgana easily overtook him and grabbed his wrist, dragging him along, ignoring his cries and whimpers of pain.

She rammed the wooden door open when they reached it, revealing a sparse square of ground. Merlin was shoved outside and shouted out in agony when the hard, fast rain hit his back. He glanced around wearily, blinking raindrops from his eyes. It was a small square-like courtyard, penned in by steep stone walls. There was barely enough room for more than six people.

In the middle of it stood a stumpy, uneven post of mahogany. Merlin eyed it cautiously; he suspected he knew where this was going. Sure enough, Morgana was soon beside him, her nails digging into his wrist painfully. The rain seemed to bounce off her, Merlin noticed: she had cast some kind of spell to make her water-resistant.

Merlin was forced to his knees in front of the post, and from nowhere Morgana produced a long, roughly-woven rope and bound his wrists together tightly. His hands began to throb as the blood was cut off between his wrists and palms. Merlin gritted his teeth as Morgana circled the rope around the post before slipping the end underneath the loops she had made and tying it neatly and securely.

"Ready to have some fun, Merlin?" Morgana hissed, her warm palm stroking down his mangled back, eliciting a groan of agony from Merlin as she rubbed in the rainwater. "I'm ready," Morgana continued, "I can't wait to see you squirming in agony again."

"Get on with it, Morgana," Merlin ground out between short bursts of breathing. "I don't care about your whip."

Morgana laughed. "I'm not whipping you, Merlin. I've already done that. I have something quick different in mind."

Merlin tensed. A whipping he could deal with; whatever Morgana had planned, he may not be able to. "What are you planning, then?"

Morgana laughed. "You'll find out in just a few minutes." Judging by the sound of her footsteps, she had disappeared back inside, leaving Merlin outside in the biting wind and chilling rain.

"We're out," Arthur breathed, relief flooding his body. It had taken them, as he had previously predicted, half a day to struggle through the short although dense forest.

Gwaine whooped, following Arthur out and nearly tripping over a large, jagged stone that lay in his path. "Where now?" he asked, still panting. The ground around them bore no particular landmarks, nothing to help them choose a way to go.

Arthur glanced towards the sky. "Night will fall in less than an hour," he pointed out as Percival, Elyan and Leon crashed out of the forest behind him. "I suggest we set up camp and rise early tomorrow morning."

"Sounds like a plan, sire," Leon agreed, a little out of breath. Arthur glanced behind him, relieved to see that his knights were okay. Elyan and Leon had been charged with the task of leading the horses once the paths ahead had been cleared; after a quick look over Arthur could see no problems with their mounts.

Gwaine sighed, frustrated that they could not carry on, but following Arthur's instructions. He began to gather dry wood that was littered around.

Morgana arrived back outside, still protected by her waterproof cloak she had cast over herself. "You probably won't have heard of this," she said to Merlin. "It's a device called an emorragh." She crouched down in front of Merlin so he could see the device. It was a light green in colour, oblong in shape. It was roughly the size of the average dagger and thin. One edge was jagged, with long teeth-like spikes protruding from it.

"The Old Religion made extensive use of when they wished to extract information from enemies. You see the teeth here?" Morgana waved her hand around the spikes. "They each have a different name and when you summon one, they all have a different…power." She smirked, touching the teeth lightly. "Some have the power to burn, some can create a deep gash just from lightly touching the skin, some can inflict great pain without leaving a mark."

Morgana rose and circled Merlin predatorily. "I wonder which I should use first," she mused, eying her prey with hunger. "Gorfen."

One of the teeth glowed blue and the others snapped back into the emorragh, leaving one prominent. Morgana touched it to her skin lightly, wincing when it shot a deep, intense pain up through her arm. She lifted it back almost immediately, and the pain vanished with it.

Merlin gritted his teeth. He had heard Morgana's sharp intake of breath when she had tested the device, and he was certain that she would use it far more extensively on him. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain to befall him.

Morgana started off by tracing the device along his left shoulder smoothly, grinning when Merlin jerked and shuddered, yelping in agony. She pressed down a little harder, her smile widening when Merlin started to tug at his bindings, and moaning in pain.

She moved across to his other shoulder, increasing the pressure further until Merlin was thrashing to escape his bindings, full blown screams falling from his lips. Morgana could only imagine the agony that he was in – and she enjoyed doing so.

A new idea struck her when she saw that Merlin's wounds had begun to bleed again from his wild movements. Morgana lifted her emorragh away, waiting for his shouts to subside to sobs. "Don't cry so, Merlin dear," she cooed in mock-sympathy. "It's only going to get worse."

Morgana angled her hand so that the emorragh was tilted towards the inside of one of the cuts the whip had left, and touched the spike onto the sensitive skin, appreciating Merlin's shrieks of agony. She loved hearing him scream in pain, pressing down harder to double the pain he was feeling.

"Feel free to tell me anything you know about Camelot's defences, Merlin," Morgana reminded him, running the spike back and forth.

"Never," Merlin managed between his yells of agony, jerking back and forth, straining against the rope. Morgana sighed – this obviously wasn't working. She summoned the spike away, considering which one she should use next.

"Dietyn," she snapped. A spike slid out, glowing a deep purple. Morgana smiled – she liked this one. She wondered where it would have the best effect – somewhere she didn't want to go, most probably, but a close second would be his wrists – or more specifically, the veins.

Twisting his wrists over so they were facing upwards, Morgana touched the spike experimentally over one clear vein: with the tight binding, they were all prominent in his arms. His wrist began to bleed immediately, the red, viscous liquid spurting out gracefully. Morgana grinned and pressed the spike to the others excitedly, moving to the other wrist when she was satisfied she had done enough. Merlin was screaming again, the pain of his veins bursting too much for him to handle. He soon passed out, from a combination of the agony and blood loss.

Morgana sighed. She hadn't meant for him to lose consciousness – she had only hoped to traumatize him so much that he would reveal what she wanted to know. "Pathetic," she muttered, watching the blood be watered down with the rain and discolour the ground.

Morgana headed back inside, setting the emorragh down on a table that was just beside the door and glancing out at Merlin. His veins were starting to close up – the beauty of dietyn was that it would never let enough blood leak to kill the person involved, but obviously she had pushed Merlin too far this time. The rain would help him to regain his consciousness, perhaps. Morgana sighed and strode back towards the stairs. She would come back in a few hours, when night had fallen, and drag him back inside. He would be freezing, his semi-naked body sodden. Morgana smiled, a plan already formulating in her mind as she strode back towards her room.