Chapter 11

Warning/s: Nothing that you wouldn't expect.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

A/N: Sorry that this has taken so long – it might not seem like it, but this story is actually incredibly difficult to write and as much as I love it, I can only do a little bit each day. This isn't a particularly long chapter, but I can promise you that the next one will be.

The person who gave me the awesome torture idea last chapter was PersonWriter8571, so all creds for the idea go to them!

And I have a poll up on my profile page right now and I would really appreciate if you went and answered it for me! #merlin5eva

It took a long time for Merlin to cease screaming, and when he did it was only because his throat had become raw and constricted. In his mind the screech went on and on, high and unbreaking, a wailed expression of torture. Morgana had not left his side during the whole ordeal, but it was not a gesture of comfort; she was kneeling forward, her hair wild about her shoulders, with a small dagger clutched in one hand, which she had withdrawn from the bodice of her dress.

She had not spoken yet but there were questions on her lips, that much was clear as day. The corners twitched up into something like a smile, insane and cruel, driven mad by her thirst for knowledge. Merlin felt pity for the once striking and rational woman: all vestiges of her beauty had been transformed, not into anything repulsive, but into something cruel and senseless and wrathful; her sanity was long gone and nothing would bring back any of her sagacity, nobody was capable of levelling her.

When Merlin's breaths were coming in shuddering gasps and his hands were deadened from the fusty dungeon floor, Morgana eased herself onto her knees, and then straightened up, still with the dagger grasped in her hand. The point was wickedly sharp, the edges smooth and glinting. Merlin could see only small snatches of his captor as she circled him like a wolf about to leap on cowering prey, the dim light in the cell not kind to his eyes.

"Who is Emrys?" Morgana asked. Her voice was cracked and hoarse; she spoke softly, yet her words were filled with power and persuasion. She demanded rather than asked the information, as Morgana always had.

Merlin tilted his head back, wincing at the cramp in his neck and the roaring that it caused to rush through his ears, the blood that suddenly pounded behind his eyes and the sudden jolt of agony in his skull. "I don't know," he rasped, or at least he thought that was what he said; the hissing in his head was louder than the pathetic remnants of his voice.

"Yes you do," Morgana retorted. She had years of expertise in these areas now and she could tell when a man was lying. Merlin was of the Old Religion, as she was; he must know who Emrys was, everyone seemed to know who Emrys was apart from her, and that drove her to the brink of insanity. She wished that she had the capability to cast a spell that would coerce Merlin to tell the truth, but her strength was not enough for such a deed. She would be drained as soon as she uttered the first word and that would serve no good.

She crouched down in front of the trembling man and dragged her long, skeletal finger up his neck and under the curve of his chin, relishing in the spluttering breathing of her prisoner as the tip of her fingernail caught his skin and left behind a jagged, pink line. Unfortunately she drew no blood but her blade could compensate for that. "Tell me," Morgana murmured, "and all this will end."

"Never," Merlin stuttered, the cold constricting his chest and heart like a clammy hand compressing his torso crudely. Morgana hissed and pressed the point of her knife into his chest, barely but just enough so that the skin above Merlin's sternum broke and a little blood trickled out.

"Tell me," Morgana ground out. Silence followed her words, broken only by the dripping of rainwater through a leak in the ceiling elsewhere. With her spare hand, she grabbed a tuft of Merlin's hair and yanked his head back. The dagger rested against the pale, goosebumped skin of his fragile neck.

"I – don't – know," Merlin insisted, his words not coming easily when his throat was restricted at this angle. The dagger was cutting and stinging and harsh, and Merlin wanted to tell Morgana what she wanted to know purely so the cold, steel flesh would stop biting at his throat.

"Yes you do, I know you know," Morgana snapped in frustration, anger causing her breath to come in short panting gasps. Blood trickled from Merlin's neck, though not enough to cause him grievous injury. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. "Come on, Merlin!"

"You won't have heard of him," Merlin lied, deciding that if Morgana couldn't be fooled one way, maybe she could be by another. "He's very…exclusive."

Morgana's eyes glinted. At last she was getting somewhere with the useless serving boy. "I might have," she urged, lessening her grip on the blade somewhat, although she kept it pressed to his throat.

"No, he haunts - the forests – and – and he – only meets those – who work with, not against – the natural energy." Merlin wasn't exactly certain of what he was rambling about now, but it sounded like something that one of Gaius's dusty books would say. Morgana seemed unconvinced.

"What 'natural energy'?" she enquired, her eyes narrowing. This was not a term she had heard of; and she was a High Priestess.

"The energy that is – naturally embedded in – in all magic users," Merlin choked. "Some – do great things – and help the nat- natural world, but – others harm it."

Morgana raised her eyebrows. She was not entirely sure whether Merlin was lying to her: he had no reason to lie, but no reason to tell the truth either. He seemed not to care whether he lived or died, as long as Morgana did not take the true identity of Emrys from him. So why would he tell the truth now, all of a sudden? Yet he sounded sure of his own tale, and Morgana, while powerful and practiced, had not learnt everything of the old religion quite yet.

"What is his name? His birth name?" Morgana pressed. All of the myths, all of the legends, all of them had spoken of Emrys living under a false name, one his mother had granted him at birth and one that he would hide behind until his time came.

Merlin hesitated. The only names that came to his mind were those of friends and foes he had once met; he did not wish to incriminate anybody. He searched desperately through his mind for a name that was unusual and would not be found anywhere Morgana could go, but he drew a blank. Morgana laughed softly. "Sometimes when we forge lies, we fall down on the simplest of details." She licked her lips. "One last chance, Merlin."

Something stirred inside Merlin at the way Morgana spoke his name. The same emphasis as always, but this time more contempt than usual, more disgust. The serving boy who couldn't do anything, even lie, was what she was thinking. Merlin opened his eyes wide and stared into Morgana's piercing, emerald irises. She did not flinch or even blink, but stared straight back. "Never, Morgana," Merlin snarled.

A/N: As always, leave any stuff you want to see in a review and I'll try and squeeze it in, or just let me know what you thought of the chapter!