Hidden Motives

A/N: Thanks for the reviews; lovely to read as always. We're jumping back in time a little bit in this chapter. Need to find out what's happening to a certain Prince that, in actual fact, we haven't seen anything of so far! Hope you like, and please review!

Chapter 9

Arthur went through the routine in his head. What could he hear; did it sound real? What could he see; did it look real? What could he feel; did it feel real? It was what his focus had come down to now; testing everything to see if it matched up to what he knew his reality was like. But it was hard to do that when reality had become so different to what he was used to.

He had no idea how long it had been, but he guessed that it must have been a few weeks at least since he had woken up in the dark, lying on a floor made of rock in just his night clothes, with both hands bound behind his back, and his legs similarly restrained. Add to that the fact that there was also a heavy chain tied tightly around his waist which was welded into an iron weight that was about the same size as a small house and it made for a relatively effective prison.

For the first few days after it had happened, he had nearly torn his throat to shreds screaming at anyone who could hear to let them know where he was, but it soon became apparent that no-one was coming to find him. Every now and then, he would wake up to find a small candle flickering and some meagre amounts of food and water. He was forced to eat and drink without using his hands, and his pride almost made him refuse the small rations, but the more logical part of his mind told him that any strength he gained from the food could be of help to him. And so he had eaten like a dog feeding off a plate. He tried to stay awake to try and see who his captor and provider was, but he never managed it. The tiredness in his body betrayed him and he fell asleep quickly. He hadn't ruled out the possibility that the food was laced with sleeping potion.

Those few hours with a flickering candle giving him light had done little to ease his anxiety. They had, however, given him a chance to observe his prison. Arthur's best guess was that it was a cave. It felt like a cave: cold and damp. He could almost feel the earth above trying to crush him. The cavern he was in was huge; not that he could tell exact measurements; but it extended beyond the light of the candle in all directions and that was enough to give him a sense of the enormity of the place.

Of course he had tried to escape it. All his energies had gone into trying to scratch away at the ropes that bound his wrists, but that had done nothing except tear his fingernails as he scrapped away at the tough fibres. He had tried searching the ground for a sharp rock that could be used as a knife, but the ground was clear of all rubble within the circumference of the circle that the chain allowed him to move around in. When the candle was lit, however, he did notice that just beyond his reach, there were the exact rocks that he would need to escape the binds. That made him angry, not least because it meant someone was toying with him, and Arthur did not like to be toyed with.

And so the first few days had continued in that way - trying to escape, becoming angry and violent, shouting until his voice went - until he began to accept the fact that his strategic and military skills would not get him out of this one. His attention had, therefore, been diverted elsewhere; primarily to those in Camelot that must, by now, be looking for him. The thought gave him comfort -knowing that Camelot's finest knights would be searching the Kingdom for him- and then he imagined Merlin's clumsy attempts at locating him and despaired of ever being found. But a voice in his head chided him on the thought, and with a strange sense of poignancy he realised that, of everyone, it would be Merlin that would be doing absolutely everything in his power to find Arthur and bring him back.

But there was no rescue, there were no knights riding in to find him, there were no sounds to indicate that he was anything other than alone. There was nothing he could do but sit there and wait, and Arthur didn't do that sort of thing. If there was a problem then he would find a way around out; if there was trouble then Arthur would ride into action and put things right. There was nothing worse to him than inaction and yet he could do nothing.

So it was that by the time his captor appeared, he was angrier than he remembered being in a long time. He heard the footsteps a minute or so before the man appeared. He knew it wasn't a rescue; the steps were too confident, too sure of themselves. Arthur had used those precious seconds to compose himself, to cover his anger with a more rational mask, letting his emotions simmer away beneath the surface under his control, but the shock of what he saw was enough to render him speechless. All demands and questions and threats died on his lips as hundreds of sconces around the room suddenly lit at once and a young man with blonde hair and dressed in the uniform of the knights of Camelot emerged.

The man walked forward, a knowing smirk on his face. Arthur felt as if a mirror was moving towards him. It was him. Somebody who looked exactly like him.

'Who…?' he tried, but he couldn't form the words for the sentence; he hated how weak it made him look.

'Something wrong Arthur Pendragon?' the man asked. His voice didn't sound as Arthur had expected, but he had a feeling that it was his own voice. There was mockery in it; the same mockery that he would often use on Merlin, but now it seemed much more sinister.

'Who are you?' Arthur demanded, finding his voice as his anger spilled out from where he had forced it down in preparation for the confrontation. He tried to get to his feet, but stopped when he realised that the attempt would probably end with him falling. Suddenly, however, the ropes on his hands and feet snapped; the eyes of the doppelganger in front of him glowed gold.

'I'm you. I'd have thought that would be obvious,' the man smiled.

Something in Arthur snapped at the nonchalant answer. He struggled to his feet, his legs just about managing to stay strong after being confined for so long. He took several halting steps forwards as his ankles got used to holding his weight again, but before he could reach the man, the chain around his waist pulled him back sharply.

'Who are you?' he yelled.

'I'm nearly you; I just need a few more things from you.'

And that was when reality twisted into something that he couldn't make sense of. The man came close to him, held out his hand and muttered some words. His eyes glowed gold and instantly Arthur felt a shimmer of energy whisper across his body. He wanted to cry out, but before he could he found himself in the council rooms.

Arthur hated council meetings; of all the extra duties he had had to take on board since his father had fallen ill, it was council meetings that he most despised. It wasn't that he didn't have great respect for all the men on the Council –not at all. But they were just so dull. On occasion, Merlin would stand off to the side during these meetings, ready to serve Arthur if he needed anything, and those were the only times that Arthur even remotely enjoyed himself. He would keep Merlin in sight at all times and watch as the man stifled yawns and tried to hide sniggers at some of the pompous comments that came out of the mouths of the Lords.

Often they would go over the same thing hundreds of times and Arthur had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Merlin however –out of sight and out of mind to the men- would do all the eye rolling required. He would purposely catch Arthur's gaze and make it clear how bored he was. Several times he had even taken to mimicking the gestures of the Council member who was talking at the time. It was all Arthur could do to ignore him. He always told him off for it afterwards of course, but Merlin knew exactly when he could get away with things, and that offence –one that broke up to the mundane atmosphere of the meetings- was definitely one that Arthur wouldn't argue too vehemently against.

Merlin wasn't, however, in the current meeting. Hopefully it would be short, but the topic of discussion was the allocation of the lands on the outskirts of Camelot and the means by which they could be protected. Having studied military and geographical strategy, Arthur could reel off the best course of action straightaway, but the Lords insisted on him going over it again and again, with much more scrutiny than they normally did. Arthur felt like he'd repeated the same things hundreds of times by the time the meeting was over. The Lords got up to go, but suddenly they began the shimmer and shine. Arthur looked around in horror as their bodies began to glow like flames. He shouted out.

Arthur heard his voice echo around the cavern, but cut his cry off half way through. He took several stumbling steps backwards, twisting to try and understand his sudden change in place, but he soon realised that he had never been in the Council chambers. He had been trapped here for days. But then what had that been?

'You're most kind, Arthur.'

Arthur snapped his gaze towards the man.

'What did you do to me?' he hissed, advancing menacingly again, this time stopping before the chain pulled tight.

'Just put a scenario in your head. I've got a Council Meeting this afternoon and I need to make sure I answer as you would. You're very informative, I must say,' he said pleasantly.

'Stay out of my head,' Arthur snapped. It came out more forcefully than he intended because of the fear that rippled through him at the words. Yes, that might have been an illusion, but he had fallen straight into it and accepted it instantly. Almost like a dream that, on waking, is so obviously unreal and yet while the dreamer is asleep is the only reality they know. It should have been obvious that it was fake; he had been standing in the cavern –which he now realised couldn't be a cavern, not when the light from the sconces had revealed so many pillar-like structures carved into the rock- a split second before, but he hadn't once thought it was anything other than a genuine Council Meeting.

'Trust me, I would if I could, but it's hard work pretending to be someone else. There's only so much you can learn from watching you, even if I have been doing it for a few years.'

'Who are you?' he demanded, forcing every ounce of authority he could into his voice, but the man seemed unperturbed. Arthur, on the other hand, felt a chill at the familiarity with which the man spoke about him.

'I'm you, at least until I have to be. Shouldn't be much longer. It's surprisingly easy to take over a Kingdom when you look like the Prince.'

'You'll never manage that. Too many people know-'

'Know what?' he asked, feigned confusion on his face. 'Know you?' He gave a small smile and shook his head. 'No-one's questioned me yet. But then why would they? You're an arrogant Prince who doesn't like to be questioned.'

Arthur didn't reply. Surely someone couldn't slide into his place so easily with so little suspicion. And as for not questioning him…Arthur was surrounded by friends who would constantly question him. None more so than-'

'Even Merlin,' he interrupted, as if reading Arthur's thoughts, 'hasn't said anything. But then, I'm not surprised. As long as I overload him with chores, throw in a few depreciating comments and treat him like a slave, he won't question anything. And the knights, well…it's a wonder Camelot's survived this long if they're your best and brightest. They can swing a sword though, I'll give them that.'

'This is insane,' Arthur told him. 'You'll never pull this off.' But even he doubted his words. How could everyone have remained so oblivious to the fact that their Prince was an imposter? Even Merlin. That was what most worried Arthur. Whatever act this man was giving, it had to be a convincing one.

'Oh, I will,' he nodded, his voice serious, 'because I can act any part, especially when I've got my muse trapped down here, showing me in advance what I need to do, how I need to react, what I need to say. You'll give me everything I need to convince people I'm you. And you won't be able to do anything about it.'

And that had begun Arthur's new version of reality, where every new scenario seemed to be his life, fully and completely, until the darkness of the underground building –whatever it was- or the brightness of the lit sconces, came into focus again and he realised that he was living in waking dreams a lot of the time. He tried to fight them, of course he did, over and over again, but he would always come round to find that he had given away secrets and strategies and alliances without realising what he was doing. His feelings of guilt and treachery increased with every new hallucination as he watched himself help this traitor overthrow the Kingdom.

But then had come some new illusions. Up until then his thoughts, when considering what he was giving away of himself, had spread out on a wide scale; they had encompassed the Kingdom and the future. Now though, his thoughts shrank back down to a level where there was just him and the sort of person he was with the people closest to him.

Merlin.

A long while into his captivity, Arthur found himself thrown into many waking dreams about his manservant; dreams that convinced Arthur that Merlin had tried to poison him. Of course, he could hardly believe it, but in his hallucinations it was the only truth he knew and the evidence against Merlin was damning. Only when he was released from the illusions could he let his knowledge of the doppelganger's plan inform his decisions. Merlin had not tried to kill anyone, least of all the person he believed to be Prince Arthur. He was being set up.

But the knowledge did little to comfort Arthur, because he knew how much the word of a servant counted for when next to that of a Prince. What had followed had only served to root Arthur's fears even more deeply. The traitor's illusions forced Arthur to watch and be a part of Merlin's plight in the dungeons. He had found himself face to face with a Merlin protesting his innocence, to a Merlin under the influence of sorcery who had accepted his execution and would risk threatening the King to make sure it went ahead. Arthur had pleaded with him; felt the desperation deep inside of him as he watched his friend refuse offers of escape. He had allowed his anger at the man's selfless plan to show; he had felt the determination to find the true culprit in the form of a sorcerer; he had felt the relief when magic had been proven to be involved; he had felt the utter desolation of realising that Merlin would not be saved.

Arthur had lived through the majority of Merlin's plight genuinely and openly; his emotions raw and devastating, only to wake and find the traitor using his pain and hopelessness as a framework for the false reactions he would then weave into the situation. The violation of it, the utter helplessness he felt and the guilt he constantly lived with knowing that he was helping to strengthen the man's deception, drove Arthur mad.

And so he determined that he would find a way, any way, to distinguish between reality and the living dreams. That he would find a way of identifying when he was being used as a practice run for a conversation. Once he had done that, he reasoned, he could react in a way contrary to his character; he could be a player in the game as well. The traitor would copy him and reveal himself as being an imposter. That was all Arthur could do.

So he questioned everything. The traitor had told him, whether through boasting or the belief that it would be of no use, that the initial illusion would be created by him, but that after that it would feed off Arthur's expectations of the situation. Arthur's knowledge of Merlin's character, therefore, often meant that the traitor had a heads up as to how Merlin's side of the conversation would go. If, however, Arthur's expectations were wrong, the traitor could still change the illusion to get him back on track.

But he could use that. He trained himself in every spare moment to check if the reality he was living in held true to what he knew. Did it hold too true to his expectations? Did situations take a sudden and unexpected turn? Those, and many more questions, were the ones that ran through his head at every moment; they were his only defence against the intrusion of his mind that was slowly sentencing Merlin to death.

But before he could fully implement it, he ran out of time. The imposter came to see him, a smile of triumph on his face. Merlin had done exactly as Arthur had expected. He had forced Uther's hand. The execution would go ahead.

For the first time, Arthur wanted his reality to be nothing more than a waking dream.

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