Hidden Motives

A/N: Thank you once again for the reviews. They're always such a motivation. I can now say with relative certainty that there will be 27 chapters in this story along with an epilogue. So that means we really are heading to the end. Thank you so much for all your supportive comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter as well.

Chapter 24

Arthur stared absently at the walls of the dungeons. He hadn't been in there many times in his life, but he had been there enough times to recognise the damp smell of decay that pervaded the area and the rotting straw that was buried under piles of more freshly cut hay. He remembered the feel of the thin streams of light on his back as they flitted their way into the cell from the outside world.

And somewhere, right at the back of his mind, he remembered the indignation he had always felt at his father throwing him in the dungeons, remembered the anger and the sense of injustice when the King pulled rank and locked Arthur away. But even though he remembered those emotions, he struggled to feel that way as he sat in the dungeons this time round.

In fact, he struggled to feel anything. A numbness had descended on him and he had neither the energy nor the inclination to try and lift it.

Merlin was….Merlin was….

A sudden surge of anger shot through him, shaking his lethargy for a moment and giving him the power to bring his fist down hard on the floor, before that extra strength also failed him and he bowed his head again.

Merlin was…

He shook his head; he couldn't do it, couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. This had to be a trick. This was another one of Sythe's games, another trap that Arthur had fallen into. Merlin had never been down in those ruins; surely it was an illusion, a clever enchantment that a sorcerer bent on taking over Camelot had put in motion in order to throw the crown Prince off.

And what did it matter if Merlin –the supposedly real Merlin- had struck a chord of familiarity so deeply within Arthur that he would have bet his life it was the man he had known for so long? What did it matter if supposed-Merlin had done everything to try and protect him in the cave, as his manservant always had done? What did it matter if he had jumped in the way of a spell and provided Arthur with a shield of protection that had no doubt saved him, that he had demonstrated the same loyalty that Merlin had always shown him in the past? What did any of that matter? Sythe had been watching the two of them for years; he could create a convincing illusion of Merlin easily. Couldn't he? Couldn't a man so evil still mimic compassion in a vision of his creation?

Surely that was the only explanation. There was no other. Merlin had not been there; he was still wandering round Camelot, helpless and foolish in his good intentions. The man he had seen in the cavern couldn't have been Merlin; it just couldn't.

But what if it was him?

Arthur tried to smother the question with more acceptable ideas, but it shone through his mind like a beacon; it demanded attention, demanded to be answered. What if it was him? What if his friend and servant had been lying to him since the moment they met? What if all along Merlin had been a…

Arthur fisted his hands in his hair and shook his head. It was stupid. How could he even entertain the idea? Magic was evil; Merlin was not evil. Magic corrupted its users; Merlin was not corrupt. Magic caused destruction; Merlin was not destructive. Magic was strong; Merlin was not… Arthur couldn't complete that thought either. It would have been a lie. Merlin was strong; there was no doubt about it. Maybe not in the way that Arthur was, but Merlin was strong: he stuck to his ideas; he marched –well, stumbled- into terrifying situations; he put up with everything that Arthur threw at him, literally or metaphorically. Merlin was strong.

But that didn't mean-

The thought was quickly interrupted by another.

Magic was a mystery; Merlin was a mystery. How many times had Arthur looked at Merlin and realised that while he knew him, he didn't really know him. He was a riddle, an enigma, a puzzle.

Magic was clever; Merlin was clever. Arthur never admitted that, but he knew that Merlin was clever; knew it in the way the man could handle people, in the way he could handle Arthur, in the way he could say exactly the thing that Arthur needed to hear in order to make the right choice. Yes, Merlin might have been a clumsy idiot, but that didn't mean he wasn't clever.

But just because there were some comparisons, that didn't mean anything, Arthur reasoned. Merlin was kind, compassionate, good, and magic was none of these things. Nothing Arthur had seen had ever shown him that magic was good. Except for…

Arthur felt the panic rise in him. Yes, there had been a time when he'd seen magic being used for good. It was so many years ago now, he had buried it deep down, covered it with his father's words and his own terrible experiences. But now he remembered it as he looked round at the dark walls of the dungeon. At the grey rock and stone. He had been somewhere like that before, surrounded by rock, trying to climb out of a cave, unable to see anything. The only thing that had saved him had been a ball of light; a ball of light that could only have been magic; its surface flecked with white and blue and…

Arthur froze, his whole body jarring to a halt. His breathing stopped, his eyes were unblinking as he tried to stop his mind from taking the path that it had set itself down, but it was too late. The comparisons were being drawn; the familiarity was echoing through his head. He had seen that light again today; he had seen it as the shield was thrown up around him.

A light that had reminded him of Merlin. It was the same. The same translucent aura that had guided him when he'd been lost in the caves all those years ago –lost in the caves trying to save Merlin's life- had protected him from the onslaught of magic that had been sent his way today. Arthur tried to contain the thought again, but it was too late. Unbidden, memories began to flow through his mind like a torrent. He couldn't stand up in the force of them; he just had to let himself be carried away by the current.

How many times had Merlin appeared injured or exhausted to wait on Arthur, with some ridiculous tale that Arthur had accepted with nothing more than a raised eyebrow of scepticism? And how many times had magical attacks been inexplicably averted, only for Merlin to be found at the centre of them? How many times had Merlin survived a situation that should have killed him, for that matter? How many times had Merlin been accused of sorcery? Surely it was more than anyone in the kingdom.

Arthur heard a shout echo around his cell and looked up to pinpoint the source of it, only to find that it was him. His mouth was open and he was shouting in denial and anguish.

This couldn't be true. This couldn't be. This couldn't.

But there was too much for him to argue against, there was too much for him to discard as nonsense. There was too much for him to fight.

Merlin was…

Still he couldn't do it. He felt tears roll down his cheeks as a battle raged inside him: a battle where he fought for Merlin's goodness on one side and fought against magic on the other. The two ideas suddenly didn't seem to exist in peace; this time the two sides were destroying each other, leaving Arthur in the middle, fighting to hold onto some semblance of order. He saw the two sides in his mind, saw them getting closer and knew that it meant the destruction of one of the two things that Arthur understood to be undisputable truths.

That Merlin was his loyal and trusted friend.

That magic was evil.

Suddenly the two ideas couldn't co-exist and they splintered into a thousand pieces in his mind, reshaping themselves into one thought that Arthur couldn't hold back any longer.

Merlin was a sorcerer.

The game. The game. Playing the game. Always playing the game. A piece on the board. Being moved, being controlled, being used. But always playing the game.

What game was he playing?

His eyes lazily opened and he instantly became aware of the fire sizzling through his body. He gave a yell of alarm and cried out, trying to get up and move away from the place in which he was currently lying, a place so full of agony that he could barely think. But he couldn't move.

'Help!' he called. He looked round wildly, but there was nobody there. There were dull lights all the way around the cavern that he was in. Veneficus, he remembered. Memories of the duel came into his mind and he looked around frantically for Sythe, but he had gone.

Arthur!

Merlin tried to get up again, but the pain surged once more and he remained where he was, his eyes watering against the pain and his hands clenched into fists that he was sure were drawing blood. But it was nothing compared to the fire ripping through his body.

It was then that Merlin realised something else through the thick haze of agony: the pain that he was in, was of a magical variety. He had been in enough magical duels to be able to recognise it above physical pain. He whimpered as his focus on the sensations sent fresh spikes surging through him. But there was something more; the power he could sense, the way it felt; it reminded him of himself. As if someone was hitting him with his own fist; it felt like he was inflicting the pain on himself.

With effort he reached for his magic and sent it shooting onto the surface of his skin, trying to dislodge whatever power was currently incapacitating him, but a scream was ripped from his throat as he felt the magic turn against him, joining the pain that was already there and increasing it to excruciating levels. He felt his body trembling violently, but was unable to do anything about it. He had no control, not while knives seemed to be piercing every inch of him.

After a few minutes, in which time Merlin released his grip on his magic until he could barely sense it, the pain began to subside marginally; it was enough for him to begin to focus on somehow getting out of this situation. Whatever enchantment Sythe had put on him was turning his magic against him. The thought chilled Merlin; he had always, always had his magic to fall back on, even if he often had to use it surreptitiously. But this…this was intended to make him feel helpless; just another of Sythe's plans to manipulate him into giving up. Helplessness summed up the situation that Merlin was in entirely. He couldn't escape, he couldn't help Arthur, he couldn't protect his friends.

But Sythe could not win. This wasn't a game that Merlin was going to let himself get pulled into unawares anymore.

Decisively, Merlin pushed his desperation deep down inside himself and focussed on getting free. He couldn't move –that much was clear- and he couldn't use magic to free himself –he shuddered as he remembered the agony, some of which still inched its way into him-, but perhaps he could use magic closer to his body. Before, he had tried to tear the invisible restraints from the outside, but perhaps a more subtle approach would be better.

Carefully, he eased the tinniest amount of magic from within himself and pushed it outwards until it rested as a thin layer -no thicker than a hair- across his chest. Sythe's enchantment crackled uncomfortable against him, but it was manageable, like being stung by nettles. Slowly, he allowed the layer to spread out across his entire body, tight against him, the thinnest covering. The pressure from the enchantment built, like tiny scratches across every inch of his skin. He gasped, but kept his mind focussed.

Once the layer was intact, he allowed the magic inside him to build behind it. It made his body tremble and swell as he forced more power from his internal store towards the outsides of his body, always keeping it locked behind the initial layer. Sythe may have been powerful and he may have known that Merlin's abilities were impressive, but he couldn't have guessed that Merlin was Emrys. For all the information he had gathered, he would not have realised the potential that lay in Merlin. As far as Sythe was concerned, Merlin was a powerful sorcerer, who had learnt some useful tricks, but was in no way a real threat. Sythe's arrogance, coupled with Merlin's utter lack of focus after Arthur had appeared, would surely have convinced him that Merlin was inexperienced, that his abilities were clumsy, and perhaps he was right, but there was one thing that he couldn't have factored in. The power that Merlin could wield.

He rarely used his full magical potential; it scared him and made him question destiny's wisdom in gifting him with such devastating abilities, but he knew it was there, lurking under the surface, at his call if he needed it. He couldn't control it adequately; he still needed to work on his that, but in this particular situation, no control was needed. Merlin just needed power.

It continued to build beneath the layer around him. The trembling of his limbs increased and he felt like fire was consuming him. He knew he was shouting, but he could barely hear it over the throb in his mind at the torment that he was being forced to endure. All hints of his surroundings faded until it was just him and his torturous journey to free himself.

At last, he knew that he could bear it no more. With one final gathering of his own power, he sent the build up of magic surging outwards, pressing against Sythe's spell, which covered him so completely. For a terrible moment, Merlin believed he had failed. He felt Sythe's magic trap his own, beginning to turn all that power back on Merlin. He knew it could quite possibly kill him, and panic began to blossom in him for an instant, until suddenly he felt Sythe's spell begin to splinter apart.

He felt a slice of his magic break through the barrier that had contained his power and impact the roof of the cavern, obliterating a portion of it into dust. The opening paved the way for the rest of his magic. Within seconds, the spell that had turned his own magic against him crumbled and the full force of his power exploded from him. The pressure that had been destroying him subsided and relief flooded through him.

But he had little time to relax in his freedom. He felt time slow as he sensed his magic heading towards the cavern roof and walls with enough force to bring the entire place down around him. Who knew what effect that would have on the city above him?

With a cry, Merlin thrust his hands into the air and caught the magic that was racing away from him. The force of it lifted him clean off the ground, pulling his arms and legs out and sending a terrible pressure through his body, as if every inch of him was being pulled towards the cave edges.

His cry echoed through the cavern and the sensation of being torn apart consumed him, but still he did not let go of the magic, and slowly, agonisingly slowly, it began to recede. Merlin felt himself floating back to the ground, his magic dissipating into nothing as he did. When his feet touched the rock floor, he made no effort to hold his own weight and instead let the magic lower him to the ground.

Panting, tears rolling down his face, Merlin lay there, trying to regain his strength. His ears rang and his whole body tingled and it was several minutes before he could gather enough strength to sit up. As soon as he did, he felt the injuries that his last encounter with Sythe had created.

His side burned and he glanced down to see blood seeping through the chainmail that he wore. Using magic he pulled the mail shirt off and examined his injury. His shirt was soaked with blood and the gash was deep into his side. Wincing, he gingerly touched it and uttered a spell that would stop the bleeding; it would do nothing for any infection, but he could let Gaius deal with that later. He quickly repeated the process with the injury in the top of his leg and face.

Finally, he touched the top of his arm where Arthur's knife was still embedded. He pulled it out and instantly he felt his fear for Arthur, his regret at the Prince's discovery and his uncertainty as to what their future as master and servant –as friends- would hold.

He quickly tended to the injury and pushed himself to his feet. The pain from his wounds was manageable, but he muttered a few words and used magic to numb it a little more. But the wound from Arthur's knife he allowed to cause the full amount of pain it could.

He knew it was stupid, knew that leaving himself vulnerable like that could slow him down, but he didn't care. He wanted to feel that pain, wanted to have it there as a reminder of what Arthur had seen in him, needed it to drive him forward, to help him remember that there was so much more at stake now than just Camelot. No, he would keep that pain, if only so that it could help the aching pain in his chest to seem that little bit less devastating.

He pushed those thoughts aside. They were unimportant now. He had to get to Arthur. Getting to his feet, he at first turned to go to the tunnel, before remembering Sythe's words. The tunnel wasn't the safe option anymore. Reluctantly he turned and looked at the direction from which Sythe had come. At first, his steps were halting as he struggled to regain balance after the torture that his body had been subjected to, but he pressed on, eventually managing something akin to a smooth walk. Peering into the darkness, he squinted to try and find whatever entrance it was that Sythe had been using. He whispered a spell and the light in the cavern brightened, but still he couldn't see any entrance. The tinniest breeze from above, however, caused him to look up. Merlin gave a sigh of exhaustion as he spotted a ledge fifteen metres up.

With a shake of his head –a head that was beginning to pound- Merlin mustered the magical strength needed to levitate his body. He had only tried that particular trick a few times and not very successfully. He had only ever managed a few metres, but sheer determination forced him to build his strength and try it now.

It was shaky, of that there was no doubt, but Merlin managed to lift himself towards the tunnel. He pulled himself into it and lay on the cool rock, sweat dripping from him and his breathing erratic. Pushing himself up, crying out as he put too much weight on his injured arm, Merlin unsteadily got to his feet.

The tunnel was a little taller than him and showed a steady incline. Taking several deep breaths, allowing them to refresh him and replenish some of his depleted energy stores, Merlin moved forward. It took several minutes, but eventually he came to an ending in the tunnel. The light that he had lit to guide him revealed some metal rungs embedded in the wall. Cautiously he peered up the shaft but saw only blackness.

Trying to ignore the way his arm and leg were throbbing from their injuries, Merlin began the ascent towards whatever lay above him. It was painful, but the thought of Arthur forced him on. He tried not to think too much of the Prince, however, and allowed his focus to rest on Sythe. He could use magic to defeat him, he knew he could do it, but there were two things that made him hesitate in creating a plan that relied on magic for its solution.

The first was that currently he was not in a good way and, as Gaius had told him earlier, his magic was affected by his physical condition. The second was that he was unlikely to get another chance to deal with Sythe on his own. Using magic to deal with Sythe this time meant revealing himself to everybody, or at least anyone who was by the sorcerer, which, considering he was currently pretending to be Arthur again, was likely to be a lot of people. He wasn't sure if keeping his magic secret was even an issue anymore; for all he knew, Arthur might tell everyone anyway; he may have told anyone in the dungeons already. If they managed to…When they managed to defeat Sythe, Merlin needed to make sure that was still alive to protect Arthur. He couldn't do that if he was executed for sorcery or, if he decided to run instead, exiled to the opposite end of the kingdom.

Magic was option, yes, but for once, he wasn't sure that it was the best one. Not least because Sythe now knew about it. He had factored it into his game plan; he was on the lookout for it. As soon as he found that Merlin had escaped from Veneficus, he would be alert for the tinniest spark of magic. Perhaps they all needed to slot themselves into the game that Sythe was playing. They needed to look like the game pieces and then turn out to be the ones moving them.

After several difficult minutes, during which time a plan began to form in his mind, Merlin found his head touching a wooden board. He moved it aside and found himself peering out of an arrow loop overlooking the east side of the castle. He turned slowly and spilled out into a small room that looked like it had been used by the servants to hide anything that they couldn't find a place for. It was filled with old materials, furniture and any number of ripped clothes. Absently, Merlin wondered why he had never found this room; he could have added plenty of things to the piles.

Carefully stepping over the discarded items that littered the floor, Merlin reached a heavy oak door. Gingerly he turned the handle, wondering exactly what the best course of action would be if Sythe had posted a hundred guards outside the door. Before he could come up with an adequate solution, however, the door was wrenched the rest of the way out of his hand and he found a sword at his throat.

His magic whispered though his body, but it fell instantly as he saw who it was.

'Merlin!' Lancelot breathed in relief. 'I've been looking everywhere for you. I couldn't wait around in that cellar. I spoke to Elyan a while ago and…' he shook his head. 'Merlin, Arthur's been-'

'I know, I know,' Merlin breathed. Suddenly, all the energy that he had managed to muster for his journey out of Veneficus left him and he stumbled forward. Lancelot caught him deftly.

'What happened to you?' He asked as he leant Merlin against the wall and held him up. 'You said you thought you could defeat Sythe.'

'Things went wrong.'

'How?' Lancelot asked.

'It doesn't matter,' he said, shaking his head and forcing himself to stand up of his own accord. 'We need to go and find Arthur.'

'Merlin, you're not in a good state.'

'I don't care. I need to get to him now. I need to… speak to him. Try and explain.'

'Explain?' Lancelot frowned at him and Merlin felt his throat closing up, felt his eyes prickling. Slowly he met the knight's questioning gaze.

'He knows.'

'What?' the knight asked, clearly not understanding what Merlin was trying to tell him.

'Arthur,' Merlin said swallowing loudly, 'he knows I have magic.'

Lancelot's reaction did nothing to make Merlin feel any better, and he found that the images of Arthur's shock and confusion, which seemed to have been stored away in his mind, rose of their own accord.

'I was fighting Sythe and Arthur came into the cavern. I couldn't hide it this time. I had to…I just…'

'Don't…' Lancelot interrupted, his own face full of concern, but he soon schooled his features. 'Don't worry about it for now. We just have to rescue him and get rid of Sythe. I've spoken to Leon; they want to try and take Sythe unawares catch him off guard and kill him.'

'That won't work. He'll spot their intentions.'

'All three of them are going to ambush him. They'll be quick,' Lancelot argued.

'No, you don't understand,' Merlin told him urgently. 'Sythe is playing a game. A game that so far, we haven't thought about; it's why he can fool so easily.'

'What are you saying?'

'I'm saying that if we want to beat him, then we have to play the game as well.'

Lancelot looked at him warily.

'Please,' he said, 'just trust me.'

'The last time I trusted you, I found you here, barely able to stand,' Lancelot pointed out.

'This is different.'

'How?'

Merlin went through the idea that had been forming in his mind once more, looked at it from different angles, considered the things that would need to be done. He looked over at the knight, the final parts of his plan sliding into place.

'I've got an idea.' He stood there, waiting for Lancelot to accept the words and ask to hear what the idea was. It didn't take long.

'Tell me.'

Hastily he outlined the plan that had been twisting itself into completion. The knight looked unconvinced at first, but soon necessity forced him to go along with the idea and give it his support.

'We need to get out of here,' he said, slipping an arm under Merlin's shoulder and helping him to walk in his exhaustion, although an exhilaration at the thought of the plan was giving him a strength that belied his physical state.

'As soon as we do, you need to get the others. Pick whoever you think will be able to stay the most inconspicuous. Will they be easy to contact?'

'Elyan's waiting in the training grounds for me to reappear.'

'Good. Then it's all set.'

Lancelot nodded, a grim determination on his face, but Merlin felt a calmness about the situation that he hadn't felt before. This would work; it had to work. It had to work so that he could rescue Arthur and try to begin to explain the lies and the deceit and the choices he had made since the moment he set foot in Camelot. This had to work so that he could see a look on Arthur's face that spoke of friendship and trust, not shock, confusion and hurt.

This had to work. Merlin had learnt enough about Sythe to be able to challenge him on a level that he would respond to.

If it was games Sythe wanted, then it was games that Merlin was going to give him.

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