Whumptober Day #11: "No one will find you."
Merlin does not know where he is. He does not know how much time has passed.
He only knows that it is dark and damp in this dungeon cell, and that Morgana has the key, and that he can't escape.
Oh, he's certainly tried. He's tried to break out with his magic when she's not here (she thinks him so weak that she doesn't even leave any guards behind), but he hasn't been at all successful.
"I've spelled the bars and your shackles," Morgana comments casually on the second night, or the third, or the fourth. Time blurs. "Or, well, I had them bespelled for my own use."
Merlin tenses for just a moment, thinking Morgana has figured out his secret. "How lovely," he says sarcastically.
Morgana rolls her eyes. Merlin misses who she had been. "They're magic dampening, though of course you wouldn't know it. You don't have a drop of magic in your blood."
Merlin coughs awkwardly and relaxes a little. The situation is not ideal, but at least it isn't as bad as it could be. "Why are they bespelled, then?" he asks. His voice scratches at his dry throat.
"For Emrys, obviously," Morgana says. Merlin blinks at her, uncomprehending. "I am well aware that you are in league with him. If he comes..."
"Right," Merlin says, "of course."
It is later, after he is alone again, that he realizes how weak he is here, how his arms ache from holding his body up when his legs can't anymore, how the shackles hanging from the ceiling dig into his already thin wrists.
The shackles are magic dampening. How had he not noticed before?
And he is magic.
Merlin closes his eyes, shivering from the cold, and listens to the water dripping onto the floor at constant intervals.
He longs for a drink, or a fire, or a warm hug.
(He'd never admit that, though.)
Morgana comes back for yet another session of trying to torture information out of him, on who Emrys is and what his plans are.
Merlin absolutely cannot tell her that Emrys is indeed him, though he does tell her that Emrys has no plan, none at all.
"Liar," Morgana hisses as she presses her blade to his skin. Another line of blood seeps out. Merlin's shirt is definitely ruined.
He thinks that he should maybe be more worried about his predicament.
"I'm telling the truth," Merlin says. "It's your fault if you don't believe me."
"Emrys, an admittedly powerful warlock who is key to bringing about the coming of Albion, does not have any plans," Morgana says disbelievingly.
"Yes." Because he's an idiot who has no idea what the hell he's doing.
"You can tell better lies than that, Merlin," Morgana says with a wicked smile.
Merlin says nothing to that, because he has been telling lies since he arrived in Camelot. Arthur may call him a terrible liar, incapable of keeping even the smallest secret, but Merlin has kept so much from him, so much of himself from Arthur. And he's afraid, at this point, years into their...their friendship, that everything will unravel if Arthur finds out.
What could be a day later, Morgana comes back with no visible weapons, which is unusual, though Merlin knows that magic can be a weapon on its own. (But it can also be good, and beautiful, and why can't Morgana understand that? Why has she become so corrupted?)
"I now know why you don't seem to fear for your life," she says, tilting her head as she looks at him with something akin to pity. "You're expecting Arthur to come and save you." She steps closer and pats his cheek condescendingly. He leans away with a grimace. "He will not come. I have hidden us well. No one will find you."
"Someone will come," Merlin insists, because it is one of the only things he's sure of in this unpredictable life of his. "Arthur or one of the knights. Someone will come."
"They don't care," Morgana says, and once upon a time she wouldn't have been so unkind. "You're just a measly servant."
Merlin, unexpectedly, feels moisture gathering in his eyes. He wills himself not to shed any tears; at least, not in front of Morgana. "Arthur will come," he says.
"Arthur is selfish, and delusional. He will not come."
"He will." Morgana had been correct: it's been the only thing Merlin has held onto these past few days. He knows how stressed out and worried Arthur had been all those other times he had gone missing, even when Arthur won't admit it. He knows, and he would do the same for Arthur. That's just how it goes with the two of them, two sides of the same coin.
A coin cannot exist without two sides. (Without Arthur, Merlin is nothing.)
"Don't be foolish," Morgana says. She almost seems amused by Merlin's stubbornness, his stubborn faith in Arthur's goodness. Arthur will bring about the coming of Albion one day, Merlin just knows it. If only Morgana would believe it, too.
"He will come," Merlin insists again. He clenches his hands into fists, as if trying to hold onto this thin thread of hope.
I haven't written for this fandom in two years, so I'm very glad to be back with some whump lol