500 Days of Freya (Merlin)

Something Lost

Chapter 17 – Something Lost

Warning/s: A bit of torture, nothing too graphic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

A/N: I don't know how closely I followed the prompt here; I definitely followed it but I'm not sure if this is what ruapilot02 had in mind! Regardless, I hope you all enjoy!

And the hiatus is finally over! I will be updating fairly regularly now, and I have loads more chapters written already, so I won't be running out any time soon! I thank you all for your support and I hope sincerely that you enjoy the up and coming chapters :D

Also, a massive thanks to my amazing beta, Dark Raven Wrote, who made some amazing changes to this. Go check her out after you've read this!

Prompt: ruapilot2: "Morgana finds "something Merlin lost", Freya, and decides to use her against him."

Freya awoke in a dark, dank dungeon, her mind muddled and her vision hazy. There was a sharp, metallic sting in her mouth, like an iron scorpion had crawled in her mouth and jabbed its tail into her tongue. It took several minutes before she was fully conscious, and even then she felt dazed and not completely herself. Her head was dull and pounding, her arms aching – it took her a few more minutes before she figured out that her arms were stretched above her head, unnaturally so, a coarse rope binding her wrists together. Her feet barely touched the floor – she had to stand on tiptoe precariously, which explained the pulsating ache in her thighs and toes.

The cell she was in was fairly spacious, considering it was her prison. It reeked of things that Freya didn't want to name - she settled upon 'bodily fluids' - and things that she simply couldn't identify. They certainly weren't pleasant aromas, though.

Freya held her breath for a few seconds; she was inhaling and exhaling heavily, but when she was silent, the only other sound was a constant dripping of what she assumed was water, somewhere a little distance away from her.

For the first time since she had awoken, Freya wondered where she was and why she was there – and who was there with her.

She had to wait a long time for her answer. She passed the time by thinking of her sweet husband, and her comfortable quarters back in Camelot, attempting - in vain - to ignore the persistent agony throughout her body. There was no window in her cell; no daylight or moonlight streamed in to aid her guessing the hour, but after a while she could hear the distinctive hooting of an owl, and occasionally their screeches as they swooped down on some unfortunate prey.

She predicted that dawn was breaking, from the various sounds of insects and birds, when she received a visit from her captor. She cursed her own stupidity for not guessing who it was earlier. The answer was obvious, really.

Her mouth was dry and her throat was raw – when she tried to speak, she could only croak. Morgana laughed at her pitiful attempt and stepped into the cell. Previously she had only lurked outside, staring hungrily at Freya like a hawk would a mouse, her pale, skeletal hands tracing the walls, pacing up and down. Her dress rustled with every precise, measured step, a small, annoying sound that got at Freya like an itch she couldn't scratch.

Morgana's eyes were bright and clear, like a cat ready to pounce, and her gaze was unforgiving. It held no empathy. She had stained her lips a bright red, which gave the rather disturbing effect of blood coating her mouth. Freya shivered under her gaze but told herself to remain strong, like Merlin would do.

Morgana didn't speak a word as she drew a dagger from her long, cuffed sleeve. It was short but elegant, wickedly sharp on both its point and edges, and more importantly it was headed straight for her.