Heavy is the Head ▻ Merthur

TEN - Take It In, Merlin

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Merlin's stomach flipped nauseatingly as Morgana stepped closer - her sly smile perfunctorily hiding oozing threat and menace - and stooped to gloat. She laughed deliriously - an unsettling sound in the still air, a chime that was far from pleasant - at the notion of her wounded, pathetically dependant brother; and at the servant's attempt to hold him closer.

"You do love him." She gushed warmly, a sickeningly jubilant smile twisted upon her lips. It wasn't a question, but a statement. Merlin bit his lip, not trusting his throat to form a word that wouldn't emerge a sob. Rejecting the boy's fearful silence, Morgana pouted innocently, her keen, exultant eyes penetrating and sharp.

Unable to face her, Merlin looked away - his cheeks paling as the unfathomable, unescapable horror of the situation struck him.

"That's... perfect."

Merlin's mind scrambled for some sense of direction; an escape, perhaps. It would be suicide to use magic; they were outnumbered, outmatched and outwitted. Not to mention Morgana herself - Merlin shuddered to think of the witch's furious onslaught.

Upon realising it was futile to do anything but plead for Arthur's safety, Merlin began to beg. "Morgana--"

"No, Merlin. I have waited far too long for this." A soft scold interrupted Merlin, mocking him unforgivingly as her eyes glittered with dangerous delight. She advanced forward - to which Merlin winced and leaned away, trying to distance himself from her cold aura. Morgana smiled dotingly, seeming almost to take pleasure from the fear that manifested in the eyes of the serving boy.

Merlin could fathom no hope of escape, and he was beginning to grow desperate.

Moreover, the thought of Arthur discovering his secret... No. Not now. Though the Prince barely gripped consciousness, Merlin grieved to imagine the betrayal Arthur might feel. Would he think that it was Merlin - the secret sorcerer - who had surrender their whereabouts to the bandits, and betrayed his most loyal friends? Discreetly, Merlin lowered his head and glanced at his friend - immediately dismayed to see glazed, half-lidded eyes as Arthur slipped weakly into unconsciousness.

As though Merlin had voiced his turmoil aloud, Morgana cleared her throat.

"Oh- how could I forget? The terms and conditions are the most important thing." The witch prowled closer as she drawled tauntingly; a cruel, unfettered smile gracing her pale lips. "Although I am always greatly impressed, and... mystified by your gifts, Merlin, I'm going to have to ask you to restrain yourself. Let me make this clear - you use magic, and I will show you what royal-blood really looks like."

Each word was spat like poison, a promise so dangerously genuine, Merlin harboured no doubt in the truth of the witch's threat. Simultaneously, the pair of sorcerers looked at Arthur - one glance so soft and worried, the other a fiery, appeased glare that jubilantly lingered on the Prince's maimed shoulder.

"In fact, a single step out of place might piss me off enough to do something wicked." She crowed, aware that Merlin believed her; this alone feeding her ravenous heart.

However - as if to cement her presage - Morgana nodded sharply to her closest accomplice, who - without hesitation - lunged towards Arthur, mercilessly wrapping his beaten hands around the knight's chest. Merlin gasped and desperately clutched at chainmail, but it was useless - spurred by ruthless uncaring, the man brutally drove his heel into Merlin's face. Instant, blinding pain erupted and unwelcome tears flooded Merlin's eyes as he cried out and clutched at his nose, blood seeping between his shaking fingers.