"There is no way Merlin is screwing the Prince of Camelot." ↴
Little did he know, Gawain had never been more wrong.
♖ ♔ ♖
In which Merlin learns love, lust and loss through the wicked hand of his enemies, and Arthur realises that his most corrupt si...
A sudden jerk, and Merlin awoke. He must have fainted, fatigued and pained, and - though it seemed barely a moment had passed - it appeared that the Coercere man had vanished.
Numb body and heavy limbs; heart melancholy and fettered with sadness. His soul reaching and fumbling for magic - previously painted in golden hues that dashed through his veins like liquid gold - but finding only emptiness.
Unshakeably groggy and disorientated, Merlin didn't notice Morgana - who circled her victim with creeping triumph - until she gently lifted his chin, her slender fingers like icicles that brushed his skin and rendered him frozen.
"Did it hurt?" She cooed softly, a sugared pout failing to disguise her blatant relish.
Merlin wouldn't admit that his hands burned, branded and charred by the Coercere's unbreakable words and everlasting symbol. He wouldn't beg, nor plead, so he mumbled incomprehensibly - much to Morgana's disgust - but all that emerged were tendrils of bile, dredged by fear and horror.
"I didn't quite catch that." She retorted dryly, allowing Merlin's head to slump crookedly upon his chest as she yanked her hand away and turned to pace the cavern.
"Wh-why don't you just kill me?" Merlin repeated hoarsely, anguish choking his throat. He felt no shame in his request; after all, it was noble to die, was it not?
"That'd be far too easy," Morgana scowled, her steps rhythmic and elated. After a moment's thought, she added, "I want you to act as an example, Merlin. To Camelot, to Uther, to Arthur - to everyone."
Despite the sinister threat, a spark flickered within Merlin's chest - so small and meagre, it mightn't even catch - but it was enough.
Hope -- Arthur was still alive.
"Oh, don't worry about him," Morgana interjected coldly, evidently noting Merlin's faint relief, "he's completely fine. In fact, I even took the liberty to heal his wound. Not that he'd thank me." She glowered bitterly, arms folded as though repulsed by the notion of aiding the Prince.
Merlin frowned; confused, dazed and thoroughly distressed. It didn't make sense... what had Morgana planned?
"Why did you capture Arthur if you won't kill him? What do you want with us?" He slurred, the words tumbling from his mouth in ungraceful disorder.
Morgana smiled, but Merlin saw only malicious, glinting daggers. "Perhaps a small part of me still cares for Arthur - we grew up together, after all. No... I just want what's rightfully mine." There was no whisper of empathy in her cold eyes; flashing with distaste and pent rage, they solely sought Merlin's pain, anguish and fear. Suddenly lurching forward with alarming vigour, each word she spat sizzled with spite and dangerous intent.
"No, Merlin. I'd rather hurt you. And in a way... I know that would hurt Arthur more than anything else." From her robes, Morgana withdrew a small dagger; intricately decorated and garishly out-of-place. Pausing to wipe it on her cloak, Merlin tried to ignore the foreboding red smudge left smeared in its wake. "Not that it really matters - you shan't ever see him again."
The dagger was undeniably beautiful, and Merlin cherished the sight without shame - for he feared it might be the last beautiful thing he would ever lay eyes upon. Bedazzled with jewels, the hilt harboured intricate golden leaves that spiralled up the dagger, shimmering and twisting over the lethal blade.
"But... Arthur's alive?" Merlin was aware of his lingering gaze - and the silence that stretched resolute - as he delivered his desperate demand. He prayed for conformation; wished for nothing more. If he was to die at Morgana's hand... he would die knowing that Arthur might still live, and lead Albion to prophesied greatness.
Morgana barely nodded - only titled her head in a begrudgingly suggestive manner - but it was enough. It was hope, and Merlin clung to it faithfully.
"Then- that's all I ask for." Any attempt of humble courage was lost when the words lodged in his throat, emerging only as a terrified sob that carried the most dismal honour. Wickedly amused by his desperately noble endeavour, Morgana raised the dagger with careful precision, eyes narrowing as she studied the face before her; almost unrecognisable beneath caked blood and blossoming bruises.
"I don't want to have to kill you, Merlin," she sighed, head tilted as she studied her captor's features, "but you are so bothersome. You have such incredible talent... it's a shame really." She paused, allowing Merlin a blissful moment of peace; wherein he accepted his fate and silently bade his lover farewell.
"I suppose," she drawled thoughtfully, and a terrible idea dawned within her eyes, "that I shall have to end your meddling behaviour... some other way." Merlin felt sickening dread scratch and claw at his gut; it was an uncomfortable, unexplainable feeling, and - noticing the witch's feverish, inspired expression - was struck with undue horror. Wasn't taking his magic enough?
"An eye for an eye," she whispered, lips curling into a smitten, scheming smirk, "but in this case... it'll be your eyes for everything you've ever done to me".
Unease tightened Merlin's stomach as he scrambled for a desperate response, pushing aside twisted realisation that pricked at his mind. "An eye for an eye only makes the whole world blind! Morgana, you must understand... without me, magic will not return to Albion." He begged fiercely, fruitlessly spurring the witch to heed his words.
Morgana laughed dryly, her gaze unyielding and unforgiving, "Always so full of yourself. But you are wrong - when I am on the throne, magic will thrive as it did before." She declared with finality, passionate belief flaring within her eyes.
"Please Morg-" Merlin began, voice raised and defiant in a final, desperate bid to warn the witch of the future.
"Silence! I've had enough of-"
"There's none so blind as those who will not listen!" A sudden surge of anger blinded Merlin's senses, red crowding his vision like a scarlet wash of blood; fists curling with unrestrained fury as he roared indignantly. Resentful rage simmered uncontrollably beneath his skin, bubbling and boiling with each second that passed; wherein Morgana's eyes narrowed - her eyebrows knitting together in a harsh scowl, lips tight and expression stony - and Merlin realised with frigid shock that his enraged outburst had damned him to a lifetime of sorrow and regret.
The last thing Merlin saw was the intricate dagger flash in the dull light.
Darkness.
➣
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a/n - this chapter took far too long to write - my apologies!! I can't say I particularly enjoy scenes like this, so I'm thankful to report that it's the last! :')
