Merlin was brought through the long halls. The setting sun in the west gave the white castle walls a red, glowing quality. As they walked across the courtyard, Merlin couldn't help but notice that the platform with the executioner's block was set up. He swallowed the sharp and painful lump that rose in his throat, and tore his eyes from it, staring at the top of his boots. He couldn't help but let his mind wander to his first day in Camelot, to that first execution that he had witnessed.
Coincidence, surely. If Uther had been going to kill him, he would've done it days ago.
Unless he was just waiting until Arthur had left, in order to avoid any dramatic interruptions. And, gee, did that thought do much to help Merlin's general state of mind. He tried to rationalize that they were already out of the courtyard, so it didn't matter if the block was there, but it didn't help. His thoughts had latched onto the word execution and they were refusing to let go. What would his mother do, if he were to be killed? God, his mother, did she even know about any of what was happening? Had anyone told her he was missing, or, on that note, that he'd been found?
Merlin was jolted from his reverie by getting jerked to a halt outside of a door. They were near the dungeons, and the mere thought of damp stones and darkness sent a long shiver down Merlin's spine. Thankfully, they didn't actually enter the cells below, but rather one of the small rooms that lined the halls before there. They were frequently used, Merlin knew, for talking to the accused, for holding small trials.
He didn't know what Uther wanted with him. He did know, though, that it probably wasn't anything good.
"Sit down," said Uther. Merlin was pushed down into the chair, and Uther walked to stand behind the desk. Uther nodded at the guards. "Leave us now," he said. They did.
Don't panic, Merlin thought as he clenched the armrests of his wooden chair in shaking fingers, do not panic. Arthur wasn't here to pull him out of this like the last time, there wasn't to be a miracle rescue from the undiluted attention of Uther Pendragon. Deep breath, Merlin, he told himself, keep breathing, don't panic, whatever happens, you will not panic.
"Now," Uther said, glancing down at him, "I've some questions for you."
Morgause had not been overly pleased when Morgana returned from her brief interlude in Camelot. She had hurled accusations of carelessness, of hastiness that, if not reined in, could very well destroy their entire plan. "Must I impress on you again that it our fortune thus far in this has been built on luck?" Morgause said.
"Yes," Morgana had replied sullenly, "But –"
Morgause had lectured her for some time longer, finishing with a sigh of, "Well. I suppose what's done is done and we can't change it now."
And then Arthur had done the last thing either of the sisters had expected: told Uther. Which had resulted in Merlin being squirreled away in the dam tower. Morgause and Morgana had discovered as much through the use of a scrying bowl and spell. "What now, then?" Morgana said, "Do we take him by force?"
"No," said Morgause, drumming her long fingernails against the side of the bowl, "No. Making sure that his magic is bound to us will take time, time we will not have if Arthur and his knights are ready for us. We have to wait, now, because of your rash action. We have to wait until they're no longer expecting us."
And wait they did. For days. It made Morgana's skin crawl with the waiting. She wanted this done and over with as soon as it could be. For all that she hated – and she did hate – there was still a part of her that remembered a servant bursting into her rooms with a small Druid boy clutched to his side. She wanted Merlin to suffer, yes, but she just wanted it done.
And then, finally, Morgause turned away from the scrying bowl with a startling abruptness. "Arthur has left," she said, "Merlin is out of the tower. Keep the blood very close to you, Sister. Soon I will return with our guest."
Morgause swept out of the cave, tossing her red hood over her blond head.
Morgana moved to stand in front the bowl. She gazed down, watching the water that was mirror-smooth. She didn't know how long she stood there, but then there was a shifting sound from behind her, at the entrance of the cave. She smiled tightly, turning to greet her sister, "I didn't expect you back so soon," she said. "I..."
The words died on her lips as she saw that it was not Morgause, but Arthur standing there in front of her.
"Hello, Morgana," he said, drawing his sword, "Where's Morgause?"
He said both of their names like it pained him. That thought made something in Morgana's chest twinge uncomfortably, but she ignored it.
"Camelot, by now," Morgana said, feeling awfully thrown off balance. She hated surprises. "How are you – what are you –"
"You see, I assumed you'd be watching Merlin," said Arthur, "Gaius explained it to me, after my father put Merlin up in the tower. To watch someone with magic – scrying, I think he called it – you need some sort of link, don't you? Even if it's only the smallest of things. And you've got Merlin's blood. So isn't it possible that I didn't tell Merlin everything? Such as, oh, I don't know, that I know where you've been hiding?"
"How very well-thought of you, Arthur," said Morgana, flicking at the vial with her finger, "I'm impressed. A bit surprised as well, I must say."
"You have always did underestimate me," Arthur said, and Morgana didn't miss the sadness in his voice.
"And you me," said Morgana, "You're too late, Arthur. We've already begun. Soon, Morgause will return here with him. Then, we'll take his magic for our own. There's nothing you can do but watch as my sister and I use your Merlin to rip your kingdom to the ground."
"Merlin will never harm Camelot," said Arthur, "Not as long as I'm around."
"You've no idea," Morgana said, tilting her head slightly to the side, "You've no idea the power you have at your hand, do you? Tell me, Arthur, have you ever heard the prophecies the Druids speak of? Have you ever heard of the one they called Emrys?"
Arthur didn't answer, and Morgana had to fight down a bubbling laugh. "No," she said, "No, of course you haven't. Not with Uther hanging around. I didn't hear of Emrys until I went with Morgause. Shall I enlighten you, oh brother of mine? Emrys is the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the land. Who will ever walk the land. The one who is going to return magic to Camelot. And then I find out – it's Merlin. The servant. The peasant. Merlin, right under my nose, your nose, Uther's nose. Merlin the liar. But he's too afraid of his own powers to do anything, too worried of what it will mean. He isn't completely Emrys, not yet."
"Morgana," Arthur said, and then stopped, looking confused. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I want you to understand exactly how deeply in trouble you are right now," she said, and let the vial of Merlin's blood dangle from her hand, the torchlight reflecting off of it, making it shimmer in the dark of the cave, "I want you to know that as long as this is in my hand, there is nothing you can do to save your beloved Camelot. As I said, Merlin has yet to fully become Emrys. And now, he never will."
"If Merlin's as powerful as you're saying," said Arthur, slowly, "Then you have to see the danger you've set yourself in, Morgana. You are riding on a whirlwind, and once you lose your control, you're going to have to reap the consequences."
"Then I guess it's a good thing that I don't plan on letting go of my control, isn't it?" she said, "I –"
The cold steel of a dagger was suddenly pressed against her throat. She turned her head enough to see that it was Guinevere's Lancelot from all those years ago. "Don't try and move," he hissed, "For I'm looking for reasons to slit your throat."
"You are not a very nice person, did you know?" said a third voice, and one of Arthur's other petty little knights melted out of the shadows, hand outstretched, "Hi, I'm Gwaine. We haven't been formally introduced. You're the one who locked me in a small closet. I'm the one who you're going to hand that blood to right now, understand?"
"Really, Morgana," said Arthur, and she flicked her eyes over to her half-brother as another knight joined the party, sword out and at the ready, "Did you honestly think that I was going to come herealone?"
