MERLIN / MERTHUR ONESHOTS

Perhaps

tw! torture

Merlin had been missing for days. The Lady Morgana had hired some random bloke who was willing to kidnap Merlin and kidnap he did.

Merlin had been stripped of his clothes, minus the very short shorts that Morgana made from his breeches. He had been drenched in ice cold water, again and again- he never got the opportunity to be dry, so shivers plagued him day and night.

Morgana has chained him to the ceiling. The chains were old and rusty, they creaked in the wind, they creaked with his swaying and the creaks drilled into his head. The cuffs dug into his wrists, cutting into them and rubbing uncomfortably, he could feel an infection coming along. His feet barely reached the ground which caused a horrible burning sensation in his lungs, he became unconscious multiple times from lack of oxygen. How had such a pure soul become so cruel?

Morgana liked to paint. Her brush was a knife, a beautiful silver knife with a jewel embedded handle. Her canvas? His skin. There wasn't a piece of him left untouched, he was a picture, he was her painting, and she was proud.
Once he was milky white, now he was a river of red- to cleanse her pallet she'd drown him in water once more.

She was torturing him for information. Information on Arthur, on Camelot, on who Emrys is- she was completely oblivious to the very fact that he, himself, were Emrys. Merlin was strong, no matter how much she tortured him, he would never give in. He'd burn cold stares into her, she'd cower slightly under the intensity but her facade would never crack, it never has.

He missed Morgana, his Morgana, their Morgana- not the person she became, the person who he blames himself for becoming. He knows his friends, his family, their kingdom miss her too. Heck he's sure that even she missed herself sometimes, he can see it in her eyes.

Morgana grew bored, Morgana always grows bored. She has no patience, she throws tantrums and she moves toys within days of having them. She needed information and she knew that Merlin would never give in, she should know. She should've known as every other time she had kidnapped him it never,ever worked. He was baffled as to why she would repeatedly take him- perhaps because she thought him the weakest, defenceless person. Perhaps he was the only one away from the safety of the Citadel, perhaps it's to punish him for his sins or perhaps its to get at Arthur.

She let him go...Morgana let Merlin go. He was badly cut up, had lost more weight, he was weak and pale, and he was sure he was ill with an infection induced fever but she had let him go.

He stumbled out of the shack she'd kept him in, the light burned his eyes. Every step he took felt foreign, with every step he stumbled- his feet still not his own. He was bare foot, he was undressed, he was exposed- all his clothes had been burnt infront of him, at least he wasn't in them.

He looked around, he didn't recognise where he was. If he were to guess he'd say that he were somewhere within the Darkling Woods, somewhere the knights wouldn't patrol, somewhere hidden in plain sight or perhaps he was in Cenreds Kingdom.

He walked to the trees, he felt familiarity in the trees, he knew the trees would guide him home or maybe they were working for Morgana, maybe they'd trap him. His magic was weak, he was weak, with each step he felt his eyes droop further- he hadn't slept in the four days she had him. Four days would send some people insane, Merlin however was different.

He could've sworn he saw a flash of red, heard a chorus of hooves, a verse of voices. He could've sworn that he heard his own name being called out but he could feel reality beginning to break.

He leaned back against a tree, an oak tree, a grand tree- the tree that would save him or end him. The bark cut into his back, seeped into his cuts, his wounds- he grimaced at the pain, but compared to Morgana's hand it was soothing.