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?"
"I'm told you're not actually a citizen of Camelot," said Uther, "That you're from a small village outside of our border. Ealdor, I believe."
"Yes," said Merlin.
"I've heard of it, actually," he said, "I once was forced to chase a dangerous sorcerer there, the Dragonlord Balinor. Do you know of him?"
"Not before Prince Arthur and I went searching, when the dragon attacked," said Merlin. After all, it wasn't a lie. "You must have been there before I was born."
Uther hummed. "I digress. The point is, you were born under the rule of Cenred. Correct?"
"I, um, I believe he took the throne sometime after," said Merlin, "We were so far from anything that power transfers didn't affect us much."
"And yet, whenever we found ourselves under siege from Cenred's armies, you mysteriously vanish," said Uther, as if Merlin hadn't said anything, "More than once I've heard Arthur yelling at you over it. Where do you go, I wonder? Would you not say that this is suspicious behavior?"
"Er," said Merlin, "I –"
"Then there is the matter of your most recent disappearance. Tell me, Merlin, how is it that you went from being held for ransom by simple outlaws to the possession of the witches?"
"I –"
"Furthermore, you were gone from the city for some weeks before Arthur received the ransom demand. And suddenly you're found with known traitors to the crown. Is this not also suspicious? And isn't it convenient to have this...this enchantment excuse."
"My Lord, I –"
"Answer me!" Uther thundered, "How long have you been in league with the enemies of Camelot?"
Merlin wondered if Uther knew how close he was from rooting out not a spy, as he apparently believed, but a sorcerer. His throat went a little dry as he tried to summon up words, something, anything, his earlier mantra of you will not panic lost in a whirlwind of scrambling thoughts and worry. Merlin was spared trying to answer by the door creaking open, and Leon striding in, Elyan shadowing him. Gaius was just behind the knights. Merlin made a mental note to never, ever have an attitude with Gaius again. "My Lord," said Gaius, stepping forward, "May I inquire as to what Merlin is doing here?"
"You may not," said Uther, "And you will all leave us."
"Begging your pardon, Sire, but if I may," said Leon, "Leaving you alone with him could be dangerous to you."
"You are wrong for two reasons," said Uther, "One, you imply I would be unable to defend myself against him. Two, you are choosing to believe the idea that the witches do seek to control him, and that he's not working on his own free will."
"Sire –"
"It does not fit, their trying to control him," Uther snapped, looking away from Merlin, "They could maybe, maybe succeed in poisoning Arthur, but even then – there is something missing. Something that he," and the king pointed at Merlin, "He will tell me."
"I..." Gaius broke off in a yawn. A moment later, Uther was stifling a yawn himself. Merlin could only watch as the two knights, the physician, and the king all slumped away into sleep. He flew to his feet as Gaius, Leon, and Elyan hit the floor, as Uther crashed face first into the desk in front of him.
"Hello, Merlin," said a voice from behind him.
Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, forcing a deep breath, before turning. "Morgause," he said, "Why did you make them fall asleep like that?"
"Because, it will be perfect," she said, "It's time to go, Merlin. King Uther suspects you of treachery. He and the others will wake to find you gone, just as the questions were getting difficult to answer. Morgana and I will take your powers for our own purposes, and then you will raze Camelot to the ground."
Merlin clenched his hands into fists.
"Now," said Morgause, "If you would follow me, we have work to do."
Merlin did. He tried to tell himself it was because he wanted to, because he wanted to keep her away from his defenseless friends. He knew, however, that it was probably not because either of those reasons.
The fight was harsh, but Morgana was so sure that she could win.
Arthur had three of his best knights with him – Gwaine, Lancelot, and a large muscley one who's name Morgana didn't know. She sent her magic flying, knocking three of the knights backwards and Arthur flying off to the side hitting a wall. She raised her hand, staring down at the nameless knight who had landed sprawled at her feet.
Gwaine came barreling out of nowhere, slamming into her just before she could deal the final, fatal stroke to the large knight. Morgana flew one way. Merlin's blood went the other.
Arthur leaped forward, and caught the glittering vial just before it smashed to the ground.
Merlin stopped in the courtyard, just behind Morgause. She was staring thoughtfully at the executioner's block. "This is what was waiting for you," she said, "Not today, of course. Maybe not tomorrow, either. But, eventually, Arthur would tire of the novelty of a kept sorcerer, powerful though you may be. One day, he would have led you out to here. Would have watched you die."
Merlin, even though he knew better, said, "Would have?"
"Yes, would have," said Morgause, and turned, reaching out for him, "But you're going to destroy him first."
A strange buzzing popped free in Merlin's chest, and he froze. His heart hammered, and he swallowed thickly. The buzzing spread down into his stomach, into his arms, filling his legs. It made his head feel light as a feather and his vision swim for a moment. But beyond all of that, it made a smile spread across his face, and he flexed his fist. Whatever crazed expression shot across his face made Morgause stop, and step backwards away from him.
In the end, Gaius had been wrong about his magic healing him. The dragon had been wrong about his magic gathering its strength. In reality, Merlin's magic had fled deep within him, hiding from Morgause and Morgana's manipulation, staying buried. Staying safe.
Merlin didn't know why his magic had returned to him, or how, only that it had (Later they would discover that his magic flooded back at the exact moment Arthur caught the vial of his blood as it spun through the air). He felt like himself again, for the first time in weeks. The helplessness was gone. The uncertainty had vanished. The magic – his magic – pumped through his veins, and Merlin almost threw his head back and crowed with laughter. He didn't, though. There were slightly more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.
Straightening his shoulders, he looked up at Morgause. His magic, tired of being pent in, was spilling out in all directions. Storm clouds gathered in the sky. He didn't need a mirror to know that his eyes were golden. Morgause stumbled back a step. She looked scared. Merlin felt no happiness over that, but nor did he feel any pity.
"You," said Merlin, clenching one hand into a fist, "I'm done having to worry about you, about what you're planning, what you're doing. You're done."
The lightening knifed downwards and, like Nimueh before her, Morgause was reduced to little more than an echoing scream and a pile of ashes drifting on the wind. Merlin wondered if he was supposed to feel triumphant, relieved. He wondered if he was supposed to stand on his field of victory, straight backed and proud of himself.
But as the rain began to fall, exploding out of the clouds and flying down, all Merlin felt was tired.
Morgana couldn't move. Her blood thundered through her veins, and she felt like she was falling, falling, twirling away from the earth and everything that was solid. "Morgause," she whispered, "Sister, no."
An echoing cavern, empty and terrible, had opened in the pit of her stomach. She could feel it, straight down into her soul. Morgause was dead. She was dead, gone, and Morgana was alone, alone, and it was all Merlin and Arthur's fault, yes, they had to be punished, they had to be –
"Morgana," Arthur was saying, "Morgana, listen, you don't have to –"
"No!" she screamed, and her eyes burned golden.
The vial, with an unexpected jerk that left Arthur grasping at empty air, flew across the cavern and back into Morgana's hand. She shrieked an incantation that sent Arthur and his knights flying to the ground again. As soon as the glass hit her palm, she began to hiss in the language of the Old Religion, the words sailing from her tongue with ease. "Beweallan Merlin wældreór."
"Morgana, stop," Arthur yelled from the other side of the cave, scrambling to his feet, "Whatever it is you're doing, don't, stop!"
"Ræran ærgewinn innan hine," she hissed, and the blood within the vial began to pulse with a sickly, scarlet light, a sourceless breeze sweeping through the cave. "Déaþcwalu."
"Morgana!" Arthur roared.
"Déaþcwalu," she repeated, a manic laugh, manic sob working through her throat, "Déaþcwalu! Déaþ –"
She didn't make it through the third repetition. The sword of Sir Lancelot silenced her. Morgana looked down at the blade protruding from her stomach. The small vial, still pulsing, fell from her hand and clinked against the stones. "Oh," she whispered. She couldn't even feel the blade. She glanced up to find Arthur, frozen and expressionless, watching her from where he stood. She looked down again at where her own blood was staining her dress red. "Oh," she said again, and fell to the floor, dark hair fanning out around her.
Merlin, exhausted and swaying though he was, now had something of a problem on his hands. The sleeping spell that Morgause had draped over the castle was slipping away. Merlin latched onto it, holding it in place while he tried to think of his next move. Because if they were to wake, right now, it would be to find Merlin standing in the courtyard in a rather abrupt deluge in front of a scorch mark. And that chopping block was still much to close for comfort...
Merlin staggered back into the small questioning room where the four men were slumped over in slumber. Making a snap decision, he dragged the king to just outside the door, right next to where the scorch mark formerly known as Morgause sat. Then Merlin drew Uther's sword and shoved the hilt into his hand. Then, the warlock stood back and waited, letting the slumber spell slip away through his fingers. Uther's eyes shot open.
"What happened?" Uther said, rising to his feet and looking around wildly.
Merlin cocked his head curiously, blinking, wide-eyed, the perfect picture of slightly terrified innocence. "You don't remember, my Lord?" he said, "You just struck down Morgause."
Uther looked down at the sword in his hand, then at Merlin.
"She put up a fight, my Lord," said Merlin, raising his voice to be heard above the rain, "You came out here, and you, um, you stopped her from taking me again. When you, uh, when you stabbed her, she burst into flames. She sort of exploded, and it must've knocked you out. It knocked me back as well, and I hurt myself. If you look to your feet, my Lord, you can see where she stood as it happened. I'd be dead if you hadn't gotten her when you did."
Uther narrowed his eyes at Merlin. For a moment, he looked so much like Arthur that Merlin almost fell over.
Leon, Elyan, and Gaius came bursting outside just then, all looking rather crazed and more than a little confused. They looked from Merlin, wobbling slightly, to Uther, sword in hand, ashes at his feet. "Sire?" said Leon, finding his voice first out of the three.
"I," said Uther, "I have slain the witch Morgause."
Gaius instantly fixed Merlin with a glare that was seven parts suspicion and three parts exasperation. Merlin would have smiled, but it seemed that the day had caught up with him, and all he could manage was a one-shouldered shrug and a sigh. Gaius's eyebrow shot up. Merlin just shrugged again. There was a chill seeping through him, a cold that was clammy and nipping and seemed to be coming from somewhere in his chest, and not actually from the rain.
Merlin opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn't overly sure what. Because that was when the pain hit. Later, he wouldn't be able to describe it. Later, he'd barely even to remember it. But here, now, it was all that he knew. It was like his bones were trying to claw their way through his skin, crawling and writhing. He was on the ground without remembering getting there. Someone reached out to touch his shoulder, and it was like a brand pressed into his skin, burning and searing and awful. Distantly, he could hear someone screaming. Even more distantly, he realized that it was himself.
It was the last thing Merlin knew before he passed out.