Chapter Text
Everyone in Albion had heard the legends that sorcerers' golden tears could cure anything. Others would claim that the tears made weapons more powerful than anything mortal men could create and made one invincible for a time.
It was only natural for all the Kings of Albion to want their own sorcerers so they could strengthen their armies. The larger the army, the more sorcerers were desired. The smaller kingdoms treated their sorcerers fairly well. They allowed them to mingle with their armies, creating bonds. They believed that such a thing would make their armies stronger.
Others, such as Camelot, felt differently. Uther Pendragon had won his kingdom with the power of captive sorcerers, and that tradition continued throughout his reign. Camelot’s sorcerers were kept in cold iron cages, shackled and unable to use their magic outside the bars. He had a large army, and needed large amounts of the golden liquid to arm it.
Merlin was one of these sorcerers. He lived in his own small cell, listening to his people’s screams and sobs day after day. Some days he would be the unlucky one, dragged to a torture chamber where they do anything they could to get him to cry. His head was held over a bucket to collect the tears as his eyes glowed, the golden drops falling from his cheeks.
“This is one has dragonlord blood in his veins. Be careful not to lose any of them. Their tears are especially powerful,” they would say.
He couldn’t remember his mother, he had been taken from her the moment he had shown signs of magic. Supposedly he had shown them early, they had been keeping an eye on the boy as his father had been captured shortly before his mother realized she was pregnant.
They had been merciful enough to bring him to his father. They had even kept him unshackled for the first few years of his life. He had a few vague memories of the man. He remembered he was tall, with long dark hair and a beard. He had kind brown eyes that lit up as he told his child stories of the Dragonlords.
“His tears are still powerful, even if he’s not a Dragonlord yet,” they would say.
His father was still alive then, judging by the stories that the man had told the boy. A Dragonlord’s gift was passed from father to son when the father died. There was the small possibility that he could meet his father again, though the sorcerer dungeons of Camelot were huge. He had no idea where he would even begin to search for the man. He didn’t even know his name. Would he even recognize him? Would his father even recognize his own son?
He remembered whenever his father was taken away so they could collect his tears. The guards would have little care for the child’s well being, focusing on collecting the tears that fell from his eyes.
Despite all this, those were happier days. He remembered his father was a kind man who doted on his son and did everything he could to make his life in this hell bearable. Perhaps having the child around was a blessing for the man as well.
He remembered the day they removed him from his father’s loving care for good. He had been seven summers old. It had been a normal day, the cries of sorcerers echoing through the halls, but Merlin had been calm. He had his father there. He had been snuggled up against the larger man, dozing off, while his father wrapped an arm around him. His papa was there. He was safe.
Until the guards came.
His father had begged for them to let Merlin stay. They had ignored his pleas and ripped the child from his arms. Merlin had screamed and struggled against them. His father’s wail of sorrow still echoed in his ears. The last memory he ever had of his father was from over a guard’s shoulder, watching as the other soldiers held his father back, restraining the Dragonlord’s head to collect his tears as the man’s body shook with his sobs of loss and defeat.
Merlin had been shackled and shoved in a small cage. A guard came to collect his tears as he cried for his father.
They started to take him into the Room after that day.
It wasn’t so bad at first, at least in hindsight. All it took was a simple smack or talk of his father to get the child to cry. As Merlin got older, the punishments became more severe. Now that he was an adult, he was treated like all the others, subjected to beatings, whippings, broken bones, and other such tortures.
He didn’t live. He only survived.
That changed the day he saw the Prince, the one with hair as golden as the sorcerer's tears.
He had been escorting the King on one of the rare royal visits. Uther occasionally came down to the dungeons to see how the operation was coming along. The King looked upset with something, something other than being in the presence of sorcerers.
“Are you sure about this, Arthur? What if it tries to kill you in your sleep?” The King asked. Merlin moved towards the sound curiously.
“Whomever I chose will be caged at night, won't they? I'll be fine. If it is true that the tears are stronger with a bond, then it is worth trying. Think of the power it could give us!” The Prince said. The King seemed to be torn between love for his heir and his love for power. Merlin was listening now. Was tthis a chance at some freedom?
“Take a priestess or one of the dragonlords then. They are already the most powerful,” the King finally said.
Merlin collapsed back against the bars of his cage, colliding with the cold metal with a loud crash. He wouldn't be chosen then. He was kin to the dragons, but he wasn't a Dragonlord yet.
The sound alerted the King and Prince to his presence. They turned to the cage. The King was glaring but the Prince was watching him curiously.
“What is its problem?” The King sneered.
“He just moved. That is not a crime, is it?” The Prince said, moving to the cage.
Merlin blushed. He had never had this many people staring at him. The guards never looked at him, they just did their job.
“This is the one I want,” the Prince said. The King frowned.
“Is he worthwhile?” He asked the guard. The guard nodded.
“Yes, Sire. His father is Balinor, a Dragonlord. The boys tears are worth just as much as his father’s would be,” the guard explained. The King appeared to be satisfied, but Merlin’s eyes widened. Balinor. His father’s name was Balinor. After so many years, he finally had a name.
“Then you may take him,” he said to his son. The Prince nodded.
“Thank you, father,” He said. The King nodded, heading for the stairwell.
“I have a meeting to attend. I expect updates every few days on your progress,” he said. The Prince gave a small bow.
“Of course,” he said, watching the King leave. He turned back to Merlin, gesturing the guards to unlock the cage.
Merlin bit his lip as the guards pulled him out of the cell on shaky legs. He rarely had a chance to walk. The Prince looked him over.
“You are a very lucky sorcerer. Follow me, and I will show you to your new home,” The Prince said.
Merlin limped after him, terrified and excited to see what his new life would bring.