Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arthur seemed lighter already, Merlin thought. They had barely cleared the castle grounds and already his steps were easier, his shoulders looser as they headed towards the woods. The first hints of autumn were closing in, colours softening and the air crisper than the heavy summer. Merlin slowed his pace a little and hung back to admire the view. He was only human. The late afternoon sun made Arthur practically glow. It was a little unfair, really. Merlin pushed away the soft, warm feeling taking up residence in his chest with a little shake of his head, fixing his eyes back on Arthur’s arse. Arthur, unfortunately, was still talking animatedly as he walked on, but noticed quickly the disappearance of his less-than-captive audience and spun around.

“Do keep up,” he said impatiently.

“Wouldn’t want to be late for this totally necessary task,” Merlin agreed. Arthur grinned unexpectedly, looking like the boy Merlin had never known. With a reflexive glance back at the town and castle (a part of Merlin wondered if Arthur would ever stop looking over his shoulder for Uther’s shadow) he threw out a hand imperiously.

“Come on, then.” Merlin rolled his eyes and took it, bumping their shoulders together and fighting a giddy grin like some kind of goddamn lovestruck teenager. The castle had its perks alright, but it also had rules and roles that seemed all the more stifling as they fell away past the gate of the lower town to leave just Merlin and Arthur.

“Hope we aren’t interrupting anything when we find them,” Merlin said after a few minutes climbing the hill, feigning a casual tone and watching out of the corner of his eye to see if the comment was going to hit its mark.

“What would they be doing?” Arthur said absently, then eyed Merlin warily. His eyes widened. “No. No. I draw a line. You keep your dirty mind away from my sister or I’ll – I’ll – never sleep with you again,” he finished triumphantly. Well. Merlin had, tragically, been born without the ability to resist a challenge. He looked away, then gazed up through his eyelashes, let a hand slide under Arthur’s shirt and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“Is that right?” Arthur’s eyes glazed over a little. His lips parted. His hand drifted involuntarily to Merlin’s waist. He snapped out of it and glared at Merlin, shaking him off and pointing a finger.

“You,” he said grumpily, “are a menace. Is it any wonder you went through the castle like bloody woodworm, honestly.” He paused, an idea clearly occurring to him for the first time. He narrowed his eyes. “Did you use,” – he looked around the empty forest first, to Merlin’s amusement – “magic? Is that how you,” – he wiggled his fingers – “fucking bewitched them all?” Merlin was delighted.

“You think I used magic to flirt? To enchant my many lovers?” He fluttered his eyelashes, then sighed. “It really is sad you can’t let go of your jealousy, sire. Unfortunately I really am just that charming. Plus,” he said, gesturing to himself, “there’s a lot to be said for pure animal magnetism.” Arthur made a face. They walked on for a minute and then began, simultaneously:

“Shall we -?”

“Yeah, just for a minute.”

“Might as well, really.” Merlin tugged Arthur off the path behind a tree.

An indeterminate amount of time later, someone cleared their throat. Merlin reluctantly detached himself from Arthur’s face, breathing heavily, and pushed at Arthur’s chest from where he’d been pressing Merlin against a tree. Arthur looked briefly offended, or as offended as it was possible to look with swollen lips and a vaguely unfocused expression. Merlin looked over Arthur’s shoulder and winced. Arthur whirled around, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there, only to be met by the sight of Morgana and Gwen, who, Merlin thought, were concealing their amusement very poorly.

“What do you want?” Arthur said rudely. Merlin elbowed him.

“So sorry for interrupting such an intensely private moment,” Morgana said, looking pointedly around the forest. Arthur scowled at her.

“We were just coming to get you, actually,” Merlin said.

“Why?” Gwen asked, confused. Arthur and Merlin looked at each other. Time that might have been spent coming up with a sensible answer to that question had gone on other things.

“Safety?” Merlin tried. Arthur nodded firmly.

“Oh, come on, you didn’t even bring a sword.”

“I don’t need a sword to be dangerous, thank you, Morgana.”

“It’s still light out. I think we can find the castle ourselves.” Gwen pointed out. Merlin shrugged.

“Great. Mission accomplished. Have a nice walk.” He started to pull away, yanking at Arthur’s sleeve.

“We should go too,” Arthur said reluctantly.

“What? Why?”

“We weren’t supposed to be gone for long,” Arthur reminded him. “Besides, I don’t need somebody letting slip that we were actually –” Merlin opened his mouth. “If you say it one more time, I swear to God, Merlin.” Merlin deflated. The memory of Arthur saying ‘canoodling’ was one he held very dear, and one he tried to work into conversation at every opportunity. And there were a surprising number of opportunities. So many, in fact, that Arthur had grown tired of the game.

“Suck the fun out of it, why don’t you,” he said amiably.

“So?” Gwen asked. “Are you coming with us?”

“I suppose.”

“Good. I’m ready to get back to the city. It’s too quiet out here. I keep thinking I’m hearing things. Makes me jumpy.”

“Scenic route?” Merlin suggested hopefully. Gwen waved a hand.

“Whatever, as long as we’re heading back.” They set off slightly away from the city, heading for a nearby stream that could be followed right to the east gate. Merlin took Arthur’s hand again without comment, their fingers interlaced.

After a few minutes, they had pulled ahead of Morgana and Gwen, and Merlin let go of Arthur’s hand to absentmindedly magic a broken branch back together. Arthur grabbed his arm.

“Stop that! Do you want to get arrested?” he hissed. Merlin turned to him, amazed.

“By who? You? That’s a good one.” He laughed, and with a flash of his eyes, made an obnoxiously-coloured flower grow on the branch before Arthur could stop him.

“I could arrest you!” Arthur said indignantly.

“You really couldn’t.” There was a sound behind them, but Arthur wasn’t fully turned around as he began to speak.

“Morgana, couldn’t I arrest –” he stopped. Morgana and Gwen were standing flanked by two men who had appeared seemingly from nowhere, their bodies tense.

Seizing the moment of distraction, Gwen kicked at the one beside her, but he easily sidestepped her and grabbed her arms. He forced her to her knees with a bored expression and withdrew a knife, which he placed at her throat slowly, looking at Merlin and Arthur the whole time. Morgana paled further but stayed perfectly still while his counterpart tied her wrists in front of her.

Her eyes widened for a second as Arthur automatically reached for the knife in his boot, only to stop halfway as the tip of a dagger dug into his side from behind. He straightened up slowly, hands out, as the back of his shirt was grabbed roughly and held tight. Merlin was still frozen, eyes flitting between the three other points of the square and one hand held out in front of him. Arthur, seeing his indecision in his peripheral vision, spoke quietly but clearly.

“Don’t you dare, Merlin.” Merlin clenched his fist but lowered it slowly. There was no way he could interfere without being seen, and even if he decided to act, he would have to take out three men in the exact same moment or risk one of the others. A second’s delay, even throwing the men back in the wrong way, could trigger a knee-jerk reaction or risk bringing the girls back on top of the knives. He felt sick, his mind racing. How could he have let this happen? And who did these pricks think they were, anyway? The beginnings of rage simmered behind his panic, and he swallowed both down. Play the game. He let some of his (very real) fear seep into his clueless servant expression. All of them jumped at a low whistle from off to Merlin’s right.

“You wait all your criminal life for a Pendragon, and then two come along at once.” A tall, thin man strolled out into the clearing, hands in his pockets.  “We thought we were just following the King’s ward – weren’t even sure if she was worth it, if I’m honest – but who does she find for us but his son, alone and unarmed?”

Merlin hated him on sight. First, he was dressed like a caricature of a criminal and spoke like he was performing a monologue. A painfully unnecessary one, considering everyone present was well aware of the situation. Second, he was threatening the lives of Merlin’s friends. Third, he was apparently so stupid he didn’t even realise it. Arthur was neither alone nor unarmed. He had Merlin.

In the middle of his seething, Merlin felt a slight prickle of magic in the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he dragged his eyes away from the henchman he was mentally flaying back to this apparent leader. Who, as it happened, was busy examining Merlin in a thoroughly unsettling manner, his gaze drifting to the space around Merlin’s head and then back, considering.

He blinked and met Merlin’s eyes, a hint of surprise on his face. Merlin’s heart sank. He tried to look as normal as possible, but from Gwen’s frown out of the corner of his eye, he was not succeeding. The man moved closer. Merlin fought the urge to either flinch away or blast him into oblivion, still bitterly mindful of the pointy objects digging into his friends.

“Now that is interesting.” Merlin again willed confusion onto his face. He tried to calculate the odds of taking out even one of the men, of causing a moment of chaos that would give him the opportunity to free the others. He weighed it up and decided quickly on an experiment. He moved suddenly, bringing his hand up to the man’s face, and held it there.

The man just tutted, reading Merlin’s hesitation in his face, and signalled the one holding Morgana. There was a sound like the snapping of a twig, and she screamed. Merlin whirled around and saw her on her knees, her wrist held in an iron grip above her head. He lowered his hand slowly, and the list of what he was going to do to these people grew by a few unpleasant items.

“A wise choice.”

“What do you want?” Merlin said, dropping his faux confusion. This man knew something, somehow, and while Morgana and Gwen didn’t, there was no need to pretend to be completely useless.

“You.” He spoke more quietly, now, than he had when he arrived, his gaze intense. Merlin had a moment of hope that the others might be too far away to hear him blurt out Merlin’s carefully (he tried not to imagine Arthur’s face at that) guarded secrets.

“Why?”

“Why, he says. Because there might be a decent price on a Pendragon’s head if you know the right people, but having someone like you on our side? Makes it look positively worthless.” Merlin made a final attempt at playing dumb, still not sure how much he had already given away, or how.

“I’m just a servant.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.” Merlin’s stomach clenched. He was silent for a moment.

“How?” he said finally. The man looked pleased.

“I have a gift. My own magic is average at best, but I can see it in others. And you, boy, you burn brighter than anyone I’ve ever seen. Bright enough to be the one from the prophecy, I’d wager. I don’t know how you’re still human, magic like that.” Merlin’s mind raced. He hadn’t even known that was possible, but he had to admit it would have come in handy over the years as seemingly normal people tried to kill Arthur out of the blue. A part of him burned with curiosity to see his magic, but he shoved it aside in favour of more pressing concerns. The man let this new information sink in, then continued. “Swear fealty to me and I’ll even let them go. With the power of Emrys on our side our enemies wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“I’m not for sale, sorry.” His face darkened.

“I’ll make it simple for you. Your power or your friends’ lives. I will be walking out of this clearing with one or the other. As powerful as you are, are you honestly positive you’d be quick enough?” Merlin really hated that the man was right. If he was sure, really sure, they would have been dead already. Of course, he thought resentfully, he’d also held back in the hopes of concealing his magic. Fat lot of good that had been. Merlin was silent while he thought it through.

“Let me heal her,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“My friend whose arm you just had broken. Let me heal her and you let them go.” The man’s mouth curled in displeasure, but he nodded slowly. Merlin began to turn towards Morgana, his mind already calculating, but a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Wait.” Merlin waited. “I’m not quite that stupid.” Merlin begged to differ, but kept his mouth shut for the sake of the others. The man contemplated him in that unsettling way again, then reached into his jacket and withdrew a length of relatively fine chain, connecting two…bracelets? Cuffs, Merlin’s mind filled in unhappily. He tilted his head questioningly and the man smirked.

“Call it insurance. Do it with one of these on, so I know you won’t do anything stupid. I give you my word they will live.” Merlin had never been more certain there was a catch, but he couldn’t sense or see anything on the cuffs, glinting in the sunlight. He nodded slowly and held out his right hand, tensing as the man grabbed his forearm like a snake pouncing on its prey. He resisted the urge to pull away as the cuff snapped open. Up close, in his shadow, he could see something etched into the cuff, lines scored deep into the metal, patterns, perhaps, but before he could examine it closely, it clicked into place around his wrist.

The world seemed to slow down, as if everything had been plunged underwater. Merlin’s breath caught in his chest, his heartbeat echoing in his ears and pulsing through his head. A heartbeat. Two. After an agonising moment, time seemed to catch up with itself. Sound came rushing back to the world and Merlin’s breath tore free from his throat. Horrified, he looked instinctively down at his wrist. Perfectly normal. His stomach roiled. Beneath the surface he could feel his magic bubbling unhappily and when he reached for it, it was dull, muted, a fraction of its normal depth.

“What the hell is this?” he said, revolted. The man did not answer, just gestured at Morgana. Merlin pushed down his nausea and tried to focus, but it was as though his thoughts were moving through mud. He fixed his eyes on Morgana as best he could and walked somewhat unsteadily towards her, ignoring Arthur’s questions, the audibly mounting concern he could hear only as if from a great distance. He reached Morgana and registered, briefly, that she looked afraid. He held out his left hand for her wrist, determined not to look at his right where it prickled at his side.

“Give me your arm,” he said softly. She shook her head, pressing her lips tightly together. There were tears in her eyes. “Morgana. Look at me. I can fix it, I promise.” She held it out, then, hesitantly, her eyes searching Merlin’s. He took it. “Forgive me,” he said. With the most effort it had ever taken, he reached for his magic and dragged it to the surface.

He closed his eyes and held, with difficulty, the image of the bones of the forearm in his mind, distantly grateful for the hours spent sitting with a book under Gaius’s watchful eyebrow. He moved his hand gently on her arm until he sensed the fracture, ignoring her gasp of pain in favour of desperately holding onto his concentration. He mentally apologised to her – it wouldn’t help even if he said it out loud, he thought grimly – and squeezed.

She yelled and yanked her hand away, but he held tight until he felt the tiny fissure close over, then let her go. She clutched her wrist in her other hand instinctively, realising only after a moment that it didn’t hurt anymore. Her head snapped up and she looked at Merlin just as his eyes opened and the last of the gold faded. Her shock showed starkly on her face, replaced for the briefest of seconds by… anger? Merlin couldn’t focus well enough to tell. He took a few deep breaths and grimaced at the pins and needles in his right hand, the weight of the cuff unbearably heavy.

“That’ll do, Emrys.” Merlin took a few steps back, trying to jolt his brain into action. He thought desperately for a way out and, finding none, sank to one knee, determined to do something. His thoughts were disconnected and vague, and he reached for the rage at his core to anchor them.

The man with the cuffs approached him with an impatient sigh, stopping by his side. “I hope you’re not intending to do anything foolish. You must remember I can see it. You’re practically running on empty after a simple healing.” Merlin gathered his strength and opened his eyes, looking quickly to Gwen and Morgana, who were still in shock, and to Arthur, who had gone very white. He looked up at the man and made his decision. He grit his teeth.

“Not yet,” he said with grim satisfaction. The man cursed and bent to reach for the chains, or to haul Merlin up, but whatever his intention, he wasn’t quick enough. Merlin thrust both his hands into the damp earth and prayed, begged, asked it for what he needed, for whatever he could handle without killing himself. Through his slightly muddled thoughts, and with all the focus he had that wasn’t gone on trying to stay upright he thought one word: Protect.

And the land answered him. The split second of relief and the surge of power almost overwhelmed him, but he gathered his own struggling, furious magic, pushed it into what he was being loaned, and forced it out through the air towards Morgana, Gwen and Arthur, looking up at the last second with eyes completely molten gold.

There was a faint rumble, and a wave of golden light rippled out from where he knelt, briefly illuminating the others as it passed over them and sending their captors staggering back a step. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it was over, and Merlin sagged. The borrowed power sank back into the earth, leaving in its wake the last of Merlin’s own, drained and exhausted and fighting a losing battle against whatever was in the metal of the cuff.

He heard a snarl and looked up into the furious eyes of the thin man, who seized Merlin’s face in his hand and shouted at him, asking him what he had done, looking over his shoulder at Arthur and back in confused fury. Merlin just smiled, and the man spat in his face, then roughly let it go, reaching instead for the other end of the chain and the other cuff.

Merlin couldn’t seem to find it in himself to be concerned. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d done, but he knew that the panic he had been feeling for the others was receding, and he thought they were safe. The man ranted and raved, but it all seemed much funnier as spots began to appear in Merlin’s vision, and he thought he might have laughed. He heard Arthur yell something - again, couldn’t he keep it down? – but before he could parse through the sounds for meaning, the other cuff clicked home and his magic rebelled with such force and nowhere to go that he could do nothing but pass out.

Chapter Text

Merlin came to on something very cold and hard. He cracked an eye and somehow, even in the dark, he knew his head was spinning and his vision blurred. This seemed vaguely unfair. He thought, dimly, that he should really get a pass on the spins if he couldn’t see anything. He tried to raise a hand to better gauge this injustice, and felt it trembling. He tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry. Instead, he just willed there to be a light, but instead of a comforting blue glow, he received a stab of pain and cried out. He felt a hand on his head as darkness faded to more darkness.

The next time Merlin woke, it was to Arthur’s hair. Well, Arthur’s whole head, really, but Merlin’s slightly addled brain registered the concept of ‘blond’, made a clumsy halo joke to itself and sent this directly to his mouth, where this astute observation emerged in the patented Giving Arthur Shit tone as:

“Am I dead? Is this hell?”

“You mean heaven, asshole.”

“I really don’t.” Arthur just laughed, relieved and sat back, giving Merlin space. He sat up carefully and winced, pausing as the blood rushed in his ears. He could feel something wrong in the general vicinity of his hands and decided firmly not to look just yet. Instead, he waited for his vision to focus on Arthur’s face, where, once it cleared, he immediately zeroed in on the dried blood coating one side.

“What the fuck is that?” he said, a little more brusquely than intended. Gaius always said bedside manner wasn’t his strong suit. Merlin personally felt this was more of a self-burn than anything, considering Merlin had avoided sick people entirely until he was sent to be ‘taught’ by Gaius.

“Did you miss the part where we were surrounded and violently captured? Were you asleep for that, too?” Arthur’s words were normal (for a given definition of normal), but something in his tone made Merlin feel he was missing something. He let his eyes drift from Arthur’s face and promptly found what it was. Morgana and Gwen sat against the wall behind Arthur, trying to look as though they hadn’t been watching them like hawks. Like being doused in freezing water, the events of the clearing came rushing back to Merlin and he sat up straighter.

“Oh fuck, Morgana, are you alright, I let them –”

“You didn’t let them do anything, Merlin –”

“I let you get hurt, I –”

“Merlin! You fixed me, remember?” she held up her wrist and rolled it pointedly even as Merlin winced. He relaxed a little. “Now you mention it, though, you do have something else to apologise for.” Merlin looked blankly at her, then at Arthur, who rolled his eyes. Oh. Right. The magic. Merlin’s face dropped and Morgana reached over to gently flick his leg.

“It’s okay,” she said, but there was something else in her eyes, something considering. Merlin gave a weak smile and turned to Gwen. He let his face arrange itself back into something appropriately apologetic as he noted uneasily the tear tracks on her cheeks and the cold, hard anger in her eyes. Right. This was why he didn’t get Gwen mad.

“Gwen?” he tried.

“How could you not tell me this?” she said flatly. “We’re best friends, Merlin. This is the sort of shit you tell each other. I tell you everything.”

“Well –”

“Almost everything. We’re not talking about me. How could you keep this a secret?”

“I didn’t tell anyone!” Nothing. “You were the first person in Camelot I wanted to tell, I swear.” She looked slightly mollified. Arthur just looked indignant.

“I’m your boyfriend! And you didn’t even tell me, you just got- careless!”

“Are you now?” Merlin grinned. Arthur paused his tirade, suspicious.

“What?”

“My boyfriend,” Merlin sighed, hands over his heart as he looked wistfully upwards. Arthur flipped him off and continued.

“I think I get priority!”

“You don’t get to suck a dick and go straight to the top, sire.” Arthur looked like he had much to say about this, but Gwen interrupted.

“You could have died! Like, a lot of times.”

“…Yeah. I’m fine, though,” Merlin hoped he looked together enough to carry that off, because he felt a little less than fine, but Gwen didn’t need to know that.

“Barely!” That was on him. Gwen knew all. “You didn’t see yourself in that clearing, Merlin, I thought you were dead.” Her sad eyes should be classed as a weapon. Merlin really felt very bad, and couldn’t seem to remember all his sensible reasons for ever keeping secrets from her.

“Gwen, I really am sorry. About all of it. I wanted to tell you.” She sniffed, but looked at him with slightly less steel in her eyes. Thank God.

“Don’t ever do that to me again or I’ll kill you myself.” Merlin nodded dumbly, relieved. Gwen moved to hug him carefully but fiercely. Arthur made a face at him over her shoulder. Merlin looked at him like he was being dense.

“She’s got swords, Arthur.” Arthur suddenly looked like he understood what was happening a little better. Merlin’s brain shifted gears again, and Gwen moved away from him. He patted her absently on the arm and she punched him lightly in the shoulder as she went. Merlin smiled at her, and turned back to Morgana and Arthur.

“What happened to Arthur, though? Before I passed out I tried to –” Something like comprehension dawned on their faces. “What?”

“You tried to what?” Morgana said cautiously.

“Protect you?” he guessed, sure that there was a wrong answer somewhere there but unsure what it was.

“In what way, exactly?”

“I don’t know, do I?” he said, mystified.

“What spell did you do?” she clarified with some impatience.

“I didn’t, really. I didn’t exactly have time to think up a detailed terms and conditions, did I? Why? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“When you fainted,” – Merlin made a face, which was ignored, – “Arthur…went a bit mental. He tried to go to you, fought the bloke holding him.” Merlin felt they had gone back several steps in the conversation.

“Right? What does that have to do with –”

“I’m not finished, Merlin, God.”

“Sorry.”

“They didn’t like that, and he went and got himself knocked out with the hilt of a knife.” She looked pointedly at Arthur’s head. Merlin’s mouth tightened and he immediately started trying to poke and prod at the area. Arthur slapped his hands away and he settled back against the wall, grumbling and trying to hide the wave of nausea the movement had provoked.

“So he lost a few brain cells he couldn’t afford to lose,” Merlin said, trying for flippant but noting with some concern that the others weren’t meeting his gaze. “What aren’t you telling me?” he said sharply.

“I was getting there,” Morgana said steadily. “The one who knocked him out was sort of…thrown back?”

“Okay?” Merlin said slowly.

“And his head was sort of…caved in? A bit? But not at the back, where he’d fallen. At the front, where he’d just hit Arthur. I don’t know if they made the specific connection, but they definitely think Arthur is cursed. Enchanted. Whatever. They’re afraid to touch him,” she finished, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards as she watched Merlin carefully.

Merlin was very still. Had he…? No. Surely that kind of thing would take…intention. A complex incantation. A lot more clarity of thought than Merlin remembered (or didn’t remember, as the case may be) having in his last few seconds of consciousness. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I gather that was not your intention?” she said drily.

“…Not really, no,” Merlin said weakly, still absorbing. He brightened a little. “It does sound like a bonus, though. Good job, past me.”

“Good jo-” Arthur started.

“Just how powerful are you?” Morgana asked. Merlin was silent. Arthur tried again.

“It damn near killed him!” Merlin felt oddly defensive.

“That wasn’t the magic! That was these,” he said, holding up the cuffs with disgust and looking at them for the first time.

“What are they, anyway?”

“Bad,” Merlin said darkly, rubbing his wrists and pulling ineffectually at the cuffs. Blank looks. “They sort of…dampen? Or trap, or do something to my magic. I can’t read runes, so I don’t know what exactly they’re designed for, but they interfere in a big way.”

“Why would that make you so…sick?” Gwen said. “You can’t see yourself, but trust me, you look really awful.” Merlin shrugged.

“I don’t really choose to use magic, I guess. I was born with it, and apparently I have rather a lot of it. It’s a part of me.”

“So you can’t do any at all right now?”

“Only one way to find out,” he said, and before Arthur could stop him, he sat forward, snapped open a palm and said clearly, “Forbærnan.”

Nothing. He frowned and said it again as Arthur hovered, expression torn between irritation and worry. “Come on,” Merlin muttered. At last, a tiny flame flickered in the air above his palm for a moment, then died. He leaned back, a little pale and sweaty. He let out a sigh.

“Merlin,” Arthur barked. “What did you do?”

“Well, sire, many thousands of years ago, human beings discovered fire, and –” Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin grinned at him weakly. “There’s something wrong, alright,” he admitted.

“I can see that, Merlin.” Merlin gave him a dirty look.

“It hurts,” he said simply. Arthur twitched and tried to grab his wrists to examine the damage, but Merlin shook his head. “Not there,” he said vaguely. “Just hurts. Not quite like it did before, though,” he added, frowning. “Did I wake up and try to do magic before?”

“Yes,” Gwen said. “You were really out of it, but you held your hand up like that, yelled and passed out again.” The memory fell into place.

“Ah, yeah, no, it hurt way more that time,” he said confidently. “Maybe it’s getting weaker.” He peered again at the cuffs in the dim light.

“What were you trying to do that time? Another fire?” Arthur asked. Merlin thought about it.

“It was darker then, right?” The others nodded. “No, I think I was just trying for light. You know, the blue stuff, like in the caves that time,” he gestured at Arthur, who stared at him. Merlin wasn’t sure why, so he made a vaguely apologetic face. He hoped. Mostly, though, he had just forgotten that Arthur didn’t necessarily know about that yet. The Great Magic Fight had not been a particularly linear or comprehensive process, instead favouring shouting, making out, and then shouting some more.

“That was you?” Arthur said, looking outraged. Ah, Christ.

“You’re welcome, my lord, I definitely don’t regret saving your life each and every day and yes, I did manage to send you a ball of light from my deathbed and it is as impressive as it sounds.”

“But – but – I was supposed to be saving you!” Arthur protested. Merlin looked at him incredulously. So did Morgana and Gwen.

“You really are an ungrateful twat, aren’t you?” he said. “There I am for years, saving your arse at least once a week, and all you can come up with is pouting because I what? Secretly stole your glory? Diluted your heroics? You don’t know the half of it, I tell you.”

“Whose fault is that? And don’t exaggerate, Merlin, you were unconscious. Who was out scaling treacherous cliffs for a bloody flower?”

“Oh yes, do tell me, what’s more impressive - not-magic when fully conscious and at peak health, or magic, when unconscious and literally dying?” Merlin was aware he was getting louder.

“Who drinks poison they know is poison, anyway?” Arthur countered.

“If we’re going to start about being a self-sacrificing tosser, you might be leaning against an open door, sire.” Arthur opened his mouth, but Morgana cut in.

“Thank you, lovebirds.” They shrugged and grinned at each other. Merlin winced and rubbed his temple at a little stab of pain, and Arthur shifted closer, slotting his shoulder behind Merlin’s against the wall. Morgana cleared her throat. “On a more useful note, what do they want with us, anyway?” Arthur perked up.

“Well, obviously, I’m the -” Merlin snorted. “What?”

“Unbelievably, Arthur, it’s not you they’re interested in.”

“How do you know?” Merlin jangled the chain between his wrists pointedly.

“And they told me so, actually. They want me to work for them. Poor fuckers,” he said cheerfully. Arthur mumbled an agreement and something about Merlin’s work ethic, then stopped and looked at him suspiciously.

“And that’s a good thing why?”

“Because they can’t make me, obviously. They’ve got no leverage anymore. They can’t hurt any of you without killing themselves. I took care of that, apparently,” he said, pleased with himself. The others didn’t seem as comforted by this.

“Um, Merlin?” Gwen started, half raising a hand. Merlin loved Gwen. Especially when she wasn’t angry with him.

“You know they can still hurt you, right? You obviously didn’t extend that spell to yourself, or you wouldn’t be –” Morgana finished for her, waving a hand to indicate the general state of Merlin’s health, which, he allowed, was not indicative of effective protective magic.

“Oh. Well, yes, I suppose. They can try. But I still won’t work for them,” he said reassuringly. They still looked worried, so he held up a cuffed wrist. “And these are starting to hurt less, so clearly it’s just a matter of time until I can,” – he wiggles his fingers – “again.” Arthur gives him a withering look.

“You’re basing that entire theory on a sad little spark and how much you think it might have hurt when you were barely conscious. Forgive me if I’m not reassured.” Merlin shrugged.

“If you’ve got other ideas, I’d love to hear them.” Silence. Gwen slumped back against the wall.

“So we wait,” she said.

“We wait,” Merlin agreed. “And either someone comes looking for The Centre of the Universe over here” – he gestured lazily at Arthur – “Or I’ll be able to magic us out.” Arthur looked distinctly unhappy.

“Any way we can get a timeline on that?” he asked, wiggling his fingers in imitation of Merlin.

“I’ve already told you I can’t read runes, so not really. Might as well have a look, though. Give me a hand, would you?” Merlin nodded up at the little window and Arthur shrugged and pulled him to his feet by grabbing him under the armpits in what Merlin considered an unnecessarily undignified manner. He hovered as Merlin leaned against the wall, eyes closed and taking deep breaths through his nose. Arthur made a noise and Merlin held up a finger to silence him, eyes still closed. He took another few deep breaths, then said finally, “We’re good.” Arthur gave him a look of polite disbelief but held his tongue, with visible difficulty.

Merlin held one of his wrists up to the light and poked at the metal with the fingers of his other hand. Arthur tried to pull his hand away and Merlin gave him a look.

“It’s been touching my skin for hours, I think I can stand to poke it.”

“Does it burn?” Arthur said, touching the chain gently and with a look of profound distrust. Merlin thought about it, then clamped one hand completely over the opposite cuff and made an odd face.

“Prickles,” he decided, removing his hand and flexing it.

“Let me,” Arthur said, but Merlin pulled his wrist out of his reach and brought it up to his face to squint at it.

“Yeah, I definitely don’t understand these. They’re weird. Some of them look a little…shallower than others, though? I wonder if that matters. Surely they started out the same depth, I feel like Gaius said they were all about care and precision,” he mused, choosing to omit that Gaius had in fact cited that as a reason Merlin was not well suited to the study of them. He looked thoughtfully between his hand and the door, and once again, cursing to himself, Arthur was too slow to stop him.

His eyes flashed. The door rattled in place. Gwen and Morgana jumped, looking around at it. Merlin pressed the heel of his hand to his eye socket. Arthur moved to support him, looking furious.

“You idiot, what did you do that for?”

“Have to experiment, prat,” Merlin mumbled, blinking and brushing his fingers to his nose, looking pleased when they came back free of blood. He held them up proudly. Gwen looked at him like he was insane.

“Well?” Arthur said, having established that Merlin was not dying and returning, in Merlin’s opinion, altogether too quickly to impatience. “What did you learn, oh great scholar, apart from the fact you still can’t do magic?” Merlin took a moment to answer, examining the cuffs closely and running his fingers over the runes.

“I was right,” he said simply.

 “Right about what?” Morgana said. Merlin slid down the wall until he was sitting down again.

“It is wearing off a bit. But not on its own, exactly. My magic is…fighting back, maybe? The cuffs are bad for me, but I’m not great for them, either,” he grinned.

“How?”

“No idea. But I think even as they’re making me,” – he gestured clumsily to himself – “They’re losing their potency. And, it’s hard to tell with the naked eye, but I could swear my magic is fading some of the runes a bit. They don’t seem as deep in the metal.” Arthur looked impatient.

“How does this help?”

“Well, I was right that it’s a waiting game, wasn’t I?” Merlin said reasonably. “And as they get weaker it’ll be easier to do magic and break out of here, at some point.”

“And you think they’re just going to generously provide us with however much time it takes?” Morgana said.

“Already told you, the worst they can do is beat me up a little, they can’t hurt any of you.” Gwen groaned.

“You couldn’t have extended this gruesome, vengeful protection spell to yourself too?” Merlin frowned at her.

“You’re taking this magic thing too well,” he said. “Besides, Guinevere, I was otherwise occupied. I seem to remember someone on the ground, with a knife to her throat? Despite literal years of lectures about how she could use a sword and fight so much better than me, but then again ‘couldn’t anyone’?” Gwen didn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed.

“Don’t be a bitch, Merlin.” They glared at each other for a second, then giggled. Morgana and Arthur shared equally uncertain glances. “When we get back, you’re doing Morgana’s braids for a month,” Gwen declared, sobering up. “As a small part of your apology for lying to me.”

“I saved your life,” Merlin said mildly. “And I regret ever telling you about that. A week,” he added. Morgana looked calculatingly at Merlin, then shrugged. Arthur was suddenly very interested.

“Merlin can do braids? Why on earth can you do braids? What possible purpose –” he stopped. Merlin tried to hide a smile. Gwen failed. Arthur made a disgusted face. “…would flirt with a bloody broomstick,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry sire, I’ll just have to find another way to make you pretty.”

Chapter Text

“I’m bored,” Gwen said. Morgana made a noise of agreement from where she was lying, head in Gwen’s lap.

“Getting held prisoner not exciting enough for you?” Arthur said, which was rich considering Merlin could practically see his restlessness. He started to respond, but stopped and turned his head sharply to the door.

“Can you do magic again ye-?” Morgana started to say. Merlin shushed her, shaking his head and pointing at the door. She looked briefly offended, but sat up at the scrape of the lock. Merlin had started to force himself to a standing position when the door opened to reveal the man from the clearing who had put the cuffs on him. Who had recognised him, he corrected himself grimly. He looked at the inhabitants of the cell with distaste.

“Lunchtime already?” Merlin said, trying to see past him to the open door. Not without difficulty, he finished pushing himself up the wall and leaned against it. He tried to cross his arms, miscalculated the chains and gave up, narrowing his eyes at the new arrival.

“Emrys,” he greeted. Merlin winced. Another secret gone, he mourned. He had really hoped to break the others in gently. He studiously ignored Arthur’s gaze boring into the side of his head. He could sense his tension, feel him itching for a fight, and silently (and without much hope) begged him not to do anything stupid.

Their captor seemed disinclined to even touch Arthur, to Merlin’s amusement. He approached Merlin from the other side, keeping a wide berth. Arthur, predictably, started forward as the man reached for Merlin, but with a frown and an incantation found himself rooted to the spot. The man forced Merlin’s chin up to look him in the eye.

“Emrys,” he repeated evenly. “It’s good to see you awake.” Merlin maintained an air of total disinterest, trying to conceal his panic at the ease with which Arthur had been enchanted. Was his protection wearing off somehow? Did it not work on magic? He couldn’t resist looking sideways to check on Arthur and the man smiled unpleasantly.

“I thought you’d catch that,” he said softly. “Found a loophole, didn’t we? I figured you’d done something to him, given…events in the clearing. Very inconvenient it seemed as well, given we were initially going to sell his head to the highest bidder.” Merlin fought to keep his expression even. “But lucky for both of you, your power is worth more. I thought you’d ward him against magic, myself, but even if the idiot that hit him had a bit of magic, he didn’t use it to inflict the injury and it was certainly,” – his lip curled – “an effective counterattack. So non-harmful magic seems to be the only thing he’s not protected from, actually. It doesn’t actually hurt him, see?”

Merlin glanced at Arthur, who, he had to admit, looked pretty much fine. (Didn’t he always, a faraway, sexually frustrated part of Merlin’s brain noted glumly.) Apart from the blood at his hairline, he looked good, up to and including the look of murderous rage on his face. Merlin thought it was kind of hot. He dragged his eyes away from Arthur’s chest with some regret.

“Very clever. But if you’ve figured out you can’t hurt him, why are we still here? You must know your chances of getting me to fight for you aren’t good,” Merlin said apologetically.

“Who said we wanted you to fight for us?” the man said. “Fighting implies battles, plans, weeks at war. Sides of near-equal strength, winners and losers. No, Emrys. We want you to destroy for us.” Merlin made no effort to hide his disgust.

“Also unlikely, I’m afraid. I won’t say I’ve never killed anyone,” – God, was he to have any secrets left by the end of this? - “But never anyone who wasn’t trying to kill me. Or him, I suppose,” he nodded towards Arthur without dropping his gaze. “And, now that you mention it, just to be clear? Based on your performance in the clearing and what you’ve just told me? You’re now on that list, and it’s fucking unlikely I’ll be letting it slide.”

Merlin gave a grim smile, and Morgana and Gwen exchanged a glance at the poorly-concealed promise of pain within it. Arthur was momentarily thrown enough to stop struggling against his invisible bonds, but visibly filed this new information away for later and instead nodded importantly at their captor, in a ‘so there’ kind of fashion. The man seemed unfazed, inclining his head slightly.

“And a terrible threat that would be, Emrys, if you had your magic at your disposal.” Merlin raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “And,” he continued, “If I didn’t have two other pieces of leverage in the room.” He gestured towards Gwen and Morgana and searched Merlin’s face, waiting for a reaction. He got none.

“I really wouldn’t,” was all Merlin said, mind working frantically. Had he done it wrong? Or could the fact that the spell covered all three of them possibly have gone unnoticed by this dolt?

“Are they going to best me, then?” the man said, amused.

“They might,” Merlin said vaguely. He decided the mechanics of this particular stupidity were, ultimately, unimportant in the face of the opportunity. The man just frowned, and barked two names in the direction of the door. Two large men appeared and flanked him. Merlin wondered idly if there was some kind of cut-out wall all mercenaries had to Not Fit Through to be admitted into the club. The first man held eye contact with Merlin as he said,

“Break her fingers.” Merlin still didn’t react. He hadn’t seen it the first time, but if what Morgana had said was true…

“Which one?” one of the new guys asked.

“Doesn’t matter.” The new guys shrugged, and one moved to hold Morgana’s arms behind her back while the other struggled to force Gwen to hold her arm out straight, earning a kick in the shin and an elbow to the ribs in the process. He backed her against the wall and held her arm in one hand and one of her fingers in the other.

The leader was watching Merlin closely with some suspicion. His expression shifted. The exact unpleasant possibility that Merlin was hoping for began to occur to him and he opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the one holding Gwen panicked, or lost patience. He wrenched her little finger back.

Several things happened at once. There was an unpleasant snap, and Gwen screamed. The leader, distracted, whirled around. Arthur stumbled where he stood, as the spell fell away with the caster’s focus. Within a second, the unfortunate individual who had done the finger breaking was thrown across the cell to the wall, and another, much more sickening crack followed the thud of him hitting the ground. A beat. He shrieked.

Merlin watched with interest as the thug clutched his arm, bellowing instantly when it only hurt more. Merlin, who thought this could’ve been avoided with just a smidge more wit and less propensity for breaking fingers, felt he was decidedly not to blame for that second scream. Not that he had felt much sympathy for the first. The room fell silent apart from harsh breathing interspersed with moans of pain.

Their captor looked at Merlin, furious. With a hissed incantation, he immobilised Arthur again where he had been creeping along the wall to the door. Arthur grunted in frustration. Merlin just tried to look as innocent as possible, shrugging and spreading his hands as far as he could.

Mistake. He was yanked forward by the chain between the cuffs, stumbling and almost falling as he was led out of the room. The snivelling heap on the floor followed, held up by his rather embarrassed-looking colleague. Morgana, Gwen and Arthur stared at the door as it banged shut and the lock turned. Arthur fell to the ground, free of the spell again. He got to his feet and looked uncertainly at the others, fists still clenched at his sides.

“What now?”

Merlin kept his expression blank and his mouth shut as he was dragged along the corridor, even as his head pounded and his legs started to shake. He risked a glance behind and saw, to his satisfaction, the two henchmen keeping a very obvious distance from him as they followed. The leader, feeling Merlin turn, turned as well and gestured irritably for them to leave.

They avoided Merlin’s amused gaze as they slunk off, the one with the broken arm still making little whimpering noises. The one holding Merlin’s chain jerked him along impatiently until they reached an inconspicuous wooden door, which he knocked. He didn’t look at Merlin, his jaw clenching and unclenching. An attractive, brown-skinned older woman opened the door, a bored expression on her face.

“Cillian?” Merlin made a mental note of that for later. He had noticed, over years of threatening people, that apparent omniscience always made them piss their pants even more than the magic. Also, it was just good manners to know the name of the man you fully intended to - at the very least - bring a building down on. He was momentarily distracted imagining the neat little pile of rubble he would leave, but the subject of the daydream interrupted it by speaking.

“Our guest is being uncooperative. His magic is weakened, as you can see, but it’s not fully cut off.” The woman who had answered the door looked sharply at Merlin, then seemed to let her eyes unfocus and drift to the space around his body. She nodded.

“Yes, I see it. There’s something in particular. Something he’s still maintaining? It’s taking a lot of energy, whatever it is,” she added. Cillian made a face.

“We thought it was the protective enchantment on the Pendragon kid, but it seems it’s on all three of the others.” The woman raised an eyebrow.

“Just protection?” she asked.

“No,” Cillian admitted. “It has some…disproportionate effects on the attacker. I’ve lost one man already and another has a broken arm in return for a broken finger.”

“I see. That’s a lot of power to be holding onto,” she said, somewhat doubtfully.

“He’s doing it. You didn’t see him without the cuffs, Mira. It’s him. It has to be.”

“Very well. What do you need me for?”

“Our leverage is gone. We can’t use them to convince this one to work for us.” Merlin forgot entirely his plan to stay meek and silent and turned to look at him, incredulous.

“Work? Did you plan to pay me, then? How are the holidays? Because Arthur is a terrible employer, I’m sure I could be –” The woman’s mouth curled in impatience, and she reached out to Merlin’s face with a finger, eyes strangely empty again.

He closed his mouth and recoiled, but not fast enough, and she reached for his jaw with a feather-light touch. Merlin’s body seized as a jolt of power ran through him, and he fell to his knees, gasping. Cillian hauled him up by the chain with disgust.

“Like I said, he needs persuading,” he continued as though Merlin had never spoken. “Or you can break the spell on his companions. Either way. Try to leave him in one piece, Mira.” She sniffed and stepped back from the door. Cillian shoved him across the threshold with enough force that Merlin’s legs couldn’t hold him and he went crashing to the ground, wheezing as his ribs added a few choice notes to the symphony the rest of his body was merrily playing. Cillian turned on his heel and left without a word. Mira squatted down beside him and examined him again as he tried to slow his breathing. She sighed, expression still neutral.

“He doesn’t understand,” she began. “Not everyone can be persuaded. I see it in your eyes that you won’t be convinced.” Her face flickered, and for a moment she looked almost sorry. Merlin avoided her unsettling gaze. What was this woman? She sat back and eyed him. “So, Emrys. Let’s see if we can’t loosen your grip on that spell.” She reached out.

Several hours later, Merlin pressed his face into the stone floor as he tried to remember how to breathe, how to think past the pain. His breath came in short gasps, and in his blurred vision he saw Mira approach again. He flinched, instinctively, but all she did was pull him upright with surprising strength and lean him against the wall before retreating to the opposite side of the room.

“How –” he stopped, licked his lips, “What are you doing to me?” He prayed she would talk, or let him ramble on, or ignore him or anything but keep hurting him. She considered him, then leaned back and crossed her arms.

“I’m like Cillian. I can see magic. He relies on runes and… objects,” – her gaze caught on the cuffs, briefly, - “I prefer the hands on approach.” Even given his current level of coherence, Merlin felt that this was not really an answer.

She looked him in the eye, briefly, and sighed, seeing his confusion. “I can see, when I really look, the way your magic moves in and around you, as weak as you are. Which is not as weak as you should be, by the way. I know it’s hard to tell past his general demeanour, but Cillian’s particularly unhappy his little toys haven’t managed to break that spell you’re holding on three people at once.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Merlin offered, a little concerned at the slurred quality of the words.

“Yes, well. His specialty is only locking magic up. I look at the bigger picture, interfere in just the right place. Interrupt the flow, disrupt the pathways, force it back on itself.” Something must have shown on Merlin’s face as his mind raced. “Yes, it’s your own magic that’s causing you pain. Funny thing, isn’t it? I suppose it’s hard to tell, with the cuffs. I hear it’s uncomfortable.” She said all this with the complete detachment of someone discussing the weather in a foreign country. Now that he thought about it, his hands were prickling, tiny needles pulsing in his wrists. He supposed torture was a fair excuse for failing to notice, but tried to focus more. Mira pushed off the wall and looked down at him.

“All that power,” she said, almost to herself. “And you use it to protect a Pendragon. To protect humans.”

“I’m human.”

“Are you?” she asked, seeming genuinely interested. Merlin didn’t know what to say to that. She pursed her lips, as though it was something of a bother to get back to the recruitment spiel. “We wouldn’t ask you to do anything difficult, you know. Nothing messy. No inflicting pain. Just –” she clicked her fingers. Merlin looked at her disbelievingly.

“Forgive me if I find indiscriminate death and destruction an unappealing prospect.” She didn’t seem bothered, just hauled him to his feet to stare at him some more, her eyes unfocusing slightly. Merlin felt distinctly as though she was looking through his clothes, although he supposed it was much worse, really.

Her eyes drifted to the space around his shoulders and neck, and she reached out as if in a dream, curled her fingers around thin air, and pulled. Merlin gasped. He felt something stretch, and desperately shoved down the feeling of invasion to hold onto whatever it was with all he had. She let go, disappointed. Merlin was dimly aware he was crying.

“You don’t even understand what you are, do you?” she said wonderingly and with some disapproval, the most inflection Merlin had ever heard from her. She shook her head, steered him towards the door and knocked. The henchmen with full use of both arms stood there, tensed, but relaxed at the sight of Merlin barely standing on his own.

“Finished?” the man said hopefully, addressing Mira.

“No,” she said sharply. “Take him back to wherever they were keeping him. I can’t push any further today without damaging him.” Merlin had gathered his wits enough to register this comment and thought, bitterly, that he felt pretty fucking damaged. For one of the first times in his life, however, he kept his mouth shut as he was grabbed roughly and the door shut behind him.

Chapter Text

On the floor of the cell, Arthur grunted and shifted his weight.

“Can you see anything?” he said.

“Trees,” Morgana said gloomily. “Trees and more trees.” Arthur sighed and rolled his shoulders, almost unbalancing Morgana from where she stood on his back. She swore and held onto the bars in the tiny window, then accepted Gwen’s hand and stepped down gracefully, glaring at Arthur. He stood up, examining the dirt on his hands with disgust. Gwen showed Morgana the dirt on her hand just from helping her down and they raised eyebrows at each other. While Arthur was dusting off the knees of his trousers, they moved swiftly to wipe their hands on his shirt.

“Thank you, Morgana, really,” he said, twisting around to try and inspect the damage.

“Oh, don’t be such a girl, Arthur.” They stood in a circle.

“Is there really nothing out there that helps us?” 

Morgana shook her head. “It looks…forgotten. I didn’t even see any other structures, so either it’s all through that door or out the other side. I didn’t hear a river or anything, either.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair, remembered the dirt on his hands halfway through, scowled and crossed his arms.

“Will the knights be able to find us?” Gwen said.

“Did it seem like they were being careful when they brought us here?” Arthur asked. They thought about it.

“They changed direction a lot. Arbitrarily, I mean. More to confuse us than anything, I expect. But I never saw anyone try to hide the trail.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“But won’t it just take them longer to find us, then?” Gwen pointed out.

“Yeah, well,” Arthur said. “Waiting game, and all that.” Prepared this time, all three stiffened and turned their heads to the door at the sound of approaching footsteps. The door slammed open, Merlin was unceremoniously dumped through the opening, and it slammed shut again.

The footsteps receded. Nobody moved. Merlin groaned. The other three let out a simultaneous breath. Merlin turned onto his back with some difficulty and lay there. Arthur snapped into motion, moving to kneel at Merlin’s head and anxiously tracing his fingers over his face. Finding only an eye beginning to swell, his hand stilled and came to rest on Merlin’s cheek. 

Merlin opened his eyes. “There you are,” he said. Arthur snorted, relieved, and leaned over to touch his forehead to Merlin’s, briefly. Morgana and Gwen made cooing noises, and without a word Merlin and Arthur flipped them off simultaneously. Merlin laughed, then winced. He gestured impatiently and Arthur pulled him upright, looking around the cell for the best place to put him. In the end, he sat himself against the nearest wall and pulled Merlin to sit back against his chest, where he sat quietly for a moment, before:

“Fuck my life,” he said conversationally. “No really, genuinely, fuck it.” Too late, he saw the opportunity he had left open. 

Arthur smirked. “Well, we all know you have no life outside of me, so technically –”

“Fuck you, Arthur.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m –” Merlin sighed heavily, brought slightly shaking hands up to his face in (mostly) mock despair, and, when Arthur was distracted enough by concern, elbowed him in the ribs.

“Merlin, you look a lot worse than when you left,” Gwen said, ignoring this exchange entirely.

“Torture is bad for you, it seems.”

“What did they do, where are you hurt? Why aren’t you bleeding?” Arthur said rapidly and with suspicion.

“Nowhere. Everywhere. I’m not?” Merlin frowned. “Oh, ribs, I guess. I fell. And eye. Me and my big mouth,” he added before Arthur could ask. Arthur muttered his lack of surprise, but didn’t fully relax.

“You fell?” Morgana said shrewdly.

“Alright, shoved without sufficient warning. Same result,” Merlin said.

“You were gone for ages. That can’t be it.”

“Never said it was. Nothing else physical. Or visible, I guess.”

“You’re being vague, stop stalling.”

“There was – this woman – she – my magic,” Merlin trailed off, then shook his head and started again. “There’s a woman. She did something to my magic. Hurt it. Hurt me. She was trying to break the thing, the –”

“Gruesome, vengeful protective spell?” Gwen offered.

“That’s the one. Apparently I’m actively maintaining it without really thinking about it. She said I didn’t understand my own magic,” he added, a little indignantly.

“Do you?” Morgana asked.

“Mostly!” he said defensively. “I don’t need to understand everything about it to use it, do I?”

“Story of your life,” Arthur muttered.

“Are they trying to take your magic, do you think?” Morgana continued.

“God, no. Not possible. I don’t think. I fucking hope not, anyway, thanks for those future nightmares.” 

Arthur gave Morgana a look. “I think Merlin is enough of a liability in charge of his own power, let’s not tempt fate.” 

She held up her hands. “Then what did she do to it?”

“She said she could see it? Like Cillian. The one who –” Merlin held up the cuffs for the others’ benefit and they nodded. “She said she could see how it flows and connects, or something. Enough to stick her grubby little fingers in and fuck with it, anyway.” A shadow passed over his face at the memory.

“We’re still protected, though?”

“God, Morgana, could you be any more self-centred?” Arthur said.

“Yeah, she had to stop before she damaged me, apparently. I think I have a follow up appointment tomorrow.” Merlin tried for a grin, but it fell flat.

“This is you before she damaged you?” Gwen said, horrified.

“Preaching to the choir, Guinevere. What did you do while I was gone, anyway?” he said, trying to look up at Arthur.

“Went over every inch of the cell. Twice. Checked the door more than that. Looked out the window. Played the world’s shortest game of I Spy,” Arthur said. 

Merlin looked disappointed. “You would have led with a secret tunnel or a weapons cache, right?” 

Arthur patted his arm consolingly. “You’ll be the first to know. How’s your magic after being –”

“Fingered?” Merlin asked innocently, grinning at the identical expressions of disgust on Gwen and Morgana’s faces. He sobered. “Not sure.” He held a hand up in front of his face and Arthur immediately grabbed it, but Merlin shook his head. “Not trying it, just checking the cuffs.” Arthur’s grip loosened, but he left his hand on Merlin’s forearm to steady it. Merlin peered at the cuff on his left hand, then ran the fingers of his right over the runes. He hummed.

“Our luck may be changing,” he observed after a moment, surprised.

“Is it back?”

“Not exactly, but I think some light torture might have actually sped up the process of the runes fading.” Morgana leaned over to inspect for herself, appropriating his right hand while Arthur poked at the left. “Don’t mind me,” Merlin said drily.

“I see no difference,” Morgana accused. “There still aren’t any gaps. Are you trying to make us feel better?”

“No, he’s right,” Arthur said. “They’re still there, but they’re getting shallower. They look the same, but feel different. It’s like his magic is pushing them out of the metal.”

“But he can’t do any –” 

Merlin interrupted her. “Mira used my own magic against me, so technically it’s been very active when it shouldn’t have been. She’s actually saved me a lot of time,” he said, something like approval in his voice.

“There’s something very wrong with you,” Arthur said unhappily.

As the sky took on a pink hue and the faint sounds of the forest quieted, they waited. Eventually a little hatch in the door opened, making them all jump, and bread and a pail of water were pushed through. It closed without a glimpse of the other side. Arthur, who had tensed the moment it opened, pounced on the bread, claiming one sad-looking loaf and breaking it in half. He lobbed the bigger half in Merlin’s direction, where it bounced off his chest. He gave Arthur a look. 

“Not my fault you can’t catch.” Merlin narrowed his eyes but picked up the bread and tore a corner off it. He licked it suspiciously, then shrugged and popped it in his mouth.

“That could be poisoned,” Morgana noted from the opposite wall, tone light.

“Possibly something you could’ve mentioned before I ate it,” Merlin said, still chewing. The bread was putting up a good fight.

“No guarantee it would’ve stopped you,” Arthur muttered. Merlin decided the time had come to ignore Arthur, but having suffered through another bite of the bread he found himself looking longingly at the water. Arthur followed his gaze and rolled his eyes, but immediately retrieved a cup and came to sit beside him. Merlin reached out for the cup, but Arthur pulled it away irritably.

“Your hands are shaking, let me.”

“Absolutely not, give it here.”

“It’ll go everywhere, I know you need a bath, but now is hardly the time.”

“If anyone in this room needs a –”

“Merlin! Just shut up and let me do this for you.” Hearing something in Arthur’s tone, he turned to look at him and immediately cursed himself for not realising what was going on. Arthur looked more upset than Merlin had seen him in a long time, desperately holding his gaze, pleading with him. Merlin relented.

“Only because I’m thirsty.” Arthur relaxed a fraction.

“Of course, your highness.” He raised the cup to Merlin’s lips and let him sip the lukewarm water slowly. Merlin nodded when he was done and Arthur sat back, watching him for a second before returning to the bucket.

Morgana and Gwen had split their loaf much more neatly and were chewing it with near identical expressions of disgust. When they had all finished they sat quietly. Arthur shifted out from the wall and without a word, lay his head down on Merlin’s lap. Merlin absentmindedly laid a hand on his chest and Arthur held it there.

Merlin could feel himself drifting off, his head nodding to his chest then snapping up again. Morgana and Gwen had tilted towards each other, their heads touching. Arthur stared at the ceiling.

“Go to sleep, Merlin,” he said tiredly, as Merlin jerked awake for the fourth time in half an hour. Merlin blinked furiously and bit down hard on his tongue to wake himself up.

“Not yet,” was all he said, but he knew Arthur understood. Arthur nodded and raised Merlin’s hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across his knuckles. He closed his eyes but kept a firm grip on Merlin’s hand, the tension never fully leaving his body.

Merlin let his head tilt back against the wall a little harder than necessary. He would really prefer not to wake everyone up coming out of a nightmare about having the most essential part of him laid bare and poked around in. The nightmares never lasted long, but the first night or two after whatever the latest horror had been were always a bit rough. On those nights, he did in fact know how to use that soundproofing spell of Gaius’s.

He ran through the day in his head, firmly closing the door to Mira’s room but replaying the corridors and corners he’d seen over and over until he had to admit there was nothing helpful lurking in his memory. There had to be a way out, of course there did, but even locating it wasn’t much use without his magic to get there. He glanced at Arthur, who seemed to have fallen asleep at last, the crease between his eyebrows smoothed out and his breathing slow and deep.

His hand was still firmly clamped over Merlin’s on his chest, and he wasn’t such a deep sleeper that Merlin wanted to risk extracting it. Morgana and Gwen were asleep too, and even in the dim light of the moon Merlin could make out a little frown on Morgana’s face.

Overall, Merlin felt distinctly less dead than he had done upon his unceremonious return to the cell. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well pull his weight and continue where Mira had left off, forcing his magic through the cuffs. Careful not to jostle Arthur, he raised his free left hand in front of him and reached for the usually-steady thrum of power beneath the surface.

Sluggish and unhappy, his magic reluctantly responded to create a tiny, flickering ball of blue light. Merlin held it for as long as he could, his wrists prickling madly, then let it go and tried to disguise his slightly heavy breathing. Compared to before, there was almost no pain at the simple use of magic, but it was still draining and required more effort to access and coax into being than he had ever known.

Breathing returned to normal, he tried again. And again. And again. Eventually he held a dim little ball of light for maybe twenty seconds before his fingers spasmed and he let it drop, biting off a hiss of discomfort. He flexed his hand and wished, not for the first time, for some real daylight to check the cuffs by. He glanced over to the other side of the room automatically, and was surprised to lock eyes with Morgana, who was watching him closely, wide awake and with an unreadable expression on her face.

He smiled weakly, and she held his gaze for a moment before closing her eyes and settling back against Gwen. Merlin felt oddly guilty, but couldn’t place why. He had, after all, already outed himself in a much more spectacular fashion the previous day and she’d assured him she was fine with the magic. He put her strangely calculating gaze out of his mind and, exhausted, closed his eyes at last, the steady beat of Arthur’s heart beneath his palm lulling him into an uneasy sleep.

The darkness of the cell turned slowly to a washed-out grey as the sky reluctantly lightened outside. Merlin jerked awake from a dream of Mira. Arthur shot upright at the motion, looking wildly around and relaxing only when his gaze landed back on Merlin. Merlin, who was staring determinedly at the tiny window, lips pressed tightly together and breathing deliberately slowed but still shallow. Arthur’s jaw clenched and he shuffled around to sit beside him again, pressing as much of himself as possible to Merlin’s side. After a minute or two, Merlin exhaled and nudged Arthur’s leg with his own.

“Morning, prat,” he said softly, as if nothing had happened and they were back in Arthur’s chambers after a night of adventurous sex instead of in a mouldy cell. Arthur blinked slowly and emerged from his statue impression to turn and cup Merlin’s face, pressing his lips to his with neither finesse nor heat, just the desire to know he was there. Merlin kissed back, relaxing into it. Gwen cleared her throat.

“While this is actually the classiest thing I’ve caught you doing, there are other people in the room,” she said drily. Merlin pulled away, touching his forehead against Arthur’s for a moment before turning to face her. Arthur beat him to it.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve caught him doing?” he asked, intrigued. Merlin gave Gwen a stern look and she shook her head, Morgana looking amused beside her.

“Sworn to secrecy, sire.” Arthur looked deeply disappointed.

“Someday I’ll find out all your dirty little secrets, Merlin.”

“You’ve seen all my dirty little secrets, my lord.” Arthur snorted.

All four looked to the door as it slammed open yet again, no longer surprised at the intrusion. Three new extraordinarily large henchmen strode in, and one gestured at Merlin.

“Let’s go,” he said. Merlin rolled his eyes, but started to move, wincing at the stiffness in his joints. He really had gotten too used to sleeping in Arthur’s bed. Arthur, having beaten him to stand up, helped him the rest of the way. When Merlin was upright, Arthur’s stance tensed in an extremely unsubtle way and he threw himself at the guard.

The first caught him and swung him off into the arms of the others with the ease of a man swatting a fly. Arthur kicked and struggled, but was held fast, the three of them forming a wall between Merlin and the girls. They were careful not to actually hurt him, restraining him as little as they could and absorbing the blows he managed to land before he settled down, fuming. Losing patience, the first one grabbed the back of Merlin’s shirt and steered him towards the door, pausing for a moment to look at Arthur and the others.

“Hurt them and he dies,” he said to Arthur, who paled and stilled. His captors slowly let go of him. With a rough jerk, Merlin was yanked the rest of the way to the door. He risked a turn at the last moment and met Arthur’s eyes, wide and panicked. He blew a kiss and Arthur’s mouth quirked up. Gwen gave a weak smile from the corner. Grunting in frustration, Merlin’s chaperone forced him out of the cell and the sounds of Arthur starting to rant faded as they walked the corridor.

Even expecting it, Merlin stiffened as they approached Mira’s door. He could hear raised voices from within and listened more closely.

“- isn’t something you can do in a day, not without killing him,” he heard Mira say irritably.

“Find a way. The idiots on scouting last night have only just returned, and they’ve heard rumours Camelot knights are in the area.”

“You should’ve just killed him and used the Pendragons, I told you it was a mistake to bring them all here.”

“You know what he is, what he’s worth.”

“I know what you think he is, and  I know he’s not worth bringing Camelot down on our heads when we still can’t touch the others.”

“That’s what you’re for, is it not? If you don’t break the spell we end up with nothing.”

“It’s not up to me, he’s –”

“You remember what you owe me, Mira, and you make it happen. Today,” Cillian snapped. Merlin’s tour guide thumped on the door and Cillian wrenched it open, furious, but nodded at the sight of Merlin. He grabbed him by the upper arm and threw him into the room’s only chair. He pointed between him and Mira. “Break it.” He left.

Mira’s mouth was a hard line, and she glared at the door for a moment before returning to face Merlin. Merlin always could spot an opportunity to talk, and he decided to take it,

“You don’t have to do this,” he said immediately. “You can help me. You can get out of here.” She scoffed.

“And go where? Camelot? My people are gone, there is no place for me out there.”

“You don’t have to be this, you can be someone else.” She raised her eyebrows a fraction of an inch.

“Oh, Emrys. You misunderstand. I may not share Cillian’s goals, and I certainly don’t agree that you’re worth the danger you put us in, but he’s not forcing me to be who I am.”

“Then why?”

“What else am I for?” she asked. “Why would I be given this gift, this sight, if not to use it in the interest of the magic I cannot command? I serve magic, and it does not serve Uther Pendragon.”

“Neither do I, I fucking hate –”

“And yet,” she spoke over him, “You protect his blood with your life.” Merlin said nothing. “We’re wasting time,” she announced. Merlin flinched away as she reached out, her palm to his chest.

“You don’t have to –” he tried one last time.

“I know,” she said softly, waiting until Merlin met her eyes. “But I want to.”

Merlin sucked in a panicked breath too late, and then the world exploded behind his eyelids. His heart stuttered out of rhythm and every muscle in his body pulled taut, straining against the feeling of violation. His mind blanked, the only sound a choked, desperate noise he didn’t even realise he was making. She pulled her hand away and he came back to himself, aching and disoriented, his magic surging and flickering beneath the surface. The cuffs were hot on his wrists.

“Let it go, Emrys,” she said. “If you die holding onto this, your friends are dead anyway. If you just let it go, they might even live.” Merlin found this less than reassuring. He liked his ultimatums to be definite.

“So they can be tortured in front of me as you use my magic to kill people? Pass,” he panted. She frowned, and traced the outline of his upper body with her eyes, hovering a hand beside his shoulder.

“This helps no-one,” she said almost sadly. “You’re only hurting yourself. You can’t do anything but hold onto that spell and it’s still powerful enough to,” - she clenched her fist, just grazing the fabric of his shirt and he moaned - “Sting,” she finished.  Merlin could feel his magic swirling unhappily, sending aftershocks down his spine. He shook where he sat.

“Just let it go,” she urged. Merlin couldn’t think clearly, distracted by sparks of magic all through his body.

“I don’t know how, I don’t know how,” he said. She smiled, and reached for his head with both her hands, one on each side. She closed her eyes.

“Like this,” she whispered. Merlin had a moment of awareness before his head split open with pain, his heartbeat racing out of control. Finally too much, he bucked wildly to get away from whatever she was doing and fell to the floor, landing heavily on his shoulder. The moment of pain stretched and snapped and he gasped as the pressure in his head released. His wrists burned. He turned to his other side with difficulty and threw up. He lay there, panting, tears rolling off his nose.

He brought an arm up beside him to push himself up, but it collapsed under the slightest weight. The chair scraped and Mira’s shoes came into view as she walked around in front of him. They were blurry and indistinct as Merlin’s eyes fluttered, finally landing on the only thing in focus. The cuff on his left wrist.

Dull, smooth and unmarked.

Chapter Text

Merlin couldn’t take his eyes off the cuff, even as his pulse throbbed in his head and he dimly realised that Mira was making her way around him. His thoughts were jumbled, half-formed ideas colliding and bouncing off each other, the smooth surface of the cuff the only clear and constant image.

Mira crouched down by his head. It seemed like too much effort to shift his gaze from his wrist, so he didn’t. She cocked her head and opened her mouth, but paused and frowned at a pounding on the door. She clicked her tongue impatiently, but rose and stepped over Merlin to open it.

“What?”

“Is it done?”

“Not yet. It won’t be long, though. Look at him. Tomorrow at the latest.”

Cillian made a frustrated noise and Merlin heard him shift. “No. It’s over. We’re out of time, the reports of Camelot knights have just been confirmed. We need to leave. Kill him.” There was a pause. Merlin was sure that this silence was as much surprise as Mira would show, if she was surprised at all.

“Do it yourself,” she said dispassionately. “And I told you so.” She left without another word.

Cillian snarled, stomping into the room and kicking Merlin none-too-gently in the back. He made a disgusted noise at the puddle of sick and grabbed him roughly by the upper arm.

“Come on,” he said. Merlin didn’t yet have the coherence for a witty response, or indeed any response, and stayed silent as he was yanked half-upright, the world spinning. He tasted blood on his lips and assumed his nose was bleeding, but it seemed unimportant, in the grand scheme of things.

The world settled slowly into the correct perspective as they passed into the corridor and, his legs still not really holding him, Merlin shut his eyes. He reached cautiously for his magic, repressing an instinctive flinch at anticipated pain. There was something there, skittish and volatile, but there. His eyes drifted open, flecked with gold. He smiled, teeth bloody.

As they neared the end of the corridor Merlin had never been to, his shaking legs grew steadier beneath him, body and mind carefully renewing their truce. Almost upright, now, he stumbled only occasionally. The door flew open and suddenly they were outside, Merlin blinking as the light and fresh air hit him.

He compulsively checked his magic every few seconds, afraid he was imagining it, half-expecting to feel only emptiness or pain every time he reached. With increasing sureness, and the occasional unpredictable surge of power, it responded, every time. He waited, though, determined not to risk it sputtering out before he had the others. And before he could ruin this prick’s life, he thought grimly. The returning coherence and relief had brought with them a rising tide of rage, and he let it fill him up, relishing in the clarity it brought.

They crossed an open space of overgrown grass and debris towards a ramshackle outhouse-stable structure. To Merlin’s quiet satisfaction, Cillian was getting twitchier by the second, looking over his shoulder and into the surrounding woods every few steps, only relaxing when they passed through the open wall of the outhouse into relative shelter.

He discarded Merlin onto the straw and dirt covered floor and Merlin hissed as his knees took all of his weight. He held his hands in close to his body, resisting the urge to splay his hands out in front of him and draw unnecessary attention to the cuffs.

He closed his eyes and did another quick probe of his magic, and it jumped to his fingertips, forgetting the memory of binding and pain more quickly than Merlin himself would be able to. He heard a scuffle from behind and turned to see Morgana, Gwen and Arthur being led out towards him, fighting every step of the way. Their hands and feet were tied, but Arthur got in a lucky shot with his head and his personal goon growled and raised a hand, seemingly forgetting the spell. Cillian remembered, though.

“Stop,” he said calmly but loudly. They stopped. Arthur’s eyes landed on Merlin and widened.

“Merlin –” he said, looking him up and down, panicked. Merlin didn’t know what he looked like but he acknowledged that, even magic restored, he felt pretty bad. He tried for a smile, remembering too late the taste of blood in his mouth when Arthur’s face grew even more concerned. Arthur started to fight his captor again, but again Cillian sighed and called out to him directly.

“Pendragon.” Arthur paused. “The more you struggle, the faster he dies.” He gestured towards Merlin. Arthur looked briefly furious, then looked at Merlin again, who shrugged, aiming for casual.

“Decided I’m too much trouble, apparently,” he said. Arthur snorted.

“I knew that the minute I met you, what took them so long?” he replied automatically. Merlin grinned, forgetting for a moment where they were.

He was abruptly reminded by Cillian’s hand on his head, tightening painfully in his hair as he forced his head back and exposed his neck. Merlin swallowed reflexively. Cillian took a knife from his belt. Arthur’s face dropped.

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” he spat, visibly fighting the urge to take his chances against the man holding him.

“Who’s going to stop me?” Cillian said, almost amused. “You?”

Merlin took stock of his situation calmly. He figured now was as good a time as any. He relaxed in Cillian’s grip and pulled at the magic thrumming in his veins, a little concerned by how quickly and violently it came to the surface, bubbling and potent after so long locked up. He was still so absurdly relieved to have it back, having never gone without it for a second since the day he was born.

Maybe it was just because he had heard Mira explain it, but he could swear he could feel the connections, the flow for the first time. The gap in the world’s magic he hadn’t even noticed before is filled again as the power flowed not just in and around his body, but into the air above him and the very soil, Albion’s magic deep in the earth greeting his, welcoming it back.

He opened his eyes as Cillian gripped his hair tighter. He looked at Arthur. He knew his eyes were golden, but Arthur confirmed it, mouth falling open ever so slightly. Merlin winked, and it hurt his bruised face, but the corners of Arthur’s mouth tugged up for the first time in days and it didn’t matter at all. He held Arthur’s gaze, took a deep breath, and let it go.

Faster than should have been humanly possible, he was up, twisting away from Cillian and the knife, which he sent clanging into the stone wall of the stable with barely a thought. Cillian gaped for a second, but instinctively swung at Merlin and tried to incant something. Merlin caught his fist easily, and said a spell of his own that left Cillian choking and gasping for air with no chance to complete his incantation. He staggered back away from Merlin, eyes wide.

The cuff on Merlin’s right hand snapped free of the chain and split in two, the pieces falling to the straw with a muffled sound. The other cuff followed it with only a second’s delay, and the chain hovered in the air for a moment before starting itself to disintegrate. Merlin held out a hand and stopped the pieces mid-air, then closed his fist. The chain reformed, glowing where the links joined with each other again. He reached out and trailed a finger along it.

Cillian was still clawing at his throat uselessly and trying to back away. He made it another step or two, but with a sharp look to the side and a jerk of his head, Merlin sent a large nail flying through the air to embed itself in his right foot. He screamed and went down on one knee. Merlin watched.

“Kill him!” Cillian yelled, voice rasping, as he looked desperately off to his right. Merlin looked around, interested in a detached kind of way to see just who he believed could carry out this (last) order. He was disappointed to see several more nondescript men emerging from the main structure, some of them no older than boys.

He felt a sort of pity for them, reading the hesitation and fear in their faces. They knew they couldn’t win, not like this. Cillian shouted the order again, and Merlin frowned at the noise. His eyes glowed in Cillian’s direction and the sound was abruptly cut off by the reformed chain wrapping itself around his throat.

Merlin turned back to face the new arrivals, who continued to hesitate, but unfortunately decided to try to rush him in a moment of misguided bravery. They ran towards him and he splayed a hand, eyes having not even turned back to normal yet, and splayed his hand. He met one of their eyes, briefly, young and afraid, before the ground split with an almighty crack and the whole row of them fell in.

There was silence, broken only by Cillian’s wheezing. Merlin didn’t look at him, instead noting with satisfaction that the others had taken advantage of the confusion to get the better of their minders. Arthur was kneeling on the back of one of them, the length of rope between his wrists now around the other man’s neck. Morgana and Gwen had obviously succeeded in forcing theirs to hurt them, so while Gwen had a bloody nose and Morgana a split lip, the henchmen in question had been thrown a good six feet, one unconscious and one trying to crawl away.

Merlin faced Cillian again, who had managed to get the fingers of one hand under the chain around his neck and who wheezed out, “What are you?”

Merlin tilted his head.

“You know what I am, Cillian.” A small, distracted part of him was delighted to see the name doing its job as the arsehole paled further. “You knew what I was the second you saw me in that clearing.”

Cillian’s other hand drifted to the ground, groping around for something as if Merlin couldn’t see him. Merlin just tutted and said another phrase. The chain unwound itself swiftly from his neck, but while he was gasping, it split itself neatly into two and each half attached itself to one of his wrists, the other end sinking into the ground, forcing him to balance, hands tied out to his sides.

He pulled on his new restraints frantically while Merlin watched. After a few deep, rasping breaths his wild eyes flickered to behind Merlin and he called out again, this time, “Mira!”

Merlin turned and saw Mira standing by the door across the way. She was the least composed Merlin had ever seen her, grey and drawn. She was staring at him, really staring. He couldn’t imagine what his magic must look like if it felt like it did, overflowing and more powerful than he’d ever known it.

Her hand twitched at her side. Cillian called out to her again and with an irritated flick of Merlin’s hand he was silenced, mouth forming soundless words as he continued to fight to free himself.

A handful more men emerged from behind Mira, dressed differently to Cillian’s men and older, more cautious. They arranged themselves around her automatically.

“Can you see it, Mira? All of it?” Merlin asked.

She jumped, then nodded slowly.

“Then you must also see that you do not ‘serve magic’. Not this magic. You’ve never understood, only hated what you couldn’t command.” She was still. “You don’t deserve your sight,” he continued coldly. “The damage you have done – the people you have hurt – never again.”

“Please, I –” she faltered, the words clearly unfamiliar in her mouth. “Please don’t kill me.”

“I won’t,” Merlin said, calm and terrible, and in one word and harsh gesture, he took her sight.

She fell to her knees, looking wildly for her hands in front of her face with eyes that could no longer see. Her breath came in great panicked gasps and she started to cry, raising a hand to touch the tears and her eyes. Her men looked at her uncertainly, then at Merlin, before deciding to lead her away as quickly as possible. Merlin let them go.

He turned back to Cillian, face blank. Cillian had gone even whiter and stopped pulling at his restraints. Merlin waved a hand impatiently and his voice was restored. It didn’t do him much good. He wasn’t doing a very good job at forming words.

“I – she-”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “You know, I don’t think she ever really gave a fuck about you or your plans. But she tortured people because she could, so.” He paused, coming back to himself a little.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” he said almost sadly. “And neither do I, not really. But I don’t subjugate what I don’t understand. You can’t own magic, no matter how well you think you can bind it up.” Merlin turned to walk away, then thought better of it.

“What you had her to do me –” he broke off and composed himself. “I imagine you don’t know how that feels.” Cillian’s eyes were wide. “I’d like you to.”

With a shudder, Merlin called up the remembered agony and held it in his mind, giving it shape and then direction. He placed a hand on Cillian’s forehead as he tried to move away, howling as he jostled the nail in his foot. Merlin focused hard and sent a copy of the sensations down his arm directly to Cillian’s mind. Cillian’s eyes glowed gold for a brief second, and he stopped breathing. Then he started screaming.

Behind Merlin, Gwen, Morgana and Arthur exchanged horrified looks. Merlin withdrew his hand and shook it out.

“I told you I wouldn’t let this go,” he said softly. He blinked started to walk away, then brightened a little. He abruptly remembered his plans to bring something structurally sound down on Cillian, and turned back around to face him. He raised an arm, noting distantly that it was still shaking as exhaustion crept into the edges of his mind.

He focused. His eyes glowed gold. The earth began to shake, tools falling from the walls of the outhouse and stone crumbling behind him. He raised his hand slightly and prepared to bring it down, but a strong hand suddenly gripped his forearm, a familiar ring on the forefinger. Arthur.

He turned to look at Arthur, who was plainly equal parts frightened and determined, and all parts covered in dirt. Merlin smiled at him. Arthur flinched. Merlin’s eyes were pure gold but expressionless.

“Merlin,” he said carefully. “Stop.” Merlin said nothing. Arthur swallowed. “This isn’t you. You don’t have to kill him.” Distantly, the shaking of the earth slowed and stopped. The gold faded from Merlin’s eyes a little but the power still coursed through him, roaring.

“To cage magic like that,” he said softly. “To presume to bind it and pluck at its threads like the strings of a lute. The arrogance, Arthur.”

“I know, Merlin, but-”

“This man is a danger to the balance. To magic itself,” Merlin continued. He spoke as if in a dream, shaking hand still outstretched, Arthur’s hand on his forearm and voice not sounding like his own at all.

“Merlin! For God’s sake!” Merlin blinked, and Arthur continued desperately. “You’re driving him insane, look at him!” Merlin looked, really seeing Cillian for the first time.

He did look insane, his eyes rolling in his head, unseeing, as he cried and shook, body wracked with imagined pain. Merlin nodded and shook his arm from Arthur’s grip and closed his fist, pulling the memory of suffering out of Cillian once more. A sort of mist lifted from his quivering body, and his cries quieted but did not stop.

“Don’t do this,” Arthur repeated, voice shaking.

“He was ready to behead you,” Merlin said calmly, still watching Cillian. “That sounds like treason to me, sire, and I’m something of an expert.”

“Then let him be tried.”

“So he can tell everyone about me? You can really tell you’re new to this, my lord.”

“Merlin,” Gwen interrupted shakily, approaching. “You don’t have to.”

“What will he do if I don’t?” Merlin said.

“That’s not up to you,” she said.

“It can be.” Gwen and Arthur turned to give Morgana identical looks. She shook her head and continued. “Wipe his memories.” Gwen looked thoughtful, but Arthur’s alarm was still plain on his face. Merlin turned around slowly. “If you want him to live, it’s the safest way. Can you do it?” she added, addressing Merlin.

“Yes,” he said simply, considering. He looked to Arthur, who looked conflicted, but eventually shrugged unhappily.

Merlin approached Cillian and with a muttered word put him into a kind of sleep. He was glad of the silence. He reached for his head for the second time, and closed his eyes. After a moment Cillian jerked, then relaxed.

“It’s done,” he said quietly. Cillian opened his eyes, dazed, and looked at them without recognition. Morgana, Gwen and Arthur looked at each other uneasily. Merlin dropped his hand and walked past them, towards the woods. He stopped after a few feet.

“I really did want to do the building,” he muttered to himself. Arthur moved, but before they could stop him he cut a sharp line through the air with his hand, eyes flashing. Arthur whirled around. In the outhouse, a beam creaked ominously, then, breaking at one end, swung and hit Cillian square on the head, knocking him unconscious. All but Merlin winced.

“Close enough,” Merlin said, then abruptly stumbled. Arthur rolled his eyes but rushed to support him. “M’fine, m’fine, just tired,” he mumbled. They stood for a moment.

“Merlin?” Gwen asked cautiously.

“Mm?”

“Where did the…others go? The ones that fell into the ground.”

“No idea,” Merlin admitted tiredly. “Still alive though. Almost definitely.” Gwen nodded slowly and took a deep breath.

“Well, that’s good! Good job,” she said brightly. Morgana and Arthur looked at her incredulously. Merlin fought a tired smile.

“Guinevere, please don't tell me you’re trying to positive-reinforcement me into not being a murderer.”

“Fine, I won’t tell you.”

Morgana opened her mouth, “He already told us he – it might be a little late for –” She stopped at Gwen’s glare. Merlin leaned into Arthur.

“Home?” he said.

“Home.”

They walked and staggered through the forest for about five minutes before almost literally walking into their first Camelot knight. It was Lancelot. He looked overjoyed for a moment, and then very concerned.

“Arthur! You’re alive!” he frowned, taking them in. “Who killed Merlin?” The others shook their heads frantically and Merlin couldn’t quite hold back a laugh. He was fairly certain he was right that they were worried just hearing the word ‘kill’ was going to send him off on a killing spree. He giggled again, then stopped and shook his head. He looked up and met Lancelot’s lovely, concerned eyes.

“Lancelot,” he said slowly, testing how clearly the words were coming out and deciding it would have to do. Short sentences, then. “Ten minutes,” he sighed.

“What? Is he delirious?” Lancelot said worriedly. Arthur looked just as confused.

“Ten minutes, Lancelot,” Merlin repeated.

“Merlin, my friend, what about ten minutes?” Lancelot asked. Merlin muttered something and waited until Lancelot leaned in close to hear.

“You couldn’t have gotten here ten fucking minutes ago?” he said loudly. Lancelot jumped back, alarmed.

“God, Merlin, I thought your brain was broken,” he said, laughing nervously.

“Trust me, it is,” Arthur said darkly. Merlin could really feel the exhaustion taking over, but he had started now and by God he was going to finish. He clawed at Arthur to stand up straighter.

“Worse timing I have never seen. Why did it take you so long to find us? Who taught you how to follow a trail?” He paused. “Okay, it was probably Arthur, that explains a lot. Did you not realise they were deliberately leading you wrong?”

Gwen snorted. “Merlin, you didn’t realise that either, you were unconscious.” Merlin ignored her completely. He was on a roll.

“- useless, and trust me, I have a very high threshold for useless, Lancelot, considering I am regularly forced to call on a dragon who speaks exclusively in riddles for advice!” Lancelot’s eyes went wide. The others were silent. Merlin stopped for breath. He had the unpleasant feeling he’d said something wrong again. He turned to Arthur expectantly.

“Dragon?” Arthur said dangerously, extracting himself from Merlin’s grip. Merlin thought this was unfair treatment of the invalided and exhausted and frowned sadly at him. Arthur was unmoved. Merlin’s brain caught up with itself and registered what he had said. He stilled.

Arthur tried to pass Merlin off to Lancelot, who held his hands up, shaking his head, eyes big and amused.

“I’m too useless,” he sighed. Bastard.

Gwen rolled her eyes and let Merlin be dumped onto her, only staggering a little. Merlin righted himself and looked at Arthur with a sense of deep foreboding. Him and his big fucking mouth. Arthur’s eyes were narrowed. His hands strayed to his hips.

“Is there any reason, Merlin,” he started. Merlin closed his eyes. “In your infinite wisdom, that you decided not to, at any point during this little excursion, call the fucking dragon – and I don’t even want to know about the rest of that yet, so don’t say a word – for help?”

Merlin opened his eyes cautiously. He was aware his face was doing something stupid. The gears spun in his head. He thought briefly about hiding behind Gwen. He weighed up his options, discarded ‘didn’t think of that’ out of hand and settled on,

“…Overkill?”