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Usually, Arthur never spared a second thought for creepy castles. They were for ghost tales, creepy stories for infants who wanted the comfort of a droning voice or toddlers who needed quieted. They were old, forgotten things from the memories of grandmothers.
They didn’t exist.
At least, not where anyone lived.
But here one was.
Arthur had never seen anything like it.
The walls of the castle back in Camelot were tan and reflected the sun brilliantly in the morning. The walls of these ruins, however, were dark grey, almost black, and encrusted with dark green vines that seemed to be breaking it apart inch by inch.
Even though he and the knights were still a distance off, an uneasy feeling was settling at the base of his neck.
He didn’t like it. Not one bit.
If prior experience was anything to go by, their task was not going to end well.
Even his horse knew something was off. It kept rolling its eyes and pulling against the reins, trying to head back in the direction of Camelot.
His horse was far smarter than all of them.
But to turn around and leave a possible threat to Camelot was unthinkable.
“Woah, this place is creepy.”
Merlin’s voice echoed in the stagnant surrounding air, slicing like a knife.
At its sharpness, Arthur and the knights winced.
“Do you have to do that?” Arthur hissed.
“Sorry.”
Behind Arthur, one of the knights’ horses snorted in fear.
“Is there another way around?”
Lancelot’s voice was quiet, but it carried up the line to Arthur in the stale air.
“There isn’t.”
Before leaving Camelot, he’d double checked the map.
This road was the only way in and the only way out, and it was hardly even marked on the paper.
The castle was located on a precipice. On the northern side, the cliff dropped off into a canyon that stretched for miles before disappearing under charcoal-colored fog. On the western and eastern sides, thorns choked anything that attempted to cross through them. The only option was the path winding up to the front steps and that forced them to ride their horses in a single-file line.
As they drew nearer, the castle loomed even more overhead, like a dark, angry storm cloud. A sharp wind picked up, rustling the foliage and biting into their cheeks.
“Steady.” Arthur patted his horse on its neck.
Soon, they would need to dismount, but he disliked the idea of leaving their animals in the middle of a thorny woods.
They were supposedly searching for dire wolves, after all.
As if reading his mind, a piercing whistle rang out.
“Fie!” Percival swore as his horse balked.
Their procession halted as he turned it in a tight circle, offering it kind words.
“Merlin, if you don’t cease with your stupidity, you can take your horse and head straight back to Camelot,” Arthur snapped as soon as Percival’s horse was under control once again.
“That was Gwaine, not me.”
Gwaine gasped. “Me?”
“I don’t like this place,” Elyan muttered.
“‘Let’s go hunt dire wolves,’ they said,” Merlin grumbled. “It’ll be fun, they said.”
“Merlin, if you don’t shut up, you’re going to have more fun when we get home and muck the stables.”
Arthur had about had it with both of them. He needed men, not court jesters.
A lone howl wound its way through the wind, sending a prickling sensation down his spine.
“Gwaine, stop.”
“That wasn’t me.”
Gwaine’s voice was so serious that Arthur believed him.
The phrase calm before the storm was a blasted lie. Arthur felt as though someone were stabbing him with a thousand little pins.
“We should split up,” he threw over his shoulder.
“Why?” Merlin whined.
“Because I said so.”
“Well, that’s a stupid thing to do. Haven’t you heard any of the old ghost tales? You’re not supposed to split up in creepy abandoned castles.”
“Merlin, this isn’t a ghost tale.” And Arthur wasn’t about to give the impression that he was scared of architecture .
“Splitting up is a terrible idea,” Gwaine said. “I agree with Merlin.”
In his saddle, Arthur turned around to give him a withering look. “No one asked you to.”
“I’m doing it of my own free will.”
“Then no one asked for your opinion.”
“Let’s not start arguing,” Lancelot chided. “If we split up, we can cover more ground, and if we get attacked, we’ll warn the others. Sound travels fairly well enough here.”
“We’ll go in pairs,” Leon suggested.
At the idea, Merlin looked slightly mollified.
As they reached the foregrounds of the castle, the thorns and weeds thinned out. A chipped stone walkway broke off in three directions. Two circled the castle and disappeared behind it, and the third wound through a stone and iron arch up to the door of the ruins. Since the wood was half-rotted, the walls inside was faintly visible.
“Let’s get out of here as quickly as possible,” muttered Elyan.
Quietly, Arthur snorted.
Before the courtyard, they stopped their horses at a lone tree and dismounted to tether them. After double-checking the knot he tied, he gave his horse a pat on the nose.
Merlin walked up to him. “Which way are we taking?” he asked.
“You’ll be staying here with the horses.”
“What?” Merlin laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not. We need someone to make sure they’re unharmed while we’re gone.” And if Merlin followed them into the castle, he was sure to upset the apple cart somehow, and Arthur didn’t want to put him in some sort of danger when he couldn’t even defend himself. At least the horses offered some sort of distraction or protection.
“Right.” Merlin huffed. “I’ll just stay here, then. With the horses. After coming all this way.”
“Good.” From across the front of his saddle, Arthur grabbed his crossbow. He wasn’t the best shot of the group (his swordsmanship was his forte), but it was the best weapon for what they were facing.
“Yeah. Good.”
Merlin’s mouth was set, but Arthur didn’t have the time to care whether or not his manservant’s feelings were hurt.
The sooner he realized he couldn’t waltz into every situation unarmed and emerged unscathed, the better.
“If anything attacks you, run,” he instructed. “Take a horse if you can. Just get out of here.”
“I can take care of myself, Arthur.”
Since he didn’t really feel like arguing with Merlin, he ignored his manservant. “Leon and Percival, you head to the left. Elyan and Gwaine, you take the right. Lancelot, come with me.”
Although the dire wolves were more than likely on the outskirts of the building, Arthur didn’t trust the ruins of the old castle. If they contained something dangerous, he wanted to destroy it before it could bleed into Camelot.
As soon as Lancelot was armed, Arthur started walking towards the main entrance.
“I’ll just be here, then!” Merlin called afterthem. “Waiting. With the horses. Alone.”
Turning around, he gave Merlin a look.
“He’s just trying to help,” Lancelot said as soon as they were out of earshot. “Merlin is of greater service to you than you think.”
Arthur snorted. “He’s of great service to me back at Camelot washing my socks and polishing my sword. Not getting into trouble here.”
The yard of the castle must have been lovely at one point, but now, the ground was patched with broken, dying grass and long stretches of mud.
Arthur glanced between it and their surroundings, looking for paw prints or signs that something living was lurking.
He glanced back over his shoulder. Merlin was still standing by the horses, his arms crossed, kicking at the ground and sending up patches of dirt and moss.
“He’s going to attract something with all the noise he’s making,” he muttered to Lancelot.
“He’ll be fine,” Lancelot reassured him.
“If he-”
A creaking sound cut off Arthur’s words.
It sounded as though it had come from the broken door that led into the rest of the castle.
Narrowing his eyes, Arthur moved towards it, Lancelot following behind him.
As he reached it, the dank and disgusting scents of mold and oldness filled his nose.
“Pleasant.”
He pushed a hand against the door.
It swung inwards and hit the wall of the hall.
Chunks of rotting wood fell to the floor.
Arthur stepped over them.
Although Arthur half-expected furniture in equal states of decomposition to be littered about, the once-halls of the castle were bare. Because of the gaps in the walls, what sunlight had escaped the clouds trickled across everything in odd patterns.
“This place feels strange,” Lancelot said. “Like it’s hiding something even though it’s barren for everyone to see.”
“I know.” Turning in the circle of the entrance hall, Arthur wondered how high the ceiling must have once stretched. The room must have once been beautiful and grand, almost equal with Camelot’s castle.
But there were no signs that anything had been living inside - no muck or sewage, nests, scratch marks, anything of the kind. Aside from the smell and the weeds that had squeezed their way up through cracks in stones, the castle was alarmingly spotless.
“Let’s get out of here.”
As he strode towards the door through which they had come, his footsteps echoed against the cobbled stones.
In front of him, the doors to the main front hall slammed shut.
The doors, which had been close to falling from their hinges but were now shiny with healthy wood and oil.
“Magic,” Lancelot whispered in horror, raising his crossbow even though there was nothing for him to shoot at.
A shock hit the walls of the building.
Before their eyes, the ruins of the castle were transformed. Although the walls kept their black color, they were draped with tapestries of thorns and roses, and the moss on the ground stones was replaced by a luxurious red carpet. In the center of the room, a rectangular stone table etched with ancient runes stood.
“Hello, brother.”
At the sound of her voice, Arthur looked up.
“Morgana.”
Down the main staircase, she strolled, trailing a hand along the banister edge. Even though she was not clothed in the fine dresses she had worn in Camelot, she still held the air of a princess.
So she was not as done with them as Arthur had hoped.
“What have you done with the rest of my men?” Arthur demanded, holding out an arm to keep Lancelot from shooting at her.
Morgana flicked her fingers. “They were properly detained . If you wish to call it that.” She raised her hand, and with three words and a flash of gold to her eyes, Lancelot’s and Arthur’s crossbows went flying across the room like props on strings. “None of that,” she chided.
“What have you done to them?” Arthur demanded. “Are they still alive?”
“For now.” As she set foot on the main floor, Morgana inspected her nails. “Not like the other one.”
The other one.
Behind him, Lancelot drew in a sharp breath.
“ Merlin.”
Horrible images ran through Arthur’s head.
Merlin couldn’t defend himself.
All the weapons he had were what they had left in their saddles.
He didn’t know how to use any of them.
“If you do not wish for the same thing to happen to the others, I suggest you submit to me now. Give me your sword.”
His hand went to Excalibur’s sheath.
Arthur did not want to surrender the weapon to her. Even though it was probable she was going to kill him no matter what he did, he didn’t have a choice.
It made him feel sick with dread.
“Not until you tell me what exactly you’ve done to Merlin.”
“Merlin,” Morgana enunciated as though she were speaking to a child, “is dead. I killed him.”
“No!” Lancelot cried. “You couldn’t have.”
Morgana rolled her eyes.
From the folds of her dress, she withdrew a scrap of fabric and tossed it at their feet.
It was Merlin’s red neckerchief, and it was stained in blood.
There was no way she could have gotten her hands on it unless she had killed Merlin.
“I am also going to kill your pathetic excuses for knights if you do not surrender your sword.”
With as much hate and disgust as he could muster, Arthur unbuckled his sword belt and set it on the ground.
Morgana smiled.
Behind one of the side doors, something crashed.
The smile died.
“Who’s there?” she called out.
More crashing.
The door burst open.
Out of breath and panting, Merlin tripped into the room, very much alive despite Morgana’s claim.
Arthur breathed out in relief.
Merlin straightened. “As you can see, rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated!”
“What,” Morgana spat.
Blood covered Merlin’s left side underneath his coat.
Arthur could not see how he was still standing, ignoring such a wound, but he couldn’t question it now.
“Let’s get started, then.”
“No,” Morgana snapped. “There is nothing to start. Except for Arthur, every one of you including your friends are going to die.”
“Well, somebody never paid attention to her bedtime stories,” Merlin said snidely.
“Merlin,” Arthur hissed. “Get out of here.”
It was entirely pointless - Morgana had magic whereas Merlin did not - Merlin was the most defenseless person Arthur could think of at the moment besides his old nurse - and she would catch him like a cat toying with a mouse.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what idiodic drovel you’re talking about.” Morgana’s words were short and minced, as though she were a second from trying to kill Merlin a second time, but Merlin continued on, taking a few steps forward so he was in between her and Arthur with the table before him.
“This castle - or one very similar to it - used to be inhabited by a witch, my mum told me. She was a great lover of riddles and trivia and challenged all of her guests to competitions of knowledge.” Merlin coughed. “The, uh, winner, which was usually her, got to pick one demand of the loser, which was...well, usually their lives.”
Morgana smiled coldly. “How fitting for a children’s tale, but I fail to see how that is going to help you now.” She raised her hand.
“Merlin!”
“That’s not all!” Merlin rushed to add. “If you kill us now, you’ll break the rules.”
Now Arthur was doubly confused. “Merlin, what in the blue blazes are you talking about?”
“Shut up, Arthur.”
“What rules?” Morgana snapped.
“The sorceress left a spell on the table. My mum told me that if two opposing parties ever entered the ruins of her castle, they would be forced to decide their fate through a game of wits.”
They were doomed.
“You have magic. You can check.”
“Merlin…”
Stalking over to the table, Morgana held a hand over it and let loose a stream of words in the language of magic.
When she was done, a displeased expression crossed her face.
“Fine,” she fumed. “I declare my terms first, and you may ask the first question. If I win, you will be bound as my servant for life. You will watch everyone die by my hand, starting with those fools outside.”
Merlin swallowed. “And if I win?”
“Now, just wait a minute.” Arthur strode forward. “This is between you and me, Morgana. Leave Merlin out of this.” He wasn't going to let Merlin take this on him when it was Arthur’s responsibility, and Merlin didn’t have the privilege of being tutored by some of the most knowledgeable people in Camelot. Between the two of them, Arthur stood the greater chance of saving their lives.
“No. Either it is Merlin, or we will stay here until we rot,” Morgana insisted.
She was looking at Merlin, a strange, nasty look in her eyes, as though something had transpired between them that Arthur was unaware of.
He couldn’t think of what, though.
“So we have an agreement?” Moving to the head of the table, Morgana raised her eyebrows.
It was hardly fair, and she knew it. Arthur wanted to protest, but with Morgana in charge and the magic on the ruins of the castle, he stood little chance. His only hope was the knights. If they escaped-
“And if I win?” Merlin repeated, tracing one of the runes on the table with his finger.
“I suppose they can all go free.”
From the tone of Morgana’s voice, everyone understood that she was not considering it a possibility.
“And I can ask you anything?”
“ Yes . Any trivia. Get on with it already. We are in agreement.”
At her words, the top of the table glowed blue. Merlin yanked his hand away.
As though to get rid of the feeling of magic, Merlin wiped his hand on his shirt as Morgana drummed her fingers on her sleeve with irritation. “All right. Name the true identity of Emrys.”
The color drained from Morgana’s face.
The light tattoo of her fingers ceased.
“What?”
“Name the true identity of Emrys,” Merlin repeated. “Just his name.”
“But…” Morgana swallowed. “The true identity of Emrys.”
What in Camelot were they talking about? Who was Emrys, and why was Morgana as pale as though Merlin had asked her to kiss a dorocha?
“No. Ask me another question.”
Merlin grinned. “Sorry. I don’t think that’s in the rules.”
“No!” Morgana spun on her heel. “Give me a minute.”
Arthur was as confused as a blind man swimming in quicksand. “What in the world is going on?”
The table started glowing blue again.
Like a caged wolf, Morgana paced up and down the length of the table, snarling under its breath.
The longer she could not come up with an answer for Merlin, the brighter the table’s light became until Arthur shielded his eyes.
“Well?” Merlin pressed. “What is the true identity of Emrys?”
Morgana’s back was to them, rigid with anger.
At long last, she turned, curling her hands into fists.
“I don’t know,” she spat at Merlin.
“I don’t know.”
…
After freeing Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and Elyan, they stopped shortly to wrap up Merlin’s side before spurring their horses into a gallop. It was only when they were several hours away from the ruins of the castle did they feel comfortable to slow their horses to a walk.
As Gwaine expounded upon the horrors of being tied up and left for dead by a witch, Arthur reigned in his horse until he was alongside Merlin.
“So who is it?”
Merlin scowled at him. “Who’s who?”
“ Emrys.”
“Oh.” Merlin laughed, the kind of nervous laugh he gave when he said he was going to muck out the stables but instead hightailed it to the tavern or wherever he wasted his time.
“Who is Emrys? Morgana seemed...scared of him.”
At least, frightened at the idea of who he was and the fact that she did not know.
Arthur would very much like to meet someone who could throw his half-sister into a panic.
Merlin was making the face, the one when he was trying not to grin and failed.
“What? What’s so funny?” Arthur demanded.
“Honestly?
I’ve never met the guy.”