Work Text:
“Let him go, Morgana.”
Arthur is quiet, calm. His sword is sheathed, his hands outstretched, palms out. Only a fool, though, would miss the keen, dangerous edge to his voice. And Morgana, Merlin despairs, is no fool.
“And what would be the use if I did?” she sneers, stalking at the edges of Merlin’s peripheral vision. “The Serket’s poison is already burning its way through him. Even if I let him go now, he’ll be dead before you manage to get him home.”
Arthur makes a choked, pained sound, his hand twitching toward his sword hilt. But he holds steady. Morgana spies the movement though, her eyes widening in delight.
“So eager to die for your little… pet,” she says. “Always have been. So noble of you.”
“It’s the duty of a King,” Arthur says through gritted teeth.
“Not really, no,” Morgana muses. “You’d never catch our dear father risking his neck for a servant. No, this is different.” One icy finger caresses across Merlin’s chin, and it takes every ounce of his willpower not to flinch away, to remain limp, as though the life is draining out of him.
It was stupid, beyond reckless, for Arthur to come after him. Merlin had been expecting him.
“This one means something to you,” Morgana continues, almost to herself. “I can’t imagine why. Weak little thing.”
“Let him go,” Arthur grits out. Now his hand drops to his sword, his stance shifts. He’s ready to fight. Merlin lets out a long, quiet breath, focusing on the warmth flooding his veins. Patience, he thinks. Not yet.
“Please.” Arthur’s voice cracks, and Merlin’s heart with it. “Just let him go. I won’t fight you. Just let me take him home.”
With a casual wave of her fingers, Morgana conjures a wicked blue flame, crackling in the palm of her hand. “No,” she says, shrugging. “I won’t.”
“What has he ever done to you?” Arthur cries, desperation lacing his voice.
“He’s a nuisance,” Morgana snarls, all humor gone from her face. “A pest. And I haven’t forgotten that he —
A sudden clamor erupts in the chamber behind her. Merlin’s stomach plummets at the sound of ringing steel, familiar shouts echoing off the stone walls.
“I see your loyal knights found my front door,” Morgana sighs. “Well, no matter.” Her lip curls, wicked. “They’re easily dispatched. Just wait here a moment.”
She sweeps out of the cell without a backward glance, and to any reasonable person, Merlin thinks, that would signal the hopelessness of their predicament.
Arthur, of course, immediately rushes forward, sword drawn, and tries to hack through Merlin’s bindings.
“It’s no use, Arthur,” he says quietly, and Arthur startles.
“Merlin!” A brief grin flickers across his face before he goes back to hacking at the stone tendrils with redoubled determination. “How — on earth — are you — conscious?” He grunts with effort, but his sword doesn’t so much my as dent the stone.
“Made of stronger stuff than you realize. Listen —” Merlin says quickly. “You won’t cut through these vines. They’re made of stone. Leave me, Arthur. Get everyone else out of here.”
“Not a chance,” Arthur growls. His blade screeches against the stone, useless.
“Arthur. Please.” Merlin’s limbs are burning now, begging to be released. “Trust me. I’ll be okay.”
“You’ll die!” Arthur’s voice wavers. “I won’t let you. I’d never be able to find a worse servant.”
No, Arthur, Merlin wants to scream. You’ll die!
The shouts from the other room turn to cries of fear, ripped apart by a ferocious gust of wind. The magic coursing through his limbs strains to match it. There’s nothing else for it.
“Arthur,” he tries again. “You need to go. I’ll handle Morgana. I’ll be fine.”
“Merlin, this isn’t the time for jokes —
“I’m serious,” he insists, pouring every ounce of determination he has into his words. “Only I can fight her. Only I can match her power.”
“You’re delirious.” Arthur frowns, worried. “The Serket’s venom — you’re not thinking —
“Trust me!” he pleads. “Just trust me, and leave!”
“I can’t, I can’t leave you —
“Arthur! Think! For once!” Merlin yells. His heart pounds with the realization that he’s about to change his whole world. “How was I able to save you, when we first met, from that witch? How many legendary beasts who can only be killed by magic have you somehow managed to slay on your own? How many split-second, lucky chances have stood between you and losing your life?”
“You’re not making any sense.” Arthur flings his sword down and pulls at the stone vines desperately with his fingers. Outside, the sounds of howling wind get closer. “What are you trying to say?”
“I have magic, Arthur.”
Arthur’s fingers still. When he looks up at Merlin’s face, there’s a horrible clarity in his eyes.
“I’m the most powerful sorcerer alive,” he continues, before Arthur can say anything. After, after they’ve all made it out of this alive, they can deal with the fallout. “My magic is the only thing that can rival Morgana’s power.”
“Merlin —
“And I use it for you, Arthur.” Merlin’s voice breaks, finally, tears slipping from his eyes. “Only for you. It’s my destiny. You are my destiny, Arthur.”
Arthur steps back, his hand falling away, and Merlin’s heart breaks. Arthur just looks at him, almost like he doesn’t know him anymore.
“So if you ever trusted me,” he says, meeting Arthur’s eyes, the pain shining in them. “If you ever loved me, Arthur —
Arthur makes a choked sound, one trembling hand reaching towards him.
“Then trust me when I tell you to run.”
There’s a great crash, and then Morgana is bearing down on them, face alive with fury, and Merlin turns away from Arthur, hoping against all hope that he’s listened.
Then, finally, he erupts.