Entry tags:
Merlin - Seventeen Days: Part 3
Title: Seventeen Days
Rating: R
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Length: ~ 22,700 words
Spoilers: Vague for 2.03
Warnings: Dark themes. Highlight to read specific warnings: non-con, attempted non-con, abuse, allusions to slavery, allusions to drug use
Synopsis: After seventeen days, Merlin is finally rescued, but is he truly free?
Author’s Notes: This is rather different than my usual style. It is dark, and the rating is based on the dark themes, not because of graphic sexual content. Huge thanks go out to the wonderful![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
emeraldteal and anon for the beta. Any and all remaining errors are mine alone. Thanks also go out to the cheering section over at ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
camelot_fleet who helped and encouraged me to just finish the thing already. *g*
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Live Journal
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Dreamwidth
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
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He had not realised that he had drifted off again until he felt a hand on his shoulder gently shake him awake. He blinked his eyes open to find Gwen crouched at his side, a bowl in her hand. “You should eat something,” she offered.
He looked at the plain, porridge-like offering and tried not to swallow the bile that instantly rose in his throat. His head pounded, his muscles ached, and he was freezing despite the cloak that had been adjusted over him once more. Despite all of this, he really doubted hunger was the source of his problems right now.
“Arthur?” he managed to croak out. He looked to the waterskin at her hip and licked his lips, hoping she would understand without further painful words being spoken.
She must not have noticed as she simply stirred the concoction in the bowl, the scent of it invading his senses and making the urge to retch near overpowering. “He is working with the knights to try to find a solution that will prevent Morgana from taking on the stronghold on her own, but still manage to put them out of business,” Gwen replied. She offered him a spoonful and repeated, “Really, you should eat something.”
He opened his mouth to try to explain, readied himself for a new round of pity and explanations, but found it was not necessary. The spoon was removed from her hand and returned to the bowl, which was quickly pushed away. “No porridge,” Arthur said as he handed the bowl to Lancelot. “He had quite enough of that.”
No further explanation was offered, though it was evident Gwen would have appreciated one, but another cloth of trail rations was placed at his side in its stead. The meats and hard breads looked far more appetising, but he still did not know if he could bring himself to actually eat of them. He knew he was being watched, by more than two sets of eyes, and he forced his shaking hand to reach out and pick up a small bit of jerky. It seemed inordinately difficult to bring the piece to his lips, and it was then he realised that it was not just his hand that trembled, but his body as a whole.
The piece fell back to the cloth and he did not quite have either the strength or the will to pick it up again. He felt as though he was shivering, and he was far too hot and far too cold all at once. His vision blurred slightly as he looked up to Arthur, who was watching him with open concern.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked. He rested a hand on his shoulder as if that alone would steady him.
“Head hurts,” he replied in a voice he barely recognised as his own. It was only a fraction of his current problems, but it was the only thing he was able to get out at the time.
“He needs to eat,” Gwen protested, reaching for the porridge once more.
“’s not the food,” Merlin insisted. He shivered again, harder this time, feeling his skin pull against his wounds. He felt like he was missing something, needing something, but did not know what it was and so he had no way of describing it.
“Then what is it?” she asked reasonably.
His head hung and his shoulders drooped despite the tenseness that strummed throughout every last bit of him. He wanted to tell her, but had no idea how to do so. It felt like his body was reaching out, like it did when he was reunited with his magic, only it was not something natural that it craved. He jerked again, and his eyes drifted to the bowl she offered. He found himself reaching for it, even though he despised its contents. “Maybe it is the food after all,” he tried.
Arthur sighed beside him. “You’re not making any sense, Merlin.”
Merlin bit his lip in an effort to stop the chattering of his teeth. “Poisoned,” he finally managed as he pulled his hand back and away again. “They gave me that concoction of theirs at least once a day. What if it was an antidote for whatever else they gave me?”
“Are you certain you are not simply reacting to what they gave you leaving your blood?” Lancelot asked. It made sense, but his mind just could not figure it out.
“I don’t know,” Merlin ground out in frustration. He yanked at his hair, but found his hands gently removed by Gwen.
The shaking increased, and immediately the pressure of Arthur’s hand did so as well. “What do we do?” the prince asked. He glanced at Lancelot and said, “I would ask if they gifted you with more of the tonic they have him, but fear I would never want to see him quite as... compliant... as you described.”
“They gave me a powder that may have been the dried form of the mixture, with directions on its proper preparation,” he said thoughtfully. “I put it in one of the saddle bags and hoped to forget it,” he added with a wince.
“Perhaps if we give him only a bit, wean him from it like a babe from its mother’s milk and see if it is enough until his body can fight it on its own?” Morgana offered.
Merlin scowled. “Not a babe,” he growled through chattering teeth. He shivered once more, and knew at least one of the wounds on his back ripped open from the force of it.
“We are not saying that you are,” she soothed. “We are simply trying to find something to help you.” She turned to Lancelot and requested, “Show me what they gave you.”
Merlin did not quite see the difference as either way he needed the assistance of others instead of being able to stand on his own, but he felt this was a battle he would likely lose, especially given that he currently could barely find the words to support his position. Instead, he lay there and shook despite the extra blanket Gwen added, and in direct contrast to the sweat that dripped down his neck and pooled at the small of his back.
Arthur either had a moment of insight, or noticed the glances he kept shooting towards the waterskin as he not only offered it, but held it steady as Merlin drank his fill. It sloshed heavily in his empty stomach, but felt lovely going down, so he counted it as a success. Arthur also offered him another piece of the dried meat, but he made a face and the prince took it away again.
Morgana returned and shook her head. “I have never seen anything like it before and have spent far more time with Gaius and his remedies than I would like to admit. There’s a chance that would cause more harm than good, I just cannot be certain,” she sighed. She turned to Arthur and added, “I asked your men, but they have not seen nor heard of anything similar either.”
“Then what do we do?” Arthur asked once more.
“He’s in pain,” Gwen pointed out. She let her cool hand rest against his brow and he felt himself press into it.
Morgana tapped her finger to her lips as she thought aloud. “We have many of Gaius’ herbs with us, quite many for pain. We could brew a tea to help with the worst of it.”
Arthur turned his head to make him meet his eyes. “Would you be willing to try this? Something of Gaius’ versus something from the men who held you?”
Merlin nodded readily and Arthur jerked his own head to the side in silent request to create whatever tincture they needed. Gwen reluctantly pulled her hand away, smoothing his fringe out of his eyes before she stood and smiled, “I will help make it.”
The two women disappeared from his view as they found the supplies they had brought, leaving Merlin with Arthur and Lancelot alone for the moment, the knights having taken to patrolling the camp and other menial tasks that were probably not strictly needed but provided an excuse to give the others space and privacy. They were still present, but not pressing, which was a small blessing. “Wish there was a magical cure,” Merlin muttered.
“Not with the knights around,” Lancelot huffed back, earning a hint of a smile from Arthur.
“Be so much easier,” Merlin complained. He let Arthur draw him closer, his larger body absorbing the worst of the shaking.
“Would it?” Lancelot asked. “You have said yourself that magic asks a price; what if it asks something too great to give?”
Merlin did not meet his eyes as he thought about that. He had nothing left to give. His body was weak and he could feel what little control he had slipping with each shake and shudder. The earth had already reclaimed what it had offered before, and he feared asking for anything as it was no longer even in the guise of protection for the others but would have been wholly self-serving this time around. Even if he received help at this point, he was not certain he would know what to do with it.
He shook again, and had the sneaking suspicion that there was now blood mingled with the sweat that plastered his tunic to his back. “I’m a mess,” he whispered, not certain he wanted the others to hear his admission.
“So, nothing new there?” Arthur offered, so obviously trying for a hint of levity but it was clear his heart was not fully in it. His finger stroked small circles on the back of Merlin’s hand, the action far more soothing than it had any right to be.
Merlin watched the swirl of the skin, mind flooded with sudden memories of so many other times Arthur had done the exact same thing. He closed his eyes against the onslaught, but all that did was make the images clearer, nothing in the real world left to dampen them down or block them out. He turned his face into Arthur’s shoulder, smelled the familiar scent and prised his eyes open to take in the soft red that had haunted his dreams for all those long nights. “You’re still here,” he murmured in disbelief.
The fingers stilled their motion before they wrapped around his wrist, holding it tight, but not painfully so. “I’m not going anywhere,” Arthur promised.
“Ever?” he asked doubtingly, ashamed at this weakness almost more so than his physical ailments.
“I’m here for as long as you need me,” Arthur assured him.
Merlin smiled into the fabric, feeling the threads catch on his cracked lips and the unruly stubble that lined his jaw and chin. “Forever and ever?”
“Lord help me, but yes,” Arthur sighed, looking heavenward. He took the sting out of his words with a quick press of his lips to Merlin’s bruised temple. “I do believe you are stuck with me for quite a long time.”
“Think I can live with that,” Merlin replied, letting his fingers tangle at the back of the leather belt Arthur wore. Other memories threatened to rise, but he pushed them back down with a strength of will he attributed to someone other than himself. He did not need them in his way right now, intent on enjoying the moment, pain, shaking, and all.
“Do try,” Arthur said, voice not much more than a breath.
Morgana and Gwen returned with their creation. Merlin sniffed it and was thankful it did not resemble anything the men had given him. The moment the warm, sweet liquid touched his tongue, he knew from his own training that they had brewed it far too strong. He had still been thirsty, and more than a bit wary of what they would give him, so he had taken quite the gulp and now the powerful medicine hit his nearly empty stomach and began to work far faster than it should. His vision blurred slightly, well, more than it already had, and the world around him seemed to spin, possibly in the wrong direction.
Morgana urged him to drink the lot and he could not find reason to argue with her. He downed the rest of it in a series of quick sips, somehow managing both not to choke and to remain upright throughout. He had the sneaking suspicion that Arthur propping him at his side might have been the sole reason for the last part though.
His head drooped to Arthur’s shoulder, the hard edge colliding with his cheekbone as he continued to shake. He had no idea if the tremors were lessening, or if Gaius’ draught simply made him feel them less, but his entire body was beginning to feel heavy and perhaps numb. His eyes drifted shut and he let the rush of sounds fade into the background as darkness wrapped its arms around him.
He was not certain how long he slept, just as he was not certain “sleep” was the correct word for it. He seemed to drift in and out, time meaningless and unnecessary, hearing voices of the people he was fairly certain were physically present around him overlapping with images that he truly hoped were nightmares but knew were much more. His body ached when he was conscious enough to realise it, but something deeper hurt when he would drift into the darkness and saw glimpses of what he knew were memories that he had shoved deep within in hopes of never needing to acknowledge their existence again.
A cup of warm liquid was held to his lips more than once and he remembered the wetness against his skin as it dribbled down his chin and throat. The reprieve it would grant seemed to shorten with each dose and his companions’ words began to ring even louder throughout his mind.
“I don’t think it’s helping,” he heard more than once.
“I just don’t know what else to give him.” That was Morgana, the frustration to her tone growing with each repetition.
“Perhaps it is worth trying; it certainly make matters much worse.” Was that Leon, or Belvedere?
“Sire, we cannot stay here much longer; we are far too close to the trader’s camp. Soon it will no longer be safe.” Definitely Leon; always the voice of reason and respect.
A cup was held to his lips and he dutifully sipped. The taste was different this time, bitter and vile and familiar all at once. He wanted to retch but slim hands held his mouth closed until he swallowed, a new drug slithering its way down into his stomach. He gasped for air the moment he was released, eyes wide against the too bright sun as he demanded, “What did you do?”
He never heard Morgana’s reply beyond the first few breaths of an apology as his eyes rolled back into his head and the world dropped away once more.
He slowly returned to awareness to find the colours had gone away. No, that was not quite right. They were there still, yet not, like they were tinged with grey and dulled to mere fraction of what they should be. The noises seemed different as well. Still. That was the word to describe it. Everything was so still, like it had yet to come to life.
He realised how fitting a word it truly was when he looked to his hand to find it no longer shaking. His body was still. His mind was still. Everything was just... still.
He frowned, thinking that this should seem off, that it should be wrong somehow, but he could not for the life of him figure out how. He brushed the thought away and tried to push himself up into a sitting position.
“Merlin?” a voice caught his attention. His head turned to find someone looking at him questioningly; looking at him as if it was not the first time he had tried to get his attention. A name came to mind, Leon, and it felt correct. “Sire, he is awake,” the man called over his shoulder and another man appeared in the time it took him to blink. Arthur. He had returned.
He seemed looking for something, gauging his reaction as he asked, “Merlin, are you all right?”
Merlin nodded as it seemed expected of him. The feeling that something was dreadfully off was still there, but he could not identify it and so it did not matter. There was a voice to his left that said something thankful, but it was not clear enough to make sense.
Arthur was crouched beside him now, warm hand upon his brow. Leon hovered behind him, and others behind him as well. “Are you still cold?” Arthur asked, motioning to the blankets piled about.
Merlin shook his head. He was not cold. He was not warm either.
Arthur started peeling the layers away, tucking them to the side where they disappeared only to return in a neatly folded state. He reached the final layer, the bright red cloak, and hesitated slightly before drawing that away as well. There was a heavy sigh, something crossed between regret and resignation and Arthur brought Merlin’s wrists forward in a gentle grip that he did not try to fight. “We need to change your bandages, is that okay? It appears some of your wounds may have opened.”
Merlin looked down to find the cloth speckled with a dry red-brown, a slightly more lively version dripping down one of his forearms. He nodded and brought his arms forward to be treated, already wincing in preparation for the sting he knew was about to come. The position reminded him of something, but yet felt like something was missing. They looked bound, but held solely by will and not rope and metal. He pushed that image away as well as it was unneeded.
Bandages and cleaning tonics were offered and the rags around his wrists disposed of in no time at all. The skin was raw and burned where it was torn, but everything was applied with a gentle touch which seemed to sooth away the worst of it.
“Anything else?” Arthur asked, wiping his hands on his trousers.
Merlin knew his back was a mess and could feel the fabric of his tunic stick and drag against his skin. The blood and sweat must have dried, sealing it into place. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked upwards, ignoring the twist of his muscles and the sharp pain as the fabric pulled free. He leaned forward and wondered if he should not just lay on his stomach to make things easier, but something in his mind rebelled at that thought, so he stayed where he was for now.
There was a gasp that sounded distinctly feminine and he looked up to find a woman, Morgana, covering her mouth with her hand and another woman, Gwen, looking like she was ready to burst into tears. He wanted to say something to comfort them, to reassure them, but no words would come. He was pleased he remembered their names.
Lancelot stepped forward to do what he could not. “The wounds will heal,” he promised them. Merlin briefly wondered just how bad his back was to garner such looks, but then decided it was perhaps best that he did not know.
Arthur had taken a rag and was rubbing lightly against the injuries, the cloth both sticking and soothing in equal parts. “I am not sure which is more disturbing, the injuries or his blind compliance,” he mused dourly.
Merlin frowned. He did not think he was being especially compliant. He was simply avoiding unnecessary hassles by doing what needed to be done instead of fighting the inevitable. He supposed that could be construed as compliant, but was not certain why it would be considered disturbing instead of welcoming in this situation.
“I’m sorry,” Morgana offered. She crouched down, closer now, features nearly in focus. Some of her hair had fallen loose from the ties and framed her face in ways he found almost distracting, especially when the wind made one of the curls sway rhythmically, almost soothingly. “It seemed the only way. Nothing else was working and whether it was poison or a cure, it was the only thing we had left to try.”
Several things slotted into place for Merlin at her words. The numbness, the haze around everything he saw and felt; it was all beginning to make sense now. There was a vile taste upon his tongue and his stomach threatened to rid itself of what it now realised he had been given. “You gave me what they gave me,” he accused. The words sounded harsh to his own ears, and it was hard to simply get them past his lips.
“I am sorry,” she repeated. She shook her head and did look apologetic, yet it was somehow not enough. “It was the only way,” she insisted. He wondered just whom she was trying to convince.
He tried to sit upright, Arthur removing the rag to allow him to do so. A rush of feelings came over him: anger, hurt, and frustration. They began to fade to the background even as he fought to hold onto them, fought to feel something real through the fog that covered his mind and body.
He licked his lips, tongue thick and nearly as dry as his skin. “Do you know why they gave me that?” he asked. He saw her flinch from his words and knew she had her suspicions. “Do you know how often they gave me that?” he continued. His muscles trembled and he knew he was glaring, knew he was not showing her the respect she deserved. His mind screamed for him to back down, to apologise, to comply with what she needed. He settled for stopping before he truly began.
“Merlin,” Arthur soothed. The cloth returned, rubbing small circles that made his muscles slowly lose some of their tension. “It’s over,” he promised in the same soft voice. “Let it go, at least for now. She was only doing what she thought was best. Watching you... she could not stand to see you in any more pain than you already were.”
He started to relent, started to release the hold he had on his anger and grief. He closed his eyes, not being able to stand to see the tears that fell across her face, and wondered if it was the drug or his heart that made him want to forgive her.
“Would you do it again?” he asked quietly.
He forced himself to open his eyes, needing to see her reaction. Gwen stood beside her now, shaking her head, but he had to give Morgana credit for her honesty. “If I thought it would help, yes,” she replied.
He nodded and actively tried not to lean into Arthur’s touch. His thoughts were slow to form, fighting against the drugs, exhaustion, and himself, but something still seemed off. Despite the fog being explained by Silas’ concoction, there was something more at work that he could not quite put his finger on. “I have more control,” he finally realised. “I can feel what you gave me, feel it in my blood really, but it isn’t was all-consuming as before.” He swallowed heavily and still felt like he was choking. “Can even talk again.”
“She gave you less than half of what the instructions said,” Lancelot offered from her side. “We made more in case you need it, but wanted to try less first in case it worked.”
“Wean me like a babe,” Merlin muttered, remembering her earlier words.
“Not a babe,” Arthur whispered, and he wished he believed him.
He did not try to smile, knowing it would be seen right through. Instead, he leaned forward once more to give him better access to his wounds. He felt the cooling salve applied and cloth wrapped around what he assumed was the worst of the damage. He wanted to protest when another piece of dried meat was placed in front of him, but dutifully ate when Arthur verbally asked him to. He frowned, knowing Arthur was taking advantage of his altered state, but could not actually bring himself to complain as, for the first time, the food did not seem to want to rebel. It could have been hunger setting in, or the compliance of the drug, or even just knowing that things were out in the open with so very little left to hide. He decided not to dwell on it for now, knowing there would be long hours ahead for him to lock himself away and truly deal with it all.
After he ate enough to satisfy all those involved, he sat there dumbly for a moment. He was not certain what he should do, not was he certain what they wanted to do. No one had voiced anything and his own mind was painfully blank. He tried to come up with something, anything, but the moment a thought surged, it faded away again leaving him with nothing. He was beginning to realise that it had not just been the collar that had kept him tame; it had simply kept him from voicing his displeasures when he could finally focus enough to notice they were present in the first place. The collar controlled his magic; the drug controlled him.
“We should leave soon, sire,” Leon suggested as he approached.
“Something troubles you?” Arthur guessed. He sat at Merlin’s side, not even pretending to move.
Leon nodded. “Belvedere rode out towards where Lancelot claimed to have... obtained... Merlin. There is movement there, as if they are readying for another scouting trip.” He spared Merlin glance, this one pitying, letting what the men would be scouting for go unspoken. “There’s still light, we can place greater distance between ourselves and that place if we leave now.”
“And you think the small distance we would be able to travel this night would be enough to escape them come morning?” Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow.
Leon shook his head, apparently having given this some thought. “It’s just... Sire, the ladies. To allow the Lady Morgana, or Guinevere, to be put at such an unnecessary risk by remaining so close seems impractical.”
Arthur seemed to be weighing the options, most likely remembering the fact they were about to move themselves when the camp was invaded by the well-to-doers. He did not get a chance to speak, however, before a sword was driven into the ground before him, Morgana’s delicately gloved hand resting on the pommel. “The ‘ladies’ would rather see that place turned to rubble than leave it standing, risk or no,” she announced.
“I could do that,” Merlin offered what he thought was helpfully. Arthur gripped his sleeve just above his wrist and Lancelot shook his head furiously just outside of Leon’s view. Merlin did not understand what the problem was. He felt he was in greater control of his magic now, even with the diminishing effects of whatever Morgana gave him. If they wished it, if they commanded it, he was certain he would be able to complete such a task.
Morgana knelt beside him and let her fingers brush through his hair much like Gwen had done so earlier. “We would not wish to put you through the horror of seeing that place again,” she told him, not unkindly. “I understand your wish for its destruction, and assume it overwhelms my own, but you would need to trust in us to destroy it in your stead.”
Merlin opened his mouth to complain, to advise her that he really did not need to be that close to decimate it, to tell her that to view its destruction may possibly help him find resolution to at least one of his nightmares. Arthur squeezed his arm slightly, drawing his attention to his worried features so that he could see it when he too shook his head.
When he spoke though, it was his surrogate sister he addressed, not Merlin. “We have already had this discussion, Morgana. We will not attack, not yet. We do not have the resources to bring them down.”
Her hand drifted from Merlin’s brow to her own, pushing back a few loose strands of hair from her eyes. “I know,” she insisted. “I simply wish we could take care of it now, destroy it before anyone else has to suffer.”
“And I wish no one had to suffer in the first place,” Arthur told her quietly. He had loosened his grip on Merlin’s arm, but kept his hand in place, rubbing circles through the fabric in the same soothing way as he had done earlier.
She stood abruptly, a hum about her that felt as familiar as Merlin’s own magic that allowed him the briefest glimpse of her potential beyond the invading visions. She looked down on Arthur, hand on her weapon once more. “Do you swear to adhere to the plan?” she asked, more than a hint of rebellion to her tone.
“Which plan?” Arthur replied with the countenance of the long-suffering.
“Mine,” she said simply.
“Morgana...” he tried.
“It is the only way and you know it,” she cut him off. “Uther will not allow a return, will watch your every move as soon as you set foot in the castle once more. He will likely punish Merlin for being far too important to you for your own good and you know it.”
Leon was suddenly bold enough to interrupt. “She has a point, sire.”
Merlin felt like he was missing something, likely something important discussed during one of the many times he had lost consciousness. It was frustrating as he had no idea how much time he had missed, how many words or ideas or plans he missed, all because he could not control his own body and its responses. He tugged on Arthur’s sleeve and asked, “What is the plan?”
Arthur closed his eyes as he leaned back against his palms, feet outstretched before him. When he opened them, even Merlin could see the reluctant acceptance already forming in their depths. “Morgana wishes to claim that the sl-, that the people who took you attempted to take her and Guinevere as well. Leon, Marcus, and Belvedere were able to aide in their safe escape and, in the process, discovered you in the midst of being transported to a new location and were able to free you as well.”
Merlin thought about it, about how it would spur the king’s protectiveness towards his ward and how he would lash out in anger against anyone who would dare harm her. The might of Camelot would be sent against the compound, and it would truly fall once and for all. There would be death and destruction, and likely more than a single injury on Camelot’s side as well, but they would reign victorious in the end, as they should.
He turned to Morgana and asked, “But how would that stop the king from punishing me for Arthur’s sake?” He did not truly care for his own safety, new wounds would simply mingle with old. His concern was for what it would do to Arthur, if he would try to stand up to his father and face the king’s wrath.
It was Arthur himself who answered instead. “I told my father I was going on a hunting trip. He knew I had been searching for information about your whereabouts and it was common knowledge that I sought Lancelot and his contacts for assistance in this matter.” Merlin nodded, though he was not quite seeing how things worked out quite yet. Arthur picked up on his confusion and explained, “This way he can at least pretend I was dong as I said and just happened along the lot of you. Morgana’s safe rescue will outweigh any other concerns and he will write it off as luck that you were returned as well. Your... condition... will further serve to drive home the point of how truly wretched these men are and the fate that would have awaited her had she not escaped.”
It made sense, in a way, Merlin supposed. Uther would never authorise a search for a servant, let alone retribution for their mistreatment. Protection of those he considered family was another matter entirely and anyone who dared to move against them would be harmed, greatly, with great prejudice.
He could tell from Arthur’s features that it troubled him that his father would write off Merlin so easily and that, in a sense, they would be belittling everything he went through as less important as a potential threat to Morgana instead. It did not bother Merlin nearly as much himself. He had long made amends with the fact he was not royalty or nobility and though this mattered to a great number of people, it did not matter to those who he cared most about. He did not think it was the drug in his system convincing him of this either, as he remembered having similar conversations with Arthur and Gaius in the past about this very thing and no one being pleased with the conclusions that were drawn.
He pushed those thoughts from his mind and tried to focus on the situation at hand. His head was still groggy, and he still felt the urge to do whatever he was told, but he was beginning to feel more like himself again. True, that likely meant the pain and the shivering would return soon, and possibly faster than it took before given the smaller dosage, but for now he could almost think clearly should he concentrate, was actually able to concentrate somewhat in the first place, and he fully intended to take advantage of this while he could.
He looked up to Morgana, who appeared ready to launch into a full argument if need be, and then over to Leon and Arthur who looked like they were already preparing their defences. “You will need to know more about the men and their tactics to make this believable,” he announced, garnering their full attention. At Arthur’s questioning gaze, he explained, “Your father will expect to know how your knights were so successful and how to use it to their advantage against the stronghold.”
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Rating: R
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Length: ~ 22,700 words
Spoilers: Vague for 2.03
Warnings: Dark themes. Highlight to read specific warnings: non-con, attempted non-con, abuse, allusions to slavery, allusions to drug use
Synopsis: After seventeen days, Merlin is finally rescued, but is he truly free?
Author’s Notes: This is rather different than my usual style. It is dark, and the rating is based on the dark themes, not because of graphic sexual content. Huge thanks go out to the wonderful
emeraldteal and anon for the beta. Any and all remaining errors are mine alone. Thanks also go out to the cheering section over at camelot_fleet who helped and encouraged me to just finish the thing already. *g*Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Live Journal
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Dreamwidth
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He had not realised that he had drifted off again until he felt a hand on his shoulder gently shake him awake. He blinked his eyes open to find Gwen crouched at his side, a bowl in her hand. “You should eat something,” she offered.
He looked at the plain, porridge-like offering and tried not to swallow the bile that instantly rose in his throat. His head pounded, his muscles ached, and he was freezing despite the cloak that had been adjusted over him once more. Despite all of this, he really doubted hunger was the source of his problems right now.
“Arthur?” he managed to croak out. He looked to the waterskin at her hip and licked his lips, hoping she would understand without further painful words being spoken.
She must not have noticed as she simply stirred the concoction in the bowl, the scent of it invading his senses and making the urge to retch near overpowering. “He is working with the knights to try to find a solution that will prevent Morgana from taking on the stronghold on her own, but still manage to put them out of business,” Gwen replied. She offered him a spoonful and repeated, “Really, you should eat something.”
He opened his mouth to try to explain, readied himself for a new round of pity and explanations, but found it was not necessary. The spoon was removed from her hand and returned to the bowl, which was quickly pushed away. “No porridge,” Arthur said as he handed the bowl to Lancelot. “He had quite enough of that.”
No further explanation was offered, though it was evident Gwen would have appreciated one, but another cloth of trail rations was placed at his side in its stead. The meats and hard breads looked far more appetising, but he still did not know if he could bring himself to actually eat of them. He knew he was being watched, by more than two sets of eyes, and he forced his shaking hand to reach out and pick up a small bit of jerky. It seemed inordinately difficult to bring the piece to his lips, and it was then he realised that it was not just his hand that trembled, but his body as a whole.
The piece fell back to the cloth and he did not quite have either the strength or the will to pick it up again. He felt as though he was shivering, and he was far too hot and far too cold all at once. His vision blurred slightly as he looked up to Arthur, who was watching him with open concern.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked. He rested a hand on his shoulder as if that alone would steady him.
“Head hurts,” he replied in a voice he barely recognised as his own. It was only a fraction of his current problems, but it was the only thing he was able to get out at the time.
“He needs to eat,” Gwen protested, reaching for the porridge once more.
“’s not the food,” Merlin insisted. He shivered again, harder this time, feeling his skin pull against his wounds. He felt like he was missing something, needing something, but did not know what it was and so he had no way of describing it.
“Then what is it?” she asked reasonably.
His head hung and his shoulders drooped despite the tenseness that strummed throughout every last bit of him. He wanted to tell her, but had no idea how to do so. It felt like his body was reaching out, like it did when he was reunited with his magic, only it was not something natural that it craved. He jerked again, and his eyes drifted to the bowl she offered. He found himself reaching for it, even though he despised its contents. “Maybe it is the food after all,” he tried.
Arthur sighed beside him. “You’re not making any sense, Merlin.”
Merlin bit his lip in an effort to stop the chattering of his teeth. “Poisoned,” he finally managed as he pulled his hand back and away again. “They gave me that concoction of theirs at least once a day. What if it was an antidote for whatever else they gave me?”
“Are you certain you are not simply reacting to what they gave you leaving your blood?” Lancelot asked. It made sense, but his mind just could not figure it out.
“I don’t know,” Merlin ground out in frustration. He yanked at his hair, but found his hands gently removed by Gwen.
The shaking increased, and immediately the pressure of Arthur’s hand did so as well. “What do we do?” the prince asked. He glanced at Lancelot and said, “I would ask if they gifted you with more of the tonic they have him, but fear I would never want to see him quite as... compliant... as you described.”
“They gave me a powder that may have been the dried form of the mixture, with directions on its proper preparation,” he said thoughtfully. “I put it in one of the saddle bags and hoped to forget it,” he added with a wince.
“Perhaps if we give him only a bit, wean him from it like a babe from its mother’s milk and see if it is enough until his body can fight it on its own?” Morgana offered.
Merlin scowled. “Not a babe,” he growled through chattering teeth. He shivered once more, and knew at least one of the wounds on his back ripped open from the force of it.
“We are not saying that you are,” she soothed. “We are simply trying to find something to help you.” She turned to Lancelot and requested, “Show me what they gave you.”
Merlin did not quite see the difference as either way he needed the assistance of others instead of being able to stand on his own, but he felt this was a battle he would likely lose, especially given that he currently could barely find the words to support his position. Instead, he lay there and shook despite the extra blanket Gwen added, and in direct contrast to the sweat that dripped down his neck and pooled at the small of his back.
Arthur either had a moment of insight, or noticed the glances he kept shooting towards the waterskin as he not only offered it, but held it steady as Merlin drank his fill. It sloshed heavily in his empty stomach, but felt lovely going down, so he counted it as a success. Arthur also offered him another piece of the dried meat, but he made a face and the prince took it away again.
Morgana returned and shook her head. “I have never seen anything like it before and have spent far more time with Gaius and his remedies than I would like to admit. There’s a chance that would cause more harm than good, I just cannot be certain,” she sighed. She turned to Arthur and added, “I asked your men, but they have not seen nor heard of anything similar either.”
“Then what do we do?” Arthur asked once more.
“He’s in pain,” Gwen pointed out. She let her cool hand rest against his brow and he felt himself press into it.
Morgana tapped her finger to her lips as she thought aloud. “We have many of Gaius’ herbs with us, quite many for pain. We could brew a tea to help with the worst of it.”
Arthur turned his head to make him meet his eyes. “Would you be willing to try this? Something of Gaius’ versus something from the men who held you?”
Merlin nodded readily and Arthur jerked his own head to the side in silent request to create whatever tincture they needed. Gwen reluctantly pulled her hand away, smoothing his fringe out of his eyes before she stood and smiled, “I will help make it.”
The two women disappeared from his view as they found the supplies they had brought, leaving Merlin with Arthur and Lancelot alone for the moment, the knights having taken to patrolling the camp and other menial tasks that were probably not strictly needed but provided an excuse to give the others space and privacy. They were still present, but not pressing, which was a small blessing. “Wish there was a magical cure,” Merlin muttered.
“Not with the knights around,” Lancelot huffed back, earning a hint of a smile from Arthur.
“Be so much easier,” Merlin complained. He let Arthur draw him closer, his larger body absorbing the worst of the shaking.
“Would it?” Lancelot asked. “You have said yourself that magic asks a price; what if it asks something too great to give?”
Merlin did not meet his eyes as he thought about that. He had nothing left to give. His body was weak and he could feel what little control he had slipping with each shake and shudder. The earth had already reclaimed what it had offered before, and he feared asking for anything as it was no longer even in the guise of protection for the others but would have been wholly self-serving this time around. Even if he received help at this point, he was not certain he would know what to do with it.
He shook again, and had the sneaking suspicion that there was now blood mingled with the sweat that plastered his tunic to his back. “I’m a mess,” he whispered, not certain he wanted the others to hear his admission.
“So, nothing new there?” Arthur offered, so obviously trying for a hint of levity but it was clear his heart was not fully in it. His finger stroked small circles on the back of Merlin’s hand, the action far more soothing than it had any right to be.
Merlin watched the swirl of the skin, mind flooded with sudden memories of so many other times Arthur had done the exact same thing. He closed his eyes against the onslaught, but all that did was make the images clearer, nothing in the real world left to dampen them down or block them out. He turned his face into Arthur’s shoulder, smelled the familiar scent and prised his eyes open to take in the soft red that had haunted his dreams for all those long nights. “You’re still here,” he murmured in disbelief.
The fingers stilled their motion before they wrapped around his wrist, holding it tight, but not painfully so. “I’m not going anywhere,” Arthur promised.
“Ever?” he asked doubtingly, ashamed at this weakness almost more so than his physical ailments.
“I’m here for as long as you need me,” Arthur assured him.
Merlin smiled into the fabric, feeling the threads catch on his cracked lips and the unruly stubble that lined his jaw and chin. “Forever and ever?”
“Lord help me, but yes,” Arthur sighed, looking heavenward. He took the sting out of his words with a quick press of his lips to Merlin’s bruised temple. “I do believe you are stuck with me for quite a long time.”
“Think I can live with that,” Merlin replied, letting his fingers tangle at the back of the leather belt Arthur wore. Other memories threatened to rise, but he pushed them back down with a strength of will he attributed to someone other than himself. He did not need them in his way right now, intent on enjoying the moment, pain, shaking, and all.
“Do try,” Arthur said, voice not much more than a breath.
Morgana and Gwen returned with their creation. Merlin sniffed it and was thankful it did not resemble anything the men had given him. The moment the warm, sweet liquid touched his tongue, he knew from his own training that they had brewed it far too strong. He had still been thirsty, and more than a bit wary of what they would give him, so he had taken quite the gulp and now the powerful medicine hit his nearly empty stomach and began to work far faster than it should. His vision blurred slightly, well, more than it already had, and the world around him seemed to spin, possibly in the wrong direction.
Morgana urged him to drink the lot and he could not find reason to argue with her. He downed the rest of it in a series of quick sips, somehow managing both not to choke and to remain upright throughout. He had the sneaking suspicion that Arthur propping him at his side might have been the sole reason for the last part though.
His head drooped to Arthur’s shoulder, the hard edge colliding with his cheekbone as he continued to shake. He had no idea if the tremors were lessening, or if Gaius’ draught simply made him feel them less, but his entire body was beginning to feel heavy and perhaps numb. His eyes drifted shut and he let the rush of sounds fade into the background as darkness wrapped its arms around him.
He was not certain how long he slept, just as he was not certain “sleep” was the correct word for it. He seemed to drift in and out, time meaningless and unnecessary, hearing voices of the people he was fairly certain were physically present around him overlapping with images that he truly hoped were nightmares but knew were much more. His body ached when he was conscious enough to realise it, but something deeper hurt when he would drift into the darkness and saw glimpses of what he knew were memories that he had shoved deep within in hopes of never needing to acknowledge their existence again.
A cup of warm liquid was held to his lips more than once and he remembered the wetness against his skin as it dribbled down his chin and throat. The reprieve it would grant seemed to shorten with each dose and his companions’ words began to ring even louder throughout his mind.
“I don’t think it’s helping,” he heard more than once.
“I just don’t know what else to give him.” That was Morgana, the frustration to her tone growing with each repetition.
“Perhaps it is worth trying; it certainly make matters much worse.” Was that Leon, or Belvedere?
“Sire, we cannot stay here much longer; we are far too close to the trader’s camp. Soon it will no longer be safe.” Definitely Leon; always the voice of reason and respect.
A cup was held to his lips and he dutifully sipped. The taste was different this time, bitter and vile and familiar all at once. He wanted to retch but slim hands held his mouth closed until he swallowed, a new drug slithering its way down into his stomach. He gasped for air the moment he was released, eyes wide against the too bright sun as he demanded, “What did you do?”
He never heard Morgana’s reply beyond the first few breaths of an apology as his eyes rolled back into his head and the world dropped away once more.
He slowly returned to awareness to find the colours had gone away. No, that was not quite right. They were there still, yet not, like they were tinged with grey and dulled to mere fraction of what they should be. The noises seemed different as well. Still. That was the word to describe it. Everything was so still, like it had yet to come to life.
He realised how fitting a word it truly was when he looked to his hand to find it no longer shaking. His body was still. His mind was still. Everything was just... still.
He frowned, thinking that this should seem off, that it should be wrong somehow, but he could not for the life of him figure out how. He brushed the thought away and tried to push himself up into a sitting position.
“Merlin?” a voice caught his attention. His head turned to find someone looking at him questioningly; looking at him as if it was not the first time he had tried to get his attention. A name came to mind, Leon, and it felt correct. “Sire, he is awake,” the man called over his shoulder and another man appeared in the time it took him to blink. Arthur. He had returned.
He seemed looking for something, gauging his reaction as he asked, “Merlin, are you all right?”
Merlin nodded as it seemed expected of him. The feeling that something was dreadfully off was still there, but he could not identify it and so it did not matter. There was a voice to his left that said something thankful, but it was not clear enough to make sense.
Arthur was crouched beside him now, warm hand upon his brow. Leon hovered behind him, and others behind him as well. “Are you still cold?” Arthur asked, motioning to the blankets piled about.
Merlin shook his head. He was not cold. He was not warm either.
Arthur started peeling the layers away, tucking them to the side where they disappeared only to return in a neatly folded state. He reached the final layer, the bright red cloak, and hesitated slightly before drawing that away as well. There was a heavy sigh, something crossed between regret and resignation and Arthur brought Merlin’s wrists forward in a gentle grip that he did not try to fight. “We need to change your bandages, is that okay? It appears some of your wounds may have opened.”
Merlin looked down to find the cloth speckled with a dry red-brown, a slightly more lively version dripping down one of his forearms. He nodded and brought his arms forward to be treated, already wincing in preparation for the sting he knew was about to come. The position reminded him of something, but yet felt like something was missing. They looked bound, but held solely by will and not rope and metal. He pushed that image away as well as it was unneeded.
Bandages and cleaning tonics were offered and the rags around his wrists disposed of in no time at all. The skin was raw and burned where it was torn, but everything was applied with a gentle touch which seemed to sooth away the worst of it.
“Anything else?” Arthur asked, wiping his hands on his trousers.
Merlin knew his back was a mess and could feel the fabric of his tunic stick and drag against his skin. The blood and sweat must have dried, sealing it into place. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked upwards, ignoring the twist of his muscles and the sharp pain as the fabric pulled free. He leaned forward and wondered if he should not just lay on his stomach to make things easier, but something in his mind rebelled at that thought, so he stayed where he was for now.
There was a gasp that sounded distinctly feminine and he looked up to find a woman, Morgana, covering her mouth with her hand and another woman, Gwen, looking like she was ready to burst into tears. He wanted to say something to comfort them, to reassure them, but no words would come. He was pleased he remembered their names.
Lancelot stepped forward to do what he could not. “The wounds will heal,” he promised them. Merlin briefly wondered just how bad his back was to garner such looks, but then decided it was perhaps best that he did not know.
Arthur had taken a rag and was rubbing lightly against the injuries, the cloth both sticking and soothing in equal parts. “I am not sure which is more disturbing, the injuries or his blind compliance,” he mused dourly.
Merlin frowned. He did not think he was being especially compliant. He was simply avoiding unnecessary hassles by doing what needed to be done instead of fighting the inevitable. He supposed that could be construed as compliant, but was not certain why it would be considered disturbing instead of welcoming in this situation.
“I’m sorry,” Morgana offered. She crouched down, closer now, features nearly in focus. Some of her hair had fallen loose from the ties and framed her face in ways he found almost distracting, especially when the wind made one of the curls sway rhythmically, almost soothingly. “It seemed the only way. Nothing else was working and whether it was poison or a cure, it was the only thing we had left to try.”
Several things slotted into place for Merlin at her words. The numbness, the haze around everything he saw and felt; it was all beginning to make sense now. There was a vile taste upon his tongue and his stomach threatened to rid itself of what it now realised he had been given. “You gave me what they gave me,” he accused. The words sounded harsh to his own ears, and it was hard to simply get them past his lips.
“I am sorry,” she repeated. She shook her head and did look apologetic, yet it was somehow not enough. “It was the only way,” she insisted. He wondered just whom she was trying to convince.
He tried to sit upright, Arthur removing the rag to allow him to do so. A rush of feelings came over him: anger, hurt, and frustration. They began to fade to the background even as he fought to hold onto them, fought to feel something real through the fog that covered his mind and body.
He licked his lips, tongue thick and nearly as dry as his skin. “Do you know why they gave me that?” he asked. He saw her flinch from his words and knew she had her suspicions. “Do you know how often they gave me that?” he continued. His muscles trembled and he knew he was glaring, knew he was not showing her the respect she deserved. His mind screamed for him to back down, to apologise, to comply with what she needed. He settled for stopping before he truly began.
“Merlin,” Arthur soothed. The cloth returned, rubbing small circles that made his muscles slowly lose some of their tension. “It’s over,” he promised in the same soft voice. “Let it go, at least for now. She was only doing what she thought was best. Watching you... she could not stand to see you in any more pain than you already were.”
He started to relent, started to release the hold he had on his anger and grief. He closed his eyes, not being able to stand to see the tears that fell across her face, and wondered if it was the drug or his heart that made him want to forgive her.
“Would you do it again?” he asked quietly.
He forced himself to open his eyes, needing to see her reaction. Gwen stood beside her now, shaking her head, but he had to give Morgana credit for her honesty. “If I thought it would help, yes,” she replied.
He nodded and actively tried not to lean into Arthur’s touch. His thoughts were slow to form, fighting against the drugs, exhaustion, and himself, but something still seemed off. Despite the fog being explained by Silas’ concoction, there was something more at work that he could not quite put his finger on. “I have more control,” he finally realised. “I can feel what you gave me, feel it in my blood really, but it isn’t was all-consuming as before.” He swallowed heavily and still felt like he was choking. “Can even talk again.”
“She gave you less than half of what the instructions said,” Lancelot offered from her side. “We made more in case you need it, but wanted to try less first in case it worked.”
“Wean me like a babe,” Merlin muttered, remembering her earlier words.
“Not a babe,” Arthur whispered, and he wished he believed him.
He did not try to smile, knowing it would be seen right through. Instead, he leaned forward once more to give him better access to his wounds. He felt the cooling salve applied and cloth wrapped around what he assumed was the worst of the damage. He wanted to protest when another piece of dried meat was placed in front of him, but dutifully ate when Arthur verbally asked him to. He frowned, knowing Arthur was taking advantage of his altered state, but could not actually bring himself to complain as, for the first time, the food did not seem to want to rebel. It could have been hunger setting in, or the compliance of the drug, or even just knowing that things were out in the open with so very little left to hide. He decided not to dwell on it for now, knowing there would be long hours ahead for him to lock himself away and truly deal with it all.
After he ate enough to satisfy all those involved, he sat there dumbly for a moment. He was not certain what he should do, not was he certain what they wanted to do. No one had voiced anything and his own mind was painfully blank. He tried to come up with something, anything, but the moment a thought surged, it faded away again leaving him with nothing. He was beginning to realise that it had not just been the collar that had kept him tame; it had simply kept him from voicing his displeasures when he could finally focus enough to notice they were present in the first place. The collar controlled his magic; the drug controlled him.
“We should leave soon, sire,” Leon suggested as he approached.
“Something troubles you?” Arthur guessed. He sat at Merlin’s side, not even pretending to move.
Leon nodded. “Belvedere rode out towards where Lancelot claimed to have... obtained... Merlin. There is movement there, as if they are readying for another scouting trip.” He spared Merlin glance, this one pitying, letting what the men would be scouting for go unspoken. “There’s still light, we can place greater distance between ourselves and that place if we leave now.”
“And you think the small distance we would be able to travel this night would be enough to escape them come morning?” Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow.
Leon shook his head, apparently having given this some thought. “It’s just... Sire, the ladies. To allow the Lady Morgana, or Guinevere, to be put at such an unnecessary risk by remaining so close seems impractical.”
Arthur seemed to be weighing the options, most likely remembering the fact they were about to move themselves when the camp was invaded by the well-to-doers. He did not get a chance to speak, however, before a sword was driven into the ground before him, Morgana’s delicately gloved hand resting on the pommel. “The ‘ladies’ would rather see that place turned to rubble than leave it standing, risk or no,” she announced.
“I could do that,” Merlin offered what he thought was helpfully. Arthur gripped his sleeve just above his wrist and Lancelot shook his head furiously just outside of Leon’s view. Merlin did not understand what the problem was. He felt he was in greater control of his magic now, even with the diminishing effects of whatever Morgana gave him. If they wished it, if they commanded it, he was certain he would be able to complete such a task.
Morgana knelt beside him and let her fingers brush through his hair much like Gwen had done so earlier. “We would not wish to put you through the horror of seeing that place again,” she told him, not unkindly. “I understand your wish for its destruction, and assume it overwhelms my own, but you would need to trust in us to destroy it in your stead.”
Merlin opened his mouth to complain, to advise her that he really did not need to be that close to decimate it, to tell her that to view its destruction may possibly help him find resolution to at least one of his nightmares. Arthur squeezed his arm slightly, drawing his attention to his worried features so that he could see it when he too shook his head.
When he spoke though, it was his surrogate sister he addressed, not Merlin. “We have already had this discussion, Morgana. We will not attack, not yet. We do not have the resources to bring them down.”
Her hand drifted from Merlin’s brow to her own, pushing back a few loose strands of hair from her eyes. “I know,” she insisted. “I simply wish we could take care of it now, destroy it before anyone else has to suffer.”
“And I wish no one had to suffer in the first place,” Arthur told her quietly. He had loosened his grip on Merlin’s arm, but kept his hand in place, rubbing circles through the fabric in the same soothing way as he had done earlier.
She stood abruptly, a hum about her that felt as familiar as Merlin’s own magic that allowed him the briefest glimpse of her potential beyond the invading visions. She looked down on Arthur, hand on her weapon once more. “Do you swear to adhere to the plan?” she asked, more than a hint of rebellion to her tone.
“Which plan?” Arthur replied with the countenance of the long-suffering.
“Mine,” she said simply.
“Morgana...” he tried.
“It is the only way and you know it,” she cut him off. “Uther will not allow a return, will watch your every move as soon as you set foot in the castle once more. He will likely punish Merlin for being far too important to you for your own good and you know it.”
Leon was suddenly bold enough to interrupt. “She has a point, sire.”
Merlin felt like he was missing something, likely something important discussed during one of the many times he had lost consciousness. It was frustrating as he had no idea how much time he had missed, how many words or ideas or plans he missed, all because he could not control his own body and its responses. He tugged on Arthur’s sleeve and asked, “What is the plan?”
Arthur closed his eyes as he leaned back against his palms, feet outstretched before him. When he opened them, even Merlin could see the reluctant acceptance already forming in their depths. “Morgana wishes to claim that the sl-, that the people who took you attempted to take her and Guinevere as well. Leon, Marcus, and Belvedere were able to aide in their safe escape and, in the process, discovered you in the midst of being transported to a new location and were able to free you as well.”
Merlin thought about it, about how it would spur the king’s protectiveness towards his ward and how he would lash out in anger against anyone who would dare harm her. The might of Camelot would be sent against the compound, and it would truly fall once and for all. There would be death and destruction, and likely more than a single injury on Camelot’s side as well, but they would reign victorious in the end, as they should.
He turned to Morgana and asked, “But how would that stop the king from punishing me for Arthur’s sake?” He did not truly care for his own safety, new wounds would simply mingle with old. His concern was for what it would do to Arthur, if he would try to stand up to his father and face the king’s wrath.
It was Arthur himself who answered instead. “I told my father I was going on a hunting trip. He knew I had been searching for information about your whereabouts and it was common knowledge that I sought Lancelot and his contacts for assistance in this matter.” Merlin nodded, though he was not quite seeing how things worked out quite yet. Arthur picked up on his confusion and explained, “This way he can at least pretend I was dong as I said and just happened along the lot of you. Morgana’s safe rescue will outweigh any other concerns and he will write it off as luck that you were returned as well. Your... condition... will further serve to drive home the point of how truly wretched these men are and the fate that would have awaited her had she not escaped.”
It made sense, in a way, Merlin supposed. Uther would never authorise a search for a servant, let alone retribution for their mistreatment. Protection of those he considered family was another matter entirely and anyone who dared to move against them would be harmed, greatly, with great prejudice.
He could tell from Arthur’s features that it troubled him that his father would write off Merlin so easily and that, in a sense, they would be belittling everything he went through as less important as a potential threat to Morgana instead. It did not bother Merlin nearly as much himself. He had long made amends with the fact he was not royalty or nobility and though this mattered to a great number of people, it did not matter to those who he cared most about. He did not think it was the drug in his system convincing him of this either, as he remembered having similar conversations with Arthur and Gaius in the past about this very thing and no one being pleased with the conclusions that were drawn.
He pushed those thoughts from his mind and tried to focus on the situation at hand. His head was still groggy, and he still felt the urge to do whatever he was told, but he was beginning to feel more like himself again. True, that likely meant the pain and the shivering would return soon, and possibly faster than it took before given the smaller dosage, but for now he could almost think clearly should he concentrate, was actually able to concentrate somewhat in the first place, and he fully intended to take advantage of this while he could.
He looked up to Morgana, who appeared ready to launch into a full argument if need be, and then over to Leon and Arthur who looked like they were already preparing their defences. “You will need to know more about the men and their tactics to make this believable,” he announced, garnering their full attention. At Arthur’s questioning gaze, he explained, “Your father will expect to know how your knights were so successful and how to use it to their advantage against the stronghold.”
~~~~~~~~~~
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