TAKEN (What's yours is Mine) - 6/6
Taken Five
Taken Six
*
One thing Arthur knew about the Warf was that he hated it. It was a sprawling mess of warehouses and shipping containers and a single, worn down jetty that leaned over the Camelot River.
It wasn’t a pretty sight, and given that they had no idea where in the sprawling mess of warehouses Uther had gone to, the idea that they might have to try their luck on as many as they could made him actually feel a bit ill.
Everyone else in the car seemed to be following the same lines because Arthur watched the pinched look around Leon’s eyes grow as they drove over the bumping gateway and into the Warf.
There was no security at the gate, nothing to hint in the darkness that there was any life at all out among the sprawling mess of shipping containers and large echoing warehouses.
“Gwen?” Mithian asked softly, into her headset, breaking the tension of the car.
“Any idea where in the Warf Uther went?”
There was a crackling buzz through the comms and then a buzzing only Mithian could hear, her expression twitched before she nodded, mostly to herself.
“Thanks, Gwen,” she said after a moment and brought her hand away from her ear.
“Warehouse sixteen. Your friends have been helping out again, Dubois,” she said crisply and Arthur had to smile, then. Despite the situation, despite everything.
“They’ve not been there long,” Mithian said a moment later and the tension disappeared again.
As they neared the end row of warehouses Leon slowed the car almost to a standstill and in the glow of the security lights they saw two cars parked at their side of the warehouse. A black SUV like their own, and a small black sedan.
“Park here, we go in on foot,” Leon said, taking control and Arthur was secretly glad. For all that she’d done so far, Mithian was no one to lead this.
“Elyan, Arthur, check the cars, Lance, Mithian, see if you can see in any of the windows, we need a form of approach and I need to know numbers.”
Elyan didn’t hesitate; he slid out of the car and with a nod towards Arthur to follow set over to the two black cars. Unhanding his gun he held it down, the safety clearly off as Arthur looked down at it, illuminated briefly in the cool night air.
The man’s steps were slow and stealthy and Arthur fell in form, returning to his training with an ease that was both soothing and uncomfortable.
Elyan’s signal to circle round took him to the left side of the SUV and with a careful glance over at the man who was actually armed, Arthur counted him down and they opened the doors together.
Elyan’s face was creased in shock as he stared into the dimly lit SUV at the small dark haired boy staring fearfully between the two of them.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Arthur swore, continuing to stare at the boy. He felt Leon behind him a moment later.
“Well that’s new,” Leon murmured and Arthur snorted in agreement.
“Move, will you?” Lance whispered on the other side of the car and Arthur heard the other man start to murmur softly at the young boy as he kneeled down on the other side.
“Let DuLac deal with this,” Leon ordered and Arthur nodded, gently closing the door of the car.
“he’ll get him to safety. Elyan, there’s a side door on the left, right next to it there’s an opening in the window. Pitch in a smoke bomb, we’ll need all the advantage we can get against a room full of sorcerers. Arthur, you’re on this side with me. Mithian, follow Elyan. Lance, get the kid away and call it in.”
Arthur watched as Lance saluted to show he’d heard, all the white still talking softly, Elyan and Mithian nodded and disappeared around the other side of the building.
Leon took a breath in and started walking towards this front door. It was closed and despite their best efforts their shoes crunched on the gravel as they moved, but that was nothing against the feeling of Leon Cameliard pressing his back up into Arthur’s hand as he counted down and on his mark, there was a moments silence and then the ricocheting sound of the bomb going off.
It dispersed with a large resounding bang that seemed to rattle the foundations of the warehouse. Arthur heard Leon swear and shout something at Lance, but Arthur wasn’t paying attention. He had one prerogative, one focus - to get Merlin, and as he watched the warehouse shudder his anxiety sky rocketed and threw all sense of caution to the wind. He heard Leon shout after him a moment later, but there was no chance he was waiting around to let them order him around.
The warehouse was filled with smoke and falling dust and it burned and choked him as he breathed, itching in his nose. He could barely see two feet in front of him, but he could hear movement in the gloom, hear the choking cough of someone in the darkness and a cry of pain. He stumbled over the loose debris scattering the floor, impossible to avoid in the smog, twisting and turning as he searched for something he recognised, some sign that Merlin was here. That Merlin was alive.
Behind him something moved and like a wish come true as the smoke drifted he caught sight of something flashing blonde and in that moment, Arthur heard a struggling shout he’d recognise anywhere. He was after them before he could hear any resistance from Leon, before he could think, disappearing into the smoke and determined to do one thing.
Find Merlin.
*
During her life Morgana had forced herself to accept the chances life threw in the way, opportunities that were different to those she desired and as she came back to herself, her magic recoiling and searching the fog for Morgause and instead found someone else, she was more than willing to take her advantage and use it.
In that moment one thing was certain, Uther Constance had been followed and in that knowledge, he had become useless to her. He had kept Mordred from her, and now, now, even if he’d been true to his word and Mordred had been in the car, there was no chance of getting him now. The foolish knights would have found him already, claimed him before they began their assault.
Mordred was beyond her reach.
But Uther, Uther served no purpose any longer and he deserved everything that was coming to him.
Snarling she scrambled to her feet, aware on the other end of her magic was Uther was spluttering and fighting to catch up, his senses boring and human and taking their time to accept what was happening.
Morgana was steps ahead and she was not about to let this go.
Stumbling through the fog Uther was on his hands and knees, coughing, his older physique battling against him.
He was at the disadvantage and Morgana’s anger was peaked. She struck out before he even had any idea she was there.
His answering cry of pain and surprise made her smile, she relished the sound of it buzzing in her ears.
“Found you,” she snarled, walking closer towards him, coming at him through the smoke. Uther scrambled for his feet, his pride showing through like a beacon. The man was desperate not to be beaten on his hands and knees.
Perhaps that’s how she could kill him, force him to beg, kissing her shoes.
“Morga-“ Uther attempted to shout, but she cut him off mid cry, her magic slamming him backwards and back onto the ground, the air leaving his lungs with a dull thud and even in the darkness she could see his eyes bulge.
“Stop!” someone cried, just behind her and she turned, not caring which pathetic minion had come to stop her as she curled her magic around them and tossed them aside. She barely paid any attention to the sound they made as they landed half a dozen feet away.
Her attentions were focussed on Uther, Uther who was once again scrambling for his feet. This time she laughed and reached for him, her magic stretching out towards him like the web of a spider, long golden threads that pulled him back towards her, his limbs thrashing as he fought - the last desperate throes of an old man about to reap his dues.
He was but an arms length away when another voice echoed in the smoke and in a single fluid movement she spun, pulling Uther back towards her as she moved. In two steps, the old man was pulled back into her grasp, her arm snaking around his throat and pressing back, her magic pulling him taught and holding him quiet.
“Let him go, Morgana, it’s over,” the voice said again and this time Morgana could see the fixed determination in the woman’s face. Her arms were extended, her gun pointed somewhere between Uther’s neck and her own and Morgana laughed.
“Which criminal are you here to take in, Agent? Because there’s too many of them for one little girl.”
“Out of everyone I hoped you would be one to know you don’t underestimate appearances, don’t prove me wrong,” the woman replied, sounding a little amused, and Morgana couldn’t help but laugh.
“Give me the boy Uther was hiding and I’ll let you have him.”
The woman shook her head.
“The boy stays out of this.”
“That’s impossible, this is all it’s about. He is all this is about! Give him to me and I’ll let Constance here live.”
“You know I can’t do that. Besides, the boy isn’t here. He’s gone. There was no way I was going to start this with a child here, Morgana. Stand down and I promise you can see him.”
“Ha! Promises from a Knight, how touching. How long will I get, Agent? Ten minutes? Five? I think I’ll take my chances.”
“Just remember that they’re slim, Morgana,” the woman replied, sounding so sure Morgana envied her for a moment. To feel so righteous, so sure about something. That stability - oh how she envied it.
And how useless that feeling was.
Morgana scowled and pulled herself together, pulling her arm tight around Uther’s neck and embracing the keening sound the man made as his airways tightened again.
“You might have him now, agent, but I promise you this, I will get my son back. I will find him, no matter where you take him. How you hide him, I will find him again. You might have won this, but Uther here, Uther’s lost everything,” she sneered.
“Let him go, Morgana. We know what he’s been doing. He’ll pay, I swear.”
“He wont pay enough. What price would give for the life and safety of your child, of any child? What price do you give to that? What price can you take from an old man? There’s only one way to make him pay, and I’ll save you the vulgarity,” she smiled, her magic curling around them, burning hot and reckless, angry in it’s very creation as she was. Uther made a desperate gurgle in his throat as she pulled back with her arm, tightening her hold over his windpipe. It wasn’t quite like what she had felt with Merlin, her magic tightening around him until there wasn’t any air. No, this she wanted to savour, until that moment, all she needed was for him to know he was at her mercy.
All she needed to convey to the foolish woman was that Uther Constance would not live to see another dawn.
The dark haired agent lifted her gun, her expression wavering as she fought her internal battle. Morgana wanted to laugh. How easy it would be to just tug that silly toy from the woman’s grasp and toss her aside, but it was all in her expression, in her eyes - the fight she was battling between right and wrong.
But Morgana didn’t have time to wait around.
She tightened her grasp around Uther once again and smiled, feeling her magic welling up inside her again, building and building until it burst and as the words slipped off her tongue she felt the warmth of her magic surround them both and squeeze. It pulsed through her, like it was trying to take her apart and then all of a sudden they slammed back onto the ground and instinctively she let go of Uther. The man stumbled, gasping for breath, his eyes dark and furious and as Morgana found her feet all she could do was laugh at him.
“How dare you - “ Uther roared, his expression ugly and still, all she could do was laugh. There was no one around, an empty spanse of bleak ground that stretched out a few metres before the edge of the river played with it’s banks, on the other side a crumbling wall hid them from view and it was perfect, a dim expanse of dead ground perfect for what she wanted.
Privacy, nowhere to run and no one to hear him scream but her.
“How dare I, father?” she mocked, the wind tossing her hair and sending an icy chill across her bones.
“How dare I? There is nothing you can say to me, Uther Constance that gives you the right to the higher ground. Nothing at all. You are the scum of the earth and not even the worms deserve to be anywhere near you. You, Uther, you are going to Hell. You will rot in the darkest pits for your cruelty and it doesn’t matter what I do to you. It doesn’t matter how much I enjoy killing you. I could strip the flesh from your bones while you still lived and I would not hedge an inch closer to the depths you will fall. Because there is nothing I can do that can mimic what you’ve done to the innocence of thousands. Thousands of lives you’ve torn apart and yet you save the bounds of your cruelty for your own blood, for a child you bred like an animal for your sick experiments. You stole my child and you’ve hurt him again and again, and for that you will burn. You will burn, Uther and I will watch you now and I will watch it every night as I go to sleep with a smile on my face,” Morgana snarled, feeling the words slip off her tongue, feel them disappear from the burning scroll she had carved into her psyche ever since her memories returned, ever since she remembered those months in Uther’s keep and what she and her sister had found. Ever since she had discovered that the father who had never acknowledged her, had stolen her child and wiped her memory like it had never been there.
There was nothing she wasn’t willing to do to avenge the damage Mordred had felt at the hands of the man staring up at her white faced and terrified. She could sense the fear pouring out of Uther, how he struggled against the invisible bonds she snapped around him, how his arrogance withered as she knocked him to his knees. As he stared at her glimmering eyes and she hoped, she hoped in some dim, far off part of her that he regretted his life. The part he had played in the pain of so many. She hoped he was sick with himself.
But she doubted it.
He cared for himself, feared for himself.
And in the end, he would be the only one to mourn once the world discovered what he had done.
She would be sure of that.
She knelt down in front of him and his bloodshot, fear filled eyes followed her every move. She knelt in front of him and waited, staring into his eyes, staring deep into him, memorising the moment.
When she spoke it was quiet, solemn, like the whispered words of judgement.
“I want to listen to you scream,” she said.
*
Merlin winced as Morgause dropped him, her grasp leaving him and his knees buckled out from under him as he coughed and coughed and fought for a clean breath.
He was half aware of Morgause still close by but his attention felt split too many times already. His lungs burned and his magic pressed against the barrier, fighting to break through and Arthur - always Arthur. The sound of his voice echoing in his head, again and again on loop.
Merlin was too desperate that he was only dimly aware of Morgause bending down to his level, her hair falling in long blond waves and her eyes burning gold in the smoke.
His first cognizant acknowledgement of where they were and what she was doing burst through his confusion as Morgause leant in and whispered in his ear.
“Come Merlin, let’s lay a trap.”
She sounded too happy in that moment, too perfectly smug that some dark terror burst through him and dragged him back to reality.
He looked from Morgause in that moment as she leant behind him, her slips curled into a self-satisfied smirk and then he followed the lines of her body, her shoulder, her extended arm, the gun clenched in her grasp.
He stared at it and knew a moment before it happened what was about to unfold.
He knew, and his magic raged, burning hot and desperate.
And then Arthur burst around the corner.
And Morgause fired.
*
Arthur heard a dim shout behind him that he ignored without question. The warehouse drifted heavy with dust and smoke and it made direction impossible. But there was something driving him, something that he couldn’t explain or think about - something that was instinct and instinct alone, leading him the right way. Because he was certain, he had to be certain that he was following Merlin; there was no other option. He wasn’t about to fail Merlin again.
The warehouse was old and dilapidated, the ground covered in debris and it was the sound of someone’s heavy breathing, the hacking coughs and disparate clumsiness that reverberated through the fog the further away from the entry site they got.
He couldn’t run, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. He wanted to hurtle through the fog and drag Merlin into his arms. He didn’t think of Morgause and really, that was his undoing.
As he followed the sound of Merlin’s coughing around a half standing wall there was a moment where he knew he hadn’t thought it through, where some part of him that thought everything through, took the time to focus and not let his emotions drive him started muttering under it’s breath.
But that was dim and unimportant.
As he burst around the corner he took in Merlin half sprawled on the ground, his eyes wide and terrified and behind him Morgause. Her lip curled and Arthur had this strange feeling of dread uncurl in his stomach a moment before she moved.
And then Morgause pulled the trigger and Arthur saw the flash of the gun a moment before the report. Everything slowed in that moment, a moment too late as Arthur felt his whole body lurch backward. He watched as a single curl of smoke wafted from the end of the gun, the sharp tang of gunpowder in the air. He watched as Merlin’s eyes widened in shock and his body jerked forward in horror. Arthur glanced down at himself and watched in abject curiosity as the first dark stain curled against the fabric of his shirt, a dark black target that seemed to grow the more he watched and yet seemed absent of pain.
The only real pain was staring at him in Merlin’s face, in his wide eyes and the desperate cry that tore from his lips.
It was wordless and high pitched and something bright flashed in Arthur’s eyes, something bursting and gold and angry and Arthur watched as something dark fell away from Merlin’s wrists.
Arthur heard Morgause’s surprised ‘oh’ before the curling gold obeyed the whipcord movement of Merlin’s hands and took hold of the blonde woman and picked her up like she was a doll, tossing her across the room.
Arthur didn’t hear her land, as he tried to move his feet, heavy in his shoes, he felt his knees give way a second before the pain hit. Like the swing of a sledgehammer it hit him full on, it hit right behind his eyes and in the middle of his chest simultaneously, and as his vision whitened out, he felt the faintest caress of warmth that felt irrepressibly just like Merlin.
And then it was all gone.
*
Merlin reacted before he could really process Morgause’s actions. His brain flipped, an immediate reaction where his magic just burst, like a dam, the barriers holding it back, holding it inside him just snapped and it flooded his veins and out, out, out of him in a second, in the time it took to see Arthur’s blood bleed through the front of his shirt, a dark wet patch that spread outwards.
His veins buzzed with the feel of his magic, his blood hot and his eyes burning and with a wordless shout he reached out for Morgause and threw her. His fingers clamped shut and his magic followed, a wordless command that picked the woman up and tossed her aside. All the while, his magic burst out of him, curling through the air and stretching out - out of him, out of the confines of his body, of the room. He could feel it, every fibre of the room, the cold stone brickwork under their feet, the concrete, the cool dead wood in the walls, the dust and the smoke, the soft buzz of the insects and the tuneful hum of the glass. He could feel the shocked gasp for breath Morgause made, the whipcord rush of her own magic, slick and cold inside her veins. He could feel the tense pulse of Arthur’s heart and the unsteady hitch in his breathing. He could feel his lover’s breath and his heartbeat and the touch of his skin - he could feel Arthur’s determination and his reserve, his worry and his fear and the weakness of his body.
He felt the moment his knees gave out and his magic caught Arthur before his eyes could close or even his knees touch the ground.
His magic curled around Arthur in a protective glow that stretched between them like gossamer thread. He could feel Arthur though it, his heartbeat, strong, but weakening, he could feel the panic in Arthur’s body, the rush of his blood - and then it was torn out of his grasp. Something slammed into him, hard and unyielding and cold and tossed him aside like he was nothing. The bond between he and Arthur snapped and Merlin was left reeling, something pulsing in the back of his head as he fought to put his feet back underneath him.
“Do you really think I would be so easy, Merlin?” someone taunted him, her voice icy and mocking. He stumbled to right himself, something pushing down on him, like the air was concrete thick and even his lungs rebelled.
“I was one of the lucky ones, I was trained, taught by those blessed to escape Uther Constance and his persecution. I have the knowledge of Magic’s history in my head and you are an unschooled boy with too much power and not enough dedication.”
Merlin looked up into long blond hair and black clothing and a searing gaze, her hand outstretched.
He watched as she closed her fist and the air closed around him again, at her will he was pulled to his feet and tossed across the room once again. His vision slid in and out of focus as he tried to take stock of himself. But Morgause was not one for mercy and her magic closed around him again, the air disappearing out of his lungs.
“You, blessed with more power than us all, and you treat it without the respect it deserves. You serve only yourself and not those who would benefit from your achievements.”
He stumbled, trying to put his feet under him, but Morgause was on him again before he count gather his wits. Her magic coiled around him and tossed him again, slamming him into the barely-standing wall behind Arthur, the corrugated iron collapsing under the pressure of his body and he felt the sharp slice of it through his skin as he struggled once again for his feet.
He could hear her laughter, feel the amusement as she toyed with him in her magic, in the very bones of her. The anger there that seemed to be part of their blood as a family, inherent in everyone he had met.
Bar Arthur.
Arthur and Morgause were nothing alike, no blood shared between them, but he shared blood with Morgana, with Uther and he was nothing like them. Not like that.
Not where it counted.
Arthur, with his heart of gold, his do-good, be-good principles. His arrogance and his easy frustration and the way he looked at Merlin, first thing in the morning, all sleep rumpled and confused and Merlin let out a wordless cry as he clenched his eyes shut and replayed the sight of Arthur, his Arthur crumpling into the dust of the warehouse.
He could feel Morgause standing barely a metre away, so close, too close. He could feel her glee at his pain, at Arthur’s pain. Arthur’s death.
“You hurt him,” Merlin growled, feeling the words and the hurt somewhere deep inside him, bursting and burning and as part of him as his magic.
“You hurt him. You came into our place, our business, our home and you took me from him. You separated us and now you’ve taken him forever.” The pain didn’t dull, it throbbed, it burned in his veins just like his magic, and perhaps it was his magic, maybe it wasn’t. But all he knew in that moment was that Arthur was gone, hurt, dying - dead. Morgause hurt him and right at that second Merlin didn’t know if she had torn him away from Merlin forever, before he had even been able to touch him, kiss him, hold him one last time. Two weeks ago was such a long time and to think that his teasing kiss to the back of Arthur’s neck at five o’clock in the morning, while Arthur had been grouching and still half asleep - to think that might have been the last time he had with him...
There was nothing Morgause could do to spare herself.
Not that she really tried.
Her eyes still glowed bright and her mouth was still a determined line as she reached out towards him, her magic bursting on her fingertips. Merlin reacted; he could feel his magic curl in the tips of his fingers. His hand reached for her and then he clenched his fist, his will iron and cold and his innocence shrivelled and dead inside his chest. He could feel the cold rush of anger and revenge and he could feel as his magic curled into her veins and encircled her heart, the burning golden flame of her life. He closed his fist around it and just like that Morgause’s eyes rolled up in her head and her body went limp, her arm falling flat and her head lolling back on her neck like a doll. He could feel the flame of her life snuff out, he could feel the way it smouldered and disappeared, the last of her breath leaving her lungs.
And just like that it was done. His hands shook and he inhaled a shaky breath that didn’t seem to catch, reeling from the sudden absence of his magic, the hollowness in his veins. He could feel the heart of it buzzing inside of him, weary and weak, but in the wake of it all, as he turned towards Arthur, the emptiness in his chest, the hollow terror that hadn’t gone away fanned itself back to a full flame of it’s own as he turned towards Arthur and saw his lover’s slumped body.
“No - “ he moaned, low in his throat and he started towards Arthur - delving back into himself, into his magic and reaching out, feeling out along a line of magic, searching for that bright golden light that was Arthur’s life.
“No,” he moaned again, searching deeper, searching and desperate not to be left wanting.
“No, no, no, no!” Merlin cried, dropping to his knees in front of Arthur two steps too short. He could feel the skin on his knees shredding as he dragged himself the last distance between them.
“Dammit, Arthur - no!” he said again, reaching out for him but for a moment too terrified to touch him in fear of what he’d find. Arthur was too pale, the blood drained from his face and his expression slack. The front of his jacket was wet and black with his blood and it was warm on Merlin’s cold hands as he finally convinced himself to touch him. Arthur didn’t move, didn’t flinch or swear like he had when he’d slipped over and cut open his palm and sprained his wrist. It had been like dealing with a child, pouting and wide eyed and Merlin had laughed at him for days. This time Arthur was bleeding and unmoving and it felt like Merlin’s heart was trying to break through his ribcage it was beating so hard.
His hands were shaking as he tore at the front of Arthur’s clothes, at his jacket and the white shirt that made him look so dapper. His fingers were slick with Arthur’s blood as he finally looked down at the small hole that had caused everything. It was tiny and didn’t go all the way through, but it oozed blood.
Behind him, Merlin was dimly aware for a moment of a crying shout and as if on reflex he reacted, his magic flaring out and forming a barrier around them, tall and impenetrable, keeping them safe. Merlin didn’t even bother to give the woman a glance as he held his hands over the wound in Arthur’s chest. It wouldn’t be enough, he realised dimly as he felt the warm flow under his fingers. It wouldn’t be enough. Even if that woman had called for an ambulance the moment Arthur had gone down it wouldn’t be enough. Arthur would be gone by the time anything could be done, and that just wouldn’t be good enough.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
He closed his eyes and reached for the magic, the burning coil inside him that all of a sudden was weak and weary and stretched too thin already. It sparked as he touched it, angry and disobedient and slipped through his fingers like Arthur’s blood.
“No,” he moaned again and tried once more. His magic alive, annoyed with him for the bracelets Morgause had made him wear, as exhausted as Merlin was and emotionally frazzled.
“Please,” Merlin whispered to himself, to his magic, to Arthur and reached again. This time it slid up his fingers and burned bright. He could feel it rushing through him, in his blood and out - out, out through his skin and into Arthur. He could feel it sing as it touched him, that familiar jump as it had always done when he had asked something of it around Arthur. It sang and the tune turned mournful and for a moment Merlin felt a lurching cry deep inside him as his magic sought for a flicker of life and found nothing. Merlin gasped, something tightening in his chest until it was almost impossible to breathe and he pushed out again, forcing the magic deeper, deeper - searching for something, anything - no matter how small, desperate to bring it back.
And then something sparked, this tiny flame that burned red and flickered. This last vestige of Arthur, the stupid, stubborn prat of a man that Merlin knew, that was clinging on, like he was waiting for Merlin. Merlin gasped, dimly aware of tears on his cheeks as he cried out and reached deep once again, pulling as much magic as he could into himself and then pushed it out through himself and down into Arthur - into the blood vessels and muscle, the torn flesh, reaching for the tiny lump of metal that had torn Arthur apart. He reached for it and as his magic curled around it he clenched his eyes shut tight and felt it disappear. Like letting go of a held breath, he felt his magic burst outwards, reaching into Arthur and mending. He felt his magic curl up through Arthur’s bloodstream and into the heart of him, straight into that tiny flickering red flame and fan it brighter - back to bursting, strong and warm and alive.
And as Merlin opened his eyes, Arthur’s body arched up from the ground and he took his first gulping breath. Then Merlin’s magic slipped from his grasp and it receded like the crack of a whip, the magic in Arthur and the magic in the shield and as Mithian jolted forward towards them, Merlin focussed on the feel of Arthur’s chest, warm under his touch and moving with each gentle breath. It was even and strong and something relaxed inside him and his focus on the world slipped quickly out of his grasp.
*
There was a muted beeping echoing in Arthur’s skull as he slipped back into consciousness. The sound cued his brain as to where he was long before he actually opened his eyes. He hadn’t been safe from a hospital visit or three in his career, though it had never been himself waking up in the bed. But he knew the drill all the same. He could smell the sharp tang of disinfectant and overly filtered air and it was familiar and oddly comforting.
What was strange about the situation was the metal bracelet around one wrist.
It was only when he blinked to accommodate the bright lights of the room that he took stock of his situation and the fact that it wasn’t a bracelet at all, but handcuffs. He was handcuffed to the bed.
“If you keep yanking at that, it’ll bruise and I’ll hold no sympathy for you,” a familiar voice told him and Arthur scowled and tried to push himself into a sitting position.
Mithian tutted impatiently and got up out of her chair to come over and help him.
“You never had any sympathy for me,” Arthur reminded her as she adjusted something beyond his reach and the bed whirred softly and rose, so that Arthur could sit up and see without straining himself. Not that he felt any pain. It was odd, that, he felt completely normal - not even the aching familiarity of a concussion or the gentle befuddlement of being drugged.
He felt just as if he had woken up at home, in his and Merlin’s apartment in upper Hallton.
“You’ve never deserved any,” Mithian concluded as she dragged her chair closer. He was in a closed room, one bed, no windows and a single door with a screen covering the glass peephole. The door looked reinforced and Arthur decided to bet he wasn’t anywhere near Camelot Mercy Hospital, but rather in the Infirmary at the Compound.
“True,” he amended and watched his old friend for a moment. Mithian was as beautiful and composed as she ever was in this building. It had only been outside, in the real world when they’d been children, or on those very rare and precious days off that he had seen her real personality shine through. She was a constant professional when required, but during those times of freedom, she had been one of Arthur’s favourite people on the planet. She had her game face on now though and the dread in Arthur’s gut was palpable.
“Where am I?” he asked, continuing to watch her. Irritation and something else flashed across her face and Arthur settled back because it was clear this was serious and longwinded and as the last dregs of drowsiness wasted away he found himself desperate to know what the hell had happened in the gaping hole of his current memories. He needed to know what happened, how he got here and where the hell Merlin was.
“The Compound,” Mithian answered. “But I guess you’d deduced that already.”
“Why? Where’s Merlin?” he asked and Mithian immediately looked guilty.
“He’s... safe.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Mithian, or placate me with hesitations. Tell me what happened. I remember Merlin fighting Morgause, but then nothing. How did I get here?”
“It’s difficult to explain, Arthur.”
“Then start from the beginning. Tell me everything,” he demanded and he watched her hesitation fade a little.
“I can’t, Arthur. But I’ll tell you what I can. Merlin isn’t here. He’s being detained in AdSeg at Albion Penitentiary.”
“He’s what?”
“He’s gone, Arthur. I’m sorry. Know that I am, but things have happened while you were unconscious that you cannot change. Merlin Ambrose is no longer your concern.”
“Damn you, ‘no longer my concern,’ - he’s my only concern! What happened?”
“Merlin did, Arthur. When we found you after your little disappearing act, you’d been shot and Merlin was fighting Morgause. There was a protective shield securing the room. We couldn’t get in. We had to watch as Merlin fought Morgause. He defeated her and then turned his attention to you. You were bleeding and unconscious and Merlin was distraught. I watched him heal you. I watched the hole in your chest just disappear. It sapped all but the last of Merlin’s strength. Everything he had was being put into the shield keeping us out. Once he regained consciousness he made a deal. A deal I am honouring, Arthur. He gave himself up in exchange for you. He would accept any sentence given to him without question, if yours was revoked.”
The dread in Arthur’s gut turned to stone.
Mithian paused and for the first time since he was a child, he saw open pity in her expression.
“He gave his testimony yesterday. In the eyes of the law, Arthur, Merlin Ambrose lured you into his grasp with evidence of the Underground movements. He used the plight of children and terrified families trying to protect themselves to garner your trust and then proceeded to enchant you. He admitted to enchanting you, making you fall in love with him in order to have your help in his cause. He told us about Pendragon. In the eyes of the law, you are not responsible for your own desertion and are no longer Blacklisted as a traitor to your agency or your country. You’re being held here, at the Compound in supervised probation until your father’s inquiry is completed and unless new evidence is brought to light, you will be released from your contract a free man.”
“And Merlin?” Arthur croaked. Mithian sighed.
“Merlin is awaiting sentencing, but he’s facing Life, Arthur. His help revealing your father will give him a little light in the darkness, but he’s facing multiple charges. If he’s lucky, he’ll be up for parole in twenty five years on good behaviour. There’s nothing you can do for him.”
Arthur remained quiet for a moment, letting the words sink through. Merlin was gone - he had given himself up for Arthur. He had essentially handed himself over, knowing he could potentially never see the light of day again.
For Arthur.
Merlin was at Albion Penitentiary, hell, he was AlPen in AdSeg. He was alone for 23 hours in a day, and Arthur was here, at the Compound until some bureaucrats could make up their mind.
Wait.
“What happened with my father?” he asked and Mithian’s expression changed, it darkened and she exhaled, long and arduous.
“We discovered why Morgana and Morgause were so intent on getting into the Compound. We found a number of sorcerers in the MDD. They were being used as clinical experiments on your father’s authority. The young boy we found at the Warehouse, Mordred, was one of them. He’s Morgana’s son.”
“Her son?”
“Merlin told us some very interesting stories about Morgana Le Fay, Arthur. He didn’t know about Mordred. But he knew a great deal.”
“Did you find her?”
“No, we didn’t. But we found where she took your father. I’m sorry, Arthur, but she killed him.”
“I figured as much. He deserved nothing less.”
“No matter what he did, he was still your father,” she brokered with the gentle sincerity of a bureaucrat lying through their teeth.
“Not after what he’s done,” Arthur replied, determined not to let his conviction waver.
“So my father’s dead, my sister’s a fugitive, my nephew is in the care of the state and my boyfriend is in prison. Do you have any good news for me, Mithian?”
“I am sorry, Arthur,” she said, and horrifyingly, she sounded like she genuinely was.
Arthur shifted awkwardly and tried to sit himself up a little higher.
“I know you are,” he said, gruffly. “Thanks. For everything.”
“I wish there was more to be done, Arthur. Truly I do. I’ve seen what you were doing with Merlin. It was the right thing.”
“I know. Can I see him?” he asked and watched her face fall.
“No,” she said, sadly. “You have to stay here until your father’s inquiry finishes. There’s a lot to process, Arthur. Its final date with the board is in three weeks, but that could get pushed back. After that I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise anything. He’s rather high profile, Arthur.”
Arthur nodded.
“I imagine he would be,” he muttered blandly. Mithian sighed and stood up, smoothing her dress down.
“I should let you get some rest,” she said, her usual stiff manner returning. “I’ll send Leon along with any news as it comes.”
“Yeah,” he murmured and watched her walk across the room.
He was about to let her go, but before she could do little more than enter her security code he couldn’t hold his tongue.
“Mithian,” he called out, softly. There was something expectant in her eyes as she turned back to him.
“Thank you,” he replied and she nodded, something vulnerable showing in the turn of her lips before she was gone. As the door clicked shut and the locks slid back into place, Arthur fell back against the pillows and clenched his eyes shut.
Just days ago he had been counting down the hours until he could see Merlin again, hold him and kiss him and now, now he was left with an empty high profile infirmary room in the Knights Compound and Merlin had an emptier cell at Adseg all the way across the city. He was closer tonight than he had been for the fortnight Arthur had missed him, but he had never been further away.
Far too much had changed since he had sent that hesitant email to an account Merlin might never be able to access again, one vulnerable declaration he wished now, more than ever, that he could have pressed against Merlin’s skin himself in place of a set of binary wishes and false hope.
But the sentiment was there, out in cyber space waiting for Merlin to find.
And Arthur took comfort in that quietly.
“I miss you,” he whispered and pressed the tips of his fingers to his lips.
And he waited.
Epilogue
Fourteen months later
“The faith they have in you, Princess,” Gwaine scoffed as he perched on the edge of the table. Across the room Leon let out a snort of derisive laughter.
Arthur rolled his eyes and stood up, pretending he wasn’t fidgeting, that he wasn’t anxious to all hell and fighting his own delusions, still not quite sure this was all real.
“Shut up, it worked, didn’t it?”
“I’m not saying I don’t like it, Princess, I’m just saying that I’m still not sure how it bloody well worked.”
“Through compromise, Mr Green,” Mithian replied, standing up.
“I thought it was desperation, Mithian?” Arthur pushed, not quite paying attention, his gaze slipping back to the clock on the wall.
Mithian rolled her eyes and leant back in her chair.
“On whose part, Arthur?”
“You came to me,” he answered her and the room was quiet for a moment.
“That we did,” Mithian replied after a beat and took her moment to stand up, which was just in time for the door on the other side of the room to open and all of a sudden, there was Merlin.
“There,” Mithian scoffed as Lancelot and Elyan followed Merlin into the room and she walked over to the three of them, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. Arthur could barely take his eyes off Merlin, the resilient set to his shoulders, the glint in his eyes and the curve of his lips, the way his fingers folded in towards his palm as he held out his handcuffed wrists and Mithian unlocked them and all of a sudden fourteen months imprisonment fell away.
“Now you have your team, Arthur,” Mithian said, turning around to fix him with a determined glare. “Find me Morgana Le Fay.”
To be continued...
Maybe.
Taken Six
*
One thing Arthur knew about the Warf was that he hated it. It was a sprawling mess of warehouses and shipping containers and a single, worn down jetty that leaned over the Camelot River.
It wasn’t a pretty sight, and given that they had no idea where in the sprawling mess of warehouses Uther had gone to, the idea that they might have to try their luck on as many as they could made him actually feel a bit ill.
Everyone else in the car seemed to be following the same lines because Arthur watched the pinched look around Leon’s eyes grow as they drove over the bumping gateway and into the Warf.
There was no security at the gate, nothing to hint in the darkness that there was any life at all out among the sprawling mess of shipping containers and large echoing warehouses.
“Gwen?” Mithian asked softly, into her headset, breaking the tension of the car.
“Any idea where in the Warf Uther went?”
There was a crackling buzz through the comms and then a buzzing only Mithian could hear, her expression twitched before she nodded, mostly to herself.
“Thanks, Gwen,” she said after a moment and brought her hand away from her ear.
“Warehouse sixteen. Your friends have been helping out again, Dubois,” she said crisply and Arthur had to smile, then. Despite the situation, despite everything.
“They’ve not been there long,” Mithian said a moment later and the tension disappeared again.
As they neared the end row of warehouses Leon slowed the car almost to a standstill and in the glow of the security lights they saw two cars parked at their side of the warehouse. A black SUV like their own, and a small black sedan.
“Park here, we go in on foot,” Leon said, taking control and Arthur was secretly glad. For all that she’d done so far, Mithian was no one to lead this.
“Elyan, Arthur, check the cars, Lance, Mithian, see if you can see in any of the windows, we need a form of approach and I need to know numbers.”
Elyan didn’t hesitate; he slid out of the car and with a nod towards Arthur to follow set over to the two black cars. Unhanding his gun he held it down, the safety clearly off as Arthur looked down at it, illuminated briefly in the cool night air.
The man’s steps were slow and stealthy and Arthur fell in form, returning to his training with an ease that was both soothing and uncomfortable.
Elyan’s signal to circle round took him to the left side of the SUV and with a careful glance over at the man who was actually armed, Arthur counted him down and they opened the doors together.
Elyan’s face was creased in shock as he stared into the dimly lit SUV at the small dark haired boy staring fearfully between the two of them.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Arthur swore, continuing to stare at the boy. He felt Leon behind him a moment later.
“Well that’s new,” Leon murmured and Arthur snorted in agreement.
“Move, will you?” Lance whispered on the other side of the car and Arthur heard the other man start to murmur softly at the young boy as he kneeled down on the other side.
“Let DuLac deal with this,” Leon ordered and Arthur nodded, gently closing the door of the car.
“he’ll get him to safety. Elyan, there’s a side door on the left, right next to it there’s an opening in the window. Pitch in a smoke bomb, we’ll need all the advantage we can get against a room full of sorcerers. Arthur, you’re on this side with me. Mithian, follow Elyan. Lance, get the kid away and call it in.”
Arthur watched as Lance saluted to show he’d heard, all the white still talking softly, Elyan and Mithian nodded and disappeared around the other side of the building.
Leon took a breath in and started walking towards this front door. It was closed and despite their best efforts their shoes crunched on the gravel as they moved, but that was nothing against the feeling of Leon Cameliard pressing his back up into Arthur’s hand as he counted down and on his mark, there was a moments silence and then the ricocheting sound of the bomb going off.
It dispersed with a large resounding bang that seemed to rattle the foundations of the warehouse. Arthur heard Leon swear and shout something at Lance, but Arthur wasn’t paying attention. He had one prerogative, one focus - to get Merlin, and as he watched the warehouse shudder his anxiety sky rocketed and threw all sense of caution to the wind. He heard Leon shout after him a moment later, but there was no chance he was waiting around to let them order him around.
The warehouse was filled with smoke and falling dust and it burned and choked him as he breathed, itching in his nose. He could barely see two feet in front of him, but he could hear movement in the gloom, hear the choking cough of someone in the darkness and a cry of pain. He stumbled over the loose debris scattering the floor, impossible to avoid in the smog, twisting and turning as he searched for something he recognised, some sign that Merlin was here. That Merlin was alive.
Behind him something moved and like a wish come true as the smoke drifted he caught sight of something flashing blonde and in that moment, Arthur heard a struggling shout he’d recognise anywhere. He was after them before he could hear any resistance from Leon, before he could think, disappearing into the smoke and determined to do one thing.
Find Merlin.
*
During her life Morgana had forced herself to accept the chances life threw in the way, opportunities that were different to those she desired and as she came back to herself, her magic recoiling and searching the fog for Morgause and instead found someone else, she was more than willing to take her advantage and use it.
In that moment one thing was certain, Uther Constance had been followed and in that knowledge, he had become useless to her. He had kept Mordred from her, and now, now, even if he’d been true to his word and Mordred had been in the car, there was no chance of getting him now. The foolish knights would have found him already, claimed him before they began their assault.
Mordred was beyond her reach.
But Uther, Uther served no purpose any longer and he deserved everything that was coming to him.
Snarling she scrambled to her feet, aware on the other end of her magic was Uther was spluttering and fighting to catch up, his senses boring and human and taking their time to accept what was happening.
Morgana was steps ahead and she was not about to let this go.
Stumbling through the fog Uther was on his hands and knees, coughing, his older physique battling against him.
He was at the disadvantage and Morgana’s anger was peaked. She struck out before he even had any idea she was there.
His answering cry of pain and surprise made her smile, she relished the sound of it buzzing in her ears.
“Found you,” she snarled, walking closer towards him, coming at him through the smoke. Uther scrambled for his feet, his pride showing through like a beacon. The man was desperate not to be beaten on his hands and knees.
Perhaps that’s how she could kill him, force him to beg, kissing her shoes.
“Morga-“ Uther attempted to shout, but she cut him off mid cry, her magic slamming him backwards and back onto the ground, the air leaving his lungs with a dull thud and even in the darkness she could see his eyes bulge.
“Stop!” someone cried, just behind her and she turned, not caring which pathetic minion had come to stop her as she curled her magic around them and tossed them aside. She barely paid any attention to the sound they made as they landed half a dozen feet away.
Her attentions were focussed on Uther, Uther who was once again scrambling for his feet. This time she laughed and reached for him, her magic stretching out towards him like the web of a spider, long golden threads that pulled him back towards her, his limbs thrashing as he fought - the last desperate throes of an old man about to reap his dues.
He was but an arms length away when another voice echoed in the smoke and in a single fluid movement she spun, pulling Uther back towards her as she moved. In two steps, the old man was pulled back into her grasp, her arm snaking around his throat and pressing back, her magic pulling him taught and holding him quiet.
“Let him go, Morgana, it’s over,” the voice said again and this time Morgana could see the fixed determination in the woman’s face. Her arms were extended, her gun pointed somewhere between Uther’s neck and her own and Morgana laughed.
“Which criminal are you here to take in, Agent? Because there’s too many of them for one little girl.”
“Out of everyone I hoped you would be one to know you don’t underestimate appearances, don’t prove me wrong,” the woman replied, sounding a little amused, and Morgana couldn’t help but laugh.
“Give me the boy Uther was hiding and I’ll let you have him.”
The woman shook her head.
“The boy stays out of this.”
“That’s impossible, this is all it’s about. He is all this is about! Give him to me and I’ll let Constance here live.”
“You know I can’t do that. Besides, the boy isn’t here. He’s gone. There was no way I was going to start this with a child here, Morgana. Stand down and I promise you can see him.”
“Ha! Promises from a Knight, how touching. How long will I get, Agent? Ten minutes? Five? I think I’ll take my chances.”
“Just remember that they’re slim, Morgana,” the woman replied, sounding so sure Morgana envied her for a moment. To feel so righteous, so sure about something. That stability - oh how she envied it.
And how useless that feeling was.
Morgana scowled and pulled herself together, pulling her arm tight around Uther’s neck and embracing the keening sound the man made as his airways tightened again.
“You might have him now, agent, but I promise you this, I will get my son back. I will find him, no matter where you take him. How you hide him, I will find him again. You might have won this, but Uther here, Uther’s lost everything,” she sneered.
“Let him go, Morgana. We know what he’s been doing. He’ll pay, I swear.”
“He wont pay enough. What price would give for the life and safety of your child, of any child? What price do you give to that? What price can you take from an old man? There’s only one way to make him pay, and I’ll save you the vulgarity,” she smiled, her magic curling around them, burning hot and reckless, angry in it’s very creation as she was. Uther made a desperate gurgle in his throat as she pulled back with her arm, tightening her hold over his windpipe. It wasn’t quite like what she had felt with Merlin, her magic tightening around him until there wasn’t any air. No, this she wanted to savour, until that moment, all she needed was for him to know he was at her mercy.
All she needed to convey to the foolish woman was that Uther Constance would not live to see another dawn.
The dark haired agent lifted her gun, her expression wavering as she fought her internal battle. Morgana wanted to laugh. How easy it would be to just tug that silly toy from the woman’s grasp and toss her aside, but it was all in her expression, in her eyes - the fight she was battling between right and wrong.
But Morgana didn’t have time to wait around.
She tightened her grasp around Uther once again and smiled, feeling her magic welling up inside her again, building and building until it burst and as the words slipped off her tongue she felt the warmth of her magic surround them both and squeeze. It pulsed through her, like it was trying to take her apart and then all of a sudden they slammed back onto the ground and instinctively she let go of Uther. The man stumbled, gasping for breath, his eyes dark and furious and as Morgana found her feet all she could do was laugh at him.
“How dare you - “ Uther roared, his expression ugly and still, all she could do was laugh. There was no one around, an empty spanse of bleak ground that stretched out a few metres before the edge of the river played with it’s banks, on the other side a crumbling wall hid them from view and it was perfect, a dim expanse of dead ground perfect for what she wanted.
Privacy, nowhere to run and no one to hear him scream but her.
“How dare I, father?” she mocked, the wind tossing her hair and sending an icy chill across her bones.
“How dare I? There is nothing you can say to me, Uther Constance that gives you the right to the higher ground. Nothing at all. You are the scum of the earth and not even the worms deserve to be anywhere near you. You, Uther, you are going to Hell. You will rot in the darkest pits for your cruelty and it doesn’t matter what I do to you. It doesn’t matter how much I enjoy killing you. I could strip the flesh from your bones while you still lived and I would not hedge an inch closer to the depths you will fall. Because there is nothing I can do that can mimic what you’ve done to the innocence of thousands. Thousands of lives you’ve torn apart and yet you save the bounds of your cruelty for your own blood, for a child you bred like an animal for your sick experiments. You stole my child and you’ve hurt him again and again, and for that you will burn. You will burn, Uther and I will watch you now and I will watch it every night as I go to sleep with a smile on my face,” Morgana snarled, feeling the words slip off her tongue, feel them disappear from the burning scroll she had carved into her psyche ever since her memories returned, ever since she remembered those months in Uther’s keep and what she and her sister had found. Ever since she had discovered that the father who had never acknowledged her, had stolen her child and wiped her memory like it had never been there.
There was nothing she wasn’t willing to do to avenge the damage Mordred had felt at the hands of the man staring up at her white faced and terrified. She could sense the fear pouring out of Uther, how he struggled against the invisible bonds she snapped around him, how his arrogance withered as she knocked him to his knees. As he stared at her glimmering eyes and she hoped, she hoped in some dim, far off part of her that he regretted his life. The part he had played in the pain of so many. She hoped he was sick with himself.
But she doubted it.
He cared for himself, feared for himself.
And in the end, he would be the only one to mourn once the world discovered what he had done.
She would be sure of that.
She knelt down in front of him and his bloodshot, fear filled eyes followed her every move. She knelt in front of him and waited, staring into his eyes, staring deep into him, memorising the moment.
When she spoke it was quiet, solemn, like the whispered words of judgement.
“I want to listen to you scream,” she said.
*
Merlin winced as Morgause dropped him, her grasp leaving him and his knees buckled out from under him as he coughed and coughed and fought for a clean breath.
He was half aware of Morgause still close by but his attention felt split too many times already. His lungs burned and his magic pressed against the barrier, fighting to break through and Arthur - always Arthur. The sound of his voice echoing in his head, again and again on loop.
Merlin was too desperate that he was only dimly aware of Morgause bending down to his level, her hair falling in long blond waves and her eyes burning gold in the smoke.
His first cognizant acknowledgement of where they were and what she was doing burst through his confusion as Morgause leant in and whispered in his ear.
“Come Merlin, let’s lay a trap.”
She sounded too happy in that moment, too perfectly smug that some dark terror burst through him and dragged him back to reality.
He looked from Morgause in that moment as she leant behind him, her slips curled into a self-satisfied smirk and then he followed the lines of her body, her shoulder, her extended arm, the gun clenched in her grasp.
He stared at it and knew a moment before it happened what was about to unfold.
He knew, and his magic raged, burning hot and desperate.
And then Arthur burst around the corner.
And Morgause fired.
*
Arthur heard a dim shout behind him that he ignored without question. The warehouse drifted heavy with dust and smoke and it made direction impossible. But there was something driving him, something that he couldn’t explain or think about - something that was instinct and instinct alone, leading him the right way. Because he was certain, he had to be certain that he was following Merlin; there was no other option. He wasn’t about to fail Merlin again.
The warehouse was old and dilapidated, the ground covered in debris and it was the sound of someone’s heavy breathing, the hacking coughs and disparate clumsiness that reverberated through the fog the further away from the entry site they got.
He couldn’t run, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. He wanted to hurtle through the fog and drag Merlin into his arms. He didn’t think of Morgause and really, that was his undoing.
As he followed the sound of Merlin’s coughing around a half standing wall there was a moment where he knew he hadn’t thought it through, where some part of him that thought everything through, took the time to focus and not let his emotions drive him started muttering under it’s breath.
But that was dim and unimportant.
As he burst around the corner he took in Merlin half sprawled on the ground, his eyes wide and terrified and behind him Morgause. Her lip curled and Arthur had this strange feeling of dread uncurl in his stomach a moment before she moved.
And then Morgause pulled the trigger and Arthur saw the flash of the gun a moment before the report. Everything slowed in that moment, a moment too late as Arthur felt his whole body lurch backward. He watched as a single curl of smoke wafted from the end of the gun, the sharp tang of gunpowder in the air. He watched as Merlin’s eyes widened in shock and his body jerked forward in horror. Arthur glanced down at himself and watched in abject curiosity as the first dark stain curled against the fabric of his shirt, a dark black target that seemed to grow the more he watched and yet seemed absent of pain.
The only real pain was staring at him in Merlin’s face, in his wide eyes and the desperate cry that tore from his lips.
It was wordless and high pitched and something bright flashed in Arthur’s eyes, something bursting and gold and angry and Arthur watched as something dark fell away from Merlin’s wrists.
Arthur heard Morgause’s surprised ‘oh’ before the curling gold obeyed the whipcord movement of Merlin’s hands and took hold of the blonde woman and picked her up like she was a doll, tossing her across the room.
Arthur didn’t hear her land, as he tried to move his feet, heavy in his shoes, he felt his knees give way a second before the pain hit. Like the swing of a sledgehammer it hit him full on, it hit right behind his eyes and in the middle of his chest simultaneously, and as his vision whitened out, he felt the faintest caress of warmth that felt irrepressibly just like Merlin.
And then it was all gone.
*
Merlin reacted before he could really process Morgause’s actions. His brain flipped, an immediate reaction where his magic just burst, like a dam, the barriers holding it back, holding it inside him just snapped and it flooded his veins and out, out, out of him in a second, in the time it took to see Arthur’s blood bleed through the front of his shirt, a dark wet patch that spread outwards.
His veins buzzed with the feel of his magic, his blood hot and his eyes burning and with a wordless shout he reached out for Morgause and threw her. His fingers clamped shut and his magic followed, a wordless command that picked the woman up and tossed her aside. All the while, his magic burst out of him, curling through the air and stretching out - out of him, out of the confines of his body, of the room. He could feel it, every fibre of the room, the cold stone brickwork under their feet, the concrete, the cool dead wood in the walls, the dust and the smoke, the soft buzz of the insects and the tuneful hum of the glass. He could feel the shocked gasp for breath Morgause made, the whipcord rush of her own magic, slick and cold inside her veins. He could feel the tense pulse of Arthur’s heart and the unsteady hitch in his breathing. He could feel his lover’s breath and his heartbeat and the touch of his skin - he could feel Arthur’s determination and his reserve, his worry and his fear and the weakness of his body.
He felt the moment his knees gave out and his magic caught Arthur before his eyes could close or even his knees touch the ground.
His magic curled around Arthur in a protective glow that stretched between them like gossamer thread. He could feel Arthur though it, his heartbeat, strong, but weakening, he could feel the panic in Arthur’s body, the rush of his blood - and then it was torn out of his grasp. Something slammed into him, hard and unyielding and cold and tossed him aside like he was nothing. The bond between he and Arthur snapped and Merlin was left reeling, something pulsing in the back of his head as he fought to put his feet back underneath him.
“Do you really think I would be so easy, Merlin?” someone taunted him, her voice icy and mocking. He stumbled to right himself, something pushing down on him, like the air was concrete thick and even his lungs rebelled.
“I was one of the lucky ones, I was trained, taught by those blessed to escape Uther Constance and his persecution. I have the knowledge of Magic’s history in my head and you are an unschooled boy with too much power and not enough dedication.”
Merlin looked up into long blond hair and black clothing and a searing gaze, her hand outstretched.
He watched as she closed her fist and the air closed around him again, at her will he was pulled to his feet and tossed across the room once again. His vision slid in and out of focus as he tried to take stock of himself. But Morgause was not one for mercy and her magic closed around him again, the air disappearing out of his lungs.
“You, blessed with more power than us all, and you treat it without the respect it deserves. You serve only yourself and not those who would benefit from your achievements.”
He stumbled, trying to put his feet under him, but Morgause was on him again before he count gather his wits. Her magic coiled around him and tossed him again, slamming him into the barely-standing wall behind Arthur, the corrugated iron collapsing under the pressure of his body and he felt the sharp slice of it through his skin as he struggled once again for his feet.
He could hear her laughter, feel the amusement as she toyed with him in her magic, in the very bones of her. The anger there that seemed to be part of their blood as a family, inherent in everyone he had met.
Bar Arthur.
Arthur and Morgause were nothing alike, no blood shared between them, but he shared blood with Morgana, with Uther and he was nothing like them. Not like that.
Not where it counted.
Arthur, with his heart of gold, his do-good, be-good principles. His arrogance and his easy frustration and the way he looked at Merlin, first thing in the morning, all sleep rumpled and confused and Merlin let out a wordless cry as he clenched his eyes shut and replayed the sight of Arthur, his Arthur crumpling into the dust of the warehouse.
He could feel Morgause standing barely a metre away, so close, too close. He could feel her glee at his pain, at Arthur’s pain. Arthur’s death.
“You hurt him,” Merlin growled, feeling the words and the hurt somewhere deep inside him, bursting and burning and as part of him as his magic.
“You hurt him. You came into our place, our business, our home and you took me from him. You separated us and now you’ve taken him forever.” The pain didn’t dull, it throbbed, it burned in his veins just like his magic, and perhaps it was his magic, maybe it wasn’t. But all he knew in that moment was that Arthur was gone, hurt, dying - dead. Morgause hurt him and right at that second Merlin didn’t know if she had torn him away from Merlin forever, before he had even been able to touch him, kiss him, hold him one last time. Two weeks ago was such a long time and to think that his teasing kiss to the back of Arthur’s neck at five o’clock in the morning, while Arthur had been grouching and still half asleep - to think that might have been the last time he had with him...
There was nothing Morgause could do to spare herself.
Not that she really tried.
Her eyes still glowed bright and her mouth was still a determined line as she reached out towards him, her magic bursting on her fingertips. Merlin reacted; he could feel his magic curl in the tips of his fingers. His hand reached for her and then he clenched his fist, his will iron and cold and his innocence shrivelled and dead inside his chest. He could feel the cold rush of anger and revenge and he could feel as his magic curled into her veins and encircled her heart, the burning golden flame of her life. He closed his fist around it and just like that Morgause’s eyes rolled up in her head and her body went limp, her arm falling flat and her head lolling back on her neck like a doll. He could feel the flame of her life snuff out, he could feel the way it smouldered and disappeared, the last of her breath leaving her lungs.
And just like that it was done. His hands shook and he inhaled a shaky breath that didn’t seem to catch, reeling from the sudden absence of his magic, the hollowness in his veins. He could feel the heart of it buzzing inside of him, weary and weak, but in the wake of it all, as he turned towards Arthur, the emptiness in his chest, the hollow terror that hadn’t gone away fanned itself back to a full flame of it’s own as he turned towards Arthur and saw his lover’s slumped body.
“No - “ he moaned, low in his throat and he started towards Arthur - delving back into himself, into his magic and reaching out, feeling out along a line of magic, searching for that bright golden light that was Arthur’s life.
“No,” he moaned again, searching deeper, searching and desperate not to be left wanting.
“No, no, no, no!” Merlin cried, dropping to his knees in front of Arthur two steps too short. He could feel the skin on his knees shredding as he dragged himself the last distance between them.
“Dammit, Arthur - no!” he said again, reaching out for him but for a moment too terrified to touch him in fear of what he’d find. Arthur was too pale, the blood drained from his face and his expression slack. The front of his jacket was wet and black with his blood and it was warm on Merlin’s cold hands as he finally convinced himself to touch him. Arthur didn’t move, didn’t flinch or swear like he had when he’d slipped over and cut open his palm and sprained his wrist. It had been like dealing with a child, pouting and wide eyed and Merlin had laughed at him for days. This time Arthur was bleeding and unmoving and it felt like Merlin’s heart was trying to break through his ribcage it was beating so hard.
His hands were shaking as he tore at the front of Arthur’s clothes, at his jacket and the white shirt that made him look so dapper. His fingers were slick with Arthur’s blood as he finally looked down at the small hole that had caused everything. It was tiny and didn’t go all the way through, but it oozed blood.
Behind him, Merlin was dimly aware for a moment of a crying shout and as if on reflex he reacted, his magic flaring out and forming a barrier around them, tall and impenetrable, keeping them safe. Merlin didn’t even bother to give the woman a glance as he held his hands over the wound in Arthur’s chest. It wouldn’t be enough, he realised dimly as he felt the warm flow under his fingers. It wouldn’t be enough. Even if that woman had called for an ambulance the moment Arthur had gone down it wouldn’t be enough. Arthur would be gone by the time anything could be done, and that just wouldn’t be good enough.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
He closed his eyes and reached for the magic, the burning coil inside him that all of a sudden was weak and weary and stretched too thin already. It sparked as he touched it, angry and disobedient and slipped through his fingers like Arthur’s blood.
“No,” he moaned again and tried once more. His magic alive, annoyed with him for the bracelets Morgause had made him wear, as exhausted as Merlin was and emotionally frazzled.
“Please,” Merlin whispered to himself, to his magic, to Arthur and reached again. This time it slid up his fingers and burned bright. He could feel it rushing through him, in his blood and out - out, out through his skin and into Arthur. He could feel it sing as it touched him, that familiar jump as it had always done when he had asked something of it around Arthur. It sang and the tune turned mournful and for a moment Merlin felt a lurching cry deep inside him as his magic sought for a flicker of life and found nothing. Merlin gasped, something tightening in his chest until it was almost impossible to breathe and he pushed out again, forcing the magic deeper, deeper - searching for something, anything - no matter how small, desperate to bring it back.
And then something sparked, this tiny flame that burned red and flickered. This last vestige of Arthur, the stupid, stubborn prat of a man that Merlin knew, that was clinging on, like he was waiting for Merlin. Merlin gasped, dimly aware of tears on his cheeks as he cried out and reached deep once again, pulling as much magic as he could into himself and then pushed it out through himself and down into Arthur - into the blood vessels and muscle, the torn flesh, reaching for the tiny lump of metal that had torn Arthur apart. He reached for it and as his magic curled around it he clenched his eyes shut tight and felt it disappear. Like letting go of a held breath, he felt his magic burst outwards, reaching into Arthur and mending. He felt his magic curl up through Arthur’s bloodstream and into the heart of him, straight into that tiny flickering red flame and fan it brighter - back to bursting, strong and warm and alive.
And as Merlin opened his eyes, Arthur’s body arched up from the ground and he took his first gulping breath. Then Merlin’s magic slipped from his grasp and it receded like the crack of a whip, the magic in Arthur and the magic in the shield and as Mithian jolted forward towards them, Merlin focussed on the feel of Arthur’s chest, warm under his touch and moving with each gentle breath. It was even and strong and something relaxed inside him and his focus on the world slipped quickly out of his grasp.
*
There was a muted beeping echoing in Arthur’s skull as he slipped back into consciousness. The sound cued his brain as to where he was long before he actually opened his eyes. He hadn’t been safe from a hospital visit or three in his career, though it had never been himself waking up in the bed. But he knew the drill all the same. He could smell the sharp tang of disinfectant and overly filtered air and it was familiar and oddly comforting.
What was strange about the situation was the metal bracelet around one wrist.
It was only when he blinked to accommodate the bright lights of the room that he took stock of his situation and the fact that it wasn’t a bracelet at all, but handcuffs. He was handcuffed to the bed.
“If you keep yanking at that, it’ll bruise and I’ll hold no sympathy for you,” a familiar voice told him and Arthur scowled and tried to push himself into a sitting position.
Mithian tutted impatiently and got up out of her chair to come over and help him.
“You never had any sympathy for me,” Arthur reminded her as she adjusted something beyond his reach and the bed whirred softly and rose, so that Arthur could sit up and see without straining himself. Not that he felt any pain. It was odd, that, he felt completely normal - not even the aching familiarity of a concussion or the gentle befuddlement of being drugged.
He felt just as if he had woken up at home, in his and Merlin’s apartment in upper Hallton.
“You’ve never deserved any,” Mithian concluded as she dragged her chair closer. He was in a closed room, one bed, no windows and a single door with a screen covering the glass peephole. The door looked reinforced and Arthur decided to bet he wasn’t anywhere near Camelot Mercy Hospital, but rather in the Infirmary at the Compound.
“True,” he amended and watched his old friend for a moment. Mithian was as beautiful and composed as she ever was in this building. It had only been outside, in the real world when they’d been children, or on those very rare and precious days off that he had seen her real personality shine through. She was a constant professional when required, but during those times of freedom, she had been one of Arthur’s favourite people on the planet. She had her game face on now though and the dread in Arthur’s gut was palpable.
“Where am I?” he asked, continuing to watch her. Irritation and something else flashed across her face and Arthur settled back because it was clear this was serious and longwinded and as the last dregs of drowsiness wasted away he found himself desperate to know what the hell had happened in the gaping hole of his current memories. He needed to know what happened, how he got here and where the hell Merlin was.
“The Compound,” Mithian answered. “But I guess you’d deduced that already.”
“Why? Where’s Merlin?” he asked and Mithian immediately looked guilty.
“He’s... safe.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Mithian, or placate me with hesitations. Tell me what happened. I remember Merlin fighting Morgause, but then nothing. How did I get here?”
“It’s difficult to explain, Arthur.”
“Then start from the beginning. Tell me everything,” he demanded and he watched her hesitation fade a little.
“I can’t, Arthur. But I’ll tell you what I can. Merlin isn’t here. He’s being detained in AdSeg at Albion Penitentiary.”
“He’s what?”
“He’s gone, Arthur. I’m sorry. Know that I am, but things have happened while you were unconscious that you cannot change. Merlin Ambrose is no longer your concern.”
“Damn you, ‘no longer my concern,’ - he’s my only concern! What happened?”
“Merlin did, Arthur. When we found you after your little disappearing act, you’d been shot and Merlin was fighting Morgause. There was a protective shield securing the room. We couldn’t get in. We had to watch as Merlin fought Morgause. He defeated her and then turned his attention to you. You were bleeding and unconscious and Merlin was distraught. I watched him heal you. I watched the hole in your chest just disappear. It sapped all but the last of Merlin’s strength. Everything he had was being put into the shield keeping us out. Once he regained consciousness he made a deal. A deal I am honouring, Arthur. He gave himself up in exchange for you. He would accept any sentence given to him without question, if yours was revoked.”
The dread in Arthur’s gut turned to stone.
Mithian paused and for the first time since he was a child, he saw open pity in her expression.
“He gave his testimony yesterday. In the eyes of the law, Arthur, Merlin Ambrose lured you into his grasp with evidence of the Underground movements. He used the plight of children and terrified families trying to protect themselves to garner your trust and then proceeded to enchant you. He admitted to enchanting you, making you fall in love with him in order to have your help in his cause. He told us about Pendragon. In the eyes of the law, you are not responsible for your own desertion and are no longer Blacklisted as a traitor to your agency or your country. You’re being held here, at the Compound in supervised probation until your father’s inquiry is completed and unless new evidence is brought to light, you will be released from your contract a free man.”
“And Merlin?” Arthur croaked. Mithian sighed.
“Merlin is awaiting sentencing, but he’s facing Life, Arthur. His help revealing your father will give him a little light in the darkness, but he’s facing multiple charges. If he’s lucky, he’ll be up for parole in twenty five years on good behaviour. There’s nothing you can do for him.”
Arthur remained quiet for a moment, letting the words sink through. Merlin was gone - he had given himself up for Arthur. He had essentially handed himself over, knowing he could potentially never see the light of day again.
For Arthur.
Merlin was at Albion Penitentiary, hell, he was AlPen in AdSeg. He was alone for 23 hours in a day, and Arthur was here, at the Compound until some bureaucrats could make up their mind.
Wait.
“What happened with my father?” he asked and Mithian’s expression changed, it darkened and she exhaled, long and arduous.
“We discovered why Morgana and Morgause were so intent on getting into the Compound. We found a number of sorcerers in the MDD. They were being used as clinical experiments on your father’s authority. The young boy we found at the Warehouse, Mordred, was one of them. He’s Morgana’s son.”
“Her son?”
“Merlin told us some very interesting stories about Morgana Le Fay, Arthur. He didn’t know about Mordred. But he knew a great deal.”
“Did you find her?”
“No, we didn’t. But we found where she took your father. I’m sorry, Arthur, but she killed him.”
“I figured as much. He deserved nothing less.”
“No matter what he did, he was still your father,” she brokered with the gentle sincerity of a bureaucrat lying through their teeth.
“Not after what he’s done,” Arthur replied, determined not to let his conviction waver.
“So my father’s dead, my sister’s a fugitive, my nephew is in the care of the state and my boyfriend is in prison. Do you have any good news for me, Mithian?”
“I am sorry, Arthur,” she said, and horrifyingly, she sounded like she genuinely was.
Arthur shifted awkwardly and tried to sit himself up a little higher.
“I know you are,” he said, gruffly. “Thanks. For everything.”
“I wish there was more to be done, Arthur. Truly I do. I’ve seen what you were doing with Merlin. It was the right thing.”
“I know. Can I see him?” he asked and watched her face fall.
“No,” she said, sadly. “You have to stay here until your father’s inquiry finishes. There’s a lot to process, Arthur. Its final date with the board is in three weeks, but that could get pushed back. After that I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise anything. He’s rather high profile, Arthur.”
Arthur nodded.
“I imagine he would be,” he muttered blandly. Mithian sighed and stood up, smoothing her dress down.
“I should let you get some rest,” she said, her usual stiff manner returning. “I’ll send Leon along with any news as it comes.”
“Yeah,” he murmured and watched her walk across the room.
He was about to let her go, but before she could do little more than enter her security code he couldn’t hold his tongue.
“Mithian,” he called out, softly. There was something expectant in her eyes as she turned back to him.
“Thank you,” he replied and she nodded, something vulnerable showing in the turn of her lips before she was gone. As the door clicked shut and the locks slid back into place, Arthur fell back against the pillows and clenched his eyes shut.
Just days ago he had been counting down the hours until he could see Merlin again, hold him and kiss him and now, now he was left with an empty high profile infirmary room in the Knights Compound and Merlin had an emptier cell at Adseg all the way across the city. He was closer tonight than he had been for the fortnight Arthur had missed him, but he had never been further away.
Far too much had changed since he had sent that hesitant email to an account Merlin might never be able to access again, one vulnerable declaration he wished now, more than ever, that he could have pressed against Merlin’s skin himself in place of a set of binary wishes and false hope.
But the sentiment was there, out in cyber space waiting for Merlin to find.
And Arthur took comfort in that quietly.
“I miss you,” he whispered and pressed the tips of his fingers to his lips.
And he waited.
Epilogue
Fourteen months later
“The faith they have in you, Princess,” Gwaine scoffed as he perched on the edge of the table. Across the room Leon let out a snort of derisive laughter.
Arthur rolled his eyes and stood up, pretending he wasn’t fidgeting, that he wasn’t anxious to all hell and fighting his own delusions, still not quite sure this was all real.
“Shut up, it worked, didn’t it?”
“I’m not saying I don’t like it, Princess, I’m just saying that I’m still not sure how it bloody well worked.”
“Through compromise, Mr Green,” Mithian replied, standing up.
“I thought it was desperation, Mithian?” Arthur pushed, not quite paying attention, his gaze slipping back to the clock on the wall.
Mithian rolled her eyes and leant back in her chair.
“On whose part, Arthur?”
“You came to me,” he answered her and the room was quiet for a moment.
“That we did,” Mithian replied after a beat and took her moment to stand up, which was just in time for the door on the other side of the room to open and all of a sudden, there was Merlin.
“There,” Mithian scoffed as Lancelot and Elyan followed Merlin into the room and she walked over to the three of them, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. Arthur could barely take his eyes off Merlin, the resilient set to his shoulders, the glint in his eyes and the curve of his lips, the way his fingers folded in towards his palm as he held out his handcuffed wrists and Mithian unlocked them and all of a sudden fourteen months imprisonment fell away.
“Now you have your team, Arthur,” Mithian said, turning around to fix him with a determined glare. “Find me Morgana Le Fay.”
To be continued...
Maybe.