Archive of Our Own ^beta

In retrospect as he sat in a dimly lit dungeon as the cracked brick seeped freezing water slowly into his clothing with magic-resisting-chains on both his wrists and ankles, he should’ve told Arthur where he was going. But he didn’t. And now he’s here—alone… with no magic AND with no dragon egg. 

It could be worse. He could be dead, or Arthur could be here telling him ‘he told him so,’ or some other prat-ish line. It was why he didn’t tell Arthur in the first place. Or it was the fact that this trip was connected to his recently discovered dragonlord side…but that’s neither here nor there. 

But he did tell Arthur he was going to gather some herbs yesterday—(was it yesterday? Maybe it was a few days ago—Merlin couldn’t actually remember, but that wasn’t the important thing right now.) —so maybe the prince would worry if he wasn’t back on time. ‘Maybe’ was a strong hope—one that Merlin didn’t really hold too deeply. If he wanted to get out of here and save the egg, he would have to rely on himself. And he was reliable, right? He was smart enough to think of a way out…right?

Unfortunately, the genius plan refused to magically come to him before his captor came back. 

“What’s with that face?”

Merlin tried to smooth out his expression, but, evidently, it was a moment too late. 

“Judgement doesn’t look good on you, Emrys.”

Swallowing hard, the warlock continued staring at them, refusing to look away. 

“Is that your new tactic? Intimidation? I fear it’s a bit too late for that. You came crawling into my trap like a moth to a flame—it was almost too easy, you know.”

Merlin tried not to scrunch his face in indignation. The man made it seem like the warlock was an idiot—and while he might not have gone about this the correct way, he wasn’t completely useless without magic. Doubt is a tricky thing, though, and it made him stop listening to the monotonous speech for a moment: was he more than his magic? Even with it, he had lost Will, and Freya, and his father, and without it, he was a buffoon of a servant for Arthur to tease at will. It all seemed very bleak now as he frowned hard, wondering what it was about him that kept him moving everyday if it wasn’t his magic or his skills. 

“—and once Arthur arrives, everything else will be water under the bridge. I can even let you go—without the egg, of course. You might be the strongest sorcerer alive, but you can’t also control this creature. This dragon and I will ruin this little game you’ve been playing with your prince. Start a world anew, alighting it with magic at the core.”

Merlin started laughing—he honestly couldn’t help it, and only when the man kicked the air out of his lungs as reprimand could he stop the action. 

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s no-nothing,” Merlin wheezed, trying hard to not laugh again as he regained his breath. “It’s just…When Arthur arrives? Really? Do you think he will come for me?”

The man's anger morphed into confusion. “Of course he will. Aren’t you destined together?”

Another light giggle escaped Merlin before he forced it to stop completely, and even though he was afraid of another kick to the diaphragm, he figured he might as well tell the man the truth:

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but Prince Arthur will not come for me. Destined or not, he has larger troubles to deal with than a missing servant that he wouldn’t even notice missing in the first place.”

His captor started pacing at his words, scratching his neck as he thought about it. Merlin watched with feigned aloofness, tired of being tied and cold and wet, but also intrigued on what the man would do with this new information. 

“No…no, he will come. I know it. I’ve heard the stories my entire life—your life is his, and his is yours. It’s written in the stars.”

“Oh?” Merlin questioned, head cocked in newly formed interest. “Where did you hear that?”

It’s not that he didn’t hear something like that before, but it was the first time he heard it so…so genuine from someone else. The giant lizard and Gaius have said somethings similar, but this was different, this was more real, more tangible than anything those two ever rambled about. 

If possible, the man looked even more bewildered. “You haven’t heard that before?”

“No?”

A long sigh followed that answer, then he sat down in front of the chained up warlock. He looked Merlin seriously up and down, as if he was sizing him up to see if he was even worth talking to, before saying: “How can you not know? They were my bedtime stories for as long as I can remember. That the man Emrys chose would help him in creating the golden age for all of Albion. It changed throughout the years, but the center of it never did. You were always the heart of the story, and your dumb prince was always at your side. The druids would promise us this future while our cousins in another camp were getting raided for hiding a sorcerer, or when someone never came back from Camelot on their journey for food for us.”

Merlin blinked in surprise, trying hard to not overreact since he really didn’t know what this man was capable of. What could he say to that? That it wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t live up to fairytale ideals? He was barely of age…how long were these stories foretold? Did they even have the right man? 

“Oh.”

The warlock cringed at his own lackluster answer, but he was genuinely lost for words, maybe for the first time ever.

“‘Oh?’” The man repeated, lightly laughing. “I supposed that could’ve been worse.”

“So,” Merlin hedged, not knowing what he could ask in this situation without making everything more painful. “The reason you captured me was to…?”

“Kill Arthur. Become the man you thought he would be. Help you rule the world.”

“And you think that was a good idea considering we are apparently destined?”

His captor laughed, lounging back as he looked almost fondly at the warlock. “Destiny can change, right? We are told that even as they shoved the idea of both of you down our throats for some resemblance of hope of a better future. Well, I was done waiting for it. If you want something done right, do it yourself, and that’s what I’m doing.”

“In some weird way,” Merlin tried to deliberately pick his words, “I believe you believe you are doing the right thing, but in this plan of yours, don’t I need to be a part of it, still? You say you are replacing Arthur, but I am still there, aren’t I? Why would I help you if you hurt the one person I am actively dedicating my life to?”

“Because you’ll have no other choice. Cage a desperate person and they will do desperate things to survive…”

Destiny being compared to a cage wasn’t completely off track, but Merlin realized the man might not be talking about him here. 

“What’s your cage, then?”

A beat of silence, the man’s slight grin disappearing with the question lingering in the air. 

“Maybe you’re not so dumb after all, huh?” He let out a forced cackle that hurt Merlin’s ears. “My sickly older brother died when he was young after we were forced to flee Camelot after some random accusations of magic were thrown against us, my mother went mad with grief, my father focused all his strength on his obsession with dragons to ignore his feelings…and even after the Druids took us in and protected us, it couldn’t save our family from the loss…and to break free of the cycle, you must destroy it from within.”

Merlin’s heart ached, a tear threatening to fall as he tried to regain his bearings. 

The man leaned forward again, watching the warlock closely. “Are you…crying?”

Sniffing hard, Merlin turned his head to the side, trying, yet failing, to keep the man from seeing. It hurt to hear the man’s story, it did, but it still really didn’t add up with why his plan included killing and replacing Arthur.

“I suppose it is sad,” he pondered as he continued staring down Merlin. “But I’ve grown up. I know what I am destined for—I went through these moments in order to see the truth: I am more capable than anyone else for this position. I’ve thought it through a million times in a million different ways, and in every single scenario, Arthur ruins the plans with his narrow minded approach to the world. I debated having him alongside us as we forged the foundations of a better future, but he always gets in the way of greatness. For the greater good, he must die. And I must have you beside me to do it.”

Merlin slouched against the cold stone, suddenly too tired to pretend to encourage his thought process in order to escape. “You know, I understand that you’re in pain and that you were wronged. Truly, I do understand it. I’m in pain, too—I’ve lost my best friend, my first love, my father…all the people that make life worth living, but this plan of yours, this solution, is not the right choice. Pain makes people do insane things, but being delusional only creates more suffering. If you believe in this so-called destiny and that it could be changed, that’s good and all, but I can promise you one thing.”

The man frowned but lifted his head up, “And what’s that?”

Merlin leaned forward, making his words sound more like a promise than a threat: “If you touch a single hair on Prince Arthur, I would never, ever, work alongside you. You’re planning might’ve been good for someone else, but you do not know me. You do not know Arthur. I would rather let the world burn than let someone, anyone, replace him. He is the Once and Future King, with or without my help, and you, my friend, are only delaying the inevitable. He will rise to become the greatest king the world has ever seen, and whether you’re a part of that is up to your decisions right now. Destiny can change, right? What’s stopping Arthur from changing, too? Or, even worse, what if my destiny transforms into something much more dangerous against you?”

Frustrated with Merlin’s answer, the man got up and walked away, mumbling something about dumb children and atypical loyalty, and once he was out of sight, Merlin could finally breathe again. 

The man wasn’t completely unfounded in his claims, but he was truly off course. He could do better things with his self righteousness than capturing and attempting to kill others. Sighing, Merlin remembered how he got here in the first place, thinking of the egg that drew him to this strange spot. The giant lizard hadn’t believed him when he told him about the feeling of another creature like him, but Merlin would soon prove him wrong…if he could just figure out a way out of here. 

And as if on cue, loud banging and shouting forced him away from his own thoughts. He looked curiously at the source of the noise, hoping that maybe bandits had come and took over this hideout. If nothing else, Merlin knew he could win over some rogues who knew nothing of him or destiny with his bullshit charm. 

“Merlin?” 

“Merls?”

The warlock froze. Was that Lance? And Gwaine?

“Merlin?!”

Arthur?! Merlin coughed, trying to clear his throat to call them as he tried to stand up, but suddenly there was a knife to him, dragging him back against a warm body that felt to be covered in something sticky, presumably blood, Merlin assumed, if the loud sounds were any indication. 

“You speak one word, and I’ll kill you,” came the captor whispering in his ear, making Merlin stiffen. 

“That’s an interesting plan,” Merlin spoke anyways, putting pressure against the knife in order to continue. “Weren’t you just all over having me as a buddy in crime?”

The man hissed, now drawing blood from the spot on the warlock’s neck. “Of course. Now, shut up.”

Merlin listened only because he was curious as to what the man could be possibly thinking of, and at that very moment, Arthur and the two knights ran inside, the light from their torches hurting Merlin’s eyes in their sudden intensity. 

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled, but he soon stopped dead in his tracks, eyeing the weapon currently flushed against Merlin’s throat. “Let him go.”

Merlin’s eyes widened at the prince’s tone—it was kingly, and angry, and maybe a hint of fear? He couldn’t be sure. All he did know was that the chains on his wrists and ankles were more of a hindrance than an inconvenience right now. 

“And why would I do that?”

Merlin watched as the prince’s jaw clenched, his fingers tightening against his sword. 

Lance stepped forward, dropping one of the torches on the ground as he placed his own sword beside it, lifting his empty hands in a hopeful yet placating movement. “We don’t want to hurt you—just let him go, and we can talk it through, yeah?”

Ah, Merlin thought fondly, Lance was always the calm one between the three of them.

“I want you two to leave. Leave Arthur behind.”

“No can do, my guy,” Gwaine answered, tsking at the request. “I fear I won’t be moving until Merlin’s with us.”

Ah, Merlin’s thoughts repeated unhelpfully, Gwaine was always the loyal, yet reckless hero. 

Merlin figured he could spice this up a bit, betting on his threat of a knife as nothing more than a bluff, “Why do you want Arthur alone?”

The man tightened his grip on the weapon, more blood flowing down into Merlin’s already damp and ruined tunic. 

Merlin almost smiled at the thought of the man’s mind running a mile a minute because of his question, but a glance at Arthur had him shutting up. The prince looked…awful, for lack of a better word. Maybe it was just the lighting, maybe it was the angle, but he looked just as bad as Merlin felt. Was he sick? The thought only made Merlin angrier—not only was he trapped down here like an absolute imbecile, but it also made Arthur come out looking for him even though he was ill. It made him nauseous just thinking of how much pain it was probably causing the prince to show up for him. 

He was ignoring the conversation around him, but came to when Lance said something loudly. Instead of figuring out what they were talking about again, Merlin simply had enough and did the first thing he could think of: smashing the back of his head into the face of the captor, resulting in a loud crack between them. Merlin hoped he broke the man’s nose, but too much happened in the moment to be sure. 

Once they collided, Arthur took the opportunity to grab him, even though they really couldn’t go too far away from the spot with the chains, and the other two managed to knock the man out cold, Gwaine visibly trying to hold himself back from hitting the man further as Lance looked immediately at the two of them on the ground. 

Merlin blinked, When did they get to the ground? 

Arthur moved Merlin around from his lap to look the servant head on, grabbing the warlock’s neck to get a better look at the open wound. 

“Merlin,” his voice cracked a bit on the word, making Merlin’s heart crack with it. “Where does it hurt?”

“I’m all good,” Merlin tried to smile, but he didn’t think it satisfied the prince who only frowned further. 

“You’re still lying.”

And that’s when Merlin froze completely. “Still?” 

Arthur’s hands moved away from Merlin’s face into his own lap, his fingers rolled tightly into fists. “You’re a dragonlord, aren’t you?”

Merlin suddenly wanted to be knocked unconscious, too. He had to look away from the prince, towards the exit, anywhere but here. How did he figure it out? Lance only knows about the magic, not about the dragonlord powers. No one knew besides Kilgharrah…

“If you’re wondering who spilled, blame the murderous dragon, that you apparently saved, that found us as we wandered without direction looking for you.”

Merlin still couldn’t find the words to respond. The giant lizard told them? Why on earth? Wasn’t he the one that preached secrecy the hardest? What did this mean? Did Arthur find him just to execute him himself? Was destiny really going to change afterall? This only proves that the man who captured him was wrong, didn’t it? It wasn’t Arthur who needed to go, it was me. I am the liar, the betrayer, the…the…-

“Breathe, Merlin,” Arthur’s hands were suddenly gripping either side of the warlock’s face, Merlin’s eyes opening to the concerned sky blue gaze. 

When did I close my eyes?

“Please, Merlin, breathe, please-“

Please? Why did that sound so…distraught?

“I’m not mad, Merlin, please believe me. I’m not mad anymore, you can breathe. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“No?” Merlin cracked out the word after a few beats of quiet stillness, his throat on fire as if he had been screaming for years. 

“No.”

And with the way the prince said it, the way it sounded so firm and resolute, made Merlin believe him—momentarily, that is. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt him now, but later…

“Get out of that head of yours and listen to me, okay?”

Merlin’s eyes tried to focus on the blonde man in front of him, the blonde man who seemed to glow even in the horrendous lit darkness of this place, the blonde man who held more power over Merlin than these shackles did. He managed a nod. 

“Good. I was…mad at first. Furious, even. But after the dragon left, Lance and Gwaine were there, helping me put together the pieces I was obviously missing. That day…the day you cried, it was because of your father, right?”

Another nod. 

“You met him and he died in your arms the next day?”

Again, Merlin could only numbly nod. 

Arthur's eyes softened, almost to a violent degree and Merlin feared he could drown in them at any moment. And then the prince pulled him into a hug. 

Merlin couldn’t reciprocate—and it was killing him not to. It was all too much—too much of everything, too much light in the safe darkness he protected himself in. 

“You don’t…hate? me?”

Arthur’s hands were gentle as they pushed them apart, “How can I hate you? At the heart of it all, I thought to myself: what if it was the other way around? What if I found my father and lost him only moments later? What if my father inherited a gift that can only be inherited after? How could I be mad about something like that?”

Arthur’s callused fingers rubbed unconscious circles on Merlin’s neck, the contact feeling more like flames than the gentle comfort it meant to bring. Was it meant to be burning him? Did Arthur’s hands not hurt from the touch?

Without saying anything, Merlin used his own chained hands and pulled Arthur’s off of him, checking to see if the prince’s skin had scorch marks on them. 

“What’s wrong? Why are your hands so hot? Merlin—tell me what’s wrong? Where does it hurt? I need to get these off of you before—“

Merlin looked up, the tears falling down his face feeling more akin to sandpaper droplets skinning him alive, stopping Arthur from getting up away from him. 

Arthur looked down at their grasped hands then back at Merlin’s face, more worry clouding those normally reserved features. 

“The man was wrong,” Merlin whispered, the words drawing Arthur closer to hear him. 

“What?”

Merlin smiled at him, “The man was wrong. I was wrong.”

“What are you talking about? Let me go, I’ll find something to get you out of here. Gwaine and Lance should’ve found the egg by now, I’ll—“

Merlin won’t ever know what he did as the dark spots in his vision finally took him completely over, soothing his heart and mind in a blanket of complete and total silence.