Chapter Text
When the kingdom of South Rheged dissolved due to infighting, the lands that comprised the coastal nation went into dispute. Northumbria withdrew themselves early on, which left border negotiations between the kingdom of Elmet (west of Northumbria) and the southern kingdoms of Nemeth and Camelot. While Elmet had allied with Camelot during the Great Purge, Nemeth could be a new ally for the northern kingdom, if all went well.
It was a welcome surprise that the talks only lasted for two sessions before a signing was announced, with Elmet agreeing to courier trade across the northern waters on behalf of the southern kingdoms with the stipulation that there be minor changes to the borders of Elmet and Nemeth, extending Elmet's borders along the coastline. The rest of the land was divided equally among their kingdoms.
King Royth of Elmet was a man of holy countenance, with all of his advisors being of good standing within the church of the New Religion. Elmet had originally allied with the kingdom of Camelot solely because the church’s official stance on magic was that it was a corrupting force, sent by the Devil himself. If one was to use the craft, it was essentially handing their soul to Hell on bended knee, so the doctrine dictated.
While Arthur wasn’t entirely keen on Royth's strict abidance to holiness, the king of Camelot discovered that he liked some of what the other monarch had to say:
“I understand Camelot’s reasoning for capital punishment and our kingdom does not disagree. We believe it only right, however, to allow those touched by evil a chance to be touched by His love before death. We offer a chance of redemption through work with the faithful so that we may yet save their souls from the fires of Hell.” Arthur mulled the idea over in his mind.
“How is it possible for someone to find such redemption after using magic?” Arthur didn’t see his servant's flinch. King Royth smiled.
“They may not but, for the rest of their lives, they will walk in the light of His grace and mercy. Through confession and repentance they may yet be saved. Our Lord is a merciful one.”
At departure, King Royth insisted upon seeing King Rodor and Princess Mithian to the new border of their kingdom as a testament of their newfound alliance, which was how their party became so large.
They had been traveling when the group apparently stumbled on a coven of some sort. After one of King Rodor’s men cut down a ragdoll from a tree, their party was attacked by no less than seven bloodthirsty witches, each wielding their own powerful spirit thralls and, in two cases, more than one.
When Excalibur had been knocked to the other side of the battlefield, it was Merlin’s magic that sent the sword flying through the undead thrall looming over an injured Arthur. His whispered spell to banish the powerful, earth-based familiar summoned by the witch leading the other six mages. His magic to start the fire which trapped the fleeing sorcerers to be slain.
And it was his magic that was seen by King Arthur of Camelot and the king of Elmet respectively.
Arthur had been quiet at first, holding his injured shoulder, before he shook his head and reminded Merlin that the punishment for sorcery in Camelot was death. Mithian had brought up, mildly, that he had saved lives in the fight as well as the fact that they weren't currently in Camelot, but along Elmet's southern border. King Royth thought it wise, at that point, to offer a compromise.
“We always have room for more in our circle towers.” Royth had proclaimed. He’d called the towers , three in total, “houses of redemption for those touched by the wickedness of magic”; they would attempt to save Merlin’s immortal soul with pious study and work with the faithful.
Merlin didn’t care for the words “bound magic” or “reeducation”. Those terms just didn’t seem particularly holy to him.
There had been a look just then, on Arthur’s face, that Merlin hadn’t ever wanted to see directed at him. Betrayal, hurt. Anger, fear, disbelief. Arthur turned his back on Merlin, allowing Royth and his men to bring him north, having bound his wrists with an enchanted, red rope that prevented the warlock’s escape via magical means. They’d gagged him; he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even say goodbye.
Arthur hadn’t looked back anyway.
The journey returning to Camelot from Elmet was a long one. Arthur didn’t mean the days it took to reach their destination, no, it was the fact that the trip had been in near complete silence once King Arthur and his knights had separated from the other royal parties.
Gwaine was upset that Arthur had allowed Merlin to be taken by Royth’s men, and was firm on his opinion that they should have kept the servant with them. While neither of them voiced it, Arthur could tell that Gwaine had the support of both Percival and Lancelot in this regard. Elyan was hesitant, and Arthur caught the shorter man glancing back over his shoulder every so often as if expecting the servant to suddenly appear. Leon's face was stone, his jaw tight and eyes fixed on their path;the eldest knight held his body tightly, as if prepared to fight at a moment's notice. While he knew that the other knights were hurt and confused, Arthur couldn't tell whether Leon understood why the king had acted as he did.
Magic was currently punishable by death in Camelot, but that wasn’t exactly the case in Elmet. Merlin would be working as a servant to the church up there. Arthur believed that fact gave him time to think about what he was going to do. He could rewrite parts of the law, perhaps, to allow lighter punishments than death for sorcery.
Arthur ran through what ‘punishment’ for the crime of sorcery might be to his advisors, some of whom participated in his father’s purge of magic. He didn’t like the idea of Merlin being flogged, either, but it was kinder than a headsman.
The idea that he fixated on was that there was no way that Merlin could be evil , despite that the word that had so often coincided with the use of magic. The servant had saved Arthur’s life using the craft and some things about Merlin were beginning to make more sense.
You don’t know how many times I’ve saved your life.
Do you know how many times I’ve had to save your royal backside?
Yeah, you probably would die if I wasn’t going to be right there to protect you.
I’m happy to be your servant until the day I die.
He needed time to think about what he was going to do, that’s all. In the meantime, Merlin could polish pews, replace candles, and dust tomes.
Hindsight was always perfect, right? Merlin often thought about what might have been had he told Arthur the truth beforehand rather than having him find out in the way he did, with an audience of foreign royalty, no less. Oh, the various scenarios Merlin had run through his head. How it could have been different. How he could have been more careful. How he should have done something besides stare at Arthur and shake like a leaf when they gagged him and bound his wrists together.
Merlin liked to tell himself, when he began to lose hope, that Arthur believed he’d no other choice with everything happening the way it had. Merlin hoped that he was in such a predicament because, in the moment, Arthur had a hurting heart and, therefore, not a clear mind. The law was clear, though, and so was his supposed decision; execution was necessary because Merlin had magic and therefore he was a traitor.
Regardless of whether or not Arthur would have imprisoned or killed him, however, Merlin knew that whatever Arthur had personally chosen to punish him with he would accept with open arms. But not this. Never this. No matter how much Arthur hated magic, he would never abide by this place if he knew the goings-on. Of that much, Merlin was certain.
The guards always shifted places regularly, so he knew roughly when morning was. When not actively serving their life sentence of “holy work”, he and the rest of the convicted magic users were kept in small cages barely large enough to house their emaciated bodies. The cages were stacked and pressed against each other to allow for more prisoners to be housed in a small area.
All of them were collared and shackled like beasts with only smallclothes to hide their shame. The dank, dripping room was cold and unkept. The air reeked of stale water and urine, mold and mildew mixing with the scents of waste and death. There was never a day without illness and it was lucky not to wake up next to the bodily contents of someone else.
Often, there were one or more corpses needing to be removed from their cages (placed in front of the door to their cell-room to be moved outside later) with the guard swap. This task fell unto the prisoners that the guards chose. Merlin had helped Gaius move corpses before, but it was much different when he knew that there had been someone who tried all they could to save the deceased. It was different when he knew that the empty cage would be filled again in short succession, the cycle starting again.
There was a pile of corpses just outside of the tower. The bodies were burned once every fortnight to keep it from becoming unmanageable. After the first mass burning, Merlin couldn't seem to rid his olfactory senses of burning flesh, even pressing his nose to the bottom of the filthy cage he was kept in.
Once any and all corpse disposal was done, the prisoners were all chained together, additional links attaching to the permanent bindings they were afflicted with.
Being so deep in the bowels of the tower, there was no light, but they were all blindfolded before the door opened anyway. Led in a line like cattle to slaughter, with humming, red metal around their necks, wrists, and ankles, every day was the same. The path they took would get warmer and warmer until they were in a mine; only then were they allowed to see.
Settled into dark brown-gray rock were shimmering red crystals so volatile that they crumbled into powder if the rock nearby was hammered too hard. The powder was deadly. Melted skin or intense burns was a common sight and they were considered the lucky ones, who didn’t breathe in or ingest the powder-which doomed them to a suffering and painful death, liquefying organs and melting a person from the inside out. As it were, no ‘convict’ went without the burning, purple-red rash on their uncovered skin.
They never knew how long they would be in the mines that day. They were blindfolded and taken back to their cages in the dark when the Warden decided they were done.
The Warden, himself, was a thin man with greasy, white-blond hair and a sparse beard. His smile never reached his eyes, despite his voice always sounding sickly sweet.
Merlin had hated the man the moment he’d opened his mouth. The warlock could clearly remember the first experience he had with the man, down in the mines.
“These crystals have natural properties that null and repel magic. You recognize the ore your chains are made with, yes? They are also ideal for crafting the shields and armor of our Faith Militant, who defend the peace against magic.” The Warden paused to look at one of the loaded barrels of rock and crystal.
“With the crystals being so… temperamental, let’s say, it has become rather difficult to find willing miners.” The reedy man’s smile was so big, Merlin thought that his cheeks would burst. “That is where you and the rest of our to-be redeemed comes in! You will work to purge the evil from this land by aiding our craftsmen with the raw material to make our weapons. In doing so, we will purge the evil that has taken root within you!” The chain that kept him tied to the others jerked as one of the other convicted sorcerers crumpled to the ground.
Merlin was handed a stake.
Even though Arthur swore to Gaius (who had been very cold to him) that his shoulder didn’t hurt badly, the physician still placed the king on light duties for the next few days. Without the physical exertion to remove his mind from the situation he was confronted with, Arthur spent long days with his advisors and tending to paperwork. It was during one of these long days that he decided to lean back into his seat, look across the round table at his council and his knights, and nod to himself.
“I’m going to repeal the ban on magic in Camelot.” It was said as casually as someone deciding on breakfast. At first the implication didn’t sink and there were twenty or so pairs of eyes staring incredulously at him from around the room. Arthur sipped at his wine and looked around the table again.
“Thoughts as to when the soonest this can be in effect?”
The room erupted into chaos as several council-members sputtered and shouted in fury, others in agreement, Gwaine started whooping in celebration, and Leon tried (unsuccessfully) to mediate the arguing.
Arthur poured himself another glass of wine to wait for the bickering to stop and had the passing thought that Merlin would have probably been entertained by all the shouting.
One thing that Merlin couldn’t understand was the idea that somehow their torture was ‘holy’. It was thrown at them every day, that they were somehow atoning for an awful evil that they’d unleashed upon all that was good in the world. Aside from the Warden, there was another man in the circle tower to dole out punishment, known to the prisoners as the Priest. He was tall and of a heavier build, with light brown curls and a clean face. He had a round, inviting face, made rounder by a pair of spectacles and he always spoke clearly. There was never any empathy in his light tone, however.
There was never any empathy from the Priest at all.
“This is your first lesson in repentance. So long as you behave, this will be over before you know it.”
The way he circled Merlin reminded him of scavenger birds defending a carcass they were to consume.
Having been forced to the ground on his forearms and knees, Merlin was in the nude, with his wrists and ankles bound. He was completely at the man’s mercy, and Merlin was rather sure that mercy wasn’t something one received in a place like this.
“You have sinned, gravely, child. You know this. You chose this path of evil for yourself.” Merlin’s hands tensed and clenched into fists. “A sinner’s only salvation is to live a life of repentance. It is lucky, indeed, that we have you in youth, with much that you can offer to our lord. But, for Him to accept your offerings of atonement, you must repent.”
Merlin spat on the floor in defiance.
“Magic is not a sin; this world is magic and it is a sin to pretend that it’s not !” The Priest heaved a long, suffering sigh, though the hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. Retrieving a riding crop from a nearby table, he made a tutting noise behind his teeth.
“How thoroughly tainted you are, you little wretch. We’ll see what you think after our lesson, hm?”
"Lessons in repentance” were done on an as-needed basis, determined by the Priest. Merlin discovered this within his first few days of being in the tower, when he was hauled in every day. He was whipped, beaten, cut with knives, and burned. It was endless, it was agony.
Eventually Merlin learned that saying nothing at all was better than speaking out but despite his silence, he refused to ‘speak his truth and repent his sins’ for them. They were wrong, not him.
The first time Merlin tried to escape was right as they were being brought back from the mines on his fifth day. Without magic or weapons, he resorted to using his fists and the chains that kept his hands bound together.
As he was being pushed back into the cage, Merlin had whipped around, wrapping his chains around the guard’s throat and pulling as tightly as his abused muscles would allow him to. The goal was to disable him and steal his keys, so that Merlin could fight with his magic the rest of the way to freedom. Unfortunately, with there being four guards stationed and no other prisoner daring to fight, this attempt ended with him being shoved into a wet hole, with nothing but squeaking rats and a bucket for his waste.
Merlin remembers that he was glaring spitefully, despite being terrified, when the rope used to lower him was retracted. A heavy, rune-engraved stone cover was moved over the opening above him, and then there was nothing. The hole was the meaning of darkness, of nothingness. Merlin existed as a blinded creature, his hands searching along the wet stone in desperation, the water sloshing at his ankles. The stone wasn’t removed for anything. He drank from the water beneath his feet, and eventually had to eat the rats that were his only company.
He was kept there for a long time, but time had since lost its meaning with daylight a memory from what seems like so long ago. Eventually he was pulled up from the hole by a rope wound through his wrist bindings.
The second time Merlin tries to escape has a better plan. He’d discovered the chains and shackles power their own binding enchantments by stealing magic from the user. It took tears, time, and patience but Merlin was able to craft a spell. It would allow him, briefly, to use the connection he had with his magic kept within the restraints to break them. It was a long shot, but the only one he realistically had left. The torture, those damned crystals, his bound magic, and the malnutrition were weakening him. He had to get out quickly, or there was the chance he wouldn't have the strength to even try later.
Repent.
During the work day, while the guards were stepping away from a shower of red dust kicked up from the mining, Merlin used his spell and it worked. He broke free, sprinting from the mine, half-blind eyes blown wide. He very nearly cheered as he slowed time to make himself just out of reach of the men that grabbed for him. As he navigated upwards, blasting away those who got in his way with his weakened magic, Merlin’s lack of resources (starved, sickened, beaten, and beleaguered) were overrun with adrenaline.
Repent. You will know no mercy unless you repent.
He persevered with the thought of Arthur, his king. Camelot, his home. One moment, he was running for the door with tears of joy and hope on his cheeks and the next, he knew nothing. His strained eyes hadn’t seen the hulking figure waiting for him on the ground floor.
You are a sinner. A monster by choice. Repent.
This time, as punishment, the Warden brought the cage to the bottom of the well, and Merlin was bound with more suppressing chains that kept him curled in on himself and half-submerged in the water. The heaviness in his mind and the sway of his surroundings told him he’d been drugged. Neither of these were the worst part of his punishment.
"Good luck running on those", he’d been mocked from the hole far above him, though he couldn’t tell by whom.
His feet were nailed to the cage. There were nails through his feet. It only took him a moment to figure out where the most pain was originating from, after all, despite his drugged-out state.
Repent and seek redemption.
Merlin looked down at his manacled wrists, the anti-magic cuffs combined with his time in the mines having carved away much of the flesh there to leave behind angry, bloody wounds from the knuckles on his thumbs to just below his thin wrist bones. His gaze slipped again to his mangled feet, each with a nail through the center of it.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the spell he used earlier to manipulate the magic in the chains; he was starting to become ill, to feel frail. Like a rat in a trap, Merlin was caught.
Terrified and tortured, the mighty Emrys wept in the dark. He needed to escape this awful place. He just had to find a way.
Repent and see His light.
Arthur sent his knights northward to Elmet. The king had wanted to go, himself, but there was still much work to be done with repealing the magic ban and his presence was needed in the kingdom to prevent escalating tensions from becoming more violent. With three towers that Merlin could be held in, it was decided that the knights would split into three groups: Leon and Elyan would search the southwestern tower-the one closest to Camelot, Gwaine and Percival would take the northernmost tower, and Lancelot would travel with Sir Tristram to the eastern tower by the sea.
“The church’s views on magic are rather like my father’s: clear-cut and rigid. Whatever you say, don’t mention the laxing of Camelot’s magic laws: it could put Merlin in danger should King Royth decide to use him to send us a message.” Arthur told his men before they departed. “If they ask for a reason when you collect him, you can say that we would see him returned to our custody to be charged for his crimes in accordance with the law of Camelot, by order of its king. Say no more than that.”
Once all of the men left, Arthur released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and felt some of the tension melt from his shoulders. Now that he had a plan, a working plan, to get his friend back, Arthur found that it was much easier to sit through the long days of bickering and compromising in the council meetings that took up most of his time.
He hoped Merlin wouldn’t be too upset with him once all of them returned to Camelot and the two of them could have a long discussion.
Merlin looked around and noted, dimly, that the Priest had brought a torch into the hole with him and had hung it up on a mount. It was a welcome relief from the darkness, but it made Merlin’s eyes burn and sting.
He was tired.
"Repent. Confess and atone for your sins before God and ye may yet be given passage to his holy kingdom."
Merlin kept his head down and remained silent. Cool fingers wrapped around his chin and lifted his head. The Priest stared at him for a long, calculating moment.
“Your Earthly body fails you, boy, and soon you won’t have the time left to beg His forgiveness. Sinners do not know the light of God. They cannot see His grace. Repent and seek mercy. Repent and be saved.” Merlin breathed harshly, the drugs and fever clouding his senses and encasing his mind in a heavy fog. He knew, though, exactly what he wanted to do.
He spat in the Priest’s face.
“M-Men like you know no… mercies. If… if I d-die, then… I die but I have no w-words for you. Or your… God.” The Priest nodded, then, and removed his hand, standing to full height.
“Then you will die alone and in the dark. Within the next few days, I would imagine. Someone will be along in a week or two to collect your remains.” The torch was gone and the man left again, leaving Merlin to the all-consuming nothingness that had become his world. That would become his grave.
He was so tired, all he wanted to do was sleep.
There were no more tricks up his sleeve, he was too damaged to run and too weak to fight. Merlin couldn’t tell how he felt about it. Death was… release, freedom. But death was permanent; he’d never see Arthur, never again see the magnificent white of Camelot’s spires. No Gwaine or Percival, nor Gwen and Lancelot, or Elyan or Leon.
But would he see them again anyway if he didn’t die here and now? He’d been left here, not as a friend, but as a creature to be feared and hated. A monster. A sinner.
Even if leaving his servant to rot in an unfamiliar place far from home hadn’t been Arthur’s intent, perhaps it was what Merlin deserved. Merlin closed his eyes, though it made little difference, and allowed his mind to go blank.
He was so tired.
When Gwaine and Percival approached the northern circle tower, all thoughts of stealth were abandoned. They watched in livid horror at the blindfolded skeletal figures heaving corpses onto a large pile in front of the tower.
The two of them silently agreed that they needed to do something; that they could certainly take out the few guards they had stationed to watch the cadaverous and fettered prisoners. There were five in total and the two well-trained knights made quick work of dispatching the men. It was clear that they had been unused to defending themselves, what with their charges being indisposed and unable to fight back. It only made Gwaine and Percival more wrathful in their executions.
Systematically, the knights went floor to floor, killing the guards and searching for their friend to no avail. Once every last captor and jailer was dead, Percival and Gwaine only a bit worse for wear with most of the blood on their clothing being from others, the men started their work on freeing the prisoners from what was a fate worse than death.
Seeing the men and women, the obvious mistreatment they’d endured, fueled Gwaine’s adrenaline and sent the fire of pure rage through his being. How could this be considered justice? It would have been kinder to kill them all; at least then it would have been over quickly.
It was one of the prisoners that told the two knights about “the Hole”, and they’d been told that it was likely they’d be pulling out a corpse rather than a man, sending icy dread and fear through both of them.
Standing in front of what may have been a well a long time ago, there was only a moment of hesitation-inspired by fear at what they would find-before the heavy stone cover was removed.
Even though Percival was the larger of the two of them, Gwaine refused to let go of Merlin. Holding the atrophied form of the young man in his lap, the long-haired knight combed his fingers through the mats in Merlin’s hair as they rode hard for Camelot. While they’d found him alive, he was unresponsive, and the damage that had been done to him was… extensive.
There wasn’t an ounce of fat left on his body, with his sallow skin stretched tightly over his bones. His fever soared high, though there was little sweat on his form, and no part of him was left unabused, with the wounds being the worst at his hands and feet. His feet, gaping holes in the center of each, dangled uselessly at the end of his legs and Gwaine wasn’t sure if his friend would be able to walk without aid when his body healed.
If he healed from this.