Arthur’s wrists burn. His head aches; his feet have gone numb.
“Oh, good, you’re awake.”
Arthur blinks blearily into consciousness, eyes cracking open just enough to settle on a blurry, familiar figure.
“Come on. Rise and shine.”
Arthur tries to raise his fists and rub at his eyes, but he’s bound to the chair. He can’t move an inch.
“Merlin?” He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping his vision will clear. “What happened? Where are we?”
“Cenred’s kingdom,” Merlin says, but his voice isn’t as light as Arthur’s grown accustomed to. He sounds gruff. Stilted.
“Morgause crossed our path. Cast a spell and knocked you out.”
Arthur sputters in disbelief. “She could not have possibly knocked me out.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, sire.”
As his vision sharpens at last, Arthur realises they’re in Cenred’s throne room. Sconces turn the stone walls a rich orange, and the room smells strongly of sword polish. The throne is empty. Merlin paces before it.
Arthur frowns. “They didn’t tie you up.”
“Not like I’m much of a threat,” Merlin says, half-smiling, but there’s no light in his eyes.
Dread begins to creep into Arthur’s chest.
“Where’s Cenred? Knowing him, I thought he’d take the opportunity to gloat.”
A shadow passes over Merlin’s face, and Arthur watches as his lips lift in a minuscule smirk.
Arthur’s stomach drops. He grips the chair.
“Merlin,” he says slowly, “what’s going on?”
Merlin gets to his feet in a sudden, fluid movement.
“I keep on making mistakes for you,” he says. “I keep hurting people for you.”
Arthur fights to keep his voice steady. “What are you talking about?”
Footsteps echo against stone, and in the millisecond before she rounds the corner, Arthur knows who it will be. He watches the future play out in that breath, and everything he’s brushed aside returns with a vengeance. It hurts. It’s painful.
“All will be explained in due time, dear brother. But first…” Morgana stands before him, hair braided back and a sword at her hip. She lifts her hand, and a scroll of parchment appears out of thin air.
Arthur shouts, surprise and terror pounding in his chest.
“We have a list of demands.”
Merlin sinks into Cenred’s throne. “Get comfortable.”
for @merthurmicrofic ‘s prompt pain | 381 words
