Merlin doesn't remember a time in his life where he was truly scared. He was nervous when he walked the first few steps into Camelot's courtyard that first time. He was frustrated when Arthur's life was being repeatedly and constantly threatened by sorcerers and magical creatures, and angry when his own mother's life was put on the line in his endeavor to save Arthur's.
He remembers the guilt that followed his release of the great dragon, remembers the grief that threatened to overwhelm him when his father died in his arms after taking a blow meant for him. Remembers the sadness that flooded his insides and almost drowned him as he slowly realized over the years that he might never be able to tell Arthur the truth. To show his prince who he really was.
Yet, now, as he felt his body shift and move on its own as if controlled by an invisible force, he was truly and utterly terrified.
He tried to fight it, resist the overwhelming force that seemed to push him as it pleased. Dimly, he realized that he was under an enchantment. A spell that allowed the magic-user to control a person while they slept. But who would do that? Who would want to enchant him, merlin, the useless servant.
The only person who had any reason to was Morgana. Was his slumber going to be a danger now too?
His body moved, back straightening and legs, pulling up from under him until he was standing. His bare feet touched the icy floor and sent shivers throughout his body. Camelot's winters were cold and unforgiving, going outside as this would surely bring about his early demise.
Calling forth his magic felt like a blow to the guts as nothing happened. It was both a blessing and a curse. He could not use his magic to get out of this, but then it also meant that whoever was currently in control of his body didn't have access to it either.
His struggles were useless as his feet led him, one step at a time out of the castle. He ambled past a sleeping Gaius, the older man oblivious to the internal battle his ward was currently facing.
The guards securing the doors were asleep, their job forgotten as he strode by. He willed his mouth to open, willed the words to spill from his constricted throat. He wanted to warn them, cry out for help, anything. Yet, he passed them swiftly and quietly, as if his body was lighter now, that he wasn't in control of it.
The frosty air hit him like icy water trickling down his spine. His thin nightshirt was not sufficient to ward off the cold. His toes stiffened with each step he took out of the citadel. He wanted to scream, to shout and cry and rage. Rage against this enchantment that slowly but surely took him away from the ones he loved and was sworn to protect. What did Morgana have in mind, was this some ploy to get him away from Arthur so she could hurt him. Or, was she just enjoying torturing him.
Pain flared in the soles of his feet as the gravel rubbed into his sensitive skin, breaking and tearing into his flesh with each stride he took towards the snow-laden forest. If he looked down, his eyes the only things that would respond to his command, he could see the blue-ish tint that accompanied the beginning of frostbite. The crimson blood that was left in his wake with each painful step he took on his raw, aching legs. Tears slipped down his bloodshot eyes unbidden, the liquid leaving frosty trails across his red cheeks. The color is no doubt going on purple now.
Twigs and low branches dug into his skin, some scratching his face and his arms as his pace seemed to hasten. His limbs locked up as his body seemed to seize up as if faltering on its command. The next thing he knew he was sprinting. Legs moving with a speed he didn't know he possessed as he raced across the woods.
The pain was overwhelming now, agony spreading from his legs to his whole body with every move he made. Unwilling and resisting.
He doesn't know how long he runs, doesn't know how much time passes as his limbs moved without his consent. It felt as if his mind was a separate entity in itself. As if he was a stranger looking down on a body that was not his own. He must have disassociated at some point, a phenomenon that Gaius once explained, happened to those who were no longer able to handle pain or suffering. The Catha were renowned for their methods of disassociating during intense torture sessions. It was one of their many ways of resistance.
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Of Falcons And Lycoris (Merlin)
Fanfiction'Merlin, you're not fine! You're- you're so far from fine! You died right before my eyes!' Lancelot shouted, disbelieving his own words as he tries to convey the seriousness of the situation. 'Right here Merlin! In my arms!' His chest heaved with th...
