《Flyleaf》Trollhunters/Merlin

《 Chapter Eight 》

"Our greatest mistakes always come back to haunt us. One way or another."

Something feels wrong.

Drip.

Drip.

Spinning, spinning. Twisting, turning. Never slowing, never ceasing, ever sickening.

Drip.

Drip.

His eyes flutter open and he immediately feels ill. Right is wrong, wrong is right. Up is down, and down is up.

Drip.

Drip.

Colours swim in his vision, blinding him from the suffocating darkness, hiding the pooling scarlet beneath him. His ears roar, echoed by a thin whistle of white noise that deafens him.

Drip.

Drip.

Chilling metal encircles his wrists and ankles, long chains of it knotted and tangled behind him, wrapped so his legs are pulled to his hands. Links hang loosely, their freezing touch clinging to the youth's bloodied and bruised back like leeches.

Drip.

Drip.

Where is he? His outer coverings are gone, leaving him in naked in all but a pair of ragged trousers, and every scratch, scrape, and broken bone has been left unseen to. He can feel the hot blood running rivers down his bare flesh, pooling on his forehead where it falls to the ground in singular drops.

Drip.

Drip.

"Ah! I see you are awake!" 

Esmerion flinches back at the sudden voice, making himself sway on the chain. This small action makes the speaker chuckle with a grating sound, a mocking and cruel laugh. He cannot help but be reminded of a cornered dog, where the person is pelting it with stones for amusement. It brings him no solace to find himself the dog.

"It's been a long time, old friend."

He blinks at the upside down figure, eyes widening and lips parting in horror. The youth shakes his head, though it brings pounding like drums, and stares. It cannot be.

"Ar-Arthur killed ye..." he mutters in disbelief, shaking his head in a constant motion. "Ye were meant to be dead."

"And yet, I still live," they step closer, into the dull, green glow of the crystals that lights up their features. "Quite surprising isn't it?"

"Mordred..." he snarls, curling his lip to reveal his bloodied teeth. "Ye bastard."

The man nods in acknowledgement to this phrase, a cruel smirk on his lips. His blue eyes shine with a coldness that he didn't possess the last time the youth saw him. There is only blazing hatred left in the shell of the boy he once was.

"You know, it's a true shame," Mordred comments slyly, pacing the ground in front of his prisoner. "A real shame that we can't have Emrys here with us."

Esmerion snarls, the bellow echoing throughout the cavern. He displeasure is undeniable, not only rippling in his expression but in the glow of his eyes. The air simmers between them.

"Oh, I do hope you don't mind," Mordred says offhandedly, leaning against a stone table to inspect an item in his pocket. "I chained you with dampeners. Normally wouldn't do much. But with you forcing this appearance and that nasty fall you took in the nursery, it's quite effective."