Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

~ DYLAN THOMAS, DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOODNIGHT

➣

Arthur awoke to icy water filling his nose, his mouth. He gasped and choked, gulping for breath and scrambled to his feet, head whipping around in panic, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

Still shackled, still trapped - however, Arthur was instantly aware of a lone figure protruding from the darkness beyond the barred cell door, hidden in shadow and ominously motionless. The candle atop the stool had died during his slumber, but now a flickering torch provided illumination - nonetheless failing to diminish the freezing chill that pinched the Prince's skin - and the ruddy flames made the figure's features gaunt and twisted, casting dancing shadows upon the bars that separated them. And yet - despite the corporeal shadows that shrouded the figure - Arthur's stomach lurched with recognition and his skin prickled; as though the cold droplets upon his face were shards of glass, and their trickling pathways carved deep gashes.

Morgana - his own kin. Nonetheless, Arthur knew it was she who had plotted the attack - who had imprisoned the pair and orchestrated Merlin's torturous symphony of pain. He realised he wasn't surprised. Instead however, he was solely consumed with a suffocating, crushing fear. It was unbearable to fathom the boundless, cruel suffering Merlin would've endured at her hands. What had become of Arthur's lover?

As though the Prince had voiced his concerns aloud, Morgana smiled. An introduction or greeting was not necessary; she noted the horrified recognition within Arthur's eyes, and relished it.

"He's alive." She drawled casually, placing down an empty decanter - Arthur realising it was the source of his rude awakening - and slotting the torch into a bracket on the wall. Stepping forward, she gripped the iron bars and surveyed her prisoner with savage, starving intent; such a piercing stare that her victim involuntarily shuddered, and adverted his gaze.

Countless questions bubbled to Arthur's lips as he stood, swaying slightly in the frigid atmosphere, lips frozen and barren. After a moment the words emerged, unplanned and ungracious in their tumbling haste.

"How a-alive... is he?"

Through the bars, Arthur watched as Morgana's lips curled triumphantly, and his stomach twisted with sickening fear.

"Why don't you judge that for yourself?" Her coy simper contained a hidden order, as two barbaric men materialised from the shadows behind her. Between them hung a limp figure, who - in the murky depths, untouched by the fire's glow - stumbled faltering, seeming uncertain and dazed.

Thrust carelessly into the cell, the frail figure fell heavily at Arthur's feet, collapsing in a crooked pile like a stringless puppet - the door clashing hastily shut in his wake, the resounding peal grating Arthur's ears and echoing around his head as he stared in despondent dread at his lover.

Merlin's hair plastered his forehead, cemented by sweat and rusted blood, shadowing his face in dull, pallid shades. His cheeks were sallow - a ruddy glow long forgotten - but Arthur couldn't advert his gaze from the sickening sight.

Increasingly disturbing, however, was the tattered bandage that wound haphazardly around his eyes - secured in an untidy knot at the back of his head. Foreboding bloodied stains made dark, hollow pools where Merlin's oceanic eyes should have twinkled, and Arthur felt bile rise in his throat. He looked away; he couldn't help it.

"What have you done to him?" Arthur was barely aware he'd spoken, but the words emerged nonetheless, raw and demanding.

"Nothing more than what the Knights would've done to him, if they'd found out about your relationship." Morgana returned coldly. "I'm sure they would've rather died than serve a king who sleeps with his servants."

Arthur's cheeks flushed furiously and his fists curled with indignation. It wasn't true. The knights would never do something this wicked. They were good, noble men. They would support their friend and their prince no matter what... right? His mind echoed with resentful doubt.

But what if Morgana was right? Their love was so wrong, and Arthur was a prince - the Knights would be disgusted, and ashamed-

Filled with a sudden rage, Arthur stepped threateningly towards the witch, furious that she made him question his friend's loyalty - but the leaden chain that bound him to the wall snapped taut with a mocking rattle, and the unanticipated jolt sent the Prince to his knees. Morgana titled her head, barely repressing a smirk as she glowered down at her brother.

"You are a traitor, Arthur Pendragon. What would Uther say? There's no doubt, he would run him- "she nodded gloatingly at Merlin, who sprawled, motionless, "-through. You would be disowned. You're a disgusting, pathetic excuse for a prince."

Arthur lowered his head, and Morgana adopted a mocking tone as she continued. "Your mother would've been so ashamed of you; and pray the knights never discover your secret. I hope - for your sake - that it dies with you."

After a moment's silence, and upon realising that the royal wouldn't retaliate - due to his pride or defeat - Morgana turned away, her ghostly face glowing amidst the darkness. As she melted into the depths, a final, foreboding warning echoed.

"Take these words to your grave, Arthur; you shan't have long to wait."

And then she was gone.

The silence that followed was deep and disturbing; punctured solely by a low moan. Eyes widening, Arthur's head whipped up and he twisted around to face Merlin, whose hands blindly felt the uneven floor, fumbling and uncertain. They were swathed in bandages - not that Arthur noticed, or cared to know why.

"Merlin, it's me. It's Arthur. You're safe; you're with me now." He blurted frantically - desperately trying to console the senseless boy - and Merlin sobbed with relief, arms outstretched. Without hesitation, Arthur embraced him, and Merlin collapsed weakly into his companion's chest, gulping, heaving breaths making his weak frame shudder. Sobbing messily, Merlin burrowed his face into Arthur's shirt, fingers fumbling to cling to his partner as though afraid they'd be torn apart again.

"Sh-she t-took it," A muffled wail echoed through Arthur's aching chest, and he squeezed Merlin tightly. "She took away my... my m-" Unable to finish the sentence, he collapsed in a fit of shuddering sobs, leaving Arthur frantically wondering what the witch had taken- seemingly an item of utmost importance to Merlin. But there wasn't time to dwell, for more pressing matters were at hand.

"Oh my God," Arthur breathed, pulling away to survey his friend. It was as though Merlin had wept blood; for indeed, tears stained the bandage and streaked his cheeks, but they were red and smeared across his features like paint. "She h-hurt you, oh God please... she hurt you..." He choked, and allowed his own tears to cascade freely. He might've questioned Merlin's wellbeing, but it was blatantly, horrifically obvious - even in the low candlelight, rusty crimson streaked his skin and stained the cloth that obscured his eyes.

When his panicked sobs failed to cease, and his hands groped for comfort, Arthur pulled the shaking figure closer, cradling him like a child. "Tell me," The Prince rasped, his own hot tears splattering Merlin's skin, blanching the crimson where they fell, "what did she do to you? What did she do, Merlin?"

In the silence - whilst Merlin struggled to form a response - Arthur cursed the sole candle, and the pitiful flame it paraded. Had Morgana not taken the torch, he might have been able to inspect the damage inflicted upon Merlin himself - but a creeping gloom threatening to snuff the glow entirely, as the wax dripped incessantly and the wick was slowly consumed.

Merlin's fingers tightly grasped Arthur's muddied shirt, and he turned his head so that he might address the prince properly - forcing Arthur to stare into the haunting depths, that eerily illustrated where Merlin's eyes were buried.

"A-Arthur," he slurred with tremendous effort, "I can't see."

Arthur bit his lip and attempted to smile reassuringly - however, his face fell when he realised that Merlin wouldn't find comfort in the consoling act. Carefully, he shifted his hands to Merlin's head, fingers fumbling to untie the knot that held the material, obscuring his eyes.

"Well... No wonder, idiot... that's because- here, let me untie this..." As soon as the words had left his lips, Merlin fearfully jerked away from Arthur's embrace, recoiling with provoked terror. Blinding swinging his fists with desperate ardour, he flailing and struggled to ward off the prying touch, much to Arthur's confusion.

"No!" With the palms of his hands pressed into his hollow eyes, Merlin's haunting wail made Arthur's spine tingle -

"Arthur, I can't see."

-and Arthur realised that nothing lay beneath the bandage.

➣

a/n - finally I KNOW I'M SO SORRY

I have my final exams this year, and the pressure's already on, so it's been hard finding time to write! But I will finish this story even if it kills me - we're nearing the end, anyway ;)

Next chapter is from the knight's perspective... will they finally locate their lost friends?! Y'all gotta wait to find out!!

Once again, thanks for sticking with me and this story - it really does mean the world to me!!

happy reading xx