Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU
Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10 , Part 11 , Part 12 , Part 13 , Part 14, Part 15 , Part 16 , Part 17 , Part 18 , Part 19 , Part 20, FINAL PART (You're here)
In the Castle. The Throne Room.
Nobles, knights, and courtiers fill the place, their murmurs echoing off the walls. Morgana stands in chains before the throne, her dress torn and bloodied, her hair wild, her eyes burning with a defiance that even imprisonment cannot extinguish.
Arthur sits on the throne, appearing strong and resolute. Only Merlin, standing at his side, sees beneath the act. The conflict in Arthur's eyes that matches his own. He knows Gwen, gathered among the nobles of the court, is no better. Her hands are clasped tightly before her, her face pale, her jaw set. But they mask it the best they can.
Here, before the court, Morgana cannot be Arthur's sister or Gwen and Merlin's former friend. She is a criminal who must answer for her crimes.
As expected, there are protests when Arthur condemns Morgana to perpetual imprisonment instead of execution.
Lord X: Sire, this is unprecedented! (Gestures at Morgana) She has committed treason, murder, acts of war! By the law, she should die!
Arthur: (his voice calm and measured) And she will die. Slowly and in isolation. With nothing but the weight of her crimes to keep her company. Is that not a fate more fitting than a quick death?
Lord Y: Your Majesty, with all due respect, to spare the life of one who has done so much harm sets a dangerous precedent.
Arthur: (his voice sharp) Nobody questioned my father when he decided to keep the last dragon as a trophy. A literal giant creature that could—and did—cause great destruction once it escaped. (Turns his gaze to Morgana, his expression unreadable) Our enemy is nothing without her magic. Even if she managed to escape, she no longer represents a threat.
He hates himself as he says those words. As if he considered Morgana an object rather than a person. As if he were reducing her to a trophy. But it is better the court considers him ruthless rather than incapable.
His statement has the intended effect. No more protests arise.
Arthur: (gestures to the guards, his voice final) Take her away.
Guards: (grab her arms)
Morgana: (as she is dragged away, struggling violently) You monster! You can't even give me the dignity of a quick death! You're just like your father after all! Parading your enemies like trophies! (Jerks against the guards, her voice cracking with rage) I hope you remember this day! That you could have ended me, but you were too weak to do so! (Her voice rises to a scream) A king that couldn't do what must be done! You think you can just lock me away and forget about me?! I will haunt your dreams! I will poison every happy moment you ever have! You'll never be rid of me!
The guards drag her through the great doors and her screams fade as she is pulled down the corridor toward the dungeons, until only silence remains. Merlin places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and the king’s tight grip on the armrests of the throne loosens.
The trial is over.
Time skip. In the Main Courtyard. Day.
A pyre stands at the center of the place, Mordred’s funeral pyre. It’s stacked high with wood and draped with a Camelot cape, its red fabric stirring in the breeze. Arthur stands before the pyre, the Knights of the Round Table forming a semicircle behind him—Gwaine, Percival, Leon, Elyan, and others, their faces etched with grief. Gwen stands among them, her hand pressed to her chest. Merlin stands at Arthur's side, his eyes fixed on the flames.
Mordred's body is not there. Arthur had wanted it to be. But Merlin had reminded him that a pyre was the fate people like Mordred had spent his whole life running from. Arthur would not let it be his fate in death. So instead, Mordred's remains rest in a druid grave, buried next to Kara's, as they know he would have wanted.
But he also deserved to be honored as a knight. That is what the symbolic pyre is for.
Arthur: (his voice is steady, but there is a tremor beneath it) He was so young. And yet he achieved more than many who live twice as long.
Merlin: (his voice is thick with tears) I spent years fearing what he would do. (Swallows hard) Lost so much time hating him for being prophesied as your doom. (His voice cracks) And he turned out to be your savior.
Tears fall down his face as he watches the pyre. Mordred's corpse being there or not makes no difference. The grief is strong, the loss too profound. The sword begins to steam in the flames, the leather of the grip blackening, the steel glowing red.
The knights look on, heartbroken. They are mourning the friend they always welcomed. Merlin is mourning the boy he let in too late.
Merlin: (barely a whisper.) Thank you. (Closes his eyes) And I'm sorry.
Suddenly, a shadow passes over them.
A high cry rings out, echoing off the stone walls. They look up.
Aithusa bursts through the clouds
She circles the place, her wings beating frantically, spitting fire into the air. The passersby run away, screaming. The knights go on guard, hands flying to their swords—Elyan especially, who puts himself in front of his sister. But before Aithusa can do any damage, Merlin steps forward.
Merlin: (shouts) Nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai!
Aithusa lands, her claws scraping against the cobblestones. She lets out a pained sound, similar to a cry, her head swinging back and forth as if searching for something.
Arthur: (to the knights who were already preparing to attack) It's okay. (Holds up a hand) She is tame.
Merlin crosses to Aithusa immediately, his hands gentle as he strokes her snout. Aithusa leans into his touch, but her distress is palpable. She lets out another cry.
He knows instantly what has her so upset. She is looking for Morgana.
Merlin: (quietly, his voice soothing) Shh. I know. I know. I’m sorry.
Gwaine: (approaches) I'm surprised Morgana didn't use her in Camlann. A fire-breathing beast like that would have given her a great advantage.
Merlin: (his hand resting on Aithusa's snout, his voice careful) Morgana knew I was a dragonlord and that I could have easily stopped Aithusa or even used her against her. It wouldn't have been wise.
The young warlock hates to recognize how strategic Morgana has been.
She didn’t merely take Mordred as a last resort. Aware that Merlin had made use of the Great Dragon against Amata, Morgana chose Camlann—a plain in the narrowest pass of the White Mountains—as the site of battle. Kilgharrah would have been at a disadvantage there. His massive wings would have been hindered by the steep cliffs and narrow passages, and it would have been difficult for him to distinguish which forces belonged to which side.
He also hates to know that Morgana's decision not to bring Aithusa to battle wasn't purely strategic.
Yes, he could have used his dragonlord powers with Aithusa. He doesn't doubt Morgana feared that. But not because she feared a weapon could be used against her. It was because Aithusa is dear to Morgana, just as Morgana is dear to Aithusa. Actually, it surprises Merlin that Aithusa hadn't come looking for Morgana sooner. Maybe Morgana herself somehow restrained her, fearing what would happen to Aithusa if she were to suddenly appear during the war, not wanting to risk Merlin taking Aithusa from her by any chance.
Merlin hates it. Hates knowing that, even at her most desperate, Morgana had been calculating. Hates knowing Morgana hasn't entirely lost her ability to love. Hates knowing in general. Because he gained all that information literally against his will.
Aithusa nuzzles against Merlin's chest, her whimper low and sad. Merlin wraps his arms around her neck, his eyes closing briefly.
Merlin: (his voice is thick with unshed tears) She doesn't understand. (Presses his face into Aithusa's scales) She doesn't understand why Morgana is gone.
And how could he make her understand? Aithusa is too young to comprehend all the evil Morgana has done. To her, Morgana is not Camelot's greatest enemy. To her, Morgana is just the person who was there for her during the peril she suffered under Sarrum. Her friend. Her caregiver. The one who saved her. The one who was there when he wasn't.
Arthur: (approaches, his hand finding Merlin's shoulder) I can see to have a place made for her. Here in the castle grounds. Somewhere safe.
Merlin: (shakes his head) There's no need. (Gives Arthur a small smile) The nearest cave in the woods will suffice. But thank you. (Looks back at Aithusa, his hand still stroking her snout) I'll get her a good cave. And visit her frequently. But I don't know if that will be enough to… (Thinking) to replace Morgana.
Arthur: (takes Merlin's hand, squeezing it gently) We'll find a way to help her.
Merlin looks at him, his king and his love, but also the man who has lost so much to magic—evil sorcerers, creatures like Aithusa—and still finds it in his heart to offer her a place to stay or any form of comfort. He nods, a tear slipping down his cheek.
Aithusa lets out another low whimper, and Merlin turns back to her, his arms wrapping around her neck once more.
The pyre burns on, its flames reaching toward the sky. Somewhere beyond the veil, a young druid and knight is reunited with the girl he loves. And in the courtyard, the living continue to mourn and to heal.
Time skip.
Aithusa doesn't get better.
She keeps crying for Morgana, her mournful calls echoing through the woods. The white dragon paces restlessly in her cave, her wings beating against the stone, her claws scraping deep grooves into the floor. Merlin visits her daily, bringing meat, speaking softly in the dragon tongue, trying to soothe her with his presence and his magic.
But Aithusa doesn't want Merlin. She wants Morgana.
Morgana, meanwhile, fares little better. Imprisonment only sharpens her fury. If she is not taking every opportunity to hurl insults at every guard who passes her cell, or to spit in their faces, she is plotting ways to escape. She searches relentlessly for weaknesses in the dungeon, probing every lock, every routine, every careless movement. Every failed escape attempt only makes her more determined.
The guards grow increasingly wary and exhausted, just as their reports become more alarming, highlighting that Morgana is more violent and unpredictable each day. Arthur grows no less weary reading them. Neither does Merlin. So, inevitably, they start arguing.
In the Royal Chambers.
Merlin: (his voice is sharp, his frustration bleeding through) I told you a normal cell wouldn't hold her forever. (Paces the room, his hands gesturing) She'll end up hurting someone!
Arthur: (his voice tired and defensive) And what will you have me do? Chain her to a wall? Punish her every time she has a tantrum?
Merlin: (stops pacing, facing Arthur) Just move her to the East Tower. She'd have far less direct contact with the guards. Food could be passed through a small hatch. It would be safer for everyone—
Arthur: So you want to reduce her human contact to nothing? How does this make me any different from… (Can't finish the sentence)
Merlin: (his expression softens, he crosses and places a hand on Arthur's arm) You are not Sarrum. He did more than just isolate her. You are not cruel for being cautious, Arthur.
Arthur: (still doubtful, his jaw tight)
Merlin: (sighs, his hand dropping) But if you still think it's too extreme… I thought of something else.
Arthur: Which is?
Merlin: What if we let her see Aithusa?
Arthur: (confused, frowning) How would that work?
Merlin: We can't deny Morgana loves her. It could be a good incentive. We let her see Aithusa once every two weeks and Morgana might… behave if she knows she'll lose the visits if she doesn't.
Arthur: (stares at him) You want to use a dragon as leverage.
Merlin: I know. I hate the idea. But it might work. Besides… (His eyes drift toward the window overlooking the forest) I hate to keep seeing Aithusa so sad. It might help her too.
It is a dangerous gamble, and Arthur knows it. But he also knows how worried about Aithusa Merlin has been. And perhaps… Perhaps giving Morgana something to look forward to will succeed where chains have failed.
Arthur: (a long pause. Then he sighs, his shoulders slumping) Alright.
Time skip.
For two months, it seems to work.
Morgana behaves perfectly. She no longer attacks the guards and stops screaming. Instead, she waits patiently and eagerly for the days when the guards bring her to the large special chamber where she knows Aithusa will be.
The reunions are nothing short of heartwarming. Every time, Morgana falls to her knees, tears streaming down her face, as Aithusa barrels into her. The dragon wraps herself around Morgana, her wings folding around them both, her keening cry a sound of pure joy. Morgana gives a watery laugh and presses her forehead to Aithusa's snout.
Morgana stops being difficult. Aithusa is happy.
Arthur finds himself wondering whether they have finally found a fragile sort of peace.
Then Morgana attempts to escape again.
It happens during one of the visits. Sir Justus enters Morgana's cell for a routine inspection, and she manages to injure him gravely with a weapon she made out of Aithusa's scales—a jagged, sharpened shard, made in secret over weeks of careful work. She stabs him and runs. But the guards catch her at the dungeon entrance. She manages to cut a couple of guards superficially before they disarm her and drag her back, kicking and screaming.
In the Royal Chambers.
Merlin: (enters) Sir Justus is recovering. It was a close call.
Arthur: (sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands) …
Merlin: (steps closer) It's not your fault.
Arthur: You told me this would happen.
Merlin: Yes, and I also gave you the idea to let her see Aithusa. If anyone bears responsibility, it's me.
Arthur: (looks up, eyes tired) It was your idea, but it was my decision. I'm the one that gave her access to her. I practically handed her the scales.
Merlin: (crosses to him, leans down and wraps his arms around Arthur) You are being too hard on yourself as always. (Rests his chin on Arthur's shoulder) You wanted to show her kindness despite everything. That's not a weakness, Arthur. (Pulls away just enough to cradle his face in both hands) But sometimes… people just don't deserve it.
Arthur: …
Merlin: (quietly) What will you do now?
Arthur: (silent for a long moment. Then he straightens, his jaw setting with resolve) I'll move her to the East Tower.
Time skip. In the East Tower.
Morgana doesn't expect to find Merlin among the escorts that move her to her new prison. Not that she doubts Merlin wouldn't miss a chance to revel in her misery. But she knows Arthur doesn't want her anywhere near his precious servant. He surely fought Merlin over this, but in the end, he let him do as he pleased. That's how weak his authority is. He is nothing but a puppet that dances whenever Emrys pulls the strings.
Morgana taunts Merlin all the way up the stairs, wielding her words like a sword, wanting to tear him apart. Her voice is the only weapon she has left to inflict pain. But Merlin remains silent, a few feet in front of her, his back to her, not giving her the satisfaction.
It is not until they arrive at the tower room that Merlin turns. His face is expressionless as his eyes land on her. He holds her gaze for a moment and then his gaze quickly changes to the guards seizing her.
Merlin: (his voice flat) I'll take her inside myself. You can stay outside.
Morgana notices the guards are hesitant. They exchange glances, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of leaving the king's servant alone with the former High Priestess. But in the end, they step back, letting Merlin move her alone inside.
Morgana: (huffs as she is dragged forward) Already giving the king's newest bedwarmer special privileges?
Merlin does not respond. He guides her inside the cold, circular spacious area. There's a single barred window, and a narrow bed. The guards close the heavy iron door behind them.
Merlin: That's your bed. (Points to a sluice in the door) You will receive your meals through here. (Gestures to a simple pot in the corner) And you can do your… necessities there. It's enchanted. It will clean itself—
Morgana: Are you giving me a tour? Shall I be grateful for your generosity?
Merlin: (his face darkens) Perhaps. It's more than you gave me in the Dark Tower.
Morgana: (laughs) So that's what this is. You boasting the irrefutable proof that you're a better person than me. (Her voice rises with contempt) This shitty benevolence you and Arthur perform makes me sick.
Merlin: (moves to the window) You know, this was where Arthur locked me in when I was enchanted.
Morgana: (remembering, incredulous) The too easy to escape room?
Merlin: The first time, yes. It was a room fit for nobility. (His voice softens) He wanted me to be comfortable.
Morgana: (sarcastic) How touching.
Merlin: By the time he caught me again, he had already rebuilt it. He added the bars, strengthened the door, and emptied the room, leaving only the bare minimum. All just to prevent me from escaping again. "I am a slow learner, Merlin. But I do learn." That's what he told me. I added very little changes, really—
Morgana: Will you get to the point before I’m moved to tears by your wonderful story?
Merlin: (moves away from the window) Do you regret it?
Morgana: (scoffs) Everything I did, I would do it again—
Merlin: (his voice sharper) I'm not talking about everything. (Steps closer, his eyes boring into hers) I'm talking about what you did to me.
Morgana: …
Merlin: (his voice drops, raw and vulnerable) Is there any part of your rotted soul that actually feels remorse for magically enslaving me? Just a little? Maybe a remnant of the old Morgana? Something close to the humanity you may have left. I need to know.
Morgana is struck for a moment. Does she regret enchanting Merlin? Yes. Not because it was wrong. She abandoned morality long ago. But she regrets falling for the illusion it gave her. How it made her feel loved and cared for. How it weakened her enough to make her care and love Merlin in return. How it destroyed her after.
But she won't give Merlin the pleasure of knowing that. He has already humiliated her enough.
Morgana: (full of spite) You killed every last bit of it.
The young warlock closes his eyes, just briefly, and then opens them again. There is no disappointment, only certainty. As though her answer merely confirmed what he already knew.
Merlin: Thank you. (Turns toward the door) You just made this easier.
Morgana: Locking me in here?
Merlin: Yes. (Stops in front of the door, giving Morgana his back) Oh, I forgot to tell you. There's another enchantment I added. Besides the pot thing.
Morgana: (mockingly) Oh, did you add a magic bathtub too? You shouldn't have bothered.
Merlin: No. The room… (glances at her over his shoulder) It's sound proof.
Morgana looks at Merlin in confusion. When she is about to ask, why would she need such a spell, something wet lands on her cheek. She touches it instinctively.
It's dark sap.
Slowly she looks upward. The ceiling above her disappears beneath a tangled mass of hanging mandrake roots. Her blood runs cold.
Merlin: Just as Arthur, I'm a slow learner, Morgana. (Turns his face back to the door) But I do learn.
It sinks in all at once. Why the complete isolation. Why Merlin did that initial comparison with the Dark Tower. What the sound proof spell remark means. He is doing to her what she did to him. But worse. Because it is clear Merlin has no intent to come for her at all.
No, Merlin is leaving her here, ensuring that, no matter how loudly she screams, no one will come. He is leaving her here to rot, with her worst fears. Alone.
For a moment she just stares, startled. Then she breaks down laughing hard, hysterical. It is the kind of laugh someone does because the only other options are crying your eyes out or screaming in helpless rage.
Morgana: Congratulations, Emrys! You've become even crueler than I ever was!
Merlin: (opens the door, stepping through it)
Morgana: (her laughter turns to shouting, her voice rising to a raw, desperate scream) You hear me?! CRUELER THAN ME! I HOPE YOU ARE—
Merlin doesn't get to hear the rest. The door closes. Only silence answers.
The young warlock stands with his back against the door, his eyes closed. His hands are shaking. His chest heaves with breaths he didn't realize he was holding. The sound of Morgana's screams is still echoing in his ears.
Guard Egoit: (concerned) Are you alright?
Merlin: (nods, his eyes still closed. Takes a deep breath, then pushes himself off the door)
Guard Angus: (anxious) The king will kill us if he finds out we let you in there with her alone.
Merlin: (opens his eyes, his face suddenly serious) The king doesn't have to know.
Guard Angus: … Understood.
Merlin: (calm, measured) There's little point in keeping guards stationed here. The room is secure. Ensuring her meals are passed through the hatch should suffice.
Guard Egoit: (frowns) Did the king order that?
Merlin: (a soft smile) Naturally. Though if you'd rather interrupt today's council to verify it personally—
Guard Egoit: (quickly) No. No need.
Merlin: (his smile widens, just slightly) Good day, gentlemen. (Bows, then turns and walks away)
The young warlock walks down the stairs, his hands trembling, his heart pounding, and his eyes tormented by what he has just done. As the confusing feelings for Morgana try to overcome him once more—the ghost of Morgana's fingers running through his hair, the warmth of her hugs, the shared laughter in the stone lair they called home—he reminds himself why it was necessary.
He needs her gone.
Not because she represents a danger. Not for her past crimes. Not even for all the times she almost killed Arthur and how she hurt his friends.
No. It is simply because he cannot live in peace as long as she keeps breathing.
The memories will keep hunting him. The complicated feelings will remain. Her shadow will keep following him in his dreams, in his waking moments, in the quiet spaces between his thoughts. Invading him, as if she still controls his mind, forcing him to carry her everywhere like a parasite under his skin.
He will never be truly free. Not until she is gone.
Merlin was hoping Arthur would kill her. He seemed determined in ending her. When Arthur had his sword pressed against her throat, Merlin had felt a strange, terrible relief. Finally. It will be over. He remembers thinking. She will be gone. I will be free.
But Arthur didn't, in the end. And when Merlin asked why, Arthur confirmed what he already suspected, deep down: Arthur wouldn't kill her. Never will. And for once, Merlin hated the big heart his king possessed.
He swallowed his disappointment, though, and hugged him. It wasn't Arthur's fault. That's just how he is. He knows if he had asked him to do it, Arthur would have, for him. He has proven his love through their peril, and time and time again these past few months. But then Arthur would hate himself for the rest of his life. Merlin couldn't do that to him.
So he decided he had to do the job.
But he couldn't risk Arthur finding out. What would he think of him? For killing his sister only for his own mental stability? Would Arthur forgive him? He doesn't know if his love would go to that extent. And he sure won't risk it.
No, he had to be discreet.
He had to isolate her more. Make sure there were no witnesses. Convincing Arthur to move her to the East Tower wasn't easy. But after the Aithusa visits failed as a method to appease Morgana—as he knew they would—he finally made him agree.
But even that wouldn't be enough. If Morgana were to be suddenly found dead in the East Tower, there would be an investigation.
Therefore, Morgana has to do it herself.
Nobody would investigate a suicide further. It would be tragic, but it would be clean. No questions. No accusations. No one to blame but Morgana herself.
Morgana is a fighter. Has survived and endured far worse than imprisonment. She would never do it, no matter how miserable and humiliating she claims she is now. She will live by the sheer motive of bothering Arthur with her existence.
So he had to make her misery unbearable.
He remembers the Dark Tower. The way time became meaningless, the way the illusions and the voices convinced him he was despised, worthless and unloved. He remembers the fear, the anguish, the loneliness, the desperate need for any human contact, even if it was from the woman who had broken him. If Morgana hadn't appeared as his saviour, as the only person who loved him, the only one he would ever need, he knows he would have given up on life soon after.
So he replicated it. The room that would strip away every last shred of Morgana's will to live.
He reminds himself he didn't do it for revenge. He did it for his freedom. For his peace. For his mental stability.
But perhaps, the latter, he already lost it.
A week later. In the East Tower.
Gaius kneels beside Morgana's body. Arthur keeps his back turned. He cannot make himself look. He already knows the corpse cannot resemble the sister he remembers. The guards only discovered something was wrong when the man delivering her meals noticed the stench seeping beneath the door. By then, decomposition had already begun.
He waits for grief to overwhelm him, but it doesn't. No tears come.
Perhaps he can’t cry because he has been mourning her for years already. After all, the kind-hearted Morgana he knew died long before the prisoner in this tower. Or perhaps, since he doesn't want to associate the image of his beloved sister with the body lying there, his mind refuses to reconcile them altogether.
Behind him, Gaius finishes his examination.
Gaius: (his voice clinical) Cause of death appears to be severe cranial hemorrhaging. It seems she repeatedly struck her head against the wall. (Looks closely) There are also deep scratches across her face, fractures in his hands and several bruises. All self-inflicted. They occurred before the fatal injuries.
The king's mind changes to investigation mode immediately. He doesn’t know if it’s his ability to keep a cool head in hard situations kicking in or if it is merely a defense mechanism taking place. Either way, Arthur's grief immediately retreats behind something far more familiar and manageable: duty.
Arthur: (his voice is steady, though his hands are clasped tightly behind his back) Why would she do that to herself? It's not like her at all.
Gaius: Isolation can break even the strongest minds, Sire.
Arthur: (turns slightly, just enough to glance at Gaius) She endured isolation before. (His voice hardens, just slightly) She never went to these lengths.
Gaius: Perhaps precisely because she had endured it before, she could not endure it again. (Shakes his head slowly) Or the humiliation of being a trophy of war was too much for her pride to bear. But those are only guesses. I can only tell for certain the cause of death, my lord.
Percival: (arrives, his large frame filling the doorway)
Arthur: (orders him, his voice clipped) Help Gaius move the… the corpse.
Percival: Yes, my lord. (Moves forward)
Gaius and Percival cover the body. Neither man speaks. Arthur watches only when Morgana's face disappears beneath the cloth. Then he turns away as they carry her downstairs.
The king begins looking around the room, wanting to clear his mind. The only mattress of the bed is scattered and almost completely torn on the floor, the chamber pot lies overturned in one corner. He spots blood stains on the bars of the window and the walls. He frowns. Something doesn't add up. It is clear she was trying to escape, but this seems very different from her previous escape attempts. It’s like she fought this place.
As Arthur walks, his boot catches something. He bends down and picks it up. It's some sort of root.
No. Mandrake root.
"The ritual used the mandrake root to bring unimaginable terror to the victim."
His heart skips a beat.
Arthur would recognize it anywhere. Since he learned it was used on Merlin and during that period Merlin kept running away from him, he studied it desperately, hoping there was another way to break its hold on Merlin. He spent countless nights in the library, pouring over texts, searching for any alternative. All his research turned out useless, only confirming that the Cauldron of Arianrhod was the only thing powerful enough to break it.
What is this cursed tuber doing here?
Arthur looks at the root in his hands closely. It's small, withered, with some stains of a thick black liquid and bears tiny cuts on its surface. It’s almost as though….
As though it has just been used.
"It seems she repeatedly struck her head against the wall"
“There are also deep scratches across her face, fractures in his hands and several bruises. All self-inflicted.”
"Isolation can break even the strongest minds, Sire."
Arthur quickly looks up in panic, his eyes scanning the ceiling. He remembers Merlin describing the roots hanging from the ceiling inside the Dark Tower. But the ceiling here is empty. Clean. It unsettles him more than it causes him any relief. Because it means the scene was cleaned before he came in. It means the root left behind is a slip-up.
"The rituals of the high priestesses were secret, passed only among their innermost circles."
The last High Priestess was Morgana. There is no one that could have known how to do the ritual, besides her. But her magic was blocked, and even if it wasn't, it is absurd she would do this torment to herself. The Dochraid? No, that creature hated him and made clear her loyalty to Morgana. But it couldn't be anyone else.. Unless…
Unless it was done by someone who suffered it themselves.
“I told you a normal cell wouldn't hold her forever. She'll end up hurting someone!”
“Just move her to the East Tower.”
Moving Morgana here was Merlin's idea. He also insisted on moving her there himself. Something about precaution and needing to close cycles.
Could he… could he really—
Merlin: (at the entrance) Arthur?
The king startles, almost dropping the root, but slips it quickly inside his tunic before turning. His heart pounds against his ribs. He forces his face into neutrality.
Merlin: (frowns, his eyes searching Arthur's face with worry) You were taking too long. (Steps into the room) Are you alright?
Arthur: (forces himself to nod) I… needed a moment. It was not a good sight.
Merlin: (his expression softens with understanding) Gaius told me. (Crosses to Arthur and holds his hand) I'm sorry. I know you still loved her. I did too, despite everything.
The king studies his beloved. Merlin's face is open with concern. His beautiful blue eyes are sincere and loving. His hand is warm and reassuring on Arthur's, grounding him. There is nothing in his expression to suggest he has done anything wrong.
And yet, the root burns against Arthur's chest, hidden in his clothes.
Merlin: Something else is troubling you.
It's not a question. Because Merlin has always known how to read him. He knows him inside out. Just as Arthur knows him… or thought he knew him until just a moment ago.
Merlin: Arthur?
He wants to answer. Wants to ask. Wants to reach into his tunic and pull out the root, to hold it up and—
Arthur: I think… I'm still waiting for it to feel real. I thought I would cry. But I haven't.
Merlin: (squeezes Arthur's hand) Shock does that sometimes. (Smiles) Come. Let's leave this place.
The king lets his manservant lead him out of the room, down the spiral stairs. He looks at Merlin, the man he loves, the man who saved him more times that he can count, the person he not only loves but also trusts with all his heart. But as he does so, the mandrake root presses against his heart with every step.
Time skip. The Training Grounds.
The place is empty, the last of the knights having retired to the castle. The training dummies stand silent in the fading light, their straw bodies pierced with practice swords. Arthur stands in the center of the yard, his sword still in hand, though the training session ended long ago. He watches Egoit and Angus approach, their footsteps tentative, their faces wary. They have been summoned, and neither knight can imagine why the king would call for them at this hour.
Egoit: (stops at a respectful distance) You sent for us, Sire?
Arthur: (his voice is calm, measured, but there is an edge beneath it) You were responsible for the East Tower's security, am I right?
Egoit and Angus: (exchange a glance, then nod) Yes, Sire.
Arthur: (sheathes his sword) I have a few questions regarding Lady Morgana's death. You are not in trouble. I simply wish to clarify the sequence of events.
Egoit and Angus: (straighten instinctively, their hands clasped behind their backs)
Arthur: During your watch… Did either of you hear anything unusual?
Egoit: (frowns) Unusual, Sire?
Arthur: Screaming. Banging. Anything that suggested something was wrong inside the tower.
The knights think for a moment. Then Angus shakes his head.
Angus: No, Sire. Nothing.
Egoit: (nods in agreement) It was unusually quiet, if anything. We had no idea anything had happened until… until the smell.
"Their screams could be heard twenty leagues away."
The king's chest loosens. A breath he didn't realize he was holding escapes him. If no one heard Morgana… perhaps there had been no ritual after all. Perhaps the mandrake root had some other explanation. Perhaps—
But them not hearing anything doesn't make sense either. Morgana destroyed the place. The mattress torn apart. The chamber pot overturned. The scratches and blood stains on the walls and bars. How is it that no one heard anything?
Angus: Though it's not as though we spent much time up there.
Arthur: (his eyes sharpen) What do you mean?
Egoit and Angus: (look puzzled, exchanging another glance)
Egoit: (cautiously) The East Tower wasn't permanently guarded, Sire.
Arthur: (goes perfectly still) It wasn't?
Angus: Your servant informed us that you had changed the orders.
Arthur: (his voice flat) … My servant?
Angus: Merlin, Sire. He told us the tower was secure enough that guards were unnecessary.
Arthur: …
Egoit: (hesitant) That's… that's what you ordered, wasn't it?
Arthur: (forces a smile) Yes. Of course. I'd forgotten. (Turns away) My apologies. That will be all.
Egoit and Angus: (bow) Yes, Sire. (Leave)
The king stands alone in the training yard for a moment more, before retiring to the castle.
Time skip. In the Royal Chambers.
The king sits on the edge of his bed, the mandrake root resting in his palm. He turns it over and over between his fingers, staring at its shriveled shape without truly seeing it. He sees Morgana instead, alone in that tower room, screaming, living her last moments in the worst kind of agony, surrounded by her worst nightmares.
Arthur closes his hand around the root. He thinks of Merlin. Merlin, who insisted she be moved to the East Tower. Merlin, who insisted on escorting her himself. Merlin, who dismissed the guards. Merlin, who lied about an order Arthur never gave.
One coincidence could be dismissed. Four could not.
Arthur closes his hand around the root. He remembers Merlin in the East Tower after Morgana's death. The concern. The warmth. The way he took Arthur's hand and led him away, as if nothing were wrong. Nothing about it felt false. It's true, Merlin in the past has managed to lie to him easily. About his magic. About countless secrets. But after everything had come to light, Arthur slowly learned to recognize the tiny shifts in Merlin's face whenever something wasn't right. And he didn't see them there.
However, now that he recalls it, there was something in the way Merlin spoke to him in that moment too. He can't tell exactly what, because it still felt familiar. Yet, something in Merlin's voice—maybe in the tone, or maybe in the way he delivered the words—sounded slightly off.
He shakes his head. Why is he searching Merlin's mannerisms for answers? He has evidence. The mandrake root. The root that was used to torture Morgana. The root that drove her to madness. The root that killed her.
Arthur closes his eyes, and for a moment he sees Morgana as she was when she arrived at Camelot—young, fierce, full of laughter. Then he sees her in the East Tower as Gaius described: with scratches on her face, fractures in her hands, her skull cracked open against the stone.
Morgana was his sister. She was cruel, she was broken, she was beyond saving, but she was still his sister. And Merlin—
No. It doesn't make sense.
Merlin had told him not killing Morgana was alright. He had comforted him when he couldn't bring himself to kill her in Camlann, and then stood by him in that decision. Why do that and then go ahead and kill her behind his back? And in such a horrible manner?
Vengeance? Retribution? Merlin is not like that… is he?
Arthur pictures Merlin's hands—the ones that wiped away his tears, the ones that held him through grief—and tries to imagine them preparing the Teine Diaga, a ritual of torment on another human being.
And he can't. He just can't.
But the root is real. The evidence is real. And Merlin was the only one who could have done this.
Suddenly, Arthur hears the door opening. He hides the mandrake root in his clothes quickly.
Merlin: (enters, his face tired) I gave Gwen the news. (Crosses to the center of the room) I thought it would be better if she heard it from me.
Arthur: (his voice is careful, measured) How was she?
Merlin: (sighs) Holding together. (A pause) She asked whether Morgana would have a funeral. Even if only a small private one.
Arthur: What did you tell her?
Merlin: I told her that's up to you.
Arthur: (a long pause) Would you want there to be one?
Merlin: (frowns, confused) Why wouldn't I?
Arthur: After everything she did to you…
Merlin: (walks closer) Well, it's like you said. The Morgana who was my friend and the Morgana who hurt me wear the same face. (His voice softens) Gwen wants to say goodbye to the friend she lost. You miss your sister.
Arthur: And you? Do you miss her?
Merlin: (a long pause. His eyes drop to the floor) Yes… But it's complicated. (Looks up, his eyes glistening) Because… (His voice breaks) Can I be honest with you?
Arthur: (his heart aches) Of course. (Thinking) Will he confess?
Merlin: (tears fall) You miss the Morgana she used to be. The one that was good. (Wipes his eyes) Just as Gwen does. And probably as anyone who was ever close to her and knew her like that does. (His voice cracks) I do too. Of course I do but… (Shakes his head.) Is not the only one I miss.
Arthur: (frowns, confused) What do you mean?
Merlin: I also miss the Morgana she became. (Breaks down, sobs wracking his body) The Morgana that tormented us. The one who enchanted me. Because she made me believe she was my friend too.
Arthur: (pushing down any remaining suspicion, rises from the bed and crosses to Merlin, pulling him into his arms) Shh. It's alright
Merlin: (clings to Arthur) It isn't! (His voice cracks) And I hate it! (Sobs against Arthur's shoulder) I hate that my heart still holds love for that version of her.
The king holds his beloved tighter, stroking his hair, but says nothing. There are no words capable of easing that wound.
Merlin: I miss her. (Pulls back just enough to look at Arthur, his face streaked with tears) And I hate that I miss her. It's all so confusing, and infuriating. (His voice drops) That's why in a way… I'm glad she is gone.
Arthur: (stills)
Merlin: (notices the tension and pulls back, filled with guilt) I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. She was your sister. And here I am talking about— (Stops as his hand is pressed against Arthur's chest and feels a lump beneath Arthur's tunic) What is this?
Arthur: (shouts, pulling away) DON'T TOUCH IT!
The king doesn't know what came over him. His panic just raised at the idea of Merlin touching the mandrake root. Which is absurd. First, because according to the research he made, mandrake root has a specific way to be used to work. Second, because if his suspicion is correct, Merlin had already manipulated the fucking root. Yet every instinct in Arthur has screamed the same thing: Keep it away from him. As though merely touching it could corrupt his Merlin all over again.
He tries to think of something to justify his outburst. But nothing comes. Merlin keeps looking at him, confusion still plain on his face. Then it slowly fades and something else replaces it. Recognition. Horror.
Arthur feels his stomach drop. He knows. Merlin knows he found something.
Arthur: Merlin…
The young warlock blinks. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles brightly. Almost playfully.
Merlin: (lightly) Oh, is it a surprise? One of your secret gifts?
Arthur stares at him, his mind racing. He has hidden little presents for Merlin inside his tunic before, yes. Details during their courting phase. Small tokens of affection like a carved wooden figure, a pressed flower, a note folded small. But it doesn't feel like Merlin genuinely believed that is the case.
It feels more like he is trying to give him a way out.
Merlin: (waves a hand) Alright. (Grins) I'll pretend I didn't notice. That way you can still surprise me later.
Arthur just remains stunned. His heart pounds in his chest, the mandrake root burning against his skin.
Merlin: (glances at the window) It's nearly supper. I'll bring us something to eat. (Turns toward the door)
The king watches his beloved go, a war inside him. Part of him wants to let him leave, let the matter die forever. But another part cannot bear unanswered questions.
Arthur: (after a moment, calls out) Merlin.
Merlin: (stops, his hand on the door handle, and turns back, a patient, questioning look on his face) Yes?
It's just then that Arthur realises what had been off with Merlin's voice in the East Tower. That exact same tone. That calmness. He has heard it before. It was the same voice Enchanted Merlin used with him when he was performing. That is the same voice. That is the same exact smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It’s all there, a measured gentleness carefully displayed to conceal unbearable truths.
The resemblance lasts only an instant. Then it is gone. But a shiver runs through him all the same and Arthur has to force himself to breathe.
Arthur: Tell Gwen… I'll arrange the funeral.
His beloved’s expression softens.This time the smile reaches his eyes.
Merlin: (warmly) She'll be happy to hear that. (Opens the door) I won't be long. (Leaves)
The door closes quietly behind him and Arthur is alone once more. Slowly he removes the mandrake root from beneath his tunic, his hands trembling.
“I'm glad she is gone.”
He walks to the hearth. For a long time he simply stands there. Then he opens his fingers and the root falls into the fire. Arthur watches as the flames consume the cursed thing. The one thing that caused Merlin’s hell and now the only thing tying Merlin to something too terrible to name.
Because if the evidence is gone the act can die with it.
As long as he never glimpses that face, that voice in Merlin again. As long as Merlin never wears that smile. He can live in ignorance.
...
Arthur literally at the end:
In a more serious note, I know this ending turned out to be quite dark and probably wasn't anything as you expected. Again. Please, don't hate me 🙏. They live happily ever after after this, I swear! Traumatized and all, but happy.
@iwillgotoheavenforyou , @la-pompe-funebre , @nannersthespellcast0r , @etherealtraceartisan , @thedollopheadofcamelot , @keitorin3 , @farmboyprince , @lunasky2491 , @thedollopheadofcamelot , @blushyandticklish , @caraspud , @clairebonnefoy , @atropa-lovely-day , @holdingup-fallingsky , @regulusrules , @pinktoria , @graceless-angel , @koffeinkaos , @therealmrslisting , @a-star-with-a-human-name , @hearteyespierce , @dragonknightperson , @mxmorel , @raveninthedusk
