Drops 2.4K of Unforgivable. and runs away
Merlin:
He wakes up in an unfamiliar room.
He forces the panic that threatens to drown him in its ocean down, (it’s still there, making his body hot, but at least he can think somewhat clearly) focusing on his surroundings.
He squints in the dim light, hoping his eyes will adapt quickly. It… seems like a dungeon. A nasty, pungent one, at that. The scent of urine and feces combine to make a horrid smell that makes him cough and wrinkle his nose in disgust. More than likely, it's what woke him.
He’ll definitely have to bathe and wash his clothes once he gets out of here. But why is he being held captive in the first place?
He hasn’t been blindfolded, and no clothing has been taken off; his piercings are still in as well. (Thank the other gods for that mercy.)
However, his hands are bound behind his back, and his ring is gone. They must have known it's his weapon. But how?
They know you, the voices say, unbidden.
He brushes them off. Who would know him and want to capture him?
He shifts a little, trying to get more comfortable to alleviate the pain in his back-
There’s something on his wrists besides the ropes.
But what…?
Magical suppressants.
He’s cut off from his domain.
He frantically begins searching for any sort of sharp object that would cut the ropes, but there’s nothing, only stone walls and floors, a few torches here and there. Of course they wouldn’t leave anything, with however they captured him.
He struggles in vain to remember something, anything of what happened. His memory is shit, (and it had been even before his madness started, because apparently, being the god of magic doesn’t mean being granted a good memory) but it’s never been this bad.
Did they give him some kind of mind wiping spell or potion? If they did, it had to have been a spell; no taste of anything foreign is in his mouth.
And Charlie’s gone.
The literal pain in his heart is proof of that, and it's all too obvious now that he's noticed. Does he feel it too? Where is he? Did he avoid being captured, unlike him? If he didn't, is he somewhere else in this dammed place?
All right, calm down. A god cannot panic. Think. Why would they have wiped your mind?
They must not want him to know the journey here.
A cold sense of dread grips him, replacing the panic.
He’d easily admit that he gets paranoid thoughts often, but there’s nothing good about taking someone captive and wiping their mind so they won’t know where you took them.
He forces himself to take a deep breath. In through the nose, (at least he’s already getting used to this terrible air, and that lets him focus more) out through the mouth.
The first thing to do would be getting his hands unbound, so he can take off these magic suppressing cuffs. The sooner, the better.
Just because he feels fine now doesn’t mean he will later. And no matter what they captured him for, (questioning? Blackmail? Something else?) he’s not going to let them get hurt if he ends up not being able to control his magic.
He tries not to think about the damage he could cause. (Of the lives he could end.)
Footsteps alert him to someone’s presence.
His brow furrows as he listens, turning his head so that he can hear better. He could swear that… he recognizes them, but that doesn’t make sense.
Does it?
Either way, with a little bit of luck, they’ll at least release him from the cuffs if he acts like the perfect, docile captive. When their guards are lowered, he can escape, find his companion, and forget this ever happened.
Taking a deep breath, he prepares himself for the stranger he’ll have to face.
Instead, Mordecai steps out of the shadows. He doesn’t seem to notice the stench down here.
Confusion replaces his trepidation (and panic), but at least he doesn’t have to put on a mask yet. “Mordecai? What are you doing here-”
He did this. They were right about your captor knowing you. That’s how they knew your ring is your weapon. He’s seen you use it, seen you fight.
No, he wouldn’t do this.
…That’s true, isn’t it?
He isn’t surprised to see you captive.
Of course he knows you’re captive, idiot. He came down here.
Unless he hadn’t known who the prisoner was before. But he does seem to.
Mordecai stares at him silently, watching the different emotions flickering across his face. He resents his expressiveness for a moment, wishing he could hide under a layer of indifference.
“You brought me here,” he says quietly. He could be wrong, but he highly doubts it.
His acquaintance laughs. “Oh, that was quick. If you keep figuring out things at that speed, this could get boring.”
He glares at him, futilely attempting to ignore the ache in his chest. (It’s there for two reasons now.)
Someone else betrayed him. So what? He still has Charlie. Wherever he is.
Taking a moment to clear his mind (or attempt to), he sends a message to his familiar. “Charlie, where are you? Are you all right?”
He waits anxiously, trying not to get his hopes up but not give into despair at the same time.
So instead, he demands answers. “Why? What do you want from me?” Before the man can reply, he continues, “Where is Charlie? If you’ve hurt him in the slightest-”
“Calm yourself, wizard,” Mordecai interrupts, and if his hands were free, he’d give him a certain gesture. With both hands. “We only have… a few questions for you.”
“Well, depending on what they are, maybe you could have asked them before you decided to capture me. And who else is here?”
Suddenly, a white woman, with red hair braided over her right shoulder, and brown eyes (who he hadn’t even heard, because he’s been so focused on Mordecai) walks up beside the latter, putting a hand on his shoulder and caressing it. Ugh, are they courting? Married?
“You have someone angry with you, wizard.” Her voice sounds soft, but it carries a dangerous undertone that makes him stiffen.
Amidst wondering who the person is, and why they’re angry, it’s incredibly clear that she doesn’t even bother looking at him. And like Mordecai, she shows no signs of caring about the awful air.
He studies her. His facial recognition is as shitty as his memory, but he’s almost certain he’s never met her before.
Almost.
Finally, she glances at him; her expression changes into disgust. “What’s wrong with his eyes?” She asks her suitor? Husband?, turning to him.
“Have you ever heard of something called being born with magic?” Merlin replies, raising an eyebrow. “It’s incurable.”
Most know about them, even if seeing their color in person still surprises them, sometimes.
It makes sense, even if he does get tired of being on the receiving end of the same reactions over and over. Reading about bright blue eyes, with orange rings near their pupils, against dark brown skin isn’t nearly the same thing as being able to stare into them.
…Does she not know who he is?
She glowers at him, and he returns it. “Of course,” she says haughtily, “but they’re still unsettling. They should be brown.”
Mordecai suddenly laughs, and they both look at him. “I don’t think you should talk to Merlin that way, whether he’s currently tied up or not.”
The woman’s mouth drops open in shock, eyes widening; she stares at both of them, unable to believe it. “That’s Merlin? He’s Merlin?”
All right, suspicions confirmed.
But why would Mordecai not have told her his name?
“I wanted to surprise you by having the most powerful wizard alive in our dungeon, my love,” is his reply.
Oh.
Our dungeon. Do you even know him at all
I… thought I did.
He still hasn’t said what he wants from you.
And Charlie hasn’t…
“Charlie, please answer me.”
There’s still silence. Not even a flicker of his telepathy being received.
The ache in his chest becomes worse, harder to ignore. Why isn’t he answering?
He notices Mordecai taking her hand and kissing it, but he’s unable to feel disgust like most of the time, even with pet names. “Are you?”
Smirking, she reaches up to stroke his cheek. “Very.”
Somehow, he keeps his face neutral, despite being divided between fear, anger, and laughing at the sheer irony.
If you’re this happy now, imagine knowing you actually captured a god.
She removes her hand from Mordecai’s cheek, walking over to him; she stares at him the whole time, assessing, and he has to fight the urge to twitch under the weight of her eyes.
Once she reaches him, she roughly grips his chin, tilting his head up. She smells like sandalwood, soft and warm, completely opposite to how she’s treating him. “You’re not what I expected Merlin to look like at all.”
He just stares at her, face unchanging.
Inwardly, confusion and annoyance are simultaneously present. What does she want him to say to that? What does anyone who tells him that? “You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that. Is it a compliment in this case?” He questions, putting on a fake smile. And get your hands off me.
“No,” she says bluntly. Ignoring his smile changing to an insulted expression, she continues, “Do you know how you got here?”
He shakes his head mutely.
He’s been able to begin suppressing some of his emotions, and now he has to play his part of being weak, compliant, no matter how much he hates acting like this. “I don’t remember. What did you do to me?” He asks, pitiful and pleading.
Mordecai laughs a second time, and the sound grates against his ears. “Docile so soon? I thought you’d put up more a fight. I’m a little disappointed in you.”
When you kidnapped me? Fuck you. He lowers his gaze, which is easy, because he refuses to look into their eyes. “Fighting when captive only brings punishment.”
The woman, who he still doesn’t know the name of, hums in agreement, finally releasing his chin. “You’re right. You seem smarter than some give you credit for.”
He keeps his gaze lowered, even as the backhanded compliment gets under his skin. “Do you have Charlie?”
“Now, why would we tell you that?” Mordecai replies, tone condescending under a veil of faked gentleness.
Fear and hopelessness constrict his heart. He manages to keep his shoulders from stiffening, but his emotions are exposed, raw, and they both know. It’s in their eyes, on their faces.
They must be showing on his own, his façade of suppression shattered, because he still doesn’t know if his dragon is all right, if he escaped, and Mordecai’s betrayal still hurts-
The man laughs a third time, reveling in seeing him like this for some reason, and anger rises in his chest, the different emotions swirling around in him bringing tears to his eyes. “Why do you care so much? He’s just a pet, even if he can speak.”
“No, he’s not!” He cries, the anger burning hot and bright now. His bonds feel tighter than ever, his magic aching to be released, so he can teach them to never call his familiar a pet again. “Tell me where he is!”
“Hmm, you were right, darling,” the woman says calmly, unfazed by his fury.
“Right about what?” He demands, done with their condescension, their evasiveness, their kidnapping him just to have him answer a few questions.
Mordecai smiles, and it’s a sharp, dangerous one that he’s seen from Gunnar, and his mouth goes dry, heart pounding as he remembers his father, who’s always soaked in blood, the battlefields, the bodies-
His lips move, but Merlin doesn’t hear what comes out of his mouth. “What?” He mutters dumbly past the rising lump in his throat, feeling like he’s drowning, even with his smile gone.
Mordecai’s brows furrow, seeing the terror on his face, wondering why since he has no way of knowing, but he answers anyways: “The way to get to you is through the dragon.” With that, he smiles again, smug this time, and he wants to punch it right off the man’s face.
Theres no way for him to refute his statement, but he doesn’t care. “Mordecai, where is he?”
He only clicks his tongue. “Goodness, Merlin. You can’t even deny it.”
His tears begin falling, slipping down his cheeks despite his efforts. He glares at both of them through his blurring vision, wanting his companion more than anything.
“Already in tears, wizard?” The woman mocks, smirking, and he hates both of them, and he wants Charlie to respond, and escape and find him and forget this ever happened- “We haven’t even gotten started yet.”
“Unsurprising, really.” Mordecai moves closer, and… strokes his cheek, uncaring of him not wanting his touch, or the tears still streaming down his face, refusing to stop. “He’s so softhearted.”
“What did I even do to you?” He sobs. Despair begins to settle over him, suffocating him, no matter how much he’s trying to stay strong. “Charlie, please. Please let me know you’re all right.”
Silence.
He sobs harder.
“Shh…” Mordecai murmurs, not stopping his motions. “It’s not what you did to us. It’s what you did to a friend.”
“Who?” The panic returns, gripping him in a vice, and he can’t remember who he could have slighted, only able to think of his family, of Charlie, and why-
“I suppose it’s time to get them now, isn’t it, darling?” The woman asks. He can’t see her expression. His vision is blocked from Mordecai’s body in front of him and his tears.
Another sob tears from his throat, his body becoming hot, stomach twisting into knots, breaths becoming harsh and ragged.
Mordecai nods and steps away, and he can’t even be relieved at the fact that his hand is gone because he’s terrified of what’s coming.
Who are the other people? What did he do? What do they want to do to him? Where’s his dragon?
He can’t be unconscious. He has to either be asleep or too far away to hear him.
When has he ever been that far away? (He hasn’t.)
No, he’s fine. He’s fine.
He can’t be captive like he is, muzzled so he can’t use his jaws or fire, wings tightly tied in ropes or clipped-
