Arcane Asylum 13/16

[new_kate]

Title: Arcane Asylum
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin and a bunch of less true pairings mentioned in the flashbacks.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings for this part: rather horrid dub-con (not M/A) idk how this happened D: in my defence, it's canon.
Summary: Modern AU. For the last twenty two years Uther Pendragon had been waging war on magic. When his son Arthur is framed for a magical crime he's sent to the prison for magic users. He's instantly targeted by the inmates, but mysterious top dog Merlin takes him under his wing. They form a bond, and Merlin decides to help Arthur clear his name.
Originally written for this prompt at kinkme_merlin
Many thanks to devikun and ghost_guessed for betaing!
Word count: 10K for this part.

First part
Chapter index


Part 13: Road Trip.



By mid-morning Arthur had decided that, all things considered, he would rather be Merlin's prison bitch than Gwen's charity case.

She was perfectly lovely about the whole thing, very professional. Not a hint of condescension, nothing self-congratulatory or even self-conscious about her. He'd seen spouses of Uther's colleagues perform PR stunts in shelters and prisons, and he understood completely why some of the homeless would rather sleep rough than accept that brand of charity.

Gwen was nothing like that, and she did all the right things to make him feel at ease. She did this every day, after all, for a living. The city paid her to take care of its dregs: the homeless, addicts, headcases, ex-convicts. And now Arthur was one of them. That was all he was here, just one more human disaster for her to clean up and keep afloat. It was probably different for most of her regular customers, but for him it had been a lot easier to deal with hostility than with pity.

While they slept she washed their clothes and ran them through the dryer. Arthur had been looking forward to fresh clothes for over a week, and now he could feel neither pleasure nor relief. The detergent she used made his skin itch, and the fabric felt coarse and cheap after a rough cycle without a softener. But he thanked her, wholeheartedly. He knew he ought to be grateful.

The shelter had cleared out by now. The homeless were a busy lot: Big Issue to peddle, drugs to acquire. Gwen was supposed to have gone home. Instead she and Lancelot sat on the boxes in the basement and watched Arthur eat, the way they would've watched a stray kitten they'd rescued. It was unbearably embarrassing, but he couldn't stop eating anyway. Breakfast was scrambled eggs and bacon, and it was delicious. He polished it all off and moved onto Merlin's leftovers, trying not to blush. Merlin had barely touched his food. They had to talk about healthy diets at some point.

"I'll go and make you some more," Lancelot said, and Arthur shook his head vehemently and finally managed to put the fork down.

"No, thank you. That was lovely. Next time it's my treat, I insist. I'd love to take you both out to dinner in Mayfair, whenever you can find the time. Obviously, after I'm cleared of the charges against me."

Lance and Gwen gave him creepily identical polite smiles. Arthur knew that dinner in Mayfair right now was about as likely as dinner on Mars, but they didn't have to humour him so obviously.

"We should be moving on," he said. "Thank you, again, for everything you've done. Just – please be careful, all right?"

"I thought you didn't actually know what to do next," Gwen said. "If you wait a little while, we might be able to help you."

"Gwen, no offence," he said. "But you're a junior social worker from the North. I really don't see how you could possibly help me with my problem. Unless you guys run an underground railway for warlocks in your spare time..."

They demurely smiled again. Even Merlin joined in this time.

"You do not," said Arthur, sick with helpless terror. "Oh fuck, you do not. Tell me you're not that insane. Tell me you're not that deep into all this. If you're ever caught – I don't even know what the list of charges would be. You'll never get out of prison. Ever. You'll both fucking die in prison, do you understand that?"

"Yes," Gwen said and nonchalantly checked messages on her phone. "We've been doing it for a long time. What did you actually think we give those people, a bed for a night and a pat on the back? I'm trying to get you into a safehouse right now."

"Merlin would be safe there, but they probably won't take you, Arthur," said Lancelot. "We hope that they will, but... If they refuse, I'll get you out of the country."

"I don't want to run. I want to fight, I need to clear my name," Arthur said, already feeling the words lose their meaning from being repeated too many times. "Bloody hell, I just want you to stay out of trouble. I can't dig you in any deeper. I've been interrogated before, and... I don't want to know any more dirt on either of you."

"Please, just wait till we get an answer," Lancelot asked softly. Arthur glanced at Merlin, who shrugged and muttered:

"It's not like we've got anywhere else to be."



The wait was torturous. He didn't want to talk about the details of what was to come – if he was refused access to the safehouse, it really would be better for everyone if he ended up knowing as little about that whole business as possible. That meant he couldn't even plan ahead.

Merlin was quiet, probably still feeling ill. He curled up at the foot of the camp bed and was brazenly manufacturing fake money, changing single fivers from Lancelot's wallet into stacks of twenties.

"Randomise the serial numbers," Arthur advised and only got an exasperated eye-roll in return.

Arthur would like to have caught up with Lancelot, but with Gwen and Merlin here the conversation could only be superfluous small talk. He wasn't sure how to talk to Gwen in front of Lancelot either, because he had no idea where they all stood regarding that freak accident of a kiss yesterday, and didn't want to ask.

Instead he asked them how they got involved in all of this. They exchanged a quick glance, and Lancelot spoke first.

"Do you remember I told you I'd done a very cowardly thing?"

"Right, so now you're overcompensating by being suicidally reckless."

"No, I'm making amends," said Lancelot grimly. "There was a girl, just a teenager. She was very dangerous, completely out of control. When we arrested her she told us she grew up with the druids. Few months before the Stonehenge riot the tribes started moving and converging. They were trying to shift parts of the Peak District into an alternate dimension, to use it as a temporary sanctuary. They called it going into the mist. She didn't know if they'd succeeded..."

"They did," said Merlin sadly. "I've been there. They should have stayed hidden, really."

"Yes. Well, Freya said that once all that started they couldn't spare resources to manage her condition, so they threw her out. I wanted to help her. I could have – but she really was dangerous, and I had no idea how I could keep her safe. I didn't know what to do. I suppose it was easier to tell myself my superiors knew better, let the Commission handle it. But after I saw what they did to her... And it's the standard containment procedure. Nothing like that should be standard. Never."

"It all worked out in the end, she's fine now," said Gwen, squeezing Lancelot's hand. He smiled at her gratefully. His fingers slid up her palm, to the inside of her wrist, and flinched away.

They would make a beautiful couple. There was a time when Arthur would have been envious, back when he wanted to find the right woman, introduce her to his father, have a long, slow, very public courtship, and then a lavish church wedding. Then they'd have children of their own, Pendragon flesh and blood, and Uther would've been happy and proud. It would all be so... uncomplicated.

That wasn't for him, he knew that now, but it should have been like that for Gwen and Lance. They should be going on dates, thinking about marriage and babies. Not wondering which of them would be arrested first and how long the sentence would be. The Anti-Magic Acts were supposed to give the government power to protect the country from terrorists and madmen, not punish people whose only crime was kindness.

"And then I met Gwen," said Lancelot. His voice deepened huskily on Gwen's name – it was endearing, really, how obvious they both were.

"He arrested me, actually," laughed Gwen. "Well, almost, or I wouldn't be here, of course. Since I started here, I’ve had a lot of runaway kids with magic looking for a safe place to stay. At first I wasn't sure if I was right to break the law. I believe that if people need help they should get it, that's what my job is all about. But we were always told that magic corrupts, and I kept worrying that if I didn't turn them in they might hurt someone. But then, my father... he used to make experimental equipment for researchers. He got this small contract on the side, cash in hand, and he thought it was just small time tax fraud. But those devices were for magical spells. Those people were terrorists."

"We call them freedom fighters," said Arthur poisonously, even though Merlin already looked utterly miserable.

"I'm so sorry, Gwen," Merlin sighed. "I'm really sorry."

"It's not your fault," she said with a forced smile. "You were probably twelve when it happened, you had nothing to do with it. I was only sixteen myself, but I knew, right then, that the law was wrong. My father should have had a proper investigation and a fair trial."

"Is he still in prison?" Arthur asked. Maybe, if he made it back home, he could convince Uther to pull some strings and set that right.

"He died in custody. They never told me what happened. Maybe he tried to escape, or maybe... There are rumours that they use torture. I guess I'll never know."

"Gwen," Arthur mumbled, not sure what to say. No words could make him feel better, he knew. "But that should have made you hate magic."

"Magic is just magic," she said with a shrug. "There are good, innocent people on both sides, and they're the ones who get hurt the most. The Government won't stop this war, not the way they're going about it. I mean, I'm not saying we will, obviously, I'm not crazy, I just..."

Her phone beeped, saving her from an awkward stammering moment.

"All right, this is a bit odd," she said, scrolling through the text with a frown. "They want you both to come to the headquarters. Well, it is the main safehouse, but normally we filter people through the network, it takes weeks..."

"Probably a set up again," sighed Merlin. "It really sucks how both sides hate us now."

"No, this is from my friend, I trust her. She says that she knows who framed Arthur. She wants to help you."

"What's her name?" Arthur asked, trying to ignore the painful twist in his chest and focus on the facts. There were thousands of sorceresses in the country, he had no reason to think...

"I can't tell you, sorry. This isn't just about my safety, Arthur, with this too much is at stake. We need to follow our procedure. A contact will be waiting for you at the meeting spot, every day at sunset for two weeks, starting today. She'll check that you weren't followed and then she'll approach and talk to you. If she decides you're okay she'll take you to the others."



Before they left, Lancelot pulled Arthur to the corner of the basement and asked:

"Something happened in the Facility, didn't it?"

"A lot of things happened," Arthur said and glanced over at Gwen. She was chatting to Merlin about some guy she'd helped before, and he didn't think she'd eavesdrop, but he still didn't want to discuss it in the same room as her. He'd hate for her to hear any of this.

He didn't even want to talk to Lancelot about it. He was fine as long as he kept his mind on other things, but sometimes he slipped up, and suddenly he'd be back there, inside the memory that seemed more vivid than reality. He'd feel naked again, and remember all those hands holding him down, and for one moment he'd be irrationally convinced that there was still blood on the seat of his jeans, leaking out of his body. Then the mere thought of blood dropped him right into the worst memory, and he'd see red on the grimy tiles, and almost feel Val's skull cracking under his hands.

This had to pass soon, he was sure of it. He had to believe it would all pass.

"I can only tell, because... Arthur, the way you look now – I looked like that after I killed that gunman."

"You saved a lot of lives that day," Arthur said. "Lance, you charged a crazy armed guy with just your truncheon. You're a hero. It was the right call."

"I know. Doesn't make it better, though, does it? But, if there's one piece of advice I can give you, it's this. Don't try to force it out of your mind. It will only go deeper."

Arthur nodded, breathing evenly, trying to relax and not to let his hands shake. Lance pulled him into an awkward one-armed half-hug and whispered:

"We're still human. We can still love. We can do great things, and help a lot of people. Just hold on to that."



Arthur thought of his words as he and Merlin walked out of the city to the edges of the suburbs, past a few busy tennis courts, towards the fields. They were platitudes, of course, as was all such advice, but they did make sense. He was still able to love, that was true. And he had Merlin by his side, fearlessly trotting along into a possible set up, into another confrontation with his own people. He was going to be all right.

"Where are we going?" Arthur asked belatedly. He was so focused on not over-thinking what the identity of Gwen's mysterious friend might be that he hadn't memorised the actual practicalities of the trip.

"It's in Wales. Don't worry, I have a map."

"In Wales? That's the other side of the country! That's back the way we came - I'm not taking a bus to bloody Wales!"

"No bus," agreed Merlin and took his hand. "Something much better, you'll love it. Just keep walking for a bit."

Arthur shifted the hold so he could lace their fingers together and rest the pad of his thumb on the soft skin over Merlin's pulse point. They walked on, their strides easily matching; Arthur was looking around for that surprise transport Merlin had waiting for them, and almost didn’t notice when the scenery changed.

The city was gone, wasn't even on the horizon. They were walking across a field, their feet sinking to their ankles in freshly-cut drying hay. There was a tiny village clinging to the railway tracks on their left, and beyond the fields there were only forest-covered hills.

Merlin was grinning, clearly enjoying Arthur's gob-smacked expression.

"That was about a thirty mile jump," he said. "I think I can do more."

"Wait. We couldn't have teleported. I know you need twelve chanting warlocks and a drawing on the ground to teleport."

"No, they needed that to teleport me when I was unconscious. I can just - do it. It used to happen on its own, when I'd be walking and drift off a bit, but now I can control it."

"Are you sure you're not going to land us into a wall? Or in the middle of a motorway?"

"Just trust me," said Merlin with a beautiful, wide smile, and Arthur couldn't resist kissing him. He slipped his left hand under Merlin's girly scarf to stroke the tender skin at the base of his neck, and then Merlin was kissing him back, hard, with the same near painful intensity, as if he expected each kiss to be their last one. They were still holding hands, and now their palms started sweating together, but that, Arthur felt, was okay. They were boyfriends, it was all good.

"We better keep going," mumbled Merlin after a while, brushing his lips over the stubble on Arthur's jaw. "If I push it a bit, we’ll make it there tonight in time for the meeting."

He pulled back and carried on walking, tugging Arthur along by the hand.

They'd walk a few minutes, and then the world would shift again, without warning, easily, like a scene cut in a movie, and they would be on a country road, or a path by a riverbank, or wading through tall grass on a hilltop. Sometimes they'd land close to a village, or at the edge of a town, between warehouses or at an empty building site. Then they'd walk further, getting away from possible witnesses before using magic again. Sometimes Merlin would have to look at the map to adjust their direction. But mostly he just walked on, barely answering whenever Arthur tried to make small talk, focusing on the destination.

It took them two jumps to clear Birmingham. On the second one they ended up in somebody's back yard, standing on the lawn between the fence and glass walls of a conservatory. They both froze where they'd nearly trodden on scattered children's toys, and peered inside the house. Nobody seemed to be at home. Merlin took a deep breath and they blinked out of there, right onto a cattle bridge over a motorway.

"You should rest," Arthur said, dodging a particularly smelly sheep. "It's lunch break time."

They walked into the nearest village, settled in the beer garden of the only pub and ordered some standard pub grub from a laminated menu. Merlin still hadn't regained his appetite; he had some stew and was now indifferently poking his fork at the mashed potatoes.

"Eat your vegetables," Arthur reminded and rubbed his ankle against Merlin's under the table, and watched him grin into his plate.

The waitress came back with an extra bowl of chips and smiled at them bashfully.

"On the house," she said. "You boys are so cute. We have free rooms, by the way, if you're stopping over."

"Hey, why don't we?" Arthur asked after she left. "We don't have to be there tonight, we have two weeks. Let's spend the night."

"Let's just get where we're going and get it over with," said Merlin dully.

"Come on, I’ve barely had you to myself since we met. Don't you want to?"

"I really do," Merlin sighed. "It's pretty much all I want right now: to get you in a room with a bed and just... stay there. Just be with you. But I can't do that. I need to get you home."

"And we will. It will just be one day later. Well, several mind-blowing shags later."

"And do you think it would be easier for me to say good-bye after that? I'd be thinking that tomorrow you might be going home, and I'd have to go back to Cheshire, and..."

Arthur caught his hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Merlin," he said. "Listen to me. It's not going to be good-bye. I meant everything I said."

"I know you did. And I believe you will do it. You'll help my people, and you'll be smart about it. You'll make a great career out of it. You might be Prime Minister one day. But, us? That's never going to work. I'm a convicted warlock. Your father hates me. I'm... I've not even finished college. I know how this story ends, Arthur. You need someone who can stand next to you in all the press photos, and it can't be me. All we can have is a shag in a B'n'B, and I just..."

"Oh hell, shut up! So you've been to prison, so what? Do you know how many A-listers have been to prison?"

"Yeah, for drunk driving..."

"Ever heard of a guy who'd spent twenty seven years in prison and went on to be a President?"

"Yes, but that's - "

"And my father, well, I'm done with being scared of disappointing him. I was done with it years ago. Actually, after the last time I told him I wanted to marry someone - let's just say, he'll definitely agree that dating you is a much better choice."

"You wanted to marry someone?" asked Merlin, his face falling tragically, as if he'd thought that he was Arthur's first love. He looked so young and cute, like a lost baby deer. Arthur kept forgetting that despite everything Merlin had seen and done in his short life he didn't really have much of a clue about how the real world worked.

"Not really," he said soothingly. "It was just - it was nothing. Why are we talking about marriage, anyway? It's only been ten days since we met, it's far too early to discuss that."

"Has it really been just ten days? Feels so much longer," said Merlin, stroking his fingers over Arthur's palm.

"I know what you mean," Arthur nodded. He felt like it'd been years since he'd been home, which was normal in a stressful situation, but that wasn't what they were talking about. This thing with Merlin didn't feel new, even at the start. It felt comfortable and solid, as if it had already been tested by time; it seemed odd to him that Merlin had doubts about them. Arthur had thought they'd both considered themselves in a serious relationship since their first kiss.

"Let's go," Merlin said and pulled him to his feet. "While we have a lead, we should pursue it. If this blows up like our meeting with Cornelius, we'll have plenty of time to shag while we figure out our next move."



They made it to the meeting point with plenty of time to spare. It turned out to be a tiny railway station on the outskirts of a small town, just a platform, a rain shelter and a bench. It was completely empty; according to the hand-written schedule on the wall, the next train wouldn't come for forty minutes. Arthur tried reading the name of the station a few times and eventually gave up.

Merlin was still studying the map, checking the area around their location, probably trying to guess where the secret warlock headquarters might be.

"Do you think our contact is Welsh?" Arthur asked. "Well, she'd still speak English, I guess."

"I speak Welsh pretty well," Merlin said, folding the map.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. A lot of spells are pre-Saxon, so I picked it up. My grammar is a bit archaic, but I'm fluent enough."

"I'm so hot for you right now," Arthur confessed, and Merlin laughed, blushing a little. "Hey, if you weren't a warlock, what kind of career would you go for?"

"I'd teach, probably. Maybe research stuff. Or, I don't know, I wanted to work with animals when I was little. I like horses."

"You're such a girl," said Arthur, woozy with warm affection. "Hang on, this might be her. Act natural."

From the corner of his eye he saw someone approaching, and struggled not to look. The woman's high heels clicked cheerfully on the tarmac. Their rhythm slowed as she came closer and halted right next to them.

"Hello, lover," purred a very familiar voice. Arthur groaned out loud and buried his face in his hands.

"Of course," he said. "Merlin, remember I told you I was involved with a woman?"

"The wrong one?" asked Merlin innocently, staring straight at her.

"Yes. Well, Merlin, meet Sophia."



Arthur had met Sophia last year, at the beginning of February. She’d bumped into him in the hallway when he was heading to class, and as they both swayed for balance she’d grasped his arm, leaned close and whispered something into his ear.

He hadn’t caught it. But by the time he’d straightened up and turned to look at her he already knew that he'd never met anyone like her, that she was perfect, she was the one. He'd met the right woman.

He blew off the rest of his classes without a moment's hesitation, even though he'd had perfect attendance since secondary school. They went to the nearest park, and there, under the bare tree branches, she kissed him for the first time.

"We're in love, aren't we?" he asked. There was no other explanation for that dizzying bliss he felt in her presence.

"We are," she said with a radiant smile. "You're mine."

They spent the rest of the day on a bench in the park, talking, kissing. She was perfect. She was beautiful, and had a beautiful name. She'd just moved to London with her father. She was just like Arthur, a single child who'd lost her mother too early to remember her. They were made for each other. When the sun had set and the air turned chilly, she climbed onto his lap and settled there, letting him wrap his coat around her to keep her warm. She was so small, light and soft, so different, and he was delighted to explore everything she was. He'd never felt so elated in his whole life, and suspected that this must be what being high felt like.

She kept saying something between kisses, odd lilting words that didn't make any sense, and he didn't even try to understand them. It was all part of her, a sweet quirk that only made her more endearing. He could have stayed there all night, holding her close, making out unabashedly in the middle of a park. People walked right past them, not sparing them a second glance. If he'd been kissing a boyfriend like that, in public, it would be considered a lewd spectacle. But he could kiss Sophia, hold her and touch her, and people only smiled at seeing them so in love, so happy.

But she was getting cold, despite his best efforts to shield her and warm her up with his body. He breathed on her icy fingers, and couldn't resist kissing each glitter-varnished fingernail.

"We should get inside," he said. "You must be hungry, we should have dinner, and then..."

"Tomorrow," she said and kissed him again. "Let's meet in London, in the morning, and we'll have the whole day together."

She got into a taxi, and didn't let him come with her, and wouldn't give him her phone number. But he knew she would show up tomorrow, she wouldn't just disappear. They were in love. They had a future together.

After the joy of that perfect day home was dull and empty. Uther was working late, and Morgana was zonked out on painkillers after one of her usual migraines. Arthur shut himself in his room and wanked slowly to the memory of Sophia's kisses, to the thought of seeing her tomorrow.

He brought flowers, and was prepared to wait. Sophia seemed the kind of girl to be fashionably late, to tease him. But she was already there, smiling at him, waving from the bench where they'd agreed to meet.

"Hi," he said, kissing her lips, loving the unfamiliar sticky slick of gloss on them. "God, you're even more amazing than I remember. I've never been this happy. I thought I'd been in love, but never like this."

"I know," she said, grinning with all her lovely pearly teeth. "It'll never be like this again, so enjoy it while you can."

"It will always be like this," he swore. "We'll be in love forever. I'm going to make you as happy as you've made me."

She giggled and ruffled his hair.

"Poor puppy," she said. "You're really quite gorgeous, Mr Pendragon. Seems silly to let all this go to waste. I think we're ready for you to come to my place."

He couldn't believe his luck – everything was happening so fast, was so wonderfully right. Her flat was only a short taxi ride away. After he'd paid, she took his hand, walked him up a dark narrow staircase, and pushed open an unlocked front door.

The apartment was tiny and dingy, barely furnished and cluttered with boxes. There was an elderly man in the front room, reading an antique volume at a small dining table.

"Daddy, meet Arthur Pendragon, my loving boyfriend," Sophia announced. The man put down the book, got up, and inspected Arthur closely, peering into his face.

"Well done, daughter," he said finally. "I'm very proud of you."

"Thank you, sir!" said Arthur, overjoyed by her family's approval. "I promise I will never disappoint you. I'll make Sophia happy."

"Oh, you will," said Sophia's father. "We should start making preparations. You're both ready."

"I've not even proposed yet," said Arthur, a little worried that he'd mess something up. He didn't want any mistakes ruining this; so far their courtship was perfect, would make a wonderful story to tell their children. "Should I propose properly? I've not got the ring..."

"Don't worry about that," Sophia smiled. "Daddy, I want to play with him now, can I? It's not going to ruin anything, right?"

"Of course you can, child," the man said indulgently. "It will only strengthen your bond. Enjoy yourself."

Sophia nodded and pulled Arthur into one of two bedrooms. The wallpaper there was mouldy; the bed took most of the space, with just enough left for a tiny bedside cabinet wedged in the corner.

"Your place is awful," Arthur said. "I can't wait for us to move in together."

"We've only rented it for a week, it's pretty cheap," she kicked off her shoes and settled on the bed. "Strip."

He did, slowly, trying to put on a show for her. She reclined back on the pillows, rucked up her skirt and stuck her hand down her silk white knickers. He could see her fingers move there as she watched him undress.

"Fuck, you're fit," she said. "Your arse is glorious. If I had a strap-on, I'd fuck it so hard. I bet you'd like that."

He moaned, shaking with lust, and she laughed.

"Let's teach you something new, though," she said. "I want your lovely mouth on my cunt. You want to please me, don't you, Arthur?"

He crawled up on the bed, between her legs. The skin on her inner thighs was impossibly soft, almost like silk, like only girl skin could be, and he covered it with reverent kisses. Then he peeled down her soaked knickers, and she twisted her fingers in his hair and pushed his face down, into the slick folds of her sex. He buried his nose in soft damp curls of her pubes and licked, up and down, closed his lips on her clit and sucked softly. It wasn't at all like sucking cock, but he would learn, he'd figure it all out. He'd make her so happy.

She kept him there, directing him by tugging on his hair and pressing his mouth where she wanted him. She taught him what to do with his hands, how to curl his fingers inside her just right. She was so generous, never kept him guessing, told him exactly what he needed to know to make her happy. She came under his tongue, humming contently, sinking her sharp little nails deep into his shoulders. Then she praised him and let him do it again, and again. He nearly cried in frustration when his muscles cramped so much he couldn't force them to move any more, and couldn't keep pleasing her.

"That's okay," she said, because she was kind and forgiving, his Sophia. "I'll have your pretty cock now. Roll over."

"Do we need a condom?" he asked, stretching on his back as she straddled him. "I'm clean, but if you don't want to be pregnant in the wedding pictures..."

To his dismay, he wasn't quite hard. But she wasn't offended; she sharply scratched one glittering fingernail across the slit on his cockhead, and the sudden pain somehow did it, made him ready for her.

"You're still thinking," she said. "It worries me. Stop."

He tried his best to empty his mind of everything but her and their love, and match her thrusts as she rode him. He'd done this without a condom maybe twice before, when he and Owen were still in secondary school and so permanently horny they never could stock up enough. Being with Sophia was overwhelming already, and this extra sharpness of the physical sensations was almost too much. Sophia was hot and slick in a different way, and her strong inner muscles clamped all around the length of his shaft, nearly milking him into orgasm right away.

"Don't come till I let you," she warned, and he bit on his lip till it hurt enough to distract him from pleasure and happiness.

She pushed her fingers deep into his mouth, told him to suck them, get them nice and wet. Then she stroked those spit-slick fingers over her clit, and let him watch her small fingers dance there as his cock pushed inside her. When she came again her cunt squeezed him unbearably tightly and sweetly, and he howled, scoring his palms bloody with his own fingernails, staving off his orgasm with all the willpower he had.

She kept him in that haze, on the edge of ecstasy, till he thought he'd lose his mind. She pulled him up and let him kiss her breasts, lick her pert nipples; then she pushed him down again and rode him hard, making the bed creak and bang against the wall.

"Okay," she said in the end. "You can come now. I bet you make hilarious sex faces."

He let go, and the relief was sharper than pleasure and left him empty and sorry that it was over. He couldn't move afterwards, every muscle in his body weak and quivering. She shifted on the bed to straddle his face and told him to clean up his mess. He licked up every drop, dipping his tongue into her, comforted by familiar bitter taste of come and almost ashamed of that.

"I'm sleepy, go home," she said afterwards. "Meet me tomorrow at sunrise, in Hyde Park by the round lake."

He got dressed and walked out of the bedroom, wobbly on his feet, happy. Sophia's father was still reading in the same spot. He glanced at Arthur and said:

"Young man, stay away from chocolate tonight. My daughter is as yet inexperienced, and I see she overdid it. We don't want you to end up in a hospital with serotonin poisoning and to ruin all our plans."

There was no chocolate for dinner. The dessert was lemon meringue pie, and Arthur ate it without worry. Morgana refused her dessert, as always. She looked awful - the migraine must have not let up yet.

Uther seemed in a fine mood, and Arthur thought this was as good a time as any.

"Father," he said, setting his dessert fork down. "I'm in love with a woman, and I'm going to marry her."

Morgana winced and spilled her tea all over the saucer.

"Well, that's a bit sudden," Uther said, frowning. "Who is she? How long has this been going on?"

"Her name is Sophia," Arthur said, happy to talk about her. "We're in love. I don't know her last name. She just moved to London, we met yesterday. We've not set the date yet, but it better be soon, I might have got her pregnant today."

"What's all this nonsense? Are you on drugs?"

"I'm serious, father. I'm going to marry her."

"You've never even dated anyone! Some gold-digging tart threw herself at you, and..."

"Don't talk about her like that," Arthur said. "And, by the way, father, I’ve been in four serious relationships. Every single one of them ended because I could never find the courage to tell you the truth. I won't let that happen again."

Uther got up, pushing his chair back with a screech.

"This is the last time I hear about this," he said. "If this woman comes near you again I'll have her arrested, and trust me, I'll come up with charges that'll stick."

He left the dining room. Arthur picked up his fork and finished his pie, thinking about Sophia, and their date tomorrow. He had to look up the sunrise time online so he wouldn't be late.

Suddenly Morgana was pulling him up, away from the table, and cornering him against the wall.

"Don't see her again," she said. "She doesn't love you. Something awful will happen if you ever see her again."

He smirked into her hideously pale face.

"Jealous?" he asked. "I always knew you fancied me, darling."

She peered at him closely, just like Sophia's father had before.

"It's already been done, hasn’t it?" she said, her voice quivering. "It's too late. You can’t even hear me any more."

Suddenly her already bloodshot eyes were brimming with tears. He'd never made her cry before, even though he'd spent quite a bit of their adolescence trying; he didn't understand what had upset her so much right now.

"I'll save you," she said. "You're my dumb little Arthur, I have to look after you. I can't take this anymore, anyway, I just can't. But if I can do this one thing first, it's more than enough."

And then she stormed out as well.

"Why is my family so weird?" Arthur shouted after her. "Why can't you two be more like Sophia's father?"

He was in the park by quarter past seven. Sophia and her father were already waiting for him at the edge of the water.

"I've been thinking about Valentine's Day," Arthur said after he kissed Sophia's warm lips. "Where do you want to go, Paris or Venice?"

"Oh, we can't do that, love," she said. "You see, I need you to die today. Would you die for me, Arthur?"

"Of course," Arthur nodded. "I'd do anything for you. But it really is a shame, I was hoping we'd get married and have children. We could be very happy together."

"It's so creepy that he's still cognisant," Sophia said, and her father reassuringly patted her shoulder.

"You'll get used to it," he said. "This is just the first time, your rite of passage. It gets easier. A few more, and you'll gather enough power to live forever."

"And we'll be together always," she smiled. "I know, daddy. I can do this."

She took Arthur's hand and led him into the freezing waters.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked, shivering. His bones were already aching from the chill. Water was soaking Sophia's yellow Topshop coat as they waded in deeper, to their waists.

"Your lifeblood will warm me up soon, love."

"Someone will interrupt us," said Arthur, suddenly worried. "The park is already pretty busy."

"Daddy is glamouring the area. No one will see."

They stopped, and she started chanting, and suddenly a terrible noise crashed over them. It was loud past the point of pain; he screamed, doubling over, certain his eardrums would burst and bleed. Then it ended, and he was led out of the pond by soldiers in body armour, and his father was there. It took Arthur a few moments to clear the ringing in his ears and hear what Uther was saying.

"You'd been enchanted, son, but don't worry, the spell is going to wear off..."

"I'm fine," Arthur said, still not really hearing his own voice, trying to control the volume so he wouldn't shout. "It's gone already."

Sophia's father was knocked out, shot full of tranq darts, and the soldiers were cuffing him and loading him into a van. Another bunch were pulling a blond girl out of the water. She was still conscious, just barely. He knew it was Sophia, but she looked nothing like the girl he thought he loved. It was exactly like waking up from a dream. Finally everything that had happened in the last few days was clear in his head. He knew that any moment now, as it all fully sunk in, he would be sick with embarrassment, maybe physically sick all over his father's bulletproof vest.

"How did you find me?" he asked, trying to keep distracted and delay the inevitable fallout.

"We got an anonymous phone call that there would be an attempt on your life here, at this time. We assumed that magic would be involved, and used a sonic weapon. It cuts through glamours sometimes..."

And then the last bit of weirdness of the last days made sense, and he started shivering all over again, shocked speechless by what it meant. Paramedics wrapped a blanket over his shoulders and tried to lead him to the ambulance, but he shrugged them off.

"I need to go home," he said. "Father, I'll be at the Commission in two hours, and I'll give my statement then."

"We're taking you to a hospital."

"I'm not injured. I need to change into dry clothes - Father, I need to be alone right now."

"You've no reason to be ashamed."

"I know. Just give me two hours, I need to pull myself together. I don't want to be seen like this."

Appealing to Uther's sense of pride always worked. Arthur got a ride home in a patrol car, ran past the concierge, dripping pond water on the staircase carpet, and burst into their flat.

He'd always known that Morgana had her own ideas about magic and the Old Religion. When she was younger she argued with Uther about it and openly questioned his every move, till one day she pushed too far. Arthur still remembered that ugly scene and the threats they'd both thrown at each other. Since then she'd been a lot sneakier about her political leanings. She'd developed a circle of rather suspicious friends, some of whom were almost definitely warlock sympathisers. But Arthur thought it was all talk, pretentious bohemian posturing. Never in a million years had he expected her to betray their family and join forces with the enemy.

A part of him was hoping Morgana would be gone already. But she was still in her room, furiously shoving random items of clothing into her luggage set.

"How did you know?" he demanded. "It was you who'd made that anonymous phone call, I know it was you. How did you know? How did you get mixed up with them? Did they get to me through you?"

"No," she said, slamming the suitcase shut with shaking hands.

"Morgana, fuck, tell me the truth!"

"Fine," she said and sat on the edge of the bed. She was already dressed for travel, in trousers, raincoat and flat shoes. "I'm tired of lies. You want to know how I knew? I saw it. I'm a seer, Arthur."

"Don't," he said. "Don't say things like that, it's not funny, Morgana. Just tell me they've tricked you, that they held all your shoes hostage, tell me you're sorry and we'll forget this whole thing ever happened. You did save me, you've given them up, that's all that matters now."

She stared at him challengingly, jutting out her sharp chin, like she used to stare down Uther all those years ago. But he could see past her defiance now, and all he saw was a scared, tired girl on the verge of tears.

"Oh fuck," he said. "Oh god. Morgana, no. Since when?"

"First thing I saw was my parents' death. I didn't know then what was happening to me, I thought it was just a nightmare..."

"That was ten years ago. Ten years, Morgana! Our whole lives! I never even knew you at all, did I? All that time you were - "

"What was I supposed to do?" she asked, getting up. "Was I supposed to confess? Was I meant to ask my dear guardian to shove me into mental institution while he built those prisons for people like me? Would that be an honourable thing to do?"

"No, of course not. You were just a child, I understand..."

"Oh, so should I have done it later? When do you think I should have decided I’d had enough of a life and it was time for prison now? When I was fourteen? Sixteen? Maybe right after I finished college? Come on, tell me!"

He had nothing to say to that. He looked away, so he wouldn't have to see all that fury and pain in her face, wouldn't have to watch her lips shaking. Her room was in chaos, all the drawers and wardrobes thrown open and gutted, and only then it really hit him - she was leaving.

"You don't have to go," he said, knowing it was useless to try changing her mind. "I'll keep your secret. You've kept all mine since we were tiny, you know I would..."

"No. I can't do this any longer. I can't even look at him. He'll keep building up his police state and persecuting my kind, and the warlocks will keep attacking my family, and I'll have to keep choosing sides. You've figured it out today, he would too soon enough if I stayed."

"Father loves you," Arthur said helplessly. "He really does. Maybe he'd see it differently, if it's you."

"Maybe. I love him too, god help me. That's why I'd rather hope than know for sure. And there's more. The visions are getting -" she sobbed and pressed her hand to her mouth. "It's unbearable now. I need help."

"So all your migraines were actually..."

She nodded, biting at her knuckles. He'd seen the reports about untrained warlocks, and so had she. They both knew how bad it could get.

"You'll need money," he said. "Take my cards, I'll write down the PIN numbers for you."

"I have all I need," she said tiredly. "I've been preparing for years. Just... never could find the courage."

They didn't do hugs; all their lives they'd bickered for fun and expressed their affection through stupid pranks. But right then he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her hair, and tell her he loved her, that she'd always be his sister. From his very first childhood memory, before he really knew his father, he'd known and loved her.

"Go," he said instead. "Good luck."

She left, and he showered and changed and went to the Commission to give his statement, and they didn't get home till very late.

Morgana had left a note for Uther in her ransacked room, asking him not to look for her and not offering any explanation. Arthur expected Uther to immediately start a full investigation and push a missing persons report through without the proper waiting period. But Uther simply folded the note into his wallet and went to his bedroom without a single word.

Three days had passed before they spoke about Morgana again.

"If she ever contacts you," Uther said over dinner, not even mentioning her name, and paused.

"I don't think she will," Arthur said neutrally. He knew eventually he'd have to do some damage control, but he still hadn't figured how to keep her safe without letting on too much and making up lies he'd have to maintain later.

"If she does... If she needs help... Help her."

Arthur nodded and stuffed his mouth full of tortellini till he could barely manage to chew, to give himself time to think before he blurted anything out. Uther knew about Morgana, or at least suspected. That's why he was afraid to talk about her - because he suspected that Arthur knew as well.

But that was it, as much of a conversation as they'd ever had about it. The murder attempt case was dealt with swiftly and publicly, and Arthur testified in open court. He looked right at Aulfric and Sophia and knew he should be feeling anger, disgust, want revenge for being used and humiliated and nearly killed. But all he could feel was loss and worry for Morgana, and it was so consuming that everything else seemed petty and meaningless.

The trial was a formality, a routine PR exercise. There could be only one sentence. It was always the same sentence for everyone with magic, whether they'd attempted murder or simply had weird dreams, like Morgana.

At the end Aulfric had had the last word, and he'd made an appeal to the court, asking for them to be put in the same Facility, either one.

It would’ve been unthinkable for any regular prison, of course, but doubly so in this case. Separation of sexes was the point of the Facilities, even more than the containment of possibly violent magicians. It wasn't openly talked about, but the working theory was that magic was an inherited condition. By locking up men and women half a country apart Uther was hoping to breed the magic out of the gene pool within a single generation.

Aulfric and Sophia had been calm and quiet through the trial, but when they'd realised they'd never see each other again they fell to pieces, crying and begging, clutching at each other. That's how Arthur saw her for the last time: hysterical, terrified, screaming "Daddy, daddy!" like a small child. And he knew how she felt, because he felt like that, too. He missed Morgana like he'd miss a limb, only he couldn't even scream and beg, couldn't even talk about it to anyone.



Sophia looked very different now. For one, she no longer wore high street clothes. Her current outfit would make Morgana envious, even in her craziest fashionista stage. Her hair and skin were glowing, healthy and pampered, and even her fingernails, glittery as ever, somehow looked very expensive.

"I see you've done well for yourself," Arthur said.

"That I have. And I hear you’ve had some exciting erotic adventures lately! I bet you got off on being used like a whore. You always had a bit of a sub kink going on."

"Fuck you, evil ex," Arthur said emphatically. "Why so bitter, Soph? Still can't get a shag unless you put a guy under a spell?"

"Course I can," she said cheerfully. "Spell are just for raging poofters like you who can't get it up without hardcore magic."

"Yes, I'm honestly surprised my dick is still functioning after being in your..."

"Hi, I'm Merlin!" said Merlin with a desperately pleasant smile and stuck out his hand for Sophia to shake. She regarded it with a raised eyebrow and an amused sneer. "I guess you're our contact, yeah?"

"I guess you're Arthur's bit of a rough, Merlin?" she said, mocking his inflections. "Can't say you've done it all till you've gone slumming, right, lover?"

"Don't talk like that to my boyfriend," Arthur said, resolutely not looking at the blotches of red spreading on Merlin's face. "And get off your high horse right fucking now. Just because you're all tarted up in Prada, don't presume you're worth half as much as his little finger. You're not."

"You know what?" she said contemplatively. "I didn't actually get to know you before I enchanted you. But now I think I kinda like you."

"Ooh," Arthur drawled. "Burn. Congratulations, you've managed to upset me. Can we talk business now?"

She rolled her eyes, snapped her handbag open and showed the contents to them. It held nothing but two pairs of handcuffs, folded snugly against the silk lining.

"Put these on behind your backs," she said.

"What for?"

"Can't take you in without precautions."

"In - where?"

"Can't tell you," she grinned. "It's all very spy movie, I know. But that's how we roll."

She waved to someone over their heads, and a white van drove down the road and pulled up to the parking spot by the railway station. It was unmarked, but Arthur knew a prisoner transport when he saw one.

"What the fuck is going on?" he asked. "Are you working for the Government now?"

She laughed and tipped her handbag over, dropping the cuffs on the bench.

"You can put these on and get into the car," she said. "Or you can stay on this bench till your father arrests you again and you go back to dropping the soap in the showers. I really can't predict which one you'd prefer. It's quite suspenseful for me right now."

Arthur picked up the handcuffs and snapped them on his wrists behind his back. Merlin was still hesitating, slowly running one finger over the metal rings of the other pair.

"Merlin," Arthur told him quietly. "I understand why you don't want to do this. This must be an awful memory for you, I get that. Last time I was cuffed and put into one of these vans it didn't turn out so great for me either. I don't trust my evil ex, and I can't ask you to. Maybe it's best if you stay behind in case I need you to rescue me."

"No, it's not that," Merlin said and looked up at Sophia. "Why are you doing this? Are you so jealous that he's with me now? Or are you simply sadistic?"

"Just a precaution, muffin, pay attention," she said. "I'm not jealous at all, by the way. Been there, tapped that, not impressed enough to want another go. Oh, and for your sake, I do hope he sucks cock better than he eats pussy."

"And for your sake, Sophia," said Merlin mildly. "I hope you stop right there, before you really piss me off. So you know what happened to Arthur in the Facility."

"Yes! Daddy told me all about it, in graphic detail!"

"Did daddy tell you that the man who did it is dead now?"

Sophia blinked and shut her mouth with a snap.

"What you did, with the enchantment, wasn't much better," Merlin said. "And you're still alive. Quit while you're ahead."

He picked up the cuffs, gingerly, with his fingertips, as if the metal was hot, threaded them behind his back and clicked the bracelets closed over his slim wrists.

This really wasn't the time for randy fantasies, but Arthur couldn't help it. Merlin's shoulders looked even sexier like that, straightened and pulled back by his cuffed arms. His exposed neck was tense and vulnerable, and Arthur could pin him to the bed and lick it for hours, have Merlin at his mercy, laid open for him. He imagined the way Merlin would buck under him, clenching his fists, tensing his wrists against the metal. Maybe he'd even pull on the cuffs too hard on purpose, so the edge of pain would make the pleasure even sharper. And afterwards Arthur would get to kiss the red marks off his skin, run his tongue over those sharp, fine bones on Merlin's wrists. They had to try that some day, under better circumstances.

Sophia opened the back door of the van and kicked out the metal step. They climbed in and awkwardly settled on one of the benches, side by side. She got in with them, locked the doors and sat on the opposite side, carefully smoothing her skirt down.

The van was fitted with a full complement of restraints, as per regulations. There were chains to fasten prisoners to the wall, and leg cuffs rattling under the bench, but Sophia didn't bother with those. She tapped on the front partition, signalling to the driver, and the van set off with a lurch.

"Is it far?" Arthur asked after a minute of trying to brace against the metal bench with his hands cuffed. The ride was bumpy and increasingly unpleasant.

"About ten miles," Merlin answered, and Sophia giggled.

"Aren't you clever," she said. "Figured it all out, have you?"

"Makes sense," Merlin said in a breathy, odd voice. "It's the nearest place that would make a good sanctuary..."

Merlin didn't look right. He’d just got over his magical injuries, and he'd looked so good all day, so healthy. Now he was turning sickly green again, and a sheen of sweat was breaking out on his face. Arthur shifted closer and pressed against him as much as he could with his arms behind his back.

"What's up?" he asked, nudging Merlin's ear with his chin. "Panic attack?"

"No," said Merlin through clenched teeth. "It's the cuffs. It... hurts a bit."

"Did you snap them on too tight? Merlin, seriously, how clumsy are you? Soph, get the key, we need to loosen..."

"These cuffs are made out of non-tempered iron," Sophia said. "They're designed to hurt. Haven't you ever heard of the special restraints, Arthur?"

"Get them off him. Now."

"Oh, he can take it. I'm sure it's not his first time. Did you know, Arthur, that your father wanted to fit all magic folk in this country with cold iron anklets? One for each man, woman and child, to be worn constantly, so they'd always be in pain and could never be strong enough to use their magic. He even gathered enough meteoric iron to do it. And some people volunteered for that program, because as long as they wore the anklets they could stay with their families and not go to the Facility. They wore those things for months, without a single complaint, till two of them dropped dead and the project was cancelled. Do you know what your father did then with all that cold iron? He had it made into a cage."

"I know. I've seen it. But, come on, Sophia, why are you doing this to Merlin? He's one of you! Do you think he deserves to be tortured just because he doesn't hate me like you do?"

"Oh, please," said Sophia. "I'm only making a point."

"What's your point, then, that you're a psycho? I knew that already! Just - stop it, don't do this to him, just tell me what you want from me and I'll..."

"Arthur, it's fine," Merlin said, rubbing his knee against Arthur's thigh. "I fixed it, it doesn't hurt anymore."

He was relaxed and smiling again. Arthur closed his eyes for the moment, relieved, and then leaned over to kiss him right in front of Sophia, past caring if she watched.

"Nice one. Did you break the cuffs?" he asked.

"No. If they feel safer with me handcuffed, fair enough. I just tempered the iron for now."

"Wow," Sophia said, pink-faced, slowly licking her lips. "That was hot. Hey. When you get bored with Pendragon, and you know you will soon - come and find me."

"God, no, thanks," Merlin said and defensively crossed his legs. "But you should meet my ex. The two of you would really hit it off."

The van came to a stop, and Sophia unlocked the door and pushed them out of the car.

They were in the middle of a courtyard of a magnificent castle, surrounded by hundreds of people. Arthur stared in dismay at the high ornate towers of white stone, at the curious, excited faces of all those well-dressed strangers around them, and felt completely lost. Dumping them, handcuffed and helpless, in the middle of a tourist attraction would be just Sophia's idea of a great prank, but it didn't make any sense at all.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"The Wales Facility," Merlin said. "You know, the women's prison."

"This is a prison?"

Arthur had never been to the Wales Facility, and had no idea that it hadn't been purpose-built like the Cheshire one. He knew that most castles had served as prisons at some point, some even now. They were very secure structures, after all. But he couldn't believe that anyone would use this beautiful building for that. It probably wasn't of high historical value, he'd seen more opulent and better kept castles, but this one felt special somehow. The lines of its battlements, the round towers, the tall archways - there was more to it than just aesthetics. It called to him on some deeper level, tugging at the genetic memory, his sense of the past, his ties to this land. The castle was history itself. It should be a museum. It could be a hotel, a venue for celebrations or somebody's cherished family home, but it shouldn't be a prison.

The crowd around them was mostly female, but they weren't wearing prison uniforms. They were all dressed in nice, trendy clothes; there were quite a few men among them, and even several small children. These people couldn't be inmates.

Arthur glanced around, saw a man in a guard uniform and flinched, which, he supposed, was just a natural instinct for anyone wearing handcuffs. The guard looked at him indifferently and went on sweeping the yard with the broom he was holding. A little further away two guards were pushing a laundry cart towards the side entrance of the castle. All those were supposed to be the jobs for the inmates, their work rota...

Someone was pushing through the crowd to get closer - all Arthur saw was a glimpse of dark hair, but he knew who that was, he had no doubts. He ran towards her, clumsily shouldering his way through, and then her arms were around him, and she was laughing, kissing his cheeks and stroking his hair. She was there, just as if they'd never been apart.

"Morgana, Morgana," he kept saying. Nothing else came to his mind, and it felt good to say her name. He's not said it for over a year.

"Arthur," she said, and he hooked his chin on her shoulder and clung to her tight. "Why are you handcuffed? Sophia, you vindictive little shit, give me the key!"

"Well, excuse me for doing my job properly, your majesty!" Sophia huffed, digging through the pockets on her handbag.

Before she’d even found the key, the bracelets on Arthur's wrists snapped open and the cuffs fell off. He grabbed Morgana and gave her a proper bear hug, and lifted her up to twirl her a bit.

But she didn't react at all. She looked over his shoulder, back at Merlin, and everyone in the courtyard, including the kids, silently stared at him as well.

"Hi!" Merlin said with a self-conscious smile, and waved at them with his own pair of handcuffs. The bracelets were broken, twisted and mangled, far more than had been necessary to open them. "I'm Merlin!"

"Did he just..." Morgana muttered, and then the whole crowd was full of murmurs and whispers. "Did he break out of cold iron restraints?"

"Why are you surprised?" shrugged Sophia. "Of course he did! He's motherfucking Emrys!"


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