AN: Welcome to another multi-chapter fic! This may be a bad time for me to start writing this, as the musical I'm in is nearing tech week, but I promise I will do my best to keep this updated!

PROLOGUE

Merlin could hear the baby's wails over the shouting, high and screeching and horrible. He lifted his arms in the direction of the sound, hands seeking, reaching, to get to the baby…

Dull pain flared as a heavily booted foot pinned his forearm to the ground.

"Don't worry about the babe," said the boot's owner, "We won't hurt him." The man spoke with a peculiar accent that Merlin had heard before, but couldn't place through the dull pain in the back of his head.

"Gareth…" Merlin gurgled. They'd hit him on the head. His vision was swirling with black, his mind was a whirl of panic. It slowed his movements, but he struggled anyways, trying to get up, trying to get to the baby, trying to get away. The boot on his arm increased in pressure.

"Daniel!" A voice barked, "Haven't you got him ready yet?"

The man above Merlin grunted in response, and Merlin could hear the loud clinking of metal being drawn from a leather pouch.

"Hurry up," Said the other man as he approached. He must have been carrying Gareth, because the sound of his cries got louder.

"Gareth," Merlin breathed. His baby was close, and crying. His voice, so big for someone so little, pierced through the air like an arrow into Merlin's very heart.

His head cleared as determination flooded his senses; He had to get to Gareth. The blackness faded from the edges of his vision and he managed to turn his head towards his attacker.

He gathered his magic. One blow would send this man flying, far enough that Merlin would be able to stand and paralyze the other one so that he could grab Gareth. He could turn the attackers into stone and smash them to pieces, scatter their dust in the river so that they could never lay a hand on Gareth again.

Merlin felt the magic rush up through his arm, but instead of feeling the release of a burst of power, there was excruciating, searing pain.

He cried out and writhed. His vision went white with agony, every part of his body burning as if he were on fire.

"No magic, Lord Merlin," Said the man above him. After a minute the pain faded, and in his now near delirious state Merlin was aware of a ring of metal encircling his wrist.

"What have you done to me?" Merlin tried to ask, but all that came out was a pitiful series of coughs.

Another circle of metal was clamped around his other wrist, and a larger one was forced around his neck. It was like ice against his skin, and Merlin suddenly felt cold all over as he realized what had been done.

He tried to summon his magic again, but he knew it wouldn't come. It stayed trapped inside, raging against his skin like a storm, but unable to get out. Pain flared once again.

When the pain cleared this time, Merlin had been flung across the back of a horse. Somewhere close by Gareth was still screaming.

Gareth, Merlin called in his mind, Gareth, Gareth, Gareth…

"Don't worry," Said the man riding the horse Merlin was flung across, "The babe will be completely safe in Lady Beatrix's arms."

Lady Beatrix? Merlin had heard the name before, in one of the knight's reports, maybe. He tried to remember where she was from. Southern Gaul, perhaps, close enough to be known but too far away to be important. Before Merlin had come to Camelot he'd known very little about the world beyond Ealdor. He'd heard the names "Brittany" and "Gaul" and "Ireland" by travelers who stopped to rest in their little inn, who said they lay vaguely south, or west, but his knowledge hadn't gone much beyond that. Then one day after their wedding Arthur had shown Merlin a map of their world. He'd pointed to Camelot, in the south of a long, wide island. Gaul, where Merlin was sure he was being taken now, was on a much larger mass of land so immense that it disappeared off the side of the page. It would take them weeks to get there.

The thought of Arthur sent another bolt of pain through his heart. Merlin had left his husband so quickly that day, complaining that Gareth shouldn't have to be in his stuffy nursery when there was perfectly good sunshine outside for him to play in. Merlin had taken Gareth out for a ride in the woods, leaving Arthur to his tedious council. He'd given Arthur a hurried kiss goodbye, promising that he'd be home soon.

How long would it take for Arthur to realize they weren't coming back? They could be across the Channel by the time a search party had decided the forest was empty. And what would Arthur do then? He couldn't drop his duties to search for long, he had a kingdom to run. But he would, Merlin knew, because a broken heart could rule Arthur like nothing else. He'd tear the world apart to find Merlin and Gareth if he could. Merlin could only hope that he found them soon, before Camelot would have time to fall to ruin.

Gareth didn't stop screaming. Merlin cursed the iron that kept his magic sealed inside of him. He'd burn their captors alive, if only he could, for daring to harm his little prince. He could be back in Camelot with Gareth safe in his arms before Arthur even knew they'd been gone. But without his magic he was helpless.

Fatigue layered into Merlin's head as they made their way south. Despite his pain and despite his heartache, Merlin fell asleep on the back of the horse. Gareth's screams continued on in his dreams. It would be decades before they went away.

They made quick progress across the land. The overpowering pain faded into a low, slow soreness in the pit of Merlin's stomach. He was left with the ache of grief whenever he heard Gareth's cries or thought of Arthur, alone and missing his family.

As soon as Merlin regained his voice he started shouting, and when they beat him into quiet he cried and asked if he could just hold Gareth for a while. They said no, and when Merlin didn't stop begging they stuffed a rag in his mouth and tied it around his head.

"Still don't see why we can't just cut his throat," one of them said gruffly.

"Guilt," the other replied, "The Lady thinks she's being merciful."

The first one snorted.

They met a woman who had apparently been waiting for them in a town near the sea, and she became Gareth's source of food for the rest of the journey. She avoided Merlin's eye as she let Gareth suckle her breast, and winced whenever she heard Merlin's muffled sobs around the gag.

Merlin's arms burned with the need to hold his son again. The pain of being so close to Gareth yet completely unable to help him hurt worse than any pain that the iron shackles brought him. It seared through his veins like venom and left his heart destroyed. Let them keep his magic restrained, let them gag and hit and starve him, if only Merlin could have his child again.

The sky was black when they finally reached their destination. There were no stars, only the cold gusts of wind that whipped around them as they entered the gates of a dark castle.

Torches lit the halls with an orange glow. One man had to hold Merlin up by the arm, for Merlin was too weak to walk upright. The other man held Gareth, blessedly asleep.

They arrived at a door which was flung open when one of the men knocked and said in a voice just above a whisper, "My lady, we have returned."

A tall woman in a nightgown stood in the doorway, blue eyes wide and glittering in the torchlight.

"You have the babe?" She whispered, eyes already fixed in wonder to the bundle in the one man's arms.

"Prince Gareth of Camelot," The man presented the bundle to her, and she reached forward to touch the blanket away from Gareth's sleeping face with shaking hands.

"He's more beautiful than I imagined," she said. She held her fingers to Gareth's face, skimming his soft skin, for several more moments before she seemed to remember herself.

"Get inside," She said, and stood back to shoo the party into her chambers.

It was built of stone and hung with large curtains of cloth, richly embroidered with silver and bronze thread, which covered the walls. The floors were covered with furs that were soft to Merlin's bare feet, his shoes lost somewhere between Camelot and here.

The lady drew back one of the curtains and rapped her knuckles sharply on a door that had been hidden behind it.

"Linete!" She called, and immediately a girl appeared, blinking sleep from her eyes.

"My lady?"

"Light the candles. We have guests."

The girl curtsied and scurried away. A candelabra with several candles stood near the corner, and as the girl lit it the room became illuminated with a gentle glow. Dark shapes were revealed to be furniture: a wooden chest of drawers, a bed hung with curtains, a table and chairs, at which the lady gestured for the men to sit.

Merlin watched as the lady took Gareth into her arms, crooning as she did so.

"He's beautiful," she said again. "He's going to be so lovely."

"He wouldn't stop crying," one of the men complained.

"Neither would he," said the other man, jerking his thumb at Merlin.

"Don't worry, little Gareth will have a lovely home here. He'll soon be the happiest child in the kingdom. What shall I name him, do you think? Brice is such a lovely name, or Grant, or Euan...

"As for him," The lady finally looked at Merlin, "He'll be silenced soon enough."

She reached out a bony hand to yank the gag from Merlin's mouth.

"Arthur will find us," Merlin said once his tongue was freed, "He will come, and he will destroy you."

The lady smiled.

"Lady Beatrix," She introduced herself, "Queen of Doria. Have you heard of me?"

"Once," Merlin answered.

"As I thought," Beatrix said. "Doria's quite a small country. Nobody pays us very much attention!" She laughed. "The land has no riches, we have no slaves, our army is small and irrelevant. Why would anybody pay attention to us?" She laughed again.

"But you come from Camelot," she said, fixing Merlin with a thoughtful, wistful look. "Shining, glittering Camelot of legend. I've never been, but oh, how the bards sing of Camelot. Of its might and its riches. And its king." The last word was said with a sly grin. "You know this king well, don't you?"

Merlin only glared.

"I have in my castle King Arthur's beloved husband, and in my arms," she looked back down with a terrifyingly tender look, "I have King Arthur's magical son. I have such plans for him."

"What will you do to him?" Merlin demanded to know.

"Nothing. I will be a good mother to him," Beatrix answered, "But he will be useful to me, once he is grown. He will love me, and I will teach him to love this small country of ours, and he will want to make it great. With the magic that courses through him, who will be able to stop him?"

"You are vile," Merlin spat.

"And you have been here for too long," Beatrix said. She stood to tower above Merlin's chair. She nodded to one of her men, who also stood and drew his short knife from its place at his belt.

"I'm not going to kill you," Beatrix reassured him, as Merlin's eyes grew wide and he shrank back from the knife that reflected the candlelight in its blade, "I'm not a cruel woman. But you need to be silenced, I'm afraid, and though I regret it, there's only one way to ensure that."

The other man grabbed Merlin's hair and yanked his head back, the other hand grabbing his jaw and forcing his mouth open. The man with the knife reached into Merlin's mouth and grabbed his tongue. The cold edge of the blade pressed against it.

Merlin couldn't hear, couldn't see; everything was narrowed into one point of panic inside of his own mouth. Every heartbeat, every intake of breath accelerated to impossible speeds, his vision went black with fear. He kicked his legs and started to whimper around the hand stretching his jaw.

Blood flooded his mouth.

"Try not to scream," Beatrix said, as Merlin began to convulse. "It would wake the baby."