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Merlin is in hell. Camelot is not safe for a boy like him, stuck on the outskirts, unwanted and adrift. He does have eyes after all. He looks, he knows.
Camelot is hell; for it is ruled by the devil.
Merlin approaches the dais slowly, in fear (and desire) of being ordered to his knees before it. Instead, he walks around behind it, rests his gaze atop a golden head.
His every touch is a burn, every glance a year on the rack.
But the worst, by far, is his smile.
Arthur is the devil, for he makes Merlin want.