Work Text:
Leon had yelled at him – Percival seemed annoyed and the other knights did they best to not even look at him as he listened the biggest speech on how he had been a fool. Mordred listened to all of it in silence, and just after the older knight was done he tried to justify himself.
“He was worried that Gaius would fret over it – he’s an old man that should not go through such things when there’s no need for it.”
“There is every need” said Leon, furiously.
“Merlin is our friend” his voice was even. “And I made sure he was safe. You are acting as if he was the enemy himself.”
Leon merely looked at him, his face contorted in a disgusted expression that Mordred had hardly ever seen before.
“I trust him” said Gwaine, finally speaking up, and walking to stand beside the youngest knight. “I trust Merlin with my life.”
“So do I” agreed Mordred.
“Well, yeah, you would” said Leon, and for a moment, it looked like he was going to spit on them, but he just left, coming back to his arrangements.
Mordred shuddered to think about what this outburst from Leon could mean – what could have led to this sudden change in behavior. He honestly hoped Leon hadn’t seen anything – but if he had been sure, he would have told Arthur something, wouldn’t he? Leon had always been easy and nice, but he had been fierce the previous evening and positively fiery in the morning. As they rode, he stood within sight and silently, as if he was penitent for his mistake, but he couldn’t, in his heart, stop Merlin from whatever he was doing – the kingdom’s safety might (and often did) depend on Merlin’s escapades.
Not that he had it in him to deny Merlin anything he wanted – except, maybe, space. It puzzled him that the warlock shunned all his attempts to help and share; he had never given him a reason to treat him like he did – with cold contempt. Some of the knights disliked Merlin, those who weren’t part of Arthur’s inner circle, they envied the closeness between the King and his manservant, and while Mordred could understand that, he couldn’t accept it. Merlin was but a name, and Emrys belonged in the side of his King – that was what had been foretold, that was how it has always been supposed to be. If anything, he would envy Arthur on having so much of Merlin that seemed to have robbed him of a friend – the one friend he had always dreamed about.
Early on, he had been bothered by their interactions and the constant lack-of-respect the King showed, little knowing that he had the most powerful sorcerer ever at his service. A part of him often wondered how Merlin could possibly allow himself to be put in such positions, which surely would hurt anyone’s pride. It had angered him greatly, and he knew that it he wasn’t the only one to feel that way (Gwaine did little to hide his exasperation, but Leon and the others had told him to just let it go).
It took a long while for him to see that it was Arthur own stunted way of showing he cared and that Merlin knew it for what it was. Mordred found this confusing and impractical, but it was hard to stay mad when they smiled at each other with such fondness and clearly laughed at the other’s expense. There was something about those moments – as about the moments in which they’d share a lingering look, speaking loudly without needing words – that made it impossible to begrudge them for their childish behaviour.
(He eventually had also learned that this was the way of men, mostly, playing around and teasing rather than saying things straight on; it baffled him. Sometimes he felt like his people were a completely different race from those people from Camelot; and maybe they really were).
They had been riding for over an hour by the time Leon stopped sending annoyed glances to the youngest knight. Mordred was completely appealed by that behaviour – it was so unlike him to act this bitter. And even worse, he seemed upset with Gwaine as well for having stood by the druid’s side; and, in fact, Gwaine hadn’t left his side during the whole ride.
When they finally stopped – it was almost nighttime again, and it was clear that there were other people pursuing the sorceress – the man got closer to him, helping with the horses while the other set camp. Mordred had never been that close to Gwaine (he was fun, but Mordred found it hard to deal with all the drinking), so he had to wonder what the other man was doing.
“You care a lot about him, don’t you?” said the man, finally, and Mordred remained silent. “There’s no need to lie, my friend.”
“I fear he doesn’t like me much” was his answer, wishing that he’d drop the subject.
“I don’t think that’s true” Gwaine shrugged. “Merlin used to be friends with all of us, and close. He was cheerful and loyal. In those last few months… He had been acting strange.”
“As I said” offered Mordred, tiredly. “I don’t think he likes me much.”
“You mean that he doesn’t like you as much as Arthur does” Gwaine gave him a weird grin.
“What do you mean?” asked the knight, confused.
“Arthur seems to really enjoy your company” said the warrior, still smiling. “It’s been a long time since he showed such favour to a knight.”
Mordred couldn’t avoid blushing, and Gwaine let out a little laugh.
“I’m not implying anything” he said, calmly. “But Merlin… I think he’s just jealous. You share something with the king that he doesn’t – he never dealt well with such situations.”
“I always thought he was very generous.”
“That he is” now Gwaine’s smile was soft and reminiscent, “with everything, but Arthur’s attentions. That he guards with the utmost jealousy – well, nothing can really come between them, not even the queen.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand” Mordred was a bit appealed by what the man seemed to be saying. Could it be?
“I’m sure Arthur loves Guinevere and cherishes her – and he should, she’s amazing – but there’s something, a bond between the two of them that makes everything else small in comparison. It’s to Merlin that he goes for advice, it is Merlin that he wants to talk when he’s angry, it is Merlin he trusts all his secrets and weaknesses. Arthur shares everything with his servant – I often wonder if they share a bed as well.”
“Gwaine!” he chided, his eyes wide, even if he had often wondered about those things as well. Of course, he had knowledge that Gwaine didn’t, and it made it ridiculous to have such petty worries when Merlin clearly was doing what he was supposed to do and helping Arthur to rule the land.
The older man merely shrugged again.
“You have Arthur’s attention, Merlin doesn’t like that. If you didn’t, he probably wouldn’t even notice you – he forgets about everything and everyone when he gets too close to the king.”
There was an unmistakable bitterness in his voice, and Mordred looked straight into his eyes for the first time in the whole conversation. He looked tired and sad, somewhat resigned.
“You stayed for him” said Mordred, finally figuring it out. “Not for the king, for him.”
“He was my first true friend – my best friend – and I’d do anything to help him” said the knight, looking away. “He needed just to ask.”
“It’s more than that” blurted the druid, and he regretted it immediately.
“It can never be more than that” corrected Gwaine, with a self-deprecating smile. “I am not the king, and there’s not space in Merlin’s heart for anyone but Arthur. I accepted that a long time ago – and so should you.”
“I never… I don’t…”
“You can’t fool me” said Gwaine, looking sad. “I see you – the way you look at him well enough – hell, I do the same. You’re waiting for a love that will never come.” He gave the younger knight a squeeze in the arm, ready to leave. “It will take something more powerful than me or you to part them – I don’t think they can be parted by anything other than death. He’ll never look around as long as the King is there – Arthur will always be all that he sees. The earlier you accept it, the better.”
As the knight left, Mordred was left behind, confused. He had never known, but now it seemed obvious – all the ever wanted, all he ever needed was Emrys – the whole of Merlin, not just the servant, but the warlock and the man as well. It hit him as hard as a direct blow to the head, and he couldn’t feel his feet for a few moments.
He knew, right then, that he could never just accept it as Gwaine had done, he would fight for it until his strength had deserted him. He knew Merlin much more deeply than anyone else – not just his moods, and his habits, not just his courage or his abilities, not just the lines in his face or the tones of his voice, but the radiant core inside him that had shone to Mordred even when they were much younger. With him, Merlin could share everything, and that should mean something. It should make a difference. They were kin.
He would not give up.
Still, it wasn’t an easy knowledge to bear, and it made his way into his very soul, eating him up. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, everything that he could say – should say – to make it clear to Merlin just how much he valued him. He fretted alone and in silence until he was sure that the servant had gotten back to the castle, seemingly unharmed.
As he brought a sickly twisted corpse of one of his comrades and heard Gaius’ dark predictions of fire and blood to come, he couldn’t stop himself from looking at Merlin, for they alone knew what it truly meant. It wasn’t surprising to find the young man looking back, and for a moment, the connection between them was so strong, that he thought it was a wonder that everyone couldn’t see it. His heart pumped blood three times faster and stronger than usual, deafening him to the sounds around.
But soon enough the moment was gone, as soon as Leon said something about warning the King. The mere mention of Arthur’s person was enough to tear Merlin away from him, to send him stumbling and running back to his master, as if he was some sort of guard dog or a raven carrying messages.
The memory of it burned through him, as painful as an outright betrayal, but not; this was not right, Merlin had always made it quite clear that Arthur was the first and foremost thing on his mind. The pain and the longing led him to wander through hallways long after the sun had set. The castle slept, but he could find no rest.
He couldn’t even say how he ended up in front of Gwaine’s door, knocking to enter. The older knight had clearly just come back from the tavern, and he was sitting on his bed, trying to remove the lacings in his boots and failing.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked, and as Mordred just shrugged, he snorted. “It’s a bad business, knowing that war is coming. Mead generally helps to ease the nerves.”
“I’m not worried about the war” Mordred replied, tersely.
Gwaine took one long look at him and nodded.
“Alright”.
They both said nothing for some moments as Gwaine relieved himself of his boots and socks, putting them away. The man took out his shirt as well; ease as if he was alone in the room.
“Did you ever try to be more?” Mordred suddenly blurted out, his cheeks burning.
Gwaine considered him for a moment before replying.
“Once.”
Mordred said nothing to it. He needed to know, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Jealousy was rearing its ugly head, and he felt as if he would snap soon.
“What happened?”
Gwaine shrugged, and as Mordred kept looking at him, he closed his eyes shut.
“He said he was sorry — that he wished he could — but he couldn’t.”
How crushing would that be? And yet, how could he not try?
“Was it worth it?”
He knew the answer before the man ever spoke.
“Yes — he has always been worth it.”
It was everything Mordred needed to know.
He walked away as soon as he could, still restless and burning inside. It seemed like fate that he would see Merlin’s distinctive form walking away from the castle. He wasn’t above eavesdropping — it was no lack of trust, but proof of love. Morgana had declared war, they were all at risk now, in a way they hadn’t never truly been before. He walked behind the warlock as he entered the forest around them, he kept to the shadows as he saw the man step out into a clearing and roar to the sky with a voice that commanded so much raw power that his whole body vibrated. He didn’t recognise the words — no spell he knew — but it made him want to throw himself at Merlin’s feet, attend to him and obey to anything he said.
There was very little surprised when a dragon came to answer. What else could he have expected? What else would need such a calling? Mordred wasn’t particularly afraid of magical creatures — even dragons — but it stood to reason that if anyone would have the powers of a dragonlord, it would be Merlin. As they spoke of life and death, of war and betrayal, he heard his name — and his fate — and that he feared. He wanted nothing but to serve — to be a part of it — nothing but to be by their side, and prophecies be damned. He wouldn’t betray Arthur. Never.
No man should know their destiny.
It was madness and love that made him step out of the woods when Merlin was coming his way. It didn’t surprise him that he was thrown away by magic, sprawled himself against a tree trunk. Merlin’s eyes were thunderous when he came by.
“Were you spying on me?”
There it was, the tone of voice that reminded him of how hated he was, how his betrayal was something that Merlin counted on with every breath.
“I was worried about you.”
“I don’t need your worry” Merlin was dismissive, hateful, and it broke him inside. A servant, he might be, but he lorded over Mordred’s heart in a way no one else could.
“Merlin” he pleaded, broken, and something in his voice must have touched the man, as he spun around.
“How much did you hear?” he demanded.
“Everything” Mordred said, honest as he always were with this man. “I heard everything and I — I’m not — I don’t want to… I don’t ever want to…”
Merlin sighed, seeming human and warm all over again, in a way he hardly ever was.
“I know — I know Mordred. Do you think I am blind? I can see — you. I can see so much of you. You’re easy to like, and a wonderful knight. You are pure, even after all you’ve been through. You are loyal. You want nothing but to serve — to please. But… It is fate. You can’t fight fate.”
“I will” he vowed, standing up. “I will fight it. There is nothing — Merlin.” Gathering all his courage, he took a step forward, a step closer, and Merlin didn’t step back, just looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “Merlin — it’s all you. I want to fight fate, I want to be my own man — but I can’t do it without you — I know, I have always known, that Arthur is your first and utmost priority. I know he comes first — before anything and everything. I don’t want you to forget or for ego anything that might mean helping him become — who he should be — not even if that something is me. But I can’t do it if you keep sending me away.”
The broken, tumultuous expression on his face could have broken him, if he wasn’t already broken.
“I don’t think there’s nothing I can do” he answered, sadly. “I’ve tried — I’ve tried so many things — and yet, here you are.”
“You didn’t try this.”
Mordred lunged himself forward, wrapping his arms around Merlin, their lips meeting in a crash. He could feel the shock in his frame, but there was no time to think — like sword fight, it was instinct, moving, pressing his lips against Merlin’s soft ones, breathing his scent, drowning in the feeling of everything he couldn’t have. It was silly, clumsy, it would never work — but at least once, he should, at least once.
Merlin was the first to step back — a second later, an eternity, it didn’t matter. It would always be too soon.
“Mordred…” he said, and in his lips, his name was a prayer. “Oh, Mordred, how I wish I could…”
“You can” he guaranteed, not caring that he was pleading, not caring that he was exposing himself to even more heartache.
“I shouldn’t — I can’t. When I look at you, I can see… Things I want, and things I fear. I can’t. I can’t forget.”
“I don’t want you to forget it ” he said, his voice low. “I want you to avoid it”
Merlin gave him a small smile.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is — it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Fear leads only to fear — want, on the other hand… I’ve told you. The bonds we share are more important the the power we yield. So — keep me. Trust me. Love me.”
He could see the very moment something broke inside Merlin, the moment his eyes shone with something new, the moment he decided.
A step forward, a fast one, and Mordred had his back against the tree once more, but there was no magic in it — just raw want, as Merlin pined him down with his body, his mouth searching for his. Mordred could have flown, higher than the sky, as he kissed back. This was heaven, this was far beyond his every wish. Merlin’s hands were buried in his hair, and his whole body was tingling as his magic reacted to the happiness inside him.
“Together” Merlin breathed inside his mouth. “We’ll do it together. Promise me.”
“I promise. I’ll never leave your side.”
They would defeat fate.