Chapter Text
Mordred had long accepted that his past with Merlin meant much more to him than it ever would Merlin. Of course their encounter when he was a boy was but a footnote in Merlin’s life, but it was something Mordred could never forget. Since coming to Camelot, he was simply happy to serve the King and stand by Merlin’s side. He owed both men his life, and would do everything he could to repay that debt. Even if they never came to care for him as he did them, Mordred was okay with that, expected it even.
What Mordred hadn’t expected was the pure look of distrust he got from Merlin instead. When he saw it for the first time, it felt like someone had clawed a hole in his chest. A million questions he didn’t dare ask sat on his tongue. Merlin didn’t trust him, and Mordred had no idea how to convince him otherwise. How could he explain to Merlin that he would rather throw himself on a sword than even consider betraying him? How could he prove his worth to someone already so powerful? He couldn’t, so he said nothing instead.
Every day Mordred walked through the castle halls with an ache in his chest. He watched as Merlin gave his kindness to those around him with ease. He saw Merlin smiling at a fellow servant, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He saw Merlin joking with the other knights, rolling his eyes and giving a playful shove when they teased him. He saw Merlin gently brushing the horses and sneaking them apples from the royal kitchen. Mordred saw it all. Yet when he tried greeting Merlin during training, he got only a scornful glance in return.
One night, on their way back from a quest, Mordred offered to help Merlin with dinner. When he reached forward, Merlin flinched back as if burned, and Mordred quickly retreated into himself. The ache in his chest seemed to throb like a gaping wound.
“...I’ll go fetch more firewood,” Mordred mumbled, turning away and heading into the forest before he did something stupid like cry. He could feel Merlin’s narrowed gaze burning into his back, but he didn’t dare look behind.
Away from camp, Mordred let his facade crumble just a little. The knights always teased him for his age, and he could only imagine what they’d say if they saw him now. He leaned his back against a tree, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes as if that could push back the tears and anguish threatening to escape. Once he was sure no tears would fall, Mordred eased his hands off his face, laying them flat against the tree. He stood like that for a few minutes, simply feeling the rough bark and cool night breeze against his skin. The sensation soothed him and eventually he was able to make his way back to camp, quickly using his magic to gather some firewood along the way.
Dinner was already passed around by the time Mordred returned. The knights chatted leisurely as they ate, Merlin amongst them. Arthur sent Mordred a questioning look when he heard the druid approach and Mordred tried his best to give him a reassuring smile. He let out a sigh of relief when Arthur simply nodded in satisfaction before returning to his meal.
Mordred made his way to the fire and added a few pieces of wood. His fingers twitched as they felt the warmth of the flames, and the thought of reaching into that warmth flashed into Mordred’s mind unbidden. He shoved the thought down as soon as it came in, quickly grabbing his meal and joining the others. He sat quietly on the edge of the group, not feeling very sociable tonight, choosing to keep his eyes locked on the stew in front of him.
Soon the fire began to dim and the group prepared for sleep. Lying in his bedroll, Mordred could feel Merlin’s gaze on him, followed by the gentleness of Merlin’s magic across his skin. He wondered if Merlin realized that his magic often drifted towards the druid. He must not, Mordred thought bitterly, or he’d never allow it to happen in the first place. And it wasn’t as if Mordred would ever tell him either. It was the only scrap of tenderness Merlin gave him and Mordred would cling to it like a child. He let the warm magic lull him to sleep.
The following morning passed by uneventfully, with quiet murmurs as everyone packed up and prepared to return to Camelot. As they mounted their horses and began riding, Mordred finally let his eyes flick towards Merlin. He’d been avoiding the warlock since the previous evening, not wanting to bother the man further, but he was feeling braver now that Camelot was nearby. Mordred startled when their eyes met. Merlin’s expression was neutral, but the small furrow of his brows told Mordred he was searching for something. Mordred prickled under his stare, but couldn’t pull away. He gave Merlin a weak smile, his eyes likely betraying his nerves. Merlin seemed to stiffen at that, before his gaze suddenly snapped away and onto something behind them. Merlin’s eyes flashed brilliant gold, and Mordred whipped around toward the shouts. A few men had been thrown to the ground, and more were already joining from the shadows.
“We’re under attack!”
The knights immediately sprung into action and soon the clanging of metal echoed across the forest. Mordred just barely ducked in time to avoid an axe swinging above his head, then sidestepped his attacker and plunged his sword into them. He had only a moment to catch his breath before another man was on him, their swords sparking against another when Mordred spun around to defend himself. He took that man down as well, chest heaving with the effort. He wasn’t as strong as the other knights yet, and was struggling to keep up.
Morded adjusted his grip on his sword and readied himself as two men ran towards him. Just as he was about to lunge forward and strike, the men suddenly tripped and fell at his feet. He stood frozen for a moment, unsure what just happened, before he saw Merlin nearby with his hand outstretched. Merlin gave him a nod in acknowledgement before turning his focus back towards the others.
It was then Mordred noticed a man rushing towards Merlin with a mace in hand, ready to strike while Merlin’s back was turned.
Mordred couldn’t think, couldn’t come up with a better idea before he was already sprinting towards the warlock. His heart pounded in his ears as he ran, adrenaline pushing him forward. It didn’t occur to him to use his magic, or that Merlin was surely strong enough to defend himself. All he felt was fear, and then he was pushing Merlin out of the way. The mace struck Mordred’s back and he collapsed to the ground, unable to stop the sharp cry that tore from his lungs.
“Mordred!” Merlin shouted, turning around and using his magic against the man who attacked them. He fell to his knees by Mordred’s side, assessing his injury. Mordred let out a whine as he was shifted and turned so Merlin could see his back.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Merlin said softly, moving Mordred’s chainmail for better access, “you’re going to okay, I got you”. Merlin pressed a cloth against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Mordred bit his lip to keep himself from making more noise.
The forest had grown quiet once more as the last of their enemies fell or fled. The rest of the group had only minor cuts and bruises, and now they all surrounded their youngest knight as he lay on the forest floor. Arthur moved past them to join Merlin at Mordred’s side.
“Is he going to be okay?” Arthur asked with practiced calmness. The King cared more than he let on, but he didn’t want the others to worry.
“I’m fine,” Mordred finally spoke, wincing as he attempted to sit up. He felt uncomfortable under their stares. Such concern felt foreign to him, and he didn’t know how to handle it.
“You’re not fine,” Merlin huffed and immediately Mordred was back down. He wanted to protest, but a firm grip kept him in place. Merlin frowned before turning to answer Arthur.
“His chainmail prevented the mace from going too deep, but he’s losing a lot of blood.”
I am? Mordred thought, trying to get a look for himself. The pain had dulled, and other than a cloudiness in his head, he didn’t think he felt too bad. It was when the hand holding him tightened that Mordred realized he’d projected his thoughts to Merlin, who was now looking at him with an expression Mordred couldn’t read. Before he could begin to decipher it, Merlin turned away again.
“Help me get him on a horse. The sooner we get to Gaius, the better.”
A wave of pain crashed down on Mordred the moment he was lifted up by Arthur. He choked on sobs, his breathing becoming frantic and labored. The arms holding him faltered.
“Mordred, just hold on, it’ll be over soon-” Arthur’s voice barely registered in Mordred’s ears, everything was distorted and blurry. He couldn’t speak, he could hardly even think.
It hurts… make it stop…
I know, Mordred, I’m sorry. Just stay with us, please, a quiet voice replied in his mind.
The voice sounded a lot like Merlin’s, but surely that couldn't be, since Merlin hated him. He was unable to linger on that thought before darkness overtook him.