Merlin stands at the side of the training grounds. He's on the way back from the stables; finished mending the reins. He'd stopped, and looked over at where the knights were training. It was Mordred's turn against Arthur, and of course the king was besting the young knight. But Mordred wasn't a lightweight by no means. He moved with a sort of quiet lethality about him, a slow moving poison, becoming deadlier with time. And if he was a near enough match to Arthur now in swordsmanship, coupled with magic it would be liked pouring a bottle full of Belladonna down the kings throat.
Merlin sighs.
If not for the prophecies he'd heard, perhaps he would be thinking of Mordred like wine now. Sure to get better with age, a steadfast shield and helper to the king. He wishes he could just trust the young knight. It would be so easy, so relieving. He remembers the child with the piercing blue eyes from all those years ago.
Arthur parries the blow, and in a couple of slick movements, the sword is out of Mordred's hands, lying as harmless as a flower in the wind. The king sheathes his sword and with a smile and some words of encouragement shakes the knight's hand. The smile that rests on the exhausted knight's face fades as he notices the solitary audience member.
As often, when it comes to Mordred, Merlin communicates with him in the form of charged silences and hard-to-read looks, like a book whose words are written in invisible ink. A second passes then Merlin turns, off to his next duty and Mordred is left, lost.
"Is there something the matter, Merlin?" Gaius is old but his clear blue eyes often see through the murky walls Merlin has up now a days. Merlin looks up, cheery smile slotted back onto his face like a puzzle piece put in place.
"You know how it is; Arthur wants me to clean the horses, clean this and that, only got two arms."
Gaius hesitates, but then nods, accepting this answer. His focus moves to looking for a misplaced potion. The puzzle piece unable to remain a part of the intricate puzzle Merlin is fast becoming falls.
"Are you sure you haven't seen it?"
"Pretty sure Gaius, but I'll go check the stocks again."
Merlin stands in the armour room polishing a gauntlet without focus. He can see his face in it and normally he would have stopped by now, not one to give himself this unnecessary work. He continues polishing when the door opens and someone steps into the room. Turning, he's faced with the druid knight, the threat to the king and kingdom that's he's had so many chances to get rid of.
Acknowledging him with the slightest of nods Merlin turns back around, shaking his head slightly.
That's what being a good person gets.
Thoughts of decisions made and wrong decisions made and guilt and regret and hoping for the right thing begin to cloud his mind and he longs for the uncomplicated days back before Arthur was crowned and Morgana discovered the truth. And why must evil wear the nicest faces –
"Merlin." In all that thinking, Mordred had made his way next to Merlin. Blue eyes met in a hard stare, the atmosphere becoming charged in the silence.
"D'you need help with your armour?" Merlin asks, forcing a light tone.
"I understand you don't trust me, but there's no need to look at me as though I'll run my sword through Arthur whilst training." The tone is low and serious. His eyes become colder.
"Arthur's too careful for that. There's no way you would be able to do so in training." Merlin's tone changes to match Mordred's.
Elsewhere in Camelot there are people are laughing, and somewhere out there is Merlin's light hearted side. It is a side that always seems to disappear when the young Druid is nearby. Among the wood panelling and silver plates and polish fumes of the armoury, laughter and light heartedness are in short supply.
"I don't understand why you always treat me with this great animosity, Emrys. We are one of the same. We both have magic – we should be helping each other!"
Mordred's voice cracks at the last word, stopping the words which Merlin had felt building in his throat; the one's refuting the similarity of their magic and its uses. There's a vulnerability to Mordred at the moment, one that is oh so familiar to Merlin. It's a vulnerability that speaks of heartbreaking loneliness and the isolation felt in the middle of a crowd. One that builds up over time, stored and squashed away, yet always rising though, and suddenly, the atmosphere shifts–
The gauntlet Merlin had been polishing clatters to the floor. The cage on Merlin's light heartedness opens, and he tries out a smile and a nod. He looks away as he bends for the gauntlet, but the wary relief Mordred feels is evident.
"Are you perhaps as useless as Arthur makes out?" The words are light, teasing, like a flower petal in the wind, causing Merlin's smile to twitch wider.
"Let's not have you starting on that."
Elsewhere in Camelot the skies are clear, people are walking slowing, talking, laughing. In the armoury, light filtering through half windows, blue eyes are warmer, smiles shared like presents.
"You seem… unusually happy today, Merlin." Eyebrows knitted and arms folded, but it wasn't the king talking, it was Arthur. Placing the articles of food on the table, Merlin smiled quizzically at him.
"What are you talking about? I'm always happy."
Arthur's perception was like a clouded glass. He seemed obtuse but the details would always shine through. Unfortunately, sometimes it was hard to tell what had made the marks.
"Yes, but today you just seem… like a living embodiment of the sun."
"Aw, so you do care!" Arthur sighed, but a teasing smile curled his lips.
"Well, a happy servant is better than a moping, depressed one." Sincere words, the glass was unclouded and the open books words were almost visible as the serving boy left the room with a smile.
Unfortunately, Merlin's mood was a balloon. It was filled with air and one wrong move causes it to pop unable to be pieced back together.
Merlin's standing at the edge of the training field. He's on his way back from the stables, after fixing yet another bothersome break in the saddle. Mordred is sparring with Percival. The grass in crushed underfoot and the plant lends itself to the ivy of Kilgharrahs metaphor.
He sighs like air escaping a balloon, raking his hands through his hair. Thinking back on Mordreds words 'We are one of the same. We both have magic – we should be helping each other!' he sighs again. They were the same insofar as both had magic, both were concealing it - however, one was destined to kill the king and the other to protect.
Mordred swings his sword sideways and Percival parries easily, forcing Mordred back. As Merlin watches, Mordred manages to get the upper hand and a window of opportunity presents itself.
The younger knight moves to take the chance but at the last moment, his eyes flick over to Merlin. Open book, invisible ink. He feels like nothing's changed, that the conversation in the armoury must have been like singing at the deaf. The icy glares seemed to have thawed somewhat though the ink is still invisible.
Unfortunately retrospection takes time, and the chance is lost, the window of opportunity shuts and Percival flips Mordred onto his back, ending the spar.
An amused smile finds its way onto Merlin's face. He turns to leave.
Glad you found that so amusing, Emyrs.
The words are communicated telepathically. They're anything but bitter, infused instead with a warmth that hints at amusement and relief alongside something Merlin can't quite place. Merlin shoots one last look at the druid boy, before he leaves with a light chuckle.
His next duty is to deliver a remedy for Gaius. He takes the vial out of his satchel, and as he makes his way to the person's house, absent-mindedly thinks about it. The person was just suffering from a minor ailment, yet they wouldn't stop complaining, and so Gaius quickly made this up. The old man gave Merlin an unwanted lecture yesterday about the different herbs in it. There was one Gaius kept stressing. What one was it… He couldn't keep a grip on the name. Whilst Gaius was measuring it in, he was stressing the importance of using the right amount, otherwise the remedy could turn into a poison.
Merlin knocks on the client's door. Moments pass and the door remains shut.
"Hello? Is -"
It hits him like a ton of bricks. Mordred isn't a slow moving poison, and he definitely isn't like wine. He's that herb, that slippery forgetful one. For the second time in the last couple of minutes, a chuckle escapes his lips. He feels like someone's tapped that balloon back together.
Mordred's not poison, not yet. Merlin can't stop chuckling. The ill whiner finally opens the door and the sight of a chuckling stranger on his doorstep makes him close up back up again.
Not poison. Not yet.
A/N So Merlins stony-hearted treatment of Mordred was sorta getting on my nerves so I started writing this ( before all that war, betrayal and sadness and that).
I tried writing this in a slightly different style to what I usually write with, so I hope that it doesn't seem to poncy or obsure or too flowery or something like that. Hopefully it doesn't now, especially as my sister, ItChangesEveryDay helped to edit it. And hopefully, you enjoyed it. :) Drop a review if you liked it, or even if you didn't .