I'm just going to sit here in shame and apologize profusely because I said November and now it's a new year? I'm horrible with deadlines, even self-imposed ones so all I can offer are my apologies.

In other news Merlin likes his magic. I like writing about Merlin liking his magic.

I also like writing about Gwaine and the knights and wow. For a group I like to write about I don't do it frequently do I?

Once again you have my apologies. I hope this chapter is satisfying.

((())))

Recently Merlin was more aware than ever of his magic. It pressed ever closer to the surface than it had in many years, a constant buzz beneath his skin that itched to get out. He would be lying if he said that he didn't know why. He'd been using his magic with more frequency these days, behind the safety of closed doors, but with more frequency than he had in his years of being in Camelot.

And his magic rejoiced.

Mordred had mentioned many times the power that he held, and how the druids looked to him for the return of magic throughout the lands. Each time he heard, Merlin had refused to listen. They sounded too much like a destiny, like some kind of prophesised fate for his comfort. They reminded him of the destiny entwined with Arthur's and he had wanted nothing to do with yet another destiny on his shoulders. He had enough trouble with keeping Arthur alive to uphold his part of the destiny. Taking responsibility for a whole new group was too much to ask of him.

And yet the more Merlin thought on the young druids words the less like destiny they sounded. Mordred had not said that his return of magic to the land was 'foretold' after all. He had spoken of tales and stories about Emrys and his magic. The years had given Merlin an appreciation for the difference between stories and foretold actions.

With the king still away on his hunting trip Merlin had even more time to appreciate this difference. Being the focus of the hopes and wishes of the druids was a more pleasant experience than that of being Arthur's manservant. Being the focus of Mordred's adoration was a more pleasant experience than being Arthur's manservant had been in the past couple of weeks.

It was something he had known of for some time. Mordred was not as subtle in his affections as he probably hoped to be, or perhaps Merlin was better at reading people than Arthur thought. Before, when Mordred had been but a boy in furs too large for his frame, there had been an unrestrained sort of awe in his expression when he realised who Merlin was. And there were still traces of that awe in his expression these days. When Merlin used magic in his presence or even spoke of it Mordred's whole face would light up.

It was something that Merlin was becoming used to seeing these past few days.

(())

Gwaine was a man of the people, which was a fact that very few would ever try to deny. He could get the townspeople to talk with him about matters they only murmured about in the comfort of their own homes. Of all the knights he, Percival and Elyan had the most skill with getting to the heart of the town gossip.

There was something to be said about confiding in the three of them. Elyan was a knight with roots of the most common kind, so the friendships he had formed during his childhood years withstood the test of time and change and resulted in a network that trusted in his confidence. Percival could be seen carrying around small children during his patrols and was always ready to lend a hand to anyone who needed the extra strength. And Gwaine was a charmer, there was no doubt about that, but he was a charmer who knew the people and had experiences they could only dream of, yet never bragged or boasted.

With Percival and Elyan both away on the hunting trip Mordred was well aware that Gwaine would be the only reliable source of information on the people and their mood. He himself was well liked enough, but there was an edge to his interactions with others that he found hard to curb. Removing the edge when talking to Emrys had proven difficult enough and he had broken down in front of him.

Gwaine approached him the day before the King and his party were due back. Emrys had mentioned earlier that day that Gwaine had spoken to him about concerns that the townspeople were having about his relationship with Arthur. He hadn't given the particulars of their conversation, but Mordred hadn't minded too much. The fact that Emrys had confided in him in the first place was something of an accomplishment either way. It was a sign that he was gaining more of Emrys' trust.

But back to the point.

Gwaine approached him in the training fields where Mordred had been sparring with a few of the younger knights. [Younger knights, as if Mordred was even old enough to be wearing the chain of Camelot. As if these kids would know what to do in the heat of a battle. Were they even old enough to have known the days when Arthur and Morgana sat side by side underneath King Uther?] With a smile he had waved off the others, pulling the young druid over to one side.

"Afternoon Mordred." Gwaine's countenance was cheery as always as he leant against the wall, but Mordred was still on the edge.

"Good afternoon Gwaine." Some of his weariness must have shown in his expression because Gwaine's own expression turned teasing and he poked at Mordred's cheek.

"What's that look for? Did you do something naughty you think I know about?"

"What? No!" Mordred flushed, slapping away Gwaine's hand and scowling at him. Gwaine laughed and Mordred found the tension in his shoulder's easing. Gwaine wasn't going to judge him harshly for whatever it was that he wanted to speak about.

"You are far too easy to rile up."

"If that's what you wanted to talk about you could have just asked anyone here." Mordred made a sweeping gesture towards the training grounds, drawing another laugh from Gwaine. Mordred was one of the knights who often burned out fastest in training, because a few pointed statements would get him fighting with his all. It was almost a world away from his behaviour prior to coming to Camelot. But that was the point wasn't it?

"That's very true, but you're right that it wasn't what I wanted to talk about," Here he paused, expression clouding for a moment as he surveyed the training field, "The situation with Arthur and Merlin… You haven't weighed in on it."

"Ah," Mordred glanced away. There were a number of ways that this conversation could turn. For the sake of his relationship with Emrys he was going to try for the best route. "I was unsure if my opinion would be needed. I was under the impression that my developing relationship with Merlin was being called in to consideration alongside his… changing relationship with the King."

Gwaine let out an inelegant noise at Mordred's choice of words. The young knight could always be counted on for a spot of amusement even in the most serious of conversations.

"You make a fair point. We have considered the existence of such a link. There's something that I've always wondered however. Your relationship with Merlin was antagonistic from the outset and we've never been able to find a clear reason." Gwaine pauses and when all he gets in response is a slight tightening in Mordred's shoulders he tries a slightly different tact, "It's almost as if you met before."

Mordred's mouth suddenly goes dry. Very few in Camelot were aware of his past. It was safer that way and yet… And yet Mordred felt a need to confide in Gwaine. Not least because he was one of the few whom Emrys trusted explicitly.

"That may be because we have… A few years ago, well more than a few." Mordred trailed off, shaking his head. "Could we have this conversation elsewhere?"

Gwaine nodded after a pause, expression pensive but still open. Mordred's answering smile lacked humour. They left the training grounds and made their way in silence towards the castle's highest ramparts.

"The first time Merlin and I met, I was young, barely into the summers of my teenage years. I was with a group of travellers who spent time wandering the lands. We made camp outside of Camelot's main walls but Uther… was not best pleased with my people." A bitter taste sat in Mordred's mouth and he swallowed it down. He had committed himself to this path and so he would see it through. "Uther had my master killed and he would have killed me alongside him were it not for Merlin and Morgana." He doesn't stumble over the name, though his heart twists in his chest. Gwaine's intake of breath brings a wry smile to his mouth though.

It has been many years since Morgana was spoken over with any degree of fondness in Camelot.

"If Merlin saved you from the same fate as your master then why the animosity?" Gwaine avoids the subject of Morgana and for that Mordred is more grateful than he has words for.

"We met several times afterwards, each ending more disastrously than the last. I was young and angry at all that Camelot represented. Merlin saw it is his duty to stop me, if only because he had played a part in me living to cause Camelot such grief."

"Save the child, yet blame the man?" Gwaine's question is such an echo of the conversation which sparked all these issues that Mordred can't help but smile, pained as the expression may be.

"The very same issue I raised during our time trapped in close confines." Mordred breathes out, straightening from the leant over position he had take during his talk of his past. "But we're working on sorting out the problems of the past. This probably led to Merlin evaluating his past interactions with others if we are to return to the topic which started this conversation." Gwaine hums thoughtfully, eyeing Mordred with a myriad of emotions flitting through his eyes. He takes the change of topic for what it is though.

"And so he began to evaluate his interactions with Arthur and found them lacking." The spark of gratefulness Mordred felt earlier flares up into something which tastes more of respect. Gwaine's gaze moves to survey the horizon, as if he can see to where the King and his men are based for the day from this distance. Mordred follows his gaze and stokes the fire of respect. Gwaine's words held the slightest taint of bitterness. The bitterness of someone who is beginning to realise their friend had been mistreated for too long.

It seems Merlin is not the only one who has found Arthur's behaviour lacking.