A/N: I almost forgot, but I didn't. I know everyone's waiting for the reunion, but we just got one more little thing to take care of first. Hold onto your hats, peeps, things are about to start heating up for real...
**EDITED**
The bright afternoon sun beat down upon the training field, but Merlin didn't notice it. He could hardly feel the warmth of it on his skin through the shimmer of his shield, which wrapped around him in a perfect dome of golden light. He had left Mordred on the other side of the field, working diligently to maintain a small square shield with one hand and knock back a straw dummy with the other.
He was making great progress, head and shoulders above everyone else who had attempted to split their focus in the same way, but his success was nothing compared to Merlin's. Now that Merlin had gotten the feel of it down, he had rapidly moved past having to concentrate on each spell consciously. Instead, he set the shield in place and held it there without any real thought at all, allowing his concentration to be better spent on attacking.
He was currently surrounded by opponents in the form of Sir Gerund, Sir Frederick, and a talented young woman called Lady Cecily.
Merlin would admit to being surprised upon finding that—while the secular knights remained solely male—the mages of Carthis, like the council, did not discriminate based on gender. While there was not exactly a surfeit of female mages, the fairer sex was well represented in the kingdom's fighting force. He supposed that it made a good deal of sense. In a sword fight, even if the level of skill is evenly matched, a woman might still be at a disadvantage because of her smaller stature and lesser physical strength.
Magic had proved to be an incredibly effective equalizer. In a duel of magic, the physical abilities of the participants had little to no bearing on the outcome of the fight. Morgana was a prime example of that, the most powerful magic-user—excepting Merlin himself, of course—in all the land. Cecily being a woman did not stop her from being a strong fighter, one who could give as good as she got on the training field and in heated battle.
Merlin narrowed his eyes at his three foes, all of them flitting around him as he held his ground in their midst. His left hand rested against the solid inside of his dome shield; he had found that not only did it keep his arm from getting tired, but it also provided him with a more stable connection for his magic and thereby reduced the amount of heed that he needed to pay to it. His other hand was spread before him as he shot spell after spell at his circling adversaries.
They dove and dodged and zigzagged out of the way, all the while returning fire. The blasts of magic dissipated against his shield with little to no effect. Merlin could feel the others' energy as it collided with his own, a meeting of like forces where one struggled to overcome another.
It was a very different sensation from when his opponent used magic to manipulate the surroundings, such as when Sir Frederick had gotten particularly creative and decided to hurl one of the benches from the supply tables at him. That had felt much like a physical blow against a wooden shield, the familiar force and recoil. But the resilient, sensual slide of magic against magic was something else entirely and it made Merlin's fingertips tingle and set his mind to racing when he had the time to think on idle matters such as that.
He certainly didn't have the time now. Despite having been fending off three attackers for several long minutes now, Merlin's only sign of fatigue or exertion was the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, and that was just as much from the heat of the day and the armour he was wearing as it was the effort that he was putting in. He had managed to knock Sir Frederick off his feet, but Lady Cecily was too fleet for him to get a hit on, and Sir Gerund's quick reflexes and years of experience meant that he always had a shield of his own at the ready to counter all of Merlin's attacks.
If Merlin wanted to win this battle without simply waiting for them to tire themselves out—which he could do without too much trouble, but that seemed lazy, uncreative, and unsatisfying all at once—then he would need to think of a different approach. With a wickedly excited grin spreading across his face at the chance to do something that he had been wanting to try out for a while now, Merlin hastily threw together a spell.
He was becoming quite adept at coming up with spells off the top of his head now that he had access to scholarly texts and lexicons of the Old Religion, his knowledge and understanding of enchantments and the theory behind them growing with every new spell he learned. Slowly, he sank down, trailing his left hand carefully along his shield so as not to lose contact with it, until he was knelt upon the ground.
"Àhrère eorðan beneoðan min ealdorgewinnan," he growled, lifting his right hand high and then slamming it down.
The very earth began to shake beneath him, a tremor spreading out to rock the land from where his hand connected all the way to the edges of the training field. He made sure to keep a careful hold on his magic, not allowing the quake to get too serious and risk causing real damage, but it was still enough to bring a look of near-panic to Sir Frederick's face from where he was trying and failing to get to his feet. Lady Cecily lost her balance, toppling sideways and only just catching herself on Sir Gerund's arm as the ground beneath them tried to buck them off.
When tiny fissures appeared between their feet and began to grow wider, branching off in all directions and threatening to open up and swallow them into the depths of the earth, Gerund hastily pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket and waved it above his head, signaling their submission.
The duel won, Merlin let his spells fall, wiping the sweat from his brow as he got to his feet again on the now steady earth.
"I still can't believe that's even possible, two spells at once, much less spells that absurdly powerful," Lady Cecily panted, bending over for a moment to lean on her knees. When she stood up again, she was looking at Merlin with the same light in her eyes that Mordred often got. "You truly are Emrys, aren't you?"
Merlin shrugged, too used to the treatment to bother with being embarrassed by it anymore. His legendary identity was common knowledge by now and it was not unusual for those of Druidic heritage to stop and bow to him whenever he passed them. One elderly man in traditional Druidic garb had even knelt to kiss the ground at his feet, despite Merlin's uncomfortable protests. He had tried to assure them that such displays were not necessary, but that had done nothing to curb their reverence.
Finally he had had to give in. He let them bow and thanked them for their support. He couldn't be too unhappy with the knowledge getting out since, though it put him on a bit of a pedestal for a lot of people, it had certainly made things easier with the council; the Druidic people were greatly respected in Carthis, by the landed gentry and the common people alike, and that they put their complete faith in Merlin was enough to convince several of the council members that they should do so as well.
"That is what they keep telling me," Merlin said easily.
Mordred appeared at his elbow then with a smile on his face and the thrill of exhilaration lighting his eyes.
"How did it go with you?" Merlin asked him, glancing over to see that the straw dummy was in several pieces.
"Quite well," Mordred answered breathlessly. "I managed to hold the shield for a while, a couple of minutes probably, and still produce a few other spells."
"Well done, Mordred," Merlin said genuinely, beaming back at him.
"Would you mind fixing that, Merlin?" Gerund asked with a nod at the field, which was a mess of crisscrossing crevices and raised mounds of earth. "I'd do it myself, but I don't know if I would be able to, even if I hadn't just expended all of my energy on your shield."
"Oh! Yeah, sorry about that," Merlin said sheepishly. He waved a hand at the field and it set itself to rights, the ground knitting back together and smoothing over until it was as if nothing had happened. He didn't realize that he had not used a spell until he saw Lady Cecily shaking her head in awe.
Apparently that was another thing that was rare and unexpected; for most, wordless magic only occurred under duress, when fear or rage or desperation lent someone unbelievable strength. But Merlin had been performing purposeful magic long before he had ever learned his first spell. It had just come easily to him, a conscious directing of power into a specific purpose, his magic bending easily to his will.
"I will never understand how you do that," Cecily said.
"I still don't understand it myself, to be honest," Merlin admitted, "and I couldn't explain it if I tried."
"Well, you two should both throw in the towel for the day," Gerund advised, clapping both Merlin and Mordred on the shoulder. "There is such a thing as overdoing it, even for the likes of you, sire."
Merlin laughed but conceded the point anyway.
With Mordred following along in his wake, Merlin led the way off to the armoury, intending to get out of his armour and back into normal clothes. Well, what counted as normal for him these days. He was getting more used to the fancy garments made of expensive materials, but he would still be more at ease in his old scratchy tunic and tattered neckerchief. Alas, appearances had to be maintained.
And it wasn't so bad. The regal apparel did its job of making him feel like royalty. As such, he was more comfortable wielding his newfound authority when he was clad in brocade and silk and with a crown on his head, and there much less likely to slip back into servant mode and do something that would cause him to lose respect in the eyes of his court.
"You really are doing well, Mordred," he said as they reached the door to the armoury.
He released the fastenings of his armour with a mere flick of his wrist and a quick burst of magic in the way that he had always wished that he could have done with Arthur's after training; those buckles could get really bothersome, especially when the metal was hot from being in the sun for so long. The slender pieces floated off of his body and piled themselves neatly on the table, where Raime would no doubt pick them up later for a good polishing and possibly a renewal of the protective spells by one of the armourers, though Merlin would probably redo them himself later on anyway just to be sure.
"Not nearly as well as you," Mordred countered.
"Don't ever compare yourself to me. You'll drive yourself mad," Merlin recommended with a huff of laughter. "And besides, you're still more powerful than any of the people out there. Most of them could never achieve in their whole lives what you have in a few days. That's something to be proud of. You know, I bet you would do well with that projection spell that Gerund showed me a few days ago, remember? The one where you sort of throw your spirit out of your body?"
Merlin shook his head, remembering the trouble that spell had given him. "Once my spirit's out, I have no problem keeping it there; it's the actual 'disassociating the spirit from the physical body' part that's tricky for me. You might have it easier, since you were Druid-raised and all spiritual and whatnot."
Mordred didn't respond to this and Merlin looked up to see the young knight watching him with a crease between his brows.
"What?"
"Nothing," Mordred said hastily. Then he hesitated. "It's just that…well. You have been treating me…differently. Since we came to Carthis, I mean. Better. More like…like a friend." He dropped his eyes to the floor, his cheeks touched with pink, and Merlin's shoulders slumped.
"I know," he said plainly.
The truth be told, he honestly had come to think of Mordred as a friend over the last few weeks. Without Arthur there making the danger immediate, Mordred's destiny seemed far off and much less worrisome. It was hard for Merlin to remember sometimes why it was that he had thought of Mordred as an enemy.
It always came back, of course, but the way that Mordred laughed so openly and smiled so brightly now, away from the lies and the secrets and the threat of execution, made him seem so innocent, even more innocent than he had been as a child. He was a nice kid and Merlin couldn't help but like him.
And Mordred had acted as a friend would, long before Merlin had returned the favor. In a strange place and an even stranger circumstance, Mordred had become his support, the only person in the kingdom who truly knew him. It was hard not to trust him.
"Can I ask why?" Mordred said timidly.
Merlin sighed. "Mordred, I—"
But he had no idea what to say. How was he supposed to explain that he had mistrusted Mordred because he was destined to kill Arthur someday? He couldn't simply tell Mordred his own future. Foreknowledge was incredibly dangerous, Merlin had learned that to his own detriment with the Crystal of Neahtid. In knowing of the events which had yet to come and trying to stop them from happening, he had in fact ensured that they would. He could not risk doing the same with Mordred, not when the stakes were so high, when it was Arthur's life on the line.
He had tried to fight against what was destined once, back before Morgana had been lost to them. He had been warned about her future but he had refused to heed the warnings. Morgana had been his friend and he had held onto that, stubbornly continuing to trust in her until his willful blindness had put all of them in danger.
But then, he had not trusted in her as much as he could have done. He had refused to think ill of her, to accept that she would betray them, but there had been enough doubt caused by the dragon's words that he had not confided his own secret in her. He had not comforted her as much as he could have, had not helped her in the way that she had deserved to be helped.
He had lied to her and left her feeling different and alienated and so dreadfully alone that she had turned to Morgause for the solace that he had not provided. Merlin had pushed her away until she was too far gone for him to pull her back.
Could he have been doing the same to Mordred? In knowing of Mordred's future, of the act that had not yet come to pass, and working to prevent it, was it possible that Merlin was only hastening Arthur's death? It had happened with the Crystal and again with Morgana, with both of the prophecies self-fulfilling, the truth only becoming true because someone had known of it and acted to stop it from becoming so.
But maybe, just maybe, it didn't have to be that way. Maybe this time, if Merlin did not act upon his foreknowledge, did not try to stop the future from coming true, it wouldn't.
"Mordred, I'm sorry for the way that I treated you back in Camelot," he said honestly, coming to his decision. "I was pretty awful to you, but I think that the time has come for you to know why."
Merlin sat at the long table and pushed his armour to the side, gesturing for Mordred to take the seat opposite. The young knight did so, looking at Merlin so earnestly that it made his chest ache with a sudden fondness.
"Mordred, how many Druidic prophecies are you familiar with?"
The young knight's brow furrowed.
"I am afraid that my camp disbanded before the Elders could teach me all that they wished to about such things," Mordred confessed. "My father would have continued my education himself, but…"
He trailed off, his sad gaze falling to the table at the memory of the fate that had befallen his father at the hands of Uther.
Merlin remembered it too, and it still sickened him, the lengths to which Uther had gone to eradicate a peaceful people who had done him no harm. He had robbed a child of his father, and had tried to rob him of his own life as well. Mordred had already suffered greatly for one so young.
"Arthur and I are not the only ones whose deeds have been foretold," Merlin told him. "Morgana's betrayal was destined as well. Kilgharrah told me very early on that she and I were fated to be enemies."
"What did you do?" Mordred asked.
"I tried to maintain my faith in her as my friend," Merlin said. "But I could not bring myself to trust in her completely. I lied to her. I did not tell her of my magic, and so she looked elsewhere for understanding and found Morgause instead. I treated her like my enemy and, in doing so, I forced her to become one. And I don't want to do the same to you."
Mordred's brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?" he asked falteringly, but Merlin could see that he already suspected the answer he would get.
"The prophecies mention you as well," Merlin said, wishing that he did not have to tell Mordred this, to disillusion him so thoroughly; the awareness of one's own fate was a terrible burden to place upon one so young, he knew that better than anyone. He had been living with the weight of destiny on his shoulders since he was Mordred's age and younger, after all.
"They speak of you and Morgana united in darkness. They say that you are fated to bring about Arthur's death."
It looked as though Mordred may have stopped breathing altogether. His mouth fell open in disbelief, but no sound came out. He shook his head, slowly at first and then more vigorously.
"No," he breathed out. "No! I don't want…I would never, I don—surely, you know that I—" He couldn't seem to get his thoughts in order, half-formed denials and desperate pleas mixing together and tumbling out on top of one another. "I would never see any harm come to Arthur!" he finally cried, his eyes wide and bright.
"Not now," Merlin conceded. "But that is no guarantee of the future."
"Arthur saved my life!" Mordred argued. "He is a great king, the Once and Future King. He is the only hope for widespread peace. Why would I ever wish to see him dead?"
"I don't know," Merlin said. "But I have known of your fate for a long time, since you first came to Camelot as a child. It is my destiny to keep Arthur safe, and Kilgharrah told me then that if you were to live, then I would not be able to achieve my destiny. On the way to Ismere just a few months ago, I was granted a vision from a Vates in which you met Arthur on the battlefield and killed him. And then, who should we run into but you? Of course I didn't feel that I could trust you."
"But I don't want to hurt Arthur," Mordred said, near to begging and shaking his head fervently again. "I would give my life for him gladly, for either of you."
"I believe you," Merlin assured him, and he did. "That is why I'm telling you this, Mordred." He leaned forward, his own desperation to avoid this fate lending urgency to his tone.
"I pushed Morgana away. In trying to prevent her destiny, I caused it. I was well on my way to doing the same with you. I don't want to push you away anymore, Mordred. I don't want to give you a reason not to trust me. Whatever is destined to happen to turn you away from us, I hope that a true friendship without any reservations will be enough to counter it. This is a leap of faith on my part, and a dangerous one, but I am making the decision to trust you completely."
"You can trust me, Merlin," Mordred asserted. "Arthur will never come to harm by my hand, I promise, I swear it on my father's grave."
Merlin studied his earnest face for a moment, seeing the desperation and the fear there, and he nodded.
"And I believe you," he said again.
Mordred took a great shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting tears.
Merlin put a hand on his arm and gripped it tightly. "And I do consider you a friend, Mordred, truly. I have relied on your support a great deal in the past weeks."
Mordred managed a small smile, struggling as he was to regain his composure after such a devastating revelation. He swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths, pulling himself back together. Then he smiled again, more genuine this time.
"Thank you," he said.
"What for?" Merlin asked; he had just told Mordred that it was his fate to be a murderer. That did not seem like something to be grateful for.
"For trusting in me, even when you have reason not to," Mordred said. "It means more than I can say."
"That's what friends are for, is it not?" Merlin said with a smirk, parroting Mordred's own words from the eve of Merlin's coronation back at him.
Mordred let out a shaky laugh, looking a little overwhelmed.
"Yeah. Yeah, it is," he whispered. "Thank you, Merlin."
Merlin smiled gently and rose from his seat, pulling Mordred up with him. They were halfway to the door when a thought came to Merlin's mind, pulling him up short for a moment.
"You called me Merlin," he realized.
"Yes," Mordred said confusedly.
"But there's no one else here."
"So?" he asked, sounding even more baffled.
"Well. Normally, you only call me Merlin when there are people around who don't know about my magic or anything. Otherwise you usually just call me Emrys. In fact, you've been calling me Merlin for a while now," Merlin pointed out wonderingly, not having appreciated that until just now. "Why is that? Why the change?"
"Oh," Mordred said, shifting on his feet and looking a little bit embarrassed. "I guess because Merlin is your name. And because you were Merlin long before you were Emrys. That is who you are, the man behind the legend, so to speak. You are more than just your destiny. I realize that now."
A slow, genuinely happy smile spread across Merlin's face; that was not a distinction that many people thought to make.
"Thank you," he said simply.
Mordred grinned back at him. Merlin slung an arm over his shoulders, a bit giddy with the thrill of camaraderie, the rush of confidence brought on by the sudden lack of mistrust. Before they could reach the door to the armoury, however, it was thrown open to bang loudly against the wall, admitting a young squire who was gasping for breath and clutching a scroll tightly in his fist.
"King Merlin, sire!" he panted urgently. "You have received an important missive!"
"From whom?" Merlin demanded, releasing Mordred and stepping forward to receive it.
"From the Lady Morgana. She seeks an audience with you."