"The boy was having a nightmare." Merlin doesn't say anything else or wait for them to speak.
A small part of him thinks he didn't have to justify himself but he had done so anyway.
Walking past them on his way back to his tent. Kicking off his shoes. Laying on his back looking at the colored ceiling.
Pushing thoughts of Arthur and what happened out of his head. Trying to yet not failing completely as sleep calls for him.
He has some explaining to do when he arrives in Camelot but in the morning he just wants to hug Gaius and cry a rivers worth in tears.
Because he failed and he cannot face Gwen in good faith with what he's wrought.
He is in no shape to see Leon or Percival. Give them or hear news of what he knows is their departed friends.
They will surely rejoice to see Mordred well, alive. Perhaps until they are told of his betrayal.
A sinfully beautiful Judas, Brutus. A lie. A truth.
Inevitable.
A once loved-trusted Knight now turned wayward friend, betrayer amount them.
Maybe it is for the best he does not inform them. It could jeopardize the tasked holy mission. He would openly endanger an angel's charge.
Merlin finds there is little that he wants more.
Outside of his anger and shame, outright disgust with himself and the Druid.
Would he really do that and risk gaining a favor?
A small chance to re-meet Arthur before he figures out if centuries will attest to feeling like a blink of an eye or absolutely eternal.
Whatever choice he makes he had to do it now.
They will not stick around too long as it is. Maybe he can let them know in their next life. When the world, humanity and Avalon is ready for Arthur to reclaim it.
.
By the time Merlin reawakened and exited his tent to go get the day started he find Mordred sitting by the ashes of last night's fire.
Merlin had promised himself he would be better, try.
To not pick a fight, or be outright nasty-spiteful but as soon as he saw the Druid it's on.
Years of hating him, justifiably being distrustful of the teen because of the prophecy. Because of the great dragon, Kilgharrah.
He approached him casually. Sitting beside him. Watching him, observing. Morbid in his curiosity to see if he still breathes or has the need.
They do. It reassures and unbalances him.
"One of the very last things Arthur openly asked me in the Pendragon Castle, Camelot is why he ever thought trusting you was a good idea."
Mordred finds himself tightening his cloak around himself a little more. As if attempting to physically shield himself and then he is stopping.
He deserves this.
All of the anger and hate. There is no turning back what he has done.
All he has left it to look forward. He has a new, good promised life waiting on the other end of this journey.
So this is the first and last time he will set the record straight.
He holds his head up high, meeting his very own God's eyes. Daring him to move if breathing the same air as him is an insult.
The ex-knight-druid is done apologizing or feeling bad for what he has done. It's not great but he is going to move on. He has a second chance.
So he will lay all his cards on the table, speak his peace.
They can hash it out like adults and without an audience or interruptions. Then, hopefully he can finally stop thinking or talking about it every orther second.
Because at some point he has to forgive himself and move forward. It's for the best.
"For so long. I held love in my heart. Admiration for him. He saved, trained and welcomed me when others wouldn't have."
"I could never worship someone as I do you, Emrys but he first called me friend. In the end I just didn't see that. It's funny in a way that isn't so. A double standard."
"I had preached time and time again to, for the Old Religion's sake at Morgana about what poisoned her heart. How to overcome it all, I was so naive but I understand it now."
"Just like I understood when I picked up the blade blessed by Aithusa's fire. How I understood when he returned my attack even in its mercy."
"Because despite his love for me. There is no mistaking that his aim was true."
"He aimed to kill. Instant, clean. Painless. Merlin..All I knew up until that moment was anger. What I did was certainly a choice. Still, I am sorry."
.
Merlin wipes the tears from his eyes. He nods so slightly in acceptance that Mordred is almost sure he imagined it.
Well until the older warlock's eyes are flashing gold and he is handing him a handkerchief to clean himself up. His eyes returning to their radiant blue.
A tormented yet set look to him. His voice lowering, mocking but steady.
"Sir Mordred, brilliant Knight of Camelot. You went to the battle of Camlann. A brave, skilled young man who fought by your King's side."
"To the world you died. MIA. Like Arthur. By now the reports must have gone to Guinevere. That is how history will remember you if you get your way."
"Is it not? If I have mine, you will be known as you are. As you were. A traitor."
The Knight hums. Bowing his head slightly. Green eyes dead set on his. Humbled as he accepts his fate.
Because they have reached a momentarily steady emphasis and parlayed.
He can rest assured that he won't be set ablaze or charged with treason the moment he reaches Camelot's boarders.
Moments later challenging back. "As you wish my Lord." Then Mordred is getting up. Extending his hand to help him in turn.
Merlin inadvertently making him feel electric when their hands touch.