Chapter 2, hooray. Already got my next few scenes with ch. 3, so will likely have that up tomorrow. Maybe.

I came to the conclusion that I can't give an accurate depiction of Merlin's plight without the views of a magic user, so Mordred is the obvious choice here. The point of views with switch between Arthur and Mordred only.

Six Months Ago

Mordred, sitting in his chambers, was writing. He wrote every single night, always to Emrys, always all the things he wished he could say. Everything he thought Emrys would like to know.

From court gossip to whether or not the citadel came under attack from minor sorcerers that Mordred would dispatch of, he wrote it all down. He listened, paid attention, and committed every day to memory for the evenings so that he might find some peace.

It never worked, of course, because he couldn't feel Emrys nearby, couldn't draw even the slightest comfort from the magic that seeped from the man. It was sickening really, how dependent he had become on Emrys after the incident with the Disir, and then he was gone. Just like that.

He put the quill into the bottle and blew over the parchment, drying it with the slightest amount of magic.

He rolled up the scroll and tossed it into a drawer of the desk, along with several others. And then, when the drawer was full, he tossed the entire collection into the fire.

He's done it every month for a year.

He opened the wrong drawer on this night, however.

He swallowed at the sight of one of his old drawings, of Emrys with the rest of the knights, cutting up and laughing, and he felt himself break a little more.

Whoever said falling in love, even unrequited, was better than having nothing, was completely wrong.

…

He fought with the same ferocity as Arthur these days. One year ago, he would have been distracted by the steady sound of a stone on a blade or the kinks of chainmail and pliers, coming from the side of the training field, where he knew Emrys was watching him always.

It used to make his skin crawl but he'd give anything to have that unsettling feeling back.

His sword clanged with Arthur's, and his muscles strained under the collision. They've been at this for over five minutes, and he could feel the exhaustion beginning to set in.

It was time to end this.

Taking advantage of the strength of Arthur's blade, he let Arthur fall into him as he relaxed, and Arthur stumbled forward in shock as Mordred darted around and brought his sword to Arthur's throat from behind. "I do believe you've been defeated, sire," Mordred said cheerfully, and Arthur nodded as Mordred stepped away.

"Indeed, I do believe so," he agreed. "Nicely done, Mordred," he continued. "Take the rest of the evening off, you've earned it."

"Thank you, sire," he said.

He bowed, and Arthur turned away, and Mordred let the smile fall from his face as he walked back to his tent. As soon as the flap closed behind him he threw his practice sword to the side and scowled. It was getting easier and easier to beat Arthur, though he and Gwaine remained the only ones capable of doing so. And even then, they could only do it once in a while, though Mordred had managed it twice in the past week.

It wasn't even two minutes after Mordred had taken off his armor that he heard a voice at the edge of his tent, "Mordred?"

He looked up from his now-folded cloak and knew he could hardly refuse to see the queen, even though he had less than no desire to see her. "Yes, come in," he called.

She swept in and took one look at his face, "Mordred," she said warmly. "I've heard you've done well this week."

He nodded, his mask sliding smoothly into place. "Thank you, my lady," he said, allowing a flush of embarrassment to come to his face as he ducked his head. She smiled at him.

"There was something I wanted to talk to you about…"

"My lady?" he inquired, a bit confused. As he looked up to meet her eyes, he noticed the tears swimming in them. "My lady!" he repeated, and reached out, then stopped, uncertain whether or not he could comfort her in any capacity.

She took a deep breath and asked, "Were you aware that today is Merlin's birthday?"

He swallowed. "I was not," he said carefully.

Gwen let out a little laugh. "Arthur has been avoiding all talk of Merlin for the few days, and you seemed to have some kind of connection with him so I thought you would be inclined…"

If by "some kind of connection" she meant "utterly besotted," then sure, he thought sourly.

Nevertheless, he just nodded. He wasn't sure how much she knew of he and Emrys.

She smiled again, but it was sadder this time. "I know you're in love with him," she said, and he heard it as if underwater. The blush on his cheeks was completely real this time, and he lowered his hands to pick at his fingernails.

"H-how…?"

"I saw how you were when you came back after that mission, Mordred. And I saw how you looked at him when he wasn't looking," she explained, voice soft. "I remember looking at him the same way once, a long time ago."

He was surprised, and it showed, because she laughed. "Everyone falls for him eventually," she explained. "And usually he can get you to fall out of love with him before he even notices you fell in the first place." Her eyes twinkled, "It's almost like magic," she said, and he jolted, tripping over himself to get away- away…

She held her hands up, placating. "I've known for eight years about his magic, Mordred, you needn't fear for him," she said. "But my question is- how do you know about his?"

He struggled to come up with a better reason than that he could feel Emrys' magic saturating the air and has always been able to do so, from the minute he stepped foot in Camelot. "Unless you have magic, too," she asked, and he felt dizzy. She noticed and her face fell, remorse filling her eyes. "Mordred," she said. "I won't say anything, I promise."

"You're the queen," he mumbled. "Your job is to uphold the laws of Camelot."

"That's Arthur's job, not mine," she said. "Mine is more to take care of the people, and you've been a knight for over a year without mishap, so I don't see a problem with you."

He swallowed. "Thank you, my lady."

She reached forward and grasped his hands in hers, which were cold. "He'll be alright," she said. "You've got the power to find him, don't you?"

"Believe me, my lady," he said miserably, "I've tried."

Her eyes dimmed slightly, but she forced a smile onto her face anyway. "I had to ask," she said.

"It's okay," he said, and he closed his eyes against the building headache.

"I'll let you be, for now," she said.

"Thank you," he whispered, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek before leaving.

He had no idea what to do.

…

Five Months Ago

Not even the druids knew where Emrys had gone.

Mordred wandered through the forest, feeling a bit lost. It was odd, having to live in Camelot without Emrys to also comb through those halls. Every passing day meant that the magic surrounding Camelot from a magical attack weakened, and Arthur didn't even know those vital protections existed. Mordred fed the lines every morning with his magic, but it was exhausted and his power was nothing compared to Emrys'.

The only consolation he had was that he knew for certain he wasn't dead. It would have resonated throughout his mind if Emrys had died, connected to the Old Religion as they both were.

He stepped on a twig and froze, listening. The footfalls came closer, and within moments he found himself surrounded.

Arthur lowered his sword when he saw who he was pointing it at, however. "Mordred," he said. "What are you doing out here?"

Mordred rung his hands, not exactly wanting to admit that he'd been practicing magic to try and locate Emrys, again- not that his efforts ever had an effect. He was blocked. "Looking for druids, sire," he said in a rush of inspiration. He knew that they had no idea where Emrys was through telepathy, but the king didn't have to know that part.

"What a coincidence," Gwaine said cheerfully. "So are we."

Mordred looked to his fellow knight in surprise. Then he glanced back to Arthur, "So you decided to seek their help?" he asked, not really a question.

Arthur nodded anyway, looking around. "Can you help us to find them? I know you druids have this- thing- that you do," he said, gesturing wildly to represent this "thing."

Mordred stifled a laugh, but it seemed like Arthur caught it anyway because he scowled at him. "Of course, sire," Mordred said agreeably, composing himself.

King Arthur Pendragon seeks your help, Mordred called, beginning to walk back to where he'd been- a location of the Old Religion, where magic ran strongly.

Of course, Iseldir responded, Come to us, Mordred.

The knights and the king followed him without a thought to the contrary, which both irritated and humbled him, that they trusted so easily. Emrys was more astute, and though Mordred didn't understand the man's wariness, he knew logically is was because of the vague whispers Mordred had had plaguing him about destiny his whole life.

It hurt. It hurt a lot.

He wondered, if when he saw Emrys again, if he could turn the man's opinion around. There were certainly hints that Emrys might've been warming up to him before he disappeared. Mordred could disprove destiny itself. After all, he's gone a year without him and made no move against the king. He couldn't fathom why it would change, since Emrys' loyalties certainly would never shift, and Mordred's lay with Emrys alone.

The forest was quiet save for birdsong, and the knights moved after him with a surprising softness to their steps. Of course, it was nowhere near as quiet as Mordred's steps were, but he appreciated their effort nevertheless.

The cave came nearer, and he could hear the faint sound of running water. There was a waterfall near the cave where this particular clan of druids lived for the time being.

He stopped a league away, turning around to face them. "Do try to not destroy relics or religious artifacts that may hang from the ceilings or the walls. The druids will be significantly less likely to help," he said, trying to be quiet about it. Arthur nodded, looking like he caught only half of what Mordred said.

But Arthur said nothing more than, "Okay," and so Mordred turned around and started walking again.

"Iseldir?" Mordred called, entering the cave. The knight's footsteps were definitely too loud on the stone floors, and he inwardly winced at the sound of the chainmail, a stark contrast to his cloth breeches, shirt, and cloak that were typical of druids.

"I'm here, Mordred," the man in question said, emerging from the shadows, lowering the hood of his cloak as he did so. Mordred bowed lightly in the presence of the chief, and he heard Arthur and the other scramble to do the same. Iseldir kept his face carefully composed, but Mordred had known the man long enough to see the start of a smile curling at his lips. The chief turned to Arthur and bowed, saying, "Arthur Pendragon. We've been waiting for you."

Arthur looked vaguely unnerved, but Mordred noticed this every time the man had to deal with druids beyond Mordred, so he wasn't terribly concerned about it. "Right," Arthur said. "We're here-"

"To look for your manservant, Merlin," Iseldir finished, nodded. "Of course. This way."

He turned without any further fanfare and walked deeper into the cave. Mordred followed automatically, deliberately ignoring the looks the others were shooting him. To them, such a way of speaking and behavior was off-putting, but to Mordred, it felt normal. Natural. Like home.

Sometimes he missed the presence of magic in the air and the Triple Goddess so much it hurt.

The relics, like Mordred had assumed, began to appear the deeper into the cave they got. Arthur and Leon were clearly out of their depth, but Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival, all travelers, were a bit more adjusted to the situation.

Other druids were barely seen, and Mordred only met their eyes through years of practice, and they either stared or blinked, but no words were spoken, even telepathically. The voices of his people were harder to reach with each passing day.

Iseldir led them to a scrying orb, which he knelt in front of. He gestured to Arthur, beckoning. "What?" Arthur said, too loudly, and Mordred winced visibly this time, face scrunching at the blatant disregard.

"Come and kneel next to me," Iseldir explained patiently, holding his hand out. Hesitance lining his every move, Arthur knelt, and Iseldir placed Arthur's hand on the orb, instructing, "Concentrate on who you need to find," with a careful, level voice.

Arthur closed his eyes.

Mordred leaned forward, staring into the orb, waiting on a baited breath. Maybe, if the Once and Future King-

Arthur pulled back, pressing his hands to his head. "Ugh," he muttered. "That- it's awful. What happened?"

Iseldir, hiding his desperation valiantly, asked, "What did you see?"

The king shook his head. "Fog. A lot of it. Rain? Maybe?"

But Iseldir shook his head. "You have no skill for this, sire," he said bluntly. "Mordred, if you could…"

Mordred dropped to his knees in front of the orb without further instruction, pressing both his hands to it. Mental magic was his specialty, and when Arthur and Iseldir placed their hands back on the orb, he thought only of Emrys, of his magic, of the way Emrys made him feel like maybe he wasn't all alone in the world-

There.

Mordred kept his eyes closed, allowing the vision to be muggier for it, should the knights see his eyes glowing gold. He searched through the crowded forest he found, and he saw a lone building, built against a mountain, and the more he looked the more buildings appeared. Or, rather, they looked like buildings, but the clearer the vision became the more he realized they were more like tents, though how that could be he didn't know beyond the logical assumption- magic.

He swallowed, delving deeper.

Emrys, he called. He looked, branching out with his mind, into the only solid building in the vision.

He's got him.