Normal sized chapter, yay.
Five Months Ago
Mordred woke up sick.
Hurling, he leaned to the side and panted, tears blurring his vision as Iseldir ran his hands over Mordred's shoulders. "Easy," he murmured.
"'t happened?" Mordred managed, coughing. "Arthur?"
Iseldir didn't respond, and neither did Arthur or any of the knights. Mordred sat up slowly and looked around, peering at the various people hiding in the shadows, but no flash of red or silver was to be seen. "Iseldir?"
The chieftain lowered his eyes, "It seems the king is a bit more perceptive than we've been led to believe," he said carefully. "He knows of your magic."
Mordred's breath left his lungs abruptly, and he felt like he was going to throw up all over again. "What?" he whispered faintly, swaying on the stone. Iseldir reached out and managed to keep him upright.
"You've been banished, Mordred," the man said quietly, peering into Mordred's eyes with barely concealed worry and stress. "I'm so sorry."
Mordred felt the tear fall from his eyes and he wiped it away furiously, jaw clenched. "Did he have anything else to say?"
"Only that if you're seen again he will kill you."
The betrayal was sharp and painful, and he leaned his head in between his knees, breathing heavily. He felt like his whole world was collapsing in on him. His eyes burned fiercely and he swallowed.
"Is there anything I can do?" Iseldir asked.
Mordred shook his head. "I'll be fine. I just need to find Emrys and it will be fine."
Because that's all that mattered now.
Iseldir leaned forward. "Did you see him?"
He nodded. "He's gravely injured, dying, but he's alive for now. I know where he is, vaguely, but not how to get there-"
"Do you have anything of his?"
Mordred smiled, lifting his head to reach into his pocket. He tugged the neckerchief free, handing the ragged fabric to the other druid. Iseldir began to chant, and then the map became clear in Mordred's mind.
"Thank you," Mordred breathed.
Iseldir bowed. "Bring him home."
…
He stayed for a week, but he knew he had to leave. Iseldir, saying, "You're always welcome here," had sent him off with enough food for another week and a water skin.
Mordred left behind everything else. He didn't head back to the citadel for anything- not his incriminating letters, not his drawings, not his clothes, not anything. He swept into the night as he heard footsteps, and saw the flashes of red through the trees as Gwaine and Elyan came to plead his case. "Just let us see him, see how he's holding up-"
Mordred didn't have to listen to know what was said. Iseldir turned them away.
Silently, he stepped lightly over the roots and the leaves, moving as fast as he dared so late at night. There was only one place he had in mind; The Forests of Wychwood.
…
As the sun began to peak over the horizon for a sixth time since he'd been abandoned, Mordred came to a stop at a stream. He knelt next to it and ran his hand over the water, not trusting that this far from Camelot's citadel that the water wouldn't have been poisoned by bandits searching for an unlucky deer.
Lucky for him, it was safe, so he cupped his hands and drank as much as he dared before he heard the footsteps again.
Not even bothering to hide- they must be confident, or stupid. He wasn't sure which.
He stood, and turned around, drawing his sword and readying his magic.
"Mordred," she purred, lips curled into a smirk.
"Morgana," he hissed, heart hardening at the sight of the cruelty in her eyes and the hatred on her face as she stared at him. He would find no ally with her, not anymore.
"What are you doing so far from my dearest brother, hm? Come, little one, don't tell me he's given up on you?" she taunted, and he regarded her without replying.
Her eyes flashed in the rising sun in her fury. "Mordred!" she shouted suddenly, and between one blink and the next she was close to his face, their eyes level. "You'll do well to answer me," she said softly. Her nail scraped along his cheek, and he grit his teeth. "Come, my love, just talk to me."
"I have nothing to say to you, not anymore, Morgana," he stated plainly. If anything, this response only further sparked her ire, as she pulled back and even her dark, wild hair seemed to bristle.
"Then I have no use for you at all," she said darkly.
He threw her backwards before she could begin to chant, and he gripped his sword tighter before charging and running her through.
…
Blood.
There was so much of it, and he felt kind of sick.
He plunged onwards, however, on a steady pace to the east.
Mordred knew better than to think he could kill a High Priestess of the Old Religion without an enchanted blade, but he sure gave it his best shot, his grief and desperation fueling his every movement. She'd been unconscious when he finally realized what he'd been doing.
He felt like a monster.
Thinking about it, he turned and began to throw up again, this time into a bush, heart racing and he felt the dehydration begin to take hold of him. He felt dizzy and faint.
So it wasn't entirely a surprise when, a half hour later, he saw black spots at the side of his vision and his eyes rolled back in his head.
…
He woke with a jolt some time later, heart pounding and senses on high alert.
The world rocked underneath him and he hit his head on something hard behind him. It was in this moment that he realized where he was.
He'd been caught by slavers.
Cursing up a storm in his head, he looked around, trying to focus on anything that might help.
The door was locked and though he had chains around his wrists, they evidently hadn't thought he'd be a sorcerer. They fell off quietly with a thought, and he laid them on the floor of the carriage gently. He then peered out the side of the cage, taking in the forest and the barely-visible path behind them. One man rode on a horse, but he wasn't really watching Mordred, so he took the opportunity to slide from one side of the cage to the other, settling in on the bench. He poked at a pile of blankets and felt the shock immediately.
Emrys.
He glanced out of the cage again, but the man still wasn't watching, too busy doing something Mordred really didn't want to think about ever again. He looked away, disgusted.
He reached out with his mind, and though the signature was very weak, he found Emrys' and prodded it, and the pile of blankets shifted. He rested his hand on the blankets, Keep silent, Emrys. We're being watched.
Emrys opened his eyes. Unfocused and a dull gray, they took a moment to settle on Mordred. When their gazes finally met, Mordred treated him to a smile and Emrys looked astounded.
Mordred?!
Mordred ran his fingers through the dirty, dark hair and poured as much healing magic into the action as he could spare. Hello, Emrys.
He jumped a bit in surprise when Emrys fell forward, resting his forehead on Mordred's chest. It's been so long, Mordred heard. I thought…. Mordred. Why are you here? Where are the knights? Arthur?
Mordred shook his head, resting his hand on Emrys' back, easily able to feel every bone. Arthur discovered my magic about a week ago… he threw me out. I have no idea what has happened to them beyond that.
…I'm so sorry, Mordred. You didn't deserve that.
It gave me the opportunity to find you, he thought back with a shrug, resting his chin on Emrys' head.
He wondered if the warlock could feel his heart racing, could feel his magic's desperation. Some part of him rebelled at the idea, so adjusted to keeping secrets, but another…
Thank you.
Mordred was pulled from his thoughts as Emrys fell into a deep sleep, tension bleeding from his body like water. He scrambled to keep Emrys from falling, but with some maneuvering, he managed to get a decent hold on him. He tightened his hold when the slaver riding next to them came closer to the cage, looking in. Mordred did what he had to.
He met the man's eyes boldly, and he allowed his eyes to shine as he delved into the man's mind. The man let out a choked cry- or rather, he would have, had Mordred not silenced him. Everything's fine, in order. Both of your prisoners are asleep. You never saw that I have magic.
The man nodded stupidly and Mordred wrenched himself away, watching carefully as the man kicked his horse into gear and rode level with whoever was in the front of the carriage. He heard the low murmur of voices and he slumped against the bars of the cage, closing his eyes.
He had Emrys. All that was left was to get them both out of here.
…
I've been moved a lot, actually. That's probably why you never found me.
Mordred nodded in understanding, continuing to pour healing magic into Emrys' weak body.
It had been three days since he'd woken and found Emrys, and since then, he hasn't bothered to get out. They were heading closer to Camelot, and Arthur was not a man to let such things go. They would be found eventually. Right now, all he cared about was keeping Emrys alive. His life source was steadily improving, and Mordred didn't want to risk anything by breaking free.
He had put the chains back on early that first morning, and for the most part they were left alone. Mordred had figured out that there were only three men, and that they all were inclined to drink in the wee hours of the morning. That was fine by Mordred, as it gave him time to sleep and steal small amounts of berries from nearby bushes by magically undoing all the locks on the cage and walking out.
It was more amusing than anything else, and when Emrys noticed it yesterday, he laughed. It made Mordred's whole day.
"Hey!"
Mordred jerked his head up, blood pounding in his ears. Emrys stifled a cry as his numerous injuries were aggravated. "Sorry," he whispered, and Emrys shook his head, leaning away from Mordred, who mourned the loss for only a moment before the cries started.
"Elyan!" Mordred hissed, reaching, and the dark skinned knight whipped around, face falling in his shock. "Get Arthur."
Arthur, who was killing the leader of the three men, the other two dead in the clearing, turned around and spotted Mordred before Elyan did anything. "Mordred," Arthur said, tone surprised.
Unable to help himself, Mordred pulled back a little, automatically protecting Emrys before he realized what he was doing. Emrys shoved his way to the front of the cage.
"Merlin!"
Arthur's voice cracked a bit, but Mordred and the rest of the knights ignored it to pay more attention to Emrys, who reached out of the cage. Arthur met him halfway, gripping his hand. "Merlin," Arthur repeated. "Are you alright?"
Emrys cracked a smile, one of those he reserved for Arthur and Arthur alone, a flash of melancholy flitting through his eyes. "I'll be alright, sire," he said.
Arthur nodded and released him, and Mordred felt the crushing disappointment before it was quickly smothered, and Mordred felt a bit dizzy.
Mordred was in love with Emrys, but Emrys was in love with Arthur.
The king brought the keys over and unlocked everything, including Mordred, who jumped out immediately and turned back around, only to find that Arthur had already helped Emrys down. He kept a tight hold on his heartache and instead helped to set up a camp.
…
Arthur said nothing to Mordred, meaning, of course, that he wasn't explicitly allowed to stay, but he wasn't driven off, either, so Mordred took the seat beside Emrys and allowed the man to lean on him as the servant gave all his attention to Arthur, looking him over and asking question after question.
"How's Gwen? What about that thing with that noble- I can't for the life of me remember what his name was- the one with that nasty mustache, you know- how did that dispute get settled? He didn't try anything, did he? I imagine the smith's wife had the baby already, you wouldn't happen to know anything, would you?"
And it went on, and the knights answered every single question with laughter and patience. Mordred knew of each event Emrys spoke of, but he didn't bother to contribute, only keeping his hand on Emrys' shoulders to continue healing him. Emrys didn't even notice him.
It hurt more and more.
And as the sun is wont to do, it went down behind the mountains, and Mordred stayed awake, curled up in the blankets from the slavers, the ones that still smelt like Emrys; pine, sunshine, and something else like power. He refused to let his tears fall, determined that Arthur and Emrys weren't worth it. This would heal like everything else, and he would move on.
He wasn't allowed back in Camelot anyway, so it wasn't like he was going to see them after this. Emrys would go with Arthur, back to the citadel, and Mordred would go to his people.
"Arthur?"
Emrys' voice was quiet, but Mordred attuned to it anyway. He opened his eyes and peered into the darkness, the embers of the fire providing just enough light to see Emrys inching closer to the king, who didn't even notice.
Emrys darted forward and kissed him.
Mordred felt his lungs collapse as his heart broke, even though Arthur pushed Emrys away. "What-"
"I'm still dying, Arthur," Emrys said quickly. "I had to do it at least once."
…
Arthur and Emrys made no mention of the incident in the morning, though Emrys walked around with a perpetual redness to his cheeks that anyone not looking for it would miss under the grime and dirt of over a year. Arthur gave his servant an odd look more than once during the morning, contemplative, and Emrys would always turn away.
Mordred felt like dying, but that was okay, really. His job was done, anyway.
He grabbed the blankets and folded them. He walked away.
"Mordred!"
He paused, tilting his head and looking over his shoulder at Arthur.
Arthur stopped, swallowing noticeably. "I was wrong," he said.
Mordred furrowed his eyebrows.
"Come back to Camelot," Arthur suggested. "I'll restore what should never have been taken from you."
Emrys, behind Arthur, heard this and stopped in his tracks, dropping the pans he'd been holding and causing a scene. Arthur whipped around, "Dammit, Merlin!" he yelled, and Emrys laughed, sounding a bit too close to tears.
"Sorry, Arthur," Emrys said cheerfully.
Mordred shook his head fondly, but stopped when Arthur turned back around. "You've been nothing but loyal to me, Mordred, and I should never have repaid you in such a way…"
Take it, Emrys whispered. Arthur apologizing is a once in a lifetime thing. Come home.
"Okay," he murmured, and Arthur reached out, and they clasped each other's forearms.
Mordred wondered what exactly he was getting into.