This was a nightmare, because my file became corrupted in the middle of writing, and I lost it all. This is a brand new version, and I have no idea if it's anything like the original but I seem to have lost the idea I had since I had written it down and foolishly believed it was safe. Hope you guys like it.
One Month Ago
It was cold, numb.
He felt unbelievably cold.
…
It was hard to believe the voice of reason when all it did was contradict everything you'd been raised to believe or trust in. It completely warped your world and twisted it beyond anything recognizable.
Mordred felt like that now.
"What?" he managed after a long, baited moment, barely a croak.
Emrys made a face and took his hands, holding tightly. "Don't tell me you're surprised. Surely you've heard this before?"
"Of course I have!" he snapped, then wished he could take it back. "I just. I didn't think you would-"
"I know that I must trust in those older and wiser than myself, even though I know they also make bids for power," Emrys said, leaning in closer. Mordred began to feel a bit dizzy.
"Please Emrys, trust in your own senses. Do you trust me?"
Emrys hesitated and Mordred yanked his hands back, feeling the hot press of tears against his eyes. "You ask me to help and then destroy my mind," he hissed, throwing Emrys' words back in his face. The warlock flinched and Mordred pushed down the feeling of triumph. "What is your goal here, exactly?"
"You've asked me why," Emrys said, standing swiftly. Mordred had to look up to see him, and he found the righteous fury emanating from those fierce blue-gold eyes to be more daunting than he expected. "You begged for an answer and you have one that you reject. What more do you want from me? A pretty little lie? I refuse to lie to you anymore."
Mordred didn't know what he wanted. All he knew that this wasn't it. Emrys closed his eyes with a sigh and said softly, "I refuse to lie to you. Not to you."
…
Mordred was still reeling from Emrys' news when Arthur approached him in the market again.
Mordred was also tired of being treated differently. He knew that he told Arthur that his treatment was a punishment, that it wasn't Arthur's fault, but the truth was- he didn't appreciate it. Arthur may not be at fault, but he had the power to fix it.
"When are you going to change the laws?" he snapped as soon as Arthur was in hearing range. The king, and everyone around them, stopped in shock. "You keep me around to provide you protection and do not offer me the same," Mordred continued. "I am proud to serve you and Camelot, Arthur Pendragon, but that loyalty wavers every time I must fight for my rights from your people because they maintain your laws. I am a knight of Camelot, and should be treated as such, not like some monster."
Arthur stood there and floundered while Mordred stood there and waited. Emrys, from behind Arthur, closed his eyes for a brief moment and touched Arthur's arm, causing the king to look over. The warlock said something, something important, because Arthur drew in a sharp breath before stalking off.
Emrys walked to Mordred's side, took his money, and handed it to the smith, who took it absently. Emrys picked up the dagger Mordred had ordered and handed it to him like he was presenting Excalibur to the king. Mordred took it.
Emrys took his arm and walked away, forcing Mordred to follow or be dragged.
The regular market chatter resumed, but Mordred could tell he'd made an impact.
…
"You did a good thing, Mordred," Emrys told him that night.
"I am not so sure," Mordred admitted. "I humiliated him."
"He deserved it," Emrys scoffed. "All you did was bring to light a very important issue."
"And that is?" Mordred asked, unable to find where this issue was.
"That you cannot make exceptions. It's all or nothing. And he doesn't want to lose you."
Mordred wanted to tear his own hair out.
…
"The Forests of Wychwood…"
Mordred wanted to point out that many sorcerers could get past the fog, since it was created specifically for a shelter from the knights of Camelot during the height of the Purge. He had no doubt that Gaius and Emrys knew this as well, since both were not unfamiliar with the ins and outs of magical culture. The Forests of Wychwood were spoken of with reverence among the druids.
But they didn't ask them, and so by some unspoken agreement, they all decided to keep silent.
Because they also knew Morgana likely knew this information as well, and would doubtlessly be hiding there with her chosen few, waiting for the king to get just close enough.
And knowing Arthur, that wouldn't stop him.
…
Two Weeks Ago
"We set out for the Forests of Wychwood in a week's time."
Mordred dropped his gauntlet, and it hit the floor with an obnoxiously loud clatter in the otherwise silent armory. He flushed and ducked down to get it, not meeting anyone's eyes as Gwaine said, "About time, princess."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "How do you suggest we proceed, sire?" Leon asked, stepping closer to the king.
Mordred watched the rest of the conversation, not hearing it. He reached for the magic that saturated the air- Emrys' magic. It bled into the cracks in the stones, the walls still withstanding enormous damage without repercussions because of Emrys' magic. He let it calm him, his racing heart, because Arthur was going to get himself killed, and what could Mordred do about it? Nothing.
"Mordred?"
He jumped and opened his eyes, finding that everyone was staring at him with varying degrees of confusion. "I apologize," he said. "I was…"
"Dreaming?" Gwaine asked jokingly, eliciting a short collection of chuckles from the other knights.
Mordred shook his head, his loose curls flicking into his eyes. He brushed them aside absently, explaining, "Magic sustains this castle. It lives and breathes in the walls, in the ground below it and the sky above. I was merely tapping into it for guidance."
Arthur's expression fell from amusement to disbelief and uneasiness. "You can sense that?"
He nodded proudly. "I am one of three remaining sorcerers that can. Morgana and Emrys are the other two."
"Emrys? He's real?" Percival demanded in shock, and Mordred looked at him steadily, not answering.
He wouldn't.
"Of course he's real," the man himself said, stumbling into the armory. "Just like any other legend, he became real at some point. Or will become real. You know."
"Since when do you believe in magical myth, Merlin?" Arthur asked, looking disgusted.
"Since always," Emrys retorted, gathering Arthur's armor. "Now shoo. I have work to do."
"I'm the king, Merlin, I can stand where I please."
Emrys rolled his eyes. "Fine. When I inevitably drop this, I'll aim for your feet."
Arthur took a step back and the knights began to laugh. Emrys quirked a smile in Mordred's direction, oblivious to the way Mordred's heart stopped at the sight. He looked so carefree, so happy, in this moment, that it took Mordred's breath away. His blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight pouring in the windows, and it was all Mordred could think about. Elyan nudged him.
"You're staring, mate," the dark skinned knight informed, and Mordred hurriedly looked away, much to Elyan's amusement. "I don't think he minded," Elyan said, voice quiet as he poked Mordred again. When the druid looked up, Emrys was looking at him, face unreadable but not unkind.
You okay?
Mordred grit his teeth slightly at the question, trying not to show how it affected him. While he and Emrys were growing closer over the past couple of weeks since Emrys was rescued, it still was shocking to hear any concern for Mordred rather than because of Mordred.
I am, he whispered back, and Emrys' mouth quirked up into a smile, and then he looked to Arthur.
Who directed that Emrys hand him his armor immediately, he was going to go hack at a training dummy outside. And then he stripped off the shirt he'd been wearing for the court in exchange for a thinner training shirt, and Emrys' cheeks deepened in color, not that Arthur took any notice.
Whatever goodwill he'd been feeling a moment ago dissipated under his disappointment.
…
One Week Ago
Night was falling. The stars began to show themselves in the purpling sky, darker in the light of the full moon. Mordred tilted his face into the wind, unmindful of the stares he received from his fellow knights as he released the reins of the horse and leaned backward slightly to synch his heartbeat to the gusts of wind. He took slow breaths and felt the horse beneath him, felt the trees breathing around him, felt the grass beneath the hoofs of the horse.
He opened his eyes, and the knights pretended they hadn't been staring, and he pretended they hadn't been, either.
Emrys didn't bother to conceal it.
You have such freedom.
There was longing in Emrys' voice, a kind of sorrow, and a tinge of envy. If you reveal yourself you could have this, too.
Emrys took a minute to reply. I must be awful. I don't trust that Arthur won't kill me.
Mordred was tempted to start screaming. Instead, he said, Isn't love built on trust?
The warlock replied with, I trust him. I just don't trust him with my life.
How do you trust him, then? Mordred asked, because that made no sense.
I trust him with my kingdom, with my friends, with you.
Mordred blinked in shock. With me?
He glanced over to the warlock, but he stared resolute ahead and made no reply.
…
The Forests of Wychwood were a long way from Camelot's citadel, and as a result, it took them four days and four nights to get there.
It became darker the closer they got, no matter how high the sun stood in the sky.
Mordred felt no uneasiness, but the same could not be said for the knights. A quick glance toward Emrys proved that he, too, felt no true alarm, but he faked it to appease his friends. It was too well scripted, too obvious to be real. Arthur, of course, did not notice.
"We stay here for the night," Arthur announced on the fifth day.
Mordred tilted his head in consideration. "There's a druid tribe a mile to the east, sire, if you'd rather be warm," he said.
Arthur paused. Leon and Gwaine waited, while Percival and Elyan looked to the east, as if they could find them if they looked hard enough. Mordred almost scoffed at their ridiculousness. As if the druids could be found if they didn't want to be.
"Are they friendly?"Arthur eventually asked.
He shrugged, and reached out with his mind. Hello?
Hi!
A child's voice. Hello, little one. My name is Mordred.
She sent a burst of excitement through the bond, and Mordred winced visibly. Arthur's face took on an expression of alarm, but Mordred just shook his head. "She's young, sire. She's still untrained in restraining her emotions through telepathy."
Mordred asked, Does your elder mind if we stay with your tribe for a night?
You're a druid. He said he doesn't mind.
My allies and I will be there shortly.
…
The young girl was named Emma, and she had a younger half-sister named Aine. Her parents were gone, but that was okay because they were on a mission for the Triple Goddess in the Forests of Wychwood and it was an honor.
Mordred didn't like the sound of that, but he said nothing.
…
The knights, if it were possible, were even more uneasy in the druid camp than they were in the open, unprotected forest. As a result, though Mordred, Emrys, and Percival were well rested in the morning, the rest of them were half asleep.
They stumbled around the camp come sunrise, too tired to even wince as a young boy dropped a vase and caught it midair with magic before it hit the ground. Many of the adults looked nervously to the Camelot knights, but when they showed no reaction, they relaxed.
(The druids had not initially been happy to find that Mordred's allies were knights, right up until they spotted Emrys in the back of the party. Then, it was like a fire was lit inside them, and they were tripping over themselves to make sure they were taken care of. Arthur foolishly thought it was for him. Emrys and Mordred, however, knew otherwise.)
The chief of the tribe kept a steady three-way conversation between Mordred, Emrys, and herself all of the previous evening and it picked up easily in the morning.
Did you sleep well, Emrys, Mordred?
Quite, Emrys said. Your hospitality is much appreciated. If there is anything I can do for you in the future, all you have to do is send a note, and I will assist as I can.
The chief stopped dead in her tracks from across the camp. She shook herself and resumed her walk around, pausing to greet everyone as Mordred suspected she did each morning.
Thank you, Emrys.
…
They departed soon after dawn.
The fog began to lick at their boots about three miles to the north of the druid camp, and Arthur drew his sword like it would help him. He walked tensely, eyes flickering back and forth, and Mordred almost pitied him.
There was nothing that could help him.
Another mile, and it was so thick that Mordred could hardly see his hand in front of his face. He blinked, pouring magic into his sight, and just about walked into a building.
He turned, and then found that the knights were several yards behind them, fire at their feet, staring.
Emrys stood beside him.
"Hello, boys."
Emrys lashed out immediately, just as Morgana's arcane spell nearly collided with Mordred. He reared back in shock, but Emrys was there, a golden sheet of pure, unadulterated power in front of his hands. His eyes faded from gold to blue, and all was still.