A/N: We're on the second-to-last chapter guys! I'll be out of town next week, but hopefully I'll be able to post the last one once I get back. Enjoy!
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Chapter Eleven
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There's a question that nags at him sometimes, and it's not until the nineteenth century that he works up the courage to ask it.
"Do you ever wonder what it might've been like if we'd never met?"
Arthur looks at him like he's an idiot. Or maybe that's just his default expression when Merlin is talking.
"No. Do you?"
Merlin looks away. "Sometimes."
He can feel Arthur staring at him for some time after that, his eyes boring holes into the side of Merlin's head. It's a small relief when he looks back to the sky.
"What have you come up with?"
"Hm?"
Arthur waves his hand. "In this strange alternate reality where I never tried to take your head off in broad daylight. What happens to us?"
"Well..." Merlin decides to try for levity. "I would have a lot less bruises from getting things thrown at me, for one."
"Somehow I doubt it."
"You think everyone is as unpleasant to their servants as you were?" Merlin teases.
Arthur doesn't take the bait, though. When Merlin looks over he's frowning, like he's trying to work something out.
"I can't do it," he says at last. "Because in every version of this other lifetime you're talking about, I'm dead inside of a week."
Merlin feels himself flushing. "I didn't save your life that often."
"Didn't you?"
"You saved mine too," he points out. "Plenty of times."
"There you go, then. We'd both be dead inside of a week."
"Unless—"
Merlin bites off the sentence before it can go any farther, but it's too late.
"Unless what?"
"Unless…unless we'd have been in less danger, you know. If we'd been apart." He can't bring himself to look over. "I mean, think about it. Morgana might never have gone to Morgause if I hadn't poisoned her. And Mordred—"
"Made his choice," Arthur cuts in, voice tight. "So did Morgana, so did we all. Arrogance doesn't suit you, Merlin. Stop trying to take credit for everyone's terrible decisions."
"I wasn't—"
Arthur interrupts again. "You want to know what I really think? If we'd never met, I never would have married Guinevere. I never would have knighted Lancelot or Gwaine or Percival. I never would have become the man that I did."
"You don't give yourself enough credit," Merlin says, his face still hot. "You would've done all that anyway. It's who you are."
"Maybe. Or maybe I would have been an awful king and history would've forgotten me completely. And this is all assuming that I was still alive to take the throne in the first place which, considering what you've told me about your exploits, seems unlikely."
Merlin stares at the sky until the blue begins to hurt his eyes.
"I never said it would've been better," he says finally. "I just wonder sometimes…what it would have been like."
"Wonder all you like. But not if it's only going to be an exercise in self-punishment." Arthur hesitates. "For what it's worth, I wouldn't want it."
"Want what?"
"Your other lifetime. I don't care if I live to be a hundred years old in it, it's not worth the trade."
Merlin finally looks over. Arthur is looking at him, grinning a bit. His eyes are very blue.
"Even if your stupidity does cause me physical pain on a daily basis," he adds.
Merlin uses magic to dump a load of sand on his head. He listens to Arthur sputter and doesn't feel guilty at all.
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Merlin opens his eyes to sunlight filling the room and Arthur, still warm and real and solid.
Still human.
They're both still human.
Arthur is staring at him with wide eyes.
"You haven't done anything magical, have you? We're not—?"
"No." A faint prick of guilt. "I haven't done anything."
"So this is real, then."
Behind him, Merlin can see the sun, in the sky like it's supposed to be. "I think so."
Arthur exhales shakily, nods like he's thinking it over. "Right. Good. Because there's something I've been wanting to do for a long time."
Merlin opens his mouth to say something inane, probably, but he doesn't manage it because Arthur is kissing him, and for a moment all he can think is we can't touch here, if this is the dreamscape we can't touch, we can't—
But they are.
They are.
This is real.
He closes his eyes and kisses back, and it feels like centuries falling away.
It seems like a long while later when they break apart, foreheads resting together, breathing slow.
"He must have done it," Arthur murmurs. "Mordred. There's no other explanation."
The guilt returns, more of a stab now than a prickling. Merlin cringes.
"I sent him away," he admits. "I—I told him to go home. If he'd listened to me, we'd still be…"
"Suppose it's a good thing he's more stubborn than you, then," Arthur says with a smile. "We should find him."
Merlin nods. He's got a feeling he's going to need all of his words to sort out what to say to Mordred once they find him.
Arthur turns to leave, but Merlin catches his sleeve.
He turns back, questioning.
"It's good to see you," Merlin says. It's not everything he wants to say, not even close, but it's a start.
A smile spreads over Arthur's face, and for a second Merlin would swear he shines brighter than the sun.
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Getting out of Avalon is easier than getting into it; it's like the forest has finally decided to stop screwing with him. Mordred appreciates this, because as it is, he stumbles out of the trees feeling like something's been scooped out of him.
Maybe I didn't think this whole 'blood bargain' thing through, he muses, stumbling back toward civilization. He'd managed to tear a strip from his shirt to use as a makeshift tourniquet—which is harder than it looks in the movies, thanks very much—but he still feels lightheaded and woozy and he's not sure how he's going to get home. This is probably why amateurs shouldn't be slicing themselves open willy-nilly.
One foot in front of the other. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
The sun is hanging low in the sky, the eclipse well and truly over. It's too bad Ms. Fray probably wouldn't accept a paper on eclipses having the ability to form loopholes in previously unbreakable curses, because Mordred's pretty pleased with himself for figuring that one out. Assuming it worked.
Well, he'll be able to go back and give the Sidhe hell if it didn't, so there's that.
His sight is starting to go dark around the edges the longer he walks. Mordred wonders how concerned he should be about that, his vision narrowing to a fuzzy point somewhere straight ahead.
Maybe I ought to be finding a hospital instead.
Mordred's feet find tarmac, and that's when he hears Arthur's voice.
"Mordred?"
It's distant. Mordred stops moving and squints, trying to find where he is.
"Mordred, move!"
Merlin that time, but Mordred doesn't have time to feel surprised because there's fear in Merlin's voice, and what the hell…
The too-loud honking of a horn from somewhere to his right; Mordred turns just in time to see the front of a lorry far closer to his face than he'd like it to be.
Well, fuck.
Not exactly an inspiring last thought, that.
For the second time in as many hours, Mordred feels like he's run into a solid wall. The collision knocks him backward.
His head hits the ground harder than the rest of him, an explosion of light and pain behind his eyelids, but he isn't dead—at least, he doesn't think he's dead. Is pretty sure dying isn't supposed to hurt this much.
Somewhere ahead he sees a tall, skinny figure lowering its arm. It's hazy, but he thinks he sees gold glimmering in its eyes.
Then darkness sweeps in, drowning the gold and everything else and dragging Mordred's consciousness down with it.
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He wakes up to a white ceiling and white walls, which causes Mordred to panic for a second because oh shit, the government has found him and decided to turn him into a military experiment after all—
"Stop panicking," someone says, and Mordred turns sideways with some effort.
Merlin is sitting in a fold-out chair next to the bed, looking amused. And also…
"You look like shit," Mordred croaks, startling a laugh out of Merlin.
"Overdid it a bit," he admits. "Also, speak for yourself."
"Everything hurts," Mordred informs him. "Like, everything. Did I actually just get hit by a truck?"
"If you'd been hit by that thing, you'd be considerably less chatty than you are now."
Mordred stares. "So you did save me."
"Concussed you, more like," Merlin says. "Sorry about that, by the way. I sort of…panicked. Threw you backwards. I didn't mean for you to end up in hospital over it."
"Think I'd've ended up in the morgue instead if you hadn't," Mordred replies, a shudder running through him. Shit, he almost died today. That hadn't been on his to-do list. "Thanks, erm. For saving my life."
Merlin's mouth goes all tight, like it does when Mordred's about to get lectured on the finer points of Dewey or magic.
"I should be thanking you, not the other way around."
"What?"
"You don't—" Merlin stops. "Mordred, it's the middle of the night."
"Yeah…?"
Merlin raises his eyebrows. It takes a second, but Mordred twigs. He feels his jaw drop.
"Holy shit, you're—"
"Human." Merlin smiles wryly. "One hundred percent."
It had worked. It had actually worked.
Mordred asks the first question that comes to mind. "Where's Arthur?"
"He said he was going to find a vending machine, but I suspect he's actually harassing the nurses, trying to find out when you're allowed out of here. He was worried, you know."
"Huh." His face is getting warm. "Guess that's nice of—"
"I told you to move," Merlin interrupts. "Why didn't you?"
Told him—oh, yeah, Mordred does sort of remember that. He frowns. "What, you mean when the lorry was inches from my face? Sorry for not being at my best there, it was kind of a confusing time."
"I told you before, I don't have time to teach someone who isn't going to listen to a word I say."
Mordred tries to scowl, but he's too tired to manage more than a halfhearted glare. "Funny, I thought you didn't want me around anyway. Or did I imagine that?"
"You're right. I didn't." Merlin takes a deep breath. "But I was wrong."
Mordred blinks. Clearly the concussion is causing him to imagine things. "You what?"
"I was wrong. I thought—I thought I was protecting us, I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping you at arm's length, but all I was doing was fucking up again. And I'm sorry."
"It's not a big deal," Mordred says uncomfortably, but Merlin shakes his head.
"It is, though. It's…everything."
They sit in silence for a minute, Mordred trying to find the words he wants.
"I've been wondering for a while now, how I'm supposed to feel guilty about something I don't remember doing," he says finally. "And I mean, you might not've been wrong, not completely. Maybe I was—maybe I do have some connection to your Mordred." The words feel strange on his tongue. He bites his lip.
"But it doesn't mean I am him. Like you—you're not exactly the Merlin I read about in storybooks, you know?" Merlin nods, mouth twisting up. "So I guess I'm wondering, what's it matter who I 'used' to be?" He pulls a face. "Honestly, I've got enough shit of my own to work out. I don't need to borrow anyone else's."
"A lesson some of us could still stand to learn," Arthur says dryly from the door.
Merlin turns to look at him, and the look on his face is…well, it's embarrassing, is what it is, because Mordred's still sitting right here. But he can't quite get over the shock of seeing them both in the same room in time to make a scathing remark.
"Feeling more like the living?" Arthur asks, coming to stand beside the bed.
"A bit," Mordred answers. "Think your boyfriend knocked the shit out of me pretty good, though."
Arthur nods. "He does that. I spent years being conveniently knocked out whenever he wanted to do something idiotic without my seeing it."
"Pretty sure you got yourself knocked out plenty without my help," Merlin interrupts.
"I am a knight, I'll have you know, which means I'm graceful enough not to brain myself on whatever happens to be handy—"
"Oh please, you are the single most danger-prone person I've ever had the misfortune to meet—"
"Says the person who picked a fight with a group of armed men the minute he entered Camelot?"
"You two are disgusting," Mordred cuts in, disbelieving. They pause in their banter to look at him in confusion. "Honestly, I think I'm starting to get why the Sidhe cursed you, because this is sickening. At least stop smiling when you're trying to argue, would you?"
Merlin coughs. He looks like he's going to say something when a nurse pokes her head into the room.
"Mr. Emrys? I wondered if you could answer some questions for me?"
He seems only too happy to stumble up out of his chair and hover in the doorframe, talking quietly with the nurse. Arthur wastes no time in stealing his seat, leaning forward with an oddly strained look on his face.
"I wonder," he says under his breath, like he doesn't want Merlin hearing, "if you could tell me your exact words when you dealt with the Sidhe?"
"Erm. Maybe, why?"
"Just curious about something."
Mordred has a bad feeling, but he digs around his memory a bit and comes up with the words he spoke at the lake. Arthur's expression hasn't cleared by the time he's finished.
"Our original forms," he murmurs.
"That's right," Mordred says cautiously. "Did…did I do something wrong?"
Arthur looks up and smiles. "No. You've done more than we could've asked, and I'm grateful for it. More than you know." The smile turns wry. "As is Merlin, even if he won't say it out loud."
"Wasn't expecting it," Mordred replies. "Pretty sure he's the most stubborn person I've ever met."
"Can't argue with you there." Arthur gives him a contemplative look. "Although lately I'm starting to wonder if he's found some competition."
"I've been living with my competition for years," Merlin informs them, returning from his little conference with the nurse. "Don't think for a second I don't realize you've been acting on your best behavior because you want to be some kind of role model, Arthur."
"Your lack of confidence pains me."
Merlin thoroughly ignores him, turning instead back to Mordred. "Looks like there's no real damage, but she said they want you to stay overnight, just in case."
"Oh. Right." Not that he's thrilled about the prospect of staying in this creepy white room by himself all night, but whatever—he's faced down the wrath of blue fairies today, Mordred thinks he can handle a hospital room.
Merlin hesitates. "They called your mother."
Ice water in his stomach. Maybe it's the concussion, but Mordred suddenly feels very much like he wants to throw up. "Oh."
"She's on her way." An uncomfortable shuffling of feet. "There was nothing we could say without making the whole thing seem…odd."
When Mordred doesn't say anything, Arthur steps in.
"You can't hide from her forever," he says quietly. "You knew you had to go home eventually."
"I don't—"
"You can control it now," Merlin cuts in. "And anyway, you remember what I told you about self-preservation instinct overriding anything else your magic might 'want' to do?"
Mutely, Mordred nods.
Merlin smiles. "That goes for the people you love too, you know. Your magic is an extension of yourself; it's not malicious. It can't do anything if you really don't want it to. And being afraid of yourself all the time is—it's exhausting."
"How can I not be afraid of myself? Knowing what I can do?" Mordred can hear the desperation in his own voice, never a good sign.
"I realize how hypocritical this is going to sound, coming from me, but at some point you really do just need to trust yourself. Trust that you love her enough not to hurt her, not to lose control." His eyes flicker to Arthur, whether he means them to or not. "You'd be surprised at how easy it is then."
Mordred thinks he sort of understands. At least enough to know that Arthur's right—he can't keep running away.
After all, he now knows how to control an inferno in the palm of his hand. That's got to count for something. At the very least, it's bloody cool, isn't it?
Arthur puts a steady hand on Mordred's shoulder as he gets up to leave, which is reassuring even if Mordred's fairly sure his mother could kick Arthur's arse six ways to Sunday, immortal or no. They leave together and then it's just silence. Mordred stares at the wall so hard he fancies he could put holes through it.
Which—oh yeah, he could do that now, too. If he wanted to.
But he doesn't, and not just because it'd mean paying for damages. The drywall hasn't done anything to him. He's ended up here thanks to his own stupidity and bad choices, and maybe a couple of good ones, and the upshot of it all is that he's starting to think maybe he isn't dangerous by default. He can be, yeah, but only if he chooses to be.
Which he guesses isn't all that different from anybody else, really.
Maybe he can do this. Maybe he can be this without it making him crazy, or a monster, or—
"Mordred?"
He feels his body go rigid.
But he also feels something tight in his chest loosen all of a sudden, because he knows bone-deep that he would never hurt her. Just like he never would have turned that magic-fire on the Sidhe back in Avalon.
How do you feel guilty about something you don't remember doing?
You don't, he thinks fiercely. And then you don't fucking do it again.
Slowly, he turns to face the doorway.
"Mum?" It comes out shaky and oh hell, he's crying, isn't he? Like a little kid. Mortifying.
She's across the room in two steps and then he's saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" into her shoulder over and over and she's petting his hair and murmuring "It's all right, Mordred, it's all right."
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They make it all the way back to the bookshop before Merlin rounds on him, which Arthur supposes is better than he'd been expecting.
"What were you getting at?" His eyes glint in the darkness of the shop. "In the hospital, I mean. Asking what Mordred said to the Sidhe?"
Arthur doesn't pretend not to know what he's talking about.
"I'm going to die, aren't I?"
The words hang between them in the ringing silence.
"I don't know," Merlin says at last. "The bargain I made called for your life, that was the whole point. But Mordred's ended it, so I don't know…"
His voice trails off. Arthur frowns.
"It's not that I'm afraid to die," he murmurs. "But you were immortal anyway, weren't you?"
Merlin nods, jaw set.
Arthur sighs. "I don't want you left alone, that's all. God knows you can't go five minutes without getting into some kind of trouble, imagine what—"
"Don't," Merlin cuts in. His voice wavers. "Don't joke about this."
There's quiet for a minute. Arthur waits for Merlin to get himself back under control, thumbs pressing into his eyes; he knows he has something more to say.
Sure enough: "It doesn't matter."
"I'm sorry?"
"It doesn't matter," Merlin repeats firmly. "Whether you're mortal now or not, it makes no difference. It's never made a difference. I'm not going to be here when you're gone."
It takes a second for the words to compute, and then it feels rather like a kick to the gut. Arthur shakes his head like he can shake the matter-of-fact statement away with it.
"Merlin—"
"No, listen, I'm not being melodramatic." An intake of breath. "I've lived a long time, all right? A really long time. And that's enough. If I get to have you for one normal, human lifetime, that's—" His voice cracks. "That's more than enough. I don't need anything else."
There's far too much emotion filling up this small space, clogging up Arthur's throat and making his eyes sting. Honestly, he thinks, Merlin has well and truly ruined him.
"So what you're saying," he says eventually, "is that I'm never going to be rid of you? Not even in the afterlife?"
Merlin grins at him. "Not even then."
Arthur heaves a put-upon sigh. "Ah, well. Suppose it can't hurt to be charitable once in a whi—mmf."
That's as far as the conversation gets, Merlin's mouth opening against his, and part of Arthur thinks it's a bit unfair, because there'd been more he wanted to say. Like the fact that Mordred had specified the return of their human forms, and what is immortality if not an inhuman trait?
But the bigger part of him thinks they've gone far too long without being able to do this to pass up the opportunity now, so he closes his eyes and he stops wondering.
There'll be time for that later. Years and years and years.
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