Beating Hearts.

A wet cough, and he saw the burning body trying to crawl a few yards from the car. He ran to Aglain and dropped to his knees. Yanking off his supervisor's jacket he patted out any flicker or glow of fire. He rolled him over. Tears blurred his vision slightly, obscuring the horrible sight. Hauling the man into his arms he felt the stickiness of blood, the sharp poke of broken bone through the soft fabric of the shirt.

Mordred pulled him close, hand squeezing the limp arm. 'Stay with me, Aglain. Stay with me.'

The magic inside him refused to move, refused to help. He tried again and again and again, but he couldn't heal the wounds. Couldn't stop the bleeding. Couldn't make the sweet acrid smell go away. A horrible noise cut through Aglain's ripped mouth. Mordred bent down closer to hear, eyesight clearing when the tears dripped onto the burned chest.

'An ambulance is coming,' he told him and smiled for his supervisor. Sirens rose and dropped in pitch like waves beyond cliffs, growing louder. Hope. 'Help is coming, okay? Stay with me.'

'Mordred,' Aglain said, wet and garbled. It was inhuman. Choked. Dark skin had become leathery, charred and bloody. 'You can stop them. You can. You can stop them.'

'I will,' he said, nodding and tightening his hold. One cupped hand supported his head, fingers pressing into the warm goo of exposed flesh, into the heat of the burns.

'Stop them, Mordred,' Aglain said with that voice. It didn't belong to him.

'I'll stop them, but you need to stay with me, okay? Aglain?' Mordred said, arms hurting with the strain of holding the man's body. He stared into the ruined face. Waited for more words. 'Aglain?'

Pressure on his shoulder forced his attention. A girl told him to put him down. The flashing lights of emergency services filled the darkness with their cold pledge to protect and save. Fire fighters were drowning the car, the fire. Mordred rested Aglain on the road and she pulled him away. Strangers prodded at him, shone lights in his eyes, handed him something to clean the red off his hands. They asked if there was anyone to call. He shook his head and gave them his name before taking his bag. Mordred pushed past the barrier they'd set up, passed the car which was now a twisted heap of blackened metal.

He went home.

Morgana was on the sofa. He passed her and went to his small bedroom, threw the bag down by the wardrobe. Mordred sank to the ground and rested his back against the bed frame, forearms on his knees.

She came in, turned the light on and kneeled down next to him.

'I'm tired of lies,' she told him.

'Liar,' he said, staring at ash and stains rubbed into his skin. 'You just don't like it when you're the one being lied to.'

She didn't move. 'Your magic, it's impressive. I suspected, but now your defences are down, aren't they? When did you break my spell?'

'I don't need this right now, Morgana.'

She lifted his chin to face her and leaned in. 'I care about you. Spell or not.'

'I wish I could say the same,' he said, eyes stinging.

Morgana gave him a sad smile. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'

'Seriously, can we have this heartwarming chat another time?'

'I'm happy you're back,' she said and left, closing his door. He picked up the glass on his desk, watched as the water wobbled, then downed it all. He was home. He felt hollow. A part of him was missing.

.

.

.

Arthur ran his hands over his face. It was all crumbling and his ankles were getting nipped at by an unseen creature. A danger none of them could catch.

'It wasn't him. He wouldn't do that,' Gwaine insisted, pacing back and forth between the sofa and armchairs. Arthur looked to Percy, Elyan, every familiar face there. Everyone was there.

'I agree,' Lance said, supportive hand resting on Gwen's shoulder.

Leon scoffed. 'Of course he didn't do it. He's Merlin for god's sakes.'

'It's irrelevant now,' Arthur said, drawing confused stares. He sighed, leaning back in the chair. 'The press are everywhere, making a search for Aredian damn near impossible. They make rooting out this new branch of Old Religion impossible. Our hands are tied.'

Elyan leapt up. 'Merlin-'

'Has disappeared again,' Arthur interjected. 'Him and his bloody independence.'

'Merlin,' Lance repeated and everyone seemed to look past Arthur, Gwaine rushing out of sight. When Arthur turned around he saw him, eyes sunken in and skin shining with a feverish sweat. They stared at each other, a heartbeat passed, and then Arthur saw a dirtied golden light cross through Merlin's eyes before he dropped. Gwaine stopped his fall. Arthur helped carry him over to the sofa, the room hushed with confusion.

Percy helped position a pillow under his head. 'Why didn't we hear him?'

'He does this teleporting thing,' Arthur said, clenching his jaw when his fingers touched Merlin's hand. Colder than stone. Lance was already checking his pulse, opening his eyelids to show their whites.

'His vitals are fine. The faint must have been caused by magic,' Lance said. 'He'll be out for a while.'

'I'll wait for him to wake up,' Arthur said. 'Merlin's the key to fixing this mess.'

Gwaine perched on the wooden chair opposite. 'Not as if I'm going anywhere.'

'Elyan and I will have some chats with our friends at the Met. See if we can't pull a few favours to find Aredian,' Percy told them and nodded to Gwen's brother who followed him out.

Arthur looked to Gwen and Lance. 'You two go.'

'We can stay for a while longer,' Gwen assured him.

'I'd like to keep an eye on him,' Lance agreed. 'At least for the next hour.'

They waited. An hour passed. Lance made a round of tea, Arthur requesting coffee. The doctor had accepted magic without much question, and somehow eased the whole situation with his calm presence. He smiled at them as they spoke in low voices. Another hour, they left, Lance promising that Merlin would be fine.

Leon ordered take out and Gwaine kept staring at him.

When the delivery man arrived Leon went to answer the door and pay. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the Irishman. 'What is it, Gwaine?'

'We've probably lost our jobs,' he said, ankle hooked up on the opposite knee as he held his second mug of tea.

'Probably.'

'A murderer who directly threatened Merlin is missing and planning who knows what.'

'There's something else.'

'Mordred was acting as an obsessed, enchanted creep.'

'You keep stating what we already know,' Arthur said.

'Well, that's it. Anybody would act a bit off in this situation,' Gwaine defended, helping set down the boxes from 'Spice Guru'.

Arthur's mouth watered at the scent of various herbs, meats. 'You wouldn't.'

Gwaine eyed him, then Leon who settled down on the remaining free chair, a serving of Tandoori in hand. 'Have you ever thought about how we all just sort of click?' As if we've known each other for decades rather than a few years?'

Arthur nodded, grabbing a box an digging in. 'I have.'

'Me too,' Leon said through a mouthful of duck.

'You don't think it's a bit strange?' Gwaine went on, putting down his tea and stealing a bit of Leon's food and getting a scowl in return.

'What are you getting at?' Arthur asked as he felt the light burn of the curry coating his tongue. The cold body behind him shifted. His eyes dropped away from their lock on Gwaine. 'Merlin?'

His eyebrows, which had been resting peacefully, pushed together as he woke up. Arthur shifted to the edge of the sofa, giving him more room as he sat up and took in his surroundings.

'You need to stop passing out, mate,' Gwaine chirped, grinning before taking a bite of his own claimed box of Indian.

Merlin smiled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 'As if I can help it.'

'Why did you faint?' Leon asked.

'Something with Mordred. Something's wrong,' he replied, still unusually pale, and that was saying something. The bitterness whenever Arthur heard Mordred's name had eased in his attempt to understand what was happening. To understand Merlin. It was hard not to hate the bastard, Mordred. Understanding was hard too, but he was going to do it anyway.

'Isn't there always?' Gwaine gave a melodramatic sigh.

Arthur passed Merlin one of the boxes and a fork. 'I thought the magic was growing stronger. Protecting you.'

'It doesn't work like that.' Merlin opened the cardboard flaps and took a small bite. 'How long was I out?'

'Three hours,' Gwaine answered.

Arthur put down his meal and stood up. 'Want something to drink?'

'Water,' Merlin replied with a soft smile. He left to the kitchen, watching as Gwaine moved over to the sofa to sit next to Merlin. From the kitchen's island he could see them as he filled a tall glass with cold tap water. Could see Gwaine asking him questions, Merlin shaking his head or nodding in response. He seemed distracted, barely touching the food as he stared at the oriental rug laying at his feet.

There was a knock at the door.

Arthur brought Merlin the water, the conversation with Gwaine cutting short when he approached. 'I'll get it.'

He left the three of them waiting as he went to open the door. An older man stood on the other side, a well-fit suit and hard line for a mouth.

'I need to speak with DC Gwaine Lot, and you too DS Pendragon. I'm Chief Inspector Bayard. Apologies for the late hour, and the unorthodox house call, but I assured the Commissioner I would give this case my full attention.'

Arthur studied the warrant card the so-called Bayard showed him. 'Now really isn't the best time.'

'When is?'

He kept the door closed enough to conceal the others, but Gwaine nudged him out of the way. 'Bayard! Nice to see you again. Still doing the Met's grunt work I see.'

Arthur now shared a small gap with Gwaine, eyes darting back to Leon and Merlin then to the inspector. His beard was neatly trimmed, threaded with grey.

Bayard tucked his warrant card away. 'You won't be smiling for much longer, Gwaine. Not this time.'

'And why is that?'

The challenge seemed to light something in the man's grey eyes. 'I don't know what you and the other officers in your team have been up to, and I don't care for motives. I do care that you've made a mess of the Metropolitan and if it were my decision? I'd have you locked away for dangerous misconduct and incompetence. Wasting the tax payer's money.'

'Here I thought we were friends,' Gwaine remarked with mock offence.

Arthur elbowed him. 'My team are the finest detective you'll ever meet, including DC Gwaine. We've had the bad luck to get seated with cases out of anyone's depth, including yours, and we're punished for trying to solve them.'

'Is that so?'

'It is,' Arthur said. 'Now, do you want statements on Thornberry's murder, or Old Religion?'

'We seem to be on different pages, DS Pendragon. I'm investigating DS Merlin Emrys, not Old Religion or the murder of Mr Thornberry.' Arthur's heart thumped heavily. 'I'm working closely with the home secretary. I'm afraid this is quite out of your control.'

Arthur swallowed. Gwaine tensed up next to him. 'What are the charges?'

'Perverting the course of justice, both within the Old Religion case and Operation Nova. More notably for the murder of Cenred Mercid,' Bayard replied. He had the expression of a man who rarely faced failure. 'Can I come in? This isn't a discussion one should have through a doorway.'

'If you insist,' Gwaine said, shifting out of the way and dragging Arthur with him. He was about to yell 'stop', or shove the inspector back into the hallway, before he saw. Merlin and Leon were gone. Bayard walked forward to the sofa where the man had been laying only minutes ago.

'Shall I explain the situation to you boys?' he asked as he sat, without invitation, the word 'boys' snipping at Arthur's already worn nerves. They sat down and let him explain the situation. Half an hour later he was gone, Arthur on the brink of breaking something, Gwaine unsettling quiet, and Leon emerging from his hiding place in Gwaine's bedroom.

'Merlin did his teleporting thing,' he explained. A pat on Arthur's shoulder and a nod to Gwaine and Leon was gone too.

'Arthur?'

He looked over to the Irishman. 'Gwaine.'

'I'm not seeing a happy end to this,' he said, swiping his hair out of his face.

Arthur packed up the empty takeaway boxes. 'Then you're not looking hard enough.'

'We can't even jump ship. We are the ship,' Gwaine continued, taking up Merlin's still full carton. 'We can't not go down.'

'We can choose how we sink, can't we? Bayard's investigation is only just starting up,' he said, putting the boxes into the bin. 'We have time.'

Gwaine emptied the leftover curry into a plastic box and shoved it into the fridge. 'To do what? Prove him wrong?'

'Yes,' Arthur snapped. He sighed, leaning against the marble counter and folding his arms.

Gwaine stood opposite him. 'I love Merlin as much as the next guy, but what if really did kill Cenred?'

'He's not that stupid.'

'Point. Did put him in a coma, though.'

Arthur felt the cold of the hard surface cut through his shirt. 'If we find the real killer, then we can prove Merlin's innocence.'

'What about the whole arresting the wrong people from Old Religion thing, founded on Morgana's false case? How can we prove him innocent of that?' Gwaine asked. He didn't ask with cruelty or with pessimism. He was being realistic. That made it worse. 'We don't have the time, Arthur. We'll have lost our jobs and be sat in disciplinary hearings before you can say magic.'

'I'm getting a headache.'

'Then again,' Gwaine started, a mischievous glint back in his eyes. 'There is Morgana.'

Arthur groaned. 'Gwaine.'

'Sure, she's a bitch of a sister, half-sister, whatever, but right now she's our only hope. If you can get past the murder of your father and ruining our careers, it could work,' Gwaine said with a buzzing energy in his body.

'For months she did her very best to destroy Merlin, destroy us, and the whole case,' he reminded him, but he had the gnawing feeling that it could work. They were at the end of the rope, and his was how they'd swing to safety.

'Things are different now. Said it herself: Merlin's the only one who can kill Aredian. Or at least do something to seriously maim, hinder, injure. Something along those lines.'

Arthur let out a long breath. 'Morgana it is then.'

.

.

.

She felt her top sticking to her sweaty skin, the duvet kicked off the bed during the night. Morning light brightened her room. She listened to her breathing, trying to forget the dreams of fire.

Sitting up, Morgana wiped the sweat from her forehead and grabbed clean clothes. She padded over to the bathroom, her magic sensing Merlin with Mordred in his bedroom as she passed. The water was already warm, someone having turned on the emersion heater earlier. Locking the bathroom door she peeled the soaked pyjamas from her body and stepped under the shower head. The water covered her, hot and steaming. It stung at first, burned, but soon it soothed. Washed away the night. Minutes ran on as she ran her hands along her shoulders, arms, stomach, making sure the fire hadn't actually touched her. A palmful of shampoo, afterwards conditioner, were massaged into her head and worked through the dark strands of her hair. Every wet slick, small bump in the skin, soft friction of hair, was catalogued by her fingertips. Cherished.

When she was done she brushed her teeth, squeezed her dripping hair before brushing through it too, and dressed. Tying the wet hair into a bun she went to Mordred's door. It was silent, no movement or conversation. Tapping her knuckles against the white wood, she waited for a reply. When none came she opened the door. Mordred was lying on the bed, Merlin cross-legged on the floor with his back against the bedside table. His head had fallen back, mouth open as he breathed deeply with sleep.

'Rise and shine, little warlocks,' she said with a smile. Merlin jerked awake, Mordred groaning and opening reluctant eyes before they drooped shut again. 'You two are just darling.'

'What do you want?' Merlin asked, glaring.

'Still so bitter? You should be happy. With Mordred all fixed up, I thought you'd be all over each other,' she replied, maintaining the smile. Her heart ached. Morgause had groomed her. Messed with her head. She'd estranged her old friends, burned bridges and left herself alone. Even the connection she'd felt with Mordred had been under strain the last day or two. She looked to him, eyes shut and body limp as he slept on top of the bed covers. 'They need him to go in an make a statement about what happened last night. An officer called me late last night, but I didn't want to give him the message until the morning.'

'Is that all?'

'Hostility won't get us anywhere.'

'Where is it exactly you want to go?'

'Help me make breakfast,' she said, not bothering to smile. She was getting tired of her own lies now. 'You can make sure it's not poisoned.'

'I'm beyond hate, Morgana,' Merlin told her, getting to his feet. 'Now it's irritation. You're like this nuisance, bent on making my life miserable, no matter what time we live in. I know you enchanted Arthur and Maclain.'

'That was before. This is now. You can always kill me. Again,' she said, keeping just outside of the doorway. 'Will you help or not?'

Merlin looked back to Mordred who was sleeping, ignorant of their conversation. Something felt off. She recalled the smell of smoke and metallic scent of blood all over him last night, but it had been more. A clear sight into his power and while she discovered it challenged her own, it wasn't healthy. It wasn't whole.

'How is he?' she asked Merlin. He looked at her with a hard expression and walked past her to the kitchen. Morgana followed, watched him search the fridge and pull out bacon and eggs. She fetched a frying pan and placed it onto the hob. Clicking the sunflower oil's cap open she dribbled a good amount into the centre, watching the golden liquid pool before it spread outwards. 'There's a bond between us, Merlin. Between Mordred and I. From the past life and this one.'

'A bond which nearly destroyed him a second time,' he said as he opened the bacon, shoving it and the carton of eggs next to the hob.

Morgana watched as the oil started to to sizzle. 'I care about him.'

'You corrupt him.'

'Can't see past the heroics of it, can you?' she said, facing him. His eyes were dark, expression heavy. She could remember the clumsy and grinning-like-a-fool manservant. In part this new version of Merlin was her doing. 'There's more than just good and evil in this world, Merlin.'

His eyes were out of focus, and behind their blue she saw embers of magic begin to glow. 'Sh.'

'What are you doing?' she asked, ignoring the burning smell of oil.

'Mordred,' he said, and the glow in his eyes disappeared. The scream sent nails cutting up through her skin. Merlin ran out of the kitchen.

Morgana ran as well. Her breaths were short but she could taste the air, how thin and cold it was. At the doorway she watched Merlin move to the bed, then saw Mordred. His body was convulsing, eyes wide and searing gold. She swallowed the lump in her throat and directed all the magic she could towards him, to immobilise, to stop whatever was happening. His body still seized, limbs jerking and shaking. The veins in his arms and neck jumped with the violence of his beating heart, fingers clawed into the bedsheets.

'My magic isn't working,' Merlin told her as he went to grab Mordred's arms.

She rushed forward and pulled him back, fought against his rejection and frantic eyes. 'No. Don't hold him down.'

They dragged the side table out of the way and waited. The silence was punctuated by Morgana's sharp breaths, Merlin's attempts at spells, and Mordred's convulsions. One or two minutes later it all stopped. The air was too still.

Morgana rolled him onto his side, checking his pulse. 'Mordred?' She stroked the curls out of his face. 'Can you hear my voice? It's Morgana.'

His eyes barely opened, skin feverish. She looked to Merlin. His eyes were unfocused again, lost. He didn't say anything, just stood and stared. She turned back around. 'Mordred?'

The hand she held moved. She supported him as he sat up, slowly, resting back against the bed's headboard. She let go of his hand. He seemed so tired. Ill.

'Why didn't my magic work?' Morgana asked. Merlin, Mordred, it didn't matter who answered.

'Has to be temporary,' Merlin said, his voice lacking its usual strength.

Mordred's lips pressed together, and Morgana could see the glassy effect of tears in his eyes. Thick eyebrows were crushed together with his anger.

'What is it?' she asked, but his lips were soldered shut by the heat of whatever was inside. 'Are you in pain? Is that what has to be temporary? The seizure, does it have something to do with last night?'

Morgana felt Merlin's magic pulse behind her. 'I'll fix this. I'll finish it.'

He went up to Mordred and she moved out of his way, containing her urge to force some kind of answer out of him. He kissed Mordred's feverish forehead and whispered something into his ear before turning and Vanishing. Mordred stared at her from the bed, worn, sickly and incomplete. She felt it now without the distraction of Merlin's power. Felt the absence. Felt the burn of tears.

'I'll go finish breakfast,' she told him and left, leaning against the hallway's wall once out of sight. She couldn't take in enough air. It always seemed to escape her. Mordred. Her Mordred. The only one she had left after Morgause. She'd always felt his magic, even the facade of it. Now? It was gone. A void. Where Mordred's magic had chimed in tune, beat in time, with hers, subconsciously or not, she was now alone. His magic was gone. It was gone.

/

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If you're interested, here's the playlist of music I used/use while plotting, writing, and editing the story - for me music and writing and emotion all go hand in hand so I hope you can take advantage of one version of an odd mental soundtrack to the whole story :)

Just search for themasterofescpaism on Spotify (won't let me post the proper link sadly - and yes I made a typo in the username :P)