Vanish.
Mordred pulled back from the connection with Merlin and the cave's darkness pressed against him harder. It wanted to remind him of what he'd been through, wanted to keep him there compliant and trapped, wanted to shout at him for breaking the mug, for forgetting to take out the rubbish, for not doing his homework fast enough. He took in a long, cold breath. He wasn't there. He hadn't been there in over seven years. It was in the past, and the past couldn't hurt him if he didn't let it.
His is skin itched with a warmth both familiar and unfamiliar. The magic was sharp and uneven in his veins after such a long absence. He'd given up guessing how long he'd been there. The heat that surged through him minutes earlier had sent a wild fire through the Baker's house and forced him to run. The second he had stepped across that threshold it had all crashed inwards and he had jerked alert and awake back in the cave. Mordred knew he wasn't entirely stable, knew that he'd never be with the messed up psychological development he'd had, but going full swing into a delusion, a hallucination, was a shock. A terrifying one. A painful reminder. It had felt as real as the rock, as real as the strange iron cuffs that weighed down on his wrists and ankles.
Whether he'd been physically chained up from the start was another uncomfortable blur, a blank and confused space in his memory. It didn't matter now though. He wasn't in the Baker's house, they couldn't keep him there, here. Nimueh couldn't. Merlin's voice in his head ran over the past, licked away the sounds of shouts, of breaking glass and those nights spent crying. It licked and licked with a heat that scorched everything raw and all Mordred knew was that he had to stay alive, he had to get away and get here. There. He had to get there, wherever here, wherever there, was. He had to go.
Mordred forced himself onto his knees and ignored the pain from the rock which refused to yield beneath the bone and skin. The chain links hit each other and made a low and heavy sound in the otherwise silent and howling air.
He stared through the poor, nearly absent light, to make out the oval metal pieces that hung dark against the shadows and the cave. The heat under his skin wasn't comfortable, and his eyes stung as he tried to pull on it, tried to tug it to the surface. He pictured the house, how it burned to the ground, how Merlin's words felt in his head and the welcome but painful ache they had left. He pictured the chains breaking, felt the heat, willed it to happen. It had to. He had to get away.
Mordred held his breath and clenched his teeth, eyes squeezed shut as he kept imagining it, as he saw the chains break. The magic burned heavy and oily like wax, but the chains were still there. They weren't going away. He was trapped. Mordred tried again. A strangled and panicked cry escaped when it didn't work a second time.
Get away and get here. Stay alive.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. A new warmth seeped into his fingertips. It tingled, tickled, and when he opened his eyes he saw the palms of his hands shining red with a phantom fire. Mordred clasped them around the chains, then the cuffs, and felt the hard, cold, metal turn gooey and malleable in his hands like dough.
This magic wasn't entirely his. The presence of someone else, the touch of their hands over his own as he worked away at the metal, comforted and calmed him. He knew who it was and while resistant to it at first, he was still too weak, so he accepted her help and used the cave wall as support when he got up to his feet. His legs shook slightly, and his vision blanked for several seconds, head pounding with the rush before it adjusted.
With Merlin's voice in his head and Morgana's magic cradled around him like a second skin he made his way to the exit. The main cave led into a thinner corridor which he followed it carefully with his hand outstretched to run along the uneven and dry rock. It curved around to the right until it ended with a wall of empty space and wind. Mordred squinted against the flat grey light and breathed in the ice threaded air. He shivered as the elements worked their way into the mountain and into him as he stood looking over the edge. He had to Vanish, but he could barely stand and the magic wasn't returning fast enough. The wind blew wet ice and rain into him. It soaked through the soiled suit he'd worn the night of the BBC interview, a night which no longer felt real.
Mordred heard the odd ruffle behind him, distinct from the howling winds and crashing sheets of rain in its touch of heat and magic, and turned to it with relief.
'Plan on jumping?' Nimueh asked him with her lips curled up in an amused smile. The relief fell through him and tore away the warmth. He steadied himself on the wall of the cave, too aware that he only had two feet of rock behind him. 'I thought you'd cracked, but yet again you prove me wrong. Was that an act too? You're very good at lying. Go on, give me one last lie.'
Mordred saw the dagger in her hand, the blade catching the rain with a strange amber current that rippled along the metal.
'You want to kill me,' he said. The magic slumped in his body.
She rested the tip of the blade against her other hand's palm and lifted one neatly plucked eyebrow. 'Was that the lie? I suppose it could be, after all I don't want to kill you, but I do need to sacrifice you. Semantics, right? It's for the greater good, you know how it goes. Sacrifice you, return magic to the people, and then we take this world back. We show the twenty first century what they've been missing out on.'
'And if I jump?'
'I'll stop you,' she said. Her eyes moved between him and the area behind, almost daring him to try it. 'Magic's helpful like that.'
Mordred's teeth chattered and he tried to lock them together but the cold was persistent. Two stubborn forces pitted against each other. Mordred wondered which would break first: Him or the weather.
'We need to go to the mountain's peak. It'll expose you more, which will make the spell more effective. It's a few hours still until I need to use this though,' she explained calmly and gestured to the knife, 'so you have time to prepare yourself in your newfound lucidity.'
Mordred stepped backwards. His heartbeat jumped and throat tightened. 'I'd rather not.'
The gold erupted in Nimueh's eyes as her expression darkened. Her magic reached out towards him but he stepped back again and the soles of his feet felt the end of the eyrie. There was enough magic to stop her from stopping him, but not enough to Vanish, and not enough to save himself from that kind of fall. There would be more magic, though. He just had to bide his time. Stay alive, that's what Merlin told him.
When she felt the challenge to her own magic, Nimueh started for him and Mordred held his breath before taking another step. Her hand grabbed at his tie and jerked him away from the edge, but his bare feet slipped on the wet rock and Mordred fell. His stomach hit the eyrie's edge and forced the air from his lungs. Nimueh's magic caught him in the distraction and brought him back onto solid ground, one arm wrapped liked a vice around his chest and the knife's edge pressed cold against his throat.
'Don't do that again,' she hissed into his ear, and Mordred reached up to wrap his hands around the blade and force it away from his throat. It stung and cut into him with the enchanted metal. It was hot with magic and blood, but Mordred kept hold of it and fought against Nimueh's attempts hold on him long enough to duck out of her grip and kick her hard. The force pushed him back to the wet ground beside the fall and she fell back into the corridor.
'Mordred,' a new voice blurted and he looked up to see Morgana materialise, her hair loose and blown back from her face with the wind. 'You're alive.'
A smile broke out on her face and she went towards him but stopped when he called over the wind to warn about Nimueh who had gotten back to her feet. When she looked Nimueh had already aimed a hand at her and magic whipped out of her palm. Morgana caught it in time and countered with a spell of her own and a strange collision of air screeched out in the space between them. Mordred sheltered his face from the violent clash with one arm, blood running down his raised wrist and forearm from the fresh and deep gash.
When he next looked Nimueh had pushed Morgana against the cave wall with an enchantment and avoided falling rocks with a predatory speed. Morgana's golden eyes were trained on each piece that made a deadly attempt to hit her attacker, but her own struggle against the magic threw her aim off. He got to his feet and pushed out with whatever magic he had to help her, and a dark piece of the wall struck out, blown out of the rock like a piece of a broken ceramic mug. It cut Nimueh across the side of her head and she cried out. Her hand flew out to the side. A blow rammed into Mordred's chest.
His wet hand slipped on the wall as he tried to grab something, anything, but he'd already lost his footing. The initial drop made his stomach lurch, but he caught onto the cave's floor with his arms and clung to it with everything he had, body hanging down over the edge. His head spun with the exertion and got worse with the deafening, drowning, wind that battered him from all sides.
'Mordred!' he heard Morgana call out, and he used his feet to try and find some hold, something he could push up from. It was all too wet and his bare toes couldn't find a safe hold. Morgana had stopped her attempt to get to him when Nimueh's attacks took on a new urgency and he saw fire, ice and rock all shatter and crash into the other. Blood pounded in his head, seeped out of his palms and into the puddle that formed from the uneven rock's surface. Mordred kept trying, slipped, tried again, and watched as Morgana quickly avoided the knife Nimueh jabbed at her.
The struggle blurred and the knife disappeared into Morgana's side. Another wave of magic crashed in the confined space and Morgana had a hold of the blade. She swiped it viciously to the right, a controlled and powerful strike, and Nimueh collapsed with an open neck. Morgana dropped it and Mordred shouted her name. She didn't look at him, her body swayed, and his breaths grew panicked and rapid when she stumbled backwards towards him.
She went too far, too fast, and the dark stain spreading across her t-shirt told him why. Mordred threw his arm out to catch her, fed all his strength and magic into the movement, but she was too far away by several inches and all the magic did was tug at her slightly. It wasn't enough. It didn't feel real, Nimueh's throat cut open like that, the way Morgana's body moved. He watched with horror as she blew over the edge and into the storm all in a manner of seconds. Her small dark figure was folded away by the clouds and hidden by rain as it ran into his eyes. He didn't know where she'd gone. Mordred looked back at Nimueh's body. Her eyes were wide open and faced nothing, held no expression. Empty.
Before his left arm gave way Mordred swung over his right again for support, the failed right arm, and counted out his breaths, ignored the salty, metallic, taste the rain left in his mouth. He timed each one, ignored the pain, the cold, and tried to pull himself up. The attempt was wasted, and when he stopped tensing his muscles the sudden relaxation let his legs dip back down with a little too much force.
Stay alive.
Mordred knew he wouldn't get another chance when his grip slipped. This was it. He had to choose. Mordred pressed the soles of his feet against the side of the rock and brought his knees in close. With a sharp intake of breath he pushed off. The moment of weightlessness, with nothing to support him beside the wind,made took his breath away. It stretched out and around. That moment was endless and smooth in the air like the surface of a lake. Sounds warped into a strange white noise then silence, even when the strong current of air and gravity latched onto him. Mordred started to fall.
Get here.
His body was free, relaxed, as it tumbled down through the clouds, the storm. Mordred closed his eyes on the grey and concentrated on his connection with Merlin again, supported by the silence of the lake. He heard his voice, felt his touch, his warmth, his magic. Mordred held onto it and pulled on the magic again. No excuses, no choice, no time. This was it. He fell. He thought about Merlin. He breathed in Merlin's smell and the salty wet air that rushed around him. The raindrops started to fall through him. One, another, then several more. Their cold pattering touch turned ghostly and disappeared altogether. Mordred Vanished.
The impact was soft, quiet, and enveloped him. Mordred breathed heavily, still shaking from the adrenaline, and looked around. He didn't recognise the room or the bed he'd landed on. Then he spotted the jacket. His jacket. It was hung up behind the door next to a few other jackets and coats he could distantly recall. It nudged him, reminded him, and his breathing calmed when he realised it was Merlin's bedroom.
The light was off but dim sunlight shone through the window on his left. He sat up and the burning in his palms dragged his attention away from his surroundings. They were bleeding badly and Mordred forced himself up to search for first aid. His feet slipped slightly on the wooden floor, and his hair and clothes dripped rainwater as he searched the dressing table then the wardrobe. He left a wet trail everywhere he looked, from little spots of water on handles to wet footprints barely visible on the ground. His magic wouldn't heal the wounds, he could barely think straight, but he found a green bag from St John Ambulance in the bottom of the wardrobe. Messily emptying its contents onto the floor he grabbed sterilising wipes, ripped the packaging open with his teeth, and started shakily cleaning and dressing the wounds.
Mordred's head ached, his whole body did, and once he'd secured the bandages he crawled back to the bed and hoisted himself up onto it. While he was soaked and shivering it didn't seem to matter when the exhaustion caught up to him. He worked his way up to the pillow and he forgot how to think, how to feel. Mordred's wet face finally pressed down into the fabric and, keeping his bandaged hands cradled in front of his chest, he forgot about the world.