Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gwaine was used to feeling empty.

He had lived the majority of his life living aimlessly, wandering from tavern to inn with no commitments and nothing to tie him down to one place. He had tried to be happy this way, after all, who didn’t long for that sort of freedom? But as the years passed, the ale could no longer cloud the dreary truth of his lack of purpose, and the women could only replace companionship for a lay, a night if he was lucky.

It wasn’t until Arthur found him that he’d truly been able to acknowledge all he lacked. The quests, knighthood, a king worth dying for, he’d found a reason to keep going beyond his next drink or gamble. He had companions, a place to settle down every night, just about everything he’d been missing, he had now.

So why was it that recently, day by day, the dull ache of that emptiness was returning, stronger than ever before?

Things had become strange around the castle ever since the last magic attack Arthur and the knights had dealt with. Morgana had sent a witch to try to trap the king into a curse, and they had only managed to escape and defeat them through pure luck. Arthur truly had to be the luckiest man in the world, the earth almost seemed to move just for him sometimes. Gwaine recalls feeling bitter about how Arthur had the entire world wrapped around his finger, but he can’t deny it’s gotten them out of more than a few binds.

That mission had gone just as well as any other, better than usual even. Arthur had barely even been close to dying, no one was lost or captured, and almost a fortnight later they were yet to see any signs of a lingering curse or threatening new presence. Yet each morning since, he’d felt more and more… off. Today in particular, Gwaine was noticing the unexplained ache in his chest at every turn.

The day had started normally enough, on the way to training he was greeted by a kitchen maid who traded him an extra apple for a charming smile. As much as he hated titles, he had to acknowledge what wonders it did for his likeability. Back before knighthood- before Arthur- he might have been able to charm someone into his bed, but he’d have never been met with favors and bright grins. Yet her smile set off that dull pain. A voice in the back of his head called it wrong. As though another smile, another face, should have been there instead.

Gwaine could only characterize the pain he carried as heartbreak, but that couldn’t be. Emptiness, he knew well. Longing, he recognized. But how could he feel the pain of love lost, when he’d never known love in the first place? It was the first time he’d found a name to fit the feeling, and the weight of it followed him through the day. It distracted him as he trained in the morning. It stopped him where he would have flirted with a passing maiden. It slowed him as he walked through Camelot, searching every face for that missing link. A fruitless effort, to be sure. It must take a madman to search for someone you’ve never known.

Weeks continue to pass, and the longing grows familiar, always there but sometimes able to be forgotten. He can distract himself throughout the day between training and dances with death that always seem to be narrowly avoided in the most unnatural ways. But at night he can’t escape the sudden pangs of deep seeded hurt. His dreams sometimes taunt him with a familiar yet unrecognizable smile, or a flash of golden eyes. Nothing he could tie to any face he sees, never enough to bring back a lost memory. He clings to those glimpses to get him through the days. Even if it’s all an invention of his newly deranged mind, they give him something concrete to seek. A dream he can hope to one day reach. He expects nothing of it, but they bring him closer to peace. There is one day where he feels particularly wistful about a pair of bright blue eyes he remembered from the night before. They carry him through as Arthur informs him and the other knights that they will be facing a group of Morgana’s men. Nothing he hasn’t faced before, but his usual strength had taken a hit since the recent developments. He didn’t like relying on his fellow knights to get them through battle, and they couldn’t rely on the common absurdly fortunate falling objects or spontaneous fires and floods to save them every time.

As the group confronted these men in the woods, a conversation turned to battle. Gwaine fought his best, but as always men were tripping on roots that hadn’t been there before; branches fell onto their enemies heads; and as one man got concerningly close to slicing his neck, he could not deny when he saw an entire tree fall from perfect stillness at a perfect angle to just miss him and knock the other man out cold. He knew no force of nature had done that on its own.

“Wow, that sure was a close one, ey?” Arthur seems oblivious as ever as he pats Gwaine’s shoulder for a battle well won, but Gwaine can’t bring himself to call attention to the obvious display of magic he just saw. He doesn’t think it was one of the knights, but whoever it was had clearly been on their side from the start. His mind flashes back to the image of flashing golden eyes.

“Gwaine? You alright?” Percival asks.

Gwaine shakes himself back to reality, “yeah. It’s getting dark isn’t it? You all start making camp, I’ll keep first watch.”

“You sure?” Arthur starts again, “you did well today, I’m sure we’d be fine without a lookout-“

“We don’t know if Morgana plans to send reinforcements. I’ll be alright, you all should rest.”

The group looks at him skeptically, but all allow themselves to rest after setting up camp. Gwaine keeps his eyes wide, searching for any sign of movement as they set up. When the rest of the group goes to sleep, he hurries to scavenge the area looking for something-anything-to hint at another person hiding among them. Hours pass, and he almost reluctantly admits the need to give up. Then he hears it. The faintest rustling of leaves above him. He hesitates to look up.

In the sight of bright blue eyes, a weight is lifted.

Chapter Text

Merlin was a man who had no room left for love. His mind was drowned by magic and deceit, and his soul was bound by destiny. He had tried to squeeze it in once, long ago, had crafted a room in the corners of his heart to allow a guest. Freya had been so kind, never asking more than he could offer, only accepting and returning what he gave gracefully. But even that had been too much. How foolish he had been to try and compromise with fate. He’d been too greedy, had tried to create his own life, his own future apart from the one written for him. Arthur may have been the one to deliver the killing blow to Freya, but it had been destiny that took her away. As a punishment, and a reminder, to never question his role in the narrative. His life was not his story to create, it had been crafted for him long before he existed, and was about someone far more important than himself. He had no right to concern himself with the mortal matters of his own heart.

He knew better than to make the same mistake with Gwaine. When the other man had greeted him with a cheeky grin as he knocked out his third opponent, Merlin had felt the incoming twinge of feelings that could be. If only he allowed himself. If only he led a different life. He’d experienced these passing thoughts before, but could always count on the fleetingness of any companionship not bound by prophecy.

“I never stay in one place for too long,” Gwaine had told him after his banishment. Merlin was not one to plead with people to stay, but he thought maybe if he could just convince him that Arthur was good, that Arthur may not be worth dying for but he could at least be worth staying for, he might be able to keep this one around. Merlin couldn’t keep people by his side, but Arthur surely could. Yet even that hadn’t been enough, and Merlin resigned himself to his predetermined life once more.

Then the pair met again, and Merlin was once again hit with the pain of the impossible as the two spoke in the perilous lands. “Not Arthur,” Gwaine had said to him, as though Merlin was ever to be allowed to be the priority. The universe had taunted him with this short lived reunion, separating them again as punishment for allowing himself to try to branch away from his path.

Their third encounter was different. It started off much the same: another fight, another quest-

“Rise, Sir Gwaine of Camelot”

And then it all changed.

Of course, he didn’t have a chance to celebrate. Even in what should have been one of his happiest moments, the looming consequences of not following destiny’s commands were still threatening their every movement. Morgana had taken control of Arthur’s rightful kingdom, and somehow it was Merlin’s fault for failing to kill the woman he had once called a friend. Who’s first crime had only been having magic and being afraid, no different from his own beginnings. Except Merlin had been given guidance and been written on the right side of the future. On Arthur’s side.

So even with this development, there was no room for error. Personal choice would always be punished. Merlin could not risk working against what was written. He would congratulate Gwaine when they inevitably won the day. Their friendship may be allowed to tentatively continue. They might be allowed to bond over their shared role in Arthur’s journey, and fate may leave Gwaine free enough to have a story of his own. But sooner or later, Gwaine would surely have to abandon the idea that Merlin was ever the one to prioritize. He imagined that when they returned to Camelot, when Gwaine would eventually have to make his knightly vows, the other man’s priorities would soon be set in order and Merlin could again find comfort in his rightful place. Quietly fighting in the background. Protecting the few people he still could.

But he just.

Kept.

Failing.

Lancelot’s death had been the biggest surprise of them all. Yes, he had respected Merlin knowing all he did for them, but his loyalty was to Arthur. Where it was supposed to be. And yet he’d still lost one of the only people he didn’t have to spend his life hiding from. He couldn’t. Stop. Losing people.

So when Gaius disappeared, he was all but broken down. And nobody was on his side.

“I got tired of playing soldiers. Came to see how you were.”

This was almost worse. And of course Merlin tried to push him away. But Gwaine stayed, and when together they managed to get Gaius back, that hint of feeling came back. The dangerous lurking hope that maybe he could be allowed to keep someone around.

They spoke again at Gwen’s coronation. The air felt weightless and bright for the first time in ages and the kingdom was finally starting to feel like their own once again.

“Today’s a celebration of love” Gwaine said, holding out a glass of wine for Merlin to take to match his own.

“To love” Merlin toasted as he took a drink.

“Dance with me?”

“Of course”

Dancing and drinking with Gwaine throughout the night felt easy instead of dangerous. And when Gwaine kissed him it felt… inevitable, yet impossible.

“Was that alright?” Gwaine asked him, still swaying with the music and looking gently into Merlin’s eyes.

Merlin gulped, “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Chapter Text

“...Hi,” Gwaine started, visibly unsure of himself, “would you maybe want to get out of that tree?”

The other man anxiously avoided eye contact, glancing around as if trying to figure a way out of there that didn’t involve climbing down.

”I’d like to thank you properly. For saving us back there,” Gwaine tried again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mystery man seemed to be trying his best to look neutral despite the panic in his eyes. “My Lord,” he added, seemingly as an afterthought. His voice brought an unwarranted sense of comfort in Gwaine’s chest, and he felt the need to do whatever was needed to hear more of it.

“We’re outside of Camelot’s borders. There’s no need to worry about getting caught.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken… sire. I have to go, sorry for any trouble,” the man is shifting to different branches in a clear attempt to move away from Gwaine.

Gwaine did not want to let the man escape, “we’ve met before.”

That makes the other man freeze. “I don’t think so, I’m sure I’d remember meeting a knight of Camelot.” The humbled manner of speaking expected of those with lower status somehow seemed unnatural for the other man.

“It’s Gwaine,” he presents his hand to shake as though that would be what convinces the other man to come down and speak to him, “and you are?”

He finally gets down from the tree but keeps his distance, clearly preparing to run, “actually really busy. I have to go, sorry… Sir Gwaine.” He gives a slight bow of respect before turning to run away.

Panicking, Gwaine takes a risk, “your eyes glow gold when you do magic!”

The other man stops in his tracks, not moving closer to Gwaine but not running away anymore either, “did you… could you see me earlier?”

Gwaine gulps, “I told you we’ve met before. I’m not sure how, but I know you. I’m sure of it.”

“I’m afraid you have the wrong person,” he says with tears threatening to spill from his eyes that tell Gwaine he definitely has the right person.

The other man turns to run away again, but this time Gwaine follows. He’s waited so long to find the person who’s haunted his dreams and lingered in his waking days, and he refuses to let the man escape his grasp now. He catches up, and the smaller man struggles as Gwaine grabs his arm.

His eyes start to glow a familiar gold as he opens his mouth and starts to speak in an unfamiliar language. Gwaine panics and covers his mouth, “wait please! I beg you just— just let me speak before you do anything drastic, yeah?” The man looks contemplative, and his eyes don’t fully revert back to their familiar blue right away. “I found you once. I’ll keep searching each time until I find you again. Please. You’re important to me, I just need to remember how.”

Silently, the man nods, before looking over to the rest of the group, “alright… but let’s go somewhere more private.”

…

They went far into the woods that surrounded them. There was a clearing with a set of logs and the remnants of a fire, which the magic man set back ablaze with a quick phrase in an unknown language. It all felt disconcertingly familiar, but to be fair Gwaine had camped in more than his fair share of wooded areas.

The pair sat down, and surprisingly the other man started, “what do you want to know first?”

“A name would be nice.”

He hesitated, “it’s… Odwin”

‘Odwin’ was a terribly obvious liar, but in truth the name just sounded wrong on the other man’s tongue. “Try again,” Gwaine smiled and nudged the man’s shoulder, lightening the mood.

He inhaled nervously before responding this time, “Merlin.”

The name brought Gwaine a rush of familiarity. Not recollections exactly, nothing he could make sense of. But he could hear the name from different voices in different tones, from lighthearted and sarcastic to the vague image of himself crying the name out in pain and fear. He knew this name so well so why couldn’t he remember-

“Are you the one who made me forget?”

The man—Merlin—was terrifyingly silent, only staring down at his hands. “I think you know the answer to that one,” he finally answers.

And suddenly the pieces come together.

“Merlin” Gwaine hears his own voice, elated.

They’ve come to this clearing before.

Blue eyes turn to gold.

“Wait, no—MERLIN” this time in agony-

“How many times have we done this?” Gwaine’s voice trembles for what’s coming.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin answers, “I shouldn’t have gone this far.”

Gwaine can see what’s coming and panics, “I’m in love with you!” it makes Merlin pause, and he inconspicuously moves his hand to his hip under his cape, moving his other hand to Merlin’s face, “aren’t I?”

Merlin hardly moves his head to answer, so Gwaine instead takes the opportunity to kiss him as though to prove his theory. Merlin doesn’t move to join, but doesn’t fight him either. One hand still on his hip, Gwaine takes the opportunity to slowly unsheath the small blade at his side, then holds the dagger behind his back. Just at that time, Merlin gently presses his hands to Gwaine’s chest, lightly pushing him off his lips but not distancing them much more.

“Gwaine, wait, I’m sorry— I can’t—“

Gwaine moves his other hand from Merlin’s face down to his side, almost behind his back as well. “Please don’t do what I think you’re about to do,” but he begins to cry, knowing his pleas won’t change what’s about to happen.

And a bit from the sharp pain of his dagger cutting a sharp line down his forearm.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says again before the world flashes around him.

…

Gwaine awakes feeling empty and lost. It’s certainly not the first time he’s felt this way, but he had hoped he’d moved past it. He remembers being happy once, sometime in the now distant past. He could hardly place how or when. And he wondered if there was a way to ever feel that way again.

As he gets up to face the pain of a new day, he feels it. A sharp sting on his arm. He looked down to see the injury he didn’t remember getting.

A sharp, straight cut down the length of his forearm. Far too clean and purposeful to have come from a battle. He did this, but why?

He stares at the mark looking for answers. Until gold eyes and a name come to mind. In shock, he whispers, “Merlin.”

Chapter Text

The pair went to a clearing in the wooded areas just outside the castle walls. Merlin allowed himself the luxury of holding the other man’s hand as he guided him, leaving it lingering there when they arrived.

“Not exactly the first place I go for a private moment,” Gwaine chuckled, wiggling his brow suggestively. He seemed to be masking worry though, likely mirroring the anxiety undoubtedly showing on Merlin’s own face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry Gwaine”

“Hey, no need for that,” Gwaine reassured, comfortingly laying his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “you didn’t need to bring me all the way out here to tell me you don’t feel the same, I can take it. Certainly not the first time,” he smiled, self deprecatingly.

“No, it’s not that. I do. Feel the same, I mean.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Merlin took a breath, “it’s just… there’s something you don’t know about me. Something I want to tell you, so badly, but I can’t. And I wouldn’t feel right being when you don’t know something so huge.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Gods no I do! I trust you more than almost anyone. But it’s not about trust, Gwaine. You could be in danger just by knowing,” Merlin paused, avoiding eye contact as he continued, “and… I’m afraid you wouldn’t see me the same.”

Gwaine lightly grabbed Merlin’s face in his hands, turning his head to force him to look in his direction. Merlin’s eyes were sad. “Nothing you could tell me would change how I see you. And after all we’ve been through, you should know I’m not afraid of a little danger,” he smiled cheekily as he said the last bit.

“I’d be making you choose between your loyalty to me and to Arthur. I don’t want to put you in that position.”

“I’ve already chosen. It’s you, every time.”

“You have vows!” Merlin voice pleaded

Gwaine moved to grab Merlin’s hands which were trembling, from the cold winds or nerves he couldn’t tell. “I made those vows to stay here by your side. And I would break every one of them to keep you from leaving mine.”

Merlin’s resolve broke at his pleading stare. Hesitantly, he nodded, before removing himself from Gwaine’s hold and distancing himself slightly from the other man. Hesitating, he started chanting, ”Di nos protegat hunc motum terra potestatis amore reservandum.”

With his words, the earth began to move. The autumn leaves from the ground lifted and began to circle around them. Branches from nearby trees extended and met, forming arches above their heads. The grass and moss that surrounded them began to grow and surround them in a comforting nest of nature. Merlin let the light in his eyes from the display of power linger even as the leaves fell and the plants began to revert to their initial state.

Gwaine didn’t react at first other than an indecipherable look of shock on his face. In Merlin’s experience, shock was imprecise. It could be impressed or repulsed and anything in between. “Please say something,” Merlin begged, reverting his eyes to their original blue hue.

“Amazing,” Gwaine exclaimed, breathless, “you’re amazing, gods”

Merlin let out a sigh of relief that subtly turned into a sob. He shook his head as Gwaine tried to comfort him, and tried to tame the mix of emotions so he could explain himself, “I’ve never told anyone before,” he admitted.

“No one else knows?”

“Gaius and Lancelot. But I never told them, they just caught me. And there was a woman once. She was like me. I have to… remind myself that I wasn’t the one putting her in danger.”

Gwaine looked at him with pity, which Merlin resented. “You’ve suffered here for so long,” he mourned on Merlin’s behalf, “why do you stay?”

“That’s… a long story.”

“I have time.”

Merlin could hardly process the words he was recounting, he told the story that has yet to be fully written. The narrative he was following every day without fully understanding. He told Gwaine about all the quests, of all the sacrifice Arthur would never know about. He spoke of Will, of Freya, of his father. He’d say he was bearing his soul to Gwaine, if it hadn’t already been given to Arthur long before he could have had any say in it.

Gwaine took a minute to let the weight of everything linger, only holding Merlin for a moment in a comforting side embrace.

“Could you show me another trick?” He broke the silence by asking, wiggling his fingers as if to mock casting an enchantment. Merlin chuckled, and for the rest of the night he felt light for the first time in ages.

Chapter Text

”Mordred” Gwaine greeted from the doorway of the other knight’s chambers.

The other knight, half clad in chainmail from the day’s training, stumbled and quickly dropped his sword that he’d clearly been attacking the air with. “Sir Gwaine!” He awkwardly kicked the sword under his bed as he greeted, “I wasn’t expecting you, I-“ he interrupted himself by uncomfortably clearing his throat, “how can I help you?”

”Were you… practicing alone in your room?” He chuckled as he spoke, looking from Mordred’s chainmail to the poorly hidden sword.

“No! No I was, just… checking if it needed to be oiled”

Gwaine picked up the sword and smiled teasingly as he inspected it, “looks bright as new to me.”

“Which is what I figured out by checking it,” he grumbled and yanked the sword back, moving to put it back in its place in the room, “did you want something, or did you just come here to judge how I spend my personal time?”

Gwaine chuckled again, moving to rustle Mordred’s hair while the younger knight practically pouted, swatting his hand away. “Oh calm down, it’s cute how you’re trying to impress the princess.”

Mordred looked away from him, cheeks reddening from obvious embarrassment, “it’s our job to be the best knights we can be,” he moved to start to shove Gwaine out of the room “now if that will be all-“

“Wait!” Gwaine stopped him, planting his feet on the ground right before he could be forced out the doorway, “I’m sorry I… actually came to ask you something. Something extremely important.”

Mordred sighed as he moved back, leaning against his bed frame, “what is it?”

Gwaine closed the door, “it’s a delicate matter,” he paused, unsure of how to approach the subject, “I need you to promise to hear me out before you react. And to not speak a word of this. To anyone.”

Mordred looked at him sceptically, “I don’t like the sound of this, Sir Gwaine”

“Please. You trust me, yes? As a fellow knight? Just… hear me through and if you decide you don’t want anything more to do with this we can pretend this discussion never happened.”

Mordred’s expression seemed to soften, “all right,” he nodded.

“I know you were raised by the druids, don’t panic, but I need to know,” Gwaine paused, inhaling anxiously, “do you have magic?”

Mordred’s hands immediately tensed and clutched strongly at the bedframe. His face moved to poorly hide what could either be stress or anger, possibly a mixture of the two. He sharply inhaled through his nose, “you realize you just asked me if I’m guilty of treason, don’t you?”

“I’m not accusing you,” he quickly corrected, “I don’t want you in trouble. I told you, nothing we say leaves these chambers.” Mordred’s hands softened their grip slightly, but he was clearly still not at ease, “My mum has magic, actually. You know I’m not from here. I don’t care if you do.”

“If you’re not here to accuse, then why do you ask?”

“I’ve been cursed, maybe not even just me, it could have been many of us. I need to reverse it, and then I need to find the one who did it.”

The younger knight’s eyes widened in shock, “Sir Gwaine! If you’ve been cursed- If we’ve been cursed, we need to tell Prince Arthur and the rest of the knights, we could be in danger! We need to prepare-“

“No!” Mordred stilled at the aggressiveness of the interruption. Gwaine cleared his throat, lowering his tone, “no, sorry, listen. It’s not like that, I promise you no one’s in danger. Well, except maybe the one who cast the spell, which is why we need to find him! And for me, to find out exactly what’s going on and why he felt the need to do this” he stuttered a bit more, trying to find more to add and explain but ultimately finding nothing.

Mordred lightly rubbed his temples and huffed in frustration, “alright, this sounds absurd,” he paused as if considering, “what was this curse?”

“He’s erased all memory of himself. At least from me, probably from Arthur and the other knights, and who knows how many others”

Mordred stared at him incredulously and didn’t say anything for a moment, seemingly waiting for Gwaine to continue. When he didn’t, the young man spoke slowly, as if trying to explain something to a child, “If he erased all memory of himself, how do you remember that it was a man? Or that he even cursed you in the first place?”

Gwaine huffed, and instead of answering held out his arm and pulled up his sleeve, revealing the fresh long scar he’d marked himself with. “His name is Merlin. He’s nearby, I saw him yesterday.”

Mordred sucked in a slight breath at the mention of the name, “I feel like I’ve heard that name before,” Gwaine only nodded in response, “and you’re certain he doesn’t plan to hurt you? To attack Camelot?”

Gwaine held his hand to his heart, “on my honor.” Mordred hesitantly nodded. “So, would you help me?”

“This is really important to you, isn’t it?”

“He is”

Mordred nodded firmly, “There’s some people we should meet.”

Chapter Text

Merlin had plenty of regrets in his life. He regretted not reaching out to Morgana when he first realized she had magic. He regretted how far he’d drifted from Gwen lately, when she’d once been his closest friend. And constantly, he regretted how he repeatedly stood by and watched his own kind be killed for who they were, doing nothing to help them and merely hoping to avoid the same fate.

Merlin had a lot of regrets in his lifetime. Despite them all, he only wished he could bring himself to add his encounter with Mordred many years ago to the list. Repulsively, the only part he regretted was not finishing the job.

He usually avoided thinking about that encounter. He knew he’d have to confront the past eventually, that someday Mordred would come back into their lives and he’d have to finish the job he’d started all those years ago. That was the hardest truth to face, not what he’d done, not that he knew he would do it again; but that somehow, cosmically, this was supposed to be the right choice.

So yes, Merlin thought he was prepared to face Mordred as a threat. He was much less prepared to face the idea that Mordred was kind.

“I promise, your secret is safe with me,” he swore, hand outstretched with bread. No matter how much Merlin doubted, he never broke it. And no matter how many skeptical and judgemental glances Merlin sent his way, his kindness never wavered.

Gwaine didn’t notice Merlin’s distaste for Mordred right away. It began with questioning glances his way when he glared at the younger man particularly obviously, but he didn’t confront Merlin until he saw a tense conversation between the two from across the training grounds.

“Okay, I’ve stayed quiet long enough. What’s going on between you two?” Gwaine took the heavy chainmail Merlin was carrying and set it down, then leaned on the table and looked at him expectantly.

“What are you talking about?” Merlin put on a well practiced look of confusion.

“Oh don’t play dumb with me, all you’ve done since Mordred’s gotten here is glare at him and pout that he’s around. It would almost be adorable if it wasn’t worrying, is he bullying you? Say the word and I’ll set him in his place,” he punched his hand at the last part to emphasize the implied threat, grinning but with genuine concern in his eyes.

”No! Nothing like that. Mordred is… fine.”

”Is there something else? Surely there’s a reason you treat him like the scuff on the princess's shoe.”

”He hasn’t done anything wrong so far. I just… I find it hard to trust him.”

Gwaine waited for him to expand, then sighed when he was met with silence, “all right, I’ll be keeping my eyes on him. But, you promise you’ll tell me if anything happens with him, all right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Merlin nodded.

Gwaine looked unconvinced, “you always push yourself to fix everything on your own. I know you’re capable, but I’m here for you. Just, keep me in the loop, yeah?”

This time Merlin smiled, “I will, I promise.”

…

Mordred preferred to speak to Merlin mentally. At first, Merlin thought it was a twisted form of taunting. The Mordred he imagined was conniving, would use this to remind him that he could expose Merlin at any time, and remind him of the threat he made many years ago in the same way. But nothing he sent sounded threatening, nothing gave away the darkness Merlin was sure had to consume him.

“I’m sorry, they don’t appreciate all you do for them.” He’d sent messages along these lines more than once. Frustratingly, it was often in front of the king himself.

This particular one came after a bandit conveniently tripped on a root while attempting to sneak up to attack the group. Arthur proceeded to threaten the man then chastised Merlin for not noticing, having been behind everyone else. Gwaine was absent from this trip, he was more one to complain about Arthur’s lack of appreciation for Merlin to his face. Mordred was shyer, more nervous to leave the king’s good graces. It was less cowardice and more naivety, and it reminded Merlin of just how much younger the man really was. A reminder he didn’t appreciate.

“I don’t save Arthur for praise. Neither do you, I'd assume.”

“It’s easy to act humble when everyone already knows your accomplishments,” as if on cue, Arthur cut off the mental chatter with a pat on Mordred’s back and a congratulations for his first successful hunt with the group. Mordred almost flinched, and sent an apologetic glance Merlin’s way. Merlin did his best to ignore it, and he didn’t hear Mordred’s voice in his head for the rest of that trip.

It was not long after that hunting trip that Mordred joined his first patrol. The one where everything went wrong.

“What’s wrong, love?” Gwain asked as Merlin entered his chambers for the first time since that trip.

Merlin hesitated, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

“Hey, whatever it is you can tell me, yeah? We’ll get through it.”

“Arthur asked me if he should lift the ban on magic.”

Gwaine blinked in shock, “that’s amazing!” he grabbed both of Merlin’s hands in excitement, “this changes everything, I mean-“

Merlin pulled his hands away, interrupting, “I told him not to”.

Gwaine’s face contorted to one of confusion, “you- sorry, what?“

Merlin stressfully moved his hands to his head, ruffling his own hair grabbing pieces of it, “Arthur asked me if I thought he should consider lifting the ban on magic and I said no. I don’t- can I make it any clearer? I could have convinced him to change his view on magic and I didn’t and-“ he groans, not finishing his sentence and moving his hands from his hair to his temples.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Gwaine comfortingly placed one hand on Merlin’s shoulder and used the other to gently pet his head, “you can just go back to Arthur, tell him you were shocked and not thinking this through but he should really consider-“

“I can’t tell him to do it.”

Gwaine doesn’t move his hands, but stops the stroking motion in Merlin’s hair, “what are you talking about?”

“I lost my chance. But I couldn’t let him lift the ban on magic. Not for the reason he wanted to.”

This time he does drop the hand on Merlin’s head, “why did he want to?”

Merlin didn’t answer, only shook his head and moved to step away from Gwaine, but Gwaine held him in place with the hand still on his shoulder.

“Merlin,” he starts again, “why did he want to?”

Merlin struggled, breath getting shallower as he kept a slight shake to his head, “it was supposed to be the only way to save Mordred”.

Gwaine’s face froze, as if not fully comprehending. His other hand fell from Merlin’s shoulder, and he blinked, trying to process the information. “You tried to stop Arthur from saving Mordred’s life?”

Merlin stayed silent.

“Look, I know you don’t really get along with him, and I know you must have your reasons and I thought you would tell me if it was something that important,” he pushed a hand through his hair and moved to sit on the bed, “has he tried to hurt anyone? Did he threaten you? I just- I’ve fought beside him, he’s been nothing but loyal since he’s been here.”

“For now, maybe but there’s no telling when that’s going to change, I’m sure it’s already started. It must be why the Disir saved him,” Merlin seemed to be talking more to himself than Gwaine at this point, voice raising in a panic.

“Hey, slow down, where is this coming from? What makes you so sure Mordred wants to betray any of us?”

Merlin gulped, willing himself to speak clearly, “my destiny is to ensure Arthur’s reign. Mordred’s is to destroy it.”

Gwaine looked at him skeptically, “how do you know this?”

It’s in the prophecies. The same ones that told me my destiny, the same ones that warned of Morgana’s betrayal. It’s inevitable, no matter how kind and loyal he seems now, destiny always wins,” he spoke with the weight and conviction of having witnessed this inevitability over and over and over again.

”Well maybe if we tell him, if we warn him maybe he can change it. Shouldn’t we get to control our own fate?”

”It’s not about what should be. There is no changing this. It’s inevitable.”

“If you truly don’t think Mordred can change his own destiny, what makes you think you can stop it?”

Merlin paused, not having considered this contradiction before. “Maybe I can’t. Actually, I probably won’t be able to,” he looked Gwaine in the eyes then with newfound certainty, “but I have no choice but to try.”

Gwaine lightly grabbed one of his hands again, “I want to support you, you know I always do,” he trails off, gathering his words, “but Mordred hasn’t done anything to deserve any of this.”

“None of us do anything to deserve all of this, Gwaine!” He pulls his hand away frustratedly, “I’ve never asked for any of what’s happened since I’ve come here. But day after day I have to work and fight for a destiny that I never asked for.”

“And I’m tired of watching you suffer and lose yourself for it!”

Merlin was taken aback by the exclamation.

“Listen, I know you care about Arthur and the future you’re trying to create. And I think all that you’ve done: for him, for us, for Camelot, it’s amazing,” Gwaine’s eyes filled with tears as he continued, “but at some point it’s too much. How much have you lost for Arthur? You’re friends, your first love, your own father, and for what? For a king who, for all you know, would watch you burn at the pyre if he found out who you really are?”

Merlin straightened up to a more defensive position, “Arthur is a good man, he’s a noble king and he’ll accept magic eventually he just needs-“

“I know he’s a good king, there’s a reason I was willing to fight beside him,” Gwaine put his hands up defensively, “I don’t mean you should abandon him, my point is you’ve given up too much for him. I’m a knight, my job is to be ready to die for him if the time comes. But you’re giving up your life for him. I can see you losing yourself to this fate. I mean, you’re plotting against an innocent man, and at the risk of who knows how many other innocent magic users,” Gwaine shakes his head in disappointment, “that just isn’t the Merlin I know.”

Merlin’s face gave no sense of wavering, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect Arthur and his legacy.”

“I’m not asking you to give up, Ijust-“

Merlin holds a hand out to silence the other’s protests, “I don’t blame you if you can’t forgive me for what I have to do. But it doesn’t get better from here Gwaine,” Merlin was surprised by the resolution in his own voice, “so maybe it’s better if you forget about me.”

Gwaine responded with a look of confusion, “hey, no, there’s no need to be drastic. I’m not leaving your side, not ever,” his face turned comforting, and he took Merlin into a warm embrace, “Just let me help you, we can find a way through this. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

Merlin’s arms hung loosely at his sides and he shook his head into the crook of Gwaine’s neck, before breaking himself away, “I’m sorry, Gwaine.”

And then his eyes went gold.

Chapter Text

Mordred brought Gwaine to a Druid camp, where they immediately approached a group gathered around a man performing a song with his lute. He propped himself up on a fallen log as though it were a stage, and jumped on and off as he performed the lyrics and interacted with the crowd around him.

”There was a time, not long ago, where magic flowed from shore to shore

And land belonged not just to kings, and we were free to spread our wings

That life has passed as time will flow, but balance will return once more

Gwaine grinned as the man flamboyantly twirled around a group of younger spectators, his eyes flashed a fluorescent glow, and a budding stem quickly grew longer and bloomed instantly into a full, white rose. He turned directly to a smiling young girl in the crowd wearing a crown of flowers on her head and held the rose stem to it, whispering something fast between verses as his eyes shined again and the stem merged into the crown itself. The young girl gasped in awe and gently touched the addition to her accessory, excitedly pointing it out to her friends beside her.

”And who could set us free, but the hero that is Emrys?

On ‘Emrys’, he paused and the crowd all joined in. Gwaine looked over to Mordred, who’s face strained slightly at the name.

”For the glory of Avalon!

He jumped off the log at the end with a dramatic bow. Gwaine immediately joined in the crowd in their cheering, while Mordred just rolled his eyes lightheartedly at the gesture. The man looked right at the pair as he stood up and practically sprinted towards them, immediately lifting the younger boy into a hug that left his feet dangling inches off the ground.

“Mordred! My brother, we’ve missed you,” he swung the smaller boy around like a ragdoll as he gushed, until he stopped to finally notice Gwaine, “and you brought a friend!”

Mordred had to shove the other man with far more force than he’d probably ever admit to if you asked to get him to finally release him onto the ground, “I missed you too, Aeslin.” He hesitated as he turned to Gwaine to introduce him as though ashamed of the words, “this is Gwaine, my fellow knight of Camelot.”’

The hesitation made sense to Gwaine as the singer’s face subtly yet quickly shifted from joy to judgment, “Fellow?”

Mordred responded with nothing but a strained nod.

“I see…” He trailed off, and then bowed respectfully as he continued in a manner that made Gwaine feel particularly out of place, “Welcome to our encampment, Sir Gwaine. I’m sure it’s nothing like the accommodations you’re used to but-”

”Please, don’t do that,” Gwaine interrupted, “I’m not here as a noble. I’m here as a beggar, to ask for your help.”

Aeslin seemed a bit taken aback at the interruption, but his judgmental demeanor did not seem to fade, “well of course we’re open to help anyone who stumbles upon our camp, but I’m not sure what help we could provide someone of your... station.”

”Oh come off it Aes,” Mordred finally spoke up again, “he just saw your performance, do you think he’s blind? And do you think I’d bring danger into my home, to my family? Of course he knows everything.”

The performer shifted his gaze back to Mordred, his expression shifting to skepticism at the younger man’s words, “everything?”

”Everything” Gwaine responded for him, bringing the attention back onto himself, “but I guessed most of it myself. I have no ill will towards magic or your people, and I swear that so long as Mordred and I wear the knight’s cloaks you are under our personal protection. In return I beg of you, we’ve been cursed and I need your help to lift it.”

”We? As in the two of you?”

”We as in, everyone in the castle, and possibly the entire citadel.”

”An entire castle? Let alone a full city? Even if a sorcerer could place a curse that wide, surely it must have been weak enough that Mordred could lift it with a mere thought,” he turned to the younger man with a dissatisfied look, “how did you not even think to try?”

”It’s stronger than any enchantment I’ve encountered,” Mordred sounded embarrassed despite this assertion, “It’s a memory spell, we’ve all forgotten someone.”

Aeslin looked back and forth between the two knights, as if trying to find the answer to some riddle they’d be hiding amongst themselves. “You’re not joking?” The two shook their heads in response, confused. “The only sorcerer powerful enough to create a memory spell that wide and that strong would be…” he paused, possibly out of doubt but he also had a face of awe, “Emrys.”

Gwaine hesitated to correct him, as the performer seemed so excited to have uncovered such a mystery, even if the conclusion meant nothing to himself, “ah, sorry mate. I know the name and it’s Merlin. I have no doubt about that.”

”I thought you said you had forgotten them.”

”Well, yes but…” Gwaine hesitated but pulled up his sleeve, showing off the scar that had just started healing over, “I gave myself a reminder”

Aeslin’s grin at that was oddly reminiscent of the one he had on stage at that. “Clever boy!” His movements were similarly more animated as he came to inspect the self-inflicted scar, “he must be very important to you if you gave yourself such a nasty wound to remember him by. What was this name you said again?”

”Merlin” Gwaine said the name with a reverence this time that was unmistakable. Aeslin only gave a knowing smile in return.

”Yes, that name does bring a sense of… paramnesia you might say,” he thinks for a moment, “they do say that Emrys will go by another name in each life. But his soul, his power, his destiny, it all remains the same throughout. Perhaps your… Merlin is exactly the sorcerer we’ve been waiting on for generations.”

Gwaine’s face did not match the performer's enthusiasm, and the two stood in silence as he held his tongue. Mordred mercifully broke the silence instead, clapping once to get the men’s’ attention then stating, “right, well, we won’t know until we get this curse sorted, will we? Bring us to Khass, will you Aes?”

The performer nodded, and brought them to a tent much larger and of more lavish material than the individual sleeping quarters scattered throughout. When they entered, they saw two women with their back facing them sat at a table; one elder and one that seemed near Mordred’s age. The elder he assumed must be the ‘Khass’ they had come looking for. The younger one-

”Kara?” Mordred interrupted his thoughts, saying the name with absolute shock and awe.

The young girl looked back and up at them, face beaming as she saw the boy who’d called her name, “Mordred!” She jumped up from her seat and wrapped her arms behind his neck in a hug; meanwhile he lifted her and spun her in a circle as they both laughed gleefully at their reunion. As Mordred set her down, he looked into her eyes as his own shined with the light of love and longing. While Gwaine smiled, his own heart felt a pang of recognition and envy at the sight.

“What are you doing here?” She asked while smiling, the world clearly still gone around her apart from the young man in front of her.

“We came to see Khass,” Mordred nodded towards the magician watching them from the table, who had also been smiling at their reunion, “We’re trying to lift a curse”. He widens his view to encompass everyone at this point, removing the imaginary spotlight encompassing the pair. Kara’s face turned to concern at this and Khass audibly inhaled.

Khass approached the younger man, and placed her hand on his shoulder in a move of concern and comfort, “what’s happened, child?”

At this, Mordred turned and gestured towards Gwaine, “My friend knows more about it than I do I’m afraid”.

At this, the elder leader looked directly at him for the first time since the trio had entered the tent. She smiled, the lines at the corners of her mouth blending into the pattern of wrinkles throughout her face. Gwaine wasn’t one to judge the natural signs of age, but that combined with her long, curling grey locks gave him the impression she had been aging for far longer than should be possible. He might have been slightly more disarmed by it if he hadn’t known her to be someone Mordred trusted, but still he took a seat across from her as she gestured for him to do so.

“Tell me lad,” she encouraged him as he sat, “what is this curse you speak of?”

Gwaine took a nervous breath, “I’m afraid our memories have been tampered with. We’ve forgotten someone”.

“A mind wipe?” She furrowed her brow in confusion then shifted her gaze to Mordred, “you came all the way to see me for that boy? Surely we’ve taught you well enough to handle a simple memory spell on your own”. She didn’t go so far as to scoff, but she held the tone of a disappointed parent at the presumed helplessness.

”I tried!” Mordred exclaimed defensively, “I felt for it after he told me about it. But it’s not an average memory spell. It’s more powerful than any even you had me practice with. Also, Gwaine’s in particular is…” he trailed off at that, nervously avoiding the knight’s gaze.

“It’s what, child?” She urged him. Gwaine nodded encouragingly for him to continue, though he was sure his worry at his hesitation showed through.

“Just, feel for it yourself. It seemed… especially tainted.”

Gwaine fought back the instinct to look offended at the term ‘tainted’, but was certain he could no longer hide his growing concern. Khass, for her part, looked back at him with mostly confusion. “Let me feel lad,” she requested, holding her hand out towards his forehead. He leaned forward into it, feeling a surge of what he could only assume was telekinetic power rush through his mind. It was like watching all of his life’s memories play at an almost instantaneous speed, but after a few seconds they began to fade and become disordered. As if they had been watered down and blended together. She left as quickly as she entered, jolting him back into reality. She seemed almost as startled as him as she left the link.

Her eyes didn’t leave his own even as she addressed the young man in the room, “You’re right Mordred”. Everyone in the room stood suddenly serious and alert at her first use of someone’s name since they’d stepped foot in the tent. This included Aeslin, who dropped a flower crown which he had seemingly been growing and twisting into shape the entire time they’d been here. Gwaine gulped at the severe reaction, and the elder druid felt around at his forehead like a concerned mother checking her child for a high temperature, though he felt her reintegrate a gentle version of the psychic link as she did so. “Your memories are scrambled, I can barely decipher anything not corrupted for at least half a year,” she looks back to Mordred at this point, who still seems to be reeling from her use of his name, “you must be right about the power behind it. It’s a miracle his mind is still functioning with this level of magical entanglement, if anyone but one of the most powerful sorcerers tried to take this level of control of your mind you’d probably end up losing all memory of even yourself”.

Gwaine felt himself almost growing sick at the thought, and Mordred and Kara seemed to be frozen in their concern. Aeslin was the first to snap out of the shock. “Well, can you do anything?” He asked Khass.

Khass scoffed derisively at the question, “of course I can do something”. She lost a bit of confidence while furrowing her brow at Gwaine, “although… I don’t think I can undo yours dear. It’s such a tangled web of sorcery, one wrong move and I could accidentally get your entire mind caught up in it. You remember something though? Enough to have known you needed us in the first place?”

Gwaine nodded, his head still spinning with all he just learned. He took a breath to soothe himself, and lifted his sleeve to show his scar. “I saw him before he did this to me again. I did this so I’d have something left. I don’t remember much: his name is Merlin, his eyes glow gold with the light of a thousand suns when he casts a spell, and…” He takes a breath, “I know I love him.”

At that, the faces of everyone range from sympathetic to pitying. Kara and Mordred visibly tighten their grips on their interlocked hands. Aeslin seems confused as well as pitying, which Gwaine supposed was fair given the context. Khass, surprisingly, smiled encouragingly at him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Good on you lad,” she encouraged, “clever move. Now hold on to those strong feelings. Memories can be taken, but even the most powerful sorcerers can’t keep those emotions from lingering.” Khass released his arm, and reached over to grab the book of sorcery laying on the side of the table. “Now,” she opened it, and flipped to a page towards the end, clearly knowing the order by heart, “as I said, I can’t undo the web. But I should at least be able to loosen its grip.”

With that, she traced her finger along a line in the book and started reciting while pressing two fingers to Gwaine’s temple Dimittite tenacitatem istorum vinculum mentalium quantum licet

The energy from the spell died down, and while Gwaine couldn’t remember anything new, he felt like he could breathe for the first time in ages.

Chapter Text

Khass led a barely conscious Gwaine to the bed on the other side of the tent, “rest now lad. So much targeted magic takes a lot out of a man.” Mordred almost chuckled as Gwaine sleepily nodded and barely finished covering himself with the blanket she handed him before he began snoring.

Kara’s grasp had loosened but she still held Mordred’s hand in her own. She turned to him, face still showing slight horror, just as Khass was turning to leave Gwaine to rest. “Has he done this to you too?” She moved to feel his head in her hands, despite her lack of ability to sense magic the way Khass could.

Mordred didn’t have the confidence to lie to her with any certainty, and instead only answered “I’m okay,” while holding her hands in place with her own in his attempt to comfort her.

Khass came and interrupted the moment between the pair by placing her hand on Kara’s shoulder, subtly pulling her away from Mordred’s hold. “He should be fine, child.” As Kara reluctantly released her hold on him, Khass shifted her focus from her to Mordred as she spoke, “his mind had the force of at least twenty curses from powerful magic. If you had that much magical grasp on you, boy, I’d have felt it before you entered the village. I know you too well to miss that.”

Mordred tried to be subtle as he exhaled in relief at the news. His telepathic connection with Khass had been formed for nearly a decade in her mentorship, so he was confident she was right about the strength of their mental link. He had no idea what caused the connection Gwaine had to such a powerful sorcerer, but he didn’t have the confidence that whatever link he might have had to him would have been so strong as to keep himself as safe.

Khass held her hand to his temple, much in the same way as she had for Gwaine before. She nodded as he felt the psychic connection form between them, “It’s definitely still the same power”. Mordred noticed the lightest trace of an embarrassed blush that she clearly tried to hide as she continued, “whoever this sorcerer is has a power far beyond my own.” Aeslin audibly gasped at the announcement, and from the corner of his eye Mordred saw Kara flick the bard in the face while glaring at his faux-pas.

Khass ignored the exchange as she continued, “it’s definitely only one curse, but it’s powerful. I can release most of it, but I can’t promise it will all come back at once. Between the two of you though, you should be able to find the man you’re looking for.”

Mordred nodded at her and immediately felt her magic overwhelm his mind, releasing memory upon memory of the man he once knew. Or, at least he thought he knew, he realized as an overwhelming sadness with a tinge of anger joined the flashes of ‘Merlin’s’ face in his mind. And suddenly: everything clicked into place.

…

Mordred used to love praising songs for Emrys. It was even the reason he initially befriended Aeslin. The elder druids would always read the prophecies and lecture the children on their responsibility to aid in the future of Avalon, emphasizing the difficulties they would all face on the journey to glory. As an apprentice to various older sorcerers, he got more of these lectures than most. He hadn’t resented it, as a budding wizard he felt pride in the contributions he could make to the great prophecy. But it was nice: when every week he could rest after many days of working and training, and listen to the bard sing songs of hope and joy that would soon befall them.

Aeslin, of course, would forever use that bit of information as an opportunity to boast. “I knew someone would say that!” He cheered, immediately placing a familial arm around the young boy’s shoulders when he spoke to the musician the first time to thank him for his encouraging performances, “the elders say they’re a hobby and won’t contribute to the great destiny of our people. But how are we all supposed to work so hard without some joy and hope? Besides,” he paused, playing a few notes on his lute to make a tune that cast a glowing aura. At that, a squirrel came scurrying up to him and climbed up his leg and onto his arm. He smiled at the creature, then reached the arm out to create a bridge towards Mordred’s hand, “I’m great”.

Aeslin became a sort of older brother to Mordred after that, with him having no blood family of his own left. That was the case for a lot of the children at his camp. The Druid encampments tended to be a large family in general, even the children who were born within the camps were hardly differentiated from the foundlings or those who joined as adults. He didn’t remember his own parents, but both Khass and Cerdan took on a form of that role along with being his mentors. Although he did wonder sometimes, what it would be like to have a family that you knew would love you without the strings of fate knowingly controlling them all.

All three of them had been with him that day, the day he’d been betrayed by the great Emrys. Their first meeting had been one of the best days of his young life. He recognized Emrys the instant he was in their presence, all the Druids with magic could sense his power immediately, and having studied the prophecies and stories surrounding him all their lives, they all felt as if they knew him as much as any other member of their clan. That was what Mordred had thought at first, that he could trust Emrys as much as any other member of his family. And he had saved him. Along with the king of Camelot’s ward, and the prince! Two people that by all accounts should be working to stop the rise of magic throughout Albion at all costs, saving a Druid at the side of the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived (even if that was unbeknownst to them). And for a moment, as he ran away from the murderous guards, he was vindicated in his love for all his brother’s songs of hope and praise for the great Emrys. The man who would free Avalon and save them all.

When he met Emrys the second time, he was sure it would go as well as the first. That he would protect him and his family, and they would all get to help his friend in her time of need.

And then Emrys tripped him.

Mordred was fortunate to have been trained by such powerful mentors before that point. He took no misery in his first kill, not as far as defending his life went. He wanted to stay, to interrogate Emrys for having done that, for acting in contrast to everything he’d ever been taught about the great and powerful chosen one. He wanted to scream, wanted to turn those makeshift stakes around at the other sorcerer and show him how it felt. But there were more guards, Emrys’ eyes were still glowing, and of course he’d never be able to take the wizard in a duel. So instead, he settled on the telepathic message, “I shall never forgive this Emrys, and I shall never forget”.

He recognized now that it was naive to think that would change things for anyone else. It was silly to think that he could convince his people to rethink years of purpose and worship and hope, all because he said otherwise. As if the risk of one boy's life would convince anyone, even his own family, to doubt the ancient words of the gods promising freedom for all their people. Part of him expected it from the elders, who simply patted his head at the story and promised him that the great Emrys would never work against the prosperity of their people, even if Mordred didn’t realize his plan at the time. He had been sad but unsurprised at them, the elders had always been very set in their ways when it came to interpreting the prophecies and translating the word of the ancient gods.

The real hurt came from Aes, who responded to the story with a simple “Surely not. You must have misunderstood.”

Mordred’s voice froze for a moment at that response. He opened and closed his mouth various times, struggling to find the words for his shock and to explain his sincerity. “I was there, I know what happened!” Is what he settled on, hoping his brother just didn’t process what he was telling him right away.

“Mordred, this is Emrys we’re talking about. You know him, he already saved you once! How could you be doubting him now?”

Mordred shook his head, still believing beyond reason that there was some disconnect. Surely Aeslin, his closest friend, wouldn’t doubt him about something like this. Maybe he just needed the right combination of words to get through to him, “Something’s changed. He’s not the same man that saved me before. You didn’t see the way he looked at me after, Aes, with fear and hatred! Like I’d offended him just by being in his presence.”

Aeslin paused for a moment after that, eyeing the smaller boy in hesitation. Mordred got a false spark of hope at that, thinking maybe he realized what he was doing. But it was almost immediately crushed as the other boy just patted his head condescendingly and said, “you should have a chat with the elders. Tell them about your struggles. You still believe in our future, right? Don’t you want our people to be free?”

”Of course I do! But-”

”Well Emrys is our only chance at that freedom.” It was the harshest Mordred had ever seen the older boy as he cut him off. It startled him into silence, and he didn’t dare continue to argue from there. “I know it’s hard to be faced with someone with so much more power,” Aeslin continued, “you’re already so much more powerful than I am! I can’t say I don’t get jealous sometimes, but we can’t build up resentment about it, you know?”

Mordred didn’t respond to that, and was holding tears back at the overwhelming loneliness he felt at this moment. Aeslin seemingly took no note of this, and simply patted him on the shoulder as he finished, “I know the prophecies can be a lot to accept at times. But just remember what we’re all working towards, yeah bud?”

Mordred only nodded, and if Aeslin said anything as he ruffled his hair and walked away he didn’t hear it.

Mordred never liked praise music much after that day.

The wounds of that day of course started to heal with the passage of time. He never went back to the full faith in the prophecies as he had as a child, but his bitterness and resentment started to fade along with the baby fat in his face.

And then he met Kara. Sweet, beautiful, faithful Kara. She didn’t have any magic of her own, yet when she was taken in by the druids she worked harder for their freedom than any sorcerer he’d ever met. She studied the words of the old gods with him under Khass, who had never worked with a regular mortal before. She didn’t find them dull and dreary as he had even at his strongest faith, she found them inspiring and wanted to help in any way she could; despite her own lack of power. And it was her words that eventually undid his years of resentment in Emrys.

“What makes you like him so much?” He’d asked her once, “I know the books talk about him like he’s a god amongst us all, but he’s just a man.”

“I know!” She smiled as she answered, unphased by his doubts, “He’s just a person like you or I, yet he chooses to give up his whole life to ensure the future of our people. Imagine that, constantly fighting and risking your life in hopes of creating a future you may never even see.”

Despite being the one to say it, that was really the first time Mordred had thought of Emrys that way. As just a man, albeit one with more power than any other. For so long he’d thought of Emrys as a god living amongst them who had blasphemed himself with his cruelty. But sitting here with Kara, talking about him as a man simply doing his best…

Perhaps the gods would never make mistakes. But people could. And then we forgive them. At least, if we can.

Could he?

….

As all Mordred’s memories rushed in, he couldn’t find his answer in them. He knew he tried, at least. He remembered the man, Merlin, who was capable of kindness and joy with people who weren’t him. Who’s eyes carried warmth even when not glowing with magic towards others, but quickly froze into an icy blue when they spared a glance in his direction. In spite of what he had said as an angry child, he wanted to forgive and forget. He wanted to believe in the man who could make changes equal to those of the gods. But how could he believe in the good in a man who could only believe in the bad in him? Was he truly that worthy of his hatred?

Was he somehow an evil so strong as to chase away the embodiment of good?

As the memories finished flowing through him, Gwaine began to stir from the other side of the room. “Did it work?” He asked, rubbing his head as it was likely still aching from the process.

”Mostly” Khass answered on Mordred’s behalf, “Some parts are more reinforced than others. But it should be enough.”

“How are you feeling?” Mordred asked the other knight.

“Better. But we don’t have time to rest. We need to talk to Arthur.”

“Who’s Arthur?” Kara interjected.

Mordred tried to stop Gwaine from answering by subtly making a shushing motion from behind Kara. Gwaine ignored his pleas, instead furrowing his brows at her and answering, “The king? Of… Camelot?”

Kara didn’t react immediately, instead just glancing curiously between the two of them. “What business do you both have with the king of Camelot?

“Well you see-” Mordred tried to interject to save the situation.

“We’re his knights” Gwaine finished for him, still blind to the tension brewing.

Kara’s face reddened at the statement. Mordred tried to calm her by placing a hand on her arm, hoping to get her to wait for him to explain. She shook herself out of his grasp at the contact and began to stomp over towards the other knight, a hand approaching a hidden slit of her skirt.

“Kara!” Mordred yelled to try to stop her.

She ignored him as she marched forward, unsheathing a dagger none of them knew she carried. There were light gasps throughout the room as she pointed it towards him, “you dare serve a man who works to kill us all and then dare to ask my people for our help?”

Gwaine stood and raised one hand in a motion of surrender, but lightly hovered the other over the hilt of his own sword. “I mean none of you any harm,” he swore.

“Kara, stop” Aeslin ran up to her and caught her, circling his arms around her in a motion resembling a hug but that held her in place as she fought against his grasp.

Khass moved between the commotion, voice booming “Enough! All of you!”

Kara stopped struggling, and Aeslin mostly released his hold on her when she did. Though he kept a cautious hand on her arm just in case. Gwaine lowered his arms slowly as he moved further away from the group. Mordred let out an anxious breath as things began to settle. Khass spoke to Kara first, “there will be no bloodshed at the sacred home.”

Kara didn’t move towards Gwaine again, but also didn’t let go of her dagger as she snarled at him rather than responding to Khass directly, “he serves a king that wants to see our people dead”.

“No! Arthur’s not like that” Gwaine defended, “he’s not like his father. I wouldn’t serve him if he was.”

“And yet the laws remain,” Kara growled, unmoved. Khass looked at her empathetically, and the tension simmered throughout the tent.

Mordred hesitated, and sucked in a breath before speaking, “Emrys believes in him, as the once and future king.”

Kara’s neck almost snapped from turning to him so fast at the mention of the name, “Emrys? You think he’s supporting the king of Camelot?”

“I don’t think. I know. That’s who we’re looking for.”

“We’re looking for Merlin” Gwaine corrected, “Listen, I appreciate this storybook commune thing you have going on here. But I’m not wasting a moment of searching for him to search for your fairytale god-”

“Merlin is that fairytale god” Mordred cut him off, likely saving him from the wrath of everyone around them. “Emrys is the name given to him in the prophecies.”

“Are you sure about this, boy?” Khass questioned him.

“You felt his power. Who else do you think could cast a spell that even you couldn’t reverse on so many people?”

Khass nodded, “then your king should join you. If what you say is true, their bond should be strong enough to rebuild the memories nearly on his own.”

Kara moved over towards Mordred. She took his hands in her own and looked him in his eyes, “you’re sure about this? Emrys believes King Arthur is the once and future king?”

“I swear it. I’d never put our people at risk if I thought otherwise.” It wasn’t the time to express any doubts as to whether Emrys was the right person to unite the land, but he did believe in Arthur and knew Emrys did too. And that would have to be enough to reassure them both.

Kara nodded, “then I’m coming with you”.

Mordred considered denying her. Objectively, he should. Kara was brash and fiercely protective, she didn’t have the patience needed to allow Arthur to shed his father’s ideals and come into his own as King. But he also couldn’t bring himself to deny himself more time at her side, no matter how clearly he should have. He could only nod.

“Then it’s agreed!” Gwaine piped up eagerly from the end of the tent. He had seemingly gotten over her attempt on his life immediately. Mordred almost wondered if that was just something Gwaine was used to. “We’ll leave at dawn”.

“Towards our destiny” Kara spoke softly while looking into Mordred’s eyes, reflecting a sparkle of excitement in her own.

Mordred tried to hide the pit of dread that filled his gut at the sentiment.

Chapter Text

After Arthur had first proposed to Guinevere, she confided in him that she was unsure if she was suited for royalty. She didn’t doubt her worth of course, Arthur had always admired the fact that she never bought that she was lesser than anyone of noble birth. He also knew Morgana had reinforced that fact, back before everything fell apart. Arthur had judged the Lady when they were young for spouting optimistic nonsense about equality in spite of status. He started to believe her, though, when he met her new servant. Gwen had matched her optimism and surpassed her in sweetness, to a degree he found almost sickening at some points. She wasn’t a revolutionary; she didn’t fight or lecture or speak out of turn. But she had always known her worth, never doubted her value or treated the nobility she surrounded herself with as infallible gods. He hadn’t fully appreciated that originally - when he was young, spoiled, and cocky - but as he grew, so too did his appreciation for her strength and self-worth along with her beauty.

So no, she hadn’t been doubting her worth as a potential queen. But she did express how she hated the pageantry of it all: the royal fabrics of her gowns weighed twice as much as the linen of her servant dresses, with the layers upon layers weighing her down even more. The first time she joined him in the throne room she joked that royals must sit up so high because otherwise the clothes would pull them to the ground. She chuckled as she said it, but Arthur had noticed the guilt in her eyes as she did. She had confided in him later that the parties and feasts drew such harsh lines between nobles and peasants, a sharp gate separating her old and new life. She didn’t feel like herself, but also wasn’t confident who herself even was anymore.

Arthur wished that he could help her. He wanted to believe all his years spent on a royal throne would lead him to some wisdom about drawing the line between your role and yourself. But he didn’t know a life outside of a royal title. So really, he guessed he didn’t quite know himself either.

Even as “the king”, he still couldn’t find the line where his own legacy started and the ghost of his father’s ended.

“I’m sorry I can’t help guide you, love,” he lamented, taking her hand gently in his own. “All I can offer is to hold your hand and try to find my way with you.”

She nodded, wiping stray tears from her eyes that left thin trails of makeup behind them. The mess in her face contrasted the meticulously perfected look of her dress and hair. “That would be enough,” she agreed, “I swear I’ll do the same”.

…

Arthur hadn’t originally planned to take her up on that offer. As king, he was supposed to lead her, and comfort her through the transition of her new power. He wasn’t meant to be the one doubting himself like this. But he felt so out of place in his own mind lately.

It had started months ago. Due to George of all people. He was an excellent servant, don’t get Arthur wrong. He was diligent, always referred to Arthur respectfully and properly, never argued back…

But lately that all felt wrong.

He had felt a change in Gwen around the same time. He remembered a time not so long ago when she would stand up to him. Call him out on his nonsense. Part of him remembered marrying her and thinking of her as his compass, his guide. An anchor that kept him grounded when his head was up in the clouds with his power.

Now she didn’t feel like any of those things. He still loved her. Of course that was never in doubt. She was still the kind and generous girl he had started to crush on in his youth. But he remembered marrying a woman who hadn’t held back like the one before him today. The one who had cried that she didn’t want to forget where she had come from, and how his birthright made him no better than the servants she served alongside before.

“Is everything up to your standards, my lord?” She asked him one day before George left the room. His servant who had just completed a weeks worth of task in less than a day with no complaints or rudeness or even a slight hiccup. And had just brought him a feast fit for a small village just for a regular evening dinner for him and the few knights that had trained with him today. And rather than criticize the gluttony and demanding way he spoke to his servant, his wife was standing there asking if he wanted more. Sir Gwaine was still on some journey or other, so even he wasn’t around to call him Princess or steal his fruit and drag him back down to the earth with his pestering.

Everything around him was perfect. And Arthur was now certain he was going insane.

“Enough!” He hadn’t shouted, but his voice held enough emotion that everyone around him stilled and looked on at him in fear as though they were suddenly being accused of treason. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Sorry. I’m feeling out of sorts today. Lads, help yourselves. I’m not so hungry this evening. Bring some of this home to your families. George-“ he looked at the servant boy who was practically trembling in fear in front of him. He hadn’t been that cruel to the boy, had he? “Take the next few days off. With full wages, of course. You’ve put up with too much of me today.”

“M’lord, you’re so gracious but I couldn’t possibly-“

“Leave now before I change my mind and make it permanent.”

The servant quickly and graciously bowed then ran off as fast as he possibly could.

He turned to his wife then, and immediately softened his expression when he saw her nervousness. “Guinevere, would you take a walk with me?” He offered his hand as he asked, and she visibly relaxed as she accepted it.

They strolled silently through the castle grounds until they reached a semi-secluded area. Arthur was the one to finally break the silence, “I’m sorry for my outburst just now.” He turned to her as they reached the base of a tree, then sat at the trunk and rubbed his temples with his palm. “I just haven’t felt like myself lately. Or, more like I feel like everyone around me hasn’t been themselves. Does that sound ridiculous? Gods, I’m sure it does.”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous” Guinevere sat down next to him, placing a comforting hand on his bent knee. “I’ve been feeling off myself lately. Almost like there’s something in the air.” She didn’t look directly at him at that, instead resting her head against the tree and staring up at the sky.

Arthur hesitated, “Do you remember the promise we made? After your first royal banquet?”

Guinevere took a moment to recall, “that we’d guide each other through if we lost ourselves?”

Arthur nodded, and nervously inhaled, “why do you still call me ‘my lord’? Even after all this time?”

Guinevere paused at that, “I’m not sure. I guess it’s just what I’m used to.”

It’s what Arthur had assumed she’d say, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to accept that as the full truth. “You’ve been Queen for over a year now. We’ve been together even longer. And you still refer to me as if you were just another servant half the time.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings-“

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Arthur corrected her, “I just want to know, I mean, do I make you feel like you’re below me? Have I been making everyone feel like they’re below me? I mean, I feel like not so long ago everyone was more confident around me. The servants seemed less proper, you had started growing into your own skin- by the gods even Gwaine hardly takes the time to steal my food and call me names anymore. I don’t know what I’ve done to make everyone so much stiffer around me.”

Guinevere listened non-judgementally. Of course she did, she was always so patient with him. “I’m confused my-,” she cut herself off and corrected, “Arthur. You… want everyone to start being rude to you?”

“No, of course that’s not what I’m saying,” he took a pause to think of how to phrase it, “it’s like all of the sudden, everyone’s acting nervous around me like I’m the same obnoxious brat I was as a young prince. I thought I’d grown since then, but now it’s like Camelot itself has… I don’t know. Lost its spine. Have I changed?”

“No, of course not,” she answered without hesitation.

“Please don’t try to spare my feelings.”

“I’m not,” she assured him, “you’ve grown up so much since I first met you. Your ego has softened and your character has strengthened every day. You’re the best king Camelot could ask for and the best husband I could imagine. And every day you become better at both.” Guinevere kissed his hand at the end of her impassioned speech, and Arthur could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he probably blushed like a young lovestruck girl. Guinevere’s slight chuckle as she looked at him confirmed it, but the chance to catch her smile kept him from hiding his face in embarrassment. “I’m sorry I caused any doubts. I guess I’m still not always comfortable in my new status.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to keep reminding you just how worthy you are” he smiled, then gently put his palm to her cheek, pulling her into a soft kiss.

“Hey Princess! There you are!

Arthur was quickly jolted out of the moment by the sound of Gwaine’s voice in the distance. While annoyed, the use of the nickname was comforting at the moment. The two of them looked over to where Gwaine was walking towards them, closely followed by Mordred and some young woman Arthur didn’t recognize.

“Oh great, Gwen! You’re here too!” Gwaine greeted as he reached the pair. “Sorry to ruin the moment.”

“Good afternoon M’Lord,” Mordred greeted him properly, bowing as he did so, and then turned to do the same for Gwen “M’Lady”

The young lady didn’t greet them and stood silently behind the group. Her face gave nothing away, but her presence was a bit distressing for the king.

“Listen, Arthur, Gwen,” Gwaine’s tone was suddenly very serious, and it did not help Arthur’s anxiety about the group’s approach, “I’m going to need you to start becoming very comfortable with a lot of things very quickly. The future of Camelot is at stake.”

“Sir Gwaine, what’s going on?” Guinevere asked as the pair stood up.

“Yes, Gwaine, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s happening here.”

Instead of answering, Gwaine posed the question: “what would you say if I told you I had magic?”

“What?!” Arthur exclaimed

Mordred and the girl also immediately looked at him in shock, “What?”