So originally I was going to wait until I had three or four chapters ready to post, but knowing how I tend to procrastinate, I figured that posting in 'real-time' will probably be much better for me in terms of accountability. I've got a little more written, but as there is a POV change in the narration, I think I will stick with my tried and tested formula of one character's point of view per chapter. Chapter two will be from Arthur's perspective, and the POV's will continue throughout the story to be from either Merlin's or Arthur's perspective.

I've updated the bio on my profile with more information on this story (and others that I have written), but for now, I will simply say that this fic is dedicated to Vaughntronic, who, when asked for a prompt, gave me some lovely, angsty ideas to work with. This story is the result of that, and I hope you enjoy it!

I don't own Merlin.

Merlin felt sick. Not the sick that came from illness, but the sick that came from his stomach twisting and turning into tight knots; twisting and turning so much that it felt like his belly was going to explode from the tension.

The knots of dread had started with the appearance of a druid girl in the woods; a druid girl that Mordred was desperate to protect from Camelot's laws. A druid girl that Merlin somehow knew was the ripple in the water that would become an unstoppable wave of destruction.

He'd tried to stop things reaching this level of peril. He'd tried to talk sense both to Mordred – who was beyond reasoning with due to his love for the girl – and to Arthur who, while he had listened to a certain extent, hadn't really had much of a choice in the end when it came to deciding the druid girl's fate.

There'd been a moment when Merlin had felt the knots in his stomach ease up a little, when the dread that was making him feel so nauseous had lessened enough for him to feel a little hopeful. Arthur had offered the girl clemency - if she would but repent for her crimes - but Kara had been too proud, and too bitter; too far gone into hate to allow herself to unbend, even at the cost of her life.

So Arthur had passed sentence and, after sharing a look with the king during the tense meeting, Merlin knew that his friend was both disappointed at the final judgement, yet determined to see it through.

And so Merlin felt sick. He felt sick at the sight of the young girl being led to her death in the courtyard; a girl who was so young and, while guilty of a crime, was not deserving of the death that was coming to her. And he felt sick at the thought that would not cease whirling around in his head; the thought that was taunting him with the fear that the death of this druid girl was only going to be the start of terrible things to come...

Why couldn't you just let things be?

Mordred's rage-filled accusation seemed to reverberate in the warlock's head in perfect unison with the churning of his belly, and Merlin didn't know if it was because the young knight was still sending him telepathic admonishments, or if it was simply guilt playing tricks on him. Either way, his head was in much the same condition as his stomach; it was only a question of which body part would explode first.

When Kara's feet were removed from the support beneath them, Merlin had his answer. A telepathic scream of anguish from the knight locked in the cells reached him, and the warlock almost screamed himself, such was the pain that attacked every inch of his head. The pressure was immense; his skull felt crushed, yet not crushed at the same time. The weight of Mordred's grief was pushing Merlin's brain into a tight corner, and yet the warlock had the strangest sensation of unravelling; of feeling that his head was going to fly apart if he could not somehow contain it.

The warlock sank to his knees and frantically grabbed at his head with both of his hands, hoping that he could somehow keep it intact. He rolled into a ball, and could hear someone grunting with pain; dimly, he realised that it was him who was emitting the agonised sounds, but he was powerless to stop himself. He curled into a tighter ball, squeezing his head even as he shook it vigorously from side to side, trying to escape the deafening screams of rage and anguish that Mordred was still sending to him.

The grunts of pain became moans as the telepathic screams intensified, and Merlin lost control of his stomach, purging himself violently on the floor. He was vaguely aware of someone speaking to him – Gwaine? – but he couldn't hear the words; they were buried amongst the screams that were still battering at his head. He tried to reach out to the person before him, but as soon as he lifted a hand, the pain in his head became impossibly worse, and suddenly, everything went black.

oo0oo

The first thing that Merlin became aware of – apart from the dull throbbing in his skull – was that he was no longer lying on cold stone, but was cocooned within a haven of soft blankets. He opened his eyes just a slither, blearily noting the familiar ceiling of his own room, but swiftly closed them again as the light caused little pricks of pain to attack his already battered brain.

He could still hear the echoes of Mordred's screams bouncing around his head, and though they weren't as loud as before, they were strong enough to cause the warlock to flinch, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching up to cradle his aching skull once more.

He knew he'd blacked out, but he also knew that the druid knight had continued to assault his mind during his period of unconsciousness. Only instead of the overwhelming screams that had initially attacked him – which had now lessened somewhat in their intensity – he had been aware of the taunting repetition of a single word...

Merlin...

Even now, the word was being uttered every few seconds, and each time Merlin heard it, he felt his brain jostling around in his head, like a dice that was still spinning before coming to a halt.

Merlin... Merlin... Merlin... Merlin...

"Merlin?"

The warlock frowned at the sound of his name entering his consciousness through the more acceptable means of his ears, and risked opening his eyes a fraction.

"Gaius?" he croaked.

His guardian was hovering above him, looking somewhat dishevelled, though Merlin wasn't sure if that was because his vision was slightly skewered. He blinked slowly, bringing the physician more sharply into focus, and noted the creases of concern on the older man's brow, and the way he was worrying at his lip, clearly unsure of what was happening to his ward.

"What happened? Gwaine found you collapsed, and he said you were clutching your head. Are you sickening for something?"

Merlin... Merlin... Merlin...

" - should have said something to me this morning if you were. Gwaine also told me -"

Merlin... Merlin... I'm going to make you suffer, Merlin...

"-you'd emptied your stomach all over the floor. Foolish boy! How many times -"

I'm going to make you pay, Merlin... you're going to pay dearly for betraying me...

"-have I told you, you cannot ignore your health!"

"I'm going to be sick again," said the warlock abruptly, still clutching his head even as he spoke, and lurching to his side so that he could avoid soiling his bed. Gaius immediately stopped his scolding and supported the warlock as he painfully purged himself so thoroughly that Merlin was sure he had parted with more than the remaining contents of his stomach. When it became clear that the retching was no more than retching, the physician gently helped Merlin back to a more comfortable position and placed a cooling cloth on his head.

Meanwhile, Merlin was relieved to note that Mordred seemed to have stopped his mental assault for the time being, and while his head still felt fit to burst at any given moment, it was at least empty of the taunting words and screams of the druid knight.

"Perhaps it was something you ate?" said Gaius gently. "This looks like food poisoning to me."

"No," he said, wincing at the sound of his voice, which seemed ridiculously loud to his aching head. He swallowed, and then tried again in a softer tone. "Not food poisoning. I haven't eaten anything today."

Gaius puffed out a sigh, and shook his head as he busied himself filling a cup with some water. Merlin had to bite back a scream as his guardian gently cupped his head so that he could take a few sips of the refreshing liquid.

"Honestly, Merlin, when will you learn that you need to eat three regular meals a day?"

"I didn't have time this morning," he whispered, brushing away the cup after a few small sips. He was terribly thirsty, but he was afraid of drinking too much in case his stomach rebelled again.

"You should make time! We've been through this before; you know how your magic can drain you. You know that you need to fortify your body regularly if you want to stay on your feet. How many times have we had this same conversation?"

"There was no time!" Merlin snapped. "I needed to see Arthur, to speak with him about Mordred..."

The warlock stopped suddenly as another wave of agony pierced his skull. Gaius sighed.

"Merlin," he said gently. "I know how worried you've been about this dreadful druid girl business, but I've told you before, you can't neglect your health. What use will you be to Arthur if you get yourself into states like this?"

The physician carefully lowered the warlock's head back to the pillow, and prised Merlin's fingers from their renewed grip on his skull. Merlin hissed with the return of the painful pressure, and immediately returned his hands to their original position.

He wanted to tell Gaius that Mordred was in his head. He wanted to explain that the young knight was torturing him with endless screams and taunting words, but somehow he couldn't seem to form any words. His tongue suddenly appeared to be glued to the roof of his mouth, and all he could do was gaze mutely at the concerned man who was watching him shrewdly. Make it stop. Please make it stop.

"Well, that's quite the headache you have, my boy. I've already given you some herbs to alleviate the pain, but it seems that you are in need of something stronger. Rest quietly now, and I will mix up a more potent brew."

Merlin could only sigh as a response, and he closed his eyes as the older man left the room. He slowly dragged his fingers across his forehead, adjusting the position of the cloth that Gaius had thankfully thought to leave behind, and he pressed his fingertips as hard as he could tolerate into his head, hoping the exterior pressure would override the interior one.

"Mordred," he muttered, and was immediately hit with a fresh burst of unbelievable pain.

No, Merlin, no... you will not utter my name out loud ever again. Your words condemned Kara to a death that she did not deserve, and I will not let that happen to me. You will not speak my name again, nor will I allow you to spill poisonous words from your traitorous lips. You will pay for what you have done. I will make you pay. And you will be powerless to stop me.

You are in a cell, Mordred, and your magic is weaker than mine.

But this is druid magic at its strongest, Merlin; something that you are obviously unfamiliar with. Something that you will never understand, because you are – and always will be – an outcast. If you had embraced your true heritage while you were growing up, then perhaps you could fight me on this. But you can't. And you won't.

I don't understand.

But you soon will, Emrys. You soon will...

The telepathic connection suddenly broke as Merlin was pulled from it by the sound of his door being opened. Gwaine popped his head around the door cautiously, and seeing that Merlin was awake, he stepped into the room.

"Gaius is still brewing, but he said I could see how you were. You look terrible, by the way."

"Thanks."

"Feel terrible too, huh?"

"I've been better."

"Gaius said something about a headache? Drinking without me, my friend? That's not very sporting of you."

Merlin smiled weakly at the joke, but it was more for Gwaine's sake than from any sort of feeling of amusement. Mordred's words were still floating through his mind, and he was starting to feel sick with dread again. He needed to warn Arthur somehow; he needed to expose Mordred's obvious unravelling, for the state of the young druid's mind was clearly a cause for concern. If he could attack Merlin's mind with such apparent ease, there was no knowing what he was capable of doing to Arthur, who was far more vulnerable to an assault, magical or otherwise.

"Gwaine," he said urgently, "You must check on..." His voice choked on the word 'Mordred', and the warlock found himself coughing and spluttering, holding back a scream of agony as the druid sent another pulse of pain telepathically to him.

You will not speak my name!

Once again, Merlin was buried beneath a cacophony of endless screams, and even as he tried desperately to squeeze the pain from his burning skull, his vision darkened, and he was thrust into blackness again.