Warnings: Denial, quite possibly. Fraternising with the enemy(?). Wisdom that is less wise than it thinks it is. An author who is steadily losing her mind. And spoilers for series five, obviously.
Bits and bobs before we begin: I have no idea what this is. First remotely canon thing I've written since the end of series three (because I disagree strongly with a great number of things in series four, most of which begin with an L,and trust me, if I were in charge, things would have gone very differently [disclaimer, that, incidentally]), and...yeah, really don't know what this is. But it wouldn't leave me alone, and I figured, hey, it's not like stranger things haven't happened. I blame my brother, who seems to think Merlin and Gwen are made for each other, and whose insanity is obviously contagious. And so, without further ado, part one. More forthcoming, soonish. Until then.
Edit 27/1/19: Neko L0VEcraft has translated this fic into Russian! Translation can be found at: fanfiction (d o t) net /s/13187134/1/Что-суждено
Set in Stone
I
Merlin shouldn't trust him. He knows that. He's Seen that, for goodness sake. And this could all be an elaborate plot by Morgana, whereby she has Mordred stab her to prove his trustworthiness to Arthur and thus gain another spy in Camelot, one Arthur will trust just as much as he trusted Agravaine. No one checked she was dead, after all, Merlin found out later; he was unconscious and assumed someone had done it while he was out, but Arthur and Mordred had made getting back to the others their priority. Morgana might not be dead, and even if she is, Mordred is dangerous.
But Merlin trusts him anyway. Mostly.
He'll keep a close eye on him, just in case.
X
Kilgarrah told him to kill Mordred as a child, almost a decade ago. And yes, perhaps there was something a little sinister about him then, all pale skin and dark hair, eyes that saw everything and absolute silence. But he was a child nonetheless, and while Merlin may be many things he is not that. He does not hurt innocents, which children by definition are.
Kilgarrah would probably tell him to kill Mordred now.
That's kind of why Merlin hasn't mentioned he's here.
X
Thing is, Merlin hasn't had anyone his own age (which Mordred is not, and while helping Mordred remove his cloak on the day of his knighting might be the first time he reminds himself of this fact, it is by no means the last) to talk to about magic with since Lancelot died. Mordred knows, though, how much of himself Merlin keeps hidden, how much of himself Merlin is scared he will never be able to reveal. Better still, Mordred understands.
Best – and perhaps most surprising – of all, Mordred hasn't said anything to anyone.
Even when Merlin threatens him, which he does far more than just that once.
X
"I couldn't even sit upright by myself the first time my mother saw my eyes glow gold," Merlin confesses, when he happens to pass Mordred in an empty hallway. It is just so long since he spoke of his magic to anyone but Gaius, and the words spill from his lips before he has time to think about them.
I was still babbling baby talk the first time I spoke to my parents like this, Mordred answers, his voice ringing in Merlin's brain rather than his ears.
He smiles, cautiously, as well he should be; Merlin has been little better than hostile to him since he arrived.
Merlin is just as incapable of controlling his answering grin as he is his tongue.
X
"I poisoned Morgana to save Camelot. To save Arthur."
My backstabbing was somewhat more literal.
X
"There is no one I wouldn't kill to keep him safe."
And yet I'm still alive.
Merlin follows him for a week after that comment, tensing every time Mordred comes within a hundred yards of Arthur.
It's possible that is the reaction Mordred wanted.
X
"Merlin, a word," Arthur says, when Merlin goes to follow everyone from the hall after a Round Table meeting.
Merlin glances at Mordred's retreating back, not remotely willing to let him out of his sight, but Arthur frowns, adding, "Now, Merlin," before gesturing to the seat next to him.
Merlin perches reluctantly on the chair, ready to leap up and get after him as soon as Arthur says whatever it is he has to say. Right up until the moment that Arthur says it, at which point trailing Mordred no longer seems quite so good an idea.
"Is there a reason you're following Sir Mordred like a new duckling with its mother?" Arthur asks, fixing Merlin with a stern look.
"Am I?" Merlin replies, because an outright denial will just irk him. This serves much the same purpose, but in a way that will hopefully irritate Arthur a little less.
Unfortunately, while it doesn't piss him off, it hardly pleases Arthur either. "Don't lie to me, Merlin. You're not very good at it."
"Actually, it was a question," Merlin smirks, because actually, I'm very good at it probably isn't a smart thing to say. "A question can't be a lie, Arthur."
"It might as well be, since you know the answer already. Is this more of your rubbish about me not shooting him on the ice? You don't trust him? Or do you just not trust my judgement?"
That gets only silence, because the obvious answer (um, no. Not when your judgement had you completely blind to the fact that your father was an irrational bigot and your uncle was working for your psycho sister, which, incidentally, you also didn't notice) is not one Arthur will appreciate at all. He isn't exactly happy with having his past mistakes pointed out, after all, but then no one ever really is.
"He saved my life!" Arthur growls, not loudly but with definitely force. "He turned against Morgana! What reason could you possibly have...unless you aren't following him because you distrust him. Huh."
"Huh what, Arthur?"
All of Arthur's fierceness is gone, replaced by a speculative yet almost certainly sincere smile. "Huh nothing, Merlin. I just haven't seen you show interest in someone since...well, it's been quite a while."
Merlin blinks at this, then blinks again. "You think that...?" he asks, that question coming out only a little ahead of you mean, since you decided you'd rather be with Gwen than me? mostly because the second sounds a little bitter and also too much like a something that is not a no.
"It's fine if you do. He is a perfectly decent man." A pause, then he adds, "Guinevere and I have been worried about you. Neither of us wishes you to be alone."
"Wow, thanks, Arthur. I'm so glad you approve," Merlin drawls, chipper insincerity in every syllable. "Now, ignoring the fact that he's far too young for me, no. Really, really no."
"He's older than you were when you came to Camelot."
"Yes, and I'm much older than you were the first time we slept together," Merlin argues, because if Arthur is going to go there, so is he, and he isn't afraid to say all the things Arthur doesn't want to.
"Age doesn't matter, Merlin. He's a knight of Camelot, you could hardly force him into your bed if he didn't want to be there." Merlin thinks Arthur thinks this is actually comforting, or encouraging, or something. It's not, not in slightest.
"I'm going now, Arthur. I have far more important things to be doing than listening to your nonsense."
Although, yeah, he might stop following Mordred for a bit. Just until Arthur forgets his utterly mental ideas. It's hardly the only way to keep Arthur alive, after all.
X
As it happens, Arthur is considerably less fond of Merlin sticking to him like glue than he is of Merlin following Mordred around. But needs must, and Merlin isn't going to let Arthur get hurt. Not now, not ever.
X
Assuming I was a threat, Mordred says in Merlin's mind as Arthur calls for a brief break in training, shouting for Merlin to bring him water, how exactly is behaving like this supposed to stop me?
Merlin trips him up, just because he can.
He's not the only one entertained by it, either.
X
Emrys, comes the voice, deep in the darkness of the night. Emrys, I need to speak to you.
Merlin pulls his lumpy, ugly pillow over his head, trying to block it out. It works about as well as it used to when Kilgarrah called him, which is not at all.
Meet me in the Table room. It's important. I won't let you sleep until you do.
X
"Arthur's in danger," Mordred says when Merlin gets there, for once using actual words. "I need your help to protect him."
"My help?" Merlin asks, at the same time as his brain is desperately babbling Arthur? Danger? Whatwhenwherehowwho?
Mordred nods, gravely, looking so much older than he is. "Please, Emrys. Merlin. I can't do this on my own."
It might be his name, his actual name, that clinches it. It might be because he subconsciously trusts Mordred more than he thinks he does. It might just be because it's Arthur, and Merlin will never allow harm to come to him.
"What do you need me to do?"
X
Having someone who knows, Merlin remembers, makes things so much easier. He doesn't have to wait until everyone is unconscious to use his magic, just has to wait until Mordred steps up, drawing his sword and everyone's attention as he faces off against the latest sorcerer to decide regicide is the answer to all his problems.
Mordred gets a reputation for being brave and noble and as prone to self-sacrifice as Lancelot, Merlin gets to keep his head attached, and Arthur gets to live. Everybody wins.
And yes, Merlin has considered the possibility that Mordred engineered the attack in order to gain his trust.
He has to say, though, if he did, it kind of worked.
X
"Thank you," Merlin says, as the feast honouring Mordred and his bravery is approaching what ought to be its end. "For warning me, and for distracting them. I owe you."
He is my king, too, Emrys, Mordred answers. "But you're welcome, Merlin."
"Oi!" Gwaine yells across the hall. "Less talking, more drinking, boys."
"I'm not a boy," Mordred replies, glancing at Merlin before heading over to join them.
Hmm, Merlin thinks, dragging his eyes away from where they want to linger and searching out a pitcher to refill Arthur's goblet.
And no, there is no possibility at all that Arthur was right about his motives in keeping an eye on Mordred, none whatsoever.
X
This time, Merlin searches him out. He isn't entirely sure why, other than curiosity; he and Mordred have a somewhat tenuous friendship, he thinks, but then Merlin's friendships tend to be either tentative (Arthur, Freya, Morgana back...well, before, and no, there is not a pattern there) or all out from the offset, and it is so very comforting to have someone else who knows just how much he is capable of.
"Hello, Merlin," Mordred says. What can I do for you today?
"That," Merlin answers, surprising himself with his words. "Will you teach me that?"
What can you offer me in return? Mordred replies, and if he isn't intending to sound taunting it's one of the biggest coincidences Merlin has ever come across. Knowledge is power, Emrys, and power is never free.
And this is something particularly powerful, Merlin realises. A Druid gift, and one of the few Merlin does not have. Of course Mordred is going to want something in return.
"What would you like?" Merlin asks, because he has no idea what he can offer Mordred, what this power is worth.
He is imagining the light in Mordred's eyes as he examines him, Merlin tells himself. He must be.
"A favour," Mordred says eventually, aloud. "Of my own choosing, at some point in the future."
"Do I have the option of refusing when that time comes?" Merlin asks, because he isn't going to promise to grant an unknown favour at an unknown point in time, even if he has mostly, mostly, decided Mordred is trustworthy.
You might. Mordred smiles, that same silent, eerie smile he had the last time Merlin knew him. Of course, when the time comes, you might not want to.
He turns, going off to do whatever it is he does when Merlin isn't watching him, leaving nothing but the words, think it over dancing in Merlin's mind.
X
Merlin does. He thinks about it, and thinks about it, and thinks about it. And then thinks about it some more.
"I agree. Conditionally."
Of course you do, Mordred answers. Name your terms.
X
"I won't hurt anyone," Merlin tells him, three days later.
Obvious, Emrys. You can do better than that.
X
"I won't do anything that may possibly endanger Arthur, or any of his people."
It's like you're not even trying, Emrys.
X
On his third attempt, Merlin makes a list of every single thing that occurs to him, covering every unfavourable thing Mordred could possibly ask of him.
Nothing that may aid Morgana, inadvertently or not, he begins, the fine sheet of parchment snaffled from Arthur's personal (and almost untouched) supply. No aiding prisoners in escaping, leaving doors unlocked, or engineering a way for places to be unguarded. No outing himself or others, no sharing of anything even the slightest bit confidential, however harmless it may seem.
He pauses, moving the quill to drip ink on the table rather than the page, then carries on. No passing on messages or reading texts or speaking words he does not fully comprehend and approve the purpose of. No lying to anyone, no spreading rumours or half-truths or complete truths that are best left unstated.
Nothing that might harm anyone, he reiterates, not physically or mentally or emotionally, be it permanent or temporary, fleeting or long lasting. Nothing that could endanger Arthur, consciously or otherwise; no releasing creatures, no spells of unknown origin, no encouraging the prat into facing danger (or, for that matter, trying too hard to encourage him out of it).
And, because Merlin does realise what lessons in telepathy are going to entail, and it's a risk he is willing to take, Mordred must swear at the offset not to reveal anything he may see in Merlin's mind, must guard all his secrets with the same focus he does his own.
That, Merlin thinks, is it. Certainly enough. After all, promising a favour to someone he doesn't consider trustworthy isn't a good idea, and if Mordred has something planned chances are all Merlin's precautions aren't going to be enough to cover for it. He has been as careful as he can, and who knows how useful a skill true telepathy might be, how many times he might be able to help Arthur with it.
He uses his magic to get into Mordred's room (a spell he's perfected over years of forgetting Arthur's key far too often) and leaves the paper on his bed, a sign that his willingness to trust only goes so far, and a lock isn't going to be enough to keep him out.
X
We have a deal, reads the sheet of paper – just as fine as the one Merlin used earlier, and he really hopes Mordred got it properly, by asking for it, rather than taking Merlin's path of subterfuge – left on Merlin's bed that evening.
Since neither the door to Gaius' rooms nor the secondary door to Merlin's bedroom has a lock, this is a somewhat less impressive feat.
Not that that makes it any less disconcerting.