Chapter Text
Lightning flashed through the sky. It illuminated Morgana’s cloak for a split second and Merlin rushed to catch up with her. The rain had him drenched and frozen to the bone, and every movement came with the unpleasant sensation of wet fabric dragging across his skin, moving pockets of cold air along his body. Merlin broke into a run, but Morgana seemed to move further and further away no matter how fast he moved.
Another flash of lightning and he saw Morgana, killing Uther in his bed. Morgana, being crowned queen. Morgana, eyes blazing red… Merlin stopped, disoriented, and shook his head. This wasn’t right. Uther had already died. This couldn’t be a vision.
“And did you try to stop it?” Kilgharrah’s deep rumble sounded inside Merlin’s skull. He stared around, looking for the dragon’s familiar shape, but the rain closed in on him like a solid black wall.
“You know I did!” Merlin shouted. “I tried to stop all of them!” He shivered and squinted through the water running down his face, into the blackness. Where had the castle gone?
Another flash of lightning and he stood on a battlefield, bathed in a blood red sunrise, watching Mordred lift his sword towards Arthur.
“No!” Merlin ran towards him and saw him turn at the sound. When Mordred faced him, he was the young druid child that Morgana had once hidden in her chambers.
“Why, Emrys? Why did you try to kill me?” His voice rang in Merlin’s head, reverberating a thousand times. Merlin felt his heartbeat pounding in terror without knowing why.
“I tried to stop it,” he whispered to Mordred. “I tried to stop the prophecy.” His knees gave out and he fell into the mud. A small figure knelt down in front of him; he felt a hand on his chin, lifting his eyes to meet theirs.
“Oh Merlin,” Hunith said sadly. “Have you learned nothing?” Merlin could see Gaius behind her, shaking his head, disappointment etched on his face. Arthur walked into his field of vision and looked at him with barely concealed disgust. “Have you learned nothing?” he repeated. His words replayed in Merlin’s mind over and over; he clutched his head, trying to cover his ears, and screwed shut his eyes-
Merlin awoke with a start, gasping for air. His room lay quiet and distinctly peaceful, the clothes and books strewn across the floor barely visible in the faint light of a sunrise still an hour away. Not even the shadows looked threatening; familiar traces of Merlin’s magic filled the air in their usual quiet hum.
Merlin rubbed his eyes and sighed, the nightmare already slipping away from him. He wished it had come to him a little later – he could have done with a lie-in today.
Reluctantly, he dressed and headed out, careful not to wake Gaius. Arthur and the knights were riding North today, after some reports from the Northern villages of a large bear foraging their cattle, far away from its usual habitat. Of course, Arthur had to decide that instead of just sending one or two capable knights, he would take the opportunity to tour the North, turning the whole thing into a week-long trip for Merlin to plan.
Not that he really disapproved, Merlin reflected while absent-mindedly packing provisions and saddle bags with the help of two other servants. It would be good to get out of the castle and break the monotony of his chores.
“Will wonders never cease. You are actually on time.” Arthur’s reply to Merlin’s cheery “good morning” immediately soured his mood.
“I thought I would have to get George to drag you out of bed,” the king continued, completely ignoring Merlin’s grimace.
“That was one time!”
“Well clearly it worked a charm, if you’re getting up now.” Arthur grinned widely and Merlin rolled his eyes at him.
Less than an hour later, they were on the road – Arthur had left Leon in charge of the guard and taken Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Mordred along. The last addition didn’t sit well with Merlin, but as Gaius had reasonably explained the night before, wouldn’t Merlin rather keep an eye on Mordred than leave him behind at Camelot? The thought brought back a flash of the nightmare he had had earlier – Merlin forcefully pushed the faint echo of his mother's voice out of his mind. Mordred was… a topic Merlin would rather not think about, but as he rode at the back of the group, Merlin’s eyes were unwittingly drawn to the man. Arthur’s being so obviously besotted with him had initially left Merlin more suspicious than ever, but now…
Merlin sighed. He hated to admit it, but Mordred had yet to give him a reason to distrust him.
“Merlin, don’t dawdle,” Arthur called from the front of the group, because he apparently had eyes in the back of his head.
“Right behind you, Sire,” Merlin called back in his best sarcastic voice. He saw Mordred flinch and turn his head to shoot him a look – Merlin ignored it and Gwaine’s laughter drowned out Arthur’s stock reply about “the world’s worst servant”.
They stayed in a deserted cave that night, which they often used during hunting trips. The following two days took them into less familiar terrain, until Merlin stopped recognizing parts of the forest entirely.
“We should reach the Valley of Spring tomorrow morning.” Arthur flattened out a crumpled map and traced their progress with his index finger, mainly towards Mordred and Elyan – Gwaine and Percival seemed more interested in their food. Merlin scooted closer to see the spot that Arthur tapped on the parchment.
“What’s in the Valley of Spring then?” he asked, between mouthfuls.
Arthur shrugged. “Nothing of interest. There are some rumours of enchantment, but I have never seen anything of the sort there.”
Alarm bells went off in Merlin’s mind and he had to bite down his questions, instead walking off to clear up the plates and leftovers of food. Sometimes, he wondered whether Arthur intentionally invited trouble of the magical variety wherever he went.
“It’s named after a spring ritual.” Mordred’s soft voice made Merlin jump and nearly drop the bowls he was packing away. He hadn’t realised the knight had followed him.
“What kind of ritual?” he asked, wary.
Mordred shrugged. “I never went – but the Elders talked about it. Representatives from each druid settlement used to travel there when the snow started thawing, to welcome spring back into the land.”
Merlin didn’t know what to do with this conversational tone – since when did Mordred talk to him as if they were friends?
“So it’s not dangerous.” He looked inquiringly at Mordred, whose expression shut off. Merlin sighed. “What am I thinking; of course it is dangerous if Arthur decides to go there.”
A call from the campfire interrupted their conversation, and Mordred hurried back to help Elyan, but he replied nevertheless, straight into Merlin’s mind: “It hasn’t been used since the Purge – Uther tried to waylay Druids at the valley during one of the rituals so they have avoided it since.”
Merlin shivered, not just at the chilling turn in the story. Something about mind-to-mind communication felt intrusive, as if Mordred were looking right into Merlin. You know that’s not how it works, he told himself firmly. In his initial paranoia over Mordred’s reappearance, Merlin had researched druid communication in every book he could find, and despite the lack of detail available on how it actually worked, he confirmed – to his relief – that it had nothing to do with mind reading.
That night, Merlin’s dreams were all fragments of war and blood red sunrises.
~~
The Valley of Spring could have earned its name for its appearance alone. The forest broke with no warning in front of them, only a few trees lining the sloping path into a field of wildflowers that stretched almost as far as the eye could reach, had the mountains not towered in the background, throwing a line of shadow halfway across the valley, meeting grass turned golden by the sun. Bird song accompanied their slow descent, the sweet smell of flowers mixing in the fresh air. Merlin couldn’t help but smile.
“Just need a tavern right there-” Gwaine pointed to the tree line. “-and this would be heaven.”
Percival laughed and shook his head.
“Nature is wasted on you,” Elyan told Gwaine, who immediately took the opportunity to start a philosophical argument about nature and ale and his hair. (Merlin might have been a bit fuzzy on the details – he tuned out long before the discussion took off.) Mordred, riding in front of Merlin again, didn’t engage in the banter, but instead looked out over the valley in silence. Merlin wished he could see his facial expression. He could feel the magic pooling in the lower planes, becoming denser the further they went. Still, his worries from last night didn’t materialise – the magic felt wild, but welcoming. His own magic stretched curious tendrils into the ground, and Merlin had to reel it in to stop getting distracted.
By the time they reached the bottom of the slope, the sun had risen fully and chased the last shadows from the valley. Even Gwaine’s chatter subsided once they started the trek through the grass, high enough to graze their ankles.
“Watch out for snakes,” Arthur called. Despite the words, he didn’t sound worried – Merlin caught a glimpse of his smile and instinctively relaxed. Arthur had needed a break, he realised. Suddenly, the Northern tour looked less like an opportunity for showing off (“I am the king, Merlin, meeting my people is not showing off”) and more like a chance to escape the Council Room, endless visitors, and people watching his every move. Merlin let the valley’s magic flow through him and decided to stop worrying for a little while.
Of course, at that very moment, a panicked voice shouted his name.
It took Merlin a frenzied heartbeat to realise three things: that the voice had been in his mind, that it belonged to Mordred, and that the knight had stiffened in his saddle; he was slowing down, struggling with something. Merlin urged his horse to fall in line with Mordred’s and found him with his eyes shut tightly, hands in fists around his reins.
“What’s going on?” Merlin hissed. Mordred’s body was shaking from suppressed effort.
“My magic - I can’t -” Mordred spoke in his mind, sounding no less panicked than before. He shot a quick look at Merlin, who nearly fell off his horse in shock – Mordred’s eyes shone a bright gold.
Merlin threw a quick look at the other knights, who mercifully had their backs turned, and frantically shook his head at Mordred, telling him without words to close his eyes again. The younger knight complied, his voice ringing through Merlin’s mind again.
“I can’t get it back under control - something about this place -”
Mordred’s horse, clearly feeling the discomfort of its rider, started fidgeting and looked ready to bolt.
“Merlin - please-”
When he thought about it later, Merlin should have probably considered the possibility that this was a trap. But Mordred’s voice sounded so desperate that Merlin didn’t think at all.
“Bøanløag gesweorc,” he hissed, stretching out his arm over the valley, pulling the wild magic from around him and funneling it into the spell.
“What was that, Merlin?” Elyan half-turned in his saddle and Merlin quickly sped up to hide Mordred from view. He pointed past Elyan, making the knight turn back to follow his gaze.
“Fog!” Arthur shouted at the moment, slightly superfluously – they could all see the tendrils stretching towards them and rising from the ground at an unnatural speed.
Arthur’s voice rang through the mist. “Everyone – follow the usual rules. Who’s got Mordred?”
“I do,” Merlin shouted back as cheerfully as he could manage, nudging his horse against the knight’s to make sure not to lose him.
“I’m with Elyan,” Gwaine called out.
“Good. I’m with Percival. See you on the other side.”
Merlin had travelled through heavy fog – not always the magic induced kind – many times with the knights. Arthur’s rules were simple: split into pairs, slow down, watch your footing, and go in a straight line until the fog recedes.
The fog surrounded them faster than usual, helped along by the valley's magic. By the time Merlin had stopped both his and Mordred’s horse, he could no longer see Elyan and Gwaine in front of them.
“Can you get down?” he asked Mordred quietly. The knight shook his head abruptly. Despite the poor view, Merlin could make out the sweat on Mordred’s forehead. He opened his eyes, blazing with magic now.
“Can barely hold onto it,” he choked out.
“Ok, don’t worry.” Merlin looked at the distance between the horses and led his mare into a tight turn, moving her as close as possible to Mordred’s horse until he was next to Mordred, their legs pressed together between the horses’ flanks.
“Lean over,” he instructed, gesturing towards himself. Mordred complied, shaking with effort – with so little space between them, Merlin could feel the tension from the younger man, could feel his magic leaking out into the valley, despite Mordred clearly using all his strength to stop it. Their horses fidgeted, and Merlin nearly slipped from his saddle, steadying himself on Mordred’s thigh at the last second. The knight tensed even more, and Merlin muttered a spell to calm the horses, pulling his hand back as soon as he found his balance again.
Merlin didn’t know what to do but his magic did – leaning over the gap, his hands went to both sides of Mordred’s face and he pushed, very lightly, allowing his own magic to run over Mordred, enveloping all of him, including those tendrils of his magic trying to escape. He didn’t realise he had closed his eyes until Mordred gasped, his breath ghosting over Merlin’s skin. He kept his own shut, praying to the gods that it hadn’t been a gasp of pain. Slowly, and very gently, he started coaxing Mordred’s magic back into his body, pushing and prodding. It complied almost too easily, recoiling from Merlin wherever he nudged it, folding back on itself. Merlin followed its retreat, focusing on making his own magic as unthreatening as possible, until he could feel the last tendrils settle back into Mordred’s skin.
Merlin withdrew his magic slowly, dropping his hands. He opened his eyes and found Mordred, face inches from his, staring straight at him, eyes back to their stormy grey, complete and utter shock on his face.
“There,” Merlin said softly, uneasy under his stare and feeling strangely vulnerable in his shabby tunic, his legs pressed against the cold chainmail of the knight, his thighs burning from the strain of holding himself still. “Better?”
Something strange passed over Mordred’s face. An instant later, he snapped into a schooled expression of indifference and dropped his gaze, pulling back into his saddle. He nodded, not meeting Merlin’s eyes.
Merlin pushed a swirl of emotions and questions firmly from his mind, aware that any moment they wasted made them fall further behind, and risked someone coming back to look for them. He turned his mare back around, doing his best to avoid any more body contact with Mordred. It felt like an eternity had passed since he had cast the spell, but the fog around them still pressed on them as thickly as when it had first appeared. A few minutes of a gentle trot later, they made out the outlines of the other knights.
Merlin turned to Mordred and opened his mouth to say something encouraging, but the other man had already sped up past him without as much as a glance back.
That night, Merlin lay on his bedroll wide awake, the glowing embers from the campfire fading beside him. Mordred had remained quiet and withdrawn all day and not spoken a word to Merlin, who couldn’t shake the feeling that he had missed something significant. Had he hurt Mordred when he pushed back his magic? It hadn’t felt like he had used any force. Or what if he had broken some unspoken Druid rule?
Oh gods, Merlin thought, turning restlessly, that actually might be true. Surely there must be spells to stop someone losing control of their magic, and Merlin just didn’t know them, and in his ignorance, he had horribly overstepped Mordred’s boundaries by reaching out with his magic. He didn’t want to think about any other boundaries he may have overstepped – Mordred’s startled gaze so close that he could see the specks of gold receding from it as the last of his magic settled back into his skin, his breath warm against Merlin’s face, or the shock etched into every muscle of his usually so controlled expression-
Get a grip, Merlin told himself. You’ve seen what practice sessions are like with the knights; they’re all over each other. Mordred won’t be bothered by physical proximity. This is clearly about what you did to his magic.
Satisfied to have reached a conclusion, but far too exhausted to figure out what to do about it, Merlin fell into a restless sleep.