Archive of Our Own

Five days until the tournament.

Merlin slowly found himself gaining consciousness and sighed, making no effort to open his eyes. It was rare that he got a full night’s sleep and he wanted to savour the blissful start to his day. Usually nightmares plagued him, anywhere from Arthur slipping on a banana peel and impaling himself to Mordred slipping on a banana peel and impaling Arthur. The common theme being Arthur’s death. On the few occasions where his dreams didn’t involve Arthur’s untimely demise, Merlin would be jolted awake by the sun’s strong beams or a hungry Gaius or even an apologetic servant, who had been bullied by His Clotpoleness to find him.

Needless to say, Merlin was in his element on this fine morning. As he stretched happily, he noticed the increased softness of his bed. It was like… lying on clouds. Nothing like the plank of wood he was entitled to. Had he fallen asleep on Arthur’s bed again? Merlin wrenched his eyes open, mourning the loss of his sleep. It was lucky he hadn’t been found yet but he was never one to rely on his luck too much.

Merlin froze. The ceiling was unfamiliar. It wasn’t like the ceiling in his room (too ornate) but it wasn’t Arthur’s ceiling either (too bare). He sat up quickly and stared in horror as the room he was in wasn’t anywhere he recognised. Where was he? What had happened last night?

He moved quietly around the room, trying to look for clues. For some strange reason, his body refused to cooperate. Muscles he never acknowledged in his legs complained of strains and his wrist was particularly sore. Everything felt off.

All the more reason for Merlin to figure things out. He pushed past the pain, certain his magic would deal with the aches before breakfast. In one corner stood a shield and a sword — a knight’s chambers, then — but otherwise, the room was overly tidy. Merlin never trusted clean areas as they were the ones which held the most secrets. He looked under the bed and in the wardrobe but they were both dead ends. 

Finally, he turned to the small looking-glass that stood by the fireplace. The presence of it was odd enough — none of the knights seemed to be overly concerned with their appearance, although Gwaine had joked his hair had an entire 10 step routine. Merlin wasn’t expecting any break-through as his eyes flicked past but the image made him still.

That wasn’t his face staring back at him.

***

“Sir Mordred, how can I help?” asked Gaius as he opened the door. He was slightly confused as to why he had come knocking so early in the morning and was a great deal more confused when the young knight barged past him. “Whatever is the matter?”

Just then, a sleepy Merlin stumbled out of the smaller room and yawned widely. “Why am I in the Physician’s chambers?” he asked, his head tilted. Now Gaius was really, very confused. “Am I unwell? Was I hit?”

“My boy, you live here.”

Merlin frowned but he finally caught sight of Mordred and grew pale. “Why— I, what on—”

“Stop panicking, Mordred,” ordered… Mordred? Gaius’ eyebrow rose.

“Merlin, what is going on here?” he asked firmly, directing his full attention to the still spooked boy in front of him. Surprisingly, Sir Mordred was the one to answer him.

“Gaius, I’m Merlin. I don’t know what happened but we’ve switched,” said Mordred — no, Merlin? Gaius stared. “It’s true. Ask me something only I would know.”

He frowned. “Did Merlin clean my leech tank yesterday as I asked?” The sheepish look on Sir Mordred’s face answered him.

“I… I forgot. I mean, no, I didn’t.”

“An imposter would have been tempted to assume a yes and I believe your honesty has once again saved you, my boy,” said Gaius warmly and Mordred smiled. “Although I really do need it clean,” he added with a stern look. “Am I to assume you are Sir Mordred then?” Merlin face nodded back with a dumb-founded expression. Gaius sighed, weary. “How did you find trouble this time then?”

Mordred made an offended sound — a rare sound indeed for the young knight. “Trouble found us, Gaius! But nothing out of the ordinary happened yesterday,” he added with a frown. “I mean, yes, there were the bandits when we went on the hunt but I dealt with them easily enough…”

“But the branches knocked them out,” said Merlin, although he didn’t look confident any more. Gaius hid his small smile at the doubtful expression on his face: it had been a long time since Merlin freely expressed his true feelings, but this wasn’t Merlin any more. 

“Yes, Mordred, the trees have a habit of knowing exactly when Arthur’s in danger and drop their branches for the sole purpose of keeping the prat alive,” said Mordred with an unimpressed look which was quite out of place on his otherwise kind face. “They must’ve set a curse that I missed.”

Merlin groaned and collapsed onto the patient’s cot. Mordred hurried into the kitchen and quickly returned with three cups of tea which were just strong enough to keep Gaius’ growing headache at bay for now. “This is the worst possible time for this to happen! The tournament is less than a week away and the King has repeatedly stressed how important it is that we are at our best,” he said, finishing his tea in one gulp.

“Oh please, it’s just waving a sword! No, the real problem is the 3 day-long peace talk — all five kingdoms are meeting to settle a treaty and now isn’t the time for me to be out of action, not when we already have a servant shortage,” said Mordred with a roll of his eyes. Merlin pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. “Gaius, do you know of any spell where people can swap bodies?”

Gaius rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I do not, but a few books might,” he said with a shrewd glance at Mordred who nodded immediately.

“Geoffrey may know of some books. I’ll go—”

“Merlin, my boy, first we need to know the extent of this switch.” Confused faces blinked back at him and Gaius sighed. “Have only your souls switched places or have your… abilities also transferred?” He could not be more plain but thankfully, they understood.

Mordred waved his hand in the direction of his empty cup and frowned when nothing happened. Next to him, Merlin snorted. “Respectfully Emrys, carelessly waving your hand around doesn’t do shit.” As if to punctuate his point, Merlin imitated his gesture and gasped as his cup filled to the brim with the same tea and promptly exploded in Merlin’s face. Mordred sighed and fetched a broom. 

“That answers my question then. I will speak to Geoffrey about the books we require but it may take a few days,” said Gaius with a serious look.

“We don’t have a few days! Mordred’s going to be a shit servant and Arthur will find out and he’ll be distracted from the peace-talks and Camelot will end up in war!” despaired Mordred with a manic look in his eyes. A knock at the door interrupted whatever small comforts Merlin was attempting to offer.

“Merlin?” Gwen popped her head around and curtsied when she saw Mordred. “Sir Mordred, I didn’t expect you here…”

“Oh Gwen, I’m so glad to see you,” sighed Mordred, much to her confusion. “I’m sorry I didn’t come yet, I’ve had a difficult morning.” 

“You don’t usually address me like that,” said Gwen with a frown and she turned to Merlin, who leapt to his feet and sank into a respectful bow.

“My lady.”

“Nor do you. What’s going on here?” Gwen turned to Gaius now, hoping he would have answers and wouldn’t raise more questions. Mordred smacked his head.

“I forgot! Gwen, I’m Merlin.” Seeing the sceptical look on her face, Mordred hurriedly added, “feel free to ask me anything I would know.”

She hummed and tilted her head as she considered her options. “What was the reason behind the first and last time I ever stepped foot in the dungeons?” Mordred smirked.

“It was twice, actually. Once to save my life when you helped Arthur and the second was when Uther accused you of sorcery.” Behind him, Merlin looked shocked but Gwen was convinced as she hugged Mordred. 

“How did this happen?” Mordred shook his head with a roll of his eyes.

“No idea, honestly. But Gwen, I need to ask a huge favour of you.” She nodded instantly. “Please show Mordred around, will you? It’s just until we find a way to switch back but… this week is so important and I don’t want to be the reason Camelot ends up in a war.”

“You don’t even have to ask, Merlin,” said Gwen with a bright smile. She went over to Merlin’s side and hooked her arm in his. “Remember when we used to be joined at the hip? It’ll be like the good old days.” Mordred sighed in relief. “But, how will you cope? There’s the tournament and frankly, Merlin, you’re not a knight.”

“How hard can it be?” laughed Mordred. “I’ve watched the prat fight almost every day for the past however many years I’ve spent by his side and I was also his training dummy for a long, torturous year.” His smile slipped off as he turned to Merlin. “Speaking of, when you go to serve Arthur, you must, under no circumstances, use his title. If he finds out that I am capable of deference, I will never hear the end of it,” he said firmly and Merlin ducked his head as he nodded. “And do not even think of using your… talents.”

“What talen— oh, of course,” agreed Merlin hurriedly as Gwen narrowed her eyes. “No titles, no talents.”

“And follow Gwen without question.”

***

Mordred decided that the Lady Guinevere, no matter how kind and sweet she seemed to everyone, had a great deal of strength. She had dragged him from the Physician’s chambers all the way to the servants’ meeting place with ease. Their journey hadn’t been too taxing except never had Mordred realised the sheer number of servants who frequently greeted Emrys by name until that moment.

“Hiya Merlin!”

Mordred blinked and yelled at himself internally to respond already! “Hi…”

“Alyssa,” hissed Gwen.

“Alyssa! How are you?” asked Mordred, praying his second’s hesitation had gone unnoticed. Alyssa beamed at him in return.

“Brilliant and it’s all your doing! I should have asked you to talk to Lady Emilia earlier. I didn’t know how many more scandalous stories of her lover I could take.” Mordred smiled weakly and reassured her that he would be happy to have another word if necessary. He made a mental note to let Emrys know of this promise.

Just as Alyssa left, a man blocked their path, this time with an unhappy expression. “Merlin! What were you thinking, coming into work today? You took quite a blow yesterday,” he added, frowning. Mordred turned to Gwen in despair but she too looked appropriately concerned.

“Really Merlin, what is this I’m hearing? I’m quite disappointed, I’ll have you know,” she chastised and Mordred ducked his head even though he realistically knew it wasn’t his fault — Lady Gwen was a terrifying woman.

“It was his foot, my lady. The stone bucket collapsed onto it and we were convinced it had broken the thing into pieces but the boy here waves it off,” said the man disapprovingly. Gwen gasped, horrified. Now that he mentioned it, Mordred could feel a very slight twinge in his left foot — nowhere near the level of excruciating pain described. Although, he supposed, Emrys’ magic had probably healed him at a much faster rate than normal. 

Well, let it never be said that Mordred wasn’t a brilliant actor.

“Gaius had a look at it,” he said with a faked limp and tried for a winning smile. “Really, I’m much better now.”

“If you say so,” said the man. “I want all of the servants to be exemplary in time for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” asked Gwen.

“Yes my lady, Queen Annis has sent word that she will be a day early,” he said briskly. “I must be off. My lady, Merlin,” he nodded and turned.

“Who was that? Why does he care about how the servants are?” Mordred had a few questions but Gwen led him through the halls and handed him piles of clothing and bedding.

She turned over her shoulder to answer him. “That was the steward — Allwyn.” At his silence, she continued, “stewards are responsible for servants, you see.”

“So what do you do?”

“I’m the Head of Household,” said Gwen, smiling as a few more maids curtsied as they walked past. Mordred simply beamed, hoping they wouldn’t stop for a chat. “It’s the position a Queen would normally occupy, but in her absence, a high-ranking female noble. I’m definitely not high-ranking,” she added hurriedly, “but Arthur wanted someone he could trust. The Steward answers to me, as does the stable head, the Cook and a few others.”

He blinked. Wow. Running a castle took a lot of people working together. Mordred had only engaged with his fellow knights since he had been knighted last month and while he knew the servants were the castle’s backbone (and he also knew that he should never upset them if he wished for a hot bath), Mordred hadn’t ever considered how much work it took.

And now he was a servant.

Gwen suddenly stopped in her tracks, causing Mordred to drop his load in order to avoid a collision. She grimaced but quickly helped him pick it up. “Oh my, I’ve kept you for long enough. You need to go wake Arthur,” she instructed, plucking a plate from a waiting servant’s hands and replaced his pile with a steaming plate of sausages. “Merlin says he’s a bit hard to wake so don’t be afraid to yell a little.” Mordred nodded dumbly. “Now hurry, and remember no titles!” she yelled to his retreating back.

Mordred wasn’t going to let Emrys down. He could do this!

***

Mordred could not do this. 

He had successfully found the chambers and had successfully barged in. Unfortunately, there were no spectators to his successes so far as the King still slept soundly. Mordred took a deep breath and walked towards the bed.

“Rise and shine,” he called weakly. Nothing happened. Arthur didn’t even twitch. Then again, Mordred had practically whispered those words.

“Rise and shine!” Still, no result. It seemed Arthur was quite deaf. He took a deep breath. What would Emrys do? (WWED) Well, Emrys would probably bellow it into the King’s ear and with another deep breath, Mordred resolved to do the same. He leant over Arthur’s (bare!) shoulder and positioned himself directly on top of his ear.

“RISE AND SHINE!” This worked, but only slightly as Arthur mumbled unintelligibly and wrapped an arm around Mordred’s waist before tugging him into bed as though he were a lost pillow which was now reclaimed. What had he done to deserve this fate? And, more importantly, WWED?

Suddenly, Mordred realised his King was completely undressed and his legs were now getting closely acquainted with Arthur’s… leg? Enough was enough. Mordred shoved the King away, pushing him roughly off the bed. Only now did Arthur finally open his eyes. 

Mordred scrambled to get off the royal bed as Arthur glared at him. “Rise and shine,” he bleated numbly and the frown worsened. 

“Merlin, you pushed me off my bed,” stated Arthur as he narrowed his eyes. Mordred gulped. If he were himself, he would apologise immediately for his actions and run off to do five laps as an apology. And maybe offer his knighthood up as well, just to be safe. But no. He was Emrys. 

Emrys didn’t apologise.

Mordred held his head up high and nodded. “Good to know you aren’t blind, as well brainless,” he said and immediately blanched. What had he just said? Arthur was going to fire him on the spot and Emrys would be so angry!

To his utter shock, the King merely rolled his eyes. “Would it kill you to speak to your King with respect, Merlin?” Maybe not but it did kill Mordred to speak in such a manner. “Anyway, must you wake me so early? The sun hasn’t even fully risen!”

Mordred wanted to beg for Arthur’s forgiveness but no. He couldn’t. WWED?

Insult him.

But Mordred couldn’t possibly!

He had to. For Emrys.

For Emrys.

“Don’t you think it’s time you got up? Honestly, you’re the King of Camelot and you’re here sleeping in until midday like a five year old. No, I’ve actually seen five year olds who contribute more to society.” Arthur’s jaw fell open. Mordred felt his heart speed up and urged it calm down. What, in the beautiful and free land of magic, had he just said to the literal King? Not even Emrys would’ve said that!

There was no going back though. Mordred fully committed and stole a sausage from the plate, which seemed to be enough to shake the King from the excellent goldfish impression he was currently doing.

“Right,” he said finally. Mordred hoped he would get a quick execution. Hopefully, his tomb would read ‘Here lies Sir Mordred, died not because he was a druid, but because he did such a bad job at pretending to be Emrys’. Maybe Emrys could see to it, after he had finished resurrecting Mordred to kill him again. 

Arthur decided to get up from the cocoon of blankets he was wrapped up in and stood proudly in all his naked glory. Mordred blushed deeply. Was this what Emrys’ job consisted of? He couldn’t do it. Emrys was a better man than him and Mordred was ready to accept whatever punishment he deemed necessary. He turned to face the wall instead, praying the King would dress himself.

“Merlin, what is wrong with you?” asked Arthur, exasperated. “I mean, there’s always something off with you but you’re acting more like a buffoon than normal. Didn’t think that miracle was possible but here we are.” Mordred hazarded a glance over his shoulder and saw a sight which had him wishing he could gouge out his eyeballs. No matter, he thought as he resolved to stare at the wall until the King was more… clothed.

He promptly cursed every deity he ever worshipped as he felt his tunic get yanked.

“Come on, clotpole,” said Arthur with a teasing smile. Mordred frowned and instead reached for a nearby tunic. “What? No complaint about how I stole your word?”

Mordred laughed weakly. He debated a response but Arthur continued. “Ready my bath, I have a lot of things to get through this morning,” he added with a sigh. “After that, you need to polish my armour, clean my floors and help Guinevere with the preparations for next week. She mentioned some difficulties with Lord—”

“Yes Si— Arthur… No,” decided Mordred. After all, Emrys would hardly accept a chore immediately, right? Arthur raised an eyebrow. Now, had Mordred spent more time in Arthur’s company, he would have recognised the cold, challenging look in his eyes and how that was absolutely the sign to stop messing around and just dress Arthur ready for his meetings/trainings/whatever other shit Kings got up to. Alas, he had not and so he followed his dear WWED. 

(Although, in this particular instance, even his hero Emrys would have followed Arthur’s orders whilst muttering his disagreements).

“Excuse me?” It was like Arthur was trying to help dear Mordred. Anyone would have backed away at the controlled fury in his tone but Mordred steeled himself. “Would you like to repeat what you just said?” 

“You heard me. Are you deaf as well as dumb?” Where was the audacity coming from! Mordred took a stuttering breath, trying to calm the adrenaline rush — this was far, far more risky than any combat he had been in. Why, even fighting bandits had less thrill. “Ask politely and I’ll think about it.”

Arthur did not ask politely. He glared pointedly at Mordred. “By the time I step out of my chambers, I want to see you covered in rotten vegetables, do I make myself clear?” he asked in a frighteningly calm tone. Mordred chose to nod, not trusting himself to say anything now. “If not, I’ll personally lead you to the dungeons and fill them with spiders. And I’ll fire any guard who lets you out early.”

Mordred shuddered. How had Arthur known of the bone-deep fear Mordred had of those creepy, eight-legged monsters? He nodded again before sprinting out of the rooms, not caring for the guards who called behind him. In his hurry, he ran straight into Gwen.

“My lady, forgive me!” he gasped. Gwen took one look at him and pulled Mordred into an alcove. 

“What happened? Merl— Mordred, what’s wrong?”

Mordred couldn’t find the words. He had gloriously fucked up, that’s what happened. Camelot was going to war but Mordred wasn’t going to see the consequences of his actions because he would be six feet under by then. “Stocks,” he managed finally and thankfully, Lady Gwen, being the utter angel she was, nodded.

“Right, well, you’ve done a good job. Merlin gets sent to the stocks at least once a week, so no one will be too surprised. You go there right now and I’ll arrange for George to serve Arthur.” Mordred pressed his arms to his sides in an effort to stop himself from hugging Gwen. “Now go!”

***

Merlin was having a brilliant time. He had gone back to his (cloud-soft) bed and spent a full hour just lazing around. He then was ‘woken’ gently by Richard, who also took the time to lay out his clean clothes as Merlin used the wash-cloth. 

It was only when he reached for his (Mordred’s) armour that Richard hesitantly coughed. “King Arthur requests the knights for a meeting, Sir Mordred,” he said and Merlin nodded. Of course! This was the fabled meeting Arthur had constantly brought up for the past month, yelling about how important it was for his most trusted knights to fill the other monarchs with confidence and whatever else. Merlin had, for the most part, paid attention.

He walked slowly to the throne room, resisting the urge to greet the passing servants by name. Instead, Merlin tried to consider what Mordred was normally like. He was… quiet, mostly. Which made it very hard to tell what he was thinking and whether he was going to stab Arthur any time soon. But really, to avoid suspicion, Merlin just had to nod here and there. Oh, and not call Arthur any of his usual nicknames. That was quite important.

“Mord!” yelled Gwaine as he neared the doors to the throne room. The knight slapped him roughly on the back and without meaning to, Merlin death glared at him. What was the need for this so-called rough housing? Gwaine faltered for a mere second but his easy countenance returned. “Excited for your first Round-Table meeting?”

“It’s not often Arthur invites newer knights to these,” said Leon with a smile. The other knights joined them just as he continued, “you should be very proud of yourself.”

“Or maybe he just has spectacularly low standards,” muttered Merlin. Unfortunately, he was heard and the knights looked at each other, stunned. Thankfully, Arthur chose that moment to appear and they entered the throne room. Merlin hoped his comment would be overlooked — he had to be more careful!

“Is anything the matter, Sire?” asked Lancelot once they had taken a seat. Merlin noticed the distinct lack of Mordred, who should have taken Merlin’s place by Arthur’s elbow, and squeezed his eyes shut. What had he gone and done now? “You seem a little… it’s treasonous to say but—”

“You look like shit, Princess,” supplied Gwaine helpfully. Arthur sighed and waited for the remaining servants to exit before he massaged his temples.

“Merlin was a right pain this morning,” he said, pointedly ignoring the cheerful look that graced Gwaine’s face at the mention of the servant. 

“What did he do?” asked Merlin sharply, once again drawing everyone’s attention. “What did you do to him?”

Elyan patted his shoulder though drew his hand back instantly when Merlin narrowed his eyes at him. “You needn’t fear, Mordred. Merlin can handle himself.” Yes, Merlin could handle himself but that wasn’t Merlin. That was a spineless coward. 

“He’s likely in the stocks,” added Percival. Arthur nodded slightly and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. His worry wasn’t for Mordred but for Arthur. What if Arthur’s prattish behaviour made him snap and kill? But, if he was stuck in the stocks, then Arthur was safe. For a few hours, at least.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’ve called you all here, as my most trusted knights,” he said with a nod in Merlin’s direction. He tried valiantly not to roll his eyes — knights clearly had a low threshold for compliments. “I know I can rely on you to act as role-models for the newer recruits as well as impress our important guests. 

“Sir Leon, your unwavering loyalty to me, Sir Lancelot, your dedication to the values of a knight at all times, Sir Percival, your quiet yet confident approach to fighting, Sir Elyan, your sound decision making skills, Sir Gwaine, your commitment to ensuring justice and Sir Mordred, your eagerness to learn — these are all qualities I admire within you and I am proud of the men you are,” said Arthur with a serious look at each knight. They turned to each other, their eyes shining with delight.

Merlin simply blinked. The way Arthur spoke, continued to speak, was captivating. He had known Arthur to be quite skilled within the court but, as a recipient of his words, Merlin finally realised the impact Arthur had. It was as though he had lit a fire in each man’s heart as he urged them to display the very best versions of themselves for the peace-treaty. 

For the first time, Merlin saw not Arthur, but the Once and Future King in his place. And yet, it was still his Arthur. The same clotpole who tracked mud everywhere and complained when he stole a sausage. When had he changed so much? 

“Mordred?” A voice shook him out of his reverie. It seemed his opinion was required. Leon took pity on his startled expression and repeated whatever Arthur had asked. “The King would like you to lead training for some the newest recruits.” Leon smiled brightly but Merlin could only grimace in return. Yes, training was nothing more than foolishly waving your sword around, without any care for who may get injured, but Merlin wasn’t in any position to train others!

“That’s a ridiculous idea,” he stated clearly and back tracked when he noticed the raised eyebrows and unsubtle whispers amongst the other knights. He was Mordred, dammit! He couldn’t just tell Arthur his idea was dumb, even if it was. “I mean, is it wise to focus on training the newer recruits when the tournament is so close? Sire,” he tacked on belatedly.

Now, had Merlin told Arthur this a week ago (when he was in his own body), Arthur would have scoffed at him and pushed ahead with his own stupid idea. But, because it was no longer Merlin telling him but his knight, Arthur nodded slowly as he considered the suggestion. “I suppose I should ensure all the knights feel confident for the tournament.”

“And the recruits aren’t going to be competing anyway,” added Elyan.

“Mordred makes an excellent point,” said Arthur finally and Merlin couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk on his face. He did make excellent points but Arthur was too dumb to recognise them. “This week, training will be rigorous, men. I will push you beyond limits because the victor must be a Camelot knight, must he not?”

The knights joined the cheer loudly and with plenty of fist-bumps and slaps on the back (both of which Merlin found utterly useless), they marched onto the training fields for the first set of intensive training. 

“A warm up, Sire, or shall we fetch the weaponry first?” asked Leon once all the competing knights had joined them. 

“I want to use the double weighted armour,” said Arthur and Merlin saw a few knights cringe visibly. Great, he thought. His day had taken a nosedive and he was struggling to maintain his assessment that knights had it easier than servants. “Assist me, Leon.” 

Leon bowed and called to the rest of the knights to begin the warm up and they took off instantly. Merlin dithered by the water skins — usually when he gate crashed to annoy Arthur/distract Gwaine/ask for Lancelot’s help/talk to Percival/joke with Elyan/tempt Leon with a slice of pie/ignore Mordred coldly, the knights would be mid-training. He didn’t know what the warm-up consisted of.

He couldn’t put it off any longer as a few of the knights — namely Sir Bedivere and Sir Bors, both of whom still had to learn to mind their own business — eyed him with confusion. Thankfully, Percival took pity on him, although his questions were evident on his face. “Three laps, remember Mordred?” Merlin fought the urge to sigh and dragged his aching legs off to do useless circuits of the training fields. The day he dreaded the most had finally arrived — the day he would willingly run.

***

Another tomato exploded on Mordred’s face and he could only wonder how Emrys handled the shame. He looked desperately into the bucket and sighed as it seemed to nearly be empty. The village children also seemed to be growing bored and Mordred knew his time in hell was nearly over.

But not yet as a rotten carrot bounced off his head. For Emrys, he told himself and soon, the guards finally released him from his jail. Mordred stretched out his protesting arms and caught sight of himself on the training grounds. It seemed Emrys was really struggling with drills.

He was bright red and shaking and Mordred held back the urge to offer Emrys a water skin. It would be highly suspicious, especially because it was a well-known fact that Merlin hated him. Mordred took a deep breath and averted his eyes, instead heading towards the King. Time for another round of WWED.

“Merlin,” called Arthur, pausing mid-duel with Lancelot, who smiled brightly at him. Mordred beamed back and the King raised an eyebrow. “Only you would grin like an idiot after getting pelted by vegetables.”

Mordred’s smile dimmed and he blinked. What was he supposed to say? Insult him? Just then, Emrys approached them, still red-faced and panting. He surveyed Mordred with dislike (or as much dislike as one can manage whilst still trying to catch their breath — seriously, how unfit was Emrys?) and he fought the urge to cower under his scrutiny. “Don’t you have anything to do? At least clean up.” Mordred nodded at once and caught himself before he did something stupid like bow to Emrys. However, before he could leave, Arthur frowned.

“Sir Mordred! I have never heard you speak in such a manner,” he admonished. Mordred’s reputation was being ruined. He blinked back the tears that threatened to run down his face: he was being dramatic! It was an honour to have Emrys in one’s body and it was time Mordred recognised that.

Emrys rolled his eyes — another thing Mordred wouldn’t dare do in front of the King — and laughed. “It’s just Mo— Merlin,” he said off-handedly and even Lancelot gaped at him.

“This is unlike you, Mordred,” said Lancelot, attracting the attention of Leon and Gwaine, who were sparring nearby. “I’ve never heard you regard Merlin in such a way.” Mordred could only agree internally. He had given Emrys more respect than he did the King — no wonder someone noticed.

“I’m sure Sir Mordred is just tired,” said Mordred, hoping Emrys would switch tracks. It did not have the intended effect as Arthur nodded gravely.

“As blind as Merlin usually is, I must agree — is everything alright, Mordred? You haven’t fought like yourself today.” Emrys scowled and the concern on Arthur’s face melted.

“This is double-weighted, of course I’m not going to fight like myself. To think you’re the King,” he scoffed. Mordred gulped audibly and even Arthur looked taken aback.

“I think we should take a break, Sire,” suggested Leon faintly. The King agreed, leaving Mordred with the honour of handing the knights their waterskins. When it was Emrys’ turn, Mordred leaned in to whisper.

“I think they’re getting suspicious.” 

“No fucking way, Sir Mordred. It’s almost like we’ve swapped places,” came a sarcastic reply. Mordred sighed and continued distributing the waterskins. Maybe once this hellish switch was over, Mordred could offer up his knighthood as an apology. 

***

Merlin held up his shield as a pathetic block between an aggressive Arthur and his body. It seemed the prat had taken offence because there was no sane explanation for why he was brutally murdering the very knight he had praised this morning. Even Sirs Bors and Bedivere were now shooting him sympathetic glances.

Arthur groaned with frustration as Merlin ducked again instead of retaliating. “What has gotten into you?” he almost yelled. His sword came down in an arc again and this time, Merlin wasn’t fast enough.

He was struck on his left shoulder and he went down like a tree in the forest, howling with pain. It seemed without his usual levels of magic, injuries were about a hundred times more painful. Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than Merlin and that’s saying something!”

Merlin didn’t care and continued rolling around on the grass, praying for the stinging to decrease. It would leave one hell of a bruise. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone calming Arthur down and Merlin wished he could see his saviour if only to kiss them.

A hand appeared from the sky and pulled Merlin to his feet. Was it the hand of god? He didn’t know any more. “We’ll take him to Gaius, Sire,” came Percival’s voice and the next thing Merlin knew was that he was lying in the patient’s cot.

He noticed his face staring back at him, pale and horrified. Merlin tried to yell at Mordred to stop standing around uselessly and to get to work but all that came out was a cry of pain. “I’ll need space,” said Gaius sternly. “And tell the King he has nothing to worry about — Sir Mordred is being dramatic.”

Mordred made an offended sound but tried unsuccessfully to disguise it as a cough. After a few seconds where Merlin only heard shuffling footsteps, Gaius turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

“It hurts,” whined Merlin. “Getting hurt hurts!” 

“Fetch the green vial,” said Gaius and Mordred dutifully went to the cupboards before stopping in his tracks. In front of him were three green vials and he dithered uselessly. Merlin made a sound of disgust as he held out a hand. One of the vials twitched slightly — which wasn’t the intended effect, by far — but Mordred hurried back with that vial in hand.

“Emrys, really? You can’t just stick out a hand and expect things to fly out without a spell,” said Mordred as he measured out a spoonful of liquid. Merlin glared as he gulped down the foul-tasting medicine, once again mourning the loss of his magic.

“I could,” he answered, fully aware he sounded petulant now. But, he earned it. He was lucky to escape with his life in his hands.

“If you hadn’t taunted Arthur, you wouldn’t be in this position,” said Gaius wisely.

“He’s so sensitive,” muttered Merlin. However, he knew Gaius was right. He was Mordred now, whether he liked it or not.

“How are you going to fight in the tournament?” asked Mordred as he fiddled with Merlin’s abandoned sword. “If we can’t find out the counter spell before then, you’ll be stuck as me and I can’t withdraw!” Gaius handed the boy a calming draught as Mordred began hyperventilating. “My honour! My reputation!”

“Oh for God’s sake, calm down! I’ll learn, I have five whole days,” said Merlin casually but he had the same worries. He had already attracted plenty of suspicion with his demeanour — if Merlin failed to fight properly, even the usually unobservant and practically blind Arthur would suspect that he wasn’t really Mordred.

Then, Merlin had a brilliant idea. He would need private tutoring in fighting. 

Now that that was sorted, Merlin began grilling Mordred and was horrified to find out Arthur had sent him to the stocks angrily. “But Lady Gwen said it was good!”

“He always sends me annoyed,” he clarified. “Never angry. If it looks like Arthur’s getting angry, just the shut the fuck up and do whatever he says. The second he gets angry, he stops concentrating on whatever royal business there is and with the peace treaty… we can’t take the risk.”

“How do I know he’s getting angry?” asked Mordred, looking around as though searching for parchment to take notes. Merlin hummed.

“He gets really still and his eyes lose their warmth.” Merlin blushed and amended his statement. “I mean, they get harsh — you’ll know it when you see it,” he decided finally when it seemed as though Gaius was getting overly interested in his description. “Anyway, you also need to join the other servants and learn the routines for the feasts. And help them prepare rooms for the visiting nobles.” 

Mordred nodded as Gaius added, “I’m afraid I’ll need you to pick a few herbs whenever you have free time.”

“You won’t have free time if you continue to stand here,” said Merlin and Mordred nodded again before sprinting away. He then came running back to pick up the forgotten herb satchel and exited again, this time in a more appropriate pace. 

Merlin rolled his shoulder experimentally and winced. “My magic heals me so fast,” he said to Gaius, who shook his head with a smile. 

“You forget — your magic is unlike any other. We should be grateful this switch happened between you and Sir Mordred,” he continued with a serious expression. “Had it been any other, there would be no telling what nefarious means your magic would have been used for.”

Merlin agreed. His biggest fear right now was Mordred using his magic to hurt Arthur but he couldn’t dwell on that long. “Have you found a cure yet?” The disappointed look in Gaius’ eyes answered him. Well, it seemed he would continue his silent prayer that Mordred doesn’t kill Arthur. And the new prayer of actually lasting at least one round in the cursed tournament. 

***

Mordred was exhausted. The life of a servant was no laughing matter, that was sure, but it seemed Emrys enjoyed taking on more work than necessary. Just in one day, he had attended to the King’s every whim (as he was supposed to do) and gone herb-picking, made the dough for some biscuits for Cook, assisted Lady Gwen in room allocation, listened to Lady Emilia’s tales of her passionate lovers (which had Mordred blushing to the roots of his hair!), treated a sprain, calmed a terrified horse and entertained the village children whilst their mothers drew water from the well.

He was beyond exhausted and Arthur was still yelling at him.

“—Mordred,” finished Arthur and Mordred now found himself attentive. “It’s strange: it was clearly impertinence but something about his words were so… familiar.” The King shook his head and Mordred waited for him to declare that he was going to strip him of his title. 

“You’re oddly quiet tonight,” commented Arthur. Mordred didn’t know whether to be relieved that he still had his knighthood or to worry because now he had to talk! He did the one thing he knew best and fainted.

When he came around, he was back in the physician’s quarters. Mordred looked hopefully in the nearby looking-glass but deflated when Emrys stared back at him. “Only you would faint like a girl, Merlin,” came a voice and Mordred wished he was still out cold. 

“Is he sick?” asked Arthur, looking at Gaius. “He’s been acting weird this entire day. Is he coming down with anything?”

Mordred sat up quickly — Emrys would kill him if he pretended to be sick. “I’m fighting fit, Sire!” He belatedly grimaced, realising just a second too late of the way the title rolled off his tongue.

“Now I know you’re definitely dying,” joked Arthur but got to his feet anyway. “I’ll see you bright and early then. Try not to shove me off my own bed.” Mordred flushed deeply but nodded anyway. Gaius bowed to the retreating King and set a bowl of bland soup in front of him.

“Drink up and head to bed. You did well today,” he added with a small smile. Mordred beamed back and Gaius rubbed his hair fondly. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen Merlin’s face look so carefree and elated.”

///

Four days until the tournament.

“Mordred!” 

Mordred awoke and rubbed his bleary eyes. Had he overslept? Was he late for training again? He sat up, finding himself face to face with a concerned looking Gaius.

The events of yesterday came rushing in and, for a second, he felt hope — maybe he was back in his own body! He glanced at the looking glass which now had a permanent home on the bed-side table and his dreams were crushed.

“My boy, you must see to the King,” said Gaius although he looked sympathetic — Mordred’s bone deep exhaustion must have shown on his face. “I don’t have breakfast, I’m afraid—”

Mordred expressed his gratitude as he quickly pulled on clean clothes. This was why Emrys stole the King’s breakfast, he thought, as his stomach growled loudly. Mordred usually wasn’t too hungry in the mornings and chose to skip more often than not but it seemed Emrys had a much higher appetite than him, no doubt because of his magic. In any case, Mordred was going to have to forage.

He ran down to the kitchens, trying to follow the same path Lady Gwen had used the day before and smiled as servants greeted him left and right. Thankfully, Cook had a plate ready for him and Mordred plucked a sausage off on his way up to the King’s chambers, and then another, and another.

Mordred took a deep breath and barged in. He set down the (half-empty) plate and took another deep breath. Almost immediately, he began choking and looked around desperately for some water to clear his throat. However, it seemed Arthur only kept a wine pitcher around and Mordred muttered his apologies as he chugged the royal mead.

And that was how Arthur had found him on his second morning. 

“I knew you had an addiction, but first thing in the morning?” remarked Arthur from his bed. Mordred jumped about a foot in the air and the pitcher slipped from his fingers, crashing to the floor with a terrible sound. Arthur craned his neck to see the spillage and grimaced in disgust to find Mordred had drained it empty. “This is worse than Gwaine.”

Mordred prayed to any deity who was listening that he would be sober enough to deal with a naked King as Arthur finally saw it fit to get up. Mordred rolled back his shoulders and got to work with bathing the King — it seemed the mead had calmed his nerves.

“Queen Annis is set to arrive today,” he murmured as he scrubbed Arthur’s back. It was quite a soothing task, he thought, if one overlooked the intimacy of the act. Arthur turned to him, surprised.

“And no one saw fit to inform me, the King?” he scoffed but as Mordred’s hands slipped into his hair, Arthur visibly relaxed. Internally though, Mordred was panicking. He was oddly good at Emrys’ job — what if Emrys thought he was out to steal his job? Where was the Mordred who was so awkward around the King, both clothed and otherwise? He pushed away his thoughts as Arthur continued speaking. “I mean, how will I entertain her? I can hardly take her hunting.”

Mordred removed his hands from the King’s hair and valiantly pretended to ignore the keening sound which escaped Arthur’s lips. He fetched a towel and handed it to him as he considered an answer. Emrys would definitely build up Arthur’s confidence. “You’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as he snatched the towel. “I’m the King, Merlin, I always know what to do.” He turned away and Mordred wondered if he had said something wrong. “You usually have some random bouts of wisdom — where are they now?”

Naturally Emrys was wise, but Mordred? Mordred was utterly useless, that’s what he was. Nevertheless, he was a Camelot Knight and he didn’t give up. “Take the Queen hunting,” he said, hoping he hadn’t made a grave error. “Maybe she enjoys… hunting?” Mordred trailed off, his mead-induced confidence running out. 

Arthur shrugged non-committally. “I’m surprised you didn’t say something stupid like ask her what she wants to do,” he said as he stood ready for Mordred to dress him. Arthur frowned a few times as Mordred held up various pieces but eventually conceded on a blue tunic. 

“I hope you know how much I value you,” Arthur said suddenly and very quietly. “You irritate me like no other, make no mistake, but… I enjoy these moments,” he added stiffly. Mordred stayed very still, afraid of making one wrong move and causing a disaster big enough to knock Camelot into war, if Emrys was to be believed. “Fuck, this isn’t how I wanted to do it, but I’ve wanted to say something for a very, very long time now.”

Mordred now stopped breathing.

“I had a plan,” smiled Arthur. He shook his head and approached Mordred, who couldn’t move, even if he wanted to. He wanted to, very much. “I was going to tell you after the tournament and, Merlin—” he paused and licked his lips.

Mordred wanted the ground to swallow him — these words were not meant for his ears. He couldn’t steal Emrys’ moment from him. He had to stop this somehow. Arthur took a deep breath but Mordred wouldn’t give him the chance. In hindsight, it was an incredibly stupid thing to say, but Mordred was having a rough morning, alright? He needed the King to be thoroughly, utterly distracted. And what better way to do so than…

“I have magic.”

***

Merlin walked purposefully to the armoury. His plan was simple. He was going to march in there and pick the first senior knight available and bully the man into training with him until Merlin was undefeatable. 

His initial plan of going to Lancelot had been crushed because it was a well-known fact that he and Lancelot got along well and he and Mordred absolutely didn’t. So to find Mordred and Lancelot together would cause more rumours than Lady Emilia’s love life did amongst the servants.

Merlin hoped Sir Pellinore would be there. He was a particular favourite of Arthur’s despite being close to retirement and Merlin liked him simply because he actually noticed the servants and didn’t just pretend they were wall-sconces. Seriously, the bar was low to be a decent knight.

He threw the doors open and promptly cursed loudly. Of course the armoury would be packed first thing in the morning with none other than… the Round Table knights. They (Gwaine) cheered loudly upon seeing him and they (Gwaine) dragged him into their circle.

“Mordred! Just the man we were waiting for,” said Gwaine with a bright smile. 

Merlin held his head up high — alright, his plans hadn’t included all of these lot but he was going to roll with it. “I’ve forgotten everything about fighting,” he stated, deciding to get straight to the point. “I really need more practise.”

Leon gave him a knowing look. “Don’t worry, Mordred. It’s common to feel a sense of blankness before your first tournament. It’ll come to you when you’re in the arena.”

“Yesterday was probably just an off day,” added Lancelot with a supportive smile. The others nodded at once. Merlin shook his head strongly. 

“No, no, I’ve really forgotten everything. Can’t I practise with one of you?” Elyan stepped forward and slapped his shoulder. Merlin glared at him before he could stop himself and Elyan snatched his hand back at once. 

“You can spar with me — I’ll go easy,” he added and the knights laughed easily. Just then, the doors opened again, admitting Naya, one of the new maids. She hastily curtsied.

“The King requests his Round Table to attend him at once,” she said, pausing a few times to catch her breath. “I was told all of the knights would be here but must I—“

“No, Naya, we’re all here,” said Merlin quickly. The other knights gathered the pieces of armour they hadn’t put on yet and they followed Naya to the King’s chambers. On the way, Gwaine hurried to catch up to Merlin’s pace. 

“You know the maid, do you, Mord?” He asked, eyeing the girl in front of them. “Say, could you set her up with me…”

Merlin gave him a disgusted look. “Do you only ever think with your dick?” Unfortunately, his words were overheard by the other men, who had chosen that moment to grow quiet. Merlin scrambled to sound more like Mordred as he saw Percival and Elyan share a stunned glance. “I, I mean, she’s not a full woman grown.”

By then, they had reached the chambers and the guards let them in at once. Merlin hoped his outburst would be quickly forgotten amongst whatever Arthur had called them for but one look inside told him he had bigger problems now.

Firstly, Arthur was sitting dressed in his towel, in his chair. This wasn’t wholly unexpected but the expression on his face was. It was a mixture of betrayal, anger and confusion — strange only because Arthur was capable of one of the three emotions at any given time. The more concerning point was Mordred. He was on the floor, deathly pale and horrified but also oddly relieved. What had happened here?

“What you find out here must not leave this room,” said Arthur after a long period of silence. The knights assented immediately and he sighed as he massaged his temples. “I’ve just been made aware of a sorcerer in our midst.”

Merlin froze — what the fuck had Mordred done?

***

Mordred’s eyes stayed firmly on the ground in front of him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Emrys, to see the anger, the fear, the disgust in his eyes. He was a coward. Mordred was a coward who, when faced with a possible declaration of love, decided to confess to high treason instead.

Leon was the first one to overcome his shock. “Who is it, Sire? We should make sure they aren’t a spy for Morgana.” His hand was ready on the hilt of his sword and Mordred gulped. If he died in Emyrs’ body, would they stay switched, or would his soul also be destroyed?

Arthur held up a hand to answer Leon and instead turned to glare at him. “Well? Are you Morgana’s spy?” The knights gasped.

“Surely it’s not him!”

“Merls? You… you have magic?”

“There’s no way he’s a spy!”

Mordred looked up and cowered from the betrayed looks from Gwaine, Elyan and Percival. Leon was torn between disbelief and despair but of all, Lancelot seemed the most calm, although he too looked confused. Mordred accidentally caught Emrys’ eye and wished for a quick death — the man was practically vibrating with repressed rage. He was grateful that he was in charge of Emrys’ power right now because Emrys looked ready to decimate a few cities right now.

He didn’t trust himself to answer with words and settled for a firm shake of his head. Another silence followed and strangely, Mordred wished Emrys would say something already to get it over and done with.

“I cannot deal with this right now,” decided Arthur finally. “This peace treaty is crucial and I won’t let sorcery harm Camelot any further than it already has.” Mordred hung his head in shame — he had never really understood why Emrys refused to tell the King of his magic, but now he was beginning to see. Arthur hated magic. Hated him. “Once this ordeal is over, I will formalise your banishment.”

Mordred finally looked up, tears threatening to run down his cheeks. Arthur turned his head at once but not before a look of hurt flashed across his face. “This must not become common knowledge,” he continued. “The people will panic if they discover there’s sorcery in the heart of Camelot. Especially in their beloved Merlin.” Arthur practically sneered those words and Mordred saw Emrys flinch horrifically from the corner of his eye. “You will continue your duties for the rest of this week and I expect you all to treat him the same in public,” added Arthur to the knights. 

“This has to be a joke, right?” asked Leon with a hopeful look. Mordred couldn’t bring himself to crush the man’s dreams. “I mean, it’s Merlin! He’d confess to something like this just to, just to prove a point!”

Arthur sighed and patted him on the back. “Begin training amongst yourselves. I need to see to the preparations for Queen Annis before she arrives.”

“Isn’t she to arrive tomorrow?” asked Emrys and Mordred resisted the urge to look at him. He didn’t deserve Emrys’ kindness at all. 

“I thought the same. Of course, it is too much to expect that a King knows what happens in his own castle,” replied Arthur bitterly before dismissing everyone. No one ran faster than Mordred, who couldn’t face the questions the others no doubt had.

***

Elyan collapsed into the seat in the alcove after lunch and waited for the others. The place had originally been Lancelot’s discovery, where he stored the double weighted armoury he stole borrowed from training to practise in private, but then Gwaine stumbled across it and began keeping his stash of wineskins there. Afterwards, Percival was recruited to move a bench into the area and he too had made a home there.

Elyan was the second-last to find the place and that was only after he had followed Gwaine’s drunken footsteps and finally, Leon found them all there one night and was bribed with an extra slice of pie to keep him from telling Arthur. Since then, it had become their private meeting place, hidden from the other knights and Arthur. Even Merlin had yet to discover it, which was quite an achievement because the man had a sneaky way of knowing everything.

Mordred hadn’t earned the privileges of entering the alcove yet and Elyan was grateful for that today. As the others slowly trickled in, he sighed and helped himself to the least empty wineskin, promising Gwaine he’d replace it. “He wasn’t kidding — he’s really forgotten everything.”

“Mordred?” Percival frowned at his defeated tone. “But he was doing so well last week.”

“I don’t know what’s happened but when I went to the fields this morning, he was standing there with a whetstone in hand.” Leon stared back at him, surprised. “And he remembers all the drills incorrectly and tried to grab my sword off me once he’d lost his,” recounted Elyan.

Gwaine hissed sympathetically and even Lancelot looked concerned. Of all Mordred’s crimes, the last was the worst. To seize another knight’s weapon was a dishonourable manoeuvrer and it was harrowing to think young Mordred felt the need to do so. Percival consolingly slapped him on the back. “I’ll train him tomorrow.”

“I know what’s wrong with him,” said Gwaine slowly as he took a long sip from his goblet. They gestured for him to continue but he took his time, simply to build up suspense. “It’s because Mordred is in love with Merlin.”

Elyan rolled his eyes. “Really? How do you figure that?”

“Think about it. Mordred’s always trying to get on Merlin’s good side, right?” said Gwaine, sitting up at once and abandoning his wine. “And Merlin, what does he do? Brutally shoot down all of his advances. Yet Mordred doesn’t allow that to stop him. That’s not exactly just friends behaviour.” He threw his hands up and nodded, expecting them to agree.

“Mordred’s a good lad, that’s why he keeps at it,” said Leon. 

“No, he’s in love. Trust me, there’s only so many rejections a man can handle,” said Gwaine wistfully. “Mordred’s head over heels in love and that’s why he’s desperate to win Merlin’s friendship, at first, and then his heart.”

“Let’s assume that then,” humoured Lancelot and Gwaine beamed at him. “Why would Mordred suddenly act so strange?”

“Because he’s done. As I said, only so many rejections you can take. Did anyone see the way Mordred was glaring at Merlin this morning when Princess told us about his secret magic?” Gwaine shrugged as if that was enough evidence. “Mordred probably felt cheated and he’s acting out.”

“I’m going to be honest, I didn’t see that coming,” admitted Percival.”

“It’s okay, Perc. The best of us miss the signs of love, just like Merlin did—”

“No, Gwaine. Percival was talking about Merlin’s magic,” said Leon with a shake of his head. “Neither did I. I knew he was special but sorcery…”

“Really? Didn’t you ever question how Merlin always survived those bandit attacks?” asked Elyan but he didn’t expect an answer. He hadn’t exactly questioned it either, but in hindsight, it made sense. “It’s a good thing he had it.”

Leon raised an eyebrow but Gwaine was nodding along wisely. “At least we can fight. Poor Merls would be easy bait for anyone who got to him. That’s why he probably learned it.”

“Maybe he didn’t learn it,” said Lancelot quietly. He avoided everyone’s eyes and stared into his goblet of water (much to Gwaine’s exasperation). “During my travels, I came across many for whom magic wasn’t a choice, but a burden. Merlin could be one of those.”

“In that case, we are wrong to push him away,” said Percival firmly, surprising them all with his tone. “My little sister, she took her own life because she felt like she was a disappointment to our family. Simply because she preferred the company of women.” He broke off and Leon, who was closest to him, leaned over to rub his shoulder. “Merlin shouldn’t—”

“He won’t,” agreed Gwaine. “We’re with Merlin, aren’t we? We’ll help him leave magic behind and we’ll train him up in the art of fighting.”

Elyan nodded. “He can’t be that much worse than Mordred, that’s for certain.”

***

“Where is that little coward?!” yelled Merlin as soon as he entered the Physician’s chambers. Gaius looked up from his textbook and frowned. “Where’s Mordred?”

“I haven’t seen him yet. What have you done?”

Merlin rolled his eyes and collapsed onto the patient’s cot. “I haven’t done anything, it’s all his fault!”

“What has he done, then?” amended Gaius, looking vaguely amused.

“He’s only gone and told Arthur about my magic!” Gaius was no longer amused. He abandoned his reading and sat by Merlin’s side.

“The lack of warning bells and the fact he is not a wanted man tells me the King has taken the news well?” he asked and Merlin sighed in return.

“Arthur’s waiting until the week is over to banish me. Or him, if we don’t switch back.” He collapsed back and threw his hands up, frustrated. “What possessed him to even tell Arthur?”

“I’m sure Mordred had his reasons,” said Gaius, slowly getting up to offer some tea. 

“Stupid reasons probably. Have you spoken to Geoffrey yet?” he asked suddenly. Gaius gestured to the book he was reading as he set down the cups.

“It was difficult to get ahold of this but it appears promising,” said Gaius and Merlin immediately began rifling through it. “My boy, I will look through these — it is getting late and you must turn in soon.”

“We’re running out of time! I don’t want him messing up my life even more, Gaius.”

“And I would like you back because I’ve spent many years creating the perfect apprentice and I’m not ready to start over,” he smiled as he shooed Merlin out. 

///

Three days until the tournament.

Merlin’s arm ached. Fighting Percival was much, much harder than Elyan, simply because the knight had so much more strength and stamina than him. Yes, Merlin had the advantage of being small but he lacked the grace to evade attacks by dodging, so really, he had no advantage.

“Good job, Mordred!” Merlin’s attention was diverted for a second as he saw Leon approach them and Percival used this distraction to land a blow on his shield, the force causing him to fall down hard. 

Merlin picked himself up and gestured to stop as he marched to Leon. “You distracted me!” Leon looked taken aback.

“Mordred, as a knight, you must learn to field many distractions at once,” he said with a disapproving shake of his head. Merlin scowled. 

“That’s a lot of words for ‘I apologise’,” he muttered and Leon exchanged a disbelieving look with Percival. “Again?” called Merlin to Percival, who nodded dumbly.

Merlin rolled his shoulders and tried to remember all of the times Arthur had (fruitlessly) attempted to teach him to fight. He settled for a wide stance and held his sword readily, marvelling briefly at how it finally didn’t seem overly heavy.

Percival attacked first and Merlin, having learnt from his previous mistakes, feinted to the right side before slipping to his left, causing Percival to stumble slightly. Knowing he only had a split-second advantage, Merlin elbowed him hard in the ribs. Percival recovered quickly and aimed for his shoulder and Merlin was only just able to get his shield up in time but it slipped from his fingers.

Merlin nearly summoned it back with magic but managed to restrain himself in time. Percival sensed his distraction and once again attacked his shoulder. This time, Merlin attempted a duck yet slipped and landed on his back. From the floor, he wrapped a leg around Percival’s and pulled him down with considerable effort. Merlin quickly got to his feet and pointed his sword at Percival’s chest. “I won, right?” He looked at Leon who nodded with a small smile as Merlin cheered and practically sprinted to get a drink.

“He didn’t even offer to help me up,” said Percival faintly. Leon took pity on him and, with all his might, pulled the knight up.

“The more time I spend with Mordred, the more I wonder if Gwaine’s right — what other sane explanation is there for why our young knight behaves in such an indecent manner?” Leon helped Percival put away the training equipment when it became clear Mordred wasn’t returning.

Just as the two had finished tidying, they saw Elyan running up to them. “Come, Gwaine’s found Mordred and Merlin and says he knows what’s wrong with them,” he said. Leon glanced at Percival, who merely shrugged in response, and they both followed Elyan.

Gwaine and Lancelot were hidden in an alcove and Elyan led the others inside. From their vantage point, they could see an angry Mordred approach a cowering Merlin on the courtyard but were too far to hear anything.

“Gwaine, what is th—”

“Sh! I can lip read,” said Gwaine proudly. “Look, we all know something’s up — this is how we find out more. Don’t you want to know what’s going on?” he asked with a frown. The knights looked amongst each other but no one contradicted him. Gwaine smiled and gestured to the scene in front of them, where Mordred was glaring at Merlin and began talking.

“‘What on Earth possessed you?’” said Gwaine as he squinted. “‘How could you have magic? I knew you hated me but this is too far!’” Leon looked sceptical and even Lancelot sighed.

“Gwaine, are you sure—”

“Lancelot!” shushed Gwaine. “Merlin’s saying something, hang on. ‘What’s it to you? That’s between Arthur and me.’ Damn, Merls, are you blind? Oh, now Mordred’s angry — ‘You’re my everything. I can’t believe you didn’t trust me enough!’”

Elyan frowned. “There’s no way they’re actually saying that?” he asked Percival who could only shrug. 

“Wait, Merlin’s talking! ‘I trust Arthur.’” Gwaine hissed sympathetically. The next part didn’t require Gwaine to lip read because Mordred screamed loud enough for everyone in the courtyard to hear quite clearly.

“You trust him, do you? Well if you trust Arthur so much, why don’t you fucking go sleep with him!” Mordred stormed off, leaving Merlin to look morosely at his retreating back. Gwaine looked at the others and simply shrugged, as if that proved his point.

Leon blinked back, unable to believe his ears. “So it’s true then,” he said faintly. Elyan nodded, looking equally stunned. “Mordred is jealous of the King.”

“And it seems Merlin trusts Arthur more than he does Mordred,” said Elyan. “Let’s hope we don’t discover that Arthur has a secret thing for Mordred.”

“What are we going to do then?” said Gwaine, getting down to business. “I say we convince Merls that he’s too good for Princess. Mordred and Merlin were made for each other.” He sighed dreamily.

Lancelot looked unconvinced. “Is it our business though? If Merlin and Mordred are having their…”

“Lovers quarrel,” supplied Percival helpfully.

“Then we shouldn’t interfere, surely?” Gwaine rolled his eyes.

“Lance, for the sake of Camelot, we have to!”

“Besides, Mordred is a walking hazard until this gets sorted out,” said Elyan. Leon agreed almost instantly.

“Morgana doesn’t scare me but that… that does,” he shuddered violently as he recounted his morning and Percival backed him up. “I think Gwaine’s right.”

They looked expectantly at Lancelot who sighed. “For the sake of Camelot then.”

***

Mordred had done a brilliant job evading both Emrys and the King last night and when he awoke in the stables, he aspired to continue doing a brilliant job. And yes, he had to sleep in the stables because he didn’t put it past Emrys to kill him in his sleep.

Thankfully, Lady Gwen hadn’t heard the news yet and he spent the entire morning learning the servants’ routines for the dignitaries when they arrive and for the actual negotiations set to take place in four days’ time. Only Queen Annis had arrived so far but King Bayard was the next arrival and he was quite strict with his likes and dislikes: there was no place for error.

Therefore, Mordred was quite absorbed into his work — he couldn’t fuck up this as well, could he? — and so didn’t realise where he was until a fuming Emrys blocked his path. Mordred tried to survey his surroundings but there wasn’t a place he could slip away to. The only saving grace was that they were in the courtyard and so Emrys couldn’t use his magic.

“What on Earth possessed you?” hissed Emrys the second he was close enough. “How could you tell Arthur?”

“Emrys—” he started but was quickly cut off.

“Not here! Call me Mordred.”

“I panicked, Mordred,” said Mordred. It was weird to use one’s name but the disgusted expression that stared back at him from his own face was weirder. “I panicked because the King…”

“We need to work on your panicking response,” sighed Emrys as he ran a hand through his hair. “What did Arthur say that had you so panicked?” Mordred avoided his eyes and dithered. “Well? What was so bad that had you confessing to treason?” prompted Emrys. “You didn’t even know how the clotpole would react and you just…”

“I trust Arthur,” said Mordred quietly. He had hoped to ease Emrys’ worried but it had the opposite effect as he sneered.

“You trust him, do you? Well if you trust Arthur so much, why don’t you fucking go sleep with him!” screamed Emrys and Mordred flinched. He didn’t even know how close he was to the truth. Emrys stormed off, leaving Mordred to look longingly at his back. When had his life become this complicated?

***

Arthur could feel a headache building. Queen Annis had decided to not turn up yesterday after all, but at the crack of dawn today and what was worse was that Merlin, the utter fool, had skived off work and he was woken up by George.

That was the biggest of Arthur’s problems. Not Queen Annis’ delay, not Merlin being a literal sorcerer, but George. As much as he hated to admit it, Arthur needed Merlin’s unorthodox methods. He had grown used to them and it felt strange to actually have a subservient servant serve him.

He had seen to Queen Annis as soon as she had arrived and was now expecting King Bayard to grace Camelot with his presence either today or the next day — Arthur wasn’t a religious man but he still prayed that the man would choose an appropriate time of day to turn up. 

His knights had been crucial to the success of welcoming Queen Annis, especially as Leon had taken on the role of being the one to jerk him awake. The most unexpected was Mordred, who surprised them all by asking Annis about her nephew, Bartholomew; someone even Arthur had forgotten about.

The rest of the day had been uneventful, most probably due to the fact that Merlin was nowhere to be seen. Of course, it was too much to expect the fool would actually do his job but for once, Arthur was glad. He didn’t particularly want to see him. To see the lies, the betrayal Merlin had done to him.

But Arthur was on a mission. He had scheduled some time specifically for the purpose of finding out the depth of Merlin’s betrayal. And first on his list was Gaius. There was no way the man didn’t know his apprentice was a sorcerer and Arthur was willing to bet at least half of his kingdom Gaius had covered for him on multiple occasions. 

“Your Majesty, I do not know what you expect from me,” said Gaius, without even glancing from the stack of books he was buried under. “It was news to me as well that Merlin is a sorcerer—”

“Save me the bullshit, Gaius,” sighed Arthur. Now he knew where Merlin got his ability to shamelessly lie from. “I know you know.” Not even Gaius’ eyebrow could put him off. “When did he start learning?”

“Really, Sire, I must insist—”

“One more lie and I’ll banish you both,” said Arthur flatly. Gaius frowned and finally stepped away from his books. 

“Merlin was born with magic.”

“Gaius, I’m being serious—”

“Sire,” interrupted Gaius and Arthur promptly shut up as he glared at him. “You must listen if you wish to learn the whole truth.”

“Very well,” conceded Arthur and settled on the cot. It was a good thing he had set aside time for this.

///

Two days until the tournament.

The knights ran through their plan one final time. This was more crucial to the future of Camelot than the peace treaty that was being negotiated. More important than even the tournament, upon which the knights’ honour rested. 

First, they decided, they had to convince Merlin that he deserved better than Arthur, the king of Camelot. Afterwards, they had to show Merlin that Mordred was worth it. Finally, they had to offer a besotted Merlin to Mordred and pray it was enough to get their old knight back.

The first part of the plan was to find Merlin. It seemed the gods were smiling upon them because they found their prize sitting with his head in his hands. “Merlin?” said Elyan and he looked up, eyes slightly red-rimmed as though he had been crying. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s right?” asked Merlin dryly. He sniffled and made space on the wall for the others to sit. “I’ve just fucked up over and over again and I can’t even talk to anyone.” Gwaine waited until he was finished and smothered the man in a hug. Elyan and Lancelot joined in and Percival settled in for a back rub as Leon offered a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“We know,” said Gwaine with a wide smile. Merlin’s eyes widened.

“You— how? We were so careful to—” Leon snorted loudly.

“Really? You two couldn’t be more obvious,” he laughed and Merlin hesitantly joined in.

“So you know… everything?” he asked apprehensively. At Percival’s definitive nod, he breathed a sigh of relief. “It was so difficult to pretend. M— I mean Mordred,” amended Merlin as he looked at the servants walking past, “really hates me, doesn’t he? I tried my best, I really did, but it’s hard to act like someone I’m not. I can’t pretend any more.”

Lancelot nodded wisely. “Mordred’s anger is justified though, isn’t it?” Merlin pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. “He trusted you and to hear that not only did you not respect him, but you turned to Arthur instead…” 

“Besides, between Mord and Princess, who matters more to you, Merls?” said Gwaine, waggling his eyebrows. Merlin nodded slowly.

“You’re right, I should make it up with him. But what do I do?” despaired Merlin. “He does so much for me — for us — and I can’t just apologise!”

Leon patted him on the back gently. “If you’re sincere, it’ll be enough.”

“Although if you offer him your favour for the tournament, it might help things more,” suggested Elyan. Merlin smiled brightly at all of them.

“Thanks guys. I have missed you. Anyway, I’ve got a lot to be getting on with,” he added and with a final mock-bow, left. The knights looked amongst themselves and fist-bumped each other.

“Another job well done by Camelot’s Knights,” said Gwaine happily.

***

Merlin laid another blow on Gwaine and finally, the knight keeled over. It was definitely hard work but compared to his performance yesterday, Merlin felt a vast improvement. At Leon’s pointed look, he offered a hand to Gwaine, who grinned and took it.

“Excellent Mord! Keep it up and you’ll best us all,” he said and Merlin couldn’t help a small smile. Yes, he could win this tournament and it would be hilarious if the knights found out they had lost to a servant. “Say, you got a favour from anyone?”

Merlin shook his head. Did Mordred have a secret lover who offered him her favour? “I think one might be coming your way for the tournament,” said Elyan with a cryptic smile. “Spar with me?” Merlin nodded and readied himself for another round. 

If he was held at sword-point, then yes, Merlin would (very reluctantly) admit that knight-training wasn’t all that bad. It was satisfying to feel his muscles ache after a long day’s session and he felt quite proud when he knocked a knight over. At the same time, the shame was evident when he himself was knocked over and when a blow landed, that was quite painful for a few days.

But he resolved to get Lancelot to train him up after this switch was over. After all, he couldn’t wholly rely on his magic. The past few days had taught him just how much Merlin had taken his power for granted and all Morgana needed to do to neutralise him was to take it away. She had nearly done it once — what stopped her from doing it again?

Elyan jabbed his side and Merlin winced as he stumbled. Taking advantage of this, Elyan knocked his sword out of his hand and aimed for his helmet, sending Merlin down. “You did well,” appraised Leon, “but keep your head in the game. That could have been an easy dodge.”

Merlin bit his tongue and agreed. He needed to stop being so loose with his words if he was going to pretend to be Mordred. “Take a break,” said Elyan as he approached Gwaine. Merlin headed to the water skins to find Arthur standing there.

“Glad to see you’re back to your usual strength, Mordred,” he greeted and Merlin aimed for a small smile, not trusting himself to say anything more. “Tell me, how did you know about Bartholomew? As far as I know, you weren’t in Camelot when he last visited us.”

Oh yes, Annis’ nephew. He had been a firm favourite of Merlin’s after Bartholomew played a crucial role in pranking the stuffy Lord Archibald and he didn’t give it a second thought when asking Annis about him. Of course, to everyone else, it would seem strange that Mordred knew Bartholomew.

“I, uh, I read up,” said Merlin.

“As I said, your eagerness to learn is a very special quality of yours,” smiled Arthur. Merlin resisted the urge to beam back and instead returned the smile. 

“I trust the preparations for the peace-treaty are going well? Sire,” asked Merlin after a period of silence. Arthur nodded but didn’t elaborate and avoided his eyes. He really was never good at lying. “Is there a problem?”

“Nothing you should concern yourself with,” said Arthur airily but the worried look remained in his eyes. Merlin didn’t say anything and soon enough, he continued. “It’s just, I don’t have Merlin by my side any more.” His voice was so quiet that Merlin was certain he had misheard. “For the past few days, he seems… off. Probably because he was going to confess being a sorcerer and all, but I want him back.”

Merlin blinked in response. Arthur noticed? Arthur noticed and wanted him back? Merlin couldn’t believe his ears. He had assumed his attentiveness to Arthur’s behaviour and mood would be one-sided only but now… it almost sounded like it wasn’t. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” sighed Arthur and began to leave.

“Arthur, wait,” called Merlin. He stopped and turned around, a surprised look on his face. Merlin wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say. “He’ll come back. Give him some time,” he settled for and Arthur nodded gravely.

“For the sake of Camelot, I hope so.”

***

“Mordred?” Mordred looked up to find Lady Gwen staring at him, a puzzled expression on her face. That was probably because he was currently lying in the weeds, sobbing. “Mordred, what’s wrong? Here.” She handed him her handkerchief and Mordred sobbed louder as he felt ashamed to accept a lady’s handkerchief. “Talk to me,” she said gently and he took a few deep breaths.

“I can’t do this any more, my lady,” he began, wiping his face. “There’s too much work and I can’t possibly do everything.”

Gwen offered him her water skin and frowned. “Has Allwyn given you too much work again? I’ve warned him once already.” She shook her head and made to get up. “Come, I’ll give him a piece of my mind right now.”

Mordred pulled her down again. “No, it’s not that. Merlin does a lot of work and I can’t do it! You know, he’s the King’s manservant but he’s also Gaius’ apprentice, a working physician in his own right, assistant to Cook or to the stable master, he’s Allwyn’s servant, he helps you, he’s a gossip partner — I can’t do all of that, Gwen!” he despaired. “I’m going to disappoint him again.”

“Mordred,” said Gwen firmly, forcing him to look at her, “you don’t need to do all of that. You are Arthur’s servant first and foremost. Everything is secondary, do you understand me?”

Mordred nodded. “But Gaius needs my help. He’s too old to go herb-picking—”

“Then he will get another apprentice,” cut Gwen. “Merlin shouldn’t be doing that much and you certainly don’t have to. If anyone asks for your help, politely tell them no, alright?” He nodded again. “I also need to tell Merlin this,” she sighed, shaking her head. “He’s always afraid of disappointing people.”

He stretched and sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t go and learn the routine for the feast?” he asked with a grin. Gwen rolled her eyes and dragged him up.

“This begins after the peace-treaty and tournament are over. We need all the help we can get,” she said, pushing him in the direction of the castle.

***

Mordred chewed his lip as he patiently scanned his book. His mornings were filled with servant work and his nights with research. To think this was Emrys’ life on a daily basis. Speaking of whom, Emrys had chosen a quicker yet less effective method of reading which involved him rifling through the page whilst biting his lip. Would Mordred’s lip be bruised if he returned to his body?

Gaius too was looking through his own heavy tome but the equally heavy sigh told them he was still unsuccessful. All of a sudden, Mordred gasped as he flicked onto the next chapter, titled ‘Spell of Consciousness: Transferring.’

“I’ve got it!” yelled Mordred without looking up from the sentence he was on. Gaius and Merlin rushed to his side at once and he read out the passage in his book. “‘This spell allows for a complete transfer of consciousness between two individuals. The caster need not fear premature reversals for only the caster can determine the length of time of this transfer. Simply amend the final verse to suit how many days the caster wishes. For longer periods of time, a magic-enhancing stone is advised.’”

Merlin groaned and returned to his book. “Brilliant. We have no way of reversing this except waiting for it to run its course except we don’t know how long that’ll be either.”

“We have the spell to do the transfer if we wanted,” added Mordred, smiling as Merlin scoffed. “Wait, what if we just do the spell again? So we switch back to our original bodies?”

“No, my boy,” said Gaius, pointing further down the page. “It warns against that, stating it could cause permanent switching.”

“God no,” whispered Merlin. “At this point, maybe it’s best if we don’t switch back,” he continued in a louder tone. “I mean, Mordred has no practise with the double weighted armoury so he’s gonna suck in the tournament.” Mordred made an offended sound but agreed. He needed more practise, especially if he was to fight in his first tournament, upon which all of his honour relied on. 

“And I’ve finally learnt how to handle each king or queen,” said Mordred proudly. “There’s also the feast routine which we’ve rehearsed today — I doubt we’re going to go over it again if the feast is tomorrow.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to stay like this forever,” added Merlin hastily and Gaius snorted. “But for now, it’s best, isn’t it?”

“I’ll have some time to consult more books then,” nodded Gaius. “It is rare for a spell to have no counters.”

“What happened to bandits?” sighed Merlin as he packed up to return to his chambers. “When did they decide to expand into sorcery? What happened to good old attacking and looting?”

///

One day until the tournament.

Mordred awoke and the first thing he noticed was that practically every muscle in his body ached. What had he done yesterday? Nothing too taxing compared to the days before but right now, Mordred felt as though he had single-handedly constructed the castle.

He limped out of bed and walked out of his room, still bleary eyed. Maybe Gaius would have some strong potion or other to help him get through the day. It was a crucial day, what with the peace-treaty finally being signed. 

As soon as he stepped out, Mordred froze. He wasn’t standing in the physician’s quarters but instead in the corridor outside the knights’ rooms. Mordred ran back inside and belatedly recognised his own room with his own bed. Just to be sure, he turned to his looking glass and gasped.

His own face stared back at him.

***

“How could this happen?” stressed Merlin, his magic leaping out in response. Gaius frowned as yet another one of his favourite pots heroically gave up its life whilst fighting Merlin.

“The spell must have been set for four days,” said Mordred, eyeing Merlin warily. “Maybe the bandits wanted to disrupt the peace-treaty but couldn’t count.” He ducked behind Gaius as another wave of light rushed out and pulled the books to the floor. 

“Well we have to switch back!” Gaius pulled Merlin onto the bench and shoved a tea into his hands, glaring at him until he reluctantly finished it all. 

“You must calm down, my boy. You’re no use in that state,” he said firmly and smiled finally once Merlin took a few deep breaths. “Now, are we sure we want to try the spell? We have spent the past few days wishing it would undo itself,” pointed out Gaius. 

Mordred sat down by the book again and chewed his lip as he read the instructions. “What if we just say for two days? In the final verse,” he clarified as they looked up. “it says to amend it to the number of days the caster wishes. If we say twidæglic, for two days, then we can finish the feast and tournament and then switch back.”

Merlin beamed at him and Mordred resisted the urge to celebrate. Finally he had impressed Emrys! He handed the book to them and helped himself to an orange — Mordred deserved it.

“Okay, I can do this,” said Merlin finally. “You’re happy with this, right?” Mordred nodded readily. Gaius cleared the space in the middle of the room and Merlin began chanting whilst holding Mordred’s hand and prompting him to close his eyes.

He recognised a few words but most of it felt like a musical chant. Eventually, Merlin stopped and they were bathed in golden dust. Mordred opened his eyes and though Gaius handed him a looking glass, it was quite unnecessary as once again, his face stared back at him.

“Did it work?” asked Gaius and they nodded simultaneously. “I hope for both your sakes it will wear off by the day after next.”

Merlin looked outside the window and jumped. “I have training! And you, the negotiations are going to start soon — you need to pour wine!” Mordred nodded and they left at the same time.

///

The day of the tournament.

Yesterday’s peace-treaty had gone without a hitch and that was why Arthur was convinced today would have its struggles. After all, how dare he have two consecutive problem-free days? 

As expected, trouble knocked on his door and demanded to be let in. This time, trouble took the form of Merlin, which was once again expected, but also Mordred, which was quite unexpected. 

“Arthur, we need to talk,” said Merlin as he dragged Mordred behind him.

“By all means, start talking,” agreed Arthur. He had hoped to delay the conversation about Merlin’s sorcery and his future in Camelot as long as possible but the fool had other ideas.

Before he could begin, there was another knock and the door opened to reveal Leon, Lancelot, Elyan, Percival and Gwaine. “I thought you were celebrating Leon’s victory in the tournament,” frowned Arthur. He had been proud of his First Knight for emerging the victor in the tournament of knights and offered all of them the afternoon off to celebrate in the tavern.

“We were but then we sensed tension and came as fast as we could,” informed Gwaine, pushing past Arthur and settling in one of the chairs. The others sent apologetic glances but followed him in.

Merlin looked uncomfortable and Arthur wondered if he should order his knights out. Then, he remembered that Merlin was a sorcerer and decided he didn’t get those privileges. Mordred noticed his apprehension and smiled reassuringly. “They know.”

“You told them?” squawked Merlin. 

“We guessed,” said Elyan proudly. Merlin narrowed his eyes but ignored him.

“And Arthur? Did he guess too? Was that why you panicked and sold me out, you little rat?” His questions came fast and Arthur pitied his knight, who cowered from Merlin’s harsh glare.

“What’s going on?” asked Arthur deciding to take back control. He was the king, dammit! Merlin shared a look with Gwaine and with a nod, they both answered.

“Merlin and Mordred are in love with each other.”

“Mordred and I swapped places for the past week.”

A stunned silence enveloped the room as everyone gasped. The first to recover was Merlin, who turned to Mordred. “What did you tell them?” he said in a horrified whisper.

Mordred looked equally scandalised and stared at the knights. “Where did you get that idea from?” They looked uncomfortably amongst themselves and all spoke at once.

“It was Gwaine’s idea!”

“Can’t believe you won the tournament of knights when you’re the one with the least valour! Lancelot told me to!”

“Lancelot said not to, actually.”

“Thank you, Elyan.”

“We did it for the sake of Camelot.”

“Shut up!” yelled Arthur. What had happened to his kingdom? He pointed at Merlin and glared. “Explain.”

Merlin sent a dark look to all of the knights, Mordred included, but complied. “A week ago, some bandits put a spell on Mordred and I and made us switch places—”

“It’s Mordred and me actually,” said Mordred in a small voice, “Not Mordred and I. You don’t know your grammar, Emrys?” Merlin waved his fingers and glued Mordred’s lips shut and carried on, as though he wasn’t interrupted. 

“And I woke up and looked in the looking-glass and had a right scare but then we decided it was more important that the peace-treaty is signed first so we didn’t tell you because you’d be distracted,” continued Merlin, ignoring all of the offended/frustrated/pitiful sounds Mordred made. 

“Let Mordred speak,” ordered Arthur and with a put-upon sigh, Merlin released his bindings.

“He says we, but he was the one who made all these decisions,” said Mordred promptly. “So I served you and did all the things Emrys normally does and Emrys took my place as a knight and he was the one who fought in the tournament as well.”

Arthur turned to Merlin, surprised. “You fought today?” Merlin shrugged off-handedly.

“It was no big deal.”

“You flattened half of my knights!”

Merlin had a self satisfied smirk as he repeated himself. “That’s why you wanted us to teach you,” said Leon, his eyes wide. The knights nodded along with him.

“Now explain,” said Arthur, turning to them. They glanced amongst each other and collectively decided Leon would explain. He sent them a disappointed look but spoke up.

“Well, Sire, first of all, I must say, misunderstandings were made,” he declared hesitantly. “I mean, we take our responsibility as knights of our station but we did not knowingly—”

“Can someone who’s not Leon explain?” said Arthur quickly. He wished to get the facts and his knight lacked in the speech department — his grain reports were evidence enough. Gwaine took up the mantle.

“See, Princess, Mordred’s been acting off for the past few days. And we noticed the withering looks he’s been sending Merlin so we thought—”

“You thought,” amended Percival, averting his eyes to avoid Gwaine’s betrayed look.

“We all thought that Mordred had a secret thing for Merlin and was tired of being overlooked. So we talked to Merlin—”

“They talked to you?” interrupted Merlin, looking scandalised at Mordred. “So you confirmed this preposterous thought? What’s wrong with you?”

“They didn’t mention this!” protested Mordred. “They said they knew about the switch!”

“We said we knew about your secret crush,” corrected Elyan.

“Actually, we just said we knew,” clarified Leon. “But you were saying, Gwaine.”

“Right, so anyway, we told Merlin to let go of the thing he has for Arthur—”

“I do not have a thing for Arthur!”

“And realise that Mordred was the real deal all along,” finished Gwaine, beaming at his audience, which now consisted of an irate Merlin, a thoroughly embarrassed Mordred, a bunch of repentant knights and a tired Arthur.

“Emrys, just so we’re clear, I don’t feel this way about you,” said Mordred timidly. 

“Good because I definitely don’t!” yelled Merlin in return. Arthur held up a hand to stop his tirade from growing.

“You keep calling him Emrys,” he said to Mordred. “What does it mean?”

“He’s the imperial lord of druids,” said Mordred, blinking as his audience was once again forced into a stunned silence. “Emrys, why do you look so shocked? Surely you knew?”

“You said you were a sorcerer,” added Arthur accusingly. Merlin, to his credit, looked seconds away from fainting and sat tentatively on the bed as he digested this news. “You could’ve begun your confession with this little fact!”

“Actually Arthur, Mordred was the one who confessed,” said Leon with a grimace. Arthur sighed. His headache had only grown in the past ten minutes. What had he done to deserve this fate?

“Why did you confess?” asked Merlin after some time. A guilty expression crossed Mordred’s face and he eyed the window, as though he were considering escape by diving out of it.

“I panicked, I told you.” The window was looking more tempting as Arthur frowned.

“So this switch means Mordred served me this past week…”

“Someone give the King of Camelot some wine, he’s been thinking too hard,” quipped Merlin. 

“So you heard everything I said?” asked Arthur with a horrified look at Mordred, who now stepped away from the window for a run up. “You, you would’ve heard—”

“That’s why I panicked Sire,” nodded Mordred. He stopped in his tracks — he couldn’t do this. Death by window wasn’t for him. His death was destined to be in Emrys’ hands. He couldn’t defy fate like this.

“What’s going on?” asked Merlin. Suddenly, Gwaine gasped and slapped Percival’s thigh.

“We had it wrong, men! It was never Mordred and Merlin but Merlin and A—” Gwaine never got to finish his bright idea because Arthur clamped his hand over his mouth. Unfortunately, Elyan caught on.

His eyes widened and he whispered to Lancelot, who nodded at once. Leon leant in and gasped, scandalised. Arthur rolled his eyes — these were his knights. “How did we get it so wrong?” said Percival, shaking his head.

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” said Merlin. Arthur straightened, his hand still firmly wrapped around Gwaine’s head, and took a deep breath. Take two, it seemed.

“Arthur’s in love with you,” blurted Mordred and Arthur had to seriously resist the urge to revoke his knighthood right there and then. Merlin’s head whipped between them in a comical fashion.

Arthur let go of Gwaine, deciding that there truly was no damage left to be done, and walked to Merlin. He kneeled in front of him, ignoring the gasps from his knights, and looked deep into Merlin’s eyes.

“I love you.” That wasn’t what he wanted to say. He had a whole speech planned but that went straight out of the window (Mordred wishes he was the speech) but at least he got to the gist of it. 

Merlin didn’t say anything and simply stared back. Arthur prayed the man would speak, if only to tell him to fuck off, yet was pleasantly surprised when he found Merlin’s lips on his. Somewhere behind him, he could vaguely hear his knights whoop loudly and a few wolf whistles as well but Arthur was fully lost in the moment.

He finally pulled back, reluctant, and narrowed his eyes. “This is you, right? It’s not Mordred any more?” Merlin’s response was an eye-roll and a playful slap on his shoulder, which pretty much confirmed that that was none other than his manservant, his sorcerer, his warlock, his imperial lord of the druids, his Merlin.

Arthur grabbed his wrists and pushed him back on the bed. He pinned them above Merlin’s head and sat on his hips. “Abort mission!” yelled Gwaine and the knights sprinted out of his chambers. In the distance, they heard the sound of violent retching and Arthur snorted.

“I love you,” said Merlin and those were the last words they shared for a long time as neither of them were fully coherent for the next six, seven, eight… however many hours they stayed in that room for.