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Chapter Text

The Legends: Crash

“Crash landing in 3, 2, 1...” Sara Lance shouted before everything went blank around her.

Team Camelot: Imprisonment

Merlin, the greatest warlock to have ever walked the earth and also currently a young and bumbling manservant to King Arthur, groaned. His split lip hurt and he was still soaked from the rain that had started just after they had gotten captured and were forced to walk here. A pool of water mixed with a little bit of blood had gathered underneath his body which was slumped in the corner of the small, dark room, illuminated only by moonlight.

A number of Camelot's finest knights were in a similarly consolable state as Merlin. As the warlock looked around, he saw Gwaine leaning against the wall to his right, the knight's dark brown hair so wet that it stuck to bruises on this face. Percival's right arm, which was bigger than Merlin's legs, bore a rather deep cut as well. Merlin made a mental note to bring up the topic of creating a chainmail that would fit Percival's arms to Arthur.

Merlin grew more and more concerned, the longer he looked at his friends—Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and of course Arthur. And then, there was, well...

'Emrys,' spoke a voice in Merlin's mind, as if on cue. Despite the current predicament his group found himself in, Merlin wanted to swat away the voice in his head, like a fly that had overstayed its welcome. Of course, given that his hands were bound by iron manacles which were also attached to his feet, Merlin wouldn't be doing any swatting (or magic, for that matter) soon.

'Emrys,' the voice repeated. Merlin sighed and pulled himself into an erect position. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark in the hour or so they had spent in captivity and so he searched for Mordred's face. Mordred looked at the ground, his dark locks falling into his face.

'Mordred,' answered Merlin in his mind, 'I thought you had stopped calling me that.' He wasn't particularly fond of being addressed by his honorific name. 'And I also thought you had stopped doing your mind-speak.'

'Old habits die hard, Merlin.'

'How are you even able to talk to me with those iron manacles?' 

'They only bind my magic. Talking with my mind is a different ability, more unusual and more difficult to prevent.'

'What do you want?' Merlin didn't feel like having that conversation. 

'We need to get out of here.'  

Merlin scoffed out loudly before remembering they weren't alone in the room. He looked around but it seemed that his friends had dozed off, no doubt exhausted after a hard mission. 

Merlin turned his attention back to the telepathic druid who sat on the other side of the small room, gauging how to respond. He didn't trust Mordred as far as he could throw him. Hearing about the prophecy of Mordred killing King Arthur, his best friend and the other half of his soul, could do this to a man.

'They will torture us for information,'  Mordred's voice insisted in his head.

'I know.'  Merlin had been in too many similar situations before.

'Then they will use that information to attack Camelot.'  Despite the lack of lighting, Merlin could feel that Mordred stared at him with his icy blue eyes. Merlin suppressed a shudder.

'As long as I wear these, there's nothing I can do.'  He lifted his hands that were bound by the manacles.

'So, you will just give up?'  Mordred, Camelot's newest and youngest Knight of the Round Table, brimmed with the impatience of youth.

Merlin, who had been a young boy when he first came to Camelot, had lost a good portion of said impatience in the near-decade he had been serving Arthur, the Once and Future King and biggest prat in all of Albion.

'Do you have a better idea?'  Merlin leaned back. Inside his head, there was only silence. Merlin closed his eyes before trying to shut up Mordred for good: 'I thought so.'

Chapter Text

Sara awoke with the worst hangover, ever. The former member of the League of Assassins and current captain of a mighty timeship felt like hiding underneath a blanket, curled into a ball. She wasn't sure what happened but it must have been brutal. Normally Sara could hold her alcohol.

“Boss?” The voice was low and grumbling. When Sara didn't stir on the floor, the voice grew more insistent. “Boss!!!” Mick Rory, the owner of said voice, kicked her side. Normally he wouldn't have dared to treat her this way but Sara must have looked as helpless as she felt.

With a heartfelt sigh, Sara pulled herself up into the sitting position. She noticed that she was lying on the floor of the Waverider's main room. How she had gotten there was the question. “I will never drink again. Ever.” She squinted at Mick, whose broad frame was towering over her. “And I will kick your butt, once my head stops exploding on me.”

“Where are we? What happened?” Ray Palmer rushed over to them, sounding once again like the overexcited puppy he was. Sara couldn't handle having him and his big brown eyes in her face right now.

“Something's wrong with Blondie, here.” Mick announced. Sara scowled at the mention of the nickname, then flinched when she noticed how much that facial expression hurt her head. In the background, she saw a man with short, dark hair who unceremoniously puked into a corner. Sara wondered where that person had come from before remembering that this was the Legend's resident historian, Nate Heywood. At least she wasn't the only one who had gotten hammered.

Sara wondered if her team would ever let her live this down. She was supposed to be the tough one, wasn't she? Sara decided that everyone deserved a day off and flopped back on the floor. “I must have had waaay too much to drink.” She was not interested in getting up, no no no.

“Captain, if I may?” Gideon, the timeship's AI, asked. Her voice came from nowhere and everywhere. Normally, Sara was used to this, but with her head spinning like it did, the disembodied voice felt rather disorienting.

With a wave of the hand, Sara indicated her consent.

“After we—you—broke the fabric of time itself, the time stream became unstable. We were on our way to fix a time anachronism involving the battle of Teutoburg Forest when we passed through a time quake, lost control of the steering function, and crash landed in an unknown time and place. Dr. Heywood and you may have been suffering adverse effects during the crash landing. Both of you were on the side of the ship that smashed first into the ground so I should be examining you in the med bay. Professor Stein and Mr. Jackson have taken the jumpship to visit Professor Stein's daughter Lily.”

“So... I didn't actually drink?” Sara said in an uncertain voice.

“No, Captain.”

“And you don't yet know where—and when—we are?”

“Correct, Captain. I have started an analysis and will be reporting the results.”

So, Sara's brain supplied, this meant that they could be anywhere, for instance... in the midst of World War Two or in Pompeii, just before the volcano erupted. During one of their mission, Sara had found herself on the battlefields of France during World War One, and she was not interested in repeating that experience. Or in becoming a mummified body. If researchers found the remains of the Waverider in the hardened ashes of Pompeii, Rip Hunter, director of the Time Bureau, would probably travel back in time just to retroactively have her head.

Sara sat up again. The adrenaline that coursed through her made her feel better already.

“Now if you and Dr. Heywood would accompany me to the med bay, Captain.”

Chapter Text

Merlin woke up from his light slumber when someone opened the creaking wooden door. The light indicated that it was about dawn. Two burly men rushed inside, their gaze darting around.

“Which one?” The younger man asked.

“How about the boy here in the corner? He'll probably break the soonest.”

Both men turned to Mordred when all hell broke loose.

“Don't you...”

“If you hurt him...”

“I will kill you...”

A cacophony of shouts had emerged. The other knights were anything if not protective of their own. They quickly had included the rather quiet newcomer in their select group.

Arthur had dragged himself to his feet, restrained in movement by the chains around his hands and feet. He glared with wide, blue eyes at the two men. “You will regret this!”

Even Merlin, who had been distrustful of Mordred ever since he first heard about the prophecy, felt something strange in his stomach. If he weren't so intent on being wary about Mordred and the prophecy, he'd recognize it for what it was: fear for someone he couldn't help but care about.

Mordred, the one being acutely threatened, appeared to be the most collected of them all. While being yanked to his feet, he mumbled, “I am not a boy.”

He was right. Merlin had first met the druid almost ten years ago, when he himself had just arrived in Camelot. Back then, Mordred had been a boy. A terrified, orphaned boy, hunted for his magical abilities.

The man Merlin saw today was anything but terrified, at least outwardly. Mordred drew back his shoulders and looked defiantly at the two men, before being dragged outside the room.

After they left, the knights quieted down.

Leon looked decidedly unhappy. Now that it was lighter outside, Merlin noticed the cut Arthur's trusted First Knight had over his right eye. A bit of dried blood made one of Leon's reddish curls stick to the wound. Merlin presumed somebody had punched him there.

Gwaine, usually the most upbeat of all knights, wore a scowl on his face. Percival had balled his large, shackled hands into fists.

And Arthur still looked ready to kill.

“Do you think they're in league with Morgana?” Leon voiced the question everyone had been worrying about. Morgana, Arthur's evil sister who was also a gifted sorceress had turned from Merlin's friend to one of his worst nightmares.

Gwaine shrugged his shoulders. “If they are, we will find out soon enough. The walls are thin.”

As if on cue, they could hear muffled screams and the sound of another voice. While Merlin couldn't make out the words, it sounded threatening.

“What do you think they're doing to him?” Percival sounded worried. He had taken quite the liking to the young knight, and treated him like a little brother.

“What do you think?” Arthur said, balling his hands together as the muffled screams intensified. Percival frowned.

Merlin got back to the cold ground. He wasn't really sure how he felt about the situation. If the prophecy was accurate, then Mordred couldn't live. But while part of him would be relieved about the druid's death, he wouldn't wish the pain of torture on anyone.

'Aaaaaaaaah!'  Merlin's head felt like it was about to explode. He heard Mordred's voice, screaming in agony.

Merlin looked around, relieved that nobody noticed the way his head had suddenly jerked when he heard the scream in his mind. In case they managed to get out of here, Mordred and him would have to keep their magic a secret. While Arthur was more tolerant towards magic than his deceased father, that really wasn't saying a lot. The ban on magic (and the death penalty it carried) hadn't been revoked, despite Merlin's hopes when Uther passed.

Merlin turned his body to the wall, shielding most of his face from the others in the room.

'Mer—Emrys,'  Mordred whimpered. 'It hurts so much.'  He sounded small and scared, like the child Merlin remembered from their first encounter.

'I'm here. I'm here with you.' When the words appeared in his head, Merlin realized that he had made his decision. Prophecy or not, Mordred didn't deserve this. For all of Merlin's distrust, Mordred had always been kind and courteous towards everyone in this room, himself included.

'I'm really scared. I... I don't know if I can take this. They want me to tell them who Emrys is. They say that as a knight, I must know who protects the king.'

'Keep talking to me, Mordred.'  Merlin instructed him. If the men interrogated Mordred about the identity of Emrys, then they must be in league with Morgana. And Morgana couldn't know that he, bumbling and clumsy Merlin, was the legendary Emrys who was destined to protect Arthur. If she learned about his identity, Morgana might be able to defeat him, destroying the dream of a Camelot were magic was legal and an Albion united under Arthur.

Merlin shuddered at the thought. All that stood between that outcome at the moment was a young druid who was destined to kill Arthur. A young druid whom he had never afforded much kindness. A young druid who, based on Merlin's behavior, had no reason to be loyal to him.

'I don't want to give you away.'

'Focus on my voice, Mordred.'  While Merlin didn't have access to his magic at the moment, he still had access to all that he had learned as a warlock. He knew about the power of words and sound. About energy and emotions. About the importance of focus. He knew that it was possible to withstand pain, using the power of mind.

After what felt like an eternity, everything fell quiet. Instead of feeling relieved about the absence of agonized screams, Merlin was terrified. Had they killed him?

'Mordred?'  No answers. 'Mordred?!?” Merlin sunk into himself. There had been times when he had wished for the druid's death, knowing this would keep Arthur safe from the prophecy. And yet, now that this was a distinct possibility, Merlin felt empty and nauseated.

If Mordred was dead, the person he had treated the worst had sacrificed himself for him. At this thought, Merlin's eyes filled with regret. He vowed to himself that he would be treating Mordred kindlier if he should survive. After all, Mordred was the only other person who could really understand what it was like for him in Camelot.

Chapter Text

“Are you feeling better, Captain?” Gideon asked.

Sara nodded, relieved to notice that she was able to move her head again without regretting ever having been born. “I don't feel like dying anymore, so yes, thank you Gideon.” She got up from the bench in the med bay where Gideon had examined her. “Now, have you discovered where and when we are?”

“Based on the analysis I have run, it appears that we are once again on a small island known as Britannia in the year 507 AD, in a large forest about 30 kilometers away from the largest settlement.” On the screen, Gideon showed them a hand-drawn map.

“Camelot!” Ray, who had been hovering over Sara and Nate like a mother hen, glowed with excitement. “I am ready to once again assume my sacred duty as Sir Raymond of the Palms.” His face took on a wistful expression as he remembered being knighted. Sara once again realized just how much the tall man (and former CEO of an international enterprise) could look like a child. 

“Dr. Palmer,” Gideon interrupted, “I am sorry to inform you that this appears to be a different Camelot than the one you had visited on a previous mission. In this Camelot, there is no indication that you are a knight of the round table.”

“How can you know that?” Ray's voice was demanding.

“This is King Arthur.” The big screen showed the drawing of a man with short, blond hair.

“He probably just cut his hair.”

“This is Merlin.” On the screen, the team could see what a dark-haired man with rather big ears. 

“She's a magician. Of course, she could appear as a man, if she wanted to.” Sara rolled her eyes at Ray's words. This man here was clearly not Stargirl, former member of the Justice Society of America, a.k.a. Merlin in the Camelot they had visited before.

“This is Queen Guinevere.” The big screen showed a woman with dark skin, long curly hair and a warm smile.

“She...,” Ray begun. “Cut the crap, Ray,” Sara interrupted him. “These are not the King Arthur, Merlin, and Queen Guinevere we met the last time we were here. Believe me, I would recognize a woman who's had her tongue in my mouth.”

“But...”

Thankfully, Ray's protest was cut off when Mick slapped the back of his head.

Chapter Text

When Mordred regained consciousness, everything hurt. It was the physical equivalent of the pain he had felt in his heart when he lost both his parents, way too young. And, he felt as fragile as he had back then.

'Emrys?'  He was too... too everything... to be ashamed about his pleading tone and about the name he was using. He needed to talk to the savior of his people, not to the servant of a king.

'Thank the gods.'  Emrys sounded relieved. Mordred couldn't help but smile the tiniest bit. The powerful warlock had been hostile towards him since they first met and Mordred, having grown up hearing about the almighty Emrys, was craving his attention. 'How are you?'

'Alive.' Mordred sighed ever so slightly, and the pain threatened to consume him. 'Apparently. Or is there pain after death?'

Emrys ignored his question. 'What did they do to you?'

'I do not wish to talk about it.'  Mordred had no desire to relieve the excruciating minutes (hours?) before he had thankfully lost consciousness.

'Are you hurt?'

Mordred scoffed. 'No, I was only screaming because they threatened to throw a banquet in my honor.'

'Apologies. How bad are your injuries?'  Emrys sounded more concerned than he had a right to be.

Mordred couldn't help the bitterness that crept up his throat. 'What is it to you? You never liked me, didn't you?'  Mordred didn't receive a response, so he decided to continue. 'This has been the most kindness you have ever extended to me. Apparently, it takes me getting tortured for you to be able to feel concern for me.'

'I'm sorry.'  Emrys sounded sincere but Mordred wouldn't stop here.

'Why? I do not understand it. What have I ever done to you? Why are you so kind to everyone else but me?'  Mordred's voice was full of emotion. It didn't help his physical pain one bit but he finally sensed an opportunity to clear the air and he wasn't willing to let it go.

'I... I can't say.'

'Have I done something wrong?'  Mordred pressed forward. At least this way he didn't have to be alone with what he was feeling, both emotionally and physically.

'No. Not yet.'

Mordred stilled. 'What do you mean, not yet?'

'I can't say, Mordred.'  Emrys' voice became gentler. 'But whatever it is, I won't hold it against you anymore. You've gone far beyond what could be expected in terms of loyalty and I will treat you accordingly in the future.'  He paused for a moment. 'In terms of your injuries, do you think you will be alright?'

Mordred couldn't help but feel happy at the prospect of Emrys' respect. This made it easier for him to meticulously document the extent of his injuries. 'My left arm is probably broken. I think I have bruises around my neck and my voice will be sore for a while. My back feels wet, probably bloody from the lashes. I have cuts on my belly, and some burns on my arm and under the soles of my feet.'  He paused for a moment. 'Yes, I will be alright.'

Chapter Text

“How long will it be until we can leave?” Sara asked Gideon.

“I'm afraid that we won't be able to leave, Captain. The Waverider suffered extensive damage during the crash. The time drive is destroyed beyond repair. It would take a miracle—or magic—to restore it.”

“What are the chances of that happening?” Ray, ever the optimist, couldn't help but inquire.

“Given that neither exist, the answer would be 0, Dr. Palmer.”

“What about John Constantine? He can do magic,” Sara threw in.

“Who's John?” Nate looked confused.

“Friend of mine. English chain-smoker. Also an exorcist and warlock.” Sara explained. “Oh, and he saved my soul. It's kind of a long story.”

“Examining him hasn't been a priority of mine but I'm certain Mr. Constantine's skill set can be explained in perfectly scientific terms.” Gideon paused. “Of course, I forget that you are from the early 21st century. For you, this may indeed look like magic. I'm afraid the skills of Mr. Constantine prove—and not disprove—that magic doesn't exist.”

“Either way, he's not here.” Sara responded. “What about the others? Or the Time Bureau? Can't they help?”

“I sent out a distress signal and tried to contact the jump ship in 2016. It appears that our communication system was also impacted by the crash. We can no longer communicate across time. Based on my calculations, the chances of someone finding us are 1 in 2.356.784.212.” Sara's mood fell. “I'm sorry, Captain, but it appears that you are stuck in 507 AD.”

Ray stilled for a moment. “So, I can become the first person in the world to become a knight of two Camelots.” He turned to his captain. “Perhaps you can also win over this queen's heart, Sara Lance-a-lot.”

At the memory of her kiss with the Queen Guinevere they had previously met, the corners of Sara's lips tugged upwards for the first time in this conversation.

“As long as they have beer here—and fire—I don't care.” Mick, their resident pyromaniac, grumbled.

“Are you aware of the dismal medical state of the arts here? They probably still use leeches.” Nate looked disgusted. “Heaven only knows what strange diseases we might catch here.”

“We will still have Gideon, won't we?” Sara asked.

“I'm afraid the Waverider's resources are depleted. I won't be able to keep operations running for much longer.” Gideon paused. “I am sorry to say but once that happens, you will be on your own.”

“Is there nothing we can do?” Sara fought to keep her composure.

“I suggest telling me where you will go and staying there. I can switch off the Waverider before its resources are completed depleted. If, despite the odds, someone should find the ship, they can turn the systems back on and I can inform them of your whereabouts.”

Sara straightened herself. She had to be strong for her team. “One more question, Gideon, where do you suggest we should go?”

“I suggest finding a city, as it will be easier for you to blend in there. The closest major settlement is indeed Camelot which is about 30 kilometers northeast of here.”

Chapter Text

Merlin balled his fists together. Mordred's captors would regret having done this to him. He steeled his facial expression under control before turning around to face the other people in the room.

After the screams had stopped, Arthur had taken to pacing back and forth through the tiny room, his chains making his movements less graceful than usual. He sighed, his concern for his youngest knight palpable in his voice.

“He's stronger than he looks.” Leon managed to sound calm as usual.

Gwaine lifted himself to his feet. “If they so much as scratched him...” 

Their interaction was interrupted by the cell door being opened. The younger of the men who had collected Mordred earlier walked through the door.

“What are you doing to him?” Arthur's face took on a feral look and only the chains prevented him from physically unleashing his fury on the guard.

The guard smirked. “Let's just say he wasn't cooperative.”

Arthur scoffed. “Of course not. I've taught my knights well. They won't betray Camelot and her people.”

The guard licked his lips. “Yes, he isn't exactly in a state to betray anyone anymore.”

Arthur's whole body tensed. “If you've killed him, you will die a very slow and very painful death, that much I can promise you.”

“He's not dead.” The guard held up his right hand, as if to quiet the enraged King. “Although... he probably wishes he was.”

“Let me help him.” Merlin interrupted the tense exchange.

The guard turned to him. “And who are you?” His eyes took in what Merlin knew to be his disheveled appearance, the worn servant clothes and the lack of armory. “The court jester?”

“I'm a physician's apprentice.” Merlin let the jibe roll off him. He had spent too much time around Arthur to be affected by verbal insults. “I can help.”

“And why should I let you help him?” The guard raised an eyebrow.

“Because...,” Merlin paused for effect, “if you let me help our knight, I will take a look at your old shoulder injury. It was a terrible battle wound and it's still hurting you, isn't it? Especially when the weather changes, like now?” He nodded in the general direction of the guard's shoulders.

“How... how do you know?” Momentarily, the guard dropped the hostile expression from his face.

“I told you, I'm a physician's apprentice. I can see the injury in the way you hold yourself.” Merlin looked at him. “It's really quite obvious if you know what you're looking for. So, do we have a deal?”

Chapter Text

Sara had gathered her team in the library to create a list of items to obtain from the Waverider's fabricator while they could. Over time, she and her team had come to rely on the ship's ability to create any items they needed out of thin air (well, Sara was sure the process was more complicated than that but from the outside it almost looked like magic). Soon, they wouldn't have that luxury anymore.

And they needed so much. Usually, their missions only required some time-appropriate costumes. Given that they would be staying here indefinitely, this alone wouldn't do.

The four Legends were huddled together over a sheet of paper, their faces only illuminated by candles. Sara was grateful that Ray was enough of a romantic to be keeping scented candles in his room. They had come in handy after she had asked Gideon to switch off the Waverider's non-essential functions.

“Nate,” Sara turned to the historian, “will we be able to understand the people here?”

“How's your Old Brittonic?”

“I'll take that as a no.” Sara returned her attention to the sheet of paper. “So, we will need a large supply of ingestible translators. And all the information we can get about the people in Camelot. The royal couple, Merlin, the knights of the round table... all I know are the legends, and I somehow doubt these will be useful for us.”

“Gideon said that the records are extremely sparse.” Nate said. “There are many things we don't know and the paintings Gideon showed us are the only depictions of people from that era.”

“We'll take what we can get. Knowledge is power.”

“So are guns.” Mick grunted. “We need to take weapons with us.”

“We will take era-appropriate weapons, Mick.” Sara said as patiently as possible.”

“And we'll need antibiotics. And painkillers.” Nate threw in. “A large supply of disinfectant. Water filters. Multivitamins. A how-to guide for basic surgery. A medical emergency kit. Toothbrushes, tooth paste, and floss. A dentist kit and a how-to guide for performing basic dentistry. A compass. We should also ask Gideon to give us every vaccination known to humanity. And did I mention antibiotics?”

Sara, who had been keeping notes, glanced up. “Multiple times.” Secretly, she was grateful for his suggestions. If this were a typical mission, all modern things were off the table. They didn't want to mess with time by introducing something that didn't yet exist. However, given the circumstances, Sara couldn't bring herself to care too much about the timeline. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that.

“Condoms,” Ray piped up. “As a future knight of the round table, I will surely be propositioned quite often.”

Sara laughed. Ray was so much of a boy scout that she just couldn't imagine him sleeping around in medieval times, or in any times, for that matter.

Nate looked nauseated. “Do you even know how rampant venereal diseases were back then?”

“Hence the condoms!” Ray replied cheerily. “Plus, I might create a time paradox if I started fathering children in ancient Britannia.”

“You're too much of a boy scout to screw around, Haircut,” Mick replied.

“Morning after pill,” Sara threw in before Ray could respond to Mick.

“Et tu, Sara?” Nate looked decidedly unhappy before grabbing the pen from Sara. When Sara next looked at the list, she saw that he had added “modern chastity belt for Nate—throw away key” to it.

“Also, female hygienic products.” Sara said. She refrained from being more specific, given that the rest of her group consisted of men. She could give Gideon the specifications on her own. Sara didn't want to be stuck in the medieval ages, at least not when it came to such basic things.

“Lighters.” Mick grunted.

Chapter Text

Mordred faded in and out of consciousness. Memories of his old life assailed him, some happy, others too much to bear. When he found himself back in the druid camp that got attacked by Arthur, following Uther's orders, he started kicking. He caught Emrys' blue eyes, which had never looked colder than during that unmerited attack on his kin. The druids were peaceful people. “How, how could you have betrayed us, Emrys?” Mordred mumbled, barely audible, when a cool hand touched his arm.

“Shhh.” The voice sounded familiar.

Mordred tried to open his eyes but they felt like they were made out of lead. 'Who are you?'  Mordred thought in his head.

'It's me, Merlin.'  The hand stroked a hair out of his face. Mordred could feel the cold iron that still tied the other’s hands together.

‘What happened?’  Mordred searched his mind for memories but temporarily drew a blank.

‘You don’t remember anything, do you?’  Emrys didn’t wait for a response before continuing. ‘Our camp was attacked in the middle of the night. Leon was keeping watch but got knocked out before he could alert the others. We were taken to this shed here. A few hours ago, two men took you away for an interrogation. They asked you for the identity of Emrys, so they must be Morgana's men. You talked to me while that was happening.’ Emrys stopped for a moment and Mordred could feel his gaze assessing his physical state. ‘You’re hurt pretty badly.’

‘You could say that.’

“Can I examine you?” Emrys said out loud. Mordred mumbled his assent. He could feel Emry’s hand checking his head, his arms and his feet, carefully avoiding any area that was bruised, cut, burned or broken. Despite his manacles, he managed to be gentle.

“I need to look at your back.” He said. Mordred gave him a tiny nod. He winced as Emrys lifted his shirt, separating the fabric from his lash wounds.

‘What happened to my chainmail?'

‘They must have taken it off. Although that's not my concern right now.'  Emrys voice sounded worried. 'We need to get these wounds cleaned so they don't get infected.'  A wet cloth touched his wounds. Even though Mordred could tell that Emrys was as gentle as possible, it hurt a lot. He gritted his teeth, trying to bite back the tears.

Chapter Text

Sara felt more nostalgic than someone who had been dead before had any right to be. She beckoned the others to step outside before her. After all, a captain was supposed to be the last one to leave her sinking ship, right?

“Goodbye, Gideon.” Nate said.

“I will miss you.” Ray's eyes were a bit wet.

“Yes, now I need to make my own food.” Mick said but the emotion in his voice gave him away.

“Dr. Palmer, Mr. Rory, Dr. Heywood—it has been an honor.” Gideon replied.

Sara took a few steps back into the Waverider, throwing one last glance at the place that had been a home for her band of misfits for such a long time.

“Goodbye, Gideon.” Sara leaned against the exit door. “And thank you for everything.”

“Goodbye, Captain,” Gideon replied. Sara sighed. She would miss this. This is where she had become a leader. And even if she wasn't a captain anymore, this couldn't be taken away from her.

It was Mick who pulled her out of her nostalgia. He grunted: “Let's go.”

Once Sara had stepped outside the Waverider, her lungs filled with the fresh air of the forest. She looked at her companions, all dressed in simple clothes, each with a cloak draped around them. Sara herself had opted for a simple brown dress, underneath a black cloak. All of them were carrying heavy bags, filled with food, cold and silver coins and things from their list, as well as what Gideon and Nate had assumed to be time-appropriate weapons and clothes. (Mick had also taken his heat gun with him. Although decidedly not a time-appropriate weapon, their resident pyromaniac had refused to part from his beloved heart gun).

It had turned out that there was precious few information about the place they found themselves in. The map of the area, as well as the depictions Gideon had shown them of the royal couple and Merlin were from a book that was only discovered in the 22nd century, with many missing pages. Gideon had translated the few remaining pages from Old Brittonic into modern English before printing it. The result was an ancient-looking book that nobody around them should be able to read.

After long deliberations, they had decided to forgo armor. Even Ray, who was jumping at the chance of being a knight again, had agreed that they had enough to carry as it was, that they weren't used to moving, let alone fighting in armor, and that walking 30 kilometers with those bags was tiresome enough without the added weight. Should they want it, they surely would be able to buy armor in Camelot, given their resources.

Sara looked around. It was just after dawn so they would have the full day to travel towards Camelot. She grabbed the compass Gideon had created out of Lodestone. The design was a compromise that would hopefully allow them to inconspicuously use a tool that the people in Camelot wouldn't yet know. Sara glanced at the tool. “This way.” She pointed to her left.

The group had been walking for what must have been a few hours when Mick pointed out smoke that was rising behind a line of trees in front of them. They debated the pros and cons of walking towards the fire (which could be summarized with “there could be supportive humans there/there could be humans who will try to kill us there”) before deciding that they could deal with whomever they would meet there.

Eventually, the Legends stood in front of a small shed, made out of stone and wood. Sara looked at Ray, Mick and Nate, the four of them trying to decide what to do, when they heard a loud scream.

Mick threw this body against the door which gave way. Sara raced through the door, followed by Ray and Nate. They entered what looked like a living room. However, what drew Sara's attention wasn't the low ceiling, the fireplace in the middle or the kitchen utensils towards the end. It was the back of a man with dark, curly hair who was lying on a cot, the skin on his back torn into shreds.

The man who knelt next to him turned around: “Who are you? What are you doing here?” His hands were tied and he seemed worried.

Sara raised her hands to placate. “We heard the scream and wanted to make sure nobody was getting hurt.” Upon taking a closer look at the kneeling man, she wondered if this was who she thought it was. “Are you Merlin?”

Merlin nodded “Do I know you?” The legendary wizard looked extremely suspicious.

Sara shook her head. Ray, who had stepped next to Sara and who had always been better at this sort of thing than her, added: “We mean no harm. We are just travelers in this land. And while we have never met you, we have heard tales about you, you and King Arthur.”

Before the Legends could introduce themselves, using their cover story, the door in the back of the room opened. Two burly looking man entered the living room. Upon noticing the Legends, the men both grabbed a dagger they were wearing on their belt and charged at Mick and Nate who they seemed to perceive as the biggest threats.

The fight was over before it had even started. Mick, who had been itching for a chance to blow of some steam, had knocked out both men before Nate even had the chance to turn to steel. Sara and Ray stood back, amused by the annoyed look Nate shot Mick.

Sara was glad to notice that Ray immediately rushed to Merlin's side. Unlike her, Ray was so obviously good and harmless that it would be hard for anyone to distrust him. “Mick, a little help?” Ray asked after realizing that he couldn't get the chains of Merlin. Despite the grim situation, Sara chuckled a little. Who would have thought that Mick's criminal history could be an asset in Camelot, out of all places?

After Mick had freed Merlin of his chains, the legendary warlock shouted: “Come with me. We need to free the others.” He exchanged a look with Ray: “Can you take care of him? He's wounded.” Ray nodded.

Sara was still observing from the back of the room, feeling that her particular skill set wasn't needed at the moment. Nate stood next to her, perhaps thinking that this was the best way to avoid any contagious diseases. “I don't get it,” the Legend's resident historian whispered to her, “if Merlin is indeed as powerful as they say, how were these two men able to keep him imprisoned?”

Sara shrugged her shoulders. “Gideon mentioned that magic is illegal in this Camelot, so he might not be able to use the only weapon he has out in the open.”

Before Nate could reply, Merlin and Mick returned with a few other men, none of them wearing any weapons or armory. Sara first noticed a man with massive arms, towering over all the others. She had seen his face before, on one of the paintings Gideon had showed her of the knights of the round table. Sara just hadn't expected him to be so big. Despite his size, Sara would peg him as the “gentle giant” type. Men with supreme physical strength like him often didn't need to engage in displays of domination.

Next, Sara's glance landed on a blonde man whose face was red with fury. She immediately recognized him as King Arthur. On Arthur's left side was a man with brown long hair who looked just as angry as Arthur. Sara also remembered seeing him on the painting. While she couldn't recall his name, she knew that he was one of the knights of the round table. They were followed by a concerned-looking man with light curly hair whom Sara also recognized from Gideon's files. All four men rushed to the cot.

Arthur glared at Ray, who was still keeping the wounded man company. Merlin calmed the irate king down, telling him that Ray had been keeping watch for him. After checking on the wounded man and getting Merlin's assurances that he would stay at his side, the four men began looking for the equipment the two men had taken from them, mostly ignoring the Legends in the process.

They eventually found the cabinet that contained all the weapons their captors had taken from them. It took a moment but soon it looked as if everyone had been reunited with all their equipment. Sara moved closer to the door, eager to leave this place. Perhaps now there would be a chance for proper introductions? After all, if they wanted to live in Camelot, it would be helpful to be on good terms with the people in this room. An angry shout made her turn around.

“He stole my sword.” The king shouted, enraged.

“That I did.” Mick triumphantly held up the stolen sword. It wasn't exactly helping his case.

“I will have your head, peasant.”

Sara stepped in front of Mick. “You will do no such thing,” she told the king. “You'll have to go through me first.” In this moment, she was wondering why exactly King Arthur was still being remembered as such a legendary leader in her time and place. Judging on first impressions alone, he seemed like a rather arrogant idiot.

The king's mouth twisted. He seemed amused. Sara sighed. It had been a long day and she didn't have the patience for people who underestimated her based on appearance alone.

Sara grabbed Ray's shoulder. “Give me your gauntlet.”

“What?” Ray blinked at her, no understanding in his eyes. “We didn't bring armor.”

“Your glove. Now.” Ray obeyed, handing her his right leather glove. Sara grabbed it and threw it in front of the shouting king.

“What is the meaning of this?” The knight with the blond curls (or were they red? Sara couldn't quite tell) inquired.

“It really is quite simple.” Sara said. “I hereby challenge you, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, to a duel.”

“Can she do that?” The giant knight asked.

Merlin nodded, solemnly. “Yes. We've been through all this before when Morgana's evil sister challenged Arthur in front of the court. According to Geoffrey, there's no rule against women offering a challenge.”

“There should be.” The king grumbled.

“Don't be like that, princess.” The long-haired knight teased him before winking at Sara.

“Enough of this.” Sara took one more step forward. “I think it has been established that I have the right to issue a challenge. Here are my conditions: the fight takes place now. Should I win, your sword will be returned to you.” The group from Camelot let out a gasp of surprise. “But, my man here,” Sara pointed towards Mick, “will not be harmed. And, you will allow us to stay with you in Camelot.”

“And if I win?”

“Then your sword will be returned to you and I will personally assist you in beating up the thief. However, he won't be killed. Afterwards, we will leave your lands and we won't ever return.”

“Sounds fair,” the long-haired knight said.

“Quiet.” The king shushed him and exchanged a glance with the blond knight who nodded at him.

Sara glanced at everyone, noticing that Merlin looked like he was preparing himself for a fight.

“Before you accept or reject my challenge, I have one question,” Sara asked. “Who's that person standing next to you?”

“That?” The king replied. “Oh, that's just Merlin, my incompetent manservant.”

“Merlin.” Sara paused for a moment. “I have one more condition. Merlin will not be present during the duel. Where I come from, we only allow those who habitually carry weapons to be present for duels. It is to spare the general population the sight of cruelty. As a servant, Merlin would be better off waiting for us in here, while we fight somewhere out of sight.”

The man she had just discovered was Merlin suddenly looked even more enraged than Arthur. He sprouted: “Well, we are not where you are from. We are in the realm of Camelot and in Camelot, everyone is welcome to attend a duel.”

The king nodded. “That is the rule in Camelot, indeed.”

“Well, if you are too afraid to face a woman without your manservant nearby, I certainly understand.” Sara hoped her taunt would work. She wasn't sure what Merlin could or couldn't do, or if the legends about him were true, but in case he really was a powerful magic user, she wanted him as far away from her as possible while she faced his king.

“I am the king of Camelot. How dare you assume...”

“Then we have an agreement?” Sara asked, stretching out her hand. “Besides, somebody should probably stay with the wounded man. He looks in pretty bad shape.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Let's find a clearing outside. Merlin, you stay with Mordred.”

Chapter Text

Gwaine was impressed. Being a great fighter, this didn't usually happen. But the blonde woman they had just met did a good job at holding her own against Arthur. While she appeared less accustomed to a sword than Arthur, her reflexes were quick and her fighting style unusual. She bounced from side to side, appearing in front of him, behind him—she almost made the fight seem like a dance.

The knight could also tell that Arthur was holding back, likely on account of his opponent being a woman. Other than Morgana back when they were children and they used blunt training swords, Gwaine didn't think that Arthur had ever trained with a woman. And his only fight against a woman had been with Morgana's evil sister Morgause. According to what Gwaine had heard, she had soundly defeated (and humiliated) him in front of all of Camelot when he was already a Crown Prince.

For people who weren't naturally cruel, such as him and the king, it took training to get to the point where they would attack another person with all they got, knowing fully well that it could do irreparable damage. Gwaine assumed that Arthur had gotten this natural reluctance drilled out of him through years and years of training and fighting. And yet, because Arthur had almost exclusively trained with and fought against men, he still retained his reluctance of hurting women.

Gwaine saw that Arthur mostly used defensive techniques, blocking the swift assaults of the woman's weapon, instead of going on the offensive himself. Apparently, his opponent also noticed given that she threw down her sword and shouted into his face: “Are you going to start fighting?”

“I don't want to hurt you.” Arthur pointed towards her. “You're not even wearing chainmail.”

The woman paused. “Take off your armor.”

“I'm the king. You can't speak to me like that.”

“Given that you're apparently incapable of hurting me, I will speak to you as I damn well please.” Gwaine snorted out loud at her response. Leon shot him a disapproving look that Gwaine was used to ignoring. While he liked and respected Arthur, having people confront him like that would make him a better king, not a worse one.

“Fine.” Arthur turned around. “Merlin!”

“He's not here.” Gwaine responded.

Arthur waved at him. “Then come here and help me out of this.”

“I thought you'd never ask, princess.” Gwaine said while strolling over. Arthur scowled at him but it was worth it for hearing the woman's laughter.
 

Sara was glad that she had a moment to catch her breath. While she was one of the best fighters in the world she came from, this was something else. The legendary king in front of her seemed much more skilled with a sword than Julius Caesar, whom she had easily defeated. Sara had had a hard time fighting her opponent, even though she could tell that he was holding back. 

The chainmail Arthur had been wearing meant that his upper body, as well as his groins and most of his upper thighs, was practically invulnerable to cuts made with her sword, and it had also limited the effectiveness of her stabs. Kicks would have been even less useful, and Sara had known better than to try to throw a punch. She also hadn't been able to hurt Arthur's wrist as he was wearing vambraces. This had mainly left his face, part of his neck, his knees, his shins and, perhaps, his feet vulnerable to attack. Without protective clothing herself, Sara had had to be extra-careful about avoiding Arthur's sword which had made it more challenging for her to go on the attack.

Sara assumed that Arthur's training had started back when he was just a little child which meant that he must have had at least a decade of experience on her. She also remembered having read somewhere about the superior strength of people from the past. How, as a result of their harsher lifestyle, they were stronger than even elite athletes of the 21^st century.

Sara glanced at the king, noticing that he had discarded all his armor. She was glad that they would switch to a fighting style that was more to her modern taste. While Arthur was a better swordsman then her, she doubted he would have as much experience as her when it came to hand-to-hand combat.

“Ready, princess?” She taunted him.

Arthur glared at her. “Are you always this insubordinate?”

“I can hardly be insubordinate if I'm the leader now, can I?” Sara pressed her hands against her hips.

“That's why women shouldn't...” Arthur mumbled.

“What was that?” Sara asked.

“Are you related to Merlin, by any chance?”

“Merlin? No.” She approached Arthur. “Enough talk, let's get started.”

“Started with what?”

“Fighting.”

“I don't see a weapon.”

“We won't be using any weapons.” Sara pointed towards her body. “I am the weapon. Now you don't have to fear hurting me.” She paused. “Much.”

“Fine.” Arthur sighed. “If you're so desperate to get hurt today, let's get this over with.” He assumed a fighting stance.

The fight was over before it even started. Arthur had tried to put her into a hold, Sara had slipped out of his grasp, fallen to the ground, put his leg on his stomach and thrown his body over her head to the ground. Not being accustomed to this style of fighting, Arthur hadn't done a good job of bracing his fall. Before he managed to get up, Sara had already put him into a hold. 

“It appears I beat you.” She said before letting go of him.

Arthur nodded. He got up from the ground, shaking off the earth. “Well fought,” Arthur looked disgruntled but offered her his hand.

“We both know you would have beat me in a sword fight.” Sara took his hand. Given that they would be staying in Camelot, it was prudent to make an effort to get along with the proud king. Plus, Sara knew that what she said was true. A fighter just couldn't afford to overestimate his or her skill set. Sara was aware that any sense of hubris could be deadly in the circumstances she lived in.

“Thank you, Lady...?” Her words appeared to have improved Arthur's mood.

“Sara. Sara Lance. “

“Lady Lance,” Arthur said wistfully. “One of my best knights was called Sir Lancelot. You don't happen to be related?”

“While I have been called Lance-a-lot before, I'm not related to this knight of yours or any other of your men, for that matter. And I'm not a lady.”

“You certainly don't fight like you would be.” The long-haired knight near Arthur said. “That move was dirty.”

“I'll take this as a compliment.”

“And this,” Arthur glared at his knight, “is Sir Gwaine.”

“Just Gwaine.” He took her hand between his and smiled at her. “And, it was a compliment. I like my women like my ale—strong and disorienting.”

Sara felt her cheeks light up. She was too cool to blush at his comment—she had been an assassin, defeated Julius Cesar in a hand-to-hand combat, and seen living dinosaurs. The captain of the Waverider could handle this strange man with his warm brown eyes and his dashing smile.

“Erm—thank you.” She looked away for a second, remembering why they were here. Was she still the captain of the Waverider if it was out of commission?

“You appear troubled,” Gwaine said, his look concerned.

“It's been a long day.” Sara shot him a sad smile.

“Allow me to escort you on our way to Camelot.” Gwaine offered her his arm. Arthur cleared his throat but Gwaine pointedly ignored him.

Chapter Text

While Merlin and Percival had been getting Mordred ready for the long trek home, Sara had introduced the men she was traveling with. Unfortunately, the four of them hadn't traveled with horses and the knights' own horses had been taken by their captors. Unlike their weapons and armor, they hadn't seen the horses anywhere, so presumably they had already been moved to somewhere else.

The group began walking towards Camelot, with Arthur (who had been reunited with Excalibur) in the lead. He appeared to be in a rather surly mood but despite his snide remarks, Merlin refused to leave his side. Gwaine chuckled for a moment that Merlin had, once again, turned into a mother hen, all because Arthur's pride had (once again) been damaged.

Behind him, Percival was carrying Mordred on his shoulders. Ray, who was an ever-smiling man, walked next to Percival and tried to strike up a conversation, rather unsuccessfully.

This didn't faze Ray who kept on talking, only interrupted by Percival's intermittent hums and grunts.

“Haircut, leave the poor man alone!” Mick, the burly, brutish man who had stolen Excalibur, barked at his companion. Ray flashed him a smile and proceeded to ignore him. Next to the brutish was Nate, a man with dark hair, who didn't look too happy about the whole situation.

Gwaine followed him with Sara to his right. While she had turned down his arm, she didn't seem to mind talking to him.

Behind them, Leon formed the end of the group. The First Knight refused to leave the new additions to their group out of sight.

Gwaine's gaze himself strayed mostly to the woman walking near him. He wasn't sure what to make of this stranger who has just appeared out of nowhere in all of their lives, kicking Arthur's arse in the process (not that Gwaine minded).

She held herself without any fear or frailty, not treating the king any different than the servants. Gwaine, who had been having gripes with the concept of nobility ever since his father, a knight, died in the service of a king for no good reason, found this rather refreshing.

It's as if this woman didn't really see the difference in station. It was different than even Merlin's behavior. While the servant was insolent and freely spoke his mind to Arthur, you could tell that he knew the place in the castle's hierarchy. That he sometimes was afraid of Arthur, and for good reason.

In contrast, the woman next to him appeared to be free of the authority and the binds everyone in Camelot was under. Gwaine's heart gave a hopeful leap upon recognizing all this.

Even with Merlin around, this woman may well be the closest thing to a kindred soul he had ever met.

He cleared his throat. “May I ask you a question?” Out of the corners of his eyes he noticed that she nodded her assent. “How many men do you command?”

Sara thought for a moment. “It changes. My core group consists of five men and another woman.”

“So, you're two women.” Gwaine repeated, curious to hear more about them. “How did you come to lead these people? Did you force them to accept your leadership? You seem to have the fighting skills to do so! Or were you born into a position of power instead?”

Sara laughed. “The chose me. I may be the best fighter among them but force is no way to lead. And I wasn't born into a position of power.”

“So, you're not... nobility?”

Her smile was infectious. “The land where I'm from, we did away with the concept of nobility centuries ago.”

“That sounds... nice,” Gwaine smiled. “More equal.” He waited for a moment, half-expecting Arthur to shout at him from the front that his comment was treason. Not that Arthur would be able to hear him.

Sara nodded. “It's more equal than many other times, I mean places. I am free to choose my own way.”

“What about your husband? Doesn't he get a say?” Gwaine didn't agree with the concept of the husband as the head of the household but it was custom around here.

Sara smiled, again. Gwaine noticed that his question seemed to surprise her, just the slightest bit but she also seemed like she enjoyed answering.

“First of all, I'm not married and not planning to. Second of all, even if I got married, I'm bi so I might not end up with a husband anyway. And, thirdly, I wouldn't let anyone direct my life.”

“What is bi? And why does it mean you might not end up with a husband?”

“Oh,” Sara looked amused, “it means I like men and women.”

“As do I.” The words had wanted to escape Gwaine's mouth, feeling safe in her company. Since they weren't alone, he had lowered his voice. While he didn't feel ashamed for how he was, he knew the trouble it might get him into. He didn't think his fellow knights would want to see him harmed but given how they acted around magic; he wasn't willing to take any chances.

Sara nodded. “So, it could be that I ended up with a wife, if I ever married.”

Gwaine stared at her in disbelief. “Where you're from, you could get married to a woman?”

“Or you to a man.” Sara looked him in the eyes.

“Oh.” For what was one of the rare occasions in his life, Gwaine was left speechless.

Chapter Text

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief when they had made it to Camelot's court yard, just before sunset. He didn't trust the four people they had met, especially not after that brute had stolen Excalibur. The fight with the blonde woman had brought back unwelcome memories of Arthur's public humiliation by the hands of another blonde woman. However, unlike Morgause, Merlin didn't sense any magic on her. She also didn't appear to have any hidden intentions when she issued her challenge.

Or had she planned to be brought along to Camelot, only so she could hurt the king? Merlin got goosebumps. But, if her group had wanted to kill them, why wouldn't they have done it in the woods where there were less knights around? Merlin decided to keep an eye on her and her men.

His eyes caught Percival who had once again proven his sheer superhuman strength by having carried Mordred the whole way to Camelot. “Let's get him to Gaius,” Merlin said. He followed the giant knight up the stairs. Percival needed to set Mordred down since the physician's door wasn't tall enough for him to carry the injured knight through.

“Can you walk?” Merlin asked Mordred. He nodded but Merlin realized that his legs wobbled. Merlin put Mordred's right arm, the one that hadn't been broken, around his shoulders and guided him through the door.

“Merlin, you're back!” Gaius said. Upon noticing Mordred, who looked ghostly, he asked: “What happened with Sir Mordred?”

Merlin warmed at the sight of the elderly man who had practically become his surrogate father. Whatever was wrong with Mordred, Gaius was a skilled physician. He would be able to help. “We got captured by Morgana's troops. They tortured Mordred for information. He has a broken arm, burns, cuts, bruises and lashed all over his body.”

Gaius sighed. “Oh boy.” He gestured towards the work table. Put him up there.

Merlin stayed for the examination. Even though there wasn't much he could do to assist, it seemed that Mordred liked to have his company. Merlin felt slightly bitter about it. After all, Mordred probably only thought about him as Emrys, the legendary sorcerer of sorcerers, something that Merlin couldn't live up to. He doubted that Mordred would be as keen to have him around if he were just Merlin.

After applying a dozen of tinctures, ointments and salves, Gaius finally declared Mordred good to go. Merlin hurried over. “Let me help you with that.”

“Get him to his room, Merlin.” Gaius instructed. “And make sure he has enough to eat and drink.” Merlin nodded.

Sara followed Arthur; the other members of her group next to her. She couldn't help but compare this Camelot to the one she and her team had visited in one of her missions.

It looked rather different, she concluded. After passing the entrance to the castle, there was the rather large courtyard they were currently walking through. In front of them was the statute of a warrior on a horse, behind the statute a large set of steps that led to the building itself.

On the stairs, she saw a dark-skinned young woman in an elegant, burgundy dress. Her dark, curly hair fell down to her shoulders. From the picture she had seen, this must be the queen.

“This is my queen, Guinevere.” Arthur's words confirmed Sara's thought process. The woman next to him flashed the group a warm smile. Somehow, it put Sara at ease. If they were stuck in the Dark Ages, it was at least nice to have some warmth in it.

“Welcome to Camelot,” the queen said, making eye contact with each member of their group. “You must be hungry, cold and tired.” Sara nodded at her words. She very much would like to have a warm meal and a cold beer.

“My Lady.” Mick bowed. “It is a pleasure to make your company.”

Sara quickly curtseyed, then whispered to Ray who was standing to her right: “What's up with Mick?”

Ray shrugged before turning to the queen, him and Nate bowing down in tandem.

“I will be showing you around. If you could follow me,” the queen said. Turning to Sara, she said: “And please call me Gwen.” Sara nodded.

Gwen led them through long corridors and explained the castle's history and layout to Mick, who walked to her right. Him and Gwen got along splendidly, and the often-brutish man was on his very best behavior.

Sara hadn't seen him so upbeat since Amaya had left the Legends. Somehow, the kind and intelligent woman had become Mick's best friend on the Waverider after she joined the Legends.  Perhaps this legendary queen would be able to do the same.

Sara smiled about the change she saw in Mick. Her team member had been through so much, with being brainwashed by the time masters, turned into a bounty hunter, losing his best friend Snart and becoming an outcast in the team. Amaya had been the only one Mick could really connect to, and her disappearance had hit him rather hard.

The man really deserved a break, an open ear to listen to, and a kind friend to reach out to him. Sara couldn't give that to him, she was too much like him in many ways. She was a former assassin. Too hardened. Too dark. He needed someone pure and light, like Amaya or Ray. Or Gwen, by the looks of it.

Sara's attention shifted to Ray. He followed right after Gwen and Mick, taking everything in with big eyes. Sara was grateful that her team member took the situation so well, then she remembered that she needn't worry about someone who had been able to survive for months after being stranded in the Cretaceous period with an angry Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Sara breathed a sigh of relief. Mick would be okay here. Perhaps, it would be even easier for him to fit in with the hardy knights than with people in the 21^st century. And Ray was not only stronger than he appeared to be. He also was eternally optimistic and for him, Camelot was a childhood dream come true.

She peered over to Nate who was walking to her left, keeping close to her. The historian eyed everything suspiciously and seemed like he'd rather not be here. Sara thought it was ironic that the person who should be the best suited to living in this period, what with having actual knowledge about the customs and the ability to turn into steel, was the one she probably had to worry the most about.

Her concern was confirmed after Gwen had showed them to their rooms. Sara had a room to herself, with a bed, a table, four chairs, a drawer, a mirror and a bookshelf. It was much bigger than her room on the Waverider. The three men would be sharing a room that was twice the size of hers, which only contained beds and drawers.

Since Sara's room was the only one with a table, the food had been brought to her room. Mick, Ray and Sara practically inhaled the stew while Nate hadn't touched it. “Are you not going to eat?” Ray asked him. The food wasn't bad. It just tasted different than things she'd have in the 21^st century, which was to be expected.

“I'm waiting to see if you get sick.” He replied.

“At least have some water,” Sara said. “You can filter it, if that makes you feel better.”

Nate sighed. “Fine.” 

Chapter Text

Mordred was wondering if this was a dream. After half-carrying him to his room, bringing him a dinner worthy of a king, and tucking him into bed, Merlin touched his right hand. Mordred was on his right side, since this was the only position his back and his broken left arm could tolerate.

“I'm here to talk, if you want,” Merlin offered.

Mordred brought Merlin's hand up to his heart, before realizing how intimate that gesture was. He noticed himself blushing and hoped that it wouldn't be apparent, given how dark it was with only the fire flickering.

He dropped the hand. “I'm fine. It's nothing that won't heal.”

“Many people have a hard time recovering after what you've been through.”

Mordred snapped. “I'm a knight of Camelot, not a child.” Although, his mind supplied, compared to his childhood, being a knight was a walk in the park. “I've had to fend for myself since I was a child. My father was killed right here, in Camelot, if you remember. And yet, I have sworn by allegiance to her and walk these grounds every day.”

“I didn't say you were a child.” Merlin leaned forward. “What I said is that you're someone who's been through something that's hard.” He huffed. “For the love of the gods, you're as emotionally constipated as Arthur.” Mordred flinched at the notice of Arthur's name.

“You have a type, don't you?” As the words escaped his mouth, Mordred hoped that the ground would open and swallow him. Was there a spell he could use to make Merlin forget he ever said that?

“What do you mean?”

Mordred allowed himself to relax just a little bit. He hadn't counted on Merlin's obliviousness. “Nothing.” Mordred shifted. His arm was starting to fall asleep from being in one position for too long. Perhaps, he could try sleeping on his stomach? 

“Would you like me to leave?”

“Yes... no.” Mordred wanted him to stay, but not like that. Arthur would always come first for Merlin, and who even knew if Merlin thought of him like that. For a moment, Mordred was tempted to try reading Merlin's mind but he knew that it would be a gross violation of the other's privacy. If he wanted to find out what Merlin really thought of him, he'd have to risk rejection. But not today. Mordred wasn't feeling up to that today. “Yes. I think I better try to sleep.”

Mordred closed his eyes, for extra effect. He could hear Merlin getting up and opening the door. 'Sleep well, Mordred.'

Merlin finally laid down in bed, extinguishing the candle on his nightstand with his magic. That had been a strange day, even stranger than usual.

First being rescued by people who, for some unknown reason, seemed slightly out of place in Camelot, even for being travelers from afar. Then him being banished from the place where Arthur's duel took place. At that point, Merlin had feared the worst but when he finally got reunited with Arthur after his fight with the woman, only Arthur's pride had been wounded.

And then, this thing, whatever it was, with Mordred. At first, he had seemed happy to have Merlin around. Or was it Emrys? Merlin wondered to what an extent the druid still clung on to his hero worship of Emrys. If they were to become friends, this could surely be challenging.

With these thoughts in his head, Merlin succumbed to sleep.

A scream pierced his head. Merlin sat up straight in bed, trying to ascertain if the scream had been in his mind or not. 'Is that you, Mordred?'

He didn't receive an answer. A few moments later, Merlin heard another scream. This time, he was awake enough to realize that the scream was in his mind. Merlin slipped into his boots with his bare feet and was out the door before he could have grabbed his jacket.

A few moments later, he burst into Mordred's door, without bothering to knock. The druid was thrashing back and forth in his bed. To Merlin, it looked like he was having a nightmare.

Merlin closed the door behind him and walked to the bed, gently shoving the sleeping knight. 'Mordred. Hey, Mordred.'  He needed to wake him up before his movements aggravated his injuries.

'Merlin?'  Mordred stilled. 'What are you doing here?'

'I heard you screaming and I got concerned. I'm glad you're okay now.' Now that his worry had subsided, Merlin noticed how cold he felt. He spoke a quick spell to increase the heat emitted by the fire.

'Are you cold?' 

'Yes.'  Merlin was freezing.

'You can... you can use my blanket, if you like.'  The druid had lifted the blanket he had covered himself with. 'Or...'  he quickly added, 'you can put on my jacket that's on the drawer.'

Merlin's face suddenly felt rather hot. He jumped up to get to the drawer, glad to be able to put some distance between himself and this man who, according to prophecy, should be his archenemy. Merlin took a few breaths, trying to calm himself down. Mordred had just tried to be nice, he reminded himself. He had invited him to his bed, but not into this bed. It wouldn't do to read anything into this offer.

Merlin grabbed the jacket and put it on. It smelled like Mordred. Merlin stifled a groan. This wasn't exactly helping. 'Thank you.'  As slowly as possible, he returned to the general vicinity of Mordred's bed. 'Would... would you like me to stay?'

'If... if you wouldn't mind.'  The druid sounded as unsure as Merlin felt.

'Of course. I'm a physician's apprentice after all. And I need to make sure you don't aggravate your injuries.'  Merlin said, entirely unconvinced by his own words. He sat down on the chair near Mordred's bed, stretching out his legs under the bed. After a few moments, Mordred grabbed his hand. It took a while until the druid's breath slowed, indicating that he had once again fallen asleep. Eventually, Merlin also fell back asleep.

Chapter Text

For once, Sara actually awoke with a bit of a hangover. Perhaps she shouldn't have taken Gwaine up on the offer to show her the local taverns.

But after everything that had happened, she felt like she needed the distraction. And, if Sara was honest with herself, she found Gwaine rather attractive, for a man.

And, on the plus side, this hangover actually felt way better than a time-quake induced concussion or whatever the hell she had had. Sara pulled herself up and looked around. Her room only looked slightly more lived in than yesterday, when they had arrived.

Before collapsing into bed, she had put her clothes and the other items she had brought into the drawer. The clothes she had worn yesterday were thrown over the chair.

Judging by the light in the room, it was early morning. Like all her team mates, Sara wasn't used to being awoken by daylight anymore. Ironically, losing a sense of time was one of the main drawbacks of living on a timeship.

Sara got up and walked over to the basin of water that was on top of the drawer. Splashing her face, she realized how much she already missed having running water. Sara took her modern-style tooth brush out of her drawer. While gathering their supplies, Gideon had proposed some less obvious alternatives but Sara had waved the suggestions aside.

It didn't really make sense to worry about future archaeologists finding the remains of a modern toothpaste in old ruins when there was an entire timeship stranded in these times. Besides, Sara remembered having read somewhere that plastic could take up to 1000 years to decompose. So, hopefully by the time modern archaeology came around, nothing would remain from the items they brought with them.

Besides, using the toothbrush felt good, like a raised middle finger aimed at Rip Hunter, their former captain who had gotten them into this whole time-traveling mess in the first place.

For a moment, Sara wondered if she had joined the team back when Rip first found them if she had known back then what she knew now. Had it been worth it for now being stuck in here, possibly forever? Sara decided to put these questions aside. It was water under the bridge and she and her team had to find her place in their new home.

Sara walked over to the room next door. Ray opened the door after she had knocked. “Sara!” He smiled at her with this trademark sunshine smile.

“How are you doing?” She peered into the room. Mick was still asleep, snoring rather loudly. Sara wondered if it might make more sense to give him the single room so that everyone else could get some sleep. Oh well, she could worry about that later. “And, how's Nate? Is he still refusing food?”

Ray smiled. “He's gone to see the Court Physician, to talk to him about sanitation and hygiene. You know, things such as people washing their hands before preparing food and the like.”

“Oh great.” Sara sighed. While she preferred the idea of the kitchen staff washing their hands before kneading the bread dough, she just hoped that Nate wouldn't get into an argument with the Court Physician. Nate was prone to modern-splaining and Sara didn't see that going over too well. She turned back to Ray: “Want to grab some breakfast?”

Gwen was walking through the corridor that led to the throne room when Merlin practically bumped into her. Her best friend was looking somewhat unhappy and he was wearing a jacket that she had never seen on him.

“Oh, Merlin,” she said. “What is the matter? And what are you wearing?”

It was rather amusing to see how Merlin's face shifted to embarrassment. “Oh, this...” he said. “It's, erm, Mordred's jacket.”

Gwen nodded. She was sure there was a story behind that but Merlin also didn't look like he was ready to share. “And why do you look like the Army of the undead is once again marching against Camelot?”

Merlin's eyes widened. “Oh no, no army, no undead. Just...”

“You know I'm you friend, Merlin.” Gwen said. “And you can talk to me.”

Merlin sighed. “It's Mordred. And Arthur.”

“What about them?”

Merlin hesitated. “One moment, Mordred wants me to leave him alone, the next, he wants to keep me around. And Arthur, this morning when I wanted to get him out, he took one look at me and threw me out.” He looked like a drowned puppy.

Gwen sighed. She really didn't want to talk about this now. “Why are you all so daft?”

“What do you mean?” Merlin seemed confused.

Gwen looked around. “Not here.” She steered Merlin towards the throne room that was completely empty.

She turned back to Merlin, before saying in a low voice: “I can see the looks between you.”

“What looks?” Gwen wondered if he was deflecting or if he was truly that oblivious. Eventually, she decided that it was probably the type of obliviousness that people developed if they weren't honest about their own feelings.

For Gwen, this was the straw that broke the camel's back. “The way Mordred looks at you. The way you look at him. The way you look at Arthur. The way Arthur looks at you.” She really hoped that Merlin would finally get what she was trying to say.

“How do we look at each other?” Gwen let out a rather unqueenly groan. Would he really need her to spell it out?

“Like you... like you're interested in each other. Romantically, I mean.”

About a dozen emotions flashed through her friend's face. Happiness, embarrassment, sadness, denial, regret...

Gwen knew him well enough to stop the inevitable: “Please, don't deny what is obviously true. You know it and I know it. If our friendship means something to you, then please give me the gift of your honesty.”

Merlin looked at her with tears in his eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

“Oh Merlin,” Gwen said. “You don't need to apologize. You had his heart long before I ever had it. I’ve... I've been thinking about this long and deep. Love is not always as simple as the poets have us believe. And even there, it often ends in tragedy. We don't have control over who we love, only how we comport ourselves. And while I love Arthur with all my heart, I can imagine how I would feel if Lancelot was still here.”

“But how... how can you be okay with this?” Merlin asked.

Gwen paused. She had been asking herself that question. But, in this moment, while looking at her best friend, she realized that it was because she had been losing too many people. Her father was dead. As was Lancelot, the first man she had truly loved, and her brother Elyan. And Morgana, the kind and loving Morgana she remembered, was as good as dead.

Suddenly, Gwen realized that she wasn't willing to let anyone else die. “I... I just am.” She said, brushing Merlin off. “I'm sorry Merlin, I have to go. We can talk later.”

Chapter Text

Sara sat in her room, unsure what to expect. The queen had asked her for a private dinner and they had agreed to have it in here. Sara was curious what this was about.

Somehow, she doubted that this would be a repeat of her encounter with the Queen Guinevere in another world, or timeline (which did end in a rather lovely kiss). But what would this Queen Guinevere have to discuss with her? Or was it just a friendly gesture? But if so, why not invite the rest of the Legends along?

A knock on the door interrupted her thought process. Sara got up and opened the door. Unsure about protocol, she settled into a small curtsey. The queen waved it aside. “Please, there is no need for this.” Before Sara could reply, two servants entered the room, bringing steaming food as well as wine. “I hope this is to your liking.”

“I'm sure it will be,” Sara replied. The servant set down the food on the table and the two women sat down.

“You're probably wondering why I asked you for this private meeting,” the other woman said. Sara nodded. The queen paused for a moment. “May I ask you a question?”

“Ask away, your majesty,” Sara said, reaching for her wine goblet.

“Gwen, please.” The other woman replied.

“Ask away, Gwen.” Sara took a sip of the red wine. It was rather strong and went straight to her head.

“How many members of your group have died?”

Sara swallowed. Out of everything she might have expected, this sure wasn't it. She said: “We lost one of ours, back when Rip was still out captain.” Sara felt a pang as she remembered Leonard Snart, who had sacrificed himself for the good of the group.

“How many did you lose under your command?”

“None,” Sara replied. She was beyond grateful for that. As much as it had hurt when Snart died, she think it would have been worse if she had been the captain back then. She'd have felt as if she'd failed her team.

Gwen nodded. “That's good.” She looked Sara into the eyes. “You must be a good commander.”

Sara looked away, remembering times when she hadn't been. “There's an element of luck involved.”

“We've lost too many.” Gwen's face took on a pained expression. Sara could tell there was a story, probably multiple stories, that were related to that pain. It was then that Sara noticed that neither one of them had started to eat.

“Perhaps we should...” Sara gestured towards the food.

“Yes, yes, before it gets cold,” Gwen answered. The two women passed the next few minutes in silence, focusing on their food. Sara was still wondering what to make of the whole situation. Eventually Gwen looked up again. “Sara...”

“Yes?”

“I would like to ask you to support Arthur's command, join all the missions, stay around the knights. You've been able to keep all the members of your team alive. Perhaps you can do the same for my knights.”

Sara swallowed. She knew she was doing a relatively good job with the legends but her experience of medieval warfare was rather patchy, if not non-existent. Sara didn't know what she would do if someone died because she was out of her depth. “As I said, there was an element of luck involved.”

“Then I want that luck on our side.” Gwen touched her hand. “I know what I'm asking of you. I would be doing this myself if I could. But, I'm a blacksmith's daughter. I can make sure they have good weapons, but I don't know how to lead them in battle.”

“The king...” Sara couldn't help but say. She had grown up with tales of the legendary, heroic King Arthur.

“He's strong. Courageous. Strategic. Yet he is but one man. And the enemy is his own sister, his only living blood relative. I fear that his feelings for her may weaken him when he faces her. You, on the other hand...”

Sara nodded. Gwen made a convincing argument but she also didn't know the full story, what with them not actually being from this millennium and all. “You could say that I'm used to a different type of warfare. And I don't want to be responsible for the death of your men due to my inexperience.”

“How would you feel if you didn't take on this role and they died? Inaction affords just as much responsibility as action.”

Sara sighed. She didn't envy the king at all. It was how she felt about her team, except multiplied. “You're right, Gwen. And yet, I do not know if I'm up to the task.”

Gwen looked at her, with tears in her eyes. “Please, Sara.”

“Alright.” Sara said, resigning herself to the fact that she'd be able to add “commander in King Arthur's army” to her resume. At least, it would leave a better impression that her League of Assassin's membership.

“Thank you.” Gwen's face was full of hope, her smile grateful.

Chapter Text

Arthur put down his quill. It was already dark outside, so his room was only illuminated by fire and the candles Merlin had lit before once again checking on Mordred.

Arthur could tell that the two had been getting closer since they all had left for their mission, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. For years, he had had Merlin's full attention on him.

And now, that wasn't really the case anymore. Guinevere had decided to dine with Sara tonight, so it would have been the perfect opportunity for Merlin to join him for a dinner once again, like they sometimes had before he had gotten married. And yet, after setting Arthur's plate with food down, Merlin had left as soon as he had readied the chamber for Arthur.

But that wasn't all. This morning, Merlin had appeared wearing Mordred's jacket, looking like he hadn't gotten any sleep. Arthur, who didn't want to think about what this meant, had thrown him out right away.

When Merlin returned with his lunch, things hadn't gotten much better. Merlin had been yawning the whole time, and, at Arthur's inquiry, mumbled something about not having slept in his bed. If he was honest with himself, Arthur had dropped his plate out of spite, just to give Merlin some extra work.

Arthur wondered if he was still the most important person in Merlin's life and then he wondered why it even mattered to him. After all, he was married to a beautiful, intelligent and kind woman. As a prince, Arthur had been afraid of ending up in a loveless marriage, only arranged for political reasons, with a woman he couldn't stand to be around. Having Guinevere at his side was so much better than he could ever have imagine.

The blacksmith's daughter had adjusted to her role as queen faster than he thought, and she was wonderful when it came to connecting with his, with their people. She made them feel understood and taken care of.

Arthur had everything he wanted and needed, so why did the budding friendship between Merlin and Mordred upset him? He used to be exasperated by Merlin's distrust, if not hostility towards Mordred. It had made Arthur feel like he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Either he could ignore Merlin's behavior and include Mordred in patrol's and his inner circle, risking his best friend's wrath. Or, he could listen to him and forego someone who was not only a very talented knight and had rescued his life twice, but also felt like a little brother to him.

Arthur shouldn't be upset about his best friend and his favorite young knight getting along, should he? Or was it more than just them getting along? Why would Merlin not sleep in his own bed if there wasn't more? Surely Mordred's condition wasn't so bad that he needed to have a physician around the whole night? And, if so, wouldn't Gaius and Merlin just have kept him in the physician's chambers?

Did Merlin stay in Mordred's bed? The more Arthur thought about it, the more it confirmed the suspicions he had been having all day. And, the more he thought about it, the more his blood started boiling. Surely this was an abuse of authority.

But by whom? For a moment, Arthur wondered if he should feel more protective of his youngest knight or of the man who was older, but a bumbling servant.

Arthur decided that position trumped age and got up to save the honor of his manservant.

Chapter Text

Mordred had already retired to bed. With the nightmare that had woken him up last night (and the torture the night before), he knew that he could use the sleep.

He was just about to take the sleeping draught Gaius had prepared for him and extinguish the candle that sat on his nightstand, when he heard what could only be described as angry knocking on the door.

“Yes?” Mordred said, hoping to be loud enough for the other person to hear him. He didn't want to have to get up. 'Is that you, Merlin?'  he asked in his mind, once again using the name Merlin preferred. It felt wrong but he was willing to do it for the warlock's sake.

'Is what me?'

'The...'

Mordred's train of thought was interrupted by Arthur, who stormed in the room. “Sir Mordred!” His voice bellowed.

Mordred sat up straight in his bed. “Yes, Sire?” He had no idea what this was about. Had Arthur found out about his magic? But then, he wouldn't have come to his room by himself, would he?

“This behaviour is unacceptable.” Mordred felt more confused than before. He had no idea what the king might be referring to. “You cannot abuse your position as a knight like this!”

“I beg your pardon, Sire, but what are you talking about?”

Arthur's face took on an even darker shade of red. “Do not try to deny your wrongdoings.”

“Deny what?”

“Merlin!” Mordred flinched. Had Arthur found out about his manservant's magic? But then, why would he want to talk to Mordred about it? Unless Merlin had told him that Mordred had known all along? Mordred felt confused. All this really didn't make sense. “Forcing a servant into your bed like that is unbecoming of a knight of Camelot.”

For a moment, Mordred was at a loss for what to say. He settled for the easiest reply: “I did not force Merlin into my bed.”

“Do not lie to me, Sir Mordred.” Arthur spat. “Merlin has never shown any interest in a man and you want me to believe he would suddenly choose to get into your bed?”

“I fear I didn't make myself clear, Sire. Merlin was not in my bed. At all.” Which he regretted but Mordred thought it wise to omit that little detail in the current situation.

“Arthur, what are you doing?” Merlin had suddenly appeared behind the angry king.

“I'm teaching my knight a lesson about the importance of proper behaviour.” Arthur turned around to Merlin who had started to burst out laughing.

“Arthur, are you really trying to defend my honor? Like I'm some damsel in distress? Against Mordred, out of all people?”

“Somebody has to.” Arthur replied but he looked rather chastised. “You can hardly take care of yourself.” Mordred had to bite down his laugh.

“Is this about last night?” Merlin asked.

“What do you think? You arrive late for work, not that that is unusual, you have barely slept, you wear the jacket of one of my knights and you seem rather perturbed. As your friend and king, of course I worry.”

“Did you just call me your friend? In front of someone else?” Merlin dramatically pressed his hand to his heart. “Now, if you had asked me, I would have told you that Mordred wasn't feeling well last night, which isn't surprising given the circumstances. As the physician's apprentice, I took it upon myself to keep him company during the night, sitting on the chair near his bed. I hadn't dressed warmly enough so Mordred kindly allowed me to put on his jacket. So, you can see that nothing untoward happened to my honor.” He turned to Arthur. “Will that be all, Sire?”

Arthur sputtered, his face the same color as Camelot's red cloaks. “My apologies, Sir Mordred.” He quickly left the room. “I shouldn't have doubted your integrity like that.”

“Thank you, Sire.” Mordred breathed a sigh of relief. That had been... intense. 

Merlin closed the door behind him and walked towards Mordred's bed, bursting into laughter. Mordred, who had been able to keep a straight face while Arthur talked about the warlock's apparent helplessness, quickly followed suit. “The thought of the great Emrys needing protection is rather... amusing,” he managed to say between bouts of laughter. After they both calmed down, he turned to Merlin. “That... that almost sounded like he was jealous.”

Merlin refused to meet his gaze. “It's just Arthur being Arthur. There's nothing to be jealous of.”

Mordred didn't know what possessed him (perhaps he could blame it on Gaius' pain-relief draught?) to reply: “There could be if you wanted it.” Oh gods. Mordred realized that he didn't need a pain-relief draught, he needed a foot-in-mouth-remedy. Or a sword to fall into. Preferably before Merlin could reply to his bold proposition.

It was so quiet in the room that one could have heard a needle drop. Mordred noticed how his heart was beating much more rapidly in his chest. He could hear Merlin's breath. And still, the other wouldn't say a word.

Eventually, the awkward silence became too unbearable for the druid: “Can you please forget I ever said that? I...”

The lips of Merlin on his own cut him off. Mordred was too... too everything to even really register that they were kissing. They were kissing? Before Mordred had time to process this surprising development, Merlin had let go off him.

“Erm...” Mordred didn't know what to say.

“I...” Merlin wasn't faring much better.

“Did... did you mean that?” Mordred's voice was small.

“Did you mean what you said?” Mordred nodded. “Can I... can I kiss you again?” Mordred nodded once more.

This kiss was much better than the first. Mordred's heart was doing happy somersaults and his magic had started to sing. His mind was still wondering if this was really happening and not just a medicine-induced hallucination.

When Mordred and Merlin parted again, Mordred mouth once again disobeyed a direct command from his mind and said: “Stay here, please?” He shot Merlin a shy look. “We can share my bed. Just to... just to sleep, you know.” He smiled at Merlin. “I don't want Arthur to take off my head.”

“Oh... okay,” Merlin said, taking off his boots. “I don't want Arthur to take off your head, either.”

A few moments later, Merlin settled into Mordred's embrace. Mordred carefully balanced the splint with his broken arm on Merlin's side.

“How... how are you feeling?” Merlin asked.

“Never better,” Mordred said and actually meant these words.

“No, I... I meant your arm and back and... everything.”

“Oh.” Mordred thought for a moment. “It's not easy. With the burns on my feet, it hurts to walk. There's only so much I can do with one broken arm. And I can't sleep on my back. Then, when I fall asleep, I get woken up my nightmares. So, you're pretty much the only good thing in my life right now.”

Merlin shifted around, facing him. His fingers traced Mordred's lips. “I'm not very good at healing magic. But, let me try it tomorrow. Perhaps it will help.”

“I've been told that love cures all.” Merlin immediately stilled. Mordred wanted to bang his head against the wall. Why did he have to mention that word? What was up with him today? It's like he said every damn thing that came into his mind. “I... I think Gaius must have put something into my draught. It's like I say everything that comes into my mind. Well, not everything, thankfully. That wouldn't be good now, would it. But...”

Merlin chuckled. “You're sounding like Gwen used to, out of a sudden. And here I thought you didn't like to talk.”

Mordred groaned. “Perhaps we should get back to kissing instead. Before I can say more things I regret.” It seemed like his mouth once again had other plans. Mordred could feel his brain desperately trying to put a stop to the words that came out of his mouth, but to no avail. He had been waiting so long for this. “I... I know I shouldn't say this. I know I shouldn't. But I want you to know, I do love you.” He brought Merlin's hand to his mouth. “I love you. I love you, as Emrys. But more importantly, as Merlin.”

Merlin smiled at him in the near-dark of the room. “You're the only one who knows all sides of me, aren't you?”

Mordred smiled. Finally, Merlin acknowledged that he could understand him, unlike everyone else, even his precious Arthur. “Well, not all sides.” Dear gods, what was he doing? Was he flirting? This was only slightly better than just having declared his undying love for his king's manservant. 

Merlin shoved his shoulder, extremely gentle and mindful of his injuries. “Yes, and you won't get to know them tonight.”

“Fine.” Mordred let out a fake huff. “By the way, why did Arthur choose to defend your honor, not mine?”

 “Perhaps he thinks there's nothing left to defend in your case?” Merlin stuck out his tongue at him.

“I feel left out. I'm multiple years younger than you and yet he sees me as the threat to your... purity?” Mordred was enjoying their barter. He had always envied Arthur for the easy way in which Merlin and him conversed and suddenly, he got to experience the same thing. And, he was rather enjoying himself.

“What can I say, as the king, Arthur is good at reading people.”

Mordred burst out laughing. “No, he really isn't.”

“You're right, he really isn't.” Merlin pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, before having him the sleeping draught. “Take this! You need to recover.”

Despite the sleeping draught, it took Mordred a long, long time to fall asleep. His entire body was bursting with happiness and if it weren't for the burns on his feet, he would have felt like dancing. Merlin was lying asleep in his arms, breathing deeply. And Mordred noticed that he really liked to watch him sleep. It was the only time Merlin truly looked peaceful, like the weight of the world wasn't on him.

Mordred also felt relieved that he really seemed to care for Merlin, not Emrys. He knew that Merlin was concerned that he really only cared about Emrys, the legend of Mordred's people, as opposed to Merlin, the real man. But here, with Merlin in his arms, Mordred realized that he didn't really care about Emrys. What was real about the tale of Emrys was part of Merlin, too. And what wasn't real, well, it didn't matter anyway, now, or did it?

With these thoughts, Mordred fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Chapter Text

Upon awakening and realizing where he was, Merlin freaked out. What had he been thinking? Had he been thinking?

Merlin dared to glanced to his side where Mordred was still sound asleep. The warlock silently praised Gaius and his sleeping draughts which were now the only thing between him and an incredible awkward situation. Well, a situation that could get even more awkward than finding himself in bed, spooned by his sleeping archenemy who would eventually kill his best friend and soul mate.

And so, Merlin, who had spoken truth to power, defeated a High Priestess and commanded a Dragon, did the logical thing and sneaked out of the room. How hard could it be to avoid Mordred henceforth? And, could he avoid Mordred while keeping an eye on him to prevent him from killing Arthur? Merlin suddenly regretted every life choice he had ever made that had brought him to this exact moment in time.

The warlock, who had made it to the safety of the castle's hallway without being caught by Mordred or anyone else, groaned. He had just managed to make this whole destiny-thing—which was already impossible as it was—that much harder. He didn't think that would have been possible but, as (supposedly) the world's greatest sorcerer, he could apparently achieve the impossible.

'Seriously, Mordred?' Merlin internally chastised himself. How. Could. You? Sure, he has nice eyes, if slightly disturbing in its intensity. And yes, Merlin apparently did have a thing for men with swords and a destiny. Plus, it was nice to be around someone who understood him and it sure felt nice to feel their magic intermingle.

He really didn't know what to do so his feet automatically took him where he felt the most comfortable—to Arthur's door. Thankfully, before barging into the room without knocking, Merlin remembered that Arthur would be in bed sleeping—next to his wife. The warlock sighed and sat down in front of the door.

Merlin must have nodded off because he was awakened by the door opening. “What are you doing here?” Gwen said. She was dressed in a lovely red dress and looked ready to face the day.

“I... erm... I just wanted to make sure the prat was up. We wouldn't want him to be missing out on the council meeting now, or would we?”

Gwen shot him a slightly dubious look but thankfully refrained from commenting on his flimsy excuse. “Well, good thing you're here then because he's not up. And you know how he can be in the morning.” She smiled but with a slightly sad look in her eyes. 

“Right. Well, I better go and get him, then.” Before Gwen had time to respond, the warlock had already entered the room. Merlin made it to the side of Arthur's bed in no time. “Rise and shine.” He said in a fake cheery voice before noticing that he had fled one sleeping man only to seek refuge with another sleeping man.

Thankfully, before Merlin had time to evaluate that particular thought any further, the pillow was lifted off Arthur’s head. Merlin stared at Arthur's blond hair and his strong shoulders for a moment, before the bare-chested prat turned around and glared him at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I... I'm helping you get up.” Merlin grabbed one of Arthur's arms and tried to drag him out of bed. Arthur started resisting, so Merlin pulled harder, knowing somewhere in the back of his head that this wasn't going to end well.

“I don't want to be helped.” With those words, all the fight went out of Arthur. Merlin, on the other hand, pulled with all his strength, and somehow the two of them ended together in a heap on the floor. Merlin. On the floor with Arthur. Who was half-naked?

“What are you doing, Merlin?” Arthur grumbled. He was spread on top of Merlin who had landed on his arse once Arthur had stopped resisting his pull. Merlin thought it was a fair question. What was he doing? “If you wanted to tumble with me, you could have just asked.”

Merlin held his breath. “Did you just say what I thought you said?” While waiting for Arthur's answer (which took way to long), Merlin decided that he would seek Gaius' help if his king had indeed just propositioned him. Perhaps some wayward sorcerer had cast a spell on Merlin that made men throw themselves at his feet?

“I am not going to dignify that with a response.” Arthur pushed himself up from Merlin. “Besides, it looks like you have already made your choice, haven't you?” Merlin blushed, realizing that his clothes looked rather slept in.

 “I didn't realize there was a choice.” Merlin wondered if he had somehow ended up in an alternate reality. Where they really talking about what he thought they were talking about?

Arthur's eyes caught his, a look of sadness in them. Merlin realized that it was the same look of sadness he had seen in Gwen's eyes. “That makes two of us.”

It was those words that finally made Merlin break. He crumbled to a heap on the floor, crying. “How... how did we get here?”

When Merlin finally looked up through tear-stained eyes, Arthur's expression had shifted to one of care and compassion. “Hush.” He sat down next to Merlin on the floor, offering him his arms.

It was this completely unexpected image that shook Merlin out of his state of despair and into a fit of laughter. “You're secretly a big mother hen, aren't you?”

Arthur ruffled his hair. “If you tell someone, I will kill you.”

Merlin answered by showing Arthur his first genuine smile of the day.

Chapter Text

After lunch, Sara had called a team meeting in her room. They had been stranded in this time and place for two days now, and it was essential for them to all be on the same page.

It had been rather difficult to find her team members. Being seasoned time travelers, they weren't prone to just hiding in their room, waiting for instructions. No, they had been moving around and about, exploring the castle, talking to people and gathering information. Surprisingly, for once they hadn't gotten themselves in trouble within a few hours of landing in a new time and place. Perhaps there was still hope, the Waverider's captain thought.

Finding Nate had been the easiest. She had simply asked someone to point her towards the Court Physician's quarters, where Nate and the old physician (Gaius, if her memory served her right) were poring over blueprints and maps in the candlelight.

The two of them had then scoured the castle and eventually found Ray in the weaponry, swinging around a borrowed sword in the empty room, a wide smile on his face. Mick had been the hardest to find, until Sara had had the good sense of asking one of the knights about the queen's whereabouts.

It turned out that Gwen had gone to the lower town where she apparently used to live before she became a queen. After the three of them had finally found the small house, they discovered Gwen and their wayward team mate sitting outside on a bench. Mick had been rather reluctant to break their conversation and had insisted on accompanying the queen to her quarters, before coming to Sara's room. Sara found his sudden care rather amusing.

“So, what have you all discovered so far?” She looked at her team mates who all wore some stubble on their faces.

“King Arthur is a dick.” Mick reached for the ale on the table that a servant had brought into the room, at Sara's request.

“King Arthur is noble and a true leader.” Ray's face light up. “I watched the training today. He is a true warrior.”

“He once kicked Gwen out of Camelot.” Mick scowled. “She had to fend for herself.”

“That wouldn't have been safe. Unarmed, alone, a woman, in this day and age,” Nate supplied.

“Yes, thank you, Nate.” Sara lifted her eyebrow. “We didn't need a historian to tell us that.”

“Made it seem like he granted her mercy by not having her killed.” Mick stared at Ray. “How noble is that?”

“What happened?” Sara looked at Nate. “Do we have any information on that?”

Their historian shook his head. “As I said when we went to another Camelot, this place shouldn't exist. I'm an expert in history, not in mythology.” His tone was dismissive.

“Does this look like myth to you?” Ray spread his arms. “King Arthur is real. As is Queen Guinevere.” He looked like a child in a candy story.

“Gwen got engaged to the king. Kissed another dude who had come back from the dead.” Mick grunted. “Her first love. They got caught. Said he didn't want to see her dead, so he kicked her out instead.”

“The man she kissed, it could have been Sir Lancelot,” Sara suggested. “At least if there's some truth to the legends about her adultery.”

“It could also have been Sir Mordred.” Ray sat up straight, clearly in his element. “There are some stories about...”

“Name's Lancelot.” Mick reached for the ale.

“Okay.” Sara nodded in his direction. “What else have we discovered?”

“The sanitary situation here is slightly less concerning than I anticipated.” Nate took a sip of his ale. “I had a long chat with the Court Physician. He seems like a reasonable man, open to science. We're developing a plan to improve the hygiene in Camelot. All water will be boiled before drinking or cooking with it. The kitchen staff will be required to wash their hands before handling food.”

“Wait a minute, they don't wash their hands?” Ray looked positively green in his face.

“It's a waste of time, Haircut,” Mick grunted.

“As I said, the kitchen staff will be trained in proper hygiene.” Nate looked smug in the face. “Up until that is completed, I will be eating in the Court Physician's quarters.”

“Thank you, Nate.” Sara nodded at the historian. “I also have an announcement for all of you.” She paused for a moment, glancing at her team mates. “The queen has asked me to support Arthur's command. If he agrees, it will be my responsibility to keep his knights safe. And, by extension, all the people here.”

Everyone nodded at her words, so Sara continued. “It will be our responsibility. I believe this is for the best. We need a mission, something to put our energy towards.” She grabbed her gauntlet. “To Camelot.”

“To Camelot,” her team mates replied, Ray the loudest.

Chapter Text

Gwen walked towards the throne room, once more going over the arguments in her head. She had asked Arthur and Sir Leon to meet with her there after their training.

When she entered the room, the two men were already seated on the table, near each other. “Good afternoon, my Lady,” Sir Leon greeted her.

“Good afternoon, Sir Leon,” she replied before sitting down. “Hello, Arthur.”

“Guinevere,” her husband said, not quite meeting her eye. Gwen wondered if he was acting strangely because he knew why she had called them there? After all, she had expecting this conversation to be a challenging one.

Arthur cleared his throat which brought Gwen's attention back to the present. “You're probably wondering why I asked you to meet me so urgently.” She looked at Arthur and Leon, their previous exertion visible in the way sweat made their hair stick to their head.

Upon remembering once again that she was talking to men who were knights, practiced in the art of war, Gwen drew herself to her full height and accessed the parts of herself that were made out of steel. Yes, they were knights who knew how to use a sword. However, she was a blacksmith's daughter. She had not only used swords; she had made them. Was the person who knew how to create a weapon not more powerful than the one who only knew how to wield it, however expertly?

In times like these when she expected heavy resistance from those who held power, Gwen drew strength from her past. Being a servant had endowed her with a certain toughness that nobody who had been born into nobility could ever hope to understand. Gwen would not back down. She was determined to have things her way, may the gods help those who tried to stop her.

When she addressed the two men, she did it not as Gwen, Arthur's wife and the woman Leon had known for most of his life. No, she spoke with the authority of a queen who knew how to forge a sword: “I understand you might like to take a bath. So, let me get straight to the point. After losing my brother in the service of Camelot, I want to make sure our knights are as well protected as they could be. To this end, I have conversed with Sara. I trust you both know who I mean?”

The two men nodded. Arthur, who had finally met her eyes, opened his mouth, presumably to say something. Gwen cut him off: “I have asked her to support your command and join the missions. I want her to keep our knights alive.”

To his credit, Sir Leon kept his face impassive. It seemed like he knew what was good for him. Gwen had lost her brother. She had lost so much. There would be no more losses and she didn't care what it took. 

Arthur, on the other hand, sputtered: “But... I... I already have a right hand.” He pointed towards Sir Leon.

“Exactly.” Gwen nodded. “And now, you'll have a left one, too.” With those words, she got up and left the room.

Chapter Text

It was late in the day when Mordred finally awoke. It took him a while to come to his senses, Gaius' sleeping draught still affecting him.

Had he been dreaming or had he really fallen asleep with Merlin in his arms yesterday? Upon noticing the chair that was still near his bed, he realized it hadn't been a dream.

Mordred yawned, running his good hand through his locks. It was a shame he couldn't also have awoken with Merlin next to him but he also knew that the servant had to work. Mordred tried to wrap his head around the contradiction of Emrys, the most powerful magical being the world had ever seen, the king to Mordred's own people, being a lowly servant. After a while, he gave up.

As long as they could continue doing whatever it was they had been doing, Mordred really didn't care. His heart burst with happiness, while his body ached with pain. Mordred wondered if he should try to do some healing magic on himself. Merlin had offered to give it a try today but while Mordred was waiting for him to come back, he might make an attempt himself.

As long as he didn't make the changes too obvious, it shouldn't be a problem. After all, the only people who knew the full extent of his injuries were Merlin and Gaius, magic users themselves.

The only thing he had to be careful with was his arm. After all, the knights knew it was broken and they also knew how long it took to heal it. Of course, he could also just continue to wear a splint for the sake of appearance, even if his arm was already properly healed.

Mordred decided to begin with his feet. He hated being stuck in bed, and being able to walk around would do wonders to his spirit. The druid called out to his magic and sent it in a concentrated effort to the burns on his feet. The area started to tingle and feel warm. Mordred smiled.

Next, he moved to his back. The injuries were excruciating and Mordred would prefer to take less of Gaius' pain draught. He didn't know what was in it but it seemed to have loosened his tongue around Merlin yesterday. It took him much longer to notice a difference in his back, given the severity of the wounds.

Mordred wondered how it would look once it was healed, if he'd have to run around with a scarred back for the rest of his life. He also wondered how Merlin would feel about that, if he'd mind. This reminded him of something else he'd been meaning to do.

'Merlin?' he reached out in his head.

Chapter Text

Merlin had a hard time falling asleep that night. At various times throughout the day, Mordred had tried to reach out to him, his voice sounding increasingly sadder until he had eventually stopped.

After tossing and turning for a while, Merlin gave up and decided to get up. Perhaps some movement would help him clear his head. After putting on his boots and a jacket, Merlin sneaked out the door, careful to not wake up Gaius who was sleeping in the main room.

Merlin paced the corridors, wondering if he should go and see the dragon. But what for? Kilgharrah, his grumpy and cryptic Dragon-friend, had made his opinion about Mordred abundantly clear. Merlin felt like he really needed someone to talk to but whom?

Hunith, his beloved mother, was too far away. He couldn't leave Camelot at this time and he couldn't ask her to come her. It would be too dangerous for her to come here by herself. And it was too dangerous to write about all this in a letter.

Gaius surely wouldn't approve of his non-platonic feelings for Arthur. All other complications aside, Arthur was married to Gwen, who was a bit like Gaius' daughter. He also didn't really get why Merlin was so wary of Mordred and had encouraged him to give the druid a chance.

The conversation he had had with Gwen, his oldest friend here in Camelot, was already more than he could have expected, especially given that her own husband was involved. Plus, she didn't know that Merlin had magic and as the queen, it was her duty to uphold the laws of Camelot.

So that left... Gwaine? Merlin knew that the knight was on his side, even if Arthur was involved. When they had journeyed to the Perilous Lands together, Gwaine had made it abundantly clear that, above anything else, he was Merlin's friend. Merlin smiled when he remembered their conversation. He was more than lucky to have someone so loyal and so noble at heart as his friend.

For a moment, Merlin wondered why he hadn't yet confided in Gwaine. After all, the knight seemed rather open-minded about magic, unlike many of the other people in Camelot. Perhaps his travels across the land had something to do with that? He knew that he could trust Gwaine to keep his secrets, both his magic and his conflicted feelings about Mordred and Arthur.

It was then that Merlin realized that he had gotten so used to keeping secrets that he had forgotten how to be honest even with the people who could handle his honesty. Gwaine deserved better, he deserved more than Merlin's lies. Merlin would confide in Gwaine, not only for his own but also for his friend's sake.

With those thoughts, Merlin turned into the direction of Gwaine's chamber, unsure if he could disturb the knight at this hour. A sliver of light underneath the door showed him that Gwaine was still awake. Merlin hesitated for a moment before he knocked. “Come in.”

Merlin took a deep breath before opening the door. His heart was pounding in his chest. This was it; this was the moment of truth. If even Gwaine couldn't accept him, then all was lost.

The knight looked at him. He was sitting at his table in his night clothes, a goblet in his hands. “You look like you have seen a ghost.” Gwaine motioned for Merlin to sit on the chair opposite him. “What can I do for you?”

“I...,” Merlin couldn't meet his gaze. His heart was racing. Was he really doing this? Was it possible for him to be accepted as he was? “I have something I need to talk about.” Merlin forced himself to lift his head. He was moved by the look of acceptance he saw in his friend's eyes.

“Go ahead.”

“I... I don't know how to say it. Or where to start.” Merlin admitted, once again lowering his head. He felt close to tears. Why was it so hard to get the words out?

Gwaine got up. Merlin heard the sound of something being poured. A few moments later, Gwaine pushed a goblet of wine in Merlin's field of vision. “Drink this. It might help.”

“Thank you.” Merlin wasn't usually one to drink but hopefully this would make it easier. He finished the whole goblet in one go, his throat burning. The alcohol went straight to his head. Gwaine refilled his goblet and Merlin took another sip, slower this time. When he once again met Gwaine's gaze, the knight looked at him expectantly.

“What is it?”

“I... I don't know where to start.” Merlin looked his friend into the eye. “I have a whole life you don't know about.”

“Then tell me about it,” Gwaine said.

“If I do, you must swear to me that this will stay between us.” Merlin blinked back the tears in his eyes.

Gwaine nodded. “You are my friend and I will protect you.”

Merlin drew a deep breath. He turned his head towards the door and spoke a quick silencing spell, to make sure that nobody outside would be able to hear them. When he turned back to Gwaine, he said: “I just did magic.”

Gwaine stilled for a moment, before he asked: “So that's why the gatekeeper called you magic, when we went to the perilous land, isn't it?”

Merlin nodded. “It's not something I chose; I was born with it.” Gwaine nodded, and the warlock found himself relaxing a bit. For a moment, Merlin regretted not having confided in his friend before.

“Does anyone know?”

“Lancelot did. He... I needed his help in a situation where I had to do magic, so I had to reveal it to him. I don't want to place anyone in danger with this knowledge.” Merlin didn't want Gwaine to think that he trusted him less than Lancelot.

Gwaine nodded. “I understand why you haven't come to me before. So, you've been carrying this by yourself this whole time? In a place where magic is outlawed?”

“There are a few I can confide in.” Merlin was purposefully vague. He didn't want to drag Gaius into this, and he also didn't want to overwhelm Gwaine further by mentioning that he regularly talked to the Great Dragon.

“Your secret is safe with me, that I promise.” Gwaine looked at him. “That's not all though, is it?”

Merlin smiled, warily. “How do you know me so well?” Merlin was secretly glad that the knight managed to keep him talking about his secrets, without pressuring him to reveal them. Without the wine or the easy chat, he might have already backed out of this. But he couldn't stop now. This was his chance to reveal himself, even if only to one of his friends. It was an opportunity to be truthful, and to share his true self. It was a chance he couldn't miss.

“I just do,” Gwaine said, softly. “Although, apparently I haven't really known you at all.”

Merlin sighed. “This will sound unbelievable but it is the truth.” He bit his lip. “I have a destiny. It was revealed to me by a dragon. Some say I am the most powerful warlock to have ever walked the earth, and that it is my destiny to help Arthur unite Albion. They also say that he's the Once and Future King.”

“So, that is why you're so obsessed with the princess? I always thought you were in love with him.” Gwaine was grinning widely, seemingly unimpressed by Merlin's power and his foretold destiny.

Merlin gulped at the mention of Arthur. “That's what you're taking away from what I shared? I just told you I'm a very powerful warlock and you wonder what I feel for Arthur?”

Gwaine nodded. “Here in Camelot, I am surrounded by greatness. Arthur, the queen, the knights, even Gaius... they're all great. It would be surprising if you were the only one of us who wasn't special.” His expression was fond, when he looked at Merlin. “And now I'm hearing you're the most special of us all.”

Merlin blushed. “That's... that's not true.”

“You are special, Merlin. With or without your magic.” Gwaine smiled at him. There's still more you haven't told me, isn't there?” His friend scrutinized him. “You seem more relaxed than I have ever seen you but you're still holding tension. What other secrets do you have?”

Merlin looked at the table, at his hands. He grabbed his goblet and emptied it. Merlin knew that he'd likely regret this in the morning but right now it was what he needed to get this conversation over with. “Can I have some more wine, before I tell you?”

“Always.” Gwaine refilled his goblet and leaned back in his chair.

“You... you may be right about some things.” Merlin glanced to the side, feeling mortified. “Arthur actually... I don't know how to say this, Gwaine.” Merlin was at a loss when it came to summarizing the strange conversation he had had with Gwen, whatever was going on between him and Mordred, as well as Arthur's comment this morning.

“Just say something.” Gwaine leaned forward. “You can always correct it, later.”

Merlin nodded. “So, I... there's a prophecy that Mordred will kill Arthur.”

“Our Mordred?” For the first time in this conversation, Gwaine seemed genuinely shocked. “But that's, that's impossible!”

Merlin closed his eyes, the pain in his chest almost too strong to bear. “I wish that were true. But I have seen a vision where Mordred stabs Arthur.”

“So... that is why you have been acting so coldly towards him?”

“Was it that obvious, Gwaine?” The knight nodded in response. Merlin just hoped that other people were more oblivious than his friend. “Well,” Merlin continued, “there's even more to this. I didn't trust him. I'm still not sure how much I do. But, well, we can communicate with our minds, and...”

“You can communicate in your minds?” Gwaine looked excited. “That's very useful.”

Merlin nodded. “As long as we are not too far apart. So, when he was tortured back in that shed, he reached out to me in his mind. And I, I tried to guide him through that experience.” He shuddered, thinking about how helpless he had felt.

“That must have been hard,” Gwaine said.

Merlin nodded. “Somehow, my feelings for him changed.” He bit his lip. “Yesterday, we kissed and I slept in his bed.” Merlin stilled for a moment, wondering how his friend would feel about his confession. He had been so concerned about revealing his magic that he hadn't thought about his... his other secret. Even though, under the laws of Camelot, he couldn't be with another man in a romantic way. Merlin wondered how he had gotten so unlucky that he had to hide not one, but two important parts of himself under perjury of death.

“Relax, Merlin.” Gwaine patted his hand. “You have done nothing I haven't done before.” He grinned at Merlin. “Not with Mordred, of course.”

 “We haven't... we didn't,” Merlin sputtered. “I just slept there.”

“I wasn't implying anything else.” Gwaine grinned at him. “So...?”

“So, this morning, I ran out of Mordred's room, before he awoke. I can't be with someone who will kill Arthur, Gwaine, I just can't.” He looked pleadingly at his friend, who silently motioned for him to go on. “I ran straight to Arthur's room. Gwen was already up so I tried to drag him out of bed, like I would have done in the past. And, well, he fell on top of me and told me that I could just ask him if I wanted to tumble with him.” Merlin buried his face in his hands.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” Merlin lifted his head. “And, it seems that Gwen knows all about our feelings for each other.” He pressed his lips together. “She said that I had his heart before she ever did.” The warlock tried to fight back the tears in his eyes. “I really don't know what to do, Gwaine. I feel like it doesn't matter what I do, I betray someone. Myself, Mordred, Arthur, Gwen, my destiny...” His voice broke.

“Shhh,” Gwaine had walked over to the other side of the table and pressed Merlin's head against his chest. “It's okay.”

Merlin pushed against him. “It's not, and you know it.”

Gwaine grabbed his wrists. “No, no it's not. You're right.” He knelt down next to Merlin's chair. “This situation is... it's not fair. Everything about it is unfair. You having to hide your magic is unjust. It's not fair that Arthur needed to wed and find a queen, and it's not fair that Gwen lost Lancelot. It's not fair that you could only openly be with a woman. It's not fair that you feel drawn to both Mordred and Arthur, and it's not fair that there's a prophecy about them, and that you know about this prophecy, whether it's true or not. It's not fair that you never get any recognition for all that you're doing. But you know what's the least fair?”

Merlin looked at his friend with wide eyes. “No.”

“What's the least fair is that you had to carry all of this by yourself until now.” Gwaine put his hands on Merlin's knees. “I don't know what you should do. I don't know what's the right thing in this situation or if there even is a right thing. What I do know is that I'm your friend and I want to carry this with you.”

 Merlin finally gave in to his tears. “Thank you, Gwaine.” He grabbed his friend's hands. “I won't forget this.”

Chapter Text

Mordred was having a hard time falling asleep, despite the sleeping draught Gaius had given him. Merlin hadn't gone to see him all day. At first, Mordred thought he was just busy as usual. But he had tried to speak to him with his mind many times during the day, only to be ignored.

It hurt. As did the rest of his body.

He had known all along that Merlin only had eyes for Arthur but things seemed different yesterday. Mordred was going through their whole conversation, wondering if he had said something wrong. What had changed between yesterday night and today? Why had Merlin opened up for a moment and then shut him out again today?

Mordred sighed. It was challenging enough to deal with all he was still dealing with, the pain, the movement limitations. His healing magic had helped but he was still recovering. And, if Mordred was honest with himself, he wasn't only recovering physically, also emotionally.

It was even worse to not have any distraction while all these questions where going through his head. Even Arthur's gruel training would be a welcome reprieve from what was going on in his mind. Mordred was so sick of staring at the ceiling, so sick of being in his room.

Perhaps he should go for a short walk. Gaius had ordered him to stay in bed but with the castle asleep, nobody would know about his little excursion. As a knight himself, Mordred knew how to best avoid the night guards.

The idea of getting out of his room felt relieving. He might not be able to have Merlin but at least he could have some freedom. Mordred grabbed the jacket Merlin had borrowed two nights ago, a warm, black jacket. He had worn it when he first met Merlin and Arthur again as a young man. Mordred rarely ever wore it now that he was a knight.

Mordred was glad to notice that the jacket didn't smell too much like Merlin. He wasn't sure if he could deal with the reminder right now. Putting on the jacket hurt badly so the druid sent some quick healing magic to his back. Mordred opened the door to his room. He couldn't wait to move his feet, to be outside his room.

Mordred had just gone a few steps in the hallway which was illuminated by candles. It was quiet and peaceful, more than at any other times. Suddenly, he heard the sound of a door opening. It was the door to Gwaine's room right in front of him. Mordred pressed himself against the wall, to avoid being seen. It wouldn't do to get a lecture from Gaius, and then one from Arthur.

Suddenly, he felt the presence of strong magic, a magic he could recognize anywhere. Mordred looked up, and met Merlin's eyes. The other man hesitated for a moment, before walking over. “What are you doing outside your room?” Merlin grabbed his left elbow. “You're hurt, you should be resting.”

Mordred was quiet. He didn't know what to say or rather, he had too many things to say. His silence didn't deter Merlin, who was now slowly turning him back around. “I'll help you get back to your room,” the warlock said.

“No, you won't.” Mordred jerked away his arm. “I don't need your help.” He tried to keep his voice from cracking.

“Is this... is this about...” Merlin trailed off. 

“About you completely disappearing on me?” Mordred turned to Merlin. “Yes. Yes, it is. If you want to care for me, care for me. If you don't want to, don't. But make a choice.” With these words, he walked as quickly as his injuries permitted him towards his room.

Mordred breathed a sigh of relief when he closed the door behind him. His whole body hurt and he didn't want to show it in front of Merlin. Mordred had halfway made it back to his bed, when he heard the knock on his door. 'What do you want?'

'Can I come in? Please?'

Mordred hesitated for a moment but it was hard for him to deny Merlin anything. 'Come in.'

The door slowly opened and Merlin was once again standing in his room. “How are you doing?”

Mordred sat down on his bed. “Fine.” He wasn't doing fine. His back hurt more than it been for a full day, and he was hoping that he hadn't re-injured anything.

“Let me check your wounds.” Merlin, who had closed the door behind him, walked towards Mordred. The druid wasn't sure how to feel about it.

“Only if you tell me why you disappeared like that.” Mordred didn't feel like letting Merlin tend to him right now.

“The back of your shirt is wet. I fear your wounds may have reopened.” Merlin walked towards the drawer where he had left some of the supplies for Mordred's injuries. Mordred used his right hand to touch his back. His shirt was sticky and he was wondering if it was from blood, or pus or something else. Either way, it didn't seem good. Merlin had taken one of the salves on top of the drawer and walked over towards Mordred.

“Don't touch me.” Mordred turned his head to the side, away from Merlin.

“Your wounds, someone needs to look at them.” Merlin knelt down near the bed, as if to appear less threatening. “If it's infected, we need to treat it right now.”

“Tell me why you disappeared like that.” Mordred felt a throbbing pain in his back but he didn't want Merlin near him right now, infection or not. “And why were you in Gwaine's room in the middle of the night?”

“I...” Merlin avoided his gaze.

“If you don't want to tell me, leave. Gaius can look at this tomorrow.” Mordred pulled the blanket over himself, suppressing a wince. His wounds were bothering him a lot more out of a sudden.

“Fine.” Merlin got up from the floor and pulled the chair closer to the bed. “I was in Gwaine's room because I needed to talk to someone.” He reached over to the bed, trying to remove the blanket from Mordred.

Mordred clung on to the blanket. “And why did you disappear like that?”

“I...,” the warlock looked at him. “I panicked. When I woke up next to you, I panicked about the consequences.”

Mordred could feel himself soften a little. “Because I'm a man?” He looked at Merlin with an open expression. Mordred had grown up amongst the druids who were tolerant about these things. But he knew this likely wasn't the case were Merlin grew up, and that Camelot wasn't any different either.

Merlin shook his head. “No, that's not it.”

Mordred threw down his blanket. “What is it then?” He had raised his voice.

 “I can't tell you.” Merlin sounded almost desperate.

“Then leave.” Mordred pointed towards the door. The other man didn't respond for a long time, both of them just sitting in silence.

Eventually, Merlin said in a very small voice: “You're destined to kill Arthur.”

Mordred froze. “You can't be serious.” This would have been the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, except—except based on the expression on his face Merlin really seemed to believe this.

“I am.” Merlin sighed. “It's why I almost didn't come to your rescue when you were a child trapped in Camelot. It's why I haven't trusted you. And it's why I panicked this morning.” He sat in silence for a moment, before reaching for the salve that he had placed on the ground. “Now will you please let me take care of your wounds?”

Mordred nodded, too stunned for anything else. Merlin gently pushed him around. Once Mordred's back was turned towards him, the warlock lifted up his shirt.

Merlin's sharp inhale tore Mordred out of his thoughts. “This does not look good,” he said quietly. “I need to get Gaius right now.” Merlin got up and walked towards the door.

“Wait.” Mordred had one burning question he needed to ask. “Why do you care?” Merlin turned around, looking at him. “I mean... if you think that I'm destined to kill Arthur, why do you want to keep me alive?”

“Because...,” Merlin paused, “because I hope to the gods that I'm wrong.”

Chapter Text

Merlin hovered over Gaius during his whole examination of Mordred. The warlock had had to wake up his mentor who was now tending to the druid while wearing his nightgown. 

“It's good that you woke me up, Merlin.” Gaius barely looked up as he was working on Mordred's wounds in the candlelight, cleaning away the pus. “This needs immediate treatment.” The physician turned to Merlin. “Hand me the vinegar.” 

Mordred winced as Gaius started to clean his wounds with vinegar. “Wait. I'll get him some alcohol, Gaius,” Merlin said. It was uncomfortable for him to see the young knight in so much pain and to witness all the destruction that was now etched into what must have been unblemished skin just a little while ago. 

“There's some wine on the table.” Gaius pointed towards the place where the two of them ate most nights. Merlin rushed over and filled a goblet with the wine. 

“Here,” Merlin handed the beverage to Mordred, their hands touching for a brief second. Mordred shot Merlin a quick look, before gulping down the beverage. 

Gaius proceeded with his task, while Merlin studied Mordred's face. The druid held perfectly still but his clenched jaw betrayed the pain he was in. Merlin reached for Mordred's right hand, not knowing if the other man would allow the gesture. 

He needn't have worried as Mordred immediately took his hand. He shot Merlin a grateful smile that made the warlock uncomfortable. After all, what had he done to deserve Mordred's gratitude? His thoughts were disrupted when the druid tightened his grip on Merlin's hand. Before Merlin could stop himself, his treacherous mind had already reached out to Mordred. 'He's almost done.'

Mordred gave Merlin a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

When Merlin finally went to bed that night, he couldn't stop repeating the conversation he had had with Gaius after Mordred had taken the sleeping draught and fallen asleep. “Will he... will he be alright?” Merlin's voice had sounded pleading.

“Only time will tell.” 

Chapter Text

The next morning, Arthur was in an extremely sour mood when he was on his way to training. He had taken it all out on Merlin who, admittedly, didn't deserve his wrath. The same Merlin who, loyally, was accompanying him to the training field. Of course, not without first giving Arthur a piece of his mind for how he had been treating him.

But Arthur didn't dare snap at the person who deserved his ire—his beloved wife. What had she been thinking, undermining his authority like that? What did she know about fights and battles?

True, Guinevere had fought alongside him when they had defended Merlin's village against attack. Arthur had to admit to himself that she had shown extraordinary courage in that situation.

And, yes, she had also had tended to the wounded in dire situations, going so far as risking her life to get water for the wounded when the Great Dragon had attacked Camelot. Arthur's face grew even more grim when he thought about how she had survived on her own after he had banished her from Camelot, for kissing Lancelot when she was betrothed to him. Then, Arthur recalled that Guinevere had even been tortured by Morgana, all because of him.

In addition to feeling guilty, this recollection made Arthur feel confused. Whatever experience his wife had, it didn't quite fit into the categories Arthur was used to. Guinevere had, on many occasions, demonstrated as much, if not more courage than his own knights. Arthur glanced at Merlin, who was still following him, his arms full of shields that no doubt weighed a lot. Guinevere and his manservant were quite alike, when it came to courage. And still, they were not trained in wielding a weapon. They had never participated in a tournament. What did they know about this?

For the first time, Arthur asked this as an honest question. What did they know about this? Did they know something he didn't? But no, that couldn't be, could it? His knowledge in these things was why he was the king, it's why he was leading the troops, wasn't it?

He wasn't just leading the troops because of the position he was born in, or was he? Arthur desperately tried to get that question out of his mind but when he saw the blonde woman approaching him, the dark-haired, tall man called Ray in tow, the question grew ever-stronger. Did his wife really think this, this stranger would do a better job at keeping their men safe than her own husband?

He looked at Merlin who shot him a reassuring smile. It was eerie how his manservant could read his moods. Arthur sighed and motioned for Merlin to set down the shields on the ground. Steeling his face into something that at least appeared neutral, Arthur walked to a spot in front of his knights, briefly nodding at Sara in the process.

How was he to explain this? What would they think? Perhaps he shouldn't say anything and tell Guinevere that this wouldn't happen. After all, he was the king, wasn't he? The one with the power and authority? So why then didn't it feel that way?

He signed. Better get this over with: “Listen up, knights.” His men turned towards him. Arthur wondered if the truly felt the respect he saw reflected in their faces, or if it was just a well-put on mask. After all, he didn't have the best track record with reading people, had he? He had trusted his uncle, who had betrayed him. And Morgana. Perhaps he would be better off trusting someone else's judgment for a while.

He motioned for Sara to come over and she positioned herself on his right. “Many of you have already met Sara.” His knights of the round table all nodded at this. “From today on, Sara will be supporting my command, alongside Leon. She will also be present for your training.” He glanced at the woman next to him, who briefly smiled at him.

Arthur looked at his knights. If he didn't already know who had and who hadn't met Sara, it would be obvious from the expressions on their faces. The knights of the round table had nodded during his announcement, seemingly supporting his decision. They were now going about their training as usual, practicing swings to warm themselves up, checking that their vambraces were firmly attached and that sort of things.

  In contrast, the men who hadn't met Sara (and, Arthur's brain unhelpfully supplied, witnessed the way in which she had kicked his arse), look confused, bewildered or openly hostile. “How would you like to split up tasks?” Sara, his new left hand, didn't seem fazed by the reaction his announcement had created.

Arthur was grateful for her question as it gave him the chance to focus on something concrete. “Do you have a suggestion?”

Sara paused for a moment, her look passing over his men who were warming up. “Seeing that my fighting style is quite different from the one you are used to, I think it would be best if I first observed. Then, if based on my different training, I become aware of improvement suggestions or dangers, I could point these out to you?”

“Very well,” Arthur said. In a louder voice, he addressed his men: “Today, we are practicing blocking techniques. You will all be using shields.” He pointed at the heap of shields Merlin had brought over.

“Leon, help me demonstrate.” Leon walked over, sword in his right hand, shield with his family crest in his left.

Arthur attacked Leon with a blow to the side of his neck. Seeing that his First Knight wasn't wearing a helm, Arthur carefully calibrated his force, in case Leon wouldn't react in time.

Of course, Leon had already stepped back, meeting his blade with his own. The two of them attacked and counter-attacked, using their shields to stop most of the mid-level blows.

“Stop.” Sara suddenly said. Arthur and Leon paused, turning to the woman. “Is anything the matter?” Arthur said. Some of the knights began to whisper with each other.

Sara nodded, not paying any attention to the commotion she had caused. “You're only using your shield defensively.”

Leon smiled: “Of course, my Lady. A shield is a defensive tool.”

“It doesn't have to be. When fighting, you want to use every tool at your disposal.” Sara walked over to Arthur. “May I have your sword and shield?” Arthur made a mental note to talk to her about proper ways of addressing the king. Or better yet, he could ask someone else, perhaps Merlin, to do it. Upon realizing that that would inevitably lead to not one, but two people calling him a clotpole on a regular basis, Arthur handed over his sword and shield.

Just like when they first met, Sara wasn't wearing any armor. Shield and sword in her hands, she turned towards Leon. “Repeat the moves you just made.”

His First Knight carefully aimed for the left side of her midsection. Sara jumped to his right, using her own sword to push the weapon away from her and towards Leon. Then she sprung forward, using the shield to knock him in the face. Leon fell backwards.

“That's what I mean.” She turned to Arthur and to the knights. “A shield doesn't have to be for defense, only.”

“But, but that's not proper.” One of the newest knights piped up. A couple of other knights nodded. “That's not the right way to use a shield.”

Sara spun around to him. “What's your name?” Her long blonde hair was blowing in the wind, vaguely reminding Arthur about the myth of the Valkyries.

“Owaine, my Lady.”

Sara nodded curtly. “Owaine, would you rather be right or alive?”

Owaine sputtered. “But... ”

“It's an honest question.” Sara slowly approached him and even though she was shorter than the knight, it reminded Arthur of an animal stalking towards its prey. He barely suppressed a shudder. Arthur realized that he really didn't want to get on her bad side.

Sara turned towards all the knights, an intense look in her eyes. “Your queen asked me to help keep you alive.” At this revelation, the murmuring intensified. Unperturbed, Sara continued: “Now, I can only do that if you actually want to stay alive. And, if you're willing to do what it takes to stay alive. Even if that means using a shield the improper way.” Sara knocked the sword against her shield for emphasis

“Let me know when you have made your decision.” With these words, Sara left the training field, leaving a speechless king behind but taking the sword and shield with her. Ray immediately followed her.

Chapter Text

Gwaine was impressed. He darted through the knights in front of him, bypassing Leon and Arthur, as well as Ray, in an effort to catch up with Sara.

“Sara, wait!” She turned around. “I, for one, would rather be alive,” Gwaine announced. He walked towards her, seeking her eyes. “Would you start training me?”

Sara's gave him a once over before nodding curtly. “Very well.” She lifted her sword, the challenge clear in her blue eyes. “Let's being with the move that I just showed them.”

Gwaine enjoyed the fierce way in which she attacked, and responded in kind. He moved back and forth, using his sword to strike and to block, his shield to block and to punch.

It was the most fun he had had training in a while, and it wasn't only because found this blonde in front of him more attractive than Arthur. (Although, Gwaine realized that it also didn't hurt.)

No, it was also because she brought a different quality to this. As if, to her, fighting wasn't only a matter of life and death. As if it wasn't always about honor, and the crown you served, and all these things that sometimes weighed so heavily on Gwaine. The knight could imagine that she'd still be training this way even if there never was a need to fight.

“Okay, that was pretty good.” Sara announced. “Now, let's see how you're doing without specific instructions.” With those words, she attacked him once again. Gwaine moved out of the way, and the two of them moved back and forth across the patch of grass they were standing on.

Gwaine found himself twirling, jumping, dodging, even once twisting around himself. It was almost like dancing and it felt like it went on for hours. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed that their fight had drawn an audience. His fellow knights had gathered around them.

“That's, that's good.” Sara held up her hand, panting a little. Gwaine noticed that her sword arm was shaking the slightest bit.

“Let me guess,” he said, moving closer to her and lowering his voice. In case the others hadn't yet noticed, it wouldn't do to expose her weakness like that. “You're not as used to fighting with weapons quite this heavy?” Gwaine nodded towards his sword.

She quirked her eyebrow. “How did you know?”

Gwaine laughed, sheathing his sword “The same way you know about my weaknesses. You have to know how to read your opponent.”

Sara nodded, smiling at him. “Yes, I typically use lighter weapons. Sticks, for instance.” She twisted her arm back and forth, sword still in her hand. “Still, I do have pretty strong arms.”

“And yet, you probably don't use them this way for long period, am I right?” Sara nodded. “The new knights, it takes them a while to get used to the heaviness of the weapon. You should hear them complain after their first training. And don't even get me started on the armor.” He smiled.

Sara rolled her shoulders. “Yes, I would feel rather weighed down in this.”

“Armor slows you down,” Gwaine said, nodding. “Still, more often than not it's worth it. This here,” he knocked against the metal plate that protected his chest, “can save your life.” When Gwaine looked around he saw that many of the knights were talking with each other animatedly, glancing at Sara from time to time. “I could train you in our ways of fighting, if you like.” He looked at her. “It would make this easier for you.”

Sara looked surprised. “I think that would be a good.”

Chapter Text

Arthur threw the door shut.

“Ouch,” Merlin who had walked behind him, pushed the door open. Arthur grimaced. He hadn't meant to hurt Merlin but, well, he was part of the reason for his bad mood.

“This is a disaster,” Arthur let himself fall onto one of his chairs, still dressed in his armor. “She's going to get us all killed.”

His useless manservant hurried to his side, still holding his nose. “That's not what it sounded like.” Merlin leaned against the table, simultaneously too close and too far away from him. “What she said made a lot of sense to me.”

“That's because you're absolutely incompetent in the art of warfare.” Arthur crinkled his nose. “As is she.”

“She did manage to kick your royal arse, Sire.”

“Hmpf.” Arthur glared at his insolent, incompetent and strangely attractive manservant.

 “Stop brooding and get up so I can help you out of your armor.” Merlin met Arthur's glare. “I have work to do.”

“And by work you mean Sir Mordred?” Arthur pressed his lips into a thin line.

“He's in a very bad state. His back is dangerously infected.” Merlin stilled for a moment as the look of worry on his face changed into something else. “Wait a minute... are you... you're not jealous, are you?”

Arthur scoffed. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” Unfortunately, Merlin really had hit the nail on the head.

“If I do recall correctly, Sire, last morning, you said that...” Arthur cut Merlin off by pressing his still gloved hand over his mouth. Merlin struggled to push Arthur away but failed miserably.

“I will take away my hand if you promise to not finish that sentence.” Arthur said slowly. When Merlin nodded, he let his manservant go and turned to the side. Arthur blinked away the tears that threatened to gather in his eyes. After he was sure he had his feeling sufficiently under control, he turned back to Merlin, grabbing him by the shoulders and seeking eye contact. “This is a dangerous road to walk down. Do you understand?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes, Arthur.”

“I'm the king. I'm married to one of your best friends. I need to produce an heir.” Each of these sentences shouldn't have hurt as much as they did.

Merlin looked away for a moment. “Gwen... she knows about our feelings.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn't say a word but she guessed it. And... the strangest thing is that she seems to be okay with it.”

Arthur forgot to breathe for a moment. “She... what?” His entire body hurt. Perhaps he should go to Gaius to get himself checked out.

“She seems to be okay with it.” Merlin shrugged again. “I don't know why. It doesn't make sense, does it?”

Arthur sighed. “We're... it's complicated.” He needed to talk to someone about what was going on, and normally Merlin would be the person he confided in, but with this? “I can't say.” He straightened himself out. “It doesn't matter, though, does it? For better or for worse, decisions have been made. And these decisions define us.” He turned around. “Leave, Merlin.”

“But... but your armor.”

“I can take care of it myself, Merlin.” Arthur leaned against his desk, to try to keep some sense of balance.

“That would be the first time, Sire.” Merlin once again managed to make the honorific title sound like an insult.

 Arthur just barely suppressed a scream. He turned around once more. “Leave, Merlin. Go take care of Sir Mordred for me. That's an order.” When Merlin had made it to the door, he added: “And let me know if anything changes in Mordred's state.”

Merlin left Arthur's room, feeling utterly conflicted. Part of him wanted to go back in there and get to the bottom of whatever was going on between him and Arthur. There were so many “if onlys” in the way. If only Arthur wasn't married, or at least not to someone as sweet as Gwen. If only Arthur wasn't the king. If only Merlin didn't have to hide his magic from Arthur.

The other part of him wanted to rush back to Mordred, who was in Gaius' care. Merlin was worried for him. Regardless of prophecy, the only reason Mordred was in the state he was in is because of his loyalty to Merlin, to Emrys. If Mordred died now, Merlin would owe him a huge debt, a debt that he could never repay.

Not only that, Mordred would die as the loyal, impeccable knight he had always appear to be, thus proving Kilgharrah wrong. It would mean that Merlin had almost let a child die, for no other reason than the words of a dragon.

And then there was the other reason he wanted to rush back to Mordred, and that was that the druid made him feel welcome. Mordred wouldn't push him away if Merlin made it clear that he wanted to be closer. There was only one “if only,” but unfortunately it was a big “if only.” If only Mordred wasn't destined to kill Arthur.

It would be so simple. They could have each other's back. Merlin would have another magic user nearby who could help him fend of magical attacks. He wouldn't have to hide any part of himself, and they could even be allies in convincing Arthur to once again allow magic in the land.

If only.

With these thoughts, Merlin pushed open the door to the Court Physician's chambers.

Chapter Text

Sara was washing her face in the water basin on her drawer when it knocked on the door. “Yes?” Perhaps Nate, Ray or Mick needed something. Other than Ray during training, she hadn't seen them a lot all day. It would be good to meet again tonight or tomorrow, to see how everyone continued to settle in, what else they had learned about their new environment, anything that could be useful to them.

Sara grabbed a towel to dry her face. When she turned around, she saw the king standing in the door in armor. “Arthur, what brings you here?” Sara was a little bit shocked. Despite her experiences with time travel, and despite them being in Camelot, it felt strange to have perhaps the most legendary leader of all times suddenly stand in her room in the middle of the night. Did he want to talk about training?

“Can I come in?” He sounded more hesitant than she had ever experienced him.

“Please.” Sara made an inviting gesture with her arms. With slow steps, Arthur walked into her room. To her, he seemed like a man who was going to his own execution. Even though it was getting dark in here without the electric lighting she was used to, the room only lit with candles and the fire in her fireplace, Sara noticed that his eyes were red. “Would you like a drink... your majesty?” She wasn't sure about the protocol in this situation but based on what she had seen so far, offering alcohol didn't seem like a bad idea.

“Yes.” Arthur slowly sat down in her chair. Sara grabbed two goblets, one for herself and one for Arthur, and felt it with wine that Gwen had personally delivered to her room.

“How can I help you?” Sara handed him a goblet.

Arthur took a sip, then looked over to her, his face flickering the light cast by the fire. “You see things differently than we do here, don't you?”

Sara stilled, becoming fully alert. She wasn't quite sure where he was going with this line of questioning. But then again, Arthur really didn't seem like a threat right now. “I... I suppose so. I'm not from here so I suppose I see things differently.”

Arthur nodded. “And would you say that you sometimes see solutions that we don't see?”

Sara felt her body relaxing as she realized there was indeed no threat. “Is there an unsolvable situation where you are looking for a solution?”

For the first time in this conversation, the king seemed to relax a little. “You could say that.”

“Do you want to tell me a bit about this situation?” Sara leaned back in her chair, suddenly realizing that they were talking leader to leader, strategist to strategist. She felt oddly reassured by his implicit request for help.

Arthur grabbed his goblet. “It's a delicate situation.”

“As are most matters you deal with, I assume.” Arthur nodded. Both were silent for a while.

Eventually, Arthur spoke: “I don't know why I trust you with this. I've only just met you and I know nothing about you. I even think that you're holding something back.” Sara suppressed an outward reaction to his spot-on observation about her secret. “But my wife seems to trust you and she's a better judge of character than I am.” He looked Sara in the eye. “So, I need your help. But above all, I need your discretion.”

Sara nodded. “I understand. I can't pretend to fully understand the pressures you are under but I can imagine that it would feel lonely at times.”

“Yes.” Arthur shifted in this seat. Sara knew it was decision time. If he was going to trust her, it would be now. Arthur settled back into the chair, his body language telling Sara that she had passed his test. “It's my manservant, Merlin. I think you have met him. We have... a certain affection for each other that we never expressed. As you are aware, I have a wife. I'm a king, I have duties to my kingdom. And Guinevere, she's a good woman and an even better queen, the best one I could hope for.”

Sara suppressed a sigh. Given her own rather... problematic relationship history, she wasn't sure she was the best equipped to give others advice on love-related issues. “So, you're wondering what to do?”

Arthur nodded. “And then, there's Sir Mordred.”

“Did you say Mordred?” Sara struggled to speak in a nonchalant tone as she remembered the Arthurian legend she had grown up with as a child.

“Yes.” Arthur leaned back in his seat. “He was the one who was wounded when we met and he's been bedridden since, so you have never been properly introduced.” Arthur looked down for a moment. “Him and Merlin have recently developed a bond. Mordred is like a younger brother to me.”  Arthur looked her into the eye. “What... what would you do if you were me?”

“I take it that it's important to you to do the honorable thing?” Sara raised her eyebrow. Arthur nodded. “You have a lot of conflicting duties and desires in this situation. Let us run through the options. From a rational perspective, Merlin can never be anything other than an affair for you. You can still fulfill your duties to the kingdom, even have an heir, if you stay with Gwen for the sake of appearances. It would only be honorable if both Merlin and Gwen agreed, and it might cause either or both of them a lot of pain. For the sake of fairness, you should allow your wife to also have another lover beside you, should she so choose. If things stay as they are, you cause Merlin pain since he desires to be with you, and you cause Gwen suffering, because she knows how you feel about him, even if you do not act on it.”

“It sounds like a situation where I can only lose.” Arthur's shoulders sagged.

“It does, doesn't it?” Sara nodded. “Now, the best situation for all involved might be if Merlin genuinely fell in love with Mordred, and if you did with Gwen. In that case, nobody would get hurt.” She looked at Arthur. “The only problem is that feelings don't quite work that way, don't they?”

Chapter Text

When Merlin met Gaius' eyes, he knew something was off. The physician held a vial with a brownish liquid in his left hand, and a book in his right. There was a deep frown on his forehead.

Merlin only now realized that he had had this bad feeling all day, but that he hadn't been paying attention to it. In the background, he could see Mordred lying on the cot. The druid wasn't moving.

“Is he...?” Merlin's stomach dropped. “He's not...?” Merlin reached out with his magic, feeling relieved that he could still Mordred's energetic presence.

“He's alive,” Gaius said, the frown only growing deeper. “But I fear the worst.” He set down the book on the table. “The tools that caused the wounds on his backs...” He didn't finish the sentence.

“How is he?” Merlin moved towards Mordred, both impatient to discover the truth, and reluctant to approach.

“He's unconscious.”

Merlin gently touched the exposed skin on Mordred's upper arm. “He's burning up.” An unexpected feeling surged up in Merlin's chest. It spoke of caring, of protectiveness. As Merlin looked down on the druid, he wondered how he could ever have been ready to sacrifice Mordred on the altar of some alleged prophecy. Merlin's eyes teared up in shame as he remembered the times when he had tried to get the druid killed.

What had possessed him? Here was a man, loyal to a fault, and that loyalty might be his downfall. And Merlin? He had repaid the kindnesses given with what could only be described as assassination attempts. Merlin felt the shame turning into self-hatred. Had he lost himself that much? Had it been worth it?

For a moment, his thoughts went back to when he first came to Camelot, when he was just a boy. How would he have handled the situation back then? The person he was back then would have given Mordred a chance, wouldn't he? Looking down on the druid, Merlin asked himself if he had really grown up, or if he had just grown cold. Merlin remembered the prophecy, but for once it felt like just words, not fate.

Merlin wanted to touch Mordred's hand but another part of himself reminded him that he had no right to do so. He had tried to get him killed. He had almost let the druid die, back when he was just a young boy. And, when Merlin had not tried to get him killed, he had answered Mordred's kindnesses with distrust. If he was honest with himself, Mordred wasn't a menace to him; it was Merlin who was a menace to Mordred.

“I must inform Arthur.” Merlin turned towards Gaius who simply nodded.

Chapter Text

Arthur sat at the desk in his room, reflecting on his conversation with Sara. It had sounded so simple when he was in her presence and yet, now that he was back in his room, he felt as confused as ever. His heart ached for Merlin (whom he could never have) and his wife (whom he could never leave). And, of course, himself, who seemed stuck in an impossible situation.

It was as always. Sometimes he hated wearing the mantle of a king. Even though he was the most powerful man in the land, he had, in many ways, less freedom than even Merlin did. Merlin, who didn't have to marry. Merlin, who didn't need to father a son. Merlin, who could leave Camelot behind if he ever wanted to. Whereas Arthur... from the day he was born, he didn't have a choice.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Arthur sat up, alarmed and ready to take on any intruder. “Arthur!” Merlin rushed into the door.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur didn't have it in him to feign annoyance, even though he had ordered Merlin to leave him alone just a bit earlier. He felt as if their previous conversation had been cut short somehow.

“I... ” Merlin sounded as if he wanted to say something, then stopped. He caught Arthur's eyes and advanced in his direction. Arthur suddenly felt like the prey, which is not a feeling he encountered often, and definitely never at the hands of Merlin.

As if to assure himself of his own power, Arthur got up and walked around the desk, leaning against it in the best relaxed pose he could muster. Merlin still kept advancing, not once breaking eye contact. Arthur noticed his heart speeding up against his will.

Finally, Merlin came to a stop. One step closer and he would be standing on Arthur's feet. Merlin glanced up and down his face, before stating in a firm voice: “I'm asking.”

“What?” Arthur could feel something in the air, something important and irrevocable that commanded attention.

“I'm asking you to tumble with me.” Merlin cleared his throat. “This morning you said if I wanted to, I could have asked.” He pointed to the space between them. “Consider this me asking.”

Arthur stood completely still. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, noticed the thoughts passing in his head. It was the kind of focus he had only known in battle.

“I think I must have misheard.” Arthur finally said. It was the only thing that came to mind, and the only sentence that might allow him to cling on to his sanity for a few more precious moments.

Merlin shook his head and moved closer.

No. No such luck.

Arthur's head screamed at him that this was a particularly bad idea, that he should do the undignified thing and run. His body moved closer to Merlin, almost imperceptibly. And his heart, it almost started singing. 

Arthur told his head to shut up and closed the space between him and Merlin for the very first time.

Chapter Text

Merlin felt completely numb as Arthur, his golden king and the other side of his coin, gently started to caress his back. His friend was oozing a type of emotional warmth and care that Merlin was impervious to at this point.

Arthur had killed. He had taken innocent lives. He had stood by his father as he executed Merlin's kin. And the kin of the man who now found himself on his deathbed.

And Merlin, Merlin had killed, too. Not only when he needed to defend himself against an immediate danger. He had killed the High Priestess Nimueh, out of anger, after she had almost taken the life of his mother. He had tried to poison Morgana, back when she was a kind-hearted woman and his friend, all because of Kilgharrah's warnings about how she was a danger.

And, perhaps the worst betrayal of all, he had thrown away his kin's best hope of ever having magic become legal again in Camelot, all because he hoped this would lead to Mordred's death. The same man who had readily opened his arms to him. And he was supposed to be the savior of the magical community? Merlin just barely managed to suppress a scoff. If his own prophecy was so far off from the truth, how could he know that Arthur's wasn't, too?

True, Merlin loved the man. He always would, in more ways than one. But it didn't mean that following him to the end of the earth and back was necessarily the best move.

When Arthur moved his lips towards the warlock's, Merlin didn't feel anything. The voice inside him was screaming to loudly that Merlin had been corrupted, that he had lost his way. They were the evil ones, not Mordred.

Arthur stopped. “We can't do this—Gwen...”

“Oh, yes we can.” Merlin had spoken with the authority he used as a dragonlord and he could tell that Arthur was paying attention. Of course, they could do something that would hurt people they cared about, people who didn't deserve it. They already had. They always did. This was just one more step. “We are not good people, Arthur.”

“You are good.” Arthur caressed his jaw. Merlin looked into the king's blue eyes. A silent understanding passed between the two of them. “Just... just once.” Merlin nodded.

It seemed as if the spell had been broken and Arthur had abandoned any hesitation. He kissed Merlin wholeheartedly and almost reverently. Merlin was feeling more and more sick to his stomach.

“Arthur,” he took Arthur's hands away from his face. “I asked for a tumble.”

“Yes.” Arthur looked at him with a confused look on his face.

“I didn't ask you to make love to me.”

A bit later, as Merlin felt Arthur's hand on his back that pressed him into the sheets, he wondered how they had come to this. Whenever Merlin had imagined any form of physical intimacy with Arthur, it had been... wholesome.

And yet, today, all he could stomach was something twisted, a mockery of whatever it was he had imagined before. Merlin didn't deserve something pure. And neither, neither did Arthur.

It was only when Merlin left Arthur's room, his body as bruised as his soul, that he remembered that he had never told Arthur about Mordred's state.

Chapter Text

Gwen walked back towards the castle, once again accompanied by Mick. Upon hearing that she was a blacksmith daughter, he had expressed curiosity about everything that went into making weapons. Her father's forge still existed, so she had decided to show Mick how it worked.

It wasn't only for his benefit. Operating the forge relaxed her as it connected her to her roots, to her beloved father. She missed him so much. There were also many days when Gwen missed her old life. She remembered a time when both she and Merlin had been more carefree. Somehow, they both had lost a lot of their innocence.

It was hard for Gwen to always be the center of attention. She could handle it, of course she could, but standing in her father's old work place was when she felt most like herself. Now, with every step they walked closer towards the castles, she put mask upon mask on her face. Inadvertently, she shivered.

“Are you cold, my Lady?” Mick asked.

“No.” She turned to him, searching for his eyes. “If we're alone or amongst friends, please call me Gwen.”

“Of course, Gwen.” He nodded and proceeded walking. Gwen was glad for the company. His presence made her feel safe. It felt different being accompanied by him than with by any of the other knights. Now that her brother Elyan was dead, all of Camelot's knights were Arthur's knights first. Gwen understood, of course she understood, and yet sometimes she wished to have connections and loyalties that weren't dependent on Arthur.

Of course, there was Merlin. Merlin, who had been her best friend since he first came to Camelot. And yet, their friendship had suffered from her new role as the queen. More importantly, in Merlin's life, Arthur would always come first. Morgana had been her friend first, but she had succumbed to madness.

Her father would have done anything for her but he was dead, an innocent casualty of Camelot's laws. How strange it was that she now held so much power in Camelot, now that it didn't matter anymore.

She had no doubt that Lancelot would have gone to the ends of the world for her. And yet, he had chosen to leave when things started to blossom between her and Arthur, stating he didn't want to come between them. After he had returned, she had asked him to keep Arthur alive for her—and he had sacrificed himself to ensure his life. So, in their own ways, they both had picked Arthur above each other. She sighed. He was dead. It didn't matter now.

Upon hearing her sigh, Mick put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Gwen was grateful that he didn't bother with proper etiquette. Things felt different with him, and also with Sara. They didn't feel star-struck around Arthur and seemed to have higher regard for her than for Camelot's king.

Perhaps that was why she enjoyed their company so much. While she would never envy her husband his popularity, she needed her own support. She needed people who would stand by her, come what may. The situation between Merlin and Arthur, and Merlin and Mordred was a volcano waiting to erupt, and when that happened, she needed people who would help her pick up the pieces.

As Mick bid her good night after accompanying her to the door of the royal chamber, she smiled gratefully.

Perhaps she had found them.

Chapter Text

Merlin slowly walked towards the physician's quarters, feeling dreadful. After leaving Arthur's room, he had thrown up in a dark corner of the castle. His stomach still revolted violently whenever the mere thought of Arthur—or Mordred or Gwen—passed his mind.

The warlock desperately wished that he could take a bath, as if that could undo what he—they—had just done. He didn't think he would be able to look Gwen in the eyes, ever again. What felt even worse was the mere thought of having to spend the night near Mordred's unconscious body. Mordred, who had said he loved him and who was now dying.

Merlin hated that he now knew things he shouldn't know. How Arthur kissed. How his hands felt on Merlin's naked skin, when his touches weren't about attending to a wound sustained away from Camelot. How... Merlin didn't even want to think about it.

Had it been worth it? Of course not, Merlin thought. Going against one's own conscience never was. He now had another unforgivable offense to add to his ever-growing list. Merlin wondered how Arthur felt, if he was able to look Gwen in the eye. Knowing how important honor was to his king, Merlin doubted it.

After stalling in front of the door, Merlin finally forced himself to open it. The room was pitch black. It must have gotten late enough for Gaius to go to bed. There was nothing that they could do for Mordred, he'd either make it through or the wouldn't, so there was no point for the elderly physician to spend the night awake, tending to the patient.

Of course, Merlin thought, Mordred wasn't just a patient. He allowed his magic to guide him towards the cot where the druid lay and sank to the floor next to it. Merlin winced as he sat down on the cold, hard floor but he forced himself to deal with the discomfort. He could her the other man's slow, shallow breath, each of them increasing his guilt. Merlin leaned his head against the cot, his thoughts racing.

Suddenly, Mordred moved and his good arm dangled in front of Merlin. Merlin hesitated for a moment before touching the druid's hand. It was warm and Merlin could feel his pulse. He could feel the calluses which were less pronounced than on Mordred's other hand.

At that moment, it struck Merlin that this may be one of the last times he could be holding Mordred's hand like that. A stolen moment. Merlin caressed Mordred's hand and eventually brought it to his lips, to press a soft kiss on it. In his head, he said: 'I won't let you die.'

The silence that responded to him was loud and overwhelming. Was this how Mordred had felt like when Merlin had shut him out?

Arthur lay wide awake in bed, his sleeping queen beside him. He didn't know what to think or feel. He had just... with Merlin.

With someone who wasn't his wife.

With Merlin.

Arthur was a king, a warrior. Conquests were in his blood. And yet here he was a confronted with a conquest (or was it a defeat?) that he couldn't be proud of.

His wife turned in her sleep. Arthur smiled warmly into her direction. If it weren't for Guinevere, he would rejoice.

Arthur stilled. No, if it weren't for Guinevere and for the way he had treated Merlin, at his own request. Like a... like a whore. Was that all Arthur was for him? A way to release tension?

After all these years? After all the danger they had faced together? After all these times they had risked their lives for each other?

And now, Merlin couldn't even look him in the eyes, wouldn't let him kiss him when they... when they...

They shouldn't have.

The king sat up, staring into the dark.

Things were broken. But, if he was honest with himself, they had always been broken. He had to grow up without motherly love, why should romantic love treat him any kindlier? Arthur could deal with it, deal with not having what he wanted. He just hoped he wouldn't hurt too many others along the way.

Chapter Text

Merlin woke up feeling worse than he had in a long time. His neck hurt from the weird angle he had been sleeping at, his while body was in various stages of discomfort and his heart felt like it had been torn into pieces.

The sound of Gaius' snoring filled the physician's quarter. Behind him, he could hear Mordred breathing. Merlin turned around and looked at the sleeping druid's face. It was just starting to get lighter, so he could only make out the other man's contours.

Suppressing a sigh, Merlin got up. When he checked with his magic, Mordred's energy seemed even more sickly and feeble than yesterday. If only he was better at healing magic. Merlin stroked the druid's hand one last time before moving into the direction of his room.

Everything in him screamed to not leave Mordred's bedside but Merlin also knew that he'd have to face Arthur soon. And he wasn't ready for that.

Using his magic, Merlin found a pitcher of water and a bowl and went to his own room. He filled the bowl with water, grateful that he could heat it magically. After finding a small towel, Merlin rinsed out his mouth, adding a drop of peppermint oil from a small bottle in his cupboard. Then, he took of his clothes and quickly washed himself.

It didn't make him feel a lot better. The taste of Arthur's mouth and the touch of his hands lingered. He wouldn't be able to scrub that memory away.

Arthur.

It was always Arthur for him, wasn't it? Arthur was the reason he had treated Mordred the way he did in the first place. Arthur was the reason he had killed. Arthur was the reason he had betrayed his own kin.

For once, Merlin wondered if it all had been worth it. Would it always be this way? Would he even recognize himself anymore, if this continued for years?

Merlin angrily threw the towel on the ground before grabbing new underthings and a different tunic. When he finally left his room, Gaius was awake.

It was starting to get lighter outside. Time to face Arthur. Merlin put on a frown, rushed past Gaius and left the room.

 
Arthur was awake unusually early and it was still mostly dark outside. He had only caught a few moments of sleep during the night, when his sleepiness overwhelmed the onslaught of questions. 

Guinevere, who was usually up much earlier than him, was still asleep next to him. Arthur considered getting up for a walk through the castle, followed by a training session, but realized that it would be hard to find a servant at this time who could dress him.

Despite of how much Merlin had been teasing him relentlessly about this, Arthur still much preferred being dressed by someone else. But when realizing that he had the choice between dressing himself in the dark or waiting for Merlin to help him put on his clothes... Arthur quickly rushed out of bed.

He was not ready for seeing Merlin again, much less being helped by him with getting dressed. And, not rushing into something one was unprepared for wasn't cowardly, it was a sound strategy fit for a king. After Arthur had finally braved his clothes, he walked into the hallway.

It was starting to get lighter outside and Arthur was hoping beyond hope that the result of his own dressing attempt was presentable.

Chapter Text

When Gwen awoke, she immediately realized that Arthur was missing. It was very unusual but he had seemed rather agitated yesterday. Gwen had known better than to press, and just decided to mind her own business.

And she had great plans. Showing Mick how a blacksmith's forge worked had brought up an idea for her. An idea that might improve the morale of Camelot's knights and the very image of Camelot itself. It might help keep her men and her people safer. That, and she'd be enjoying herself doing it.

With these thoughts, Gwen got out of bed. Her maidservant would be here soon with the breakfast but Gwen went ahead and opened the curtains, to enjoy the light outside. Dawn was breaking, in all its splendid beauty.

As Gwen walked around the room, she noticed something red underneath the bed, on Arthur's side. She crouched down, which was thankfully a lot easier in her nightgown than in her queenly dresses, and grabbed the thing that had caught her attention.

It was Merlin's scarf. Gwen frowned. She would have asked herself what it was doing underneath their bed, but between Merlin and Arthur's relationship, her husband's strange mood yesterday and this wayward piece of clothing, the answer was fairly obvious.

It hurt a bit but surprisingly not as much as Gwen would have thought. Perhaps she had always known and the truth was just less hurtful than even the nicest lie. She couldn't even blame the two, not really. After all, Gwen had seen firsthand how they'd risked their lives for each other even back when they'd barely known each other. Their bond had only grown stronger over the years.

Gwen sighed. While this was perhaps inevitable, Arthur could have been forthcoming about it. Leaving her personal feelings aside, she was his queen and they had a kingdom to run. Who he bedded was crucial information, for it made him susceptible to everything from blackmail to bastard children. Although at least the latter wouldn't be a problem with Merlin.

Gwen looked at the offending piece of cloths in her hand. She didn't just want to leave it her for her maidservant to find. As a former servant herself, Gwen knew about castle gossip and didn't need to give them more ammunition. Eventually, she decided to visit Gaius and leave it in his quarters. She scrunched the scarf into a small ball that she hid in her palm.

This would have to be done first.

Afterwards, she could propose her idea to Mick. Breakfast could wait.

Chapter Text

“We need to talk!” Nate burst into Sara's door without knocking.

“About what?” Sara continued swinging her sword while turning into Nate's direction. She wanted to prepare for her first training with Gwaine later today. Nate herded Mick and Ray into her room before carefully closing the door. Sara sighed and leaned the sword Gwen had given her against the wall while Mick and Ray rearranged the table she had pushed out of the way.

Before everyone was seated, Nate said: “Our antibiotics.”

“What about them?” Sara asked, sitting down on the chair. Judging by his stony expression, Ray had more information about this than she did. Mick looked rather disinterested, staring at her unlit fireplace.

“I just met Gaius in the hallway. One of his patients, a knight of Camelot, is dying. His wounds are infected.” Nate's expression was grim. “Our antibiotics might be able to save him.”

“So, what's the problem?” Once upon a time, Sara would have felt more concerned about making changes to the past. But she had eventually concluded that there were more important things than preserving the timeline. “If he's a knight of Camelot, he's one of ours. We should save him.”

“It's Sir Mordred.” Ray burst out. “In the legend, he's King Arthur's downfall.”

“I'm aware.” Sara said.

“This is nonsense,” Nate said. “This reality here is nothing like the legends.” The historian straightened himself. “Not that I give credence to this, but isn't he also the king's son, in many of the legends?”

“So?” Ray looked at him defiantly.

“I've spent some time taking care of him. He's obviously too old to be Arthur's son,” Nate said.

Sara nodded. “Which means that the legends are not necessarily accurate.”

“He's his nephew in Geoffrey's History of the Kings of Britain.” Sara almost laughed when she saw Ray's expression. Her team member looked like an angry puppy.

“Which is not historically accurate.” Nate countered.

“Quiet!” Mick bellowed. “Are we giving him the pills or not, boss?” He looked at Sara.

Sara sighed. Leaving the time line integrity aside, Gwen had asked her to keep everyone safe, which included Mordred. So, from this perspective, the right move was to give him the antibiotics. Of course, if Mordred would indeed kill King Arthur later on, it might be better to just let him die. “We're not on the Waverider anymore, so I'm not your captain. I suggest we put this to a vote.”

Ray smiled at her, softly. “You're still our captain.” Nate nodded and Mick grunted his assent.

“Still, I think we should vote on this.” Sara looked around. “Who's in favor of giving him the pills?”

Nate's hand shot up. “Arthur's a dick,” Mick said while lifting his hand. “If Mordred doesn't kill him, I might.”

Sara cleared her throat. “There will be no killing King Arthur, Mick.” Ray looked at her expectantly, his expression falling as she lifted her hand. “I've learned that doing the seemingly sensible thing can just bring about the very things we're trying to prevent. With so many variables, it's impossible to know how things will turn out. That's why I say we do what is in our hearts, which is to help someone who needs our help.”

She turned to Ray. “We're the masters of our own destiny, and we should give others the same courtesy.” Sara paused for a moment. “I'm actually more worried about us accidentally creating antibiotics-resistant bacteria in the Dark Ages.” She flashed Ray a smile which her team mate returned.

“I will take the antibiotics to him,” Nate got up as quickly as possible.

“Don't let the Court Physician examine them.” Sara said.

“Of course.” Nate nodded.

When Nate opened the door, a woman stood outside, just about to knock. By the looks of it, she was a servant.

“Sir... Mick?” She sounded unsure. “The queen wishes to see you.”

Chapter Text

Gwaine felt nervous as he was getting ready to train Sara for the first time. Him and Sara had decided that it would be for the best if they trained in private, away from the judging eyes of Arthur's knights. The queen had suggested that they use the throne room for their lessons.

No doubt at Gwen's suggestion, Arthur had allowed him to miss training for this. He looked around the room. It was reasonably lit and they had a few hours before lunch meant that everybody got to hungry to focus on his instructions.

Ray was currently helping him carry the swords and practice targets into the throne room. Gwaine wondered about his role in Sara's life. Was he something like her squire? Or the most unusual maidservant in all of Albion?

Gwaine found the man to be rather interesting: Sara had told him that he had overseen a large group of people before, that they had been in dire situations together, and he was highly intelligent. At the same time, Ray seemed awestruck by just being in Gwaine's presence. Gwaine had never seen anyone so happy about the prospect of carrying weapons from one place to the other. Whatever Gwaine asked for, Ray made it seem like it was an honor to follow his order.

When they finally had set everything up in the throne room, Sara appeared. She had one of her other team members in tow. “Do you mind if Nate attends as well?” She asked Gwaine. “I think we could all benefit from learning how to fight like you.”

“Everyone's welcome,” Gwaine answered. “Although we should focus on you first, seeing that you will be facing training with Arthur.” He turned towards the assortment of weapons gathered in the room. “Go ahead, everyone, pick a blunt sword and we will get started.”

Gwaine's three students hurried towards the weapons. He could see that Sara readily picked up a sword, weighed it in her hand and swung it around her, presumably to get used to the feel of the weapon. Nate carefully examined the swords, without choosing one just yet. Ray just looked at the weapons with a broad smile in his face, before picking one.

It was quiet enough in the room that Gwaine heard the door opening. He turned his head towards the noise. He was met with the unexpected presence of the queen who was accompanied by Mick.

“Gwen!” Sara rushed over. “What are you doing here?”

“Your man here convinced me that it would do me good to learn how to yield a weapon more efficiently.” Gwen smiled widely.

“It's a good idea.” Sara returned Gwen's smile. The queen took of her red velvet cloak and draped it over her throne. Gwaine was relieved to see that she wasn't wearing her typical elaborate gowns and had instead opted for breeches and a tunic. It would make this much easier.

“Teach her how to defend herself,” Mick said to Gwaine, roughly patting him on the shoulder. The man walked towards the weapons, not needing to be instructed on what to do. Gwaine was not surprised to see that he picked one of the heavier swords. The queen had already decided on a weapon.

Gwaine walked in front of them. “We will begin with practicing cuts and strikes, using just one sword and just one arm. Your swords are blunt but remember that we are training for battle. The purpose of each of these moves is to win the battle against your opponent.” He raised his sword, his students following his example. “Don't stand still. If you stand still in battle, you die. Don't just dance around either. Each of your steps has to be deliberate.”

The knight took a step forward, bringing down his sword. His students copied him. Sara looked fierce and moved swiftly. Gwen and her sword seemed to have become one. Ray bore a wide grin on his face and fidgeted with energy. Nate copied Gwaine's moves conscientiously but looked like he'd rather be elsewhere. And Mick... well, he looked like he wanted to smash something. 

Gwaine took in everyone's pose. His main focus was on Sara and on the queen, given their roles, but as the practiced fighter he was, he immediately noticed the ways in which the other three men were struggling with following his instructions. “Your sword arm and your whole body are a unit.” He demonstrated a strike. “Now, I want you to keep practicing this.”

At some point, Gwaine moved towards having his students use the targets made out of wood and straw. He had everyone picked up a sharp sword and practice their strikes with the immobile object. Gwaine could tell that everyone was struggling with their sword arm at this point but, if they really wanted to be trained in the art of battle, they needed to work much harder and longer than they had been so far. He was relieved that Sara kept on pressing ahead, attacking the straw target from different angles.

Eventually, he told them to stop. “Let's move on to sparring. Grab a blunt sword. Ray and Nate, you train together. Gwen, could you train with Mick?” The man was far bigger than his queen but, given his careful behavior towards her, he trusted him to avoid hurting her. Gwaine also knew that she had to train with stronger opponents if she really wanted to learn to defend herself. As strange as that seemed, it had also seemed to him that his queen was more practiced with a sword than either Mick, or the other two men.

“No!” Gwaine shouted. “Ray, Nate!” He wasn't usually one to feel exasperated but this... this was too much. “What you are doing with your swords is an abomination. And not of the good kind.” He couldn't help but grin at his joke.

The two men looked at him, confused. “What... what did we do?” Ray's eyes were wide.

“The way you parry each other's blows. You're using the thin side of the sword, the one that would be sharp if we weren't using training swords.”

He grabbed his sword and turned to Gwen who was a few feet away, on Ray's right side. She nodded ferociously at Gwaine's words. With an exaggerated bow, Gwaine asked: “My Lady, if you would be so kind?”

Gwen immediately took the hint. Lifting her sword, she stepped forward to attack him. Gwaine used the flat side of his sword to block her blow. Turning to Ray and Nate, he said: “This is how you parry.”
 
“It will make your sword last longer.” Gwen ran her fingers across her sword. “Take it from a blacksmith's daughter.”

“Oh.” Ray's cheeks had taken on a reddish blush that wasn't coming from the training. Gwaine and Gwen exchanged a look and chuckled.

“Sara, come here,” Gwaine beckoned her to him. While she moved into his direction, he glanced through the room. “Ray, remember that your aim is to destroy your opponent. This is not about chivalry. Don't focus on defense. If you don't beat your opponent, he will beat you. You need to go on the offense.”

With those words, he turned to Sara. Lifting her sword, she said to him: “Here we go again.”

Chapter Text

Merlin only noticed how much time had passed when it was getting dark in the physician's quarters. After finding the royal bedroom empty, he was too relieved about not having to face his friend, one-off lover and king to make a sincere effort to find him.

That, and his worry for Mordred which led him straight back to the wounded knight's side. After noticing how Merlin was hovering around his patient, Gaius decided that he could make the rounds to deliver medicine and gather required herbs today. He still hadn't returned.

Merlin had spent the better part of the afternoon trying healing spell after healing spell, all to no avail. Mordred still didn't look any better than this morning. The only distraction had been a brief visit by Nate who had told Merlin that he'd administer a potion from his culture to Mordred, in the hopes that it would cure him.

It was a testament to Merlin's sense of defeat that he didn't even question Nate's actions. Camelot had given everything she had, and it wasn't enough. The creaking door shook Merlin out of his ruminations.

“Merlin.” Gaius rushed into the room. “I just spoke to Arthur.” Merlin's stomach cramped at Gaius' words.

“What... what did he say?”

“He...,” Gaius turned around and looked at the door, presumably to make sure it was closed. Merlin just wanted to disappear. He couldn't imagine how disappointed his foster father would be with him about his... his recent activities with Arthur.

Gaius stepped closer towards him as Merlin mentally prepared himself for what would be even more heartbreak for him. “He,” Gaius said in a soft voice, “he told me to use magic to save Mordred.”

Merlin shook his head, tears in his eyes. This wasn't what he had expected but it still hurt. “I've already tried that, Gaius. The whole day.” He gestured towards Mordred's body. “It's no use.” And with those words, the dam inside of Merlin broke. He suddenly found himself being held by Gaius as all the pain, hurt, fear, shame, worry, and, well... love... as all these conflicting emotions demanded for space. Merlin cried until he couldn't cry anymore.

Sara was in her room, reflecting on the day. Her whole body hurt from the training Gwaine had put them through. Sara chuckled as she recalled some of their banter during the sparring.

She was about to walk over to her team mates' room to have a beer with them when it knocked at her door.

“Come in!” Sara said, wondering who it would be this time. The door opened and in walked Gwaine. “Gwaine!” Sara looked at him expectantly. “How can I help you?”

The usually gruff knight seemed much more unsure than during their training session. “I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me?”

Chapter Text

Mordred walked across a green meadow, so reminiscent of the places he used to call his home in his youth as a druid. It was peaceful and he could sense the magic in the air.

“Mordred! Mordred!” When he looked up, he saw a beautiful woman near a tree, waving at him. In her dark curls she had a crown out of flowers. She wore a simple, green dress that she lifted up a bit to make it easier to run towards him.

Mordred just stood there, unable or unwilling to move. When she was close enough, he caught her eyes. “Mo...mother?” An exquisite mix of emotions filled his chest. He had been so young when she passed that he couldn't remember her clearly but her eyes, these eyes...

His mother smiled at him. “My son.” She buried his head against her body. Mordred stood still for a moment before clinging on to her like a drowning man would cling to a boat. He allowed himself to feel her heartbeat, the touch of her hands on his back and her smell that immediately took him back to his childhood.

Eventually, his mother took on step back, her hands still on his shoulders. She smiled at him; the pride evident in her eyes. “How you've grown.”

Mordred nodded. In his mind, he said: 'That I have.'  It was all he could do without completely losing himself in emotions. Somehow, mental communication had always made him feel safer than verbal one. Perhaps because he could be certain that the only people able to hear him would also be ones who could understand him.

“Your father will be so proud to see you.”

Mordred stilled. “He's here, too?” He had been there when his father was killed, killed in Camelot, by Camelot, by the same place he was now risking his life to defend.

“Come with me.” His mother grabbed his hand. “I will lead you to him.”

“I fear you will have to say goodbye to him,” Gaius said to Merlin, the sadness apparent in his voice. He wasn't completely sure what had caused the boy's shift in attitude towards his patient.

At the same time, the Court Physician had lived long enough to have a fair idea what exactly it was Merlin had started to feel towards Mordred. Before the knight's state had deteriorated, Gaius had allowed himself to feel almost a little bit hopeful about this development.

Merlin was practically his son and like all parents, Gaius only ever wanted what was best for him. And unlike Arthur with whom Merlin had formed a rather unhealthy attachment, Mordred had never shown anything other than kindness towards Merlin. That, and he was a fellow warlock. Merlin would never have to hide who he was in front of the other man.

Of course, things weren't so simple, as they never seemed to be with Merlin. The two young men wouldn't be able to show their feelings for each other in public. They wouldn't be able to openly do any of the things young married couples would be allowed to do. It broke Gaius' heart a bit to think about this.

When his eyes fell upon Merlin's, Gaius' heart broke even more. His... almost-son just looked resigned. After having cried himself out on Gaius' shoulders, it seemed like he had nothing else to give, nothing else to feel. Merlin's shoulders were slumped and his expression absolutely defeated.

“I know.” Merlin swallowed. “I'll... I'll spend the night next to him. I'll stay for...,” he teared up once again, “for however long it takes. I doubt Arthur will miss me.”

Gaius put his hand on Merlin's shoulder. “Wake me up if you need anything.”

Mordred found himself lying on the green grass, his head resting on his mother's lap. She was slowly stroking his curls, his father next to her.

He couldn't remember ever having felt such a strong sense of belonging, not with Morgana, not with his fellow knights and not even with Merlin.

'Merlin,'  Mordred thought, before asking out loud: “Is Emrys here?”

“Emrys?” His mother's hand stilled. “No, why would he?”

Mordred looked up into his mother's eyes which were the same color as the sky above. Somehow, her eyes kept on shifting to a darker, familiar shade of blue. It felt very confusing to Mordred.

“I... I just want to see him.”

“He's not here.” His mother repeated.

“You... you have his eyes!” Mordred pointed towards her.

Suddenly, whatever he had seen in his mother's eyes disappeared.

“It's alright, my little boy.” His mother put down his hands. “You're with us now.”

Mordred basked in her warm smile when a wailing sound caught his attention.

“What was that?” He turned toward his father who had put his hand on his shoulder.

“That's nothing.” His father said. “Just echoes of the old world.”

“Echoes?” Mordred said up. The voice had almost sounded like Merlin. “Whoever it was must be upset.”

“Indeed.” His father nodded. “It's the one called Emrys who's grieving for you.”

“No!” Mordred got up. Having lost people before, he wasn't willing to cause the man he loved this level of grief.

“My boy!” His mother said.

“I need to go back.” It was so beautiful here. But Emrys... Merlin... hadn't left him alone in his darkest hour, and debts had to be repaid. Even in the safety of Mordred's min, his own reasoning felt like a flimsy excuse. He knew why he was going back and it had nothing to do with debt and everything with how the other man made him feel.

Mordred saw how his parents exchanged an unsure look. “I... I don't think that's possible,” his father said cautiously.

“I have to try.” Mordred stood tall. He was a survivor. He had been a survivor his whole life. This was no different.

His mother shed a tear when she noticed his resolve. With a sad smile, she nodded. “Can I at least get a hug before you leave?”

Mordred hugged his parents one last time, his heart falling into pieces at the prospect of losing them all over again. “Will I see you again?” He looked at them, with hope in his eyes.

“We will be here waiting for you.” His father said, placing his hand on his mother's shoulder.

Mordred nodded and turned away.

Chapter Text

Merlin opened one eye. It was just before dawn outside so he couldn't see too much from where he was sitting on a chair near Mordred's bed. He could have sworn he had felt a movement near him but he didn't trust his own perception. He couldn't afford to get his hopes up, after he had finally, finally accepted that there was nothing left to do.

That Mordred was as good as gone.

Merlin closed his eye, his heart feeling heavy.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a body shifting near him. Merlin cooked one eye open, only to be met with a pair of blue eyes that he hadn't seen in too long.

“You're...,” Merlin croaked out, not trusting his voice. “I thought you were...” Merlin reached out, grabbing for Mordred's hand like a starving man for a slice of bread. He didn't want to get his hopes up before he had final confirmation. Mordred squeezed his hand, and that's when Merlin lost it.

The floodgates opened once again, just as they had before with Gaius. All of the tension that the young warlock had been carrying over the past years, all the worry, the guilt, the heartbreak, all of it came out all at once.

Merlin was a total mess, alternating between sobbing and laughing hysterically. Mordred quickly put his hands around his shoulders. Merlin leaned into the warm touch he had never expected to feel again.

Mordred was feeling slightly overwhelmed. One minute, he was in a beautiful garden with his deceased parents, the next he got his tunic soaked by the tears of Emrys... or Merlin, as Mordred had started to think of him.

Merlin finally let him go and Mordred sunk back to his cot.

“What's the matter, my boy?” Gaius was leaning over Mordred's cot, still wearing his nightshirt. The elderly physician had a concerned look on his face. He startled when his eyes met Mordred's. “Sir Mordred!” Gaius looked at Merlin. “How is this possible?”

Merlin shrugged. “He just woke up.”

Gaius' gaze moved back towards Mordred. “We were very concerned about you.” He clasped his hands together. “This is a most fortunate development.”

Mordred moved himself to a sitting position. He felt weak and it hurt to move but he wanted to get away from the scrutiny. “There's no need to be concerned. I will move to my chambers.”

Gaius and Merlin started to protest at the same time. It was only after Gaius had administered several tests and had gotten his patient to drink a few goblets of water that he allowed Mordred to leave the physician's chambers, and only under the condition that Merlin was to stay with him at all times. By then, the sun had risen and the castle was full of activity.

When Mordred finally got to his feet, he felt slightly wobbly. Merlin immediately put his arm around his waist, stabilizing him. “Here, let me help you with that.”

Mordred smiled gratefully. He could have made it without the warlock's help. But after having just left the peace and the warmth that he experienced in the garden with his parents, he was hungry for reassurance that he had made the right choice.

When Merlin was at the door, he turned around. “Somebody should inform Arthur.”

Gaius nodded. “I am on my way. I will tell him that you're indisposed today.”

Chapter Text

Arthur was perceptive enough that Gaius' words didn't come as a complete surprise to him. The physician's relaxed posture and his smile gave it away, as soon as Arthur saw him.

Still, it felt relieving to hear the words coming from the physician's mouth. Arthur always felt awful when men, good men, his men, lost their lives in the service of Camelot. Arthur was full of gratitude that it wouldn't be Mordred, this time.

“Thank you, Gaius.” Arthur turned back to his knights, most of whom were watching another sparring match between Gwaine and Sara. Arthur suppressed a smile. The woman was starting to grow on him. While he wasn't ready to admit this to Guinevere just yet, he did admire Sara's attitude and courage. It reminded him of Morgana, back before she became evil.

He remembered how much his sister had loved to practice sword-fighting with him when they were kids. Upon thinking of Morgana, Arthur mused that it couldn't be easy, being a woman in this environment. Sara had to find her own path among the knights, instead of fitting into an easily predefined mold. He wondered if things could have been different with his sister, if Uther had recognized her as his daughter and if she had been allowed to be who she really was, sword-fighting tendencies, magical abilities, and all.

Here and then, Arthur vowed to himself that he wouldn't stand in Sara's way, hurt feelings or not. If he could knight commoners even when his traditional father was still alive, what would prevent him from getting warfare advice from a woman who clearly knew what she was talking about now that he was king himself?

“Listen up!” He shouted over the noises. His knights were well-trained enough to cease their activities immediately and turn their attention to their king. “Sir Mordred has recovered from the grave injuries he sustained on our last mission.”

His words were met with cheers, laughter and claps. His closest knights hugged each other; their relief apparent in their faces. Arthur was glad to see how much they cared for their brother-in-arms. He was too much his father's son to clearly spells this out but secretly, Arthur knew that it wasn't only their love for Camelot, but also the love they all had for each other that gave them the advantage in battle.

Arthur had come across a mother bear and her cubs once with a hunting party, and had been impressed by the animal's ferociousness. He would never admit to it out loud but if he were truly honest with himself, Arthur was sure that he felt the same way about his knights as the animal had towards her offspring. Both were determined to defend their charge to their dying breath.

It was this thought that allowed Arthur to set the rotten feeling aside that had taken up residence in his stomach, ever since he had gotten clearer on whatever was developing between Merlin and Mordred. Whatever else Mordred might be to Arthur (rival? Friend? The little brother he never had?), he was first and foremost a knight of Camelot. And as such, Arthur was committed to seeing him well and happy.

With those thoughts, Arthur's eyes strayed to Sara and Ray, who were in the midst of a heated, albeit whispered exchange. These two, alongside their companions, were now also under his care.

Chapter Text

Merlin opened the door for Mordred, allowing the druid to pass through. On their way to his chambers, Mordred had insisted on stopping by one of the castle's latrines. Merlin had tried to convince his injured patient to use the chamber pot instead, to which Mordred had replied that he wasn't a child.

His stubbornness both exasperated and amused Merlin. It also reminded him of another man he was close to that he was trying very hard to not think about right now.

Upon seeing the room again, Mordred's bed, his table, the bookshelf, Merlin realized that it hadn't been that long since he last was in these chambers. And yet, so much had happened between then and now.

As if Mordred had read his thoughts (which, granted wouldn't be all that surprising given his gift for mind-speaking), the druid turned around: “It feels strange to be back in here.”

Merlin nodded, a lump in his throat. Mordred took a few more steps into the room, this time unaided by Merlin. After ensuring himself that the door was closed, Merlin whispered an incantation which ignited the wood in the room's fireplace. For a moment, both men stood in silence, listening to the soothing sound of the fire.

It reminded Merlin of the fire that had been burning when him and Arthur had... Merlin shook his head, trying to will the memory away. It just made him feel even more awkward around the druid than he already felt.

“I would like to wash,” Mordred said, in the gentle voice of his. Merlin saw him running his fingers along one of the rows of his bookshelf.

“I will get you water. I trust that I can leave you alone for a moment?” Merlin felt relieved about his chance to get away from the situation. At the same time, he noticed how much he did not want to leave right now, feeling an irrational fear about what could happen to the druid in his absence. But, after all, Gaius had told him to stay with the druid at all times.

“I can take care of myself.”

Merlin hurried through the corridor, stopping the first servant he found, a bland young man by the name of George, and asked for a tub and some hot water to be brought up to Sir Mordred.  Percival and Gwaine, who were passing through the hallway, heard the request and immediately offered their help.

Despite George's protests that this was unbecoming of a knight of Camelot, Percival and Gwaine lugged bucket after bucket of water into Mordred's room. Since Mordred shouldn't submerge his still healing back into water, they stopped when the tub was about half full. After assuring themselves that their friends had all they needed, the two knights bid their goodbye to their Mordred and Merlin.

“It's great to have you back!” Gwaine beamed in Mordred's direction before turning to the door, while Percival nodded his silent assent. Before leaving the room, Gwaine shot Merlin a pointed look. The warlock was thankful that nobody else had seen it.

“That was very kind of them.” Mordred remarked, interrupting the awkward silence that had unfolded between them in the few moments after the door had closed.

“They are good friends.” Merlin pushed himself off the wall that he had been leaning against.

“Why did you ask for hot water? Surely, we could have heated it up ourselves. It would have been less effort for everyone.”

“Too suspicious.” Passing the steaming tub, Merlin walked towards Mordred, feeling uncomfortable in his skin. “I could have made up some medical reason why you should bath in cold water but this way, nobody will ask any questions.” He gestured towards his right. “I've placed the soap, a washcloth, and two towels on your cabinet. Do you need my help in getting undressed?”

Mordred gave him a look that stopped Merlin in his tracks. “I'd prefer to be alone.” The druid crossed his arms in front of his body, as if to protect himself.

“I can turn around, if you prefer. But I think it wouldn't be wise for you to be on your own right now. You have just regained consciousness.”

“Fine.” The druid sighed and Merlin pulled out on of the chairs, turning his back to the other man. Merlin could hear the rumpling of clothes. “Merlin?”

“Yes?” Merlin stared at the table. It felt strange to talk to the druid out loud without seeing him.

“When I... when I was unconscious,” his voice sounded a bit embarrassed, “who...”

Merlin caught up on his question. “Gaius cleaned you up.” He paused for a moment. “I wouldn't have minded but we both thought you'd prefer it that way.”

“Thank you.” Mordred sounded relieved and it broke Merlin's heart a little that he'd be concerned about something like this.

Chapter Text

“He's going to kill King Arthur!” Ray huffed as he was walking alongside Sara to their rooms.

“Not so loud!” Sara roughly grabbed his arm. She wished Ray would just shut up. He'd been going on for this ever since Arthur's surprise announcement during training.

“Sorry,” Ray opened the door to the room he was sharing with Nate and Mike. Sara followed. “I'm just concerned for the safety of our king,” he continued.

“Our king?” Mick grunted. “And I thought I had been brainwashed by the time masters. You take the cake, Pretty!”

“Yes, our king!” Ray pulled himself to his full height. “An inspirational leader who, like us, is a future legend.”

“I'm pretty sure Rip confirmed that we're not future legends,” Sara said, dryly. “Besides, if you'd stop being such a fanboy for a moment, you would see that this form of government does come with its set of challenges.”

“Like what?” Ray looked at her, defiant.

“The whole him having the power to burn people at the stakes thing, for instance?” Sara noticed Mick, their resident pyromaniac, glancing up at her words. “Whatever you're going to say, Mick, don't.”

Nate nodded. “Death by burning certainly clashes with our 21^st century sensibilities. Did you know that the Code of Hammurabi...”?

“Not now, Nate!” Sara put her hands on her hips. Last night, after their joint dinner, her and Gwaine had gone drinking again. After leaving the bar – tavern, Sara corrected herself – they had gone for a romantic midnight stroll. Or, at least it might have been romantic if they hadn't started to talk about Camelot's persecution of magic.

Gideon's records about this were very incomplete so Sara had decided to ask the knight she trusted the most about it. That's when Gwaine had revealed to her what exactly the Great Purge had entailed. How many innocent people, including children, had been slaughtered, simply for having magic (or just being accused of it).

Sara was still fuming about it. “Since the reign of Arthur's father, Camelot has executed thousands of people, just for having magic.” She looked around the room. “People like John Constantine.”

“He'll kill himself with all his smoking.” Mick said. When Sara glared at him, he threw up his hands. “Hey, I'm not judging, blondie.”

Sara threw Nate a concerned glance. “What do you think they'd do to Nate if they discovered he can turn to steel?”

“It's a superpower!” Nate said. “Not magic.”

“Yes, good luck making that argument.” Sara grabbed one of the chairs. “Let's discuss our plan of action.”

Chapter Text

After Mordred had gotten out of his bath and put on a fresh set of clothes, he glanced over to Merlin, only to realize that the other man had fallen asleep. The warlock's head was on the table, and he could see the rise and fall of his chest.

Mordred chuckled to himself and observed the other man for a few long moments, before his own growling stomach demanded his attention. Mordred mused that the knight life was making him soft. Before he came to Camelot, he hadn't been a stranger to going days without food. But now, with the castle kitchen always available to him, he had grown reliant on more regular meals.

Truth be told, Mordred wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not. After all, he knew that life could change any minute and that it was imperative to know how to survive. Mordred wasn't sure how well many of the people in this castle would be able to do that.

Himself, he had always found a way, even when he was just a little orphan after his father had just been killed in Camelot. And he would never forget the kindness that random druids had showed him. It was their compassion that had kept him from going down a dark path, their affection that had helped him become a better person. They had taken him in and given him a home and he would never forget that.

Mordred shuttered to think what he could have done with his magic if, in his devastation after the loss of his second parent, he had decided to use it for evil. Not many people would be able to stop him, other than Morgana (who wouldn't want to) and the man currently sleeping on his table.

After cleaning his teeth with a rough towel and some peppermint oil, courtesy of Gaius, Mordred ventured out of his room and asked to have two meals brought to his room. Given how shaky his legs felt, he was glad when he returned to his room.

His body felt strange, like it was just a suit he was wearing. Mordred realized how disconnected he felt from his body. It was slightly troubling. Of course, as a Druid, he knew what had been happening and what he needed to feel whole again, but he didn't know where to get the help he needed.

Mordred wasn't sure if Merlin was too versed in the art of soul healing. Given how inept Merlin was with healing spells, he didn't expect much from him. Mordred smiled, before deciding to get Merlin into a more comfortable sleeping position. Surely Mordred's pillow would be more comfortable than the table Merlin's head was currently resting on.

It took Mordred more than just a few moments (and almost more strength than he currently had), but with the help of his magic he finally managed to move the half-asleep warlock from the table to his bed. Mordred tucked the other man in. Within moments, Merlin's heavy breathing indicated that he had once again fallen asleep.

With a sigh, Mordred walked over to the table. Staring into the fire, he gave himself time to process everything that had just happened.

Chapter Text

“I don't really see that there's anything we can do about this,” Nate said. “I think this is just pre-enlightenment Europe.”

“We can burn Arthur!” Mick threw in, “helpful” as usual.

Sara rolled her eyes. “As I said before, there will be no killing Arthur.” She threw a glance at Ray who had put his feet up on the chair, hugging his own knees and rocking back and forth like a child. Given how tall he was, his flexibility was quite the accomplishment, Sara mused. “Ray?”

Ray looked at her with wide eyes. “I'm okay.” He sounded chocked up. Sara mused that finding out that your childhood hero wasn't quite as fair and just as you had thought him to be could do that to a person.

“For what it's worth,” Sara said, “he's actually a rather good king, given the time and place we're in.” Gwaine had made that much clear. Given his hatred of nobility, she doubted that he would serve Arthur if he weren't.

“That is accurate,” Nate was clearly in this element. “People so often make the mistake of judging past rulers by our current attitudes. Arthur has married a servant and he has knighted commoners. From my conversations with Gaius, this is unheard of in the surrounding kingdoms.”

“He's still an asshole for what he did to Gwen.” Mick got up. “I need a beer.”

“After we're finished.” Sara made a stop gesture with her hand.

After a short silent staring contest, Mick sat down again. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Sara nodded. “If someone gets condemned to death for magic, we break them out.” She looked towards Mick. “Can I count on your support with that?”

“Prison Break.” Mick slowly nodded. “Finally!”

“Nate,” she looked towards their resident historian, “you can find out more from the old physician. Also see what you can find about contemporary laws in the castle's library. The more information we have, the better.”

Nate looked like he had bit into a lemon: “I miss Gideon.”

“We all do.” Sara said, curtly. “I have Arthur's ear. Perhaps I can sway his opinions.” She debated with herself whether she should entrust Mick with changing the Queen's attitudes. Eventually, she decided that Gwen seemed to like her well enough and that she could probably make a better argument for it. Sara clapped her hands together: “Dismissed.”

Chapter Text

From time to time, Merlin shook Mordred out of his thoughts. Whenever the warlock said something in his sleep, Mordred's gaze wondered from the flames in the fireplace to the person who was lying in his bed.

Mordred mused that Arthur appeared to feature rather prominently in Merlin's dreams, given how often the warlock had mentioned his name. At the moment, however, Merlin was just saying a word over and over again: “no no no no no no no.”

Merlin was twisting and turning in his sleep. Mordred got up to see if there was something he could do to ease his distress. In his sleep, Merlin had thrown Mordred's blanket on the ground. The warlock laid half on his back, half turned towards the mattress. Given all this movement, Merlin's tunic had slid up, revealing...

Mordred gulped as he realized what he was looking at. He'd be surprised if his back looked that much worse than Merlin's. Only Merlin's injuries appeared to have been inflicted with a blunter object and the skin Mordred saw looked like one green-bluish giant bruise.

Mordred stood there in shock. He was pretty sure that Merlin didn't get this injury when they all had been captured. It looked too fresh. That means it must have happened in Camelot. Who might have done this to Merlin? Or was this just an accident? Did the clumsy warlock trip and land on his back?

As Mordred took a closer look at the skin, he noticed what appeared like scratches. That answered one of his questions. Mordred balled his fists together. Who would have done this to Merlin? He called upon his magic to find answer. An image flashed into his mind, of Arthur, undressed, pressing Merlin down into his bed...

Mordred shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach. Feeling unsteady, he got down on one knee, stabilizing himself with his right hand. That couldn't be, could it? Surely Arthur wouldn't...

But then a memory came up, unbidden. It was so strong that it caused Mordred to flinch. He sat down on the floor, drawing his knees closer to his chest as he remembered.

The air had smelled like blood and fire, screams of pain were all around him. His father had pressed him close to his chest, putting his hand over Mordred's mouth to keep him from screaming. They were crouched behind a huge fallen tree, protected only by the darkness. When Mordred glanced up, he had seen a druid woman, thrown to the ground by a dark-haired man in armor and a red cape.

The type of cape Mordred now recognized as the same one he had been wearing—as Camelot's knight. He also realized what it was that he had witnessed as a small child, and it almost made him throw up. Remembering his memories as an adult, Mordred realized why his father had tried so hard to shield him from the sight of a brutal rape and killing that had taken place in front of them.

Mordred rocked himself back and forth for a moment, trying to calm himself down when all he wanted to do was cry out loud. Camelot had wronged his people so much. The same Camelot he now was serving.

As Mordred looked up to see Merlin in the bed, his rage coiled up, like a snake ready to attack. He hadn't been able to stop the slaughter and violation of his people back then. But he wouldn't stand for it now that he was a grown man, trained in two deadly systems—magic and the sword.

Mordred used his arm to get up to his feet. How oddly symbolically accurate was it that King Arthur, ruler of Camelot, had forced himself on Emrys, who was said to be his people's savior? Mordred looked around the room as he decided that sometimes a savior needed saving, too.

He glanced at his sword for a moment before picking up his dagger on the bookshelf. At close range, this would be more useful. Mordred glanced towards Merlin one last time before making his way towards Arthur's chambers.

Chapter Text

Arthur sat at his desk, being bored out of his mind by the documents he had to read in preparation for the next council meeting. He found himself wishing that Merlin was here to keep him company. Somehow, his manservant's presence made even the dullest grain reports a little bit more bearable.

He sighed. Things had been more than awkward between the two of them since that one time when Merlin had come into his room, asking him for a tumble. And Arthur, he had obliged. After Merlin had left, he had regretted it and wished it had never happened. His actions had been in direct contradiction of his moral beliefs, which included being faithful towards his wife.

A knock on the door interrupted Arthur's thoughts. “Come in!” The door opened slowly, revealing Mordred who was dressed in black breeches and a black tunic.

“Mordred!” Arthur broke into a wide smile. “I thought I would never see you again!” He got up behind his desk.

“Oh, you won't get rid of me quite that easily,” Mordred smiled at Arthur in his usual polite and slightly shy manner.

“I hope not.” Arthur patted Mordred on the arm. That's when Mordred made his move.

Mordred pressed his dagger towards Arthur's neck. He had counted on the king letting him close enough for this move to work and now he had him trapped between his knife and the desk behind him.

Arthur stood still and stared at him blankly: “What is the meaning of this, Mordred?”

“I know about Merlin,” Mordred hissed.

The king paled. “So, you're not under a spell.”

“Correct.” Mordred continued pressing his dagger against Arthur's skin. His whole body was straining with the effort of keeping his arm upright. Mordred wasn't too concerned about his weakness. He could always use his magic, if necessary. Even with his left arm still healing, his magic would ensure that he'd come out of a confrontation with Arthur on top.

And while, under normal circumstances, Arthur would no doubt expound on his current weakness, these were not normal circumstances.

Arthur, the proud king, had shrunk into himself. “It was a mistake,” he said, quietly. 

“Oh.” Mordred felt the rage rising in him. “Now, there is something we can agree on.” He searched for Arthur's eyes. “I never took you for a hypocrite.”

Arthur looked at him, confused. “I don't think I understand.”

Mordred shot him a cruel smile. “You see, a few days ago you barged into my room, accusing me of forcing myself onto Merlin.” He paused for a moment. “When, in reality, it seems like that's your specialty.”

Arthur blanched even more. “Is... is that how he sees it?”

“What do you think? I think his bruises speak for themselves, don't they?”

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment before regaining his composure. “He... he asked me for that. He asked me for all of it.”

Mordred stilled before his rage boiled up once again. “You're lying,” he grit through closed teeth. “Why would he do that?”

“I don't know.” Arthur looked Mordred in the eye. “All I know is that I should have send him away instead of giving in.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, Mordred knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, hat Arthur was speaking the truth. He had learned to read his king and this, this wasn't a lie. He both felt relief and a crushing sadness that Merlin would do this to him.

Mordred dropped the knife and got down to his knees. “My deepest apologies, Sire.”

Arthur waved his hand, looking utterly defeated. “Just leave, Mordred.” He turned and walked back towards his desk.

Chapter Text

Merlin was in a state of half-awake bliss. He told himself that he was simply enjoying the softness of the bed he found himself in (so much softer than his own) but a part of him knew that also had to do with the pleasant way in which his pillow smelled like Mordred.

Now that the druid was alive, Merlin was wondering how to relate to him. If Mordred's declaration of love (albeit under the influence of Gaius' pain-relief potion) was any indication, the man had rather strong feelings for him.

But did Mordred? Did he really?

And what about Merlin himself? What did he feel?

Merlin's thoughts were interrupted by the slam of a door. Without even looking up, his magic told him that Mordred had returned. 'Wait? Mordred had been gone?” he thought.

But before Merlin could make sense of what had been happening, the druid shouted at him: “Get out.”

“What?” Merlin wasn't quite sure what Mordred was referring to. He propped himself up on his elbows, squinting at the enraged knight in front of him.

“Get out!” Mordred gritted through his teeth.

“Out of the bed?” Merlin looked at him, confused.

“Out of my bed. Out of my room. Out of my life.” Mordred sunk down on the floor, looking devastated.

Merlin's stomach sunk as he realized what might have caused his outburst. “I...”

“Don't.” Mordred lifted his head, shooting Merlin a quick, tired look. “I know what happened with Arthur.”

“Oh.” Merlin's brain refused to say anything more intelligent than that.

“Yes.” Mordred pulled his knees closer towards him. He fell silent for a while, before continuing: “I don't want to see you again. Please have Gaius tend to me in the future.”

Merlin's eyes filled with tears at the sought of the other man. “I... I can explain.”

Mordred once again shot Merlin a quick look. “What is there to explain?” He brushed over his pants and got up. “I'm dying and that's when you choose to have a tumble with your beloved king.” Mordred walked over towards the door. “I just wish I had known that when I decided to come back for you.”

“You did what?” Merlin refused to believe his ears. Surely Mordred hadn't just told him that Merlin was the reason he had decided to live.

Mordred opened the door. “Get out.”

It had been dark outside for a while and Mordred was feeling utterly heartbroken. He wasn't sure what hurt more, that Merlin had chosen to be with someone else in that way while he was dying, that that someone else had to be the king he had sworn his allegiance to and that he had admired since he was a little boy, or that he would have stayed in the beautiful garden with his parents if it had known all this when he made his decision to come back to life.

A sense of loss engulfed him. Not only had he just lost whichever small connection he had had with Merlin but he had also lost his parents once again, all for someone who didn't seem to care for him at all.

With a heavy heart, Mordred finally fell into a restless sleep. The images of the attack on the druid camp haunted him all night.

Chapter Text

Sara gaze wandered across the training ground. It was a beautiful day. Like her team mates, she was still getting used to seeing the sun (or the rain clouds, this was England after all) every day.

While there was freedom in being able to fly through time and space at will, there was also freedom in keeping one's feet firmly rooted in one place, the legend's fearless leader (who was now moonlighting as King Arthur's left hand) thought.

In the background, she saw Percival and Gwaine practicing their attacks, this time using their left hands. Sara had insisted on this. She wanted all of Camelot's knights to be as ambidextrous as possible.

Sure, Gideon had been able to give Snart a new hand after the whole debacle with Mick, but in the absence of her favorite AI-cum-nurse, they needed to be prepared for every eventuality.

Speaking of which, Percival really needed some chainmail for his arms. Sara smiled as she looked at him and his opponent. Gwaine was... something else. He was fun and lighthearted, yet considerate, loyal and deep. This morning, he had asked her to have dinner together. Sara was smiling in anticipation.

Sara shook herself out of her thoughts. She had been interested in people in other time period's before, and, well, you couldn't really have a future with people from the past. Although, given that they might possibly be stuck here for the rest of their lives, perhaps this time was different?

“Leon, are you even trying to hit him?” Sara shouted at the knight. He was currently practicing with Arthur and it was clear that he was pulling his punches against his king. “You're not doing him any favors by going lightly on him.”

She stalked over to the two of them. “Give me your sword,” she demanded of Leon. After accepting the knight's blade, she attacked Arthur with all that she got. While she wasn't wearing any chain mail, she knew that Arthur had near perfect control over his sword and that he wouldn't hurt her... too much.

Arthur seemed to relish the challenge. His moves were fierce and it was clear to Sara (and probably to everyone else) that it was only a matter of time until he'd have the upper hand. She dropped her sword and turned to Leon. “See? He can take care of himself! I suggest that you actually try to challenge him so that it stays that way.” Leon nodded, sufficiently chastised as Sara handed him his sword back.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Sara saw someone approaching the people on the training field. It was a young man, all dressed in black and not wearing any chain mail. Something about the way he walked made her hair stand on end. He had his eyes locked on the king and made a straight path toward them.

Sara regretted having returned the sword to Leon.

“Mordred!” Gwaine's shout interrupted Sara's observation. The long-haired knight waved wildly towards the man in black. Sara remembered the Mordred they had seen when they had first arrived in Camelot, all injured and in pain. Just a week later, this Mordred seemed like an entirely different person and one that didn't seem all too friendly towards the king.

Had she made a terrible mistake when she had let Nate heal Mordred? Was he really destined to kill Arthur? And if so, how could she stop it?

“That's it for today, gentleman.” Arthur's voice interrupted her. All the noise (clanging of swords, talking and shouting) immediately quieted down. “Before we conclude our training, do you have any questions about what we covered today?”

Some of the knights mumbled “no” or shook their heads.

“Great. I will see you tomorrow then.”

“I have a question, Sire.” The question came from Mordred. It was the first time she had heard him speak. Even though Sara could detect the danger underneath it all, his voice was smooth and pleasant.

“Ask away, Mordred!” Sara was wondering if her imagination played tricks on her or if there was some wariness in the king's tone. Whatever was going on between these two, it had Sara's full attention.

Chapter Text

Mordred knew that he was about to cross a bridge. Yesterday night, when he had attacked the king in his chambers over Merlin, he thought he had already done that. But it seemed as if the king wanted to pretend this incident had never happened. And since only been him and Mordred had been present to bear witness to the incident, there was nothing that could stop Arthur from simply ignoring it.

This, this would be an entirely different animal. After this, nothing could go back to normal.

Mordred took a deep breath: “Sire, I was wondering if you always let your knights rape women, or only if they are druid women?”

His question was met with absolute silence. Everyone's eyes were fixed on Mordred. By the looks of it, his (former?) brothers-in-arms were utterly shocked.

“W-what?” The usually so eloquent Arthur sputtered. It seemed like Mordred had hit a sore spot.

“Do you always let your knights rape women, or only if they happen to be druids? I think this is important information to have, wouldn't you agree?” Mordred advanced towards the king. “After all, us knights, we need to know the rules, don't we?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Arthur erupted in anger.

Whereas Arthur's anger was hot-red, Mordred's was ice-cold. The druid didn't have to think about which one was more powerful. With determination, he took the few last strides towards Arthur. “I'm talking about how the druids have been treated.”

Arthur swallowed and looked at the ground. He visibly had to force himself to look up, into Mordred's eyes: “I never let my men do that.”

Mordred stared him down: “My childhood memory disagrees.” With these words, he turned around and left the training field. His mind was replaying the scenes that had kept him up all night... of what had happened to the druid woman and how, when his father and him escaped the area, he had seen a blonde-haired man at the entrance of the druid camp... Arthur.

Arthur wondered if he was going to get sick.  If Mordred remembered correctly, of which Arthur had no doubt, he must have alluded to the attack on the druid camp Arthur had led long before he became a crown prince. He would never be able to forgive himself for what had happened there.

To the best of his ability, Arthur had tried to stop his men from hurting women and children. It's just that his ability hadn't been enough and that this had led to the massacre. And while Arthur hadn't been aware that one (or perhaps even more) of his men had forced themselves on druid women, that just proved how much he had lost control.

Arthur wanted to sink on the ground, but the touch to his shoulder shook him out of his thoughts. “Arthur!” He recognized the female voice as belonging to Sara. She moved closer and lowered her voice: “Everyone's waiting for a reaction.”

Arthur dared to glanced across the training field. All eyes were on him, the knight's reactions ranging from shocked to enraged (although it wasn't clear at whom). He turned back to Sara. “You're right.”

Sara let go of his shoulder. “You deal with this. I'll go talk to Mordred.” With these words, she turned and left the field.

She had already taken a few steps when Arthur called out to her. “Sara!” When she looked back, he added: “Tell him...” He stopped himself. “Nevermind.”

Chapter Text

Mordred was glad when he had finally made it back into the relative enclosure of the castle, away from the eyes of the knights.

He wasn't sure how they would react to his revelation, or rather revelations. The first one, implied, was that he himself was, in fact, a druid boy. The second one regarded the treatment of his people. That Mordred didn't know how the knights, the closet things to brothers he would ever have, would react to this saddened him.

It was likely time to leave again. He couldn't bear to be around Merlin who was the closest thing the druids had to a king. He also couldn't bear to be around Arthur who was his actual king. And now, he couldn't even stand the presence of his fellow knights anymore.

With a heavy heart, Mordred headed towards his room. He could pack his few belongings and be on his ways. There was still time to travel before nightfall.

“Mordred!” A female voice called out. He didn't recognize the voice and was surprised that the woman hadn't added his honorific title that most of Camelot seemed to insist upon.

Whoever it was, he had no desire to talk to her. With a sigh, the knight turned around. He was met with the sight of the blonde woman he had seen on the training field. She was wearing breeches and a tunic, which was an unusual dress choice for a woman around Camelot.

Mordred put on a pleasant smile. “How can I be of service, milady?”

She brushed it aside. “Can we talk in your room?” She turned towards his door. “I'm Sara, by the way. And not a lady. I'm assisting Arthur.”

“I noticed.” At the mention of his king, Mordred tensed up. “It is an... unusual arrangement.”

“Unusual is kind of my thing.” Sara opened the door. “After you.”

Mordred raised his eyebrows but followed her suggestion.

Sara was wondering how to best approach the delicate subject. She had noticed Mordred's reaction to her proximity to Arthur and was wondering how to convince him that she could be trusted.

“I wanted to talk about what you just said on the training field,” she began, leaning against the wall.

Mordred, who was standing near the table crossed his arms in front of him. “If you have come to...”

“I've come to tell you that I believe you and that I want to hear what happened.” At her words, she noticed Mordred relaxing. “I also want to make sure that this doesn't happen again.” Sara suppressed a shudder at the thought of what would happen if Mordred had to have this conversation with someone who wasn't from the 21^st century.

“I can agree to that.” Mordred pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” Sara asked in a gentle voice.

“Please.” Mordred waved in her general direction. Once she had taken a seat, he looked at her. It was the first time Sara had made real eye contact with him. To Sara, it seemed like he was barely suppressing tears. It was strange to see the man who had allegedly killed Arthur so vulnerable (not that he would look overly threatening to Sara as it was).  “How do we proceed?”

Sara took a deep breath. “Why don't we start with you telling me what you remember.”

Mordred got choked up as he was describing the smell of the attacked druid camp. He tried to calm himself down and continue but to no avail.

“Take your time.” Sara leaned forward in her seat. “I know it's hard.”

“I only just remembered this.” Mordred said. He evaluated whether he should say more or not. Sara was a strange woman but she felt trustworthy. “When I was on my deathbed, I saw my mother. She was waiting for me on the other side.” He looked at Sara, to gauge her response.

She nodded, before briefly glancing to the side. “I've been... dead, too.” She looked back at him. “Coming back wasn't easy. It felt like a part of my soul had died.”

Mordred felt his response at the tip of his tongue. He wasn't sure how safe it was to speak these things aloud, in Camelot's walls. It was too close to magic. And yet... he looked at the door, to assure himself it was locked. “My people, we have rituals that help with losing one's soul.”

Sara smiled at him. “I probably could have used that, instead of taking my dark emotions out on other people.”

Mordred's heart did a stutter. That had almost sounded like acceptance. Cautiously, he pressed on: “You are not from around here, are you?” Sara shook her head. “Where are you from?”

“Across the seas.” Did he imagine that or did her response sound a little bit too smooth?

“What brings you to these lands?”

Sara sighed. “It wasn't planned. We got lost on our way. And we came here in a giant ship that's not working anymore.”

“So, you are stranded here.”

Sara nodded. “Yes.”

“What do people think about magic, back where you are from?” It was about as direct a question as Mordred dared to ask. Hopefully, the answer would give him some insight into the workings of her mind—and those of her men.

“They mostly don't believe in it,” she said. “It's not like here, there are no repercussions for people who try magic. At worst, people might laugh at you.” She paused. “One of my friend's a magician. Or, I guess you'd call that a sorcerer here?”

Mordred paled. “You should not admit to being friends with someone with magic in Camelot. It is not safe.” In fact, it probably wasn't safe anywhere. He sat up straight. “We should stop this conversation.”

Sara had tried to get him to keep talking but Mordred had refused to share more. She was a nice woman and he had lost far too many people to the persecution of magic. He wouldn't risk another person's life. 

Chapter Text

Just when a heart-broken Merlin thought the day couldn't get any worse, a pale Arthur had appeared in the Physician's chambers and dragged him on a hunting trip. After a while, it had started pouring down from the heavens.

That's how Merlin now found himself drenched in a cave, with a miserable Arthur by his side.

“Show me your hand.” Merlin said, holding out a hand to Arthur. 

“It's nothing.” Arthur waved it away.

“Your knuckles are bleeding.” After finding the cave, Merlin had had to stop Arthur from punching the wall. Arthur ignored him.

The two set in silence for a while. Merlin allowed his thoughts to stray back to Mordred which did nothing to improve his mood. He was almost glad when Arthur's loud sigh drew his attention back to the moment.

“I'm a horrible leader.”

“You have people who would be willing to die for you.” Merlin sought Arthur's eye. “Including me.”

“But that's it, though.” Arthur returned his look. “I want people to be willing to live for me.” He slumped in the corner. When Merlin got closer, Arthur pressed something into his hand. “Take this to the queen.”

“What?” Merlin's voice sounded slightly hysterical when he noticed he was holding Arthur's royal seal in his hands. 

“I'm not going back to Camelot.” Arthur sat up, glaring at Merlin defiantly. “Guinevere is a much better ruler than me anyway.”

“And?” Merlin pressed his hands into his hips, glaring back down at Arthur. “What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. I can find work. Perhaps I can stay with Hunith for a while, if I help her out with her fields.”

Merlin suppressed a hysterical laughter: “You want to stay with my mom?”

“Why not.” Arthur pressed his lips together. “You stayed with her for a long time.”

“She's my mom.”

 “It's not my fault my own mother died.” With those words, Arthur closed his eyes. Merlin fell silent. After a while, the warlock sat down next to his king who still wouldn't move. He took in Arthur's hair, sticking to his head from sweat. His posture reminded him of a child, not a king. Perhaps spending a few days in his Hunith's loving presence would do Arthur good. Merlin was sure that his mother wouldn't mind, even if Arthur hadn't helped save her village all those years ago.

“No, it's not your fault,” Merlin eventually said, softly. “And perhaps it would be good to spend some time with Hunith. We can leave once the rain has stopped.”

“Thank you, Merlin.”

Chapter Text

Sara had made up her mind. She needed to come clean to Gwaine before this progressed any further.

The legend's leader glanced up rather nervously as Gwaine entered her room. She normally wasn't one prone to fear but he also normally didn't have to tell someone she liked what she was about to share with him.

“Lady Lance!” Gwaine dramatically bowed in front of her. Upon noticing that she remained impassive in the face of his theatrics, he asked: “Is something the matter?”

“How about you sit down, Gwaine?” Sara pointed to the chair. A few minutes ago, a servant had brought dinner but Sara couldn't feign interest in the steaming meal on her table. “I have to tell you something.”

Glancing back and forth between the food and Sara, Gwaine hesitantly sat down. “I'm not going to like this, am I?” He broke eye contact and grabbed two sausages.

Sara wondered how the hell she was supposed to answer that question. There wasn't really a precedent for what Gwaine was about to hear which made it hard to guess how anyone would react to it. “I don't know.”

“So, you're not going to end our courtship?” Gwaine sounded relieved. He reached for the vegetables and heaped some on his plate.

“We are courting?” They had never spoken about what their shared dinner and trips to the tavern were all about.

Gwaine took a bite. “What would you call what you're doing where you're from?”

Sara had asked herself that question before? Were they dating? Were they friends with benefits, not that that term would mean anything to Gwaine? Sara swallowed. This here, this was exactly the problem. She reached for her wine goblet and downed it.

“What's the matter with you, my love?” Gwaine reached for her hand. “Why don't you tell me what you want to tell me.”

“I have no idea how to start.” Sara experienced something she didn't often experience and that was utter helplessness. How could she even begin to explain this?

Gwaine paused, appearing to grasp the significance of the situation. “Why don't you start somewhere, then?” His voice sounded gentle. “We have all evening and all night, if it should be required.”

Sara refilled her wine goblet and downed it, before meeting Gwaine's eyes. “Before I do so, I need two assurances from you. The first one is that I need your oath that what I'm about to share with you will remain between the two of us, under all circumstances. The second is that you will believe me, even if it will sound utterly crazy to you.”

Gwaine slowly nodded. “I know you well enough by now to trust your discernment. I swear that I will keep this a secret.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. Sara admonished herself to just get it over with. “I'm... I'm from the future.”

“Oh.” Gwaine stared at her. Blinked once. Blinked twice.

Sara noticed how her pulse picked up. “I thought I should tell you before this... this thing between us progresses any further.”

Gwaine nodded, distractedly. “That makes a lot more sense than any explanation I tried to come up with. “

“Explanation?”

Gwaine folded his hands together. “I could tell something was different about you. Your fighting style, I've never seen that and I have traveled a lot. The customs you talk about. You speak our language like you were born here and then use words I don't understand. It all didn't add up.” He smiled at her.

Sara returned the smile, a bit unsure. “So, we're okay?” That had gone easier than she expected. “This is not disturbing to you?”

“We fight magical creatures on a near-daily basis. I think this sounds less crazy.” He paused, before continuing conversationally, “so, how exactly far into the future are you?”

Chapter Text

“You're telling me it takes one-and-a-half millennia for people to not be completely stupid anymore!?!?!” Gwaine yelled. He couldn't keep his voice down.

“Erm, yes?” Sara nodded.

“And my home still has a monarchy?” Gwaine was practically livid. Hadn't they learned anything? How could people still think that one's birth should afford one certain privileges or disadvantages?

Sara nodded. “Although, to be fair, the queen of this place, and many monarchs elsewhere doesn't have any real power anymore. The people decide everything.”

This only appeased Gwaine a little bit. “If the royals don't have any power, why are they kept around?”

“Many places have gotten rid of monarchy altogether,” Sara continued. “The place where I was born, there was a revolution and we...,” she stopped talking. “I'm, I'm not sure if I should tell you all this about the future.”

“Why not?!?” Gwaine yelled.

“Because,” she paused for a moment, “there are rules to time travel and it's not good for people to know what the future brings.”

“Because the future sucks?” Gwaine grabbed his wine goblet.

“That's... that's not exactly the reason,” Sara said, “although... I better stop here.” She sat in silence for a moment. “It's, it's difficult to explain.”

“Try me.”

“Not, not now. Please, Gwaine.” Sara sounded more pleading than he had ever heard him and it soften his heart a bit.

Gwaine shook his head, deflated. “I can't believe it!” He ran his hands through his long hair. “I thought perhaps 20 years, or a hundred.” He glanced at Sara. “Although, even a hundred years would be creepy. You could be my great-granddaughter or something.”

“Oh.” Sara held her breath. “Oh no.” While they were born more than just a hundred years apart, this didn't mean that he couldn't be one of her ancestors very, very, very far back.

Gwaine buried his face in his hands. “I'm just glad we didn't...”

“Please don't finish that sentence!” Sara said. She looked disgusted. Then, suddenly, her face took on an entirely different expression. “Oh.”

“What is it?”

“I... I can't tell you without sharing information I shouldn't share. It might mess up the future.”

Gwaine could feel his blood boiling again. “To hell with the future!”

“Let's just say that I know there's no way you could be my ancestor.” Sara looked him in the eye. “According to all the information my... my all-knowing assistant could come up with that's not possible. I'm sorry to say this but it appears that you died young and unmarried. Without any children.” While speaking these words, she realized that she was talking to Gwaine, who was like a male version of herself. “Unless you accidentally impregnated someone you didn't know about?”

“Oh.” Gwaine realized that under normal circumstances, hearing about one's premature death should be a devastating experience. But these were anything but normal circumstances and so a relieved grin spread on his face. 

Chapter Text

Hunith had made Arthur feel immediately welcome. She pulled him into a warm, motherly hug. Arthur couldn't even remember how long it had been since he had received a hug from anyone other than his wife and while he usually wasn't one for physical contact, everything Hunith did made him feel loved and accepted.

After taking a look at him and Merlin, she immediately made them some food. When Arthur at the stew, he noticed just how much he had changed since he first came to Ealdor. Back then, he was a spoiled brat who had complained about the quality of the food Hunith had prepared. Thankfully, Guinevere had talked some sense into him and pointed out to him that people here didn't have much.

Now he realized that the food he was eating, as simple as it may be, had been prepared with love and with skill. “This is delicious,” Arthur said, while finishing his bowl, just a few moments after Merlin who nodded at his words. Hunith rewarded both of them with a warm smile.

Eventually, she had asked Merlin to fetch some water for her. Once Hunith and Arthur were alone, she said: “I can see that something's troubling you.”

Arthur startled. He hadn't expected that it was this obvious. But of course, he had never had a mother, growing up, so perhaps this was to be expected? He took a deep breath. “It involves Merlin. I don't think I should speak about it in front of you.”

Hunith smiled, gently. “I love Merlin more than I love my own life. And yet, the last thing I want for him is to hurt someone else. That's not the man I raised him to be. So, what's happening?”

“He...,” Arthur wasn't quite sure how to explain the situation without also mentioning that him and Merlin had been sleeping together, “he's been getting closer to one of my knights.” He waited for Hunith to understand before continuing.

“Oh,” Hunith's eyes were wide. Arthur started to panic, wondering if she'd be upset. Merlin's mother always struck him as the most loving, most tolerant perhaps but perhaps he had misread her? Hunith's question interrupted his ruminations: “So Merlin and your knight... are they happy?”

Arthur nodded. “I... I think so.” It hurt to say it.

Hunith smiled. “That's good.” She paused for a moment. “But you're not?”

“I... he's been shutting me out.” He slumped his shoulders. That was one way of putting it and it was close enough to the truth for Arthur.

“That must hurt.” Hunith nodded. “You were always so close. I sometimes thought that he was yours from the moment you met.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “I have a wife.”

“And she's lovely. She's brave, kind and intelligent. Your people could hope for no better queen.” Hunith smiled. “But she's not Merlin, is she?”

Arthur shook his head, not trusting his own voice. Hunith continued: “And that probably makes you feel disloyal to Gwen, doesn't it?” Arthur nodded again.

Hunith paused for a moment. “You're in a challenging situation, Arthur. And that's because there are two versions of you, the public one and the private one. The king needs and wants Gwen. And Arthur, well... Arthur wants something different, doesn't he?”

“Yes,” Arthur croaked.

“You can't blame yourself for your feelings, Arthur.” Hunith smiled at him. “Only for your actions.” Arthur cringed internally as he remembered some of his actions.

“But what if... what if my actions were less than honorable?”

“Then you can strive to do better in the future.” Hunith paused. “It may be the same for Gwen. She might want to be your queen, for the love of your people. But her heart... her heart may still want Lancelot.” She glanced at Arthur. “You're all doing the best you can. Just try to be gentle with each other, all of you. It always hurts when you can't be with the one you love.”

Arthur sighed. “Yes, yes it does.”

Hunith took his hands: “I lost the man I loved when I was with child, with Merlin.” She paused. “And what I can tell you is that life is still worth living, even if we can't be with the one we love.”

Arthur felt his respect for Hunith growing even more. She had been in a similar situation to his own father, with a broken heart and a child to take care of, and yet both parents had taken so divergent paths. Uther had become a tyrant to his people whereas Hunith had become an inspiration. And yet, he wasn't sure he could take her advice in this case. “But you, you had a child to care for.”

“And you, Arthur Pendragon,” Hunith took his hands, “you have a lot of children to care for. And men and women, too.”

Arthur blinked once, twice, as her words settled in. He suddenly felt a newfound enthusiasm curse through his body that urged him to get up. “Thank you, Hunith.” He brought their joint hands to his heart before letting go and getting up. He paused for a moment as a thought struck him. “You wouldn't happen to be interested in the position of Court Advisor?”

Hunith laughed and shook her hand. “My place is here. I have my own people to take care of.” She got up, too.

Arthur smiled. He was too much of an experienced negotiator to let the matter go quite as easily: “You could send a part of your sizeable salary home to your people. Of course, that position would also allow you to argue very effectively for your people's cause. And that's not even mentioning all the time you can spend with your son and Gaius.”

“I would miss this place here too much.”

“Which is why the position would naturally come with a generous amount of paid time off.” Arthur couldn't suppress a grin. He was enjoying this discussion.

Hunith was grinning back at him. “Are you in that desperate need for a Court Advisor?”

“I'm in that desperate need for a competent Court Advisor,” Arthur replied. “Seriously, you should see your competition.” The king though it best to avoid mentioning that Hunith's main competition was her own son. It seemed that she had all the positive attributes of Merlin (including the ability to effortlessly banter with the king) without her son's clumsiness and his secrecy.

“In that case, who am I to deny the call of duty?” Hunith nodded at Arthur. “I'll get packing so we can leave in the morning.”

After noticing how little time it had taken Hunith to pack her belongings, Arthur made a mental note to himself to get her some new attire once they made it to Camelot. Perhaps Hunith would like something like the dresses the ladies at court were wearing? And while he was at it, he should look into making her a lady, too.

Chapter Text

That night, Mordred once again fell into a restless sleep.

It was still pitch-black outside when he awoke, with a racing heart and drenched in sweat. In his dreams, he had once again seen those horrible images from when the druid camp had been attacked. He had once again witnessed that woman be violated and killed in front of his eyes, unable to do something about. And he had seen the woman's face when she turned to him—and realized that it had been his mother.

Mordred stared into the darkness. He wanted to burn Camelot into the ground.