i can't hear you in the dark.

[disguiser]

WHO? merlin (disguiser) & mordred (dread).
WHAT? set immediately after series 5, episode 9.

[ out of all of arthur's knights (and he has many), ser mordred is often thought of as the most loyal, but merlin knows better.

or — he thought he did.

the future is never set in stone, is what gaius had told him, and as much as merlin would desperately like to believe him, he's seen what becomes of arthur and of mordred's loyalty, a vision he can't scrub from his mind no matter how hard he tries. so despite everything, despite mordred proving himself time and time again to be a fierce and true ally of camelot, merlin cannot trust him.

he just. can't.

guinevere has been saved, recovered from the dark binds of morgana's magic, and where merlin should feel relief, he feels only worry. their return to camelot would take a day and a half's journey, and the four of them made camp shortly before night fell to rest, with arthur announcing that they'd pick up again at first light. they gathered around the campfire in silence, arthur sitting with gwen and modred taking his place by merlin's side.

and when mordred's hand brushed merlin's as he sat, igniting a ripple of electric heat through his fingers and arm, merlin cast him a long sideways glance and was greeted only with a soft, familiar smile.

merlin has never found a smile so alarming.

eventually, gwen and arthur retire for the night, curled up on a bedroll together, sleeping as soundly as they've ever slept. merlin chews anxiously at his lip and watches them for longer than he should, poking at the fire with a long branch before dropping it to smooth his palms down his thighs. ]

Why'd you come? [ the question is sudden and abrupt, almost accusatory in tone, and again, merlin shifts to glance at mordred. ] You shouldn't have.

Comments

[dread]

[ merlin looks away first and his body flushes with frustration, capable only of recognizing how foreign those words sound but wanting to understand. the weight merlin carries is unreasonably heavy and mordred stares hard at him as if expecting an explanation to follow because he wants to ease the burden that goes unnoticed by everyone else. but the weight of what presses on merlin's mind doesn't weigh down his shoulders, it runs through his veins and sinks down to his bones, someplace impossible for mordred to reach.

he doesn't ask merlin to explain, just looks over his face and wonders if there's anyone merlin is honest with. he stares until merlin closes his eyes, flinching a little like he's been slapped. merlin looks like a different person like this, silent and surrounded by shadow. he thinks emrys but only to himself, turning the name over in his mind with a tightness in his chest, the lazy slip of syllables sounding like something sacred, something precious.

the part of him that wants to provoke merlin lingers always in the back of his mind, a dull roar behind his eyes that makes his hands twitch and flex, wanting to force out an explanation, why he cannot earn merlin's trust, why merlin values his life so little despite his devotion to the king, what merlin has seen to be so unrelenting. ]

You do not have to be. Merlin— [ exhaling his name sharply, he trails off like the breath has been punched out of him, eyebrows knitting together like language is suddenly too clunky and inaccurate to form on his tongue.

it cannot truly be fear in merlin's eyes, in the sharp looks he levels only on him. when merlin uses magic, he can feel it, the air ripples with power, leaves him breathless and amazed, nearly swooning. mordred's magic is weaker, soft from disuse, far more quiet — merlin cannot fear him.

reaching, he eases his hand over the top of merlin's, turning it over so his grip on dirt and rock is lost, replacing the weight of it with his thumb, desperate with the contact as if his sincerity can be conveyed this way or maybe this will be merlin's breaking point.

his voice falls lower like he's confessing something, thumb rubbing lightly over skin, his gaze unfaltering. ] You hate me. Do you know how you look at me?

[disguiser]

[ the fear merlin feels for mordred has nothing to do with himself but everything to do with arthur.

never in his life has he felt so helpless, which is — ridiculous, because of who he is, of what he can do. mordred has magic, but his magic is untested and not often used and nothing in comparison to merlin's magic, to morgana's. merlin could stop him, could end this all right now, and yet every time he feels his magic pumping through his veins to tingle at his fingertips he stops himself because he cannot directly kill mordred and that is the only reason he's still alive.

mordred has done nothing but serve arthur and camelot loyally and faithfully. sometimes merlin feels that mordred is more knight than druid, that he belongs more in arthur's world than in merlin's.

it's not what you've done, he thinks, over and over and over. it's what you'll do.

mordred says his name, and then reaches over to touch him before merlin can react. his touch burns like a torch to the skin, with all of merlin's breath leaving him on a sharp hiss as he stares, unmoving, to where their hands are entwined. anything mordred says after that pounds dully through merlin's heard, heard but unacknowledged, and when he looks up to meet mordred's eye, the weight of his stare is like an open wound, too blistered and bruised to touch.

it's not what you've done, he thinks, and he closes his eyes to breathe and to relax the coil in his chest that threatens to burst from him, to betray every thought he's thinking. i'm not afraid of you.

( but he is, he is, he is. )

merlin's eyes are dark and the color of molten gold when he opens them again, his hand limp in mordred's as he leans forward and clumsily catches the corner of his mouth in a kiss. ]

[dread]

[ merlin's silence is not unusual, though mordred has seen him laugh until he cries because of gwaine and talk at arthur until the king remembers to inform him that he hadn't been paying attention, only for merlin to scoff but turn away and grin. on good days he greets mordred with a tight smile and polite words but more often than not, he is met with silence, a slight tilt of merlin's head as if to address his rank but not his presence.

he doesn't expect to be thrown back by force of magic as morgana had done but he tenses anyway, watching merlin stare at their hands with his own breath caught in his throat. the gesture had not been entirely empty but it seems almost painfully intimate now, like forcing merlin's hand against his had been a crime, a step sideways, a catalyst for fire.

meeting his gaze without flinching, he doesn't know whether he's trying to wound or melt, to prove or explain, knowing merlin will not harm him as surely as he will not explain any further. clutching merlin's hand demands a reaction and he is nearly breathless from watching the other man compose himself, sweat pooling at the nape of his neck, thick red material sticking to his skin.

if this is a trick or a test, he has lost, tension tight in his spine while his lips part and press. his fingers curl around merlin's thin wrist like he's scared to let go, urging closer with a soft clunk of bunching chain mail, licking across the seam of his lips with a dizzying tilt of his head, his eyes lowered without quite closing.

merlin is not his enemy but this is an opening, a blindside and a bared neck and where his magic is dull now, his reflexes are not, kissing him like a direct blow to the gut, piercing through armor and skin while swiping his tongue past his lips, licking into his mouth with a groan, low and wounded. ]

[disguiser]

[ merlin's not kissed or been kissed very often. there was once when he was very young, with a girl from his village; their kiss had been brief and wet and a little painful when she jerked her head down, smashing her nose into merlin's teeth. then there was freya years later, and their kisses had been brief, too, but sweet and good and so heart-wrenchingly right.

the kiss he shares with mordred doesn't feel right, but it doesn't feel wrong, either.

mordred kisses him hard, his fingers gripping his wrist tight enough that merlin is sure he's leaving deep, mordred-shaped bruises for merlin to remember him by. for once, he doesn't mind; he wants him to leave bruises, wants to feel the scrape of mordred's teeth across his bottom lip hours after they've separated.

knowing who mordred is and what he'll eventually do, kissing him like this feels like a betrayal. merlin's body and magic react accordingly, energy crackling in the air above their heads before he breathes in deep against mordred's mouth and forces that energy back, away to a place that can't be touched or seen because sharing his magic with mordred would be even wronger than kissing him. ( and because merlin cannot trust himself not to hurt him like this, when he's so close and open and vulnerable, they're both so vulnerable. )

he shifts closer as his hand desperately grips first at his bicep and then at his shoulder, inching up the back of his neck to curl loosely into mordred's soft curls. mordred tastes harder than he's expecting, like the earth if the earth were all steel and metal, like a knight, like camelot, and merlin hates it as much as he desperately wants it, drowning a soft sound against mordred's lips as he sucks at his tongue and claws at his hair. ]

[dread]

[ kissing merlin is to taste the magic he has left behind, the only thing he had for so long before it betrayed him and ruined him, estranged and thrust worlds away from the future he was fed as a child. it would be like clutching again to a long lost lover if he knew what that was like, achingly sweet if mordred knew how to make it so. but he has never kissed someone of his own volition before and only knows how to kiss the way people have chased after his own mouth, desperate and hard, like a battle to be won.

this is the first time he has wanted to kiss back, so conscious of the magic in merlin that his goes unnoticed, his eyes flashing bright like burning amber while blinking rapidly, eyes falling shut quickly after. he can feel the air pop around him, tasting merlin on his tongue like magic itself before its presence lessens and mordred feels like he's been robbed, his body unreasonably cold in the absence of it.

he does not have the foresight to check on arthur and his queen, his first shortcoming as a knight— the tendency of his heart to beat loud enough to eclipse all else. whether it's because he trusts merlin to have the king's best interests in mind at all times or because he himself cannot find the thought to care with merlin moving closer, his hand gripping at his arm with an emotion there mordred cannot place.

their words are always clipped and tense but mordred feels like he's speaking multitudes without being aware of how much he's divulging, nearly flinching when merlin's fingers slip through his hair only to surge forward and grab at his sides, fingers scrambling and splayed against the dirty fabric of merlin's shirt to pull him closer, diminishing any space left between them. he pulls merlin against him as close as limbs and angle will allow, kissing him while he forgets to breathe and gasps against him, all teeth and lip until he sucks in enough air to lick back into his mouth.

in contrast to all else, one hand lifts daringly to rest lightly at merlin's neck, thumb tucked into the scarf draped around him. it's tender but it's more dangerous than that, holding merlin vulnerable against his palm, his teeth sinking into the plush center of his lower lip hard, trying to pull merlin away from reining his magic back in. ]

[disguiser]

[ arthur or gwen could wake up at any moment to see them like this, locked tightly together with lips and tongue and desperate gripping fingers, but somehow — for once, for once, merlin doesn't think of arthur.

merlin doesn't think of arthur.

mordred's magic pulses in the air, soft and quiet but crackling with an energy that's fiercer than merlin would have ever guessed. he is lost in the taste of his mouth and the shape of his tongue, the way his teeth leave indents in his lip, the way he can feel the muscles in mordred's shoulders rippling in even rhythm to the ripples of his magic, and he is so close now, his hands on merlin's sides and merlin's neck —

too close, he thinks. arthur, he thinks. camelot, he thinks, and merlin draws back abruptly with his hand still tangled in mordred's thick hair. even as he recoils, he can't put quite enough distance between them, can't bring himself to pull too far away, so he hovers there instead, too close, too close. ]

No. [ the word leaves him on a whisper before he realizes what he's said. merlin stares at his mouth, and then at his eyes, and mordred's eyes are blue and honest and raw and the way he looks at him makes merlin's gut coil tight with heat. ]

No — I'm sorry, Mordred, I can't.

[ he could, really, but a lie feels so much less vulnerable than the truth. merlin releases him slowly, stiffly, his hand sliding from his hair to palm down the back of his neck. ]

[dread]

[ mordred's magic surges with an intensity that almost hurts, an ache in his belly when merlin pulls away from him, eyes opening with a thin exhale. merlin is never quite close enough, not even now, feeling a kingdom's length away from him with those fingers still clutching his hair, stunned into a still silence.

his mind catches up with reality in uneven pulls, his heart speeding ahead, beating heavy and loud between them with complete authority over his limbs, over his magic hissing like steam, dropping like slow rainfall. chest heaving, he remains silent, listening to merlin like he's speaking a language to be studied and translated, ancient code that has to mean something other than no.

trembling under the press of merlin's hand, he meets the gaze focused on him, seeking out an ounce of honesty in his eyes and finding nothing past the shield there, wondering how guarded merlin is when he looks into arthur's eyes, when he's speaking to gaius. he wonders how often people call him out on his lies or if no one second guesses his dishonesty— if merlin knows how to be honest.

he doesn't relax his grip, doesn't move, only swallows slowly once merlin's hand shifts down to his neck, feeling uncomfortably weak down to his bones, as if the density there is collapsing, his insides thinning. nodding with a slight tilt of his head, he licks over his mouth, his thumb shifting up to swipe over the center of merlin's throat, careful with the gesture like he has something to prove here. ]

Merlin. [ he thinks the name quietly, not pleading but steady, unable to be so logical with his heart pressing heavily against his ribcage. please echoes in his head, lingers under his tongue, strains against his teeth— but he does not speak it, does not think it, just drops his hand to the side of merlin's shoulder, unwilling to put the distance back between them. ]

[disguiser]

[ honesty is too hard, too rough and raw and painful, when merlin has spent so long hiding the truth from everyone. there's too much at stake, too much that could be lost, too much that he's worked so hard for, and he could destroy everything he's built not because he's a liar but because he foolishly wishes he didn't have to be.

and then there's mordred, who digs deep past merlin's chest with a single look and a single thought, mordred who should have never lived at all. mordred who knows of merlin's dishonesty and says nothing, mordred who fiercely guards his secrets and asks nothing in return.

he could lose himself in him, and it would be good and right and wrong and poison, poison, poison.

mordred's voice is an anchor in his head, grounding him back to reality even as his heart beats frantically in his chest. his breath catches once and then again, and merlin recoils entirely to keep the panic bubbling in his throat from surfacing.

he draws his knees to his chest and closes his eyes as he draws his scarf over his mouth with quivering fingers. his lips burn from their kiss, a tingling hot reminder of what he's done, and with his scarf hiding half his face from view, he draws his bottom lip into his mouth and sucks to rid himself of mordred's taste (or to taste him all over again). ]

I don't hate you. [ even now, speaking with mordred like this feels uncomfortable and intimate, but he doesn't trust himself to speak aloud with his chest still heaving. ]

[dread]

[ time seems to slow, crawling at a surreal pace until merlin's breath stutters between them and motion rushes back into order, the fire crackling abrupt and loud next to them. he is certain he can hear the uneven thump of merlin's heart when he pulls away and mordred lets him go, letting his own hands fall and hang oddly before pulling them back, glancing away as his palms graze his knees.

he feels calm and unsteady all at once, mistaken in his assumption that drawing out a reaction from merlin would make him feel any different than the short glares and sharp words. waiting until he can breathe without his chest aching, he shifts to sit facing the fire, looking away altogether. merlin looks injured and part of mordred is glad, something sick and tight in the back of his throat feeling like he's won some small victory.

but it's a fluke, another knot to untangle, no part of him wanting merlin to suffer. his palm tightens against one knee— merlin had been warm under his hand and it surprises him now, he had expected him to be cold, slippery and icy to the touch.

another lie, he thinks, to himself. it has been a long time since mordred has spoken with anyone like this and it's almost startling to hear merlin in his head, drudging up memories that make his knees twitch. he blinks against the warmth of the fire but doesn't respond immediately, unsure if the heat at his face is from the flame or from the phantom pressure at the back of his head where merlin's hand had curled into his hair.

he glances over to where the king and queen rest, not needing the quiet snores filtering in between the fire popping to know they're still asleep. watching the dark sprawl of them, he wonders how the king factors into this, what about arthur makes merlin this way. training the emotion from his face, he glances back to merlin, gaze lifting from the tight line of his mouth to his eyes, a slow shift that's intentional enough. ]

Don't you? [ his eyebrows twitch instead or asking why keep lying; the only slip in his expression. ]

[disguiser]

[ the look merlin shoots mordred in response is only mildly derisive, and he follows it quickly with a crooked smile as he lets his scarf fall away from his face. ]

I don't.

[ and that's a truth, the truth, that merlin cannot lie about. he doesn't trust mordred, no, not in camelot or by arthur's side, but if merlin cannot even find the will to hate morgana who's caused him so much grief and suffering, how could he hate mordred who's done nothing but aid him to the best of his ability?

merlin stares into the fire, and then at arthur and gwen, to keep from meeting mordred's eyes or looking at his kiss-bruised mouth. ]

Thank you — for what you did today. [ his voice sounds too loud in the nighttime silence, but he prefers speaking aloud to speaking in mordred's head. ] If you hadn't come when you did . . .

[ well, they'd be in a bad way.

caught between shame and guilt and a heavy sense of failure, merlin swallows the rest of that sentence and tosses a pebble into the flames. ]

[dread]

[ mordred does not respond, looking away without reason to contest merlin's words, making no effort to search for the truth that is too hidden to surface, accepting it for what it is.

the silence is somehow less tense now, nowhere close to relaxed but lacking the barbed jabs and slanted looks from merlin, his words sounding almost natural and not punched out of him. mordred notices— of course he notices, how merlin's eyes darken when arthur speaks to him, the open scoff when the king had praised his timing earlier, his foresight to follow after them.

it bothers merlin. and there's no doubt if gwaine, if leon— if anyone else had pieced the odd bits of behavior together and shown up instead, merlin would of been easy smiles and gratitude, however reluctant.

he prefers to hear merlin's voice aloud, the realization surprises him and then it doesn't— it has been a very long time since they've spoken this way and the memories that surfaced hadn't been pleasant. nodding, his mouth quirks at one corner, a self conscious smile. he does not repeat what he wants to say, that he had only been doing his duty, what he swore to do to the best of his ability, but the sentiment is appreciated.

glancing up after another stretch of silence, he scans the stars before allowing himself to look at merlin again, his mouth twitching wordlessly before pulling himself up to crouch in front of the fire, tossing in a few more makeshift logs. ] You should sleep, Merlin. It will be light soon.

[disguiser]

[ however wrong merlin's feelings may be, some selfish, lonely part of him wants to reach out and pull mordred back to him when he shifts to crouch by the fire. he can't see his face like this; all he can see is the shadow of his profile and the familiar way his mouth quirks slightly at the corner in a smile that's both infuriating and thrilling.

he feels cold again, even with the heat of the crackling fire.

despite mordred's soft suggestion, merlin sits in silence for a long moment. he stares wordlessly at mordred's back and chews nervously on the pad of his thumb, before he drops his hand to his lap. ]

Right, then. [ slowly, he stands, wincing when his joints pop and crack as he extends each limb. mordred hovers still and silent by the fire, the flames casting orange shadows across his face, and from this angle, merlin can properly see him again.

he still wants to kiss him (and kiss him and kiss him until he can't breathe, until mordred groans in that way he had before), but he settles instead for brushing his fingers across his shoulder to draw his attention back to him. ]

You've done well, Mordred. [ the praise feels dull and hollow and useless, but merlin feels compelled to speak it all the same. ] I'm sorry I've never said so.

[dread]

[ the fire rises with renewed strength but mordred makes no move to sit back down, lingering a little too close to the flame but without the urge to lift his hands into the fire to watch the heat dance around the magic barrier between his skin and agony, not even bothering to recall the words to the spell any longer.

he knows merlin is watching him but he tries to train his thoughts away from him, the way merlin's nails had felt against his scalp, the skinny bone of his wrist between his fingers, the surprising warmth of his mouth and the sound that had been pressed past his own lips, something still echoing vaguely in the back of his mind.

his face flushes and he can blame the fire again but he doesn't bother, head bowing forward to stare hard at the rocks surrounding the sloppily made campfire when he hears merlin shift and stand up.

merlin creeps back into his vision and he cannot help but sneak a glance from the corner of his eye. another crooked smile threatens his mouth but he licks it away, glancing up at him only after he's finished speaking.

mordred's gaze lingers, looking over his face carefully in the warm flicker of light, not searching for truth this time. he thinks about the king he's sworn to protect, tucked in tight with guinevere's body close— and he's envious for a moment, wanting merlin to drape his arms around him, wanting that meager warmth far more than what the fire will offer him while he keeps watch.

but he believes merlin and it offers a warmth of another kind. crossing one arm across his chest, he presses his palm to the hand that grazed his shoulder, pushing down against his fingers before dropping the touch just as quickly. he smiles, less crooked. ] Sleep well, Merlin.