Title: Long Live The King
Characters/Pairings: Mordred/Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Gwen, Morgana
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin
Summary: What if when the Great Dragon said that Mordred would 'kill' Arthur he didn't exactly mean it the way it sounded? Mordred discovers that he fulfilled that prophecy, while living in Arthur's court, loving Emrys, and Arthur still alive on the throne.
When King Uther died on his deathbed of something as unspectacular as pneumonia, Mordred and his people rejoiced. They had long awaited the death of the tyrant king, awaited the time foretold when magic would once again rule the land, and awaited the time when Mordred’s destiny was to unfurl.
None was more anxious than Mordred.
The youth was now a man, nineteen summers had passed since his birth and he was ready. He’d been ready since childhood, since that fateful stay in Camelot. His body itched with his anticipation, his magic thrumming like a heartbeat.
He knew his place, knew what had been foretold of him, and knew that he was ready for it.
He was ready to see him again.
The power that Emrys radiated was intoxicating, and Mordred had been unable to forget the taste of it as Emrys held him close, protected him, fed him, healed him. He was in awe at how strong a power it was that surrounded the young man who, at that time at least, had been virtually untrained in the ways of magic.
And yet one so untrained had defeated the Priestess of the Old Religion. He’d commanded the heavens and it had obeyed his will, smiting her down to never stand again. Where others had died trying, Emrys had conquered with such ease that it brought fear to the hearts of the druids and other magic users, but with that fear was want, acceptance, and adoring worship.
All those who once worshipped the Old Religion saw him, not as the Priest, but as the Source of the magic itself. There were those offering little sacrifices to him in their little hovels or wherever it was that they hid, knowing that Emrys was now the right hand man of the man who would be crowned king.
And they all knew that he would govern by the new King’s side.
They all knew who it would be that would lift the ban on magic, who would be their true sovereign.
They all knew who the one with the true power in the kingdom was.
Even if Emrys didn’t realize it himself, everyone else did.
Mordred had dedicated himself to studying everything he could get his hands on from the moment he’d been returned to his people as a child. He’d studied the magics, the sciences, and the art of physical combat. He’d known he could never surpass Emrys, never even dream of surpassing him, and yet he’d wanted to be as much of an equal as he could.
When news of King Arthur not only lifting the ban of magic on the land, but appointing Emrys as his Right Hand, his Royal Sorcerer and Advisor, Mordred had known that it was his time to act. Despite everything the witches and wizards were still al little hesitant to trust, to return to Camelot. The world was surprised when the druids of all people left their Isle and traveled to Camelot, to kneel before Arthur’s throne, Mordred the first to bow to his knees, his gaze sliding to where Emrys stood by the king’s side, radiating so much power it left him somewhat breathless.
The king’s eyes had been on him, wary, yet Mordred hadn’t realized this as he’d stood once more and stood back so his people could continue to bow and pledge their allegiance. His gaze caught Emrys’ and held, smirking slightly, realizing that while the years showed handsomely on the king, Emrys, true to his name, looked unchanged.
He hadn’t aged a day---but he radiated knowledge as well as infinite power, all the awkward gangliness he’d had as a youth gone, and replaced by eyes that saw all and knew all.
It is good to see you again, Emrys. He kept his gaze connected with the sorcerer’s, reaching out with his magic to touch the elder male’s, shivering slightly when he felt them slide against each other as they had when he was younger.
His lips twitched pleased when he noticed Emrys shiver slightly as well, the only reaction he gave to Mordred’s presence, to Mordred’s magic reaching out to his, coursing through his, spiraling around, and generally catching and trying desperately to keep his attention.
Mordred suddenly felt like a young boy showing off in front of a cute girl. Not that he’d ever done that himself. He’d been too busy studying, better himself for this moment, when he’d stand before Emrys once more.
He’d expected the cautious wariness in the sorcerer’s eyes and wasn’t offended by it, understood Emrys’ reaction.
What he needed to do was to gain Emrys’ trust, to prove that he was eternally loyal to him and only him.
Why else would he kneel before a king whose promises he didn’t believe and whose monarchy he didn’t want?
He noticed Emrys’ gaze returning to him during the rest of the ceremony, and during the feast as well, as Emrys sat at King Arthur’s right hand, the Lady Morgana at his left. Morgana was just as beautiful as Mordred remembered, and while he would be forever grateful to the woman who’d risked herself to him, he could hardly pay attention to her conversation.
His blue gaze was on Emrys constantly, soaking in his presence, everything he did, catching Emrys’ gaze every time the older man sent a wary look in his direction, giving the sorcerer a grin that was never returned.
That irked Mordred some, that Emrys had not a twitch of the lips for him, but for the King he could laugh freely, eyes twinkling.
There was something about the way those two conversed, about how they sat together and stood together, that bothered him deeply. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but it disturbed him to his bones, and caused his magic to tense up.
It was hard for him to respond casually to the king’s many questions for him, as ambassador of his people Mordred would remain in Camelot and serve the king in any way he could, so he knew that he would be in close contact with the king and Emrys as well.
And he didn’t exactly have anything against King Arthur, the man had delivered him back to his people. All he knew was that for some reason, fate had dictated it that he would one day bring this man’s reign to an end, and Mordred had grown up knowing that one didn’t question fate.
The banquet ended, a pretty maid showed Mordred to his chambers, and while it was more luxurious than anything he was accustomed to on the Isle of the Druids Mordred couldn’t rest.
He found himself wandering the castle, blending into the shadows easily, passing the guards without them even noticing his presence. He was somewhat disgusted at how easy it was to sneak around Camelot.
But as it facilitated his mission he shrugged it off, following that power source until he was looking down from a balcony down at the royal gardens. Down below not only stood the one he’d been searching for, but the king as well.
“I don’t trust him.” Emrys frowned, pacing back and forth before the pool in which even in the dimmer light of the moon, one could see a multitude of colored fish swimming peacefully. “This was one of your more spectacularly bad ideas.”
King Arthur smirked from where he was leaning against the tree, arms folded over his chest, observing Emrys in amusement as he paced back and forth. “Merlin, you idiot, calm down. He’s but a child.”
“He’s a man, Arthur. He’s not the child you saved.” Emrys turned on him, eyes narrowed. “You know what the Great Dragon said. He is destined to kill you! Why would you make him your ambassador to the Druids? Why?”
Mordred’s eyes widened and he blinked, surprised to discover that they knew of the prophecy.
“How many times have you intervened when I should have died, Merlin?” The king asked, smiling at the sorcerer. “When the Questing Beast bit me nothing should have been able to cure me, and yet you went up against the Old Religion itself and saved me. Compared to that some obscure prophecy uttered by a dragonmeans nothing.”
“You put too much faith in me and my abilities, Arthur.” Emrys looked troubled and yet pleased at the same time. “I’m still learning, I still have so much I don’t know! And I don’t feel comfortable with having your future murderer living here with you!”
“Well, we’re not living together…” King Arthur pushed away from the tree and in a move that shocked Mordred, he reached for Emrys and pulled him to him, bodies flush against each other, one hand around his waist, the other cupping Emrys’ face. The King made Emrys look at him and then spoke. “We will do this together, Merlin, we can make this work.”
“You always like making things more difficult for me, don’t you?” Emrys sighed, tenderly, resting his forehead against Arthur’s.
Mordred was stiff in horror as he finally admitted to himself why it was that Arthur and Emrys’ closeness had bothered him before. They’d acted like lovers, and now, before his eyes, was the proof that they were indeed that.
“I want you to keep an eye on him.” Arthur told Emrys, closing his eyes as Emrys’ lips began to tease the curve of his neck. “You truly were the one who saved his life, and he seems to look up to you. If there is anyone who can change him and his destiny it’s---Merlin!” He whimpered, hands going to Emrys’ robes.
Emrys chuckled huskily against his throat as he maneuvered the king back against the tree, torturing his neck and fumbling with his clothes, before Arthur whimpered his name, head thrown back, opening up to him.
Mordred watched in shock as Emrys took the king against the tree, repeatedly, his eyes closed in concentration, Arthur’s face contorted in unspeakable pleasure.
Magic swirled around the couple almost naturally, causing Arthur to cry of in almost agonized ecstasy as Emrys continued to claim him over and over again.
“Merlin…” Arthur chanted like a spell, over and over again, begging, pleading commanding, and then pleading once more, seemingly unable to get enough of Merlin’s hands on him, his magic around him, his cock inside of him.
Mordred felt his body heating, pooling at his manhood. A blush covered his cheeks and his breathing grew shallower as the youth felt embarrassed as he found himself hardening at the sight of Emrys’ concentrated, pleasure-filled face.
Emrys’ hand was between their bodies, working Arthur into a frenzy, and just as the king’s sounds were growing unbearable, Emrys’ golden eyes flew open and connected with Mordred’s.
Mordred’s eyes widened as he panted softly, unable to tear his gaze away from Emrys’, not even when Arthur climaxed with a cry of ecstasy or when a smirking Emrys soon followed, only breaking the connection to hide his face in Arthur’s neck as he came, thrusting wildly into the king.
The young man turned away and hurried back the way he’d come from, heart racing rapidly in his chest, Emrys’ mocking laughter ringing in his mind.
It’d made things somewhat awkward for him the next couple of days, seeing Arthur and Emrys together and knowing what they did when no one was around.
But as King Arthur had asked of him, Emrys took Mordred under his wing, and it was hard for things to remain awkward on Mordred’s part. He marveled at the way Emrys commanded the elements and the magics to do his will at a moment’s whim, without even the need for spells or incantations, and he knew without a doubt that this man was the one he truly served.
Not even the king.
Especially not the king.
As he spent more and more time with Emrys Mordred couldn’t help but think of the king having his hands all over the sorcerer as disgusting, asbeneath Emrys. How could his tutor, his mentor, his god, settle for some lowly human who didn’t even have a breath of magic in his bones?
A man so bound to human rules and regulations?
A man, who while he sat on a throne as a king, was subjected, a slave, to the laws and expectations of his people?
“The people want a queen, Merlin.” Arthur spoke softly as they stood in the throne room. “I need an heir.”
Emrys refused to look at Arthur, preferring to look out of the window, hands folded over his chest. “I know.”
Mordred hadn’t planned on eavesdropping on this conversation nigh a year after he’d become the druid’s Ambassador in Camelot. He’d been looking for Emrys, he usually spent his day at the sorcerer’s side, and found himself feeling anxious whenever he was far from him.
During this year Emrys had slowly (very slowly) grown out of his intense distrust of Mordred, and the young druid knew that the sorcerer was beginning to consider him a close friend, maybe even a confidant.
Mordred had noticed that it was now Arthur who was watching him more wary, not as trusting, Arthur who was beginning to seem unhappy with his stay in Camelot.
“What are you going to do?” Emrys asked him, still with his back to the king, face blank.
“There’s nothing I can do, Merlin.” Arthur replied. “I have to marry.”
Emrys’ face fell for a second, pain covering his every feature, and yet Arthur couldn’t see this as his back was to him. “Have you chosen anyone as yet?”
“No…” King Arthur looked away, pensive. “But I do believe Guinevere is the best option.”
Emrys’ eyes widened and he turned to face Arthur, horrified. “You cannot be serious! She’s my best friend!”
“Think of it, Merlin!” Arthur tried to soothe the anger in those gold tinted blue eyes. “Guinevere is a woman of the people, Camelot will be happy if I marry her.”
“What about you? What about me?” Emrys’ voice hitched.
“Nothing will change between us.” Arthur whispered.
“Nothing will change between us other than the fact that you will be retiring to your wife’sbed to create heirs.” Emrys shook his head, face disgusted. “How can you say that nothing will change, Arthur? EVERYTHING will change! NOTHING will be the same again! NOTHING!”
“Merlin…” Arthur reached out for him, face agonized, trying to get him to understand.
Merlin’s gaze then noticed Mordred from where the youth was frozen. “Mordred.”
Arthur went tense and turned to look at Mordred, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I’m sorry, I---I was looking for Emrys.” He’d replied, standing straight, arms clasped behind his back. “We were going to go for a ride today.”
“Well as you can see, we’re busy.” Arthur glared at him.
“No, actually, we’re through talking.” Emrys had stalked passed them both. “Come, Mordred. Let us be off.”
“Of course, Emrys.” Mordred nodded, and before he left he very well might have sent a smirk over his shoulder at the dejected, silent king, but he’d never admit to it as he quickly followed Emrys.
Soon after that the engagement was announced and the kingdom did rejoice in it.
Everyone seemed happy with it other than Morgana and Emrys.
While Mordred could understand Emrys’ reason to oppose the marriage, he’d been surprised at Morgana’s insistence that it was all folly and would end in ruin. He’d asked her why she felt this way, considering that “Lady Gwen” as everyone was starting to call Arthur’s betrothed, had once been her maid servant and quite a close friend.
“She does not love him, she still holds a torch for Lancelot…and Merlin.” Morgana responded, frowning as they walked side by side in the gardens, looking for Emrys.
“Then why did she accept the offer to marry Arthur and be queen?” Mordred wanted to know, not understanding this situation at all.
“Politics.” Morgana sniffed. “She knows that a union with Arthur would help him greatly, especially in the eyes of his people, would make others see that he views everyone as equal no matter their rank or color.” She paused. “In itself it’s a cunning plan, but look at how many people are being hurt by it, Arthur being the first and foremost in that list.”
Mordred didn’t give a crap about Arthur or his sufferings.
He deserved it.
“It is Emrys I’m worried about.” He admitted as they finally found Emrys sitting amongst the trees, a melancholy look upon his face as magic twirled in gold strands around his fingers, causing flowers of every kind to spring up all around him.
“I too, worry about him.” Morgana admitted. “He doesn’t deserve this, not after everything he’s done for Arthur.”
Emrys looked up as the sound of their voices was carried to him by the wind and he smiled, beckoning them forth. “What are you two doing out here?” He asked pleasantly as they sat down on the grass around him. “I would have thought you’d be inside with all the celebrations.”
“I didn’t feel like celebrating, and Mordred was kind enough to accompany me out.” Morgana declared imperiously as she reached for a golden butterfly conjured by Emrys’ magic, a smile touching her face as it landed gracefully on her hand, luscious wings flexing in the sun. “This is marvelous, Merlin. You’re getting better and better, each time there’s more detail.”
Emrys ducked his head, blushing slightly at the praise. “Well, I’ve had more and more time lately just to study, so I’d hope I was improving.”
The three of them decided to ignore the fact that Emrys’ sudden time to himself was because this was the month of Arthur’s betrothal and he had been required to spend all of his spare time with Guinevere.
“Do something else, Merlin.” Morgana commanded with a grin.
Emrys’ eyes twinkled mischievously as suddenly the earth beneath them began to shake violently, and then from out of the earth sprung up millions of golden pixies. They danced and sang in the air, twirling around and giggling, a couple of them playing with Morgana’s hair and putting flowers in it.
“This is amazing.” Mordred whispered, standing, eyes going from miniature pixie to miniature pixie, noticing each individual detail, its original feature.
Emrys grinned, standing as well.
The sorcerer didn’t seem to notice that the shaking of the ground had caused those inside to hurry to the windows to look out and see what had caused the quake. Those people were now giggling and gasping, some hurrying out to be able get closer to the pixies.
Guinevere and Arthur stood together, both looking at Emrys with tenderness, Arthur with more than a little longing.
Mordred hissed as he felt something tugged at his hair, and he turned to bat at the pixie that’d gotten too grabby.
Emrys laughed and grabbed Mordred’s hand before it could swat at the pixie, his other hand motioning for the pixie to be on its way to enjoy the time it was conjured.
The golden creature giggled and shot up into the air.
Mordred didn’t notice though, since Emrys’ fingers were still clasped around his wrist, and the sorcerer had yet to let go.
The older man smirked down at Mordred, amused. “It was only curious.”
Mordred looked up at the taller man, eyes slightly wider, heart racing, magic racing up to meet his subconsciously, rubbing against it, caressing and seeking approval.
Emrys’ smile turned from Amused to somewhat tender.
Mordred had never seen him smile at him like that.
He smiled back, shakily, hopefully.
“Grand Court Sorcerer!” The children of the guests who’d come to celebrate the month of the engagement, hurried forwards, giggling and laughing, amazed by the pixies.
Emrys grinned at Mordred before letting him go and turning his attention to the children, who were all around him, in awe as the pixies flittered about.
Mordred was still, hand holding the wrist that’s been in Emrys grip, the wrist that still was warm, a blanket of magic wrapped around him. His heart beat rapidly, his gaze unable to leave Emrys, a small smile tilting his lips as he watched the Grand Court Sorcerer play with the children.
“I had wondered…” Morgana’s voice was teasing and at his ear.
He tore his gaze from Emrys to look at her, blushing slightly at the knowing look in her eyes.
“Did you know that your eyes follow him as much as Arthur’s?” Morgana circled him, somewhat predatory, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Does our Honorable Ambassador have a crush on our Grand Court Sorcerer?”
Mordred frowned at the teasing, though the blush darkening on his cheeks gave away his true feelings.
Morgana tilted her head to the side. “You know, a month before I would be warning you away, that Merlin was Arthur’s.” Her gaze then went on Emrys, sad. “But I cannot forgive what Arthur has done.”
Mordred was surprised.
Was Morgana giving him her blessing?
“Merlin deserves to be happy, Mordred.” Morgana turned her eyes on him once more; they were sharp and hard. “Not someone who would use him or his powers to further his own cause, who would hurt him more than he already has been hurt.”
Understanding what she was insinuating, Mordred’s eyes narrowed angrily. “I would never hurt Emrys! How dare you say that I would use him?”
Morgana didn’t seem offended by his tone, instead, a smile blossomed on her face. “I now know you won’t.” She giggled. “You’re in love, my young, handsome Ambassador.”
Mordred went to blushing again in seconds.
Morgana giggled. “Good luck, and don’t think I’m the only one in court who notices how close Merlin is getting to you.”
Mordred knew what she was saying.
And he didn’t like it.
But as the months went by Mordred came to care about it less and less. He found himself spending more and more time with Emrys, even at dinner or at the banquets Emrys turned to him for conversation, for distraction. Guinevere had taken Emrys’ place at Arthur’s right hand, and Mordred wanted to tear both of their throats out for the pain in Emrys’ eyes…even though he saw the deep regret in both of theirs.
The handmaiden and king had realized all too late that this plan had been an utter mistake, but by now they were only days away from the marriage, and couldn’t back out of it. Not after all the good their engagement had done for the kingdom. So they sat together, smiles forced, eyes dead.
Mordred often saw their gazes shifting to Emrys, Guinevere’s guilty, Arthur’s longing, sad, wistful. The young druid knew that Arthur and Emrys were still lovers, but something had changed between them, and gone was that easy comfort they’d once shared, that’d given him such discomfort.
As Mordred attended the wedding, standing besides Emrys and feeling his magic swirl around him in agony, Mordred felt his anger grow.
But also, he understood something fundamental as he noticed the King’s gaze slide to Emrys longingly before murmuring his ‘I Do’ as if he were signing his own death degree.
A king belong to his kingdom, and was subject to his kingdom’s wants and found himself obligated to fulfill their needs.
Mordred didn’t ever want to be king.
He just wanted to be Emrys’.
“Go away.” Emrys whispered, sitting in the darkness of the tallest tower, on the ground, back against the wall, a bottle of conjured wine in his hand.
Silently, defiantly, Mordred entered the room and sat down next to him. He’d been searching for the sorcerer, who’d disappeared as soon as it was acceptable for the Grand Court Sorcerer to depart the wedding celebration.
“I am not good company tonight, Mordred.” Emrys whispered, wiping at his eyes and taking a long swig of wine.
“I will not leave you.” Mordred told him softly. “I will stay with you.”
He doubted that Emrys understood the undertones of the conversation, the older man was famously oblivious to anyone who wasn’t the king, but Mordred still felt the need for the sorcerer to know this.
Emrys sighed, looking at Mordred in silence, before he snapped his fingers and a bottle of ale appeared in Mordred’s hand.
Mordred smile at his acceptance, taking a sip of the fine tasting liquid.
For most of the night they were silent, just drinking the containers that never seemed to run dry, and keeping each other company. Emrys was incredibly drunk, his inability to hold his wine legendary in the court, and while Mordred felt somewhat dizzy he was still levelheaded enough to control himself as Emrys began to cry and talk about the king.
He knew that Emrys needed this, that the sorcerer probably had been bottling this up, so he listened as Emrys told him about the Great Dragon, about some great destiny, and about how he’d fallen in love with Arthur----told him everything up until this horrible, heartbreaking moment, when Arthur would retire with Guinevere and make her his woman.
Of how he wouldn’t be with Arthur now that he was married---that he just couldn’t share him like that.
Mordred knew that this wasn’t the right time to do this, but his anger and impotence and not being able to make Emrys feel better surged forth and he found himself pressing the sorcerer against the wall, lips on his.
Emrys whimpered, cried, and then kissed back fiercely, eyes sliding closed as his hands found purchase on Mordred’s hips, pulling the younger man to him.
Mordred’s soul soared and his magic went insane, melding with Emrys’ in a way it’d never been able to before. Yes, he knew that this was the wrong timing and that Emrys might be thinking of Arthur while he kissed him, but it was what was being offered him and he would take it.
“We---we have to stop.” Emrys whispered, hoarse. “I---you hero-worship me---I---I cant take advantage of that---of you.”
Mordred snorted, unable to believe this. “Emrys, if anyone is taking advantage of someone, it is I.” He blushed somewhat (hating himself for it) as he straddled the sorcerer’s lap, bringing them closer, hissing in surprised pleasure when he felt Emrys throbbing beneath him. “Let me comfort you.”
He lowered his lips to Emrys’ once more, and while there was a moment’s hesitation, the sorcerer then growled and wrapped his arms around the youth, pulling him in closer.
Mordred was lost to the sensations as Emrys touched and kiss him, lost to the feeling of their magics combining, magics caressing each other just as sorcerer and druid did.
Emrys was like a god bestowing his attentions on his most fervent servant, and Mordred battled arousal and embarrassment, never having done anything similar like this before, never having had the desire to.
A moment’s fear entered him when Emrys reached down to squeeze his arse, but Mordred found himself trusting Emrys, knowing that if it went that far tonight, even if it hurt, Emrys would make it pleasurable.
He just knew it.
And then he needed it.
Needed to know what it was like, what Arthur had been feeling all these years---what the king had taken for granted.
Take me… He whispered mentally, opening their connection once more, and groaning at the intense, electrical sensation that flooded them both.
He knew that if it hadn’t been for the heady, dizzying, agonizingly arousing feeling Emrys would have put up some sort of a fight, would have tried to deny them both what their bodies needed, what their magic’s demanded. But as it was, Emrys only growled and Mordred found himself on his back in Emrys’ bed, not even surprised that they had suddenly appeared in the warm, dimly lit room.
He didn’t have much time to wonder what words Emrys was chanting under his breath, because then Emrys was kissing him hungrily, both naked, and something slick pressing against Mordred’s entrance.
A whimper escaped his lips as Emrys buried himself inside of him, wondering, half delirious, if the others had lied when they said this was supposed to hurt---or if some of the words Emrys had whispered under his breath hadn’t been spells aimed to take away the pain.
Emrys began to move slowly, and Mordred gasped at the pleasure rocketing through his body, in shock, in ecstasy, never knowing that anything could feel like this.
He reached up for Emrys and brought his lips back down to his and cried out into his mouth as Emrys stroke something inside of him by accident that magnified the pleasure a hundredfold.
Emrys chuckled. “So that is where it is.”
And then Mordred could only manage to hold onto Emrys as the sorcerer twisted, aiming each thrust to hit that place that Mordred never knew existed.
He clenched around Emrys, causing the sorcerer to hiss in pleasure, dropping hungry kisses down the side of his throat before reaching down to clasp his weeping cock.
Mordred gave a shrill cry as those fingers grasped him that he would deny murderously for the rest of his life, but at the moment he didn’t care, only lost in Emrys, in Emrys’ magic, in Emrys’ lips, in Emrys’ hand.
He trusted himself completely to Emrys, being brought to ecstasy over and over again, until they both collapsed, exhausted, their magic swirling around them content, satisfied, united.
Mordred knew that Emrys would be regretful and ashamed once he woke up, but he didn’t allow that to bother him as the sleeping sorcerer wrapped an arm around Mordred’s waist and pulled his body back into him.
The next couple of days after that had been somewhat awkward on Emrys’ part, but Mordred hadn’t allowed the sorcerer to continue that way around him. He’d had a taste of Emrys, and he refused to let it be the last.
Also, considering during the week after the wedding it was customary for the King and Queen not to leave the room (giving them ample opportunity to conceive an heir), Emrys needed a distraction, and Mordred was more than happy to provide it.
Of course, Emrys didn’t touch him, but Mordred felt his gaze resting on him pensively throughout the week, wondering, feeling their magics connected as Mordred did.
Knowing only Mordred could give him that feeling.
Maybe it was the fact that the wedding was still so recent, maybe it was the fact that Emrys was hurt and was reaching out to the comfort Mordred so openly gave, maybe it was the fact that their magics felt more like one, drawing them closer, but Mordred felt a oneness with Emrys now, a oneness he knew the sorcerer felt as well.
A oneness everyone in court noticed and spoke of with surprising approval.
“What is it?” Mordred asked, as Morgana shushed him, hurrying him to a secret door in the wall behind a tapestry.
“Tell no one of this passage.” She hissed in a soft voice, following the steps, before coming out on the other side above the King and Queen’s private balcony.
Mordred was about to ask Morgana why she’d brought him here when he heard voices and looked down to see Emrys and King Arthur step onto the balcony.
“You’ve slept with him.” Arthur accused, eyes narrowed, dangerous.
“You sleep with your Queen every night.” Emrys went to stand against the railing, back to his king.
“I sleep with her for my kingdom!”
“I slept with him for my sanity!” The sorcerer twirled on his heels, eyes flashing gold.
Arthur looked away, sad. “Merlin, we talked about this. I need an heir.”
“And I told you I could have given you that heir!” Emrys hissed. “I told you of the powers I wield ever since going up against the Old Religion and winning! I am a Master of Life and Death! I could give you an heir!”
“You don’t get it Merlin!” Arthur looked back at him, trying to get him to understand. “Magic is still something my people have to get used to! It would be better for them to have an heir conceived the normal way---between husband and wife. They would trust him more!”
Emrys flinched as if hit. “Am I abnormal then?”
“No, gods, Merlin!” Arthur whispered, reaching out for him. “Don’t do this, don’t—don’t pull away from me! I miss you! I need you! I can’t bare not being able to touch you---have you touch me!”
“And I can’t bare the fact that every night your hands are on her!” Emrys hissed, jerking out of his hold. “I told you, Arthur, that if this was what you truly wanted I’d be by your side and support you, no matter how heartbreaking it was for me…but that if you did this, if you married and bedded Gwen, that I wouldn’t go to your bed anymore.”
“Merlin…” Arthur’s voice caught in his throat. “Don’t do this---please.”
“Arthur,” he sounded tired. “I will always be your friend. I will always have your best in mind. And my magic will always be at your service.”
“But your body will be his.” Arthur accused, face ugly with desperation, with jealousy. “He is but a child, Merlin! He hero worships you!”
“He does.” Emrys agreed slowly. “But lately---lately I feel a oneness with him I cannot explain.”
“A oneness?” Arthur hissed, taking a step back.
Emrys nodded. “Ever since that night our magics seem to have bonded in a way I didn’t know they could.”
Arthur looked slapped. “Merlin.”
“I’ve been wondering, thinking about what the Great Dragon said that night all those years ago.” Emrys sighed, lowering his head, leaning against the railing once more. “I wonder, if what he meant, was this?”
“He hasn’t killed me yet.” Arthur growled out.
“Not that, never that.” Emrys shook his head, vehement, before sighing and trying once more. “He told me that night that if we saved Mordred, your and my destiny could never be fulfilled.” He finally turned to look at Arthur. “What if this was what he was talking about, Arthur?”
“What do you mean?” Arthur’s voice was hoarse.
“What if he knew that somehow our saving Mordred ended in your marrying Gwen and my---my bond with Mordred?” Emrys asked, serious. “What if our destiny cannot be fulfilled because he knew I’d never sleep with a married man---because he knew Mordred and my magics would bond, and he knew they would form a destiny of their own?”
“Never.” Arthur snarled. “Your only destiny is with me!”
“I once thought that too,” Emrys whispered. “But now…now…I love you Arthur, but it’s too painful.” And with that he sighed and walked away, leaving Arthur broken behind him.
Morgana motioned for Mordred to follow her and they left in silence.
Somehow, when Mordred heard a knock on his door that night, he knew who it was.
He’d hurriedly stood and answered it, seeing a somewhat tortured looking Emrys in the doorway. They’d gazed at each other in silence before Mordred pulled the sorcerer inside, barely managing to close the door before he was pushed up against it, his mouth being claimed angrily, hungrily.
It became a ritual for them, spending their days together with Emrys teaching him, and their nights together in Mordred’s room, neither saying a word, letting their actions and magic do all the talking needed.
Mordred knew he had the hatred and resentment of the king on his shoulders, but he didn’t care, found he couldn’t, as slowly even during the day Emrys stated to touch him more, allow his gaze to rest on him, and smile in a way that he only had while Mordred was under him crying out his name in climax.
This bond was growing rapidly, steadfastly, and when, months later, Emrys finally came for the first time with Mordred’s name on his lips like a chant, the druid knew that he’d won.
He might want to hear the words that hadn’t been uttered between them, but he didn’t need them to know.
To know that he was Emrys’ and that Emrys was becoming slowly but surely his as well.
“Do something for me.” Mordred whispered, head resting on Emrys’ lap as they lay in the garden, late into the night.
Court had been tenser than usual today, with whispers of Arthur’s inability to leave his wife with a child despite their constant attempts. Guinevere was pale and tired from the attempts, and yet months had passed without her having conceived.
It was almost like Uther and Igraine all over again.
Hand trailing up and down Mordred’s hip, Emrys chuckled. “Like what?”
“Anything.” Mordred sighed, enjoying himself immensely.
Raising his free hand into the air, Emrys’ eyes flashed gold, and gold speck began to fall down around them like snow, and yet they were warm to the touch, tinting the earth around them golden.
“Beautiful.” Mordred whispered, watching the simple yet breathtaking view. You are magnificent, Emrys…
Emrys snorted, clearly not believing him.
The young druid pushed away into a sitting position, looking deep into Emrys’ eyes. “Magnificent…” He breathed, before cupping Emrys’ face gently and closing his eyes as he brought them together in a kiss.
Emrys whimpered deep in his throat before pulling him closer and then they were touching and caressing, and then Mordred was straddling his lap, straddling Emrys, and groaning with pleasure as the sorcerer slid into him.
He gripped Emrys tight as Emrys began to move inside of him, searching, always searching for that place that made Mordred whimper like a child. Emrys would always chuckle somewhat evilly once he found it, assaulting it over and over until all Mordred could do was hold on and cry out words he didn’t even know he was saying.
He probably told Emrys his every dark secret whenever he was within him, but he just didn’t care.
Mordred… Emrys groaned into his mind.
Mordred’s eyes flew open with pleasure and if he’d had some semblance of control over his wanton body he would have frozen as his gaze met the pained, infuriated blue orbs watching them from a window above.
“I---,” Emrys, whose back was to the window, didn’t notice the observer. “I think I might---I might be---I think I might be falling in love with you.”
Mordred smirked, gaze still connected with the king’s, knowing that Arthur couldn’t have heard the words whispered, but not caring.
Emrys was his.
“It’s about time, Emrys.” He tore his gaze from Arthur’s to nibble on Emrys’ neck, bucking his hips in the way that always sent the sorcerer wild. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you, when I was only a child.”
And after that there was only grunts and whimpers and cries of pleasure.
And now, as Mordred stood in the Royal Court, watching as Emrys stood by King Arthur’s side, talking over battle strategies, he couldn’t help but smirk happily. Emrys no longer sent the King longing looks, no longer looked sad and heartbroken in his presence, if anything he seemed to radiate happiness.
He’d even started talking to Guinevere again, laughing and enjoying her company. He jested with the king as well, truly returning to being his friend and close confidant, and somehow, somehow that didn’t bother Mordred.
Because the druid knew that the one whose room Emrys would spend the night in was his.
And he couldn’t help but feel somewhat sorry for the king, who had gotten good at masking his desire and longing for Emrys from everyone but Mordred.
He remembered the conversation after that night that Arthur had watched them.
“You fulfilled the prophecy.” Arthur told him softly, back to him.
“I haven’t killed you.” Mordred pointed out, not sure why the king was telling him this as they stood alone in his throne room.
Arthur turned to him, face agonized. “Yes, you have.”
The druid looked up at the sound of his name spoken on those lips. He smiled. “Yes Emrys?”
“The King desires to retire for the night.” Emrys grinned at him. “We should retire as well.”
That wicked grin on the sorcerer’s lips proved that sleeping was the last thing on his mind.
Mordred approved heartily.
But as he sent a look over his shoulder at the king as they turned to leave, he noticed the expression of sadness and longing Arthur sent Emrys. The druid, now pensive, reached for Emrys’ hand and smiled when the sorcerer squeezed it, rubbing his thumb against the skin of Mordred’s hand lovingly.
And Mordred suddenly realized that Arthur was right.
He had fulfilled the prophecy.
He had killed Arthur, in one sense.
Without Emrys, Arthur had died inside, and would never be what he could have been had things been different.
He’s the living dead.
But with Emrys beginning to mentally tease him with all of the things he was going to do to him once they got to his room, Mordred found he just didn’t care.
He even managed a smirk.
Long live the King.