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Mordred suppresses another cry of pain as he drags himself through the empty corridors of the castle, trying his best to keep quiet so as to not draw any attention to himself. Especially given that he wasn’t even supposed to be out roaming around right now anyway.
All he had to do was make it back to his quarters without being seen.
“I hope you’re not going to try and deal with that nasty wound on your own,” says an all too familiar voice.
Mordred curses under his breath. So much for that plan.
“Merlin,” Mordred says through gritted teeth.
“Mordred,” the wizard replies. “Out for an evening stroll?”
“What do you want?” Mordred snaps. “Here to tattle on me?”
“Now why would I do that?” Merlin looks a little taken aback by Mordred’s animosity. Though Mordred’s certain it’s all an act. Merlin isn’t the type to offend easily after all.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Mordred retorts. “You can only gain from it really.”
Merlin seems to entertain the notion. “I suppose you’re right. But it’d be at the cost of losing the affection of my favorite knight, would it not?”
Mordred chooses not to reply.
“Now, would you let me tend to your injury? My way of healing is much quicker, you know.”
“Do I have much of a choice?” Mordred grumbles. Perhaps taking up such an aggressive tone with someone who’s offering him assistance isn’t the brightest idea, but can you really blame him for being a little on edge when he’s got an open wound running across his chest?
“You always have a choice,” Merlin says. “But I’d rather you not choose to die within a week when that thing inevitably gets infected due to your own negligence.”
“…Fine.” Mordred agrees somewhat reluctantly, as he follows the wizard into his study.
“Up on the desk,” Merlin orders him as he begins rummaging through his things. “And take off your shirt.”
“R-Right,” Mordred replies, a bit flushed from the nature of Merlin’s command.
He makes his way over to the desk to sit perched on it. In all honesty, Mordred nearly forgets about the massive cut running from his left shoulder and across his chest to the right side of his torso until he attempts to start undressing as Merlin asked of him. He only manages to slip off his vest before the sharp pain from his injury becomes so intense that he couldn’t help but cry out in pain.
Merlin lets out a sigh and halts his rummaging. He instead makes his way over to where Mordred sat and shoos his hands aside. “Don’t force yourself. You’ll only make it worse,” he chides as he begins undoing Mordred’s clothes for him.
“…Thank you,” Mordred mumbles, rather embarrassed by Merlin undressing him with such haste.
“So stubborn,” Merlin murmurs as he undoes Mordred’s tie.
“I-I am not that stubborn,” Mordred protests. Being scolded while being undressed is certainly adding another level of embarrassment to Mordred’s already very high embarrassment level.
“Is that so?” Merlin asks as he begins to unbutton his shirt. “I’m almost certain if I hadn’t come over here to help you, you would’ve just kept helplessly struggling, would you have not?”
Mordred opts not to answer that. Both because he’s not sure he can fully refute the claim and because he’s not sure he can keep his voice sounding composed throughout this whole ordeal.
As Merlin slides his shirt off his shoulders, Mordred swears he can see the slightest bit of emotion cross Merlin’s face upon seeing his injury. Though Merlin is so damn hard to read, Mordred could’ve just imagined the whole thing.
“That is quite the wound you’ve got there,” Merlin remarks. His fingers barely graze over his injury, causing Mordred to wince. “How on earth did you end up with that?”
“I… decided to take on some bandits and was greatly outnumbered…,” Mordred answers as Merlin returns to searching through his various shelves of magic-related things.
“How reckless of you.” Merlin, having found what he must’ve been looking for, takes down a single bottle from the topmost shelf.
“Some call that bravery, you know,” Mordred retorts as he watches Merlin take a clean rag out of a drawer.
Merlin walks back over to him before he uncorks the bottle and pours some of its contents out onto the rag, soaking it thoroughly. “Well, your ‘bravery’ is going to get you killed.”
“That’s— Gh !” Mordred hisses as Merlin brings the rag to the cut. Mordred has no clue what Merlin put on it, but he does know it hurts like hell.
Merlin seems to ignore Mordred’s reaction and continues dabbing at the wound. “And why didn’t you take anyone with you?”
“…I was told to stay back and pay no mind to it.”
“I never knew you had such a rebellious side to you.”
“I wasn’t trying to be rebellious.” Mordred winces again as Merlin dabs at his wound somewhat forcefully. “I just went out to clear my head and ran into them purely by accident.”
“Clear your head?” Merlin asks, still focused on cleaning his wound. “Troubled by something?”
“Something like that…” Mordred trails off. He’d rather not admit that the something, or rather, someone he’s been troubled by lately is Merlin himself.
“Is it about you being told to stay out of it?”
“Partially, I suppose.” It’s not entirely untrue, he was a little frustrated with being left to deal with insignificant tasks that are usually left to knights-in-training, not fully-fledged knights like himself. However, that wasn’t necessarily where the majority of his frustrations lay.
Merlin seems to pick up on Mordred’s reluctance to divulge and doesn’t pry further.
“Well, you’re always welcome to share your troubles with me if you’d like.” Merlin’s eyes meet his for a moment. The look in them seems genuine. “You’re significantly less likely to end up in this sort of situation if you allow me to help instead of trying to shoulder the burden on your own.”
“I’ll… keep that in mind.”
“But really?” Merlin asks again. “They didn’t want your help?”
“I suppose this is an example as to why,” Mordred says bitterly, vaguely gesturing to himself. “When I get involved, it always seems to end in more work for someone else.”
“I wouldn’t say so,” Merlin answers. “If that were really the case, I think we’d certainly have spent more time together by now.”
Mordred just stays silent.
Seeing that his attempt at being lighthearted didn’t work, Merlin switches to a more serious tone. “Personally, I think they’re underutilizing you.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” Merlin states as he dabs at his injury. “You have a kind of ambition that others don’t. I think it’s incredibly wasteful that they don’t put that to use more.”
There’s a look on Merlin’s face that Mordred just can’t seem to place. It’s like he has feelings about this that run far deeper than just surface-level. But Mordred has no clue why that would be.
Merlin finishes cleaning his wound and sets the dirtied rag aside. “Now, I will warn you now, this will hurt.” Merlin’s fingers hover above the open cut. “But it’ll hurt more if you don’t cooperate, so be good for me.”
The look in Merlin’s eyes as he gives that command causes the words to get caught in Mordred’s throat. So he simply nods as a reply instead.
“Good. Now hold still,” Merlin orders him before gently pressing two of his fingers against the topmost point of Mordred’s injury. He begins to drag his fingers downwards slowly, following the path of the wound. Despite his touch being so light, Merlin’s fingertips leave a searing pain in their wake as they move. Almost as if his skin was being melted back together.
Mordred does his best to suppress the cry of pain that threatens to escape him and instead bites down on his lip. Hard . His fingers curl around the edge of the desk, gripping tightly as he tries to keep himself still while his body screams to pull away.
His efforts to stay silent turn out to be pointless as the agonizing slowness of Merlin’s burning fingertips draws out a whimper from Mordred.
“ Shh ,” Merlin hushes him in the way one would soothe a crying child. “Almost done.”
After what feels like an eternity more, Merlin finally says what Mordred had been waiting to hear.
“There, all done.”
Even after Merlin’s fingers leave his skin, the area still burns, but significantly less than before. Mordred dares to sneak a glance at his chest and sees a newly formed scar in the place of what was an open, bleeding wound only moments before.
Too focused on his new scar, Mordred doesn’t even notice that Merlin left his side until he returns to shove something into his hand.
“Drink this.”
Mordred looks at what he’s been handed. It’s a small, simple vial that contains a golden, honey-like liquid inside.
“What is it?” Mordred asks, examining the vial further.
“It should help with the pain,” Merlin replies as he begins tidying up around his workspace.
“What do you mean by ‘ should ’ help?”
“Well, it’s a bit experimental, but it should help in theory at least.”
“And I’m supposed to find that reassuring?”
“What? You don’t have faith in my abilities?”
“It’s not that, it’s just…” Mordred looks away as he trails off. It’s not that he doesn’t have faith per se, he’s just always been a tad cautious when it comes to magic. He knows it can be a wonderful, incredibly useful thing. Just look at the brand-new, fully healed scar running across his chest. But it's something that can have an exceptionally dangerous side when in the wrong hands. Not that he’s accusing Merlin of having the wrong hands, he’s just—.
“Come now, why would I want to cause any serious harm to my favorite knight?” Merlin asks him, tilting his chin to force Mordred’s gaze to meet with his own.
Mordred can feel his face become incredibly hot as he looks back at Merlin. He really wishes he could come up with something coherent to say, but all the words seem to get jumbled in his head before they even have a chance to very likely just get caught in his throat anyway.
“Well, the choice is yours,” Merlin says simply, letting go of Mordred’s chin before going back to tidying up. “If you’d like to suffer through that burning sensation for at least another hour, be my guest.”
Mordred once again studies the vial in his hand. There’s no way it could be anything that harmful, right? It’s such a small amount and the color of it definitely seems like something that’d be healing. And besides, would Merlin really go as far as to patch him up so nicely only to turn and do something malicious now?
Deciding it to be safe, Mordred uncorks the vial and downs the small amount of liquid inside. Almost instantly, Mordred can feel a pleasant feeling wash over him. The burning quickly fizzles out into an odd, but not entirely unbearable tingling sensation.
“How’s that?” Merlin asks, coming back to once again examine Mordred’s scar. He traces his finger along it again, causing the tingling sensation to feel even more intense. Though Mordred isn’t sure if he can entirely blame that on what Merlin gave him.
“B-Better,” Mordred manages to stutter out. He’s starting to feel warm and a little dizzy, though he once again can’t tell if it’s due to Merlin or the strange concoction he was given by the aforementioned wizard.
“Are you sure?” Merlin asks as he reaches to place the back of his hand on Mordred’s forehead as if to check for a fever. “You seem to be a little flushed.”
“Yes, well…,” is all Mordred manages to say.
Merlin just gives him a smile. That same, damn smile. The one that’s just a little too knowing for Mordred’s comfort.
“Good,” Merlin murmurs, as he still stays by Mordred’s side, as if waiting for something. Perhaps he wants Mordred to thank him?
“Thank you.” Mordred manages through the intensifying warm, dizzying feeling.
“Anything for my favorite knight,” Merlin replies. He brushes the hair out of Mordred’s face in an uncharacteristically tender display of affection.
Mordred isn’t sure what comes over him at that moment. Before his thoughts can even truly process what he’s doing, he’s suddenly pulling Merlin’s face in, roughly bringing their lips together.
If the action surprised Merlin, he certainly doesn’t show it. He melts into the kiss rather easily, his hand comes up to cup Mordred’s cheek as the rest of his body slots itself between Mordred’s open legs, pushing him back onto the desk more.
With Merlin’s lips against his, he feels like every thought has left his head. All he can think of is how much hotter and dizzier he feels kissing Merlin. His body feels hot. Too hot. Like he’s burning just like his scar was, but in a much more pleasant way. Logically, he should probably stop before he overheats entirely. Unfortunately, there’s no logic left in Mordred’s brain, so instead he just lets out a rather pathetic whine against Merlin’s lips.
As if to spare him, Merlin finally breaks off the kiss. Mordred gasps for air, apparently having also forgotten about breathing. While Merlin stands there completely unphased, hand still cupping the side of his face, Mordred, rather embarrassingly, sits panting as he tries to catch his breath.
“I-I’m sorry,” Mordred stutters out in between breaths. “I have no clue what came over me, I just—.”
“Hush.” Merlin runs his thumb along Mordred’s lower lip. “Though I can’t say I was expecting that, I’m certainly not displeased.”
“You’re not?”
“Why would I be?” Merlin’s hand wanders from his cheek to instead card through Mordred’s hair. “I can’t deny that I was trying to entice you a little, after all.”
“You were?” Mordred asks, probably sounding rather dumb as he does so.
“Well, there is a certain allure to being in the presence of a knight in your state of undress. Especially one with some impressive battle scars,” Merlin hums as his finger traces along the newly formed scar, once again sending a tingling feeling down Mordred’s spine. “Can you really blame me for being a little tempted?”
Mordred can feel his face grow hotter. He’s never thought of himself as alluring or tempting before. How should he even respond to that? “I-I… suppose not…”
Merlin looks rather pleased. Though it somehow makes Mordred feel very much like how he would imagine a mouse feels under the gaze of a cat about to pounce.
“Though I will say, if you intend to continue doing such things with me, please do give a little warning. I’d hate to be caught doing such… intimate things with King Arthur’s beloved nephew,” Merlin says, very obviously amused by the situation. “And I’d hate for it to possibly compromise your position, Sir Mordred.”
“R-Right, yes, of course.” Both the way Merlin said ‘ intimate ’ and the way he addressed him as ‘ Sir Mordred’ sends a swarm of butterflies to Mordred’s stomach.
Still looking quite entertained, Merlin speaks again. “Well, I suppose I should go fetch you some new clothes.”
“But why?” Mordred asks. It’s probably another stupid question, but his ability to process things still hasn’t caught up apparently.
“It’d be rather suggestive for you to leave my quarters without a shirt, would it not?”
“Ah, right.” Mordred can feel himself blushing again.
Merlin simply gives him a smile. Though it should be a kind smile by all means, there’s a devilish glint in his eyes that only seems to intensify Mordred’s blushing.
“I’ll be back.” Merlin makes his way over to the door. “Be good and just wait for me, alright?” Merlin says before leaving, closing the door behind him.
Once he’s certain Merlin is out of earshot, Mordred lets out a groan. Even through his several layers of sheer embarrassment, Mordred can’t help but feel just a little happy. Technically the thing that had been troubling him was solved now. It only took taking a sword to the chest, a bit of magic, and a potentially somewhat dubious potion to get him there. Not too bad of a deal if Mordred does say so himself.