These Hearts They Always Mend
Author: weepingwillow9
Title: These Hearts They Always Mend
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/s: Mordred/Galahad(OC)
Character/s: Mordred and Galahad with mentions of Morgana
Summary: Mordred doesn't know how to love, so he lets the magic do it for him
Warnings: It's a bit gory, and very possessive. Mordred calls Galahad a 'boy' but that's more about maturity than age - he's only a year younger than Mordred, and they're 17 and 18 so no underage here
Word Count: 654
Prompt: Bleeding Heart
Author's Notes: I don't even know, I really don't. May or may not have gone ever so slightly dark for this one. Title's taken a little ironically from Say My Name by Futures, which fits this pairing ridiculously well (as well as most of the Karma album, seriously, when I first listened I died a little) but is quite an upbeat and hopeful song and from Galahad's point of view, where this is dark and hopeless and Mordred's point of view, as you'll see...
Mordred doesn’t know what to do with the boy in his arms. He knows that he wants to love Galahad. But, well, he hasn’t exactly had any examples of how to do that. The only people who’ve really loved him are Morgana and Galahad, and Morgana’s love was shown through cultivating his magic and the odd hug. Besides, it’s the wrong sort of love; what he feels for Galahad makes him want to throw him into the nearest bed and never let him leave it. But he has a feeling that Galahad wouldn’t take kindly to that.
So, Mordred does what Mordred always does; he uses magic. It’s a short cut for everything else, why not love? Morgana’s latest find in the way of magic books dabbles a little in the darker side of the power, and Mordred loves it. Besides, it’s not as if the innocent looking bonding spell will hurt Galahad at all.
He sets up while Galahad’s sleeping. It’s all the usual things, herbs, chalk runes drawn all around what they call the marriage bed. They’re not married, but then neither were many ancient sorcerers, so Mordred’s sure it’s just the sex bit that’s important. And they’ve done that. Lots, Mordred thinks, and a bit of a smirk crosses his face.
As Galahad wakes, Mordred smiles down at him, sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s such a rare sight that Galahad smiles back, reaching up for him.
“No, lie still. I’ll be done soon.”
Obedient, Galahad lies back.
Mordred traces over his chest, a long line between his ribs. Blood wells up where he touches, but Galahad seems fine. Mordred checks; not the slightest hint of pain checks his breath. So, he continues.
The spell calls for certain words to be spoken. Mordred whispers them, hiding even from Galahad, who knows of the magic, who doesn’t care. The words pull Galahad’s chest apart, but still he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to notice it. Mordred’s eyes widen, and he holds his breath for long minutes, digging his fingers into his knees. But Galahad keeps on breathing, the heart inside the gaping ribs, nestled between the lungs keeps beating.
Where his chest should ordinarily be, there’s a faint haze. As if, on some level, it’s still there.
Galahad’s view never changes. He feels no pain.
So Mordred continues, reaches in and severs the arteries and veins joining the heart to the rest of the boy. Takes the heart in his hand, and speaks the last words of the spell.
The chest closes again, easy as a box, only empty of its secrets now. The blood fades, as if it were never there. The heart fades in Mordred’s hand. Galahad sits up and pulls him in for a kiss.
But Mordred can feel it, can see the blood leaking from Galahad if he looks at the right angle. The burden in his hand, another’s love, another’s life. The mark that’s left on Galahad; blood, seeping from his chest, clotting into a thick ooze down his back, over his stomach, even through layers of clothes.
And Mordred wants to set the burden of a heart down. He really does, because it’s a responsibility too great for him to bear. When he snaps at Galahad, he can see the boy wince in physical pain now. He clutches at his chest when they fight. And Mordred knows that if he threw the heart away, Galahad would suffer even more.
It’s only a matter of time, though. Mordred isn’t strong enough, isn’t good enough, and one day he’ll have to make Galahad walk away without his heart. Bury it before the ground freezes over, so Galahad can be as hard-hearted as the iron hard ground. He doesn’t know if Galahad can survive it or, if he does, if he’ll ever be the same person again. Mordred doesn’t know if he can live through watching that.
Title: These Hearts They Always Mend
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/s: Mordred/Galahad(OC)
Character/s: Mordred and Galahad with mentions of Morgana
Summary: Mordred doesn't know how to love, so he lets the magic do it for him
Warnings: It's a bit gory, and very possessive. Mordred calls Galahad a 'boy' but that's more about maturity than age - he's only a year younger than Mordred, and they're 17 and 18 so no underage here
Word Count: 654
Prompt: Bleeding Heart
Author's Notes: I don't even know, I really don't. May or may not have gone ever so slightly dark for this one. Title's taken a little ironically from Say My Name by Futures, which fits this pairing ridiculously well (as well as most of the Karma album, seriously, when I first listened I died a little) but is quite an upbeat and hopeful song and from Galahad's point of view, where this is dark and hopeless and Mordred's point of view, as you'll see...
Mordred doesn’t know what to do with the boy in his arms. He knows that he wants to love Galahad. But, well, he hasn’t exactly had any examples of how to do that. The only people who’ve really loved him are Morgana and Galahad, and Morgana’s love was shown through cultivating his magic and the odd hug. Besides, it’s the wrong sort of love; what he feels for Galahad makes him want to throw him into the nearest bed and never let him leave it. But he has a feeling that Galahad wouldn’t take kindly to that.
So, Mordred does what Mordred always does; he uses magic. It’s a short cut for everything else, why not love? Morgana’s latest find in the way of magic books dabbles a little in the darker side of the power, and Mordred loves it. Besides, it’s not as if the innocent looking bonding spell will hurt Galahad at all.
He sets up while Galahad’s sleeping. It’s all the usual things, herbs, chalk runes drawn all around what they call the marriage bed. They’re not married, but then neither were many ancient sorcerers, so Mordred’s sure it’s just the sex bit that’s important. And they’ve done that. Lots, Mordred thinks, and a bit of a smirk crosses his face.
As Galahad wakes, Mordred smiles down at him, sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s such a rare sight that Galahad smiles back, reaching up for him.
“No, lie still. I’ll be done soon.”
Obedient, Galahad lies back.
Mordred traces over his chest, a long line between his ribs. Blood wells up where he touches, but Galahad seems fine. Mordred checks; not the slightest hint of pain checks his breath. So, he continues.
The spell calls for certain words to be spoken. Mordred whispers them, hiding even from Galahad, who knows of the magic, who doesn’t care. The words pull Galahad’s chest apart, but still he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to notice it. Mordred’s eyes widen, and he holds his breath for long minutes, digging his fingers into his knees. But Galahad keeps on breathing, the heart inside the gaping ribs, nestled between the lungs keeps beating.
Where his chest should ordinarily be, there’s a faint haze. As if, on some level, it’s still there.
Galahad’s view never changes. He feels no pain.
So Mordred continues, reaches in and severs the arteries and veins joining the heart to the rest of the boy. Takes the heart in his hand, and speaks the last words of the spell.
The chest closes again, easy as a box, only empty of its secrets now. The blood fades, as if it were never there. The heart fades in Mordred’s hand. Galahad sits up and pulls him in for a kiss.
But Mordred can feel it, can see the blood leaking from Galahad if he looks at the right angle. The burden in his hand, another’s love, another’s life. The mark that’s left on Galahad; blood, seeping from his chest, clotting into a thick ooze down his back, over his stomach, even through layers of clothes.
And Mordred wants to set the burden of a heart down. He really does, because it’s a responsibility too great for him to bear. When he snaps at Galahad, he can see the boy wince in physical pain now. He clutches at his chest when they fight. And Mordred knows that if he threw the heart away, Galahad would suffer even more.
It’s only a matter of time, though. Mordred isn’t strong enough, isn’t good enough, and one day he’ll have to make Galahad walk away without his heart. Bury it before the ground freezes over, so Galahad can be as hard-hearted as the iron hard ground. He doesn’t know if Galahad can survive it or, if he does, if he’ll ever be the same person again. Mordred doesn’t know if he can live through watching that.