Title: The Witch, the Warlock, and the Druid
Character/s: Merlin, Morgana, Mordred, Arthur (mentioned)
Summary: A storm brings together a group of magic users
Word Count: 575
Prompt: #82, storm
Author/Artist Notes: Modern AU, urban setting. Digital art.
Raindrops haloed two moving figures, unable to penetrate the thin aura surrounding them.
They slipped into the alleyway. Merlin stepping back from the brick wall he'd been leaning against as Morgana drifted towards him, letting her enchantment fall off her shoulders like a shroud.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Merlin. What would dear Arthur say if he knew?” Morgana asked, toeing up to peck Merlin on his cheek.
Merlin straightened out his scarf and laughed, as if he hadn’t endured her same taunt a hundred times before. He wasn’t keen on keeping things from his boyfriend, but this wasn’t as simple as meeting Arthur’s sister in secret to watch a film.
“Brought Mordred with you this time?” Merlin deflected.
“Oh, you know Mordred. He begged to come see you.”
Mordred’s forced smile suggested otherwise, but Merlin let it go. The man gave him the creeps. Under normal circumstances, Merlin would never have never associated with the likes Mordred, but the wire that bound their fates together was stronger than friendship or blood. It was magic itself.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Merlin said. “Couldn’t we wait until the rain settles?”
“It’s a brilliant idea,” Morgana replied. She cupped her hand and stuck it into the storm, catching the fat raindrops in her palm. “This is the perfect opportunity for practice. With the weather as it is, we won’t be noticed.” She chuckled a spell, the liquid in her hand multiplying until it spilled over her fingers like a waterfall.
Mordred’s lips peaked into a sly smile. He cracked his knuckles and spoke a charm of his own, Merlin watching as the shutters across the road clanged on their hinges as if possessed.
Merlin’s magic prickled under his skin in response. The streetlight in front of him flickering an erratic rhythm.
“Someone’s excited,” Morgana teased.
Merlin teethed at his bottom lip, his fingers drumming inside his pockets. It had been weeks since he’d preformed the simplest incantation, and his power had grown testy. The need for release even worse now that he was presence of other magic users, like him.
He watched his companions, holding out until desire overwhelmed him. Merlin’s hand shot out from his pocket, his tongue reciting an ancient poetry that sent lightning crashing into a power line, a surge of sparks sprinkling down to the empty street bellow.
Mordred muttered “showoff" under his breath, but Morgana’s eyes glowed up at Merlin with pride. “It feels good, doesn’t it?" she purred. "To let go.“
When Merlin spoke again, his voice sounded hoarse. “Feels better to be alive,” he said, folding his hand back into his pocket. “And if we keep this up, we won’t be for much longer.”
In truth, the sensation was… incredible. Flexing his magic. Reveling in its heady release. The logical part of Merlin’s brain, however, knew that what they were doing was risky. Magic was illegal in Camelot, a crime punishable by imprisonment and execution. Just last month the fourth member of their little club, Gilli, had been arrested for heating up a kettle at work with his bare hands.
And then there was Freya.
Merlin still couldn’t talk about what had happened to her…
Their group of magic users was getting smaller by the day. How many more years would they have, until it was whittled down to no one?