Chapter Text
When Mordred first saw him, he was dying. Although, he wouldn’t call it seeing since his eyes had slid shut already, losing consciousness quickly as the water slipped past his open lips and filled his lungs like he was a dry patch of grass.
Couldn’t call it their first meeting either because they would have to had exchanged words for that or at least acknowledged each other’s presence and Mordred was far too out of air to really notice there was someone else with him.
All he could focus on was that he wasn’t breathing anymore and that he could find nothing to hold on to, just thrash around in a big empty void of deep blue that faded as the seconds dragged along.
He would end up like the unlucky children he was told stories of, the kind that wandered into the woods unsupervised or played recklessly near a river like he’d done, that went missing and then showed up only to make their parents weep.
Mordred kicked and screamed but only ended up choking on more water, head turning lighter and full of cotton. The noise from the river was loud, together with the sudden rain hitting the full trees, it would successfully muffle any kind of cry for help that went past the barrier of water.
Then there were two strong arms wrapping around him, going under his armpits and circling his chest. That’s what it was, a part of Mordred’s brain that hadn’t been intruded by water yet whispered bitterly at him, that’s what dragged the children down. A monster that forced them to drown.
An unremarkable death, so unlike the deaths of the heroes he heard about. A cowardly one, being taken by a monster twice the size of his small five year old body.
But the arms didn’t drag him down. They pulled him up instead, where the air and the grass were. They hoisted him up so carefully, like he was as fragile as glass. And he was, with bones so weak and small that unnecessary strength could make irreversible damage.
Mordred felt himself being cradled like his father did when taking him from the armchair to his bed in nights that he refused to go to sleep just out of spite, held tight in strong arms that he knew wouldn’t drop him again into that bottomless blue.
He was carried out of the water though he heard no splashing sound, like he was actually floating by himself meters above it, then laid down on the damp grass.
His lungs whistled and bubbled at the same time, trying to get him breathing again but failing due to the lack of space, all already occupied by the river water. Mordred thrashed again, panicked and so scared, desperately trying to cry out for his father though he knew he was far away and wouldn’t be heard anyway.
A hand rested over his chest, a deep voice gently shushed him. The blocking in his lungs was suddenly gone. He gasped for air and couldn’t be more relieved when he felt its freshness.
The reassuring pressure over his heart vanished and Mordred frowned at the little drops of water hitting his face, like whatever was protecting him from the rain by standing over him had pulled away. It had his eyes blinking open for the first time.
It was only a short second but enough for Mordred to remember it for the following three years, until he would see it clearly again. A sharp blue, vibrant and unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Not like the one he’d just come out of, this blue didn’t make him afraid.
It brought him a strange sense of safety instead, like the one he felt in those arms. As if he somehow knew they wouldn’t hurt him but keep him away from anything that could, would protect him instead.
A blink and the blue was gone, the unfamiliar pair of eyes leaving like the thing keeping him warm despite the fact that he was soaked to the bone.
Startled, Mordred looked around but found nothing. The same trees stared back at him, the path he’d come from, the busy river he’d almost drowned in. He sat up, appreciated the way his lungs were working once again.
When the rain became stronger, Mordred had already gotten the feeling back in his legs and stood up to walk home.
His father yelled his name in exasperation the instant he made it past the door in his drenched clothes, curls clinging to his neck and forehead. Then he fell silent, noticing the way his small hands trembled, and hurried him inside, draping a thick blanket over his shivering figure and hugging him close.
It helped, the tight feeling of his father’s arms closing around him, the soft questions being asked against his hair that didn’t really demand an answer.
Later, almost choking on a plate of warm stew by the fire, Mordred told him about the river. He listened quietly after as his father cursed under his breath, chided him for being so reckless , then pulled him close again to kiss his forehead and make him promise to be careful.
He talked and talked, about the woods and nothing in particular, about the thing that saved him, the one he thought was a monster at first, ready to swallow him whole like it was a big whale and he was a helpless little fish.
Though he wouldn’t have drowned in the first place if he’d been one, Mordred added and his father smiled in amusement.
He spoke of those blue eyes in a hushed voice as if telling a secret because it was, his secret. The thing that saved him, that pulled him back and breathed air into his lungs and was there when he was so scared.
The thing with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, wide and bright and beautiful, prettier than the river and the clear sky and even the nice jacket his father made him wear only in special days.
Mordred spoke of it all but his father’s smile turned softer, eyebrows pulling up a bit, and if Mordred could think of anything other than those eyes he would’ve noticed his tale was being brushed off as nothing more than that.
That his father was tired but grateful for him to be alive and well though he took his recount of the event as affected by his childish imagination, a thing that Mordred had plenty of and loved to use .
But Mordred knew better and he knew that what he saw was real, that what he felt was firm and made of flesh and bone. And he also knew that those eyes were as curious about him as he was about them.
He finished his stew like his father told him to but kept glancing out the window, seeing nothing but darkness as the heavy rain fell down on their roof, but thinking of the next day, of going out again and finding who the eyes belonged to.