Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

100 days

It's been a whopping one hundred days since she's been imprisoned in this hellhole. Cenred's prisons were far more intimidating than those in Camelot, and the guards were frustratingly good at their jobs. Morgana would have been a free woman by now if they were anything like the ones back in that horrid place.

Instead, she had to stare at their shiny armor-clad backs while she remained chained to the floor by these metal shackles around her wrist. Glancing down, she could see the welts from it being too tight and the paleness from where the shackles were draining the magic from her body.

"That traitorous buffoon," Morgana seethed, the anger welling up within her, it poured through every fiber of her being begging for some sort of relief, and for the hundredth time that day, she imagined running those halfwits through with their own swords. Snapping their necks with her magic. Unleashing a series of terrors within their minds that would slowly but surely drive them to madness.

A devilish smirk creeps up her face, and the madness within her eyes is as apparent as ever.

"They don't deserve slow. It's too merciful a death," she chuckles, as if amused by her musing. Maybe they should switch places. The thought excited her. Switch places and exact unto them the same dreadful, agonizingly slow suffering she’d been forced to endure. In her mind, they were the ones being branded by a hot iron. The leather whips were no longer slicing her back because now they had taken her place. She cackled with laughter, thinking about them begging for mercy, knowing full well she'd never give it.

A scaly head placed on her upper thigh brought her out of her spiral. Glancing down, Morgana was met with innocent brown eyes brimming with worry and concern. Her dark thoughts instantly came to a crashing halt, and a small, genuine smile lit up her features.

‘I'm fine, dear,” Morgana offered, hoping to ease the worry of her little dragon friend. ‘I'm just planning for our escape later tonight, she added while bringing her hand to caress the white dragon. The dragon, who was yet too young to speak, had quickly become Morgana's companion, one she couldn't help but love wholeheartedly.

A new well of fury surged inside her when she considered that such a blameless creature was being subjected to these atrocious conditions , .All in the name of a man who sought revenge on a woman who was long gone. Glancing up, her resolve solidified. She was getting them out of her tonight. She would get her only friend to safety, far away from the likes of these men. She would follow through, no matter the cost. Morgana would ensure that the world didn't lose this bit of goodness that it had managed to retain.

Glancing down, she muttered, "I'll get you out of her, my dear. I promise"

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

"It's almost time, my dear," Morgana whispered gently, shaking the sleeping dragon. Morgana thought the irritated expression she got in return for her shaking was quite charming . Nevertheless, it had to be done. The hour of the hunt was upon them, and the little dragon needed to be awakened lest they miss their opportunity.

The hunting season began in Cenred's kingdom a month ago. Around this time, the capitol was packed with hunters from all around the kingdom. They ventured into the woods, fully enthused, as this was the only time of the year when they had free reign to capture and kill any animal living within the forest. Today was particularly special. It was the last day of the hunting season, the day when the hunters went after magical creatures.

The citizens of Essetir believed that creatures of magic emerged when the moon was at its highest and when the waters of the land remained immovable. It was said that not even dropping boulders into the waters on this day would cause the waters to ripple. In Morgana's opinion, it was the most foolish lore she had ever heard, but it would greatly benefit her.

Cenred's kingdom was against magic, and this day brought them great joy. So much so that the owner of the biggest catch was rewarded with 200 gold pieces. This was encouragement enough for people to go in search of the largest creatures they could think of. Many hunters were successful in their hunts and required aid to restrain these creatures. Thus, most of Cenred's knights were stationed at the forest edge, waiting to be of assistance, while a handful remained to protect the castle. Of course, the situation with the guards wasn't common knowledge, as only a few trusted people within the castle knew. However, Cenred had been stupid enough to trust Morgause with it. Morgause had shared many of these little titbits with Morgana as a precaution, and they were finally proving to be useful.

Morgana chuckled quietly. After all, fewer guards made it easier for her to escape. Honestly, it seemed like the triple goddess was on her side today because the guards, in their haste to make final preparations for today's events, had forgotten to close the shackles around her wrist. She, of course, continued to wear them to avoid any suspicion.

Deciding that it was finally the right time, Morgana shook off her shackles and used the very last of her magic to put the guards to sleep. Within seconds, they were slumped against the wall, completely knocked out.

She rushed toward the iron bars and attempted to stick her hand through. However, even with the numerous pounds she'd lost during the time of her imprisonment, her hands were much too big to fit. Quickly, turning towards the dragon, she asked, "Can you reach the keys with your tail? It's hanging off of the guard's belt."

The dragon cocked her head to the side, examining the gate, before swiftly turning around and sticking her tail through. It took a couple of attempts, but eventually they got the key. The other prisoners had been rendered unconscious by Morgana's spell, so there was no one to warn the other guards—hopefully, this would buy them some time. She snatched the dragon and dashed out of the dreadful location.

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

As Morgana limped down the hall, ignoring the aches from different parts of her body, she wondered how exactly she was going to sneak a purely white dragon out of this castle unnoticed. The castle halls were spotless, and there was absolutely nothing she could use to cover her little friend. Sighing, she pulled the dragon closer to her body, hoping that would be enough coverage for now. As she’d predicted, there weren't many guards here, with Morgana spotting only two since she escaped almost 10 minutes ago.

It had been considerably longer than she expected, and she knew that very soon someone was going to notice her absence. Thankfully, the servant exit that she was looking for was right around the corner. Morgana had used the exit a handful of times when Morgause snuck her into the castle, and she knew for a fact that it led to the forest. This forest was on the opposite side of the caste and led towards the perilous lands. Most hunters would avoid this direction because the closer one got to those lands, the fewer animals they would find. They would therefore hunt on the other side of the castle because animals were plentiful in that direction. All Morgana had to do now was:

A panicked chirp brought Morgana out of her thoughts. Only then did she become aware of the heavy footsteps coming her way. Frantically, she opened the doors of a nearby broom closet and climbed in, quickly shutting the door behind her. She placed a hand over her mouth and nose in an effort to silence her heavy breathing and prayed that the guards had not heard the doors closing.

"Do you think Cenred is going to take a wife any time soon?" the guard closest to the closet asked.

"I wouldn't think so. What woman in their right mind wants to be with a man like him?" the other, browned haired guard responded, causing both men to burst into fits of laughter.

The guards continued to walk past the closet and were almost gone when the little dragon's tail accidentally knocked into one of the brooms, causing it to fall. "Did you hear that?" one of the guards asked while drawing his sword. They began walking towards the closet and her fear mounted with every step they took , her heart threatening to jump out of her chest.

"SHE'S GONE! SOUND THE BELL! THE SORCERESS HAS ESCAPED !" The guard that normally brings her dinner comes running out and begins shouting at the top of his lungs.

"How could you idiots let her escape?" the brown-haired guard from before exclaimed before all three took off running down the hall. Morganna waited with baited breath until she was sure they had left before dashing out of the closet and bending the corner. Unfortunately for her, her luck had run out, and the tail end of her dress had caught the eye of an approaching guard.

Fear had once again proven itself to be an excellent motivator, and her legs, despite the soreness, moved at the speed of lightning. The little dragon jumped out of Morgana's hands and began running in front of her, and with her now empty hands, she threw down buckets and brooms that lined the walls of the servant's entrance as she ran through. She had even bumped into a terrified servant who looked just about ready to wet himself at the sight of her. Any other time she would have found his fear quite amusing, but today she brushed him aside and continued running. Her body ached and her throat hurt from how dry they were, but she was almost there.

"Through there! We'll be safe once we get through there!" Morgana shouted, hoping the little dragon could hear her over the loud stamping of feet coming from behind them. They were so close that she could see the trees from here.

The little dragon suddenly reared back and chirped loudly and frantically as if to warn Morgana, but it was much too late. By the time Morgana recognized her warning for what it was, the guard in front of the tunnel had already sunk his sword into her stomach.

White, hot pain seared through every fiber of her being, and she stumbled back in complete shock before doubling over in pure agony.. Morgana might have met her end in that very moment had it not been for her little friend breathing fire on the man in front of them. The unsuspecting guard dropped his bloody weapon and screamed in pure agony. Not even the man's screams or the striking pain in the stomach could dull the utter surprise she felt at the baby dragon breathing fire.

"Is that something you could always do?" Morgana practically screeched at the poor thing. The little dragon, however, paid her no heed, instead opting to sprint toward the forest. The guards behind her were visible now, prompting Morgana to make a mad dash behind her dragon. It didn't take long before they were in the forest, and the foliage gave them some coverage. Alas, the blood dripping from Morgana's open wound was a dead giveaway of the location.

Gasping, Morgana fell to her knees. Her legs ached like never before, her lungs burned from exertion, and her stomach felt like it was on fire. She was only slowing the little dragon down, and soon they would find her, especially if they followed the trail her blood left. Her dear friend, sensing that she had stopped, ran back towards her, biting and pulling at her dress to get her to continue moving.

"You have to go, my dear; you cannot let them catch you." Morgana responded, pushing the dragon onward, but it refused to let go of her dress. Instead, she made a sound at the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like a ‘no.

"I will only slow you down; you need to go!" This time she shouted, angry that the little dragon would not run to safety like she was telling it to. It stumbled away from the force of her shove, looking shocked and pained by Morgana's actions. Morgana felt hot tears welding in her eyes at the thought that she'd hurt the last creature on this earth that truly cared for her. Just as she was about to apologize, the little dragon ran behind her towards the approaching guards. Terror stabbed at her heart as she watched the little body move further away from her.

"NO! Come BACK HERE! PLEASE!!!" She desperately cried out. She couldn't lose her friend! she couldn't! She wouldn't survive it. The guilt alone would kill her.

To her surprise, the little dragon set fire to the trees behind them, successfully blocking the path of the guards and buying them some time.

Morgana stared open-mouthed, surprised that she hadn't thought of that simple solution. Laughing merrily, she scratched the underside of the dragon's head, whispering all sorts of praises.

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

They had been running for so long. Too long. Darkness had fallen hours ago, yet they didn't stop moving. She pushed her injured and abused body to the max, but she didn't think she could hold out much longer. Morgana's head felt woozy from the blood loss, and she was so disoriented from both pain and exhaustion paired with the constant dizzying feeling that she could barely keep her eyes open. She dropped onto the nearest log as the pain flooded her mind. She couldn't continue anymore. She’d lost too much blood. Morgana was beyond surprised that she had made it this far, but she knew. She could feel that she was close.

By this time tomorrow, she wouldn't exist anymore, with only history books and a dragon to remember her by. her eyes prickled with treacherous as she realized that she'd be alone for her passing, with no close family or friend to hold her hand. Maybe, just maybe, if things had been different, if things had gone differently, she would have had Arthur, her annoying little brother, or Gwen, her best friend, to hold her hand. Goddess, she probably wouldn't have minded the stubborn manservant either, of course, when they were friends. Long before he changed. long before he'd tried to kill her.

But alas, things couldn't be different; they chose the wrong side, with Arthur following in his father's footsteps and the traitorous friends of hers protecting him instead of HER . She had needed their protection, love, and understanding, and they had given it to someone else. For that, she'd never forgive them. So shed sit her lone—

"Mordred!" Oh god, Mordred! How could she have forgotten about that little backstabber? His betrayal had hurt, but she understood it. She'd been falling into a spiral so dark that it scared even her, and she had rejected all his offers for help. She had loved that little boy as if he were hers, and she knew that he'd loved her just as dearly. Maybe . Maybe he'd come if she called. Maybe he'd stay and hold her hand until it was time for her to go. Mordred had said she was family after all; surely he wouldn't go back on that.

With newfound hope, she turned to her little dragon friend. She spoke haltingly, her voice tight from the pain.

"My dear, can you …do me one… more favor?" The little dragon cocked his head at her, curious. "I need you… to find… our Mordred.. And… and lead him to me." that was the last thing she said before she blacked out from the pain

It wasn't long after that, that the little white dragon could be seen soaring across the night sky.

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Mordred

It was time for her execution.

He couldn't bear to watch it though. Instead he stayed locked away in his chambers. Far away that he wouldn't hear her screams of pain.

Kara had looked to him, to Mordred, her childhood sweetheart to protect her and he had failed. She was going to be burned at the pyre in less than five minutes because Mordred had put his faith in the wrong man.

sobs wracked through Modred's body and his shoulders shook uncontrollably. It was his fault! It's all his fault! If only he had been more careful, they never would have found her.

“Mordred” , Emrys… no Merlin called out in his mind . Any other day, Mordred would have eagerly responded, happy that he was being acknowledged without the usual contempt . Ecstatic that the older man had been the one to reach out to him. But today was different .He sighed deeply ,miserably before replying.

“Go away Merlin, I'm not in the mood to listen to you preach about Arthur's goodness,” he had been hoping to sound furious and cold; whatever it took to get the warlock to leave him alone. However, once said warlock walked into his room, Mordred was quite sure his words had not been conveyed in the way he hoped it would.

He kept his back facing the man, refusing to show any more weakness than he already had. Dryly he mused, “No longer willing to listen to request from a friend Merlin,” turning to face the man he added “it seems dear, old Arthur has rubbed off on you”

Instead of falling for Mordred's attempt to rile him up Merlin chose to focus on another part of his response. Brow raised ,in a fashion eerily similar to Gaius, the manservant inquired “Merlin? Finally decided to let go of Emrys?”

Yes, Emrys is a protector of his people, unlike you he'd never let an innocent die without doing something about it. I Refuse to soil his name any further by using it to refer to a man that cares for no one other than his precious king. But Mordred didn't say that out loud. In Fact he didn't respond at all. He was too busy gazing into the eyes of a man whose attention and affection he'd longed for. A man he knew he'd kill for without a moment's hesitation , he need only ask. The man whose eyes went from cold and distant to being filled with pity the longer he stared at Mordred's face

Mordred drew back and bent his head ,he could only imagine the view he made. What with knotted curls , red puffy eyes and tell-tale signs of tears running down his cheek , he snorted, he'd never looked better. The last thing Mordred wanted was the older mans pity all he needed was—

Mordred's musings were brought to halt as arms wrapped themselves around his back and gently tugged him forward into a surprisingly muscled chest. instantly his body tensed waiting for what he did not know , but nothing out of the ordinary happened he allowed himself to melt into Merlin's embrace.

A great wave of weariness washed over him sucking the energy out of him leaving Mordred feeling drained and exhausted. He’d been crying nonstop all day with little repreve. you’d think that he'd be all cried out by now. Merlin's comforting scent and embrace brought all of his unshed tears to the surface. His bottom lip trembled and his face crumbled, he couldn't hold it in any more So he let it all out . He let himself be comforted.

A few minutes later when he had finally felt the loss of kara’s energy he clutched onto merlin tighter. Merlin simply drew him closer to his chest. He stayed with Mordred far into the night and not a single word was shared between the two.

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

The next few minutes were bound to be painfully awkward mordred mused.

Arthur had summoned the knights of the round table as well as himself for an impromtu early morning meeting. Arthur, no doubt wanted Mordred there to apologize and hopefully regain his favor by convincing him he'd done the right thing. Forgiveness, however, was completely out of the question. The very thought of Arthur made Mordred’s fist and teeth clench and the anger from last night came rushing back.

Mordred came to a stop outside of the meeting room. He needed to take a minute to compose himself before he faced Arthur. He leaned forward and placed his head against the heavy metal doors relinquishing the coolness. Taking a deep breath he thought back to a few days ago. When he'd have fought tooth and nail for the golden haired man standing at the head of the table. Now, he chuckled, now he was considering running the bastard through himself .

“Are you planning to come in anytime today?”

Rolling his eyes, Mordred took one last deep breath before he pushed open the doors. The chattering inside, the room came to an immediate halt as Mordred entered. Clearly, he had interrupted a conversation. One that was most likely directed towards him.

“Ah sir Mordred, there you are!” Arthur exclaimed as he entered “come have a seat we have much to discuss,” he added twisting to doing the same .

“ Before we start, Mordred,” turning to face him, Arthur added" I do believe I owe you an apology”. Inwardly Mordred rolled his eyes and sighed. He’d known this was coming and he really wished he could have avoided it. But alas one cannot simply ignore the summons of a king.

“I know nothing i say can make up for your loss, but for what it's worth i am truly sorry that things ended the way they did and if there is anything I can do …anything at all to make this easier on you, do let me know” Arthur finishes looking every bit as remorseful and guilty as Mordred had expected. Funny if only he had listened to Mordred he wouldn't be experiencing either emotion.

“Thank you, sire” short and brief. Seeing that Mordred had no intentions of adding anything else he nods proceeds to open a book most likely intention to officially begin the meeting

“Actually sire,” Mordred starts, causing the king's head to jerk up and the knights to turn towards him. “There is something.”

“I wish to take leave for a while”

Arthur nods his head, “that is a reasonable demand, sir Mordred. Tell me , how long do you intend to be gone.” he cocked his head towards Mordred looking on expectantly.

Mordred lets his eyes wander just behind the king for a few seconds. Meeting the eyes of the warlock staying there he responds, “indefinitely”.

There is an instant uproar from both the king and his knight. Neither pleased that the boy they viewed as a little brother had plans to leave them. Their protest fell on deaf ears however as Mordred was completely focused on merlin. Wanting to see his response to the news he'd just shared. Mordred could have sworn he saw a flash of something resembling sadness in the man's eyes. Mordred definitely didn't feel a jolt of happiness because of that.

The argument went on for a few minutes with neither the knights nor the king accepting that Mordred wouldn't budge on this. He couldn't stay. He couldn't stay and work for Arthur knowing he'd had someone he loved killed and Mordred told them as much. Leaving them speechless and swimming in their guilt. Deciding that he'd had enough Mordred turned to leave.

What happened next would be the turning point in Morderd's life.

Elyan had grabbed onto his right shoulder while Gwaine held the left. Logically, Mordred knew that they meant him no harm, only wishing to delay his inevitable departure. Unfortunately for him and everyone in the room , his magic didn't understand that. All the talk of execution and magic had put him on edge causing his own to lash out when he moved to shrug off their hands. Both men went flying backwards , crashing into the meeting table.

The silence that followed was deafening. Mordred's mouth went dry and his blood froze in his veins. There was no questioning what had happened. They may not have seen his eyes change colour because he was facing away from them but they knew what they saw. Turning ,He could see the recognition and disbelief registering on their faces.

In the middle of his panic, Mordred's eyes sought him out . merlin. The warlock looked like he was expecting a fight and from what Mordred could tell from the way his body was positioned. He wasn't the one Merlin was prepared to fight. He didn't have time to think of that however as Arthur took a step forward.

‘Run Mordred’

Fear and adrenaline coursed through Mordred's body. Without replying he dashed out of the meeting room. Desperate to escape Camelot least he meet kara in Avalon sooner than he had planned

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Its been a week

One entire week since he fled from Camelot. One week since he outed himself as a magic user in front of Arthur and his closest knights. Sighing Mordred threw himself down onto his makeshift bedroll. Laying back he thought about how horribly wrong things have gone in the past 2 weeks . Not one thing had gone in his favor, not Kara's escape nor his leave from knighthood.

Looking up at the sky he wondered what Arthur must be thinking. Knowing that he harbored a magic user .. that he had knighted one. The corner of his mouth lifted, poor Arthur , his poor heart probably almost gave out when he saw Mordred's magical display. He couldn't help but burst with laughter remembering the wide eyed expression on their faces.

As always his thoughts drifted to Em-Merlin and the giddy smile slid off his face. The manservant had looked prepared for a fight and for once Mordred didn't think he was the one the sorcerer planned to go against. Mordred's heart most definitely didn't skip a beat when he realized that Merlin had been ready to defend him . To protect him. If the thought of Merlin protecting him brought a giddy smile to his face and a warm fuzzy feeling then that was nobody's business but his

‘SCREECH! SCREECH!’

Mordred’s heart almost jumped out of his chest because of the sudden interruption. Surely Arthur had not been able to find him. No it couldn't be possible he'd used his magic to cover up his tracks. In the blink if an eye Mordred's sword was out and he crouched slightly.

Ready.

Waiting

‘CRASH!!’

Mordred had expected to see himself completely surrounded by bandits. Even having to battle for his life against men that he'd spent a year training beside seemed like a possible outcome. He most definitely didn't expect to see Morgana's little white dragon racing out of the bush towards him. He didn't even have time to recover from his shock because the little dragon had sunk her claws into his trousers and was attempting to drag him god knows where.

“Wait! Wait! DAMN IT WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME!” of course the white creature didn't stop or acknowledge Mordred's questions. Recognising that the only way to get some answers was to take matters into own hands he planted his feet firmly on the ground and refused to move any further’

“Where are you taking me?” hands on his hip Mordred question the creature in the sternest voice he could muster. The dragon obviously saw through it however because it merely rolled its eyes and started walking in the direction it was previously dragging him.

“I'm not going anyway until you tell me what's going on.” damn who knew a little dragon could look so intimidating. Unfortunately for it though Mordred was quickly becoming annoyed by the lack of answers. Honestly why couldn't the little dragon just— oh

Little dragon. Of course. The damn thing couldn't talk yet how could he have forgotten that. He decided to switch up tactics. “Did something happen to Morgana?”

The little dragon nods her head. Mordred feels as if his heart had sunk to his stomach. It's only then that he realizes the condition the little dragon was in. she looked severely underfed, as though she'd fall over if the wind blew too hard and she had almost a dozen cuts. And that's only the ones that can see goddess only knows what else might be bruised or broken. If the dragon was in this condition then what about Morgana?

Mordred immediately felt sick and instantly regretted delaying the dragon.

“Take me to her.”

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

“MORGANA!”

The sight before him is one he'd never wished to see and it instantly brings tears to his eyes. He ran non stop since the little dragon had found him. only stopping to collect herbs that he could use to speed up the healing and fill his waterskin. He’d asked a variety of different questions hoping to acetain the full extent of Morgana's injuries.

Mordred had prepared himself for the worst but looking at the bloody and bruised body of Morgana he couldn't help thinking that this was much worse than he’d ever imagined. Mordred didn't need a doctor to tell him that Morgana wouldn't make it through the day in her condition.

Dropping to his knees armed with mead he had stolen from Gwaine, Mordred was determined to do everything in his power to keep Morgana alive. He'd be damned if he lost the closest thing he'd ever had to a mother.

“Mordred? ..Is ..is that,” Morgana voice was raspy and hoarse. It sounded as though she hadn't had something to drink in days. Given her current condition, Mordred couldn't completely disregard that possibility.

Offering her his waterskin he responded, “yes, it's me Morgana. Were you hoping for someone else?” He didn't give her an opportunity to respond, instead using one of his knives to cut her dress; making the area around her wound a little wider.

Unsteady hands wrapped around his wrist preventing him from taking a closer look. “There's.. nothing you can ….do now Mordred. Save your…strength.” Morgana pushes the words out through gritted teeth.

Mordred of course chooses to ignore her instead opting to wash the wound with the remaining water in his waterskin. “Mordred.. I'm serious …i’'ve...i’ve lost too much… blood already’

Did she really expect him to let her die without at least trying to help her? huffing Mordred continued his ministrations. He needed to finish cleaning the wound before he could attempt to heal it. “What happened Morgana? How did you get injured?'' Here's to hoping that the silent speech isn't as taxing on her .

“Cendred..kidnapped..escaped,” Mordred's blood boiled at these three words. What exactly had that ungrateful bastard put Morgana through! It looks like Mordred had yet another king to run through with his sword.

Focus mordred.

Now isn't the time for that.

pushing aside his anger, he places both hands above the newly cleaned wound and exhales. Morgana's wound would not have been fatal had she received the proper care. Normally sterilizing and a bit of magic would have had her mostly healed but slightly sore for the next few days. But she'd lost too much blood and the poor condition of her health only made matters worse. Even more Mordred was positive the damn wound was infected . Right now Mordred honestly didn't know if he could heal a wound of this magnitude.

STOP IT!

If this healing spell was to go well then he needed to have a clear and calm mind. Taking a few deep breaths Mordred was about to reach for his magic when he felt morgana's hand wrap around his. “Mordred, I…I told you… it's too late. Please… just… sit with… me until –”

“You're asking too much of me morgana. i can't just sit here and watch you die knowing i could have done something about it,”

“Mor–”

“NO morgana. I'm tired of watching the people I love die. I..I'M NOT ABOUT TO LOSE THE CLOSEST THING I HAVE TO FAMILY!!” his voice cracked halfway through filled with emotion he had hoped to never feel again. Taking one last shaky breath he resumed his position and urged his magic to heal her. To take away her pain.

…

WHY WASNT IT WORKING??

Mordred tried again. and again. and again. Each time the tightness in his chest got worse and the pained sob in his throat clawed harder to get free.he sank back on his hunches clutching his thighs. His face contorted and he shook his head and cried .

WHAT HASN'T HE DONE

Mordred .

He looked up at Morgana and was met with tear filled eyes and wobbling lips. She gripped his hands and opened her mouth to say–

Mordred. Come to me and bring the girl

One look at morgana showed that she had hear it to

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

Mordred for his part had tried to convince Morgana to stay back while he went to investigate but it was like talking to a wall. Morgana refused to listen instead threatening to follow him if he went on his own. Realizing that this wasn't a battle he could win he scooped Morgana up and began walking.

The voice had told them to start walking in the direction they felt drawn towards and against Mordred's better judgment, they did as it asked , the little dragon trailing behind them. If only because the voice said she could heal morgana

It didn't take long for Mordred to realize where they were headed. After all, it's kind of hard to forget the place where you attempt to save a king from judgement only to be fatally wounded yourself .

"Do you …know where… we are Mordred?" Morgana's labored voice sounded in his head.

"Yes. to the Disir, the messengers of the triple goddess. We're going to their cave" the thought alone made Mordred's stomach turn and he was just about to suggest turning around when he saw them. Standing in the mouth of the cave were three women, clocks adorning their heads and staffs in hand.

Mordred....which one.. is the Disir?

They all are.......Mordred silently prayed that last years events didn't repeat themselves

“Go into the cave” the lady on the right said

“Hurry till the very end” added the second

“Don't make her wait.” finished the third

Walking into that cave could very well lead them to a trap and they had no weapons and the stronger of the two was fatally injured. Mordred and Morgana shared a glance ,with Mordred silently asking her to reconsider. Taking a shaky breath morgana replied “let's go”

So they set off. The journey down the damp dusty cave was tortuous and they'd almost fallen at least a dozen times. After what felt like decades the cave finally opened up.

Morgana pressed her fingers against her gaping mouth and Mordred pressed his free hand to his chest with fingers splayed wide. Even the baby dragon released a surprised chirp.

Standing before them was someone they NEVER thought they would see in their lifetime

Chapter Text

Throughout his life, Mordred had heard stories of her greatness and her power.

She is the mother of his kin.

Their creator.

She is the Maiden. The embodiment of their youth, their new beginnings, and their birth. She represents their innocence when we began their journey of magic wielding.

She is the Mother. She is the divine feminine, surrounded by her magical children. She is Mother Nature, filled with bounty and ready to be harvested. The fruition of their ideas and their magic are owed to her.

She is the Crone. the manifestation of wisdom and the experience of living a full life. Our quiet and peaceful moments of remembrance are owed to her.

She is the Triple Goddess.

Never in his life had he expected to be graced by her presence. Mordred dropped to his knees, filled with awe at being bestowed with such an honor. Morgana followed suit in a less graceful manner.

“Rise, my children." With a breathtakingly stunning smile, the goddess addressed them. Her silky, soft voice resonated in the quiet cave.

Mordred rushed to comply, pausing only to help Morgana to her feet. "It is an honor to be in your presence, my goddess.

The goddess wore a jocular smile, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “Come, child, we have much to discuss. We will see if you still consider my presence an honor once we’re done." She turned, laughing at her own private joke.

Mordred shared a look with Morgana, both thinking that no matter what she said to them, they would still regard this day with utmost glee. Mordred was filled to the brim with excitement and curiosity. Hearts racing with anticipation, the pair eagerly followed the goddess.

    ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

They had followed the goddess deeper into the cave until they arrived at a much more spacious opening. Mordred's head tipped back, and his mouth fell open. The sight before him was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Pearly, glistening white crystals lined every inch of the cave. And Morgana's  and his slack-jawed expressions were reflected on a hundred different surfaces. He had never heard of the existence of such a beautiful place before and He spun in every direction, trying to commit as much of it to memory as possible.

"Come! Take a seat. Let us not waste anymore time." The voice that addressed them was no longer youthful; instead, it was the voice of an elderly woman. Mordred spun around in shock. He had heard stories of the goddess’ appearance constantly switching between her different aspects, but he had never truly believed them.

As if reading his mind, the triple goddess smiled mischievously at him before proceeding to sit on a rounded piece of crystal, motioning for Mordred and Morgana to follow suit.

She took a deep breath before starting.

"I'm sure you've heard of the prophecies of Emrys and The Once and Future King." Mordred's chest tightened when he heard her say Emrys’ name . This had to be the longest he had gone without thinking of the older man in the past three years. His heart ached, thinking that they had never been this far apart from each other since they reconnected.

The triple goddess tilted her head and looked at him with a knowing glint in her eyes, making Mordred turn a shade of red that rivaled that of a rose. He was thankfully saved from the goddess’ observant gaze when Morgana spoke up.

Nodding, she stated, her tone laced with anger, "Of course we know. Emrys is destined to protect Arthur so that he can bring about a time of peace and prosperity." With her upper lip curled in a snarl, she added, “But Arthur is exactly like his good-for-nothing father. He will never be the king of the prophecies.”

Humming, the goddess responded, "I do agree with you on one count." Eyebrows lowered and pulled closer together, she continued, "Arthur is not ready to be the king of the prophecies."

Morgana straightened her shoulders, thrusting out her chest. With a tilt of her head and a smug smirk, she said, "Finally, someone sees the truth. Arthur will never be an ally to magic. He is an incompetent fool, incapable of–

HUSH!!!!

Jaw tensed and nostrils flared, the goddess shouted, putting an end to Morgana's bitter-filled remark.

"Never forget, Morgana Pendragon, that you are just as responsible, if not more, for Arthur's view on magic!

Well, this isn't going to end well, Mordred thought, looking at the way Morgana's eyes flared up at the accusation.

"Me! How could–"

She was once again interrupted by the goddess, who added

"Out of everyone in this world, you had the greatest opportunity to convince Arthur that magic could be used for good!"

Lips curled back, Morgana hissed, "Arthur would have had me bound with chains kneeling in front of a pyre had he known of my magic. I never would have had the chance to prove anything!"

"That is where you are wrong, Pendragon." Morgana flinched at the name, "had you, the woman Arthur grew up with and loved like a sister confided in him; I can assure you that even if he had doubts about magic, he would have done anything to keep you safe. Even if it meant going against your father."

The triple goddess merely spared her a glance before continuing. "As it is, Arthur's view on magic continues to worsen by the day. We have been patient. We have been watching and waiting for the past 7 years, hoping that with time Arthur would come to see the truth."

Mordred could hear the disappointment dripping from her words, and a small,  minuscule part of him wanted to defend the Arthur he had fought for before Kara's execution. But he shoved that back into the deepest trenches of his heart, refocusing on the woman in front of him.

She clenched her fist and purred her lips before continuing. "We cannot afford to waste any more time. We fear the consequences will be dire if we wait any longer for Arthur to change his mind."

Mordred‘s blood ran cold at her words. He knew Arthur's ignorance would have dreadful consequences, but he never in his life believed those consequences would be so bad that they would require the direct intervention of a goddess.

Morded opened his mouth for the first time since they entered the opening. "How bad will it be?" He dreaded the answer, but he had to know.

The goddess turned her head away from them as though she couldn't bear to see their reaction. With a deep, weary sigh, she responded, "If things continue as they are, our streets will turn into rivers of blood. Both sorcerers and non-magical beings will be slaughtered without a second thought. A war will come , one that has no end and will continue for years to come."

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"There is still hope, but we will require your help."

"Of course," Morgana hastily replied,

"Anything.  We will do anything to prevent that future from coming to pass.” Terror had welled up in Mordred's chest upon hearing her words. His mind raced to take in the new information. What would come of the few people he cared about? What of Morgana and... Emrys . No. That could never happen. He'll make sure it never happens.

With a determined shake of his head, he turns to the goddess. "How do we stop it?"

"We need to create a safe space for our people. A place where they can live in harmony without fear of persecution. A safe haven where they can hone their skills and learn to fight as one."

Morgana and Mordred shared a look of utter confusion. How would this prevent that future, and how did they fit into the equation?

Fortunately, the goddess continued, already expecting their questions. "We do not know if this will prevent a war. We expect there still to be lots of fighting. But a safe haven will create unity. It is our greatest hope that this unity will help prevent the utter bloodshed that could come."

While Mordred didn't believe that this logic was one hundred percent foolproof. It made sense. The most likely cause for the massacre of their kin in the future could be due to their limited knowledge. Many of them would have hidden their magic, afraid to let it loose for even a second, lest it lead to an early death. With no knowledge of magic and no experience, how could they be expected to adequately defend themselves? With a safe haven, they could not only be protected but also educated and trained in their respective elements.

Excellent thinking child. I chose well. The goddess voice sounded in his head.

Oh GOD! She COULD READ HIS MIND.

Mordred would have drowned in mortification any other time. Today , however , he was much too interested in her previous statement to care . ‘She chose well. What did she mean by that?

"Arthur cannot fulfill his part in the prophecy, so we have chosen champions of our own to fulfill the role. Three powerful champions. By themselves,  their magic is a force to be reckoned with, but together," the goddess stopped and donned a ridiculously proud smile, "they would definitely give me a run for my money."

Mordred shifted in his seat slightly, feeling more than a little jealous of the people. No. The Champions that the goddess spoke so highly of. How was it possible that he'd never heard of them? If they were as powerful as the goddess says, then surely word would have spread about them. In much the same way that word of Emrys’ power and magnificence had spread.

Hmm. He wondered, a small smile spreading across his face, how they would fare against his Emrys.

"Child, would you like to share the reason behind such a smile?" Mordred's head swung up, once again meeting the knowing eyes of the goddess. Shit! Stupid Mordred! She can read minds, dummy; how could you forget?

Scrambling, his mind raced to come up with an answer that would not make him want to jump off a cliff. "Oh, it..i..well, I was." His face heated at his pathetic attempt at coming up with a suitable excuse. Goddess, it was so unlike him that even Morgana raised a curious eyebrow at his behavior.

Morgana .

SHIT MORGANA!

Goddess How could he have forgotten? Morgana's skin had turned a gastly color, and she looked just about ready to collapse. The makeshift bandage he had tied around her wound earlier was completely soaked in blood. He was just about to leave his seat and run over to her when a gentle hand placed on his shoulder held him back.

"Worry not, child. morgana will be healed in the next few minutes, should she wish it. However, I must make my request before I heal her."

Unsure, Mordred gave Morgana and another once-over. She didn't look like she could bear it much longer. He turned towards the goddess with a plea to reconsider at the tip of his tongue, only to be stopped by Morgana.

Mordred. Please, I can last a little longer. Let her continue. Her voice sounded in his head, riddled with pain and exhaustion.

Huffing, he crossed his arms over his chest and returned his attention to the goddess. wordlessly telling her to continue and silently hoping that she would finish quickly.

"As it is," she continues, "they have not joined forces with one another. Each holding hatred against the other."

Confusion engulfs Mordred. Did she intend for them to find these people and somehow convince them to work together? Surprisingly, Morgana was the one to voice her confusion this time after coming to the same conclusion as him.

The goddess laughed merrily, her eyes widening in pure delight. Mordred and Morgana shared a look of puzzlement, however, unsure of what the goddess had found amusing.

Thankfully, she saves them from having to question her.

"Why!  I have already found them. Emrys being one," mischief danced in her eyes, and her lips curled upward. "The other two are sitting right in front of me."

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The silence that followed her statement was deafening.

Morgana felt like the shock had caused her brain to malfunction, but that could probably be attributed to the large amount of blood she’d lost. Glancing at Mordred, she could see he wasn't faring any better. Did the goddess really think they were that powerful? A smile filled with childish excitement crept up her face. She thought so highly of them; she believed that together she, Mordred, and Emrys would…

EMRYS!?!

Her smile instantly vanished. She must be joking. The triple goddess couldn't really expect her to work with that man, the man who was supposed to be her doom. Surely she could see he wasn't fit for the task; after all,  he too had failed in his destiny. He hasn't gotten the blasted son of utter to accept their kin. She would much rather die here than be forced to work with him.

That wouldn't do. She'd have to ask the goddess to reconsider. But she would have to take utmost care not to offend her.

"Emrys is...he hasn’t," she stuttered miserably, unsure how to go about this without offending and upsetting the goddess. "Maybe you should reconsider, Emrys.--

"Are you implying that I do not know what is best for my people, Morgana Pendragon?" The goddess cut her off in a dangerously calm tone. Morgana shivered at the glint in her eyes; it was one that promised severe punishment should she proceed wrongly.

Hastily, Morgana backtracked, "No! No, that was never my intention. I simply meant –

"I know what you meant, child, and I advise that you hold your tongue until I am finished!" She spoke in a matter-of-fact manner that left no room for argument. Morgana nodded, deciding to let the matter rest. 

For now anyway.

"Good! I intend for the three of you to create this safe haven for our people, to protect and guide them. Obviously, this will not be an easy task, which is why we are depending on all THREE of you. While I understand your apprehension, Morgana, the only way for change to come is for you three to put aside your hatred and anger and work together." She looked at Morgana with eyes swimming with sympathy, enough to make heat prickle behind Morgana's eyes.

She didn't want anything to do with Emrys, but she couldn't simply turn down an offer from the triple goddess. This was no simple matter, and there were probably only a handful of people who can say they have been awarded such an honor. The only way to avoid Emrys seemed to be to decline the goddess's offer, and Morgana wasn't thrilled with that alternative. Which meant she would have to take extra care in order to keep a comfortable gap between Emrys and herself in the foreseeable future.

"Ok,"she says. If she did this, then she would have to set some ground rules. "I will do as you ask." She resolutely lifted her head and stared into the goddess eyes. "I do not wish to be in close quarters with Emrys for longer than I need; there will need to be measures in place to ensure that an acceptable distance is kept between us at all times."

The goddess eyes blazed with anger, and she glowered at her. Gulping, Morgana racked her brains for a means to pacify the outraged goddess.

"You are a fool if you think you are in any position to negotiate. I am offering you a second chance. One where you can be useful to your kin for once." she snarled.  "I could have left you in that cell to rot, but I brought you here. I am giving you a purpose. A chance to have a better life. A safe life." The goddess' face darkened with disappointment. "Maybe you truly are beyond redemption."

She blanched upon hearing the goddess' words. She had helped her escape. How?

 Could she really not be saved? 

Was she that horrible? 

She drew her lower lip between her teeth, her thoughts spiraling with no end in sight.

Fortunately, she was brought out of it by Mordred's voice. It seems like he had jumped to her defense. trying to follow along with what they were saying, she realized that she was utterly lost. Clearly, she was too taken up with her thoughts earlier that she had missed some of the conversation.

"This has gone on for far too long. As I said before, I intend to give Emrys his rightful place as king of our people, and I would like nothing more than for you two to help him lead this kingdom.” Morgana's head snapped up at the goddess' words. What the hell was going on? Emrys as king?! What the hell does he know about being king?

Morgana was just about to voice her disagreement and revulsion when the goddess fixed her with a glare that made her heart want to jump out of her chest. "If you had been paying attention, Miss Pendragon, you would know that I wish to hear no more responses at the moment. You shall go to the clearing outside of the cave, where you'll have until nightfall to come to a conclusion."

She stepped closer. "If I do not see either of you by that time, then I will assume you have turned down my offer."

"For now, Morgana, I have partially healed your wound. I have stopped the bleeding and the pain because I wish for you to have a clear mind during the next few hours. Your decision should be completely your own, with no physical pain to cloud your judgment." The goddess stopped right in front of her. Now face-to-face with Morgana, she stared into her eyes.

"Take heed, Morgana. Do not think for even a second that now that I have partially healed you, you can run away." Morgana gulped. The thought had briefly crossed her mind. "If you so much as step outside of that clearing, you will be struck down where you stand. And I suggest not trying anything inside the clearing because I cannot assure you that your spell won't backfire."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she disappeared. Thankfully, she had transported them outside to the clearing, saving them the long and arduous trek out of the cave.

    ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

Morgana's anger couldn't be contained. Before, she had held it in, afraid to offend the goddess, but now. Now she was free to let it out. She opted to stomp on every ridiculous-looking flower that was unfortunate enough to be in her line of sight. She would have used her magic to set the trees around her on fire, but she refrained lest she incur the goddess rath and be turned to ashes herself.

Snarling, she spun towards Mordred, who had done nothing but watch her go about her little destructive spree for the past 10 minutes. "How could she? She knows what that man is destined to do to me! Yet she expects me to trust him and HELP him!” Her voice pitched at the end, overfilling with raw, unadulterated anger.

"Morgana," Mordred pleads

" NO! NEVER! She must be insane!There is no way we would ever work with him!"

"Morgana, please listen." He tries again but is once again cut off by her incessant ranting.

"Maybe we should go back there." She mused, "If we are as powerful as she says, then she needs us. So maybe we can–”

"Morgana, don't be stupid. We are NOTHING compared to Emry's power! And who are we to make such demands of a goddess? As a high priestess, I thought you'd know better."

Morgana flinched. She marched up towards him, shoulders back and eyes ablaze with anger. "If I didn't know any better, Mordred, I'd say you wanted to work with that bastard."

He didn't say anything to deny her accusation. She stumbled backward, laughing in disbelief. "You cannot be serious Mordred. After all, he's done!"

Mordred doesn't hesitate to jump to Emrys’ defense: " Emrys has done the best he can, Morgana!"

Morgana laughs hysterically, "His BEST! Really!!! He protected Uther and that idiot Arthur!” She spits out their names in disgust.

"He has never protected Utter! Morgana, he hated the man as much as we did." He stalks towards her, an accusing finger pointing towards her, saying, "You know why he protected Arthur, you know how important Arthur is, The destiny that they share!"

Morgana scoffs. She couldn't understand how Mordred could be fooled by that man. How could he not see the failure that he is? "If he hated Utter so much, why didn't he kill him? Hmmm. Why did he sit back and let him kill our kin?!"

"Why, of course, Morgana. Kill Arthur's father, the man whose son is prophesied to bring magic back to the land, WITH magic, and give him even more reason to hate us and want us dead. He let Uther live because he knew if he was killed by the hands of someone with magic, Arthur would never trust it again. Much less set it free."

Morgana hesitated for a second. She had never looked at it that way before. "Nevertheless, he sat idly by and did nothing for his people; the same people who worshiped him were being hunted and persecuted,” voice rising until she was eventually streaming at Mordred.

"What was he to do, Morgana, out himself? Risk Arthur finding out and ruining the future they had to build!" Mordred shouted back, the vein in his jaw twitching.

“Mordred, that is besides the point! He let them be killed! Hell, he killed some of our kin himself!"

“Yes, and so have I!" silencing morgana. He stepped closer to her and said, "I have slain our kin in both Emrys and Arthur's names. Does that mean I don't care? Should I be killed for doing what I must to ensure Albion's future? Because that is exactly what you wish to do to Emrys. Kill him for protecting Arthur from people so set on revenge that they didn't care who they hurt to get it."

Morgana shook her head. There was no arguing with Mordred. He was set in his beliefs, completely charmed by the illusion that is the great Emrys. He wouldn't listen to her; he wouldn't listen to reason. If this route didn't work, she would change tactics.

"So. You believe Emrys is worthy of being king?" It wasn't a question. She was merely stating a fact. Mordred, for his part, simply nodded. "Why?" she prodded. Why was he so protective of this man? So willing to fight on his behalf? It's almost as though he…

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mordred.

"I think he will need help. He will need to be guided through the inner workings of a court. He knows the basics, but he isn't yet ready to run a kingdom. He has the courage, and he is a natural-born leader. Our people will follow him. With our guidance, I think he will be a great king." Mordred finally looks back up at Morgana.

She could see when the implications of what he said had settled in.

“You speak as though you know Emrys. as though you know him personally.” She doesn't need him to answer, though. She can see it in his eyes.

 Fear.

fear that he's done something wrong. 

Fear that he's said too much. 

But as quickly as it came, it was gone. Replaced with a kind of determination that could rival hers.

“Yes, Morgana, I know who Emrys is. His real identity However, I have NO intention of giving it to you, and nothing you say will change my mind!"

"What has he done to deserve your devotion? Why do you seem so eager to put him above me? After all I have done for you! you —"

"I owe my life to you both. I hold both of you in the highest regard. Morgana, I would do anything to keep you both safe and I refuse to choose between you two. So yes, I plan to accept the goddess’ offer. Not only can I save my people, but I won't have to see the two people I care about most try to kill each other."

He rests his hands on her shoulder, giving her a gentle, reassuring squeeze before he continues, "The goddess said we would have to let go of our hatred and anger." He stops lifting her head to look at him and says, "Think about how many innocent lives we could save if we put our anger and need for revenge behind us."

Mordred adds, "No matter how hard it will be, I intend to put that need for revenge aside and devote myself to taking care of my people." His voice lowers to a pleading whisper: "I hope you can do the same, Morgana; I do not wish to do this without you."

"You said so yourself,; you want your kin to be safe and happy. Does it really matter who's wearing the crown when all three of us will lead together?"

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After his heartfelt plea, Mordred settled down on the other side of the clearing. She remained undisturbed for the next four hours, her thoughts being the only thing to keep her company. She had come to a conclusion two hours ago and had spent the rest of the time planning. There were consequences that would come as a result of her choice, and she needed to be ready.

Before long, Mordred and her found themselves in the cave, ready to give the goddess their answers.

“Well, my children, let us not drag this on any longer. Just a simple yes or no will suffice." Long gone was the smiling woman who had welcomed them the first time. The woman in front of her was strictly business.

Morgana hesitated for a few seconds. Was this really the best choice?

Mordred went first. Stepping forward, he began, "Yes, my goddess, I accept your offer. I swear, I will do everything in my power to protect my people. I will do my best to ensure they have a safe place to call home."

The goddess smiled at him and said, "I expected nothing less." She turned to Morgana, her eyebrows raising. "What have you decided, Miss Pendragon?"

Well, this was it.

 She took a deep breath and stepped forward. "My goddess, I accept your offer." She bowed her head, hesitating slightly. "But I have one request. I wish for Emrys to swear on your name that no harm will come to me. In exchange ,I will do the same."

She peered up. The goddess looked at her with a calculating look in her eyes. "Well, I see no harm in that, as you are willing to reciprocate. It shall be done." Morgana released a sigh, and she felt as though a weight had been lifted off of her shoulder.

The goddess’ blinding smile was back: "I'm so happy you both accepted my offer. Now, before I tell you more, You need to be healed, Morgana," she said, offering her hand to her. "After the healing, I intend to cast a cleansing spell on you both."

Morgana shared a glance with Mordred.

The goddess giggled, "Have no fear, children. The cleanse will remove any curse or evil deeds that were cast upon you. It will also remove some of the anger and hatred you currently feel. You will feel lighter after the cleanse, darling, and hopefully this will make focusing on creating our safe haven an easier task."

She relaxed. It sounded like a good idea. Morgana had been drowning in darkness for so long that she couldn't remember what it felt like to be without it. She definitely wanted to try.

“Good, let us begin!"

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The next morning ,when they had woken up after the cleansing the goddess had provided them with food.

Morgana felt lighter than she’d felt in a long time. She had even smiled at Mordred and Aithusa. Aithusa, who she hadn't seen since they originally entered the cave, seemed ecstatic to see her. The goddess had sent her to another part of the cave where she could heal in peace so she'd been away from her for the entirety of the life-changing conversation they had with the goddess.

"This has already gone on much longer than it should. So if you too will hold your comments until after I am finished, it would be much appreciated."

Both Mordred and Morgana nodded their assent.

"I'm sure you both know of The Perilous Lands." She paused, waiting for them to confirm before continuing. "We intend to establish the safe haven on these lands."

A safe haven in the perilous lands? How would that work?

"Your first few tasks will be to refurbish the castle and village houses as much as you can. When the places have been refurbished, you can send word to our people. It will not be perfect, and you will need to take care of a lot of court work."

"Excuse the interruption, my goddess," Morgana interjects, "but it is well known that food cannot be grown on those lands."

"Worry not, my dear; I intend to bless a section of the land. Enough to feed at least 500 people."

" However, this will not last very long. Soon, more and more people will come seeking shelter. When that happens, Emrys will be needed. " She paused, taking a breath. "The land is tied to its ruler, so when you have laid the first few building blocks, you will need to get Emrys help. Only he can tie himself to the land and turn it into the prosperous kingdom we seek. "

She spent the next 2 hours discussing in detail how they would go about refurbishing the perilous lands. They had spent a while going through every detail before she sent them off, assuring them that she would be there to support them every step of the way.

Chapter Text

Mordred

5 years later 

‘CLANG!’

‘CLANG!’

"Come on, Tassian! Is that the best you've got?” Mordred taunted the strawberry-haired man he was fighting. 

Sidestepping an ill-timed blow he added, “tsk tsk tsk…I taught you better than that Tass.”

The man in question growled before switching tactics, his blows now driven with frustration.  Mordred chuckled lightly and deftly parried every attack thrown his way. They'd been training in the scorching hot sun for the better half of three hours and within that time he had wiped the floor with every one of them. Tassian, of course, had given him a run for his money but he didn't need to know that.

Deciding to have some mercy on his friend, he ended the match. Unfortunately for Tass, Mordred's method of ending it resulted in him falling face-first into the pile of mud next to them. The loud, boisterous laughter of his makeshift knights filled the courtyard. Mordred shook his head fondly, not feeling the least bit guilty for his actions.

He offered Tassian his hand, "I heard mud is good for the skin,” eyes alight with laughter as he took in the man's face. His once rosy red features were now covered with mud. The corner of his lips lifted as he continued, “Let me know if it works” 

Face scrunched in absolute disgust Tass retorted, “I dislike you more and more every day.” He turned swiftly on his heels, stomping towards the benches. The laughter rose even more after his reply, his men taking time off to tease a fellow brother-in-arms. Mordred smiled fondly at the scene in front of him and he thanked the goddess once more for giving him this group of misfits that he would proudly call family.

Four years ago when they’d first started welcoming people into the safe haven they had struggled a lot with keeping order. Even more problematic was the lack of knights to keep watch or defend the people from any minor attack that may befall them. 

Mordred's smile widened a little more as he proudly watched his men teasing and roughhousing with each other. These men didn't have a single day's training with any weapon but they were some of the first to volunteer to protect their people. Mordred had been a stranger to them all but they had followed his every direction. They trained every day with a passion that could rival that of the knights of Camelot. There had been fifteen of them originally but as time passed, as the numbers of incoming druids increased more and more people volunteered. All wanting the honor of defending their people.

They had roughly 80 knights now, which may seem a bit underwhelming compared to that of Camelot's or Essetir’s army but Mordred firmly believed that once this land had its true king and it was fully turned into the kingdom they all wanted then their army would be a formidable one.  Of these soldiers Mordred was extremely close to three of them. They had been at his side from the very beginning.

Tassian was one of his best fighters and closest friends. They had met a few days after Mordred and Morgana’s first meeting with the triple goddess. The man had been surrounded by bandits, not to mention mind-numbingly drunk. Mordred had rushed to his aid. It had taken a few tries to weasel any information out of the man but he succeeded eventually. He learned that Tassian had recently lost his brother, the last remaining family he had left and in his grief had intentionally walked into the bee's nest.  

Mordred, knowing exactly how that felt, had offered Tassian a spot in the future they were setting out to build, a spot in his small constantly dwindling family. He had readily accepted the offer and thus was the beginning of a great friendship.

Oh and then there was–

“ SIR MORDRED!!!” 

Mordred's head instantly whipped up, thoughts coming to a halt.

“ A fight has broken out in the square! People are hurt!!”

Mordred took off in a sprint, his men following suit.

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Shouts and clashes filled the air, bouncing off the wooden frames of the surrounding houses. Stalls were overturned spilling fruits and meager vegetables on the dirt floors of the square. Tomatoes were soaring in the sky flying in every direction. 

The scene unfolding before their eyes was an absolute mess.

Thankfully despite the commotion, no one appeared to be gravely injured. Mordred could even spot a few of his knights in the fray having arrived before him. They were trying desperately yet failing to separate and subdue the crowd. The silver in their, not quite camelot standard armor, glinted in the sunlight as they tried to use their shields as a barrier to separate the brawlers.

Mordred sighed, this was the third fight they’ve had this season alone. The druids were starting to get restless it would seem and for the most part, he could understand why. The cottages were shabby, their food source was limited, trade wasn't all that good in this area, and bandits were also becoming a problem. His jaw clenched in frustration, he'd surely need to talk to Morgana about this…..again. For now, though he needed to put an end to this chaos before people got seriously hurt. 

“ Tassian, Ned, Jasper with me. Everyone else try your best to part this crowd. Arrest anyone unwilling to cooperate “ 

A tomato whizzed past his face. Irritation shot straight through him.

“ By the Goddess, SOMEBODY GET THOSE TOMATOES AWAY FROM THAT OLD MAN!” he shouted his final order before sprinting into the thick of the chaos. 

The cause of the problem was usually at the center with the chaos spilling out from within.

Sure enough there they were, two druid men yelling at each other till they were red in the face. Or maybe that was the flying tomatoes' fault. He really couldn't tell that well from this angle.

“WHO ARE YOU TO QUESTION THE WORKING OF EMRYS?” 

Hmph…there goes another one. 

“WHERE IS HE! THEY ARE CLEARLY LYING TO US”

Mordred quickly and quietly closed the distance between himself and one of the men. Tassian doing the same behind him.

“IT'S NOT TIME YET! ONE DOES NOT RUSH GREATNESS”

Mordred has the man's hands locked behind his back before he can even register that they are there. Clearly, that was too minor an issue to stop him from yelling though.

“ IT'S BEEN FOUR YEARS!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Mordred roared, finally having enough of the yelling. “You’ve caused enough ruckus for one day. Now I suggest you hold your piece until you hold counsel with Lady Morgana!” 

He righted the older druid man and began the trek to their holding bay of sorts. They could stay there until they had cleared their heads and were cooled off enough to have a proper conversation. Ned and Jasper eventually left them in favor of helping some of the vendors back onto their feet and righting the stalls.

Goddess, help him. These fights could not be allowed to continue, they had to get to the root of it as soon as possible. 

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Mordred could count the number of times he'd interacted with the man standing before him on one hand. He was a druid leader, one who had been stripped prematurely of his position. The gossip amongst the druid clans is that he was too rash and too violent. Most of his actions completely went against the peaceful nature of the druids.

His name was Atticus. He joined the safe haven roughly three years ago when his clan was attacked by mundanes, people without magic. He’d heard about the haven from a passing group of druids and had come seeking shelter. He appeared to Mordred as someone who truly cared for his people so he truly could not fathom why he would cause such a ruckus in the square. 

“Please, make yourself comfortable. Have a seat.” Mordred began, arms outstretched and gesturing towards the seat opposite Morgana.

“No offense sir Mordred but I would prefer to stand.” he curtly replied, body tensed as though waiting for an attack.

Morgana, being the more diplomatic of the two, began the conversation. “Sir Mordred here tells me that you have some…problems with our leadership.” She leaned forward slightly, with pursed lips and a slightly raised eyebrow she continued, “I must say I cannot fathom what could be so horrible about our ruling that you would subject innocent members of your kin to such unsavory behavior.”

Mordred turned towards Atticus, a silent indication for him to begin speaking. For the first time since he had entered the room, he looked a bit unsure of himself. 

“ look. I ..” he stammered. Huffing he drew back his shoulders and looked directly into Morgana’s eyes. 

Quite a bold move if you asked him. 

“You were not meant to lead. We came here because you told us we would be protected and united under Emrys himself,” fist clenched at his sides and voice raising beyond what is considered appropriate for a nobleman he continued, “ It has been THREE years and EMRYS STILL ISNT HERE!”

Mordered’s edge of irritation instantly returned. The audacity of this man to disrespect them in their home. To raise his voice to them after they'd spared him even after knowing he was the cause of the ruckus in the square.

“I'd mind my manners if I were you, Atticus. I fear my patience has run out” chided Mordred.

“Forgive me lord mordred” he combated practically sneering at mordreds title. Fiddling slightly with the end of his tunic sleeve he turns his attention back towards Morgana. Who for her part, looked every bit as irritated as Mordred felt.

“Say your bit and let this tedious meeting be over with Atticus!” she sneered, jaws clenched.

“We will not stand for this any longer. We have given you four years and you have failed. Now we will give you five days,” turning abruptly to face Mordred he declared, “If you do not have Emrys within this sanctuary's borders  then blood will be split!” He finishes with bared teeth.

A second passes. 

Another 

Silence 

Mordred wordlessly turns towards Morgana. The frigid smile she wore sent chills down his spine. It was in moments like this that he saw the old Morgana. The one obsessed with revenge and filled with hatred.

Leaning forward, arms propped on her thighs she challenged, “You speak as though I couldn't just kill you where you stand.” 

“You could of course,” he smiled, looking as though he’d already won the conversation, “ but I'm not the only person who feels this way, My Lady. I’m afraid killing me won’t stop anything. Though I am ready to die for my cause.”

If looks could kill then Atticus would have been 6 feet under by now. Tilting his head, Mordred piped in, having finally had enough of this man. “Should you succeed, who do you suppose should lead our people?”

Puffing up his chest Atticus exclaimed, “ Me Of Course! I have the most experience leading amongst my men.”

With a flick of her hand and muttering of a quick almost silent spell the man was gone. 

Turning to her with her lifted brow he inquired, “ I do believe we weren’t finished.” Morgana simply ignored him, choosing instead to gather the papers sitting on the desk at her side. Mordred shook his head slightly, this wasn't the first time she'd done something like this, the idea of making her problems disappear into a little bubble jail that only she could access was apparently too tempting. That's definitely not going to be a problem when Emrys takes over he muses.

“He's right, you know, he has supporters. Locking him away won't do anything to deter them. In fact, it might anger them more” 

As graceful as ever she dismounted from her seat and started making her way towards the wooden doors. Hips swaying and head held high she walked with the confidence they had once stolen from her. A smile graced Mordred's lips as he watched her go, had it not been for her temper she'd make a wonderful Queen.

Stopping abruptly she spun towards him bringing him out of his musings, “Tomorrow dear Morderd we shall discuss this …rebellion.. I will be retiring for the day because I am positively drained. I trust you can handle everything else on your own.” she asked, lips curving slightly into a teasing smile.

Rolling his eyes he nodded at her. 

“Well then, I shall see you tomorrow.” she sashayed out, not seeming the least bit worried about the threat they’d just received.

Sighing, Mordred couldn't help thinking that Atticus’ words held some merit. It had been five years since they’d seen Emrys and since then they had made no effort to contact him.

Gazing out the makeshift window he wondered. Would Emrys like what Morgana and he had built here? If he would stay. If for once he'd put his people and their safety above Arthur.

If for some ridiculous reason, he'd missed him? 

Had he tried to find him? 

Worried when Mordred couldn't be found?

Turning away he sighed once more. At the rate things were beginning to escalate, he believed he would find his answers soon enough.

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Drip!

Drip! 

Something wet and cold landed on her face. Eyes closed she wondered if the servants had forgotten to fix the leaking surface above her bed. 

Groaning, she reached for her bedsheet hoping to pull it over her head and delay waking for a few more minutes. Her hands inched bit by bit in search of the plush blanket only to be met with something cold and unforgivingly hard. It was only then did she registered the coldness seeping into her bones and the surface beneath her that was far too stiff to be a bed.

A jolt of anxiety rushed through her body and she surged forward. Her eyes were wide open and her breathing and movements were quick and erratic.

Where was she?!

How had she gotten here ?!

Who brought her here?!

She needed to-

“Be calm child, all is well” Morgana's head instantly whipped around searching for the owner of the voice. Standing in the corner less than three feet away was none other than the triple goddess. She placed her palms on her forehead, her shoulders instantly sagging in relief.

“Forgive me, my lady, I wasn't expecting a visit so soon.”

Eyes twinkling with barely concealed amusement the goddess replied, “Fear not my child, anyone in your place would have the same reaction. As per usual your body remains safe and warm in your bedchambers while your subconscience convenes with me.” 

Morgana simply nods, she knows how this works. The goddess would summon her consciousness here when she needed to pass information to Mordred and herself. It's how they’ve been communicating since their first meeting in the cave. A cave eerily familiar to the one she's currently sitting in.

Standing and smoothing out her nightgown she enquires, “Is something troubling you, my lady?” looking up and tilting her head she continues “This meeting is three months ahead of time.”

A radiant smile graced the goddess’ face, “It is time!” 

eyebrows knitted, Morgana pressed her lips together. 

Time?...... It's Time? Had she missed something? Was there a deadline that she'd forgotten about? Goddess forbid she promised to finish something the last time they met. She bit her lip, surely she was mistaken, surely Mordred would have reminded her of such a deadline. 

“Why so puzzled Morgana,” the goddess giggled lightly, “ it's quite simple”. Standing she took Morgana's hands in her own and resumed, “You and Mordred have done a marvelous job. It is so much more than I was expecting and we couldn't have made it possible without you two. But something is missing. Someone .” she peered into her eyes, “ Morgana, it is time to bring Emyrs home!”

Morgana felt as though her brain had frozen for a minute. Emrys. Welcome. She wanted them to WELCOME HIM HOME?! In the past five years, Morgana had let go of a lot. She worked past most of her anger and hatred to the point that they were mere irritations now. But no matter how hard she tried she could never seem to change her opinion on Emrys. It was one of the many sore topics that she and Mordred could never agree on.

She couldn't forgive the man so how in the name of the goddess did they expect her to work with him? Much less work for him. She couldn't do it. She couldn't work with that coward. He had done so little to protect their kind. It didn’t matter what Mordred said, the man was destined to be her doom. They were always destined to be on opposite sides. She bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood she had to get rid of him before he had the chance to come after her. Maybe she could-

Morgana’s thoughts were instantly cut off by a warm hand gently caressing her cheek. As she looked up into the knowing eyes of the goddess she blushed slightly, remembering all too late the goddess' ability to hear her thoughts.

“Morgana,” her lips tilted slightly “ you have come so far, my dear. Five years ago, you would have attempted to bite off my head for speaking his name." Morgana chuckled lightly, unable to find fault in her words. “I do not blame you for fearing him nor do I blame you for hating him.  The Emrys you know is the favored warlock of stories, distorted by generations of druids, you have yet to meet and understand the real Emrys. The man behind the stories, the one who has made mistakes while trying to keep the people he cares about safe.”

“ We have seen him, Morgana. Mordred and I have seen the real Emrys, a loving and selfless man who would make a formidable King. I do not expect you to love or trust him at this point. All I ask is that you give him a chance, let him prove that he is the man we know him to be.”

Morgana sighed, as much as she hated to admit it. Part of her wanted to be proven wrong, she wanted to see the man revered by both the druids and the goddess, the one Mordred would willingly give his life to protect. “ what happens if he doesn't live up to your expectations'' she countered

“Well, if that be the case then we will be having a very different conversation. But if I'm being honest, I don't think it will come to that. Emrys has a way of worming his way into people's hearts and carving a permanent place for himself.”

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It had been a few hours since Morgana's conversation with the goddess. After their little heart-to-heart, she told Morgana that she and Mordred had devised a plan to get Emrys away from Arthur. She had been assured that the much harder part, convincing him to stay would be taken care of by the goddess.  There was one flaw in the goddess’ plan however, Morgana didn't know the real identity of Emrys.  Not for lack of trying, she mused. She tried on numerous occasions to pick a name from Mordred but the man's lips were sealed tighter than Camelot's vaults. She’d even considered using liquor to loosen his lips, but the stubborn man seemed to have an aversion to it.

Clearing her throat loudly she looked up at him. Mordred for his part, appeared completely unfazed by the tense atmosphere at the table this morning. She was sure he felt her piercing gaze boring holes through his head but he hadn't so much as acknowledged it since he sat down. Seemingly engrossed by the chicken and roasted potatoes on his plate.

Gritting her teeth she sighed loudly and pointedly. With an even more exaggerated sigh and eye-roll, he finally looked up. Words dripping with sarcasm he asks. 

“What seems to be troubling you, Morgana?” 

Glaring slightly at the stubborn-headed git she wondered how she should approach this. Coming out directly and asking might make him clam up and much the same would happen if she came on too strong. 

Frustrated, she stabbed her chicken. The goddess did say that she had spoken to him. So he should be more forthcoming …right? Goddess knows she couldn't wait any longer. She'd nearly driven herself up a wall trying to figure out this man's real identity. 

“I spoke to the Goddess” she started. Mordr ed finally looked up, food no longer holding his attention. 

“Did you now? What did she say?” he asked ever so innocently.

“Oh spare me Mordord, she said she'd already spoken to you” she drawled. “ it seems it's time for your precious Emrys to come home” She finished watching him closely.

“Is that so …” he hums raising his wine glass to his lips. The annoying imp. Morgana was entirely sure he was concealing a smile behind the cup.

“Yes. How she intends for me to find a man whose identity I am unaware of is beyond me” Staring him dead in the eyes she powers on “If only there was someone kind enough to tell me his true name”

Mordred beams at her, he’d already had this conversation with the goddess numerous times…on various occasions. He'd been reassured on every turn that Morgana despite her sometimes vexing conclusions was ready to learn of Emrys. 

“Why, you think you'd know his face by now considering you met him countless times,” Morgana startles, “ held numerous conversations with him and may have even considered him a friend at some point”

She huffs, what utter rubbish.  Surely she would have noticed that man's presence.

Right

..

RIGHT!?! 

She looks at Mordred hesitantly, suddenly unsure.

Surely she would have known. 

“Think about it Morgana” Mordred drawled still peering at her over his glass “The prophecy basically said where Arthur goes so does Emrys. Who do you know that follows Arthur like a second shadow.”

Morgana’s face instantly contorts with frustration. That could be just about anyone for goddess sake. Arthurs the king, and his knights go wherever he goes. Not to mention his insufferably hard-to-kill manservant.

Wait, is Mordred saying what she thinks he's saying? 

Is Emrys one of Arthur's knights?

Mordred's choking goes entirely unnoticed by Morgana, who is completely focused on the puzzle presented to her.

Was it Leon…no it couldn't be he was too loyal to Uther during his leadership. Maybe elyan.. His sister being Arthur's wife would be a great cover for him. Maybe Gwain– okay maybe not Gwaine 

Eyes alight with amusement Mordred chortled “Emrys isn't one of Arthur's knights, goddess knows Arthur would never let him near a weapon”

Leaning forward he continues “Emrys is Arthur's most trusted advisor, Whose judgment do you think Arthur values above all else?”

Hmm.. Gaius. 

No, that's not right.

She’s seen firsthand Arthur treating Gaius' words as a mere suggestion. Surely someone as ancient as Gaius couldn't be the foretold legend. Unless he was competing with other physicians for the worst-tasting tonics.

Guinevere maybe

As loathe as she may be to admit it, the little goody two shoes does give good advice. But as much as he may value his wife she wouldnt say it's above all else.

Emrys is a man though right? She's sure there exists a spell to turn one's gender, even for a few moments.

This is where Mordred completely loses it. Full belly laughter echoes off the walls of the makeshift dining room. He swore he hadn't meant it. Morgana's line of questioning just brought back memories of Emrys, in a dress no less. 

Morgana huffed, patience flying out the door. The only other person who Arthur listens to is Merlin, his bastard manservant. Was Mordred aware that a stupid servant had tried to kill her? She pursed her lips in anger after she'd been nothing but kind to him. She admits the difference in class was always a looming factor but she had considered him a friend at some point and his betrayal really did —-

‘ may have even considered him a friend at some point”......Merlin

He knows the workings of the court… 

Who do you know that follows Arthur like a second shadow.”..... Merlin

She scoffs, surely that's just a coincidence. Of course, it was. Of course, it was she reassured herself while glancing up at Mordred there's no way that half-wit could be —-

Only to be met with Mordred's knowing eyes and Cheshire smile. “The best place to hide Morgana” the corners of his lips tilt “ is in plain sight”

….

MERLIN?!?!!

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That sly conniving bastard.

….

All these years and shed never once suspected him of being anything other than dimwitted and clumsy.

….

Stupidly smart, sly conniving bastard.

He could have told her, could have helped her when she first found out about her magic. She scoffs, yet another instance of the Great Emrys forsaking his people to protect Arthur. 

She slid her gaze over to Mordred, he'd mostly left her to her own thoughts after dropping that bombshell. That was yesterday morning. They'd convened this morning to discuss how they were going to approach Emry–Merlin. 

Scoff, the quick-witted swine 

Putting the anger and betrayal aside for a minute. She didn't understand how the goddess expected this to work. Even the blind could see that Merlin would never leave Arthur's side. Do they think telling him that it's to protect our people would suddenly make him change his mind… he'd never cared about them before. 

Of course, he cares, he’s done everything he could to protect us but you choose not to see it. Mordred hotly refuted. Ever Emrys’ defendor. 

Give him a chance, they say.

Ok sure.

She can't go against the goddess's wishes but she sure as all hell won't make things easy for him. He has to prove himself to her before she ever considers him, her King. 

An almost sinister grin pulled at her lips. She’ll give him a run for his money. She’ll make a King out of him alright. 

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Two days later, in a kingdom far away, a messenger dressed in a peasant-like attire carries surprising news. The messenger appears in front of King Arthur and his court, eager yet scared out of his mind.

“It is an honor to stand before my liege” he starts on bended knees “ I bring word from my safe haven.” 

Interest ripples through the court. Word had spread about people amassing in the perilous lands. A most curious endeavor 

“My leaders have sent to inform you that they will soon be en route to Camelot. They wish to assure you that they mean no harm to you or your people, they simply wish to form an alliance”

An alliance. With people from the perilous lands, King Arthur scoffs inwardly. That place is barren, what could they possibly have to offer? 

Leaning slightly forward on his throne he questioned, “When do you suppose they will arrive?” this alliance may never leave the table he humored but they will be Camelot's guest and should be treated as such. At least until he knows for certain that they will not pose a threat to his kingdom.

“The journey should take no more than two days my liege”

Hmmm. Arthur twirled the pommel of his sword. “ And How shall I refer to your leader? You have not provided me with his name”

The messenger gulps “HER name my liege is–

Flashback

“When King Arthur asks who sent the message what am I to tell him” mumbles the man before her 

Morgana smirks eyes dancing with mischief,“ The priestess Morgana or simply–”   

Flashback ends 

The messenger continues “ – Lady Morgana will do”

Chapter Text

MERLIN

You know what's the worst part of loneliness….

It's the constant ache. The feeling of being surrounded by shadows that echo back my fears. Shadows that will swallow me whole if given the chance.

It's not just the absence of companions – it's the weight of carrying everything alone. Every failure, every burden, every secret. Shouldering it all until it's so overbearlingly heavy I fear I'll be crushed under its weight.

It's a heavy dark cloak that just gets heavier the longer I wear it. Somehow I've managed to keep it under wraps all these years. Plastering on a charming smile pretending everything is fine when inside I'm unraveling.

So, like yesterday and every day before I plaster on a cheerful smile and force a bounce into my step. While on my rounds through the castle's winding halls, I greet just about every servant I meet. "How's the family?" I ask one. "You look quite fetching today," I compliment another. "Chores for the prat," I mutter with a wink. No one blinks an eye.
Clutching the basket brimming with Arthurs freshly dried clothes, I make my way to his chambers. If I go in with laundry then the guards wouldn’t question me staying inside a little longer than usual. Maybe I can find just a few moments of silence in there before he comes back.

I'm not hiding. It's just – sometimes I need a break. It isn't easy constantly wearing the facade of the bumbling fool and acting like a simpleton.

It hasn't always been like this, to be honest. When I first came to Camelot I was every bit the village idiot everyone currently sees me as. But I guess somewhere along the line Camelot’s bitterness rubbed off on me.

Even village idiots need to wake up and rise to the occasion at some point.
Huffing out a breath, I brace myself for one last bit of acting before I reach the safety of Arthur’s chambers.

“Good Evening Sir Chever…Sir Molon” I wonder if my eyes play their role correctly in this little charade, “ How are you on this fine day?” A wide smile accompanied by dull eyes doesn't exactly fit in with the image I'm trying to portray.

I receive nothing but grunts in return. But I've been in this business far too long to be offended by stuffy nobles who turn their nose up at even the nicest greeting from a servant. Instead, I rush past them and shove my way into the room.

I feel the tension drain out of my body the instant the door shuts behind me. Dropping onto the ground with a sigh, I wonder… Am I that good an actor, or are the people I surround myself with just really good at being indifferent? For a moment, I let my eyes wander around Arthur's chambers. It's ironic, isn't it? The chambers of the magic-hating king being one of the only places I can find reprieve.

The silence is both a comfort and a reminder of my isolation. I let out a heavy breath, bracing myself for the next act in this never-ending play.

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The campfire crackled, throwing flickering shadows across the clearing as the knights lounged in an easy circle, laughter ringing out into the quiet night. Gwaine had just finished telling a tale about a mishap in a tavern, his arms flailing dramatically to reenact the scene. Laughter erupted, Percival doubling over while Leon clapped Elyan on the back, their shared joy almost infectious.

I don’t join them though. Not tonight. Tonight, I'm leaning against a tree just outside the firelight, just observing. The warmth of the flames barely reaches me here but for some reason, I cannot fathom the thought of sitting with them tonight makes my skin crawl. I force on the boyish smile that everyone knows and loves when Gwaine looks my way, for a second I think he might call me over but he’s quickly distracted by Leon. He turns back quickly just in time to deliver another punchline, the others roaring once more.

Ah! I see. I guess I'm not really in the mood to put on an act tonight. It's kind of funny how much you notice when you aren’t worrying about others analyzing your every action, your every movement.

The camaraderie between the knights really is something to behold, it seemed as natural as breathing, their teasing and jest flowing effortlessly. A sad smile slowly creeps onto my face. They belonged here , with each other. Their shared battles and victories woven into an unshakeable bond. These days, more than ever, I have an intense longing to just belong. To my own place amongst them, one that hasn't been touched by lies, secrets and deceit.

I trace the lines of my boots in the dirt with the tip of my foot. Even when they try to speak directly to me, I can't help but feel the weight of my secrets, a vast ocean that they can never cross. I can never actually be honest with them, not when I know that most of them will be quick to brand me a traitor and clamor to have the prior fired up. Every laugh, evergreen, feels like a reminder of the distance between them. They fought alongside each other with swords and shields; I fought in the shadows with magic they couldn't know about.

Their boisterous laughter swelled again and I glanced up just in time to see Arthur joining his men, clapping Percival on his shoulder, his grin wide and easy. In times like this I wonder if it’s just jealousy. But that's too simple, jealousy doesn't begin to cover the complex feeling welling up within me tonight.

This feeling, it's not just longing, it's a bone-deep ache  – a wish to be a part of something so carefree, so unburdened, But how can I when my very existence feels like walking a tightrope above betrayal?

With a deep sorrowful sigh, I push off the tree and begin to walk away, the sounds of joy fading behind me. I told myself that I didn't want to bring down the mood, but the truth lingered in my chest, heavy and unspoken.

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Living in Camelot all these years means that I'm always alert. Always on guard. Always vigilant.

It's not just me alone; it seems my magic is always on the lookout for danger. It's not uncommon for it to lash out at times, especially if it deems the situation too much for me to handle. It's happened before, mainly when I was younger.

The point is strong magic lashes out in defense of its user, sometimes without said person's consent. So despite all the guilt and distrust I might have felt before, I couldn't bring myself to blame him.

Mordred that is.

It doesn't take a genius to realize his outburst of magic hadn't been planned. Especially if the fear and instant regret visible on his face was anything to go by.

Heat wells up behind my lids at my helplessness. I grit my teeth and brace myself. I can't let it happen again. I can't let down another person. My veins turn to ice as I watch realization dawn on Arthur’s face, his expression contorting from disbelief to betrayal. My heart pounds painfully against my chest. Dislike him as I may, I don’t want him dead. > > Panicked, tearful eyes turn to me—desperate, begging.

From the corner of my eyes, I see Leon and Elyan reaching for their swords. I take one shaky breath as determination settles within me. If they try to harm him…Then I'll defend him. By whatever means necessary.

Their swords are fully unsheated while Arthur stands stock still clearly processing.

“Run Mordred” I urge. it's better he makes his escape while shock still has a hold on them.

Leon and Elyan push their chairs away to follow him. My lips split, the words of an incantation ready at the tip of my tongue. They start running. Well, then i–
“STOP!”  my head whips in the direction of the noise. There is Arthur, leaning against the table, face contorted with betrayal. For a split second hope blooms within me …maybe my efforts haven't been completely useless.

“Let him go! Let it be known that he is no longer welcomed within Camelot walls” he huffs “his betrayal will not stand. He will be treated the same as any common sorcerer if he's found”

I feel like I've been doused in ice water.

I guess they were right.

Hope really is a fool's comfort.

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

Today makes it 1 year since Mordred had fled the capitol.

There hasn't been any sign of him since. I guess I should be happy about it, Right? It means he's safe, after all. But all I feel is numbness. It's almost like I'm missing a limb. I never realized just how much his presence had grown on me.

Day after day the weight of my secrets grows heavier, my failings toward my destiny become clearer and the solitude more unbearable.

Giaus, Goddess bless his soul, he tries. He tries to listen, tries to be there to support me but… it's not the same. He doesn’t truly understand — will never truly comprehend.

On one side the burden of my destiny weighs me down. A relentless pressure that never really eases, a constant reminder of the immense responsibility i bear. Scoffing, I lay my head against the wall gazing up at the night sky.

I'm supposed to help Arthur become the king of the prophecies, the once and future King. It's been three to four years since I came to Camelot. I’ve been trying since then to change Arthur's view of magic but no matter how hard I try it never seems to be enough. It's always one step forward and two steps back. Destiny continues to slip through my fingers like sand leaving me to face the devastating consequences of my failures.

Alone.

No one to talk to. No one to turn to for comfort.

And if that doesn't kill me then the secrets threatening to pull me under definitely will. Each secret is like a weight tied around my ankle, dragging me deeper into the murky waters. Every breath feels like a struggle and the will to fight is slowly being sucked out of me. I feel like– I just– goddess, what am I really fighting for?

Hot tears prick the corner of my eyes and I have to bite my lips to stop the trembling. Each tear that threatens to fall carries the weight of unspoken fears, unfulfilled hopes, and a deep, gnawing loneliness. My lips quiver despite my best efforts, and the saltiness of unshed tears lingers just– I need someone I can confide in, someone who sees beyond the servant and the warlock, beyond destiny and my shortcomings ..somebody who just sees… me.

“Goddess is that too much to ask for” my voice cracks. The vulnerability in my voice sounds so foreign to me.

I'm so tired of being alone in this fight, tired of waiting and hoping that someday Arthur and the knights will join me. Tired of the silence that does nothing but echo back my fears…. mocking me relentlessly.

Arthur has Gwen, the Knights have each other… hell even George has someone. So why can't I have someone to stand by my side, without the shadow of secrets looming over me?
The tears I fought so hard to contain come spilling out, silent sobs wracking my body. Each sob feels like a dagger to my chest, a raw, unfiltered release of all the pain and anguish I've kept buried. My shoulders shake uncontrollably as the weight of my sorrow crushes me, and I clutch at my chest, trying to hold myself together.

Maybe it's my punishment.

Maybe this is what I deserve.

It's my fault, magic hasn't been legalized yet. I couldn't change his mind.

It's my fault that all those magic users are dead. I couldn't stop him.

I've killed so many in the name of this man, for Arthur. But goddess above, is he worth it?
Things have only gotten worse and I don't think it’ll be changing anytime soon.

I don't know if I'm making the right choice anymore. My people keep dying and it's starting to feel like maybe I'm on the wrong side.

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

I grip the edge of the window sill, my knuckles whitening as I stare out at the fading horizon, the girl’s face haunting my thoughts. Another one. Another sorcerer was found guilty of using magic to save her little brother. The anger bubbles inside me. The fury simmers, boiling beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

Why does the tool she used matter? She SAVED her brother for goodness sake! She wasn’t like those vindictive sorcerers, she wasn’t out for revenge or power. My jaw tightens, and I steal a glance at Arthur, his relaxed posture at odds with the storm brewing inside me. Doesn’t he see these killings only worsen things? This isn't justice—it’s ignorance refusing to see the truth.

“Is there a problem MErlin” Arthur prods teasingly “I do believe you haven't done so much as lift a finger since you came into my chambers” For once, Arthurs teasing did nothing to ease the tension in fact it seemed to multiply tenfold.

Seeming to have realized this he loudly clears his throat before making another attempt, “Look merlin, I understand–”

My heart pounds with righteous indignation, outrage blazing within me. “You understand” scoff “You understand that an innocent girl's blood is on your hands!?”

Arthur's gaze softens, finally understanding why he has been getting the cold shoulder for the past three days. His shoulders sag, a brief flicker of guilt crossing his features before he masks it with authority “Merlin, she was practicing magic she wasn't—”

“SHE WAS JUST A GIRL ARTHUR !” I screamed, my voice echoing throughout the stone chamber. My fists tremble at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I glare at Arthur. What happened to Arthur who was wracked with guilt for killing druid children?

“HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!” I demanded my voice shaking with fury. “she used her magic to save someone she loved. And for that, she was killed! This is madness!"

Arthur's eyes narrowed, his own anger rising to meet Merlin's. "Magic is dangerous, Merlin. You know that. It's the law, and it's there to protect the kingdom."

“PROTECT the kingdom?” scoff. “Is that really what you think you’re doing Arthur,”. Hot tears sting the corner of my eyes, Goddess, my hands are shaking. “ You're turning your back on the very people you swore to protect! ”I scream, my voice splintering under the weight of tears and fury.

Arthur pushes to his feet, the sound of his palm striking the table reverberating through the chamber shoots up. Goddess, what am I doing? …I never yell at him like this. “I’d watch my words if I were you, Merlin, you have no idea what it's like to bear the responsibility of a kingdom. I have to protect my people, make hard decisions, and YES sometimes that means enforcing the laws!”

My heart aches, I force myself to take a shaky breath. I -I need to calm down. We aren’t getting anywhere at this rate. Goddess knows if shouting worked in getting through to him we wouldn't be here and I definitely wouldn’t have so many scars “Your laws are only causing pain and suffering, Arthur.”

“AND WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO MERLIN?!” Arthur roars the vein in his neck straining against the weight of his frustration “The laws have been in place for generations! Should I change it just because you don't have the gall to do what it takes to protect our people!?” he finishes completely out of breath and all red in the face.

But I can barely focus on that. My breath hitches, and I take a step back as though Arthur’s words have physically struck me. My hands clench and unclench, His words hit me like a sharp blow to the stomach. The tears threaten to spill over....he’s right. I don’t have what it takes to save our people. Maybe if I did, innocent children wouldn't keep dying. Kara wouldn't have had to die. Morgana wouldn't have felt so unsafe in her own home. Mordred wouldn't have needed to flee. Goddess the list just keeps going on and on.

I take a step closer to Arthur, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "I can't stand by and watch this happen, Arthur. I won't. I won't let you become a monster, no matter how noble your intentions might be." Arthur's face tightened, his expression unreadable. "I appreciate your loyalty, Merlin, but this is the way it has to be. Magic is evil and the kingdom must come first."

"You're blinded by fear," I snapped, my voice trembling with urgency. "It's clouding your judgment and costing innocent lives.". Open your eyes, Arthur! See the people, not the magic. See the good they can do, the lives they can save."

My chest heaves with the effort of my outburst, the weight of my words hanging heavily in the air. I turned away, unable to bear the sight of Arthur's resolute expression. Surely all the sacrifices over the years weren't for nothing. "One day, you'll understand," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "And I really hope it won't be too late.".

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

Arthur and I have had our differences, our fights over the years but this one feels different. For the first time since I became his manservant, when I was rehired there's a distance between us.

The tension between us is palpable, absolutely impossible to miss. A sort of stagnant tension has settled over the halls of Camelot this past week.

It isn't just the clipped tone I’ve been dishing out since or the way Arthur avoided looking at me directly – it was the heavy silence that followed everywhere we went. I’ve been the perfect servant this week, always one step behind, never an equal, mouth shut because when has the two cents been worth listening to? As expected, it’s drawn a lot of curious eyes, sidelong glances, and hushed whispers our way, the reason behind our fallout heavily debated amongst the castle staff. The knights, loyal to Arthur and probably pitying me, kept their distance more than likely assuming we’d resolve whatever rift had formed between us in our own time.

Now, the throne room was packed, the air thick with unease. Nobles, knights, and advisors stood in a loose circle around a merchant who had traveled for days, his face pale from exhaustion but resolute. Arthur sat on the throne, his posture rigid, every inch the king as he listened.

Arthur twirled the pommel of his sword. “ And How shall I refer to your leader? You have not provided me with his name”

The messenger gulps then declares, his voice carrying through the chamber, “HER name my liege is The Priestess Morgana”

I stood frozen, my breathing shallow and uneven as the merchant's words echoed in my mind. The world around me explodes into an uproar, gasps and angry exclamations slicing through the air. The clearest of them all is surprisingly…Sir Leon. he steps forward, his voice firm, “Morgana is a threat to the kingdom My Lord. She cannot be trusted!”

“She’s evil!” another noble shouted, the venom in his tone drawing murmurs of agreement. “Whatever her motives, they will be twisted to harm Camelot!”

I stood far from the commotion, near the back of the room, my eyes narrowing as I finally began to process the revelation. Morgana. My stomach churned at her name, memories of her betrayal – of the consequences of our actions, of how we – I failed her resurfacing like an old wound. Part of me wants to agree with them, the last time we’d seen her she’d been trying to kill Arthur, we have no reason to believe that this isn't one of her schemes.

Yet, I can't ignore the whispers I'd heard in passing. This so-called haven– a refuge for magic users seeking solace, where even common folk can find aid. Not a single report of violence or treachery had reached my ear, only words of praise. The idea of Morgana overseeing such a place almost seemed…. Impossible but the Lady Morgana he knew before was more than capable of it. She had managed to do something I couldn't and my heart longed to experience it Mordred had advocated for her in the past, claiming that there were still traces of her to be found. I think I was just too scared to look, to see that my actions had completely ruined a wonderful woman.

Mordred.

I haven't heard from him since he fled Camelot. Could I use this opportunity to see if Morgana had any news on him? I know I should be panicking right now, in fear that she intends to hurt Camelot but I can't bring myself to truly believe it. Morgana might have her faults—many faults—but if the stories about the haven were true, perhaps this was about something more than vengeance.

Arthur raised a hand, and the uproar quieted, though the room still buzzed with tension. “If Morgana is en route to Camelot, we must prepare for the worst,” he said, his voice steady but grim.

The declaration sends a ripple through the crowd and a wave of unease up my spine. Arthur’s gaze swept the room and for a brief moment, it landed on me. The KING’S expression hardens before looking away, returning his attention to the merchant. I swallow back the words forming on my lips, my hands fidgeting at my sides. I couldn’t bring myself to speak—not here, not now. Not when Arthur would simply dismiss me or, worse, let his anger boil over again.

As the council and the knights dissolved into planning and arguments about the appropriate response, I lingered in the shadows, my thoughts a mess of questions and doubts. My curiosity about Morgana burned brighter than my fear, and somewhere deep inside, a flicker of hope stirred. I have a lot to make up for, maybe I can start now. Maybe she’ll tell me about her safe haven. Perhaps this visit wasn’t about war but about something else entirely. Perhaps, for once, there was a chance to build a fragile bridge rather than burn yet another one to the ground. And perhaps someday. Probably in the far far future, he’ll be able to visit, without the fear that Arthur and his knights will follow him and hurt the unsuspecting inhabitants.

Sigh, “For their sake, I pray with all my heart—for their continued safety, their happiness, and a future free from shadows like mine.”

Chapter Text

The halls of Camelot buzzed with tension.

A quiet tension, the kind that settled deep into one's bones and refused to let go.

The last two days had been an exhausting blur- countless meetings, and heated arguments that went round and round in circles, leaving only frustration in its wake. Arthur’s advisors divided on the next course of action. Some insisted that Camelot had no choice but to engage. Others warned that by allowing Morgana and Mordred safe passage through their gates, they were practically asking for disaster. No decision felt truly safe, only less damning than the alternative.

Even the air inside Camelot felt heavy—thick with unease, laced with a fear no one dared name. The weight of anticipartion pressed against camelots walls, thick with murmurs hurried preparations—servants exchanging heavy glances, knights adjusting their armor with stiff, practiced movements. The final hours were upon them. Every second. Every last-minute adjustment. Everything counted. And if all else failed, if diplomacy crumbled, well Arthur and his Knights had already spent countless hours fine-tuning their battle strategy in preparation.

Then, there it was.

The moment they had all been dreading

The heavy wooden doors of the room creaked open, allowing the slowly dying rays of sunlight to spill into the room. Sir Leon stepped forward, his brows drawn tight with the weight of what he was about to say. He swallowed once, as if fighting the words that wished to leave his mouth, “They’ve arrived, My Liege”

Four words. Four simple words landed like a stone dropped into deep water. Arthur barely moved, his jaw locking as the inevitable moment settled over them. Besides him, his knights exchanged fleeting glances - some stiff with restraint others grim with silent dread. The tension wound unbearably tight for days, snapped into sharp focus. There was no more time left to prepare.

“Lead them to the Throne Room, We’ll greet them there.”

The decision had been made. Arthur would greet them— on his terms. As Sir Leon and the rest of the knights dispersed to relay his orders, the room remained heavy with unspoken thoughts. Arthur let out a slow breath, pushing back the weariness that had begun to settle in his bones over the last few days. Gathering himself he strode purposefully towards the throne room, his footsteps echoing against the stone floors. There was no more time for strategy or hesitation. Arthur reached the grand hall, the familiar sight of his throne standing tall, unwavering. He ascended the steps, settling into his seat, back straight, expression composed. Whatever came next, he would not falter.

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

The footsteps in the hall reverberated against the stone walls of the throne room—unmeasured, unhurried. The sound of arrival. Of a storm waiting to hit.

Arthur sat tall upon his throne, fingers curling ever so slightly against the carved edges of the armrests. The weight of the crown pressed against his temples, but it was nothing compared to the tension knotting in his chest. He refused to let it show.

When the great doors finally swung open, he exhaled—a slow, steadying breath. And there she stood.

Morgana.

His estranged sister carried herself with the same unsettling poise as she had in the past—regal in a way that clawed at his nerves. She was a far cry from the maddened figure who had once sworn Camelot’s destruction. Time had refined her, and restored a chilling composure. Confidence hung about her like armor: the tilt of her chin, the precise steps, the faint, knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

But it was her eyes that unnerved him most.

They were not blazing with fury. Not brimming with bitterness. They were clear. Cutting. And behind them simmered the certainty that she was meant to be here—not as exile, nor defeated enemy, but as a force in perfect control.

For a fleeting moment, the world tilted. Memories—of shared childhood laughter, whispered secrets, golden afternoons—rattled through Arthur’s mind. He swallowed hard and looked away.

“I must admit,” Morgana said, voice laced with delicate amusement, “I was expecting swords drawn upon arrival, dear brother. Perhaps an execution speech. I’m almost disappointed.”
Her words slithered through the chamber, drawing quiet glances from the knights lining the walls. Arthur did not react outwardly, but his jaw tensed.

“How wonderful that you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” he replied, voice dry and even.
Then the cold weight in his chest deepened.

A familiar figure stepped forward—until now, he’d lingered a few paces behind Morgana, watching silently. Now, he took his place beside her, posture relaxed, expression unreadable, eyes sweeping the room, indifferent. Calculating.

Mordred.

Arthur’s vision narrowed as their gazes locked.

“I expected more resistance at the gates,” Mordred murmured, tone almost absent. His eyes flicked toward Arthur. “No grand speech. No raised swords. Almost makes me wonder if you’ve gone soft.”

Arthur said nothing for a long breath, letting the words settle like smoke.

“I don’t waste time on theatrics, Mordred,” he said finally, voice clipped. “That’s your specialty, isn’t it?”

Mordred’s lips twitched—something not quite a smile. “And yet, here we are.”

Arthur caught it then—just a flicker. The way Merlin’s shoulders eased. The ghost of a smile. The weight, for a heartbeat, lifting.

Betrayal churned in Arthur’s gut.

That ease. That unspoken comfort. It hadn’t surfaced in days.

Morgana’s gaze shifted to Merlin. Her smirk deepened.

“Oh, but look at that—old friends reunited. How touching.” Smooth. Needling. Calculated.

Arthur curled his fingers into his palm. Steady. Controlled. He only stared jaw tight.
This was no longer the boy he once cherished. Mordred had grown into the armor that had once hung loose on his frame. Now he stood as a man—radiating confidence and quiet danger.

Not his Mordred. Not anymore.

And yet Arthur mourned. For the lost years. For trust shattered. For a future that would never be.

The sting of that betrayal burned brighter than Morgana’s ever had.

She sighed, exaggerated and sharp. “And here I thought Camelot was known for its hospitality. I suppose grudges make poor hosts.”

Arthur said nothing. He only nodded to his knights.

“Escort them to their chambers,” he said. “We are not barbarians. Even when the company is… questionable.”

He released another slow breath, pressing his fingers against the armrest. The tension lingered.

“I imagine you’re tired,” he added. “We shall dine together in the morning. Before negotiations.”

The word hung heavy in the air, spiked with quiet venom.

Morgana did not flinch.

Mordred offered only a smirk.

No more words were exchanged. Morgana bowed slightly, clearly amused. Mordred turned and strode out beside her.

Arthur did not watch them leave.

Only once the doors closed did he allow himself to breathe. The weight had barely begun to lift—and that was just the welcome.

Tomorrow would be harder.

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

The clink of utensils filled the heavy silence, punctuated only by the hushed murmurs of servants moving at the room’s edges. Ten minutes had passed since they’d sat down for breakfast, but few words had been exchanged.

The food was fine—prepared with the usual care afforded to guests of noble standing—but Arthur barely tasted it. He ate out of necessity, not interest. His thoughts sat too heavily to leave room for appetite. Still, he made certain none of it showed on his face.

Across the table, Morgana dined with composed elegance. Her every movement was deliberate, poised—exuding ease in a way that grated at Arthur’s frayed nerves. Mordred was quieter, but no less calculated.

Years had honed a sharpness in his stillness that Arthur didn’t yet know how to disarm. And between them, not physically but symbolically, sat Merlin—straddling that impossible space between loyalty and regret.

At last, the silence became suffocating. Arthur set down his cup.

“This safe haven of yours,” he said, keeping his tone even, “I imagine you’re quite proud of it.”

Morgana looked up. She seemed far too rested for someone who’d spent the night in enemy territory. Arthur, by contrast, had barely slept—too aware of what could happen with one blade, one moment of inattention.

Her lips curled into a smile shaped by habit, not warmth. “A sanctuary,” she answered smoothly. “A place where those cast aside can live without fear.”

Arthur’s shoulders tensed. Cast aside. As if he’d simply discarded her. As if he hadn’t been the one left behind, forced to wage endless war against kin turned stranger.

He gave a single nod, feigning consideration. “So you built a kingdom in exile.”

That, after all, was what she’d always wanted—a throne of her own. If she couldn’t take Camelot’s, she would crown herself elsewhere.

“Not a kingdom,” Mordred corrected. His voice, calm and precise, landed like a blade unsheathed. “A refuge.”

Arthur turned to him. “A refuge from what, exactly?”

The air shifted. Subtle—but Arthur caught it. Merlin shifted in his seat. A flicker of discomfort, like he was bracing for impact.

Arthur’s grip tightened around his fork. He didn’t relent.

Morgana tilted her head, her voice light. “You already know the answer to that, dear brother.”

Arthur didn’t blink. “I want to hear you say it.”

The challenge was unmistakable.
Morgana held his gaze. “From Camelot.”

The unspoken from you hung in the air like smoke. Heavy. Lingering.
There it was. The truth he’d known all along, was now spoken aloud.

Arthur inhaled slowly. Supporting magic had always felt like a betrayal—not just of Camelot, but of everything their family had sacrificed. A part of him wanted to push back, to argue, to remind them who had truly started this war. But now wasn’t the time.

“And yet you sit here as guests,” he said, raising his cup once more. “Perhaps exile never suited you after all.”

Mordred didn’t rise to the bait. He took a slow sip of wine, gaze unreadable. Merlin, however, exhaled—a faint, barely-there breath. Enough for Morgana to notice.

Her smirk deepened. “I wouldn’t call it exile,” she said. “More like… necessity.”

Arthur’s jaw flexed. “Necessity,” he repeated. His voice quieter. Less controlled.

“We had no choice,” Morgana said. Her tone remained neutral, but her eyes stayed fixed on him.

“You did.” The words left before he could restrain them. “No one forced you to turn against us.”

Morgana gave a soft laugh—cold, knowing. “Ah, Arthur. Still believing in choices that never truly existed.”
His jaw tightened further, but she didn’t stop.

“Did they have a choice?” she asked, nodding toward the knights seated further down the table. “The sorcerers. The hunted. The ones your father would’ve burned before they crossed your gates?”

Arthur heard it—a sharp breath. Not his own.

Merlin.

Barely audible, but unmistakable. Years beside him had attuned Arthur to his presence, his silences, his strain.

Mordred glanced toward Merlin then. Measuring. Thoughtful.
Arthur sat straighter, fingers pressing into the carved edge of his chair. The memory of that last argument with Merlin surfaced unbidden. Raw and too fresh.

“Do not lecture me on my father’s actions,” he said. The words were calm—but glacial.

Finally, Mordred spoke again. “No one needs to lecture you, Arthur. You already carry it with you.”

The pulse behind Arthur’s ears beat louder. The room grew heavier with each breath.

Enough.

“We’ll continue this in the throne room,” he said. Final. Icy. Commanding.

Morgana hummed softly, as though satisfied with his reaction. Expected it.

Merlin shifted again but remained silent.

Mordred stood, adjusting his sleeves with careful ease as they’d merely concluded small talk over tea.

Arthur rose without sighing. Without faltering.

Ten minutes had passed.

And already, he felt the full weight of what today would demand.

➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸ ◌ ➸

The throne room felt colder than before. Despite the early afternoon sun slanting through stained-glass windows, the air clung heavy with unease.

Tension draped the space like a velvet curtain—thick, muffling, impossible to draw aside.

Arthur sat upon his throne, his expression carved from patience and stone. To his right stood his advisors, shoulders stiff, eyes narrowed, their postures just shy of defensive. Opposite them, Morgana and Mordred entered with their contingent of druids—silent figures in dark, unadorned robes. Each step they took stirred something ancient and uneasy in the room’s foundations.

He stood as he always did—shadow to the throne, ghost to the war room. Present, but never truly placed. He hovered near Arthur’s side but a pace removed, as if the very air between them held history too heavy to stand beneath. He stood as he always did and watched the pressure build.

No greetings were exchanged this time.

There was no need.

Morgana rested her hands lightly on the handle of her chair. “We entered your kingdom in hopes of forming an alliance,” she said smoothly. “I do hope we’ll be afforded the same considerations as previous kingdoms.”

Arthur, patience fraying, cut through the false niceties. “What exactly is it you offer?”

She gave a delicate tilt of her head. “Let’s start with what Camelot lacks. Resources. Trust. Loyal allies.” A faint smile played on her lips. “Not everything can be bought with steel and fire.”

Arthur scoffed. “Spare us the poetry.”

Morgana didn’t blink. Her smile didn’t so much as falter. “Then let’s begin with the most immediate, shall we?”

She gestured to a druid behind her. He stepped forward, unrolling a parchment across the table—maps, neat and deliberate, inked with a precise hand.

“It appears the harvest season hasn’t been too kind to Camelot,” Morgana said, tsking softly. “Our scouts report drought across your eastern farmlands. Wells drying. Crops failing. We can provide food—enough to steady your kingdom until the rains return.”

A ripple tore through the council—sharp scoffs and half-swallowed curses.

“You expect us to season our bread with sorcery?” Lord Oldwin spat.

“Enchanted apples with poisoned cores?” barked another. “You truly think us naïve enough to eat from a witch’s table?”

Mordred’s smirk flickered, but he stayed silent. Arthur, for once, almost smiled. For a fleeting breath, it felt like he had the upper hand.

“We’ll manage,” Arthur replied evenly. “Our supply routes have been arranged. Camelot’s solution is already en route.”

Mordred stirred then, his eyes locking on Arthur’s. “Yes,” he said slowly. “The convoy from the southern coast, isn’t it?”

Arthur’s gaze narrowed, a cold prickle of unease sliding down his spine. They couldn’t possibly know that.

Mordred leaned forward, grace sharpening into something far less civil.

“Such a shame,” he murmured, “that the only viable route passes through the Perilous Lands.”
Arthur’s grip tightened on the armrest.

Mordred’s voice stayed soft, steady. “The same Perilous Lands,” he added, “now under our protection.”

The silence in the room thickened.

“If we walk out of here without some form of alliance,” Morgana added softly, “those roads will… become difficult. Convoys don’t always fare well through dangerous territory.”

A pause.

Arthur’s jaw tightened. He could already see it: wagons overturned in gullies, wheels snapped in the mud, provisions burned or vanished without a trace. The Perilous Lands were treacherous even in peace—without safe passage, his people would starve before the rains could find them. And war would bloom like mold in the cracks.

Tensions were already fracturing Camelot’s borders, hairline cracks spidering through the outer villages—rumors, scarcity, the fear that no help was coming. Arthur had tried to hold it all together with grit and promises, but the weight was beginning to pull loose. If the shipments were delayed—if those roads collapsed beneath hostility—there would be riots by week’s end. Starving families. Empty markets. His people wouldn’t just go hungry. They would start to question him.

And that, more than any blade Morgana might wield, was the threat that made his blood run cold.

He was being boxed in. Word by word, they were pushing—and pushing well. But Arthur wasn’t about to fold. Not yet.

Then Morgana stepped away from the table, her voice cooling. “You still hesitate,” she said, with the breezy ease of someone discussing tea blends rather than diplomatic leverage. “Perhaps I should sweeten the deal.”

Arthur looked up sharply, suspicion flaring. What more could she possibly offer? The Perilous Lands were little more than scorched rock and ruin—surely they had nothing else of value.

Her gaze locked onto his—steady, composed. “There is a traitor among your court. A familiar face. One who dines at your table and smiles while planning your undoing.”

The room froze.

Eyes darted. Some heads turned with thinly veiled alarm. Arthur felt the shift in the airtight and electric. His council stiffened around him, murmurs starting like sparks. But his expression betrayed nothing more than the slightest flicker along his jaw.

“How preposterous!” Lord Rayn snapped, his voice loud, a little too quick. “You expect us to believe the word of a witch over our own?”

“I must agree with Lord Rayn, Your Highness,” Lord Oldwin added, puffing up like a bellows. “This is nothing but an attempt to sow discord. Cast suspicion and raise trouble where none exists.” He turned toward the throne. “I strongly advise we pay it no mind.”

Arthur didn’t respond—not yet. He was listening, but not to them. His thoughts were already whirling through names and possibilities, weighing loyalty against behavior, gesture against gaze.

Morgana shifted in her seat. Said nothing.

“I could name them, of course,” Morgana said, “but that would be premature.”

“And why withhold that?” Arthur asked, his voice controlled.

“Because,” she replied, “that’s not all we offer.”

She began to circle the table slowly. “We have intelligence. Movement plans. Maps. Details of your enemies’ camps and terrain. Information you do not have.”

“And why give it to us?” another advisor asked. “Because you’ve suddenly grown fond of Camelot?”

“Because we want peace,” Morgana said. “And peace demands practicality.”

A bitter laugh came from one of the councilors. “You want peace the way wolves want shepherds. Just long enough to find the flock.”

Arthur raised a hand, silencing the objections before they could mount. “What do you want in return?”

The pause lingered and stretched until it stopped feeling like silence and started feeling like something else. Long enough for eyes to shift, for unspoken doubts to calcify in the room’s stillness.

Mordred looked up.

“Release every magic-user currently imprisoned in Camelot’s cells,” he said. “And reroute any future arrests to us.”

Voices erupted—raised, indignant, panicked.

“You cannot be serious!”  Lord Rayn barked, half-rising from his chair.

“They mean to steal our prisoners—build an army under our noses!”

“We are not fools—”  Oldwin roared, fists slamming against the table

Squires at the edges of the chamber flinched. Advisors shouted over one another, spitting words like treason, manipulation, and trap.

Only Mordred remained still, watching it all like a man at the center of a storm who had summoned the wind himself.

Arthur heard them all, each voice stabbing like thorns, but his focus never left Mordred. Not even as Oldwin shouted something about the sanctity of law, or Lord Rayn accused Morgana of strategic seduction.

Arthur’s restraint held—but only just.

Arthur kept his gaze forward, unmoved. “You ask us to trust you. To risk public unrest and political blowback. What assurance do we have that you’ll uphold your end?”

Morgana didn't answer immediately. Instead, she moved with quiet purpose, circling Arthur's advisors, smirking faintly as she passed, her gaze catching the flicker of unease in their eyes. She came to a halt just shy of Arthur’s throne.

“We’ll leave one of our own behind. A druid of name and value. Someone you’d regret harming.”

A low murmur stirred through the council. Skeptical. Bristling.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. He saw the layers within her offer—the bait, the balance, the implied surveillance. But Morgana only smiled, ever so slightly, as if she were offering a neighbor a tray of figs.

“But,” she continued, her voice dropped —silk- soft but edged— threading through the room like smoke, “to balance that trust….we’ll need something in return.”

She let the words breathe, turning from Arthur with a slow, deliberate gaze that swept the court—not searching for an answer, but weighing the theatrics of the moment. Her fingers drummed lightly on the back of a chair, eyes narrowed in mock consideration.

Then—almost lazily—her gaze slid to where Merlin stood.

A beat passed.

Another.

As if she were still deciding.

Merlin didn’t flinch. Not outwardly. But Arthur felt the shift—the stilling of breath just behind his shoulder, the silent anchoring of a man preparing for impact.

Morgana tilted her head.

“No,” she murmured. “Not a knight. Not a prisoner. We’d need someone… trusted.”

She looked at Arthur then, smile slow and joyless.

“Valuable.”

Mordred’s chuckle broke the silence like a cracked goblet. He leaned forward with casual cruelty.

“We’ll take him.”

All eyes turned to Merlin.

Arthur rose before the echo finished ringing.

Gwaine was already moving forward, fury boiling in his voice. “No—absolutely not!” he barked, the heat in his tone unmistakable. “You don’t get to touch him.” He didn’t even glance at Arthur for permission. He didn’t need to. Not for this.

Lancelot’s chair scraped violently against the stone as he stood. “Have you lost your mind?” he snapped, glaring at Morgana as if his words could burn through her composure. “You think we’ll let you take him?”

Percival rose too, fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes locked on Mordred.

Arthur rose from his seat so fast, his chair nearly toppled. His voice cut through the din like a blade.”Enough!”

Silence crashed over the room like a wave.

He glared at Morgana, eyes burning, voice low and lethal.

“He is not up for bargaining .”

Morgana didn’t retreat. Didn’t blink.

Her chin lifted slightly. “He would not be harmed,” she said, with a grace so infuriating it bordered on cruelty. “You have my word.”

Arthur’s hands curled into fists.

Because her word had once meant something.

And now it meant nothing at all.

Merlin stared straight ahead, unmoving.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t shift. Didn’t even dare to breathe.

Arthur’s heart thundered beneath his ribs—rage, disbelief, something far too raw to name. It wasn’t just fury. It wasn’t just fear. It was a deep, hollow ache clawing at something personal.

And still, the room waited for his word.

He said nothing.

Finally, Morgana stepped back—not retreating, not yielding, but releasing the moment like a closing hand. Her voice, when it came, was low and final.

“You have until sundown tomorrow,” she said. “We leave at dusk.”
The words echoed—measured, deliberate, undeniable. A chime struck low and distant and felt more than heard.

A death knell.

She nodded once to Mordred and turned without another glance. Her cloak whispered over the stone as she walked away, heels falling with regal precision. She moved like a verdict—cold, composed, already certain of the outcome.

At the towering doors, she paused.

No smile now.

No final barb.

Just a steady, unflinching purpose.

Then she stepped out—and was gone.

Mordred lingered a moment longer. He let the silence rise again, then offered it a single line, soft and unhurried:

“The offer expires the moment we step outside your gates.”

His gaze flicked to Merlin—not taunting, not cruel. Just curious.

And with one last look, he turned and followed her.

The doors groaned shut behind him, heavy as a tomb.

The chamber was left in ringing silence.

A silence that vibrated through stone and skin alike. A silence thick with the taste of choices not yet made, and the knowledge that none of them would come without a cost.