Mordred and Cara have been captured.
I know this, because I'm the reason that they were.
I stand by Arthur's side as they're dragged back into their cells. The looks of desperation and anguish on their faces make me think that this was a bad idea.
It's Mordred's face that truly makes me regret my decision. Among the desperation and anguish, there is a look of unadulterated betrayal. Arthur thinks that it's for him, but I know otherwise. That look is for me, the Almighty Emrys.
But that's just it; I'm nowhere near "almighty." I am just a slave to destiny. I have been ever since I first stepped into Camelot and met Kilgarrah. I've never had a say, blindly following what the dragon told me because it was the first time that anyone told me that there was a reason that I was born with magic. I so desperately needed a reason for my existence that I just accepted it, even if it meant that I had to serve a clotpole like Arthur Pendragon.
Now, years later, I look back on the friendships that I made, and the decisions that I regret. There are so many regrets. Will. Balinor, my father. Morgana. Uther. Lancelot. The Druids… Freya.
The last one gives me pause. I still remember, with perfect clarity, how she died in my arms, frightened yet still smiling because I was there.
My beautiful Freya.
I look at Mordred as the door to their cells are locked, thinking of how I could have been like him: a criminal whose only crime was loving someone too much.
I can't let this happen.
In that moment, looking into Mordred's eyes my resolve steels.
I won't let this happen.
In the early hours of the morning, the warning bells ring. A servant found the guards unconscious and cells empty. A search is made, but nothing is found. The criminals have vanished without a trace.
In the shadows of the halls the servant who found the guards looks on, smiling to himself, for he knew that destiny could be rewritten if there was love to wipe the slate clean.