Hush, child.
The baby in Morgana's arms squirmed slightly, before settling comfortably on her chest. His dark hair was long, covering his eyelids, which hid remarkably bright blue eyes. Wrapped in scrap fabric, he already had the look of the unwanted child, barely even good enough for the torn linen he was clothed in. His mother too, had the look of a terrified young girl, faced with the alarming prospect of raising her child in public, in front of all to see and ridicule.
A mistake.
Arthur had called it, never to be spoken of again. A mistake that needed to be hidden, so his parents could fulfill their destinies. So Arthur could fulfill his destiny.
Morgana clutched her son close to her, proof of a sin so forbidden, yet carried by someone so innocent. Pushing away all thoughts of turning back, she pulled up the hood of her black cloak and draped her child protectively in it. Her heart beat with adrenaline. If someone were to recognize her, it would not only mean death for her, but for the baby too. Arthur would survive. Arthur could get by on murder as he was the only heir to the throne. Or was the only heir to the throne.
This child, she realized, could change everything. No, it was still impossible for her to keep him, but if she could give him to someone who could raise him to take the throne from Arthur, this mistake may be the greatest king Camelot had yet to see. Redemption for this act she had committed, revenge for this irresponsibility of Arthur.
The man sitting across from her in the tavern watched her shiftily. For a Druid to be in such a public place, having a civil conversation with Uther Pendragon's ward, was beyond dangerous. Still, he knew the gift of magic when he saw it, and here he not only saw great power in the son, but also the mother. This child could be a great Druid, and he had always longed for a son after his pregnant wife was brutally killed in the Great Purge.
He understood the conditions. He was not to tell anyone (who would he tell? who would listen?), the child was to be raised to reclaim the throne (obviously, you're dealing with the Druids here), and above all, he was never to know where he came from. The girl had tears in her eyes as she said this, but there was a great strength in them too. She could be no more than fourteen or fifteen, yet she wiped away the tears determinedly and carefully handed her son over. She smiled gently at the bundle, thanked the man, and with a whisk of her cloak, was gliding briskly away.
"Wait!" the new father called after her. Uther's ward turned, tears streaming down her young face.
"Does the child have a name?" he asked her. She smiled sadly.
"Mordred. His name is Mordred." And with that, she was gone. The baby thrashed, already noticing the absence of his mother. The father rocked his new son.
Hush, my child.
Hush, Mordred.
A/N: I realize there may be some holes in this story, as I am no Arthur/Morgana/Mordred expert, so let me know if you see anything that needs fixing, that I change things the next time I write on this. Please take into account of your judgement of this that I wrote the whole dang thing in half an hour.