Author's Note: This was written from another prompt by Pri. Enjoy!

Mordred rode at the back of the pack, relishing his inclusion in Arthur's patrol. A month had passed since his last patrol, and he smiled in satisfaction and excitement. Arthur had become hesitant to take him on patrols since the incident with the Disir, so any time he was ordered along felt like a gift to the young knight.

Leon conversed with the king at the front in a raised voice. "Perhaps, sire, we shall meet some draamraffe this day."

Arthur looked alarmed. "Why do you think so?"

"Rumors from the villages," Gwaine replied, uncharacteristically somber.

Mordred's brow creased. Arthur had claimed this patrol would be uneventful.

Percival shook his head. "The last time we met some of those creatures we almost lost Sir Corax."

Mordred frowned further. He hadn't heard about this, though perhaps Sir Corax didn't want it known he'd come close to death.

Elyan sighed. "I don't look forward to an encounter. Perhaps we can avoid them."

"How?" Gwaine asked.

"Well," Arthur contemplated, looking back. Mordred stirred when the king's eyes set on him, straightening in his saddle. "We did bring Mordred. We could use him as bait."

Mordred's eyes widened. Bait?

"You would do it, wouldn't you?" Arthur asked.

Mordred glanced at the knights' grave faces. "Sire...Yes...I would."

"Then it's settled" Arthur said. "We see evidence of draamraffe and Mordred will distract them while we dispatch the creatures."

Mordred clutched tightly at his horse's reins and nudged the steed forward with his heels, drawing up next to Elyan. "Sir Elyan?"

"Yes?" Elyan answered, looking to him.

"What...are draamraffe?"

"You've never heard of them?"

Mordred shook his head.

"Dark creatures," Percival described from ahead, craning his neck back. "Giant and spindly. Six legs and no eyes."

"Don't forget the talons...and the spit," Gwaine added.

"Spit?" Mordred inquired.

"An acid. Burns the skin," Leon said.

"Mordred," Arthur said, looking back again. "You don't know what draamraffe are, yet you volunteered to face them?"

Mordred swallowed visibly, not wanting to appear cowardly in the front of the knights. "It's my duty, sire."

"His hands are shaking," Elyan noted.

"They aren't!" Mordred denied a little too vehemently.

"If you're afraid of draamraffe, you might as well return to Camelot," Arthur declared.

"I'm not afraid, my lord, I'm not," Mordred insisted, hating the fact Arthur might think him fainthearted. He heard a small snicker and cocked his head, his attention drawn to Arthur's side where Merlin rode. The servant had brought a hand to his mouth, attempting to cover his laugh with a cough.

Mordred eyed Merlin for a moment, then looked to the knights. They appeared too innocent. He narrowed his eyes. "There aren't any draamraffe, are there? Do they even exist?"

The knights burst out laughing. Arthur slapped Merlin's shoulder. "You gave it away, idiot!"

Merlin grinned back at the king. "Sorry."

"They might not be real," Arthur said, smiling at Mordred. "But your bravery is still noted, Sir Mordred." He turned back to the front and moved along at a quicker pace.

Mordred smiled at their joke. As the youngest of the knights, he often found himself the brunt of their teasing, but he read the message behind it: they liked him. He was a comrade, and their teasing only proved he was one of them.

For most of his life, Mordred had been a victim of loneliness. Ever since the deaths of his mother and father, he'd been passed around from group to group among Druids. He'd struck out on his own when he became a youth, wandering here and there, seeking a place where he belonged. He'd discovered it wasn't easy for a sorcerer to find such friendship. He'd been forced to work with various people to earn coin for his survival. That was how he'd met Arthur for the second time.

He'd been attached to a slaver, Ragnor, who had found Arthur and Merlin in a trap. Mordred had been just as surprised to see the king and servant again as they had been to see him, though he'd hidden his emotion well for appearances. Once he'd encountered Arthur, Mordred felt the shame of his current employment. Despite his need for food and shelter, slavery should never been an option. Still, the event led him back to Arthur.

Mordred smiled again, his heart joyful. He had found where he belonged after all—in the brotherly fold of the knights of Camelot.

Arthur called a halt soon after noon. They dismounted and made to set up for a short rest and a meal. Mordred aided in collecting firewood. When he returned, he built the campfire and readied it for the flames. Merlin crouched down across from him, fiddling with a flint. He looked up and Mordred caught his eye. Mordred nodded to the flint and a look of understanding passed between them. How much easier it would be if they could use their magic freely. Merlin didn't smile, simply went back to the flint.

Mordred sighed. As much as he admired Merlin, the warlock didn't seem to like him very much. He didn't quite understand why, but Merlin always seemed suspicious of him. Mordred had given the matter some thought, and he could only guess that since sorcerers had brought mainly evil to the kingdom, Merlin feared his magic ability. Mordred knew he needn't worry, but had resigned himself to being the target of Merlin's suspicion, at least until he proved himself.

Mordred settled himself next to a tree and leaned his head back, thinking to get in a quick nap. Merlin had just begun cooking when Mordred felt a sudden tingling. He opened his eyes, glancing around. He recognized the feeling. A sorcerer had used his magic to call for aid, perhaps even a Druid. They were known to call out for help when needed.

Mordred looked to Merlin bent over the fire. The warlock peered into the forest, then over at Mordred. So they had both felt it. Merlin tilted his head, sending a question Mordred's way. Mordred faintly shook his head. Merlin frowned, staring into the forest once more. Mordred slowly stood, glancing at the knights in the glade. They were distracted. He could slip away for a moment. Merlin looked back at him, and Mordred nodded imperceptibly to him, turning to move into the forest. Merlin opened his mouth as if he might say something, then snapped it shut.

Mordred stepped around the tree and stalled when Arthur called out. "Mordred! Where are you off to?"

Mordred turned back around. "Sire...I need to relieve myself."

"Don't get lost...or eaten by a draamraffe," Arthur warned with a taunting laugh. Several of the knights joined in.

"Do not fear for me. I will return," Mordred replied with a grin.

Mordred hiked several meters into the forest and down a short slope. When he could no longer be seen, he took off at a run, following the call.

Mordred found himself at the edge of the forest. When he stepped through, a village lay before him. He recalled the map of Camelot he'd memorized. They were a morning's ride from the capital, to the east. It had to be Lorburry.

Mordred heard shouting. He sprinted towards the village. When he was only a few meters away, a youth not much younger than he jumped up from some tall grass and ran in his direction. The youth paused when he saw Mordred, fear in his eyes. Mordred knew his red cape and the Pendragon crest would give him away as a knight from Camelot. The youth started running again, dodging to his right. Mordred's arm shot out and grasped the youth's arm.

"Come, boy," he said. "What is happening here?"

"They want to kill me!"

"Why?"

"They say I'm a sorcerer!"

"How do they know this?"

"My friend...he was hurt...I..." the youth stammered and his eyes grew even more terrified.

"You are a sorcerer," Mordred said quietly.

"Please, sir knight." Tears had risen in the youth's eyes. "I didn't know I was, not until now."

"How could you not know?" Mordred inquired, wondering that the youth had awakened to the ability now and realizing his call for aid must have been involuntary.

"I'm an orphan. I don't know my lineage. Maybe...magic," he spoke the word with horror, "is part of me."

Mordred stared into the boy's eyes, reflecting that the terror there must have been the same on his own face when he'd been chased through the streets of Camelot as a child by soldiers intent on his death.

"There he is!" a voice shouted. A villager brandishing a haymaking fork raced towards them and several more appeared behind him.

The youth's tears doubled and Mordred felt him collapsing in his grasp. Mordred steadied him. "Go. Now." The youth gaped in shock. Mordred dropped his arm. "Run!"

The youth stumbled behind him, lifted himself from the ground, and disappeared into the forest.

Merlin studied the glade as he ladled stew into the knights' bowls. He kept glancing at where Mordred had departed. The young knight hadn't returned. He had felt the same magic Mordred had, but hadn't been certain what it was. He'd begun to worry. He hated when Mordred was out of his sight. Really, out of Camelot at all. As long as Mordred was near, he could keep an eye on him.

When Merlin served Arthur, the king put a hand on his wrist. "Mordred's certainly taking his time."

Merlin shrugged. "Sometimes it does."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I know that, clotpole. But...something could be wrong."

"I'm sure he's fine," Merlin said, not sure of any such thing. "You've grown quite fond of him, haven't you?" Merlin couldn't help the hesitancy in his voice, the vision of Mordred killing Arthur too dominant in his mind.

Arthur slowly smiled. "Are you jealous?"

Merlin balked. "Jealous? Of what?"

"Sorry, Merlin," Arthur said. "You aren't knight material. You can't do half the things Mordred can with a sword."

"I don't care what he can do with a sword," Merlin grumbled.

Arthur laughed. "He's a good knight, and a good friend. And young without a home." Arthur's tone turned thoughtful. "We're his family, now, and we must take good care of him."

Merlin nodded slowly, reading compassion in the king's eyes, but stared unconvinced back into the forest. Even families sometimes kill each other, he thought bitterly.

Mordred drew his sword, stalking towards the oncoming villagers. "Let him be!" he shouted.

The villagers stopped, surprise in their faces. They hadn't thought to meet a knight of Camelot this day. "Sir knight!" the one with the haymaking fork responded. "He is a sorcerer."

"How do you know this?" Mordred challenged, meaning to stall the villagers as long as possible.

"He healed someone!" another villager shouted, brandishing a flail.

"Healed someone. And this is a crime?"

"The boy's arm and leg were broken beyond repair. He appears now as if nothing had happened to him."

"Then thank the miracle," Mordred said.

"It was sorcery!" the haymaking fork villager yelled.

"Then you should have brought him to a trial."

"You think we're like the capital out here?" The villagers turned at the new voice, parting for a large man with graying hair and beard. "We don't waste time when the evidence is clear. Find him."

The village posse made to move into the forest, but Mordred backed up and swung his sword side to side. There were about ten of them. He couldn't stop them all, but he could delay some.

"Let them pass," the man with the gray hair commanded.

"If they try, I will fight them," Mordred said. He clenched his sword tightly in his shaking hand. He didn't want to hurt the villagers, but he couldn't let a fellow sorcerer be captured by unreasonable men.

"Go!" the man shouted.

The villagers pressed forward and Mordred struck out with his sword. Most backtracked, but three rushed at him with their household weapons. They were no match for a knight. Mordred slashed and parried. Two of them had the sense to break off the attack after only a few seconds. The last was too bold. He swung a fire iron at Mordred's head. Mordred ducked and thrust out. His sword caught the man's arm and he went down screaming.

The villagers gawked in shock. Before Mordred could process what had happened, they rushed him, spurred on by the wounding of their friend. Mordred fought them off as best he could, but he couldn't take on so many at once without consequences. He felt a jab in his leg, and cried out, his knees buckling.

And then he did a rare thing—he used his magic. He strengthened his leg so he could stand and escaped back into the forest, the villagers hot on his heels.

"It's been too long," Arthur declared, setting aside his empty bowl and standing. "Spread out and look for Mordred!"

The knights rose to their feet, concern on their faces.

Merlin followed the king. "Arthur, I'm sure he's fine."

Arthur kept walking and drew his sword. "Look, Merlin, your possession of me is noteworthy, but you're not the only man I care about."

"Arthur!" Merlin spoke exasperatedly.

Arthur laughed shortly, then his gaze sobered. He lay a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "You may not believe he is in danger, but I fear he is. Trust my instincts."

Merlin firmed his jaw and nodded, but inside he worried what Arthur, and more Mordred, might do if he caught the knight using magic.

Mordred slumped down under a low outcropping of rock. He'd managed to outrun the villagers, but his leg burned, spiking with sharp pain. He drew his knee up and bit back a cry. His pant leg was soaked in blood. He rolled it up, cringing as he did so. Blood seeped from a jagged hole, though it wasn't as large as Mordred thought it should be considering the pain.

He held a trembling hand above it. "Þurhhæle dolgbenn." The pain lessened somewhat, and the bleeding stopped, but the wound remained. Healing had never been his gift. He took several deep breaths. How would he explain this to Arthur? First the incident in the cave with the Disir, now this. Arthur would never take him on patrol again.

Besides, they'll take me back to Camelot and Gaius will stitch it. Mordred shuddered. Such tools had not been needed among the Druids. Healers mended any wounds. He'd seen Gaius stitch a wound before, and he felt queasy now just thinking of it.

Mordred tried another healing spell. The pain lessened further. He stood and put tentative weight on it. He'd be able to walk. He hitched up his chain mail and reached under his arming coat to his undershirt. He spoke a quick spell, tearing a swath off of it. He knelt down on one knee and wrapped the wound. Then he magicked away the blood and repaired his pant leg. He could tend the wound himself and Arthur would never know.

"Mordred! Mordred!"

Mordred jerked his head up at the voices of the king and the knights. They must have come looking for him. He steeled himself. Elyan appeared and relief graced his features. "Over here! He's here!"

Elyan rushed to him and put a hand on his arm. "Are you alright?"

Mordred nodded and soon all the knights had appeared, inquiring the same.

"Mordred!" Arthur called out, striding towards him, Merlin by his side. Mordred caught Merlin's questioning gaze, but refused to meet it. "No man takes that long to relieve himself."

Mordred smiled sheepishly.

"What have you been doing? I mean, if you were Merlin, I'd expect you to wander off, but you're not."

Merlin shot his king a withering glance, but Arthur didn't acknowledge him.

"My lord, I was...I wanted to..."

"Yes?"

"There!" a harsh voice shouted.

Mordred closed his eyes briefly. The villagers. They'd found him. When he opened his eyes, the one with the gray hair and beard was stomping towards them.

Arthur turned his attention to the man, marching away to meet him. "Do you need help?"

"That knight," the man cried, pointing a bony finger at Mordred, "attacked my people!"

Arthur glanced between Mordred and the man. "And you are..."

"Kenric of Lorburry."

Arthur set confused eyes on Mordred. Mordred stared back, afraid his own blue depths gave away everything. Arthur turned back to Kenric of Lorburry. "I am King Arthur. If my knight attacked, he must have had good reason."

"King Arthur," Kenric acknowledged, bowing in his shock. The other villagers followed his lead, amazed to find the king in their hunt. Kenric's face clouded once more. "They say you are fair and just."

Arthur raised his chin. "I have tried to make Camelot a fair kingdom for all."

"Then you will give us justice."

"What has my knight done that requires it?"

"He wounded one of our own. The man is being tended by our physician as we speak."

Arthur peered at Mordred whose eyes hadn't left him. "Why?"

"We were in the act of bringing justice to a sorcerer."

Arthur's head swiveled to Kenric. "A sorcerer?"

"Yes, my lord. He has plagued our village."

"Sire, please," Mordred spoke for the first time since the villagers arrived.

Arthur held up a hand to stay him and didn't look at him. "How has this sorcerer hurt your village?"

"Our crops failed last season," Kenric explained.

"And little Jennie died of an unknown fever!" another man cried out.

"And we were infested with rats a month ago," a third added.

Arthur stared from one man to the other, his gaze skeptical. "I will speak to my knight." He paced back to Mordred, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him away. He pushed Mordred into a tree and scowled down at him. Merlin had followed and stood by the king's side.

"Explain this," Arthur demanded.

"I...heard a cry," Mordred started. "I went to see what was wrong and a boy barely my age came running toward me."

Arthur took this in, raising and lowering his chin.

"He said they wanted to kill him because they believed he was a sorcerer." Mordred finally met Merlin's gaze. He was surprised to see a bit of sympathy. Both of them could imagine how easily the youth's plight might have been their own.

Arthur drew in a deep breath. "So what did you do?"

"I...told him to run...And I stood my ground against those chasing him."

"So you did wound one of them."

Mordred swallowed hard. "Yes, sire."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "Do you want to die? We almost lost you once. What were you thinking putting your life in danger for a sorcerer? You should have brought the boy to me, not attacked my subjects!"

Mordred lowered his eyes. He heard Arthur let out a frustrated breath. "Sire?"

"What?" Arthur snapped.

Mordred looked up. "The villagers said he healed someone."

"Healed someone?" Arthur asked in confusion. "Not destroyed crops or made anyone sick?"

"I believe they may have attributed all their problems to him."

Arthur ground his jaw, clearly agreeing this was more than likely. "How much do you know about this healing?"

"They said someone broke an arm and leg and then was completely healed."

Arthur's eyebrows knit. "So...the boy was a sorcerer."

"Perhaps." Mordred uttered an answer he considered safe. "They shouldn't have gone after him like that."

"No," Arthur agreed. "But you shouldn't have attacked them. You should have more respect for my subjects. I wish you'd come to me." Arthur waved a hand. "Leon! Gwaine!" The two knights moved over to their king. "Watch him."

Mordred watched Arthur walk away and begin speaking to Kenric. "Will he turn me over to them?" Mordred whispered.

Leon looked sympathetically on the young knight. "He'll do what is right."

"He'll try to get you out of it," Gwaine insisted. "He cares for us all like brothers."

Like a brother, Mordred thought. I was foolish. Why hadn't he thought about taking the boy to Arthur? He had acted without thinking. Arthur certainly wouldn't have let the villagers kill a boy over a healing, would he?

Mordred caught Merlin regarding him intently. He turned away, uncomfortable with the warlock's penetrating scrutiny.

Arthur spent quite a long time discussing with Kenric. He finally trudged back over to Mordred, his face a storm of anger, disappointment, and frustration. "By the gods, Mordred, I should put you over my knee like a child!"

Mordred blinked slowly.

"You've caused more trouble than I know what to do with," Arthur mumbled.

"I'm...sorry," Mordred muttered.

"I'm sure you are."

"Arthur?" Merlin had spoken up. Arthur looked to him. "He was only trying to do what's right."

"Wandering off on his own and attacking villagers?"

"He had just cause."

"No," Arthur disagreed. "The right course of action was to bring the boy to me and let me deal with my own subjects. Now I have a whole village up in arms and one is, indeed, wounded. He may not be able to work his land and what then? His family starves? He's a man with three children and a wife nearing the birth of the fourth. What do I tell Kenric? That my knight was right to take away his ability to care for his own?"

Merlin didn't answer, but his gloomy face revealed his unspoken thoughts.

"You are right, my lord," Mordred repented. "I did not consider my actions carefully as a knight of Camelot should. I should have come to you. I will accept whatever punishment the village decrees."

Arthur's face morphed, his anger giving way to pride and a hint of fear. "What if it is your death?"

Mordred kept his eyes on his king, refusing to show his anxiety.

Arthur sighed. "I won't let it come to that. I have no choice but to hand you over to them. We will meet in an hour's time. I convinced Kenric to let us discuss this. I want to see the man you've wounded and hear their grievances."

"Yes, sire," Mordred submitted.

"Leon, Gwaine. Go with Mordred to Lorburry. I don't want anyone to lay a hand on him."

Leon and Gwaine nodded. Mordred pushed off the tree and walked with his head held high to the waiting Kenric, followed by the two older knights.

"Arthur," Merlin said as they watched the villagers, Mordred, Leon, and Gwaine depart, "I know how fond you are of Mordred. Don't turn him into your enemy."

"What else can I do?" Arthur said angrily, turning to his closest friend. "Mordred must face the consequences of his actions."

"Yes, but..."

"It's the way it must be, Merlin."

"Would they try to kill him?"

Arthur pursed his lips. "Justice in these outlying villages isn't usually well-ordered. But they won't. Kenric agreed they would not seek his death."

"It doesn't seem fair to punish him for helping someone that had healed another."

"A sorcerer," Arthur reminded his servant. "Yes, the boy should have had a trial, but if they are right, there's little I can argue in light of Camelot's laws."

"Those laws are built on your father's paranoia against magic."

Arthur's eyes flamed. "My father sought to protect Camelot. Yes, I agree, at times he did the wrong thing, but his desire was to protect us."

"I didn't say..."

"Don't say another word, Merlin," Arthur warned.

Merlin shut his mouth, but ground his jaw.

Arthur laid a hand to the back of his neck, massaging it in irritation. "I thought you wanted a kingdom that was just for all. If that's so, then justice cannot be different for a knight than for a common man. Mordred must face the village and that's final." Arthur plodded away.

Merlin stared after his king. He certainly didn't envy Arthur's predicament and agreed with his decision, but it was danger to put Mordred in a position where he had cause to resent the king. Merlin glanced back at the departing men and frowned. His eyes flashed as he sent his sight ahead. He hadn't imagined it. Mordred had developed a slight limp.

Mordred sat silently as Kenric, the head elder of Lorburry, described his crime: defending a sorcerer and wounding a man named Hrodric. The evidence he presented to prove the sorcery of the youth, Albi, was slim at best, except for the healing of a child, a friend of the boy. The child was brought before them, perfectly healthy, though several witnesses had seen him fall from a tree and break his arm and leg. He had regained the use of his appendages after a visit from Albi. Arthur was forced to admit it more likely than not that the youth was a sorcerer.

"But even if he is," Arthur argued from his place behind Mordred's chair, "he should have received a trial."

"The truth was obvious to everyone!" Kenric protested. "We can't afford a trial every time someone does something wrong. Justice is swifter here."

"Swift justice can result in innocent suffering," Arthur claimed with authority.

Kenric glared. "So you have decided your knight did nothing wrong."

"I did not say he has no fault in this," Arthur said. "He was wrong to attack your men."

Kenric waved a hand to the door of his home. It was opened and a man came in, his arm bandaged and in a sling. A woman with a full belly and three small children, two girls and a boy, followed him in.

Mordred stared at them, feeling the weight of guilt. His own wound throbbed as he caught the wince from Hrodric.

"Hrodric will need help for a month at least," Kenric said, gesturing to the farmer. "We will have to split our time between our fields and his."

"So what do you consider just compensation?" Arthur asked. "I can leave my knight behind to aid you."

Kenric snorted. "We don't want him here."

Mordred felt relief. He didn't want to stay here. He had failed, but to be separated from the knights, his only family...he couldn't take that.

Arthur let out a breath. "Alright, then, I offer a hundred coin."

There was a gasp from both Hrodric and his wife. Kenric raised his eyebrows in surprise at the enormous sum offered.

Arthur continued. "And I will send grain from the royal stores to Hrodric twice in the next month."

Kenric looked to Hrodric who nodded. Kenric stood and extended his hand to Arthur. They shared a wrist grip, sealing the agreement. "You are as just a king as they say," Kenric said appreciatively.

Mordred let out a pent up breath. At least Arthur's reputation would not suffer because of him.

As they left the house, Mordred forced himself not to cringe. His wound throbbed. He followed behind Arthur; Leon and Gwaine came behind him. Merlin, who had been leaning against the wall of the house, pushed off and took his place next to Arthur. He glanced back at Mordred. "So?"

"Our coffers are a hundred coin less and our grain stores will be raided."

Mordred swallowed uncomfortably at Arthur's clear anger. "Thank you, my lord," he spoke softly.

Arthur didn't look back at him. "I'm disappointed in you, Mordred. I put my faith in you and this is how I am rewarded."

Mordred studied the ground as he walked. He would rather Arthur thrashed him than say anything like that.

The ride back to Camelot was far quieter than usual. Mordred noted no one teased him and they avoided looking at him. He had failed them, plain and simple. He felt the heaviness of the tension and chastised himself for his foolishness. Arthur had handed him such companionship and instead of thinking like he belonged, that he was part of a group he could depend on, he had acted on his own. He glanced ahead at the raven head bobbing up and down next to Arthur. He wondered how Merlin had managed in Camelot all these years. But, then, he wasn't technically a knight, though Arthur seemed to rely on him far more than any of them.

To make matters worse, his wound had worsened the farther they rode. Every step of the horse sent sharp shocks radiating up his leg. Mordred bit his tongue to keep from crying aloud and blinked back tears. He'd see to his injury when they reached Camelot.

Mordred breathed a sigh of relief when Camelot came into view and lay a weary palm on his forehead when they reached the stables. The knights dismounted, squires appearing to take care of their horses. Mordred, a younger knight, cared for his own horse. He slid off gingerly, closing his eyes as he tested out his leg. He could stand, but not without pain.

The knights moved to the door, but before they could leave, Arthur called out. "Mordred."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Tonight you muck out the stables."

Mordred lowered his eyes and nodded. "Yes, sire."

"And you have night watch duty on the battlements for the next month."

"Yes, sire." Mordred's voice was barely audible.

As Mordred turned back to the stables, Merlin strode to the side, picking up a spade.

"No, Merlin," came Arthur's voice. "He does it alone."

Mordred smiled wanly to Merlin, who didn't return the smile, only looked concerned. Merlin moved to Arthur's horse.

"And see to my horse, Mordred," Arthur added, gesturing for Merlin to join him. Merlin obeyed, but not without a glance back at the young knight.

Mordred was grateful when the squires left and he found himself alone. He sank to the floor, allowing tears to drip down his cheeks. He rolled up his pant leg and grimaced. Certainly it was infected. He closed his eyes, thinking. What did he need? Yarrow.

Mordred slipped out of the stables, faltering down the streets until he found a small herb garden. He knocked on a door. A woman answered. "Yes, sir knight?"

"May I...have some of your yarrow?"

It was a testament to the respect the people gave the knights that the woman nodded immediately. "Of course." She led him out back and he picked enough to treat his wound. He thanked the woman and limped back to the stables, sitting against a wall. He tore another swath from his undershirt and ground the yarrow in his hands. He put it on the wound and wrapped it tightly. He took several deep breaths, then stood to begin his punishment.

By the time Arthur's horse was seen to and the stables mucked, night had fallen. Mordred had to get to watch on the battlements. There would be no time for a bath or dinner. He climbed the steps to the castle and lumbered through multiple halls, ignoring the questioning glances of various servants moving to and fro. He finally reached the battlements, but he felt a bit faint. He steadied himself with a hand on a wall as he stepped out to begin his duty.

He paced down the battlements. It was a cold night, but a beaded sweat slid down his nose. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. He turned, lurching back the other way. His stomach began to turn and he swallowed bile.

"Mordred?"

Mordred peered ahead in the dark. A tall, lanky form came his direction. Ah, Merlin.

"I came to check on you," the warlock said.

"I'm...fine."

Merlin laughed shortly. "Arthur is angry at you and you have watch for a month. You aren't alright."

"Well, no, that's true."

"I saw you limping earlier."

Mordred's wound seemed to sense the topic of conversation and jolted sharply. Mordred sucked in a breath. "I...I am fine."

Mordred teetered and Merlin jumped forward to catch him. Mordred looked up into the warlock's eyes. For once, he saw no suspicion, only sympathy.

Merlin lowered him to the ground and pulled up the pant leg of the side he'd seen Mordred favor. He unwrapped the bandage. "Gods, Mordred," he exclaimed. The wound was infected and festering. He glanced at the face of the young knight who had squeezed his eyes shut.

Merlin hesitated. He hadn't helped the youth when he'd been hurt by the Disir, Kilgharrah's warnings fresh in his ears. But now, after the youth had rescued a sorcerer like them...this time he felt he had to honor what Mordred had done, prophecy or no.

Merlin stood and gripped Mordred's right hand, pulling him to his feet. He wrapped his hand around his waist and aided him towards the stairs. Heaven bless Arthur, Merlin thought, if Mordred didn't resent him after this.

Merlin flung open the door to the king's dining chamber. Arthur occupied the head chair, his knights each side of the long table. They were laughing, chatting, and tucking into a fine meal. Arthur had seemingly forgotten his anger at the knight that had caused him so much trouble.

Arthur looked to the door. "Really, Merlin, you don't have to rush in like a mouse with a cat at its tail. Come and eat."

"Mordred was wounded," Merlin exclaimed loudly.

The chatting faded and all eyes fell on him.

"Wounded?" Arthur asked.

"He must have been hurt in his encounter with the villagers. He didn't say anything."

Arthur rose from his seat. "Where is he?"

"I took him to Gaius. It's bad."

Arthur rushed passed Merlin followed by the knights.

Arthur entered Gaius' chambers, Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival behind him. Gaius looked over at them, standing with a bloody cloth in his hand. "Sire?"

"How is he?" Arthur asked, striding up to the cot Mordred lay on. Merlin had come in last and walked up as well. Mordred's armor had been removed. His undergarment was torn in two places. He was pale, breathing erratically, but his eyes were open.

"The wound is grievous," Gaius said, dipping the cloth in a bowl, then reaching down to Mordred's leg. Merlin had seen enough wounds not to feel faint at the sight of the pus leaking from it, but he winced nonetheless.

"Will he be alright?" Arthur asked in alarm. The other knights echoed his concern.

"He has a fever as well," Gaius reported, wiping at the wound. Mordred whimpered and his hands clenched, grasping the sides of the cot. "If I can bring it down and the infection is cleansed, then yes."

Gaius set the cloth down and held up a needle and thread. Mordred's eyes widened in fear. He turned away. Arthur moved around the physician to the front of the cot. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Mordred turned his eyes to his king. "I...didn't want...to make anything worse."

Arthur shook his head. Gaius reached down with the needle and Mordred rolled to his side. Arthur gripped his shoulder and rolled him back, a question in his eyes.

"Needles," Mordred muttered. "I...hate them."

Arthur smiled gently. He took Mordred's left hand in his and nodded to Gaius. The physician went to work. Mordred gripped his king's hand, his knuckles white. He stared into Arthur's eyes, desperate for the support and the kindness he beheld there.

After Gaius finished, he wiped down the area around the wound, then wrapped it securely. He shuffled over to a shelf to retrieve a vial. He poured a bit into a cup, swirling it around. "Help him sit up."

Elyan dashed over to put his hand behind Mordred's back and push him up.

"Here," Gaius said, handing Mordred the vial. "Drink. It will help your fever and you will sleep."

Mordred took the vial in a shaky hand and sipped it all. His eyes grew heavy. Elyan lay him back down.

Merlin had wandered over to a pile of clothing on the floor. He picked up Mordred's pants. There was no indication of Mordred's wound. He must have used magic to hide it. Merlin glanced back at Mordred, now unconscious. "Bemelde," he whispered under his breath. Just in time. Arthur walked over to him and snatched the pants from his hands.

Merlin watched Arthur examine one of the legs with splotches of blood and a small hole. "How did I not notice this?" he asked.

"You weren't too happy with him at the time," Merlin covered. "You must have missed it."

Arthur looked guiltily at Merlin.

"We didn't see it either, sire," Leon spoke up. The other knights agreed with downcast faces.

Arthur turned the pants over in his hands. "I suppose the mess isn't that noticeable. He must have bandaged himself rather quickly."

Merlin nodded in agreement.

Arthur paced back over to his youngest knight who slept. "He is young, but brave. He will make a fine knight." Arthur looked to his other knights. "Get some rest. I will stay with him."

The knights departed, each looking back with guilt on their faces that they had been so harsh on one of their own who had held up so staunchly.

Gaius looked to Merlin. They shared an unspoken conversation, one that had been repeated quite often over the last few months. Gaius pleaded for Merlin's compassion towards Mordred and Merlin equivocated, worrying about the vision he'd seen where Mordred caused Arthur's death. Gaius broke his stare and moved to another part of the room.

Merlin stepped up next to Arthur, who had moved a chair next to the cot and was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his head resting on his folded hands.

"It's not your fault," Merlin said gently.

"Isn't it?" Arthur answered, not looking at him. "I'm not perfect..."

"Wait," Merlin interrupted. "Did you just say you aren't perfect?"

Arthur looked up at Merlin. "No jokes right now, Merlin."

Merlin smiled, laying a hand on the back of the chair. "Alright. Go on." He recognized this as a time Arthur needed to get his thoughts off his chest.

"I've done things in my youth that were foolish and...some even criminal."

Merlin recalled when he witnessed Arthur's confession that his obedience to his father's orders led to the death of Druid children.

"My own father had little compassion for failure."

Merlin agreed wholeheartedly with this, remembering his own distress when Uther chastised Arthur for simple missteps.

"I'm not my father. I should have had more understanding for Mordred." He nodded to Merlin. "You were right. Mordred only did what he thought was right. He didn't mean to dishonor his knighthood or the kingdom."

Merlin simply stared.

"You aren't going to say you told me so?" Arthur asked.

"You said no jokes," Merlin said.

"It's not exactly a joke," Arthur noted.

"Hm...I guess it's more gloating. Then, I told you so."

Arthur nodded without smiling. "If he dies..."

"Gaius won't let that happen," Merlin assured, secretly thinking Mordred succumbing to his wounds would be better for all. His conscience pricked him: Then why didn't you leave him on the battlements? Because...Merlin didn't have a good answer but his own tangled conflict between loyalty to his destiny and loyalty to his kind.

Three days later saw Mordred awake and receiving visitors. All the knights found time to see him, penitently asking his forgiveness and teasing him to prove he was one of them again. Merlin had been present when Arthur came, working at a chore set to him by Gaius. The king slipped into the room quietly, but spoke loudly when he saw Mordred awake and eating a bowl of soup.

"Mordred. Back on your feet?"

Mordred set his spoon in the bowl and smiled at Arthur. "Gaius took me for a short walk around the room today."

"Good," Arthur said. He settled on a chair next to Mordred's cot. "About what happened..."

"Forgive me, my lord. It was my fault."

"Not entirely," Arthur said. "It was my fault as well. I have preached to my knights bravery and action and you did both. The youth did deserve a trial, not to be hunted down like an animal. You did the right thing no matter the consequences."

Mordred bowed his head humbly.

"I myself have made plenty of mistakes, and I would want someone to try to understand me before judging me. I'm sorry, Mordred."

Mordred looked back up at him. "I forgive you, my lord."

Arthur grinned. He stood and ruffled Mordred's hair with a gloved hand. "Get well, Sir Mordred. We need you back at practice. No one else has come close to defeating me this week, and I'm getting bored."

Mordred laughed. "Yes, sire."

Arthur departed with a quick nod to Merlin.

Mordred took another bite of soup and idly looked over at his fellow sorcerer. "Thank you for bringing me to Gaius."

Merlin shrugged. "It's nothing."

Mordred sighed at the antagonism that had appeared again. "Do you always clean Gaius' leech tank?" he asked, hoping to make conversation.

Merlin grinned. "Not if I can get away with it."

Mordred grinned back, but Merlin's expression sobered too quickly. He spoke quietly. "You disapprove of me. I understand why. I failed the king."

Merlin paused wiping down the tank. Your recent failure is nothing compared to what I have seen. "The king has forgiven you."

"Yes," Mordred said. It was all he had hoped for. His relationship with Arthur and the knights had been mended. He hadn't lost his family after all. He leaned back, savoring the salty soup. Camelot was and always would be home.

Merlin cast a sideways glance at Mordred, looking so content. Disaster had been avoided, but for how long? The closer Arthur grew to Mordred, the more of a bond between them. It could be a good thing. Mordred might be less likely to turn on the king the friendlier they were. But...the closer they grew, the more devastating a betrayal would be. Merlin scrubbed vigorously at the tank, afraid to ponder which future would win out in the end.