PRINCE OF SWORDS

(A/N: I posted this under T because I'm sick of hiding my stories away under the M rating. If you guys feel that I need to make it stronger though, just let me know. There is violence in this and fleeting instances of profanity, but I'd call it fairly tame. It's just not a children's story.)

Introduction

Three years ago...Mordred turned fifteen years old and learned of the destiny foretold for him. (He had a better idea)

Mordred and Morgana sat across from each other at the dinner table in the cold, dank ruins of one of Morgause's previous dwellings. Morgana was listening to a report from one of her minions who'd just failed to gather any useful information about Emrys' identity and whereabouts. For once, Mordred didn't mind the disruption. He was too caught up in his own thoughts, having just learned of a prophecy - his prophecy - the night before. It felt more like a curse.

Mordred hadn't been where he was meant to be at that time of night. The dungeons were off limits. He had been feeling listless, unable to sleep, yet too tired to do much of anything. So, as he often did over the past year or so that they'd spent together, he searched out the comfort of his Lady's presence. Halting, stock-still, outside the dungeon he had not only heard, but felt the screams and torment of an older mind not unlike his own. The prisoner was another Clairvoyant. Morgana's voice from the other side of the door had sounded harsher and more frightening than he had ever heard it, demanding information on Emrys and Camelot. When she burst out through the doors and found Mordred standing there, the High Priestess stopped short. Remorse crossed her pale face for a fleeting moment. Mordred barely acknowledged her, unable focus on anything but the aged rasp invading his mind.

"I know you, Boy. Your destiny was foretold. A Druid child, able to bring the entire kingdom to its knees. You would be Arthur's Bane..."

Mordred's eyes locked with the Druid sorcerer's. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't blink. In his mind he was crying out, "No! No! No! I don't want this! It isn't true!" but he knew the old man wasn't lying. He would have felt it.

"The future is not yet certain... You must alter your path before-"

"Mordred!" Morgana grabbed him by his shoulders and hauled him away from the dungeon, slamming the doors shut with a burst of magic for good measure. "Mordred? Look at me!" Her hands were fluttering worriedly over his face and arms, and her pale green eyes were open wide. His unblinking stillness had sent her into minor hysterics.

"Arthur's bane..." Mordred murmured hollowly.

The brilliant smile that phrase had brought to Morgana's face was enough to make him feel physically ill. Mordred was facing a living nightmare, yet Morgana had looked as though her dearest wishes had been granted - by her brother's death. Mordred had seen the glee slip from her face as he collapsed into her arms. When he awoke again she had slaughtered the prisoner in a fit of rage, blaming him for Mordred's illness. More proof, in Mordred's eyes, that he must be cursed, but when he'd touched Morgana's mind her madness had focused him. The horror that he had originally felt was replaced by a cool, detatched sort of calm.

"...Alter your path..."

Mordred was brought back out of his reverie by Morgana slamming her goblet down on the table, sloshing a little wine over the side while she turned on her unlucky minion. Mordred in contrast didn't even bat an eyelash, continuing his meal as though he might even be a hundred miles away at a much calmer dining table. He knew Morgana's true self now. He had no need to fear her.

("One of the greatest lessons that Lady Morgana taught me was the true nature of 'necessary evils,' " Mordred confides. "Everybody has them. Growing up as a Clairvoyant, I have heard them all. To King Uther, killing all Druids in order to purge those with magic was a necessary evil. To Prince Arthur, hunting down and killing those with magic to enforce his father's laws was a necessary evil, and to his guardian, Lord Emrys, leaving his own kind to perish while he serves amidst our murderers was, and is, a necessary evil. These excuses make the dark truths behind our actions more palatable, and far easier to avoid. I cannot allow myself such concessions; the fastest way to succumb to the darkness is failing to recognize that darkness which already lies within oneself.")

Morgana shouted at the soldier, again, about how she would do whatever it took to claim the throne that was rightfully hers and bring their kind the future that they deserved. This supposedly meant that they had to kill Emrys, but Mordred wasn't foolish enough to voice his dissenting opinion on the matter.

(Instead, he watches impassively, then returns to his previous train of thought, "A necessary evil often speaks of a person's tendency to lie to themselves. It allows them to see themselves as they wish they were. Which is why she hasn't seen this coming.")

Morgana's rant was interrupted by a loud crash from outside, and a minion's shout of "Emrys! He's here!"

Morgana and her two guards rushed towards the commotion. Mordred calmly stood and strode away in the other direction, unnoticed.

"Mordred, do you not intend to aid in the defense?" Another guard asked as Mordred walked past him towards his private chambers. Mordred turned back and looked him directly in the eye.

"You seem tired," he stated in a speculative tone.

The guard frowned down at him, but it quickly turned into a wide yawn. The larger man slumped to the ground, lost in a deep slumber in the Druid's wake.

When Morgana reached the front entryway to see the one-sided battle that her men were carrying out against an imaginary foe, she looked down at the green cloak draped over the stone railing beside her and lifted it up to reveal the glowing lump of smoky quartz hidden beneath. Morgana's eyes widened in realization.

"Mordred!" she breathed, hoping, in a near panic, that she was wrong. Morgana whirled round and bolted back to the dining room. A shattering crash sounded from down the hall. Her breathing visibly quickened as she hurried past the unconscious guard and burst into Mordred's bedroom murmuring "No, no, no..." The chained-shut doors to the balcony had been blasted open, leaving the deep emerald curtains blowing ethereally in the breeze. Morgana stumbled out onto the rain slick balcony to see her son's silhouette vanish into the trees below.

"MORDRED!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, half-pleading, half accusing and her eyes lit up with a rush of unfocused magic. The pitcher on the nightstand behind her exploded and several nearby windows erupted out of their frames.

Down in the shadowed forest below, Mordred skidded to a stop as the rain rushed horizontally past him in conjunction with Morgana's scream, almost knocking him off his feet. He turned to look back toward the tower with a hint of regret in his eyes. The moment passed and he continued to flee, not allowing himself to look back another time. He couldn't afford uncertainty. Not anymore.

Some distance away, in Camelot's palace, Arthur put down the reports that he was reading and picked up the section of torn-out diary entries that he'd found in a hidden compartment of Uther's desk. Merlin came into the room carrying his breakfast and the King quickly hid the entries under a stack of papers. Merlin frowned at him.

"It's morning, Arthur," he stated the obvious.

"I can see that, Merlin. I had work to do. Just set that tray down there." Arthur cleared a place at the corner of his desk, returning to the report he'd been looking at before his manservant entered.

"These aren't the usual reports..." Merlin observed. "You're searching for someone."

"Give me that!"

Merlin stepped out of Arthur's reach and studied the page in his hand. "A young boy, fifteen years of age, possibly bearing Druid clan markings... 'Possibly'? You don't even know whether he's a Druid or not? What did this boy do?"

"Merlin." Arthur stalked around the table and snatched the page away from his troublesome servant. "This doesn't concern you."

"It's kept you up all night -on two separate occassions, I might add. It's clearly important."

"It's personal."

"Now I'm really curious."

Arthur scowled at him. It had no effect. "There was something that I found in my father's desk after he died. He kept it hidden from me, and now I'm looking into it. That's all."

"And what does this have to do with a possible Druid?"

"Don't be stupid Merlin, of course he's a Druid."

"This doesn't have anything to do with magic, does it?" Merlin probed.

Arthur scowled again. "No..."

"So a Druid just happens to be related to this unspecified secret something in Uther's desk in some way that you're not sharing."

"He is definitely related," Arthur confirmed in an oddly flippant tone.

"You aren't even going to try to help me understand what this is about, are you?" Merlin noted.

Arthur smiled at him. "See, Merlin? You are learning!"

Merlin let out a huff and headed out of the room. Arthur watched him go, then looked back at his desk. He had spent over a year on his search for answers and still he felt he was no closer to finding the hidden child than when he had begun. Those entries that his father had so callously torn out of Morgana's diary were heartbreaking. The thought of her lost baby and what fate may have befallen him haunted Arthur, almost as much as it must have haunted his wayward sister. And yes, it most definitely kept Arthur up at night. Uther had undoubtedly done what he felt he had to in order to protect her, and their family's reputation. Still, after learning of it, Arthur understood his sister's rage a bit better. He only hoped that he could still find the boy before he was lost forever. No matter what Uther had thought, both child and mother deserved better than this.

...Two years ago Mordred turned sixteen years old. He even found a less demeaning way to earn his living just in time to be captured by slavers. (Mordred decided to fuck fate the way that it had fucked him)

Mordred strolled into the local tavern. It was what he had estimated would be a safe enough distance away from his recent haunts, and the clientele appeared to be of a less problematic variety. This was the closest that Mordred ever let himself get to Arthur, but it had to be done, at least for tonight. He had been grabbed off of the street two days ago and taken to meet a representative of some neighboring Lord. This man, Lord Rhidian, according to his proxy's thoughts, had been watching Mordred for sometime and wanted him to use his talents to essentially commit treason by proxy. Naturally, Mordred refused. The whole reason why he was subjecting himself to this abysmal life was in order to avoid doing harm to Camelot's King and Court. This Lord clearly wasn't one to take disapointment kindly, so here Mordred was, hiding out on the border for a couple weeks while he saved enough money to go into seclusion for good. It's only one more night, anyone who knows you from Camelot is far away, at the palace. What are the chances that this could fall apart now?

"Well, look at this! Pretty Boy!" a drunken rasp remarked.

Mordred leaned on his elbows against the bar to wait for the bartender, ignoring his past customer as best he could. He honestly couldn't remember this man. He was pretty run of the mill in terms of Mordred's previous livelihood. A middle-aged, rough-looking wretch, surrounded by a mostly intangible aura of filth. Mordred had decided that he was fed up with that lifestyle-if one could even call it that- for a good reason. However he did remember well enough, disliking a wannabe-repeat customer who'd insisted upon constantly calling him 'Pretty Boy' or... What was the other one again?

"Come off it, Babyface... I'd know that pout o' yours anywhere!" The larger man planted himself in the space directly to Mordred's left, leaning against the counter so that he could more-or-less force Mordred to look at his face. His ample stomach grazed the Druid's arm as he moved. Mordred resisted the urge to cower away from the warping, flickering cloud surrounding the man that Mordred knew only he could percieve.

"I am not interested," Mordred denied, doing his best to pay the obnoxious creep as little attention as possible. He had learned the hard way that if you let one of the clouded people into your consciousness, the murky haze will begin to feed, or worse latch on.

"What are you afraid of? I've got money to spare for tonight. We'll have supper!" the man insisted, draping an arm around Mordred's shoulders. Mordred eyed the invading limb with a disdainful air then looked up at its too persistent owner, resolutely ignoring the slippery, flickering feelers that were dancing over his skin searching for purchase. Once their eyes met, the flow of Arlan's immediate thoughts leaked into Mordred's awareness before he could slam his mental defenses shut, making the wretch's intentions clear. This wasn't about a job. Arlan was a thug for hire when he wasn't orchestrating thefts. He also had certain unmentionable proclivities. Arlan was preying on Mordred tonight, and he didn't plan to let him live to tell the tale.

Mordred gave him a tight smile. "Another time perhaps, I have to get home soon. This was only meant to be a brief respite." He told the tavern keeper "A pint of ale, please," and slipped him one of the handful of gold pieces that he'd pilfered from Arlan's over-filled coinpurse.

"Yes, right. Don't make me laugh, Pretty Boy. You're an orphaned brat, plain as day. Now let's get back to my table so we can talk buisness."

Mordred looked around, trying to figure out whether he'd have even the slightest chance of getting away with a subtle use of magic in the crowded place. Before he could begin to worry too much an unfamiliar voice cut through his thoughts.

"Oi! What are you trying with my nephew? You like little boys?"

Mordred's head snapped around to face the newcomer. "What? I-"

"Who's this?" Arlan demanded.

"Who am I, Mate? Who are you?" Mordred's rescuer shot back, stepping into Arlan's personal space.

"Uncle Rona, I..." Mordred pretended to falter as though he were formulating an excuse.

The new man took his arm and pulled him away from the baffled thug. "If your mother were alive to see the trouble you put us through... This had better not be why you've been vanishing at all hours!" 'Uncle Rona' warned, leading him away into the far corner of the tavern. They stopped just short of the door and pulled apart to slip into either side of a reserved booth.

"Thank you. I was beginning to think that I would never be rid of him," Mordred said graciously.

"You can pay me back with those coins you lifted off the fat idiot," his rescuer responded.

"You saw that?"

"I won't tell if I don't need to."

Mordred sighed and placed his pilfered money on the tabletop between them. The other man smiled.

"What's your name, Boy?"

"Mordred. And yours?"

"Ragnor." Ragnor tried to take the gold, but Mordred placed a hand over his larger one, locking eyes with this new challenger.

"I still need tonight's supper." He took back two of the coins without breaking eye-contact. Ragnor smirked.

"I knew you'd be tough. This isn't an easy place for Druids to find their way," Ragnor discussed. "Especially on their own."

"If you believe the fat idiot's reckoning," Mordred deflected without giving anything away. Young or not, he wasn't born yesterday. It was obvious that 'Ragnor' was summing him up, probing to see how vulnerable Mordred might be.

"It's a bit late for you to be out dining alone."

"I'm not alone. You're here."

"Your people will be missing you. You look too clean and fed to have nobody lookin' after you," Ragnor assessed.

"She knows not to hold her breath."

"Ah, so you've got an aunt then," Ragnor inferred.

Mordred watched him impassively, not giving him anything more to go on.

"I loved my aunt. She was rough, like you," Ragnor continued, amiably.

Mordred looked down at himself, not seeing how he could be described as rough. Granted, his tunic and black, wool cloak had seen better days, but he was perfectly aware of his babyfaced and gentle appearance.

Ragnor chuckled. "No. You don't look it, Mordred. You just are." He grabbed some coins and tossed them recklessly at a passing tray. "Two pints of ale, and some stew for the brat," he told the scowling barmaid, laughing inappropriately at his own bad behavior. That was what this man's obsession was, dominance. Mordred doubted that he had any genuine confidence within him, so he demeaned all comers, and competed on unlevel ground. That was fine; Mordred was willing to be underestimated.

"You should respect her, your aunt," Ragnor clarified, misreading Mordred's skeptical expression.

"I never said that I didn't."

"Yeah, but you're here in a pub, trying to needle your way toward another drink." He laughed again at Mordred's defensive glare. "Well, come on! What age are you, twelve?"

"Your drinks, Gentlemen," the barmaid murmered politely, only half paying attention until the boy responded.

"I'm sixteen. It's my birthday," Mordred intoned. The barmaid setting the drinks down between them did a double-take, and snorted out a chuckle.

"Oh yeah? Me too, Luv," she joked, brushing her long grey hair out of her face with a gaptoothed grin.

Mordred watched Ragnor expectantly as the maid left. Sure enough, the older man slid Mordred's drink closer to him with an amused smirk.

"Congratulations, Lad!" Ragnor held up his tankard in a lazy toast. "You've survived another year. Happy Beltane!" He called out the last, inappropriate exclamation loud enough to draw the unfriendly gazes of other patrons.

The Druid pulled at the untied opening of his tunic to reassure himself that his tattoo was well shielded from view. Ragnor smiled at the self-conscious movement. Just as Mordred had thought. It all came down to dominance.

Arthur strode more swiftly than was probably advisable out of the Council Chambers. He was sick of the judgmental, or worse- pitying looks that some of the older members were sending his way. He knew that some of his father's advisers were beginning to whisper behind his back. That meant that there were doubtlessly more he didn't know who were doing it. More than two years into his reign the Council had expected him to produce an heir. Well, too bad. To be honest, Arthur had, too. He and Gwen had been trying. His beautiful Queen wanted a child to love and nurture even more than Arthur needed an heir to secure his hold on the throne. Worse yet, there were whispers that he had inherited his father's curse. The young King was almost tempted to acknowledge the old men's gossip just to point out that his father had actually suffered no such curse. After all, it was now common knowledge that Lady Morgana LeFay was, in fact, the King's older half-sister.

This was even worse. The Court Genealogist had decided to bring it up in the middle of the meeting. Geoffrey of all people had betrayed Arthur to the wagging tongues of his father's old councilors. The man had been practically family since Arthur and Morgana's heads barely reached their father's elbows. Not anymore, the traitor, Arthur thought peevishly.

"They're just boring old men, Arthur. You don't need to let them get to you," Merlin assured, jogging to catch up with his preoccupied friend. Arthur had hoped that he wasn't that easy to read.

"I'm not bothered. There are simply far more important uses for my time," Arthur dismissed.

"Yes." Merin nodded.

"I have a Kingdom to run and they want to talk about who is or isn't having a baby," Arthur sneered defensively.

"Right."

"Its none of their buisness!"

"Exactly," Merlin confirmed with a barely-concealed grin.

Arthur eyed him for a minute then nodded stiffly, realizing that he had pretty much restated his manservant's point.

Merlin let his grin free.

Arthur resumed his brisk pace towards his chambers. "Don't just stand there grinning like an idiot, Merlin. We both have work to do." Arthur's mind was already straying back to his secret project. Finding the Druid boy was becoming a necessity now with all the rumors running through his court. It was only a matter of time before one of Arthur's rivals heard a whisper and got the idea to challenge him, but if Arthur could put an eligible regent in place, it would shift the target off his back. At least for a while. He liked to think that might be enough time and stress relief even to solve the problem of his succession. Better yet, it finally looked as though he might have a lead to move on. A series of break-ins in a small village near Camelot's border with Caerleon shared reports of a dark-haired, Druid boy of variable age appearing suddenly and vanishing into the night near many of the burgled dwellings. What had really caught Arthur's attention was the one that mentioned the boy's Druid tattoo. It matched the sketch from one of Morgana's torn out diary entries, of her lover's clan marking.

Mordred stopped abruptly in the middle of the leaf-strewn road. It was still early morning and he had hoped to enjoy the peace and quiet of the sunrise while he walked. No such luck. He was being followed. He had sensed his pursuers for a while now, but the less familiar mind had drawn too close to ignore. Mordred's hands clenched into fists. He didn't want to hurt anyone -as a general rule- but two much larger attackers at once? He would have to use his magic.

"Who's there?" he called tensely. The young Druid knew perfectly well who was following him, and exactly where both men were positioned, but he was still hoping that he wouldn't have to fight. "I know someone's there; I heard you!"

A familiar laugh cracked the tense silence, Ragnor stepped out from behind a tree onto the path behind Mordred. "Alright, you've caught me!" he mocked. "What exactly were you planning to do to me if I wasn't so friendly? Last I checked, you Druids were a peaceful lot."

"Why are you following me?"

"I've been hearing some interesting stories regarding a Druid boy like you," Ragnor began, taking a step forward.

Mordred took a couple of steps back, guessing where this was headed. "Is that so?"

"Yes. You see, there has been a run of thefts through the villages here along the border," Ragnor continued, while Mordred subtly increased the distance between them. "Folks say they've seen a young Druid appear then dissappear nearby on the very night of the incident. Come to think of it, you really do match his description."

Mordred darted off like a shot in the other direction, with Ragnor keeping pace - admirably well - behind him. He was a much better runner than he looked. Mordred didn't intend to play fair this time anyway. He abandoned the path by vaulting over a toppled tree without bothering to hide his somewhat incriminating agility. Ragnor was no tumbler and his scramble over the formidable obstacle put a comfortable distance between them.

Mordred turned right past a large oak tree, charging deeper into the forest. He didn't even bother to look back, using his magic to track the two men chasing him. Wait. Two? Mordred slid to a halt and looked back over his shoulder.

"You're making a mistake, Mordred!" Ragnor warned.

Mordred backed away from him, but stopped and began to turn towards the new threat sneaking up behind him. Arlan made to grab him, but he dropped into a somersault, running over to swing up into the branches of a nearby tree. Arlan grabbed his ankle right before Mordred could escape his reach and yanked him back down. Mordred kicked out at him and struggled, buying himself a few more seconds before he landed hard on his back on the forest floor. Arlan pulled him up off the ground in a cruel bearhug, pinning the squirming Druid's arms to his chest.

"You should have been smarter, Boy! Shown some respect. You turned down the wrong Lord's offer. Now I'll be earning my gold with your head," he growled into Mordred's ear.

"No! Let me go!" Mordred kicked with his dangling legs and slammed his head back into his attacker's collarbone. He was beginning to have trouble breathing in Arlan's crushing grip.

"A pretty thief is a terrible thing to waste. You would have been good fun." Arlan ignored his pleas. Mordred could barely breathe, and with blurring vision, he saw the cloudy tendrils ghosting over his skin in search of an opening. He doubted that he had long.

"I'm warning you..." he hissed out, not wanting to resort to magic even though he saw no other choice at that point.

Arlan laughed. A loud crack snapped through the air and he dropped Mordred to the forest floor with a startled gag. Mordred loooked back up at him to see a sturdy, leather whip wrapped around the thug's throat. Ragnor was holding it taught from a few paces behind while his victim choked.

"You're killing him," Mordred observed, still working to regain his own proper breathing.

"I have a job for you, Mordred. It could be very rewarding," Ragnor responded conversationally, watching the other man drop to his knees. His lips were turning blue. "You can't complete this last theft if you're dead."

"One last job and I'm done."

"We grab the goods, divide the reward, and part ways by noon tomorrow. Of course I'll be bound by good sense to keep you protected until I get my money," Ragnor clarified, holding out a hand to pull the wary teen to his feet. "We have an understanding?"

Mordred looked to the writhing, strangled killer crouched in front of him to the opportunist who was choking him to death. Mordred didn't trust this man in the least, however the alternative to agreeing was just as absolute. "We do," he accepted, allowing his new customer to pull him to his feet.

Ragnor smiled at him in acknowledgement, then retrieved his sword from his belt and slit Arlin's throat. Mordred turned his face sharply away. He was close enough to feel the sudden, tearing, emptiness of a life being cut short, and felt the warm spray of blood splattering onto the back of his hand.

"Now that's out of the way, let's talk business," Ragnor suggested, outwardly unaffected by his own ruthless act. Mordred didn't really want to know if he was or not. Either way, he wasn't someone that Mordred was going to stick with any longer than he had to.

Merlin paced back and forth behind Arthur's chair while they waited for Elyan and Leon to join them in the royal chambers. Gwen watched him from her seat at the table, on her husband's right with a sympathetic look. Arthur was still stubbornly ignoring him, unrepentant about keeping his best friend in the dark about this for so long. The Queen was the only one with whom Arthur had shared his discovery for the first year. After that they'd let Leon in on a heavily-edited version of the truth out of necessity, but not Merlin.

"Three years. Three years, and you didn't tell me! After all the time we've known each other, everything I've done for you... You couldn't trust me!" Merlin ranted frustratedly.

"You know that we trust you, Merlin. It wasn't that at all," Gwen assured him, leaning her elbows against the tabletop so that she could see her friend's face while he paced.

Merlin gave her a sarcastic look.

"Stop being such a girl, Merlin. It didn't concern you. Now sit down," Arthur told him without looking back. He hooked one foot under the chair across from Gwen and pushed it out for the grumpy young man, just as the two knights arrived. "Sir Leon, Sir Elyan, please join us."

"Sire," Leon acknowledged respectfully as they took their seats at the other end of the table. Elyan eyed the rebellious manservant standing to the left of Arthur's chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Is something troubling you, Sire?" Elyan inquired.

"Leon has told you about the series of thefts that were reported along our border with Caerleon?"

"Yes. Forgive me, Sire, but aren't such matters usually the domain of Camelot's patrols?" Elyan looked from Arthur to Gwen, sensing that there was something more going on.

"That would normally be the case," the Queen admitted. "Elyan, what we're about to tell you cannot leave this room. You must swear to that."

"You have our silence, your Magesty," Leon confirmed. Elyan nodded, keeping eye-contact with his sister.

"I swear."

"When King Uther died he passed a number of secret documents on to me. I have been piecing together what I can from the fragments I could find," Arthur explained, choosing his words carefully. "I don't believe that my father realized that he would need to share any of this with another person before it was finished, let alone pass it on... As Sir Leon already knows, I have been searching for a Druid spoken of in these documents. A young boy, about sixteen years of age with a triskelle on his chest. What I haven't told you, until now is that I believe this boy to be Morgana's illegitimate child. He was left hidden amongst the Druids in order to disguise her indiscretion."

Arthur paused to gauge the reactions of his trusted knights. They looked stunned, which wasn't unexpected. Neither of them seemed upset so far, but it was hard to tell. He exchanged a glance with Guinevere, she slipped her hand into his and laced their fingers together in silent encouragement. They were both agreed that this needed to be done.

"A boy of his description has been seen around the villages where the thefts took place," Arthur continued as though he'd never faltered. "I want you to capture him and do what you can to confirm his identity. If he is Morgana's son, I intend to bring him home."

"Sire," Leon was the quicker of the two to snap out of his shocked silence. "If he truly is Morgana's child, surely the witch will be searching for him as well. She will likely have heard the same reports that we have by now."

"That's why we need to get to him first." Merlin piped up at last, resting a hand on the back of Arthur's chair. "Before she can turn him against us."

The royal couple looked up at him surprised. He ignored it. He still wasn't happy with either of them for keeping him in the dark, but he wasn't angry enough to let the boy suffer. Morgana might be his mother, but she was also mad, and destructive. It would be better for all involved, to keep the boy safe in Camelot.

This place wasn't exactly the usual sort of target for Mordred. It was an outpost for Camelot's border patrol. A sturdy, three-floored stone block of a structure shaped like a backwards capital L. The locked chest which Ragnor wanted him to steal was kept on the top floor. To make things worse they'd seen a couple of Arthur's knights snooping around the village in search of someone that evening. Ragnor had assured him that it was unrelated. Ragnor was lying. Mordred hated his own policy of not asking what he was hired to steal.

"Just one more job," he reminded himself, fastening the veil of his dark blue headscarf over his lower face. Every bit of him was covered now in layers of dark blue or black cloth, except for his pale blue eyes. It was near midnight. Most of the patrolmen would be asleep at this hour as would their guests, with any luck. Mordred looked up at the full moon overhead and climbed up the old hazelnut tree beside the first level. His power was nearing a peak now. He would need to be cautious of his emotions. No need to risk an outburst with Knights around to see it.

Mordred easily swung up onto the first roof and flattened himself against the stones. The first guard strolled closer. Mordred slipped a wooden pipe out of his tunic and blew a dart into the guard's neck. With a hand to his sore puncture wound, the man dropped like a sandbag. Mordred padded silently over him, retrieving the dart as he went, and began to scale the tower. He was hanging from the windowsill, about to pull himself inside when the second guard arrived. Beautiful, he was early.

"Dave?" The guard shook his buddy by the shoulder. "Oi, Dave! Wake up, Mate."

Oh, good. This one's a bit dim, Mordred thought to himself, relieved. He pulled himself up and hooked one leg over the sill then stilled. He'd knocked over an empty goblet someone had left on the adjacent table.

"What's that?" He heard the guard wonder to himself, looking around no doubt. Mordred squeezed his eyes shut and waited. The guard didn't notice him. After a quick look back to verify that he hadn't been spotted, Mordred pulled himself up to straddle the windowsill.

He whistled to the still-conscious guard, retrieving the pipe.

"Oi!" The guard drew his sword and started towards him. Mordred got him with a dart just above his collarbone. He only had one left now, but he was confident that he could manage. Mordred crept out of the watchroom into the torchlit hallway. Two doors down on your right. It'll be locked.

There were no more guards in sight. In fact, the hall was silent as the dead until Mordred unlocked the door with a whisper of "Unlūcan." Mordred was already leaning over the now broken metal trunk, searching for the small, silver chest that Ragnor wanted, when footsteps alerted him to an aproaching guard. Mordred hastilly shifted a pile of fine red silk out of his way and shoved the box into his rucksack. He needed to hide.

It wasn't a guard entering. Sir Elyan drew his sword, pulled out of his sleepy daze by the cracked open door to the secure storage room. He entered catiously, scanning his surroundings for any sign of the intruder. Above him, Mordred held his breath keeping himself pressed to the corner of the ceiling. He was strong enough to stay up for another minute or two. The Druid silently thanked Morgana for all the physical drills and barely-disguised 'survival games' that she had played with him during the year they lived together. He wouldn't have been able to hide like this if she hadn't been so good at finding him. The pipe that he'd been using to shoot darts began to slip out of the folds of his tunic. He watched, helpless, while the knight searched farther into the room. Mordred gauged the man's distance, and the progression of the pipe as it slipped, playing the odds. It fell away. Mordred dropped to the floor in a whisper of rustling fabric, catching the wooden implement before it could hit the stone floor. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room while Elyan whirled to face him.

"Stop right there!"

Does that ever work? Mordred wondered to himself.

Elyan charged out into the hall to stop the thief. Frowning when he had miraculously vanished. Mordred waited for the knight to step a little closer then darted out of the shadows, tackling his opponent up against the wall. Elyan's sword clattered to the floor while they struggled, so he headbutted his young attacker. Mordred stumbled back, drawing his last dart and tried to stab Elyan with it. The knight caught his wrist and wrenched it around. Mordred cried out in pain and punched him, once, then- Elyan caught his other arm and twisted him around so that he was pinned against the knight's chest.

"Listen, I don't want to hurt you! Surrender your weapon and no more harm will come to you," Elyan requested, holding on tightly to the squirming teenager.

Mordred paused to consider the assertion. ("More?")

"You will come to no harm once you're in our custody. We wish only to escort you back to Camelot," Elyan continued, encouraged by his opponent's relaxing shoulders. "I give my word as a Knight of the Roundtable."

Mordred squeezed his eyes shut regretfully in response to the last two statements, replying, "I believe you," before he stamped his heel down on Elyan's foot and threw his head back against his would-be-chaperone's, forcing him to release his hold.

Elyan caught himself against the wall, readying to lunge forward and tackle him. Mordred spun round and stabbed his last dart into the knight's neck.

"I am genuinely sorry about this." Mordred caught his opponent, slowly lowering him to the ground while he lost his struggle against Mordred's drugged and enchanted darts. "You'll be fine, I promise." He added to the unconscious warrior, then hurried out of the watchtower.

When he was just standing up after his drop from the old tree, Mordred felt the tip of a sword press between his shoulder blades. He let out a heavy sigh, slowly lifting his gloved hands.

"Stay where you are," Sir Leon instructed.

Mordred remained silent.

"You're the Druid boy who's responsible for all those break-ins, aren't you?"

Mordred shot a look over his shoulder.

"Fair enough," Leon conceded. "Hand over the rucksack. Slowly."

Mordred let his bag slip off his shoulder until it rested on the moist soil beside him. Instead of passing it back to Leon, however, he grabbed the straps and swung it up to hit Leon in the shoulder. The blow knocked the knight off-balance, and Mordred finished the job by sweeping his leg out and toppling the taller man. Mordred didn't hesitate to flee into the village streets with Sir Leon following hot on his tail. The Druid jumped up onto a passing cart and ran across the bales of hay, leaping right off them to catch the edge of a nearby awning and run along the wooden frame. He had just reached the end and was about to jump across onto the roof of the next building when a shortsword flew past cutting the strap of his bag, and the flesh of his arm.

"Ah," Mordred hissed in pain and pressed a hand over the gash, watching his rucksack fall into the street below. He looked back in the direction the weapon had come from to meet Sir Leon's determined gaze. They both darted for the bag. Leon reached it first. Mordred skidded to halt a few paces away, looking torn.

"Don't-" Leon began, breaking off when the thief, predictably, fled. "...run," he finished, giving chase. It was pointless. Mordred was smaller, younger, unfairly agile and his dark clothing was making him very hard to see in the twilit night. He also never stopped moving, which Leon was fairly certain would have been this enraging even in broad daylight. The most experienced Roundtable member suddenly felt rather old. After a couple more minutes of relentless ducking, bobbing and leaping, Mordred had realized his opportunity. He was running across the top of a six foot high stone wall that separated the village from the border propper, and the knight chasing him- whose aggravation would have been obvious even without Mordred's clairvoyance- was running alongside it several paces behind.

Mordred stopped and turned to wave at him. The Knight slid to a halt, perplexed. The young thief swept one arm out and bowed like a jester at the end of his performance. He then did a back flip off of his perch, vanishing into the shadows on the other side of the wall. He probably shouldn't have taunted the man like that, but Mordred was fed up, tired, and likely to be murdered by an unhappy client come morning, so he didn't care.

The next morning he would wake up in a cage without any memory of what had happened after he'd evaded Camelot's knights except for a vague recollection of a bitter smelling cloth pressed over his face. Ragnor had decided to keep him rather than sell him... or kill him.

"I like you, Mordred. You're clever, but not too clever. I could use someone like you, for amusement if nothing else, so I will."

Mordred could see the lie in the other man's smile. Arthur's knights were searching for him -Goddess knows why. The Druid would cooperate with his new captor until Ragnor brought him far enough away not to tempt fate any further. He knew that he should never have dared to venture this close to Camelot in the first place.

Present Day. Mordred is seventeen years old, and today his luck is changing...

A familiar rustling clamor issued from the other side of the clearing behind him. Mordred cocked his head to one side, considering the sound. The shouting, understandably indignant voices of Ragnor's fresh catch sounded familiar. Mordred picked his own catch up off of the forest floor, letting the dead bird dangle lifelessly from his hands as he turned towards the disturbance. He wasn't in any hurry to see which poor sods were about to join him in the life of a human commodity, but the sudden cry of "Merlin!" in that recognizable male voice chased all thoughts of dawdling from his mind. Arthur. Mordred's blood turned to ice in his veins. For a moment, he couldn't move or breathe. His mind raced. Arthur was the one hero of his past life who he'd never dared imagine might come to his rescue. The subject of his horrible destiny. It seemed that there would be no avoiding him now. Mordred snapped himself out of his panicked stupor and bolted back towards the clearing, just managing to slow to a purposeful walk and set their future meal aside along with the crossbow when he reached the edge of the trees.

The bickering pair picked themselves up off of the cut netting, seemingly oblivious to their dire predicament while Ragnor appraised them. Merlin was being too bold in his protection of the King, and paid for it with a blow taken in the gut. Arthur snapped to his defense, trying to bargain for his 'idiot servant's' freedom. The slavers laughed as he was given a swift kick in the ribs for his troubles. The slavemaster's blade poked at the King's throat, keeping him from pushing himself up off the grass.

"Stop!" Mordred barked. It came out as an order, despite his own tenuous position. Mordred hastily schooled his features to hide his emotions when the other men all snapped their heads round to stare at him. Mordred wasn't sure which was worse: the way that Emrys was looking at him as if he was his worst nightmare made flesh, or the way that Ragnor's beady eyes were scrutinizing his expression in that discerning way. Their gazes locked. The slavemaster leered at him, having seen the flicker of anxiety-tainted rage in the Druid's eyes. That was worse. Mordred shifted his attention back to Emrys, not thinking about why Ragnor was letting his willful display pass; distrust was something that Mordred had long grown accustomed to. Being so easily read and manipulated was unacceptable. "Shouldn't we leave it to Lady Morgana to decide their fate?"

The slavemaster broke into a full-bellied laugh, still too amused by Mordred's reaction and walked away, waving with one hand for the teenager to ready the new catch for transport. Mordred offered Arthur a hand up and the King eyed it skeptically before accepting his help. He was trying to remember where he'd seen those eyes before, and why this not-quite-stranger was behaving this way.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Mordred asked, although he already knew the answer. "You saved my life once."

"Mordred," Merlin realized aloud.

Mordred smiled at the older mage despite the almost shocked expression in his eyes. He smiled at Arthur, too, greeting him warmly, "Hello, Arthur." His unreadable mask snapped back into place in the next instant. "It is a shame that we weren't reunited under better circumstances. I have to chain you up now."

"You could let us go," Merlin countered, flatly.

"Do you know what these men do when their property decides to misbehave?"

Merlin blinked at him, genuinely thrown. "What?"

"I am unchained, only because Ragnor knows that I am not stupid enough to attempt escape again." With that, Mordred led Arthur over to the horses and fetched their shackles. He could feel it when the king spotted the scar at the base of his neck. A shallow stab-wound placed to one side of his spine, just nasty enough to scare a young boy into lasting submission without killing or permanently paralyzing him. He could hear the royal thinking to himself, How many other scars like that are still hidden away?

Mordred turned back around to shackle him, readjusting his neckerchief to cover the mark. Arthur averted his gaze when he looked up, and wordlessly offered his wrists, not wanting to be responsible for another wound like that. Of course, he was too honorable. That was why Mordred had let him see it. Emrys narrowed his eyes at the royal's behavior, but remained silent. He was less pleasant when it came time to shackle him, but he followed Arthur's lead, regardless. This apparent grudge of his was going to be a problem. It was definitely something that Mordred would need to navigate carefully. Still, this could turn out to be a boon for all three of them if Mordred played it right. The trick would be getting them all to Morgana in one piece. She wouldn't take his enslavement too kindly, and would want to savor her revenge against Arthur, giving them all the time that Mordred needed. (He turns away from the others, allowing himself a small smirk. "And it isn't even my birthday.")

-(Destiny was going to be Mordred's bitch.)

A/N: Thanks for reading this. I hope you enjoyed it. Please review.