From The Love Of Camelot
The hardest part was that she loved him. She loved him deeply and truly – he was seared to her heart that called for him with each passing beat, in a movement as rhythmic and inexorable as those of the sun and the moon in the sky.
Sometimes she wondered if she had dreamed the prettiest dream of all as she looked around and saw him no more. They had lost each other on the paths of destiny; to meet again as the crashing of the final wave was both a blessing and a curse. It would be hard, but it was needed, and she never shrunk from her duty.
Losing her was unbearable – a thought that tore him apart. He felt it in his bones as the life left her body, for they had known each other in mind, flesh and soul. He belonged to her, and she to him, their union blessed by the old ways and the goddess herself. Mordred could feel his magic breaking free as a river that overflows after the long rain.
There was part of him that wanted nothing more but to forgive and forget, to accept the warmth and the care he desperately needed – but he could never have it again, not anymore. He owned her that much, he owned her fighting for the freedom of her kin, and she had died for them. It would be hard, but it was needed, and he never shrunk from difficult choices.
When love and bond clash, how can anyone win? He had no wish to fight, but he had no wish to die. And, in this case, saying hello to new ways was the only way to say goodbye.
The bond they had shared was more important than the power Arthur yielded.