Apparently my mind is a dark place because this turned out quite depressing so don't read it if you're not prepared for some major angst and tragedy. This was written as a companion piece to "Contrary to Popular Belief" but can stand alone as well.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, if I did I wouldn't be writing fan fiction.
Mordred was painfully shy; he could count on one hand the number of times he had spoken out loud since that day, the day his parents died. He had been a happy child; running, playing, and screaming just like the other kids until, without any warning, his world shattered into a million pieces. He had spent the last twelve years picking up the fractured shards and painstakingly gluing them back together, but once something is broken it can never be completely whole again.
His parents had married young and settled down in a small village on the outskirts of Camelot; they were content to live as peasants, working hard and taking life's simple pleasures as they came. The village was a close-knit community, working cooperatively to sow, nurture, and harvest the crops so that everyone would have enough food for the winter and no one went hungry.
One day Mordred was playing tag with his friends in the village square while his mother helped the other women grind grain for bread. It was nearing the end of autumn and the men were bringing in the last of the harvest. The sun shone brightly in a brilliant blue sky, the slight chill in the air the only indication that winter was around the corner. Suddenly a shout of warning rose from the men in the fields as a group of riders appeared on the horizon. Mordred's mother pulled him away from his game, dragging him back towards their house by the arm.
"Hide under the bed." She commanded urgently, "You must be very quiet, don't move or make a sound, no matter what happens."
Nodding, Mordred slid under the bed with a grin, thinking it was a game like hide and seek. He crouched on the floor, stifling his giggles as his mother barred the door and drew the curtains. Soon the sound of galloping horses and shouts followed by women screaming filled the air and Mordred's smile slid from his face.
"Mommy?" he asked uncertainly, trying to crawl out from under the bed.
"Stay there!" she whispered forcefully, motioning him back under the bed then holding her finger to her lips to remind him to be quiet.
Mordred jumped as something crashed against the door, splintering the wood with its force. There was a shout and the damaged door opened to reveal Mordred's father and two masked men.
"Please," his father was pleading, arms outstretched beseechingly, "leave us alone, we don't want any trouble."
"Give us what we want and we will leave you in peace." The larger man said, eyes glittering above the cloth that covered his mouth and nose as he advanced on Mordred's mother.
"NO!" Mordred's father shouted, moving to stand protectively in front of his wife, who was cowering against the wall in fear.
"Have it your way." The man replied disinterestedly as he thrust his sword through Mordred's father's chest then, walking to Mordred's mother, slit her throat before leaving the house.
Mordred bit back a scream, silent tears coursing down his cheeks as he watched the lifeless bodies of his parents slump to the floor. It had taken less than a minute for the world as he knew it to come crashing down around his ears; less than a minute for the happy child to disappear completely, replaced by a silent, morose figure whose haunting gaze held far to much wisdom for his years.
He stayed there, trembling beneath the bed, for hours; until long after all sounds of the attack had died away. When he finally emerged and stumbled out into the street the full extent of the destruction met his watery, bloodshot eyes. All that remained of the once-happy village were the smoking shells of burned-out houses; the children that had once filled the air with their playful laughter were silenced forever, blank eyes staring unseeingly at the sky as their blood watered the grass below.
Turning on his heel, Mordred ran; he ran and ran, pumping his four-year-old legs as fast as they would go, trying to escape the pictures that flashed through his mind. He thought that maybe, if he fled fast enough, he could outrun them, leave all the awful things he had seen behind. If he didn't remember them, then maybe they had never happened, maybe this was a dream and he would wake up to his mother's smile and his father's hug.
He wanted to keep running forever but the sun was disappearing, leeching the light from beneath the trees as it went until Mordred could no longer see where he was going. Collapsing in exhaustion, he curled up at the base of a large tree and drifted into a fitful sleep. The moon rose and lit his pale, shivering form as he cried out for his parents, the horrors of the day multiplying in his unconscious mind as they filled his dreams with blood and fear.
That was how Caleb found him in the morning, a pitiful ball of humanity huddled between the roots of a tree. Throwing his cloak around the small boy, Caleb picked him up and took him back to the druid encampment. It had been months before the timid youth had worked up the courage to look anyone in the eye and years before he'd opened his mind enough to communicate. Silence was Mordred's way of controlling the world around him, the world that had left him so helpless as a child.
Tragedy has a way of changing people, sucking out their vibrancy and leaving them hollow shells of what they once were. Mordred had suffered so much in his young life, it came as no surprise that his joy never returned, and although the pain of his parents' deaths had diminished over the years, never again would a smile grace his icy countenance.
So what did you think? Please review and let me know!