The afternoon was growing old as Mordred ran further and further into the knotted trees. His legs and head were pounding, and the heavy drumming in his ears blocked out the sounds of the trees. He had long since left behind the arched towers and looming walls of Camelot; the twinkling lights at the castles windows becoming smothered by the swaying leaves. He kept running, leaving Camelot behind him. A place that just a few days ago he had called home, had now returned to the place it had been for him all those years ago: a prison; a place to run from; a place where he had lost someone.
It took Mordred longer than it should have to realize that he was shaking all over. He thudded to a halt in a small clearing, sank to the ground and rested his head on his knees. Rage and grief rippled through him in perfect unison as he dug his hands deep into the soft damp earth.
Cara. The most amazingly beautiful, fierce and loyal woman he had ever met had been destroyed. Now all that was left was an empty carcass. Her grave would be unmarked, and she would be forgotten. Except how could he forget her?
The defiant look in her eyes as she raised her chin in protest, or the cleverness of her subtle and haunting smile. He had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She had radiated heat and passion and beauty, and Arthur had killed her. She was dead because of him!
Mordred took a long gasp and sat up. His breath hitched in his throat as he wiped away the wet on his face and stood up. The wood was still. The wind had stopped with his sobs and was now deathly quiet.
Mordred took one more deep breath, and then composed his face into its blank mask. He had always been like that. There was no one to see him, and yet it was the most natural thing in the world. It was important not to show emotion unless you wanted someone to see it. It made you vulnerable.
Mordred began to walk again, and as the ground began to grow steeper his pace quickened. Until now he hadn't known where he was going. His head had been a swirling ball of thick smoke, like the thick, grey and twisted limbs above his head, but his feet had brought him here.
The domineering sight of Morgana's fortress came into view in the dim light of the darkening evening, it's twinkling orange lights beckoning to him to come home.
Mordred had thought he had chosen the right side; the side that was good and just. He almost wanted to laugh at how naive he'd been. The man who he thought he'd loved… who's life he'd saved and who he'd sworn complete loyalty to, was nothing more than an evil tyrant
…a tyrant subtly advised by a traitor. He'd thought Emrys and he had been the same, but the man had betrayed his own kind, and now it was all Mordred could do to find solace in the person who shared his dreams.
The woman who felt what he felt.
The witch who wanted King Arthur Pendragon to live no more.
Apologies for any typos or parts that don't make sense or sound right - I'm half asleep
Anyway, hope you liked it... oh well, you read til the end at least, so thanks :)