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Sir Mordred; Knight of Camelot
The day after he is knighted, Mordred sits along on the training ground – having stayed behind after his first ever sword practice with Arthur and the other Knights. Sitting on the bench, he runs his fingers along the blood-red fabric draped across his lap, admiring the Camelot cloak that was given to him the previous night by one of the servants before he was granted the Knighthood. Most would think him strange for admiring something as ordinary as a cloak but to Mordred, the cloak meant a great deal more than a piece of clothing used to set on top of his armour and cover his shoulders. To Mordred, the cloak symbolizes not just his achievement at having the honour to be granted a Knighthood, and even more so by Arthur, but is also a sign of acceptance and even more significantly, it gives Mordred a sense of belonging, as though he really belongs here, at Camelot. He could build a home here, he knows he can. Being a Knight is like having another family, and in Mordreds case, they are the only family he has. They're brothers, one and all and Mordred can't help but smile as that thought occurs to him.
Mordred had arisen early this morning, at sunrise, to explore the castle. He'd been inside Camelot twice as a child, of course, but now he was allowed to wander freely and with no worries that the Guards would catch him and lock him in the dungeons where he would wait to be killed. He didn't have to worry about keeping to the shadows, staying alert and listening out for any sound of approaching footsteps. Now, he could simply explore and that was what he had done. Mordred had walked the corridors of the castle for well over an hour, remembering certain parts of the castle from his childhood and committing the parts unfamiliar to him to memory for future reference. However, there was one part of the castle that Mordred didn't visit: Morgana's chambers. He'd went there of course, curious at first to see if he would be able to recall the warmth and security he had felt whilst there as a child. Perhaps, given that Morgana herself had changed, he would still be able to feel it there. However, upon his arrival, Mordred found that the doors had been boarded up and Mordred considered using magic for a moment to gain access to the room but instead, he moved away slowly, continuing down the corridor and leaving the room behind him.
The sinking sensation that Mordred had felt in the pit of his stomach when he had done that returned to him now and he frowned, looking out into the distance.
Morgana… How she had changed since Mordred had last seen her. True, she had not acted cold towards him until she had lost her temper at the table. In fact, Mordred had been sure that upon seeing him, a kindle of the light and warmth she had once had sparked again. But overall, Morgana was no longer the same. She had allowed the bitterness she felt to consume her. However, although Mordred knew he had been right in stabbing Morgana and saving Arthur, it didn't stop him from feeling guilty. He could still see her face, her expression when she had looked up at him, as though it were imprinted on the inside of his minds eye.
Morgana was still out there somewhere. Mordred knew she was alive. He hadn't stabbed to kill her, simply to wound, in order to gain time to get Arthur to safety. He knew he would cross paths with Morgana again and when he did, he didn't expect to be greeted with a smile as he had done when he had been reunited with her considered that he had, quite literally, stabbed her in the back.
Mordred slowly pulled himself from his thoughts and back into reality, wrapping up his cloak and tucking it under his arm as he rose from his seat. It would do no good worrying about what the future would bring. What Mordred was focused on was enjoying the present, living in the moment of happiness and hoping that perhaps, one day, he could be fully accepted here, as a Druid, a user of magic, as well as a Knight.