Hey everyone, sorry for the long wait! I've replaced this chapter and decided to do a shorter story for this fic. Now, I've made this Mordred a lot darker than the previous chapter 2, much more in keeping with his introduction in this story. There's a little bit of dubious consent in this chapter, and next chapter might be interpreted as non-con, but I promise it'll end up relatively happy in the end. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in the Merlin TV series. I only own Mairwen, and I'm using her to play around with some of the established characters.

The weeks following proved to her Mordred's apparent desire was not fictitious, nor was it the cause of drunkenness or poisoning as she had vainly hoped. Somehow, the cur had managed to get himself placed on special guard duty during the days he was not saving the realm with Arthur and his band of merry knights plus Merlin. He was paid by the Crown to follow her around, to protect her. She did her best to ignore him, to ignore the feel of his eyes boring into the back of her head, the sensation of his hand upon her lower back in crowded halls, the faint brush of his mind against hers. Mairwen. Mairwen. She'd bite her lip in concentration, trying to will away the strange heat in her belly, the flush that rose upon her flesh whenever he was nearby. He noticed it; indeed, he did, for how else could she explain the smirks and intense gazes and what seemed to be deliberately calculated touches? And the worst thing of all, there was no way for her to accuse his behaviour as being inappropriate, no basis for her to level any accusations against him (for by this point, her brother thought the sun shone out of Mordred's every orifice). She was thankful for the feasting occasions, when he would go off on one side of the room and she on the other. He would stay firmly with the knights, and at least she got respite from his close proximity, though she knew he would constantly stare over at her, making sure she was still present. Mairwen would do her best to stay by her brother, so that she might talk with Merlin.

He was worried about her. "You're pale," he murmured, smiling. Always they had to smile when conversing; it was best to let everyone think their conversations were of no substance. "He's been bothering you, hasn't he?"

"No," she replied somewhat frustrated. "Yes – but no, not really. I don't know how to explain it. He hasn't done anything… but I can't shake the feeling he will."

He knew all about the events of the weeks previous – it puzzled him, but not as much as it did her. I always had a feeling he liked you, or was obsessed with you or something, he had said, nodding his head thoughtfully. It makes sense then that you were the reason he chose to come back to Camelot. But he doesn't have a chance with me, she had replied. Never say never, Merlin said. I wouldn't put it past him.

"Just… stay on guard, okay? Don't do anything stupid," he said just as Arthur commanded his attentions again. She shrugged off the wall and went to sit alongside her brother, nervously sipping at her goblet of wine to calm her constant shaking nerves.

It seemed as though Merlin jinxed things; as soon as he told her to remain sensible and suspicious she went and got herself drunk. The servants, eager to serve, plied her with glass after glass of the rich scarlet liquid, and soon her head was swimming and she was smiling so widely that it hurt, and her belly ached from laughing. Her head was swimming, and she didn't notice as Arthur discreetly waved Mordred over to the head of the table, didn't her the quiet take her to her rooms and keep an eye on her issued forth from the king.

As the man reached for her, she vaguely remembered his threat from the weeks previous, and made half-hearted, drunken attempts to push him away. "Don' make me go, Arthur," she slurred weakly in his general direction. "I'm jus' having fun!"

"Yes, and you'll have even more fun sleeping it off," he replied sternly. She moaned weakly as Mordred renewed his grip under her arms and pulled her up off the seat, supporting her down the steps and through the hall.

The night was cold, and so was the castle away from the steaming banquet hall. The chill clung to her skin, making her sober up enough to stand upright by herself and keep her eyes open. She held herself as stiffly as any intoxicated royal might, and walked alongside Mordred to her chambers that were nearly on the other side of the palace, stumbling occasionally.

"You've been very silly tonight, Mairwen, drinking as you did," he spoke from beside her. She turned to face him; dark hair, blue eyes, glowing skin as always, and it caused a visceral reaction within her. She shuddered lightly.

"Why do you care? You're not the boss of me," she retorted childishly. "It isn' your business what I do with my life."

"It is my business – I am charged with your protection."

"And will you protect me from yourself?" Mairwen replied even before she had had a chance to consider her words. It was an unspoken agreement of theirs not to bring up the last time they had been alone together in a darkened hallway. He didn't reply after that – she knew not what to think about it.

When she entered her room, she called out for Lilah. There was no response – Lilah had likely gone home for the night. She sighed and resigned herself to disrobing herself, reaching behind her to begin working at the laces of her dress, huffing in frustration as she tugged to no avail.

"Let me," whispered a deep voice at her ear. She started; she hadn't realised he was still in the room with her. She didn't know what possessed her to allow him, but she nodded her head in acquiescence, moving her hands aside and drawing her hair forth to reveal the laces. He worked deftly, the dress loosening bit by bit before his arm appeared in her periphery, the lace in hand. She held the dress to her body, grasping the string and ventured behind the screen to change into her nightgown. Mairwen balked at it; in the wrong lighting the fabric would be near see-through. Still, she was naked, and there was no other shift in sight. It'd have to do.

When she emerged from the screen, she focused determinedly on setting herself up for bed, pretending as though Mordred wasn't in the room. She hoped he'd get the picture and leave her be. It was bad enough he was in the room with her unchaperoned; if this ever got out, Arthur would do something drastic.

She stood before her reflection in the vanity, brushing out the twists Lilah had put in her hair for the occasion. The stiff coils unwound into gentle waves, shimmering lightly in the firelight from the hearth. The direct light would render transparency upon her form, she knew – she winced. Mordred's form moved into the mirror behind her, and she instantly knew it was a mistake to wear this before him. He was gazing at her form, likely bared to him, and she could see the narrowing of his gaze and the heat of his eyes. Placing the comb down, she moved to pull off the bracelets adorning her arms, the string of pearls around her neck, the drop earrings from her ears, ignoring his presence. She shifted and felt the light clink of metal against her foot; she had almost forgotten she'd worn an ankle-bracelet for the occasion. She bent down to remove it, and her head swam lightly; she abruptly returned to her upright position. It seemed the alcohol had not released its hold upon her yet, and she had felt the effects keenly.

Mordred came forward, looming over her small frame, staring intensely. She pressed herself back into the vanity, trying to place some distance between them. For a moment she was unsure of what he was going to do to her, with her – a pause, a flicker of his eyes to her lips, and she couldn't help but freeze before him – and then he slid down her body, taking her foot in his hand and unfastened the bracelet. She could feel his hot breath ghost against her leg through the sheer material, the warmth of his calloused hands upon her feet. It was silent as he drew up to his full height, leaning forward to deposit the trinket upon the table. Only an inch between them; if he wanted he could reach down and –

"No, please don't – "

Mordred pressed her hard against the vanity and took her mouth with his own, wild and painful, trapping her with his body. She scrabbled for purchase, she was slipping – she vainly pressed against his chest, anything to get him away, when he abruptly changed tactics. A little tilt of the head, a gentle nudge, a soft glide of his tongue across her closed lips, and her mouth parted in surprise. He took full advantage, intertwining himself with her, and a soft noise emitted from deep in her throat. Her arms slid from their perch on his chest and wound upwards, wrapping around his neck and forcing him lower, pressing them closer together.

She couldn't resist him – the drugging kisses, the low moans, his near-feral domination of her. Added to that fact, she was drunk, and likely to regret it in the morning. It didn't stop her from allowing him to lift her atop the bench and step into the juncture of her thighs, pulling her knees high on his waist so she could feel his lust, hard and throbbing, right in the very core of her. She cried out softly as he mouthed over her jawline, down her throat, to bite down softly at the junction between neck and shoulder, rolling his hips against hers slowly. Mairwen, came the breathy whisper in her mind.

It stopped her cold – she was currently compromising herself with Mordred. Mordred, the man who was to kill her brother, who was to destroy everything she stood for. She panicked – Mordred hissed and pulled his mouth from hers, red coating his bottom lip. She must've bitten him, then. He took one look at her, her wide-eyed, panicked expression, and set her down before him, an unspoken agreement between them to cease their activities. He did not let go of her, instead swinging her frame up into his arms and gently depositing her under the covers of her large feather bed, tucking the covers over her. She only relaxed when he stepped away from her, a clear indication he had no intention of forcing things further. His kindness at that moment struck her – perhaps he wasn't as bad as she had thought.

He sat down on the bed next to her. "Sleep now, sweet girl. I'll watch over you." Her existing drowsiness from the wine she had consumed that night, coupled with Mordred's hand moving in slow strokes over her hair, served to put her almost instantly asleep.

A sensation of warm and a loud banging noise brought her out of sleep the next morning. Arthur had stormed in half-dressed, furious, followed by a hurried-looking Gwen and a grim Merlin. Something shifted next to her; she looked down to see Mordred next to her, just rousing from sleep – what? Why was he in her bed, and – well, it looked to her as though he was naked, or thereabouts. Suddenly she realised how this must look to her audience. Mairwen looked up at her brother, panicked, shifting hurriedly away from the man in her bed.

"How could you be so stupid, Mairwen?" Arthur asked, his voice dangerously quiet. She quailed beneath his stare.

"Arthur – I didn't –"

"No, you didn't, did you? You didn't think that you'd be caught in bed with Sir Mordred! You didn't think about what this might do to the kingdom if it got out!"

"We didn't – I swear we didn't –"

"Nothing happened, my Lord," came Mordred's voice from her side. It was pitched differently – more innocent, more childlike. She watched in disbelief as Arthur paused in his tirade and looked at them, actually considering his words. He was playing him! "I promise – she was intoxicated and didn't want me to leave, so I stayed, sire. That is all."

"Don't lie to me. I can see it all over both of you that something happened! I'm not blind, you know. I trusted you," Arthur's tone turned bitter. "Against Merlin, against Mairwen's judgement I trusted you. Never did I expect you to end up in bed with my sister!"

"I swear it, Arthur – nothing like that happened – I was drunk and there may have been some kissing but I swear I didn't –"

"Just – don't, Mairwen. Get dressed in something nice this evening – I want to make sure no one will ever question your honour."

Silence – then Mairwen realised what he meant. She leapt up out of bed, throwing her dressing gown around her shoulders, and stormed up to him.

"You can't make me marry him! I don't even like him! I was drunk, but I remember everything that happened last night, and I'm not – I haven't been – defiled, or anything like that. I never lie to you. Surely you believe me," she said, looking pleadingly at Arthur, at Gwen's kind face, at Merlin looking gravely at the scene.

Arthur sighed. "Of course I believe you." Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, he continued. "But the maid who came in this morning and discovered you two together wouldn't believe it. Neither would the people of this kingdom when this gets out, because it will get out. I'll not have my heir's honour doubted by anyone – the Pendragons must always have honour."

"What, like Father?" She knew instantly she had gone too far – their father's rule had long been a source of discord between them, and she had never loved the late King the way Arthur had.

"I'm going to ignore that comment, because you must be very angry right now. But I'll not hear you talk about Father that way again. Understand me?" he asked, an edge to his tone. She nodded hastily, already regretting her rash commentary. He continued in a marginally calmer tone. "Mordred, put your shirt on – you'll be spending the day in clear public view, far away from the Princess. Mairwen, Gwen will help you get ready for this evening. My hands are tied; I'm sorry, but I have no choice because I want what is best for you."

And with that, Arthur forced Mordred out of the room, followed by a sympathetic Gwen. Merlin shut the door behind them as Mairwen flopped down onto the bed and let the tears flow. He sat down beside her and rubbed her back soothingly.

"It might be alright, you know," Merlin said half-heartedly. "He obviously desires you, so you've got that in your favour. And I hear the Druids are pretty free with their – err, favours – so the wedding night won't be so bad for you."

She looked up at him, horror-stricken. "He won't make me – they won't – do I have to do… that? I didn't even think about that."

"Clearly, seeing as you woke up in bed with him this morning," Merlin japed. He froze, and turned to look at her warily. The expression upon his face turned her tears to laughter; they both giggled until their bellies ached. In the wake of their outburst, her sorrow renewed. She sniffled as Merlin placed an arm about her shoulder and hugged her to him comfortingly.

"What am I going to do, Merlin?" She asked despairingly.

"What you must, Mairwen. You'll do what you have to do, and you'll do it with a smile on your face because you are brave and beautiful and strong."

After Merlin had left, Mairwen spent the day in her chambers, taking turns staring forlornly out the window and catching up on some reading she had intended to do, for she was still taking her lessons from the librarian. All the while, she had considered the events of the previous night and this morning.

She could not deny that Mordred was attractive, nor that she was unresponsive to his advances; if he pressed his rights that evening she'd likely make do in that regard. But his behaviour the night before – his insistence that nothing had happened between them – none of it added up, not with his claims of desiring her.

It came to her later, before dinnertime. He had planned it all; perhaps the intoxication was an incredibly lucky coincidence for him, but nonetheless he had planned to seduce her and make it seem as though she had allowed him to take her virtue. She was foolish to ever believe there was something good in him! He had promised to have her, and by the next day it seems he would fulfil that promise. She raged, she fumed, she screamed into her pillow. But by the time she ventured out to have dinner with her family, she was calm, and resigned to her fate as wife to Mordred, Knight of Camelot.

The evening was quiet; not one word was spoken during the meal. When it was over, Arthur stood. "I'll come to your chambers in an hour, Mairwen. Gwen will help you dress for tonight. I want you to make sure that everything is in order after the – ceremony," he bit out, scratching his head resignedly. His stance softened; he moved to sit on the table beside her plate, barely touched, and laid his hand upon her shoulder, bending down to kiss her forehead gently. "I will always love you, little sister. I may be a little disappointed in you right now, but I'll always love you, and I'll always support you. I promise." Arthur pushed himself off the table and swiftly exited the hall.

Gwen took her by the arm as they too left the room, smiling softly down at her. "Not to worry, Mair," she said as she squeezed her arm lightly. "Everything will turn out just fine."

"But how? I made a stupid, stupid mistake and now I have to marry him." She knew she was being petulant, a spoiled child even, but she felt entitled to have her whine without Arthur present.

"I'm not really sure why you don't like him," Gwen commented as she pushed Mairwen's chamber door open before her. Mairwen moved to the vanity and brushed out her hair, determined that at least she wouldn't look the image of a farce wedding. Gwen continued, her voice muffled through the wood of the closet she was searching through for an appropriate dress. "He's very handsome, he's not a stranger to you, and the rumour among the servants is that he's no terrible lover."

"What? How shocking of you to say!" Mairwen replied in jest to her scandalous comment, though deep inside, she couldn't help but feel a little indignant. He had said he wanted her, but went around dallying with others? A little false, she thought.

Gwen pulled out a dress from the back of the closet, smoothing the rumpled skirt. "How about this? I don't ever remember seeing you wearing it. Is it new?"

Mairwen turned to view the dress her sister-in-law had chosen. Her eyes welled up as she gazed upon the gown of sky blue silk and lace.

"It isn't mine. It was my mother's wedding dress. Father let me have it after she died. I was only four," she murmured, reaching out to stroke the sheer overskirt reverently. "I don't know if it'll fit, I've never worn it before."

"Are you sure you want to?" Gwen asked worriedly.

"Yes. Yes," she replied determinedly. "It was always to be my wedding dress, even if my groom isn't who I'd imagined at that age. I'll only be married once, likely."

Gwen helped her into the silk gown; it was a near perfect fit, save for the bust. Her breasts were squeezed rather tightly into the corset, and she prayed she might take it off as soon as possible. She helped Gwen do her hair, not too elaborate, but rather some simple twisting done and the circlet matching the dress weaved in. When it was done, she looked upon herself in the vanity mirror, Gwen just behind her.

"You look beautiful, dear one," Gwen breathed out. "Mordred isn't going to know what hit him when he sees you like this. Not that you want him to see you like this! I mean, not that you want him to feel starstruck when he sees how lovely you look because you don't like him very much –"

"Gwen," Mairwen laughed lightly. "I know what you mean. And besides, I hope I do please him in this dress, because he's been in love with me since the day he returned." A lie, but only a little one that really wasn't too far from the truth.

"I knew it," she said quietly, a sort of vindicated tone in her voice. "I told Arthur Mordred was in love with you, but he said I was foolish to believe it. Of course I knew, though – it really isn't hard to see, with the way he looks at you."

"Thank you, Gwen," Mairwen uttered, grasping the older woman's hands in her own. She was so thankful to have family like her, unwaveringly supportive and steadfastly comforting. "Wish me luck?"

"Good luck," she whispered with a smile, pressing her into an embrace just as Arthur knocked on the door.

Thanks for reading! Please don't hesitate to review, I'd like to know how I'm going!