Note: Mordred ages very quickly due to the fact that this is the Fate/universe, and things worked out different, since his dad's a girl. If you wanna find out the details, look it up or PM me, because I don't want to take up any more space here.
Chapter 2
My Father, my Dream
A year had passed since that day, and my mother had kept her word that I would journey. That day, she had set me up with a weeks-worth of supplies, a suit of red and silver armor, and the best stallion that a boy could possibly ask for. His mane was soft and black, just as the rest of his body was, and his eyes were that of a dark storm, brewing and ready to strike at any given moment. He had the temper of a woman, but was as strong as a bull and was loyal enough to stay by my side. "A worthy companion," my mother had told me. "You better take care of that horse, Mordred; there's no other like him."
And so, with a few final good-byes, I rode off into the world which had been completely unknown to me as a child.
I learned what it was like to speak with people that were not acquainted to my mother when I stopped at a small village, I learned the danger of real battle when a wandering knight challenged me, I walked through the blast of a heavy, unwanted storm, and I became actually hungry, all for the first time in my entire life. It was a thrill beyond belief, talking with people that didn't have to constantly watch what they said around me, being able to feel the sting of a cut when a sword drew too close to my skin, not knowing where I would sleep or when I could eat next.
And, I had kept telling myself, the best had yet to come, for I was to finally meet my father! I still found the thought of my father, this man who had remained a complete enigma to me up until a year ago, stange and hard for me to wrap my mind around. There would be so much catching up to do! I wondered what he was like: Was he kind? Did he like to watch the stars at night, like me? Did he wonder about me nearly as much as I wondered about him?
... Did he even know I existed?
I quickly reprimanded myself for the thought. Of course he did! Mother had told me herself that she had sent him a letter, and that he was awaiting his son's return to Camelot at that very moment!
Still, I was giddy with anticipation at the chance to finally meet my father once I made it into the gates of Camelot. I had made good time, so I was a few days early and wouldn't be expected to meet my father for a while longer. I could wait, though. If there was one thing that my mother had taught me over that one grueling year, it was that patience was a virtue to pay mind to. It had gotten me this far, at the very least.
At the boarding house that I stayed at, it was filled with mostly men, all of which were much older than me, and a few children that stayed with their mothers. The boarding house had very few rooms, so I was forced to share a room with a small family comprised of a man (a baker, he told me) and his son.
I chatted with the baker quite a lot on that first day. He was curious about me, and what I had been doing with myself.
"Where do you come from?" He had asked me, trying to sound well-mannered and dignified.
"Down south, by the sea," I had told him. Yes, indeed, the first thing that I had seen upon exiting my mother's castle were deep, vast waters that rolled over hills of sand and cast a cool wind that protected me from the sun's intense heat. I had spent a whole day there, lingering under that big ball of fire, letting the sand and water seep between my toes and the wind brush my hair out of my face. Pure bliss.
"Oh, very nice," The baker had said, nodding towards me. "And why have you come here? Surely you wouldn't come for no reason?"
"My father lives here," I told him. "I've never met him before in my entire life, so I wanted to come see what he's like." There was no use in telling him that my father was our very own King Arthur. Would he have even believed me? I highly doubted it.
And so he went on, questioning me about my travels. Where have you been? What was it like in the mountains? Surely you didn't travel alone, did you? All of them were trivial, something that you could ask anyone at any time. Still, it felt as if he was trying to get a little more out of me than he really was.
I could feel the son's eyes on me as I spoke. He was small, probably about five, and had golden hair that hung down around his head like a halo. He seemed to be paying little attention to anything else but me; he was just watching my face with his big blue eyes round in fascination. He seemed impressed when I had told his father that I had traveled all that way in a mere two weeks. "Impressive!" His father had bellowed. "It isn't every day that you meet a person that could cover that much ground in so little time!"
I smiled at him. "What can I say? My mother gave me a great horse."
After a while, the man excused himself from me, told his son to behave himself, and left the room. The boy stared at me with those wide eyes of his, and I gave him a quick smile to let him know he was fine before going to my bag and checking my supplies. I was to meet my father and be knighted in three days exactly, which meant that I had to be able to hold on with what little supplies I had left until then. I was fine, financially-wise, to pay for the rent of staying here for now, but I could have been a little tight on money for food, so I would have to be careful with that...
As I was going about doing this, the boy had walked over to me before bouncing on the edge of my beaten mattress and staring at me again.
I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Hello?"
The boy smiled at me, leaning over the mattress so that he was laying with his stomach on it, looking up at me. "You're a very beautiful lady," he told me.
I frowned, put off by the statement. "Thank you, but I'm a boy."
He tilted his head to the side, eyes wide. "You look like a woman."
"But I'm not."
The boy was silent now, looking up at me curiously. His irises were like waters, floating, swirling, and misting in the color of his eyes. I could see my reflection in his eyes, and, through them, I could see what he saw: a mirror image of King Arthur, but also the face of a distraught woman, denying accusations and claiming that she was a man. It was almost frightening, yet I could not look away from his eyes, almost mesmerized by the extent of my femininity.
"I like you, Sir," the boy, finally, told me. "I am Alexander. You?"
I stared at him a moment longer, and the sound of the door opening did not register in my mind. I opened my mouth and, very slowly, answered. "My name is Mordred,"
I only had a moment to notice the way the boy's eyes widened in recognition before there was a straggled cry from the door, and I turned just in time to see Alexander's father running towards us, face awash in fear and anger. I had not expected, when he reached us, for a fist to be thrown into my face, and I was sprawled on the floor a moment later while he grabbed his son and rushed back to the door. "Leave us alone, monster!" I heard him scream before the door was slammed shut and I was left sitting on the floor, prodding at a bruise that was beginning to form just under my eye.
They never came back, and no one else moved into my room. Hardly anyone at the boarding house even spoke to me after that incident, and I couldn't help but wonder: Had I done something wrong?
