CHAPTER TEN

"I never stopped loving you. Even when I left. You do know that, don't you?"

Sophia and Mordred were on a pebble beach cutting into the crystal brook about half a kilometer from the knights' camp. The water gurgled as it spun around eddies and skipped an octave as it tripped over the stones. Sophia could see her reflection shimmering in the still pools around the tree roots at the edge of the little beach, but it didn't tear her heart apart the way she was expecting. The sun shone brightly above them, she didn't care - they could have been in a thunderstorm and she would still have felt warm as long as Mordred was there.

"Sophia?" He gently reminded her. She looked up into his face, but she didn't answer, marvelling instead at the tiny clear droplets of water suspended in his long lashes and the vivid, swirling green of his eyes. Mistaking her silence for doubt, he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, making her feel tiny and delicate and feminine. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, and shivered when he whispered close to her ear.

"I wanted to take you with me, but I knew you'd never come. But I have thought about you every second since I left, I swear. Thought about this," he murmured, placing feather-light kisses down the side of her neck, "and this," he breathed, spinning her around and lowering his mouth to hers. The sudden movement wrenched her shoulder again, though, and she gasped through gritted teeth.

His face was instantly alight with blazing concern.

"Soph? Are you alright?"

"It's nothing," she assured him, bringing her hand up to her shoulder to try and disperse the pain. She reached up to kiss him to take both their minds off it, but he stopped her and caught her face with one hand, cupping her cheek and staring seriously into her eyes.

"It's not nothing. Let me see." Gingerly, but with irresitible strength, he prised her fingers away from the wound and unlaced her tunic where it was fastened at the shoulder. The section of material fell away, and fresh air hit the cut, making Sophia wince.

Admittedly, it was worse than she'd originally thought. It was as long as her hand and the edges didn't look too good, like they were infected. It was quite deep too, and the memory of the cold steel slicing though her skin washed over her, her eyes closing unvoluntarily. Mordred whistled tunelessly through his teeth and his brow furrowed with worry, a tiny crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"It's bad, right?" She deliberately kept her voice light, trying to make it seem less serious and get the haunting look out of Mordred's eyes. It didn't work.

"I'll kill them," he said, his voice low and shaking with anger. "I'll kill them! How could they do this to you? How dare they?"

"Mordred, it's okay. It'll heal. Besides, I've had worse. Remember when I fell out of that tree? And when Ayre almost crushed my fingers with that log? I couldn't shoot for weeks. I guess I'm lucky you were there to do it for me." Sophia ran her fingers through his hair and grinned as she felt the ire drain out of him. She always knew how to distract him. The corners of his mouth twitched, and she carried on: "I remember the first time I took you hunting, you tripped over a bramble and fell in the pool in the middle of the woods. I like that pool," she added mischevously, knowing they were both thinking of the afternoon when they had been play-fighting by the water. Mordred was completely calm now, lost in the web of memories she had created, and his eyes closed. "I know, by the way," she told him, her eyes softening.

"You know what?"

"I know you never stopped. Because I didn't either." And with that, she leaned in for another kiss.

Rebecca shivered in the cold night air. The castle had windows, but no glass, meaning it could get bitterly cold. Finding a slightly more sheltered corner, she leaned against the wall and slid down the the floor, huddling there and thinking about everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours.

As the black shape above the trees had gotten larger, she had begun to gallop, urging Ciel, her white mare, even faster as the shadow kept up effortlessly. Fear made every angle sharper, and her thoughts had suddenly become very clear; it was as though something inside her had woken up. She knew how to fight, of course - her father had trained her in swordsmanship since she was old enough to hold a dagger - but all the skill in the world wouldn't defeat the dragon chasing her. Then disaster had struck; Ciel stumbled and Rebecca was thrown off. Rolling to ease the jarring impact on her shoulder, she had lain in the leaves for a moment, dazed, before scrambling to her feet and scanning the sky again desperately. It was still there, of course, and she began to run, run until her breath tore through her chest in ragged, desperate gasps and her muscled shrieked for relief, only to be stopped by the sight of a knight riding the opposite way, towards the citadel. Gwaine. She had never been so pleased to see anybody in her life.

"My lady? What's wrong?" Even through her terror, Rebecca still thrilled to his voice, deep, seductive and as smooth as honey. She couldn't answer, though - her vocal chords seemed to have momentarily vanished.

Everything happened very slowly, then. It seemed to take forever for the Great Dragon to plunge through the trees, and the wails of the broken trees ripped through the air, making her flinch. She knew, in that moment, that she was going to die, and a cool peace swept over her, loosening her joints and relaxing her mind. Gently, ever so gently, she felt a dark veil creep across her vision, and she vaguely noticed her knees give way beneath her as she crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut. The last thing she was aware of was Gwaine's face, his eyes vulnerable and terrified for her, as a steel claw the length of her sword curled around her waist and pulled her away.

The forest was beautiful in the mid afternoon, Arthur knew, but he couldn't appreciate it today. The previous night's fight hung over him like a glowering blue -piled thundercloud. He remembered the scream of the young druid girl whose shoulder he'd slashed, and the feeling of watching the lights leave that man's eyes as his life ebbed away with the tide of crimson blood from hs chest. For the first time, he felt no pride in having won - he felt disgusted. He thought of what Rebecca would say, and immediately wished he hadn't: The thought of her, what she might be going through, sent a bolt of agony through him straight to his heart. Arthur may not have been the most sensitive of men, but he cared more about the Lady Rebecca than anybody he had ever met. He was in love with her. Oh god, he was in love with her. The realisation swept over him like sinking into a warm bath, and he could have sworn he had never felt anything so terrifying or liberating in his life. The Triskellion seemed to burn red hot beneath his cloak, and in his mind he enforced his determination: He had to find her.