Author's Note: Hello guys, I'm deeply grateful to each and every one of you who favored and is patiently waiting for me to post a chapter that certainly was pushed back so many times. So without any further I do, here's a bull of story for you.

As a wizard, who far surpass the lifespan of an ordinary human, Merlin had never- ever, unquestionably pushed any circumstances that results badly, into the phrase called 'bad luck'.

For him, bad luck has nothing to do with how the world will fall, how certain premonition have been an action of an invisible force of nature- but how the people used it as a way to cleanse their previous choices and decisions- a leeway they did to play innocent, to the eyes of the observers.

It is merely a word formed out of desperation for excuses- a simple way of showing how butterfly effect would affect everything they might come across. And so, Merlin despised it, for he is a seer who can take a glimpse to the future far from the truth. Yet, as the irony of all things speaks for itself, and the words will roll of his tongue for days on end, appears a certain event…. That will washed the twisted belief he had about luck and misfortune, with the way how the tides will misbehave at the ocean.

It came so subtly, so stealthy like the reaper of death where he could not feel the presence, until it was too late to turn his back. The day was cold, he remembered, as an unusual chime of wind that brings the autumn leaves into fall streams on his robe, fluttering it as he gaze at the gray clouds across.

He fleetingly remembers it, how he will notice the dying flowers in the field, how lucidly disturbing it was, to hear the silent murmurs of the market, that was always buzzing in activity. He remembers it, the beating of his own heart, the growing uneasiness- the sweat running through his nape. He could still taste the fresh tang of metals, the dust of dirt in the air, the trickle of water from the distance, and the observing eyes of many hunters.

He felt like a prey; food to the festivities that should have been happening that day. After all, it's the King of Camelot's birthday- it should be juvenile. It should be full of laughter and cheer… but all he was met was an army of commoners and knights and royalties combined, weapons raise in the air, awaiting for the right time to pounce in their cute and oblivious little feast.

He noticed it, yet he decided to not do anything at all. How he gather all attention, how the road will part for his steps. He ignores it… and how he wished he did not…... After he met face to face with the King himself, face dangerously close to an anguish puppet, than a cute little lifeless doll.

He then sensed it, the rage from within the heart of Arthur, and the glee in the eyes of everyone to the prize.

There, he exactly knew the predicament, and his heart plummet down like a dead meat to the ground.

He knew that he is being hunted…..

But he surely damn not knows why.

CHAPTER X: THE REASON: WIZARD HUNT

"I hate gatherings, Mama." The heiress pouted, eyes down- ridden as another batch of guests is invited to the other side of the hall.

"So do I, little one," Guinevere replied, patiently sitting as the servants groom her for the day. ".., such a small sacrifice we must endure as the hosts."

"Muuuu~, why can't we celebrate it just like in the past, Mama?"

"I'm sure your father would love to, but then again he did this otherwise," the queen softly giggles, coaxing a few strands of hair out of her own eyes. "What a cunning king- opting to play near his knaves and swindle power in treacherous hearts." She then whispered, small enough so her child could not hear her light threat in mind.

Little Mordred, wearing black clothes and red trousers which compliments her little cloak and sturdy footwear, was peeking at the slit of two mahogany doors, seeing the hassle and buzzling pitter patter of footsteps, crowding the hallway she can apt to boast how she memorized it like the back of her little palm, blindfolded to boot!

Like any other prominent events that are celebrated from the castle for years she lived, Mordred have constantly watch with mild curiosity as the servants and knights alike worked together in a faux pas deadline, setting banners and complicated equipment and paintings on walls that may catch the eyes of the visiting guests and their legion of soldiers, holding the symbol of their family. Children with noble births came running and snooping down the halls with their noses up in the air, spoil as putrid garbage, underestimating some servants like common slaves who a kind of person Mordred unlikely wants to meet face to face.

She does not have any deep hate for the children on her age per se, yet she could not hide her distaste when seeing one who looks as handsome and quite beautiful as their face with rotten traits she dislikes about pampered little princesses and princes. Moreover, she quite have an eye for a good natured fellow when she sees one; those who will make an outstanding impression of what they shape themselves, not because they are taught to act in deceit.

However, with it aside- the castle is all over shaping its natural presence suitable for taste of ungrateful – in Mordred's perspective- guests, to speak like a noble kingdom it presented; to rule out the undignified woos. But on certain parts, the ground of homeliness still resides secretly, in a place where the crass nobles would never step upon. And Mordred hoped to go there immediately- in her father's chamber- to greet the King to the day of his birth date. She truly hoped to catch the king in surprise, but she is bound to her mother's promise- that they will greet the king together with smiles.

Guinevere, almost sensing the impatience shuffling and skitters her child's feet is unconsciously doing, sprung laugh with delight, which the little girl turn her head upon, confusion laced in her brows.

"Mama?"

"Why don't you hail your father without me, beloved?" the queen suggest, opening her arms as the child jump into it, clearly in disagreement as her brows crumpled in warning. "Perhaps, gave him a good morning kiss on my behalf?"

"But we constantly do it together, all the time!" Mordred argued, pouting as her mother rubbed her cheeks tenderly. She did not like to go without her mother, especially parading without any shield to hide her discomfort. The nasty whispers are infuriating, but her mother can cease the buzzling with her presence alone.

"I know, love. Can you blame me?" the queen cooed, tilting her head to the smiling servants, giggling at the interaction of mother and cub. "The sun had climbed its way in the sky, and still, I am not fit to round the halls undress. Mayhap, you can take my greetings to your father and I will come to you, as quickly as I could."

"But-! But!"

"There's no time, darling. Go now, your Dada awaits."

"But they are everywhere, mama!" the chittering child whine, glaring daggers at the servants before looking at her mother with pleading eyes. "I'm scared!" Of hitting them. Of startling them. I am scared for you. The message is hidden, but the queen knows it rings true. It might clench her heart painfully, but she knows it is her fault first and foremost.

Guinevere tried hard not to show anything, lest the babe will be cross with her all day. She vaguely thought of the events where Mordred will skip away from any conversation and dealings, hiding at her skirt or her father's cloak. How uncomfortable the child had been, when Guinevere forced her to interact with the children of dukes and duchess. And how it always turns out; the children crying out in the open, pointing their fingers at the little princess, kicking and punching the life out of a flailing playmate, screaming for help. The elders are not an exemption to Mordred's rule, but their arrogance is put on hold, if ever they want to live peacefully with the raging baby dragon.

Her daughter has a way to vent things and stages that pronounce how close she is in exploding and expressing her thoughts. Her common guise is avoidance, to prevent words from spilling out and being woven as such in a defense mechanism, unwilling to let her guard down. Then, if the push comes to shove, Mordred adapt the silent treatment, ignoring wailing calls and sugar coated threats. She will not speak until her patience runs out, and the unspoken thoughts will be recklessly engulf in a shameful cusses that creates a major twist in the princess's character, mostly making the children back down.

If a few remain stubborn, she will threaten them with force; words chilling, but at the same time, null in the innocence- or is it ignorance?- of the brave few. When it's still not enough, Mordred will asked them to leave, to forget, to stay away as soon as they can. But when those failed and the few will still persist, a duel is all it always ended. Resulting for the queen, herself, to grasp her child away from the victim, easing her own child with a few simple words of warning, which the cub may or may not deserve.

Mordred knows it about herself, how she cannot stand to meet everyone eye to eye- and would certainly pull back to not terrify them, with the impulses they cannot read in her behavior, so she can protect them from her own self. If only Guinevere seen it sooner, then she will prevent the thought growing in Mordred of being what she is would bring disputant hushes to the queen on raising her that way; impatient, indecisive, unfit.

With that in mind, the queen softly kissed her babe in her brows, understanding her concern and winking at the snappy babe, a plan in mind. "Well then, why don't you use the secret passage?"

And just like that, the child gasped in astonishment, springing back to life. "Can I!?" she excitedly chirped, bouncing in her mother's lap. The queen merrily ruffled her bangs. She might have forbid the child from using it, but what's the harm done if she lift that rule now?

"Now, now. Like I told you before…." the mother whispers, pausing if Mordred will resume her phrase.

"Straight ahead. Stick to the smooth walls. If the ground would fall, tap the torches three times and howler. Got it!" Mordred continued, bouncing off in her lap after kissing her mother goodbye and pushing herself passed the steep stair at the back of the fireplace, starting her journey to the secret paths of the castle.

Guinevere is confident she'll make it safe at her father's chamber; they used it too many times in the dead of night after all. She can further attest that Mordred will know her way in and out like a flimsy little toddler. Besides, it's not like Mordred will find a cozy wizard on a bath alone, right?

Oh, how wrong of her to hope… as the child screech and stop on her tracks, backing slower than a snail, to peek at the illuminated room connected to the secret paths, filled with tub and wizard silently humming a tune.

The child enters the echoing room with a fresh blossoms of unidentified flowers, head tilted to the familiar wizard, who opens his slit eyes to gaze at the innocent babe at his right.

"What are those?" the babe suddenly point down, at his body with renewed interest.

Without so much a smirk, the wizard replied. "Oh, this?" he then pointed down…. And a huge grin split his face in half, teasing the child to come closer, so the child had lean and approach where he sat. He drew a breath in her little ear, and teasingly drawled each syllable… as his clairvoyance failed to show his future.

"Well, what do you know? The fledgling have taken an interest in my gorgeous bodice~ Well then, little pup, it's called~…..!"

As the days come and go, and the King have been shunned in any work she throw herself to avoid boredom- comes the day she was birthed, between the fall out of summer and a new dawn for falling leaves. She have been awaiting the day that it will passed quickly, so thus she will tire in hosting the feast given by her kingdom, and embrace those she loves.

Yet, though she despised being cajoled away in her responsibilities, Altria liked the peace and quiet it brings. The slow zenith and the hypnotizing flow of citizens decorating her land; she dare not move in her position in the balcony, calmly gazing at the cushion sit she is in. Moreover, it is her way of passing, of awaiting her loved ones to barge in her door unsupervised, to let them dress her, and start the day improvising the land hand in hand.

She loved it, how this day was supposed to be in the past, with her little cub around. They will leave the castle walls, and find places that they could play and be free from what they are. She remembered the freedom and adoration she had to her most loveable women, as they thread words of pleasure in others skin, while Mordred will play with a pack of pups, or cubs that would join Altria's little princess for fun.

She yearn for the next sunrise, on how she's awoken by a pitter patter of small feet, and a weight that will pinned her on bed, while her baby sings the preposterous repetition of 'happy birthday to you', kissing her eyelids until she opens it. She endures how adorable her child can woo her stone heart, where Mordred will saw this opportunity to hide in her blue coat, arms wrapped tightly in her limbs, before the servants will nervously chatter, asking where the young princess is.

Of course, she would not forget the luxury of her own wife bathing her….. or how Guinevere will accompany her, seated in her front- curving her voluptuous body to fit her own. She hid it; her lust….. but no one will blame a husband for wanting his wife, no?

Altria engrave it to her memory, one by one; her flower crown, their theatrical drama and the clashing of light wooden swords, and the hilarious end it always wrought; unique in its own way, as Guinevere will crackle unladylike, yelling victory with her arms encircle in Altria's head like a trophy. The childish laughs and the race down to the flower fields resides in her mind- and the warm dinner at the end, tucking the bundle of tot, and obtaining her reward in her wife's body.

It's all enchanting, and so beautifully crafted by the God on whim.

But she have to postpone that loving memories for now, as she have a duty to make her guest decently appreciating her day- so she can announce a decade competition that will follow on few years; a competition of banners and their kin, 'The Royal Competition', which the Camelot will host, a thousand nobilities in as their dear companions. If Mordred will hear it; how long will she train for?

Not moments did her mind long for her child, came the sneezed of the cub. She turn her head in the beautiful scenery, to glance at Mordred coming out of the hidden path at the back of her chamber, tapping off the soot or any grime in her clothes.

"Cub." She whispers, like the bell of wind that grazes her long hair. The child went rigid, searching for her attentively before locking gaze at the king's ocean green.

She scrutinize how wrinkled and out of loop Mordred's belt are, and how the child would limp and pat her behind uncomfortably. Mordred's hair was also in a mesh of disarray, but she ignores it; sometimes Mordred is wilder and lazier than this.

Altria knew no such beauty that will surpass how her child grew into her care, far more grandeur than raising a kingdom, or the blooming pride of winning a battle. She beckon the cub with open arms, which Mordred pounce in, giggling and cooing her title with all the love.

"Happy birthday to you~!" the child started, a small smile makes its way on Altria's stoic face. Somethings never changes.

"Happy birthday to me…" she then sings with Mordred, cupping her child's face, blowing the lids close.

"Happy birthday~!"

"Happy birthday…"

"Happy birth- day, Dada~!" her cub clapped in excitement, her grin breaking off the tension in Altria's muscle like magic, before kissing her on the lips and cheeks, smothering her with wet kisses.. "More winters to come!"

"Good morning…. Love." Altria responds, placing her hand on the child's back, drawing circles and pinning Mordred's head in her collar.

"Mama will come by sooner, Dada. The nannies aren't unerringly punctual." Comfortable in her position, the babe squirm and wrapped her little fingers in her Dada's hand, poking the hard calluses and pinching the end of his fingers.

"And so I heard," the king agreed, breathing in her daughter's sweet child scent; honey and apples, her favorite snacks she will die for before sharing to anyone. "…, though I would be inclining to enquire why bother using the secret paths."

"Muuuh~! The halls aren't empty this morning, Dada." Mordred complains, pouting as she traced her father's hand over and over again. "There are so many people…. I think I might have gone mad…"

"And why would that be the case?" smoothly, Altria glides her palm to stretch out the wrinkles at her child's trousers, bobbing her knees a few times to lull the child in relaxation.

"I'm…. not exactly fond of talking to them, Dada. It seems that I'm talking to a… a mascarawhatsit?"

"Mask?" frowning, the king produced; staring at the solemn green hues of her child.

"Aye, that!" Mordred nodded, puffing her cheeks in contemplation. "Every time they looked and spoke to me, they would say good things that seemed s… scri… skipted? ….. or so Mama says. And when I turned around, they were talking the opposite of… of what they said in my face."

"It is the world of adults, cub," Altria sighs, tilting the child's chin so they would look in the eye. ", as nobilities, you shan't express what you truly are in front of others. Different masks for deception are unavoidable, but I admire how you can sense it without our guidance. You must learn who to trust; treason is a probable thing, and one must not sit idle without knowing who will be truthful and who will not."

"What's de- cep- scion?"

"Trickery. Untruthfulness. Cover."

"Why would you need a cover? Isn't it more fun to just be yourself?"

With the innocent question, Altria chuckles and is amused at the audacity of her cub's naivety. Sometimes the truth was found in strange places which adults had tried to hide one way or another.

"Most of our subjects will not accept a royalty whom walks on the same ground as them. So façade are created, to satisfy their fantasies."

"They are full load of ruffians. Mama says reality is not a fantasy, you know!"

"And indeed, life is not." The King hushed. She long tried to stop her cub from forming bad words that put sailors to shame, yet she is stubborn as her father- and she damn knows not who taught her cub the ways of a pirate. Standing up with the babe in her arms and forming a rhythmic pattern, she began to dance.

There was no music, but here and there, Altria have her daughter's laughter as a song. She dance and step and sway, just so she can hear the high pitch squeal and roaring cackle of the cub's breaking voice, full of happiness and innocence she will not asunder in exchange for her throne.

Every now and then Altria paused, before she will start again, with more vigor than the last they had.

Mordred cheered, placing her hands at Altria's neck and swaying to the hum of her father, and the sway of his hips. She then added a few notes and tunes that create melody from plain enjoyment, gushing as the king went round and round until the babe was disintegrated as a quivering mess.

"Ahehehe, Dada's fun!" Mordred praised, kissing the vibrating throat out of gratitude. The day is beautiful, as magnificent as the euphoria will last. "I feel like a princess now….. yet, I cannot help but feel disgusted when I ponder about it."

"There was no rule to be neither what you are nor what you want to be," Altria says, before raising the child upwards and throwing her at the sky, only to catch her fall and do it again. She took a small sniff in her babe's clothes, only to draw back with a small frown. ",but I recall no daughter of mine likes a scent of sweet roses of Rome. Tell me cub, where have you been before you come to me?"

"Emrys!" Altria's brow went up in her hairline, giving the most indifferent and comical blink of an eye.

"Emrys?" she wants to hear it again, to confirm if her guess is true.

"The old goat, Dada! I saw the pervert man before I went to you!"

"I… see." as far as the cub lives, she never calls the famous wizard by the name 'Merlin'. Altria did not even recall telling the child of the druid name 'Emrys', one of the phrase for the court wizard which pass a few decades without breaking a sweat.

Bad scenarios came to mind, but her logical side squashed the immoral thoughts out like a dust.

However, she will avoid discussing the jester in behalf of her wife's request. She will not let Merlin tarnish her child with his remarks and double- sided jeer about the cub's actions. She will not squander how kind the day had been with flimsy guesses. There's nothing that can ruin her mood on the day of her birth after all-

Yet, as she scoop the child down in her arms, the child have suddenly find some importance on her body, roaming her blue embroiled clothes with mild interest as she stares far down to the king's liking.

-Or so she hoped.

Now, a new wave of discomfort- the first one for the day- have thread its way on her spine, making her take a quick meditating breathe to calm her nerves, and slip up one plain guise to cover the impending cold.

"Cub, proper heiress does not stare quite… strongly, in the place you are staring at the moment." She implies, catching the attention of the child again, until it returns to where it is stuck.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah!" stopping her thoughts out loud, the child quickly slap one fist at her upturn palm- sporting a cheery grin as she looks yet again, in the middle of the king's body. "Dada, why don't you have the yucky thingies like Merlin have?"

"Yuckie… thingies?" the king sweated uncontrollably. Did she gulp loudly? Altria thinks she did.

"Yeah, down there!" Mordred jumps up and down, pointing to hands in nowhere to Altria's liking, eyes still trained not to swam back to the king's face.

"... Where?" the king's voice was steady, but her mind was in turmoil as beads of sweat rolls down her face. She hope that she's mistaking, and Mordred will-

"You know…. THERE!"

"I do not know what you are talking about." Altria tried; triedto pray to her God. She has no experience and any real confidence yet on talking the birds and the bees to her pup. And- are her arms shaking? It definitely not, right? Right!?

"The bump in your middle? Yeah, THERE!" the childish wonder strikes again, digging more dirt than a shallow cave to buried the problems away.

"….. B- bump i- in.. my?... !?" the king stutters; a one in a million occurrence, but the child did not hear the growled whisper, losing its warm and happiness; replace with a more sinister growl of murder.

The child goes on and on, flailing her limbs as she express her discoveries, unconsciously fanning the embers which turn into fire. "I saw him bathing and saw the yuckie thingy!," she resumes, still high from the enjoyable moments with her father to see how even the air itself turns mute. "It's hard though, and he let me inspect it closer and compare it to mine…" without bathing an eye, the cub goes on and on the wheel around her frozen father, hard as a statue' like a volcano ready to burst.

And so, the deed was done, and the sin of tongue cannot be revoke for long. Without Mordred knowing it, Altria sees red. It came leaking through her blood, and the sky has turned glum.

Then Altria recalled in shaky huffs. The wrinkled clothes. The rose scent. The ruffled mane. The uncomfortable limping….

'Merlin!? Have you stolen my child's chastity!? What have you done!?' the dragon inside her screamed for the head of a certain man….. and Camelot itself listen.

Everyone looks up at the darkening sky.

The noise from everything lulled.

The people shakes on their feet like little lambs.

And Guinevere has stood at the entrance of her husband's chamber, taken aback. Altria side stepped her wife, after putting a hand in her delicate shoulders, whispering dark curses for one man. She walks silently out the halls, down the chambers, into the open field without bathing any sweat for another moment.

The cub suddenly hummed, "…. And then I remembered he called it abs? Strained must- kettle?- Dada?" noticing for once her father is not around, the child return to the confines of her father's room. ".. D- dada?" she called again.

"Oh, Mordred. What have you done?" The queen raise one shaking palm on her sweating face full of fear. Upon hearing her mother, Mordred turns adoringly, a question in her head.

"Mama, where did Dada go?-"

"MMMMMMEEEEERRRRRRLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNN!"

And a bellowing voice answers her, echoing far overpassing the walls defending the kingdom of Camelot.

"Oh, never mind. Let us play with Dada, Mama!"

"My word…" the queen almost fainted, while her ears ring at the powerful outburst of the king.

It's been decades since Altria's last outburst.

After all, that incident almost destroyed Camelot.

"Would you like some popped corn, my dear?" a mellow- softer than a bird's feather- voice of the mother of one particular brunette, offering a freshly cooked corns, shining like golden grains.

The brunette looks at her mother's form; curvy yet soft, brown hair and purple eyes, long ears and siren like voice: Esmeralda D Gral Avalon. Fairy. Abused wife. Loving mother. The woman is approaching her little form, curled into the roof connected to the window avoided by many, amused at the view she was watching at the magic bubble her mother formed for her alone.

Nodding and inviting her mother to her side, Esmeralda scoot closer to her babe, wrapping one arm to her waist, and kissing the child's temple once or twice, before she watched with mirth at the stampeding king, searching for a wizard out in the vicinity.

"Aren't they jovial, my love?" Esmeralda giggled, seeing as the queen is struggling to free a wild little heiress on approaching the rampaging dragon in disguise. "What an interesting, little fellows. Don't you agree dear one?"

The brown haired child nodded, stuffing her mouth with the popped corn in her mother's lap.

"Oh, this day should be fun to watch," the fairy mother whispers to none, cradling her babe's head. The cheer in her voice contradicts what sadness is plastered in her orbs, like a solemn distress. "…. If only you regain your voice, my dear."

The child seems offended, glaring softly at her mother. Swallowing the contents on her mouth, she huffed and pouted, crossing her arms to her chest.

"I do regain my voice, mother, I merely wished to save my breath on what will come forward in this scenario." With ease, the tot surprised her mother. Chime and soft, pleasant and hypnotizing like pillow talks. The child nuzzles her mother's upturned palm, as a way of showing how much she loved Esmeralda in fairies standards.

"Oh, my little Weiss," the mother cooed, tightening her hold to her still recovering child- favored and taken care of by the Camelot's royalty with care- welcomed as a guest as long as they desired. ",why do you hate talking so?"

"I do not hate talking, I spoke a few. Big difference." Weiss Feld D Gral Avalon stated, finding the perfect spot to cocoon her body, mushed in her mother's form.

"Why are you preparing your breath, my love?"

"Laughter. Lots of it." Comes the short response, as the two engage in small talks here and there.

Until they felt it.

The wizard had return from his flight.

The two faeries sport small wicked smiles, eating popped corn, as the whole castle staffs and guest march at the King's command….

Participating to the first legalized Wizard Hunt.