CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rebecca had never been so cold. An icy north wind shrieked as it whipped around the contours of the citadel, contours that reared up into the velvety black sky and made the stars gleam with frosty cruelty as they looked down upon her, mocking her as she crouched in a corner, shivering. She could hear the rumbling laugh of the dragon - he always came to speak to her at night, but she would much rather have been alone: His conversation was callous and harsh, and he laughed at any shred of human emotion. He was currently pursuing his favourite topic.

"Why... Why, my pretty one, has your prince not come to rescue you from my dark tower? I thought he would have arrived by now. After all - you love him. You love the way he talks... his strength... his handsome face. Doesn't he feel the same? Does your name mean no more to him than the hundreds of other girls that swoon at his feet, girls a hundred times more beautiful and talented than you? Perhaps he won't come at all. That, after all, would be in his interest, but I'm afraid it would be rather unfortunate for you." The click of Kilgarrah's claws grating against the stone walls echoed in the still night air, and Rebecca drew further into herself.

"I-"

"Or is it the other man who holds your heart, my princess? The tall, dark, seductive one. What was his name again? Gwaine. Sir Gwaine. Surely he will come to help you. Or perhaps he has forgotten you already, and is in the tavern with another woman - he likes his women, and his ale, I believe. You're too serious, too proper, too reserved, to hold his interest for long. Tell me, my lady, how does that make you feel?"

The dragon's low chuckle ricocheted off the stones around Rebecca, and she fought back the tears that threatened to rip her apart at the mention of their names. How could she feel this way about people she had only known for a few days? Feeling lost, she buried her head in her hands, and listened to Kilgarrah's mocking voice twist the air around her. They were coming. She had to believe that.

Mordred was awake before anyone else. The sun was peeping coyly over the purple horizon, streaking the clouds with gold and pink in the distance. The first of the dawn chorus was beginning to strike up, and the sound filtered through Mordred's memories, bringing back a time when he woke to this every morning, when he didn't have to hide who and what he was. He pushed himself up from the hard ground he had slept on all night, stretching luxuriantly like a cat in the afternoon heat. For the first time in months, he had slept dreamlessly and without any interruption - the first time since arriving in Camelot, in fact. And he knew why.

"Sophia?" He whispered her name, but he knew she would hear him. All the same, it still made him jump when he felt a light tap on his shoulder, and he spun around, his left hand instinctively flying to the hilt of his sword. None of the knights had noticed that he was left handed yet, but Sophia had seen it the first time they met.

With lighning reflexes, she caught his hand, and entwined her fingers with his. Mordred focused on standing up straight: Even this simple gesture was enough to make his head spin. Her fingers were so soft, so smooth, against his; it was as though she could break in the slightest breeze.

"Hey, you." He cursed himself mentally - why did his voice sound so breathless?

"Hey yourself," she countered, one corner of her mouth curving into a cheeky smile. Gods, he thought, that smile would be the death of him. "Did you miss me?"

"I should say no, shouldn't I?" He joked, and the smile vanished from Sophia's face, although the mischievous glint in her eyes grew brighter.

"If you did... I suppose I'd just have to make sure you say yes the next time I ask you that."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

"I'm not sure. What would you miss the most?"

"How about this..." He murmured, and bent his lips to hers as the sun climbed higher over the skyline, creating a thousand hypnotic patterns behind their closed eyelids.

"I've never seen you like this. About anyone."

"Shut up, Merlin."

Merlin sighed. If he had a gold coin for every time Arthur said that, he'd be the richest man in Camelot. He kept talking.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?"

"I said - "

"Just admit it!

"No! How can I admit that, Merlin? How can I admit that I am in love with a girl who can't stand me? Do you know how that feels? I'll tell you. It feels like an iron fist thrust through your chest, crushing your heart until you can't breathe. I would do anything for her, Merlin, but she will never love me. It can never be." Arthur's voice, too loud as always, cut through the air like a whip, shattering the sylvan silence in the forest. Merlin heard a few tiny animals scuttle away into the bushes.

"I'm sorry."

They walked in silence for a long time after that.