Author's Note: Here we're (almost) wrapping up episode 11. Thank you to all my readers who have stuck with me this far! And thank you for each and every one of your reviews. I treasure them.

WARNING: Um... Not sure if this warrants a warning, but Mordred's thoughts go in a rather dark direction towards the end of this chapter, so... Be prepared? I guess? Anyways... have fun.

They fell asleep in adjoining cells, holding hands for comfort. If he were not so exhausted from all that had come to pass, Mordred doubted he would've slept at all. Knowledge of the part he'd played in Kara's current situation ate away at him. It was all he could do to stay strong in front of her, rather than give into the urge to vomit.

But if she could accept her fate so calmly, he wouldn't do anything less. Kara needed strength and support; he understood that. If he shed tears or threw up, it would break through the protective barrier she had erected in order to block out her fear over the impending execution.

Still, he could only have been asleep for a few hours when a knight entering Kara's cell roused them. Mordred stood with her, staring into the eyes of his friend.

"We've come to take her to the king," Leon said directly to him.

Brow crinkling in puzzlement, Mordred turned to Kara. She tenderly kissed the gloved hand held in hers. With one last look, Kara released him and walked out of her cell. Leon held back for a moment, solemnly meeting Mordred's gaze, before following the prisoner out.

Mordred wrapped his hands around the bars, watching them clap iron around Kara's wrists and lead her out. The uncertainly and confusion were killing him. Why would Arthur wish to see her? That didn't follow protocol.

Swallowing fearfully, Mordred's eyelids fluttered shut. His limbs began to tremble and bile rose up in his throat at the thought of what he was about to do. But his need to understand compelled him to do it. There was no alternative.

Merlin, he called out. Merlin, what's happening?

Mordred. The voice was weighed down, and full of surprise at having been hailed. I… What do you want to know?

They've taken Kara to see the king. Why? You must tell me.

Arthur has… decided to reconsider his sentence.

His legs now trembling too much to support his weight, Mordred slid to the floor, landing in the very spot in which he'd slept. His hand covered his mouth and he forced air in through his nose. He could think of no reply.

After a few seconds, Merlin said, I can relay to you what's said. If you like.

Mordred felt a rush of bitterness. Why should you want to help me?

I didn't mean for things to turn out like this.

Save your excuses for one who'll believe them.

I was afraid she'd lead you straight to Morgana, said the older man. But this isn't what I wanted.

What did you think would happen when we were captured? Mordred snapped. Arthur would grant us both a royal pardon?

He may do just that, was the soft reply. Merlin sounded so genuine and sure that Mordred couldn't help but believe him. For quite some time Mordred had put complete faith in any words spoken in that voice. He couldn't help the sudden hope that was blooming inside his chest.

You spoke with him, he guessed.

Yes.

A hesitant smile pulled at the druid's lips. I always believed he would listen to you.

It was a close thing, but Arthur's a sensible man. Merlin paused. When he wants to be.

The chuckle that Mordred gave was so soft as to barely qualify as an expression of amusement. Then his smile faded completely, sadness and pain returning. Don't believe that this means I've forgiven you, he warned tightly. You betrayed me.

You're right, answered Merlin bluntly. And now I'm doing my best to fix it. I hope that… if I succeed… then you'll be able to forgive me.

Merlin-

I know it's a lot to ask, cut in Merlin desperately, but that's all I want. I didn't… To come between two people in love is a terrible crime. I hope you'll forgive me for that as well. I want you to be happy, Mordred. I should've just let you run away with her, I should've- I was just so scared- I thought- I'm sorry.

The thoughts were becoming fragmented, as Merlin seemed in a hurry to push them all out. Mordred's tongue was frozen, his emotions running haywire. He didn't even know what he was feeling, he only knew that his chest was tight and his nails bit into sweaty palms. Even if he'd wanted to, Mordred couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise, because Merlin rushed on.

And I want you to know that even now, even… if you belong to someone else, and even if you hate me for what I've done… I'll always love you. The knight's shaking finger swiped across his cheek. Was that a tear? Always. I- Gods, I love you so much. And when you're gone from Camelot with Kara, I'll always be thinking about you. And I… guess I selfishly hope that from time to time you'll think of me. You're the love of my life, Mordred. And I meant to spend that life with you, but… Well, it doesn't matter now.

Merlin's pained voice faded away. Tears streaming, Mordred's chest bounced with each ragged breath. He pulled his knees up and squeezed his eyes shut tight as he rested his forehead against them, not bothering to wipe away the moist tracks down his cheeks.

Merlin… he got out. I must tell you. I-

She's here, interrupted Merlin suddenly, voice steadier than before. The guards just brought her in.

Mordred's stomach jumped unpleasantly, but he drew himself together with one long, calming breath. If this meeting proceeded as Merlin seemed confident it would, there would be time for confessions later. Now he could do nothing but focus on Kara. Despite the warm hope inside of him, he still felt the anxiety clawing under his skin.

I'll tell you word-for-word what they say, all right?

Thank you, Merlin, he whispered tiredly. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back against the uncomfortable metal corner as the second "trial" began.

Merlin listened to Arthur's words with bated breath, passing them on directly to Mordred, who was silent on the receiving end. The barest hint of an optimistic smile rested on his lips; he even nodded approvingly a few times.

Arthur had heard him and taken his words into consideration. He was offering Kara a chance. Merlin had succeeded. Kara would accept, she and Mordred would go free, peace would be maintained, Mordred would forgive both Arthur and Merlin, and… Kara and Mordred would be happy together.

He forced himself to think on that last point with joy, and ignored the way his gut protested.

Merlin was so thrilled at what was occurring—that for once he'd managed to clean up after his terrible mistakes—that he turned his eyes eagerly to Kara, awaiting her reply so that he could pass it on to Mordred and share in the feelings of relief and delight with his former lover.

But the manservant had overestimated Kara—or perhaps underestimated her. For while Arthur had indeed heard Merlin's words, it was clear to the druid girl that he'd heard none of hers. The king continued to patronize her, insinuating that her beliefs could only come from her "impressionable" youth, that she had been twisted by Morgana. As if she didn't have reason to be angry, to wish him dead, to fight against his corrupt rule. He still refused to see that she had her own mind, and that she fought for what she did because it was right. Because Arthur and his father had brutally and mercilessly murdered and hunted her kind for decades. Because for all he talked of a kingdom of justice and equality, he kept laws enforced that discriminated against her people, and saw innocents executed.

Arthur Pendragon still didn't see that he was in the wrong in any way, and Kara wouldn't prostrate herself before him just to save her life. Her purpose was to bring about total freedom to the kingdom. The blind, hypocritical king was no closer to bringing that future about than when she'd tried to kill him. She couldn't ask for forgiveness when he refused to admit his own wrongdoing, his own part in deciding her chosen path. She could only hope that her martyrdom would awaken some of the population to the wrongs still occurring.

If only he had apologized, and offered to reconsider his position on sorcery and perhaps meet peacefully with her people to discuss the injustices still plaguing the kingdom, then she could have accepted his offer. But Arthur would never see, never change. So as it was…

"I cannot repent a crime I have not committed."

Every happy thought was crushed under the weight of a heart much too heavy for Merlin's chest. He struggled to breathe. He couldn't bring himself to echo the words.

Obviously confused by the silence, Mordred called, Merlin? in his mind, but Merlin didn't respond. He was too busy listening, and meeting Arthur's stare, his lips involuntarily forming the word Please. He wasn't even sure if Arthur could read such a small movement, but he knew the plea was obvious. He needed Arthur to pardon her. Everything depended on it. If only Arthur could see that. How could Merlin make him see?

Merlin, what's happened? came a worried voice.

"You deserve everything that's coming to you, Arthur Pendragon."

Those were her last words. There was a tense and saddened silence in the courtroom. It took Merlin two minutes, and three concerned questions later, to finally reply to the man he loved.

She turned him down, he said shortly, watching Kara be taken from the room, and the other occupants file out after her. She's going to be hanged.

No matter how frantically he tried to coax a response from the younger man, the other end of the line stayed dead silent.

He stood behind a pillar, leaning against it for support. The last thing in the world that he wanted to do was watch this execution, but he had no choice. Kara walked steadily to the platform, the rope was placed around her neck, and-

Merlin's entire body flinched. He'd felt the intense outburst of magical energy nearby. And he recognized the feeling of Mordred's power. Their deeply rooted telepathic connection also carried to him some of the emotions accompanying the release of magic—and it frightened the warlock. Never before had he known Mordred to experience such complete rage and grief.

Merlin wiped tears away from the corners of his eyes. It was his fault that Kara was dead. And his fault that sweet young Mordred was in such a state. All his fault.

Mordred knew he hadn't any time to waste, but it would be several minutes yet before the court returned inside from the ceremonial murder. His fury gave his mind a cold clarity, and he hurried with purpose to his rooms. There were things there that he wanted to take with him, that he couldn't allow to fall into their hands.

The knight packed swiftly, stuffing the very few belongings he needed to take into a small sack. His book of runes, the Crystal of Neahtid, and…

Mordred couldn't say why he did it, he simply did. With a flick of golden eyes, Merlin's neckerchief flew from the wardrobe into the knapsack.

He'd had it for a while now. He'd discovered it tucked away under his bed the day after he, Merlin, and their friends had gone to the tavern together. It didn't take him long to realize that it had been discarded there when Leon had come knocking, unknowingly interrupting the two sorcerers. Since then, Mordred had kept it. Oh, he'd thought of giving it back, but Merlin had so many of them, losing one wouldn't hurt. And he wanted to keep it. It gave him comfort, happiness.

Swinging the bag over his shoulder, Mordred took one last look at the room that had been his home for so many months. Then he was gone.

By the time his disappearance was noted and a search was begun, Mordred was far away and out of reach, his mind set on a note of revenge.

Merlin considered immediately telling Arthur of Mordred's escape. But then, how could he explain such knowledge? With that easy justification in mind, Merlin said nothing. He did, however, rush into the castle well before everyone else.

Mordred would be long gone from the cell, so there was no point in going there. If Mordred had any sense he'd head straight for the forest and run, never turning back. The knights of Camelot would have no choice but to look for him, but they'd find nothing, of this Merlin was certain.

There was one other thing that Merlin was certain of. Now that it was clear that Mordred had sorcery and had gone fugitive, his rooms would be searched.

Which meant that the multitude of vastly incriminating pictures he'd sketched of Merlin would be discovered.

Pulse racing, Merlin ran as fast as he could, feet pounding against the floors as he flew through the corridors. When he reached Mordred's chambers he burst inside, carefully closing the door behind him. He went immediately to the wardrobe, using his sorcery to open the lock.

Impatient hands yanked out the bottom drawer. He stopped for one breathless moment as he stared down at those many many parchments, a pain in his gut much akin to being run through by a sword. Steeling his nerve, Merlin grabbed as many as he could hold and carried them to the fireplace. His eyes flashed, and a fire began to roar. He threw the papers in.

Merlin went back and forth two more times before the last of the pictures were deposited into the flames. Almost unconsciously he used his magic to shut the drawer and close the wardrobe again. His eyes were fixed on the burning likenesses of himself, his expression blank.

One by one the pieces of parchment shriveled, turning black at the edges until the fire licked its way to their centers. One by one Merlin's smiles, and winks, and blushing faces disappeared, gone forever, turned to ash. The last to go was one that Merlin had seen before. He watched, a dull haze over his eyes, as an image of his freezing self crouched in the snow—when he'd been reunited with this grownup Mordred—burned to a crisp.

The warning bells tolled. Snapping back to attention, Merlin functioned on autopilot. He extinguished the flames and quickly left Mordred's chambers, setting a fast pace for Arthur's.

No one in the castle rested well that night. Over the entire city seemed to hang a dark cloud of sadness and fear, and in the cases of some, guilt. Neither Arthur nor Merlin got any real sleep, both unable to stop wondering what they could have done differently, both blaming themselves for the tragic turn of events.

When Merlin came down in the morning, there were dark bags beneath his eyes and he ate mechanically, barely aware of the world around him. He paid no attention to Gaius; he simply had his breakfast and started to leave to report for his duties.

"It isn't your fault, Merlin."

Merlin stopped just before opening the door. He turned round to face his adoptive father. Gaius was staring at him with obvious pity. Merlin tried to smile, but failed all too completely.

"Yes, it is," he disagreed bluntly. Gaius opened his mouth. "No, don't… argue. I appreciate what you're trying to do, Gaius, really. But I don't deserve it. You know it's my fault as much as I do. Nothing can change that fact. It's just something I'll have to live with."

Sadly, Gaius nodded his head. "You've always done what you believed to be best, Merlin. No one could ask any more of you than that. Your heart has always been in the right place."

"Has it been?" countered Merlin bitterly. "I don't know. I think maybe I tell myself that. Try to justify the mistakes I've made, act like I was just trying to do the right thing."

"You may not see it yourself, but I know you better than anyone. And I know, sure as I breathe, that you have a good heart. The very best. If you cannot see it yourself, then see it through me."

Merlin said nothing in response, but that was all right, because Gaius used the opportunity to approach him and fold him into an embrace. Merlin's arms squeezed tight around the older man. As Gaius began to rub his back reassuringly, it all became too much, and Merlin began to cry. Gaius said nothing, only continued to hold him as Merlin shook and struggled to breathe through his tears.

It was still early in the afternoon, the sun bright in the sky, but Percival was already at the tavern. He clutched the mug tightly in his hands, staring numbly down into the depths of the drink.

"Hey. Percival." Slowly he turned his head towards his friend. His dead eyes met with a compassionate gaze. Gwaine placed a hand on Percival's shoulder, squeezing a little too hard, in an attempt to wake his friend from his unhealthy state. "You can't blame yourself like this. We all liked Mordred, trusted him. No one could have seen this coming, not even you. He fooled all of us."

"Gwaine…" Percival swallowed, his jaw clenched as his eyes turned back to the mug. "It's not often that I say this, but… this time, you just don't understand." Gwaine reeled backward as though he'd been slapped. "Please… go away."

Hurt, and confused, Gwaine could think of nothing else to do but comply. Percival slumped down farther in his seat, dropping his head onto the cool wooden bar.

"Merlin?"

The manservant halted in the middle of the hallway. He turned to his queen with the same blank expression he'd been wearing all day. She regarded him with obvious care, but no pity, for which Merlin was grateful.

"I won't ask how you are, as I know you'll simply lie." Merlin was struck dumb, but Gwen was undeterred. "But I wish you to know… I'm always here. I cannot even imagine how you must feel, but the one thing you don't have to be is alone. You have friends. I'm always happy to help you in any way that I can, you need only ask. So please. Ask."

After a second, Merlin inhaled and exhaled a shaky breath. "You… You know, don't you?" It was more a statement than a question. "About me and him."

"Yes, I've known for some time."

"But you never…" Merlin's words failed him again. "You never mentioned it, or… asked anything about it. You didn't even tell Arthur." His tone was blatantly amazed. She smiled.

"It wasn't really my business to know, nor Arthur's. I happened on the knowledge accidentally. I didn't wish to make things uncomfortable for you. So I kept it to myself."

"You're a good friend, Gwen," he whispered. "Really. I… can't thank you enough. For everything. Especially for not telling anyone. I have a feeling that if it'd been more publicly known I would have lost many friends right now. And that you're still willing to be my friend, even given-"

"Merlin, of course," she interrupted. She reached out and took Merlin's hands in hers. "I've known you for years. I have nothing but sympathy for you in these circumstances. You aren't to be blamed for caring for another person, or to be held responsible for any acts they commit."

"There are many who would see me as a traitor."

"All I see is a man left more heartbroken than any of us. You'll always have my friendship, no matter what. It is the man you are that counts, and I believe I know that man well."

"Thank you." Merlin received his second hug of the day, and didn't cry this time. He even managed a miniscule smile.

"Merlin…" the queen said hesitantly after pulling away. "There is one thing I would ask. Did you know that Mordred was a sorcerer?"

It would be so easy to lie, to assure that he hadn't and he'd been as surprised as anyone. He could clear his name, and not have to worry about a thing.

But Merlin was damned tired. His nerves were frayed, his emotions were a wreck, and suddenly he'd had enough. He didn't care anymore.

"I did," he admitted sharply.

"You know that keeping that information from the king is treason."

"Please, Gwen…" Merlin drifted off, but both heard the unspoken words: Don't tell Arthur. Guinevere watched him carefully as he shook his head slightly, forcing his thoughts back into line. "He never even used his magic. And if he had, it would've only been for good reasons. Having magic, even using it, doesn't make a person evil. It's what they do with it that counts."

"You sound very sure of that," she commented.

Merlin shifted uneasily. "Yeah, well my father was…" Nope. That excuse hurt too much to think about right now. "And Gaius," he pointed out. "He used to be a sorcerer, and you know as well as I do that he'd never hurt anyone."

The queen regarded him, blatant curiosity in her expression. At least she was considering his words rather than reporting him. So far. Merlin wasn't sure he trusted anyone anymore. "I've never heard you speak this way before."

"Look, it's… I respect Arthur. You know how much I care about him; I'd do anything for him," said the warlock firmly. "But that doesn't mean I always agree with him. I understand why he sees sorcery the way he does, but I don't share his views. I couldn't turn Mordred in, not when he hadn't done anything wrong. How could I?"

"In all my years, I can think of only one time when I saw magic used for good," replied Gwen thoughtfully. "But then, that may be because the Great Purge and the ban of magic have kept those who would use it for good from doing so, and have left only those who would ignore the laws and use it otherwise. How can I know?"

Merlin nodded forcefully, relieved. "Exactly. I knew you'd understand."

"But these things don't occur to Arthur."

"I know."

Nodding slowly, processing this new information, Gwen absentmindedly began to walk away.

"Gwen!" She looked back. Merlin swallowed nervously. "You won't… tell him, about what I've said, will you?"

She smiled gently. "No. I've no desire to report you for treason, Merlin. Nor do I think Arthur is ready yet to hear what we would say to him about this. Someday, soon, but not yet."

"I agree." A small, but genuine, smile of relief flitted momentarily across his face. "Thank you for… understanding."

The two friends separated and went on their ways.

What could be covered in a day by horseback took Mordred several long days to travel by foot. He barely remembered those days, as his mind was filled with nothing but thoughts of revenge, his soul swirling black with hate and rage, his heart full of the need to annihilate those who had wronged him. One in particular—he who had dared to betray Mordred, then to feed him morsels of false hope, allowing Mordred to then fall even deeper into the excruciating pit of oblivion.

All his latent childhood tendencies towards anger and violence rose up at once, destroying his many years of training himself to be good, to forgive, to live a peaceful life, as the druids taught. That part of him was left buried far beneath the intense strength of his reawakened darker side.

When he walked into Ealdor late in the evening, he knew he looked hellish. This bothered him none. It hardly mattered. He wouldn't be staying long. All he had to do was one simple spell, one flash of golden eyes to snap her neck, and then he'd be on his way.

This was what Merlin deserved. This was the revenge that Mordred's heart desired, to make the warlock suffer a loss so painful that his heart could no longer go on, as Mordred's could not. And Merlin would know that he was to blame for inciting Mordred to this act, just as Mordred knew that he himself was to blame for not saving Kara. Then they would be even. Only, Merlin was weaker in his core than Mordred was. Where Mordred's loss had made him stronger and given him new purpose, Merlin's loss would ruin him.

His druid feet padded almost silently over the dirt as he calmly made his way towards her hut. Distant murmurs drifted to his ears. No doubt the villagers had noticed his appearance and were frightened. No one approached him. Mordred stopped and stood outside her door for three short seconds, then pushed his way through.

Hunith looked up from her seat at the table, where she sat mending a shirt with needle and thread. When she spotted Mordred, and the state he was in—clothes ragged, face dirty, hair grimy, eyes hollow—Hunith gasped and jumped to her feet.

Mordred's jaw fell open. He knew the words. It would be so quick, just two little words. But his throat was closing up, his neck muscles tensing in rebellion as she came swiftly to his side. His eyes couldn't leave her figure, and the words couldn't leave his mouth. He was stuck.

"Oh, my child, what's happened to you?" asked Hunith concernedly. She took his hand, and Mordred dumbly allowed himself to be led to a seat. Hunith hurried to get a bowl of water and cloth. She took the seat beside him, reaching out to wipe the dirt from his face.

Mordred was surprised to see the cloth come back not only brown but red as well, evidently from a cut on his cheek. He hadn't even noticed. Oh well, that could be fixed easily enough. No other thoughts were registering in his mind. Hunith continued her work.

"What brings you here?" she inquired. "And alone, and in such a way. Has something gone wrong in Camelot?"

He still hadn't spoken when Hunith set aside the bowl, having washed his face clean. Her eyes were tender as she looked worriedly at him.

"Mordred?"

The quiet name finally snapped the druid's frozen state. Everything hit him all at once.

Gods above, what was he doing?! What had he been thinking? What sort of evil creature was he to ever think of such a thing as a way of revenge? Hunith, the kind and accepting mother that she was, had nothing to do with the rift between he and Merlin! This wasn't justice; this wasn't a fair way to fight a war. This was a monstrous thing.

To have considered—No, not only considered but planned, for days, to kill her, for nothing more than the crime of being Merlin's mother? To think of her as nothing but a pawn, instead of the living, breathing human being that she was? Mordred had never been more ashamed of himself, or more frightened. Even he hadn't realized how dark his heart could truly be.

Mordred broke down into sobs right there at the table. His fingernails raked across his scalp, and he relished in the pain. A warm arm wrapped around him, pulling him closer, against her bosom. Hunith's hand carded through his hair, gently removing his own hands so they could do no more harm. She murmured comforting words to him, holding him until his cries had ceased.

"I-" Mordred croaked, raising his head. He blinked blearily at her. "I'm so… so sorry. I'm so sorry, Hunith."

"No," she crooned, brushing the curls off his forehead. "No. It's all right, Mordred."

You don't understand, Mordred thought desperately.

"Won't you tell me what this is about? How did you come to be here? And is Merlin not with you?"

He felt another tear roll down his cheek. "I… I'm on a special and secret mission for the king, I… had to travel alone."

"I see." Hunith gently wiped his tears away. "And something happened to you?"

"It's-" He choked, then forced himself to breathe. "The mission is of great importance, but it is dangerous and… it has taken a toll on me. I wondered… if I might stay here. Just for one night."

"Mordred." She smiled at him. "Of course. Stay as long as you need. You are always welcome in my home. I am very happy to see you again. Here, come on. Up you get, and help me lay out a bed for you."

A smile wavered into being. He obediently stood, and assisted Hunith in her efforts until they'd lain out blankets enough for him to sleep on.

"I think it best you get some rest now," she suggested. "You look truly exhausted. We can speak more in the morning."

"Hunith? I… Thank you," Mordred said quietly. Thank you for stopping me from committing murder. Thank you for turning me back into myself. "We've only met the once, and already you treat me with such graciousness I can never hope to repay. You've been nothing but kind to me."

"Silly boy; why should I be anything else?" asked Hunith, wearing a quirky grin that sent an arrow of lightning through Mordred's heart: it looked just like Merlin's smile. "You're a good man, Mordred, anyone can see that." He fought against the hot tears threatening to spill over again. "And I'm very fond of you. Already you feel like a second son to me."

Mordred took several long strides forward, and swept Hunith into his arms. She gave a quiet "Oh!" of surprise at the hug, but immediately wrapped her arms around him in return, rubbing his back gently.

Chuckling quietly, Mordred stepped back and wiped at his eyes. "Sorry."

"Apologies aren't needed, I assure you."

"Sleep well."

"And you, Mordred. Wake me if you need anything."

The field was strewn with bodies of the dead, too many for her eyes to count. She had fallen to her knees, her army defeated, her fight for freedom lost. Slowly she turned up her bowed head, her dark stringy hair parting so she might see the man in front of her.

It was Mordred. He stared down at her with sadness. She blinked, and realized that he wasn't alone. Firmly holding his right hand was Merlin, looking down at her with considerably less kindness.

"If only you had learned to love again, Morgana," said Mordred sadly.

"No," she protested, trying and failing to drag herself to her feet. "I can love. I can."

"If this is what you call love," he replied, "I pity you." He and Merlin turned and walked several paces away. Morgana's eyes followed them desperately, her soul feeling battered, her body weak. She wanted to cry. She'd only been trying to do the right thing.

Then she saw it, lying on the ground, the corpse of her brother and enemy, Arthur Pendragon. A slow smile flickered across her face. At least in this she had succeeded, even if she was to die.

But then Mordred reached down, and the king she'd thought dead grasped his arm and was hauled to his feet. Wincing terribly, Arthur reeled on his feet, nearly fainting. Merlin was immediately at his other side, and the two men supported their king between them.

"No… Mordred!" He turned back to her. "Mordred, please," she begged. "Please, help me."

"I cannot," the druid whispered. "I am sorry, Morgana. May the gods shelter and protect you."

He turned his back on her, leading Arthur and Merlin away. Morgana called after them until her voice was hoarse, but there was no reply, no indication that she'd been heard. Finally, she collapsed.

The sorceress bolted upright in her bed, gasping, sweat pouring off her face. She shivered, drawing her blanket more firmly over her. It had been a long time since she'd had such a dream. The type of dream she'd come to recognize as having prophetic meaning.

Morgana trembled, her body shaking with fear. Is this how her story would end? With Mordred fighting against her and causing her ruin? But wasn't her doom meant to be Emrys?

She gritted her teeth. It didn't matter. She could change the futures in her visions. She had no intention of letting Emrys destroy her either, so she certainly wouldn't let this dream come to pass.

When Hunith woke in the morning, it was to find Mordred gone. She was worried for the young man, but somehow she wasn't entirely surprised. She found also that he'd left her a note. She picked it up from the table.

Hunith,

There are no words to express how sorry I am for leaving before you wake. I wish with all my heart that I might simply stay here, with you, but my mission doesn't allow it.

I want to thank you, from the depths of my heart. You cannot understand what you have done for me. You gave me light during a dark time. You reminded me of the man that I am. You saved me. I will never forget your kindness.

In all my life, I never had a mother. If I had, I would have longed for one just as you. I would be proud to be the son of such an extraordinary woman. While I don't believe I deserve you, you have willingly taken me under your wing and treated me as your own. I will be forever grateful to you for giving that gift to me, however undeserved. No matter what happens, I will always hold a place in my heart for you.

He who would have been blessed to be your son,

Mordred.

A/N: I've been thinking about maybe writing another short fluffy oneshot and just randomly inserting it into the story, like I did way back at, what, chapter 16? What do you guys think? Got any ideas?