A/N: Okay so I'm gonna upload every 2-3 days like I did TBAK because I have no chill. And because I only have 2 chapters left to write and I cannot imagine that it would take me 5 weeks to write those lol.

Thanks so much to everyone who sent encouraging reviews last chapter. You're all super sweet and I love you guys so much! Particular shout-out to justchillaxing for telling me how to get my missing words back! Crisis averted. You're literally the best.


The world resolved around Mordred in a squall and a swirl of color and he took a steadying breath, trying to shake off the disorienting feeling of suffocation that always came with transportation spells. He dropped his crystal so it swung from the cord around his neck, the thrum of magic warm against his chest even through his chainmail. He took a moment to shift his grip on the sheaf of parchment tucked under his arm, which was trying its best to slip out of his hold and spill all over the muddy ground just to spite him, and headed off in the direction of the city gates.

The wind, cool with the oncoming winter, tugged at his cloak and tangled it around his legs. It had the added effect of making the papers that much harder to hold onto. Mordred cursed under his breath and considered using a spell to make them stick to his hands, but he had never been very good at improvising spells and he didn't want to ruin them somehow if he messed it up.

As annoying as it was to be used as a message-boy, Merlin hadn't been entirely wrong when he said that it was an important task. The other kings and queens were uneasy, suspicious, at each other's throats and ready to bite. The only person who had even a hope of uniting them all and making them work together toward the same goal was Arthur; he had an uncanny knack for rallying people to his cause, whatever that cause may be, with only a few well-spoken words and a shining example to follow. There was no more charismatic leader in all the realms.

But he could hardly allay the other monarchs' fears and earn their trust if he answered every other question with "I don't know, I'll have to ask Merlin." That would only serve to convince the more skeptical among the ruling class that Merlin had enchanted him, that Arthur was a puppet king serving the whims of a power-hungry sorcerer. Mordred shivered, imagining the wars that would spawn from such convictions.

He looked down at the parchments, lists and lists of questions and concerns about magic and its governance to be answered and addressed before the summit meeting started the day after tomorrow. Some of them went into a surprising amount of detail about the technicalities of spells and their classifications, while others dealt more with the ethics behind the usage of magic. There were several pages, all in Arthur's tight, neat script.

Mordred smiled. Arthur had come so far from where he'd started, convinced of magic's wickedness and too stubborn to be swayed from his opinion. When they had first met, Arthur had almost let Mordred be executed for his Druidic heritage alone, too uncertain of his convictions and too loyal to disobey his father's direct orders. True, he had done it in the end, but only after a lot of begging and threatening on Morgana's part. And now here he was, proclaiming his support of magic and its practitioners before all and sundry, and reaching out in good faith to those who disagreed. It was a hell of a transformation.

And he wasn't the only one who had changed for the better. Merlin had nearly let him die back then too. Mordred understood why now, the knowledge of the prophecy dictating his fate weighing like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't blame Merlin for doing what he had done back then, not anymore. He had spent years being angry about that, hating Emrys for turning his back on one of his own people, but he had long since moved past that darkness. Now he could only be grateful that Merlin's soft heart hadn't allowed him to go through with it.

For all his youth and naïveté back then, Merlin had grown to be a wise and confident ruler, someone who the magical world could truly look to for guidance and protection. And he trusted Mordred now. Merlin had chosen to put his faith in him, standing by his judgment of Mordred's character even at the risk of Arthur's life. Arthur, whose head had finally caught up with his heart, who seemed determined to learn as much about magic and its practitioners as he possibly could so that he could rule them as fairly and as justly as any of his other subjects.

They were great men, both of them. And Mordred would forever thank whichever gods had led him to cross paths with them.

The city gates were just about to close when he reached them, evening quickly creeping in around them to dim the skies and chill the air. Sir Helsen nodded genially as he approached and waved him through. The streets of the Lower Town were mostly empty as Mordred passed through them, the townspeople all finished with their day's tasks and enjoying their supper in the fire's warmth by now. He hurried through the courtyard and up the steps, craving his own fireplace and the chance to take off his damp, muddy boots. He just had to deliver Arthur's papers to Ellison first.

Sir Gerund was just coming around the corner when Mordred reached the throne room.

"Mordred!" he called out, meeting him at the doors. "What are you doing here? I thought you were on your way to Ealdor. Don't tell me Merlin turned tail and ran! If he's here, I swear to all the gods I'll—"

"No!" Mordred said with a laugh. "No, Arthur was just as adamant on the subject as you were; Merlin wouldn't dare leave Hunith high and dry again. He is on his way to Ealdor with Cecily and Raime. I just got roped into playing the middleman again." He held up the stack of parchment. "Questions for you and Ellison to provide answers to, since Merlin's busy."

Gerund the parchments from him, eyebrows raised. He flipped through them, skimming the contents, and made a sound of consideration.

"That Arthur's a smart lad," he conceded. "Certainly knows which questions to ask. And he doesn't leave anything to chance, does he? He might actually hold his own in this harebrained summit of his."

Gerund signaled to the guards stationed on either side of the doors and they pulled them open. Ellison was stood at one of the stained glass windows overlooking the courtyard, watching the few stragglers that were still out and about at this hour. There was a golden circlet upon his brow—very plain compared to the jeweled one Merlin often wore—to mark his status as the regent. He looked up when they entered and immediately frowned at Mordred.

"Don't worry," Mordred said, forestalling the inevitable response to his presence. "Merlin didn't come back with me. He's following your directions for the moment, and what a miracle that is. I'm here on Arthur's behalf instead."

Ellison relaxed and quirked a smile at him. "Isn't there a parable that warns against serving two masters?" he asked lightly, taking the parchments that Gerund offered up to him.

"I don't think it applies when those masters are joined at the hip," Gerund pointed out. "Metaphorically speaking, of course."

"I think Guinevere would protest if it were literal," Mordred said with as straight a face as he could manage. It didn't last long once Ellison snorted in a most undignified attempt not to laugh at such a childish joke. Gerund didn't even bother to pretend that he wasn't amused, snickering freely.

Mordred was still trying to suppress his own giggles when the throne room doors swung open again and Sir Galahad came striding into the room. The flapping of his blue cape almost obscured the slight figure that followed behind him, keeping close in his wake. Sobering, Ellison stepped forward to meet them.

"What's this, Sir Galahad?" he asked.

"My lord," Galahad said, bowing. "We have another refugee. A Druid. I came across her in the woods by the southern border."

It was hardly the first time a magic user had ended up in Carthis after fleeing persecution in another kingdom. Even with Camelot's stance on sorcery changing, they still received several people a month seeking asylum. They had always been welcome within Carthis' borders, but Merlin had gone a step further in setting up a fund to help get them on their feet. He insisted that, once they were firmly established, they would be happy to pay back the loan. Four months into his kingship and they had already started getting returns on their first investments.

Ellison gave a grim nod and beckoned for the refugee to step forward. It was a girl, grown but still young. She looked very small, swamped as she was by a threadbare brown cloak and with her hooded head lowered in either deference or fear. She gave a shaky curtesy.

"You don't need to worry, miss," Ellison said with a smile that she didn't look up to see. "You are perfectly safe now."

"Do you mean I can stay?" the girl asked, sounding painfully hopeful.

"Of course," he said. "Our king is of the mind that all those who seek refuge shall be granted it. You are welcome here, no matter the homestead you fled."

"May I ask where that might be?" Gerund asked, not unkindly.

"Amata, sir."

Mordred sucked in a sharp breath; there were few places more dangerous for those with magic. In Camelot, execution had long been the standing order for those caught practicing enchantments, but rumor had it that Amatan sorcerers were often subject to far worse punishments. What exactly those punishments might be were left up to the imagination, but considering their king's reputation for ruthlessness and cruelty, it was far from pleasant conjecture.

"I didn't think there were any Druids living within Amatan territory," Ellison said. "Not for decades, at least."

"It wasn't really my home, sir," she told him. "But I lived there for many years after my camp was destroyed and I was forced to flee."

Mordred's heart panged with sympathy, remembering a time when he had faced the same tragedy. He had been one of the lucky ones to escape that day when so many had not. He had lost many a friend that day, as this girl must have too. He recognized the pain in her voice and he shared it.

"A sad tale," Gerund said. "And an all too common one, I'm sorry to say."

"I am sorry for all you have suffered," Ellison said, coming forward to put a hand on the girl's shoulder. "But you need not suffer any longer. You are more than welcome to make a new home here. What is your name?"

"Kara."

This time Mordred's gasp was loud enough to draw attention to him, but he paid no heed to Ellison and Gerund's inquisitive looks. He only had eyes for her.

"Kara?" His question seemed to echo in the sudden silence. "Kara, is it…is it you?"

She looked up for the first time since entering the room and the hood around her head fell down to reveal a face that was at once new and completely familiar. Twelve years had changed Kara from the little girl she had been when last Mordred had seen her, had thinned her cheeks and hardened her features until she appeared sharp and almost gaunt. She stared at him for long moment, mouth gaping open in shock and disbelief.

"Mordred?" she breathed, as if hardly daring to believe what she saw before her eyes.

Mordred didn't hesitate to swoop down on Kara and wrap her in a hug so fierce that it nearly lifted her from the ground. She let out the same sort of squeak she always had when he had done that and he couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Kara! Oh, Kara, I thought you were dead," he said, his voice muffled from where it was buried in her hair.

Kara's arms wound around his neck, holding on just as tightly. "And I you," she said. "I thought I was the only one to survive that day! I was sure the knights had gotten you!"

Mordred pulled back and took her face in his hands, drinking in the sight of the best friend he had lost so long ago: the heart-shaped face; the turned up nose; the small, full lips. All exactly as he remembered. There was something about the eyes, some sort of darkness in them, that made the rich brown into something almost cold, but Mordred knew only too well what years of grief and isolation could do to a person's soul. And when Kara smiled at him, the whole of her turned into something warm and inviting. He placed a kiss on her forehead.

"You two know each other?" Ellison's voice drew them apart, surprise evident in his tone.

"Well, I thought that was rather obvious by the tearful reunion," Gerund said. Ellison shot him a dirty look, which he ignored. "You hail from the same camp?"

"Yes," Mordred said. "It was taken in one of Uther's raids twelve years ago. What remained of us were scattered. I was never sure how many of us made it out alive."

"Apparently more than you thought," Ellison said. "It's a miracle you've found each other again."

"A gift from the gods," Kara said, taking Mordred's hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. Mordred squeezed back, half afraid that if he let go for even a moment she would disappear into thin air and he would lose her all over again.

"We said we would be together forever, didn't we?" she said, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "Like that daisy chain, remember? We said we'd go on and on."

Mordred laughed, thinking back on that day in a sunny meadow, back before all the darkness that had overtaken them all. They were so innocent and carefree then, with no concerns but each other.

"And we still will!" he said. "You will stay here, in the castle. At least until we can get you set up properly in the lower town. You will dine with me tonight, won't you?"

"Of course I will, Mordred," she said, beaming. "Tonight and every night after, if you wish."

Mordred tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, remembering how she used to blush every time he did that. This time she just brought his hand up so that she could rest her cheek upon his knuckles.

"I'm so lucky to have found you again, Mordred," she said. "More lucky than you know."

Kara hauled herself up the trunk of the tallest tree she could find, reaching for branch after branch and trusting that they would be strong enough to hold her weight. Mordred followed behind her much more cautiously, testing each handhold and each step before he took it and sending nervous looks back toward the ground. It was very far off by now, but Kara never took her eyes off the glimpse of sky through the canopy of leaves above them, determined to reach it.

"Hurry up, Mordred, or I'll leave you behind!" she called down to him.

"You'll never actually reach the top, you know," he told her. "The branches are too thin up there. You'll fall!"

"That's a risk I'm willing to take. And besides, even if I do fall, I know you'll catch me," she said simply.

She heard Mordred huff out an exasperated sigh, but he didn't contradict her and she smiled, stretching out to grasp another branch. She was so close to the top, miles and miles above the ground, it seemed like. If she stopped to look around, she could see for ages through the trees, even with the leaves fanning out all around them and slapping at their faces as they passed. Everything smelled of pine sap and sunshine and freedom and Kara never wanted to climb back down.

A loud clanking of metal broke through the tranquility of the forest and sent the birds fleeing from their roosts. Kara turned toward the sound so quickly that she almost lost her grip. Mordred called out her name but Kara shushed him.

"What was that?" she whispered down to him, wedging her arm into the fork of a branch so that she could turn around more fully, eyes scanning the forest floor beneath them.

"We should get down," Mordred said.

Kara frowned and closed her eyes, straining her ears for another noise. It came in the clopping of horse hooves, growing louder by the second. Horses, lots of them, and metal clanging about. That could only be one thing. Kara's blood ran cold.

"Knights," she said.

"What?"

"Knights, Mordred, knights!" she cried, only just keeping her growing panic under control. "There are knights of Camelot in the woods."

"Coming this way?" Mordred asked, just as alarmed.

"Not this way," Kara said. "That way." She pointed back the way they had come when they had wandered off early in the morning to avoid their chores, back toward home.

"They're going to raid the camp," Mordred realized, horrified. "We have to warn them!"

He started shimmying his way down the tree with an uncharacteristic carelessness that was borne of haste. Kara followed him down, leaping from branch to branch in a reckless way that Mordred would have scolded her for at any other time. They both reached the ground safely and set off toward the camp at a dead run.

"We'll never make it there in time," Kara panted, her legs burning from the strain of pushing too hard. "The knights have horses. There's no way we can outrun them."

"We have to!"

"No, Mordred, we have to find another way to warn them." She grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to an abrupt stop. "Mindspeak," she said. "You have to reach out and tell someone that way."

Mordred shook his head. "I don't think I can," he admitted. "We're too far away. I don't think I could reach anyone from here."

"Sure you can, Mordred," Kara said encouragingly. "You're a natural at mindspeak, all the elders say so. You just have to try!"

"Okay, okay," Mordred muttered. He screwed his eyes closed, obviously thinking very hard. After a long moment spent with Kara shifting anxiously on her feet, Mordred made a noise that might have been frustration or maybe pain and pressed his hands to his temples.

"Mordred?

"Almost," he said, his voice hoarse. "Almost." He was swaying now and Kara reached out to steady him, biting her lip, but she didn't try to stop him. Finally he opened his eyes with a gasp.

"Did you do it?" Kara demanded. "Did you reach someone?"

"Yes!" he said. "Yes, I managed to get through to Lana while she was out at the stream fetching water. She's running back to tell the others now."

Kara threw her arms around Mordred and hugged him tightly. "You're amazing, Mordred! I knew you could do it! Now come on, let's get back. We can still help if we get there quickly."

She grabbed his hand and started running again, towing him along in her wake when his fatigue made him falter. They heard the screams before anything else. The sounds echoed through the trees around them, bouncing from trunk to trunk and seeming to come from everywhere at once, quiet at first and then terrifyingly loud.

The perimeter of the camp was deserted when they reached it, the campfire doused and the watchman assigned to be there at all times nowhere to be seen. Kara dragged Mordred past it and kept running, following the ringing sound of swords as they cut through the air. The tents, ramshackle on the best of days but always sturdy, had been slashed into ribbons, the fabric drapes hanging limply on their frames where once they had been stretched tight. A few of them were on fire, the flames leaping up toward a sky far too sunny and pleasant to preside over such a horrifying sight.

They reached the center of the camp, the part that had not gotten the message in time to flee. There were plenty of people here: people screaming; people scrambling to salvage what little they could before they made a run for it; people facing down knights in gleaming armor, hands held up as they begged for mercy; people dead on the ground in pools of blood darker and redder than Kara had ever seen before. She watched it all, transfixed.

Mordred suddenly yanked on her hand, dragging her behind one of the more intact and less charred tents and crouching down so they couldn't be seen.

"We're too late," he said, his voice barely audible above all the clamor around them. He coughed and Kara's throat itched in sympathy, the smoke floating above them threatening to clog it up entirely. "We're too late. There's nothing we can do."

Kara looked at him incredulously. "Nothing we can do?" she repeated. "Of course there's something we can do! We can fight!"

Mordred looked nothing short of shocked at the concept.

"We...we don't fight," he stammered. "We can't."

"You could!" she said. "You could stop them, Mordred. You could defeat them all and save the whole camp if you wanted to. I know you're strong enough."

Mordred shook his head hard enough to make his hair flop into his eyes. "I couldn't. I could never—"

"Not even to protect yourself? To protect all of us?"

She gestured around to the flames and the blood. Mordred grabbed her hand and pulled it back down, looking around warily to make sure none of the attacking knights had seen.

"You could stop all of this, Mordred," Kara told him. "All the violence, you could end it right now if you would just stand up and make them stop."

"Do no harm, Kara, that is what the elders have always told us. We cannot use our magic that way."

"You mean to save lives?" she said heatedly. "To defend our home and keep it safe from the people that are trying to kill us all?"

"But if they hurt us and I hurt them back, then how am I any better than they are?" he snapped. "Fighting won't make anything better. It'll just end up with more people in pain! It's better if we just get out while we can and find the others who have escaped."

"So you just want to do nothing?" Kara asked, sitting back on her haunches. She felt like she had been punched in the stomach. The scent of blood had always made her queasy and now the stench of it was a thick fug in the air, but nothing had ever made her so sick to her stomach as this. "They are killing our friends and families, burning our homes to the ground, and you want to walk away like that doesn't even matter?"

"I never said it doesn't matter!" Mordred shouted, too offended to remember to be quiet. "Of course it matters, Kara! I just think that—"

A shout came from somewhere behind them and they turned to see a knight in a red cloak striding toward them from across the camp, his sword raised and leveled at them. At the same time another voice reached them, calling out their names. Mordred's father appeared around the other side of the tent they had hidden behind, grabbing his son's arm.

"Thank god you're both alright," he said. "Come on, kids, we need to get out of here. Now!"

Mordred let his father start tugging him away, but he turned back when he realized that Kara wasn't following them. "Kara, come on!"

"No," she said, rage thrumming through her veins and making her hands tremble. There was a tickling warmth at her fingertips, a burn that had her clenching her fists. "No. Maybe you won't fight, but I will."

Kara turned back toward the knight who was still bearing down on her. She heard Mordred scream her name, begging her to go with them, but she wouldn't. She couldn't. There was no way that she could ever turn her back on this and run away. She held up her hands, looking for the words that would make her magic do what she needed it to and praying to all the gods and goddesses she could think of that she was strong enough.

"Astrice!" she shouted, putting all the force that she could muster behind the spell. The rush of using so much magic at once, more than she had ever used before, was enough to make her dizzy and lightheaded. The knight stumbled back a few steps, tripping over the hem of his cloak and almost falling. He managed to stay on his feet, though, and he laughed.

"I don't think so, witch," he said.

Kara reached for her magic again, trying to think of a different spell, a better one. But she didn't know how to fight. The elders didn't teach them spells like that. She tried the knockback spell again, but it was weak, barely enough for him to feel it and laugh again. Her magic sparked inside her, then it dimmed and she struggled to draw it forth at all, to make it come to her aid. She almost cried with frustration.

She didn't get the chance to try a third attack. The knight towered over her, blocking out the sun until he was nothing more than a sinister silhouette against a sky that was now red with smoke and firelight. He raised his sword high. The last thing Kara saw was the glint of the sword's blade before the pommel landed heavily on her scalp and everything went black.