"Come, Mordred," instructed Morgana, once they were certain their capture of Stowell had been successful.
She led him deeper into the forest, where Aithusa hid in a grove of trees. Beside the grove lay a small pool of water.
"There's something you need to see," she said, kneeling down beside the pool.
Mordred kneeled down beside her, glancing up at her expectantly.
Morgana chanted a spell he did not know and the dark water began to turn a shade of deep red. As the colors swirled together a picture of a battlefield began to form. There were many men fighting, Morgana's army of Saxons and the knights of Camelot. Mordred saw an image of himself appear on the field. He strode through the fighting, a calm and focused look on his face. In his hand he carried a long blade, though he did not use it. Mordred watched as the reflection of himself approached his target, King Arthur. Without a word he drew back the sword and stabbed the king, watching with satisfaction as he fell. The wound was mortal.
Mordred moved back, surprised.
"It's your destiny," said Morgana. "You must be the one to kill Arthur."
"I did not know such a destiny rested upon my shoulders," he replied. "I thought you would be the one to end it."
Morgana laughed. "I would love to. But even I cannot deny prophecy. If we want it done, it must be by your hand. Don't worry, I'll enjoy seeing his dead body, broken and lifeless on the battlefield."
Mordred nodded, taking in a breath.
Morgana stood, motioning for him to rise. From her the scabbard in her side she drew a sword. Mordred recognized it instantly as the sword he carried in the prophecy.
"There is one more thing we must do to ensure your success," she said. "In case Emrys has meddled in some way we do not know. Aithusa."
At the sound of his name the dragon rose, waiting on Morgana'a instruction. She held the blade in front of her, stretching it out as close as she could.
"Now," she commanded.
Aithusa opened his mouth and fire engulfed the blade.
Morgana held it in place until he was finished.
Then she placed the newly reforged sword in his hands. Mordred tested the weight. It seemed perfect. A sword forged in a dragon's breath. He knew well that it meant destruction for anything he touched. He looked at the blade proudly, though doubt grew again in his mind. He was meant to kill Arthur? The man who had been kind to him, who was once his friend.
Once his friend, he reminded himself. He had executed Cara after all, ignoring Mordred's pleas.
Still. Did he really deserve to die? He had seen nothing but death and destruction from Morgana. Who was to say she wouldn't turn on him as she had so many of her allies?