Lady Damalica took a deep breath and knocked on the heavy door in front of her. She didn't know why she was so nervous; it was only Sir Modred after all. Silly, preening, petty Mordred.

"Yes, wha' is it?" He opened the door, and she couldn't help but smile. She could tell by his look of sleepy confusion that had clearly just woken up, in spite of the fact that it was well past nine. "Oh, Lady Damalica. Don't you look pretty" He reached out and lightly flicked at her pearl earring.

"I am sorry for waking you, Mordred, but I, um, well, I've got a present for you. And if you don't like it, please tell me because I really want it to go to someone who will take good care of it."

"All right, I'm intrigued" He leaned against the doorframe and gave her that slight smile of his. She stepped aside and gestured at the plump, black pug dog on the floor. She watched Mordred's face as it transformed from a look of practiced nonchalance into one of astonished joy.

"No—is it—you're really giving it to me?"

Lady Damalica nodded. "Well, there was a man who was selling them, and I saw this one, and I just... thought you should have it." She held out the small string that she had tied to his collar.

"Well, I'm quite overwhelmed." He took the string from her and knelt down beside the dog, who promptly stood up and wagged what little tail it had. "Does it have a name?"

"No. I think it's a boy, though, if that makes a difference."

"Well, of course. We've got to give it a properly masculine name, or else the other dogs might tease it. Not that I'll allow him to fraternize with other dogs, of course."

Damalica stifled a giggle imagining the fat little creature alongside the Lancelot's hunting dogs.

"Sir Mordred, you should name him Sir Pugsalot" she laughed. "I'm sorry," she laughed when she saw his unamused face. "I'm sorry, that was awful"

"It was, because now no matter what else I decide to name him, he will forever and always be Sir Pugsalot in my mind."

He picked Pugsalot up and analyzed his face. "I rather like it, though. He does look something like Lancelot, can't you see it?"

"Oh, absolutely"

"Has he been fed today?"

"You know, I'm not sure. I don't even know what dogs eat."

"Oh, my mother had millions of dogs, I know just what to do. Let's take him to the kitchen and see what the cooks can do." He put Pugsalot down. "Come on, boy" Mordred took a few steps forward and gave the leash a light tug. Pugsalot bounded forward, and the two of them dashed along the hall, quickly joined by Lady Damalica. Pugsalot was petrified by the stairs to the lower floors, so Mordred had to pick him up and carry him, before setting him down once more. The smell of the kitchens was already heavy in the air, prompting the three of them to run even faster until they arrived, breathless at the door.

"'S there anything I can help you with?" the elderly cook asked after giving them a moment to catch their breath.

"Yes, ma'am. You see, Sir Lancelot told me to tell you that he won't be having his lunch with the rest of the knights today."

"No?"

"Uh, no. You see, he's dreadfully ill and simply can't leave his room, so I offered to take his lunch up to him."

"Oughtn't you to call the doctor?"

"No ma'am, you know how he is; he insists on suffering in silence and fighting it alone."

"Right." She narrowed her eyes. "I'll get you a basket, then."

"Most kind of you, ma'am; I know he'll appreciate it."

Damalica stifled a giggle as the old woman packed up the meal with a practiced skill and speed.

"And he asked for a little extra chicken. He thinks it'll be good for his stomach."

"I'm sure he does."

"Pastries and wine, too, along with some grapes and whatever other kind of fruit you have."

She finished, and Mordred and Damalica were barely out of the door when they both began laughing again. They hurried back to his room, and spreading the feast out on his bed. They gave most of the chicken to Pugsalot, and gorged themselves on the frui, pastries, and wine. Before long, Pugsalot was sleeping in the corner, atop a temporary bed of Mordred's shirts, and the young couple was making love.

"I love you" her murmured afterwards, kissing her cheek. "You know, I'd really like to see you as much as possible, if that would be agreeable. Pugsalot needs a female influence in his life."

"Mordred, I-"

"Oh no, you can call me Mordy if you like."

"Mordy, I—I love you too." She did love him, in a way. She knew, of course, how destructive he was, how he was constantly trying to undermine Arthur and everything he had fought for in creating Camelot. Foolishly, she'd thought that giving him something to love would change him, but she realized that of course it wouldn't. He wasn't starved for love, he was abounding with it, and that was what made him dangerous. He had his own ideals he was fighting for, amoral and anarchistic as they might have been, and he was prepared to fight for them in his own lazy, insolent way.

"I should buy you pugs more often" she yawned, before drifting to sleep.