Chapter 3: Head of the Pack

Arthur woke in the back of a moving wagon with frayed, wool blankets bundled around him. It was well into morning. There were others bustling about, mostly out of sight, as a soft dusting of snow began to fall over their procession. Arthur's whole body hurt and judging from Percival's tired, yet authoritative voice giving orders to the men around him, they were still in quite a bit of trouble. Where has Merlin got to..?

"Merlin," Arthur started to sit up, but Gwaine ducked into view, pushing him back down.

"Easy, Sire. You're still badly wounded."

"Where's Merlin?" Arthur demanded. Gwaine's brow crinkled in thought.

"Last I saw him, he was wandering off arguing with that ragamuffin who carried you out," he reported.

Arthur rolled his eyes, lying back on the pile of rags bundled under him. "Typical. What is it now?"

"Morgana's wolves are still on the prowl. Well, most of them. The boy seemed to think that he could do something about it," Gwaine recounted. "Percy told him it was daft, but he seemed set on it."

Arthur sat bolt upright, wincing when the sudden movement strained his wounds. "MORDRED!" It was not the sort of summons that one disobeyed. "Merlin! Mordred! Get back here this instant!"

There was an expectant pause while everyone waited to see what happened, and most of the knights tried to pretend that they weren't eavesdropping. Mordred leapt nimbly up onto the back of the wagon, his gaze instantly lowered in deference to the nobleman's status. Merlin ambled over with a far less submissive air, to follow behind the cart with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Yes, Arthur?" he prompted, immunized to Arthur's bellowing by years of royal tantrums.

"What is this I hear about you chasing wolves?" Arthur prompted, making his disapproval clear.

"That is all Mordred's idea. I told him not to."

Mordred cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable.

Arthur turned his no nonsense stare on the teenager. "Please, tell me about this plan. I'm sure that there is a truly fascinating reason why you think that you're more suited to handle these beasts than my best trained knights."

"Well, Sire, I..." Mordred paused to collect his thoughts and continued. "I do not intend to chase them, nor fight them. I would rather not spill more blood."

"They're wild animals! You can't reason with wolves!" Gwaine put in.

"They are trained pets," Mordred corrected, looking from the incredulous knight to his King. "They know me. I may have a better chance with them than your knights."

"They aren't all like Bran," Merlin reminded him, sounding as though he'd already grown bored of this argument. "Besides, you stabbed their Mistress in the back."

Mordred disregarded it, keeping his attention solely on Arthur.

"I don't think that- Hold on! Who or what is Bran?" Arthur noticed the way that both Mordred and Merlin were now avoiding looking at him altogether.

"That would be Mordred's pet," Gwaine supplied.

"Wolf," Merlin added pointedly. Arthur turned to Mordred with renewed interest.

"We found him in Morgana's Keep," he confessed.

"You have a pet wolf," Arthur assimilated.

"He was much smaller when I was a child," Mordred pointed out. "He was a runt. He's very well behaved! You could even tell Sir Percival to let him out of the cage..."

"Not going to happen," Gwaine disagreed before Arthur could think to.

"That problem aside, I can't in good conscience direct you to face Morgana in any right while you're injured," Arthur returned to the less confusing issue, leaving the headache inducing 'Bran' for a time when he didn't feel as if he might be leaking.

"Merlin looked after me. I'm fine. My leg wound is already scabbing over," Mordred assured him mostly-honestly. Arthur looked past him.

"Merlin?"

"I think it's a bad idea, but I suppose that he is well enough to run for his life if that's what you're asking," Merlin answered drily.

"Gwaine, you and Percival will accompany Mordred," Arthur decided. He added to Mordred, "If there are any wolves stalking our procession, you can try to subdue them. My men will step in if and when you fail."

Mordred inclined his head respectfully. "Yes, Sire." He then turned and helped Merlin climb into the back of the wagon to take his place at the King's side. Then the boy jumped effortlessly down and headed off to fetch Percival without even breaking his stride. Gwaine followed suit and stumbled to the side upon landing.

"Whoa! He made that look a lot easier," he muttered with a self-deprecating chuckle and wandered out of sight.

Melwas set Morgana down on her throne and moved to check on her stab wound. She blinked awake again and batted his hand away.

"I will heal it on my own. The wound isn't serious," she snapped, preoccupied with her own racing torrent of thoughts and concerns.

"It is brilliant luck if that is true, Milady," Melwas commented.

"Luck has nothing to do with it!" Morgana surged up from her throne and walked over to a massive window. "Where is Mordred? When I first woke I felt him screaming."

"I fought him, Milady," the warrior confessed, drawing the Priestess' wide-eyed stare. "He is gone now."

"Gone?" she bit out.

"I attempted to capture him, but there was another... He, overpowered me. He broke the very ground beneath my feet!"

"Emrys! Emrys has my Mordred!"

"Milady-" Melwas began, cutting himself off in alarm when she stormed out- as well as one can storm whilst cradling one's side. "Milady, wait! I urge you to bear in mind that whatever your relationship with this boy might have been, it was not our foe he chose to fight. Mordred has betrayed us. We have managed to seal the remaining rebels out of the Keep, but it is only a matter of time-"

"Silence! Sir Melwas, I value your counsel when it is warranted. Now is not such a time," Morgana warned. "Do we still have his previous captor in our cells?"

Sir Melwas took a steadying breath before answering, "Yes. It seems that King Arthur and his men were not so keen to spare the wretch."

"Good. I think it is time that I paid him a visit." Morgana smirked cruelly. She wasn't finished yet, not until she had Emrys' head on a platter. "We are not leaving this place until I get answers."

Mordred turned toward a snowy peak off to the left of the path. He, Sir Percival, and Sir Gwaine had fallen behind the end of their procession in search of threats.

"Did you see something?" Gwaine asked.

Mordred took a few steps off the path, and Percival was quick to intercept him.

"Oi! I'm responsible for you, remember?"

"Tracks. I see tracks in the snow." Mordred pointed to the trail of paw prints looping around the peak. "There."

"All right. We'll check it out," Percival said, readjusting his grip on his crossbow. "Keep close."

"I'd rather not..." Mordred fell silent, holding his hands up in surrender in reponse to the blond knight's cautioning look. They crept around the outcropping, seeing no sign of the wolves other than more tracks in the snow. Mordred narrowed his eyes and climbed up onto the top of the frozen rock to get a better view.

"Careful," Gwaine cautioned, still investigating the wolf's tracks. Percival moved a little closer to the outcropping in case he ended up needing to catch a falling teenager.

"Can you see anything?"

Mordred looked about with a careful eye. "Sir Gwaine, look out!"

A large, dark grey wolf darted out from behind a rise in the glacier ahead of them and bared her teeth at the two knights. Another leapt from his perch on second outcropping at their backs, intending to strike. Mordred jumped down to land in a crouch directly in front of him, locking eyes with the canine.

"Mordred!" Gwaine exclaimed. He didn't understand the dynamics of the situation in the way that the young Druid did. Thanks in part to his clairvoyance, Mordred still ranked as the Beta of Morgana's pack, leaving him second only to the Sorceress herself in terms of dominance.

"Back," Mordred stated firmly, barely raising his voice, shifting his frosty gaze from one wolf to the other. Ironically enough, Aglæcan* submitted first, trotting off in the direction of the fortess, but his sister, Durwyn*, was less easily convinced. She stopped her approach but continued to bare her teeth at Sir Gwaine and growl. He raised his sword preemptively. "Don't. If you lash out now you will only be giving her an excuse to attack." Mordred walked over and placed himself between them. "No," he chastened her, leaning forward into her space to better cover the brief shimmer of magic in his eyes. She let a out a less-formidable growl, reminiscent of a petulant child. "Go home. Go!" He clapped once to punctuate the last word and the wolf fled with her tail hanging repentantly.

"I cannot believe that worked!" Percival remarked, exchanging an impressed look with Gwaine.

"I raised Bran, didn't I?" Mordred brushed it off. He started to head back towards the path, then turned back to the others. "Does that mean that you might consider letting him out of the cage?"

"Not until King Arthur gives his permission," Gwaine denied. He gave the disappointed youth a pat on the shoulder. "Sorry, Mate."

Ragnor hung by his chained hands in the center of a nearly pitch-black cell. His headwound had been cleaned and crudely stitched shut, and he had been stripped down to his pants despite the chill. The door creaked open shining warm torchlight into the room, and the prisoner's hanging head tilted upward so he could squint at the backlit visitor.

"My Lady. To what do I owe this honor?" Ragnor greeted, slurring his words slightly.

"Oh, don't look so disappointed to see me. There could be an opportunity to improve your situation. I'm feeling charitable," Morgana taunted, then her expression sobered. "It has been far too long since I last saw my Mordred. He has changed so much."

"Two years can seem like a very long time," Ragnor agreed, watching her cross the dank cell to stand in front of him. Then he laughed, reading her expression more easily than he'd learned to read Mordred's eyes. "He betrayed you! Tricky little brat, isn't he?"

Morgana struck him in retribution for the insult, then grabbed his face between both her hands, leaning closer until they were almost nose to nose. "You were there to see him change. I need to know him again in the way that I used to. You're going to help me. Teach me everything that you know about Mordred."

"And why should I do that? You're the one he meant when he said he had someone waiting for him? Two years and I never heard another word about you."

A flicker of raw emotion passed over the sorceress' face while she processed that idea. Perhaps he had always meant to return to her... She pushed the sentiment down until a more opportune moment, her sorrow making way for her usual rage. "That is none of your concern! I will bring him back to my side where he belongs, and you are going to help me whether you want to or not," Morgana hissed. "Serve me well and you will be rewarded, but if you deny me what is rightfully mine, I will end your worthless little life the first moment that it suits me!"

"Now, now! I'm a reasonable man. You want to talk business, My Lady? I'd give you anything you want for the right price," Ragnor assured her. "My freedom for a bit of knowledge, I'd call that a fair bargain."

Morgana smiled ferally at him and stepped away to lean back against the wall, facing him with her hands folded over her stomach. "A wise decision. Now, Ragnor, tell me about my son."

The rest of their journey was fairly uneventful. It seemed that the rest of Morgana's pack were losing interest in their group. The majority of them turned back, one by one as dusk fell. Talon wandered a little too close to the wagon and Mordred couldn't supress his flinch when one of Arthur's knights threw a torch at him. It missed, and the darkly-colored wolf disappeared into the night. That was the last sighting. An hour later, Arthur finally ordered a halt. Percival took first watch.

After a half hour of lying still and staring at the snow, Mordred gave up the act and got up.

"Wha..." Merlin stirred awake on his makeshift bedding and blinked up at him.

"It's just me," Mordred muttered, doubting that would reassure the distrustful guardian.

"Oh." Merlin scrubbed a hand over his face and turned to check on the King who was still fast asleep in the back of the wagon. "Why?"

"Couldn't sleep. There's no need to trouble yourself," Mordred said, dismayed to see the sleepy warlock push himself into a seated position instead of lying back down. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Doesn't matter," Merlin said, standing up. "I'm up now." He grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around himself. "Aren't you cold?"

"I was planning to sit by the fire."

"Good idea."

Mordred led the way to the small bonfire and sat down a polite distance away from Sir Percival.

"Mordred, Merlin, I thought everyone else was down for the night," he greeted.

"I did too," Merlin responded, taking a seat on Mordred's other side. He didn't seem too concerned with keeping a polite distance.

"I'll sleep better when we're on safer ground," Mordred affirmed, ignoring Merlin's jab. He had hoped that they were over the suspicious stage, but apparently, he had a way to go.

"I can understand that. At least we know that we won't have to worry about anymore wolves with you around," Percival joked.

"Is that my duty now, to be the wolf tamer?"

Percival chuckled. "Something like that. We'll be nearing the border soon. We should be safe once we're on the other side."

"You don't have any quarrels with Queen Annis' people that we should know about, do you Mordred?" Merlin questioned.

"None that I can recall," Mordred replied. The annoying way that Merlin was behaving towards him almost cancelled out the guilt caused by his lie. ("I may have stolen from a local merchant or two," he confides. "But my face was completely covered. They wouldn't recognize me now anyway. Associations are a powerful thing. No one is going to draw the connection between a friend of King Arthur Pendragon, and the cat burglar who broke into their private storeroom a year and a half ago.")

Merlin didn't seem convinced, but it might have just been another hint of his continuing bitterness causing his face to look that way.

"I can part ways with you once we reach the lower town," Mordred announced "I'm sure that Arthur's allies will be glad to give you aid upon your arrival."

"Why are you so eager to be rid of us? Are you afraid that King Arthur might want to keep you?" Percival teased.

"I think that you and your King must have greater concerns beyond my wellbeing," Mordred replied. Turning his attention to Merlin, he continued, "I do not desire to overstay my welcome."

"Nonsense," Percival denied, missing the silent exchange. "You saved his life. We owe you for that."

"Hardly."

Percival turned to Merlin. "Is he always this stubborn?"

The corner of Merlin's lips quirked upwards despite his wishes. "You have no idea. You should have seen him during our escape."

Mordred kept his attention on the dancing flames in front of him. "I was being practical."

Merlin gave a sarcastic shake of his head.

Percival breathed out a laugh before asking seriously, "Aren't you at all concerned that the witch will come after you?"

"I have survived on my own for most of my life. Morgana would not be the first person to want my head," Mordred replied, still staring meditatively into the fire. "I doubt that she will be the last."

"Why would anyone else want to kill you?" Sir Percival asked before he thought the better of it. He and the other knights hadn't known this boy for very long but they had all found him to be naturally likeable.

"I am... stubborn," Mordred answered, alluding to the others' previous remarks.

Arthur blinked awake with the sunrise and sat up to see if anyone else was awake yet. Mordred's space behind the cart was unoccupied, as was Merlin's mat.

"Merlin?" he whispered speculatively. When no response came, he snapped "Merlin!" in a stage-whisper.

After a bit of cautious shuffling, his loyal manservant trudged over to him from the direction of the fire, looking exhausted. "What?"

"What were you doing over there?"

There was a beat of awkward silence between them before Merlin admitted, "First we moved over by the fire to keep warm, but now it's Gwaine's turn at watch and he won't shut up."

Arthur began to laugh quietly at his friend's misfortune.

"It's not funny, Arthur! I would have gone to bed an hour ago but Mordred fell asleep on me," Merlin recounted, scowling when this only sent Arthur into deeper fits of laughter. The grinning royal had only just managed to stop laughing at him when Gwaine's barely-modulated voice, and Mordred's sleepy mumbling drifted over from the fireside.

"Mordred, are you still asleep?"

"Yes."

"You don't sound like you're asleep," Gwaine noted. The silence stretched for a little while. Merlin had hopped up to sit on the edge of the wagon before the next break in the stillness of dawn. "I was just thinking: not many people keep wolves as pets. You said that you got him as a child?" the knight ventured.

There was a heavy, put-upon sigh that Arthur and Merlin attributed to Mordred by default. "Yes..." he answered.

"There's probably a good story behind that," Gwaine prompted, hopefully.

"Yes."

"Could you tell me?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"No."

"You aren't going to be able to keep answering everything that I say with a single syllable." Gwaine considered it for a beat. "Although, I am curious to see how long you can."

"Help," Mordred said this last response at a more audible volume, sounding worried.

Gwaine chuckled.

Mordred got up and wandered back to his previous sleeping area with his eyes only half-open and his clothes looking even more rumpled than before. He paused upon reaching the wagon to squint disapprovingly at Merlin, then curled up on the vacant mat with his arms covering his head. Merlin seemed to take that as his cue to flop down on his side at Arthur's feet and do much the same. It didn't take the blanketless Mordred long to start shivering.

"...Mordred?" Arthur whispered.

Mordred curled up a little tighter.

"Mordred. Do you..." Arthur noticed the Druid looking balefully up at him, as if on the verge of a breakdown. The King sighed, "Forget it," and pulled the top blanket off his own coverings, dropping it unceremoniously on top of the shivering teen.

Mordred slowly uncurled from his protective ball and spread the blanket out over himself. "Thank you, your Majesty." He sounded a tad repentant for misjudging the King's intention.

"You're welcome, Mordred. Sweet dreams." Arthur figured it was easier just to overlook it.

When the King woke again a few hours later, they were moving once more and Mordred had taken Merlin's place beside him in the wagon. "Morning..."

"Good morning, Sire," Mordred greeted, readjusting the gray, wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The wind that had built up over the course of the morning was making it feel far colder than yesterday despite their progress into greener, more habitable terrain. "Merlin is at the head of the procession, helping to distribute the rest of our provisions," he informed, correctly predicting Arthur's next request.

"We're running out of food?" Arthur questioned.

"Yes, but we should reach Caerleon before nightfall. I'm sure that you will be able to find food and board once you're there," Mordred reassured him.

"You don't intend to accompany us," Arthur observed.

"I am content to find my own way once we reach the border."

"There is no need. We would be happy to have you with us. You would be my honored guest in Camelot for as long as you wish," Arthur said, surprised to see Mordred begin to shake his head halfway through.

"That is very kind of you, Sire, but I cannot ask you-"

"Mordred," Arthur cut off whatever overly-polite refusal the boy was about to make. "You have saved my life."

"As you once saved mine," Mordred put in.

"Twice over," Arthur amended, ignoring Mordred's attempt to wave it off. "The least that I can do is make sure that you will have a place to stay until you get your footing."

"May I speak frankly, your Magesty?" Mordred requested, looking determined.

"I welcome it," Arthur assented, pushing himself up into a seated position.

"You keep Bran in a cage."

Arthur took a deep breath, and rubbed a hand over his face. "The wolf?"

"He is the last remnant of home that still remains to me," Mordred explained. "I have no desire to live in a place where he is not welcome."

Arthur sobered, regarding the youth in a different light. It was strange to see a boy of Mordred's age this far away from civilization. It had occured to Arthur that perhaps he was an orphan who'd been sold out of his home village- a practice that he had outlawed in his own lands, but that he knew was still unfortunately common. The King didn't see how the wolf could fit into that senario. He considered the stoic teen. Mordred was a living contradiction. No explanation that Arthur came up with fit. Mordred was too wild to be a sold-child, looked far too young to be a merchant or a tradesman, and was, frankly, too cultured to be a wild orphan. In fact, since Arthur had met the boy-again, apparently- he'd been reckoning with traces of a familiar, decidedly high-born air to Mordred's mannerisms that hovered just beyond the reach of recognition. "What about your family? I could help you find them again," Arthur offered, secretly hoping that it might lead him to an answer, or at least a clue about his enigmatic saviour.

"All dead except for my mother... as far as I know. I haven't the faintest clue who she even was," came the strangely-detatched answer.

Arthur winced for both their sakes, not knowing which was worse, the lonely childhood characterized in their conversation, or the depressing acceptance which Mordred habitually exhibited when discussing his own mistreatment. It was as though he never expected anything better than he had, and considering what they'd just gone through, that thought actually made the King feel rather angry.

"You must have people..." Arthur trailed off, seeing the look in Mordred's eyes.

"They were killed," he replied with an odd tilt to his voice. It wasn't exactly accusing, but there was an insinuation as if Arthur should've known.

Maybe he should have. He didn't remember. Arthur looked away towards the icy path behind them, trying not to let his irrational urge to punch something show.

Mordred watched him and favored him with a faint smile. "Truly, Sire. It is kind of you to try, but I can find my own way." He waited until the King's eyes met his again before concluding, "You owe me nothing."

Arthur strongly disagreed, but he kept quiet. It didn't seem like the boy was likely to trust him yet. He didn't blame Mordred for that, either.

*for the reader's information: according to my research, in Old English: Aglæcan means warrior, monster, or fearsome. Durwyn means dear friend or even in later use a friend of deer.

In my mind Durwyn is typically one of Morgana's relatively easy-going wolves, but she has an inexplicable hatred of Sir Gwaine :-)

A/N: Ok guys, thanks for reading. I was having trouble uploading this(the formatting kept getting reset) but I've done my best to fix it. Hopefully I've succeeded. Special thanks to catherine10 and Agana of the night for taking the time to review. Seriously guys, feedback really smooths out the process, I love hearing from you.