Mordred awoke in a small clearing. The first things he saw were two huge blue eyes, looking at him with curiosity. He blinked and an entire white dragon came into focus. He gasped and tried to move away, but his arms and legs were bound. He tried using his magic, but for some reason it was weak, almost useless. Had he been enchanted? He inhaled sharp breaths, trying to calm himself down.

The dragon came closer, its snout almost touching Mordred's forehead. Mordred stopped moving altogether, stopped breathing, and thought for one wild moment that his heartbeat stopped as well. The dragon sniffed him.

As their skins touched, Mordred felt an array of feelings that were not his own. Curiosity, distrust, and fear. He realized they were the dragon's feelings. In the same instant, the dragon drew back, its big blue eyes open wide. Perhaps if he'd felt the dragon's feelings, the dragon would have felt Mordred's terror. It certainly seemed likely, since the beast backed a few steps away from Mordred and a strange purring sound came rumbling out of its chest, as if meant to allay Mordred's fears.

Mordred drew a shaky breath and looked around him for a means of escape. The night was so dark, he could barely make out the tree shapes at the edges of the clearing. To his right he saw a moss covered wall of something that resembled a stone hut, built low into the ground. Turning his body so he could see it better, he saw steps descending into it.

Clouds moved across the sky, uncovering the face of the moon, and in the sudden white light, Mordred saw a figure climb out of the hut. Despite himself he gave a shudder of fear.

It was Morgana.

The last time he'd seen her, she'd tortured and almost killed him. If it hadn't been for Arthur and Merlin retaking Camelot, he would have died in a cell, in almost unbearable pain. He looked wildly around him for something that would help him. His eyes fell on the white dragon. It had lowered its head, as if in the presence of its master and backed up. Still reeling from the connection he'd felt with it, Mordred whispered to it "Help me! Please help me!" The blue eyes jumped between Modred and Morgana as she approached, but then lowered again to the ground.

"I see that you're awake," Morgana said. Her dark sleeves were rolled up and her hands and arms were covered in something dark and viscous. Mordred could smell it and it was foul. He jerked and tried to slither away on the ground. His kind knew of the powers of the mandrake root. He'd learned as a child to be weary of what they could do to a person's mind.

"Aw, don't fret, I'm not going to harm you," she said softly, but her voice was deceptive.

"This is wrong, Morgana!" Mordred cried. "Arthur has made magic lawful in Camelot. What more do you want?"

"I want him dead!" Morgana hissed. "I want my revenge for all the years I've suffered."

"Arthur never harmed you, Morgana. You have no reason to hate him."

"He sits on the throne that is rightfully mine. I have every reason to hate him."

"You're just like Uther, Morgana," Mordred started, but his words ended in a gasp of pain as Morgana's booted foot caught him hard in the ribs. He moaned and curled up.

The white dragon whimpered and took another step back. Morgana's gaze flew to it.

"Don't worry, Aithusa, he won't harm you. I'll make sure of that." Mordred almost laughed at the irony.

"All that you are doing is wrong, Morgana," he tried again. "Can't you see that?"

Ignoring him, Morgana spoke to the dragon. "Aithusa, I need you to bring him." She gestured towards the hut. The dragon walked hesitantly forward, her head low. She opened her mouth and grabbed the back of Mordred's chainmail with her teeth, their skin touching once more.

Mordred felt the dragon's conflicted emotions. Aithusa loved her mistress. She'd saved her when she was near death and endured torture by her side at Sarrum's hands. She had seemed to the young dragon, the only master that had accepted magic and the old ways. But as the days went by, the trust and affection she'd given her, had turned to confusion and fear. Fear that Morgana's motives and means didn't honour the old religion, didn't seek to serve the Tripple Goddess. They were all for herself.

"This is wrong," Mordred told the dragon, as he was being dragged across the clearing. "You know it's wrong. Help me!"

Morgana, walking ahead turned and delivered another kick to Mordred's stomach. He gasped in pain, his voice lost. He felt the dragon shudder.

"I'll take him from here," Morgana said at the top of the steps. "When the mandrake is done with you, Mordred, you will leave here and kill your precious Arthur. And you'll be glad." She laughed and dragged him down the steps. Mordred's blood ran cold.

The hut was dark, with only a yellow lamp burning in a corner. Mordred saw the shadows of the things tied to the ceiling like tentacles: the dripping mandrake roots. He shivered. Morgana dragged him across the floor and at its center, she manacled his hands and feet to iron bolts dug deep into the stone floor.

She took the lamp and held it at her side. Her face shone gaunt with madness in the slanting shadow.

"Sleep tight," she whispered and blew out the light. She went back up the stairs and bolted the door behind her.

"Come Aithusa," she commanded the dragon. "We have an army to defeat."

In the pitch darkness of his new prison Mordred heard his own breath come in and out, harsh with terror. He yelled for the dragon once more, but nothing came, nothing moved. He felt fear prickle at his skin, like fingertips touching him and felt hot tears spill down his cheeks.

He could feel the mandrake roots swinging above him. How many had she left for him? She must have wanted to break him quickly to have used so many. A foul smelling drop hit his cheek. He shivered uncontrollably. The fear came in waves. Mordred struggled with his bonds, heedless of the pain that shot through his arms. He had to get away. He had to get out. He cried out and heard a hundred voices screaming back.

He forced himself to breathe. Slowly, in and out. He was a druid. He was a knight of Arthur's round table. He would not give in to Morgana's evil and become her minion. Not without a fight.

His voice broken and weak, Mordred started chanting a protection spell. His eyes glowed bright in the dark of the hut, and the words gave him strength. He chanted the words again, and this time his voice was a little surer. He prayed he would last. But last until when? Until someone rescued him? There was no one who knew where he was. There was nothing to hold out for. He squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered like a child.

Gasping for air, he chanted the protection spell again and again. He would last as long as he could until his mind broke. He could not be Arthur's killer. He prayed he wouldn't be. He prayed for death first.

...

Hidden in the shadows of the forest, behind the hut where Mordred lay imprisoned, Alator of the Catha waited until he was sure the witch and her dragon had left. He would follow them easily in a while. He knew where they were headed. For now, he had to release the druid.

He came out of the shadows and into the clearing, and lowered his hood. Silently he walked towards the hut, drawing his staff forward, ready to cast the spell that would push open the locked doorway.

A shimmer in the air ahead of him stopped him in his tracks. On his guard, Alator stepped slowly backwards while keeping his eyes one the mirage. Could this be one of Morgana's traps?

Slowly, as the moon crept out from behind the shifting clouds, three hooded figures materialized before him. Alator recognized them at once and dropped to his knees, placing his staff before him on the ground.

"Great Disir," he whispered.

"It is not the Goddess' wish to release the Druid, Alator of the Catha," they spoke together. Their voices a mere whisper on the wind. "Pendragon's doom must be fulfilled. It is the Druid's destiny to accomplish it."

Alator looked up, trying to gauge their expressions.

"Pendragon has made magic free once more," he dared protest. "He will bring about the prophesized free reign of Albion. A time of light in-between the darkness."

"Magic is free as he promised us!" the Disir snapped. "But it is not enough! His doom is close upon him. You dare question the will of the Goddess?"

"No, Great Disir, I do not," Alator bowed his head before the authority of the Disir. The air shimmered again and the three figures melted into the dark of the night, as if they had never been there.

Alator rose to his feet, his staff grasped in his right hand. He pulled the hood over his head, took one last wistful look at the hut and then followed in Morgana's trail.

...

Percival and Elyan came into the great hall at Caerleon carrying Sir Leon between them. He was almost conscious. A gash on the side of the head had bled profusely, and he was stunned and weakened from the loss of blood.

Gaius and Arthur rushed to his side.

"Here, place him on this table," Annis instructed her footmen to clear one of the tables where they had dined. Gaius ordered water and cloths to stop the bleeding, and sent Percival to his rooms to fetch his medicine bag.

When Leon and Mordred had not returned after dusk, Arthur had sent the others to search for them. Merlin, tense and distracted with possibilities, had barely touched any of the food before him during dinner.

While Gaius saw to Leon's injury, Arthur interrogated him and found out what little Leon could recall. They were ambushed in the dark and Mordred had been taken away.

"Why Mordred?" Arthur asked. "Who would want Mordred?"

"Morgana," was Merlin's answer. "This is not good. We must find him." He wondered if he had the time to leave Arthur for a while and search for Mordred. Leaving him in Morgana's hands could be fatal.

One of Annis' sentries rushed into the hall, and bowed to the Queen.

"My Lady," he gasped in between breaths, "the Saxons are almost upon us. They've attacked the outpost at Barladin last night, and have moved south with great speed."

Annis' eyes flew to Arthur's and there was fear behind them. "This is too soon," she whispered. "We are not prepared."

Arthur looked to his companions. "We will be!" he said, and his voice was hard. And Merlin knew in that moment that there was no time for Mordred. Arthur was the key. It was Arthur he would stand beside. He would not leave him before battle a second time.