Disclaimer: Merlin and all of its characters belong to the BBC. I only own the plot and any original characters.

A/N: This story is one of the two I am writing for NaNoWriMo (the second is also a Merlin fanfic). So, it may receive speed updates in November, or it may receive no updates until November is over, since I need to proofread chapters before I post them. (I currently have two chapters written, besides the prologue).

The title of this story is a line from the song "Mordred's Lullaby" by Heather Dale.

The cover was created by Maximumoe14 on the NaNoWriMo website.

Prologue: A Cry in the Woods

The forest was dark. The woman moved through it silently and swiftly, like a shadow. Stopping, she pushed back her hood to reveal blonde hair.

The tiny bundle in her arms stirred and she looked down at it.

For a moment, she felt a stirring of regret, but she pushed it away. She was a High Priestess of the Old Religion; there was simply no room in her life for a child.

Besides, the child would be safe. She had chosen the place carefully. There was a Druid camp nearby and he would be found quickly. She lay the baby down carefully, nestled between the roots of a tree.

She looked down at him for a moment, then turned and began retracing the route by which she had come, all signs of hesitation gone. She did not look back.

xxxxxxxx

Cerdan couldn't sleep. He had been laying on his pallet for at least an hour, but still sleep had not come to him. There was no discernable reason for this inability to sleep, he was just restless.

Quietly, he got up and left his tent. Perhaps a walk would relieve his restlessness. The camp was quiet and empty. It was late and almost everyone was asleep. The moon shone bright overhead.

He left the clearing that contained the camp and began walking through the forest with no particular destination in mind. As he walked, he listened to the familiar sounds of the forest, the rustle of small animals in the undergrowth, the hooting of an owl nearby. He enjoyed the familiar sounds of nature. Suddenly he heard a different kind of sound, one that didn't belong.

He stopped walking and stood still, listening. The sound came again, a high, thin wail. A baby? Could it be?

Cerdan began walking again, moving with a new purpose as he followed the cries.

He soon found their source, a small bundle tucked among the roots of an oak tree, only visible because it was squirming.

He hurried forward, one part of his mind hoping he was wrong, that it was only some kind of animal, and not a baby. But as he reached the tree where the bundle lay, he knew he had been right.

Who could just abandon a child like this? he wondered as he picked the infant up and cradled him (or her, there was really no way of telling in the dark) in his arms. The infant quieted, comforted by his touch.

Cerdan quickly made his way back to the camp, carrying the child carefully.

Rather than return to his own tent when he reached the camp, he made his way to the tent that housed Aglain, the leader of the camp.

Aglain was awake. He looked over as Cerdan entered the tent, his mouth opening in surprise when he realized what Cerdan was carrying.

"I found him in the woods," Cerdan explained, "Someone must have just left him there. It's a good thing I heard him crying."

In the light cast by the tent's torches, he got his first good look at the baby, which appeared to be a boy. He looked to be a few months old and had dark hair and bright blue eyes. He looked up at Cerdan quite calmly, seemingly studying him in return.

"Look at this," Aglain had come to stand next to Cerdan. He touched the baby's blanket, "It bears the marks of the Old Religion."

Cerdan examined the blanket and realized that Aglain was right; it was indeed transcribed with words in the Old Tongue.

"So whoever left him out there probably had magic," Cerdan said, "But who could do such a thing, just abandon their child? And why?"

"Perhaps they were in danger and did not believe the child was safe with them," Aglain responded, "We may never know."

"Do you think they knew the camp was here?" Cerdan asked, thinking that if they hadn't it was a very lucky coincidence, "And if they did, why wouldn't they just bring him directly here?"

"I don't know," Aglain replied, "But it is lucky that you found him."

"What will we do with him?" Cerdan asked.

"We will care for him," Aglain replied, "It will not be the first time we have taken in someone in need."

Just then, the little boy began to cry again.

"Shh," Cerdan murmured, bouncing him in his arms, but the baby continued to cry.

"He may be hungry," Aglain said, "Take him to Branwen. She will be able to feed him."

Cerdan thanked Aglain and left the tent. He walked across the clearing to the tent Branwen shared with her husband and five young children, the youngest of whom was just three months old.

He entered the tent to find all of its occupants asleep. However, at the sound of the baby's cries, Branwen awoke and sat up, and her husband stirred next to her. Branwen's eyes fell on Cerdan and she looked at him in confusion.

"I need your help," he whispered.

She rose from her pallet, gesturing with her head to indicate that they should go outside, so they didn't wake the others. Her husband's eyes followed them curiously, but he stayed where he was. Cerdan followed her from the tent.

"What's going on?" she asked, once they were outside, eyeing the crying baby in his arms.

He quickly explained what had happened.

"I'll care for the boy myself," he added, "You don't need to worry about that. I know your own little ones keep you busy. But, well… I can't feed him."

She smiled at that, "No, you certainly can't," she agreed. She held out her arms for the baby and Cerdan carefully handed him to her.

She disappeared back into her tent with him, and his cries soon ceased.

When she returned, some time later, she was carrying a basket. Looking into it, Cerdan saw the baby, fast asleep.

"We had an extra basket from when the twins were babies," she explained, "I thought you would need something for him to sleep in."

Cerdan took the basket from her carefully, "Thank you."

Branwen nodded, "You know, I'm sure there are many in the camp who would raise him," she said, "You have no obligation to do it yourself."

Cerdan shook his head, "No. I don't know why… but I feel as if he's my responsibility, somehow. Perhaps I was meant to find him."

Branwen nodded, "Well, in that case, I suppose it's up to you to give him a name."

Cerdan looked down at the sleeping baby, "I… I'll have to think about that."

From the direction of Branwen's tent came an infant's cry. She smiled wryly, "Speaking of babies, I guess I'd better go. If he wakes up hungry again, just come bring him to me."

Cerdan thanked her again, then walked back toward his own tent, carrying the baby in the basket.

He set the basket down next to his pallet, then sat down on the pallet.

"What should I call you, then?" he murmured to the sleeping baby, running his hand over the writing on his blanket.

He began to run through potential names in his mind, but his thoughts soon drifted. He again wondered about who had left the baby in the woods. Had it been one of his parents? What had their reasons been? The blanket the infant was wrapped in was made of fine material, suggesting wealth. And then there was the writing in the tongue of the Old Religion. Perhaps whoever had left him there was being hunted for their magic, and that was why they had felt it was necessary to leave their child the way they had.

Or maybe they just abandoned him, the less charitable part of his mind said, and he felt a sudden stab of anger toward the faceless stranger who could do such a thing.

You don't know what happened, he reminded himself. Anger was pointless.

"I promise, I'll take care of you," he whispered to the sleeping baby, "I won't leave you."

He lay down and covered himself with his blanket, thinking that perhaps in the morning he would be able to choose a name for the child.

He soon fell asleep and began to dream.

In his dream he was in the center of the camp, crouching down with his hands outstretched to a dark-haired toddler, who stood a few feet away.

"Come on, Mordred," he urged, "You can do it. Come to daddy." The child began to toddle towards him unsteadily. After two steps, he fell down, landing on his bottom in the dirt. But he quickly pushed himself back up.

"Good job," Cerdan praised, "Come on now, a few more steps." The child began toddling towards him once more. This time he reached him.

"Yay!" Cerdan praised, clapping, "Good job, Mordred." He scooped the little boy up and kissed his cheek. The child giggled and mimicked Cerdan's clapping.

"Yay!" he repeated happily.

Cerdan woke from the dream with a smile on his face. It was still dark in the tent, not yet morning. He sat up and looked over at the baby, who was still fast asleep. A wave of paternal love swept over him. Somehow, he knew, deep in his heart, that though he had only met this tiny child tonight, he was his.

He had thought that he would like to have kids, but it had always been a dream for someday, when he found the right woman and got married. But now it seemed he had become a father in a different way. And all because he had felt restless and decided to take a walk.

"Mordred," he said the name from his dream out loud, testing it. It felt right, somehow, natural. The baby made a small, contented sound in his sleep. It probably meant nothing, but Cerdan chose to take it as a sign.

"Mordred," he repeated, and smiled, "Yes, that will be your name. My son, Mordred."

Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review!