She couldn't recall how long she had been running, much less when she had last rested properly was. All she could remember was the hunt, and that her only option was to moving. Movement meant surviving the hunters, and the possibility of freedom.
All thought of who she had been or why she was there were meaningless.
She saw an unusual shadow to the side. Her instincts told her that it was not one of the hunt's tricks. She ran towards it, thinking to rest for a few moments at least.
She tripped, falling into a hole that seemed to go on forever...and then the atmosphere changed.
She fell out of space and time. Stars wheeled overhead as she blacked out.
She would wake up in a rough bed, with bandages covering her wounds and the smell of healing herbs on her body.
She had escaped. She was safe, for now.
It took all of three seconds to register she was no longer being hunted. Whether the faeries had grown tired of their sport (unlikely) or she had stumbled across an entrance to a different realm (highly possible), didn't matter. So long as she had a chance to properly rest and recover from being hunted for so long she would be happy.
The moment the other woman entered the room, she knew instinctively she was in the presence of royalty. Real royalty, not that crap Arturia pretended to be.
This was a queen who was comfortable in her own skin and didn't take shit from anyone.
She liked her already.
Several days later...
She stared at the crimson eyed woman in awe and no small amount of hero worship. It was hard for her not to get starry eyed the second she realized she was in the presence of Scathach herself.
Scathatch was more than a little confused as to how the infamous Knight of Betrayal not only knew of her, but was apparently an avid fan. For that matter, she would love to know how exactly Mordred faked her death so effectively.
"You knew that you would die on the fields of Camlann and decided to fake your death?" said Scathatch incredulous.
"It's amazing what you can accomplish if you know how to mix the right potions together and have no issue using a patsy," said Mordred a little too cheerfully. "The real headache was getting my king away without them dying from the bloodloss or us being caught."
Scathatch was staring at her now.
"Do you want the full story or the short one."
"We have nothing but time, so the full one," said Scathatch after a moment.
So Mordred told her. She had been a battle mage who had interfered with some sort of summoning ritual and had attempted to use an artifact that would allow her to traverse backwards in time at the peak of her magical power.
It was a sort of annoying irony that her magic was at it's strongest on her least favorite holiday of Samhain.
She had woken up in a body that she didn't recognize, and had tried desperately to deny the obvious truth until she realized with no small degree of horror that she was in fact that Mordred.
Finding out the full details of her conception had been hell in itself, as had the several long years of abusing her poor liver trying to forget what she had learned.
Scathatch honestly didn't blame the girl, as that sort of knowledge would have driven a saint to drink.
Which...really left them with a dilemma of what to actually do with Mordred. She couldn't exactly go back to her previous life. Not only was Camelot a mere legend by this point, but announcing herself as sir Mordred would only cause untold headaches.
Everyone knew of Mordred's betrayal of her king.
Somehow, Scathatch couldn't see this girl betraying someone she had sworn her loyalty to. Call it a gut instinct.
"What do you want to do? You can't stay here forever."
"Well I really don't want to return to the hunt," said Mordred deadpan. "As fun as that had been originally, just surviving got really boring after a while. Besides, I still need to find a way to prevent my body from breaking down after all the modifying that was done to it."
Scathach snorted at that.
"I highly doubt you'll have to worry overly much about that. Spending so long in the faerie realms has consequences...especially considering the amount of time you've been lost," said Scathach. "And that's not getting into the amount of food and drink you've likely consumed while being hunted."
"Oh yeah...forgot about that..." said Mordred thoughtfully. "Partaking in the food or drink of the fair folk while in their realm has almost the same effect as Persephone eating that pomegranate seed, right?"
"At the very least, your status as 'human' is now called into question," agreed Scathatch. She was silently impressed Mordred even knew of that myth.
Because she had spent so much time in the faerie realms, and had eaten so much food and drink, Mordred was no longer human. She might be classified as a faerie herself, though what kind was up for debate.
Mordred considered the loss of her human magic worth it, if only because she wouldn't have to worry about her body shutting down due to whatever crap Morgana had done to it.
Mordred's first act upon returning to the faerie realms...was to visit her father's cairn. Arturia was still sound asleep in the glass cairn, trapped in time. Her wounds were mostly cleaned, and she wore a simple dress.
Her next act was to find someone who could explain what her status was. She had zero issue with the idea of losing her humanity and becoming a faerie.
The current fairy king looked more amused than anything at the question.
"Officially you're still classed as human."
"And unofficially?" asked Mordred.
"Unofficially your body just need a chance to properly reset as a fairy," he replied. "You've already started the transformation, you just never stopped and took the time to complete it. You've lost your chance at humanity long ago when you brought your kin here."
"How do I go about doing that?" asked Mordred.
The fairy king lead her to a massive tree. There were several buds around it, still closed but some looked ready to bloom any minute.
"See this one? It began to grow the day your mortal body would have died. All you have to do is touch it and allow your body to be absorbed. When the transformation is complete, it will bloom and you will no longer be human, but one of us."
The flower was a deep crimson red, the same shade as her old armor.
Mordred touched the flower, and felt herself fall forward. There was little reason for the fairy king to lie...after all, once the transformation was done she'd be under his rule. It wasn't like she had anything to keep her tied to the humans save for her 'father', who was still in a deep sleep and would remain that way until Mordred gave them the antidote.
It felt warm...like she had come home. There was no pain, no fear...only peace. She felt her mind slipping away, connecting to something greater than herself. She didn't try to fight it...she had already come so far, given up so much.
Why couldn't she just rest?
She didn't know how long she slept...just that when she woke up, she felt...refreshed.
"Welcome... Arieen," said the fairy king.
It took her a few days to realize that was her new name, or at least her 'true name' by which the fairies would call her. She kept the name Mordred however, and adapted it as her middle name for safety.
It wasn't like the wizarding folk could exactly comment on her parent's naming sense, considering their own.
(At this she vividly remembered her former cousins Nymphadora, Draco and Scorpius. Why anyone would inflict some poor kid with a name like that was forever beyond her.)
The first thing she did once she got used to her new body was to go visit Scathatch. Arturia was still asleep and honestly Mordred didn't want to deal with her before she had some damn therapy. That bloody martyr complex was beyond annoying, and knowing them, Arturia blamed themselves for how it ended and not being able to properly read a room.
Scathach was a tad surprised seeing her...but was glad for the distraction. After all, she was quite bored and Mordred needed a good sparring partner to get her new body up to snuff. Besides...Scathatch would know where to get the good armor. She was not wearing her old set ever again, even if the faeries had tracked it down and fixed it while she was with the hunt.
She wore a pendant around her neck as a constant reminder of her past.
On the plus side, she would leave the realm of shadows with a new drinking partner, new weapons and more importantly new armor.
Somewhere in the hills of Ireland...
"Come on ye laddies! Do ye really think ye can beat met with that piss poor showing?!"
"Piss off, ye daft woman!" shouted one of the teens. He barely managed to catch the hurley as she shot it back.
"I'm more man as a woman than ye will ever be at this rate!" she shot back.
Setanta was breathing hard and not giving an iota of damn. He had known the second he laid eyes on the woman who had joined their match that she was a true warrior. And a fierce one at that.
She had neck-length blond hair that she kept up in a messy braid, eyes as green as the Irish hills, skin as fair as fresh milk. And a strength that would have many a man green with envy at the ease with which she used her sword. There was an otherworldly nature to her that made him suspect she was not entirely human, but at the same time she didn't act the least bit like the fair folk.
She acted more like any blooded warrior he knew than a faerie.
Setanta really, really wanted her to meet his uncle.
He had almost forgotten that he was to meet the man at the blacksmith's home after the game.
He did not miss the attack by the great hound that would try and rip him to shreds.
The bindings of destiny wrapped themselves tightly around him as he took on the name of Cu Cuhainn.
It said a lot about his charisma that after one too many drinks (and pinning after his lady-love Emer) that Cu Cuhainn managed to talk the lovely Arieen into his bed.
Arieen Black was a mysterious woman, and her fiery deposition only entranced him the longer he spent around it. The fact that she had been a true warrior maiden until he plied her with enough drink and a good fight surprised him a little, but she held no ill will against him.
Cu Cuhainn had thought she was joking when she made that bet that if he beat her in a drinking contest, she'd take him to meet Scathatch herself to be trained proper in how to use a spear.
Seeing the red haired queen of shadows had him bowing in respect.
"Scatty! I brought a young pup for ye to play with!" said Arieen.
Scathatch glared at her slightly.
"For the last time Mordred, my name is not Scatty! And he would have found his way here all the same!"
"Mordred?" said Cu Cuhainn.
"Eh...my mother had a weird taste in names. If ye earn her respect I'll let you use that. Until then I'll stay Arieen," she replied.
While he trained under the queen, Cu Cuhainn noticed something...odd...about Arieen. Every morning they were there, she would go to an odd rock and say something he couldn't quite catch.
One day, he dared to ask about it.
Scathach had an odd look on her face when he did.
"That story is not mine to tell. When you've earned your spear, then perhaps Arieen may tell you," she replied.
"Then what sort of prayer is she saying to it?" he asked.
"It's the Old Code, laddie. The one knights used to swear by before everything went to pot," said Scathach.
He looked confused.
"What's the Old Code?"
He nearly jumped when he heard Arieen walk behind him. Her voice was stalwart and true as she spoke. Something inside him sat up and paid attention.
"Inside the table's circle
Under the sacred sword
A knight must vow to follow
The code that is unending,
Unending as the table-
A ring bound by honor
A knight is sworn to valor,
His heart knows only virtue,
His blade defends the helpless,
His might upholds the weak,
His word speaks only truth
His wrath undoes the wicked
The right can never die,
If one man still recalls.
The words are not forgot,
If one voice speaks them clear.
The code forever shines,
If one heart holds it bright."
The funny thing was that he recognized that code. Or part of it anyway.
"That code...that's from the time of Arthur isn't it?" he asked carefully.
"Aye, and all knights swore to follow it," said Arieen. "Even those who some might say had cast the code aside a long time ago."
