Immortal: Hello all! I am glad to have seen the favs, follows, and review thus far, so thanks to all of you for even that. Now one thing I found interesting about Mordred in the Fate lore at least was that so little of her childhood was explored and how the whole nurture vs nature bit came into play for her. The only glimpses we see of Mordred Lily are her dreams of seeing Artoria pull out the Sword of Selection and when she see's King Arthur for the first time ever.

Disclaimer: The property herein are not owned by me in any way, shape, form, thought, concept, parallel world, alternative reality, or otherwise not mentioned. This is a fan-based story, so please support the official release, but don't go crazy on spending your money for the gacha rolls!


Mordred

Three years later…

When Mordred had awakened, the first thing that she could comprehend was the sound and smell of her mother making the "special bath" for her. It was a bubbling sound mixed with the odor of a sweetness that made her head spin like smelling the strange green plants her mother used in her potions and elixirs. Mother had said that this was to make her strong, but every single time she finished bathing in the concoction it made Mordred feel like she was being boiled and frozen at the same time, and always she felt a great hunger in her belly as though she were on the verge of starving to death. So it was no surprise that Mordred grew to hate the special bath, but there were consequences to fighting and refusing to do it.

Her Mother's wrath had been terrible to behold when she grew old enough to struggle and fight against it, and sge had been so angry that Mordred's punishment was to be left outside the cottage, guarded by her mother's golems for an half a day with no food or water. No amount of screaming, crying, or begging would move her Mother until Mordred had finally fainted from exhaustion. But Mordred had tried to make a fight of it. For a child as young as she was, she had actually tried to attack the golems guarding her, but at most she chipped off some stone with a rock she picked up. Only twice had Mordred tried to make a fight of it and each time she had been forced to stay outside longer.

The second time it had rained and yet she was still not allowed to leave her punishment circle. By the time she had come back in, Mordred had developed a fever and collapsed on the ground. She didn't know why, but this made Morgan almost as angry as she had been when Mordred was disobedient. Mordred could not fully recall, only the words, "too weak still" as she was carried by her Mother to bed and fed a vegetable broth soup. As a result of her being sick, she had to take the special baths twice a day until she recovered.

But once she did, Mother had been much more gentle with her for the next three days thereafter. She personally would feed her and even added a little honey to the otherwise bland porridge that was her breakfast. She gave her ordinary hot baths, cleaning her with a gentle hand, and even went picking wild strawberries with Mordred when she was strong enough to go out. Mother had looked almost annoyed the whole time, but when Mordred asked if anything was wrong, she only smiled lightly and said, "It is nothing to concern yourself with.". But the best part of it all was that Mother would tell her stories to help her sleep instead of sing the lullaby that Mordred didn't like. Stories of powerful dragons, mystical faeries, and best of all the stories of knights and their adventures. Mother didn't seem to like the stories of knights, but she still indulged Mordred nevertheless. However, once Mordred made a full recovery, things went back to the usual routine of chores, lessons, and more baths.

This day, Mordred had worn her simple cotton shift and put on her leather slippers as she got out of bed. Mother hated to be kept waiting and so Mordred left her room and passed he stairs that had led to her Mother's own room and exited the cottage that was her home. The sun was shining through the trees as it rose, but there was still some dew on the grass that tickled Mordred's leg. The child yawned again, her pointed canines glistening in the sunlight, and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she approached the doors to the cellar. She was still somewhat frightened by the cellar as she opened its wooden doors. It was like the dragons from the stories Mother told her about, great winged-beasts that could destroy an entire kingdom with gouts of fire from their mouths. Mordred saw the green glow at the end foot of the cellar and she pictured herself staring at the open mouth of a dragon, ready to breath its terrible fire that could lay low even houses bigger than Mordred's.

"Come Mordred.", came the voice of Mother, stern and yet somehow lovely to hear. Having had no other contact with other people, Mordred did not have any basis for this thought, only that she felt safe with Mother there and that her voice was something that she innately knew was lovely. She still hated the special baths though.

"Yes Mother, I'm coming," said Mordred with some sullen resignation that she couldn't keep out of her voice. But come she did into the cellar, the wooden steps creaking as she walked down. Green Will-O-Wisps floated around the ceiling, giving the room an eerie appearance and Mordred saw that the special bath had been prepared already. It was a great pit dug out by the brownies and golems her mother had made as her personal helpers. The water was glowing green and steam rose from it, but the child could FEEL that this was no ordinary water. Magic had been at work and she felt repulsed just from looking at it.

She saw her mother standing in front of the bath with her back turned to Mordred whispering words of enchantment, and for the briefest moment, Mordred considered pushing her Mother into the bath so she could see what it felt like.

"Mordred.", came the stern voice, filled with dire warning as if Mother had sensed the very thought that dared to cross her child's mind. Mordred felt dread fill her as her mother turned to face her before her mother leaned down without saying anything. Her face was hidden by her black veil, lined with a blue and black crown that sometimes hid her eyes, but she was still the most beautiful thing Mordred knew in her very sheltered life. Her skin was whiter than the clouds, her hair smooth like running water, and the tattoos on her body the color of bright red strawberries. Her black and blue gown seemed to flow like water, yet never got dirty no matter how long Mother was outside, and despite how much skin it showed, Mother never seemed to be cold.

Mordred relaxed a little when she saw the expectant look on her Mother's face and she said dutifully if a bit nervously, "G-good morning Mother.", before she stood on her toes and strained to give Mother a kiss on both cheeks. It was something that was expected of her, to properly greet her Mother.

The smallest smile appeared on her face as she looked at her child and said, "You have grown a little taller.".

Mordred noticed that Mother rarely ever smiled, so this made her feel relieved. But even if Mother almost never smiled, it was okay because Mother said she loved her and her rare smiles would be all the more precious. Still, the child wished that her mother didn't look so… stern. It reminded her of the winter snows, where the cold reached all the way into her very bones, or of the icicles that formed from the roof of the cottage and chilled her when she touched one that had fallen to the ground. But whenever Mordred did especially good, Mother's smiles made her feel very happy. It was probably her imagination, but Mother's smiles didn't seem to… actually be meant for her, though there was no real reason why she thought this.

Mother instructed her to stand by the wooden strut that she used to mark Mordred's growth, and after doing as instructed, her Mother used a finger to measure her height. The tip of her nail glowed bright like a candle and traced along the wood, leaving a black mark. She was now 3'11". A whole inch from before. Her Mother had her more usual, "half-smile" appear. She was not happy, but there was a small satisfaction there, but Mordred dared to hope that her mother would be pleased enough to not make her take the special bath.

This hope proved fruitless as Mother said, "Come. It is time for your bath.".

Mordred hesitated as she looked at the green waters, the steam rising as if the very liquid was angry and she felt an involuntary shudder run through her as she looked at it in dismay.

"Mordred…", came the warning tone from Mother.

The child looked at her pleadingly and asked, "Mother, I did extra good yesterday. I wrote all those lines like you told me to. You said they were better than usual. Please…?".

Her Mother walked over to her suddenly and Mordred flinched, closing her eyes. She shouldn't be afraid because fear only seemed to make her Mother angrier than defiance. But she didn't feel the strong hand pull at her hair as it had done many times before. She cracked open an eye and saw her Mother's hand wavering above her head, ready to grip her hair, but it didn't come. Instead, Mother had paused and she seemed to be in deep thought. Mordred thought about making a break for it, but the look in her mother's pale-green eyes paralyzed her on the spot as she took a step back. The moment seemed to stretch on and her Mother suddenly pulled her into a tight embrace.

Somehow, this confused Mordred more than anything. Mother almost NEVER held her like this, not since she was a baby. In fact, it was when she was sick that Mother had even held her or initiated any kind of physical contact with her. It was always Mordred who had to reach out and initiate any kind of contact.

"Mordred, do you hate me?", came Mother's somber tone. Shock and fear coursed through Mordred as she gasped. Did she upset her mother? Was her behavior so bad that it made Mother feel as though she hated her?! No way! How could she hate her mother? Mother took care of her, fed her, and taught her lessons so she wouldn't be a dummy! She even went with her to pick her favorite strawberries! Mordred felt absurdly guilty and she clung to her Mother with all the strength a six-year-old could. In all the times she had to take these baths, her Mother had never made known her personal feelings about Mordred's reluctance and dislike for the baths. All that occurred was anger at her fear or defiance, or nothing at all, but merely the knowledge that Mordred had carried out what was expected of her. But this was something Mother had NEVER done before and Mordred did not know how to fully process this news that her Mother thought that she hated her. Yes, she didn't like the baths, but to make her mother feel like this was almost too much.

"No Mother! I don't hate you! Please don't be sad!"

Mordred couldn't help but feel tears well up behind her eyes as she felt guilty and ashamed for making her mother feel this bad. She was a bad child for making Mother feel this way and she didn't want her Mother to feel this way anymore. If taking the baths meant that her Mother would not be sad or feel like she hated her, then maybe it would be okay? Her mother looked back at her and wiped Mordred's tears from her face and said, "Do you promise to take your baths from now on? Be brave like a knight in the stories? Child, I know you do not like this. But this is for your own good. It makes me feel sad when you feel sick because of this. You must grow strong to fulfill your destiny. The magic here is meant to make you stronger and it is necessary for you."

"Yes Mother, I promise.", said Mordred. The stories of the knights in all her favorite stories had them be brave in the face of all challenges and monsters. If they could be brave, then she would be brave too. Mordred almost moved off when she looked at Mother and she said hastily, "Promise me too that you won't be sad anymore? You gotta promise too!".

Mother stared at her for a moment before she said, "Very well child. I promise to not be sad when you take your baths.".

With this assurance, Mother gestured her to the baths, and Mordred felt her fear at what was coming be replaced by determination. She may never like the special baths, but if this would mean Mother wouldn't think she hated her anymore, then it would be worth it. Despite the dread at KNOWING how much this would hurt and how ill she would feel afterwards, she would be brave for her Mother.


About an hour after the bath, when she finally came to her senses Mordred was back in her bed dressed in her nightgown.

"Mother?", she called out despite her stomach still feeling upset. But there was only silence in the cottage.

Mordred tried to get out of bed, but when her feet touched the floor her legs gave way as they always did after the special bath. But this time, Mordred managed to keep herself from sprawling onto the ground and this time only fell on her hands and knees. She dry-heaved a little, nothing coming up from an empty stomach, and this only served to remind Mordred just how hungry she was. Mother said the baths were meant to make her stronger, but in her childish mind, she couldn't understand just how it made her stronger.

"Mother!?", she called out as she held the side of the bed to get herself back up to her feet, but the silence was there just as before. She left the bedroom she shared with her mother and went up the stairs leading to her Mother's bedroom. Mordred was forbidden to set foot inside, but she saw that the door was ajar and that the large bed was unoccupied and clean. Mother hadn't entered the room at all and the only other thing of note was the large mirror on its stand, trimmed with inlay silver and shiny blue stones. Mordred had always wanted to enter, but she was more concerned with finding Mother and so she left the room alone to head back down the stairs.

When she entered the dining hall, she saw that the table had been set with a large loaf of bread, a large cut of cheese, a jug of drinking water, and three red ripe apples. The hearth was crackling with freshly placed logs to keep the cottage warm and the sound of the crackling fire was the only other sound that was in the cottage as Mordred opened the shutters and stood on her tip toes to see the platinum blonde hair of her mother as the trees parted to allow her passage

"Mother!"

Mordred raced outside and called out to Morgan, but it seemed that her mother didn't hear her and instead walked into the woods, the tree's rumbling as their roots shifted to block the way again. A feeling of loneliness crept inside her as she felt tears well up. She had been so brave when she took her bath this time, so why wasn't Mother here? Did Mordred make her feel so bad that she would leave and never return? Mother had always waited until she awoke from her baths to at least say goodbye, but why didn't she do it this time?

"Mother…", said the child plaintively as she watched her Mother walk away until she was swallowed up by the trees. Mordred stared out for a few moments before she turned back and slowly walked back to the cottage. As she stood in the doorway, she glanced back in the vain half-hope that her mother had heard her and was coming back. But Mother did not come back as was the norm, so with a downcast look Mordred went inside and quietly closed the door.

For a while she gave herself up to disappointment and as hard as she tried to fight it, tears welled up and she wiped at them to stubbornly prevent them from falling. Her stomach growled and she was reminded of just how hungry she was thanks to the special bath and so she went to her bedroom to change. She had been in such a rush to find her Mother that she had forgotten to get out of her night dress. At the foot of her bed, were white leggings, black breeches that reached only to her thighs, a black jerkin with a red single-buttoned collar, and a red with yellow-trimmed jacket with two button on its front. Finally, to complete her clothing, Mordred slipped on a pair of leather boots that went above her ankles to her shins. She grabbed a string from the edge of her bed and pulled some of her blonde hair back so it wouldn't be in her face and a small ponytail formed at the back of her head.

After she finished dressing, Mordred went to the dining table to eat and the first thing she grabbed was one of the red apples. It crunched as she bit into it, the sweetness filling her mouth as her pointed teeth left gouges in the apple. As Mordred ate, she started to feel a little bit better. when she went to the table, Mordred saw that the only other thing her mother had left her were some wax candles, a feathered quill and inkpot, three scrolls of parchment. A repeat of the previous lessons. She was to completely fill the parchment with letters from the alphabet as well as numbers, write her name, and add numbers together.

As Mordred opened them, the hurt began to be replaced by something else. Something that burned in her as hotly as the fire in the hearth. Anger so hot that Mordred grinded her teeth together and the anger began to build and build and build as she crushed the apple in her hands until she let out a feral scream and threw the apple into the fire, then she shoved the wooden chairs aside. She went throughout the immediate area and made as much of a mess as she could in her anger. She just wanted to lash out at the absolute unfairness of it all. Pots, utensils, drawers, the table anything she could get her hands on and throw, she did until she was nearly out of breath. It was a miracle alone that she did not accidentally in her rage throw something near the hearth to set the whole cottage on fire. After tearing the parchment to as many pieces as she could, she flung them into the fire and stood panting as she watched the hated assignments shrivel and curl into black and grey ashes.

Mordred panted and she felt her rage start to ebb away when she turned and observed the sheer mess she had made. For a whole minute all she could do was stare at the food that was now dirtied and the empty jug of water that spilled on the floor. Her anger was replaced with the fear of what her mother would do if she returned now and saw what happened. But when Mordred remembered how her mother had just left her without saying goodbye, Mordred grew angry again and all she would pick up was the empty jug of water, the loaf of bread, the cheese, and the remaining two apples. Mordred scolded herself bitterly for throwing away food and she could only hope the fire consumed it all until there was nothing left so that her mother wouldn't find out.

For a while, Mordred sulked and resentfully ate the remaining the two apples, but she was still thirsty after it and the bread that wasn't dirty made her feel parched. She looked at the mess she made and spitefully tore a chunk off her bread and ate it. Her eyes stung and she wiped them away again before she swallowed her bread and continued to look at the mess. The table was on its side, the chairs were strewn about, the drawers had their contents emptied and thrown all around, the parchment was torn to shreds, the quills snapped in two, and the inkpot overturned still spreading its contents on the ground. Books were thrown about, though none were thankfully near the fireplace. Once Mordred had calmed down a little, she made sure to keep things away from the fire and sat down to eat.

The child knew that she would be in for it when Mother returned, but she was angry enough to realize that she found she simply didn't care and bit another chunk of bread off, nearly halfway through the loaf. She wasn't hungry anymore, but eating she found made her feel a bit better and she chewed it until she could swallow it, still very much thirsty. Soon the anger in her began to ebb away and all that she felt was an aching in her chest like a hole. She wasn't hurt physically, but there was a deep ache that was as real as if she had scrapped her knee from falling. As she pondered why she felt this, she glanced over and saw an open picture book. This one had no words, but there was a story in it nonetheless, and with nothing better to do, she picked up the book and turned to the beginning. Mother was fond of books given the vast amount she had, though most of them didn't have pictures in them.

"The…", Mordred read the title aloud, "The… Sword… In… The… Stone.". Her eyes widened as she realized that this was the story of King Arthur! THE King Arthur! The first time she had ever heard that name was when Mother had presented this book to her and explained with a strange look on her face that was amusement, anger, and disgust all at once, "This is so you learn the lies of King Arthur and what he has stolen from us.". Little Mordred didn't understand what her Mother meant, but she enjoyed the tale the picture book told of how King Arthur came to be the ruler of the lands.

The first page was a picture of King Arthur, a skinny child dressed in a white tunic and blue breeches with short hair and that funny strand that stood on top of her head like it was the crescent moon was chasing after a bird and got lost in a forest.

The next page was a man with a white hooded robe and a long bushy beard that nearly reached his toes meeting with the boy with a long stick that lit without tinder or flint. That must be Merlin! Even as young as she was, Mother had told her of the infamous Merlin; trickster, mage, and hack.

The next page was Merlin taking Arthur home to his great big castle, meeting with another man who was stockier with a big bushy mustache. Merlin was explaining something cheerfully while the other man looked at him suspiciously.

The next pages were brief stories of the way Merlin turned Arthur into a fish, a squirrel, and a bird, each done in a simple four square format which allowed Mordred to follow the story.

Then next came the pages of Merlin tutoring Arthur, his young face screwed up in concentration as he wrote out his letters, read his books, and studied very hard many difficult things.

The next page showed Arthur being scolded by a knight, with a picture of a sword above his head. Oh no! Arthur forgot the knight's sword! The next page showed him running about in a panic to try to find the missing sword. Mordred turned the page to see just what Arthur would do to fix the situation.

The picture showed him finding the sword in a stone and anvil, apparently with Arthur grasping the handle in his hand. Many faces were drawn to be shocked at this when Arthur pulled the sword out of the stone.

The next page showed the people bowing to him, hailing him as their rightful king for pulling the sacred sword from the stone.

The final page showed King Arthur, armored with a blue ermine cape, a crown on his head, and his sword in his hand pointed to the sky, with Merlin at his side, the people bowing in adoration, and armored knights behind him.

Mordred read the book several times in a row and she felt a strange kinship with the figure in the book. Mordred looked from the book back to the still disheveled room and saw that the page she had paused on was the same page where Arthur was in deep study to be a king. Slowly, she formed the connection that you couldn't be king if you were a dummy. If King Arthur could study and be smart, then so could she! For the first time ever, Mordred felt compelled to study and do her work. Maybe if she was clever and fast like King Arthur, Mother wouldn't even know that she had caused such a mess!

With this in mind, Mordred set out to straighten everything out in the dining hall. She turned the tables and chairs correctly up, picked up the utensils and put them back where they belonged, closed the drawers, picked up the nearly empty jug of water and after drinking the last remains inside, set it on the table. Next she went after the books and just put them back on the shelves, hoping that Mother wouldn't look too closely and see that things were different. Next, she picked up the waxed candles that thankfully hadn't broken and set them on the table. The quills were small due to them being broken in half, but still salvageable and Mordred could still write with them. The spilled inkpot she found to her horror was almost empty and had left a huge stain on the floor. She began to panic slightly before she remembered that King Arthur had faced a situation in which he had to be clever as well.

"The well!", said Mordred aloud, as she opened the cottage and went to the well that was outside the cottage where she drew water from as one of the chores Mother had her do sometimes. Thankfully, she was successful in obtaining a nearly full bucket and carried it back inside. It was a little heavy, but she found she could easily carry it in one hand when before she had to always use two. Water still spilled as she hurried back inside and splashed some on the ground. The more Mordred got into her tasks, the less she thought about her Mother and her potential wrath. Soon the ink spilled onto the floor was clean enough that only a hard look would tell if something was amiss.

Feeling satisfied with this, Mordred had another problem that needed solving. Parchment. She had been so angry earlier that she had torn them to pieces and flung them into the fire, but she could not remember what it was she was supposed to fill out. She felt worried and began to look throughout the drawers in a rush to find more parchment. After a ten-minute search with no results, Mordred began to panic as she saw that the sun was starting to go down and the cleaning had taken a longer time than she thought. She fretted for a while as she tried to think of what to do and for a minute there was nothing that could come to mind. All she remembered for sure was to write her name and the alphabet. As she paced nervously the stairs caught her eye and she looked up to the steps that lead to Mother's room.

A triumphant smile came across Mordred's face. Of course! It was so obvious! Mother would definitely keep spare parchment and other things she needed in her own room. Surely she wouldn't miss an extra three? Mordred ran up the steps in a hurry, but when she reached her mother's room she suddenly hesitated. Mother had told her in no uncertain terms that she was ever to go into her room.

Once when Mordred had a bad dream, she had gone to her mother's room in a blind panic. Mother must have been doing something important because when Mordred opened the door, Mother had rushed over, her nightgown billowing and covered her eyes before she could say anything and she could almost swear that another voice she did not recognize was speaking. She carried Mordred back to her room and said in a voice that chilled her more than the blizzard outside to NEVER go in unannounced like she did. But Mordred had refused to let go of her and Mother eventually began to hum and sing,

"Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep
Child, the darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep"

She sang this verse until Mordred could remember no more. But the gentle stroking of her hair, the wiping of her tears, being held in her mother's embrace, and her soothing voice had given her comfort until she finally fell asleep again. It had been one winter ago, but Mordred remembered this clearly. Mother sang this and it both soothed Mordred to sleep, but frightened her at the same time as though there was a sense of malice in the words, yet Mother's voice was so kind and gentle that Mordred could not understand why she felt such grief from this lullaby.

But for now, Mordred felt less nervous because Mother was gone and would still likely be gone until the moon rose. So she cautiously opened the door and stepped inside. Mother's bed was large enough that Mordred's seemed laughably small by comparison. There was a large and decorative patch on the ground, that was much softer than the wooden floor and did not stain like the grass outside the cottage. It had leaves, flowers, and small creatures with beautiful wings like butterflies. Mordred looked at it and ran her fingers along the surface, marveling at how it felt like her bedsheets, but somehow different. Mordred stopped and began to explore her Mother's room. She observed the tall mirror and looked herself over.

She had seen brief reflections of herself before in the waters, but this was perhaps the first time Mordred had ever actually seen her face and body. She stepped up to the mirror, looking over herself in amazement. Her blonde hair was a little jagged and messy, her frame was skinny and flat, but her eyes were brilliant green color and as she stepped closer to look at herself, she said aloud, "Is… this who I am?".

The mirror reflected her mouth and an amused smile came to Mordred's face, grinning wider as she saw her pointed canine teeth. Everything that she did, the mirror did as well and Mordred found herself giggling before she began to make all sorts of faces and poses at the mirror. But as she was sticking out her tongue at the mirror when she saw something shiny out of the corner of her eye on top of her mother's dresser. She approached it and had to stand on her tip toes to look at it, gasping slightly in awe.

Placed on a carved wooden stand with intricate carvings edged into it was a beautiful golden dagger that shone like the sun. It it was much longer and more ornate than the metal cutlery Mordred and her mother used to eat their meals. The handle was a slightly darker shade of gold with the design of grapevines beaten into the metal, adding to its exotic appearance. The blade itself was thinner at the heel with a slight depression as if it were meant for a thumb to be placed there. But the blade itself looked extremely sharp, growing thicker and curved from the middle to the tip and point. Mordred had not seen anything so pretty in her life and she reached out to grasp the handle before she paused and looked at the window near the wall. Mother would probably still not be back for a while yet, so perhaps she could look at it for a bit and then put it exactly where she found it? Yes, that seemed reasonable and careful enough to the child, so she grasped it and was surprised at just how light it was in her hand. It was almost big enough to be held in her two hands and the light shining into the room made the dagger glow even more beautifully.

A new thought came to Mordred as she saw herself in the mirror holding the dagger. The picture book… King Arthur had blonde hair and green eyes like she did. In fact, Mordred could see the resemblance with their blonde hair, green eyes, and thin frames. She remembered the last page, where King Arthur was standing triumphantly with his sword pointed to the sky, and Mordred quickly returned to the mirror stood as straight and tall as a six-year-old could, smiling confidently. Then with the blade in hand, she thrust it to the ceiling just as the picture book had done and she held the pose before looking at herself in the mirror.

Her earlier anger and sadness had been all but forgotten as Mordred imagined herself as a ruler like King Arthur. The strongest, most beloved king there ever was, admired and adored by all. In her mind she imagined herself with a cape and a crown like King Arthur, standing as an equal and bringing peace to Britain and beyond, going on adventures and saving the day just like the heroes in the stories.

But then a cold wind brushed her neck and when she looked in the mirror, Mordred's heart stopped. The cold wind was brief but it brought in her a chill that froze her blood in her very veins as she realized the cause of it. Mordred's eyes widened and her hands dropped to her sides, her mind numbed with terror as she saw her Mother standing behind her. She had not heard her come in at all. It was as if she too were made of wind and simply appeared out of thin air. Mordred couldn't stop her hands from trembling as she turned her head upwards to see the pale-green eyes of Mother staring down at her through her veil, practically glowing like fire. The intricate red marks on her body seemed to be glowing like hot metal, but perhaps that was simply the fear making Mordred imagine things as her Mother stood over her, her gown billowing like the winds of an incoming storm.

"M-mother-", began Mordred quietly, but the narrowing of her Mother's eyes silenced her completely.

"Give that to me. Now."

Mother's voice was calm and controlled, but Mordred could well sense that this was the angriest she had ever seen her Mother and the look she gave paralyzed Mordred to the spot, leaving her unable to move. But when Mother held her hand out for the child, Mordred knew that Mother would NOT repeat herself and just get angrier. With hands that shook and refused to stay still, Mordred carefully returned the dagger to her Mother, but even so she nearly cut her hand in her haste to retrieve it from Mordred and set it on the blade's stand. Then she turned on Mordred, her black and blue robes billowing as she fixed her fury onto Mordred.

"Why did you come in here when I expressly forbade it?", said Morgan as she stepped closer to Mordred, who couldn't even move and was only able to stared down dumbly. Her hand grasped Mordred's face so hard that it hurt and forced their eyes to meet.

"Mother, I'm sorry!", started Mordred before the grip tightened, a handful of her hair was grabbed and yanked so hard that it drew pained cry from her and continued until she was fully silenced. Mother had been angry at her before and sometimes pulled her hair to get her into the baths, but she had never actually hurt her in this manner and this was frightening in a way Mordred had never known before.

"Mordred.", said Morgan in a voice of deadly calm, "I will ask one more time. If you do not answer me or try lie to me, I swear by all gods that have been and will be that you will rue it.".

Even if Mordred didn't know the word "rue", she could tell the sheer gravity of what it meant. Her mother slacked her grip just enough so that it was still painful, but allowed Mordred to speak. Fearfully, Mordred confessed everything that had happened when her Mother had left. If she tried to explain why, Mother simply squeezed her face and pulled hard on her hair again until Mordred thought she would tear her head off and drew tears from the child. Through tears and pain, Mordred was able to tell her the rest of what happened.

"I wasn't trying to be bad! I just wanted to pretend I was King Arthur!", Mordred said as she tried to stifle her pained voice.

"…you what?", Mother's voice took on an odd tone and she loosened her grip ever so slightly.

"I was pretending to be King Arthur…! I-I imagined I was like him!"

Mother stared hard at Mordred and then she let go of her face suddenly, but began to drag Mordred by her hair out of the room, dragged her down the stairs, and into her room, ignoring Mordred's cries of pain and thrashing as she tried to loosen her mother's iron grip. TMother finally finally let her go and strode out. But before she closed the door, she looked at Mordred and said, "Get some rest child. If you wish to pretend to be King Arthur, then it is only right that you should meet him.". Then with a resounding SLAM, Mother closed the door and locked it.

Mordred held her still sore head and without knowing what to do, she lay on her bed and curled up, this time unable to fight the tears streaming down her face, crying freely. There was no food or water allowed to her, but this was a punishment that was to be expected. She felt very hungry, thirsty, and tired, yet nothing would come for her and all Mordred knew was that if she could just go to sleep, she wouldn't have to feel this bad anymore. The night seemed to go on forever as Mordred lay on her bed, trying to go to sleep, but it would not come easily until the moon nearly was at its peak. But another thought came to her as she started to finally fall asleep, 'Meet King Arthur? Will I… really be able to meet King Arthur…?'


Mordred's thought she heard her stomach growl and she awoke in the middle of the night, her stomach aching from just how hungry she felt. But then she could hear footsteps outside her door and for a moment she dared to hope that Mother might take pity and feed her after all. But this hope was dashed as she heard her Mother speaking. She couldn't make out the words, but Mother was definitely talking, and to Mordred's surprise she heard another voice speaking.

The child crept as quietly as she could to the door and through the gaps in the door she peaked out to see that candles were lit and that there was indeed another person there.

It was a person, but they were a much taller person, more wide and strongly built compared to Mother. He was wearing a dark gray padded jacket with long-sleeves, with black breeches and boots that went nearly up to his knees. His hair was of medium length compared to the longer tresses worn by Mordred or mother and brown as mud with slight curls to it. There was even some hair on his face, which Mordred found both surprising and somehow disgusting. His jaw was well-defined, his lips full and slightly pouty, but Mordred could say he looked like one of the heroic knights in her picture books. A man… yes, this was a male, not a female like she and Mother were. They were standing and facing each other, but with the firelight from the hearth Mordred couldn't make out much more detail.

"….my boat that saved you Sir Accalon.". Mother looked like she was trying to tell him something, but the look on the other person's face could tell that he was… troubled. Like he wanted nothing more to leave and nothing more than to stay.

"I know, but I…"

"Please... I… ed…. Mana transfer. …elp… me."

Mother then threw her arms around the man's neck and Mordred gasped as she saw her Mother press her lips to the man. The man had his hands on Mother's arms as if to try to push her away, but his resistance was soon washed away and he began to kiss Mother just as hungrily as she did. Their bodies were close together and Mordred began to be afraid again. The sounds she heard Mother make were sighs and deep-throated as if she were in pain. Was the man hurting her Mother!? She had to do something! So she tugged on the door and tried to open it, but it was locked.

The two of them didn't hear Mordred as she continued to try to open the door, but when they began to move to the stair, the man Sir Accalon turned to the door in surprise as he heard the door rattle.

"You didn't tell me that there was another person here!"

"Ignore it. That is a homunculus I made, so there is no need to pay any attention.".

Mordred's fright was temporarily replaced by confusion, "Hommonkulus?" she said aloud, but it vanished as saw her Mother through the gap in the door pull past her door, the stairs creaking as they went to go upstairs. The strange sounds began again, this time more fiercely than ever and there was the shifting of clothing. Unlike the other room, Mordred could only stare up at the ceiling as she began to hear the strange sounds again. Mother and the man began to make grunting noises, cries that sounded like pain, and the creaking of the bed.

Helplessness began to fill Mordred as she heard her Mother's cries, somehow both pained and happy at once, and she curled up into bed. She tried to block out the sounds, but nothing would silence the sounds and Mordred began to suck on her thumb, as she heard the sounds continue and grow more intense as the night went on.

'This has to be another nightmare. Please let it just be another nightmare!'', thought Mordred as the two began to make the noises and shake the bed, unable to comprehend what was being done, 'Please… don't hurt Mother anymore…!'.

The sounds grew faster and louder and louder and Mordred curled into herself more when she heard her Mother let out her loudest cry yet followed by the loudest grunt yet from the man. Exhausted by listening, Mordred shut her eyes even tighter and tried to go to sleep, hoping that when the morning light came, that it was indeed just a bad dream.


So apologies for the gap in time when I post stories. I have a full-time job, but I will try to update when I can.

Please leave your reviews as this helps me to actually write more and get the story rolling!

Again, a great thanks are to Cornova and Agent of Chaos for helping to preview this and point out what I could have done better or what was needed. I thought about going further on, but I think this is a good point to end this chapter.