Author's note: Hi everyone. It's been a very long time, hope you're all well. As the plot started to come together, I felt that these very few last scenes were needed to flow into the opening of Part 2, which I'll begin posting in a few weeks. Promise.

Dodd-Killian & Mordred

The Demons Smiled Together

4 Days Ago

Mordred and Killian walked more than four kilometers without stopping after fleeing Camelot. Killian was sure Dodd would not have endured the distance. The shapeshifter's alter ego had redeeming qualities, but physical or laborious work was not one of them. He glanced at Mordred before a familiar sound closing in from behind reached his ears.

"Horses fast approaching!" he warned Mordred in a hushed shout. "Take cover!"

He sprinted to the closest elm wide enough to conceal his girth and ducked behind it. Seeking for Mordred, sweat dripping into his eyes, he found the boy also pressed firm behind a tree that just barely obscured him a few meters away.

"Camelot knights!" said Mordred, his crystal-blue eyes wide and glazed. "They'll execute us if we're caught!"

"Calm yourself," growled Killian, wiping his brow with a sleeve. Camelot was infamous for slaughtering sorcerers. When he and Mordred put their powers on full display in their attempt to rescue Lady Morgana, they surely had become notoriously wanted men. "Just wait."

Killian shut his eyes, exhaled, and listened. Birdsong. The whisper of trees. Forest dwellers in the brush. The rhythm of his breath and the faint thunder of approaching horses closing in.

There weren't very many of them – three, maybe four. Still enough to outnumber them. It was expected that Pendragon would give chase. Yet, it was a miracle that his soldiers' attention had been divided between them and the dragon, giving them time to escape as far as they had. He looked at Mordred, the boy seeming ready to flee like a frightened young buck.

Killian gestured with an open palm to remain still. The horses were among them – four sped past heading north - one in a red cape billowing in the wind. Killian hugged the tree, moving around it until he was on the opposite side and watch them grow distant.

He exhaled and smiled at the accuracy of his count, then looked at Mordred again just in time to see the boy's face scrunch into a scowl. Mordred recognized the riders as well – their three main targets – the king, his peasant lover, and the traitor sorcerer. The fourth, he was not familiar, only that he was possibly a soldier or guardsman and another potential threat.

"We should strike now," Mordred urged, peering out from the other side of the tree.

"No," Killian said, waiting for more distance between them and their future prey. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mordred move with caution closer to himself.

"They have no protection except Merlin and he can't match our combined magic. I can cast a spell that would dismount the four of them at once and giving us the advantage." Mordred's face hardened into pure concentration. Magic was likely already bubbling in his veins, the liquid gold swirls coalescing in his hooded eyes.

Killian rushed him suddenly and whacked the back of his head, causing the boy to cease calling the spell.

"Wha–?" Mordred cast Killian an exasperated look as he massaged his scalp.

"Don't be foolish," he growled, ignoring the shock in the boy's eyes.

"I could have handled Merlin," the young sorcerer snapped back, but his disdain faded quickly as he rubbed his head. "You could have taken care of the king and … Gwen."

Killian thinned his lips, Mordred's hesitation at speaking Gwen's name annoying him. If it was hard for him to say it now, how much harder would it be when the time came to kill her?

"And the fourth man? What do you know of him?"

Mordred lifted his shoulders, shook his head.

"He could be another sorcerer." He glared at Mordred, then rolled his eyes. "I admire your courage and determination," he replied, removing the water skin strapped across his shoulders and then taking a quick swallow. He offered it to Mordred, who drank heartily. "But we need more than just our magic. We need a strategy – that's where Dodd comes in."

"Who's Dodd?"

Killian stared at him for a moment. How would he introduce the other side of himself? "You'll find out. Now, come. We have a few leagues to go."

"Where are we going?"

"Someplace safe." His response probably didn't instill any trust, but Mordred was a lonely child, perhaps eager for companionship and guidance. That would be Dodd's job to nurture a friendship of trust. His was to use him.

Killian resumed the trek through the brush, now turning east and leaving Mordred to trail behind. He glanced over his shoulder without breaking stride, though, keeping a wary eye on his new – and young – associate. The boy sealed the water skin and pulled the strap over his shoulder before following him.

"Well, how far is it?" Mordred shouted. Killian's stare remained fixed ahead, unwilling to indulge complaint or chatter. They still had a few more hours' walk ahead.

Noon passed and their pace slowed. In a denser part of the forest with trees as old as time, they cautiously traversed gnarled roots protruding onto their path.

Killian finally stopped in front of an earthen hovel dug into the side of a small hill. The roots of the ancient oak above it hugged the entrance, ready to swallow anyone who dared entered. He glanced at his companion standing trance-like a few paces from him, eyes wide. Mordred looked tired and hungry, and now obviously afraid.

Killian's lips pulled into a deep frown, his time finally over with the boy. He closed his eyes, thick brows creasing his forehead. Muttering a few ancient words, he shed his brutish disguise, and suddenly a nobleman with silver flowing hair, bright gray eyes, and a long colorful robe stood in his place.

Badly startled by his sudden transformation, Mordred stumbled backward over a wood stack, hitting the ground hard.

"Ow," he said, wide eyes pinned him.

Dodd laughed. "Careful there, boy," he said, extending his hand to pull Mordred to his feet. "There's work to be done and I need you whole. I'm Dodd."

"You're a-a shapeshifter," Mordred gasped, gawking at him, rubbing his rump. "How do you do that?"

People always amused Dodd when he undid the enchantment around them. As rare as that was though, witnessing their extreme startled reactions always delighted him.

"Magic is nothing but illusion," Dodd said, flourishing his hands, always happy to display his skills. "I distort perceptions and become anyone I want them to see." He spoke the enchantment again, sweeping his hands in elegant fashion. Within a flash, he stood as King Arthur before Mordred.

"Hello, Mordred." Arthur flashed a charming smile as Mordred gawked, eyes round as a full moon.

"You even sound like him – s-some. But I think his eyes are – bluer." Mordred averted his gaze when Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I was able to get really close to him a few times."

Arthur chuckled. "Well, I didn't get that close to him, but we heard his voice today. Not much time to practice being that we were fleeing his city to save our skins."

Dodd spoke the enchantment once more, sweeping his hands to change into another enemy wearing Southron hard-leather armor. The cool demeanor of nobility and charisma was replaced by rage in the man's dark brown eyes.

"This one's going to get his eyes gouged out before I cut his throat."

Mordred shifted his weight, unnerved by Dodd's visceral threat. "Who is he?"

"My special target, Sir Maxwell, a well-practiced sorcerer and skilled warrior. We battled in the crypts before Arthur and his men took back the castle." He leaned slightly forward.

"Remember this face. He may appear unassuming, but he'll be difficult to overcome if our paths cross, and we're not prepared to confront him yet. I believe he can recognize me no matter who I become."

"A disadvantage for us."

"Indeed." Dodd became himself again, shedding the anger as he straightened his robe. A flicker of humiliation crossed his face as he recalled their fierce battle under the citadel. He had barely managed to escape the fierce warrior's onslaught. Shaking his head at the memory, he looked at the wood pile now scattered around Mordred's feet.

"Fetch a few of those, will you? We'll need them inside."

"We can't go in there," said Mordred, a touch of fear in his voice. "Someone lives here."

"I know this place well. And trust me, no one is home."

Mordred extricated his feet from the wood pile with a scoff and tucked two logs under his arm before following him into the earthen hovel. He coughed from the stench, covering his nose and mouth with his free arm. Dodd, unaffected by the pungent air or the foul odor of decay, continued to speak, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as he searched around them.

"I can become anyone after observation and practice: voice, mannerisms, even body odor can be mastered with a spell. But it's Killian I rely on the most, though he has an impulsive tendency to alienate people – he should never have mind-pushed you. Still, he's the strongest of my illusions and has served me best out of all of them. Forbearnan."

Three candles at various positions burst to life, illuminating Dodd as he spread his arms about the dilapidated one-room dwelling, as if proud of the filthy and wretched place. "Here we are. Home, for a time."

There was no hearth to build a fire, only a small pit surrounded with stones and a spit erected above it. A wood stump for sitting was within arm's reach of the spit. Tucked against the back earthen wall was a cot with a dingy blanket and dirty pillow, no privacy curtain in sight. A freestanding cupboard filled with jars and pots partitioned the room. Shelving stuffed with books and more jars was along another dirt wall. Several cauldrons were stacked near it. Mordred pulled his cloak tighter around himself, taking one step back.

"A witch lives here," the boy said, alarm in his voice, fear in his eyes.

"A witch lived here," Dodd corrected with thin lips.

"We should leave."

"It was our lady Morgana's," he said, his voice bittersweet as he glanced around. "And I don't think she's coming back."

"Morgana's? She – she lived here?" Mordred's trepidation changed into curiosity as he slowly wandered about, awestruck as if the hovel had suddenly transformed into a palace.

"We rallied here – the other sorcerers and I – before we joined Helios' army with her."

"Where are the rest of them? The other sorcerers?"

"Brigitta was slaughtered with the Rear-Guard encampment. I don't know what happened to Sagar and Cretch. They must have perished in the battle to hold Camelot." They had been worthy sorcerers, specially handpicked by Morgana because of their abilities. All of them had lost their lives for her cause. "Such a waste of talent."

"I'm sorry about your friends, Killian."

Dodd looked at him with stern grey eyes, his mouth curled. "My name is Dodd. Don't ever forget that. I am not he, and he is not me."

Mordred's lips stiffened as his brow creased.

Dodd regarded his pout, felt guilty right away. It was an honest mistake made by many; and with Mordred, he had become four different people within the last five minutes. It was understandable.

"Go set the fire, Mordred," he said gently, hoping the boy saw the regret in his eyes.

Mordred's faint smile suggested all was mended between them in that moment.

Dodd nodded, spreading his lips. "I have a plan," he said. "We have work to do."