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Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.
The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.
“So, my proudest warrior continues to betray me. Is this the honour you promised me, helping my prisoner escape?” Morgana’s voice comes to them before they can see her, and then she steps from around a nearby tent. “I kept her alive at /your/ behest, Mordred.” Morgana flicks a hand, eyes flaring gold, and Summer flies backward, though a flare of fire erupts from her hands as she crashes down.
Summer can’t move for a long moment, and Morgana advances on Mordred. “Do you forget what Arthur did to Kara? And yet so willingly you send your love into his arms, pretending it’s for her safety.” The madwoman produces a knife and strokes his cheek with the flat of it. “The woman stays, Mordred. I thought to give you one last night together, as a reward for bringing her to me, but you’ve thrown that away.” Abruptly she withdraws the knife, smiling sweetly. “Go, and sleep, Mordred. Tomorrow we go to war.”
Morgana lifts her chin, and several guards appear, taking Summer by the arms and hauling her up. She sways, and spreads her fingers, and Morgana rounds on her, tutting. “The tiniest spark, and I will kill him where he stands,” the high priestess hisses. It’s a bluff, but there’s so much madness, so much chaos in Morgana’s emotions Summer dares not take the chance.
He watches her, the flames from the nearby fire dancing across the blade as it runs down his cheek. For a brief moment he had wished she actually had plunged it into his chest, it would have, in his opinion, been less painful. “I have not forgotten,” he hisses, pain exploding over him as Kara’s name reached his ears and he felt his breath hitch.
There had been a time where Kara had meant more to him than his own life, but she had left him. Even after all these years she still meant just as much to him now as she did then. But so did Summer. Mordred swallows, glancing away from her, “as you wish.”
Mordred doesn’t so much as glance up at Summer as he heads back into his tent, removing his vambrace carefully before his anger spills over and he throws it, the metal connecting to the mirror over the other side of the room. It angered him, how could he have been so stupid? This was exactly what Morgana wanted, another reason to keep him with her.Kara.
Summer.
That’s all they were to her. Reasons. Not people, they were another reason to hold onto his already crumbling heart. He should have just stayed in Camelot and sent Summer away. Perhaps Kara wouldn’t be dead and they both wouldn’t be here. “I’m so sorry.”
The guards bring Summer once more to Morgana’s tent, where the sorceress picks up a woven box and lovingly caresses the top of it. “Do you know what this is?”
Summer shakes her head, almost convulsively. Morgana’s madness feels like a shadow, sucking her in; she’s never been so frightened before.
“I was going to accept your offer to join me,” she tells Summer, who shudders. “But I see now that you will never be loyal.” She opens the box, and slowly a snake rises out of it, tongue flickering. “This is a Nathair.”
Hardly aware of what she’s doing, consumed with terror now, Summer tries to step back, but the guards pull her up short. Morgana smiles, and lifts the snake out of the box. She whispers a spell to it, and holds her hand to Summer.
Summer screams.