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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.
Summer’s voice cracks as she snaps, “Mordred. There are two armies out there, and I have barely slept. I will not make it a mile, and I will not leave. By this time, the King will know I have gone, and they are not going to take me back in. Please, be sensible.”
The ex-knight raises a brow in disbelief. “Me? Be sensible?” he scoffs. “I am not the one running head on at my death, Summer,” he hisses. In truth, that was a lie, he knew there was a large chance he could very well end up among the countless faces and names of the fallen. “I have not slept in the last four days, I’m barely functioning and you are certainly not helping my case, please, go, go anywhere but to Morgana — I am begging you.”
“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.