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.
“I got lost,” she cries back, “just runni—”
— just running from fighting with you.
“I can’t go back to Camelot, because I don’t know how to get there from here,” Summer forces herself to say calmly. “And I won’t go until you tell me why you left.” She slumps on the ground, lack of sleep, lack of food, and use of magic all combining to exhaust her. “I don’t think I could make it more than a few steps right now, anyway.”
He holds his hand out to her. “I’ll help you,” he tells her, “but what you request is something I cannot repeat, I am sorry.”
Sulkily, childishly, she turns her head away from his hand. “I won’t go unless you stay with me.”
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.
“They don’t know I exist!” she flares. “The King, the queen, they are going to care about the unwanted daughter of a nobleman in Devon? Don’t be stupid. It’s /you/ Camelot needs, the finest knight in the kingdom.” Much more quietly, she adds, “I can’t be there if you aren’t.”
“Then make yourself know, Summer, believe me they do know of you and they do care!” He tells her, his voice raising an octave higher. “They don’t need me, believe me, I’ve learned as such.”
“I got lost,” she cries back, “just runni—”
— just running from fighting with you.
“I can’t go back to Camelot, because I don’t know how to get there from here,” Summer forces herself to say calmly. “And I won’t go until you tell me why you left.” She slumps on the ground, lack of sleep, lack of food, and use of magic all combining to exhaust her. “I don’t think I could make it more than a few steps right now, anyway.”
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 laughs a little crazily. “I don’t have a home. My family sent me away, Mordred. You’re my home now, and even you don’t want me. How can you help me get to a place that doesn’t exist?”
He swallowed, guilt rising up in him. He did want her but he couldn’t. “Go back to Camelot, Merlin will look after you, so will Guinevere and Arthur,” he pleads.
“They don’t know I exist!” she flares. “The King, the queen, they are going to care about the unwanted daughter of a nobleman in Devon? Don’t be stupid. It’s /you/ Camelot needs, the finest knight in the kingdom.” Much more quietly, she adds, “I can’t be there if you aren’t.”
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.
“You know Camelot. You belong in Camelot. Why did you leave? Go back, Mordred.”
‘Go back without me.’
“No,” he tells her sternly. “I don’t belong there, I never have and never will. I’ve never belonged anywhere, that much in my life is evident,” Mordred says. “I don’t have a choice, but you do, and I’ll help you get home.”
Summer laughs a little crazily. “I don’t have a home. My family sent me away, Mordred. You’re my home now, and even you don’t want me. How can you help me get to a place that doesn’t exist?”
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.
Looking up at him, still somehow so strong and beautiful, Summer says, “If no one deserves this place, why are you here?”
The corners of the druid’s mouth twitch ever so slightly and he removes his gaze from her. He’d resisted the urge to say that it was because it’s what he deserved. “Because it’s the only place I know.”
“You know Camelot. You belong in Camelot. Why did you leave? Go back, Mordred.”
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.
“I’m a murderer.”
Summer should care that he fled Camelot; should be grateful he found her — or she found him; should reach to ease his self-loathing. It’s what she is.
Except what she is is lost under pain and self-hatred of her own. “This,” she gestures limply around the bandit camp, “is what I deserve. Leave me here. Go back.”
Mordred got to his feet. “No one, no matter how bad a person they believe they are, deserves to be left here, to be left like this,” he tells her, gesturing around to the camp. “I’m a murderer too,” he says, allowing his hand to fall to his side, “you did it out of protection, that does not make you a murderer.”
Looking up at him, still somehow so strong and beautiful, Summer says, “If no one deserves this place, why are you here?”
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.
They had meant to rape her. She remembers that, now. She’s eaten so little in the past few days there’s nothing in her stomach to come up. Mordred had been stopping them, sword drawn. He’s not garbed in knightly splendour now, but in dark layers that somehow suit him better than the shining silver and red of Camelot. Burying her hands in her hair to hold it away from her face, she gags again, and looks up at Mordred. The rush of blood makes her dizzy and cold. “Why are you here? You left … I left. I’ve been lost.” Her eyes fall on the pile of ashes again. There should be blood on her hands. “Just … leave me here to die.”
He wanted to reach forward but then he remembered the warning. Would it even matter now that he was away from Camelot? “I went back to the way I was,” he tells her simply. “I couldn’t stay and abandoned my post and broke my vow,” Mordred says, glancing away, self hatred welling up in him. “I refuse to leave you to die. Not now, not ever.”
“I’m a murderer.”
Summer should care that he fled Camelot; should be grateful he found her — or she found him; should reach to ease his self-loathing. It’s what she is.
Except what she is is lost under pain and self-hatred of her own. “This,” she gestures limply around the bandit camp, “is what I deserve. Leave me here. Go back.”
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.
She looks down to the way he is still gripping her wrist, and swallows hard. It’s been a while since she killed using her powers, and the thunder in her mind tells her she had been wide open to the death. Abruptly she goes to her knees, retching.
He releases his hold, taking a step back and he looks around. “All of you, disappear, now,” Mordred orders and the men disappear, leaving the two of them alone. He crouches down. “Summer, breathe, calm down.”
They had meant to rape her. She remembers that, now. She’s eaten so little in the past few days there’s nothing in her stomach to come up. Mordred had been stopping them, sword drawn. He’s not garbed in knightly splendour now, but in dark layers that somehow suit him better than the shining silver and red of Camelot. Burying her hands in her hair to hold it away from her face, she gags again, and looks up at Mordred. The rush of blood makes her dizzy and cold. “Why are you here? You left … I left. I’ve been lost.” Her eyes fall on the pile of ashes again. There should be blood on her hands. “Just … leave me here to die.”
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 turns wide, blank eyes on Mordred. “They burn. You … do not. Why do you not burn?” The flame in her hands flickers, then dies, along with the color of her eyes. “Mordred?” Her tone is almost childish, bewildered. She looks around, and tenses when she sees the heap of ashes, and the bandit leader.
“What did I do?”
Mordred glances back to where Ragnor’s second had once stood, now replaced by nothing more than a pile of ashes. “You killed him,” he says simply, as if the fact is nothing. ‘You need to get out of here, it isn’t safe.’ Mordred didn’t know whether or not she possessed telepathy, but it was worth a shot.
She looks down to the way he is still gripping her wrist, and swallows hard. It’s been a while since she killed using her powers, and the thunder in her mind tells her she had been wide open to the death. Abruptly she goes to her knees, retching.
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.
She struggles to her feet, hands held wide, eyes still fixed on Ragnor. Fire dances in the palms of each hand, irises brilliant gold. She shows no awareness of Mordred at all, in fact. One step toward Ragnor, and another, and she breathes, “You burn.”
The druid shoots upright, lunging forward, grabbing her wrist. “Summer, stop it,” he tells her, his tone firm as he gets in front of her. “Summer, listen to me, please. He isn’t worth it, it’s not worth a life.”
Summer turns wide, blank eyes on Mordred. “They burn. You … do not. Why do you not burn?” The flame in her hands flickers, then dies, along with the color of her eyes. “Mordred?” Her tone is almost childish, bewildered. She looks around, and tenses when she sees the heap of ashes, the bandit leader.
