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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.
“I will handle that. You will lead the main army on the field. Be sure you seek out Arthur; it is not his men we need to remove but the head of the dragon itself.” Morgana looks up at him, eyes burning with hate. “Do not fail me in this.”
He nodded, “I won’t fail you, or Kara,” he tells her, pursing his lips together gently. With one last glance at Summer Mordred disappeared from the tent, beginning to rouse the men.
Morgana sits for a long moment, contemplating the tent flap dreamily. When she moves again, her hand goes to the box with the Nathair in it, but then she seems to think better of it. “I’m not finished with you, Summer,” she murmurs. “Not yet.”
Nevertheless, the guards chain Summer back up, hands and feet. “I want you to watch them die,” Morgana whispers, and the empath shudders again.