Hey everyone! This is my first foray into writing for Merlin, and I'm a little nervous about it. I just watched the last episode of series 5 again and it really cut me to pieces that Mordred died like that. I LOVE his character, and I really love Alexander Vlahos ;-) I found him a really awesome character, with just so much potential to play around with. So I figured I'd give it a go. This story follows the events of series 1-4, with my OC character installed - her role will become clearer as the story progresses. This becomes AU after the series 5 episode 'Arthur's Bane - Part 2'.

I don't have the very best track record with writing OCs, and I'd really appreciate any constructive criticism you have on mine so far. I'm super worried it comes across that I'm turning her into a Mary Sue, and I really REALLY don't want that to happen.

Warning: updates may not be regular, as I'm starting university this year; also because I have issues writing multi-chap stories. Any suggestions you feel like putting in would be awesome, it'd be nice to know what you'd like to see from this story. Also, rating is very likely to be upped soon.

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the TV series Merlin, only my invented character Mairwen. Also, I can't take credit for the sexual tension in this chapter; I was totally inspired by LightningBugInSummer and their story Love me. Give it a read if you like fem!Merlin/Mordred fics.

Enjoy!

She remembered him, this young man before her.

It was years ago that she had last beheld his face; it seemed that all that was similar between boy and man was the dark hair, eyes the colour of the sky, the alabaster skin that glowed in the polished throne room. For certainly the scrawny child that was had developed into a finely formed male specimen – she could not help but notice. But much had changed since the day she first met the little boy, a child herself, and helped… Morgana… to lull her father into a false sense of security while Arthur smuggled him out of the city. She remembered the strange, cold stare, the whisper brushing across her thoughts, as though he was somehow seeing into her. And she could not forget it – the way he had said her name in her mind. Mairwen. Mairwen. She shivered lightly at the remembrance, attracting the attention of the one kneeling before her. She quickly broke eye contact, choosing to stare at the pretty tapestries adorning the walls.

Yes, he had magic – he was a Druid, after all. What she failed to understand was how Arthur didn't realise the fact, for she certainly recalled all the instances Merlin had informed her of the boy's use of sorcery before his very eyes – she had even seen it herself, the time he had broken the mirror in Morgana's chambers. Perhaps he was deliberately repressing it; perhaps he genuinely did not know; perhaps… perhaps he had been enchanted to forget by this man. From what Merlin had confided to her, he was to be Arthur's doom, and she was damned if she let this young upstart destroy all they had worked for for so long.

"Arise, Sir Mordred, Knight of Camelot," rang out Arthur's voice. All the hall burst into applause for this strange saviour, one who had come out of nowhere to save their King from the clutches of the feared Morgana Pendragon.

Her brother nudged her lightly, subtly; she realised she had not been clapping for the man, and that he had indeed noticed it, if the gaze he had levelled upon her form was anything to go by. She hastily brought her hands from behind her back and joined in with the cacophony of sound, smiling politely at the knight. His lips upturned graciously, proudly, as he turned to accept the praise of the courtiers.

The party moved to the banquet hall for celebrations, as was custom for a knighting ceremony. Once she was excused from her duties as princess of the realm, the first thing she did was head over to where Merlin was standing, leaning against the stone pillar behind Arthur, on call for his every whim. She rolled her eyes lightly as Arthur had him pour a goblet of mead for him; the pitcher was right in front of him, certainly within reach and certainly useable if one wasn't so socially inept as her dolt of a brother. Sliding in behind him, she engaged him in conversation, smiling prettily should anyone cast their eyes over them.

"What is he doing here?" she hissed out the corner of her mouth, aiming her eyes subtly to where Mordred was standing in the middle of the elite knights, apparently deep in pleasant conversation.

Merlin grinned as though she had said something amusing to her – it was well known the two were close friends, even though it was the object of a deep degree of suspicion amongst the nobles. "I don't know. He was part of the group that captured me and Arthur, but he turned on them. He stabbed Morgana," he paused, unable to believe even now. "Maybe… maybe Kilgharrah was wrong, maybe he doesn't kill Arthur."

"You said it yourself," she replied, nodding at the passing Lord of Orkney. "The dragon may be self-serving, but when it came to destiny he was never wrong."

"Yeah. I'll keep an eye on him," Merlin said, patting her shoulder lightly before returning to Arthur's side.

"Me too," she said under her breath.

She stood there, back pressed against the pillar, away from everyone else for as long as she could be. It was amusing to watch those around her – people-watching was a mild hobby of hers, as few expected a woman of noble birth to have enough intelligence to make assumptions on character, thus clearing the way for her to look freely upon the scene before her. Mairwen rolled her eyes as she watched Arthur stumble over to Gwen, pressing a drunken kiss to her lips. He couldn't hold his ale, so she couldn't understand why he continued to drink it so copiously.

"My lord," came a voice behind her. She turned around and smiled as she beheld the man before her.

"Sir Gwaine," she said – Gwaine had given Arthur the annoying moniker of Princess; when he had actually discovered there was already a princess in Camelot he decided to give her her very own nickname, along the same lines as the King's.

"What is a beautiful young woman such as you doing over here, all alone, on a night as fine as this?" he asked, slinging his arm over her shoulder. She shifted uncomfortably as her weight re-distributed itself to support this gigantic hulk of man and armour.

"Talking to you," she replied vaguely. She had long been used to the flirtatious nature of the knight, and even appreciated the lack of informality he afforded her, so used to being provided the very best of courtesies. They were friends; after Merlin and Gwen one could say he was her best friend. She remembered the very first time she had seen him, travelling in the markets in the Lower Town.

It was the perfect sort of day to be out of the castle, away from the stifling formality of court life. She had persuaded Gwen to let her accompany her to her home, just wanting to get away from it all. With her help, Mairwen had dressed in the plainest gown she could find in her wardrobe, doing her hair up as a simple maidservant would do, and decided she was suitable to go travelling relatively undetected.

She had taken Gwen's basket from her, insisting she had to carry it in order to be entirely unnoticeable amidst the bustling of the commonfolk. It was rather heavy; Gwen had laughed at her twisted expression as she realised she would have to cart this down several flights of stairs and slopes of land before reaching the house. They were almost there when someone had bumped into her from behind, sending the basket out of her hands. Scowling, she gathered the fabrics up and deposited them back in before turning to give this stranger a piece of her mind.

"I think this belongs to you," he said cheerfully, not at all apologetic, brandishing a little sprig of lavender in his fingers.

Her mouth twisted up into a smile despite herself. "Sorry," she deflected. "I don't really think it's my colour."

"Let's see, then," he purred, and, to her astonishment, he completely invaded her personal space to tuck the flower in behind her ear, smoothing some of the disturbed golden hair down over the stem. "There. Beautiful. Pretty as a princess."

She couldn't help snorting at that – he really had no idea, did he?

She picked up the basket and made to turn away, telling the stranger: "Thank you for the flower, but you're not my type."

"But I could be," he cut in front of her. She could hear Gwen giggling behind her. "What is your name? You must have a grand name, one befitting a lovely princess such as you! Esmeralda? Sophia? Amarantha?"

"Stop it, people are staring," she hissed at him. It was as though this man had no shame, for he simply offered her a grin and bowed low before her.

"Tell me your name," he insisted.

"It's Mairwen, actually," she said cheerfully, waiting for it to register. It took a few seconds for the grin to drop slightly as he mulled it over.

"You have the name of the princess in this kingdom," he said. He didn't appear discouraged – rather, his determination renewed. "See, I knew you would have a name to befit royalty."

How thick was he? She had had enough of this banter.

"That's because I am," she said sweetly, relishing the look of confusion on his face. She stuck out her hand and waited for him to take it. "Mairwen, princess of Camelot, sister to the Crown Prince Arthur, pleased to meet you," she continued, shaking his hand vigorously.

He sprang back as though he had been burned.

"I am – terribly sorry my Lady – Your Highness – princess," he stuttered in a panic.

She laughed loudly in response.

"Its fine," she said between chuckles. "It was highly amusing for me – you just made my day. What is your name, sir?"

"Gwaine," he replied, running his hand through his hair. He really did look anxious that she might inform the guards that he had made advances to the darling of the city. "Gwaine, at your service, milady – Your Highness."

"Just Mairwen," she declared. "I think we're well enough acquainted now that you really do deserve the privilege of calling me by my name. Thank you for that, Gwaine, and sorry for bursting your bubble. On any other lady that would've worked." She pulled the lavender from her hair and handed it back to him. "Perhaps another, more suitable woman would better appreciate being on the receiving end of your attentions."

With that she sidestepped him and walked away. She and Gwen were still laughing that very night over what had happened.

"Aha, very funny," he said, pulling her away from the privacy of her location and out into the room. She resisted somewhat as she realised where he was leading her. "Come and meet our new knight!" And with that he gently pushed her in amongst the gaggle of knights surrounding the Druid man.

"Hello, boys," she said nervously. She hated being thrown in amongst the best and bravest in the land – they dwarfed her entirely, making her feel as though she had stumbled into a land of giants.

"Princess," acknowledged Leon, nodding his head in subservience.

"Leon," she smiled. "Did you do something different with your hair this evening?"

Elyan snorted behind her; at Leon's sharp glare it hastily changed to a cough.

"Your Highness – may I present to you Sir Mordred," Leon deflected, placing his hand on the new knight's shoulder and pressing him forward.

She watched him calculatingly as he took her customarily proffered hand and pressed it to his lips – she noticed the skin tingled upon the area of contact, and a tremor rolled up her spine. His eyes lifted to hers; he smiled as though he were all too aware of the sensations his touch elicited.

"Princess," he murmured. He held her hand in his a beat too long – she quickly pulled it back to rest at her side.

"Sir Mordred," she intoned casually. "What brings you to Camelot after all these years?"

"You know him?" asked Percival.

"Yes," she continued, holding eye contact with the man before her. She refused to back down, to allow him this small victory, as childish as it was. "He was just a boy when I first met him."

"I remember," he spoke gently. The corner of his mouth lifted up wryly. "I remember you nursing me when I was sick. I thought you were the most beautiful girl I ever saw."

"What a charmer you are, sir," she demurred, doing her best to ignore the laughter of the knights. "I do believe you're trying to gain my favour."

"If I were ever to gain your favour I feel only then could I die a most happy man," he said earnestly. It made her uneasy how sincere he sounded – if she didn't know what his role was in the future to come she believed she could have honestly fallen for him in that moment. As it was, there was a slight chill in his eyes, a dark promise she beheld there, that held her back.

"Then I fear must withhold my esteem – for what use to Camelot are you if you should perish?" It was a double-entendre, one not picked up by any listeners but the one to which it was meant for. A playful tease, if one chose to interpret it as such – a flirtatious command, whereby her partiality would mean the difference between life and death. Or a harsh dismissal – that she did not care whether he lived or died happy, that she'd even take satisfaction in being the cause for his unhappiness. She looked upon him, pleased as his stare narrowed, a sure sign he had understood.

"Farewell, Sir Mordred, it was a pleasure meeting you again," she said, and, after curtseying and patting the two knights either side of her (Gwaine and Elyan) upon their arms, she flitted off to join the ladies across the room. It was very dull talk, of needlework and spinning, marriage proposals and children. It seemed as if these ladies simply had nothing to concern themselves with outside the home; she admired Gwen's fortitude, watching her smile politely and offer her own insight without faltering. She could not even imagine being patient enough to endure this kind of talk after living a life so full of activity as Gwen's had been – and still was, now that she was Queen.

It was well after midnight when the party began to subside; she stayed until late, ensuring the people saw her full support thrown behind this new soldier, before exiting the still busy hall and making her way down the dimly lit hall. Few occupied the corridors on her way to her chambers, save few servants forced to be on duty, transporting food and drink to the main event. Stopping for a moment, she took the chance to pull the pins out of her hair, sighing in relief as the prickling pain on her scalp subsided and her curls fell down past her shoulders. She shook out the braids and coils, running her hand through the locks to dislodge the straggling clips, sliding the discarded things onto the front of her dress.

She was only one long corridor away from her chambers when a hand shot out of a darkened alcove and pulled her in with it. A hand came over her mouth as she was backed up against the wall – her cry of pain as she collided with the harsh stone was muffled, and she knew no one would hear her this far away from the hall. Mairwen looked up in a panic; in the cool light of the moon streaming through the windows opposite she could make out pale, chiselled features, dark hair and blue eyes.

"Don't scream," he cautioned lowly, then took his hand slowly off her mouth. She made to dart back out – he knew her mind, and pulled her back by her waist. She almost gasped aloud at his impudence, touching royalty in such a disrespectful manner, as he caged her in with arms braced against the wall and head bent low to look at her.

"You're a bit far from the party, being the guest of honour. What do you want, Mordred?" she hissed, eyes flashing across the corridor, down into the darkness, hoping to no avail that someone would come by and discover them. On second thoughts – if Arthur discovered this he'd assume she was fraternizing with the man, and marry her to him to keep her an honest woman.

"I want to know what I did, to make you dislike me so," he spat out. His eyes were burning, insistent, thinly veiled irritation and somewhat of a desperate tinge to them.

"Why do you assume that I dislike you?" she protested, feigning incredulity. He merely scoffed – she'd figured it was worth a shot, but there was no fooling him, it seemed.

"The way you looked at me, the way you spoke to me during the feast. I am no fool," he replied. "I am not a bad person, I've even saved your brother. What have I done, Mairwen?"

She forgot all sense of propriety in her anger. Mairwen leaned in closer, fuelled by her annoyance at him. "It is not what you have done, but what you will do. I will not let you bring about – never mind." She could barely believe she had almost let slip the details of his betrayal – she would not do so again.

"Tell me. Tell me what it is you seem to think I shall do, that makes you so cold towards me," his tone softened; he leaned back slightly, as though he wished to look upon her better. "It was not always so. There was a time when you treated me with kindness, and when you smiled at me it was as though I was looking into the brightness of a thousand suns. I've never forgotten it. It stayed with me all these years."

He paused; his gaze flickered from her eyes down to her lips. She froze in confusion as he leaned forward slightly, his hand moving to cup the side of her face. She turned away from him; his nose grazed her cheek.

"You're even more beautiful than you were back then. I have long desired you, Princess. I dreamed of you, of making you mine, of taking all that you are and making it my own," he chuckled darkly as his hand moved over her throat, brushed against her collarbone. "You feel it too – the desire – don't you? You see, you may lie to yourself all you please, but I know you want me, I know you feel it within you too. I will wait for as long as I have to, but I will have you, darling. You cannot resist me forever."

She pushed him back; having held herself pliant for so long, he stumbled back, caught off-guard.

"You forget to whom you speak, Sir! I am no cheap tumble in the hay. I am next in line to the throne of Camelot, and I'll be damned if you treat me as though I were a common whore! I don't want you! I don't need you, nor will I ever, I can swear to that! Do not," she flashed, backing him to the other side of the niche, "try to disrespect me again, or I will make you regret the day you were born."

Before he had a chance to react, she had stepped out of the alcove and hurried down the hall to her chambers, pushing open the doors with a bang and startling the drowsing maid within.

"Mistress! Whatever is the matter?" cried the red-haired girl, jumping out of the chair by the moonlit window across the room.

"Nothing," she said, locking the doors behind her. She flushed, embarrassed and ashamed at how she almost succumbed to him back there, and resolved to never be anywhere where he could possibly catch her alone. "I'm sorry for waking you, Lilah."

"It is fine, Your Highness. I was awaiting your return anyway," she replied cheerfully, dragging her over to stand before the bed so she could work upon the laces that bound the party dress to her form. "How was your evening?"

"Unexpected," she said shortly. Lilah seemed to figure out something had happened, and she didn't feel forthcoming yet. With a final jerk of the string Lilah pushed the sleeves down her arms, and the dress tumbled from her waist onto the floor; she stepped out of it, and her hands ventured to begin at working off her corset as Lilah bustled about hanging the dress out to air on the balcony. Lilah grasped the laces from her and pulled off the stiff fabric, enabling her to take deep breaths she hadn't realised she needed.

She drew behind the screen to change out of her underclothes, swapping it for the nightgown that had been draped over the wooden frame. When she exited her changing area, her bedspread had been pulled down and a candle placed by her vanity table. She sat down on the low stool and felt the tension in her bones relax as Lilah stroked the brush through her hair, soothing her uneasy thoughts with the touch that reminded her of how Morgana used to stroke her hair when she awoke fearful from nightmares. Morgana. She turned away from the mirror, unable to bear the aspect of her eyes her skin, the arch of the brow that reminded her of the sister she had lost to darkness.

That night, she lay in bed, wide awake despite being tired when she had left the festivities. She had bid Lilah take the key to her chambers with her, locking the door behind the maid. She knew all too well if he really wanted to get in, he would, but it'd make it a damn sight harder, seeing as she had also barricaded the door with a chair.

When she finally began to fall asleep, she imagined she heard his voice in her mind. Mairwen. Mairwen.

Please feel free to let me know how I'm doing! :-)