Child of Night.

Those words were Mordred's earliest memory. Whispered behind hands, muttered over his head. He hadn't know what they meant, then. But his ignorance had not lasted long.

He had been six years old when the wary of expressions and the way parents pulled the other children away from him had finally become too much. He had fled the camp, crying, and been found by a stream by Alidaer half an hour later. The elder druid, after many sobbed appeals, finally told him.

You are the end of days. It is your destiny to bring about the end of the fabled golden age; that is why they shun you.

Those words had seemed to bind Mordred in a way he had never thought possible before. When he returned to the camp, he had felt as though they were etched across his skin, and finally in his childish way he saw what they saw – child of night. The darkness of his destiny was set, and there was no escape. And so he succumbed. He allied himself and his impressive natural powers with whoever would teach him the most. He devoured all the knowledge he could get to, learning spell after spell until he felt as though there was nothing left of him but magic. Magic and darkness.

And then… Emrys and Morgana. So similar, yet so different. Mordred could sense the power coiled inside both of them, knew both of their names from the old druid prophecies, but he had not expected their kindness. The three of them could have almost been siblings, with their pale skin and inky hair, and he had felt the kinship between them immediately. He could sense Morgana's confusion at the connection and Emrys' reluctance, and understood them both.

Arthur had saved his life.

Morgana had tried to run away.

Arthur had come to rescue her.

Emrys still waited in the shadows, gently opening Arthur's mind, longing for him from a distance.

Mordred became, for the first time, torn. He saw the wretchedness of the ban on magic, the suffering it caused – but he was drawn in by Emrys' faith and passion, and by the flickers of true nobility he had seen in the young prince. For the first time, he began to resist his destiny.

But it wasn't until he was at Ismere, sitting across the table from Morgana and watching her growing frenzy over Arthur's escape, that he made his decision.

He knew his destiny, and he would defy it.

He pushed the knife into Morgana's back, swallowing his feelings; she would recover, undoubtedly, but it would take time. He helped Arthur back to his men – he left Emrys behind, knowing that the older sorcerer would not need his help. And then he was back in Camelot and Arthur was thanking him – and he, a druid boy raised to hate everything the name 'Pendragon' stood for, was knighted. Sir Mordred. Sir Mordred, Knight of Camelot. Night. Knight.

In the darkness of his new chambers, Mordred felt Emrys' wariness through the stones and wondered if the single letter would be change enough…