Kara stood, head high, waiting to be escorted to her death. She smiled. Mordred stood with the knights far ahead of her out in the square. She nodded to him from where she waited.

Gwaine and Galahad, the two knights who stood to either side of her, tried not to pay her any mind. On the inside both seethed with anger. They had volunteered to escort Kara to the noose. There was no pity in either of their hearts for her, only for Mordred. For his sake they were truly sorry.

Gwaine watched the King from where he stood on the balcony with Guinevere. Merlin stood below them in the square. Arthur’s expression was one of solemn sadness. Gwaine traced Arthur’s gaze to Mordred. The knight stood still as stone, his eyes on the noose before him.

Arthur nodded to Gwaine and Galahad. The former nudged Kara forward and onward she went, never breaking eye contact with the King above her. The king began to speak.

“The woman before you is convicted of two crimes, both punishable by death. Kara, it has been determined that you knowingly passed information to enemies of Camelot which resulted in the kidnapping of a citizen of Camelot.” Arthur stopped. “Do you deny it?”

“No.”

Arthur raised a hand to silence the murmuring crowd that had gathered. Gwaine tightened his grip on Kara’s arm. He had to keep his rage under control. She would be fairly punished for her crimes.

King Arthur nodded. “Along with this crime, you have also been accused of practicing sorcery. Do you deny it?”

“No.”

With a sigh the king nodded. “You have the right to speak any last words.”

Kara look at the King and then glanced at Merlin before returning to Arthur. She drew herself up, though she trembled.

“I die today because I dare to stand up for my people. I dare to fight for my right to exist. Magic is not evil, magic is a gift. There are others like me who will not stand by and be persecuted any longer. Lady Morgana has promised us a place in the world. If any deserve death, it is you, the false king. You deserve to die for your crimes, Arthur Pendragon.”

The King nodded to Gwaine and Galahad. Both knights moved her forward and she climbed the steps to the gallows. Gwaine and Galahad stood at the bottom, their jobs complete.

As Kara stepped forward, her eyes met Mordred’s. She sent him a telepathic plea. “You know what to do.”

Mordred gave an imperceptible nod. He knew what to do. He would use his place in the Round Table of Camelot to gather information to bring the kingdom to its knees. Arthur would regret his decision before the end.

The executioner roughly stuck Kara’s head into the noose and tightened it. He looked to the king. After a moment’s hesitation, Arthur nodded his approval. The executioner pulled his lever.

Kara’s neck snapped.

Mordred’s heart broke.

“Let her death serve as a warning to any who would betray Camelot in this hour of war,” Arthur spoke loudly. “Lady Morgana is a traitor of the highest order, and any who collaborate with her are guilty of treason.”

The townsfolk dispersed. Gwaine and Galahad joined the other knights while several servants cleared the body and scaffolding of the gallows from the square. Mordred was nowhere to be found. Merlin, concerned for the knight, brought it up with Galahad as they walked inside the citadel.

“Give him time,” the knight shook his head. “Mordred is a good man. He’ll be fine.”

Merlin looked skeptical but agreed to bide his time. The Round Table knights, having been up for over twenty four hours without rest, all retreated to their chambers for baths and sleep. Many of them slept straight through to the next morning.

Mordred, late that night, sat in his chambers. In his hand was a letter written in the language of the Old Religion. He had composed it to his one-time ally Morgana.

“My dear lady,

I ask first for your forgiveness for my trespasses against you. I was blinded by the joy I once felt in my friendship with Fira. I allowed it to cloud my judgement about Camelot. However Arthur Pendragon has shown me his true colors, and the knights also. I wish to help you once more.

Kara was executed today. I will take her place as your spy in Camelot. I do not expect you to take me back as your friend, but I will be an asset and an ally.

Yours,

Mordred.”

Mordred went to the window of his bedroom. He opened it. He whispered the spell Kara had taught him and within moments a large crow landed. He tied the message to the crow’s foot.

“Fléon.”

The crow flapped its wings and flew off into the night. Mordred closed his window and retreated to the bed. He looked to the sheets. On the comforter was a necklace. Kara’s necklace. He took it in his hands and held it to his chest. He began to cry.

-*-

It was past midnight when the caravan reached Morgana’s southern castle. Deep in the Perilous Lands, far from the Castle of the Fisher King, it stood tall and black against the already dark night sky. Fira fell to her knees in exhaustion as they transferred her to several soldiers inside the keep.

A soldier forced her to drink a concoction of strange elixirs. It smelled and tasted horrible, so bad she almost threw it up. But her energy was revitalized after a moment.

“You almost killed her, you idiots,” a man scolded the caravan leader. “It was capture, not kill!”

“She's still alive, ain't she?!”

The sorcerer who had caught her shook his head. “No thanks to you.”

“Oh and you helped?” The Saxon rolled his eyes. “You're a priest of the Lady. Surely you could've done more than simply capturing her.”

The world went black as the sorcerer touched her forehead and breathed a spell.

The room she woke in was dark, almost claustrophobic in how low the ceiling was. In the center were four chains connected to the dark slate floor. Fira was strapped down by the chains, the metal shackles digging into her skin and causing her to bleed.

Around the room sat thirteen priests of Morgana. The priests were clothed in browns and whites, sitting cross-legged with palms upturned in prayer. They remained perfectly still, unperturbed by the scene in the center.

She screamed and thrashed against the bonds. Fira had been restrained once before in her life, by bandits, and she would not lay down and accept her fate this time. Her magic was suppressed by the enchanted chains but she was not going to be easy prey.

“Where is Morgana!” She spat in anger. “Le Fay! Do you not have the guts to see me in person!”

The door opened and the one she had asked about came forward. She was clothed in blacks, and her hair was a mess but somehow it suited her. Fira watched her from where she was restrained on her back, fear mounting in her as the High Priestess smiled.

“You asked for me, Nyx?” Morgana knelt down. “This could go so much easier you know.”

Fira snarled and tried to break free again. “I won't join you, Morgana. Ever.”

“Oh but there's where you're wrong, Fira.” The older woman caressed her cheek gently. “You will. You will.” Morgana stood and walked backwards. Her eyes flashed gold.

Fira writhed in pain as a fire spread through her veins. She thrashed against the shackles viciously.

“You will crawl on your belly like a worm, Fira,” Morgana hissed venomously. “I will burn you to the ground.”

Fira screamed in agony again, her body shaking in pain, convulsing. She cried out for her friends.

“Your choice to oppose me has sealed your fate.” Morgana narrowed her eyes. “You will be mine soon enough.”