Chapter Text
And so it was. The Lord of Lothian, not lightly turned away, raised a second insurrection with twice as many troops, and the aid of the four Queens of Faerie. Between Arthur’s sword and Merlin’s magic, it too was put down. We sent monsters and powerful knights against Arthur himself; Vivienne’s sword never failed to protect him.
Melora even went so far as to bring Arthur a poisoned robe—poisoned as the robe Medea brought to the bride of Jason was poisoned in the ancient tales—but Merlin suggested she wear it first, and she was consumed by the flames of her own spells. It took weeks of our skillful healing to restore her to her health.
It was around that time that I learned what the other three Queens of Faerie had already seen—that Arthur’s child grew inside me. I bore that child, raised him, and loved him. He was my son, after all. For any who would blame me for what he did, I only offer the feeble excuse that I did my best, the best that any mother could. My son. Mordred.
But the years passed, as I said. The world was beginning to regain some semblance of normalcy. It seemed as if Arthur, not so young now, had always reigned from his castle at Caerleon, as if Merlin had always stood beside him there, as if the land had always had to pay the terrible burden it bore. Life went on.
END OF "THE ORPHANS"