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It’s not that Mordred was afraid of herself, but-
Wait, no. That’s exactly what it was.
Even though she was reckless in battle, she was wry at the thought of death. If she died, she would go back to her past life. She would relive her mother’s abuse and the bloody rebellion. She didn’t want to go back.
This was her new chance. She was determined to get it right this time.
But why did everyone avoid her? She tried to make friends, but most of the other Servants didn’t seem to get along with her. Most of them were much older, and the younger ones were annoying. Jack the Ripper, that blue haired kid, Little Bow Peep (that wasn’t her name but Mordred didn’t bother to learn it); none of them would make a good companion.
This wasn’t the first time this had happened. It was the same at the Round Table. She never fit in with anyone. Maybe it was because she was too young or maybe they just didn’t like her at all.
She hoped it was never that reason. On the inside, she knew that it was true.
It was a normal outing. On the way to the fields, the Servants talked with one another. Mordred was left out of it, like usual. She tried not to care. They were probably talking about something stupid anyway.
Oh how she wished to have their attention, though. Maybe she could grab it while fighting!
The girl located a lone wyvern terrorizing some people and decided to try and be the hero she always wanted to be. Eagerly, she bounded over, her suit of armor rattling and getting the dragon’s attention. It swiveled its head to stare at the tiny Saber waving her sword around and babbling about wanting to fight.
Slightly annoyed, but hungry, the wyvern struck, its talons splayed open to snatch up the iron-clad Servant. It hissed when then blade struck in between its toes, creating a large slit in its feet. Whirling around, it retreated backwards for a moment, landing heavily in the dirt.
Under her helmet, Mordred had a proud gleam in her eyes. Yeah, she just almost cut off a wyvern’s toes single handedly! Man, she was awesome.
Caught up in her boasting, Mordred didn’t even see the large tail swinging at her. It caught her in the chest and knocked her roughly to the ground. The wyvern chortled when the Saber tumbled and then scrambled to get back up. Its foot was still bleeding, but the wound doesn’t seem to bother it.
Mordred grunted when a large foot stamped on her back, slamming her to the ground again. Her chest rattled painfully against her her armor, the edges of the iron poking at her skin. She squirmed desperately, but the hundred-fifty ton dragon was able to keep her down. Its claws curled into the crevices of her armor and then yanked to try and rip it off.
With a few successful pulls, the iron dislodged from Mordred’s body and the wyvern greedily scarfed it down. Did it taste good? Mordred never thought about her armor tasting good. And luckily she can always reform it.
Unluckily, she felt pretty useless without it.
The wyvern gave a snorting laugh and stomped back down on its prey’s spine, nearly snapping it in half. Its tail was lashing in victorious, smoke winding from its nostrils.
Mordred was shaking. She didn’t want to die like this. What if she could get the other’s attention? She tried to yell, but it was futile.
What if she died? What if this overgrown lizard managed to kill her? She would be a failure.
Heat bubbled in Mordred’s stomach. She felt this painless burning sensation ripple through her tendons, twisting around her muscles tightly. It felt like she just swallowed a vat of boiling lava; she was uncomfortably hot all over. Her throat felt warm, like she was about to cough up flames.
What was wrong with her? Did the wyvern do this?
Apparently it noticed, too, because the next time its foot connected with her back, it howled loudly and leapt backwards. When Mordred got up, she saw black smoke rising from its talons.
...What the hell?
The wyvern looked pissed. All it had eaten so far was some scraps of metal; it was tired of waiting for its meal to lay down and die. With a screech, it flew at the girl, teeth bared.
Scrambling for Clarent, Mordred swing her sword into the area where the wing met the dragon’s body. Blood spurted onto her face and she spat some of it out. She really had to keep her mouth closed when in close combat.
Twisting around swiftly, she jabbed Clarent up into the wyvern’s neck. It wasn’t deep enough to kill, but it had to be painful.
The scaly fiend roared and took off into the sky, blood dripping from its assent. It flapped its wings wildly before having to come down because of its injury. It crash landed into the dirt, sprawled out on its stomach. Its wound continued to bleed.
Mordred stalked over, smirking as the dragon attempted to get up, baring its teeth. She answered by promptly punching its snout.
Oddly, the dragon screeched in pain, reeling backwards in an attempt to get away. Its nose was marked with black. How did that happen?
Mordred blinked a few times and stepped towards the cowering wyvern. Spreading her fingers, she pressed her palm to its chest. She watched as the tan scales began to melt and disintegrate into a black mess.
It was...horrifying.
The wyvern screeched in agony, whacking Mordred away with a wing. That move only furthered its anguish, as a burn formed around its green scales. It tried to fly away, but the gashes and burns kept it grounded.
Mordred cupped either sides of its head with her hands, earning a roar in her face. She remembered about the new ability she had gained and ripped away as the wyvern shook its head wildly to try and soothe the burns with the chilling wind.
A pang of guilt struck Mordred’s heart. She opened her mouth to apologize, but the wyvern took off into the sky, forcing itself to fly away, even with the pain. She stared with wide eyes.
“Hey, why’d you let it get away?!”
A hand hit her shoulder, quickly accompanied by a loud hiss of pain.
“Ow!! What the fuck?!”
Achilles looked down at his charred palm in shock. He gave Mordred a disgusted look of hatred. He was now realizing he heat wavering off of her much-smaller body. It was like standing too close to a volcano.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” The Rider hissed, shaking his burned hand
What /was/ wrong with her?
———
For the next few weeks, Mordred was tentative about touching everything. To her relief, though, nothing was burned down to a crisp. Had it all been some kind of dream?
It couldn’t have been. People avoided her even more, now. Rat-snitch big-mouth Achilles went babbling to everyone about how he was burned by simply touching her shoulder. All the Servants stared at her like she was some kind of demon. Even the literal demon Servants!!
Some people were curious, though. They wanted to see if it was true or not. It was Diarmuid who stepped forward to take on the Saber.
“So, I’m sure you’ve heard all the rumors about yourself.” He said, twirling his spear.
“Of course.” Mordred said.
They stood in the training room of Chaldea. Mordred looked slightly nervous. What if it happened again? She had seen enough charred corpses in her time; she didn’t want to be blamed for even more murder.
The Lancer wasn’t going to back down, though. He struck first, swinging his spear at Mordred swiftly.
Heat bursted through the girl’s body and she whirled around to catch the oncoming lance. She moved her hands into a different position and dug her fingernails into his knuckles. She winced when his skin began to smoke.
“Shit-!!”
Diarmuid hissed in pain and ripped away, making Mordred’s nails grate down his fingers, creating black burn streaks. He actually looked quite scared for a moment before shaking his head.
“Is that all you got? Enemies we fight are better than that!”
The crowds that had gathered began to murmur.
Mordred swallowed thickly and slashed her nails across the bare skin on the Lancer’s arm. Black spread across his forearm and the stench of charred flesh filled the room. Diarmuid howled and grasped at the smoking wound.
“Achilles was right about you!”
Was it true? Was she some kind of monster?
No... No way.
———
Mordred awoke with a gasp. Her body was soaked in sweat. She was shaking horribly, even though she felt like she was being burned alive. Sitting up and trying to get rid of the nightmare’s bonds around her, she picked up on the stench of ozone in the room. Her heart dropped when she saw that her sheets and pillow were charred where she had been laying and there were burn marks on her blankets. She must have been clutching on pretty tightly.
The worst thing, though, was the smoldering black spot at the ceiling. That’s when Mordred took notice on the intense stinging in her throat.
Had she...breathed fire?
She tried to speak, but she couldn’t produce any words. Only a painful wheeze. She tilted her head down and coughed up some ash.
This was not good. That power activated in her sleep, too? At the rate of how many times she has nightmares, her whole room would be burned down within the week.
What was she going to do?
———
Arturia took notice on the smaller Saber’s trembling with ease. She saw her in the dining hall, sitting alone, like usual. This time, though, she was sitting far away from the others, picking up all of her utensils delicately.
She raised an eyebrow at the girl. Despite her hatred of the kid, she was curious.
Well, was hatred the right word? She didn’t hate Mordred. Not necessarily.
“Why are you picking your spoon up like it’s made of fire?”
Mordred jumped when Arturia approached, her sudden voice startling her.
She went to answer, but just ended up coughing when she tried to speak. She really had to get her throat checked out. What if she burned her vocal chords?
Arturia noticed how the kid’s face paled.
“Are you...alright?”
Mordred waved a hand while coughing into the other. Arturia quirked a brow at how she sputtered up some ash. Mordred swore she saw worry in her father’s eyes.
“Ah.” The elder Saber said. She tapped Mordred’s shoulder with two fingers and then motioned for her to get up. “Come with me.”
Mordred didn’t move.
“Up. /Now/.” Arturia repeated in her firm king voice.
That made the smaller Saber listen.
Ducking her head, Mordred shuffled behind Arturia as she was led to the library. Merlin was inside, his nose in a book. He perked up when the two entered, smiling at Arturia.
“Hello,” He said cheerfully. “Ah, you have this rascal with you.” He addressed Mordred rather...playfully. He didn’t spat her name or use some title like “monster” or “pest”.
“You’ve heard about her situation, yes?” Arturia tilted her head.
“Of course.” Merlin nodded. “It’s very interesting.” He paused. “Is this why you brought her to me?”
“Yes,” Arturia said. “She can’t even speak anymore. Literally. She might have hurt herself with this newly gained power.”
Was that...concern in Arturia’s voice that Mordred heard?
“Very good!” Merlin said excitedly. He pulled up a chair for Mordred to sit in and began inspecting her like she was a piece of art. His eyes were wide with admiration.
“This is a very interesting ability you’ve gained, young Mordred! Pyrokinesis has always been powerful, but the ability to burn everything you touch? Even stronger!”
“You forget that she can’t seem to control it,” Arturia pointed out.
“Yes, yes,” Merlin said. “That is a given. It must be tough.”
Mordred bobbed her head.
“Arturia, dear,” Merlin addressed the king, “Do you mind getting a glass of milk for me?”
Both Sabers gave him a strange look.
“You know how milk helps with burning when you eat something hot? Maybe it’ll soothe her charred esophagus. If it doesn’t, then we’ll try ice water.”
The words “charred esophagus” made Mordred flinch. It left a bad taste in her mouth. Literally. Like a burnt chicken.
Arturia nodded and hurried out.
With her gone, Merlin went on to do some kind of test. He muttered an incantation and then grabbed Mordred by the wrists, startling the girl. Her body heated up so much that her head spun. White smoke hissed around Merlin’s hand. He had to have casted a fire resistance spell on himself.
With a tight grip, he pulled Mordred’s hand to a book he was holding. Of course, the girl fought and made strangled noises of struggle. What was he doing? Why did he have to do it like this?
The cover of the book bubbled when her hand made contact and the pages disintegrated almost instantly into a pile of ash.
Mordred finally ripped away, giving Merlin a frightened and angry look.
“Amazing!” Merlin exclaimed. “I wonder what’ll happen in we pour water on you when you’re at your hottest.” He did look ready to dump a bucket of water on her, now.
Arturia walked back into the library with a glass of milk, her eyebrows raised.
“Will you not make her your latest test subject?” She said, handing the cup to Mordred.
“I’m not.” Merlin snapped. “I’m just observing!”
Mordred quietly listened to the two bicker while taking a sip of the milk. Her stinging throat felt a little soothed, but it still made her sputter and choke up ash into her hand. She grimaced, staring at her palm, which was caked in grey.
“Very interesting,” Merlin commented, staring in awe. “I’m sure you could spout fire with these signs. Have you tried before?”
“Leave her be.” Arturia said, sitting down beside Mordred. “Don’t you think she has enough of her plate? Your experiments don’t need to be piled up on top, too.”
Mordred blinked a few times. Why was Arturia being so nice to her?
A hand rested on her shoulder and she flinched backwards violently, toppling out of her chair. Her drink spilled out onto her as she scuttled away a few feet, breathing out thick clouds of smoke. She coughed once, twice, then winced. Concerned eyes bore into her.
“Ah,” Merlin said slowly. “She must think that she’ll hurt you.” He said to Arturia before looking at Mordred. “That won’t happen if you learn some control. If you don’t, you’ll surely burn into everything you touch.”
Mordred’s face paled.
“You’re not helping,” Arturia snapped. She stepped towards Mordred, who sidled away, now pressed against a bookshelf, which sizzled when she touched it. The floor under her was scorched.
“Hey,”
The voice was so gentle and soothing. Mordred’s head immediately swiveled around to find the source.
“You’re okay. You’re okay.”
She had never heard Arturia talk like that before.
The king extended a hand to Mordred, cooing to her softly. Her eyes were welcoming as she crouched down, waiting, coaxing.
Mordred gingerly moves forward on her knees, taking Arturia’s hand in her own. She immediately winced, but was surprised to see no smoke or smell no burning flesh. Her wide eyes met Arturia’s, which were gleaming.
“There you go,” The elder Saber said, the praise so velvety in Mordred’s ears. “See. You’re okay.”
Mordred got closer until she was fully engulfed in Arturia’s arms. Her eyes were bulging as she clung to the sleeves of the king’s dress, pressing close against her chest. She nuzzled more securely into Arturia, afraid everything might disappear at any moment; afraid that one wrong move would turn her father into a singed skeleton.
Arturia stroked Mordred’s hair with a gentle hand. The child was shaking so badly in her arms, whimpering ever so often. Her body was terribly hot.
Mordred’s head tilted upwards to stare into her eyes, so full of fear and confusion.
“You’ll be okay,” Arturia murmured. “We’ll help you. You’ll learn control.”
Mordred nodded, then nestled close again. Arturia didn’t even mind. She didn’t have a real reason for being so kind, but, surprisingly, holding the tiny Saber was nice.