If you grew up the way I did, maybe you would be just like me. My father tried to kill me, and my mother didn’t love me. I meant nothing to her except a source of power. And not to do good. No, no, Morgan only wanted evil. So, evil I became.



If you’re surrounded by rain, how are you to see the sun?
If you’re surrounded by darkness, how can you feel the light?
If you’ve been thrown off the right path, how can you find it again?
If you’re smothered by hate, how can you ever be expected to love?

For I am Mordred. And this is my story.


The sole reason I exist is because my mother had a five thousand year plan. Yes, my mother was- is -the immortal Morgan le Fay. My father was King Arthur the Pendragon himself. I was nothing like him. My mother made sure of that. Yet, deep inside, I wished with all my black heart I never became what she wanted me to. I hated her.


But, that hatred soon turned to fear. Morgan was not a woman to reckon with. Rebelling against her word was like staring death in the face and asking it to take you. My father was no better. At first, he made his attempts to kill me, but my mother kept me safe. Not out of love, of course. Out of greed. Greed for power. She was a truly horrid woman. And I couldn’t escape her. Nor could I escape the veil of darkness she held over my life, blinding me and forcing me to be someone else.



And that someone else is who you all know me as now. The Shadow on all that shone.

I didn’t ask to be this way.
She made me this way.


If anyone had ever offered to save me, I think I would have said yes. I really do. Alas- no one did. So I grew. But not in a good way. My dark power soon became unstoppable, and there was no Blaise to save me, unlike that cursed Merlin. He didn’t deserve to be saved anymore than I did. I’m not sure if it would have worked anyway. No one could keep me under control. Yet- there was one person who might of stopped me, but his name is better left unsaid. Indeed- he could have stopped me. What a shame I killed him, too.



Love can move mountains.

So why didn’t Arthur’s love move my heart?



I was meant to hate him, but I couldn’t help admiring him. He was all that was good, kind, and fair. He was a True King, while I was the bad seed. And his people believed that more than anything else. They saw his utter happiness at ruling this land. But, there was something he hid, something no one else saw. No one else expect me. He hid sorrow, pain, and tears behind that brilliant smile of his. No doubt about it. Behind that smile, he was hurting more that anyone should. And I understood that. What tore him inside, I didn’t know. I still don’t know. All I knew was that he hurt. Just like me. Maybe, if things had gone differently, we could of come to an understanding. Maybe. Just maybe. In a twisted way, we were very much alike. Now, I can name about ten people off the top of my head that would deny that- but Arthur wouldn’t.


Even though he refused to call me son, refused to acknowledge me than anything more than a knight, he knew me. Knew my soul, or whatever was left of it. He was fully aware that he broke my heart, too. He knew that it was not my fault Camelot would burn to the ground, ceasing to exist, and that he would die. No, Arthur knew whose fault it was- it was his own. Perhaps it was the fact that he would acknowledge that, no matter how quietly, that made me secretly adore him. Well, not only that, but, he was my father, and I loved him. And, even though he tried to kill me, I knew he loved me, too. It was only under Merlin’s influence that he issued that horrid decree. I wanted nothing more but for him to embrace me as a son. But, that never happened.



I remember the end clearly. I thundered across the fields, mounted on my great black charger. All who stood before me I swept aside with a flick of my sword. In the end, it came down to only four alive: King Arthur, two of his knights, and myself. Even when I came up the hill to approach him, holding my torn black banner high, I could of sworn he was proud of me. I knew I had fought mightily; any father would have been proud. Too bad I wasn’t fighting on his side. And, that look of regret when he shoved the lance into my chest- I saw it. He loved me. He loved me.

But it was too late.


I destroyed Arthur, Camelot, the Olde Ways, and all hope. The world became a realm of mortals who knew no magic. The same world that you know as home now. Now, that, I regret with all of my dark heart and even darker soul. Alas, what is the point of changing a world from something so perfectly fit for you to a world you don’t understand? It benefited the haughty Morgan. She could hide as a mortal where I could not. She tricked me, betrayed me. My own mother.

I have no desire to live, only a desire, a thirst, for Revenge. And Revenge is something served better cold. For, it is somewhere in the cold and the dark, where torture, death, hatred, and evil thrive. That somewhere in the cold, in the dark, is the best place for me, Mordred the Traitor.


For if the light and the warmth does not accept you, where are you to go? If you can never go back to the loving arms of someone who cares because of what you, yourself, did, where are to go? When will this end? I tried to kill the pain, but only received more.



Yet, I have been plagued, not blessed, with the horrid curse of immortality. I am forced to live in a world in which I don’t belong, let alone understand. The only one I have left is Morgan. And that is no comfort. That is a dread, a terrifying thought to awake to every morning and have echo through your head every waking moment. Morgan used me and destroyed me. I thought at first she was working for my better interests- but that was just another one of my stupid mistakes. She never loved me. Ever. Arthur loved me more than she did. And now, I am stuck with her in this horrid world. Because of the curse she inflicted on me when she found me on the battlefield- the curse of immortality -I can not even take my own life. I am forlorn and miserable, wandering forever as a lost soul who has lost his home long ago. A lost soul who has lost his home and heart long ago. I trapped my heart in my home, the only place I ever belonged, and then burned it to the ground. What was a I thinking? I can not even comprehend my own thoughts any longer. I am going mad.



Every day, right before I awake, I go through a twisted fantasy that it is all over. My life is gone, and I am home. I don’t know if I deserve eternal peace after what I’ve done, but I would do anything to achieve it. The moment I realized it was all over, the moment I awaited for so long, the moment when I was meant to be celebrating, I realized I was the one who lost. Arthur will be the one fondly remembered. Morgan was right those so many years ago. By trying to escape my fate, I only aided it. If only I could of controlled that stubborn, childish hatred that grew like a bitter seed in my heart. Viviane, the Lady of the Lake, also had great knowledge I failed to take seriously. I could have escaped my terrible fate by love. By Arthur’s love. But I lost that- and his trust -so many years ago. And now, my sanity.



Someone must save me. Yet, that is a foolish idea. No one that is in the world would even consider it. I was hated during my lifetime, so why should anyone care about me now? I meant nothing to most, and perhaps only something to a few. And, even the ones I meant something to- they are long gone. Some of my own fault.

Once you kill the last person that could have cared about you, could have saved you, what do you do? How can you live with yourself? I can’t.

I killed my own father. My father.

Thus, my heart is black.


I have no love left. I want to die. Yet, I am immortal. I will never be free of this life, or the worst part of it; my darkest nightmare, the cruelest person I have ever met in my dark life:

Myself.

Mordred the Blackheart.