Title: Lead Us Not Into Temptation
Pairing/s: Mordred/Galahad (OC)
Character/s: Mordred, Galahad, Arthur
Summary: Mordred has never been very good at resisting temptation
Warnings: 'Sinning'? But I think everything's covered by the rating
Word Count: 7 x 100
Author's Notes: So this week I decided I wanted to give myself a technical challenge, so I've done seven actual hundred word drabbles based on the seven deadly sins (because temptation. I wanted to do a Galahad/Mordred because the prompt fits them so well and they're so dark but I wanted it more Mordred-centric because Galahad's my OC and I don't actually know how interested people are in hearing about him, so if you like Galahad and want more Galahad, please do tell!). Prizes (internet hugs) for matching sin to drabble!
The first slip was easy. The knights had found him in the heart of the forest, alone and hungry. Arthur had been there, and had recognised him. Gathered him up into his arms, and told him not to fear. Because he was King now, and Mordred would not be persecuted for his magic. He would be fed, and he would be kept safe.
At the feast table, Mordred piled his plate high and devoured course after course. A few seats along, sitting between a strong, noble seeming man, and a kind looking woman, the other boy took small, careful bites.
“Why aren’t you training?” Galahad asked. He seemed unduly interested in Mordred, years after he’d discovered it was futile.
“I have magic,” Mordred explained, face turned away.
“You still need to train. As the future protectors of Camelot, we need to find a way to meld magic and sword-craft. King Arthur and Sorcerer Merlin are still working on their partnership.”
Mordred twisted to glare at his innocence, his naivety. Galahad gasped, for entirely the wrong reasons.
“I’ll partner with you?”
Mordred stared, Galahad beamed.
“Fine,” Mordred sighed, unwilling to put up with any more enthusiasm. A bad idea in hindsight.
Arthur couldn’t have an heir. His monthly visits to Guinevere were unproductive, and had tailed off eventually. So he adopted Mordred. The child without a family. Tying magic to the crown irrevocably.
After the ceremony, sixteen and resplendent in blue robes that brought out his eyes perfectly, darkened the almost black of his hair until it shone; in all, nothing short of regal, he watched the world out of stained glass windows.
And he couldn’t help but want.
There was Galahad, going from a stance correction with his father, to a hug with his mother. Mordred could never have that.
They were seventeen, and out on a ride together. It was mere days before Mordred’s official birthday, and the leaves stained the late summer light green. Galahad smiled, beautiful and golden-brown, and reached for Mordred. He felt a pang of something, before the shouts vaporised it.
Mordred pushed them back as much as he could, but Galahad was still left defending himself against three burly mercenaries. With those odds even his superior training and height on horseback were useless.
Something clenched in Mordred’s stomach at the sight, and he shouted. Loud and strong and furious, and the men fell, dead.
It was completely unplanned. But there Galahad was, beautiful and eighteen and finally knighted. The starlight shone in the glitter in his eyes, shadows forming as his face crinkled into a smile. Galahad’s muscles were strong under his moon-soaked tunic as Mordred took the tankard from his grasp and claimed those dusty pink lips.
He dragged Galahad inside, into the firelight. The candles danced over his hair when Mordred gripped it, needing more. He stripped Galahad of white and green, devouring him. Galahad reached up to kiss him again and again, clinging to him, promising things they could never have.
“No,” he told Galahad, firm, “You don’t see; you don’t have magic. But I have all this power just at my fingertips. Of course I’d be a better ruler than Arthur.”
Galahad sighed, pulling him to sit on the bed and holding him back. No kisses until conversation over.
“You must be able to imagine, after all, you’re incredible with the sword.”
Galahad shook his head, soft.
“No, Mordred. We’re both the same as anyone else.”
They were getting nowhere, so Mordred pushed Galahad to the bed, magically.
“I beg to differ.”
And Galahad let him, like he always did.
Named crown prince at last, Mordred watched as Arthur and the knights rode out to battle. Galahad turned as they reached the forest, and though he was too distant to see, Mordred imagined he smiled. He allowed himself a single moment of remorse for Galahad’s inevitable loss in the greater plan.
And then he took his adoptive father’s crown, his throne, and declared himself King. The power, the land, the revenue; his. Guinevere’s message would reach Arthur too late, and without Galahad there would be no one to find his conscience and stop him. But no one to love, either.