Someone knocked tentatively on the outer door and Mordred glanced up from his work.
"Enter!" he called, his quill hovering over the parchment in front of him. The hinges creaked as the guard, a sergeant, edged his way inside. Mordred surveyed him intently. He was anxious, beads of sweat gathered on his furrowed brow and, judging by the way his eyes widened when he found Mordred alone, he wasn't the person he'd been looking for. Mordred smiled and set down his pen.
"The King has gone riding with the Prince," he explained, "they left me to hold the fort." The sergeant didn't relax, but he didn't seem particularly disappointed either. His face lacked colour, and his lips were pale. This was a man who was worried he was going to get into some kind of trouble.
"Come," Mordred said, gesturing at the seat in front of him, "what's troubling you?" The sergeant declined the chair.

"I don't know if you're aware m'lord..." the guard began, gripping the back of the chair instead, "but we arrested an intruder earlier today." Mordred nodded. He was aware of everything, one way or another.
"Go on," he said encouragingly, sitting back in his chair, one long leg crossed over the other. The guard gulped.
"Well, we couldn't find anything on him. Things are missing from the rooms he was caught near, but he doesn't seem to have them." Curious. Mordred lifted a single eyebrow.
"An accomplice perhaps?" he suggested, "or he's stashed them somewhere hoping he can collect them later?" The sergeant seemed to consider this.
"Perhaps, m'lord." He fidgeted. Mordred frowned.
"Spit it out, man," he laughed, covering his irritation with a charming laugh, "what else is troubling you?" The sergeant sighed.
"He's proving to be a rather...difficult prisoner."
"Oh good," Mordred smirked, "my favourite kind." The sergeant hesitated, trying to work out whether Mordred was joking. He decided to press on regardless.
"He claims to be Mallos' son." Dred sat up and leaned forwards, his eyes gleaming.
"Oh really?"

---

"Wait here," Mordred ordered the sergeant and private who had accompanied him down the narrow corridor to the cells.
"You don't want one of us to come in with you, m'lord?" the sergeant asked dutifully. Mordred raised his hand and seemed to study it. Fire crackled and rolled over his palm like rippling water. His smile broadened.
"I'll be fine. You can wait out here." They conceded, a little too readily and took their positions either side of the door. Mordred rolled his eyes, as he turned the key and the lock popped open.

He stepped into the shadow and torchlight and paused paces away from the bars. He studied the cell's lounging occupant with a practiced eye, noting with some amusement an all too familiar smile.
"I understand you wish to launch a complaint against your present accommodation," Mordred said smoothly. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"I am Lord Mordred," he explained, testing the waters, "and I'm afraid at a time when even our father's latest friend is imprisoned upstairs, being the son of Mallos might not be quite as beneficial as you may have hoped."


Mordred
_{the darkness will rise from the deep}