Broken glass inside my head (Aiden) **TRIGGER WARNING**

[Mordred Le Fey]

Walking through his front door, legs moving automatically but still with that feeling of wading through mud, Mordred looked around the living room in a daze. It was the same room he had left this morning, the same room he had gotten drunk in last night, the same room he had chatted to his sister in yesterday - the same room he had kissed Meredith in. But it looked so alien, so unfamiliar and unreal. He stood in the centre of the room, staring at nothing, blood dried in streaks down his cheek, mixed with tracks of the tears that had fallen only moments before.

There were no tears now. His eyes were dry, unfocused and dazed. He was numb, in shock. He could barely process the events of the last hour - was that all it had been? It felt as if an entire lifetime had passed, as if the person who had left the house this morning had died on that field.

He should go back, he should help. Or go to the hospital, try to explain, to apologise. He needed to talk to Meredith, to Tristian...

He sank to the floor as he heard Tristian’s words echo in his head - you have done enough to my family...

It was over. His temper, that fire he had inherited from his mother that he had never been able to control, that took hold and banished all sense, all reason, his father had always told him that temper would be his downfall and here it was. The end.

Suddenly stirred to action, Mordred looked up. “I have to go back - I have to explain - “

[Aiden Mumble]

Aiden said nothing the whole way home. She marched, one foot in front of the other, alternating between a seething rage and extreme empathy. She only stopped to throw up once, which was truly a miracle given the combination of what had just happened and her massive hangover. Still, the wasn't about her. She din't want to make this about her. Sure she was shook up by the events, but Lorelei was not her family and Mordred was her housemate that she'd known about a week. Yet, she couldn't deny that they had gone from casual acquaintances to spanning the distance between lover and friend in this very short time. They saw themselves in each other and that can bring people closer than any amount of time.

Still, there was a vicious, selfish part of her thought that she'd never have had to deal with any of this if Mordred and her had never met. She would be in her dorm, her biggest complication deciding which route to take her to class which avoided the most people. Now she was neck deep in someone else's drama. Who was she kidding. She'd kissed him. She cared about him in some shape or form. This was her drama now too. She had to do her part to clean it up and it started with the clicking of a lock.

Just as they crossed the threshold and Mordred finished speaking, Aiden locked the door behind her. Little good it would do if he really wanted to leave, but it was more of a statement than anything. She turned to look at him. You can't go back. she thought, staring at him with a hard an defiant expression. Still, there was a sympathy hidden in there too. I know you want to, but you can't go back. She wanted to speak, but she was having a hard time opening her mouth. She'd put up the walls. She didn't want to deal with this.

"They need some time." she said finally, not moving from in front of the door. Her voice sounded strange. Softer than the chaos going on in her head. "Mordred..." she ventured, but it was too much. Her heart hurt for so many reasons and her defenses kept rushing forward to shut it down. All she could managed was a look of mingled concern and anger.

[Mordred Le Fey]

He hadn’t seen her lock the door, and at her words he shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, moving to where she stood in front of the door.

“No, I have to go, you don’t understand.” He was frantic, running his hands through his hair, his eyes darting around, unable to focus on any single thing. This was stupid, why was he here? He should still be there, he should be explaining himself to Tristian, telling him what had happened, why he was there - he hadn’t seen the letter, he hadn’t been there at the start, he couldn’t expect him to understand.

And Meredith, she needed to know that this wasn’t his fault, that it was an accident, that he never truly meant to hurt the girl...

The girl. Mordred could have killed her, and he knew he could never forgive himself for that. What if that had been his sister, or Meredith, and some rage-fueled maniac had hurt them? Mordred felt shame swell in his chest and his eyes filled with tears once more. He thrust Aiden out of the way and tried to pull the door open, exclaiming in pain and anger when he found the door was locked.

Turning around, he leant back on the door and slid slowly to the floor, his head in his hands. “I never meant for any of this.” His voice was quiet, filled with pain and shaking with emotion.

[Aiden Mumble]

Aiden was at a loss. She felt like throwing up again as Mordred became more frantic. She thought about yelling, about smacking him across the face, anything to make him come to his senses. However, the pure agony she saw before her quelled her rage. She didn't want to yell at him. She didn't want to hurt him. He was torturing himself enough. How could she have thought so bitterly about him just moments before? How could she have thought anyone deserved to feel like this? Perhaps she had thought for a moment that he had destroyed someone else, but not himself. Watching him, delirious with regret, she knew she'd been wrong. He might as well have stabbed himself with that sword.

She didn't move, still trying to process what she was supposed to do, where she stood on the matter. Who was she to boss him around? Just because she felt they were close, didn't mean he did. So she watched him, watching for any attempt he might make for the door. "You can't go back." She said sternly, standing her ground, though her constitution was failing. He was twice her size and had actual useful powers, both physical and magical. She was a dancer, and singer, and accidentally turn into a mermaid sometimes. All she could do was hope he decided to stay or the locked door was enough to deter him.

She held her breath when he moved to shove her, but didn't put up much of a fight. She braced herself against the wall to keep from slamming into it. Still, she didn't get mad. Still she felt sympathetic toward his heart. She could take a push or two. He could not. There was no point in fighting back. All she could do was wait for the break. Wait for a few of his senses to settle back in. She'd found herself in such a hysterical episode several times before, but they all seemed stupid in comparison. still, she recalled how there was no stopping her until she had to reflect for a moment, before she had to slow down and think. Before she had nowhere left to run. That's why she was hoping he wouldn't go back through the door. Who knows when he'd stop running.

Thankfully, the lock worked. The break occurred. She watched him slide down the door, stricken with grief. Aiden let out a long sigh and slide down the wall she'd been pushed against. She looked at him with all the careful tenderness she could muster. "I know." she said, and she meant it. he looked like a wounded animal and Aiden had receded into a state she had only known when caring for her delusional and sometimes dangerous parents. She loved them, but they were not very good at their job. They never meant to make the mistakes that they did, so she believed him.

"I'll help you fix it Mordred," She said, uncharacteristically gentle. He may not want it, but she was planning on helping anyhow. "But, right now, they need time and you need to stay here." She felt the urge to mother him, to clean up his face. God knows they'd broken the physical boundary between them, but she figured Mordred may not want to be touched at the moment. Aiden had a thing with touch when she was upset. She loathed it.

[Mordred Le Fey]

She was being kind to him - why was she being kind? He knew he didn’t deserve anyone’s kindness, he didn’t deserve anyone to treat him this gently, to show him any compassion at all. He deserved nothing but unbridled rage and contempt, the kind he had shown to Lorelei. He deserved to be derided, treated like the dirt and scum he truly was. He knew this now, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he was bad to the core and he didn’t deserve love or care or kindness. Aiden should have been yelling at him, hitting him, threatening him - or just leaving him to his own loathing and contempt. There would have been no worse punishment that to just leave him to his own darkness.

That darkness was threatening to engulf him. He was teetering on the edge of a crevice, the darkness reaching out to him, calling to him, trying to pull him under. And he wanted it. He wanted to embrace it, to let it take hold, to punish him.

As Aiden spoke, he let his head fall back against the door with a dull thump. He knew she was right, the tiny, barely audible voice of sensibility in the back of his mind agreed with her; if he went to them now he could only make things worse. But he couldn’t just sit here, waiting for - what? Waiting for them to come to him, asking for an explanation? That wouldn’t happen, they would never come near him again and he knew that. And when word reached Camelot? Mordred may as well have turned his sword on himself in that field. Without warning he brought his head forward and quickly slammed it back into the door, making the door jump on its hinges and feeling and shot of pain through his skull. The pain was welcome, it was wanted - anything was better than this shocked numbness.

He stood up and paced the living room, not speaking, running his hands though his hair and pulling at strands. Stopping suddenly he slammed his fist hard into the wall, leaving a large dent as he moved away again and resumed his pacing. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how to deal with the emotions that were firing in his brain and his chest, he didn’t know how to deal with the darkness. He turned and picked up a glass from the coffee table, hurling it at the wall with a roar. He spun on the spot, looking for something else to throw, when he saw the bottle of scotch left on the table the previous night. He grabbed it quickly, pulling the top off and drinking directly from the bottle, huge gulps that made his eyes sting.

[Aiden Mumble]

She was eyeing him, watching him for his next reaction. Aiden watched. She always had since she was a little girl. She watched and noticed and she learned. She was a wiz at reading people had had an over developed sense of empathy, but she'd often used it for evil. She used to for manipulation and insults, and took pride in it. However, today she used it to try and work a conversation to help Mordred. She thought of it like a dance, taking careful steps here of there to try and contain the situation. If she moved this way, he might take a step away, but if she chose another direction he might be forced closer. She just had to take the right steps, but discovering them would not be an easy task.

He didn't respond to her words at first, but he didn't get up and try to leave either. Suddenly he slammed his head against the door. Here we go. She thought, watching him stand and head into the living room. She didn't move when he punched the wall. She didn't react when he threw the glass. However, she sigh and stood up when he grabbed the scotch and started to drink. 'Don't let him drink" she heard Tristian say. Just how well did Tristian know him exactly? He certainly didn't know her or else he would have known what a crazy thing he was asking. Still, she knew he should get wasted like this, it would only heighten his grief instead of calming it. This wasn't going to be pretty.

"Are you planning on sharing?" she quipped, as if everything was just fine and he hadn't just gone on an insane rampage. If she could just get the bottle from him...

He needed a different distraction, but what? Aiden didn't know what Mordred liked to do outside of sex, drugs, and stabbing people. All of those would certainly make matters worse. Maybe if she just said something crazy she'd at least get him to stop thinking about what had just happened. She loathed to bring it up, but it might at least shake him up enough to think of something other than the duel. To be honest, Aiden didn't consider it a big deal, but then, her drama was far away fighting monsters. He had someone real and nearby whom could be affected by his actions. Maybe this was a terrible idea, but it was the only one she had.

"How much do you remember about last night?" She tried, keeping a casual tone. She held out her hand for the bottle, hoping she'd guilted him into at least allowing her a sip.

**This is a trigger warning for beyond this point for attempted suicide**

[Mordred Le Fey]

He ignored her when she asked if he was going to share, pacing again and taking regular drinks. Half the bottle had disappeared down his throat in a few short minutes, and he could feel his head beginning to spin - he’d eaten nothing all day, he was exhausted from the combination of the fight and the emotional turmoil he was experiencing, and the scotch was strong. It wouldn’t take long for him to be steaming drunk, which he felt as a blessing.

He turned and stared as Aiden spoke again. Her timing was shocking - how could she possibly think that this moment, with everything that had just happened and everything they were dealing with, was the right time to ask if he remembered their drunken kiss, the other recent mistake he had to add to his constantly growing list. He felt his rage swell again, and he turned and threw the bottle of scotch at the wall, satisfied in the loud smash and the brown liquid spreading over the wall.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He yelled, pushing past her and going upstairs to his bedroom. He didn’t care if she followed him, he wasn’t going to answer, he wasn’t going to talk about this now. He had bigger problems, he had other things to deal with. He needed to forget last night, it never happened, it was another thing no one could ever find out about.

It was something else that confirmed what a bastard he was.

In his room he began to pull open drawers, rummaging through them, until he found what he was looking for and pulled out a pill bottle. Opening it, he tipped it into his mouth, swallowing the pills that fell onto his tongue, not caring how many he took. He’d wanted to feel, but he had been wrong. Feeling hurt too much. He didn’t want to feel anything anymore. And they’d all be better off without him anyway.

[Aiden Mumble]

She'd taken a wrong step. Only a few minutes into the dance and she'd already failed. She knew it was a risk, if his rage was too much he'd take this guilt and add it to the pile instead of it dawning on him. She'd hope to put him back in the place he'd found sliding down the door. She needed that quiet, consuming guilt. She could work with that. What she couldn't work with was his rage. She couldn't physically compete with him nor would anyone win in a shouting match. She'd hoped she could get the bottle and dump it down the drain. There wasn't much other liquor in the house, just some she knew she had hidden in her room. The drugs were another matter she'd figure she could get to eventually. However, her distraction didn't work, in fact it made the matter much worse.

She felt herself prickle, her anger rising instinctively to meet his. He threw the scotch against the wall and she felt a brief moment of relief. Well at least that's one substance gone, she thought. She hadn't succeeded in taking it from him, but she at least gotten rid of it in another fashion. Still, he'd chugged quite a bit. She tried to stay calm. She didn't know what to say, she wasn't really upset about the kiss so she didn't want to retaliate. She didn't have time to think of anything anyhow, because he pushed past her and made for the stairs. There was a millisecond where she thought good, maybe he'll go to bed, but he didn't have that sort of worn out look yet. No there was something wild and dangerous in his eyes. That fear she had had the night before that he might hurt himself came rushing back ten fold.

"Mordred..." she said, utter panic coursing through her voice. She moved instinctively, racing to catch up with him. She felt cold and had to swallow hard to find her voice again. "Mordred, DON'T!" she called desperately, she stumbled on a few steps, but circled the corner into his room just in time to shout as the pills tumbled into his mouth. "DON'T!" but she knew she was already too late.

Without warning rage bubbled up inside of her and she screamed. "YOU STUPID MOTHER FUCKER!" With an almighty wrath, she crossed the room and knocked the bottle out of his hand, whatever was left inside scattering around the room. She wanted to punch him, too keep punching him til he got some sense into his head. How could he think this was what was best?! This could not be his final self destructive act. If someone like him couldn't make it in this world, what chance did she have? She grabbed him by the shirt, tears pouring down despite her anger. She wanted to tell him this was the worst possible thing he had done so far, but instead she pushed him away with another cry of fury. She raced back down stairs, barley knowing what she was doing. She grabbed a large mug from the kitchen and turned on the hot water in the sink. She searched for the salt, feeling lightheaded and stupid. Where did they keep it? She cursed loudly till she found it and fumbled to pour some in the mug. She held the mug under the warm water and was back upstairs in a flash. She brought the bag of salt with her without thinking.

"Drink this or so help me I will shove my hand down your throat and make you throw up myself." she said, her voice trembling as she shoved the mug in his face. The bathroom was right around the corner, that was their next destination.

[Mordred Le Fey]

He had swallowed twice before she reached him.

He didn’t care anymore, he didn’t want to feel, to have this guilt, this agony coursing through him. He wanted it to end, and he couldn’t see any other way.

He watched the bottle as it flew across the room as if in a daydream, the pills falling in slow motion like snowflakes. It didn’t matter. The damage was done. He let his hands fall to his side as Aiden grabbed his shirt and he said nothing, looking at her with a blank expression, his eyes showing no emotion. This was best, didn’t she see that? This way he could stop hurting people. He could stop causing so much pain, so much destruction. It was no loss. Tristian wouldn’t have to keep saving him, keep looking after him and hurting when Mordred screwed up again and again and again. His sister wouldn’t have to feel shame anymore, wouldn’t be hurt by Mordred’s actions towards her friends and loved one. Wouldn’t have to keep making excuses for him.

And Meredith. Meredith could love someone worthy of her. She could be happy.

He stumbled as Aiden pushed him backwards, falling to the floor and landing on his back, staring emptily at the ceiling. His breathing had slowed, his rage had gone, and he knew this was the right thing to do. Everything would be ok now.

But then she was back. Mordred heard her voice as if she was shouting to him from miles away, his hearing muffled and slow. There was fear there, there was panic and pain. But why? He didn’t understand, and he slowly turned his head to look at her, forcing his eyes to focus on her face. She cared about what happened to him, but he couldn’t understand why. He had just brought pain and trauma into her life, why would she care if he lived or died?

He saw the mug in her hand, but couldn’t register what she was saying. He didn’t need to drink, he wouldn’t need anything soon. But still, she was offering him this last earthly comfort. With great effort, he pulled himself up, accepting the mug and drinking the warm, salty water.

He turned his head and threw up in his waste paper bin almost immediately.

[Aiden Mumble]

She watched eagerly, like a child, as he gulped down the salt water. She was holding her breath, her eyes wide with anticipation. She hoped she'd used enough salt and that she'd not used too much salt. Was the water warm enough? Had he drank enough. Her rage had melted away to be replaced by a desperate, clinging hope. Her heart raced in her chest, despite feeling like it was stuck in her throat. She couldn't lose Mordred. She barely knew him and yet she knew too much. She saw a reflection in him and she didn't like it at the moment. She saw herself being shaken by someone, her wrists red. She'd never favored pills. She saw her past laying before her, just a few steps behind Mordred. He couldn't die. it may be pathetic, but he was the only friend she had.

Then he leaned over and vomited. If she hadn't already been kneeling to reach him, she would have fallen. She sunk forward beside him, resting her head on the ground between her elbows. She let out a strained whimper in relief and then a gargled sob. "Jesus Christ, Mordred..." she whispered. It took all her effort to sit back up, to check on him. She'd have to get water in him after all that salt, but right now she could barely breathe, let alone stand. She was shaking from head to toe.

"You can't go." She said, quietly, her face pale. "You're all I've got"

[Mordred Le Fey]

Mordred’s stomach heaved again and again as everything inside him was forced up and out into the bin.

This was wrong, this wasn’t what he’d wanted - he’d wanted to go, he needed it all to be over. He needed to end it, to free everyone who was tangled in his web of pain and torture. But that wasn’t going to happen today, and as he slowly began to come back to himself, a tiny, miniscule part of him was relieved, and grateful.

Eventually the heaving stopped, and he slowly sat back, leaning against the bed frame, and wiped his mouth. He was so deperately unhappy, and as he watched Aiden crying on the floor beside him, he realised he had felt this way for a long, long time. There had been a shadow over him for as long as he could remember, a shadow that he worked so hard to hide with his charm, his flair, he exuberance and his drinking. And today that shadow has taken over.

There was so much he wanted to say to Aiden in that moment, but he couldn’t speak. Instead he pulled himself to his feet, and moved a few inches to crawl onto the bed. Curling up, he let the emotion take hold and he began to cry, sobs racking his entire body as he lay in the foetal position on top of the bedcovers.

“I’m... sorry...”

[Aiden Mumble]

She watched him heaving, grateful that the poison was leaving his body, but struggling to keep herself from throwing up as well. She was hunched over now, her hands lying palm up on the floor. She focused on remembering how to breath. It was going to be ok. She'd reached him in time. He was getting it all out of his system. It was going to be ok. She kept repeating in her head, a numb buzzing filling the gaps between the words. Finally, he seemed to stop.

He rose to his feet and Aiden followed instinctively. She used the side of the bed to hoist herself up as quickly as possible, her eyes searching him, worrying what action he might take next. Her eyes darted about, looking from his hands to his eyes to anywhere he might be hiding some new threat to his life. Her heart picked up again, but it was all for nothing. He simply crawled into bed and began to cry. His words the sweetest she could have hoped to here. He was remorseful. Whether it was for the attempt, everything else, or all of it combined, it was a wonderful sound. Whatever the case, they appeared to be out of the woods for now.

Aiden leaned down and grabbed the mug and the bag of salt. She turned slowly and took a few wobbly steps toward the bathroom, before she had to catch herself on the door frame leading into his room. She took a deep breath and demanded better of herself. She made it to the bathroom and put the salt in the cabinet under the sink just in case she needed it again. It would be a long time before she trusted him to not do this again. She rinsed out the mug with trembling hands and re filled it with cold water. He was dehydrated now, he needed water. She dared to glance at herself in the mirror. Her face was streaked with two day old make up and tears. She looked sick. She was sick.

She leaned over to the toilet and heaved up a load of old liquor and coffee. It took a minute for her to convince her body that there was nothing left to regurgitate, but, eventually, she stood back up and wiped her face clean. She felt a little better. She washed her hands and retrieved the full mug.

Reentering the room she took a seat on the bed beside him, crawling up so she could face him. "Drink this." she said, her voice was hoarse, but gentle. "Please," she added for good measure.

[Mordred Le Fey]

As he lay on the bed, curled up and feeling shooting pains through his stomach, he felt the weight of everything that had happened in the last few days come crashing down on him. Sleeping with the girl of his dreams then turning on her, fighting with Tristian, fighting with Meredith, drinking with Aiden, the drugs, the kiss, the duel. He had used the alcohol and the drugs to block it all, to avoid dealing with it in any way, to numb the emotions and hurt. But here, now, as he lay there knowing the girl throwing up in the next room had just saved his life, he felt it all. And it was overwhelming.

He didn’t know where to start trying to process any of it. He knew that he had to start taking responsibility, that he had to start owning his mistakes and working to fix them. But there were so many, and anyone who may have wanted to help him and stand by him had been pushed away, leaving him standing alone. But not entirely alone. Aiden reappeared, climbing onto the bed beside him and begging him to drink the water she offered him. He lay still, sobs subsided but tears still silently falling, and he allowed himself to look at her. To see her properly,

There was so much he recognised, so much he had been trying not to see in himself. They were alone together.

What was it she had said? You’re all I’ve got. Well he certainly wouldn’t be fighting off friends now, and if she wanted to stay by his side - he may not be able to understand why, but he was more grateful than words could express. He knew he could never truly change - people don’t really change - but he knew that he had to try and smother some of the more destructive aspects of himself.

But not yet. He couldn’t face that yet. He couldn’t face the world or himself yet.

Reaching out, he took the mug Aiden offered him, and propped himself up on his elbow, drinking deeply and thirstly until it was empty. He passed it back to her and lay back down, wincing as his injured cheek touched the pillow. Pain was good. He deserved it.

“I’m sorry.” He said again, barely above a whisper. There was so much more he needed to say, but he couldn’t find the words to begin,

[Aiden Mumble]

He took the mug, which she was extremely grateful for. She didn't know what she would have done if he'd refused, every last ounce of her energy was sapped from the days horrific events. Her eyes stung severely and her throat felt like she'd been swallowing nails. Breathing felt like a grand effort, but somehow her chest continued to rise and fall without much thought. Her nerves were shot. The trembling had lessened since she'd taken a seat, but not ceased entirely. She felt like someone was squeezing her heart. She wanted to cry, but, in true Aiden fashion, shoved the thought away for now. She wanted to seem ok. She didn't want to pile anymore guilt on Mordred than she already had. She couldn't take it if he lost it again.

He apologized again as she retrieved the cup. She used the pause she created by moving to set the mug beside the bed to process this. She wanted to say it wasn't ok. A part of her want to shake him and make him promise to never do something like this again. She wanted to say it was selfish because he had a lot of people that would hurt for the rest of their lives if he had been successful. Yet, these were all things she had told herself and she knew he either already was thinking them or would learn them soon enough.

She turned back to him and moved a little closer. She placed a shaky hand on his head to try and emphasis the empathy in her words. "It's ok." She said quietly, genuinely. Because, even though there was a part of her still angry, it was ok. It was ok that he was feeling this way, because he could get better. "You'll be ok." It was ok because she knew what it felt like. It was ok because she was here to stop it.

She leaned back against the bed frame and looked down at him, eyes red, but gaze soft. She brushed some of his hair back with the hand she had placed there, then returned it to her lap. She didn't know what else to say, she didn't need to ask him why he had done this. Perhaps the best thing she could do now was stay close and stay quiet. He could use some rest, but she wasn't ready to leave him alone. There was a cut on his cheek that she wanted to fix up, but her legs felt just about as useless as they did when she had a tail.

[Mordred Le Fey]

Exhaustion was beginning to take hold - it was still early in the afternoon but Mordred felt as it he had been awake for days. He was physically exhausted from the fight, but the emotional exhaustion was so much worse. He felt as if he had been on emotional overdrive, the jumps from rage, to despair, to fear, to sheer depression had taken everything out of him. And so he lay on the bed, allowing his eyes to close, Aiden’s closeness and presence providing him with a comfort and reassurance that he desperately needed. He felt like a child, in need of a mother’s love and reassurance and comfort. It was a feeling so unfamiliar to him; ever since he had been a child he had had a forced independence and had never felt able to seek his mother’s love in the way other children did. His mother showed little interest in anything other than his abilities, both in the training yard and magically, and he had never felt he had anything in common with his father. And once his sister was born, sickly and ill and constantly in danger, he had been thrust aside, his parents did not have enough concern to spare for him, and he had learned quickly to take care of himself. He had grown up watching Gwen love and comfort and support each and every one of her children, and he couldn’t help but resent it, jealousy eating away at him from a very young age.

And now, lying on the bed with Aiden sitting beside him, her hand on his head and stroking his hair back, he began to get a sense of what it might have been like. What it might have been like to feel able to go to his mother when he fell in the courtyard and scraped his knee, instead of cleaning it himself at the water pump and biting his lip to keep himself from crying. What it might have been like to have his mother ask about his day, or to go to her for advice when he was scared, or angry, or upset. Mordred had craved affection from such a young age that he didn’t know how to deal with it when he was given it. It had always been easier to have that human touch in a fast and meaningless way, separate from any emotional connection, and move on to the next one once it was over. But he was beginning to see what he might have been missing all those years.

That was why, when Aiden took her hand away, Mordred moved, putting his head in her lap. There was nothing sexual in it, nothing more than a simple craving for human contact, a need for an emotional connection, and the feeling of affection from another person.

He just needed to feel loved.