Mordred backed up a bit quickly when he saw the guards, a bit on edge from seeing them. "Fine, it's fine," he said quickly. He didn't like being in front of too many adults. Especially since almost any in an authority position kind of reminded him of the Camelot knights. But it was the silence from Nimue that made everything clear. He now believed that perhaps he never was a part of the family. He might have been a little bit, but not anymore. He started to back up farther. While he liked being around them before, now he wanted to be very apart from them and everyone else. "Oh. I get it. So, I must have set it because no one else did. I wish I could say this was a surprise. Really, I should be used to betrayal by now. But I do know I'm not the only one who's ever done something bad. Of course, that's a big secret, yeah?" He was of course hinting at what Nimue had done to the false father in order to save him.
He turned his back and started walking. He just wanted to get away. What did she intend to do with him if this didn't happen? Were they going to send him away? It looked very much like that even if he didn't make the fire, he was still judged. He forced himself to remain calm, even though everything in him shouted, wanted to cry, yell, even break something. But he didn't. He was like steel. He looked back after taking a few deep breaths. "Very well, I will do as you ask. I'll stay away from all of you. I don't need you anymore, anyway. None of you will ever see me again, so don't look. Don't follow. As far as you're concerned.. I am just as dead to you as my real father was back in Camelot. I'm sure Emrys and Arthur can tell you all about that." He looked at Merlin, as he would hopefully remember exactly what that meant. How they first met, how he was rescued, while Mordred's Druid father was executed by Uther's headsman. Mordred still remembered that. He had felt it when it happened, a severing of the bond between father and son, student and teacher.
And now he turned and continued walking, a normal walk, then his pace quickened. And then he had broken into a run, his green cloak flowing in the night air, as he kept running as far from them as he could go. He had no idea where he would go for tonight and onward, but it would be anywhere that they weren't. Maybe he could pick a random portkey destination and see where he ended up. His feelings on all of that were silent, impulses and instincts in high gear. He supposed he could cry or yell, or blast some pottery pretending it was them, once he found somewhere private. But one thing he knew for certain was that he wouldn't openly trust anyone so quickly after this. And of course keep a close eye on whatever arson investigations for the house, just to prove himself innocent for this one instance.