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Chapter Text

Prologue

The sky was on fire. That was the first thing he noticed. It glowed a smokey orange, but it was no sunset. He couldn't even say where the sun was exactly.

The second, was the warm feeling running past his hands. Crimson dripped to the muddy ground and shattered like rubies onto the dirt.

He blanched at the scene before him, fully coming to his senses. Funny, he could not quite recall how he had gotten here. Only that it was important.

Something roared overhead. A sound of great anguish. He looked about himself.

The field was vast- a valley most likely- and just beyond the descent of the hill he stood on, were bodies. Piles, and piles of dead soldiers. The smell was so strong it stung his eyes.

He glanced about the corpses of men and horses. They had just died possibly a few hours ago. This battle must have been so great, neither prophet nor druid could have seen this coming. A future shrouded in thick mist.

He spyed a muddy bit of cloth, a few yards away. It bore the shape of a golden dragon. The crest of Camelot.

But what was the other flag? He scanned his eyes from the top of the hill. Two serpants spitting venom, wrapped their smooth scaled bodies around each other. This was an enemies shield.

But what kingdom? He did not recognise the mark.

"Emrys."

It was the quietest whisper, but loud enough to divert his attention from the carnage before him.

He turned --and there-- just a few paces in front, feet and cloak stuck in mud and tangled in weeds, stood a hooded figure. It's face he couldn't see, but in one of its skeletal hands it held a simple rotting rose.

And in the other, a sword.

Chapter Text

~<<♤>>~

Part 1

The Child of Prophets 

~<<♤>>~

Chapter Text

 Year: 520 AD

Merlin:

"The path I see is shrouded. It isn't always, but most of the time it is a difficult future to read." She announced, farrowing her brow like a shriveled up prune. "I cannot see clearly enough."

"Why is it difficult?" He asked, leaning slightly forwards off the girl's wooded dining chair.

She shook her head dismissively. "I couldn't say. . . Some futures are veiled in darkness and hard to reach, whilst others are so close it brushes your fingertips. However, they can all change in a moments decision. Just because I cannot see your future, does not mean it isn't there."

"And what of my dream?"

She gave him an apprehensive glance. "Just a nightmare. Even the Druids get nightmares, Merlin. Not every dream is a premonition."

"Well then, Isobel, if you won't tell me I'm going to be ritch, I have work to get back to."

"Wait, Merlin!" She turned her head so fast her brown hair flung into her eyes. He paused at the door, looking back into the small living area. "Drop this off in Lady Anna's Chambers when you deliver her remedy." She handed him a silver bracelet embedded with a single red jewel.

"It's beautiful. What's the occasion?" He asked smoothing his fingers over the gem.

"No occasion. I just thought the colour suits her, don't you think?" He nodded, reaching for the doorknob. "-Oh and Merlin."

"Yeah?" He turned back to face her, a bland expression marked her face.

"When you find Will. Tell him I'm not going to wait for him again. If he wants to go get drunk at the tavern, the least he can do is tell me."

"He left you again?" He sighed. Will always did this. Even to him on a number of occasions. She nodded. "I'll have a word but I can't promise much. You know Will." He turned and left for Anna's Chambers on the Eastern side of the Castle.

Lady Anna Pendragon was a sickly girl, blonde and plagued by illness her entire childhood. Much like her older sister, Morgana- whom suffered nightmares from a young age.

However, much alike morgana in sickness, Anna -for the most part- took after Arthur. Some may even say worse than Arthur. For she was often noted as cruel, especially to those of lower standing. A skill no doubt learnt from her older brother and brute of a father.

The Lady's Chambers were empty when Merlin delivered her medicine and placed the bracelet on her nightstand, which was already adorned with beautiful jewellery, silver and pearls.

Gifts from her father, her countless suitors; all of which she had neglected to thank. He looked into the mirror and didn't like what he saw. His eyes were shrouded by dark circles and his hair was in need of smoothing over. Sleep was not a nice friend to him and hadn't much been since he moved to Camelot a year ago.

~<<♤>>~

Merlin found Will sat on the castle steps, his head in his hands, being shooed away by an elderly maid carrying a huge basket of fresh clothes. He stumbled to his feet, glaring at her as he walked away.

"Isobel's not happy with you." Merlin shouted as he approached him.

"Me? What did I do now?" He asked, raising his arms in bewilderment.

"You were supposed to meet her for her riding lessons. You didn't show up."

William groaned as he recalled the memory. "How angry is she?" His voice was slightly hoarse from the endless drinking from the night prior and Merlin thought Will looked worse than him.

"I'd say she'd get over it, but this isn't the first time you've broken your word."

"It's just this place." He gestured to the busy courtyard, abuzz with serving girls and footmen. "There's too much to do in too little time."

"Then go back to Ealdor. You didn't have to come with me, Will. You voluntarily ran after me."

"You're the one who followed a woman, not me."

"No. I came here because Ealdor was too small and talk spread like a forest fire. You came for a girl."

"I did not come for Isobel." He rolled his eyes.

"Of course not. We've all only been friends for -what? 5 years? And I never said you came for Isobel, that was you." Merlin taunted, throwing an arm around Wills shoulder as they made their way through the market.

"Well. . . Her father is expecting her and Anna home for the winter, as usual. I doubt she's too happy about that." He reiterated the words Isobel had said. How she had complained about going back home for the umpteenth time that summer. It was no secret that Isobel disliked her ivory-covered castle in Brittany.

Her father was a king in his own right, and had taken Lady Anna Pendragon in at the young age of eight to be raised as his own. She had lived and grown with Isobel in the French Court, her illness was to be treated there too.

Uther had decided it better than confining her to her Chambers here in Albion. Brittany was said to have homed the best healers of the known world, Uther would have had nothing less for his youngest daughter.

"Well, at least she gets lavish things and endless fields of sunflowers in Brittany. Here we get rain and daily executions." Merlin seethed, thinking back to just this morning when a young boy, not much older than himself, had been beheaded.

Will stopped in his tracks, turning gently to Merlin, "Hey, it won't be like this forever. . . I hope."

"I hope so too."

"Well, think of it this way, the old bastard has to die some day, right?" Will assured. Merlin looked about the bustling market stalls. They were close to a flower seller and a grain trader. Not the best place to blasphemy the King.

"Would you keep your voice down." Uther, known throughout all seven kingdoms as a great warrior. A pious King and an even more devout ruler, had deeply ingrained loyalty with the young of his kingdom.

Those who were not of magic, or where simply not around to witness the massacre which earned him his lands and titles. Any guard or Knight worth their name, would find much joy in spilling traitorous blood onto the cobblestones. "Relax, nobody listens to people like us, Merlin. We're undesirables, incase you've forgotten. "

~<<♤>>~

They reached the training grounds five minutes later and was greeted by the sound of swords clashing. It was a reasonably large area, enough room for the knights and their Prince to practice weaponry. Anna Pendragon was stood on the edge of the green, the bottom of her dress damp from the midmorning dew.

Beside her, stood her older sister, Morgana. She was braiding flowers into her long dark hair, daisy's, buttercups and Knautia weeds all tangled together in her hands as she weaved. Behind them, waiting attentively, were their Lady's maids.

Gueniveire and Freyja. Both nice enough girls. Gueniveire was gentle, and wise beyond her years. She had taken to work as a lowly serving girl from the age of twelve but had since worked her way up. Now, at the age of just sixteen, gwen held the highest position a maid of her standing could reach.

And as for Freyja; she had come over with Anna and Isobel from Brittany. She didn't speak. Merlin thought her rude at first until he realised just how timid she was. The girl was raised in Armorica; part of the third generation of the Britons' colony to settle there. So Merlin knew she was of Brythonic speaking- she was just shy.

"Look at them. 'Nobility' my arse." Will scoffed, pulling Merlins attention from the edge of the green. Will had his arms crossed, his eyes squinted from the brightness of the sun. "It's all 'Honour and glory' until it's one of us they have to defend." His voice was getting louder with each sentence.

This gained a questioning look from one of the knights stood on the sidelines watching. "There a problem, lads?" The Knight asked, his hand falling to the handle of his sheathed sword.

Merlin grew wary of the company around them. "Fine. Come on Will, not today." He reached out for Wills arm but was shrugged off.

"No! I want to talk." He was goading him into a fight he would not win. Will helped the local blacksmith and taught himself how to fight, he was not in any way, however, a trained soldier.

The man in chainmail snickered. "You want to talk, boy? Go talk to the women." He looked Will up and down, assessing him. "Though, something tells me talking is all you'll ever get to do."

"You pompous prick!" He shouted, lunging at him. The man shoved Will back a few steps before he could land a punch.

Morgana had stopped braiding flowers into her hair, Anna had stopped watching Arthur instruct the other knights on weapons positioning. They were now watching the scene unfold in front of them.

"Walk away, boy." This only made Will angrier. No surprise to Merlin, who had now backed up a few steps. He knew well enough now, that interfering with Will in one of his moods would only worsen the situation.

William stood his ground. The Knight smirked, looking around at his audience. Will charged at him. Landing a punch to the man's cheek. It reddened like a splatter of rose petals blooming on his cheek.

He may be a Knight, but Will was raised on the outskirts of a poorer kingdom where fending for yourself was as necessary as breathing. If he knew anything, it was how to bar fight.

But Camelot was not the outskirts of some lesser city. And this man was no drunk peasant. He pulled his sword from its place on his belt and knocked Will square in the eye with the hilt. It knocked him down and kept him there.

Merlin rushed to his side on the ground. Will had his hand over his bloody eye. "Word of advice, boy." He drawled, pointing his sword at Wills neck, "know when you have been beaten."

"Stop! That's enough." It was Isobel who spoke up. She had come running from the market and was obviously out of breath. Anna shook her head at her. A warning not to get involved. She did not listen.

"Lady Isobel. This is none of your concern. Run along now." The Knight said. He didn't even bother to look at her.

"That's Princess Isobel. And this man is under my employment. I do apologise for any. . . Inconvenience he may have caused you today. A man as. . . Honorable and noble as you shouldn't have to put up with such things." She batted her eyelashes, resting a hand on the man's extended arm.

Arthur stared from his place in the centre of the field. He'd have Will in the stocks for that, Merlin knew it.

He finally looked at her. He caved, as many men had before and will again when Isobel talks like that. The Knight cleared his throat. "Rightly so. If I see you near here again, boy. I'll run you through where you stand." He turned and stalked off towards the Prince and his knights.

The attention faded as the small crowd that stopped to watch at the edge of the training field dispersed. Isobel took one last look at Lady Anna, who was still watching her, shaking her head disapprovingly.

Merlin and Isobel helped Will to his feet. "He needs a physician." Isobel stated as he leaned against her. She stumbled slightly under his weight. "Ugh, And maybe a diet."

"That's really rude." Will cringed at the blood dripping down his face and onto the floor.

~<<♤>>~

He would keep the eye, and his sight. It was concluded. Although, his vision was slightly foggy now in his left eye, it would not be forever. "Keep it clean. Or you run risk of infection." The physician said, clearing up his things.

He was a stern man, one of logic and reason and was rumoured to have had ties to magic in the old ways before the great purge of Camelot. "Thank you, Gaius" He gave a single nod before closing the door to Merlins room.

Isobel was sat on the edge of the bed, dabbing Wills' forehead with a cold damp cloth. ". . . I'm sorry I missed your riding lesson, Is."

"You should be. And don't go thinking you getting hurt is an excuse either." She breathed, looking him straight in the one eye that wasn't covered over with a bandage.

He swallowed. "Guess I'm just a massive idiot then, eh?"

Isobel paused. "I don't think you're an idiot, William Fenton."

"No?"

"No. I think you're sad." She drenched the cloth in the basin again and rung it out. "I think you're still mourning. . . But you won't find the solution to your sadness at the bottom of a mead barrel."

Merlin turned his head to the window, feeling like he was an intruder in his own room. "Sorry I let you down." Will murmured, he couldn't quite meet her eyes.

"Don't apologise if you don't mean it. You can prove it to me later if you do." She stopped dabbing the cloth and left it to rest on his head. "Get some sleep. I'll be back later." She said, and left.

"She's so bossy." He muttered when Isobel was gone. Merlin chuckled.

"And a good thing too, otherwise you'd never learn." He walked towards the old rickety wooden bed which was draped in animal fur and old blankets. "If you're head's still hurting I can help you. . ."

"It's fine. I best get some sleep like she said."

Chapter Text

Isobel:

She was a ghost.

No living being could float over water like she was. The woman in white. Her hair was dark and covered her face completely.

Isobel tossed and turned in her sleep. She always had this dream. Sometimes it was slightly different, but the same dream non the less. Each time a little more detailed than the last. Sometimes the water was still, or completely frozen over, other times it was stormy.

On this particular occasion, however, it was mostly still. The only disruption to the water, was the tiny droplets falling from the woman's dress. They sent ripples through the lake, each miniscule wave chasing the one before it, before it faded back into its bigger body, stilling the water again.

~<<♤>>~

Isobel woke to Freyja's light knocking, just before she opened the door. Her clothes were slightly damp from the walk up to the castle.

Despite it being summer, it had rained all night and into the early morning, leaving the paths and courtyard a muddy swamp.

"Good Morning, Princess." She smiled, as she did every morning, Isobels heart hitched in her chest, and for a moment -just a moment- Freyja wasn't a maid, and Isobel was not a Princess.

And then Freyja went to place the food down on the small table by the chamber door and the moment was over before it had even began.

"Good morning." Isobel replied, politely.

"Did you sleep well, my Lady?"

The door opened once again as Anna swept into the room, her blue gown shifting in the slight breeze. Her hair was pinned back showing off the knife edge of her jaw. "Leave us." She waved her hand at Freyja.

Dismissal. Freyja curtsied and left, closing the door gently behind her. "Must you be so rude to her?"

"She'll get over it." Anna drawled, her hand resting on her new bracelet. It's Ruby shone in the dim light of day. Isobel blinked, Anna had a thing for shiny objects, something to catch your eye.

"you like your gift, then?" She nodded to the jewellery.

"Yes. It's beautiful, thank you."

"Did you sleep any better?" Isobel inquired. She liked to experiment with spells like that. Anna always told her; 'Practice doesn't make you perfect, but it does make you better than you was before.' The bracelet was just that- Practice.

"Much." A nod again. "Uther requests our presence for noon meal." She announced, her hand still resting on the bracelet. "Don't talk to the servants today. Especially at the feast. He disapproves."

"You disapprove, Anna." Isobel rolled her eyes crossing her arms.

"Don't be like that. He heard of what you did yesterday for that peasant. We have an image to uphold here, Isobel."

"Does it matter, he'll be in the stocks soon anyway." Isobel frowned, hopefully his eye would be healed enough for the rotten food to not hurt his face.

"He is not going in the stocks, Isobel. The peasant insulted a Knight of camelot. He's getting flogged. 15 lashes. As soon as the physician releases him, that is." Anna did not look her in the eyes, instead she watched the stone floor.

"No! They can't, he's suffered enough. Surely you can talk to Uther about this. Please-"

"You know he cares little about my opinion. . . If you really want him to listen, talk to morgana." She shifted her gaze to the light rain pattering the window. "He'd do almost anything for her." She added, venom dripping from her tongue with every word.

Isobel sighed, bowing her head slightly. "Did you tell him?" She asked, this time it was her who did not meet Anna's eyes.

"No. It may surprise you, Isobel, but I take no joy in getting you into trouble. " Anna professed, letting her arms fall to her side.

"Friend." She muttered, lazily draping back the covers of her four poster bed.

"What?"

"He's my friend. Not some common peasant."

Anna took an apple from the breakfast bowl to her right. "I'd be careful not to throw that word around, Isobel." She glanced around the room, "Especially here of all places." She took a big bite of the apple, taking her time to chew. Anna takes her time to do everything, because that is just her. Patient.

"I'm basically family. I'm safe here. We both are." Isobel reasoned, standing and walking over to her armoire to select one of her best dresses for the meal.

"Safe is relative." She stopped eating and stared at the bite mark in her apple, the contrast of the white against the red. "Just watch yourself. There's no harm in being cautious. I'm only looking out for you."

Isobel paused, her hand resting on the dress of her choice. It was a beautiful vermilion, high at the neck and draped to the floor in an effortless grace. "I know. I'm sorry, I'll stay within the castle today."

Anna nodded. Again, a woman of little words. She always had been. "Good choice."

Isobel couldn't quite tell if she was referring to her dress or her decision to stay within the walls of her summer home, but smiled all the same.

~<<♤>>~

She knocked on the door to the physicians room three times before it flew open revealing Merlin.   "You look tired." She stated, looking him up and down. "Didn't you get any sleep?"

"You look lovely. And no, not really." He ran his hand through his hair as he stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. ". . . I heard about what they're going to do to Will. You can't let it happen, Is."

"I know. I'm working on it. Is he awake yet?" She gestured to the room behind the door.

"No, he was awake earlier, ate, asked for you, then went back to sleep. Lazy sod. Wish I could sleep all day." Merlin grumbled, smoothing his hair back down. "I have to go muck out the stables. Again. That's my punishment for just helping him after."

"Poor you. I'll be back later. Make sure to keep your head down for a while, Merlin." She scolded, glancing back into the room as Merlin opened the door to enter.

She turned and walked back down the corridor. She was quick about leaving this end of the Castle, even though she hadn't yet broken her promise to Anna, she had still visited a servant.

Morgana was talking with Gwen when she knocked on the old wooden door to her Chambers. "Come in!" She yelled from her dressing area. She was sat brushing her hair at her vanity stand when she turned to politely dismiss Gwen.

The maid curtsied and left. "Oh. . . Hello Isobel. What is the matter?" She asked.

"Alright, look. . . I know we don't always see eye to eye but I have a friend, William. . . Who- by some unfortunate twist of fate- happens to be a servant and-"

"The boy from Arthur's training session yesterday." She frowned, "What of him?"

"He's in trouble, big trouble. He started a fight with a Knight now Uther wants him flogged."

"Just a flogging? Thought you were going to say he was about to be executed."

"Morgana, please. You know it puts people out of work for weeks. He can't afford it and you know the knights don't hold back, especially with this." She was begging now, her face scrunched up in desperation.

"Why haven't you gone to Anna about this?" She narrowed her eyes at Isobel.

"I did. She told me to ask you." Isobel sighed.

Morgana thought about it for a long moment, dragging her answer out for Isobel's displeasure. ". . . Alright. I'll talk to Uther about it, but I can't promise anything. You know how he is."

"Thank you. I won't forget this." She beamed, turning back towards the door. "-Isobel." Morgana hesitated, turning in her chair to face her. Her eyes were slightly glazed over as if she were in deep thought.

"Yes, Morgana?"

"Be wary of the woman in white." Isobel froze.

She wasn't entirely sure how Morgana had come to know of her dreams, or why she should be wary of her. "What makes you say that?" She asked, her face paling.

"I'm not sure. I'm sorry, it just slipped out. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- Forget it." Morgana shook her head, smoothing her green dress out as she stood. "I'll see you at the meal soon." She finalised, turning towards the dripping pane of the window it's glass fogged over as little rain drops chased the wind.

Isobel nodded, though Morgana could not see this, and took her leave as quickly as her unsteady legs would carry her. Perhaps Anna had heard her talking in her sleep and said something to Morgana. But, that was very unlike Anna to gossip on such matters.

Especially when it came to Isobel. Anna would not risk her safety, Isobel reassured herself. These days, even having dreams like hers could lead to an investigation of magic. Even someone of her standing and title. And an investigation was not a good thing.

They would most likely find nothing to incriminate her, but it would only be a matter of time before someone saw something they shouldn't. And when they do, no doubt either Anna or Merlin would put their necks on the line to protect her- and no doubt they would both face consequences. Severe consequences.

Merlin would be hung or executed, Anna would be sent into complete exile and stripped of her titles and so would Isobel. She shivered at the notion. Their position in Uther's court was a fragile one at the best of times. If word ever got out, she knew she would be dead. Anna was right. Safe is relative.

And her fathers alliance with Uther would not protect her from his wrath. He would see Isobels ability to use magic as trickery on King Hoels side, and declare some kind of war. Uther was a paranoid and lonely old man. He was ruthless.

And he was a hypocrite.

"Isobel?" A concerned voice asked as she passed in the hallway. She halted, turning to the figure beside her. She raised her head, meeting his eyes for a second before losing her nerve and looking away again.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm quite fine, thank you, Arthur." She feigned a smile for his benefit. She knew he wouldn't let it go if he thought differently.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry, anyway?" His gaze fell up and down the corridor, she had walked quite far across the castle in her hurry, and away from the throne room.

"I am not sure. Didn't realise I was- never mind."

"Morgana hasn't upset you again, has she? I warned her not to be so blunt with you." He reasoned. His hair was ruffled slightly from stress. Isobel knew he also hated meeting with his father, but such things like this could not be avoided.

"No. She hasn't done anything. It's just the rain. Not yet used to seeing it so often." She gestured to one of the many windows sitting in their panes along the corridor.

He chuckled, "does it not rain in Armorica?"

"Not as much as it does here." A smile crept its way onto her face. A genuine one.

"You make it sound nice, I must visit again this summer, I miss you both when you leave." He gave a sheepish grin, and cleared his throat. "We should go, father will be expecting us by now."

She turned walking back the way she came, Arthur close to her side. "So. . . How are you? Haven't spoken in a while." Isobel conveyed the displeasure of his absence.

"I have been well, you know, training the knights and all that. I'm sorry I haven't had much time to spare this summer, father likes to keep me extremely busy these days."

"You're heir to the throne, Arthur. Believe me, I understand better than anyone." And she did, for she was heir to her own throne back in Brittany. However, as much as she had a right to it, she could not sit upon it, unless she were to marry- thus her kingdom becoming her husbands.

"Yes, of course. Right you are, Isobel." He he smirked, shaking his head.

"What is so funny?" She frowned.

"Just, you won't really be ruling like I will. I mean, I won't have a wife to depend on, like you a husband."

She sneered. "So that makes me less of a Queen to you? I don't need a husband."

"Except. . . you kind of do though, Isobel." He offered her a pitied glance and shrugged, the movement ruffling his red cloak. "You may not like the law of the land, but it's not about what you like it's about what you need. And Isobel, you need a husband. I wouldn't be surprised if your father betrothed you to someone already."

Her heart sank at the thought. To belong to another. she didn't think she could do that. "I don't say it to scare you. But just something to be wary of." He halted at a pair of double rosewood doors. They had arrived already.

"Wait," Isobel placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Is that what this meal is about?" She whispered as the doors swung open and a guard announced their presence.

Uther stood at the head of the long banquet table, a goblet of ritch red wine in his battle-scarred hand. Morgana to his right, smiling admirably at him. "Arthur, my son." He boasted in way of greeting, as if the entire kingdom didn't know who Arthur was.

Isobel internally groaned. She hated this part. The image. The 'thank you's and the how-you-do's, and all the boring political talks that Uther would neglect to talk about directly to any one of the women present.

Because what else were women but placeholders here. They were ornamental, no different than the flowers placed neatly in the vase on the table, or a painting hung in the corridor, or a tapestry draped over a bare stone wall.

But it was not expected of a lady -or a princess- to speak of such affairs. So Isobel smiled. She gritted her teeth, bit her tongue, pinched her arm, did anything to stop herself making an even bigger fool of herself than she must have already looked after making friends with the lowest of the low. The servants and the poor.

She took her seat next to Arthur, who had of course, taken his place to the left of his father. Anna would have to sit next to Morgana now. She's not going to like that.

"How have you found your stay here, Isobel?" The old man crooned, as if she were a child in need of comforting. As if she were overwhelmed by the presence of the King. She was not. She had never been. His power? Yes. Himself? Not at all.

"Very well, thank you, my Lord. I always look forward to our stay here. You make such a wonderful host it's difficult not to miss this place." She chirped, lying through her teeth was a good skill any ruler should master, she convinced herself.

"You flatter me, Princess. Though Anna tells me your father wishes you back early this summer?"

"He's concerned for our safety." Anna declared as the doors swung shut behind her. She begrudgingly took her seat next to Morgana, who only shifted slightly away from her. A servant poured her a goblet, she drank from it.

"Concerned?" Uther reiterated.

"Yes." She straightened her fork on the table as she spoke, "He doesn't like the reports of the amount of Saxons currently trying to breach your boarders." She drawled.

Arthur blinked, turning to his father. "Saxons? How many?" He asked.

"A small handful. Nothing we can't handle, and it is not Camelot they're trying to enter, it's Caerleon." He announced, straightening his back like a cat stretching.

"Same thing," She muttered. "Whether it is Camelot's boarders or the beaches of the land, it makes no difference. You are defenseless. Your allies are shaken and your boats are getting burnt before they leave harbour. Or have I missed anything?" She met his glare and did not stand down.

Morgana sighed lightly and Arthur cleared his throat. Isobel caught the eye of a servant that was struggling to hide their smirk.

"Perhaps it is best you both go home earlier." Uther said, his tone cold.

"I couldn't agree more." She added.

There was an awkward silence. One that was common when Anna and Uther were involved. Isobel played with a lose bit of thread hanging from her sleeve. The air had turned stale in her lungs from the tension.

Arthur cleared his throat again, "So, Morgana, how are you sleeping? Any better?" He was grasping at straws here, but isobel was thankful for something to fill the silence, even if it was the topic of sleep.

"Oh, uh yes." She was lying. Anyone could see the dark circles that lined her eyes. "Much better. . ."

Anna gave her a steady side glance but said nothing. Her forehead creased slightly as it did often when she was in deep thought.

"As we were speaking of allies. . ." Uther began. Isobel's breath hitched. "Princess Mithian will be arriving here tomorrow with her father. I hope you all make an effort to help her feel at home here." He focused his steely eyes on Anna, then Arthur and smiled knowingly.

Chapter Text

Morgana:

The others had left a moment ago, but Morgana could not bring herself to leave the quiet of the throne room just yet. At least without trying. She had promised she would, after all.

"What is the matter Morgana?" Uther questioned, turning to face her.

"It's in regards to the serving boy the knights wish to harm. I just-"

"What of him?" He asked, still agitated from his conversation with Anna. She had a knack for getting under his skin.

"Please, reconsider. I just think flogging the boy is too harsh a punishment." She reasoned. Uther did not listen. He shook his head and ran his hand over the whiskers on his chin. And he smiled. It was not a cruel expression, but it was not warm either.

"You're kind, Morgana. Too soft on the people who don't deserve it. I will not change my mind on this."

She fumed. He thought she were naive. Perhaps she was. Too sheltered to understand. Too young to experience such things as harsh life lessons. But she wasn't blind. She knew what a just and fair King looked like. And it wasn't Uther Pendragon.

She returned the old man's smile. "Surely, the people would appreciate a kinder response." She decided she would not back down either. Uther was not a very accommodating man at the best of times. But he would make an exception for her.

"And what would you suggest I do?" He asked.

She considered, "Bring the boy before the people. Make an example of him, yes. But not like this. Remind the people of Camelot of the generosity of their king. Show them that you can be lenient, show them that you are the ruler God put on that throne for a reason. That you are a great warrior, and an even fairer man." She announced, smiling contently at him, yet not quite meeting his eyes.

He likes seeing people cower before him, she knew. He likes thinking he came up with the ideas.

She knew how to talk Uther out of things. Perhaps not as well as her brother, Arthur. But she was mostly, always successful in doing so.

She knew what Anna would have done. She would have been too upfront about it. Too bold. She would have used his allies fear as reason to rally his people. Word of the Saxon attacks spread quicker than even the King could know.

The people of Camelot were losing their trust in Uther. If they didn't see soldiers on the battlefield, then as far as they were aware, nothing was being done about their invaders. Watching the King make a mark out of a peasant of his own land, instead of facing the Saxons, would cause riots.

Morgana knew this, and now Uther had realised it too. If the look on his face said anything about it.

He returned to neutrality, an easy thing to do when you're born, raised, and work in the court of Camelot. "Very well. The boy will be placed in the stocks tomorrow, under physicians care or not. He will also pay a fine of twenty silver pieces to the good Knight he insulted." Uther finalised, giving Morgana a wave of the hand.

She beamed up at him graciously. "Very well. Thank you, my Lord." She turned. Her smile faded, and she exited the large hall with a little more pride than when she first walked in.

~<<♤>>~

She found Isobel ten minutes into her search, stopping at the steps up to the physicians quarters. She entered without knocking in her haste after hearing the girl's voice on the other side of the door.

"Lady Morgana, what can I do for you?" It was the serving boy who asked. She recognised him of course. He was working directly under Arthur and had been for a few months now.

She smiled politely, "Isobel. I'm- looking for her." She frowned slightly, searching the room. She heard her only a moment ago. "She isn't here–"

"Morgana! Thank the stars. I thought you were Anna." Isobel interjected, climbing clumsily out of a broom cupboard. "What did he say?"

Morgana gave a nervous glance to Merlin. She suddenly realised the boy had no intention of leaving for this conversation, so she started. "He's free to be." Relieved sighs echoed through the chamber. "However," Morgana continued, "He's in the stocks tomorrow early morn, and he has to pay a fine of twenty silver pieces."

Merlin grimaced but Isobel only shrugged, "That's easy enough. I'll pay the fine off."

A creeking at the door to Merlins room halted the conversation. "You don't have to do that, Is. Honestly." Will cringed, standing in the doorway. His eye was still bandaged and slightly bloody.

"I will. But- stand me up again, and I will personally see to it that you take Merlin's place in mucking out the stables." She said, smirking slightly.

"Fair enough."

Morgana had begun to back away towards the door. She was no longer needed here. Isobel could thank her later. "You're the one who cleared my name." He stated. It was not a question. He knew the face of business when he saw it.

Morgana stopped. "Well, yes. Yes I did."

He nodded, "Thanks. You're not as stuck-up as I thought you were- Ow!" A harsh hit on the shoulder from Isobel silenced him. She frowned and muttered something incomprehensible into his ear.

Merlin rolled his eyes slightly and sighed. Morgana gave an awkward smile before turning and leaving. She burned red. Is this what people all think?

"Lady Morgana!" Merlin called after as she trudged down the hallway away from the serving quarters.

"Yes. What is it?" She paused, looking back at him as he caught up to her. She glanced out one of the many windows. The sun was hanging low in the sky now, pretty soon the horizon would be filled with blazing colours.

"I'm sorry about Will. He doesn't mean to be an arse, it just comes naturally to him." He half laughed, but stopped as soon as he saw Morganas face. A perfect picture of unamusement. "Uh, well- anyway- I- He– We, are all thankful. Truly." He too turned his head to the setting sun and squinted at the last rays of light filtering through the glass into the corridor. "He is grateful. Thank you, Morgana."

She let her scowl fall, and brightened up a bit more, turning her attention back to the boy in front of her. How the golden light poured into the space around them like honey. She made note of how the rays reflected in his eyes.

They were blue, like Arthur's. No, not like Arthur's she corrected herself. There was something else about him that she couldn't quite figure. Something she couldn't see, though she looked right at him.

Morgana averted her gaze, "I would do it for anyone." She murmured, playing with a gold ring on her finger. It was her mother's, she recalled.

Igraine had left it to her when she had taken ill. The illness in which she did not recover from. Morgana remembered how her mother had looked‐ though she had tried many times by now to forget it- pale and gaunt.

How Igraine had reached for her daughter's and her son by her bedside. She recalled how Arthur had held Anna. How she cried that day. Uther had stayed by her until the very end. If he ever had a heart at all, it left him the day she died.

~<<♤>>~

She was pale as freshly washed linen. An odd thing to compare a dead woman to, but it was the first thought that came to Morganas mind.

It was her mother, though she could not quite remember exactly the features and curves of her mother's face, she knew without unshakeable doubt, that this figure before her, was of her blood. She stood alone in a field of wheat.

Morgana did not recognise the landscape. The woodland behind the field was no woods she had ever rode nor walked through. And the colour of the sky was a burnt orange as if the world had been frozen at sunset.

Her mother stared at her as though morgana were as pale and ghostly as she. Igrane raised her arm slowly and pointed East, her mother's red cloak moved as she did.

Morgana turned as Igraine had instructed, and saw Camelot far into the distance. It was burning. The turrets were ablaze, the market was ashes, and the people were screaming. She looked back to her mother.

A serpant slithered and hissed at her feet, curling itself around her mother's worn and weathered dress. Her face was slightly blurry, but her eyes- they were black as if her very eyes had been plucked from her skull. In fact, Morgana began to think they had been. Igraine moved her hands to her face and began to claw at her own skin. Flesh became ribbons in her mothers hands.

Morgana backed away, a voice beckoned from somewhere over the valley but it's voice echoed from so far, it was difficult for Morgana to make out a full coherent sentence. "You're destiny. . . Find. . . Sword of. . ." She shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the foul guttural whispers. It came from far away, but bounced around her mind like a bird in a too-small cage.

Finally, the voices ceased. And she awoke to tears falling down her cheek.

~<<♤>>~

Darkness always made her room look bigger than it actually was. Now, in the cold light of morning, it held a hollowness to it.

As usual, Gueniveire came to wake her, only to find Morgana sat in bed, eyes wide and dreary. She had woken early hours of the morning, before the sun had even begun its rise, and had stayed there since. "Morgana, are you quite well?" Gwen had asked.

Morgana nodded, getting up out of bed and changing into her day dress as she did any other morning. "Princess Mithian of Nemeth is coming today." Gwen reminded her, excitedly. "What do you think brings her to Camelot?"

"Probably a peace talk. Her father likes to bring her along every time he is invited. She dislikes staying home alone. . ." She trailed off.

She understood that of Mithian. Morgana had often found herself alone and wishing for a companion in the long months her sister would be gone, and her brother too preoccupied with courtly duties than to bother with the likes of her.

For that exact reason, Morgana found herself befriending Mithian a few years prior, one winter when Anna was with Isobel back in Armorica, and Arthur was dining with the Kings.

Morgana remembered she had been napping in her room after yet another sleepless night and had gotten up to see the physician, when she had bumped into the lone Princess.

Mithian had apologised profusely for almost knocking her off her feet, and had told her she was running away from the stuffiness of the throne room. Their relationship had grown from there and since, had always sort after each other at every political affair and grand ball.

Chapter Text

Merlin:

Merlin was stood in the market when she arrived. A regal woman and one of high standing. She knew how to hold her head up like a true royal.

Merlin watched as she graced past on her brown mare, purple dress flowing delicately behind her as if even the wind was at her command.

He caught her eye, only for a split second. She smiled.

He smiled back, though by now, she was too far gone to notice.

Her father proceeded after her, although this was improper. A daughter always stands behind her father. Even a royal one. Especially a king.

The knights followed suit, and as soon as they passed, all was normal. A few people chased the horses, wanting nothing more than to glimpse upon the guests of honour from the castle courtyard.

Merlin turned away from the muddy path now splattered with hoof prints and laughed at the scene before him.

Will was clamped into the stocks, tomatoe juice and cabbage leaves in his hair. He glared back at him. "Enjoying this, are we?" Will dripped sarcasm.

"Yes, actually. Serves you right for being a prat." Merlin bent to pick up another piece of rotten fruit from the basket beside him. A young girl threw another tomatoe. Will spluttered, spitting out the bits that landed in his open mouth.

"I wasn't the prat." He said.

"You definitely were." Merlin taunted. He raised his arm ready to send the fruit flying into Wills direct path.

"Hey!" Isobel caught his arm, taking the fruit from Merlins hand. "It's not funny, Merlin." She shifted to stand next to him, placing a bouquet of assorted flowers onto a barrel behind Merlin.

She had been watching this fiasco for a good hour now. When Anna had asked her where she was going, she had told her she were picking flowers from the florist, which now wasn't exactly a lie.

"Thank you, Isobel. See Mer, loyalty."

"It's hilarious." She cackled, throwing the fruit straight at Wills' nose.

They laughed as Will jolted in surprise at the slight betrayal. "That's a dirty trick." He muttered, bowing his head, his neck aching from looking up.

"Hm." She picked up the bouquet of daisy's and forget-me-nots from the barrel behind her. "I best be getting back. Have to be there to great Princess Mithian."

She picked up one last tomato from the basket and smashed it into Wills face as she walked by, letting the fruit fall to the muddy ground.

~<<♤>>~

There was to be a ball held in honour of Camelot's welcomed guests and Merlin was expected to be there, as a servant he often found himself too busy to enjoy the festivities.

After Will had been released from the stocks, he had gone home to wash and rest. Isobel had invited him, but Merlin knew it was more so out of politeness. If Will was really seen in the ballroom next to a Princess no less, there would have been no room for persuasion from Uther. Isobel would have had it in the neck too, if not from Uther, then from Anna.

So Will went home, and Merlin contented himself in small spare tasks he picked up about the castle.

He was taking the newly polished silverware from the store rooms next to the kitchens up to the dining hall when he heard the whisper.

All was reasonably quiet considering the business of the court above.

"Emrys." He knew that whisper. That voice had woken him from countless dreams. It was the dragon, of course, that called him. Ancient and cunning and locked in shackles beneath the earth.

He set the silver down on a side table in the darkening hallway and made his way as hastily as he could, to the caves under the kingdom.

kilgharrah was perched upon a damp mossy boulder when Merlin walked through the mouth of the cavern. "What is it you want, Kilgharrah?" Merlin asked. Water dripped from the wet stone above their heads, landing with a splat on the cold ground.

The tourch light flickered as the old dragon chuckled. "There is a change in the wind. Danger has returned to Camelot."

"I've told you already. You're riddles don't help me. What kind of danger?"

"The kind that threatens your future, Emrys."

He frowned, "You mean Morgana? Is she in danger?" He looked back through the tunnel as if to find her there.

"Forget the girl. She is of no importance." He snapped. "I talk of another. You must be wary this night."

"What is their name?" He asked.

"That would be too easy, young warlock."

Merlin laughed humorlessly. "Why'd you even call for me, if you aren't going to help?"

"I am here to guide you. I sensed danger. Now you know. It is up to you what you do from here."

Merlin glared up at the old beast. He was used to kilgharrah's vagueness when it came to warnings, but this topped it. Fine. He thought, don't help me. I'll figure it out on my own. Like always.

~<<♤>>~

Merlin wiped his eyes, tired from the early morning events.

"You seem even more distracted than you usually are. What's wrong, Merlin?" Arthur asked as Merlin buckled the red cloak around Arthur's shoulders.

"Nothing, sire."

"You're too quiet."

"I'm just focused. Lady Mithian is an important guest. . . A Princess even." Merlin gave Arthur a pointed look.

"Yes. She is a Princess." Arthur's forehead crinkled slightly.

"And you are a Prince."

"What is you're question, Merlin?" Arthur asked.

Merlin wondered if he should even ask. To many it would seem impertinent. To Arthur it would bring out his anxieties.
"Are you going to marry her?"

Arthur met his gaze. Merlin prepared himself for the snapping of words, but it never came. "I don't know yet. Everyone expects me to."

"Do you. . . Like her?"

Arthur considered for a moment, tipping his head back in contemplation. "She is nice enough. Yes, I think I do like her."

"But you don't. . . Love her." This would have seemed like an idiots question. Only weak minded men would worry about such a trifling thing as love. Especially when one is the soon-to-be ruler of a great and prosperous kingdom.

But Arthur did not think it stupid. Or at least, he did not think Merlin a fool for asking. "No. I do not." And that was the end of it.

Isobel:

The dress was blue. Isobel didn't like this. Anna always wore blue, it was her colour, not Isobels.

So walking down the thousand steps from her Chambers to the large open hall, Isobel had began to feel like a cheat. She hadn't picked the dress. It was a gift from Mithian and her father and she would have thought it rude of her to not wear it.

She hoped Anna would not care. But Anna was very fond of her worldly possessions, jewels and dresses being her most treasured.

She had made it to the long corridor that lead straight to the ballroom. Remembering herself, she straightened her posture, held up her chin and took a few deep breaths.

She ought to be chaperoned, nobody had offered to walk her, though. Arthur was too busy parading himself around to care, and Anna had headed there early to great Lady Mithian properly.
Merlin and Will were servants so that was a no. That left Morgana. Also a no.


The doors opened and music and overlapping conversations flooded into the corridor. Isobel smiled and it was genuine this time.

The throne room had never looked more inviting, with bunting hung high in the rafters and jovial red-faced minstrels playing an upbeat melody at the side of the hall. Noblemen and ladies dressed all out in finery, danced in the centre of the room, swinging back and forth between each other.

The fire flickered brightly in the numerous candelabrum resting throught the room.

She searched for Anna. A familiar head of blonde hair stood out not far from the entryway. She had her back to Isobel, holding a goblet in her hands.

"Anna!" Isobel called. She did not turn. Isobel huffed, parting her self through the crowed to the edge of the room.

"Anna." She repeated, this time she tapped the girls shoulder.

She turned. Isobel cringed slightly at her mistake. This wasn't Anna. "Oh, sorry. Thought you were someone else. My apologies. " She smiled.

Isobel scanned the ballroom again. There, by Arthur, because of course she was with her family, was Anna.

Isobel took a breath of relief as she beheld Anna's dress. She was decked out in pink and around her neck sat a rather large diamond.

Anna rolled her eyes in greeting, a mockery of boredom. She hated standing by Arthur. She wanted to dance. Isobel smirked as she approached the long wooded table that was placed upon the dias, just in front of Uthers throne. Seats had been placed next to his, few of which Mithian was sitting, along with her father and a few dignitaries from Nemeth.

Arthur was sat next to Mithian, and Anna was stood next to her brother, bored and contemplating the idea of leaving to talk to the nobles below.

Isobel greeted Uther first. This was expected, especially by her. Then she turned to greet Rodor, the King of Nemeth, and his daughter.

Mithian was polite and wished Isobel well. She looked beautiful, dressed in purple. It was definitely her colour.

"You look tired, are you alright?" Isobel whispered as she reached Anna's side.

"Fine. . ." She didn't look fine. Up closer now, Isobel could see the darkness under her eyes and the apparently permanent lines that marred her face into a frown.

"Hm. . . I don't believe you." She huffed.

"You're dress. . . It's blue." She arched a brow, looking downcast at the material.

Isobel prepared herself for the lecture, the sisterly insults that would stick like Goosegrass.

It didn't come. "They gave me a pink dress. Pink. It's the most hideous scrap of material I've ever had the misfortune of being gifted." She quipped, feeling the cloth of the outfit in her hands. "And they gave you the blue dress. Everyone knows blue is my colour." She scoffed.

". . . Would you like to swap?" Isobel asked, careful to avoid any hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Anna sighed. "No. It'll only insult them."

"Oh, come on, Anna. They probably won't even notice." Isobel retorted.

"No, Mithian already complimented me." She uttered defeated.

"Then let us go dance." Isobel chirped, taking Anna's hand and pulling her down from the dias to the open ballroom.

Anna smiled and let herself be lead. Isobel noticed Uther stare, only for a minute, before returning to his conversation with Rodor.

Never matter. He's an old grump in need of a good party to loosen that crown around his head. She thought, falling into step with her dance partner.

The dance required a partner, as was respectable. Isobel's was a short young man, the son of a Lord from far North. He was sweet but looked about twelve.

Anna was once again lost in the crowd, she had let go of Isobel's hand the moment they hit the dancers in the centre of the room.

A few musical verses along, and Isobel's little dance partner had fatigued himself. He excused himself and left limping away to the wallflowers that stood behind the columns that arched the hall.

She huffed, stood awkwardly in the middle of the crowd. Anna was still dancing with the biggest smile across her face. She hadn't seen her this happy since Brittany.

"May I take this dance?" Came a voice from her side. She turned to greet the stranger. He was only slightly taller than her, his smile was feline and his eyes a forest brown.

"Yes. You may." She laughed, resuming her place as a new string of minstrels songs filled the room in a delightful harmony.

"I'm Hedrek, first son of Cador." He said, turning with the music as the dance started.

"You are Duke in waiting to Cornwall." Camelot's most difficult ally to keep a hold of. . . Or so Anna had said.

"Yes. And you are. . ."

"I'm Is–" She was cut off rather abruptly by Merlin, parting his way onto the dancefloor.

"Isobel! Isobel, you need to come with me, right now." He was pale slightly and sweating, had he ran here?

"Merlin! What's wrong? Is Will alright?" She asked panicking slightly.

"He's fine-" He waved off, "You just need to come with me– And Anna. Please go get Anna." Isobel frowned but nodded.

"This is highly irregular." Hedrek complained, facing Merlin. "How dare you speak to her like that. Such insolence!"

"I do apologise." Said Merlin, turning back to face Isobel who was now glancing about the room. "Princess Isobel. Would you please fetch Lady Anna Pendragon and bring yourselves to the door as you are much needed elsewhere this night." He monotonously repeated himself.

Hedrek snorted, "I will be seeing you, my Lady." He said, before skulking off to pour himself a goblet of wine at the guest table.

Isobel sighed, shaking her head. "I'll go find Anna. Leave, Merlin. You're drawing unwanted attention to yourself."

~<<♤>>~

Merlin was waiting leaned against the cold stone wall outside the ballroom when Isobel and Anna joined him.

"Good, come on." He said, heading towards the servants exit that would lead to the courtyard.

"I'm not going anywhere with the likes of you. Especially unaccompanied. Now explain yourself serving boy, or I'm going back in to dance." Anna stood firm, folding her arms rather undignified.

"Please, my Lady, it's concerning your maid, Freyja." Merlin said, and Isobel's heart sunk.

Chapter Text

Merlin:

It was Morgana who had found the poor girl. She told Merlin, once he had found her crying rather hysterically in the corner of a corridor.

He had followed the sounds of her surprised gasps and sobs until he found her sitting quite away from Freyja, like a frightened child after a scary story.

Upon approach, the area around the dead girl felt somewhat cold. Like a hand touching his back. Dark magic.

Merlin, who was the physicians apprentice, had of course checked the recently deceased over for any glimmer of life. And then her cause of death.

Her skin was not broken. There were no cuts or bruises that marred her. There was no blood either.

On his way back to the scene with Isobel and Anna, Merlin thought perhaps she had succumbed to an unknown ailment but Isobel swore she was always in great health.

"We should take her to Gaius, he'll know what to do." Merlin decided, looking from Isobel to Anna and back to Morgana. She had resulted to standing by the stairwell, a good distance but not so far as to draw any attention.

Isobel did not move. She had gone a few shades paler, and thrown up upon seeing Freyja's body. This should have been expected, until Merlin felt rather guilty that he hadn't considered it.

He was used to seeing death after hunting for his meals with Will whilst growing up. It was different seeing a human being, all glassy-eyed and cold. But it was somewhat bearable, he guessed he had Gaius to thank after all his training from treating injured guards and starved peasants. And in addition, corpses too.

Anna kept glancing around nervously, despite being in an alcove, away from any guard or guest. The ground floor was mostly servants domain, especially by the back entrances to the castle where they stood now.

"Is? Isobel." Merlin pleaded her attention.

"She's dead. We should find a guard. T- Tell someone. . ." She echoed, staring dully at her maid.

"That's exactly what we shouldn't do." Anna interrupted. "If anyone sees this, it's going to be bad. We have a whole hall full of already shaken allies, we certainly don't need anymore reason for them to become our enemies."

"She's right, Is. We have to keep this between us. At least until everyone's gone home." He agreed, placing a comforting hand on her arm. She flinched slightly at the disturbance.

"Come on, we can't leave her here. She doesn't deserve to be left on the ground. We can take her to Gaius, place her on a bed until we can send her for burial." Morgana whispered, eyes red from crying. He turned as Isobel nodded.

~<<♤>>~

Carrying a body seemed rather more difficult than Merlin had anticipated, even with three other people helping. He wished numerous times Will was there. He was strong, with broad shoulders and had always helped Merlin carry his game back to the village when they were growing up.

Several times they had to duck into a room to avoid being seen by patrols or wandering guests who'd had enough of the party light and come for a gander about the wrong side of the Castle.

When they finally reached the physicians Chambers, Merlins limbs were aching. "What the heavens happened?!" The old man bellowed. He had opted to skip Mithian's ball. He wasn't at all one to enjoy such events, and much preferred to stay in the confounds of his room, reading or brewing up new remedies.

"Morgana found her, I checked for abrasions, a struggle; nothing." Merlin cleared a way for the girl on their spare bed. "She's dead."

"I can see that, thank you. But how? The castle is crawling with patrols." Gaius rushed to her side. He examined her carefully and for the benefit of the others present, drew up the same conclusion as Merlin had, and claimed she had died of an ailment.

Anna stood by Merlin, shaking her head. "This makes no sense. What was the girl doing so far from the guests anyway?" She wondered aloud.

"Her name is Freyja. . . I've known her for years." Isobel choked, gasping for air through her tears.

Anna bristled at her tone but said nothing. "Anna, why don't you take Morgana and Isobel into the back for a little while. I'll bring you water in a short while." Gaius suggested.

She nodded, and lead Isobel into small room at the back of the chamber, Morgana trailing behind.

"I don't think Freyja's death was an accident." Merlin spoke once the back door shut softly and all was quiet again.

"I agree."

"I think it was magic."

He nodded. "I think it's entirely possible. Brittany is known for it's healers. Are you sure it was magic?"

"The place we found her, it felt off. I could feel it."

"Then we must be cautious. If there is a sorcerer present, and they have taken a life this night, then we must keep watch on the King and Arthur. Especially the guests. Lord knows what could happen to us if a neighbouring Kingdom is targeted." Gaius ushered.

"You think they plan to kill Mithian?"

"I hope I'm wrong. Take Anna and head back to the ballroom. They'll be missing her now, and she's good at keeping a level head- Don't look at me like that, you know I'm right." He said when Merlin rolled his eyes at the mention of working with Anna. "I will see to Isobel and Morgana."

"Shouldn't we tell Uther?"

Gaius tilted his head in contemplation, "No. He is too arrogant. He'd shut the entire party down and I don't know about you, Merlin, but I don't feel like standing in a hall full of armed men, especially armed men that have been trained to kill since birth." He shook his head once more for surety "No, I think not. Just do as I say."

~<<♡>>~

Arthur was, as far as Merlin could gather, safe. He was dancing with Mithian, her cheeks red from too much wine and a sweet smile on her face.

"You're handling this surprisingly calmly." Merlin stated leaning against the far wall from the dias. Uther had began to wonder where his daughters had gone. Anna told him Morgana was unwell so they left to check on her and that should he find the time to visit her later, he'd make his way straight to her room, and not to disturb the physician at all. They'd let Uther know when the time was right.

"Yes. I am. So are you. Suppose your kind are used to stepping over dead bodies on the daily."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He demanded, pulling his eyes from the crowed of people he had been observing.

"I don't often visit the outlining villages and for good reason. It's filthy, full of death and diseases. You grew up in one of these boarder hamlets, didn't you?" She inquired, swilling a goblet of red liquor.

He sighed, exasperated. It wasn't the first time Anna was condescending to a servant, and certainly wouldn't be the last. "Yes. Ealdor, if you must know. And actually it was a beautiful place. And we 'peasants' are actually the reason why you have so much wealth. So I'd show a little more decency, if you wouldn't mind, Anna." He snapped, seeing red. Anna and Arthur had a special knack for getting under his skin.

"Well, it's good to know not every servant is as spineless as they seem." She smirked, looking back out at the crowed. "I'm going to ask around, see if anyone left. I suggest you keep a close eye on my idiot brother and Mithian. Uther too, if you like, but don't feel obligated." She added.

Merlin couldn't quite decide who Anna disliked most, her father, or the poor.

~<<♤>>~

Chapter Text

Merlin:

It was almost like clockwork, the way the last few minutes of the party played out.

When Anna returned, she did so with Morgana and a somewhat horrific look on her face.

After, it was all a matter of seconds.
Anna had ran towards her fathers table. Knocking the new wine vase to the floor before he had chance to pour his drink.

He had questioned her as to why she had done it, Anna simply stated she felt dizzy and that she had slipped.

Morgana then turned to address the party from in front of her father, her eyes still red but she was coherent now.
She had told the party to leave, that it was late, and everyone should retire to their respective rooms.

Uther of course, was not happy about this outcome. "What is the meaning of this!?"

"I-"

"We aren't feeling well, father. Apologies for cutting the party short but Gaius suggested everyone turn in for the night, should the illness spread." Morgana cut in before Uther had the chance to chastise Anna. A rare thing for her to do, and would likely never happen again.

He sighed deeply, contemplative. "Very well. Are you alright?" He asked, looking down at both his daughters.

"Plenty of rest should help." She said smiling weekly at the king.

He nodded. "Simply inform me next time, and I shall see to it all is done."

"Yes, father." Morgana nodded watching as Uther strutted off back to his Chambers for the night.

"That went better than expected." Merlin said, the last servant in the room. All the others retired with the guests.

He was silenced by Anna giving him a withering look. "Come on Morgana. Time for bed." She ushered, placing her hand on Morganas arm and leading her back out of the hall.

~<<♤>>~

Morgana:

The weekend passed all the same. Uther was still clueless as to the death of the servant. And better this way, the last thing they needed was an already paranoid King to get pushed over the edge. So Anna had the bright idea of paying off the guards, only some.

They'd patrol in bigger groups and linger mostly around the guests quarters. She hoped coin would be enough to rely on their discretion.
After all, Knights were supposed to be honourable men.

The day after the ball and the announcement of Arthur and Mithians engagement, Morgana had chased Arthur down to question him. According to him, his father had been planning this marriage arrangement for some time now. Nemeth offered trade with the farthest East and even the Islands beyond the coast of the land.

Their wedding was to be within the week, and there was to be no complaining. So Arthur did not complain. Morgana thought this rather stupid of him. If she were to be forced into marriage - and she was sure to be the next in line to do so - she wouldn't stop complaining.

After answering fountains of her questions, Arthur had grown bored of her badgering and sent her on her way.

She decided to see Mithian, she hadn't had proper time to catch up with her through all the chaos and missed her terribly.

"What's this about you marrying my idiot of a brother all of a sudden?" Morgana questioned, walking into Mithians Chambers as if they were her own.

"I'm sorry! I tried to write to you but my father wouldn't allow me. He said Uther wanted to keep it quiet." She pleaded, sitting in her parlour chair.

"Do you truly wish to marry him?" She asked carefully.

"Of course I don't. But it doesn't matter what I want. For my Kingdom, I would. Nemeth needs a good, strong alliance. Dependable. Camelot is as good as any, better even." She argued, nodding to herself. "I'm doing it, and I'd appreciate it if we leave this area of conversation now."

"Very well." Morgana sighed. "I missed you somewhat awfully, you know?"

"I missed you too." Mithian agreed. "I say, Isobel is nice isn't she? I don't believe I've properly met her."

Morgana rolled her eyes "I suppose, she's not that exciting of a person. I'd much rather talk to the walls."

"That is an untruthful and unfair thing to say, Morgana. You know as well as I, that you hate talking to the walls." She laughed.

Mithian always understood how to turn a sour conversation into a funny one, she had become extremely witty in her years at the front of her own court and incredibly sharp tongued.

And, as it would seem, incredibly lonely.

The wedding itself didn't take place until two days later, when all was sunny.

The field behind the castle was bustling with servants setting up buffet tables with food covered in rags to avoid flys getting at it. The marquee was set up at the top of the field, allowing room for the celebrations after. Bunting and torches where placed all over. It was to be a joyous occasion.

As all royal events go, there was to be a party after and Morgana had been roped into helping organise with Isobel, who had since lightened up. She had been given a new servant, appointed by Anna. Uther, of course, hadn't noticed.

"Are. . . Are you doing better, Isobel?" Morgana asked as she pointed to a tapestry that needed putting up.

"Much."

"What will you tell the girls family when you return home?"

"I. . . I hadn't thought of that. Oh God. What will I tell them!?" She panicked, wiping her brow in thought.

"Don't worry! I'm sure your father will deal with it. Just. . . Say she fell from the turrets." Morgana reasoned. It would be an instant death, she wouldn't have felt much of it, either.

"The turrets?" She whispered. "How terrible. . . I dont think I could lie to them like that."

Morgana frowned, "Lying is easy. You just have to tell them what they want to hear and be confident with your answers."

Isobel shook her head, "Merlin told me the other serving girl, Gwen, had asked for Freyja. Seems they were well acquainted."

"Oh dear. . . What did he tell her?" Morgana questioned.

"Nothing, just said she had gone home early. Family reasons." Isobel stated, helping another servant place out the dining plates.

Morgana nodded. This wasn't ideal, but they could work with it until the guests leave. Nobody talks like the help.

~<<♤>>~

The ceremony itself, started an hour later. Half the kingdom had turned up to witness it and crowds flooded the castle and courtyard. Only a select few could enter the throne room, this being reserved for family, dignitaries and Lords of the land.

This meant Morgana sat at the front, next to her sister and Isobel, much to her dismay. Her father, of course, was stood by Arthur just on the left of the dias.

Arthur looked nervous. He never got nervous. He's far too cocky for that. Morgana shook her head. This whole wedding felt wrong.

She smoothed over the material of her dress, she was wearing one of her best, red with rubies studded at the hems. Her hair pin was too tight, it was giving her a headache.

She felt eyes on her. Which was understandable, they were at a wedding after all and the hall was crowded. But these eyes were persistent, burning into her.

She took a quick careful glance around the room. Merlin was stood by the far left wall, observing. He met her eyes and smiled dopily.

She threw a smile back, and turned to face the front again. Isobel tapped her shoulder lightly "Are you feeling alright? You look really warm."

"Fine, thank you Isobel. Just a lot of people in here." She fanned herself lightly with her hands.

She nodded agreeing with her fib. "I must admit, I'm finding it quite difficult to sit still. I guess I'm just used to the summer heat a little better than you. I don't suppose you-"

"Isobel." Anna interrupted. "You're rambling again." She chastised.

"Sorry." She whispered, as the minstrels started playing. Their tune floated from ear to ear, a beautiful cascade of symphony.

Mithian appeared at the doors of the hall. She looked like pure angelic divinity. Her dress trailed behind her, covering the red carpet like freshly fallen snow.

Her hair had been styled into loose ringlets adorned with a viel and a tiara of diamonds.

Her father, King Rodor, held her arm in his as they walked in stride the long distance from the doors to the dias.

They only made it half way. The chandelier came tumbling to the ground with a loud crash as thousands of tiny pieces of glass shattered and spread across the floor. Mithian jumped back screaming.

A blonde woman had made her way to the front of the dias. She stood in finery. A gorgeous red dress.

The walls themselves began to shake, stone crumbled and broke, wind rattled the window panes like a hurricane and chairs fell to the floor as guests rushed to the doors in panic.

"I was going to wait to object, but what can I say? I'm eager." The woman on the dias said over the screams of the guests. Half of them were out now, Mithian had since been entirely lost in the crowd.

"What!? Who are you!?" Uther shouted walking up to her. The guards that weren't helping the guests withdrew their swords.

She turned to him, and said blandly, "You know who I am."

Uther paused, whatever realisation had just hit him, it made him physically pale. He shook his head.

The hall was almost empty now. Anna stood. She climbed the dias and took hold of the woman's arm. "I don't care who you are. You're not staying!"

It was almost like holding up a mirror. The two girls looked almost identical.
Isobel gasped, Morgana frowned. Why did this woman feel so familiar? Why did she look so much like Anna?

". . . Who are you?" Arthur asked.

The woman snatched her arm back from Anna's grip. "Morgause. My name is Morgause."

"Guards! Seize her!" Uther ordered. They didn't get close to her at all, before falling to the ground limply.

Had her eyes just changed colour? Perhaps it was a trick of the light.
Or perhaps it was something forbidden.

"Magic. . ." Isobel whispered under her breath just loud enough for Morgana to hear it in the now empty hall.

Magic.

Uther withdrew his own sword, it too flew to the other side of the room and clattered to the ground. "I wouldn't try anything if I were you."

"This isn't right. You have no right to come here! You-" Uther silenced at once, falling to his knees gasping for air as invisible hands tightened around his throat.

"Have spent seventeen years of my life waiting for this moment." Morgause smiled cruelly. "Seventeen years. Tell me, was it worth it, killing my father? Hm? Did your perfect family ever recover from the debt you so callously tried to cheat out of?"

"Let him go. Whatever magic you are doing, let him be!" Arthur spoke up standing in front of her.

She watched him like a wolf eyeing up prey. "So, you are the reason my mother is dead. Well, count yourself lucky you got most of her looks."

Morgana felt sick. This woman, Morgause, shared their mother.

Anna blinked, her mouth hung open. "You. . . You are. . . Related to us?"

Morgause turned to address Anna. "My mother was Igraine de Bois, my father Gorlois, former Duke of Cornwall."

"But that's-"

"Our mother's name." Arthur said.

Morgause nodded. She released Uther. He fell to the floor in a fit of coughs and tears.

"Why have we never heard of you?" Morgana wondered. Still sat down. She feared if she stood, her legs would not hold her.

Morgause looked down at Uther. "Are you going to tell them, or shall I?"

He shook his head. ". . . Please. . ."

"Me, then." Morgause sighed. "I was raised by the High Priestesses of Avalon for most of my life. . . I wanted nothing more than to find you all. But fate has other plans and even I cannot alter the paths the Gods choose for us."

She looked Arthur in the eyes, they looked so much alike Morgana couldn't believe it. "We were separated. The three of us," she gestured to Morgana too.

"Anna wasn't yet born, and you, Morgana, you were still but a babe."
She paused for a moment.

"They came in the night. We believed them to be Saxons." She laughed dryly. Looking down at the King with such disdain. "How deeply you betrayed them. . . Tell me, is there no end to your cowardice?"

"You see, our mother was not betrothed to Uther. . . She was betrothed to Gorlois. She was a duchess's daughter. . .

And she did not deserve what you did to her."

Chapter Text

Year: 487 AD

"Igraine, this is Gorlois." Her mother ushered, placing a firm hand on her shoulder to stop her from fidgeting. The boy stared back at her smiling kindly. Beside him, stood another young boy.

A grown-up coughed somewhere behind Gorlois. "Uh, a pleasure it is to meet you." He said, fumbling for Igraines hand. He kisses it, like her mother had explained would happen, and blushed.

She stood embarrassed. Why is it grown-ups always get to decide things!? She thought, rather cross at her mother for making her meet these strangers.
She began to feel rather overwhelmed with it all.

She hadn't asked to be woken up early and travel for days on a horse, even if that horse had become her friend through the duration of their journey.

Igraine ran away. She tucked herself between her mother and fathers arms and pushed her way past the few strangers stood behind them, and left through the old castle arch way. Her lungs were heaving by the time she had judged herself far enough from prying eyes.

Tintagel was big. So big. Even the statues that stood in the small garden looked towering and scary.

She thought about leaving down the narrow path to the mainland but then decided that perhaps that was too extreme. Her mother would be furious if she left Tintagel completely. So Igraine accepted her defeat beside the rose bushes and thyme.

She had only been sat there a moment, staring up at the fluffy clouds and trying to find faces and shapes in them.
"Who are you?" Came a small voice from behind her. She swivled around on the grass, her brown and gold dress caught under her feet.

"Igraine. Who are you?" She asked. The boy was slightly older than her, perhaps by two or three years and in his hands rested a wooden sword, whittled with precision and beautiful detail. A toy.

"I'm the Kings son." He said.

"What are you doing with that?" She frowned. She'd never seen a fake sword before.

All the others her father owned where shiny and silver and kept high up so she couldn't reach them, he didn't like her messing with his belongings through fear of Igraine hurting herself.

"Playing. -Well -Practicing. Father says I'm to be a Knight when my brother becomes king." The boy kicked his feet into the grass. "But. . . Fighting's harder than I thought it was."

Igraine smiled, then hesitantly asked, "Do you know Gorlois?" The boys face lit up almost instantly.

"Yes. He's my best friend!" He claimed, "He can't play today though, he's busy."

"Well, I can play with you." Igraine said.

He laughed "Girl's can't play boy games."

She frowned, "Oh. . ."

"Uther!" Rattled an older boy from across the gardens. "Uther, come on!"

The boy startled and rushed to his feet, "coming Ambrosius! I have to go." His face was dismal as he ran through the herbs to the castle door.

490 AD:

It was the dregs of winter and Tintagel had once again been called to hold council. Of what? Igraine didn't know. She wasn't allowed to know much of the discussions that were held in the great hall.

And if she were being honest, she didn't much care. She was happy doing as she liked, when she liked, and could continue to do so, as long as she stayed out of the way.

She had lived at Tintagel for nearing three years now, and boredom was as much apart of her daily life as dressing or eating.

Never the matter she thought, turning from the council Chambers. Gorlois was allowed entry for no other reason than the fact he was next in line for the Dukedom and had to learn 'life skills' as he put it. Although, he had apologised profusely and had told her he'd meet her tomorrow to 'make up for lost time', as he put it.

Uther, however, was as much an outcast to this event as she was. His brother, Ambrosius was the heir. He was able to go in. Uther was just the spare. Second in line, unimportant and unimpressed with boring meetings.

"Walk with me?" Uther asked, stood leaned against the wall of the corridor.

"I don't think my father would be too pleased with that." She said, strutting past him.

He followed, jogging to catch up. "Even more reason as to why you should definitely walk with me."

"Don't you have a maid to go fuck."

"Ooh such language from a young lady!" He chided, tuting like her mother would always do.

When she did not answer to his barbs, he stopped her in her tracks. "Hey, Raine wait."

She stopped, sighing. "What, Uther?"

He frowned, looking down at his hands as they reached for hers carefully. "Maria is just a bit of fun, she doesn't actually mean anything."

She pulled her hand away as a servant walked down the corridor by them, carrying a basket of fresh linens. She gave them a smile and left through the far end doors.

Uther wiped the tireness from his face, "Really, Raine. I don't think of her like I think of you."

"You can't think of me at all." Igraine said. "I'm to be Gorlois's wife. And as much as I care for you both deeply, he is where my loyalty lies."

He swallowed thickly, stepping away. His face crestfallen. She took the moment to walk past him. He'd get over it. She told herself.

She didn't get three paces before he caught her by the waist and planted a hurried kiss on her lips. She felt warm all over, too warm.

He pulled away as quickly as he'd pulled her to him, breathing deeply. "I'm sorry, I just had to do it once. Just to see."

She nodded, backing away a step. She didn't hate it. But it was her first kiss. Part of her felt relieved it hadn't been Gorlois. They'd have thousands of kisses to come. But part of her also felt incredibly guilty.

"Igraine." A boy said, coming up through the far end door. "Everything alright here?" He glanced from Igraine to Uther.

Igraine cleared her throat, turning to Cador, Gorlois's younger brother. "Cador! Yes. Everything is in order now. Let us walk." She gestured to the back door, leading out into the courtyard.

Uther too, turned away after meeting Cadors' steely scowl, and began skulking off in the opposite direction.

Stupid Uther. Always making her stomach do flips.

492 AD:

"Annis, you simply must come to the North with me this summer! I can't very well go on my own." Igraine whinged from her bed.

It was midday and she ought to have been out with Gorlois enjoying the weather but instead she insisted on staying in bed. She wasn't feeling well, and Annis, being a close friend and confidante, decided she'd keep her company.

Igraine wasn't complaining. She loved Annis like a sister and was always excited when she visited.

"Except you won't be alone though, will you?" A sly smile crept onto her face as she sat on the chair by Igraines open window. A slight breeze blew through the room, rustling the parchment on Igraines desk. Letters to her parents, and some from Uther. His visits were becoming fewer and far between.

Annis had lived with Igraine at Tintagel for a few weeks now and was set to go home soon. Being a friend of a duchess's daughter, and the second cousin of the Lords of Cornwall, Annis could come and go as she pleased.

"Gorlois and I. . . Are still getting to know one another." Igraine stated, sitting up now, her hair static from being buried in her pillows.

"Please, 'getting to know each other'? You've known each other since you were ten years old. What else do you have left to talk about.?" Annis chided brushing her hair through with her fingers.

"Five years isn't enough time to know everything. You've known Gorlois and Cador your whole life and I doubt you know either of their favourite colours."

This gave Annis pause. She frowned thinking, then, "hm, I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right. . . Do you suppose he wonders where I am?" Igraine asked meekly. Her pale face getting somewhat redder by the second.

"He came to your door about an hour ago but you were sleeping. I sent him away."

"He came here? I don't think he's ever called upon my Chambers before. Did he say anything?"

Annis shrugged, "He asked if you needed anything, and that he'd fetch it for you. Then he handed me a flower." She nodded to the nightstand by the back wall.

Igraine focused her eyes on it. Funny, she hadn't noticed it in the last twenty minutes she'd been awake but sat beside her mirror, was a blue forget-me-not.

She blushed, feeling slightly better now.
Then she thought, perhaps they do know one another enough.

After all, blue was her favourite colour.

495 AD:

All was quiet in Camelot. Igraine walked the halls alone. She couldn't quite recall where the throne room was from her guest Chambers.

Gorlois was already there. He had come a week prior, straight after the battle of Kaerconan so she was in much haste to see both Gorlois and Uther again.

When she finally found herself in the throne room, Gorlois was stood in hushed conversation with Igraines father. Perhaps they were discussing trade. Some boring topic of conversation to which Igraine had no interest.

He glanced up from conversation and met her eyes. He beamed charmingly, and hurried over to embrace her tightly. "You're hurt." She whispered, trailing her fingertips next to his cut cheek. The healing scar itself was small, but worrisome all the same.

"I'm alright." He assured, leaning slightly forwards and placing his lips gently on hers. She had missed this. How well they fit together, like the very stone bricks of the castle walls, he was the other half of her soul.

"I feared you wouldn't return. I dreamt it so. I thought I'd brought it into being." Her eyes began to tear up, her dreams were becoming more vivid every night, now.

Her magic was something wild, getting openly emotional did nothing to help her. In fact, it often hindered her, and made things worse.

Gorlois held her hands in his, his forehead pressed to hers. "Even you could not bring a dream into being, my love." He looked around carefully, before whispering, "Focus on me. Only me. Deep breaths."

She knew, he knew the signs. When the power within her pressed too close to the surface. When it threatened to show itself.

She had discovered her ability to use magic in her early teens and, despite her best efforts to conceal it, Gorlois had found out a mere three years after she. He hadn't said anything at first, only quiet observations, until she had lost control and almost set his father's study alight.

Since then, he had always sought to help her. Magic was quite common especially to the west of the land, where most stories of mystical creatures have sprung from. He never told anyone though, and neither did Igraine.

"I'm so glad you are back safe. I trust you looked after one another well?" She asked, trying to distract her thoughts from the ringing in her ears.

She felt him nod slightly, "Yes, it was a hard won battle, but we won all the same."

"I have a confession to make. . . When you were gone, I made a tree collapse in the gardens, and almost set fire to our bed. . . Sorry." She gave a nervous smile.

He huffed a laugh, "The tree had it coming, I trust?"

She pulled a face, "Oh very much, I swear it looked at me oddly." She smirked sarcastically.

After a long moment of just each other's company. Igraine backed away, smiling. "I'll see how Uther's doing." He nodded and released her hands. She missed his warmth immediately.

She spyed Uther stood by the dias, the King was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he'd retired to his bed. Rumour had it, he was gravely ill and the sudden passing of his eldest son, did no help for his health.

"I can't tell you how overjoyed I am that you're both back." She confessed, placing a calm hand on his arm. Uther turned his head and gave Igraine a wary grin. "I'm. . . Sorry about Ambrosius. I hear he fought valiantly-"

"Thank you, Igraine. But I'm fine. Really. . . You should get back to your betrothed. He missed you dearly."

"Uther. . . I missed you both."

496 AD:

The ceremony was a joyous occasion filled with laughter and dancing and drunken guests. Igraine had finally married the love of her life. She felt complete.

Her dress shifted in the evening light as she made her way through the halls of her home to the gardens. Tintagel was beautiful at sundown and she itched for a breath of fresh spring time air.

Gorlois was too busy entertaining their guests. People had come from all over, some as far as the North, even an ally from the continent.

"It's awfully improper of you to stand here with no chaperone." Squeaked someone coming up beside her.

She laughed at his mockery of her own mother. "Now, Cador, you'd know all about What's 'improper' Wouldn't you?"

The young man next to her rolled his eyes rather undignified and handed her a second goblet of mead. They had run out of wine some hours ago.

"You're my sister-in-law. I'm allowed to make fun of you now." He chuckled and sipped from his own cup.

"Haven't you found yourself a lovely girl? I hear Pelles' cousin is rather fond of you."

He coughed, spluttering on his drink. "Amite is not my type. And I do not intend to marry just yet. Gorlois has Cornwall now, I want to find my own place in the world. I cannot do that if I'm shackled here with a wife and children running a mock."

It was Igraines turn to chuckle. "I did not say she was interested in marriage. I said she is interested in you. There is a big difference, Cad."

"At least I get to choose who I marry."

"Arranged marriage isn't that bad. Well, I've been lucky I suppose."

He huffed a sigh through his nose and leaned back against the castle wall observing her. "What about you, are you happy here, Igraine?"

She watched him closely, "I am the happiest I have ever been when I'm with your brother. All the colours seem brighter when he's with me. He makes me feel present. Like I'm wide awake. Silly really."

Cador shook his head. "No. Not silly. You're one of us. I know my father certainly favours you. And he likes nobody."

She nodded contently "That is very true."

Chapter Text

497 AD:

***

Never had she felt such a pain as this.
The child had been gravely ill from the moment she was born. Ellayne was a bairn of only a month old, and yet illness had still taken her in her sleep.

Igraine had sobbed. She had screamed. She had thrown things.
She had tried every spell she could find in the old libraries.
She had begged the old Gods too, the Gods of blood and earth and soul.

But nobody listened.

Her hold on her own abilities lessened, and she began losing control more often than not.

Gorlois had cried too, she had seen him in the nursery just yesterday. He bawled and when Igraine entered silently, she held him in her arms and cried with him.

They both reclined into silent solitude of their own volition. Igraine slept away her days, counting small hours off her hands like sheep before a dream.

Gorlois retreated to his father's old study, then when the books and the quiet became too grim to bear, he took his attention to training his own soldiers in hand to hand combat.

Then, finally, once the overwhelming tiredness drenched him to his bones, Gorlois would find his way back to his wife. Igraine would melt into his arms the moment he crawled back into their bed. And he did not leave her.

Now, on the stormy cold fields of Tintagel, stood the mourners. Cador, with the help of Uther and Igraines mother, had organised it all. They hadn't the strength to do much else but lay in bed.

It was a different kind of torture. Slow and quiet. Seeping through to her very marrow.

Even now it had been a struggle for Igraine to walk from the castle to the open lands just beside it. She had only just recovered from the birth itself and even with her magic, she was feeling rather weak.

Ellayne's burial site was marked in stone and daisy's. And when everyone went home, Igraine and Gorlois stayed.

***

499 AD:

"Morgause," She whispered, holding the child in her arms. "Her name is Morgause." Annis smiled, and the court nurse and physician excused themselves.

"It's a beautiful name, for a beautiful girl." She hummed. Igrained nodded in agreement.

Not a moment later, her husband poked his head round the door to their Chambers and entered crimson faced and dishevelled.

It had been a long night for everyone but it was midafternoon now and igraine had only just woken.

She had suffered painfully and had lost a lot of blood. More than normal. Her own mother had been handed the child almost as soon as she was born.

Igraine had passed out from her injuries and fatigue and Gorlois had been kicked out of the room, much to his protest.
Annis was so worried, she had ran to fetch a second physician all the way from the mainland.

Gorlois was only allowed back in their bed Chambers once she had been deemed stable enough to make it through the night. Though she should be watched very closely until the morning.

"Are you alright, my love?" He asked, leaning down to kiss his wife's forehead. She felt cold and clammy, and she was still far too pale.

She smiled weakly, "Better now."

Gorlois stared at the baby in her arms.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue flower. "For you both." He gestured, placing the forget-me-not under the child's blanket.

He had plucked it from the gardens earlier that morning after Cador had suggested he take a breath of air.

"Here," she said, "hold her."
He gently lifted her into his arms, focusing on nothing else. "Her name is Morgause."

"Morgause." He nodded in approval. "A strong name, for a strong warrior."

Igraine sighed softly, looking out the window to the fields beyond. Her eyes began to darken as tears clouded her vision.

Gorlois frowned, rocking the baby delicately. "Igraine, what is wrong? Are you in much pain? I can fetch the physician again-"

"No. I mean yes, but that pain is bearable. It is nothing compared to how I feel in my heart."

"I don't understand. Why are you crying?"

***

"Gorlois. I may never be able to conceive again. . ." She sobbed. "I. . . I struggled so much last time, and this time. The physician has warned me against it. . . And, if I do manage to conceive, we may not survive." She did not meet his eyes. She could not.

Gorlois had stilled, "I see." He uttered. ". . . Then I am certainly blessed to have you both now."

Igraine turned slowly, "You cannot mean that!" She cried.

***

"Of course I do. You alone are enough, Igraine. And now we have Morgause. . . That is more than I could possibly be blessed with."

"But. . . Cornwall needs an heir. Without a son, the Dukedom-"

"-Will continue through my little brothers lineage. Cador may not yet be married, but when he does, and we are both gone, his son will take the lands. Or perhaps we will live long enough to see Morgause have her own family. Then it will be her sons."

She leaned back into the bed and took a deep breath, he sat beside her staring up at the bed posts.

~<<♤>>~

All was quiet for a while, Igraine and Gorlois had fallen asleep and Morgause was swaddled in the nurses arms over in her nursery. It had been beautifully decorated adorned with hand painted toys and the softest blankets they could have weaved.

Igraine dreamt of strange faces and far off lands. Castles and creatures she had never seen before. She dreamt of a woman with hair of ravens feathers, how her eyes shone, orange like the sky she now stood under. She saw a man, old and scarred with a crown atop his head. Uther.

Although he had become somewhat astranged to her these days, she'd know him anywhere. Each vision passing into the winds of her imagination like smoke. She felt herself choke on it. So many futures, so many people. But none she recognised besides her dearest friend.

She had learnt a while ago not to trust every vision she had. Not every dream told the truth.

She must have been tossing and turning rather a lot, as she was gently shaken awake by her husband. "Igraine!" He whispered loudly, his hands brushing the hair from her pale damp face. "Are you alright, my dear? You. . ." He trailed off glancing about the room.

It was dusk now and the last of the sun shined weakly through the windows.
"What? What did I do?" Her voice shook, she was not feeling well at all.

". . . Well, I awoke to birds flying into the windows, they flew so fast into it, they must have broke their necks as they fell to the ground below. They screeched rather horribly. A bad omen. I wasn't sure all was well. -Morgause is fine, I checked on her right away. When I returned you were in quite a state, my love."

She wiped her eyes, her cheeks were wet from tears. "Oh. . . I'm- I'm sorry I scared you."

He shook his head breathing softly, she looked back at him and saw not a single glimmer of fear. "You could never scare me."

500 AD:

Uther was crowned King the first month of the year. His father had finally passed away after years of illness and grief and the harshest winter they had seen in decades.

For his coronation, he had invited his allies, neighbouring Kingdoms and dignitaries from far off lands. And, of course, Igraine had received an invitation by messenger on horseback three weeks prior.

They made haste to pack and left Morgause in the care of her mother and her maid. Gorlois couldn't be gone too long, he too had succeeded his father to the title of Duke only a year ago.

His father had passed quietly one autumn night, finally joining Gorlois's mother. He was a nice man, kind, and left a fair amount to both Cador, Gorlois and even Morgause. Although this was rare, it was not entirely unheard of.

When they arrived at camelot, all was rather jovial in spirit. Igraine had not been back since the untimely passing of Prince Ambrosius, Uthers older brother. Gorlois had, however, as he had such meetings to attend that often required his presence.

"Gorlois! Igraine! How wonderful it is to see you." Uther beamed, swanning over from the castle steps. The horses halted and they stepped down.

"How we have missed you, Uther." Igraine exclaimed, extending her hand for him to kiss in greeting. His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

He shook hands with Gorlois, all smiles and charm, and asked how Morgause was doing.

~<<♤>>~

Later, at the party, after Igraine had settled in and dressed herself in diamonds, Uther stood upon the dias. The candlelight flickered as guests moved to the front.

He raised his glass, catching everyone's undivided attention. Gorlois held Igraines arm closely, taking a goblet from a servant.

"I thank you all for joining me here, in celebration of my coronation!" The crowed cheered, stiff-smiling ladies and Lords clapped their hands. "And, as tradition grants. . . I may pass my first law as King. . ." Silence slowly befell the crowd as they awaited the King.

Igraine smiled up at him. She knew he never initially desired the throne, but now he had it, he would be great. She was sure of it.

He nodded to a servant who handed Uther a scroll. He unravelled it, the yellowed parchment crinkled under his thumb. "As ruling monarch of Camelot as of this day; 11th January, In the year of our Lord 500. I hear by invoke that all those who practice, teach, or spread word of magic, shall be arrested and trialed as a sorcerer and shall be put to death by hanging until pronounced dead. . . This is effective by dawn."

The hall fell silent.

Never had there been such a law as this. Magic users were mostly accepted throughout the land. Some kingdoms were even built on such magic.
And some kingdoms were laid waste to by it.

Igraines stomach dropped. She felt sick. She knew Gorlois must have felt it too. Her ears began to ring. She suddenly forgot her footing and had to lean on Gorlois's arm for support.

Slow small claps scattered the hall as the guests remembered themselves. Numerous murmurs erupted throughout the throne room as some people made to leave. This was an outrage and an offence to many neighbouring cities, especially from the far west and especially the North, of which, very much kept to themselves.

Gorlois drank from his glass, so not to raise suspicion, and gave a haughty smile to anyone who glanced their way.

Gorlois turned to his wife, slowly leading her to the back wall behind the columns. "Igraine. . ." He murmured, his hands coming up to cup her face.

"How. . . How could he?" She choked as tears began to well up in her eyes. She let them fall. He brushed them away gently with his thumbs.

"I don't know. . . I'll talk to him, make him see sense. He won't have the backing of every Lord. . . Or Duke. And he won't be able to pass the law without our support." Gorlois shook his head, flushing angrily, "He should not have gone over our heads like that."

"He will have enough support from the new religion. . . What are we going to do?" She whispered.

He looked at her for a long moment, thinking. "I will try my best, my love. But I cannot go against him, not completely. I will see to it you are protected. And if you're right about Morgause. . . Then it is our entire family he has threatened."

Igraine stepped back, wiping her eyes desperately. "I'm going back to our room. . ."

Gorlois:

Gorlois was inclined to follow her, he had begun feeling rather lightheaded himself. But he decided against it. It was best he spoke to Uther sooner rather than later.

No soon had Igraine left, then uther had walked through the crowd to the edge of the room where Gorlois stood now alone.

"Is she alright?" He asked. He seemed distracted, almost nervous.

"She's fine. Just a headache, you know? All the. . . Excitement. She was very happy to see your coronation." He made his lips turn upwards but it seemed to come out like a grimace.

"Right. . ." Uther said, looking down at the goblet in Gorlois's hand.

"You like the wine? Had it imported from Brittany." He added, idle chitchat wasn't Gorlois's strong suit.

". . . Very much. Look- Uther, this law-" Camelot wasn't the first kingdom to pass this law, and now it wouldn't be the last either. More and more dignitaries would see the heavy weighing benefits of this.

"-May seem harsh, but its for the greater good. It's chaos in the bordering villages, ruled by those druids. . . Just terrible. . ."

Gorlois began to feel rather dizzy. The hall and the few people left in it had become hazy, especially in the dark corner of the room.

He felt a strong arm guide him to the floor before he could fall. And then the world went wobbly and dark as sleep claimed him.

It was not until the next morning, did Gorlois realise what Uther had done. The great wound in which Uther had inflicted upon their friendship. The stain of betrayal that would not fade. The sins that had been committed upon poor unknowing Igraine.

The damage that had been done, could not be undone.

He awoke on the floor of the throne room rather confused, and, thinking he'd just had too much wine, made his way to their room.

He had only realised what Uther did, when he arrived to their Chambers early that morning. Igraine had given him a sultry smirk and made a remark on the events that had occurred last night.

"You never call me Raine." She had said curiously. "I'd have thought you'd picked it up way sooner, being childhood friends with Uther and all."

This had given him pause, and in his shocked haze he had responded lightly with a slight shrug of the shoulders "It won't happen again. I think I much prefer love, my love."

Uther was once a loving friend, an ally, a Prince among men. How far the mighty fall when their greed and power consumes them.

"Speaking of. . . Did he say much last night before you came up to bed? Will he change his mind?" She inquired. Gorlois bristled at the mention of 'last night'.

He breathed shakily, "No. I'm going to have a word with Uther. . ." He said, buckling his sheeth to his belt. "Why don't you make your way to the stables, have the maids finish packing. I shan't be too long."

"Wait- what will you do? Gorlois-" She went to object, before Gorlois turned to her.

"Please. Please Igraine, all will be well. . . I love you." And with that, he left.

~<<♤>>~

He had to fight him. He had to restore her honour, and although she would never know why, he would do it.
Gorlois wanted blood.

He had told Igraine he drew his sword on the grounds of the law he had passed. But now, stood glaring at the man he once called 'friend' he never hated anyone like it.

He threw down a sword, right at Uthers feet. The Great hall wasn't nearly as crowded as the party last night, with only a handful of Lords stood in hushed conversation by the edges of the room.

"Pick it up." He demanded, when Uther stared at him. The Lord He had been talking to, wisely backed away.

"Gorlois. Perhaps we can talk about this elsewhere-"

"Pick it up you, fucking coward!" All eyes turned on him, he felt their stares burning. The guards that dotted the edges of the throne room, casually let their hands fall to the hilt of their swords. He did not care. He would duel them all if it meant he'd have a crack at the king.

Uther, never one to back away from a fight, leaned down to pick up the sword. It caught the light spooling from the window in a small blinding flash.
"You really don't want to do this, Gorlois. You know I've been trained to kill since birth."

"All I need is the right motivation." He said through gritted teeth.

Gorlois, of course, took the first swing. His sword hitting his opponents with a clink.

Uther stumbled backwards ever so slightly, but it was enough for Gorlois to start with the upper hand. "I know what you did!"

Before he knew it, he had caught Uther in a headlock, Gorlois's blade pressed against Uthers neck. "You honestly thought, after we lost Ellayne. . . We wouldn't look into every single fucking piece of magic related to childbearing." He whispered angrily, the blade began to draw blood.

With a hard hit, Uther freed himself. He went sailing forwards, almost knocking over a snobby old man with an ornately carved cane. ". . . Does she know?"

Gorlois huffed a dry laugh. "Of course she doesn't know!" His voice faltered "This would kill her."

Uther dived forwards, scratching Gorlois deeply on the arm.

He spun quickly, jabbing the weapon towards Uther. This time, he was luckier. The end of his blade just catching uthers face.

Blood trickled from the Kings new scar. His hand flew up to his eye, now partially blinded by his own blood, Gorlois went in for the final fatal blow.

He did not make it close enough. Two guards intervened, knocking the sword from his hand and wrapped their arms around him in restraint.

Gorlois struggled against their iron grasp as they began to lead him from the room- probably to the dungeons he gathered.

"No." Uther panted, "Let him go. . ."

The guards hesitated only a fraction of a second before freeing him with a forceful shove. Gorlois took only a step forwards, picking his discarded weapon up off the floor and sheathing it.

He glowered at Uther scornfully "I curse your name Uther Pendragon. May you never know the warmth of another's love."
His breathing had become rugged, he felt his blood, hot and red as a rose, run down his arm to his fingertips. "And know this, I may not be powerful enough to defeat you but mark my words, you shall meet your end by one of my blood.
Dreór wræc hast blódes"
He spat at the floor by Uther, glaring daggers.

The crowd around them gasped he knew what they were thinking; had he cursed the king?
"You are no longer welcome in Cornwall." He added, before turning and sauntering straight out of the double doors.

He wanted Uther dead, and his corpse thrown to the farm animals, having worms eat at his decomposing flesh as he's lays in the shit and filth of pigs and vermin.

But it wasn't enough to want something, he knew he'd have to be smart if he wanted to succeed.

Chapter Text

503 AD:

Gorlois:

It was too easy. Too dreadfully easy.
Their waning trust broke completely under fickle lies and fake intentions.
Then how tragic indeed, Igraine would never truly know the true decent of Uther lies.
How deep he could wound without steel or axe.

"Gorlois!" Igraine cried running from the parlour with Morgana in her arms and three year old Arthur toddling along at her side, holding tightly to her dress. "What is happening!?"

"We are under attack. I sent word ahead to Uther, he may not reach us in time." he said, rushing about the armory with his soldiers. Although this was a lie. He had sent word to Camelot, just not Uther. There were other trusted friends with in the Kings Court who would move heaven and earth for Cornwall. He just hoped they got the message fast enough.

"I need you to take the children and go with cador." He continued, "In the dungeons there is an old Smugglers tunnel, it will lead you to the tree line."

"I am not leaving you! Come with us!"

"You must!" He sighed. "I am Duke, I cannot leave the lower town defenceless. I must stay. . . Once you reach the tree line, head North East, when you reach the village beyond the valley, there is a stable with horses in our name. Take them and ride until you reach Caerleon. Annis should be there."

"This is absurd, I-"

"Igraine. Please. I need you all safe." He looked over his children. "Where is Morgause?"

"She's with her governess in the nursery, I sent a guard straight for her. I will fetch her straight away!" She cried.

"No. The nursery is by the tower. I will go. It's too high up and you may not have time before they breach our defences."

Gorlois turned to Cador, who was buckling his sheeth to his waist. He did not have time to put all his armour on. "Get yourselves as far from Tintagel as possible."
He placed his arm on the back of his younger brothers neck and pulled him in for a brief hug. "Stay safe, brother."

Codor smiled humorlessly "You too. I will protect them with my life."

His children were crying, he bent down to Arthur's level, a crouch, and gave him a wary smile. "All will be well, my son. Listen to your mother, and go with uncle Codor."

He turned to Igraine who was near tears now, and pressed a dagger into her hand. "Do not hesitate, my love." And placed one long last kiss on her lips before Cador urged her away back out of the armory.

When Gorlois reached the stairwell, panic had already broken out amongst the servants who were rushing about carrying medic bags and blankets to the main hall.

"They're inside the walls!"
"They climbed the parapets!"
"May Thunor protect us!" He heard a chain of distant shouts throughout the higher floors.

He steadied his sword, lightly ascending the stairs to the nursery floor.

The landing was empty, apart from the various objects strewn about the floor. With vigilance, he scurried down the hallway.

'Where is everyone?' He held his sword out, turning a sharp right. The nursery was just at the end of the corridor.

It was eerily quiet, the moon had come out, and the stars twinkled over the town, watching him move along the floors of his home from the stain glass windows.

He had to catch himself by the stone wall as he almost stumbled over a heap on the floor.
A guard -No doubt the guard Igraine had sent for Morgause- gutted from his neck to his naval.

He grimaced as he walked past, looking away through fear of seeing the poor man's innards on the bloody floor, and muttered a quick prayer to Hell, the goddess of death - might she guide him to Hefenfelth.

But if this man had now passed to the Underworld, then Morgause was in grave danger.

Candlelight pooled out of the nursery, along with the small sniffles of a crying child - and the low murmuring of a man's voice.

The door was wide open, and the window was cracked slightly along with numerous things strewn about the floor. The governess who was appointed to take care of Morgause was laying in a pool of her own blood by the bed.

Next to her corpse, lay a candlestick, she had tried and failed to protect herself. Gorlois's eyes shuttered, she was too young. Her parents worked in the market -cloth sellers. If they all survived tonight, he'd have to tell them their daughter was dead.

Uther was crouched by the far wall, talking calmly to Morgause, Gorlois was overcome by a glimmer of relief -only for a second- before he realised Uther couldn't possibly have been here at Tintagel. Unless he already knew of an attack- or used some form of magic to arrive in seconds- however, this option seemed less likely.

"Uther. . ?" Gorlois questioned, aiming his sword at Uthers back. "Step away from my child." He caught the eye of his daughter, her hair was a messy tangle and her white sleeping gown was speckled with red blotches of blood. Possibly a guard, maybe her nanny.

"It's quite alright, Gorlois. I would not harm a daughter of Igraine."

His face was hidden behind a steel helmet and his square shoulders were tense. He was also covered in blood and dirt and he stunk of death and perspiration. Gorlois began to feel as if the army, were not in fact, Saxons.

"I'm in a difficult position in Camelot, you see, Gorlois. . ." Uther said his name as though it were poison on his lips. The man turned slowly, getting to his feet. His eyes watched Gorlois like a wolf.

He was suddenly aware of his own lack of armour. 'Stupid' he scolded himself. He had been too wrapped up in worry, he hadn't thought about armour. His father would murder him for that. It was the one thing his father had beaten into him and Cador since they could hold a sword. 'How could I forget!?'

"You see. . . I appear to have traitors in my council. So naturally I intercepted one of their correspondence a few weeks ago." Gorlois swallowed thickly. He knew what was coming. "And imagine my surprise, when it is a letter addressed to you."

There were many within Camelot who hated Uthers law on magic. It was dark times and the kingdom suffered greatly every day. Apparently, Uther had kept to his word and was executing those with magic. A purge.

This, however immoral, included children too.

People were angry and scared. And the council had begun to form a splinter group. Many wanted a different king. Many wanted Gorlois.

And Gorlois wanted Uther gone, if not just for Igraine, but for his children too. For their futures.

"Are you surprised?" Gorlois retorted. "Or are you just scared of your power slipping right through your fingers, and into my hands."

"I am a Pendragon! I am the last son of Constantine III, that throne is mine by blood and oath and by God himself!"

"Your God means nothing to me. You mean nothing. You stand for nothing- and you will die for nothing." He glanced at Morgause quickly. She was still crying silently, but her eyes never left Gorlois.

"Well, well. Not only are you a traitor, you're a pagan too. You're no better than them Druids." Gorlois tensed at this.

The Druids were not bad people- but they were no saints by Uthers standards either. They often lived by their own rules, the more chaotic side of magic.

Some would call them barbaric, whilst others would call them wise beyond years. They were fine if you left them alone - but Uther was pushing them further and further into other kingdoms territories, even Cornwall and everyone knew the druids didn't like being told what to do.

"You have wronged so many people Uther! They will fight back one day, and when they do, they will not show you mercy!"

Uther was done listening. He swung his sword in a swift arc towards Gorlois's head. He parried his opponents strike with a grunt and leaped backwards.

Gorlois gained his footing and slashed at Uthers breastplate with an ear-splitting grating sound, leaving only a scratch mark from the blade. He had almost made it to Morgause now.

Uther elbowed him right in the chest, clashing his blade against the hilt of Gorlois's just before he fell, the force knocking his sword from his hand, and skittering across the stone floor towards the hearth.

"You thought you could plot to overthrow ME? And I'd never notice?" Uther bellowed, pausing. He kept his sword trained on Gorlois's chest.

"What you've done, what you're doing- is wrong!
Uther. . . You are killing hundreds of innocent people! You defiled my wife! Igraine! Your friend!"

"And I pray to God she will never know. You weren't even supposed to know." He leaned his head back, stretching his neck towards the ceiling as if he were closely conversing with God himself. "Too smart for your own good. . ." He whispered. ". . . It doesn't matter anymore." Uthers head snapped back, his eyes landing back upon Gorlois and the small girl behind him.

Gorlois shook his head, looking at the man before him as a stranger. He held his daughter closer behind him. "You've gone mad!"

"Perhaps. But the boy is mine, you can hand him and Igraine over, or you can die in this room."

"Never! Arthur is my child! I have raised him! Igraine will NEVER love you! She will never forgive you for thi-"

He felt the coldness of the blade pierce his skin.
The blood trickle down to the floor, the bile in his stomach threatened to push its way up. 'Funny' He realised, it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. In fact, he couldn't even feel it yet.

He heard Morgause scream behind him, the pure terror in her voice as the blade came out the other side, scratching her arm in the process. He felt her jump back and retreat to the far wall.

'No' he thought 'she can't see this. This can't be how she remembers me.'

"I didn't want to. . . I really didn't!" He wasn't sure if those were tears in Uthers eyes or if he was just hallucinating.

The blade twisted slightly as it pulled out, he felt his organs shift with it and he collapsed to the stone floor of the nursery. Morgause watched on with horror. Uther picked up a small bit of cloth from the nursery bed and wiped his sword clean with it.

He backed away to the door, Gorlois couldn't see properly anymore, everything was going dark. He could feel the life drain from him along with his blood, which was collecting in a pool on the dusty stone. "Burn the room, take the child. Do with her what you wish. So long as I never see her again." He said to a guard out in the hall.

'No. . .' He wanted to scream. 'Not my girl. . .' His head was throbbing and he was aware of the burning feeling coursing through his veins.

He felt too weak to move. Too tired to talk. It was getting harder to breath by the second. All he could think about was Igraine. Her face, her laughter. It echoed through his mind like music. And then he thought, if her laughter should be the last thing he hears, even in memory, then how beautiful a melody it is indeed.

Igraine:

They made it to the woods. Cador made sure of that. They ran into little trouble in the tunnels, so all was well on their end.

Igraine couldn't stop worrying about Morgause and Gorlois. She knew her daughter would be safe with him, but Gorlois was the most selfless person she knew. He would put anyone before himself.

"We shouldn't wait here." Cador said, quietly tugging on Igraines sleeve. He was holding Arthur in his left arm and a sword in the other. The boy had been given a sleeping draught and fallen to sleep already. "Igraine? It isn't safe. We must go."

She was stood by a willow tree looking back at the castle. She could hear screams and cries and sword clashing as enemy soldiers fought through their ranks. She thought she could see orange light from the nursery window if she looked hard enough. That sent a flip through her stomach.

"I know. I can't leave him. Take the children, I will wait for Gorlois and Morgause." She said, hugging Morgana close to he chest. The baby hadn't stired since they left the armoury. She was sleeping soundly.

Cador shook his head. "I'm under orders not to leave you. And quite frankly, Igraine - I don't want to. So come on."

A figure approached from the left side of the clearing. He was crouched low, running by next to the tree line, right towards them.

Cador passed Arthur to igraine and she held the boy tight in her arms with Morgana. "Stay down." He whispered.

Cador readied his sword, he'd behead the man before he got too close, igraine realised.

Before Cador got the chance, the man spoke and her heart leapt. "Igraine?" Uther hissed, coming to a quick halt as cador parried his sword right out of Uthers hands.

"Friendly!" He said, hands in the air before him in surrender. Cador kept the blade pressed to his neck.

"How are you here so fast?" He accused, scowling at the man in silver armour.

Uther lifted his hands to his head and pulled off his helmet revealing his scarred face. "Scouts reported movement on your Western shores two days ago. I rode out as soon as I could."

Cador frowned "Our soldiers never saw anything."

"Cador, please-" Igraine pleaded rocking Morgana gently.

Uther sighed, his face went solemn, "I fear they simply neglected to tell you. . . Perhaps they weren't as loyal as you thought they were, Lord Cador."

He lowered the blade slowly. "Where is my brother? My niece? Surely you must have seen them."

Uther remained silent. His face growing even darker, as he reached into his pocket under his breastplate. Igraine was frowning. She couldn't understand why he was so sad.

He pulled out a rag, leaning over Cador, and handed it to her. She placed Arthur gently on the floor- still sound asleep- and took it. It was red and damp with blood stains.

She recognised it immediately. It was a small blanket, stitched with blue Forget-me-nots and daisy's from Morgauses bed. "W. . . What?" She frowned even deeper, shaking her head over and over in disbelief. "What is this. . ?"

She huffed a dry laugh like this was some jest they were all playing on her. She looked to Cador, tears forming in her eyes.

"WHERE IS MY BROTHER!?" Cador boomed, readjusting his sword to aim at Uther. The King stumbled backwards a step and lost his balance.

". . . I'm truly sorry. . ." He muttered.

Cador let his sword clatter to the forest floor. He turned to Igraine, finally meeting her stare.

He was crying. Why was he crying? Surely this was wrong. Gorlois would come running the same way Uther had, with Morgause in his arms and a sword in the other- and he'd be fine. They both would be unharmed.

"No." She said. Over. And. Over. And. Over. Again. "No, no, no, no, NO!" She was crying uncontrollably now, she didn't register when, but her legs turned to marsh and she fell to the floor, clutching morgana even closer, along with Morgauses bloody blanket.

She could see the castle in the distance, the nursery was ablaze. The orange glow had gotten bigger and now consumed the tower, too.

There were no words of comfort from Cador or Uther. No such words could ever exist, she thought. Nothing on earth could help her.

The pain was too much to bare, and she screamed. She didn't care if she was found by Saxons and tortured or killed. Nothing else really mattered.
Because everything she loved was gone.

505 AD:

Their screams seemed to echo down every single corridor. Their shadows seemed to linger in every alcove.
She could barely bring herself to light a candle, should it remind her of the massacre which occurred daily here in Camelot.

The first Witch Trials. The Great purge, as many noblemen chose to call it.
Tears fell from her eyes. He thought she was crying because she did not understand.

But she did understand.

She understood more than anyone. This was why she could not object to it. If she defended them, he would wonder why. If he found out she had magic, her life and her children's lives would be in jeopardy. Especially her daughters. All of her girls. Both. She still wasn't used to that. Two. Not three. Not four. But two.

These trials had started the day Uther became King, and have been relentless for years since.

It was worse down in the dungeons of the Castle, where men, women and children were kept until the gallows or the pyre.

Igraine quickly began to realise some of the screams weren't coming from the cells, but further down. Talk quickly spread amongst the prisoners, then to the servants who'd deliver their soppy excuse for a meal, talk of other prisoners going missing before their trials -if they were even given one- and never returning, or if they did, they did so off record.

She did what she could - sneaking food through the bars on one of her many 'routine checks', paying off guards to turn a blind eye to the odd child, tipping knights when they checked a trading cart leaving camelot too well.

Her efforts were few and far between if she wanted to remain discreet under Uthers thousand loyal eyes.

They were stood by a window overlooking the courtyard. A man and his wife had just been hung. Their bodies still swinging gently back and forth in the wind. Their pale blue faces and dull eyes stared skywards.

She hoped the children hadn't seen it, but they were all playing in Arthur's room across the hall and their laughter echoed towards her ears every so often.

Anna was sound asleep in her cot by Igraines bed. She didn't completely know how she had managed to have another child after. . .

But after Arthur was born, she figured her last physicians had been wrong. And then Anna came along Serendipitously and she was thankful. So incredibly thankful for a distraction. Another child to keep her busy. To keep her mind from Cornwall.

But the girl resembled Morgause in more ways than one. She had given her, her name. Anna Morgause Pendragon. She was Uthers, not Gorlois's. They were all Uthers now.

They had both agreed. All three of her children would be raised as his. He would be their father. She just hoped it was enough to save them, should the day ever come Uther found out about the girls magic.

510 AD: April 2nd

Uther:

The woods were full of shadows. Clawing branches reaching out, watchful beasts of all kinds stalked these parts. It was not uncommon for even the best trackers to lose their way here.

The witch was stood in a small clearing by the creek, her young features stood out the most. She was said to be thousands of years old but in physicality, she was no older than a teen.

"Uther Pendragon." She beckoned him out of the tree line. He drew his sword.

"You went back on your word." He seethed, the metal shone in the moonlight.

"I did not." She said. "I promised you an heir from Igraine, and as penance, I take a soul. A life for a life, King. You knew that."

"Gorlois! I gave you Gorlois!"

"You do not get to pick who's soul death reaps. The Gods have a very. . . Strange way of choosing who joins them." She looked up at the sky as if the stars would leave their places in the twilight and take form of a God. "It is not for us dwellers of the earthly plain to understand."

He shook his head vehemently "Igraine is ill. Please. Heal her. I will do anything." A lone owls hooting call came from branches high above.

She snapped her head back, her movements unhuman "I gifted you a decade, boy! Ten years with both souls, your wife, and your son. That was beyond generous of me. The contract is almost up. It is not my fault the Gods wish for Igraine."

510 AD: June 19th

Igraine:

The youngest was sat hugging herself by the far wall. She would have sat there alone all night, had Arthur not joined her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. He was so much like Gorlois, Igraine almost cried.

Not in his physical looks of course, but in his mannerisms. She had begun to suspect he looked like Uther, perhaps from the time he spent with him, perhaps it was all in her head. But the curve of his jaw, the angle of his nose, the way his eyes squinted when he smiled. . . Just wasn't Gorlois.

She was instantly reminded of her first day at Tintagel. How she had ran away from Gorlois and hid in the gardens. Later that day, Gorlois sat with her on a lone window seat after she had been found and dragged back inside under the scowly gaze of her mother.

He had apologised for scaring her and had admitted that he too, found this entire thing to be rather terrifying. Then she had slipped her hand into his. He had squeezed back just as thankful for something to hold onto.

Now, the window from Igraines bedroom was fogged over, rain pattering mercilessly against the glass.
Her bed was pressed neatly at the corners, even though she was restless the night prior.

Her eldest daughter, Morgana, sat beside her. She was placing a daisy in Igraines hair, tooking it just above her ear. The little girl smiled and her mother smiled back, though she was very week and her smile faded faster than she could blink.

"Here. . ." Igraine croaked just below a whisper. She untooked her arms from under the heaps of woolen blankets draped across her sick bed and joined her hands together. She took the golden bronze ring from her finger with ease. Her sickness ate away at her until she was skin and bone.

"I want you to have this, Morgana. . . It was given to me by. . . Someone very special to mummy." She slipped it on the girl's finger, though this was far too big for the hands of an eight year old.

Morgana smiled, she took note of her father: Uther's wedding ring, silver, and still on Igraines marriage hand.
"Look after it well, my love. . . Don't tell your father I gave it to you, though. . ."

Morgana shook her head placing a finger to her lips, a promise she wouldn't tell.

Chapter Text

Anna:

The caves and the beast which dwells within them had become the royal family's best kept secret for an entire generation.

She had only discovered the secret herself one night when she was just a girl. It had been a few months after her mother had passed, when a deep voice stirred her from sleep.

She had followed it all the way to the dungeons and even farthur still. It wasn't long after that, Uther sent her to Brittany. She hated him for it. For many years and still even now, the name of him being called father tasted bitter in her mouth.

"Kilgharrah!" She said, waking the dragon from his slumber.

The creatures mouth snapped wide open in a grotesque smelling yawn. Anna's nose crinkled at the stench of the beasts breath.

"What brings you to my Cave without my calling, Lady Anna?" He asked.

"Morgause. Is it true what she said? Is she my sister?" Morgause had left in a whirlwind of fire and dust after she had told of Igraine.

Morgana had melted into tears and ran to her room. She refused to leave. Arthur had ignored his father's pleads for reconciliation and had spent all of the afternoon -and would likely spend the rest of the week- sword training. Isobel had seemed too awkward to say anything and had spent the rest of the night in the tavern with William and Merlin.

And as for Anna, she wasn't one for sulking in her room, or lashing out at others, or drinking away family issues. She had decided to take ahold of the problem at hand. If she could get straight answeres- then perhaps it would be easier to comprehend.

The dragon chuckled, ruffling his wings like a chicken. "The witch was telling the truth. I warned you of her presence last time you visited."

"Watch your tongue, do not forget, I too am a witch. I too, have the power of my mother." Morgause, much to Anna's relief, hadn't mentioned of the girls magic. She had simply stated their mother was of magic decent, and that Morgause and Morgana were not of Uther.

Still, Anna thought it wise to keep an even closer eye on Morgana. She had thought that perhaps the ability to possess magic, had skipped Morgana. After all, she hadn't sensed anything from her older sister in the eleven years Anna herself has had it.

"And harnessed incorrectly, is a weapon." The beast stated, "Which is why you must watch Morgana."

She frowned. "You mentioned her last time, and the serving boy- Merlin. You call him Emrys. Why?"

"Because that is his name." He answered simply.

She shook her head in frustration, "Why must I watch Morgana? But not Morgause?"

"I gave you the prophesy, the day that serving girl died." He started. Anna recalled, after she had seen the serving girl lying cold on the floor, she had left Merlin in the throne room and come straight to Kilgharrah.

He had warned her of the wine. How the chalace was poisoned. Her sister, Morgause, had an even deeper hatred for Uther it would seem. After, Anna had come to the conclusion that the poor serving girl, Freyja, had simply been in the wrong place, at the wrong time and seen something she shouldn't have. Anna felt a pang of guilt.

She and Morgause looked so much alike, Freyja had probably mistaken Morgause for Anna, and had followed the woman, thinking she was her mistress.

The dragon continued, "You know why you must watch her. She and that boy will bring the end of Albion before it even begins again. Morgause is but a small piece in the puzzle. She does not matter as of this moment."

"And what am I?" She demanded, tourch light flickering next to her, illuminating the curves of her face onto the damp cave wall .

"You, young witch, are hope."

Merlin:

Of course, Merlin had heard the entire thing. In fact, he had not even left the hall. He hid behind a pillar by the doors, after helping Mithian to her feet in the haste and panic. The poor girl had almost been trampled to death. She had retired to her room early, understandably upset.

It wasn't until Isobel came to the tavern and perched herself onto their usual table, did he find out that Mithian was actually quite relieved they hadn't gone through with it.

Of course, Mithian was upset for Arthur and his family. However, according to Isobel, Uther had managed to keep the news of the Royal family secret.

As far as everybody was aware, it was just another sorcerer making an attempt to take the life of a royal. Things like this were shocking, but in Camelot it tended to happen every few months so talk died down fast, and the news would be history in about a weeks time.

Isobel wiped the tireness from her eyes and sipped at her drink. Merlin thought she looked as out of place as a bear in a jewlers market.

"Poor bastard." Will grumbled, "He was so close to marrying a queen." He shook his head regretfully, reaching for his drink again.

"Mithian isn't a queen -Yet." Isobel corrected she had taken her hair pin out and started combing her fingers through her hair.

"Well, still. I doubt this is going to benefit the kingdom." He argued.

"Since when do you care about what benefits Camelot?" Merlin asked, smirking.

"Since I'm one of the sorry buggers who live in it. I need my pay, don't I?"

A jolly looking bar maid came around and silently filled up each cup, smiling seductively at Will. He ignored her, Merlin wasn't even sure if Will noticed, whether it was due to his eye being covered with a bandage, or he simply didn't care. The maids face fell only for a second before she gave a hearty wink to Merlin and turned back to serve another table.

"Ah yes." Isobel nodded mockingly, "so you can spend your money on more fine beverages." She gestured to the drink he was holding.

"Fuck off." He chuckled, swigging the dregs of mead left in his cup.

~<<♤>>~

It was late hours into the night when Merlin found himself walking Isobel back to the castle. The courtyard was dead, baring the odd patrol of stern faced knights, crouching over bonfires trying to chase their shivers away.

They only got stopped twice for sketchy behaviour, before the Knights would recognise who Isobel was, and let them be on their way.

"It's getting worse, haven't you noticed?" Isobel complained as they passed through the inner walled gates. "A few summers ago I never would have been stopped. They wouldn't have given us a second glance."

"A few summers ago, we were little kids. They're more lenient on children nowadays." Merlin reminded, though this hadn't always been the case.

A few decades ago it was illegal to even be out past curfew- punishable by lashings, according to his mother. She had never lived in Camelot, but his father had.

He went missing when Merlin was only eight. Since, he made it his job to help provide food for himself and his mother. Thinking of his mother made him queasy with homesickness.

"I guess. . ." Isobel readjusted her sachel, she had rushed to her room after talking with Mithian after the wedding ordeal and had grabbed her coin purse. Merlin knew she didn't feel like dealing with the Pendragons sober.

He cleared his throat which was dry from the alcohol and the chanting of the tavern music. He'd likely have no voice tomorrow.

They passed through the serving entrance, this was always the safest option for Isobel, out of the way from Uthers throne room. Though, Merlin doubted the old King would be in there at four in the morning, they'd rather be safe than sorry.

Isobel paused at the foot of the stairs. Her eyes fell upon the clean stone floor and the potted shrubs beside it.

It took Merlin a moment to wonder why she was stood staring vacantly at the floor, until he realised why the stone was so clean.

"They sent her body home for burial." Her voice was no more than a breeze down the hall, she was so quiet. "I. . . I never got to say goodbye."

Merlin bowed his head, "I'm sorry, Is. I know you were. . . Close." She turned and he realised she was shaking with tears.

He guided her into an embrace, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as hers looped round him. Her hair smelled sweet like flowers, but the scent of mead clung to her dress and he knew without a doubt, the bloodhound that was Anna, would smell it on her tomorrow, too.

He let her sob into his shoulder until she couldn't cry anymore. He reached into his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and stuffy nose on the bit of rag and gave him a gratefully apologetic smile.

He felt so foolish. He had been so shocked with Morgause's sudden appearance, he hadn't really thought about how Isobel was dealing with Freyja's passing. "I'm so sorry." He muttered again as they climbed the stairs and made the long treck across the top floor corridors to Isobels Chambers.

"It's fine." She said, "I didn't mean to. . . Sorry about this. I'm just- not used to- never mind. . ." She gave up trying to explain herself. Merlin thought there was no need. She didn't have to explain herself. But Isobel had always been apologetic about her own shadow. She didn't like to make a scene.

He didn't quiet understand why. She was going to be queen. She had to get used to being the centre of attention one day.

Although he didn't tell her this. He figured it would only vex her further, and she was in no spirits to be scolded.
So they walked on in sombre silence, the sounds of patrols and horses braying in the distant stables below fill the void between them.

Another sound cut through the quiet as they rounded the corner, a few corridors from Isobels room. Sharp, muffled sobs came from Morgana's Chambers.

Isobel hesitated by her door, only for a second, before Continuing on. Merlin frowned, but followed along after her.

Isobel sighed deeply, drawing in the cold air of the Castle. "Poor Morgana. She probably hasn't stopped crying since she left the wedding. . . I can't even imagine. . ." She trailed off, but Merlin had a pretty good idea where her sentence was going.

. . . Being the already lonely and excluded sibling, then finding out you're even more lonely and excluded. A half sister. A different father. A lie.

They probably had loads of half siblings - bastardised children of Palace maids and brothels. They knew that already, this was expected of a king. But nobody crossed a mother. That was profane and the gods would not look favourably upon those who disregard the devine.

Morgana was a Princess above all things, she had grown up with Arthur and Anna - for the most part - She was of Igraine just the same as them.

Once Isobel had reached her room and closed the door behind her, Merlin made his way past Morganas room again, and walked all the way back to his Chambers on the other side of the Castle.

He could hear morganas crying reaching out to him through the night. Rattling around his mind like a bad memory.

Morgana:

The bronze ring had gone warm in the palm of her hand.

She had spent the entire night looking at it, straining her eyes until her candle burnt down to the wick.

It had been her mother's. She had never seen the woman without it. "It was given to me by someone very special to mummy." Is what Igraine had told her.

Someone very special.

Her father. Her real father. Gorlois Amlawdd, Older brother to Cador, the current Duke of Cornwall. He hadn't been at the ball or the wedding, but his sons had. Henrek and Mark. She had seen them hovering around Isobel and Anna all night.

She felt a twinge of jealousy. Her cousins got to grow up in the castle she should have grown up in. She wondered if her uncle knew. If Cador was aware of Uthers betrayal. If that was why Cornwall had always been such a strenuous ally.

She wondered how long it took for Uther to get over Gorlois's death. How long it took to get over her mother's, if ever. And then she wondered how long it would take for them all to get over her own death.

Would they even bat an eyelash? Would Anna actually cry for once? Would Arthur regret not making time for her? Would Uther regret anything at all? She hoped he would. She hoped he'd torture himself over it. She wanted him to feel the pain he inflicted, tenfold.

Her anger swelled inside of her like a bruise. She felt her blood boil and her ears ring. She couldn't hear anything over her own heartbeat and her breaths came quick and sharp like she was drowning under water.

Tears clouded her vision, and before she could comprehend anything over her teary eyes, she smelled the smoke. When she wiped her eyes an orange glow had appeared by the foot of her bed.

The flame flickered angrily at her, catching on the covers, climbing up her bed post. For a moment, she was entranced, before she snapped her cover back and climbed out of bed.

She reached for a flower vase full of peonies and green looking water. The water did little to douse the fire.

She screamed in panic. Glass shattered from her windows and mirrors spewing sharp edged blades around her room.

She ducked, covering her face as shards flew towards her. Searing pain erupted through her and she realised she had been cut in multiple places. Before she knew it her guards were beside her, dragging her out of the room to safety.

~<<♤>>~

She said nothing as she sat on the bench of the physicians work table, Merlin dabbing ointment onto her cuts.

He tried to meet her eye a couple of times, but she refused to look up. She didn't want to talk. How could she explain? Nobody would believe her anyway.

That the fire appeared by itself. That an element seemed to come to life and attack her on its own. That she hadn't had any candles lit. And what of the shattered glass flying for her? Perhaps there was a vengeful spirit inhabiting her bedroom, though she knew this was untrue. No spirits would bother with the likes of her.

"You're safe now, my Lady." The boy said. He was reaching into a bag for a bandage for her hand. It was a deep scratch, where she had reached her hands up to protect her face.

She didn't say anything. She didn't feel safe.

Merlin continued "Do you. . . Know who did this to you?" She slowly lifted her head up to look at him. His blue eyes stared down at her with concern.

She shook her head. "I- I think. . . No." She stumbled, it couldn't possibly have been anyone but herself. The thought of her causing such an impossible scene was startling, and made her feel sick.

Merlin frowned but said nothing. He bandaged her hand gently, tying it up in a neat knot.

The old physician had been woken when she arrived and headed straight to Morganas room to inspect it with Uther. The fire was put out not long after she left. They'd be hounding her with questions in the morning.

"You should try and get some sleep. . . Nobody will disturb you. You're safe here." He repeated, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

~<<♤>>~

Morgana, of course, had no answers for them. An enquiry was launched by Uther. He questioned all the servants, especially Gwen, if anyone had seen anything suspicious. Nobody had.

Gwen hadn't left any candles glowing, she left Morganas Chambers at nine o'clock as soon as she had climbed into bed. The guards saw her leave.

After every follow up became a dead-end and Morganas story was rather hazy at best, Uther put it to another attempt on a royals life. A person of magic had set a curse on Morgana, and fled.

He ordered a raid on the lower villages, turning over market places and ransacking homes of anyone without a viable alibi who had worked by the castle that night.

He came up with nothing. A few servants Uther had almost sentenced to the pyre, before Morgana protested, swearing it wasn't them.

Uther eventually gave in and ordered a harsher punishment for breaking curfew, much to the disappointment of the locals.

A few weeks passed, without much incident, and eventually it was Anna and Isobel's time to go home.

Morgana did not leave her room. She hadn't spoken to Uther since the fire, and neither Arthur nor Anna made any attempt to see her.

Gwen brought her meals, and looked at her with much concern. She didn't know why Morgana was so upset. Nobody did, even the guards didn't, the ones who did were sworn to secrecy, their families threatened should they say anything.

She had nobody to turn to about the secret of her lineage, but Isobel. But even she wasn't very fond of Morgana.

She debated running into the woods to find Morgause numerous times and almost went through with it, before her fear and anxiety overcame her and she couldn't bring herself to pack a bag.

Isobel:

The boat back to Brittany held one empty space. This made Isobel sour inside. She dreaded the thought of facing Freyja's parents - though nobody expected her to. She wanted to tell them how sorry she was that their daughter had died under her charge.

"You got everything?" Will asked, a new cover on his eye. He had gotten his bandages removed last week, and unfortunately still hadn't been able to see through his left eye.

He was stood with Merlin in front of a crowd of peasants gathering to wave goodbye on the grassy hill overlooking the beach.

"I think so." She smiled, reaching past her guards for a hug.

He chuckled into her ear, "Safe sailing, Is."

"Isobel. Come on." Anna snapped, walking down the hill to the small row boat. She could see their sailboat bobbing just beyond the surf. The flag of her homeland fluttering mercilessly in the ocean wind.

Uther and Arthur stood on the sand below, talking with one of Anna's guards. The distance in which the king and his son stood apart did not go unnoticed.

"See you next Spring." She said, giving Merlin one last smile. "Goodbye, Mer."

"Keep a weather eye on the horizon." He muttered their usual goodbye. This had been a stupid running joke between the three.

There was no way for either to see the land across The Channel, but sometimes they'd find themselves looking past their separate countries beaches trying to find any glimmer of coast in the distance. They never did, but it was a small comfort to look out at the brown water of the sea and know they were thinking of each other.

"You too. Don't forget to write." She gave both of them a stern look. Too many letters had she sent last year without a return.

"Promise." Merlin assured.

She turned then, following after Anna who was already boarding the row boat. She didn't bother saying much of a goodbye to her father usually, even less likely now. She did give Arthur a brief hug, which surprised even him, but he returned gratefully.

Isobel bowed to both, Arthur placed a formal kiss on her hand, and helped her into the boat.

Chapter Text

520 AD: Autumn

12th September

Merlin,
I'm sure you'd be pleased to know I arrived in Brittany well. Anna spent the entire journey lecturing me on appearances- the normal things.
However, she also mentioned I keep away from you, especially you. Of course I will not. . . But what she doesn't know, can't hurt her.

How is everything back in Camelot? Is Arthur alright? Has Morgause tried to reach out again at all? I only ask as I'm worried. I think it hit Anna harder than she tells me. . . Check on Morgana for her. I know it seems like she doesn't care all that much– but for the most part– she cares very much.

Tell Will I said hello. He told me not to send him any correspondence as he likes having stories to tell me himself when I get back. . . How annoying.

I hope you are well, and looking after yourself. Don't forget to visit Hunith this winter, I hear it's getting harder for the outer villages and I worry. She was always very kind to me when we were young children. When you do, give her a hug from me.

– sincerely, Isobel

2nd October

Is,
I'm glad you're home well and safe, I must come with you next time. Arthur is driving me insane. He's on edge since Morgause. . . The entire family is– and the court.

Of course Uther paid off the guards that were present generously. . . And even if the court officials believed Morgause, they have no viable way to prove she was the daughter of Igraine. Either way, the throne is still Arthur's.

Mithian and her father left shortly after you did, they saw no point in staying.
I'm more concerned with Morgana. . . Mithian tried to talk to Morgana, but she wouldn't let anyone see her.

She still refuses to eat most meals, won't leave her Chambers much. She only really talks to Gwen– her maid.

You probably know her better than I. What can we say to help her? Is there anything I can say?

I have made plans to visit mother in a month's time, Will, of course is trailing along with me. He says hello, he also misses you and wants you to know he already has five different stories to tell you– mostly about hunting, and some dirty jokes he picked up from his time in the bar. . . Quite funny surprisingly– for Will, anyway. 

We couldn't haggle for many supplies for Ealdor, but I sent my last six pay checks to her this year, I hope its enough for their end. Should be. . . I don't need the money, they need it more. I just wish Uther would see those people suffering with his own eyes.
Perhaps he'd see sense. . . Or perhaps I'm just an optimist.

I will certainly give my mother a hug from you, she misses you just as much. When you return, you should see her, I assure you, she'll have a warm bowl of broth waiting on the stove for your return.

– Merlin

Winter
14th December

Mer,
I hope you're enjoying the festivities in Camelot, as much as I am here.
I love this time of winter for the spirits, but by the Gods is it freezing. My window broke last night through a storm. Shattered right onto my bed. Had to move into Anna's room for the rest of the night until they could set up my new temporary Chambers on the west wing.

How is everything there? How did your trip to Ealdor go? Is everything well?
I hope so. . .

Anna wants me to ask if Morgana is any better? Is she eating now?
I don't know what I could say to help her. . . We don't really talk all that much, you probably have better luck than me.

Tell Will I can't wait to hear any stories he has ready. Preferably he could tell them during my riding lessons however, I don't want to hear about his latest hunting trips. He knows I love animals. And if it has anything to do with wolves, I don't want to hear it. You know I hate wolves.

– Sincerely, Isobel

Year: 521 AD:
30th January

Merlin, I haven't heard from you in a while. . . Are you alright?

Did Ealdor not go well? I would send them my entire allowance if I could, but father says its too biased to any one Kingdom and isn't very wise. I hate it, but he's right.

I'll still be happy to help any way I can. Please write back, Anna is worried for Morgana. I'm worried for you.

– Sincerely, Isobel

21st February

Isobel, I'm sorry it took me so long to reply. I stayed an extra fortnight in Ealdor, helping around my mother's farm. Will and I got into a slight argument about trading too. He wanted to take the old routes. . . You know.

Anyway, sorted now. He's beside me right now in a grump from being hungover. Came knocking on my door wanting a cure– idiot.

Camelot was great through winter, the King held a few festivities, nothing amazing. Sorry to hear about your bedroom, hope you weren't too cold.

Morgana has improved tremendously. She even went out for a horseride yesterday. . . Not the best weather but she did it.

Can't wait to see you in March.

– Merlin

.

Chapter Text

Cleavers Lane was, thankfully, empty. Everyone slept soundly in their beds one candle stayed alight in the opposite window to the Smithys, the bread makers shop. That meant the coast was clear, no more guards would patrol Cleavers Lane or Black-shuck Gate for the rest of the night now.

Merlin and Isobel snuck into the alley next to Leon's House and knocked once lightly on the back door to the shop.

Will swung open the door, slightly caught off guard by Isobel. "By the rage of Woden! What are you doing here Isobel?" Will asked, ushering them both inside quickly.

The back room of the shop was full of crates and leather sacks of different scrap metals, small enough to lose. There was a table in the centre of the room with two chairs and on the far wall by the door hung racks of weapons Old Gwethir used as examples.

"Nice to see you too." She faked a sad face, crossing her arms over her chest. Will scratched his head, looking anywhere but at Isobel.

A moment went by of silence before Will caught her eye and a big grin broke out across both their faces.

She jumped into his arms, hair flying behind her and laughed.
"Missed me?" He asked

"Of course." She said, stepping back. "That tends to happen when you don't write to me."

"Oh don't start this again." Will sighed, stepping back around the table to the crates.

"Wait. . ." Isobel pointed her finger at Will's face, her brows drawing together in confusion and concern. "Why are you wearing an eye patch?"

"Well, Isobel. . . Because I got hit in the eye with a sword."

"No. I mean I thought- I thought you got better over the winter, thats what Gaius said would happen- he said you'd get your vision back. . ." She stumbled.

"Yeah. . ." Will flushed, "He was wrong. I got the bandage off shortly after you left. Couldn't see a thing out my left eye. Shit, i know. . ." He smirked even though there was no humour in it.

Isobel held her arm in regretful silence, her eyes darting from Will to the floor. "Are you. . . Alright?"

"Fine." He continued to smile although now Merlin could see his mask of calm solidarity begin waver slightly.

Will hadn't actually spoken about his injury to anyone but the Palace physician. He didn't much complain of the pain he was most certainly in, or the inability to see on his left side, or the fact that this often caused him to knock into table edges as he walked by, or bump into people, or that he had trouble fighting and hunting again.

". . .We should get a shift on." Merlin remarked, cutting through the silence. His hands were slightly clamy from nerves. He'd snuk around Camelot before, lots of times, but this time they had Isobel to worry about. And Anna was being particularly horrible this season.

Chapter Text

"Should we go in or. . ." A cloaked figure emerged from inside the shop, the door creaking on its old rusted hinges as they left.

Merlin felt Isobel move closer to the wall, her hood draped back over her eyes. He peaked over Wills shoulder again, and the person came into view.

Anna Pendragon took a careful glance around, pressing her eyes into the shadows. She could not see them from where they stood on the corner of the street by the butchers wall.

She tooked a tousle of blonde hair back behind her ear, and lifted her blue satin cloak over her head. She had a small sachel at her side, but nothing else in her hands. Merlin wondered what would bring a princess such as Anna to the very pits of poverty.

He looked to Isobel who's eyes refused to leave Anna.

They waited in their corner of darkness for a few more minutes, being extra careful not to be spotted by any other suspicious characters before making a beeline for the 'Herbs and Remedies' hovel.

Inside, the floors were a dirty stone. He could tell they hadn't been cleaned in years. The candles flickered in their places dotted about the room, wax melted onto the stone walls from a burnt out wick on another windowsill.

Dead plants left to dry, hung on strings from the rafters. Wilting flowers turning brown, such as foxgloves to prevent falling sickness, Lavender, and Valerian. Merlin had to duck every other step, almost walking into them.

A desk, much more resembling a bar counter, stood by the far wall. Behind it were shelves chock-full of various different coloured glass bottles, many were full of liquids, some plants, some dead insects.

Merlin only recognised a handful of the contents from Gaius's own store. Like Honey, catchweed, Hyssop and sage.

"Hello?" Asked Will into the silence.
The desk itself was cluttered with empty vials, and caked in dust. A dead spider lay shriveled on its back  atop a pile of battered leather-bound books.

Will knocked his knuckles on the counter impatiently. He looked to Isobel, whose face was wrinkled in distain as she ran her hand over the dying flowers. One of them almost came back to life, seemingly on its own. But then Isobel thought better of it and took her hand away briskly.

"Hello!?" He shouted again.

A rustling came from behind a fur draped over a doorway as a woman appeared from the back room.

"Hold your horses, I'm only one person!" She called, fluffing her wild orange hair back from her even redder face.

She paused, smiling slyly at William once her eyes landed on him "well Hello there, young man. What can I do for you?"

Will smiled charmingly back at her, "We have a delivery for. . . Atwater?" He motioned to Merlin who placed the bag down onto the counter.

"Ah, my brother, he runs this shop, lazy bastards spending the night in the tavern. For now, you've got me. I'll take it for him. These bloody Saxons got him all worked up, you see? Can't get him to pull a night shift. -Anyway, was that all?" She blurted out, catching herself.

"Um, that girl who was here before us. . . What was she doing?" Asked Isobel, snaking her way next to Will.

"Sorry, I don't share clients information." Said the woman.

Isobel dug into her sachel and produced a small bag of silver coins. The shop keeper poured the contents out onto the worktop, counting each coin under her breath. She sighed, staring at Isobel expectantly.

Isobel groaned in frustration, rolling her eyes as she took an extra few coins from her cloak pocket and threw them down onto the pile.

The woman nodded, "You mean the blonde? Very specific with her order- she wanted something discreet."

". . . That's all? What did she order?"

The woman sighed. "I'm afraid I can't say. Bad for business, my clients pride us on our discrepancy." She said putting the money into a jar on the shelf behind her.

"That's not fair!" She protested, "It's important, we need to know."

"Not my problem." Said the woman, "now either buy something, or leave."

Chapter Text

Merlin:

Eighteen. How a number could sound seemingly small in the grand scale of time, and both extremely old, was a colossal anachronism.

The tavern was quite busy for a Tuesday night, housing its drunken regulars and the two miscreants he called friends.

Will and Is were sat in the corner of the room at their usual spot, three drinks on the table and a wooden plate with a stale looking cake loaf on it.

When their eyes landed on him approaching, they broke into smiles. "Here he is! Man of the hour. Got you a drink and Isobel attempted a cake but it's pretty shit if you ask me."

"Hey!" Isobel sulked, "I'll have you know, this took me ages to make."

"It looks great, Is. Thank you." Merlin reassured, eyeing the loaf wearily as he pulled up a fourth seat from the table behind them. "Morgana may be joining us."

"Oh. . ." Isobel nodded, "Alright. More the merrier." She smiled but not before sharing an odd look with Will- to which Merlin elected to ignore for now.

Merlin took a drink. He needed this. Needed a distraction of some kind. His birthdays had never felt right since he was young. When he was little, he and his sister would often fight over the best gift, or who could get most of their parents attention. Now, he missed them all. He'd do anything to see her again.

"Mer!"

The chair scratched across the floor as Morgana pulled up a seat next to him.
She was dressed down by her standards, in a brown looking dress. Still beautiful, he thought.

"Please tell me you weren't followed by the monster in a dress" Will asked Morgana.

She frowned, confused. "He means, Anna. . . You know?" Isobel clarified, pouring morgana a drink from the pitcher in the centre of the table. "Whom I'd rather you didn't talk badly about." She nudged Will in warning.

"Oh. . . No." Morgana shook her head, taking the drink thankfully.

"She's fast asleep I believe. Peeked my head round her door as I left." Isobel stated.

"Yeah. Besides, if she was to follow anyone it would be you, Is." Merlin explained.

The night went on, and drink after drink, Merlin had begun to feel rather ill.

"You're so fucking gone." Will remarked, laughing at Merlins dozed face.

"Shut up, now who's buying next round." He slurred.

Isobel was already at the bar, handing the brewer maid a handful of silver coins. Her hair was a mess and her dress slightly damp from a drink she had spilt on herself earlier.

Morgana was nearby, being bothered by some guy double her age. She was smiling awkwardly and kept glancing towards their table.

Merlin went to move but the motion of his bones moving sent a jostle of dizziness through him until all he could do was put his head down on the table and murmur incoherently to the boy sat opposite snickering at him. Isobel had caught on before he could tell Will to stop laughing at him and intervine.

"Mor. . . gan. Morgan!" She stumbled over to Morgana and looped her arm through hers. "Come on, our. . . Betrothed are waiting for their drinks- Here come help me carry them." She gave a smile to the stranger as she lead Morgana back to the drinks upon the bar.

"I think it's time to go home after this round." Isobel suggested placing the drinks on the table with Morgana.

She smiled, "My saviour." Morgana mumbled.

"And I think I will be having yours." Isobel added taking the cup before Mor could grab it.

"You think?" Will sighed downing his cup of ale. "Come on you. . ." He got up from his seat and took Merlin by the arm. "Time for bed, yeah?"

His room was stuffy in the midnight heat as Will stumbled through the door, Merlin at his side.

He fell onto his cot the moment William let go of his shoulder. Merlin had been dragged around by Will all over the castle, making sure both girls got to their Chambers safely.

"Well, this is where I leave you, Mer." Will smirked at his friend who was close to heaving up on his blankets.

"You can stay if you want to. . . Late an all that. . ."

"Nah, need the fresh air. . ." He stopped in the doorway, looking back at Merlin. "Take it easy on yourself tomorrow, mate. . ."

Merlin thought he'd go to say something else, but Will closed his mouth and turned back through the door, closing it gently behind him.

In his hazed drunkenness, Merlin stood from his bed and fumbled for another cup. He placed this on his windowsill ledge, and swung the glass pane open for some fresh air.

"Apparere mulsum" He whispered, his yellow eyes catching the flash in the glass. This spell, he had to do numerous times until he could get it right.
Sweet smelling spiced wine appeared slowly, its aroma spreading through the room making him even more sleepy.

He folded his arms, and rested his head upon them, edging his eyesight outwards to the sleeping city below.

His breathing quieted as he eyed the grain fields in the far far distance.

"Happy Birthday Gan."

Chapter Text

She had a little headache and her mouth had been dryer than the deserts of Corbenic, but she had managed to wake early and struggle down her breakfast from the comforts of her own room over a book she had smuggled from the castle archives on the magical creatures of the Britonic Isles.

There were more than she had heard of, from dragons to nixie, to Redcaps, and everything in-between. She had wondered why she hadnt seen any, if they're everywhere. According to Merlin, they tend to stay away from cities such as Camelot, where any creature is woefully hunted or killed.

Many creatures she had read about can only be seen by those with the gift of magic, "Like a veil. . ." Merlin had told her, "only people like us can see creatures like them."

At first she had thought he were being funny, until he dug up the very book that sat in front of her on her table.
She sighed, spooning the last bit of porridge from her bowl.

She wasn't sure what she'd do today. Merlin was busy hustling around for Arthur, and, although it appeared to be rather sunny, she had a feeling it may rain later.

Language lessons with my governess it is then. She thought to herself, rather boringly. She shouldn't need a governess at her age of now nineteen. But her father had delayed her lessons for a year after her mother had passed and then Anna had been sent away, so she had fallen behind, and truthfully- she was a slow learner.

She wasn't like Arthur- who was strong in courage and persistent in his own discipline. Or Anna- who was hard-headed and independent.

She was only slightly ashamed to admit that to herself. Should anyone ask as to why she still had an old woman teaching her life lessons for a lady, she'd tell them her father wanted her to be the best bred lady of her generation. Rather pompous of her she would admit, but better than admitting she was just too slow.

She was just walking to her teaching room, a small one-windowed stuffy box-shaped chamber in the eastern side of the castle, when she bumped into a very rumpled, fast-moving Merlin.

"Oh! Sorry. Almost knocked you out. You alright, my Lady?" He asked, squinting slightly in the morning sunlight streaming through the corridor windows. Morgana was almost struggling to see herself. It didn't help that the castle stone was bleach-white and reflected the sunlight tenfold.

"I'm quite fine, thank you, Merlin. . . And you don't have to call me 'lady'. Morgana will do just great." She smiled. He looked tired, almost sad even. "Uh, I just wanted to thank you. . . For inviting me last night. I didn't realise how much I needed to laugh. . . Or how long it had been since I last laughed. So, thank you." And she meant it with every fibre of her being.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

Because, you may have just saved my life.

It had initially taken her by surprise. Morgana hadn't expected to feel joyful again, especially not in the presence of isobel of all people. But She hadn't realised how much she had missed smiling, and not just for a facade. And then, she thought, she'd very much like to feel that way again.

"Yeah, of course. Any time." He responded. Not unkindly, per say. Merlin was not unkind. At least- not to her. This she knew.
But he said it so downtrodden, she imagined him melting into a rainy puddle on the floor.

"Are. . . You okay?"

"Fine. Just very busy- I'll talk to you later, though. Glad you're feeling like yourself again, Morgana." He sketched a hasty half-bow and strutted off down the corridor, almost bumping into Anna in his hurry, who had been stood there watching their interaction for only a brief moment.

"Watch where you're going!" She screeched like a banshee at him. This, he ignored and kept walking.
She sighed muttering under her breath of how stupid servants were these days.

"Don't you have better things to do than watch my every move." Morgana huffed, closing the gap between her and her sister.

"Apparently not." She remarked, folding her arms defensively.

Morgana found it almost comical. The entire castle- nay kingdom- and her sister was right in the wrong place at the wrong time. "What do you want, Anna?"

"I want you to stay away from him. There's something not right with him. . . He's. . . Cold inside. . ." She alluded.

Morgana scoffed, "You're cold inside."

"-I'm serious, Morgana. Isobel won't listen to me, but it is imperative you do. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you. . ." Morgana said, mockingly "But I'm not listening. I don't care what you think, Anna."

"I think that's a lie. I think you care very much what I think. And I know that that boy is a danger to us all." She whispered this last part, as if it were gossip of the utmost importance.

". . . Alright." Morgana decided to humour her for a moment, if it was complete rubbish- then only her time had been wasted. "Why is it imperative I stay away?"

Anna took a moment to think how she'd phrase it. Her forehead crinkled into a deep-set frown like it usually did when Anna was thinking of something of great urgency. ". . .The day Freyja died, I was given a prophesy. A bad one -involving him. Morgana, you cannot trust him. What he will become, what will become of us all. . . You don't want that."

"Wait- a prophesy? Where? From who?" She asked.

"From. . . The dragon. . ." Anna was not smiling. This worried Morgana a little more than she was comfortable with sharing.

"What do you mean the dragon? The one-" she stopped herself and dropped her voice to almost a whisper of breath. "The one beneath the castle?"

Anna nodded. She had found out about the old beast when she was very young. She had been playing hide and seek with Arthur in the dungeons, when she had stumbled too far past their allotted play area, and into the labyrinth that lead to the cavern.

Morgana had run scared as soon as she settled eyes on it, the huge teeth- sharp as daggers, gave her nightmares for months. She had thought it were a monster about to eat her. She supposed in some ways it was a monster.

Arthur did not believe her when she found her way out a good hour later. He thought she were trying to scare him.
Anna believed her though. Anna would believe anything when they were little.

"It- it spoke to you? And. . . You understood it?" Morgana clawed her hands over her face in disbelief.

". . .Yes."

"Why's it never spoken to me!?" She threw her arms out exasperated.

"Shhh! I don't know. . ." Anna shifted uncomfortably from toe to toe. "Look. The point is, it told me he's destined to become something. . . Bad."

"What will he become?" She eyed her little sister sceptically.

"Something terrible. I cannot say."

Morgana shook her head dismissively, "I don't believe you." He was too sweet. She did not think he were capable of such a large and weighted prophesy.

"It's the truth!" Anna snapped, her eyes were desperate, pleading. "For once, would you just listen to me!"

Morgana, rather peeved now, shook her head in frustration. "You haven't been my sister for the last eleven years of my life, please, don't start now."

"Mor-"

"No! Leave me alone, Anna." She flung over her shoulder as she turned to walk away.

Anna stood, arms wrapped around herself even tighter than before, disgruntled and pale as a corpse.

Isobel:

The letter came two months after Merlin's birthday. She had been fluttering around the physicians quarters all day as Merlin had come down with a sickness and had been unable to get out of bed for almost three days now.

Will had urged her to stay away. He was staying in the tower with Merlin, keeping him company. As far as she was aware, it was not contagious.

She had replied to Will; if Merlin remained ill any longer, then she'd take him on a boat to Brittany as soon as the word was given.

She had been excused from bothering them, and taken a long walk through the castle gardens to cool her worry when she was approached by her page boy. He had received a letter from King Hoel and directed to deliver it safely to Isobel.

It was written on yellowed parchment, crinkled from the windy journey across the Channel and closed with her fathers seal.

My dearest Isobel,
As you are well aware, this is to be your sixteenth summer. It will also be your last summer in Camelot.
I have devised a meeting with Cador, Duke of Cornwall on the matter of your betrothal to Hedrek, first son of Cador.
I have met both sons and have come to the conclusion that both are fine enough gentlemen for your hand in marriage.
Whilst I understand you may have reservations to this arrangement,
It would do you well to remember that this alliance would be beneficial to both our Kingdoms.

We shall speak more of this in length upon your and Anna's return this Autumn.

Be well, and Godspeed, my dear daughter.

- Your Father

She had to take a seat on a stone bench by a statue of the Virgin Mary from the shock of the letter.

Her father had decided her fate for her. Had already picked out a betrothed. She had met Hedrek last year at Arthur's engagement party. He had offered a dance with her just before Freyja was found.

She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there for, head bowed in thought, letter crinkled in her hands, until someone took a seat beside her.

"Everything alright?" Arthur asked, jolting her from her trance.

"-Uh, n-yeah. . . I'm actually. . . Not sure." She sighed, exasperated and handed him her letter.

He was silent as he read, his face trained on every word. Isobel desperately itched to know what he was thinking.

"Oh. . . Well that's great news!" He beamed, handing the correspondence back to her. His smile wavered when he met her own expression. "Isn't it?"

"I should be over joyed. -I mean. . . I do feel some relief. I hear Hedrek is a decent man. . ."

"I understand. I mean, Mithian would have made an exceptional queen, and wife. . . But" His eyes fell upon hers, "it just doesn't feel right, does it?"

She shook her head slightly. "No. It doesn't." She stood from the bench and began to pace, her hands couldn't keep still as she found herself playing with a lose string peaking from her sleeve.

"I just-" she began, "I fear we wouldn't get on. . . Silly really, but if I can't love him and he doesn't love me, how can I expect him to love my people. . . My kingdom." She paused realising, "He wouldn't just live in Brittany, he'd rule it. . . How can I be fine with that?" She asked, turning to Arthur who was still sat on the bench watching her.

She felt tears well up in her eyes but she hastily wiped them away. "I understand how scary you must be finding this-"

"-Except you don't! Arthur. . . You are a man, in a man's world. And I am just. . . A girl. If I want something, I must be given it. If you want something, then you can just take it. You have Camelot. It is your birthright. Brittany should be mine ‐I am an only child. But even that is not good enough."

She was more angry than upset. Having no choice in her own future never really hit her until this moment. She was used to people making decisions for her, around her, but rarely did people come to her for the answers. . . Now, she guessed, they never would.
She would never get to sit on her throne and have people look at her, instead, they'd be watching the man sitting to her right.

How did my mother do it!?

It was times like this she wished her mother was still alive to ask her for advice.

"You're right. I am sorry. I don't understand. . . But I can sympathise with you, Isobel. And. . . As a friend, I am truely sorry. I can only hope you find the love you so deeply deserve." Arthur said, taking his jacket off from the unforgivable sunlight beating down on them.

". . . And as a future ruler?" She urged him to answer.

"As a future ruler. . . I was willing to marry Mithian without complaint because that was what the future of Camelot needed. I didn't want to. But I was ready to." He stood to level with her.

"Fairness has nothing to do with it, Isobel. People like us don't just go around falling in love. It is the price we pay, for such a heavy crown. Like it or not; you will marry Hedrek, and ally Cornwall, because that was why you, me, Anna and Morgana, Mithian, Hedrek and Mark, were born; To do our duties."

He sighed then, "Do yourself a favour and accept things the way they are. Believe me, it will save you a lot of misery. You can't prevent the inevitable."

"That's a horrible way to look at it." She criticised.

"Yes, it is. But just remember; you don't have to love him, Isobel. You just have to love Brittany."

". . . Eower ne min mōdor." He grumbled, trying to sit himself up and failing.

"You're right," Will remarked, placing another pillow behind Merlins head. "I'm not your mother. I'm worse." He reached out quickly, and pinched Merlins nose as he poured the thick green medicinal drink down Merlin's throat.

He coughed a deep rattle and slapped Wills hand away. "þín bædling!"

"Keep insulting me, let's see where it gets you." He glowered, resting his chin on his hands.

". . . I'm. . . Already on deaths door. . ." He wheezed, resting his eyes again.

He listened to Will breathing softly in the chair beside him. He could tell he was frowning. He wasn't sure how he knew with his eyes closed, maybe it was because he'd known Will so long, it was just easier to know what the boy was thinking.

"I can't find anything that matches his symptoms." Morgana huffed as she burst through the door, book in hand, and her hair in her face.
She had been coming and going for days now, checking in every chance she got.

"Maybe you're not looking properly." Said Will, standing from the old wicker chair.

Morgana scoffed. "I am the most well read person here. Unless, I mean- you want to try?"

"Just- you know what? Why don't you try the archives with Isobel. . . If you can find her."

She tutted, ". . . Fine." And turned back the way she came.

Chapter Text

Isobel:

She didn't realise how difficult it would be to tell Anna, until she was stood outside the woman's room twenty-five minutes later.

When the door swung open Anna appeared, hair unlikely ruffled and rather fatigued looking. "Yes? What is it?"

"I'm not going back to Brittany." She spouted out before she felt too nervous to stop herslef.

Anna stood still. Her mouth moved as if she were talking but no words came out. ". . . Come in."

She stood leaning against Anna's bedframe. Her eyes darted from window to wall, taking in the numerous things that made her room, hers.

A jewellery box speckled with gold paint stood on her vanity, over-spilling with necklaces and jewel encrusted bracelets.

Her wardrobe was half open revealing only a few dresses of the tens Isobel knew she possessed.

She spyed vials and herbs in her medicinal holder. She guessed remedies  for her overactive dreams- some Isobel recognised as her own soothing tonic for her nerves.

It had begun to rain, Isobel noted, listening to the light pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the windows that held view of the courtyard walls and then the inner city beyond.

"Father wrote." She began, extending the letter to Anna who grabbed it impatiently.

She read it quickly, then turned her head slowly back to meet Isobels stare. "Okay, I don't see how this means you're not going back home. He said we'd all discuss it further."

"I wrote back. . . I'm going to stay here as Uther's ward- like you do." She clarified, fidgeting slightly.

"What? Why? Camelot isn't safe. You know Albion's attitude towards people like us." She whispered uneasily. "You have to come home with me. Or I'm not leaving here without you."

"Oh come on, Anna. I'll be fine. Besides, I plan on travelling to Cornwall after winters end. Will you follow me there too?" She rolled her eyes. "You can't coddle me forever."

Anna blinked, moving to stand by the window. "I don't coddle, I teach and I protect. I protect you. I protect Morgana, I–"

"And I thank you for that. Truely, I do. But now it's time I stand on my own two feet. Away from your shadow." 

"My shadow!?" She exclaimed, taking a step forwards furiously. Isobel swallowed thickly, her heart pounding. She tried to block it out. Anna needed to hear how she felt.

"Yes." She rasped, trying to steady her breathing. "I do not feel. . . Seen. Not as you are. Not even back home. Especially not here. . ." Isobel cleared her throat, "Perhaps becoming Uther's ward. . . I'd see things I usually wouldn't be privy to. Quite honestly, Cornwall would be a welcomed start. Maybe I'll find something of myself there. Something braver. . ."

Anna sighed, her eyes shuttering. ". . . If it's what you really want. . . Then I won't stop you. . . But, I can't go back to Brittany without you. It wouldn't feel right. I will stay here in Camelot, until you are wed."

"But–"

"–Not just for you, but for Morgana as well. She. . . Needs to be kept close watch on."

"Very well. . . "

"What are you doing in my room, Isobel?" Anna questioned, eying the shattered pieces of glass and bits of herbs scattered over her floor. "You broke my medicine bottles. . ."

Isobels breath hitched in her throat as Anna observed her. "Are you hurt? Did you cut yourself on the glass?"

Isobel just shook her head. Anna grimaced, "What do you have there?" She nodded towards Isobels hand, hidden in the fabric of her dress.

"It- it was you." She whispered. Her eyes had begun to water and she made note of her legs slowly failing on her.

"What?" Anna asked, looking more and more panicked by the second.

Isobel brought the vial up to show Anna. "Laurel leaf, really!?" She huffed another dry laugh, "You know, I though; 'I know she hates him. . . But surely not this much. Surely not enough to poison him.'"

Anna shook her head vehemently. "No, Isobel. You don't understand– let me explain."

"Oh, please do! Go on! Explain why you're trying to murder my best friend!"

"Keep your voice down!" She nervously looked back at her door. "I– I didn't want to. I didn't. I just. . . I don't know what else to do!" She cried, tears falling down her face.

Isobel gasped trying to breath through her panic and waterfall of tears streaming from her eyes. She couldn't believe it was true. The one time she prayed to be wrong. The one time she finally had something go right- only for everything to go wrong again.

"Give. Me. The antidote." She commanded. Her fist tightened around the vial. Inside, the green-brown powder jostled at her movements.

Anna shook her head again. "I can't do that." She rasped.

"Yes, you can and you will." Isobel uncorked the viel holding it up, "or I will take this."

"I don't have the antidote!" She raged, her eyes shining with desperation.

"You honestly expect me to believe that!? You're smart enough to carry a cure incase you accidentally poison yourself." She stated. "This is dried Laurel leaf grinded to a fine powder. It's toxic to directly inhale."

She swallowed, staring down Anna. Daring her to make a move. "You may have mastered your powers in Brittany, Anna, but I own it. I know everything about my kingdom. Especially its native plants."

"Please." She begged, taking a step forwards.

"Stop! Don't take another step, or i swear I'll–"

"Okay! Alright. . ." Anna soothed as if she were talking to an injured rabbit. She walked to her jewellery box and raked through the various items, before digging out a small pouch the size of her hand. "Here. . ." She held out the black pouch towards Isobel.

She snatched it off her quickly, undoing the string that closed it and pouring out a root. "Is this all?" She asked. "Knowing you, you'd want to be safe than sorry. . ." She thought for a short while, assessing the girl in front of her.

Then she remembered how Anna had taught her back home in Brittany. How to always have a plan B, should plan A fail. "What spell have you bound him with?"

"Nothing." She professed, wiping her tear stained cheeks.

"Fine. If you won't tell me, I'll work it out myself." She seethed, turning towards the door. "Do not come near me again." Isobel stated in calm fury.

"Is–" Anna pleaded again, but she was already halfway out of the door.

Merlin was sleeping in his bed, murmuring incoherently about his mother and father.

Will was sat by his side, he seemingly hadn't moved since she'd seen him that morning. He was hunched over, his head in his hands when they swung open the door to Merlins room.

"Here give him this. We're leaving." She dictated, throwing Morgana the small pouch as she rounded the bed to Merlins side.

"What!? why?" Will asked, glancing back and forth between the two girls.

Isobel sniffled, wiping away at her eyes furiously. "Anna poisoned him. He isn't safe here anymore and quite frankly I don't believe any of us are safe here anymore. Camelot's not a place for people like us." She threw Will an empty bag off of Merlins floor.

"Go home. Pack essentials meet us at the sewer gate behind the castle in an hour. You know where?"

"Yeah, yes. Isobel, you sure?" He inquired, looking back at Merlin.

"There is nothing here for me anymore. Everyone I care for is in this room." Isobel stated, straightening up slightly.

"What does it do?" Morgana asked pouring the root into Merlins mouth to chew on.

"It'll stop the poison. But we need a druid for the enchantment on him. Anna won't tell me the spell and I'm not as advanced as her."

Morgana's eyes widened. She stood, paling. "You. . . You both have magic. You and my sister? Both of you?" She muttered.

Isobel shared a nervous glance with Will. "Y– Yeah. I do. I study it- I wasn't born with it. Anna was though."

Morgana nodded, though she must have felt as if the world was pulled out from under her feet. "Oh. . ."

"Are. . . You alright?" Isobel asked.

"Don't worry. I won't tell. I'm good at keeping secrets." She whispered. ". . . I have something I need to do."

"Alright, but I need you here to help me carry him in an hour. I can't do it by myself." She pleaded as Will left to the lower village.

Morgana nodded, as she steadied herself. "I'll be right back." She said.

"On my own?" She questioned anxiously.

"It's only for an hour or two. Best we split incase anyone follows us." Will reasoned, walking up to her. "Here, about time you got something to defend yourself with." He rifled through his bag and pulled out a small dagger. "It's not exactly pretty, but it hurts all the same."

"We will be back as soon as possible. Be safe." Isobel assured.

"Right. Be quick."

Chapter Text

Year: 523 AD

4th January:

Morgana:

Her return was marked by a roar of cheers from the village as they passed on horseback.

Children cheered as people moved from the dirt path to make way for the four of them and their horses.

They believed her to have spent the year abroad with King Hoel in Brittany, thanks to some cleverly constructed lies Isobel had written to Uther an her father, having intercepted their posts just as her page boy would reach the beaches of Camelot.

Uther was there to great her in the courtyard, his smile brittle and his hair greying at the roots. He looked as if he'd aged ten years in one.

"Morgana, my dear! A grand surprise to see you. I wasn't aware your ship had docked." 

"Yes, well, we wanted to surprise you." She exclaimed, letting herself be helped off her horse.

The others followed, eyeing their surroundings warily. 

521 AD

20th June

They hadn't stuck around for very long, of course. After Isobel and Will had sorted the correspondence and directed her own page boy to forge any letters mentioning herself, they had both headed straight for the druids of the far North. 

They had agreed to meet Morgana and a very sick, recovering Merlin, one mile North-west of the woods that boardered Camelot. From there, they'd follow North and only stop for sleep.

It had taken Morgana over an hour to reach beyond the woods a mile West in the near dark with Merlin struggling to walk at her side.

He had slipped in and out of consciousness a few times, mumbling to her "thank you's" and pleads not to leave him alone.

She set him down on the edge of the woodland in a field that ran parallel to the beaches. Isobel and Will would have to walk a mile up coast if they wanted to get to her quicker.

Merlin stired beside her on the grass, groaning in pain as the antidote worked its way through him.

"Shh." She soothed, smoothing his hair back away from his face. "You're safe now." 

They had left in such haste, they hadn't fully comprehended what they'd do once they got out. Morgana had suggested places of healing. Isobel had refused Brittany. They had no other close familial allies to run to. Apart from Morgause, but Morgana couldn't find her- even if she wanted to.

So that left the druids. There were many different groups, some were incredibly hostile towards wanderers, most were pleasantly peaceful, though.

She wasn't sure how long exactly she was sat there for, but the sound of twigs snapping underfoot brought her attention back to her surroundings.

"Oi, just us." Whispered Will, coming up from behind her. "Had to cut into the woods again. Bloody fishermen by the shore."

~<<♤>>~

22nd June

The hovel they decided hunker down in, was, seemingly abandoned. 

Will had been watching it all morning and not a single stiring occurred. 

They had all agreed to rest for a day, having already been travelling so far on foot, they'd barely left the fringes of Camelot's boarders. Another half a day's walk, and they'd be entering Caerleon. Pass this, lay Elmet, then King Uriens Kingdom, a foothold in the mountains. The druids of the North were said to have been just beyond that.

They'd have to steal some horses if they wanted to get anywhere fast. They'd all collectively decided to leave that to Will.

"Okay. Come on." He ushered, opening the door with ease. He frowned. It was unlocked already. The latch broken.

The smell hit them first. Morgana had to hold her nose to stop herself gagging. 

The sunlight from behind them filled the room. Numerous things came into view from past Wills shoulder. The table in the centre of the hovel, was full of smashed plates, dirt, and dust.

The chairs were flipped as though somebody had jumped up in a hurry. The fire pit in the corner was dark and broken, ashes and soot had decorated the floor.

Behind the table, laying face down, cold and unmoving, was a man. He had been stabbed with a sword through the heart. 

Will moved forward into the room, and bent over the corpse. He rolled the man onto his back and pointed to his forehead. 

A bloody brand marred his skin, the letter 'S' in a jagged cut.

"He was a sorcerer. . ." Will said quietly. "From the state of him, he's been here a few days."

Isobel gasped. Pointing past Will, her tied back hair bobbing along as she sweeped past Morgana leaving Merlin sat in the doorway, still weak and gaunt. 

"What's that. . ." Her eyes fell towards the back window to the garden behind the hovel. A low stone wall ran around the vegetable patches, and flower beds.

Will went first, as usual, and swung open the door. Morgana went around the house with Merlin, not wanting to go anywhere near the dead man.

Isobel was crouched, her hands at her mouth in shock. There, amongst the herbs and the flowers, lay three additional corpses. One, an elderly woman, laying drapped over a small body. A young girl of around five. And further up the garden, by the small well, lay a boy of around twelve. Their bodies mangled and bruised, each retaining the blood red 'S' brand upon their heads.

Morgana couldn't take her eyes off of the little girl. She was staring up at the sky, eyes open, brown hair matted and dirty as the flies swarmed.

Will was kneeling now, holding something in his hand from around his neck and muttering incoherently with his eyes closed. It took her mind a moment to catch up to herself before she realised he was praying.

She looked away. It didn't feel right to watch something so personal and sorrowful. 

Her nose krinkled at the smell that was carried on the wind towards her. Merlin coughed deeply bringing his hand up to his nose. He was still ill and half unconscious.

Isobel was silently sobbing by the wall. Her green dress scrunched up in her hands. 

William buried them all.

It had taken the afternoon, and into the night. But he had buried each of them in the back garden. Finally their spirits could rest.

She has thought for a long time. Nobody had said two words. Everyone knew, it was Uther's doing. They were still within the bounds of Camelot, after all.

They rifled through the hovel, searching for anything of use or trading value, only a handful of things were salvageable.

Isobel did not feel like sleeping inside the hovel that night. Neither did Morgana. So they set themselves a small fire just outside the door, and left Merlin to rest on the newly cleared wooden table with a fur pelt draped over his tired frame.

It was twilight when they eventually had the fire going. Will finally came back from the back garden, head hung low and eyes dark, even in the firelight.

He took his seat on the muddy ground, and picked up a stick, bending the wood in his hands. 

All was silent for a while. Nobody dared to speak. Isobel glanced skywards, tilting her head back to admire the constellations above their heads. Morgana followed, her eyes drifting towards the heavens. There, was the horse of Llyr, the sea god of the druids. 

She had read about the Gods of the druids, and how they often differed from that of the common pagan folk. Where Merlin had Ing of fertility, the druids and the people of the far North and West had Bres. Where druids across the sea in Hibernia had The Morrigan, they had Wyrd. 

She had asked Merlin why they differed. He had answered with a shrug and explained how his mother's father had come from the continent just like the invading Saxons. Lived where God's like Woden and Frige where widely celebrated. 

His own mother had told him 'It was just the way of things.' That although their names and titles differed, they weren't all that astranged at all. That before the Italians, the druids religion reigned. After, it was the new paganism, and the belief of a singular, nameless God.

Where Will and Merlins religion was growing, the druids was shrinking under the scrutiny of Kings like Uther. You could walk a mile, and a different village would have a different God.

Morgana sighed, tilting her head back to the fire, the book was in her bag. She'd have to give it another read. She didn't know much about Gods, she wasn't very good at belief, but she did know she didn't want to live under a King who'd condemn his people to death for their own faiths.

"Do you think the Gods are angry with us?" Isobel asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. She was still watching the stars, looking for shooting ones amongst the billions of small lights.

Will exhaled slowly, proding the dying embers of the fire lightly with a stick. The flames licked at his feet as if in response. ". . . I think the Gods laugh at us."

Isobel's shoulders tensed slightly in both worry and curiosity. "Why so?"

". . . Every morn they watch us wake. . . They see us fight each other like dogs for scraps and kill each other in the name of righteousness. . . Yet nothing ever changes, because no matter how many times we repeat this cycle, we never learn.

So yes, I think they laugh when we burn the very ground beneath our feet and then expect them to douse the fire."

~<<♤>>~

Mount Black Fell, Kingdom of Rheged

It had taken them just over a week to reach the freezing cold pennines and an extra two days to locate the druids.

The druids of the North were friendly nomadic people, unlike the colony to the West that surround Holy Castle, in the far kingdom of Gwynedd.

Upon their arrival, they were met by a druidess, her hair as wild as an animals, strands hung in silver beaded braids by her face, her cloak green and long, draping onto the grassy ground of the endless mountain fields.

It was a struggle to climb up the hills with Merlin, who was still gravely ill. The antidote had flushed the poison from his blood, but the affects of the enchantment had stayed.

"Welcome to Camp Black Fell. I am Lyr, Ovate for our community. My father had a dream some lost travelers would come to us." She said, raising a tattooed arm to scrape the hair from her eyes.

"Oh, we aren't lost. We've been looking for you actually. We need your help for my friend here." Will explained falling into stride with her. 

The fields were vast and wet from freezing winds and rain. Heavy fog covered the ground this high up in the mountains where land met clouds, causing difficulty in seeing where you were going.

"One can be lost in more ways than one." Lyr exclaimed. She had a calmness to her voice, one that was soothing like a warm pot of soup, or a thick blanket on a cold day.

She gestured forwards into seemingly nothingness. "Stay close. Do not stray from each other." Lyr strode straight into the thick mist, Merlin sleepily slung around Wills neck, eyes rolled back in soundless pain.

Morgana and Isobel close behind, careful not to lose sight of the woman before them. 

With each step, the fog seemed to move to make way for Lyr. Flag poles waving a yellow Triskelion symbol came into view, then before Morgana could see, voices began to echo from a few feet ahead. Children laughing, feet stomping in the wet mud, people conversing on subjects of food, firewood, tents, and quiet prayers. 

Various coloured bunting hung from string above their heads as the mist cleared completely, almost by magic. 

Morgana looked around, observing the camp before her. It was large with twisting paths, weaving around tents, sloppy with muddy footprints from being trodden on constantly.

A wide path lead down the other side of the hill, into the fog again, marked by flags and torches. Morgana wondered where it could lead to on such a bare and rocky mountain pass as this.

"Bring your friend to the healers tent, over here." Lyr commanded, leading Will over to a large blue square tent full of furs covering the floor. "I will have another show you two to your canvases." 

She summoned a bearded middle aged man from a group of people huddled around a camp fire. He smiled at them warmly. "Welcome! My name is Irving." He stated, a wide grin across his face, crinkling his smile-lined eyes. 

He shook Morgana's hand, clasping it firmly. "I have heard many things of you. Both." His gaze fell upon Isobel, and his smile wavered only a moment before returning to solidarity. 

"Come." He waved them along, rustling his robe. Unlike Lyr, his clothing was blood red.

He lead them to the other side of camp, where small, one-man tents were pitched up against wooden sticks. Children played just near by, being watched over by druids dressed in brown.

"What's with the colour coordination?" Morgana asked curiously, eyeing the different dyed fabrics hung up to dry by a bucket of water. 

Irving stopped just by the tents, taking the weighty bags off of the two ladies. "Different subsections. New druids wear brown, bards wear blue, priests wear white, and the high druid wears gold. You've met Lyr. She's an ovate, seers and diviners they wear green." He explained.

"And. . . What does red mean?" Isobel inquired.

Irving smirked, "Red is the sign of a fighter." He professed, setting their bags into their respective beds.

"I have duties to attend to, please, make yourselves at home. You will be meeting with the arch druid later this evening." He said, walking back the way they came.

Merlin:

She came to him through filtered sun rays, like a bird descending from a high tree branch in the small hours of the morning, silhouetted against the light of the rising sun.

Her appearance was exactly how he remembered it, frozen in time against a forever aging world. Her eyes, green and hopeful -her hair, dark brown just like his had been during his youth.

"Niea. . ." He murmured, reaching out an arm. If he could just touch her. 

"You need to wake up." She whispered, bending down to his place on the floor.

"If I do. . . You won't be there." He responded meekly. He felt a cold tear roll down his temple, wetting his hair.

"Of course I will be." She smiled her toothy smile. He could have sworn she was stroking his hair back like she did when they were little and he couldn't sleep.

When he awoke, it was not his sister sat by his side, but Isobel. She was staring blankly at the ground, dressed in a faded pink tunic, with daisies in her hair. She reminded him of the older girls he'd see in his village when he was little, who'd sit by the edge of the fields making daisy crowns and laughing.

How much his sister had longed to be one of them. He'd catch her staring at them sometimes. Dreaming of joining them. 

His stomach flipped at the memory of her, visiting the darkest corner of his mind again.

Her presence was as fleeting as thoughts were. Flying in and out of his head like the momentary existence of a mayfly. He knew every time she visited, it would be short-lived. That she'd dissipate into the wind like smoke of a campfire, leaving nothing but an ashy taste in his mouth.

She had done so before, and had done it again just now. 

"You're awake." Isobel gasped, turning to face him. "I'm glad. They said you would- wake soon, that is. Everyone has been so anxious. You really scared us, you know?"

Merlin forced himself to sit up, immediately regretting doing so, as the tent started to spin. "Ugh. . . How long have I been out for?"

Isobel calculated in her head. "Most of our journey here. But since we arrived, I'd say about three and a half days." 

"Oh. . ." 

"Yeah. . . Wasn't easy getting away from Camelot. Saw some pretty horrific stuff– though," she stopped herself, "Nothing you need to hear right this minute. . ."

He nodded, "How are the others?" 

"Morgana has settled right in amongst the others here. . . Will on the other hand is in a right mood. He won't tell me why, but he said- and I quote; 'If I have to drag Merlin up another fucking mountain again- I'll throw him down the rocks myself, then follow headfirst after.'"

Merlin chuckled at this. "Sounds like William on a good day." 

"Then you can grasp just how terrible he's being today. . . On a bad day." She clarified, wringing her hands out in her lap.

Merlin made to stand. "I'm going to look around. Go, have fun- or whatever. . . I'll be fine, promise." 

He gave her a smile which seemed to satisfy Isobel immensely, as she too, stood and wondered off in the opposite direction towards a small group of children who roped her into playing tig.

She chased them around gleefully. He noted the mothers watching from the sidelines, their smiles bright and cheerful.

The camp itself was rather large, consisting of wide walkways and different coloured flags stuck into the ground, marking areas and passages.

He weaved his way around a lot of small pitched canvas tents, spotting Morgana huddled by a firepit, captivated in a rather meaningful conversation about the forests at the base of the west mountains, and the animals which dwelled there.

He had to blink, rubbing his eyes again as they fell upon a shifty green-furred creature the hight of his chest, stood by a druid in a green cloak. A Cù Sìth, Merlin realised, only slightly taken off guard.

He had spent so long in Camelot, he had forgotten how common creatures other than people were. 

The green, matted fur of the dog fluffed up when it saw him near. Lolling it's head relaxed by its owner. 

He was tempted to pet the large, cow-sized dog, then thought better of it. They were specially trained by the druids to alert of danger - oncoming certain death.

He thought it to be rather comical, you wouldn't think that, looking at it.

~<<♤>>~

Will was stood on the edge of camp at the bottom of the hill, at the end of a muddy path surrounded by thick cold fog.

The path was so steep and rocky and mud crusted, that Merlin thought he'd stumble off the edge of the mountain side.

When he finally reached the bottom, the barrier of fog opened up once more into another clearing, this time it was a giant wall of stone, cut in half by the gaping mouth of a large and tourch-lit Cave. 

"You're alive then. . . That's a relief." Will said, back leaning against the yellowed chalky stone wall.

"You don't sound very pleased to see me, my friend." Merlin spoke, crouching down next to him.

Will shook his head. "No, I am, of course I am. Don't be stupid."

"Then, what?" 

". . ."

"Will." Merlin urged, shoving him lightly in the shoulder.

He waved him away. "Listen. . . I'm gonna tell you something, and you're not going to like it. In fact. . . You'll hate it." He winced.

"Just tell me. What is it!?" 

"I um. . . Mer. . . Your father is. . . Here." 

The ground suddenly felt like it had crumbled away beneath his very feet. Will had to be joking. 

He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "No, he isn't."

Will did not pity him. Not ever. But the look he gave Merlin made him feel scared almost. "No. He isn't." Merlin repeated, more sternly now. "Why would you even say that!? After everything–" 

"Because it's true!" Will blurted. He sighed deeply, His hand fell to his neck, and the small hammer necklace dangling from it. "I saw him at the fire pit the day we arrived. Then again yesterday. I haven't spoken to him, though- doubt he even remembers me."

Merlin wiped his eyes tiredly. "Gods, its one thing after the bloody next." He laughed bitterly. "Did he recognise me?" He asked.

Will shook his head. "I don't think he went into the healers tent. He had his back turned when I brought you. . . I know it isn't worth much, Mer. . . But I am sorry. I wouldn't have told you this soon, but camp is a crowded place and I didn't want it to take you by surprise should you accidentally bump into him."

Merlin nodded, "No I- I understand. Thank you for letting me know. It's better coming from you."

Will was staring off into the distance, not much could be seen through the haze, a few blades of grass and many boulders. They were too high up and too well hidden to see the rolling grassland of the other mountains below.

"Do you know where he is?" Merlin cut through the whistling the wind made through the Cave entrance beside them.

"Last I saw he was heading off down the hillside. Probably gone fishing with the other campers. I suspect he'll be back soon, though."

Merlin nodded again. The rage he felt could not be described in words. It was loud, like the monotonous buzzing of flies swarming, and slippery like a fish. He could not seem to properly take a hold of it. If he weren't careful, it would burst out.

Staying quiet seemed more manageable than screaming. He feared if he did scream, he would not be able to contain himself. And he did not wish to cry. He had done plenty of that when he lived in the village and it had never solved anything. It didn't make his father come home, it didn't bring his sister back, and it certainly didn't rouse his mother from the pits of despair on those long days when she'd refuse to leave her bed.

~<<♤>>~

The embers of the fire crackled and spat at his feet, casting long shadows beside him. It wasn't yet dark, but the sun would soon set taking the long day with it.

Morgana was perched next to him on a stone, her eyes glancing sideways towards him every now and then. She had been low in spirits recently, but she seemed somewhat happier around the druids than she ever did in Camelot.

Will and Isobel sat opposite. They were talking quietly to each other. He couldn't hear much, he wasn't really listening. Something about Brittany. Isobel hated her castle, but she loved her home. Her people, too. She wouldn't stop talking about it. The city she docks in, the treck to one of her many residences and what animals she sees on the road. She even swore she once heard an Iannic-ann-ôd, a drowned soul that haunts the coasts. 

"Oh, I've read of those!" Morgana boasted, fully intrigued by Isobels tales of her home land. "Is it true they can kill you if you call back to them?" 

Isobel nodded with a grim smile, "Yes, well- from what I have heard it is. That's why Anna and I– we. . ." Isobel trailed off, her smile fading. "Yeah. . . I think you're right, Morgana. It can happen. . ."

Merlin cringed. He hated Anna for what she had done to him, poisoning him unknowingly in his sleep every night. And the position it now put Isobel in did not go unacknowledged.

"I'll go get more fire wood." He said, turning to stand.

He stopped then, as cheerful conversations sounded out from the camp entrance. The hunters had returned.

He found his eyes searching desperately for his father. After a few seconds, they landed on a familiar yet older face. He looked more fuller than he last remembered him to be, eyes crinkled with smile lines and a short beard. 

He was laughing. Smiling with his friends. Merlin felt the anger rise under his skin again. Bubbling up like boiling water spilling over a pot. How can he be happy, he thought; when he's not with his family.

A/N: Sorry for the wait :)

Chapter Text

He wasn't sure how he ended up in front of his father, swinging his fist into his face, knocking him hard to the ground. It was all quite a blur, you see?

Hands pushed him back, before anyone could retaliate, Will was in-between them both, shoving away anyone who came too close.

"How dare you! Violence is strictly prohibited within camp bounds!" A druid called from the group coddling his bleeding father, helping him from the floor.

Arguing erupted throughout the group, Will shouting back. All Merlin could do was look at his father who stared back, cogs turning inside his head.

"Enough!" Lyr commanded, walking into the middle. "Everyone, leave us."

The crowd slowly dispursed, leaving only Will, Isobel and Morgana watching on.

"I trust this means you know each other? Irving?" She asked.

His father nodded slowly. "He's my son."

7th September

Morgana:

She awoke to birds song filling the air above her head, and for the first time in a long time, she opened her eyes happily.

She hadn't suffered a single nightmare since she had arrived at the Druid camp, and was all the more better for it.

Merlin had returned in a sour mood the night after talking with his father and had kept to himself since.

He had suggested about leaving, but Isobel had protested. They were all safe here, reasonably. As long as King Urien didn't find out he was housing escaped Royalty in the mountains of his Kingdom.

She was down by the stream, a walking distance from camp, when she found Merlin already crouched by the water. He was looking into it watchfully, dipping his flask into the clear shallows.

"Good morning." She chirped, bending down by a rock to fill up a canteen.

He barely glanced her way. He was too busy fumbling with the contents in his hands, getting frustrated at the lid not opening.

"Everything okay?" She asked wearily.

"I'm Fine." He grunted. His father had tried multiple times now to talk with him. To all, Merlin had avoided or straight up denied. Especially yesterday, when he had shoved his father away after Balinor had tried to talk with him again.

Morgana was quiet for a minute, thinking of how best to approach him. She'd never dealt with the angry side of Merlin before. "I heard about what happened yesterday. . . I'm sure he-"

"-Can we not? Please. He doesn't deserve forgiveness. Not now, not ever."

Morgana frowned. She got that about him. The bitter resentment that she had been feeling for Uther long since she were young. It had only grown more volatile after Morgause had visited.
And twisted itself further inside her since the poor slaughtered family they had found.

The things she'd say to him. The way she'd treat him if she was only strong enough. If she was just powerful enough.

But Uther was her guardian, not Merlin's. And Merlin had a father willing to love him.

Oh, the things she'd do for someone to love her. For someone to want to love her.

"Merlin, I don't mean to pry. . . But you have a father who wants to know you. It doesn't take back what he's done- whatever that may be- but. . . Surely him being here is worth something."

Merlin stared for a moment, shaking his head. "You really have no idea, do you?" He snapped, scoffing bitterly.

Morgana paused, taken aback. "Well. . . Not completely but I know it must have been difficult-"

"You know nothing of the struggles we faced!" He breathed. "You were raised in a castle with servants and slaves. I raised myself and provided for my mother. You haven't the slightest clue of what 'difficult' means."

She went to say something. To explain that she hadn't meant it like that at all. But then the birds stopped their song, the wind seemed to still, and a howl of a wolf echoed from further up the mountain.

They both turned very fast, their eyes following the short grassy path they came down from just moments ago.

It took Morgana only a moment to realise it was not in fact a wolf that had called, but the Cù Sìth, the dog with green fur. The harbinger of death. A sure warning that lives were about to be lost.

Morgana made to stand, her water bottles discarded by the stream edge.
"No." Merlin said, "you get to the bottom of the mountain."

Morgana huffed, "I don't think so. Come on!" She spouted, climbing the jagged path up to camp.

As they climbed, the yelling started.

Her eyes flashed a faint amber light, as a small dainty daisy bloomed from her palm. The two girls beamed a smile of relief as she plucked the flower from her hand and gave it to the youngest.

Merlin:

The leaves had slowly began to brown and wilt beneath their feet as they made their way through the forests of the West. A few hours and they'd reach the open moorland of Elmet.

"Where are we even going? We've been walking for days." Will complained, coming to a stop in the middle of the trail left by a thousand different feet before them.

Merlin stopped, his bandaged hand readjusting his sachel. "I told you, Will. We're going home. To Ealdor. At least for a bit. We should have left for my mother as soon as I woke. It was a mistake staying there."

"Don't say that." Will glanced past Merlins shoulder, at his father who was resting on a rock, staring into nothing. Merlin had noticed him doing that a lot lately. Grief does strange things to people. "We learnt a few things there, at least."

Merlin scoffed, turning to march off. "Yeah, so did he."

Will frowned, grabbing Merlin by the shoulder, spinning him back round to face him. "Be mad at him, you have every right to. But don't insult her memory like this." He reasoned, his eyes becoming darker under the shadowed light, ". . . She was my friend, too." And the gentleness in Wills voice almost broke him.

The sound of horses hooves coming up the path behind them, tore their eyes away from one another.

Morgana and Isobel made to hide, after all they were almost in Elmet, one of the largest kingdoms in Albion, next to Rheged. Elmet, much like Camelot, did not like those of magic.

Balinor, on the other hand, wasn't that well known outside of his own bounds.

"Woah there!" The man clicked, calming his stead to a steady stop.
He rose his chin, in formal greeting.  "You men wouldn't happen to know the fastest way to Fort Wisp, by any chance?"

Merlin inclined his head, searching the stranger for any sign of hostility. He was noble, that was obvious from how he dressed, the state of his horse and the extra two guards he had galloping up the road behind him.

Merlin spyed the gold crest upon the clasp of his burgundy cloak. The kingdom of Lyonesse. Camelot's furthest ally, located just beyond Cornwall on a small straight of land, a boats ride from Corbenic.

"Fort Wisp?" Will muttered, "What business does a man such as yourself have in a place like Fort Wisp? If you don't mind my asking."

"It's official business. I am emissary for my father, King Meliodas. Do you know the way, or not, good sir?" He queried, blinking against the dulling sun.

His tanned hands grasped the reigns, tugging slightly to the temper of his impatient horse.

Will nodded, his father often took trade routes as far as Strathclyde. He knew Elmet little, but Fort Wisp was the seat of their King, and therefore a city bustling with trade. "Try south East, by the pastures. If you hit the villages, you've gone too far East, hit the woods again, you've gone too far West."

The man nodded, "what's your name?"

"I'm Will."

"Tristan. Tristan Meliodason. And just as well sticking to the pastures. You folks should stay as far from the East as you can."

"Why so?" Merlin asked.

"I'd stay far from the inner villages. There is plague there. The dead pile high. I myself am heading south straight after Wisp. I can offer your ladies a horse until we reach the boarder." Tristan explained from atop his brown mare. "Unless of course, they plan on sleeping in those bushes."

Merlin cringed slightly. Good eye. Perceptive. Isobel climbed out from her place sat behind a dead bramble bush. Morgana, from behind a thick tree trunk.

"Have no fear, I am no looter. Just a humble lord who wishes to spare the feet of two beautiful maidens." He smiled charmingly, flashing white teeth.

"If it isn't too much trouble. . ." Isobel flushed, remembering herself.

He paused assessing her. From her worn boots, to her faded pink tunic, to her tied back hair, which housed a stray brown leaf. "You don't look like trouble." He said, leaning down from his saddle to pick out the leaf.

Merlin rolled his eyes. He'd seen such gestures of wooing before. Countless men had tried it with Isobel in the past. But none so much made her smile like that.

"Looks can be deceiving."

"Gods, spare me. . ." Will mumbled, "We're fine, really."

"No, I insist. It is no hindrance to me. We are heading the same way, anyhow."

Even that, Will could not argue with, so he simply nodded. "That's awfully kind of you."

His guards, who had since caught up and stopped behind him, climbed down from their horses. "Shall we say, two per mare?"

"Absolutely, Isobel you're with me." Merlin declared, taking her hand before she could object.

That left Morgana with Will, and Balinor clamouring onto the back of Tristans horse.

Isobel sighed as she looped her arms around Merlins chest, trying not to squeeze too hard once they got going, through fear of falling off.

They went slowly, after all, Tristans guards were walking not far beside.

"So. . ." Tristan started, "where are you coming from. You don't sound like you're from the North."

"Oh, we were visiting distant family." The lie rolled off his tongue easily.

"Is that why you travel with the mark of a druid? . . . Have no fear, I do not take joy in persecution of innocents."

"You're from Lyonesse." Will snorted, his hand casually draping the hilt of his dagger. "You are Christian."

"Yes." agreed Tristan, "But my mother was a priestess of Corbenic under Lady Amite herself. We may have turned our backs on the old ways, but I'd never forsake family. Even dead ones."

Merlin smirked, "You and I have very different views on family."

A few minutes passed of this silence. Only broken every now and then by Will asking if Morgana was alright, or the sound of Tristans luggage bashing against their own packs.

"I'm so sorry, Mer." Isobel whispered into his ear. Her hair tickled his neck.

Merlin squinted as the dappled sunlight fell through the gaps in the wilting brown canopy above their heads. "What for?"

"I shouldn't have been so blind. . . Perhaps if I hadn't been so, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

He realised with great misery, she was referring to Anna. He too, huffed a deep breath. "You can't blame yourself. You aren't responsible for the actions of others. . . Even those you love. It wasn't your fault. It's just how it is."

He felt her nod then, with a cough, he said, "If we're apologising for things we shouldn't be apologising for, then I'm sorry for dragging you halfway across Albion with no plan or hope of a stable tomorrow."

She shook her head, her arms loosening  their grip as she became more steady. "You're my best friend, Mer. I'd follow you anywhere."

"I'm afraid this is where I leave you, min byre." Balinor exhaled, standing by the West facing path. The crossroads they stood upon branched out in all four directions, the woods were North to their backs, to their left was Fort Wisp, straight ahead was where they were going. And West to the right for Gwynedd and Dyfed.

Merlin snorted as if he were jesting, "Again? Really?"

". . . I cannot go home. You know that."

"Can't, or won't?" Merlin sighed, taking a few steps closer to his astranged father. "Where will you go?"

"West to the seat of the druids. We all agreed, should our camp ever be raided, to meet back together there. It's the safest place for people like us." He explained.

Merlin nodded. "And what about me? Mōdor? Don't you think she deserves better than this?"

His father nodded thoughtfully. His eyes falling to the dusty ground. Funny, he thought, He never could look mother in the eye when they'd gotten into fights. Some things never change.

"If she ever asks about me, persuade her I'm dead. It's less painful than the truth. You never met me. Do you understand, wylfen? I've already lost my daughter. I will not lose a son, nor a wife."

"Strange. . . Always thought you loved Ganieda over all else. Now you know she's dead, I guess there really is nothing for you in Ealdor."

Balinor frowned, that awful way parents frown when you're little and say something wrong. It suddenly made him a child again. "A father's son is always his pride, your sister was my joy. That is true enough. . . I love all of my family. Dead, alive, a million miles away. It doesn't matter, my heart knows no bounds. Not when it comes to you."

"You know the problem with your love? . . . It's invisible." He argued, reaching into his own bag to throw his father a rag tied up at the top with string. "That should be enough food for you until you reach just beyond Nemeth. . ."

Merlin stopped, watching as Balinor bent to pick up the sack of dried meat and stale bread gifted from Tristan.
He inclined his head once more, "Safe travels, fæder."

"Oh no. . . I don't do water. . . like at all." Merlin said, gazing down at the rushing river below. They'd have to cross it if they wanted to reach the nearest village by nightfall. It was dangerous at night on the moors. Creatures of all kinds stalked these parts and few travellers survived to see the sunrise if caught.

"Yeah well it's cross here, or add another half a day onto our journey. And I don't know about you lot," Will said, glancing back at Morgana and Isobel. "But I don't think my feet can take it much longer."

Merlin had to force his face to stay neutral. Will was right. They had to cross the river. Even though everything in him was telling him to run.

509 AD

The river behind the grain fields was wide, rapid, and extremely deep. Merlin didn't think anyone had ever reached the bottom. Even though Will swore he had, though Merlin knew he was probably, most definitely lying.

"Dare you to jump in the deep bit." Ganieda taunted, stood leaning by the edge of the river.

She had been collecting the smoothest pebbles she could find, and culminating them into a large pile on the grass.

"You do it." He urged, training his gaze on the middle, where he couldn't see the bottom.

"I will. . . If you give me five silver pieces. And your throw ball." She bargained.

Merlin shook his head vehemently. "No way! I don't own five silver pieces, and that ball is Wills, not mine."

"Give me something." She whined, already slipping her shoes off.

"Alright. . ." Merlin said, thinking. " I'll . . . Feed Goode for a week."

Goode was the name of Ganieda's goat, it was her responsibility to feed and look after it when their father was busy.

She pondered for a moment, dragging out her response. "Until the next full moon." She bartered.

Merlin groaned. The next full moon wasn't for twelve days yet. "Fine. Until the next moon."

Satisfied with her brother's annoyance, she slowly waded into the water.
It was deeper than they had initially believed. After all, they were only six years of age and Ganieda was shorter still .

She could swim. They both could. Their father had taught them ever since they could walk. 'A lot of things can kill you out there' he'd said. 'Let drowning be none of them.'

Of course, they had not learnt to swim in this stream. It was far too deep for young babes and the village children often avoided it. They usually swam by the creak in the woods just behind the village, the opposite direction of this very river.

Ganieda stopped in the centre. She looked back at Merlin, smiling. "See? Big chicken, it's not scary at all!" She jeered bobbing up and down in the murky green water gently.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back to gaze up at the clouds, picking out the shapes made by Tiw, the sky God. "Yeah, yeah. I'm no chicken, though. I'll come in- but only if you don't dunk me like you did at the creak last week."

His response fell to silence. "Eda?" Confused, he looked back to the water. It was still. His sister was not there anymore. "Ganieda?" He called out to her again.

He stood then, looking frantically around. There was nobody near by. All the grown-ups were too far into the rye fields to hear him and help.

"Ganieda!?" He shouted.

Then something caught his eye. Small air bubbles broke the surface of the stream, and he dove in head first towards the deep dark muddy bottom.

Down, down, down, he swam flailing his arms about wildly in search for her. A heartbeat passed, two, three, then he found her.

Her hair, down, her shoulders, down, he looped his hands under her arms and kicked and pulled towards the surface.

He was surprised when he was met with resistance. Her legs were stuck to something. He pulled some more and then water broke through to air and he dragged her to shore.

She was still for a moment, her lips turning a pale shade of purple. All he could do was nudge her frantically. Another heart gripping moment passed, and Ganieda coughed up murky river water, turning her head as her lungs gave heave to a deep rattle.

Merlin gave a deep sigh of relief. He was shaking and crying as he looked down at her. Her hair was matted to the side of her face and her skin was pale as milk.

Nieas' eyes opened and widened as she slowly dragged herself up and away further from the bank. She screamed, falling over herself. "Nelly Longarms! Nelly Longarms!" She shouted, pointing.

Merlin turned, his back was to the water as he had been watching his sister, and only his sister.

Two unnaturally long grey arms had emerged from the waters surface feeling around in the air like a spider looking for footing. With horror, he watched on as they grappled through the mud of the bank towards them with a splash.

The face that greeted him, was wrinkly and waterlogged. Its skin was shiny and slippery as the back of a silver fish, its hair thin and stringy like seaweed.

As it reached out towards them, the creature groaned like an angry cat. Merlin felt unable to move. He felt Ganieda behind him, holding tightly onto his shoulder. She was breathing raggedly.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or his need to protect his sister, or the insatiable fear of impending doom that would surely follow if he did not move now, but before he could decide what to do, his hand was before him along with a bright blast of light.

The creature screamed somewhat deafening, before seeping back below the water like rain into the ground , spindly limbs and matted hair disappearing into the murk.

Had he just done that? His ears were ringing like clumsy bells. He knew he could do things others couldn't . Ganieda could too, but he'd never actually seen it before.

It had always been some invisible force that knocked a pale over, or lit a candle on its own, or the earliest he could remember was when he knocked his mother's pot off the table chasing Niea, and he stopped it mid fall.

But never before had he used such power that it manifested as a light. -Or had he used his magic against a living being before.

Ganieda was crying into her brothers shoulder from behind. She was dripping wet and freezing cold- they both were. Thank the Gods she was breathing, he thought.

Mother would surely hate him for this. Father would be furious. She almost drowned because of him and his stupid dare.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, turning to hold Ganieda properly in his arms, maybe an hour or maybe only a few minutes. But when she had calmed, she poked her head up from under his chin, and said, "We should go home. . . Hwider wille Modōr hwara wit hafa gebeón."

"giese. . ." He responded, standing to wobbly legs.

November:

C aerleon / Camelot Boarder village , Caerleon.

Morgana:

The village they had to pass through was muddy and rain-drenched. It was a dismal day, it had been an even grimmer week. Food had swiftly become scarcer to find, now the rabbits and mice were hiding in their holes, and the birds had fled to warmer nests over distant seas.

Farming hovels gave way to village taverns and muddy street walkways.
Each step was a cold squelch beneath their feet and Morgana had begun to feel the effects of the weather.

Isobel had caught an ailment and a few times by now, had to be carried by William through fear of her collapsing.
If we cannot make her better soon, he had said, then we will have no choice but to return to Camelot like this.

They weren't even sure why they were so worried about returning. Anna probably wouldn't try anything again, at least not soon and they had to return some time. Isobel was a future monarch, she may have fooled her father and Uther into thinking she was each with the other, but she couldn't fool them forever.

They had accomplished what they set out to do; heal Merlin. Now they had to get home, or at least to Ealdor, or risk dying that winter.

Morgana was so deep in thought, she almost walked right into the swinging feet of three corpses, had Merlin not grabbed her arm.

"Careful." He said, leading her backwards a few paces. The rain seemed to fall harder, drenching her through and through, rattling her skull like an executioners drumbeat.

There, hung high from a wooden gibbet over the side of the road, swung three battered bodies in a row.

Morgana clutched her mouth in disgust, the first one she lay eyes on, the one she almost walked into, was a woman a little older than herself.

One shoe was missing, she noted first, leaving her grubby mud speckled foot to hang limply from her torso. Her dress was in an even poorer state, ripped at the chest and brown from days of working in the far fields. The front was mostly hidden from a wooden sign hooked from her neck. Her eyes, thankfully, were closed.

William had come up from behind them, Isobel sleeping in his arms. She was shivering against the woolen shawl they had wrapped her in.

He looked up and read aloud the three wooden signs hanging from around each dead neck. "A Pagan, an adulterer, and a sorcerer."

Morgana could not hold it in any longer, she turned and gasped as bile rose up through her throat and out onto the wet path. They hadn't eaten in days. She felt Merlin lightly pat her back in comfort.

She rubbed away the sick from her mouth with the back of her sleeve and closed her eyes as he lead her to the side of the street by the wall of a house.

"Alright?" He murmured, pushing back a lock of hair that had stuck to her face from the rain

"The Lord Jesus never advocated such black-hearted barbarism." She breathed, fighting the urge to hurl her guts up again.

"That what Uther told you?" Merlin said sharply. ". . . Forgot you were a Christian."

"No. I'm not a Christian. I–" Morgana stopped herself. She wasn't very good at the whole belief thing. Even worse now. She figured there wasn't all that much to be thankful for. "I was raised as a Christian, there's a difference. What does it matter, anyhow? I don't hold how you were raised against you."

"Yeah well, Your God might not have advocated for this," He motioned to the swinging corpses a few steps away. Their blood-stained skin rotting slowly in the air. "But Uther does. We're near the boarder of Camelot now. A day or so more and we'll be in Ealdor, which sits right ontop of the boarder line. A little further from that, and you'll be home."

"It's not my home." She said, swallowing the sour taste in her mouth.

She saw the question forming on his lips, then what is? He simply nodded, "Maybe not, but you're safe there. . . Reasonably."

"No I'm not. Uther is mad. If he found out about me, Merlin. . ." She shook her head. She knew, he knew it would not end well. She looked back at the gibbet, and the three bodies that hung from its mast and wondered if she'd ever become one of them.

Uther had hanging cages attached to the castle walls back at camelot, he never used them for sorcerers, though. He would not have their corpses mar his Palace walls.

Perhaps in the old days, when her mother was alive, if you were to walk out onto the pavilion behind the training green, you might have seen a head on a spike or the charred remnants of a suspected witch from the first witch trials. But not anymore. Now, the only thing they are worth, is the blade of an axe, or the wood for a pyre.

Lower than thieves, lower than beasts, lower than murderers. Sorcerers were not even worth public embarrassment.
Not even worth looking at upon entry.

He bowed his head knowingly, as if the thought had crossed his mind too, "Come on, we need shelter. Isobel needs a fire, you both are freezing."

The anger in her was fire enough, she thought. She did not say, her anger alone would keep her feet moving. Perhaps he already knew. Perhaps that's what vengeance means. A way to keep going, even when everything worthwhile is not. The only fire that would not burn her, that would not extinguish even through storm or wind or rain.

Hatred was not a word that could sum up how she felt about the King. He was a hurricane, destined to destroy everything around it. Her father, her mother, her sister, the poor family dead in their own garden were only a splinter of his nefariousness.

Further into the village and all was deserted, apart from the taverns glowing yellow from the windows with beeswax candles and warm harths.

They had little coin to pay for a room but Merlin assured her it didn't much matter either way, Will was a good pickpocket, he only needed to bump into someone once and what was their money, was now his.

The room they rented was small and stuffy having only one bed that they all agreed should go to Isobel.

They took turns changing into something dry and warmer from their packs, and settled down to unravel their bed rolls onto the stone floor.

Isobel coughed all through the night, running a fever by daybreak. By mid-morning, Morgana woke to Merlin hovering over Isobel. "What are you doing?" She asked half asleep still.

Merlin jumped slightly pulling his hand from her head. "Checking her temperature. I can feel the heat off her skin like a fire. She needs a remedy. We can't wait to reach Ealdor. I can try and make one, but we'll have to forage."

Morgana nodded, wiping the sleep from her eyes. The one window in the room rattled. It was no longer raining, but the wind had continued through the night.

She wondered if the three bodies on the street below swung with the breeze. A foolish thing to think of. Of course they would, the wind is strong and they are dead.

Then she wondered if they were trapped in there. If that's the life of an unresting soul without burial or burning. Worse than Hell. A worse fate than the darkness of the Underworld. To be trapped in your own rotting corpse, strung up for all to see like a fish in a puddle after a flood.

Do they feel the morning sunlight upon their skin? She questioned to herself.

Will rose from where he was bent over his bag, sifting through his belongings for his small axe. "I'll go. I know what I'm looking for."

Merlins eyes met Will, and like some silent conversation, he turned to Morgana. "Uh, why don't you come and help me? You can look for an apothecary in the village whilst I look in the woods just beyond."

"Uh, yeah, alright." She yawned despite herself, and followed will out the door still reeling from the pits of her nightmares.

She, as usual, didn't get much sleep. On top of Isobels coughing and the numerous sounds bouncing off the taverns walls from each side of their room, she had another nightmare.

Anna had found them, and Palace guards had arrested them, throwing them into the darkest reaches of the dungeons, left to the rats and lice with no hope of ever escaping.

"Tell me about Ealdor." She urged, falling into pace with the broad shouldered boy beside her, wanting nothing more than to shake the vile images from her mind.

Will slotted his axe through his belt and sighed a where-to-begin? kind of sigh. "Uh well. . . It's small. You'll smell it before you see it -got the cows to thank for that." He scrunched his nose up in memory as if he could smell it now.

All morgana could smell was sticky-sweet ale, freshly baked bread and sweat from the taverns inhabitants.

He continued, turning down the creaking steps to the pub part of the building. "It rains like this a lot. . . The woods are greener there, though, than they are in Camelot. In the summer it's beautiful. In the winter it's harsh and often unkind, but I suppose that's the way of all things dying.
Everyone knows everything, as nobody is a stranger. If you are struggling, someone will help. It's almost like a family. . . Almost."

She could see that. A small village on the unsure boarder of two great kingdoms, Camelot and Caerleon. Backed by rye fields and hugged by forests, home to all kinds of magical beasts. A place where rivers flowed surely as the rising sun and birds circled like a lone island in the middle of a vast and lonely sea.

A simple life, with like minded people all intent on surviving from one winter to the next.

The door swung open and they stepped out onto the mud crusted street, her vision of the small village blowing away with the wind.

"Right, I'm going south." He pointed straight in front, past another street of unsteady wooden houses to the dark canopy of woodland snaking it's weeds like hands. "You check around here. Try not to wonder too far. Don't wanna get lost round here." He gave a wary look around, before stalking off towards the treeline.

Morgana watched as he left, right, apothecary shop. Where would it be? She thought to herself, turning left, away from the gibbet just further down the street she stood on.

The ground was still soft from last nights heavy downpour, causing her to slip so many times she lost count.

Apothecaries were usually located near the undesirable part of town, it was easier for the people this way, more discreet, less shameful.

She followed the road and took a left around a small row of hovels and a blacksmiths. Perhaps William could work a shift or two if they end up staying another few days.

Ealdor, as Merlin had said, was another day's ride by horse. They were still technically in West Caerleon, she could tell from the accents. The vowels longer and lilted just like Merlins.

Even though the boarder dispute between Uther and Queen Annis had been an ongoing problem for years, nobody made a move for it. The town she stood in, along with Ealdor and any other settlement within two days walk from the legal 'grey area' was often left without aid.

A small slip of land full of farmers was worth nothing the hundreds of coin it would cost to go to war over it. So they didn't.

She found no apothecary sign, but her eyes landed on a pig pen just by a far alleyway. She approached them, snorting away at the slops the butchers had left for them.

She reached out through the rotting wooden fence and scratched the bristly back of a boar. "How'd we get ourselves here, eh? Life would be so much more simpler if everyone were pigs. . ."

She crouched there for a few moments listening to the chewing and the snarling of the animals before her, the wind whipping her hair into her face, the distant sound of hammering echoing from the smithy shed.

And then she heard it. Something smaller- more fragile. Urgent. Pleading. "Please! Don't, please!"

She scrambled to her feet, peering down the alleyway between the butchers and a store house used for goat feed.

Quietly, she followed the sound of muffled cries to the half-open side door.
Inside, behind standing shelves cluttered with dusty ceramic pots and bits of straw, stood a young girl not much older than twelve, cowering before a husk of a man.

"Hey, leave her alone!" She shouted moving further into the dark room.

The man turned to her, he was mid twenties she'd say, a little older than her brother. His eyes were dark and challenging. She recognised such looks in the tavern men, and the young sons of Lords who'd visit for parties or Knight training.

Arthur had always protected herself and Anna from the likes of such coarseness. But he was not here now. She was alone, save the young girl crying in the corner.

She spoke again, though her voice shook. "Leave her be."

"Two rabbits, one trap. Didn't your father ever tell you not to wonder off." He spoke sweet poison.

He lunged for her then, grabbing her arms tightly and shoving her against the shelves. Pots clattered and smashed under foot. One small vase knocking her head.

A moment of confusion, then the fall.

Her vision somewhat hazy, she remembered the dagger Will had once given her. She used it little in the time they'd been running, but Will had given her a few pointers.

She reached down to her ankle and unsheathed the knife from her boot.
The man had turned back to face the young girl, his frame dark against the morning light shifting through the open door.

She stood to shakey feet. One lunge forward and the knife was in his back at an off angle.

He turned gasping in pain, scratching at his back for the knife. She'd made the mistake of not gripping the dagger tight enough to pull it out.

"You bitch!" He seethed, moving forwards, the young girl cowering in the corner, forgotten. "I'll fucking kill you for that!"

He reminded her of Uther.

The wild gleam of madness in his eyes. The anger and disregard for those weaker than he.

The ringing, wiring noise had started suddenly, like someone tuning a lyre. It quickly became deafening but this time she welcomed it.

. . Probably end up bleeding from his eyeballs or something.

The memory came to her like a sun beam breaking through a cloudy blanket. And then came the anger, the primal fear, the pure fizz of power. Something ancient and instinctual.
And then the relief.

It was his eyes that went first, rolling backwards into his head as if a spirit had possessed him. Then came the blood. She didn't think a man could bleed that much. Especially from the eyes like one would when crying.

She didn't feel as terrified as her body was letting on. It felt normal, that rush of magic, as reflexive as blinking or breathing.

Colours clouded her eyes. Reds and black and white blinding light. When the haze subsided, she found herself sat upon the floor amongst the broken shards of pottery and goat feed.

Will was before her, he was the first face she saw. He was speaking but she couldn't quite hear what he was saying. The ringing in her ears was utterly to subside.

"Morgana!? Morgana?" He smelled of herbs and soil.

Behind him, on the floor surrounded by a red puddle was the man with no name.

Against the far wall, the young girl was still sobbing.

Will stood to his feet, turning to the girl, "What's your name? Hey- what is your name?" He asked.

"A-Acca." She stammered through tear stained eyes, swallowing thickly.

"Don't worry, you are safe. I will not touch you. . . Are you hurt?" He cautioned gently.

She shook her head hesitantly, blinking up at Will.

"Acca, does anyone know you are here?" She shook her head. "Good. Okay. I need you to- Hey- I need you to leave here and walk around the market. Make sure you are seen there. Do you understand? They cannot link you to this. You will be drawn and quartered."

He motioned towards the dead body as if it were not a dead man, but some animal that had been butchered for meal. She supposed in some way he was an animal.

Morgana slowly began to rise, her eyes watering at the sharp irony smell of blood.

"Acca! You have to leave. Do not mention you have seen anything. You were never here, do you understand. We were never here." The young girl nodded scrambling to her feet.

"Yes. Th-thank you, sir." Acca said, absently, running out into the alley and back through the village.

The ringing in her head was almost unbearable now. She no longer could stand it. Will was not safe.

And, as if she were walking in some dreaming state, made her way to the pig pens, collapsing onto her knees, the damp turned up mud cushioned her fall.

She wasn't quite sure if she were screaming or if it were the sound of her own thoughts. But judging from the look on Williams face, she must have sound like a banshee.

One moment the animals were snorting away contently, the next, they were still on the ground, dead.

(A/N: Sorry again for the wait! I know I'm terrible! Life's been topsy-turvy this month. Been on a lil break, sorting out future chapters.)

Chapter Text

Year: 524 AD
12th January

Isobel:

The horses galloped steadily down the street, the market place blended together in a whirlwind of colours and laughter.

"Woah! Slow, my Lady. We aren't in the fields anymore!" Tristan shouted, a broad smile upon his face.

It had been a year since they had returned from their trip across country, and not long after their return, did Prince Tristan appear in Camelot, emissary for his father, King Meliodas of Lyonesse, the farthest kingdom just after Cornwall.

They had soon become good friends in the year he had spent on and off in Camelot.

Isobel smiled breathing breathlessly.  "Just as well! I think I may have knocked a basket pile over back there."

Her joy was quickly cut short- as expected in Camelot these days. Uther had been slowly lacking in his leadership.
Or rather, being extra paranoid than usual. A little off waver.

The guards came first, calling to clear the way as the people of the lower market scrambled to move.

Being dragged behind them, hands bound by rope and feet shackled, was a young peasant girl. Her hair a tangled mess, her eyes dreary, and her feet shoeless and dirty.

Isobel knew already, the girl was being led to the gallows on the East side of the city, just beyond the walls.

It had been happening so often now, Uther had three long gallows built on each side of the city.

People whispered in the lower town, another purge. History was repeating itself. Isobel wasn't entirely sure what had driven Uther to such acts again, perhaps it was his declining health- but she knew he was losing it.

The Saxons were keeping off land for a few months now, having no real attempts to settle or raid the coastal villages been made anymore. At least not since last March.

Isobel averted her eyes. She was glad to be leaving for Cornwall soon where they did not execute those of magic. Cornwall was as open to sorcery as Corbenic or Gwynedd was.

"That's the twelfth one this week." She said, bringing her horse next to Tristans as they cantered back up to the courtyard. She shook her head in bewilderment. "Camelot must seem so barbaric in comparison." She shuddered.

Brittany was similar to Corbenic in their way of laws; magic was allowed, but those who wish to practise, must take mandatory lessons to help control and restrict safely.

"I'm afraid it is quite similar in Lyonesse, we fine them, or we exile. Very rarely we give the death sentence, but it does happen. . . My uncle has pushed to change that. . . But my father is a very pious Christian man. He sees sorcerers as the devils hands. . . Things will be different when I am King."

"You don't talk much of your home. . . I hear tales, nightmares. Is it truely as terrible as they say?"

Tristan winced, smoothing his fingers over the leather reigns. "To some, yes. To others, no. Like I said, the change was difficult. A lot of people didn't want to convert. A lot of people died."

Isobel felt her heart sink a little. "Doesn't it bother you?"

Tristan turned slowly, his hair fluffy from the wind. "Of course it does. But I'm powerless right now." Isobel shrugged, half in agreement, half not. "I am making excuses. . ." He admitted, "Perhaps I could do more, perhaps not. Either way, when I take to the throne, there will be no more suffering at the hands of my family. I seek to shelter my people, not kill them like–"

He stopped himself but Isobel gathered what he was going to say; like Uther.

When they reached the courtyard, they handed their horses over to the stablehands. "I should get back to my correspondence. I will see you later, my Lady." Tristan bowed his head in goodbye and stalked off through the castle side door towards the guest wing.

She herself was on her way up the stairs towards the main entrance when Anna caught her attention from the outside columns that lined the East wing. She ran to catch up, dodging guards and horses.

Isobel would have sprinted up the stairs herself, but she was afraid of embarrassing herself by tripping up on the hem of her skirts. She'd never live it down.

"It's been a year and you've barely said two words to me." Anna said in greeting, out of breath slightly. "When will you give this up?"

Isobel scoffed, pulling away from her presence as far as she could. "Can you blame me? I told you, I never wanted to speak to you again."

"And now?"

"Nothing has changed. I still hate you." She scowled, were there usually this many stairs? Are they getting longer somehow!?

"You don't have a hateful bone in your body." The blonde girl argued.

"For you, I do."

They were almost at the door now. The guards moving to open them. "You're getting awful close to Prince Tristan."

"What's it to you?" She snapped. She had noticed Anna watching her a few times. Tristan thought it sweet, Isobel knew it for what it was: surveillance.

"You're engaged to Hedrek of Cornwall. An unsteady ally to everyone. It's my business if you plan to mess it up."

The entry way was crowded with maids and servants carrying new clothes, fine pottery, and new weaponry for the knights armoury. They had generously been gifted it all from King Tutagual of Strathclyde in hopes to sweeten Uther.

What for, Isobel did not know, but she guessed it had something to do with a possible alliance. She knew he had a single son, Rhydderch. This meant marriage. Either to Anna or Morgana.

Isobel rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about that. Wouldn't want to ruin your position at court, now would we?"

"Ugh, Isobel–"

"Why are you so bothered anyway, I'm heading to Cornwall in a few weeks regardless."

"With Tristan."

She stopped, fully turning to face her now they were near the ground floor stairs. "He's an emissary. Cornwall is their closest neighbour. Of course he's taking me." She spun back around to climb up the long set of stairs to her room. "–Are you going to witter on at me all day, or do you have other duties to attend to? Because I know, I do."

Merlin:

He found Will in the tavern as usual, with a cup of mead in his hands and a far off look in his eyes.

"Don't you have work today?" Merlin asked, pulling up a chair opposite. Will looked shattered, his eyes dreary and red.

"In two hours. Killing time." Will was lucky enough to be given his old job back. Old Gwethir had taken on a younger apprentice during the year they were gone, but he was clumsy and kept burning his hands. He let Will back on the condition he'd shadow the boy.

"Killing a lot more than time. . . How do you even function?" He snickered, only to be met with blankness.

Merlin groaned. "Is this about Isobel leaving? Alright, look- I won't poke fun if you've got the daze for Isobel, I'm fine with it, really. It's just a bit weird, you know? My two closest friends. . ."

Will pulled a face like a four year old who'd just tried beer for the first time. "I don't have the daze for Isobel."

"Oh, come on! You're all over each other like ivy up a wall." He recounted only last week when the two had gone for another riding lesson and Will had fallen off his horse into a muddy puddle. Isobel didn't help him, she was too busy pointing and laughing.

Will looked at him incredulously, "You're seriously telling me. . . You don't know. How can you not know."

Merlin pulled a blank. "Not know what?"

The boy opposite him sighed deeply, ". . . Nothing. What are you so chipper about? Have you seen the fucking state of it out there?" He emphasised, nudging his thumb towards the door.

"Yes, I have. It's a bit hard to miss." He said. "But I swear it's the last bloody time he pulls anything like this again."

Will closed his eyes for a minute, sighing. "Tell me you're not being stupid. I thought you dropped this revenge act, a month after we returned."

"It's not an act. And why are you so high And mighty all of a sudden? I thought you were all for the end of the dragon heads."

"þú wille sígan eower reord?" He hissed, frowning.

"I'm tired, Will. That's all. Tired of living with a sword hanging over my head. So to answer your question; no. I haven't given up, and I don't think I ever will." He argued.

"I know. But I refuse to bury your ashes, so stop thinking like an idiot. And be careful." He understood, or at least- wouldn't try to stop him.

"Alright! Mother hen."

"Did. . . She just come from my father's Chambers?" Arthur asked, cogs turning in his head.

Merlin cringed. "Yeah. . . You didn't know?"

Arthur turned, his face paling. "No. I did not. Why did you not bring this to my attention sooner?"

He shifted uncomfortably, "I would have in a heartbeat, but it's not my place to say. . . It isn't mine to tell."

He glanced her way, she was getting closer now. He leaned over to Arthur. "Excuse me, sire." And stepped out to greet Gwen as she passed.

She hadn't realised his nightly torments would lead to such horrific repercussions. That he'd start to slowly deteriorate and take the rest of the kingdom with him.

She soon found she had a talent for poisons, better than her little sister, Anna. It was a kind of art form in a way, what plants could do what to a person. Which organs could shut down first.

She'd practice on the street cats first. And, although, she'd initially feel bad about it, that feeling would quickly pass and be replaced with an interest she couldn't shake.

The druids would surely hate me if they saw me now, she'd say.

Merlin would reassure her, one small animal was nothing in comparison to Uther. It would all be worth it in the end.

It started with a drop of water hemlock under the tongue during the Kings sleep, but that kept her up at night, and was too risky.

Then she'd be sneakier with it, taking honey from bees that had extracted from the belladonna plant. Pouring that poisonous treat onto his porridge in mornings. He suffered delirium during the days after. She soon had to stop that method, though, after a kitchen boy had gotten ill and almost died.

Now, she had settled on the root of the mandrake. It could cause such unrelenting torture, she'd almost pity him. Almost.

And every time she felt a twinge of guilt, a little doubt, a nagging scrap of loyalty, she'd remind herself of her mother, of Gorlois, or Morgause. She'd picture the glassy eyes of the little dead peasant girl laying with her brother and mother in their back garden.

She'd cast herself towards the gallows in the outer city and the bodies hanging from them. And how they'd remind her of the three sinners in Caerleon, their skin rotting, dried and crusted with blood and dirt.

How the wind carried the smell of the decomposing flesh, the burnt charred remains of those accused of practicing, through the streets and up to her window.

She sighed to herself as she rearranged the items on her vanity. It reminded her of Anna, and the various objects upon her own stand. It reminded her of her trust- or lack there of- and how she had not yet confronted her sister on the truth she had withheld.

She wasn't sure how to. Every time she tried to confront Anna, she'd get too overwhelmed. Anger could not stop her heart from beating from her chest.

She found the only thing that could, was Merlin but he was busy doing his own work. Gathering information, anything helpful.

It was a slow Sunday morning when Uther called for a family meeting of a sorts. Morgana had been sat at her vanity, moving the objects aside to make room for her book on local plants and herbs when Gwen walked in to inform her.

She groaned inwardly. Nothing was ever straightforward with Uther. Even less so now. Everything always needed to be paraded, have a song and dance.

Usually eating breakfast with each other was optional, nobody in her family much liked each other, more less tolerated one another. If he was making it compulsory, it was a topic of importance.

When she entered the great hall, the table was set and food ready. Uther was already lounging in his seat at the head of the table.

Arthur was sat to his left, swilling a goblet in his hand. He still barely spoke to Uther these days. She didn't think Arthur would ever forgive him for his past. She knew she didn't. Even Anna hated him. She always hated him. That, they had in common.

"Ah, Morgana, please sit. I trust your sister will be here any second." Uther persisted, gesturing to the empty seat to his right.

She smiled, taking her seat. The tiredness on his face was like artwork.

Anna entered a moment later, Isobel following behind. When their eyes met, her sister paused only briefly, Isobel almost walking right into her back.

Anna sat beside Arthur, Isobel next to Morgana. This had become the usual seating arrangement by now. It seemed to cause less tension.

"How have you all slept?" Uther asked.

Anna looked at him pointedly, "Are you in earnest? How have we slept?"

Arthur shook his head, "Leave it, Anna."

"I'd sleep better without the stench of death in our halls. . ." She breathed. A servant moved around the table, pouring each unfilled cup.

He tilted his head, eyeing Morgana and her wine. "I have been informed, you haven't been attending morning prayers. Do you have any reason for that?"

She picked her drink up, staring into the red swilling liquid. "I have been doing morning prayers in my Chambers."

She hadn't. In truth, she had stopped praying all together, much to the displeasure of the court priest, and now it would seem- Uther. "You will not continue to do so. You will attend morning prayers even if it is alone, as long as it is in the Chapel."

Isobel shot her eyes from Morgana to Uther, and back again, thinking. "You asked for our audience, my lord?"

The tension eased slightly, Uthers shoulders with it. "Ah, yes. Thank you, Princess Isobel." He cleared his throat, turning back to his eldest daughter. "My dear, Morgana." He hesitated a moment.
"If you care to remember, a certain King and his son visiting us periodically many years ago. . . You are almost twenty-two years of age. It is long past, you should be wed."

Morgana felt her stomach flip. She barely recalled the memory. A dark haired boy a little older than herself, sat poised in his chair as his father spoke with her own. Perhaps she was ten, maybe younger.
He continued, "You are to marry Prince Rhydderch of Strathclyde by Springs end."

"I most certainly am not!" She exclaimed, going to stand.

She felt the watchful gaze of her siblings on her as she faced her father. His eyes were slightly glazed over and she almost felt sorry for him again. "Yes, girl. You will. You will not argue with me on this. We need allies, and you have been betrothed to the prince since before you were born."

"Why didn't you tell me of this sooner!?"

"You did not need to know until now. Besides, your mother chose him personally. " He said clasping his chair arm tightly. That hit her like a punch to the gut. Perhaps his family was accepting. Her mother would not have allowed it otherwise. But then, neither would Uther. Strathclyde was said to be of the new religion.

Morgana took a deep breath, contemplating. She could use this. Do as was expected. Play the quaint, complaint daughter. A marriage would mean she'd have an actual army at her disposal. All she'd have to do is wrap Rhydderch around her finger.

"It's rather quite simple, daughter. You marry Rhydderch and be done with this, or I send you to the sisterhood of Saint Mary."

"So I suppose Arthur is being sent to the preisthood aswell–"

"ENOUGH OF YOUR CHEEK, GIRL!" He slammed his fist down onto the table making Isobel jump. "I have been too lenient on you! Allowed you too much freedom! It has corrupted you."

She could sense Merlin watching from the columns. Anna, too. She had been quietly brooding, all shifty eyed and shadows. She had been wise enough to stay still and quiet to avoid Uthers wrath.

He had shouted at them all before, of course. Individually. Mostly when they were young and didn't know all that much. Now, as a twenty-one year old, it felt just the same.

And suddenly she was six again, and he was yelling at her for talking during mass. She was nine, and crying because he'd found her sat outside Anna's door during the months she was isolated. She was thirteen and being struck, feeling the crack of the back of his hand as it met the soft skin of her cheek, his ring cutting a red path under her eye.

She remembered that day. She had snuck out to see the outer city up close. She was stopped in the street by Witchwacker Way and escorted back by the head guard of the night-shift. Uther had been worried she had sinned, she assured him nothing had happened. A week later she was packing her belongings and being sent to a nunnery for two whole months in the lower valley.

Arthur had reprimanded her for sneaking out, as older brothers do. Had also tried to defend her against Uther. Had screamed back, taken her personally to the court physician. And was met with no punishment for doing so.

Now, he remained silent. "You will do this. Or you will leave and find forgiveness in the graces of the almighty." He repeated, just to make sure she understood. As if she were stupid.

She placed the cup down gently onto the table. "Perhaps he would be kinder." She said, though her voice shook slightly.

She met Merlin later that night, she snuck over to the physicians Tower whilst all was abed, and knocking gently, was allowed entry into the room.

"I think I've pushed him too far. . ." She paced, biting the nail of her thumb after he closed the door behind her.

Merlin sat on his bed, placing the candle on the wooden chair he used as a nightstand. "You haven't pushed him, Mor. You brought out what was already within."

"I brought pain upon my people–"

"Indirectly. Uther did it before, and now he's brought it upon the kingdom again. It was coming eventually. You must know that- you must have seen that coming." He argued.

She nodded. "I know. Doesn't make it any better. Or easier. . . He's still sane enough to send me away. Or to wed me to another."

"What will you choose?" He asked, not quite meeting her eyes.

She shifted uncomfortably, "I don't really have a choice now, do I?"

"Of course you do. We always have a choice. Your future is your own."

"–Is it?" She asked pointedly, turning swiftly to face him.

He frowned, "Yes. It is."

"Really? . . . Anna told me about a prophesy she received, back in '20. She said we'd become something terrible. . . Something unholy, and corrupt." She whispered shaking her head, still in shock of repeating such a thing. "Did you know about that?"

Something crossed his face. Perhaps sadness, she couldn't think of a better word than betrayal. ". . . No." He announced. "I did not."

She stared at him a moment longer, contemplating before coming to the abrupt conclusion that he really didn't have any idea. "Okay. . . Good."

He rose to his feet still not quite meeting her line of sight. She hated it when he did that. Trying to get Merlin to look at you was like trying to catch a fish with your bare hands on a sunny day.

"So, will you marry?" He murmured, scraping back his hair.

"I think so. . . Yes. Strathclyde has an army. Not a large one, but they do contract work with the people of Traders Keep. Mercenaries. Strong fighters. We'd have a real chance at freeing all these people."

Traders keep was a city on the pictish coast, settled neatly in the crag of a mountain pass just within the Wastelands. The farthest North was often a dangerous place, ruled by no particular person or people. It was often a good place to send exiles.

He took her hand then, "Can I come with you?"

Morgana felt her heart flutter slightly at the thought. He wants to come with me. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

Finally, finally, he met her stare. "Why not?"

She sighed deeply, turning his hand over in hers, lightly tracing the lines of his life on his palm. "You know why, Merlin."

Merlin:

The cave was colder than usual, wind whistled past his ears as he walked. Walked with more purpose than before.

The dragon was sat waiting for him when he arrived, its scales shone gold against the tourch light.

"You lied to me! Why would you betray me like that!?" He demanded.

The dragon cracked its jaw, showing its thousand razor teeth. "I did not lie. You're destiny is to protect the witch."

"And Anna? What of this other prophesy!?"

"I will not say. No man, no matter his power, may know his own destiny and be sure of it."

He suddenly remembered what his father had once told him. Have the power to command those from beyond the veil. Those creatures of magic.

"I demand you to tell me the prophesy!" He shouted.

Kilgharrah roared somewhat deafening. It shook the loose stone upon the ground. "HOW DARE YOU COMMAND ME!"

Merlin shouted back, though his voice was not as strong as a dragons. "I dare! You will do as I will! I am your master, as are your kin! Now, tell me!"

He grumbled, a sound closer to a dog protecting its food, then huffed smoke from his two large nostrils. "The prophesy was not seen by I. It has been written since the fall of the great empire. A son of Leander, and a daughter of Ursula will one day walk in the ruins of man. The destruction wrought of their own curse."

"Who is Leander?" He asked. "My father is Balinor."

"The first of your line. The first to command those beyond the veil. Blessed by the Gods. Chosen to hand this very legacy down from father to son. Husband of a Goddess."

He had never heard of Leander before. His father had told him they were blessed by the Gods. He thought it nonsense. Why would the Gods toil amongst humans when there was so much for them to do in the Otherworld.

And as for Ursula, she was just as much a mystery to him as any other.

Morgana:

"We turn to you for protection,
Holy Mother of God.
Listen to our prayers
and help us in our needs.
Save us from every danger,
glorious and blessed Virgin."

She was sat alone in the courts Chapel, a large room with a few long pews and a dias at the front. There was a confession stand over in the far corner. She had not been to confession for a few weeks now. Her sins were too weighty. She wasn't sure God could forgive her, no matter how many hail Mary's she recited upon her Rosary.

The door swung open, and Isobel entered, taking her seat on the opposite side of the aisle. She bowed her head as she sat, closing her eyes.

Morgana frowned, getting up and moving to sit next to her. "Isn't this sacrilege?"

She smiled lightly, "I don't actually pray. It just gives me time to think. Keeping up appearances and so."

She held the rosary in her hands, smoothing her fingers over each bead absentmindedly.  ". . . You're excited for Cornwall?" She asked.

Isobel's smile wavered a little, "Very much. More peaceful there. -Or so I hear."

Morgana nodded, "I hear that, too." She felt another twinge of jealousy. Isobel gets to see her own families home. Gets to walk the halls she never got to.

"How do you feel about Strathclyde. It's the farthest kingdom in our realm."

Morgana scoffed. "Something tells me he takes great pleasure in that. -Sending me far away. I knew it was coming sooner or later."

"One day. . ." Isobel muttered, her eyes falling towards the large golden Cross sat upon the dias. "One day, we will be seen as people, too. For that, I will pray to any God."

She made to leave, standing from her place on the pew, and shuffling past Morganas knees.

"-By the way," Morgana said as she passed, "you should sign the cross when you enter a house of God. . . Keeping up appearances, and all that."

Isobel flashed a plaintive smile, "Oh, I'm not that foolish. My Gods are forgiving, but only by so much. . . We all have our own games to play, Morgana."

.

Chapter Text

Morgana:

Three weeks later, invites had been sent out and Uther had called for a meeting with the ambassadors of Strathclyde.

They, unlike Camelot, had a small council of close advisors. Uther had none.

The Kingdom itself had been preparing for celebrations of Morgana's engagement, following a jousting tournament held by Arthur himself.

The markets were bustling, bunting hung in zigzag from house to house above her head and the throne room was set for a ball.

She had not yet met Rhydderch in person. He had sent a letter a week ago in greeting, recounting the various times he had visited Camelot as a young boy, and made numerous remarks on her beauty to gain her favour.

She had not yet written back, though the prince awaited her response eagerly. They would not officially meet again until the wedding. She wondered a few times why her father was being scrupulous about keeping them both apart.

Perhaps the son was ugly. Perhaps he was unwise or dishonorable. If he was anything at all, he was witty -if his letters were of any indication.

Morgana was walking down the market street, the bunting above wafted and swayed, the bakery carried the buttery smell of fresh bread on the wind, and the people all greeted her with bright cheery smiles.

She thought it odd, how a community could carry such a heaviness to it, yet still find joy in the mundane. It was times like this, she'd ask herself, what would her mother do?

She found herself thinking of her more and more now. Of her father. Imagining the life she could of had, had things been different.

Then she'd chastise herself. It was no use in dwelling on times long passed. There was no love there. No matter how hard she'd will it.

"Excuse me, my Lady. You don't happen to know where the jousting tent is, by any chance?" Came a voice from behind.

She turned, and her eyes fell upon black hair. She moved her vision downwards, his eyes were dark, almost black if caught in the shadows and his hands were as scarred as a smithys, deep lines of healed flesh upon his sunglowed skin. Which was odd, she thought, because of how young the boy seemed.

"Uh, yes. It's just beyond the market, to your left behind the courtyard. Big yellow and red canvas. You can't miss it." She explained, finding herself smiling down at him as if he were not a knight, but a child.

He returned her friendliness, with a thank you, and sauntered off further up the market. She wondered what house the man represented, but he possessed no sigil, or coat of arms anywhere upon himself.

She had come to the market simply to look. And maybe, she thought she'd bump into Merlin, but something told her he was too busy chasing after her brother to bother with the festival.

She headed back to the castle. The morning was soon closing in anyhow, the raucous of the tournament was surely to follow and she still had to ask Gwen for advice on which dress to wear for the ball later that night.

Anna:

The tournament was a grand affair here in Camelot, and one often held in the highest honour to be apart of.

She had been dragged into helping Arthur organise the seating arrangements for the Lords and ladies of watching houses. Though, dragged would be the wrong word. Nobody dragged Anna into anything.

"No! You cannot sit Lord Tyrion next to Lord Colgrevance. They'll riot. -Hand me back the list, you imbecile!" She rubbed at her eyes, snatching back the parchment Arthur had been holding and jotting names onto haphazardly.

They were stood under one of the many canvas tents set up along the green, the tent flaps hung open, revealing the seating arena.

He groaned tiredly. "Why do you even care? I thought you said tournaments were, and I quote; 'A stupidly pointless sport for men with a big ego and an even bigger superiority complex.'"

She jotted another name off the list, onto the roughly drawn diagram. "It is. But it is also Morgana's birthday tomorrow. I want everything to go right today, so we can all relax tomorrow, so we can watch even more of this pointless egotistical superiority-driven sport."

"Don't let father hear you say that."

She snapped her attention to her brother. "He's jousting?"

"No. I am." Arthur explained, righting his jacket. Anna's forehead crinkled into a frown. "Don't tell me you're worried for me. I'd only be a little insulted."

"No, no -don't flatter yourself. Just didn't think you participated anymore."

Arthur looked down at his hands. He had been standing, but now went to sit on a locked crate of armour. "I let him down, not marrying Mithian. . . I've not done a whole lot since."

Anna sighed exasperated, her arms falling to her side, diagram forgotten. "So what if you let him down!? He's let us down many times. . . Arthur, love isn't something you earn. Not from your parents, anyhow." He met her stare then. "Believe me. Stop trying to prove yourself. It's tiring to watch, it must be exhausting for you to do."

"But I'll never stop wanting to impress him. I don't know how to stop. . . And I shouldn't. To be a king worthy of the title, I have to be seen as strong. Its easy for you to lose fathers favour. You're the youngest. You can always marry into a good name. Ours is all I have. Fathers backing is all that matters. . . If I fail today. . . It would be humiliating."

Anna shook her head in bewilderment. "Then. . . Don't fail. But a good ruler isn't defined by their ability to wet the sword in battle. I have told you all I can. I wash my hands with this."

"And I thank you for your advisement, sister. . . Means more than I show." He admitted glumly.

Anna raised her eyebrows, "You'd be the first to listen to me. Isobel's off doing her own thing, and Morgana is a completely different story."

"Wouldn't worry so much. She's to be married soon, then she's his problem." He leveled candidly, turning the hilt of his broadsword in his hands and drawing lines in the dry dust.

She turned, "Well, maybe you should worry. She's still family, despite how much she hates it. . . Just, talk to her?"

Arthur scoffed, "And what is it you'd wish me to say?"

"Tell her that everything is alright, of course! That even though she's going far away, she'll always have a home here."

"And you cannot tell her this yourself because. . ."

She sighed, scrunching the parchment up in her hands even more. "Because she hates me enough as it is, alright! She will not want to hear anything I say." She chose to ignore the quiver in her own voice.

The Prince nodded, "Alright, Anna. Just don't expect much. Morgana does, what Morgana wants."

Morgana:

Hours had passed and Morgana had found her way back to the tournament.

Gwen had been more than happy to help her select a gown for the ball that night and Isobel had roped Morgana into choosing what flower decorations went where in the great hall.

She had been sat in her allotted seat next to Uther for the first half of the tournament.

Watching steel cleave flesh from bone and rip into armour like a knife through lard. Swordplay was the first round. Jousting would be tomorrow.

Her brother was up next. His opponent Kay, son of Lord Sir Ector. He was a tall man, slim, and known to be a fierce warrior.

Morgana climbed down from the stands and made her way to Arthur's tent. Upon entry, her eyes fell upon Merlin sifting through a pile of shields intricately painted with the Camelot coat of arms.

The other night immediately came to mind. Him asking to go with her, and her refusing him. Part of her felt guilty still and seeing his face now, scrunched up in mellow concentration somehow made it worse.

"I'll finish up here, Merlin. Please." She said as greeting. The servant nodded before wishing Arthur well, and ducking out behind the tent flap.

That's that then. Morgana thought to herself. He really is upset. She felt another nagging twinge of sadness. She'd so hate to lose a dear friend, even if she was moving far away.

She shook away the thought and moved to tighten Arthur's armour. "Remeber when I used to beat you?" She smirked, needing a change in mind.

He rolled his eyes. "That never happened."

"If you say so." She reached past him to pick up his sword and shield. They were lighter than she remembered.

Her brother took them thankfully, silently. "Why'd you quit learning to fight, Morgana? You were brilliant."

She recalled how weighty her own sword had been. How she'd go to bed with callouses, and scrapes and how she'd worn each like medals upon her skin. "I don't know. . . I guess I got tired of the looks Uther would give me from across the training green. And none of the other Lords daughters would talk to me. . . I was twelve, after all."

"Not like you to care what they think."

"Then cleary, dear brother, you have never been a twelve year old girl."

He huffed a laugh, "Can't say I have."

Morgana was silent. She was tired. She'd spent all last night debating in her head about whether she should continue with her slow torturing of Uther.

He was always supposed to lose it. She just didn't expect the kingdom to lose with him. She had to remember to speak to Merlin about it again later at the ball. Perhaps he'd agree to stop this particular route and devise a different plan.

She sighed, "Kay is slim, so he's agile but you're stronger and smarter. He's also left handed, so you have that to your advantage."

Arthur smiled. "I can see his weakness myself, you know?"

"I know." Morgana said. "I also know how important it is for you to win this."
She straightened his chain mail- though this was futile. It'd be dirty and damaged by the end of the day anyway. "Good luck."

And lose, he did. Though, this was not through lack of talent. Kay was unfortunate for his sword to have broken during close combat leading to a deep gash on the side of his ribs left from Arthur.

He hobbled away sulky and swatting away the various maids who'd offered to help assist him. Sore loser.

The rounds went on like this. A Knight from a neighbouring house or kingdom would come, fight, and lose one way or another to her brother.

She would applaud when expected and cheer on Arthur from her place in the stands - though her hands were itching for the distant familiarity of the sword.

More than once she'd find herself gently imitating the strokes and arcs Caliburn made through the air, parrying with its opponent.

She could have sworn she recognised it from somewhere- though she had no idea where.

Murmurs of mystery broke out around her as the crowed surveyed the man in silver. It was unusual only because the man was not known to any other. Usually a contestant would be accompanied perhaps by an entire party.

The boy before her had seemingly nobody. And he was- in all areas, a young boy.

Arthur paused his surveying of the stranger, and turned to look towards his father. Uther frowned but nodded. There was shame in refusing a challenge, and Arthur would bring no more to the Pendragon name.

He took a long drink offered to him by Merlin at the sidelines. They spoke for a moment, exchanging glances and words that Merlin didn't seem to like.

A few minutes later, and Arthur was back in the centre of the training ground, sword at the ready.

The boy fought well- too well for someone of his alleged age. He was short but quick on both his feet and swinging his sword.

It was a narrow win, but the win was the knights all the same. He had Arthur on the floor in under five minutes, his helm lost a few feet away in the dust, his sword lost from his hands.

Merlin had been in charge of serving drinks every now and then- in doing so, he cast his mind to Will who was probably sat at home doing. . . Well, whatever William did when he wasn't drinking.

Perhaps read? Though Will wasn't the reading sort and, although Isobel had taught him patiently how to read when they were twelve, Merlin never actually saw the man holding a book or scroll. Even at work Old Gwethir did the order books.

Sometimes Merlin often wondered if Will really was as dim as he sometimes made himself out to be, or if he was really very smart, and just didn't want anyone to know.

No, he chastised himself, that is unfair of you, Merlin. Will is anything but dim. Wasted potential, is what his mother had said once; 'If that boy had half the money and half the facilities, he'd surely put us all to shame.'

He spyed Guinevere from the other end of the hall, stood refilling sir Tristans wineglass. She had been running around all night and looked as tired as Arthur definitely felt.

A few moments later and his eyes fell, once more, upon the Lady Morgana. Her eyes, too, were meeting his.

She smiled in greeting, and he nudged his head, nodding delicately towards the doors. Her smile grew, and she made to stand.

He left quickly, and waited for her just beyond the great hall, in a small alcove around the corner of the welcoming corridor. The sweet gentle music drifted towards him in a symphony dulled from the walls.

"You're awfully brave." She whispered as greeting.

"Well, I figured you'd be busy tomorrow, what between family greetings and packing for Strathclyde." He said, handing her a small roughly wrapped gift, approximately the size of her forearm.

"You didn't have to, Merlin." She argued lightly, untying the string that held the scrap of cloth together.

Within the rag, was an ornately carved dagger, with the swirling patterned rabbit engraved upon the hilt. "A sign of the Goddess of new beggings. Thought it was more discreet than a druidic symbol." He explained bashfully.

"The stork is on mine, a symbol of Frige." And he showed her a silver ring that was tied on a fine string of leather around his neck. It had been his mother's, then it was to go to Ganieda, but she was never given the chance to receive it.

He felt it wrong to wear properly upon his fingers- every time he did he was consumed by guilt. The ring never felt like his. Because it was not. Not really. So he wore it around his neck, the same way Will wore the hammer of the great and mighty Thunor around his own neck, and prayed with it often.

"It's beautiful, Merlin. I shall treasure it always- thank you!" She beamed.

"Better than carrying Wills spare knife around, I suppose." He frowned, recalling the day he pulled the very knife from that horrid man's corpse, on the boarder. The carnage that Morgana had left in and around the goat feed shed was masterful. -disturbing, but impressive all the same.

Morgana seemed almost lost in thought herself, peering down at the dagger, and smoothing her fingers over the indentation on the rabbit carving. "Please don't be mad at me, Merlin. I couldn't bare to part on such terms."

He wiped his eyes, clearing his mind with it. "Then don't let us part. Let me come with you, please. I will keep my distance, I will stay away, just please do not leave me behind." He decided he would rather have peices of her than nothing at all. If she needed him to be her shadow, he would. Always. Care for her silently, blindly, in the dark.

Besides, he chastised himself, it was never my destiny to fall in love with her- only to protect her, teach her. Love, had nothing to do with this.

"Stop. It hurts when you ask. It is cruel of you to continue to do so. I wish you could accompany me, but if you did, I'd have no other. I know you understand."

Wyrd is not kind, he thought. If they were, we wouldn't have our ancient stories, and ballads of old heroes turned to gold by the Gods, placed high up into the heavens. Then, he wondered briefly, one day, I'd very much like to join the Gods in their halls, like Llyr, or Corvus, Brans raven. He wondered what story would be told of himself if he ever became a stary part in a dark sky.

"Alright. I am sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like this. I didn't mean to push. But come on, Mor. Strathclyde is weeks away by horse. We will barely meet again, you know that. And when we do- we will be but strangers towards one another." He said.

She met his eyes sharply, "You could never be a stranger to me. I would never pretend not to be your friend."

Then she took his hand and lead him towards the steps. "Perhaps one last walk? Before I bid farewell."

She was used to this. Had done this before. He had locked her up here a few times in her early teen hood. Too many nights she had experienced confined to the cells.

Her mother was rolling in her grave. Her father too- no doubt. The guards left, the door slammed shut as a lock clicked in place.

"And how long do you plan on keeping me locked up in here, exactly!?" She shouted after them. Uther had only just caught up, his battle-scarred face emerging like a pale spector from the darkness outside her bars.

"Until you are cured." He explained as if it did, in fact, explain her current circumstances. "I cannot marry you off to a good Christian ally, and I cannot be seen mingling with supporters of magic either. There is no place for you here nor in the public eye."

She tugged on the chains in protest, her eyes watering once more, another example of her heart betraying her mind. "Let me go, father! Please! will leave this place, I will never return!"

He shook his head. "You are no daughter of mine. No. . . You made yourself vulnerable to the devil's hands. Refusing mass, turning your back on your family, your peers. Being led astray by a trickster, all whilst under the guise of a serving boy."

"You are wrong, in so many ways!" She cried, and something sad passed his face before returning to his anger- almost grief.

"You will remain here, until I say otherwise." And it was final.

.

Chapter Text

Èlene the sorrowful:

508 AD

Castle Benoic, Kingdom of Benwick

Nothing good had ever come from a stormy night. At least, for Lancelot's parents this came to be true. And so stood to reason, his mother, Èlene kept him wrapped up warm in her lap by the fire that night. Though they did not know it, it would be the last night she did so.

"My Lady! My Lady!" Cried the woman emerging from the shadows of the tower door in an urgent haste. Her hair, although she appeared a young woman, was pure snow white to contrast the almost red of her eyes.

"What is the matter, Vivian?" Èlene asked, turning in her chair to face the door with baby Lancelot held warm in her arms.

The woman- Vivian, was Benwicks court mage and had been for many years now, after fleeing the new laws of Camelot. She had been hired on the spot after all, having a history of working alongside Constantine, the late great King of Camelot made an impression and certainly an impression King Ban had wanted in his court.

Vivian didn't much talk of her past, though Èlene was sure it was long and shadowy and a portion of it was spent here in Benwick, though that was many generations past.

The woman was not human- if looking at her was not obvious enough, her powers of a prolonged lifespan and magic itself running through her veins, surely spoke volumes.

Many times over the years, Èlene often found herself staring at the witch and wondering how many friends she had lost. How many of her own ancestors had grown to love and care for Vivian as she herself had?

"We are under seige, my Lady. They wave the banners of King Claudas." The mage explained. "I must get you away."

Èlene felt the panic so sickeningly crawl up her back like a skeletal hand brushing the nape of her neck. She shuddered, fighting the urge to fall into hysterics -that would do nobody any good. "Where is my husband?"

Vivian, having finally caught her breath, said "The front line, of course, my Lady. Where else would he be?"

A part of her heart chipped away. He did not say goodbye. "And my knights? My ladies maids?"

"Your maids are helping set a recovery room in the entry hall and the throne room. As for your knights, the King dismissed them to battle. Not to sound arrogant, but I am your best hope, my Lady."

She nodded slowly. "Then it is settled, you must take Lancelot and flee."

The white haired witch threw her a puzzled look as she ran around the room packing a small bag of items; a coin purse, an old tattered leather-bound book Èlene assumed to be her grimoire, and Lancelot's rattle.

"I will do no such thing. There is no way I am leaving you. Now get up." Her voice sounded older than she'd ever heard it then. A primal part of her wanted to do as she was told, as though her own mother had commanded her to raise from her seat and move.

"I am still not yet recovered- I will only slow you down. Please! You must take Lancelot, keep him safe." She begged, though now she was on her feet, moving absentmindedly towards the door.

"I don't care. You've taken the pain relief antidote I gave you, it's just mind over matter now." She said, taking Èlene by the arm and began their decent of the first set of tower steps.

When they reached the first landing, Èlene felt herself buckling. She would have fallen completely if her made wasn't holding her arm. "All your magic, can't you create a doorway out of here?" She asked meekly.

"No. I wish I could, but even I don't possess that gift. Come on." She muttered bitterly. They descended another flight, following the curve of the tower wall.

Once they reached the entrance to the tower, the sounds of distant screams and slashing of metal could be heard. Èlene wasn't sure if it was coming from the courtyard, or the city beyond.

Lancelot cooed in her arms, begging to stir. She shushed him gently. She took a step forwards and felt something hot run from her leg. Took another step, and the feeling persisted.

She shoved the thought aside all together. It didn't matter, she knew either way she wasn't leaving Ban alone. Be that in life, or in death.

The loud crash followed by roars of a battle cry broke through the din that made even Vivian look scared. And Vivian never feared anything.

"We must keep moving." She said with more urgency than before. "They have broken through the outer walls of the courtyard."

". . . Where is Bryaxiah?" The Queen asked.

Vivian's eyebrows pulled together. "In the inner yard."

They moved forwards, past the row of great large windows looking out over the city. That beautiful city, that was now mostly on fire.

She prayed Ban was safe. "What of the Kings mistress, Lady De Maris?" Èlene asked. If she were honest, she hadn't given the woman much thought until now.

"I do not know, my Lady. Last I heard she was fleeing on horseback with Sir Brunor and some of the Kings guard. They ride for Gaunnes as we speak."

She groaned in pain, steadying herself. "God damn you Ban!" She exclaimed skywards as though he were already with the deceased. "Where's my fucking Kings guard!"

Vivian paused, as she leaned against the stone wall. They were almost at the main stairs now, another flight and they'll be on the ground floor. "I'm easily worth five knights, if it's any constellation, my Queen. And I'm sure your sister will drag her by the ear–"

Vivian stopped short, glancing down at the floor and the blood dripping onto it, the hem of Èlenes night dress drenched in it. "By all the Gods, Èlene, how long have you been bleeding!?"

That was the funny thing about Vivian. In all the years Èlene had known her, she never raised her voice. Not at anything, ever.

She swallowed thickly, her mouth was incredibly dry and her clothes were beginning to stick to her skin. "I never stopped. . . The mæsters gave me something for it but all this walking is awfully unhelpful." She gave a nonchalant smile.

"Oh the mæsters gave you something?" Vivian rolled her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me before we started this little journey?" She asked, heaving the woman off the wall and practically dragging her along to the edge of the stairs.

Numerous times she almost slipped and fell with the baby in her arms until Vivian ordered her to lean against the wall as they took each step down.

The crushing thwack and raucous of battle raged on outside the castle walls and Èlenes mind travelled once more to Ban. She loved him. She loved him, but her love would not protect him.

Èlenes knees buckled again, "Woah, stay with me. Focus Èlene. . ." The mage gently tapped her cheeks trying to bring her round again.

". . .You know," Vivian started, "when I was a little girl, I had a dog called Gilly. I adored that stupid mut. He could hunt like no other." She adjusted her grip, tightening her hands around the queen.
"One day I was out with him, walking by the fields behind the castle. And something draws him away from me.

"He runs across the pastures, me chasing after him like a fool. -when I finally do catch him- I look up, and guess where I am?" She asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

Èlene smiled back in response, huffing from pain and breathlessness. "Go on then- Where were you?"

"Only right in the middle of the King and Queens celebratory wedding party." She breathed a laugh- a whisper of a thing, "The horrid bastard almost took my head. Would've too, had the Queen not stepped in."

"And she took you in?" Èlene asked, overcome with curiosity. This was the most Vivian had ever shared of herself.

A nod, "Trained me, taught me to read the old magic scriptures. Tried to convert me a few times- eventually I had to lie, say I was Christian just so the King wouldn't take my head from my shoulders. But that's a story for another day." She said, and Èlene knew what she meant. Vivian was giving her something to hold onto, however small.

It would not be enough, she decided. -or rather, her body decieded for her.

When they reached the bottom stairs, the sound of battle had gotten closer, Knights were starting to retreat back to the main entrance as servants rushed around attending to the injured and dying.

It was all futile, they both knew. Claudas of the Land Laid Waste took no prisoners. They'd take great joy in slaughtering them one by one in their own home.

Vivian had lead her down a small side passage that lead to the inner courtyard. The enemy had broken down the gate now, and were fighting their way inside the castle. If she strained her ears, she could hear the cries of servants over the screams outside.

"They're here." Èlenes voice was softer now, weaker. She felt like a mouse and wanted nothing more than to take Lancelot and scurry away into a hiding hole until it was all over.

"I know." Vivian's eyes were sharp, scanning both ends of the corridor. A shape appeared so quickly from the darkness Èlene almost mistook him for the reaper himself.

He came running, eyes wide, sword raised. He almost swiped at Vivinan, but then the man's armour seemed to melt into him as though he were on fire. He screamed, his sword turned to liquid silver and fused with his skin.

They both watched as he dropped to the stone floor in a smoldering, burning heap of metal and blood.

"Come on. We must get to Bryaxiah. We'll be safe under her wings." Vivian reasoned going to move on.

Èlene had already dropped to the floor before Vivian could even turn back around. She sat on the hard ground, feeling the cool wall press into her back through her night gown.

This was the cruelty of God, she thought. Having Lancelot for such a short time, yet loving him more than anything in the world- even herself- and not being able to see the recognition in his eyes as she said his name. He would forget her, but she would know him until her dying breath.

"Èlene. Get up. We have to go. More are coming, and I cannot fight the entire waste army." She argued, reaching down to drag her back up by her arms again.

Èlene shrugged her away. "No. I'm not going to be able to leave here." Vivian shook her head stubbornly, "You need to take Lancelot. He is our future."

"Absolutely not! I am not leaving you to die here!"

Èlene wheezed a half laugh. "Vivian, I was dead the moment that army entered our Kingdom. We both know that." She groaned in pain once more. "Please. Get him out of here. Keep him safe." She pleaded desperately.

She looked down at the child in her arms and wondered what kind of a man he'd grow to be, without her there to watch. "Be good, Lancelot" She whispered to him, tears streaming from her eyes onto his swaddle. "Be better than them. . . Be brave, but above all, be kind, my darling. And may God watch over you ardently."

She kissed him gently upon the head, feeling herself slipping into the darkness of unconsciousness. She handed him over, and Vivian took the boy hesitantly into her arms.

When she met the woman's uncommon red eyes, she realised with a start, that Vivian was crying. "Thank you, my friend. . . For your service to my family."

Vivian:

Vivian nodded slightly, gripping the Prince closer to her chest protectively. She watched as the Queens eyes rolled back into her skull and her eyes fluttered closed like the futile beating of a moths wing against glass.

She reached down and smoothed her hair back. "I'm– I'm sorry." Her voice had never shook so much and she hated herself for it. Death, the one thing that remains a constant in her life, yet still manages to elude her.

Her hands reached down for Èlenes, and gently prised the golden sigil ring from her finger. Perhaps they wouldn't desecrate her body if they thought her to be only a lowly serving girl. - though she knew this was wishful thinking, Claudas and his men were brutes either way and may very well know Èlenes face anyway.

The baby stired again, the beggings of a cry erupting from his throat. She rocked him gently- because she'd seen many mothers do so throughout her lives -and fled down the corridor and out into the yard.

She ran into much trouble on her way to retrieve Bryaxiah but without Èlene to worry for, she handled them slightly quicker.

The mighty beast was kept on the far side of the inner courtyard, chained only by the ankle, though the metal was an easy thing to break with magic such as hers.

The dragon roared as she did so, the large binding cuff fell with a chlick onto the muddy ground. Guards chased her, of course but it was no worry. Bryaxiah tore them in half with one fowl swoop of her tail.

She was a large dragon- though not the biggest she had raised back home on Avalon- and smooth-scaled, with a pale fleshy pink colour that gleamed almost a pearly white when sunlight hit her.

Vivian climbed on slowly, holding Lancelot tighter in her arms as Bryaxiah attacked oncoming prey. She said the command in the old call "Bryaxiah, Ignis!"

The creatures wide jaw snapped open, and fire rained down upon the gathering of armed men. They screamed only for a moment, before falling to a pool of burnt ash and melted metal.

Death by dragon fire was the quickest way to go- but also the most honourable amongst her people. This she'd rather not have bestowed upon some common enemy footsoldiers, but time was not on her side.

She didn't realise Bryaxiah had taken flight until they were over the houses. She spotted a gathering clan of Benoic soldiers and it became quite clear they were fighting to claim a body. A body of someone important.

Vivian's eyes shuttered, it was quite clear- the King had fallen, the battle was lost. Ban was dead.

The sun rose slowly over the barren fields of Armorica. The wind whistled in her face, keeping her awake. She would not sleep. She thought many times over about dropping the child off at his aunts in Gaunnes where Lady De Maris surely was sat waiting of news of her beloved dead King Ban.

She would be rid of the burden of him. But the child's safety wouldn't be assured- Claudas would hear of the Prince living. He would seek to kill him before Lancelot came of age and could challenge him for his throne back.

No, she could not reveal the boys survival. Not yet, at least. Nobody can know he lives. Until then, she flew Northwest for Avalon over the Channel, and past the boarder of Camelot.

Hidden away by magic, through many different gateways, stood Avalon. The main door Vivian would often find herself using, however, was that of Lake Avalon.

Bryaxiah set down upon the lakeside, tired and in need of food. She did not stop to rest, though, as Vivian pushed on. The dragon waded into the lake, Lancelot had been crying for a long time now, so much so he had tired himself out and resigned to sleep.

The water receded, and in its wake, drew up into the air, a doorway large enough to fit a dragon.

She tried to peer through at her long absent home and saw the familiar landscape that shaped her childhood.

520 AD

Lancelot:

"Lancelot. What's this I hear about you skipping your magical studies lessons? They're important." Vivian chastised him.

He inwardly rolled his eyes, he hated magic studies. He himself possessed little to no magical abilities and every failed attempt to move a quill only made him look a fool in front of his classmates.

"I'd much rather spend my time training, that's all. I'm not like you, aunty Vivian. I can't move things without touching them or set a fire without kindling. But I am good at fighting." He persuaded.

She glared at the sun hitting her face from the openly clear sky. They were stood on the Pavilion just by the waters edge.

Avalon was a beautifully sunny place for the most part- but nothing compared to the grandness of The Academy.

Perched atop a waterfall that fell into the Avalon lake, accessible via two bridges to both the East and West wing gardens, was the spiralling castle-like structure known by the locals as 'The Academy'.

Vivian had told him her own family had founded it over four hundred and seventy-five years ago to help protect those with magic against the then invading Romans.

Since then, only those with exact permission could enter Avalon.

"You shouldn't give up, just because you're embarrassed." Vivian argued pointedly, the wind rolling off the waterfall bellow whipped her white hair into her face as she spoke.

Lancelot stared into a potted plant on the marble railing. "I'm not embarrassed." He said, "I'm just not talented enough for magic and I have no interest in wasting my time."

"Alright," She said, coming up next to him. She leaned back against the marble, if she fell over, she'd fall miles into the abyss of misty water vapour before she'd hit the lake itself.

Lancelot realised with little concern that the rushing of the waterfall was too quiet. Another wonder of magic -silencing charms.

"If you don't want to learn of the old ways then you don't have to. But you do need a balance, Lance. I can't permit you to solely the sword. Pick an academic topic to run alongside your training, and I'll make sure all your other subjects are ceased."

"Why can't I just train? You said so yourself- I'm going to be the best fighter of my generation!"

Vivian sighed, obviously regretting having said anything to him now. "I didn't say you'd be the best, I said you'd be one of the best. . . You still have much to learn, my brave boy. A great ruler is strong in battle and fair in mind. Remember that."

"As you wish. . ." Lancelot shrugged, his eyes falling to the far end of the lake bank below. The small boats sat in their docks bounced gently with the small current.

Vivian watched him sceptically. "Out with it, then. What's wrong?"

"I. . . I want to see them. My family- my real family." He mumbled, playing with the golden ring on his finger. His mother's.

"No. You're not ready." She said.

Lancelot felt cold anger swell up inside him. She had no right. "You cannot keep me from them, aunty. I am within my rights--"

"And I am doing my job! I promised your mother I'd take care of you, and that is exactly what I plan to do."

He paused, turning to look at her, "So that's all I am to you, then? Just some job."

"I didn't mean it like that, and you know it. . . Have I not kept you safe all these years? Have I not been a good mother for you?"

"You have- you have. . . It's just. . . Not enough."

She sighed then, a long weary thing from them old steady lungs. He wondered how many times she had stood on this very pavilion and spoken of friends long past to friends long gone.

She was not the only part-godly-being in existence. Her own brother was still living strong even after two hundred years.

"You may. . . See your family when they are ready, too. I have foreseen, your sixteenth year- that is when you shall be reunited. . ." She scratched her forehead in thought. "If you'd excuse me, I have duties to attend to."

She went to leave. Lancelot stood straight, ". . . Cartography. I want to keep Cartography."

She smiled, the smile she gave only to him when she was especially proud. "A very wise choice, my brave boy."

524 AD

He had won the round against Arthur, but had found it harder than he had thought.

He'd gotten out of it with a scratch to the arm where the Princes sword caught just between his chain mail.

Walking around the tents was like trying to navigate a labyrinth- although he would much rather be wondering around a maze than hunting for the De Maris family crest etched upon a tent flap.

The sun had already begun to disappear and if the Lady Morgana was able to figure out the name of his home, than he'd better get a move on.

It was foolish of him, really- to wear the arms of Avalon. But there was dishonour in denying your house and Lancelot was anything but dishonorable.

After what seemed hours of searching and a pitter-patter of rain fall later, he came upon a burgundy coloured cloth tent on the edge of the green.

Just outside the entrance rested a shield baring the image of a sun backed by stripes. He glanced at the others laying around haphazardly- a semy of crescent moons upon deep azure marked the house of Gaunnes.

He had found them, his cousins- Bors the younger and Lionel. And his half brother, Hector de Maris.

He was more scared than he'd ever let on. Fear like this could only ever hinder you but Lancelot had no intention of running away today.

He swiped the material half covering the entrance and took three steps forwards.

The inside of the tent was somehow larger than it had seemed on the outside. A small campfire flickered in the centre of the room, the smoke coming to cloud high above them.

The far side was stacked with crates and trunks full of, what Lancelot assumed to be, weapons of a sorts.

A man stood staring into the flames, hands outstretched, warming himself. His back was to him, but Lancelot could make out the long black hair, the poker-straight way he sat- he was raised to be better than the others, which means his titles were lower than theirs.

Another stood sifting through a rack of dirty looking swords, taking one off at a time and cleaning them. This was unusual in no other way, except that it ought to be a servants job.

The third and final man was nowhere to be seen.

Lancelot cleared his throat to catch their attention. Both men turned their eyes on him.

"Yes?" Asked the fairer looking man sat polishing.

Lancelot suddenly felt very hot and the fire in the centre of the tent didn't help. He swallowed dryly. "I'm looking for the house of Gaunnes?"

The man put his sword down off his lap and threw the rag with it. "You found us. What can I help you with sir. . ."

"Uh I'm no sir. Not yet anyway. I'm here because I'm looking for. . . Well I'm looking for you. All of you."

The boy at the fire, which now had turned fully in his seat to watch this exchange, was looking on with a curious frown.

Upon more observation, Lancelot saw the familiarity in the boys face, who seemed no younger than himself.

His skin was just as dark, his hair just as black and long as his own, and the boys eyes- a deep swirling brown, almost amber under the glow of the fire.

"And what do you want with us, lad?" Asked the man again.

"I'm Lancelot." He said, feeling a little braver now. "Lancelot of Benwick. Or what was Benwick."

The man stared at him. "Not possible. Lancelot is dead."

"Um. . . I don't think I am."

"Look," began the man, his blue eyes contrasted his brown hair, "Do you know how many 'Lancelots' we've had come to our home and claim to be our long dead cousin."

He paused as though he were waiting for Lancelot to say something. "Well–"

"-Too many to count!" He exhaled exasperatedly.

"But I am Lancelot. My mother was Èlene of Benoic, she died in the seige with my father. I only survived because the witch Vivian smuggled me out of the city on dragon back."

The man paused, looking towards the boy who looked oh so much like himself. They shared something in that look. An invisible language only family could understand.

"I'm Prince Lionel of Gaunnes, this is my half cousin, Hector de Maris. I have a brother but he's. . . Celebrating."

Almost by magic, Lionels brother burst through the tent flaps with another man hanging off his shoulder, laughing and reeking of mead.

"–the second round, though! You were all like argh, and he was all like AHH but when you swung that last–"

"Kay!" Lionel interrupted, with a half amused smile. "Would you leave us a moment?"

Kay swayed, going to stand straight but wincing at his ribs injury Arthur had inflicted upon him. "What!? No! I thought we were all celebrating our loss! Come on, don't be a damsel in distress. I know you lightweight Gaunnes folk tend to shy away from Hibernian drink but–"

"Kay, really. We'll resume this at the party. On my honour." Lionel flashed the drunk man another smile.

Kay rolled his eyes, "Fine, but don't go thinking you're getting out of it that easily, Gaunnes. Nor you, De Maris!" He turned and stumbled out the way he came, into the muddy raindrenched field of tents.

When he was certain the man had left, Lionel turned his attention back to Lancelot. "Stay for the party tonight, we'll take you to our mother on the morrow. If anyone can clear this shite up, it's her."

"Clear what up?" Asked Lionels brother, still standing in the doorway. He eyed Lancelot with a scepticism that should only be reserved for enemies of the upmost concern.

"Bors, this. . . Boy here thinks he's Lancelot." Lionel said, picking his sword back up and resuming his polishing.

". . . And is he?" Asked Bors.

"Probably not but it's worth an ask. He does share some similarities to Hector but we can't be sure. Besides, if he's lying I'll free his head from his shoulders. Then he won't be anyone." Lionels threat was obvious but he masked it with a sing-song tone of voice.

"He does look an awful lot like me, to be fair." Hector chimed in for the first time since Lancelot had entered the tent.

"Of course you think that, Hector. You're an optimist. Annoyingly so." Lionel said.

Bors smirked "an optimist who doesn't test his luck and fight in a tournament."

Hector's face twisted in annoyance. "I would have wiped the floor with you two! Just you wait 'till next year, when I'm sixteen and then you'll be congratulating me too."

"Course we will, mate." Bors moved around Lancelot as though he weren't there and clamped a hand down onto Hector's shoulder in comfort.

"Anyway. . . Bets!" Lionel shouted out from where he sat.

Hector thought a moment, "two minutes, no mercy."

Bors observed Lancelot a moment, then "five minutes, and a promising maybe."

"What are you betting on?" Lancelot asked.

Lionel looked at him, all seriousness, "How long you'll last in Gaunnes, of course."

His eyes would meet hers a few times. She would offer him a gracious smile. At first glance he'd thought her to be another lady, before he really took in her clothes and realised she was but a ladies maid.

After a while he became tired of the cheary string of music castcading through the room from the small band of minstrels playing nonstop and decided he'd leave for a breather.

The corridors were seemingly empty when he stepped out and walked along the hallway towards the outside columns, settling himself behind one.

The sky was dark and starless, thanks to the rain clouds that had since stopped their downpour.

He didn't mean to spy, but they had caught him by surprise and it would seem they meant to be discreet, so revealing himself would only embarrass or panic them.

He shifted further into the shadows, peering into the parallel arch passageway from across the inner courtyard. If he strained his ears, he could hear the gentle music from the open castle doors just overlapping the mysterious couples conversation.

"Do you think you could ask Gaius to write down how he makes my sleeping draughts? So I don't scare off my soon-to-be husband by screaming in the night." She gave the man next to her a light nudge with her elbow.

"Yes. I'll get him to pass it on to Gwen for you." He frowned when his face hit the passing moonlight from the gap in the arches.

"What?" The lady asked.

"I am sorry you see bad things. Why do you think that is?" He stopped their light walking and turned to her. It was here, Lancelot realised they were linking arms.

The woman sifted through her thoughts, "Because people do bad things. I see good things sometimes, too. It's just- people like to get in their own way. It's much easier to be sad if sadness is all you've ever known. Happiness is but a dream upon the mind, some unfamiliar, unattainable, scary thing. And nobody enjoys being scared of something you cannot see. . . I am guilty of doing the same, though I readily wish to change that."

"You have changed that. We are changing that." He muttered with a smile in his voice.

"Merlin, we must stop this now. I leave tomorrow, and I won't risk you taking my place and getting found out. We will  devise a new plan upon my return visit next month. To finish what we started completely." She whispered the last part, and Lancelot almost couldn't hear her over the wind whistling down the passageway.

"And what of Arthur?" Asked the boy.

The woman stared at him. What she said next, Lancelot could not hear.

His hair whipped in his face so he turned his head to tie it back when his eyes caught a flash of blue silk a little further down in the far corner of the courtyard.

She had been crouched behind a vendours cart, her tangle of blonde hair draped over her shoulders. She was so pale in the blue hue of the moonlight, Lancelot almost mistook her for Vivian.

He suppressed the twang of guilt and ache of comfort that stired its way up through him like a sickness. He missed his aunt terribly, but this woman was not her.

This woman crouched behind a cart was watching the couple as they walked. Purposefully listening in on their conversations. At least he'd been listening just by happenstance.

A moment flew by, and the two friends had moved out of earshot. The blonde woman crept around the cart, and back into the passageway. She looked as though she were walking straight for him, but before he had a chance to panic, she turned suddenly at a sharp left and looked as though she had walked right into a wall.

He walked towards the spot in the arch corridor she had disappeared through -the couple was long gone now- and saw a door. Servants passages. Narrow long walkways that followed the flow of the castle walls.

She had taken a sneaky shortcut back into the castle.

He pondered following her, but then voices began to fill the courtyard as servants and nobles filled out into the yard, either to walk home for the night, or for simply a midnight stroll.

"Oi! Fake Lancelot! Come on. Where you staying tonight?" Called a lilty Hibernian man, stumbling over himself to get to where Lance stood.

"Uhm. . . I'm not actually sure." He realised with a start. He had no reservations. No tent pitched for him at the festival, so he'd have no rooms prepared for him in the castle. Perhaps an Inn would let him stay?

The drunkard- Kay, blew a rather strong raspberry, spitting all over Lancelots tunic. He leaned in, slinging his arm around Lancelots neck. "You stay with me! Come, tell me your story! My rooms are. . . Somewhere in this fucking monument."

"Oh, thank you. . . What are you even doing out here, Kay?" He asked, as the man made to reenter the main hall, dragging Lancelot from the shadowy archway.

"I came out here to. . . Be sick. . . But- I think I'm good now." He slurred, smiling.

.

Chapter Text

Morgana:

510 AD June 26th

"What's wrong? Why aren't you going in? Anna is already inside." Her brother asked, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

Although he hid it well, Arthur had spent all last night tossing and turning and quietly sobbing into his own pillow. Morgana only knew this because she herself had not been able to sleep, and had snuck into her brothers bed which already occupied a sleeping Anna.

They knew they were probably a little too old to seek comfort from night terrors in the presence of each other, but their mother was not there to comfort them.

The irony of this did not go amiss. They each needed their mother's comfort, because their mother was gone. She was dead now, and they so desperately needed their mother to tell them all will be well. They so desperately needed her to sweep all three of her children up into her comfortingly familiar arms and embrace them forever, and never ever let go.

But their mother could not do that, because their mother was not here. She was there. On the other side of the double doors, wrapped in silk cloth, ready to be buried in the cold, damp ground.

Morgana furiously wiped at her eyes with the back of her mourning dress sleeve. She looked at the closed double doors in front of her, hearing the quiet shuffling of feet on the other side as mourners gave their prayers to her mother.

She stuttered, choking on her tears, "I'm not supposed to cry in front of them."

"Did father tell you that?" Arthur asked, his temper flaring. "He means me. You and Anna are children nobody would fault you, cry if you need to. He will not say anything to you, I'll make sure of it."

"Anna doesn't cry."

"You are not Anna. You're a lot like mother. " His own voice faltered at the mention of her. Only a week ago he had watched her pass. "She once told me emotions are like the ocean. You cannot manipulate it, only learn to navigate. . . Do you think you can try navigating it with me today?"

Morgana looked up at him, her vision blared by her crying. "Okay. . ."

He offered his hand and she took it. The doors swung open, and they took a step into the lightened room together.

Merlin suddenly felt a wave of thankfulness and guilt. Will didn't even know where they were going.

He shook his head, regretfully, "No. Will. Where I'm going. . . You can't follow, not this time, my friend."

Will paused his packing, a shirt crumpled up in his hands ready to be stuffed into his sack. "You what? Why are you here then? And don't tell me it's to say goodbye. You know I dont do that shit."

Merlin swallowed the lump in his throat. "Because I need your help." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the torn piece of paper. "I need you to tell me the best route to get here." He pointed to the place on the map.

Will frowned, and took it from his hands, observing the name of a woman scrawled hastily some where in the Hibernian ocean. "What the fuck is in Elmet? And who's Emēr Corliss?"

"Hopefully, my safety. And Morgana's. She's been found out, Will. We both have. I need to get her, and go there."

Will observed him for a long time, then the map, bringing it over to his desk and the one burning candle flickering from the wind whistling through the gaps between his only door. "I take it home is off the table, then. . ."

Merlin had considered going back to Ealdor for a while on his little wander through the back-allies of Witch-waker way. It would be too risky to stop home for too long, but then again, they'd need supplies and Merlin had nothing to trade with. "Not completely. I'll stop home on my way- but only for a day or so."

Will picked up his quill, dipped it into the ink and drew dot-dash lines across the points from A to B.

"Best route to avoid unwanted company like bandits, but you will cross mercenary routes. That's good, trade your coin for safety in numbers. Shouldn't really run into them 'till after Caerleon, though. They tend to be sheepish around Camelots knights."

Merlin nodded as Will handed back the folded up map. "When you find this woman and get to Avalon. . . Then what? Am I ever going to see you again?" He asked, his voice had hardened. The candle casted half his face in darkness.

"I honestly don't know. I hope so." He admitted glumly. He didn't recognise his own voice and he hated it. Hated that he had to leave. "Look after Isobel for us. Promise me, you'll look after yourself too-"

"Stop." Will huffed, his eyes bore into Merlins. "We aren't doing this. Just. . . Don't die, and I won't either."

Merlins lips turned up into a smirk despite himself. "That's solid advice, I'll try not to get killed." He said, going to embrace Will.

"Oh shut up, would you?" Wills voice muffled into Merlins shoulder as he flung his arms around his friends frame. Merlin relaxed at the familiarity of it. The same old comfort of a childhood friends embrace.

They released each other, and Merlin turned to go, his face which had remained in neutral solidarity, began to crumble.

Will groaned, "What is it?"

"Isobel has been confined to her Chambers. I need to help her get Morgana out." He twisted the piece of paper nervously in his hands. "If I don't get out-"

Will sucked in a deep breath, "I'll do it." He grumbled.

Merlin shook his head in blatant refusal. "No! Absolutely not. I'm not putting you in that position, if you get caught-"

"I won't get caught, I will help Morgana get free‐ but you owe me!"

"By the Gods." He agreed thankfully, "I'll be waiting in the nearby woods for her. Be careful." and turned to finally leave. "Fix your fucking door, too."

"I'm a blacksmith not a carpenter!" He called after, but he was already gone.

Happy birthday, she thought. This is how she came to be twenty-two, locked in a cell in her own home by the whim of some mad man, and her even madder sister.

She had tried many times to free herself but something prevented her. Some invisible force, choking the magic inside her, keeping it firmly locked in her bones. It was rather suffocating, she thought. After a while, she realised that it was the chains that bound not just her hands, but her inner freedom too.

Anna visited her when all were abed, a cup of water in her hand and a pitiful look on her face. "It's not nice, is it? Being locked away."

Morgana rolled her eyes, "Do you actually have anything good to tell me, or are you just here to gloat."

Anna stood, poker-straight and cynical "The servant is being hunted as we speak. He will be tried as a sorcerer and sentenced to death by the pyre. Uther believes he has enchanted you."

"I know, it's absurd! Release me at once so I might talk some sense into the King!" She demanded, rushing towards the bars, by the grate of a door. She reached out but couldn't quite get to the metal and stone wall that confined her.

Anna snaked her hand through a gap in the bars, and placed the water on the floor for Morgana to grab. She did not, and defiantly stared at the wooden cup instead, then the icy blue coldness that was her sisters eyes. "Don't worry, he'll release you once the boy is executed."

Morgana shook her head. "And when Merlins dead, and I still have magic, then what?"

"Then you will take time to recuperate from this whole ordeal with me in Brittany until you are able to properly control your magic." Anna snapped.

"And if I cannot control-"

"You will. Do not challenge me further on this." She said.

Morgana scoffed, folding her arms over herself in defiance. "Can't believe you really went and got me arrested and disowned in the same day."

Anna's eyebrows drew together in a withering glare. "He didnt mean it. You're fanatic."

"It's my birthday." She exclaimed, through clenched teeth and a sour frown.

"Happy 22nd birthday." Anna drawled, leaning against the adjacent wall of the slim starkly lit corridor just outside her cell door. "You're still not getting out."

She cast her mind to her mother, Igraine and her portrait in the gallery sitting alone. If I'm in Brittany, who would clean it? "If mother were here-"

"-Oh if if if! If mother was here, she would be doing everything in her power to see you safe and unharmed- that includes letting the boy take the fall."

"No she wouldn't!"

"Yes, she would! It is the right thing to do." She convinced herself.

Morgana scoffed. "The right thing by whom?"

"By our laws! The laws that protect us from the outside world. A world that is harsh and cruel and bleak. A world you no doubt saw the face of last year. Laws that keep us well and safe."

"At the cost of all this suffering."

"If that is the price for our families safety, for your safety, then yes. At the cost of them. At the cost of him."

The laugh wracked its way out of her involuntarily as though some demon had taken her form and were tormenting her.

Anna snapped her head up to glare at her. "What is so funny? I don't find your predicament amusing."

"It's just- I am the older sister. . . It should be me bossing you about, not the other way around."

"You should have done a lot of things instead of me."

"Like what?" Morgana demanded.

"Nothing. Doesn't matter." She bit her tongue, though Morgana could see the words forming already on the girl's lips.

"No go on. Say it. Can't make it any worse than it already is."

". . . Like protect me."

She shrugged. "You seem to handle yourself just fine."

"Because I've had nobody sheltering me from the storms."

"And what storms are you referring to, exactly? I am not your keeper!"

"You blame me so bad for him sending me away. When all I wanted was for you to speak up at least. Maybe come along with me once in a while."

"You think I didn't try? You think I didn't beat at my own bedroom door begging father to let me out, to see you when he thought you sick. You think Arthur didn't demand one of us to be sent with you? Because we did. It pained me to see you leave on that boat. It pains me greatly every time you go. But I am who I am, and you are too. We just don't make natural sense together. Like trying to dry laundry during a thunderstorm. Everything we do is. . . Senseless."

"Hm. . . So I suppose this entire conversation is good for nothing, then? You want to talk about senseless. . . Your schemes are a great place to start."

"You would seek to destroy your own people? Supporting Uther is just as fanatic!"

"No. You're going to destroy them. The way you're acting will only bring about war and death. There are other ways to do this, Morgana." She was close to the metal bars now, her temper flaring clear as stark sunlight.

Morgana rolled her eyes and, feeling rather miffed at the woman before her, snapped; "Peace does not work! It is stand up and fight, or be slaughtered like farm animals. You should know better, little sister."

"Little sister, please! Don't patronise me. I know more than you!"

Morgana was angry now- more angry than she had been. Angry at the darkness of the dungeons. Angry at the damp smell emanating from the walls. Livid at her family who threw her to the dogs, then were surprised she came back with bite marks upon her, as though their own actions didn't have consequences. "And who's fault is that!? You didn't tell me! How could you not tell me you had magic? . . . You lied to me. For a long time."

Anna sighed, she had been waiting for this moment, Morgana realised. She had been preparing herself for this exact conversation. "How did you find out?"

"Isobel. Before we left, of course." Morgana explained.

Her sister tutted, her fists clenched at her sides, "Of course she told you. Foolish girl."

"Don't be mad at her, she didn't have any other choice. You left her no choice." Morgana inwardly cringed. When did she stop blaming Isobel, and start defending her instead?

Anna weighed her response, looking up into the rafters of the dungeons hallway as she considered. ". . . I thought. . ." She stopped, then began again, "After mothers death, I can only assume- her death caused my magic to awaken with a start. That's why it affected me so strongly. . . I had no guidance, no books, no idea what was happening to me, or who to trust.

"Eventually the old physician caught on- told Uther I was struck down with illness. Said, I'd have to relocate somewhere better aired. He suggested Gaul at first, but they had their own problems what with that dead Prince and Claudas, so the next best thing was Brittany.

"The letters were sent, the arrangements were made, and a month later I was gone. . . Hoel doesn't know either, but he's kinder with a thirst for history and knowledge, and his laws are more lenient. His libraries are also vast and expansive and he still visits his old Palace mage from time to time. -Although his ancestors would be rolling in their graves if they knew."

She looked up at Morgana through her eyelashes, eyes brimmed with tears. "I swear, I thought it had missed you‐ the magic, I mean. Now I realise, you had suppressed it so deeply after mother. . . Until Morgause. Whatever she said, woke something in you. Something that had remained dormant for a very long time."

Morgana went to speak, but there were no words to say. What does one say when the words to convey ones temperament, don't exist. "I'm sorry." Anna's eyes seemed to almost light up in the darkness for a brief moment. Was that hope flickering there? Hope of a friendship, a sisterly relationship again. "I'm sorry, Anna, but I just don't care. Do you not see? You did the same to me. You still lied."

Her eyes darkned once more, any glimmer of niceties gone. "You want the truth? Fine. . . It really rather isn't that far-fetched, you know? Uther claiming your servant has magic. . ."

"Well. . . He doesn't. I mean he might have studied once or twice, but come on, who hasn't-"

"He does." She riposted, nodding to herself, almost as though she were reassuring herself. "He does. And more. . ."

Morgana tilted her head, glowering at her sister from the bleak dimness. "Well, by all means, don't leave me in suspense. Spit it out."

"I am not the only person the dragon gave a prophesy to. I am not the only person, keeping things from you! He has magic- and more than that; hes only with you because he thinks his precious Gods told him. Youre his destiny! You're both bound by prophesy!"

Morgana suddenly felt very cold. She felt the anger, the betrayal, the doubt. Then she wrapped her arms around herself. "No he. . . Isn't. You're a liar!"

"Believe me or don't- it's the truth."

Isobel:

She had tied the sheets together in a hurry and tossed them out the window. It was far to the flagstones below, but the risk of falling to her death seemed preferable than sitting around waiting for dawn to rise- and besides, Merlin could have been captured for all she knew, even though the bells tolling in the city told her otherwise.

"Isobel?" Came a startled voice from behind her. The sheets weren't long enough to reach the ground, so she had been hanging there like a cat on a drape for two minutes now.

She turned her head and glanced slightly downwards. "William!" She half whispered in relief, "thank the Gods you are here! Catch me?"

"Always, you insane witch." He went to support her legs as she fell the meter or so down into Wills arms, having winded him in the process. He dropped her onto the damp ground with a huff and a groan in pain. "Scite! You elbowed my stomach!" He croaked, trying his hardest not to cough and alert any guards patrolling the parameter.

"Oh, uh sorry. . ." She stood and wiped herself off, her skirts were damp and muddy now, but oh well, she thought. She always managed to dirty her dresses, be it through horseriding, or wandering the markets. Hopefully Hedrek wouldn't care all that much.
"Have you seen Mer?"

"Yeah," Will nodded, creeping along the castle wall towards a more shadowy alcove. "He's alright, we need to focus on getting Morgana out of the dungeons."

She glanced back, muttering an incantation and watched as her rope of bedding and blankets snaked up the wall and back through her window out of sight.

She groaned lightly, her fingers flew to her head, rubbing her temples clockwise. The price for using magic unnaturally. She was not born with the same talent as Merlin, she possessed little herself, enough to be able to use it sparingly or when necessary, but taxing all the same.

"No matter how many times you both do it, it never fails to weird me out." Will whispered from behind her. He stared at the open window in awe.

Isobel rolled her eyes, electing to ignore his comment. "Stay behind me, if the guards see you upon first glance they'll probably kill you."

It had been hazy, half put together and not at all coherent in sound, but it was the future all the same. She saw little happiness- felt less, too.

Anna was running from something, something huge and monstrous. And a feeling- a feeling of dread overcame her the eve of a great war cast its shadow over them all.

Now, stood over the sleeping woman, her own shadow cast like a blanket over her; she thought- for only a moment- if she should take fate into her own hands. The dagger pressed against her leg from under her skirts seemed to burn.

"Found them." Will interrupted her thoughts, gently nudging past to reach the lock in the gate.

It swung open with a creak and the crunch of hay under foot as they entered. "Here." Isobel said, handing Will the second vile. "Hover it under her nose, it will wake her."

It took a few seconds for it to work, before Morgana began to stir, then her eyes shot open in a panic as she went to sit. Will quickly placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her when she swayed. "Quiet, it's alright. We're going to get you out."

Isobel watched as he unlocked Morganas chains. They fell with a clattered to the ground, only slightly muffled by the light dusting of hay she had been using as somewhat of a bed.

Wasting no more time, Isobel reached out and clasped her hands over the rusted metal chains that hung like bunting from the far wall. They were heavy and left brown rust stains on her hands but they'd do the job just fine.

"What are you doing Is?" Will asked as he watched her examine the metal in her hands.

"Making sure we won't be followed. Drag her in here." She commanded.

He glanced at Morgana, almost as to ask for her blessing. She met his gaze through shadowed eyes and nodded.

Will had always been strong, even when they were little. He moved Anna with no issue, and gently layer her on the hay by the wall.

The chains clasped tightly around her pale wrists, bruising the delicate skin. She backed away, watching the witch like a spector, fearful of her vanishing into thin air.

But no such tricks of Anna's happened. She did not move or disperse into smoke like Morgause. Isobel really did have the upper hand this time.

They backed out the cell, Isobel closing the door firmly behind her, not through fear of Anna, but through fear for her, and headed even further into the depths of the dungeons until they reached the old sewer gate.

The night was cold, but the wind was gentle -a small mercy. The ground was dry and frozen, it had been this way all week. Although winter was officially at its end, Eostre seemed to take her time with spring this year.

Niea pulled the warm thickly knitted blanket around herself tighter, shifting Merlins half off his shoulder. He shuddered against the freezing rude interuption of his peace. "Mer. . . Which fire do you think Frige warms herself by?"

His sister shrugged, the motion completely pushing the blanket from both their backs. "She always brings me comfort. I want to look at who I'm conversing with, surely it's the respectable thing to do."

They reached back and readjusted the cover, moving closer for warmth.
They should just go back inside, after all, they were supposed to have been tooked up in bed three hours prior, but it had been an exciting day full of the beginning of Spring celebrations, and Merlin couldn't sleep. And by extention that meant Ganieda couldn't either.

He smiled, pointing just over their heads. "That would be that constellation there. Frige's Distaff."

He muttered a prayer to the Goddess under his breath as he waited in the nearby woods for his friends.

The night was abysmaly cold- as most nights seemed to be- and the distant hooting of a night owl could be heard overhead.

"Merlin?" Came a hiss from the bank below. He had been hiding in a tree, tooked between the branches of a great sycamore.

He spyed the shadowy silhouette of William, then two others he recognised as Isobel and Morgana as they drew nearer.

He climbed down from his hiding spot feeling rather exposed on the forest floor. The knights hadn't searched this part of the woods yet, but they surely would soon.

"I was beginning to worry you'd been caught." He said in quiet greeting. He eyed Morgana wearily. She looked through him.

It was as though she did not want to see him stood there before her. It made him feel sick and reminded him of his mother in those long months after his sister's demise, all hollow.

"We're fine. Just confused. And concerned." Isobel stated. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his frame. She always did give such comforting hugs. "Will said you're leaving now."

"I have to, Is. We both do. It isn't safe." He muffled into her hair, taking in the familiar scent of flowers and parchment.

"Sadly I know you to be right. . ." She hesitantly released him, "I will pray to the Gods to look after you."

He smiled, reaching out to caress her cheek. "Keep your eyes on the horizon. You never know. . . One day you may actually see me there."

The abrupt sound of horse hoofs hitting the ground like the beating of drums interrupted their goodbyes.

They each shared a look of worry and made to run their respective ways. All Merlin could do was a nod for William. They had said their goodbyes already.

Morgana:

Morgana followed him for what seemed like miles towards a large felled tree resting across a creek.

There they sat crouched behind and silent, for fear of being discovered by the Kings guard.

They had only been sitting there a few minutes, but numerous times already, she found herself caught staring at him.

Liar. She thought. Everyone is a liar.

"Why did you have them rescue me?" She asked through chattering teeth. The rushing water was bone chilling and her soaked clothes did nothing to help.

"Uther would have killed you. Or worse, traded you away. I will not have you suffer at their hands anymore, Mor." He shook his head to himself. "They fear what they don't understand. And Uther never wishes to understand."

He glanced over his shoulder, over the tree trunk. It was pitch black and even Morgana couldn't see much of anything. Could he see? Was he using magic this very moment?

"You don't know that. Now there is an even bigger price on your head." She snapped.

Merlin turned to her, all worries of spotting any guards, abandoned. "Don't I? Tell me, what do you think would have happened to you if you stayed? Uther would keep to his word and you'd all live happily ever after?"

She scoffed. "You should have ran as soon as those bells started ringing. It was foolish to stay for me."

"What a stupid notion, Morgana. Of course I was going to come back for you."

The nagging feeling came to her again. Because you care? Or because you have to? "Why?"

"Why? What do you mean?" He asked distractedly, rising to his feet once more as torchlight flickered in the distance through the gaps in the trees. Good. They were going away. "We can't stay here, we'll freeze to death."

Chapter Text

(TW: Minor character death, dark themes)

Isobel:

It had been a long night for everyone, to say the least. Getting back through the city and into the castle proved tedious, she could only imagine how Will had fared. They had gone their separate ways on the edge of the woodlands after bidding farewell to Merlin and Morgana. Isobel couldn't help but feel a little disappointed in the Kings guards for being so terrible at their patrolling.

After, Anna had stormed into her bedroom, wind sweeping behind her like a coming storm. Her face was contorted in fury, cheeks unusually red, wrists like purple bracelets.

Of course, by that point in time, Isobel had scrambled into her nightgown and thrown her muddied clothes and rope of bedding into one of her many hiding places.

The witch had stayed only a few minutes, searching the darkest corners of the chamber erratically. When Anna came to the conclusion Isobel was not in fact, harbouring a wanted fugitive and a brainwashed princess- she left.

Isobel could not help but come to the conclusion that the youngest Princess was losing her sanity a little bit every day. Anna had always been like this, though. A little different than the others- more aware of the dangers.

Even Hoel swore Anna was born with the inherent madness. That same unnerving glint in her eye that so mirrored Uthers. The curse of being raised by a madman most of her life.

Perhaps it was in her blood, in Arthur's veins and passed down like a last name, a title. Madness. Plain and simple and the Pendragons were infested with it.

Or perhaps all it took was a touch. A single touch of Uthers hand, and the insanity got you, held on tight and pierced your soul with its talons. It would explain Morgause, Anna's mirrored eldest half-sister who seemed even more rattled in the head than any other child of Igraine Isobel had ever met.

Anna was gone. Long gone. She was not her friend anymore, that was clear, yet some foolish, hopeful part of Isobel longed for ignorance. Starved after that rose-tinted hue over the girl she once happily called 'sister'.

Now all she saw whenever she looked at the woman, was Uther. Does Anna realise how much alike him she is? Does she not see?

By the time sunlight filtered through her cloudy window, she had been asleep only two hours. Isobel would have lounged in bed longer, were it not for the pounding on her door.

Gwen entered, burly faced and disheveled. "Time to get dressed, my Lady. Your presence is much anticipated down in Cornwall for tomorrow evening. Must leave soon if you wish to make it on time." The maid smiled wearily, not stopping to rest a moment.

Isobel could tell this was a polite way of saying you're in the way here now. The princess is missing, Anna and Uther have lost themselves to dread of magic taking one of their own, and Arthur is away commanding the Knights search.

She did not care too much that she would be leaving anymore. Camelot felt like beating a dead horse, except that horse was on fire. There was nobody and nothing left for her here. Well, apart from Will who was most definitely kiping off the day in bed.

A strange sense of acceptance washed over her. This is how it is now. Let it be, and leave.

So she shrugged off her blanket and washed the last of the sleepy haze from her mind, slipping into her red riding dress with the unusual help of Guinevere.

"What happened to Emma? She usually helps dress me." Gwen cleared her throat, hoars from crying all night. Her hands worked fast, tying the back of Isobels dress and looping her drape belt around her waist.

Emma was the serving girl who had replaced Freyja. She was nice enough, cheery and very loud in the morning which often sent Isobel into a mood over breakfast. The blonde maid also was born and bred here in Camelot, meaning she had no real sense of Brittany's fashion which had been a problem at first, but was ultimately not Emma's fault.

"Helping the soldiers prepare their supplies for the second search wave, my Lady. I'm taking care of you until you leave now that Morgana. . . Now I have the time." Gwens voice hitched and Isobel turned, placing a comforting hand on the girl's shoulders.

If she were being honest, Isobel never really paid much attention to the serving girl. She was nice, and they spoke in passing, but Gwen was always closer to Merlin- though even then it was rare you'd catch them both conversing in the hallways.

It was no secret the girl had been a favourite of the King until recently, after all, her mother had served under the late Queen as her first Lady.

Gwen sniffed a cry and pulled away to sort the rumpled bedding. "After you're done in here, I want you to go home, Gwen. You're exhausted."

She paused her work on puffing up the pillows and muttered. "That's very kind of you, my Lady but I cannot. There is just too much to be done here. I am needed."

"You need rest. I will tell the princess you are to be excused. Now, go home and lay down before you fall down." She commanded, urging the girl to look at her. She would not.

Her eyes remained averted, stubbornly fixed to the pillow she still half held over the mattress. "Thank you, Princess Isobel, for your consideration."

Isobel smiled at her wryly "I trust you will remember me fondly. I'm sorry I couldn't help you more." And that was as good as a goodbye she could give.

Tristan was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps to the courtyard. He flashed her his charming smile as usual and helped her onto her horse. They had many horses and carts all lined up ready to leave with her many belongings and dowery from Brittany.

In extention this meant both Tristans personal guard and the handful her father had sent over from Brittany would be accompanying them.

This was the most she had heard from her father of late. He was being oddly cryptic, scrupulous to give any information on her future husband and his family. She tried not to worry.

If Hedrek had grown ugly since the first time she saw him back at Arthur's engagement ball, that would be fine. Isobel was a firm believer in beauty being in the eye of the beholder. If he were a brute, however. . . she would find other means of dealing with him then.

Tristan cleared his throat as the horses set off into a slow canter (There was nobody to bid farewell to as Anna had elected to stay and argue with the incompetent dungeon guards whom no doubt will be lashed or executed for allowing a Princess to escape) and she tried not to take offence to this but failed miserably, unlike Tristan who was used to a little less fanfare than the Heiress of Brittany.

"What will your betrothed think when we turn up in matching garments?" He gestured to her attire and smirked. Isobel hadn't even realised. As usual, Tristan was wearing a deep crimson tunic etched with golden embroidery.

Isobel gave him a polite smile, not entirely in the mood for idle chitchat on next-to-no sleep and pure adrenalin. "He'll probably be insulted you'd undermine such a maiden as I."

"Because, we don't know you. You could be a mad man for all we know." Bors argued, not-so-subtly clinging to the side of the railing, looking unusually drained of colour.

Lancelot twisted his hands, wrists rubbing painfully against the coarse rope. They had sat him right at the back, letting him flail about haphazardly with the jolt of the waves.

Lionel looked back at him and Bors from the front of the boat, finishing up a conversation with a guard of Gaul that had accompanied them.

The boat was a long, slender piece of wood, crafted with care by experienced hands and carved from a great Oak tree. "Trust is a luxury we cannot afford, especially in times like this. Your silence is much preferable." He drawled, double checking the course of the wind hitting the Sails.

Times like this. "You mean King Claudas. So it is confirmed, he still lives." He felt that sinking feeling again, a slow burning of sour bile at the back of his throat. He fought it, swallowing thickly.

The man who killed his parents and took his home in a single night, lived. Not just that- he lived prosperously in the halls Lancelot never even got to walk through.

He focused on the feeling of his mother's ring. It was too small for his own fingers now, and he seldom liked dirtying it in training or battle, so he wore it on a leather string around his neck, close to his heart. Sometimes it felt like she was there with him in those quiet distant moments, like now, for instance.

Lionel was eyeing him sceptically once again, it seemed the man's default. Bors had resigned to actually throwing up over the side and Hector, who had remained distant from the group the entire journey, stared at the horizon from the row adjacent, slouching in his seat. Definitely a bastard, then. A pure blooded Prince would have been reprimanded, otherwise.

It was then he took the chance to really study the boy just a year younger than himself. He spotted the similarities between them as easy as looking in a reflection. The wind brushed his hair into his eyes, and Hector squinted, shoving his hands through his dark locks. The same eyes he thought, and wondered if it was from his mother's side or their father's.

"The bastard lives, alright." Chimed Bors, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Loves to fight for our boarder lands, the greedy fucker."

"-Alright." Lionel interjected, rubbing his brow, "we'll be more than happy to recount the horrific things Hector will pay for, when we confirm you are who you say you are."

"For the hundredth time, I am Lancelot!"

Bors snorted, "You might not be our Lancelot, though."

"I didn't think Lancelot was a very common name. . ." Hector pondered from his perch. Lionel rolled his eyes, moving on to talk with a fellow soldier, evidently given up on the entire conversation all together.

Two hours later, and they had docked up in Gaunnes, the river growing narrower towards the mountains that swept the city above into a frenzy of narrow streets and steep inclines.

The Palace that housed the three Princes accompanying Lancelot and their parents, sat atop the highest point, its turrets high and walls thick stone slab.

Lancelot dawdled, his eyes meeting the rays of sun blocked by the looming great castle. Lionel tugged lightly on Lancelots bound wrists, urging him forwards up the gritty path.

People were staring. Who was this boy? An outsider. Walking next to Princes. They, of course, had no horses to ride into the inner town on. Bors explained it was because they liked to be relatable  to their subjects.

Lancelot snorted and saw it as it was. Gaunnes was poor, and getting poorer by the week. Pretty soon, there would be no point in holding back Claudas. Their people would revolt before that monster got the chance to invade.

He took in the hallow faces that peered at him from under cloth canopies and empty market stalls. Felt the weight of their crushing eyes and begged internally for some solution to help.

It were moments like these, Lancelot longed for the company of his aunt Vivian. She was familiar, stern but kind. The type of person you always knew where you stood with her. If she were mad at you- you knew it. If she was happy, you were too.

His cousins side of the family seemed more difficult to read. They had more going on behind their eyes than what their mouths let on, and this infuriated Lancelot to a certain degree.

He hated not understanding. Being made to look the fool.

Perhaps, when this entire lineage questioning is over with, he might try to help these people. Rally them up, take back his own kingdom like Vivian had trained him to.

Then, claudas' would plague their seas and boarders no more- ships would be free to sail unbothered and crops could make the winter without being burnt.

The doorway to the throne room was almost as large as that of Uthers back in Camelot. The hall in which two large thrones sat in, however, was not.

Only a short few paces had the group at the foot of the dias, and Lancelot, sea sick and wind swept, bowing down at a stern-faced woman with light auburn hair and a sallow complexion.

A throat cleared beside her- the king, sat poised in his seat. Bors the Elder. Lionel and Bors the Youngers father.

He was said to be stubborn and yielded only to his wife, Evaine. His maternal aunt. If Lancelot wished to ever gain the Kings favour, Evaine was his way in.

"Three weeks." Says the man, looking down at his sons and Hector. They each shrunk a little. "Three weeks and not a word. You may as well have made us run around with our heads on fire–"

"We are sorry father," Lionel interjects, rising to his feet to meet his father's cool amber eyes. "But we took a chance and it paid off. King Uther will not give us our aid, but, Prince Tristan of Lyonesse and Sir Kay of Colgrevance will speak with their councils on our behalf."

"Oh, they will, will they? Speaking with their councils. May as well be a no." The Elder sighed, draping his hand over the side of his chair arm.

Lancelots eyes remained fixed to the floor. Sir Kay was a drunk and owned nothing but a few acres of land to the East, and his mother's estate in Hibernia. Prince Tristan, however, had power not just in Lyonesse, but ties to his uncle Fenis in Ravens Landing, and the House of Amlawdd in Cornwall. He'd be a valuable asset to anyone.

Evaine took in the faces of each of her sons. "I am proud. It isn't an army yet, but it is hope. You did good. But you did defy your father's orders, and my wishes."

"We will accept any punishment you see fit, father. Mother." Bors the younger said, standing up with Hector.

Lancelot looked around, he was the only one still kneeling. He flushed, standing shakily to his feet. He tried to imagine the comforting weight of his sword in his hands. Lionel had confiscated it the moment they set foot on the boat.

"And who is this?" Evaine asked, leaning forwards in her seat. She frowned, moving her gaze from his face to his toes.

Lionel sighed a deep tired thing, and turned. "Mother, Father, this boy claims to be Lancelot. He showed up at the tournament in Camelot and demanded we bring him here."

Evaine stood, very suddenly and reached out to rest a delicate hand on Lancelots cheek. "What age are you, boy?"

Lancelot coughed, scrambling to recall the most basic details of himself. "Sixteen, your grace."

"And who told you of us? Who sent you our way?" She circled him.

"Uh, my adopted aunt, Lady Vivian the unvanquished of Avalon, first dragon tamer, former mage of Benwick." He couldn't help but let a small smile play at the corner of his mouth when he said it. She was a pretty impressive woman. He longed for a title like hers one day.

The queen paused her assessing of the boy. "And how did you escape the fall of Benoic Castle?" She whispered.

"The mighty dragon Bryaxiah carried us away after. . . After my mother couldn't. . ." He reached for the ring around his neck and pulled. "Vivian gave me this, said it was my mother's."

He reluctantly handed it over to Evaines open palm. She turned the golden sigil ring over in her hand, eyeing the coat of arms it bore with glassy eyes. She nodded, her voice shallow but echoed still in their small throne room. "It is my sisters, indeed. It was Èlene's."

Merlin:

The woods were always a place in which Merlin could find peace. The quiet cacophony of life buzzing all around seemed to stir something in him.

It had been a long day, one full of guilt and self-loathing. He convinced himself many times now that Morgana was asking too much of him. It's not my fault we got found out. . . Not really. Morgana's family is just insane. Not that mine is much different.

He couldn't leave his mother though, not when it was so dangerous to know him now. Will would be okay, he knew that- isobel would banish him to her own home in Brittany if things got too bad. That was a luxury that could not extend to Merlin and Morgana without dropping King Hoel into a war with Uther.

He yawned as he watched the traps below the tree branches he sat waiting in, shaking the thoughts completely. He'd been laying there all evening reminiscing on what he too had to leave behind- or more specifically, who.

Arthur would be missed more than he was comfortable with admitting. Yes, he was awful to him when they had first met, but there was something about him that drew Merlin in. Perhaps, in another life, they might have been friends. Gwen, on the other hand, he would miss always.

When the birds rustled up from the tree branches above his head, he turned his attention to the forest floor and a head of silky black hair. "Morgana."

She jumped, peering up at him through the leaves. "Merlin. Your mother wishes you back. It's getting late." Her voice was cold and snappy.

"I know it's getting late." He responded just the same, sighing at the realisation that Morgana had just scared off any hope of game.

He climbed down from his perch, shivering at the approaching coldness. The clouds were gathering further above the canopy. "Still mad at me?" He asked.

She tensed, her glare hard. "What do you think?"

"I think we're eternally fucked. I think William was right, as usual. The Gods are always the ones with the last laugh." He closed his eyes, leaning against the tree. The feeling of bark on the back of his head grounded him.

He felt the first pitter-pattering of rainfall. A storm was coming, and fast. "The creak is half a mile South-west from here. The village, even firther. Its difficult to navigate in the dark, and dangerous during the rain. We should make camp here for tonight."

Morgana shifted, snapping a twig and jumping Merlin from his darkened haze. "I told your mother I'd bring you back. . ."

He observed as she cast a longing look behind her. It was the wrong way. "You dont even know what direction you just came from. We stay together, and I'm staying here so you are too."

She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest in temper. "Won't she worry?"

He nodded, "Yes, I should think so."

"So. . ." Morgana pulled a face of baffled anger, "Doesn't that, in turn, worry you?"

Merlin pushed himself off the tree trunk, moving to build a makeshift shelter to keep the rain off. Morgana trailed behind like a dog nipping at his heels. "Not particularly. I've been gone for longer without explanation before. One night apart is nothing. Besides," He continued when the sticks had been leant at a certain position to act as a roof. "Us staying away is probably safer."

It took him all about half an hour to fully put together a small shelter beside a large tree of which Merlin and Morgana took to nestle under from the wind and rain.

They were silent for a long time, the sound of thunder in the distance was the only sound to fill the space between them. Then Morgana spoke;

"When I was little. . . Arthur and I would run around the castle stopping at each tapestry. We'd lay on the cold hard floor and prop our feet up on the wall, and just stare at the scenes embroided into the fabric and wonder what the story behind them was. Perhaps a brave Knight fighting a beast. Or an ancient hero beheading a giant serpant. Silly nonsense like that, got us through it all. And it got us through, together."

She smoothed her hair over her shoulder, rain drops caught in her locks like a thousand shining diamonds. He didn't think he had ever seen such beauty before in his life, that nothing on Earth could ever compare. And he wondered how many days he had spent silently falling in love with her from afar.

She cleared her throat, "That's why it hurt so much, when you lied. I had Arthur, then we got older, and I didn't. I had you, then I didn't. I can't think clearly when I'm alone. It's like I stop existing the moment people stop seeing me. It's terrifying. . . And I was scared I'd be so angry with you, that I'd get in my own way again and lose you, too. . ."

Merlin looked up at her, taken aback. "Oh. . ." He folded his knees up to his chest and curled his arms around himself.

"I want- need to know why you believe you should stay with me." She asked.

Merlin considered her question, weighing his answers. He'd have to be careful here, select his words and say them kindly. "It's our destiny, Morgana. Wyrd decided it for us–"

She threw her arms up, exasperated.  "So, what? Are you staying with me because you feel obligated to? Because I'm just a chore?"

"No. Of course not, Mor."

"Then why?!"

"I stay because I care for you!" He flushed, ". . . Satisfied?"

Morgana leaned into her knees and put her head in her hands. "Stop looking at me like I'm the answer to everything. I'm not your revelation, I'm a person."

Merlin paused, nodding slowly. He struggled to find the words because of course Morgana would say something like that. She wasn't his answer, she was his friend. Fates be damned if it meant losing her.

Chapter Text

Isobel:

The sound of the horses cantering along the dirt paths that cut their way along wild flower fields that rolled up to Tintagel Island, broke Isobel from whatever thoughts she had been stewing over for the past couple days.

At first glance, Tintagel Castle looked looming and stark against the calm sea that thrashed and waded against the rocks below its sturdy stone walls.

Upon closer inspection, she noted how safe it must feel in its sturdiness. The green turfs it sat atop only added to its sanctuary-like air.

It helped their case tremendously when she spotted a rabbit bounding along the very meadow she gazed at from across the narrow pass that connected the island to the mainland.

Their horses trodded slowly along, and the rusted portcullis of the lower town opened welcomingly. Several guards rode on ahead to notify the Duke of Cornwall of Isobels presence.

She readied herself for it and shot William a broad smile to which he returned from atop his own horse. The lower town was small but loud.

Children played nearby, their laughter echoing and cheery. A few curious faces watched her party pass by with questions whispered to one another. Isobel only made sure her smile stayed intact.

Her cheeks were aching by the time they made it to the crowded courtyard. It was a much tighter atmosphere than in Camelot or especially back home in Brittany, where her fathers palaces and mannor homes greatly put to shame both respective kingdoms in size and grandeur.

Cador was waiting by the main door to the keep with his two sons when Will assisted her in dismounting her horse, giving it a tentative pat on the side.

His hair was fair, grey eyes squinting against the strands that flew into his vision. His smile was wide, almost cheeky- no doubt the joker in the family.

"Welcome, Princess Isobel of Brittany! It is such a relief to me, that you have decided to join our two families."
Relief for him perhaps. 'Decided' is another matter entirely.

She clasped the Dukes awaiting hand and bowed her head in polite greeting. "The honour is mine." She willed her voice to remain steady and light.

"Allow me to formally introduce my eldest son, Hedrek. And my youngest, Mark." Cador motioned to the men next to him. If the Dukes smile was friendly, Marks was saccharine and almost alarming. He nodded a half-hearted bow as she caught the hand of Hedrek.

The first heir to Cornwall was much more genuine than his younger brother. He greeted her as a lady of high breeding- which she was, though that fact rarely penetrated people's skulls when first laying eyes upon Isobel.

"Princess Isobel, you are as beautiful as ever. I am glad to make your acquaintance without interruption this time." He kissed her knuckles lightly.

She felt hot and that old uncomfortable feeling like fingers brushing her spine crept through her. Now was no time for nerves to get the better of her.

"Please, allow me to take you on a tour of Tintagel after you've refreshed yourself. I'd hate for you to lose your way here." His voice was a cool monotone, like the sound of waves lapping.

She nodded perhaps a little too vehemently, and took a last glance upwards at the shape of the keep against the stark sunlight before letting herself be lead inside.

She had to reach for the cuff of Wills battered jacket sleeve to stop him heading off to the stables with the footmen or the servants quarters with the other guards. He was her protector now, in more ways than one, so he had to follow her now.

She knew he felt strange walking through the main doors and not the side door. She realised he did not feel comfortable beside Tristan. She resisted the urge to tell him he was easily worth ten of these Lords and princes. Worth ten of herself. She didn't think he'd actually appreciate that, though, so she said nothing but kept a firm hold on his wrist as the group walked towards the main staircase that rested against the right-hand side wall.

The interior was homely and warm, ornately carved chairs dotted the entryway to allow waiting visitors to rest. Large, clouded-glass chequered windows sat in panes along a corridor branching off straight ahead, probably to the main hall, she gathered. To the left of her, another door.

Her Chambers were on the third floor, in a spacious guestroom overlooking the Eastern gardens. It's high ceiling and large seated window made the room feel bright and airy compared to the hugging stuffiness of the first floor.

William was directed to the guestroom across the corner of the keep that overlooked the courtyard and western roof.

Hedrek leaned himself against the wall. "The washroom is just opposite. I will be in the anteroom for you when you are done."

It started slowly, creeping through her bones steadily but surely. Countless nights since her mother had passed, she had spent awake in bed.

Countless times had she been sent to the physicians tower, each time a different ailment. Her vision had gone funny, her ears had been ringing, her skin felt like it was on fire, or her head felt like it was being chisled at by a stone carver.

Either way, she was not well. Her mother's recent passing had sent her into this spiral of sickness after sickness, not one day of peace was she permitted.

The Lords daughters had denied her earlier in the dining hall. She had heard their laughs, their barbs. Anna was eight years old and sickly. ' See the Kings daughters? ' the girls would whisper then followed by a gaggle of laughter.

Her friends had turned their backs, most claiming their mother's feared for their own health's so forbade anyone from playing with the princess. Even Morgana was feeling the brunt of it. Not Arthur, though. Nobody would ever deny the heir anything.

Anna seethed as she took her seat beside her father. Her eyes fell upon the empty space her mother once occupied only weeks ago. She wanted to cry. Her eyes remained dry.

Her father had kept her confined to her Chambers, locked away like a mouse in the rafters. Believing the cooks daughter had died from an ailment, thanks to the old physician, who then recommended Anna herself be isolated.

Arthur had visited her yesterday, stopping at the door before a guard had chased him away. Morgana had come the week before that, sneaking up to the door to sit and talk through the keyhole. Every night she would do this, without fail.

When the threat of being found out by guards got too much, she too , stopped visiting so frequently.

And because she was afraid of what would happen if Uther caught her, she'd comply.

A young servant came to deliver her food. He set it down outside her door, as Gaius had instructed they do, and then- much to Anna's horror and selfish longing, took a seat.

"I thought you were a ghost." Came the boys voice through the keyhole.
"My mother says she thinks you're dead because nobody ever sees you."

She didn't blame him. She felt dead. Like Igraine. Maybe she was. A lost spirit haunting the halls of her home, condemned to be alone, shut away like her mother was before she succumbed to her illness.

Sabren haunted her, too. And suddenly she was back in that corridor watching the life drain out of the truest friend Anna ever had.

"You are just a servant. Go away! I don't want to talk to people like you!" She snapped through the gap in the door.

"But–"

"I said; leave! Or I'll yell for my guards !"

She listened as the serving boy rustled to a stand and watched as the shadow under the door gave way to filtered daylight again.

It still hadn't fully hit him yet. He assured himself, it would soon. The grief will be immense and strangling. For now, it took the form of burning anger.

"We can't be far from Arthur now. He will have had spies watching the village. We need somewhere close. Somewhere safe."

"And where exactly do you suggest, Morgana?" He felt hollow like a diseased tree.

"Your father said he was heading to the seat of the druids. So, let's go there."

His hands tightened on the sachel. "No."

"Merlin–"

"I said no, Morgana! You can go there if you like, but I'm walking North. Avalon cares not for the druids. We are on our own. Truly."

She sighed but did not argue back like he expected. Like he had hoped. Give me anger. Give me something.

They took two horses from the next village over and by the second day on horseback, they settled camp in the woods at Cringle Moor.

"You should try and sleep, Merlin. I'll keep watch."

Chapter Text

Tintagel Castle, Kingdom Of Cornwall

William:

The courtyard was a buzz of activity, as was usual for mornings in Tintagel. His routine was simple. Wake, eat with the guards for breakfast- this comprised usually of milk and oats with a bit of cold meat on the side. It sure beat his own cooking from a little pot in his one room home back in Camelot.

Next, he escorted Isobel to her numerous tasks. Today, it was meeting Cador. He noticed how she shyed away from Mark and the Lords skulking advances. He'd have to remember to ask her about it all later, and if Mark needed to be dealt with. Not that he'd be allowed to, even if she said yes. Bollocks to the laws, he thought, he'd do it anyway.

After Isobel was wherever she needed to be for the morning, Will was free to roam. It was in one of these wondering mornings, he had found himself playing cards with the right hand of Hedrek, Eoin.

Eoin was sly and constantly called his bluff leading to an intense game of 'find the maiden' that always ended far too quickly, with Will slamming the cards down and Eoin smiling whilst collecting his winnings. This morning, however, Eoin was waiting for him by the stables.

"Don't you have a certain Lord to chase after?" Will mused, leaning up against the wooden support of the stables.

"I'd rather be chasing after horses." His smile was broad and all teath as his eyes met Wills.

"Well, I have a free morning- as usual. Let me help you."

"You're telling me, you'd much rather be grooming horses- unpaid work- than taking in the lovely scenery of this spit of an island? William, I am shocked!" He droned, brown eyes rolling back into his head in mocked disbelief. It was then when Eoin dug into his sachel and took out a short brown stick.

"What is that?"

"A root of some sort wrapped in thin tree bark. imported from Ravens Landing, I believe. Not much grows there, but this. Good for relaxing yourself." Eoins smile turned mischievous. "I've got a few. . . Why don't we, I don't know? Leave. I know a spot."

"Eoin, are you seriously suggesting you sneak off work with me? I'm shocked!" He returned his smirk. And nodded. "I was about to suggest exactly that."

Morgana:

The gateway was located between two bowing trees. Or so Senovara had said. They had been traipsing through the woods for about an hour now, almost completely in silence. A few times Morgana had snapped a look behind her, hearing voices or hooves following after them.

"So," Morgana began, her voice slightly higher than usual, "Senovara, how does a twelve year old become the ire of an entire village?"

The girl visibly tensed. "Does it matter? They don't usually need much of a reason, anyway."

"They mentioned illness?"

She nodded. "The great pains hit Elmet not two years prior. Killed. . . A lot of people." Her eyes glazed over slightly as though she were back in some dark corner of her mind.

"The Pains?"

And then it receded with her parchment-thin patience. "Gods, are you daft, or somat'? The sickness that caused black blood rashes? Made you tired like a bear in winter, burnt your skin so hot, you felt like fire to the touch, pains everywhere that made you jig. But it were the headaches that were the worst. My friend Eliot, he said he heard stories of people hurtin' so bad, they drove fire pokers through their heads to make it stop."

"That's awful. Why would the village blame you, though?"

"Got no-one. My mother and brothers passed first, then my grandmother, she died of the Pains not three moons thereafter. My father clung stubbornly to the end of this winter just gone, but even he died. Tavern brawl, he was in debt to a lot of dangerous people."

"I'm sorry to hear that–"

"Shh!" Merlin snapped suddenly, "Do you hear that?"

Morgana had thought she had only been imaging it. But the sound of hooves hitting the damp forest floor followed by murmered voices echoed back at them through the trees.

She went stiff as Merlin reached for her hand. His fingers lacing with hers tightly. "Run."

They darted off into a sprint, Morgana almost tripping a few times. She looked back for Sen, only to find she was ahead of them already, quick as a Hound dog hunting.

"Over here!" She called to them, a sharp left turn through some thorny blackberry bushes had them face to face with two bowing trees and a clear, shimmering water-like door.

Sen went first, then Merlin, pulling Morgana along fiercely. A clinging feeling of and a metallic taste of magic stuck to her skin as she passed.

They emerged from the gateway onto a rocky stone shore, circling a huge crystalline lake, that shone so bright with the refraction of sunlight, Morgana had to squint to look at it.

"The gateway to Avalon is the lake." Sen said, pointing pale and breathless at the waters surface.

"Then let's go." Merlin said, edging towards the surf.

"No! I need to open it, but- I've never done it before!" She exclaimed.

Merlin turned to her, impatient at first, but in seeing the small girls panic, he took in a lung full of air to calm his nerves.

"Alright. Focus, don't think. Feel. Feel the magic in the air. Let it radiate down from you, into the ground, and direct it towards the lake."

She did as he said, "It's. . . Fightin' me. Somethin' doesn't want us there. . ."

In a moment, Knights burst through the gateway behind them. Crossbows and swords in hand. And Arthur and Sir Bedivere leading them.

Their eyes met, and Arthur seemed relieved for all of a minute. Then, his guard went back up, but he lowered his sword all the same, obviously not wishing harm upon her, or Merlin.

"Morgana. You're alright?" He asked sceptically.

"I'm fine!" She said, letting go of Merlins hand, and moving to stand in front of him. She eyed the crossbows trained on them.

"You have to come back with us. End this ridiculous chase here, and I will look the other way for Merlin."

Her brother flushed with shame at the mention of the man behind her. "How kind of you, Arthur. To look the other way for me but not for my mother!"

Arthur's eyes closed, "I didn't kill your mother. Sir Balin, my father's second, did. He has been reprimanded and will be punished accordingly. Although, none of this would have happened in the first place if you hadn't taken my dear sister. Now, Morgana. I won't ask again. Please! Come back home with me."

"Got it!" Senovara shouted, disturbing the quiet contemplation of Morgana's thoughts.

"That place is not my home!" She shouted, finding herself being grabbed from behind by Merlin.

"Sen, you first!" The young girl looked from him to the knights, who had tried to advance on them all, but seemed to be being kept back by some invisible force. Merlin. And the strain was already visible on his face.

She nodded, and ran straight for the gateway the water itself had created. A huge circle of glistening water stood before them like a grand archway.

Merlin followed, but then stopped suddenly.

"What!? What is it?" Morgana demanded, feeling damp grow under her arms.

"It won't let me!" He panicked, shoving at the wall of water furiously. "You try!"

Morgana walked towards the circle, it parted without effort. She chanced a glance back at Merlin.

"Gēat." He muttered. She recalled; Gēat, God of rivers and gateways. Why would a God like Gēat not want Merlin in Avalon?

She watched Merlins expression change from angry, to a soft, calm acceptance. His thumb rubbed gently on her upper arm where he still held her. "No." She began to beg. "No!"

"NO!" One hard push, and Morgana felt herself sailing backwards. The thrum of the portal accepting her into a new realm full of magic. For a brief moment, she thought she was floating, her soul being ripped from her body and shaken about like a doll.

Then she was floating, submerged in a body of deep blue water, she fought and clawed for the surface, only to be met with hands around her waist, turning her the other way up, and dragging her to the place where water met fresh, crisp air.

Soft ground under her cheek- sand. Sand in her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Then Senovara was kneeling at her side, watching as the portal closed.

She patted her back as Morgana heaved up water in ragged coughs. The deafening silence broken by heavy clunky footsteps, and a woman's voice that was so serene, she thought a Goddess had spoken.

"Welcome to Avalon." Morgana groggily raised her head, her eyes falling upon a white haired maiden and a knight in white pearlescent armour.

Merlin:

Camelot had never felt more cold. The word had gotten out that Merlin had been the reason for the absence of their beloved princess and the people were not happy.

They heckled him as he was dragged by rope behind Arthur's horse. Rocks were mostly thrown, a few hitting his own face.

He tried to find Will's face in the crowd, his concerned voice cutting through the din. Surely his headstrong idiocy would lead to him barging through the onslaught and landing right at his side.
But he never came.

By the time they had made it to the courtyard, he struggled to stand, let alone walk.

"Arthur. . ." He murmered, trying to gain his attention. They had spent the majority of their time on the way back in silence.

The few times Arthur had tried to question him, Merlin would only turn away. It didn't matter that another Knight had killed his mother. He was under the command of the Prince either way.

"If you're not going to tell me where that portal took my sister, then I don't want to hear it, Merlin." He snapped.

It was strange, Merlin thought. He had seen Arthur vulnerable before, but never like this. He had never been the centre of his former friend's ire.

The dungeon he was thrown in was dark, damp, and smelled of rot and iron like blood. There was no window this far down, letting no fresh air or slither of sunlight in.

The shakles they clad him in bruised red welts. They clincked and cluncked with every minor move he made.

"You will be confined here until I can figure out what exactly I am to do with you- or, you decide to be helpful." And with that, Arthur left.

He sighed, crouching into a ball on the cold floor. "I'm so sorry." He whispered into the nothing. "It's my fault, it's all my fault. It always was." He wanted to cry, but no tears would dampen his cheeks.

He moved to the far wall to lay on a bed of hay. Sleep came slowly but deeply and before he knew it he was plunged into a murky dream.

A rocky clearing streamed in beams of sunlight breaking through the canopy of green leaves above, stired him.

"Thought you'd never fall asleep." A deep sing-song voice echoed from atop a rock above him. The dirt clung to Merlins clothes and under his fingernails as he stood. "Or, are you waking up?"

The man- or rather, youn man- a teenager, regarded him with piercing pearlescent eyes. His clothes were tattered grey, clinging to him by a silver raven pin that gleamed when it cought the few golden rays.

"Who are you?"

"That's a big question. And not the one you should be asking."

"What's the one I should be asking?"

The boy tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

Merlin shook his head, "Alright, what do you want?"

"Want? What do I want?" He clapped his hands together and a kaleidoscope of butterflies appeared in the clearing. "I want you to understand, young warlock, what weighs upon your shoulders. I want you to understand everything."

"Everything?" Merlin echoed.

The boy bent down and picked up a single forget-me-not, that had grown between the two mossy boulders. "Perhaps everything is a lot for you, so let's settle at this; my three laws if you will."

He studied the petals closely, and the blue hue seemed to illuminate in his gaze. "There are three things you must understand about our world before you leave this place." He began,

"The first, everything which is born, must die. Everything around you, the trees, the animals, the people, the butterflies, from the moment your born; is a sacrifice." He splayed his arms out to gesture to the surroundings. Birds tweeted high in their nests.

"The second, all you see is absolute truth. You said it's your fault your mother was killed, it is. You said you left your sister for dead, you did. You said you thought Arthur had returned to punish you, he did.
You said you abandoned Morgan, you have."

Merlin gulped, these were his darkest thoughts, his greatest guilts. Things he only ever whispered into the darkness. Then he knew, this boy was something other. This boy was a being of immense power.

The being crouched down, leaning over the boulder to face him. "Am I here to help you? To show you the way? Yes, I am. Am I here to destroy you? Absolutely. Do I love you? With all my soul. . . Do I despise you? With all my soul. . ."

"–What is the third?" Merlin asked, feeling confronted.

The God, because he was definitely one of the many, Merlin realised that quickly, jumped down and landed on his feet before him. Eye to eye.

"The third thing. . . This is the third thing." He placed the petals between his teeth, chewed, and swallowed. "Tread carefully you are only. . . human, for now."

"Is that why you wouldn't let me pass into Avalon? I was too human for you!?"

"You were not ready. You are still not ready."

Trying to heal his own wounds felt impossible, like some invisible force was suppressing his magic, stifling his very soul. It did not take him long to realise it was the very chains that bound him. Uther was nothing if not insanely prepared.

Anna:

The air was especially frosty as she watched the servants rush to their morning tasks in the courtyard down below from the balcony of her mother's sick room.

Her father had kept this section of the Palace closed off for years now, that was until yesterday. He was far too sick himself to even care she was here.

Everything had been left how it was the day she had died. Her hairbrush still kept tangled locks of her hair, her pillows still held the shape of her head, but a thick coat of dust coloured everything a greyer shade.

Arthur found her an hour later, stopping at her side and resting his arms against the stone ledge. He shuffled uncomfortably. He never did like this room. "I lost her. At the lake of OScand sǽr." His face was drawn and pale and his teeth gritted hard.

The dreading whirlwind in her stomach reached a new level of volatile. Morgana was really gone. "How?"

"How what?" He snapped.

"How could you lose her!?" She fired back, blood boiling in her veins. Before she knew it, her hands were seizing his shoulders. "You promised me you would protect her! You promised!"

"There was nothing I could have done! Merlin- he pushed her through some door to somewhere else. I don't know where." He brushed her off, affronted.

She swallowed the lump in her throat with glistening eyes and a heavy heart. "And what of him?"

"Below the castle in the old dungeons. I tried to talk him round, but he wasn't having any of it."

"I may have better luck. As for the kingdom itself, father is no longer fit to rule. I think you'll find the Lords are growing worrisome and impatient. They'll hound you when you go back inside. You must take charge now, Arthur. It's never been more important."

"I can't do that, Anna- I won't do that–"

"Listen here and listen well, brother. There is a new prophesy. There are whispers, here in Camelot and with the druids, of a boy born in May. This child will cause the downfall of our father's kingdom, you're kingdom- our home. Unless you put an end to it now. Morgana is a problem that I will fix later. For now, let me deal with Merlin, and you focus on Camelot."

(A/N: The Gēat/ Merlin scene was inspired by Harka and Phelans speech from Britannia)

Chapter Text

Isobel:

Tintagel Castle, Cornwall

She had been working up the courage to dine with Cador and her betrothed for a few days now. Every time she convinced herself to get out of her own way and take a seat at their table, she'd change her mind at the door to the private dining room.

This morning was no different. She had just about reached the entrance way when she heard utters of her name being mentioned past scraping utensils and clenched teeth.

"I was prophesied, Isobel. Not Hedrek. You're telling me the Gods changed their minds?" It was Marks voice that made her stop completely.

Cador shifted in his chair as she peeked around the already open doors. Another thing she noticed about Tintagel is how it differentiated to Camelot. Castle Penn Draig; with its doors firmly closed and its inhabitants closed-off.

"I'm telling you the druids ordained it. They are the mouthpiece of the Gods. I will not stand for you disrespecting them."

"I have great respect for the Gods. I love the Gods. This is why I did not challenge Hedrek here to a duel over the fair Isobel. Even if she was promised to me."

Hedrek was smirking at him across the table, eating a fork full of eggs. Cador sighed deeply; "What about Elaine of Corbenic?"

"What about Elaine of Corbenic!?"

"Why don't you court her instead. I knew her mother, Amite. She was -"

"-Your dear friend. I know, father. We all know! I don't want Elaine. The last time I saw her, she treated me with such disdain, I thought she was going to curse my bloodline."

"Well, that's the priestesses of Sol, for you."

"No, that's insane spinsters for you."

"Elaine isn't a spinster. She is twenty and rather quite remarkable."

"Why don't you bloody well marry her then!"

"To reiterate, she is twenty." Cador snipped.

"And?"

"And I am quite fine on my own, and since when were we talking about me? This is about you. You, Mark, need to accept that Isobel is your brothers betrothed. Not yours. Now eat your breakfast, and go to a brothel like a normal, wealthy, unbothered, unburdened lord."

"I dispise you."

"I'm not too fond of you, either right now."

William:

Isobel was watching him from behind the pages of a tattered leather bound book she had been reading for neigh on an hour.

They were sitting in the family parlour up on the third floor. Nobody ever came up here, although William couldn't understand quite why. If he owned such a beautiful and vast home, he'd make the use of every single room. Although, he'd struggle to find use for them all.

Tintagel itself, having numerous different private studies and two big libraries all full of stories and texts. All things considered, he was incredibly lucky to have the ability to read and write.

Isobel herself had taught him not long after they had met. Every chance she got, she had sat him down and read to him, then read with him, then before he knew it, he was reading to her. It had been difficult, and sometimes still was. When they first started, the words jumbled and jumped at him from the browned parchment.

After a while, Isobel had come back from Brittany, knocked on his door, and said she'd figured it out. With a bit of time and magic on her part, the words had fallen into place, and reading was less of an eye battle.

Now, he sat slouched in his chair- which was far too soft for comfort - trying to focus on the words in front of him and struggling. Not because the ink was moving, but because her eyes were fixed on his form with fierce scrutiny.
"What?" He asked, not bothering to raise his head.

"Nothing." She said innocently.

"No. It's something, and it's annoying. What?"

She smiled sheepishly, "I've seen you with that boy. Hedreks servant?"

He inwardly groaned, expecting this sooner or later. "And?"

"And he's very handsome. Anything. . . You wish to tell me?"

He closed his book, setting it down in his lap and leveled her a pointed look. "Are we really doing this now? Here?"

She, too, placed her book down on the small table behind her, the fire burnt low between them in a grand fireplace cut in stone. "We are alone. You know I'd never endanger you, Will. You're safe here, anyway. Cornwall is not like Camelot. They don't kill people for being who they are here. Why do you think everyone is so bloody happy all the bloody time?"

He shook his head. Feeling safe was easier said than done. Safe is never set in stone. Safe is how you let your guard down and get yourself executed or hung. "Never mind me. What about you? Why are we hiding up here on the empty third floor and not say, with Hedrek? Or Mark?" Because that's what they were most definitely doing. Hiding.
"They both seem quite taken with you." He considered the later, "Actually, not Mark. I don't trust men like him."

She tutted, leaning her head back to look at the high wooden beams above. "You know I only trust you and Mer. And Arthur when he's alone. I just. . . Don't want anything bad to happen. To me, to you."

His voice softened, as it usually did when he spoke with her. "You know I'd never let anything like that happen, don't you?"

"I love you, but even you can't promise that, Will." She paused, swallowed her fear, and when she spoke, her voice shook awful. "I was very young. My uncle would visit my Chambers when my father was away hunting after my mother died. . . He'd never do anything all that I can remember, he just. . . stood there in my doorway and watched me pretend to sleep. When Anna started living with us, she found out and started teaching me magic - or more like we learnt magic together. He was felled in battle with the Franks not six years ago. A good thing, too. For if he lived today, I'd have killed him myself, I think." She played with her sleeve, folding and unfolding it in on itself, nervously.

The sound of waves lapping against the rocks below was the only sound in the room. She closed her eyes and listened to it.

William felt a low burning anger in him, and if he had been any creature of power, he'd have blown the glass out of the windows from where he was still sitting. But since he was only mortal and not kissed by the Gods like his friends, he dealt with it like a mortal.
"Why did you never tell either of us?"

Tears had fallen slowly down her cheek, her neck. She wiped them away quickly and met his stare. "The same reason you never talk about your love life, Will. . . Shame."

He shook his head. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Is. . . It was all him. He was a grown man, and you were a little girl."

She gave him a pointed look.

See?

Ah.

Will flushed. "I'll make a deal. . . I'll try not to be ashamed of my love life, and you can stop being ashamed of what that prick of an uncle did."

After a silent stareing contest, she conceded, "Deal." She smiled gratefully, and he wished he could reach over and hug her.

Merlin:

Castle Penn Draig, Camelot

Anna stood staring at him from behind the bars of his decrepit cell, eyes darker than he'd ever seen them. A guard opened the door, and its creaking metal echoed around the cell walls.

She entered with a tray of food. Or - what they passed for food, anyhow which amounted to a piece of stale bread, mutton, and water. When he turned his nose up at it, she sneered. "What? Shouldn't this meal remind you of childhood?"

He scoffed. Even now, after everything, she couldn't help making snide remarks. "Don't have much of an appetite for poison."

Her smile was serpentine. "What would be the point? You're marked for death now, no matter what."

"Is that what you believe?"

"It's what I know. I mark you for death, Merlin Ambrosius." She dropped the tray in a mockery, and the water splashed across the floor, dampening the hay he slept on. "But let's not waste any more breath on quarrels. Where did you send my sister?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know."

Her laugh rang out like a mockingbird. "We'll see, shall we?" When she called for the guards, he knew whatever was coming, he would have to lie and lie well.

After a long expanse of corridors and dark twists and turns, he was shoved into an unlit room. When Anna breezed in behind the dungeon guards, the smell of lavender following, she had them strap him onto a table like contraption, slightly raised from the ground, with a roller at both ends.

"Leave us. Wait at the end of the corridor." They left without question and closed the door behind them. The torches sat in their holder's along the walls lit up.

He pulled at the rope straps but stopped. The guards had left the metal shackles on, and they dug painfully into his wrists even more so now.

"My father used this room to torture pagans and magic users during the great purge. I swear I used to hear the screams at night. I used to think it was a ghost, I'd scare myself so badly I'd crawl into Arthur's bed and he'd hold me, and then I knew I was safe no matter what, because my big brother was there to protect me."

"How touching." He drawled, ignoring the fleeting thought of hugging close to Ganieda in those moments they'd hear and see things no other village children could. How it had scared them both silly. "Your mother must be so proud of you!"

"She's dead, so I don't particularly think she feels much of anything. Neither does yours, I hear. So sorry. Ballin always was a viscous dog with a lacked leash."

"You sent him?" He rasped. Fists bawled. The thought of his mother made him want to scream.

"No. I may hate you, Merlin-very much, but I wouldn't wish that fate upon anyone." She tilted her head, "But, did I know Ballin was itching for a quest? Yes. Did I know he snapped easily? Also, yes. I thought you would be his victim, though. A fault on my side."

She closed the gap between them in three paces and turned to the lever by his feet. "Do you know what this contraption is?"

When he did not answer, she continued, "Here's how it goes. I ask you a question, you answer. If you don't, or I sense you lie to me, I pull, and then the ropes pull on you."

The first stretch of the ropes hurt. After the twelth, it was agony. What came after agony. . . Was the sound of joints popping out of place, the taste of blood from biting down on his own tongue, his teeth cracking, gums bleeding, muscles tearing.

If his ears hadn't tuned out, It might have been his own screams he heard. For a long time, he was floating, hovering in the inbetween of 'here' and somewhere else entirely.

It was at this point that he realised pain has a colour. Pain was red, like his bloodshot eyes. Like the copper rusted splatters on the stones around him. Like skin before bruising sets in. Pain was black - or is that the gentle kiss of Hel coming to take him away to the Underworld? Pain was green, like illness and plague and fever chills.

Distantly, he laughed. Hope is green. Not pain, but hope, like the grass meadows near home. Like Wills jacket, like the flowers in Mors hair- like her eyes in the dark. A turquoise kind of greeny-blue, a shifting, changing thing.

Green is the promise of a thousand tomorrows, so close he could claw at it, so far away he could dispise it.

Green was a safe haven in the darkest pit of his mind. Blue - no. Not blue. Blue was Anna's eyes, Anna's dress. Ice and cold, and gruelling winters. Blue was the colour of his own eyes. He wanted to scratch them out of his head, but blue was the shade of Ganiedas eyes, too. Bossy and smart, sensitive, and eccentric. She used to have this look in her, a vast, vast sky inside her beautiful mind. He could have sworn, at times he thought he saw glimpses of the great expanse.

If Hel was coming for him, she would appear in the form of his sister, someone who was home. She would stand beside him, kiss his forehead, and say, "Don't be afraid. Be very, very happy. We're going home now. Together - like we should be."

Thirteen. Thirteen was the number of minutes he was alone in the world before Ganieda was born. And thirteen is the number of years they have been apart.

Twins are born together. In his foggy mind, he couldn't help but think him and Ganieda were one soul, split into two bodies, and he could never truly be whole again until he was with her.

He thinks he finally manages to blurt out the word "Avalon," but his voice must have been scratchy, as all he felt was glass in his throat.

The immediate pain had stopped, but the aftershock still wrecked his body. All he could do was lay still, but even that hurt.

He wasn't entirely sure when, but he had passed out, for when Merlin awoke, the old familiar face of the court physician was almost through with tending to his wounds.

For the briefest moment, he thought it had all been a horrible dream. He could see nothing but Gaius's face. Hear nothing, but the scraping of shoes on stone as guard shifts changed somewhere outside the cell walls.

"Gave me quite the freight there." He was real, then. Not the cloudy distance of a dream. Real. This is real. "I don't know how many more freights I can take, Merlin. I am old, you know?"

He tried to sit up and hissed in pain. "-No." He held him down, with gentle hands. "You need rest. I may not be able to check on you much, so I'll send a servant I trust. She'll take care of you in my stead." His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, and he leaned so close to his ear, he felt his hot breath on his cheek. "I don't know how I'm going to get you out of here, but I'm trying everything in my power."

Merlin should have felt relieved. He did not. He was too tired for relief. Relief here meant letting your fate fall into someone else's hands. He was done letting mortal man toss the dice on his life. His fate layed with Wyrd, with the Gods. If they decided it was time to say goodnight, he would turn over right now and sleep forever. Morgana was safe, after all. She didn't need protection anymore. She didn't need him.

He felt no call, though. No cut of the string or tipping of the scales, so he only nodded as best he could and swallowed the sip of crisp water the old man had offered up to his lips.

"Right, then." He dusted himself off. "All done here. Though I still insist you let me treat him in my quarters, it is an outrage that you must make me perform medicinal care to a patient in need, on the floor of a dungeon!"

The voice of a knight - no, not a Knight, the son of one, though- Kay, spoke as he opened the door. "Anna said not to. Poor bastard doesn't look like he's got long anyway. I'll let Arthur know of your concerns, though."

"You make sure he does. I'll tell him with you if you take me to him right this minute."

"No can do old man, he's in a very important. . ." Kays voice became distant and quiet as Merlin felt himself drifting off into a dreamless, hopeless sleep.

Morgana:

The Academy, Avalon

Vivian the unvanquished was a title she lived up to. She was a queen, in her own right. A dragon tamer - the first dragon rider - and practically immortal. Although, all Queens of Avalon had been somewhat immortal. An "extended life" as Vivian had put it. The baton passed from Queen to Queen, all dating back to the Goddess Rhiannon herself. They all looked like Rhiannon, too - her descendents. All white hair and red eyes - or so the tapestries in the portrait Hall would lead one to believe.

The Academy itself was beautiful, far surpassing any monument Morgana herself had ever seen with high towers and a great and large, enchanted library that put Camelots limited records to shame. The vast gardens housed fair folk, Morgana had never seen before. Endless woodlands stretched far beyond, and snowcapped mountains backed the horizon.

Whilst the Academy itself had amazing gardens, it's back half, and pavilion hangs over a great and rushing water fall, known as Sevira Falls, into the Enchanted Lake. One may reach the Pavilion via a ferryman who ferries newcomers to the waters edge by the thousand steps up to the entrance hall.

Morgana had spent three days in the library when she first arrived, learning all she could on almost everything she could think of. First, she read of the Gods, Merlins and Wills, then Isobels, then of the Gods from the ancient world. The Gods so old, their way of worship was almost lost.

She read of the time of giants, the great empire that had invaded and fallen and left panic in their wake. Mountains of books and scrolls she collected on the purge of Camelot, on the seige of Tintagel, and every other kingdom in Albion.

She read of Avalon itself, It was founded by Mæthena Ambrosius, Second daughter of Leander and an unknown Goddess, and is cared for by the nine sisters, or muses of Avalon; Moronoe, Mazoe, Gliten, Glitonea, Theo,Tyronoe, Thiten, Loire and Thitis.

Then, after she had exhausted the shelves, she turned her attention to her own magic.

Vivian had enrolled her into lessons of a sort. She attended herbalism and apothecary for one hour every morning, then onto potions and brewery for two. After dinner it was honing her magic with Vivian, then cartography, studying the width and breath of the land, then history, then study of faiths, then finally, the study of the sciences: alchemy, anatomy, and natural philosophy.

From late evening to nightfall, Morgana would spend her time sitting in a little nook by a large fire with Senovara, consuming any information the library would give her.

Sen herself had lessons of her own. She fought in hand to hand combat, and on the days Morgana had off, she'd have the girl re-teach her sword play.

The classes of The Academy were taught by the nine sisters of the Silent Order. Muses of their own legends, some would say they were older than Vivian herself and just as wise, if not more, although each one took on the appearance of a young maiden.

They taught warlocks, witches and magical creatures to harness, control, and to become mages, Oracle's, Ovates, mæsters, or a sloom and slumber chaser (One who may be able to jump dreams). Or Far-seers (Oracle's that often lose time as much as they see time).

It was the night time she struggled with the most. Usually, she was so tired she'd collapse straight into sleep. Even if she had visions, which now she knew for certainty, she was, in fact, prophetic in nature.

Tonight, however, she was not so lucky. She found her mind wondering to Merlin to Will and Isobel, and she'd feel angry. Angry at Merlin for pushing her through. Worried for Isobel. Missing Will. She had spoken with Vivian and asked her to open the portal again to allow Morgana to leave.

Although she was not a prisoner, Vivian advised against it. She had assured her they would meet again. That he would not meet his death in Camelot, certainly not any time soon. He would be alright, and that made Morgana alright.

Anna:

Arthur was furious. Well, furious was an understatement, to say the least. He had lost his temper at her the moment Kay and Gaius confronted him after the council meeting of the Lords. Which in itself didn't go brilliantly either.

He had agreed to take regency over camelot until their father got better or didn't. On the account that the Lords backed him up in the demand for all the sons born in May to be brought to Camelot under the pretence of selecting a new page boy. She noticed Arthur's demeanour already weighed down with the burden of this. A lot of children were about to die at the hands of Arthur, but it was on her conscience just as much.

"What in God's name is wrong with you!? Do you have any idea what you have done!?" Arthur slammed his fist down on the empty council table.

The throne room was empty, and only the two of them stood alone. "He threatens our family. Every breath that man takes pushes us closer to the edge of ruin."

"What does that even mean, Anna!?" He shook his jacket off and threw it down on the back of his pushed in seat. "I truly am half-sick of your riddles! So, please, please, do enlighten me!"

She considered: Uther; lost his mind and was lying in bed all day and all night long. He can do no harm, at least not to her. Definitely not to Morgana. She was gone now.

Arthur; growing angrier by the second. A man who hates not knowing and is currently clueless on more things than he would like. If she told him the truth, how would he react?
What would he do?

Her number one rule always was; never tell them. Her family could never understand.

Death. Perhaps he would have her killed? No. Arthur doesn't have it in him. Not for her. Never for her.

Trust. Trust may be lost. She needs him to need her trust. Forgiveness? Anna has never wanted forgiveness from anyone. But from Arthur. . . She may need it.

Very well, then. Truth it is.

"You should have pieced it together by now, Arthur. I'm almost disappointed you haven't. But since you haven't, I'll start from the beginning."

He watched her intently. "Beginning of what?"

"Our family history." She pulled out a chair, it's scraping, bouncing off the walls. "Take a seat. Have a drink. You'll need one. . . Or three."

Merlin:

"You look terrible, poor love." He turned his head to face the woman beside him. She was about his age, black hair braided tightly, brown eyes like liquid ore. "I'm Sibyl. Gaius told me to look after you."

"Wh-" He hadn't realised how dry and raw his throat had become. A fit of coughs shook his limbs violently, making him groan out in pain.

Sibyl lifted fresh water to his lips, and he drank greedily until he had to stop for oxygen. "What about Arthur? Does he know I'm. . . Like this?"

She placed the cup down gently, helping him sit up. "Yes. He knows."

His muscles burnt in protest. Gaius must have popped his dislocated joints back into place whilst he was out of it. "He hates me."

She shrugged, "He doesn't hate you. He fears you."

"And you do not?"

"I do not." Her smile was warm and brought him a comfort he hadn't felt in weeks.

"You're not from here." Her vowels were shorter, snappier, like camelot, but her voice was higher, wider in depth. Like those far southwest kingdoms, but it didn't sit right.

"No. I am from the Sibylline Mountains. Then I moved to Corbenic." She draped her hair back behind her ear to show a golden bead braided into a strand of her hair. The sigil of the house of Corbenic.

"You worked for King Pelles?"

"Under his daughter, Princess Elaine. All her staff have to wear a sigil of her house." And by the Gods, was the House of Corbenic beautiful - or so he had heard.

"You aren't in her house anymore."

"No. But I believe one must stay true to themselves. Corbenic was home. And I dearly hope to return one day."

"Why can't you?"

"Not that I can't, I just felt there was more to be seen. Wanted a life of my own. Adventure. Corbenic was the first place I found true purpose since the mountains."

"Tell me about it. Your home in Corbenic." He asked. The thought of being anywhere but here. . .

"Well," Her smile grew as she cast her mind back to the most golden memories. "Corbenic is humid. It's so hot it's hard for greenery. What plants we do have are stubborn but vibrant. The sand dunes sweep almost the entire main island.

"And when the sun rises, the sand looks like an ocean of molten gold.
The city is built from sandstone, we build our houses on top of each other. The market stretches from the sea all the way to the Palace gates.

"The Palace itself is gold and azure. Polished stone, open balconies, and, in the centre of it all, a mighty crystal glass dome. The throne room. When the sun is at its peak, it floods the great hall in sunlight. At night, the constellations reflect on the floor, and it's like your dancing in the heavens."

He felt tears prickling his eyes and wiped them away. "It sounds beautiful."

She laughed. "They don't call it the temple of Sol, for nothing."

"And what about your childhood home? The mountains?"

She paused, "Our home is inside the mountains. Columns of granite. Dark but homely. Magical -" She glanced behind her towards the empty corridor and relaxed. "Different from here. Shouldn't really talk about it. . ."

He nodded in understanding. "Well, your homes sound wonderful."

"I best be going." She stood.

"Wait!" He cringed, trying not to sound desperate, "will you be back?"

A smile again that seemingly came easily to her. "You'll be seeing me a lot. Be back tomorrow."

"- Before then, I need you to find someone for me." He asked. She turned at the door as she was about to call for a guard. "Please. His name is William Henry Fenton, and he lives on Stowe Lane. Tell him I'm back, and to write to Isobel for I am in need of amnesty."

She nodded once. "I'll try first thing."

William had moved on. Or so Sibyl had told him. He figured as much. Will would have gotten to him by now if he were still around, but since he wasn't, Merlin presumed he'd gone on with Isobel to Cornwall.

Perhaps it was better this way, Will would have done anything to free Merlin, including putting his life on the line, and Merlin did not wish to endanger Will or Isobel in his own mess.

"Who is he to you, anyway?" She'd ask.

"My brother."

"You never said you had siblings." she said with a woe of fasination. "I, myself, am an only child."

"I was a twin," he he muttered, meloncholy gripping his heart like an iron fist once more. "but not any more. Will lived near us, but my mother looked after him just as much as she did us."

Sibyl took a seat next to him in the quiet that seemingly stretched the world out like purgatory. "May I ask, what happened to them?"

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "They died. My mother quite recently. Just before I was brought here, actually." a flash of his mother hanging from that same tree he and his sister had played tig around years prior took a hold of his vision for a moment.

She must have felt him tense because she rested her hand on his upper arm in comfort, "I'm sure she is at peace. She must have been happy in her life, living in the open fields with you." He shook his head, so she continued, "You're a good man, Merlin. You are capable of making people happy. Why would she be an exception?"

"I think she was the most sorrowful lady in all the land, though, she hid it well, for she always had a smile for me and my sister. And after Wills father died, she cared for him like he was my blood brother. I'm half surprised he didn't elect to calling her mother, too, considering she was the only mother William ever had."

The hours Sibyl would visit him quickly became his favourite part of the day -evening, to be precise- because he could now, be precise, thanks to Sibyl who had informed him that she only visited him at the end of her shift when nobody would miss her.

She had no family in Camelot and only a few friends, fellow maids, and vendors. This allowed Merlin some semblance of control over his sleep schedule, though most nights he would awake after only two hours and wonder what time of day it was.

The last time she had visited him, only yesterday, she had leaned in and placed a gentle kiss upon his lips, which he had not expected, but gave back in passion just the same. He was sad after. She had said so herself that he looked sad and needed comforting. He was inclined to agree. Loneliness was colder than winter, and Sibyl was sunshine.

Isobel:

As summer turned her head to wilting leaves and colder winds, Isobel could no longer bear the dance of avoidance she had been tapping her feet to all summer long. Cador was mercifully understanding. However, Mark was quite the opposite. Not that his opinion mattered to her. After all, she was a queen to be, and he was just a lord spare.

Hedrek had been gentle in persuasion, leaving flowers in places about the castle so she would find them on her walks about the grounds. After a while of this, she had begun to feel rather guilty. He was a kind man. After all, hadn't she hoped for this? It was on one of these very walks, she came across not Hedrek, but Tristan. He stood with a Windflower in hand and a sheepish look on his face.

"I feel like I've been caught."

The imediate panic faded as a smile broke through, "As do I." Grimacing, she took a few paces towards him and plucked the flower from his hands. "What are you doing here, Sir?" The flower itself was lovely, deep orange as it had been picked before it got a chance to turn its crimson red.

Tristan inclined his head towards the gallery door that led out towards the Dukes halls. "I am an emissary. Trade talks brought me here a few days ago."

He had been here for days and not approached her at all. "Are you the one leaving flowers everywhere?"

"Yes." He smiled his charming smile, but this time, she wouldn't have it. supressing a little disappointment from it not, in fact, being her betrothed that had been silently communicating his devotion from afar through the pretty petals. "Well, I think it is most inappropriate. You- robbing bees of their pollen!"

His head tilted in amusement. "Well, why don't we go for a stroll through the meadow so I might apologise for said bees?"

"I am rather content with the art in here, thank you."

"They remind you of home, don't they?" he turned to look at the tapestries depicting legends from Brittany and the continent.

"Yes. I've never missed my father so much. We write, but he is a much beloved ruler, always busy." When she wasn't with Will, she was here. Taking in the stories of her childhood and the reminders of her mother. Her father had beaten the Franks in battle not too many weeks ago, she was not niave enough to know that it was just one battle of a long standing war which would rage long after she takes the crown.

"What does this say, just here?" he asked, tracing his finger above the golden embroided words of a dead language.

She bit her tongue, "I don't know."

"it's Armorician, is it not?"

"Gaulish and, yes, it is. But when my ancestor invaded, he cut the tongues out of all the native women so the language would die off. Only some texts remain, thanks to Priestesses of their time who hid them away, until my father, of course. he has a fascination with the old world."

Tristan gave her a side long glance, "but you know what this says, because you have learnt it anyway."

"That is a bold accusation, Sir. If I did, it would be forbidden." She said nonchalantly. Though, he was right. the texts were just there, sitting in her library at home. of course, she had read them, then persuaded her old priest to help her translate them. She could only speak a little of the ancient Gaulish Langauge, but a little was all she needed right now. "it says; Hubris cost man the gift of being forgotten."

"Gift?" He recoiled, "Where is the gift in being forgotten, my lady?"

"History is a burden, Sir Tristan. Their hubris cost them their lives earlier than the fates allotted. The choice is rather simple; be bright and burn out, or be smaller and live longer. It is a trade, you see? Time alive, or time in legend. You very rarely have both."

"I would rather be immortal in legend than in life." He said regarding the tapestries around them.

"Then I pity your half-life, Sir."

He turned his full attention to her and took the flower from her hands, placing it gently in her hair, his hand lingering on her jaw. "What is your name, Princess?"

She drew her brows together in slight confusion, "Isobel, Sir. I thought you knew. . ."

"No, I mean in your native tongue. what is it?"

Nobody had ever asked her that before. They always took Isobel on the chin, and she went with it because honestly, it was easier than having to explain the entire turmoiled history of her Kingdom. "Iseult. My name is Iseult."

Tristan took her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. "Well, Princess Iseult of Armorica, would you do me the pleasure of accompanying me on a walk about the grounds."

Merlin:

Winter

It was many months until Arthur seemingly plucked up the courage to visit him.

Sibyl had started visiting him more often, bringing warmer clothes, hot stew, anything she could get her hands on. She brought news of the court and of Arthur and Anna. He had taken charge over camelot, though everyone knew it was Anna who had the regents ear.

They had called for sons of Lords to be brought to the castle so that the king may select a new page boy and the commotion of them all arriving over the last few days had made it much harder for Sibyl to stay for a prolonged amount of time.

When Merlin finally came face to face with Arthur, to his credit, he unlocked the cell door himself and stood not two paces in front of him, which was bold considering that if he had been cruel and uncaring, Merlin may have strangled him with his chains.

"I'm sorry, Merlin, that we've come to this." Arthur was more hollow than sincere, but Merlin soaked up any hint of kindness he could get from anyone.

"As am I." Was all he could muster. I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I took your sister from you, but she really did hate it here, and your other sister is just insane and your father is no better. I wanted to tell you. I hoped you'd be better than your father because I've seen your kindness. It's hard for most to see, but it's there, I know it is. Please don't kill me. I won't ever kill you, Arthur. Never you. You were my friend. Or, at least, as much a servant and their Prince can be friends. Please don't throw me to the wolves. Please don't throw me to the feet of your sister again. By all the love of all the Gods, please do not hate me.

Then Arthur said something that made him cringe away. "You are sentenced to be beheaded tomorrow. With other criminals."

"What?" The air seemed to leave the room, along with his good sense. This is a jest, a fib, surely!

Arthur looked downcast and solemn. "The Lords pushed for a review of our cases down here in the dungeons. They like it to be somewhat clean for when a new monarch resumes control. The vote was unanimous."

"But, you don't want to kill me, do you, Arthur?" He shuffled closer only a fraction, eyes pleading.

"No. Which is why I have arranged for you to be lined up with the other criminals. The slave traiders of Lyonesse take their pickings from the line of the damned. If you are lucky, you may be selected."

Ah, Lyonesse. The home of Tristan. The biggest slave traiding hub this side of Albion. His insides twisted at the thought.

"You stay here, and the people will kill you if Anna doesn't. At least in Lyonesse, you'll have a fighting chance."

"Or on the gallows, in the slave mart!?" And just like that, the bitterness returned. The rage he'd brewed for the last few months had finally surfaced.

"Believe it or not, Merlin, this is a kindness. Men have killed for less."

"Uther has killed for less!"

"It's the best I can do." Just when Merlin thought Arthur was going to leave, he turned back to look at him, his fine shirt clean and embroidered, and put Merlins sorry appearance to absolute shambles. "Gaius says Avalon is a good place. A place of true peace. . . Is Morgana truly safe?"

Merlin looked back at Arthur, and instead of a prince, all he saw was a worried brother. He saw himself reflected in those strained, tired eyes. "Yes. More than that, she's happy. Do you even remember the last time you saw her happy?" Perhaps he shouldn't have put as much of a bite into his last question than he did, but for years, Merlin had watched over Morgana and seldom did he ever see her smile, even less did she laugh.

Arthur's eyes trained away from Merlins frame and into a dark corner of the cell. He said nothing, and when the door closed at his exit, Merlin was left with the alone thought of Morgana.

The streets behind Pen Draig castle were always crammed with traiders looking to make quick profit. The jarring cacophany of traiders shouting prices and the shuffling of chains and bound hands was deafening to his ears after spending all summer locked up in a dark, quiet dungeon cell. It was the sunlight that hurt the most, blinding his eyes as he was lead into the row of damned men and women, that he almost bumped into the man in front of him.

"Oi! watch it." the bearded man grumbled, pulling on his own chains.

"Sorry." he uttered back, only half paying attention to him. Merlins eyes scanned the wide open street for the mark of a Lyonesse traider, but all he saw was condemned people fighting further up the line to get to the front. He leaned over to the man, "Why are they fighting?"

"To get to the front." He said matter-of-factly. Merlin was perplexed to hear no fear in his voice.

"Why would anyone want to meet their death sooner?"

"For a clean chop, of course. The axe goes blunt after the first few heads. We should be alright, I think, if the executioners aim is any good. If he's shit, he'll have to hack at you a bit."

He gulped and didn't care much if the stranger heard him or not. "Gods."

"Oh, I don't care. Gonna be dead within the hour either way." He shrugged.

"Hang on, I thought we were scentanced to the gallows?"

"Nah, gallows broke yesterday. Lucky us, ey? Rather a quick chop than a slow suffication-"

"Line up! Line up now! Come on, look alive whilst you still are!" A voice rose up along his section of the line. Merlin turned his attention to a short man donning a tattered tunic and little checklist in hand, telling Merlin this man was a salesman of Uthers employment.

When a young lad in burgondy approached from further down the road, the mousy looking mans frown turned pleasent at the promise of purchase. They moved together, the Lyonesse emessary pointing at certain men or women or children, taking a good look at them as they're dragged from their place, and nodding for them to be taken away, or allowing the sick or feeble to be pushed back in line.

Finally, after what felt like a thousand hours of painful waiting, they reached closer. "I'll take him. Him. Her." His hazel eyes and sharp accent landed upon Merlin, as he was dragged to stand forward. "This one."

"A strapping young lad, if I may say, sir. Excelent choice!" He gushed, jotting the numbers on each tag onto a roll of parchment. The short man frowned. "Oh, this one's a sorcerer," He tugged at Merlins own restraints. "Keep these on him at all times and tell your master. The smithy's over there for branding." Merlins heart lurched a little at the mention of hot metal burning him. The salesman went back to his business, shouting for the guards, "Put the others back in line! Continue!" He yelled out. Guards began to unchain the chosen from the long row of rope, Merlin, himself among them, and pushed back those who were not on the list.

The smithys amounted to an open stone shelter about halfway to the docks at the bottom of the traiders' road. It was a hot, stuffy place that stunk of metal and sweat. The men who worked there were worse off, looking miserably glib.

The Lyonesse guards, who were now in charge of escorting Merlin and his fellow captured, led him to a dipped block of stone sat just outside the blacksmiths. The strap that came around his wrist dug painfully into his already bruised arms, and he couldn't help but laugh at the sardonicism of his pradicament. The brand was a red hot band simmering before it even met with his skin.

When the large welder lowered it just above his wrist, it burnt with a searing white pain. His head swam with dizziness and the smell of burnt flesh as the sizzling sound like cooked meat met his ears. He tuned it out when his voice went haorse from groaning.

He could feel the buzzing of magic under the surface in his very bones, but nothing came to. When the metal was removed and he was shoved away towards the boats to await the others, instinct took its hold, and he lifted his right hand over the freshly burnt 'S'.

When he removed his hand, and the 'S' remained, a well of anger erupted within him. How could Arthur do this to him? How could the Gods alllow this? How could he let himself get into this position?

Damn the Gods. Damn the Pendragons. Damn his father.

He missed his mother. He missed her kindness. How she'd soothed his injuries and his ailments. He missed the father he barely had. Missed Ganieda like the sun missess the moon when it rises. Longed for Morgana. Her laugh was music. Wanted nothing more than William and his foolish jokes. He wanted Isobel to wrap her arms around him, warming his heart better than any woollen blanket.

when he stood on deck, he stood alone. the other slaves were behind him, a fight had broken out somewhere along the docks, and the guards had gone to defuse the chaos. Only sailors remained, and they paid him no attention as he stepped closer to the edge of the low railing.

If he jumped, he would sink. His chains were too heavy, and he was too weak to swim. Perhaps that would be nice, he thought, sinking slowly into peaceful nothingness. The water was mud brown and freezing. Nobody would see him. Would Geat allow him to die in his domain? He shouldn't think so. Geat was a God, and he was but a shadow of the man he used to be. But the water called, its lapping against the side of the boat was like a drum beat; jump in, let me embrace you, let me quiet the bells in your head. I will catch you, should you lean over just a little further. Do not be afraid, for your family is waiting for you on the other side, and I am but another gateway.

He took a breath, another, leaning forwards a little more with every solumn, sunken, heartbeat. Then, a hand on his shoulder. "Don't do it, friend. Come, sit with me before they drag you into a seat and separate us. Breathe, whilst I talk."

His eyes, clouded with tears he hadn't realised were forming, met eyes so pale they seemed alomst white, red hair so long it caught in the hilt of the sword she was wearing above shimmering silver armour. A female knight, perhaps, though that was rare for Camelot and Lyonesse. "Why do you weep? You have won a great battle today." Her accent was Pictish, but she spoke with a softness not usually reserved for a harsh northern peoples.