Prologue

Hunith had just straightened up from stoking the sputtering fire when she saw, through the doorway, that those men had returned. The cloth she had drawn across the open threshold to keep back the draft fluttered back and forth in the wind from outside. Every time it blew back and revealed the outside, the men were closer. And closer. Too close. She tightened her jaw. Felt the cold metal poker in her hand. Gripped it. Let it bite into her palm. Good.

She hurled it to the floor.

"Mama?" That soft voice from the bed.

It didn't help. Her body buzzed and her face was hot.

She stepped over the deep gouges that the poker left in the floor. Hunith touched the small body in the bed, under as many blankets as she could give him. "Sleep, baby. I'm going out, only for a bit." And she marched through the veil in the doorway.

Came back. Picked up the poker. Then marched out again.

The men had stopped at where the worn dirt path led up to her home. It was only a few steps away from her doorstep. But too close. Hunith shook the poker at the three men, whose robes were green and gray and reached the ground. Too many times had she seen their green cloth. Too many times had the other villagers seen them talking to Hunith. Too close. She hoped the poker was still hot from the fire.

"Leave. Please." Were all the words she could manage.

"We want to help him." The man in the middle spoke. He had no beard and his curly hair, once a dark brown, was greying at the roots.

"Please." Hunith's hand shook with the weight of the poker.

The man to the left stepped forward. "He may die-"

"No." Hunith struck the ground before his feet, leaving a deep gash in the dirt. "Too close… You're too close."

Their faces became drawn and wrinkled, each frowning in their own way.

"The others…the others in the village have been talking." Hunith looked out into the dusky street. No one was in sight. But still. Too close. "They already know he's…odd. If you keep coming. I don't know-…" Her voice was cracking and she took a breath, steadying her quivering resolve. "They'll send people to take him away. You can't keep coming here."

"Your son, he has gifts-"

"I don't care!"

Her voice echoed. Too loud. Hunith took another deep breath and lowered the poker.

"I don't care." She shook her head and whispered. "No one can know."

"We want to protect him too." The silvering-haired man spoke again. He seemed like the leader. "He is in danger here, in a small village. But with us…" It looked like he tried to smile at her, but he was failing. "With us he will have guidance, a community of those like him."

"And let my son go. Let him disappear from my arms, like he never existed?" Hunith wiped her nose. "He's a boy. He can't be without his mother. Who'll…who'll love 'im?"

The man on the right leaned forward, hands out, pleading. He was ginger-bearded, but young. "At least let us help him. If he dies, your love is wasted besides."

Hunith felt her words come out in a hiss. "Don't you say that." She raised the poker again. "Don't you say that again or I swear to you, I am a gentle woman, but I won't hesitate to strike you down."

How dare he tell me how to love my son. How dare he think he knows what it is to have that boy's hand in yours, or his blue eyes looking up at you, or his stupid little laugh he does when he knows he's done something bad.

Her chest hurt just thinking about it. Something inside hurt.

Maybe a minute or so passed before she stood back to let them pass into the house. "Help him, please. But I can't promise- He's my boy. I just can't." Hunith swallowed back a sob, hoping she wouldn't regret this. Hoping that the other villagers, who already looked at her and her bastard son with disgust, wouldn't know that she let these men in her house, these druids, as folks called them.

My small boy and I could be run out of the village. Or worse.

The three druids passed silently before her, entering the small home. The middle druid, the leader, stopped beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. "My lady…"

"Hunith."

"Hunith." He spoke her name gently. "I am Iseldir, and I swear to you, I will save your son."

Hunith wiped her eyes with her apron and took a deep breath, her sigh quavering as she let it out again. "Why do you care so much for him?"

"His gifts…" Iseldir trailed off for a moment then motioned for Hunith to go inside the house. He followed her. "We look for those kinds of gifts all over this land, and we take those that have them in, protect them, teach them. They are important. And your son, he is a very important boy."

"Yes." Hunith sniffed. "He is."

Back inside her home, it was much dimmer than outside under the gray blanket of clouds that hung over the land. Hunith broke away from the druids and went back to the fire, stabbing at it with her poker. But she didn't set the piece of metal down. No. She felt like it was a part of her at this point. An extension of my arm. She stood by the fire and watched.

The three men crowded around her son's small body. Touching his forehead. Gripping his wrist. Muttering to each other.

Should I have called the healer down the street again? He had said to keep him warm and to wait. But it had been days and none of the herbs had worked. And there were no bright blue eyes for her or wide smiles that stretched from ear to ear. The ears that stuck out so perfectly for her to grab onto when he nicked too many sweet cakes. Gods, why do I keep thinking like this? She had to wipe her eyes again on her apron.

The ginger-bearded man turned back to her. "How long has he had this fever?"

"A few days." Hunith cleared her throat. "He's been mostly asleep for two whole days, and nights. This is the third. In and out a few times…"

They became silent again. Hunched over her sick boy. Just between their bodies, Hunith could see the pale drawn face of her son, eyes closed and sunken deep into his delicate face. His cheekbones stood out sharply, shining with sweat. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead. My poor boy. My poor, poor boy.

"We cannot heal him." The other man with the shaved head, the one without the beard or the silvering hair, spoke. He turned around. "He is too far gone. We don't have the supplies with us."

"But-"

"Back at our camp, " Iseldir broke in and stepped forward to Hunith. "A day's travel from here, we have what we need to save him there. He will not last much longer."

"I-" Hunith tried again.

The ginger-bearded man still crouched by the boy's small body, holding that thin wrist. "He's close…we have to leave now, if he is to have a chance."

"Hunith." Iseldir took her hand. "Let us save him. You said it too, he is important."

Hunith closed her eyes, lips quivering. My boy. My sweet, sweet boy. To save him was to send him away. And to send him away from her, from her arms, from her love, was to save him. Was there no other way? I want him here. I want him here with me. Was that too selfish? Would he be better off away from my love? Who would he become if he were to grow and live here, always afraid, always hiding? She could not let him live like that.

"Take him." She whispered. "Please." Her whole body felt cold. "Teach him. Let him grow up somewhere where he won't have to hide."

Iseldir took her hands again and pressed them to his lips. "Hunith, we are going to save your son, and he will grow up to be a great man. The greatest to ever live."

Hunith watched as the young, ginger-haired man scooped up her son. The boy was limp and pale in his large arms. "Please, just let him live."

"He will." Iseldir bowed. "What is his name?"

Hunith dropped the poker on the floor. "M-merlin,… his name is Merlin."

Chapter 1: The End of the Beginning

Mordred looked up at his Master and smiled, holding tight to the larger hand and swinging it back and forth as they walked. He squinted in the bright sun, but the face of his Master was clear. He was a fairly tall man, with dark hair and pale skin, long limbs and a kind smile. Kind of like Mordred himself. But Mordred did not tell anyone this. And he definitely did not tell anyone that he sometimes pretended his Master was his father. It made sense to him though, even if his Master was too young to have a son Mordred's age. But they looked so alike. And they both had the same talents. His Master had even told him that they tied their knots the same way when they were pitching the lean-to the other night. He had grinned all that night and felt like he would burst from happiness. He was so proud. So it made sense to pretend that his Master was his father. It made sense.

It was better than trying to remember the fuzzy memories of his real father that faded away each time Mordred tried to remember them. Like trying to catch smoke. It was much nicer to pretend his father was here and was his Master. He was so lucky to have Emrys as his Master. Emrys was younger than all the other Elders, but he was the smartest and best of them all. At least, that's how it seemed. Everyone asked him for advice. And when they met new people, they would bow a little to his Master. Mordred was very proud of this.

It was too bad that the people of this city did not know how important his Master was, Mordred thought, as they passed through the crowds of the marketplace. But it would be dangerous here. That's what they had said before this journey. It will be dangerous. But so far, Mordred had seen no danger. None at all. They had entered Camelot this morning and still nothing had come of it. They spent the day gathering supplies and there was one more thing to find before they left and returned to the camp. His Master was looking for it now. There was someone they had to meet. Mordred watched his Master as he peered over the crowds, searching.

His Master stopped for a moment, then began walking very quickly. Mordred was soon pulled behind his Master through the crowds by his hand. He followed as best as he could, tripping a little as he went. Mordred went down. The cobblestones of the street were warm from the sunlight. His hand was scraped.

"Are you okay?"

Mordred looked up into the face of his Master. "I'm sorry, I fell." He took the hand that was held out to him.

"You're sorry?" His Master pulled Mordred to his feet and dusted off his clothes. "I'm the clot-pole that dropped you, I should be saying sorry." And his Master smiled down on him. "I'll be more careful next time, I promise."

Mordred nodded. It was still probably his own fault. He hadn't been looking at where he was stepping anyway.

"Now, we're going to get one more thing and then we are leaving." His Master squeezed his hand. "We must be quick. Are you ready?" He crouched and looked into Mordred's face, blue eyes bright with the sunlight falling on them. He smiled again at Mordred.

Mordred nodded again. He said nothing. The others had told him to obey without question and that he must only speak when spoken to. But he did not know why they should be quick. He knew that Camelot was dangerous. But it did not seem so. It was bright and sunny and all the people in the market were smiling and happy. What was the danger exactly?

"Good." His Master stood again and began leading Mordred by the hand through the market crowds.

They soon stopped at a stall and his Master began to talk to the man there. A couple minutes passed. Mordred watched people pass by and swung his Master's hand back and forth as he waited. There was a juggler across the way and other children watching him. Mordred giggled. The juggler dropped a ball on his own head. It bounced off, fell into the juggler's own hand again. And he went back to juggling. All the other children laughed too. Maybe he could go over there? His Master knew how to juggle, maybe he wouldn't mind-

Then something slid out of place. Mordred froze. Something was wrong. He felt his body go cold, even though he was standing there in the bright sunshine. His Master had gone stiff beside him and Mordred could tell that something was wrong, very wrong. And then, his Master ran. Mordred tried to keep up. He tried to watch his feet. Shouts. Shouts all around! What was happening?

Mordred was dragged in and out of the crowd. Faces flashed by. The sun above made him squint. Where were they going?

He could hear his Master panting as they ran.

Mordred looked back. He saw the soldiers. He saw their shiny armor. He saw their swords. Mordred tried to run faster.

Was this the danger?

His Master ducked behind some stalls, and around others, Mordred kept stumbling and almost falling but his Master kept him up. Would they get out of Camelot? He saw the gateway they had come through this morning. It was blocked by soldiers.

His Master pulled him to the right. They ran under an archway. More shouting. More running feet. Mordred's heart was about to burst from his chest. His lungs burned. His legs ached.

And then, from above, a cry. Mordred looked up. His Master stuttered to a stop. A soldier leapt from a ledge up high, sword raised, the blade catching the sun as he flew down towards them. Mordred froze. He could not move. He could not was pushed.

Moments later, he was on the ground, tasting dust. Scraped hands stung. He shook his head and his Master stumbled to his feet too, clutching his arm and swaying. He was standing between the soldier and Mordred. The soldier advanced. His Master, without looking, reached behind him and towards Mordred. Mordred grasped his Master's hand again. It was slick. Slippery. There was a tang in the air. Mordred looked down.

He felt his Master's magic thrum; the air vibrated and there was a brief pressure on Mordred's chest. It was a like a rumble of thunder, but without the sound. He could feel it. Sense it.

His Master's hand was covered in blood. Mordred tried to let go but his Master held him tightly. He twisted in his Master's grip. The blood. Wrenched. Slick and wet. The hand crushed his. The soldier screamed.

Mordred looked up and saw the man fly a distance and hit an opposite wall. Hit it hard. Crumpled to the ground and did not move. And they ran again. They were out of the marketplace now. No more stalls. No more happy people. Mordred did not know where they were.

His Master pulled him into a dim alley between two stone walls, covered by a few crates that sat piled there, and crouched down, pulling Mordred down beside him. And his Master watched, panting softly, staring out from behind the crates. He watched. Mordred watched his Master. They did not see any soldiers yet. No soldiers had seen them yet. Not yet.

"Are we safe?" Mordred whispered.

His Master leaned on the crates and sighed. "It's going to be okay, Mordred." He smiled at the apprentice. "We'll get out of here, I promise."

Mordred looked down at their hands. They had become tacky with his Master's blood, almost stuck together. The dried blood stained both of their hands now. And his Master did not let go of Mordred's hand. Not once.

Morgana had her cup to her lips when she felt a cry echo throughout her body, desperation and a plea flooded her senses. She had to help. She slammed the cup on the table. Her watered-down wine flew, splashed on her hands and the front of her gown. She had to help.

"My lady?!"

Gwen was beside her and mopping up the spilled wine in a moment, taking her hands, asking if she was well.

No, she was not well. Someone was scared and alone and needed help. Someone nearby. She tried to say this. But the words, the words did not make sense.

"Gwen…I need to help."

Gwen put a hand to her elbow, pushing her to a chair. "My lady, sit down, you are not well."

Morgana would not be budged. She stood there, like a rock. "No, Gwen." She felt another coming, another wave of fear. "Someone…"

Help us, please!

Morgana ran to her door. She could feel Gwen grabbing at her arm as she went but she shook it off.

"My lady!" Her maid exclaimed.

Morgana pulled open her heavy door and stepped out. "I'll be back, Gwen, wait here." She looked around the corridor. "I need to…"

And other wave broke over her.

Help!

Morgana did not know where to go, but something pulled her towards the outside, towards the courtyard. She heard Gwen following her. No matter. It did not matter. She had to find…it. Someone needed help and it was driving her mad. That fear, that panic. Morgana had to do something. Anything. She stepped outside, from the cool castle corridors to the sharp sunshine. Her eyes adjusted. The courtyard was full of activity. Servants and craftsmen walked here and there. Nothing looked out of place. No one seemed to be in any danger.

Please! You have to help us!

Morgana's eyes snapped to a small alley across the courtyard, half covered by crates. Someone stood there. Maybe. She could not quite make it out. The crates were in the way. Morgana descended down the castle steps and shrugged off her frightened maid again.

"My lady, please come back inside."

"Just a moment, Gwen, just a moment." Morgana kept her eyes fixed on that alley and walked to the side to get a better view.

Two small figures crouched there behind the crates, clad in dull green, and watching her. Watching her just as she watched them. Morgana could not take her eyes off them.

Help us.

Morgana reached back and snatched up her maid's hand. Gwen gasped but gripped Morgana's hand too. "Gwen." Morgana spoke softly.

"Yes, my lady?"

They had not shouted. "There are two…people over there? Yes?" There had been no sound, but somehow Morgana had heard them. Somehow.

Gwen moved to stand beside Morgana and was silent for a moment before speaking again. "Yes, my lady. I see them. "

Morgana saw a few soldiers enter the courtyard. They were talking to the servants and other villagers. Searching the courtyard. Morgana looked back to the two figures crouched behind the crates. They were both dark-haired and small. That was all she could make out so far. Why were they-

They're searching for us.

Morgana frowned. She did not know how to reply, but she felt it. She had to try. She closed her eyes and sent a thought towards them. Why are they after you?

They're going to kill us. Terrified. They were terrified. She could almost feel the voice shaking.

Morgana's eyes snapped open again and saw the guards' progress across the courtyard. They were getting dangerously close to the hiding place. Too close. Morgana picked up a corner of her skirt and walked down the rest of the castle steps, Gwen's hand still firmly in her own.

"Come, Gwen." She murmured. "Only for a moment."

"I don't understand what's going on, my lady." They were crossing the courtyard now. Gwen was walking with small, stiff steps. "You're scaring me." Gwen was trying to stop her.

"I think…" Morgana spoke slowly, trying to figure out what to say. She could scarcely understand it herself. But someone had called to her. Someone that needed help. And she couldn't leave it be or else it would drive her mad. "I think that these people are in trouble. I want to help them. Gwen…" Morgana stopped in the middle of the courtyard, servants and other commoners were passing them by on all sides, and she turned to her maid. Morgana took Gwen's other hand. "Gwen, trust me, please."

"Of course, my lady." Gwen lowered her eyes to the cobblestones.

They finished crossing the courtyard, Morgana willing the guards to stay away from that little alleyway. They did, thankfully. She could feel Gwen holding her breath the entire time, squeezing Morgana's hand hard enough to hurt, but she did not mind. And when Morgana finally reached that little hiding place, she could properly see who had called for help. Called her for help.

A young boy and a young man. The young boy was crouching on the ground, looking up at her with big blue eyes, staring through a mess of dark hair that lay plastered to his forehead. He was panting. Morgana's eyes switched to the young man. He sat on the ground next to the boy, legs drawn to his chest and leaning back on the stone wall. He was watching Morgana too. He was holding the boy's hand. There was blood there. Blood. Morgana took a step back. Blood stained the sleeve of the young man's tunic and had run down his arm to stain both their hands. Some of it was dried, some still wet. Morgana couldn't breathe. What could she do? What should she do? Her mind went blank.

"My lady."

Morgana could not tear her eyes away from the wound.

"My lady." Gwen gripped her shoulder. "What should we do?"

Morgana started and looked to her maid. "What?" She struggled to get her thoughts moving again. The boys. Yes, the boys here. Dark haired and looking up at her. "Yes." Morgana took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, yes."

They needed to move, now. But perhaps the guards would recognize them. Probably. But only by their clothes. If Morgana could hide their clothes with something she could sneak them somewhere safer. Those cloaks. Morgana eyed the gray-green cloaks, both of them. They would surely stand out if she saw two people wearing them, side-by-side. Eliminate the cloaks and disguise the boys. Then move them to a safer place. What would be safer? Her chambers sprang first into her mind, of course it did. But was it smart? She didn't know. But she didn't have time for this. No one had time for this. Morgana had to act, now!

"Gwen, return to my chambers and find the longest hooded cloak you can. Bring it back here. Will you do that for me?" Morgana put a hand on top of her maid's hand, which was still resting on her shoulder. "Please?"

"Yes, my lady." And in a moment, Gwen was gone, across the courtyard, and hurrying up the steps.

Morgana turned back to the two boys in dull green. "I'm going to help you. Don't worry."

The young boy, who was maybe nine or ten years old nodded. The young man, who seemed closer to eighteen years, just let his head rest on the stone wall behind him, eyes half-closed and very pale. Morgana looked to the wound in the young man's arm again and felt her heart jolt. However many times she looked at it, that quickening of her heart always happened. That wound needed care, but they had to wait until they were safe. They had to wait just a little while longer.

Minutes passed. Morgana kept looking from the two boys by her side and then to the castle steps again. Finally, Gwen appeared. Finally!. She carried a bundle and was walking as quickly as she could. Morgana felt a rush of love for the maid. How brave and how kind she was, to put up Morgana's strange moods and help her unquestioningly.

"It's the best I could find." Gwen spoke only when she was close beside Morgana, her breath hitting Morgana's cheek as she spoke.

Morgana unwrapped the, sadly, dark green cloak. It was velvet and heavy and had always dragged on the ground as she walked. It was in all ways perfect except for the fact that it was green and might alert the guards. Morgana glanced up at Gwen and smiled. No matter. They would make do. Morgana turned to the two dark-haired boys.

"Take off your cloaks, hurry!" She whispered. The guards were mostly gone from the courtyard now, but some were posted at the entrances. She had to be careful. They all had to be very careful and not attract too much attention.

The boy did as he was told and let his cloak fall to the ground. The young man slowly worked on the clasp of his own cloak, fingers slipping. Morgana crouched down and reached over and undid the clasp in a second. She gently pushed the cloak off the young man's shoulders as he looked up and met her eyes. He was tired. He was hurt. Morgana swallowed hard. She would be able to help him once they were hidden and safe. They had to do that first. She held the cloak out to the young man.

"You must put this on." He took it from her, hand brushing her hand, it was cool and clammy. Morgana continued, "Draw it about your body with the hood up and Gwen will walk with you, holding your arm. It will look as though she is escorting me to my chambers after taking ill, or something like that." She shrugged.

The young man looked to the boy and then back to Morgana. His hands were shaking as he fumbled with the cloak, putting it on.

Morgana nodded. "I will bring him up after Gwen has taken you to my chambers. We're trying not to arouse suspicion, so I will wait a few minutes. I promise, I will take care of him." She tried to smile but found it difficult, it felt like a grimace instead.

The young man nodded too and sat up a little and his face went a few shades whiter. He swayed. Then stood. Put a hand to the wall, leaned on it, then finished pulling the cloak about his body. It completely covered him, from shoulder to foot.

"What am I to do, my lady?" Gwen asked.

Morgana reached and pulled the hood of the dark green cloak over the head of the young man. "Take him to my chambers, Gwen. If anyone asks, I felt faint in the sunlight and that I must lie down." She made sure the hood was pulled low enough to hide the man's face, then turned to Gwen. "I will be along shortly with the boy."

"My lady…" Gwen began but when their eyes met, Gwen quickly lowered hers. "I'm sorry."

"It will be fine." Morgana took the man's arm. He gasped. Morgana quickly let go. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" She murmured, then took the other arm, and gave it to Gwen to hold. "I am right behind you, Gwen."

The maid nodded and held the arm of the young man gently. They walked off into the courtyard. Morgana stood in front of the boy, who was standing now, and blocked him from the view of any passersby. He and Morgana watched Gwen and the cloaked imposter. They made it across the courtyard. And up the steps. They disappeared into the shadows of the castle. Good.

Morgana turned to the boy and smiled down at him. "We will follow them shortly. Do not worry." The boy kept staring at the castle and said nothing. "What's your name?" She asked. And she waited. He said nothing. Morgana bit her lip and sighed. It had probably been long enough now. Probably. She held out her hand to the young boy with the big blue eyes and dark hair. "Here. Let us go in as well."

He looked at her hand, then up at her, and reached out with his as well. It was covered in dried blood. Morgana did not recoil, though she wanted to. She took his little rust-colored hand. And together, they walked out of the shadows of that alley and into the sunlight of the castle courtyard. Morgana walked slowly, eyed those that passed by. No one seemed to be noticing them. She felt the tension in her chest slowly easing. The steps up to the castle were just ahead. Perfect. Wonderful. They were almost there-

"Milady!"

Morgana froze. She turned around and tried her best to smile. A guard approached her, helm on, so she could not recognize him.

"Do you need any help?" He nodded down at the boy.

"Oh." Morgana's mind raced. "No, we are just fine. I was…" Think, damn you, think! "I was escorting this boy to his mother." Good… good… "She's a servant in the kitchens and he was looking for her. So I was just…taking him to her. I know where she is." Morgana put a hand on the boy's head and rubbed his hair a little. "She makes the best meat pies."

"Oh, yeah." The guard nodded a little, hand on his sword. "I think I've had those, they've got the-"

"Yes!" Morgana agreed. Always agree. "Those. I absolutely love them."

"Best I've ever had." The guard reached out a gloved hand. "I can take him to his mum, don't worry yourself."

Morgana took a step back. "Oh, actually. She asked me to help him, to bring him to the kitchens. I- Well, I gave my word." She tried to laugh a little. "You know, the bonds between women."

"If you're sure." He shrugged and moved away a little, stepping back. "We have a few fugitives on the loose in the city. Be careful, milady."

Morgana turned back to the castle steps. "Thank you!" She called back, feeling as though she were drenched in sweat. Morgana and the boy both hurried up the steps and into the cool, dark corridors of the castle. "Almost there." She muttered. And they turned a few corners, found the spiral staircase, and then finally her own chambers. Morgana opened the door quickly and pulled the boy inside. Finally, safe. She sighed and turned around.

"My lady, help!" Gwen was on the floor, kneeling over the young man. He lay on the stone floor, still wearing the green velvet cloak. He was very white and very still. He would not move.

Emrys opened his eyes and soon understood that he did not know where he was. But it was not the first time. Nor would it be the last. He took note of his body; weak and shaky, his wounded arm throbbed. His head hurt and swam and his thoughts fuzzed in and out, pulling him along with them, like he were caught in the waves of some dark sea. In and out. There were voices. A pressure on his back. Was he laying down? He could not tell. But it was not the first time.

Slowly, he became aware that he had opened his eyes. There was light. There was fine cloth. A stone wall. He still did not know where he was. He did not recognize what he was looking at. Where was Mordred?

Emrys sat up. Head spinning. Where was Mordred?

He opened his lips to say something but his voice caught. Throat dry.

And then Mordred was there beside him. Holding his hand. Looking into his face. Calling his name into the ether. Emrys could hear it well. Mordred was speaking directly into his thoughts. Asking him if he were well. Asking if he needed anything. Telling him something about nice ladies that helped them. Emrys barely heard any of it for it was all very fast and he was so sluggish right now. But Emrys felt that he would have wept for joy if he had the strength for it. Mordred was safe, that he knew. If anything had happened to his charge, Emrys would have never been able to forgive himself.

Emrys slowly wrapped his arms about the boy and hugged him. Mordred was safe.

Minutes passed, or hours, Emrys was not sure. But soon Mordred pulled away and Emrys noticed that he was lying on a pile of blankets, tucked into a small alcove with stone walls and a curtain. And that there were two ladies watching them, standing there. He tried to sit up a little, his wounded arm pulsed with pain when he moved it by accident. He winced.

"No, don't try to get up. Rest please." The well-dressed lady spoke. Who was she? Emrys thought a moment. She was the one who had brought Mordred to safety. Yes, that was it. The lady continued. "You are safe here. No harm will come to you, I swear it. I am the Lady Morgana and this is Gwen, my maid."

Emrys nodded and swallowed hard before he tried to speak again. His voice was raspy. "Thank you, for helping us."

The Lady Morgana smiled. Everyone was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "I asked the boy his name and what you are called, but he will not speak." And here she looked away, looked to the floor. "I could have sworn that I heard him speak earlier…"

Emrys cleared his throat. "His name is Mordred, I am called Emrys."

"Emrys." The lady smiled again. The maid behind her turned away and disappeared from the alcove. "And Mordred. Nice to meet you."

Good to know that pleasantries still took precedence even when fugitives were involved. Emrys felt himself smile too. "Nice to meet you too, my lady." Mordred squeezed his hand. "We were in Camelot gathering supplies when we were betrayed by a merchant that I thought I could trust."

"Betrayed?" The Lady Morgana pulled a chair nearer and sat in it. "I do not understand."

She would find out either way. It would be better for it to come from his mouth. Trust is important and she was kind enough to help them. Emrys took a breath and looked over Mordred. The boy sat beside him on the blankets, holding his hand, and staring at the patterns on the cloths. He had been through too much today. He had to get Mordred out of Camelot. He did not belong here.

Emrys sighed. "We are Druids, my Lady. It is a crime to enter Camelot and we did just that." He shrugged and felt that pain again. That's right… He looked down to his throbbing arm. He was wounded. He had forgotten.

The Lady Morgana opened her mouth to say something else but Emrys interrupted. "We must leave as soon as we can, my Lady. You have been too kind to us, and I am forever in your debt for protecting Mordred. But we cannot stay here."

The lady stood up. "Well, you cannot leave now. The guards are still looking for you. How are we to sneak you out when they are crawling down every corridor?"

That was to be expected. But staying here only increased the chances of them being found. Why would the guards not search this chamber? They would be found eventually. They had to do something.

"Besides, you are hurt. You must rest first. You keeled over not that long ago. You fainted right there!" The lady frowned hard at him and pointed at the floor.

Emrys knew he would have blushed if he were not so pale. He felt his ears redden slightly, however. "I did not faint."

"Then what was it?"

"I fell asleep…standing up."

The lady laughed.