Though the sky had not yet turned bright, life had already begun in the druid camp.
Every motion was ruled by quiet, turning what should have been an uproar into little more than a quiet whisper. Fires, sheltered from sight and wind through the night, had already begun to burn a little brighter under the watchful ministrations of their tenders. Kettles were near to boiling and what they had for the morning meal was near to cooking. The clan glanced upwards as they stepped into the camp, but Iseldir knew it was only foolishness to think they had not felt him coming. The dangers of magic were known to all, but the necessity of that sometimes overruled it.
Thankfully none were rude enough to stare at the woman who walked with him. Despite their own misgivings on his willingness to help those from Camelot, the people who trusted him did so with a passion that humbled the druid chieftain. Gwen followed him, her own suspicion equally well hidden. Iseldir looked around, judging the fires laid out before settling on the one tended by Cairrean. He led Gwen towards the woman and the warmth the fire offered, raising his hand in greeting to signal his intention.
"Iseldir," the woman greeted, "will you be joining us for our meal?"
"If it is not too much trouble," he said with a smile before turning to Gwen, "this is Gwen," he said, "Gwen this is Cairrean."
Cairrean wiped her hands on her skirts and fixed the young woman with a smile.
"Come sit by the fire," she said, turning to a younger woman, "Eithne, come get Gwen some tea," she turned to Iseldir, "a word?"
Iseldir smiled at Gwen before following Cairrean. For all of Cairrean's girth and age she moved with a steely grace through the camp. In the grey light of dawn she could have been a ghost of legends moving through the camp to lead souls to the Isle of the Blessed. Moving out of earshot, the older woman turned and looked at him without a glimmer of the warmth she had offered Gwen.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, "our supplies are low as it is and you wish to bring another mouth to feed? The girl looks half mad and I would bet my last quilt that you found her a days ride from the Capital," Iseldir nodded, "why would you bring that danger to this camp?"
"She needs our help," Iseldir said.
"You are far too willing to help those who would not show you the same kindness," Cairrean said.
"Be that as it may, I will not see us turn our back on those in need," he said, "that is not our way."
Cairrean fixed him with a glare that clearly said she did not appreciate being reminded of the ways of the druids. Folding her arms over her ample bosom Cairrean looked over at the fire where Gwen sat. Her hands were wrapped around a well worn mug, her eyes distant and seeming to see only the dim flicker of the flames. Her cheeks were still streaked with tears but they seemed to have finally stopped slipping down her cheeks.
"The poor girl was enchanted," Iseldir said, "whatever spell was used was strong, and though broken it lingers on her."
"Do you think it was a High Priestess?"
"I can think of no other with the skill to perform such a spell," Iseldir turned to the woman, "we must keep her away from the others until we are far enough away for me to break the spell without risking exposure."
"Has the King sent his Knights after her?" Iseldir nodded, "we should leave this place quickly."
"No," he said, "one rode to the village to question people, the other joined with his patrol. If we move now it will raise suspicion."
"We cannot sit here and wait for the Knights to find us," Cairrean protested.
"We will not," Iseldir said, "continue to collect what we need. It may be some time before we return to this place."
Cairrean opened her mouth to protest before pressing her lips together and nodding.
"Perhaps you should ride ahead with the girl, see if you can remove the spell. The poor creature should not suffer more."
Iseldir nodded as Cairrean turned and headed back into the camp. The druid chief lingered on the outskirts, glancing around at the people he had sworn to protect before looking back at Gwen. She looked up as Cairrean said something and offered her a bowl. Gwen shook her head, making some excuse and wrapping her hands tighter around the mug. Iseldir looked over his shoulder at the woods around them. Not eating was a bad thing, especially after the ordeal the poor girl had been through. Enchanted, starved, the very last thing Gwen needed was to fall ill as well.
Adjusting his cloak he headed for Cairrean's fire. The woman glanced up at him and handed him a cup and bowl wordlessly. Iseldir nodded his thanks and seated himself near to Gwen. Cairrean made a half murmured excuse and moved away, leaving them to themselves. It was a rarity to only have two around a fire, but Iseldir imagined it would not be the strangest thing to happen that day. Lifting his mug, he took a long drink and turned to the young woman.
"If you do not wish to eat, you should get some rest," Iseldir said.
"I cannot," Gwen replied, "if I should sleep then I will dream and if I dream I will see things my heart cannot bear."
"I understand what you say," Iseldir said, "I do not think I slept for a week after I left Camelot. Nor did I eat. I made myself so sick I nearly died," Gwen looked down, color flushing her cheeks, "though you may wish death now, it would be a truly tragic if you were to get your wish before seeing how wrong you were to want it."
She looked down at the mug.
"It does not feel wrong to wish it now," the young woman replied.
"That is the enchantment," Iseldir said, "it makes your sorrow worse, your grief stronger, your depression a thousand times harsher than it should be."
"No," Gwen said softly, "it is not the enchantment."
Iseldir frowned, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his silence. It was on his lips to tell the woman that she had no idea what was and was not the enchantment. The ignorance of magic that was forced on all those who called Camelot home ensured that. But the poor creature was in no position to listen to logic, not that he had any reason to think that she would accept the truth of magic to be such. It was the way of Camelot now, one that all the druids had been forced to accept. But it did not make their task any easier, especially not when the two worlds collided.
"We are replenishing our supplies of certain herbs that grow here," he said, "I would have seen us leave earlier but with the Knights patrolling the road it is unwise to leave before nightfall."
"I do not wish to put you in danger," Gwen began.
"You do not," Iseldir lied, "no more than we normally find ourselves in. But with the King sending out patrols, the movement of a druid camp of this size would be unwise," he smiled ruefully, "whether you were with us or not."
Gwen nodded uneasily and fell silent, considering the depths of her mug as though it held the answers she sought.
She did not seem aware of the glances that were sent her way. It was simple curiosity on the part of the druids, for it had been many months since an exile had joined their ranks. All from the youngest to the eldest knew how close they were to Camelot. Seeing a crying young woman sitting by the fire could only lead them to one conclusion. It was the wrong one but until he knew what she had done to be banished and have Knights sent after her, it was for the best that they make the assumption. They would give her sympathy if they say themselves in her.
"If you will not sleep and you will not eat, perhaps there is something we can do to occupy your mind," Gwen nodded, looking more hopeful than he had seen her, "can you ride?"
"Yes," Gwen said.
"Excellent, but we'll be walking," he said with a half smile.
He saw her lips struggle to return the gesture. The smile was not there, not yet, but the departure of the desperate melancholy was a welcomed change. Finishing his own meal, Iseldir stood and looked for Cairrean. The woman caught his eye and he looked at Gwen. Silently she nodded her understanding and moved across the fires to delegate the other tasks for the morning. Iseldir turned to see Gwen looking at him with confusion in her eyes.
"We'll be pulling up camp by nightfall," he said, 'there is much to do."
"You aren't worried about leaving them?" she asked.
"I am," he said, "but if they could not live without me then I have done a poor job in leading them," she looked at the ground, "and you need my help. Come," he continued, "if we walk at a steady pace we will be far enough by midday to remove the spell."
Gwen opened her mouth before pressing her lips together and nodding her consent. Iseldir glanced at her clothing but her pants, cloak and boots seemed better suited for the task than his. Her eyes glanced down at the sack that lay by the fire, holding all she had in the world. But something tightened in her features and before he could assure her it would be fine she stepped over to him, signaling her readiness to leave. Iseldir bit the inside of his cheek for silence and led Gwen through the camp.
Soon the camp gave way to the woods, the sound of talking and fires replaced by the early chirp of birds. The day was overcast, bathing the world in a pale grey light. Iseldir would have wished for full sun but the weak beams were enough to light his way. Normally he would have taken a route that got them far from the Capital much quicker but he had no blindfold for the girl and while his kindness went far he did not think it wise to give a stranger access to the route of woodland paths the druids had built over the past decades. One look at the girl's fragile face and Iseldir realized that a sign of distrust like a blindfold might very well have sent her over the edge.
"There will be no sun today," he said.
"No," she replied, then fell silent.
"Pity," he said, "we could do with some rain."
"Are we really going to talk about the weather?" she asked abruptly.
He turned to look at her, feeling his eyebrows raise at her sudden rudeness. She seemed to have realized her mistake as her own eyes widened, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as color blossomed on her cheeks.
"I am so sorry, I did not mean-" she began.
"No, it is I who should apologize," he said, "it's been some time since we had a girl join us so recently," he explained, "I fear all of us are trying to remember what topics are safe for conversation."
"Oh," Gwen looked at the ground before looking back up at him, "do you normally find girls later in their exile?"
Iseldir looked at her, torn between ignoring the question and answering it. Gwen did not have magic, she was enchanted. She had no reason to respect their laws and there was nothing to say she would not sell them out to her King in return for his good favor. Arthur had yet to declare war on them but Iseldir was not naive enough to think Arthur would not carry on the work of his father. He had been torn between seeing the good and believing the bad.
One of the newer girls from Mercia had tried to give them up, to see them hanged for favor with the King after she herself had produced a handful of flames. Iseldir did not know if she had brought the men back with her or if she had been executed upon entering the city, but they had all but run through the night to get far away. He had come dangerously close to splitting the camp into smaller sections and sending them in separate directions, but scattering the camp was the final move of any druid chief.
Iseldir had only considered the desperate act once before, when he had been certain beyond all certainty that the King himself was riding to murder them all. He did not regret saving the Knight, but even he could not have foreseen how quickly he would regain consciousness after being healed. No words had been exchanged as they led the Knight back to the main road, except when he turned to them and quietly gave his thanks before heading back to Camelot. Iseldir had spent the next three days certain that there was nowhere they could run. And just when he was about to give the order to split up Prince Arthur had arrived and was actually rather cordial about the whole thing.
"No," he said finally, trying to keep his answer vague, "normally they find us."
"How?" Gwen asked before looking down, "sorry. I did not mean to pry."
"It is natural to be curious," Iseldir said, "usually they are brought to us. Sometimes they find us by accident."
"And are they all magic users?" she asked.
"Now," Iseldir said, "they are now," he elaborated, "those who do not use magic no longer have a reason to seek us out," he smiled sadly, "though we help all who need it," he added.
"Even those from Camelot?" she asked. He frowned, confused at her question, "magic is forbidden in Camelot. You know I'm from Camelot," she elaborated, "I know nothing about magic, save for the fact that every time it has come into my life tragedy has followed," her fingers knotted together as her eyes welled with tears, "and if what you are saying is true and was-am-enchanted, then I do not know if I will ever feel anything but hatred towards it."
Iseldir closed his eyes again the unexpected pain that laced his heart at her words. The magic that lingered on her made her emotions heightened. It was no stretch to think that her ignorance of magic would breed suspicion and even dislike. But outright hatred, however warranted, was not something he liked to hear. Forcing himself to meet her tearful gaze he tried not to cringe at the pain he saw reflected in them.
"You pain is understandable," he said, forcing himself not to point out the million reasons not think as she was, "magic has taken much from you."
"This enchantment that holds me," she said, her tears breaking free an slipping down her cheeks, "do you know what its original purpose was?"
"I do not," he said, "but it was a powerful spell meant to do you harm."
"But it is not just me that it has harmed," she whispered, beginning to weep in earnest.
Iseldir watched her weep for only a moment before he stepped forward. Reaching out he placed a hand on her shoulder, attempting to offer comfort to the sobbing woman. She shook her head in a silent plea for space, perhaps thinking herself unworthy of any comfort. He stepped back as she pressed a hand to her mouth, her body shuddering as she struggled to bring herself under control. It was many minutes before she looked up at him, wiping at her cheeks and trying to bring herself under control.
"Come," he said, "we should remove that enchantment before you cry yourself to illness."
They walked in silence, broken only by her occasional unsteady gasp as she fought to keep her emotion in check. It was near to midday when they arrived at a clearing, though it was difficult to judge with the clouds. Iseldir crouched down and pressed his fingertips to the earth, reaching out with his magic. They were alone, the nearest people were in a village miles away and he could feel no horses being readies for the road. Opening his eyes he looked up at Gwen to see her staring down at him.
"Why do your eyes glow?" she asked.
"One of magic's great mysteries," Iseldir replied, fixing what he hoped was a welcoming smile on his face, "everyone has their own explanation but the truth has been lost," he straightened up, offering her his hand, "shall we remove the spell?"
"I-" she looked at his hand and then up at him, terror blossoming on her face. Augmented by the spell, he was surprised she was not running from the clearing, "I-" she tried again.
"I understand you're afraid," he said quickly, stepping forward slowly, as one would approach a wild animal, "but this must be done," she looked at his offered hand, "I know it is an impossible thing to ask you to trust me, but I must ask it of you now."
She looked at him, surprise registering on her face as though his words had reached some deeply buried part of her. She swallowed thickly, even as the fear on her face was slowly replaced with resolve. Isedlir watched, surprised by the change in her features. She was almost beautiful, even with her hair matted and her cheeks streaked with tears. When she reached out her hand trembled violently. Her fingers curled into a fist as her eyes shut and a harsh breath escaped her lips. Her hand streaked out and gripped his with an almost painful tightness.
Iseldir reached out and laid his other hand over hers.
"Take a deep breath," he said quietly, listening to her lungs fill, "release it," she exhaled, "and again," he told her.
Following the path of her breath, he allowed his magic to gather in their joined hands. When she inhaled, he let his magic gently touch her fingertips, retreating ever so slightly when she breathed out. For a moment she hesitated, holding her breath but then quietly she inhaled, drawing the magic further into her. Iseldir let her set the pace, though it was excruciating in its slowness. Soon though his own magic laid heavy on her, alongside the enchantment that still lingered on her. He held it there for a handful of heartbeats, letting her feel the power and be aware of the magic.
Iseldir let his magic blend with the spell that lingered on the girl, mixing until it was nearly impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. The magic was a mere shadow of the spell that had gripped the girl, but it was still enough to wreak havoc on her emotions. Squeezing her hand, Iseldir let the magic evaporate off her, taking with it the remnants of the enchantment that lingered. He heard her gasp roughly as the magic left her and felt his arm tug as her legs buckled and she collapsed onto the ground at his feet.
Crouching down Iseldir looked at the young woman. Her eyes were closed but her heart beat steadily, her breath coming softly and without the hitch of sobs. It seemed that the girl had simply fainted, the surprise of feeling magic and the removal of the spell letting her exhaustion finally catch up with her. Touching her shoulder he felt for remnants of the spell but none reached him. She was free of the magic that had gripped her. Letting out a relieved breath, Iseldir smiled and looked at the girl as he felt the familiar presence behind him.
"She is fine, Emrys," he said straightening up and turning to face the young Warlock.
Privately, Iseldir thought Emrys looked like he could do with a good nights rest and a hot meal himself. The Warlock had always looked gaunt and young, but standing there he looked like he would tip over if one breathed too hard around him. His clothing hung off his lanky frame and his pale eyes were marked by shadows. His gaze seemed to dance from Iseldir to Gwen and back again, as though he could not bare to look from either.
"Was she enchanted?" he asked, his gaze settling on Iseldir.
"Yes," the druid said, "but what enchanted her I cannot say."
Emrys bit his lip, one hand rising to further muss his hair in agitation. Iseldir fought not to frown at the sight of him. The quiet power that Emry's always wore was gone. He looked lost. Lost and afraid, as though he had lost something incredibly precious to him. And yet the relief on him was palpable. Iseldir glanced down at Gwen and then back at Emrys. It was difficult to think of the great Warlock as being a servant, as having something so human as friends. Yet at the moment he looked more like Cairrean's eldest son rather than the man who would one day build the greatest Kingdom the world had ever seen.
"Leon came back and i thought-" he cut himself off, looking at Iseldir, "when did you find her?"
"At the dawn," he said, "Emrys," he began, "this magic is of the Old Religion. A high member of the order wishes great harm for this girl."
"Not her," Emrys said, "they wish to harm Arthur," Iseldir felt his brow draw in confusion, "she was to be his Queen."
Surprise floored the druid as he turned to look at the woman to make certain she was still there. She was to be the Queen of Camelot? News from Camelot was precious and did not come often. He could remember a piece of gossip, that Prince Arthur had taken a liking to a maid. But that was nothing new for royalty and certainly not for the Pendragons. Before his wife's death had broken Uther Pendragon he had loved often. Truly it was a miracle that he only had one bastard.
But to marry a maid? That might have been the greatest insanity he had heard of.
"She had not been acting like herself," Emrys explained, "I should have seen the enchantment."
"No," Iseldir said, "this magic is purely of the Old Religion."
"It was Morgana," Emrys said.
Iseldir resisted the urge to cringe at the High Priestess's name. Morgana's actions had only put them in an even more perilous place and while he did not begrudge the woman leaving Camelot her rabid desire to possess the throne made him feel only shame at their shared magic.
"I cannot take her to Camelot," Emrys whispered after a moment, his voice breaking.
He looked pained at the realization and Iseldir realized that Gwen was not only Arthur's Queen, she was Emry's friend. A close friend, close enough that he wished to help her and risked the wrath of his King to find her. They would have to move quickly and be wary of both Morgana and the King, but Iseldir was more certain than ever that helping the woman was the right thing to do. The knowledge that the act of helping would ease Emry's mind only made him more certain.
"She will stay with us," Iseldir said. Emrys looked at him with confusion, "we have helped those without magic, Emrys."
"I know," Emrys began looking almost bashful, "but she is Arthur's beloved."
"That matters not," Iseldir said, "she is in need and we offer our aide," Emrys nodded, "will the King come for her?"
"No," Emrys said, "and he has sent those who dare to speak in her defense to the stocks."
"Then she is a true friend if you would risk so much to find her," Iseldir said.
"She is," Emrys agreed.
"Does she know?" Iseldir asked him after a moment of silence. Emrys shook his head, "you should return to Camelot before your King realizes what you are doing."
Emrys nodded and looked over at Gwen for a moment before turning to Iseldir and pulling something out of his pocket. The ring he held out was heavy and made of thick gold. It could have fed the entire camp for a month. But Iseldir could see that its true value laid not in the gold but in the significance of the band. Emrys held out the ring to him.
"Its hers," he said, "she should have it, even though she left it back when-" he trailed off before extending his arm further, "can you make sure she gets it? When she's ready?"
"Yes," Iseldir said taking the ring. He looked up at the Warlock, "the enchantment she was under was most likely enacted with an item that would allow the magic to work without the soceress being there. I know Morgana has a penchant for bracelets."
"Thank you," Emrys said, though whether it was for the information or the promise to look after his friend, Iseldir could not say, "I will make this right."
"And when you do, you know where to find her," Iseldir replied.
With a final look to his friend, Emrys turned and headed back to the woods. Iseldir turned the ring in his hand. It made sense now why Gwen would be so hysterical. Magic used to inspire betrayal was powerful stuff indeed. No good had ever come from playing with the hearts of men and only the truly wicked would dare attempt such a thing. Pity welled in him for the poor woman laying on the soft earth. It was no wonder she hated magic so. Bending down Iseldir gathered the woman in his arms, drawing on magic to augment his strength. She barely stirred at the change in movement.
WIth a final glance at Emrys retreating form and the future Queen in his arms, Iseldir set off for the druid camp, wondering if it was even possible for the day to get more odd.