Here's chapter three!
This should be the last chapter filled with old people having problems and pondering things and whatnot, not to worry. We'll have more of the trio later on!

DISCLAIMER: I only own the Druids with names in this fic; Merlin belongs to the BBC.
WARNING: Onslaught of OCs ahead. I'll do a recount of all the OCs so far at the end of this chapter.
No slash unless you deem it absolutely necessary (seriously it'll be pretty hard to find in this fic up until now XD)

Enjoy!

Present

Merlin shifted uncomfortably in the tent. "Well…" he hesitated.

Geroldin frowned. While Merlin wasn't often one to share his personal thoughts, he did talk often about anything and everything. He wasn't one to hesitate, unless something really needed saying, but didn't want to come out.

"Yes, Merlin?" the Druid prompted.

Merlin's eyes widened slightly as he spoke. "Why doesn't Evalac like us?" he blurted. It was clear whom 'us' referred to; Merlin and his siblings were inseparable at the best of times. It was actually a bit unusual for him to come alone. Upon realizing what he'd said, the boy covered his mouth, shaking his head. "I—no, I only meant that… that—"

"It's quite alright, Merlin. Even I can tell that our leader's feelings towards you three have not been the warmest." He gave a small smile.

The boy tilted his head slightly. "But why?" He moved a bit closer as he spoke, hands flailing about in time with his words. The air hummed a little with magic, and Geroldin was mildly amused at how Merlin didn't seem to notice what he was doing—and a little concerned.

Geroldin leaned back in his chair. "Well, Merlin… he needs time to… to get used to you, and—"

"But why?" Merlin exploded. A few things on the ground and on the shelves floated into the air, vibrating a little. "Hasn't he had enough time to 'get used to us' yet? It's been six months, Geroldin; what's holding him back?"

The older man was silent for a moment, observing the frustrated, powerful boy before him. "You've put a lot of thought into this." It wasn't a question. Merlin, along with Mordred, didn't often make things move around, unlike their temperamental sister Morgana. It took a lot of high emotion for him to lose control like this.

Merlin blinked, and gave a sigh. His arms went down to rest by his sides, and the floating objects were set back down in their respective places. "Just a bit. Yeah."

Geroldin ignored the two dark-haired heads trying to inconspicuously materialize at his tent opening. "Well, Merlin… Evalac is… a proud man. He likes to be the head of things, and he likes things to go his way. He—"

"Is this because of when we healed Caspar?" Morgana asked bluntly, giving up all pretenses of not being there and marching into the tent, dragging Mordred after her.

The middle-aged man raised an eyebrow. "Now, Morgana, what have we said about interrupting?"

"I'm not interrupting if you're not really saying anything," she sniffed. "So tell us what's really going on."

Geroldin regarded her, eyebrow arching ever higher, but she did not deflate. Eventually he sighed. These children would be the death of him one of these days, he was sure of it.

"I don't think it's something you all want to hear—"

"Geroldin," said a soft voice. Geroldin's eyes swivelled to Mordred. The boy was the quietest of all three, and it was rare for him to speak up so directly in a conversation—he usually just added minor points to his siblings' words. "Please? We really think we should know. We overheard Evalac—"

Morgana elbowed him fiercely in the ribs. "Shut up, Mordred," she grumbled under her breath.

Ah. That was why Mordred rarely spoke. He always ended up divulging their secrets. Actually, so did Merlin, but he had a frustratingly sneaky way of veering the conversation away from himself. It was as if he'd spent a lifetime keeping secrets simply by avoiding the subject (he was, after all, a formidably terrible liar).

But Geroldin was still curious as to what Evalac would have been saying to bother them so much. "What did you hear?"

Two hours prior

"I've had enough of them!" the Druid leader growled, slamming his fist onto the table in his tent. The other respected Druids of the clan (save Geroldin, as Evalac knew he would be against this) sat around the long, low table; some agreed, nodding emphatically. Others were not so sure, looking to their compatriots for ways to express their floundering opinions. A small minority of the group disapproved wholeheartedly, but they did their best to hide it, knowing that their leader was not at his calmest and would surely dismiss them from this meeting and others to come, as he had done with Geroldin.

Everyone, of course, knew of whom the irate Druid spoke. The three 'Emryses' were a topic of great in-depth discussion, though their popularity had faded gradually over their six months with the Druids, with a few fluctuations.

Though no one was to know that the three Emryses were actually right outside the tent, listening attentively through the canvas.

"I'm tired of what they're doing to the people!" Evalac continued, wildly waving his hands around to emphasize his words.

One Druid, one of the few who were older than Geroldin, leaned forwards to speak. "Evalac," he intoned in a deep, clear voice, "the children have done nothing wrong to us. In fact, they've done us much good—"

"That's what I mean! They can't just keep… helping us! They don't belong here! We know next to nothing about them!"

The old man, whose name was Thomas, kept on talking. "We know their names, Evalac. Even they do not know much else about themselves! You must—"

"See, that's what they want you to think," he interrupted again. "They're hiding something! I know it."

"Oh, Evalac," said another Druid, this one younger, with long reddish-brown hair, "you've been going on about them 'hiding something' ever since that whole incident with Caspar. I don't trust them either, but really, what would they have to hide?"

"An ulterior motive!" a young voice cried. This came from the newest addition to their little council; a young man named Rodrick, who never really made up his mind, but was always enthusiastic when he had an idea, even if it made little sense to the others. He was a full head shorter than Evalac, so he made sure to stay on the brash man's good side.

"An ulterior motive?" Thomas scoffed, eyes widening. "Why would Emrys have an ulterior motive?"

"You speak of Emrys as though he was a single person. We have three people to deal with here, Thomas. Keep up." This came from the reddish-brown-haired one, Andrew.

Thomas disliked Andrew very much, and they disagreed on nearly every topic.

Another Druid quickly intervened, wanting to keep the peace. "Calm yourselves, men," she said firmly, "you accomplish no good with your bickering."

No one disagreed. Thomas and Andrew sank back into their seats, shooting occasional glares at one another.

"Emrys is good," said a croaky, deep voice. Everyone fell silent, turning to look at the old bag of wrinkles shrouded in brown robes at the edge of the table. It wasn't often that Muronius, the oldest and most respected of their clan, spoke up in debates.

When the old man didn't elaborate, Evalac straightened. "What do you mean, Muronius?"

Muronius turned to him, a look of slight exasperation on his face. "I mean what I said, Evalac. Emrys is good, and no lies can mask the fact."

"Are you calling our leader a liar?" Andrew said, mildly outraged. It went unsaid that the young man didn't feel the need to respect his elders as much as others did.

The Druid leader was the one to calm him this time, placing a hand on his right-hand man's shoulder. "Let him speak, Andrew."

"Emrys," the old man went on, voice growing stronger with every word, "was the power given by the Gods to a certain individual so that he—or she—may protect the Once and Future King, stand at his side, so he may unite the five kingdoms of Albion. You all know this tale, yes?" Heads bobbed around the table. "Then you all know that there were other prophecies intertwined with the main one?"

A few frowns of confusion flitted around the assembly.

Muronius sighed. "Must I do everything myself? Oh, fine. It was said that there was a witch; she was the hate to Emrys' love. She was the only one to have the power to defeat Emrys, but in the end he would be her doom. Do any of you know of the Battle of Camlann, precisely one year ago?"

There was a mix of yes' and no's. The Druids lived far from Camelot and all its news; few of them even knew the King's name, as it was. They had well distanced themselves from the rest of the world.

Unhindered by his perpetually ignorant audience, Muronius went on. "In that battle, the witch was killed. As was Emrys, as you all know. But the witch was not killed by his hand—she was slain by the Once and Future King."

A medley of gasps and sounds of confusion echoed around the table, coming from the few who'd understood the implications, and the rest, who were still lost.

Evalac was one of the confused. "How is this relevant, Muronius?" he asked with a frown, in a tone that held a warning.

Rodrick looked to Muronius, who nodded back at him. The young man took a breath. "The prophecy was not fulfilled, Evalac. The witch was killed by the King, not by Emrys."

No one questioned Rodrick's knowledge; he'd been raised by Muronius after his parents had abandoned him in the forest as a baby, and knew more of the old man's secrets than anyone else.

Evalac was slowly coming to understand, and he didn't like what he understood. "And the prophecy can never be fulfilled, because they are both dead."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Muronius muttered to himself.

A Druid woman turned to him. "What was that, Muronius?"

"Oh, nothing," the old Druid hummed. His eyes flitted dispassionately around the tent, settling on a low spot on the wall to his left, where three shadows were just barely visible in the dawn light. "But there was another factor you're all not thinking of." Few were still listening to the old man, but he went on, "There was another; a boy, prophesied to kill the King… I wonder what ever happened to him?" Though Muronius' tone didn't really imply that he was wondering. He continued to stare at the same spot on the wall.

Outside that very spot, Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana quietly got to their feet and crept away to discuss their findings.

Muronius smirked to himself, leaning back.

He was done talking for the day.

Present

"… and then they started talking about new places to store food, or something, so we left," Merlin finished.

Geroldin pondered this information with a frown on his face. "That's why he's been so distant with me, then."

"Who, Evalac?"

The old man looked up. "Well, yes. But I was talking about Thomas… old bloke's been ignoring me these past few days. I guess it's because of this secret council they've set up… but if he really did state his opinions so openly, then he probably won't be at their next meeting, I can tell you that. Evalac likes unbiased people, or people of his opinion. No one else."

"Does it bother you?" Morgana asked. "That they're excluding you from the meetings?"

"Not especially. I can still attend the official council meetings, and I don't particularly want to plot against you three."

"Is that what they're doing?" Mordred looked a strange mixture of anxious and outraged. "Plotting?"

Geroldin gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't you worry, Mordred. It will never amount to anything; they don't have any proof of you three doing wrong, because you're not doing any wrong. I told you; Evalac doesn't like change. He needs time."

"When did this all start?" Merlin asked. "He was fine the first few weeks, wasn't he?"

"That was before we all saw how powerful you are. On the day you healed Caspar, you proved that you had within you the power of Emrys. Evalac is scared of that."

"But that was five months ago!"

"None of the—well, few of the others have problems with us!" Morgana added, puffing up her chest.

Geroldin sighed. "I'm afraid you don't understand me. Many of the Druids are, I'm sorry to say it, wary of you three. Everyone knows that Emrys was killed, precisely one year ago. No one understands why his power would be brought back, or how, but here you are. Evalac has no power over this situation, and he doesn't like it. It frightens a few of the others."

"But we're not Emrys. We can't be! He was killed. Dead things aren't meant to come back," said Mordred, frowning. It made perfect sense to him, so why wasn't Geroldin listening? They weren't Emrys… how could they be? They already knew the story of Emrys, of the prophecies, of the Once and Future King. It was one of the few things they'd actually remembered.

Geroldin raised an eyebrow at the young man. "Mordred, there is no other explanation, and you know it. As improbable as it may seem, I believe it to be the truth."

"But Geroldin—"

"And that is all," the old man said slowly, emphasizing each word, "I wish to say on the matter."

The three sighed, thanking Geroldin and making their ways towards the exit. Morgana was last on the way out.

"And Morgana?"

She turned around, one leg already outside the tent, raising an eyebrow.

Geroldin paused, contemplating his next words. "Keep them out of trouble."

Morgana blinked. She felt a little chastised, though she knew not why. Nonetheless, she nodded, slipping gracefully through the tent opening to follow her brothers.

Okay here's a recount of the OCs for the more easily-confused of you:

Geroldin is the nice old man who discovered Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana in the forest. He is the clan's mentor-teacher-person of knowledge.
Evalac is the leader of the Druids. He does not particularly like the three new additions to his clan. He's also quite possessive.
Caspar is a little boy. I almost killed him but then I didn't.
Emmerich is also a little boy. He's Caspar's best friend. He screamed once last chapter I think.
Thomas is an old man who believes the best in everyone, except for Andrew. He's very opinionated, and usually optimistic.
Andrew is a young man with flowing hair. He's very pessimistic, especially about Thomas. He's quite opinionated as well. He's Evalac's right-hand man.
Rodrick is a young man who is very smart but has... issues being socially accepted as 'normal.' Tends to blurt things out, but they usually have at least some relevance.
Muronius is Rodrick's parental figure. He is a sassy old man and he knows everything.

Whoo! I think that's everyone...

Don't expect the next chapter to be up quite so quickly XD I have a life to get back to now...
There should be more of Camelot next chapter!

Please review! o3o