"Morgana! Come on!"
At the sound of Merlin's voice and the violent tugs shooting through her arm Morgana snaps her eyes open. Merlin is dragging her towards an ivy-covered wall and if he keeps going, they are going to smack right into it. She's about to pull back when Mordred's face peaks out from the leaves and yells at them to hurry. Merlin's arm around her waist and her mind whirling sickly Morgana cranes her head back to check if Aithusa is following them.
"Stop!" she yells, untangling herself from Merlin. The white dragon hides between two rocks, shaking and moaning. The attack has greatly frightened her. Morgana moves forward as Merlin grabs her wrist, Mordred beckoning at them hurriedly.
"The door is only open for a short time! The Serket are coming to guard it! Hurry!"
"Morgana!"
"Wait! Aithusa, everything is okay. Just come to me, that's it," Morgana bends down, Merlin's hand still wrapped around her wrist. She extends her fingers, speaking softly and the dragon sniffs the air, eyes wide and roving. Mordred curses and disappears from sight.
"You heard Mordred, we have to go."
"Not without her," she answers sharply. She does not care what is beyond the ivy or what those nightmarish scorpions will do to her. She will burn everything in her path if they threaten Aithusa, set the very forest ablaze if she must.
They will take her away from me!
"Aithusa! Aithusa come now!" she yells as Merlin yanks her back.
"NOW!" Merlin roars in panic and as if someone has shoved the dragon Aithusa comes speeding forward, her eyes just as scared, maybe even more so. In a white blur she disappears through the ivy and Merlin and Morgana follow close behind.
Morgana has the sensation of passing through something malleable, something thick that could fling her back but then the force is gone and she's on her knees and pulling Aithusa to her. So caught up in the roaring panic and relief Morgana does not see where she is until she looks up.
Before her is a wide stone road, the paving cracked and weed infested, giving the impression that it has not been tended to for many years. On the road are druids, hundreds and hundreds of druids. Morgana lifts her eyes, following the road and the shifting mass of hooded figures upwards until she's staring at an impossible sight.
A city, choked with ivy and trees, rolls down towards the valley and the river. Buildings seem to merge with the trees, an infusion that can only be an act of magic. Swing bridges connect between the trees and buildings, a massive web of connectivity. It is a city of air and rock, a city to revile any on earth.
"Are – are you seeing this?" Merlin asks faintly and Morgana nods, unable to form words. How could such a beautiful place be only a few leagues away and no one know about it? How has she not known about it? As these questions populate more Merlin helps her to stand, both unable to look away from the sight before them. Morgana only realises that Mordred is before her when she feels his hand on her arm. He grins broadly.
"I was hoping you would be impressed."
"What is this place? Is it a druid city?"
"No, not really. We've just claimed it. It's so old that it's name is lost. We just call it the City. Millennia ago, when the Old Religion was strong and magic was an accepted part of life this was a place for those people to live. They say that there were feats of magic performed that would amaze us but it's all lost now. Over time it was abandoned, the druids began leading a more nomadic life…this belonged to our forebears but now it belongs to everyone with magic, well anyone with good intentions…" he speaks in an excited rush, clearly passionate about the subject. "During the Purge druids came here for refuge but there are many who do not know about it. I fear without this place most of us would have been wiped out. This is where I grew up, where I met Kara," Mordred smiles wistfully. Morgana feels a pang of jealousy. How different her life would have been if she had been born into a different family. If her mother had never met Uther Pendragon.
"That's why it's a secret…is that why you never spoke, the first time you came to Camelot?" Merlin asks Mordred.
"Yes. I was forbidden to talk to any outsiders, not even to share my name, not without permission. I had knowledge that could be dangerous in the wrong hands…" he answers, looking back up the road, his eyes moving over Merlin.
"Seems a lot of responsibility for a child… " Merlin utters, his fingers brushing over a triskelion symbol carved around a doorway. Not a temple but someone's home. Once in this city the worship of the goddess was part and parcel of everyday life. Now it lies half forgotten, it's buildings left to the mercy of nature. It reminds Morgana of the Isle of the Blessed, which is only a boat ride down the river. Both can be salvaged to their former glory, both populated again.
"It's wonderful," she breathes. Aithusa, though still hunched and head low to the ground, looks calmer. Morgana begins following Mordred along the road, Merlin at her side. His cheek is bleeding and his sleeve bloody. He catches her eye and lifts a hand to his face.
"Yeah, they eventually realised who I was but then those scorpions showed up. Gwaine stayed behind, to find out what is happening." He looks at her thoughtfully as she weaves slightly on her feet. "Are you all right? You blacked out for a moment back there."
"I…" she hesitates, not knowing what to say because she has no idea what happened. Either way Merlin cannot help her. She shrugs, clearing her throat. "I'm fine, just a little light-headed. Anyway, you're the one that's bleeding. You should be seen to," she orders and then is about to offer her services and stops. Bad idea.
"I'll be okay. I've learned a few things over the years." Merlin smirks and winces.
"Suit yourself," she shrugs and walks on ahead, leaving Merlin to stare at the buildings.
The road splits into three paths, the largest heading down into the city. From this vantage point there seems to be some kind of sunken amphitheatre, where druids are already taking their seats. Ivy covered arches ring the top of the arena, many crumbling. Heart racing with a mix of excitement and apprehension she follows Mordred and takes a seat with him and Ruadan, who claps the younger man on the shoulder. At the centre of the arena a huge oak tree grows, with a high back chair craved into it, like a throne. A man with greying hair stands before it, his expression serene. No one sits on the throne.
"That is Iseldir, druid chieftain," Mordred explains quietly. Morgana nods, looking around and realises that Merlin is not next to her and neither is Aithusa. She stands and walks through one of the ivy covered arches and finds them just outside, Merlin bent down and patting Aithusa's head.
"I think all the people scare her," he says quietly, getting to his feet. "I'll stay with her, you should be part of that," he motions towards the archway and Morgana hesitates. She does want to be in there, listening to what they have to say, being part of history but since falling ill after drawing on magic she feels unsettled.
"Don't...just don't wander off," she orders and he smirks.
"I don't think she will move from this spot until you come for her."
"She followed your command, back at the doorway," she narrows her eyes at him as he shrugs nonchalantly.
"I guess two voices shouting at her was the push she needed. I think she's just used to me now. Don't worry Morgana, I'm not going to steal your dragon. Am I Aithusa?"
The dragon looks up and then shakes her head primly from side to side. Laughter bursts from Morgana's mouth and she bends down to kiss her white snout. For a moment the anxiety in the pit of her stomach is forgotten until she moves back through the arches and sees that the seats are almost full now. There must be a thousand druids here, a number she didn't think possible, not after the Purge.
As a golden bowl of incense is lit and a band of elders link hands around the tree singing begins to fill the arena, a deep and rolling chant that makes the hair stand on her arms and nape. It is a prayer, one that she has uttered often but never has she heard it coming from so many mouths. She looks back and sees Merlin leaning against the archway, listening. When it is over a serene blanket seems to settle over her, calming her fears.
"Welcome, brothers and sisters," Iseldir greets them warmly. His voice, though low carries around the arena. Either through magic or through the acoustics of the building she's not sure. Iseldir walks around the circle slowly. "You like me have felt the call to this place, a summons through our dreams and visions. Not for centuries has this happened so I do not have to labour the point that this moment is unprecedented. We are in grave danger."
"From who?"
"We are always in danger!"
Voices shout out and are met with a rumble of agreement or dissent. While most of the druids are benignly serene but tired there is a current of unrest flashing through the crowd and it does not surprise her that the youngest faces are the most troubled and angry. Iseldir says nothing, just waits for silence to fall before speaking again.
"This land was once in balance and we maintained that but such days are gone. Magic is seen by many as an evil, something to be eradicated and some will stop at nothing to make that future happen. This is already happening and if we do nothing magic will be severed from us."
The druids shake their heads, muttering darkly.
"They fear us because that is the poison that has been poured into their ears. They know nothing of us or our way of life because we are too concerned with staying in the shadows! My magic is gone and it is like being without air, without seeing the sun and I will stop at nothing to ensure it does not happen to another person! The time for running and hiding is over!" Kara stands and others clap, shouting in agreement.
"Sarrum wants to spread his wretched weed to all corners of the earth. I will not let a seed into this region if I can help it," Ruadan answers and is met with more cheers. Morgana nods along with them as another elder stands.
"We will try to stop it but what of the rulers of Albion? What can we do to stop them giving it to their citizens if it becomes law? Thirty years ago a king of Camelot made it his mission to wipe us out and I fear it is not over or ever will be," a druid says, coming forward and Morgana feels like she has been punched in the stomach. It is Aglain, a man she thought long dead. She stands, begins speaking before she has time to think.
"I do not think Arthur will follow the same path as Uther but if he is foolish enough to we will stop him."
"We? And what gives you the confidence to say such a thing?" Aglain asks, his mouth thinning at the sight of her.
"I…I have none. You remember me?"
"I do. I remember a scared young girl running away from home. I remember someone with light and goodness in their heart. I remember her but I do not know what you are."
"I'm the last High Priestess!" she answers boldly, to mutters from the druids.
"You are a stain upon this land. Everywhere you have gone you have spread war and bloodshed. We talk as if the fears of the people are unfunded. They have plenty to fear when magic is used to torment and overthrow them." He points at her and the druids stare at her like some grotesque.
"I was only trying to claim what was mine," she argues but her heart is not in it.
"What is a throne to a priestess? You are a servant of the Goddess," he retorts and Morgana seats weakly. Mordred shakes his head, taking her hand.
"Do not be so harsh to judge. Yes she has done terrible things and she has been punished for them in ways you cannot imagine. I believe she has changed, I believe that the compassion that was in her heart is there still. She can right the wrongs that were done."
Morgana stares at her lap, listening to Mordred's loyal words and her heart swells so much it will burst. She looks up, shaking her head.
"I don't know if I can right the wrongs of my past, they are what they are and cannot be undone. I can only go forward, knowing that my path is a righteous one. I was selfish before, blinded by hate. I see clearly now and all I want is to protect those with magic. I want to help, it is my only purpose in life…but I will leave if I am not wanted."
She stands up, Mordred grabbing her hand as Iseldir steps forward. "Please sit. Everyone is welcome here," he adds, casting a quick glance at Aglain who sits down. Whatever anger he holds is a long burning thing and will not be so easily put out.
"Thank you. I know the danger that could sweep over this land and I will put in every effort to fight it."
At this clapping echoes through the arches and she feels a little better. Iseldir nods and looks into the fire for a while until the noise quietens. Finally he looks up, over their heads. "Once we were a wall facing the fearful enemy, passive but strong in numbers but we could not withstand. We must do more than stand together to survive this king from over the sea."
"Vortigern?" Morgana asks.
"Yes. He is more dangerous than Sarrum, who seeks to create partnerships with the rulers of this land in exchange for money and influence. Arthur Pendragon would likely agree to distribute the weed, a quiet smothering of magic rather than having more blood on his hands. If he does he will be defenceless again Vortigern, which will in turn drench the entire land in blood anyway. Ironic, really."
"What do you mean?"
Morgana turns and finds Merlin standing at the top of the arena. His fists clench and he breathes quickly. Iseldir inclines his head and the elders duck to whisper to each other. The druids around the arena look at Merlin in confusion.
"Who is this?" some ask.
"My – my name is Merlin. I'm here on behalf of King Arthur."
"And no more?" Iseldir asks, his eyes sad for reasons she cannot guess. Merlin shakes his head stiffly. Mordred sighs softly next to her, shifting in his seat.
"I'm just a servant…well more his advisor. I will relay what is discussed here. What risk does Vortigern pose?"
"He gathers a force that will defeat every army this land has to offer, even the mighty knights of Camelot. He has warlocks fighting for him and swords are nothing against their sorcery."
At this proclamation shocked gasps pass through the arena, which then turns into angry rumblings until the druids, the peaceful, quiet druids are shouting in outrage. Morgana sits and watches them arguing with each other and feels queasy. Mordred said that they are imbalanced and she is witnessing it. Should it make her feel sick? Maybe a little shouting and shaking is what they need.
"We're not warriors!" someone shouts and others agree. Iseldir nods, hands raised for silence.
"It's true, we are not…but there are those amongst us who are. Vortigern wants to attack Albion, take it for his own and he has sided with dark forces because they wish to take this from us," he spreads his arms. "It is a joining of mutual benefit."
"So we protect the valley and the Isle. What should we care for the lands beyond? They would happily see us die and you want us to protect them?" Kara shouts, red in the face.
Iseldir smiles sadly. "What do you think will happen if we fortify this place, if all druids withdraw here and shunned the world?"
"You'll become forgotten, until the dust settles," Merlin says quietly and the hubbub dies down at the sound of his voice. "If what you say is true and these warlocks use magic to defeat the armies of Albion then nothing will stand in their way to this place. No one will come to your aid because no one will be left."
"Merlin is right," Mordred says, breaking the strange hush that has settled at this almost prophetic statement. "We will be stronger together. I – I will go to Camelot with Merlin. Arthur needs those with magic fighting for him and in time those here who wish to take up arms, learn to fight, can learn. I believe he is an honourable man, I believe he will listen to reason."
At this the druids speak amongst themselves, the elders standing in a circle, their backs to those seated. Morgana turns to Mordred.
"Why would these warlocks fight alongside this king? I heard that the Saxons detest magic as much as Uther did."
Mordred shrugs. "It has been quiet there for a long time. During my visits I saw bands of people using magic, by reports on Vortigern's orders. I asked who I could and they attested the same. They must have come to the same conclusion we should have years ago: we're a stronger force together."
Morgana nods but something does not feel right. She looks back at the elders, who are now looking around. She stands suddenly, propelled by an idea.
"I agree with Mordred, we should learn to fight, to protect ourselves but we – I – can do more. In days gone people looked to the Nine to protect them. I am the only one left but I know there must be women amongst you who wish to become initiated, to take the vows. There is a wealth of knowledge there but no one to share it with. Together we can rebuild the Isle of the Blessed, grow in number and when the time comes you will not stand alone."
The elders gaze at her calmly, even Aglain looks pacified. Iseldir inclines his head. "We thank you High Priestess. Those who wish to go to the Isle are free to do so. Maybe a day can be arranged for those with questions to come to you?"
Morgana nods enthusiastically, sitting down weakly. This is all she wants, all her sister ever wanted, the isle filled with women again, the halls flowing with spells and laughter. Heart pounding she smiles at Mordred who takes her hand again.
"I'm all for the old ways seeing the light of day again, for us to stand for what is right but it will take years for us to be a force to contend with. No offence but I don't think a quarter of you has even uttered a spell to squat a fly let alone picked up a sword," Ruadan says and the druids laugh. Morgana assumes he must be an odd man out, a druid but a warrior.
"If only the blessed Emrys were here!" an old man says and the druids chuckle. Once again, at the sound of his name Morgana stiffens.
"You speak of Emrys as if he is a hero?" she says in confusion and Aglain answers her.
"He is. Legends say that he was the most powerful wizard alive. His soul is bound to the silver wheel, his very title means immortal. The prophecies say he will return in our greatest hour of need. "
"Rubbish," Kara mutters and then more loudly. "If that were the case where was he thirty years ago? Where is he now?! He is a figment that we tell our children so they can sleep more soundly at night. He does not exist and never will."
"…But he does," Morgana says weakly, looking directly at the elders. "I have seen him, fought him. He is an old man, a crazy old man who looks harmless but…he is unbelievably powerful."
And her doom…Morgana looks down, swallowing convulsively. Is the sickness that consumed her before his doing? Is that her doom?
"Whether he lives or not he has not lifted a finger to help us. We must turn to each other," Kara says and Morgana nods. Legendary wizard or not she will die before she sides with him.
"To each other and those willing to join with us," Mordred reminds her, nodding at Iseldir, who has been silent.
"There is much to think on so I call this council to a close. This is not an easy choice to make or without peril but I fear the alternative only ends one way. We will regroup in three weeks, when we will seek the council of the Disir, who speak for the Goddess."
At this the druids begin to leave but many remain, talking amongst themselves. Morgana stands, stretching and looks through the arch for Merlin and finds him gone.
"Merlin?"
Panic strikes through her but after leaving the shadow of the arena she finds him standing by a wall, looking over a ravine. Aithusa sits on the wall, which surprises her. Seeing Morgana the dragon sits up and makes a crooning noise.
"Sorry, she wanted to see the river," he says, leaning over and Morgana does the same. A rushing river, a hundred feet down or more rushes along the ravine walls. It must join the valley further down. Merlin sighs and she watches him until his gaze loses focus. Morgana smirks.
"You're thinking about Camelot, about going back."
Merlin casts her a quick glance. "My place is there…and Arthur has to be told."
"He won't be back from Amata yet."
Merlin's eyes narrow mischievously. "Are trying to get me to stay?"
"There you go again with those presumptions. You really think too highly of yourself," she smirks, tickling her fingers along Aithusa's back. "So far they haven't made a decision. Aren't you curious to see what it will be?"
"I suppose..." he hesitates, looking unconvinced and Morgana shakes her head, her stomach squeezing.
"You're worried that they will agree aren't you? That you'll have all these people with magic willing to fight for their freedom right on your doorstep!"
"That's not what I was thinking!" he retorts, looking at her hard. "If what they're saying is true then forming an alliance is the reasonable thing to do but…"
"But what?"
"But that won't erase all these years of mistrust and fear that has been bred into the people. Camelot has only known suffering because of sorcery. How will they react to suddenly having those with magic around them?"
"Gratefully I'd hope! They're not the ones who have been oppressed and forced to live in hiding in fear of their lives and yet those very people want to protect them! I'd say they have to stop being sheep and consider that we're people like them. If that doesn't work then Arthur can sway them if he's as open to this as Mordred seems to believe."
Morgana breathes heavily and Merlin gazes at her steadily, the corner of his mouth quirked. It is a look she has seen before and one that gives her the same flush of feeling.
"Don't look at me like that."
"I'm not," he says but this time he does not look away, smiling more broadly. "You're right, I should stay. Arthur did say to spend a month here so…"
"So it looks like you're stuck with me again. Separate rooms this time I assume?"
"And you won't have to pretend to be my wife."
"Thank the goddess for small mercies," she smiles, eyes hot and he shrugs and scratches at the side of his face. The blood is gone but a thin red line crosses his cheek.
"Goodnight Morgana. Sleep well…"
"And you," Morgana inclines her head and walks back towards the arena. She has no idea where she is to sleep, Mordred will likely know. As she reaches the ivy draped archway she realises that Aithusa is not by her side. She turns, calling her name and the white dragon looks at Merlin and back at her.
"Come Aithusa, it's getting late my love," she says softly, holding her hand out. For a horrible heart crushing moment she thinks that Aithusa will not come to her but as Merlin looks back at the river, his head tilting, the dragon jumps down from the wall and runs to her, tail swishing along the grass. Morgana smiles, staring down at Aithusa who looks up at her, blinking innocently.
"I hope you're not playing favourites. You know he's an idiot don't you?"
Aithusa carries on blinking and Morgana yawns into her hand. All she wants is a warm bed and the comfort of sleep. The next few weeks should prove…interesting.