A/N: Sorry this took so long, guys. I wanted to have another chapter for you as well, but life happened. More to come...
I don't own Merlin.
Only a handful of lamps twinkled from within the castle walls as Merlin slipped past one house after another in the lower town, trying to avoid notice of the guards patrolling the ground and upper walls. The city was hardly on high alert, however, and Merlin was quite certain one guard he passed was actually asleep. Grinning to himself, he silently crossed the walkway when he heard what sounded like a woman's muffled cry. Sticking to the shadows, the young warlock scanned the area, trying to sense anything amiss, to find out where it had come from. Down the way a bit, there was an open door, and no candle light…
It was Gwen's house.
Eyes widening with alarm, Merlin made his way as fast as he could, without being seen, and arrived just in time to see two men leaving the small thatch-roofed house, both carrying Guinevere's body with them. They treated her gently as they went, and the warlock forced down his stab of fear that she might be dead. If the men had meant to kill her, why bother to move the body? She was unconscious, that was all. He hoped.
Merlin silently cursed. He had to do something, but if he used his magic here, in the streets with so many guards around, he would be too busy running for his own life to be of any help to Guinevere. He had to follow them, then, out of the city, where he could dispatch the two men with the Camelot guards being none the wiser.
Days later, in hindsight, he would kick himself for not thinking to just alert the guards.
The men had horses ready, and a suspicious looking lump by the main gate told Merlin they had either killed the guard there, or the man had fallen asleep. Merlin, lacking a horse, extended a hand at the retreating figures, and whispered, "Áwréon sporu." His eyes glowed for a moment as the magic passed through him, and a faint shimmer swept over the ground where the horses had tramped just before disappearing into the woods. Not knowing how long the spell he used to track the men would last, Merlin hurried across the clearing to the woods, following the trail. It was his hope that he might overtake the men when they made camp.
If they ever made camp.
Merlin spent the rest of the night following the magical trail, and trying not to think of all the reasons this was a bad idea…
Elyan pulled the stolen cloak more tightly around him, casting a sideways glance at the boy on the horse beside his. They had ridden for a good while before entering the forest, and were now travelling at a fast trot, letting the horses wind down a little before finding a place to camp for the night. The blacksmith didn't like the idea of stopping after what he had just escaped from, but it would do them no good if one of their horses lost its footing in the dark and became injured.
Well, if you could call it escape. King Cenred was ruthless and cruel, his soldiers powerful, if a bit slow. But those were evils he knew. The boy who had rescued him, seemed to wield a power greater than King Cenred could ever dream of. Not for the first time, Elyan wondered what would become of him, if the boy got it into his head he didn't care for the dark-skinned blacksmith after all.
"We should make camp here," the boy said, slowing his horse to a stop as he looked around.
Elyan slowed his horse and frowned, glancing over his shoulder the way they had come. "Are you sure they won't find us here?" he asked. He didn't do a lot of hiding out from enemy soldiers in forests, but felt somehow exposed, here. Not that it looked much different to him than any other part of the forest.
Perhaps it was the company he was keeping.
"I can hide us," the boy said, sliding off of his horse. His pale blue eyes reflected the moon's light as he gazed up at Elyan, still on horseback. "You have nothing to fear from me," he said knowingly, and Elyan shivered, feeling as though the boy had just read his thoughts.
Hesitating a moment, the blacksmith dismounted as well, holding the horse's reigns lest it sense his fear and decide to make a run for it. He regarded the youth. "Why did you help me, sorcerer?" he asked, his stomach clenched, but with his shoulders back and head held high. Whatever his fate, he would meet it head-on.
The boy regarded him silently for a long moment, before speaking. "I am a druid," he replied, in that eerie, soft voice of his.
Elyan's eyes widened. The druids were known to be peaceful, but were also known to be recluses. That this one would go so far as to enter a castle full of hostile soldiers just to rescue a blacksmith, made no sense. He felt his eyes narrow. "Druids are healers. They don't go around rescuing people from crazy kings," he objected.
The druid gazed off into the distance for a moment, before asking, "Who's Guinevere?"
The blacksmith went pale. "She- she's my sister," he said, dread filling his gut. "What do you want with her?"
Pale blue eyes met his again. "The High Priestess of the Old Religion is working with King Cenred. They had kidnapped you to convince your sister to bring Prince Arthur of Camelot to the castle, to save you," he said, his voice ever soft, until he got to the part about Prince Arthur, at which time, his voice turned hard and cold. His eyes were like daggers. "Prince Arthur is a good man. I will not see him harmed," he explained.
Elyan shook his head, unable to comprehend any of this. "So, you're saying, the King of Essetir thinks that the Prince of Camelot will come to rescue me, because… because my sister…" Suddenly, his eyes widened. "What will they do to Gwen?" he asked, in a panic.
The boy's eyes bored into his. "They are bringing her to the castle. That is why we have taken this path. If we can stop them, Arthur will have no reason to come," he said, smiling slightly.
Elyan blinked. It was actually a good plan. He looked around them… the forest was too dark to see, except for the light of the moon. They needed a campfire, but Elyan was nervous about it being seen by Cenred's men, who no doubt would be looking for them by now. "So, you said you could hide us?" he asked, causing the boy's smile to widen.
Morgause entered the dimly lit room, to see the Gawant handmaiden lying there, pale, murmuring softly. The druid boy was not in the room, and had probably gone to fetch something, as he had done often since their arrival. Morgause was familiar with the ways of druids, they valued their freedom, and the High Priestess suspected the boy needed fresh air and grass under his feet from time to time. That he had remained at the side of this girl for so long said much about his sense of loyalty to her. She smiled softly; that could be used to her advantage, if need be. Approaching the girl, she carefully adjusted her long skirts beneath her as she knelt at her bedside.
"Tell me more of this Once and Future King," she said breathily, her gaze deep and expectant. From the moment she first heard the girl speak, when the druid boy brought her to him, she had realized the girl was a seer. When nothing she tried was able to wake the girl, she decided that perhaps it was the girl's power of Sight manifesting itself in an unusual way. For her sister, the Sight came in the form of nightmares, though she had always been able to wake from them. Perhaps this girl simply could not.
"King Arthur… will unite… all of Albion…" the girl muttered in her sleep. "Bring… magic… back…"
The High Priestess pursed her lips. She had heard the girl say this before, when they made camp on the way to this castle, and it still made no sense. Arthur Pendragon was just like his father, Uther, in many respects, but most of all in this one; he was no friend to magic. That he was destined to bring magic back to the land was laughable at best, but destiny was rarely what one would expect. Perhaps, if left alive, Arthur could be made to change his mind on the matter; or at least, forced to do as he was destined to. She did not think so, and did not hold to the idea of destiny so strongly that she would not thwart it if it did not suit her purpose… but she did not become High Priestess, did not live this long, without accumulating as much information as she could about something before destroying it.
"How? How will Arthur bring magic back?" she asked the girl.
A small whimper from the girl, not one of pain, but… distress? Worry? What did the girl see behind those closed eyes? "I am… the Path…" she began, and shifted. "I don't understand, Master," she whined, obviously distressed. "Why?" she asked, her expression one of worry, and… sorrow? Then, it faded into the passivity of sleep again.
Morgause frowned. This was the trouble with getting information from the girl… the prophecies were mixed up with some remembered argument, or perhaps a future argument, with her master. It was obvious that, whoever he was, he had abandoned her, because she would often call out to him. If the girl were awake, she could convince her to new loyalties, but asleep, the girl was nothing more than a sometimes useful source of information.
Taking a deep breath, she prepared to try a different tactic, when the door opened suddenly. Morgause's head spun to see it was Cenred who burst in as though he owned the place. "The prisoner is gone," he said, his expression dark. "It seems your pet druid released him," he accused, sending a glare at the prone form on the bed.
Morgause's eyes narrowed, and she gazed at the girl silently for a long moment, lost in thought. Her eyes fell on the girl's left hand, its fingers only slightly curled, the faint mark on her palm still visible. "Your men will have the blacksmith's sister by nightfall?" she asked thoughtfully.
Cenred relaxed his fists and crossed his arms, watching the High Priestess warily. "Yes," he confirmed, drawing it out in a way that said he wanted to know what was on her mind.
Morgause turned to him, smiling. "All Mordred has done, then, is to hasten our plans. Instead of the girl fetching the young prince, her brother will do so instead. Arthur is much more likely to come rescue his pretty damsel in distress, than he would have been to rescue her brother," she said, looking down at the handmaiden and lightly stroking a finger over the mark on her hand. "As for the druid, leave him to me. Sometimes, a misinformed ally can be more damning than an enemy," she murmured, causing Cenred to grin.