A/N: A much speedier update than last time! Enjoy!
A Glimpse of Home
"Well," Isabelle said, after a long pause. "Now what do we do?"
Arthur looked her in the eye. "There is nothing we can do. Germanius has too much influence."
"He is going to get away with it," Isabelle said incredulously.
"Yes," Arthur replied raggedly. "And the Rome I've been waiting to return to, is dead."
"Oh, Arthur," Isabelle sighed. "The Rome I know is inside you, was never real. Despite what Pelagius might have wanted." She gave him a jaded smile. "Greed and personal gain have always ruled man. This place, this world – " her voice caught, "is governed by blood and metal, cruelty and ruthlessness. There is no place here for what's right or just. Hasn't Dagonet's death told you this?"
Arthur stared at her, his face stricken with pain. "I have no reply to that," he conceded. "But even so, we must fight to try and stop it."
"And create more bloodshed."
Arthur shook his head. "I know you've – " He looked up, past Isabelle. "Gawain?"
Gawain was standing behind them, his eyes fixed on Isabelle, as taken aback by Isabelle's weary statement as Arthur had been.
"Gawain?"
"The Woad Guinevere has brought some of her people," Gawain said, after clearing his throat. "I was in the square and saw them. They seemed to be having some trouble convincing the guards we had established a truce, so I thought I'd bring them here."
"A truce?" Isabelle gaped.
"Yes, thank you, Gawain," Arthur replied.
Gawain nodded and walked back to the doors, gesturing the people waiting outside it to come in. Isabelle watched curiously.
The woman Gawain had pointed out earlier as Guinevere was there, walking alongside a wiry man with a brown tangle of hair. He didn't look particularly old, but he had an wizened air about him as if he'd seen the world and held it in his hand.
"Merlin," she breathed, skin prickling all over her body.
"Yes," Arthur said. "Will you wait here, Isabelle? There are a few more things I'd like to speak to you about."
"Of course."
Isabelle remained in her seat, while Arthur stood and walked to the group of Woads to greet them. Besides Guinevere and Merlin there were three more people, two men and a woman.
The men looked like seasoned warriors, and were probably trusted men of Merlin. It was the woman that caught her undivided attention, however. She was as black-haired as the woman Guinevere, and her eyes were pools of black. Her skin was very pale and strangely translucent, as if she'd never seen sunlight.
She stood a little to the side, her head tilted, listening to the others, as if she were observing them. It reminded Isabelle vaguely of Tristan, though this woman was very different. Tristan, though particularly observant and quiet, was not an outsider. He chose sometimes – often – not to partake in a conversation or a gathering, but still, he was a member of an intricately woven group. He belonged.
This woman did not belong. She was observing the others as if she were not a part of it, as if she were merely looking in from the outside. She had a slightly patronizing air to her, as if she knew more. Judgmental even, Isabelle thought, frowning.
She looked odd, and out of place, and for some reason, Isabelle couldn't keep her eyes of the woman, who now seemed to be taking an interest in her as well. She kept shooting fleeting glances at Isabelle, which became longer every time.
After the rather tense and uncomfortable introductions, the woman wandered off to where Isabelle was seated. The look in her eyes was appraising, to say the least. "Well, well," she then said. "You've travelled a very long way, haven't you?"
"Sorry?" Isabelle sputtered.
"How far exactly?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Morgan!" Merlin called.
The woman looked back, seeing the Woad leader beckon her. She turned back and smiled a smile full of pointy teeth. Isabelle recoiled at the sight of the knowing expression on Morgan's face. Who was this woman?
"If you'll excuse me," Morgan said. "Wait for me, would you? I'd like to ask you what year you were born."
Isabelle's stomach plummeted like a heavy stone and she stared after the Woad with a slack jaw. Gawain was watching her with a concerned frown. He was standing near Arthur, all too obvious in his objective of guarding his commander.
Morgan joined Merlin and exchanged a few words with him, and made to move away again. Guinevere spoke up in her native tongue, to which Morgan gave an almost dismissive reply in the same language, before walking back to Isabelle. Guinevere looked affronted and angry.
"Who the hell are you?" Isabelle hissed, as soon as Morgan had returned to her.
"My name is Morgan," the woman replied simply. "But I'd like to know who you are."
"I just live here," Isabelle said curtly.
"But you weren't born here," Morgan replied. "Your accent… I can't place it."
"I was born in Gaul."
"Gaul?" Morgan repeated. "Really? And when were you born?"
"I am seventeen," Isabelle answered, through tight lips.
Morgan laughed, throwing her head back. "That's not what I asked."
"I don't know what you mean."
Morgan's black eyes were measuring her again. "You're hiding it very well. I haven't seen such a good act in… the gods know how many years, actually."
"What act?" Isabelle growled.
"As if you belong here," Morgan answered. "But you don't." She chuckled. "You can always tell who's a traveller."
"A what?"
"Don't pretend to be an idiot," Morgan snarled. "If you were, you wouldn't have survived this long."
"Listen," Isabelle said heatedly. "I don't know who you are or what you want from me, but – "
"What I want," Morgan interrupted her, "is to know from where you came."
"I told you, I'm – "
"And I also want to know from when you came."
Isabelle snapped her mouth shut, staring wide-eyed at the Woad.
"Oh, aye," Morgan smirked. "Cat got your tongue now? I could sniff you out a mile away. It's not difficult, of course. Travellers stick out like a sore thumb." She leaned a little into Isabelle, the smirk becoming wider. "We always do."
"We?" Isabelle repeated, dumbfounded.
"Aye, we. You noticed that about me too. Why else were you watching me like that? You knew what I was the moment you saw me," Morgan answered, her obsidian eyes glittering. "I was born here. But I haven't always been here. Now I'm still waiting for an answer."
"What answer?"
"When are you from?"
"I – I…" Isabelle hesitated, still distrusting of the strange woman.
"Well?"
"Why do you want to know?"
Morgan shrugged. "Because I'm curious. I haven't seen another traveller in a few years now."
"How many are there?" Isabelle exclaimed, unable to help herself.
"How should I know?" Morgan scoffed. "Oh, did you think you were the only one?"
Pain flashed through Isabelle with an intensity she hadn't felt in some time now. "No," she whispered. "I know I'm not the only one."
Morgan seemed to sober a bit. "Who did you know that was a traveller?"
"My sister."
"She didn't survive?"
Isabelle shook her head. "She protected me when I had just got here. Kept me from the worst of it. And when she couldn't take it anymore, she killed herself."
Morgan frowned. "The worst?"
Isabelle ran her hands through her hair. "Slavery and violence take some getting used to." She lowered her hands, looking at them as if they were covered with something dirty. "I've learned to get used to it."
"Ah, from a time to come yet, then," Morgan said. "That's where you're from. And a very long time too, by the sound of it."
Isabelle looked at the Woad. "More than fifteen hundred years," she said quietly.
Morgan blinked.
"Cat got your tongue?" Isabelle said, throwing Morgan's own remark back at her.
The Woad cleared her throat. "That was more than I expected. I've only ever met one person who came from that far. He was found by us, and stayed with us for a while. But he got himself killed; he could not get used to it." She tilted her head in the same scrutinising manner she'd used earlier. "How old were you when you came here?"
"I was nine."
"Nine," Morgan repeated softly. "How could you have possibly survived? But no wonder you can hide it so well, that you don't belong here. You've been here for so long."
"I only survived because I wasn't alone," Isabelle said.
"You came together with your sister then?"
"Aye, with her and a few more."
"A group?" Morgan asked surprised.
"Aye," Isabelle said. "All of them died, save one. She's here too. I hadn't seen her in years – we'd been separated when… we'd been sold – and a few months ago I met her again. She'd come to the Wall with her mistress."
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "I am not surprised."
That was not a reply Isabelle had expected. "Why?"
"I do not know why this is so, but travellers seem to be drawn to places of passage. It's why I've met quite a few of them. For some reason, they always drift back to such a place."
"What?" Isabelle breathed. "Are you saying…"
"Aye," Morgan nodded. "There is a small lake not ten miles from here, it is where I travel through. If you want to return home, I could take you there."
Rooted to the spot, Isabelle just stared.
"Are you feeling all right?" Morgan asked, after a long silence.
"No, I… I never thought…"
"What?"
"I never thought there was a way back home."
"There's always a way home."
Isabelle's eyes were suddenly stinging. She took a step back from Morgan, blinking to clear her vision.
"Isabelle!"
Arthur was coming towards her. "There are things I need to discuss with Merlin about the Saxons, but we hadn't quite finished our conversation."
"What else was there to it?" Isabelle said, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter that we know it was Germanius. We can't touch him."
"No, we can't," Arthur agreed, his jaw tightening. "That's not what I meant, though. Is Andrivete still at this Servilia's estate?"
"Aye."
"Could you have Jols send a messenger to her, to warn her of the invasion? And of Germanius? You know where the estate is."
"Of course," Isabelle answered. Having the whole story of Andrivete revealed, had softened Isabelle somewhat. She could understand only too well why Andrivete had wanted to extract information from her.
"Also," Arthur continued. "A caravan is leaving for the south at dawn tomorrow. Rome is withdrawing her forces from Britain. Many of the fort's residents are going with the military and the knights."
He looked at her. "What about you? Where will you go?"
Isabelle inhaled a heavy breath. "I don't know. You know how things have been. I don't think that…" She bit her lip.
"I'm sorry," Arthur said, briefly placing his hand on her shoulder. "But you should think about it. The brunt of the attack will fall here. It'll be too dangerous to stay."
"Aye," she said softly. "I understand. I just… Excuse me."
Isabelle left Arthur and Morgan standing there, dashing from the Hall, through the corridor, and out into the biting winter air. She gulped in large breaths, her hands on her knees. The churning in her stomach did not stop and she had to swallow several times to keep from retching. There was a way home, tantalisingly close. All these years she'd thought it was impossible, that she'd never be able to go back. After all of the months living in the fort, not knowing that home was just ten miles away, accepting that this was the world she lived in. After cutting off all of Claire's what ifs…
Claire.
She had to find her. Andrivete hadn't brought her along to Servilia's estate, because she'd wanted to isolate Isabelle in order to gain some answers from her, which meant that Claire had to still be in the fort.
Isabelle headed to Andrivete's rooms near Arthur's, the clear goal helping her to keep her wits about her. The room was empty, but a laundry maid informed her that Claire and Celia were at the market. Isabelle paced the empty corridor, until they returned.
"Clara, I must speak to you at once," she burst out the moment the couple rounded the corner.
Celia eyed her curiously; Isabelle had to restrain herself not to sneer, knowing that Celia's prattling had sparked Andrivete's interest in her. "In private," she added.
Claire sent an apologetic look to Celia and followed Isabelle outside. "What is it?" she asked, once Isabelle had found a quiet spot and turned to face her.
Isabelle opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"What?" Claire repeated, concerned now. "Is it my mistress? Has she returned yet?"
Isabelle winced. "She's not your mistress. You're free. And no, she isn't back. That's not why I need to speak to you."
"Then what is it?"
"There are Woads in –" She swallowed her last words, and tried again. "Arthur made a truce with the Woads, because there is a Saxon invasion. That's why there are Woads in the fort."
"Saxons?" Claire shrieked.
"Shh!" Isabelle glared at her. "You'll cause a panic. Listen to me, Arthur is meeting with the Woads to devise a strategy. One of them came to me – she, she just knew about where I came from. Where we came from."
Claire seemed to have trouble following her rambled speech. "I don't understand."
"She's the same as you and me, Claire," Isabelle hissed. "Only she's from here, but then travelled to other places."
"What?" Claire said slowly. "There are more like us?"
"Aye, that's what she said," Isabelle nodded. "And also – she told me where she has travelled through."
"Where she travelled through? But… She couldn't have used the same cave, could she?" Claire panted, grabbing Isabelle's arm. "Are you saying… Where…?"
"There is a lake only ten miles from here," Isabelle told her.
Claire stayed silent, her mouth forming into an small O, tears gathering in her eyes. "You mean," she said in a small voice, "I can go home?"
"Aye, she said she would show us where it was."
"Oh, Isabelle, take me to her," Claire exclaimed, now taking both of Isabelle's arms and shaking her. "Take me to her right now."
"All right, all right!" Isabelle agreed, prying herself loose. "She must still be in the Hall with Arthur. We'll go see her now."
Isabelle and Claire walked back to the Hall, Isabelle nearly dragged along by Claire, who kept mumbling that she'd be home the same day. They had to wait in front of the doors, as the meeting between Arthur and Merlin had not finished yet. Claire fidgeted impatiently, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Isabelle had never seen her this lively.
Isabelle leaned against the wall, pressing the back of her head against the cold stones, and waited. The voices that came through the doors were indiscernible, but Isabelle listened to the constant murmur with a detached interest.
She felt numb. Too much was happening. The bishop's betrayal of Arthur and the solving of the mystery that had eluded them for so long, the absurd mission the knights had been sent on, culminating in Dagonet's death, the truce with Merlin, the Saxon invasion, the unresolved situation between Gawain and herself, and now Morgan's offer.
In her mind she could look at each of the happenings separately, as long as she didn't think about anything else. She felt as if her head should be in chaos, but she just couldn't think. She would not think, because if she didn't keep all of it at bay, if she let it all in, she didn't know what would happen. The stone she was pushing her head against, was hurting her, but it only made her force it against the sharp ridges harder, staring at the opposite wall with unblinking eyes.
Claire grabbed her again when the doors opened. Arthur and the Woads filed out, Arthur and Merlin still talking quietly. The two Woad men were up front, followed by the two former enemies, trailed by Guinevere. Morgan was a little behind them all, a slight sneer aimed at the other woman's back.
Seeing Isabelle's questioning look, Morgan steered towards them and tossed her head in Guinevere's direction. "My little cousin, always so eager to fight in the front. Willing to do whatever it takes for what she thinks is right."
"Is that such a bad thing?" Isabelle frowned.
Morgan scoffed. "She knows nothing, but that doesn't stop her. Always rushing ahead. The last time I saw her, she was leading a group on a deluded mission against the Romans your knights brought back. It got all of her warriors killed and she herself was imprisoned for weeks. She had to be saved by Arthur, of all people."
"You're judging her for her knowledge?" Isabelle asked. "Seems to me you have a rather unfair advantage over her."
Morgan grinned in response to Isabelle's dry tone. "Maybe I do, but it's her refusal to listen that I judge her for." She shrugged. "At least she listens to Merlin, and Merlin always listens to me."
At Claire's shocked intake of breath, Morgan turned her black obsidian eyes to her. "And who's this?"
"This is Claire," Isabelle answered. "She's like us – the one I told you about."
Morgan seemed to study the both of them. Isabelle knew it was because they were from so far away. "Aye," the Woad said slowly. "I see."
Claire seemed frightened by the dark woman, so Isabelle spoke up. "I told her about the lake. She wants to go home. Would you take her there?"
Morgan's eyebrows shot up. "Right now?"
"I know you're pressed for time," Isabelle said, "with the impending attack. But if something goes wrong and we'll be cut off from the lake by the Saxons, there'll be no opportunity to get home."
Morgan appeared to ponder that for a moment, looking as if she wanted to argue that, but then conceded. "Fine, I will take you there. I have some preparations to take of for Merlin first. I don't expect to be back before midnight. Make sure you're ready by then. We won't have much time."
She looked at Isabelle. "You'll need to provide a horse for her and yourself."
"Myself?" Isabelle stammered. "What – I don't – "
"You're not coming?" Morgan inquired, intrigued.
"Well, I – I hadn't..."
"What are you saying, Isabelle?" Claire asked, panicking.
"I just – I didn't – I haven't thought about it yet," she stuttered.
"What do you mean? You are going with me, aren't you?" Claire cried. "What of your parents, they deserve to have their daughter back! And be told about your sister! You must go with me!"
"Go where?" Gawain asked, standing between the doors of the Hall.
The three women whirled around to face him; Isabelle felt the blood drain her face.
"Isabelle?" Gawain frowned. "Go where?"
