BRING IN SOME LIGHT
Although the druids were artful in using their gifts to live well and in harmony with the world, Morgana wasn't at all surprised to feel not an ounce of magic in the large structure around her.
It was nothing but a dome of wood and bone covered by tarpaulin. A hole on the ceiling let out the smoke. The ground was lined with furs and leather, and in the center, a fire pit, giving warmth. Sitting all on one side, the elders watched her. Sitting alone on the other side, Morgana eat an apple from the offered bowl. Guests eat first, that was the rule, but when the bowl was being passed around no one else seemed hungry.
"You are now our guest, Morgana Pendragon" Iseldir declared stoically. "Your visit has been waited anxiously by our people."
She wasn't sure if that was good. Despite the courtesies, the only one among them with a friendly look was Jidarr. The old woman was a far cry from the prisoner she saved in Amata. Her hair was oiled and short, her clothes clean and her smile much more bright in a blushing healthy face. The others, she didn't know. They were strangers in this life. Leaders of at least half a dozen druid communities currently settling in her lands.
"I thank you for having me." She answered smoothly, adjusting the hem of her heavy coat. "I have every hope that we can sow mutual benefits from this meeting."
"We will hear you out." Said an old bony woman from the back, her long nails pointing at her with a trembling hand. "But do not expect much."
Morgana nodded, she wasn't expecting this to be easy. "I understand. Your people have your ways, and I'm not looking to disrespect them. Essetir has always been a place for the druids to hide. Its forests are wide and deep, and your magic strong. However, as I have been made Queen it is not my wish that Essetir remains as unlawful as before."
A long haired man with a wrinkled face frowned at her. "Do you, by chance, think of having us be your vassals? Do you think to tax us?"
"Not at all, your contribution in food was welcome and there is no amount of thanks that will be enough." She brought a scroll out of her coat and passed it over the fire to Iseldir's hand. "This is my proposition to your people, signed by all members of my council and myself. As Queen of Essetir I give you the freedom to move over these lands at your will, to take shelter in its woods and cultivate your food as you see fit. I give you the right to bury your dead, and the right to wear your clothes, your symbols, to partake in your celebrations and rituals. I give you freedom to practice your laws and choose your leaders. I give you a place in my council and also my protection and that of my armies."
Morgana had thought very hard about what she could give the druids, so by the end she couldn't help feel strangely giddy until the long haired man huffed at her. "Honeyed words, and arrogant as well. You have no right to give that which you do not own, our freedom is ours, our ways are ours, this land, given to men by the gods it was, by magic itself. You have no more right to it than anyone else."
"And yet, we live in a world where putting those words to a scroll might mean your safety." Morgana countered, carefully measuring her words. "Need I remind you that all over the Five Kingdoms you burn your dead, because to bury them is to invite desecration? You're named criminals for being who you are, and even where the law is mute the stigma remains. As queen, I must give you what you have, or else you might risk conflict where it's unnecessary."
"But wasn't your sister's voice that promised a land of freedom?" The old crone questioned. "It seems to me we're only acquiring a master, and a leash."
"I'm only trying to help."
The crone made to answer bot stopped when Iseldir gently held up a hand. "Alec and Prima might sound harsh, but there is true in their words. It shouldn't be for anyone to grant or take freedom, and the help of kings and queens seldom comes without a price." Iseldir said, on his lap the scroll remained unopened. "What is it that you want, Queen of Essetir?"
The use of her titles might have been comforting at some point, not now, it sounded almost as a rebuke. "Ruling a kingdom is hard and so it is to be a part of it. I will ask for your wisdom. I will ask for your power and your knowledge. I will ask for your shields and your eyes, to defend and care for Essetir."
"An interesting request."
"An essential one."
"How many of our own will be tempted, though?" Alec, the long haired elder demanded to know. "You might not ask, but your actions are enough to tempt the youth. Your fighters, your sorcerers, your warriors are out there using of violence and death. How many of ours will be tempted by the sword even if she never says a word?"
"Many of ours have already left, Alec, when her sister called them." Jidarr interrupted finally, it was the first time she spoke. "Even if the High Priestess had not spoken, I doubt much was necessary to change their minds. We all know what happened to Aglain's people..."
"Her brother happened!"
Morgana winced, but Jidarr continued as if the woman hadn't spoken. "... and many others. Violence bleeds violence. Young druids have lived in hiding and fear for years now, can we blame a suffering heart if it seeks relief from injustice?"
"By shedding blood? Immaturity shouldn't justify what they do. Kings kill our kind, our kind fights the king and kills the people, the people kills us. The cycle of violence will only perpetuate itself if anger and vengeance are allowed to take root." Prima explained running a long nail along her arm, murmurs of agreement following her words. "Also, lest not forget the young are not the only ones abandoning our path. Ruadan is with this woman, and we all know how deeply he has fallen, all the while labeling himself with justice. This woman claims she wants to help, I say she wants war."
"War is inevitable." Morgana couldn't help but say.
"War is a disease." Iseldir challenged, softly this time. "As soon as it becomes a choice made, it will infect you with certainty. Suddenly, you're the only voice of reason against monsters only you can see."
Morgana swallowed, feeling light headed. The elder's words rung truth, and hit her way too close to home, but she wasn't the same anymore. Was she? Besides, Iseldir wasn't completely right. "You can't deny some monsters are very real and need to be fought."
"Your words betray your intentions." Alec shook his head. "Our seers have warned us about you."
"What?" Morgana barked the question, but the conversation was already moving on.
"We were safe and hidden." A new voice explained, a young bald woman. "Our people were safe and hidden, now, they rise with eagerness and foolishness, and our enemies come for us. Essetir is our shelter out of necessity, for the sleeping wolves are now stirring and digging and hunting. The only thing you did was lent us a future of more death and suffering."
"I only wish to keep you safe!"
"And yet your actions speak louder." Prima claimed. "Did you not strike at the heart of Camelot and shed innocent blood? Are the rumors of your actions in Amata false? Are you not provoking every kingdom in Albion to come for our kind, and for what but a meager crown?"
"That crown can keep you safe!"
"Please, let us calm down" Iseldir asked before someone could answer, his gaze meeting Morgana's with all the patience in the world. "We cannot abide to be part of a kingdom whose purpose lends itself to shedding blood. You're well intentioned, Queen Morgana, but the path you seek will bring death to this land, pain to our people, and it will pull us away from a better path."
"A better path? What is that, extinction?"
"We've survived Uther's folly, we can survive whatever is to come, if we keep to ourselves." Alec rebuked, nodding emphatically.
"For generations our ways have seen us through." Prima amended. "And so we must remain until the Golden Age of Albion finally comes."
"It will never come." She answered, feeling hopeless, desperate. "I know what you speak of, the Once and Future King, who will bring together the Old and the New ways. It won't happen, you're all fooling yourselves."
"It is a delicate path." Iseldir admitted. "But we must have faith, and act when necessary, to assist our champions when they need us. If you know of the prophecy then you know that magic itself wills it to be, for its form made flesh has been born for that sole purpose."
It was like a slap to the face, hearing that name amidst the argument. Numb, Morgana struggled to understand how she could brave those words, brave their faith - she saw now what it was - while a part, deep inside, roared at the audacity. It was unfair, their words were unfair, and although she dug her nails into her palms, her voice came out harsher than she intended.
"You cannot expect one person to save you all! That is a children's tale! There is no mighty hero who is just and brave and kind! Stop trying to make sense of your fear!" She said, and her voice was rising but she couldn't stop, she could only see Mordred's grave in her mind's eye. Frosty blue eyes sealing her death. Arthur's form, lying on the ground and waiting for the end.
"Mind your words, Queen!"
"Just because you have hidden yourselves for so long you're used to your shame; it doesn't mean the rest of us should do the same!"
Iseldir closed his eyes as if he was suddenly in pain. Many elders glared at her and Jidarr shook her head. The anger vanished from her bones all at once, pilling her with regret.
"We should decide!" One of them claimed.
As one the elders closed their eyes, Iseldir in resignation and Jidarr after shooting her a sympathetic look. As one, she could feel their minds touching before their shields expelled her perception. Feeling oddly alone in the tent, she finished her apple, and thought about Mordred back in Corbenic, so close and so distant. In her pocket, the runemark burned with incessant warning. Her own goddess seeing fit to judge her, because she was broken, and horrible and evil, and apparently every good intention she has, leads to disaster. It wasn't like she had never imagined been refused, but they were not just saying no to words on a scroll, they were rejecting everything she had done, and everything she stood for. They were rejecting her purpose. She might not be the Mad Witch, but her shadow still lingered it seemed. By the time they were done, she was already on her feet. "There is no need to say anything, I already know your answer."
When no one tried to stop her she knew that she was right.
Outside the cold was almost a relief and she eagerly breathed in the fresh air. It felt clean and peaceful, pure. At the distance, she could see Accolon waiting with the horses, and around her the druids were gone, huddling inside their shelters, leaving the world to move on. Chuckling bitterly, she wondered if they would still send food for her people after her accusations, but they were so fond of their goodness she doubted they would stop out of spite. When did she became the one to fumble diplomacy? That was always Arthur's doing, burping at dinner, picking the wrong forks and mentioning something stupid by accident. He was also the one doing the killing, before she followed suit.
"You should not blame them, child, they have lived in their own little world for far too long to be convinced by a conversation. Many have only heard of suffering, and I'm glad for it."
Morgana shook her head, weary and numb. "I don't blame them."
Jidarr hummed, eyeing her from head to toe. "I see your shadow is still there."
She snorted, feeling sick. "Can all the druids see it?"
"Perhaps, it is rather impolite to ask a druid about his or her abilities. To us, knowledge is freely given and, perhaps, asked, but never demanded or taken." Jidarr explained, resembling an old owl in the way she stood there. "Before you were more like a brittle storm, seeking satisfaction, now your aura is sharp, focused…"
"Well that is a relief."
"It's also heavy with burden, you seek change and healing too quickly."
Morgana could've laughed, but instead her voice turn into a mumble. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped back there."
Jidarr shrugged. "You weren't the only one, and your words held reason too. Oh, no, don't misunderstand me. I believe in the ways of my people. I've always done so, but there comes a time when inaction is nothing but permission for what is foul, and the elders are aware of that, however, they are also afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
On her side, the woman was still and serene, and for a moment Morgana wondered if she hadn't heard the question. "Months ago, our Seers suffered from an unusual condition. While it is natural for one or another to spent weeks without hearing any whispers from fate, this time not a single one of them, from any of the clans we kept in contact with, had a single glimpse of the future. I found myself blind as well."
Her bracelet seemed to be burning around her wrist, but Morgana didn't allow any of it to show in her face.
"Of course we received such news with dread, although seers are but one of our protections, they have saved us a number of times. Yes, I know what you're thinking, visions are never fully trustworthy or precise. Be that as it may, the fact that this happened as you took the throne didn't fail our notice. Determined to get to the bottom of the matter, we seers tried to seek an answer to our questions. The ritual was long and tiresome, my old bones complained all the way. It demanded power from all of us and yet some, but in the end it did grant us one small glimpse into the future."
Morgana sucked in a breath. Neither she or Morgause had dreams as of lately, but the druids were suddenly claiming to be granted a blessing from the Goddess? How? What sort of ritual was that? "What did you see?"
"Blood." Jidarr said gravely. "Blood and death. Druid blood and the death of magic."
Morgana shivered at the ominous warning. It was as if the ground had vanished, leaving her to fall. Maybe it was her. Maybe death didn't follow Mordred, but herself. Maybe the druids were right and her actions were doomed from the start. The Mad Witch. The sting in her eyes took her by surprise and she looked away from Jidarr in an attempt to hide.
"So are we doomed no matter what?"
"I didn't say that." Jidarr replied. "You ask what we're afraid of, child, I say we're afraid of change. We deluded ourselves for years, believing it would come swiftly and peacefully, but in my experience, change often comes with much suffering."
"And not always for the better." Morgana amended, clenching her fists together. What she wouldn't give so she had never changed, so she was still a small girl playing at swords against Arthur. "Maybe your vision is real, maybe you saw it right. Camelot is coming. Soon, with armies in greater numbers than anything I can conjure. They will come and they will seek our destruction."
The woman didn't seem fazed. "And were you naive to believe they wouldn't?"
"No…"
"Then, I'm sure you have a plan to deal with them."
Morgana pierced her with a glare. "Am I to fight every battle to the last of my breath so your ungrateful people can live their lives with their heads tucked between their knees? Even when you already saw it all ending?"
"Such is the burden of a noble heart."
"I don't have a noble heart." Brushing at her tears, Morgana reeled around, meeting Jidarr's gaze, and yet she balked when she found the woman holding the scroll up to her.
"Iseldir asked to give this to you, and he is sorry the negotiations didn't go as you expected."
Morgana shook her head, motioning for Accolon. "Keep it, it might might be of use to your people."
While Accolon was setting up camp, Morgana caught herself seeing to the horses, giving them water and food and tying them close for the night. While Accolon's destrier seemed glad to back away and be silent, her own mare was a gentle thing, that accepted her caress with fondness, or at least the look of it. "You don't have to worry about politics, right Dahut?"
The mare whined, licking at her palm gently, and Morgana smiled before going back to camp.
Sitting down, she allowed herself to be taking in by the moment, if only for a while. Accolon was busy at the moment, swirling whatever he had cooking over the fire, his young face settled in deep concentration, but also, there was gladness there and she couldn't help but feel jealous of the feeling. Not that long ago she saw food as a ways of nourishment rather than something to be enjoyed, but then again she hadn't enjoyed anything in a long while and cooking was never on her list of skills. Not, under Uther's roof, there was no need for that, but then again, even Gwen or Merlin had never seemed to enjoy the task. The bloodguard handled every part of the process with care, using every small satchel of spice he had taken from Corbenic's kitchens - of which the uses she barely understood - tasting it once in a while. It felt familiar. It was, in a way.
Suddenly, he wasn't Accolon anymore. The dark hair disappeared, giving place to a blonde disheveled mess, the dark leather became a soft red shirt, and instead of calming concentration, there was a string of curses when the pot turned over, sending the meal down on his feet.
Don't laugh! The young Arthur said in her memories, but she kept on anyway, because he was a prat, and she was having fun.
It was a good memory, and old, because good memories could only be old. She had told him that the way to impress girls was to be polite and maybe invite her to a picnic, and how surprised was she when he invited her for one. The fool. He hadn't even had the foresight to bring something to line the ground.
"My Queen?" She blinked, becoming aware of her chuckle all too quickly, but instead of erasing it, she allowed the smile to linger for a moment.
"Nothing, it was nothing."
He nodded, pouring some broth for her. Accolon was kind, but that wasn't simply courtesy, he genuinely seemed to be gentle in nature, despite his position as a warrior. Arthur was never gentle, he knew to be kind, but to be gentle seemed to bring him shame. Accolon was quiet. Arthur was loud and brash. In bed, the guard was inexperienced and there was some thrill when she taught him how to pleasure a woman, but even then his touch was delicate. Arthur had never been delicate, he had always felt consuming, as if he wanted to mark her forever. Despite wishing those thoughts away, she couldn't help it, even as they eat in silence. "We should be reaching the border with Camelot by morning. I was wondering what we should do."
Accolon just looked at her, Dahut huffed.
"I was thinking of a simple glamour, or maybe a transporting spell. It would take us both further into the land, but I would be drained. These spells are costly, I would have to sleep a few hours." Morgana thought out loud, her full stomach felt good. "A glamour it is, I suppose."
Accolon nodded, and she could see his flushed cheeks under the light. Asking him to bed had been such an easy decision, and she had warned him nothing would come of it. He was a Blood Guard, she trusted him, but now, she couldn't help but wonder at the wisdom of her choices. Thanks to her spells Accolon could sleep, but her own eyes refused to close. Above her the stars were glimmering, lights said to be the home of the gods. Bodies that watched and judged, but Morgana wondered if they ever felt. Were gods even aware of what it felt like? To live and not get any help? How did they judged people anyway? Her Goddess was her Goddess, but how had she displeased her? Was she wrong in her actions? Were the druids right, and she was bringing everyone down a path that was dark and awful? It had been a long time since she felt this numb to the world, but she could feel it now, stalking her, that sense of distance, as if she was watching her body from above. Without control or reins. Watching her hands raising, the Sarrum screaming, her prisoners working, Gwen crying… Arthur dying.
It was Dahut that brought her out of her daze, whining loudly to get her attention.
"I've fed you" Morgana pointed out, then Dahut suddenly stilled, her ears moving here and there, searching. "What is it?"
Morgana was on her feet in instants, peering into the darkness in search for any signs of danger. Now that she paid attention, she could understand a presence close by. With one last look at the camp and Dahut's now silent behavior, she stepped forward. Even if there was danger, like a wolf, her wards would keep them safe, so she wasn't worried. She did however felt a prickle at the back of her head that urged her on, waving a path through the dark trees and pale mounts of snow, until she finally sighted something under the moonlight and she couldn't believe her eyes.
Tall, lean, wonderful.
It was the horn that gave it away. But the rest wasn't exactly a horse. The hindquarters were larger, the legs longer and so was the neck. The mane glowed, untrimmed and those eyes, they reflected light like a rainbow. The body itself wasn't white, but almost blue, as if moon glow had painted it permanently under exposure and if that wasn't enough, the magic she felt swirling around the creature told her the unicorn was there and it was real.
In awe, she dared not to move, afraid she might scare the creature.
The closest she had ever gotten to a unicorn was seeing a horn, wrapped in velvet and delivered to Uther by Arthur's hands. The proud hunter showing off his conquest. Much later the horn would disappear never to be seen. Uther had blamed a sorcerer. Now, even more, Morgana wondered how Arthur could've done any harm to such being. In the back of her mind, she was aware of all the things a sorcerer could accomplish with hair, bone and blood, but watching the unicorn now, she couldn't bring herself to even think of harming… Him. It was magic talking. The Unicorn was speaking without any words, the sensation peculiar, almost like the way sorcerers would speak with their minds, but instead of words, there were feelings.
"You're beautiful." She said.
"If you take one more step, you might realize the creature is not only beautiful, but gentle as well."
The old man seemed to come out of thin air, and she almost blasted him with a stunning spell. Alas, he appeared so calm, the fear she would feel at being surprised didn't reach her completely. Perhaps it was the unicorn.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Anhora, Keeper of the Unicorns." He was covered from head to toe in grey robes and a cloak, in his hands he held a staff, and his face seemed almost eager as he nodded towards the unicorn. "Go on."
She still wasn't eager to turn her back to a possible enemy, but the unicorn was still there and waiting. When her hand was finally close enough, she felt fur under her gloved hands, startled with how rough and hard it felt. It was like touching thousands of tiny needles. "How peculiar."
"An unicorn's fur is strong like iron as a way of protecting them from predators. It can hurt a dragon's mouth even when it tries to take a bite."
She was only idly listening to the humor in his voice, because the unicorn had turned his head around, his tongue leaking the back of her hand and making her smile. "He likes me."
"He recognizes a possible friend, or perhaps he senses in you the touch of the one who resurrected him."
Now she was confused. "What do you mean?"
"The one you call brother, but think of as something else, once slayed this same unicorn, unleashing a curse upon his land. His path to redeem himself was arduous, and not without its hitches."
Her heart skipped a beat. "Arthur."
Anhora nodded, his own hand joining hers, running over the unicorn's fur. "He humbly buried what was taken, and begged forgiveness for his wrongs, which allowed the unicorn to be reborn."
Morgana was staggered. "He never told me that."
"Sometimes we can spend our whole lives not knowing the best parts of a person, Daughter of Avalon."
She frowned at the strange title. Backing up a step, she dropped her smile. "This wasn't an accident, was it? Why are you here telling me these things?"
Anhora seemed unbothered by her stance, either he didn't know her power, or he knew and didn't mind at all. She could bet with certainty that it was the latter option.
"Unicorns used to be everywhere once. They lived here beside the dragons, trolls, pixies and gnomes. Phoenixes used to fly by the skies and giants slept in their homes under the mountains. Children of magic, all of them and these lands used to be theirs."
"Used to."
"It is nature's secret promise that, eventually, everything comes to an end."
Morgana frowned. "Even the unicorns? Aren't you their keeper?"
"I am, yes. Their company is soothing. They prolong my life and their magic is mine to wield, but only in their name. It is both my blessing and my punishment to keep them safe through the passage of time, and it will be both a sorrow and an honor to see they go."
"That sounds awfully bleak."
"Only for the untrained eye." He smirked, and his eyes darting somewhere over her shoulder. "Ah, he is finally here, you should see to him, before he freezes over."
"Who…"
But in the blink of an eye he was gone and the unicorn was walking away and out of her sight. Sad to see him go, she still sought out the night, wondering whom was Anhora talking about, when she heard the crunching snow deep in the forest. A small form, holding the reins of a horse and looking around, seeming completely lost. A small form covered in furs. A small form that shouldn't be there.
Suddenly, she was angry. It wasn't the sort of anger she was familiar with, that of her thwarted plans, and murderous intentions, no, this anger was old. It was an anger born of things lost, born of the foolishness of a loved one. Morgana walked forward holding that anger close to heart, whispering the words to lift her protections and reaching for the boy. "What are you doing here?" She almost shouted the question and Mordred flinched at her tone. To him, it must seem like she came out of nowhere. "I told you to stay in Corbenic! What are you doing here?"
His frightened look lasted only for a moment, for a brief glance at her face had the boy lurching forward his arms encircling her in a hug. "Mordred!" She wanted answers, but still he just hugged her, and Morgana bit back at her lip. His horse was a few steps away, and clicking her tongue she made the animal follow back to camp where Accolon was on his feet, clearly worried. She ignored him, dropped Mordred close to the fire, and went back to raise her wards once more. When she got back, Accolon had given the boy some food, but Mordred didn't meet her eyes. He stared at his bowl, avoiding her gaze, indeed a child, and suddenly she felt bad for screaming. Reigning back, Morgana rested her head on her hands, trying to raise patience to ask without hurting him. She knew how it could hurt to have grown-ups screaming at you, even if she was livid at his actions.
"What are you doing here, Mordred?"
"I wanted to help." She looked at him, remembering their last conversation. A disobedient child, intent on keeping her safe, a grown man pleading that she found the love and compassion in her heart. She was equally proud and mad.
"You wanted to help?" He nodded. "You realize how dangerous it was? You could've hurt yourself, Mordred."
"I've been alone before, I know how to do it."
"That is not the point." Morgana bit down on her lip. "What if you had fallen from your horse? Or got caught in a storm? By the Goddess you could've gotten sick!"
She saw the shame on the way he looked away from her. "I was worried."
"I know" Morgana closed her eyes, wondering what her father would've done, but for some reason she could only think of Uther and the shame he made her feel all the time. "Mordred, please look at me."
He looked.
"I need you to understand something. There are people who worry about you, all right? I worry about you, your friend back in Corbenic, she worries too I bet. Did you give any thought to what she must be feeling after you disappeared?"
"I left a note." He answered, blushing as he put the bowl aside.
"You left a note." Morgana blinked, trying to remember an instance when she had bothered with a note. When she went to Ealdor to help, there wasn't much thought put into it. She had packed and left. If Uther sent men after her, all the better, she would make them fight by her side instead. Only later she found out that Gwen had made a cover story for her departure, leaving a carefully worded letter that claimed she was visiting her home state for the short time. She could be very clever, Gwen, and when they returned, the only one being scolded had been Arthur, because he was fool like that. And because he didn't have Gwen… Not back then.
The sweetness she felt for a moment suddenly turned bitter, and her mood soured as she looked down at her lap, but Mordred was still looking, and she needed him to understand things. "I know you can take care of yourself, Mordred." In her order life he had survived to be grown and wise, wiser than herself. "Don't you think I can take care of myself?"
"You can." He mumbled, and now Morgana smirked.
"What did I promise you when I was leaving?"
"That you won't die."
Getting up, she moved until she was sitting by his side, dropping one hand around his shoulder. "You have good intentions Mordred, but please, think before you act. Sometimes you just have to trust that the people around you know what they're doing and that you don't have to do something as dangerous as traveling alone in the middle of the winter."
"You're traveling in winter."
"Not alone." She pointed out, reaching out to lift his chin. "And wait for me to teach you before pointing out the hypocrisy of grown ups, would you?"
He laughed, and Morgana followed along. Even Accolon managed a smile, and by the time it ended, she felt her anger dissolving a bit. Cryptic words, and the rest of the world had no business bothering her that night.
"Did you meet the druids?" Mordred asked her next morning, and although she was rue to explain her failure, she went along anyway.
"I did, but they won't help us, not with what I asked."
"Why not?"
"Because I did many bad things." She explained, wondering if Mordred could even understand. Accolon clearly did, judging by the brief halt of his movements as he packed the horses. "And they are right to take care of themselves."
"But they shouldn't, I mean, they should help." He paused. "You always helped."
Her smile was sad as picked up some snow and threw it at the pan to melt it. "Not always."
Mordred paused. "Did we need them a lot?"
Cocking her head to the side, Morgana considered the question. Around them the sun was rising, instigating what would probably be a clear day, where the ice melted and glinted under the light. "Why is Camelot so dangerous, Mordred?"
The boy frowned, dark bangs falling over his eyes, his small hands fidgeting. "Because of the knights?"
"That is correct" She leaned forward, amused by the way he squared himself, like a student eager to learn. "Do you know how much a knight costs?"
"Gold?"
"Not just gold, they need to get paid, but they are not like mercenaries. You see, if I wanted I could give away a chest full of gold and have some five thousand soldiers fighting for me for a season. That would be fine and dandy, but what if we need an army to be ready at any given time? Besides, mercenaries are easily swayed by higher payment, so you can see the problem." Morgana left out the part where even if you didn't have gold, promises of loot could be equally effective. "Knights on the other hand are loyal and trained to fight, but they need resources. Armor, horses, weapons, food, housing, where do you think it all comes from?"
"The king gives to them."
"And where does the king get that stuff?"
She watched as the pieces of the puzzle slowly came together. "The people?"
"Exactly." Morgana saw the water boiling, and took it away from the flames so she could fill their water-skins. "You need at least one small village to sustain one knight, one knight that will do nothing but fight and follow orders. Camelot's power was built on their knights' shoulders, but the foundation of it all was Uther's wit when it came to his resources. Not only he sold safety and wealthy to the commoners for some considerable taxes, he was very good bullying other kingdoms when it came to trade."
That was one thing she could say about Uther, the man had always known how to get what he needed.
In front of her, Mordred was following along just as she threw snow over the fire. "So you need druids, to make knights?"
"In a sense yes. Currently, the big part of Essetir's armies is made of common people. Granted, I don't need them training everyday, all day, or being around all the time, but I do need them to be ready and willing. Right now I can't feed a permanent army, and what the lords have in that regard are too few and those few are not planting, sewing, building or cooking. See the problem? "
"Yes." Mordred said eagerly. "Then, if you could get help from the druids, they could grow lots of food, and you can train lots of soldiers."
"Exactly." She squatted so she could look him in the eye. "When you're taking care of a kingdom you need to always be careful, and make your plans. Consider the whole picture to make sure everyone is taken care of. Check once, then check again."
"My Queen, we're ready."
She nodded at Accolon, and looked back at Mordred, luckily, she didn't need to say the words, judging by his vanishing smile. "You're sending me away."
"It's for the best."
The boy pouted, glaring at nothing, his blue eyes so resembling Arthur at that moment. "You said it's dangerous to travel alone in the middle of winter."
"And that is why Accolon is taking you back, shush." She said before he could. "I know, I'm a hypocrite, but I'm also your queen, am I not?"
"You're sending me away."
"I'm commanding you to go back to Corbenic, to see to your studies so one day you can help keep our people safe." Morgana licked her lips, feeling a touch of destiny in that moment. This wasn't the horrible dread that came from Jidarr, or the confusion of her meeting with Anhora. This felt right, and good, and warm. "Can you do that for me, Sir Mordred?"
That same day she rode Dahut deep into Camelot's territory, but it would take two whole days to reach the White Mountains. By day she would ride her mare on an easy pace, stopping here and there for a meal and rest. At night she would ward her camp, look at the stars and feel small.
As she traveled, her mind couldn't stop going out into her past with every familiar sight. The creek the passed when a visit to Lord Cygnus was required, running full and dangerous. The pond where she secretly taught Arthur how to swim, now frozen. The forest alone evoked a nostalgia she wasn't ready to face, the present and the past mixing together in blurs of joy and sorrow.
As she eyed the markings of a stone she saw Gwen meeting her at night, completely under control, or perhaps unconscious on the ground with an arrow on her chest. If she looked, she might found the oak that leaned over a ditch where she left Merlin to die, and the road where she first plotted the death of Uther Pendragon. If she looked she might find someone else's life.
It happened on a whim, a foolish decision, but suddenly, she was standing over a hill that peered over the Darkling Woods, to where the Citadel rose from a pale sheet, so mighty and eternal.
This had been where they had their picnic once, two children playing at being grown ups. A laughing girl and a boy with trousers covered in broth. Two brave warriors exploring the woods for monsters and adventure. Two good children who knew pain but also knew happiness, and maybe in anywhere else they might have had a chance.
Keeping hold of Dahut, Morgana raised her hand. From the distance it seemed that closing her fist could bring the whole thing crumbling down. Wishes.
"Hey you!"
Fool. She told herself, hearing their steps coming closer.
"What are you doing here girl? Are you lost?"
They couldn't see her face under her hood. Still, she kept her back to them and shook her head. "I'm not lost, Sir Knight, I'm on my way to Denaria, just passing by."
"Denaria is a long way from here." He got in front of her and Morgana got a good look at the man. It was no one she recognized. He was middle aged perhaps, wearing chain mail and a thick winter cloak stiched with Camelot's golden dragon, on his head a hat protect his ears from the cold, casting a shadow over his eyes. "It's dangerous to travel alone in winter."
She felt like hitting her head on a wall. "So I've been told, but my father is sick, and I must return to see him."
The knight nodded, his companions - there were three - were circling her. "What is your name?"
"Sefa."
"Well, Sefa, I'm sorry for your father. Now, why don't you lower your hood and step away from the horse?"
The threat was made clear when he pulled his sword free, the others following along as she took a step back. When he made to grab her, Morgana jumped out of his grasp raising her was no need for spells. Her hands shot forward, her eyes glowed golden and all four of them were thrown off their feet. Done, Morgana quickly climbed on Dahut, looking down at the men. She could kill them, finish the job. The druids probably wouldn't approve. If she left now, however, they would probably live, and tell everyone about the sorceress in the woods. They would also hunt other sorcerers if she gave them the chance.
The break was clean and it would hurt, but their hands would be incapable of holding swords for a long time. When she found their mounts down the slope, she let them loose as well and if the Goddess was good the horses would never see Camelot again.
The rest of her journey was fairly uneventful.
Morgana considered visiting her father's grave, but she could smell a storm in the air. By the time she arrived at the lair of the Disir, there was a white drape over the land, and she had to bring her mare along into the grove. Keeping as far away from the entrance as possible, Morgana finally found a curb where she could make a fire away from the wind. Looking around, she half expected the Disir to be standing there, waiting for her, but the darkness felt empty and bleak, and even when she had strong flames burning in front of her, the cold seeped into her skin like a poison. Blinking, she whispered a quiet incantation, taking a step further inside. The tunnel ahead of her seemed to go as deep and the foundations of the land, worming its way like the crawl of a gigantic snake. Still nothing. Looking back at Dahut, who seemed content to stay put, Morgana took her first step into the shadows.
She walked for a while.
She walked for a long time.
She walked until her feet were sore and still nothing happened.
When she finally turned back around, she needed only a few steps to see light of her fire again, and then Dahut, still standing by its side. The Disir were obviously trying to frustrate her, or else playing her. She wasn't sure. The runemark was her judgement, but then why were they not judging her right away? She wondered about summoning her powers, but the idea alone felt stupid. The Disir were the word of the Goddess, so this whole situation must have a purpose. She would need patience.
She sat down, and thought.
She eat some pieces of bread, and thought.
Eventually she felt asleep, still waiting, and woke up to the earth trembling around her. As if she was feeling a snore in the throat of a giant, but there was a particular symphony of violence coming from beyond the curb, a broken sound that was followed by a cloud of dust as soon as the tremor ceased. The entrance, Morgana thought, lifting her skirts.
"Dammit! *cough cough* anyone there? Can anyone hear me?!" She stopped short, her heart skipping a beat as she heard his voice reaching that breaking she liked to tease him about, because even as he grew older it never really vanished. "Anyone out there! Merlin!? Merlin?! Dammit, this is all your fault!"
She heard a thud and grunt and could picture the fool kicking something out of anger, because he was a fool, and an prat and and idiot, and she should turn away and let him stumble in the dark. No, much better, she should just go ahead and kill him at once. It would save everyone a lot trouble. No more heir to Uther's regime. No more passive princes with bias against magic. No more cunning leader for Camelot's armies. No more stupid words from his stupid mouth...
"Merlin!"
...Like that one.
Letting out a deep, long, suffering sigh, Morgana slowly walked around the curb, summoning a flame in the palm of her hand and listening to his gasp of surprise at her appearance.
"Hello, Arthur."
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