AN: So sorry for the late update! I completely lost track of time with work, but it won't happen again!

Thanks so much to Guest and Mersan123 for your comments, glad you're liking it :)

The first bit in italics is a Nimueh flashback :)

Nimueh's hands glossed over the letters she had kept from her queen, few in number as she had watched the others burn until they were nothing more than a pile of ashes; it was a cruel, but inevitable, twist of fate that cast their author on the same heap. As Nimueh's face had once illuminated her otherwise darkened room, she stared at the simmering flames with what she believed at the time was numbness. The truth was, she had never been as numb as when her fingers trailed over the parchment, flicking with some letters and looping with others, all scribbled in haste. Ygraine's voice called to her from within the note and she shifted, empty eyes scanning the room until she understood she was simply going mad.

As the fingers followed the words joined so precisely that there seemed to be no end, there was a knock at the door she would have disregarded with silence, had the visitor not barged in. She paid them no mind, even when she was sure her name cut into her spiralling thoughts. Eventually the sorceress was found, though, sitting by the few memories she had collected in a small corner of her bedroom, thinking she had hidden herself well; they would all be found in the end.

"Nimueh," he called again, voice rough. With a final twitch of her finger she peered up at the intruder, like a child about to be scorned; his appearance was as rough as his tone, his body almost vibrating. The knots in his tangled hair mimicked the larger one sitting in Nimueh's stomach, so that if she might forget her sorrowfulness for a moment, it could offer the reminder.

"Balinor?" she whispered, surprised at the weakness in her throat.

The man had barely caught his breath as he stressed, "Nimueh, you must leave, now. "

Her forthcoming frown was soft, fingers still playing against the letters she held firmly in her grip; lack of sleep from the endless battles she had faced confusing her over and over again, and she wondered if Balinor was truly standing in front of her.

"Nimueh!" he shouted, kneeling down, either so she no longer felt inferior or simply to get her to listen. When his hands grasped her shoulders firmly and he gave her a gentle shake, she could only surmise it was the latter. The haze drifted away with Balinor's stronger presence, and her eyes focused on older ones.

"I have to leave?" she blinked, "wha-why?"

"The queen is dead."

Nimueh's eyes closed softly and she ducked her head away, allowing at least a few tears their freedom. "I know," she whispered.

"You've been accused of her murder."

The sorceress' eyes opened instantaneously, barely having rested before they turned wild as she searched Balinor's face, "what?"

"Uther is sending the knights out as we speak."

"But, I… I didn't-"

"-I know," Balinor reassured her with a gentle voice, and her notice returned to the hands rubbing her shoulders, "I know what she meant to you."

"But the king?"

"He must know of your part in our rebellion, he will do anything to get to you - you must leave."

"W-where can I go? What could I do?" she asked, her voice rising in a desperation she was not used to.

"There's a place close by, Ealdor. It is a small village in the lands of Essetir; I know some people who will set us up."

"You'll come?"

Balinor nodded, "I would not leave you, and it is no longer safe for me here either - the king is to declare war on those with magic."

Nimueh gasped, feeling her nails dig into Balinor's arms before she could even register having dropped the letters, "we cannot leave, then. Surely we must stay!"

"Nimueh, you're in no state to help anyone," his head shook pityingly as he easily ignored her grappling hands, "there is nothing we can do! The dragons were sent away long ago, and many were already old; our kind is too scattered, we cannot help."

"Please," Nimueh choked, "Their deaths cannot be in vain. Ygraine's death cannot be in vain."

"If you stay here, you will die, Nimueh," Balinor was gruff, but sincere. "Then it will all have been in vain!"

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

So, they ran. Balinor settled more quickly than Nimueh, who would smile and chat for display, but hide away in her room when she did not have the strength to fix on her mask. The old man wished he could tell her he felt the same sorrow, the same sadness, but if he were to admit it, he might not be able to come back. Fortunately, he had made a new life for himself, with a kind woman who had given the pair rooms and food when they had first arrived. He tried hard to ingratiate Nimueh into their new settlement, but she had always been stubborn.

He knocked on her door hesitantly, knowing where she would be when the sun was setting and all that was left to do was rest easy; Nimueh would sleep for a few hours, but he heard her padding around in the middle of the night. He was often tempted to follow, but knew she would catch him, and if he lost her trust, Nimueh would be completely lost.

When silence greeted him, he slowly opened the door, grateful when she did not immediately turn him away. Smiling at the small victory, he shuffled over to the bed, one more uncomfortable than either had been used to at the palace. His eyes narrowed as he considered it, wondering if it would take both of their weight, but decided it would be worth the risk. He groaned as he bent down slowly, his knees nothing like they used to be, before reaching out for Nimueh's hand set on her knee. There was no reaction from the shell of a woman, a powerful sorceress, sat staring at nothing; Balinor looked around, finding the box of memories she had quickly collected before they escaped sitting shut just beside her by the pillow.

"There was news of more burnings today, all day." She spoke without emotion, "I smell the smoke from here." Balinor responded simply with a squeeze of her hand, no words of comfort forthcoming. "What sort of war is this, when one side has all of the power, and the other is forced to hide?"

Balinor let out a long breath, "I know it is bad now. I know." He turned to face her properly, although she continued to look away, breaking his heart the more lost she appeared. "There is hope though, you have heard the prophecy?" he paused, but when no reply was offered, he explained, "there will come a day when a defender of magic will rise, to unite the lands and those with and without magic."

Nimueh's reaction was stunted, her eyes closing before she let out her own breath which somehow sounded as morose as she looked. She removed her hand from Balinor's grasp, returning it to its original resting place. "I think I am getting a little too old for prophecies."

Balinor sighed, his whole expression downturned as heavy eyes fell to his empty hand, curling inwards. "You must have hope, especially now." The corner of his lip curled up, "my child cannot come into a world without hope."

It took a moment, but Balinor noticed the sadness in her expression turn to confusion as she finally turned to face him. "A child?" she asked in a voice he had not heard in what felt like years. His only response was to widen his grin ridiculously. "Balinor, you are having a child?" Nimueh did not smile, but her tone was finally turning away from the depression that had been holding it for so long.

"I am," he said, trying to remain calm but failing miserably.

"It is what you have wanted for so long," she said with wonder, before a smile finally worked its way on her face; Balinor had known her long enough to know what was breaking through was genuine, and he wondered how the muscles in her face must ache with the effort. "Congratulations!" she teared, taking him into an embrace. Balinor held back tightly, clinging to the embrace should it not be offered again.

When they eventually left the embrace, his smile had softened his features, their earlier discussion not forgotten, but at least hidden away for the moment. "You will finally have a child." Nimueh shook her head in disbelief, but her eyes settled on the old man with crinkles around them, "you will be a wonderful father."

"You believe so?"

"You already are."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Nimueh could not take her eyes off the child as he grew, still so young but already so smart. Hunith was grateful for the help too and cooked as Nimueh played some silly game with the boy. The sorceress barely noticed when Balinor entered the home, not realising how early it was for him to have returned, but was able to catch his words as they rushed from him in a single breath. Her ears stayed focused as she continued to occupy the child, listening to him repeating himself when Hunith asked.

"They're coming, they are almost here," he shouted the second time.

"Who?" Hunith asked.

"Knights of Camelot," Balinor replied while Nimueh mimed the words at the same moment. "Uther has sent his men; he must have been told we were here!"

"Who could have told him?" Hunith shouted, "nobody here bears any ill against you, you have not harmed anyone!"

"Uther has his ways of getting the information he wants," Balinor growled as Nimueh closed her eyes. "We must go," he decided quickly, "we'll go, and we will go somewhere hidden." Nimueh could hear him moving about the home, gathering supplies already to leave.

"Balinor! Stay, we- we can protect you," Hunith tried, "we won't let them take you."

"There is nothing you can do, Hunith!" Silence descended and Nimueh opened her eyes, shocked by the cry; Balinor was desperate, he was as scared and frantic as she still felt, and it was finally out there for all to see. "I'm sorry," Balinor breathed, "I'm sorry." He sounded raw, and when Nimueh finally turned around she watched as he pulled Hunith close, his fingers tight around her. When he pulled away, his eyes were only on Hunith, "if you don't let us go, he will take you all. He will take you, and he will take our son." Nimueh heard a cry from the woman, "I will not put you at risk."

"But I love you."

Balinor huffed a sad laugh, "and I love you." His eyes move along to his son, "and I love him." Stepping away from Hunith, he said, "and that is why we must go, so you can live your lives in peace."

"Please!"

"Hunith," Nimueh rose from her chair and stared at the woman with a calm that came with her acceptance, "he is right, you must listen to him."

"How?"

"You are strong, and I have been grateful for your help while we have settled here, but we cannot intrude on your lives anymore. I have lost many in this war, as has Balinor, and we will not add your name, or your son's, to that list."

"We could help…"

Nimueh stroked her arm, "you have helped us enough, let us return the favour."

Hunith considered, "where will you go?" she looked at the pair.

Nimueh turned to Balinor, who replied, "we cannot go to another village, they will only find us again. We will have to go somewhere secluded, somewhere difficult to find."

"And what if I can't find you? Once this is over?"

"When this is over, I will find you."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Again, they ran, and Nimueh's legs ached as she kept her eyes ahead, searching for the end. Branches stuck out, low and high, and she jumped and ducked as much as she could; sometimes she fell, but Balinor's voice reached her mind as he told her to get up, to keep going. The knights had surprised them, there was too little time to coordinate and all they could do was run, separated in the vast forest. Soon the clamour of armour drifted, their shouts and their weapons tucked away into a pocket of the woodland, and Nimueh took the chance to catch her breath. She looked around, the same view in every line of sight; it was difficult to catch air when the question pushed into her brain: where was Balinor?

Before she knew it, her legs were moving again, her brain screaming at her, telling her this was the wrong way. There was a man behind, though, lost along the way; she mercilessly cut down those irritanting branches blocking her path, finally exercising her dusty powers as she shouted the name of her mentor.

When she saw the knights surrounding something, distracted from her presence, she knew what it was they were so occupied with. The men that could not catch a deer if their life depended on it had finally caught their first prize, but Nimueh would not watch them take him away. Her magic was aching, the muscles needing to stretch, but she had no time for warmups; with a quick scream and a golden light, a circle of wind pushed from her, catching the knights' attention only before it threw them far away. Nimueh faltered, catching herself against a tree, drained easily from the amount of energy she had poured into the spell. Her eyes focused on the lump in the grass, though, and she refused to rest as she pushed herself back.

She wrapped her arms around him, turning him over with an effort not to aggravate the arrow sticking from his chest. Her mind whirled, wondering if he had tried to face them, or there had been archers ahead of him hidden in the trees, but a splutter of cough caught her attention as she pulled him closer to her.

"Balinor?" her voice was wet as she swallowed tears. She set herself to task immediately, eyes scanning his body, hands searching the area around the wound, but pulling back when he groaned in pain. The groan was weak, too weak. "They won't take you," she whispered frantically, "they won't. I can fix this - you don't have to die. I'm a gatekeeper, I can help."

"Nimueh," he said, patting her hand with a tap just as weak as his words. "Nimueh, please."

"Don't."

"Nimueh-"

"- I said don't!" she screamed, and silence draped over the forest; the birds mourned the man not yet gone, as the trees remained still despite the breeze.

"Nimueh."

"I know what you're going to say, Balinor, and just- just don't." She sat back on her knees, hands finally falling from him as her eyes dropped to allow her tears to fall to the floor. "Please."

"You know you can't do anything."

"What's the point of me, what is the point of having such power if… if all I ever do is stand by and watch people die?"

"Your power can be used for other good," Balinor said, before his back arched in pain. Nimueh's eyes flew up to him and she once again wrapped her arms around him, but simply held him close. "Please, I- I don't want you to be alone, Nimueh, you must find people. Keep them close."

"Then let me save you."

"Nimueh, I have abandoned my wife and my son… I was already dying."

"But… you said there is hope, you said we must hope!"

"I do," coughs interrupted his speech, "I hope that you live, I hope that you do not corrupt yourself by saving my life. Your power is a gift, do not abuse it."

"Even in death, do you have to teach me?" she asked sadly.

Balinor's laughs turned to coughs, "I know you already knew it; I trust you." The man turned closer into her, his face contorting with agony, "just… make sure you are on the right side, when you need to be."

"I promise," she whispered, her breath against his paling face.

Nimueh watched as the light drifted from the wise eyes, and she clutched at his body as her sobs turned into deafening screams.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Nimueh wished to find someone, as Balinor wanted her to, but she found it so hard to trust. Soon she found a cave, hidden away as he had suggested, a place dark and dismal, dripping with water. She spoke to herself, hearing it echo from the depths of her home, but there was no other reply.

When she caught sleep, she dreamt of old friends, of the prophecy. Even that had turned into a nightmare. Her eyes were heavy when she finally rested, knowing it would be only for a couple of hours. The dream morphed into each segment right on cue, but one night something changed; she did not wake, her eyes refusing to budge, as something new caught the mind's attention. Events were unfolding, those with magic were less fractured than before, the people were coming together. " Join the New Order," someone whispered, the words echoing. "You will no longer be alone."

Arthur sat at his desk in a pose his back was growing used to, causing him to briefly wonder about how his posture might be coming out of all this. Would people still respect a hunchback king? Widening his eyes before his eyebrows fell over them, he pulled his head back. Glancing around the empty room, he was glad nobody was here to see his descent into madness. Still, perhaps it was just the aftereffects of the gateway; Merlin said there would be some issues, and, as if to reinforce that fact, his insides contorted nauseatingly, but he had gone through the worst.

The king yawned deeply before rubbing at his face with both hands, exhausted from the late journey home and weighed down with truths. His mind was still making attempts to order each and every thought he was having - even the hunchback one - when there was an unwelcome knock at the door. He grumbled in a very unkinglike manner, "go away," but his servant must have not heard, otherwise he would not have then entered. George's morning brightness dimmed considerably when Arthur fixed him with a greater scowl than he had ever wielded, but true to his professionalism, he remained standing. Just.

"I apologise, Sire." He said sheepishly, trying to regain his pomp, "but Sir Leon has requested a meeting."

Arthur waved his hand before George had finished his sentence, "I'm sure whatever it is, it can wait." He replied with a croaky voice, and he felt George's eyes turn the slightest bit inquisitive. George would never ask, though. Arthur was not sure if he liked that about him, or if he would prefer a servant with more gall.

It appeared in the moment that George did appear to contain something; nothing close to gall, but a need to fulfil what had been asked of him. Arthur frowned with light amusement, watching the servant blink, "Sire," he cleared his throat, "I have been informed it is a matter of great importance; Sir Leon is waiting outside the door as we speak."

Arthur sat back, almost admiring the servant; he also knew the longer he kept his silence, the more fearful George became. Morgana had told him more than once not to torture his servants, but she had never had to deal with one so irritatingly supercilious. Still, he caved eventually, when there were just enough beads of sweat forming at the top of his forehead by the beginning of his ridiculous haircut. "Very well, send him in."

George bowed quickly, leaving in a hurry. Arthur smirked at the empty space left, but as Leon entered, he remembered he should fix his posture: he certainly would not respect himself were he to become a hunchback.

The knight came in looking curious, his usually meticulous appearance altered only slightly, but Arthur noticed even the one curl out of place. "What is it, Leon?" he asked as Leon scratched the chair opposite Arthur against the floor without permission, checking behind him before taking the seat.

"It is regarding the Lady Morgana."

Arthur rolled his head back, not this again. "Leon, if this is about another damn sorcerer-"

"-No! Well, yes, it is about a sorcerer."

"Then surely it can wait, I have more pressing-"

"Please, Sire, you must let me speak." Leon stopped him immediately with a hand in the air. Arthur's eyebrows rose; it was one thing for George to question him, but Leon? Crossing his arms, he waited, eyebrows still hanging in the air, as Leon collected himself. "You understand I come here as your friend and servant, and should you find any falsity in my words, then you may then dismiss me, but first you must hear what I have to say."

Regarding Leon a moment, the king wondered what was going around his castle today that his subjects were all so dismissive of him and his title, but decided ultimately to hear the knight out; if nothing else, it would distract him from his own issues. With a nod, he consented to hear the tale.

"Thank you." Leon sat back with more comfort. "Now, what I am about to tell you is perplexing, and had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would not believe it myself."

"Leon," Arthur's eyes rolled easily, "will you just tell me what it is?"

The knight nodded, but swallowed before continuing, "yes." With a breath, he revealed his tale of dragons and swords, and at the centre of it all: Morgana.

Arthur's expression was a puzzling mixture when Leon came up for breath, "is that all?" he hoped so.

"I am afraid not, Sire," Leon shook his head, "both myself and Guinevere followed her once more. Just to be sure."

"Yes, I can see why you would need to gather evidence for this very heavy accusation," Arthur leaned forward, fixing Leon with a hard stare as his words dripped with warning.

Leon shuffled in his seat and Arthur was finally enjoying himself for once, "quite." The knight laughed with shifting eyes. "Well, we followed her again, as I said. This time it was possibly worse than the first-"

"- How can it be worse than a dragon?"

"Nimueh! Morgana was consulting with Nimueh, the sorceress." He burst, and Arthur's enjoyment instantly fizzled away.

"Nimueh?" he echoed, sitting back slowly. "She's still alive?" His eyes drifted, "how?"

"I do not know, but she has been meeting with Morgana."

Focusing back, Arthur frowned, "what happened?"

Pushing himself up in the seat, Leon leaned towards the king, "that surprised me also, Sire: Morgana was convincing Nimueh to support you."

"What?" Arthur asked with a blink.

"Morgana asked her to join the New Order, to support peace and unity, with you."

"The New Order? What's that?" he gasped, "Magic's Defender. They must be linked!"

Leon nodded, "Guinevere and I thought similar."

"And Nimueh… she was previously not a part of this Order? Could she still be Magic's Defender?" he scratched his chin.

"I do not believe so," Leon interjected his musings, "she appeared old and weak, desperate; it was Morgana that held the power during their meeting."

Arthur hummed, "yes. I think we both know, too, she has been aiding those with magic." Leaning across the desk once more, he asked, "do you know if she possesses magic herself?"

"Sire," he sighed, "yes, I believe so. Nimueh called her a witch."

"You never saw her perform a spell?"

"No, but how else could she know of the dragon, of the sword, of Nimueh? Even if she were not magic herself, she cares deeply for those who are!"

Arthur considered the words, too many possibilities hitting him all at once, but one stuck out bright in his mind and he wished it were not so. Leon waited for his reply silently, but Arthur could hear him breathing, fast, trying to get some air back as he had spilled the most dangerous of accusations against Uther's ward.

"Leon," he finally found something firm to settle on his voice, "it is only you and Guinevere who know anything?"

"Of course."

"Then I ask that you keep it that way for now; I will gather more information and speak with Morgana myself before the word is out. Can you do that?"

"Of course, My Lord." Leon nods his reassurance, standing quickly with readiness, "I will keep quiet."

The king was worn out completely, but when, later that day, Morgana made her way out of the citadel, he knew he had to follow. He had left too many loose strings; he could not hang another. Finally, George's efficiency came in more useful than it really ever had, and his horse was ready in an instant. The animal flew from the gates, following the tracks Morgana had left behind until he caught her in the distance, slowing his ride to a gentle trot.

He stopped when she did, a few yards behind the lady who jumped off in the middle of the forest; Arthur would have questioned it, but at this point he knew it would all become clear eventually. When a boy emerged from the trees to stand by her in an empty part of the woodland, he thanked the gods for their quick answer, before continuing his search for an advantageous hiding spot.

"How is Nimueh?" Morgana asked the boy; despite having heard the name already, he still froze when it was spoken. The tale his mother had told him was fresh in his mind, but the one his father had woven still gripped his heart with fear.

"She is weak," the boy said, in a voice that sounded so familiar it made Arthur's heart sink. "She needs rest, but she appears to be in higher spirits; I think their reunion has much to thank for that."

"Yes," there was a smile in her tone, "I am glad they have met once again. I know he will have been just as happy."

The boy nodded, "as soon as she was well rested, they asked to see the other."

Arthur frowned, trying to peer closer without rustling the bush too much.

"Do you hear that?" The king ducked as soon as the boy searched the area, praying again to the gods to grant him one more favour.

"I am sure it is nothing," he thought he heard Morgana reply. "I must go now, Mordred."

"To Cenred?"

Arthur wanted to give up then.

He tailed the lady, his something-of-a-sister, to Cenred's kingdom at the same distance as before, hoping this would not be a long visit. The short conversation between Morgana and the messenger drew him closer to confirming his suspicions, but as with everything he had stumbled upon these trying days, it had not come without its questions. Plus, sitting in bushes was unkinglike and also incredibly uncomfortable; whatever happened today, he swore he would rest easy later.

Arthur watched eagerly as Cenred finally graced Morgana with his presence, sauntering from his castle like a man on a mission. The king in the bushes cringed as, even from so far away, he witnessed the wicked man's attempts at seducing his poor sister. Morgana may or may not be his rival, but nobody deserved such treatment, he decided. He managed a smile when he watched Morgana pull away, her own disgusted expression clear in his mind if not from his position.

'Pleasantries' were exchanged: Cenred waved his dark locks around as he batted his eyelids Morgana's way, whilst the lady crossed her arms to watch the embarrassing ritual take place. Most of the people across the lands knew that it was easier to humour Cenred at the beginning, since that made it even more enjoyable to crush him.

"Your ally is going back on her word, Cenred. She wishes to break the alliance." The lady speaks with a different sort of glee than before, more wicked than pure.

"Hm? I don't think so."

"Oh?" Arthur ignored his discomfort as he was entranced in the display; watching Morgana turn her aggression on another man for once was certainly entertaining, especially when that man dressed head to toe in black leather. "You are a man filled with greed, Cenred, and the New Order will never ally with you; I defend peace, not war."

Arthur fell back into the bush, ignoring the prickling of twigs and stabbing leaves on his skin. Morgana had broken an alliance with a potentially very powerful kingdom, one which, with the aid of magic, could destroy his kingdom. Cenred could not, though, because the deal was cut with a sword forged from a dragon's breath, by a woman who defended magic. Someone you have grown with, his mother's words echoed in his mind as he closed his eyes, drowning out the few words exchanged because he knew what the outcome would be: Morgana had always been just as strong as he, and she was terribly stubborn.

Merlin hummed to himself, standing just outside of the camp to get some air. Aglain had frowned, refusing to believe the air outside was any fresher than that in. "That's not what I meant," the warlock sighed. "I'm only stepping out, no more." His guardian watched him carefully. "I promise."

His hands rested with each other behind his back, his neck stretched out for the breeze to catch the pale skin, head dipping to his back to soothe the aches. Between his time helping Arthur perform a tricky ritual that had left his partner in a terrible state, and attending to the new arrival, he had had little chance for peace. Of course, listening to the tales recounted to him with breaks only for food and rest, the desire for quiet only came when his joints protested for him to decide if he was going to sit all day or he was going to walk.

"You might as well come out," he said clearly, big ears catching the sound of a trespasser. Closed eyes remained that way, too tired to greet the intruder with a proper welcome.

A man-made silence met him, and he sighed, bringing his head back to its rightful spot. "Come on," he moaned.

Rustling, and then, "how did you know?"

Merlin sighed, "because you're always so loud." His eyes rolled towards the irritation, "out here and in here," he stressed, poking a finger at his head. Possibly too hard, though he refused to let the brief pain show.

"You're never happy to see me," the boy grumbled, coming to a stand at Merlin's side; the warlock wondered if Aglain was right about the air in the camp. Would it be rude to leave suddenly? Looking at the boy he wondered if he was bothered about politeness, when all he had asked for was peace. "Why aren't you like this with the others?"

"Didn't I just answer that?" The boy stuck his lower lip out. "Fine. I suppose, if I had to pick one reason? Probably because you are the most irritating." His companion's lip fell fully, "plus, they can't communicate with my mind, so they're automatically less annoying." Merlin shrugged, before he felt a nudge in his side. "Alright," He sighed after several seconds passed, "you're not too terrible." He acquiesced, hoping it was enough to settle the Druid as he stared back out into the shades of black cascading over the leaves and flowers just outside their settlement.

"You're thinking of him, aren't you?" Merlin refused to allow the irritation to burst his tranquil mindset of the moment, and hummed instead. "I'm sure seeing his friend has brought back some good memories."

"Some," he breathed, "but I never had nearly enough to begin with. I am glad she has been able to fill in some gaps."

"But you wish he had filled them himself?" Merlin frowned, turning back to the boy standing beside him, much taller than he remembered.

"When did you get so wise?" he narrowed his eyes at him, but the boy beamed at the compliment. "Don't look too happy, your wisdom only makes you more irritating." The responding laugh was unexpected, but he let one of their more peaceful moments together last for a while as they both stared into the depths of nothingness.

It was only when even nothing was hard to see that he turned to the Druid with a thin line across his face, "you have news, I assume, Mordred?"