HOPE
The king that was thrown at her feet was in rough shape.
His armour was half undone, probably the work of someone greedy that wanted a taste of those gold filigree. His crown had also been taken away, and of the fancy embroidered cloak there was little left but a piece of cloth hanging from the pin on his chest. That was how Morgana first saw King Cador of East Anglia up close.
She just wished she had more time to deal with the man. She wished in fact for a great many things, but alas her patience was running low. She spent the afternoon fighting what was left of Anglia's army, finally breaking through the lines to this single man so she could finally end this ugly business and go after the sister she could feel suffering in the back of her senses.
"I'm going to make myself clear, and I'm only going to say this once." She told the man, resting a hand on the pommel of her sword. Around her she could feel the thirst for blood emanating from her soldiers like a stench. Alvarr, in particularly, seemed delighted to have the king at the point of his sword. "Your men are still out there, my scouts say they are preparing for another attack on my forces. You'll tell them to stop, and you'll tell them to surrender. Do that and your men will be spared and you'll be escorted to my seat in Cobernic where you shall stay until we can work out conditions for your release."
She watched his eyes narrowing in her direction, the eyes of a ruler, humbled or perhaps ashamed. She couldn't tell.
"What sort of choice are you giving me?"
"Not a choice, conditions." She articulated, coldly. "Don't fool yourself, King Cador, I'm just stating clearly to you that by dawn tomorrow every and each one of your men will be dead, slaughred on the ground of the country they invaded. The nobles, the common soldiers, those who share your blood, I'll kill them all without mercy or hesitation." She lowered herself to stare into his eyes, letting out every emotion she had buried deep in the dark pit of her soul. In that moment she was the Morgana who had tortured Arthur's knights, the woman who locked her best friend in a room of mandragora and watched sanity draining from her spirit. In that moment, she didn't care. "I'll do more, your highness, I'll vow my wrath against your country. I'll burn it down, every crop, every hut, every castle. I'll hang your people on the side of every road running towards your seat, men, women and children untill there is no one left. I will hunt those you love, I'll take their heads as well, and then, once everything is done, maybe I'll kill you too and it will be a mercy. That is what shall happen. Then I will pour salt into the land and make sure the memory of it becomes its tragedy."
The wheather felt cold, her magic seeping from the very soul of the world, howling and snarling. She never blinked, she never hesitated, her words were clear and absolute. Her power burned, humming along the air until it cackled with sparks. Whatever colour his face had left was completely drained under her threats, his tongue darting out to lick dry lips. When he forced himself to keep looking at her, she almost admired him.
"How do I know..." He paused, gulping and starting over. "How do I know that your word is worth of trust?"
"You don't know." Morgana grimaced feeling the renwed flare of pain at her side, but when she felt around, her mail and surcoat were both intact. "But I guess that depends more on the sort of man that you are, your majesty."
It turns out that, despite everything, the King of Anglia actually cared for his men quite enough. By the end of the day the army from East Anglia left their weapons on a pile at the side of the road, each and every one of them marching east, their gazes hateful as each one nursed a broken finger on their sword hand. She couldn't care much for their disgruntled mood, they were alive and they would heal. It was far better than what she planned to do when she first felt Morgause's pain.
In the end, Morgana sent a messenger with them with a letter from their king, and then sent the king with a dozen scouts to Cobernic.
"They have the night to sleep, after that we make our way west without pause. No unnecessary stops."
Alvarr looked at her pensively in the warmth of her tent, the rest of her commanders following suit. "Did something happen?"
"I'm not sure yet."
But that was a lie, for in the high hours of the night she would feel the claws tearing at her flesh. Drowning in a nightmare, she would scream until blood fell from her lips, trashing against chains of fire, while beasts devoured her, teeth sinking on her sides, ripping flesh and skin, untill her guts were exposed to the crows. She would scream untill she felt the skies falling on her head, only to wake up gasping.
The ghost of the pain followed her waking moments and she prayed she could reach Morgause in time.
They were one hundredth knights of noble birth and one servant of humble origins.
The drizzle that had followed them into Essetir had broken a while ago, leaving space for a clouded day and sultriness that made Arthur sweat inside the armour. The leather underneath didn't breath right, and so drinking water became a constant necessity among the riders. He dared to make pauses as few as possible though, his mind in constant fear of ambushes like the ones that decimated his father's foraging parties. Morgause's army might've been trapped in Green Ash, but Arthur wouldn't underestimate them. Mistakes at that point would be costly. His most recent ones had already proven that.
Whenever he had to stop to water and rest the horses, the prince of Camelot took some time to study the men put under his charge. He recognized some sigils on pins and weapons, and knew where they were from. He studied faces he knew well, although not in a way of friendships or respect, and he watched the way Lord Hector walked among them, inspiring a sort of fearful respect that wasn't unlike his father's authority. Arthur hated that and although they all seemed fine obeying his orders, the young prince could feel his distrust increasing by the hour. Those weren't the men he would've chosen, definitely not. In fact, his only real choice was currently handling his horse, the servant clothes loose on the short body, face almost completely hidden under the hood.
After so many years, it was strange to realize how much Merlin had wormed his way into his life, his companionship and position oddly amiss, a scale unbalanced. What he felt even more however was Gwaine's glare, fixing on him after Gaius expelled everyone from his pavilion, chasing him through time and distance.
"What were you doing out there?"
"Calm down, Gwaine."
"No" Gwaine had brushed Elyan's hand away and stared him down, seeming forgetting titles or chains of command altogether. "That man was an assassin right? He was just waiting for a chance like that, and what were you doing giving it to him?"
Arthur could only look away. Merlin's blood had dried on his hands, but he could still feel it burning.
"King Odin sent him." He muttered in response, his mind numbly remembering a young face, growing horrified as the wound on his tight went on bleeding, red staining his clothes, the ground, Arthur's hands and his apologies. "I killed his son."
Gwaine became at loss, shaking his head from side to side.
"He wasn't a sorcerer." Elyan acknowledged, turning to Gwaine with a soothing voice. "It wasn't anyone's fault, no one could've known."
"It could've been an enemy, a spy, anyone." Gwaine argued back.
Arthur listened, his whole body poised to run or hide when Gaius appeared. The physician was cleaning his hands on a bloodied cloth while his eyes remained tainted by a deep, disturbing, severity.
"How is he?" Gwaine asked before Arthur could say anything, making the old man grimace.
"I've done everything in my power. The bleeding stopped, it was a good thing you didn't remove the knives, my prince. " Gaius said, not getting into details. "The rest is up to him now."
Those words traveled with Arthur when he left the camp behind, assured only in the safety that his knights and Gaius would provide to Merlin while he was away, betting their fates like a careless gambler. Death, of course, would seldom heed to the whims of men, and whenever he was left alone with his thoughts, Arthur returned to that old guilt, renewed and strengthened, fearing that he might write Merlin's name in his heart right beside his mother's.
It was the beginning of the night, and the sky was burning, the orange of the sun filtering through clouds and distance when they were finally hailed by a party carrying King Bayard's banners. The man he saw ahead of the collum, however, was a different king.
"King Olaf!" Arthur greeted, not bothering to hide his surprise. "I didn't expect to see you here!"
"Prince Arthur." The King of Northumbria nodded respectfully. "Please don't think much of it. Although it would be fitting to meet a man of your station, I've been only leading our scouts in a few patrols. Meeting you is an event of providence I would say."
"That is all right, your highness. It is an honour nonetheless."
Quickly, Arthur presented Olaf to his retinue, Lord Hector included, allowing the king to do the same. After that, Olaf quickly explained he would lead them to camp, placing his horse by Arthur's side and guiding them through the land. Having not interacted with Olaf since the incident with his daughter, it was fair to say that Arthur felt uncomfortable riding by the man's side. He was honestly not sure if he should ask after Lady Vivian or not, and at this point, his training in diplomacy seemed utterly useless. He did however caught the meaningful gaze the man threw at him a moment later as their horses slowly crept away from the formation.
"Is there a reason you're putting distance between us and our companions, your highness?" Arthur questioned, looking away from Olaf and to the horizon. A quick glance back told him they were safe to remain unheard.
"I've been complaining about your lack of respect in regards to my daugher for these last few days, if anyone asks you should support that story" Olaf explained to which Arthur frowned in confusion. "Lot's scouts are weasels, Prince Arthur, words are not safe in their proximity."
"Lot's? I didn't think he had any power left."
Olaf looked straight ahead, his brow furrowed in a way that resembled the bear on his chest. "Lot wormed his way into Bayard's graces very quickly. He has few men left, but they're loyal, ruthless, and dangerous. When I marched from my country to attend the call of the other Kingdoms, I thought I would meet a respectable force, but these past few days have proven… Challenging."
Arthur frowned. "I always thought Bayard was a fine commander and would be hard to influence. The treaties between Mercia and Camelot were always hard earned and scrutinized. He would argue about the last inch of land that wasn't to his liking."
"I'm afraid that is exactly the problem." Olaf explained. "Bayard was always a powerful but jealous man. He always resented your father's renown. When every other noble was shaking Uther's hand and allying with him in the war against Magic, Bayard was ostracized for not acting sooner. Now he sees the raising of a sorcerer army as an opportunity to become the new champion against the heretics."
"And Lot has gained influence over him."
Bayard nodded. "Too much for my liking, god only knows the words he spoke when he turn up in Mercia with his tail between his legs. He acts with flattery and praise, but underneath he is a snake, fit of the tales about him. I tried to warn Bayard, but he thinks himself in control."
"Is he?"
"Not quite. At the beginning we were losing men every day due to ambushes. Our scouts returned with no results if they returned at all. Beyond marching straight to Cenred's castle, there was little coordination involved, in fact, we were arguing the whole day about where to cross the river when the traitor showed up with the witch." Olaf spat on the ground, whether that was his opinion on the traitor or Morgause, Arthur couldn't tell. "Lord Belmont he calls himself, came up with some pretty words about Albion, the threat of magic and the iron heart of good men that must prevail in the end. Bayard truly believes the presence of his army spurred the man's decision, but I doubt it. This Belmont sounds more like a sycophant and opportunist to me."
Already, Arthur could see the tents and Banners of the Mercian army in the distance, a line spread hugging the border of a thick piece of forest and beyond it, clouds of thick dark smoke.
"Are those…"
"He is trying to smoke them out, unsuccessfully." Arthur nodded pensively. Was Bayard sure he could burn a forest in such damp weather, or was he doing it for a show?
"I want to thank you for your words, King Olaf."
Arthur felt the king's eyes on him as they slowed down to let the rest catch up to them. "The Five Kingdoms are a sacred alliance, Prince Arthur, one forged in honour and promises. I made no such promises to Mercia."
Bayard had poised his army as if he was running a siege to the forest, building palisades and trenches all along the tree line. As Lord Hector caught up to him, some amusement in the Lord's face – he obviously heard and bought Olaf's ruse of talking about Lady Vivian – they heard the explanation for the whole affair. Apparently the forest was actually more of a swamp, with patches of flooded land that made it easy to defend. It also made siege lines viable as long as there was a second army to block any escapes to the west, something that Arthur's father was doing as they spoke.
As Olaf explained it to him, Arthur took care to watch the layout of the army, taking in the lines in particular. He wondered if Bayard wasn't worried about being spread too thin, but the answer quickly came to him as he saw the number of horses running around. With a cavalry like that, he had to be feeling confident of closing any gaps if the sorcerers tried to push for an escape.
The amount of confidence exulted was obvious when Arthur was finally brought up to the King of Mercia and his court, dining in sight of the woods. He was sitting at the head of a table on a raised dais, eating roasted pork with his aides and commanders. Upon seeing Arthur, Bayard allowed a servant to fill his cup and rose from his seat, the light of torches and candles illuminating his cheerful features.
"Prince Arthur, what an honour! I wasn't expecting Uther to sent you personally"
You were probably informed about my banner hours ago, sire. Arthur thought, offering a respectful bow. "King Bayard, it is my honour to meet you. My father sends you his compliments, and he assures you his army will be in position."
"He better be or else I'll end this war all by myself!" Bayard boasted, summoning chuckles from the men around him. "Come now, come, I'm sure you're hungry!"
"I thank you, your highness, but I would like to see to my men first."
"Nonsense, they will be seen to, don't worry, come on now, seat." One of the king's aides was immediately invited to give out his place. Arthur looked back reluctantly, but one glance at Olaf told him he should just go with it. He turned to his servant instead.
"Look after my horse and be careful." The last part was said softly, but his meaning was clear. Brown eyes nodded at him in understanding before rushing away.
Soon Arthur found himself sitting by Bayard's side while Lord Hector and Olaf took their own places on the table. "There it is! Come on, drink some wine! This one came from distant lands, bought it from a Frankish merchant, you'll like it! Come on drink and let's hope this feast ends better than the last one we were in together, huh?"
The joke felt flat, but Arthur laughed anyway, accepting the cup and toasting with everyone else as the king did so. Before Arthur could say anything there was a plate in front of him, and there was a servant cutting pieces of meat shining with melted fat. On his side, King Bayard threw a grape into his mouth and smiled through the gray of his beard.
"So, tell me, what answer does Uther send?"
Arthur had the words at ready. "He is willingly to accept your terms in regards to Essetir, as long as Morgause's execution happens by his hand."
"Of course, of course, we already have a cart ready and everything." Bayard said, clearly proud of himself. The idea that his father might refuse wasn't an issue it seemed. "I'm sure Uther will have great pleasure in executing the sorceress that once took his kingdom. Lot here knows she was a piece of work, right Lot?"
Bayard patted the shoulder of a lean man on his side, his easy smile taking the jab with a grace that Arthur found almost sickening. "But of course, sire. The witch caught me with my pants down, one might say, luckily your mighty force prompted such a god given decisions from our dear Lord Belmont."
"Belmont! That is the man, a great man!" Bayard pointed to another noble dining at the end of the table, his beard braided three times and shining with grease. "He knows where his loyalties lay, that one. No like most of those Essetirians."
"He is the one that brought Morgause to you?" Arthur questioned. "I'm curious with how he accomplished that."
"Indeed." Said Lord Hector over Arthur's shoulder. "Sorcerers can be very tricky to capture, specially a powerful one."
"They are, yes." Lot answered. "But such feat is not impossible. Someone with a father like yours must know that, my prince."
"Believe me, I know." Arthur thought about Gargoyles, unicorns and the screams of his people and wondered how many magical threats these men had faced.
"And yet your father is certainly taking his sweet time with this war. To hear some talk about the mighty Uther I would've thought he would be dining in Cenred's Castle by now!" Bayard provoked, his laughter spreading around the table. Arthur just nodded.
The feast moved on within a daze of boisterous claims and food that made Arthur squirm on his seat, half wondering how these men might brand him when this was all voer. Wheter he would be alive then, it was a different story. His eyes were continually drawn to beyond the lines where men kept pushing fire into the forest. Arthur asked about minor details and Bayard's intentions to Essetir, but mostly, he waited for the right time to make his request, which came when he finally made Bayard laugh with a joke he heard from Morgana's mouth when he was a child.
"Tell us, Prince Arthur! Tell us how you call a knight that is always certain!" Bayard urged, red faced and groggy, while Arthur smiled behind the cup.
"Sir Tanly." He said, and Bayard laughed, and his aides laughed and Lot pretended to laugh – Arthur was learning that the man rarely seemed genuine – and then, the Prince allowed the mood to settle. "If you excuse me, your highness, I feel I might need sleep for tomorrow, but I would like to make a request from you."
"Of course, of course." Bayard said, waving his hand. "What do you wish?"
"I was wondering if I might see the prisoner." Arthur explained, softly and distracted. "As you've said, that woman has caused much harm to Camelot, seeing her defeated would be an assurance."
"But of course, someone will take you to her cage."
"I'll do it" It was Lot, rising from his seat with a swiftness that told Arthur was he was very much sober. "Allow me to show Prince Arthur to the prisoner, your majesty."
"Of course, Lot, show him."
"I would like to see it as well." Said Lord Hector, getting up without being prompted.
Arthur had to bite his cheek as he accompanied the two men. He had expected to see where Morgause was with a little freedom, but this would prove to be more difficult than he thought. Bayard's fortifications around Green Ash were also discouraging his first idea of bringing her back to her people, hopefully he would come up with a better plan once he stopped following Lot as they walked through the camp.
"I must say, it's an honour to finally make your acquaintance, Prince Arthur." Lot eyed him from over a shoulder, his torch pronouncing the lines on his face. "Someone with your family name and a reputation of his own is a rare breed."
"I could say the same of you, Lot. Your campaing against the Saxons is famous."
"Yes, nasty bastards they are, but someone has got to do it, the coin is not that bad also." Lot smirked. "It's just like you and your father. You fight the magic within the land, I fight the invaders from out of it. We do the heavy lifting while others sit in their comfy chairs."
Arthur could feel Lord Hector bristling by his side, but he moved on before the man could say anything.
"I believe that everyone has a part to play in making a kingdom safe."
"But certainly there those idle mouths that you would love to get rid of."
"I don't really think about it."
"Maybe you should start." Lot pointed out, walking around a throng of soldiers singing an old tune about dead witches. "I've spent my share of life meeting those who seldom prove their worth. In truth this world is built for those with ambition, sire. Men who don't hesitate to get what they want and who persist in the face of dire odds, those are the ones who eventually will come out on top. Men like you and I."
Arthur disliked even the smallest notion that he might be like Lot in any way, shape or form. To his relief, they soon arrived to what seemed a cleared path inside the camp, where even the nearest tent was many feet away from the a sturdy wooden cage in the center, mounted atop of a cart. The guards themselves were far from it and Arthur looked over that fact curiously, until Lot explained.
"No one wants to get too close because of the smell."
It was if Loki had conjured it into Arthur's senses. It was a filthy stench of shit, piss and sickness. Gulping the little he had eaten from Bayard's table, he followed closer to the cage, noticing it was almost completely closed. Lot unlatched a heavy gate and bent his waist, gesturing to the entrance like he was a traveling performer. Inside, among the shadows, Arthur found the shape of a woman, covered in chains and kneeling on the floor.
"Sorcerers are powerful, how…" But Arthur's voice trailed off as he realized that the chains weren't surrounding Morgause, but hooked into her flesh, each one piercing a part of her body in a grotesque spectable, dried and fresh blood mixed all around her as Arthur reared back in horror. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Pardon me?" Lot questioned, unbothered.
"She is a prisoner!" Arthur argued, unable to stop himself. The smell had grown retching as he got closer, seeing only patches of dirty blond hair and a shivering body. Morgause looked dead. "We can't treat prisoners like that! That is torture."
He snapped his gaze to Lot, but the man simply shrruged from atop the cart. "She is being imprisoned, Prince Arthur, not tortured, although I doubt anyone would complain if we were to torture her."
"That is not right."
Lot turned his gaze at him. "I'm surprised by your reaction, it was my understanding that your father created these methods during the purge."
Confused Arthur looked to Hector's emotionless face, seeking an answer which the man promptly provided. "That is correct. During the purge, it was discovered that many of the more powerful sorcerers could heal themselves quickly; some even used magic without words. Chains and cells couldn't hold them, but hurting them, well, that would keep them quiet for the trials. High priestesses can heal themselves, so the chains won't kill her, but they will keep her magic exhausted and under control."
"I never heard of such thing." Arthur whispered.
"No, I imagine you wouldn't, sire, by the time you grew up most sorcerers we caught could be stopped by cages and cuffs until their time of execution, and sometimes there were other ways to persuade them." Hector paused, humming to himself as he looked up. "I remember this one couple, dark sorcerers, they were, frightening so. Killed five men before we captured them, they certainly wouldn't be held by chains, so King Uther held the life of their child over their heads. They behaved like beaten dogs. Maybe this might be a good learning experience for you, my prince."
Hector made an attempt at being encouraging, but Arthur only felt the air coming in and out of him like molten led. His thumb moved his mother's ring compulsively around his finger until he felt that he could speak without choking. He couldn't show anything real to these men. "That is an interesting bit of history, lord Hector, but I fear for our own prisoners and how they might be treated if Morgana hears about this."
"I'm sure nothing we say would persuade an army of heretics to act nobly, prince Arthur, in my experience they don't really care for prisoners" Lot argued back, coming closer to the chain and laughing down at Morgause. "You should've seen what those monsters could do. I was in the brink of victory when they called upon their profanity, as if the devil himself had sent fire from the sky, but as long as the whore is like this." He grabbed the chain and pulled, moving the iron stuck to Morgause's flesh. Arthur flinched, but the woman kept silent. Lot got a glint to his eyes and pulled harder. This time Morgause actually groaned, a broken sound, like a wounded animal that forced Arthur to turn away.
He promised himself it would be the last time.
"That is enough I think, we should go over our preparations for tomorrow. The cart will slow us down and I want to deliver her to my father as soon as possible."
People didn't notice servants.
She had always known it, of course. She learned about it growing up in the shadows of a castle, and she learned about it working in said castle. She used that fact in her favor many times and again as she sneaked around the camp as small and discreetly as a mouse. From the distance she could hear the man, the relieved sounds of soldiers in the time of their meal, the sweet expectation of being back among friendly banners after a accomplished mission. Arthur would be among them no doubt, making sure they drunk the wine and ate the food.
Posing as Arthur's new servant, Gwen had a more important task. Nothing, however, could've prepared her for the moment she walked into the cage. The wagon was closed, so when she opened the door with the key Arthur gave her, the smell hit like a punch to the face. Still, Gwen did her best to recover her composure, stepping closer to Morgause's shivering form. The witch was a mess of rags and ripped pieces of cloth hanging from her body, leaving one of her breasts exposed under the dim light of the moon. Her weight was hanging from raised arms, head lowered down. Gwen thought she might be unconscious, but quickly she was proved wrong. When Morgause's gaze snapped up to her, she startled, heart flipping inside her chest as she fell on her arse.
She expected to die right then and there, waited for some kind of magic to blast her into oblivion, turn her into a frog, anything, but the woman was simply staring, eyes glassy and confused. When the sorceress suddenly blinked, falling under the strain of the chains, Gwen realized that she was truly weak and vulnerable. The fear she had been disappeared with that realization, as if god's ahnd had reached whitin her and brushed it away. Sighing, she took a breath, studying the picture in front of her with the same cold detachment she learned to use dealing with a dying soldier.
Morgause was stuck by six different chains. The manacles needed keys, but the chains pulling at her flesh were stuck to iron circles, each one hammered together haphazardly so that anyone attempting to pull them off would rip the prisoner in half. Luckily Gwen wasn't anyone.
With Morgause's eyes still on her, she unfurled the package she asked Arthur to steal from the Mercians - she asked for it as soon as he informed her of the way Morgause was imprisoned - and took inventory of a hammer, pincers, drifts and chisels. They were the tools of a blacksmith, and she remembered a time when she spent hours in her father's forge, watching him work the metal while his words carried out stories about his craft. He explained about the colors of the material when it was heated, and about how to treat different kinds of metal. He taught her songs to measure time and they sung them together as he welded links into chains and ingots into blades. He spoke about cold and hot, and in one very dear afternoon he even showed her his secret box of magnets.
The memory brought a smile to her face, one that almost made her forget where she was, and who she was with.
"Who... Who are you?"
Morgause's voice was a broken husk of what it once was, but Gwen could still feel the teeth of the beast under the suffering heap. Once again she was forced to remember her initial reaction to Arthur's plan. He had been so lost due to Merlin's situation, he said, that he hurried up to get some of Gaius' sleeping potions before the party left to meet King Bayard. That was the moment she caught him in the act, his blundering explanations chasing after her heart with uncertainty and fear.
"You don't recognize me, do you?" And why would she? She had been just a servant, and all Morgause did to her was take away the best friend she ever had. "Stay still."
She doubted she needed to say it, any movement from Morgause and the pain would be unbearable. Gwen couldn't imagine how much. Instead, she breathed through her mouth and focused her eyes on the chains, her trained gaze running over the metal work and studying their position. She decided to begin with the circle that run through her lower left side, where the metal was buried into an red, infected wound. Luckily the blacksmith did an awful job of it. To make a iron rim like that he had to weld together the two ends of a rod. A good smith would let the metal almost melt, hitting it untill there not line dividing the two pieces. This was clearly not the case. It was sloppy work, and a chisel would probably break it in no time, but still she hesitated.
Arthur had his plans, and she trusted him with her whole heart. It didn't mean she would trust Morgause.
"Before I begin, I want something from you."
"Begin… what?" Morgause could barely speak, she must be thirsty and the fever must be burning. Quickly Gwen uncorked her skin and let her drink to her heart's content, the water dribbling along her chin and down to the filthy straw under her knees.
"I'm taking you out of here" Gwen explained when the skin was empty, using a voice that had been hammered and heated and hammered again and again until it became steel. "I'm freeing you, but only if you give me your word that you will never hurt anyone from Camelot ever again. Swear it and you're free."
"You dare?" Morgause's eyes were brown, shining with rage and Gwen dared not to look away. The water seemed to have given her some energy and even some wits judging by the spark of recognition in her eyes. "You're the serving girl!"
"My name is Guinevere." She palmed her hammer. "Now swear it or stop wasting my time."
Gwen knew it was a long shot to say the least, but she had seen that same woman hold Arthur at sword point over a promise once. If anything, there must be some honour in her heart, as misguided as it might be. It was a shield for her and Arthur, and any shield was better than nothing. In truth she was horrified, sorry and disgusted by what had been done to Morgause, and Gwen wasn't sure she could got through with her threat of leaving her there. Knowing nothing of what might be going through that woman's mind was even more worrying. Then sorceress' head sunk low and her answer came in the form a mumble.
It was good enough.
Gwen placed the chisel against the connection, raised the hammer, and waited. Morgause seemed puzzled by that, but soon enough Gwen heard a soft whistling tune. That was her signal. "You can scream if you want." She told Morgause, and struck. It wasn't a simple process. By the time she parted the rim in two, she had to separate them furhter to get it out of Morgause's body. She was sure the witch's screams would follow her to the grave in such a way that she was glad when Morgause finally passed out. Left alone, Gwen did her work dutifully. In no time she allowed the rhythm to take over, each movement of her arm a strain of muscle and precision, each loud bellow of metal fighting metal a call from another word. When the last chain fell, defeated under her power, she sat back and whiped the sweat from her forehead. She wondered what her father would think of her now, using the skills he taught her to free a sorceress and murderer. She wondered if he understood.
"Gwen?"
"Arthur?" She whispered, scared half to death.
"Sorry. Are you done? It feels like I've been waiting for hours, but you seemed really concentrated." He explained "I got it."
He threw something at her feet and she was glad to see the keys to the manacles. Soon enough she was lifting the woman's limp body and trying to get her outside. With Arthur's help she managed to get Morgause out of the cage and into the open, the fresh air of the night lifting a weight from her shoulders.
Around the the camp was in disarray to say the least. While some knights were in deep sleep, others were tripping around the tents like they were drunk, half tied up or incapacitated in some form.
"Was the potion enough?"
"Barely." Arthur explained, motioning to Lord Hector, who was screaming from near the fireplace, slurred curses and ugly names.
"He doesn't seem happy."
"I care very little for his happiness at this point."
The original plan involved freeing Morgause and breaking Bayard's lines, taking the witch to her people, but the lack of allies even among the men from Camelot changed that very quickly. Instead, Arthur waited until they were away, the travel slowed down by the cage. At night, he made her prepare dinner for the men, and she used some of Gaius' knock out potion on the food and drink.
"Shit." She said when Hector suddenly got to his feet. The adrenaline must be acting up now. Behind her Arthur cursed as well, carrying Morgause in his arms like a bride.
"Gwen…"
"Go on, he won't catch you." Arthur spared her a look, nodded and Gwen followed, covering his retreat.
There were more men waking up now, alarmed by Hector's screams or perhaps her hammering had done the job before that. It didn't matter. Twice Gwen pushed them back to the ground, once she kicked a sword and a chin on her way, and then they were on the horses.
"Did you loose their sadles?" She asked.
"I did, it will take some time before they can follow."
Gwen climbed on the nearest horse that Arthur had gotten ready, stretching her hand so Arthur could push Morgause up to her arms. With the sorceress secure, she grabbed the reins looking down at the prince. There was no doubt in Arthur's eyes anymore, she wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
"Go!"
Gwen dug her heels on the horse and soon enough she was away, riding through the night with Morgana's sister in her arms. Soon enough she heard the sounds of Arthur following behind her in his own mount, and the relief she felt carried her the rest of the way.
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