A/N: We're back to school! For those who don't know, I'm a teacher, and with the pandemic going on it's been a crazy couple of weeks. I was also a bit stuck on who this chapter should focus on, and one conversation between Mordred and Hermione just didn't seem authentic enough. As a teacher, I'm around kids a lot, and I don't like it when an eleven year old kid speaks like an adult in books, movies or fanfiction. So I was trying to be as authentic as possible and it just wasn't working. I'm still unsure if it's super authentic, but I tried my best and I don't want to rewrite it for the fourth time.
Now, without further ado, enjoy!
In Which Arthur Begins to Question His World
Arthur was in a foul mood for the next four days, which meant he was putting Merlin through the grinder. It didn't help that it seemed Merlin was supporting Gaius's point of view rather than Arthur's, which made the prince feel even more cross with his manservant. Arthur's mind was yelling at him that sorcery sympathizers were just one step away of practicing magic themselves, and therefore they had to be punished. His mind also told him that if he didn't go to his father with this new information, he would be betraying his father.
On the other hand, his instincts wouldn't let him go to Uther knowing that his father could be unreasonable when it came to magic, like that time he locked Arthur in the dungeons for trying to save Merlin or threw Morgana in the dungeons because she talked back. Arthur knew in his gut that Uther's fury would descend upon Gaius and Merlin, and whatever friendship they'd had in the past be dammed.
He was in a particular foul mood this day, as he hadn't been sleeping well. His mind kept replaying every single encounter with the sorceress Hermione and how, despite using magic, she had never harmed him. Then it replayed the conversation with Gaius, with Merlin as a witness. What did it mean, for him, if Gaius spoke the truth? What did it say about his father? What did it say about him, that he never thought to question the information his tutors drilled into his head?
When he finished pummeling Merlin during training, he ordered him to prepare him a bath in his chambers. As he was soaking, getting rid of the sweat and grime, a page boy came with a message from his father. The king wanted to dine with Arthur. The last thing Arthur wanted to do was sit in front on his father and lie to his face, but it would be suspicious not to agree. Like he was hiding something. He was, but that's not the point, is it?
So, he got dressed, dismissed Merlin, and walked the known path to his father's ante-chambers where dinner was already served. His father inquired about training, paperwork, the knights, and a whole lot of other logistics before turning to smile at Arthur. It was so rare to see his father smile, that Arthur couldn't help but feel awkward at such a sight. Give him an angry Uther any time.
"How are you feeling, Arthur?" his father asked him.
Arthur put on a smile, "Never better. It feels good to go back to training with the knights after being so long in bed."
"Well, you were gravely injured," Uther said, "you nearly died."
A shiver ran down Arthur's spine, "I didn't."
"It was too close a call," Uther replied, "perhaps you should refrain from joining the knights' patrols, and keep to your administrative duties and training."
"That would be disgraceful, father," Arthur argued, "how can I train my knights to be loyal, brave and courageous if they see me cower in the castle instead of joining them in battle?"
"I never said you wouldn't join them in battle, Arthur, but a patrol and scuffles with creatures and bandits is hardly a battle worth your time."
"My men died out there fighting that beast," Arthur said, a bit more forceful than intended.
"And you almost died right there with them," Uther said, using his king voice which brokered no arguments. Arthur, well conditioned by his father, ducked his head and bit his tongue.
Arthur lost his appetite, but They continued dinning in a tense silence. The question was itching at the back of his brain and he knew that if he didn't ask it now, he never would. So, bracing himself for a scolding and a lecture, he cleared his throat. When his father raised his eyes at him, Arthur asked.
"How did I survive?"
Uther, apparently expecting an argument, seemed taken aback by the question, "What do you mean?"
"The Questing Beast's bite is lethal, Gaius said, yet here I am," Arthur answered.
Uther scoffed, "Well, he found a cure, didn't he?"
"But aren't magical injuries only able to be healed by magic?" Arthur pressed. Uther stopped eating and stared at the table in contemplative silence which meant he was either start yelling or kick Arthur out of his ante-chambers.
Finally, Uther said, "I'm sure it was just an old-wives-tales to scare children into behaving. Gaius is known for being superstitious."
His tone suggested that the discussion had ended and so Arthur finished his meal in silence, even when he didn't believe his father's explanation. He was just relieved that his questions hadn't started a bigger argument.
He went to sleep a bit later with thoughts of Hermione, Gaius and magic running through his head, and therefore was unable to get the rest he so desperately needed. In the morning, he threw a goblet full of water at Merlin when he came to wake him up. Arthur didn't feel like he slept at all. A tiny voice in the back of his head told him that it wasn't Merlin's fault, but as usual, he ignored it. He got dressed by himself, which he was very capable of doing despite Merlin believing to the contrary, and went to seek out Gaius's help. Perhaps he could give him one of those draughts he gave Morgana to help her sleep.
As he was on the way there he noticed that his father was walking ahead of him and Arthur quickly ducked behind a pillar. He suspected that the king was walking towards Gaius's chambers as well, and for a moment Arthur was afraid that he doomed Gaius to execution. His suspicions were confirmed when Uther opened the door to Gaius's room and closed the door behind him.
Feeling guilty about putting Gaius in danger and feeling the need to rectify it, he silently approached the door and attempted to eavesdrop. Based on what he heard, he would decide his next course of action.
"Gaius," Uther said.
"Sire, is there anything you need?" Gaius asked, not sounding particularly concerned. Arthur wondered how long Gaius had been keeping his opinions a secret from the king.
"I wanted to thank you, once again, for saving my son," Uther said, and Arthur felt a bit warm inside. It wasn't often that Arthur heard the king refer to him like that, and it made Arthur feel like an eleven-year-old again, seeking his father's approval. Perhaps he still did.
"It was my duty," Gaius replied, and Arthur remembered that Gaius used the same word when he spoke to Arthur about magic.
"If you used any... less than legal methods," Uther continued, and Arthur was taken aback by how detatched his father's voice sounded. Usually, the topic of magic made him scream in rage, "I will overlook them. Just this once."
Arthur felt as if an invisible rug was pulled out from under him. All his life, Uther had decried the evil of magic, burning people for less than what Gaius had practically admitted to doing with his silence alone. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Had his father lied to him?
"Because it's Arthur, sire?" Gaius finally asked.
"Because he is my son," Uther answered, "of course, nothing we discussed will leave this room."
"Of course not, sire."
Arthur decided to leave then, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping and also needing time to process what had just happened. The first thing his brain locked on to was that his father lied to his face last night when he talked about old-wives-tales. How many more lies had Arthur been told? Second, Uther permitted the use of magic, albeit retroactively, because of Arthur. But, when Mary Collins used magic to avenge her own son's death, Uther was going to execute her. So, which one was it? Was it evil or was it not? Why did Uther allow Arthur to be saved but another man to be condemned by the same thing?
Arthur's headache increased, and when he returned to his chambers to find an irritable Merlin muttering about prats and training, he felt like the very fabric of existence had been shaken out of place.
At the druid camp, Hermione and Mordred hadn't spoken to each other since her return four days ago. At first, it seemed like Mordred had just gotten a little spirited by his brave declarations to protect Hermione from herself as he stormed out of the tent, but the next morning he didn't even glance in Hermione's direction. The change in mood gave Hermione whiplash, and she didn't know what to do. She didn't have any experience with young children, and all the adults in her own childhood had proven to be inept, cruel, negligent or all three. So, she decided to give Mordred time to cool down, however, as the time passed and the silence stretched, Mordred only seemed to be getting angrier.
He sulked in the corners of the camp, avoiding her at all costs, and he even got into a big fight with Kara and the other kids. So, now he was mostly seen at Iseldir's side. Hermione recruited Aida to help, but Mordred seemed to sense what it was about and he started avoiding her too. Hermione was at loss and tried to feel productive by brewing potions and pastes for Agrona.
On the fourth day since their dispute, Agrona sat Hermione down and she knew Agrona was going to lecture her.
"What is going on, child?" Agrona asked, her eyes tight.
"How should I know?" Hermione replied, feeling suddenly defensive, "he won't talk to me."
"And why do you think that is?"
"Maybe because he's a brat?" Hermione replied, crossing her arms and catching from the corner of her eye a black-haired blur that disappeared behind the tree line.
"Hermione!" Agrona scolded, "That's is no way to speak about a grieving child."
Hermione felt shocked, "Grieving?"
"He thought you were hurt, or worse," Agrona replied, "try to put yourself in his shoes for a second. How do you think he felt?"
Hermione's stomach plummeted with guilt. She hadn't considered his feelings on this matter at all. After all, he was just a kid, and she needed to be the adult and protect him. He was just throwing a tantrum, being childish... he didn't know what real troubles were like, and Hermione wanted to keep it that way.
Except that he did know, didn't he? He grew up without a mother and his father had been executed in front of his eyes. He had to hide in Camelot knowing that Uther Pendragon wanted to kill him. And when she met him, she didn't want to believe that this kid could have been shaped by those horrors and she wanted to still see him as an innocent, pure child.
"What have I done?" Hermione gasped, looking helplessly at Agrona.
"It doesn't matter what you did as long as you know how to fix it," Agrona replied.
"But I don't know how to fix it," Hermione said, "what if I can't fix this?"
"Mordred is a good kid above all, and you must believe in that. You must apologize, of course, and trust that he will forgive you. He is hurt. He is not behaving like this just to spite you," Agrona told her with a disappointed look in her eyes.
Hermione rushed to where he saw Mordred go without even thanking Agrona, feeling a new kind of urgency blossoming in her chest. She found him by the river, curled up in a ball and shaking. Even from afar, Hermione could hear his heart wrenching sobs.
She sat down in front of him, and knew that he knew because his shoulder's stiffened. He kept his head buried in his knees.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said, not knowing what else to say, but Mordred just shook his head. Hermione's eyes filled with tears too, and her voice choked up, "I really am. I didn't think about you when I disappeared like that, and I shouldn't have brushed you off like that. I also didn't mean what I said earlier."
Mordred didn't raise his head, or made any move that acknowledged he heard her.
"What can I do to make it up to you?" Hermione asked.
There was silence for a moment, and then Mordred replied in her head. That wasn't a good sign.
You hate me, Mordred said, and what broke Hermione's heart weren't the words, but the resigned tone Mordred used. He didn't even sound angry or resentful. Just like talking about the weather.
"I could never hate you," Hermione said, "I'm so sorry that I made you feel like that."
You stopped talking to me, Mordred said in her head again, and this time she could hear a hitch, and then you called me a brat.
"I was wrong. I thought you needed space to feel better. I never meant to make you feel I was ignoring you."
He didn't answer for a long time. Why did you leave?
Hermione sighed. If she told him that she didn't have a choice he wouldn't believe her, nor if she told him she was possessed by magic. Still, she decided that her best bet was honesty.
"I don't know," Hermione admitted, "magic was pulling me there. I... it was crushing me. That's why I left like I did."
You looked like a ghost, Mordred said, still in her mind, but he raised his head enough to look at Hermione, I thought you were dying.
"I felt like I was dying, too," Hermione confessed, "I think I kind of did."
Mordred gasped and his wide eyes filled with tears as well. Hermione rushed to place her hands on Mordred's shoulders.
"I'm okay, though. I didn't really die, but... I don't know how to explain it," Hermione struggled to find words, something that rarely happened, "I was watching myself move from above, and my eyes were glowing very bright, almost like magic was controlling me and I was just watching."
That sounds scary, Mordred said.
"It didn't feel scary," Hermione replied, "it didn't feel like anything. It was like being numb."
Mordred's thin frame started shaking and Hermione realized that she wasn't helping the situation any.
"My point is, Mordred," Hermione said, "I didn't leave because I wanted to. And I didn't ignore you because I wanted to hurt you, and I certainly don't hate you... I love you."
Mordred then covered his ears, shut his eyes and shook his head.
"Don't lie!" he yelled, this time using his voice.
"I'm not lying," Hermione cried, "I could never lie to you."
"You lied before," Mordred accused her, his eyes suddenly blazing, "you said you'd never leave me."
"I didn't..."
"You did! And you almost died!" Mordred yelled again, and this time his eyes glowed golden. The wind picked up around them, lifting leaves and rocks into the air. At one point, the wind lifted a branch and it whacked Hermione in the head. As soon as it did, the wind died down even when the branch, rocks and leaves were still floating in mid-air.
"I... I didn't mean to..." Mordred stammered, clearly scared that his magic had reacted so violently.
"It's not your fault," Hermione tried to placate by taking his hands in hers, "magic goes crazy when your emotions go crazy. It's okay."
"I hurt you," Mordred replied with wide eyes, "I... my magic..."
"Sometimes, people hurt each other without meaning to," Hermione said, boring her eyes into his, "it's part of life. We can forgive each other and try not to repeat our mistakes."
"But what if you leave again?" he asked in a weak voice, "What's going to happen to me then?"
"I won't leave you again, not without letting you know beforehand," Hermione said, "you won't ever be alone. I won't allow it."
"You can't promise that," Mordred said, a few more tears escaping his eyes.
Hermione didn't answer, but instead brought Mordred closer to her in a hug. In the awkward position they were in, Mordred couldn't return the hug, but she felt him relax. Her chest felt warm and she felt something in her soul mend as she felt Mordred adjust his position so that he could return the hug. She vowed to herself to protect this trust he was giving her, even after she hurt him so.
They remained like that for a few moments, just basking in each others presence. Hermione, being an only child, never experienced having a child younger than her look up to and depend on her. Harry came to her mind, but their dynamic had been, once upon a time, totally different. There, Harry was her equal, both in age and abilities. Here, Mordred was younger and was just learning how to access his magic, and he depended on her to feel safe, wanted and loved.
She had never been responsible for another person's life like this.
It terrified her. It was a mixture between being a mother and a sister, being unconditionally there for someone who would be irreparably damaged if something happened to her. At the same time, she loved and gave and prayed for his happiness because she also would be irreparably damaged if someone were to snatch Mordred out of her hands. Her arms tightened around him, hoping to let him know all of this in this one hug.
The silence was broke by Mordred.
"Teach me magic."
"Why do you want me to teach you?" Hermione asked.
"You know how to use it to fight, to protect," Mordred said, breaking the hug and looking at her with determined eyes, "I will become a knight one day, and I'll be your champion. But before that I must know how to use my magic like you do."
"You don't need to protect me, Mordred," Hermione said, trying to discourage the idea.
"I want to," Mordred replied.
Hermione saw in his eyes the same glint he saw in Harry's. She knew, like she knew one Harry Potter, that if she declined, Mordred would just go find someone else. Perhaps it would lead him to Morgana. Hermione shook her head from that horrible thought.
"I will teach you, on one condition," Hermione told him.
He immediately looked skeptical, "What is it?"
"Until you are at least fifteen, you won't leave this camp without permission," Hermione said.
Mordred crossed his arms over his chest, "It's not fair. Why do you get to go?"
"As the High Priestess, I have duties."
"I can help," Mordred replied, "besides, if I'm going to learn how to fight with magic, I shouldn't do it in front of the druids."
"You do have a point there," Hermione conceded, "fine. Occasionally I will take you with me to the Isle of the Blessed so that you can practice, but you still can't leave the camp without me to escort you."
"Fine."
"Fine."
They stared at each other quietly for a moment, until Hermione said, "Can you forgive me?"
Mordred look down to the ground and pulled a blade of grass out of the earth. He seemed reluctant, and knowing that she put the hesitation there made Hermione want to crawl into a whole out of guilt. Finally, he looked up at her and nodded. His eyes were still a bit fearful, and Hermione knew that she'd have to work hard to show him she meant it.
Hermione stood up and they both started walking back towards the camp. On the way there, Mordred grabbed her hand and Hermione squeezed his. And then, in a barely audible whisper, Mordred said:
"I love you too."
And Hermione's heart swelled.
The whole camp seemed to exhale in relief when Mordred and Hermione returned holding hands. The atmosphere of animosity didn't sit well with most of them, but for the few who knew about the prophecies, they had been anxious that this would push Mordred right into Morgana's side. The Elder summoned Hermione to his tent, even though she now outranked him.
The Elder stood up when she saw her walk in with a puzzled expression.
"I assume congratulations are in order," he said.
"Please, don't stand up for me. You're still the Elder," Hermione told him, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.
"But you are the High Priestess. The only one higher in status than you, is Emrys himself. Even so, I did want to talk to you about an important issue," the Elder replied. Hermione was left speechless, so she just sat down and the Elder sat down after her.
"You mean Mordred," Hermione read between the lines.
"Precisely," the Elder agreed, "the entire destiny of Camelot and Albion depends on your ability to keep Mordred in the light..."
Hermione barely contained the roll of her eyes; the Elder sounded like Dumbledore. As much as she'd worshiped the old headmaster while she was a student, she had been less than impressed with his cryptic messages and unhelpful clues to find and destroy the Horrorcruxes. Wouldn't it have been better to give the task to a competent adult instead of seventh year Hogwarts students?
"I'm not taking care of Mordred because of a prophecy," the way she emphasized the word showed how much contempt she felt for the whole thing, "I'm taking care of him because he needs someone to be there for him. Because he needs me and I need him just as much. He's my family."
The Elder looked at her sternly, "Regardless of your personal opinion, you should be aware that a lot of hopes are resting on you, and by extension, him."
"If I started thinking about the ramifications of every decision I make, I would go crazy and no good would come from it," Hermione replied, "the truth is that relationships and the emotions that come with them are complex. I am eighteen years old. I'm not a mother, or a sister, or even a mentor. I'm learning as I go, and Mordred is too."
"Even when you speak the truth, you cannot afford to fail," the Elder said.
"I'll keep it in mind, but I won't base my decisions exclusively on a prophecy."
"You will do as you see fit, and I can only hope you know what you are doing," the Elder said, looking sad, "he was deeply affected by your sudden departure. Agrona had to give him a very strong sleeping draught because he couldn't calm down."
"I know, and I apologized to him."
"Regaining trust that was lost is not so easy."
"I understand, and I will do whatever I need to do to earn it back."
"Being the High Priestess might become a challenge in that regard, as your duties will probably call you away constantly," the Elder said.
"I told Mordred that I would teach him magic and occasionally take him with me to the Isle of the Blessed, but I'm not willing to put him in unnecessary danger," Hermione argued.
"That sounds fair, but in that case, you should not put yourself in unnecessary danger either."
"Sometimes I have to take risks."
"And what do you think he's going to feel if something were to happen to you? If not for your sake, then for his. Avoid taking unnecessary risks."
Hermione didn't know what to say to that. She thought of Molly Weasley and why she was never a field agent for the Order, even though she was quite heavily involved. She then thought of Arthur Weasley when he was attacked by Nagini, and how shaken Ron had been. Ginny and the twins hadn't been much better. She was beginning to understand that, perhaps, Molly Weasley didn't want their children to lose both parents the same way Harry and Neville lost theirs.
"I will be more careful from now on," Hermione promised, not only to the Elder, but also to herself. She could not afford to be reckless when Mordred depended so much on her.
"That's all I wanted to hear," the Elder said, seemingly satisfied with her answer, "what are your plans from now?"
"I would like to return to the Isle of the Blessed. I'm hoping it will have something to guide me into this High Priestess business, considering the last one is dead," Hermione answered.
"When are you going to leave?"
"I would like to leave today, tomorrow at the latest."
"You should take Mordred with you," the Elder told her with a firm look.
"It safest for him to stay here," Hermione argued.
"Not for him. He feels the safest when you are around, and that is what he needs at the moment," the Elder countered.
"But..."
"As far as I know, the Isle has been abandoned for years, has it not?"
Hermione was taken a bit aback by the question, "I think so."
"In that case there will be no danger for you or him if you travel the same way you did before."
Hermione sighed, knowing he was right, "Fine. I'll go tell Mordred to prepare a rucksack with clean clothes and we'll be on our way."
"It will do the both of you good to have a change of scenery," the Elder told her looking far too pleased, "you have my blessing."
Morgana was looking intently into her reflection, trying to will her eyes to glow golden and make something burst with no success. The more time passed the more frustrated she got. If she managed to control when her magic manifested, then perhaps that would reduce the accidental outbursts she'd experienced in the past. However, nothing was happening.
She was interrupted from her musings when Gwen arrived carrying the clean linens.
"Morgana? Are you alright?" Gwen, sweet Gwen, ignorant Gwen, asked her.
Morgana thought she saw a tiny glimpse of a glimmer but it disappeared quickly.
"Do you think I'm getting a pimple here, Gwen?" Morgana asked, seemingly nonchalantly, "my skin has been oily lately."
Morgana saw Gwen roll her eyes through her mirror, "You're just as flawless as always, my lady."
"What have I told you about titles in private?"
"That they're not necessary," Gwen said, repeating the phrase for the millionth time.
"Then why did you use it?"
"To make a point," Gwen replied, "you are beautiful, your skin is flawless and you are the perfect embodiment of a lady. Surely you know that."
Morgana let out a laugh that she hope didn't sound as fake to Gwen's ears as to her own, "You always know what to say to make me feel better."
Morgana knew her training time, if it could even be called that, had come to an end. Perhaps she could find the Druid camp where Hermione was and get her to teach her. She could leave 'on a walk' later that day and return before nightfall.
Hermione apparated with Mordred to the Isle of the Blessed. Both had their own rucksacks with clean clothes and food. Mordred looked a bit green and he soon after emptied the contents of his stomach on the cobblestones.
"I'm sorry, the first time is always the worst," Hermione said.
She gave Mordred a potion to settle his stomach which he took gratefully. He looked around at the dilapidated ruins where they found themselves in and a shiver ran down his spine. He moved closer to Hermione and gripped her hand tightly.
"This place is creepy," Mordred whispered.
"Why are we whispering?" Hermione asked, also in a whisper.
"To keep the ghosts away."
"There aren't ghosts here," Hermione replied.
"There are always ghosts around ruins, especially where they died violently," Mordred said, repeating what his father had told him once.
Hermione wanted to dismiss it, but then she remembered the Bloody Baron and Nearly Headless Nick. It made sense that ghosts would arise from a violent death. Instead, she asked another question.
"How do you know people died violently here?"
Mordred pointed to the bottom of the ruined walls, where the huge stones gathered in a pile of rubble. At the bottom, there were scorch marks. The more Hermione looked around, the more she found evidence that a battle took place in the Isle. She wondered what happened in this place.
"This place needs a bit of an improvement, don't you think?"
"You can't touch anything!" Mordred exclaimed, "you could disturb the spirits and they would hunt you forever."
Hermione thought about it. She was still skeptical, but a lot of things had happened since she arrived in Camelot, so why tempt fate?
"Perhaps we can build them a shrine? That way they can rest undisturbed and we can try to make this place look a bit more habitable."
Mordred smiled a bit, "My father once helped the Elder of our previous camp build a shrine after a raid led by Prince Arthur. I know how."
The next hour was spent building a shrine using the big fallen rocks who littered the ground here and there. They placed a few pieces of charred wood which nearly turned to ashes in their hands and spread them over the rocks. Then, Mordred found an old rope, but he said it would work, and he set to work making an intricate chain of knots which he set around the rocks and the charred wood. Then, he told Hermione to bless it.
"How do I do that?"
"When my father built the other shrine, the Elder sprinkled water with aromatic herbs and sent a prayer for the souls of the dead."
Hermione was not, and had never been, a religious person. She didn't want to disrespect the people they were trying to honor, yet she understood that as the High Priestess it probably fell under her purview. She took some herbs from her rucksack, mostly used for healing rather than anything else, and emptied some water from the water skin into the bronze pot where they would prepare their supper and heated it up. She sprinkled the herbs, effectively making tea, and with a glow of her eyes she cooled down the water.
She wet the tips of her fingers and sprinkled the aromatic water over the shrine.
"I pray your souls will find in death the rest and peace they were denied in life," she said, and her eyes glowed. With that, the shrine had been made and sanctified. Hermione poured the rest of the water around the shrine and returned the bronze pot to the rucksack.
"How about we look around now? I'm sure the ghosts won't mind now if we improve this place," Hermione suggested and Mordred, reluctantly, took her hand and off they went.
The ruins took up most of the island, and Hermione could see a rough outline on how they would have looked in life. She touched a wall with her hand and thought of Reparo, and out of her mouth came, "Weallstilling."
From the ground up, the stones elongated and shifted until the wall was around two meters tall. Hermione looked at her work, satisfied, and moved to the rest of the walls around that room. Soon, they were standing in a big hall completely made of stone. Hermione realized that she didn't know how to make a window, but it would have to do for now. She looked up and wondered what they could do about the ceiling.
"Perhaps we could drape fabric over the opening," Mordred suggested, causing Hermione to chuckle.
"We don't have enough fabric."
"We can make it with magic."
"Magic doesn't work like that," Hermione explained, "you can never make something appear out of think air. You can take an object and turn it into something else and that is called Transfiguration, but we don't have enough of anything to make a cloth that wide and long."
They decided to move to the next room.
The ruins there were narrow, with gaps between them, which told Hermione that this might have been a hallway at some point. She decided not to rebuild it in order to keep her strength, but she did go into the rooms. Most were barren of anything that could tell them who lived there before, but one seemed to be fairly habitable. Hermione wondered if this was where Nimue slept.
There was a broken vanity, with upturned drawers on the floor and different objects littering the place. The walls were standing, but barely, and Nimue had placed a rotting piece of wood on top of the bed to presumably protect herself from the weather. There was more rotting wood in the form of a shapeless pile that once could have been a closet.
"Well, at least we found firewood," Mordred finally said, and Hermione laughed.
With the fading light, they decided to call it an early night and make the camp. They set up a large tent for both of them and rolled out their beds. Then, they lit a fire using the firewood around them and over the fire they placed that morning's stew to warm it up. Hermione placed small loaf of bread close to fire as well because it tasted better warm.
"Can you teach me something now?" Mordred asked, breaking the companionable silence they were enjoying.
"How are your meditations going?" Hermione asked him in return.
Mordred frowned, "Not very good."
"Do you know what you're supposed to be looking for?"
"Iseldir said that I have to find the center of my magic, but I don't know what it means," Mordred answered.
"Close your eyes," Hermione said, and Mordred did so, "remember this afternoon. When your accidental magic made the wind pick up."
Mordred grimaced, but he didn't say anything so Hermione assumed he was doing as she asked.
"Do you remember what you felt then?"
"Hot," Mordred replied.
"Where?"
"Here," Mordred said, and pointed to his chest.
"Now, remember that feeling in the center of your chest and follow it. It should feel warm. Not too hot, but not cold either."
Mordred remained quiet for a few long moments while Hermione busied herself with preparing supper. She thought about what she told the Elder. Mordred was her family now. She wasn't a stranger to having a family composed of friends. Sometimes she felt that her parents couldn't be there for her as Harry, Ron or Ginny would. Sometimes she yearned for a mother who could understand magic and its challenges so that she had someone to turn to for help. As much as she admired Mrs. Weasley, she never wanted to intrude on her life. She had seven children to look after, after all.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Mordred yelp. She turned to him and saw that his eyes were open wide and glowing golden.
"Open your palm like this," Hermione demonstrated and Mordred copied. She thought of Lumos, and her mouth said, "Beorht."
Mordred repeated the word, and on top of his open palm a bright orb of light appeared. Mordred squealed in delight. His eyes stopped glowing, and the light flickered.
"Focus on keeping the light on," Hermione told him, "make sure your intent is clear in your mind."
Mordred's eyes sharpened and he turned them to the orb in his hands. Not only did it stop flickering, but it grew a bit in size.
"Great job, Mordred," Hermione praised, "we're going to make it disappear now. The intent in your mind has to change: now you want it to go away."
It took a few moments, but Mordred's eyes eventually glowed golden away and the light gradually became smaller until it was gone.
"That was amazing!" Mordred said with a wide grin, followed by a big yawn.
"What did it feel like?"
"Warm, like you said," Mordred answered, "like coming home."
Hermione smiled, feeling warmth blossom in her chest as well, "Eat up, you must be hungry."
Mordred's reply was lost as he shoveled food into his mouth. Hermione was reminded of Ron, and her heart ached for her lost friends.
"Eat slowly, and chew with your mouth closed," Hermione told him, just like she'd told Ron countless times, but Mordred actually listened. She smiled fondly and ruffled his hair. He answered with a smile.
When they finished their food, they prepared themselves for bed and fell asleep next to each other, holding hands.
Meanwhile, while Mordred and Hermione were bonding at the Isle of the Blessed, Morgana was traipsing through the woods, thoroughly lost. Her plan was to go, find the Druids, and be back at Camelot before nightfall. She had left Camelot when the sun was still high in the sky, and now the moon had replaced it and she was nowhere near the Druids nor Camelot.
She heard a wolf howl at the moon, and she yelped in fear. In the darkness, she tripped over a branch and fell, feeling her foot throb. Her eyes pooled with tears, and she immediately hated herself for being so weak.
Arthur wouldn't sit here and cry, she told herself, Arthur would find a way out of this. He always does.
In Camelot, when Morgana wasn't back in her chambers for supper, Gwen got worried and she went to Merlin. Merlin, in turn, went to find Arthur. Both Gwen and Merlin told Arthur that Morgana wasn't in her chambers and, at first, Arthur dismissed them. He was worried about other, more important things, and Morgana was probably annoying someone at the moment. What did Morgana do with her time? But then he told himself that if she was in real danger and he didn't do anything to help her, he couldn't forgive himself. At least, if she was safe and sound, he could always tease her endlessly.
So, Arthur told Merlin and Gwen to look for Morgana in the places she usually frequented while he went to Morgana's chambers. Nothing seemed to be out of place. Her vanity was just the same. The only missing thing was her traveling cloak. Did she go somewhere?
When Gwen and Merlin returned from their mission without results, he asked the maidservant.
"She didn't have anywhere to be," Gwen answered, "she just said she wanted some fresh air."
"Is it possible she got lost?" Merlin suggested.
"She's been playing in those woods since we were kids, how could she have gotten lost?" Arthur asked.
"Maybe she got injured?" Gwen asked next.
"If that's the case, we must tell Father immediately and send out a search party," Arthur said, and as he walked towards Uther's chambers with Merlin and Gwen in tow, they heard a distant howl.
Morgana finally made it to a stream where she took off her shoes, which were not meant for such long walks in such unfriendly terrain, and soaked her feet. They were throbbing from the small cuts that littered all over them, and she was sure she hurt her ankle earlier with her fall because she could barely step on it. Her cloak had torn somewhere along the way and Morgana was sure she was going to die, alone in the forest, that night.
She wept silently as she nursed her aching feet. She was a lady of the court, and nobody had thought to train her on survival in the woods. Aside from few herbs she knew Gaius used for healing, she didn't know what was edible and what was poisonous. She was hungry, tired and hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to be back in her chambers with Gwen nearby. She regretted the moment she thought this would be a good idea.
"My, my, has little red riding hood lost her way?" a male voice said behind her, and Morgana turned in alarm. Where did he come from?
His appearance shocked her, for he looked more beast than man, with sharper teeth than she had ever seen on a person an thick hair that seemed to cover most of this man's skin. He smelled rancid, like stale urine and sweat. Morgana wanted to gag from the smell. The man grinned, reveling in her fear.
"Such a pretty lady, too," he whispered, kneeling to touch her cheek, "you would be a nice addition to the pack."
Morgana was trembling in fear, paralyzed, and when she spoke her voice trembled, "I am the ward of King Uther Pendragon of Camelot. You don't want to harm me."
The man chuckled, dark and menacing, "And what is a muggle king going to do against someone like me?"
The man yanked her to her feet as if she was nothing but a rag-doll. Morgana screamed.
As was expected, Uther raised the alarm as soon as he heard Morgana was missing. Immediately, Arthur was dispatched with a search party to go look in the woods. Arthur gathered Sir Leon, Sir Kay, Sir Bedivere to go with him, while the rest of the knights to scout the forest in the opposite direction. Merlin went with Arthur for reasons Arthur couldn't understand; the guy could barely lift a sword, and they didn't have any time to lose, what did he think he was going to do? Gwen, on the other hand, made the sensible decision to stay in Morgana's chambers in case she managed to return by herself.
Arthur, in the lead, gave everyone torches and ordered them to light them. He briefed them on what little he knew, and what they had to be looking for. They had no reason to suspect someone had taken Morgana, but if they saw signs of struggle they had to sound the alarm as well. They had to keep their eyes out for an injured Morgana who may or may not be conscious and therefore unable to answer their calls.
They left as the moon was high. It wasn't yet a full moon so they didn't have as much light as they would have liked. They searched for hours without any indication that Morgana had ever been there except for broken branches which could have been made by a random animal when a flash of red caught Merlin's eye.
"Arthur," Merlin called.
"Not now, Merlin," Arthur snapped, not even looking up from where he was examining what could or could not have been a foot print.
"But..."
"Save it. I don't have time for your idiotic..."
"Just look!" Merlin finally snapped, angry at being dismissed so easily. While it was helpful to his cover while protecting Arthur from magical threats, now it was really inconvenient. His tone must have alerted Arthur that it was serious, though, because he looked at where Merlin was pointing and his eyes widened.
"Is that...?" he asked as he took it from the low bush and brought it closer to the torches, "Knights!"
The knights rushed towards the prince and waited while he examined the cloth. After a moment he raised it up and addressed the knights.
"This seems to be part of Morgana's cloak," he announced, "Sir Kay, return to Camelot and bring a hound. We might be able to find her faster if it follows her scent. The rest of you, I want you to spread out from this point towards the North, East and West. Go!"
The knights nodded and set out on their new task while Arthur decided to follow the trail behind the bush, as it seemed the most logical decision a person in Morgana's position would have taken. He made sure to only grasp the cloth with two fingers while holding it away from his body. He didn't want anything to prevent the hound from scenting it.
It took about an hour for Sir Kay to return with the hound. Arthur placed the torn piece of cloth in front of his nose, and the hound reacted by immediately running ahead of them. With a sharp whistle, Arthur motioned his men to follow with him in the lead. The hound led them to a small stream and then stopped. They saw Morgana's slippers on the bank, torn and bloodied, and Arthur started to fear the worst. By now, the sky was already clearing up.
The hound ran in circles around his tale a couple of times before sitting down next to the slippers. This was the end of the trail, and Morgana was nowhere to be found.
As the first rays of sunlight seeped through their tent, Hermione woke up and stretched. Mordred was sound asleep and it seemed he wouldn't wake just yet, so she stood up to do her necessities and wash her face and hands. She then set out the bread and cheese, along with some berries for breakfast. Around the time she was finished, Mordred came out of the tent looking like a bird had nested in his hair. Hermione laughed.
"It's too early," Mordred mumbled, going to the water basin she left out for him and away to take care of his needs.
When he returned, he asked, "What's so funny?"
"Your hair," Hermione answered, moving to try and flatten it out a bit. Much like Harry's, it defied gravity and didn't want to be put down.
They ate their breakfast and broke camp.
"I'm going to explore the ruins for a bit," Hermione told Mordred, "I want to see if there is any information left in this place that I could use."
Mordred snorted, "Good luck with that."
"Behave," Hermione warned, "you can only roam around the places we saw yesterday. Be careful and don't touch anything."
Mordred grinned cheekily and ran off, while Hermione hoped she hadn't made a huge mistake. She then returned to the room with the dais where she'd become the High Priestess. She exhaled in relief when she saw the Cup of Life was still where she'd left it, and bagged it. She looked around, seeing the tall pillars in a circle around her, and decided that it probably was a hall of ceremonies of sorts. She placed her hand on the wall, and said, "Weallstilling."
Her eyes glowed golden and the walls around them started rebuilding and reshaping themselves until she was surrounded by a circular structure not unlike Gryffindor tower. They still had no roof, and no way to make one, but Hermione didn't terribly mind. It's not like she was going to live there. What caught her eye wasn't on the nonexistent ceiling, however, but on the floor. Now that the weeds had withered and the pebbles had been cleared away, she saw a ledge protruding from the floor a few feet away from her.
She walked towards it and noticed for the first time the trap door that had been concealed by the grime and destruction. She pulled at it, but nothing happened. She thought of Alohomora and decided to give it a try. She placed her hand on top of the ledge, and said, "Allinan."
There was a loud click.
Hermione pulled open the ledge and descended the stairs slowly, making a light in her hand. She exhaled in relief a bit... at least she hadn't found Devil's Snare down there... yet.
As she reached the bottom, she willed the light to grow and her eyes widened. In front of her she found floor to ceiling bookshelves filled to the brim with dusty old tomes that any historian would kill to possess. Hermione wept tears of joy and walked to the closest bookshelf, grabbing the first tome she saw, returning it to the shelf after smelling it.
There was nothing like the smell of old books.
She did this a couple more times with other books and bagged two or three she thought would be relevant to her as she learned how to become a High Priestess, when a glowing basin in the back of the room caught her eye.
Could it be?
Yes, it was: a pensive.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Mordred quickly grew bored from exploring empty rooms full of rocks. Now that they made the shrine, the place wasn't scary at all, but it was dead boring. He threw some pebbles to the water from the high place where he stood but that also quickly lost its fun. He returned to the room where they spent the night, as it was the one with most things to explore, and he set about gathering the drawers and seeing if there were any treasures he could find.
There were some dresses in a pile at the bottom of what once had to have been a closet, and Mordred wrinkled his nose. There was a quill on the vanity, and a lot of broken glass. The drawers had probably been looted because they were totally empty, and there was nothing on the floor to suggest it used to be in one.
Only one drawer remained in the vanity. Mordred tried to open it, but it wouldn't bulge. He pulled and pulled, but it wouldn't move. So, he went to bring a sharp piece of wood.
At least he found a way to entertain himself.
Hermione finished watching the one memory in the pensive feeling so shaken, she had to sit down. Outside. Where the sun could touch her face and warm her up because she felt like she had just met a dementor. She practically ran up the stairs and fell on her knees, fighting the urge to vomit.
"Hermione," Mordred chose to come in at that moment, and of course, grew alarmed and ran towards her, "Hermione!"
"I... I'm okay," she tried to reassure him, but she was pale and shaking.
"What happened?" Mordred asked, turning his head around trying to find the source of danger.
"Nothing, just... it was just a memory," Hermione told him, trying to take even, deep breaths.
"A memory?"
"I found the cellar, where the High Priestess before Nimue hid all their books and artifacts. She was a seer and she saw... she saw..."
"What?"
"She saw the Great Purge... before it happened..."
Mordred was left speechless. How do you see something so horrible and don't stop it?
"What did you see?"
"I saw them, the priestesses, moving all the books down there when she was overtaken by a vision. I... I don't believe in prophecies. I believe people make their own destiny. But now... being a seer is more a curse than a blessing," Hermione muttered.
Mordred fished out the water skin from his rucksack and gave it to her, and Hermione drank greedily.
"Thank you," she said, feeling a bit better.
"Why... how...?" Mordred tried to ask, but he was so confused he didn't even know what to ask.
"A magical artifact called a pensive allows you to store memories. Sometimes people want to relieve them again, while others it could be used a evidence of something. In this case... I think the High Priestess saw her own death and wanted to preserve something to guide the next High Priestess to take her place," Hermione explained.
"Did you see...?"
"No," Hermione shook her head, "I was spared that vision, but it is the only explanation that make sense. Why else would she leave a memory of the attack on this place, if not to preserve it for people who would be here after?"
"I don't know," Mordred said, suddenly feeling as if the place was the scariest place he'd ever been too.
"I'm okay," Hermione said, breaking Mordred from his reverie, "did you need something?"
Mordred's eyes lit up, and Hermione felt relief that she distracted him, "I need you to open something."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, but did stand up and follow Mordred to the room where they stayed the night before. Mordred made a bee line for the vanity, but Hermione surveyed the room. There were an assortment of tools, including their bronze pot, various pieces of wood and a rock, strewn on the floor around the vanity. When her eyes turned to Mordred, he was pulling with all his might on a seemingly innocuous drawer that wouldn't have caught her attention at all if it wasn't because clearly it was magically locked.
"Why do you want me to open this?" Hermione asked.
"Don't you think that if someone went through the trouble of using magic to close this, there must be something good hiding here?" Mordred asked in return.
"What are you expecting to find?" Hermione asked, although her interest had piked.
"Gold? Jewels? A dagger?" Mordred said with excitement, "anything is possible!"
Hermione released a small sigh. The chances of finding such a treasure were slim to none, but getting Mordred to believe that would be harder than showing him there was probably nothing in there. At least, not anymore. She doubted whatever Nimue sealed in there was still there.
Hermione walked towards it, touched it, and said, "Allinan."
Mordred fell on his back, drawer and all, as a flutter of parchment fell around him.
"No treasure," Hermione said, fishing one of the pieces of parchment from the air.
Mordred grumbled and complained, but Hermione wasn't listening anymore. She was reading. It was a letter, addressed to Nimue. Hermione skimmed through it to get to the signature. She gasped, cutting off Mordred's rambling.
The signature at the bottom read: Yigraine.
"I need to go to Camelot," she said.
Mordred yelled, "No! You promised!"
"I will only be for a few moments, no more," Hermione told him.
"Then take me with you," Mordred pleaded.
"I don't want you to be in danger."
"Then why are you going?" Mordred asked, his eyes flaming.
"Because I have to give something to Prince Arthur," she said, knowing that Mordred would only trust her if she told him the truth.
Mordred frowned, "Are you mad?"
"Maybe, but he has to know," Hermione said, knowing that she'd done more reckless things that sane people would never do.
"What is so important that he has to know?"
"Something his mother did, that involves him," Hermione said, not wanting to divulge too much. It was, after all, a private affair.
"Why do you care?" Mordred asked, tears pooling in his eyes.
"Because if I found letter from your mother, I would also give them to you," Hermione told him, holding his hands, "the loss of a parent always hurts, even if you never knew them. I had friend who was an orphan, and he would have given anything to have something from her mother. Anything."
Mordred was quiet for a long time, until he finally whispered, "I would too."
She smiled, relieved that she got through to him.
"I'm still coming with you," Mordred demanded. Hermione sighed. She wanted to say no, but she was tired. She didn't want to fight with Mordred. If he was with her, she'd protect him, she decided.
"Fine, but I'll change how you look. I don't want anyone recognizing you and alerting the king."
Arthur returned to the palace as dawn broke to give the disappointing news to his father. He knew that his father would send another search party while Arthur and his party recovered for a bit. He was irritable, confused, and worried sick for Morgana. He tried not to imagine her alone, trembling, hurt and in fear, but the image always managed to manifest behind his eyelids.
Once again, he walked to Gaius's rooms to ask for a sleeping draught so he could get that image out of his head for a few hours, and was surprised to hear a shrill voice coming from the inside.
"He deserves to know!" Hermione was saying, and Arthur tensed, instinctively knowing she was talking about him.
"If he knows, it could plunge the kingdom into civil war," an equally flustered Gaius answered her, and this surprised Arthur. You don't flinch when the king confronts you about illegally using magic but you do when a sorceress confronts you with... what?
"If it does, then it's Uther's fault. He deserves to know the truth from his mother's perspective," Hermione argued.
Arthur's heart skipped a beat. Not only had she called her father by name, but she also mentioned his mother. On impulse he burst into the room.
"Sire!" Gaius exclaimed, and for the first time in his life, Arthur saw the old physician sporting a blush worth of a swooning maiden.
"Your highness," Hermione addressed him, bowing, for the first time since he knew her not in mockery or disrespect, "I found something that concerns you."
"Sire, she's a sorceress..."
"You will not speak to me about sorcery, Gaius," Arthur commanded, "not after what I now know. Now, what is it that I deserve to know?"
Arthur turned to Hermione, and she took a step forward.
"These are letters from your mother to the High Priestess Nimue. They discuss something that concerns you, and I think you should know," Hermione said, handing him a wad of parchment.
Arthur rubbed his face, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be a prince and shouldn't be showing signs of weakness in front of his subjects. Except, she wasn't a subject, was she? But she wasn't an enemy, either.
"Now is not a good time," Arthur told her, "the Lady Morgana went missing last night, and we've been looking for her."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Hermione offered.
There was a small whimper, and for the first time Arthur saw the young figure huddled close to Hermione's frame. She placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, and he seemed to relax.
"You mean...?" Arthur started to ask, struggling to focus on the conversation at hand. Heavens, he was so tired.
"With magic," Hermione continued, unflinching, holding his gaze, "I could track her for you."
"It's illegal to use magic in Camelot," Arthur parroted his father's words.
"But wouldn't it save you time and effort?"
"Maybe, but it could cost you your life if you're caught," Arthur replied immediately. Wait, was he actually contemplating agreeing to this... madness?
Hermione's eyes sparkled, "I didn't know you cared."
"I don't."
"Yet, you haven't called for the guards to arrest me," Hermione said.
Arthur thought about it silence for a moment. He didn't know why he hadn't, but he knew he wouldn't.
"You haven't done anything to hurt me or my father. In fact, you saved my life. I... I..." Arthur was having a hard time expressing his feelings into words. It just wasn't something he did.
Her eyes softened.
"I understand, your highness. Keep these letters in a safe place," she handed him the letters and cast a glance at a stoic looking Gaius, "some people here think you shouldn't know about this. In my opinion, that's one more reason you should know."
Arthur took them from her and folded them carefully into his trousers, "I'll keep that in mind."
"If you need to contact me somehow, send a letter with an owl. It will know how to reach me if you tell it to find me," Hermione told Arthur, and with a pop, she and the child were gone.
Arthur stayed rooted to the spot, wondering if the whole conversation hadn't been an exhaustion induced hallucination.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that it wasn't too confusing. Someone from chapter one is back, and it's not that I missed him, rather than he just burst into this chapter and took it over. There are a lot of plot lines that are coming together in this chapter and the next, so I understand if it's a little bit confusing. Feel free to ask me any questions, I'll try my best to answer all of them at a reasonable time.
Thank you so much to all those who subscribed and followed this story, and a big hug to those who left a kind review. Reading them motivates me to keep writing at more or less regular intervals.
Have a great day, and stay safe!
MedievalScribe