In Which Gets Thrown in the Dungeons, Hermione Has an Audience With the Disir and Morgana is Close to Breaking.

While Merlin was away, Arthur worked hard with his knights to clear up the courtyard, drawbridge and marketplace. The amount of bodies they found was staggering, and Arthur mourned for every single one of them. There were men, women and children that Arthur unearthed by moving broken homes, wooden beams, and slabs of stone to offer a measure of help with the rebuilding, and that's without mentioning the bodies strewn around on the ground and that laid dead in the Great Hall in Gaius's makeshift infirmary. Throughout the night, the guards and knights with the gravest wounds would also pass on, and only those fortunate enough to have been uninjured will not have to return to their homes with an honorable retirement and small pension for their trouble.

The sun had returned to the sky as if it had never left, but it seemed to be mocking them as the people of Camelot mourned their dead and rebuilt. When it became too much to bear, Arthur went back to the castle and finally agreed to be looked at by Gaius. As he was sitting on the stool and Gaius fussed around him, his father approached him with a thunderous expression on his face. Arthur inwardly sighed, but outwardly, he squared his shoulders, sat up straighter and jutted his chin out.

"You deliberately disobeyed me," the king spoke in that low tone of his that meant his temper was at its most dangerous. It meant, that if Arthur didn't thread carefully, he would spend the night in the dungeons.

"I did what I thought was right by my people," Arthur countered.

"At the risk of your own life?" the king shot back, "Tell me, Arthur, what is the point of a ruler if they are dead or maimed? If you cannot ensure your survival, then you sit it out!"

"And what about our people?" Arthur countered, "You always told me that I cannot be a good ruler if I don't know them! If I don't protect them, how will they trust me when I am king?"

"They are peasants, Arthur, and they understand that a dead ruler can't help anybody."

"So I should have just left them for dead?" Arthur exclaimed, outraged, "They are people, too! And they lost their sons, their fathers, their brothers, out there while you ordered that the bridge to be closed. Have you even seen how many bodies we recovered?"

"Don't you dare imply that I don't care for my people," Uther replied, getting into Arthur's personal space, "the difference between you and me, however, is that I understand what's at stake. You cannot afford to be soft, Arthur. You need to understand that some sacrifices must be made when you rule."

"Oh, so our people should sacrifice themselves for the crown, but the crown can never sacrifice itself for them. Got it," Arthur retorted with a barely concealed eye-roll. It was crossing a line, and he was being disrespectful, but he was so tired of pretending and hiding and acting as if everything was normal when it, in fact, was not. On top of that, the physical exhaustion of the fight and the emotional toil of the cleanup were adding up to a dangerous combination.

Even Gaius stopped his fussing to shoot Arthur a warning glance.

The king turned pale before his cheeks colored in rage.

"I sacrificed everything," Uther said slowly, in almost a growl, and Arthur really realized how far he'd crossed the line, "to provide and protect my people. Without my sacrifice, you wouldn't even be here. After Gaius's is done with you, you will be escorted down to the dungeons. Perhaps a few days down there will remind you who is in charge here."

Then, the king stormed away and Arthur finally let his posture sag. He was tired, and aching, and all this posturing for his father was giving him a headache.

"Sire, if I may," Gaius began, but Arthur cut him off.

"No, you may not. Nobody I thought I could trust is being honest with me, including my father and including you. Forgive me if I'm not in the mood to listen to yet another lecture."

That was enough to silence Gaius, who finished his work without another word and sent Arthur down with the guards that were waiting for him.

(LINE)

A few hours later, Merlin returned to discover that Arthur was in the dungeons and forbidden from seeing anyone and to a fretting Gaius. The physician was moving from patient to patient in the makeshift infirmary and treating them, but Merlin could tell his mind wasn't really in it. So, Merlin went to help him. Gaius barely looked at him over his spectacles before passing him a few droughts and telling him to go around the lesser injured patients.

Like this, Gaius was able to retire to his chambers for a much needed rest in half the time it would have otherwise taken. Merlin went to warm up the left over porridge from that morning that nobody ate and then sat down on the bench next to Gaius. The physician had a deep frown on his face and he looked worried.

"Is everything alright?" Merlin asked after a few minutes.

"I don't know," Gaius replied, "not only did Arthur openly defy Uther, but he also did it without remorse."

Merlin snorted, "About time, I'd say."

"It could lead to civil war," Gaius warned.

"So? If the king has been keeping secrets from Arthur, then it's his own fault."

"The future doesn't bode well for a kingdom that begins in patricide."

That got Merlin thinking. Was Arthur capable of killing his own father? It would need to be something of massive proportions; so far, Arthur was questioning the lessons his father taught him, which Merlin didn't see as something particularly bad.

"I don't think Arthur would kill his father," Merlin finally said, "for anything."

"I'm not so sure, my boy."

Merlin looked at Gaius quizzically and asked, "What do you know?"

"It isn't my secret to tell."

"But it has to do with those letters."

"So far, I don't think Arthur has read them yet, but I fear the time when he does."

"What did the king do?" Merlin asked, because for Gaius to think it was bad enough for Arthur to want to kill his own father...

Gaius's silence was telling enough.

The next morning dawned bright and too cheery for those who had to bury their loved ones, rebuild their houses or find a way to survive the winter without the provisions they had amassed until then. It also seemed to cheery for a prince who spent the night in the dungeons, worrying in his head about the duplicitous nature of his father and the implications that magic wasn't all evil.

In a druid camp not too far from Camelot, however, the morning was peaceful. The druids had felt the disturbance and erected their strongest wards, but otherwise were fine even when the day sky turned dark and covered in clouds. Mordred spent the time helping Agrona prepare remedies they thought Hermione might need while worrying about her in his own, silent way. He'd convinced himself to stop worrying when the day became day again; at least until Merlin arrived with her unconscious in his arms.

Agrona told him what to do and he went through the motions as best as he could. Then he sat with Hermione and pressed cold, wet rags against her forehead. When she woke up, and saw him, her eyes filled with tears and she turned the other way. Mordred tried to talk to her, but Hermione ignored him, so he went to tell Agrona. Merlin then went into the tent, stayed a few minutes, and then left.

Since then, Hermione hadn't left the tent or talked to anyone who came to see her. Agrona told Mordred that she was upset and needed space, but Mordred was still a child and still worried and he didn't do space. So, as soon as breakfast was ready, he prepared two plates and took them inside Hermione's tent. From outside, he could hear her sobbing; but as soon as he walked in, she stopped.

"I brought you breakfast," Mordred told her, and sat down to eat his. He tried to act nonchalant, as if nothing was wrong, and hoped it would lure her out. It wasn't working very well, as his hands were shaking and the eating utensils made a clacking sound every time he tried to take food from his place.

Hermione turned her face slightly and glared at him.

"Thank you, Mordred," Hermione said, and her voice was rough from disuse and all the crying she'd done, "can you leave me alone, now?"

Mordred started, and the clanking stop. He debated whether he should do as she asked, or not. He thought about his own grief, and how she sat with him and let him cry on her shoulder without prompting from anybody else. He frowned.

"Why won't you let me help you?" Mordred asked, not attempting to hide the confusion and hurt.

"No one can help, Mordred," Hermione retorted with a scoff.

"I thought so too, when my father was killed," Mordred replied, "but then you were there for me and it did help. You always help me. Even if you just let me cry, you never let me cry alone. I want to help you, too."

Hermione was silent for a long time, until finally, she sat up. She looked at Mordred through red rimmed, teary eyes, and a guilty expression.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to shut you out."

"We are all worried about you."

"I know. It's just..." Hermione bit her lip, and her eyes welled up with tears again. Mordred moved forward and hugged her. She cried more, and sobbed, and Mordred went to find a handkerchief to give her because gross, but then he hugged her again and let her cry until there were no more tears.

"Thank you, Mordred."

"Anytime," Mordred replied, feeling satisfied that he was able to do something for Hermione, for once.

"I should... go out, clean up a bit. Then maybe we can eat next to the fire, with the others," Hermione said.

"Are you sure you want to?" Mordred asked, "I can always bring us food here."

"I know but... I think it would be good for me."

Mordred nodded and went to tell the others, leaving Hermione by herself, again, in her tent. She looked around and found the now cold plate of breakfast that Mordred brought her earlier, and vanished it with a wave of her hand.

She'd spent the night going over the new memories in her head. Memories of a live she hadn't lived, but that now were a part of her as if she had. To make everything more confusing, she still had the memories of the life she did live, giving her a set of contradictions, a headache and a painful longing for her home. But what was her home, really? Hadn't she resigned herself to live in Ancient Camelot because she didn't know how to return to the future? She formed new connections, made new friends and did her best to adapt to a word that didn't yet have any form of plumbing or knowledge of microbiology because she felt she hadn't had a choice. She most likely still didn't have a choice, if the apparition of the Triple Goddess told her anything.

Perhaps what bothered her the most wasn't the future she'd lost; but rather, the future she'd rewritten. She'd changed history so irrevocably that the people in her memories didn't resemble very much the ones she'd personally known; which meant that, in a way, she had caused the people she got to know to disappear and become someone else. And they would never know, because for them, it was as if nothing had ever been different. It also grated on her nerves that she made it happen. She, Hermione Granger, who'd been warned about the ill-effects of tampering with time in her third year; who'd been trusted with a time-turner because she wouldn't abuse its power to change anything, was the cause of this massive rewrite in history.

It was a lot.

And it was overwhelming. And Hermione was tempted to bury herself in the furs in her tent and pretend she didn't exist and then maybe she could prevent herself from ruining the future any more than she already had but... but Mordred, and Agrona, and Aida, and Alma, and even Alaric, who became her found family, who were worried about her, were waiting to comfort her and help her and be there for her. So, she shook herself up and left her tent.

Outside, though they were pretending not to, the people she'd come to love turned their heads and gave her a kind smile. She smiled back, and went to the river where she could tidy herself up a little bit. When she returned to camp, Agrona, Mordred, Aida and Alma were sitting in a log by the fire. In between Mordred and Aida there was quite a gap, and Hermione smiled more genuinely at that. She sat down and they gave her a plate overflowing with food, which she ate without complaint. They talked to her about the camp, about what she'd missed the day before, about magic and learning, and Hermione let their voices wash over her and provide a semblance of peace. She wasn't okay; but perhaps, with a bit of time and help, she could be.

In contrast to Hermione's support, back in Camelot Morgana felt smothered by fear. Even after seeing his body and knowing that Sigan had been destroyed, she could not forget how his presence felt on her skin, dark, sticky and slimy. Despite her bath, she didn't feel completely clean, and the crowing of the ravens outside startled her terribly. So, when she finally went to sleep, it was no surprise she had a nightmare.

She dreamed of a dark Camelot where Cornelius Sigan won; except, it wasn't Sigan wearing black and sitting on the throne, but rather, it was herself. Her eyes glowed golden with power, but her skin was pale and she looked so thin she could have passed for a skeleton. She stood over Arthur, radiating power, making him cower before her, before she plunged her sword deep into his chest and he fell, dead.

Gwen might now be aware that she had magic, but she was wholly inadequate to help her. It became obvious when the nightmare woke Morgana up and Gwen fussed but couldn't get Morgana to calm down. Gwen rushed downstairs to Gaius's chambers and urgently requested that the physician come help. In the commotion, the king was woken up and so there was a whole conference of people witnessing Morgana's hysteria.

Gaius gave Morgana a powerful sleeping drought and Morgana returned to a fitful slumber, though she didn't wake again. Uther and Gaius talked about it: how her nightmares seemed to be getting worse as the years progressed, but Gaius's attributed it to Sigan's attack earlier in the day. Gwen stayed in Morgana's chambers, watching over her, and when Morgana woke up in the morning, Gwen was there with fresh water, linens, and a light breakfast.

"How are you feeling, my lady?" Gwen asked her.

Morgana looked pale, and her eyes were wide, but she attempted a smile came out as a grimace.

"I'm fine, thank you, Gwen," she said, but it was clear she wasn't fine.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Morgana quickly shook her head, and answered, "No. There's no need. It was just a silly dream."

"But, my lady..."

"Leave it alone, Gwen," Morgana snapped, and Gwen resumed her duties around the bedchambers until Morgana dismissed her.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. King Uther, looking unusually shy, asked if he could come in. Morgana tried to smile, but it felt shaky, and nodded her head.

"You must have been quite frightened, yesterday," the king started.

Morgana couldn't find her voice, but even if she could, how could she tell the king that what she feared was inside her? Or that, on top of that, she was terrified that if he found out, she would burn? So she simply nodded, trying to stop the tears pooling in her eyes from spilling.

Uther sighed and held her hands in between his. They were warm, and Morgana craved the comfort, even if it came from the king.

Uther, with the softest expression she'd ever seen on his face and utmost sincerity, said, "I will not stop, Morgana, until all magic has been eradicated from the land and you can feel safe again. This, I swear to you."

Morgana couldn't help the sob that escaped her mouth or the tears that finally escaped, and Uther, blessedly ignorant, pushed her against his shoulder and tried to offer some comfort by patting her head like a dog. Then, he excused himself giving one reason or the other, but Morgana wasn't listening.

She sank to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest, trying to stop the fear from choking her; simply trying to breathe through her tears.

I never asked for this, she thought, I don't want it. Take it back! I don't want it!

In the wake of Morgana's nightmares, and despite Uther's warning that Arthur would remain in the dungeons for a few days, the king thought it would be for the best if Arthur was let out so that he could be available to comfort Morgana. The poor lass was so distraught and scared of magic, that it made Uther's usually stone cold heart thaw with tenderness. He wanted nothing more but for Morgana to feel safe, happy, wanted and loved in Camelot. He knew that she wasn't aware of her real heritage and therefore they could never really be a family, but he tried to provide one for her within his limited possibilities.

Therefore, Arthur was released with instructions to train the knights, see to the reparations of the citadel and write a complete report on what happened the day before. After all, Arthur had to learn from somewhere that the best punishment was usually adding chores to an already long list of responsibilities.

So, it was a weary Arthur that arrived to his chambers. Much to his surprise, however, he found them clean and tidy. On his bed there was a clean set of breaches with a matching tunic, in the corner there was a steaming tub with bath water and Merlin was just walking in with his breakfast. Arthur let out an appreciative whistle.

"You know, it is very telling how bad a servant you actually are when I feel impressed when you do your job as you should," Arthur said.

"Glad to see your night in the dungeons didn't diminish your pratiness," Merlin snarked without missing a beat. Arthur huffed in amusement, and looked around. He was torn between the bath and desperate need for clean clothes and the very appetizing breakfast on his desk.

"If you want to bath, I'll keep the meal warm for you. Or if you'd prefer to eat, I'll keep the water warm, too," Merlin said, and Arthur wondered when Merlin had learned to read him so well. In the end, Arthur's stomach growled and made the decision for him, so Arthur sat at the desk and tucked in.

"You also had breakfast, yes?" Arthur asked, mostly as a courtesy. But then Merlin's stomach growled, and Arthur rolled his eyes; "Go ahead and eat something, then. Can't have you fainting like a swooning maiden."

"You know, I could still take you apart with less than one blow," Merlin nonchalantly replied and helped himself to some bread and cheese.

"Are you threatening your prince, Merlin? Because that's a criminal offense."

"Oh, sorry, my lord."

Arthur rolled his eyes and the two friends finished their breakfast in silence. When he was finished, Arthur leaned back against the chair and willed himself to relax before beginning the rest of his day. Merlin piled up the empty plates and took them away through the servants corridor. Arthur let his mind wander.

Eventually, his thoughts led him to Hermione, who came to Camelot at a great risk for her life to help them eliminate a threat that would have, and nearly did, destroyed the kingdom. Where had she really come from that she always seemed to be in the right place at the right time when they needed her? How did she manage to be aware of everything of importance that went on in the kingdom? They could spend months without a word from her, only for her to appear without a word, willing to help, as if she had always been there. It was puzzling, and confusing, to say the very least.

His eyes wandered over to the drawer where he saved the letters she gave him. Did he want to read them now? Would it explain his father's hypocrisy and Gaius's secrecy? Would it bring him answers, or closure, or would it create more questions that he could deal with?

He shook his head and pushed the idea to the back of his head. It was too much, too soon. He felt as if in a very short period of time his entire worldview had been forced to shift, and if he rocked the boat too much, it would sink. Hermione's letters could wait. For now, Arthur wanted some form of stability to return to his life.

Just then, Merlin returned and in his very Merlin manner told him to get in the bath so that he could take his dirty clothes down to the laundry with everything else. Arthur acquiesced with barely a word. Merlin pulled the screen for privacy and Arthur assumed that he left since it was so quiet.

So, of course, when Merlin asked him if he wanted to hear what happened with Hermione, Arthur's heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin, the fool he was, simply popped his head around the screen with a completely puzzled look on his face and asked, "What?"

"How is it that you manage to be so quiet here but when we go hunting you scare all the game away?" Arthur asked, sighing.

"Well, here the floor is flat and not covered in roots and undergrowth," Merlin quipped.

"You know what? It doesn't matter," Arthur said with a wave of his hand, "tell me what happened with Hermione."

And Merlin told him: how Hermione used a spell of fire he'd never seen before, how it felt dangerous and dark and that if Hermione hadn't thought to put a boundary of sorts, the spell could have burned down the forest. Merlin also told him that Hermione passed out and he took her back to the druids.

"Why do you think she used such a dangerous, unpredictable spell?" Arthur mused, and Merlin was quiet for a moment as he thought of an answer.

"She mentioned that in order to fully destroy the Horcrux, the vessel had to be destroyed beyond magical repair, but she didn't specify why it had to be that spell," Merlin answered, "at the same time, when the Horcrux was destroyed, there was a dark mist in the shape of a raven that came out of it, so perhaps it was trying to fight back? I would have asked her, but she was... not well, after she performed the spell."

Arthur hummed.

"So, is it only about this threat, or is it all magical threats that need to be countered with magical means?" Arthur asked.

Merlin said, without hesitation, "Most curses and enchantments can only be reversed with magic, yes. Very few magical items can be destroyed by non-magical means; for example, an amulet someone made with an enchantment, if the amulet can be destroyed by non-magical means, usually the enchantment will also be destroyed. But then you have beasts like the griffin or the Questing Beasts that are made of magic, therefore can only be destroyed by magic."

"So... that time it bit me..."

"You were really supposed to die, then."

"But I didn't."

Merlin smiled cheekily at him, and said, "Of course not."

Then, like thunder it stroke Arthur and he remembered the odd conversation he had with Merlin right after he recovered from the bite.

"Merlin, what did you do?" Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin, at least, had the decency to look sheepish, and said, "Do you really want to know or can we just... skip it?"

"Merlin..."

"Fine," Merlin said, and looked away, "I traveled to the Isle of the Blessed to get you a magical cure. It required a sacrifice that I was more than willing to pay, but the High Priestess tricked me and my mother nearly died. Then Gaius almost died, as well. Until I killed her and the balance was restored."

"You killed her..."

"Yeah."

"How? From what you've told me, you have nearly no experience! And if this High Priestess is the same woman I'm thinking about, I just don't understand how she didn't kill you where you stood," Arthur said, thinking of the redheaded woman who trapped him in the cave when Arthur tried to get the Morteus flower for Merlin.

"Honestly?" Merlin replied, and shrugged, "It was mostly luck. I didn't expect to survive the battle, but I thought that at least my life would spare my mother's and Gaius's."

Arthur huffed, "This is unbelievable."

Merlin shrugged, and asked, "Can we change the topic, now?"

"That depends. Is there any other time you tried to sacrifice your life for mine with magic that I should know about?"

"Well, do you remember the labyrinth..."

"For Goodness's sake, Merlin! You cannot just bargain your life like it's nothing at the drop of a hat!"

"It's not at the drop of a hat!" Merlin replied, hotly, "Your life is worth so much more than mine that I would willingly give it up for you."

Arthur let out a defeated sigh and said, "My life is not worth that much. Not if I can't make a difference when it counts; certainly not if it costs someone else's."

"I disagree," Merlin said swiftly, "I believe you have a good heart and therefore you will make the right decisions."

Arthur stared dumbfounded at Merlin, feeling overcome with an overwhelming sense of awe and humility. He still felt unworthy of it, but he would try to become worthy of it one day.

"Don't be such a girl, Merlin. Pass me my clothes," Arthur said. He didn't really mean it, and from the knowing glint in Merlin's eyes, it was clear neither did he, which was perfectly fine by him. He didn't do well with feelings, after all.

Scarcely a week has passed when the king announced that the annual tournament to celebrate the longevity of Camelot and the crown would continue as scheduled, for in the wake of Cornelius Sigan's attack, it was appropriate to celebrate their victory over yet another foe. He announced it in front of the council, which meant that Arthur couldn't openly oppose, but he waited until the council was dismissed to talk to his father.

"Father, are you sure that a tournament is what Camelot needs at the moment?" Arthur asked.

"Of course it is!"Uther said with cheer, "Nothing like a good bit of jousting to raise the people's spirits."

"While I agree that the morale has been low, I don't believe a tournament is the right way to go."

Uther rolled his eyes, which gave Arthur little hope of succeeding. However, he couldn't yet give up the fight.

"Perhaps it would be more reasonable for the time being to postpone the tournament and use those resources to help the people in the citadel who have been struggling rebuilding their homes and earning their livelihood after the death of one or multiple breadwinners," Arthur suggested, "it would show that we are compassionate and always willing to help our people."

"Right now we don't need to be seen showing compassion, Arthur; we need to be seen showing strength," Uther countered, "Cornelius Sigan could have destroyed Camelot, but the other kingdoms don't know that and they must not know that. Therefore, you must expedite the reparations in the citadel and the courtyard so that the tournament can proceed as planned next month."

Arthur wanted to argue, but he knew it would be no good. He bowed to his king and left the room briskly. As he was about to turn a corner, however, a hand on his arm stopped him and he turned to find Gueneviere carrying a pile of linens, probably on her way to Morgana's chambers.

"Gueneviere," Arthur greeted with a nod.

"My lord," Gueneviere curtsied, "if I may be so bold as to say that I think it's admirable that you stood up to the king on behalf of the people in the citadel."

"You heard?"

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, sire," Gueneviere said, looking away and suddenly bashful, "it's just... the door was open and I was just passing and I happened to hear..."

"Don't worry about it," Arthur interrupted, "I believe you."

"Well... thank you, sire. Now, I must be going," she curtsied one more time and left with her load.

Arthur stared after her. He had never noticed her to be a woman of particular beauty, and certainly not someone who he could grow to be interested in; yet, something about Gueneviere intrigued him. Maybe it was the way she wasn't afraid to speak her mind. While Merlin was irreverent, Gwen was respectful, yet firm. He remembered how she didn't hesitate to fight for Ealdor, or how she ran across the courtyard infested of flying gargoyles to help him, or how she spent most of Cornelius Sigan's attack helping Gaius tend to the wounded. And now... well, she never failed to surprise him, that was for sure.

He continued on his way, lost in thoughts of reports, repairs and a coming tournament which he would have to prepare for.

Hermione's moved improved as the week slowly moved along. She resumed her duties helping Agrona make remedies and potions, and when that wasn't necessary, she read the Grimmoire and tried to understand this new powers she'd got. She mostly was reading up on the Triple Goddess and Her legends. Hermione herself had never been particularly religious; sure, her parents would take her to mass on Christmas for formality's sake, but they didn't usually talked or encouraged her to seek any spiritual or religious connection. And once she got to Hogwarts, all thought of religion had been replaced by magic and its rules. Now, however, most of her preconceived notions were being questioned and she didn't like it. Therefore, she read and researched.

At the same time, she helped Mordred learn certain spells that she didn't think Iseldir would teach him. Spells that use an attack as self-defense, or that could be perceived as violent but that, given the chance, could save Mordred's life. She was happy that Mordred now knew how to control his magic, and meditation also came easy for him, even if he didn't like it all that much.

Mordred had become as much her support as she had become his. When she faltered and doubted, she looked at him and remembered her purpose for doing things. The Triple Goddess in her vision was right in that regard: she had started caring for Mordred's well being way before she knew there were prophecies and destiny at hand. She found that thinking of Mordred helped ground her and stop her spiraling thoughts from turning too dark.

She still hadn't told him what exactly happened, though. And he didn't push either. Still, she couldn't avoid talking about it forever. Especially if she wanted help on contacting a Goddess. What had her life become, really? So, she went to Agrona and sat down with her and the Grimmoire.

"I wanted to ask you something," Hermione started. Agrona had continued stirring the potion she was making, but sensing the serious discussion ahead, she put a stasis charm on it and sat down next to Hermione.

"I may be able to answer."

"When I passed out... then, I had visions."

Agrona's eyes sharpened and she asked, "What kind of visions?"

"It wasn't like the Isle of the Blessed. I wasn't seeing something that was happening at the present moment or close to the present; rather it was about the future," Hermione said.

"What future?"

Hermione hesitated. Should she tell her? Did she already know? Hemione suspected that Agrona might know more than she let on, but she couldn't be sure and Hermione was afraid. Of what, exactly, she didn't know.

"My future. The one I came from," Hermione finally said, deciding that she needed the answers from Agrona more than she needed discretion.

"Oh. That one. What about it?" Agrona asked, with a knowing look in her eyes and sounding completely unsurprising.

Hermione sagged and said, "You knew?"

"I suspected," Agrona replied, "the elders consulted me about the prophecies when they changed. I don't know the details, but after a while it was easy to start piecing the puzzle together."

"Oh."

"So, what did you want to know?"

"Well... I changed something when I destroyed Cornelius Sigan's soul, and now the future I remember doesn't exist anymore because I erased it."

"Somehow I don't think your question is about that, though."

"When the visions stopped I saw... there was a woman but... she was..." despite Hermione seeing the image of the Goddess so clearly in her mind, she couldn't find words to describe her to save her life, "ugh. She appeared in my mind, glowing, and told me she was the Triple Goddess and that she was the one to send me here."

Agrona raised an eyebrow full of skepticism and Hermione regretted her decision for a moment.

"I don't claim to know I know the Triple Goddess. For all I know, I could have been hallucinating. Still, when she talked to me she said I had her blessing, and that I could contact her when I felt ready; but I don't know how," Hermione finished explaining in a rush.

"It isn't unusual for High Priestesses to receive messages from the Goddess," Agrona said, "however, it isn't every day that She simply decides to Show Herself, and not just to anyone. And, if what you said about your extraordinary circumstances is true, it isn't so far fetched that the Goddess would be behind it."

"Do you know how I could seek her out?"

"Hermione, she's a Goddess. She's so far above the realm of humans, that we can only hope to reach her by prayers and rituals, and even then, an answer from Her isn't a guarantee," Agrona answered patiently.

"Yet, if she told me to seek her out, then there must be a way."

Agrona sighed, and returned to her potion. She didn't look at Hermione when she answered.

"If you follow the path to the White Mountains, you will find the most sacred place of the Old Religion. An old pool of water that, according to legend, is as old as the Triple Goddess and the origin of our world. There the Disir dwell; they are the highest court of the Old Religion, even above you, Hermione, and they are said to be the very mouthpiece of the Triple Goddess. They may aid you, but they may also hinder you. And once they've passed judgment on you, their word is final."

Hermione observed Agrona for a moment, before she said, "You don't think I should go."

"I don't see how it would help anyone."

"It would give me answers."

"Or perhaps it will only create more questions," Agrona retorted, "Hermione, this isn't just a simple issue you can power through with magic, and the consequences can be dire."

"But then why would the Goddess say that if She didn't want me looking for Her?"

"A test, perhaps? It isn't unknown for Gods and Goddess to test their champions and their worth."

"I don't... I can't believe that."

"You can believe whatever you want. I simply advice caution."

"Right. Alright. I'll think about it, then."

Hermione then returned to her tent and immediately started to pack. She may have told Agrona she would think about it, but really, her mind was made up. And perhaps she was dealing with something, someone, so much greater than her; yet... she needed answers.

Just then, of course, Mordred walked in.

And then he immediately stopped. His eyes widened in realization, and then, much to Hermione's surprise and concern, they shuttered and his face became impenetrable.

"You're leaving," he said, and his voice was devoid of emotion. For a moment, Hermione thought of Professor Snape.

"Only for a short time," Hermione said, "I'll be back soon."

Mordred crossed his arms and looked away from her. Hermione felt relieved to see some emotion return to his expression.

"You just came back," he complained, "and you came back very upset."

"I know."

"Are you going back to Camelot?"

"No. I'm going to the White Mountains on Old Religion business."

Mordred's head then whipped in her direction and his eyes were suddenly wide, sparkling and full of wonder.

"Can I go?" he asked.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and said, "I thought you were upset."

"Well, I was when I thought you were going to put yourself in danger in Camelot again, but the White Mountains are in the opposite direction, so," Mordred said and shrugged, before continuing without taking a breath, "also, Iseldir talked to us about a place in the White Mountains that's one of the most sacred places of the Old Religion, along with the Crystal Cave and the Isle of the Blessed and if you're going, of course I want to go too. Besides, Kara would be so jealous!"

"Mordred!" Hermione explained, and Mordred turned his wide, innocent eyes on her and she sighed in exasperation, "if you do come with me, you must not tell anyone where we're going."

"I won't! I promise!"

Hermione huffed again. Was it wise to take this child to meet the highest court of the Old Religion? She didn't know. Did she want Mordred to come with her? Yes. His mere presence soothed a deep ache in her soul and she didn't want to part from him so soon. Was it the responsible thing to do? Probably not. Would they be in danger? She couldn't know, but she imagined she could protect them both from simple brigands and beasts. It could be like a field trip!

"Fine. Go pack a rucksack with a change of clothes," she said and Mordred excitedly bolted from her tent. She looked skyward and sighed. She had a feeling she might regret bringing Mordred with her; on the other hand, something like excitement thrummed in her veins at the prospect of exploring. She took her Grimmoire and packed in her own rucksack; there was a map in there with the most important locations of the Old Religion that she was sure would come in handy.

After thinking about her situation for a few days, Morgana decided she couldn't live like this any longer. She decided she would leave. The druids would certainly welcome her and teach her how to get rid of, or at least control, this thing inside of her that she hated.

The announcement of a tournament didn't surprise her, however, it did provide her the window of opportunity she was looking for. King Uther would be busy supervising, welcoming, feasting and judging the jousting. Usually, she would be right there on the dais with him, but if she could convince Uther that she was ill, she would most definitely be excused.

This idea didn't take long to take root, and soon Morgana found herself fantasizing about a life in the woods, without any worries or responsibilities, perhaps living with Mordred and Hermione and having real, true friends. It was so tantalizing, such a sweet, innocent dream, that Morgana found herself throwing herself head first into planning her escape. For the first time in a while, she felt hope.

She found her sturdiest gown; one that was old, kind of worn down, and most definitely out of season and hung it near the door of her closet that it would be in easy reach. She also found her old cloak; a deep crimson thing commissioned for a winter ball a few years back, so she knew it would keep her warm. She also tried to find some shoes that would endure a long walk, because she couldn't possibly take a horse or they would notice her absence. Especially not during a jousting tournament when the horses were especially cared for so that they would be healthy, strong and sturdy to support the knights.

She only found a pair of riding boots, which for sure would last the long journey, but it pained her to pair them up with the beautiful gown. She sighed; but decided that beggars couldn't be choosers and she needed something durable. She also mentioned to Gwen that her old gloves were worn and torn and that she fancied a new pair; Gwen, used to such demands from her lady, didn't think anything of it and just went to the seamstress.

That was the easy part.

Over the next few weeks, she made sure to attend as many council meetings as she could, despite her paralyzing fear of Uther, just so she could hear the king and Arthur discussing patrol routes and guard rotations in and around the castle. She started counting how many seconds passed between one guard passing in front of her door and the next. She took leisure strolls around the castle and found hidden nooks and crannies where she could hide to let a guard pass; or hallways that were usually empty or that only servants used, so they would be busy on the day of the tournament.

She wrote it all down in a piece of parchment she kept in her desk, hidden under the pile of clean parchment that was meant for her to write letters to the dull ladies of the court who couldn't talk about anything else but Sir Knight One and Sir Knight Two. Hidden in plain sight, no one would think to look for something amiss.

While the Lady Morgana spent weeks preparing for her grand escape, Hermione and Mordred spent about the same time in their journey to the pool at the base of the White Mountains. Hermione transported them with magic as far as she could, which wasn't very far as she could only picture the Forest of Essetir, where their brethren camp was. They spent a night with them, exchanging stories; it had been a long time since she'd seen them so Hermione was glad to hear news from them and to see them mostly recovered from the massacre Kanen's men wrecked on their camp the last time she was there.

Hermione asked them for directions to the White Mountains, and while they were curious, Hermione weaseled out of giving them any direct answers. Mordred helped with that; he had an amazing sense of intuition and almost always knew when she needed his help, and he would either make a fool of himself by tripping over air, or would something so unbelievably cute that even Hermione cooed and awed before ruffling his hair in that affectionate way she knew he only pretended to hate.

Afterward they continued by foot, making camp every night to sleep. Hermione laid traps for rabbits or small birds and those would last for a couple of days, and the rest they ate berries, nuts and fruits they found around them. As they got closer to the White Mountains, the air became crisper and colder; it also felt charged with magic, electrified.

Mordred loved it. Hermione got a headache after a while.

Finally, on the third week of their journey, they made it.

Hermione noticed because of a certain shift in the air that drew her in. Mordred noticed because he saw the wooden offerings hanging from branches around the cave. Hermione put down her rucksack and instructed Mordred to do the same. Then, she knelt in front of him so she could look him in the eye.

"We are about to enter sacred territory," Hermione told him and Mordred nodded solemnly, "you must leave anything that could be considered a weapon outside. Also, whatever you hear or see, remember that I am here with you and I will protect you. Whatever you do, keep quiet. And, if you feel that you might be in danger, you have to run back here. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Hermione."

"Good."

They went in. The cave itself was damp and cool. There were more sacred offerings hanging from the ceiling of the cave and Hermione carefully guided Mordred around them so as not to trample them. Mordred quietly followed her directions and Hermione felt a swell of pride at how much Mordred trusted and listened to her.

Hermione stopped when she saw the Disir in front of her, and Mordred followed suit. However, something in their hooded faces must have scared him because he immediately retreated to stand behind her.

"You have been touched by the Triple Goddess," the woman in the middle spoke. Her voice was raspy and, if old parchment could speak, Hermione imagined this is what it would sound like.

"That's what I understood," Hermione replied, "but I still have questions."

"You have questions about your destiny," the one to the left said next.

"I have questions about my future."

"Your future that doesn't exist anymore," the third one responded.

"How can that be?" Hermione asked, feeling emboldened now that she was getting some answers, "I was taught that any meddling with time shouldn't be allowed, or even possible. Why am I exempt of this rule?"

The Disir pointed at her; no, behind her, and said, "Because of him."

Hermione's arm shot out in front of Mordred on instinct. The Disir either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Destiny doesn't care for pawns. King Arthur will be judged on his deeds and, should he not pass our judgment, Mordred is meant to kill him."

"Why him?"

"Because someone has to do it."

"Then..." Hermione hesitated, "if just anyone could do it... why not me?"

The hooded faces never changed their direction, but suddenly Hermione felt the weight of their gazes on her like a ton of bricks. Even Mordred gasped, but trusting her, didn't say anything.

"The Triple Goddess, in her magnificent compassion, saw something worth saving in the child and in you. This did not happen by chance, and without Her blessing, you would not be allowed to remain here."

"She said... she said that I could eventually return to the future... but I don't understand how..."

"We do not claim to understand the Goddess's designs; we are merely Her Mouthpiece for the wisdom She decides to bestow upon us. You, Hermione Jean Granger, have been chosen and are now as much a part of destiny as Emrys and the child you so fiercely protect."

"She also said I could choose to reject her blessing."

"And therefore, you would disappear from existence; as if you'd never been born."

Hermione felt Mordred's hand tightening on her skirt and she put her hand on his head, trying to reassure him.

"What will be the fate of my family and friends in the future if I continue changing the past?" Hermione asked next, which really was her most pressing question.

"Souls cannot be erased; they may not become who you remember, but those who were meant to be born will be born."

"And those who died will die again? Will Harry be destined to be an orphan and will Ron be destined to be poor? Will Luna Lovegood lose her mom at a young age, again, and will Molly Weasley's brothers die fighting against a maniac?"

This time, the answer of the Disir wasn't so immediate, but it eventually came.

"If the prophecies in our time have changed, we can assume the prophecies in the future have changed as well. Some people will die earlier while other will die later. What does it matter if the world becomes better than it was before?"

"It matters because they were people whose lives matter! They have families, and feelings and experiences that are valuable and important, even if those are small in the grand scheme of things."

"You are still young, High Priestess. For you to succeed, you need to look at the bigger picture."

"I want to help people. That's why I protect Mordred and why I destroyed the Horcrux. If I harm the people I want to protect, then what am I even doing? Why should I keep doing it?"

"We already provided you the answers you seek. Now, you must make your decision. Will you, Hermione Jean Granger, undertake the mission the Tripple Goddess has given you or will you disappear from all existence?"

Hermione recoiled, and in the process, nearly tripped over Mordred, whose knuckles and face were white and his eyes were wide with fear. She looked at the Disir, and she looked at Mordered.

How could she choose?

Should she choose to preserve the future, and therefore Harry's, Ron's, her parents' lives intact along with so many others? Or should she choose to stay in the past with Mordred, who needed her the most right now?

In the future, she had loved her family and her friends, and Hogwarts; and while it wasn't always the easiest life to lead, it had been her own. She had made her own choices, and she had stood by them. She had laughed, cried, helped, loved, and so much more with fiery passion and she had –apparently- died for a cause she believed in.

In the past, where she was at the moment, every choice she made sent ripples that destroyed that life she had loved and the people she hadn't forgotten about. She would no longer be able to make her own decisions without accounting for factors that were so out of her control, she felt she could never make a safe choice ever again. She would become a slave to destiny and prophecy, things she still believed were fickle and unpredictable and for what? For this stranger's child whom she loved nearly as fiercely as all the friends and family she lost? For a chance that this child would survive to become an adult and would not turn into a murderer?

How could she choose?

"Choose," the Disir demanded, and she felt their power build.

Hermione hugged Mordred close to her and she knew her choice was made the moment she set eyes on the little orphan boy who reminded her so much of Harry and who ended up becoming an entity all on his own and who took a major part of her heart with him.

"I'll stay," Hermione said, loud and clear, puffing up her chest to appear braver than she felt.

The Disir's power receded until it became a low hum.

"Wise choice, Hermione Jean Granger," the middle woman told her, and Hermione could have sworn she was smiling.

"Now go with peace," the second woman said.

"We will ensure you a safe return," the third one finished, and Hermione recognized a dismissal when she heard one. She took Mordred, who seemed to be paralyzed by fear, and together they walked out on shaky legs.

Once they were both out of the cave, Hermione sat them both down next to their things and pulled out the waterskin for Mordred to drink something. He took a few sips and slowly the color returned to his cheeks. Hermione also drank some, and tried to let go of the stress that moment caused her with little success.

"What was that?" Mordred asked after a few moments.

"What was what?"

"Those women, who were they?"

"They are called the Disir and they are the most sacred court of the Old Religion."

"Then... is it true what you said in there? That you talked to... you know... Her?" his voice was filled with awe and fear and something that Hermione felt wholly inadequate to receive from anybody.

Hermione sighed, and hugged Mordred; she needed the comfort and to remind herself why it was she had chosen to stay out of her time.

"She came to me when I was unconscious last time," Hermione answered him, "and at first I couldn't quite believe it. But then, I started to wonder about it and decided that I needed to know for sure. I suppose now I know for sure that it indeed happen and it wasn't just a fever dream."

"Wow."

"I'm still Hermione, you know."

"But you talked to The Goddess."

"I swear to you, I didn't plan on it."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me," she replied, and Mordred must have heard something in her voice because he stopped his teasing.

"And is it true you're from... the future?"

Hermione sighed a deep sigh, and said, "You cannot tell anyone."

"I won't."

"Not even by accident. Or in confidence. It is a very delicate situation, and it can become very dangerous for me and anyone I come in contact with," Hermione warned.

"I understand."

"Promise?"

"I promise," Mordred said solemnly and Hermione smiled slightly.

"I do come from... there. All those people I talked about were my friends. When I helped Merlin and Prince Arthur in Camelot a few weeks ago, I changed something and... it destroyed their lives as I knew them."

"And you feel bad about it?"

Hermione looked down to a patch of grass and said, "It scares me, to have that kind of power. It also makes me feel guilty. But..."

"What?"

"The trade-off was to let you fend for yourself and leave you at the mercy of destiny and people who might not have your best interest at heart and I..." she swallowed past the lump in her throat, "I couldn't do that to you."

Mordred was silent for a long time, before he scooted closer to her and hugged her tight. Hermione returned it and they stayed like that for a long time.

"Thank you, Hermione."

At that, Hermione smiled through her tears. Things were still as complicated as ever, but she would figure things out. For Mordred, she would figure things out.

The tournament was only a few days away, now. All around the citadel and the castle there was a buzzing energy and excitement, and Arthur reflected that perhaps his father's intentions weren't entirely misguided. He still felt that holding a tournament so close to an event that cost so many people their lives and livelihoods was wrong, but he also could appreciate what good cheer and distraction could do for the morale of the people.

That still didn't mean he wasn't torn, or didn't wish he could do more.

So, he was already in an irritable mood when he arrived to jousting practice and Leon didn't fell him off the horse when he had the chance. Arthur didn't need a lot to set him off at that point, so that did it just fine.

"Why did you pull out? I was wide open! You could have unhorsed me," Arthur demanded of Sir Leon, who was pulling off his helmet.

"I fearful I might injure you, sire," Sir Leon replied, holding Arthur's gaze, completely unafraid.

It reminded Arthur that while he may be prince, Sir Leon had been a squire when Arthur was still learning how to ride and became First Knight as Arthur was learning how to wield a sword. Not to mention that most of Arthur's training was done under Sir Leon's training.

"You had the advantage! You can't afford to hesitate," Arthur replied, throwing back at Leon one of his favorite lessons to teach Arthur.

"I wouldn't have done it if I were facing a different opponent," Sir Leon replied, as if to remind Arthur that he was still the senior knight and he knew what he was doing. At Arthur's incredulous look, Sir Leon added, "you are the future king, my lord."

Arthur took a step forward, thinking back to all the times he'd jousted and competed against his own knights and won. All the times he thought his win was on skill, rather than merit. His training as a knight and prowess with the sword were the only real things Arthur could claim as his own, unconnected to his birth or rank, but now, looking at Sir Leon, he was starting to doubt that had ever been the case and it created a deep sense of despair in his gut.

"You jousted against me in the tournament last year. Are you saying you let me win?" Arthur asked.

Sir Leon averted his eyes now, and that was answer enough, even though he also answered with, "No, my lord."

Lies!

Arthur turned around and surveyed his knights, his brothers in arms, all of whom were looking everywhere but at him.

Liars!

"It doesn't matter who I am. I do not expect any special treatment from you; from any of you! Is that understood?"

He looked around one more time before storming back to his chambers, in armor and all. Merlin, as always, followed after him.

"How am I going to prove myself if my opponents aren't trying their hardest?!" he exclaimed once he was in his chambers. Merlin closed the door behind and them and scrambled to pick up the pieces of his armor that Arthur tore away from himself in a fit if pique.

"I'm sure it's not happening all the time," Merlin tried to reassure Arthur.

Arthur looked at him, annoyed, and said, "So it's only happening some of the time, huh?"

"No, I'm certain it isn't!" Merlin quickly corrected himself.

"Now you're doing it!" Arthur exclaimed and turned to face the windows, and said, disappointed, "You're telling me what you think I want to hear."

Merlin merely sighed behind him.

"This kingdom is built on lies and hypocrisy," Arthur spat, "first, I discover my father is lying to my face, then that Gaius is in on it, and now my own knights think I'm too weak to succeed at anything that isn't handed to me. How am I suppose to...?"

He stopped; this was becoming too open, too vulnerable for him. The truth of the matter was that he thought he had become the greatest swordsman in the kingdom by hard work and merit. He was starting to think that he was just a spoiled prince who got anything he demanded just because he was a prince. How was he going to lead his people one day if they didn't believe in him to lead them? How was he going to command his knights on the battlefield if he had never won anything by his own power?

"Think about it from their perspective," Merlin said then, startling Arthur, who'd kind of forgotten his manservant was in the room too, "if they didn't pull their punches, you might not have punished them but your father would have, for sure."

"Oh, and that makes it better because..."

"You are too important, Arthur," Merlin said, simply, and Arthur turned to look at him, "the kingdom cannot afford to injure their prince in a competition or tournament. I'm sure that if this was a battle, they would listen to your command without hesitation; this tournament, at the end of the day, is just for show."

Arthur sighed. There was some truth to what Merlin was saying, but he didn't want to hear it.

"I just want to be treated like everyone else," Arthur admitted.

"Really?" Merlin asked, with a healthy dose of skepticism in his voice.

Arthur rolled his eyes, and said, "You have no idea how lucky you are to have the luxury of anonymity."

"Well, whenever you want to swap places, let me know."

An idea went off in Arthur's head and he straightened up. If he could compete anonymously, his knights wouldn't feel the need to pull their punches or let him win. He could, at the very least, prove to himself that he was still the best swordsman in Camelot, and then also prove to his knights and his father that they didn't need to coddle him.

"That's not a bad idea," Arthur mused.

"You are Prince Arthur," Merlin reminded him, "and you can't change that."

Merlin left with his armor, but to the empty air Arthur said with returning confidence: "Yes. Yes, I can."

In her bedchambers, Morgana read over her plans for the following week. If everything went according to plan, by the end of it, she would be free. Free of this consuming fear, fear of her nightmares, free of Uther's reign and Camelot's oppression. She couldn't wait.

Author's Note: Crossposted on AO3.