A/N: And we're back, yay! Another chap for you! Something of a short one, but for some reason all of the chapters in this story have been pretty short. At least in comparison to TBAK. Like the average chapter length for this story is almost half as long as for TBAK. Idk why. More plot/action driven rather than character driven? Less internal monologue? Eh, that's just how turned out.


They were supposed to set out for Carthis on horseback the next morning, but it was decided that they would use Merlin's transportation crystal to get them all back more quickly in light of the attempt on Merlin's life. Cecily had nearly thrown a fit when Merlin had told them of his little midnight expedition, ranting at him about recklessly endangering his own life and putting the whole kingdom at risk and leaving her—his bodyguard, brought along specifically to prevent this exact situation—behind like a completely and total moron.

Honestly, Raime agreed with her, but Merlin had rolled his eyes and brushed it off like he always seemed to brush off any threat to his person, though Raime wasn't sure if that was because Merlin didn't take the threats seriously or because he still wasn't entirely convinced of his own importance. Either way, he was wrong.

Raime was sent to ready the horses and get them packed up while Merlin explained everything to his mother and extended the invitation for her to come back with them. When Merlin showed up at the stables without her, Raime assumed that she had turned it down, preferring to stay where she had always been.

"She said that she might join me in Carthis later," Merlin told him. "After she's got her affairs settled here."

Raime wasn't sure what sort of affairs an old woman could possibly have in a little hamlet like this, but he figured that it wasn't really any of his business anyway. He finished strapping down the last saddlebag and mounted his pony with some difficulty; he hadn't had much occasion to ride horses before getting this job, but he was getting better. Cecily took hold of his arm, and he of Merlin's, and they were all overtaken by the jostling, suffocating darkness of the transportation spell.

Practically as soon as their feet had touched the ground, Merlin was running off to shut himself up with Lord Ellison and Sir Gerund and talk shop for however long it would take them to decide whatever it was they needed to decide; most of it went over Raime's head, but then no one ever bothered to stop and explain anything to him, did they? No, they always just went running off to do things without him.

At least Cecily stayed in the stables to help him untack the horses, though she did seem to be rushing to get it done.

"Do you have somewhere important to be?" Raime asked as she almost dropped her gelding's saddle in her haste to hang it on its hook. "Or should I say, someone important to see?" he added, raising a suggestive eyebrow at her.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," she responded primly, hanging the saddle up properly. "Mordred said that he would come with me to visit my sister at the Camp."

"The Camp?" Raime asked, surprised. "I didn't know you were a Druid!"

Not that all Druids lived in the Camp, or that the Camp was entirely made up of Druids. But that was where those who strictly followed the Druid's teachings were trained—a large, breezy enclosure not too far out into the woods, filled with tents and campfires and people in simple robes. Raime had only been there a few times but the whole place came with an aura of peace and relaxation.

Cecily laughed. "I'm not," she said. "And my sister wasn't born one either, but Taryn is a Seer, and a strong one. She went to live with the Druids when she was nine years old so that she could learn to control and utilize her ability properly. I was five at the time and desperate to be just like my big sister. I insisted that she teach me everything she learned from them whenever she came back to visit. Sometimes I forget that I'm not a Druid myself, I know so much of their ways."

"Oh, so that's why you and Mordred get along so well," Raime said and immediately had to duck the handful of hay Cecily threw at him.

"Mordred hasn't been down to the Camp yet," she said, not deigning to acknowledge his comment any further. "And I haven't seen Taryn in weeks, so I said he should come with me for a visit when we got back from Ealdor. Now we're both back and I thought this would be as good a time as any to head out there."

"Well, we're all done here," Raime said, giving his pony one last, fond pat on the neck. "Let's go find your man."

Cecily shoved at his shoulder but she didn't deny it, and she didn't protest when he fell into step beside her on the way back up to the citadel.

Raime liked Cecily quite a lot for that; she was always happy to let him tag along after her, even if she was on important mage business. The other knights and mages tended to shoo him off, but Merlin really didn't give Raime all that much to do each day and he usually ran out of chores long before dinner and was left with nothing but boredom. Sir Frederick especially had been quick to run him off the training field the few times he had tried to hang around and watch, even though Merlin had said that he didn't mind having Raime there.

Raime kept close on Cecily's heels as they entered the castle, wondering if she would give him the boot when they found Mordred so the two of them could have some alone time. Not that didn't get plenty of that already, in his opinion. They were almost always together, either sparring together on the training field with swords or magic, or walking through the lower town together, or going on horse rides in the woods together, or dining together. This might have been the first time Raime had seen Cecily without Mordred by her side in weeks!

Which made it doubly strange to happen upon Mordred walking through the corridors with a completely unfamiliar girl—who definitely was not Cecily—on his arm and grinning at her like a loon.

"Mordred!" Raime called out, jogging up to them with a wave. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Cecily had stopped walking in the middle of the corridor, looking at the two of them with a pinched sort of expression on her face.

It took Mordred a moment to pull his gaze away from the girl and acknowledge Raime as he approached. "Hello," he said. "You're back from Ealdor?"

"Obviously," Raime said.

"Who's this?" the girl asked, pressed close against Mordred's side and looking Raime up and down.

"Oh, this is Raime," Mordred told her. "King Merlin's manservant."

"Yeah, that's me, hello," Raime said, holding out a hand for her to shake. She eyed his hand dubiously before taking it lightly in hers. "And who are you?" he asked, too confused to be anything other than blunt.

"Yes, why don't you introduce us to your friend?" Cecily said, drawing even with them. There was a polite smile on her face but even Raime could tell that it wasn't genuine. Mordred didn't seem to notice though, which was odd. He just put an arm around the girl's shoulders and beamed at her.

"This is Kara," he said, strangely breathless. "My best friend."

"I thought Merlin was your best friend," Raime said, indignant on his master's behalf. "And anyway, how can she be your best friend? I've never even seen her before!"

Mordred shot him a dirty look, and not the playful sort he usually did but an actual mean-looking one. Kara took a hold of his hand where it rested on her shoulder and his expression cleared immediately, returning to a dopey smile.

"We grew up together," Kara told them. "We come from the same Druid camp, but we were separated when it fell to a raid."

"We've found each other now, though," Mordred said, sounding nothing short of overjoyed at the fact. And he hadn't even acknowledged Cecily's presence yet.

Cecily said, "That's wonderful," in a voice that was just a tiny bit off, as if she needed to clear her throat or maybe as if she wanted to cry a bit. "I'm really happy for you, Mordred."

"We always said that we would be together forever," Mordred replied without even taking his eyes off of Kara, who smiled back at him looking quite smitten.

Cecily sucked in a sharp breath, going stiff all over. The hurt on her face made Raime want to punch Mordred in the face for being such a jerk. Couldn't he see what his words were doing to her? Mordred knew that Cecily cared about him, and Raime had thought that he cared for her too, but you would never think so from how he was acting now. It was a far cry from the blushing and stammering and cheek-kissing from the stables in Camelot.

"Hey, Mordred," Raime said with maybe a bit more force than was warranted. "Weren't you going to go visit Taryn today?"

"Who?" he asked, brow furrowed in what looked like honest confusion.

"Cecily's sister, Taryn," Raime said.

"You said that you wanted to go with me when the next time I went to visit her in the Camp," Cecily told him.

"Oh," Mordred said blankly. "Right. Um."

"But you don't have to," Cecily jumped in. "I mean, if you're busy or something. You've obviously got more important things to do now."

"But he—" Raime started.

"No, it's fine, Raime," she said, trying to smile at him. "If he would rather stay here with...with Kara, then that's what he should do. I'm sure they'll have a wonderful time together. Excuse me, I've got to go. My sister's expecting me."

Cecily turned on her heel and disappeared down the corridor, her blue cloak whipping behind her. Raime stood for a moment, torn between running after her to make sure that she was alright even though it was clear that she wasn't and staying where he was to give Mordred a piece of his mind for being so mean. He turned around to do just that in time to see Mordred staring after Cecily too, a strange, almost disoriented look on his face. The look disappeared as soon as Kara nudged him in the stomach, his full and devoted attention returning to her.

"You were going to show me the gardens," Kara said sweetly, completely unperturbed by the run-in with Cecily and the obvious distress it had caused her.

Mordred smiled at her, full of enthusiasm. "Of course! They've got daisies blooming all year round. We could make daisy chains like we used to. The crowns you made always looked so lovely in your hair."

Kara let Mordred babble on in that vein while she tugged him along down the corridor again, ignoring Raime entirely as she brushed past him. Raime watched them go, at a loss, and his eye was caught by a glint of silver. There was a bracelet on Mordred's wrist that he had never seen before. Mordred didn't wear jewelry; he had told Raime once that he couldn't stand to have something so loose around his wrist when he fought.

Just before they turned the corner, Kara reached up to wrap her hand around Mordred's wrist. It looked like an affectionate gesture, but Raime couldn't help but notice that her thumb brushed across metal instead of skin.


Kara was not a guard and she did not appreciate being used like one. She was a trained assassin with dozens of kills under her belt; leaving her standing beside a hole in the ground watching over a restrained and helpless prisoner was a vast underutilization of her many skills. But Sarrum had insisted and if he gave an order then it was in her best interests to follow it. She still had scars on her back from the last time that she had disobeyed a direct order from the king.

The prisoner was a witch, and a powerful one, from what Sarrum said. She had been terrorizing the entire land for years, killing indiscriminately and seeking power for herself. She was helpless now though, bound in cold iron chains that suppressed her magic so thoroughly that she was entirely at their mercy. Sarrum had been crowing about that victory for days.

A shrieking cry came from within the pit, echoing around the small space, and Kara glanced down. The witch was where she had been since Kara's shift had started, huddled against the wall with her arms bound above her head, but the little dragon was thrashing, pulling frantically at the thick manacle around its hind leg and beating its wings ineffectually against the stones.

They had caught the dragon first, a small thing that couldn't be more than a few years out of the egg. It had been alone, flying low through the woods and snatching up small game as it passed. It hadn't been difficult for someone to toss a net over it as it flew by, drag it down and wrap it up tightly so that it couldn't move. Had it been older it would have breathed fire at them, but all this little creature had managed were a few puffs of smoke and a ringing in their ears from its piercing cries.

The witch had come looking after her pet had not returned to her. She had fought for a while, had killed a half a dozen men in her quest to retrieve the dragon, but when a knife had been pressed to the creature's breast, she had stopped fighting. Her care for the hatchling had crippled her, left her vulnerable just long enough to be subdued completely. Now they shared a prison, if it could even be called that.

The witch made soft shushing noises, talking softly to the dragon to soothe its distress. Finally its cries dulled to whimpers and it curled in on itself, wrapping its wings around its thin body. It was hard to tell from such a height but Kara thought that it might be shaking. She turned back to her post.

"You have magic."

The witch's voice was quiet, hoarse from shouting at the guards to leave her precious Aithusa alone. They never heeded her threats, hollow as they were with her magic suppressed.

"Shut up, witch," Kara snapped at her, irritated by the burn in her fingertips. She had long ago stopped giving in to the urge to scratch, though her arms were still crisscrossed with thin white scars, so she clenched her hands tight around the guisarme she held instead, her knuckles going bloodless around the weapon's long handle.

"I can feel it," the witch said. "Sense it. Your magic."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Kara said. She wasn't sure why she was feeling so defensive; it wasn't as if everyone in the court didn't know that she had magic inside of her, that she only used it to further their cause, that she hated it as much as they did if not more.

"I know far more than you do," the witch said with a weak sort of laugh. "I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion. I am a Seer with knowledge of days to come."

"You are a filthy witch," Kara spat. She reached her weapon down into the pit to ram the blunt end into the witch's side. The witch let out a grunt of pain and the dragon set to squawking his protest of her treatment.

The dragon was quieted somehow and there was blessed silence for a while. Kara tried to keep her focus on the task at hand, but guard duty was always hellishly boring to begin with and she could feel...something. All the times that she had infiltrated some magic users' hideaway she had felt the tingle of magic in the air around them, but she had never felt anything as strong as this, the aura of power radiating from the trapped sorceress beneath her.

"Why do you hate yourself so much?"

"I told you to be quiet."

"I used to hate myself too, you know," the witch said. "When I was younger and living in Camelot. It was hard not to with Uther Pendragon as my guardian."

It was clear the woman didn't know how to keep her mouth shut, so Kara didn't bother wasting her breath again. She shifted her guisarme to her other hand and set about ignoring the witch's babble.

Ignoring her was easy for a while—Kara didn't give a damn about her supposedly tragic childhood, not when her own had been such a nightmare—but it wasn't always. The longer Kara spent near Morgana with the feel of her trapped magic hanging in the air between them, the more her own magic flared inside her, demanding her attention. The burn scar on her forearm was soon bloody from where she had scratched at it, trying to remind herself of why she hated the damn feeling to begin with, no matter how warm it made her feel.

And then there were the things that Morgana said, the stories that she told. She spoke of the beauty of magic and the amazing things that it could do. She spoke of the power that it gave her, of how much she had accomplished in such a short time all because of a few words and a wave of her hand. She spoke of being a young girl desperate to do good and an environment that refused to let her do it.

Morgana spoke of the Pendragons, of how they had set out to destroy magic because they feared it and what it could do. And they were right to fear it, she said, because it would be their undoing. Even if the Druids were too cowardly to stand with her in her quest against the Pendragons, there were others who would stand at her side. There was nothing wrong with having magic, she said. Rather the sin lay in doing nothing when one's kin were threatened.

For months and months Morgana spoke, her voice drifting up out of the pit that she was chained in. Kara suspected that she talked just to keep herself occupied, not truly caring if Kara was listening or not, and to keep herself and the little dragon from going mad. But Kara did listen. Even when Sarrum released her from duty as a guard and sent her on other missions, she came back and found a way to return to that pit, Morgana's words in her ears and the magic hot in her veins.