Disclaimer: I do not own the Mystic Knights, Saban does. I do not have the rights to the characters, settings, past plots, or any of it. The only things I have are my own characters, settings and plots in this story, as well as a love for Irish mythology. Please don't sue me!

Chapter Four - Foretold and Forgiven

The glow of the green and crimson tornado had imploded, the sky outside Sí an Bhrú returning to its coal black darkness. The harsh winds and shaking earth that had thrown the Mystic Knights off their feet came to a sudden stop, leaving the valley Brú na Bóinne as still and silent as the dead. Tentatively finding their feet, the Mystic Knights looked all around them and prepared themselves for any sudden attacks. Much to their surprise, nothing came.

"By Dagda," Rohan breathed. "What in the name of Lugh was that?"

"Spirits returning from the Otherworld, I'd wager," Angus answered nervously. "And a whole host of 'em at that."

Garrett gulped, gripping his Twin Timber Axes. "Do you think whatever brought them back is still inside?"

With a tight hold on his sword, Rohan stepped cautiously towards the opening once again, leading the way. "There's only one way to find out."

The Mystic Knights treaded lightly through the stone passageway into Sí an Bhrú, lit only by the glow of the Sword of Kells. The inside of the cairn was narrow and bitter cold, and as they moved further inside, the knights could see their every breath. The stone walls on either side were so close that even traveling through single-file meant that the knights often brushed up against the hard rock. Despite their efforts to remain silent, the sound of every footstep on the sandstone floor echoed deep within the tomb.

Rohan paused as they reached a bend in the passage; just past the bend was an eerie green glimmer of light. He silently motioned for his friends to continue following him, but to be on their guard. The light grew brighter as the knights made their way further into Sí an Bhrú, and it was now obvious that the light was the same brilliant green that had formed the whirlwind tornado.

Eventually, the passage widened and the knights found themselves in a large vaulted circular chamber in the heart of the monument. The chamber gave way to a dozen tunnels, all leading to further chambers and smaller tombs in a labyrinth of dark passages. In the middle of the chamber, stood a raised platform on which stood seven smaller standing stones much like the ones outside. In the centre of the stones was what appeared to be a vibrant portal leading through the floor. The Mystic Knights made their way carefully towards the portal, but as they reached the platform, they heard a voice behind them.

"I'm afraid you will not find what you seek here, Mystic Knights," an ethereal voice crooned.

The knights turned with weapons raised to see a cloaked figure at the entrance of one of the tunnels. The figure glided towards them and removed their heavy black hood. A woman stood before them, her age seemingly indiscernible. She had no wrinkles, though her face looked wise as though she had lived a thousand years. Her thick silvery hair almost floated past her shoulders to her waist. Looking at each of the knights in turn, her unblinking eyes flashed different shades of blacks, browns, and golds.

"How do you know who we are?" Rohan demanded sharply, still prepared to use the Sword of Kells. "And what do you mean, we won't find what we seek?"

"I know a great many things." The woman seemed as though she hadn't registered that the Mystic Knights' weapons were drawn. Her gaze moved from the knights to the portal behind them, then thoughtfully beyond them, where it rested in an empowering trance. "You come here to stop the resurrection of a dark warlock. A very dark warlock indeed, who has returned to fulfill his promise. A promise prophesized by the warlock himself at the Battle of Kells, witnessed by the Mystic Knight of Earth and Lady Eabha of Kells. He intends to bring pain and suffering to the Mystic Knight of Earth, and all of those whom he loves. The Mystic Knights are in grave danger. No man, woman, child, or unborn babe is safe from the warlock's wrath."

Angus lowered his mace, his heart pounding in his chest. "How'd you know-"

The woman's eyes shifted once again to Angus. "I know a great many things," she repeated serenely.

"Who are you?" Deirdre asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I am the Morrigan."

"The Morrigan?" Rohan said in awe, eyes widening. "It cannot be! The existence of the Morrigan is but stuff of legends!"

"As is the existence of Draganta and the Mystic Knights," the woman remarked. "Yet here you are, standing before me at the gate to the Otherworld."

"Touché," Rohan conceded, tucking his sword into its scabbard. "You said we will not find what we seek. Do you mean to say that Usmev did not return here?"

"The warlock has been resurrected, yes," the Morrigan affirmed. "His spirit has left the Otherworld, though his corporeal form is incomplete.

A look of puzzlement crossed Angus' face. "You mean he hasn't got a body?"

"At the Battle of Kells, the warlock's body was destroyed. The practice of necromancy used by this brand of dark magic has resurrected the soul to be attached to a new physical entity."

"This brand of dark magic?" Rohan questioned with an eyebrow raised.

"There are many types of dark magic," came the reply. "In this instance, dark magic was performed by a fairy."

"Mider," the Mystic Knights said in unison.

The Morrigan nodded.

"Hang on," Angus said, rubbing his cheek over the scar left by Usmev a year before. "So yer saying that Mider brought Usmev back, but it's not Usmev, it's only his soul. And his soul has attached itself to a different body?"

"The soul is not yet connected to a corporeal form," she said.

Angus sighed, perplexed. "So his soul came through the portal and is just…" He gestured vaguely in the air, "whizzing around in the ether?"

"Not quite the phrasing I would use, but yes. Until the fairy's magic is complete, the warlock will be…" she gazed at Angus, and he could swear he saw her thin lips twitch upwards, "whizzing around in the ether."

"So what do we do?" asked Deirdre. "Find Mider and stop him before the resurrection is complete?"

The Morrigan shook her head. "That will not be possible. The fairy is concealed deep within a realm that cannot be entered by humans."

Garrett furrowed his brow. "What about the corporeal form? We could find it and destroy it before the soul is attached."

Deirdre glanced sidelong at Garrett. "Surely that would leave the spirit able to attach itself elsewhere."

"I am afraid nothing can be done until the resurrection is complete," the Morrigan said. "This could take weeks, if not months. The warlock's soul is complex. From the Otherworld, the soul has brought great power, far greater than before. Unless the Mystic Knights succeed in defeating the warlock and his evil accomplice, I fear that the isle of Eire will be lost forever."

Gliding onto the pedestal with the standing stones, the Morrigan floated further so that she was positioned in the very centre, hovering several inches above the portal. "I wish you good fortune in the trials ahead, Mystic Knights," she said calmly. In a smoky haze, she disappeared into the green glow of the portal, closing the gate behind her.

The journey home from the valley Brú na Bóinne was free from any trouble. By the time the Mystic Knights made it to the stables by Kells Castle, the night's darkness had started to lift with the rise of the sun. The ride back had been fairly quiet; everyone seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. Rohan's focus was on Ivar, however. He had noticed a bit of tension between the Arabian Prince and the other Mystic Knights, and he was surprised that upon meeting the Morrigan, the normally vocal man hadn't uttered a single word. In fact, Rohan couldn't recall Ivar having said anything at all since they set off to the tomb. He made a mental note to check on his friend's wellbeing later on.

"I don't know about the rest of you," Deirdre said, "but I feel like I could sleep for days."

Angus yawned. "Me too."

"We could all use some rest," Rohan advised. "We'll want to be wide awake at the feast of Samhain."

"I know I for one am looking forward to the celebration," Garrett said emphatically, directing his venom at Ivar. Deirdre gently put a hand on Garrett's wrist, silently urging him to leave the matter to rest for now. Rohan looked from Garrett's face full of contempt to Ivar's, whose eyes darted shamefully between the other three Mystic Knights. Something was definitely going on between his friends.

"I'm off to bed then," Rohan said, clapping his hands on Garrett and Ivar's shoulders. "See you at the feast." He set off for the castle, followed by Deirdre and Garrett.

"Sleep now, feast later," Angus concurred groggily, trudging towards the huts in Caisleán.

Ivar lagged behind, reluctantly following his friends towards the castle. His feet felt heavy dragging through the dirt path with every footstep, and not just because he was tired. Sighing to himself, Ivar brooded once again. All day, his thoughts had been on Princess Eilidh and his fabricated romance. Now in addition to the abandonment by his presumed love, he was hated by his best friends. As I should be, he thought to himself. He certainly didn't deserve their friendship after his inexcusable behaviour.

The midmorning sun streamed through the window of Rohan and Deirdre's bedchamber. Though he had yet to open his eyes, Rohan could sense the brightness of the day. The crisp autumn air was cold on his face, and contrasted beautifully with the warmth he felt under the rich fabric bed linens. He felt Deirdre's warm body pressed against his, still peaceful in her slumber. He felt her hand in his own, the touch of her skin silky smooth. A year had passed since they had been married, but Rohan still felt like the luckiest man in Kells.

Rohan squinted his eyes open and propped himself up onto his forearm. Gently kissing Deirdre on the cheek, he whispered 'good morning' to his love and rolled out of bed. He pulled on a pair of brown leather trousers and a red woolen tunic, as well as a golden cape, chainmail vest, leather bracers, fur-lined boots, and finally, the crown that used to be worn by King Conchobar. With a quick glance in a tarnished mirror, Rohan absentmindedly thought to himself that he ought to do something about his overgrown hair, but disregarded the thought as quickly as it had come and left the chamber, leaving Deirdre to sleep in peace.

Thoughts of the Morrigan's words were at the forefront of his mind. She had warned that Usmev had returned with greater power than before. And dealing with him before had been no easy feat; Angus' torture in the cave had nearly killed him. Rohan shuddered at the thought.

As he made his way down the corridor, a familiar blue-clad figure caught his attention. Ivar was brooding once again by a window overlooking the castle grounds. The prince leaned on his forearms which rested on the windowsill, his hands clasped together as though in deep thought. He clearly hadn't slept; dark shadows had formed underneath his eyes, and the usually well-groomed man hadn't taken the time to shave. Rohan approached him, leaning against the windowsill alongside his friend.

"Good morning, Ivar!" Rohan said mildly.

"Good morning," came the mumbled reply.

"Something troubling you?"

Ivar's dark eyes looked out over the fields, but had no real focus. "Nothing of importance," he said flatly.

"Ah now, I don't believe that," Rohan prodded. "It certainly seems important to you."

The Mystic Knight of Water said nothing further. Despite Ivar's clear desire to be left alone, Rohan decided that it was time to get to the bottom of his friend's melancholy.

"You said next to nothing all day yesterday," he commented, digging further. "And nothing at all when we spoke to the Morrigan. And I noticed an awful lot of tension between you and the other knights. Now I don't know what's happened, but Deirdre and Angus and Garrett are your friends. I'm sure that whatever happened can be solved in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

"I highly doubt it."

Rohan raised his eyebrows. "Try me."

"I said some truly awful things to them. I don't know what came over me."

"We all say things we don't mean sometimes," Rohan reasoned. "Don't be so hard on yourself, my friend."

"You weren't there," Ivar disagreed, shaking his head. "I certainly would not expect them to forgive me; I can't imagine I shall be forgiving myself. The things I said to them I don't even believe to be true. My jealousy got the better of me. It was as though I wanted them to feel as horrible as I do. Not that it helped…treating my friends like that has made me feel far worse."

"What made you feel so horrible?"

Ivar sighed deeply. "I received a letter the other day."

"The one from Princess Eilidh?" Rohan asked, to which Ivar nodded. "I know she's been gone a long time, but I'm sure she intends to return to Kells eventually."

"She gave no such indication," Ivar muttered. "I had thought that she wouldn't just be returning to Kells though. I thought she would return to be with me."

Rohan blinked in surprise. "I was under that impression."

"Well…it seems we were both incorrect in that assumption."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I wanted so desperately to be in love, and I thought I had it with Princess Eilidh, but I ruined it," Ivar lamented. "Perhaps I should have made my intentions clearer. I suppose I never told the Princess how I felt about her. I never gave her any reason to think of me as anything more than a friend. And what's worse is that I convinced myself that she felt the same way as me. I am a fool."

"You, Prince Ivar, are no fool," Rohan said firmly. "Love is a tricky thing. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be with Princess Eilidh. There will be someone else out there who feels the same way for you."

"And what if there isn't? What if I am destined to be alone, when all I yearn for is companionship?"

Rohan placed a comforting hand on Ivar's shoulder. "Until you are happy with yourself, you will never be ready to accept love from anyone else."

"When did you get so wise?" Ivar asked, his mouth twitching upward into a smile.

"I've spent a lot of time with you over the years," Rohan chuckled. "It's about time it paid off."

Darkness had fallen and the Feast of Samhain was in full swing in Caisleán. In the centre of grassy clearing, a large bonfire was crackling, bringing a welcome warmth to the chilly autumn evening. Around the fire, long wooden tables were set up haphazardly, covered with plates of roasted pork, pumpkin soup, and a huge assortment of fruits and root vegetables. The soft sound of the bodhrán drum and the pan flute filled the air. Villagers and nobility alike were taking part in the celebration, laughing amongst family and friends.

Amongst all the merriment, Prince Ivar sat on a long wooden bench, resting his forearms on his legs. He had spent the majority of the feast observing his friends in solitary silence. Prince Garrett and Niamh were dancing hand-in-hand to the beat of the drum, reveling in the moment together and feeling as though they were the only two people in Kells. Kneeling close to the fire, Angus had little Fiadh tucked under one arm and chatted animatedly to the tot. Beside them, Eabha sat with her legs outstretched and leaning against Angus. Together, the family watched the flames dance merrily before their eyes. Further from the bonfire, King Rohan and Queen Deirdre were in a tight embrace, swaying softly to the music and exchanging sweet nothings.

Eventually the bonfire began to die down and crowd grew thinner as villagers made their way back to their huts. Ivar watched as Angus and Eabha stood up with a fast asleep toddler resting on Angus' shoulder and headed for home. Pushing himself to standing, Ivar walked briskly over to them and gave a small wave, not reciprocated by Angus.

"Good evening," he greeted solemnly. "I hope you've both enjoyed the feast?"

"It's been grand," Eabha said. "Exhausting though. I always seem to forget how looking into a fire tires the eyes."

Ivar nodded. "Fire fuels the soul, but drains the body."

"What a lovely way to put it," Eabha smiled. "You have such a way with words, Prince Ivar. Doesn't he, Angus?"

"Oh yeah," Angus said. "Always knows just what to say," he added as a subtle dig. Ivar hoped that the dim, flickering light from the bonfire didn't show his cheeks pinken.

Eabha glanced between the two men, noting the uncharacteristic and sudden lack of enthusiasm from Angus. In the hopes of ending the awkwardness, she clasped her hands together. "Well, we're calling it a night. Best to get some shut-eye before the sun rises or we'll be battling a headache to rival Eochu Airem. Good night, your highness."

As they started to walk once more, Ivar put a tentative hand in front of him. "Might I have a word, Angus?," he asked hesitantly.

Angus started to protest, but Eabha quickly jumped in. "Of course you can," she said firmly, taking Fiadh from Angus' arms and giving her husband a pointed look. "See you at home, love," she said with a smile, and hurried away from the men.

"Your lady certainly has a strong mind," Ivar commented. When Angus remained silent, he continued. "She knows what she wants and she gets it with charm and good humour."

Angus crossed his arms. "I'm well aware of her virtues, thanks."

From across the clearing, Ivar and Angus were approached by Rohan, Deirdre, and Garrett, the latter looking particularly reproachfully at the Mystic Knight of Water. Rohan stepped towards Ivar and clapped a bracing hand on his shoulder, giving him a burst of support and courage.

"It's time we had a chat," Rohan announced. "I know that things have been said and done that may have left some of us feeling hurt. And that hurt is valid. But as Mystic Knights, we don't run from our battles, especially when those battles involve our friends." Garrett snorted, and received a sharp look from Rohan before he continued. "Now I think we need to remember that all of us have bad days, and on those days, we can sometimes say things we don't really mean. I know that in the past, I have done just that. I can clearly remember accusing Angus of stealing my silver cup, when.I knew in my heart he had nothing to do with it," he continued, nodding at Angus, whose hardened face softened momentarily. "And because of the strength of our friendship, Angus forgave me and harboured no further resentment. I know that Ivar has something he wants to say, but I want you all to be open to forgiveness." Rohan gently pushed Ivar forwards. "Please, hear him out."

Ivar took a deep breath and looked into the eyes of his friends. "I am not going to beat around the bush. I owe each of you an apology. I am truly sorry for my behaviour and for what I said to each of you. What I said was…I don't even have the words for it…"

"How about judgemental?" Garrett chided, his demeanour still haughty

"Condescending," admitted Deirdre.

Angus raised an eyebrow at the Prince. "Mean."

"You're right. You're all right. The fact of the matter is that I was feeling so pathetic that I wanted to bring you down with me, so I said what I could in the moment to make you feel as badly as I did."

"Mission accomplished," Angus muttered under his breath.

Ivar's dark eyes were downcast. "I want you all to know that I meant nothing of what I said."

"You insulted the way Deirdre and I lead our kingdoms," Garrett accused angrily. "Questioned the way our people give thanks to the Gods! Why should I believe that you didn't mean it?"

"You and Queen Deirdre are both exceptional rulers," Ivar said, trying his best to make eye contact. "Rohan as well. Kells and Temra are markedly better off because you not only follow traditions, but you understand your people. And when the time comes for you to be King, Rheged will prosper entirely because of you. For the past six years, I have bettered myself as a Prince immensely by observing your leadership. I am so very sorry for my harsh words."

Placated by the high praise, Garrett's face softened. "I believe you."

"As do I," Deirdre said with a small smile. "We all say things we don't mean sometimes."

Ivar cast his gaze to Angus, whose face still bore a stony expression. "What I said to you, Angus, was despicable," he admitted. "Implying that you are undeserving of Eabha was disgraceful."

"Yeah, but it's true though, isn't it?" Angus shrugged. "I am everything that you said. I know it. Everyone knows it. You just had the guts to say it."

"No," Ivar countered firmly. "You and I may not share a moral compass, but you are anything but undeserving. You have shown me that goodness does not just come from following the rules, and that sometimes, what I believe to be morally wrong is ethically right. It is an honour serving alongside you, Angus. I am sorry." Ivar held out a hand, which Angus relevantly took in kind. The two exchanged a firm handshake.

"Good," Rohan said, clapping his hands together. "Now that we're all on-side again, we can move forward with the insights from the Morrigan. We have a lot to discuss."

"I for one will not be discussing anything until the sun has risen," Deirdre commented.

"Then I shall be grateful for the night," Ivar quipped, surprising himself with his brashness.

"Can I just ask," Angus implored in a feigned thoughtful tone, "Are we going back to the old wise and insightful Ivar, or can we keep this new snarky one?"

Ivar made an uncharacteristically rude hand gesture, eliciting a smirk.

Thank the Gods for my friends, Ivar thought to himself. Things might just be alright after all.