For the Ones We Love (Merlin Fan Fiction)

Chapter Fourteen

There were two of them. Both were laying silently in the leaves. Both were unconscious. Both had been there for many hours. Since morning at least.

The old druid knelt down and felt the young woman’s forehead with the back of his hand. She seemed fine—merely fatigued—but it was difficult to tell in the darkness of night. Next he moved to the man. He was obviously in very bad shape. Broken nose, a possible broken rib, and a knife sticking out of his leg.

The druid gestured for the others, who had been standing back in the shadows, making a wide perimeter, to come closer. Silently, he instructed two of the others to hold the man down while the first druid eased the dagger out of the man’s leg. The man moaned, but he did not wake.

Without making a sound, the group of druids made it back to their camp with the two strangers. One man carried the woman in his arms and two men split the weight of the wounded man.

When back at camp, the old druid called silently for the healer. Many gathered around and many silent questions were thrown at him.

Who are they?

Where did they come from?

Are they dangerous?

Will they be useful?

The druid did not answer any of them—he had no answers to give—so when the healer came, he gestured for them to go. All obeyed except a young boy. His bright blue eyes were plastered on the face of the young woman. Recognition was visible in his features.

Do you know her, Mordred? The old druid asked.

I’ve seen her in my dreams, Iseldir, Mordred replied. She calls herself Cleo. The boy walked up to where she was laying. Hesitantly, he reached out and pressed his hand against her face. She is real, he thought quietly to himself.

Iseldir lifted his chin. Cleo was a name he had heard before. It had been mentioned in the prophecy concerning Emrys. He would need to keep a close eye on the girl.

As for the man…. Iseldir looked down at the healer who was still examining his wounds.

Will he live? Iseldir asked.

Yes, the healer replied, But he will need rest. And herbs.

Do you have what you need?

The healer nodded.

Sighing softly through his nose, the old druid turned back to Mordred. The boy was still near the girl—Cleo—but both hands were by his sides. Iseldir put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and gestured with his head. They were going to go for a walk. Simultaneously, the druids—both young and old—pulled their hoods over their heads.

Tell me about your dreams, Iseldir instructed.

The boy took a long time to answer. When he did, it came slowly. Well, it was really only one dream. He paused. In his mind, Iseldir saw a hill in a sea of hills. Next he saw Cleo’s face. Both pictures were foggy, but that made sense. They were, after all, the boy’s memories of a dream. Nothing much happened. She just asked me my name.

Did you tell her?

Yes. Should I have?

It does not make much difference. It was just a dream.

But it wasn’t just a dream. It meant something. Either the boy was a seer, which he doubted, or the girl possessed a deep magic.

I’ve seen the man too, Mordred told him silently, interrupting his thoughts.

In your dreams?

Mordred nodded. He appeared from out of the blue and started shouting at her—Cleo. She seemed scared.

Iseldir didn’t let anything show on his face. He again put a hand on Mordred’s shoulder. Thank you for telling me. Now, go sleep.

Mordred turned and walked slowly back the way they had come.

Even now that the boy was gone, the old druid’s face betrayed next to nothing. Two messengers in the camp at the same time? This spelled nothing but trouble.

In the morning, neither had woken. It was clear, though, that the girl would be waking within the day.

Before sunrise, Iseldir called for a meeting of Elders. When the entire camp was awake, he left to meet them. It wasn’t a long journey. It took only a few hours on foot. They met in a large clearing in the forest outside Caerleon.

Iseldir was the last to arrive. When he did, the other Elders came to attention.

“Why have you called us together, Iseldir,” one of the older Elders asked aloud.

“The prophecy,” Iseldir replied.

“Which one?” another asked.

“The one about Emrys?” someone else asked.

Iseldir nodded.

“That prophecy has been around for ages. Why call us together now?”

Iseldir turned to the druid who had spoken. He was the newest Elder. His name was Ira.

“Because, Ira, the girl from the prophecy turned up in my camp last night.”

“Which one? There were five.”

“Guinevere, Nimeuh, Freya, Morgana, Cleo,” someone listed unhelpfully.

“The last one. Cleo,” Iseldir told them. “She was unconscious when I left.”

“What did you do to her?” Ira asked.

“Nothing. She was unconscious when we found her.”

“What have you learned of her?” one of the more senior Elders asked.

“I believe she is a messenger,” Iseldir said. “And there was a man with her. I believe he too is a messenger.”

This rose a few murmurs.

“Two messengers? In the same place at the same time?”

“This cannot be good.”

A cough brought them all back to focus.

“Keep a close watch on both of them,” another senior Elder instructed. “Let us know if anything happens. There isn’t much else you can do.”

Iseldir nodded.

“Dismissed.”

There was a jumble of thoughts as they broke away from each other and started walking back to their own camps.

Iseldir made it back to his encampment just before sunset. When he arrived, the girl was awake and arguing vocally with the healer.

“…Not safe,” she was saying. “You can’t let him live!”

“I cannot let him die,” Healer replied evenly. “If you do not feel safe here, you may leave.”

“Not until I see the man dead!” She found a rock and picked it up, jogging off in the direction of where they were keeping the wounded man.