Epilogue

At the edge of a village in the middle of nowhere, ice began to thaw with a promise of spring, and a woman was packing. She bent to retrieve a can from a loose floorboard beneath her bed. The coins inside clanked softly and she put them in different pockets of her clothes.

It wasn't enough. But her will would make it through.

She softly closed the door and strode away without turning, never taking a second glance at the shabby hut she had been living in for the last twenty years. She felt no regret.

It wasn't her home.

She never had one after Uther took her family.

The road was cold and thick with snow. Her worn overcoat strained to protect her from the winter night. Like all the hardship she had endured, she felt nothing.

She shouldn't be alive anyway.

Uther locked her up in a cell of sorceresses, or sorceresses they were said to be.

All she could see were women of all ages in rags and dirt, slowly rotting to their death.

It grew more and more crowded. When there wasn't enough space to lie down they would press their facesagainst the bars, gaping to grasp some non-existent fresh air in the dungeon like fish in a dying pool.

Sweat, urine, feaces, wounds and fear- they made up a smell that drove people insane.

A thin young girl got her head struck between the bars. She died from suffocation as she struggled.

They couldn't free her body. The guards didn't bother. They had cells and cells of filth to handle.

Two nights after her death, a plague broke out.

The old were the first to catch the disease. They burned up; they grew rashes and vesicles; they coughed up blood; their skin grew black and they mourned in pain and they died.

The others tried to turn away, but the cell was too small anyway.

Sorceresses' eyes lit gold in desperation, but the attempts were futile. It wasn't long before those who spent their strength healing crumbled too to the disease.

They prayed for the pyre.

She wasn't a sorceress. She was the mother and wife of one. But too she prayed.

The cell finally became larger when the guards started taking away the dead bodies.

Her forehead felt hot, but she shivered.

She prayed her husband and her son, not yet weaning. She prayed had an easier death than her.

She fell into a semi-coma.

When the guards dragged her by the legs across the floor, she believed she was dead too.

They dumped her body at the edge of the forest, leaving her to rot or be devoured by animals.

The morning dew woke her up to a blue cloudless sky. She rose among a pile of bodies, the fever had broken. She staggered back into the city, looking worse than a beggar.

There was a celebration. King Uther stood proud at the balcony of his castle, announcing the death of the last dragons and dragonlords.

She fled as the crowd ruptured in cheers.

She tumbled through forests of no name, swamps of no man, wilderness of no life.

She thought of her love, the one with heart as noble as the great beasts he commanded.

She thought of her son, who was magic, literally.

She thought she couldn't go on any further. Under the dark sky, she thought this night would bring him back to me.

All the time when she thought she was finally meeting her loves again, she survived.

She shouldn't be alive, but in the end she had reached a small village in the border of Carthis.

Hidden by mountains on all sides with only a narrow pass shrouded in foliage between the cliffs, the village of Aragonth was almost a different world. On good years the soldier wouldn't come to collect tax.

A lone widow; the villages didn't ask much. And so she stayed.

A circus of merchants came every year before winter. Besides trading for the winter supplies, the villages would flock to a particular merchant for tales. The man with deep-set eyes sat in front of his exotic goods and the villages, young and old, would gather at his feet like eager apprentices. It was the rare time where children would drop their balls and sat still.

'So the great knight of La Mancha raised his spear. He aimed and Boom- the giant fell! It was tall as a windmill and its torso was like a chamber. I got one of its eyeball here, just two gold coins, anyone want it?'

Children jumped up and down in excitement, while mothers scowled and rolled their eyes.

'Of course, how can I not mention Camelot? King Uther, the great dragon slayer…'

She could hear it no more. She pushed through the crowd and left in tears.

She never went to the storyteller again, but that didn't mean she didn't hear the stories. No. Not when the entire villages were gossiping about them.

'He dealt a fatal blow to the dragon's heart….'

'The fire never ceased for five days…'

The tears fell, but as the stories died down gradually, as years passed the Great Purge began to fade from campfire, they became stones. A weight that became a constant and the tears stopped.

'Helen! Helen!' She turned; That was how she was known here.

A silver haired woman was wobbling towards her as fast as she could on a crane.

'I am sorry Marium. I should have…' She stammered; her heart ached.

The elderly shoved a bundle into her arm; it was warm; the unmistakably scent of fleshy baked bread.

'Don't worry my child. Leave now before the sun rise. You will find what you are looking for.'

The storyteller brought no interesting tales for many years. She contented herself listening to the women crackling loudly to each other by the river. There were constant magic attacks on Camelot and each was thwarted, with luck. She felt sorry for the sorcerers consumed by hatred and flame. She felt sorry for the people of Camelot, who could never witness the beauty of magic. There was no story of dragons, of course, they were all dead.

Then one year something caught her attention– Morgana Gorlosis, supposed ward of King Uther had betrayed Camelot. She had been attacking villages and slaying knights. Apparently she had magic. The villagers thought it ironic that the sorcerer killer would have unwillingly harboured a sorceress for so long. Some worried about an attack but others had laughed it away as paranoid. She felt sorry for Morgana, she wouldn't have taken this dark path if not for Uther.

The next year she heard of Uther's death. He died on battle facing the vampires, the sparkling type, they said. She had almost laughed on spot, vampire was a myth. She felt nothing towards the man who had destroyed her family. His son Arthur Pendragon was now king.

Then the next year, twenty years after she had escaped Camelot, she heard the most ridiculous stories ever- Morgana summoned an immortal army to attack Camelot. She was killed by King Arthur and a dragon. King Arthur had rode out to battle, riding on the said dragon.

Impossible.

All dragons were dead, she didn't need another reminder. Mostly likely it was a wyvern, but wyverns would never obey anyone but a dragonlord, let alone a Pendragon. The last dragonlord was her husband, dead for years.

So in the end it was just another failed attack. She told herself she would not think of it again. She couldn't let hope rekindle.

There was a commotion when the strangers arrived at the village. They rarely had visitors. And the three men had special markings on their arms. She recognized they were druids.

The villagers whispered to each other, fearful and suspicious. Some knew the association between druids and magic. The village wasn't anti-magic, just mistrusted it. She thought the potter was a sorcerer though she never talked to him for that reason.

She found the druids in the local tavern. They were lost, just as she thought, blown off by the blizzard and took the wrong direction across the forest.

'Thank you my lady,' the tallest of the three said, a weathered man in a dark green hood, 'we were going to Camelot.'

'What?' She almost dropped on the tea she was carrying. That was suicide! 'Why?'

'We are seeking the wisdom of the great dragon in Camelot.' Another man replied in reverence, his brown cloak was the same faded colour as the blanket he sat on.

'That was what we had heard from the other tribes. There were always all sorts of rumors. But this time it seemed genuine; though we were too far in Carthis to get any first handed information.'

'But it was not just one tribe saying that. We were skeptical too at first, but many tribes were going to Camelot to see for themselves.' The first man said, gesturing to the third men half illuminated by the hearth. 'We just met on the road. We are from different tribes.'

'Are you okay my lady?'The druids gathered around her in concern. She must have gone dead white. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe.

The great dragon in Camelot…

'We heard Camelot had adopted a less stringent policy on magic. It should be fine to go there…'

It was almost a year after she heard about Morgana defected by a dragon. Was it a dream? A trap?

There only one way to find out.

So she left with the druids the next day, sneaking out before daybreak to meet outside the village. She didn't want to explain to the others, she couldn't.

On the road they didn't talk much. Each weary of the long road ahead and the burden they carried.

They hadn't asked why she had followed. Everyone had his secrets to bear and the Purge was a great wound.

She was grateful that she had fire at night, even on a rainy day.

Yet in the end they separated, at the border of the kingdom of Camelot. The druids had to meet up with other tribes from some other forests.

She couldn't wait any longer. The hope and fear was burning, raging, consuming.

She had never felt such agony in life. Balinor was squeezing her hand, whispering what must be encouraging words into her ears, though she couldn't really hear. The pain was horrible.

She felt her inside writhe and contract, like tons of snakes tearing at her flesh.

Then she heard the most beautiful sound- a baby's cry.

She saw her son for the first time. Black clumps of hair on a puffy face. His eyes were gold.

Her love was crying. He kissed on her again and again and kissed her son again and again in his arm.

'Oh goddess Hunith. Bless the Goddess. He is Emrys.' Balinor said again and again, his blue eyes bright a dragon's flame. She never saw him that happy.

She didn't really understand. Outside their house, the dragons were roaring.

Her son's eyes had faded to blue. An ocean's depth glittering under the moonlight.

Blue eyes or golden eyes, it mattered not.

A mother's love knew no bounds.

She marched on alone, staying close to the villages and cities to avoid bandits. She had confronted several groups with the druids, fortunately the druids weren't defenseless.

She hadn't encountered any bandit in Camelot. It was a miracle.

Because she tried not to enter any of the villages or cities. She knew it was paranoid but she was afraid. After so many years they wouldn't be still searching for a sorceress presumed dead. And she wasn't a sorceress. And the druids said Camelot had changed.

But she had still cowered behind a tree when a Camelot patrol passed through the forest. Her breathe caught with the red and golden cape flapping in the air.

It was many nights later when she reached a long-awaited sight – a tavern.

'There', said the bartender, his voice seemed to tumble in that great belly of his. 'Camelot is a half-day walk through the forest. Just follow the merchants or pilgrim when dawn breaks. There's no end of them nowadays

He gestured with his beer, showering a dance of foam to the floor. She nodded.

'Thank you.'

'First time to Camelot?'

'How do you know?'

'I see many people coming and going.' He laughed as he took a swig. 'Camelot is an amazing city.'

'How so?' She took a sip of beer. She decided it was man's thing after all.

'Of course it is magic!' He said loudly, petting his round belly like a drum in contentment. She winced, and pretended to blame it on a certain clash from the back, though the bartender's voice was surprisingly clear, rising over the clamor of tavern. 'You don't know about it? Then you must listen! There is King Arthur, his court sorcerer and his dragon –. '

'What?' She was glad she wasn't holding her beer anymore.

He rubbed his belly again. She wondered if it had an amplifying effect on his voice.

'Camelot has legalized magic. You are really from far far away aren't you?'

'The court sorcerer is so young, I can't believe he is powerful enough to defeat that witch!' A man sitting next to her chimed in.

'I still can't get over that dragon though. It shouldn't' stay. It gives me heart attacks every time.' Slurred another man, dragging himself and his chair along the table like a piece of rag.

Thus she found herself surrounded by men, all doughty from labour and talkative from drunkenness.

'Don't you remember King Bayard? His face! Priceless! I don't think he will want to modify any peace treaty with us anymore. ' The first man rebutted, looking smug as much as his reddened cheeks could muster.

'But that dragon is always stealing my cattle! 'Exclaimed the second man in a bout of energy.

'Don't be stupid! The dragon is the court sorcerer! The same one that burned Morgana.' Another voice laughed from behind. The owner of the voice lifted his cup and came closer, leaning against the bartable on his elbow, waxen hair draggling over an attractive face. And immediately there were warm chatters of welcome towards the man.

'Hey! Gwaine you again! Back from another tavern? Told you mine is the best!' the jolly bartender greeted the newcomer with a toast.

'No – I wish that's the case – Back from his majesty's service. I must sorrowfully announce that –' The young man paused dramatically, sweeping over his audience with a mischievous grin. ' – I am a knight of Camelot!'

The tavern exploded.

'No way!'

'Gwaine you are not a noble!'

'He is joking! Or drunk!'

'Both!'

'No. The king – oh he is a she actually by the way– has been knighting commoners.' The knight said, face split in an impossible beam.

The uproar continued. With alcohol throwing off suspicions, the crowd began to discuss heatedly who among them, would be the next knight. The bartender thought it would be good for business.

Among the friendly blows exchanged and arm wrestling contests, she slipped away to a quiet corner.

Suddenly the strange knight was at her side again.

'And my lady,' he hunched over to whisper into her ear, 'I am indeed a noble.'

As swift as his cryptic he was gone again. A flourish swirl and Gwaine disappeared into the tavern crowd.

The guards didn't bat an eye at her.

Left…right…and she was inside the city of Camelot. After all those years….she was surprised that she was still standing.

She lifted her head to the sky. A raptor, most likely – the silhouette was too small to be a dragon, unless it was but a hatchling.

Camelot was a prosperous city.

The sign from her previous battle was still there, but they weren't scars but rather trophies – the infectious smiles on people faces, the opened doors of brand new houses.

The market thrived with vendors and shoppers, delightful traffics of coins and goods chirped all around. Children raced along the alleys and cracks between booths, herds brayed and poultries clucked.

And there were druids.

She could only stare.

The secretive and prosecuted people all had their hoods off, triskelion tattoos painfully stark against the noon sun. If it couldn't get more incriminating, they were also selling charms.

Though the magical business was not good, the people of Camelot were calm in their presence.

A troop of soldiers passed by, shiny armours and deadly swords.

There was no screaming or chanting of magic or clash of metals. The market was unaffected and a druidic vendor pocketed his coins in exchange for a healing bracelet.

That was impossible, she thought, despite what she had heard.

Still greatly shaken, she made a beeline to the castle.

The King of Camelot wasn't what she expected.

He was young, young enough to not have a shard of grey on his blonde crown, young enough to still have fire in his eyes, spirits of a youthful heart once hurt yet unconquered.

In a way, he was like his city, a gallant lad with a sling over his shoulder, confident and hopeful in his first adventure.

'What can I do for you?'

She opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was a squeak – It was a bad idea they knew who she was and the soldiers would get her and she would never see her family again – no she would see her family again – no she shouldn't have come here.

The king and queen shared a look with each other. She sneaked a peek at...her head jerked at the guards standing in pallisade beside, and motionless as ever they were.

'Just call me Arthur, and how may I call you, my lady?'

Her eyes swiped to the king's briefly before plunmmeting like a jolt. Her true name and her false name fought on her tongue, the moments ticked away throb throb with her mouth agape.

The monarch seemed to understand.

'Dear. It's just easier to talk if we know your name. I don't fancy being call queen all the time either.' The queen said and the king strifed a giggle and the regal woman looked like a mother herself and she exhaled and suddenly it was better slightly better.

'Hunith.'

'Guinevere.'

And Guinevere smiled at her. She felt like a child again, warm and protected. Arthur squeezed her hand, adorned with nothing but a plain golden ring.

She was amazed at how fast she had slipped into the names, and the royal couple's effect on people.

'I am looking for someone in Camelot.' she said, or blurted out. The courage receded as soon as it came.

A tense couple of silences stretched away.

'A sorcerer?'

At the forbidden word all color drained from her face and that alone was an answer enough.

They didn't look murderous. Worse, on their faces was an expression she knew far too well - sympathy.

'First I must apologise for the misdeed during the Great Purge –' the king began and she felt herself shrinking and falling through the floor. 'My hand has blood of the innoence and there is not one night when I don't wish to atone my mistake. It will never cover our sins but I am still hoping to mend the rift between magical community and our kingdom. My lady you are not the first one to come here after the ban on magic is lifted… Many have seeked their lost silbings, parents or friends. And we help. We have a record of ...execution in Camelot. I am sorry...but take heart, if anything I know about sorcerers is that they are good at masquerading. Your loved one may have survived the purge and hide somewhere safe with a new identity. We will send you knight to help with your search.'

In conjuncture with the end of the king's speech, the door to the hall opened with a mightly bang.

Arthur looked positvely annoyed.

A dark haired young man sprung in, followed by an old man with an expression of clear disapproval and exasperation.

'Merlin! What did I tell you about audience and knocking?'

Her eyes swept past the old man to the gaping door, then back again. And stayed.

'Just want you to know that cure to public emeny number one is found.'

It couldn't be ...she stared at crooked figure, trying to find out the deception in her eyes.

'And wise sage please enligthen me... what the heck is that?'

The old manstared back wth equal shock.

'The cure to common cold, prat!'

Gaius...she whispered. With her call he stumbled to close the distance between them.

'God spare me the girlish and riduculous name you create.'

And he mouthed her name back.

'I thought the patency belonged to someone with doleful eyes last week begging me...'

The bickering pair finally realised their interlude to the audience was disturbed by yet another interlude.

'Hunith.' Her old friend breathed, all the while ferociously tugging the sleeves of the young man beside him.

She took a deeper look at the youth for the first time. Confusion sculpted on prominent cheekbones beneath a tussle of wild black hair. And a brillant pair of blue eyes...

Oh god...

Gaius was talkng, the man's lips were trembling and her heart was throbbing and the door was closing and she couldn't hear a sound...

Oh goddess…Balinor would have said…

Then she heard.

'Mother...'

And nothiing in the world mattered anymore.

All was fine.

AN: So. My exam was finished mid May and in great triumph I set sail across a great yet perilous sea called the Internet. And alas! My ship was captured by a legendary monster better known as a virus. With all my files turned into Gaius' porridage, I had to abandone ship and wipe the whole thing. Disheartened, but not defeated in spirit, thanks to all the great readers I have, the last chapter of this story is fleshly resurrected!

Crying. So it is the end. I wish I can write on forever. You all have been amazing.

Thanks for everything! Without you readers, followers, reviewers this story will never get finished. And the days you help me get through...

If you think you like writing, please try it! It doesn't matter it's good or bad. Your first story is like your first kiss- it's a once in a life time experience that you just can't miss. And more stories always make the world a better place, or at least the fandom…

I have plans for other stories and some cracks (sweating profusely…).Hope muse will shine on me.

So it's goodbye for now.

Owl flying away.