Guys! GUYS! Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! They really do wonders for me and my self-esteem! And to the reviewer who compared me to Apple, I did take inspiration from their work and I am very flattered for the comparison, but I am no where near as good as they are! There is so much more detail that goes into their story!

And, lucky me! The writing juices are still flowing so far! So, I managed to pop out another chapter (mostly I'm just avoiding all the legal work I am supposed to be working on). And clearly I've been watching too much of one of my favorite BBC shows, "Call the Midwife", and listening to the soundtrack, because this ended up being a really, really mushy chapter. I dont regret it, because it is moving the story along nicely! And it gave me an interesting opportunity to finally introduce the antagonist, with something dark to follow the sweet stuff.

Also, to the reviewer who gave the idea of Arthur freaking out over finding out him having many children - I like the idea! I think it'd be funny and I'd love to try it. Rather I feel like Alistair would spit his drink out and probably never look at Arthur the same! (Like, "yeh fertile fucking bastard, you!") Not 100% sure when, but if I can do it, then I'd be happy to.

Also, some other Arthurian history there, mostly sourced from things like "Historia Brittonum" (Nennius), "Historia Regum Britanniae" (Geoffrey of Monmouth), and the "Annales Cambriae". Interesting stuff, but pretty much all pseudo history. And I did NOT go back and read these before writing this, it is pretty much all memory, so it may be wrong. Historically and psuedo-historically speaking. But I try my best.

Thank you!

Ch 7:

Anne was seriously starting to get pissed at the voice that slithered in from the forest. It would not shut up! Heaven's sake, it was hard enough to sleep as it was! She had the greatest urge to just walk in there and just punch, no, stab whomever or whatever was causing all the racket. She was exhausted, damn it. And every day, on the rare occasion she could wander the castle alone, though not really alone because, apparently, she'd been assigned guards and her ladies followed her everywhere, her family reminded her not to enter the forest without them. Feeling challenging, Anne finally asked if one of them would accompany her through the dense trees and was met with resistance and excuses – far too much to do. Not that she'd have the energy for such a long hike.

It was hard not to be spiteful. It was hard not to feel trapped. And it was even harder not to feel scared. Plugging her ears didn't stifle the voice that seemed to somehow float inside her head, and with it came dark dreams. Nightmares filled with bloody, raging battles. With dragons roaring, stone giants shaking the earth, and eyes that seemed to void into themselves within murky depths. And a cackling laugh seemed to make her core shiver. Anne didn't think she'd been this afraid since one of her diplomatic visits to London, during the war, before her people joined in. The air raids. Having experienced one herself…Her father may have pulled her out of it to get underground, but the moment…it sticks with a person. It took everything to keep her voice from shaking, to steady her hands, and assure that America would join the war and save the day; piece of cake, I'm the hero, after all! He only gave her a flat look, nodded, and moved on. God, that war had been awful. Every war was awful. And every now and then, a loud sound would still make her jump.

But this fear was different. It was worse. Because she felt so weak. It had made her angry at first, maybe bitter, but now…it was like facing down a plague befallen the tiny wood forts. An invisible enemy, and she being only an ankle-biter, having no idea why everyone was dying so quickly, and could do nothing to stop it. Only feeling with each death, her own drew closer. What was a personification without people to represent?

Gasping as she sat up, Anne vaguely heard the howling outside gusts, immediately thinking of the monsters that were currently plaguing her dreams. What if they were real too; like the fairies? Were they out there now? It was cold, even with a healthy fire still going. Someone must be tending it, which meant she should feel safe. Why couldn't she stop shaking?

And, damn it all, why won't the voice just stop? It was going to drive her insane. She was sure.

Flipping the heavy coverlet off she slid onto icy stone floors, finding her slippers, and shakily pulling her thick robe over herself. Taking a moment, she decided a blanket was in order as well. And made her way out her door, startling a guard—or knight, apparently keeping watch.

"My lady?"

"Bloody hell! Have you been out here this whole time?"

"I—of course, my lady. I am your guard." Really, dude, you don't even sound sure why you're here.

"I see." She hadn't seen or met this one before. Guess this is the night shift or something. "What's your name?"

"Drystan." She thought he spoke as if his tongue were heavy. And tried to catalog the name in case she ever wanted to imitate the accent.

"I am Anne."

"Of course, my lady." It was quiet a few awkward moments, "Is…is all well?"

"Yes…no…I can't sleep."

"Shall I have your ladies fetch someone? The apothecary?"

"No, no that's alright. I just…well, I'm headed somewhere now, maybe it'll help."

"I've been commanded not to let you leave the castle." Anne's inner rebel screamed. Deep breaths; stay calm. You don't even want to go out there yourself and get eaten by monsters.

"I'm not leaving the castle." She turned to march down the long hallway towards a massive chamber; the poor guard trailing behind, quietly trying to talk her back but not actually reaching out, allowed his taller strides to move around her.

"My lady, no one enters there, save his majesty."

"Drystan. I need to go in there, please don't get in the way."

"But the king…"

"I will take responsibility, alright. So, you may return to your post if you need, but I need to see him."

"Lady Anne…"

"I'm afraid right now. There is something dark…nearby. I'm afraid and I seek comfort from my kin." She marched past.

And while she could admit this encounter had eased some of the anxiety-filled adrenaline, she did not want to return to her room. Even with her ladies in the chambers nearby, and a guard at her door….no. You would have to drag her back right now. He had two guards at his large doors, curiously watching her exchange with Drystan as she rather stomped her way over. Glancing at the obviously older, seasoned soldiers she pushed the door slightly opened, as if waiting for rebuttal, but they had let her pass with mild amusement. Too late to be embarrassed, she supposed.

And she wasn't sure what she should feel exactly to find that her father was awake. Did he not realize what time—actually, Anne was unsure what time it was herself. Not as if there were clocks around. Could be early for all she knew. No, it was late; it was very late. And it seemed her father had always been quite the worker. It was where she got it from. For now, though, Anne felt a bit relieved. And he glanced up, surprised, and quickly stood. And the relief turned to dread. She did not think this through.

The person before her was her father, of course, but he was not her dad. Not yet. Wasn't the familiar apparition in the garden. This was just…her father-before-her-existence. It wasn't like her colonial days where she could simply cry aloud, and he'd come running to comfort her. Back when she could quite literally interrupt a war meeting because something had frightened her, and she wanted cuddles. This was essentially a stranger. She let loose a string of curses internally loud enough to drown out the voice…which was…silent. Did she shock the spectre in her head with her creative profanity? Or was it even still there? How strange! The moment she entered the voice had stopped. In fact, did it ever stay when her father was nearby? That was…interesting. She would need to tell Uncle Rhys about that…probably. She looked back up when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"—nne?"

"What?" she blinked. Crap, I must've spaced out.

"Are you alright?"

"I—I'm sorry."

"Might I ask what for?" the hand steadied her, but she was still trying to listen for the voice, so she just answered without thinking.

"I just…had a frightening dream, and…I was still hearing that voice. I was scared and I just—"

"…came here." For all his attempt to hide it, happiness seemed to spread across his features, but he cleared his throat and straightened. "Of course, of course. You are welcome to come here if you have need of me. You don't have to apologize for that." He led her towards what looked to be large, very cushy chairs. He straightened his own long tunic and robe before he sat down, gesturing she follow suit. "Why don't you tell me about these dreams?"

"There isn't much in the way of clarity; just flashes of scenes and moments." He nodded for her to continue. "There is…a battlefield and…well, a battle, obviously. Loud, bloody, and so chaotic. It's like I am standing there but cannot pick one direction to look. Just a stilted focus on moments; like deaths and all the macabre. And in the distance, there are…oh, you might think this ludicrous, but…there are dragons. Two of them. And these stone giants that wield these…clubs or other, swinging through the fighters. And the ground trembles, and its like air trembles too. And then I wake up. And the voice, the one from the forest, is always there, but…"

"But?"

"Its quiet now. I don't know why." She peered up to him, after spilling everything, to see a serious expression, eyes downcast in thought.

"It is…just a nightmare." Wasn't it?

"Or a memory."

"How could it be a memory? I think I'd never forget seeing dragons." He gave a slight smile.

"The battle of the hill. I and your uncles have all fought there. The final battle. One that has just brought us peace; or as much as we can get as of now."

"You fought stone creatures…and dragons."

"Ha. Not quite. We had fae to handle the fae, so that we could limit our use of magic until we found her. Y Ddraig Goch, or the Red Dragon, fought the other. Some far away one, we don't quite know its origins, only that she summoned it."

"She being?"

"Morganna. She was once a friend to us; a student of the sacred magic, but she grew ambitious. Dived too quickly into the dark arts; corrupted her soul. She tried to destroy us to absorb our power. Thought she could make herself a nation and immortal; like us."

"That wouldn't be possible."

"No, but she was willing to destroy everything to try."

"And you defeated her…and her army."

"Yes. And now we are trying to rid ourselves of her followers. It was why your uncle was sent to find you when you first appeared. We had thought perhaps she was up to something."

"But, you defeated her."

"But didn't kill. We had only managed to seal her magic, but she managed to escape death."

"Her magic ability is gone then." Arthur grimaced.

"There are limits, but so long as she has followers, magic-wielding followers, she can still cause trouble for the kingdoms."

"I see. But that doesn't explain why I've dreamt a battle I was not a part of."

"I cannot say for certain as to why, but memories travel. Blood speaks. That is as much true as it is for the trees when they speak to one another."

"Do you think this…my coming here…has anything to with her?"

"I wish I knew." Arthur sighed, and Anne stifled a yawn. "Come and rest now. You need it." He stood, holding out a hand to her. Anne glanced to the door.

"I doubt I could actually sleep there tonight."

"Stay."

"You also should be asleep."

"I will rest. But for now, stay and sleep, and I shall guard you tonight."

"I…Thank you." Her shoulders sagged, weary. And she was exhausted enough to not argue further, allowing herself to be bundled and tucked, and soon after was fast asleep in blissful silence save the crackling of a hearty fire and the occasional scratching of a quill.

The next morning:

Alistair grumbled as he was let into the "kings' chamber", carrying a tray of food and the mildest ale they could find; something simple for the lass. It wasn't bringing it himself that bothered him; just his littlest brother marching into his own chambers in wee hours of the morning and demanded he bring Anne breakfast. Have them make something simple. My daughter had a troubling night. He spoke with authority and then without even a how-did-you-sleep-big-brother, like a respectful sibling ought to his elder, the arse turned on his heel and left. Didn't even close the door behind him; the little brat! Let a draft in! Not even a thank you from his brother as he walked in…didn't even tell him that the little lass wasn't even in her own chambers. He had to find out from a tired, flustered Drystan that she'd helped herself to the king's chambers. And Alistair stood there looking like an idiot. And Drystan, the poor boy, asked who exactly the lady was and why she had such free reign about; she must be important; is she an immortal witch too, m'lord? Like you? Alistair still didn't like the fact that the people knew what they were, but still, it was amusing to see the young man trip over himself when he explained that Anne was his niece; the king's daughter. Practically anguished about how he didn't know and how rude she must've thought him for not recognizing her. Alistair had laughed it off and dismissed the young knight to go sleep; no sense guarding an empty room.

Even so, his brother had said my daughter. He took to it seemingly so quickly. He stepped closer to the bed where Anne was settled, sleepily explaining her dream to a serious Rhys who nodded and 'hmm-ed' at the right time; clearly already aware of the details, probably from Arthur, but listened to her nonetheless. He was holding a steadying hand to a steaming cup in hers as she gestured about dragons, to which the Welshman smiled a bit. Dragons were his elder brother's favorite subject.

"But how did you convince a dragon, a dragon, to fight for you?"

"Drink that," he nodded to the cup, "and I'll tell you." Anne scrunched her nose at it. "I promise it'll help." Of which the lass clearly didn't believe for a second, but apparently, for the sake of dragons, she drank the tincture as fast as she was able. Poor thing. Must've tasted something terrible, he thought as she gagged, relinquishing the cup as quickly from herself as possible. Well, Alba to the rescue then.

"Wash it all down with this." He placed a tray over her lap, "Porridge with honey, ale, and some fresh berries. It'll be much better than whatever that potion was."

"Thank you." Anne said, still grimacing, but was able to enjoy her food. Rhys scoffed at his younger brother but turned back to her.

"See? Better."

"Dragons." Was her reply between bites.

"Right." He chuckled, "Y Ddraig Goch has lived among my kingdom for quite a while you see, and while living with a dragon is perilous enough, because that dark witch summoned the white dragon from far off lands, we had pleaded to the Red Dragon for aid. We've a long-standing agreement between us, you see. We offer sustenance and not attack, and he'll partake and not attack back. We had simply…made a deal to not kill one another."

"As one does with a dragon, of course." And Rhys laughed.

"Yes, well, having another dragon appear and threaten his claim over a rather fruitful island for himself, it was not hard to call him into action. And once the white dragon had been defeated, he did not stay to assist further in matters he didn't feel the need to be a part of."

"Probably the safest outcome, all things considered."

"You seem skeptical."

"Its hard to imagine just sitting down with a giant red dragon and just have a conversation."

"Oh, the conversation was no garden party, let me assure you." Arthur scoffed while both his brothers outright laughed. "More like one irritatingly long, unnecessarily complicated riddle. Endless back and forth and speaking in circles! And this dragon is ancient, my dear. It knows things we may never and that makes him cunning and shrewd."

"And that's not counting the keeping on yer toes to avoid being set ablaze!" Reilly having heard the tail end of the conversation joined in.

"Yeh were barely there! Yeh kept to the back!" Alistair shouted back.

"Well, I'm not an idiot, unlike you. I know how to stay alive."

"Aye, by lettin' others take the fall."

"The point is—it was no easy task." Arthur passed the two redheads from his desk to sit on the other side of Anne. "But we won. Hard fought, but victorious."

"And here you are." She smiled, grinning wider when he returned it.

"And here we are."

Elsewhere:

A frayed woman started dispassionately as the young man before her crumpled to the ground. He'd been complaining for hours that he could take no more. Weak, little thing. She wondered idly, as the boy-magician on the ground shuttered and gasped for breath, his magic fading as dying embers would, that if her followers were as weak as this, then perhaps it was no wonder that she'd lost the war. Of course, she had also never expected the brothers to fight so well together. In all the years she had known Arthur, all he had done was complain about them, his three elder brothers. They were mean-spirited, he said; they didn't like each other; they had their own kingdoms. They'd fought each other in wars! So, while it had been only mildly surprising that the brothers had joined forces, as they had before for smaller skirmishes that they had vested interests in, they spent majority of their time fighting one another.

It was silly. And they were foolish. They didn't deserve the powers gifted them. And yet, the cosmos delivered it to them anyhow. But never matter. She wasn't finished yet. She had Seer that gave her so many precious insights. The idiot had died in the war, but she had all the information she needed. Arthur would learn soon that his power would wane. As prophesized. A child, a future child, would be even more powerful than he.

But she couldn't wait for however long it took for the dammed child to be born. So, she had the boy bring her here, the bonny thing. Laying claim to the child's power would be simple enough, it was only a matter of timing. And with that power, she could defeat Arthur…and all his brothers. A grand, unified kingdom for herself. Powerful enough to even revive her stupid, precious child. Mordred. What a disappointment, but far from useless. But…first thing is first. She glanced down at the exhausted boy at her feet. He had been one of Mryddin's brightest pupils once. And his power was now hers.

"My lady, Morganna…" the child-mage's throat was scratchy. A few weeks rest and offerings would replenish his magic. Sadly….or not…he would not need to do either. His dark brows furrowed at the sight of her blade, the question at the back of his weary throat. And she brought down the weapon, ignoring his cry, and did nothing to stop the life that flowed from his mouth, eyes wide at seeing his own heart in her hands. His last vision that of a once more powerful witch, eat her fill of all that was left of him.