Okay so we've got the final intro of the cast for the story. From this point on I've got no plans for new characters to be introduced, since I do want this to be focused around Gwen and her building a life from Camelot.

Now back to the story!

Druid clans were not static things.

They formed and were unformed with surprising speed, depending on the needs of the people. In the early years when the handful of druids in the woods found their population quadrupled in a matter of months, they had split themselves into smaller groups to accommodate the needs of their people. The older ones had taken groups of the new arrivals and taught them the ways of the druids. In time the older druids passed on and the younger began to lead. Marriage, necessity, all of it changed their numbers and organization.

But there was a succession.

The chieftains had all been chosen either by the first group of elders or by one who had been chosen by them. Even when clans came together and a single chieftain was chosen, the others remained to serve as council. There were many different ways to choose who the leader would be, but more often than not it came down to one clan asking to join another. The asking chieftain would defer to the one who gave permission and the people would be given a choice to stay with the newly formed clan or seek out another.

Iseldir's clan had joined with Cairrean's some years ago after an attack by bandits left half of them dead. Lionel's clan had come to them barely a year ago under equally unfortunate circumstances. Lionel had won his place as chieftain in a fight with his brother Bors but spared the others life in what had been perhaps his only act of mercy to an enemy. He was quick to anger and slow to forgive but he had seen his people safely to a larger clan and iseldir could not help but respect him for that.

Now however as he walked towards the man he wished Lionel was quicker to forgive like his brother. Cairrean might have accepted the request of Emrys without question but Iseldir was not certain he could expect the same from Lionel. Like all druids he knew of Emrys and his position in their lore. Unlike the rest of them he was free in his criticism and often pointed out that if Emrys would move a bit quicker they could have their Albion by now.

Lionel rode at the back of the procession. Unlike most he wore leather armor under his cloak and his person was liberally scattered with weapons. The sword at his hip and bow across his back were easiest to see but Iseldir could make out the hilts of several lighter daggers intended for throwing at each wrist and a longer knife slid into a special sheath at his boot. Three similarly dressed and armored figures walked nearby, those who Lionel trusted to protect the clan.

"Lionel," Iseldir looked at him, "may I speak to you?"

"Aye," he turned to one of the cloaked figures who was the only other to carry a bow, "Deidre, switch with me."

The figure gave a curt nod and strode over. Barley slowing the horse, Lionel jumped off and swapped places with Deidre who, with a press of heels to horseflesh, had the steed make up the short distance and vanish into the crowd. Iseldir let the armed group ride ahead. Fighting not to look at the weapons that could be used to kill him in a variety of ways, he focused on the man's face instead.

"As you have seen we have a new girl with us."

"Gwen," Lionel said, "she's the first that new Pendragon banished. He keeps going like this and he's not going to have any subjects left!"

"I doubt that," Iseldir said, "but that is not what I wished to speak to you about. You are a valued member of my council," he began, "and we have sworn to work together but I must ask that you hear me out before you act."

"Very well," Lionel said, "you have my word."

"As you may have heard, Gwen comes to us from Camelot. She has been banished by the King though her offenses were committed under the influence of powerful magic. She has no title, no lands and nearly wept herself to illness as the enchantment lingered on her," Lionel snorted in disgust, "as I removed the enchantment I was visited by Emrys who told me why the girl became the target of such powerful magic."

"Iseldir your build up does little to make me think I will like the news you are about to share," Lionel said.

"Truly you will not," Iseldir said, "Gwen was the beloved of Arthur Pendragon and as of a few days ago, she was to be his Queen."

Lionel went ramrod straight, his feet stopping dead in the pitted dirt of the road. Iseldir turned to face him, keeping his hands loose by his sides. If Lionel went for him out of rage his only chance would be to defend with magic. Perhaps he should have taken Galad's dagger. His heart plummeted as Lionel went to draw the blade, murder shining in his eyes.

"Lionel, please," he began, hoping for reason.

"Pendragon's bride deserves to die," the younger man snarled, pulling the sword fully from its scabbard.

"She is no longer his bride," Iseldir said, 'she has lost as much as you have-"

"Do not compare me to one who would lay with that sniveling rat of a man!"

"Enough!"

Instantly Lionel's sword was back in its scabbard. The young man looked at the blade and then up at Iseldir, his features darkening further with fury. Iseldir stood firm, wincing as he heard the horse ahead stop at the sound of magic. Lionel's hand went for the hilt once more and Iseldir smacked it away without raising a hand. The magic he used was simple, barely enough to flick his irises gold, but simple magic was all that was required to stop a single man blinded with rage. Foregoing the blade Lionel lunged for him and Iseldir twisted, drawing magic around his arms in a binding spell and forcing the younger druid to the ground.

"Let me up!" Lionel bellowed, his own eyes flicking gold as he struggled against the binding.

"Not until this madness leaves you," Iseldir said.

"Madness has gripped you if you would bring a Pendragon in our midst!"

"Quiet your tongue or I will bind that as well," Iseldir said, not bothering to correct him.

"So you have not told them?" Lionel demanded, "Half a day with us and the Pendragon whore has already convinced you to lie to your people!"

The sound of hooves silenced Lionel as the horse rode up, carrying on it two riders this time. Deidre pulled the steed to a stop and the second rider jumped off, pushing back his hood to reveal features that marked him as Lionel's elder brother. However there were two clear differences. Where Lionel's skin was smooth and unbroken, a long scar stretched from the corner of Bors' eye to the edge of his mouth. But his dark eyes held a humor that was absent in Lionel's and even at the sound of shouting and the clear mark of magic on his brother his lips curved into a warm smile.

"By the Gods Lionel, you keep shouting like this and there'll be no point to riding from Camelot," Bors said with a shake of his head, "halfway through the night and you've already got yourself tied up. This may be a new record for you."

Lionel glared furiously at his brother and Iseldir, his eyes moving between them as though he was not certain who to loath more that moment.

"Deidre, you should ride ahead. I think Gwen might need another set of eyes on her."

The rider gave a curt nod and kicked the horse to life, moving quickly and seamlessly through the crowd towards the wagon. The group got farther and farther away as Lionel tried to struggle against his binding while Bors stood behind Iseldir, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Iseldir held the binding there, watching the young man struggle. His own magic allowed him to his knees but Iseldir's eyes flashed gold and that was as far as he got coming out of the mud.

"You are trusted council, no matter how foolish your anger makes you," he said, "if you find yourself unable to keep your blade in its sheath and your tongue in your mouth then you can take your people and go."

"You would break us for her?" the young man demanded.

"It is not I who would break us," Iseldir snapped, "but I will not see us sink to the level of the Pendragons. The girl needs our help. If you are willing to cause her harm to hurt another then you are no better than Morgana and it is her you should follow. I will have no use for you."

He drew his magic back with force than he intended, leaving the young man sputtering in the mud. Bors stared at him, surprise written on his face. It was rare Iseldir let his temper get the best of him and used his magic against another. It risked much, but when he did it served to all as a reminder of why his clan had become strong enough to be sought for help by others. Instead of turning and letting his words linger he stepped forward and looked down on Lionel.

"What is your answer?"

"My clan knows the truth," he said. Iseldir frowned as he pushed himself to his feet, spitting mud laced spit as he went, "we've taken the role of guard and I'll not have them guard one loved by the son of Uther Pendragon without knowing it."

Iseldir frowned, ignoring Bors' sharp inhale. He had planned to wait for Gwen to tell them her tale but Lionel did speak the truth. His clan was forged on bloodshed and the group who hd joined them did not survive on quick tongues. It was a rare day their eyes went gold, yet even the greatest of those with magic would be reluctant to stand against them in a fight.

"They are sworn to secrecy," he said, "and not from the clan, from everyone. I hear a word, a whisper that she is traveling with us and I will see that is the last thing you communicate to another soul."

"Fine," Lionel snapped brushing back his hair. He turned to Bors, "we guard Pendragon's whore. We decide if we wish to leave at the next camp."

With a final, vicious glare at Iseldir he turned and stormed off. Iseldir let a shaky breath escape him. He had planned on secrecy and respect, a decision only enforced by Gwen's reluctance to tell him of her past. Yet for all he had privately promised himself silence, it seemed he could not keep from sharing the secret. And now he had gone and told practically everyone who was capable of causing Gwen great harm, all for whom she had chosen to love and who chose to love her.

"And you?" he asked turning to Bors, "what will you do?"

"Protect a whore, I suppose," he said with a shrug, "after all, my cousin did love her."

A hand on her shoulder woke Gwen.

Opening her eyes she turned to see Galahad leaning over her. Slowly Gwen pushed herself up, blinking to clear the last of sleep from her eyes. She was still in the wagon but the front and back had been opened, letting in the fresh air and the sun. The warm light of day painted Galahad's pale skin peach and brought the red out in the gold of his hair. His features seemed less delicate in the sun, making him seem more like a man who could handle a blade than the youth he had seemed last night.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Better," Gwen lied, "where have we stopped?"

"We're south of the woods surrounding the capital," he said, "about four days hard ride from the City itself."

"Four days?" she gasped, unable to keep the surprise from her face.

"The druids have practice in moving quickly," Galahad said, a smile turning up his lips, "though to look at their size one would not think such a thing."

"No," Gwen agreed pushing herself to her feet.

The pain that crashed over her almost pushed her back to the bed.

There was not an inch of her that did not hurt. Everything from her toes to her fingertips felt either rubbed or split open. Even a lifetime of hard work was poor training when it came to her grief filled run through the woods. She could feel the bandages that wrapped around her feet and saw similar wrappings around her hands. But there were no bandages for the soreness in her arms and legs, or the puffiness she could feel on her eyes. She realized she must look as terrible as she felt, but even the knowledge that she deserved the humiliation did not make her feel much better.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, Gwen slowly walked to the front of the wagon and pushed back the flaps.

The camp she found herself in paled in comparison to the one she had woken in a day earlier. There were only a handful of tents and another wagon other than the one she slept in, though there were many who continued to sleep on bedrolls. Frowning Gwen turned to look at the fire that burned next to her. The embers flickered with faint flame, more like the ghost of the stuff than actual fire. But the heat still came from them, more even than a real fire would do. Gwen leaned forward to look at it when a hand grasped her arm.

"Careful. It will burn you as well as any fire made with flint and steel."

"Why can I not see the flames?" she asked.

"That is the point of the fire," Cairrean said bustling towards them, "those without magic cannot see it, those with can find us without difficulty."

Gwen straightened and looked at the woman, trying to keep her face neutral. There was a hardness around Cairrean's eyes that was not there last night. She considered trying to smile but realized that the gesture would look empty, and that would probably be worse than not smiling.

"R-really?" Gwen mentally cursed the stutter in her voice, "that's quite ingenious," Cairrean raised her brows as though surprised at what she had said.

Surprised or offended, Gwen could not really tell.

"Yes, it is," Iseldir's voice came as the druid approached them, "it was actually Cairrean's idea," he explained, "one of several rather ingenious she came up with some time ago."

"Good morning Iseldir," Gwen greeted, trying to inject pleasantness into her tone.

"Good morning to you as well," Iseldir replied, "are you feeling well?"

"Yes, thank you," Gwen said, "did we cover all the ground?" she asked him.

"That and then some," Iseldir said, "we should only be on the road for another day or so," he explained.

"We should continue for two," Cairrean muttered before clearing her throat, "I'll see what we can do about breakfast," she said shuffling off.

"Traveling makes some grumpy," Galahad said quietly before turning to the fire.

Gwen nodded as though it made sense, as though she had any idea what effect traveling like this would have on people. Invisible fires, living in camps that could be packed up in a moment's notice, all of it seemed to make the ache in her chest ease slightly. Only the slight ease made her feel worse. She was truly a horrible person if she took delight in the suffering of another, let alone an entire village of them. Her eyes swept the camp. Now that they were moving it seemed like an impossibly large number called this camp home.

How many of them had once called Uther their King?

How many of them were meant to call Arthur the same?

Looking down Gwen fought against the sudden tightness in her throat. The spell was gone, she could force her emotions back, yet even a passing thought of Arthur made her throat close and her eyes sting. Forcing air into her lungs, Gwen looked over at Iseldir who seemed to be looking at the fire but met her gaze the instant it was turned towards him. Not for the first time Gwen wished she could smile or do something to let him know her gratitude towards his kindness.

"Sorry," she said instead, "my mind was wandering."

"That is perfectly understandable," Iseldir said, "you must have much on your mind-"

"Iseldir."

Gwen turned at the call of the druid's name. The voice that said it was sharp, holding none of the affection Iseldir was more than worthy of. But as she looked at the man who stood there, Gwen noted that his features held none of it either. He looked cold. Cold and angry and more closed off than she had seen a man look in some time. The fact that he was dressed in full mail and armor did only seemed to re-enforce the fact that this man was unlike any of the druid's she had met. In fact, as she looked at him she realized he looked more like a knight than a druid.

"Gwen, this is Lionel," Iseldir said, a note of the same coldness slipping into his tone, "Lionel, this is the girl I was telling you of."

When Lionel's dark eyes landed on her, Gwen fought not to shiver at the unexpected wave of coldness that seemed to wash over her. It was difficult to speak in the face of such sharp and palpable anger, all the words seemed to stick in the back of her throat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Galahad straighten up, one hand moving down towards his side. Lionel's eyes darted towards the movement before settling back on her, but the brief respite was enough to unstick her tongue.

"Hello," Gwen said. forcing herself to speak.

The coldness on Lionel's face vanished, replaced with a fury Gwen was all too familiar with. It echoed of Arthur's fury, of the hatred and anger he felt when he discovered her betrayal. Instantly Gwen's thoughts went to a muddled mess, panic blossoming in her chest as the memory of Arthur's painful grip swelled up in her head. He had been in mail too and the sound of it had echoed around the throne room when he shook her as though the answers he wished to hear would fall out of her lips.

Suddenly she knew it was more than pulling the barrow that made her arms sore.

She was running before she realized her feet were moving. All that mattered was getting away from the man who was not Arthur and his cold eyes which were too much like his. She could not stand in front of another person who hated her enough to raise a hand to her flesh. But between the pain in her feet and the remnants of her run through the woods, she barely made it to the trees before her knees gave out. She all but collapsed against the nearest tree, gasping for air as tears threatened her once more.

Her hand shook as she fumbled with the sleeve of he cloak up before shoving it up to reveal the darkened handprint of her upper arm.

Tears swarmed her vision and though there was nothing in her stomach Gwen felt it roll. Doubling over she heaved but nothing came up, making her feel only worse. Her father had never raised a hand to her mother, but Gwen had seen other women who tried to hide their bruises with linen, who walked out in the heat of summer with long sleeves and shawls. Now she was like them, except the man who gave her the marks threw her out before she could have worked up the nerve to leave him. Sinking to her bottom on the soft earth, Gwen wrapped her arms around her torso, her hands avoiding the bruises and tried not to dissolve into tears again.

Her thumbs brushed against the edge of the bruises, feeling when the pain began as the skin was pressed. She had watched Arthur's hands do amazing things, but she never thought she would feel them mark her in that way. Moving her hands up higher she tried to fit them to the bruises, pressing against the skin and feeling it ache in response. Her hands barely fit the bruises. For all that she held his hands Gwen never realized how huge they were in comparison to hers. It was only recently that Arthur seemed anything but larger than life, it was a painful reminder of the many differences between them.

Gripping the bruised skin tighter, Gwen leaned her forehead against her knees and looked at the dirt between her boot tips. Two days ago she never would have thought she'd be sitting in the woods, wearing sturdy boots instead of silken slippers and trousers instead of skirts. If they had been married would Arthur still have raised a hand to her? What would it have taken for him to do it if she had not kissed Lancelot? Gwen was not even sure that such a thing mattered. She knew Arthur was impossibly strong in so many ways.

It just never occurred to Gwen that he would use that strength to hurt her.

Unwinding her arms from around her torso, Gwen pressed her hands to the dirt. Her limbs trembled but she forced herself up, ignoring the scrape of bark against the sore muscles in her back. Somehow every ache now seemed to trace back to the bruises on her arms. Every mark on her seemed to belong to Arthur, even though only the bruises on her arms had actually been made by his hands. Struggling to her feet Gwen leaned against the tree, letting the back of her skull rest against the wood.

"Gwen!"

The hiss of her name with a familiar voice snapped her eyes open. She turned her head just as Gwaine came out of the thicket of trees. He looked awful, the shadow of a beard that he usually wore was thicker and the circles under his eyes were dark. Gone was his mail and cloak, but the red tunic he wore was standard issue to wear underneath mail, which meant he couldn't have shed it long ago. The knight looked at her like he was half sure she was going to have a breakdown and Gwen was painfully reminded of the fact that not an inch of her wasn't bruised, sore or swollen.

"Gwaine?" she almost reached up to swipe for tears before she remembered the bandages on her hands and thought better of it, "w-what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to rescue you," Gwaine said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I don't need saving Gwaine," Gwen said, fighting the traitorous tremble in her tone, "I was banished, remember?"

"Aye," Gwaine said, "been there myself, more than once," the Knight said, his tone growing quiet, "so you're not kidnapped then?"

"No," Gwen shook her head.

"You certain?" Gwaine asked, moving his hand forward. Gwen shied back, "easy now, can you look in my eyes?" he questioned. Gwen turned her face towards him, meeting his gaze, "okay, can I see your hands?"

Slowly Gwen extended her hands. Gwaine reached out, his movements slow and gentle as though she was a horse he thought would spook. Carefully his hands slid underneath hers, gently supporting them as he looked at the bandages. Gwen tore her eyes from his face to look at them herself, noting the neat wraps and smell of herbs. Leaning forward Gwaine sniffed at the herbs that coated them, his nose wrinkling at the smell before he leaned back, though his hands remained cupping hers.

"Myrrh and thyme, for your cuts," he said, "and cloves, for the pain. Did they say anything to you while they were binding this?" he asked.

"No," Gwen said, "I was asleep when they did it-" she frowned and looked at him, "what are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" Gwaine asked turning her hands over carefully.

"Why are you inspecting me?" Gwen asked pulling her hands from his grasp.

"Leon and I found your barrow on the road, all your jewelry was missing and you were nowhere to be found. They've been keeping you in a wagon for two days with armed guards riding beside you. Gwen these people aren't friends of-"

"Shh," Gwen hissed him before he could speak Arthur's name, "they don't know who I am."

Surprise was written all over Gwaine's face and if the circumstances had been any different Gwen would have laughed at the fact use had rendered the most talkative knight speechless. As it was she just felt worse at the deception, especially since seeing Gwaine there only confirmed the fact that she could not return to Camelot with him. Gwaine looked over her shoulder at the druids and then back to her, the look on his face anything but comforting. It was a risk, they both knew it, but it was one she was going to have to take.

"He banished me," she began in a slow voice, "I cannot go back there," Gwaine frowned as he looked at her, "I am to return only on pain of death," she shook her head, "and even if that was not the case, how am I to return to Camelot knowing that I am at the mercy of someone who has that power?"

"I-"

"I know you were banished and you returned but it was Uther who banished you-" she began.

"I was going to say that I understand," Gwaine cut in.

"You do?" Gwen asked, looking up at the knight.

"I do," he let out a frustrated breath, "I don't like you staying here, banished or no if these people found out who you were they might turn on you."

"I know," Gwen said, "but I've given them no reason to suspect anything," she met his gaze, "they think I am a banished girl from Camelot and they are right," she hesitated,"and if I need to leave I have my jewelry, I can sell it or trade it to get far from here."

Gwaine looked down at her with surprise again and this time Gwen did smile.

"I do know how to live outside the palace," she reminded him gently.

"That you do," Gwaine conceded, "so you'll stay with them then," it was not a question but Gwen nodded all the same, "and there's no chance I can convince you otherwise?" she shook her head, "how are we going to find you when Arthur stops being a royal ass?"

Gwen looked at him and wished she felt the kind of certainty he did that she would one day return to Camelot. Even if Arthur stopped being a 'royal ass', Gwen did not know if she was going to be able to go back. Just the thought of standing in the throne room made her knees ache and her chest tighten at the memory of his fury. Pushing the emotion away she looked up at him and tried to give her bravest smile.

"You found me once, I have every faith you can do it again."

Gwaine smiled at her and opened his mouth to speak when the sound of a bow being drawn noisily silenced them both.

"Aye, he can find you again," a voice said, "but to do that he's going to have to leave first. And that's not about to happen."

Way to go Gwaine.

Next time: Gwaine's in more trouble, Gwen tries to help and an old friend steps in for a rescue, only to find his closely guarded secret revealed.