A/N: This chapter contains graphic scenes and bad language. (Sorry guys)
"We must wipe out any threat of magic," Uther said, his words booming effectively around the Throne Room. "Kill everything that walks the earth in that Druid Camp."
He turned to his son Arthur, who remained stiff in disagreement with Uther's statement.
"Except the Dragon Lord," Uther muttered, making sure no one but Arthur could hear him in the murmuring court. "Bring him to Camelot alive."
"How will I know?" Arthur asked his voice supressed with loyal obedience.
"My dear boy," Uther said with an unnatural chuckle. "When desperation is at the peak, the Dragon Lord will use the only power it has left." Uther paused. "It will bring back the last dragon. If so you shall kill it."
"Yes, father."
Uther patted his son's back heartily, which was the most affectionate he'd been since Ygraine died. "Good man."
Uther addressed the court now, clearing his throat. Instantly, silence fell.
"I need a batch of my best knights to be led by Prince Arthur," Uther demanded, which instantly sent a servant scuttling. "We leave to cleanse this noble kingdom of magic, bit by bit." Uther made a memorable gesture. "And this is only the beginning for those inhuman beasts of the unknown." Cheers flooded around the room, the heartless men yelling in agreement to Uther's words, encouraging the madness that had driven Uther his whole life.
By dusk, Arthur and the knights were prepared for the battle ahead. A boy that was barely past his teens came to dress Arthur in a shell of armour, fingers trembling as he set to work. Arthur refrained from rolling his eyes, practically feeling the nervousness radiating from the boy. Arthur did have a reputation with servants. Countless times, a new was hired, numberless times they left all the same. With permanent injuries and enough hatred directed at Arthur to make themselves enemies of Camelot.
It wasn't Arthur's fault, not really. But he simply could not stand how spineless they were, one hit would send them grovelling for forgiveness. All came to the same result, either Arthur got bored or the servant did of too many cuts and bruises. Uther never minded getting a new one for Arthur. Servants, after all, were as common as the dirt that covered the land. Play for a little and you just get dirty.
Finally, the boy finished with a shaky bow, fear shining in his eyes. Arthur snapped, shoving past the peasant that played the emotions Arthur so desperately despised. He never wanted to be feared, but respected for the decisions he made. Unlike his father who was fuelled by the fear of the more evolved, he was fuelled by the motivation of the people.
With a sigh, Arthur blocked his conflicting thoughts and marched purposefully to his proud thoroughbred. The knights arrived promptly, saddled and ready for the coming attack. Arthur wished he could say the same.
~OOO~
Arthur scanned his surroundings, surveying the campsite that lay ahead. The small site consisted of a dozen small tents, smoke drifting lazily from the doused fire in the centre. The air was crisp in the sharp cold of night; the peace of the camp remained untouched with the heavy breathing of the sleeping.
"Remember," Arthur hissed. "No sentries will be found. This is a training place for children found with such…" Arthur bit down his lip. "…Curses. The Dragon Lord shall be the only master of these children, no doubt." Arthur's throat was suddenly thick with the reality he'd carved out for himself. "Kill them. Capture the Dragon Lord."
The knights nodded, keen for the slaughter they were about to admit. With a deep breath, Arthur picked up his crossbow, regret bursting relentlessly through his body for the murder he already considered done.
Earlier that day…
Merlin bolted through the forest, oblivious to the scraping of thorns and bramble, warning him not to continue ruthlessly. Merlin ignored the perils of nature, plunging deeper into the abyss of greenery. Stopping abruptly, Merlin gulped in a deep breath through his nose. He had to think of a better way. Or rather act in a better way. Sapphire briefly swallowed the dark blue of Merlin's eyes and with it a vision like a clap of lightning, flashes of knights surrounding a small boy with swords poised for the kill.
Merlin tore his eyes open, and found his-self running without realising. His legs were one step ahead, the long bounds enthused by the swiftness of adrenaline. Only his consciousness tired, rotting away with great worry. Perhaps he was already too late, perhaps…
Blinded with panic, Merlin stumbled over the body of a Camelot knight. Dumbfounded, Merlin realised all the knights of his vision were unconscious. Spinning in a full circle, Merlin found the boy. His frail form was hidden in a turquoise cloak, hand outstretched in threat. Merlin could feel the power of this child, could feel the invisible force of it smothering him.
"I'm from the Druid Camp," Merlin gasped, noting that strangling force could also be the boy throttling him. "I… came… to… save…" Merlin choked, lungs crying flames for much needed oxygen.
With a flick of his fingers, the child released Merlin, shadowed face not even twitching with emotion as Merlin gulped air in while lying face flat on the ground.
"State your camp number," the child called out in a deadpanned voice, small hand still outstretched in mistrust.
Merlin glanced up at the small boy, and saw a knight looming behind the child, spear raised. Without a second thought, Merlin swept his hand desperately, watching as the knight flew through the air with his arms flailing. The child's emotionless mask cracked with astonishment, walking up to Merlin with new confidence.
"Your impulse magic is good," He said in acknowledgement, holding out a pale hand as an offer of help. Merlin tried to smile, wincing when he tried to talk. The child offered a flask of water, watching as Merlin practically inhaled the contents. Merlin clutched his head, feeling the pounding of hurried running. With magic came a sixth sense, and Merlin could feel the vibrations of footsteps booming around the forest like an earthquake as they came ever closer.
"We have to move," Merlin croaked out, his voice sounding like rubbing sandpaper. He could feel the piercing gaze of the child's eyes on him, considering the trustworthiness of him.
"Please," Merlin begged, the footsteps almost deafening his ears. "You must trust me."
The boy lowered his hood, revealing the youthful face of a boy at roughly 12 years of age. His sallow complexion told the tale of malnourishment, cheekbones as sharp as a knife with lack of food. His ocean blue eyes had a glint of determination, brown curling hair cropped short.
Perhaps the boy saw the truth written on Merlin's face; perhaps he could sense danger as much as Merlin. Whatever the reason, the boy held out a hand for Merlin, the gesture a sign of temporary allegiance. Merlin took it without hesitation, tearing through the forest with the child in tow. The thundering footsteps of soldiers behind them told Merlin to keep moving, to hide the child that didn't deserve to be forever hunted like game. Frantic, Merlin dived into a hollowed tree trunk, pushing the boy down to keep them hidden. They were practically in a jumble of limps in the cramped space, breathing was at their own risks.
Stomp… Stomp… Stomp…
Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the boy's hand even harder, the sweat cold on his body. A pause. Breathing from the outside became sharp as they scanned their surroundings for the two, the pair of knights walking directly up to the tree trunk.
"Ruslos," Merlin whispered, bushes in the opposite direction rustling in distraction. The knights dashed away, eager to catch nothing but a spell.
Merlin breathed freely again, clambering out of his hiding spot with the boy. For a moment they were both silent, synchronised in their ragged breathing of relief.
"I'm Merlin," Merlin said in introduction, grinning deviously at the boy. Typical Merlin greeting usually happened like this.
Instead of laughing like a child normally would, the boy regarded Merlin thoughtfully, vivid blue eyes almost mournful when Merlin spoke.
"My name is Mordred."
~OOO~
Merlin sat, lighting the fire with a brief flash of sapphire. He watched as the flames crackled, the illumination of embers lighting Mordred's face in a glowing orange eerily.
"Your magic is strong," Merlin said. "I have never seen a child with such power."
"Yours is stronger," Mordred deadpanned, eyes fixed solemnly on the licking flames. "I would be dead if it wasn't for you." Mordred looked almost frustrated at his own words.
"Mordred, for a child of your age the magic that binds you is beyond the skill of some adults," Merlin said in reassurance, bewildering with Mordred's adult like maturity. "When you get to our camp, we can enhance your gifts into something to be reckoned with," Merlin poked Mordred's side playfully. "Besides," Merlin went on. "You nearly killed me. Not bad for a kid that's apparently worse than me."
No reply.
If Merlin was honest, he was slightly impatient with the boy. Never had he seen such power displayed by a child, and yet Merlin felt as if he couldn't get across to the boy in anyway. Clearly the child resented Merlin's company, presumably only with him so he could observe this camp.
"Why were you trying to save me?" Mordred asked suddenly, brilliant blue eyes demanding and hard. "I have no relation to you, as far as I'm concerned."
"I felt your presence lurking around the camp," Merlin started to explain, fidgeting with a twig. "I am the son of a Dragon Lord. Though I am untrained in the arts of magic, I can feel when someone with the power of magic is near."
Mordred gaped in awe, but quickly clamped down any sign of emotion.
"How did you know it wasn't just a member of your camp?" Mordred asked, as if he was interrogating someone. "If I was around the borders, I could've been any Druid just wandering around."
Merlin picked at the frayed corners of his boots. "It's hard to explain. Magic is unique in every person," Merlin flicked his finger, a dragon formed of embers dashing around the campsite. "Everyone has a different level of magic, a different skill and different approach." Merlin thought carefully as he went on. "Some people are afraid with the gifts they're born with; some take advantage of its power, poisoning their gift into a curse with deadly potency." Merlin glanced anxiously at Mordred. He appeared to be drinking in every word Merlin said, leaning in as he listening intently. Encouraged by a show of human emotion, Merlin went on with more confidence.
"We all have a choice with this gift," Merlin said. "We can either ensnare it with an evil approach, abusing the power we were born with. Or…" Merlin ranted on. "…We can allow it to flourish and blossom under the tenderness of others. We can choose to be right and just, using our gifts only if necessary and never use it with the intent of hurting others but of defence with fighting for those we love."
Merlin took a breath, realising this had nothing to do with Mordred's question.
"I am sorry," Merlin said with a small smile. "Sometimes I get a little deep. Basically your magic wasn't like anyone's in the campsite."
"Don't you ever feel that when another with such talents is murdered, you should fight back with all the love you strive for? To respect the dead even, killing the ones who slaughter magic's like animals for slaughter? Aren't they the ones that rot your values to the core?"
Merlin countered without hesitation. "That would go against all I believe in and what the dead believed in. Camelot fear what we destroy and one day," Merlin's eyes shined in such passion. "One day they'll see that. They shall see that they were wrong to kill the good and we will fend off the evil with them. Together."
"You are a fool for thinking such," Mordred protested. "Camelot and all its allies will always be afraid of the more evolved, they will vow to rid the Earth of such majesty," Mordred hesitated. "But your goals to aid those in peril are righteous, just like your beliefs for a better world."
Mordred took in a breath, eyes studying Merlin.
"I like you, Merlin." Mordred announced suddenly. "You and I are not so different. I hope one day we will meet again." Mordred pulled his cloak up.
"Where are you going?" Merlin demanded, scrambling up to Mordred's height. "Aren't you coming to Camp?"
"I am a Druid like you, Merlin." Mordred showed the symbol that pledged him to a life of running. "And my people have been murdered by the Camelot you think will accept you. I must take my revenge."
"No!" Merlin exclaimed, grabbing Mordred's sleeve. "Come to Camp," Merlin pleaded. "It will be suicide…"
"So to," Mordred said coldly, snatching his sleeve away. "Is trying to stop me."
Mordred marched into the darkness, and said his farewell in this way:
"Beware Merlin. Your camp is being overrun with Camelot troops at this very second. Nothing can stop them."
"How do you…" Merlin began to splutter, but Mordred had already been engulfed in darkness.
~OOO~
It was a massacre from start to finish. As Arthur predicted, the Magical fell one by one, children's screams echoing through the night as bolts ripped through their tiny chests. It was a quick death, but not painless. The tents had been set on fire, knights prowling the area for the Dragon Lord. But only the corpses of child were to follow, burning flesh overpowering everything else.
Arthur stopped shooting bolts, his sharp blue eyes honing in on a man with no sword; his golden eyes the only weapon visible, fighting off six of Arthur's men at once.
"FATHER!" A scream echoed from across the campsite, a boy slightly younger than Arthur dashing towards the Dragon Lord with astounding speed. But the boy's calling would be the undoing of the Dragon Lord. The Dragon Lord, torn in distraction turned toward the boy to make sure he was okay. In his surprise, one of the knights managed to get the Dragon Lord on his back. But the next to come was the worst. Before anyone could react, the blonde haired man stabbed the Dragon Lord repeatedly, blood spurting on his face.
"That's for my brother you bastard!" The man spat, throwing himself off the bellowing Dragon Lord.
In the midst of a battle of child's howls of terror, of the clashing of swords and ringing of finality from bolts, one scream dominated it all. It was a scream that wrenched Arthur's heart even more than the children, a scream of ultimate grief and anger.
And then it stopped. The fires subsided, the ashes of tents settling. The remains of humans, stayed still in the mouth of death. The boy threw himself on the Dragon Lord, sobbing as he checked for a pulse, oblivious to the surrounding of knights.
"Who killed this man?" Arthur asked calmly, eyes never leaving the sobbing boy. But it was obvious, even after being stabbed roughly six times; the Dragon Lord was clinging onto life. The blonde haired raised his hand grimly, a sick smile splitting his young, twisted face.
"He killed my brother, Sire." The man told him with a deranged look. "The little shit broke his neck without any remorse."
"Be that as it may, Sir Vardish," Arthur said with barely controlled fury. "Your king gave us orders for this man to return alive."
"I beg forgiveness, Sire," Vardish said without sorrow. "But this man deserved death."
"The king was to judge that…" Arthur would've continued but the last gurgled cough fell past the Dragon Lord's unmoving lips. The boy sat sobbing, rocking the man back and forth gently.
"What of the boy?" Sir Leon murmured to Arthur. Arthur shot Leon a quick glance of indecisiveness, eyes returning to the boy.
"You called this man 'Father' in battle, sorcerer," Arthur said, addressing the boy directly. "Could it be that you are the son of a Dragon Lord?"
The boy didn't reply, burying his face into his father's corpse. Vardish unsheathed his sword, pointing it at the boy in anger.
"You dare to ignore your Prince?" Vardish snarled, his very being trembling in fury.
"Stand down, Vardish." Arthur snapped, shoving the man back. "Give him time."
The boy fixed his eyes on Arthur's, the metallic and unadulterated pain almost wild in his gaze.
"I don't want any." The boy said in a steady voice, collapsing to his father's level in surrender.
A/N: Hi guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and let me know your thoughts and opinions in the reviews/ PM. As always, I apologise for my terrible grammar and possibly terrible writing! As you can probably see, I rather desperately need a Beta for this story. This will be chaptered and has a thriving storyline I'm eager to share with you in the coming weeks. Also, if any of you Betas want to correct my terrible grammar, PM me, and I'll look forward to working with you. Thanks again!