This is the finale to the trilogy that began with Her Insatiable Thirst and continued with Ganieda. This story will describe the journey made by Merlin as he returns to Camelot, having seen King Arthur perish and sent him over to Avalon, in the fleeting hope that he might rise once again. We join the tale after the terrible battle of Camlann.
A dry breeze rattled across the dull desolate plain, its howls echoing the mourning that sprang from the lips of those lonely people who wandered haphazardly among the bodies of the dead. Oftentimes they would turn over a corpse, and uncover the face of one whom they had known; and the image was imprinted upon their mind, such that they did not need to record the name of the unlucky fellow: and they took back to Camelot the names of those lost, that they might be written down and looked upon and remembered.
They had begun to bury them: the men of Camelot had been taken back to the citadel clad in those scarlet robes that resembled spilt blood, and given the burial that befit each of them; the enemies had been tossed in a mass grave, for they had been deemed unworthy of anything greater; yet though the searchers had toiled long and hard at this devastating task, still the battlefield was strewn with the terrible effects of battle. The war had ended, but not at no cost.
There were women among the searchers, wives and sisters and daughters and mothers, and they wailed upon finding the corses of those whom they had loved and lost; this sorry sound mingled with the wind, and created an unearthly noise like that of spirits moaning. It was terrible to behold, terrible to hear, and as Merlin stepped onto the field he had never wanted to see again he began to wish he had not come.
He did not know quite how his footsteps had brought him here; he wondered what his purpose was, whether he had been led; but no, he had merely seen no other path to follow. If he was to return to Camelot, he should at least do so with some knowledge of the aftermath of the battle that had so devastated the people of the city. And he looked upon it, and he could not even weep, for he had spilt all of his tears already for his King whom he had seen perish, and sent to Avalon in the near-futile hope that he might one day see him again.
He descended unnoticed onto the plain of Camlann, and began to scour the field with blurred unseeing eyes. Here and there he recognised his friends among the citizens of Camelot, but did not greet them, nor allow them to see him: for though he cast no spell of invisibility or disguise, he had drawn his brown jacket close about himself, and at any rate he was much changed in appearance in his grief.
For a long while he stood shakily on the edge of the plain; and he did not think anybody had seen him, and so was much surprised when a voice beside him murmured his name, and he turned to see the musician Juliana, the last person he had expected to find here. She who was Court Musician at Camelot, and a stubborn critic of war; she who had scorned those who went to fight, and had determined not to come, now present here on the field, with a blank face, and reduced by some grief or guilt that Merlin could not decipher.
'Juliana,' he said, turning to her reluctantly.
'You have returned,' she said simply. 'Many did not think you would.'
'I did not mean to,' he replied, 'but I had nowhere else to go but Camelot.'
'You are alone,' she said then, and tears began to flood the corners of her eyes, for she knew that Merlin had been with Arthur to try to heal him, and that by his absence the King brought to Camelot the worst possible news.
'Alas,' said Merlin once, and turned away.
There was a long silence then, broken only by those ululating cries on the breeze that came to them in fragments as the wind tumbled over rock and stone. Musician and servant stood, not facing each other; Merlin was still not reassured by her presence, even though she was a friend, for surely she was here only for some reason that he did not like to guess at.
'Merlin,' said Juliana at last, and clasped his hand. 'Merlin, I do not like to do this, but I must. Come, follow me. I must show you –'
He let her lead him over the field, and his whole self went suddenly weak, for he had with these words guessed why the young musician was here, and what it was she wished to show him. Despite himself he released a low moan of despair: he could not have lost – no, she couldn't be dead –
And Juliana went to a figure clad in chain-mail who lay face-down, and gently turned the corpse over to reveal that face that Merlin had dreaded seeing here: that of a girl, a dark-haired girl who in death still resembled Merlin as she had in life – Ganieda, his half-sister.
He felt sick, and fought down the wave of nausea that leapt up his throat; he felt dizzy, and fell to his knees beside her, his hands clutching at those of the corpse, at her hair, at her cold pale cheeks; and betwixt these cheeks there was a faint smile that gave the appearance of mere sleep. Her eyes were open and staring, but Juliana quickly leaned over and brushed them closed.
This time he clasped her hand, for he felt weak without the support of another. This death that should have so struck his heart fell upon him as another dull blow: all of what he had known and loved had fallen before him like the curtain on a play, darkening and covering everything, and leaving him to a bitter reality in which he was not sure he could survive: and he scarcely had the energy to react any more.
'We should take her to the city,' he whispered at length, and Juliana nodded.
'My horse will carry her,' she replied, 'and we can walk.'
Therefore they picked up the corpse, carefully and steadily though both of them were shaking, and went to where Juliana's horse was tethered, a short way from the battlefield; they lifted the body onto the saddle, and then untied the ropes and began the long, slow walk back to Camelot.