The Red Dragon
The men of the East are decked in steel,
They march with a trumpet's din,
They glitter with silks and golden scales,
And high kings boast their kin-
We of the West wear the hides of wolves,
But our hearts are steel within.
He was on the ground, cloaked by a blanket woven in with grass as to conceal him from the sight of others. He looked through his sharp eyes at the sentries standing watch atop the guard towers, moving slowly; waiting until he was certain no one was looking he moved one foot forward, he had been doing this all day. He would sometimes move two feet if he was convinced that he would remain unnoticed. It was long, tedious work, but he did not wish to risk his approach to the walls go noticed.
"Blessed are the silent," he whispered "for they shall tend to our ashes as if sand from the riverbank,"
He took another step forward as an opening in the guard rotation was made.
"Blessed are those of flesh," he continued, reciting the verse for what seemed the twentieth time today "for through their burdens the flames of our spirits blaze like the sun,"
He crawled forward once more, trying his best to tune out the roars of the army behind the walls, today it was said an execution was planned, to celebrate a great victory that this kingdom had earned.
Barbarians. Their army and figureheads all gathered in one place.
"Blessed are the dark, for they are the anvil upon which we hammer our fury into a mighty blade,"
There! An opening, he dashed close to the wall. To a point where he was certain he would remain unspotted from the regular patrols.
He knew that he had to be careful, as he was acting in service to his king, and to his kin. On this most important of days, when the debts of the past would be repaid.
"Blessed are the Dragonlords," he whispered as he lifted out a pebble from out of his pocket and threw it up onto the wall "for they serve without self, sacrificed on the altar of faith and blood".
He waited for the guards to appear to investigate the sound "Blessed are the Dragonlords" he repeated as the clunk clunk clunk of armour grew louder, "for they serve without self," he pictured the stone in his mind's eye, feeling his spirit connect with itself. "sacrificed on the altar of faith and blood."
The guards looked over the edge, two became one, and in an instant he appeared behind them and pushed them over. They were so surprised that it was amusing. So surprised, they couldn't even suck in the air to scream.
He tossed the rock down again, and suddenly found himself beside the bodies of the guards, and dragged them both to a position outside the walls where they would not be seen as he changed into their armour.
As he changed he reminded himself of his mission, this kingdom had been a part of the purge that had left countless innocent dead in its wake and he was doing little more than delivering justice. When he had changed he picked the pebble from the ground, and placed it carefully in his pocket. The town had been fortified because this was a day of celebration and all the kingdoms nobels as well as the majority of its army had assembled here. So should any foe make it close enough in this one day to deliver a swift blow, justice for the countless innocent dead would be served. So with this knowledge in mind he walked to the gates, stabbing the gate guards in their necks so they couldn't scream to alert anyone inside the town of his presence and threw their bodies into the moat.
As the man walked up the stairs onto the battlements on the walls he looked into his memories and saw his home, burning. He looked to the city as he killed the guards on watch one by one and dreamt that it was covered under the same blanket of death.
Three days ago
Queen Annis of Caerleon sat on her throne looking down at the King of Camelot and his servant and pondered what course of action she would take now. Her husband was dead and she was without an heir, her kingdom was already on the decline from Northmen attacks, Gaelic raiders and numerous attempts at territory from Camelot. Yet here, the murderer of her husband was ready to allow her to reclaim a vast amount of land in a challenge of champions, as opposed to marching into a battle that even she in her grief knew was lost from the beginning. She would accept of course, but would not make the fools mistake of allowing her foes to see her glee. What's more the King's servant had chosen now of all times to show up, the servant who she had heard and now seen had formed a tight bond with the King.
"Very well Arthur, I shall accept your challenge to single combat between champions." She said firmly, than smirked before she continued, "however your servant stays here. He is my prisoner."
The shock on the two was noticeable to all assembled in the tent, "B-but your highness!" Arthur spluttered. "He's just a servant, he's-"
"Enough." The Queen roared, effectively silencing the two. "Those are my terms for your request King Arthur. Accept that your servant is mine, or our armies shall face one another on the field of battle tomorrow." She said firmly. Knowing exactly what the King's answer would be.
Arthur turned to look at Merlin, his face filled with an expression of disbelief, anger and anguish. When Merlin looked back with a look of understanding he turned towards the Queen of Caerleon and uttered the words "I accept".
The two regents laid out the time and terms of the battle before a crestfallen Arthur was unceremoniously led out of the camp. So besides the few remaining guards, all who were left inside the tent as the howling of the wind roared outside like wraiths ready to steal the warmth of your soul was the Queen and the servant.
She looked at him and smiled, congratulating herself on her strategic victory, whilst thanking whatever god had guided the boy into her lap. Here was a suitable outlet for her vengeance should her champion lose tomorrow. A way to ensure that, regardless the outcome Arthur would lose something, whilst she only stood to gain. The King would either lose a friend or half his kingdom, a small price in comparison to that of a husband, but this was a gift sent down from the heavens to which she would not complain. She ordered her guards to take Merlin to the cages besides those of the wild animals and wondered if she truly needed the aid of the witch any longer.
She concluded that she would, the prospect of that murderer's head on a pike was too good an opportunity to pass.
Merlin was trapped in a cage, bound at the edges of the camp like an animal, weak, lying on the dirt unconscious, vulnerable. Morgana looked onto the scene before her with a satisfaction that she had not felt in a long time. Ever since her attempt at Camelot by her sisters side had failed she hadn't felt true happiness, but this sight seemed to allow her to step in the right direction. She recalled how even Uther's death hadn't made her this giddy, and even if this was just a servant boy, the sight of her foe caged like the beast he was sent a shiver of excitement down her spine.
She steadied her breathing as she decided that letting this opportunity go to waste would be a foolish idea. She readied her magic, calling the familiar strands of energy and allowed it to fill her body. The teachings of the high priestess given to her by her late sister illuminating every dark shadow of her mind. Her eyes burning with flakes of gold as she prepared to avenge her sister whose, death was aided by this pest of a servant.
She would play with the boy, nothing physical or noticeable, of course. The boy belonged to the Queen, and whilst slavery wasn't encouraged it wasn't hindered for the majority of kingdoms outside Camalot, if anything it was seen as preferable to the life of a freeman with the comforts it offered. Morgana didn't know what Annis intended for the boy and didn't want to also risk angering any of Caerleon further, as despite their recent leniency to magic due to their recently deceased Saxon King, the Queen held loyalties to the old order that had joined in with Uther's purge.
So Morgana chose to restrain herself, for when she would become Queen of Camalot bad relations with her neighbours was the last thing she wished for. But still, that didn't mean she could have a little fun, and with the arcane power at her command fun was what she intended to have.
Two days ago
The two armies stood at opposing ends, the Knights and soldiers of Camelot atop a cliff where they had the advantage of height, and Caerleon in the valley below where they could better use their cavalry. In between them Arthur the King of Camelot and Ulfric the Strong of Caerleon stood ready to do battle. Arthur looked to the far edge and saw the Queen, flanked by a person wrapped in a dark cloak on one side and Merlin who looked as if he could topple to the ground at any moment on the other.
What's Arthur doing there? Merlin wondered as he saw the King in the distance through bleary eyes.
The two combatants readied their swords and began to fight, steel against steel, might against might, Ulfric using strong powerful blows whilst Arthur tried to use his speed to get away from the giant of a man until an opening presented itself.
Why are they dancing, I didn't know Arthur liked strong men. I guess it'd explain why he surrounds himself with big strong knights.
Strike, strike. Dodge, dodge.
They're really dancing... in a field... with everyone watching. Is this my nightmare, or Arthur's.
God, I hope this is beer and not a dream... or a vision. Please don't let this be a vision.
An opening presented itself as Arthur struck, only to have his attack parried as he parried his opponents blade, realising that he had overcommitted himself.
Please don't be a vision.
Morgana smiled, it had been long since Arthur had met his match. But still she had to be certain, so she whispered her plan to the queen.
Who's she, and why's she so pal" Merlin wondered as he looked at Morgana through blurry eyes, unable to recognise her
Make up? Naaa, only dead people are that pale, so she's got to be dead, then why's she standing? Maybe it's magic, I mean everything else that happens around here is because of magic. What was it called again? Necrophilia, Mecromancy? Tetrodancy?
Oh who cares, it's a dream anyway...
... or is it?
Merlin roared with what little strength he had from his weak state, "Die Necrophilliac!" as he attempted to attack the witch, only held back by the surprised guards that had been holding him upright for this long.
"No." The queen replied to the witch after noticing the young man's odd condition, yet appearing to pay it no attention.
"Why?" the witch whispered in shock, "why lay to waste such an opportunity?"
"Because I have made an arrangement with the King, and I don't intend to dishonour it by interfering in this contest with your magic's, witch." she replied in a louder tone, hoping to catch the ear of any guards who were listening, indeed if the boy heard, and then if his outburst alerted any of her men to her conversation, the outcome would be bad, especially if word got to Camelot's army of their breaking the rules of engagement regarding outside interference for this fight.
Crash! Went the sound of the King's armour as he was knocked to the ground by a powerful punch from the Ulfric, his sword flying out of his hand during his descent.
Ulfric saw this and smiled, certain in the knowledge that he had won victory for his people and returned the lands that had been stolen from them. He walked up to the King, readying his large sword for the final blow as all who were watching held their breath.
In a flach Arthur rolled, grasped his sword, and with inhuman speed ran it through the giant's stomach.
Ulfric stumbled back in shock. The blade still lodged inside of him. He looked at it, then the prince. Grabbed the blade and ripped it out of his chest, throwing it a distance that the king could not in his wildest dreams hope to reach.
Arthur lay on the ground as the giant kneeled on him, his knee on his chest making him wheeze. The giant put the sword to Arthur's neck and asked with a stern voice, "yield?"
Arthur nodded, accepting this unexpected gift with all his senses as the fear gripped him in a way he had not felt it take him for years, as if whatever shield that had protected him for all his life had fled.
With this Ulfric stood, turned and raised his arm to signal his victory to his men who cheered in joyous uproar, as the Knights of Camelot were silent and grateful that at least their King had not died.
Ulfric walked towards the army of Caerleon. One step, then two, and collapsed.
First chapter in this story written for Medieval ways, to whom I should say, 'I'm sorry for the amount of time it took, and I hope you like it'.
I mean I found it interesting how quickly Queen Annis shifts character, from vengeful widow to forgiving saint in such a short span of time. I thought I'd try and smooth out the transition a little, and show how even the wings of the smallest butterfly can give birth to a hurricane... metaphorically speaking of course.
Any reviews will be appreciated, thank you for reading.