Disclaimer: I do not own no claim to own anything associated with the Pocahontas franchise. All rights reserved to Disney and Lake Buena Vista distributers. However, Pocahontas was my Disney princess growing up so...I guess the spirit of it and the values that it nurtured within me...yeah those are mine lol
Chapter Two: Right and Wrong
You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger,
You'll learn things you never knew, you never knew
'Colors of the Wind'- Pocahontas OST
"And you're sure of this?" Uther's commanding voice filled the entire court room, his face dark with concern.
"Yes, sire." The bandaged knight before him nodded fervently, "At least twenty of them. Violent and hostile."
"We…we think they were druids." His companion added, though a bit nervously. To be honest, he wasn't sure what he had seen. But he knew whatever was in the forest had to be stopped and it would be best for Camelot as a whole if the King squashed this threat immediately. The best way to ensure that was to make him believe magic was involved. Besides, only heathen druids lived in the woods anyway.
"Good." The King nodded in satisfaction. He could justify extinguishing this force if it was known to be magical. "We will begin drawing up plans for an attack immediately. Knights of Camelot, I thank you for your loyalty. Your bravery will not go uncompensated."
"Thank you, sire." Bowing deeply the pair left, their wounds all but forgotten at the thought of the rewards to come.
"Arthur, I expect you to head up the expedition. With any luck, we'll be able to wipe this threat off our lands before the end of the week."
Nodding grimly, the King's son forced himself to unclench his jaw long enough to mutter a response of agreement before leaving. He worked tirelessly throughout the rest of the day, planning and strategizing, delegating duties to those of lower rank so his men would be ready to ride in two day's time. All the while his thoughts were plagued with visions of innocent women and children, running from the sight of him, begging for their lives at the point of his sword.
How could he be expected to do such things? These people had committed no offense against anyone. They lived peacefully, deep in the forests farthest from his father's city. What threat could they possibly be to his reign? If they had wanted to strike the Pendragon crest down, would they not have done so by now?
At dinner, he finalized his plans with the King and Uther clapped him proudly on the back.
"This is impressive work, my son. You have the true spirit of a leader." He beamed. And even as Arthur's heart soared to hear those words, his stomach twisted with sickening guilt. What kind of man took pride in his son's ability to slaughter other human beings? There had to be something wrong with that.
As she led him into the village, every eye turned to stare. Was he really so noticeably different from them? Perhaps he should have rolled around in the dirt and leaves before venturing down here. Though, the more he watched them, the less he felt any kind of disguise might have helped. Snippets of their hidden whispers reached his ears- 'stranger', 'not welcome', 'filthy human'- and Merlin began to realize the problem was much more innate than his clothing or clean skin.
"Why do your people hate humans so much?" He asked, fear wrinkling his features as they ducked into her small hut. Laying her quiver and bow near the entry, she began to search a small chest filled with clothing.
"Why?" Her laugh was light, airy, as though certain he must have been joking. "Perhaps it is because you carry no respect for the land that bore you. The same land that sustains you and keeps you. Or maybe it is your blatant disregard for life? Your irrepressible desire to spill blood."
"We're not all like that." He mumbled, feeling rather small in the face of her arguments as his eyes searched her home. Everything seemed to fit so seamlessly with the forest around it, seemed to give back as much as it took. Picking out a dress of pale green (though Merlin had been sure at first that it was only a petticoat for it had no sleeves and was very light), the woman slipped behind a screen and began to change.
"Your leaders are." She countered gravely, "You said it before. Even your own King plans to burn our forest. And for what? To expand his crop lands? To yield greater profits for his own pocket? You humans are so selfish, you don't even see the repercussions of your behavior."
"He's not an evil man." Merlin fought back, though in his mouth the words tasted a lie. He didn't want Uther at the helm of Camelot any more than she did. But still, he was the King and to go against him would be treason. "Everything he does is for the betterment of his people. He must think of them first, he has no choice."
"And why must there be a first or second or last?" She spat back venomously. "Why is it that you mortals seem incapable of working with the land and the trees and the animals? Can you not learn from them? Must there always be suffering exchanged for prosperity?"
As the last few words fell from her mouth, she stepped out from behind the screen, the form fitting dress and crown of olive branches adorning her head giving her a much less formidable appearance than before. An awkward sort of shrug ruffled Merlin's shoulders as he fought the smile that threatened to overtake his face.
"You know, you haven't even told me your name." He realized it only moments before the words came out, his eyes still drinking in the sight of her. Pretty girls were common in the halls of Uther's palace, but this woman was mesmerizing in a completely different way. Her beauty was like dawn over the White Mountains, the clear night skies of winter, the last bits of light stretching through the trees at dusk. It touched him like the countryside in summer or the warmth of a fire after a long, cold day. He couldn't think of proper words to do it justice, but he knew he liked it.
"Aven." She conceded after a moment or two, a bit unsettled by his staring. "And yours?"
"Merlin." He muttered back, trying to keep his eyes on her own.
"Well Merlin, I hope I have not spared your life in vain because you are about to meet the High Priestess of the last remaining Dryad tribe in Britain."
The fog of captivation seemed to lift from his eyes as her words sunk in.
"A-and who would that be?" He nearly squeaked, following her out of the hut. Over her shoulder, Aven offered only a tiny smirk.
"My mother."
'Wonderful.' The young sorcerer grumbled inwardly, cursing the day he'd first saved Arthur's life. If he ever made it back alive, Merlin was sure he was going to kill him.
Back in his chambers, the Crown Prince could no longer bring himself to look over his plans of attack. His head was swimming with troop numbers and strategies, expected losses and terrain warnings. The jumbled mass behind his eyes no longer made any sense, but instead sat like a heap of garbage, useless and decaying. Sitting slumped over in his chair, Arthur stared into the flames of his hearth, wishing he had never sent Merlin into the woods at all.
He wouldn't admit it to any of the generals or knights, but it was the loss of his faithful servant that was doing the most damage. How could he have allowed Merlin to come to harm? How could he have been so careless and stupid as to send the boy into the dark, dangerous depths of the forest? At this rate, Camelot could only hope he would never become King.
Suddenly, the air in the room seemed to shift and he had the acute sensation of being watched. Turning, he noticed Morgana, leaning casually against the heavy wooden doors of his chamber. He wanted to ask how she'd managed to open and close the doors without making any noise whatsoever, but his heart was too relieved by the sight of her. The fact that her night robe was open and he could tell that she was wearing that little black negligee he loved didn't help much either. Scandalously short, spun from thin, sheer silk, Arthur had no idea how she had convinced anyone to make such a thing for the King's ward. But when his mouth began to go a little dry, his pulse quicken with desire, all he wanted to do was thank them.
Their eyes met and she smiled mischievously, shrugging off her robe as she closed the space between them. Arthur couldn't help but watch her hips as she moved, almost catlike, over to the chair. Before he even knew what was happening, she had curled up on his lap, straddling his thighs with a hand combed back through his thick, golden hair. The tense anxiety he had been enduring all day seemed to melt from his bones at her presence and he was sure he had never felt more content.
"Say it." She whispered, the tip of her finger lightly tracing his bottom lip. He only smirked, taking her hand from his mouth and folding it behind her back with firm, but gentle insistence that she could not bully him around in his own chambers.
"And if I don't?" He murmured back, curious as to how Morgana sitting half-naked in his lap could possibly work against him. But it was his own mistake to think her incapable of keeping up with him.
"I want to hear you say it." She breathed against his neck, her teeth gently tugging at his earlobe before taking the cartilage with the tip of her tongue. Beneath her, Arthur's breath hitched, a shiver coursing down his spine as his fingers clenched helplessly around the material of her nightgown.
"I was wrong about the forest." He finally admitted, earning him a soft series of kisses along the jaw.
"And?" She mumbled, easing her wrist out of his grip (which he still had pinned behind her back) while he was distracted enough not to resist. By the time he realized that she had the upper hand, it was too late. But Arthur didn't really care. Wrapping his arms around her neck and waist, he picked her up, their mouths battling affectionately as he laid her down across the thick blankets of his mattress.
"And we both know you were right." He growled playfully in her ear before sitting up to throw his tunic off, "Now, for the love of heaven and earth, stop torturing me."
Giggling, she shoved him on to his back, straddling his hips again and pinning his wrists down on either side of his head.
"Don't you know by now?" Her smile was teasing as she shifted her weight across his lap. "Torturing you is the most fun I have all day."
But when their mouths met again, she knew she had already given in.
The bonfire burned at least twenty feet high, the flames taking on the shape of animals and trees, dancing to the flutes and drums of the tribe. Around the fire, the villagers danced as well, reenacting stories of creation and other tales held just as sacred. The entire tribe watched, surrounding the flames with quiet faces that flickered with light and shadow alike. Through the darkness, an ethereal voice drifted around them, narrating the dances, telling the stories. The voice, eerie and deep as it resonated in his ears, would have frightened Merlin had he been unaware that it came only from the High Priestess herself, Estaea.
From when his eyes had first taken sight of her, a peace had washed over him, filling him with contentment and an easy happiness. Aven's mother seemed all that was right with the world. Everything good and whole and trustworthy. He couldn't help but wonder what a different place Camelot would be with such a leader to guide its people.
The High Priestess had been much more receptive than her daughter, almost as though she had been expecting him. Though he brought grave news, she welcomed his warnings with deep gratitude and offered him refuge during his stay amongst the Dryads. Happily accepting, he had changed into the clothes provided for him (much lighter and finely crafted than his torn and dirty servant's rags) and eaten a large meal of the best bread he had ever tasted, juicy berries and rather delicious roots. Their water was unlike anything he had ever tried in his life and Merlin yearned to stay, if only to drink it again and again for the rest of his life. Finally having had his fill, he had taken his seat beside Aven around the bonfire and waited for the ceremony to begin.
Apparently that was the meaning to all their fantastical dances and story-telling. It was a cleansing ritual. An apology to the earth and other elements for the blood shed that day when fending off Uther's soldiers. But it seemed to Merlin, that it was so much more than that. The music and the words and the fire brought the entire village together, solidifying their emotional ties and unifying them that much more. There was such brotherhood here, a deep sense of community and trust. Nothing like the dirty, frigid streets of Camelot, where every man was left to fend for himself. There was something about all of it that struck him as direly beautiful and he wondered why anyone would allow it to be destroyed.
It was then, as he sat by the fire, his eyes shining not just with light but admiration for these people, that the young sorcerer made up his mind. If no one else would fight for the Dryads, then he would. No matter what it took, no matter what the cost, he would ensure their survival. For if not him…then who else?
After washing away the sweat of their lovemaking and changing for bed, both Arthur and Morgana settled beneath his blankets, curling against one another in the dim light of the dying fire. A few moments of silence passed between them as the weight of the day began sinking down on Arthur once more, his thumb absently roving back and forth across the skin of her shoulder. Though they hadn't had much chance to speak that day, she knew he was troubled and it unsettled her to see him so.
"What were you thinking about when I walked in?" Her voice was soft and low, mingling through the air with the sounds of the embers crackling in their grate.
"Just…everything." He sighed, "Today. Tomorrow. All of the people."
"You have a good heart, Arthur." She murmured, kissing the skin of his chest softly. "You just have to trust it."
"Even when my heart speaks treason against my father and my King?" A dark chuckle escaped his lips. She had always been a bit of a dreamer. Though he admired her idealism, her insistence that peace and love could trump any of life's struggles if only given the chance, he was powerless to heed her words.
"Oh, damn the King." Morgana grumbled, eyebrows furrowing deeply.
"That's your answer to everything." Arthur laughed, deep and low in his chest as he stroked her hair. "You know as well as I do that it's not always so simple."
"It could be." She pouted stubbornly. Sometimes he was sure that he could tell her the sun would be rising in the morning and she would still shake her head in disagreement. It seemed her first instinct was to challenge every word that fell from his lips, no matter what those words were. "The Druids pose no threat to us. Is it really necessary to strike them down?"
"They attacked our men today. They took Merlin." He reminded her coldly, trying to convince himself that his father knew better than the woman he loved. Even if her heart was in the right place, she could not be as wise or insightful as the King. He had to trust that. More so, he had to save his friend.
"I'm sure he's fine." Morgana assured him, reaching down to fold her fingers between his own. "You know Merlin, he's good at getting himself out of trouble."
"Not as good as getting himself into it in the first place." Arthur grumbled back, though he gave her hand an affectionate squeeze, letting her know he appreciated her presence and support all the same.
"I suppose you'll just have to try to play the hero and save him then." Morgana sighed wistfully, as though this was completely beyond the range of the King's son. "Poor Merlin."
Beside her, he rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. Leaning over her, he began to tickle her skin, fingertips running up and down the sides of her waist.
"You dare to insult the Crown Prince in his own chambers?"
"Ar…Arthur!" She wheezed, gasping for air between laughs, "Arthur stop! Pleeease!"
"No." He shrugged, unaffected (and seemimngly rather amused) by her pleas. Straddling her hips, he pinned her body down with his own so she had no possible way of escape. "I think it's about time you were punished for your insolence, my Lady."
"Arthuuur." She continued to plead, tears forming in her eyes from the irrepressible laughter. "Please!"
"Please what?" He leaned down, murmuring in her ear as his fingers finally ceased their torture. A strangled moan reverberated in her throat as he took her earlobe between his lips, sucking on the soft flesh and giving her chills as only he knew how.
"Mmm," She sighed, her arms snaking around his neck and back. "I change my mind. Don't stop."
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