The flickering fire dances in Merlin's eyes as he sits gazing into its depths. Deep within the flames, dancing images that were once cloudy and blurred at the edges—possible futures, once hazy with uncertainty—have since turned sharp and vivid. He watches as the Savior and her companions trek through the neverending winter toward the Dark One's vault.
Merlin pulls his blue robe tight over his thin frame. The cold air and the falling snow reach out from the vision and chill his bones. As the scene transfixes him, anticipation thrums through his body. His long imprisonment is almost over.
He watches them descend into the vault and the vision clouds and disintegrates into ash before him. So the Dark One could protect her secrets from even Merlin's keen eye. In frustration, he pokes the fire with his staff. Around him, the cave walls glow brighter from his surge of magic; day and night, that same pale blue light pulses gently through them, keeping the cave perpetually aglow with the magic that sustains him and keeps Camelot anchored, unmoved by the stream of time.
The enchantment had been designed to ensnare the Dark One and give Percival enough time to act. But the fiend had perverted the hastily cast spell and left Merlin and Camelot trapped in his stead. Unable to act for himself, he had sent others out to battle the Darkness: Percival, his Apprentice, the Author, Lancelot. Centuries had passed while they fought in other realms without him.
A small gust of wind swirls through the cave, disrupting centuries' worth of dust. It's a ripple, a change. Merlin can feel something shift—pushing against the enchantment, causing time to start for the briefest of moments. The portal is open.
He sighs, long and deep, a man ready to be finished, to sink into the ground and never rise. When he speaks, his voice is gravelly from disuse. The sound travels no further than the fire before him but seems to echo in the emptiness.
"And so at last I finally end."
He had begun centuries ago, when the world was young and the realms few. Being the seventh son of a seventh son, he was called a luck child, and magic was in his blood. As an adolescent, he chose to use his magic to become an agent of light, to fight against darkness. He traveled all the realms, gathering knowledge and power as he fought and recruited others.
They called him a sorcerer, wizard, benevolent mage; all manner of titles befitting one much greater than he felt. For he felt like a scared young man, fighting monsters and the primal powers of creation, ever only a step away from death. When he learned of the power of fire seeing, he studied hard to master it so as to keep a step ahead of his foes. Through it he was able to see into the possible—it was not long before people added "seer and prophet" to his titles—but he was only concerned with how it could aid him in his crusade.
Late one night, his face burning from the flames, he saw the promise of Camelot. The shapes were blurry with uncertainty, but with the right ruler, it could be a haven of peace and beauty, of equality and justice. It was his fondest dream made manifest and the next morning he made his way to Camelot, determined to make it a reality.
When he arrived, Merlin had learned that Camelot's strongest ruler was King Ambrosius. Intelligent and proud, the King was intent on his political machinations and personal plans for glory: to unite all the kingdoms of Camelot into one. He wanted to use Merlin's magic to accomplish this goal, an offer the wizard declined. Even without the gift of sight it was easy to see that Ambrosius was not the right ruler for the kingdom Merlin had seen.
Failing to find the one he sought, Merlin had quickly left Ambrosius' court to scour the realm for the king of his vision. It was at the far edge of Ambrosius' kingdom in a fertile, backwater valley, overseen by the noble but notoriously ill-tempered Sir Ector, that he finally found what he was looking for.
Merlin was in the woods outside of Sir Ector's estate when two young boys came bursting through the underbrush. The taller, older, child was fair-haired and grinning cruelly as he raced forward with something held high in his hands. The smaller, dark-haired boy chased after him with wide, fearful eyes.
Merlin cast a concealing spell and watched the scene unfold.
"Kay! Put him down, Kay! He's mine!" The smaller boy yelped and jumped, trying to snatch a black bundle from the other's hands.
"Surely, Arthur, you didn't think a mere fosterling would get his own hunting hound?" Kay taunted.
"You said I could have him!"
"Did I? Well, as heir, it is my right to change my mind. Now I say that if you want the runt, you must take him." Kay grinned and raised the bundle higher. Arthur grited his teeth, a determined glint to his eye, and rushed the taller boy, knocking him flat to the ground. Kay fell and released his prize; it yelped loudly when it hit the ground. The bundle grew legs and a tail as it squirmed away and Merlin saw that it was a small, fragile-looking puppy. Arthur scrambled off Kay to snatch up the puppy and soothe it.
Kay laughed and rolled to a sitting position. "Excellent! The runt lives!"
Arthur glared at his playmate.
Kay stood and brushed off his pants. "Come on, Arthur, it was all in jest. You didn't think I would actually kill it?"
Arthur shook his head. "Kay, you should protect those that are weak, not toy with them because you are bigger and stronger."
Kay laughed again. "You have the funniest notions, Arthur."
That night, Merlin saw in the fire a large assembly at Ambrosius' castle. Shouts of "Hail King Arthur!" echoed through the chamber. The next morning, he offered his services to Sir Ector as tutor to his son and fosterling.
In time, Merlin discovered that Arthur was Uther's son and thus Ambrosius's nephew, born through an affair and hidden away from the world. Arthur thought he was an orphan; in reality, he was two heartbeats away from the crown. The lad was intelligent, kind, and thoughtful, quick to learn and humble in his failings. His commitment to protect the weak and uphold justice inspired others and Kay, despite an unpromising beginning, grew into a fine and loyal knight through Arthur's example. Merlin came to love the lad as his own and strove to guide him to be the man that could rule the Camelot of his vision.
By the time news of Ambrosius' death in battle and Uther's succession to the crown reached Sir Ector's estate, Merlin had been teaching the boys for ten years. But Uther was not his brother. Ambrosius may have succeeded in uniting the entire realm under one rule, but Uther's new title as High King of Camelot was built upon his brother's military victories and alliances. His own position was precarious. A few months later, a royal messenger arrived to take Arthur to court. Uther's lack of heir made his death a potential opportunity for an ambitious noble or lower king; to shore up his rule and protect his life, Arthur, his secret bastard, was to be legitimized and brought into the light.
The now eighteen-year-old Arthur took the news of his elevation from orphan to prince with trepidation and a new sense of purpose.
"Do you think my father will approve of me?" he had asked as they sat around the campfire the night before they reached court.
"He'd be a fool not to!" Kay declared with a slap to his thigh. He had grown tall, muscular, and fiercely defensive of the foster brother he had once tormented.
"King Uther's approval is not the key to your coronation," Merlin muttered as he stared into the fire, trying to see the best path to assure Arthur's ascension.
"What the devil does that mean?" Kay asked, playfully poking his former tutor in the chest and causing his vision to dissolve.
"It means," Merlin snapped, "that Ambrosius ran roughshod over too many powerful people. It means Uther does not have the skill to placate them or hold onto the power his brother won. It means that if the kings, nobles and commoners are to support Arthur's rule, it will take nothing short of a miracle."
"Am I to be king, then?" Arthur had whispered in wonder, as though the thought had just occurred to him.
"Yes, Arthur, you will be king." Merlin's tone brooked no argument. In their years together, he had made no secret of his powers or prophetic abilities, but he had spared Arthur the weight of his possible destiny.
Arthur squared his shoulders, his jaw clenched, and nodded as though taking his tutor's affirmation as a call to arms. Merlin felt a swell of pride as he watched Arthur stare into the fire and knew he was already deciding what kind of king he would be.
When they got to court, Arthur, though technically the Crown Prince, was treated with suspicion and held at arm's length. Nobody knew quite what to do with the bold prince, still in the early flush of manhood and with strange ideas about equality and chivalry. When Uther died suddenly, Arthur had only a few staunch supporters and his succession was far from secure.
King Lot made an immediate play for the crown, adding fuel to Merlin's suspicion that Morgause, his power-hungry wife, had poisoned Uther to pave the way for her husband. But because he himself was too busy devising an enchantment to ensure Camelot would be ruled by one worthy, he never discovered the truth.
It was risky using the ancient and powerful sword Excalibur as a litmus test. But Merlin devised a means to magically embed the blade in a boulder and ensure it would only slide free in the hands of the true king of Camelot. Despite believing that Arthur would pass the test, Merlin's heart still pounded loudly as each man tried and failed to free the sword.
When Arthur pulled Excalibur from the stone in front of the gathered masses, there had been only a few shouts of dissent. When he was coronated, the shouts had been silenced by Arthur's leadership abilities and the overwhelming support of the people.
King Arthur ushered in a golden age. The people and land were more productive; internal strife ceased; justice and equality ruled, drawing noble and brave men to Camelot. Arthur welcomed them as brothers and introduced them to his radical notions of governance and chivalry. He sent them out into the lands as champions and it wasn't long before the Knights of the Round Table were known throughout the realms for strength, bravery, chivalry and wisdom. The strongest accompanied Merlin and aided in hunting down the dark creatures of the realms as he wielded his newest weapon in the fight against the Darkness.
In his decade as a tutor, Merlin had applied himself to devising a way to harness magic. With the Falcon's Chamber, he succeeded. Taking the form of a tall, pointed hat, the Chamber transported magical creatures to a netherworld and absorbed their powers. The power could then be repurposed and used by Merlin for whatever he needed. With the help of the knights, Merlin soon had so much power contained within the Chamber that he didn't know how to use it all.
Then Lancelot, Arthur's greatest knight, approached him wanting a magical solution to his feelings for Guinevere.
"I can't help it, Merlin. I love her. I have tried leaving, accomplishing quest after quest, but each time I return home she is here. Arthur embraces me and sets me next to him at the table and all I can think of is the love I have for his wife."
Merlin had stared at the knight. The man had dark circles under his eyes and seemed to have aged years in the last few months.
Lancelot dropped his head in his hands. "Just take it away. Make me forget her, make me love another," he whispered.
"I will think on this. I promise I will help you, Lancelot, but matters of the heart are delicate and come with a steep cost."
As Merlin sat that night staring into the fire, he saw a future of destruction, the Fall of Camelot itself, and he realized that no matter how many Chernabogs or ogres or evil wizards he vanquished, there would always be darkness in men's hearts. Hate, jealousy, greed; these things would breed discord and all their work would be for naught. Merlin glanced at the Falcon's Chamber and thought of all the raw power stored within it. An idea began to form.
"Is that even possible?" Arthur asked from his place at the Round Table. The entire court was seated at the table to hear Merlin's proposition. As king, Arthur had the final say, but he would not go against the judgement of his knights.
Merlin looked around the table at thick and stocky Lady Bors, fair-haired and smiling Sir Galahad, calm and thoughtful Sir Percival, and all the other brave and noble knights until finally landing on the newest member of the table—Mordred. His eyes were a sharp green, like his mother's, but his hair and chin belonged to his father.
Mordred was Arthur and Guinevere's son, but like Arthur himself, he had been raised away from court as a ward to King Lot. Merlin had worried about the placement, fearful of the influence of Morgause and the ambition of Lot, but the lad contradicted his fears. Merlin had heard tales of the great deeds that had earned him the title Sir and a spot at the Table. And Arthur would play no favorites, not even with his own son. Every person had to prove themselves worthy of the honor of the Table and of ruling the realm.
Merlin spoke, measured and even, but his voice carried in the silent chamber.
"I believe it is possible. Magic comes from emotion: hope, love. These are powerful emotions, and you have felt the magic they carry." He looked pointedly at Arthur as the king clasped Guinevere's hand. They shared a smile. The True Love that existed between the King and Queen was already legendary. Together, they turned their eyes to Mordred, the product of their True Love. The young man smiled back at them.
"Yes. We all know the power of True Love and hope," Guinevere spoke, her green eyes swimming.
Merlin nodded at the table.
"Precisely. But negative emotions have power as well. Hate, anger, greed, envy, lust…" Merlin let his eyes wander over the Knights. "Their power could destroy Camelot. But if I can pull the magic from them, harness it, and make it corporeal—tether it to a human vessel—then I can destroy it, and nothing will ever keep Camelot from the Light."
"Is Camelot so dark now?" Guinevere asked, her eyebrow raised.
Merlin kept his eyes from darting to Lancelot. The man believed his feelings a deep secret but Merlin doubted she was completely insensible.
"Camelot is not dark, but there is danger on all sides. Dark emotions will always be a threat as long as they have power. We must remove that power."
"But Arthur's question still stands. How is it possible to do what you propose? If getting rid of Darkness were possible, surely it would have been attempted before." Percival's deep voice boomed across from Merlin. It didn't surprise him that Percival would be the one to ask the important questions; he was a wise and virtuous knight and his opinion well respected at the Table.
Merlin met Percival's piercing sea blue eyes and saw his skepticism.
"The power we have harnessed in the Chamber," Merlin gestured to the golden cylinder at the center of the table, "will allow me to make the Darkness corporeal and bind it to a magical object." From his robes he produced a dagger. "This dagger is as strong as a dwarf axe and imbued with more power than Excalibur. It will keep the Darkness in check, keep it from overtaking the human vessel, and control the vessel if needed."
Percival rubbed his short black beard in thought.
"And who will be this vessel? Who will take on this Darkness?" he asked.
"I will." Lancelot's voice rang out immediately. No one was surprised; Lancelot was the bravest of them all and always taking on the most difficult challenges.
"Before you volunteer, search your heart," Merlin countered firmly, his eyes fixed on the man for a moment before dancing around the table. "The vessel must be possessed of Light. To resist the Darkness, you must be free of the darker emotions." There was silence as each man consulted his heart.
"What will happen to the vessel?" Percival's voice echoed in the silence.
"If they keep the Darkness at bay, they will be scarred, but they will survive, and be the greatest hero of all the ages."
Percival huffed and rolled his eyes. With a falling heart, Merlin knew he had not convinced the man.
"I don't think we should attempt this, Arthur." Percival turned to his king. "What man or woman is completely free from Darkness? The risk is too great. There is too much peril in such raw power and untried magic."
There were nods around the table, but others disagreed, and soon the chamber was full of animated discussion. Merlin watched and waited, listening to the cacophony and trying to discern which way the knights were leaning. Eventually, Arthur raised his hands, and the room quieted.
"I am inclined to trust Merlin in this matter. However, without a suitable vessel we cannot proceed. I will force no man into this task."
"I will do it." A voice sounded from the far side of the room. Merlin's head swiveled and he was surprised to see Mordred standing. "I will do it," he spoke louder, strong and firm as he met his father's eyes, "for Camelot."
Arthur nodded back, a proud smile on his face.
"Sir Mordred was born of True Love and is thus predisposed to the Light. If he is willing and his heart true, then there could be no better vessel." Merlin's endorsement was met with thoughtful nods.
When the table finally voted, only Percival and Lancelot dissented.
It took time and planning to prepare the spell. Merlin worked non-stop, racing to contain the Darkness before it could bring about the horror he had seen in the fire. He spent time with Mordred explaining how the spell would work: how the Darkness would give him power, but that the dagger would keep him from using that power.
"I won't lie, Mordred. It will be very difficult to resist the pull of the Darkness. But being the product of True Love, you will have an advantage."
"What advantage?" Mordred had asked, staring at the dagger.
"The connection your parents share. Their pure and True Love imbued you with the potential for great Light magic. When the Darkness enters, if you can focus on that love, you will be able to keep it contained."
"And if I don't?"
"You may still prevail as long as you school your emotions. This is no easy task. The Darkness will seize upon anything to sway you, to pull you into the Dark. You must have faith and focus on the Light."
His green eyes glinted and jaw clenched. Just like Arthur, a sign of determination. Merlin thought Mordred much like his father, nervous but eager for the path ahead. Never for a moment did he doubt his intentions.
He was a seer that could not see, blinded by pride in his past victories and his desire to vanquish the Darkness and preserve Arthur and Camelot at any cost. When all was ready, Mordred and Merlin went alone to his enchanted cave. The delicate and powerful magic would be a danger to any bystanders; even Merlin could not predict what the gathered Darkness might be capable of before it was tethered.
They stood in the center, the walls pulsing blue around them. Mordred clutched the dagger, his knuckles turning white, and nodded to the wizard. Merlin returned the nod and with a wave of his hand, he opened the Chamber. He placed the glowing hat upon his head and the power of the captured magic thrummed through him. He took a deep breath and began the incantation.
"Plague and horror, depraved zeal, seek no longer to conceal."
The walls dimmed and the air turned oppressive. The fire still burned, but it was obscured by a thick, black fog. A heavy weight settled on Merlin's chest as he continued.
"Ascendant scourge, converge anew, upon the dagger your power imbue."
He pushed the words and the magic out and around the gathering Darkness, drawing on the power of the hat to continue. The Darkness began to coalesce into a swirling mass of midnight black above their heads. Wind whipped around them with a deafening roar. Merlin turned to Mordred.
"It's time," he shouted into the screaming air and gestured to the dagger.
Mordred swallowed and nodded, lifting the dagger into the air with a shaking hand. Merlin pulled more power from the hat, his limbs shaking with the energy pulsing through him.
"Purest evil, blackest bloom, darkness fills but can't consume." His voice boomed with augmented power and the Darkness swirled faster and faster. "Never dying but contained, bound inside a willing chamber." The dark mass plummeted downward and wrapped around Mordred in an impenetrable blanket.
"Merlin! It burns!" The young knight's voice called in fear and panic. Merlin dredged up the last of his strength, almost draining the hat, and completed the spell with a shout.
"Shorn of anger, thornless danger, there forever to remain."
The dagger seemed to pull the Darkness into it until it disappeared in a blinding flash. Suddenly, the wind stopped and the light from the fire flared back to life. Merlin removed the hat and sagged against the cave wall as the magic drained away.
He struggled to maintain consciousness. Mordred lowered the dagger and stared at his name etched there for a long moment, emotions flitting across his face.
Merlin weakly raised his hand. "Give me the dagger."
Mordred shook his head, his jaw clenching in that heartbreakingly familiar way.
"Mordred," Merlin gasped, "fight it. Don't give in to the Darkness."
Mordred lifted his head, his face red and flushed and his eyes pitch black, not a hint of green or white. He sneered.
"Why would I fight it?" He flexed his free hand into a fist. "With this power, I don't have to prove myself to my father or his knights. I don't need their approval to be king. I can take the crown."
"No!" Merlin protested even as his vision blurred. He slid down the cave wall and Mordred strode away, dagger in hand. As he faded into unconsciousness, Merlin realized his mistake. Mordred had been motivated by ambition and pride—not love or self-sacrifice. Being the product of True Love wasn't enough to contain the Darkness when he carried darkness with him.
The wizard's last thought was a flicker of hope. He had never disclosed how the Darkness would be destroyed once it was tethered; that he had kept a closely guarded secret. As his eyes fell closed, he hoped he wouldn't take it to his grave.
When Merlin awoke, it was to a burning in his belly as a strange liquid was forced down his throat. His limbs were stiff and his head pounded as his eyes fluttered open. The blue walls of the cave pulsed around him, but instead of a cold floor, he was resting in a soft bed. He blinked. Slowly, Percival's grim face came into focus.
"I told you it was too perilous," the knight said without preamble as he tossed aside an empty vial.
"Mordred!" Merlin croaked. "The dagger!"
Percival shook his head. "We know. You have been in a trance for months, muttering nonsense. Your Apprentice said we shouldn't remove you from the cave."
"Mordred—has he—? What has he—?" Merlin sat up, his head swimming.
Percival placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into the bed.
"The boy has gathered an army. He used his magic to turn the hearts of the kingdom against Arthur. Tempting them, making deals to turn their hearts dark. He calls himself the Dark One, a singularly unoriginal moniker if you ask me." Percival sighed and rubbed his temples. "Arthur marches to Camlann now. But it is foolish—Mordred is too strong. They will surely be destroyed."
Merlin sneered. "Is that why you are here, Percival? Too wise to stand with your king to the bitter end?"
Percival cast his eyes heavenward and threw up his hands. "No, you blasted wizard. I am here because only magic can save us now."
The knight picked up the gold cylinder of the dormant Falcon's Chamber and thrust it into Merlin's hands. "Sir Lancelot replenished it's power. We set out as soon as we realized what had happened. He was beside himself with guilt. Blamed himself for the entire business." The knowing look Percival gave him made Merlin realize that Lancelot had shared his secret with at least one other.
Merlin activated the chamber and placed the hat on his head. Magic and power coursed through him and he felt alive and whole instantly.
"Now tell me you can destroy this Dark One."
"I will need the Grail."
Percival quirked his eyebrow "Am I supposed to know what the bloody hell that is?"
Merlin took a deep breath and shared his last secret; how to destroy the Darkness.
/-/
They had come so close to defeating the Mordred that day. Merlin had frozen all of Camelot to trap the Dark One, giving Percival time to get to the battlefield. But the wizard was too weak, the enchantment hastily constructed—the Dark One perverted the magic and used his own to trap Merlin in the cave and Camelot in time. Percival alone had been free to pursue the Darkness through the realms.
To his torment, Merlin was able to see but unable to act. In time, he managed to release a few others from the enchantment and into the realms, but none had been successful in their quest against the Darkness. Centuries passed; Dark Ones rose and fell. And still Merlin remained, waiting. Until the Darkness was destroyed and its magic dissolved, he was a prisoner.
Now a different Dark One had been born—like Mordred, a product of True Love, but unlike him, she had taken on the curse in an act of sacrifice. She was fighting the tempting pull of the Darkness unlike any he had seen before and at her side were three worthy to be called Grail knights. For the first time since his failure he felt hope rising in his dusty veins. But the heroes were ignorant of their true path and any guidance he might provide would need to be carefully veiled from the Dark One.
Merlin sighs and stretches his long fingers forward, stoking the fire with magic. They would arrive soon and there is little time to devise a way to give them the information and tools they need. Though the fire reveals nothing but shadowy figures, Merlin can feel in his bones that the waiting is finally over. Either Camelot will fall, or it will be saved.
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Author's Note: I worked really hard on this chapter and I am dang proud of it! If you enjoyed it too let me know because feedback really helps my writer insecurity!