The siren
Chandelier casted an undulating wave of light in the chamber. His consciousness drifted with the tide, a log swept away from the coast, away to a black sea of far about.
Merlin poured some wine into his goblet, he grunted softly in acknowledgement, he tried, but no sound came out, amidst his sea of thoughts, torrents and eddy coursing through.
The red liquid swirled, a miniature pool of life in his fine trembling hand.
Blood was red.
They were too late. Their horses were fast, they ran with the sun and the wind, but wings of fire were faster. Scent of smoke urged them on, a siren's song, and they were too late.
The village was burnt to the ground. Once modest huts upon grassy fields, now blackened woods on lifeless ground. Smoke rose, slithering snakes dancing to the enchanted song.
Dying fire licked the sky, darkened with ashes.
Heat plastered onto their brows, their heart cold – the arsonist might still be around.
And flickers of hope, firefly light in storm – there might still be survivors.
Might.
There was a scream, heart-wrenching blood-freezing soul-boiling. They ran, almost dropping the swords.
A burning pyre –a woman – not a witch.
A burning pyre – screams –no more screams.
When they managed to lower the woman to the ground, the fire had died down, so was any breath in her body.
Her flesh was red, raw naked red of a butchered stock. There was no blood – all blood scorched in flame.
Face of a tormented soul in hell, eternal frozen scream of a life drowned in flame. One of the knights uncloaked and laid the red fabrics on her.
Their burnt hands bled no blood either.
They were too late. The ship had sunk, darkness swallowed the passengers, ferryman set sail to the afterlife. And they were all those left on the shore, watching.
Downing his wine in one gulp, Arthur desired no more. He eyed Merlin, and his servant-turned-friend nodded in understanding. Blood-red wine mixed with his blood wine-red. A peasant buzz rang in his ears, his vision swam, and the chamber simmered like a mirage on the rim of his cup. Above the feast, the chandelier swayed, its candles ribbons of fire, a baby's cradle, weeds in the sea. A poor imitation of life. Fire in the dark, blood in the air.
His father gave him a tired smile, weight of years and recent fires in his eyes, crow legs seized. Enjoy the dinner, son, he seemed to say, but like voices under water, Arthur couldn't hear.
Try, my son, Uther said, Arthur nodded. Like he said, sulking around wouldn't solve anything. Nor it suited him.
On the billowing sea, he clenched onto the wheels and stood up.
Perhaps it was a good thing Lady Helen was coming.
For the third time he visited the dragon, his song almost made him turned back in indignation. Not that he knew the true depth of that emotion, or the terror of it, a child knew only annoyance and tantrum.
He despised his name sung in such a manner, in the stupid mouth of a creature who knew not of the dignity of his name.
He taught Emrys a new song – one about an old farmer and his farm and his animals.
It still sounded horrible, a dragon would never be a siren, but it wasn't his name and he could live with it.
He didn't expect to hear something like that that night.
Oi Camelot had a prat, his name is Arthur…
'So Merlin, I need you to stand behind me and behave.'
Simple enough, his servant's face seemed to read, with hint of a scoff. And eyes of understanding.
'Arthur, you know me. That's what I have been doing for the last two years.' A cheeky grin. Arthur huffed.
'You remember the time you fell asleep and startled the entire counsel?' Merlin' smile flattered a bit ,but it wasn't long before he started complaining about how it was Arthur's fault all again – training, laundry, herbs. It had taken all of his not inconsiderable charm and an unrealized punishment to bail his friend out of Uther's wraith.
But not tonight, he couldn't –His father was a frizzling fuse – anniversary of Morgana's disappearance-kidnapping and the ever burning fire.
One wrong step, and they would all sink in quicksand.
'Don't fall asleep again! Stay quiet and enjoy the opera –'
'About that – Arthur I am actually more worried about you –'
'Merlin!' A flying projectile, a nimble dodge. 'Just use your ears for once and not your mouth, okay? That's what the big pair for.'
He had never seen a dragon with ears that large. Granted, he had never seen another dragon, but such a prominent feature as two carrots sticking out of the head should be well-noted.
Arthur loved pulling those ears, imagining himself as a farmer plucking out his carrots.
Of course, his dragon gave him a pitiful look, one seemed to say: stop pulling them! They are getting even larger!
Emrys struggled against his grasp, but there was a perk in age and Arthur was strong enough to ride astride his pet.
Desperately flattening his ears against his skull, not that it was of any use – Arthur picked him up like cake off a plate.
'That is to improve your sense of hearing Emrys!'
'What do I need that for? I hear only rubbish.'
Arthur had no idea honestly, and he missed the jab, but it didn't make him stop.
The silhouette was red.
He never knew what prompt him to turn – no fleeing birds or howling wolves – or maybe it was the lack of. A breath caught in a hitch, a sore taste on a tongue, a fading stench. Something in the wind whispered his name.
He turned, he looked back, he squinted. And every time there was a red shadow. At the corner of his eyes, at the sky, at his dream.
Russet blood, crimson fire, red silhouette. All the villages, all the victims, dead by fire. A manic obsession, almost like a message, a challenge.
A pyre for the witch, another for the innocence.
'Let's welcome Lady Helen!' Someone said, they clapped.
She entered in a dress of red velvet. Deep bright eyes upon flaming lips. Flaming halos on chiseled cheeks. Her lips parted, quivering for him, an invitation of the siren.
His heart beat –once, twice.
A grease on the floor, a dent on his cup. Shifting shadow of the chandelier over a night sea.
She sang.
It was an ethereal beauty. Black feather of a swan, whisper of mountains, ripples on the lake. It was grace of the night, vermillion of lust, ecstasy of pain.
The voice called his name, and longing.
Arthur…
Arthur…
He saw a moonlit shore, a siren of soft silver, oceans apart from wakeful world. The scent of the sea, the aroma of fire, a lady waist deep in the water playing a violin.
The moon sank into water. How he wished to go down with the moon, sleeping, weeping, with all those he had failed. Beneath mirror of waves, light dwindled. A half muttered word, a crescent crescendo, a void. The glow receded, dimming light beneath the world he knew.
Arthur. Come to me.
Her voice cascaded on his soul. He stood, he floated, he drifted. Melody of the siren, brought him to her. Cold claimed him, water seeped into his skin. An unborn child, a pyre ablaze, tempest tossed castle, eternity in its care.
Nightingale wailed. Firefly impaled on thrones.
One with the waves. Soon it would be over.
Arthur...Come to me…. Arthur…
ARTHUR NO!
He jolted awake.
He was standing in the middle of the room.
Everyone was asleep, head slumbered on collars, peaceful within time. Fine strands of cobwebs covered their hunched bodies, light as moss on mist.
Arthur! Be careful!
He looked. A woman clashed beneath the heavy chandelier, a dagger by her hand, sprawling, face-down, a drowned angel, smoldered smoke butterfly fluttered by.
'Father!' He called, 'Guards!' Bile rose, riding on tides of dread. Clothes rustled as sleepers woke, delicate murmur of leaves.
Lady Helen stirred, chandelier shot off like diving falcon. Bricks fell, and she raised her face.
It was Morgana.
They found an injured bird beneath a tree, among the decoy of fallen leaves and the last night rain.
What could they do? The children looked at each other.
A knight walked by, the bird whimpered, almost inaudible.
Its neck was broken – the bird flinched, the fair knight said, there was nothing we could do – turn your head children.
The warning came too late. Arthur saw –They saw – the bird-shaped creature crashed beneath the stone into smashes of red flesh. Blood split, a drop of wet on his face, he wanted to cry.
He puked. His stomach's content not unlike the mashed flesh.
But Morgana's face was impassive.
'Goodbye birdie', she whispered.
'Hello Arthur.' She sang. 'Nice to see you again.'
Sweet, honey, flies, her voice sent shiver to his spine. Deer in a forest fire, his thought froze.
'Mor –gana?' Uther waken, grasped, each word like sandpaper on flesh. 'How …when … why?'
'A lovely surprise, isn't it?
Guards crashed into the chamber, a flash of golden eyes, and they flew to the wall, pebbles on a toss of the waves.
'You…have …magic?'
'Oh Uther. I thought you knew. Haven't Bayard told you about that?' She laughed, a piercing sound of a siren out of water.
'A chandelier, this is what ruin my plan? Haven't dreamed of that coming.'
Uther was speechless, Arthur was speechless.
More guards poured in, some knights, spreading around the chamber in formation. She smiled.
'Such a fuss. Don't worry. It isn't your time to die yet. No.' Her tune took a deep purge to hatred. 'You will suffer as I had. And Arthur, ' she beamed, shiny white teeth of a predator, ' my sweet big brother.'
His chest felt cold. Cold, like the deepest sea, unforgiving.
'Surrender Morgana. You are outnumbered.' His voice was cold too. Cold, cold like an ice dagger, and as fragile.
'Surrender? Arrogance has always been your weakness Arthur. I am a high priestess of the Old Religion,' She smirked at Uther –' your petty mortal weapons won't stop me.'
'Morgana – who cursed you?' Uther gasped, an agonizing breath, water breakthrough.
'I am not cursed father! When will you understand! The Old Religion gifts me. I have dreamed and seen all these – the feast, the table, the music, Arthur walking towards my knife! The future is in my eyes! You will all bow before me and die!'
'But –' Her voice soften, a pool of fathomless depth behind a waterfall– 'my job is done here. A wonderful night. You need some time to think and suffer.'
An unintelligible chant, the ceiling collapsed. Guards dodged, and Morgana ran for the gap, more people flying away from her.
'After her!' Arthur heard himself shouted, his body didn't move.
Then he realized, during the confrontation, he had not reached for his sword, not once.
'Emrys? Am I weak?'
'No you aren't Arthur.'
'But Morgana…she was a girl and she didn't vomit.'
'Your heart felt for the bird. And that's why I am not afraid of you.'
Emrys climbed onto his lap. Arthur cuddled his dragon. And suddenly things became alright.
Dark and quiet, an underwater cave, his chamber.
His father was in no fitting status to rule anymore.
Now decisions were all his – he couldn't cower behind his father or the law – he was the law.
He could condemn Morgana, and others like her.
In a way, they had it coming for themselves. Many nights before, the dead druid boy and his own hesitance broke her.
Gaius entered, reaffirming his father's status. He nodded.
Or he could spare her, or others like… like who she used to be.
And broke the cycle. He could try.
The thought was horrifying, but he couldn't let anymore innocent die.
A migraine, a constant hammering in his head. Was that how the rocks felt? an eternity gnawed by the waves.
Who tired his hands to the wheels? He didn't choose this, but now he was sailing with the current. To the unknown, to the nightmare, to the raging fall he worked so hard to deny.
If he was… an ordinary person… with a normal sister, he would have ordinary family with his love. A life he led only in dream. He imagined Gwen his loving wife, knights his colleague or fellow peasants, Merlin his big-mouthed neighbor.
Now he was carrying the burden, the valor, the responsibility, so the others, could have their normal family. And his was foam in the mist.
The zodiac turned over him. The stars dimmed, disorienting. Forlorn, every choice was his to bear.
Somewhere there his fate revealed. He saw the mouth of the waterfall. His breath rose with anticipation. Today night, his choice would seal fate of his and thousands others.
He heard but how would he see? Their encouragement, their faith, but he didn't see the praise in him, he had failed his sister.
Then it became clear to him.
Morgana was dead, gone forever. The monster in front of him had devoured her and took her place. Stopping it was the only reprimand he could do, to honor his sister, to stop it from wearing her skin – his little girl with dazzling smile. His sister.
Everything became clear – a break through the water. Even the worst news was a relief when it confirmed your worst fear. It was hard to light a candle, easy to curse the dark instead. But. Not anymore.
And he took with Excalibur out of the box.
AN: This chapter was really a song-fic. I adore the band, poetries sang by sirens. I can't resist, the new album is coming out in March!
Sorry for the short chapter. The next one will be short too, but you will love it…there is something…