The drive was long; several hours on and off the road but finally at 8:30 PM they pulled to a stop at the cabin. Bradley stifled a yawn as he gingerly opened the door and stepped out; the packet of papers in his hand. "Thank you for the lift, Father." he said.
The ride was miserable for Martin. He went from being hot to cold and back again every five minutes. He was shivering and his clothes, and hair was soaked from sweat. He couldn't keep his hands or legs still. When he got out of the car, he fought the urge to go to the bushes and throw up. He had also spent the ride nervous – here he was riding with the man who purged every person with magic.
"Yes, well, you're welcome. When you two are ready, give me a ring. I'll come get you," Anthony said. He sat Bradley and Marty's luggage down and then drove off without another word.
After picking up their stuff (a little tough to do with the cast) Bradley waited for Marty to get his bike before leading him towards the cabin."There's a small workshop in back if you want to store your bike there; better that then out here in the elements." Bradley said, trudging up the four thick, sturdy wooden steps that led on to the wooden porch.
Grasping the black doorknob he just placed his weight upon it and the door slowly swung open with just a small creak. Reaching in and to his left, he found the light switch and flipped it. The lights came on immediately, bathing the living room, kitchen, the foyer and the stairs leading up to the second floor in a warmish glow.
Walking inside, Bradley gratefully tossed the bags on to the dark blue, four seat couch that was in the middle of the living room floor; aligned perfectly so that whomever sat on it could either watch TV or stare at the fireplace.
Going to the kitchen Bradley went to the key rack (which actually said 'KEYS') that was fastened to the wall. Selecting the red key he walked back outside. "Want me to unlock it for you or do you want to do it?" Bradley said, holding the red key that would unlock the workshop door up so Marty could see it. He wasn't going to push; if Marty wanted to take some control; gain some independence he was willing to step back.
Marty looked around the area. Stretching down from the cabin was the road, which diverged at the bottom of the hill the home was situated on. He couldn't wait to take to the road and see how his bike hugged the curves, the dips, and the hills. It would be brilliant. There was also a large lake just off the road that was surrounded by trees. And in the distance was mountains.
He couldn't help bust gasp. "This is where she used to live. It's exactly how she described it to me," whispered Marty to himself. He sighed as he shifted his hand a little bit so he had a better hold on the handle.
Hearing Bradley speak, he glanced towards him. "Yeah," he agreed. Marty couldn't think of anything else to say, which if Marty remembered of his past self, was something very unusual. "Besides, I wouldn't want any wolves riding off on it." The young man cringed at what he'd just said. It was supposed to be a joke, but it failed miserably to his ears.
Hearing the next question, he opened his mouth to speak. He then closed it as he decided what to say. "You can open it…if you want. I kinda have my hands full with the bike. It's not easy to keep upright," Marty said. In the past, he would never have asked for him. In the past, he would've claimed he could've done it on his own. But, that had caused him a lot of trouble and a lot of grief, thus he decision to accept the offer.
Marty rolled the bike to the shed and there he waited for Bradley. "How much do you remember? Do you remember the story of your birth? Do you remember what your father did and had done for 26 years?" he asked. "Do you have any idea why I hid who I was from you?"
He trailed after Marty, using the red key to unlock the black padlock that was on the door to the workshop. Removing the lock, Bradley pushed on the handle; the large workshop door sliding sideways on its rollers.
Inside the workshop there were a few woodworking tools that looked like they hadn't been used in years. There was also a plastic mat rolled out in the corner; the mat was decorated to look like a hopscotch game. It was dirty and covered in cobwebs but the yellow mat itself could still be seen.
On the walls there were pictures; some covered in sawdust. Some of the pictures showed Anthony and his wife while others showed either Anthony leaning against a tree or a very young Bradley riding a horse or learning how to swim. The last two were actually Bradley's first two attempts at finger painting. At the time he had thought they sucked but Anthony had told him he'd keep the pictures and it was obvious now that he had.
"Some things I remember clearly. Others...it's like catch a glimpse of something; one image and a feeling...and then it's gone. My mother died giving birth to me; she gave up her own life so that I would have a chance to live," Bradley paused to shake his head a little, "My father...the King...he hates magic. Why exactly I don't know but he does. I remember he instigated something he called the Purge but what exactly that was I..." Bradley shook his head again.
He took a deep breath and sighed.
"And you. I didn't understand it then...Merlin, but I understand now why you did what you did. Revealing your talents to the King...I don't remember what he would have done to you but...from what I do remember it wouldn't have been pleasant. You made the right decision." Bradley said.
Marty looked around the small space. It was dirty and dim, but the space would do well as a makeshift garage. It was also cozy. Martin imagined that, after a good cleaning, this space would be perfect for working on his art. There was a lot of space and the table was huge - there would be enough space to spread out and draw properly, plus he could leave a mess and not make the cabin look horrid.
"Did you dad use the equipment? I can't imagine him being industrious with tools," Marty said as he examined the saws, hammers, and chisels. In the time he had spent in Camelot, he had never seen Uther pick up the devices of menial jobs. The King hardly picked up something heavier than a quill, if Marty was honest; although he had seen him wield a sword on occasion. However, things were different here. Maybe Anthony did do some hard work with his hands. He was a lawyer and that was a bit different from being King.
Marty ran a finger over the large and well-used work table. His finger was covered in a powdery-tan dust from the space being unused in so long. "Do you…do you need me to clean this place up… when I'm better," he asked. Marty shifted a little bit. In the past, when he was Merlin and Bradley was Arthur, he would've been told to clean the place up. The order of the day would've been to get the floor clean enough to eat off of.
"Under normal circumstances yes I would have you clean the place up if you wanted to use it but...this is your vacation time. I'm not going to force you to do anything that you don't want to do. If you want to leave it dirty go right ahead. If you want to clean it, feel free to do so." Bradley said.
Marty couldn't help but smile and shake his head. "This isn't normal circumstances. Is it even real? It feels it," Mary asked. "What if we get home? Then what? What'll happen then? Do you think we can even go home?"
He looked around. "It's too dirty. I'll need something to do once this is all over. I hear things get better after day three," Marty said. "I'm not going to sit around here being useless. I can't. Besides, I've never been on a vacation. I don't even know what to do on them. At least in Camelot, I never did."
He looked up at the finger paintings. "Not bad," he said. Marty cocked his head as he stared at them. One was of a hornless-unicorn (it had a stump where the horn had been). The other was of red and gold stick figures. "You were trying to remember even back then when you were a kid."
He pointed to the first one. "You killed a unicorn once and brought the horn to your father," he explained. He pointed to the other one. "Those are Camelot's knights. The colors were and red and yellow-gold…goldenrod I guess would be the proper word."
He watched Marty go to his finger paintings; judging them with a keen eye. "The unicorn? I thought I saw that in a movie once. Those knights...I don't remember." Bradley said. It was true, the unicorn he did remember but he always thought he had seen it in a Disney movie or something close to it.
Marty nodded. "I remember many scenes in full, but there are bits missing. I know there are things that happened, but I'm not quite sure what they are or would be," he explained. Marty bowed his head and sighed. "I think I better tell you. You're not going to like it."
When Marty pulled up two chairs and asked him to sit, Bradley did so wordlessly. He then wisely kept his mouth shut and allowed Marty to speak freely. Marty had a lot to say; about everything. His mother, Uther, Camelot and magic, and then he did an amazing thing by literally producing a flower out of thin air.
Martin placed his bike in a safe spot and then grabbed two stools. "Sit down," he said. There was a slight commanding tone to his voice. Marty wiped the sweat from his brow as he coughed. "There's a lot to tell you."
"Your mother, she did die giving birth to you. That is true. However, the reason she died was that your father made a deal with the high priestess Nimueh. She used to work for your father I guess. But, your mother could not conceive and so Uther bartered with Nimueh so he could have an heir to the throne. The stipulation was that a person died or the balance of the world would be off. Your mother was who paid that price. Ygraine, your mother, found out after she became pregnant and by that point it was too late."
Marty stopped and took a deep breath. "After her death, he became angry and embittered towards all things and all people of magic," he continued in a grave voice. "And that's where the purge comes into play. Think about the word and its meaning. Purge is to get rid of."
He stopped yet again. The young man felt that he needed to let the words sink in. After a few minutes of silence, he continued his story. "Bradley…Arthur…your father gathered every single person who used magic and killed them – he drowned them, burned them, and beheaded them. He murdered women, children, the elderly. He even slayed innocent people. Not only did Uther attempt to get rid of magic users, but he rounded up all the dragons, dragonlords, and druids too. One dragon he did keep – under Camelot. And one Dragonlord escaped to Ealdor, but eventually he was killed…not by Uther though. He even killed those who helped magic users"
His voice was shaking. "Uther proclaimed that there would be a ban on magic under the penalty of death. The day I arrived in Camelot, I actually saw one of those beheadings," Marty said. He nodded. "It wouldn't have been pleasant, you're right. I would've been killed in an instant, if you hadn't guessed. I think he would've made it particularly unpleasant for me because I'm different. I didn't learn magic. I am magic. I was born with the innate ability."
As Marty sat there, he rolled his fingers together as if he was making a worm out of clay. In his hand appeared a daisy. He held it up and showed Bradley. "I don't even need to say a word to do magic," he explained. "For a long time I didn't understand myself. I thought I was a monster…the people of my village thought that. They were scared of me."
He sighed as he played with the daisy. "It was Morgause who told me of this. She told you too. I actually told you it was a lie so that you wouldn't kill Uther. I didn't want you to become your father. By the gods, I don't want that. It has been my duty and my destiny to protect you and keep you alive. That dragon I mentioned, he explained that I am supposed to be the greatest and most powerful warlock ever to walk this earth. He explained that you would be the best king of all of Albion and that you would unite the 5 kingdoms," Marty explained. "His name is Kilgharrah, by the way, and you didn't slay him. I banished him and forbade him from attacking Camelot. How? Well, I became a Dragonlord too – the last Dragonlord. Balinor was my father."
Uther was a cold blooded murderer. The dragon that had been housed under the castle had been set free somehow and instead of being killed like everyone had been led to believe, it had been banished by Merlin because he was...
The Last Dragonlord?! Without realizing it Bradley had risen up and started to pace around the workshop. Ten steps forward. Stop. Turn 180 degrees. Ten steps back. Stop. Repeat. His mind was awash with knowledge and information. Everything that Merlin had told him seemed to be right and even as his mind processed it, he saw flashbacks that he hadn't seen before. Uther giving the signal to decapitate believed to have magic. Uther himself drowning a group of young children in a well...
Bradley was so angry at his father for everything the King done in the name of his kingdom that he was visibly shaking with rage. However, while he was seething at his father, he was also seething about the entire situation in general. No one deserved to be treated the way Uther treated those with magic, and Bradley surmised he was as guilty as his father because he didn't do a thing to stop it.
"Thank you for being honest with me, Merlin." Bradley forced out of his lips.
All Bradley wanted to do was destroy something. A little violence sometimes did wonders for his mood, but up in the area around Scafell Pike, hunting wasn't allowed.
Marty changed from shaking his head to nodding. "Yeah, the unicorn," he agreed. "I warned you not to kill it. You didn't listen. It ended with Camelot in a drought and famine. We had to go on a quest set before us by a man named Anhora. I don't remember what happened then though. It's a blur. I do know we lifted the curse."
"And the Knights, they were good men. There was Leon, who was under your command the longest. Then there was Percival, the burliest of the knights, and Gwaine – a rogue who was loyal to a fault, but he had a tendency to hop from bar to bar and get into fights – and then Elyan – your youngest knight. Finally, there was Lancelot, the noblest and most valiant of them all. You know him as Lance in this world."
Marty waved the flower about as he watched Arthur. "It was I who released Kilgharrah. I had to. I had made a deal with him. I didn't know he was going to try to destroy Camelot though," he admits.
As Arthur paced, Marty's eyes tracked him. "You're mad. Don't do anything foolish, please," he begged. His brow furrowed. "I don't know if I should thank you or not."
The man stood, He was shaking and shivering a bit, but he ignored it. "Come on," Marty said. He got onto the bike. "Get on behind me. We're going for a little ride. You'll feel better. Although, there is one rule before we continue – don't be a backseat driver. I will speed. Don't worry, I know how to control this bike. Also, you might hold on. That's just a suggestion, but I'd follow it or you will probably fall off."
Oh! Bradley wasn't mad, he was way beyond mad at that point, but when Marty climbed on his bike and then instructed Bradley to climb on behind him, that had been enough to cause the older man to stop his pacing and actually look at Marty.
Perhaps this was what he needed. A chance to get out and clear the air as it were. What better way to do that and keep an eye on Marty than to go on a ride with him? Nimbly he walked the short distance over to the younger man; sliding on to the bike directly behind Marty.
"No backseat driving...it's going to be tough...but go for it." Bradley said, taking heed to Marty's other warning about holding on. He knew all about bikes; he had seen enough bike accidents to know the consequences of falling off of one at high speeds.
"But uh...hold on to what? You?" Bradley asked; a vision of his arms wrapped around Marty's torso came to mind.
"I know what I'm doing, but this job requires concentration. I will be holding up this machine. That's not an easy feat, if you didn't know," Marty said. "Just trust me. Okay? I don't plan on flipping this bike."
Marty chuckled and shook his head. "Well, you could, but you could also hold onto the seat. Feel under the seat, there's a lip to hold onto."
He started the bike. Kicking the kickstand back, Marty put his foot on the gas, squeezed the handle and sped from the storage shed. By the gods it felt so good! The bike hugged the curves as of it was made for this road.
The greens and browns of the trees, the black and white of the night sky with clouds. and the gray of the road blurred into stripes of blocky color. The wind whipped his hair back and pushed against his cheeks. Marty could hear nothing but the wind, roar of the engine, and the hum of the tires.
"This is brilliant," he screamed as he slowed the bike a little bit, but only because it reached its maximum speed. As the bike leaned sideways, the toe of his boot touched the lake they were speeding around. Tilting the handles, he righted himself as he continued onwards.
Even though he couldn't see his hand, Bradley had a death grip on the handle that Merlin had pointed out to him. Staying balanced on the bike with only one hand was hard and he was pretty sure he would have a hand cramp once this was all said and done.
The wind whipped through his hair, reminding him of past times when he was on horseback; the sun shining right in his face and for a moment; just a moment everything felt right with the world.
Then he was brought back to the reality of the situation. The papers. He had taken pictures of all of the documents Gavin had sent him; taken pictures but that's as far as it had gone, he hadn't actually read the papers yet, he intended to do that the moment they got back to the cabin.