Episode: The Darkest Hour (Parts 1 & 2)
Category: Gen
Rating/Warnings: K
"When will it end?"
She shouldn't have voiced the question aloud. No, there was no point to it, other than to serve as a cruel reminder of the sheer helplessness of their situation. Half a dozen heads turned in her direction, swiftly followed by reassuring smiles, but not before she recognized the truth in their eyes… the doubt, the fear, the awful realization that it might never end at all. Everything she felt was reflected back at her, as sharp and clear as the harvest moon above their heads.
"Soon," the Druid beside her promised, reaching over to pat her on the shoulder. "Have faith in Emrys. He will find a way."
Gazing up into the man's brown, weather creased face, she managed to nod in agreement, for all that she didn't feel it. "You're right. Of course you are."
"Here," spoke another voice, belonging to a much older Druid with a shock of startlingly white hair that fell well past his shoulders. "Have some of this; it'll settle your nerves."
Reluctantly, she accepted the skin, raising it to her lips and feeling the strong bite of alcohol as it slid down her throat. It did help in a way – she was a bit warmer now, and indeed, her trembling had subsided somewhat. But what she really wanted was a chance to be alone, to wander through the towering trees in search of the solace she needed in order to silence her troubled thoughts.
But of course, that was impossible. Even now, the hellish specters were out there, the distant noises of their piercing shrieks serving as a constant reminder as to why none of the Druids could risk moving more than a few paces away from the towering bonfire. No, a bit of restless fidgeting was the best she could do at the moment.
"Calm yourself, child," scolded an elderly woman with lively blue eyes and a huge, hooked nose. "Emrys will know what to do."
Unable to help herself, the girl let out an impatient sigh. She was sick to death of hearing about Emrys, the mysterious sorcerer in whom the Druids placed so much of their faith. He was supposed to make everything better for their kind, bring about a golden age where they could walk free in the sunlight, and yet what had he done? Nothing. The king was no longer in power and yet his son, the very same man who was supposedly destined to be the greatest ruler the world had ever known, still upheld the ban on magic and persecuted their kind wherever possible. Meanwhile, Emrys stood at his side and didn't do a thing to stop it. If he was really so powerful, then why didn't he…?
But her resentful musings came to an abrupt standstill just as the screeches in the distance did, replaced by absolute silence for several long heartbeats before the birds cautiously resumed their nighttime song. These were sounds that hadn't been heard in a week… a nightingale trilling out a beautiful melody, the soft scuffling of a small animal in the brush nearby. Could it be…?
"It's over," whispered the man beside her, his deep voice trembling with emotion. "It's really over."