Side note: I do not own Merlin or its beautiful characters, they are property of the BBC and Shine Ltd. (If I did own it the series would be so much different, such as Merlin revealing his magic to Arthur early and Freya becoming a recurring character.)
A Budding Romance
A Merlin fanfiction story
Chapter 1: Strangers Come in Different Forms
Despite being born and raised a druid, I never actually considered myself to be one because of my inability to cast any form of magic properly. It does take a lot of practise to prepare and accomplish to fully immerse yourself within the magical experience - that much is true, as I'd been aware - but no matter how many times I have learnt about the basic concept of what spells do and when to cast them at the right moment, and the amount of times I had to drag my weary feet over to the Stonehenge and drone indecipherable hymns while holding hands, I still wasn't able to achieve my goal.
Even the druids themselves seem keen to keep pushing me to become one of them as they claim that having a girl in their group would be "unique", adding it would "please the Gods immensely", whatever that meant.
I've never gotten why religion has to work its way into almost every conversation. It's quite bothersome hearing people wanting to 'do this do that by order of our Lord and Saviour'. It's an ear-worm and it's irritating! I'm not in any way a believer in the craft, so it made sense that I didn't understand it.
So, why join this secret cult if I am a non-believer in religion?
It wasn't actually my choice, which was apparent, considering it was more of an accidental encounter, if anything. I will gladly put the blame on the druids for getting me caught up in this shameful act.
It all started when I got lost while stocking up on apples one night and just so happened to stumble across their camp. I hadn't meant to, of course, so I tried to escape, but I wasn't able to as their camp was heavily guarded and blocked off by some sort of invisible supernatural force that was (and still is) unknown to me. I was coaxed in the most bizarre way possible, so bizarre in fact it's really hard to describe exactly what my childlike mind could comprehend at the time.
I seem to remember one of them warning me - and I use the term very loosely as it doesn't sound like a warning - in a somewhat eerie manner, "It's a sin to God if you don't."
The only option I could come up with was lying, and since the topic of religion seemed to be inescapable these days just as I had been inescapable with the camp, I told them I was religious. (I couldn't exactly remember what sort)
This was followed by the leader grabbing hold of my arm to press something metallic and hot below my wrist, punctuated by me yelping quite loudly from the skin peeling heat. Removing the metallic disc revealed a pink scorched imprint of a marking of some kind: It showed three swirling legs circling around a tiny dot and extended outwards like a tornado in a fierce storm. I hadn't a clue to what it meant at the time; I originally thought it had something to do with acceptance and security, the fact that I was a new member of the druid camp. I was thinking on the right lines, alas not in a way that made it any more comforting or welcoming.
The druids then sent me on my way, telling me I could come back "when the next evening dawns on the land" so I could practise magic for the first time.
Thus came the moment my life began turning against me all those years ago.
I was just turning thirteen in the year 587. It had been five years since I joined the druid camp and my powers less than improving; worsening, even. I'd never known magic to become so powerful, it was like attempting to tame a ferocious beast. The druids were able to control their own powers with ease in a matter of weeks, but I was failing miserably with mine year upon year upon year. Any wrong move I make it would either do nothing or go off-course to damage windows, china pots and furniture pieces without telling it to.
The druids were never patient nor polite with me, as expected with most people I normally meet, but those were weak compared to the treatment I would get from the druids.
Surely they don't act like soul-crushing menaces! Surely they can't be that horrible! you may think. That might very well be true, but hear me out, the ones I have met were not as friendly as I made out to be at first all-too-innocent glance.
They were stern and strict, sometimes yelling profanity at me and torturing me in the process if ever I did anything wrong, which happened typically on a nightly basis.
"Coward!" A druid would yell during the many punches and whippings.
"Shameful!" Another spat.
"Worthless!" Another.
"Stupid!" And another.
"Weak!" And another.
"Bitch!" Yet another, a foul-mouthed one, hollered.
Do you see what I mean? How would you have felt if you were in that very same situation as I? It would have been a horrifying experience, would it not?
I would tell my parents about it, but they unfortunately didn't understand because they weren't brought up as druids the same way as I was. All I would get in return was "You'll learn from your mistakes, eventually.", which didn't really help things in the slightest. In spite of this, I used to always come to them in times of trouble and doubt. They were the only people I could trust, anyway; lovely and caring as they were.
I'd pray incessantly to someday meet another druid or druids that would take me under their wing and teach me how to do magic without having to put up with endless pain and suffering.
The daytimes were the only times I'd get a decent amount of freedom: I used go about my day doing many simple tasks required around my household, such as washing and cleaning up inside and out of the house, collecting fruit, going fishing, or just simply gazing into the twinkly waters and misty mountains that I liked to call home.
I used to live in a quaint little village just off the many scenic coastlines of Pentrefhardd; Adeline, it was called, named after the noblewoman Adeline Atkinson, I think it was, who founded it. It wasn't a very popular village, but that didn't stop locals and the occasional tourist from visiting. No surprise, really, considering its beautiful backdrop! I remember it fondly like the back of my hand.
I lived in a fairly small, single cottage perched atop a cliff, which wasn't too close or too far away from the edge. The cottage itself had a sturdy stoned structure with a grey thatched roof neatly assembled on top. The interior was rather tiny as well, with only one room in it as we couldn't afford an extension. One corner of the room had three wooden chairs gathered around a wooden table in front of a bricked up fireplace, another corner was a kitchen of sorts with an oven and a worktop for cooking, another had three separate beds and a worktop for clothing, and another had a neat pile of shoes near the doorway and tools for gardening purposes next to it. That's it. That goes to show how poor we really were.
Surrounding the cliff was a lake that seemed to stretch out into the horizon for miles and miles. Whenever sunlight touched it, tiny diamonds would shimmer and sway along the surface. It was as if we had discovered a mining facility somewhere underwater! Overlooking that was the tallest and most majestic mountains you could ever imagine. It is forever shrouded in mist, even in the summer, and that's a good thing as it makes them look even more picturesque.
I loved living there, it was like heaven. If only it stayed that way.
I came home one night after another exhausting lesson on magic. I didn't bother having any dinner, so, succumbing to my extreme tiredness, I practically threw myself under the bedsheets and was out like a light within seconds.
Once again, I had been unsuccessful in casting magic and was tortured mercilessly at the camp because of it. I had a huge ringed gash around my neck just above my collarbones where I was nearly strangled to death by a strip of thick leather, possibly a whip from a carthorse or some such, and the only reason for this torture was all because I mispronounced a word in the spell book. Luckily, it didn't completely tear through my skin; I would've lost a gargantuan amount of blood if it did happen. Heaven knows what might've happened afterwards! Again, as you can no doubt imagine, it was a really frightening experience!
I had momentary peace that night despite the irritable throbbing in my neck. Unfortunately, the next morning didn't fair any better, for the pain was still unbearably sore. It became even harder when I went to pick our daily strawberries and apples around the village. I had to try my hardest not to crane my neck too much or it's a battle to fight against the sharp stabbing pain that had been causing me distress for seemingly hours on end.
It also didn't help that I would once again be welcomed with more torture at the camp in the evening. The druids would no doubt be adding an even deeper gash below my neck than the previous night. The pain from that very night felt like fire surging deep within the pores of my skin, a constant flame licking and lashing through the newly open wound. It was pure agony! I dread to think what this evening would be like, the experience would probably be even worse than the last. A worrying thought, indeed!
Whilst my mind was whizzing away, what I didn't expect was someone watching over me as I went about my business as usual. I turn a corner, and nearly jumped out of my skin by what I saw.
A man, much younger than father, was staring at me from a few feet away. He was quite tall, but not nearly the same height as me. He had lush brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a stubbly face. He wore loose, ragged clothes and old black boots to match.
"Sorry to disturb. I couldn't help but look at that sore cut on your neck. Do you need any help?"
The moment he spoke, I was surprised by how high his voice sounded, the sound of something akin to a young boy turning into a teenager for the first time. He looked much older than an average teenager, that's for absolute certain, but then again appearances can be deceiving at times.
Talking to strangers wasn't really my strong point, so I was too petrified to say or do anything. I had a plethora of questions flooding my mind. Who was this man? Was he a close friend or a relative of my mother's and father's? Does he know about me? I wanted to ask him these questions, but, because of my stupid stupid STUPID simple-mindedness, I was too shy to say or do anything.
I suddenly realise he was approaching me and I shrink away. The man noticed this and held a hand up at me. "Hey, it's okay. Don't worry. It won't hurt, I promise you." he coaxed.
I then saw something gripped firmly in his hand, which looked to be a small piece of white cloth of some description. This made me have a sudden, worrying thought: Had this man come all this way to knock me unconscious and kidnap me? Goodness, I hoped not!
I inch away again, this time with much force than before. The man continued approaching me until the lower half of my spine bashed fiercely against a thick tree branch of a fresh apple tree. I was now trapped with the man, who continued to stare at my gash with a suspiciously calm expression on his face.
"Now, hold still."
No! Get away from me, you fiend!
I wanted so desperately to say that to him, but alas, nothing came out. Words like that never came out of my mouth. People think me too naive to even say things like that. If only I wasn't so naive. Whenever I felt a sense of dread, a knot would start coiling up in the pit of my stomach, causing me emotional and at times physical pain. If only I could untie that knot and belt out my feelings to the people I'd meet. I would then feel relieved afterwards, knowing that people would pay more attention and understand how I really felt.
If only I could've applied those enclosed feelings to the situation I am in right now. I would've rebelled against the man trying to strangle me, blindfold me, cover my mouth with the cloth or whatever his intentions were. I would've told him not to kidnap me, I would've fought against him, I would've won the battle. Mother wouldn't be too pleased, though.
I continue staring at the man warily as he slowly dapped some sort of ointment into the cloth and bound the open wound around my neck with careful precision. I winced a little at the cold liquid against the wound, but I still froze in place, unsure of what to do.
It took no more than thirty seconds when the man had finished binding and stepped back to inspect me. "There you go. Doesn't that feel better?"
Okay, maybe he has no interest in kidnapping me after all.
But I still had my doubts.
Before I had a chance to utter a single word, a sound interrupted the both of us.
"Freya! Come inside for luncheon!"
Mother, calling me from the kitchen window of my cottage. She seemed too busy cleaning the oven inside and out to notice us.
"Your name's Freya?" the man queried, suddenly piquing interest. "Nice name. It was nice meeting you, Freya. I'll see you another time, maybe?"
I still didn't say anything, I just watched him waving at me as he leisurely strolled down the path into the village and disappeared behind some villagers.
This was my first encounter with a man and it wouldn't be the last.
Author's Notes
There isn't really an area on the map called Pentrefhardd, it's all made up in the core regions of my brain! The name "pentref-hardd" is actually Welsh for "beautiful village". I thought it sounded like a nice place name, so I used it. Clever, innit? ;) What about Adeline? Well, guess what? That's made up, too!
I really hope you like reading this chapter. Stay tuned for the next one!
GP99