When Merlin opened his eyes the exhaustion he'd felt the previous day had left him completely. Dull pain ran through each of his limbs, but in terms of energy he was entirely refreshed. Around him were piled mounds upon mounds of fur lined cushions. They'd served as more than adequate bedding for the night, and were softer than any material the young man servant had ever felt before. The Weaver's tent was dimly lit by a pair of torches that flickered lightly on their golden bracket stands.
Off to the right Lancelot lay snoozing amongst a similarly bedded pile. In the crook of his elbow the dragon egg was securely fasted to his arm by a strip of thick deer-hide leather. Psychically Merlin could hear the unborn dragoness snoring lightly within its shell. Smiling he sat up, stretched his arms above his head with a great yawn, and took in his surrounding fully.
Verown's wolf friend sat at the tents entrance. It's shoulders were cocked upward and its tail waved rhythmically through the air. Not a happy motion, the razor like fur of the tail danced like knives poised to impale any oncoming attacker. Verown himself was nowhere to be seen. However Merlin suspected he was just outside the tent flap with his oversized claymore at the ready. When he looked down at his own body he gave a start of surprise.
At some point while he slept the torn and dirt caked servants clothed he'd been wearing had been replaced by a set of elegant robes. A combination of gold and green threads spun their way up his arms and over the lower part of his stomach. This gave the illusion that he was garbed in vines and brush.
Upon each shoulder was stitched a different symbol. On the left was the tri-leafed symbol of the druids and on the right was the scarlet red dragon of the Pendragon family seal. Encircling his throat was a thin leather cord from which hung a wooden circulate on which was carved a foreign character its wearer did not recognize. Suddenly the tent flaps swished open and the energetic form of the Weaver pranced inside. A similar robe to Merlin's encased her child-like frame and around her waist hung several brightly colored pouches that gave off a tinkling noise as she moved. Her silver owl companion, or 'Oderan' as she'd refered to it was nested comfortably in her hair.
"Oh good," she said brightly, seeing that he was sitting up. "You're awake. Come along then Emrys. The two of us have quite a lot to do this morning before we become entrenched in the loathsome political situation of the camp. Dear Gods I'm not looking forward to that. Here, eat up." She tossed him a reasonably sized apple before skipping across the tent to retrieve her staff that lay hidden amongst her own bed pile.
"Where are we going?" Merlin asked, climbing to his feet and taking a generous bite of the fruit. He peered back down at his robes. "And why am I dressed like this, did you undress me last night?" Suspicion was laced into his voice. Having only arrived the previous evening he wasn't sure just how much he trusted this little girl who claimed to be over a century in age. Her right hand man had attacked him on sight, supposedly out of a desire to prove that he was a divinely begotten messiah. For obvious reasons he was skeptical about anything any of the Druids told him.
"To your cave of course," she said with a broad grin, spreading her arms wide. "And yes I did dress you, your other clothes were in despicable condition, and these are rather helpful when channeling magic. Don't be embarrassed," she said noting the crimson blush smear his cheeks. "It's nothing I haven't seen before. I'm old enough to be your great-great grandmother."
"Part of me doubts that," Merlin muttered. "And what do you mean 'my cave'? I haven't got a cave."
"Well of course you have a cave Emrys," the Weaver giggled patiently. "I suppose you haven't heard my prophecy about you? Oh well there's time for that once we get there. Emrys and his crystal cave. My I've waited such a long time for this…" she trailed off for a moment distractedly, before turning back to Merlin. "Let's go! Verown can look after Lancelot, and perhaps teach him to bond with his Oderan before it hatches." With that she turned on her heel and exited the tent. Sighing heavily Merlin followed. The first few steps were difficult as he kept tripping over the long folds of his robes. After a few moments of fumbling with their overly long hem he push open the tent flap and stepped out into the cool morning air.
Beams of sunlight barely managed to pierce their way through the limbs of the trees high above. Thick dew drops stained the few tufts of grass that hadn't been cleared away for camp space, and the smells of cooking breakfast overwhelmed all other senses. Merlin had been right in assuming that Verown had been standing guard at the door. The mage-warrior sat cross legged with his weapon laid carefully across his lap.
In one hand he held a whetstone which he ran across the blades edge, while in the other he held a thick burlap cloth soaked with lamp oil. The claymore was the epitome of two handed weaponry and would do a nobleman proud. He leapt to his feet and walked with Merlin and the Weaver to a small cook fire where a portly woman in a simple peasants dress was ladling out porridge to the few men who were awake at that early hour.
These men bowed in respect as their young looking leader approached, to which she responded with a quick nod and a cheerful smile. Verown sent them scurrying off with a wave of his hand. Several of them dropped their clay bowls as they dashed to get away. Apparently Verown was considered quite intimidating amongst his comrades. He accepted a bowl from the cook before sending her away as well. His mwolf familiar padded its way down from the tent and licked its lips tentatively hoping for scraps. Stirring the bowls contents around with his hand carved spoon, he looked to the Weaver.
"You're taking him to the cave today, Mother Weaver?"
"Indeed Verown. Please don't let anyone follow us. Emrys has no need to be involved with the people's petty squabbles just yet. I want you to train with Lancelot today. He's magnificent with a sword but one can always use further instruction. Make sure that he keeps the egg with him at all times. It would be a catastrophe if it were to fall into the wrong hands. Do you understand?" Verown nodded.
"I do mother Weaver. Would you like a new sword forged for the boy? He told me his old blade was destroyed when he retrieved the egg of beneath the old Dragonlord keep." The Weaver considered for a moment.
"Yes. Have my suit of silverite mail melted down for it. I hardly have any use for armor, and the material is light and sharp as a flint when forged properly. Eat up quickly Verown. You've much work today and Emrys and I must get to the cave and back as soon as possible."
"What is this cave you keep talking about?" Merlin asked, ignoring the bowl of food in his lap.
"The crystal cave Emrys. I thought I told you," chided the Weaver. "However your confusion is understandable. Your prophecy speaks of it and its role in your fate." She raised a hand, preventing him from interrupting. "I'm aware that Kilgharrah's told you of the prophecies and what many of them imply, but please, do not ask me what exactly they say quite yet. Once in the crystal cave all your questions will be answers. In fact, I'm afraid you'll be learning more than you wish. I always assumed the Pilgrim would bring you there himself when the time came, but no matter. Fate weaves itself as it wills." Knitting his eyebrows frustrated, Merlin asked.
"If you won't tell me what this 'crystal cave is then at least answer me this. Who is the 'Pilgrim'? Lancelot said that a man who called himself that sent him on a flying horse to where he would find me. Who is he, why has he been helping Lancelot? You must know him if you're as old as you say you are." Twinkling little lights flashed across the Weaver's wide eyes and her smile spread.
"Go and start work on that sword Verown. I wish to speak to Emrys in private." Verown rose from his seat, dropped a bow, and ran off towards the smithy's hut with his familiar following dutifully. The Weaver rose as well, and motioned for Merlin to follow. Together the two of them walked the length of the camp until they reached the edge of the woods, where two large oak stumps marked the start of the muddy forest path.
"I know the Pilgrim very well," she told him once they were safely away from the camp and any prying ears. "It was he who taught me to hone my ability to see and touch the threads of life, and he was there when I first sung the prophecies to the high King Vortigern, Arthur's great-grandfather, a century ago. It's rather ironic when you think about it, seeing as I was the one who taught him to master his abilities as well."
"But who is he?" Merlin persisted. He was growing less and less patient every time the girl spoke and the little trust he had for her was waning thin. "If he was there a century ago then he must be at least as old as you are. How can people possibly live so long, does he look like a little boy then?" Another giggle escaped her.
"Oh he's much older than I. Come next month he'll be nearly seventeen hundred years old. And no he isn't a little boy, he's an old man, with the longest whitest beard that you'll ever see. That's where our similarities in that aspect end however. Both of us are kept alive by the same powerful force, our destinies. Our paths lay out before us have not ended, and so we have not withered away. While he aged and his body decayed I was meant to retain this form.
And thus I appear to be a little girl. But that wasn't really your question was it? Who is the Pilgrim…well that's a rather complicated story. One that I believe he's meant to tell you himself. No matter. I will tell you what it is you need to know at this moment. He is the guardian of your fate, of Arthur's fate. He is the guardian of chose chosen to change the course of history. Whatever higher power watches over the world has gifted him with the knowledge of what was, what is, and what will be. You too will receive such a gift. Together with him you are the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end of all things. In the cave you will see what made him what he is, though only when the cave wills it so."
Merlin blinked, and then blinked again. That was quite a mouthful. It answered his question yet answered nothing at the same time.
"Uh…what does all that mean?"
"It means that he knows what's going to happen, when it's going to happen and why it's going to happen. Your threads are interwoven similarly to yours and Arthurs, though in a different way and for a different purpose. No more questions now. The cave is very close." Indeed it was.
The path had all but disappeared, fading into a dusty rubble covered terrain that led up to the rocky crest of a hill. A lively spring flowed over its top and pooled together at the hills base as serene pond of cyan blue. However these things were not what caught the young sorcerers eyes. Carved into the hill was the perfectly circular mouth of a cave, gaping at the air like some overgrown beast deprived of oxygen. Pitch black filled it. Nothing could be seen within.
"You can make a flame I assume?" the Weaver asked. Merlin nodded numbly his eyes still fixed on the black portal of nothingness.
"Agnis," a magical flame came into being above his palm. It floated several inches above his skin and its warmth spread from his bones to the tips of his fingers. The Weaver's tiny hand went to his shoulder.
"Hold it close to you and do not let it go out. The flame will be your guide. Look into the reflections of the crystals and the truth will reveal itself to you." With a gentle thrust of her wrist she sent him stumbling forth into the cave.
Moisture was thick in the atmosphere. His breath was visible in the little light his spluttering flame provided. On occasion he was tripped by one of the loose stones that were strewn across the wet ground. Stalactites and stalagmites protruded from the floor and ceiling like stone teeth ready to crush and devour. For nearly a quarter of an hour Merlin moved at a snails pace through labyrinthine halls. Until that is he saw a sparkle of color out of the corner of his eye.
Raised above the cavern floor was an opening only two or three paces across. From within shone an eerie light, like a mixture of sea green and royal purple. Pushing more energy into the flame he caused it to grow, increasing the lights intensity. Quickening his pace Merlin tiptoed to the opening and lowered himself to his knees to look inside. At once his jaw hit the floor.
The chamber within was small, however its size did nothing to decrease its magnificence. It was a shimmering globe of crystals brighter and more finely cut than even the wealthiest nobleman could hope to get their hands on. Above Merlin's palm the flame began to dance and spin as if it were being drawn towards the gemstones. Taking this as a sign, albeit a sign he couldn't quite comprehend, Merlin crawled on his hands and knees into the globe.
"Ah!" he cursed. The stones were razor sharp and tore tiny holes in the skirt of his robes and cut across the skin of his knees. The pain subsided quickly. Shadows flashed over the glistening surface of the crystals. Jumping from his palm the flame's light filled the stones, and in a single instant a brighter light than he'd ever seen in his life stung at Merlin's eyes. All memories of pain and thought left him. Gold filled his irises. Dream-like images began to swirl and twirl through his field of vision.
A pair of warriors one wearing a crown, the other draped in a torn robe black as night itself. A sword at the bottom of a lake with curved words written on its blade. An old man with a white beard leaping forward with his arms spread. The roar of two dragons, one huge the other significantly smaller than the other as they flew into battle, whether against each other or against an unseen third party he could not tell.
A womans evil smile. This image held longer than the others. She was beautiful. Her face was obscured by a gray veil. She was with child and her stomach bulged stretching the silk of her dress. Darkness permeated from the bulge. It reeked of vengeance, of hatred, of sadness. And then the image faded, making way for the last of them. A stone tomb in the middle of a lush meadow. Flowers were piled atop it and an elderly woman with silvery colored hair lay sprawled across it, weeping. Carved into the stone was a single line that from that point forward would forever be burned into Merlin's memory.
Here lie Arthur, formerly king, and king to be