The abyss is a realm of darkness beyond imagining. Fires dance coldly in the space between the worlds. Pits of ice filled. Rivers of blood. Horrors that haunt the nightmares of children and men alike made flesh. Demons inhabited these lands. Creatures of shadow, created by the shameful pride of the human race. Hubris. Desire. Lust. These drove demons forward to feed on the mortals of the world.
One demon in particular reared its head in delight. Threads of black hatred now linked him to a mortal anchor. A king. A host that would bind him to the physical plane. Around him the hordes of the damned quaked in fear. No man could destroy the Agmar demon. No man could harm him. Before his might, the armies of men would fall, and in wake of his gluttonous feast his brethren would be freed.
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The Pegasus landed lightly on the lake's muddy shore. Beams of sunlight skimmed the lakes glassy surface, making the water sparkle with a serene sense of peace and holiness. Holy, Arthur decided. That was the word to describe this place. Reeds and thigh high grasses grew in tandem at the lakes edge. The trees that bordered the lakes enclosure were tall and robust. Beneath the surface schools of tiny fish swam rhythmically. This place was pure. Untouched by man's cruel industrious hand. If the gods had a dwelling place on the earth, then surely it was here.
Arthur pulled hard on the reins and slowed his mount to a halt. Each step the Pegasus made left an ugly footprint in the mud.
"Just like in my dream," Arthur whispered. "Exactly the same." And indeed it was. From the first tiny pebble on the ground to the last frond of overgrown foliage, it matched what the Pilgrim had shown him.
Pinking his way carefully around the flying horse's wing joint, the prince dismounted. A small groan escaped him as his boots made contact with the semi-solid ground. Mud filled the crevices of the finely tailored leather. Moisture seeped its way through his woolen socks to his feet. He absolutely despised having wet feet. It always made hunting, and walking general so very unpleasant. But it was done, so he would simply have to deal with it.
Taking the Pegasus' bridle he led it squelching through the mud to the forests edge. Using a piece of spare rope from his bag Arthur tethered the animal to a hardy pine. With this done he turned his attention to his purpose for being there. The lake.
Unlike any significant body of water he'd seen before, rivers, seas, and other lakes, it was entirely still. Not a single ripple broke the lake's perfectly smooth surface. Mystical forces were clearly at work. Natural magic old as time itself. A lady was the lakes guardian. That his mother had told him. And with the lake she guarded a sword forged for his hand. Hesitantly he sloshed down towards the shore.
POP! Arthur spun around. As quickly as they had appeared, the horses recently grown wings vanished without a trace. The Pilgrim's enchantments worm off, Arthur thought. The former Pegasus looked rather disappointed. Having spent it's foal years firmly planted on the ground, flying had been rather enjoyable. Now it would have to carry its rider on foot. They would have to return on foot. Upon realizing this, Arthur let loose another groan. Flying through the air, his journey back to Ealdor would have taken hours. On foot, it would take days. Guinevere would mind herself in the same predicament when returning from Camelot. Apparently, their rendezvous had been rescheduled.
Pushing these thoughts aside Arthur turned back to the lake for a second time.
"Arthur." The voice was quiet. Barely more than a whisper. Caught off guard Arthur jumped, barely catching himself from falling into the much. A jolt of surprise rocketed up his spine.
"Who's there?" he shouted. Wildly he looked around for the source of the voice. There was nothing to be found. No lady, no signs of life at all.
"Arthur," the voice said again. "Come to the lake. I have been waiting."
"Are you the lady?" he asked. No doubt ably to any onlookers he would look to be a mad fool, talking to water in search of a woman with a sword. Perhaps he was mad, seeing as he was talking to the water in search of precisely that.
"I am," said the voice. "Step into the lake, Artorius."
Throwing both caution and rationality to the wind, he obeyed. Arthur waded waste deep into the lake, taking each step with care. The water felt cool on his skin. Fish scattered with his movements, fleeing to the safety of deeper waters. Water lilies tangled around his limbs, though they broke away with the twisting of his waist. He stood there silently half submerged for several moments. Then it began.
At the lakes center ripples formed. Perfectly round in shape, they ringed their way outward towards the shores. Arthur gasped at what he saw next.
From the center of the rippling emerged a woman. Slowly, she rose from the waters, eyes closed, mouth hungrily gaping at newly found oxygen. The torn remains of a scarlet red dress crisscrossed her slender frame, covering very little of her pale body. Between the rotten threads were woven wet reeds. These covered her breasts, fanning round her hips. Though they concealed her nudity, the reeds only added to her sensuous appearance. This was a nymph, a wild goddess of beauty and desire. She opened her eyes and smiled at the prince. Gliding through the water like it wasn't there at all, she approached her guest.
"Welcome, Arthur," she said. "I am the lady of the lake, the guardian spirit of these waters. It's lovely to see you again. Last we met, the circumstances were… rather unpleasant."
"We've met before?" Arthur asked, schooling his face to remain calm. He had memory of ever encountering such a spirit in the past. The Lady nodded.
"We have. I was not always a spirit. Before I came to be here I was a mortal woman called Freya." The name sounded familiar to the prince, though he couldn't place where he'd heard it. "However you have never seen me in this form. My human form. Or at least what appears to be my human form. You had the displeasure of witnessing my cursed form. Do you remember fighting a winged panther?" Instantly the memories clicked into place.
"You're the cursed druid girl, the one who escaped from the bounty hunter!" It had happened more than a year ago, but he remembered it clearly. After a cursed druid girl had been brought into the city, she had escaped her captor. Blighted with terrible nightly transformations, the girl had become a monster, and had torn apart several innocent townsfolk. Together with Sir Leon he had cornered the deformed beast in the castle courtyard, and had managed to wound it before a stone gargoyle had fallen from the roof, and the panther had fled into the sky.
"Indeed. " She lifted a piece of fabric from her side. A puckered scar marred her skin. "Your wound struck true. I died from that blow. As the life left my body, Merlin brought me here, and sent my funeral pyre floating across the lake."
"Merlin? You knew Merlin?" That was where he'd heard her name, from Merlin. The manservant had mentioned the name in passing without elaborating. A knot of horrible foreboding suddenly filled Arthur's stomach. Freya closed her eyes, smiling in blissful remembrance.
"Merlin was the reason it took you so long to find me. He hid me from the guards. He snuck me food, I hope you weren't too angry with him for that. Even when he discovered my curse he did not abandon me. He offered to run away with me, to a place such as this," she gestured to their surroundings. "Where we could be free, together. He would have done anything to protect me, even if it meant abandoning his duties to you I…fell in love with Merlin those day, and he fell in love with me." The knot in Arthur's stomach exploded. Horrible guilt, rueful regret, was all he felt.
He had killed the woman Merlin loved. How had Merlin even been able to speak to him? Was the prophecies warlock truly so forgiving?
Of course, he hadn't known who she was. Hadn't know her relationship with Merlin. But the fact still remained. He had killed the woman Merlin loved. This was a sin that would weigh heavy on his heart forever.
This was made only worse by the fact that, if their positions had been swapped, and Merlin had killed Gwen, Arthur would never forgive him. No matter the circumstances. A kind hand cupped his cheek.
"Do not fell guilt over my death Arthur. In ending my life you freed me from the curse. Merlin holds no ill will towards you for it. He understands. I am happy here, in this lake. My job role as guardian suits me. Now, we must get to business. As nice as it is to talk, that is not why you are here." She withdrew her hand. "You are here for your sword." She took several steps back, and plunged her hand into the water. When she pulled it up a moment later, she held a shimmering sword tightly in her grasp.
With it laid across her open palms, the sun beams hit the blade, igniting it with golden light. Arthur stared in opened mouthed awe. Appearance wise the sword was hardly different than a soldier's standard long sword. But this was no mere soldier's weapon. This was the blade of a king. Despite having spent ages underwater it showed no signs of rusting. Glistening with water droplets, it looked newly forged.
"This is Excalibur, which in the Old tongue means cut-steel. I have named it as such, for that is what it will do in your hands." Her fingers traced the over the small curved words etched into the blade just above the guard. Squinting, Arthur could just barely make it out.
Take me up
Freya flipped Excalibur over in her hands, revealing three more tiny words on the blades other side.
Cast me away
"Whoever wields this sword is hereby and forthwith the rightful king of all Albion. Merlin had this sword forged for you and you alone. Tempered in Kilgharrah's fire, it has been made sacred. For more than a year it has sat at the bottom of this lake, at Albion's doorstep. Gods will is imbued within its metal, and Gods will shall guide your hand." Freya's voice grew quieter, more serious, with less grandeur. "Know that this sword is for you alone. In the hands of anyone else, it will bring only death, only destruction."
She lifted the sword, and placed it lightly on Arthur's right shoulder.
"Do you swear to use this weapon only for the cause of good, to fight for love, peace, and the welfare of all Albion's people." Arthur sank to his knees. The water rose as high as his pectorals. He thought back to his crowning as high prince, his naming as heir to Camelot's throne. A similar ceremony was now taking place, but Arthur knew that this ceremony, which took place not in a castle or palace but in the untamed wilderness, was of far more importance. How he knew did not know. The Pilgrim had sent him, and he had come.
"I do," he said with complete sincerity.
"Then I as the spirit of this lake and the keeper of Excalibur entrust it, along with all its power, to you Arthur Pendragon, king for once and always." Freya offered him the hilt, he took it.
The grip felt familiar in his hands. Warmth passed over his palm and into his fingers. He couldn't help but smile. Understanding flickered in his mind. Holding the sword, he felt whole. It was not a weapon forged of the elements, not just a tool, but an extension of his body, a part of his very being.
"Thank you, Freya. My lady." Arthur rose to stand. "Thank you."
"You are most welcome your majesty," Freya said. "Nothing could honor me more than to be the one to pass Excalibur on to you. Destiny has great things in store for you, Arthur. For you and Merlin both." Turning she pointed across the lake at a gap in the trees that would serve as an entryway into the forest. "Ride hard an hour in that direction and you will find him. He has become the prophet he is meant to be, but what is a prophet without his king? When you see Merlin, give him my love. I shall be seeing him again myself soon, I think." Arthur stared. Merlin was close by? This changed everything. Now he could return to Ealdor with Merlin, or at least word of him. Together, perhaps they could sort through the convoluted mess that their lives had become.
"Before you go, may I ask a favor of you?" Freya asked. Arthur nodded.
"Of course."
"When the Pilgrims time comes, when he dies…would you bring his body here to me?"
"You know the Pilgrim?" Arthur queried.
"I do. Merlin was the most important person to me during my mortal life. While the Pilgrim has, is, and will be the most important to me in my existence as a spirit. His life has been long, and he is tired. Here, perhaps he can finally rest. Will you bring him here, please?" Arthur hesitated. Having not fully accepted the Pilgrim was dying, he was reluctant to agree to such a thing.
"I will," he told her. He would. When the time came he would.
"Thank you, Arthur Pendragon. Until our next meeting." With her task done, the Lady of the Lake sank back into the water, fading from sight.
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Okay, another chapter done and I'm starting on the next one right now. Sorry if stuff isn't happening for you guys. For reviews, I'd like to make a request. How's my writing? If you could leave comments about that be great. I'd also like to apologize for infrequent updates. A guy on this site wrote a story twice as long, he started three months later than I did, and its already done. I feel real bad about that. Sometimes I just have problems getting myself to write. But for today, I have overcome my procrastination tendencies, yay! Happy reading!