Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin
"They're here," Mithian murmured.
Mithian sat straighter on her horse, along with Arthur and Elyan, in the middle of a small, quiet meadow about a half a day from the city. After a short debate, they decided to go without guards in hopes of appearing peaceful to the Druids, especially, the Nemethian princess grumbled, when the King of Camelot was involved. Besides, guards were unnecessary, and the quicker they reached their destination the quicker they were to finding a solution against the chimeras. With only a half a day distance, Arthur decided not to comment but could not help wonder about the location of the Druid being so close to the city. It somewhat surprised the King, at least, until he realized this was the level of trust those Druids had for a king who did not hunt them down.
"Where are they?" Elyan asked, his eyes scanned the forest trees for a robed figure. Arthur wondered as well when he spotted from across the clearing a cloaked figure that stepped out from behind the trees. The stranger pulled down his hood and revealed a middle-aged man whose hair was just beginning to grey and face lined by his years of nomadic life.
"Princess," bowed the druid. He glanced, suspiciously, at her companions; his eyes lingered on Arthur then strayed to the sword belted to his hip. Arthur wore his typical attire, chainmail and cape, along with Elyan who bore the Pendragon crest with pride. The King had not wanted to intimidate the druids but decided to be open to them of who they were. The druids would only be more wary of him if he tried to hide his identity.
Arthur noticed the druid eying his sword and, with a signal to Elyan to follow his example, the King unbelted his sword and presented the sheathed weapon, handle first, to the druid.
"We have no quarrel with your people, just a request," Arthur said, careful not to make sudden action as to scare the man.
The druid shook his head, "There is no need nor time for suspicion, Sire. We have been awaiting your arrival. Keep your weapons but please refrain from drawing them out."
"We wish to speak to the Chieftain of your clan," requested Mithian while Arthur and Elyan belted their weapons back to their hips.
The druid gave one more bow then motioned for the trio to dismount their horses and follow him into the trees. Though hesitant, Arthur threw his leg over his horse and jumped to the ground, around him his companions also dismounted. Together they entered the forest.
Not long after, they approached two large oak trees with gnarled roots carpeted the ground and whose branches formed an archway. It was at this archway that the druid stopped them and gave a small incantation; once finished a glimmer of gold of a barrier flashed across then faded from between the trees. The druid beckoned forward with assurance that the barrier they had briefly seen was no longer there; after they moved through, the druid turned back and replaced the barriers.
The seen that met them left Arthur momentarily speechless for past the trees was the largest Druid campsite he had ever seen; dozens of druids scurried about, busy in their daily chores, while children ran about in play. The outskirts of the camp held a mismatch collection of tent set haphazardly about while closer to the center tents became a more uniform in the colors of the forest and arrangement. Of the druids themselves, many were performing various medial tasks; as the group walked past, many nodded to the Princess in greetings, and none held fear or loathing against the royalty, an emotion that almost all sorcerers Arthur had met held.
"This has to be the largest druid camp I've ever seen," remarked Elyan, just as surprise as his King.
"There was never this many last time I visit. It seems as if this camp grew triple its size since I last came here," Mithian agreed.
"That's because it has, milady," answered the druid, somber. "Many of our sister clans who dare hide within Camelot's territory fled when Morgana began to hunt them down."
"These are the druids from Camelot?" Arthur asked. It surprised the King the they would chose to leave the only kingdom that allowed magical freedom. Arthur could assume Morgana's reign would be kind to those who shared a kinship in sorcery.
The druid nodded, "Druids are peaceful by nature. When Morgana took the throne, she went to every clan and sorcerer she could find and forced them to swear subservience to her. She preaches peace and freedom for all yet she slaughters anyone who dares not follow her rule. This, she claims, is our duty for the victims of the Purge to bring about our vengeance on the people who wronged us. Some say she had brought another Purge on us."
"So the druids here do not support her?"
"No. We are follower of Emrys, we believe in the world the Once and Future King will create."
"And what world will this King create?"
"King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot," the druid said, he met Arthur in the eye and gave him a slight smile, "you are destined to bring about peace and unification of Albion and return magic to the land."
The druid's proclamation left the King speechless; Gaius had mention those prophecies in explanation of Emrys, only giving and idea on the importance of protecting the individual, but never had he mentioned to what extent or his own involvement. The amount of faith they placed on it and what he was supposedly destined to do was astounding. These people had not only supported someone raised in the ideals that had led to their persecution, but they also chose to defy Morgana on pain of death in those beliefs.
Guilt struck the King over what he and his father had done to these people and what he had so stubbornly chose to believe. How could he think of them as monsters? From where he saw, none of the druids matched his stereotypical view of sorcery. Rather than a face twisted in hatred and eyes that promised death with a gold vengeance, the druids paid the king no mind, attentive on when to get supper completed rather than murder the source of their persecution. Arthur had seen firsthand what magic was capable, Arthur knew that if magic was as black and white as Uther taught him to be then these people would be more than enough to overthrow the regime if they had wanted to do.
Then what of those sorcerers who attempted to kill the royals of Camelot? Were they really just a small portion of the magical community? How many innocents, like the people before them, had they executed for the sole fact that they practiced sorcery?
The King thoughts drifted to his manservant, and everything that revelation had brought forth, of the pain, anger, betrayal that swirled around the servant. Would a good man really choose to lie for nearly a decade? In the back of his mind, a small whisper of agreement responded; however, Arthur could not release the hurt. Merlin had served him for years, years that the King had trusted man, years in which Arthur spoke of matters he had told to none other than his supposed friend. Arthur's dreams, fears, insecurities, everything that the King had held close was laid bare before the servant and all those times Merlin had been keeping secrets from him. Merlin had never trusted Arthur.
Once again, Arthur was brought back to the evils of magic. Arthur could not cast aside his father's teachings, not when the supposedly honest Merlin turned liar or his once beautiful and kind sister degraded into a crazed witch who did not hesitate to kill any who stood in her way. Magic, capable of bringing out the darkness of a person, was not something that should be allowed free reign in the kingdom, if only to protect his people from its taint. The druids were peaceful by nature, and Arthur regretted the pain they had suffered over the years, but that did not mean sorcerers were innocent nor were the druids immune to the evil of magic. Arthur found his mind shying away from the morality of magic users behind the solid wall Uther's teachings; the lessons of his youth slammed back into the King's mind all the while a small voice of logic protested the unfairness such prejudiced view were on the people.
Upon reaching a large tent found near the center of the campsite, Arthur shifted his attention away from his musings. There was still time to ponder the nature of magic, for now the King must focus on what the druids could reveal to them. The druid who led them lifted the flap and, with a bow, bade the group into the tent. The trio ducked inside and found three elderly men within; three druids, with solemn expressions upon their face, regarded the new arrivals.
Mithian gave a slight bow of her head to the eldest of the three who stood at the center. The wrinkles that lined his face told that of the hard life he had lived and the responsibilities he had borne on his shoulders. His white hair was thin and short and, clenched within his hand, was a gnarled staff that seemed to support the entirety of his hunched figure.
"Welcome Princess Mithian," nodded the druid before he turned to address the other two, "and welcome friends, I am Cyric, druid chieftain of the clan-"
"You're the druid who gave us the Cup all those years ago. Why are you here?" Arthur interrupted in surprise, addressing the druid he recognized that stood to the right of Cyric. Beside him, Mithian shot the King a glare for his rare display of impropriety.
"I am," the druid agreed. "I'm the one called Iseldir, chieftain of the druid clan who had once protected the Cup of Life. I led my people from our caves when Morgana Pendragon took the throne for she hunted us down for our servitude and knowledge of the warlock known as Emrys."
"Please, your Highness," pleaded an aged man. Behind him stood his wife who embraced their daughter, a young maiden, tightly against her chest. The woman wept and tried to shield her daughter from the view of the Queen who sat, dressed in the splendors of royalty, with the pride and confidence of a lady of court.
"I see no problem. Your daughter would be taken well care of," replied Morgana, her eyes stared down at the small family in disbelief and irritation.
"So you can turn my daughter into another one of your monsters? I see what you do to them," spat the mother, her maternal instincts pushed aside her fears to protect her daughter. "We kept our daughter safe for years from the pyre, we will keep her safe from your corruption."
"I think I had about enough of this nonsense," Morgana said. With gold in her eyes and a gesture of her hands, the magic wrenched the mother from the girl and caster her into the marbled floor, along with the father. Though they both tried to protest, another flash of gold kept their mouths sealed as well.
"NO!" shrieked the girl, watching her parents in horror. "Don't hurt them! Please!"
"A child such as you should not be wasted on the likes of a poor farmer and his wife. My dear, you have a superb talent in sorcery," Morgana said to the girl and turned to pair she held down. "Swefe nu."
The girl's parents slumped to the ground as they succumbed the sleep enchantment.
"I never used it willingly, I swear," she continued to cry. Then she knelt by her mother, and began to stroke the woman's hair as tears fell freely form her eyes.
"Child, don't fear, I will not harm you or your family, well that is only if you agree to one thing," said Morgana, her eyes gleamed as she beheld the girl.
"Anything, please don't hurt them."
"You will serve under me."
"No, I can't," the girl said, trembling. "I c-can't do it. Th-this p-power is dangerous. I just can't."
"Now don't let society's prejudice cloud your mind. Sorcery is as evil as the ground your father tills."
"Tell that to the sorcerers who killed my brother," the girl spat, though her attempt at intimidation was ruined by her quivering voice.
"Casualties happen. From what I heard the boy was in the way."
"That boy was trying to protect me from being taken!" The girl all but screamed.
"The boy was nothing. He was of little importance to me unlike you and if you still want a family left I suggest you take my offer, or…" Morgana clenched her hand into a fist and directed her magic concentrated towards closing the airways of the farmer and his wife. They jerked awake and laid there gasping like fish out of the water as they struggled to draw in air.
"Okay! OKAY! I will do it. Please don't do this, please!" The girl collapsed, sobbing as Morgana smirked and dropped her arm, releasing her spell from the farmer and his wife.
"Good, follow my every words else your parents will not be lucky next time they insult me and my kindness. Guards take the girl to her new quarters and her parents out of here," Morgana dismissed. The mother, still groggy in sleep, screamed for her daughter and the farmer clenched his fist as the pair stumbled from the throne room, the guards all but throwing them out. The girl screamed back from where she was held back by a guard and led away; Morgana simply smiled at the display as she sat upon the throne, her hand tapped against the side of the arm.
It was as the family was being pulled apart and led out separately that a pair of sorcerers strode into the room and knelt before Morgana. The witch recognize them as part of the force she had sent to destroy Ealdor days earlier and felt her irritation spike.
"Took you long enough. Where the hell is Tara?"
The sorcerers shared a look before one of them spoke up, "Tara was killed, milady"
"Killed?" Morgana said, her tone deadly.
"Yes, milady. When we have arrived at the village, we were quick in our attack, but Tara had split from the group and we later discovered her body in the surrounding forest. Someone had run her through with a sword, some knights, we believe, with the woman, Hunith. We found them in nearby cave systems and tracked them for days, but they slipped through our fingers."
Morgana gave them a cool glance before her eye turned gold and she gave a snap of her finger. From the corners of the room, hidden in the shadows, slunk a chimera, with lips curled back. Before either of the sorcerers realized the danger, the feline pounced one of them; its maws tore the man's throat apart. The sorcerer gasped blood gurgled from his mouth as his body slammed to the ground, under the full weight of the chimera, which continued to tear into the body. His partner kept his eyes down to the ground; he did his best to ignore the tearing of flesh and the disturbing gurgle next to him as his fellow sorcerer drowned in his own blood.
"I have no time for disappointments. Your friend and the guards who failed to keep a couple of miserable knights chained will serve as examples. Failure will not be tolerated, am I understood," Morgana threatened. The sorcerer mutely nodded.
"Good. Now clean up this mess." With that, Morgana left the throne room, leaving the sorcerer stricken as he glanced fearfully at the creature of magic that sill tore the body inches from him.
As Morgana walked through the halls of the castle, she could not help but sneer about her apprentice untimely end. It turned out the sorceress was not as talented as Morgana suspected, allowing herself to be caught off guard by a mortal blade. She would have to train a new apprentice of course, a better one who could do as told with precision and talent; but that could wait until later.
Instead, her mind concentrated on understanding how the knights were able to escape her dungeons. Morgana had reinforced those cells with enchantments that alerted her when there were unauthorized openings of the cells. None could escape without her knowledge and this caused unease to settle in Morgana; again, he witch thought of the possibilities of Emrys' involvement. Distantly she wondered of Merlin, still hanging in the dungeon, though the rope had been slackened enough so the sorcerer may stand on his feet soon after the man lost consciousness. No need to kill the idiot just yet, they still need information from him. The witch mused over the possibility that Emrys may attempt to free Merlin, if he was the reason for the previous escape. Aside from the knights escaping, the sorcerer had not made a move against Morgana since the months of her reign, and the witch grew edgier each passing day she could not find the man.
Morgana hated it. She felt no control over the situation as she waited for the figurative axe to fall. She could go after Arthur in Nemeth, the foolish kingdom that dared to house her brother, but for what, so that she could be thwarted around every corner by an over protective traitor? If she moved against Arthur, she could lose everything in Emrys' meddling. The game was a waiting one, and a single nudge in either direction could bring the situation crashing down on all of them. One wrong move, and Morgana would lose everything she had accomplished.
If Morgana was ever to ensure her place on the throne, Arthur had to be killed, but if she went against her brother, Morgana knew Emrys would move in to stop her. The warlock's biggest weapon was the air of mystery that surrounded him. Information was powerful, and without it Morgana knew the sorcerer was capable of catching her off guard. Her ignorance would be his weapon to throw her plans askew and return the throne to the tyrant.
The one they call Emrys will walk in your shadow.
Damn the Cailleach. Morgana would find Emrys and kill him; the coward who laid in comfort in the safety of the shadows. The witch would hunt him down to distance lands if she must to destroy the traitor. She would have his blood on her hands as she tore him apart bit by bit for every pain he had caused her.
He is your destiny.
Morgana knew the path she would take, that she was her right to take. The throne of Camelot was hers and the future of Albion hers to command. There was no destiny overruling her life; no prophesized warlock strong enough to smite her. She was a seer and if there was a future she knew, it was her own. With all she had seen in her visions, she had yet to see one that led to her death. She was the one in control and she will be the one to bring salvation to the children of magic. The Old Religion was her guide and Emrys could not deny her of her right.
He is your doom.
Morgana was in control of her own destiny, her own path. Once Emrys was killed, Morgana would have proof that no amount of pretty words would determine her life. Nothing would force their will upon her, whether it is her next course of action or her beliefs. Nothing controlled her, not since she turned away from Uther.
Morgana would end this game soon. It was only a matter of time before someone talked, whether it was the pathetic servant or a captured druid. Morgana would kill Emrys and, once she had destroyed the tyrant's protector, she would have Arthur's head on a stake and put on display to serve as a warning to all who opposed her. Hell, she could have a little fun with killing her brother, especially when Nemeth and its pathetic King needed to be taught a lesson for believing, for daring, they could go against her.
"For someone who is supposedly the most powerful sorcerer, it's surprising how much of a coward he is in allowing his followers to suffer for him," Arthur said after the surprise of seeing Iseldir faded away.
The spite that laced his tone shocked Arthur. He hadn't realized the frustration and anger he held against the mysterious sorcerer until now when he was met with more victims of Morgana. Yet he found himself staring at Iseldir in defiance, his thoughts back on Merlin again. Though the servant had betrayed him, Arthur could not help but feel anger towards Emrys; no one deserved to suffer the treatment Merlin was getting, a treatment the King knew would be brutal.
"Emrys had sacrificed much for this land. The time has come for us to help him."
"Why protect one over the good of the many? How many more must suffer to keep one man hidden?"
"How many more will die in this war if the one man capable of facing the witch dies? Emrys is no coward; the situation he is in is precarious. One slip of the tongue, one admission, will lead to his death."
"We cannot afford to lose Emrys; without his help we will be lost," said the third druid.
"And you have come for our aid; we have been awaiting your arrival since my people were driven from our lands as well as Orian," Iseldir said with a gesture to the third druid.
"You know of the creatures that serve Morgana?" Elyan asked.
"Yes," said Cyric, "The chimeras are creatures of dark magic from the Spirit world, not unlike the manticore. For them to live long in our world, a portal is required that is created through a blood sacrifice from a willing man and woman; both must be magic in blood. When this gateway is created, it has three days until it must be anchored or destroyed."
"What do you mean by anchored?" asked Arthur, his eyebrows creased.
"The gateway created is unstable; it requires another enchantment from a powerful sorcerer to anchor it to the earth. Without anchoring, the gateway's energy would rip it apart. However, once anchored, the creatures can only go a certain distance from the gateway, depending on how powerful the sorcerer is. Seeing as the creatures still guard the entirety of the city and still venture outside the walls, Morgana is powerful enough to use them as defense against an attack. She most likely planted the anchor at the center of the castle, probably underground."
"If we find the object used for the gateway and destroy it, does that rid us of the chimeras?"
"Not immediately, but since their connection to the Spirit world was cut off, they will grow weaker and weaker the longer they are away. Eventually they will lack the strength to support their body."
"That's it then," Arthur gave a nod of his head, "we find the source and destroy it so the knights can rid the citadel of them."
"It is not quite as simple, Sire," murmured Iseldir. "The enchantment used to stabilize the portal is powerful and cannot be broken with a mortal weapon."
Arthur gave a groan in annoyance, "Of course, nothing with magic is simple. Is there any way to destroy it?"
Iseldir looked to Cyric, who nodded, before responding, "Yes. A counter-spell performed by one equally or more powerful to the one whom anchored the gateway."
"Morgana has grown in power since she learned of her magic," Orian said.
"I can only think of one who is capable and willing to perform the spell," agreed Cyric.
"Emrys," Iseldir said, meeting Arthur eyes "is the only one who can help you."
Arthur was silent before he asked, "Then how are we to fight Morgana when our one chance remains conveniently out of reach."
"You assume that Emrys is safely hidden somewhere," laughed Iseldir humorlessly.
"Then where was he during the last four months as my people were slaughtered," argued Arthur in disbelief and irritation.
"Being tortured for the very information keeping him alive," whispered Iseldir.
Arthur paused, abuse against the unknown sorcerer still upon his lips as silence fell among the occupants of the tent and everyone tried to process the druid's words. Arthur stood stock still, unable to believe what he just heard.
"Interesting how you expect the worst from a sorcerer," Cyric said, his eyes piercing Arthur. "That you would believe that Emrys chose to stand by and watch while Morgana tears Camelot apart."
"It is time some truths were revealed to you Arthur," said Iseldir, "more importantly the true identity of Emrys so you may realize the warlock is a friend, not your enemy."
"Who exactly is he?" Mithian spoke up, her eyes questioning the druids. Arthur and Elyan looked expectantly for the one answer they wondered about over the last months. Who was the man that was so sought after by Morgana and protected by so many?
"Emrys is the name our people gave him, one adopted from the prophecies told centuries ago; however, Emrys was not his given name," Orian said.
"He lives at the heart of Camelot, always watching, always waiting for all who dares harm the kingdom and her people; He is the silent protector of Camelot, putting mind and body into his task while expecting no gratitude in return," Cyric said, his gaze staring off as he became adsorbed in his thoughts.
"He has accomplished much since he first set foot in Camelot. He is known by many names and many titles," continued Iseldir, "to the druids he is Emrys; to you he goes by the name of Merlin."
Arthur felt his stomach drop. Merlin? Merlin.
"He's not Emrys," Arthur found himself saying. "He's an idiot. A clumsy servant."
"He is more than the servant you know," Iseldir said.
"He is capable of far more than you can imagine," supplied Cyric, "Merlin, the warlock known as Emyrs, was capable of performing feats of magic that took years for sorcerers to achieve when he was merely a child; a child born with magic."
Arthur shook his head, still unable to accept the truth, "That's not possible. No one can be born with magic."
"You are wrong, Sire," Iseldir argued, though not unkindly. "People are born with the potential to draw magic from all around them, that is true. They can go through their entire life without learning or even knowing they can do magic. Then there is the select few, such as your sister, who are given no choice in the matter. Their power manifests as their body matures for their body seeks to draw the power in. Then there is Merlin. He doesn't have the potential to draw magic; instead he has direct access to the magic of the earth. Magic runs through his veins like blood, not because he drew it himself but because without it he cannot survive. The first time he used magic was when he was a mere babe."
"If he had magic since he was a child, why would he live in the heart of magic persecution? Is he that much of an idiot?" Arthur asked.
"Destiny nudges key figures down the path they are needed. Merlin's place was not as a farm boy of Ealdor, but as protector and guide to the Once and Future King," answered Iseldir.
"Bu-" started Arthur only to be interrupted by Orian.
"We do not have time for this! Every minute we spend arguing on this is one minute closer to losing everything. We are running out of time, Cyric!"
"Indeed," agreed Cyric, "King Arthur, it is imperative that we reach Emrys before Morgana kills him. Whether you like it or not, he is the reason Camelot still stands today and he is the key in defeating the chimeras. The other clans taking shelter here are peaceful but I lead one of the few druidic warrior clans, we will gladly help you retake Camelot if you if you promise us one thing."
"And what is that?" Arthur asked.
"Morgana has dragged out many sorcerers and forced them into her services. We ask you spare us and any sorcerer unwillingly dragged out. Many sorcerers wish no harm on Camelot, only wishing to live a peaceful, full life; don't blindly follow your father's laws and kill the innocents."
Arthur turned his gaze away for a moment and thought out the request. The druids would be an advantage to their cause, especially any versed in the art of battle. He needed their support, and though he did not want to agree to this proposition, not before Arthur settled down his own beliefs over magic, the King knew that they could not possibly defeat Morgana without the aid of magic.
With a sigh, Arthur extended his hand in agreement, still unsure, and Cyric grasped at the forearm and gave it a shake, sealing the deal.
"I will gather my warriors; we will be ready at first light tomorrow. Feel free to stay here and explore the camp," Cyric said, striding out of the tent.
Iseldir watched as Orian left as well before he addressed Arthur, "I will gather some healers from my own clan. Very few of my people are skilled in battle magic but they can make the difference between life and death when it comes to the injured."
Iseldir bowed then left, leaving the three to their thoughts. Before either Arthur or Elyan could speak, Mithian beckoned them to follow. The Princess guided the King and his knight out of the tent and soon the two sat by a campfire where a woman prepared a pot for supper while her daughter, who appeared to have seen eight or nine summers, chattered away as she handed her mother the ingredients. Mithian sat by the mother, picked up an unfinished basket from the ground, and began to weave it. While her mother stirred the pot, the little girl ran to Arthur, a big grin stretched across his face.
"Hello! I'm Aithne, what's your name?" the girl, Aithne, babbled excitedly, her hand rose in greeting.
Arthur gave a tentative smile, "I'm Arthur."
Throughout the exchange, the woman watched silently before calling out, "Aithne, come here dear."
"Mama, you going to show me how to make the flames dance now," Aithne ran to her mother and clasped the woman's skirt in excitement.
"Not today, honey. Maybe tomorrow."
"But Mama you said you would do it today!" whined Aithne, dropping down onto the ground with her arms folded and a pout on her face.
"Go ahead Kayla, you have nothing to fear," Mithian said, her hands worked deftly on the basket, but she flickered a glance towards Arthur and Elyan in warning.
Nodding, Kayla turned to her daughter who already got to her feet in excitement.
"Listen carefully, Aithne. The words are: Bryne frícaþ" said Kayla, saying the words of the spell slowly so that the girl could get each pronunciation correct. Though she faced the girl, her eyes were still on Arthur, watching his reaction as magic was about to be used before him. Elyan gave no indication that the magic bothered him, though he did give the woman a slight smile in reassurance while Arthur fidgeted in place, uncomfortable in the presence of magic.
"Bryne frícaþ?" Aithne asked. She enunciated each word with concentration.
Kayla nodded, "Now remember your lessons and draw the energies from around you when you incant, give it your full attention." Kayla removed the pot from the fire, nodding her head to the small fire to encourage the young girl.
Though not entirely comfortable that the child was about to perform magic before him, Arthur could not help but move closer, curious on what the strange words were meant to do. Beside him, Elyan also mimicked the King's movement, not wanting to miss the display.
The child stood over the fire; she straightened her spine and took a deep breath. With her eyes scrunched and small hands splayed above the fire, the girl incanted.
"Bryne frícaþ!" The girl opened her eyes which flared gold as the fire before her flew from the wood and floated in the air. With eyes still glowing, the girl twirled her wrists, feeling the magic rush through her fingertips as the fire formed into three flames weaved around each other in slow clumsy movements. Not even a minute passed before Aithne gave a gasp and the gold flickered away. The fire returned to the logs and the girl dropped her arms, panting slightly.
"Good, Aithne, but do not push yourself. You must recognize your limits as to not strain yourself," reprimanded Kayla. "Now go along and play with the other children."
With a quick hug, Aithne ran off shouting out to a group of children further away in excitement. Kayla returned the pot back upon the campfire and gave it a stir, a small smile of pride on her face.
"Why do you teach them something that can get them executed?" Elyan asked with genuine curiosity.
"Because it is our way of life, our tradition, to pass down our knowledge to our children and, in turn, for them to pass it to their own children."
"Magic has caused much pain, what good is it to your children," said Arthur bitterly.
"People cause pain, blame the wielder not the tool," Kayla retorted.
Arthur laughed, "I have seen the kindest people kill merciless because of its corruption. Magic can only bring pain."
"A blade can corrupt a man the same way magic can. Sorcerers have brought pain into your life much in the same way warriors and their blades brought pain into mine," Kayla said, "I was living in a clan closer to the border with my family years ago. I had a caring mother, a hard-working father, and an adoring younger sister when Uther's patrols discovered the camp. The clan was peaceful; the only man who knew any battle magic only knew the basics, not enough to defend the entire clan from two scores of knights. They came at night, swords held high, and slaughtered everyone in sight. Not even the children were safe.
I remember taking ahold of my sister's hand as we snuck out of the clan; we were small enough to remain hidden in the trees. All around I heard screams that served to urge me faster; it was all my sister could do to keep up. We were halfway through a clearing when my sister fell. I turned to help her up, get her back on her feet and running." Kayla's eyes glistened with tears, her voice stuttering as she continued, "There was a-an arrow through her th-throat; somewhere an archer was hidden in the trees. I remember my little sister's frightened face, her mouth opening and closing as she tried and failed to breath. I watched her for second, choking on blood, before I turned my back to her and ran."
Silent tears ran down her face as she met Arthur in the eye, "I tell myself now that I had no choice but to run, that my little sister would have died even if physician had tended to her immediately. But I still feel the guilt. Guilt for not being with my baby sister as she died. Guilt that I could not protect my dear, baby sister."
The mother turned her eyes away from Arthur to watch her young daughter laughing and playing with the other children, "Aithne had barely seen six summers when she died and I'm glad for every day my own Aithne survived longer. Tell me King Arthur, can you call what the knights did that night just? Can you consider magic evil when it barely scratched one of those sword-wielding brutes? To you weaponry is neither good nor evil, just a tool at the command of those who wields them. I see no different with magic."
Arthur looked down, unable to respond to the druid woman. Mithian placed her hand on Kayla's arm, giving her a small, comforting smile. Kayla returned the grin, though it was forced, then focused on finishing supper while she wiped away at her still bright eyes.
"Aithne seems young to be learning magic right now," Mithian wondered after a while.
"Aithne showed more power than usual for our children," Kayla answered, picking up a few ribbons of wood to join Mithian in weaving. "Druids are not usually taught magic until their thirteenth summer with a few exceptions. Aithne has shown exceptional talent and even latent abilities as a seer."
Mithian raised her eyebrows, "She can see into the future?"
"Not to the extent you are thinking. Aithne abilities as a seer is limited; she only gets a few visions a year"
"Morgana nightmares were from her abilities as a seer," stated Arthur, he leaned his arms on his knees and hands folded.
"Morgana is a powerful seer, and it did not help that she denied her magic for her entire life. Seers are given special attention as the vision often causes them stress. Aithne gets small vision here and there, most of it muddled, but she often seeks comfort after one," said Kayla.
Not much conversation was had the rest of the night. Though Mithian eventually got up and mingled with the druids, gave friendly greetings and asked on their wellbeing, Arthur and Elyan sat by the fire, observing the druids interact with one another. At first, they were cautious around the Camelot King, not wanting to do blatant use of magic in case they were to be dragged to the pyre fueled by the King's wrath, but they became less wary as Mithian urged them along to ignore Arthur. Soon the children ran around kicking a ball while using small magic to make the sport more challenging as the adults watched and did their chores. Some of the older druids did their work without magic for they enjoyed doing the tasks with their own hands, while others used magic to juggle between multiple chores. Never had Arthur seen a view of magic as this one, one that merely inspired a warm, homely feel so unlike the constant attacks of vengeful sorcerers.
Later that night, Arthur laid on his bedroll staring up at the stars. Next to him laid Elyan, absorbed in his own thoughts.
"Elyan,' Arthur called softly.
"Yes Sire?" came the reply.
"What is your opinion of sorcery?"
Elyan thought over the question for a moment, "I never had an opinion of magic."
"Even after your father died?"
"At the time I found out, yes, but I was angrier with my father. He put Gwen at risk, got himself killed and left Gwen on her own," sighed Elyan. "However, I missed him more than anything. It took me awhile to realize that all my hate towards my father and everything that led to his death stemmed from the fact I missed him."
"What about now? Of sorcery?"
"I guess… I pity them. This is not a life to live, not one in fear," Elyan said.
Neither of them spoke again leaving the cicadas to fill the vacuum. Arthur turned over on his side, shifting into a more comfortable position. However, no matter how comfortable he was, he could not sleep for his mind was a whirlwind of sorcery and knights.
Of traitorous sisters and loyal servants.
Of golden eyes and flashing blades.
Arthur was in a spiral of confusion, unable to discern what he truly wanted to believe. Was magic more than just evil? Was all that his father taught him a lie, a lie that cost hundreds of lives? And if he had decided to turn his back to all his father had taught him of magic, what would be the consequences? Camelot had decades of magical persecution, it would not be easy an easy transition for the people. Hell, Arthur himself was still not fond of sorcery. Every preconceived notion Arthur had on magic felt wrong.
How could they be so wrong on something like this?
Had they truly caused a massacre for naught?
Sleep consumed the King and, for the first time in Arthur's life, the knights were no longer the heroes of his dreams. Instead, they wore the faces of monsters over frightened druids, Aithne clenched closely to Kayla only to be wrenched away, screaming, and slaughtered. Men, women, and children killed indiscriminately and, observing it all, stood Arthur, with his father's blood soak hands on his shoulders as Uther stood behind him and watched in glee.
Drip
"You killed me."
Drip
"Why did you kill me?"
Drip
"I protected you."
Drip
"Loved you."
Drip
"And you couldn't even save me?"
Merlin clenched his eyes tight; tears silently made a path down his grime covered his face. The only thoughts running through his head was a reminder that that thing was not human, not even real. The thing was merely an image, a creation borne from the armlet that circled his biceps. He thought of the breathes that panted out, the ground beneath his feat, the metallic touch of manacles on his wrist, hell, even the pain the filled every inch of his body, but no amount of self-reassurance could comfort the warlock as ice cold lips brushed against his ear and whispered.
"Why have you forsaken me, Merlin? After years of nurturing, why have you left me to the wolves?"
Merlin gasped, his eyes wrenched open as fingers, like claws, dug into his cheek and forced Merlin to look at the figure before him. She was but a shadow of the mother Merlin had known. One of her eyes, rather than the warm brown there was a gaping hole; the eye had been gouged out. Blisters marred the rest of her face and skin peeled off to show the red of muscle on her left cheek. Her left arm, grasping Merlin's face, was charred, flesh torn at various parts where bone could be seen, gleaming; what was once her right arm was merely mangled hunk of meat. Blood dripped from the offensive limb and created a trail of blood whenever she moved.
"It hurt son, it hurt so much. She tore me apart. Burned me. Destroyed me," Hunith continued, voice hoarse as her damaged throat tried to form the words.
"Please," Merlin gasped.
"That's what I said and all I got was how you chose Camelot over me."
"I-I'm sorry."
"So am I, dear child, for raising such a thankless son"
Merlin began to hyperventilate, still begging.
"I raised a monster."
"STOP!" screamed Merlin. With a brief gust of wind, Hunith disappeared into a puff of smoke; in her place stood Morgana with her ever-present smirk as she twirled the armlet around her finger that had, moments before, rested around Merlin's bicep.
"Shall we continue this or will you give me what I want?" Morgana said.
"Never."
"Then continue it will be," Morgana said, clasping the armlet around the warlock's arm again.
Merlin felt a shiver run through his body again as a new person began to form in front of him. Her fuzzy outline grew sharper as her body finished forming. Instead of Hunith, however, it was a young woman with dark hair and tattered red dress. She was drenched in water and a wound stretched across her abdomen.
"Freya," Merlin said, his eyes widening as she approached him.
"You promised me," came Freya's tear filled voice, keeping within arm distance from the sorcerer.
"I swear I tried."
"Mountains, trees, and a lake."
"I wanted to run away."
"Instead I get a sword in the gut."
"I only tried to protect you."
"I was a monster; we would have been perfect together."
"No, please."
"But you tossed me aside for the man who killed me."
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," Merlin wept.
"I guess there are worse things than monsters."
Morgana watched as the man broke out into sobs, unable to deal with whatever illusions the armlet was presenting him. The witch had been hesitant to use this method. An armlet soaked in a potion made from a mandrake root could drive a man insane with illusions; illusions that were manifestation of every regret, every guilt, that a person had in their life. An insane man would not be able to speak, but Morgana had grown tired of Merlin's insolence.
The months had gone by, and Merlin stood strong against everything she threw at him. He begged, he cried, he screamed, but he spilled none of his secrets. Now with Tara's failure fresh on her mind, Morgana was ready to make the servant suffer. The witch was done being patient to the warlock; she had provided him generous offers, gave only small cuts from the enchanted blade and even allowed slack to the rope that held him up.
Morgana was not without mercy after all.
But the warlock had tried her patience. Few druids could be found in the land and of the few she had captured she had pushed too hard and killed them. Sometimes she could not help herself. The druids had long ago left the lands, leaving Merlin as the only source left on information of Emrys. With thoughts of anger, Morgana soon found herself the armlet she never believed she would have an opportunity to use.
The witch smiled in glee as the warlock continued his pathetic begging, sobs wracking through his body. Whatever illusion the servant was seeing was clearly destroying the sorcerer mentally, his legs could barely hold him up. His cries turned into shrieks as he started yelling at whatever person he was seeing. After a while, Morgana stepped forward and removed the armlet, and returned it to the table. Merlin went limp, though he was still gasping for breath, trying to gain what little control over his body and emotions as he could. She allowed him a few minutes, enough that he was able to get back his feet.
The warlock tensed when he watched, through bleary eyes, as the witch picked up the enchanted dagger.
"I told you Merlin I will not go easy on you anymore. You missed your only opportunity to survive this," Morgana said, her voice took a light, almost friendly, tone. Dagger in hand, the witch slipped the blade through one of the many tears on the warlock's ragged tunic, slashing the fabric apart as she slid it up. Pulling the fabric apart, the warlock's pale, starved chest became exposed and the discolored skin and scabs could be seen scattered throughout his torso.
"Let's reward your loyalty, hmm?" Morgana teased as she placed the sharp edge of the knife against Merlin's chest. "Where is Emrys."
"No."
Morgana began to carve, relishing as Merlin's abused vocal chords forced out more screams.
The witch would get what she wants. She always got what she wants.
He couldn't take it anymore; not them, anything but them. They were his past, his failures. When he made a mistake, it was those closest to him that took the fall. He wanted to let go, to give up. Merlin was close, painfully close to telling Morgana everything she wanted to know on Emrys.
He wanted to die.
He didn't want to see this. First, it was Hunith, then Freya, and now Balinor stood before him, his face full of accusation. Merlin knew he was at fault for their deaths, everyone's death, he knew, but he couldn't take the accusation. Wasn't it enough that he would always carry the guilt.
He needed to die.
"I left Hunith because of you."
Merlin.
"You were nothing more than a bastard."
Merlin!
"You brought misfortune to all those close to you."
MERLIN!
Merlin begged, whimpered. Too much, it was too much.
Merlin, please…
It was the last, desperate call that caught the servant's attention. Merlin knew that voice. It was the voice he associated to countless sleepless nights full of conversation. It was an ancient voice full of wisdom, one that he equally relied on and was infuriated by.
K-Kilgharrah, Merlin responded, unsure if the dragon was truly there or just another illusion. His eyes was clenched tight, his breath ragged. That did not stop the ghostly figure of Balinor from talking.
"You even brought death to me."
Yes young warlock, Kilgharrah said, relieved.
"Help me, please. Please stop it, please," Merlin begged, not realizing he had both spoken aloud and mentally to Kilgharrah.
"Monsters don't deserve pity."
Young warlock, do not believes the falsities of these hallucinations, consoled the dragon, they are not real nor are they a representation of the people they mimic.
"I c-can't do this anymore."
You must
"I ca-"
You have no choice, young warlock, I'm sorry.
"So useless, so pathetic."
"Help me please."
I can't.
Merlin sobbed.
Morgana is too heavily guarded, even for me. These creatures, these chimeras, there are too many for me to handle.
Merlin sobs grew harder.
Please Merlin, concentrate, do you know where Arthur is?
"Worthless."
Merlin was shaking, his legs barely held him up.
Merlin, murmured Kilgharrah. Then, like a breath of fresh summer air, energy seemed to emanate from the voice. Kilgharrah was passing a part of his strength, as much as he could through their distant connection, to the warlock. Merlin please.
It was enough, enough strength for Merlin to acknowledge Kilgharrah with an answer. It was quiet but, at last, Merlin answered.
Nemeth, druids, Arthur.
Thank you young warlock, Kilgharrah said, hold on longer, I will return with help. Don't let the witch consume you for you are much stronger than she can ever hope to be.
Thank you, Merlin thought tiredly. With that, Kilgharrah pulled from Merlin's mind, but not before the warlock felt the determination in which consumed the dragon.
"I guess you are more useless than the idiot I originally believed you to be."
Merlin felt his stomach drop. It seemed the armlet was not limited to the dead.
AN: Here is the newest biggest chapter I ever written. This took forever to edit and I'm slightly sleep deprived right now so I hope there arn't too many mistakes, so sorry about that. The reason why this chapter is so big is I ended up having to rearrange several things and I was too lazy to think about trying to split this into two.
So the next update would be, at latest next Saturday.
Thank you everybody for the reviews/favorites/alerts and for reading ^^
Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!