The crowd erupted into ecstatic applause, as yet another match came to its one-sided conclusion. A man adorned in shimmering gold gave a theatrical bow to the cheering spectators, before turning on his heel and walking off, hauling along with him his bleary-eyed opponent. The man probably had a concussion, if he were to guess. His head appeared to have been slammed rather forcefully into the ground.
Merlin averted his gaze from the arena for a brief second, and took a glance at his king from the corner of his eye. To most she would appear perfectly impassive, lips set into a neutral line, but the magus of flowers had known her since she was little more than a child, and as such he could pick out every one her minute tells.
The slight quivering of her brow, the steady tap on the right arm of her chair; it was easy to see that she was at least intrigued by the current proceedings. He couldn't blame her, in all honesty.
He felt the exact same way.
"Raphael, huh?"
Merlin rolled the name off his tongue like he was tasting it, judging it, before smiling lightly.
"What do you think?"
King Arthur said nothing for a while, before turning her head towards him.
"Hmm… He certainly seems skilled, although to what extent it's hard to judge. He goes through opponents too quickly to get a good read on him."
The magus chuckled, before picking up an apple and holding it up to the light. His reflection looked back at him through the shiny exterior, amethyst orbs swirling with inhuman intelligence, before he took a bite.
The sound of his crunching echoed throughout the otherwise quiet tent, jarring enough to make the King's lips twitch downwards. Merlin paid her no mind, of course, and devoured the entire thing in a few moments, core and all.
"Ahhh, that hit the spot! Say, where is he supposed to be from, again?"
King Arthur sighed in exasperation, before speaking.
"'Somewhere across the fog', apparently. I think I'll need to have a talk with the guards after this."
Merlin hummed, before responding in his usual care-free tone.
"It's quite strange, isn't it? That someone so skilled can just appear from out of nowhere. Suspicious even, one could say…"
Green eyes widened by a fraction.
"Do you think this is her doing?"
Merlin said nothing for a while, seemingly staring off into empty space, before refocusing on his King. When next he spoke, a certain edge had been layered onto his usually whimsical demeanour.
"Perhaps, and perhaps not. It's equally as possible as it is impossible."
King Arthur levelled the man with a dead stare.
"Helpful as always, Merlin. Helpful as always."
Merlin bowed, cloak billowing around him in the non-existent breeze. She shouldn't have expected anything else.
"I live to serve, your majesty."
His smile possessed all the innocence of a bloodhound.
The king made to respond, but the sound of blaring horns drew her attention back towards the festivities, leaving the magus of flowers to his own thoughts.
Slender fingers propped up his head, as his gaze roamed over the hundreds of gathered people. Clapping, screaming, shouting and laughing; each and every feeling they displayed was the sweetest of wines upon his lips, their every action taken like the climax of a great play.
Humanity unfolded in its entirety right before his eyes, a glorious performance both fleeting and eternal in its duration.
How could they not be fascinating, to someone such as him? How could he ever let them go? Merlin's eyes darted across the crowd, cataloguing every happy expression and beaming smile, as he felt his heart swell with simulated emotion.
There was nothing else in this land that he loved more than this world of men. For an accursed being like him, it was the only source of anything that he had ever experienced. He would be lost without it. Helpless. A dog without an owner, a parasite without its host.
It was unthinkable even to imagine.
As a result of this fixation, Merlin had become intimately familiar with most aspects of humanity. How they lived, how they thought, their day-to-day routines; every facet of their existence was analysed with meticulous attention to detail. He had become able to simply take a look at their faces, and with a discerning eye peel away the masks they wore to cope with the outside world.
Some would assume that this would get boring eventually. That there are only so many interesting things you can learn about humanity until it all becomes dry and stale, the same things repeated over and over until the point of exhaustion.
They couldn't be more wrong.
To him, every human was different. Unique. Coloured by their own limited perception, and stuffed so full of dreams and desires that they were fit to burst.
It was this familiarity that had instantly let him know that something was wrong. He had looked at that man, and seen something that he had never seen before. It was like staring at an object that was both overwhelmingly nostalgic and wildly alien at the same time, an amalgamation of various traits and attributes that contradicted each other in every way. An anomaly in all definitions of the word - not fae, not man, not even something in between.
He was a Foreigner through and through.
Underneath the shadow of his hair, Merlin grinned. He picked up another apple from the bowl, running a finger over its glossy surface, before taking a large bite.
'This world is always so full of surprises, eh?'
/
Polished steel carved its way through the air. In its wake a whistling sound could be heard, sharp and piercing, following the blade to its destination. The owner of the weapon roared in exertion, putting his all into the devastating swing.
Unfortunately for him, 'his all' seemingly wasn't enough, and the attack was deflected in a single deft movement.
'I should really be done with this by now. There's not much point in dragging this on for any longer, is there…'
Another strike came flying in, this one blocked by the flat of the blade. His opponent, a middle-aged man in gilded bronze armour, wasn't someone he would say was particularly skilled. The man was rather slow, in fact, and his strikes lacked a certain strength to them. He would have usually beaten such a foe already, but even now, immersed as he was in the heat of battle, errant eyes kept wandering away from the fight and towards the watching competition.
This absent-mindedness was starting to get a little worrying, he thought. He wasn't normally this unfocused.
"What's wrong, Sir Palamedes? Are you afraid? You have done nothing but cower away from me since the battle started!"
The grip on his sword tightened, as Palamedes narrowed his eyes. An insult such as this could not stand.
"So be it."
He slipped under the coming blow, and this time, he endeavoured to retaliate in full. All his opponent managed to see was the quick flash of silver, before he found his blade wrenched from his grip.
Palamedes' eyes bored into the man's soul with stormy intensity.
"Do you yield?"
"Y-yes! It's my loss!"
The crowd broke out into jubilant applause, the sound of trumpets letting the world know of his victory, but the knight found himself uncaring. There was no glory to be gained, no satisfaction for a battle well fought. He didn't even look at his downed opponent, instead choosing to to turn his head towards the other contestants - or more specifically, one contestant in particular.
He cut out a rather striking image, standing out amongst the other knights in armour seemingly formed of pure sunlight. They locked eyes for a brief moment, and the man smiled politely, inclining his head as if he was someone worthy of respect.
It would have been easier had he been more unlikeable. Even something small would do, yet the man seemed perfectly amiable at all times. It made sense, in a sort of karmic way, that the strongest person in this competition would also be the most chivalrous.
And he was the strongest, no matter what anyone else might claim. Palamedes wasn't delusional enough to think otherwise. The way he cut through each opponent was so fluid, so efficient that it defied belief. If he didn't know any better, he would think of the man as part of the round table, although that of course would be against the rules.
He shuddered to think what would happen were they allowed to compete along with the rest of them.
There was a reason he had been so distracted recently. How could he take any of these battles seriously, when the true obstacle to his success had yet to be crossed, waiting patiently for him upon the horizon.
In the face of Raphael, his current opponent may as well have been nothing more than an ant.
Still, he could not give in to doubts or worries, for his purpose here was greater than just himself.
Palamedes walked back to the waiting area in silence, as his thoughts drifted to happier times.
'Oh Isolde… look where my love has led me…"
/
There was an old saying someone had once told him, about the fact that reality was often disappointing when compared to your expectations. He wasn't too sure what it was exactly that they had said, half-forgotten between memories of disembodied hand-spiders and poisonous swamps, but he felt that whatever it was, the lesson could be perfectly applied here.
Crimson eyes observed the dwindling number of contestants waiting on the side-lines, only a few now remaining from the hundreds here before. Raphael was sure that this tournament would soon reach its conclusion, but instead of excitement, all he really felt was impatience.
He wondered whether they would allow him to take on the rest of the knights all at once, just to speed up the process a bit.
The sound of the crowd, once energising and novel, had become a steady drone that grated upon the ears. The previously thrilling prospect of doing battle had become tempered with disappointment, as the truth of these men's skill became readily apparent.
Raphael stood there with slumped shoulders, completely, truly, and utterly bored.
He liked fighting, a trait that he could easily admit to, but there were only so many times you could beat an opponent in a single move before it got dull. He had really thought at least someone would provide a challenge, but it seemed his hopes were so-far unfounded.
He supposed, looking on the bright side, that there would be no need for him to worry about using anything more than a sword.
The last few matches passed by in agonising slowness, every strike and returning parry seeming to take place underwater rather than on land. When one of them eventually was victorious, Raphael clapped not in support of the winner, but in relief that the whole thing was finally coming to a close.
There was only one more match to go through now.
"Ladies and gentlemen, are you all ready for the final round of the Camelot Games?!"
The resounding cheers from the audience were answer enough.
"Splendid! I believe our last two fighters are in no need of an introduction, so if you please, a round of applause for Sir Palamedes and Sir Raphael!"
Both contestants walked into the arena without a word. The grass had become patchy in places now, he noted idly, a far cry from how it was yesterday. Raphael wondered whether anyone would replant it. It would be a shame not to, at least in his opinion. Maybe, after all of this was done, he could-
The warrior's inner thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat.
Raphael looked up, and noticed for the first time the slightly miffed face of his opponent.
"Err… Did you say something?"
Youthful features twisted further into annoyance for a second, before straightening seconds later. Now that he got a good look at him, this knight's skin was significantly more tanned than anyone else he had met in this world so far, somewhat similar in tone to Nepheli's.
Raphael wondered, not for the first time, about how many things there were left here that he was still ignorant of.
"Nevermind it now. I simply wish you luck, Sir Raphael."
"Ah, yes! I wish you the same, Sir… Uh…hey, what was your name again?"
Brown eyes narrowed in lieu of an answer, before the knight rushed forward with his blade at the ready.
/
The clash of blades echoed throughout the arena, two men locked in a dance of steel. Every strike was matched evenly from each side, blow for blow, as Palamedes felt the steady trickle of sweat run down his face.
'You can't afford to falter now, Palamedes! Focus!'
He poured his all into every action. Every parry, thrust and swing was made with as much force as he could muster, yet he was unable to gain any traction, no matter what it was he did. It was like fighting a brick wall, he thought. A moving, breathing brick wall adorned all in gold and armed with a giant sword.
That analogy wasn't the best now that he thought about it. Still, it served perfectly to outline the frustration he was currently facing. It seemed almost impossible to make any type of headway against him, a fruitless endeavour, and so they had been stuck in a stalemate for what felt like days.
Unlike him though, his opponent hardly seemed tired. If his subtle smile was anything to go by, in fact, Raphael appeared as if he was actually enjoying this more than anything else.
It was both terrifying and humiliating at the same time to witness, and Palamedes wished for nothing more than to wipe that expression off of his face. He had thought, going into this, that he would at least have some chance at victory, but it was becoming increasingly evident that this simply wasn't the case.
An arcing slice came in from the right, the knight moving to a parry with tired arms. He managed, but only just, his grip buckling under the immense pressure of the attack.
'I can't let things carry on like this!'
For the first time in this tournament, it was him that was steadily losing stamina, and if he didn't come up with something soon, Palamedes would be the one laying defeated in the dirt.
Although it pained every fibre of his being, there was still one option left that he could take. It was unchivalrous, base, and went against the very precepts of knighthood that he had been taught - but right now, there was nothing he wouldn't do to win.
"I apologise, Sir Raphael, but you have left me with no other recourse!"
Raphael had no time to respond, as Palamedes dragged his blade across the dirt. A cloud of dust rose up in response, spreading like smoke towards his opponent, temporarily obscuring his vision.
For a moment Raphael had become vulnerable, and the knight capitalised on this with brutal efficiency.
He surged forwards with renewed vigour, blade cutting a straight line towards its target. His opponent couldn't block now, for he was far too close, and just as he could begin to taste the sweet flavour of victory on his lips, the ecstasy of winning barely a hair's breadth away…
Raphael simply dodged.
'W-what?'
How he had done it, Palamedes couldn't claim to know, but right now it didn't matter. The knight's gaze locked on to his opponent in desperation, a cold shiver running down his spine as he beheld his opponent.
There he stood, a few metres away from his previous position, armour shimmering underneath the noonday sun. He was physically unchanged, but something about the man's very aura seemed to have shifted.
Raphael's previous smile stretched into a bloodthirsty grin.
"That's more like it! I was starting to get bored, you know?"
He released his greatsword from his two handed grip, hefting it upon his shoulder instead with a single arm. His stance had become lowered, knees bent and free hand touching the earth, crouched over the dirt like some sort of wild animal.
It was his eyes, though, that had changed the most. They almost seemed to glow, a primal hunger burning deep within them unchecked. Their unnatural crimson shade cast an inhuman shadow over his features.
He waited there for a single second, and in the next Raphael was upon him.
It was a miracle Palamedes even managed to block the incoming strike in time. His instincts kicked in right at the last second, moving his trembling arms automatically, but even this proved ultimately fruitless.
A streaking fist followed the blade closely after, catching the knight right in the jaw and sending him stumbling away. Palamedes tried desperately to steady himself, but his world had become a dizzying whirl of colour, something only further compounded by a devastating kick to the sternum.
All breath left his lungs in a guttural wheeze. The man collapsed in the dirt, the edges of his vision beginning to darken.
The ecstatic cries of the crowd served as the anthem to his despair.
'I am sorry Isolde… It seems I truly am wretched after all.'
The last thing he saw were those same haunting eyes, looking down on him from high above.
/
Little bit of a longer chapter this time, didn't want to leave the fight on a cliffhanger.
Hope you enjoy!