by GR Griffin
All of a sudden, they were gliding elegantly. There was a balance between the air and themselves. The breeze lightly swept through his damp hair, refreshing against his skin. His Wyvern danced between the slits of sunlight, theatrical spotlights of the natural world. Hesitantly, Arthur released his grip on the horns, outstretching his arms. The dragon was floating in the air steadily, allowing him to maintain his balance. Laughter burst from his mouth, full of elation and awe. He was flying! He could see everything from up here. The forest of Ealdor, the vast landscape of Albion. It was all underneath him, magnificent and staggering. A shadow passed over their heads. Clinging back onto the horns, Arthur gazed up to see another Wyvern. It lowered beside them, revealing its happy rider; Merlin.
Their Wyverns flew through the air at a faster velocity, drawing a nervous shriek from Arthur. Merlin was laughing the whole time, studying Arthur’s movements. The flight was exhilarating; the wind bit his face, the surrounding areas were blurred. All Arthur could latch onto was the dark horizon and the vast beauty of the world. As they landed on the edge of Mánhús, Merlin smiled gently. From the narrow passageway, the four other druids emerged, all shocked at the sight. Arthur Pendragon had tamed a Wyvern, he had passed a test. Zelina focused her attention on the blonde, eyes wide. Truin merely scoffed, pretending he wasn’t impressed. Merlin was too relieved to dispel the smile form his face. He approached the other druids slowly debating between them who was to go next.
Arthur watched the others battle their chosen Wyverns and eventually manage to claim their own dragon. All succeeded, as expected. Though it was not hard to see that Arthur’s Wyvern was the most ferocious, and most difficult to tame of them all. He sat beside his own the whole time, petting its scaly skin soothingly each time it stirred. The creature nuzzled into his shoulder, breath fanning Arthur’s neck. He watched Merlin talk to the four druids continuously waving his hand between their Wyvern the sky. He wondered if this was something important, something that he should probably listen to as well. Merlin walked over to the pair, bowing his head to avoid eye contact with Arthur’s Wyvern.
“What are you going to call your sky companion?” he asked, raising his head once he was sure the Wyvern was not going to attack.
Turning to the dragon, studying its face, Arthur smiled.
“Bregurófne- my majestic, mighty friend.”
Merlin nodded in agreement at the name, summoning his own Wyvern. It’s scale were a much lighter shade of grey, almost white. It’s eyes were more magenta then red like Bregurófne’s, and it was a little smaller than Arthur’s creature.
“What’s he called?” Arthur gestured to Merlin’s Wyvern curiously. He had met it before, many months ago on one of his first lessons.
“She.” Merlin corrected with a grin. “Her name is Léohte. It means luminous and bright, her scales never fail to reflect the light beautifully.”
Mounting Léohte, Merlin steered it to the cliff edge. Arthur took this gesture to mean they were leaving. He leapt onto Bregurófne’s back, commanding it to walk towards Léohte. Merlin glanced over at him and frowned.
“Make sure you keep your distance when taking off Arthur. You must not forget that a Wyvern needs space for its wings.” He explained.
Obediently, Arthur whispered for his Wyvern to take a few paces away. Jyuna, Zelina, Truin and Macelis seemed far more at ease with ordering their Wyverns. Arthur pretended it didn’t bother him that when Merlin told them to take off, he was the only one incapable of connecting to his creature’s mind and had to speak the command aloud. They flew over the vast region, Ealdor and the Crystal Cave in sight along the horizon. Arthur grinned. If Morgana could see him now, riding a Wyvern!
Chapter 28
They landed on the outskirts of Ealdor, in the highest branch of the tallest tree. Wyverns were easily startled, easily provoked. They did not behave well in great crowds of people, nor in druid settlements. This was why they could only be your sky companions, and nothing else. Merlin had told Arthur a great story, of a man who had once lived alongside his Wyvern, taking it everywhere he went. Arthur guessed the story had a tragic end, because Merlin’s eyes became distant, and his words faded into silence long before finishing. Arthur bid his goodbye to Bregurófne, patting its head gently. The Wyvern bowed its head towards its rider. Then he majestically claimed the skies alongside Léohte and the other Wyverns.
It was only now Arthur discovered that the wounds Bregurófne had inflicted upon him were quite severe. Trying to climb down the tree was horrific, and he clamped his eyes shut the moment pressure was put on his arm. Merlin rushed to his side, grimacing. Arthur instantly knew the emotion in his eyes, guilt. Of course Merlin would feel responsible for this, even though there was no way any of this could be. The other druids clambered down the tree effortlessly, no doubt preparing to unite with their families and retell their success stories. Arthur inhaled a deep breath of frustration, throwing his head back against the tree. Merlin leant towards him, lifting the shirt hesitantly. For a moment he removed his hands and frowned.
“I’ll call for Gwen to bring supplies up here. There’s no way you can make it down the tree yet.”
“…teleport me down?” Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows at Merlin to gesture he was an idiot for forgetting they were in a magical land.
Merlin scoffed at the proposal.
“In your condition, absolutely not!” he narrowed his eyes doubtfully. “Did you even listen to the lecture my father gave on teleporting safety last month?” Arthur offered him a blind, vacant look. Merlin elaborated, assuming maybe he was being too vague.
“Firstly, you can’t just teleport yourself anywhere – there are certain boundary restrictions. Nor can you teleport everywhere. You will get lazy and so will your magic. Teleporting you to the clan less than a minute away is just unnecessary.”
Arthur bit his lip, wondering if he should tell Merlin how many times he’d teleported himself the space of a few metres to creep up on Gwaine or spook him.
“Secondly, you should not teleport via magic when injured or with an injured passenger unless in extreme circumstances like in a case of life or death. It not only risks the chance of internal bleeding but can induce comas due to the sudden exertion of physical and mental strength you probably don’t have.”
The monotonous, ambiguous hum suggested Arthur Pendragon had not listened to Balinor’s words. Rolling his eyes, Merlin shot him a pointed look.
“Of course you didn’t listen, you don’t listen to anyone- prat.”
“I listen to you.” Arthur automatically responded, cheeks flushing as he processed his words.
Raising his eyebrows with a grin, Merlin titled his head mockingly. His eyes never left the wounds on the blonde’s shoulder, but Arthur knew he was slightly stunned by the complement.
“Heaven knows why.” He quickly added, wincing as Merlin prodded a particularly nasty gash on his forearm.
Choosing to ignore the flippant comment, Merlin met his eyes. Sitting up a little, Arthur pursed his lips together. Merlin was giving him this look, this intense, deep look he couldn’t work out or decipher.
“…what?” he asked, wondering what Merlin was thinking about.
“Take off your shirt-”
“-Excuse me?!”
Merlin laughed at Arthur’s horrified expression, holding his hands up by his sides in a mock-gesture of ‘I come in peace’. Arthur was not amused.
“I need to ensure all your wounds are cleansed, it’ll give Gwen less to do.”
Reluctantly, Arthur pulled the shirt from his head, holding it over his chest for a moment like a shy girl. He had no idea why on earth he felt vulnerable, exposed. Merlin took the shirt from his hand and placed it on the tree, revealing the impressive toned torso.
“You know,” Merlin began, fingers gently touching a small graze on his chest. Arthur’s body hummed with Merlin’s magic, relaxing him greatly. “You were really brave out there today, really-”
“-Carefu
l Merlin,” Arthur said, voice low and lips upturned. “You’re starting to sound like Zelina-”
“-Are you incapable of having a serious conversation?” Merlin stammered, removing his hands from Arthur’s wounds for a moment, a dubious look on his face.
“No, of course not.” Arthur snapped, studying the druid in front of him. That pacified Merlin. “It’s just more fun winding you up.” That didn’t.
“Fine.” Merlin said through gritted teeth, being sure to prod the wound on his collarbone a little too hard. “I was going to congratulate you.”
Arthur noticed the small smile on Merlin’s lips. He knew what he meant, that basically was code for: I’m congratulating you. Feigning ignorance, Arthur leant back, eyes shut. He waited for Merlin’s voice to sooth his ears.
“I was going to tell you, that today…” swallowing-hard, Merlin averted his eyes and went back to studying Arthur’s wounds. There was something in that voice: glee, unfathomable glee. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s shoulder, looking into his eyes imploringly. Merlin continued coyly, not giving anything away.
“You have proved your courage and strength today.” Pause. “Now I see what you are, who you really are. You’re loyal; you’re brave and headstrong. Some would say this shows weakness, I say it shows strength.” Arthur softened his gaze, mouth agape slightly. “You’re noble, and I believe if the time came you would fight for what you thought was right. You are compassionate and kind; you have embraced Albion and it’s creatures. You are accepting and inquisitive, you have learnt to live alongside people different to your own. And despite the prejudice your kind have against us, you have proven yourself to be more like one of us than many.”
Lifting his head, Merlin smiled, eyes animated and full of excitement.
“You’re ready.”
“Ready for what?” Arthur asked curiously, taken-aback by Merlin’s words and his wise, Emrys demeanour. Merlin wasn’t talking like Merlin. He was talking like a wise man who had lived for centuries, knowledgeable and full of intellect (well hidden intellect mind you.)
“Eftboren.”
Eyes widened, Arthur leant towards Merlin intently. Eftboren. Merlin had spoken of this many times. It meant rebirth, describing the ceremony where a druid had proved all their virtues and were accepted into the clan, reborn as one of the people. Eftboren was not taken lightly; it was a holy ceremony- a special ceremony. Not everyone was reborn. Merlin had told him the terrible tales of other clans far away. Some druids had only been born once in the South, and were still striving for acceptance amongst their clans. But in Ealdor, everyone had to right to be reborn; they just had to prove it first.
Thinking back on the past four months here, Arthur knew he had done more than the average druid would need to do to be accepted. He’d walked the Perilous lands, found Trident of the Fisher King, learned their language and conventions, tamed a Wyvern. Nervously, he gazed into Merlin’s resolute eyes.
“…I need Balinor’s consent, the Elders approval - the people’s approval -Merlin.” He whispered, insecurity hurtling through his body, panic. Just because Merlin thought he was ready did not mean everyone else did. His panic was poorly concealed, Merlin noticed it right away and practically growled.
“Arthur,” Merlin leant forwards fiercely because Arthur always was so damn insecure and he didn’t need to be. “You already have their approval. I asked a long time ago, not one druid refused.”
Laughing incredulously at the words, Arthur held a hand to his head in shock. Oh. Realisation swathed over him.
“There’s only one person left who needs to approve of this.” Merlin smiled warmly at him. “You.”
Arthur was too enthusiastic, too overwhelmed to fully comprehend the magnitude of the event that had just been prophisised. He was going to become a druid- he was going to be part of the people! For real. He threw his head back and allowed seams of laughter to erupt. Merlin did the same, eyes crinkled and hand held to the corner of his mouth. Neither of them had noticed Gwen had just made it to the top of the tree until a few moments later. She sensed the enjoyment in the air and turned to Merlin questioningly.
“Gwen,” Merlin greeted her with a wide smile as she crouched next to him to examine Arthur’s wounds. “We were just talking about Arthur’s Eftboren.”
His tone was so casual and deceptive that for a second Gwen simply nodded mechanically and forced a smile, too focused on the wounds. Then she took in the words and dramatically dropped the cloth in her hands. Cupping her mouth, eyes wide, she glanced between the two men. Arthur was….he was finally having his Eftboren! He would be one of them, properly. She wrapped her arms around Arthur, smiling softly into his neck.
“Congratulations Arthur.” She said sincerely, going back to studying his wounds.
Merlin got to his feet abruptly, gaining both of their attention for a moment. Feebly he raised a hand, eyes drifting towards Arthur impulsively.
“Well, I’ve got some errands to run.” He explained.
Arthur rolled his eyes as he watched Merlin teleport himself down to the bottom of the tree and walk into the distance.
I thought you said teleporting short distance was unnecessary and made your magic lazy. Arthur snapped in his mind, gazing down at the figure who stopped walking for a second.
Well, I’m different. I’m Emrys. Merlin’s light-hearted, cheerful tone blasted through his mind.
Arthur chuckled, earning a confused glance from Gwen.
You may well be but you’re also a fucking hypocrite!
♦☼♦
Freya and the clan had welcomed William with open arms into their home when he had arrived at sunset. The raven-haired woman planted a soft kiss to his lips, eyes twinkling with concern as his eyes failed to meet her own. Serepolis was beautiful, but it simply didn’t compare with Ealdor. Its trees were less spectacular, the bark decaying around the trunks. The surroundings seemed dull, the sunlight failing to fully reach the tips of the settlement during the day. The nights were colder, biting his fingers. There was no Crystal Cave, no Arthur Pendragon, no Merlin. Frowning, he gazed out into the horizon pensively. He wondered what Merlin was doing now, probably spending every waking hour with that idiot Arthur Pendragon. He barely noticed that Freya had perched beside him.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She admitted, resting her head against his shoulder gently. Inhaling a deep breath, Will wrapped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer to him.
“Me too.” He mumbled, sounding unconvincing, voice lacking substance.
Gazing up at him with a sad smile, Freya sighed.
“You know I can see right through your little act,” the man beside her stilled, glancing down at her in confusion. “You miss Merlin.”
Clasping her hand tightly, Will smiled.
“I’m happy here, with you.”
Freya squeezed his hand comfortingly, nuzzling closer towards him.
“Okay,” she mumbled against his neck. “So long as you realise you can’t run from it forever Will.”
Swallowing-hard, Will averted his eyes to the horizon. He knew what she meant by these words: Arthur Pendragon. He was the instigator of the painful memories that destroyed his childhood, haunted his past. Yes, rather cowardly because he couldn’t handle the proximity or the fact that Merlin had befriended Arthur, Will had decided to run away, to hide from his past.
“One day you’re just going to have to face it.”
Raking a hand through his hair, Will sighed.
“I know,” he rested his head on hers, gazing out into the horizon. “But today is not that day.”
♦☼♦
“So I know this dragon is one nasty piece of work.” Arthur explained, leaning over the table with animated eyes. “…it jumps at me!” he jumped out of his seat, voice raised, causing Lancelot to jolt up in his own seat. Arthur grinned at his reaction before continuing. “I lunge this way, it comes for me! It picks me up and drops me back down onto the ground. Hard.” He revealed his bruised arm
and lowered the front to show a deep cut to the right of his collarbone. “I got back up, but it’s raining and fuck I can’t see a thing. Next thing I know it’s….”
Gwaine perched next to Morgana, across the table. He noticed the twinkling in her eyes, the small smirk tickling her lips.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Arthur,” She replied simply, eyes latched onto the man in front of them, a fondness radiating from her.
Gazing up to Arthur who was animatedly retelling his encounter with his Wyvern to Leon, Lance and a few other Camelot colleagues, Gwaine chuckled.
“I haven’t seen him this happy for a long time,” She continued; smirk morphing into a sad smile. “Ealdor must really be something.”
Her voice was laced with sorrow, eyes pensive; the expression was subtle enough to only be seen by those who knew the full extent of her previous encounters with Merlin and Ealdor. Gwaine leant towards her comfortingly, detecting the same isolation he had heard in Leon’s voice. It was no secret that the more exciting, wonderful lifestyle was outside of Camelot base, and in the druid clan. But it wasn’t exactly easy to get permission from both parties. The rugged man decided changing the subject was the best solution; he’d never been good at consoling people. Especially when he knew everything he said would be complete bullshit, because Camelot Base was dreary and dull compared to the outside world.
“I don’t think it’s just Ealdor,” He mused, eyes locked on Arthur who was using his hands to demonstrate how the Wyvern had flown through the air. Morgana didn’t need to pry to understand what he meant by this. She’d noticed the change in Arthur’s behavior months ago. From the day he’d stumbled back into the base all those months ago, when everybody thought the Bastet had killed him – she’d seen the flicker in his eyes. That flicker was now a flame, burning through him. The flames whispered. Sometimes, if you were close enough, focused your attention, you could hear what they whispered.
“Merlin.” She breathed.
