by GR Griffin
If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was acting this way deliberately.
Of course, because she did know him, she understood that whilst part of his sulking was an act (in hope that Merlin would magically reappear and see what state he’d left his friend in, she definitely didn’t approve of this), the rest of his actions were genuine. He wasn’t upset – Will was irritated and frustrated. Gwen didn’t blame him. William had never trusted Arthur; he had always suspected ulterior motives and secret intentions. Nobody had listened to his concerns, or taken his word seriously. Yet all this time, he had been right. Gwen twisted her lips, uncomfortable with this thought. He had been right, but also he hadn’t been right. Sure, he had been right about Arthur hiding something, right about Camelot Enterprise. However, he had been hideously wrong about Arthur himself, about the real Arthur Pendragon.
That was what frustrated herthe most, because he was stubborn, narrow-minded and wouldn’t look beyond what he already knew. Will was too fixated on the tragic death of his father, too stuck in the past to judge Arthur Pendragon without prejudice. If only he could see what others saw. Though she highly doubted the Druids would think the same of Arthur now. Despite the events, that didn’t alter her opinion of him – much. Sighing, Gwen walked past Will. She found herself too exasperated with his stupid behaviour to go over and talk to him. She’d tried the past few days making conversation, and it always began and ended with unnecessary pessimism and snide remarks. The man gazed up at her blankly as she walked past. For a moment she remained still, looking back at him sadly.
Then she averted her eyes and continued her path towards Hunith underneath the sacred tree of Iaonem. Bowing her head faithfully at the woman, Gwen knelt beside her comfortingly. The sacred tree, the Druid People called it ‘Monðwære-ferð’, was truly beautiful and peculiar. Its trunk was ivory, smooth to touch and hard to tap. Sprouting from it was dropping vines, like a willow tree. But this tree was special; its long dangling vines twinkled in the light. The tree was said to hold sacred spirits, ancestors. One could not deny the overpowering aura it had.
The magic within the roots of Monðwære-ferð was strong. And although it was no match for what had resided within the Crystal Cave, its presence was significant and important. Every living creature in Albion was important. This principle of respect and love for all living things was what had truly drawn Gwen to the Druids. The beautiful, untouched world and the compassion of the people also persuaded her to stay, and the fact that on Earth she was in great danger.
Sometimes, very rarely, she thought about her past life, the life where she wasn’t called Gwen, the life where she had a job and had to listen to outrageous racism against the Druids on a day-to day basis. Very often, she thanked the world for giving her redemption, a chance to start a-new in a wonderful place. Resolutely, she had come to the decision that nothing was going to destroy this world. She wouldn’t let that happen; even she and a mere handful of others were willing to stand up to Uther Pendragon and Camelot Enterprise. A small voice broke her from her trance.
“You are so strong,” Hunith breathed, cupping Gwen’s face with her hands. “Without you, I doubt the clan would have made it here.”
Pressing her hand over Hunith’s, the cinnamon-skinned woman smiled affectionately at the words. She could tell exactly what Hunith really wanted to say without having to pry; it wasn’t hard to identify a mother’s concern.
“I wouldn’t be strong without him. He keeps me strong,” She muttered, watching Hunith’s eyes swell with pride. “You must know in your heart that whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it for us,” she lowered her voice, leaning towards the woman. “For you.”
Hunith nodded in silent agreement, removing her hand from Gwen’s face. She turned her attention back to the willow, murmuring hushed words in the Druid tongue towards it. Respectfully, Gwen remained quiet, picking out what words she could. When Hunith had completed her prayer, she turned to the woman beside her with a smile, the first smile for many days. Confident eyes and glowing skin supported the gesture. It was a step in the right direction. The sound of Will’s unsteady voice – laboured with breath and ragged - startled the pair. They turned their attention towards him. Gwen disliked the look on his face. It bore more emotion that he had revealed recently combined, but it was the wrong emotion. Fear. Swallowing-hard, Gwen clasped her eyes shut for a moment, allowing panic to swathe over her.
No. Please no. She prayed to herself. All the people had was this one refuge from Uther. Don’t let him be here. Hunith latched onto her side for support; Gwen bravely opened her eyes and gazed imploringly over at Will.
“There’s something in the sky…” he said between pants rather ambiguously.
Cautiously the two women exchanged looks and Gwen felt curiosity overpower her as opposed to the previous apprehension. Something in the sky…
At that precise moment a flock of birds shot over the settlement, stirring the Druids below. Her curiosity faded. Will froze in his tracks, watching the birds fly over their heads. The resemblance was uncanny. Then the Wyverns that had nested with their Riders started to stir, and growl. Gwen didn’t think twice, she wasn’t stupid and neither were the Druids. They’d seen this kind of behaviour before and what it led to wasn’t pleasant. Mass panic spread among the settlement. Some Druids, exasperated and weary, didn’t move. Some started weeping, begging. Others held their confused Children to their chests, singing songs of the Old Religion into their tousled hair. Gwen searched the rustling area anxiously for a mop of russet hair and large honeyed brown eyes.
There was no sign of him.
“Calhoun!” She cried out in horror, making her way through the crowd of people.
Her voice became nothing more than an added texture to the plethora of voices calling and shouting. Cupping a hand dejectedly to her mouth, she studied the chaos unfolding. They weren’t prepared for an attack. This time there was no-where to run; they were cornered. They were going to die. There was no escape. A pair of arms wrapped around her waist rapidly. Gwen instinctively tugged the boy closer to her, stroking his head soothingly. Calhoun silently clung onto her, his eyes clamped shut in complete terror. Gently, Gwen continued to caress his hair, shooting Will a pleading, miserable glance as he made his way towards her. He returned the gaze and wrapped an arm around her consolingly. She rested her head on his shoulder, allowing the silent sobs to fall.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
They weren’t supposed to die here, defenceless and vulnerable.
Hunith found them in the crowd, dejectedly linking her hand with Will’s. The three of them, and Calhoun, stood motionless amongst the scurrying of the other Druids. They watched helplessly as people tried to gather their things. Some tried to climb the rocky terrain surrounding them. But adrenaline seemed to work against their favour in this scenario. The sky was clear for a few moments, empty. Then a giant shadow cast over their heads, blackening the area. Druids came to a standstill gazing up at the colossal shadow. A thrumming noise surrounded the area; different to the thrumming of machinery or weaponry. It was a foreign sound, like a deep rumbling of thunder booming inside a large resonant chamber.
It was then they all came to realise that the shadow was a legendary silhouette. Gazing up, Gwenevere gaped in shock and pushed Calhoun backwards with slight hesitance. Will blinked in astonishment, more awed than scared of this phenomenon. Shaking her head in confusion, Gwen watched as the shadow hovered over the settlement. Tears framed her eyes. How? How was this possible? A few metres away, a broken Hunith, supported by a shaken Will, wore a similar expression, only her eyes were vacant and blank.
The shadow abruptly grew larger over the clan; some druids headed for the rocky shelter in fear, others remained motionless in wonder. The pulsating beat of those strident wings sounded throughout the land majestically, revealing the identity of this giant shadow. It’s wings created a gust of wind that had enough power to softly shake the branch
es of Monðwære-ferð. The scaly beast landed on one of the large rocks, regally presenting itself before the clan. This was unusual; the Druids gazed back at the creature in bewilderment. Dragons were formidable creatures. Only those with special power had real control over their actions. It was only at this moment that the clan realised there was somebody sitting on the beast; somebody had tamed this mighty creature. Gwen stumbled forwards, allowing Calhoun to slip from her grasp. Will followed her in a hypnotic fashion, pushing through the motionless druids with urgency to confirm their suspicions.
The pair reached the front of the crowd. Reluctantly, Gwen looked up at the Rider of the Dragon.
She saw Merlin.
His appearance was almost distorted and accentuated in this moment. His mesmerising skin bubbled with the very essence of magic, emitting radiance. His eyes shone ochre vibrantly. His dark hair was a contrast against his pale complexion. Every feature of his face had been meticulously chiselled to perfection by the rays of the sunlight, giving the appearance of power and stature. His presence seemed to emanate the very emotion that had fled the massacre of Ealdor; Hope. Murmurs of this emotion echoed throughout the clan, amplifying its existence. The word Emrys spread rapidly between druids. Emrys. Emrys and the mighty Kilgarrah were here, in Iaonem. The two symbols of the redemption were right here. The sunlight painted them gloriously in its rays, refusing to hold back on making exaggerations or a grandiose imitation of a spotlight that focused on their saviours.
Merlin’s eyes trailed over the people before him, his People. Warmth and vigour filled his chest, feeding the fire inside. These People were strong; these people had watched their homes become nothing but rubble and ash. These People had lost their loved ones, their families. These People had fled in fear, and horror. Those very People were not standing before him resiliently, quietly echoing the sentiment embedded behind his eyes. The best part was, some of them didn’t even realise they were. It was beautiful, a staggering sight: watching People rebuild themselves. His eyes searched the crowd, stopping when they found his Mother. She looked happy, her eyes smiling at him, her face slowly regaining life. Merlin was sat on a Dragon – not a Dragon…the Dragon of legend. If only his father could see him now!
Leaping off Kilgarrah’s back, Merlin stood boldly in front of his people. If any of the Druids had doubt as to who this hero was, they didn’t now. He was standing clearly in sight. He gently patted the scaly beast before outstretching his hands to his people. Swallowing-hard, he formed the words on his tongue. He had been trying to think of what to say during his flight here. But nothing had sufficed, or been good enough. Now he was here, he could feel the words instinctively rising in his chest. Destiny was taking its toll, shaping the prophecy and whispering what he needed to say into his ear comfortingly.
“Uther Pendragon,” he began, voice raised enough to echo over the Ealden People. “and Camelot Enterprise have gravely wronged us…”
His People’s expressions darkened, their eyes wide and full of fear at the memories of that horrific day. The Children cowered into the closest arms available. Merlin made a point of dwelling in this upset, because he wanted the People to understand. He wanted them to understand that in times of darkness, it is imperative to feel these things. Only then can you truly transform and return into the light. Just when some of the Druids were about to allow their emotional overload to burst over the land, he continued. Taking a step forward to the edge of the large rook he smiled wryly.
“Uther and his people have sent us a message,”
His eyes scanned the familiar faces of his people, his family; Gwenevere who was holding back her resilient tears; a profoundly proud Will. He felt the anger and loathing for the people who had destroyed their everything arise without warning. His voice became louder, resonating fully over the land.
“A message that they can take whatever they want, exile us from our home, destroy our sacred place…” his voice cracked, the distressing memory of everything they’d ever known being obliterated in front of their eyes.
Clenching his fists together bravely, he sighed. The clan dwelled in this sadness, a few weeping audibly. For a moment, a traumatising level of hysterical sorrow spread itself over the small settlement they had formed in front of the large, archaic Willow tree. And then, something changed. A strange, uplifting presence seeped into the atmosphere. The druids lifted their bowed heads, wiped their teary eyes; all eyes turned towards the sight before them. It was a wondrous sight, indicating that they no longer needed to be afraid. The sight that had been prophesised since the beginning of time itself.
Emrys and the Great Dragon Kilgarrah.
Unified for one cause: justice.
Not sparing a moment, Merlin’s resolute voice cut through the silence once more.
“Well,” He began, a hopeful smile stretching over his lips as he watched his people become more animated.
“We will send them a message.”
Some were surprised at the statement, others already beginning to allow smiles to form over their faces. Gwen clutched Will’s arm in apprehension. Merlin ran to the other side of the rock, towards a patch of Druids hovering on the side. His mere presence seemed to uplift them. Then he walked over to the other side, instigating a similar response. Soon the whole of Iaonem was buzzing with energy, hope, and vigour.
“We will fly to the druid clans.” He stated, a few people mumbled in agreement. “We will call upon our friends, and ask them to fight for Albion, and everything we love.” His voice became fierce and imploring.
“Because this isn’t over. This,” Pause. He raised a hand triumphantly as Kilgarrah outstretched its wings behind him magnificently. It created a hypnotic shadow over the area. Gwenevere pushed Calhoun forwards, eyes lighting up in glee. The whole clan waited in anticipation, desperately clinging onto the sound of his last words hovering in the distance. The tension continued to rise, until it snapped and people stared cheering, and clapping and laughing without even hearing the end of Merlin’s sentence. It didn’t need to be said, but he said it anyway, yelling victoriously into the sky.
“THIS IS OUR LAND.”
The surge of noise from the druids was almost enough to drown out the noble roar that escaped Kilgarrah’s mouth. All at once the Druids raised their hands in the air resiliently. Laughing in surprise at the sudden change in spirits of the druids, Merlin brought a hand to his mouth for a moment, the light finally touching his golden, sparkling eyes. For the first time since that horrific event, he felt his magic. He felt the determination inside of him spew outwards, latching onto anybody in sight, radiating from his soul proudly. Everyone else seemed to feel it too, because the People suddenly became more invigorated. Some spurted golden jets of lights from their palms, allowing them to fizzle above their heads beautifully. And finally, Merlin knew that things were going to be okay.
The Druid People were going to survive this, they were stay, they were going to fight – we’re going to win. For Camelot may be able to abolish the Crystal Cave, but Magic itself was one thing that could never die, it would always live on.
Bringing his hand down, Merlin – Emrys; finally the name was beginning to feel like his own – patted Kilgarrah gently, who refrained from roaring. Instantly, the Druids settled, their noise gently fluttering into silence’s hands.
“Now,” he said softly, managing to captivate the hundreds of once lost druids in front of him effortlessly. “Who will fight with me?”
The crowd, instead of pledging their vows as expected, remained silent. There were no cries of joy or elation. Nobody set their magic into the air in jubilation. In fact, nobody did anything. The People were silent, frozen. Narrowing his eyes, Merlin frowned, dejection swallowing him whole. He really thought he had done it. What was it going to take to make bring back the life in his people, to restore their faith? As he examined the silent crowd, he established something was very wrong. Gwen, for one, looked more shocked than crestfallen. Will’s eyes were blank, but there was
a rage swelling behind his pursued lips. Hunith was cryptically expressionless. All in all, every Druid bore either emotions of shock, upset or confusion. But that wasn’t what was wrong with this picture. There was something worse. They weren’t looking at Kilgarrah. Hell, they weren’t looking at Merlin. They weren’t even looking at where the pair was standing.
The hundreds of pairs of eyes with empty expressions had all focused their attention elsewhere; behind him. That was enough to perturb him because part of him had already guessed, felt, exactly who it was. Shutting his eyes for a moment with a deep breath, Merlin silently prayed. Please. Don’t. This was going to destroy everything, cast him back into a vacant shell and strip him of this newfound confidence. Merlin allowed the turmoil to consume him as that voice rang out. The voice that belonged to the name, the name that had completely-
“We will.”
Unable to control himself any longer, the druid spun round. Despite recognising the voice, he was still unprepared for what he saw. Shock smothered his face. No, it was impossible. This was not happening. His jaw fell open subconsciously, eyes widened at the sight. There was that blonde man; the one six and a half months ago he had called a ‘prat’ in an elevator at the core of Camelot. The man who had weaved his way into Ealdor, weaved his way into his heart. He was the one who had the power to break his heart, mend his heart and then break it again. He had the faith of every single druid wrapped around his finger dangerously. He was the one who had lied, who had deceived Merlin all this time. Those sapphire eyes were warm and brimming with assurance. He was the one who should never have come here.
