by GR Griffin
“-Isn’t that right Merlin?” Arthur said, amusement rife in his voice.
“Whatever you say Arthur.” He replied monotonously almost instantly, seeming to evoke laughter amongst his friends. The blonde man beside him grinned in delight before turning back to Morgana, as if to prove his point. Whatever point it was, Merlin was unsure because he hadn’t been listening to a single word. Certain he had slipped out of focus, he met Kilgarrah’s eyes across the fire.
Morgause?
The Dragon snorted audibly, contributing a few extra flames to the dying fire. Narrowing his eyes, Merlin studied him scornfully whilst the others merely shrugged off the gesture. There was a haunting silence in his mind; the only sound carrying into his ears were the voices of his friends. To be honest, he liked it much better this way. But knew it wouldn’t last for long. Dragon’s were not exactly renowned for making pleasant conversation. In fact, one ancient saying, if Merlin recalled correctly, directly spoke of the fatigue a young Dragon-rider once faced:
Mælan ein gieddes ongean mín freond,
Hwæt, eower hælo ende!
He once laughed at the statement, now he understood it and wanted to do nothing else other than recite it to Kilgarrah and watch his expression shift. The best part would be that he would be unable to react, for Merlin was a Dragonlord and could ensure there would be no retaliation. The voice of the Dragon halted his thoughts.
Morgana.
Not Morgause, Morgana. Attempting to hide his shock, Merlin, eyes wide, glanced over to the raven-haired woman. She was laughing, no doubt insulting Arthur if his dumbfounded expression was anything to go by. Examining the curious expression on Kilgarrah’s face, Merlin frowned gravely. He did not like where this was going one bit.
…Go on.
Kilgarrah didn’t hesitate, ferociousness embedding itself within each word.
She is dangerous. She cannot be trusted-
Not believing what he was hearing, Merlin glowered at the Dragon, the flames adding to the projection of pure fury.
-You’re wrong! I know her, and I know she has a good heart. He gazed over to the woman, returning the soft smile she offered. The gesture soothed Merlin. Morgana was not dangerous. She was one of the few here who kept her reason, her resolve despite what had happened. Holding a hand to his throbbing temple, Merlin gazed down to the earthy soil at his feet. I won’t abandon her like I did before Dræɡən. I trust in her destiny.
Then you are foolish indeed young Emrys. The Dragon laughed, evidently amused by Merlin’s blind faith. The mind exchange became more frantic and brutal. He lifted is head to the Dragon darkly, voice low and sure.
I know Morgana will use her powers for good. Merlin hissed.
That may well be so. But the prophecies are clear.
Pause. Curiosity and confusion bounded towards him, forcing him to ask the question he dared not want to ask:
What prophecies?
He regretted the question, bringing a hand to wipe over his aching eyes as the Dragon spoke knowledgably.
The ancient Naiimen prophecies of old. They speak of an alliance-
Clenching his fists, Merlin gritted his teeth in vexation. He had to bite his tongue to stop the words in his mind from slipping out over the clearing.
-I’ve heard enough. He was certain the venom in his voice would be far more potent aloud. Nonetheless, the Dragon continued talking.
This union must be stopped Merlin, at whatever the cost, or Albion will-
-I said I’ve heard enough from you! He roared through his mind, eyes searing with anger, body trembling. Get out of my head.
Merlin didn’t realise he had leapt onto his feet, gasping for air, until Arthur had gently prodded his arm in concern. It was then he noticed all eyes were on him, and most likely had been for some time now. Pursing his lips together, he studied their faces. His eyes rested on Morgana’s. She looked worried, staring back with compassion. How could this woman be anything but good and just? It was ridiculous, a stupid notion to even discuss, especially now when the People were supposed to be working together. Swallowing-hard, he met Kilgarrah’s eyes for a final time fiercely.
“It’s getting late,” he sighed. I command you not to speak to me of this again. Kilgarrah lifted its head, challenging the statement. “We have a big day tomorrow. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
He left the warmth of the fire briskly, slipping into his blanket. A few minutes later, when Arthur lay down beside him and pulled the blanket over himself, he shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. All he saw behind his closed eyelids was darkness, destruction- but he couldn’t bring himself to establish whose hand had dealt this evil. He told himself it was Uther Pendragon, but Kigarrah’s words resonated through his head.
She is dangerous. She cannot be trusted.
Notes:
TRANSLATIONS:
Arfuera, ic cufte cweðan awiht, ðu áfindest tðjniniende - Arthur, I could say anything - you would find it attractive.
Asecgan mé, Dræɡən - Answer me, Dragon
Mælan ein gieddes ongean mín freond,
Hwæt, eower hælo ende!
Speak in riddles once more my friend,
Rest assured, your life will end!
Chapter 49
“The population of the Druids in the region of Iaonem,” the tall, bulky man said, gesturing towards the presentation on the screen. “Has gone from a mere thousand to over ten thousand in little over a week.” The gasps across the boardroom echoed through the silence. Uther clenched his fists, getting to his feet. The rage spewing from his eyes gestured he was not to be meddled with right now. He had recently heard news of what his son had done, freeing all the Druids from Camelot Enterprise. Their hold over magic, their hold over this land was crumbling.
“And many more are coming. We must act swiftly.” Uther added, turning to Morgause with ferocious eyes. “We must teach them a lesson, a lesson that will be forever seared into their minds. Emrys and…” averting his eyes, Uther attempted to feign composure. He found he could not and thus tripped up clumsily over the words before continuing with strength and poise. “Arthur, they have declared war upon us.”
Morgause took this chance to speak, addressing the people around the table.
“Many thousands more of Druids are flocking to Iaonem. Within a week they will significantly outnumber Camelot forces.” Pause. Her eyes met Uther’s. “They look up to Emrys, to Arthur. In order to claim Albion, we must destroy their faith, crush their souls.”
Ignoring her implications of what she meant, Uther turned to Valiant and Cedric.
“Spread the word, we prepare for Battle.” he declared, voice cold and commanding attention. “We leave in two days.”
♦☼♦
Preparations for the great battle had started early in the day. Arthur had barely seen Merlin. Both of them had duties to fulfil in the camp, and there was so much to do. Iaonem was bustling with life, overpopulated and crowded. Still more clans arrived, resting in the forests surrounding the magnificent tree. There was no room for everyone to reside here. The support was staggering, and each clan took it upon themselves to trade skills and spells with each other during the day, ensuring each Druid had the adequate defence they needed. Merlin and the Elders had spent the duration of the day discussing complex and ancient spells that had not been attempted for generations. The look on Merlin’s face over lunch suggested even he was struggling to come to grips with the powerful magic. Nonetheless, he dutifully stumbled back to the Elders when he was finished, offering Arthur the first smile of the day.
Arthur was surprised – and relieved – to discover that Morgana was studying with Aglain and Taliesin, recording everything she had seen. He presumed Morgana and Merlin had spoken about her gifts, and made note to mention it later. His sister had been avidly depicting some part of the future battle that began in less than two days time, when Arthur walked past. And despite wanting to sit and listen to all she had to say, Arthur found he could not.
He was sure he would find out soon enough his sister’s predictions and Merlin had always said knowing your own future was dangerous. And yet he had encouraged Morgana to do just that.
He had been on the verge of questioning Merlin about Morgana when Topia and a few other Clan leaders requested his attention. He had spent the majority of the afternoon reviewing strategies of attack with Topia, Elätha, Laurys, Nolwenn and Ryol. No definitive manoeuvre had been agreed, mainly because Arthur insisted that they could not make an important decision such as this without taking into account Emrys and the visions of the Seers (including Morgana).
Once that was over Arthur decided to find a private clearing and practice his magic and swordsmanship. Merging his ability to wield a sword and spells was something he had desperately wanted to achieve. Although it was a near impossible task, connecting your magic to an object was one of the hardest lessons. To his knowledge, Merlin was one of the only Druids who had mastered it. Even with his power, as Emrys, this had been a challenge. To be able to acquire this skill, Arthur knew it would significantly improve his own fighting skills. Besides, since everybody else was training, trying to become the best warriors they could be – why couldn’t he at least try?
Four hours later, panting for air and barely satisfying his body, head throbbing with excruciating pain, hands shaking; his only sword broken in two, Arthur established that it had been a foolish idea. He could feel his whole body was bruised, aching. No matter how hard he tried his magic fought his sword, his sword fought his magic. He had angrily kicked the ground, stumbling back to the camp with the broken sword wrapped in his navy blue cloak. To his relief, nobody asked where he’d been. Merlin was the only one who had glanced curiously at the object in his cloak, scanning his face with his sapphire eyes. Arthur didn’t need to say anything. Merlin guessed straight away. His reaction was not what Arthur had expected. Exasperated, Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, and Arthur didn’t even have to look to know the sword was fixed.
Before he could say anything, or explain, Merlin was gone.
Now, as the moonlight sprawled over the camp, Arthur was sat with the White Dragon of Legend, stirring over the day over a small, mesmerising fire with blue flames. Many of the Druids had retired to sleep, and Arthur knew nobody – bar Merlin – would try to approach Aithusa without permission. For now, he could sit and think, knowing he would not be disturbed. He leant against her strong shoulders, listening to her heavy breathing that gestured she was sleeping. A frown touched his lips as he gazed upon two men. One almost dismissed the other, walking past without words or acknowledgement. The other, Merlin, was clearly upset by the gesture, lifting his hands in frustration before biting his lip and retreating in the opposite direction with teary eyes when he realised it was no good.
Sighing, Arthur averted is gaze to the hypnotic blue flames.
When it came to William, Arthur knew that nothing would ever be simple, and it never could be. Hell, he even wondered if it should be, because Will seemed to make it his business to sabotage Arthur at every given opportunity without hesitation. In all honestly, Arthur had been foolish to think that the man would have accepted his return. But then again, he had bought back with him the White Dragon of legend, Gaius and freed the Druids from Camelot Enterprise. Whilst he knew these acts could not forgive the pain and suffering he had bought to the people, he hoped- prayed - it was enough to prove his loyalty to the People. For many his presence was favoured, for many of the People respected and revered him more than he could have possibly imagined. For many, Arthur was a beacon that shone as brightly as Merlin.
And despite all of this, the only person whose opinions mattered to him was Will – of all people. Not that he would ever admit this to anyone, even Merlin who may well have guessed the other night when Arthur kept gazing over to Will as they spoke in hope he would gage some kind of reaction. As expected, there had been none, not even anger or hatred. William’s behaviour was not only affecting Arthur. He noticed the way Gwen’s smile faltered as she passed the man, he recognised the inconspicuous slip of Merlin’s tone whenever they met eyes. The truth was, Arthur hadn’t heard Will speak a word since his return. The only thing he had seen him do was sit in solitude – or with the Bastet girl, Freya - gazing over with pensive eyes.
Arthur understood why he was doing this. Yes, whilst his behaviour was bordering selfish and obnoxious, Will was hurt. A Pendragon had inflicted great suffering upon his people, his home – and now the same Pendragon was back. Even now, reunited with the clan, working with Merlin again, Arthur still could not help but feel the guilt consume him at night. The nightmares that stalked him in the night were overwhelming.
He had caused great destruction. Balinor had died because of him, and yet Hunith treated him like her own son. He had bought death and calamity upon the only place Gwen had truly called home, and yet all Gwen ever did was look at him with kind, loving eyes. He had broken Merlin’s trust, and yet Merlin still had blinding faith in him. Brushing a hand over his face wearily, Arthur grimaced. In light of what he had done, William appeared to be the only one with sense, brave enough not to allow his rights to outdo the blatant wrongs he had committed. At this thought his attention was drawn to Aithusa who spat a blue flame towards him furiously. She missed deliberately, adding a brighter hue to the fire.
“Arthur Pendragon,” she said, not moving her head from the ground where it rested. There was a peculiar tone to her voice, one Arthur knew only resided in Dragons. “You must forgive yourself.”
Glancing over to meet those entrancing crystal eyes, Arthur softly stroked her scales with trembling palms. The flames danced across his eyes, over his skin, and whilst able to erase the fatigue he felt, it was not capable of transforming the tormented expression on his face. Her words triggered the emotions he had been supressing all day, all week; the emotions he had been hiding since Merlin had banished him.These emotions had driven him to the brink, past the very corners of sanity. Blinking back tears, he averted his vision to the sky, blazing with thousands of stars. He wondered if Merlin sought his father at night, searching the skies for the star that twinkled with something the others did not. He tried to clear the lump in his throat, and failed.
“Aithusa.” He said firmly, turning to the Dragon intently. She lifted her head, awaiting his question. “Why…why did you come to me?”
“I believe you’re asking me the wrong question little one. You should ask why you doubted I would come to you,” she lowered her head to him, eyelevel and alarmingly close for a Dragon. “And why I did not doubt it.”
Leaning towards her imploringly, he shook his head. He knew it had been a long-shot, calling up into the skies, begging for redemption, hoping for a miracle. He knew as the rain had battered his skin, pelted his face that nobody or nothing would hear his voice. Yet moments later, Aithusa emerged from the clouds. He still recalled her majestic entrance, how the flash of lightening had illuminated her when she landed. She had bowed her head before him, silently offering him to climb upon her back. Lips twitching at the memory, the look on Morgana’s face, Arthur gazed up at her.
“But I’m not a dragonlord, I have no power over you. I barely have competent magic. I’m not even from Albion. I’m not a Druid by blood. I…” swallowing-hard, Arthur met her eyes and spoke the word he didn’t want to say but needed to hear. “I’m not Merlin.”
At the words, the young Dragon laughed.
“You are Arthur.” She replied firmly, lifting her head to signify her pride and confidence. The way the Dragon said his name unnerved Arthur. She acted as if his name held some kind of meaning. “The man with a Dragon’s heart, a Lion’s courage, it wasn’t chance that bought you here to Albion, it was destiny.”
Confused, Arthur narrowed his eyes. Destiny. His eyes flashed suddenly with realisation.
“You knew I was coming.” Her next words startled him further.
“I was not the only one to foresee your arrival, it has been prophesised for many eons, engraved int
o the very soul of Albion.” Baffled, the blonde man stood up, pacing back and forth absently as he listened to her explanation. This was ridiculous! The Dragon was talking in riddles, speaking of things that could not be true. “You underestimate yourself Arthur,” her eyes softened, voice losing its vibrancy. “and that will be your undoing.”
“What exactly are you saying?” Arthur snapped with more ferocity than intended, marching towards her. If she was implying that they couldn’t win…He abruptly stopped walking when she growled at him, tail swinging from side to side.
“You must believe in yourself Arthur.” She replied with similar force. “The People need you as they need Merlin. Without you there is no Emrys, without you there can be no peace in this land.”
Raking hand through his tousled blonde hair, Arthur churned her words over. She was withholding something from him, that much he was certain. Her riddles and words of wisdom clearly were aiming to suggest something deeper than what was on the surface. His mind shot back to Topia’s words from the other night round the large fire; there’s something about you, you are special. Special. Destiny. Eons. Prophecies. You and I…we are like two sides of the same coin, each a half that makes the whole. Merlin’s voice rang through his mind. I have faith in you Arthur. Just have faith in yourself. There was more, more than faith alone binding all these words together. The very notion of what it was terrified him, because it was huge, colossal.
“Whether or not you heed my words young Pendragon, you will believe it soon.”
Arthur left Aithusa’s presence silently, not wanting to think about it, to think about anything. Uther was readying himself for a war- Arthur knew soon they would be ready, and they would come straight to Iaonem. The battle was approaching; he could feel it in his bones, in his racing heart. Soon, he was going to have to face his father once again. The thought unnerved him, panicked him. All that he White Dragon had said also worried him. Frantically, he quickened his pace; wanting nothing more than to leave the outlying forest and sit beneath Monðwære-ferð until the sun rose again. Arthur didn’t realise who he had accidentally walked into – or that he had even done so – until a voice rang out.
