Camelot Enterprise: A Contemporary Arthurian Epic

by GR Griffin

  “Reveal yourself.”

  The figure obediently lowered their hood. Halting in her tracks, Morgana gaped at the sight before her. It was a woman she had known for years, someone who she had never suspected actually possessed magic. She possessed piecing eyes that could stop anyone in their tracks, a demonic smile that was too sinister to believe and long blonde curls of hair that fell softly on each side of her face. An incredulous laugh escaped Morgana’s lips, because this couldn’t be. She blinked rapidly; in hopes she would discover her eyes were deceiving her. That was not the case.

  “Why are you so surprised Morgana?” the woman said, sauntering closer by a few steps. To Morgana’s shame, she took a step backwards and gazed over to Leahme, a painful reminder that this woman was powerful. This lack of resilience didn’t last long, seconds later she surged forwards, dagger in hand.

  “You!” she shrieked, coming to a stop a few feet from the woman. “YOU-”

  “-Ah.” Morgause taunted holding a hand up calmly, too calm for Morgana’s liking. Instantly, Morgana found herself compliantly listening. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You see…this little situation we’ve found ourselves in...” Reaching into her pocket she smirked. Morgana’s fierce expression dissolved into one of horror as her eyes discovered the object. “…It’s more complicated than you first thought.”

  If it were a Druid who had laid eyes on the object, Morgana was sure they wouldn’t have identified it. But Morgana wasn’t a Druid by birth. She had worked in the amo department of Camelot. She knew virtually every weapon by name and design. Swallowing-hard, she breathed a dejected sigh. It made sense, why the voices hadn’t come closer. They weren’t looking for the People; they were planting something in the tunnels. Shock pelted her. They were planting explosives. Dark realisation dawned upon her. Anger washed over her, bitter, hot tears streaking from her eyes.

  “You would kill the lives of innocent Druids, of children!” She spat maliciously. “You would betray your own kind!”

  “They are not my kind. They betrayed me, and they are far from innocent. They left me as good as dead in Camelot. I did what I could to stay alive.” The woman replied with the same vicious tone, studying Morgana with intensity.

  Bravely, Morgana stepped closer to her, eyes misted over with determination and grit courage.

  “And I’m doing what I can to keep these people alive. I will not allow you to hurt these People.” On cue her eyes flashed gold as a warning. The gesture at first startled Morgause. But then, she smiled. All of a sudden Morgana felt a little out of her depth.

  “Well, that certainly changes things.”

  “Merlin once told me the Druids were a peaceful people, that they were kind and accommodating. Yet all I see here are people clouded by their own fear and prejudice. I risked my life for one of you many years ago in Camelot, and I would do so again without question.” All eyes were focused on her, some shocked, surprised and others in awe of her ferocity. “Magic or not.”

  “Emrys.” The virulence in his voice was overwhelming, almost threatening to induce a shudder through Merlin’s body. His magic fought it off valiantly. He lifted his head challengingly, staring at Uther Pendragon with an expression that was almost identical.

  “Uther.” He replied in a curt voice, afraid if he took his time over this name he would lose control of himself and unleash a tonne of powerful, and exhausting, magic that may possibly kill himself along with Uther Pendragon.

  “How long I have waited to see you again.” Uther’s expression suddenly darkened, amusement fading. “After all that you’ve done-”

  Merlin returned the bitter sentiment boldly without thought.

  “You dare stand here and insult me!”

  “It is not your destiny to die here. This is not how I’d want things to end between us.” Drawing her eyebrows together in confusion at the woman’s sincerity, Morgana moved away from the dagger.

  “Sister-“

  Unable to tolerate that word, the raven-haired woman glowered at the blonde.

  “-Stop calling me that, I am no sister or friend of yours.” Her eyes lingered on the detonator; she failed to see the flash of hurt in Morgause’s eyes. She thought of Gwen, of the volunteers, of the Elderly and the children. God. They would die. They would all die. No longer thinking of her own life, she met Morgause in a pleading gaze, knowing it was foolish. It was all she had left.

  “I beg of you, spare these people. They’ve done nothing to you.”

  “If you move, you’re finished.” Uther warned.

  Outstretching his palm calmly, Merlin raised his eyebrows.

  “If you shoot then believe me,” There was a twisted sense of amusement on the Druid’s face.

  “You’re finished.”

  Notes:

  TRANSLATIONS:

  O Dræɡən, leáfa mi, ic áfége woruldgefeoht - O Dragon, leave me, take me to the final battle.

  Chapter 53

  Once Gwaine and Hogań miraculously made it to the other side, they realised they were once again surrounded, only this time on both sides of the crevasse.

  “Jumping over that crevasse was a really bad idea.” Hogań panted, attempting to catch his breath back.

  Observing the situation, Gwaine chuckled darkly.

  “Probably the worst idea we’ve had yet, and that includes enchanting Arthur’s cape to molest him last week and seeing how many times we could piss off Will.” The words triggered a breathy laugh from his companion.

  “That was fun.” Hogań admitted, recalling the memories to himself. He and Gwaine had made acquaintances straight away when the Ghedent Clan settled in Iaonem. “But this, this is not fun.”

  “Surely we can make it fun.”

  They stood back to back, slowly circulating to observe all their opponents. Biting his lip Hogań pointed the foreign weapon in his heads lethally towards the men. It was clear he had no idea how to wield it. Many were unfazed. One even laughed in response. Gwaine recognised that laugh. His cheeky, blithe resolve shattered instantly. That voice. Gritting his teeth, he pushed Hogań behind him to monitor to other side eyes fierce. From the surrounding men, none other than Valiant took a step forward. He wore a vicious expression, representing nothing close to the meaning of valiant. He was cruel, callous; ruthless.

  “Gwaine,” he loaded his gun, continuing to stalk forwards. “How lovely to see you again.”

  “The pleasure’s all yours,” Gwaine barked back with an uncharacteristic leer. “Trust me.”

  Hogań swallowed-hard, cautiously eyeing the group they had fled from earlier. To his relief, they seemed to yield, realising there were easier fights to pick. Or perhaps it was because the man Gwaine was addressing rather rudely had some kind of power over them. Either way, he wasn’t complaining about only having to watch his front as opposed to also watching his back. Turning around, he stood beside Gwaine who pushed the young man behind him swiftly. Valiant was not to be trifled with. Hogań studied the figure in front of them. His demeanour was intimidating, a nasty look plastered on his face. His eyes were ferocious. Whoever he was, he was bad news.

  “Do you really think you can beat us?” the man asked studying Gwaine intently.

  Gwaine moved his mouth, but the words that surfaced were not his own. He shot a glower to his side as Hogań shoved past him daringly.

  “We will not rest until Albion is free from this injustice. We will defeat you.” The younger man spat darkly.

  Raising his eyebrows at the new voice, Valiant smirked. He shared a snigger with the four men behind him, who all found the young Druid’s words highly amusing. Hogań averted his eyes, disliking their rather ominous reaction to his retaliation.

  “You sure about that?” the words heavily unsettled Gwaine. That was enough for a warning for him. Protectively, he took a step forwards. A brotherly instinct swept over him. He had no real siblings, but Hogań was barely an adult, having just reached nineteen. He was vulnerable and not afraid to speak his mind. He
had no idea who Valiant was, what his black heart was capable of doing. Whilst Gwaine had learnt how to get away with speaking freely, usually by the skin of his teeth, Hogań was still learning. And this was certainly no place to experiment or take risks in such matters.

  Without warning or any indication, Valiant fired his gun. Gwaine’s eyes widened in shock. Hogań fell with a gasp.

  “NO-”

  Gwaine unleashed a vicious cry of anger and upset. He lunged for the young man, hauling him into his arms and thus saving him from another critical shot that barely missed the pair of them. At that moment the sound of gunfire flooded around them. Instead of Gwaine being hit, the men behind Valiant all fell down. Gwaine took this distraction as a chance to lower Hogań softly to the ground, examining the wound grimly. As Valiant turned around he met Lancelot’s fist, and Elätha’s arrow.

  “Hogań!” Gwaine hissed. “Come on Hogań!!”

  Elätha, instantly recognising the name ran over. He crouched beside the wounded figure in apprehension. It was indeed Hogań, one of his best and most loyal fighters in Ghedent. He glanced over at Gwaine solemnly. Biting back a moan, Gwaine clasped his eyes shut for a second. He failed to remain composure. He was just a boy! A fucking boy, who had barely seen the world, barely lived. Leaning over the young man, he tossed his gun heatedly down to the ground. Hogań blinked his eyes half-open, gazing hazily over to where he thought Gwaine’s voice was coming from. He was inaccurate. It pierced Gwaine in the heart. A weak smile spread over the boy’s face. Panicked and flustered, Gwaine swallowed-hard.

  “We need Leon! Anyone!” he declared, glancing over his shoulder to Lancelot. The bleak expression on his friend’s face revealed what he didn’t want to accept. Slinging an arm around the young man, he shook his head defiantly. No. No. They could do this, there was still hope; there had to be! “We have to get him to the infirmary.”

  “If we move him,” Elätha pushed the injured man back down onto the ground and winced at the sight of the deep, bloody wound. “He will die for certain.”

  “-What can we do for him? There has to be something!” Gunfire behind them revealed that the situation was desolate; dire. They were in the middle of a battle. They could not stay here; they were all vulnerable like this. Soon they would be targeted like prey. Lancelot guarded the three figures, diverting attention away by the supplies he had taken from the helicopter. Despite his efforts, they all knew the ultimate truth. His distraction would not last forever; they would have to engage back into battle, fast.

  “There is nothing,” The Clan leader whispered with a frown as Hogań spluttered violently. “He’s lost too much blood-”

  “-No.”

  “-Gwaine.” Lancelot sighed miserably from ahead, his voice full of melancholy and regret.

  Unable to conceal the lump in his throat that thickened his tone and watered his eyes, Gwaine shook his head dismally. Clasping the young man’s hand comfortingly, he bit back the salty tears.

  “I’m sorry I failed you, friend.”

  Weakly, the injured Hogań spoke. All eyes turned to him desperately; Gwaine inhaled a ragged breath, brushing the dirt from his face affectionately.

  “No, never.” Pause, violent cough; Elätha cradled his head. “Leave me, y-y-you ha…ve to le-.” Silence abruptly plucked the words from his mouth, casting them into the tumultuous sky. His eyes became glassy, vacant. The grip on Gwaine’s hand loosened. Life poured from his face, leaving it pale and immobile.

  He was dead.

  Elätha pressed Hogań’s eyelids shut, murmuring something in the Druid tongue softly. Wiping his sleeve over his eyes, Gwaine stood up briskly and picked up the weapon he’d tossed to the ground. Gazing over to Lancelot resiliently, blinking away the tears, he nodded. There was a dark resilience in his face.

  “Let’s stop these bastards once and for all.”

  ♦☼♦

  The voices were growing more prominent, and Morgana still hadn’t returned. Children had woken from their sleep, too afraid to speak in the thick, tense air that hung between each person. It was now clear what was going on. Anxiously, Gwen paced back and forth. They couldn’t stay here. It was too dangerous. If Uther’s men were here, they could be trapped in the chamber and slaughtered like animals. Gwen knew that killing harmless children and defenceless People wasn’t below them. She understood fully what was at stake here. Above all, she had vowed to protect these People; she was not going back on her word. Swallowing-hard, she motioned over to Gŭaire who quickly strode over to her.

  “Gŭaire,” Gwen said sternly, eyeing the second tunnel where more voices were sounding. “We need to get everyone out of here now.”

  “How do we know which tunnel is safe?” Keita asked warily scanning the exits.

  Voices had been heard from most of them now. It was more like a game of chance, a twist of fate. For how on earth could they know which tunnel would be safe? A thought crossed Gwen’s mind. It was a reckless thought, one she knew many would disagree on, but it had logic and reason.

  “We’ll take the fifth tunnel.” She declared.

  Then came the protest.

  “That’s where Leahme went missing!” One volunteer proclaimed rather loudly, drawing attention to them.

  “Why should we listen to you?” another voice said bitterly.

  Out of the voices, Gwen heard one rather cruel jibe:

  “You can’t even do magic!”

  At the words, Gwen felt her barrier crash down, fear and upset consuming her. They were right, of course. She had no power, only the will to do what was right and just. Magic, the word stabbed her in the heart, piercing ruthlessly through her skin. Calhoun pushed through the crowd defiantly, standing protectively in front of Gwen. She didn’t realise tears had fallen down her face until she was dabbing at her cheeks with her shaking hands. Gŭaire took a step in front of her and growled angrily at the author of those vicious words. Immediately the outbreak stopped.

  “You’re all foolish and stupid if you don’t trust Gwen.” Gŭaire snapped. “She is one of Emrys’ most loyal friends. You’re behaving this way because you’re scared. We all are. But remember you have volunteered your assistance to protect these people, and yet you are putting them in danger right now. Shouting and arguing won’t do us any good. We’ll simply lure them in.” assured that everybody was now listening, he turned to Gwen with confidence. “As you were saying Gwen.”

  Mouthing a ‘thank you’ to the young man, Gwen took a step forwards boldly.

  “Merlin once told me the Druids were a peaceful people, that they were kind and accommodating. Yet all I see here are people clouded by their own fear and prejudice. I risked my life for one of you many years ago in Camelot, and I would do so again without question.” All eyes were focused on her, some shocked, surprised and others in awe of her ferocity. “Magic or not.” Pause. Stunned by the effect she seemed to have, she quickly continued in fear it would fade. “The fifth tunnel was the first to have harboured voices. But there have been no voices since and voices in many others. The men have moved on to a different tunnel. We cannot accept this as the ultimate truth, but it’s the best chance we have. We will have a line of fighters at the front, a line in the middle and a line at the back to ensure the safety of these People. As Gŭaire said, we have pledged to protect them.”

  Taking one of the torches from the wall, Gwen made the first step into the tunnel, sword drawn. For a moment she felt she had found her calling, the Destiny she had been searching for all these years. This had always been her path. She didn’t have to look behind her to know that the People were following her.

  ♦☼♦

  The remains of the large aircraft had crumpled messily, a heap on the Mountainside. Small embers burnt from within it, smoke rising. The stench of death and blood was strong. Merlin raised his head towards the sky, watching as Kilgarrah flew up into the air, out of sight. Compared to the rest of Breguoin, the Mountain was quiet. It was almost eerie. The sounds of gunfire and the c
ries of men were muffled into the background. He took a step forwards, gazing around the mountain cautiously. Uther had to be somewhere. There was no escaping a mountain of this height without certain death. Fists clenched and clammy, Merlin took another slow step forwards, treading carefully across the mountain. He was being watched; he could feel it. It unnerved him greatly. A few more agonising seconds passed in silence. He felt the intense gaze upon him. Gritting his teeth, he spun around, eyes desperately searching the mountain. No sign of the man.

  “I know you’re here!” he declared boldly, attempting to sound composed when really he was far from it. This was the man who had destroyed his home; this man had killed his father. This man was responsible for Arthur’s suffering and so much more. His crimes were infinite. A swell of anger rumbled through his skin when there was no immediate movement. It was uncontrollable, blazing and consuming. Eyes flashing gold, Merlin growled inhumanely, voice half-human and half something that barely resembled anything he’d ever heard before. Formidable was the only was to describe it.

  “Face me.”

  Silence.

  Then there was rustling. Merlin’s fierce eyes darted towards the wreckage. A figure gradually emerged from behind it. They took predatory steps towards Merlin. The anger inside Merlin expanded and grew until it could no longer fit and start pouring out over his body. It was corrosive, searing against him. It didn’t cease. The figure walked closer, and closer. Merlin hitched a breath. Something close to nervousness swept over his anger and took hold of his shaking body. His bravado of strength and rage vanished. The figure continued to walk forwards, fearless and brazen. They met in the middle of the mountain, barely a few feet from each other. Merlin met the man’s eyes darkly. Minor splodges of dirt and soil were dusted on his face, a trickle of dried blood on his right cheek; his clothes were torn at some of the creases. But aside from that, Uther had escaped the aircraft unscathed.