by GR Griffin
♦☼♦
Arthur and Aithusa landed on the charred, blackened plain that once was the home to a wonderful people. All colour had drained from the scene. The deterioration of life had begun miles away from Ealdor. First the trees begun to shrink from a proud size to small stubs in the ground. Then the vibrant shades of green got paler and paler until they were ashen and grey. The sounds of birds, of anything had vanished into oblivion. As the Dragon landed, white particles of ash and dust were flung into the air, disturbing the stagnant landscape for a second. The smell was pungent and caused Arthur to cough violently as it entered his lungs. It smelt of burning, of death, of destruction. He covered his mouth, attempting to regulate his breathing again. His coughed subsided. Opening his eyes, he gazed out at the expansive of desecrated earth.
There were deep slashes into the ground, filled with ash and bodies that had not yet fully decomposed. The remains of trees stood like splinters, jagged and sharply poking in odd angles. Where the ground wasn’t white, it was black. The ash and dust consumed the air too, giving the whole scene a jarring mist. There was no noise, not one sound. There was nothing living left here, nothing of this earth. For miles and miles where the beautiful forest of Ealdor once stood were stumps, fallen tree trunks, broken homes and habitats. Arthur dismounted Aithusa slowly, unable to swallow the sob in his throat. He had assumed coming back to the ruins would be an easy feat. It was not. Now he was here the dark, violent memories cascaded into him. The piercing screams of Druids falling as missiles plummeted down upon the settlement, the cries of children lost in the smoke, the sound of those mighty rocks grinding down to rubble. Whimpering, he bit his hand, attempting to muffle his cries. The fall of the Crystal Cave, the magical weeping…he could feel his own magic wrenching inside, unable to accept that they had come here of all places again.
Ealdor had once been here. A beautiful collection of Druids, at one with the earth. They had been sadistically stripped from their sacred home. Bleakly, Arthur stared out at the endless plain of devastation. It here he had crawled over to Merlin’s side in the aftermath, when the buzzing of machinery had faded into the distance. It was here that Balinor had met his end. He remembered Merlin’s words, the way they had been delivered with pain and heartbreak. If you come near my people again, I will kill you. It was here, in the ruins of Ealdor that Arthur had sat. He had been driven mad with guilt, consumed by it until all he could do was laugh and laugh and laugh. It was all gone, all gone. They had blown up the Crystal Cave. Arthur didn’t realise he was on his knees, weeping at the memories of this traumatic day until Aithusa’s wing nudged against his side.
You must not blame yourself for this Arthur Pendragon. It was your father’s choice to attack Ealdor, not yours.
Lifting his head from his hands, Arthur felt his body trembling violently. His breathing was uneven and unsteady. Being here was too much to handle, he had tried to stay strong for Merlin’s sake, but hell he could not. This place reeked of death and destruction, massacre. Gazing up dejectedly, Arthur swallowed down a cry.
“I knew from the day we arrived in Albion, that this would be the fate of Ealdor,” His voice diminished into a bitter hiss as he buried his head once more. “Yet I did nothing.”
Sadly, the White Dragon stared down at the blonde man beside her.
And there was nothing you could have done, young one. Some things are foretold, some things can be unchanged no matter how much you try to alter its destiny.
Then her face was beside his, nose gently nuzzling into his hair. The blonde locks fanned in and out as she did so. Arthur felt her breath on his head, and gradually lifted his head. Her sapphire eyes met his boldly, and weakly he found himself smiling at her. It was not a happy smile, far from it. It was shimmering with tears, drenched in self-loathing and the guilt he thought he had finally cast aside before the great battle. Aithusa did not move her scaly head from his. As she spoke aloud he felt the low hum of her voice vibrating against his body soothingly.
“Arfuera, you must endure. Without you, Merlin will fall.” Her voice invigorated a newfound spark within him. She was right of course. Whatever pain of suffering he had for this place, he would have to set it aside. Merlin was dying, and this was his only chance of survival. Arthur got onto his quivering feet, gazing up at the White Dragon beside him. Silently, he thanked her for her words. She nodded knowingly, eyes fond and full of a soft glimmer. Taking a step forwards, Arthur’s eyes met the large pile of stones across the plain. The remnants of the Crystal Cave; it was here and only here they would find the flower. The ground beneath his feet squealed and shrieked as he walked, the wind screamed, the fading sun fizzled dramatically. Despite the efforts of this haunting land, Arthur did not fall prey to their tricks. He wiped his stinging eyes, marching resolutely through the rubble. Aithusa followed in pursuit, frowning at the wreckage left behind by Uther’s men many months ago.
They walked in silence, examining their surrounding dismally. Nightfall gradually descended upon them, making their path and location scarce. Part of Arthur was relieved, he didn’t have to absorb the destruction anymore, his eyes were blinding to everything but the narrow stream of light filtering out from the orb he had conjured. In the direction of Iaonem, there was a great commotion. Curious, Arthur and the Dragon turned to watch as the horizon behind them shone with orange embers. Then their eyes met the silhouettes of creatures flying around the air, the whole area of Iaonem bustling with life. Arthur gazed over to Aithusa, seeking an explanation for this strange collection of creatures.
Albion is mourning, Albion is reminiscing. She is celebrating the future, and remembering the past.
Smiling gently, Arthur spared a final look at the horizon. It was a wondrous sight. Aithusa continued.
This is very rare, for creatures and Druids to share in such a thing. It has not happened since the Naiimen age.
Arthur felt a little giddy thinking about what Iaonem must look like right now. It was an exhilarating thought: fire, mythological creatures, magic…oh if Merlin was awake to see it. He could imagine the broad grin splitting the man’s face in two, the adorable crinkling of his eyes. The thought was enough to push him back towards his quest, away from Iaonem. He set off again to the East, Aithusa trudging behind. He was so engrossed in thoughts, in Merlin, that he lazily dismissed Aithusa’s trepid, vigilant footsteps. Then she abruptly came to a halt, eyes locked on the remains of the Cave ahead. Pausing, he turned round to her in concern. She cautiously gazed at him. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur reeled his floating orb back into his hands, eyes flashing silver as its light dimmed slightly.
“What is it?” he whispered.
Eyes darting around the ruins, Aithusa remained silent for a moment. Arthur no longer required an answer, for he heard the sound of something slithering across the ground, something moving in the near distance. Eyes wide, breath hitched he became motionless, paralysed with anxiety. His heart was racing. Ahead of them, guarding the pile of fallen rocks was a dark shadow. Arthur quickly put out his magical orb in fear it would divert attention to them. In the darkness they were unable to see what exactly this creature was. If Aithusa’s reaction was anything to go by, Arthur assumed it could not be good.
Aithusa… he thought warningly, voice low and trying to remain level.
Dark creatures have sought refuge here in the ruins of Ealdor, she explained grimly. The darkest of all creatures has taken this plain to be his new home.
Swallowing-hard, disliking the words, Arthur reached for his sword. He began to tell himself positive things, like how this sword was now forged in the breath of two Dragons so it was practically invincible. That still didn’t console him much. Instead he tried to list all the magical creatures he’d faced in Albion: rabid dogs, Chimeras, Manitcores, Wyverns…still. This failed to console him. Slowly, he pulled out his sword. He was afraid the slightest sound might leave them vulnerable. They were in the middle of a plain; Ealdor was no longer a forest. There was nowhere to hide anymore. Cl
enching the sword tightly in his hands, he watched the large dark mass ahead move.
What dark creature? He asked the Dragon.
He wished she hadn’t answered. Honestly, it would have been better if he’d stalked forwards into battle without knowing what it was because now his limbs were trembling, his breath was ragged and his heart was beating so quickly he was sure he’d die pretty soon of heart failure and collapse. His hands became clammy, the grip on the sword loosening. Her answer rang through his mind, making the dark mass ahead even more menacing than it had already been.
A Basilisk.
“Why is this happening?” Gwen gazed over to a motionless Merlin, evidently worried.
“Merlin possesses great magic,” Gaius replied. “This illness is affecting his magic. It is becoming increasingly unstable.”
There was a brief stalemate. Then it mercilessly lunged towards Arthur. He managed to narrowly avoid a collision, sword scraping against the side of the creature’s face. As soon as that happened, there was another assault. Its speed was unmatched. Arthur didn’t have time to move out of the way or doge it. Eyes wide, Arthur stood paralysed. Its jaw was wide open, revealing the deadly cavern inside. The front fangs were almost as tall as Arthur himself. Overall the whole things screamed imminent death. He clamped his eyes shut, sword outstretched in front of him frantically.
“Seer or not, I see it in your eyes you know,” her words confused him, the bite to her tone adding to this confusion. His body froze in its tracks, awaiting an elucidation. “You know what I speak of Gaius, after everything he’d done! You still cared for him.”
“We were friends for many years Morgana."
“S’My, s-s-s-s, S’my.” The Basilisk chimed; a slithery sound wrapped each booming syllable. “’S’The Once S’and Future s-s-s-s, and s’his Dragon,” it bowed its large head mockingly; low enough to meet Arthur at eye level. Arthur involuntarily trembled as their eyes met. His bravery dissolved. “It is-s-s-s-s a s’pleasure to meet you. S-s-s-s. I’ve heard s-s-s-such s-s-s-spectacular things have happened during my hibernation…s-s-s-such a s-s-s-shame I missed all the bloodshed and des-s-struction-”
“-There’s s-s-still a bit more left to go actually, you're just in time." Arthur replied boldly, holding his sword out. Hell, he didn't know where the fuck this stupidity was coming from - taunting a Basilisk of all things! The creature seemed unamused by his slight mockery, but delighted by his implications.
“How’s our magical friend here doing?”
Gwen cast her eyes over to Gwaine, who was fumbling with his hands nervously. He examined Merlin’s chest as it rose and fall steadily with his breaths. His face was still swathed with a sickly colour. He looked pasty and yellowish in hue, unsettling Gwaine.
“As good as he can be,” Gaius began clearing the workbench. “though I-”
“-Gaius! Gaius it’s happening again!” Gwen yelped suddenly, leaping onto her feet with urgency. Gwaine lunged forwards, trying to settle the unexpected change in Merlin’s body.
Notes:
TRANSLATIONS:
Druid song:
Þes dæg, Þes dæg
Edníwe dæg,
Collenferð deor breostcofa
ætsteppan freódóm
écelice gemang æfensteorran
Þes dæg, Þes dæg
Edníwe dæg,
Restan eain rodor arlie
Engelies ghant ain Þes dæg!
écelice gemang siastraie
Þes dæg, Þes dæg
Edníwe dæg,
This day, this day
New day
Those bold, brave hearts
who awakened our freedom
Are everlasting among the stars
This day, this day
New day,
Rest in heaven heroes -
Angels are bringing us this day!
They are everlasting among the skyline
This day, this day
New day
Chapter 56
Despite fatigue and exhaustion tempting them to fall into the world of dreams, Gwen, Gaius and Morgana remained alert beside Merlin. The scare, orange light conjured by magic entwined with the silver wisps of moonlight. It didn’t fail to conceal Merlin’s condition. The Druid was breathing irregularly, writhing and turning every few minutes. Soft mutterings escaped his mouth sporadically without warning and his eyes would flutter open to reveal they were golden. The last time this had happened, two minutes ago, he had unintentionally caused the small workbench to topple over and subsequently the contents within the wooden pestle leaked out across the ground. Gwen was currently mopping up this mess, a frown upon her face as she gathered the scattered ingredients Gaius had been preparing. It unnerved them all, these small bursts of magic, because Kilgarrah – who had mysteriously vanished – had specifically told them using magic would weaken him.
“Why is this happening?” she gazed over to a motionless Merlin, evidently worried.
“Merlin possesses great magic,” Gaius replied. “This illness is affecting his magic. It is becoming increasingly unstable.”
Neither Morgana nor Gwen responded to his words, unsure if prying for more information would leave them more subdued. Placing the pestle back upon the workbench, Gwen smoothed over the creases of her yellow dress before going back to Merlin’s side. It was late now; the people who had taken refuge in Iaonem were fast asleep. Aside from low mumblings of those who could not sleep, the settlement was peaceful and quiet. The creatures of Albion had returned to their dwellings, flinging the beautiful forests around them back into life. Nocturnal birds were whistling their ancient melodies into the sky; predators were stalking their prey. The sounds that hadn’t been heard for weeks had returned. It was fairly comforting. But it would have been more comforting if Merlin were at least conscious.
“Gaius you should rest,” Gwen supplied kindly, concern etched onto her face as she met his weary expression. “We can watch over Merlin until the morning.”
Clearly troubled by this notion, the old man furrowed his brow. Poor Hunith had begged him to do all he could for Merlin. Gaius couldn’t help but feel responsible for Merlin and his welfare. He was not just a friend to him, but like a son; the son he had never had. Sighing, Gaius smiled at the woman insipidly.
“Let me administer this potion first.” He gestured to the pestle, continuing to grind a mixture of herbs and plant roots. For a few moments there was silence between the three of them. Clasping Merlin’s hand, Gwen muttered soft words to him. Then Gaius’ voice brought summoned her attention.
“It is truly amazing that you managed to get the people out of Iaonam safely,” he admitted. “We all feared the worst when we heard the explosion.”
Gaius would have been lying if he said he wasn’t remorseful for Uther Pendragon. The man had jumped to his own death swiftly, refusing to negotiate or co-operate with Arthur. He felt regret and a twinge of sadness at the prospect, not that Gaius would openly reveal this. For why should he mourn the man who had tossed him into the laboratory? The memories of the lab still plagued him sometimes, coming in violent stabs throughout the night. He managed to keep the turmoil at bay, because there were other people who required his help. Yes, he was now an old man. Once upon a time he had seen much of the world, he’d had many adventures of his own. He knew nobody would believe him if he dared recite some of his personal recollections. A rare smile slipped over his face as he poured the ground herbs into a vial.
The smile faded as his mind wandered from Uther Pendragon and towards his accomplice. The Clan Leaders had not hesitated to declare victory when they had returned. They had explained the outcome of the battle to those who had stayed behind. Whilst Uther Pendragon was mentioned, there was one rather prolific character who had not been mentioned at all. It baffled Gaius because throughout the days he had spent in Camelot Enterprise, there was one person potentially more dangerous than Uther himself. For it had been Morgause who had exposed Gaius as a Druid to Uther, it
had been her who had unveiled Albion. She had betrayed her own kind for reasons Gaius didn’t understand. Part of him didn’t want to, another part of him held a fear that these reasons needed to be uncovered.
“What ever did happen to Morgause I wonder…” Gaius mused, more to himself than to the two women monitoring Merlin. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of them visibly flinch, the other feign composure as she continued to dab Merlin’s forehead with a damp cloth. The reactions he had evoked intrigued him greatly.
“M- it was her who led the assault on Iaonam.” Gwen replied, a newfound anger in her eyes. “She led them to us. But we never saw, not even when we escaped. Morgana said…” she abruptly closed her mouth and spared Morgana a soft glance. The woman beside her swallowed-hard, not mustering composure to speak or contribute to the conversation. Gaius had stopped his work on the bench. Now he was solely interested in the pair. Morgause had gone to Iaonam, not Breguoin. Why on earth she would devote her time to somewhere other than the battlefield truly bewildered him. Morgause would have been a strong ally for Uther among the plain. Narrowing his eyes, he frowned. Gwen went back to dabbing Merlin’s forehead, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and Morgana’s interest in the ground seemed to have intensified for it was all she could focus on.
“Gwen, could you fetch some more water?” Calculatingly, Gwen’s eyes flickered between Morgana and the old physician. She said nothing on the matter aloud, for it was clear whatever Gaius wanted to speak to Morgana about, it was a private matter. Gwen was never one to pry. Obediently, she took leave from Merlin’s side, hauling the wooden bucket into her hands. With one swift nod and silent smile, she trailed out of the small area, past the wall of grey stones and towards the gentle, trickling river not far from Iaonem.
When certain, she was gone, Gaius raised one eyebrow and turned his attention towards the raven-haired woman. There was a curious expression on Morgana’s face, not at all conspicuous to those who were unsure what they were searching for. But Gaius had known this woman all her life. There was nothing she could hide from him - even if she may try to or believe she had successfully done so. He walked towards the motionless woman, assured Merlin’s condition was stable. Placing a hand upon her shoulder, he lowered his head accentuating the gesture of his raised eyebrow. Morgana’s lower lip trembled, her eyes watery and wide. She quickly attempted to dismiss the turmoil inside, holding her head higher and meeting Gaius’ eyes with that intensity she was renowned for.
