Camelot Enterprise

by GR Griffin

  Abruptly, Merlin lost his footing and began to tumble down the steps- which led to the jaws of the ferocious beast. Arthur hauled him back up by his shirt, mustering enough force to practically throw him up the next few steps out of reach from the jaws of the Manticore. Suddenly, the sound of pincers echoed through the tower. Sharp, tiny scarlet blades swept past their faces, inches from their skin. Arthur watched them sink into the stone, cutting through the brick easily; he dreaded to think what it would do to human flesh. Another round of the strange, red blades instigated the duo to pick up the pace. Arthur was too caught up survival-mode to question Merlin as to what on earth the blades were, or how the creature had fired them.

  The next few moments passed too quickly, and somehow also too slowly for Arthur’s liking. But what he disliked the most was his lack of choice in the matter. Merlin – the selfless idiot had not even given him a hint about his next actions. The truth was no matter how fast they ran, the Manticore was approaching, and they would not be able to outrun it. There were no trees to climb this time, no magical, miraculous escapes as there had been with the Chimera. When they reached a platform, leading to another staircase, a door to the left and a primitive window to the right, Merlin drew them to a halt. In seconds he raised his palm, aiming for the beams of stone above the staircase they had just come from.

  In a flash of blinding light, the floor shook violently, stone tumbling down and blockading the tower staircase. The wounded roar of the Manticore from the other side revealed that it might have been caught up in the whole ordeal. If the lack of sound was anything to go by, the falling ceiling had indefinitely trampled the creature, conjured by Merlin. For a moment, Arthur regained his breath, hands on his knees. Part of him was fascinated and astounded the druid had been able to cast that wordless spell so quickly. Merlin raked a hand through his tousled hair, coughing as the dust from the rocks seeped through his lungs.

  Then came the consequence of his actions.

  It started with a small tremble at first, enough to dismiss. Then it grew into a colossal rumble, shaking the entire structure. It happened so fast; the tower literally began to sway, no longer stable. It all began to collapse around them. Gazing over to the window, Merlin spotted the main tower wasn’t too far; the ledge could be easily reached in a jump. Swiftly, he ushered Arthur to the window and pushed him brutally before he could protest or question. Arthur did the most rational thing he could when flailing in the air, he steered his body towards the other window ledge, landing instinctively upon the bricks.

  Everything was still happening too fast, and it took him a second too long to establish that Merlin hadn’t jumped with him. Gasping in shock, he turned his attention back to the other tower.

  By the time he’d done so, it was too late. The other tower was nothing but a pile of rubble and pungent dust rising upwards.

  “MERLIN!” He cried, eyes desperately searching the rubble, panic seeping through his system.

  Shit, shit, shit! What the fucking fuck was he meant to do now?! There was no way he could return to Ealdor without Merlin – the son of the clan. Heart racing, he made his way towards the spiralling staircase of the tower, beginning to run down the steps frantically. Arthur didn’t have magic – what if Merlin was injured? What if he was dead? -Nope, that wasn’t a sane thought at all. Nobody was dying. Not here.

  He looked out the window on floor below, greeted by the same dismal sight of destruction and calamity. Clenching his fists, he paced away from the window slowly. He had to think about this realistically. As much as Merlin deserved to be alive, a whole tower had just collapsed withhim inside of it! If he wasn’t dead, he was certainly on his death bed-

  “-Merlin.” he called out again dejectedly.

  The silence was the first to reply. The second voice stunned him.

  “…Arthur?”

  Rushing towards the window, Arthur gazed out of the window to see Merlin standing on the balcony of the tallest tower, a mere twenty metres or so away. He was astoundingly intact, unharmed apart from a few minor scrapes on his arms.

  “You’re…alive.” Arthur observed, voice quiet, face flushed. He hoped Merlin hadn’t heard him crying out his name. That would just be embarrassing and awkward.

  From what Arthur could deduce from this distance, Merlin smirked, examining himself light-heartedly.

  “Sure am.” The perky tone in his voice was hardly consoling.

  The first thing Arthur felt wasn’t relief, or shock that this idiot was in fact safe and sound. It was agonising rage. Leaning out the window precariously, he narrowed is eyes.

  “H-how dare you just pull a stunt like that! Y-you just, idiot.” unable to fully form a cohesive sentence, Arthur continued to stream out his splutters. “Out of nowhere without any warning whatsoever! You-”

  “-Well it wasn’t like I had time to warn you, the tower was collapsing.” Merlin shouted back, sighing. There really was no pleasing this prat; he’d just saved his life, again!

  “You could have at least told me you weren’t going to actually sacrifice yourself-”

  Confused by Arthur’s words, Merlin drew his eyebrows together. The blonde man continued to talk over his quiet musings.

  “-Sacrifice myself? What are you talking about-”

  “-by just pushing me off the tower and leaving yourself behind.”

  Merlin’s eyes flashed with realisation. Arthur thought he had been caught up in the rubble. Arthur thought he’d died. Unsure what exactly to say, Merlin simply stared at the handsome man in the window thoughtfully. Then, he abruptly walked away from the balcony and back into the giant tower.

  Don’t pretend that you actually care about me dollophead! He thought, deliberately mimicking Arthur’s words from earlier.

  Hearing Merlin’s voice echo in his head, Arthur sighed resignedly.

  Where are you going now?

  The wooden, archaic door to his left drew Arthur inside. He glanced around the cobwebbed, old room.

  I’m looking for the Trident. Maybe you should too; we’d finish this quest of yours a lot quicker if we both searched. Look out for the Ortheneu; they’re not to be meddled with. I think the majority of them left the Tower after the collapse, but there may be a few lurking in the shadows. If you find the Trident, let me know.

  With that Merlin detached his mind, clasping the brass door handle tightly. Opening the door, he walked slowly into the large, spacious room. It was deteriorating, beautiful ornaments covered in rust. In the centre of the room was a majestic, regal chair, laced in fine silk and gold. It’s back morphed into a triangle at the top, elusive patterns etched into the golden body. Cobwebs sprinkled across the royal chair, gesturing it was old, very old. The lack of light in the room disguised the figure in the chair. Slowly, Merlin paced forwards, swallowing-hard. As he reached the chair, and the sunlight unmasked the identity of the figure, he knelt down on the floor, head bowed.

  “So you are still alive.”

  ♦☼♦

  The man was dressed in a manner that demonstrated nothing other than royalty and stature. A fur coat was draped over his blue tunic, which verified fantastic embroidery of the highest calibre. Merlin knew this kind of marvellous work would have had to originate from Karhgarl; the City of Silk in the North. He’d heard the stories, of how they had toiled over the perfect robe for The Fisher King, many centuries ago. Gazing upon that very robe was a little overwhelming to say the least. It had barely withered away over the time, the fine silver and ruby silk shimmering as if it had been sewn yesterday. Merlin averted his eyes to the Fisher King himself.

  The Fisher King was crippled with age; skin winkled and eyes sunken into his head. But his eyes were laced with wisdom, and that golden crown on his bald head oozed grandeur. Standing up, Merlin studied the man reverently. All this time, just like the legends had said, the Fisher King had remained here in his dying kingdom. He’d never abandoned it, even when it abandoned him. There was something remarkably sad about this brave tale. Th
e Fisher King gazed over to Merlin.

  “I’ve been waiting all these years for the arrival of a new time, the time of the Once and Future.”

  Pursing his lips together, Merlin took a step forwards in curiosity. The Once and Future…

  “I’ve heard those words before.” He admitted softly, though they were a mere whisper in the back of his mind.

  “And you will hear them again,” the Fisher King said. “For that time is dawning and mine can now come to an end. This is why you were brought here. This is not Arthur’s quest – it is yours.” Gesturing over to the majestic Trident beside him, the King continued. “Arthur thinks that the prize is the trident. But the real prize is something far greater.”

  Reaching into his robe, the King pulled out a vial. The transparent glass vial was full of a hypnotic sapphire liquid. It sparkled enigmatically as it caught the light, with something more than just reflection. The very essence of the object screamed magic; Merlin could feel his body tingling in its presence. Whatever this was, Merlin was sure it was sacred, special.

  “Water from the lake of Avalon. I’ve kept it safe all these years, waiting for the right person to claim it, and that is you.” Turning to Merlin, the Fisher King hoisted the vial towards him. “You are the one chosen.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked anxiously, feigning obliviousness to the situation and the King’s words.

  “Emrys,” the stern man replied. Merlin tried not to wince at the overbearing name. “Don’t play the fool. Albion’s time of need is near. In that dark hour, you will need help. That is what I’m giving you. For you and you alone can save her in the time of Darkness. When all seems lost, this will show you the way.”

  Reluctantly, Merlin held the vial in his palms. The liquid was heavier than expected; its mesmerising nature lured him into a captivated trance. For a moment, Merlin indulged in the beautiful water, the way it caressed his magic. He was drawn away from the gift brusquely.

  “I have given you a gift Emrys, now you must give me one in return.”

  Reaching for his satchel, Merlin frowned. A gift fit for a King, the Fisher King. Dejectedly, he gazed at the man. He assumed the truth would suffice better than pulling out his supplies for the quest and feebly offering them up as a token of gratitude.

  “I have nothing to give.”

  The King smiled gently, knowingly.

  “A gift is not always an object. Sometimes it is symbolic.” The King outstretched a hand. “I wish to be free.”

  “You want to die.” Merlin stated, half-expecting that this would happen. It was no secret that the Fisher King had been fatally wounded in the great battle, and the pain had sustained whilst he continued to live. It had been hundreds of years; to have such constant pain- death seemed kind.

  “I have served my purpose,” the King explained. “It’s no longer my time.”

  “I…I understand.” Merlin whispered in return.

  Hesitantly, he pulled out the crimson fang shot from the Manticore, one he had managed to salvage. At the time, it had been impulsive. Manticore venom was potent, but could be used in many spectacular ways if exploited correctly. Part of him had been foolish enough to think of Gaius at the time – he would have loved to see it, to teach Merlin all about it’s uses and dangers. Kneeling beside the throne, Merlin clasped the fang in his hand. Looking up to the relaxed King, he sighed. He wasn’t sure if he could go through with poisoning the Fisher King, it wouldn’t bode well on his conscience.

  “Will it hurt?”

  The King chuckled at these words, clearly amused by them.

  “Merlin, I have endured centuries of suffering. I can no longer feel pain; I fear I can no longer feel anything. Put me out of my misery for good.”

  At these words, Merlin obediently plunged the fang into the King’s skin. No blood was spilt. Instantaneously, a violent breeze swept through the room. Shielding his face, Merlin held his hands over his head. He clamped his eyes shut tightly. Within seconds the shrieking wind vanished, with it any trace of the Fisher King. Opening his eyes, Merlin glanced around the empty room.

  The King was gone.

  Carefully, Merlin placed the vial of holy water in his satchel. It appeared that all of this was perfectly timed by Fate, for none other than Arthur Pendragon stumbled through the door moments after. Eyes wide, he spotted the bronze Trident beside the noble chair.

  Grinning, he brushed past a strangely pensive Merlin, tightening his grip around the Trident. He nudged the druid in the arm, laughter bursting out of his mouth.

  “Ha! Look what I’ve found!” he proclaimed, holding the Trident in the air proudly. Merlin was too overwhelmed to fight back and correct Arthur, for it was not Arthur who had found the Trident at all. Patting the druid on the shoulder good-heartedly, Arthur made his way towards the door.

  “Let’s get out of here, we still need to make it back to Ealdor in time.”

  ♦☼♦

  To say Merlin had been remarkably quiet during their journey back to Ealdor would have been an understatement. Arthur clung to the trident in his hands, watching Merlin walking ahead in front of him. He was unsure how exactly to gage a reaction from the druid. The druid seemed locked in thought, meditative. Whatever was on his mind, he clearly wasn’t going to share it with Arthur. Still high on adrenaline and victory, Arthur grinned. Merlin was not going to put dampen his spirits- he’d completed the quest! Childishly, he poked him with the metallic fork, causing the druid to turn around and scowl at him before marching forwards, lip curled up. Thrilled to finally have some sort of interaction initiated, Arthur spoke.

  “You know, I reckon I could have done that all by myself,” he mused aloud, giddy on the adrenaline of such an epic quest. He spared another awed gaze at the Trident. He didn’t have to say the next words; they were hanging in the air obviously. But he said them anyway, too blissfully caught up in his own conquest to care whether the druid took his teasing seriously.

  “Without you.”

  Scoffing, Merlin pushed a branch out of his way, ensuring it smacked Arthur square in the face as he walked behind him. Stubborn, arrogant prat!

  “Oh really? That Manticore would have eaten you alive.” He recalled smoothly, not sinking to Arthur’s immature level. It had been a long day, full of a realm of emotions Merlin hadn’t had the chance to swim in yet or identify. Exhausting wasn’t quite the word. His magic was whimpering inside, begging for rest.

  Arthur shrugged casually.

  “I had it under control.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Merlin stopped walking. He met the blonde’s eyes sternly.

  “Getting confident are we? I was going to go easy on you in your first lesson but now I see no reason why I should.”

  Arthur gazed around the dull withered part of the forest in distaste.

  “Neither do I.” He admitted. “I’m not a simpleton, your lessons should barely scrape the surface of my superior strength and knowledge.” Merlin could almost see the smug pride clouding around Arthur. If Arthur Pratdragon wanted to play this game- then that was just fine. He had an equally good pokerface.

  “You’re that confident you’ll find my lessons easy?” he asked, praying the prat would say yes just to spur on the mischief.

  Arthur was stirred by the druid’s reaction, he seemed more amused than insulted, as if indulging in a private joke. Feigning ignorance, Arthur continued.

  “Oh it’ll be a breeze. Learn a few spells,” he raised his free palm dramatically. “restore the balance of nature, watch magical trees glow in the dark…”

  A laugh escaped Merlin’s lips.

  “Wow.” He breathed and continued walking. “You really do have all the makings of a great leader don’t you?”

  Chapter 17

  When Merlin had told Arthur his first lesson would begin early the next day, Arthur hardly expected him to actually be serious. There were many hours in a single day, and how a lesson in druid culture and magic could span more than a few hours- well
Arthur didn’t know, but the thought of studying for a long period of time vexed him. Nonetheless, Merlin was so serious about this that the druid had woken him up before the sun had fully risen, when the sky was still dusted in tints of pink and orange. The rest of the clan were peacefully dreaming.

  To say Arthur was unimpressed would have been a fairly modest depiction of the truth, considering the scowl on his face. Regardless of this, he obediently packed the necessary supplies for the day, flinging them into Merlin’s brown satchel, and hoisting a few into his own backpack. Exiting Merlin’s room he tossed the druid the satchel, a little bewildered by the blinding, bright smile plastered on the man’s face. Deciding not to rise to the obvious bait, Arthur frowned, trudging forwards with a yawn.

  “Any reason in particular why we’re up so early?” he asked, unable to hide his curiosity.

  “It’s going to take us a few hours to get within teleporting reach of our destination.” Merlin said, far too chirpy and laidback for Arthur’s liking.

  Narrowing his eyes, Arthur studied the feigned innocence and joy plastered over the druid’s face. Well, it had to be feigned because there was no way Merlin would be happy about having to spend all of his time with Arthur Pendragon. It just didn’t make sense. Sure, the pair of them had bonded a bit on the Quest, but they were far from friends, barely even acquaintances. He took a step forwards into Merlin’s personal space, eyeing him cautiously. Part of him hoped to detect some kind of counterfeit with the druid’s persona; it definitely would have settled his conscience- that was for sure.