Camelot Enterprise

by GR Griffin

  His skin was radiant in the light, blinding. His aura emitted safety and assurance, always without fail. Merlin was the guardian angel sent by the Gods to save his soul and guide him towards the path of righteousness. He was the one who would rescue him from collapsing into perdition, constantly reminding him of the light. He was the reminder in darkness, a reminder that in times of darkness, a beacon will always be burning. Averting his eyes to the lips, then back to the eyes, Arthur fondly rested a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. The silent, unspoken words passed between them, warming his heart. Arthur Pendragon really didn’t know what he would do without Merlin. Not that he’d ever admit it. Right now however, he allowed Merlin to look beyond their petty arguments and ridiculous tirades to see into his true self.

  Breaking the contact, Arthur studied their surroundings nervously.

  “How do I find her Merlin?”

  Eyes boring into the back of the blonde’s head, the druid furrowed his brow.

  “Listen to the voice Arthur, let her find you.”

  ♦☼♦

  “We’re getting closer I can feel it!” Arthur shouted breathlessly to the druid behind him, sprinting through the forest at a frantic pace.

  Struggling to keep up with the man’s athletic pace, Merlin panted. They had been running for so long. The familiarity of the forest had quickly shifted into something new, something dripping with intense magic. The archaic forests of Ealdor melted into a confusing mesh of tall, thin trees. Sunlight failed to light the area properly, creating a disorientating hue. As he ran, Merlin saw the thin trees merge into one black blob from the corners of his eyes. This only dizzied him further. The thought that he had never wandered this far from Ealdor by foot also concerned him. He genuinely had no idea where they were. There were no signs of life or civilisation anywhere.

  “Arthur.” He gasped in relief as the man in front came to a halt, spinning around to pinpoint their route with grit determination.

  Merlin’s eyes dejectedly noticed the distinctive ashen boulder to their right. Catching his breath, he shook his head.

  “We….we’ve passed that boulder six times now.” Lugging in a huge breath of air, he continued. “We’re going round in circles.”

  Arthur ignored him, crouching down to the ground to sieve the golden soil through his fingertips. Bringing the fingers to his lips, he shut his eyes in a deep focus. They were so close now; he could sense not just the voice but also a presence. The magic inside him was bursting with energy. Contorting his face, he opened his eyes and threw the remaining sand from his hand on the ground sullenly. It was frustrating, being so close – he almost felt paradoxically further away than ever before. A flash of understanding rimed his eyes, and he stood up. He cast one final look at a fatigued Merlin before breaking into a run.

  “This way!” he roared, not bothering to check the druid had followed him.

  Shoving the low-lying branches from his way, Arthur ploughed forwards obstinately. The thin dark trees shadowing over them gradually lightened in hue. Merlin’s eyes widened at the scenery unfolding. Tiny white flowers began to appear, until they completely covered the ground. Beautiful trees, similar to silver birch and cherry blossoms covered the landscape. Their bodies were white, and their branches were sprinkled with pale pink and white blossom. The forest was shallow in height, allowing sunlight to pour through the cracks of the branches. It created alluring slits of light against the already striking luminosity. Arthur slowed into a walk, studying the enrapturing forest around them. It was a heavenly sanctuary. Gaping, Merlin reached out to the blossom. He met Arthur’s eyes; they echoed similar astonishment.

  “Where are we?” Arthur asked the druid softly, the whispering breeze swept over them soothingly.

  “I…I don’t know.” Merlin blinked slowly, indulging in the expanse of white forest, blooming in innocence and true beauty. “I’ve never been here before, or heard of a place like it.”

  All of a sudden, the gentle breeze strengthened. Blossom was plucked from the trees, swirling around the pair in a vortex embedded with a peculiar sparkle. Arthur had seen that sparkle before, as had Merlin. It resembled faerie dust. An eerie whispering slipped through the air; the wind pushed the pair forwards effortlessly. A blinding light flickered ahead. Both Merlin and Arthur lifted their hands to shield their eyes, though they were too curious to properly blockade the light. The wind fizzled out, the blossom falling to the ground by their feet. Out of the blossom trees, a handful of faeries emerged, all matching the colour of the blossom. Their glitter was mesmerising in the intense light. Merlin strode forwards instantly. As he approached them he greeted the creatures with a gracious bow and a few words in the druid tongue Arthur had not heard before. Arthur bowed his head nervously; showing correct etiquette towards these divine beings was important.

  The faeries hovered around them. One of them stood out from the crowd due to its sheer aura. A crown was on its head, her wings and clothes embodied with precious shiny jewels. Her long magenta hair was a contrast against her paled skin. She returned the gesture gracefully, whispering behind her enigmatic smile. Her slender face was the embodiment of beauty. She had a small, delicate nose and large cerise eyes. Merlin seemed to recognise her. His eyes were soft; smile blinding. This faerie had been one of his favourite bedtime characters, filling his dreams with hope and joy.

  Emrys.

  The whispering moulded into a sweet, docile voice, drifting through their ears. Merlin met her elusive eyes in disbelief. Deciding against speaking aloud, afraid he would not find the words, he opened his mind.

  Princess Lucinda. Pray, tell us where we are?

  The faerie – Princess Lucinda – drifted closer to the man, her smile was warm and consoling.

  You are in the kingdom of the Faeries, sacred dwelling of the spirits. Very few have ever found our forest, or have had good reason to come here.

  She turned her attention to the blonde man beside Merlin, and nodded knowingly. It seemed she was fully aware of their reasoning for being here.

  She is waiting for you.

  Gazing at the faerie, Arthur’s expression hardened. There was no ambiguity in her words. His mother was here. His mother was waiting for him. She leant towards him, wings fluttering an array of glitter across the air.

  You have nothing to fear, young Pendragon. Continue forwards into the light, there she will meet you.

  With that, Lucinda and the other faeries fell back into the endearing trees, their whispering leaving a tingle in the air. Hesitantly, Arthur turned to Merlin, a grimace on his face. Here he was, seconds away from meeting the most influential woman in his life, the woman he had never known. His hands rested at the necklace round his neck. Pulling it out from his top, he smoothed over the bird pensively. Merlin admired the necklace from a distance, compassion etched over his face. He had been lucky enough to have both his mother and his father in his life.

  “You can do it Arthur.” He said, surprised by the sudden panic spreading over the blonde’s eyes.

  “You’re coming with me.” Arthur stated, as if it was not a question despite the layers of doubt percolating within the tone.

  Moved by the words, by the notion that Arthur wanted Merlin to witness something so personal, Merlin nodded silently. The pair walked forwards to the blinding light. Arthur was the first to pass through it, landing on a dimly lit plateau of green grass. To his left a stone table stood, littered in candles. It had four deep engravings across, gothic in style and shaped like draping cathedral windows. Roots of the tree behind it had crawled onto the stone, adding to the ethereal atmosphere. Whatever this place was, it was sacred. Merlin stumbled in, eyes drifting over the stone table, examining the abnormal space around them. It was as if they were confined in a room, but they weren’t, because they could see the sky above. Wherever there were, the magic here was strong, overwhelmingly so. Turning to Merlin, Arthur let out a shallow breath.

  “She’s not he-“

  “-Arthur.” A fragile, fema
le voice rang in his ears.

  Her voice was beautiful aloud, more beautiful and sweet than he could have ever imagined. Her syllables were decorated with kindness, voice swathed in something he had never known on earth- maternal love. Part of him was convinced this couldn’t be real. Merlin’s expression suggested otherwise, his eyes full of reverence, fixated on behind Arthur. Swallowing-hard, Arthur slowly moved his eyes towards the voice. What if he wasn’t who she wanted him to be? What if she was ashamed of him, or worse disappointed? His palms were clammy, his heartbeat erratic. For a moment overwhelming nausea overcame his system, threatening to plummet him into darkness.

  It all stopped when he cast eyes upon her.

  There she was. His eyes weren’t sure where to start; she was more beautiful than any photograph he had ever been shown. She was dressed in a flattering golden dress, the bodice laden with jewels. Her pale skin gleamed in the candlelight hypnotically, a contrast to the colour of the dress. He had inherited his mother’s eyes, just like his father said. The only difference being her eyes were far more striking, gleaming enigmatically in the dim light. Her blonde hair was tied up in a regal bun, small strands on either side of her face dangling down. The candlelight mapped out the delicate structure of her face, the high cheekbones, the dainty nose, the modest lips. His mother- Igraine Pendragon. It was her. He was confident not even magic could not conjure such a vivid depiction of her. She gazed at him with an abundance of affection. Arthur wasn’t sure who ran first, but in a matter of agonisingly long seconds, the pair were locked in a tight embrace.

  “Mother.” He whispered, the word sounding foreign on his lips. Pulling him closer, the woman cradled the back of his head with her soft hands.

  “Oh Arthur. The last time I held you, you were a tiny baby.”

  Releasing her from his arms, he studied her angelic face, tears building in his eyes. Instinctively, she reached for his eyes, smoothing over the skin below to catch them attentively. Her warm palm rested on his cheek, rubbing the skin tenderly. Arthur felt a wave of calm wash over him. Now that he knew what it felt like, the gentle, assuring caress of his mother would leave a dull ache in his chest forever. He was sure of it. Lowering his gaze, Arthur choked on the swell in his throat. The melancholy crashed over him, the guilt. This beautiful woman had died, and it was all his doing.

  “I’m sorry. I cannot bear the thought that you died because of me.”

  Igraine’s eyes softened, but her composure melted. Holding his face in both her hands, she shook her head swiftly.

  “Don’t you dare blame yourself for what happened-”

  “-If I wasn’t born, you would still be alive.” The tears streaming from his face muffled his words a little.

  Merlin stood silently, unsure if Igraine had noticed his presence. He felt slightly awkward watching something so intimate unfolding. He had never seen Arthur like this, so vulnerable and helplessly clouded by emotions. The next words of Igraine introduced a dark, sinister aura that spread around them.

  “It’s your father who should bear the guilt, not you.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Arthur examined the look on his mother’s face. It was severe and urgent. Blinking away the tears, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Sighing, she smiled weakly. It was not a smile of happiness, but one of sadness. Removing her hands from his face, she lowered them to her side, eyes unable to meet his.

  “Arthur,” she hissed, evidently trying hard to conceal a bitter edge to her tone. “There is something you must know. It is why I have been unable to rest, why I called you.”

  Curiosity shadowing over him, Arthur tightened his grip on her shoulders, searching her eyes imploringly.

  “What is it mother-“

  Igraine laughed darkly, bringing a hand to her trembling lips.

  “-I can’t believe he never told you-“

  “-Mother-“

  “-He let you think it was your fault all this time!” her voice was engulfed by a sudden rage. She looked at her son, and pride swelled in her chest. He had grown into a fine, handsome young man. But he was not built of just flesh and blood; he was built up of memories. Memories that she would never know, memories she never had the chance to create, memories that shaped his future and made him the man he was today. This barrier between them made him seem a complete stranger. It broke her heart. Softening her voice, she continued.

  “Arthur. I am infertile, I cannot conceive.”

  Both Merlin and Arthur’s eyes widened at this declaration. Unable to construct proper sentences, the blonde man stammered weakly.

  “W-what…how…” Arthur’s words trailed off vacantly, hurt lingered in his eyes.

  “We tried everything – nothing worked. Your father was desperate for a son, an heir to take over Camelot Enterprise when it was his time to resign…” she snapped her mouth shut abruptly as if she believed she had said too much.

  Detecting the hesitance, Arthur leant forwards and cupped her face lovingly with his hands. Her skin was like satin. She offered him a bleak smile, eyes shining with fresh tears. The sight of his mother on the verge of tears upset him greatly. And then it angered him. It was no secret who had caused this, his father.

  “…What did he do?” he tried maintaining as much composure as he could, at first. But when she averted her eyes and spilt the first tear, his blood boiled. The fire in his soul was unleashed, setting their surroundings ablaze.

  “Mother, you must tell me.”

  “He betrayed me.” She replied solemnly. “He collaborated with a sorceress, asking to conceive a child-“

  “-No.” Arthur breathed. He released his mother, fists clenched.

  From the outskirts of the conversation, Merlin was horrified by the words of Igraine. Her own husband had been so desperate to keep the Business running, a business that tortured druids, he had turned to what he hated most for help. Worst of all, he had meddled with the course of life and death. For a life to be given, one had to be taken. It was the ancient laws of magic. Then the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle came together. The words of Balinor floated into the forefront of his mind. It all made sense now….

  “Nimueh….” Merlin uttered. Nimueh was the sorceress Uther had called on, the lady of legend who was known to have suffered immensely under his hand. Perhaps that was why Morgause was keen to stay on Uther’s good side, appeasing him and aiding his plans.

  Arthur was unsure how much more he could take. His mother…his mother had died because of his father’s pride. He was shaking, pacing back and forth whilst his mother tried to console him. Pulling him into her clutches, she held his hands.

  “You were born of magic Arthur.”

  Arthur froze, his eyes wide in shock. The world around him became a blur. He was…conceived through magic. Magic. It all made sense. That was why he could do magic, why he could learn the spells that Merlin had taught him. It wasn’t because he was chosen for greatness; it was because he had magic in his veins. The thought sickened him. All this time he had been taught to hate magic, to oppress those who used it – when his own father had used it, when he himself was made through magic. He was magic, he was closer to the druids than he’d ever be to anyone on earth. It was too much to contemplate right now. Shaking his head in despair, Arthur let slip a supressed groan of unrest.

  “I won’t believe it. I…no.”

  “To create a life, a life must be taken. Your father knew that.”

  Distraught, Arthur pressed a hand to his mouth, unsuccessful in steadying his breathing. Shit. Igraine hadn’t died due to childbirth- it was something far more sinister. Merlin took a step forwards in concern, but remained in the background of the situation. He did not want to disturb the scene; worst of all disturb Igraine’s spirit. Igraine took her son’s hand, kissing it gently. The affection broke Arthur.

  “He…he sacrificed you knowingly for a son…a successor.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Arthur.” She dr
ew him into her arms, holding him as close as she could. It was all she could do to prepare him for her next words.

  “But there’s more.”

  Lifting his head off her shoulder, he hauled in a large breath, afraid the dizziness embracing him would knock him out, and she would be gone forever. Part of him had been foolish to believe that they would be able to spend the precious time talking about themselves, learning more about each other. She spotted the Merlin necklace dangling from his chest and traced her fingers over it absently. For a moment her eyes were full of fondness. It faded when she removed her hand.

  “Morgana. She is not what she appears.” Pause. “She is his flesh and blood.”

  Merlin titled his head forwards in shock, watching the strong man before him crumble further into a chaotic shell.

  “She’s my sister?” Arthur gasped. Half-sister technically. However, now was not the time to be pedantic. The magnitude of this fact pelted him in the face, pushing him backwards. Morgana and himself were but a year apart. He was the oldest, she wasn’t that far behind him. Which had to mean before his mother’s death, before he had been born-

  “-He betrayed you, dishonoured your name!” he cried out in sudden frenzy. “How could he do this?!”

  No reply came. Igraine kissed his head lightly. Arthur released the woman, falling to the ground. He pressed a hand to his excruciating temple, allowing the restrained bottled up tears to flow. All this time, his father had lied. His father had lied about everything. His poor mother had been violated. The wonderful, lovely woman who had given birth to him was exchanged for his own life without any thought. Digging his fingernails into the ground, he was incapable of controlling the emotions in his body. His heart was bleeding from a wound inflicted by a dark secret. The pain of the situation grew too much. Fastening his eyelids together tightly, Arthur cried out unwillingly, breath ragged. In a matter of seconds his cries escalated into despairing sobs.