by GR Griffin
“Is there anybody else here?”
Silence. Leon didn’t respond.
Morgana opened her eyes, studying Leon’s weary face carefully. Something was amiss in his complexion; his skin was pallid, his eyes drained of vibrancy. Those wonderful eyes had become nothing but a distorted memory of bright colour, lacking in the very thing that made them human. His jaw was clenched tightly shut, revealing strain. His body language was paradoxical. It seeped with tension, and yet also slumped in dejection. Both anger and sorrow were present, although both were too fragile and distant to fight each other for dominance. It was a terrible sight. Morgana wondered if she looked the same; she supposed she did.
Eventually, he made some kind of communication (though it was bleak and performed with no conviction.) Grimacing, Leon pointed over to room directly opposite them. Following his eyes, Morgana noticed a small figure was huddled in the corner. The sight stunned her, appalled her. Twisting to face the room, she clutched the bars desperately.
“…A child?” she shrieked, glancing over to Leon in concern. Her actions became frenzied as she attempted to shake the bars. Trying to prevent Morgana inflicting pain upon herself, Leon gently steered her away from the bars. She met his eyes; they were laced in despair and apprehension.
“Is he hurt?!”
Shaking his head, Leon gazed over to the other room. There was a peculiar expression etched onto his face, one only few would come to understand. But as Morgana averted her attention towards the boy, she was unable to see it. A newfound affection swelled within her chest at the sight, an instinctive urge to protect. The child must have been no older than ten or eleven. He was huddled in the corner of his room, a majestic emerald cloak draped round his shoulders. His eyes were wide and haunting, even from this distance Morgana felt a little unnerved by how comprehensive he appeared to be. Those vibrant eyes had the ability to look straight into her soul; they had effervescence, they were a spectacle of fantastic colours. It was a curious sight, to see a child full of such silent determination despite the events that had come to pass. The child’s eyes met hers across the room, sending a shudder up her skin. She drew her attention back towards Leon, feeling increasingly uncomfortable under the gaze.
“What is his name?”
Shrugging, Leon glanced over at the child who had diverted his attention from the pair.
“I don’t know, he hasn’t said a word since-”
“-Get off me!!” A new voice surged through the air, breaking off Leon’s explanation. He met Morgana’s anxious eyes. Immediately, they both leapt onto their feet, clinging to the metallic bars. Leon would recognise that rugged, rough voice anywhere.
The door to the holding cells was cast open dramatically. Four men in military attire hauled two figures through with ferocity. One of the men, tanned with dark eyes, had given up struggling against their vice-grip. The other man with sleek brown locks refused to give up so easily, that much was certain. He continued cursing, pushing against them savagely. Morgana studied the familiar characters, identifying them instantly. Lance and Gwaine. Her eyes widened, they had been there, with Arthur. Scanning the corridor desperately, she felt her heartbeat quicken when Arthur’s presence didn’t arrive. There was no trace of him, or echo of his voice.
Leon grimaced at the red gash on Gwaine’s arms, watching helplessly as the guards cast them into the cell next to the child’s. The moment he fell to the ground, Gwaine jumped back to his feet, rushing towards the gate. He failed to make it before it was abruptly shut. Lancelot was regaining his breath, trying to remain calm and calculated. Gwaine shook the bars forcefully, but futilely. Then with a laboured sigh, he rested his forehead against it. An unusual bleakness smothered him. Shit, they needed Arthur, and they needed him now. Arthur was the only one who could have infiltrated Camelot without getting caught. But it was tragic - he wasn’t even Arthur right now, just an echo of a human being; a lost tormented soul wandering aimlessly.
Swallowing-hard, Morgana met Gwaine’s eyes. Arthur wasn’t here, so where was he?
“Is Arthur…” incapable of finishing the sentence, she clutched the bars tightly. Realising the implications of her sentence, Gwaine laughed bitterly. His uncharacteristic hostility alarmed her.
“No.” he responded. “But he may as well be-”
“-Gwaine.” Lancelot warned, narrowing his eyes from the corner. It was clear by the tone of his voice he was unimpressed with Gwaine’s actions.
“-What?” the brunette asked tetchily. “You saw him.”
The memory of Arthur – or what was left of him – conjured sadness within the pair. Lancelot refused to reply, sympathy staining his somnolent eyes; Gwaine didn’t elaborate, allowing the obscurity of his words to hover around Morgan and Leon. Gazing between the two men, Leon’s eyes flashed with realisation. He turned to Gwaine in concern; Morgana was quietly stirring over the meaning of his words.
“So, Arthur’s still out there?”
Lancelot shuffled awkwardly, averting his gaze. The man beside him was less subtle in his actions, not afraid to give an honest answer nobody really wanted to hear.
“Yes.”
At this, Morgana turned her attention towards them. Panic flickered through her eyes. Arthur was out there, vulnerable and weak. What if he was injured, wounded- no. Gwaine and Lancelot wouldn’t just abandon him – would they? If so- why? Leon’s words reassured her.
“With Merlin?”
Of course. Merlin would be there to look after him, even if he was broken. Morgana had seen the look of undeniable affection and tenderness in Arthur’s eyes whenever the man was mentioned. It was painfully obvious that the two shared a profound bond, one that she was certain couldn’t be ruptured by even something like this. Merlin was strong-willed; Arthur was strong – together they could overcome anything. The thought of Merlin ushering Arthur to safety, trying to soothe utterly betrayed son of Uther Pendragon comforted her. Gwaine’s dismal expression did not comfort her. It evoked something terrifying inside her: doubt.
“…Well-” he began in a tone far too bleak for her liking – it suggested that Merlin was not with Arthur, that he really was alone. Anger smothered her. Unable to conceal it, she unleashed the fire blazing through her skin; Gwaine’s words were caught in a deadly combustion, bringing them to an abrupt stop as they perished in the air, along with his composure.
“-You left him?”
“We came to rescue you-”
“-Some rescue.” Morgana snorted viciously, gesturing towards their current location (locked up in Camelot Base). “And I can’t believe you just abandoned him.” The flames fizzled into scorching embers that began to reveal the hurt in her eyes.
“We didn’t abandon him Morgana,” Gwaine said, even though yes – that kind of was exactly what they’d done. “He’s not a lost child. We spoke to him like an adult and he chose not to come.”
Confused, the raven-haired woman mused over the words. That sounded contrasting to the Arthur Pendragon she knew. Arthur had chosen not to come? He had chosen to wallow in self-pity and neglect his duty to the people he loved, and the people who loved him. No. That couldn’t be true. Shaking her head fiercely, she gazed over to Lancelot’s dreary expression for confirmation of this.
“He…He wouldn’t.”
Standing up, Lancelot met her eyes sadly.
“I’m afraid so. Arthur is a shell of a man, an echo of himself. He was barely responsive.”
The words triggered worry inside of Morgana. Arthur was never one to reveal emotions, or crumble under pressure and trauma. He was a strong character, always ploughing through the obstacles Uther had pushed into his path. Morgana could not recall a time she had seen Arthur dwindle into a shell of a man, an echo of himself. But she was fully aware of how god-damn selfless he could be at times. She assumed this lack of response and withdrawal was his method of despairing. He couldn’t be left alone in that state, nobody could. It wasn’t safe, it wasn’t healthy. She failed to understand why Gwain
e and Lancelot didn’t drag him along. Surely if he had made it to Camelot, it would have sparked some form of resistance within him? Gwaine identified the look on her face immediately, deciding to use it as a means of trying to pacify her.
“Ask yourself Morgana, do you really want to see Arthur like that?” he said.
Bringing her distant eyes to him, she swallowed-hard.
“No. But I’m beginning to suspect that you do.”
Taken-aback by her words, Gwaine maintained their stare. If only she knew the truth, everything Arthur had done…maybe she wouldn’t be so quick to defend him. He chuckled darkly.
“We need Arthur,” he replied ambiguously, not giving anything away. “Not some broken man having a mid-life crisis.”
That rekindled the fire inside.
“This is no time to make jokes!” Morgana exclaimed, detecting the sarcasm in his voice. “Arthur did all he could to protect Ealdor, and you’re acting as if he’s committed a heinous crime.” Studying Gwaine curiously, she softened her voice a little. “Why are you so angry Gwaine?”
Casting his eyes to the ground, Gwaine smiled grimly. There was a long silence between her question and his response, in which all four of them were incapable of escaping the gloomy aura trapping them. Gradually, he lifted his eyes, seeming to have come up with an appropriate response.
“I’m not angry, I’m disappointed.”
“What is it?” Morgana asked, instantly recognising that something was hideously wrong, because disappointment was so much worse than anger. As she flickered between Lance and Gwaine, her suspicions were confirmed. “What happened?” Neither made haste to answer, trying to both overpower her stare and avoid it. It was a terrible plan that failed spectacularly, and merely revealed the gravity of the undisclosed truth. Infuriated by their evident secrecy, she clutched the metal bars and addressed them how she would address Arthur when he was being a stubborn brat.
“Tell me.”
Apparently it worked far better on Arthur than anyone else. Gwaine gave no indication he was going to speak, sitting down on the ground. His eyes rested on the ceiling, tracing the patterns gently. The tanned man beside him remained standing. He cast one look over to a silent Gwaine, then frowned. Arthur’s story was not really their own to tell. Arthur was tormented and clearly seeking restitution in himself for his actions. But this wasn’t a one-dimensional problem, or Arthur’s fault; it stretched far further through years of history and different events. Their eyes met and Gwaine nodded bleakly, acting as some kind of confirmation. With that, Lancelot cleared his throat and prepared himself to deliver the news.
“Uther gave Arthur a secret agenda six months ago.” he recited slowly, watching Morgana’s eyes dim. “He was to go to Ealdor and negotiate the terms of their relocation so Camelot could mine underneath the Crystal Cave. If he failed to do so, Uther declared he would go through with the project – regardless of the population.”
“No.” Morgana whispered, feeling completely betrayed by the evident lack of trust her best friend had with her. He had told them, but not her. “You’re lying-”
“-It’s the truth.” Gwaine injected, slowly turning his head in the direction of Leon and Morgana’s cell.
She attempted to process the overwhelming information. Arthur had known from the very beginning, before they had even reached Albion about Uther’s true intentions. With this hindsight, it all made sense. Uther placing Arthur in a different department, to disguise his true job…Arthur’s inability to relax on the flight over to Albion; the tension that constantly leaked from his body. It revealed one thing: Arthur hadn’t told anybody about this. He had carried this burden alone, allowing it to devour his insides. He had allowed it consume him; destroy him. All this time, he had been harbouring this secret. And she was truly hurt by this notion because he didn’t feel like he could tell anyone.
“He could have told someone what was going on.” She quietly muttered; everybody understood the intended message: he could have told me what was going on.
Sighing, Gwaine’s eyes softened, sympathy of all things etched onto his weary face.
“He couldn’t – if he told anybody, the whole plan would have been sabotaged. Arthur was trying to buy time for the druids”
Leon hummed in agreement.
“He blames himself for all of this.” He added. Lifting his head, he addressed his friends bravely. “But he is not to blame for being misguided and manipulated, I understand his burden. Three months ago, Uther gave me a similar task (Morgana focused all her attention on him). He told me that the druids were preparing for war, and the only way to save them was through-”
“-The druids are peaceful people!” Morgana interrupted furiously, glowering at the man. “Arthur I can understand.” She sighed at the memories. “Six months ago he revelled his father, obeyed every command like a toy soldier. But you? How could you of all people be so misled by Uther?”
The question had an element on truth that intrigued Gwaine. Morgana was right. Leon was practically an expert on Druid life, Druid culture, everything Druid. Arthur had been taught practically since birth for his father that magic was evil. Leon was whole different story. To have believed that they were gearing up for war – it made no sense. He couldn’t help but feel something was missing from this puzzle. Leon noticed the growing curiosity and doubt arising from the pair, and replied.
“I had a momentary lapse of judgement I admit.” Morgana was about to pry, because ‘a momentary lapse of judgement’ wasn’t a good enough excuse. However, Leon continued to speak. “I know what I have done is wrong, and I assure you I had no idea of what Uther was truly asking…what the Albion Project actually was.”
Morgana knew Leon; in fact she knew a lot of people inside out. Being able to predict and understand behaviour in her friends was something she had nurtured for a long time. Leon was concise and yet broad when it came to answering personal questions. For now that was all he was going to say on the matter, so there would be no point dwelling on it. Nothing would be able to drill out the rest of the information required. She glanced over to Gwaine subtly and offered him a small smile; one she hoped conveyed her message. He seemed to understand and refused to pry. Instead he looked away, dark amusement smothering his face. It seemed everyone was sheltering dirty little secrets now. He dared hazard a guess as to who would be revealed as a liar next.
Leon breathed heavily, evidently distressed and troubled by the recent events and his own confession. He hadn’t wanted to tell his friends this way, he didn’t want them to misjudge him. He had never believed in Uther’s ideology, or approved of the ‘Great Purge’. Technically, he was a Druidian – not an active one, but he more or less acted like one. He had always been surprised that nobody had ever questioned his beliefs, or his avid interest in the druids. It had to be for a reason that he hadn’t been prosecuted or interrogated. It seemed now he knew the reason, and he didn’t like it one bit. Gently, Morgana reached over towards him and clutched his hand. There was no indication of whether the gesture consoled him or not. She lingered beside him for a few more seconds, then glanced over to Lancelot.
“Merlin,”
Although he was not the closest friend, he had helped her in a time of great need. Merlin was pure of heart- the druid who had helped shape Arthur Pendragon into the great man he was supposed to become. Oh now the secret agenda changed everything. Arthur had betrayed him. She assumed Arthur hadn’t even told Merlin. This was not something that would be taken lightly by the future leader of the Ealdor clan, she was sure. Merlin had a responsibility to his people to protect them from harm, and he had led danger right to them unknowingly. He had trusted Arthur. Now his whole home was gone, the Crystal Cave was gone. It was all gone. She wouldn’t be surprised if he blamed Arthur Pendragon for it all. From his perspective, it would be difficult not to, to look beyond the initial confession and see the truth. She failed to realise the sudden rousing of the child at Merlin’s name.
“Is Merlin ok
ay?”
Gwaine bowed his head and Lancelot grimaced, revealing that no, he wasn’t okay. Morgana shut her eyes for a moment, thinking words of consolation for the druid. Of course he wasn’t okay. Arthur had torn him apart, then his father had literally torn the most sacred part of Albion apart. Lancelot broke her from her thoughts.
“His father was killed in the destruction.”
The words triggered animation in Gwaine.
“We need to get out of here.” He said, leaping back onto his feet.
“And how do you propose we do that exactly?” Morgana snapped petulantly. There was no use in devising a plan without a strategy or means of escape!
“I don’t know,” Gwaine admitted. “But Uther will destroy everything if we don’t.”
“There’s no point wasting our energy if we don’t have a plan,” Leon frowned, gesturing for Lance and Gwaine to sit down. They did, establishing he was right. “We need to rest and regain our strength.”
♦☼♦
The lack of windows obscured the sense of time, or whether it was day or night. Nonetheless, sleep had crept over them almost instantly; all but the nameless child in the corner and Morgana who found her brain was unable to switch off. She was huddled at the front of the cell, knees drawn up towards her chest. She stared absently at a patch of stone in front of her, whilst churning the recent news around inside her head. Arthur’s secret, his complete betrayal to Merlin, Leon’s mysterious re-assignment that somehow involved Ealdor. The obliteration of Druid culture, the massacre of homes and innocent lives. It was all too much to take in. She dreaded to think what was happening right now. Was Uther still here in Camelot Base planning his next move? Or was he back out in Albion with his personalised army?
Morgana…
Lifting her head she gazed around the cell. The voice was in her head. For a second she thought it was Merlin. However, then she realised it was too juvenile and young to be Merlin’s voice. Confused, she dropped her caution and submerged back into her thoughts. Two seconds later, the voice sounded again. This time she looked beyond her cell. She felt herself drawn towards the child, and discovered that he was sitting close to the bars (rather than in the corner), eyes wide. His piercing eyes were locked onto her, almost unnervingly. A trace of smile ghosted over his lips. Overall, his complexion was entrancing and haunting. Morgana knew his skin shouldn’t be that pale, it suggested lack of food and water – which angered her. However, right now curiosity overpowered anything else she felt, because the druid child was speaking.