Camelot Enterprise

by GR Griffin

  “I sense great worry within you, young warlock.” Aithusa frowned, causing Merlin to abruptly turn around and face her, trying to hide the evident surprise.

  He gazed at the majestic White Dragon, a true vision of beauty and Hope, promise. This symbol, the final Dragons of Albion united for one cause, could be the one thing that persuaded the Clans to follow Ealdor. Aithusa lowered its neck; head now the same height as Merlin’s. With a fond smile, Merlin gently stroked her scales. That didn’t seem to fool either of the Dragons though, and he should have known better because Dragons were amongst the cleverest beings to have ever lived on the earth.

  “He does not believe that the clans will come.” Kilgarrah observed wisely, golden eyes narrowed in curiosity. Merlin was a confusing young man, constantly conflicted inside, never totally sure of himself or his destiny. Slowly, the raven-haired man turned his attention to Kilgarrah, confirming the words as that small smile withered into a grimace. Aithusa noticed and lifted her neck to nudge Kilgarrah.

  “I do not understand,” she admitted, clear bewilderment etched into her silky, hypnotic voice. “You have a great Destiny, why would you chose to deny what others see so clearly?”

  To say Merlin was moved by her kind words was an understatement. Despite it being two days since Arthur’s return, Merlin was still completely enamoured with the White Dragon- the dragon of legend! A slight flush of red dusted his cheeks as he dwelled on her words. Many people believed in him, in Emrys. That wasn’t the problem at all. He merely worried that somehow this…this was all too good to be true. That Arthur was too close for comfort, that Destiny was going to suddenly cast him back – whilst laughing deviously – to the empty ruins of Ealdor. Just the thought of having this magnificent promise taken away…Averting his eyes to the ground, a solemn chuckle left his lips. Kilgarrah raised his eyebrows, silently examining the young Druid’s movements.

  “They will come Merlin,” a new voice said, bringing Merlin’s eyes up from the ground. He turned to the source of the voice, watching as two figures emerged from behind the Dragons. His eyes softened, glancing over at the younger of the two women. She was dressed in a beautiful, simplistic yellow gown that complemented her cinnamon skin; her dark curls fell freely to her shoulders. And her profound, dark brown eyes were full of unwavering trust; faith. She had never given up on him. All this time, she had led the people here to Iaonem. Unable to conceal the affection consuming him, Merlin felt his watery eyes betray him.

  “I believe in you. I always have, since I first met you.” She said, walking towards him until they were face to face. “You and Arthur are special,” a smile sprinkled over her lips, enriching her complexion. Reaching for his hands, Gwen clasped them tightly. Merlin felt an involuntary smile slip over his lips. Gwen had such a good heart. But she was also determined and never failed to speak her mind when nobody else dared. “Together I know you can do anything, nothing will stop you from saving this land.”

  “Gwenevere is right,” the second woman said, and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief because this had to be the first time he had heard his mother talk since the collapse of the Crystal Cave. Releasing his hands, Gwen took a step backwards, standing reluctantly beside Aithusa. Any trace of nerves evapourated when the White Dragon gently nuzzled its head against her shoulder, a gesture of approval and agreement. Meeting her son’s sapphire eyes, Hunith clasped her hands together.

  “I’ve seen how much he needs you, how much you need him.” she paused, offering her only son a warm smile. “You’re like two sides of the same coin.”

  Two sides of the same coin

  Once and Future.

  Destiny.

  ♦☼♦

  It was very rare for news of the outside world to reach Balegkor, especially when the hills were dusted with snow and cold, icy winds ravaged the landscape. Balegkor was situated high in the Northern Hills, far enough North to guarantee safety and solitude, but not far enough to venture into the ancient Naiimen Valleys and crevasses. Similar to many other clans, the Balegkor clan seemed content to live inside its own idyllic word, acknowledging the fact that other Druids lived across Albion, but rarely making contact. It had always been this way.

  Nonetheless, this was a New Age, stained with the blood of innocent Druids, suffering people. This New Age threatened to consume the beautiful, pure land and slowly suck the life from everything, until the land no longer vibrated with magic and wonder but hummed with sorrow and an eternal loss. This New Age was indeed youthful, less than a few years in the making. It all began after the Magical Containment Act outside of Albion. That was the catalyst. And now, years later, the past six months had drastically intensified verging on a dangerous massacre or a bloodthirsty war. Ysěult pressed a hand to her freckled skin, gazing blankly out across the Balegkor Clan.

  She did worry for her people, especially after the death of her husband Danyl. Sometimes at night, when she was about to succumb to sleep, his face would wash over the air, his lips would gently kiss her eyelids shut, the memory of his smooth voice plunged her into peaceful slumber. Since Uther Pendragon’s arrival in Albion, she had relied on the strength of her only son, Rægan to keep her mind at rest. His eyes were the same as his father’s, a piercing emerald that never faltered to evoke awe and curiosity. But behind this initial striking emerald were darker shades of verdant green. Danyl’s eyes were like a vast forest, unparalleled in splendour and engaging. Yet each time you gazed at the forest, you noticed something you hadn’t before, and this merely made it all the worthwhile to continue searching.

  Through thirty years of marriage, Ysěult was certain there were still parts of his irises left undiscovered, even when she had closed them with trembling palms and watched his body ignite in the magical jade flames. Now five years a later, she found herself discovering these mysteries in the eyes of her handsome son. Smiling, Ysěult combed through her dark hair with her fingers pensively, a stark contrast against her pale, freckled skin and wide chestnut eyes. The sound of the door opening dramatically commanded her immediate attention. Her concern withered when she saw Keita standing in the doorway.

  Keita was a fair-skinned, blonde girl of roughly seventeen. It was no secret that she possessed rare, natural beauty both in her physical appearance and character. It was also no secret that young Rægan held great esteem and deep affection for her. Bowing her head gracefully, Keita lifted the ends of her lilac dress with her hands.

  “My lady,” she began timidly, cautiously lifting her eyes to meet the Leader of the Balegkor Clan. “I…” swiftly her composure deteriorated, and Rægan emerged from the corridor, sparing a sympathetic glance at Keita. Despite wanting to draw her into his arms and ease her worry, he had no choice but to comply to the standards assumed by future Clan-Leader. Reluctantly, he took a step forwards and offered his mother a courteous bow.

  Ysěult didn’t hesitate. She picked up her dainty elk-wood staff and caught her son’s eyes fericely. She knew the signs of urgency and the symptoms her son displayed when he was fearful. Swallowing-hard, she took a step towards him.

  “What is it?”

  Rægan found himself unable to answer. He gestured for his mother to follow him down the wooden bridge. The voices of her people resonated through her ears, alarming her. Balegkor was a peaceful land; this did not sound like the peaceful land she had strived to build. Abruptly, Keita answered on her son’s behalf. She barely managed a whisper, but that was enough because Ysěult managed to hear each syllable clearly.

  “…Emrys.”

  Emrys: the druid of legend. The notion chilled Ysěult, sending a shudder up her spine. She knew how powerful this Warlock was said to be, how mighty and great he was. The Naiimen Legends had been clear about his Destiny, his Fate. A smile dusted her face, a genuine smile that had been omitted for many weeks. As they neared the end of the bridge, Ysěult felt an overpowering stream of magic enter her system. The whole land appeared to glow in reverence. Rægan took a step forwards boldly, not allowing his m
other to pass.

  “It’s not just Emrys,” he stated, unsure how else to elaborate.

  A few seconds later he found he didn’t need to elaborate, because a strident roar – unmistakably a Dragon – sounding through the Hills explained everything. Pushing past her son, Ysěult gazed upon the sight. She saw two Dragons, the Golden Dragon of old and the mythical White Dragon. Gaping, she took a step forwards, the clan forming a pathway for her to walk down. Rægan followed, gently tugging a reluctant Keita along behind him. A flush of embarrassment dusted his cheeks; he hadn’t even greeted Emrys! The moment he had seen the two Dragons in the sky, he had set off to alert his mother. Now he took a moment to fully appreciate the majestic aura the Dragon’s held. The White Dragon was marvellous, twinkling enigmatically in the sunlight; Kilgarrah was a beacon of strength and courage.

  And standing in front of the two Dragons were two men. One of them Ysěult recognised instantly, he was the source of overwhelming magic, overflowing power; he was Emrys. The other man she could not identity. He had golden hair, striking blue eyes and although he had magic in his veins, there was something very different radiating off of his skin; fortitude, bravery. Combined, the two men created an electric atmosphere, one that could not be ignored. Reaching the two men, Ysěult gazed between the pair before sparing a moment to admire the beautiful Dragons behind them. Politely, Emrys bowed his head to her, offering a warm smile.

  The blonde man beside him appeared somewhat nervous, sheepishly mimicking the actions of Emrys and all of a sudden Ysěult established who this man was. It was all so obvious now. He was the Dragon-hearted man, the Once and Future, he was Arthur Pendragon. Ysěult nodded, seeming to ease his fidgeting, before turning back to Emrys.

  “You do not need to ask,” she said gently, startling the dark-haired man. “Whatever is it young Emrys, we will follow you.”

  ♦☼♦

  The news of the Ealden Uprising travelled swiftly throughout all of Albion. Apparently, within just one day, news of the White Dragon and Kilgarrah had spread as far as Dresdentian and Serepolis. Both Clans had come to Ealdor’s aid instantly, now residing at Iaonem. Ryol had watched in curiosity as the neighbouring Clans resiliently left their homes and set off towards the mystical dwelling of Druids. A harsh wince escaped his lips at the sensation of pain burning through his skin. The old woman beside him frowned sympathetically whilst dabbing a cloth at the open wound. Her soft eyes studied his concerned face, the candlelight enriching her maternal-like compassion.

  “You are unsure whether we should go.” She stated blankly, continuing to examine the large gash on his arm.

  Averting his eyes, Ryol frowned. Yes. He was having doubts as to whether he should lead his people blindly into battle. Even though Emrys was the foundation of this grand army, the Druids appeared to have forgotten something crucial: they were fighting Uther Pendragon. This man had annihilated the Crystal Cave in minutes. They had no chance. Ryol was unsure if he could lead his loyal friends and People to their inevitable deaths. The ageing woman remained silent, allowing the man to stir over his thoughts. As she reached for the magic-enhanced bandage, Ryol spoke his mind.

  “We have never faced a threat like this,” He admitted gravely; he tried not to wince as the woman gently wrapped the bandage around the wound. “We all know what he is capable of Alys, and it’s…horrifying.” The memory of the magical-weeping, the day the Crystal Cave fell swept over him, causing his tone to waver into the lair of panic. “And the truth is that I, a grown man, am frightened by this power.” Sigh. Averting his eyes swiftly, Ryol swallowed-hard. Alys had always made him speak his mind. He knew she would not judge him. For many years she had advised him in decisions, aided the Clan with healing and medicine. She was the best healer in the whole of Albion – he was certain of it.

  Tightening the bandage, Alys smiled weakly.

  “We are all frightened. But we should let this fear drive us, not consume us,” removing her hand from the wound, she met his eyes. “I know my services as a healer will be needed, especially after Gai…” she refrained from talking, eyes watery and throat swollen. That name, that man. She had not seen him for years, but she had heard what had happened to him. Gaius was in the laboratory; Gaius was probably dead, or dying. Ryol compassionately reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. He did not know much of her life before Freignt. However, he knew that there was a man she loved dearly. But it hurt her to speak of him. She bowed her head apologetically and abruptly made her way towards the door. Ryol watched her and leapt to his feet.

  “Alys!” He called. The woman came to a halt, gazing back at him silently. “You’re right. We should never allow fear to rule us, to bind us in the dark. I bid you permission to leave for Iaonem-”

  “-Forgive me Ryol,” the old woman chuckled almost knowingly, taking the young man by surprise. “But I do not need your permission.”

  Raking a hand through his dark hair, Ryol laughed at her words. He didn’t doubt this. She’d always been a stubborn old woman, resilient and brave. At that moment, a beautiful young woman entered the room. She was dressed in a long, elegant sapphire gown that matched her eyes, her auburn hair plaited prettily around her head. Ïalvy smiled warmly at Alys before turning to her husband with determination. He already knew from the glint in her eye that she had been eavesdropping.

  “We’ll leave for Iaonem by Sunrise.” she declared, raising her eyebrows challengingly at the man before her. Taking a step forwards, she traced her fingers delicately over his face. “This is our one chance to fight for our freedom-”

  “This war could change everything-” Ryol interjected with a laboured grimace.

  “-You’re right.” Ïalvy cooed. “If we win and Albion is safe, it can prosper in the age of Emrys- the Once and Future. But if we lose…” her eyes lost their vibrancy for a moment, unable to comprehend the consequences of failing to overthrow the Camelot invaders.

  “We won’t lose.” Alys stated boldly from the doorway, studying the pair quietly.

  Ïalvy nodded assumingly, seeming to agree with Alys’ words. Ryol would have given anything to believe the hopeful words. Yet no matter how he tried to visualise the situation, maintain optimism, he found he could not. Ïalvy noticed his reluctance immediately and removed her hand. Instantly Ryol’s world felt cold and lifeless; that was nothing compared to what would happen next.

  “You cannot force the people to stay,” she stated, moving towards Alys’ side. Her dubious intentions suddenly become apparent and solid. A soft smile dusted her lips, full of poignancy and remorse. “Just as I cannot force you to come with us.”

  ♦☼♦

  Merlin had never had reason to venture into the Mountains of Ghedent, the towering, majestic mountains that ruled the south of Albion. He had always wanted to venture into the mountains, explore this spectacular region. Yet one usually needed great reasons to travel that far. It was no secret that there was great mystery embedded within this striking region. Intriguingly, only one clan resided here in the mountains; the Ghedent Clan. According to those that had travelled through the mountains, this clan was one of the largest in the whole of Albion, with approximately over ten thousand citizens. That was all Merlin knew about Ghedent in all honesty, and this was enough reason to personally visit the clan.

  Some Clans had received the message via other means and started preparing their journey to Iaonem. Merlin could not afford to assume Ghedent were aware of the uprising and were doing the same. As Arthur correctly pointed out, ten thousand extra Druids fighting against Uther would not only significantly out-number the enemy, but it would possibly give them an incredible advantage. It could completely turn everything on its head. The concern etched over his face seemed to be far less concealed than he hoped, for the blonde man beside him turned his attention towards him.

  “Don’t worry Merlin.” He said, gazing up at the tall, silver gates guarding the settlement. “Not one clan has refused to follow you,”

  Merlin grit hi
s teeth, wanting to correct Arthur. Not one clan had refused to follow them; us. The Druids weren’t just following him; they were following Arthur too. Evidently the crisis of Ealdor and the Crystal Cave had completely destroyed the blonde’s self-belief. Little did Arthur know of his Destiny, or that Merlin had seen him in the Crystals that day six months ago. If he did, perhaps it would change things. Now was not the time to discuss this, but Merlin knew this was an issue he would have to address in the near future. And it scared him, because he knew it was his fault that Arthur had become this almost subservient man. He was loyal and strong and maintained the same energy he always had. But his stance was different, his whole demeanour was shifting. Merlin had viciously pushed him away, abandoned him.

  “…Merlin?” blinking rapidly, Merlin turned to watch an amused and curious smile slip onto Arthur Pendragon’s face. The smile flickered out of existence almost immediately. “Don’t worry, you are Emrys!” a laugh escaped his lips. “No-one could refuse you!”

  ‘And you are the Once and Future’ Merlin desperately wanted to say, but found he could not, for this secret had been withheld for too long. He was fully aware his behaviour was extremely hypocritical right now. Arthur had not been the only person keeping secrets all these months. Merlin had been keeping quite a few, not all form Arthur either. For a moment his mind drifted to Morgana. He had deprived her of her Destiny, reusing to tell her the truth. Was he doing the same for Arthur? Abruptly, Merlin turned to Arthur and strung out a list of reasons as to why he was apparently worried about Ghedent.