Camelot Enterprise

by GR Griffin

  “It’s late,” he clarified; conscious that Merlin hadn’t finished what he was going to say. Merlin gazed over at him, concern etched onto his face. “Tomorrow we have a long day. We should get some rest Merlin.”

  Chapter 50

  The sun was rising over the dark horizon, its wistful light encapsulating all in a realm of concern and doubt. Merlin simply refused to fall under this spectrum, not allowing himself to be affected by the almost lazy unveiling of the day. The sheer lack of understanding the sun had that the Druids were on the brink of war, agitated him heavily. War was coming, Uther and his army would arrive soon. They couldn’t wait all day for the sun to rise! Nonetheless, he felt the warmth it emitted, and basked in it. Sympathetically, the wind rushed over his shoulder, gently stroking his skin. Today was a big day. There was much to do, so much to prepare. A frown dusted his lips. But before any of this could commence, there was something of greater importance that had to be done. For how could Merlin lead the clans into battle if Arthur Pendragon himself was unsure of his own destiny?

  It had kept him awake for most of the night, alongside other troubling thoughts. Kilgarrah’s pressing words on Morgana and her fate, Arthur’s lack of faith in himself, the subtle layer of panic weaving between the Druids. Things were slowly dismantling from the core; he feared it was only a matter of time before the crux of the resistance crumbled completely. He could not allow this to happen, not after how far they had all come. Someone needed to take charge, to show the People of Albion that this war could be won. To Merlin, there was nobody better than Arthur to do such a thing. He was certain other Clan leaders would volunteer themselves, many of them had and came with good plans. However, Arthur understood the enemy, he understood their weapons and tactics. Not only that, he was destined for this. Merlin could not lead the people without him. It required both of them. Rubbing his sore eyes, Merlin sighed. He wished nothing more than for all of this to be simple. He wondered, what would his father have done? It scared him that he honestly didn’t know.

  Thus, he had remained awake throughout the night, not turning to the advice of the Dragons in fear Kilgarrah would spew more nonsense of destinies and prophecies he really didn’t want to hear right now. Aithusa was still a youthful Dragon, she had her wisdom but on matter such as this, he was certain the White Dragon would have said what needed to said by now. This was a problem Merlin was going to have to solve alone, unaided. The question had kept him awake all night: how do you make someone regain their faith, in themselves? He had almost lost hope until the orange sunlight burst over the horizon, conspiring solutions that melted into his skin. He was going to make Arthur believe, no matter what it took, no matter the cost.

  Arthur had to believe in his destiny.

  Leaning over to the blonde man, still asleep, Merlin nudged him gently. At first there was no response other than a twitch of his arm, clearly a gesture attempting to bat the intruder away. It was futile and lazy. Merlin prodded again, more insistently. Slowly, Arthur opened his eyes, groaning a little at disruption; a smile touched the raven man’s lips. He felt no guilt for rousing the peaceful man, for it was an important day. Arthur on the other hand…

  “S’not even fully light yet Merlin.” He protested, turning his back on the man beside him rudely. Frowning, Merlin determinedly shook Arthur, practically dragging him with force up and out of the blankets. Left with no choice but to open his eyes, Arthur did so groggily. Everything sifted into focus gradually, the blur of the surroundings coming into focus. He gazed over to Merlin, who was glowing with radiance and pride. The sight drained away his fatigue. Certain Arthur was aware of his surroundings, Merlin titled his head forwards with a coy smile, and began walking silently. When he stopped and gazed over at Arthur expectantly, Arthur followed him reluctantly into the trees.

  The forests of Iaonem were not as grandiose as the forests the people of Ealdor had grown to love and revere. The trees here were thin and lanky, towering high but never matching the thick, majestic giants of their home forest. The ground was littered in leaves, crispy and it crackled with a plethora of sound under their feet. Despite its differences, this forest had a special aura. It didn't radiate the pure magic, yet it had a peculiar transcendence, a feeling of hope hanging between each tree, connecting them together in a vast network of shared thoughts and expression.

  The forests were also far less perilous this far East. The beasts of the Wuduwésten region had fled further West after the destruction, towards the final stretches of Albion. Here the only evidence of other life was the birdsong, delicate and sweet in tone. The sun was barely poking its head over the forest, offering a meek tentative golden glow that illuminated the land whilst casting dramatic shadows. It was beautiful, but also a painful reminder that Merlin had dragged him out of bed at an ungodly hour. Trudging behind Merlin, Arthur allowed his curiosity to unveil itself.

  Merlin had been cryptically quiet, walking no less than two steps ahead at a tiring, urgent pace. It was obvious something was on his mind, and he had embraced it totally and completely, because well- that's what Merlin did with everything. Whatever it was, however, he was intent on keeping it to himself. A little frustrated at this silent game, Arthur marched forwards and matched Merlin's pace.

  "Are you going to explain or are you expecting me to just..." Blinking in confusion at the scenario, Arthur made a vague gesture with his hand. "Follow you?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. Merlin could be pretty enigmatic when he wanted to be, not that he’d ever admit that.

  A coy smile spread over the raven-haired man's lips, enhancing his mesmerising demeanour. The sunlight really was favouring Merlin this morning, kind enough to brush over the circles under those eyes and focus more on accentuating their striking colour. Arthur could only stare back in fascination, which did little to increase the chances of his question being answered.

  Two steps later, Merlin breathed a sigh, resembling an admission of sorts. Resolutely, he met Arthur's eyes for a second, fleshing out every emotion and sentiment with ease. His eyes twinkled with something more than just the sunlight. . Arthur gazed back with uncertainty, unable to read those eyes. Then, a wistful smile smoothed over Merlin’s face and he set his eyes on the horizon. Walking forwards with fortitude, he spoke.

  "What you said last night..." Merlin could feel Arthur’s eye-roll behind him. “About Emrys, about yourself. It got me thinking. There’s something I need to show you.”

  Pushing a low-lying branch out of the way, the blonde felt the distance between them growing. Quickening his pace, he frowned in irritation. He’d never really liked prancing around through forests. Plus this whole scenario was embarrassingly similar to the day he met Merlin in Albion. That day he had been chased by the Bastet, cornered by foul mongrels. Out of nowhere came the mysterious Druid, saving him despite knowing somehow Arthur Pendragon was a bad omen for Albion back then. The memories flashed through Arthur’s mind unwillingly. Merlin had been striding forwards into the darkness, Arthur stumbling clumsily behind him, demanding answers to questions he’d had no right to ask. But he’d been arrogant and foolish back then, all those seven months ago. Everything had changed. Or had it? Narrowing his eyes, he watched the back of Merlin’s head bob up and down as he walked over the jagged contours of the land. Here they were, Merlin leading, Arthur following blindly. Thinking back to him time in Ealdor, it had always been this way.

  Arthur would follow Merlin anywhere.

  Merlin would lead Arthur wherever he needed to go.

  “I’m not in the mood for a pep-talk merlin.” Arthur retorted bluntly, a little fiercer than intended. He lost his footing over a concealed rock clumsily. To his relief Merlin had not seen, probably because he was still too focused on the forest, the pathway he was taking them. Graciously, he trounced forwards; now by Merlin’s side who apparently chose to ignore his comments and remarks.

  “There is a story I would like to share with you, a story hardly anyone knows-”

  At these
words, Arthur came to an abrupt halt.

  “-We’re going to war and you’ve dragged me out into the middle of the woods to tell me a story?” he barked incredulously, confused and frustrated by the man’s behaviour. They didn’t have time to waste! Preparations had to start now! Without question or permission, not that he needed permission, Arthur spun around, deciding to walk back to camp. Merlin gazed over his shoulder and furiously strode over to the blonde. He hauled him back forcefully by the shirt, teeth gritted and lips pursed together. Raising his eyebrows in surprise at the gesture, a trace of amusement tickling his lips, Arthur studied Merlin. He appeared conflicted, greatly troubled and clearly exhausted.

  “Just.” Biting his lip to prevent the frustration leaking into his voice, Merlin gently released his grip on the shirt. “Listen to me Arthur.” Nodding in agreement, Arthur sighed, and Merlin began walking again at a tireless pace. This time Arthur did not object; whatever Merlin had to say or what he was trying to prove, it would no doubt prove useful for the battle. Raking a hand through his blonde hair, Arthur shielded his face from the sunlight that fell through the slits in the trees. Merlin, unaffected of course, began to speak.

  “It is said that many years ago, when the earth was young, in the time where Druids and Dragons were free, our land was in an endless cycle of bloodshed and war. The Druids against the Druids – but it was foretold that one man would end all of this suffering.” Smiling, he pressed his feet harder into the soil as the incline of the ground began. “He gathered together the Druids all across Albion with the power of his Dragon, Aithusa. He drew up treaties, peace talks – insisting that the Druids got along.” Understanding where Merlin was going with this, Arthur bit back a laugh. Drawing his eyebrows together, Merlin peered over his shoulder to meet the blonde’s smirk. He gazed upon the man questioningly.

  “-Don’t feel you have to conjure some elaborate tale to make me feel good about myself-”

  “-That man was not a druid Arthur,” Merlin snapped, shutting Arthur up with his voice. He refused to let Arthur’s idiocy and prat-like façade devalue his story. They reached the top of the hill, which revealed there was another steep rise ahead. Arthur found himself compelled to listen as Merlin’s voice became soft and mystic. “He was of human origin. He fought for Albion’s freedom and with the last of his strength, the great warrior thrust his sword into a mighty stone.” Pause. “This would serve as a test, only a true hero, a real leader – the once and future- (Arthur tensed at the phrase) would be able to pull the sword free, and ride upon Aithusa.”

  Pushing his protesting body up the large hill, Arthur sighed. Merlin sounded so certain of this tale, so sure it was real. But his words contradicted his tone; a mighty warrior plunging his sword into a rock before his death, a true hero being the only candidate eligible for reclaiming the sword once more. He’d heard similar stories as a child, all remarkably similar and sickeningly joyous. Nonetheless, this tale referenced the Once and Future directly, and it scared him, deeply. Attempting to mask his anxiety, Arthur gazed up at Merlin how had reached the top of the hill already.

  “If it’s true, then why haven’t I heard this story before?” He retorted, praying Merlin had no answer to this question. Unfortunately, he had heard it. Glancing down at Arthur who was still halfway down, he smiled.

  “This is a story older than time itself Arthur,” Merlin whispered enigmatically, almost to o quiet for Arthur to hear from the distance. “Before the Naiimen legends.”

  Before the Naiimen legends? Arthur scoffed at that, ridiculous. There were no documents of anything before the Naiimen people; Leon had spoken of his interests in the early Druid documents, none dating further back than the earliest Naiimen age. Unless this was a tale passed from generation to generation through verbal communication? Arthur was incapable of hiding his amusement – or it was a story Merlin had made up to try and lift his spirits. Flouncing his blonde hair out of his eyes, Arthur neared the top of the hill finally.

  “Where is this stone?” he called up to Merlin, unable to repress the laughter bubbling in his voice. Seeming to overlook the mocking voice, the Druid replied in a low, mysterious voice.

  “It was lost many years ago.”

  “Of course it was.” Arthur muttered rudely, bowing his head to conceal his chuckle as he finally reached the top of the hill. Regaining his breath he gazed over at Merlin who was fixated on something ahead, eyes sparkling with mirth and elation. Arthur was about to question Merlin’s peculiar actions, he wasn’t making any sense! Then, all of a sudden, Merlin made perfect sense by uttering three dangerous words.

  “I’ve found it.”

  The moment could not have been more perfectly timed. As Merlin's words resonated in the forest, Arthur's eyes landed on something breath-taking, something impossible. Awe flashed over his wide eyes, mouth agape. It resembled something out of a fairytale, out of Harry Potter and all those clandestine books he and Morgana would read before bedtime as children. Only it was real, it was far more magical and bewildering- and Arthur didn't realise he'd been holding his breath until his body compelled him to inhale dramatically.

  The sunlight floated down gracefully in a single beam of concentrated light upon the stone, adding to the ethereal scene. Below them, at the bottom of this hill, stood a stone. But it wasn’t just this silver stone that was so enchanting. Embedded in this large stone was a symbol. A symbol of hope, in the form of a mighty sword. It was wedged securely into the stone, glistening in the light. It was a fine sword and full of contradictions: elegant and bulky, delicate and strong, old but new. The New Age. Swallowing-hard, Arthur gazed over to Merlin to who was smiling freely, eyes bursting with faith. Gazing between the sword and Merlin, Arthur finally understood. A shallow laugh escaped his lips.

  Merlin wanted him to pull out the sword.

  Merlin believed he was the one that could pull this sword free.

  "Another one of your tests." He teased lightly, though it was not light at all, the words were heavy on his tongue, thick in his throat and immediately the gravity of this swamped him and pushed him down into the waters. Panic came first, then doubt because this couldn't be happening. The story was real. The mighty sword was right in front of them, the sword that only the once and future could wield.

  “I cannot pull out that sword.” He stammered nervously, holding a hand to his head. “I…even if I could what use is it against guns and weaponry?!”

  His vision began to deteriorate. Relying on sound, he heard Merlin’s calm voice respond.

  “Arthur, this is no ordinary blade. It was forged in the breath of Kilgarrah himself.”

  A magical sword, a powerful weapon. A weapon that was set in stone, and impossible to free. A sword made in the fires of a Dragon. The words buzzed around Arthur’s mind. He felt himself drowning, the weight of the once and future plunged him further and further into this new water, below the chaotic torrents until he was completely out of his depth. Out of his depth, he was so fucking out of his depth right now.

  “That sword,” he managed to mutter. “It’s impossible! My…I…”

  Noticing Arthur’s inner turmoil, Merlin instantly reached over to him and clasped his shoulders comfortingly. It was too much for him, too much. Suddenly Arthur’s body slumped over, head falling backwards weakly, body limp in the Druid’s arms. Worry cast through Merlin, those blue eyes were vacant and unfocused, clearly overwhelmed.

  “Arfuera,” he gently squeezed the shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief when Arthur’s eyes slowly settled on his face.

  The voice lifted him from the dark waters, cut lose the anchor chained to him. Abruptly Arthur was floating rapidly to the surface, bursting through to the surface dramatically. The force of the new, fresh air on his face, the immense change in everything, shook his entire body. Gasping for this new, fresh air, Arthur gazed back at the sword at the bottom of the hill. A fond smile spread over Merlin’s face, doing little to comfort him.

  “You and I,” he mused begi
nning to walk down the hill. Arthur remained motionless, eyes wide and body frozen. “We’ve been through much together, from Chimeras and Manticores to falling towers and taming Wyverns.” As he turned his head to glance behind him, Arthur inhaled a deep breath and took small steps forwards hesitantly, eyes locked upon the stone. His lips twitched at the memories, Merlin’s voice acted as a guide that hypnotically pulled him forwards. “We’ve faced many threats Arthur, but none as big as what’s coming. Now we’re going to stay, we’re going to fight and we’re going to win. But this battle requires you to take a leap of faith,” Arthur stood beside Merlin, studying the stone silently, too focused on it to notice the figures emerging out of the forest. “You must believe Arthur. We all believe.”

  Lifting his eyes from the stone, Arthur gazed out beyond the stone. The sight stunned him. Hundreds of people were standing in the forest, all watching him. Morgana, Gwaine, Leon and Lancelot were stood at the front, expressions stern. Gwen stood beside them, hope seeping from her eyes; they were all here. Gaius, Hunith, Zelina, Topia, Evanna, Ysěult, Rægan, Elätha and dozens of other clan leaders. His eyes rested on Will in surprise. The man was watching almost intently, no trace of disdain or doubt on his face. Behind the huge crowd of people, Arthur spotted his Wyvern Bregurófne, and Léohte with Ábilgest. He also saw Kilgarrah and depicted a pair of white, angelic wings, Aithusa. She bowed her head when he met her eyes, and if Dragon’s could smile Arthur was pretty sure that she was right now. He averted his eyes to study the crowd cautiously, shock and fear gripping him at once. They were all watching him.

  Merlin.

  Merlin had gathered everybody here.

  Too bad he was going to fail because there was no way he could pull that rusted sword out. His magic wasn’t even that strong anyway. Without the aid of magic, how could he possibly pull out that sword? He examined the sword carefully. It was beautiful. The hilt was solid gold, with deep black engravings of Dragons and mystical symbols, and a finely carved ruby at the top. The blade itself was thin and dainty, silver with a thin strip of rose gold outlining the centre of it. Intricate engravings laced the precious metal, adding to its lure. Arthur’s hands ghosted over the hilt slowly, surprised at how natural it felt. Instinctively he gripped the hilt in his hand. It took a lot of concentration to break himself away from the weapon and realise what he exactly it looked like he was trying to do.