Camelot Enterprise

by GR Griffin

  Do not fear young warlock. He thought. Whether we meet again in this life or the next, you should know that you have outdone your destiny. The battle is won; Uther’s men have retreated. Albion is safe from harm. The Once and Future rides upon the White Dragon. But if you wish to see him again, you must stop fighting. You must rest.

  Leaning down, the Dragon breathed out. From his mouth spewed a strange mixture of sparkling particles. They were fantastical colours of sapphire, emerald and ruby, all mixing with the air around. Immediately, the thrashing Druid on the bed stilled. His breathing became lighter, far more relaxed than before. Eyes wide, Gwen pressed the cloth closer to Merlin’s forehead, only to find that it wasn’t burning anymore. Smiling in disbelief, she addressed the Dragon.

  “He’s…healing.” The Dragon’s words subdued her, peeling away her optimism until all that was left was a dark fear.

  “I’m afraid not.” Meeting Gaius’ eyes, Kilgarrah continued. “I have merely slowed the poison. This is dark and powerful magic. Only magic of equal power can reverse this curse.”

  ♦☼♦

  Evening came quickly to Iaonem, the night having latched onto the rays of the sun and plunging it downwards far more hastily than necessary. The Elders took this as a sign that Emrys was fading; Gwaine thought this was a pile of shit. How a race so smart and enigmatic could determine the fate of a person based on the setting of the sun truly perplexed him. Nonetheless, it was not his place to remark or snap back. After all, these were the Elders, and he wasn’t supposed to be eavesdropping on their meeting anyway. He slipped away from them, into the night.

  Upon arriving back to Ianoem with the survivors, the reunion with those who had taken refuge at Iaonam was far more traumatic than he could have ever predicted. So many had fallen at Breguoin, so many innocent lives had been taken. Every soul in Albion knew their freedom had been won. The darkest days were now behind them! They could rebuild their clans without danger. They had won the war – yet this was no time to celebrate. This was a solemn day where families were divided, children were orphaned, friends were disconsolate.

  This day was full of death, sacrifice. Iaonem was quiet, far too quiet. Word of Merlin’s looming demise had spread across the settlement, and the departure of the Once and Future declared that his condition was severe. Few Druids came to visit the area he was resting, in respect and reverence. Gwaine shooed most of them away as Gaius had requested, especially the ones who had bought with them offerings, as if he was already dead. It became too much, hence Gwaine had resorted to wallowing through the settlement alone.

  Reaching the large clearing, he gaped at the sight. The Clan leaders had gathered large collections of oak and elm into the centre of Iaonem. The pile had been a mere handful an hour ago when he had wandered off and tried to continue his mischief in grim solitude. Now, however, the pile was large enough to roast a Dragon, possibly two! Beautiful garlands of flowers blossomed the wood, giving the mass a holy presence.

  All the Druids huddled around it, some tossing in precious belongings that had belonged to their loved ones. Some of the orphaned children were weeping, the sound muffled by their guardian’s clothes. Gwaine then spotted Morgana, Gwen, Leon and Lancelot by one side of the pile of wood. He walked towards them slowly; his eyes stung a little as he watched. Gwen and Lance were standing close, hands entwined together. Her eyes were puffy and reddened, face burrowed into the man’s chest as she allowed fatigue, fear and shock of today’s events to rush over her. He heard the name Will slip from her lips. Lancelot gently cradled her head with a hand, distressed by her upset. Will and Gwen had been great friends for many years. If Gwaine recalled the story correctly, Gwen had once been a Druidian, and had valiantly rescued the man from Camelot Forces. The bond she had with Merlin and Will was familial and strong. He had watched the three of them parade around as if they were siblings by blood. Now one of her brothers was dead, the other on the verge of death.

  It was so terrible that Gwaine compellingly reached forwards and pressed a hand comfortingly to her shoulder. He gazed up at Lancelot, whose eyes were locked on the towering wood in front of them. Not too far to their left, Morgana and Leon were standing like statues together. They, to his surprise, were not holding hands. They stood beside each other in military fashion, as if nothing more than propriety had ordered them to do so. Gwaine made note to ask about this oddity later. But now was no time for that. It was a time of sorrow, of great sadness and mourning.

  It was time to pay homage to those who had given their lives for freedom.

  The Clan leaders took a step forwards, towards the giant pyre of wood. From the great Dresdentian Clan was the aged, stern-faced woman with short hair (Allois) and her bearded husband (Laurys). The middle-aged Laísrean and his nephew Nolwenn stood beside them. Merlin had said the Œpontei were rumoured to be brilliant fighters, and the clan had proved it today on the battlefield. The young Prince of Balegkor, Rægan stood with his mother Ysěult. Fair and radiant Keita clasped the young man’s arm tightly, relieved he had returned yet distressed by the significant losses. Then of course there was Topia of Saerion and a dozen other leaders. The two that caught Gwaine’s eye, however, almost seemed to blend seamlessly in with the crowd. Lady Evanna was dressed in a simple yet striking crimson gown. She stood beside her husband Elätha. Everybody had heard of the great duel between Arthur and Elätha during the gathering of the clans, it was a story of excitement and adventure.

  Evanna clasped Hunith’s fragile hand on the other side of her. Hunith looked less like a leader, more like a shadow of the woman she had once been. The true leader of Ealdor was her son, and Arthur Pendragon. But neither was here, meaning she had to take their place on their behalf. Poor Hunith was clearly overwhelmed by the events of the past few months, especially the fact that her son was currently engulfed dark sickness. Lady Evanna was kind and compassionate. Young Hogań had told Gwaine all about the prosperous and wonderful life the Druids led in the mountains of Ghedent. Their traditions were staggeringly different to Ealdor. Then again, every clan seemed to be completely distinctive in their own way.

  The thought of Hogań cast Gwaine into a dismal silence, his eyes watery. He was so young, so full of life. He had so much promise, skilled at magic, at fighting, and leading. He would have been a great Wyvern Rider, among the best. Gwaine wanted nothing more than to ruffle a hand affectionately through his hair, punch him in the arm brotherly, or play a stupid prank on the Elders with him. A small smile touched his lips. It didn’t last long. A heavy, thick atmosphere enveloped the settlement. Out of the silence, Elätha spoke.

  “Fellow Druids, tonight we are gathered here to mark the beginning of the end,” His voice had a sincere tone to it, encapsulating all with its melodious sound. “Tonight a great evil has been purged from this land. For seven months, Albion has been cast into darkness. Camelot has destroyed our homes, torn us from our sacred Cave, murdered innocent lives. Now Albion is free, we are free.” Pause. “But freedom has proven to have a great cost. Many have paid the highest price.” Gwaine bowed his head at the words, clamping his eyes shut. “So that we may stand here on this night and breathe the Albanian air, many have fallen. Many have fallen so that our children may see a new age, the age of peace and prosperity. Tonight, we offer not our condolences, nor our commiserations.” Lifting his head, Gwaine gazed over to the leader curiously. “Tonight we pay our respects to the unsung heroes of this battle. Tonight we give them our gratitude and our hearts. Tonight, we will remember.”

  At these words, the Clan leaders outstretched their hands. Elätha, unable to do magic for reasons Gwaine had never fathomed, held out a flame torch. It fell onto the wood. The wood crackled beneath it, releasing a series of timid embers that grew into a mighty flame. As the leaders muttered spells, flames of all vibrant colours lit up the large pyre. Some flames were a verdant as the Ealden trees, some as red as the blood shed at Breguoin; some were as enigmatic as the Crystal Cave, others as bold as the Once and Future.
The Druids around watched in awe. Then they began to sing a song. It was not a sad, melancholic song, but a song of freedom, remembrance and love.

  Þes dæg, Þes dæg

  Edníwe dæg,

  Collenferð deor breostcofa

  ætsteppan freódóm

  écelice gemang æfensteorran

  Þes dæg, Þes dæg

  Edníwe dæg,

  Restan eain rodor arlie

  Engelies ghant ain Þes dæg!

  écelice gemang siastraie

  Þes dæg, Þes dæg

  Edníwe dæg,

  As the song ended, Calhoun rushed over to Gwen and Lancelot. The youngster outstretched his hand to reveal a tiny flame dragon. Smiling fondly, Gwen blew over his palm and the Dragon took flight into the air. The fire dragon swirled around the pair magnificently before plunging into the fire. It was magical. Suddenly, all around Gwaine saw beautiful creatures made of fire! There were butterflies of blue flame, lions that fizzled and crunched against the wood. Each tiny little creature was singing the song, muttering the same wonderful phrase over and over again against the gentle breeze.

  Þes dæg, Þes dæg

  Edníwe dæg!

  The pyre was not just a bonfire. It was a magical bonfire. Dancing around delicately were the creatures forged of flame, they weaved in and out of the flames. Their elegant moves were inspiring and radiant against the darkness. The amber flames of the pyre created a contrast against the tiny fire figurines that had come to life with magic. Morgana’s eyes flashed gold, a silvery, miniscule wolf the size of her hand dashed towards the flames. As it did, small beads of sparkling dust were left behind, coiling with the air before slowly dissolving away. Gwen and the others smiled at the gesture. Leon was delighted and pleaded for her to do it again. This time two wolves appeared and made note to run over Leon’s curly hair before going to the fire. Leon, Lance, Gwen and Gwaine watched in admiration as the Druids released beautiful, stunning magic into the sky. It was a contrast against the dark starry sky, adding an ethereal feel to the land.

  Then something truly extraordinary happened.

  The creatures of all of Albion were set into motion. Throughout the Albion forests, one could hear the howling of the Ræ, the strident roar of the Chimera beasts, the whispering of the magical faeries. And then the creatures of Albion all appeared to be caught in this memorial, for they all came to Iaonem swiftly. Creatures that Gwaine had never thought existed emerged from the trees! The Wyverns of Mánhús swept over the Iaonem skies. The Druids gazed up in awe as tamed Wyverns took to the skies and danced beside the wild creatures of the mountain. Next came the wondrous Griffins; half eagle, half lion. They soared over the Wyverns, before flying perilously close to the Druids’ heads. Many Druids ducked in shocked, others relishing in the sensation of a fierce velocity over their head. Gwaine was the latter, gazing wide-eyed up at the creatures that shone with the amber firelight on one side but were silhouetted by the silvery moon on the other. The image was disorientating at first, and then absolutely amazing once the eyes focused in.

  Then from the land, spewing out of the forests were dozens of Unicorns. Leon almost lost his footing as the sight, beginning to recite Ivor Klandis about how rare it was to see just one Unicorn in Albion. The pure, untainted creatures trotted around Iaonem. Shortly following were the Chimeras, ferocious, man-eating creatures. To see Unicorns and Chimeras in harmony – such a thing had not been seen for thousands of years. Elätha rushed over to Lancelot and Gwaine, eyes full of vigour and passion.

  “Albion herself is paying tribute!” he remarked in fascination, watching as the magical, usually unseen creatures danced between Druids, danced between each other. And then the Druids released their magical flames again, and the fire-beasts began to prance around Iaonem like faeries. Gwen clasped Lancelot’s hand tightly, a sad smile on her face as she watched the scene. Morgana beside her was overcome with astonishment, and Gwaine wished Arthur could have seen her face because right now she was honestly speechless – that had to be a first.

  Then from the flames sprouted a magnificent creature. At the sight, everybody gawked, unable to contain their surprise and amazement. The Druids ceased their spells. Iaonem was silent. The creature was a large eagle-like bird, only far greater and benevolent. The crown of its golden head was burning with golden fire, as were the tips of its humungous wings. The bottoms of the bird’s wings were vivid green, purple, turquoise and silver. The rest of its body was golden and regal, aside from a lining of crimson feathers across the tips of its wings. It was a phoenix, a spectacular one at that. It was consumed in the flames of the pyre, and yet it was sitting there on top of the wood magnificently as if it were not so.

  Then the creatures were gone. They flew across the sacred land, disappearing back into the hidden places they had come from. The great flames of the pyre disintegrated as the firebird shed its feathers and gently shriveled back into the wood. All that remained of it were the gentle embers on the ashen, charred wood. With that, many of the Druids dispersed to retire for the evening. Few remained beside the final flickers of the burning wood. It had dwindled into a tiny fire now, enough to house light for a handful. Morgana, Lance, Leon, Gwaine, Topia and Elätha sat by the fireside.

  Hunith had joined them for a few moments, but had left anxiously with Gwen to assist Gaius with Merlin (although there was not much they could do anymore other than watch him helplessly). Despite everyone insisting to help, Gaius had ordered that only two at a time could come and visit. Merlin needed to rest as much as he could and could not be overwhelmed by friends who may believe it was goodbye. The friends sat quietly, all thinking of Arthur and Merlin. Morgana seemed to be more pensive than the rest, eyes frosted over with a hazy mist.

  “I wish there was something we could do for him.” Leon admitted with a crestfallen sigh, gazing over to the direction where a soft flicker of flame revealed Gaius’ shadow hovering over Merlin.

  “We cannot let Arthur’s quest be in vain.” Gwaine replied sternly, surprising them. “Tomorrow, we strip down Uther’s gun, assess the remaining bullets. Gaius said it was no ordinary weapon. We should find out whatever we can about it, test it with,” he gestured over to those in the circle who could do magic “spells-”

  “-That could be extremely dangerous.” Topia said calculatedly. “And I highly doubt the Elders would permit it-”

  “-If it would help saveMerlin surely they would,” the rugged man spat back, before snarling. “And who cares what the bloody Elders say! To hell with them and their wisdom-”

  “-Gwaine!” Leon gasped at the blasphemy towards the sacred Druids of Ealdor. The man beside him grinned, shrugging casually as if unfazed.

  “They believe hope is already lost,” Morgana whispered distantly, eyes still vacant and unfocused. It was as if she were addressing somebody who was not really here. “They will not risk the lives of more people to dissemble a dark weapon.”

  “Well we’ll do it where it can’t hurt anybody then.” Stubbornly, Gwaine gazed over to the raven-haired woman who made no move to communicate with them. Leon, a little concerned, placed a hand upon her shoulder. He instantly removed it as she turned to his direction warningly. Gwaine was still talking whilst this happened. “…go to the ruins of Iaonam. Nobody will venture out there. We’ll crack it open with magic and then perhaps we’ll be able to figure out what’s happening to him.”

  “It will take days to open that gun.” Topia admitted with a bitter tone. “By that time it may be no use at all to us.” The implications of her words angered Gwaine. He stood up gruffly and glared at the woman.

  “It’s still worth a shot! No chance or not! Arthur was right, we can’t just give up.” His anger melted into determination. “Today, despite the odds, we won the battle of Breguoin! Things that may seem impossible are no longer impossible at all. Merlin has given everything to protect the people of Albion. He would do anything for this land. We all owe him. But more than that, he’s our friend.”


  There was a silence and Topia turned to the seer imploringly. Gwaine gradually sat back down, hoping he had inspired them to listen and act upon his words.

  “Do you know if the great Warlock will live?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  Morgana turned to the woman silently. She swallowed-hard as the others devoted their attention towards her. For a moment she didn’t speak, her misty eyes slowly becoming natural and visible again. A small smile slipped over her face, the soothing voice swept into their ears.

  “I cannot see this pathway,” something in her voice unsettled Gwaine a little. Nonetheless he brushed it off and listened intently. “This is beyond my powers, it is in the hands of Destiny now.”

  Grimacing, Gwaine got to his feet.

  “I’m going to Iaonam tomorrow, with the gun.”

  “How will you open the gun? You don’t have magic.” Topia observed, although it was clear by the twinkle in her eyes that she would indeed be greeting Gwaine by the tunnel ruins tomorrow morning. Not replying, he simply shot her a crooked smile, eyebrows raised as if she had answered her own question. Averting her eyes, the clan leader felt her lips upturn. With that, Gwaine left his friends around the fire, making haste to Merlin’s side. Although Merlin probably wouldn’t be able to hear him, he needed the man to know. Arthur was going to save him,and they were going to help as best they could.

  ♦☼♦

  Arthur and Aithusa landed on the charred, blackened plain that once was the home to a wonderful people. All colour had drained from the scene. The deterioration of life had begun miles away from Ealdor. First the trees begun to shrink from a proud size to small stubs in the ground. Then the vibrant shades of green got paler and paler until they were ashen and grey. The sounds of birds, of anything had vanished into oblivion. As the Dragon landed, white particles of ash and dust were flung into the air, disturbing the stagnant landscape for a second. The smell was pungent and caused Arthur to cough violently as it entered his lungs. It smelt of burning, of death, of destruction. He covered his mouth, attempting to regulate his breathing again. His coughed subsided. Opening his eyes, he gazed out at the expansive of desecrated earth.