by GR Griffin
He didn’t want to see this. Why was Arthur taking them here?
Panic. Upset. Raw emotions ricocheted around his body. People had died here. Innocent people caught unaware by a malicious man and his army. His father had died here. Balinor. Merlin wasn’t sure how much longer they’d been flying until he felt Kilgarrah touch the ground. He was still reluctant to open his eyes, skewing them shut in fear he would open them and everything would be gone. The sensation of skin on skin contact rushed over his body. A warm hand pressed against his shoulder, another brushing over his closed eyelids. Merlin trembled of all things, a shaky breath leaving his lips. Please, he thought dismally.
The hand on his face trailed down soothingly over the eyelids and downwards to rest against his cheek. Merlin felt Arthur’s forehead leant against his own for a moment tenderly. Then it all faded, replaced by that familiar voice.
“Open your eyes.”
Clamping his eyelids shut tighter, Merlin shook his head bitterly, not caring how ridiculous he looked. He was more aware of the wetness staining his own cheeks now. Biting his lip and clenching his fists, he put all his efforts into keeping his eyes shut because he couldn’t see this now, not after everything. He wasn’t ready. Hurt and betrayal pounded him hard in the chest. Why would Arthur do this to him? How could he- knowing what it would feel like- ask this of him?
“You have to,” At least Arthur had the decency to sound concerned.
“No, I can’t-” Merlin spat viciously, voice clogged up with distress. Two hands pressed firmly against his shoulders from behind, rubbing soothing patterns into his skin.
“Yes you can, you have to Merlin.” There was so much assurance and certainty in that voice.
Merlin could feel his resolve breaking slowly to his panic. Arthur continued to gently caress his skin, voice low and reassuring.
“Open them.”
Merlin did.
No words could describe what he saw. He stared blankly; attempting to absorb what was before him. His body became stiff, eyes wide and jaw gaping. Before he could process what was going on, he was toppling clumsily back into Arthur’s arms for support, unable to maintain his balance. Arthur caught him, pushing him back to his feet silently. Inhaling a deep breath, Merlin cautiously treaded forwards, afraid his feet would deceive him once more. His eye began to sting with water that prickled and agitated his vision. Blinking rapidly, he continued to stare.
It was too much to take in, too much. The Crystal Cave, the wondrous forests - all that had once been before. Their home, their – Merlin was incapable of holding it in anymore. His resolve broke dangerously, shards of the eruption soaring outwards. His magic bubbled up inside of him, swirling around him. Arthur stumbled forwards, reaching out for the Druid in anxiety. The magic surrounding Merlin suggested that was not a good idea. Instead, he remained in the background nervously. The haze around Merlin evapourated, and the Druid remained silent and motionless. His eyes never left the sight in front of him, attempting to intake as much detail as possible.
Suddenly a radiant smile spread over his lips, tears spewing from his eyes. Caught between joy, grief and complete surprise, Merlin cupped is mouth, shoulder hunched over. Arthur took a step forwards hesitantly, unsure how to react to this.
“I-it’s…” he stuttered, unable to form his own words cohesively. “W-well I-I thought t-tha-”
Arthur was propelled backwards by Merlin’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a chaotic, forceful embrace. Spinning them around, Merlin gazed out at the magnificent landscape before them. It was beautiful. The forest was lush, luminous and vibrant. The area was calming and breath-taking…and then there was that one particular landmark that Merlin couldn’t find words for. Releasing himself from Arthur’s arms, he wiped his eyes.
“So this is where you came,” he whispered, not able to speak any louder in fear of another outburst. “This is where you found the flower.”
“Albion taught me the greatest lesson of all my life,” Arthur said. “She led me to my destiny, she made me suffer for my wrongdoings but she let me put it right. Most of all, she gave me the greatest gift; a chance to start over.” Pause. Merlin felt his composure breaking again. “Not just for me, but for you…for all of us, and for magic.”
Gesturing towards the sight before them, Arthur continued. “This is testament to our people’s courage and bravery, proof that when Uther Pendragon destroyed the Crystal Cave magic never died, that Albion herself never gave up the fight. Magic will live on forever in Albion.”
Merlin gazed out at the sparkling, rocky cavern in front of them, admiring the beauty of the Crystals in the blazing sunlight. The cave was smaller than Ealdor’s had been, yet it carried a similar presence, an undeniable enigma. Merlin could feel it pulling his magic closer. There was something truly special about this Cave; it had a certain quality that the ancient Cave of Ealdor did not possess. Merlin truly believed in his heart that this, this was the birthplace of all magic, of all of Albion. It consumed him, filled him with affirmation and blinding faith until he was overwhelmed and fell to his knees. Arthur hoisted him up onto his feet, concern etched onto his face. He had clearly misread Merlin’s expressions.
“It’s called Eorendel. The forests are shallow and unparalleled to Ealdor, and I know that nothing could ever replace your home. But I-”
Merlin beamed at Arthur, happiness spurting from his complexion, his skin glowing. He silenced Arthur’s rambling with a jab of his finger. Once again, Arthur had surpassed everything. He had not only found them refuge and peace, he had found a Crystal Cave – the Crystal Cave. Yet all he felt was doubt and worry he had somehow done something wrong. Merlin felt tears of glee seeping from his eyes. In all his life, he had never quite felt this content, this overcome with happiness. Aithusa let out a strident roar, Kilgarrah gazing upon the scene fondly.
“Arthur.” Pause. Eorendel. Now that really did sound like a place Merlin and his people could finally call home. Nothing Merlin could say could possibly let Arthur know the gravity of what he had done, what he had achieved. A bright bubble of mirth erupted in Merlin’s throat. He said only one thing; one thing he hoped would make Arthur understand. Judging by the touched, exultant expression on the blonde’s face, he did.
“Ic æalá Ŏu, Ic æalá Ŏu!”
Chapter 60
THE FINAL CHAPTER
It was no secret that Arthur Pendragon knew a great deal about messages, about the gravity of the words one could speak. He supposed he could liken himself to a mere pawn on the great board of Albion, serving orders and performing a duty. He was no Knight - that was forever embedded in his heart. For the things he had seen and allowed to happen, the things he had caused…There was no white horse riding upon this horizon. It was all a dark silhouette; a shadow that never could quite escape the clutches of its master. A frown touched his lips for a moment. A pawn it was, and had to be.
He certainly found it distasteful if he would be named the King.
Once and Future or not, there was a time when he had allowed himself to be coaxed, like a mindless puppet. There was a time when he could be moved by only silver and gold, a time where he refused to look beyond the expectations of that man and ignore the expectations of himself. There was a time when the ‘King’ of a perfidious army beckoned him to make the first move across the board, into the unknown forest with a message disguised as an agenda. And he did so - without hesitation.
He had spoken words that he had wished were not his own.
But nonetheless they were a message – a message of terror and betrayal. This message had cast a shadow over him for months; it had stalked him in the blanched day. It had tormented him in the ebony night. It drove him to the brink of his own sanity; it drove him to the brink of everything. It kept pushing…and pushing until alas- he found himself no longer pushing forwards or retreating backwards but suspended. He could feel his toes curling around the edges of the mountain, tickling the stone; his balance wavering and his eyes
locked on the abyss below.
He stared deep into the eyes that haunted the darkness, and those eyes had stared back. The eyes had studied him with such scrutiny, such ravenous hunger for his body, for his flesh. This dark power had knocked him off the chessboard, into a totally new arena where the concept of rules did not exist, and the game was far more than a game. To lose this game, it was far worse than a checkmate, an annihilation of bishops, castles and thrones. To lose this game would result in something so cataclysmic that there would never be a game again; there would never be anything again.
Those eyes were still full of pride and triumph, even when he was falling. Arthur had jumped, of course he had. But something held him, clasped its weight around him and dragged him back to reason. It had been something as simple as a name. But this name was a message- that his work was not done, that he was not a failed man. Arthur understood the sensation of Eorendel more than he could ever strive to explain, even to Merlin. The land held him, embraced him just as it had done before. It was only now, walking with the people behind him that he felt it resonate inside of him.
This was it. This was it.
All this time; his part as a messenger – the pawn – had been so misguided, so distracted and offset by a chain of tragic events. Now, however, it was as clear as the sun in the sky.
It was a blessing to them all, to those who had suffered. To those who had watched the forests burn into oblivion, the crystals shatter into dust; the home they loved charred and corrupted by the hands of Camelot Enterprise. That pain, that raw suffering was etched into every single Druids face; every day. It was the kind of scar that could not be concealed, no matter how greatly they had triumphed. But Eorendel really was a sign, a message.
The people of Ealdor could start anew here.
They could rebuild their lives; make their foundations stronger and bolder. This was where a whole new legacy began. He could feel it – in his bones, a foreign ache that could not be named but oh could it be felt! Magic felt it too, it bubbled up inside, bursting at the seams. The people embraced what was lost – and what had been salvaged. The sense of urgency amongst the crowd was overwhelming; their hearts beating to the rhythm of the Dragons’ mighty wings, their breath rapid and stirring like the coils of wind that caressed their faces. Eagerly, the children pushed past Arthur and Merlin who were leading the group, rushing forwards with reanimated eyes; reanimated futures.
Then as they set foot upon the land, an almighty sensation swept across them all. Not a single person or being was spared from it. Merlin stopped in his tracks beside Arthur, eyes wide and vacant. Arthur gazed around, noticing the Druids behind all behaving in the same manner. Suddenly, he found himself doing the same thing. All eyes on the land ahead that was theirs, their new home. The electric shiver in the air ignited the spark. That was all it took.
Some fell to their knees; some outstretched their trembling hands; some still stood motionless. Arthur could feel, oh right now he felt how he thought he would never feel again. That wretched day, when the whole of Albion had fallen to its knees in sorrow and wept, and wept; the day magic wept. Bringing a hand to his mouth, Arthur inhaled a ragged breath, the overpowering burst of emotion and magic sweeping through it. It was sickeningly strong, burning through his blood and searing his skin. The stinging faded slowly into a humming tranquillity.
This was not the weeping of sorrow. This was magical weeping in the purest form of happiness in the world. The kind of joy that could not be found without the inevitable misery and anguish of thousands of souls; the kind of joy that could not be recreated artificially. Arthur’s entire body tingled as it absorbed the resonance of those radiating around him, expressing their passion and love in this touching way. As Arthur opened his eyes, one hand grasping Merlin’s shoulder for support, he heard his own voice ringing alongside the people’s in a sound that for the first time could be associated with happiness; he felt his own body wrenching and magic coiling explosively.
As quickly as it began, it stopped. And in the afterglow of this magnificent moment, Arthur languidly gazed over to meet Merlin’s sparkling golden eyes. Now, he knew.
This was the message he had been sent to deliver.
♦☼♦
Most people assumed that the world of dreams was a peaceful haven. Even more assumed that it was safe. A blissful escape from troubles and woes; a place where nobody else could go. Dreams embodied infinite imagination, escapism. And as for nightmares…nightmares weren’t all that different. They were a creation of the mind, nothing more and nothing less. Nightmares were a realisation of your fears, or your darkest thoughts and even unspoken desires. Dreams and nightmares were purely fictional, therefore they were safe.
Because the assurance of being able to cast them away when you woke was heavily taken for granted. The assurance of dismissing the images in your subconscious was a blessing, not a dull, boring normality of humanity as many saw it. If there was one thing that she had come to learn, it was that this safety was a fragile illusion; it could break any second.
Once the illusion was broken, and the dreams and nightmares were no longer simply dreams and nightmares – that’s when the gravity of the event became all too clear. It could shatter instantaneously, distorting the boundaries of reality and unreality. It could skew time, melt hours away like a flame on a wax candle. Burning. Always burning. It could alter memories of the past and deform those of the present. As for the future; it unfolded in a mixture of ways. Sometimes it would lazily roll through her bones, pulsating languidly, each image fading softly in and out of a hazy focus. Other times, it would crash down without warning, wrecking havoc across her mind and ruthlessly hammering overwhelming voices, images, sense, everything. Overload.
Oh god. Overload. Burning. Always burning-
-Until she dragged her heavy consciousness up to the surface and jolted awake. Panting. Gasping. Sometimes screaming. More recently it had been screaming. Most of the images she’d seen dissolved from her memory quicker than they’d appeared. But some were impossible to ignore, and would linger even through the world of the living. There had been times where events had unfolded like a mirage in the distance, across the hall – mere ghostly flickers of a future, a past, or perhaps a present. It was never truly certain.
But it was always here. She felt the weight beneath her eyes, sinking into her skin. She could feel it hovering around her. It was both enlightening and exhausting; exciting and terrifying. Her senses, her very way of looking, seeing had changed. There were times she confused reality with unreality, times she failed to switch off the buzzing magic inside her. It grew stronger every day. It grew more intense, more focal and yet distant. Of all she had learnt the past few months, it was that this power was all consuming.
It could change the very being that you are.
It could change your destiny.
♦☼♦
Two months passed blissfully and leisurely. The Ealdor-Eorendel Clan were happily settled in Eorendel, relishing in its magnificence. Basic aspects of Druid life had begun to seep back into cycle. Songs that had almost been forgotten, were being sung again, wonderful stories of their ancestors were being animatedly recited. The days were full of learning, enjoyment and friendship; love. Eorendel was energetic, buzzing with vibrancy and thrumming with magic. The Crystal Cave remained mostly unexplored – only Merlin and Arthur were permitted inside, though only Merlin had the privilege to gaze into the Crystals. Despite Kilgarrah urging the warlock to do so, Merlin refused. He wanted to savour every second of this infinite happiness, the happiness and peace that they had prayed for all those long, dark months ago.
It almost felt like an age away, the Battle of Breguoin, the destruction of Ealdor, the great betrayal. Although sometimes the memories seared Merlin’s skin, sending tremors through his body, there were times when the darkness was nothing but a hazy, cloud drifting momentarily over him, only to dissipate soon after. His thoughts were abruptly broken by the sound of footsteps. Smoothi
ng a hand neatly over his blue shirt (made especially for the occasion), Merlin frantically turned to the source of the noise. He gaped at the sight, frozen in frame.
Gwenevere was a vision of pure beauty. Her dark curls had been organised with sophistication (and a dash of magic). Her cinnamon skin was a contrast against the silky white gown that draped past her feet. The dress was laced at the top intricately, weaving down the arms with supreme elegance. It fanned out at the bottom, creating a rippling effect. Her overall appearance was modest, graceful and staggering.
Merlin beamed with pride, unable to conceal his happiness as she crept out from her room towards him cautiously of all things. His eyes creased with merriment, crinkling on the sides, revealing a set of slanted teeth in a joyous grin. Approaching her, he let out a shallow laugh. Oh he never believed he’d see this day! It filled him with a pure, refined joy. Gwen lowered her head in embarrassment, an unmasked blush tainting her cheeks. Clasping her by the shoulders, Merlin gazed deep into her curious, enquiring eyes. She seemed nervous, waiting expectantly for him to say something, anything. This triggered another hollow, airy laugh.
“You look…” taking his hands off her shoulders, he made a vague gesture. Gwen’s lips upturned drastically illuminating her face. Sighing, a gleam in his eyes, Merlin settled upon a phrase that barely surmised her beauty. “Like an angel.”