Merlin (speaks_dragon) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-01-30 13:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, !plot |
In a land of myth..
Who: Arthur Pendragon, Merlin and OPEN.
Where: The northern woods and possibly the northern part of the city.
What: Arthur and Merlin arrive independently yet happen across each other. As it turns out, Arthur’s brought ‘friends’. Trouble ensues. (PLOT!)
When: Wednesday.
Rating: PG for stylised violence and insults. ;)
Open: Yes.
Status: Ongoing.
SPOILER WARNING: Contains spoilers for the final of BBCs Merlin.
Having sent Arthur off on his final journey, one that he really couldn't accompany him on in any form this time, Merlin simply stood looking out at the waters of Avalon. His destiny had always been a burden, but one he'd ultimately been proud to bear. As he'd told Arthur during these last days, he wouldn't change a thing. But he wanted so desperately to change this. He'd tried so hard to change this, and despite the truth of Kilgharrah's words, he still couldn't help but feel as if he'd failed. Failed Arthur, Camelot.. Gwen, the Knights, Gaius. Himself. Why had he been shown Arthur's fate if he wasn't able to change it? He wasn't ready to close this chapter. To lose his king, his master, his friend. Merlin had felt that it almost didn't matter what they'd achieved if Arthur wasn't there see it. But Arthur had always been willing to lay down his life for his kingdom and its people, and for his vision of a united Albion, and Merlin had always been willing to do whatever it took to assist him. So it was his duty here to walk away and report the deaths of Morgana and Arthur, and to ensure that peace. But walking away wasn't easy. Merlin felt as if he, too, had received a wound to the heart. It wasn't fatal, but it was one he would carry with him forever. If ever Merlin felt the weight of his destiny, it was now, turning away from that lake. It would be a long, lonely journey back to the heart of Camelot. There he would have to explain to Arthur's wife, the queen, why he returned alone. Then to Arthur's knights and friends. His friends. And to Gaius. How could he not feel as if he had failed? He dreaded returning, but even as he felt that, Merlin took his first step away from the water. He looked back one last time, more tears finding their way to the surface. "Goodbye, Arthur," he whispered, as his feet started to take him towards the trees. Upon entering the forest, Merlin found something unfamiliar about it. Something he couldn't quite grasp. Looking back didn't afford him any clues though, other than the fact that he was obviously right. Where there had been a bank and a lake, there were now trees. He didn't understand. Did he have a new destiny now in some other place? Turning slowly in a circle, Merlin took in the patch of forest around him. His eyes settled on the top of what appeared to be a great tower in the distance. It wasn't familiar to him. New destiny or not, Merlin was going to return to Camelot. He eyed what he could see of the tower with its strange battlements. It was like a beacon amongst the trees and he wasn't entirely sure he trusted going to it. But it would provide him a view from which he should be able to work out where he was, and which way he then needed to travel to reach Camelot. So for now, the young warlock walked alone through the trees towards the strange tower. Camelot was for Arthur a place of peace, a haven of sorts, more so than ever – the threat of magic, thieves and crime was not suddenly rid from the land, but with Guinevere by his side as his Queen and confidant and a circle of the knights he trusted most as both royal guard; unity and settled way of life seemed at least to exist within the boundaries of his Kingdom. Since her disappearance the threat of Morgana was gone; perhaps she had succumbed to her injuries, some hope of this, from his own flesh and blood seemed wrong. However Arthur had come to terms with the fact Morgana was likely a dormant threat only, that they would have to to be prepared for the Sorceress to once more attempt her overtaking of the throne. The Kingdoms surrounding Camelot were somewhat a different story; the concerns of the past had suddenly lifted with Arthur's rule, washed away as if they never were, the reign of his father, Uther to was, as Arthur was forced to concede not one entirely to invite unity between the Kingdoms surrounding Camelot, borders were still fiercely guarded, crossing any such bounds met generally with aggression. Establishing trade was lately the prerogative, it was necessary to each ruler and their lands – it was a neutral foundation for building a better relationship. Not every Kingdom of course was in equally hasty need of livestock, produce, textiles, or craft or any such fashioned item that Arthur could readily offer. Pest control, however – was something the kingdom Tír-Mòr required in spades. The pests, in this case were not your run of the mill rodents, or even an infestation of the insect variety, no. These were magical beasts, Wyvern. Smaller cousins of dragons preying on the town for it's livestock, and occasionally a peasant. Why the creatures took it upon themselves to do so, there was no telling, perhaps it was merely poor luck, much like a wolf travel and expand it's territory for prey, so would a Wvyern – sheep, cows and humans rather easy targets. Or perhaps they were at the influence of magic, bid to commit their regular onslaught on the township, maybe this somehow entwined with Morgana's plans. Success in ridding the Kingdom of it's pests meant several rewards for Arthur and his knights, among them a trade agreement, military support and, of course the furthering of Camelot's good name to others. The Wyvern were now in pursuit – assumed to be only minutes behind them, the idea had been to draw them away from the city, away from the buildings to be damaged and burned, lives that would surely be at risk. To draw the beasts first into the forest, which might thin them out for a start – only to draw them into a clearing ahead, where the damage was far from the heart of the Kingdom and it's hapless township. Arthur rode ahead at a steady canter, his battalion of knights in tow – Merlin making up the rear. After all, he had been assigned the highly important and auspicious task to act as Wyvern incentive, ensure the winged monstrosities took flight and followed him to where they would be met with nets, blades and arrow. It was ..generally a sound plan. Mostly. Right, they were sort of playing it by ear, but Arthur had every reason to be confident. The scenery of the forest blurred passed him at a rush, a glance thrown over his shoulder to find rather suddenly he could neither see even the brief blur a single member of his party on horseback, he couldn't even hear the echo of their hoofbeats, now that he considered it. With a sense of foreboding creeping in, Arthur's focus on trying to locate his party, and regularly over-the-shoulder glances meant that it seemed rather too suddenly he noticed someone standing, alone, directly in front of him. The figure up ahead – just shy of the clearing was standing there, right in the middle of the path of Arthur's charging steed. The hard tug on the reins brought his dark-coated horse to a sudden halt, such the animal reared upon it's hind-legs with a startled snort. Oh he knew exactly whom it was. “Merlin!” Arthur practically barked with a slight puff of breath, confusion contorting his expression a second later. They were supposed to be clambering for their lives. “What the devil are you doing? --” Whilst it was quite obvious he was just standing there, it made absolutely no sense. He was, it seemed without a horse and by observation walking entirely aimlessly. He did not look like a man, who was supposed to have several highly aggressive dragon-type creatures only a short distance behind him. He dismounted against his better judgement, confusion still rampant upon his expression. “Where are the Wyvern?” He'd heard the hoof beats well before horse and rider had broken through the trees more-or-less directly in front of him. Merlin hadn't really assumed they'd be coming right for him. In his general direction? Yes. Directly at him? No. Why would they be? There was no path here, and nothing behind him but trees. Trees were everywhere about him, actually. So why anyone would be heading to these ones specifically, he had no idea. Merlin was about to apologise for startling the horse (and rider) when the voice of the rider sunk in. It couldn't be though. It was just his mind wishing to hear that voice. But a step around to get a proper look at them saw Merlin's jaw drop a little. It took a moment for the scene in front of him to make sense. And then it didn't make sense at all. "Arthur?" the warlock said, his face a picture of disbelief at what he was seeing. His voice was similarly full of shock and confusion. "No," he shook his head, stumbling back into one of the many trees around them. (Funnily enough, for a forest.) Tears started to glisten in his eyes as they remained on the recently dismounted figure. "This can't be real,' Merlin's voice was thick with emotion. "You can't be real." Maybe this was just his mind? Grief could do a lot to a person, he knew that. But no, they were real - he'd felt the horses hooves hit the ground after it had reared. He could even smell it now. Merlin was certain if he moved closer and reached a hand out, that he could touch horse and rider. That they would be tangible. But being tangible didn't make this Arthur. Even if it wasn't some grief fueled hallucination, this could still be his doing.. A magical manifestation of his desire to have his friend and king alive? But again, that didn't make this Arthur. Confusion was written all over the young warlock's face - from the angle of his eyebrows, to the wrinkle of his nose and the gape of his mouth. He needed to work this out. He was trying to work this out. And once he had, he'd then have work out how to deal with it. He hardly wanted to lay Arthur to rest for the second time in one day though. There were so many questions he could ask, but Merlin simply stood there looking through his tears. Despite the past few days, the farewell - the impossibility of this - he still had hope. That this was Arthur. Although he half expected him to fade away at any moment or for him to turn against him in some way. If it was to insult him though, well, Merlin wouldn't mind that. Merlin was strange. Strange being a vast, or possibly even kind understatement. This was a particular trait that Arthur was entirely justified in knowing was the absolute truth; Merlin regularly behaved in increasingly absurd ways, was known to be a drunkard and ..well generally an utter fool a good 90% of the time. As he waited for some sort of sense Arthur surmised; really he shouldn't be remotely surprised by the ridiculously unexplained display as he stared, furrow browed at Merlin colliding backward with the foliage at the sight of him as if he'd downed too much mead. Arthur continued to watch, stock still as the serving boy went on raving like a madman about the reality of what stood before him, as if he was in shock. Despite such logic, by the time Merlin had started reaching out as if he were establishing what he saw in front of him, Arthur couldn't help blurting. “Are you somehow drunk?” Merlin had seemed generally normal upon their departure from Camelot and Arthur hadn't been forced to send anyone from the castle to retrieve him from the tavern, so how could his coherence have deteriorated so dramatically? He certainly looked very bleary eyed. With an exasperated sigh Arthur reached out to grasp the reins of his horse, stopping the bay from wandering. “Did you not hear me Merlin?” Arthur demanded, eyeing Merlin as if to appeal to whatever corner of his brain managed to understand him, irregularly. “You had one instruction. That was to lure the Wyvern this way.” He outlined slowly and in patronising tones, as if he were speaking with a child barely of walking age. How Merlin even overtook them was a mystery within itself. That was not new either. “So where are they?” He indicated the dragon-free skies surrounding them. “..and what on earth have you done with your horse? You had all our supplies!” He added as an afterthought, looking about. “What?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask, his expression still one of confusion and his eyes still glistening with tears. It took him some time to comprehend Arthur’s words; to realise that he knew this. The question of his sobriety earned Arthur a belated smile. Merlin was used to being considered a drunkard and a fool by the other man, and never was he so glad to be accused of it as he was now. As to the proper question, the one about the Wyvern, the warlock wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. This was in his past. He doubted saying as much to Arthur would actually get him anywhere though. He could continue to play the fool, of course, but that would likely only raise the king’s ire to a point he did not want it to be. He had to give him something. Merlin wiped the tears from his eyes and cleared his throat lightly, in an effort to both say something and buy himself a few extra seconds in which to work out what exactly that would be. His eyes settled on the rather unsettling tower as he tried to grasp any words. Thankfully, that tower provided him with exactly what he needed. “I don’t think they’re coming,” he said matter-of-factly. “In fact, I don’t even think this is Tír-Mòr. Look,” he indicated the strange tower. ‘“It wasn’t there before and it’s not like any tower I’ve ever heard of.” Simply not being in Tír-Mòr, or the woods near the lake of Avalon, did not explain the difference in time between himself and Arthur though, but that was something Merlin would have to ignore for now. He could consider it later, after they’d gotten through this. Whatever this was. But it seemed as if he’d spoken too soon with respect to the Wyvern. He could hear the almighty flap of their wings. Nowhere near as great as Kilgharrah's, but still a noise you couldn’t help but pay attention to. The screech that followed was worse, really. But he could deal with them. He just needed to get rid of Arthur. “You should go and warn the people. Near the tower,” he approached his king now ready to help him along. “I’ll do what I was supposed to and lure them away.” There was no question in Merlin’s voice. That was the plan. He just had to hope that Arthur would agree to it. Not that he ever did. All Arthur could do, really was to stare, stare at Merlin with utter incredulity, because he was under the belief that for the most part there was very little his manservant could do, that would surprise him. Yet here he was, inexplicably odd in behaviour and Arthur had no ability or really any inclination to understand his behaviour – he was forced however to give him some amount of credit as he pointed out something Arthur had not yet even considered; they were no longer in Tír-Mòr. Arthur turned to look at the spire in the distance, brows furrowing in a vaguely dim expression. “How ..is that possible.” He wasn't quite asking Merlin, he doubted there was an answer. It just had to be said. “We haven't even made a wrong turn..” Arthur's want to find some sort of answer was interrupted as he heard it too, the screech that echoed through the trees, the disturbance in the air that the beat of large wings made and instinctively his hand went for the hilt of his sword, fasted to the saddle of his horse – yet he still had no clue where his Knights were and several dangerous and sizable Wyvern were headed this way. Staying to fight them only had one outcome, as best he could imagine it – dead they were no use to whomever else lay in the Wyvern's path. “Lead them away. On foot?” Arthur snorted derisively and made every indication that Merlin was being completely moronic, shaking his head a little.“Don't be absurd, you'll be dead in minutes. Get on the horse.” Arthur demanded at once as he lifted into the saddle, looking liable to badger Merlin until he complied - leaning down to grab a fistful of Merlin’s jacket, indicating he was coming along be it on the horse or dragged along with it. “If nothing else, the spire might provide us some advantage.” What exactly, well he hadn't a clue but to stay here would do no good. With Merlin seated behind him, Arthur kicked his horse into a gallop, just as one of the scaled beasts broke through the clearing with a high screech. |