To Gain a Kingdom you need but a sword

by Shadows_under_the_Cross

Summary:

Merlin, Morgana and Aithusa escaped from Sarrum's dungeons, but they are far from safe.
None of them, nor Gwaine, nor Mordred can return to Camelot. But they don't plan to - Camelot is rotten and bound to break down even without their help.
Instead, they are going to do something much better - building a safe heaven for magic users, restoring a legendary kingdom, freeing people from tyrant and taking their revenge on Sarrum all at once. Now just to take over Amata.

Part two of To Shatter a Mesiah you need but a word

Notes:

Repeating: English isn't my native language, Czech is.
Updates are rather lousy, but I am managing to post a chapter every two weeks (more or less) for now, hopefully it lasts.
I appreciate all kudos, subscribtions and comments you throw at me (while they are sensible).
If you want to say anything or if you get lost in plot, don't hesitate to ask. It makes me happy and productive. And this thing is also rather chaotic.
Sorry for any grammatical mistakes. I can't both think and write grammaticaly correctly. And Microsoft Word can't catch everything.

If you do not know for sure who owns Merlin, google it :)

Chapter 1: Phase one, part a - Infiltration

Notes:

So, here it comes...
Well, I won't stall.

Amata is located west from Camelot. Her size is of an average kingdom outside of the Great six (viz. chapter 2 - 6: Camelot, Nemeth, Essetir, Mercia, Gawant and Deorham).

On the north-west is a coastal district, lying just on the shore of the Seas of Meredor. The area is mostly uninhabited, as this sea started to often produce sudden and harsh storms during past century. Only few villages remain, trying to keep the traditional fishery going. But for unknown reasons, the waters that used to be legendary for their richness are now nearly barren.

This region is separated from the central Amata by wide range of mountains, which continues south, where it coils east. The local mines are the source of Amata’s greatest income – gold, silver, precious stones, iron ore and many others can be found there in unimaginable amounts unlike anywhere else. These mountains are known as “mynyddoedd o heddwch” – Mountains of Peace.

The majority of the population lives behind these massifs, on the eastern lowlands. There are mostly woods and fields. Along with many villages, it is also where the capital and the royal castle is located.

Along the eastern border, there is a natural obstacle of a side-massif of the Montains of Peace. The neighbourhooding kingdoms (Nemeth, Mercia) can only enter through few mountain passes. Where the Mountains can’t reach, Amata is adjoined with the Perilious lands, which are also practically uncrossable.

 

The Kingdoms of Albion, Royal Library of Camelot

Chapter 21: Amata, geography

---

Mordred walked through the castle. Even in the day light it looked gloomy. At least this time he wasn’t breaking in like a criminal. Though if he was faced with the choice between saving Emrys (no, not Emrys, he is not Emrys) Merlin and staying put, he would storm these halls like an honourless assassin hundred times. But for now… He was just a regular citizen with passion for healing, wasn’t he?

Or that was at least the first part of Merlin’s plan. To make any other steps, they needed to gather information – “to learn the real Amata” as Merlin phrased it. All the facts they had now was what Morgana learned during her childhood from the Camelotian extensive library, druidic horror stories Mordred grew up with, few things Gwaine heard during his travels and whatever Merlin’s magic managed to sensor of the land when he was Emrys. Even when all of this was put together, all they had was either not detailed enough, too out-dated, or useless. So here Mordred was, clothed in his peasant clothes, walking towards the court physician’s chambers.

Every court had its physician. And Merlin knew all too well what it meant to be one. Or one’s apprentice, as Mordred will hopefully be. It was perfect position for gathering information.

 

“People trust healers,” said Merlin, when he was explaining this move, “if they didn’t, healers wouldn’t be able to come near them with needles and questionable substances that need to be drunk. Court physicians especially – besides the town folk they had to treat snobby and spoilt nobles after all. People often told healers things – the number of dirty secrets Gaius knew back in Camelot was the proof. And apprentices? Besides being sounding-wall for their patients, they were also connected to the servant network. After all, they were practically servants themselves, but not to royal household. And servants knew everything and liked to gossip about everything – which was something most nobles seriously underestimated.”

 

Mordred’s position as a physician apprentice would be their gate to the court. Plus, Mordred already knew something about healing. And new knowledge couldn’t do any wrong – it might as well help with healing Merlin and Morgana.

The druid knight stopped. The corridor he was walking on was splitting in two and he had no idea where to next. Suddenly something, or somebody, collided with him from behind. He fell to the ground and quickly turned around, only to see a woman dressed in servant clothes. There is something familiar about her… But it can’t be…

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to walk into you like that… Though it is partly your fault, standing in the middle of the corridor like tha-“

She picked up her eyes from the floor, where she was collecting pile of linens that fell out of her hands. Her eyes went wide and she stopped breathing for a moment. Than she whispered:

 

“Mordred?”

 

“Kara?”

ΞІ †‡ ф ‡† ІΞ

Gwaine walked into the tavern. For the first time in past forty eight hours. I am getting seriously sloppy. Or sober. I don’t know which one is a bigger problem.

While Mordred was going to be a court physician’s apprentice, Merlin sent Gwaine to his own domain to hunt for information – the land of drunkards, broken existences, gambling and common folk. The poor druid knight was stuck with the stupid nobles and the army under the same roof, in the lion’s den, having to be subtle and nice all the time. That was something Gwaine never could do, but Mordred was perfectly used to it – he spent nearly year in Camelot while being a magic user – this was just a level up for the youngster. Gwaine was instead going to listen to the lousy-tongued townspeople and have access to all travellers from all ends of the kingdom. The only negative part was that he won’t be able to join them in drinking.

 

“Why tavern? Not that I am complaining.” asked Gwaine to Merlin’s idea.

“You mean if we omit the fact that you understand goings of taverns practically better than people who run them and that it is the best place to gather the gossip from the town? Or that it is the place where all people from outlying villages come sooner or later when visiting the capital?” asked Merlin, amused.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“If Sarrum wrings money out of his subjects as much as we think, tavern where soldiers go will be one of the few places in the town where they can afford help. The only other options are maybe working on the fields or joining army. I doubt you could be convincing farmer, plus it would be pretty unproductive. And there is no way you could be a soldier in tyrant’s army, it would take you day at most for you to start rebelling. Plus, being a soldier won’t bring you in common people’s favour.”

 

So here he was. Standing in the entrance of The Witch’s Head once again. He walked in.

There was only one young man, probably the tavern keeper or some relative of his, walking around the room. It was in terrible state – half of the furniture was broken and lying all around the room. Probably aftermath of a brawl. Of a really bad brawl.

“Would you like some help with that, good man?” asked Gwaine. It really looked bad. His conscience started making itself known, remembering all the times he ran away from a tavern leaving it in similar state.

“You have no idea. And the name is Sawel.” answered the other man and sat down on the floor with groan, stretching his hand out to shake.

“Gwaine. Now lets put this lovely place back together.” Gwaine took Sawel’s calloused hand with smile, shook it and than pulled its owner back to feet with it. Sawel just groaned again and reluctantly got up.

 

Well, looks like getting a job is going to be easy. Even for an amateur whose only achievement in job-hunting is stumbling on a royal in need and getting knighthood for helping out said royal’s manservant.

ΞІ †‡ ф ‡† ІΞ

“Kara?”

 

“Mordred, is it really you? What are you doing her-? No, nothing, we can’t talk here. Come with me.” Kara took a hold of Mordred’s arm and started dragging the confused druid down one of the two hallways. Mordred was still staring open-mouthed at her.

Kara. His childhood best friend. His only childhood friend. Most of the other druid children were told by their parents to keep ever from him, but she didn’t listen. Besides his mentor Cerdan she was the only one who liked to talk to him. Who thought of him as of somebody more than a creepy kid with scary amount of magic. His beloved Kara. She disappeared when the Camelotians followed Morgana and Emrys to their camp, killing most of the druids including other children. It was one of the reasons he joined Alvarr: there was nobody who cared about him anymore and he was convinced that both his father figure and his best friend (who he may have had a small crush on) were killed by blood-cloaks.

But Kara was standing right in front of him. Breathing. Alive. In the very heart of the Amata, where people like them were tortured and burned on daily bases.

 

They both walked into some door. It looked like an empty guest chamber, but Mordred didn’t care. He only had eyes for the girl in front of him.

“Kara? What are you doing here? You are in danger!”

“Me? What are you doing here?” she heatedly said.

 

They both stilled, breathing hard from mix of emotions.

 

“You first.” said Mordred silently.

“I am spying” answered Kara, crossing her arms.

“What?”

“Magickiller Sarrum started riding outside of his borders. He is attacking the unsuspecting druid camps, somehow he always finds them, no matter how well they are hidden. The king of Mercia even gave him permission to hunt down the magic users in his lands. They were getting desperate. So I offered to go into the heart of Amata and spy on the Magickiller’s movements as a servant. I don’t care about the danger. I am doing this for my people. Our people.” stated Kara passionately.

She hasn’t changed. Still fighting for what she thought was right, no matter the consequences. Like making friends with lonely boy despite it meaning other children will evade her too.

 

“Now what about you?” she asked.

Mordred watched her for a while. This was his best friend. Kara. He could trust her. And she trusted him in turn.

So he told her everything. About being a knight of Camelot and then leaving when he saw the king’s true nature. About Gwaine and their impossible quest. About Merlin, Morgana and Aithusa and their imprisonment. Their escape. About their plan to bring down the tyrant and to restore the ancient and beautiful kingdom of Sion, safe haven for their kind, under the rule of the Last High Priestess, with the blessing of Emrys himself. About his mission to became the court physician’s apprentice to collect information and to help the poor Amatians.

 

Kara was smiling. She looked radiant.

“Oh, Mordred. That… That is amazing. I will help you, I will do whatever it takes to make that dream come true. I will pass on all the useful gossip, I will tell you what I heard on whatever meetings I will manage to listen in on, anything useful. That is… If you will have me.”

“You would really do that?” whispered Mordred, shocked and happy.

“Of course. This is our chance to be really free.” she said, excited.

“We would love for you to join us.” grinning Mordred answered, still in low tones. Tears of happiness were running down his cheeks. She is back.

 

“That’s not all… I missed you, Mordred. We can be together again now, like the good old times.”

She opened her arms and as fast as lightning enclosed him in them. Mordred didn’t wait a single moment and hugged her back closely. His tears were staining her dress and he could smell her familiar scent. She is back.

 

“I missed you too, Kara.”

Notes:

If any of you reminds the map of the kingdoms of Wales, you are good in geography. I wanted there to be both the mountains and the sea and Wales is probably the closest. Plus, it suits - shouldn't the ancient kingdom of Sion be in place best known for celtic folklor (words of an amateur, feel free to correct me if its wrong)?
The welsh translation comes from translater, sorry if it is somewhat wrong.
The borders of all kindoms except for Amata are random.
If any welsh people read this, I hope I haven't offended you in any way. Even with my very limited knowledge, I think Wales is cool.

Chapter 2: Phase one, part a, team b - Resting and Healing

Notes:

I am back! And the clasification madness is finaly over. Oh the peace of not having exams nonstop...

Amata, for such a small country, has a very dark history. There are many speculations that it was here, where the sinful kingdom of Sion was located. Thankfully, a few generations back, a prince by name Antigon opened his eyes and saw the vileness that magic really was. He initiated the fight against the evil that ruled his land and, in alliance with other powerful kings of Albion, cleansed Amata of the wickedness, letting the barbarian culture of Sion burn to ashes. His bravery and dedication made Antigon the first hero in fight against the unnatural powers of magic and the fall of Sion is the first success in our fight against the evil. That makes, no matter how small their country is, Amatiens worthy allies for Camelot.

 

The Kingdoms of Albion, Royal Library of Camelot

Chapter 21: Amata, history and culture

(edited on command of His Highness King Uther Pendragon)

---

What was Sion like?

 

Merlin pondered upon that, as he stared into the turquois flames. They were purple just few minutes ago, but the Magic apparently enjoyed changing their colour. Ever since he lighted the kindling with small difficulty to make his breakfast, the fire kept flicking between all possible and impossible shades of rainbow. Once the eggs he found in their bags were in eatable form, Magic threw away all restrains and started playing with the heat and the shape.

At one point few hours ago, Magic decided to liven the things up a bit and started to sing a ballad about a unicorn and a pirate. Its singing voice was terrible and the song was obviously being thought up on the spot, but it made Merlin laugh more than he had in ages.

Magic noticed this and in indignation changed its form from a snake to a mockingbird.

 

It flew through Merlin’s body like it would through sky and landed in warlock’s belly, making itself a nest from golden ribbons. When he asked why there, it answered:

 

“That’s where the eggs are. Every bird protects eggs. Don’t you know that?”

 

“Even when the eggs are already eaten?” asked Merlin, amused.

That remark earned him a half-hearted peck into his intestines. It wasn’t enough to stop him from chuckling. Nor did it stop him from noticing, how tenderly were his malnourished insides caressed by Magic’s wings.

 

Now it was early afternoon. For lunch, Merlin happily munched down some roots and mushrooms Magic conjured (despite its decision not to do the work  on what Merlin managed to do by himself, it obviously thought he seriously needed fatting up).

He set some aside for Morgana and made himself comfortable, taking rest.

 

The idea of perfect magical kingdom fascinated him. Before Mordred mentioned it, he had never heard of Sion. And he was apparently the only one in their group – if Morgana’s awed reaction to the name was anything to go by.

 

What was Sion like?

 

Sion? What’s that?

Merlin nearly startled. He still wasn’t all used to the fact that his thoughts had a permanent guest always listening.

 

Don’t you know? You said you were around Earth since the beginning of time.

 

Oh, please. I was there before that pesky thing. And that doesn’t mean I know every word people thought up. I am not a dictionary.

 

A magical kingdom in the place where Amata is now? About hundred years ago? Royal family chosen by stars themselves or whatever?

 

Ooooh, I remember that one. That one was amazing! It even had nice people in it!

 

What, today’s people aren’t good enough for you?

 

They are mean and stupid and boring.

 

I am a human too.

 

No, you are not. You are Morddin.

 

Merlin grumbled under his breath. Despite all the impossible thing he had done and his origin Magic told him about, he still fancied himself as a human, thank you very much. But he really wasn’t ready to have an argument about it.

 

And how were people back than any better?

 

They didn’t hate me for one. They didn’t play with me just because it brought them power. They were friends.

 

Merlin saddened. Were today’s magic users really that bad? Maybe it was good he wasn’t one of them any more. He hated feeling the Magic upset. He hated how well he understood the cause of its distress. It was lonely. It lost many (if not all) it cared about. It was a child, lost in the heartless world. They both were.

Young warlock extended his imaginary hand through his stomach. He gently stroked the head of the bird-like swirl of sparking energy with the tip of his finger. He pulled his knees to his chest and hugged the mockingbird inside him with his body mass.

You are not alone anymore. You have me. The mean people can all go to hell.

 

---

And somewhere, in back of Merlin very soul, a voice whispered, heard by neither the Magic nor the young warlock.

And you have us, Morddin. You are alone no longer too.

Emrys’s arms – all encompassing, stronger than mountains, fluid as ocean, unimaginable – enveloped His little brother. The God pulled the unsuspecting boy to His heart – cold, empty, not-beating, not-existing, yet always opened for Morddin – and stroked Merlin’s head.

 

In the clearing in front of a ruined temple an unnoticeable gust of wind ruffled Merlin’s hair.

 

Neither warlock, nor Magic, nor any other mortal or immortal being noticed His presence.

He was well hidden. Waiting.

 

And it was alright.

It was, how it was supposed to be.

 

For now.

ΞІ †‡ ф ‡† ІΞ

Morgana climbed out of the stream. It took her hour to wash off all the grim from her imprisonment. It took two more hours to sort out the mess that was her hair. Honestly, when did it become this bad? She found three sticks in it! Not to mention the small stones, feathers of unknown bird and leafs.

But at the end, with patience and smallest amount of magic, she managed to untangle it all. It was not as pretty as it used to be in Camelot – she didn’t have any of the oil-flowery mixtures noble ladies used to make their locks look silky and shiny. But Morgana didn’t mind. She wasn’t a spoilt lady. She didn’t need all those insignificant luxuries anymore.

She looked around for the rags that served her as a dress. But they were nowhere to be seen. Her attention snapped up sharply and she searched around for an intruder with her hands half-raised, ready to cast. She didn’t see anybody.

Suddenly, cooing sounded to her right. She turned around and saw it was only Aithusa. The young dragon girl looked rather confused as to why her friend was acting so cautiously. The bundle of black cloth was spread out in front of her. Morgana calmed down. No unwanted guest. And she won’t have walk around naked either.

 

But what was Aithusa doing with her dress?

 

When the young dragon saw the priestess was alright, she turned her head back to the black cloth. She opened her jaws and breathed out. The rags were surrounded with glittering air and it changed.

They were no longer neither rags, nor black. Instead, a light-grey-silvery-white dress was lying on the grass. Or, on second look, it wasn’t dress – instead of skirt, there were wide trouser legs on the bottom. Next to it laid wide black leather strap that probably served as a belt.

Morgana only saw such thing twice – traitorous Guinevire wore similar thing when she was with Helios.

And in a book, when she was studying with her sister. It was the uniform of the Dragon-blessed.

 

Dragon-blessed were people, who became companions to dragons. Such a feat was rarely achieved, as the only known way to do so was to go through great hardships together. And dragons, the most powerful of magical beings, rulers of the sky, seldom got into problems big enough. And if they did, it either led to their death or they got out of said trouble without lowering themselves to such level as to ask a human for help.

Dragon-blessed were the only ones outside of dragonlords, who were allowed to ride on the majestic creatures. They were connected for life. They were honoured and respected in magical society as much as lower priestesses were, if not more.

They were recognisable by their clothes – shirt and trousers joined in one piece, coloured same as the scales of their dragon companions.

 

Morgana stood on the stream bank, not noticing cold, staring open-mouthed on the garment. Did Aithusa really think so high of her? Was she really found worthy of such honour? She never dreamt such a miracle would happen to her.

“Aithusa… Are you sure?” she whispered in awe.

The dragon girl purred and rubbed head against Morgana’s knee, pushing her towards the clothing.

Morgana stood here for a while longer and than she lifted he chin. She slowly, solemnly walked over to the beautiful silvery-white fabric. She dressed herself. She looked down.

 

Morgana Pendragon (or was she Le Fay?) was no longer a lost soul. She was a friend to Aithusa. Her companion, her sister. She was a warrior, a leader and a woman who saw the world from all angles. And together, high priestess and creature of magic, dragon-blessed and dragon, were going to set thing right.

ΞІ †‡ ф ‡† ІΞ

So, what was Sion like? You never said.

Asked Merlin, once his Magic calmed down.

 

How about we make a deal? I will show you when you fall asleep and you will tell me a bedtime story. Nobody ever told me bedside story. I heard they are really cool.

 

Merlin was slightly bemused on Magic’s antics, but he had had entire day to get used to the feeling. He continued stroking it’s-mockingbird’s head with one finger.

 

Well, I guess that depends on who narrates them. But I will try.

 

Alright.

 

Fire changed colour from turquois to a vibrant shade of purple Merlin neve saw before. He snorted. Magic certainly wasn’t capable of staying on one topic for long time. He threw more wood into the flames. Not that he thought the fire needed it – Magic was probably feeding it so much power it will run for hours without more fuel.

 

Suddenly, Merlin heard steps. He turned around and saw it was Morgana and Aithusa, both of them glowing with happiness and lack of filth.

Merlin noticed Morgana’s new visage – hair combed with fingers, the silvery-white dress with black belt – wait not dress. A dragon-blessed uniform!

 

Well, I probably shouldn’t be surprised. Morgana and Aithusa are really close.

 

Priestess’s feet were bare, only covered with fresh bandages. Around her neck, there was a silver neckless with triskelion pendant. How did she manage to keep that? Nevermind.

She was looking at him expectantly. He slowly nodded and corner of his lips tugged up minutely. She smiled, breathed out and relaxed. She received dragonlord’s approval. Not that she needed it.

 

“I left you some lunch.” said Merlin, cocking his head towards the rest of the roots and mushrooms. Than he turned back to (now bluish-yellow) flames.

 

He heard Morgana take her food and sit down. Than there was a muffled boom as Aithusa laid down next to her. She chuckled and continued eating in companionable silence, stroking the young dragon’s scaly snout.

When she finished, she continued sitting. Silence changed from companionable to contemplative.

“I was wandering…” said Morgana uncertainly.

Merlin turned around and lifted an eyebrow at her.

“When my hair is no longer tangled in one big knot, there is nothing stopping it from falling everywhere. It’s terribly impractical. I don’t want to cut it so… I was wandering if you could help me braid it somehow to keep it in one place and out of the way. I can’t do it by myself. And I really don’t want to be beaten in fight just because it falls in my eyes. So… would you help me out? Please?”

 

Merlin blinked few times and shrugged. Morgana was obviously developing into new personality. Same as he was. If he can help her in such small ways, than he will do so. Nodded and inclined his head towards the place next to him.

She happily walked over and sat down with her back towards him. Merlin ran his fingers through her hair to test if there really aren’t any knots left.

 

So, do you know any practical hairstyles?

Merlin sent to his Magic.

Magic squealed in a way that Merlin reminded of overexcited teenage girl and flapped its wings in Merlin’s belly.

 

Of course! You see there is this one…

Notes:

Alright, I consider myself terrible in discribing clothes.
So here is what I meant by Morgana's
dress
and
belt

Any comments and kudos you find me and this work worthy of are appreciated and thanked for.

Chapter 3: Phase one, part a - Infiltration succesfull

Notes:

I finished this while being half-asleep.
If any grammatical mistakes are found, please return them to their owner (or not).

For such a small kingdom, Amata harbours many unique riches. Its main source of income is from mining – local mountains are rich in precious stones and rare metals. So much, that the amount of crystals that is gained from the stone here in one year is equivalent to five times the number of crystals resting in Camelot’s vaults. But despite that, Amata is not overflowing with coins. Only small part of its land is capable of cultivation. The rest is either unpredictably flooded with harsh rains, too dried out by the strange waves of heat or it is a part of the rocky mountains. The consequence of this is, that most of the earned money goes to buy crops.

The areas without working agriculture are vastly uninhabited. Only small peculiar tribes remain. They do not have many members, are secretive and are decaying year after year. They are not considered as full Amatiens citizens, but are tolerated for their small service input. I they were not, it wouldn’t be hard to get rid of them.

These groups are for example the fishermen from the Seas of Meredor, the slopewalkers from Mountains of Peace, or the nomads from South Highlands (a south district of Mountains of Peace, also known as the Burning Hills, for its hot climate).

 

The Kingdoms of Albion, Royal Library of Camelot

Chapter 21: Amata, economy and ethnic minorities

---

“So,” said Kara, once she and Mordred untangled from the heartfelt hug, ”you are now supposed to become court physician’s apprentice?”

“Yes, that’s my first role in the plan.” answered Mordred, while trying to discretely dry his happy tears.

“Well, I can help you with that.” she answered with sly smile.

“How?”

“Conchar, that’s the physician’s name, isn’t originally from Amata – he moved here from Deira when the previous physician died. Sarrum didn’t want a healer, which could possibly be associated with any of the Amatien local rebel groups. That Amatien excuse of a king is terribly paranoid.” Her eyes sparkled with cold satisfaction, nearly unnoticeable glint. With her next words, it became apparent why.

“His plan backfired spectacularly. Conchar isn’t a member of a magic-friendly society – he is a sorcerer himself. And a druid too – he has been helping me out a lot on my mission. If we tell him everything, he will help you too. And it will be more productive, as it means new ally, another pair of ears and one less person you will have to hide from.”

 

Mordred couldn’t believe his luck. First he found Kara, then she offered him her help and now there was possibility of another person fighting for their cause?

 

“That… Are you sure?”

 

“Yes. When he helped me, why would he not help you? You have bigger chance of making some change.”

“Than let’s go.”

 

They both smiled and Mordred opened the doors of the chamber. Kara walked out, to an outsider looking just like one of dozens serving girls, with pile of linens in her arms. Mordred followed. Just two peasants, an outsider would say.

 

Yet with their every step, a king was nearing his doom.

ΞІ †‡ ф ‡† ІΞ

“You have no idea just how glad I am for your help.” said Sawel once he and Gwaine were done bringing the tavern to a presentable state. ”With just one pair of hands, this would have taken ages.”

They were both lying on the floor, resting. It took them three hours to repair all the repairable furniture, scrub the blood and vomit off the walls gather all garbage (including two left boots, six human teeth, questionably smelling pile of rugs and puddle of white-ish slime they spent twenty minutes arguing about. Gwaine was vehemently claiming that it was a soul somebody drowned in tankard of alcohol that stubbornly crawled out to weight conscience of any person who came upon it. Sawel claimed it was an eyeball that melted from disgust, when it saw its owner’s ugly mug, reflected on the surface of his mead. When Gwaine heard that reasoning, all of his laugh and merriment became forced for a moment – he remembered all too well, what Merlin’s dead eye looked like.)

 

“Ages? Man, you would have died before you finished all of this without help!”

“Yeah, probably. I totally see it: ’And what is the cause of our poor Sawel’s death, oh great master physician?’ ‘I fear this handsome lad died from work. Oh, the great beast had taken another young soul. Not even the strongest survive standing face to face with such a disgusting labour!’”

Both adult man dissolved in fit of very mature giggles.

“Now that we established that you saved me from slow and painful death,” stuttered Sawel out, once he was capable of breathing again, “how can I repay you? I don’t remember seeing you around, are you a traveller? Do you need somewhere to stay for the night?

“Well, I am new in the town.” answered Gwaine thoughtfully. This was his chance. If he manages to get a job, he will be finally useful for something. And if he manages to get job here, he will be able to spend more time with Sawel.

Gwaine liked the boy. They had same sense of humour, similar way to see the world. And there was that something about him. The same something that pulled Gwaine to Merlin when they first met. It was a feeling that promised a new level of crazy for Gwaine’s life. And both times I felt it was in the tavern. Before, during or after a fight. That’s just typical.

“But I am not a traveller,” he continued ”or, well, not anymore. I will be staying for a while. And for that I will probably need money. You don’t happen to have a paid job somewhere up the sleeve, heh?”

 

Sawel looked at him thoughtfully.

“Well, that depends… what can you actually do outside of helping to repair furniture?”

 

Gwaine smirked.

 

“Outside of being irresistibly handsome you mean? Well, I can fight. Using practically anything. Swords, maces, fists, sassy remarks, pieces of wood, jugs with mead… I dealt with spoilt brats on daily bases and managed to stop myself from killing them. I can also read and write and count, if that is important around here. I am also really good at holding liquor.”

“So, basically, you are awesome at everything.”

“Absolutely. Well, outside of doing laundry, I have been told. The smell of my socks is legendary.”

 

Sawel snorted, but his eyes were filled with hopeful and excited sparks. Why, Gwaine had no idea.

 

“I will ask the boss. You know what, I will do it right now.” The youngster jumped up from where they were sitting on the floor and sprinted towards the door on the far side of the room.

“Really?” asked Gwaine quietly.

 

Sawel turned around and started talking million miles per second.

“Of course! If you are any good, you could help us stop some of the brawls from happening! And you could help lug heavy things around! And you could teach us to read and write and count and sword-fight all of those things!”

 

Before Gwaine managed to answer in any way, Sawel was running up the stairs.

ΞІ †‡ ф ‡† ІΞ

Mordred and Kara stopped before plain wooden door. Unlike Camelot, physician’s quarters were located on the ground level of the castle. Something about rulers of Sion wanting the medical help to be as close to people as possible and Sarrum being too lazy to order the physician to relocate.

Kara knocked on the wood. From the other side a voice grunted out “come in”.

The first thing Mordred noticed was the ceiling. Bundles of herbs were hanging down in waves of different shades of green and brown. There were dried flowers of all imaginable shapes and colours, stacks of freshly collected leaves, all of it looking like it grew from the roof in one big meadow.

Under this green sky, cupboards, cots and tables were piled in seemingly chaotic system. The walls were lined with shelves, containing books, metal equipment and jars with questionable substances and objects in them.

At last, bent over one of the tables, stood a man. He had a short ginger hair speckled with grey and even shorter beard. His face was more wrinkled than a person of his age probably should be, adorned with big and distinctive eyebrows. He wore black breaches, light green tunic and long light brown jacket, that ended an inch under his knees. On his belt, there was a leather pouch and another bundle of herbs. He was holding a vial something over fire.

 

So this is the Amatien court physician. Conchar, if Kara’s word is anything to go by.

 

“Who broke what this time?” The physician spoke resignedly. It was after he said that sentence when he finally looked up. His expression changed from long-suffering to concern. He tensed up.

“Kara? Is… is something wrong?” he asked carefully, frowning.

“No, no, no, don’t worry Conchar, nothing bad. Actually, I have excellent news!” Kara hurried to calm the man. Conchar immediately relaxed and breathed out something that sounded suspiciously like ’oh, thank the goddess’.

“Revolution is coming! Mordred here and Emrys and the last high priestess and their friends are going to get us rid of Sarrum. And we can help them out!”

 

Conchar blinked few times. Than another few times. Than he let out a groan that Mordred interpreted as ‘what has that child gotten herself into now’, walked over to one shelf and pulled out a vial with a suspicious yellow-brown liquid. He downed it in one go and plopped down tiredly on one of nearby benches.

“Start from the beginning, please. And lock the door, for goddess’s sake, before someone inconvenient comes in hears you spouting treason like there is no tomorow.”

ΞІ †‡ ф ‡† ІΞ

Gwaine stood up when he heard the steps returning. Sawel was back, bouncing off the walls like an excited puppy. With him, a broad-shouldered balding man came in. Probably the inkeeper.

“Son said you are looking for a job.”

Ooooh, so Sawel really is relative of the owner of the tavern. Though where did the family resemblance go, I have no idea.

 

“He would be right.”

“He also said that you can read, write, know numbers and fight.”

“Yes, I can do that.”

“We don’t have money to pay one more worker.”

Gwaine twitched. So Merlin was right. People here are really that poor.

 

“At this point I would do anything for dry spot to sleep on and something to fill my stomach.”

 

The innkeeper furrowed brows, thinking intensively.

“What do you think of king Sarrum?” he asked at the end.

“I don’t know all that much of him. But from what I’ve seen so far… well, let’s just say that my opinion on him would probably be categorised as treason.”

“And if I promised that nothing from what you say about him will be heard outside of this room?” the innkeeper said with more ease in his voice.

“Than I would have said that his majesty was probably a goat in one of his previous lifes. And in this one, he is a demon spawn.” answered Gwaine. After all, there was no need to describe all the terrible ways he would have killed Sarrum, given a chance. It was the least he could do for Merlin, when it took him and Mordred so long to safe the young warlock.

 

The innkeeper smiled and stretched out his hand to shake.

“Consider yourself hired.”

ΞІ †‡ ф ‡† ІΞ

“So, you want to be my apprentice.” said Conchar carefully, massaging his temples. Mordred felt sheepish for the physician, who seemed to be coming down with a headache from all the new shocking information.

“Yes, sir.” he answered in moderate volume.

“Oh, please, call me Conchar. And you want me to help you with dangerous spying.” the ginger continued. Mordred startled guiltily.

“Only if you want to. You really don’t have to.”

Conchar sighted, still holding his head. Mordred took pity on the man and stood up, taking bundles of feverfew and butterbur from the ceiling. He handed them to Conchar. The physician looked at Mordred sharply. A thoughtful look was on his face. His mouth tugged up in small smile.

 

“A secret mission or not, I expect you not to be slacking off. Take your things to the room over there and come back, we will talk about your duties.”

Notes:

Any kudos and comments, I am really thankful for. Nobody said anything after the last capture, so I hope that you are 1) still alive and healthy despite the pandemic, 2) not mortally offended by the fact that Morgana is not going to wear black rags any more.

Good night/morning/afternoon/whatever, I am going to sleep now.

Chapter 4: Phase one, part b - Gathering information about the folklore

Notes:

Here comes another chapter.
This time I wrote it before the bells rang midnight.
But that doesn't mean it is worth much.

They were flying. They were flowing. They were breathing.

Magic and Morddin were the earth, they were the seas, they were the sky, they were one.

 

And under them (above them-in them-through them) – the kingdom of Sion.

People (old-young-living-living-smiling) scurried from place to place.

 

It was a great spectacle to watch. (to feel. to taste. to be part of.)

(They were the gods, shaking fondly head on petty human troubles.)

(They were the ants, running from giant’s feet to get one more seed from the enormous apple tree)

And so they observed. And so they saw.

 

There laid mighty cities

(dead stone on dead wood, yet full of life, little little big life. Jewels on the land) .

There stood strong cities

(floating, swimming, dancing on the waves, seagulls of man of wood of magic. Lampions on the sea).

There loomed sacred cities

(in mountains, on mountains, of mountains. Tops of their towers scratched the belly of the sky).

 

Magic and Morddin were everywhere. Unrestrained, welcome, free.

 

(flowing, breathing, laughing as they flew, clutching to a ball group of children threw around)

 

They loved what they saw.

They were free. And they were bound.

Magic and Morddin loved Sion, its people, its land, its worship. So they kept it alive, so it was no longer “it”. It was “he”, it was “she”. It was them.

 

They built a lung of storm of dragons, with every beat of their wings - an inhale. With every beat of their wings – an exhale.

 

 (“What’s an asthma, master physician?” asked woman.

“I do not know, my dear. It sounds like a flower – ask the florist.”

Giggling, Magic and Morddin weaved flower crowns)

 

They built a heart of hearts, with every laugh, cry, tear and smile- golden blood flew through the body of soil and stone and sea water.

 

(“Such a great harvest.” said man.

“But father, it is just as big as it was last year.”

Squealing, Magic and Morddin dropped a rotten pear on the boy’s head)

 

Their brains lied in mortal temples, made of books.

Their eyes they hanged from the sky, glowing through the lids of clouds.

Their mouth whistled on wind in rocky valleys.

 

They were bound to the land with chains, but they were free to roam their cell. They loved it. They lived it. They were.

 

Until they weren’t.

 

Their manacles snapped. The heart slowed, the lungs died, eyes glazed, brains forgot and mouth screamed into the void.

Their people were dead.

They were no longer prisoners.

They were exiles.

ΞІ †‡ ф ‡† ІΞ

Merlin woke up. The dream his magic sent him still played in the back of his head. He opened his eyes, just to see the Sun smiling sadly down at him.

(‘So he finally knows,’ it said spoken to magic in voice of an old woman.

‘Not all.’ answered the Magic, ‘I don’t want him to be sad again. It makes me feel sad too.’

‘Tis your decision, little old one.’ sighed the crone and continued hobbling its way across the sky. )

 

Merlin closed his lids once again.

So that’s how it was…

ΞІ †‡ ф ‡† ІΞ

The day before, Gwaine was looking on the pile of straw that was to be his bed for near future. The innkeeper (named Gwill) showed him to inn’s stables after finishing the setting of Gwaine’s description, few hours ago. In exchange for food and roof, the rogue former knight was to help Sawel with cleaning every morning, teach the kids (Sawel, his two older brothers and younger sister) how to work with numbers, letters and fists in the afternoon and help serving ale during the evening, while keeping an eye for a possible trouble.

All in all, Gwaine couldn’t have had bigger luck.

Tomorrow is gonna be a busy day, he thought as he settled himself to sleep.

 

He was just about to close his eyes when the door to the stable creaked. A sliver of candle light streamed in. When he looked up, he saw the innkeeper’s eight-year-old daughter standing there, indecisively.

“Dad said that you don’t like the king.” she whispered mischievously.

“Well, he is not a very nice person, is he?” whispered Gwaine back with smile.

“Would you like to go to listen to grandmother telling a bedtime story? She tells the best stories. And if you don’t like the king, you will not tell on her.”

Intrigued, Gwaine agreed.

ΞІ †‡ ф ‡† ІΞ

“The story I am about to tell you really happened”, started the old blind woman her tale. “It was told to me by my grandmother and she was told about it by her grandmother. And now, I am telling you, so you can pass it on, once you have children or grandchildren.”

The whole family listened in excited silence. There was everybody – the innkeeper and his wife, his sister and her husband, their children, two barmaids and the cook and his son. And Gwaine.

“Once upon a time, there stood a beautiful kingdom of Sion. Yes, I know that all of you know about it. We live in the little that is left from it, after all.

But the story I am about to tell you did not take place on the land we know. It took place on the sea.

The Seas of Meredor was not as we know it now, angry and empty. No, it used to be full of fish and octopus and other sea vermin. It was calm and friendly, the storms never reaching the coast.

And on the waves – a true miracle. Made of wood and magic, three big cities were built, swimming on the surface like hundreds of boats glued together. They were beautiful – people living there coloured their homes in dyes made of seaweed and hanged seashells of unimaginable shapes from strings like we do with laundry. And at night their magical light reflected in the water, making the prettiest shapes of light bounce on their houses.

And it is here, in one of those wondrous cities, where our story starts.

There once lived two orphan siblings. A young girl with hair as gold as sunbeams and her brother, boy as clever and witty as if he had decades under his belt. They lived in one of the swimming cities and made their living by catching and selling fish. One day, when they sailed out with their little boat, they saw a beautiful fish, swimming under the hull.

“I want to see this fish closer. I will never see such beauty ever again!” said the brother and guided the boat to follow it. His sister was entranced with the creature too, so she didn’t stop him from swimming further and further into unknown waters.

Suddenly, the fish disappeared. The siblings came back to their senses and they were about to turn around. But than, something emerged from the water. The sibling were in awe, because they saw that standing in front of them was a group of mermen. And not just some mermen – but the king of all merfolk with his court.

“Humans, we have guided you here for a purpose” said the king of mermen. ”There is terrible evil plaguing our waters – a sea demon of old woke up from his slumber and now he destroys anything he comes across in his eternal rage. The only one who can stop him is the great dragon, living on an island far in the sea. We cannot venture on the land and therefore we need your help. Would you be so kind and give it to us?”

Both siblings were raised to help any in need and their hearts bled for the suffering of the merfolk. So they agreed to do anything in their power to end their pain.

The king of the merfolk took their boat with a mighty sea current and for three days and three nights they sailed to the island. The mermen brought the siblings fish, so that they didn’t starve and rain water so they didn’t thirst.

Once they arrived to the island, the siblings stepped out on the land. They saw a mountain and decided to walk towards it, as it was the most probable place where the dragon could have been hiding. And they were right – at the foot of the mountain, there was a gigantic cavern. And in it, an enormous dragon was sleeping, curled up on his pile of treasures.

“Oh, dragon, wake up! We need your help!” yelled out the girl, before her brother managed to stop her.

The dragon indeed woke up, but he wasn’t overly happy on being disturbed from his sleep.

“Who dares to demand my help!” he roared out. Than he saw the two children and his heart softened slightly.

“Was it you, little humans? Don’t you know how impolite it is to wake up a sleeping dragon?”

The clever boy took the word. “We are sorry, oh great one. Is there any way we can make it up to you?”

The dragon smiled, baring his sharp fangs in the process, and proposed a game. He would give the children three riddles and if they answer all of them right, he will hear, what they want from him. If they answer at least one of them wrong, he will take them in his talons and drop them back into the sea.

They agreed and dragon gave them his riddles. The boy’s wit was so great he managed to solve all of them at ease. The old dragon was amazed on the child’s cleverness, so he kept his deal and asked the siblings to tell him, what ailed them.

“The sea demon of old went on a rampage. The merfolk is suffering and you are the only one, who can stop him. They sent us to ask you for help.”

The dragon was stunned. He knew of the demon – he would be a powerful rival indeed. And dragons do very little, unless they believe they will gain something out of it. It was that moment a sunbeam peaked into the cavern and bounced of the girl’s hair, making it look shinier than gold and more solid than sun, like the gold that appears in eyes of a sorcerer when they cast their magic. That was when the dragon choose his price.

“I will help the merfolk, if you, little girl, give me your hair. Such a fine gold just has to take a place amongst my treasure.”

The girl was sad, for she loved her hair for its beauty. It made her special amongst the people of her city. And what woman would cut off her hair?

But than she remembered the merfolk and how desperate they were. Her selfless heart drove her. So she took a knife and cut her hair, giving her beautiful golden mane to the dragon.

Dragon was happy and gently took both children in his big talons and brought them to their little boat. Than he flew off to meet the sea demon.

The siblings and the merfolk waited tensely. The fight between the dragon and the demon could be heard for miles, their whirling bodies made great waves and their angry roars sounded like thunder.

At the end, the dragon won. Tired, he flew back to his cavern and once again fell asleep. The sea demon of old was vanquished.

The merfolk celebrated greatly. They accompanied the siblings’ boat ‘till they nearly reached the swimming city. Just as the siblings were about to leave, the king of mermen stopped them.

“I know that you have helped us out of pure selflessness, but you still deserve to be rewarded.”

And mermen swam up from the deep sea, bringing bags full of pearls with them. The siblings were awed, for they have never such a wealth before (except for the treasure in dragon’s cavern). They tried to decline the generous gifts, but the king of merfolk only smiled and commanded the sea currents to push the siblings to their city.

And this is the end of the tale, how a selfless act saved the merfolk. You too, children, can save many lives if you are selfless. But take care – even selflessness can bring more bad than good, if it is in too great amount or is directed on wrong places. Now, get up, youngsters, it is long past your bed time. Go and sleep.”

There was lots of scurrying around the room, everyone trying to get to their bed as fast as they could. Everyone, except for two people.

Gwaine was still sitting, amazed. Cities on the sea? Merfolk? Nice dragons? He knew very little about Sion, but if it used to be like this… Amata lost so much. His wanderlust wanted him to run out of the inn and go searching for those amazing places. But they were no more. If we are successful, with Morgana’s and Merlin’s magic we could restore these places.

The second person, who had not risen from his chair was the innkeeper, Gwill. He was observing Gwaine. His eyes didn’t move off the rogue former knight since the story started.

But nobody noticed.

Notes:

The fairy tale was really unplanned. It's probably terrible.
Any kudos, comments whatever moderately positive you throw at me, is very appreciated.
What do you think of the swimming cities (which by the way really need better name)?
Anyway, good night (or whatever), I am going to sleep.
Good luck with the pandemics. We had another political scandal because our former minister of healthcare violated his own decree and went out to watch football match while he claims everybody should be in lockdown :(
(Though I am not overly informed. Maybe I gotsome point of the whole case wrong...)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Martyrs don’t live fairy-tale (They live legends and tragedies)