8.
He dreams…
Down a corridor carved out of solid rock does he drift. It is dark, yet he can see clearly and he wonders why, but the thought is gone as soon as it enters his mind. The dreamer arrives at a huge cavern, the ceiling cannot be seen and mounds of untarnished silver coins are before him, but greed does not enter his soul, for he is drawn to two figures having a discussion. They are both sat on stone thrones, facing each other across a black metal pedestal. On this sits a chess board, the figures set up for a new game.
I wonder why I am here, the dreamer thinks. He knows this is not a place that he should be in. It is forbidden. Who by?
“Your plans on several worlds are on a knife edge,” says a young woman, her hair the colour of silver and her skin glitters as if powdered by the metal. “Yet you concern yourself with a shard of a boy of no consequence. Why?”
The old man with a few days’ whiskers on his face shifts uneasily. His diamond topped staff is in his hand. Tarrion? “There are worlds closed to me and yet he has access and can do much good.”
The woman sadly shakes her head. “You spread yourself too thinly. Draconis Terra should be your first concern. It is your home. Our home. You summon me and I know not the purpose, yet.”
“The bulwark of the North, Gallantine, is about to fall. Your intervention_”
“You may have taken on the form of an old fool when the stars were young and we created and gave you the Staff of Law and Good, but you are not stupid. I cannot intervene for other powers may then do the same. However, I have my ways.”
The old man bows his head and the dreamer notices that he looks more tired than is usual. “Reverand, I cannot do this alone.”
She gently laughs, not unkindly. “You are not alone. Indeed, you have snared great ones to your cause. I sense one of them here, though he wears a trinket of the Druid, who has his own plans. Staffwielder you were appointed by myself and my kind from across the multiverse; Staffwileder of one of the greater of its kind; Staffwielder with a touch of Humanity and its flaws, for a reason; do not doubt yourself.” She tilts her head and looks straight at the dreamer. “You will fully materialise here, now.”
The dreamer is no longer in dreamform, but is Merlin.
“Er, hello. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I kinda was drawn to this place.”
“Not by us, of this I can assure you. You are being manipulated, young one, but for the good, perhaps. Remember this, your strength is in your independence and with your connection to the other side of your coin.”
Merlin feels small compared to the serene being on the throne and his throat is dry. He coughs once to clear his throat but Tarrion speaks before he can.
“Reverend, am I wrong to concern myself with this one? All his other shards have been or are pivotal in other planes, yet this one is of the least I think. However, I feel compassion for this one, for this Merlin.”
The woman beckons the youth forwards and the dreamer, Merlin in solid form, comes closer. Not compelled, but willingly, for he feels safe and in awe of the being.
“My son, trust your feelings. This mortal has yet to grow into his power and yet he is fragile. I sense he is a force for good in this cosmos of chaos and shadow. Nurture him, but let him grow without the forceful hand.” The woman places a finger on the youth’s forehead. “For what good it will do you, young one, you now have the blessing of Tear of the Silver Scales. My children will help you if they can, but not now. Not for quite some of your time.” She sighs. “Yet by that very action I allow my enemies to wreck destruction and havoc on my once beautiful Draconis Terra.”
He knows not why, but Merlin cries. He thought that he had cried his last at the death of his friend, but they come in torrents and he cannot stop. His heart is full of sadness, for the ruin of a world that he has only visited once.
The woman sadly smiles at him and his mortal heart grows heavier. “My own sadness affects him. I will depart to the plane of the Ancients. Yet I will say this to both of you. To Merlin, who shares the blood of his father and our kind; heed the last words of the immortal of Arda. To you, my son, Staffwielder, concentrate on those worlds you can save. There are many Staffwielders to share your burden. Seek them out. Both of you, your passion cannot save everyone.” She fades from his view, her smile the last to disappear.
“Ah, Merlin,” says the old man, a tear in his eye. “I know not why you are here, but I am glad for the company. I feel the weight and fate of many worlds on my shoulders and it is lonely being a Staffwielder. I am glad for the company. What worlds do I leave for evil? How do I decide what worlds to concentrate on and in what way not to spread myself so thinly? Ah, these questions are not for you, but for me alone. Come then, dry your tears and let us go to The Sanctuary Inn.”
That said, Tarrion stands and places the foot of his staff in a rock pool that Merlin had not noticed before and they instantly appear in the lounge of an inn, a green skinned and handsome bar tender unsurprised at their appearance.
Tarrion gestured to a seat by the fire and sat himself opposite the youth. The half finished game of chess is between them. “You have questions. Ask them, for your time is short. This is not your time to be here in your real form.”
Merlin tries to put order to the swirling thoughts in his mind, but one question comes to the forefront. “Myfanwy? Her departure did not feel right. I’ve never read such shit, er, I mean, a thing in the books, about vegetation covering the dead body and such. Is she alright? Is she in the halls of Mandos?”
Tarrion leans back in his chair, his hands resting serenely in his lap. After a few minutes of silence, broken only by the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, the old man speaks. “An intervention I think, in the style of an old friend. She has not gone to what some call the Uttermost West, not yet. Have hope in that, young one. Another question.”
Merlin immediately spoke. “That’s a relief, I think. Anyway, where were we just now, the place with the silver coins, and who was that beautiful woman? She was so sad.”
Tarrion sighs. “Ah, Tear. She is a Greater Power and all silver dragons revere and worship her. We were at her physical home on Draconis Terra. Mortals of that world also worship her and she does what she can for them. I had hoped she would do more for Gallantine, but perhaps it is for the best. Your penultimate question, young one, for soon it will be time for you to re-enter your dreamstate.”
Merlin wracked his brain to think of the most pressing of questions that swirled around his head. He immediately thought of Arthur and if he was alright under the stars in a cold camp. His lover’s face when they had finally tried to sleep was etched with worry and concern. If anyone can replace Myfanwy and look after us, then it is that arrogant prat, he thought fondly. If only he can see that.
The question that came out was totally different. “So, I’m the least of my ‘shard’, whatever that means. That sucks. What does it all mean?”
“Tarrion laughs heartily and claps his hand playfully on Merlin’s uninjured shoulder. Eventually the boy gives up his sulk and waits for the old man to answer.
“There is more than one universe, which is the very definition of a multiverse; each one has stars beyond number and each of these have worlds may or may not have life; each world has countless variations, some term them as parallel worlds, and each blade of grass or young mage too has countless variations. Throw in Dreamworld, the Deep Umbra, and the Astral Plane and so on, then you could say the whole of existence can be slightly confusing. When I said that you were the least of your shards I did not mean to demean you, for even a little one can be a force for much good. The mouse can startle an Oliphant after all. I think, young mage, we have yet to see your true power.” Tarrion smiles kindly and fishes amongst his robes for a pipe. On finding it he packs it with tobacco from a pouch at his belt and lights it from a flame that he produces on his thumb. Blowing the flame out, he relaxes further into his chair and rings of blue smoke engulf them and the room. Annoyed, but discrete, coughing comes from the barman, but Tarrion ignores him. “I wish Arda was not closed to me; South Farthing is the best weed a man can draw on and that is no mistake. Last question.”
“How is Arthur doing and will he be alright? Also, Tear called you son. Does that mean you, I mean, are you a kind of a dragon thing, sir. I think I remember Oakhaven calling you an old lizard, but I thought he it was just banter between you two. Are you, then?”
The old man just smiles, but before he can answer, if indeed he was going to, the whole building shudders as if an earthquake had hit the area.
“As I predicted, the rogue elements of The Guildhouse of Larkhos City try to oust me from their porch.” At the confused look from Merlin, Tarrion explained. “The use of magic is banned from yonder city and this attack is unlawful, for I built this inn outside the city walls. You must go. It is not yet time for you to be embroiled in the violent politics of Larkhos, or indeed any time if I have a say in the matter.”
“Do you want me to help you?” Merlin felt protective towards the old man and his home. He also felt a sense of anger against anyone who would ban magic and then pursue the matter illegally.
Tarrion smiles once more and stands with the help of his staff. “Do not concern yourself, young one, though I thank you for your offer of help.” Shouting can be heard from outside. “Indeed, it looks like my patrons from the Pub side of the building do not like having their party disturbed. I had better see to the matter before it gets out of hand.” He gently touches the youth on the head with the tip of his staff and the room starts to fade. “Fare well on your travels young one and trust the other side of your coin. You know what I mean.”
“I will, I promise. And, Tarrion, you’re not alone.”
The old Staffwielder nods solemnly. “I thank you once more.”
When the youth has finally gone, Tarrion looks down at the chess set and frowns. “Stop hiding there. Do not think you can remain hidden from my sight.”
A white bishop shrugs it shoulders and jumps off the little table. Instantly in its place stands Oakhaven, a grin on his face. He takes a chess piece from the folds of his robes and places it back on the board. Tarrion, scowling, puts it back in its rightful place. “You heard all then, even in the Home of Tear.” It was not a question.
Oakhaven shrugs again. “The bracelet comes in handy that way. It was when I felt the despair of Merlin at Myfanwy’s fall that I decided to do something. And yes, through that ‘trinket’ I heard all. You are a fool to expect direct help from her. She was right.”
It was Tarrion’s turn to shrug. “I had to try, old friend. Myfanwy?”
“She is resting in a deep sleep. I will replace her on Arda when she is fully recovered.” The druid takes out a matchstick from behind his ear and it turns into Druidstaff. “Come on then, let’s stop this brawling outside your home.”
Tarrion smiles again and follows his old friend out of The Lounge.
He dreams…
The elf hunter is dragged from his iron cage by rough men and they hold him firmly before a muscled man of about thirty with a broken nose, a grin on his face. The dreamer notices that Cynan has been beaten and worse. His clothes tattered rags that barely cling to his frame.
“One of those filthy shaman orcs tell me that your elf bitch has died, shot by an arrow from one of my men. Pity, I would have liked to have broken her in. She wouldn’t have been a maiden for long.”
The men around them snigger at this.
The hunter shakes his head in denial. “No,” he croaks. “You lie, you lie. Tell me it not so, Merlin. Please.”
The dreamer tries to utter his comfort and denial of the fact, but no words come.
“Ha! Looks like the Witchking has left your mind alone for a while. Good, I was getting bored of having fun with a gibbering idiot. Turn him around and hold him steady.” The muscled man starts to undo his belt and the dreamer flees the scene.
He dreams…
Anharadeth, wielding sword and staff, strikes down a warg. Bjalar and Aneirin on both sides of her are fending off attacks. Their backs are to a mound of earth and stone. Cathbach spits and hisses from on top of the mound, the lynx ready to strike at any opening.
“There are too many of them,” shouts the elf warrior.
“Not for long,” she mutters. “Behind me,” she shouts as she takes a step forward and they both jump to her command. The lore master brings both sword and staff together and strikes the ground. A wave of fire sweeps before her that sets fire to the wargs and making some others scatter. Most lay dying or dead.
“It is not over,” she says in a strained voice. “Look, three cargul approach. We are being kept from out fellow Brewers.”
Bjalar snorts. “It will be a sorry day when a bunch of dead red robes stop me from meeting new Brewers. A dwarf does not fear their magics.” He charges off into the gloom.
Aneirin sighs with exasperation and follows him, while Anharadeth laughs and casts balefire into the air to give the undead a pause for thought. She then enters the fray, staff and sword at the ready.
The images fade and the dreamer departs.
He wakes…
“Merlin! Merlin!” Arthur shouts, frantic. “Where are you, please?” He had been searching the nightscape for twenty minutes, getting desperate with every one that went by. One moment his lover had been in his arms, crying himself into a restless sleep, and then he had disappeared. Arthur knew he was nothing without him. His life without the skinny artist meant nothing.
The blonde saw him then, the scrawny shape, on a hill silhouetted against the stars and setting moon on a hill, for all to see. He rushed over to him, grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged them both to their knees. “Stop being a target, you idiot. Where’ve you been?” He shook him, then hugged him, then shook his again. “Don’t do that again. Never fucking do that to me.”
Merlin seemed like he was in a dream. “She will come back to us. Myfanwy lives, I know it, but Cynan. Oh Arthur, the things they are doing to him.” Under his hands Arthur could feel the shudder of his lover and he instinctively wrapped his arms around the centre of his life. For a moment he wondered who was giving comfort to whom.
“I don’t know what happened then, but please don’t do it again. I…I panicked. Everyone’s searching for you. I…” he kissed Merlin on the lips, his cheeks and eventually all over his face. “Don’t do that ever again. Not after what’s happened. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you. I couldn’t.”
Merlin’s trembling stopped and the youth looked straight into his lover’s face. “I have seen and learnt so much. We are small. We are nothing in this multiverse. Arthur, please, make love to me, while we’re alone. Please, for me. I need it. I need an anchor. I need you.”
Arthur’s hands, without a thought, slide down his lover’s skinny sides and rest on his hips and he squashed their groins together. He feels both their passion grind against each other. Then the blonde takes in a shuddering breath. “No Merlin, we used the last condom last night. Later, yeah?”
Merlin hands then come up to cup his lover’s face and he kissed him, full and with wanton passion. Arthur uses all his control to not take him there and then. “I want you inside me now. I need this connection Arthur, our connection. I’m cured. I should’ve told you earlier, but I’m cured. I’ve got lube in my satchel here.”
Arthur uses his strength to slowly push the youth away. “No Merlin. When we’re back on our own world, yeah?” The look of dejection breaks Arthur’s heart and he is about to give in, but Merlin shrugs his shoulders and moves away.
“Yeah, you’re right. This is a sort of dream and I might not be cured after all.” Before the blonde can say anything, Merlin continues. “Let’s find the others. Myfanwy said we shouldn’t get separated.”
Arthur knew that he had hurt Merlin, but he did not know how. They went back to the camp in silence. The girls hugged him and made sure he was all right. A look of relief swept over the faces of Lance and Celimdol on seeing the youth. While Merlin assured them that he was unharmed and that he had learnt that Myfanwy might be alive after all, Arthur went to make sure Morrowdim, the mule and the other mounts were safely tethered slightly away from the cold camp. He was nervous of the next few days, of trying to keep them all alive, especially Merlin and he needed time alone to bolster what little courage he had left in him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder and, when he turned around, Merlin came in for a hug and rested his head on the blonde’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for being such a fucking tit.”
“Hey, you don’t have to_”
“Shut up you fucking prat,” Merlin said, his words muffled by the coat of mithril and love. “You’ve got a lot on your plate and you don’t need more pressure, especially from me. Let’s just wait ‘til we get home and I get a test, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Arthur whispers and hugs him tightly.
The next morning they all woke up early and started the slow progress westwards. They took a course within sight of the old road and Celimdol, at his own suggestion, scouted ahead to see to the enemy’s movements. When he came back to the group as they had a luncheon of way bread washed down with water, he announced that he came across no one. “It is as if they no longer care of any threat we may pose to them.”
“Ever since I have been holding Myfanwy’s staff,” said Morgana,” I get the feeling that we are being watched. Perhaps they are using magic to keep an eye on us?”
“Orc shamans,” stated Merlin. “You’ve had training in dreams and shit, perhaps you can use the staff to shield us or something. Oh, sorry Arthur, you’re in charge.” Merlin’s cheeks began to turn red.
Arthur smiled and ruffled his hair so that it stuck at odd angles more than usual. “I’m not a dictator and that was a good idea. Morgana?”
The woman sighed and brushed a strand of ebony hair from her face. “I’ll try. I’ve been practicing all morning anyway and I think I can do it without little effort.”
Lance stirred in his space next to Gwen as they sat in a small dell hidden from the road. “And when we get there Arthur? What happens then? I don’t want some people to be involved in the fighting,” he said as he indicated with his eyes towards his lover.
Morgana rolled her eyes heavenwards as Gwen punched him in the shoulder. He winced. “I’m not staying behind thinking the worst.”
The two lovers were about to start arguing, a rare event, but Arthur laughed and spreads his hands out in a placating measure. “The girls come with us.” Lance started to protest, but the blonde cut him off. “Merlin reminded me of something. Myfanwy, days ago, said that we should not get separated or it would be our undoing; she had seen it. So, we stick together and do what we can. Us, the guys from another world will kick some serious arse and save this Cynan. They won’t know what hit them.”
Arthur noticed Celimdol smile sadly at this and he judged that the young elf felt a bit out of place. He judged it right. “Don’t think you can escape being part of the crew, you elven sprog. Myfanwy also saw you coming to our world. Unfortunately, that means Morgana gets to dress you.”
“At your expense!” She says haughtily. At Arthur’s indignant face they all laugh.
After a few moments, Merlin places a hand on Celimdol’s arm. “In my dream I saw your brother. He had been…abused. You know when I was here before and we was in the Forsaken Inn and that slaver slapped me to the ground (Arthur bristled at hearing this but Merlin told him that another version of him broke his nose. “Good.”)?”
Celimdol nodded slowly.
“Well, he, er, used Cynan. I don’t want you to go and freak out when you see him. He’ll need support, I know.”
Arthur looked concerned at his lover but Merlin ignored him. Are you okay with that Celimdol?”
The young elf gave a wan smile and shudders. “You forget, my lord, that I was a slave for a few years to such a man. In the fastness of the south such lords treat their women like cattle to produce an heir, but they…use…anything else for their own pleasure. Do not underestimate the spirit of my brother. He is stronger in spirit than I and will survive.”
Arthur playfully punches the elf in the shoulder. “You are strong in will, Celimdol An elf worthy of the title Prince of Mirkwood.”
Celimdol smiled shyly at his words and punched him back.
Merlin sighed loudly. “You’ll get used to this. And the hair ruffling. Always with the fucking hair ruffling.”
Arthur ruffles his hair and they laugh again, but this time at the annoyed look of the scrawny youth.
* * *
“There are men in the woods with guns to the south and west,” says the ancient one.
“More to the east behind you, though still far off. They think they’re silent,” said Gawain as he stood and made a show of stretching.
“Do not make a move yet, pup. She will show her face eventually, I warrant.”
“Who is this bitch you keep on about? I’m afraid of no mage.”
Bedwyr smiled. He too remembered the rashness of youth, many, many centuries ago. “Her name is Nimueh and, if I know her, she has already fitted her troops with silver bullets.”
That gave the lycanthrope pause. He soon squared his shoulders and spat on the ground. “Let the bitch come.”
The ancient warrior smiled again and his fangs grew. “I too anticipate the fight, but we wait for the boy, this Merlin.”
“The one you’re going to kill.”
“Stupid whelp. The one that she wants me to kill.”
Gawain smiled at his words and sat back down on his haunches.
They wait.
He dreams…
Down a corridor carved out of solid rock does he drift. It is dark, yet he can see clearly and he wonders why, but the thought is gone as soon as it enters his mind. The dreamer arrives at a huge cavern, the ceiling cannot be seen and mounds of untarnished silver coins are before him, but greed does not enter his soul, for he is drawn to two figures having a discussion. They are both sat on stone thrones, facing each other across a black metal pedestal. On this sits a chess board, the figures set up for a new game.
I wonder why I am here, the dreamer thinks. He knows this is not a place that he should be in. It is forbidden. Who by?
“Your plans on several worlds are on a knife edge,” says a young woman, her hair the colour of silver and her skin glitters as if powdered by the metal. “Yet you concern yourself with a shard of a boy of no consequence. Why?”
The old man with a few days’ whiskers on his face shifts uneasily. His diamond topped staff is in his hand. Tarrion? “There are worlds closed to me and yet he has access and can do much good.”
The woman sadly shakes her head. “You spread yourself too thinly. Draconis Terra should be your first concern. It is your home. Our home. You summon me and I know not the purpose, yet.”
“The bulwark of the North, Gallantine, is about to fall. Your intervention_”
“You may have taken on the form of an old fool when the stars were young and we created and gave you the Staff of Law and Good, but you are not stupid. I cannot intervene for other powers may then do the same. However, I have my ways.”
The old man bows his head and the dreamer notices that he looks more tired than is usual. “Reverand, I cannot do this alone.”
She gently laughs, not unkindly. “You are not alone. Indeed, you have snared great ones to your cause. I sense one of them here, though he wears a trinket of the Druid, who has his own plans. Staffwielder you were appointed by myself and my kind from across the multiverse; Staffwileder of one of the greater of its kind; Staffwielder with a touch of Humanity and its flaws, for a reason; do not doubt yourself.” She tilts her head and looks straight at the dreamer. “You will fully materialise here, now.”
The dreamer is no longer in dreamform, but is Merlin.
“Er, hello. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I kinda was drawn to this place.”
“Not by us, of this I can assure you. You are being manipulated, young one, but for the good, perhaps. Remember this, your strength is in your independence and with your connection to the other side of your coin.”
Merlin feels small compared to the serene being on the throne and his throat is dry. He coughs once to clear his throat but Tarrion speaks before he can.
“Reverend, am I wrong to concern myself with this one? All his other shards have been or are pivotal in other planes, yet this one is of the least I think. However, I feel compassion for this one, for this Merlin.”
The woman beckons the youth forwards and the dreamer, Merlin in solid form, comes closer. Not compelled, but willingly, for he feels safe and in awe of the being.
“My son, trust your feelings. This mortal has yet to grow into his power and yet he is fragile. I sense he is a force for good in this cosmos of chaos and shadow. Nurture him, but let him grow without the forceful hand.” The woman places a finger on the youth’s forehead. “For what good it will do you, young one, you now have the blessing of Tear of the Silver Scales. My children will help you if they can, but not now. Not for quite some of your time.” She sighs. “Yet by that very action I allow my enemies to wreck destruction and havoc on my once beautiful Draconis Terra.”
He knows not why, but Merlin cries. He thought that he had cried his last at the death of his friend, but they come in torrents and he cannot stop. His heart is full of sadness, for the ruin of a world that he has only visited once.
The woman sadly smiles at him and his mortal heart grows heavier. “My own sadness affects him. I will depart to the plane of the Ancients. Yet I will say this to both of you. To Merlin, who shares the blood of his father and our kind; heed the last words of the immortal of Arda. To you, my son, Staffwielder, concentrate on those worlds you can save. There are many Staffwielders to share your burden. Seek them out. Both of you, your passion cannot save everyone.” She fades from his view, her smile the last to disappear.
“Ah, Merlin,” says the old man, a tear in his eye. “I know not why you are here, but I am glad for the company. I feel the weight and fate of many worlds on my shoulders and it is lonely being a Staffwielder. I am glad for the company. What worlds do I leave for evil? How do I decide what worlds to concentrate on and in what way not to spread myself so thinly? Ah, these questions are not for you, but for me alone. Come then, dry your tears and let us go to The Sanctuary Inn.”
That said, Tarrion stands and places the foot of his staff in a rock pool that Merlin had not noticed before and they instantly appear in the lounge of an inn, a green skinned and handsome bar tender unsurprised at their appearance.
Tarrion gestured to a seat by the fire and sat himself opposite the youth. The half finished game of chess is between them. “You have questions. Ask them, for your time is short. This is not your time to be here in your real form.”
Merlin tries to put order to the swirling thoughts in his mind, but one question comes to the forefront. “Myfanwy? Her departure did not feel right. I’ve never read such shit, er, I mean, a thing in the books, about vegetation covering the dead body and such. Is she alright? Is she in the halls of Mandos?”
Tarrion leans back in his chair, his hands resting serenely in his lap. After a few minutes of silence, broken only by the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, the old man speaks. “An intervention I think, in the style of an old friend. She has not gone to what some call the Uttermost West, not yet. Have hope in that, young one. Another question.”
Merlin immediately spoke. “That’s a relief, I think. Anyway, where were we just now, the place with the silver coins, and who was that beautiful woman? She was so sad.”
Tarrion sighs. “Ah, Tear. She is a Greater Power and all silver dragons revere and worship her. We were at her physical home on Draconis Terra. Mortals of that world also worship her and she does what she can for them. I had hoped she would do more for Gallantine, but perhaps it is for the best. Your penultimate question, young one, for soon it will be time for you to re-enter your dreamstate.”
Merlin wracked his brain to think of the most pressing of questions that swirled around his head. He immediately thought of Arthur and if he was alright under the stars in a cold camp. His lover’s face when they had finally tried to sleep was etched with worry and concern. If anyone can replace Myfanwy and look after us, then it is that arrogant prat, he thought fondly. If only he can see that.
The question that came out was totally different. “So, I’m the least of my ‘shard’, whatever that means. That sucks. What does it all mean?”
“Tarrion laughs heartily and claps his hand playfully on Merlin’s uninjured shoulder. Eventually the boy gives up his sulk and waits for the old man to answer.
“There is more than one universe, which is the very definition of a multiverse; each one has stars beyond number and each of these have worlds may or may not have life; each world has countless variations, some term them as parallel worlds, and each blade of grass or young mage too has countless variations. Throw in Dreamworld, the Deep Umbra, and the Astral Plane and so on, then you could say the whole of existence can be slightly confusing. When I said that you were the least of your shards I did not mean to demean you, for even a little one can be a force for much good. The mouse can startle an Oliphant after all. I think, young mage, we have yet to see your true power.” Tarrion smiles kindly and fishes amongst his robes for a pipe. On finding it he packs it with tobacco from a pouch at his belt and lights it from a flame that he produces on his thumb. Blowing the flame out, he relaxes further into his chair and rings of blue smoke engulf them and the room. Annoyed, but discrete, coughing comes from the barman, but Tarrion ignores him. “I wish Arda was not closed to me; South Farthing is the best weed a man can draw on and that is no mistake. Last question.”
“How is Arthur doing and will he be alright? Also, Tear called you son. Does that mean you, I mean, are you a kind of a dragon thing, sir. I think I remember Oakhaven calling you an old lizard, but I thought he it was just banter between you two. Are you, then?”
The old man just smiles, but before he can answer, if indeed he was going to, the whole building shudders as if an earthquake had hit the area.
“As I predicted, the rogue elements of The Guildhouse of Larkhos City try to oust me from their porch.” At the confused look from Merlin, Tarrion explained. “The use of magic is banned from yonder city and this attack is unlawful, for I built this inn outside the city walls. You must go. It is not yet time for you to be embroiled in the violent politics of Larkhos, or indeed any time if I have a say in the matter.”
“Do you want me to help you?” Merlin felt protective towards the old man and his home. He also felt a sense of anger against anyone who would ban magic and then pursue the matter illegally.
Tarrion smiles once more and stands with the help of his staff. “Do not concern yourself, young one, though I thank you for your offer of help.” Shouting can be heard from outside. “Indeed, it looks like my patrons from the Pub side of the building do not like having their party disturbed. I had better see to the matter before it gets out of hand.” He gently touches the youth on the head with the tip of his staff and the room starts to fade. “Fare well on your travels young one and trust the other side of your coin. You know what I mean.”
“I will, I promise. And, Tarrion, you’re not alone.”
The old Staffwielder nods solemnly. “I thank you once more.”
When the youth has finally gone, Tarrion looks down at the chess set and frowns. “Stop hiding there. Do not think you can remain hidden from my sight.”
A white bishop shrugs it shoulders and jumps off the little table. Instantly in its place stands Oakhaven, a grin on his face. He takes a chess piece from the folds of his robes and places it back on the board. Tarrion, scowling, puts it back in its rightful place. “You heard all then, even in the Home of Tear.” It was not a question.
Oakhaven shrugs again. “The bracelet comes in handy that way. It was when I felt the despair of Merlin at Myfanwy’s fall that I decided to do something. And yes, through that ‘trinket’ I heard all. You are a fool to expect direct help from her. She was right.”
It was Tarrion’s turn to shrug. “I had to try, old friend. Myfanwy?”
“She is resting in a deep sleep. I will replace her on Arda when she is fully recovered.” The druid takes out a matchstick from behind his ear and it turns into Druidstaff. “Come on then, let’s stop this brawling outside your home.”
Tarrion smiles again and follows his old friend out of The Lounge.
He dreams…
The elf hunter is dragged from his iron cage by rough men and they hold him firmly before a muscled man of about thirty with a broken nose, a grin on his face. The dreamer notices that Cynan has been beaten and worse. His clothes tattered rags that barely cling to his frame.
“One of those filthy shaman orcs tell me that your elf bitch has died, shot by an arrow from one of my men. Pity, I would have liked to have broken her in. She wouldn’t have been a maiden for long.”
The men around them snigger at this.
The hunter shakes his head in denial. “No,” he croaks. “You lie, you lie. Tell me it not so, Merlin. Please.”
The dreamer tries to utter his comfort and denial of the fact, but no words come.
“Ha! Looks like the Witchking has left your mind alone for a while. Good, I was getting bored of having fun with a gibbering idiot. Turn him around and hold him steady.” The muscled man starts to undo his belt and the dreamer flees the scene.
He dreams…
Anharadeth, wielding sword and staff, strikes down a warg. Bjalar and Aneirin on both sides of her are fending off attacks. Their backs are to a mound of earth and stone. Cathbach spits and hisses from on top of the mound, the lynx ready to strike at any opening.
“There are too many of them,” shouts the elf warrior.
“Not for long,” she mutters. “Behind me,” she shouts as she takes a step forward and they both jump to her command. The lore master brings both sword and staff together and strikes the ground. A wave of fire sweeps before her that sets fire to the wargs and making some others scatter. Most lay dying or dead.
“It is not over,” she says in a strained voice. “Look, three cargul approach. We are being kept from out fellow Brewers.”
Bjalar snorts. “It will be a sorry day when a bunch of dead red robes stop me from meeting new Brewers. A dwarf does not fear their magics.” He charges off into the gloom.
Aneirin sighs with exasperation and follows him, while Anharadeth laughs and casts balefire into the air to give the undead a pause for thought. She then enters the fray, staff and sword at the ready.
The images fade and the dreamer departs.
He wakes…
“Merlin! Merlin!” Arthur shouts, frantic. “Where are you, please?” He had been searching the nightscape for twenty minutes, getting desperate with every one that went by. One moment his lover had been in his arms, crying himself into a restless sleep, and then he had disappeared. Arthur knew he was nothing without him. His life without the skinny artist meant nothing.
The blonde saw him then, the scrawny shape, on a hill silhouetted against the stars and setting moon on a hill, for all to see. He rushed over to him, grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged them both to their knees. “Stop being a target, you idiot. Where’ve you been?” He shook him, then hugged him, then shook his again. “Don’t do that again. Never fucking do that to me.”
Merlin seemed like he was in a dream. “She will come back to us. Myfanwy lives, I know it, but Cynan. Oh Arthur, the things they are doing to him.” Under his hands Arthur could feel the shudder of his lover and he instinctively wrapped his arms around the centre of his life. For a moment he wondered who was giving comfort to whom.
“I don’t know what happened then, but please don’t do it again. I…I panicked. Everyone’s searching for you. I…” he kissed Merlin on the lips, his cheeks and eventually all over his face. “Don’t do that ever again. Not after what’s happened. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you. I couldn’t.”
Merlin’s trembling stopped and the youth looked straight into his lover’s face. “I have seen and learnt so much. We are small. We are nothing in this multiverse. Arthur, please, make love to me, while we’re alone. Please, for me. I need it. I need an anchor. I need you.”
Arthur’s hands, without a thought, slide down his lover’s skinny sides and rest on his hips and he squashed their groins together. He feels both their passion grind against each other. Then the blonde takes in a shuddering breath. “No Merlin, we used the last condom last night. Later, yeah?”
Merlin hands then come up to cup his lover’s face and he kissed him, full and with wanton passion. Arthur uses all his control to not take him there and then. “I want you inside me now. I need this connection Arthur, our connection. I’m cured. I should’ve told you earlier, but I’m cured. I’ve got lube in my satchel here.”
Arthur uses his strength to slowly push the youth away. “No Merlin. When we’re back on our own world, yeah?” The look of dejection breaks Arthur’s heart and he is about to give in, but Merlin shrugs his shoulders and moves away.
“Yeah, you’re right. This is a sort of dream and I might not be cured after all.” Before the blonde can say anything, Merlin continues. “Let’s find the others. Myfanwy said we shouldn’t get separated.”
Arthur knew that he had hurt Merlin, but he did not know how. They went back to the camp in silence. The girls hugged him and made sure he was all right. A look of relief swept over the faces of Lance and Celimdol on seeing the youth. While Merlin assured them that he was unharmed and that he had learnt that Myfanwy might be alive after all, Arthur went to make sure Morrowdim, the mule and the other mounts were safely tethered slightly away from the cold camp. He was nervous of the next few days, of trying to keep them all alive, especially Merlin and he needed time alone to bolster what little courage he had left in him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder and, when he turned around, Merlin came in for a hug and rested his head on the blonde’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for being such a fucking tit.”
“Hey, you don’t have to_”
“Shut up you fucking prat,” Merlin said, his words muffled by the coat of mithril and love. “You’ve got a lot on your plate and you don’t need more pressure, especially from me. Let’s just wait ‘til we get home and I get a test, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Arthur whispers and hugs him tightly.
The next morning they all woke up early and started the slow progress westwards. They took a course within sight of the old road and Celimdol, at his own suggestion, scouted ahead to see to the enemy’s movements. When he came back to the group as they had a luncheon of way bread washed down with water, he announced that he came across no one. “It is as if they no longer care of any threat we may pose to them.”
“Ever since I have been holding Myfanwy’s staff,” said Morgana,” I get the feeling that we are being watched. Perhaps they are using magic to keep an eye on us?”
“Orc shamans,” stated Merlin. “You’ve had training in dreams and shit, perhaps you can use the staff to shield us or something. Oh, sorry Arthur, you’re in charge.” Merlin’s cheeks began to turn red.
Arthur smiled and ruffled his hair so that it stuck at odd angles more than usual. “I’m not a dictator and that was a good idea. Morgana?”
The woman sighed and brushed a strand of ebony hair from her face. “I’ll try. I’ve been practicing all morning anyway and I think I can do it without little effort.”
Lance stirred in his space next to Gwen as they sat in a small dell hidden from the road. “And when we get there Arthur? What happens then? I don’t want some people to be involved in the fighting,” he said as he indicated with his eyes towards his lover.
Morgana rolled her eyes heavenwards as Gwen punched him in the shoulder. He winced. “I’m not staying behind thinking the worst.”
The two lovers were about to start arguing, a rare event, but Arthur laughed and spreads his hands out in a placating measure. “The girls come with us.” Lance started to protest, but the blonde cut him off. “Merlin reminded me of something. Myfanwy, days ago, said that we should not get separated or it would be our undoing; she had seen it. So, we stick together and do what we can. Us, the guys from another world will kick some serious arse and save this Cynan. They won’t know what hit them.”
Arthur noticed Celimdol smile sadly at this and he judged that the young elf felt a bit out of place. He judged it right. “Don’t think you can escape being part of the crew, you elven sprog. Myfanwy also saw you coming to our world. Unfortunately, that means Morgana gets to dress you.”
“At your expense!” She says haughtily. At Arthur’s indignant face they all laugh.
After a few moments, Merlin places a hand on Celimdol’s arm. “In my dream I saw your brother. He had been…abused. You know when I was here before and we was in the Forsaken Inn and that slaver slapped me to the ground (Arthur bristled at hearing this but Merlin told him that another version of him broke his nose. “Good.”)?”
Celimdol nodded slowly.
“Well, he, er, used Cynan. I don’t want you to go and freak out when you see him. He’ll need support, I know.”
Arthur looked concerned at his lover but Merlin ignored him. Are you okay with that Celimdol?”
The young elf gave a wan smile and shudders. “You forget, my lord, that I was a slave for a few years to such a man. In the fastness of the south such lords treat their women like cattle to produce an heir, but they…use…anything else for their own pleasure. Do not underestimate the spirit of my brother. He is stronger in spirit than I and will survive.”
Arthur playfully punches the elf in the shoulder. “You are strong in will, Celimdol An elf worthy of the title Prince of Mirkwood.”
Celimdol smiled shyly at his words and punched him back.
Merlin sighed loudly. “You’ll get used to this. And the hair ruffling. Always with the fucking hair ruffling.”
Arthur ruffles his hair and they laugh again, but this time at the annoyed look of the scrawny youth.
* * *
“There are men in the woods with guns to the south and west,” says the ancient one.
“More to the east behind you, though still far off. They think they’re silent,” said Gawain as he stood and made a show of stretching.
“Do not make a move yet, pup. She will show her face eventually, I warrant.”
“Who is this bitch you keep on about? I’m afraid of no mage.”
Bedwyr smiled. He too remembered the rashness of youth, many, many centuries ago. “Her name is Nimueh and, if I know her, she has already fitted her troops with silver bullets.”
That gave the lycanthrope pause. He soon squared his shoulders and spat on the ground. “Let the bitch come.”
The ancient warrior smiled again and his fangs grew. “I too anticipate the fight, but we wait for the boy, this Merlin.”
“The one you’re going to kill.”
“Stupid whelp. The one that she wants me to kill.”
Gawain smiled at his words and sat back down on his haunches.
They wait.