Pendragon’s Final Stand

The clash of thunder rang in his ears as the two sides clashed. The sound of war rang through out the valley and Briton war cries and Saxon battle shouts were accompanied the cacophony of war. Battle cries drowned out the sound of the dying, and the smell of burnt flesh hung in the air. The ground was stained with the blood of the dead - both Britons and Saxons. Hate and fear gave the air a bitter taste as men defended and attacked. Overhead, as though watching the battle and guarding their chosen, two dragon shaped clouds loomed menacingly. The setting sun gave one a red tint, perfectly matching the one proudly displayed on the flag of the Britons, the other was white and hung protectively over the Saxons.

All of this was being witnessed by a solemn figure standing alone on top of the hill. A golden crown adorned his head emphasizing the streaks of grey throughout his hair. In full armour and a blood red cape, the figure lowered his shield to the ground and let out a sigh. The once proud man looked despondent even though his troops pushed the invaders back towards the border.

“Are you sure about this, old friend?”

The figure turned around to meet an imposing figure. Deep purple robes covered his wiry form and a beard as white as angel’s wings reached his waist. However, the most startling thing about him was his eyes. The blue colour was deeper than any other mortal had been blessed with and when he stared at you, it seemed as though he could see in to the most inner depths of your soul.

“I wish there was another way, Arthur. The spell showed us defeating the Saxons and it would seem that our red dragon wished to make its presence known,” he glanced at the sky.

“You truly are a miracle worker Merlin. But it would seem that the white dragon has decided to grace us with its presence too,” Merlin chuckled.

“Yes, a side affect I had not foreseen. Their presence indicates that other world forces may be involved. Judging by the magic in the air, I would have to say that Avalon is here.”

“Avalon, be damned! How can it be interfering?”

Merlin stared at the man before him. As there eyes met, a vision passed before their eyes. Flashes of Morgan Le Fay summoning the forces of Avalon, flashes of the ever shifting landscape of the mystic island. There was a brief feeling of something being out of place and also something being left unfinished. The last image was of a cave, an alter-like stone table dominated the centre of the cave. The walls were decorated with images of battle, dragons and sorcery. There was a scene with him standing victorious against the Saxon invaders but what truly captured his attention was the scene next to it.

It was an image of the cave. A perfect replica but lying on the stone table was himself either in a deep slumber or he had passed from life. The peaceful look on his face was some comfort but the apprehension of seeing what was in his future far outweighed the comfort.

An uncomfortable jolt jarred him back to reality. Arthur spared a quick glance to the battle that was sill raging beneath him and a look of surprise spread across his face. The Saxons had thrown down their weapons down at the Briton’s feet in a show of surrender. Arthur’s troops were in the process of taking prisoners and salvaging anything that may be useful from their enemy’s encampment.

Arthur turned his attention back to Merlin and was about to speak when a sultry voice came from behind him.

“It would seem that luck is with me today; I can dispose the both of you in one go.”

Arthur spun around only to meet Morgan Le Fay, his half sister, face to face. It was the first time he had seen her since he had banished her from court all those years ago. Judging from how she looked, it seemed as though her beauty had somehow managed to escape the ravages of time. She stood tall and proud with her black dress and long black hair fluttering in the wind. Her brown eyes were filled with anger and hatred for the two men standing before her as they shifted in to a defensive stance.

There was tenseness in the air as each person waited for another to make their move. The only thing that broke the silence was the rustling of the leaves blowing in the wind. Even the battlefield had fallen silent like it was holding it’s breath in anticipation. The silence broke as Morgan, impatient for the battle to start, began to chant. In an effort to counteract whatever spell she was using, Merlin began a spell of his own. However before he could cast it, something that resembled a man appeared in a blinding flash of light.

Cries of outrage emitted from Arthur and Merlin but for different reasons. Arthur recognized the man as Guinevere’s cousin Guiomar. Guinevere had always been fond of her cousin and news of what he now was would greatly upset her. Merlin could only stare at the atrocity before him. He was horrified at the path Morgan had chosen and could not help feeling as though he had failed. He had been her mentor and yet she stood before him having used the darkest arts imaginable.

“What devilry is this?” Arthur whispered to Merlin

He was grotesque and could only be called a semblance of a man. It was only with certain features could they distinguish that the features before them had been a man. The once lean man now seemed to bulge as if whatever was inside him could only just fit. Eyes once filled with the spark of life were now vacant and unblinking. There was an enormous bloody hole in his chest revealing that there was no heart beating with in his body. His body was pale yellow and the way it moved implied it took great effort.

“Necromancy!” Merlin whispered horrified. “Morgan, how dare you! How could you commit such a foul deed? The souls of the dead should be allowed to rest!”

“You are a fool Merlin!” Morgan cackled. “You stand there and preach, never fully understanding what power you have. You with your high and mighty morals! Their souls mean nothing.”

Morgan hissed in a guttural language and the creature moved forward to attack. Merlin hastily prepared a barrier as Arthur dodged the blow. He rolled out of its range and waited to for the creature’s next attack.

“Aid me this one last time, Excalibur,” he murmured.

Arthur leapt towards the creature. Excalibur pierced through its stomach but the creature kept on moving. It moved towards Arthur, further impaling itself on the sword. A ball of flames hit it in the place where its heart should be. The smell of burnt flesh hit Arthur full force. It made him want to retch. He pulled out Excalibur and fell back towards Merlin.

The air crackled as Merlin began the greatest spell he had ever cast. The sky darkened and was ripped apart by thunder. Lightning struck the ground and set the grass aflame. Merlin glowed with absolute power as he forced the energy in to the dragons in the sky.

“Draco animate corpus. Iunctum obviam vestri hostilis!”

With mighty roars, the red and white dragons shook of their cloud linings. The spread their enormous wings and took flight. The red dragon fixed its gaze upon Morgan, as it evaluated its prey. The white dragon swooped down and the forth a burst of fire towards the dark sorceress. Morgan barely had time to put up a barrier before the fire reached her. Whilst she was distracted, the dragon of the Britons dived and captured her in its claws. He rose in to the sky and then dropped her from a massive height. Morgan barely had time to scream before she was caught in the jaws of the white dragon and was swallowed. With their task done, they resumed their watchful positions in the sky.

Merlin sank to his knees, feeling tired and drained of his magical energies. Arthur rushed to his side and quickly inspected his friend for any injuries. After finding none, he helped Merlin to his feet and helped him towards a large boulder. Arthur gently rested him against the boulder as another lightning strike split the sky open.

Lightning was striking everywhere. Even the soldiers on what was the battle ground flew for shelter. Arthur was forced to dodge several strikes, each was a narrow miss. As the final bolt hit the earth, the ground shook with tremendous force. Up from the scorched ground rose an arch made of stone. It dwarfed Merlin and Arthur as they stared in awe.

It stood at an impressive ten feet high. The stone blocks were decorated in the script of the Fae, a language not even Merlin could translate. The inside of the arch shimmered before revealing an image. It was the cave Arthur had saw from the shared vision down to the smallest detail.

“It would seem it is time,” Arthur sighed. “May good fortune travel with you my friend.”

Arthur pulled Merlin in to his embrace before turning round and walking towards the arch. He hesitated for a moment and took a final look around trying to memorize as much as possible. He walked over to the cliff edge and plunged Excalibur deep in to the rock. A resigned sigh escaped his lips as he took the final steps into the arch and disappearing from view. The arch sank arch disappeared as quickly as it came, sinking back in to the cliff, leaving no trace of it ever being their.

“May you wake again when you are needed, my King,” Merlin said forlornly. “I swear to you, you shall not be forgotten. For you are that of which legends speak of.”