If I Could Tell It
Chapter 7

Somewhere in the forest near The Lake of Avalon, Britain, 646

I had heard the name Merlin before. Not here, by anyone in Camelot, but there. In books, a few movies that I had watched, Miss Karote had mentioned the name once in one of her lessons that I had not paid attention to.

I nodded. It was probably just coincidence that he had the name of someone that was mentioned in America. I had heard of other people there with the name Arthur after all.

He took my hands in his own and I noticed that tiny blue tattoos stretched from the tips of his fingers up his arms. They almost blended in with the light brown of his skin. I felt as if his dark intelligent eyes were burning holes into my pale hands and for a moment I felt out of place, as I never had before, being the fairest skinned of our trio. I suppose that was how Ty felt there quite often. Out of place. Different.

Lancelot broke the veil of silence that had come over us. “Are you mad at Arthur for breaking the sword in the stone?”

I cringed at his continuous reminding to Merlin that I had broken his Druid ritual thing. Merlin shuddered. “What is your name?”

“Lancelot.” He answered. I could tell he felt a little put out by Merlin being sort of harsh to him.

Merlin nodded and kept fingering my hands which was beginning to scare me a bit.

“Do you live in the forest?” I asked him.

“No.” Merlin answered quickly. “I have lived on the isle of Avalon my whole life.”

“Oh.” I decided not to tell him about my short trip and my quick-ended conversation with the skinny girl in the white dress.

“I have not had many conversations with other people.” He confessed, sort of out of context. “So if I come across strange please forgive me.”

I nodded. He was strange indeed. “So are you some kind of warlock or something?”

“I suppose you could say that.” Merlin said thoughtfully. “I have been told that I am going to be more of a guide though to...to…” He trailed off.

“To what?” I asked. Merlin started to walking toward the green forest line and Lancelot and I followed his steps.

“In time.” He composed myself. “As I will explain everything.”

Merlin and Lancelot and I talked about several things, including why Lancelot had called the sword in the stone an altar, and how mean my father had been to me. I asked Merlin if he knew anything about my sister going missing and he said that he had seen her once or twice on the island of Avalon but had never formally conversed with her. As of late she had gone missing even from Avalon though.

I never told either of them about my short lived trip to Avalon, and my strange meeting with the skinny girl in the white dress. Merlin spoke of many girls though, especially one named Viviane of which he seemed very fond of. He said that one day Viviane would be the lady of Avalon, after the current one (A woman named Nimue) died. He also said that it seemed like Morgain had wanted to become the lady of Avalon but Viviane had gained the position of successor. That was about the time when she disappeared from Avalon, when she had been denied the possible ladyship of Avalon.

Merlin was also the only boy on the entire island and had been for as long as he could remember. He said that when he was very young, all of the other boys were taken by my father to be slaughtered. I noticed that Lancelot said nothing as he explained this.

“Where are we going?” I asked finally when I realized that we were walking through the forest with no regimented direction.

“I know not.” Merlin answered. “I just feel that we must travel this way.”

I was not sure how I felt about going a certain direction based on the feelings of someone who had practically been seething at me less than twenty minutes ago. We were walking away from the lake was all I knew. In fact we could have been heading toward my home for all I knew. My war torn home.

Lancelot and I kept sneaking looks at each other as we blindly followed Merlin through the forest and through many shades of green and brown. I kept the sword from the boulder tucked safely in my belt. Merlin did not say anything to us so we all walked in a forced silence for what felt like hours.

A shrill scream unceremoniously broke into the sounds of our thoughts and the gentle hum of birds singing in the canopy of trees above our heads. We all stopped and stood completely still, everything seemed even quieter than it had been before. Another scream tore through the air and I crept in front of Merlin to try to listen harder. For some reason I recognized the feminine scream, as if it was pouring out of the mouth of someone I knew.

I turned in a full circle and surveyed our surroundings. I had been here before. Not recently, but I had. I surged forward in a sprint. If I just went a little further I knew where I would be.

Sadly, I was right. I broke through a rough tree line to face the western entrance to the palace square. The scream that we had heard was coming from the palace square. Almost as if there was an execution happening. A witch burning or a hanging. But that was impossible, the Saxons had taken over the palace, they would definitely not use traditions of the Britons to kill anyone. It was more likely that they cannibalized their victims such as the Pictish tribes of the Old people’s ways.

I am not sure if it was the best or worst decision I ever made to enter the palace square where the high pitched screams I had heard had faded to the dull sound of execution drums thumping out an ominous rhythm. Those moments, did, and will forevermore, haunt me for my entire life. Those were my ten seconds. My decisions. My failure, my destruction, my utter depression and untold despair. Most all of it would have been altered by my decisions that one day.

It was like a dream. Those moments. Yet I remember them as vividly as if they had happened again and again and again. And I suppose they did, as I play them over and over again in my mind, searching for what I could have done differently to change the dreaded and terrible outcome. To make the right person die. Instead of the innocent.

I walk proudly through the open gates from where I knelt behind the last barrier between me and the imposing moments that will surely change my life. My head is held high even though I know that in this sequence of events I am the defeated, the one unrooted for. The one that is surely to die an unwilling death, the boy who will come to be known as the one who was killed.

Rage roils in my stomach when I see the execution block. And when I see what is going on on the execution block. My sister sits proudly on a dark wooden throne that is engraved with black obsidian knotwork. Her face is set in a monotone and unemotional stare and she watches the scene play out in front of her expressionless. Next to her sits a man with thick, dark black hair that falls beneath his waist. He is dressed all in dark brown deer hide that is tight against his dark skin and hugs his chest and thighs. My father sits with his hands and feet tied with rope and he stares straight ahead as if the portcullis that forms an entrance to the palace square has sparked his interests immensely.

And then there is my mother.

My mother stands on top of a wooden plank on two flat rocks. Her hands are tied behind her back. Before her is harsh firm rope that forms a menacing noose knot. She looks through the loop of the knot with a fierce, unwavering determination that emanates from her even to where I stand in the center of the western gateway behind the group of people that has gathered to watch. Her flaming red hair is unbridled and flows behind her like a flag of rebellion to my sister and the leather clad man that seem to be causing her this unceremonious departure of world and punishment.

I stand frozen for a brief moment as I take in the situation before me. Fear flows from every part of my body, beginning in my plighted heart. My hands are covered in sweat and they clutch the sword Caliburnus from the stone. I feel the fear in body melt into the white lightning of adrenaline. My breath becomes shallow and I sprint into the mass of the crowd that stands before me. Now is my chance to rise up against these people who have taken my parents captive, who have taken my home, my city, my kingdom, my country.

I sprint forward with a new passion that I have not felt before, not even when I had fought the dragon that day with Kay. The only thing I can hear is the sound of my beating heart and my shallow breathing. My vision seems to be covered with a faint silver tinge as I rush forward with the sword raised above my head, threatening death upon anyone who would dare to come into my path of destruction.

The sea of humanity splits like the red sea in front of me and I reach the block in what feels like slow motion. I leap up from the cobblestone ground and my boots thud loudly on the weathered wood. I feel the eyes of all the people in the square focus on me. I do not care. Their silent stares only urge my anger to rage further, my fire to burn hotter, brighter.

I jump into the air, full onto my sister. My arms collide with her chest and I feel the fabric of her black velvet dress brush against my cheek. Her arms flail for a moment before one hand grabs a fistfull of my hair and the other attaches to the fabric of my tunic on my back. Her chair tips over with my weight and momentum, pushing her over onto her back. I shove us to the side of her chair and I pin her down, sitting on top of her. I step on her hands with my boots, planting them to the wooden floor of the block. I press my hands against her neck and wrap my fingers around soft flesh and feel her heartbeat and her veins struggle to pump oxygen and blood to her mind. Her face turns a light shade of purple and red and the color becomes deeper with every second I hold her there. I feel her life force draining out of her.

Rough hands that must belong to the leather laiden man grab my arms and my waist and try to rip me off of Morgain. I do not budge. His prying hands dig deep into my stomach as he shoves and prods me, trying to weaken my grip on my sister. This only makes me hold on stronger and tighter. I knew that with every second I was draining the life from her body. Thirty more seconds and she would be dead. This person who I used to think was my ally, my family, one with me in the disappointment and dissatisfaction of my father that was about to kill my mother. I needed her to die. I had to hold on past the pain of the hands that were stabbing into my flesh and forcing me away from my goal. The only thing I can feel is her heartbeat in my hands. No longer can I hear my own heart, it is drowned out by the dying rhythm of my sister’s.

I let up for less than one second. I felt sorry for her.

A sharp pain explodes in my left arm. A claw that hits the bone of my forearm and drags upward through my muscle and flesh. Warm blood pours down my wrist and onto Morgain’s neck. The claw that has buried itself in my arm yanks me back and a yell hurdles itself from my throat as I am thrown backward solely by the flesh of my forearm. The pain is almost unbearable. My head thuds against the rough wood of the execution block and I look up. All I can see is my mother’s face, unshrouded by the utter terror that is erupting behind her eyes as she sees me, her only son, curled on the ground with blood spattered over him.

I try to get up to help hehr, but then my sister is above me, her face still in hues of purple and red from my tried attempt at justice. She holds me down, pinning my arms behind me. Shoving her nails in the gash that the claw had made in my forearm. I want to scream but I am incapable of making sound. She holds my head in the direction of my mother. Forcing me to watch.

A man dressed all in black with a mask covering his undoubtedly ugly face shoves the noose over my mother’s head. I struggle with all of my strength, all of my will, all of my pain. My sister’s grip is too strong with her nails forcing their way into my flesh. I can do nothing but watch.

The man kicks the board that my mother is standing on out from under her feet. She falls for a brief moment before the entirety of her weight is caught by the rope around her neck.

My voice works. I scream. My voice is high pitched and feminine but I do not care. I scream like the world is ending. Because my world is ending. She was the only one that loved me.

All I can look at is her face. Her terrible, horrifying face. Her once determined, loving, fierce gray eyes are empty. Nothing more will they see. Her mouth is set in a permanent scream that no one will ever hear the sound of.

My mother is gone.

Colorado Springs, America, 2009

I sat straight up in my bed. My breathing was fast and shallow. All I could see was my mother’s face. My mother’s dead face. My mother as she descended into an unknown reality that none shall tell.

I heard an electronic beeping noise.

I was here. In America. That was my alarm clock.. I needed to get up. Go to school. Be expressionless.

There was not real. Camelot did not exist, nor did my sister, or my father, or my mother, or dare I say it. Me. I did not exist. I was nothing but a legend. A story to be told by bards and in books. Only America. Only this time. Only the year 2009 was real.

I looked at my hands. They were red and white and had designs of tiny lines dancing across them. I scraped the nail of my right pointer finger across my left palm. I felt it. This was real.

I traced my nail further up my arm. Across my wrists. Along the bottom of my pale forearm.

“Arthur?” Miss Marion’s voice rang in my ears from out in the hall. “Are you awake?”

“Ah…” I needed to reply. “Yes!”

“You’d better hurry!” She said loudly. “Breakfast in twenty minutes, and please wash your hair!”

“I will!” I yelled back.

I turned my forearm over.

There was a long ugly scar running from my wrist to my elbow.

Cadbury Castle, Britain, 646

I slept for an entire day.

Well I suppose that is not entirely true. I woke up around noon, looked at my surroundings to see that I was in fact, here, at Cadbury Castle in my chambers. Then I went back to sleep and did not wake up until I had verified that I was in America again. Today was the day after that.

I could not sleep for another day though. I needed to see what had happened. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I think it was around ten when I finally forced myself out of bed.

I noticed that my arm was bandaged with a white cloth and it smelled like some kind of herb poultice that the physician had probably put on my wound. I could still feel all of my fingers and I could move my hand in all the ways that I should have been able. At least no permanent damage had been done.

The sword that I had “pulled” out of the stone was lying on the table near the door to my chambers. I sat down at that table and lifted the sword onto my lap. I still could not make out what the strange symbols on the blade meant. I thought about what that boy Lancelot and I had met, Merlin, had said about the sword.

It was confusing, the way he said it. But he did make one thing very clear. This sword in my hands was very very important.

The door in front of me creaked open and Austin wearily crept in, he must have thought that I was still asleep. He caught sight of me and hurried to my side.

“I am glad you are no longer asleep.” He said. He softly massaged my shoulders but I pulled away from him. He must have forgotten my dislike of people touching me.

I nodded. I hoisted the sword off of my lap and set it back on the table with a faint clanking sound.

“Where did you get that?” He asked me. He proceeded to change out my cloth bandages then.

“Found it.” I told him non-descriptively.

He understood that I did not wish to talk at the moment and he unwrapped the cloth on my arm silently. I cringed as the last coil of it came off and a stinging sensation pulsed throughout my arm. The wound really was quite disgusting as well. Ripped up red and white flesh and dried blood, all covered in a putrid smelling green sludge. Somehow I could not bring myself to look away though. Austin wiped the wet green stuff off of my arm and applied more from a small plate that the physician had likely given him. Then he wrapped a fresh piece of cloth tightly around my arm and tied it all together with a piece of string.

“I hope you feel better Arthur.” Austin said. Then he left, leaving me to stare at the shining sword in silence.

It must have been midday before I got up the nerve to go and see my father.

I hung the sword, Caliburnus, on my belt on a scabbard that I had found in a trunk in the corner of my room. The white tunic that I was wearing seemed relatively clean. My boots were polished. My hair was sticking up in sort of a strange cowlick on one side but it always did that. I needed to talk to him. Or at the least find out the entirety of what had happened. At least it seemed that we had taken the palace back from my sister who was now apparently a Saxon leader.

I am not sure if it was just my imagination, but people seemed to smile at me in the palace corridors as I journeyed to the throne room where I guessed that my father would be. They seemed to have a respect for me that I could not quite place my finger on. It was probably just my imagination.

The guards bowed to me and opened the doors to the trial room. My father was sitting on his throne with his leg crossed over the other. A silver chalice was in his hand and a bit of dark red wine dripped down his chin as he took a long draft. A plump female servant that was dressed in a dress and corset that was much too small for her body stood next to him with a pitcher in her hand

“Father.” I said, I made sure to tilt my head down ever so slightly to admit his dominance and authority over me.

“Y-you!” He shouted/slurred at me. I looked at the floor. “Y-you god-forbid T-terrible excuse for a boy! You killed her!”

“N-no father.” I stammered. “I tried but something ripped me off of her.”

“Not that insufferable bitch!” He yelled. “My wife!”

What? I was confused. Morgain’s men had hung her. I thought.

“You let her die!” He stood up and almost fell over from his drunkenness. He handed his chalice to the female servant and started to stumble toward me. I nervously retracted into myself. “This is all your fault!”

He slapped me across the face then. Hard. And it hurt as if he had slashed me across the face with a knife. Because he was right. I did let her die. It was my fault that my mother had been killed. If I had only been a little stronger. A little sooner to arrive at the palace square. The loss would have been avoided.

He got so close to my face that I could clearly smell the pungent scent of wine on his breath and see the rotting of his teeth from the time that we lived in. “If it were not for the fact that you are the only son I have I would run you through and run the blade of my sword from your beating heart to your defiant eyes.”

I said nothing. I was frozen in fear of what he might do to me.

“Get out of my sight.”

I complied and sprinted out of the trial room as fast as I could, forcing back tears with all of my might.

I ran and ran through the palace corridors, not letting off any speed at all. I reached a door to the outer edge training yard eventually and I ran across the cobblestone pathway and through the tree and grass landscaping until I reached what I was looking for. I walked into an arch in the wall around the training yard. It was decently concealed because of the flowering spring trees that covered the entrance. I climbed up into the stone niche, leaned against the wall, and cried.

Men are not supposed to cry. I know this well enough. Even when the people they love die, and when they are mad at themselves because they are the reason that that person has died. I am not a man. I am not even a boy. I am pathetic. I killed my mother, somehow I probably could even take blame for the successful invasion of the Saxons in the first place. I should not become king. I will be a terrible king. Much worse than my father. My ideas are ridiculous. I am insane. What kind of person says that they secretly travel to a land in the distant future across the seas and believes it? Why am I even here? Why am I even alive?

I am alive because someone in higher power than I needed to have a good laugh. They put an insane boy in the position to someday become king so they could laugh at him. That was all I was. A joke.

“Can I talk to you?” A smooth male voice entered into my thoughts. I lifted my head from my knees that were pressed against my chest and stared at the wall ahead of me without looking at the man.

“Why would you want to?” I asked, sniffing and wiping my nose.

“Why would I not want to?” He asked me. I finally turned towards him. He was cocking his head at me.

The man had a serene smooth face and light curly blonde hair that flowed around his face like a mane. In fact, the man rather reminded me of a lion. His skin was just a shade darker than his hair and his eyes were only slightly farther apart than they should have been which added to the lion affect that he had. I recognized him, he was who my father had set in place to be the master of patrols, however, I had never formally talked to him or even knew of his name.

“I am a failure.” I said, wiping my face and calming down my tears the best I could.

“Surely that is not true.” He told me. His light brown eyes were soft and gave me the impression that I could talk to him. “What have you done?”

“I killed my own mother.” I muttered, shoving my head back into my knees. “And I think I caused the Saxon attack to be successful.”

“What?” The man asked, he seemed very confused. “Please come down here and tell me why you think that.”

I shook my head. I wanted to stay here until I died of starvation or dehydration. That way I could not hurt anyone else.

“Come on.” He said and quite literally picked me up and set me on the ground.

I stood across from him and just looked at him weakly. He was dressed in light training armor and had a wooden staff in his hand. He was about eight inches taller than me and I came up just to his upper chest.

“My name is Lionel.” He told me and stuck his hand out. I found this slightly comedic considering that I had compared him to a lion only moments before. I still just looked at him. “This is when you introduce yourself and shake my hand.”

“You already know my name.” I said sullenly. “Everyone knows my name.”

“At least shake my hand then.” He tried. I sighed and we grabbed hold of each other’s wrists in the way that it is custom to here.

My hands retreated to my sides where I felt my bandaged left arm bounce against Caliburnus for a second. My face is set in a permanent glare at the world.

“I organize all of the patrols from Camelot.” Lionel told me. I already knew that.“I would like you to lead one sometime.”

“Why?” I asked. There was no reason why he would want me to be in charge of something that important to the safety of the kingdom.

“Because I thought you would be good at it Arthur.” He proved my theory that he did in fact know my name.

“Why?” I asked again. “I sure let everyone down once.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” He asked as if in disbelief. “You made it possible to take back the palace when the Saxons attacked!”

“I did?” I asked, cocking my head at him.

“Yes!” He said enthusiastically. “When you attacked Morgain, that sorcerer that was making sure nobody was out of line became preoccupied with you and gave way to let the knighten that were being forced to watch fight back against our guards! It was all your surprise attack that allowed us to take back our home.”

“Oh.” I really did not believe him. I thought he was only trying to cheer me up. And even if I did help them take back the palace I still killed my mother. Nothing could change that fact.

“And what was that nonsense about you being the cause of Ygraine’s death?” He asked me.

“My father told me.” I said. “I let them kill her. It is my fault that she is dead.”

“You let them kill her?!” He said angrily. “Uther told you that?”

I nodded.

“What a little liar.” He said angrily. “If anyone let anyone do anything it was him! He tried to pay that sorcerer to let him go free and take the rest of us instead! And he told his own son that he killed his mother. What a bloody canker!”

Apparently Lionel had a strong dislike for my father.

“But it is true.” I said.

“No.” He said firmly. “Sometimes bad things just happen.”

We just looked at each other in awkward silence for a few moments.

“Do you like fighting staff ever?” He asked me.

“Yes.” I told him. “I fight staff with my friend Lancelot quite a lot.”

“Come on then.” He jerked his head in the direction of the training yard.

I followed him blindly to where he handed me a big wooden staff and squared himself up with me. I sighed and took a defensive position.

And then we fought.

Lionel was the best fighter I had ever been in combat with. He seemed to be even better than some of the men that had fought staff in the tournament. In fact, I think I had a faint memory of Lionel’s name being called for winning the staff event at one tournament.

The most interesting thing about his fighting style was the way he swung the stick around his wrists and his hands. He did not hold the staff solely like a sword, and it flowed and spun in harmony with the movements of his body. It really was a magnificent technique, almost as if the stick was attached to his body. He had me pinned in just a few moments and he helped me back up to my feet.

“You are really good.” I complimented him.

“Thank you.” He said and smiled. “I saw you fighting sword at Winter Solstice, you looked pretty good then too. Too bad it was cancelled, you definitely would have made finals.”

“Maybe.” I bit my lip and handed me back the staff he had given me. “Did you make this?”

“Yes.” He said. “I make all of my wooden staffs, the ones from the smithy just do not fit in my hands as well.”

I never knew fighting staff could be such an exact science. I nodded.

“Where did you get that sword?” He asked, gesturing to Caliburnus at my side.

“I...found it.” I said, I had a feeling that Merlin would not want me divulging the origins of the sword.

“You should consider yourself lucky.” He told me. “That looks like a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.”

I just nodded, Lionel absentmindedly began twirling his staff around his right wrist. It looked like he had practiced that one move for hours. “If you do not mind my asking, sir, how old are you?”

I realized that I had been quite rude, not calling him by a title when he was very much in more authority than I. The master of patrols was a big position, which meant that people held him in high respect.

“Twenty-one years.” He said, still focusing much of his attention on his staff. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen sir.” I answered. It was beginning to bother me that he was putting more attention into his staff than me, considering that he was the one that forced me to come out of my very secluded niche and come talk to him. I stared at the ground.

Lionel’s attention all of the sudden became extremely focused on two figures that I could not really make out across the training yard. It bothered me that I could not really make them out, my vision had sort of always been like that though, I could not see faraway objects as clearly as most people could. As they came closer I could begin to make out their faces, Lancelot and Merlin. I could also see the tips of blue tattoos along Merlin’s hands. Lionel’s stare stayed hard focused on Merlin and his blue stained hands.

“Who is that?” He asked me solidly and harshly. I suppose he assumed that I would know because he was walking with Lancelot, who, everyone knew, was my best friend.

“Ah…” I trailed off for a moment, surprised at Lionel’s sudden mood shift. “A boy Lancelot and I met by Avalon before we came back to the palace that day...He helped me find the sword.”

“He is a druid yes?” Lionel said without taking his eyes off him as they came closer to us. Lancelot was probably wondering why he had not seen me yesterday, or maybe he just wanted to talk to me about why I had slept for a day and a half. Or he wanted to talk to me about other recent events to make sure that I was alright.

“Yes.” I answered. They were only a hundred yards away now.

“Then he does not belong here.” Lionel said firmly. “You know that Arthur. It is best that you tell him to leave before I turn him into your father’s guard.”

They arrived at our feet. Lionel’s glare looked almost as menacing as mine was.

Lancelot looked very confused. He spoke to Lionel. “Sir, what is wrong?”

Lionel stepped back as if prompting me to speak. I complied. “Merlin needs to go home. Druids are to be executed in Camelot remember?”

“But you hid Gawain in your chambers and nobody found out.” Lancelot said, as if he had carefully thought this through. “So I figured that I could hide Merlin in mine.”

“Hold on.” Lionel interjected. All three of us, including Merlin who currently looked as if he was trying to retract into himself looked up at him in a respectful manner. “Who is Gawain? And why were you hiding him in your chambers?”

I glared at Lancelot. He should have thought about the fact that Lionel was standing right there when he spoke of my stowaway that was actually my cousin and in Camelot most likely illegally. And, on the topic of Gawain, I had no idea where he had gone. After Lancelot telling me that he had ran off after he helped carry me to Avalon I had heard nothing of him or seen him in the past two days. In my defense, I had been slightly preoccupied.

I felt all eyes on me. “Gawain is…” I had to make up something fast in order not to get my “friend” into trouble. “...A really long story.”

Lionel shook his head as if slightly confused. “Do you have a name?” He asked Merlin.

“Do you have a name?” Merlin fired sarcastically back. Lancelot and I looked at each other and then back at Merlin in shock. Addressing a knight like that was not something you did and lived to tell the tale of. Especially not a high ranking knight such as Lionel.

I do not think Lionel quite knew how to respond to that. He just stared at Merlin for a few moments and then looked at me for a few moments, I shrugged, and then back at Merlin. Merlin just stared defiantly back.

“Lionel.” He said finally and stuck out his hand for Merlin to shake. He was still looking at him much too carefully as if deciding which way to cook him.

Merlin took the hand and they locked wrists for a moment that seemed to last a lifetime. “Merlin.”

“Welcome to Cadbury Castle Merlin.”

And to this day I still do not know what happened in those awkward moments.

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