A Sinister Realm of Fables & Bloodlust (darkangel76 x Rauk)

R

Rauk

Guest
In a realm of fables and legend, there were hidden evils more powerful and wicked than any mortal soul could possibly comprehend... These were horrifying times across the land, plagued by misery, anguish, and even death itself.

Arthur's nostrils flared as he awoke, drenched in his own sweat. The crevices of his wrinkled forehead were caked in his own dried blood, as it covered his battered face. His once stoic and honorable blue eyes were now nearly sealed shut due to the severe swelling caused by his captor's relentless beatings. His vision was fuzzy and double as he squinted, attempting to make out a visual of his surroundings, giving him some clue of where he may be, as his short term memory has clearly suffered damage.

For a handful of seconds which seemed to have gone by in lifetimes, his senses slowly began to return to him. Firstly, his nose perked as the wretched aroma of filth and disgust filled his lungs. Arthur coughed heavily, as fresh blood escaped his lips and ran down his chin, dripping on the cold stone floor below him. The terrible smell was a mixture of his own battered self, as well as the stench of bubbling concoctions brewing in a cauldron up on a stone platform against the north wall of the room. Arthur's sight slowly began to regain it's bearings as he could make out shapes of the dungeon he found himself in. What caught his attention at first was a sacrificial altar made of marble and decorated with various twisted and gnarled demonic engravings along the edges. The rectangular table was large enough to fit a person's body, and to his surprise, his beloved Guinevere lay seemingly unconscious on the table, strapped down by barb-studded leather. The tightness of the straps through her skin caused many lesions and gashes that allowed her precious innocent blood to trickle down and pool beneath her as she lay vulnerable to the terrors that soon awaited. The mere movement of any part of her body, even rising her chest to breath would cause unbearable pain and digging of the barbs into her skin. Arthur could see dried tears and blood cryptically coloring her face in an expression of pure anguish. Suddenly, his sense of pain returned as he felt his own wounds open and close with each breath of the poisonous air, ripping the clots and freshening the supply of pooled redness below him. He tried to shout in terror, but was unable, due to his tongue being cut out, and his mouth filled with the taste of warm iron.

Arthur had been bound and tied to a wooden post overlooking the altar where Guinevere lay. It was a ghastly room, that was dark and suspiciously quiet other than the occasional whimpering of the humiliated king and queen. The cobble stone walls were complete with dead vines and moss growing all over ancient demonic writings and engravings that littered the walls on all sides. Torches lit the room, as the fire flickered and barely illuminated their sinister surroundings. The only way in or out was through an iron studded wooden door that seemed to lead to a staircase going up... Signifying that possibly they were somewhere underground, in a room designated for dark blood rituals. Unfortunately for Arthur, nearly every bone in his body felt as if it were fractured as he sat vulnerable and paralyzed fighting to remember how and why he and Guinevere could have ended up in an evil place such as this.

Lastly, his hearing began to fade in and out as he listened to footsteps on the other side of the door grow louder as they suddenly stopped. The metal handle turned, as the wood creaked and an entrance was made. Out from the darkness of the spiraled stairwell, stepped Merlin. Arthur new that the wizard, his former trainer, had always been plagued with issues concerning his thirst for power and dominance. However, it was clear that he has changed, his demeanor taking a turn for the worse. His once conflicted eyes had now displayed a message of pure evil as his gaze upon Arthur felt as if it were piercing into the depths of his very soul. The black robe Merlin wore raked across the ground as the tangled and gnarled wand slowly pointed toward the desperate king. A grim smile from Merlin was seen as he spoke in a dark and twisted voice, almost as if it were two voices meshed into one.

"Arthur, my boy... The time of your reign is over. Your destiny now, is to serve me." Merlin stated, as a feint red glow began to take form, swirling around the tip of his wand.

"...Death....First..." Arthur managed to cough out, using the last bit of energy he had to retaliate in defiance. His sound was weak and pathetic, as his mutilated tongue made it impossible for him to speak properly.

"Hm hm hm hm....." Merlin chuckled, "That is the plan, of course. Not even death will grant you salvation now. Once the ritual is complete, you will serve me even as a tainted and unholy undead abomination."

Arthur barely managed to hear the last part of Merlin's response as his eyes became heavy once more. He drifted back into unconsciousness briefly as his mind began to reflect on recent events, a dream of sorts, detailing a cloudy memory of the past. The pain and fear of his imminent death had tunneled into the back of his mind once again, as just a few moments of reminiscing seemed like ages to his now pseudo-lucid brain.
 
Every movement brought pain—searing, hot, unforgiving pain. Guinevere could feel the relentless bite of the metal barbs against her soft flesh as her muscles tensed in fear, flexing in reaction to her most dire of situations. The air was oddly cold, though somehow despite how muddled her thoughts had become, she figured it was due to blood loss more so than to being naked or to even being in what appeared to be some dark, dank room located deep within the crypts of Castle Camelot. She was sure that she and her beloved...oh yes, she knew Arthur was there, she could feel his presence, sense him...were somewhere deep within its bowls.

Guinevere's breaths were short as she tried her best to breathe, panting on the stale, rancid air that swirled about her body, as she lied there—sprawled and vulnerable to whoever had splayed her in such a distasteful fashion. She could feel her blood oozing from each knick on her pale flesh, her dark hair plastered to her face as she stared upward at a ceiling that seemed to disappear into oblivion, clearly a trick of the eye...or was that just the blood loss once more?

Blinking her blue eyes, Guinevere tried to look away from the ceiling. In vain, she dared to twist her head to the side in hopes to see where Arthur was, but it was no use. All the motion did was bring back more pain. Just then she heard the wizard's chuckle. It was amazing how something that used to be so familiar and so warm suddenly seemed so cold and disturbing. How had things changed so drastically? Her eyes fluttered shut just then as she listened to the old man taunt her beloved. The hatred seethed through her veins like acid, tearing them apart from the inside out.

It was her. That woman, her beloved's half-sister! She followed the devil, heard his voice! Evil! That's what Morgan Pendragon was! Yes, the hatred ran deep, right to Guinevere's very core.

A shiver ran along Guinevere's spine as she heard the light sound of footsteps walking down a set of stone steps. Somehow she knew who it was.

Morgan.

Morgan smiled as she gracefully, languidly descended the stone steps and made her way past the altar where Guinevere lied. Her hand brushed against the marble so lovingly and she moved on toward where Merlin stood in all his glorious wonder. She marveled at his radiance, as his dark power seemed to emanate in dark waves. Flicking some of her red hair over her shoulder, she sucked in a sharp breath, her chest rising as her lungs filled to their capacity and slowly she exhaled. The room smelled of blood and death and fear. It was utterly exhilarating!

Pale skin flushed as a sweeping heat moved across Morgan's face and down along her neck, along the swells of her heaving breasts. She smiled and let a delicate hand move along Merlin's shoulder. "They are ready," she said almost stoically, though a hint of giddiness resounded in her tone, unable to hide her elation.

Guinevere let out the smallest of whimpers just then causing Morgan to glance over at the bound and helpless queen. A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips and she giggled softly—a sound of victorious triumph. Unable to stay awake, to take the pain, Guinevere succumbed to the overwhelming sensations that ripped through her tiny body as the barbs cut deeper, blood causing tiny rivulets to drip down along her pale flesh in every which way... finally giving in to unconsciousness, finally giving in to darkness.
 
The withering life of the once powerful king Arthur was now merely in a fleeting critical condition. As the darkness overtook his mind and his subconscious self began to wonder, the physical pain he was enduring faded for a moment to be upstaged by the memories of old. Arthur had known that this must be the end, as the reflections of his glorious life began to race through his mind.

Seeming as though he was in a lucid dream, the noble king found himself standing strong and breathing deeply. His skin warmed in the summer sun as the his stroll through the forest outside the castle walls lead him to think about the adventures he had undertaken with his honorable band of knights, such as their quest to retrieve the legendary holy grail among many others. Sir Galahad, and the rest of the knights were very loyal to Arthur and vowed to follow him to the ends of the Earth.

Arthur closed his dreaming eyes as he took in the smells of the lush forest. The fresh spring blooms decorating the paths were majestic, and peaceful as he was reminded of the beautiful land of Camelot in it's prime, unknowingly in the sights of a malicious spirit hellbent on it's destruction.

The mighty king's thoughts soon wandered toward Merlin, before all of this chaos began. As the powerful wizard had trained his father before him, Arthur had always looked up to Merlin as a mentor and at times a father figure. Only a handful of years ago, as he was remembering now, the two of them spent countless hours in castle Camelot's private library studying, and educating the younger Arthur, as Merlin's vast intelligence proved to be un-natural and almost fueled by a spiritual magic that flowed within his life-force. It was a mystery to him as to how and why this man possessed such power, but he never had seen him as a threat until now. Arthur's mind was bouncing in all directions, as the thought of Merlin in recent years brought him to a special memory of the two of them speaking over a cup of tea high in the sanctity of Merlin's tower, overlooking the castle.

"What seems to be troubling you, m'boy?" Asked the gray dark haired wizard in a feeble yet strong tone.

"Of all the battles and hardships I've faced, old friend... I fear that my most difficult is yet to come." the noble Arthur replied as he sipped his tea graciously.

"Hah, I sense you are referring to your soon to be bride, Guinevere. My advise to you, is to treat her with love and respect, as I know you will. She loves you, Arthur. Just remember, during the wedding tomorrow, it is her day, you are merely an accessory, not unlike her bouquet of flowers."

The two friends chuckle at the conversation, and finished their drinks. Arthur's relationship with Merlin would soon after this time take a turn for the worse when the sinister evils that plagued the land became attracted to the powerful potential within the gray sorcerer.

Over the few months that followed after these once serene events, the atmosphere around castle Camelot began to change and shift into something dark. As Arthur and Guinevere's marriage blossomed and the two grew fonder of each other, the great wizard spiraled deeper into a mysterious funk that seemed to cause him to be someone other than himself. Over the course of several months, Merlin's mind grew more cryptic and his overall friendly and father-like demeanor toward Arthur withered away, along with his humanity. Before long, Merlin began spending nearly all of his time locked away in the dark recesses of his tower alone, or seemingly alone, not to be seen or heard from by anyone, even his old friend Arthur. Little did anyone know the horrors going on in Merlin's decaying mind. There was an evil grasping it's clutches onto his very soul, as he chose to bide his time and prepare for something foul and unknown.

_________________

Arthur suddenly jolts up and writhes ones again in the agony of his physical bonds and the painful affliction in which he is subject to. The foul stench of the blood ritual taking place around him filled his lungs once again, as the flashback faded and the fear temporarily returned in full force, only to slowly fade away once again, into another deep sleep. This time, Arthur found himself in the shoes of Merlin himself... Almost as if it weren't a dream, but a vision of the inside of the wizard's own consciousness. Was this some sort of witchcraft, or dark magic? As the helpless king began to drift off once again into the realm of spiritual subconsciousness, he found himself with no choice but to witness the horrifying transformation that would explain how Merlin had changed from the once honest and wise sage, to the malicious and bloodthirsty necromancer he was at present.
 
Camelot, two years earlier...

Guinevere walked along the long corridor of the castle, the air delicious with the scent of honeysuckle and lilacs. Spring was in the air, a seemingly joyous time as people busied themselves making floral wreaths and stringing up garlands that were a colorful array of several blossoms she'd seen blooming in the gardens about Camelot. A shiver ran along her spine despite the warmth that hung heavy in the air. Rubbing at her bared arms, she wondered if it was just the discomfort of knowing that the old rituals still lived among the common folk of the kingdom, that despite her arrival, the people still clung to their old ways. She frowned slightly, a tiny hand moving to tug on a dark braid that cascaded over a slim shoulder. She supposed she couldn't expect these people to give up everything just for her just because her husband did.

A tiny smile played on Guinevere's lips as she thought on Arthur, her tiny feet still moving her along the long, stony corridor. The man was definitely not what she'd expected. Though, when she'd left Lyonesse, she supposed she hadn't been certain what to expect at all really. However, the King certainly proven his worth and slowly, so slowly, she was realizing just how much he was willing to do for her. How much he was willing to give up and sacrifice. Her blue eyes glistened as a feeling of warmth began to grow deep inside. Perhaps this man did love her. It was often so hard to tell when kingdoms arranged a merger. However...

Just then, Guinevere heard a sound behind her—footfalls, so light she almost didn't notice them. She turned around, her pale eyes meeting the dark ones of Morgan, Arthur's half sister.

"Hello, my lady," Morgan spoke gently. Her voice was soft, but rich and full of a giddiness that made Guinevere bite down on her lower lip for a moment before giving the priestess a smile.

"Good day," Guinevere answered, curtsying low, her blue satin gown billowing about her small frame like the most delicate flower in one of the surrounding gardens.

Morgan just laughed lightly. "Oh, do stand up, sister mine," she said, a smirk playing on her full lips. "No need for such formality. Not with me. After all, we are sisters now, you and I."

Guinevere smiled. Though the priestess made her a bit nervous given that she still clung to the old ways much like the common folk of the realm, she had to admit it felt nice that she called her 'sister'. Being an only child was so lonely and Morgan had greeted her with open arms. Arthur had seemed to approve of this from what she could tell, so she embraced the idea even more so.

"We are indeed," Guinevere said brightly, her lips curved upward in a broad smile. Slowly, elegantly, she stood up, her cheeks slightly reddened as she looked into Morgan's dark eyes.

"It also means we can share our darkest secrets," Morgan added, moving to link her arm with Guinevere's. The priestess flicked her fiery hair over a pale shoulder, her skin contrasting starkly against the dark fabrics of her gown. "I'm sure you have several, yes? A lovely girl such as you."

Guinevere's blush deepened and sucked in a sharp breath, gasping slightly. "Oh, goodness no," she said, a hand moving to cover her chest. "I'm afraid I'm rather dull. There isn't much to me you don't already know. Though if I do learn any secrets, I shall share them."

Morgan nodded, her smile growing slightly. "I see. Though, you are young. Give it time," she said, patting Guinevere's arm. "I suppose I should share mine."

Guinevere's blue eyes widened. "You have secrets?" she gasped, smiling and giggling a little.

"Of course," Morgan said with a laugh. "Several. Can I trust you with my darkest secret, I wonder..." she said, her voice trailing off.

"Oh, yes, yes you can," Guinevere said with longing in her voice. "I'm your sister, Morgan. You can trust me. I promise not to tell anyone."

Morgan smirked. "Darling, first I must ask you... are you still pure? Have you..." again, her voice trailed.

Guinevere's face reddened deeply, the blush sweeping along her neck and over the swells of her breasts. "Oh. Oh my," she gasped, her breaths suddenly coming short. "No, we have not yet lain together," she admitted. She'd only been in Camelot for a short time and Arthur had refused to pressure her, something she'd been grateful for. "I... I'm still a virgin."

Morgan stopped in her tracks and moved to stand in front of Guinevere who looked embarrassed as her pale eyes glistened with unshed tears. "There, there, my dear. It's all right. When you're ready," she said comfortingly. Guinevere smiled at her words. "Well, what I'm about to tell you must never be told to another as I'd broken the rules to a sacred rite." Her voice went low, a mere whisper.

Guinevere nodded, her eyes going wide. She grabbed Morgan's hands, her expression intense. Though she knew she was about to hear something regarding the old ways, she knew this was important to Morgan—and thus Arthur—so she let her feelings about such things go. "I swear I won't tell a soul."

"I know I can trust you," Morgan said, her hand reaching up to touch Guinevere's cheek. The young queen just nodded. "Well, a few years ago, during Beltane, I was asked to play the Goddess for the sacred fertility rites. It meant I had to sleep with the one playing the Horned King." She paused for a moment. "I lost my own virginity that night."

"Oh, you poor thing. To do such a thing..." Guinevere consoled.

"Well," Morgan continued. "It wasn't all bad. In fact, the sex was quite good." Her own cheeks flushed as her expression went thoughtful, remembering the time from a memory past. Guinevere giggled softly, her hand moving to cover her mouth. "But, after the ritual was over, his mask slipped and I saw who he was. We're not supposed to know, you see."

"Oh!" Guinevere exclaimed. "Did you know him?"

Morgan looked directly into Guinevere's eyes. "I did," she said plainly, her voice an odd sense of calm. "It was Arthur."

Just then, Guinevere's eyebrows furrowed and nose crinkled. "Wh-what did you say?"

"Arthur," Morgan stated once again.

Guinevere swallowed hard, shaking her head slightly. Surely she'd misheard the priestess only she knew that she hadn't. As she looked into Morgan's eyes, she knew that she'd heard the truth. Brother and sister had lain together and now, bound by a promise, she couldn't tell a soul. Her eyes welled with tears that suddenly spilled down her cheeks and the scent of the Beltane flowers permeated the castle corridors, overwhelming her senses entirely.

"I... I have to go," Guinevere stated, her legs shaky as she turned around and stumbled away.

Morgan smiled as she watched Guinevere leave, clearly shaken and distraught. The girl wouldn't say a word about it to Arthur. She'd promised not to speak of it and she'd never break that vow. Giggling softly, she turned on her heels feeling triumphant and wishing to seek out Merlin. Yes, that girl would be ruined before all was said and done and Camelot would no longer be ruled by someone worshipping some strange false god.
 
Meanwhile, during the conversation between Guinevere and Morgan...

The clashing of metal sounded throughout the courtyard as the two sparring men practiced their swordplay. The springtime sun beamed down onto them comfortably as the blooming flowers trailed up the cobblestone walls. Galahad was Arthur's most trusted knight, and the two friends often practiced their craft with each other as there were few combatants skilled enough to test the other's prowess.

With an upswing from the cold steel, Galahad met the battered blade with his own, parrying Arthur's offense. Galahad's defensive stance was nearly impenetrable, which paired nicely with the aggressiveness of Arthur's offensive style of swordsmanship. As the two men playfully practiced, it almost seemed like it wasn't conditioning or sparring, but entertainment for them. Between swings and parries, they acted as though they were never in danger, and carried out a friendly conversation.

"Have you seen Merlin lately, friend?" Arthur asks as he leaped back onto his right foot, resetting his attack sequence.

"It's... Been quite some time, sire." Galahad stepped forward, into Arthur's comfort zone, raising the hilt of his sword perpendicular with his opponent's.

"I fear that he's been acting strangely... I've got a bad feeling about the long hours he's spent holed up alone in that tower." Slipping on a loose stone, the mighty king presents a window of opportunity for his partner, suffering a kick to the chest, and wobbling back falling to the ground.

"Hah! You've let your guard down thinking about the old man, friend. Breaking your concentration once during battle can spell your death, you know this." Galahad chuckles, as he sheaths his steel, the ringing sound piercing the quiet spring air. Offering a hand to help Arthur up, he smiles nobly.

Arthur, accepting the hand and returning to his feet once again, sheathed his own practice sword and blankly stared off in the direction of the wizard's tower beyond the courtyard. With a dust of his shoulder, he gave Galahad a half-grin, his mind still clouded with worriment of what Merlin could be planning.

"Well played, my friend... I think I'm going to go for a walk now, I need to do some thinking, and clear my head." Arthur says, as he bowed graciously to Galahad, the two of them parting ways and stepping off in opposite directions.

The rich smell of honeysuckle began to fill the senses, as Arthur closed his eyes and felt the warm sun beaming down on his tired face as he slowly walked along the path. This time of year, Camelot was a beautifully luscious location. With both hands on his head, and his scabbard wobbling to and fro, the king was soon lost in deep thought. Visions of Merlin entered his mind, as he feared the worst. What could he be doing? Why had he forbidden everyone from visitation? As Arthur was an honest and respectful man, he had complied with Merlin's request and granted him his privacy, however he began to now rethink his decision.

Soon, as he walked along the path, the ambient smell of beltane flowers grew more prominent into the mixture of aromas throughout the area. A breaking of a twig underneath someone's foot was heard as Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. Thinking possibly he was being followed, he searched the area, but saw nothing at first glance. As he listened closely, he swore he could hear the sound of a female voice pouting in the direction of these light footsteps. Sensing trouble and distress, Arthur gently changed the course of his walk into the direction of this sound.

"Hello? Is someone there? I cannot see beyond these vines and bushes, but I promise to you that I am a friend... Guinevere? Love, is that you?" Suddenly, Arthur heard enough of her whimpering to register the familiar mannerisms of his beloved wife.

"What seems to be the problem, my dear?" Arthur walks into view, as he reaches out to offer taking her hand so that he may kiss the back of it chivalrously.

"Such a joyous day in Camelot, you should be happy, love." He smiled at her, as he reached out to massage her shoulder gently with his powerful right hand.

Arthur placed two of his fingers underneath her chin and raised her head up gently for her to lock eyes with him. With a cocked head and a loving smile, he intended to cheer her up, hoping that whatever was ailing her mind was not a serious issue.

"Please, love. Smile for me at least." With a deep breath, he retrieved his hand, placing his left palm resting on the hilt of the sword and his right hand resting at his side.

Arthur knew that there were differences in the backgrounds and beliefs between him and his young, innocent virgin wife. However, he also knew that some of them would be better left unsaid. He did not feel that this counted as lying to her, as shielding her from these customs was for her own emotional well being. He loved his wife, and wanted her to be happy living with him in Camelot for the rest of their lives together.
 
Guinevere stumbled through the long, stony corridor and then down along a spiraling staircase. She nearly tripped on the blue satin of her gown as she tried to make her way through the dim lighting and out into the open air that beckoned, her hands reaching out to balance herself, clutching onto rails and banisters, anything that might give her aid. Her knees wobbled and her breaths came in short raspy pants as she thought on those dreadful words that Morgan had uttered. Had she truly heard her 'sister' correctly? Had her husband, the one she'd been given to truly lain with her and... had they both enjoyed it?

Tears glistened in Guinevere's blue eyes, pools of disturbed emotion and confusion roiling underneath the ripples that threatened to spill. Sniffling, she brought up a delicate hand and wiped the tears away, her feet forcing her to move forward, to not stop until she made it outside where the air would be lighter, more fragrant. Perhaps then she could clear her head, let this atrocity she'd just heard dissolve away into nothing and forget she'd heard about it at all.

But who was she kidding? A stray tear rolled down Guinevere's pale cheek and she angrily wiped it away and scowling, her face contorted with the discomfort of the news Morgan had shared. Feeling ill, she finally reached the door that led to the courtyard. Pushing against the heavy wood, a hand resting against the wrought iron latch, she bore all her weight against it and heard it open with a loud creak. Trying to keep it together, she rushed outside where the scent of flowers hung heavy in the air, filling her nose with the essence of spring. Spring. Shivering, everywhere the young queen turned she saw the signs of Beltane. People weaving their wreaths, talking happily of the spring time festival. A chill ran along her spine at the whispers she heard, so she hurried past everyone, giving nods and quick curtsies as she headed toward the gardens where she knew no one or, almost no one, would dare linger as the royal gardens were a place the royalty and knights could get away and find peace.

With chattering teeth, Guinevere pushed at her long dark, hair, shoving it over her slim shoulders as she entered the place that had become an escape. Briefly, she glanced over at the tower across the courtyard—Merlin's tower. It looked ominous as it looked over all of Camelot, no doubt harboring tomes of the old ways. Just then, her hands moved to be about her middle, her tummy fluttering, twisting into knots as her mind spun, reeling over how these people did such barbaric things and how such things were kept hidden from her as if she wasn't adult enough to handle them. It was all too much.

As Guinevere made her way through the gardens, her thoughts heavy and full of dread, she suddenly stopped in her tracks, morbid thoughts halting as she stared into the eyes of the one man she hadn't been expecting to see, not yet... Swallowing hard, she turned her gaze away for a moment. But Arthur seemed to sense her troubles. How did he always manage that? He took her hand and kissed it, so she bit down on her lip and turned to look his way. But it was hard to hold his gaze knowing what she did now. Such barbaric things he'd partaken in and... with his sister? He liked that? It made her question so many things, yet she couldn't bring herself to speak of them. She'd been given to him, a prize from Lyonesse—one that would never measure up to...his sister. What would he think of her to question?

A lifetime was a long time to be unhappy and to tell... surely that would make things worse.

"J-joyous?" Guinevere stated more than asked. "I see no joy today, my lord." Her words were heavy and full of sadness. "You'll have to pardon my ignorance when it comes to your ways and... and your rites." Her face flushed a little as she imagined the lurid things that Arthur and Morgan must've engaged in when they re-enacted the rite together. "Perhaps one day I'll understand them and see the joy. But right now, I long for winter." Tears welled in her eyes, but she used all her will power to keep them from spilling.

Meanwhile, Morgan hurried through the darker corridors that led toward the tower in which Merlin had been hiding himself the past several weeks. It seemed as if very few understood her now that her brother had married and it was nice being able to speak with someone who understood the ways of old. She smiled as she thought on their many late night conversations, lasting well after moon fall and the sun had started to rise in the sky, giving way from dark blues to orangey hues. It was nice sharing sunrises with the mage, with a kindred. It was almost like how it used to be before Arthur had cast her aside only...

Morgan smiled a little thinking about how it was actually better, more exciting when she spent time with Merlin. The man was so wise, powerful with his magic and knowledge. It was a pity to see him being slowly shut out as Arthur grew more preoccupied with other things. Scowling, her lip curled into a small sneer and she let out a tiny exasperated sound, a hand violently moving to tug at the end of her fiery hair. When she finally reached the door leading to Merlin's tower, she knew it would be locked. Smirking, she smoothed out her black skirts and took a deep breath. Then, as she slowly exhaled, she knocked against the heavy wooden door.

"Hello?" Morgan called from behind the door. "It's me. It's Morgan."
 
Through the meadows and forest, a warmth radiated throughout the lush landscape of Camelot as the royal garden silence was interrupted by the subtle awkwardness between Guinevere and her husband and king. At the mention of her ignorance regarding his old customs, the stoic Arthur began to make the connection that that whatever ailed her concerned his family's rites. The differences between his and her ways were minimal in his eyes, but to Guinevere they obviously mattered much more.

"You need not worry, m'lady, about any such thing. Pray tell, you know that we come from different backgrounds, yet only now are you concerned about this?" Arthur gently asked her, in a soft yet kingly manner. A tone that one would use if talking to someone who was both wife and loyal subject.

"Is it because we... You're still pure?" he brought her left hand up once more, kissing her pale skin once again softly. "My love, even after you decide the time is right, you will still always be pure in my eyes." Arthur granted her a loving smile, as his cheeks blushed slightly red at the thought of finally consummating their marriage. His rule over Camelot granted him access to nearly any of his desires, though little did Guinevere know, that his desire to lay with her in an intimate manner was his greatest wish at the time being.

The barrier between the king and his queen thickened, as he found himself feeling slightly agitated wondering why she refused to get straight to the point and fill him in as to why she was so upset, knowing that it must directly involve something he is involved with. Arthur was able to keep his composure and noble attitude, while the fire ignited and stirred within him. It was surprising to him, the frustration that ensued, perhaps brought on by the hot sun beaming through the skies, causing sweat to begin to profusely cascade down the man's noble brow. With a swift wipe of the back of his left hand across his forehead, Arthur dried the moisture and squinted his eyes at Guinevere.

"If you're having conflicting emotions, my queen, let us be spontaneous in our love. Why not allow me to take you right here, surrounded by the beauty of Camelot's royal majestic gardens?" As soon as the suggestion left the king's honorable lips, he froze. He closed his eyes in regret to what he just said, knowing that his emotions and angst must have gotten the better of him this day.

Breaking eye contact with the fair queen, Arthur was now almost too embarrassed to speak any further after his proposition that surprised even himself. Perhaps he loved his queen so much, that she brought a dormant side of him to life, that not even he knew existed. As he waited and almost dreaded her answer, time seemed to stop, and the king felt as if lifetimes had passed in a period of silence.

...Meanwhile, the wizard's tower creaked and moaned as the mid-day breezes whipped past the gnarled construction...

A sizzling hiss shrieked out of the bubbling beakers, as the old mysterious gray robed man poured a black smoked substance into a cauldron causing the mixing concoction to erupt with a foul stench that permeated throughout the hermit's tower.

"Yes... The potion is almost ready. Then finally, he will give me the respect and gratitude I'm due..." Merlin stroked his long tangled beard, as he spoke to himself with a cynical tone, standing over the cauldron. His beard acting as a filter, as the black smoke traveled through.

The elderly man, with his left hand bracing himself by his hip, turned his shoulder slightly as he heard the knocks against the heavy wooden entrance. By some supernatural sense, Merlin was already aware of Morgan's arrival before she revealed her name. However, he did not want her to realize the true depths of his power. No, she wasn't ready yet. In fact, he himself did not fully understand the potential in with which the power he has invested his meditations into could have over not only Camelot, but himself as well.

"Come in, Morgan. You've arrived just in time." Merlin closed his eyes, as the latches holding the door closed seemed to unlock before Morgan's very eyes. The door slowly creaked open for her to enter the room.

Arthur's half-sister, Morgan, was the only person who the wizard allowed access into his personal life. He felt as though she understood his quarrels with the way Camelot was being ruled, where no one else did. Something had recently snapped in Merlin, forcing him to regret everything he's done for the king, seeing as how he did not receive the gratitude he felt he deserved, and even though he saw himself as the most powerful man in the world, he did not understand why he still must bow down in service to the young Arthur.

"My dear, why do you trouble yourself with the worries of simpletons such as the ones living in the castle? You know, I can always use your assistance here in my work. You could be a part of great things to come, Morgan." The raspy old voice of the gray wizard sounded, before he returned his gaze upon the boiling multicolored concoction swirling in the black cauldron.
 
The air was thick with the scent of flowers, a reminder that Beltane was drawing near. Guinevere knew that everyone in Camelot was preparing for the festival and the rites... those dreadful, horrible rites. Her blue eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she let the entirety of it all sink in. Arthur had no idea—none—as to why she was upset. She wondered if it was because he was too wrapped up in the joys and wonders of the season. Too wrapped up thinking of the time he'd been with his sister. Just then a tiny frown came over her lips, her eyes snapping open as she stared up at Arthur.

Arthur kept prattling on about her virtue, making Guinevere more and more aware of just how different she was than Morgan. A tear slipped and suddenly made its way down her pale cheek. She wished to grumble as fear, anger and worry began to bubble up from within. In the distance, she could feel that ominous shadow of Merlin's tower blotting out the sun and giving shade. A breeze wafted past, with it came the scent of honeysuckle and lilacs.

Guinevere felt a great knot forming deep in the pit of her tummy, the ache growing as the need to wretch became more and more overwhelming. As her teeth began to chatter, she felt like her lift was spiraling out of control, that she'd been chained to the walls of the dungeon and left to rot and die a terrible, meaningless death.

He'd lain with his sister... probably enjoyed it... would always compare her to that woman... someone she'd never be able to live up to

Just then, Guinevere's eyes widened as a boldness seemed to consume Arthur. Had she heard him correctly? Was that how things worked in Camelot? Her eyes glistened brighter, a shaky hand moving to tug on a dark curl. Surely, the man wished to get things over with, to see just how horrible she was in comparison to Morgan. Her face cheeks suddenly felt hot at the thought, embarrassed by the subject matter and a bit heart broken that she was merely a toy to be played with when the time suited. Apparently Beltane brought out the worst in people.

"Is that all you people here in Camelot think on," Guinevere asked, her voice shaking, so close to breaking as fresh tears streamed down her reddened cheeks. "I see that this festival of yours brings out the worst in everyone." She paused a moment, her lower lip trembling. "Or perhaps it is the best in your point of view? But I will forever hate this time of year and long for Midwinter! Until my dying days here in Camelot, I will never like this festival of yours!" More tears streamed down her cheeks and she had all she could do not to run away sobbing.

Meanwhile in Merlin's tower, the priestess took long, languid strides into the center of the room where Merlin worked. Her dark eyes soaked in everything as she exhaled deeply, slowly letting it out as she moved toward the man she found herself admiring.

"Something great?" Morgan asked, the barest hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I'd love to be of such significance, Merlin. If only there was a way I could hold such a role." She let out a tiny sigh, her smile broadening just a bit.

Morgan moved closer to Merlin until she stood beside him, her arm barely brushing against his. Her dark eyes lingered for a moment upon the point of almost contact and then drifted over to where his potions bubbled and beckoned.

"As for Guinevere," Morgan began knowing full well that the wizard was aware of what had happened between she and the young queen—the wizard was wise, all-seeing, such a powerful man. Her thumped hard in her chest as she thought on all the things he was capable of, had learned. She could learn so much from someone like him, already was to a small degree, but oh to learn more... "The girl is out of place here and the sooner she becomes aware, the better. I'm merely nudging it along."

Morgan sighed softly, shifting her stance slightly causing the small distance between herself and Merlin to suddenly disappear for a moment as her arm gently collided with his. She could feel his power in that contact, her arm shifting, dropping to her side in a casual manner. She gave him a small smile.

"What is that you're concocting?" Morgan then asked pointing at the multi-colored brew the wizard seemed most especially fixated upon.
 
The tension was thick in the air between Arthur and Guinevere, like the seasonal scents lingering on from the festivities in which the troubled queen spoke of. Arthur truly loved his mate unconditionally, however these practices were a significant part of his heritage and customs. No matter what was said, he still could never understand her problems with these traditions, and it hurt deep within his soul that she loathed the whole situation as she did.

Arthur took note and surveyed his wife's face as tears began to uncontrollably stream down her innocent cheeks. Reaching up with the backside of two fingers, he wiped them away and said nothing for a moment, and only offered her a concerned smile. For the next few seconds, he was assessing the situation and desperately attempted to piece together a plan to brighten her mood, whilst defending his personal traditions.

Thinking to himself, Arthur was too embarrassed to admit that he was having second thoughts involving the very customs Guinevere spoke so ill of. Due to spiraling down into his own world of deep thought, and personal guilt, he completely tuned Guinevere's words out after having heard her open with "Is that all you people here in Camelot think on?"

Is she correct...? If my family's traditions are set in stone, and so necessary to our kingdom, then why is she making me feel so terribly about them? Another gust of wind whipped past the couple, causing strands of hair to dance in the same direction as the various smells refreshed once again.

"Could it be that I enjoyed laying with Morgan?" Arthur let his guard down, and instead of thinking this within his mind, accidentally blurted this out just as Guinevere finished describing her loathing for this season in Camelot. As he caught himself, knowing he obviously was a fool for saying this, his entire complexion turned ghost white.

"G-guinevere... It's n-not what it sounds like... It's part of the ritual. I was only um... Being polite to Morgan. I didn't enjoy it that much... I mean at all!" Being a king, Arthur had developed many diplomatic skills, in dealing with neighboring kingdoms over the years. Unfortunately, nothing he has ever experienced has prepared him for dealing with a situation such as this.

Finding himself defeated and his relationship with Guinevere potentially in shambles, the troubled king had sprouted the thought in the back of his mind that he must go see the great wizard Merlin for advice on what to do next. No matter how different Arthur and Guinevere's views were on tradition, he still loved her with every ounce of his being, and found himself willing to make any sacrifice for her love.

Meanwhile, the bubbling cauldron grew slightly in it's boiling intensity as a sinister grin washed over Merlin's elderly lips. A twinkle sparked in the corner of his eye as he turned his attention toward the young Morgan asking about her significance in his plan.

"Yes, my dear. Have you ever questioned your relationship with your brother and his wife? Tell me... Why does he rule Camelot, when you, the beautiful Morgan lies powerless to the side?" The wizard sensually runs the back of his fingers down the back of Morgan's head through her hair, applying charm and admiring her youth.

"You have a delicious amount of un-tapped potential to be a great leader. Much greater than Arthur could have ever been. I could help you unlock your slumbering greatness." The cauldron's bubbling suddenly stopped completely, as if to defy all logic. What was left in the container was a glowing liquid substance that smelled of vinegar and finally settled on a purely bright green hue. The mysterious and powerful mage ignored the young lady's request to identify the concoction, and simply dipped a ladle to fill a emerald studded golden chalice, taking a small sip of it himself to assure her the safety, before presenting it to her to take and drink.

"It's safe, child. Drink this, and we will set in motion the beginnings of our quest. Our quest that will unlock your power, and put you where you rightly deserve to be... At the throne of Camelot." Merlin grinned maliciously, as he dreamed in his head many steps ahead in his plan to manipulate the beautiful Morgan into becoming his puppet to achieve dominance over the Kingdom, and beyond.

As he awaited her decision to hopefully accept his offer and finish the drink, the dark wizard happily thought to himself.

Yes... The demonic blood infused drink will definitely aid in our goal. Though it will not give her any new powers, the seed of evil within her will be nourished, and grow into it's full potential. Then, I will be one step closer...
 
Guinevere's blue eyes widened, her face contorting into a wince as Arthur spoke of Morgan and that wretched night she wished she could erase from existence. Unfortunately, she could not undo what had been done. Time just wasn't something within her power to alter. Knees wobbling, she had all she could do to keep herself standing and prevent herself from falling to the ground. The moment the words poured from Arthur's mouth made everything that Morgan had divulged somehow seem more real, more alive.

The scent of the flowers was suddenly too strong, the aroma heady, pungent, unwelcome. Guinevere shook her head in disbelief. "No," she whispered mostly to herself, not wanting to accept the truth of what had happened and no longer listening to anything but the wild thoughts flitting through her mind. She choked on a sob, her hands moving to cover her face as fresh tears began to fall. "No," she said again, though louder, more desperately.

Guinevere wished to hide. The shame she felt washing over her felt like fire licking at her flesh, searing it until it she was ready to shout out from the pain coursing throughout her body. How could Arthur have partaken of such a ritual? And... enjoy? She was forever humiliated and second to his sister. Was the union of souls so unsacred that even brother and sister lied together? She would never feel special now. How could she...

Swallowing hard, Guinevere dropped her hands and pushed back her dark hair. Her eyes were wild with confusion. "Don't you see? I'll always be second to her...and every year round now I'll be reminded." She bit down on her lip, slowly backing away as more tears began to fall. "She is what I am not...you'll never enjoy someone like me." She paused a moment. "Not ever." At that, she turned on her heels and began to run.

Meanwhile in Merlin's tower, Morgan's dark eyes fixed themselves upon the wizard and then upon the concoction he held out for her. They narrowed slightly as she gazed upon the drink, her mind racing with questions. Could the potion truly unlock her potential? Merlin was wise in his ways, knowledgeable in arts that most thought long lost to time. She pursed her lips before licking them with the tip of her tongue, moistening them since they'd gone bone dry.

Morgan flicked her fiery hair and smirked. She steadied herself by grabbing a hold of the table's edge with one hand and reaching for the drink with the other. She looked at the liquid for yet another moment, blinking as she stared at her reflection, which looked back at her from within the chalice. Finally, she sucked in a sharp breath and brought it up to her lips and in one great gulp drank the contents down in a single swallow.

Morgan's hands shook slightly as she brought the chalice back down to the table, her breaths coming quickly as her chest heaved. She turned to look at Merlin, her expression one of confidence. "Now, I'm yours to teach, Merlin. Our quest has begun." Her smile broadened. "Just how much potential do I have inside?"
 
Furious with himself, and his lower lip trembling, Arthur allowed the distraught queen to flee. As another breeze flew by, teasing his senses, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and turned away. Desperate for answers, and advice, Arthur decided it would now be best to seek out his old friend Merlin for guidance.

Thinning his eyes, the king began making his way hastily in the direction of the wizard's tower where he knew the great and wise Merlin was sure to be. It's been so long since he's since the man, and he couldn't help but shake the feeling that there is something eerie and cryptic in the air.

Should I have let her go? Surely, she just needs her space. But what if it's different now? What will she think on me?

Arthur daydreamed as his stroll through the royal gardens of Camelot lead him closer to Merlin's tower. He wasn't sure what he should make of the situation, and hopefully he would be able to achieve an audience with the wise wizard in a desperate attempt to win back the heart of his Guinevere. With his mind full of dismay and anguish, little did he know that he was walking right into Merlin's sinister trap.

Merlin watched with glee. His eyes filled with a deep victorious aura as the beautiful young woman consumed the demonic elixir so eagerly and placed the empty chalice onto the table beside her. The elder man stroked his beard with one bony fingered hand, as he faced her direction grinning.

"In due time, you will learn, my dear. The elixir you just drank was infused with the essence of a powerful spirit. More powerful than even I am. Give him time to explore your body, and become intertwined with your very soul. You will soon realize that you are meant for great things not only here in Camelot, but the entire world. With my guidance, and his power, we will be unstoppable together." The wrinkled expression on his face shifted to one of near blankness, as Merlin said nothing further but pointed to the doorway.

After an awkward moment of silence, almost as if the elderly mage was speaking telepathically to someone, or something, he turned his gaze back to Morgan.

"He is coming, exactly as I had predicted. There is your first assignment, Morgan. You must seduce him into turning against Guinevere even further. There is a seed of misery growing between the king and queen now. You must nourish it, and when the time is right, we will conduct the ritual of summoning... You see, my dear, the most important reagent is the spilled blood of two pure and broken hearts." Merlin's eyes widened as he allowed his new companion to take in the gravity of the situation, knowing that the full plan would be a lot for one's mind to digest at first.

Soon, the foot steps came to an end, and there was a knock on the main entrance. On the other side of the door could be heard the voice of Arthur, muffled by rainfall and the sound of thunder cracking. There was a storm brewing outside, of supernatural origins.

"Merlin! It's me! Please let me in, I need someone to talk to!" The king, with tears in his eyes masked by the rain droplets streaming down his forehead and face was banging with a closed fist on the door in hopes that someone would hear his words.

"Well, Morgan, now is your chance. You must prove your manipulative abilities, if you wish to achieve great things. Remember, he is an essential component in our ritual, and you mustn't fail." Once again, the wizard winked deviously at the young Morgan. "I will take care of the queen," he added as the old robed man vanished into thin air, with a feint odorless puff of smoke.

"Merlin? Anybody? I know you're in there.. I demand you open this door!" Was heard again from outside, as four more fist-falls landed on the wooden door.
 
Guinevere just ran, her tiny feet moving of their own accord through the garden. She had hoped it would be a joyous day, her thoughts pleasant as it had started and the sun's warm rays had kissed her flesh. But now...now her blood was on fire, like acid as it burned her veins, threatening to scorch her until she was rendered to ash, a lifeless pool of blood and tears that no one cared for, that no one would ever remember. The scent of flowers hung heavily in the warm air and made her think of a funeral boat, how the pagans set it ablaze as it went adrift and carried the soul to elsewhere.

Tears streamed down her face, her body shaking as her legs continued to move. Guinevere had no idea where she was heading, but she wasn't ready to go home. Not yet. She couldn't face anyone back at the castle. No. Running through the maze of flowers, she continued on until she found a dark corner, her breaths coming heavy and short as her heart pounded hard beneath her breast. Gasping and sputtering, she collapsed to her knees, her face buried in her hands as she let go of all her emotions, her cries echoing throughout the rows of hedges and flowers. Looking up into the sky with a tear-stained face, she wondered how it was she came to be where she was. Knowing she wouldn't get any answers in Camelot, not ever, she looked at her lap with watery blue eyes and just sobbed.

Meanwhile, in Merlin's Tower, Morgan finished drinking the contents of the cup, her dark eyes fluttering closed as she let the warmth of the liquid work its way throughout her body. She wasn't entirely sure what she'd just done, but she trusted in the wizard. The seer had guided her thus far and he was the key to greatness. With him, she'd be able to achieve anything.

And would!

Morgan took a deep breath just then, her dark eyes focusing on Merlin. Slowly, she exhaled, her hands moving over her body to smooth out her clothes. The material felt...different...somehow—more lush, more...everything. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she turned to look at the wizard. She gave him a nod. She could feel the power surging deep inside her, a confidence, a deep seated need. Yes, she was ready for this and would succeed at this assignment.

Merlin's voice was getting more urgent as he encouraged her, supporting her efforts before she'd even begun. Oh, what a mentor he truly was! Morgan smirked and walked toward the heavy wooden door. Slowly, carefully, she pushed it open, her head peeking out causing fiery tresses to spill along bared, paled shoulders.

"Beloved brother," Morgan stated, carefully exiting Merlin's room and closing the door behind herself. "Merlin is tired, I do apologize," she continued, her cheeks reddening. "I've kept the man busy. He's been teaching me so much. He truly is wise." She gave Arthur a smile, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. She swallowed then, her head tilting as her expression softened. Bringing up her other hand to touch his face, she asked, "What's troubling you? I can tell something is wrong. Please, let me help you." She moved closer, her body almost brushing his, but not quite. "It's the least I can do for you. Please, brother," she begged. "Let me do this for you. I don't like seeing you this way." Gently she rubbed a finger against the tears she saw starting to fall from his eyes, her other hand slowly moving up his arm, a show of tender affection.
 
The distraught king was on pins and needles. His sanity was beginning to fray, as the raindrops cascading down his face from the storm mixed with tears of anguish. Arthur felt a warmth radiating from Morgan as she spoke her kind words, positioning herself so close to him. However, no matter how welcoming his half-sister seemed to be to his embrace, he felt a void inside him that only filled with the sorrow and anger that festered within him. For a moment, the king debated his predicament and let out a long sigh as his rough skin began to dry.

"I've made a terrible mistake, sister." His eyes stared blankly into the distance, in an almost trance-like state. Arthur felt his confidence in being in a ruling position slip through his fingertips, as his eyes slowly turned to meet hers, in an expressionless manner.

"I've.. I've made such a terrible mistake..." He repeated, this time making eye contact with Morgan. His damp arms wrapped around her, pulling the two of them closely together in an intimate embrace. The intoxicating fragrance of Morgan's scent reminded him of the time in questioning, when these rituals last took place. He felt her fingertips tracing his skin lightly, as goosebumps began to form while she affectionately moved them up his arm. Just the thing to add to his state of distress: sexual tension and frustration!

"I'm afraid, sister, that my queen is not happy living here, to say the least. She is in a state of disagreement with our... traditions. And to top it all off, look at me. I'm here instead of out there looking for her. I need to go. I have to find her before it's too late. My gut tells me that something dreadful is going to happen." He broke his embrace with Morgan, and began to step back toward the door with the intention of leaving the tower.

"You seem troubled, my child." A warm bony hand was compassionately placed on Guinevere's right shoulder as the elderly wise man massaged rubbed the side of her neck. It seemed as if Merlin had appeared out of thin air. In fact, to one who wouldn't have known any better, that's exactly what he did.

"Those who go unappreciated and are tossed to the side in life, bear such an unfair burden." He continued to massage. Merlin's stagnant breath could be felt on the back of her neck, as he leaned down to whisper his following words into her ear. "We share this burden, my child. You aren't alone in your struggles." A gust of wind animated his robes in a dance as his eyes were illuminated by a flash of lightning.

"Come with me to my chambers, and I will show you your salvation. You are indeed meant for something bigger than what Arthur ever understood. Tonight, you will know your destiny. However, it's up to you to embrace it." A feeble smile arose on his dried lips as the hand that massaged her neck made its way down her side, cupping her small hands in his own. "Just say that you're ready, and I'll take you away from this foul place, my dear."
 
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