The Red Knight - Merlin BBC [2]

Chapter 23: The Blacksmith's Apprentice

The secret cavern had become hauntingly empty, with our plans now underway. Only a few refugees and escaped slaves inhabit the dark cave, having built makeshift tents as their homes. Anyone else apart of the rebel organisation is officially on the field, scheming and working toward the upcoming tournament.

In the passing days, the rebels have gone through with their plans. Luckily, Aro didn't know enough to snitch our plan to taint the ale with a sleeping draft. He didn't seem to know much apart from some names, meaning his snitch isn't an immediate rebel leader with all the knowledge of our facilities.

Although Aro has pointed an accusing finger at many different family members, Ronon has seemed to dismiss it. He has remained fixed on the fact that Aro is a lier. Yet, Ronon has become more secluded because of it. He hasn't spoken to me in days, retreating to his chambers, only consoling Blaze and nobody else.

If he has any suspicions, I will be quick to douse them. Somehow I don't think it will come to that.

In Ronon's absence, it has allowed me some time to visit the rebels more often. As for the knights... it's impossible to see them. After Jackson's escape, Ronon has had every champion under strict watch, not allowed to see anyone. He plans to interrogate all the champions in his conquest to find moles and Jackson.

I approach the tent slowly, not wanting to disrupt his work. He bashes the hammer against the shimmering orange steel, the heat bringing a shimmer of sweat to his brow. Jackson does not falter in his craft as he shapes the sword with precise skill. The clunking of the impact echos through the cavern, drowning out the chattering voices.

Jackson was never one for hard labour. Although he would do what was necessary, Jackson would tend to use his magic to get tasks done. He saw no other way. That must have all changed the day he was exiled. Jackson had to learn quickly how to survive without his magic or kin, resulting in the skilled blacksmith I now see before me.

His tent is the furthest into the cavern, far away from the other refugees. I do not blame him. After all Jackson has been through, I wouldn't be able to socialise either. He does not belong in the ordinary mortal world, yet he does not belong to the magical world either. He is an outcast.

I halt a few feet from Jackson, admiring the precise draws of the hammer before he douses the red iron in a barrel of water. He has changed from his sleeveless shirt into a faded long sleeve. He has rolled the sleeve to his elbow, the fabric already lined with grim and sweat. Jackson must be helping prepare weapons for the impending attack.

"Are you just going to stand there all day? Or is there a reason you're here?" Jackson remarks, eyes never leaving his task.

I sigh, taking one step forward before I cross my arms. "I wanted to see how you're doing."

"Well, you've seen", Jackson retorts, throwing down the sword into a pile. He makes for the fire, where another row of iron waits to be heated and moulded.

I take another few steps forward despite the heat, eyes following Jackson. "Look, I'm sorry, alright. I was angry–and I had every right to be–but that doesn't excuse my words. I apologise."

Jackson pauses in his actions for a split second, contemplating before commencing his work.

I draw a deep breath. I wouldn't say I like how we left things. I want to make amends. I was so hurt that I couldn't look past all the torture and pain that Jackson had to endure. It isn't fair for me, of all people, to judge him on his actions.

"That's all I wanted to say. I guess", I offer, already turning to leave.

"Wait..."

The sound of tools clattering on the ground stops me. I turn, finding Jackson's grey eyes finally peering back at me. His chest heaves from the heavy work, skin lathered in sweat.