Merlyn's Last Dream

The Coming of Arthur P5

Dawn was already breaking when Merlyn landed by the lake, the sky tinged pink over the calm waters. An eerie mist shrouded the trees as her heart tugged in her chest, the memory of Freya's death vivid in her mind.

"Thank you." she croaked, unable to tear her eyes away from Avalon. It was so beautiful; she was glad it had been the last thing Freya had seen before death had claimed her soul.

"I warned you before that in the wrong hands, this sword can do great evil. You must promise me, Merlyn, that once its task is done, you will place it where none can wield it." Kilgarragh's golden eyes stared intently at her; the witch managed to force her gaze towards him, nodding once in understanding.

"I promise." she murmured, shivering at the thought of Morgana getting her hands on such a weapon.

Looking across the shore, she found a small rowing boat, the vessel hardly big enough to carry more than a single person. She smiled, glad that her luck had turned: Merlyn couldn't say that she'd been looking forward to getting her feet wet.

Sitting unsteadily in the boat, she forwent the oars, sure that there was nobody around to see her use a little bit of magic.

"Gesegle."

She moved forward, gliding through the murky water as she admired the ghostly light. There was something truly magical about this lake, an aura of pure harmony that thrummed through the witch's heart.

Scanning the water, she was relieved to see the blade of a familiar sword break the surface, it's familiar runes etched into the surface of the metal. A familiar, thin arm held it aloft, the shine of the sword glinting in the early morning sun. Merlyn felt a tear fall from her cheek. She hadn't even noticed that she was crying.

~

If Gwen hadn't been the daughter of a blacksmith, then replicating the key would have been a much more difficult task. Fortunately for her, she had spent her lifetime learning her father's trade; it wasn't long before she was holding an identical key to the one still sitting inconspicuously in Morgause's chambers.

Getting the key to Sir Leon was a slightly more challenging task. She had been searched when visiting him in the cells; she couldn't take the risk that the guards would suddenly become competent and find anything incriminating within her possession. Instead, with a far too full basket of laundry in hand, she just happened to stumble, dropping the clothing over the cobbles which were coincidentally right in front of the small window in Sir Leon's cell. It was strange how these things happened.

As she gathered the clothing, she stole a quick glance around her, ensuring that none of Morgana's men were in sight. Sure that she was safe, she passed the key through the small window, careful to use her basket to hide her mild treason. She winced at the tinkle of the iron key against the stone walls, but she needn't have worried: it wasn't long before the maidservant felt a sharp tug upon her string. He had the key.

~

The sound of warning bells echoed through the streets, the signal of Leon's escape. Gwen didn't know if she should be relieved or worried: if the knight was found before he made it to her home, there was no chance of his survival. Morgana would become suspicious of her; there would be no way of Gwen reuniting with her friends. Vaguely, she wondered if Lancelot had found Merlyn and Arthur. She hoped he had: they would need all the people they could get.

Before the maidservant could reflect upon her woesome love life, Sir Leon burst through the door to her home, his eyes wild with adrenaline.

"We haven't got time to waste." Gwen said urgently, thrusting a bundle of cloth into his hands.