Emerging from atop the hill is a young man, his figure silhouetted against the sky. Clad in humble attire, it becomes evident that he hails from more modest origins – a family of farmers, to be exact. With resolute steps, this young man embarks on a journey toward the hill, unaware of the distant kingdom that awaits him. A realm foreign to his familiarity, he approaches it with a blend of trepidation and anticipation, a mixture of uncertainty and eagerness for new experiences.
Yet, concealed from his understanding is the pivotal role destiny has designated for him. Unbeknownst to him, the very fate of this kingdom teeters on the edge, poised to tip onto the shoulders of this unassuming youth named Merlin.
***
As he traverses the unfamiliar landscape, Merlin's thoughts are a whirlwind of emotions. The wind whispers through the trees, carrying the scent of adventure and the weight of responsibility.
His journey takes him through sprawling meadows adorned with vibrant wildflowers and across babbling brooks that seem to greet him with playful melodies. The air is alive with the hum of insects and the distant calls of birds, creating a symphony of nature that underscores his solitary trek.
With each step, the horizon expands, revealing the grandeur of the kingdom he is now a part of.
Towering spires and majestic castles punctuate the landscape, a stark contrast to the humble thatched-roof cottages he left behind.
The cobblestone streets thrummed with an animated tapestry of humanity, a symphony of various walks of life converging in Camelot's heart.
Each passerby's attire told a story of cultures and histories woven intricately together within this vibrant realm.
As Merlin ambled through the labyrinthine streets of Camelot, a surge of exhilaration overtook him.
The amalgamation of diverse individuals and bustling market stalls ignited a spark of wonder within him.
Even the sentries stationed along the way became a spectacle of their own, an enthralling novelty for Merlin's eyes.
Never before had he witnessed guards bedecked in such opulent finery, the regal uniforms adorned with the renowned Pendragon Symbol.
Etched in the form of a resolute dragon, the emblem emanated an aura of unwavering strength and indomitable willpower. The guards' attire, a brilliant crimson hue, mirrored the flames of a relentless fire, an emblematic homage to the perpetuity of their spirit.
A testament, perhaps, to the Pendragon Family's commitment to their legacy – a legacy held in high regard, resonating through the annals of a kingdom's history, fortified by its triumphs during the great purge.
Yet, amid the ebb and flow of the bustling crowds, Merlin soon grasped a stark reality.
Here, in this city of splendor and promise, one's voice was often overshadowed by the jingling of coin.
A hard truth that left Merlin at a disadvantage, his own purse less than accommodating for the whims of fortune. Weariness gnawed at him as he trod the well-worn path of his journey, propelling him toward a haven of solace and hope – a nearby tavern.
***
Stepping into the tavern's warm embrace, Merlin was met with a peculiar tranquility.
It seemed that the patrons were immersed in their own revelry, a chorus of laughter and melodies, sparing no attention for the new arrival.
The air was heavy with the smell of ale, wood-smoke, and roasted meat. The laughter and melodies created a unique kind of atmosphere, warm and inviting.
Unperturbed by this indifference, Merlin entertained the idea of a drink – perhaps just one to soothe his fatigued spirit. Yet, it was information he truly sought, a treasure more valuable than any libation.
Summoning his resolve, Merlin ventured to the bar, his voice a tentative murmur as he addressed the bartender.
His initial attempt was lost amidst the symphony of voices and clinking glasses, compelling him to speak louder on his second try. This time, his plea found its mark, and the bartender shifted his gaze to Merlin.
"Care for an Olsen-Water or a Mals-Beer?" The bartender's voice resonated with a rich timbre, a reflection of his years and his experiences.
The bartender's head was a veritable forest of a beard. Its reaches took on every hue and color, weaving together to form a perfect, chaotic harmony. The bartender's eyes were obscured by his wild, shaggy hair, his body clothed in loose-fitting garments of dull, earthy colors. The bartender's hands were calloused and rough, the result of a lifetime of hard work.
Politely declining the offer, Merlin broached his true purpose.
"I apologize, but I'm not here to place an order. I'm in search of Gaius, the court physician. Would you be so kind as to direct me to his whereabouts?"
The bartender's response held a trace of incredulity, as if Merlin had posed an absurd question. "Gaius? A court physician's location should be apparent, don't you think?"
Merlin's brow furrowed, his confusion evident.
"Certainly, within his practice, but the specifics elude me."
A sigh of resignation escaped the bartender's lips. "Very well, the court physician's chambers reside within the main castle itself. Approach the guards and make your inquiry. And if I may offer some advice, if you're seeking further discourse, a handful of silver coins might foster a more receptive audience. Otherwise, I wish you well in your endeavor."
With those parting words, the bartender left Merlin to his thoughts.
'Within the main castle? I hadn't realized Gaius held such prominence. How, then, did my mother establish a connection with someone of his stature?'
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Such musings accompanied Merlin as he embarked on the path leading him closer to the castle's towering gates, the enigma of Gaius now an intriguing puzzle he yearned to solve.
***
Arriving at the imposing edifice of the Big Castle, Merlin couldn't help but be swept away by its sheer magnitude and breathtaking beauty. The colossal structure stood before him, a testament to the architectural prowess of the time.
Yet, what truly captured his awe were the four intricately carved gargoyles stationed at the entrance. Though not imposing in terms of size, their meticulous craftsmanship was nothing short of astounding.
Each detail seemed to breathe with life, giving an eerie sense that they might spring to life at any moment.
A thought whispered through Merlin's mind – could this craftsmanship be a result of sorcery? The notion hung in the air as he scrutinized the statues, a silent observer lost in contemplation.
Yet, the purpose of his journey soon resurfaced in his thoughts.
He redirected his attention toward the entrance, where a contingent of guards stood sentinel.
Their expressions were as inscrutable as the castle walls, an embodiment of dedication to their duty:
´Protect the castle at all costs.´
This formidable presence was not lost on Merlin.
He surveyed the scene, seeking a potential approach. However, the stony gazes of the guards gave him pause. Uncertainty swirled in his mind, a feeling of trepidation taking root.
"Perhaps," Merlin muttered under his breath, "I don't necessarily need to engage one of them." His gaze drifted to a young man positioned near the entrance, distinct from the uniformed guards.
The youth's attire was unpretentious yet of a superior quality compared to Merlin's own. A thought surfaced in Merlin's mind – could this be a servant?
The notion held weight, as Merlin imagined the young man as a discreet figure in the grand scheme of the castle's affairs. And so, with purpose and intrigue guiding his steps, Merlin made his way toward the presumed servant.
***
The young man remained oblivious to Merlin's approach, prompting him to gently tap the young man's shoulder to capture his attention.
As their eyes met, Merlin found himself momentarily taken aback.
Before him stood a visage of striking handsomeness, characterized by eyes that gleamed a vibrant shade of blue. The blond hair that had previously caught Merlin's gaze now seemed to shimmer like spun gold. This youth, only slightly taller than Merlin, held an air of quiet confidence.
Not one to be dwarfed in stature, Merlin bore no trace of shortness.
The young man's complexion was fair and unblemished, radiating an air of purity.
Merlin found himself entranced, a mixture of shock and awe settling upon him.
'A servant, yet bearing looks that could rival even kings,' Merlin mused inwardly.
Yet, as the shock dissipated, a twinge of envy replaced it.
The handsome youth regarded Merlin with a mixture of confusion and perhaps a hint of disdain.
"Do I know you?" he inquired, his tone laced with a tinge of dismissiveness.
Merlin sensed the undertone but chose to overlook it, rationalizing,
'In the midst of the nobility's pressures, this lad might be weighed down by all that goes on around him.'
However, he couldn't help but find fault with the young man's manner of address.
'Is this how one speaks to a fellow citizen?'
Merlin's irritation stirred, settling just beneath the surface.
"Listen, errand boy," Merlin retorted, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance, "I merely wished to inquire about the whereabouts of the court physician, Gaius."
The blond youth's response was swift and punctuated by a visible ire. "Errand boy?" he repeated, his eyes traveling up and down Merlin's attire, assessing him.
Unwilling to display vulnerability, Merlin mirrored the scrutiny.
His gaze landed upon a sheathed sword at the young man's side, its craftsmanship undeniably exquisite.
'Seems like he serves a well-heeled knight; perhaps provoking him wasn't the wisest choice. Well, no use fretting now,'
Merlin's thoughts meandered in a nonchalant cadence.
Yet, the exchange continued, and the blond male´s words carried a sharp edge.
"Look, brat, I may not know who you are – and from the looks of it, probably no one does – but I assure you, your arrogance is a grave misstep on your part."
The blond youth held Merlin's gaze, his own eyes a window into a prideful spirit.
'Indeed, this servant carries his station with remarkable pride,'
Merlin noted, his inner musings interwoven with a wry undertone. "Don't mistake your role as a royal lackey for the same rank as your Master. Or should I address you as a royal brat?"
Merlin's words hung between them, a charged silence punctuating the air.
The young man's bewildered expression seemed to indicate a lack of understanding, a fleeting thought in Merlin's mind –
´Perhaps he's innately lacking in wit. But then again, such exceptional beauty must come at a cost.'
Before further words could be exchanged, the intrusion of resonating bells fractured the scene. The clamor of guards came into view, converging upon a figure cloaked in secrecy.
A swift escape ensued, the figure darting away with the guards in relentless pursuit.
Echoes of "Catch the Sorcerer!" reverberated through the air.
A momentary pallor overtook Merlin's features, yet it was fleeting, vanquished by the resolute pull of his focus.
He turned back to the young man beside him, poised to continue their conversation.
"So, are you goi-"
His sentence remained unfinished, severed by the young man's abrupt action. In a swift movement, the handsome youth propelled himself toward the direction of the guards' pursuit.
As he sprinted, he directed his voice toward Merlin, "You're fortunate for now, but rest assured, your face is etched in my memory!"
With those parting words, the young man faded into the bustling marketplace, leaving Merlin to muse,
"Thanks for being of no help."
***
With sword in hand, the blond male trailed the contingent of guards as they surged forward, drawn to the spectacle before him.
The scene unfolding before him held a somber weight, a convergence of fate's design.
The mysterious man, shrouded in a hooded cloak, was not so much captivated by the guards as ensnared within their unrelenting circle.
He had become the prey, surrounded by sharp, glinting swords held with an unwavering resolve.
A wall of guardians encircled the hooded figure, their stance solid and unwavering, like an indomitable fortress standing against the currents of time.
The guards, their faces masked with a resolute determination, brandished their swords with a power that echoed their loyalty to their duty.
The blond observer's gaze shifted from the guards to the hooded man, a soul stripped bare before the judgment of fate.
This man, appearing to be in his thirties, was a portrait of disarray.
His body bore the traces of his journey – sweat-soaked and besmirched with the dirt of countless miles.
His clothes, once garments of pride, now hung in tatters, fragments of a life cast into chaos.
He stood, not through his own strength alone, but seemingly driven by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
As if in a choreographed symphony of fate, the guards began to close in, their movements synchronized, narrowing the circle like a closing vice.
Yet, in a moment that defied expectations, the swords withdrew, a pause in the symphony of tension.
"Wait!"
The blond male's voice rang out like a desperate plea, a plea that found itself entwined with the currents of inevitability.
However, time was a cruel mistress, and the words hung suspended for a heartbeat too short.
The guards' resolve solidified, and the swords descended.
The moment was a macabre dance, the result of choices already set in motion. The swords found their mark, puncturing the flesh of the hooded man.
Nine blades converged, a symphony of violence that left no room for escape. Blood flowed like a river, staining the ground and sealing the man's fate.
With practiced precision, the guards withdrew their swords, leaving behind a tableau of life extinguished.
Amidst the aftermath, one guard stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of a king's command.
"It is the King's order. There is no clemency for a sorcerer's life. Once a sorcerer's intent is certain, it becomes our solemn duty to deliver the final blow. To cleanse the land of darkness."
His gaze shifted to the blond male, a figure known to him.
"I apologize, Prince Arthur, but such is the decree."
The words hung in the air, a decree echoing with finality.
Prince Arthur's eyes, empty and devoid of light, remained fixed on the lifeless form before him. With a heavy heart, he turned away from the scene, his steps leading him back to the palace, a path guided by duty, pain, and a destiny intertwined with the threads of a kingdom's fate.