Dainty and Dauntless

Nocturnal emissions:

Waves sing. Waves dance. Waves sway. Waves panic. Waves drop and I call out your name.

                                   💭💭💭                                 

NATALIE, 18 years.

                                                                                                 ...
The night in Camelot was one of deepening tension, the air thick with a sense of foreboding that hung over the kingdom like a shroud. The moon, half-hidden behind roiling clouds, cast a pale, ghostly light over the battlements and towers of the great castle. Shadows moved across the walls, flickering and shifting with the unsteady light of torches that lined the ramparts, where vigilant guards stood watch, their faces set in grim determination. The usual calm of Camelot had been replaced by a palpable anxiety, a fear that something dreadful was about to unfold.

Far off in the distance, beyond the city's walls, the faint sound of war horns echoed across the darkened fields, carried on the wind like a mournful wail. The kingdom's enemies had gathered, a massive army of dark figures silhouetted against the night. Tonight, Morgana had gone all out.
She wanted Arthur's head.

Inside Camelot's walls, the atmosphere was equally charged. Armored knights hurried through the stone corridors, their armor clanking with every step as they made their way to the armory.

In one of the kingdom's inner chambers, the mood was no less dire. The chamber was dimly lit by a single candelabra on a large, oaken table in the center of the room, its flickering flames casting long, wavering shadows across the stone walls. Maps and battle plans were spread out across the table, weighed down by goblets and daggers, the ink still fresh on some of the hastily drawn diagrams.
King Arthur stood at the head of the table, his face set in a mask of stoic resolve. His eyes, cold and calculating as he listened to his advisors speak in low, urgent tones.
He raised his head, his expression hardening into one of grim determination.
With a final glance at his advisors, he nodded once, decisively, and turned to leave the chamber, his knights following close behind.
The battle for Camelot had begun.

The night had its promise for war very fulfilled. The battle was brutal, thousands of corpses lay out in the field. Brave men had fallen tonight, most but not Arthur.
"Why can't that fool die?" Morgana's frustration was unbearable.
Still, the brutes she had for soldiers had failed to slay her brother.

Fine! She charged forward. She was going to do it herself.

Merlin caught sight of Morgana, creeping forward. Her eyes were stuck on someone. He followed her stoned gaze to see Arthur, battling with the enemies. What was she planning?
Merlin's eyes flew back to Morgana. She had a dagger in hand, and she was drawing closer. He had to hurry. He chanted a spell.
A huge fire broke out and made a barrier between Arthur and Morgana.

Arthur drew back and looked around.
"Merlin, is that you?"

Merlin stormed in, "Arthur, we need to leave this place right now. Follow me."
Arthur had no time to object. He followed Merlin back to the castle.

Morgana had stopped in her tracks when the flames had risen. Looking at the size of the flames, she boiled with anger. "MERLIN!!!"

She crossed the fire and began hounding for them. She had a hard time tracking them with the large numbers of knights and her men scattered all over. She cast a spell fast then rose to the air and looked down below. "Where are they?"
Just then a door shut, she squinted hard and managed to see both men make their way into the castle.