When albion needs it most

Chapter 3

Merlin left Camelot as soon as the battle was over. It was too painful to bear. Even after all these years the thought of Arthur brought tightness in his chest. He might have been reluctant to leave in the past but now Merlin wanted nothing but to leave. Things had changed in the citadel though not very much, and all for the best. Gwen had ruled well. But Merlin had to admit that the land was not the same as the one Arthur had ruled. And those slight differences were constant reminders of the King's absence.

He moved on the shore of Avalon, building a small hut for him to live in. It was very solitary, and therefore, very free. There was no secrecy in that house. For once in the first time in his life, the young warlock didn't need to hide his magic, leaving his books and tools hanging around. He pulled the Celtic fruit from out of his bag and studied the elixir. Once concentrated, its juice resembled a dark pink goo. It had a strong sweet smell that was almost sickening. The fruit had the power to make life longer, but only of a few years. Merlin had to use his magic to isolate and enhance the part of it that would make him immortal. And he knew exactly where to find such strength.

He had heard of a tribe of druid living in the woods north to Camelot who used herbs and spices to enhance their powers. Powerful drugs that allowed them to enter into a trance that helped them tap into their magical selves. At first light, he left to meet them, following the directions that would bring him to the ingredients he needed.

The tribe's town could be smelt from afar. The air was filled with humidity and the stunk of skunk. Merlin pulled his scarf under his nose to try to avoid the smell. When he arrived, he saw many children sitting on the grown around a handful of adults who were healing a rabbit. The little creature had encounter injuries when he caught his foot in a trap. His white fur was stained with hard circles of dried blood. A tall old man with a green cape crouched down at the high of the children and placed his hand on the beat's thigh, whispering a few words of magic to heal it.

Merlin realized that a pipe was being passed among the crowd of children, each of them inhaling it before giving it to their neighbor.

A hand was placed upon the sorcerer's shoulder. He turned towards his right, startled. An elder man with a generous white beard was pulling him away.

"We were expecting your presence, young warlock" the man explained. He brought them towards a small used tent. If Merlin thought the smell was bad outside, he wasn't expecting to breathe the air inside the room. It was strong enough to send him into a trance just with the second hands fumes.

"Expecting me?" the warlock questioned.

"Yes Emrys. We have known for a long time now that you were going to come and visit us. My name is Nartred. In the name of all of us, it is my pleasure to welcome you our tribe's residence."

"Thank you for having me."

"Your destiny isn't over young warlock. You have much more ahead of you and we are glad to help you. Please, sit with us, eat, and only after tell us what you need."

Merlin was touched by the druid's hospitality. He sat on the cousin between Nartred and a young lady. She slightly bowed to him, smiling warmly. Her skin was pale, making her bright blue eyes pop out of her face. The dark red hair she wore to her shoulders was curly and waved. It reminded him of the pattern of flames. The color was certainly right. She offered him a bowl of warm soup, a meal he took gladly.

"This is my daughter, Faeria." the old man introduced

"I am enchanted to meet you" Merlin replied

"And so am I, Emrys" she said. "You're story is well known to us. You have a magical strength that we all envy. I cannot understand why a man such as you could ever need our help."