Chivalry ♛ King Arthur

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WHEN Arthur woke, it was to fading images of the same dream that had haunted him since childhood. There was a weight on his stomach. Lying next to him was Frida, still asleep, one of her arm's draped across him, hand loosely holding onto the thin fabric of his stained tunic. Her brows were in a deep furrow, making him wonder if she could sense his unease.

The Mage sat back on her haunches, away from the burning brazier that Excalibur rose from. She could feel the sword's power and knew of the memories it brought back when Arthur grasped onto the hilt with both hands. "You are resisting the sword," she told him in a grim tone, "the sword isn't resisting you." Excalibur wanted to be in the hands of a Pendragon. He need only to accept that power.

Arthur shifted, careful not disturb Ida as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He gripped onto the edge of the mattress and shook his head, keeping his gaze low.

"It should be clear by now that whatever it is that you and your friends think you want from me, I am not it." He didn't want any of this. He didn't want people dying in his name, the power, or the responsibility. He wanted his life back. A life that no longer existed.

"Not yet," Eydís refuted, looking back over her shoulder at the Born King.

"Not ever!" Art gritted out, unyielding and tired.

She looked ahead, studying the dark leather wrapping on the hilt of the sword. "What do you see when you hold the sword? It is something you've seen before, isn't it? Long before you ever touched the sword." Rhetorical questions, really, as she already knew the answers.

The Mage turned. He looked more uneasy now than he had at the chopping block. "You don't sleep well, do you?" Arthur looked over his shoulder, not meeting her unnerving gaze. "What if you could make the dreams go away?"

The dreams did go away sometimes. They were chased away on nights that he was near her. He never told Frida that more than a handful of times when he had climbed through her window that it wasn't because the blacklegs were after him, or because he had gotten into some scuffle, but because he wanted a good night's sleep.

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Frida brushed her hair back, beginning to plait the dark strands when her sister appeared behind her. She wondered if this cold, stoic being could truly be the sister she had loved and lost so long ago. "Come with me," Eydís demanded.

"Where are we going?" Ida asked, trailing a few steps behind her. She didn't see how going anywhere would be a good idea considering that all of Vortigern's men would be searching for them in every crack and crevice.

"You will soon see." The cryptic response was not the answer Frida was looking for. At the entrance to the cave were five saddled horses. Bedivere and Percival had already mounted theirs, but Arthur was fidgeting with the packs on his saddle. He had never been fond of horses. Regardless, he mounted the speckled mare as the two women did.

The curtain of foliage was pulled aside to allow them passage. From the encampment, they rode west, toward the river. Rubio and Barric were already at the small dock. They had filled the lanterns, stocked fresh water, and packed a crate of food. More provisions than would be needed for what was meant to be no more than a two-day journey.

Barric tended the horses, roping them together after the five of them had boarded to be led back to camp. Rubio then untied the mooring line, tossing it over the railing to Bedivere before pushing the boat off.

The riverboat traveled northward, moving swiftly through the dark water, pushing farther into the wilderness.

With a half day's journey, they arrived at a massive island that split the river in two. It was permanently dark, with clouds shrouding the sun and a low hanging fog that clung to the shoreline. Trees were mangled and twisted into odd shapes. Their leaves dark and diseased. What creatures lay beyond, Frida could not hope to imagine.

Atop the peak of the island were the crumbling remains of a tower. An old mage tower, like the one at Camelot. "Welcome to the Darklands," Bedivere announced, no small amount of displeasure lacing the words.

Arthur and Frida exchanged apprehensive looks as they disembarked the ship on a narrow wooden plank. They followed the knight and Mage into the forest line, to the center of an ancient stone structure.

Eydís walked in a large circle on the inside of the stones emptying a sash of crushed stone, herbs, and charcoal. The ground moved beneath their feet, slithering, crawling. Alive. Arthur looked down, brows knitted together. "Are you scared?" She asked, gaze dark and piercing

He looked around. "I think I can manage," Art replied, cocksure. Frida knew that was the wrong answer. This was a place where darkness dwelled.

"You should be scared," the Mage said. There was a loud crack of thunder followed by a downpour, but it only rained in within the bounds of the uplifted stones. Bedivere motioned for Ida to step out of the stone ring.

Arthur pulled the hood of his coat up, giving Frida one last fleeting glance. Then he was veiled from their eyes. Gone into the Darklands to discover truths.

There was no sign that the sun had set, yet it grew dark. There was no moon, no stars, just a grey blanket spread overhead that masked everything. Oil lanterns kept the boat's deck illuminated. The flames flickered, but there was no wind.

Ida felt she could not sit still, not when she was worried about Art, not when there was a strange feeling in her gut that would not fade. "Time passes differently in the Darklands," Bedivere explained, hoping it would stop the woman's insistent pacing. Frida stopped and looked back up at the peak of the island, now barely visible for the clouds and darkness.

"Even the wisest cannot say what each person will see," the Mage butted in, stripping the leaves off some strange herb she'd collected from the forest floor. "A curse lies upon the isle. It seeks to lead you astray, to trap you." The old knight gave the Mage a harsh look as if he knew what her next actions would be.

"Can you feel it?" Eydís inquired, dark eyes gleaming in the low light with something dangerous. There had been a strange weight on her chest since first laying eyes upon the Darklands. One that felt as if it could crush her. Frida gasped at the pain that blossomed in her heart, spreading through her veins like wildfire. Her sister rose from the deck. "It calls to the power that you have kept repressed."

Ida blindly grasped onto the railing of the docked boat. Needing something to help keep her upright. She felt sick. "Do not fight it or it will consume you," Eydís warned.

Frida held tight to her rapidly beating heart, trying to calm herself or stop the pain, but she couldn't help but fight the darkness. Tears streaked down her paling cheeks. She could not go on like this, not burning on the inside. Breathless, her knees gave out and she fell onto the deck. "It hurts!" Frida cried. It hurt worse than any burn or cut she had ever received.

Bedivere leaped to his feet, startled to see that Ida's tears had turned to blood. He could watch no longer. "Stop, Mage!"

The Mage circled her. "Because you are weak," she sneered, not breaking the concentration that focused the darkness upon her defenseless sister. "For now, you are nothing more than a piece of malleable metal. Weak and unformed-" Eydís stopped pacing when Frida fell backward, body convulsing "-but the pain is the hammer that will forge you!"

Percival shouted at the Mage again, this time she heeded their commands. Eydís turned her gaze away from her sister and back to the island, maddened for the interruption. It had taken hours of torment by Merlin's hand before she could fully control her own abilities. Only then was she granted the mantle of his acolyte. Frida could not run from her destiny any longer.

The old knight held Frida's seizing body, calming her in an iron embrace. He looked up at the Mage, dark eyes harsh and mistrustful once again. "She is not ready," he told her, but no one could ever be ready for what the Darklands would put them through.