Merlyn's Final Truth

The Darkest Hour P2

Arthur was rather rudely awoken to the loud sound of his breakfast tray clattering on the table, the object of his dreams apparently in no mood to be gentle. Briefly, the prince wondered if she should be working, considering her sudden illness the night before. Arthur himself had carried her to her chambers, allowing the feast to continue in his wake. He wasn't very hungry anyway. But he was neither brave nor stupid enough to argue with his servant, and besides, he enjoyed her company.

"Merlyn!" he moaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He turned to face her, but she had her back to him, jerking open the curtains to allow the morning light to temporarily blind him.

"Merlyn!" he shouted again, thoroughly annoyed. She wasn't being herself today. He held a pillow over his head, relying on the comfort of darkness. His brief respite was interrupted, however, by a strange banging sound reverberating through his room.

"Merlyn!" he cried once again, unable to fathom what she could possibly be doing.

"That's not me." she replied. Arthur lifted his pillow away from his face, hoping that whomever was being so loud would just leave him be.

Naturally, that was never going to happen.

"Excuse me, sire." Sir Leon burst through the doors, his expression grave. The prince sighed, throwing his pillow off the bed and sat up, trying to maintain a certain regal appearance despite his undressed state.

"You're needed in the council chambers as a matter of urgency." the knight reported, worry lacing his tone.

Arthur closed his eyes for a brief moment, realising the relative peace of the past years had finally come to an end. He could only hope that another immortal army wasn't on the horizon: they were far too much trouble to contend.

~

The prince couldn't say he was surprised to see the number of knights gathered in the council chambers, a lone woman, a peasant judging by her clothing, sobbing in the closed circle of men. Gaius was there, comforting her, though he didn't seem to be having much luck. Agravaine walked solemnly towards him, his serious frown doing nothing to placate Arthur's nerves.

"What's happened to her?"

"Her village was attacked." his uncle reported, shuffling back towards the girl.

That was odd. There hadn't been any major attacks on any of the outlying villages since Morgana disappeared. Yes, a few bandits had slaughtered some errant cattle, but none had dared to truly defy a kingdom which had defeated an immortal army. It would, in theory, be suicide.

"By who?" he inquired, wondering if his beloved sister had stooped to destroying the lives of innocents in the hope of creating unrest amongst his people. It hurt him, sometimes, to realise how much she'd changed. She wasn't the Morgana he knew, not anymore.

Agravaine shrugged, mystified. "It's not entirely clear, sire."

Arthur nodded absentmindedly, slowly approaching the sobbing girl. Her head was bowed, her clothes ragged, but when she slowly lifted her head, there was something so very fearful in her eyes. She had seen something terrible. He had seen enough of war to be sure of that.

"What's your name?" the prince asked, looking kindly down upon the poor girl. He bent his knees, crouching to her height, hoping he appeared a little less threatening.

"Drea." she answered timidly, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden attention. Her gaze flitted across the faces of his men, their imposing, red cloaks doing nothing to calm her anxious fidgeting.

"Drea, I'm Arthur. Don't be frightened." he murmured calmly, watching as the girl's face crumbled, sobs wracking her thin frame. He wished that he didn't have to do this, but they needed to know what they were facing. "Tell me what happened."