Britain

3,034 years since initial death
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"On your mounts, men!"

The commander's courageous voice reigned over his troops, motivating the battalion of knights following close behind.

"We ride to victory, for Britannia!"

Basked in sunlight, his curly ginger hair and beard was recognizable from afar. For three days and three nights, they all marched over endless fields of green while the commander proudly displayed the Cross of Jesus over his shoulders. 

Strapped to his back was his shield, Pridwen, adorned with the image of the Virgin Mary. Alongside it was a long spear he had named Rhongomyniad, or simply Ron for short. A small dagger with a white hilt was sheathed to his right side, it was called Carnwennan.

Last but not least, his trusty sword. The name of his sword is what puts the fear of the Lord into the hearts of his enemies when they hear of the commander's arrival.

His sword, Caliburnus, was sheathed into his belt. Its steel blade was the sharpest of any of the other weapons he had wielded. With a blade so sharp, it was rumored to slice through iron as through wood. However, this sword carried an alternate name, one most commonly known to the Britons.

Originally found in stone by a lake in Cornwall, Excalibur was the name he preferred for his blade. He carried no more weapons, as this was all he would ever need. Suited for any occasion, the Briton commander charged ahead with hundreds of knights behind him.

His name was Riothamus, the King of the Britons. But just as his sword carries an alternate name, he had another title for himself. The people would soon recognize and consider him a king, but under a different name.

That name is King Arthur.

A wide display of horses galloped over the green fields of Badbury, guided forward by the wind and the commands of their riders. Hundreds of proud Briton knights followed behind on foot with their weapons readied, facing the horizon ahead. They were about to face the might of the opposing Saxon army, approaching them from the opposite side of Mount Badon.

With the Saxons just appearing over the hills, Riothamus halted his troops, forcing them to stop. The Cross of Jesus was gently placed on the grass below as the commander readied his sword. By his side, a man with a dark scruffy beard stopped his horse and removed his gray cloak.

"Are you ready, my friend?" Riothamus asked, turning his head and smiling. 

"You have my sword and my strength, Arthur." The man replied, chuckling a bit along the way.

Riothamus slightly frowned before laughing once more. "Still calling me Arthur, are you now? Whatever is the matter with my current title? If you must know, it defines me as a High King." The full strength of the Saxon invaders was revealed in the distance, as over a thousand men marched slowly towards the center of the field.

"A high king you are, but that is simply the point. It's a title. Besides, it's far too long and complicated. Unlike Arthur, a name that rolls off the tongue, short and sweet. A fitting name for a king if I do say so myself." The man smirked. He was Riothamus' closest and loyal friend, someone who's known him far better than anyone else in Britain.

"Is that why you prefer to be called Merlin rather than Merlinus?"

"The Roman Empire is dead." He responded, slightly lowering his brows as he looked back with a sense of disappointment. This isn't the first time he's had to mention this to Arthur before. "You can drop the Romanized name and leave it behind with them."

Even from Merlin's position, he could tell that Arthur was already rolling his eyes at his response. That was further proven correct by his friend's comment afterwards. "And here I thought Merlinus delivered more of a charm."

For a moment, they didn't speak. The only sounds to enter their ears were the grunts of their steeds, the cool morning breeze that swirled by them, and the swaying of steel weapons, anticipating the duel ahead. 

The two leading knights finally looked back at one another, continuing to share a warm smile. Even when facing certain death, they found the time to cherish each other's company.

Riothamus sighed, rubbing his horse's hair as he raised his head back towards Merlin. "Tell me friend, as this may be our last fight together; what is thy real name? You've spoken before that you carry a hidden birth name, one you seem so reluctant to share."

"This is neither the time nor place for a reminiscence, Merlin is all I wish to be remembered by." The reminding thought of his past slightly ruined the moment. He hated getting emotional, especially right before an important battle.

"Very well. If we are to fall and lose our lives in this battle ahead, then I shall eagerly await to hear the Lord himself announce thy true name as we receive our judgement." Riothamus was often one to joke around at times like this. If anything, even Merlin had to appreciate it.

He just shrugged in return, now developing a more somber tone as he thought of their judgement. "I'm afraid it'll be quite a long time before we meet one another in an afterlife. Quite surely, we'll find ourselves in opposite realms once it's over with."

"Then assure me of your survival, Merlin. We can discuss this further in Camelot, without any fear of dismemberment." Riothamus looked back at the opposing side, witnessing the true scale of their enemy.

Surprisingly, Merlin was able to form a chuckle. Removing his sword from his sheathe, he kept it by his side as he turned to face his friend yet again. "Finally, a promise I know I'll keep. My survival is guaranteed, Arthur. It's you I worry for."

The two of them shared one last look at each other before nodding. At long last, it was time for the battle to begin. Several hundred Britons awaited behind their commander on foot. Banners danced along to the wind, bearing the symbols of British tribes that unified into the single Briton legion.

Arthur raised his sword, shouting at the top of his lungs for all the knights to hear. "Let the holy cross stand upright in the face of our battle! May our Lord, Christ, guide our blows today!"

His sword lowered, signaling the charge against the invading Saxon army. The pounding of a thousand boots echoed throughout the hill, striking fear into any Saxon who may hear it. A few dozen cavalry arrived from the back, already reaching the front to charge beside their commander.

The Saxons immediately prepared their formation. Every single soldier on the frontline bashed their long orange shield into the ground, taking cover behind them. They had formed an unbreakable wall of shields, spanning their entire battalion. Spears were placed behind the shields as archers readied themselves in the back with their bows drawn.

Before the Britons reached their frontline, the Saxon archers released their devastating volleys of arrows. With shields raised, the incoming rain of arrows were deflected as only a small handful of cavalry and knights were struck. Arthur and Merlin maneuvered to the sides, narrowly dodging the ranged assault.

Everyone braced for imminent collision. The Briton cavalry were only a few meters away from the Saxon shield wall. They knew this spelled death, but their bravery far outweighed their own fears. When their determination defines their pride, they perform the unthinkable. Whether it be an act of valor or the actions of madness, nothing could deter them from their path ahead.

That's when the cavalry vaulted over the shield wall, breaching their defenses. Many of the knights on horseback dismounted immediately as their horses trampled several of the Saxons. Merlin watched his mount stumble into a few soldiers, eventually falling over against the grass. He couldn't help but feel bad for the poor animal, but his focus was soon placed on the battle as his survival instinct kicked in.

Hundreds of more Britons arrived at the scene from the front. While the Saxons were distracted by the breach of cavalry, the shield wall had already crumbled before the main charge. The Britons bashed themselves against the fallen wall, easily breaking through. They swarmed inside, with weapons raised high in the air. War had finally begun.

Weapons clashed, the sound of steel echoed throughout the hill. The screaming ensued, but it was music to Merlin's ears at this point. War didn't bother him, the pain of being slashed away was a mere tickle to him. It was nothing but a scratch.

The smell of blood was the only minor inconvenience. It was something he never became used to. But it didn't deter him from fighting on, managing to avoid incoming attacks. Throughout the fight, his eyes scanned the fields for Arthur.

His stamina never dropped, allowing him to keep a steady breath during each brawl. Without any armor weighing him down, he only wore his ragged grey cloak, a dark tunic and blackened leggings. He sacrificed defense in favor of mobility, and it paid off.

No longer did Merlin rely on his wrathful moments to carry him to victory. There was no anger put into any of the amount of force he swung his blade with. Elegant strikes were all he needed as his rage deteriorated away. Counterattacks proved to be the most efficient strategy, as a deflected attack caught the enemy unaware.

Though sometimes, he had to take the initiative and make the first move. Rushing in for a forward attack, he raised one foot and kicked a Saxon back with full strength. His assailant collapsed backwards, giving Merlin the opportunity to lunge the tip of his blade into his enemy's torso. The life in the man's eyes faded away, causing Merlin to hesitate briefly and stare back.

"Where did you learn that move, eh?" Arthur's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He whipped his head back and saw his closest ally cover behind his shield as he stood beside him.

"Hellas, or Greece as you may call it now." Merlin retrieved his blade and took a few steps back, locking shoulders with Arthur. "I wouldn't recommend trying it often, it's very situational."

They continued their assault, keeping close to one another throughout the battle. At one point, Merlin removed his cloak and whipped it as a scare tactic when facing one tougher opponent. Throwing it forward, he had only his tunic to keep him covered, and his speed only increased as a result.

Eventually, less Saxons surrounded them, and the remaining ones alive were steadily exiting the battlefield. After almost an hour of the same routine, the battle came to an end. The result was a victory for the Britons of Great Britain. All the remaining Saxons retreated over the hills, fleeing from the battlefield.

"That should have them scurrying back to Saxony!" Arthur waved his sword in the air and cheered, along with the other Briton soldiers. Merlin sheathed his weapon, looking up to the sky. It was during moments like these that he was able to breathe normally, without the overwhelming anxiety passed on throughout the past several centuries.

A temporary sense of serenity and calmness is what he needed as several memories rushed through his head. He often wonders how he got here in the first place. Of all the countries in the world, all the nations and cultures to experience; he found himself here amidst the battlefront yet again.

It's been over a hundred years since he first arrived in Britain. After the disaster in Pompeii, he remained in Europe for a few centuries. Given what he had been through, he needed a distraction. Anything to get over his losses, he relied on the one choice to release his anger. Warfare was the only method he depended on.

He had been all over Eurasia and the Middle East by now. He fought in the Marcomannic War in 170 AD against the German barbarian attacks, and defended the Roman Empire during the Imperial Crisis in 281 AD. Later, in 365 AD, he survived a major earthquake and tsunami in Cyprus that brought upon destruction to the Mediterranean.

Throughout these adventures, Markus was the name he kept as he searched for his true purpose. He knew he was destined for something greater, but he couldn't figure it out. Every war he fought in gave him a temporary purpose, to fight for the nation he believes in and secure peace. But it never mattered in the end. Wars will always be fought.

At one point, his adventures took him to the eastern side of the world. He found himself in a nation called Cathay. Although it seems that even there, he couldn't escape the natural human instinct of warfare. At the very least, he enjoyed experiencing the customs of their culture in Cathay, or as it would be known later; China.

By this point, he was starting to lose track of everything he's ever done. After his time in China, he headed back to Europe and found himself in Britain. There, he remained as a peasant known as Merlin for some time before he got back on his feet. In the late fifth century AD, he had met Riothamus in Tintagel. As a young boy, Riothamus soon grew into a formidable knight, learning how to swing a sword by the age of seven.

In his earlier years, Riothamus fought against the Visigoths alongside the Roman Empire. Due to his strength, he survived each battle and rose in the ranks, eventually becoming a Roman commander. Even after achieving such a rank, he never abandoned his home in Tintagel and remained close with Merlin.

Just to the west of Tintagel Castle, Merlin rested in a cave down by the shore. He would have stayed in the castle with the rest, but he felt he needed privacy of his own and found a spacious cave directly close by. Stone and wooden furniture were brought over to the cave as torches lit up the dark surroundings. It would soon be named Merlin's Cave, as the whole city of Tintagel was made aware of his hideout.

Most of his time in the cave was spent on research. He began experimenting with different potions and mixtures to find a cure for his immortality. Traveling across the vast lands of Western Britain, he gathered different flowers, wild berries, and even a wide assortment of colored mushrooms. After acquiring so many items, he was ready to start his work.

Every potion resulted in his sickness, while some even killed him due to undetectable poisons. Reviving inside the cave after each lethal failure, he continued his work until he finally gave up a few years later. All it did was further frustrate him anyways.

However, immortality wasn't all he tried to cure. Ever since Pompeii, he's had episodes of blacking out occasionally. Something was clearly wrong with him. Sometimes, he can still see that lion stalking him during his breakdowns. It couldn't be a hallucination.

Meanwhile, Riothamus grew older. Merlin often watched over him, witnessing his growth and strengthening their friendship. Occasionally, they'd chat by the shore and watch the Atlantic waves crash against the beach. Arthur eventually moved out of Tintagel Castle and arrived east at Glastonbury Abbey. From there, he decided to go to war once more, this time focusing on the Anglo-Saxon invasions and fighting alongside the Britons. Because of this, he would later achieve a new rank, among the highest of any man at the time.

Riothamus became a Romano-British military leader. His greatest feats earned him such a proud title, his name as a High King became his very own highlight.

Merlin joined him soon after, leaving his cave behind and finding him atop the hill of Cadbury where a small but formidable fort was in place. The hills around them were surrounded by a few trees that were then met with the greenest fields of grass he had ever seen in all his years of travels.

Together, they fought against the invading Saxon armies. At times, Riothamus questioned Merlin's age, to which Merlin would jokingly call himself a wizard. He certainly needed a better excuse, as suspicion amongst the others in Cadbury had him paranoid.

Now, they stand proud once more after another victory against the Saxons. The Battle of Mount Badon had been won and over nine hundred Saxon men had fallen to their graves. The Briton cavalry mounted their horses once more, preparing to ride back to their home in Cadbury, Somerset. Or as it was properly known, Camalet. Riothamus had always preferred to call it Camelot, he says it sounded far nicer to his ears.

"Merlin, you seem troubled. Is anything the matter, perhaps?" Arthur noticed his friend staring at the sky, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Upon approaching him on horseback, he snapped back to reality.

He grabbed his fallen cloak and mounted his horse before turning back to Arthur. "I'm granting the dead a moment of silence. You know I find no joy nor value in taking anyone's life away."

"You can mourn those barbarians, I'll mourn my fallen Brits. For now, let us ride. We can ponder together at the hill fort." They galloped down the field along with the other knights. Along the way, the cross of Jesus Christ was handed back to Arthur who continued to carry it behind his shoulders.

Merlin still felt slightly distraught. Over a thousand men died today in what can only be considered as a minor battle in this war. It needed to end. "Arthur, if I may; how many Saxon lives did you claim today?"

"More than you, that's for sure!" His commander was never one to take anything seriously, and Merlin was beginning to find it irritating. "How about you, friend?"

"I don't count the number of my victims." He donned his cloak's hood and concealed his frown.

Arthur on the other hand continued his jests. "I'll see to it one day, scholars will write of this day and claim that I, King Arthur, personally killed all nine-hundred Saxons today!"

While his friend cheered with the other knights, Merlin stayed quiet.

The sun continued to shine against their backs, lighting the colorful fields of green straight back home.

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Historical Notes:

The Ancient (Celtic) Britons have inhabited Great Britain since the Iron Age and into the Middle Ages. They were composed of over 23 major tribes. Although the Britons would later find themselves under attack by Vikings, they both shared a common enemy and focused on halting the conquest of the Anglo-Saxon Empire.

The Anglo-Saxons have often attacked eastern and southern points of Great Britain centuries before their official invasion.

Riothamus (Riotimus) is heavily theorized and believed to be the living depiction of King Arthur. Ancient historical records dating back to the tenth century AD mention a Briton king named Arthur at the Battle of Badbury. This is further backed by an alternate record mentioning Riothamus in several latin letters at the time.

The legend of King Arthur only began in the twelfth century, a few centuries after his name was used in multiple battle documents alongside the name Riothamus.

There are multiple real-life documents of the Battle of Badon, all of which mentioned King Arthur well before his 'legend' was ever told. One of them, written in the early 9th-century by a Welsh monk named Nennius, claimed: "-there fell in one day 960 men from one charge by Arthur; and no one struck them down except Arthur himself."

A reconstructed depiction of Tintagel Castle featuring Merlin's Cave below

An alternate depiction of Tintagel Castle

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