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I: THE END OF AN ODYSSEY

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑, her horse galloping formidably. Even when he was fatigued, the darling horse would not stop. He was one of the best she had taken. Some stallions had been lazy, others had simply been too old to ride. But this horse was young, fit, and eager. Nothing better than a willing horse to take you off into the sunset.

The woman had the reins interweaved with her fingers, squeezing the leather between her index fingers and thumbs. For months now, she had only seen the likes of bandits and slave traders. Her only companions had been the deer and the rabbits, which she had to hunt to survive. She had not laid eyes on a real civilisation in a while. She was used to the isolation, despite its torture. At least she had some liberties, such as her freedom. Ishild wouldn't have known how to cope in a cage.

After days of riding and sleepless nights, she was nearing her destination. Winding through the maze of bushes and wildflowers and beyond the lush meadow below, was Camelot. The castle was roughened from its age, yet there was still a gleam in the towers when the sun fell upon it. The turrets seemed to touch the clouds, as if they were reaching up to the cyan heavens. The crows crooned over the whistle of the wind, hovering over the castle, before swooping down to glide through the meadow.

Relief washed over her as her stallion trampled through the carpet of flowers. Finally, after many months, her journey had come to an end. Her stomach twisted as the sounds of the city became clearer. A solitary black raven crooned to the beat of her heart.

Her stomach groaned and ached. The princess's refusal to stop riding through the night had left her starving. Any food she came by was measly at it was- she was accustomed to lavish banquets and overindulgence. To go from that to nearly no food at all had left Ishild with belly aches that lasted for days. Now, she was used to the hunger. Thirst, however, was something she still struggled with.

Licking her lips, she pulled at the reins. Her horse halted several feet away from the market, where merchants were offering their produce. The clamour of laughter and merriment rang through the air. She couldn't remember the last time she heard genuine, humoured laughter. Recently, she'd only been exposed to hoarse cackles and amused grunts. She dug her heels in again, and the horse trotted onwards. The people jumped out of the way at the sound of hooves on cobblestones. They stared at the woman, whispers fluttering over their lips. Ishild gripped the reins tighter, lowering her head.

Passing through the market, she came across several houses and a couple of inns. She had considered to stop and have a drink, but her stubbornness forbade her.

Finally, the gates! Trotting through the drawbridge, she was met by several unsavoury looks as she entered the courtyard. Most of them were guards or knights, dressed in silver chain mail and claret capes. Each of the wore a golden dragon crest on their breasts, a symbol of the Pendragon dynasty. She did her best to ignore their gaze and urged her horse to trot onwards. She steered the stallion towards the steps to the entrance, where several men were mounting their horses. They were all dressed in silver, draped in red cloaks and hilts on their hips.

One man caught her eye. He was blond, his hair as golden as the sun. It made him look prestigious like a trophy, or as opulent as a crown. She couldn't help but wonder if he was wearing a crown now, and it had simply disappeared into his golden mane. The way his hair was spiked against the blue-hued horizon gave him a glowing appearance. He was as ethereal as he was fierce, as dauntless as he was fair. His eyes were a deep, bountiful blue. There was a sparkle in them; whether it be pride or vanity, it was intriguing. To some, it may even be attractive.

His shoulders rocked side to side as his horse trotted, equivalent to strutting if he were on foot. He threw his head back and laughed at one of his comrades, a daring sound that made those around him grin. Ishild was not lighted by his chuckles, her blank face leaving nothing but desperation for the men to see. And when the blond man graced her with his glance, he urged his horse to approach with a mellow mien.

"Are you all right, my lady? Are you lost perhaps, or..." He trailed off, expecting for her to answer. It took her a moment to find the words.

"I'm looking for someone."

"Who, a knight?"

"No."

"Then who?"

"The king."

Of course he laughed again, the noise ringing like a fly in her ear. How she wanted to swat him when he mocked her.

"My lady, are you sure you're not lost? Are you ill? You look rather pale—"

"I'm not out of my wits," she said. "Quite frankly, what I'm asking isn't quite outlandish. Unless, you consider visiting my kinsman so unreasonable?"

His smile disappeared. "Kins— you're his niece?" The blond man's face hardened, a sense of entitlement clear in his expression. "Prove it. Who were your parents? What's your name?"

Ishild produced a silver seal from her pocket, encrusted with the image of a lion gorging on the neck of a dragon, as the latter creature spewed smoke and fire, both their tails intertwined. "Ishild Varan of Ayarene. My mother was Uther's sister. King Donovan was my father. And judging that any other knight would've shooed me out rather than exerting his own pride, I'm guessing you're Arthur. And here I thought all princes were different."

"Prince Arthur."

"Whatever, Pendragon," she dismissed. "It's not as if you'd ever use my title, considering where I'm from." She slipped the seal back into her pocket, readying the reins to continue towards the steps, but the prince stopped her.

"Maybe I should reconsider taking you at all if that's the tone you take with me."

He had his arm extended out as if to catch her by the waist. He was far from touching her, but it was no less intrusive.

"Maybe give me some respect before I give you any."

"Don't just assume that I'll be hostile."

"Well you're not proving to me that you aren't."

To Ishild's surprise, he dropped his arm and sighed. "Fine. I know of Ayarene. I don't trust Ayarenians. But you're the daughter of Evangeline, and I know for certain that she was a good woman. I hope that you are too, but you're a magic user."

"Now look who's assuming- I'm not a magic user. I'm forsaken, born without magic."

Arthur shook his head. "Do you take me for a fool?"

This time she laughed. "Do you take me for a liar? I don't use magic. I...I can't. Besides, do you think I'd need a sword if I used magic?"

"Ayarenians are famed swordsman. Yes, I think you'd know both."

Ishild rolled her eyes in an effort to hide her panic. Most didn't see through the ruse, but the cracks in her façade were beginning to widen.

"But...I believe you," he admitted.

She exhaled quietly, playing an annoyed look on her face. "Then take me to Uther."

He adjusted the grip on his reins. "I can't guarantee he'll want to see you."

"You're his son, aren't you? I'm sure it shouldn't be such a feat for you to convince him."

"I...I suppose," he said uncertainly. He grinned suddenly, one filled with as much surprise as amusement. "We're cousins?"

"...I've come to Camelot before, you do realise that?"

"I vaguely remember your mother...but I cannot recall you."

"I was bed ridden for the week. Think it a blessing we didn't meet properly- at least I was spared knowing you any deeper than need be."

He leaned forward, his shoulders once more swaying as his horse shifted. "Quite frankly, I think I would've been disappointed. You're far too rude of a princess."

"You shouldn't call me that," she sneered. "I'm an exile, not a princess."

"Hm," he said, settling more comfortably in the saddle. "I'll take you. But I can't guarantee what you're looking for."

"How can you be so sure?"

"My father isn't a king to be trifled with."

"And why would I trifle with him, Pendragon? I'm here on matters that concern the kingdom, not for my own pleasure. Why would I insight challenge?"

He laughed briskly. "Yes, because you have been nothing but cooperative since we've started this conversation."

Ishild's eyes burned. "Had I not discovered you were my blood relative, I'd slap you."

"You're very much allowed to. In fact, since we're of the same blood, it seems almost appropriate to."

"...have you ever met a woman before?"

"Even the notion that you think I'm unaccustomed to the company of women is insulting."

Ishild inhaled, bundling her frustration as she gathered her strength. "Take me to Uther, Pendragon. And I'm not asking anymore."

She rested her hand on the pommel of her sword. She had no intention of using it, at least if Arthur didn't use his. It was safety, and it was power- two things she lacked, but with a swing of her blade regained. His humoured expression dropped.

"Very well, my lady," he said slowly. "Come with me then."

He steered his horse backwards as it turned, rocking his head towards to the castle, urging her to follow. When Ishild lowered her hand from her hilt, he tore his gaze away. He could feel her fiery obsidian eyes boring into his skull as they rode back to the doors of the castle.

She was steered through the narrow hallways by the prince, who walked as if the world was his stage. He enjoyed his strides like there was something magnanimous about them and let those around him enjoy it too. Ishild had thought it to be arrogant of him, a little too self-indulgent; but there was a light in his eyes that held no glory. He genuinely enjoyed his company, the kitchen staff who hurried past and the servants who bowed to him in respect. They all seemed to genuinely like him too. The solidarity and this compassion were so alien to Ishild. But it was when the staff of the castle looked to her that things began to feel all too familiar.

Eyes staring. Haughty glances and sullen glares. A quivering of growling lips.

Arthur turned back once, seeing if she was still there. It was almost as if he was surprised and decided to enquire after her health. She gritted her teeth as her stomach growled, ensuring that she was fine and there was no need to worry. He asked her again, concern tainting his words. She assured him again, her tongue lashing with a bit more spite. Conversation was pointless if he had nothing but blind politeness to offer in discourse.

When they reached the hall, Arthur paused and turned to her. "Why are you here?"

"I'll be telling that to your father in a moment."

"Then tell me now. Why are you here?"

"To talk to the king. To tell him what he does not know."

"Don't speak in half-truths. Say it plainly."

Ishild bristled. "Kellagh is leading a rampage, and he's coming for Camelot. I didn't think my mother would want her country sieged, especially now that it's probably the only country left that I am welcome to." She licked her lips, trying not to give into her raw rage. "Is that plain for you, Pendragon?"

He inhaled- it was not the answer he was expecting. "Plain enough." The prince leant against the wooden panels but pause again. "And...you will be welcome."

And with that, the doors opened.

The king sat in his throne, a gold crown on his head. Uther had not changed much since Ishild last saw him. It must've been twelve, perhaps even thirteen years ago, when her mother had taken her to Camelot. It was during the time that Ishild had been unable to use her magic- it was the only reason Uther had allowed her into his gates. Uther had a little age in eyes- there were wrinkles under them, and the spark in those cyan irises had darkened. His hair was almost gone and greying by the day. There was something lacking in his countenance, as if the greatness he once had was now depleted.

He smiled slightly at the sight of his young son; there was a love of sorts still present in his eyes. Then he looked at her, and it was as if he was watching the world scourge to oblivion. She could hear his thoughts, one poignant scream in the echoing halls of his mind.

Eva!

"Father," Arthur said, not seeming to notice the change in Uther's face, "this is Ishild. She claims—"

"Leave us," the king said.

The prince looked between the two. "Father, I think—"

"Go!"

The prince, deflated, left the room. Ishild was left exposed, as Uther judged her.

"Prove who you say you are," he said shakily. "Show me your seal!"

The wariness in his features soothed, hardening obstinately as arrogance clawed its way onto his proud face. He beckoned her forward, not a stain of compassion left in his countenance. Ishild bounded, fighting against her exhaustion. Her deep breaths were eventually silenced, even as the threat of convulsion arose. Steadying herself, she dug through her pockets, latching onto rough, cool metal. When she presented it to the king, a softness caught hold of his tongue.

"The seal of Varan."

"You see?" she said, her voice breaking. "I am Ishild Varan. I am your sister's daughter."

"But...why are you here then? Why are you—"

"Not dead? I fought. I had to escape Ayarene, I—"

"No. That was not what I meant," he said. He rose, a stream of light illuminating his golden crown. His eyes glowed darkly, as the light outlined him in a majestic silhouette. "Why are you in Camelot? You have not been welcome here for a long time."

Ishild swallowed, straining her eyes. "I had nowhere else to go, your majesty. That, and I realised I had no power to stop what was to happen; but you might."

"What do you mean?"

"My brother, King Kellagh, has watched your toils. He has watched what you have done to magic users over these two decades, and he is done with it. He plans to come to Camelot and take your throne."

The king stalked forward, shedding the light, and shrouded himself in the shadows of the stone hall. "Is that a threat, Ishild?"

She flexed her jaw. Wherever she went, they were always suspecting her, no matter how many times she claimed her innocence. She dared another step, creeping to the shadow's edge. "If this were a threat, you'd know it, Uther. But I pose no threat to you. I came to Camelot because I defied that wretched filth! I came so that you may stop him!"

"And I am meant to believe that? Me, over your brother?"

"Don't dictate to me my own character. I know where my loyalty lies, and it most certainly isn't with the man who orchestrated his own father's death!" Despite the shock that had struck his face, Ishild did not allow him to speak. "I've spent this last year in hiding because I knew what he had done. I do not care for a man who would slaughter his own kin. And that is why, when I have rested, I will leave Camelot and this land for good, and you can never lay your eyes on me again. All I ask is that you listen and heed my warning."

The king stepped back, a sigh escaping his lips. "I am sorry, Ishild. But you know I cannot do that."

"Why?!" she shouted. Her patience had been pounded; politeness was unfeasible at this point.

Uther remained calm. "You know the position that I am in. What would it look like, harbouring a princess of a kingdom known for its magic?"

"I am forsaken, you know this!"

"Do I? I have not known you for many years. How do I not know this is a rouse, a ploy? How do I know you will not betray me, when you've already betrayed your brother?"

"Because I swear! I swear to it. I do it in the name of Evangeline Varan!"

"That is not enough."

"Then I will pay whatever price you want! I just ask for a bed to sleep in and night out of the cold! I will leave Camelot within the week, I promise! I will do what you ask, I'll hide myself in those chambers if you want me being here to remain a secret, just allow me to rest!"

It suddenly became apparent to her how exhausted she was, as if a wall had crumbled from the force of her screams. Her arms felt heavy, the joints on her shoulders aching out of effort. A lull pulled her to the side, her feet crossing over one another, then gravity adjusting her back into an upright position. Her back arched and straightened, her eyes snapping open and close. Each blink was anchored by the blur of her surroundings and the slight echo of the king's voice. Dizziness swirled through her stomach and hammered at her mind, but she swallowed to keep herself from embarrassment.

"How long have you been travelling like this?" Uther muttered, approaching her in slow strides.

"What do you mean?" Her voice was firm despite her shaky disposition.

"How long have you been alone? How often did you come across bandits? And how long have you been starving yourself?"

Ishild looked to the floor, breathing heavily. She wasn't sure how to respond to his interrogation, but the truth was far from her thoughts. "I've been travelling for a while. I'm a little tired, that's all."

"You should go to see Gaius; you remember the physician, yes?"

Her head rose, alarmed by their proximity. "I don't need a physician. I can manage myself."

Uther sighed; he was tired of her, she could tell. His eyes drifted, jaw shifting with the weight of his teeth. As his lips parted, his canines glimmered in the rays of light- he was a creature resisting his prey. "Must you be so difficult?"

"I'm not the one hell-bent on suspecting a suppliant. All I wish is to stay here for a week, then you'll be rid of me. I said I'll do what you want, any feign of sympathy is unnecessary."

"I did not—"

"I didn't come here for approval; I came as a warning. I'll do what I need to survive, and if that requires owing you, then so be it."

His mouth quirked slightly, a gleam of something bitter and proud brushing over his face. Though, in the depths of his dulling irises there was something prickling his conscience, and it appeared he was smiling. Ishild had never seen him smile, but she supposed it was the only thing a worn old king like Uther could manage. "You're much changed from when I last saw you."

She didn't have the heart to reply.

The silence dissatisfied him, and with a sigh, he continued. "What is the exact reason why you left Ayarene?"

"I found out the truth. Donovan was killed by a knight, who was acting on Kellagh's orders. I knew that if my brother found out about me, there was no telling what he would do."

"And how do you know about their plan to attack Camelot?"

"Kellagh's always been very frank about his opinion on you. Before my father died, we were approached by Cenred, and he offered an alliance; in exchange we would take Camelot. Donovan refused, of course, out of respect for my mother and for you. When Kellagh took the throne, he and Cenred made the alliance official, but not public. I suspect, however, you've heard of it by now?"

"There is talk- troops travelling from border to border. Scuffles beyond Nemeth, purges that leave towns desolate. Kellagh and Cenred remain discreet, but I have suspected it for a while." Uther leered, as if he were looking for something to doubt. "You swear to this? There is no lies or trickery in this?"

"I swear. I'm not trying to trick you."

Uther stepped back, taking in the girl's visage. A girl did not seem appropriate to call her anymore, but woman was too mature of a word to use. She was a child still in some respects. But her eyes, they held the weight of eons, as they crackled and flickered like flames under a starless sky. All things, even lies, were purged in the crackling fire.

Uther nodded. He would not question further; it wasn't his way. "Where will you go after Camelot?"

"Dernham. I should be able to pay someone there to get me overseas."

"So you're running from your brother?" the king smirked. "Perhaps you're not as brave as I thought."

Had she had a full stomach, gold hanging from her ears and robes of silk, Ishild would've lashed her tongue. But she bit down, tamed her arrogance, and turned a blind-eye to the comment.

"The ship I plan to leave on is due to depart in two weeks. I'll only stay a fortnight, so I am able to reach there in time."

"Very well. I ask you keep your sword on you."

Ishild's eyebrows quirked. "Why?"

"I've heard of your reputation. Though I can't say I approve, I can either be blinded by my ignorance or take advantage of this opportunity. You are one of the most talented sword-fighters to emerge from Ayarene, and it would be stupid of me not to use your services."

"I'm not an assassin."

"No. But there are scuffles here and there at our borders. Should an opportunity arise, I will be asking for your assistance. No, you're no assassin- your morals are too concrete. You're a soldier, and that is what I need."

"Then I will be a soldier for you to rely on, your majesty." Her head bowed in submission, but her heart was not wholly obedient.

"I am glad you came to me," he said, a smile folding into his mouth. It was more candid, more vivid than the previous one.

Because I will be a compliant killer? she thought, grimacing.

"You don't have to say that," Ishild replied.

"I don't do it out of principle. I'm glad, despite our uncertain introduction. I think it was fated."

"I don't believe in fate."

The answer was so mechanical, that she didn't question Uther's words. It was a belief stronger than anything else in this world, a universal truth that people in the millions believed as a gospel. An irking misinformation, a child's tale manifested in the dying fantasies of adults. Fate was a lie to her. As was destiny.

Uther looked away and called for one of the servants to his side. He was done with the conversation, and for that the princess was glad.

"Take her to the spare chambers...yes, yes! Ishild! I do hope you find your stay here agreeable."

"Thank you. Your majesty."

She did her best to curtsey, failed, and slowly followed the servant as he ushered her out of the hall hurriedly. She caught a glimpse of the dark look on the king's face as she turned the corner. Ishild suspected, even with assurance of Uther, that she was not wanted in Camelot.

The servant did not speak a word to the princess as he led her- he didn't even look back. After strutting up several flights of stairs and rounding several corners, he stopped abruptly before a door and opened it. He muttered something inaudible as she entered and departed.

Dropping her bag, Ishild flopped down onto her bed, exhausted. The bed was soft, with pillows stuffed with duck feathers and sheets of cotton and silk. For one thing, it was better than being under a bed of sticks and leaves. Yawning, she lazily kicked off her boots and climbed under the blankets. Though she still felt her belt and sword at her waist, she couldn't be bothered to unbuckle it. Her eyelids drooped, and she gave into her fatigue. She had spent too many nights fretting and freezing. Now that her odyssey was over, she could sleep in the warm embrace of soft linen.

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author's note!!

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(I found this gif whilst in the middle of a gif war with my friend; I never thought I'd find such a gem...)

Hi everyone!! An early treat for you all!

Ok, I CANNOT TELL YOU how excited I am to be finally publishing this. I am literally on cloud nine as I am writing this, I just....AJDAKJDHHF

* ahem *

Finally publishing the first chapter! That's freaking wild and exciting and I can't wait to see what you all think! Thank you for everyone in the comments for just being...the best. You're all just amazing, beautiful people who I don't deserve in the least but I am just so glad to have you all. I would particularly like to thank; katrandomstuff, Gingersheep17, AliciaJackson17, cagedcelestial, Phoenixlover04,
tragicalstory, wolfbloodwitch, 8MimiS, Cynarr, themeanasway, sweeneyssexyrazor, spaceyclarke!! your comments and votes mean the absolute world, so thank you so much!

I will recommend you all to double check the trigger warnings, since I've updated them. If anyone needs to talk, I'm here xx I also changed Eila's (a character you will not meet for a while but what the hell) faceclaim to Anya Chalotra, since when you think of badass women, you think Yennefer of Vengerberg.

I know you're all wondering- where's Merlin? Well, he will appearing soon, don't you worry. This first arc is mainly focusing on Arthur and Ishild, but our favourite warlock will make an appearance. But the next chapters might be quite a wait, so...apologies if they take too long.

Anyway, I hope you all have an amazing day and stay safe! Xx

published: 13.08.2021
edited: N/A