Part I
My loyal knights and trusted companions,
Today, we stand on the precipice of a great journey, a quest that will take us deep into the heart of Fingle Wood Forest. As we embark on this adventure, I address you not only as your prince but as a fellow warrior, bound by duty and honor to protect Camelot and its people.
Fingle Wood Forest, with its ancient elder trees, holds the promise of strengthening our beloved kingdom. The legends speak of their power! May they guard us from the demonic forces that threaten our land! May they protect us from the dark magic that wraps its vile tendrils around the hearts of our countrymen! It is within those woods that I seek to craft a shield, a formidable defense that will rival even the mighty Excalibur.
But make no mistake, my friends. The land we navigate is not without danger. The Saxons flee for now, but we cannot afford to lower our guard. Winter looms, and with it, their hunger and desperation grows in tandem with the threat of invasion. Some would keep you inside the citadel walls until the danger arrives, but I believe there is no training exercise like the real world, which is why I requested the newest knights of Camelot to accompany me on this journey. I have complete faith you will live up to your oaths and come into you own during the trials that lie ahead.
Be warned, for the perils we face on this path are not confined to the realm of men. The enchanted woods harbor their own mysteries and enchantments. We must remain vigilant and resolute, for the forces of darkness will seek to test our resolve. Fear not! We march with the strength of unity and the light of the round table. To those who doubt our cause, who would rather stay warm at home under quilted covers, I say this: There will come a day when you must fight, whether you like it or not. And it is far better to choose to walk out the door than to have the door smashed down at your feet, ready or not.
It is in times of adversity that true heroes are forged, and it is in the face of danger that our mettle is tested. So, my loyal warriors, let us march forth into the unknown with heads high and hearts ablaze. Together, we will overcome any obstacle that crosses our path. Let the winds carry our courage, and let the trees of Fingle Wood Forest witness the valor and honor that define us as the knights of Camelot.
The challenges that await us may be great, but the rewards shall be even greater. Our efforts will strengthen our kingdom, fortify our defenses, and prepare us for the coming storm.
For Camelot! For honor! For victory!
Merlin drank in the scenery as Arthur rallied his knights for the quest. The young buck was protective of the prince and respected his noble intentions. That said, Merlin harbored a secret: he was among the few mortals in Camelot who possessed the unspeakable gift, a gift frequently banished to his subconscious. On the rare occasion when Merlin let his guard down, he dreamed of the future. He dreamed of a day when Arthur was king and the strict anti-magic laws of Arthur's father were cast into the forgotten shadows of history. But until that day, it would be Merlin who worked in the shadows.
And Arthur had, after all, suggested that the knights stay as guarded as possible.
As the group set off towards the enchanted forest, Morgana, Arthur's adopted sister, kept looking back and forth between Arthur and the leafy ground, mulling over how long she should bite her tongue. Morgana wore her hair in a silky brunette braid that swished slightly as she walked. Her narrow face housed keen, jagged green eyes, sharpened daily by her unusual privilege to criticize Arthur for his decisions.
Their father, King Uther, couldn't crack down on her insolence, as that would speak poorly of his skills as an adoptive parent. That streak of exceptional frankness extended (somewhat bitterly) to Morgana's treatment of Uther's son Arthur, who considered his relationship with Morgana a friendly rivalry. From Merlin's point of view, it was a mixed bag: on one hand, Arthur was haughty enough that it was nice someone was allowed to knock him down a peg. On the other hand, when Morgana's temper flared, no one envied the subject of her wrath.
As the troupe journeyed through the lush countryside, the sound of rustling leaves and whistling wind accompanied the twilight. Like the air around them, Morgana could stay quiet no longer. "Arthur, you claim to be against magic, and yet you say you want to make a shield that rivals Excalibur. Tell me brother, do you think it is merely good craftsmanship that makes Excalibur so special? Do you think it merely a big, strong tree that makes the Fingle Woods the source of legend?"
Arthur, his platinum blond bowl of hair shimmering in the fading sun, turned towards Morgana, his face a mixture of amusement and irritation. "Morgana, if you are comparing the elder woods to the kind of magic that cursed my mother, then I think you are barking up the wrong tree."
"So," Morgana said, "You believe there is more than one kind of magic? I wonder what your father would say about such moral flexibility from his prize prince."
"From what I hear, this forest is not magic. It's more like...anti-magic."
"Wow! That's almost as eloquent as the speech you gave earlier! Remind me to tell your speech writer to raise his rates!"
"Fine, dear sister. How about this? It's as though you compare the grace of an angel to the touch of the devil. When the priests banished witchcraft, they do not speak of the Hand of God. They do not speak of the province of the Lady of the Lake."
"Oh please," Morgana said. "It's as Knight Montgomery said, `Wierdos flopping around puddles giving people death sticks is no justification for world domination.' Just because some soggy cunt rubbed you with her sticky weapon doesn't make you some kind of supreme, stable genius."
"Well, there's a reason Uther decapitated Knight Montgomery, isn't there?"
"Because Uther is nearly as pig-headed as you?"
Merlin trailed behind the pair, his brown hair flopping, his smile twisted, his dusky eyes glittering. He took a few steps at a jog so he could chime in. "Well, Morgana, maybe the trees will sprinkle a bit of anti-magic on Arthur to make him less of pig."
Morgana chuckled, while Arthur let out a deep sigh. "Say something like that again, Merlin, and you can sleep with actual pigs tonight."
As they delved deeper into the forest, the chirp of crickets filled the air. Starlight filtered through the branches, casting ethereal shadows on the forest floor. Arthur paused at a silky blue cloud of misty specks that curled around one of the gnarled trees. He raised his gloved hand towards it, faltering.
Morgana couldn't resist a dark smile. "See, Arthur? Even you can't deny the allure of something mystical. How do you suppose people judge the beautiful aspects of nature they don't quite understand? At what threshold is beauty suddenly a danger?"
"Let's find a place for the troupe to camp," Arthur said, frowning. "According to Lancelot's map, there should be a set of caves about a mile north of here."
"I trust a map drawn by Lancelot about as much as I trust a chamber pot to prepare dinner," Morgana hissed.
"Well, then you draw a map using your galaxy brain and we'll use that," Arthur said.
Morgana frowned. The caves were more than a mile away. Fortunately, the troupe found them before the world was pitch-black around them.
"Merlin, you guard the camp first," Arthur said.
"Why me?" Merlin asked.
"Because you volunteered to see what the woods would do to me--remember?" Arthur said. "Pigboy."
As the night cast its dark veil over Fingle Wood Forest, Merlin stood watch while Arthur, Morgana, and the new knights found solace in the shelter of a cave. The crackling of a warm fire and the peaceful slumber of his companions provided a sense of calm. That said, as the night wore on, Merlin kept thinking he heard broken words hanging in the wind.
At first, the voice was faint, barely a whisper in Merlin's ears. But as he focused his attention, it grew clearer, distinct yet ghostly, seeming to draw him in. Intrigued and cautious, he followed the sound, weaving through the ancient trees until he stumbled upon a small clearing. Standing before him was a figure cloaked in a soft, shimmering white-gold light--with elven features and a set of glittering gemstones ringing her shawl.
"I know who you are," the figure said, her lips barely moving. "Merlin."
Merlin's eyes widened with awe and wonder. He did not know who she was, but from her appearance, he could hardly believe she was any less than a queen. He sunk down to one knee. "I am humbled to be in your company," he murmured. "I've heard you for hours...though I did not know what--or shall I say who--I heard."
"They call me the Elder Tree Mother," the spirit said. "I am the guardian of these noble woods."
"And dare I ask why should such noble woods need guarding?" Merlin asked.
"There are those who would tear them to their roots if only to receive a fraction of their power. You must tell me, Merlin, if that is a part of your mission here."
"Not my mission...specifically."
"But your cohorts. You must suspect that half of them are brutes. Drawn to knighthood for reputation and status, and not of any particular qualities your king claims to value."
"Don't let Arthur hear you say that."
"I am not afraid of the decrees of men. I do not stoop to service mundane realms. I would not do that...even if they weren't run by men with a visceral hatred of magic."
"Their hatred is born of the cruelty they endured."
"Well, how usual," The Mother Tree Spirit said. "But you should know--if humans cut down my forest to make war, they will be cursed, not blessed. My blessings are to be earned, not handed willy-nilly to every tree-killing ruler that sees fit to tame me."
"How can I earn your branches, Mother Tree Spirit?" She looked Merlin over, deciding whether he was worthy of her quest.
"Three miles southwest of here, there is a prison for animals. I believe you would call it a farm. In the stone prisons of this plantation, a friend of mine is held. It will look no different than a fox to your eyes. It is held there--they see it is rare, and guard it, waiting for a buyer. But they have no knowledge of its true value. If you free it, I will give you my blessing to cut down a single tree from my forest. You must control your friend's knights. No more than one tree, Merlin. And only if you free him first."
"Do you not have the power to overthrow that place? Merely a farm?" Merlin asked.
"I dare not go near it!" The Mother Tree Spirit hissed. "A land where all the trees have been felled, replaced with false nature! My blood would boil before I set foot in that hell."
"I'll do it," Merlin said. "If you can keep our campsite safe. Could you wear a dark cloak, so you don't stand out as you keep watch?"
"I can do better. I can cloak myself as you."
--
Under the veil of darkness, Merlin embarked on his rescue mission to free the captive fox from the clutches of the farm that held it captive. Guided by the faint whispers of the forest, he navigated through the dense undergrowth. Just when he was sure he was lost, he saw the outskirts of tilled land and a stone structure up ahead.
With careful steps and a keen eye, Merlin surveyed the area, ensuring he remained undetected. He observed the layout of the farm, its buildings and fences illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon. As he neared the enclosure that held the animals, he could sense the creature's presence--a mix of fear, desperation, and an otherworldly essence.
Drawing upon his powers, Merlin summoned a gentle breeze that carried his voice to the fox. "Fear not, little one," he whispered, his voice filled with concern. "I am here to free you from this place. Together, we shall find a safe haven."
As Merlin approached the fence, he spotted a guard stationed nearby. Keeping to the shadows, he carefully assessed his position, searching for an opportune moment to strike. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a diversion--an illusion of rustling leaves and distant footsteps--to distract the guard from his true intentions.
Seizing the moment, Merlin swung open the fence, slipping inside the enclosure. The fox, its eyes wide with a mix of caution and hope, observed Merlin's every move. Finding something about the wizard familiar, it cautiously approached him.
"Be still," Merlin whispered, his voice a balm to the creature's fears. "I will free you from these chains and guide you to safety. Trust in my intentions, little buddy."
With a wave of his hand, the chains that bound the fox fell away, clattering to the ground. The creature's form shimmered briefly, revealing something funny about its tail--for a moment Merlin could have sworn it was in two places at once.
"Come, my friend," Merlin beckoned, extending his hand to the fox. "We must hurry. Our companions await. The cover of night will fade."
The fox hesitated for a moment, its gaze filled with uncertainty. Something within Merlin's eyes spoke of a genuine desire to help. It placed a ginger paw in Merlin's outstretched hand.
Together, they slipped out of the farm, their movements fluid and silent. The fox's keen senses guided them through the darkness. As they ventured deeper into the forest, the creature seemed at peace with the woods, the leaves floating around him like moons in the black.
Back at the campsite, the Mother Tree Spirit observed the slumbering forms of Arthur, Morgana, and the knights. Her eerie form shimmered, creating the illusion that Merlin was among them. With a calm expression, she took her eyes off the camp and turned them toward the man she mimicked, accompanied by her old friend.
As Merlin and the fox drew near to the Mother Tree Spirit, the fox's form began to shimmer once again. A sense of peace emanated from the creature, its golden fur glowing with an otherworldly light. In a burst of spectral energy, the fox transformed into its true form--a majestic kitsune with nine shuffling tails, each one a testament to its power and wisdom.
With a graceful movement, the kitsune dipped its head in acknowledgement, its eyes filled with a newfound sense of freedom. It released a melodious cry that resonated through the forest--a farewell and a thank you to its savior.
Merlin watched as the kitsune disappeared into the depths of the grove, embracing its newfound freedom. A bittersweet smile graced his lips, a mixture of joy for the kitsune's liberation and a tinge of sadness at their parting.
"Thank you, Merlin," The Mother Tree Spirit. "While those brutes waited for a buyer, they cut its silky fur! They were using it for the creepy hair stuck inside those porcelain nightmares little humans carry around. A crime against nature matched only by the pain of untimely death."
"You mean...dolls?"
"WE DO NOT SPEAK OF THEM!"
"It is I who should be thanking you, Mother Tree Spirit," Merlin said.
"Just one tree, Merlin," The Mother Tree Spirit said.
"Just one," Merlin said.
Then he trudged back into the cave, ready to shake the new knight Tristan awake so he could finally catch a few hours of sleep.
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