Chapter Text
Those who claim there is honor in war are either cowards or King’s, and in some cases, both. The story books, the history books, spoke of valiant knights and men vanquishing evil in shiny armor upon noble steeds. But those tales never truly spoke of the horrors of war.
Of the screams of man and beast echoing across a battle-field until they were mercifully silent. Of the deathly stillness that crept upon men laying in the healing tents as their bodies failed to fight through the night and their chests fell still. Of men with lost limbs and dead eyes, of wounds that near cleaved a man in half and left him to bleed out into the muck all alone. Of the flies that buzzed about the dying, the maggots that crawled upon deceased flesh, the bloated, rotting carcasses of man and beast, swollen beyond recognition.
If the weather were particularly poor, and woe is the soldier forced to fight in the rain, the earth would be churned into mud and many a limb would be stuck and twisted. Vulnerable for any enemy to stumble across them. Or, with the sun beating down, men would stagger and fall like they’d been at the drink, weary and dazed, nearly cooking inside their armor.
And those that returned from war… well… even if they bore no injury, they still carried the scars in their dreams.
No. War was not pretty, no matter how much the stories and songs liked to portray it as so, David thought to himself as he stepped over a fallen comrade. The mans face was pressed into the dirt with his arm cut off, a pool of blood surrounding him, which had long turned a muddy brown.
David had a few loyal soldiers beside him, and the Dwarves were hacking furiously at any enemy they came across. Working in teams to bring down their taller opponents and then have at them. Many a man’s armor had been reduced to a pin cushion, the pick-axes doing brutal damage when their hits landed. Prince Charming himself had lost count of how many foes he’d slain. They’d gotten to a point where they’d blurred into one after about the first hour.
Historians and storytellers liked to speak of battles that raged on for hours, of knights blessed with heart and courage, able to fight indefinitely until their foes were lain at their feet. They were all liars, David thought bitterly and lifted his shield to block a blow that would have seriously damaged his face if he had allowed it to strike.
His arm shuddered with the force of impact and his movements were sluggish, he could feel the strain in his muscles, the fatigue rendering them weak.
He brought his other arm up, his sword swinging at his enemy, and he was glad that he was wearing his full armor and so were his men. It was expensive, outfitting them all in platemail when they were in the middle of a war with the Evil Queen, who still had soldiers and weapons and armour to spare. But this battle was for more than his family and their kingdom, this was for the fate of all the realms.
Tens of thousands of men, and some women, it was to be noted, were united in this fight. From every kingdom in the realm, and then some. The summoning of armies from every realm in the known universe could only mean something just as important. Something that would cause the end of life as they knew it. And it was the end.
No one knew where the great evil had come from, or what he even looked like. They only knew that Darkness was creeping across the land. Sometimes in a wave or a roar as armies flocked beneath a great spire, spread across the land like shadow, and rising into the sky with a grasping hand as though to smother the earth in ink.
He had drawn to himself armies of all cursed beasts. There were the more sentient creatures like centaurs and trolls, gnomes, dragons and humanoids like harpies and banshees. Others were more beast than man, driven by instinct and with as much intelligence as a dog, and among them were thousands of men with corrupted hearts. From all the realms in the known world, and some less than known, they’d answered the summons. Even amongst his own people he had taken numbers to fill his ranks.
A mass of man, and beasts waited beneath the spire, a writhing mass like an overturned ant hill. But good still existed in the realms, and armies had marched to war. Probably to death, but it was a worthy cause.
Their allies and friends had marched towards the army with them, some forces arriving sooner than others, and some had joined up with their own convoy.
They had marched for almost three weeks, and that was after they had mustered their forces and gathered enough supplies for the journey and the battle to come. They were amongst the kingdoms closer to the battlefield. Others had come from other realms, travelling by sea and magic to get there.
The greatest sorcerer of all time had been the one to call for aid. He had sent his apprentice, the young man Merlin, to each of the rulers of each country and explained their plight.
David could recall the presence of the young man even now, months later. He’d strode into their throne room, the guards parting at his presence and he’d asked for an audience. Then he’d explained what creature of darkness had arisen, and what his plans were.
The Dark One, he explained, was planning to enact a great curse on the Summer Solstice. Which, was impossible because the Dark One was Rumplestilskin, and he was currently beneath his own castle in the dungeon.
Merlin then had to explain that there was another Dark One, one with more power and ill intent than Rumple, and that he had to be stopped.
It was the day in which light spread the furthest and the brightest…. that his gruesome plot, intended to unite all of the realms, under one banner, his own. And spread evil and carnage across the land, was to be enacted on that eve was most telling. Using the light of the world as a herald of darkness. Poetic.
There were already whispers, said Merlin, of his plot, movements in the deepest of woods and the darkest of caves as creatures of night, of shadow, answered his call.
It was possible to stop him, Merlin explained gravely, but it would require tremendous sacrifice. The Dark One had claimed the Endless Sands as his home, and from it a great tower had arisen. There his forces had gathered, and it was there, beneath the spire, that there would be a way to stop him.
There was talk of a prophecy, of a hero, a spell to counter what the Dark One was going to enact. But unfortunately for the realms of good, it would cost massive amounts of human lives. They had to get to the spire, through a gathering army, and then enact the spell. Which the Sorcerer’s Apprentice was hurriedly researching. And it all had to be done before the full moon on the Summer Equinox.
There was very little time, Merlin said somberly with a bowed head, but if they wanted to save the realm, all of them, then they had to fight.
He and his wife had spoken long and hard, and even though the threat of the Evil Queen still lingered, they’d agreed that this threat was the greatest they had ever faced. War had come again, and into battle they would go.
Mustering the men had been difficult. Already their army was spread thin, years of battle with the Evil Queen had reduced their ranks, and the harvest had yet to be harvested. There was fear of starvation through the winter if the men did not return in time to tend to the fields. And that was before supplies had to be bartered for and traded. The royal coffers were running low when David finally rode out at the head of an army.
Men marched behind him in a long convoy of wagon and beast. They rode as lightly as they could manage. Still They had nearly double the amount of beasts than men - some to be slaughtered as they went, others to pull their supplies.
He had a few Dwarves riding out with him but the rest of their allies were staying back at the castle with Snow to keep her safe. And now that his wife had reported she was pregnant, finally, wonderfully pregnant, he knew he had to defeat this great evil and return to her. The Evil Queen’s threat had been neutralized for them, but that didn’t mean she was without resources.
She still had her own army and lands, and she would make good on her promise to ruin their lives that she had made at their wedding.
Scout reports had said that Merlin had even approached her for her aid, he had gone to all rulers and people and creatures of power within the land, but she had laughed him from her castle.
David was just thankful he had enough power to escape her, or perhaps she had been fearful of his master. If they survived this battle, he should like to speak to the sorcerer about neutralising the threat that was the Evil Queen. Though it said something to his nature if he only bothered with a world war and not with one between feuding royals.
Perhaps those with great power only cared when they were threatened, though the Evil Queen’s threat was surely worth his attention. He would take it up with Merlin and beg him to ask his Master for help.
Thoughts of the Evil Queen were soon pushed to the back of his mind. Instead he thought of the child growing in his wife’s womb, but soon even those pleasant thoughts grew dim. Especially once they had been on the road for over two weeks. While within their own kingdom he had the position to claim inns and taverns on the way, and he had slept in a bed for most of the nights as they left the castle, but as they got further and further away, he was forced to sleep on the ground once more.
Other forces had joined theirs. Prince Phillip had ridden ahead of his own army. Prince Eric had come from his own lands, though most of his forces were coming via sea. His father having had a very impressive navy.
Other groups of wanderers and heroes had joined them, and by the time they emerged from the lands David recognised, they numbered over ten thousand strong. It was an impressive number.
Certainly, the most military David had ever seen. Though the stench of the men and beasts was less impressive. As was the trail of carnage they left behind them. Lands stripped bare of vegetation, food for animals and fire, and they had plundered the local wildlife populations to feed their expanding forces. It wasn’t pretty, it was messy, but it was necessary if they hoped to have enough supplies for the battle ahead.
Then, of course, they had ridden to the Endless Sands. It wasn’t actually a dessert, though it may well have been.
As far as the eye could see, and further, there was endless amounts of dust and dirt. If it were fertile lands it would have been one of the largest kingdoms to be held. With rolling hills and stretching fields, but instead there was just dust and wind. Nomad types could once be found trying to forage civilization from its lands, but it lacked resources. Eventually they moved on. Though there was a small, painfully small, stream they refilled their water barrels at, and the beasts nearly drank it dry when they first came upon it. For that reason, they stuck close to the edge of the Endless Sands. Taking advantage of the woods to the east and the water it gifted them. Perhaps in winter the lands would have more streams, but near the height of summer, the sun scorched the earth and near cooked the men and beasts.
They rode north for days before they could see anything in the distance. And it took a spyglass in order to see anything beyond the horizon.
The coast to the left of them, was reportedly treacherous. Prince Eric feared for the state of his navy which was coming swiftly by sea instead of land, while to their right was the borders of the Infinite Forest. They could have passed through the boundaries of the infinite land, but with risk of treacherous paths, they had gone around it instead. Adding a week and then some to their time on the road. It was worth it, though. Those who wandered into the forest likely never returned unless there was someone watching out for them.
The boarder was clearly defined too. The mass of forbidden green of the forest, then in an almost straight line, the yellow barren plains of the Endless Sands. Far, far to the north lay blue mountains, but the distance was so great he couldn’t even guess as to their height.
The extensive hours in the saddle soon took its toll on him, for it was only after becoming ‘James’ that David rode a horse, for they were expensive and a simple shepard could not afford one or its up-keep. He was still a novice when it came to horsemanship, though he was improving.
It took another days ride, from dusk to dawn, before they were able to spot something else emerging from the plains.
It was instantly obvious what it was, like the spike on a sundial, guiding them home.
This was where they were heading, this was the lair of the Dark One. Beneath its shadow the men grew wary and silent. The songs and cheer that had accompanied them this far quelled beneath its imposing gaze, and the rest of the journey was made in muted silence.
As they got closer it became clear that it was surely the tallest thing in the realm, in all of them. For even should he stretch his neck back and follow its length to the top, he still couldn’t see where it ended. Why, it would take one-hundred giants standing on each other’s shoulder to be near its height. And that was before the giant mountain it stood upon, in the middle of the barren plain.
One of the men, a fisherman from the east had commented ‘“I didn’t know man could build such a thing” and his awed words had seemingly echoed through the lines of men.
“Not man,” said another, spitting onto the dirt. “Magic.”
It was carved from black stone, as dark as charcoal but shining somehow, like black glass. It sat atop a mountain of grey, natural stone. The mountain itself was far wider than it was tall, as though the gods had sculpted it with large, clumsy hands and then given up when the tip collapsed under the weight of itself. Through his spyglass David could see a spiral around the side of the mountain, wide enough for one wagon to be driven up it. The mountain narrowed into an unnaturally sharp point and on that point the spire itself stood, almost like a chess piece. It could have been a rook or castle, though this piece was sharp. At the top, it had points, reaching into the sky at each corner and in the middle there was a dome. It was from this tower that he would cast his curse. Dooming them all.
Running his spyglass down the length of the spire, David knew that all he and his allies needed to do was fight their way to the top and stop him.
Through the army between them.
The reports put the enemy numbers well into the tens of thousands, a staggering number. More troops arrived by the day, and even if David and his allies weren’t outnumbered, the enemy had strength of individuals. Trolls and ogres, even a dragon had been circling overhead, were enough to strike terror into the hearts of man.With their sheer size and strength, beasts such as that would take ten, twenty men to bring down. And the enemy had many of them. Trolls and ogres, even a dragon was seen circling overhead.
Still, he had faced worse odds before, and knew that good would win, they just had to believe.
Of course now, nearly a week later, and after weeks of travel they were beginning their assault on the spire. Time had passed and he was missing his wife like he’d lost a limb. He was also aching for missing her pregnancy, for the first movements of his child, to tell them stories as they slept.
But instead he was here, beneath a pillar of pure evil. Fighting forces of shadow and darkness while his countrymen fell around him. They couldn’t wait for more reinforcements, though new troops were arriving each day. Their own as well as the enemy’s. They had to strike now.
Tomorrow would be the day the Darkest One enacted his horrible curse. Merlin had given the new Dark One a new name, as people were getting confused between which Dark One they were speaking about. Rumplestilskin was already known, but this new creature was not. So, he was named the Darkest One. They were fighting today because they were running out of time, he had to be stopped.
They’d been fighting since dawn. Not all at once, but in waves. David had been in the second wave with his men, and already the loss had been great. Hundreds had been killed in the first clash, and the wounded were being carted back to their camp on stretchers or slung across pack animals.
It felt like he’d been fighting forever, but he knew the horns would call when it was his time to retreat and rest, so he had to fight on.
And fight on he did.
He counted a dozen, then two before he gave up, before he only focused on his breathing. On getting his shield up to guard his head and bringing his sword around.
He was sure he had been fighting for hours when there was a loud boom. Like thunder rolling across the ground, and a great flash of light.
Man and beast cried out in terror and began to flee. The sounds audible even over the chaos of battle.
Dust rose from the ground as though something large and heavy had crashed to the ground, the force of it sending out a wind that had him recoiling and trying to protect his face with a yell.
There was another bang in the darkness, and he truly hoped no enemy would take advantage of his inattention, but then again, anything that could see in the dust, probably deserved to kill him. Around him he could hear the muffled shouts of his companions, shouting out in fear as they were helpless against the power unleashed nearby.
He peered through one eye but the wind was still blowing and he cringed away from the sting of it. Debris from the battle was flying past him. Broken arrows and forgotten arms, and there was a clang as steel collided with steel. A very unhelpful part of his brain provided him with the image of armor clad bodies flying past him and he made himself smaller.
In the middle of the battle, the sounds fell silent and all he could hear was the sharp wind as two magic users collided. He was just glad that they weren’t flinging fireballs yet. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive a wave of fire.
When the wind finally died down, he was able to see what had happened.
Bodies were strewn as though a child had knocked aside their wooden toy soldiers and cleared a patch of earth where two figures stood opposite each other. Or, well, one was standing. The other was in a crumpled heap on the ground, an arm braced against the earth, and with the other wrapped around his body.
It was the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, the youth Merlin. His fine robes, dark gold and black were now coated in dust as though he’d taken a bath in it. Torn as though he’d lost a fight with several large cats.
His handsome features were twisted into a pained grimace that David could see from where he was standing. The air about the two had almost frozen as the other figure, the Dark One, walked towards him.
From a distance the Dark One, no, the Darkest One, was in black leather, coating his, no he realised in surprise, her form. Her skin was fair and her hair pale, but he couldn’t catch more than that. Peering through the dust as she lifted her arm, Merlin, the second greatest magician in the army next to his Master, was lifted from the ground as though a stringless puppet.
It was horrible to watch and reminded him of when the Evil Queen would capture her enemies and freeze them in place. Only the Darkest One curled a finger and Merlin was bound across the air towards her. He was squirming like a worm at the end of a hook and David swallowed, terror stroking icy fingers down his spine.
Abruptly the Darkest One’s head snapped around, and her body went still, and then she vanished in a plume of grey smoke.
Merlin’s body dropped onto the ground, and he was limp for a long moment and David stumbled towards him. The Sorcerer’s Apprentice was a valuable ally, and he hoped he was still alive for all of their sakes. Though it spoke of the Darkest One’s power that she was able to defeat a formidable opponent so easily.
He was scrambling over the bodies of friend and foe alike when the Sorcerer’s Apprentice vanished in a cloud of light green smoke. Leaving not even a trace of him on the ground where he had fallen.
David halted, a dwarf sliding to a halt next to him. David didn’t know his name except he should be called dirty or grubby, because the Dwarf was covered, head to toe, in the dirt and the grime of war. At least David had his armor and clothing to keep most of the dirt away, but making armor for child-sized men was difficult on short notice. The dwarves tended to favour lighter armor, not truly used to fighting.
Outfitting them with mail shirts had been easier. They coupled it with padded jackets, though the dwarf next to him looked like he sincerely regretted it. His face was a quilt of red, grime and sweat stitching the exertion on his face.
“Did you see that?” The Dwarf panted, voice sounding as hoarse as David’s own throat felt. Dry and scratchy like sand.
He nodded to himself and couldn’t find it in him to be repulsed as he leant against the mound of bodies to rest, even if only for a moment.
“That was her, the Darkest One,” he rasped, and his voice cracked slightly and he thought longingly of his waterskin, long emptied and lost on the battlefield.
“She was-“
In the distance a horn sounded and there was an almost palpable sigh of relief from the troops battling in the front line, and David forced his body upright.
He wasn’t trained for this. Yes, he could fight with a sword, but he was a shepherd at heart. He didn’t have the training or stamina to last hours and hours in a battle. His skill was in the element of surprise, in one-on-one fights, though the training masters still destroyed him.
But Prince James, his deceased twin brother and the actual heir to the throne, had learnt how to duel from the moment he could hold a sword, so David had to learn. Least the court look at him and wonder what had happened. A days training with Anna of Arendale didn’t make a swordsman.
David's height let him gaze over the battlefield behind him. He could see a wall of fresh soldiers approaching and could have almost wept in relief, if he had the energy. Unfortunately, he didn’t. Shaking his hand out, he began the seemingly endless walk back towards their camp.
His men, and a few women, were doing the same. The troops stuck at the front engaging the enemy had to wait until the reinforcements navigated the slain beasts and dying men until they reached them.Then their clash would begin.
It hardly seemed as though the hours had passed. It felt as though he had been fighting for days. He was pleased he could afford the armor of a king, even though he had lost his helmet earlier in the fight after a great war axe had put a large dent in it. He’d had to drag the helmet off of his head. Which was a relief to get his hair out in the air, but also meant he wasn’t as protected as he had been, and he’d been extra wary of engaging with enemies since. A helmetless man was a delicious target to those with the skill.
“Grab your brothers and lets get back,” he ordered to the dwarf, still slightly uncomfortable with having his words obeyed without question. The dwarf grunted and tottered away, shoulders low with exhaustion.
David felt the same exhaustion in his own body, right down to his very bones. He knew he had bruises all over his skin, even though the armor had saved his life.
He could only find it in himself to be thankful for the overcast day. If the sun had been blazing he was certain the day couldn’t get any worse, and he did not have the fortitude to fight for hours in his armour. Not without falling to the heat.
Allies, some without recognisable banners, were trudging back to their camps. Heads wary and bodies exhausted. The exhausted men would make easy picking’s for any foe hidden amongst the dead, though that was the function of squires. David had since learnt- his training master (one of Snow’s servants) had been very thorough with his education, once he realised David knew nothing a prince should have. Those not trained or armed enough for the front-line were given the task of sweeping across the battlefield for the wounded and the dying. Their task is to put them out of their misery. Though as David trudged back to his tent, he saw groups of people looting bodies of arms and armor, packhorses laden with belongings.
He could only hope that they were friends. Friends who were taking the valuable equipment back to their camp to be given to the next soldier in line, but he doubted it.
War was a profitable business if you lived long enough, and these folk didn’t look like they were soldiers. They looked like thieves.
Stealing from corpses of good men who had died for a worthy cause, hatred rose in him as he came to a halt glaring at the trio as they forced a corpse’s stiff limb from its armour. There was a crack, as one of the joints was popped from its socket, and he grimaced.
Though no stranger to battles, he’d been in several against the Evil Queen. The sounds still could sicken him to his stomach. He was just glad he’d nearly bathed himself in strong herbs so the smells wouldn’t make him gag. He didn’t think he would ever smell again.
A glance at the slowly bloating body of a slain horse, blood on its coat and flies buzzing like a tornado above it, made him re-evaluate. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.
The group caught sight of him and sneered, one lifting a sword threateningly with eyes narrowed while another held a spear.
The challenge was clear, but David didn’t have the energy. Even though his heart growled at the action. How dare they? Those who didn’t look like they had been fighting and were now stealing from the dead. How dare they threaten him!
“Sire,” a guard popped up behind him. Half carrying a friend over his shoulders, a dwarf helping to hold the wounded man steady.
The spearman’s eyes narrowed, and David sneered in response. “Majesty,” said another dwarf. The spearman glanced between David’s arriving forces and turned away with a scowl, going back to looting the corpse.
“Leave it, we’re too exhausted.”
Though he knew it to be true, his heart ached and he turned from the scene. It was common in battles to loot the dead, but he had only hoped it was to return the belongings to a man’s or woman’s family. Not to keep them for oneself of worse, sell them for profit.
Dejected, exhausted and missing his wife with a steady ache in his breast, he trudged back towards the camp.
The forces that made up the camp had their areas clearly defined by both tent colour and shape, order of the set up, and size, were marked further with large banners at the edges of their people. Those looking for their home tents, could easily locate their own kingdoms flag and return to it.
There was still plenty of ground between the camp and the battlefield he’d come from, though much of that ground was now covered in bodies. The healers and returned soldiers had laid the dead out on the ground in front of their armies’ tents, as best they were able to determine. David could see a growing number of dead in front of his own banners and felt slightly sick.
The camps were guarded, loosely, because any foe would have to cross the battlefield to get to them, but it was part of procedure, and it meant someone saw him return and could summon him aid.
Scouts were posted with horns, and there was always a small fighting force held in reserve. Ready to attack any enemy who tried to sneak into their camp with ill intent.
Though David, at that moment, was hard pressed to think of an enemy who had made it from the spire where the Darkest One had gathered. Made it across the battlefield and then through the rows and rows of dead and dying soldiers to come and attack their leaders. Only something capable of true evil could do such a thing.
“Sire,” a man dressed in robes, one of the healing folk from the Temple, was crouched over a man lying on the dirt. David broke off from his path and stepped around a few dead soldiers, some with their faces so gruesomely twisted by wounds they were unrecognisable as anything more than slabs of meat.
He swallowed down his bile, glad he hadn’t eaten recently and suddenly found himself not hungry, and stepped up next to the healer.
The man was old, body bowed with age and a well weathered face. Though the lines on it were deep with grief. He was holding the hand of a young man. A man without armor and only a leather chest piece to protect him. David couldn’t see one injury that had brought the man down. He was covered in blood, so much blood that David had to wonder how much blood the human body had in it. His chest rose and fell desperately, and his skin was ashen, but his eyes were flickering beneath his lids. David grimaced and turned his head away.
The boy, for he was a boy, not yet a man, wasn’t long for this world. “One of the dwarves is-“
And the lethargy that had been creeping into his limbs gave a jolt, burnt away by rising horror.
“- in his quarters. He was injured but we were able to patch him up.” And now David could only feel relief. Glad that he hadn’t lost a friend, though he knew he had lost many men in the fight.
Clasping the healer on the shoulder, and trying to look into the boy’s face as he died, David turned and continued to walk back towards his tent.
Each of the armies were well identified, and some even had their own patrols, depending on the discipline of the commander in charge. Each force had its own defined area. Guarded by flags hanging limp in the wind. He took a moment to find his own flag before changing his course and walking towards it. He had set out in a line from his own forces with his army, but the chaos of battle had driven him off course.
Scouts bowed to him as he approached Joining the trickle of men as he returned to camp. He would get a report from this mornings fight soon. The casualty number would be handed to him when he finally settled. Maybe then he’d be given the report from the battle he’d been in before sleep claimed him, but he knew he wouldn’t like the number.
Page boys, too young for battle, but old enough to be useful, were running between the tents in the camps. The camps themselves would smell just as the battlefield had. Manure, the stench of unwashed men, the disorder in the camp with latrines not dug properly, though swiftly being filled. At least here, there was the smell of campfires and cooking meat.
As he walked, there was a donkey team dragging a slain war-horse over to the butchers area, and he knew that meat would be offered with his evening meal.
A servant was quickly at his side offering him a waterskin and he took it without a thanks Unable to muster the strength to smile at the lad before tipping the skin to his lips. It wasn’t water, thankfully , and not just because water couldn’t be trusted, the first swig went to clearing his mouth of grime. The second barely touched his lips before he was draining it as though he were parched earth in a desert.
The servant also had a small tray of food with him. A few fruits of his selection, some cheese, breads, and pickled meat. He thought for a moment of the warhorse being dragged back to the butcher and grimaced.
He’d requested fowl and fish for the evening.
The sounds in camp were almost eerie, and quiet. The wind had died down since the morning, when the first wave of brave men and courageously ridden out to fight with banners snapping in the wind. Now all that could be heard was the faint clang of battle, the groans, moans, and screams of the dying. The death screams of a horse would be one of the things that would haunt his dreams for a long time, until someone mercifully put the beast out of its misery.
The energy, the life of the men he’d brought with him and fallen silent with the first wave of troops. When the first bodies had been dragged back before horses, donkey’s and mules, and then, when the corpses grew too many, had been piled onto carts like sacks of flour and pulled back to their camp.
Men still ran too and from the healing tents and the battlefield. Stretchers carted between them, but David didn’t pay that any mind.
He needed to bathe, rid himself of the stench and grim of war, and then he needed to eat and sleep, but he doubted sleep would come soon, even if his body was weary beyond belief.
Servants were in the middle of drawing him a bath. He was used to far superior bathing than the tub he was offered, but he had no other option unless he wanted to use a bucket and stand outside like his men did.
It was a throw back to his peasant days though he couldn’t deny the luxury of removing his armor, dropping his clothing in a pile, and stepping into the warm water. His body ached all over, and that was before the muscle fatigue kicked in. The pain his body was in now was because of the blows it had taken, still to come were the aches of muscle overuse.
The water helped. He soaked his weary body and counted a dozen bruises before he gave up and just relaxed in the tub. He was dozing, the water cooling around his body to the point where his skin had pimpled and pruned, when there was a disturbance at entrance of the tent.
Lazily he rolled his head to see what was going on. The intruder would have to be a friend, he had guards outside his tent, so anyone entering through the door would have to get past them, and he blinked at one of his retainers.
“Majesty. It’s the Sorcerer. He is calling us,” the guard informed, and David could only groan.
With some reluctance he left the bath, though more so because his body had stiffened in the time he’d been lying there. Not because it was getting cold.
He didn’t know it at the time, but he dressed as quickly as he could, in trousers and a plain long-sleeved shirt, and had to sit on his bed to pull his boots up. He was glad that his bed wasn’t just a mat on the floor like the others, he had one built for him. Yes, it was smaller than it should be, really only able to fit one, but it had wooden slats and had a pile of furs for him to lie on, with blankets and a feather stuffed pillow.
Eventually he emerged into the darkening day, and a glance to the horizon told him the armies were retreating back to their own sides.
He was escorted across the camp towards the main tent and grunted when he had to bend slightly to enter. The main camp was the home of Prince Arthur of Camelot, who had fielded the least amount of forces, but amongst those he had brought were his Knights of the Round Table. Fierce and physically skilled Lords, who each brought with him their own retainers. Arthur was also one of the wealthier royals in attendance. His tents were a lavish maroon and his banner a golden dragon. He was also adorned well, his clothing stitched with gold thread and his armor etched in gold.
King Midas had also come to battle, though to the disgust of many, his many, many forces were amongst the enemy. Though they had only learnt it was because the Darkest One held his only daughter hostage. He had promised to join them in their fight if his daughter was returned, but until then, he could only sit back and choose not to engage. Not while his daughter’s life was at stake.
David was pretty sure the King would be relieved that the Darkest One was a woman, not that it would stop her should she decide to harm Abbigail, but there was usually less of a risk when women were involved.
The Prince’s David had rode in with were also stationed around, but as their wealth and power didn’t match Camelot’s, they had been forced to concede the semi-title of ‘Leader’ to Arthur.
He was well respected as a commander, it was to be known, and his people seemed to admire him as well, so David had no issue in following the mans lead. Not to mention, he was out of his depth amongst men he should consider his peers. He hadn’t gone hunting with these men, rolled dice with them, bragged about women they had bedded. That had been Prince James, his brother, and David was considered a little shunned because he was pretending he didn’t know any of the boys he once had.
Actually, that was much of his life now. Prince James had been above the peasantry, of course, and only a few of the nobles did he consider worthy to be his servants. Those men watched David with anger in their eyes, disheartened at being thrown aside so carelessly.
At least David could argue that now, as a King, he had to treat people differently, so they didn’t start to wonder why he had no memory of things he should have. There was only so far he could go in saying he had suffered some memory loss after a blow to the head. Least they begin to murmur he was not fit to be on his throne. He wasn’t, that was true, but he had to pretend to be.
Two guards stood at opposite ends of the large tent, decked in full plate mail and with glorious red clocks to signify their rank of Knight. Personally, David thought that Arthur should keep his soldiers closer to him and afford them with respect. But these men considered guarding their prince to be an honor, so didn’t say anything about being treated as guardsmen, when they should have been considered above the simple task.
They didn’t move to hold the flaps open for him. He had to do that himself, and on each side there was a giant golden dragon, beautifully stitched against the red.
Inside the tent there was a large table with chairs around it. On the table, there was a wooden carving of the spire and around that were little coloured flag pieces representing armies. Their allies were positioned around the spire in a circle, but even a glance over the pieces showed they were hopelessly outnumbered.
He turned from that dire sight with a grimace.
The tent was lit with horn candles. Casting orange and yellow onto the ground, which looked to be laid with linen for comfort.
A large mirror had been moved in to sit near the back of the table and he sneered in its direction. As useful as mirror magic could be, its most famous practitioner always left a sour taste in his mouth. At least she wasn’t here. Though, he wouldn’t mind facing her in battle again, if only to rid the world of the witch for good.
There were a few additional chairs provided, and in the corner there was a chest of clothing, a stand for armor, and a small bed.
Prince Arthur used the large table as his writing desk. Evident by the man himself sat at its edge, some reports before him.
“Help yourself,” the Prince directed without glancing up at who had arrived and flicked a hand vaguely in the direction of a small table. It wasn’t a proper table, just two planks and a pair of stands, with mounds of fruit, some misshapen bread, cheeses, some meat, and ale.
Abruptly hungry, David gingerly wandered over and snatched a fowl leg. There was some fish, though he wasn’t sure he trusted it. The ocean was a far walk away, and the stream they had passed a few days ago had long grown too small to provide fish of such sizes, so he wondered how old it might be.
He examined the table as he sank his teeth into the fowl and shook his head. Maybe he wasn’t hungry after all. He took a piece of bread with him and then moved over to the side of the tent.
A few of his fellow King’s had already arrived and they looked as exhausted as he did, some had engaged in the battle today, but a few had sent their people in to die for them instead.
At least the witch, he thought sourly, always lead her people at the front. Charging into battle. She probably had the most bloodlust out of all of her forces.
The grief had hallowed the cheeks of many of his fellow leaders, and they met each other’s eyes with grim loss. David hadn’t received his casualty reports yet, but knew that he would, and knew the weight of the deaths would bow his spine.
He was glad to have finished his piece of bread, for his meal now sat in his gut as though he’d swallowed stones.
He didn’t have to wait long until all of the King’s and Prince’s had gathered, the last to arrive was the Sorcerer, who was holding a very pale and shaky looking Merlin. Merlin was moving carefully, and the Sorcerer flicked his hand and mumbled a few words to summon a chair for the lad. He nearly collapsed into it, and grunted as he settled. The lad had definitely not come out on top in his fight. It was a pity his master hadn’t joined him, then they might have been able to drive the Darkest One away.
David was content to stand in the corner out of the way, he didn’t think he’d get back up if he sat, and could see familiar expressions on the people around him.
Prince Arthur started the meeting with little fanfare. Pushing away his reports and folding them into a leatherbound book. A servant appeared at his side to take the book and replace it with a horn of liquor.
“Today the enemy showed his strength,” he said after a long while. Muttering mostly into his ale-horn. His forces had taken the first wave. It was fitting, according to the Knight’s who had been present when the order of attack was decided. They prided themselves on their strength and bravery, and wanted to be first to taste the enemies blood. Thousands and thousands of men had rushed into the battle and it had been Arthur’s people who had died first. He was clearly taking the loss hard, features gaunt and pale.
“She,” Merlin stirred on his chair and lifted his head wearily. There was a ripple of movement amongst the men.
“She?” asked one, aghast as though the very thought of a woman having such power was beyond him.
David remained silent. He knew women could wield power just as well as any men, thinking of his own wife. She was a capable woman. She ran the kingdom, he just fought at her side. He didn’t know anything that he needed to know.
“The Darkest One is a woman?” Said another, disbelief and disdain dripping from his lips.
“Yes,” Merlin sighed. “And, I have even worse news. I know we were waiting for as many reinforcements as we could, but we are out of time. We need to take the Spire in the morning, or all is lost.”
There were scowls all around, disheartened and angry. They had summoned as much aid as they could, reaching out to other realms even in their quest for more men, but even though many good people had answered, so too had people come to serve the Darkest One. Their fight today had been decided when they realised they couldn’t wait any longer, they were running out of supplies and the enemies number was increasing. They could wait, and run out of supplies (and sickness was running through the camps, not every army was disciplined) for more allies, or fight with the men they had. Either way, time was the enemy.
“I thought we had until sunset?” Said one Nobel accompanying Prince Eric. He was glaring at the Sorcerer, accusation hot in his gaze and his arm was in a sling, features tight with pain. He had joined in the first wave, leading his own peasantry into battle, and he had lost many of them, as well as taking some damage to his arm.
Merlin shook his head, eyes closed as though to fend off poisonous thoughts.
“We thought we had until the sunset… but we have until noon.”
There was silence at his words and then a roar of outrage. Fear and anger gave strength to the exhausted men. David couldn’t pick out many words amongst the chaos and he was too exhausted to even try. He just let them throw insults back and forth at each other, voices crying out in distress.
“We have until noon,” the Sorcerer said, raising his voice to cut through the den and he alone, if no one else, still had the respect of the men. He was hailed as the greatest power of light magic in the Realms. Well known to be both wise and kind. He had been the one to summon them all to battle for the fate of the Realms.
“Tomorrow, we have to take the spire and defeat the Darkest One. Or all is lost.”
“This is ridiculous,” said a lord with a shake of his head. He had a rotund figure, was balding, and his fingers and neck were adorned in gold. He didn’t look like he’d been in a battle, let alone could wield a sword. David was certain his exhaustion was not covering his own disdain for the man, though it was mirrored on a few of his fellows.
“Do we know what this Darkest One wants? Can he-she be reasoned with?”
“Of course not,” scoffed another Lord. “These vile creatures are beyond reason.”
“Do we know what she wants?” Asked Prince Eric.He had been in the last wave of soldiers to attack the enemy. He’d only had time to change, run a washcloth over his body, then come to the meeting.
“We know she is gathering forces of evil and she must be stopped,” said a younger Prince, face twisted into a hateful glare.
“You failed to mention the specifics, when you summoned us,” David said, voicing his own questions towards the Sorcerer.
Merlin was still slumped forward in his chair, staring blankly ahead, and his Master spoke.
“It’s a ritual. An ancient and evil ritual. When the Darkest One completes it, she will have summoned all of the past Dark One’s through time and space to her side. In doing so, she will have the power to rule all of the realms.”
“You said she would enact it at sunset, and now she’s doing it at noon. How can we trust anything you say?” Said another advisor, there was a bandage around his temple, blood staining it red.
“Most of what we know is from ancient texts,” the Sorcerer said gravely, hands clasped before him, looking very… grandfatherly or like a village elder for all that he was the most powerful being in existence. But David was starting to feel out of sorts. For all that power, the sorcerer hadn’t gone into battle, and had instead sent his student into a fight. He was asking them to fight for him, for everyone, without lifting a finger. And he hadn’t really explained anything to them. Not in a way that David really understood, and could see his thoughts mirrored in the eyes of Prince Phillip.
“We know of the spell she will enact, and we knew what day she would cast it.”
The youth before him stirred, blinking away from the canvas wall. “We thought it would be sundown, the night of the longest day to herald an eternal night, but noon makes more sense if you think about it.” Merlin’s voice was tired, weary, weighed down in the way that a young man shouldn’t be and David wondered how long he’d been the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. It must be hard, to have such a powerful master, although inspiring as well.
“Corrupt the power of the light ,turn it into darkness, and spread that across the realms… poetic almost,” he didn’t even sound bitter, just tired and a little lost. David wondered what kind of injuries he had sustained at the hands of the Darkest One, and wondered if the Sorcerer had healed him.
“We don’t actually know what happens when she completes the ritual, or what truly is involved in it, but what we do know, is that we do not want to let her complete it,” he said, raising his head and he didn’t have to meet the eyes of the men present, but he did and David shivered when they met his own.
As young as the man looked, and he would be younger than David, his eyes carried a weight to them that they shouldn't have, though that did make sense for who his Master was. Merlin would have seen many things in his few years.
“So we have from dawn until noon to break through all of that,” said another lord, waving his hand to the side where the other armies rested, “and then figure out a way to stop her?”
There were frowns and mutinous mutterings all around.
“We have a way to stop the spell,” the Sorcerer said with a frown, “rather, we know of a spell to use, but..”
“But?” Asked Prince Phillip, and he had finally given in to weariness and had sat on one of the chairs, dragging it to the edge of the tent so he could look at everyone. The manservant at his side was a new one, the last one had fallen in battle, the prince’s grief a shadow in his eyes.
“It requires two things we do not have. One, more easily obtained than the other.”
“What is it?” David asked, for some reason dreading the answer. A spell to stop ultimate evil wouldn’t be easy to come by. It was probably phoenix feathers, or unicorn horn, or something rare.
“We need her Dagger,” Merlin offered and he was looking a little bit better, enough that he was eying the food with contemplation. Maybe magic use made one hungry? He had to confess, he didn’t know much about it, only that most practitioners were evil.
David snorted, and he wasn’t the only one. One of Arthur’s servants carried a tray of ale around and he accepted the offered drink.. figuring he may as well drink the day's sorrows away. Hopefully he would be able to drink himself to sleep when he returned to his tent, for he knew nightmares were in his future.
“And the easier one?”
“That is the easier one,” Merlin said and David felt the already hopeless task seem more impossible.
“What’s the other option, then? What could possibly be harder to obtain than the Dark One’s dagger?”
Merlin’s answer stumped the room.
“The Heart of someone who loves her.”
David stared into his wine goblet, wondering if he’d really drunken that much. He was sure he hadn’t heard correctly.
“You-what? That’s not - they don’t - can they even love?” He hadn’t been that inarticulate for a while, and not in the presence of other people. The last time had been, was when he and Snow had been in Open Court and someone had asked him about taxing the merchant guilds. He had had no idea, and was happy to leave that to Snow, who instructed an advisor to look into it.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” The Sorcerer said and David lowered his eyes, feeling somewhat like a child being chastened. “Of course, they can love. All sentient things can love.”
Hopelessness was palpable in the tent. The stillness only broken by Merlin lifting his hand and summoning an apple.
“So then,” said the lord with his arm in a sling. “Not only do we have to find the Dark One’s dagger, we also have to find someone who loves her and,” he emphasized, voice rising into boyhood tones, “remove their Heart? Who is gonna do that, you? Isn’t it evil?”
David nodded in agreement. Heart removal was evil, and any who practiced it was evil as well.
“Items can be enchanted to remove Hearts, but it is easier with magic,” Merlin said and he sank his teeth into the apple.
“The more pressing concern is getting to the altar where we can perform the ceremony. There is an army between -“ and he went quiet, head tilting to the side and then his gaze shifted until he was staring out at the canvased wall.
“Merlin?” The Sorcerer asked after a few moments, and the men looked at each other warily. “What is it?”
“Someone is here…”
“I sense it too,” said the Sorcerer, turning to face the direction Merlin had gazed towards, almost like a hound sensing something on the wind. “Evil.”
“No,” Merlin said with a slight shake of his head, and David blinked at the youth. His shock was evident on the expressions of the men around him, how dare the apprentice dare disagree with the master.
“Light,” Merlin rose to his feet, staring through the canvased wall, a brow furrowed.
“Powerful.”
“Powerful enough to help you challenge the Darkest One?” Asked one of the Kings, directing his question to the Sorcerer.
If Merlin, the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, struggled against the Darkest One, then the Sorcerer himself might struggle. If he had some help, though, they might be able to defeat her.
The magic users that they did have in their armies were weak. Hedge-witches at best. Most of the powerful magic users were evil, and their power was beyond anything the heroes could wield, Merlin and his Master aside.
“It’s gone,” he said finally with a shake of his head and slowly sat again, defeated.
“We need to stop the Darkest One from enacting her spell, and she’ll probably cast it at dawn because it will take time to reach completion, which means we have to act then. We can either fight her,” the Sorcerer said, with a glance to Merlin, “and hope that we have the strength to stop her - but then there are her armies to fight.”
“Two,” he said, and listed it off on his finger. “We manage to find her dagger and control her. Three, if she has already begun the spell, we can counter it using her dagger and the Heart of someone who loves her.”
“If you get her dagger, can’t you just make her stop?”
Merlin shook his head, providing David with his response. He didn’t like the idea of controlling someone so completely, but creatures like the Dark One didn’t count. If they could be controlled, then their power could be used for good instead of evil.
“If she has begun the ritual, it can only be stopped by the counter-spell. Merlin will cast it, but it will cost him his life,” the Sorcerer said gravely and there was grief clear in his eyes at the thought of losing his student.
“Knowing what to do, and being able to do it is tw-“
“Excuse me,” someone said at the entrance to the tent, and a series of gasps ran through the room. “I was told the leaders of the armies were here.”
David looked around and nearly fell over, for he understood why his companions had been shocked. Because the man standing in the tent… was himself!