#turtle rambles

Merlin stood tied to a pole set in the middle of a stage, his own pyre was finally built. He kept eye contact with Uther as he shrieked about sorcery being evil. “You were the future Queen of Camelot. How could you turn against your own people? How could you turn against Arthur, your King?” Merlin let out a loud scoff. “This joke has gone too far, and I admit I have a part in this. Let me set this straight: I am NOT Arthur’s Queen. I am his servant, his friend, a pretty face but that is it. Camelot is part of Arthur, and I take protecting Arthur seriously. However, they are not MY people. The druids you continue to slaughter are my people. They are my KIN. I was born of them. They were born of me. We are one and the same. Our dreams are haunted by fire and smoke, Pendragon. Fires you have lit.” Merlin’s eyes hardened as he spoke with anger, his voice gaining an odd quality -like he was of the Ancients- a deep timbre unlike his usual lilt took over. He spared a glance behind Uther’s shoulder, to the group of knights huddled there. Mordred was in the middle, sobs shaking his entire being. There was an arm wrapped around his chest, to comfort or hold him Merlin did not know but he was grateful just the same. The arm was attached to a stony Leon. Leon’s face was fixed in a cold glare but his eyes betrayed the smallest glimpse of grief and pain. Merlin looked away. He couldn’t bear the sight of his First-Chosen in such deep pain because of his own actions. What a mother he was, eh? Making his child cry! Who could do such a thing? Everything will be alright, my hatchling. Merlin wasn’t sure if it would be alright but would do or say just about anything to soothe Mordred’s tears, except possibly what the boy wanted most: his mother out of the flames.