The Devil's Causeway (Interlude Camelot)
The scent of woodsmoke, the musky aroma of horses, and the sharp biting odor of sweat wafted through the encampment. A blend that heralded both eagerness and fear amongst those who remained scattered amongst the pavilions and smaller tents that were even now being hastily dismantled by squires, pages, and peasants alike.
At the last, the scouts had returned. After a dozen smaller skirmishes, their destination lay within a half day's heavy march. Their enemies a mere day away, growing ever closer. Aye, the Angles were coming, as all knew they must. A simple confirmation of what had already been seen and proclaimed by the far sight of eyes with visions spanning farther than the horizon.
Ulfin of Rhydychen was only aggrieved that Edern was not numbered amongst their host, choosing to rebel rather than bend the knee to the newly proclaimed High King. A scout who defeated the enemy ere the warband grew close would garner much appreciation anon.
His own knees ached. He had never been one to drench himself in magicry and so the long years with Ambrosius and Uther had begun to catch up with him, even while such as the elder pair of Dragon Knights continued to frolic across the kingdom, paying little heed to neither rebellions nor encroaching invasions.
Alack and alas, he was never a Brown.
The plucking of a lyre continued to melodiously jangle in the background. Afaon rather than his more famous father. Where the devil was Merlin now?
A woman drifted through camp, statuesque with a curvaceous body beneath the foggy tumble of her gown and tunic, a figure that belied the truth of her being a mother of two, one not even past a year old. Unlike the twisted torques at her throat and wrists, the dark red spill of her unbound wavy hair lacked the tint of gold found within her younger brother's.
Aye, they were different enough that one would be forgiven for not immediately noticing the family resemblance.
Or so the wagging of scandalous tongues would have one believe.
Queen Morgause of Lothian.
And the winning drabble for September is "Camelot era Merlin going all out with their magic (I want to see them go super saiyan)" at 2795 words. Uh, yeah, this was kinda an important battle, so I went a bit overboard there.
Also, this is Interlude Camelot instead of Interlude Merlin because there's something of a distinct lack of Merlin in this drabble about Merlin as they're too busy plotting and opening abysses into the bowels of the earth for the torment and pleasure of all (what, you thought they'd let you see them do stuff?)
Instead, have a lot of the Fellowship of the Round Table (before there was a round table) going "Where the devil is Merlin?!" Also, Bedivere wants you to know he saw nothing. NOTHING.
No King Leodegrance here, as this is before Arthur's betrothal to Guinevere.
Now available on the "Rider Groupies of the Apocalypse" and higher tiers of my Patreon.