He nods, agreeing. “Yes. Arthur. It is no doubt that he is truly to be a king, but not of Albion, as of late. It is a common knowledge to everyone that Prince Arthur is the only son of King Uther Pendragon of Camelot and his late wife. King Uther is one of the kings of Logres, and Logres is just a small part of the entire land of Albion, the united kingdom of the prophesied Golden Child’s reign. There is truly no doubt that Arthur is meant to be the true king of Albion. But, the trials for him to be king will not be easy; in this world where there had been the struggle of Might.” He sighs to himself, unsure if it is wise for him to trust me right away that I am the so-called Unknown Seer of the prophecy, but a few minutes ago, hadn’t he opened up to me about it already? “So, given the mystery of your appearance here, I’d like to assume that you’re the Unknown Seer. And the only way for you to make it back to your world is if you will succeed in helping Arthur become king. And yet, that is not the hardest of the missions left. The main goal of the person believed to be the Unknown Seer is to help with the finding of the Holy Grail.”
I frown a little. “The Holy Grail? I don’t quite remember my learnings of the Legend of King Arthur to make a connection of that with him.”
“The Holy Grail is the cup… while others said that it had been the platter, used by Jesus Christ at the Last Supper. And to find it, will be the greatest discovery and achievement of the king himself,” explains Merlin.
“But… how can I do that? After all, I am just a high school student. Not to mention that my lack of knowledge about things like this does not offer any edge at all.” For the first time, I manage to finally voice out my concern to him.
The young sorcerer smiles affectionately at me. “That’s why, you’ll train. In order to be someone worthy of being by his side. Nothing to worry. Arthur, at this time, is just a year older than you. There is enough time before the worse of things even come.”
Just… a year older than me?!
Knowing myself and my classmates back then in my world, I can’t help but to consider my perspective of Arthur as a completely ambitious and proud man himself. I will even say that he’ll certainly be a confident one, since he knew that he is meant to be the king due to being the son of his king father. And what does women of these days actually do but to serve as maids and attendants all the while men became knights to go jousting or heading to quests themselves.
I turn to him for a second. “Why didn’t you…”
He smiles at me. “Hmm?” He opens his arms wide. “Arthur is using me as a target practice or shield. And the prophecy that twines me with Arthur doesn’t last until the end. Somehow, along the road, my own thread ends.”
I bite my lower lip, no longer pushing the discussion. I realize the stark sadness on his words, that despite how he paints Arthur as an arrogant master of his, he truly earns a friendship with the prince, and treasures it.
I wonder what people around them say. But then… what about me now? Being the one that Merlin seems to be so sure of to be along with Arthur for far much longer than he himself will.
What will people say then if they see me right next to Arthur as per the words from Merlin that is expected of my destiny to be here? Not to mention how old I’ll be then before Arthur becomes king? That is perhaps what my first worry should be.
Back in my world, the Queen is still alive and kicking as she celebrates her Diamond Jubilee. The Prince of Wales is about two decades younger than the Queen.
Now that I impart it to this world… how old will Arthur when he becomes the king? But it isn’t the last of my worries at all. My last expected duty is to help him with finding the Holy Grail. How old will I be at that time that he successfully finds it?
Is it possible?
I suddenly imagine seeing myself as an elderly woman, quite tired and excited to finally return back home upon accomplishing my tasks as my ticket back to my own London. And though Merlin assured me that it will have a little effect, no doubt, in my own time, the thought of how long I must stay here still send shivers to me. It seems like I’ll need to adapt in living at this world right away, one way or another.
Merlin assures me another time, realizing my lack of reaction at his words. He turns to me with a small smile. “Nothing to worry, Eira. For I think that the fates that lead you here does not intend to take you away from home for far too long. I take it that things will start moving to its expected course the very moment that you’ve already proven to whatever power that had brought you here that you are truly intended to be next to Arthur all throughout his life’s success in his mission as the True King of Albion.”
I am actually sure that Arthur will succeed even without my help because he is meant for it. And there’s Merlin as his guide. What troubles me is that… the fates seem to have taken the wrong person for this such crucial job. After all, my own world had known things about Arthur being legendary and an accomplished king for his story to exist until that of my time. What I fear is that, with my actions in here, it might change the history that I myself knows of. What will happen then if that will be the case?
A few more walks as Merlin and I take in the silence, I realize that there had been a falcon soaring the sky with its string getting around its body as it flaps its wings uncontrollably, shaking it off his lower body. It screeches before making another round of a flight.
“Merlin,” I call out for the sorcerer who doesn’t mind stopping at all even with the sight of the falcon soaring. “That falcon’s string had winded around its lower body. It will be a trouble if it will be caught at a branch and never break free from it.”
At that mention, Merlin finally stops walking and looks up through a gap in between the shades of the trees. He squints his eyes to see clearly before telling me, “That one is a hobby.”
I chuckle dryly. “I don’t think that winding a string that tightly around a falcon can be considered as a hobby. I take it that falconry is the sport of kings.”
“What I mean is that,” Merlin rephrases his words. “That falcon is a hobby.”
“Okay…” Because I don’t understand what he meant.
“You’ve mentioned that falconry is the sport of kings, that is why there is a hierarchy of hawks and the social ranks for which each bird was supposedly appropriate. Take for example that an emperor may have the peregrine falcon, and the king may have the gyrfalcon. The same way that I know too well that that hobby belongs to a young man,” he explains, still looking on at the falcon that is gliding as it searches for some tree to land.
“So, there really is a type of falcon that is named ‘hobby’?” It is slowly dawning on me how foolish the English language can be turned against in instances as this.
“Yes. That hobby is certainly a new one, or perhaps, the falconer doesn’t know how to handle it properly. I am much more inclined to believe that it had been the former,” he remarks before placing his hands onto his waist and shaking his head a little. “He will certainly not just allow it to end up that way in the first place.”
Without any further ado, I didn’t hesitate to rush toward the large tree where the hobby had rested with all of its strings around its body. It still flurries, flapping its wings to break through the binds. But as it does so, a looped side of the string got tangled to a smaller branch. If it continues on its struggle, then it will fall from the branch it had been settling on and get hanged upside down helplessly.
I instantly remove my backpack, taking the Swiss knife from the side pocket of the bag. And with no knowledge or experience at all about climbing trees, much more with great heights as this one, well, there’s really no use to back out right now.
“There’s always a first time for everything,” I mumble to myself, already holding on to the first branch as I search on for a sturdy part of the tree to place my foot on. I elicit a soft cry when my other foot slips for a second before I take a much tighter grip onto the branch.
Merlin calls out from me the moment I am already at the second branch, as if he only reaches me just now. He is looking up below the tree as I continue my ascent. “Eira, this is completely unnecessary. The owner of the hobby will surely hurry here to take it with him. And also, I fear it that—”
“Merlin, that falcon is hurting himself. If we wait a little bit more, his owner will surely see the falcon filled with much more scratches,” I tell him, loud enough for him to hear. Every time that I am to move on with the next branch, hoisting myself up, I decide to be much more careful than I usually does. I tell myself not to look down and make me faint at the height of the gravity that I am defying. In the end, perhaps I should have agreed with Merlin and wait for the falcon’s owner to take it; and Merlin could just unwind the string with his magic. Yet, something pushes me to the edge when animals are in dire help.
Well, not only animals. I am sure that if it will be a person himself who’ve been at that same position, I will not ease my mind and soul with the knowledge that he is at such a spot. Despite all my self-grievances with my natural unluckiness and clumsiness, I’ll do everything in my power to do help; knowing that despite everything else, there’s surely something that I can offer. Some sort of hope. Even though there’s a bigger tendency that I am to just cause much more trouble than to actually do something out of it.
It hurts to be called ‘clumsy’ and ‘unlucky’. It is such a blow to me that there is little to no strength at all within me that I can do something good or successful. It is like telling me that I am hopeless, and if I am to be the hero, I’ll be the helpless one who can’t even do what is asked of me in the first place.
As I continue my climb, I wield myself not to look down. Doing so will make me phobic all at once. But when I am about two branches away, my palm scraps against the frazzled layer of the branch, instantly making me bite my tongue to keep from crying out and pull my hand away. And just that simple mistake, makes me almost lose my balance, for me to wobble on my feet and immediately embrace the branch. Just like that, all my fear rushes in, seeing for myself how high I’ve been.
I close my eyes for a second. Merlin’s name hangs from the tip of my tongue, about to call out his name for some help. I’ve been foolish myself to be the brave one. I almost forgot that Merlin is a sorcerer himself, and be done with this falcon incident as easily with a mutter of a word.
But… how will I be able to return back to my world if I’ll not be able to fulfill what is expected of me? How will I be worthy of being next to a legendary king such as Arthur, be his guide all along the way until the end of his success, if all I can do is to survive the night but still cower in the fear of other things? I do not want to be simply brave. I want to be courageous in the face of all adversity.
I look up another time, seeing the falcon still flapping its wings as it hangs upside down due to its winded strings around its lower body and then to the branch itself. I slowly pull away from the branch, and despite the pain on my wounded palm, I continue to pull myself up until I finally reach the falcon close.
Seeing me, the falcon flaps its wings much more. Whether it is afraid or glad to see me doesn’t matter; for I am meant to rescue it from its binds. I take the Swiss knife from my pocket and cut through the tangles. I don’t want to firmly cut the strings all at once. As a matter of fact, a falconer will hate to lose one of his birds, so I will much want to have as long as the strings still possible.
This falcon, one that Merlin had called to be a hobby, is still a young one. The string had served its explanation. It will take a few more months before it will be allowed to fly freely without anything binding it from its owner. Perhaps Merlin is right to say that the falconer loses hold of the string and allow the falcon to fly away, or it had been all the falcon’s fault.
But now that I successfully unwind the strings, switching back the Swiss knife and good thing that it has a C-hook keychain that I instantly attached it to my dress’s belt, the problem is how am I going to make it down all the while holding the other end of the string. Surprisingly though, the falcon didn’t dare to fly any further, deciding to obediently stay on the branch, look at me and try to say something.
I didn’t look back down to see Merlin watching me, doing so will render back the fears that I am proud of to overcome. Somehow. With a firm decision, I tied the string around my wrist, winding it just at a right distance. I then urge the falcon to stand (or is it sit?) on my shoulder, instantly regretting it right away when its claws bite against my clothes and skin. But having it settle on my sleeved arm will cause much problem. Either way, the falcon seems rather obedient with my bidding and so, I bite my tongue for that pain.
I begin my descent down, and surprisingly, it had been easier to do so. Perhaps the old sayings had been wrong. That the descent is way much easier than the ascent; though the real commentators mean ‘the descent to hell is easy’, but I am not heading to hell or whatsoever. But either way, it could be used for all the hardship to let this falcon be saved.
My shoes touch the ground with a light sound against the grasses. I almost tumble back on my footing, causing the falcon to immediately move from my shoulders and flap its wings rather hysterically to balance itself out when I can’t. But with its strings winded around my arm, when I fall back to sit on the ground, it ends up falling along with gravity. Not to mention that it had fallen back at the same time before immediately righting itself to stand and tentatively walk along the grass, knowing that he’ll not be able to fly away on his own with the strings that attached the two of us right now.
All of a sudden, the sound of blade scraping against wood freezes me on the spot, and I find myself looking straight on at the tip of a sword pointed in between my eyes. With wide eyes, I trail the span of the blade, to where it meets with its guard and hilt, and then to the pale and strong hands holding the sword tightly without any hesitation or even a twitch at all.
A little more, my eyes move up and I come face-to-face, at sword point, with a handsome young man with a well-chiseled face, high cheekbones and angular jaw. He has curly blond locks of hair that had been cut to taper against his neck… or rather, a beautiful golden hair. Too bad that his eyes, like some aquamarine gem, are squinted and that heavy frown that seems to ignite a thought in my head that he is furious.
Finally, he asks me with that sonorous voice filled with venom, “Who are you?”
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