Chapter Two: Charlie

I paced behind the counter, my hands washing out a goblet with a rag, almost out of habit. 

“Why are you letting that fae girl stay here?” My father asked me as he pointed a finger at me. “You don’t know what she wants, why she has come here.”

I set the goblet down. “I know she needs somewhere safe.”

“Safe, who’s safe in a war zone?” He scoffed, his graying beard moving with him as he got up from the stool. “Trolls could be on us any day, and you are worried about a little fae girl's safety?” 

“She doesn’t look like a little girl to me,” I told him as I rested my hands on the countertop. “She looks like a woman who needs help. I am going to help her.” I looked him in the eyes, “Whether you like it or not.”

He threw his hands into the air, the way he always does when he can’t get what he wants. “I thought I raised you better than to take in strays.”

“And I thought you were more of a gentleman than you appear to be.” I threw my rag down on the counter. I moved from behind the counter and made for the stairs. 

I glanced at William, one of my fellows, a man who held a sorrow in his eyes that he dared not speak of. “Let me know if any trolls attack. I am going to bed.” William nodded his head, already straightening from the request. His hands were on the hilt of his sword, ready.

“I wasn’t done talking to you,” My father yelled behind me.

“I was done talking to you,” I shouted back, then went up to my room. 

Once inside, I felt like I could finally breathe. The moment that Aryis walked in here, it felt as if the air was sticking to my skin. 

I sat on my bed, putting my head in my hands. Keeping her here was foolish, but something inside me was saying that I couldn’t let her leave. 

As I lay on my bed and closed my eyes, I wished for sleep to steal me so I could have a moment of peace. 

I opened my eyes to find I was standing in a stone corridor so tall I could feel the draft wafting in. 

Before me stood two men, backs facing me. One tall and built of muscle, the other shorter, leaner, almost wiry. 

“Arthur, we must plan accordingly. You will not survive this fight with Mordred. I have seen it.” The smaller one said as he leaned on a staff made of a dark wood. 

The taller man, Arthur, laughed, “Do you think me weak, Merlin?”

“Now, Arthur, we both know what the prophecy said. This isn’t about strength; it is about the future.” Merlin replied.

Arthur patted Merlin on the shoulder, “It has been good to get this life with you, my friend. In our next one,” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper. “Let’s make it more interesting, shall we?”

“More interesting? I was hoping we would try for simple,” Merlin said, chuckling, “Not fighting to survive?”

“Oh, but I love a good fight, Merlin, you know that.” Arthur laughed, “Besides,” Arthur turned around. “A fight must be won, and I am good at winning them.”

As I took in his face, there was something familiar in it. Something I couldn’t quite place. 

His eyes settled on me as if he could see me. “This may be the day of my death,” He breathed, not looking at Merlin; he looked at me. 

My blood ran cold.

“But death is only just the beginning.”

I awoke, sweat dripping from my face, my breath coming in short pants. “What the hell?” I asked the empty room around me. 

But the answer was clear as the words rang in my ears. “Death is only just the beginning.”