The Llanfair heritage – Dragon Hearts II
A/N: This story is a sequel to my story Dragon Hearts. It is possible to follow the story line of The Llanfair Heritage without having read Dragon Hearts but it might be easier to understand some details especially of Arthur's motivation and the problems between him and his father, if one has read the first story.
I hope you'll enjoy the new story whether you've read the first one or not.
Ever since he had been brought here, whenever that had been, he had searched for a way to escape but he hadn't found one. He had felt his way around the pitch dark room but only found seamless stone walls. Despite his best attempts to feel strong, confident and in control as befitted a powerful warlock the young man felt miserable. Without the slightest idea where he was, who had abducted him or to what purpose, he admitted to himself that he was scared by now. Very scared.
It was the unnatural silence of this place that unnerved him most, even more than the fact that he was hungry and more than a little bit thirsty by now. Surely even in the deepest dungeon one should hear something. Voices or someone knocking against the wall or at least one or two guards patrolling outside or…..well, something! Instead this place - windowless and obviously without any identifiable entrance - was also soundless.
The wizard shivered in the cold dampness of his prison. Once again he tried to use his magic, at least to get some warmth and some light to this dreadful place, but again it was to no avail. This feeling, as if he ran against a soft but unrelenting wall every time he tried to use his magic abilities – he didn't want to admit it, but he had experienced something like that before. The walls of Blackrock Castle, Llanfair's stronghold – as long as the old Count had been alive they had been magically shielded too. During his attempts to penetrate them they had felt exactly as these walls felt now.
This situation, this place were a better memento of the late Count Arwan of Llanfair than any sepulchral stone. The apprehension and dread the young sorcerer now felt weren't that different from what Arthur Pendragon had experienced as Arwan's prisoner.
"The old Count is dead and so is his unnatural power" the warlock tried to calm himself. "I was there, I saw him die. I was there when it happened. I paralysed the monster; otherwise he'd never been killed. He's dead! He died a year ago." But unfortunately his senses told him a completely different truth.
With a sinking heart he just sat helplessly in the dark and waited. For what, he didn't know. Slowly but surely the double fear he felt for himself and for his royal friend began to eat away the last remainder of Merlin's courage. He curled up against the wall and began to shake, his wide, terrified eyes staring uselessly into the silent darkness.
Where had this nightmare begun? What had been the wrong turn from which they had taken one doomed path after another?
While the hours ticked away slowly and terrifyingly Merlin started to think back to what had happened after they had first returned from Blackrock to Camelot. Almost a year ago.