The Legend of King Adharic

"And ne'er a king has ever lived nor lives
with flame as bright, with will as fierce and strong
as Adharic, the Sovereign Antler-Crowned,
whose name and deeds I now regail in song!"

—Song of Sky and Stone

Of all the legends of great heroes of old, few are more enduring than that of the first and only person to unite all the clans and tribes of Albion under a single crown—of Adharic the Great. While there are as many versions of this epic tale as there are great bards to tell it, this is the legend as it is most commonly known...

In the Beginning

Long ago, when the footfalls of giants still shook the land and the shadows of the great wyrms still darkened the skies, the folk of Albion lived in fear. This was a time before great cities like Lithlyngow and Forsyth, when only the bravest of Southerlings dared to venture north beyond the limits of the ancient roads, keeping the relics of their saints close for protection. Albion was a wilder land in that time, full of ancient magic and terrible dangers. Any who dared to travel too far north risked running afoul of giants, and only the most fearless—and foolhardy—warriors could hope to survive their wrath. Stories abounded in those dark days of herds of cattle slaughtered to sate the giants' vast appetites; whole villages swallowed by the earth, dragged down into The Stone Forest by their vengeful magic. The highland clans were hardy folk, however—they hunted and farmed where they could, carved out lives in the wilderness, and trusted in the spirits of the Old Ways. Their warriors were fierce and their druids wise and cunning, and so in large part they passed beneath the notice of the giants.
It is with the fate of one such clan that this tale begins—with Clan Domnhall of the highlands, who were in that age among the most northerly of all the highland clans, and one of the strongest, for they had a fearsome warrior queen to defend them. No other clan dared raid their fields, and even the giants seemed to heed the songs of her might. Alas, it was these very tales that brought destruction to their doorstep, as a pair of young and brazen giants—the twins Thrasir and Thrymir—came down from on high one night, determined to put Clan Domnhall and its queen to the sword. Such was the ill fate of the clan; that very morning, the warrior queen had given birth to her firstborn child, a daughter. She was in no condition to fight, and so she fled with her people, leading them over crags and vales to the lowlands, and the stronghold of Clan MacAlpin. Standing at the gate with her daughter in her arms, she planted her spear in the ground and demanded that the MacAlpin King open his gates and grant her people refuge. At first, the warriors at the gate scoffed at the dirty, ragged woman who presumed herself the equal of a great king, but the day came and went, and at dusk she still had not moved. When the king at last got wind of the indomitable woman standing before his gate, he came to the rampart himself to hear her story. He too, was grieving the cruelty of fate, which had but lately stolen away his husband. Moved by her bravery and determination, he welcomed the surviving Domnhalls into his hall for as long as they wished to stay. For her part, the warrior queen was struck by the kindness and generosity of the lowland king. Fate had entangled their threads, it seemed; soon they had fallen in love, and not long after, the queen's daughter was joined in this world by a son. The blood of two great clans flowed through his veins, and so he was named Adharic—he who unites.

The Destiny of Kings

The omens of Adharic's birth were unusual, and the court druids could not make head nor tail of them. So, the king and queen sent for one of the Merlins, the greatest sages of the Old Ways. For three days, the Merlin studied and meditated in silence, before at last he spoke: Adharic's destiny held both great triumph, and great suffering. In his future lay surpassing greatness, if he could but survive the cruel grasp of fate long enough to reach it.
Adharic's childhood was full of joy. With his older sister Morgwyn to look after him, he was soon acquainted with every nook and cranny of the castle. Many of the MacAlpin warriors had children of his age, and Morgwyn and Adharic often joined them to play at hunting, or battle, or stealing food from the castle kitchens. Foremost among these children was the son of a great warchief from Clan MacClyde by the name of Rhydderch. He was a wild and mischiveous boy, and soon the three became fast friends. Alas that these bright days could not last forever—as the years came and went, rumors of giant attacks grew more numerous. Thrasir and Thrymir were on the move, and they had a warband of great and terrible giants with them who laid waste to any village they encountered. It was only a matter of time before they reached the lowlands. Burdened by the knowledge of their young son's destiny, the king and queen sent him away along with the other young warriors of the clan to the monastery of Balkorran. There, they hoped, the warrior priests of Saint Urgoth would keep him safe and prepare him to face his destiny. As for their daughter Morgwyn, she wished to study the Old Ways. Morgwyn had grown into a cunning young woman—she had overheard the worried whispers of her parents recounting the Merlin's augury of her brother's fate, and she believed that if she too mastered the Old Ways, she could change his fate. So, she journeyed north into the deep forests of the highlands, and began her tutelage under the Merlins, determined to return with the power to protect Adharic from whatever tragedy awaited him.
For his part, Adharic devoted himself fully to mastering the arts of war, and under the watchful instruction of the monks, he soon grew into a masterful combatant. Skilled in sword, bow and spear, there was no warrior among his peers who was a match for him—save, of course, for Rhydderch. The pair were inseperable, training together, hunting together, and testing their battle strategies against each other on the chessboard. While Adharic excelled with physical combat, Rhydderch was a canny strategist. When they began leading raids into giant territory, Rhydderch planned their route, while Adharic lead the way. They were brothers in arms, bound by a kindred desire to see the mostrous giants banished from Albion.

Darkness Before Dawn

It was around this time, as Adharic and Rhydderch were completing their training, that Morgwyn began to see the omens. She had proved an eager and diligent student of the Old Ways, willing to go to great lengths to progress in her training. While she was wise in many ways, she was also impatient, knowing all too well that time was against her. Thus, when she began to see dire omens, she went to the elder Merlins at once and asked them what ought to be done. They read the omens, and determined that a great battle was soon to be fought in which the giants would prevail over the clans. Morgwyn begged them to intervene, but the druids refused. They knew fate would not be so easily changed, and they hoped that a crushing defeat for the clans would at last sate the bloodlust of the Thrasir and Thrymir and bring an end to the war. Morgwyn knew that she had to return home if the clans were to have any chance of prevailing—turning herself into a swift hawk, she flew southwards as quickly as the wind would carry her. As she approached the MacAlpin lands, she saw a great storm on the horizon, and when at last she reached the walls of the castle battle had already been joined. From atop the ramparts of the castle, Morgwyn bent the storm to her will, calling down thunderbolt after thunderbolt on the giants. Thrasir and Thrymir were rune mavens of unamtched skill, and it is said that their battling laid the great MacAlpin castle to ruin. Morgwyn fought long and fiercely, but in the end the giant twins were too mighty, and she was forced to flee in the form of a crow and hide among the carrion-birds until the giants were gone. It was there, flitting among the corpses, that she saw the bodies of her mother and stepfather, rent apart by the giants' wrath.
It is said that tragedy and prophecy are oft entertwined, and certainly such is the way of the Merlins. Only the strongest wills can bear the strain of such gifts without breaking, and whether out of kindness or cruelty, such burdens often fall on those who remain when the dust has settled. So it was with Morgwyn, and she rose from the fields of the dead bearing the powers of a Merlin and a prophecy—unless all the lands of Albion were united under a single banner, they were doomed to fall to the giants. With all haste she flew to the Isle of Balkorran, seeking her brother Adharic, for she knew without a doubt that if anyone could unite the scattered clans and kindoms of Albion, it would be him.

The Marks of a Monarch

The reunion of brother and sister was a grim one, for Morgwyn brought with her the news that their home and family had been destroyed by the giants. Adharic wept at first, but soon a fury came over him, and he swore that he would not rest until every last giant had bee driven from Albion. He wanted to ride out at once and take vengeance, but Rhydderch cautioned him against a rash attack. If Morygwn's prophecy offered any hope, it was that Adharic could yet fulfill his destiny and unite all of Albion.
Already king among the hosts of Domnhall and MacAlpin, Adharic set out to win the respect of all the peoples of Albion. First, he journeyed to the druids, and asked them humbly to share their wisdom with him, so that he might earn the fealty of the land itself. He brought tidings of how the giants had ravaged the land, and Morgwyn spoke of her prophecy and what she had seen. The druids were grim-faced, but eventually they agreed that if Adharic could prove himself a worthy king to the wilds, then they would lend him their strength in the battle against the giants. As the druids had asked, Morgwyn and Adharic hunted down the Ivory Stag, first among the spirits of the wilderness, and took its antlers to fashion into a crown. To any king of the old ways that beheld him, the white antler crown would be proof enough that Adharic had been chosen by the spirits. Cunning Rhydderch traveled deep beneath the mountains to the forge of a vain and greedy giant smith, where he offered a pile of glittering gemstones in exchange for the opportunity to touch one of his legendary blades. The giant was so taken with his flattery that he agreed, and when he held out the sword to Rhydderch, he took it and slew the giant with one blow. Rhydderch returned to the surface with a sword fit for a high king—the blade known today as Caliburn. Finally, Adharic spoke to the monks of the Southlands, and heard the tales of their Saints and the great kingdoms across the sea. With his friends by his side, he set off to hunt down an aurochs, an ancient and rare breed of giant cattle. Following in the legendary footsteps of Saint Leoric, patron of kings, Adharic took one of its horns as proof that the saints' favor was with him. The priests of the saints were in awe when he returned from his hunt, and they blessed the horn so that if a true king blew it, all the hosts of Albion would answer its call. With these three great boons, Adharic knew that fate was with him, and that soon vengeance would be his.

The High King

It was in the vale of Dun Fomorh, where his mother and father had fallen in battle, that Adharic blew the great horn. The pure, clear note echoed in the vale, and by Saint Leoric's grace it was carried to the ears of every warrior across the length and breadth of the land. From the Southlands, from the highlands, from the lowlands they came, and when they beheld the antler-crowned king, his ancient blade held high, they fell to their knees as one. Rhydderch was the first warrior to pledge himself to the high king, and he swore his oaths with tears of joy in his eyes. One by one, the kings and queens of the land gave their vows of fealty, and Adharic accepted them humbly and with grace. But alas, not all eyes upon the high king were friendly, for Morgwyn had seen how the bond of brotherhood had grown between her brother and Rhydderch, and she was jealous of the years that they had spent together. She had sacrificed so much to see him crowned, to fulfill his destiny, and where was her reward? Not a queen, not even a warrior, she had fallen beneath his notice.
So, as the high king marched northwards to end the giant threat, Morgwyn began to concoct a dire scheme. Using foul herbs and tonics, she would poison Rhydderch's mind against the high king. Then, once her brother had fulfilled his destiny, he would die by the hand of his closest friend. With Rhydderch banished in disgrace for his betrayal, she would take Adharic's place. After all, they shared the same mother, the same blood, the same desire for vengeance on the giants. Her foresight as Merlin had shown her no grand destiny of her own, so she would have to make one.

The Twilight of Fate

Great was the rage of Thrasir and Thrymir when they heard that an upstart king had rallied an army and marched into their lands. Gathering their strongest warriors, the twins waited in the ruins of Clan Domnhall's once-great lands. When at last the hosts of Albion arrived, the giants sprang from the earth with grasping hands, splitting the stone with great fissures. But Adharic had the blessing of the land with him, and the roots of the trees grew strong and fast, knitting the earth together before him. Mighty was his battle-cry as he charged against them, terrible was his rage as he struck left and right with Caliburn, cleaving flesh and bone with every stroke. Thrasir called forth lightning against him, and Thrymir smote him with thunder, but each time Adharic stood fast against their magic, for he had the runes of his giant-forged blade to protect him. With three great blows, he brought Thrymir to her knees, then struck her head clean off. Then, the giants saw the wrath of the high king for what it truly was, and a terror came over them. Northwards they fled, but Adharic was a peerless hunter, and he tracked them down to a great vale deep in the highlands, a place of great and ancient power for the giants. Here they made their final stand, with raging Thrasir at their head, but the hosts of Albion surrounded them, and at a blast from the high king's horn fell on the giants from all sides, all at once. In a blind fury, Thrasir charged Adharic across the field, and with Rhydderch at his side the high king stood his ground. Caliburn flashed out, ready to strike the charging giant, and in that moment Adharic knew his destiny to be fulfilled. But as the giant came on, Morgwyn's foul magic took hold of Rhydderch, and he took his blade and cut the high king's feet out from under him. Thus it came to pass that Adharic killed the giant Thrasir and took a mortal blow himself, fulfilling his destiny with his final breath.
In the wake of the battle, many a tear was shed, for the high king had been loved by all—all save his own treacherous sister. Morgwyn's cunning was indeed great, but she had not counted on the honor and courage of Rhydderch. Instead of fleeing in disgrace, he admitted to all the horrible deed he had been forced to do. Then, with tears in his eyes he took up Caliburn and drove it into Morgwyn's chest. Even with a great blade such as Caliburn, the death of a Merlin is no simple thing. Though she was grievously wounded, Morgwyn tried to flee, first hiding as a crow among the carrion-birds, then as a black ram among the mountain herds. But once Caliburn has tasted evil blood, no sorcery or druidcraft can dull its edge or make it strike awry. Seventeen days and nights did he hunt her, before at last grim Rhydderch tracked Morgwyn down. She had fled to the Isle of Balkorran and laid waste to the monastery there, a final act of cruelty against her brother's memory, but there on the isle where he had won his first battles as a warrior, Rhydderch won his last battle and ended Morgwyn's evil for good. When at last the fight was done, Rhydderch looked to bloodstained Caliburn in his hand, and wondered at all the strife it had caused. There, he swore mighty oaths to never again let such power fall in mortal hands.

Epilogue

It is said that Rhydderch was last seen weeping where the high king's spirit rests with Caliburn driven into the stone beside him. After that, he vanished from the world, taking Caliburn and his sorrow with him. Some say he sought out a way to unmake the blade, so that no evil heart would again be tempted by its power. Others say that he was lifted by the saints for his loyalty and honesty and offer prayers to him in times where lies threaten to blot out the truth. Others still believe his spirit still haunts the sites of his great battles, forever searching for Adharic so that they might be reunited in the next life.
As for Adharic, his name will be remembered forever as first among the kings of Albion. Many believe that he was lifted after death to sit at Saint Leoric's right side, an honor befitting the only king to ever unite all of Albion. Numerous monasteries claim to have preserved relics of his reign, from horsehoes to rings of his chain mail to locks of his hair, but while his vision of a unified Albion did not survive his death, his legacy has inspired many a great leader, warrior, and hunter in the centuries since his death.
As for Morgwyn, her treachery has cast a long shadow—a warning to all future Merlins that destiny is a dangerous thing to meddle in. Some believe that as punishment for her transgressions and the betrayal of her oaths as a druid, the Old Ones cursed her spirit to wander the battlefields of Albion, whispering dire warnings to those who think themselves the wielders of fate, rather than its pawns...

Related People

• Adharic the Great