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evedaser · 3 months ago

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Merlin Spell Review

After rewatching the entirety of the show, some episodes more than once, and taking notes the whole time, I am so excited to finally present to you a full summary of the magical data* from 2008-2012's BBC Merlin.

*Specifically about the spells, therefore innate/passive abilities were not included! Morgana's visions, Merlin's Dragonlord commands, Anhora's teleportation etc DO NOT COUNT.

BBC Merlin contains 512 spells over the course of 65 episodes.

Characters

Merlin

Merlin cast 312 spells (60.9%) over the course of the show for an average of exactly 4.8 spells per episode. 112 of his spells were cast nonverbally, comprising 35.9% of his total magic usage. This proportion was at its highest in s1 (35.1%) when his magic was at its least refined and most instinctual, and s5 (71.2%) when his magic was at its most powerful.

(The other 39.1% of spells are divided between 41 other characters.)

He is the most consistent magic user in the series, being the only magician to cast in (almost!) every episode. There were 12 episodes where he was the only character to perform magic (including some surprising ones like s4e9: Lancelot du Lac, where Morgana's resurrection of Lancelot doesn't actually use any spells. In fact, Merlin is the only one to use spells in any of the three episodes named after Lancelot - s1e5: Lancelot, s2e4: Lancelot and Guinevere, and s4e9: Lancelot du Lac).

Season 3 Episode 8: Eye of the Phoenix is the only episode in the show in which Merlin does not cast any spells. He does still perform magic in this episode via the use of his Dragonlord abilities, however these were not measured in this tally.

Merlin did not throw anyone until Season 2, where he throws Jonas against the wall in a confrontation in Episode 5: The Beauty and the Beast I. The first time he threw anyone nonverbally was in Episode 13 of the same season, The Last Dragonlord, when, in a fit of anguish, he instinctively threw and killed the soldier who had just stabbed Balinor. In general his combat strategy tends towards using the environment (dropping tree branches, chandeliers, slamming doors) or the opponent's own equipment (heating sword hilts, breaking saddles, pushing weaponry against their will) against them rather than brute force, though he does transition more toward throwing in the later seasons. By the end of the series, he had used spells to throw people, either verbally or nonverbally, 24 times, still less than Morgana despite his head-start.

He cast his highest amount of spells in s4 (69) and his lowest amount in s5 (52).

Merlin used magic to do his chores 9 times on screen.

The lovely @arrowlovesdragons asked that I note how many of Merlin's spells were for Arthur, which I did and subsequently turned into this graph:

The most common characters included in "Other" were Gwen and Gaius, Morgana in the earlier seasons, and very notably in s2 (hence the large increase), Freya. Any spells Merlin did for Uther were counted under "Camelot".

Or, if you want a simplified version (wherein I factored "Others" as Merlin's own desires, and "Camelot" as being for Arthur):

TL;DR when Merlin said "I use it for you, Arthur, only for you." he was blatantly lying. That being said, he still devotes almost half of all of his magic to just Arthur. In s5 when he makes that statement, it's more than half. Considering Balinor told Merlin that he is magic itself... well. Merlin wasn't too far off.

Morgana

Morgana is the second most prolific caster in the show, casting 59 spells (11.5%) across the 25 episodes she is magically active in for an average of exactly 2.36 spells per episode. She has the highest proportion of accidental casts in the show, the first in Season 1 Episode 12: To Kill the King, wherein her touch activates the Mage Stone, and the other 5 in Season 2 Episode 3: The Nightmare Begins, where she casts magic in a panic after being woken by nightmares.

The aforementioned artefact activation in Season 1 is her first specific usage of magic in the show, and if you would prefer not to count that, then the also-aforementioned panic-magic are her first spells.

Morgana had the highest proportion of magic intended for violence by a very large margin. 34 of her 59 spells (57.6%) were intended to cause harm to others (harm to others for the purpose of protecting someone not included - this is why Merlin's stat for this is so much lower). She also used throwing as her chosen method of combat magic more than anyone else in the series, throwing people a total of 25 times (38.5% of all person-throwing in the show). The first person she threw was Merlin in Season 3 Episode 5: The Crystal Cave.

In Morgana's final episode - Season 5 Episode 13: The Diamond of the Day II, where she casts 5 spells - her last four spells are used to hurt or kill others, but her first was to protect Mordred (albeit by killing the soldiers around him). All the way at the end, she still truly cared for someone.

Other High Priestesses and Servants of the Old Religion

Nimueh is the first recurring magic user, aside from Merlin, to appear in the show. She mostly uses her magic to be malicious and evil, but does take Merlin to the Isle of the Blessed and gives him water from the cup of life with which to heal Arthur. Her intentions around this are never made clear.

Despite 70% of her spells being used explicitly for harm, she never directly attacks someone until Episode 13, where she launches two fireballs at Merlin. It is also interesting to note that she is one of very few villains who never attacks Arthur. Her malice was always focussed on Uther and his kingdom, not misdirected towards his son.

Throughout her time on screen, Morgause was a formidable enemy. In her first appearance (Season 2 Episode 8: Sins of the Father) she performs 4 spells. She is the first person to enchant an animal (discounting Edwin Muirden's Elanthia Beetles because they operated more like magical items than natural animals) and is linked to both of Ygraine's appearances, with the spirit she raised in s2e8 and the mandrake root she enchanted in the first two episodes of Season 3. Like many more experienced magic users in the series, she relied heavily on enchantments to weave complex and manipulative webs of magic rather than brute force violence. In Season 2, she actually doesn't use magic for direct violence at all. The Knights of Medhir, who were meant to carry out violence on her behalf, were only shown to be responsible for the deaths of the knights Arthur took with him to inspect the fortress in the beginning of the episode. They did not kill anyone in Camelot.

That being said, she can be extremely violent when she so chooses. The first person she acts against directly is one of Cenred's guards, who gets little further than drawing his sword before she has thrown him across the room and through a table. In that very same episode, her soldiers knock Merlin out (for several hours), and she subsequently binds him in magical chains and leaves him for the serkets. Very friendly. Catching up on the violence I see.

Most of the other creatures and messengers of the old religion are bound to a specific purpose. Anhora, the keeper of the unicorns, only ever deals with matters dealing with unicorns. Grettir and the Cailleach are gateway spirits. None of them get to do many spells because, within their purview, there just isn't a need for it. The Disir do slightly more, but only slightly.

Fun fact, those were the only four I categorised under "Messengers of the Old Religion" in my spreadsheets. Anhora is from Season 1 and so cannot count towards this, however the other three are post-Gwaine, and all three of them use a spell to get Gwaine to lay off threatening them. For Grettir and the Cailleach, it is their only spell. The Disir's only other spell is summoning the rune mark that got them into the situation in the first place. That is a 100% pissed-off-by-Gwaine rate among the spirits of the old religion. I'm sure Merlin would be thrilled (he was there for all of them).

All of them seem to believe in Arthur's potential, but they are not as assured of his fate as Kilgharrah leads Merlin to believe they should be. The Dochraid -- who I included as a Magical Creature and not a spirit -- chooses to support Morgana and quite actively opposes Arthur, despite being a creature aware of Emrys, and, you would think, probably the prophecies too. She's not alone in this. That being said, the Cailleach seemed to derive some joy out of Morgana's fear in 4x01, and did refuse Merlin's sacrifice. To me, this shows that at no point in the show did the old religion itself "pick a side" in the war, it was only ever up to Merlin, Morgana, and Arthur to prove who was right.

I don't have interesting magic stats about these characters for you because they were usually too busy dealing with Gwaine to do any actual magic. My apologies.

Mordred

Mordred did very very little magic throughout his time on screen, especially in Season 5. In his three child episodes, he performs exactly one spell in each of them. The first is an instinctive reaction to Cerdan's execution in Season 1 Episode 8: The Beginning of the End, shattering Morgana's mirror with a mental scream, and the other two are both violent actions of self-defense when surrounded by Camelot soldiers. Poor kid.

As an adult, Mordred performs only three spells.

He throws Morgana at the Cauldron of Arianrhod after Merlin abandons him to deal with her on his own (5x09),

He screams, out loud this time, and absolutely destroys the dungeons around him as a reaction to Kara's execution (5x11), and

He performs the only cooperative spell in the entire show, wherein he and Morgana combine their powers to launch a gigantic fireball at Stowell (5x12).

As a child, he was built up as someone with a great deal of power dealing with an incredibly hostile world. We were led to believe he would grow into someone dangerous, perhaps matching even Merlin's calibre of sorcery. Mordred ended up growing into a world in which he suppressed his magic for the sake of laying low and fitting in, but when he used his power, he was unstoppable.

Sorry for the break from the stats there, there just isn't a lot to say about Mordred statistically, except that the only spell he ever performs verbally is that final one he does with Morgana. All of his personal magic usage is done without incantations, and half of it is pure instinct. It's understandable why Merlin was so afraid of him.

Guest Characters

These are characters who only appeared in one episode (double-parters not-withstanding) (or in Alator's case only cast magic in one episode).

The highest casting guest character was Edwin Muirden, who cast 9 spells in s1e6: A Remedy to Cure All Ills.

The lowest casting guest characters were Anhora (1x11), Cornelius Sigan (2x01), Jonas (2x05), Balinor (2x13), Taliesin (3x05), the Sidhe Elder who attacked Merlin in his chambers (3x06), Grettir (3x08), the Cailleach (4x02), Lochru the Vates (5x01), and Ari (5x12), who all cast only one spell in their on-screen appearances.

The median was represented by all the characters who cast 2 spells in their on-screen appearances: Sophia (1x07), Aulfric (1x07), Cerdan (1x08), Tauren (1x12), Alice (3x09), and Osgar (5x05).

Honorary mention to the only two on-screen sorcerers who went unnamed in BBC Merlin, both of whom were vendors who sold their enchanted items to extremely-obviously-evil people and were immediately killed. R.I.P these guys (1x02 and 3x04):

(There were other magic users who went unnamed, but they weren't human: the goblin in 3x03, the troll in 2x05 and 2x06 -- "Lady Catrina" was her DISGUISE -- , the Diamair -- more of a title than a name --, and from 4x08 you could argue 'Lamia' is her species and not her name, but she does introduce herself by that.)

Episodes

The episode with the highest amount of spells was Season 5, Episode 13: The Diamond of the Day II with 19 spells cast. This was split between Merlin, who contributed 14, and Morgana, who contributed 5.

The runner up was Season 1, Episode 1: The Dragon's Call with 17 spells cast. This is split between Merlin, who casted 12 times, and Mary Collins, who casted 5 times.

The episode with the lowest amount of spells was Season 5, Episode 11: The Drawing of the Dark with only 2 spells cast. This was split between Merlin and Mordred, who each casted once. Mordred's spell was instinctive, a wave of destruction following his anguish at Kara's death.

There were 2 other episodes that shared such a low count. The first is Season 1 Episode 11: The Labyrinth of Gedref. Anhora's teleportation and the curse itself both were not counted as no deliberate spells were involved. One of this episode’s spells didn't even happen on screen, we only saw it being cast (Merlin used magic to kill the rat in Arthur's chambers, though we never saw exactly how). The second is Season 2 Episode 2: The Once and Future Queen.

The median was represented by all the episodes which had 7 spells to their name, listed as follows. s1e8: The Beginning of the End, s2e11: The Witch's Quickening, s3e4: Gwaine, s3e5: The Crystal Cave, s3e9: Love in the Time of Dragons, s4e2: The Darkest Hour II, s4e12: The Sword in the Stone I, and s5e8: The Hollow Queen.

As a bonus: The most common spell value per episode (the mode if we're talking stats, which we are) was 5. 10 out of the show's 65 episodes (15.4%) contained exactly 5 spells.

The average spell count per episode was 7.88.

Spells

The most common type of spell cast in the entirety of Merlin was Telekinesis in both verbal and nonverbal forms. It comprised 108 spells, or 21.14% of all spells shown on screen. That being said, if you separate verbal and nonverbal forms, the nonverbal Telekinesis becomes the second highest usage of magic, and the verbally incanted Object Manipulation becomes the fifth. It is bearing that separation in mind that I give you the following spell type top 3:

Enchantment. The big catch-all. 97 spells, 18.98% This is a big one, it accounts for every spell targeted on an object or a creature, provided they didn't belong to other categories*. It included enchanting poppets, amulets, bracelets, potions. It included all the love-spells, applied directly or not. It included the one other instance of mind-control, it included the GPS function Morgause installed in Arthur's horse, it included the spell Merlin used to clean the stain off Arthur's shirt. It included Morgana's blatant Darth-Vader rip-off force choking, and plenty of other things. Huge catch-all, very common. Merlin used enchantments 46 times.

Telekinesis. Classic. Non-verbal only. 62 spells, 12.13%

Elemental. Also classic. Verbal only. 61 spells, 11.94% This is another category that is split between verbal and nonverbal. If you combine both types of elemental spells, it comes out as 86 spells total (16.83%). The vast majority of this is flame and heat magic, but Merlin also uses wind several times throughout the show (he's the only one to do this) and, on occasion (literally only where his loved ones -- Arthur -- are in mortal peril -- 1x13 and 5x13 only), lightning. He is known to be able to cause rockfalls (also done by only Merlin) and precisely one time causes a full-scale earthquake. No one uses commands elemental water magic at any point in the show (spirits who happen to live in lakes/rivers doing magical things do not count, it has to be related to the water. Merlin does use magic related to water a couple times, but it was always categorised under other things).

Honourable mention to Violent Telekinesis, the term I used for the nonverbal "throwing people" spell, which came in 4th with 51 spells (9.98%). It's higher if you combine it with its verbal form, which I literally had to title Throwing (14 spells, 2.74%). That means that on 65 instances was magic used to throw people with an intention of causing harm, which averages out to exactly once per episode.

* There were two types of spells that were definitely enchantments but which I chose to separate into their own categories. The first of these is Artefact Activation, which is when a spell is used to activate a magical item that has already been enchanted. A good example of this would be the entirety of Gilli's magic, all of which was done via the use of an already-magical ring. Another good example is in s4e5: His Father's Son, when Morgana uses a nonverbal spell to activate the curse she placed on Arthur's sword the night before. The other of these categories is self-explanatorily named Locking/Unlocking, and I separated it simply because it was so common and I was curious.

Seasons

Seasons 3 and 4 are tied for most amount of spells cast, each with 108 spells in their 13 episodes. Season 1 has the least, with only 96. Overall, the show was pretty consistent with the amount of magic it did, with the average sitting mostly within the 7.5-8.5 range at any given time whilst I was constructing these tallies. The top five episodes of the entire show are a perfect distribution action the seasons, with one episode from each (1st. 5x13, 2nd. 1x01, 3rd. 4x06, 4th. 2x03, 5th. 3x06).

Season 4 has the highest lowest-episode spell count at 4, whereas s1, s2, and s5 have their lowest at 2, and s3's lowest has 3.

Most of the data on the spreadsheets were not organised by Season, though many of my physical tallies were. If you're interested in how the seasons compare, send me an ask or a message and I'll happily fish that information out for you. Otherwise, most of the data about the individual seasons has already been uploaded under other posts, so I won't make this section any longer.

Fun/Opinions

I'll do my narrative analyses later on a separate post, but just know it's so important to me that the top two episodes are the finale and the pilot, and the lowest is The Drawing of the Dark. At the top, two episodes that are so quintesentially about a magic boy in a world where his powers are desperately needed, Merlin (Arthur) at his very beginning and at his end, and at the bottom an episode that really was not about magic at all. The story of Kara's death was never a story of magic. She was not condemned for her sorcery, she was condemned for her murder. She was both caught and treated like any other criminal. 5x11 is fundamentally about people, about loyalty, about how our choices shape us. Mordred saw it as if it was about magic, and it was this misunderstanding which turned him away from Arthur for good.

Anyway. Silly spells (with references)!!

Merlin trips Arthur twice in the first episode.

Merlin successfully lures guards away from their posts using dice in the first episode. The second time he's shown using telekinesis on dice is when he's cheating in a gambling game against Arthur in 5x12.

Merlin uses barrels to distract guards on two separate occasions (2x04, 4x10). On the first one, he knocks them out.

Merlin slows time four times throughout the show (1x01, 1x07, 3x06). One of them is in order to observe Grundhilda's massive purple frog tongue.

Merlin uses magic to wind a rope discreetly up his pant leg and around his torso (2x08). This has a verbal incantation, which means someone either made a spell for this, which would be absurd, or Merlin is bastardising the hell out of someone's real actual sorcery that they wrote down formally.

Merlin once uses magic to put a princess to sleep and stuff her into a cupboard, which he then seals shut with magic as well (2x10).

Merlin uses magic to pull down people's pants. Twice. It works perfectly for his plans both times (3x07, 4x04).

Morgana also has an elderly disguise (5x04)!!

Sorry that they were mostly all about Merlin, everyone else in this show is so serious about magic. For other magic users who get silly with it, just rewatch Season 3 Episode 3: Goblin's Gold. I couldn't make up half the things that guy does.

I do have Fun/Vibes as a 'Purpose' category. It's populated mostly by Merlin, but also by the Goblin (3x03), Edwin Muirden (who lights a flame in the opening shot of the episode for the purpose of looking spooky and magic to the audience, and also who does some telekinesis just to show off to Merlin) (1x06), and Gilli (who activates his ring once in the opener of the episode purely for the benefit of signalling that it's magic to the audience) (3x11).

And no, I'm still not over the toad in s2e7: The Witchfinder, and I'm certainly not over the use of the Sidhe staff as a TAZER in s3e6: The Changeling (See the posts for Season 2 and Season 3 for elaboration on those).

Data

I am human, I have biases and make mistakes, I oversimplify things, I have a preference for viewing certain characters in certain ways. If you thought I was disingenuous, or wasn't clear enough, or have some other issue with this post, or otherwise are curious, the raw data I collected is now yours!!

Do with it as you wish. If you do end up using any of this for something, I would really appreciate a credit. This took me a very long time to put together.

Tally A list, with descriptions, of every spell in Merlin by episode.

Spreadsheets The numerical data in a variety of different tables and graphs.

Please note that I know there are mistakes in this dataset and I will be continuously working on fixing those. If you have need of the data, always refer back to the original post/document/spreadsheet. Reblogs do not update when previous posts are edited.

If you notice a mistake, even a minor one, please let me know!! And if you have any questions, I would be more than happy to answer them. Thank you for your time <3 I really, really appreciate it.

#bbc merlin #tallies

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questionablecuttlefish · 4 months ago

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What are your thougths on sg lc?

Thoughts? I have no thoughts, only 🩷❤️.

Ok, thoughts, um...

Seriously, I am not a diehard magical girl fan, but SG Lightcannon is just PEAK. It's a simple trope done well, the childhood friends with contrasting personalities navigating the stormy shoals of teenage drama and fighting evil by Starlight.

Lux is the optimistic, conscientious but uncertain young Heroine leader struggling with the weight of responsibility on her shoulders and Jinx is the hothead maverick tsundere Lancer who doesn't gel with the team or care much about the mission but is ferociously devoted to a special someone who may not fully understand how she feels.

With the lore implication that if Jinx ever fully breaks from the team she could risk succumbing to darkness, that it's her deep devotion to for Lux that holds her to the light.

And the implication in her bio that Jinx became a Star Guardian in order to protect and stay with Lux is just achingly romantic. It might be just a LITTLE gay to take an eternally binding oath to fight in a magical girl war for your totally-platonic-childhood-bestie, am I right?

And the music video is so ludicrously sapphic. Lightcannon existed as a ship before Star Guardian but SG kicked the ignition and launched it into the stars.

And then, I think, Riot panicked about people shipping their poster girls so hard they had to throw Ezreal in just to "NO HOMO HONEST" and I fucking hate it.

Star Guardian Ezreal pretty much exists just to fulfill a shallow Tuxedo Mask role he doesn't earn and that's it. He's just there to kill the ship, he has no role in the story other than this, no personality, no background, far less character than any other Ezreal in other skinlines with far less lore meat than Star Guardian.

It's just so transparent. He's just there to be Lux's comphet maybe-boyfriend, and they don't even commit to that - the two exchange one flirty dialogue that is interrupted by a jealous Jinx during the camping story and never actually interact again, despite the occasional art crumb.

Any other developments are left to the imagination or never actually happened. Jinx interacts with him more, and they fight as a decent team in the Twilight Star battle, so they seem to have buried whatever rivalry they might've had, but SG Ezlux and the potential love triangle never actually amounts to a story.

As far as I'm concerned, suqling's half-finished SG comics are the true canon filling in the blanks and I'll leave it at that 🩷❤️

Star Guardian 2022 then promptly threw it all out the window, replacing Lux's team with Kai'Sa's without ever giving them any closure, not on their mission, on the Lux/Ezreal/Jinx love triangle, or even on the characters' survival.

It was so abrupt and so stupidly vague that half the fandom thinks Star Guardian Lux is dead or petrified into a statue somehow based on the trailer showing her transferring leadership role to Kai'Sa and one throwaway line in the visual novel about Kai'Sa 'not wanting to end up a statue like Lux.'

You'd be forgiven for thinking it, but, no, Lux explicitly sent Nilah to look out for Kai'Sa's team and her statue is a commemorative statue built in the square after Zoe's defeat, and Jinx is out there flying around in LoR with some of their team members rescuing SG Gwen from a space kraken.

There's crumbs that Lux might have ascended into some higher station and that's why she's not in the story anymore but it's so absurdly vague, again, there's nothing concrete to go on.

So if the story of Star Guardian Lux and her team just ends there, it's a missed opportunity, and I'm still mad about the stifling of the lesbian subtext.

I want to like 2022 SG's characters, but all I can see is how Lightcannon's story was stolen from them and given to Kai'Sa/Akali, and yes, I am bitter.

SG Lightcannon tiptoed so SG KaiKali could fly.

#lightcannon #lux #jinx #jinx x lux #lux x jinx #star guardian #star guardian jinx #star guardian lux #star guardian lightcannon #luxanna crownguard #lol jinx #league of legends

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whydon-twego · 1 year ago

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Arthur holds Gwen's hands in his as he looks into her eyes, smiling blissfully.

Geoffry is speaking, enunciating the wedding vows while Arthur does not for a moment move his gaze from Gwen's, his wife. His queen.

Merlin watches them from the front row of people who have come to witness the royal wedding and cannot suppress the bitter line of his mouth as he watches the couple exchange a kiss to seal the pact.

Arthur's lips, Merlin, know them well.

He knew them until a few weeks before. He has known them for years as both their mouths descended to learn new lines of bodies not yet known, as, both inexperienced, they pleasured each other, and as Arthur's lips lied, enunciating words like I love you and nothing can keep us apart.

Merlin remembers Arthur's lisp perfectly.

He remembers perfectly when he cried after confessing to being a sorcerer and Arthur's lips wiped away those tears, he remembers the color of Arthur's eyes as he told him that it didn't matter, that it was still them, that they would get through anything.

I love you is the most painful thing to remember.

Merlin watches Arthur raise his wife's hand in front of all of Camelot, with the kingdom cheering them on, and Merlin can only think that Arthur, like everyone else, has lied to him.

There is no such thing as fate, not being the other side of the same coin.

Kilgharrah has lied to him ever since he met him, with his ridiculous wisecracks and ramblings without ever telling things as they were.

Gaius lied to him, telling him that one day he would be recognised for what he was, that everything would be fine.

Arthur lied to him. Proclaiming words of love, of devotion, only to abandon him without even a second glance in his direction. Poisoning his mind and heart by making him believe they would have all the time in the world together.

Merlin is tired of fine words.

Merlin is tired of a fate on his shoulders that did nothing but destroy him all those years.

Merlin will no longer be beguiled by sweet words, by broken promises.

Merlin, when the ceremony is over, leaves. He raises a barrier of protection because there are still people he cares about in Camelot and then leaves that place forever.

Now he is free, without Destiny and without lies, his heart broken into a thousand pieces that no one will ever be able to heal.

He only hopes that, in the end, it was all worth it.

#angst #merlin fic #merthur fic #merthur #arwen #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #gwen pendragon #merlin prompt #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merthur fanfic #merlin fanfic #my writing

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dionisonoid · 1 month ago

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My thoughts on merlin gayness so far (I'm at S2 E4).

EVERYONE IS GAY (the end) /hj

SO in my mind Gaius is banging the old dude that works at the library, eventually they'll get serious but for now they are fuck buddies living their best gay literature dark academia fantasy.

Morgana is CLEARLY in love with Gwen, clearly, Gwen I see her as a bi diva so she is into Lancelot but also eventually will understand her complicated feelings for Morgana and they will have a V poly situation where Gwen can date Morgana and Lancelot, meanwhile I think Morgana is a lesbian idk the general assumption is in the fandom? Like? Do we agree on her being a lesbian? With the sword ready to protect her lady, hating on men, pretty and strong etc etc yk a lesbian!!!!! Also trans reading on Lancelot at the end of this post ahahahah

Arthur will have to dig out the compulsive heterosexuality that brings him to like/love Gwen because "he is a man and should love a woman" eventually he'll understand that he intensely likes Gwen because she is the one to put him in his place repeatedly and despite being a lower class gal she is not afraid to speak her mind and treat him as an equal (same goes with merlin but slightly different because merlin showed him over and over his devotion, even more so in the shadows ofc but Arthur knows that Merlin cares and provides for him meanwhile Gwen doesn't care a splendid shit about him and he is the prince to her and if anyone else would kneel and shush their mouth she does not) so naturally Arthur is prone to like and somewhat respect her outspoken and frank personality but will have to deconstruct what having a (woman) friend means. I'm sure Merlin will be able to help him in that regard as well <3 (understanding platonic attraction versus romantic and sexual attraction)

Also I headcanon Lancelot as a transman, Idk, it gives me that vibe. On a more serious note is also how I personally see his journey as a possible journey for a trans person, the having to pass momento, the not being a "valid knight" etc. He wasn't born noble and had to pretend to be a high status guy to be able to be seen and be perceived for how he actually is, a true knight, his identity and values are real and honorable and it is society's fault if he is not seen as such. He had to conform to social norms and force himself in a role and identity that wasn't his (toxic masculinity, what is a man, gender stereotypes and all that) to be seen for what he is. Now he embarked on a journey to discover the world and to better himself to understand his identity better, I could say to even distance himself from what a man is socially. And understand what he wants from himself, an allegory for a gender journey, what one person identity might be despite what it should. This is something I believe a lot of trans/nonbinary people experience in their life, changing how you define yourself as you go on. Starting from a little understanding and the pressure to conform and being able to expand yourself and be free to be who you are. Without worrying about what people will think of you and hopefully in a world where you can be, exist, without being forcefully constricted into a box. Because even if he played by the fucked up rules Arthur's dad (forgot king's name) accused him of deceiving them (a common experience for trans people, being accused of betraying someone trust or to lie / deceive and trick ppl) and even if in the end he was about to accept him as a Knight because he recognised his merit and saw / acknowledged/ accepted his identity Lancelot was not okay with the situation. Because he pretended to be someone else and it is not right, as a principle, being accepted upon a lie. But it also means it is not right because he lied to himself due to the social pressure he was under and I easly see this as trying to force yourself into the traditional role of masculinity without questioning and asking yourself what it is masculinity to you and what your transness means to you. And as I mentioned earlier the pressure of passing and lying because you are ashamed of who you are. Which is different from being accused of deceiving because you look cis, one is the transphobic society that wants to kill you, the other is the internalised transphobia in which you should pass and lie to everyone, even yourself, to hid what you truly are. He lied to the king and prince but he also lied to himself, and in that lie there was shame for what and who he is. So deciding to turn down Arthur's kindness was the right choice to give himself time to unpack that shame and that uneasiness. "You" should be enough, the rules must change to foresee the possibility of judging a person not because it is noble (cis) but for who they are. And your value should not be established accordingly on how much you pass.

I know that it speaks about classism and in general to make you emphasise with ancient social rules but why not force a queer reading on everything I see. who's gonna stop me?? Not the king and magic it is clearly a metaphor for being gay so Lancelot will be a transman

#merlin x arthur #bbc merlin #merlin fandom #merthur #morgana #lancelot #gwen merlin #transmasc #queerness

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gemgdynamxght · 4 months ago

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Merthur has a farm life dream and Mitski wrote it…

“It's beautiful out today, I wish you could take me upstate”

I’m envisioning Arthur by his desk but sat facing the window and Merlin stood next to him. It’s a slightly warm, yet still breezy summer day. It feels like a full day rather than the miserable winter ones that drag because it’s so dark. The day’s refreshing, the sun is bright and they’re looking out the window.

Gwen told Merlin about how on her date with Arthur she was taken aback because Arthur said he practically wanted to run away with Merlin. Get a bit of farmland and take Merlin with him. It shows how Arthur craves the freedom and lack of duty.

Merlin brought it up afterwards in a teasing manner and Arthur gets flustered and tells him to shut up. Merlin turns soft, yet serious for a moment and says he thinks it’s beautiful and he’d love to do something like that. Then starts the teasing manner again suddenly and says something stupid about responsibility and chores.

“To the little place you would tell me about, when you'd sense that I want to escape”

Ever since then, when Merlin can tell Arthur is tense or stressed or feeling insecure about not being enough or feeling insecure and thinking that he’s not being good enough for his people, Merlin will reassure him.

He’ll say what he usually says about being the greatest king Albion has ever known but he also brings up the farm and it evolves into a dream of a little house with a pond as well and other things.

Today is the kind of beautiful, warming day they imagine their haven would feel like every day. They’re both silently thinking of it in unison without saying anything.

“Texas is a landlocked state, it's a little bit far away from the water from the home that I've wanted to make”

Arthur suddenly speaks up and points a small area on the map on his desk. His ring is glinting and sun is filtering through his hair. Merlin thinks he looks so majestic.

Obviously it’s not actually Texas, but it’d be a small quiet area in the middle of nowhere. The water is referring to the pond in their shared daydream which is ‘the home’ Arthur has ‘wanted to make’.

“It's somehow in the city”

I imagine Arthur always wanted to know what it would be like to grow up around other people and be allowed to have friends and people who have things in common around him. I’d like to think he enjoys hearing stories of Ealdor and Merlin and Will growing up.

I don’t think it’d be a city. I think it’d be slightly isolated but within travel distance of a small town with few people.

“You make it there and you make it anywhere, anywhere”

Merlin’s devoted and undivided loyalty to Arthur. It shows how no matter where Arthur goes he believes Merlin would follow.

“But I've been anywhere and it's not what I want and I wanna be still with you”

Arthur believes it doesn’t matter actually matter where he goes because wherever he ends up the only thing that matters is Merlin by his side.

He knows he wouldn’t enjoy a peasant life long after growing with everything he could ever want,minus love and companionship which is why being with Merlin is so important to him. Because Merlin helps him experience what he didn’t have growing up.

“You keep your socks on in bed, keep our hearth warm”

I guess this is the domestic bliss of them living together, away from the rest of the world. It shows how Merlin cares for Arthur. It shows how Merlin is a warm person and protects Arthur from the cold.

“See the tree shadows lie in black the pools in the lawns”

It has a deeper meaning in the actual song. It’s describing life through poetry but in this case I’d like to think of it as Merlin and Arthur, yet again, envisioned their life away from reality.

“You're the breeze in my Austin nights”

It juxtaposes the “keep our hearth warm” line, yet it’s so beautiful. I think Austin is warm (i wouldn’t know, I’ve never been but I assume it is.) and it shows that Merlin in a refresher for Arthur when he’s caught up in the heat and responsibilities of life. Merlin is Arthur’s cold breeze in the blistering heat.

I’m thinking of writing this as a oneshot rather than an analysis. The song is called “Texas Reznikoff” By Mitski. ��🏼🫶🏼

#i will probably write a oneshot on this #bbc merlin #merlin #merlin x arthur #magic #merlin fandom #merthur #music #mitski #song lyrics #song analysis #Texas Reznikoff #arthur pendragon #domestic fluff #fluff #merthur fluff

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mewtwoandme · 10 months ago

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I just realised something, you said at one point that Gwen is Mandy's emotional support Pokemon (or something along those lines) so how are things going to go for them when Gwen and Jeo get married? Would things be the same as they were before, would Gwen move in and Mandy stays at her own place or something else completely?

They won't be living together.

Hate to break it to some of ya but it won't be your typical marriage arrangement where they move in together XD Because yes, Gwen is an emotional support pokemon to Mandy, she isn't just her partner pokemon, she provides companionship and helps with Mandy's depression and anxiety, Gwen wouldn't just up and leave her, as much as she's devoted to Jericho she's also loyal to Mandy. If ya'll know the lore behind Gardevoirs and how strong their bonds are to their trainers/partners, need I explain more?

And before I get asks like "Well what if her and Mandy both move in?" Suuuure...let's just have EVERYONE live under Lakota's roof while we're at it lol. Lakota already has 3 big psychic cats and the family's still growing, that's why I plan on them getting a bigger house later on. The house will be crowded enough when the kids get bigger. I imagine having 7 under one roof would be a bit much

#answered ask #laina-danger

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kimnowls · 3 months ago

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(this one has been sitting in the drafts for a while. It's a bit of a crack theory, but since tomorrow is the new Cassette Beast announcement and it looks like Sunny is gonna be involved, I wanted to put this out there. Juuuuuust on the off chance I'm on to something.)

(spoilers: Eugene's quest, Kayleigh's quest, Felix's quest, postgame stuff, Pier of the Unknown DLC)

The ingame bio for Mammon states, "Its Landkeepers are hollow vessels, shells given autonomy from its vast well of power." But where did those vessels come from? And we know they aren't completely hollow, given that Sunny was able to find a new life outside of her Archangel overlord. Consider one of the three possibilities:

1: Mammon created the Landkeepers. Mammon is the archangel of capitalism, and if (IF) he had the ability to create an army of mindlessly devoted followers, he would. However, in Pier of the Unknown, Gwen seems to imply that Archangels are incapable of true creation like humans are. Maybe she was just talking about herself, (Archangel of Illusion, unable to make anything that lasts), but that revelation ties into her fascination with humans. The other "creations" we've seen of archangels are either temporary entities as well (like the Nowhere Peasants), or are stated to be converted matter (Poppetox's effigies). But making tangible, independent beings is probably outside of the wheelhouse of most Archangels. I know Morgante and Aleph may have "created" Mordread, but that's a whole other can of worms I'm not getting into that here. Let's just leave it at "Archangels might be capable of creation but I have other ideas."

2: The Landkeepers were ordinary humans who got corrupted by Mammon. Through Gwen, we've seen the extent to which humans can be corrupted by Archangels. Not pretty. One could say the Landkeepers got off easy by comparison. It is a bit weird though when you compare Mammon's actions to Mourningstar's. Mourningstar is supposedly the Archangel of devotion. If anyone was going to corrupt humans to the point that they can hardly function without their leader's influence, you'd think it'd be the Serpent God. However, we see Mourningtown swing back pretty quickly from the loss of their god. None of them become listless zombies like Sunny. While Vin remains loyal to Mourningstar long after he's gone, he snaps out of it pretty seamlessly once things are cleared up. The mechanics of corruption are pretty unclear, and perhaps a matter of personal preference to each individual Archangel. (It's possible that Mourningstar sees more value in freely given worship, while Mammon is all about results).

The other thing is, Mammon is not the Archangel of the Landkeepers: he's the Archangel of capitalism, which could take many forms. Medical insurance, mass production, environmental exploitation… why the focus on property acquisition?

3: The New Wirral Landkeepers were born from Eugene's imagination, and Mammon adopted them. Eugene has a lot of hatred towards the Landkeepers of his own world, but I think it unlikely that he's ever actually met one. Those Landkeepers Eugene knew from history books, and accounts of revolutionaries who survived the mid-century upheaval. When your only perspective of a person is through the heartless organization they served, you're going to have a flat image of them. A caricature, one could say.

Oh hey, isn't New Wirral a place where one can meet fictional characters? Like Kuneko, Viola, and Robin Goodfellow?

This, to me, is Eugene's monkey paw wish come true. He grew up after all or most of the action was over. He dreams of being a big hero, but a hero needs villains to fight. So when he goes to New Wirral and just so happens to meet the very boogeymen that he so badly wants to punch? Yeah, I don't think that's a coincidence.

Plus, imagine how much of a slap in the face that would be, finding out that your greatest enemies exist only because you made them? Imagine finding out that YOU were born just to feed some guys ego? Fucking ouch, I love it!

#cassette beasts #cassette beasts spoilers #theory #fanfic fuel #eugene cassette beasts #sunny cassette beasts #mammon cassette beasts

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mikashisus · 6 months ago

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THUS ALWAYS TO TYRANTS

02.5. my heart knew the weight

notes. ITS FINALLY HEREEEE!!! the chapter i spent 8 long and grueling months writing, revising, and getting frustrated over is finally here!!! i put my blood, sweat, and tears into this to make it as enjoyable and eerie as possible! if some scenes with barbatos don’t make sense, dw bc the plot will all unfold in the next few chapters! this fic is supposed to be confusing. barbatos and the mc r both unreliable narrators in their own ways - and that means u shouldn’t trust what they say, but the ppl around them (cough rukkhadevata and jean cough). the plot rlly picks up in this chapter so im super excited to see how u guys react hehe

taglist. @wystiix @pneumosia @kazuinvocation @daydreaming-paradies @gl4di0lus @pixelcafe-network

word count. 11.2k

masterlist | prev. | next

“So let me get this straight…“ Gwen said, shuffling around on the tabletop, “you and my brother went to the library together?”

She grabbed a piece of cheese from the plate resting by her thigh and popped it into her mouth, a small smirk beginning to form on her lips. “And afterwards, he showed off and offered to teach you how to wield a sword?”

You let out a small huff. “He didn’t ‘show off’, per say…” you trailed off, a smile pulling at your lips, “he was just clearing monsters from our path.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Same thing! I know my brother, so he was definitely showing off! After all, he was the best swordsman in Cairnfelle!”

Quirking a brow, you leaned forward, about to ask about this ‘Cairnfelle’ she mentioned, when she suddenly clapped her hands together. “So! What’d you find?” She rested her hands on her knees, dangling her foot off the edge of the table.

“Well, there wasn’t a whole lot. I ended up checking out four books. I already read through three, and so far, nothing.” You explained, thinking back to the journal you found.

There wasn’t a single thing about Barbatos in that journal. Two of the other books were origin stories— one being how Barbatos taught the birds of the world how to fly. The other book had been a written biography about Barbatos and Queen Catalina’s adventures. Although it was a thrilling read packed to the brim with suspense and laughter that made your stomach ache, it wasn’t enough.

None of the books were giving you what you wanted: information on who Barbatos really was. All the books you checked out had told of his exploits after Decarabian’s fall. There was next to nothing regarding his life before the rebellion; It was as if he hadn’t existed until recently.

And quite frankly, you were beginning to get a little frustrated. The red strings on your mental investigation board were going nowhere, connecting to nothing.

Gwen hummed thoughtfully. “So, you read through the first three. What about the last one? Any luck?”

“I haven’t read it yet.”

“How about you bring it to our home tomorrow? We can read it together!” She smiled, bright and genuine.

The proposition was an intriguing one, though you preferred to handle this crisis on your own. Gwen, as far as you were concerned, was a devout worshipper of Barbatos.

The most you told her about why you had gone to the library was that you were gathering information on a historical figure. You didn’t know the depth of her loyalty to Barbatos, and you weren’t willing to test it by explaining your true motives.

She was a kind soul, that much was true, but she could have been reminiscent of the utterly devoted nuns from the church.

(And when faced with doubtful questions about their god, they were a force to be reckoned with— an annoying pest that wouldn’t go away. A headache inducing interaction.)

Her offer was from the heart, you knew it was. That, paired with her dazzling smile, made a pool of guilt settle in your stomach. You couldn’t possibly say no, especially not to someone so kindhearted as her.

With a silent sigh, you returned her smile and nodded.

She clapped her hands together again and hopped off the table. “Great! Hopefully we luck out this time! Right?” She grabbed her now empty plate and glass and retreated back behind the bar.

The last book was a worn, battered thing that looked much older than the journal you found. An archaic symbol was etched into the front, and the pages were yellowed and ripped in some spots.

A name was inscribed into the back cover in elegant calligraphy, though part of it was smudged by a stain and you could only make out three letters.

You hadn't opened the book yet. You didn't want to— not without Gwen. After all, the whole reason you were here, sitting on a plush couch in a cozy oceanside cabin, was because she had suggested you read through the book together. However, it seemed as though she had forgotten about that proposal, as when you arrived at her home, she was nowhere to be seen.

Arbor had been the one to welcome you in. He was outside at the time, tearing some hay-filled dummies to shreds with a rickety old wooden sword that has seen better days. His skin, a warm tawny, orange-brown, glowed as the sun beat down on his figure. Sweat hung from his brow and slithered down his fully toned chest and abdomen, and you couldn't help the way your eyes trailed him for a moment, entranced.

He caught sight of you and nodded curtly, gathering up his previously discarded white shirt and wiping the sweat from his face. His auburn hair was messy, sticking up in some places. He opened the gate leading into the garden and led you into the cabin his family called home. Now, you were waiting as he fetched you a lemonade from the kitchen.

The Blair family's house was a humble old home, with paintings lining the walls and fun little knick knacks littered around on tables and shelves. There was a wall listing the entire family's achievements— from joining the royal guard, their contributions in war, rising to the ranks of elite soldiers labeled as "The Archangel Knights," and their feats during the rebellion and rebuilding of Mondstadt. It was clear to you that this family was a family of heroes.

The first floor of the house was composed of three rooms: the kitchen, the common space, and a small storage closet. The kitchen and common space were connected, the walls open and the ceilings somewhat high. A series of plants lined the windowsills and some hung from the ceiling. Flower pots filled with cecilias and windwheel asters occupied the table in front of you.

A set of stairs leading up to the second floor of the house sat to your right, with garland wrapping snugly around the banister. A faded red banner hung from one of the walls, the symbol on it unfamiliar to you. Another sat next to it, this one a newer, bright seafoam blue with a cecilia flower in the middle and gold lining the edges. Gold tassels hung from the ends, and the banner billowed gently as a passive breeze filtered in through a nearby window. All the windows were covered with white, partially see-through curtains that allowed a considerable amount of sunlight to filter through, igniting the whole house with a dazzling warmth and a lively atmosphere.

In the corner of the common space, behind the couch you were sitting on, was a rack filled with six swords, all of them varying in color, size, and shape. All six had a different colored piece of cloth tied around the hilts.

A fluffy quilt laid across the back of the couch, its colors a bright yellow, red, and blue. The pattern on it was foreign, most likely from another nation.

Arbor returned from the kitchen, placing two glasses on the low table in front of you, one yours and one his. A plate of sweet potato fritters with cinnamon sugar was placed in the middle of the table for the both of you to share. He took a seat next to you and popped one of the fritters into his mouth.

"I deeply apologize on behalf of my sister," he began, shaking his head, "honestly. She needs to learn to keep her word."

A breathless chuckle escaped your lips. "It's alright. Where is she, anyway?"

He let out a sigh. "She's on church duty today. Unfortunately, she won't be back until later in the afternoon. If you want to stay here until then, you're more than welcome to—"

You politely turned down his offer. "That's quite alright. If it's no trouble, I can come back another day."

He raised a brow and glanced at the book in your hands. You had told him when you arrived that Gwen offered to read through this final book with you. Though, now that you knew she wasn't here and had forgotten your plans in the midst of her busy schedule, the only thing you could do was return back to the city.

Arbor's eyes trailed elsewhere, calculating. His jaw was clenched and he looked deep in thought. A few moments of awkward silence passed between you before he spoke up. "I could read it with you in her stead."

That certainly wasn't an offer you were expecting, especially from him. Though, you supposed after he volunteered to go to the library with you the other day, it wasn't that surprising.

"Afterwards, we can start your lessons in swordsmanship... if that sounds enticing to you."

It did.

You nodded, a smile on your face as you opened the book and shuffled a bit closer to him. He stayed put, allowing you to enter his space a little as you placed the book between the two of you.

‘In the epic days of yore, a few thousand years ago, the heavens sprang to life and opened. The divine angels sang a magnificent choir, and trumpets announced the birth of a deity from the high heavens. This deity that would later come to be known as an influential figure in the formation of Mondstadt as a nation— the god of memories herself, ELIGOS; or more commonly known by her mortal name, Queen Catalina.

Her fascination with humans led to what many referred to as “the great mindscape,” or rather, a period of time when she had entered the minds of mortals and sifted through their memories to gain a better understanding of humans. Her fascination exceeded humans and even reached other gods…’

With furrowed brows, you stopped reading. It seemed as if this was another book to be discarded. So far, it hadn’t mentioned Barbatos at all. Though, judging by the pointed look on Arbor's face, you decided to keep reading.

It was then that you noticed how close the two of you had gotten.

This close, you could see his features better. Focused, striking gray eyes with lavender bags underneath that you hadn’t noticed before, a hooked nose, smooth pink lips that were pursed together, and a perfectly sculpted jawline. The light filtering in from the window touched his skin, casting an ethereal glow upon him.

He looked like a god.

You had never seen a real god in your entire life up until you arrived in this era. Witnessing what true divinity looked like right before your very eyes had stirred something within you. It was revitalizing in a way you couldn’t fully describe nor understand.

And now, as you looked at Arbor, you could feel your heart beating just a little faster and your breath get caught in your throat. It wasn’t the same feeling you experienced when you saw Barbatos for the first time, but it sure was similar.

Small movement directed your attention away from his face and down to your hands. His fingers were brushing over yours as he brought the book closer. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat and tried to focus on the words on the page rather than his fingers enveloping yours.

It was a difficult feat, but you recovered.

Maybe the Anemo Archon was mentioned somewhere in this book— perhaps in a later chapter.

The two of you continued to read about the adventures and origins of the previous god that had once ruled over the eastern side of Mondstadt. As it turned out, Catalina had been the first god to ever step foot into Mondstadt, with Andrius following close behind, and Decarabian invading upon their territory some hundreds of years later.

The tale of Catalina's life was filled with wonder and a bit of sorrow. The Ruler of Time had once again been brought up, mentioned briefly in a few paragraphs describing how she was a mentor to Catalina. It made sense to you. After all, Catalina was the god of memories and the Ruler of Time was just that: a god of time. Memories and time were closely intertwined. It was no surprise that two gods who commanded both were also in close association with the other.

Finally, what you had been searching for stared you right in the face. A whole entire chapter on Barbatos. Although this book turned out to be a biography of another god, you were more than happy to get at least a little information on the Anemo Archon, no matter how brief it could be.

You turned the page, and the entire section on his origins was smudged out, worn by time. A curse fell from your lips, and you had the sudden urge to throw the book across the room. Arbor steadied you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. He took the book from your hands and flipped until he came across a fully legible page. It wasn't about the origins of Barbatos, but it outlined his history with the gods of memories and time.

It was short, but informative.

‘The spirit that calls himself Barbatos and the Queen of the North Wind were two entities closely entwined. After (...), they were considered close allies and even closer friends. The mortals who looked upon their astounding companionship once spoke of how fond the two appeared to be of each other.

Some even questioned the Queen quietly, wondering if such companionship was a step towards something greater. Although the two gods have never spoken forthright about this matter, thus is apparent: they share something that is unequivocally whole, transcending that of mortal comprehension. It is a bond that could never be severed. It is to be admired.’

You've read enough history books in your life to know what those words meant. The meaning was there in bold letters on a neon flashing sign. However, Catalina was long dead. Whatever relationship she harbored with the Anemo Archon died with her, that much you were certain of— even if you never knew of her existence until recently.

Arbor hummed. "This book is right. The Queen and Barbatos were once close… closer than any mortal could ever hope to be with another. It was truly fascinating."

It was, but you had more than a few questions; The first being how this book was outlining such recent events when it looked as if it had been run through the mud ten times over. It looked as if it was from a time in the far past— a past that was way before the Archon War. The events recorded in the first half of its pages could only be known for so long before being forgotten.

Your second question, following up your previous one, was: just who wrote this? Surely whoever wrote it was as old as the book itself. It only made sense. Only someone immortal could remember and record these events with such vivid detail.

Instead of staying afterwards like you originally planned, you quickly left the Blair family’s home, taking a few fritters along with you at the behest of Arbor.

“It’s rare to see you here, Barbatos.”

Rukkhadevata was quick to exit the Sanctuary of Surasthana as soon as the matra had informed her of the Anemo Archon’s abrupt visit. Although unexpected and sudden, she welcomed him with open arms.

Her smile was soft and kind, and her verdant eyes were warm and inviting. She towered over him as she ushered him closer, her arms spread wide. “Welcome, finally, to Sumeru.”

The younger god returned her smile, descending to the stone floor with a final flap of his wings. He brushed off his feathers before his wings folded behind him. “It was about time I paid you a visit, my friend.”

Rukkhadevata’s smile faltered a little, her eyes scanning him with a knowing look. “You are not here for a simple sightseeing trip, are you?”

He hated how well she could see through him. With a sigh, he nodded. Without another word, she motioned towards the Sanctuary. He began to follow her as she hovered a hand over his lower back. Inside the Sanctuary, he could feel the thrum of life spiraling through its walls and floors.

He shivered at the coldness beneath his bare feet. Despite that, a warmth enveloped him from every angle as small, almost imperceivable green particles floated in the air. It was as if the entire building was breathing, providing a comforting, cozy atmosphere for those within.

In the middle of the bridge sat some sort of device he had never seen before. He eyed it curiously, watching silently as the Dendro Archon walked up to it. It slithered and recoiled, like a set of retreating vines, disappearing up into the high ceilings above.

A couch made out of vines was fashioned at the Dendro Archon’s will, and she ushered him forth with a smile. “Come. Sit. Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

He shook his head. Moving forward hesitantly, he sat upon the makeshift couch, crossing his legs together. Rukkhadevata hummed a soft tune, one that matched the eerie choir that resonated through the thrumming of the semi-sentient walls. She sat down, a cup of herbal tea in her hands.

“You are here for a number of reasons, but one of those is more important than the rest. What troubles you, my dear friend?”

As always, she knew. She always did.

He chuckled softly. “You always seem to know what I’m thinking, so… Wanna take a guess?”

She thought long and hard for a moment, her eyes closing. For a minute, it was silent, except for the faint choir resounding all around him.

The longer he stayed in the Sanctuary, the more out of place he felt. It was different— much different than what he was used to. Back in Mondstadt, places belonging to divinity were cold and biting. They didn’t breathe with the life force of nature. They sang like the howling winds. The cold was uninviting and cruel, pushing out anyone who did not belong. It sent intruders packing.

But here, it was the opposite. It was filled with warmth and comfort, drawing him in and enveloping him like a hug. There was no wind that sang, and no cold to whistle through his veins. There was a numbing hotness about the air, filled with the life force of nature.

Yes… it was much different than Mondstadt.

Rukkhadevata’s eyes fluttered open, glowing and full of knowledge. Her lips drew together in a tight frown. “I see. You wish to know if it is possible to alter time, even after recent events.” Her eyes dimmed back to their normal color, the divinity seemingly fading away.

He looked away. “I know it’s strange,” he began, “after all, I’m more than capable of doing it myself… but…”

“Messing with time can cause great catastrophes.” She finished, sighing heavily. “Not only that, but it is extremely difficult to alter Irminsul’s memories. Surely she had told you that.”

With great restraint, he stopped himself from sending her a harsh glare. He gritted his teeth, his tone venomous. “Don’t—” his expression softened as he met her eyes, and he swallowed, “yes. Altering memories— and time, especially in regards to Irminsul, is risky. I know that, but I wanted to at least do something good this time around…”

She studied him for a moment. Standing up, she brought up a holographic screen. “No one in history has ever entered Irminsul. No one in history has altered Irminsul… except for them.”

A white hot rage filled his veins at the mention of the Heavenly Principles. He pushed it aside and focused on Rukkhadevata’s words.

“However, that was until our little time traveler showed up.” She zoomed in on the screen, and he assumed she was looking at Irminsul. “In the course of a week, she altered fate on an unprecedented scale. I felt the shift in Irminsul— the pull of memories shifting around, convulsing, new ones appearing and replacing the old ones.”

She was silent for a moment, her brows drawn together in thought as she stared at what looked like various tree branches and nerves. “No one has ever changed fate like this… except for a god.”

He perked up at that, his surprise evident on his face. He opened his mouth to ask who, when she turned to him, her lips pursed tightly together.

“Barbatos… that god was you.”

His blood ran cold.

“Me?”

“Many millennia ago, at the start of this world— the beginning of Teyvat’s formation, the Ruler of Time created the Thousand Winds.” She expanded the screen, making it impossibly large. With her fingers, she moved some images around on the screen, showing a perfectly normal tree with only a few branches.

“From those Winds, a lone son wandered too far from his mother, and despite her orders, passed through the fractured barrier in spacetime, creating what we now regard as the ‘Barrier of Ikairo.’ It was an event that was never meant to happen. It was a stain on the Heavenly Principles— an act of disobedience.”

The tree shifted along with the events of the story. Its trunk twisted as thousands upon thousands of long, spindly branches appeared.

“As his punishment, Celestia forced him to partake in the Archon War and slay the person he cared for most. With her gone, he was awarded the title of Anemo Archon and appointed to the position of barrier guardian by strict order from the Ruler of Time.”

He sat there, his head down, shame filling his entire being. He hadn’t meant to cross the barrier. He hadn’t meant to put a dent in Irminsul. He hadn’t meant to cause such a disturbance nor change fate. And now, to pay for such unforgivable crimes, he was charged with immortality— a lifetime, chained, bound by duty. Not only as the Anemo Archon with a stolen authority from the ancient sovereigns, but a guardian of the barrier. And already, he had failed in his duty.

“Another… more soul crushing punishment was decreed just this week.”

He was aware. He had heard the trumpets, he had witnessed the trial, he had sat upon the physical manifestation of his throne and accepted the punishment. After all, he had no choice. Whatever the Heavenly Principles decreed was law. It was sacred scripture. It was carved into Irminsul, and there was no way of ever breaking free from these shackles.

He had let out a snort then. How ironic for the god of freedom to be chained. To be bound by duty, never actually— truly free. The shackles were there, invisible but there. He felt their weight in his heart and on his mind.

A hand gently grabbed his chin and lifted his now tear-stained face. Rukkhadevata, in all her tenderness and grace, peered back at him with a sorrowful look in her eyes. She knelt before him, softly rubbing her thumb over his cheek, swiping away his tears. Her other hand came up to rest on the back of his head.

She reminded him so similarly of his mother, but with more love and care wrapped in her heart. Maybe it had been because she was connected to the heart of the world— Irminsul.

With a hesitant motion, she pulled him towards her, enveloping him in a warm hug that he so desperately needed. He wrapped his arms around her, his head falling limp between her neck and collarbone. His body fell forward into her lap, and she cradled him in her arms as if he was a baby bird. His cries resounded through the Sanctuary, his tears staining her yellow-brown skin.

She rested her head upon his, bringing him in tighter, her brows furrowing together. They stayed that way for a while as the walls thrummed sadly, imitating the slow beat of a harrowed heart.

It had been a full two months since your first visit to the Blair family home. Upon realizing she accidentally bailed on you, Gwen invited you over for dinner the day after. That one night turned into two, and two turned into three, and so on and so forth until you were spending every night with them.

They were a jovial family, always playing music and regaling you with tales of adventures and old legends. Gwen would run off and grab an instrument, only to bring it down to the living room. She’d jump onto the coffee table and begin to sing, her voice filling the cabin with an exuberant atmosphere. Klaus and August would join in as Arbor stood from his seat and offered you a hand, bowing as if he was some prince asking a princess to dance.

He’d smile as he pulled you from your chair and wrapped an arm around your waist. You’d return his smile as you placed a hand on his shoulder. “Just follow my lead,” he’d tell you, and you did your best to match his steps as he twirled you around the room. Laughter pierced the air and wafted out through the open windows.

In those moments, you were able to forget everything and truly live in the moment.

Over the course of those two months, you learned how to wield a sword. Arbor was a ruthless teacher. His methods were quite… odd, but they were effective, so you didn’t question him. If it worked, then who were you to judge?

During those training sessions, you learned more about each other. His favorite color was a deep seafoam, akin to the ocean near his home. His favorite meal was schnitzel with warm potato salad. He loved sunsets, music, and to your surprise, graffiti art. He had a special ability to make every cat love him, no matter how feral one could be. He was a real momma’s boy before his mother died— always helping her out when needed and pledging his life to keeping her safe. He never admitted it, but you could see on his face that he blamed himself for his mother’s death.

You confided in him as he did you. You told him of the two men that felt like brothers to you— Diluc and Kaeya. You told him about your childhood, your family and how they’d host Oktoberfest in their house every year and the whole neighborhood would show up. You told him what your favorite meals and pastries were, and eventually, he started making them for you without prior notice.

You choked on air as your back hit the ground. Your sword flew out of your hands, landing elsewhere as you coughed and tried to regain your breathing.

Arbor hadn’t even broken a sweat. He stood above you, his body blocking your view of the sun as you stared up at the sky in defeat. He adjusted his grip on his sword and inhaled. “Get up.” He spat, nudging your thigh with his foot. “We’re not done yet. Not until you disarm me. Let’s go. The sooner you disarm me, the sooner we can go inside and have dinner.”

“Are you cooking tonight?” You questioned, your voice hoarse from your dry throat and the lack of oxygen.

He looked away. Uh oh. “It’s Gwen’s turn.”

You whined. Although the girl was an exceptional baker, she couldn’t cook for her life. If she was stranded on a deserted island by herself, she’d surely die within the first day. She was an incredible fighter— you knew that from the one time Arbor invited her to a training session. She disarmed you and had you on the ground begging for mercy before you could even blink. That had been the first and last time you allowed her to join.

(You even considered her a far more ruthless teacher than her brother.)

Even though all she harbored was kindness and love in her heart and a friendly smile was always present on her lips, she sure didn’t play when it came to combat. Her entire personality shifted, and suddenly you were face to face with a seasoned soldier. It was downright horrifying.

With a small groan, you hauled yourself up off the grass and grabbed your sword. Arbor was already in a fighting stance when you turned around. Not giving you the chance to take a breath, he dashed forward with that same grace and elegance he always possessed. Your reflexes— which had improved over the course of two months —acted quickly, and you raised your sword to block the oncoming attack.

Gritting your teeth at the force, you pushed on your blade, attempting to knock him back. He pulled away and for a moment, you thought he was going on the defensive, when suddenly he adjusted his grip, and you knew what that meant.

Swallowing, you readied yourself, despite the dread creeping up your spine. He leapt forward, his movements fast and precise, aiming for each and every weak spot you had. You blocked attack after attack, ducking just in time as he swung towards your head. You swiped at his feet, and he jumped effortlessly over your blade. You knelt and rolled, avoiding his midair attack.

You were too slow to your feet, unable to deflect the next blow as you turned. You were knocked back, slamming right into a nearby boulder. The force from the blow knocked the air from your lungs. You coughed harshly, a wheeze escaping your lips. Your entire back was aching, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as the beating he put you through the day prior during your hand-to-hand combat training.

As usual, there wasn’t a single drop of sweat coating his body. How the hell? Was he some sort of indestructible immortal being?

He approached you, raising his sword once more as you painfully stood. Your shoulders were heaving, and your entire body was coated in a fine layer of sweat. Your hair stuck to your neck and forehead, and you wiped the sweat from your brow with the collar of your shirt.

“Again. That was pitiful. I’ve taught you better.”

Did he have an off button?

With a huff, you ran at him, and he sighed deeply. “This is your problem.”

“What is?” You scowled, beginning to get tired of his attitude.

He aimed for your chest and you jumped back just in time. His frown deepened. “Find it yourself.” He discarded his blade.

“Wha—” You paused for a moment. Big mistake. He hit your jaw, and you stumbled backwards.

“What have I told you? Don’t halt for a second. The drop of a weapon does not equate to surrender. The moment you hesitate is the moment you die.”

You scoffed. “If I die, it’s because you beat me to death!”

“No, if you die, it’s because of your own stupidity!”

He landed a punch right on your cheek, knocking you back once more. You skidded along the grass, dazed. He stood over you with a disappointed frown. “You’re weak still. You hesitate. You don’t channel anger. You fight with no purpose. That is your problem.”

You stared up at him, returning his glare. You couldn’t deny that his words hurt a little, if not a lot. Couldn’t he see you were trying your best? Couldn’t he see that you were putting your all into this training? You never skipped a lesson, and you always took them seriously. You listened when he corrected you and you were taking all of his advice to heart. Because of him, your reflexes and focus had improved, and you were reading your opponent’s movements at a rapid pace.

“Arbor.” A firm, cold voice called.

Both of you looked up to see Gwen standing in the distance, her brows furrowed and her lips drawn into a tight line. She was livid.

“Enough. She’s not like us. She’s not like Mother.” She remarked. “She wasn’t born from wrath. You can’t expect her to be the same when she’s…” she trailed off, her eyes flickering to you before fixing on her brother again. “Stop expecting so much of her. Results will come with time.”

He kept quiet, knowing better than to argue with her when she was so painfully right. With a huff, he made a beeline in her direction, his fists curled and his shoulders tense. She met his fierce expression with a challenging one of her own.

“She will fail if she continues like this,” he muttered bitterly, “she is nothing but a sorry excuse for a student.”

The look in Gwen’s eyes flashed to one of pure rage. She gritted her teeth. “Just because she’s not advancing at the speed you want does not mean she’s weak. Do you not see her trying her hardest to match you!? She’s learning quick for someone so inexperienced. For a mortal—”

You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear to you that they were arguing.

“I disarmed Lowen within my tenth training session. It was brief, but I did it. There is no reason she cannot do the same after two months.” He contested. “It doesn’t matter what she is. My teaching has been accelerated this whole time.”

Her eye twitched. “Arbor, you’ll break her if you continue like this—”

“This conversation is over.” He stormed off towards the coastline, ignoring Gwen’s anxious calls of his name.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Gwen questioned after letting out a sigh. “I came out here to let you both know that dinner is ready, anyway.”

You stood from your place on the grass, wincing at the ache that was present in every bone in your body. As you moved, your brows scrunched together, and she smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry about him… he’s always been like that— hard on people, I mean.” Her gaze was distant as she followed the outline of his form on the coastline. “Our mother was the same way. He picked up more than a few of their habits…”

‘Their’?

Instead of prying, you followed her gaze. “Will he be okay? He seemed pretty angry.”

She scoffed. “He’ll be fine. It’s me that you should worry about,” she told you as she turned to head inside, “as soon as he gets back, I’m giving him a piece of my mind.”

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes lingering on Arbor’s shirtless form in the distance. From what you could see, he was knee deep in the ocean waves, his arms crossed over his chest. From here, you couldn’t make out the expression on his face. His back was somewhat turned to you.

You wondered how he must be feeling. You knew he was impatient and hard on you, but it was only because he wanted you to improve. Did you really meet his standards, though, if you kept failing?

You weren’t a fool. You could tell that his argument with Gwen had been about you and your progress. Although you couldn’t hear what they were saying, it was clear as day because of the way he had spoken to you before she arrived.

With a long sigh, you followed Gwen into the house.

With a swipe of her sleeve over her sweaty forehead, Gwen sighed heavily. That had been the last of the boxes that needed to be moved.

A man clapped his hands together, wiping off the dust and grime. He turned to Gwen with a grateful smile.

“Thank you so much for your help, Lord Guinevere,” the man said, giving a swift bow, “without your help, we wouldn’t have been able to move all this wood by sunset.”

She shook her head, returning his smile. “It was no trouble. And seriously, Arnold, you don’t have to call me that anymore.” She looked down. “Cairnfelle is gone…”

“Nonsense!” Arnold exclaimed. “Cairnfelle hasn’t fallen yet. You and Arbor are still with us, which means you carry its legacy.”

“I appreciate your loyalty, but…” she trailed off, unable to find the right words. She stared at the ground, unsure of what to say.

This was the first time she had been at a loss for words. What does one even respond to that with, anyway? Cairnfelle was gone. It died with its Queen. The winds had changed.

She took a deep breath and looked up. “A-Anyways— I will always be at your service.” She saluted him. “The Blair family will always be willing to help others, no matter what.”

Arnold nodded curtly, his gaze softening. He ruffled her oak brown hair, causing her to laugh under her breath. “The Blair family has done much for Mondstadt. Our thanks could never equate to the thousands of years of grace you’ve shown us.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Stop getting all formal on me! You know I’ve never done formalities! Also, it’s Gwen. Not Guinevere, and definitely not ‘Lord Guinevere.’”

He laughed, loud and full of mirth. He tipped his hat and nodded. “You got it, Gwen.”

“That’s more like it!” She smiled brightly at him, waving goodbye with a hand raised high above her head. “See ya! Don’t throw your back out while I’m gone!”

The trek back home from Springvale was a lengthy one. The Blair family home was tucked far beneath Starsnatch Cliff, right along the coastline. It was not only a far walk from Springvale, but a far trip from the city as well.

If the land was still intact from before Barbatos’ sudden urge to purge the entire nation of its mountaintops, maybe the original Blair home would still be tucked away in the mountains.

Oftentimes, she found herself missing the comfort and harmony of the mountainous slopes and the chilling, howling winds. They wrapped around the entire kingdom like a safety net, protecting them from the outside world. It was a paradise, a haven for all. A place of peace and prosperity for not only Mondstadtians, but others from around the continent as well.

Instead of going back home like she planned, she took a last minute detour. The sun was fading steadily over the horizon, and making the journey up to the far northern borders would take more than a few days on foot.

This only meant one thing.

She let out a heavy sigh and braced herself for the pain. From her back, hollow bones sprouted, tearing the skin apart. A thin layer of muscle pulled itself over the bone, followed by glistening ivory that danced along the muscle and tapered down, down, down. Brilliant wings stretched high behind her, a burst of feathers filling the air. They fluttered to the ground, only to shoot back up again as she dashed into the sky.

The trip was shorter, thanks to her newfound way of transportation. She stumbled back onto the ground, tripping over her own feet.

It had been such a long time since she had flown like that. It was as if she was a baby bird just learning how to fly.

She caught herself, only to get the wind knocked out of her lungs as a heavy weight collapsed onto her back.

She cried out in pain, her wings still sensitive from just sprouting again after what felt like millennia of being hidden from sight. A groan left her lips as she sat up, gazing behind her only to see a heap of tangled limbs and messy navy hair.

“Lord Barbatos!?”

She didn’t mean for it to come out as a shriek. Quickly pulling him into her arms, she inspected his torn up wings. It was a sorry sight— dried blood coating his feathers and bones sticking out in some places. She winced as she placed him flat on his stomach.

“What happened to you?” She muttered, her brows furrowing as she laid his wings out as far as she could. “This is too much… even for me.”

With this much damage, there was no way she could heal him. It would have to take some sort of miracle. Yet, he was a god. Miracles came naturally to him. With just a snap of his fingers, he could fix this…

Or could he?

What if the damage was irreparable? Would he be cursed to a fate of having clipped wings?

She was already aware of the secrets he harbored and the burdens he carried. First, chained. Then, duty-bound. Now?

…Never to fly again, it seemed.

With a determined huff, she shifted onto her knees and hovered her hands over where feathers met skin. Maybe she couldn’t fix him wholly, but she could very well try her damndest to do something; even if it was as small as clearing the blood and ceasing the pain.

“Hang in there, My Lord.”

An hour passed, and her energy was still intact. She kept up as the sun fully passed over the horizon, replaced with a lone moon shining brightly in the sky.

Another few hours passed. The blood was completely gone now, though she knew that her level of healing could only do so much on a god. It couldn’t heal his broken wings.

At this point, she had no choice but to involve the other divine.

She picked him up, as gently as she could with the little strength she had left after expending her abilities for so long. Carefully, she took him into the abandoned cathedral that still loomed on a cliffside. The ornate roof was long gone, snapped off during the great terraforming process. And yet, that ethereal, sacred feeling of stepping onto holy ground filled her heart and mind.

A familiar power thrummed beneath the marble floors, and a small smile tugged at her lips as it swirled around her, greeting her with a soft breeze.

She carried the broken god up to the altar and laid him down. Pressing a hand over his heart, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her own heart was beating erratically in her chest, threatening to break free from its cage.

With a bowed head, she began the sacred prayer to the North Winds.

“Mögen die Winde deine Erinnerungen streifen und deine Seele durchdringen.

Mögen die Winde dich segnen und dich vom Bösen befreien.

Mögen Wahrheit und Aufrichtigkeit dein Fundament sein. Mögen Vertrauen und Treue dich leiten.

Mögen die Erinnerungen an die Vergangenheit, die Gegenwart und die Zukunft dein Herz sein.

Mögen deine Lippen stets von der Kälte des Nordens berührt werden und deine Zunge von den Feuern der Entschlossenheit entflammt sein.

Mögen die Winde die Seele und ihre Erinnerungen weitertragen, wenn sie gegangen ist, und den Körper von seinem Schmerz und seinem Leid befreien.”

For a moment, nothing happened.

Until…

A burst of blinding aqua light emerged from the altar. A whirlwind followed closely in its stead. The force sent her tumbling back, her back roughly hitting a stone pillar.

She groaned in pain, hearing a small crack erupt from one of her wings. She cursed under her breath and fell forward onto the marble floor. Small stones and tiny pebbles cascaded around her as the ground shook with enough force to topple the entire cathedral.

Then, the light disappeared, and the rumbling stopped. The whipping winds fizzled out into soft, murmuring breezes, and the air went cold with suspense.

A whimper sounded. Her head flew up, and sure enough, Barbatos was waking.

She stumbled to her feet, clutching onto the pillar for support before making a beeline for the altar.

Barbatos sat up, rubbing his temple as his vision slowly cleared. The ringing in his ears ceased, and his breathing evened. He looked up, cerulean eyes gazing up at the endless sea of stars above his head.

Where was he?

He had no time to process as the breath was knocked from his lungs and he was catapulted off the altar and onto the ground below a tall statue just behind it. The two figures tumbled to the ground, their backs hitting the base of the statue and causing it to shake slightly.

He huffed, attempting to catch his breath again. He looked down, only to see the familiar sight of brown and platinum hair. He blinked, his eyes widening in surprise.

How long had it been since he’d last seen her?

She was tightly hugging his middle, her head dug into his chest. It was then he noticed she was holding on for dear life, scared he might disappear from her grasp. Hesitantly, he brought a hand up to rest on her head, and the other to rest around her shoulders.

He laid his head upon hers, smiling as he sighed in content.

“So… You wish to know how to change fate?” Egeria looked down on him in mock disdain. “And why have you come to me for this matter? Why not Buer?”

He chewed his lip.

Egeria, as gentle and adoring as she was at her core, could also be merciless and judgmental like the raging tides of the nation she oversought. Her piercing gaze was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

The reason he hadn’t gone to Rukkhadevata was simply because he wasn’t sure whether she could provide him with an answer. He was positive that none of the Archons would— except for one. One, who’s successor was already thinking of a way to change the fate of all Fontainians.

Maybe, if he could speak with her—

Egeria sighed long and hard, her striking blue eyes boring holes into the pristine blue floor. The air was filled with a tense silence as she pondered over his request.

None have ever changed fate before. The only person who had was a mortal, and even then, they had no knowledge of ever doing so, nor how they did so. Even the gods weren’t aware how someone so insignificant had the power to change their fate around.

She sat up straight, snapping her fingers. One of her oceanid familiars rushed forward, kneeling at the steps leading up to her gold and blue throne. She slammed the end of her trident onto the floor, the sound reverberating off the glass walls.

“Fetch Focalors.”

“Right away, Lady Egeria!”

Egeria leaned forward, beckoning Barbatos closer with a perfectly manicured finger. He slowly walked up the steps until he was face to face with her.

“My Focalors has not changed fate,” she began, “but she has been mulling ideas over on the ocean floor for many years. If anyone could help you, it is her. Or perhaps… you’ve considered someone else?”

She raised a brow, the knowing look in her eyes saying it all. You know someone who deals in fate. Why waste your time here?

He took a deep breath. “Cousin,” he regarded her in confidence, “I seek a trustworthy ally. Someone who will handle this mortal’s fate carefully.”

With an intrigued hum, she stroked her chin. So that’s why he came to her. Not because Rukkhadevata was not in the know, but because the dealer-in-fate he already knew was someone he could not trust as far as he could throw them. Which, as the Anemo Archon, was pretty damn far.

“And you believe my Focalors will be this honest person?”

“Yes.” He uttered without a second thought.

Just then, the oceanid familiar from before came walking in with a stunning figure in tow. Barbatos stared, his eyes wide and his mouth falling open as he met her mismatched eyes. The woman had white hair with blue highlights that reached her calves, and wore a gorgeous mermaid-styled white and navy gown. Gold earrings hung from her ears, and a polite smile tugged at her lips. There was a certain elegance about her that Barbatos had been captivated by. It was an elegance he was all too familiar with.

It was the elegance of an ancient god, though Focalors was anything but an ancient god. She paid him no mind as her careful steps resonated throughout the room. She bowed deeply before Egeria’s throne.

“How may I serve you, Lady Egeria?”

“Rise,” Egeria said gently, motioning for Focalors to come closer.

The oceanid turned human did as she was told and stood next to Barbatos with her hands clasped tightly together in front of her.

"The Anemo Archon seeks an audience with you. Consider yourself lucky to be in the presence of such an esteemed one as himself."

Focalors' eyes widened, and she turned to gaze upon the god standing beside her. Her eyes were calculating as she studied him. It was as if she was trying to ascertain why in the world he had wanted to speak with her, of all people.

He had come just for her? What for?

She had heard of his exploits from Egeria, and he truly was a man worth the devotion and praise. He had done so much for his people, for his friends, and for his nation. Someone like him was comparable to that of a hero; one written about in fables and bards' songs. It was ironic, given the fact that he was the god of music and song.

If the god of freedom, song, wind, and idylls was here for her, she would provide her aid to him in any way she could— but that did not mean she was not without her doubts on his true reasoning for seeking her guidance.

Despite her doubts, she bowed deeply. Above all, he was an Archon— he was above her, just like Lady Egeria. He sputtered, reaching out a hand as if to place it upon her shoulder. He stopped short, his hand lingering in the space between them before it returned to the place at his side.

"Please," he said gently, his voice calm and soothing in her ears, "stand. There is no need for formalities with me."

He smiled softly at her as she met his gaze once more, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. Egeria stood from her throne, her presence demanding all to look at her with reverence and respect. She used her trident to support her weight as she descended the steps. "I shall leave the two of you to your meeting."

She sent them a curt nod. It was Focalors' turn to start sputtering, her jaw falling slack in surprise. She raised her skirts, taking a few steps towards her Archon, when Egeria raised a hand to stop her in her tracks.

"My Lady, you will leave us alone? But that is not—"

With her back turned, Egeria sighed softly. "It is not my business what you speak of in this room. The Anemo Archon is trustworthy. I trust his judgment."

That was that. With a final flick of her wrist, she ushered the other oceanid guards out of the throne room, leaving Focalors and Barbatos alone. It was eerily quiet, save for the sounds of moving water beyond the glass walls. Focalors stared at the heavy prismarine doors her master had left out of, before turning to face the waiting Anemo Archon.

She stepped closer, keeping a reasonable distance between them, and clasped her hands in front of her. She cleared her throat. "H-How may I serve you, Lord Barbatos god of Freedom and esteemed Anemo Archon?"

He let out a chuckle and took a seat on the steps before Egeria's throne. "Come now, no need for all that. I told you before, I'm not one for formalities." Still... she didn't see it right to address him informally considering his standing. "Please, just see me as a friend... Alright?"

She couldn't. He was an Archon— a heavenly divine figure. He was revered throughout the lands. He was beautiful in every sense of the word, and his humanity was what made him truly divine. Despite her high praise of him, she attempted to do as he told her, and nodded. If he requested she see him as a friend, she would fulfill his wishes.

"Alright." She nodded. His smile widened. It was warm and welcoming, calming her nerves in an instant. Her shoulders relaxed somewhat, and she sat next to him. "What may I help you with, then?"

"Egeria told me you've been attempting to turn around the fate of the Fontainian people. I wanted to ask how you plan on doing so."

She certainly wasn't expecting that.

"W-Well, I—" she stopped, unsure. "I'm... not entirely sure at the moment. I need more time. After all, changing fate is a difficult task."

He scoffed. "I'm aware... yet it isn't impossible."

Fate was tricky. He was more than familiar with it, as his own had been tampered with long ago. Although it hadn't been anyone else's fault but his own, he still wasn't sure how it exactly happened. But now... he needed to change it again.

He needed to change not only his, but yours. There was no way he was going to allow you to be subjected to such a horrible fate like the one the Heavenly Principles had given you.

Focalors glanced at him, seeing the far off look in his eyes. She sighed. The secret she had been keeping inside for a while now began to creep its way to the surface, lingering on the tip of her tongue as she opened her mouth. Would she regret telling him? She hoped she wouldn't.

There was something... off about him that made her uneasy, yet she couldn't place what it was. Gods had their secrets. She was well aware of that fact, as she could sense that Egeria had her own. But if those secrets would harm the lives of those around them... were they really worth keeping?

Egeria placed her trust and judgment in the Anemo Archon. That was enough to sway Focalors to speak.

"There… is a way you may be able to change your fate..." she muttered, watching as his eyes lit up with hope, "I've thought about it for many years. I'm not even sure if it's entirely possible, but... to change your fate, you need to bypass the Heavenly Principles, right? Well..."

She trailed off, wringing her hands in her lap. "If you want to bypass them, you would have to deceive them."

The words sat heavy in the air as Barbatos hung onto her every word. Deceive the Heavenly Principles!? That was an impossible task. Changing fate and altering time were tricky enough, but they were plausible. But... deceiving the all-powerful absolute authorities of the world? That was downright impossible, even for a god— for an Archon.

He might as well have given up. This endeavor was futile anyway. Why did he ever think he could achieve defying the Heavenly Principles?

Focalors watched the way his expression contorted into one of surprise, then of horror, and finally defeat.

"I wish there was another way..." she muttered, pulling at the sleeves of her dress. "But there isn't. And I'm determined to see my— no, Lady Egeria's plan —through. Because although it may seem impossible, I believe there's a successful way to go about this task."

Her words weren't getting through to him. She could tell. The look of utter defeat upon his face was heartbreaking. With her brows drawn together, she shuffled closer to him. "Lord Barbatos... it is possible. If there's no way, then I will simply make one. I will not give up hope— because the moment I do is the moment I doom the lives of the people of Fontaine."

That sentence struck a chord within him. She watched as a look of something unnamed flashed in his eyes. Letting out a sigh, she stood up and smoothed out her gown.

"I do not know what it is you are dealing with, nor why you are insistent on changing fate. But... I do know one thing," she paused, meeting his eyes, "we are the same, you and I. We have those we want to protect. And that is more important than lingering on the 'what-ifs' or what is or is not possible in this world. Anything in this world is possible if you have enough willpower. If you have enough hope and determination to see it through."

The room went silent, and she bowed her head in respect before exiting, leaving him alone with the weight of her words lingering in his heart and mind.

The air was thick with tension as you continued flipping restlessly through the pages of your notebook, your heart still beating wildly inside your chest from the argument you had moments ago with your mother.

The effects of her words still loitered in your mind, and unspoken insults still lingered on the tip of your tongue.

Your relationship wasn't one you could call stable by any means. Your mother, as far as you were concerned, was a stranger in your home. Your elder brother, a sprightly and burly man who dedicated his life to the protection of Mondstadt, was who you considered to be your true caretaker.

With your father no longer of this world, your mother had sought to continue the life she threw away before she had gotten married. She continued with her studies at the Sumeru Akademiya when you were a small child, and your brother had been left to care for you in her absence.

But you, unfortunately, were your mother's daughter. That same buzz and thirst for knowledge plagued your heart and soul just as it did her when she was a young girl. The similarities had once been something you cherished— something you held dear. You wanted to be like her. You wanted to study at the most prestigious school in all of Teyvat.

But now...

A bitter taste was left on your tongue from the argument you just had. How had things become this bad? How had everything fallen apart after the death of your father?

You let out a heavy sigh and slammed your notebook closed. The air wafting in from your open window was chilly, revealing it to be a cold and crisp winter night. Letting out a huff, you stood from your desk chair and grabbed your satchel, throwing your notebook and a pen inside before making a beeline for the door.

You had enough of sitting inside mulling over the effects of your dwindling relationship with your mother. Your brother glanced at you as you left the house, flinching slightly at the way you slammed the door closed.

He sighed. You were just like your mother.

You knew it too. And you hated it.

The wintry air of Northern Mondstadt greeted you like an old friend, embracing you in its hold as you allowed your feet to drag you out towards the plains that acted as a border between Northern Mondstadt and the icy ocean neighboring Snezhnaya.

No one could find you out here, not even your brother. It was the perfect getaway from that stuffy, warm house that only served as a cage. Out here, where there were no trees and the winds blew harshly, you could relax. The biting chill was a welcome feeling against your skin that still burned with the rage in your veins.

You spotted the familiar hill in the distance, a small smile pulling at your lips as you headed straight for it. The remnants of an ancient temple stood tall in the silence of the night, alight with an ethereal glow of divinity. You bid a small greeting to the old structure, running your fingers over the cold stone pillars.

This place always felt familiar to you in a way. It was as if— before you discovered it —you had been here before. It felt warm amidst the cold breezes. A soft thrum echoed through your feet and circulated throughout your whole body, calming your mind and rapid heartbeat.

It was a familiar feeling— one you felt every time you set foot in this temple. It only made sense for it to be the lingering effects of divinity left over from the death of an ancient god. Judging by the tenderness of what felt like a caress, you could only assume the god had been a kind and gentle one. It could only be someone warm and welcoming.

A bright, blue light wafted from the center of the main room. The fog around the bud curled around the nearby crevices and enveloped your feet as you got closer. You pulled your notebook from your satchel and sat on the marble floor, flipping open to an empty page and beginning to jot down anything you could on the anomaly before you.

Leyline anomalies had interested you ever since you first stumbled upon this temple a few years ago. Leylines were peculiar things— known for inhabiting many areas around Teyvat and containing the memories of the people who live in those areas.

The memories in this one were odd. They made you feel sorrowful and chained down, as if the person who died here had died with many regrets. It was hard to gather more information other than just feelings. You couldn't see past the haze surrounding the bud of memories, and you couldn't uncover the identities of anyone inside the memories.

You felt lost. You wanted to understand the land— the world around you. You wanted to connect with Mondstadt's history and uncover truths hidden inside the very land you called home.

There was a noticeable gap in Mondstadt's history. Ever since the ancient library burned down over a thousand years ago, the nation had lost most of its original texts and documents. The people themselves began to forget their own history, and the founding of Mondstadt got blurrier by the year. Old traditions still celebrated lost their original meanings, and songs were forgotten along the winds.

The nation had slowly and gradually lost most of their history, customs, and memories with the destruction of a single building. It was catastrophic the way it happened. You weren't alive back then, but the sorrow and anguish you felt for the unfortunate event made it seem like you had been.

It affected you on an unprecedented scale— more than it had anyone else in Mondstadt. It was odd how strongly you felt towards an event that you hadn't even been alive to witness.

Maybe the reason you had been so intrigued in Mondstadt's leylines was because of how connected you felt to events that you weren't there to see.

"It's a little odd, I won't lie," Jean said to you once as you both laid sprawled out under the tree in your front yard. "I mean... don't you think it's weird? I mean, yeah, the burning of that library dealt a huge blow to Mondstadt, but no one really cares today."

You sighed heavily, enjoying the brisk breeze of mid-Spring as you sketched out that ominous temple in your notebook. "You don't have to tell me things I already know," you replied coolly, "I get it's weird. But, I really do feel... connected... to things that happened in the past... as if I was there to witness them in a past life or something."

She glanced at you, propping up an elbow on the grass. "Do you think you're a reincarnation of someone?"

You scoffed. "Nah, not at all. I don't believe in that stuff, anyway."

Jean's blue eyes studied you for a moment. She frowned. "Really? But what if you were like, a hero to Mondstadt or something? What if the reason you feel so connected to our nation is because you're a reincarnation of a prominent figure important to our history?"

"Well, if that's true, then do you think you're a reincarnation of someone too?"

She hummed thoughtfully, laying back onto the grass and staring up at the cloudless blue sky. She smiled. "Maybe. If I am, I want to believe my past incarnation was a wonderful soul— someone who helped Mondstadt in its time of need, just like my ancestors."

You stared at her for a moment, admiring her side profile. A warm feeling bloomed inside your chest the longer you stared, and your heart began to thump against your ribcage as she met your gaze. Her soft expression could turn you to mush.

"And," she continued, sitting up on her elbow once more and leaning over your face with a smirk on her lips, "I'd like to believe we were together in our past lives, too. I don't think I could live without you, after all."

A small giggle left her lips, and you felt your face grow hot. She pecked your lips before settling on the grass next to you again, curling into your side as you both laid in comfortable silence.

It was that very same day that led to your downfall. Her words struck something within you, and a newfound determination surged throughout your body. It was that day you decided to pour your entire life into studying leyline anomalies and their effects on not only the world, but the people of Teyvat as well.

Everything else was shoved aside, left to rot in the back of your mind as you pushed yourself to your limit and worked your life away. You didn't expect your obsession to become the very thing that drove your first love away from you.

Just like your mother.

"This is borderline unhealthy!" Jean cried, shaking your notebook in front of your face. "You're obsessed! Can't you see how this is destroying you!?"

You refused to listen to reason. "I'm doing what you told me! Figuring out if memories really do affect us, and if all of us really are reincarnations of past historical figures!"

She looked at you incredulously. "Are you crazy!? This isn't something to waste your life over! I understand you want to make a historical breakthrough, but it's not worth it if you're losing your sanity along the way!"

You knew she was right. You could feel it. But, at that point, you were too far gone.

"But I'm so close to—"

"You're ruining yourself!" She screamed, tossing your notebook to the side. A few drops of water hit your nose, and soon, it began to rain. "Don't you see!? You're becoming your mother! Isn't that what you always sought to avoid?"

A fiery rage swelled within you at the mention of your mother and you gritted your teeth. You balled your hands into fists. Before you could get an insult out, she sniffled.

"I don't deserve to be cast aside, (Name)." Her voice was shaky as she attempted to keep her emotions in check, only to fail.

"You don't understand how important this research is to me," you muttered bitterly, "it means more to me than my own life. I'm nothing without this. I'm not like you. I don't have a huge life ahead of me— I don't have a duty to Mondstadt. Half my family is gone. I don't have a purpose. But this— this is my purpose. This research is what I've been looking for since my dad died."

She stared at you in disbelief. She scoffed. "Did we mean nothing to you?"

You were silent, unable to answer the question as you were hit with a sudden wave of guilt. Your jaw fell slack as your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. You tried to tell her that yes, she meant everything to you, but the words got caught in your throat.

"You're selfish!" She spat, her words piercing like knives in your heart. "All you care about is yourself. And that idiotic research." Without even so much as a "goodbye," she left.

footnotes. please see this post for the full extensive notes of this chapter!!

#venti #genshin impact #genshin #genshin venti #venti genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin venti x you #genshin venti x reader #venti x you #venti x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #— thus always to tyrants 🪴#—stellaronhvnters.

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queereads-bracket · 11 days ago

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Queer Historical Fiction Book Bracket: Round 2A

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth

Our story begins in 1902, at The Brookhants School for Girls. Flo and Clara, two impressionable students, are obsessed with each other and with a daring young writer named Mary MacLane, the author of a scandalous bestselling memoir. To show their devotion to Mary, the girls establish their own private club and call it The Plain Bad Heroine Society. They meet in secret in a nearby apple orchard, the setting of their wildest happiness and, ultimately, of their macabre deaths. This is where their bodies are later discovered with a copy of Mary’s book splayed beside them, the victims of a swarm of stinging, angry yellow jackets. Less than five years later, The Brookhants School for Girls closes its doors forever—but not before three more people mysteriously die on the property, each in a most troubling way.

Over a century later, the now abandoned and crumbling Brookhants is back in the news when wunderkind writer, Merritt Emmons, publishes a breakout book celebrating the queer, feminist history surrounding the “haunted and cursed” Gilded-Age institution. Her bestselling book inspires a controversial horror film adaptation starring celebrity actor and lesbian it girl Harper Harper playing the ill-fated heroine Flo, opposite B-list actress and former child star Audrey Wells as Clara. But as Brookhants opens its gates once again, and our three modern heroines arrive on set to begin filming, past and present become grimly entangled—or perhaps just grimly exploited—and soon it’s impossible to tell where the curse leaves off and Hollywood begins.

A story within a story within a story and featuring black-and-white period illustrations.

Setting: Rhode Island, 1900s and present day

Horror, historical fiction, contemporary, mystery, gothic, 1900s, adult

Gwen & Art Are Not in Love by Lex Croucher

Endorsement from submitter: "Badass lesbian knight, lesbian princess, gay nerd prince, depressed gay duke what more could you want"

It’s been hundreds of years since King Arthur’s reign. His descendant, Arthur, a future Lord and general gadabout, has been betrothed to Gwendoline, the quick-witted, short-tempered princess of England, since birth. The only thing they can agree on is that they despise each other.

They’re forced to spend the summer together at Camelot in the run-up to their nuptials, and within 24 hours, Gwen has discovered Arthur kissing a boy, and Arthur has gone digging for Gwen's childhood diary and found confessions about her crush on the kingdom's only lady knight, Bridget Leclair.

Realizing they might make better allies than enemies, Gwen and Art make a reluctant pact to cover for each other, and as things heat up at the annual royal tournament, Gwen is swept off her feet by her knight, and Arthur takes an interest in Gwen's royal brother. Lex Croucher's Gwen & Art Are Not in Love is chock full of sword-fighting, found family, and romantic shenanigans destined to make readers fall in love.

Setting: Medieval, post-Camelot

Historical-ish fiction, romance, romantic comedy, medieval, Aruthuriana, young adult

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x-dark-whimsy-x · 9 days ago

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The Sundered Soul, Chapter 3

HUGE thanks to my new beta reader, @sanniefern (https://www.tumblr.com/sanniefern) who not only helped me polish the writing, but caught a few glaring plot holes. <3

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The Sundered Soul

Chapter 3: Revelation

Dawn came gently to the druid camp, filtered through leaves into dappled gold that painted the canvas walls in shifting patterns. Arthur woke to find Merlin exactly as he'd left him - standing guard, empty eyes fixed on the tent entrance with unwavering precision. The sight hit him like a physical blow, this mockery of devotion without the warmth that made it real. Each morning brought the same cruel reminder: Merlin's body lived, but the man Arthur --

Arthur cut off that thought before it could form completely. Hope was a luxury he couldn't afford to lose, not when they were so close to answers.

"Did you stand there all night?" Arthur asked, though the tightness in his chest already knew the answer. The question was becoming ritual, a desperate attempt to provoke some spark of the old Merlin who would have rolled his eyes and made some sarcastic comment about Arthur's sleeping habits.

"Yes. No threats arose."

The clinical response made Arthur's hands clench involuntarily. No threats arose. As if Arthur were just another assignment, another duty to discharge with emotionless efficiency. He rose stiffly, muscles protesting their night on the hard ground, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the ache that had taken up permanent residence in his chest.

Outside, the camp was already alive with quiet activity. Druids moved with practiced efficiency, preparing for the day ahead with the sort of purposeful grace that spoke of lives lived close to the earth's rhythms. Several paused to bow as Arthur passed, and it took him a moment to realize they weren't acknowledging him - their reverence was directed at Merlin. Or at what Merlin represented to them, this empty vessel carrying the legend of Emrys.

Arthur's jaw tightened. They saw power, prophecy, destiny. He saw his friend disappearing by degrees, fading like morning mist with each passing hour.

He found his companions gathered around a morning fire, their faces bearing the particular strain of people trying to maintain normalcy in abnormal circumstances. Gwaine's usual irreverent commentary was notably absent, his attention fixed on sharpening a blade that didn't need it. Leon studied a rough map with the intensity of a man seeking distraction in familiar tasks, while Lancelot sat beside Gwen, ready to offer comfort at a moment's notice.

"Sleep well?" Gwen asked as Arthur approached, offering him bread and cheese with the sort of gentle insistence he'd learned not to argue with. Her eyes, however, studied his face with the penetrating attention of someone cataloguing exhaustion and finding too much for her liking.

"Well enough." The lie came easily - too easily. Arthur accepted the food gratefully, though his stomach churned with the familiar anxiety that had become his constant companion. How many mornings did they have left? The priestess spoke of “complications” that might arise the longer Merlin’s body, animated by his magic, was separated from his soul.

"What's our path?" Arthur asked, needing the comfort of concrete plans, actionable steps toward salvation.

Iseldir traced a route on the map with one weathered finger, his movements deliberate and sure. "North through the forest to the valley's edge. The land grows wild there, touched by old magic that remembers when the world was young. You'll know you're close when the trees begin to whisper."

"Whisper?" Gwaine asked, his skepticism a welcome return to normalcy. Arthur felt something in his chest ease slightly at the familiar note of irreverence in his friend's voice.

"The boundary between worlds grows thin near the cave. Past and present blur together. The trees remember what was and speak of what might be." Iseldir's expression carried the weight of ancient warnings. "Don't listen too closely. Madness lies down that path."

"Wonderful," Gwaine muttered, but Arthur caught the way his hand unconsciously checked his sword's placement. "Whispering trees and madness. Just another Tuesday in our lives."

Despite the levity, Arthur could see the tension gathering in his friend's shoulders like storm clouds. They all understood the stakes now, the terrible arithmetic of love and loss that had brought them to this desperate gamble. The knowledge sat heavy between them, unspoken but understood: if they failed here, there would be no other chances.

"We've prepared supplies," Iseldir continued, his voice carrying the gentle authority of age and wisdom. "Food for five days, water skins, healing draughts. The crystal you seek lies deep within the cave, past trials I cannot predict. Each journey is unique, shaped by the hearts and souls of those who undertake it."

Arthur's hand moved unconsciously to his chest, where the locket rested warm against his skin. Inside, Merlin's soul pulsed with steady light, trapped but alive, waiting. The thought of it - Merlin's essence contained in that small space, perhaps aware, perhaps afraid - made Arthur's breath catch.

"Any advice?" Leon asked, his tactical mind already working through possibilities and contingencies, searching for advantages in the unknown.

"Trust each other. The cave will try to divide you, turn you against yourselves and each other. Remember why you are there." Iseldir's eyes found Arthur with uncomfortable discernment, seeing past careful composure to the raw desperation beneath. "And when the moment comes, don't let fear silence truth."

The words landed like prophecy, heavy with implications Arthur wasn't ready to examine. Fear had been his companion for so long - fear of his father's wrath, fear of magic's corruption, fear of acknowledging what he felt when Merlin smiled at him with that particular warmth reserved only for Arthur. How much had that fear cost them both?

They departed within the hour, the druids gathering to see them off with the solemnity of those witnessing a sacred undertaking. An old woman pressed a charm into Gwen's hand - protection, she said, though against what she didn't specify.

A young boy approached Merlin hesitantly, offering a flower with the sort of innocent generosity that belonged to childhood. When Merlin didn't respond - couldn't respond - the child's face fell. Arthur felt his heart clench as the boy carefully placed the flower in Merlin's belt before scampering away, leaving behind a small gesture of beauty that Merlin couldn't even acknowledge.

"Even they see it," Ceryndra said quietly to Arthur, her voice carrying layers of meaning. "What he was. What he could be again."

Arthur's throat tightened. What he was. As if Merlin were already lost, already past tense rather than present hope. "Then let's not waste time," he replied, his voice rougher than intended as he mounted his horse. The familiar movements felt hollow, mechanical - too much like the emotionless precision that had replaced Merlin's natural grace.

This time, Merlin rode his own mount - Iseldir had insisted, saying the bond between rider and horse might stir something in him, might kindle some spark of the connection that had always existed between Merlin and all living things. So far, Merlin sat the saddle like a statue carved from beautiful marble, perfect in every detail but utterly lifeless. His horse seemed calm beneath him, but Arthur wondered if that was instinct or magic, some unconscious spell that gentled the animal's spirit.

The first day's travel was almost pleasant, if Arthur could ignore the hollow ache in his chest every time he looked at Merlin's still form. The forest paths were clear, the weather mild with the sort of perfect conditions that would have made Arthur suspect magical intervention in other circumstances. They made good time, stopping only to rest the horses and eat meals that Arthur couldn’t taste.

Conversation flowed easier than it had in days, as if distance from immediate crisis allowed them to breathe, to pretend for precious moments that this was just another quest, another adventure in the long catalog of dangers they'd faced together. Arthur found himself clinging to that illusion with desperate gratitude.

"Remember that time with the whisht hound?" Gwaine was saying, his voice carrying forced cheer that didn't quite hide the worry in his eyes.

Elyan shuddered. “Don’t remind me. That thing was creepy. Big black dog with no head. How does something like that even exist?"

“And yet Merlin here threw himself between Arthur and those claws without even blinking,” Gwaine continued. “Stupidest, bravest thing I'd ever seen."

Arthur's chest tightened with memory - not just of the whisht hound’s attack, but of the moment afterward when he'd realized how close he'd come to losing Merlin, how the thought had terrified him in ways he'd refused to examine. "Stupidly brave," he agreed, glancing at Merlin's empty profile. "I yelled at him for that."

"You always yell when he saves your life," Gwen pointed out with gentle amusement that carried undertones of deeper understanding. "It's your way of showing affection."

Heat crept up Arthur's neck. Was he really so transparent? Had everyone seen what he'd been so determined to hide from himself? "I do not - "

"'Merlin, you idiot, you could have been killed!'" Gwaine mimicked Arthur's voice with painful accuracy, complete with a note of barely controlled panic that Arthur remembered all too well. "'Don't ever do that again!' Meanwhile, we're all taking bets on how long before he does exactly that again."

"Usually within the week," Lancelot added with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. His tone was fond but tinged with the sort of worry that came from loving someone who considered his own life expendable.

Arthur felt something twist in his chest - not jealousy, but a sharp recognition of how many people had seen what he'd been too blind to acknowledge. They were trying to cheer him, he realized. Reminding him of better times, of the bond that had existed before everything went wrong, before magical artifacts and stolen souls and desperate quests through enchanted forests.

He appreciated the effort, even as it made his chest ache with longing for those simpler days when his biggest worry had been whether Merlin would remember to polish his armor properly, not whether the man he -

Arthur cut off that thought with practiced ruthlessness. Not yet. Not until Merlin was truly back, truly himself again.

As afternoon wore toward evening, the forest began to change around them like a living thing shifting in its sleep. The trees grew older, their trunks more gnarled, twisted, with faces in the bark, watching eyes in the pattern of leaves. Moss hung like curtains from ancient branches, creating a cathedral-like atmosphere that made their voices sound hushed and reverent. The very air felt heavier, charged with the sort of possibility that made the small hairs on Arthur's arms stand on end.

"We're close to the border," Ceryndra announced, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had walked between worlds before. "Between the mortal realm and the domain of pure magic."

Arthur frowned, trying to understand the distinction. "I thought magic was everywhere."

"It is. But in some places, it pools like water in a basin." She reined in her horse, studying the path ahead with the careful attention of someone reading invisible signs. "The valley ahead is one such place - a pocket where the old laws still hold sway, where power runs so deep it shapes reality itself."

Something cold settled in Arthur's stomach. If magic was stronger there, what did that mean for Merlin? Would it help or hinder their quest? Would it strengthen the bonds holding his body together, or would it tear him apart entirely?

"From here, I cannot follow," Ceryndra continued, and Arthur felt panic spike in his chest before she raised a reassuring hand. "Or rather, I could, but I would only find a mundane valley, a trick of geography and stone. The true valley admits only those who seek with pure intent, not those who merely accompany."

"You're leaving?" Gwen asked, voicing the concern Arthur felt but couldn't articulate past the sudden tightness in his throat.

"Waiting," Ceryndra corrected gently. "We'll make camp here, maintain a beacon for your return. The old roads can be treacherous to navigate alone - you'll need a light to guide you home."

Her companions were already dismounting, beginning to set up camp with the practiced efficiency of people accustomed to making temporary homes in wild places. Arthur watched them work and felt the weight of isolation settling on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. Soon, it would be just the seven of them - eight, if you counted the hollow shell wearing Merlin's face - alone in a realm where magic reigned supreme.

Ceryndra approached Arthur, her voice dropping to a private murmur. "Remember what I said. The valley and cave will test you, but the greatest test waits at the end. Half-truths and noble lies won't serve when the moment comes. Only absolute honesty can call a soul back from the edge of Avalon."

Arthur's hands tightened on his reins. The locket pulsed against his chest, warm and insistent, as if Merlin's soul could sense his growing anxiety. "I understand," he said, though understanding and doing were vastly different things. How did one tear down walls built over a lifetime? How did one speak truths that felt too vast, too dangerous for words?

"Do you?" Ceryndra studied him with those too-knowing eyes. "The cave will demand you tear down every defense, leave yourself utterly exposed. Are you prepared for that vulnerability?"

Arthur's throat went dry. The thought of stripping away every careful pretense, every shield he'd erected against feelings too dangerous to acknowledge, made him feel sick with terror. But Merlin's life hung in the balance - what was personal embarrassment against that? "For Merlin? Yes."

"Good." She stepped back, though her expression remained doubtful. "May the old gods guide your steps, Arthur Pendragon. Bring our Emrys home to us."

They left the sorcerers behind, pressing deeper into the forest as shadows lengthened around them like grasping fingers. The change was gradual but unmistakable - sounds grew muffled as if the very air had thickened, colors became more vivid yet somehow unreal, and Arthur felt pressure building behind his eyes like the approach of a storm.

Then, between one breath and the next, they crossed the boundary.

Arthur felt it like a physical sensation, pressure popping in his ears with an almost audible snap. His horse whinnied nervously, dancing sideways with wide eyes, and Arthur had to soothe it with gentle words and steady hands. Around them, the forest had transformed completely, leaving behind any pretense of the natural world Arthur knew.

The trees were ancient beyond measure, their trunks so vast it would take a dozen men holding hands to circle them. Their bark was silver-white in the eternal twilight, marked with spiral patterns that seemed to shift when Arthur wasn't looking directly at them. Light filtered through leaves that seemed to glow with inner radiance, casting everything in shades of gold and green that had no names in mortal tongues.

And there - soft at first, then growing clearer like voices carried on wind - the whispers.

Turn back, young king. This path leads only to heartbreak and pain.

He's already lost to you. Why suffer for nothing but inevitable failure?

Your father was right about magic. It corrupts all it touches, even love.

Arthur gritted his teeth, focusing on the path ahead with desperate determination. The whispers felt like ice water in his veins, playing on every fear he'd harbored since this nightmare began. "Don't listen," he called to the others, his voice sounding thin and strained in the otherworldly air. "It's trying to discourage us, turn us back before we can reach the cave."

"Easier said than done," Gwaine replied tightly, his usual humor completely absent. His face was pale, jaw clenched with whatever the whispers were telling him - probably cruel truths about his past, his failures, his fears of never being good enough for the family he'd found in Arthur's court.

They pushed on, following a path that seemed to exist more in feeling than sight, guided by instincts none of them fully understood. Everything had an eternal quality, neither day nor night but something caught between the two, beautiful and terrible in its alien perfection.

Arthur found himself hyperaware of every sound, every shift in the otherworldly atmosphere. Behind him, Merlin rode in perfect silence, no complaints about the supernatural cold that made Arthur's breath mist, no observations about their strange surroundings. The absence of Merlin's voice - his questions, his wonder, his terrible jokes designed to lighten tension - felt like a wound that wouldn't heal.

"There," Leon said suddenly, pointing ahead with the sort of relief reserved for the end of long marches.

A clearing opened before them, and in its center stood two standing stones, each twice the height of a man and covered in carvings that seemed to writhe in Arthur's peripheral vision. Between them, the air shimmered like heat haze rising from summer stones, though the temperature here was cool enough to raise gooseflesh on Arthur's arms.

"A gateway?" Lancelot asked, his tactical mind already assessing the structure for potential threats.

"The entrance to the true Valley of the Fallen Kings," Merlin said, making everyone jump with the unexpectedness of his voice. It was the first time he'd spoken without direct question since they'd entered this realm, and Arthur felt his heart leap with desperate hope. "Beyond lies Tŷr Profedigaeth."

Arthur twisted in his saddle to stare at his friend - at the empty shell wearing his friend's face. "How do you know that?" The demand came out sharper than intended, edged with the sort of desperate hope that felt dangerous to acknowledge.

"I..." Merlin's brow furrowed slightly, the first expression Arthur had seen from him in days. The sight was so achingly familiar that Arthur's chest tightened with longing. "I don't know. The knowledge is simply there, as if it's been waiting for me to remember."

Hope flared in Arthur's chest like a struck flame, bright and warming and almost too precious to bear. Was Merlin fighting through whatever bound him? Was his soul somehow communicating with his magic-sustained body across the barrier of the stone's imprisonment?

Or was he simply finding a connection where none existed, out of foolishness and desperation?

They dismounted, approaching the stones with the caution of soldiers entering unknown territory. Up close, Arthur could see the carvings more clearly - symbols that seemed to shift and change when he wasn't looking directly at them, depicting scenes of triumph and tragedy, love and loss, the eternal cycle of mortal ambition and divine consequence.

"We'll need to leave the horses," Gwen said with practical authority, already moving to secure their mounts. "They won't cross that threshold - look at them."

She was right. The animals grew increasingly agitated the closer they got to the gateway, rolling their eyes and dancing away from the shimmering air with the sort of primal fear that spoke to instincts older than human civilization. They secured them as best they could with rope and whispered reassurances, hoping the magic of this place would protect them from whatever predators might roam these ancient woods.

"Ready?" Arthur asked, looking at each of his companions in turn. He saw his own mixture of determination and terror reflected in their faces - the knowledge that they stood on the threshold of something that might change them all irrevocably.

"No," Gwaine said with forced cheerfulness that couldn't quite hide the tremor in his voice. "But when has that ever stopped us from doing something spectacularly stupid?"

Together, they stepped through the gateway.

The world lurched violently, reality twisting around Arthur like fabric caught in a hurricane. His stomach rebelled as up became down and inside became out, every sense screaming conflicting information. For a moment that lasted eternity, he was everywhere and nowhere, scattered across infinite possibilities like seeds on wind. He could see every path his life might have taken, every choice that had led him here, every future that branched out from this single moment of crossing -

Then his feet hit solid ground with jarring suddenness, and he gasped, falling to his knees as his body tried to remember how to exist in linear time and space.

They were in a valley, but no valley that should exist in any sane world. The sky above was a swirl of colors that had no names in any human tongue - purple and gold and silver all twisted together in patterns that made Arthur's eyes water to perceive directly. Stars were visible despite the ambient light, wheeling in constellations that belonged to no earthly heaven. In the distance, mountains rose impossibly high, their peaks lost in clouds that moved too fast to be natural, casting shadows that defied the positions of the alien suns.

And scattered throughout the valley floor like a vast cemetery, statues. Hundreds of them, thousands, each depicting a warrior in armor from ages past. The Fallen Kings of legend, turned to stone for their hubris in challenging the old gods, their frozen forms a warning to all who would seek power beyond mortal ken.

"Well," Gwaine said weakly, having found his feet with the careful movements of someone testing whether his body still obeyed natural laws. "That was thoroughly unpleasant."

Arthur watched Lancelot help Gwen up, then turned to check on the others with the automatic concern of a leader responsible for his people's welfare. Leon and Percival looked green around the edges but stable, their soldier's training keeping them functional despite the supernatural assault on his senses. Elyan was already studying their surroundings with tactical interest, cataloguing threats and advantages with the methodical precision Arthur had come to rely on. And Merlin...

Merlin stood perfectly still in the alien twilight, but tears were streaming down his face in silver tracks that caught the otherworldly light.

Arthur's heart clenched with sudden terror. "Merlin?" He moved to his friend quickly, hands hovering over him without quite daring to touch. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"I feel them," Merlin whispered, and his voice held a shadow of its old emotion - not the mechanical precision of the past days, but something raw and anguished that sounded almost human. "All of them. The kings, the warriors. Centuries of pride and pain, frozen in stone but still aware. They're still conscious, still suffering after all these years."

Arthur's blood ran cold. The thought of being trapped in stone for centuries, aware but unable to move, unable to speak, unable to die - it was a horror beyond imagination. "Block it out," he ordered, alarmed by the anguish bleeding through this Merlin's usual emotional void. "Don't listen to them. Don't let them in."

"I can't." Merlin's hands clenched at his sides, and Arthur could see him trembling with the effort of containing whatever he was experiencing. "They're so loud, so desperate. They want release. They want - " He cut off abruptly, his eyes flashing gold with power that made the air around them crackle.

The nearest statue cracked with a sound like breaking bones, stone falling away in great chunks to reveal - nothing. Empty space where a body should have been, a hollow shell that had once contained a soul. The actual person had fled long ago, leaving behind only the punishment, the prison of stone that had outlasted its prisoner.

"Merlin, stop," Arthur commanded, grabbing his friend's shoulders without thinking. "Whatever you’re doing, you can’t-- This is hurting you!"

Merlin shuddered under his hands, the gold blazing from his eyes fading like dying embers until, once again, only his irises glowed gold. The tears remained, but his expression smoothed back toward the terrible emptiness that had become so familiar.

"I apologize," Merlin said in that flat, toneless voice that made Arthur's soul ache. "Emotional bleed-through from residual memories. It won't happen again."

"No," Arthur said fiercely, his hands tightening on Merlin's shoulders. The contact felt electric, the first real response he'd gotten from his friend since the soul-stone had stolen him away. "Don't apologize for feeling. It… it could mean that you're still in there somewhere, still fighting to get back to us."

Merlin tilted his head with that particular gesture Arthur knew so well, but his eyes remained empty. "I am not fighting anything. There is nothing to fight."

Arthur wanted to argue, wanted to shake sense into him, wanted to demand that Merlin stop hiding behind magical precision and acknowledge what he knew to be true -- but in reality, he knew no such thing.

Gwen's gentle touch on his arm reminded him where they were, what they were trying to accomplish. "The cave," she said quietly, her voice carrying the practical authority that had kept them all grounded through countless crises. "We need to keep moving. This place... it's already working on us."

She was right, Arthur realized with growing unease. The whispers were louder here, not from trees but from the stones themselves, each fallen king contributing to a chorus of lament and warning that threatened to drive them mad with its intensity. Each frozen warrior had a story, a reason they'd fallen, a warning for those foolish enough to follow in their footsteps. The accumulated weight of centuries of failure pressed down on Arthur's shoulders like a physical burden.

They picked their way through the statue field with careful steps, trying not to look too closely at the frozen faces twisted in expressions of eternal anguish. Some had died reaching for the sky, arms extended in supplication that had gone forever unanswered. Others knelt in positions of worship or submission, their stone eyes fixed on distant heavens that offered no mercy. All had challenged powers beyond mortal comprehension and paid the ultimate price - not death, which would have been mercy, but endless awareness trapped in unmoving stone.

"Cheerful place," Gwaine muttered, his usual irreverence strained thin by the oppressive atmosphere. "Really lifts the spirits and fills one with confidence about our chances."

Arthur might have smiled at the familiar sarcasm in other circumstances, but here, surrounded by the monuments to countless failures, Gwaine's words felt more like prophecy than humor. How many heroes had walked this path before them? How many had been certain they would succeed where others had failed?

"There," Lancelot pointed ahead with relief that Arthur shared. "The cave entrance."

It was impossible to miss once they saw it - a great maw in the mountainside that seemed to swallow light itself, darkness so complete it appeared solid. Above it, carved in stone that glowed with inner radiance, symbols that hurt to perceive directly, as if mortal eyes weren't meant to comprehend their meaning.

Leon squinted at the glowing script, and somehow - though how he could decipher alien symbols, Arthur didn't know - he read aloud: "Tŷr Profedigaeth. House of Trials. Where sight meets truth and hearts are laid bare for judgment."

"Poetic," Gwaine said, his voice carrying a forced lightness that fooled no one. "Also ominous as hell."

They paused at the threshold, gathering courage that felt as fragile as spun glass. The darkness within wasn't natural - it swallowed light greedily, consuming it like a living thing. Arthur could feel it pulling at something inside him, hungry and patient and utterly alien. This was the moment of no return, the point where they committed themselves fully to a path that might lead to salvation or destruction.

"Whatever happens in there," Arthur said, his voice carrying the authority of absolute command, "we stay together. No one faces this alone, no matter what the cave tries to do to divide us."

"Together," the others echoed, even Merlin in his flat, emotionless voice. But something in the way he said it - a slight emphasis, perhaps, or a fleeting expression Arthur might have imagined - suggested that some part of him understood the importance of that vow.

They entered as one, stepping from impossible otherworldly light into impossible all-consuming dark.

For a moment that stretched like eternity, Arthur was blind, his eyes struggling to process the absolute absence of illumination. Then, gradually his vision adjusted to reveal their surroundings.

They stood in a vast chamber that defied architectural logic, so large the walls were lost in shadow, the ceiling invisible somewhere in the darkness above. The floor was smooth stone worn by ages of pilgrims or prisoners, polished to mirror brightness by countless footsteps. The air itself seemed to hum with power, charged with the sort of potential that made Arthur's skin crawl with anticipation.

In the center of the chamber stood a solitary figure.

Arthur's hand went instinctively to his sword, but the figure didn't move or acknowledge their presence. As they approached cautiously, weapons ready, Arthur saw why - it was another statue, but unlike those scattered throughout the valley outside. This one was perfect in every detail, so lifelike it seemed ready to draw breath and speak, crafted with such skill that Arthur could see individual hairs carved into the stone beard, the texture of fabric rendered in living rock.

The statue depicted a knight in ancient armor, one hand extended as if reaching desperately for something just beyond his grasp. His face was young and handsome but twisted with desperate hope and dawning despair - the expression of someone who had gambled everything on a single throw of fate's dice and watched it come up short.

"Don't touch it," Gwen warned as Gwaine leaned closer with the sort of curiosity that had gotten them all in trouble countless times before.

Too late. Gwaine's finger brushed the outstretched stone hand with barely a whisper of contact.

The statue's eyes opened.

Everyone jumped back, weapons drawn in a ringing chorus of steel, but the figure - man? statue? something between the two? - didn't move beyond turning his head to track their movement with eyes that held terrible awareness.

"Finally," he said, his voice rusty with disuse, cracking like old parchment. "Someone has come at last. Please, you must help me. I've been here so long, so very long, and the silence... the endless silence..."

Arthur's throat went dry. This was no statue, no carved memorial to ancient failure. This was a man, somehow still alive after gods knew how many years, trapped between stone and flesh in a hell Arthur couldn't begin to imagine.

"You're alive?" Arthur asked, though the evidence was undeniable.

"Am I?" The man looked down at himself with dawning horror, as if seeing his condition clearly for the first time in centuries. "I can't... I can't move below the neck. Can't feel anything except the cold of stone. But I think, I remember, I speak. What manner of existence is this? What have I become?"

The anguish in his voice was so raw, so human, that Arthur felt his chest tighten with sympathetic pain. This was what failure meant here - not clean death, but endless consciousness trapped in unresponsive flesh, aware but helpless for all eternity.

"Who are you?" Leon demanded, his knight’s training keeping him focused on practical matters even in the face of supernatural horror. "How did you come to be in this state?"

"I am - was - Sir Einar," the man replied. "I came to Tŷr Profedigaeth seeking the Crystal of Restoration to save my beloved from a curse that was slowly killing her. But the cave... it tested me and found me wanting in every possible way."

His stone eyes fixed on them with desperate intensity. "It will test you too, judge you as it judged me. Turn back while you still can, while you still have the freedom to choose retreat over damnation."

Arthur felt cold settle in his stomach, but he pushed it aside with practiced determination. "We can't turn back. Someone we care about depends on us reaching that crystal."

"Ah." Einar's expression shifted, understanding and infinite pity mingling in his immobile features. "Love drives you here, as it drove me to this fate. Then you're already lost, as I was lost. The cave feeds on love, you see - twists it, corrupts it, uses your deepest feelings as weapons against you."

The words confirmed fears Arthur barely dared acknowledge. But he forced himself to stand straighter, to project confidence he didn't feel. They'd come too far to turn back now, invested too much hope and desperation to give up at the first warning.

"What happened to you?" Gwen asked gently, her voice carrying the sort of compassion that had always been her greatest strength. "What trial broke you?"

Einar was quiet for a long moment, his stone eyes distant with memory and regret. "The first trial - the Mirror of Truth. It showed me myself as I truly was, all my failures and fears and petty cruelties laid bare without mercy or concealment. I couldn't face it, couldn't accept what I saw reflected there. I tried to look away, to deny what the mirror revealed."

He laughed, the sound bitter as winter wind. "The cave doesn't forgive cowardice or self-deception. It gave me eternity to contemplate my shortcomings, to understand exactly what I had refused to see. Every day for centuries uncounted, I've stared into that mirror's truth, and every day I've wished I'd had the courage to accept it when acceptance might have saved me."

Arthur's hands clenched unconsciously. How much truth could he bear to see? How many of his own failures and fears could he acknowledge without breaking under their weight?

"How do we avoid your fate?" Arthur pressed, needing practical answers to counter the growing dread in his chest.

"Face whatever it shows you, no matter how painful," Einar said with the authority of hard-won wisdom. "Accept it completely, without reservation or excuse. Denial leads to this - " He gestured at his frozen form with his eyes, the only part of him that could still move. " - and there are fates worse than death, as I've learned through centuries of bitter experience."

He paused, his gaze moving between them with growing urgency. "And trust each other without reservation. I came alone, too proud to share my burden, too convinced that love meant protecting her from the truth of what I was. Don't repeat my mistakes. Secrets and shame are the cave's greatest allies."

Arthur felt those words settle into his bones like lead. Secrets and shame - hadn't those been his constant companions for years? The secret of what he felt for Merlin, the shame of desires that defied his father's teachings and the expectations of his crown?

"Is there anything we can do for you?" Lancelot asked, his voice carrying the sort of gentle honor that had always defined him.

Einar was quiet for a long moment, his stone eyes reflecting something that might have been peace. "Remember me," he said finally, the words carrying the weight of a dying man's last request. "Remember that love without courage is just another chain that binds us to failure. Remember that the greatest enemy of truth is not lies, but the comfortable half-truths we tell ourselves to avoid pain."

His gaze found Arthur specifically, boring into him with uncomfortable intensity. "And remember, young king, that the heart knows what the mind refuses to acknowledge. Don't wait for certainty - it never comes. Trust what you feel, even when it terrifies you."

The words hit Arthur like arrows, each one finding its mark in the carefully guarded places of his heart. How had this ancient knight seen so clearly into his soul? How had he identified the exact fears that kept Arthur awake at night, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about blue eyes and crooked smiles?

"Now go," Einar continued, his voice growing stronger with purpose. "The crystal waits deeper still, and the cave grows hungry for new souls to test. Don't let my failure become your own."

They left him there, stone eyes following their movement with an expression of desperate hope. The encounter had sobered them all - a stark reminder of the price of failure, of what awaited those who lacked the courage to face their deepest truths. Arthur felt the weight of that knowledge settle on his shoulders like a mantle, heavy with responsibility and fear.

Beyond the entry chamber, four passages branched off into darkness that seemed to pulse with its own malevolent life. Above each archway, more of those painful symbols glowed with cold fire, their meaning somehow penetrating Arthur's consciousness without translation.

"Truth, Courage, Honor, Compassion," Merlin said suddenly, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. "Four trials. We must pass all four to reach the crystal chamber."

Arthur felt a spark of hope at the unprompted response. "Can we take them together? Stay united as we promised?"

Merlin studied the passages with those empty golden eyes, his head tilted in that familiar gesture of concentration. For a moment, Arthur thought he saw something flicker in those depths - a shadow of the brilliant mind that had always been Merlin's greatest gift.

"No," Merlin said finally. "The magic is specific, designed for precise balance. Two for each path. The power within this cave has seen us, it knows us, and has created trials to test us in pairs." The gold in his eyes flared brighter for a moment. "Interesting."

"What's interesting?" Arthur asked, heart clenching with dread. Splitting up felt like betrayal of their promise, like abandoning each other when unity was their greatest strength. But if the cave's magic demanded it...

"Under previous circumstances, those who entered the cave were tested alone, one path for each person," Merlin said, looking at the four paths. "But it seems that the power here senses that I will not leave you, and to maintain balance, it has allowed for the other trials to be done in pairs."

Arthur's chest tightened with a mixture of relief and terror at Merlin's words. Having Merlin beside him felt like armor against the unknown, but it also meant facing whatever trials awaited with the constant reminder of what he stood to lose forever.

"Fine," he managed, his voice rougher than intended. "But for the others, who will pair with whom, and for which trial?"

"You and I will walk the Path of Truth," Merlin said, then turned to the others. "Guinevere and Lancelot shall take the Path of Courage."

“Courage?” Gwen's face tightened with worry, and Lancelot took her hand as she seemed to instinctively reach for him.

Merlin nodded and continued, "Leon and Percival shall take the Path of Honor."

Leon straightened unconsciously, his soldier's bearing asserting itself. "Honor. Yes, that... makes sense." There was relief in his voice, as if this were familiar territory he could navigate.

Percival shook his head grimly beside him. "Perhaps, but honor is not always as clear-cut as we'd like to believe."

"And Elyan and Gwaine shall take-"

"Path of Compassion, got it," Gwaine said, his easy smile strained thin by the oppressive atmosphere. "And how about we try not to get turned to stone like our friend back there, yeah? I'd hate to have to explain to Gaius how we lost his favorite patient to artistic ambitions."

The attempted humor fell flat in the charged air, but Arthur appreciated the effort. "Same to you. All of you - remember what Einar said. Face whatever you see. Accept it. And trust each other."

They turned toward their respective passages with the grim determination of soldiers selecting their battlefields, but as his friends began to move toward their respective trials, Arthur felt panic spike in his chest. Once they crossed those thresholds, there would be no turning back, no way to help each other if things went wrong.

"Wait," Arthur said. The weight of separation pressed down on him like a physical thing. "Before we go… Merlin's soul depends on all of us succeeding. Not just surviving, but truly passing these trials."

The group turned back, forming an instinctive circle in the center of the chamber. Even Merlin seemed more present, his empty eyes focusing on each of them in turn.

"We've faced worse odds," Leon said with quiet conviction, though his hand rested unconsciously on his sword hilt.

"Have we?" Elyan asked, and there was no humor in his voice. "This isn't bandits or sorcerers we can fight. This is... ourselves. Our deepest fears, our worst failures."

"Which is exactly why we'll succeed," Gwen said firmly, reaching out to squeeze Arthur's shoulder. "Because we know what we're fighting for. Not just Merlin's soul, but each other. All of us."

Gwaine's grin was subdued but genuine. "Besides, we're far too stubborn to let a magical cave get the better of us. Right, Elyan?"

"Right," Elyan agreed, bumping shoulders with his partner. "Compassion trial. How hard can it be?"

"Famous last words," Percival muttered, but there was affection in his tone.

Lancelot stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of formal oath. "Whatever we face in there, we face knowing that failure means losing him forever." His eyes found Merlin's empty gaze. "That's not acceptable."

"Together, even when apart," Arthur said, the words feeling like both prayer and promise. "We'll see each other on the other side."

"All of us," Gwen added, looking meaningfully at Merlin. "Every single one of us."

They clasped hands briefly—seven of them connected in a chain of determination and desperate hope, while Merlin stared at the gestures, as if uncomprehending. Then, with reluctance that felt like tearing, they separated toward their trials, each pair disappearing into darkness that swallowed them completely.

Arthur paused at the threshold of Truth, Merlin silent beside him, and whispered, "Forward. For Merlin."

As they crossed the threshold, Arthur felt the magic seal behind them like a door slamming shut. No turning back now - only forward, into whatever hell the cave had prepared for them.

The passage was narrow, walls pressing close enough that Arthur could have touched both sides with outstretched arms. Their footsteps echoed strangely, sometimes sounding like many feet, sometimes like none at all, as if the cave couldn't decide whether they were real or merely echoes of past travelers. The darkness wasn't complete here - veins of silver in the stone provided dim illumination that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, needing to fill the oppressive silence with something human, something real. "Earlier, with the statues in the valley. You felt something."

"Residual emotional resonance," Merlin replied in that clinical tone. "The echo of their pain registered despite my current limitations. An anomaly."

Arthur felt frustration spike in his chest. "That's not what I meant." He stopped walking, turning to face Merlin in the silver-lit darkness. "You cried. You don't cry without feeling something real, something human."

"Merely physiological response to overwhelming stimuli," Merlin said, but there was something in his voice - a slight hesitation, perhaps, or a crack in the perfect emotional void. "It was not indicative of - "

"Stop." Arthur grabbed Merlin's shoulders, desperate to provoke some response, some sign of the man trapped beneath the magical construct. "Just stop with the clinical precision and the emotional void act. I know you're in there somewhere. The real you, not this hollow thing wearing your face."

For a moment - just a moment - Merlin's eyes flickered, blue bleeding through the constant gold like sunlight through storm clouds. His lips parted as if to speak, and Arthur held his breath, hoping against hope for some word of recognition, some acknowledgment of the connection that had always existed between them.

Then the moment passed, and the emptiness returned like a tide washing over sand. "We should continue," Merlin said with that same flat precision. "The trial awaits completion."

Arthur released him, frustration and grief warring in his chest like battling armies. He turned back to the path, trying to swallow the disappointment that threatened to choke him - and found they were no longer in a passage.

They stood in Camelot's throne room, but wrong in every conceivable way. The familiar stones wept blood in steady streams that pooled on the floor like accusations. The windows showed not sky but writhing darkness full of shapes that hurt to perceive directly. And on the throne - the throne Arthur had never dared claim, never felt worthy to occupy - sat his father.

"My son," Uther said, his voice carrying the chill of the grave and the weight of absolute judgment. "Look what you've become. Consorting with sorcerers, protecting magic, betraying everything I taught you from the cradle."

Arthur's throat went dry, but he forced himself to stand straighter. "You're not real. You're just another trial, another test designed to break me."

"Real enough to speak truth you refuse to hear," Uther replied, rising from the blood-soaked throne. With each step, the floor cracked beneath his feet like ice breaking under impossible weight. "I shaped you, molded you from birth to be Camelot's sword against the corruption of magic. And you... you blunt yourself on sentiment and weakness."

Each syllable burned like a brand against his soul, each word finding its mark in the places where Arthur had always doubted himself, even though he knew this wasn’t really his father; even though he knew the real Uther was in Camelot, convalescing under the weight of his broken mind. "I learned to think for myself, to question the hatred you taught me."

"You learned to be weak," Uther countered, his voice rising with the particular fury Arthur remembered from childhood, the rage that had sent him scurrying to hide behind servants' skirts. "You learned to let emotion cloud judgment, to mistake sentiment for wisdom."

Uther began to circle them like a predator stalking prey, his burning eyes lingering on Merlin with disgust so profound it seemed to darken the very air around them. "This... thing... should burn in the courtyard as an example to all who would practice the dark arts. Would burn, if I still ruled with the strength you lack."

Arthur felt his hands clench into fists. "He's not a thing. He's - "

"What?" Uther's laughter was cold and cruel, echoing off the bloody stones like the sound of breaking bones. "Your faithful servant? Your friend? Or something more shameful still, something that makes you weak and foolish, unfit for the crown?"

Heat flooded Arthur's face as if he'd been struck. The accusation hung in the air between them, unspoken but understood, the secret fear that had haunted him for years given voice by the specter of his father's judgment.

"I see how you look at him, boy," Uther continued with merciless precision. "The longing you think you hide, the want that makes you foolish and vulnerable. Unnatural desires, diseased affections that would corrupt everything you touch."

Arthur's breath came short and sharp, panic clawing at his chest. "There's nothing - "

"Lie to me if you must," Uther said with terrible gentleness. "Lie to yourself if it brings comfort. But the cave sees truth, strips away every pretense and defense you've built around your shameful heart."

The air around them shimmered, and suddenly they were surrounded by mirrors - hundreds of them, thousands, each reflecting a different moment when Arthur had watched Merlin with eyes that held too much longing. A thousand stolen glances, lingering looks, moments of wanting he'd refused to acknowledge even in the privacy of his own thoughts.

Here was Arthur watching Merlin laugh at something Gwaine had said, his face soft with affection that went far beyond friendship. There was Arthur's hand lingering on Merlin's shoulder longer than necessary, fingers trailing over cloth as if memorizing the shape beneath. Another mirror showed Arthur lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about blue eyes and crooked smiles and the way Merlin said his name like it was something precious.

"This is what you are," Uther spat, his form beginning to change, flesh rotting away to reveal the corpse beneath. "Weak. Corrupt. Ruled by base desires that make you unfit to lead, unworthy of the crown you'll inherit. A king who loves a male sorcerer - what greater perversion could there be?"

The words hit Arthur like arrows, each one finding its mark in the deepest places of his shame. But as he stared at the mirrors, at the evidence of his own heart laid bare, something shifted inside his chest. The panic began to fade, replaced by something else - not acceptance, not yet, but the beginning of understanding.

"No," Arthur said quietly, the word ringing in the chamber like a bell. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" Uther's rotting face twisted with fury. "Look at yourself, boy. Look at what you've become."

"I am," Arthur replied, drawing his sword though he knew it was useless here. The familiar weight in his hand gave him strength, reminded him of who he was beyond his father's expectations. "And I see someone who learned that love isn't weakness - you taught me that yourself, in your own twisted way."

Uther's form wavered, surprise flickering across his decaying features.

"You loved Morgana enough to break when she betrayed you," Arthur continued, his voice growing stronger with each word. "You loved my mother enough to detest the very power you once allowed to flourish within Camelot. You taught me that love makes us do impossible things, desperate things."

"And look where love led!" Uther's scream echoed off the mirrors, shattering some of them into glittering fragments. "To madness! To death! To kingdoms burning in the fires of betrayal!"

"To life," Arthur countered, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice. "To loyalty that transcends duty. To people worth saving, worth fighting for, worth dying for if necessary."

He looked at Merlin, standing silent through this confrontation like a statue himself, and felt something break open in his chest - not painful, but liberating, like a door long locked finally swinging open.

"You're right," Arthur said, his voice ringing with newfound conviction. "I do love him. Not as a subject loves his king, not as a friend loves a friend, but completely. Utterly. With everything I am and everything I hope to become."

The admission hung in the air like a thunderclap, words that once spoken could never be taken back. Arthur felt exposed, vulnerable, stripped of every defense he'd built around his heart. But also... free. Lighter than he'd felt in years.

"I'm not ashamed of it anymore," he continued, his voice growing stronger. "I can't afford to be. Love isn't the corruption you claimed - it's the only thing that makes any of this worthwhile."

Uther's scream of rage shattered the remaining mirrors, the sound of glass breaking mixing with the wail of a soul denied its victory. The throne room dissolved around them like smoke, the bloody stones and burning windows fading into memory. They were back in the passage, but something fundamental had changed - the weight that had pressed on Arthur's chest for years was gone, replaced by something that felt dangerously like hope.

"You love me," Merlin said quietly, his voice cutting through the sudden silence.

Arthur froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. In the aftermath of the trial, with adrenaline still coursing through his veins and truth still raw on his tongue, he'd forgotten that Merlin had witnessed everything.

"You heard that?" Arthur asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"I hear everything," Merlin replied, but there was something different in his tone - not the flat precision of the past days, but something closer to wonder. "But that statement... it doesn't fit. It… creates patterns I can't follow."

Arthur stared at his friend, searching those golden eyes for any sign of the man he'd lost. "What do you mean?"

Merlin's brow furrowed in that familiar expression of concentration, and Arthur's heart leaped with desperate hope. "I don't understand what it means. But there is something that feels..." He trailed off, looking genuinely confused for the first time since the stone had taken him - confused, but human in his confusion. "When you say those words, something responds. With warmth, recognition. As if part of me remembers what that should mean."

"And what does that tell you?" Arthur pressed, hardly daring to breathe.

"I don't know." Merlin shook his head minutely, the gesture so achingly familiar that Arthur's chest tightened. "We should proceed. The trial is incomplete."

They walked on, but Arthur could feel the change between them like electricity in the air. Something had shifted when he spoke his truth, cracked the metaphorical shell of magical precision that had imprisoned what remained of Merlin's humanity. The question was whether it would be enough to call him home when the time came.

The passage opened into another chamber, this one smaller and filled with soft, golden light that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. At the center sat a simple wooden chair, its surface worn smooth by countless years. On the chair rested a crown - not Camelot's crown of state, but something older, simpler, yet infinitely more powerful. A band of silver set with a single red stone that pulsed with inner fire, beautiful and terrible in its simplicity.

"The Crown of the Once and Future King," Merlin said, his voice carrying harmonics that hadn't been there before, layers of meaning that spoke to Arthur's soul. "The symbol of your true destiny, yours to claim if you have the courage to reach for it."

Arthur approached cautiously, every instinct screaming warnings. The crown was beautiful beyond description, and he could feel the power radiating from it in waves - power to protect, power to heal, power to reshape the world according to his vision. Power to keep everyone he loved safe forever.

"It's a trap," he said, though his feet kept moving forward as if drawn by invisible threads.

"Yes," Merlin agreed, moving to stand beside the crown. "But it is also truth. This is what awaits you - kingship beyond what your father ever imagined. Magic and mundane united under your rule, the old ways and the new brought together in perfect harmony. The power to end suffering, to bring peace to every corner of the realm."

Arthur stopped just short of the crown, his hands trembling with the effort of restraint. It would be so easy to reach out, to take what was being offered. With this crown, he could protect everyone. He could change the laws, heal the wounds between magical and non-magical people, create the golden age the prophecies promised.

"What's the catch?" he asked, though he thought he already knew.

"No catch. Only choice." Merlin's voice was different now, layered with power and authority that made the hair on Arthur's arms stand on end. "Take the crown and become what prophecy demands. Unite the lands under your rule, bring peace to the realm, rule with wisdom and strength beyond mortal ken."

Arthur's hand hovered over the crown, so close he could feel its warmth against his palm. "And you?"

"I serve the king, as I always have. As I was always meant to."

The words were spoken with such certainty, such absolute conviction, that they chilled Arthur to the bone. "That's not what I asked." He pulled his hand back, turning to face Merlin fully. "What happens to you if I take this? What happens to the man I - " He swallowed hard. "What happens to Merlin?"

"I become what I was born to be," Merlin replied, his eyes now blazing with golden fire that seemed to burn away every trace of humanity. "Emrys, guardian of the Once and Future King. Your weapon against the darkness, your shield against harm, your tool for remaking the world according to divine will."

Arthur felt ice settle in his veins. "But not Merlin."

"Merlin was a mask," Merlin said with chilling certainty. "A fiction created to hide truth, to allow me to serve in secret. This - " He gestured to himself, power crackling around his fingers like lightning. " - this is truth. This is what I was always meant to become."

Arthur stared at the crown, understanding flooding through him like cold water. This was the real test - not of his worthiness to rule, but of what he would sacrifice for power. Take the crown and gain everything prophecy promised: peace, prosperity, the golden age of legend. But lose the man he loved, watch him disappear into the role of mystical guardian, powerful but no longer human.

"No," Arthur said firmly, stepping back from the crown as if it were a venomous snake.

"No?" Merlin's voice carried surprise, confusion, as if the concept of refusal were beyond his comprehension.

"I don't want Emrys," Arthur said, his voice ringing with absolute conviction. "I don't want a weapon or a mystical guardian or a tool for divine will. I want my friend who makes terrible jokes and trips while carrying my breakfast more often than not. I want the man who argues with me and challenges me and makes me better by refusing to let me settle for less than I can be."

He turned away from the crown, facing Merlin directly. "I want the person who chose to stay in Camelot despite the danger, who chose to hide his power to protect others, who chose to love me despite every reason not to. Keep your prophecy, keep your destiny. I choose Merlin."

The crown flared with blinding light, power screaming through the chamber like a hurricane. When Arthur's vision cleared, it was gone, vanished as if it had never existed. The chamber had transformed as well - they now stood in a corridor of pure crystal, light refracting in impossible patterns that made Arthur's eyes water.

"You rejected destiny," Merlin said, and, again, there was wonder in his voice - real emotion bleeding through the magical precision like water through cracks in stone.

"I rejected a destiny that doesn't include you as you really are," Arthur corrected, his voice rough with emotion. "If I'm meant to be the Once and Future King, it'll happen with you beside me - the real you, not some mystical construct shaped by others' expectations."

Merlin stared at him, and for a moment - a precious, heart-stopping moment - his eyes were fully present, blazing not just with golden power but with human warmth and something that might have been love.

The locket holding Merlin’s soul suddenly felt hot against Arthur’s chest.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, and the name on his lips sounded like a prayer, like coming home. "I - "

Then he swayed, and Arthur lurched forward to catch him, steadying him as his face went pale. When Merlin looked up, the emptiness had returned, but not completely. "We should continue," he said, but his voice lacked its earlier certainty, wavering slightly as if he were struggling to maintain the facade of emotionless efficiency, before it once again fell over his countenance like a shroud. Then, without another word, he straightened and headed toward the end of the corridor.

Arthur fell into step beside him, fear and desperate hope clogging his throat. One hand reached up to press at the locket over his heart. The sudden heat it generated cooled back to normal, and Arthur didn’t have time to ponder what it meant as they exited the corridor and found themselves reunited with the others.

Gwen was supporting Lancelot, who had a gash on his forehead that bled freely, though he seemed more emotionally drained than physically hurt. Leon looked shaken but whole, his armor bearing new dents and scratches, while Percival stood beside him with the careful posture of someone who had questioned everything he thought he knew. Gwaine was grinning, but it didn't reach his eyes, and there were tear tracks on his cheeks he hadn't bothered to wipe away. Elyan's hand rested on his sword hilt with white knuckles, as if he'd been fighting the urge to draw it.

"Fun trials?" Arthur asked, relief flooding through him at seeing them all alive and relatively intact.

"Brilliant," Gwaine said with heavy sarcasm, though his voice carried a rawness that spoke of deeper wounds than physical ones. "Had to forgive the bastard who killed my father. Hardest thing I've ever done."

Elyan nodded grimly beside him. "Same," he said shortly, and Arthur remembered that Uther had been responsible for the death of Elyan and Gwen’s father.

Arthur's throat tightened. He remembered holding his own sword to Uther's throat, how close he'd come to patricide and regicide before Merlin had stopped him with desperate lies about Morgause's conjuring. Even now, Arthur suspected his mother's spirit had been real, that Merlin had sacrificed truth to save Arthur from a choice that would have destroyed him. The fact that Elyan had passed a test Arthur had nearly failed in reality made his admiration for the man deepen considerably.

"We were shown two paths," Gwen added quietly, her arm still around Lancelot's shoulders. "One led to safety but meant abandoning someone in need. The other led toward certain danger to save a stranger."

Lancelot touched the gash on his forehead ruefully. "The courage wasn't in choosing to help. It was in admitting that part of us wanted to take the safe path, and choosing to help anyway."

Leon straightened, though Arthur could see the exhaustion in his eyes. "We were shown a choice—save a village or complete our mission. Both were the 'right' thing to do."

"Turns out honor isn't about following rules," Percival said, his voice carrying hard-won wisdom. "It's about knowing which ones to break when people's lives are at stake."

Arthur felt something ease in his chest at their words—not just relief that they'd survived, but recognition that they'd all grown from their ordeals.

"And you?" Gwaine asked, turning the question back to him.

"Disappointed my father and rejected ultimate power," Arthur replied, trying to match his friend's light tone despite the weight of what he'd just experienced.

"So, Tuesday," Gwaine said, and despite everything, Arthur found himself smiling.

They'd survived the trials, all of them. The cave had tested them and found them... if not worthy, then at least determined enough to continue. Now came the real challenge - the heart of the cave, where the crystal waited and where Arthur would discover if his choices had been enough to save the man he loved.

The chamber had only one other exit - an archway filled with light so pure and brilliant it hurt to perceive directly. Beyond, Arthur could sense something vast and patient and utterly alien, something that had been waiting for them since the moment they'd entered this place.

"The heart of the cave," Gwen said quietly, her voice carrying the sort of awe reserved for the divine. "Where the crystal waits for those brave enough to claim it."

Arthur once again reached for the locket against his chest where Merlin's trapped soul lay waiting. They were so close now - close enough to taste hope like copper in his mouth.

"Together?" Arthur asked, looking at each of his companions, these people who had followed him into hell itself out of love and loyalty.

"Together," they confirmed, even Merlin in his fractured voice.

They stepped through the archway as one, into light that remade the world around them.

The space beyond defied every law of physics Arthur had ever known. It was simultaneously vast and intimate, ancient and newborn, peaceful and terrifying in its alien beauty. At its center, floating in a sphere of impossible brilliance, was the crystal they'd sought - no larger than Arthur's fist, but perfect in its symmetry, its countless facets refracting light in patterns that suggested meanings beyond mortal comprehension.

This wasn't just a crystal, Arthur realized with growing awe. This was crystallized possibility itself, the power to mend what was broken, to bridge the gap between soul and flesh, to make whole what had been sundered.

"Beautiful," Gwen breathed, her voice carrying the wonder of someone witnessing a miracle.

"Dangerous," Leon corrected, ever the pragmatist, though his voice held its own note of reverence.

Both assessments were correct. The crystal sang with promise and threat in equal measure, power that could save or destroy depending on the hearts of those who wielded it.

"So we just... take it?" Gwaine asked, his usual bravado tempered by the overwhelming presence of the crystal's power.

"Nothing here has been that simple," Lancelot pointed out, his words proving prophetic as the light around the crystal pulsed in response to his observation.

A figure materialized from the brilliance - tall and robed, its features shifting between young and ancient, male and female, human and something far more alien. When it spoke, its voice was like crystalline bells ringing in harmony.

"I am the Guardian of this place," it said, power making the air itself vibrate with each word. "You have passed your trials, proven your intent pure and your hearts true. But one final test remains."

Arthur's stomach clenched with dread. "Of course there is," he muttered, echoing Gwaine's earlier sentiment.

The Guardian's attention fixed on Arthur with uncomfortable intensity, as if it could see through flesh and bone to the very essence of his soul. "You seek to mend what was broken by the Stone of Souls. To restore one taken by the depth of his own devotion. This is noble. But all power demands its price."

Arthur straightened, meeting that alien gaze with all the royal authority he could muster. "Name it."

"One must remain to take my place as Guardian of the crystal," the being said with terrible gentleness. "The power you seek cannot exist unprotected - it is too great, too tempting for mortal hearts to resist. Choose who among you will accept eternal vigil in this place."

Silence fell like a stone into still water, the weight of the choice crushing down on them all. Arthur's mind raced, calculating unacceptable losses. He couldn't lose any of them - they were his family, his heart, the people who made life worth living. But to save Merlin...

"I'll stay," Arthur said, the words torn from his throat.

"No." Merlin stepped forward with mechanical precision, his empty eyes fixed on the Guardian. "Unacceptable. Arthur Pendragon is needed in Camelot. The realm requires his leadership. I will remain in his place."

"Absolutely not - " Arthur began, panic clawing at his chest.

“I-“ Lancelot began, before cutting off with a grunt as Gwen elbowed him in the side. He looked at her, as if trying to will her to understand why he should volunteer. “But I –“

“Absolutely not,” Gwen stated. “Unless you think the crystal needs two guardians, because if you stay, I stay.”

"Actually," Gwaine interrupted, his voice carrying forced cheerfulness, "I volunteer for eternal guard duty."

"Gwaine, no - " Percival started, but he waved him off with a crooked grin.

"Think about it," he said, his usual levity masking deeper currents of pain and determination. "I'm not like you lot. No grand destiny, no kingdom depending on me. Just a drunk who's good with a sword and better at getting into trouble. This way, I actually do something that matters for once."

"You matter," Elyan said fiercely. "You matter to all of us. We're not leaving you here."

"Besides," Leon added, his voice rough with emotion, "who would keep Arthur humble without your constant mockery and questionable advice?"

"Valid point," Gwaine conceded with a laugh that didn't quite hide the pain in his eyes.

Leon nodded. “That is why I should – “

"Stop," Arthur said firmly, his voice ringing with royal command. He turned to the Guardian. "There has to be another way. There's always another way."

The Guardian watched their debate with something that might have been amusement, its alien features shifting in patterns that suggested approval. "Interesting," it mused. "Most who come here argue about why they should not be chosen for sacrifice. You compete to see who will make the ultimate gift for the sake of the others."

"Because we're idiots who care about each other," Gwaine said, his voice carrying fondness despite the dire circumstances. "Terrible strategic thinking, really. We should probably work on that."

"Or perfect strategic thinking," the Guardian replied, its form solidifying slightly to reveal features that were unexpectedly kind. "The crystal requires a guardian, this is true. But not necessarily a living one."

It gestured, and from the light stepped a figure Arthur recognized - Sir Einar, but restored, whole, no longer trapped between stone and flesh. His face held peace Arthur had not seen in the chamber below.

"I offer myself freely," Einar said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "I failed my quest, lost my beloved to my own cowardice and pride. Let me earn redemption through service. Let my failure become purpose, my shame become strength."

The Guardian's shifting features solidified into something almost human, and Arthur saw ancient pain in those eyes—the same pain that had marked Einar's stone face. "As I once failed," the Guardian said softly. "As I was given the chance to serve, to find meaning in my shame. The cycle continues, as it must.”

Sir Einar smiled. “I understand.”

“Will you accept this charge, Sir Einar?" the Guardian asked formally. "Will you take my place so that I might finally find the peace I was denied in life?"

"Gladly," Einar replied, turning to Arthur with gratitude shining in his restored eyes. "You showed me kindness when you could have passed by, offered hope when I had none. Let me repay that debt."

The Guardian stepped forward, placing a hand on Einar's shoulder. Light began to flow between them—golden power passing from one to the other like a torch being handed on. "The bargain is struck. The balance is maintained."

As Einar began to glow with the Guardian's power, the ancient being grew translucent, peace settling over his features like a blessing. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice fading like an echo. "At last... at last I can rest."

He dissolved into motes of silver light that drifted upward and vanished, finally free to seek whatever lay beyond. The crystal's light faded, and it dropped gently into Arthur's outstretched hands, warm with life and possibility.

"Go," Einar said, his voice now carrying the harmonic resonance of his new role. "Quickly, before the cave reconsiders its generosity. And Arthur—" He smiled, the expression radiant with hard-won wisdom. "Love is never wasted, even when it comes too late. Don't make my mistakes."

They ran through passages that seemed shorter now, the cave releasing them as if eager to be rid of visitors who had upset its ancient order. The trials were already fading like bad dreams, their power broken by success. They burst into the alien twilight of the valley, gasping in air that tasted of freedom and hope.

"We did it," Gwen laughed, giddy with relief and disbelief. "We actually did it."

"Phase one complete," Arthur corrected, clutching the crystal like a lifeline. "Now we need to get back to the druids, figure out how to use this to free Merlin's soul."

"About that," Merlin said, his voice cutting through their celebration like a blade. "I'm experiencing significant physical distress."

Everyone turned to stare at him in growing alarm. He was pale - paler than usual - and his hands trembled with fine tremors.

"What do you mean, distress?" Arthur demanded, fear spiking in his chest.

"The trials introduced variables I do not comprehend," Merlin replied, his voice losing its empty precision and taking on an almost human quality of confusion. "Emotional resonance, paradoxical directives centered on..." He paused, his golden eyes finding Arthur's face. "You. Your declaration of love has destabilized my purpose."

Arthur's blood turned to ice. "Is that good or bad?"

"I do not know," Merlin admitted, lifting his hand. Arthur saw with horror a small fissure in the skin, golden light bleeding through like cracks in a dam. "But this body is failing. I cannot function with divided purpose."

More cracks appeared as they watched, spreading up Merlin's arms like a spider web of light. He examined them with the detached curiosity of someone observing an interesting phenomenon rather than his own dissolution. “I predict less than two days.”

"Until what?" Arthur asked, though he dreaded the answer.

"Until nothing of this flesh remains,” Merlin said with that same clinical detachment, "and I return to the eternity of land, sea, and sky."

The words shattered something inside Arthur’s chest. "Then we run," he decided, desperation making his voice harsh. "We get back to Iseldir and fix this before - before - "

"Before this body dies and my essence scatters to the four winds," Merlin finished calmly. "Yes. That would be... preferable."

They retrieved their horses - miraculously still where they'd left them, protected by whatever ancient magic governed this place - and rode hard for the boundary between worlds. The whispers tried to slow them, speaking doubts and fears designed to sap their will, but Arthur pushed through on pure determination and the desperate need to save the man he'd finally found the courage to love.

Ceryndra's beacon fire guided them back through the transformed forest, the sorcerers taking one look at their faces and beginning to break camp without questions. Efficiency born of urgency drove them to remarkable speed.

"You succeeded?" Ceryndra asked, her eyes finding the crystal in Arthur's hands.

"Mostly," Arthur replied, his grip on the reins white-knuckled with tension. "But Merlin is—"

"What in the name of the Old Gods?" Ceryndra interrupted, her face going ashen as she took in the spreading fissures of light that now covered Merlin's hands and arms, creeping up his neck like golden veins. "What's happening to him? This isn't... I've never seen anything like this."

"The trials changed something," Merlin said, his voice echoing strangely, as if it came from multiple directions at once. "There are... contradictions now. Things that don't fit together properly. When Arthur said he loved me, it created fractures I don't understand."

Ceryndra's eyes widened with horror. "Fractures in what? What do you mean?"

"In me. In what holds me together." Merlin examined the spreading cracks with detached curiosity. "This form is breaking apart. I can feel it unraveling, like a tapestry coming undone. Less than two days before there's nothing left to hold."

"Nothing left?" Ceryndra's voice cracked with panic. "You mean he's going to—"

"Die," Arthur finished grimly. "And scatter to the four winds unless we can restore his soul before his body gives out entirely."

The color drained completely from Ceryndra's face as she understood the true urgency of their situation.

"Then we ride through the night," Ceryndra decided. "Hold tight to hope, Arthur Pendragon. You've come too far to fail now."

They pushed the horses beyond their limits, changing mounts when Ceryndra's magic provided fresh ones conjured from shadow and starlight. The journey that had taken two days took one, desperation driving them beyond the boundaries of mortal endurance.

The druid camp appeared with the dawn, and Iseldir was waiting for them as if he'd never moved from his position by the fire.

"You have it," he said, his ancient eyes taking in the crystal before moving to Merlin. His expression grew grave as he saw the extent of the damage. "But perhaps too late. He fragments before our eyes."

Arthur wanted to shout at the old man for stating the obvious, but instead he dismounted and ran to Merlin's side. His friend was gripping the reins with white knuckles, his entire body rigid with the effort of maintaining cohesion.

"Merlin," Arthur called, and Merlin slowly turned to look at him. Light escaped through tiny cracks in his face, giving him an otherworldly beauty that was more terrifying than any monster Arthur had ever faced.

Merlin released the reins and tipped gracelessly from his saddle. Arthur caught him, surprised by how little he weighed - as if the dissolution of his magical bonds was making him less substantial by the moment.

"Tell me what to do," Arthur demanded, cradling Merlin against his chest like something infinitely precious.

"Come," Iseldir said, leading them to a circle of standing stones within the camp. "We prepared for your return, hoping for success."

The stones were carved with runes that pulsed with inner life, responding to their approach with growing intensity. Arthur could feel power building in the air like the charge before lightning strikes.

"Place him at the center," Iseldir instructed, his voice carrying the authority of someone who had prepared for this moment. "The crystal on his chest, over his heart. The stone containing his soul in his hands."

Arthur did as instructed, his hands shaking as he positioned everything with infinite care. Merlin lay still, eyes closed, the golden light bleeding through his skin growing brighter with each passing moment. His chest barely rose and fell, each breath a monumental effort that might be his last.

"Now what?" Arthur asked, desperation cracking his voice like a whip.

"Now we attempt what has never been done," Iseldir said gravely. "We merge soul, body, and purpose back into one unified whole. The crystal will bridge the gap, provide the necessary catalyst, but someone must guide the soul home. Someone it will follow willingly."

Arthur's heart hammered against his ribs. "Me."

"You," Iseldir confirmed, his penetrating gaze seeming to see straight through to Arthur's soul. "But know this - you must offer truth absolute. No shields, no pretense, no careful half-measures. The soul will see your heart entire and judge whether to return to flesh or seek the peace of eternal rest in Avalon. Are you prepared for such complete exposure?"

Arthur looked down at Merlin's still form, at the man who had given everything for him without ever asking for anything in return. Around them, his friends formed a protective circle - Gwen with tears threatening at the corners of her eyes, but her jaw set with composure, Gwaine unusually solemn, Leon standing at attention like a guard at his post, Lancelot with hands clasped in something that might have been prayer. Elyan stood beside his sister with his jaw clenched tight, fighting back his own tears as one hand rested protectively on Gwen's shoulder, while Percival kept watch at the circle's edge, his normally steady hands trembling slightly as his broad frame served as a shield against whatever dangers might threaten this sacred moment.

"I'm prepared," Arthur said, the words carrying the weight of absolute commitment.

"Then let us begin," Iseldir intoned.

The druids formed a larger circle around the stones, their voices rising in ancient chants that seemed to resonate in Arthur's very bones. The crystal began to glow with soft radiance, its light meeting and mingling with the golden glow trapped within the soul stone. Power built around them in waves, making the air itself seem to thicken with possibility.

"Focus on him," Iseldir instructed, his voice somehow audible over the growing crescendo of magical energy. "Call him home with every fiber of your being. Show him why he should choose life over peace, flesh over spirit, love over rest."

Arthur knelt beside Merlin, one hand resting on the crystal where it lay over his friend's heart, the other covering Merlin's cold fingers where they gripped the soul stone. The contrast was stark - the crystal warm with life and possibility, the stone cold with captured essence.

"Merlin," Arthur began, his voice rough with emotion he no longer tried to hide. "I know you can hear me, wherever you are in that darkness. Somewhere in that stone prison, you're listening. Probably laughing at how bad I am at this sort of thing."

The lights pulsed - the crystal's gentle radiance, the soul stone's brilliant golden fire, and the light bleeding from Merlin's skin, all syncing with Arthur's heartbeat like a symphony of hope and desperation.

"I'm sorry," Arthur continued, the words pouring out of him like water from a broken dam. "For every time I didn't see you, really see you. For every moment I took you for granted, treated you like furniture or a particularly useful tool. For being too much of a coward to admit what you meant to me, what you've always meant."

The chanting grew louder, power building like storm pressure in the air around them. Arthur could feel it pressing against his skin, seeking entry, demanding truth from the deepest places of his heart.

"But I see you now," he said, his voice growing stronger with conviction. "All of you. The impossibly powerful sorcerer who chose servitude over dominion. The brave fool who threw himself between me and danger again and again without thought for his own safety. The best friend who never asked for anything except to be allowed to stay by my side."

The soul stone cracked with a sound like breaking glass, brilliant light spilling out like liquid gold. Arthur gripped it tighter, desperate not to lose what might be his only chance.

"I love you," he said, the words ringing across the stone circle like a bell tolling for all to hear. "Not as a king loves a subject, not as a friend loves a friend, not even as a brother loves a brother. I love you as the other half of my soul, as the person who makes me want to be better than I am. Who challenges me and supports me and knows me better than I know myself."

The light was blinding now, all three sources - crystal, stone, and Merlin's dissolving form - singing in a harmony that made Arthur's teeth ache. Through it all, he sensed something else: Merlin's soul, hovering between worlds, caught between the pull of eternal rest and the anchor of earthly love.

Arthur felt that presence brush against his consciousness like a warm hand against his cheek - familiar, beloved, achingly fragile in its exhaustion.

"Come back," Arthur pleaded, pouring every ounce of his desperation into the words. "Not for prophecy, not for Camelot, not even for me if that's not enough. Come back for yourself. For the life you deserve to live openly and honestly, without hiding or fear. Come back and let me prove I can be worthy of what you've given me all these years."

"Choose!" Iseldir's voice rang out over the magical storm. "Choose life or peace! Choose love or rest! Choose!"

For a moment that lasted eternity, everything hung suspended. The lights froze in their dance, the chanting stopped mid-syllable, even the wind held its breath. Arthur felt Merlin's soul hovering at the crossroads between worlds, weighing the choice that would determine everything.

In that suspended moment, Arthur felt rather than heard Merlin's response - not words, but pure emotion that flooded through their connection like sunlight after storm. Amusement at Arthur's terrible way with speeches. Fondness so deep it felt like drowning in warmth. Love that matched and answered his own, patient and enduring and utterly without reservation. And underneath it all, a bone-deep weariness that spoke of years of hiding, of carrying burdens too heavy for one person to bear alone.

Stay, Arthur thought desperately, projecting the plea with everything he had. Please stay. I need you. We all need you. But more than that - I want you. All of you, exactly as you are.

The response came like an echo of his own heart: Always.

The lights exploded outward in a nova of pure brilliance, forcing everyone back and away from the circle. When the radiance finally faded enough for Arthur to see, Merlin lay still in the center of the stones. His skin was whole again, unmarked by the golden fractures that had threatened to tear him apart. The crystal still blazed with inner fire on his chest, its facets catching the light like captured stars. The soul stone had crumbled to glittering dust in his hands.

As Arthur reached for the crystal, a familiar figure materialized from the lingering light - Sir Einar, translucent and glowing with gentle radiance. The ancient knight's face was serene, filled with joy at their success. Without a word, he reached down and lifted the crystal from Merlin's chest, cradling it like something infinitely precious. His eyes met Arthur's, and he smiled - an expression of such profound happiness and approval that it made Arthur's chest tighten with emotion.

Then, still smiling, Einar began to fade, the crystal's light dimming as he became one with the departing radiance. In moments, both guardian and crystal had vanished completely, leaving only the memory of that benedictory smile and the profound silence of a miracle completed.

"Merlin?" Arthur touched his face with trembling fingers, searching for any sign of life. The skin was warm - truly warm, not the artificial temperature maintained by magic, but the genuine heat of living flesh. "Merlin, please - "

Blue eyes opened, focused on Arthur's face with perfect clarity and unmistakable presence. Not the empty gold of magic incarnate, but the familiar, beloved blue that had haunted Arthur's dreams.

"Arthur?" Merlin's voice was hoarse, but it was his - wonderfully, perfectly, completely his. His eyes darted around, taking in the ecstatic faces of his friends, before returning to Arthur. "Did you just... did you really tell everyone here that you love me?"

Relief hit Arthur like a physical blow, so intense it left him gasping. He laughed, or maybe sobbed, pulling Merlin into a fierce embrace that he never wanted to end.

"You absolute idiot," he managed, his voice muffled against Merlin's shoulder. "You complete and utter fool. Don't you ever do that to me again."

"Which part?" Merlin asked, his arms coming up to return the embrace with strength that spoke of genuine recovery. "Getting my soul stolen, or making you confess feelings in front of witnesses?"

"Any of it. All of it." Arthur pulled back enough to see Merlin's face, to convince himself this was real and not some cruel dream. "Are you... are you really you?"

"I think so?" Merlin looked dazed, overwhelmed, like someone waking from the deepest sleep. "I remember the attack, the stone, the moment it took hold. Then... nothing. Like sleeping without dreams, floating in darkness that wasn't quite empty. What happened while I was gone?"

Arthur helped him sit up, keeping one arm around him for support and reassurance. "You saved Camelot. Again. While soulless. Defeated seven hostile sorcerers without breaking a sweat, terrified a lord into attempting assassination, and generally proved that even without your humanity, you're still the most dangerously protective person I've ever met."

Merlin's eyes widened as he took in their surroundings - the druid camp, the circle of stones, the exhausted but triumphant faces of their friends. "Are we in a druid camp? Arthur, your father - "

"Isn't here," Arthur interrupted firmly. "And it wouldn't matter if he was. Things have changed, Merlin. I've changed. We need to talk about everything - your magic, the prophecies, what this means for Camelot. But first - " He cupped Merlin's face in his hands, thumb brushing over the sharp line of his cheekbone. "Are we all right? You and me?"

Something shifted in Merlin's expression - hope and fear and longing all mixed together in an expression so familiar it made Arthur's chest ache. "That depends. Did you mean what you said about... about loving me?"

"Every word," Arthur said without hesitation, the truth feeling as natural as breathing now that it was finally spoken. "I meant every single word."

Merlin's smile was radiant, transforming his entire face with joy that seemed to light him from within. "Then we're more than all right. We're perfect."

Before Arthur could respond, they were surrounded by their friends - Gwen throwing her arms around both of them, Gwaine's voice loud with relief and celebration, Leon's quiet satisfaction, Lancelot's gentle joy. Elyan wrapped his arms around all three of them in a fierce embrace, his earlier composure finally cracking as he laughed with pure relief, while Percival's booming voice joined Gwaine's in celebration, the big knight's eyes bright with unshed tears of happiness. The druids gathered around them as well, their chanting replaced by songs of thanksgiving and celebration.

"We thought we'd lost you," Gwen said, her voice thick with emotion. "When the stone took you, when you became that empty thing... we thought you were gone forever."

"I was gone," Merlin admitted, his voice soft with wonder. "But Arthur called me back. He gave me something worth returning for."

"Don't you dare make light of it," Lancelot said quietly, but his tone carried warmth rather than rebuke. "We all know now. What you are, what you've done for all of us. No more hiding, no more pretending to be less than you are."

Merlin went very still in Arthur's arms. "You know about my magic."

"Emrys," Leon said simply, the name carrying reverence and acceptance in equal measure. "Most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth. Protector of the Once and Future King. Also, inexplicably, terrible at doing laundry."

"I am not terrible at laundry," Merlin protested weakly, but Arthur could see the fear in his eyes - the old terror of rejection, of being cast out for what he was.

"You turned my best shirt pink," Arthur pointed out gently. "Bright pink. It took weeks for the color to fade."

"That was one time - "

"Three times," Gwaine corrected cheerfully. "I kept count. Though I have to admit, watching you panic about it was hilarious."

The normalcy of the teasing seemed to reassure Merlin more than any formal acceptance could have. Color returned to his face, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

"Later," Arthur said firmly, seeing exhaustion creeping into Merlin's expression. "Explanations and revelations later. Rest first. You've been through more than any person should have to endure."

Iseldir approached them, his ancient face creased with satisfaction and relief. "Welcome back to the living, Emrys. How do you feel?"

"Like I've been turned inside out and shaken," Merlin admitted. "Did I... while my soul was gone, did I do things? Hurt people?"

"You protected what you love," Iseldir said gently, his voice carrying the wisdom of ages. "As you always have, as you always will. Nothing you did while sundered from your soul diminishes who you are. If anything, it proves the depth of your devotion."

Merlin nodded, though Arthur could see he would need time to process everything that had happened. They all would. The events of the past days had changed everything - relationships, secrets, the very foundation of their lives together.

"Rest now," Iseldir continued. "You've earned peace, both of you. Tomorrow will bring its own challenges, but tonight, simply be grateful for what you've restored."

They gave Merlin a tent, and Arthur positioned himself outside like a guard, unable to bear the thought of being separated even by canvas walls. The druids brought food and drink, offering celebration of their success, but Arthur found himself too emotionally wrung out to do more than pick at the meal.

"You know," Gwaine said, settling beside him with a wineskin, "declaring eternal love in front of druids and sorcerers isn't exactly keeping things subtle."

"Subtlety has never been my strong suit," Arthur replied, accepting the wine gratefully. "Besides, it's a bit late for secrets now."

"Good thing, too. Because if you'd hurt him after all this - after we saw what losing him did to you - I'd have had to kill you myself. King or not."

Arthur looked at his friend, seeing the absolute sincerity in Gwaine's eyes. "You'd have had to get in line. I think Gwen claimed first rights to my execution if I broke his heart."

"Fair enough." Gwaine was quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. "So what happens now? Can't exactly go back to the way things were."

"No," Arthur agreed, his hand unconsciously moving to where the locket had rested, now empty of its precious burden. "We can't. But maybe that's not a bad thing. Maybe it's time for something better."

Inside the tent, he could hear Merlin moving restlessly, making small sounds of distress that spoke of dreams not entirely pleasant. Arthur rose without conscious thought, needing to offer what comfort he could.

"Go," Gwaine said quietly. "He needs you. And honestly, you both look like hell. Some actual rest might do you good."

Arthur nodded his thanks and slipped into the tent, finding Merlin tossing fitfully on the simple bedroll. Even in sleep, lines of strain marked his face, and his hands were clenched as if holding onto something precious.

"Merlin," Arthur said softly, settling beside him. "It's all right. You're safe."

Blue eyes opened, immediately alert despite the exhaustion Arthur could see weighing on him. "Arthur? Is everything - "

"Fine. Everything's fine." Arthur reached out, hesitating only a moment before letting his hand rest on Merlin's shoulder. "Bad dreams?"

"Fragments. Memories trying to sort themselves out." Merlin's gaze found his, vulnerable in the dim light. "I keep expecting to wake up and find this was all another trial, another test designed to break me."

"It's real," Arthur assured him, letting his thumb trace small circles on Merlin's shoulder. "You're back. You're safe. And I meant what I said - all of it."

"I know. I can feel it, somehow. The truth of it." Merlin's hand found Arthur's free one, their fingers intertwining with careful reverence. "I love you too, you know. Have for years. I just never thought..."

"That I could love you back?" Arthur's chest tightened with old pain, understanding now how much his blindness had cost them both. "I was an idiot. A blind, stubborn fool who didn't see what was right in front of him."

"You saw what you needed to see when it mattered," Merlin corrected gently. "That's what brought me back - knowing that when the choice came, you chose me. Just me, not the destiny or the prophecy or the power. Me."

Arthur lay down beside him, not caring about propriety or protocol. They'd gone far beyond such considerations in the past days. "Always you," he said quietly. "From the beginning, it was always you. I just didn't understand what that meant."

They lay together in comfortable silence, hands linked between them like an anchor. Outside, the druid camp settled into peaceful rest, songs of celebration giving way to the quiet sounds of night. Arthur felt something ease in his chest that had been wound tight for days - the terror of loss, the desperate fear that he'd never again see intelligence and warmth in those beloved blue eyes.

"What happens when we get back to Camelot?" Merlin asked quietly.

Arthur considered the question, thinking of his father's laws, the court's expectations, the delicate politics of ruling a kingdom balanced on the edge of change. "I don't know," he admitted. "But we'll figure it out. Together."

"Your father - "

"Will have to accept that his son has grown beyond his expectations," Arthur said firmly. "The laws will change, Merlin. They have to. What we've learned, what we've seen... I can't go back to pretending magic is inherently evil when I've seen what you've done with it."

Merlin was quiet for a long moment. "And us? What we are to each other?"

Arthur's grip on his hand tightened. "That's between us and no one else. Let them speculate if they want - they've been doing it for years anyway, according to Gwaine. What matters is what we know, what we choose."

"And what do we choose?"

Arthur turned on his side, studying Merlin's face in the dim light. "To stop hiding. To stop pretending we're less than we are to each other. To build something real and honest and worth the battles we'll have to fight for it."

Merlin's smile was soft and wondering. "I'd like that. More than I can say."

"Then that's what we'll do." Arthur leaned closer, letting his forehead rest against Merlin's. "But first, we sleep. Really sleep, not that hollow mockery you've been doing. Dream properly, with me here to chase away the nightmares."

"Stay?" Merlin asked, vulnerability threading through the simple word.

"Always," Arthur promised, the vow carrying the weight of everything they'd survived to reach this moment. "From now on, always."

Merlin's eyes fluttered closed, his breathing gradually evening out into the natural rhythm of genuine rest. Arthur watched over him as he'd been unable to do for the past terrible days, memorizing every detail of his sleeping face, cataloguing the subtle differences that marked his return to full humanity.

The crisis was over. The soul was restored, the man he loved breathing peacefully beside him. But Arthur knew this was only the beginning - the first step in building a life together that would require courage and determination and all the love they could muster.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new obstacles to overcome. There would be laws to change, minds to convince, a kingdom to guide toward a more enlightened future. There would be political battles and personal struggles, moments of doubt and tests of faith.

But tonight, they had peace. Tonight, they had each other. And that was enough - more than enough. It was everything.

Arthur closed his eyes and let sleep take him, one hand still linked with Merlin's, ready to face whatever came next as long as they faced it together.

(TBC)

#merlin fanfic #bbc merlin #merlin fandom #merlin x arthur #merthur #arthur pendragon #emrys without merlin #the sundered soul #merlin emrys

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