#and then the two of them make sure the battle of camlann never happens | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hannahhook7744 · 26 days ago

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The Princes' Bodyguard;

Summary: Arthur Pendragon, tired and stressed by the surprising amount of danger two of his and Gwen’s eleven children manage to get into, hires a bodyguard. When the number of assassins that threaten his sons skyrocket after he does, the king thinks that his money has been well spent and so does his wife and the rest of their family. The princes in question, Llacheu and Loholt, however, know the truth. Not all of those assassins were after their lives, they were after their bodyguard’s! And now the young princes are determined to find out why, and get to the bottom of who exactly Morgar (or Morgie, as he prefers) is. Trigger Warnings: swearing, child endangerment (via children themselves), arguing, mention of assassin attempts, etc.

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No one had been down the overgrown path for years, yet…

“No.”

“But—”

“Absolutely not–”

“Loholt, just listen—”

“No!” Prince Loholt Tom Pendragon of Camelot snapped, cutting his twin brother off as he lost the last of the patience he had for him that day. “No! You listen to me, Llacheu. We are not going down the spooky, abandoned, most definitely cursed path that no one has tended to in years just to satisfy your curiosity!”

Prince Llacheu Ewan Pendragon of Camelot (totally did not) pout and crossed his arms. “Why nooooooooot ?”

“1. Because it will give our poor mother a heart attack. 2. Because we are the oldest and supposed to set an example for our siblings. And 3. Dad will flip his lid if he finds out, because he will find out when Uncle Merlin no doubt has to come and save our dumb asses because we went down the stupid path, you dollop head!”

Llacheu snorted. “Come on, we’re eighteen and will become knights soon. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Loholt, always the more sensible of the two, gave him their Uncle Merlin’s famous ‘are you kidding me right now’ and ‘did you really just ask that’ look. “I don’t know….We could DIE maybe? Is that ‘worst’ enough for you?”

“That isn’t grammatically correct—guess all that time in the library is failing you, brother.”

“It is not—”

“Is too—”

“Is not—”

RROOOOoooOOOOARAAAAARRRRRR!

“AAAARRRRAHHHHAHHHHHHHH!”

The twin princes halted their argument immediately—staring at each other in silence momentarily before one of them finally caught up with the situation. “What was that?!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?!”

“This is all your fault!”

“How is it my fault?!”

“YOU KNOW HOW!”

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Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood behind his desk, resisting the urge to pace as the sunlight poured in through the opening windows of his room. In front of him, his two eighteen year old sons—his oldest children who were born only a few months after the Battle of Camlann (which the king of Camelot didn’t like to think too much about for obvious reasons, less the bitter ‘what-ifs’ and ‘could have beens’ of Morgana, Mordred, and other lost friends and innocents consume him)—sat sheepishly. Not meeting his eyes.

Arthur didn’t blame them.

Quite honestly he was beyond furious with both of them—because in all of his forty six years, he had never ever, ever had this bad of a near heart attack. Not during any of times he had nearly died because of an attempt on his life, not with any of the times any of his friends had nearly died, or any of the times Gwen had nearly died—not during any of the battles he’d rode into, not sure he and his friends would even make it out alive. Absolutely none of it compared to the grey hairs and heart palpitations his oldests had just given him.

“A banshee, bandits, and a griffin?!”

The universe hated him.

It was official.

Because honestly, there was absolutely no other way to explain how that had happened in this day and age when most of the people who had tried to kill him were dead or no longer foe. Not since he’d legalized magic, anyway. Yet his children all still managed to get into trouble somehow.

Even his toddlers got in trouble!

“Well, you see—” Loholt, who dressed in mainly shades of green and black, was the first to start stammering as he shot a glare at his brother.

“We were, uh, well there was this path—”Llacheu, who dressed in orange, wasn’t far behind as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Refusing to meet his brother’s eye. He was no doubt the reason why they were on that path in the first place.

When Arthur was calmer, he’d talk to him about that. But for now…

“Yes. A path. The path of no return which both your mother and I, along with your aunts and uncles, have told you and your siblings and cousins all explicitly to stay far away from to avoid situations exactly like these from happening.” The blonde took a deep breath, pinching his nose a bit harder to bat away the stress induced headache that was starting to develop before breathing out. “Right. Your mother and I are hiring you two a bodyguard.”

One that Arthur was going to have Merlin, George, the knights, Giaus, Freya, and the Steward help him and Gwen vet very thoroughly before they even stepped foot in the castle or anywhere near his children for that matter. Call him paranoid but he wasn’t taking any risks or cutting any corners where his children’s safety was involved.

“What?!”

“But dad—”

“No buts. You two will not live to be knights at the rate you are going. Need I remind you of the sledding incident of last week? Or the River incident the week before that? Or any of you two’s other exploits recently and not so recently?” Being harsh was the last thing Arthur wanted to be but this was not a matter he nor Gwen were willing to compromise on—not when their boys were far more danger prone than Arthur, Gwen, Morgana, Merlin, and the round table combined had ever been.

Gods above, they had gotten in far more trouble than Arthur ever had in his forty six years and a good ten of those years he’d spent dodging nonstop assassination attempts. Well-earned or not.

They were definitely getting a bodyguard. No ands, ifs, or buts about it. One that they would be stuck with until they learned to be more mindful of their surroundings and to just think for a few seconds at the very least. Arthur would very much like both him and Guinevere to live long enough to see their grandchildren, thank you very much—which currently was not in the cards with all the stress their children and their friends, on top of the kingdom, were infecting them with.

“No sir.” Both boys sighed in sync, shooting glares at one another once they realized it.

“That’s what I thought.”

Thank the gods for the little mercies.

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“Daddy real mad at you.”

Loholt bit his lip to stop himself from making a snide remark, knowing that snapping at his youngest brother just because he was mad at his twin brother for getting them into this mess wasn’t going to do him any favors. “I know, Artie.”

Artie—or Arthur the Less as some very foolish people had called him before their parents swiftly put an end to that nonsense after adopting the three year old—looked at him with big blue wide eyes, sucking his thumb. “He thoughts you were hurted.”

And wasn’t that a slap to the face?

Loholt took a deep breath, silently cursing his twin’s thoughtlessness. It was his fault they were near the path in the first place and now they were going to be stuck with a bodyguard—a glorified chaperone—all because Llacheu had wanted to impress a girl. He had made their parents worry to impress a girl—it was infuriating. Especially since he didn’t even seem to realize how badly he had messed up when a three year old that had been living with their family for less than two months could see it.

“I know, Art. I know. I’ll try not to scare him and mom like that anymore.”

The blonde flashed him a big toothy smile. “Pwomise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Don’t say da D word!”

The older boy couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s just an expression buddy. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Artie didn’t look like be believed him.

Which was far, he supposed. It wasn’t like he and Llacheu had the best track record after all (which, admittedly, was partially his fault).

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“That sounds stupid.” Kay the Tricky, one of Llacheu’s best friends, said scrunching up his nose at his friend’s plight. “How are you supposed to become a knight if you have a bodyguard watching your every move?”

Llacheu threw his hands up. “That’s what I’m wonderin’! This is going to be so embarrassing! ”

Cai the fair, Loholt and Llacheu’s other best friend, on the other hand had no sympathy for his friend. “And it serves you right. What were you thinking—going near the Path of No Return? That’s not going to impress Lady Florie of Kanadic! She’s going to flip her lid when she finds out about this, you nitwit!”

“Hey, who’s side are you on?!”

The blonde gave him an unimpressed look. “Your parents and Loholt’s side. That was a bad idea and you know it.”

The prince did know it, though he wasn’t going to wound his pride by admitting it; not when he was going to need said pride when the new bodyguard came and killed his most gracious social life—which he didn’t doubt for a second was going to die because no one his age wanted a babysitter, let alone deal with someone else’s babysitter. So yeah, his social life was definitely going to be dead.

And all for a plan that didn’t even work, because surprise, Cai the Fair was right about Florie not being impressed that Llacheu had chosen to foolishly endanger himself and his brother to get her attention instead of just asking to court her, like a more mature person would have—and now she wasn’t talking to him (or Loholt, when he was present) until he ‘saw the errors of his ways’. Great.

Just great.

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Two months.

It took their parents and their parents’ friends, as well as the castle staff, two—not one—TWO MONTHS to find the pair of princes a bodyguard that met ‘their requirements to a satisfactory extent’, as George put it when he fetched them that morning in place of their manservants (his sons) Brahms and Wendell.

Apparently the bodyguard had been vetted personally by almost every adult they knew.

Something the two princes agreed (for once) was humiliating. Honestly, their family was far too paranoid and protective at times for their liking—which of course was why Morgar was even here to begin with.

Morgar, that was the name of their bodyguard.

Their bodyguard who had beat out everyone else and met every expectation their family threw his way, answering all their questions the way they wanted him to or close enough that it didn’t even matter that it wasn’t what they fully wanted.

Somehow.

Even Loholt was in complete disbelief regarding those little facts that George had let slip after meeting the man in question. Because Morgar? He was nothing at all like they expected.

He wasn’t prim, proper, all work, and no play like George or bossy and annoying like the Steward and their childhood nanny who would sometimes watch them when their family was away for long periods of time were. He wasn’t overly protective like Uncles Elyan and Merlin, or constantly exasperated like Leon was.

No, he… was different.

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Morgar was a strange fellow with dark brown hair—swept off his forehead—and sharp hazel eyes that were ever seeing, who stood at just an inch or two shorter than the twins themselves. He had a snake tattoo on his right arm that seemed to switch positions every time they saw him and some kind of rune tattoos on his left arm that seemed to disappear under his clothing.

He wore long and tight looking black trousers with a matching scarf, faded brown boots that looked too small, a tan undershirt, a green tunic with medium length sleeves, and a dark green armored vest with a lighter green, almost yellowish, rose pattern on it that was like nothing the younger boys had ever seen before.

Morgar insisted that they call him ‘Morgie’ (what an odd nickname) and was rather laid back for someone who was being paid to defend the lives of the king’s children.

He was also snarky—always having something to say, oftentimes something wicked that would send both Llacheu and Loholt into fits of laughter that they tried and failed to suppress. Knowing that it wasn’t something their parents would approve of them finding funny.

He was goofy and made exaggerated faces and movements that would have annoyed the boys if they weren’t sure that it was just how Morgie was, and not him treating them like children.

Morgie was a few years older than the two of them—twenty, he said once when they asked—and he didn’t kill the social life of the princes by meddling, like they had feared he would. In fact, he was far less involved in their goings on than Loholt suspected their parents knew. Almost always out of sight of them when they went to hang out with their friends or to train, and rarely ever getting involved in their shenanigans until danger was posed and not before.

It was odd and not at all like the ever looming, never straying, boundary stomping bodyguards the two brothers had seen accompany other royal children before.

Morgie actually seemed to care about them and their privacy, more than he did his job, even.

It wasn’t anything like he was expecting.

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The assassination attempts didn’t start until a few weeks after Morgie had started working for The Pendragons.

Most would assume it was a coincidence or would say that their father’s paranoia had finally paid off with him having been well-prepared in advance for this type of thing (something their own father’s father hadn’t been nearly as prepared for), but that didn’t feel quite right. At least not in Llacheu’s mind—something he pointed out to his brother and their friends once Florie started talking to him (and the others while he was there) again.

“The assassination attempts on your dad’s life didn’t pick up until he was nearly twenty.” Florie pointed out, always the rational one of the group—never one to jump to conclusions—resting her chin on her fist out of boredom, readjusting her lavender dress. “Maybe the assassins just didn’t feel comfortable killing you before you had facial hair?”

Kay snorted at that, almost stabbing himself when he failed to catch the dagger he’s been tossing up and down for fun. Like their Uncle Gwaine did with his apples usually before he ate them—a habit his little son, Everard, was starting to pick up on. Luckily he didn’t thanks to Brahms’ quick reflexes. That could have ended in disaster and a long lecture from both their fathers who still weren’t happy about the last time that had happened.

“It…is a bit odd, though, don’t you think?” Wendell hummed, frowning thoughtfully—a look that was mirrored on both his brother’s face and Loholt’s. “That they started not too terribly long after Morgie was publicly dubbed L & L’s bodyguards?”

“Or that none of the assassins seem to be trying to actually get close to the princes they’re supposedly trying to kill in the first place?” Brahms added, swatting at Kay’s hand when he tried to take his knife back. Clearly not trusting their friend with it while he was distracted.

“That assassin from last week actually seemed pretty surprised when he was told he was under arrest for trying to kill the king’s sons, too.” Cai chimed in, peering down at the plate of fruit he’d borrowed from the kitchens for their hang out with furrowed brows. “As if he didn’t know who Loholt and Llacheu were.”

Florie still didn’t look completely convinced. “He could have been playing dumb in the hopes of getting a lesser punishment.”

“No.” Loholt finally spoke, shifting from where he was sitting on his bed. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. Aren’t most assassins willing to die if they fail? And those who aren’t wouldn’t be willing to bet their lives on that flimsy excuse. Not after how badly all the previous attempts on the rest of our family’s lives have gone.”

Llacheu pointed at Loholt. “Exactly! How is that not suspicious sounding!”

“I don’t know!” Florie groaned, frustrated. “None of this makes sense either way. Why would all these assassins be after your bodyguard who no one’s ever heard of before he showed up looking for a job?”

“That’s what we need to find out!”

The room went dead silent momentarily at the prince’s words, everyone looking at him with dread.

“What? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Llacheu, no.” Cai put his head in his hands. Florie grimaced. Wendell and Brahms sighed, looking resigned. Loholt looked like he couldn’t believe that the two of them were related (a look his girlfriend, Angelica, who had decided that she was firmly staying out of this conversation, shared as she glanced between them) and Kay?

He stopped trying to snatch his knife back from Brahms and snapped his fingers. “Llacheu, yes! That’s brilliant and exactly what we need to do!”

Loholt threw a pillow at him. “Don’t encourage him! Don’t you two ever learn anything?!”

"Ow! What was that for?!”

"This is why the twins even have Morgie as a bodyguard in the first place." Angelica groaned, burying her face in a throw pillow, her long silky black hair draping over the sides of it. Clearly done with both Kay and Llacheu, and rethinking her dreams of marrying Loholt and joining his family because of it. At least, that's what Llacheu—ever the one for theatre—thought she was thinking. "At the rate this is going, your father is going to lock you two in a tower and throw away the key so you'll stop getting into danger!”

"No he won't." Llacheu bristled. "Our dad's overprotective, sure, but he would never do anything like that. And even if he tried, I'm sure mom and our aunts and uncles wouldn't let him.”

Cai glanced at Wendell. "Ten silvers says that Sir Elyan will be the one helping the King lock them up."

The manservant gave him an unimpressed look. "I'm not taking that bet; It's so obvious that that's what's going to happen that it's physically painful.”

“Fair. I probably wouldn't have taken that bet either.”

“Aw come on guys!”

“No Llacheu!”

“I'm with Florie and Loholt here, this is a really bad idea.”

“Is it though?”

“You aren't helping Kay!”

“We are not snooping into your bodyguard’s personal life!”

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To absolutely no one's surprise, the group did in fact end up snooping into Morgar’s personal life after both Kay and Llacheu talked them into it.

At least that's the word they would use.

The others would say that they just got tired of them asking and.that they were going along with it so that the two trouble makers wouldn't get themselves killed.

(Not that anyone would believe them, if they said that, of course).

One would think that with the combined forces of two princes, two manservants, two princesses from separate kingdoms, and two squires (a total of eight people) and a library filled with scrolls that most people often forget even exist would be able to find something on one highly qualified young man turned bodyguard. Multiple somethings or just a single something, even.

But no.

To the group's absolute frustration, they couldn't find anything on the man.

No record of his birth.

No family lines.

Not even a whisper of a Morgar or a Morgie from any kingdom that could be even remotely capable of what they'd all seen the princes’ bodyguard do. It frustrated Llacheu so much that he was tempted to start throwing the useless books and scrolls across the room. But he didn't.

Mostly because Loholt, Geoffrey, Florie, and not to mention his parents would kill him if he destroyed any of the books in the castle or made more work for the castle staff. But also because he didn't really want to make more work for the castle staff in the first place and he knew that it wouldn't help their search if he did.

So, in a great show of restraint, Llacheu bit back his frustration and his complaints (unlike Kay) and continued his search. His friends all doing the same.

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“What are you up to?”

Llacheu gave his Uncle Merlin an innocent look that he didn't buy for a second. “What? You always tell me I should read more.”

“Yes, but court genealogy doesn't really seem like something you'd be interested in without an ulterior motive. So, I ask again. What are you up to and do I need to be prepared to stage a cover up?”

If Llacheu was seven again, he would have immediately given in and confessed to everything upon seeing Merlin cross his arms and raise the eyebrow of doom. But alas, he was not a little kid anymore. He was fifteen, so much more mature and so much more stubborn.

“I’m not up to anything. Honest. I'm just curious.”

Merlin sighed, shaking his head and sounding almost fond as he muttered “You are your parent's son.” Walking off with the herbs he'd collected for whatever potion or spell they were needed for. Which, considering that he was both the Court Sorcerer and the New Court Physician with a family and three apprentices (Gwenhwyfach, Guiomar, and Nyneve who had agreed to cover for Llacheu if asked, bless them) of his own, could be anything.

Including another prank on Llacheu's father or some kind of cleaning powder for George, who had taken over Merlin's duties when Giaus retired and Merlin was doubly promoted. Or so Uncle Gwaine's stories told.

(And who knew if those could be accurate, since he claimed that Uncle Will, Aunt Freya, Uncle Lancelot, and several other family friends had risen from the dead. Honestly, Llacheu wasn't born yesterday).

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“Hey Artie, what are you doing, buddy?” Llacheu asked, as casually as he could manage while praying for forgiveness to whoever was listening for the scheme he had just cooked up.

The three year old jumped away from his friends, looking guilty. “Nothin’.”

Everard and Dragonet (Merlin and Freya’s son) were hiding something behind their backs. If Llacheu was anybody else, like Loholt, he would have pried further. Unfortunately for everyone in the castle however, Llacheu was not Loholt, and thus did not pry further or even make a mental note to warn anyone ahead of time that the three were probably going to be causing chaos. Because what would the fun in that be?

Not to mention it would be rather hypocritical of him considering what the prince was about to ask the three toddlers to do.

“Do you want something to do?”

The trio of trouble making toddlers looked at him, immediately intrigued as every ounce of guilt drained out of them. Artie shared a look with his two friends briefly before finally answering, albeit hesitantly. “Maybe…”

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Llacheu's plan went off without a hitch, despite not being very-Loholt approved.

Artie’s trio of friends had barely even needed to be bribed with the offer of sweets at all after the older Prince had showed them his (non lethal) handmade, very realistic knock off version of Uncle Merlin’s spell book that he never willingly let any of them touch unsurprised and told them that he wanted them to run around the castle with it. He'd only really needed to bribe them into doing it in front of their parents but even then it wasn't really hard to convince them.

The offer of getting to play with a spellbook, even one that wasn't excitedly dangerous, was just too tempting of a chance to pass up. Just like Llacheu knew it would be.

“Arthur Gaius Pendragon the 2nd—”

“Everard, please, before you give your old man a heart attack—”

“Dragonet William Bailnoir Hunithson, put the spellbook down!”

Llacheu would have felt bad if it wasn't so funny watching his dad, Uncle Merlin, and Uncle Gwaine get evaded again and again by three kids barely out of diapers with a kid friendly spellbook. If only he had a sketchbook and some artistic talent so he could capture this moment, and remember it forever. Alas, he had neither of those things nor the time.

As soon as the teenage prince was sure no one was around he slipped into the Physician Chambers and snagged his Uncle’s real spellbook. Silently sending his Uncle an apology for the chaos he'd sent his devil spawn to cause as he slipped back out, and headed back to the stables where the others were supposed to meet him.

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“This isn't going to work.”

“Yes it will.” Llacheu rolled his eyes.

His brother and friends didn’t look convinced, and neither did his father’s prized horses (Hengroen and Llamrei) and favorite dogs (Cavall and Glessic). Which, rude, because as far as his plans usually went this one was actually probably one of his better ones.

“You need magic to make a spell work and you don’t have magic.” Loholt reminded, apparently unwilling to let go of that particular argument.

“Yeah, well none of you have magic either and we can’t afford to wait for Nyneve or Gwenhwyfach to get off work. So me it is—Guiomar!”

The physician-in-training immediately peaked his head into the stables. “All clear so far.” Then he retreated back into position before anyone could say anything else, throwing in his own two cents as he did. “And for the record, I believe he can do it.”

Kay cackled, the only other one who believed that there was even the slightest chance of this working.

“See, this isn’t a complete lost cause!” Llacheu smirked. “Now, everybody stand back—ah bollocks, where’d I put the chalk?”

Wendell handed it to him. “This better work because cleaning that off the wood before anyone notices is going to be a right pain—”

“It’ll work!”

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The outline of Morgie was drawn.

The herbs and oils were applied.

The candles were lit and Morgie’s anchor (in this case, his scarf) was pinned in the center of it all.

All that was left for the group of nine to do was the spell—but Llacheu just couldn’t seem to get it right.

On the first attempt, the candles went out. On the second, the doors blew open—hitting Guiomar in the backside. On the third, the building shook and by the fourth, the young prince was starting to lose the high confidence and small amount of hope that this would work; which made it all the more fitting that that was when he finally managed to pronounce the damn thing right.

“A éireachtach Dé Lúth-chuimhne, tabhair dom an t-údarás a implaim, agus tóg an ceanglaigh seo ionas go bhfeicim an fhírinne.” The words felt awkward on the youth’s tongue and sent a strange warmth throughout his body, his eyes especially and if he had to guess he’d wager that they were glowing—which would explain the startled looks he was getting. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that as the flames of the candles raised high into the air and the outline of Morgie blazed to life.

The spell of truth was a spell created to sniff out imposters and trace children’s liege in the hopes of finding someone who could take them in—but it was a spell that many had forgotten existed. Their uncle Merlin included. But Llacheu? He remembered. The summary and name of the spell not having left his mind since he’d first read about it all those years ago when he’d first gotten a peak at his godfather’s spellbook when he was eight years old and bored while waiting for the man to finish brewing the nasty medicine required for whatever affliction he’d had at the time.

Llacheu hadn’t known if the spell would actually work if he’d been the one to read it, but he’d had a hunch. Just like he had a hunch that when the light faded, they would finally know at least some of the answers to their questions.

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Loholt stared at the words that had appeared in the outline of Morgie, feeling faint as he leaned against one of the stalls.

“Who the fuck is Madoc? I thought his name was Morgar?” Kay grumbled, crossing his arms. “Are you sure you grabbed the right scarf?”

“Yes I’m sure!” Llacheu snapped, tired of people asking him that question—tired of just questions in general, actually. Which is what they had just gotten more of because it turns out they didn’t really know their bodyguard at all.

Because the spell of truth?

It had just revealed to them that his name was not in fact Morgar or even Morgie, as they’d previously thought, but instead Prince Madoc Pendragon, son of Morgana Pendragon. As in, Llacheu and Loholt’s father’s evil half sister, Morgana Pendragon, who had died at the Battle of Camlann when trying to kill their father and likely everyone else they loved and held dear.

Which beared the question—if the spell had actually worked, which it most certainly had, then why was Morgana’s son currently acting as their bodyguard and what did he want?

Why hadn’t he killed them yet?

The number of assassins that threatens the prince skyrocket after the king hired the new bodyguard. The king thought that is money well spent, the prince however know the truth. Those assassins weren't after his life, they are after his bodyguard's! And he is determined to find out why.

#merlin bbc #merlin next gen #the adventures of merlin #next generation #one shot #ocs based off of arthurian legends #arthur pendragon #parent arthur pendragon #parent gwen pendragon #gwen x arwen #uncle merlin

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akampana · 3 years ago

Note

Prompt n.24 sounds very interesting. Arturia is a king, but also a knight. And the one thing a knight has by their side, is their trusted weapon...

But we know that sometimes, a weapon is not just a weapon. Sometimes its much more...

Right, Cu Alter?

24. “You will never lose me. I will always be right here beside you.”

Cu Alter x Arturia

One-shot, set in a world where Cú Chulainn and King Arthur exist in the same time period. Enjoy! Thanks for the ask!

___

A loud clang resounded within the stone confines of the throne room, and yet it was quiet compared to the storm raging hell outside, and quieter still to the turmoil that wracked King Arthur’s mind.

Tristan’s desertion was followed by those of a number of knights. The first crack in the glass foundation that kept Camelot’s flag flying high. The exposure of Lancelot’s affair, however, was the hammer that finally smashed it to smithereens. Now here she was left amongst the rubble, with an aggrieved Gawain, a conflicted Bedivere and the cold, dead body of poor Agravain, who fell victim to her excommunicated First Knight. Arturia did not know where Merlin was. Kay had left months ago with all his fortune. She needn’t be a genius to know he wasn’t coming back.

What the people demanded was revenge for King Arthur’s cuckolding: the hunt and execution of the treacherous French knight that fled to his homeland, to whom Arturia held no grudge. Her logic demanded she carry out the farce, but what remained of her sealed-up heart did not.

From this derived her conflict, which she wrestled in solitude, here at the glaringly empty Round Table that used to seat her comrades.

Pursue the man she’s forgiven or stay her hand? Give the people what they want or stand by her own beliefs?

Arturia flinched as cool metal brushed against her fingertips, her startled eyes climbing to meet orbs the color of the wine she just spilled.

“King—!” the glare he sent her stilled her tongue at once, his inhuman crimson eyes glowing in the dim candlelight.

“Cú,” she corrected herself, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. Her thinner night garbs did little to hide the secret of her sex. In the dead of night, she wasn’t expecting any visitors. Especially not at the Round Table, which was devoid of all life at this hour.

“Has your fire gone out for the night?” she said, twisting her father’s silver ring around her thumb as she spoke, “I will arrange for a servant to assist you at once—”

“Forget it,” interrupted the brutal warrior, reclining himself into Lancelot’s former seat as he poured his own goblet. “Can’t sleep in all this racket.”

She knew instinctively he didn’t mean the storm. Regretful green eyes inspected the mess in the corner, wasted wine that was a victim to her ire. Briefly, she wondered how the foreign king could hear her from all the way in the east wing, but it was hardly important. Cú was already a man of few words. He wouldn’t waste any on small talk.

“Yer gonna chase the bastard, aren’t ya? It’s what yer subjects want,” came his raspy declaration, cutting in through the silence just before a crack of lightning illuminated the room. Their eyes clashed in the glaring white light, blood orbs against evergreen.

“I can...I cannot deny them the justice they expect of me,” she answered, grief lacing the small voice that barely carried itself through the thunder.

“So you deny yerself. Just like you’ve done all yer life. Ain’t that right, Arturia?”

It took King Arthur a moment to fully grasp what had come out of his lips. Her breath began to labor as she wracked her brain for an excuse. Panic settled into her bones faster than the snow outside seeped into the grass. Before she could formulate anything, however, she felt Cú’s fingers encircle her wrist.

“Relax. I ain’t telling no one. Weapons don’t talk, remember?” he soothed, as much as an emotionless killing machine could, anyway.

“You are not just a weapon. We have been over this.” Arturia shot back, momentarily forgetting the source of her stress.

As her frantic breaths began to still, she managed a small question. “How long have you known?”

His claws released their grip, lamenting the small indents they left on her skin. “Since ya wasted yer fourteenth seat on a foreign king that once would have torn yer land asunder.”

Cú reached past her arms, lifting the wool cloak from the short king’s chest. Sure enough, he now had his confirmation, a modest chest that was so cleverly hidden behind her armor plates.

“‘Tis of little consequence to me,” he voiced, replacing the garment she pulled so closely around herself. She watched him as he gave her another glass of wine, trying to discern if he spoke the truth.

“I don’t bloody care about what’s between yer legs, the same way you never cared for this fucking tail that trails behind me. All I need to hear are yer orders,” her allied king continued, flicking away a loose strand of hair with the scaly appendage.

“If ya wanna kill Lancelot, Arturia, I’m with ya. Point me in the way of France. But if not, then gimme some other fucking command. I don’t give a shit, as long as it’s what ya want.”

The King of Knights pursed her lip, still unaccustomed to hearing her real name from one who wasn’t supposed to know her secret. Especially when the one who used it was someone she did not expect: the displaced King of Connacht, who was more frequently an envoy serving at her court as an allied Warrior of the Round Table than the ruler of his late queen’s territory. The latter job, Cú had delegated to Fergus, as the “Mad” King had chosen to dedicate his freedom to the one that liberated him.

Arturia shook off his crass manner of speech. After nearly a decade of having him by her side, she’d grown accustomed to his language, even if he was frequently scoffed at by Agravain and Gaheris when the siblings still lived.

The reminder of her knights’ deaths led her gaze back to her table and its empty seats. There were so few that still belonged to the living. Some of them were never to be filled again. Arturia turned to her right, to where Lancelot once sat, meeting ruby eyes instead of onyx ones.

“Then how about this,” she suggested, imprinting the Irish King’s face into her memory the same way she’d done for the rest of her knights. Slowly, she slipped off the silver ring she’d been fiddling with and slid it onto his pinky.

“Return to your homeland with as much gold as you can carry and my eternal gratitude. Take a fourth of the cattle. Reward each of those in your service with one and keep the rest to enrich Connacht.”

Thunder raged on outside the castle walls, but it was the silence of the king before her that unnerved Arturia to a ridiculous extent. For while neither were as talkative as her remaining nephew, the quiet had never been quite so tense.

“The hell?” Cú finally asked, glaring at the Pendragon ring with disgust instead of honor. “You’d have me run? Do ya think me a coward—”

“—I think you are a king that should not die for the flag of a kingdom that is not his,” she cut him off, grasping his hand before he could tear her father’s ring off. “You asked for an order. This is it.”

Cú Chulainn’s claws dug into the collar of her cloak, as he pulled her to his face, a menacing look upon his countenance.

“An order?” he grunted harshly, “Or a feeble attempt at driving me away before I can leave you?”

Arturia’s struggles suddenly ceased, her limbs going limp before the foreign king finally let go of her clothes. The chairs screeched as each ruler fell back onto them, the older one far more irate than the younger.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Cú murmured, his voice soft as his fist thudded onto the circular table. “Ya’ve been an absolute tool since that depressing redhead turned in his rank, and some thoughtless fools followed. Then ya let Lancelot leave, don’t even bloody try to tell me he got away.”

Arturia turned her head, hiding her eyes behind her hay-colored hair. It mattered not how her charisma could sway crowds, her tongue knew not how to lie. Green eyes searched the empty room, counting the few chairs that would be occupied tomorrow. Her sister’s remaining sons’, Bedivere’s and...oh, how very few.

Arturia rested her hand on his fist, urging him to keep the heirloom as proof of the great service he gave Camelot.

“Go home, Cú. I cannot...I cannot lose you, too.” the British king sighed, getting used to the chill of solitude. She’d always known that a life as king was a life alone. At least with Cú, she could choose the day he left, instead of spending her time counting the days till he made his exit, just like her knights, her wizard, her brother.

“Don’t ask something so fucking stupid then go looking so damn pitiful,” he responded, flipping their hands and dragging her into his space till her lips touched his.

There was a reason Cú had stayed, pawning off Connacht to someone else that deserved it more and joining Camelot’s court instead. Not only had Arturia broken the geis that kept him tied to Medb, but she also gave him purpose.

Cú never spoke of it, but he remembered their first meeting like it was yesterday.

It was on the battlefield, back when he was still bound by geis to serve another mistress. Medb, the sly vixen, had tricked him into her service, forcing him into the frontlines till he’d slain every single one of his former comrades.

Bathed in the blood of his friends, the red clouding his vision, the man who was once Ulster’s proudest warrior was no more. His valiant face was replaced by a monstrous visage, his armaments were stained black. Upon his head sat a crown of thorns, forced onto his head by a queen who knew nothing but chaos.

Before long, the name he was proud to take up had been given new meaning. He was no longer Ulster’s guard dog, but Medb’s rabid hound, who sunk his teeth into anything and everything that so much as irked the devilish queen. Cú Alter, she called him, now that she’d bent him to her tastes. Cú Alter, a fitting name to a warrior forced to tarnish his own title.

As the bodies piled up around him, no rhyme nor reason for their slaughter, Cú began to see himself in a darker light, grasping at straws for some sort of purpose behind all the mindless killing.

He must have been a monster. A monster that massacred all that stood in his way regardless of honor and glory. Yes, that must have been it, he convinced himself, finally submitting to the dark cage that his hated loathsome queen had put him under.

As the black chains dragged him deeper and deeper into his own personal hell, he took up his spear once again. It lashed out whenever he touched it, staining itself dark till the vibrant red he used to wield was nowhere to be found. Once more, to the battlefield, said Medb. Once more, he tore across it with a godlike ease.

Then suddenly the cursed spear collided with its match, a sword of shining light that glowed as bright as its wielder. He remembered the moment so clearly, his breath hitching at his throat as his strikes were pushed back, the wind pressure whipping his hood out of his face. His heart pounded with adrenaline as his gaze fell down to his opponent: a tiny little thing, so small they should have fallen to his last strike, but there they still stood, defiant green eyes staring up at him with no fear.

Rage overtook his figure, fueling his strikes as he tried to cast the small warrior back, but all his efforts were met with equal force.

“My name is Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.” a small voice, too fragile to have been a man’s, rung out across the battlefield. Spear met sword once again, pausing in their dance.

“Your name, knight.”

Even though he stayed on his feet, it was like the king had pulled the rug from under him. Their eyes locked once more, and he saw himself within the green irises, staring mouth agape at his opponent.

His name? His name? How long had it been since he’d been asked for his name? How many foes had he slain since then? How many nameless faces had he sent to the grave? How could this person, this puny king, take one look at his monstrous form and face him like a knight regardless?

“Cú Chulainn,” came his raspy voice, which too often had been used to roar like a beast. It felt foreign on his lips, which had ‘til then spoke nothing but bitter resentment.

That day, Arturia saw more than the monster. More than the weapon he’d disillusioned himself into being. Cú followed the king after Medb’s defeat, intending to find some proof that it was all a fluke, but it never happened. Arturia never treated him or her knights like a weapon or a tool. Arturia treated him like an equal.

And now, years spent the line, she was robbing him of that feeling, sending him away with glory and riches. If he were younger, he’d have jumped at the prize of heroic fame, but that was no longer what he wanted. What he wanted was to be right here, right next to the person that made him feel human again.

As their lips parted, Cú sent a glare through the empty seats of each of the deserters. He’d never understand how they could leave their king behind. He’d met his fair share of monarchs— hell, he technically was one—and even as belligerent a person he was, he wouldn’t wield his spear for any other.

“You will never lose me,” Cú declared in between rough kisses. “I will always be right here beside you. Understand?”

The Irishman returned her ring as she nodded, breathless, into his shoulder. She had one. Even if the world were to turn on Arturia, she still had one. One that would stay forever beside her.

Beside her...

Beyond Cú, the shorter king saw the backrest of Lancelot’s former seat, and finally, she knew just what to do to settle the people and follow her heart at the same time.

“Disregard my previous orders. Heed this instead…”

As the words left his king’s lips, Cú Chulainn proudly grinned.

#and then the two of them make sure the battle of camlann never happens #the end #hahahaahh #akampana asks #love confession prompts #tysm for the ask!#cuturia #cu alter x arturia #cutoria #cu alter #arturia pendragon #artoria pendragon #arturia #artoria #saber #berserker #fgo #fate

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yellowmagicalgirl · 4 years ago

Text

Destiny’s Pawn

Douxie wants to never meet his soulmate. Krel isn't about to go searching for his own soulmate. Despite not realizing the meaning behind the names on their wrists, they meet anyways.

*slams a 38 page word document onto the nearest flat surface*

Here you go!

Content warning: This fic is rated M on AO3 and FFN for graphic depictions of bloody violence, dissociation, and panic attacks. In addition, this fic also contains dismemberment, mind control, suicidal ideation, minor character death, sleep deprivation, stress positions, and descriptions of poor medical practices.

AO3

FFN

Douxie is fourteen and sitting at his kitchen table, eating a bowl of instant ramen. This month has been going well. He’s been making new friends, one of whom is even a fellow wizard, he’s adjusting to the new time period, he hasn’t gone into any states of eerie numbness where he suddenly has no control of himself and commits violent acts, and it’s been a while since he has last had any flashbacks to Camlann. So, naturally, fate decides to make itself known once more and curse him with another prophecy.

Douxie is able to set his ramen down without spilling or burning himself when his right wrist explodes into light. Cyan light, to be specific, not the exact shade of blue that Douxie’s magic always seems to take.

Douxie doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to look, and yet he does. He has a soulmate, and he doesn’t want one. He ran away from his kingdom (further than he had intended, admittedly) and changed his name because he was sick of being destiny’s pawn, and yet destiny is still deciding to use him. And he laughs, mirthlessly.

At least the name of his soulmate isn’t a name that Douxie can read. He’s not even sure if it’s a human language, and Douxie doubts that the Trollish script has changed so much since he learned it as a child. Douxie isn’t even sure if he believes that aliens exist, not when magic is real and everyone else thinks that magic isn’t real. However, if his soulmate is an alien then that’s a good thing. The chances of Douxie ever meeting his soulmate are impossibly low. Douxie won’t have to worry about one day meeting his soulmate and having to push the guy away so the two of them don’t get hurt.

Douxie gets up and walks from his kitchen table to his dresser. It takes a while to open his top drawer, but it always takes a while. The wood’s warped, which is probably why the original owners got rid of it. When he finally gets it open, it doesn’t take long for him to find the two leather bracelets he had worn when he was younger. They’re slightly small on him, now, and Douxie will want to find a better replacement if he wants to keep the blood flowing in his right hand, but they cover up the name of his soulmate quite well.

No one will have to know. Not his classmates, not the guys in the band who’s name they still can’t decide on, and not Zoe and her talking cat, who will probably ask three times as many questions as everyone else.

Krel’s not sure when he started being jealous of his older sister. Maybe it’s when they started using serrators and Aja took to them so easily, and Papa seemed to value Aja’s skill at fighting more than Krel’s engineering feats. Which, admittedly, weren’t that good at that age, but they were children back then. Krel was still a genius compared to everyone his age, and everyone who was Aja’s age. And yes, Aja isn’t that much older than him, but considering how much she tries to lord it over him it may as well count.

Krel will admit that in the past three delsons since his wrist exploded into pale blue light, he has gotten much more jealous of his sister.

Krel thinks that Aja is very lucky. Aja’s soulmate is an Akiridion, and that makes things easier for her. Sure, Aja’s soulmate isn’t an Akiridion from a royal house, and it would technically be a scandal if Aja married her soulmate, who would be an ordinary Akiridion. Or, it would be an even bigger scandal if Aja’s soulmate was a Taylon. That doesn’t matter to Krel.

Aja doesn’t have Mama and Papa talking behind her back in hushed tones that sometimes cut out the moment anyone comes near. Aja doesn’t have Mama and Papa talking behind her back, trying to find the planet where the strange symbols on Krel’s lower right wrist are actually a name. Aja doesn’t have Mama and Papa talking behind her back about how maybe Krel’s interplanetary soulmate can be a way that Akiridion-V and this mystery planet can have an alliance. Aja may be older than him and technically just as much the heir to the throne as Krel is, but Aja is less of a political pawn than Krel is.

Krel can’t help but wonder if Mama and Papa actually love each other, or at least, if they loved each other when they got married. He can’t help but wonder if their marriage is, or at least was, entirely political. His parents are soulmates, and their marriage ended the feud between House Ventis and House Akraohm.

Krel doesn’t want to have to marry his soulmate for power, or to put an end to a fight.

Douxie will readily admit, dubstep and dolphin noises aren’t his thing, when it comes to music. He prefers emo, alternative rock, alternative metal, electronic rock, hard rock, industrial rock, the occasional pop rock and emo pop, gothic rock, symphonic metal, and hardcore punk. And, of course, trying to recreate lute music from his childhood on an electric guitar.

But the guy on stage, the one making or at least DJ-ing the dubstep? He’s mesmerizing. And not just because Douxie knows that Ash Dispersal Pattern actually has competition for once. There’s the way his eyes light up, and the way his hair falls in waves all the way down to his chin. The way the lights bounce off the guy is beautiful.

Maybe, after the battle is over, Douxie can find the guy, and…

Right. Douxie’s never really known how to talk to people, and even though he’s been slowly trying to memorize the social cues of this century he still feels like he’s even worse at talking to people than he was as a child. And that’s all without factoring in the fact that Douxie is even worse at talking to cute guys. He’s been told that he apparently flirts with girls, which really isn’t how he wants to come off, and yet he doesn’t know how to flirt with guys. It’s frustrating.

Douxie tries to think of ways he can maybe talk to the guy. Talking about music will probably be his best chance. And talking about music will be even on topic, not just awkwardly rambling because classmates expect him to make small talk.

And then, a girl wearing purple armor walks onto the stage. It’s Claire. She looks better than Douxie can remember seeing her, though considering that their track record has put Claire as possessed, sick, or on the verge of a mental breakdown anything is better. But, while tense, she looks… assured. Powerful.

She looks like how a wizard should, which honestly makes a lot of sense in hindsight.

Douxie has never figured out how to use his magic to open a telepathic link, but as he whistles and gives Claire two thumbs up he tries to communicate as much as he silently can to her. He’s like her. He understands what she’s going through. He can help her to understand her powers. He can introduce her to people, well, a girl and a cat that are like Claire and Douxie.

Claire starts to speak, and Douxie realizes that Claire’s armor is familiar. Familiar, like the more important knights, knights whose armor was enchanted to be more protective. Familiar, like his aunt. Familiar, like Merlin.

Douxie can’t ruminate on what this could mean, because the sun goes dark and there are Gumm-Gumms.

When the battle (the real battle, not just the Battle of the Bands) is over, Douxie is aware of three things. His skills have deteriorated in the three years since he fought his – in the years since he last used his magic to fight anyone. He was also unable to talk to Claire or the guy who did the dubstep.

Well, Arcadia Oaks is a small enough town. Hopefully he’ll be able to talk to one or both of them over the summer.

Krel waits until his sister and the other Akiridions are gone. He waits until Steve and Toby and AAARRRGGHH!!! are doing… something else. He waits until he can be sure that Ricky and Lucy are so engrossed in unpacking that they won’t follow him down into his lab. And then, he lets himself cry. It’s stupid. Crying hurts, and it makes him feel weak.

Krel remembers what Mother had said about crying when it first happened to Aja, and he just cries harder. He misses his parents, and he misses Mother. He misses his sister, and Varvatos, and they’re not dead. They’ve just gone back to Akiridion-V, where Aja is actually attending her own coronation as queen. Krel knows that his parents would have wanted him to attend. They would have wanted a lot of things for him, and Krel isn’t sure if he’ll be able to fulfill any of them.

Krel wipes his eyes with his wrist. It’s funny. His human form doesn’t have a name on either of his wrists indicating a soulmate, even though Krel’s soulmate is human. Probably. His soulmate could be a changeling, but his soulmate being human is more likely. Krel’s almost sure that Mother thought that by not giving them soulmates, they’d be even closer to invisible on Earth, especially Aja and Varvatos.

Krel has a good feeling as to what the name on his lower right wrist sounds like, and he could probably hack into the various governments of Earth, searching until he found out just who Mordred Pendragon is. Krel doesn’t do that, though. He wasn’t in any rush to find his soulmate during the three keltons between receiving the name and coming to Earth, and he isn’t in any rush to do so now. He’s seen the way Aja and Steve act around each other, and he doesn’t think he wants that right now. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever want that.

“Hey Krel?” Ricky calls. “Ship’s no going to clean itself.”

“Not yet, anyways!” Lucy says.

Krel sighs and goes to help clean.

Douxie supposes that it was probably better to be safe than sorry when it comes to fighting off whatever great evil is going to attempt to end the world for the fourth time this summer. Still, he doesn’t like the idea of being involved in one of Archie’s prophecies. The only saving grace is that if he has to be caught between two different fates, then at least he can fight off the worse of the two. Still, it’s annoying. Toby keeps on pestering Douxie and Zoe, asking them about how magic works and why the two of them haven’t tried to help out more, as if they haven’t been busy at their own school.

Well, what is he supposed to say? “I helped make your friend’s amulet” may be true, but it’ll reveal too many things about Douxie’s past. Too many things that Douxie has been trying not to think about.

No matter how reluctantly, Douxie, Archie, and Zoe have been working with Steve, Toby, and AAARRRGGHH!!! for the better part of four hours. The past several minutes have been consumed by fighting the first of the many foes that Archie has foretold. Specifically, it’s a group of constructs, suits of armor made of wood, crystal, and metal.

The fight could be going much better. Zoe doesn’t seem to have much combat experience, or at least, she keeps on picking the wrong spells to use on the various constructs. Douxie himself has decided to just use simple shielding spells with his left hand and to manifest a sleek black dagger in his right hand.

Parry. Sidestep. Advance. Douxie scoffs as the wooden construct dodges out of the way. A part of him knows that using a sword like the ones he trained with as a child will have a better reach, but the mere thought of using one causes him to lose his footing. The construct lunges.

It is consumed by cyan light.

Douxie looks up, and his lips part slightly in a gasp. He, just like the rest of Arcadia Oaks, has been made aware that extraterrestrials exist. However, he hasn’t seen any of them up close. No one has told Douxie that they are so beautiful.

The boy jumps off the floating skateboard, and both it and the gun he is holding collapse into themselves.

“Sorry for being late, the Blanks wanted me to help clean and didn’t let me use my phone.”

“Just had to play the big hero, right?” Steve asks the Akiridion.

“No, without Mother the ship isn’t repairing itself the way it used to.”

Zoe gives Douxie a pointed look, and he stops staring at… honestly, Douxie isn’t sure what the Akiridon boy’s name is.

Something inside of him tells him he should be cautious. He ignores that feeling; it must be fear from the world being supposedly about to end.

Though, as he complains to Zoe, it’s really not fair that Krel is so beautiful in both forms.

“Hand me the ixvali,” Krel said. While they would never be able to replace Mother herself, the repairs on the mother ship were almost done after half a parson, give or take a couple delsons. Well, time and the unexpected outside help.

“That one’s the half-monkey wrench, half swage looking tool, right?” Krel looks over at Douxie. For the briefest of moments, they make eye contact, but Douxie looks slightly away before it can become uncomfortable. But he does not fully turn his head to look away like he often does. There is a soft smile on Douxie’s face as he looks at Krel. For some reason, this makes Krel’s digestive organs flutter in a way that is uncomfortable and confusing but not painful.

Douxie is holding out the correct tool. In his right hand, not through levitation like he often does when people who don’t know that Douxie is a wizard aren’t around. Douxie had once mentioned that certain textures make him tense, which Krel understands. He feels the same way around random sounds, sometimes, which is why he often uses headphones when working. But he isn’t using any today.

Though, Krel has no idea why Douxie thinks the ixvali looked like one of the less intelligent of Earth’s native species.

Krel takes the ixvali from Douxie, and his fingertips brush against Douxie’s skin as he does so. The places where Krel’s skin meets Douxie’s tingle even after Krel removes them, and as Krel turns away his face feels slightly warm.

“You’re pretty good at this. Engineering, that is,” Krel says, trying to distract himself from his thoughts. He watches Douxie from the corner of his eye. “Where’d you learn?”

Douxie’s smile falls into a scowl, and for some strange reason with it so does Krel’s core. “An old friend of my father’s taught me. I cut contact with him a long time ago, though. After he betrayed my aunt.”

“I’m sorry.”

Douxie blinks a couple times. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

Douxie doesn’t like fighting knights. Likewise, he doesn’t like that they’re fighting Merlin. It brings back way too many bad memories of death and betrayal. Then again, even the good memories are tainted by Camlann, so he tries not to think about his past in general. There are reasons why he goes by a false name, after all.

But, if he doesn’t fight Merlin’s knights then his friends will have to fight them without him. It could be hubris, but Douxie is pretty sure that without him his friends will be badly injured or worse. And they will wonder why he didn’t defend him, which will lead to suspicion and questions, and…

It’s better that he just swallows his bile and panic in order to stand at his friends’ sides and fight.

Advance. Parry. Lunge. Keep an eye out for Toby, who’s been slightly off his game ever since AAARRRGGHH!!! left to help the other trolls several days ago.

As he stabs his dagger between the knight’s rerebrace and pauldron, the knight swings his flail into Zoe’s unarmored stomach. Douxie winces as she goes flying; he twists his dagger so the knight’s pain will increase.

And a beam of water crashes into the knight. Douxie dismisses his dagger into the aether as the knight gets pushed back. Let the water stimulate blood flow, for all he cares.

Douxie looks towards the source of the water, and his jaw drops slightly. Zoe’s ears and fingers are webbed, and there are iridescent scales on her face and arms. She reminds him of someone he hasn’t seen in years. Technically over a millennium, if he counts the years he wasn’t around for.

The knight crushes an emerald between his armored fingers, allowing him to escape back to wherever Merlin is hiding.

“You’re not human, either?” Krel asks.

Zoe wraps her arms around herself, her shoulders drawing in like she’s trying to make herself smaller than she already is. Like she’s embarrassed about her appearance or scared of someone’s reaction. Except, this time she seems to be scared of Douxie and the others.

“No, I’m…” She looks at her feet. “Archie can probably explain it better. Shit, he’s gonna be so mad. I’m the Lady of the Lake. Well, the latest one, anyways.”

Douxie remembers the first Lady of the Lake. Personally, he likes Zoe better.

Now would be a good time to tell people about his past. To reassure Zoe that she’s not alone in having magic from a kingdom that no longer exists.

“Cool,” he says instead.

The stars are very different from home. It makes sense. It’s a different number of lightyears for each different type of starlight to reach Earth than it is for Akiridion-V. The two worlds also have different amounts of light pollution.

Krel and Douxie sit in a comfortable silence, staring at the stars and listening to the water in the pool lap against the walls. Not that talking to Douxie is uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. With both humans and Akiridions, there is always some barrier between Krel and communicating with them. While that barrier still exists with Douxie, it is so much lower than with most humans.

It has been three delsons since they and Toby and Steve learned the truth about Zoe and comforted her and told her cat that he could trust them, that unlike previous incarnations’ so-called friends they would protect her. It has been three weeks since Krel decided to stay on Earth and met Douxie. The only work left for the mothership is to wait for the new AI to install itself. It won’t be Mother. It’ll be less sapient, and it will take keltons for the AI to be anywhere near Mother’s level. But the ship has been rebuilt as it ever will be able to, in the aftermath of Morando’s attack.

Douxie inhales, sharp and loud, and grabs Krel’s hand. Douxie’s hand is calloused and slightly damp from sweat. The contact feels like when Krel has accidentally electrocuted himself, except for how it inspires no fear. If anything, it’s comforting.

Krel looks at Douxie. In the low light, Krel can barely make out that Douxie’s face is red.

“I, uh, I don’t know how to say this because even though I feel like I don’t have to adhere to a script and social cues as much around you both of those would be helpful right now because I have a crush on you and I understand if you don’t feel the same but I just wanted to tell you,” Douxie says quickly, glancing at Krel before looking around awkwardly, like he’s trying to find a way to escape.

Krel smiles and leans against Douxie, cherishing the way their arms brush together. He’s in his human form, so he can feel the blood rush to his own face, highlighting his cheeks in cyan. “I do. Feel the same the way, that is.”

It’s their first date. Or at least, Douxie thinks this might be their first date? Krel might not see it as a date, since his culture might have different rules for dating. He’s not even sure if he and Krel have technically been dating for the past less-than-forty-eight hours since they confessed their feelings for each other, or if dating starts with the first date. This is so different than what little he learned about courting when he was younger.

Last night he swiped a few mints from the bowl of them at the restaurant before leaving work. Really, it might’ve been more than a few, but the night was winding down anyways. He’s now crunching on one of them in apprehension as he waits for Krel to arrive. It’s a way to try and get rid of the nervous energy that fills his bones. Not for their intended purpose of making your mouth smell better and not taste like your last meal, for the purpose of talking or personal comfort or even kissing someone after the date ends.

Douxie feels himself blush at the idea of kissing Krel. Holding Krel’s hand is intense and Douxie isn’t ready for their relationship to go quickly. They haven’t even talked much about how they want this to progress, or if they’re going to do anything to make their relationship official – do Akiridions even have the concept of making a relationship official?

Douxie wipes his palms on his jeans again. It’s the end of July, and once more he is reconsidering his choice to have nothing in his modern wardrobe but the color black aside from three band shirts, one of which he uses for sleeping. At the very least, maybe he should have left his hoodie at home. He hates the cold, because the cold reminds him all too much of Camlann, but it’s almost never cold in July and August except for in air-conditioned buildings, and this one isn’t.

At the very least, if he wore less black, maybe his hands would be sweating less. Or maybe it’d be the same, because he’s nervous and Krel is running late. It’s only late by thirteen minutes, but Douxie is already anxious. At least no one is giving him a weird look for sitting here alone, not having ordered anything, like he knows that people

Douxie once more checks his phone. There’s nothing. No Krel changing his mind, and no frantic texts from friends who have been attacked and need backup. No magical notifications of knights or constructs, either. He sets his phone to sleep but doesn’t shove it in his pocket. He tries not to worry as he scans his surroundings.

The coffee shop is quiet. There are a couple other people, and some annoying pop song is playing, but other than that it’s quiet. It’s late morning on a weekday, and this coffee shop has never been as popular as the chain one a block away with a drive thru.

Douxie unlocks his phone again, and scowls down at it. Why did he make the pattern so complicated to draw when only using one hand to both hold and unlock his phone?

Someone taps Douxie’s shoulder, and he looks up.

It’s Krel. There’s a sheen of sweat on his face. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, but strands all over have fallen out. He’s beautiful.

“Sorry I’m late,” Krel says, out of breath.

“It’s fine,” Douxie says, his scowl quickly fading into a smile. He rises from his seat, and the two of them go to stand in line to order drinks.

Seven minutes later, the two of the are sitting once more. Krel is telling a story from his childhood as he dumps his third and final sugar packet into his otherwise black coffee. “And then Luug came running in and tripped up Loth Saborian. Oh, uh, Luug’s mine and Aja’s pet soolian. Well, he’s more Aja’s than mine.”

“I thought he was her dog.” Douxie took a sip of his chai to try and cover up his awkward expression as he realized what he just said. “Though I guess that’s what your sister called him to blend in when he got loose?”

“Yeah, plus his transduction is a dog, though he wasn’t transducted when he swallowed my prototype. Um, that was when she was chasing him all over town. Did you ever have any pets?”

“My father had a dog when I was growing up; his name was Cavall. Which I found odd growing up, since his name meant horse. And, like, he was a hunting hound? Or at least he was before I was born, but he was getting old. But, I had thought it could get confusing. Maybe it was just me, though. So, anyways, what happened after Luug tripped your parents’ advisor?”

Twenty-seven horvaths after their date, Krel still feels oddly buoyant. He wonders if Douxie feels the same way.

Douxie is off working at his job at the bistro, and the rest of them are hanging out with Zoe as she works at the record store. She had poked him in the shoulder and told him not to shoplift, with a smile on her face. Krel had rolled his eyes, and now he is looking through the various albums while the others talk. If he finds an album with an interesting title, or even a song with an interesting title, he plays it on his phone, the volume low and muffled by his hand because he didn’t bring his headphones and earbuds feel so weird. It’s like research.

Toby sighs. “I hope I get my soulmate’s name soon. I’m pretty sure I’m, like, one out of the only three, maybe four, people in our year who doesn’t have one.”

“I mean, does Darci have her soulmate’s name yet?” Steve asks.

“No, she’s one of the other three to four people in our year,” Toby says, “but we also haven’t spoken much in the past week since she’s on vacation the other side of the planet right now. And she’s a couple months older than me.”

Krel glances at his oddly bare wrist as he looks up a band called Starset on his phone. He doesn’t want to meet Mordred Pendragon, whoever or wherever he is. Krel is very happy with Douxie, and he doesn’t want to meet his soulmate.

“Dude, I doubt she’ll break up with you even if it turns out that she has a soulmate who isn’t a huge furry.” Toby punches Steve in the arm.

“I mean, does it matter if you have a soulmate?” Zoe pipes up. “I mean, I don’t have one. Though, I’m not sure if it’s because I’m aro, or well, I’ve already got a mark on my arm stating my destiny.”

“Okay, but like, aren’t platonic soulmates a thing?” Toby asks. “And multiple?”

“Yeah, but studies have shown that aro-spec people have a higher tendency to not have soulmates than alloromantic people,” Zoe says. Krel wonders if this is true across species, or if he’s in the minority of demiromantics. “Also, multiple soulmates are, like really rare. Plus, I don’t want one anyways?”

“Hey, if you get your arm cut off above your tattoo thing, would you lose all your magic?” Steve asks, rubbing at where Eli’s name is on his wrist.

Zoe blinks a couple times, her voice lowering in volume. “Don’t know, don’t let Archie hear you say that; why do you ask?”

“Well, there’s the superstition that if you cut off the wrist that has your soulmate’s name, they’re no longer your soulmate,” Steve says in a low voice

“I mean, are we sure that wasn’t just something made up to dehumanize people who’d lost hands?” Toby asks.

Zoe shrugs. “Trust me, I don’t specialize in soul-based magic, and if I try Archie will never let me hear the end of it because it’s dark. But, yeah, I have no idea what magic goes on when it comes to lost hands and soulmates.”

Merlin has sent another knight after them along with a trio of constructs. This knight does not wear a helmet, so Douxie can see the knight’s identity. It’s Caradoc, but he seems strangely younger than how Douxie remembers. Maybe it’s the lack of stress from no longer having to run a kingdom. Maybe Camlann and everything that came after had been good for Caradoc and the kingdom of Gwent.

Douxie remembers being told when he was young that Camelot protected the other kingdoms from Gumm-Gumms and dark wizards, and yet despite that, many opposed it because its king had grown up under the care of a minor lord. Caradoc had been one of those in opposition, and Douxie had been told to remain cautious about him. Except, he hadn’t yet been Douxie then.

“Hand over Mordred,” Caradoc says, “and I’ll let most of you kids go.”

Douxie is keenly aware of the way sweat drips down the back of his neck as Toby and Steve give each other confused glances, Krel raises an eyebrow, and Zoe narrows her eyes.

“Who’s Mordred?” Steve asks. The sound of distant traffic covers Douxie’s relieved sigh as he realizes that none of them associate him with that name.

Krel shifts his serrator into its gun form, and Zoe sends a wall of water towards Caradoc. Douxie summons a dagger and a shield before he charges towards Caradoc.

Parry. Dodge. Parry. Lunge. Parry. Thrust. Adjust footing. Douxie focuses entirely on the fight in a way that would be dangerous if anyone else wanted to attack him.

Parry. Thrust. Adjust shielding spell. Douxie focuses on the fight, because if he allows himself to think about anything else his mind will focus on things that are dangerous to think about. Things like Camlann, and the three hazy days that followed where Merlin revealed the lengths he was willing to go to fight the Gumm-Gumms.

As Douxie’s dagger clashes against Caradoc’s sword, their eyes meet. Caradoc grabs Douxie’s shoulder, prolonging the painful eye contact.

“Should I tell them, or have you already told them, Mordred?” Caradoc says in a low voice. Douxie feels pressure wrap around his skull and numbness settle into his bone. “And should the Lady of the Lake find out before she dies?”

Mordred doesn’t think as he releases the shielding spell and flicks his fingers in the right way to summon a burst of bright blue light to distract Caradoc enough that Mordred can escape his grip. It’s muscle memory to change his dagger into a sword. Before either of them can recover, Mordred rams his sword up through Caradoc’s chest, using magic to bypass Caradoc’s armor.

Mordred dismisses the sword and lets Caradoc’s body fall. He has forgotten what it is like for another person’s blood to soak into his clothing. It is warm, too warm, warm enough that an icy coldness settles into the rest of his body. He was able to forget, to think that every time he woke up screaming and soaked in his own sweat that it was as bad as when he was covered in his father’s blood, but this is so. Much. Worse.

“First kill?” Toby asks, and Mordred can’t tell if his voice is suspicious or sympathetic. This is not Mordred’s first time killing another human being. This is the first time he has killed another human when he feels like his body and mind mostly belong to him.

Mordred hopes his trembling approximates to the proper kind of nod. He takes a few steps towards his friends, but he then turns away so he can violently expel the contents of his stomach into a nearby bush. He appreciates the way Krel grabs Mordred’s bangs and holds them away from Mordred’s face, even if his boyfriend looks disgusted. Hopefully by the vomit and not the fact that Mordred just killed someone. He isn’t even sure if it was entirely to save his best friend or to save himself from everyone else’s judgement. Maybe he didn’t have to kill Caradoc. He could have incapacitated him. Maybe.

Mordred stands up, wipes his mouth on his sleeve, and grimaces. “I’m going to go home and get ready for work,” he says quickly. Hopefully not too quickly. His friends give him what he hopes are sympathetic looks, and he runs off.

He locks himself in his apartment and rips off his soiled clothes. He brushes his teeth to get rid of the taste of vomit as he waits for the water to heat up; while he wants to be free from the feeling of blood on him he doesn’t want to be cold, because being cold means the memories of stabbing through his father’s chest will feel so much more real because Mordred had been cold when he killed his father.

Mordred removes his watch and his bracelets before he tests the water’s temperature with one hand. As he does so, the cyan writing that has been on the inside of his wrist for three years catches his eye. He has spent enough time with Krel to know that the script is Akiridion. Something between a maniacal laugh and a pitiful sob bursts from his lips. He loves Krel. Krel can’t be his soulmate, though, because a soulmate is another prophecy, and the last prophecy involving Mordred didn’t end well. It ended in him dissociating into a state of eerie numbness where he couldn’t control his body and he killed his father by stabbing him through the chest. Just like he stabbed Caradoc through the chest.

But, but Krel had mentioned that while the population of Akiridion-V is smaller than Earth, the amount of Akiridions in the universe is about four and a half times the number of humans. And Akiridions aren’t the only ones who used the Akiridion script. So, it is entirely possible that Krel isn’t Mordred’s soulmate. It’s possible that fate won’t make Mordred kill Krel.

Mordred finishes undressing and enters the shower, twisting his body to soak up as much heat as possible. Because he hasn’t stopped trembling, he can’t tell if he’s sobbing or if soap has just gotten in his eyes.

When Douxie finally exits the shower once more, his skin is raw from scrubbing, heat, and in some areas just how much he had scratched at it, trying to escape the phantom feeling of someone else’s blood.

“Are you alright?” Krel softly asks his boyfriend as the two of them meet up in front of Zoe’s house. “After everything that happened yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Douxie says as he stares at the sidewalk. “Well, I’ve been better, but I’m doing better than yesterday.”

Krel squeezes Douxie’s hand once before dropping it as they step through the door. The two of them are the last to arrive. Steve, Toby, and Zoe are talking in hushed voices, but they stop before Krel can hear what they’re saying. Archie bats at one of Douxie’s shoelaces, nearly tripping them. They take their seats at Zoe’s kitchen table. It’s cramped, and the chairs don’t match, like normally there are only three chairs.

“Okay, so, Mordred,” Zoe says. “A basic Wikipedia search will tell you he’s the son of King Arthur, and he grew up to kill Arthur at a place called Camlann. But that’s where things start to go awry. Mordred practically killed Arthur in cold blood, and he was also Merlin’s apprentice, which means that he should be an enemy of ours. Except, we don’t know where he is, and I don’t think Merlin knows where he is either.” She turns in her chair towards Archie. “Uh, am I missing any details?”

Douxie twists his skull pendant on its string.

Archie raises his head from his bowl of cat food and swallows before speaking. “Mordred did everything he’s infamous for prior to my birth, so it’s not like I can provide you with fine details. Oh, stop giving me that look, I’m not that ancient. But, your memories from the first Lady of the Lake are more accurate.” Archie walks over to the table and hops on top of it. “The one thing I can tell you is that soon after killing Arthur, Mordred disappeared. In fact, until you came to me with this information, I had thought he was dead. And if he’s alive, then why hasn’t he come out of hiding until now?”

Krel flips the clasp to his watch back and forth, trying not to cringe.

“Okay, but why would that knight have thought he was with us?” Steve asks.

Toby shrugs. “Maybe Merlin thinks Mordred turned against him and took refuge with us? I mean, about half of our oldest troll allies – in terms of being on our side, mind you – all tried to kill me and… and Jim, at one point or another.”

Douxie sits up straight. He stares very intently at where some dishes are drying. “I mean, maybe we can use this against Merlin? I mean, maybe Merlin did something that made, er, Mordred turn against him. And maybe Mordred is so against Merlin that, that he’d be willing to work with. Us.”

Everyone stares at Douxie before Zoe clears her throat. “Are you forgetting the whole ‘killed his dad in cold blood’ thing? We wouldn’t be able to trust Mordred not to kill us in the hypothetical scenario that he hates Merlin.”

Douxie slouches down into his chair, twisting one of the white strings of his hoodie between his fingers.

“Hey, what’s Mordred’s family name?” Krel asks slowly, using his right hand to twist the watch on his left hand.

“Pendragon,” Zoe says. “Why?”

Krel sighs. “Mordred Pendragon is my soulmate.”

Douxie inhales sharply.

Toby makes a disgusted face that quickly turns into confusion. “Wait, but you don’t have a name on your wrist. Or is it under your watch?”

Krel pulls out his serrator and changes back into his Akiridion form. “It’s just not on my human form.” He rolls up his lower right sleeve to expose his soulmate’s name. Zoe, Toby, Steve, and Archie all lean in to stare at it with morbid curiosity. Douxie stays sitting the exact same way he has been, but one of his eyelids twitches.

“Could we, I don’t know, track him through Krel?” Toby asks. Douxie pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. Krel finds it sweet that Douxie’s home screen is a picture of Krel.

“Dark. Magic,” Zoe and Archie say in unison. Douxie opens his texting app but does not exit from the groupchat that five teenagers sitting at this table use.

“Hey, uh, my manager wants me to come in early today, I need to go,” Douxie says. He leaves too quickly for Krel to call him out on his lie.

Krel finds him hours later, during Douxie’s actual shift at GDT Arcane Books.

Mordred sighs. He doesn’t want to do this. He has to do this to save Krel’s life. Behind the counter, he casts a quick illusory spell.

“You didn’t need to come in early,” Krel says. “I saw your phone.”

Mordred stays silent.

“Why’d you lie about it?” Krel asks. “Are you – is this because you’re not my soulmate?”

“Yes.” No, quite the opposite. He is Krel’s soulmate. While unrequited soulmates do exist, it is far more likely that Krel is Mordred’s soulmate. Which means that Krel is in danger. Prophecy and Mordred put together is dangerous.

“Look, I knew you weren’t my soulmate when we got together, so why does it matter?”

“It, it does.”

“You’re being really petty. And shallow.” Krel’s voice raises with each word.

“Okay. Are you done?”

“Well, do you have anything to say?”

“I made a mistake.” Krel’s face softens, and Mordred forces venom into his own voice even though he doesn’t want to hurt Krel. “I should have never fallen for you. And had I known the truth about you and, you and Mordred, I would have never let myself fall for you.”

Krel’s glare returns with a vengeance. “I can’t believe you. When Merlin’s defeated, I never want to speak to you again!”

As Krel storms out of the bookstore, Mordred releases the spell that he used to hide the tears in his eyes.

Krel wants to just lie on his bed and read through old blueprints with a recording of the common sounds of Akiridion-V playing in the background. He wants to lose himself in engineering, so he won’t have to think about Douxie and Mordred. Technically, he had just wanted to lay on his bed face-down when he had gotten home, but Krel has found that doing so doesn’t stimulate his brain enough and without stimulation all of his thoughts go to his now-ex-boyfriend.

But his phone gives him an alert. He’s getting a call from Akiridion-V. And so, with a groan, he drags himself out of his bed and into the lower portion of the Mothership, where the video call center is.

“Hi, Krel!” Aja says. She looks exhausted, but she is still so cheerful that some of Krel’s own misery fades away.

“Hi. How’s life as queen?”

“Busy. So, so, so very busy. I wish I had listened more to Mama and Papa.” She looks away from him, face falling.

“Me, too,” Krel says softly. It’s not hard for him to believe they’ve been dead for so long, though. Aside from the few short moments, they had been reduced to their cores. They had been practically dead, and the mourning wasn’t as hard. But Krel isn’t constantly surrounded by reminders of his parents. He has other things to worry about, like –

No, Krel is not thinking about his ex right now.

“It doesn’t help that some of the lesser royal houses think that I’m not ready, considering that I ran away from the first coronation.”

“Yeah, you kind of brought that on yourself.”

“But, anyways, enough about me,” Aja says, her smile returning. “You had some non-urgent but important good news a couple delsons ago? And I’m sorry I didn’t have time before, but I do now!”

Krel feels his own face fall. “I… I had wanted to tell you that I had a boyfriend, but, he broke up with me two horvaths ago.”

“Oh, Krel, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to come back and beat him up for you?”

“No, I handled it. I just… before today, he’s never been so shallow. He broke up with me because he found out I’m not his soulmate.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to beat him up for you? Or send Varvatos to do so?”

“No, Aja. By the way, have you told Steve about your own soulmate? And speaking of him, how is Varvatos?”

Parry. Adjust footing. Advance. Shove phone back into hoodie pocket because that was a stupid place for Douxie to put his phone when he knew he was running towards a fight. Step out of the way for Zoe to get the finishing blow.

“Anyone else think that construct was oddly weak?” Steve asks. The five of them are crowded into one of Arcadia’s alleys, having gotten up relatively early to go fight it. Krel had given Douxie a murderous glare, and afterwards had just ignored Douxie.

Mordred is very tempted to beg for Krel’s forgiveness, but no. It’s safer this way. If they don’t spend time together, the likelihood of Mordred killing his soulmate goes down.

“Don’t you dare jinx us,” Toby says.

“I mean, Steve’s kind of –” Zoe starts before she gets blown back by a wave of magic. So do Krel, Steve, and Toby. Only Mordred is left standing.

Mordred, and Merlin, who drops the spell he was using to keep Mordred and the others from noticing him.

“Kneel,” Merlin commands.

A coldness spreads through Mordred’s limbs. He mindlessly walks forward, ready to follow this command and kneel in front of his master. Douxie shakes it off and breaks into a run. As he does so, his phone falls out of his hoodie pocket, but he pays it no mind.

Mordred attempts to stab Merlin with his dagger, but Merlin parries with the Staff of Avalon. Glowing green ropes force Mordred into a kneeling position.

Mordred looks behind himself. Scales are flickering on and off of Zoe’s skin, and the construct has come back to life and is trying to entrap her within it. Everyone else is trying to pry her out. Mordred fights against his bonds, trying to escape them so he can help Zoe.

“For all of his faults,” Merlin says, “your father never lost the humility that came with not having been raised a prince. Unlike you, Mordred.”

In the background, one of his friends – or at least, former friends, now that they know – gasps.

Upon hearing his name, Mordred tries to hang his head in shame. Merlin places the Staff of Avalon under Mordred’s chin and forces Mordred to look at Merlin. Mordred tries to avoid his former master’s gaze, but Merlin helped to raise Mordred. Merlin knows how Mordred will try to avoid eye contact by faking it, by looking at people’s eyebrows, forehead, cheeks, or nose. Merlin knows that Mordred finds prolonged eye contact painful, and so he’s using this against Mordred.

Mordred hears Toby exclaim something, and footsteps behind him, but he can’t make them out any further due to the ringing in his ears.

Merlin removes his staff from under Mordred’s chin and slams the butt of it into the ground, sending the two of them away from the battle.

They make their way to Zoe’s house. Krel gets the feeling that everyone else is also reeling from the battle, if for possibly different reasons.

“Are you alright?” Archie asks, curling his body around Zoe’s legs. She picks up her familiar. She looks like she wants to hug him, but she holds him in front of her instead.

“Did. You. Know?” Zoe asks.

Archie nods gravely. “Yes, I warned you years ago about how Merlin will try to bind you if he ever found you. He did so to… to far too many of your predecessors. I am so glad you’re not imprisoned.”

“I… no, did you know that Douxie is Mordred?” She then hugs Archie to her chest. Her arms shake as she does so.

“He’s what?” Archie climbs to her shoulder and looks around at the four of them. “Again, I wasn’t born yet. If what your saying is true, then you met him before I did. Then again, the two of you always did act like cousins, so it makes sense. But where is he?”

“Merlin took him,” Toby says, one of his hands curling into a fist. With the other he takes Douxie’s phone out of his pocket and places it on the table. “And it’s not like we’ll be able to contact him.”

“It doesn’t make sense, though,” Zoe says, not really looking at any of them. “Mordred’s supposed to be bloodthirsty and back during freshman year Douxie nearly had a panic attack while trying to take care of me because I accidentally sliced my finger open.”

“Well, maybe Douxie isn’t Mordred and Merlin made a mistake by calling him that?” Krel offers. Douxie can’t be Mordred, because Mordred is Krel’s soulmate and Douxie broke up with Krel because Douxie isn’t Krel’s soulmate.

“How did Douxie respond to being called Mordred?” Archie asks. “Did he try to refute this at all.”

“No, he just kind of collapsed in on himself,” Zoe says.

Toby smiles weakly at Krel. “Well, at least your soulmate isn’t some creepy old dude who likes killing people?”

“But, he can’t be. If Douxie is Mordred, and he’s known that he’s Mordred, then why did he break up with me yesterday?”

“Wait, he broke up with you?” Toby asks.

“I told you two that they had gotten together, pay up,” Steve says.

“We never actually made that bet,” Zoe says.

“You three bet on us?” Krel is in his human form and he isn’t sure if he wants to cross his arms or put them on his hips.

“We didn’t agree to it,” Toby and Zoe say almost in unison.

“But anyways, he broke up with you?” Toby says.

“Yeah. Douxie was mad that Mordred is my soulmate. And it doesn’t seem like him to be so mad that he’s not my soulmate, but it makes more sense than him being mad that he is my soulmate and lying about it.”

They teleport to a fort with stone walls and floors. Jim walks up to them, movements stilted like a puppet. His eyes are glowing green.

“Take him to the antimagic cell for now while I prepare,” Merlin says.

Jim grabs Mordred by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to his feet. Jim then pushes Mordred to start walking down the hall.

Mordred’s hands tremble with a nervous energy. He narrows his eyes and begins to try to do the hand movements inherent to the first spell he ever cast. It’s more difficult to cast it in a stealthy fashion, considering that the first time he ever cast the spell he hadn’t even been trying to cast spells. He hadn’t even known he was a wizard back then; he was just a three-year-old who would flap his hands whenever he got excited, and that day he had managed to flap them in such a way that caused his magic to ignite.

After slightly less than a minute, Mordred’s hands erupt into balls of blue fire. Unfortunately, Jim does not startle from this. Instead, he just pulls a dagger from his armor and hold it to Mordred’s throat. Mordred lets the fireballs dissipate into nothingness.

“Okay, I won’t do that,” Douxie says. “But seriously, Jim, you need to fight this. I know we don’t know each other that well, but surely you don’t want to be doing this?”

Jim remains mind controlled as he throws Mordred into the antimagic cell. Literally throws. Mordred knows he’s going to have bruises from the impact.

The cell door swings closed quickly, but an armored hand catches it. It’s not Jim. It’s the knight that had hit Zoe with a flail, forcing her to reveal the source of her magic. He’s not wearing his helmet.

“Agravaine?” Mordred says, forcing himself to sit up even though it will likely be more comfortable to continue lying on the floor. He wonders if he hit his head, because his cousin is apparently still alive after all these centuries. “You changed your armor.”

“You know, I thought you were finally starting to get smart, when you killed your father and all that,” Agravaine says. “Clearly you’re still a dumb kid.”

“Are Gawain, Gaheris, and Gareth still alive?” Mordred asks. Agravaine scowls, like it’s Mordred’s fault that he had found his other three Orkney cousins more interesting and fun to be around when he was growing up. Personally, Mordred had liked Agravaine better than their cousin Ywain le Fay, but if Agravaine is working for Merlin then Ywain is now his second-to-least favorite cousin on his father’s side.

“No,” Agravaine says. “Gareth and Gaheris were killed by Gumm-Gumms. Gawain, on the other hand, he made the mistake of opposing Merlin.” Agravaine lets go of the cell door, letting it continue swinging close. “But if it’s any help, I’m sure Merlin has a better use for you than death.”

“Just, why didn’t he tell us?” Zoe asks.

“I think he tried,” Steve says. Everyone looks towards him. “Yesterday, Douxie tried to get us to believe that maybe Mordred would be willing to help us.”

“He was stuttering a lot,” Archie says.

“Exactly!” Steve says. “I mean, without any proof his idea of Mordred being on our side sounded kind of crazy, but I think he was trying to, you know, test the waters? See if it was safe to reveal himself? Kind of like how Aja did with me. And we completely blew it. Now, him being weird and breaking up with you for being his soulmate while claiming the opposite, I’m getting a headache just thinking about it, but everything else? I think he was trying to get us to help and we didn’t help him.”

Zoe sighs. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Krel nods in agreement.

“I’m going to call Claire,” Toby says. “Let her know what to look out for, see if she has any intel, see how she, Blinky, and my Wingman are doing when it comes to protecting the trolls from Merlin. See how she’s healing from Merlin cutting off her hand – I hope Merlin doesn’t try doing that to Douxie, especially since it might be harder to get his hand back than it was with Claire. By Deya, I want him to stop hurting my friends.”

And getting Claire’s hand had led to Merlin controlling Jim.

“We’ll save him,” Krel vows.

Douxie isn’t sure how long he’s been kept in the antimagic cell, alone with only his memories to plague him. Well, that, and one very stale piece of bread that Agravaine tossed at Mordred’s head.

Jim opens the door to the cell, and gestures for Mordred to come out. Jim never enters the cell. Douxie wonders if entering the cell will free Jim.

Maybe Mordred should feel guilty for having made the amulet. Sure, the amulet ensured that the Gumm-Gumms, the beings who killed two of Mordred’s parents and two of Mordred’s cousins, were finally defeated, but it’s also being used to control Jim. But he’s too exhausted to think about it. He’s exhausted from being completely cut off from his magic, so Mordred doesn’t fight back. He just goes to wear Jim leads him.

It’s a small room, but it’s larger than Douxie’s cell. Jim shuts the door behind Mordred, leaving him alone with Merlin. Merlin has his back to the entrance. A set of papers float in front of him. One set older, one set newer. Nearby, a sword is being sharpened with magic.

Mordred swallows down his bile. It’s Excalibur, out of its sheath. His father didn’t unsheathe Excalibur when he fought Mordred at Camlann.

In the center of the room is a stone pillar.

Merlin flicks a hand, and Mordred is dragged towards the pillar by magic. Ropes twist themselves around his arms, legs, and torso. His upper right arm is on the pillar. Mordred is able to twist his head to try and see the papers.

He’s seen the set of old papers before. He first saw them soon before he accidentally sent himself to the twenty-first century. Actually, they’re what truly inspired him to run away from Merlin. They’re the plans to the Amulet of Daylight.

The newer papers look like plans for an amulet.

Mordred remembers how Claire nearly lost a hand to Merlin, and how even now it’s still healing from the dismemberment.

“Please don’t do this,” Mordred pleads as he tries to force himself not to hyperventilate. “I can help you in other ways.”

Merlin grabs Excalibur. “You should have thought of that centuries ago. Besides, you’d be surprised by how hard it is to find wizard hands.”

Mordred glares at Merlin and tries to summon his magic. Lightning, fire, anything. But he hasn’t recovered from the antimagic cell, so he can’t fight back. He still strains against his bindings.

“Fine, have it your way and fight back,” Merlin says. “It’ll only hurt worse.”

As Merlin brings down Excalibur, Mordred’s last thought before painful oblivion takes him is that he can almost understand why Aunt Morgana turned on everyone.

But only almost.

It’s been a long two delsons since Merlin took Mordred. They’ve tried to cover up Douxie’s disappearance. Zoe with illusory magic, Krel with a hastily thrown together transduction, and Toby and Steve with a shared glamour mask. That, and the fact that Douxie’s phone got left behind. They’ve seen him unlock it enough times that it isn’t too hard to hack, though the pattern is annoyingly complicated.

Krel sighs. He’s supposed to meet up with Zoe in a few horvaths, to try and find a way to upgrade their weapons and armor. Well, everyone else’s weapons and armor, considering that Krel’s doesn’t need upgrading. They don’t know where Mordred, Jim, and Merlin are, but they’ll need to be stronger if they want to be able to ever fight Merlin to get their friends back. For now, though, he’s sitting in his room, sipping at a glass of juice that Lucy gave him.

An idea comes to him. It’s technically a violation of privacy, but Krel and the others have already been through Douxie’s phone. Krel’s desire to check Mordred’s wrist can’t be any worse. It’s just a selfish desire for Krel to see his own name on his ex’s wrist.

Krel activates the transduction that makes him look like Douxie. Krel’s name should be on Mordred’s right wrist, underneath the bracelets he always wears. The bracelets don’t budge.

Krel doesn’t get why he’s so disappointed when he returns to his Akiridion form. He should’ve known that the bracelets wouldn’t move. It’s a very basic transduction, only meant to fool people who won’t look too closely. People who don’t know Douxie’s mannerisms and won’t touch enough Douxie to notice that his clothes won’t move from his body. It’s meant to keep people from missing him.

It doesn’t stop Krel from missing Douxie. Krel frowns. He doesn’t want to miss Douxie. He isn’t fine with his ex being held captive by Merlin, but he also doesn’t want to miss him. He wants Douxie to be safe, and maybe a little miserable without Krel. He wants Mordred to be regretting his decision to break up with Krel. He wants an apology, and an explanation. But Krel doesn’t want to miss Douxie, he wants to try and ignore Douxie’s entire existence. Except, even when Krel and Douxie had just broken up, Krel hadn’t been able to ignore him. Krel isn’t sure if he’d be able to ignore Douxie like he wants to be able to, even if Douxie was safe and far from Merlin and not Mordred. Krel can’t stop thinking about Douxie, because…

Because…

“I love him,” Krel admits quietly to his empty room. Krel sits on his bed, one hand over his core. A single tear rolls down his cheek. Despite everything that Mordred has supposedly done, Krel loves him. Despite how much Douxie has hurt Krel by breaking up with him, Krel loves him. Or maybe that’s why he’s so hurt by the breakup, because Krel has never loved anyone the way he’s loves Douxie before.

Krel wipes his eyes with his lower right hand. He then rolls down the sleeve of that arm and presses his lips to where Mordred’s name has been on Krel’s wrist for three keltons.

Krel lowers his arm and chuckles a little, feeling silly for what he has just done.

He isn’t ready to forgive Douxie for how he hurt Krel, but maybe, just maybe, the two of them can go back to being on speaking terms after they rescue Mordred.

Mordred keeps his arms against his chest. Each time he hears footsteps pass by the dim cell that Merlin is keeping him in, Mordred finds himself switching which arm is crossed over the other even though doing so aggravates his injury. He can’t decide which arm he wants to be closer to any impending attack. His right arm feels useless, and it’d be better to use it to protect his left arm. However, he can’t bear the thought of his right arm getting any more hurt. He hasn’t been given painkillers, not pills, potions, spells, or even theriac, though the last of those might be hard to come by in this century. He certainly hasn’t been able to heal himself; an iron cuff has replaced his wristwatch and has locked away his ability to cast spells. The closest he has to a painkiller is the numbness that comes from having been locked in a small, dim cell for what feels like a very long time with nothing to distract himself with other than distant footsteps.

He supposes that the cuff better than the antimagic cell, because the inability to access his magic doesn’t feel as oppressive. Also, Jim has actually been handing the stale bread to him instead of just throwing it at him. But in the antimagic cell he wasn’t chained to a wall by his left arm. In the antimagic cell he could walk around more than two paces. In the antimagic cell he still had two hands.

Perhaps Mordred should consider himself lucky that he had been given bandages, not left to bleed out. Then again, luck is another form of fate, and fate is never on his side. Merlin probably has something planned for Mordred. Something horrible. Perhaps Merlin will harvest Mordred’s left hand as well, and then go on to harvest other parts of his body for spell components..

He can’t just be bait. Perhaps he thinks of himself as too important, but it doesn’t seem right. If Douxie is just bait, then Merlin wouldn’t have revealed Mordred’s identity to everyone else. Merlin would know that Zoe would hate Mordred and would lead the others in hating Mordred even if he had been their friend. If Douxie is bait, then he will fail at the role Merlin was forcing him to play. No one will come for him.

His friends hate him.

His soulmate is grateful that he doesn’t have to look at Douxie, if they’re even soulmates anymore.

His only living family are a cousin who’s never really liked him (and whom he’s never really liked back), and a genocidal aunt trapped in another dimension. Honestly, Aunt Morgana’s more likely to kill Mordred as she razes Merlin’s stronghold than she is to rescue Mordred. Never mind that once Mordred had found the list of ingredients Merlin had used for the amulet, Mordred had run away. He hadn’t been able to apologize to his aunt for everything involving her lost hand in a timely manner because he had accidentally sent himself forward in time about a millennium and a half, but she won’t take his excuses. Besides, she probably won’t recognize him; she hadn’t recognized him back when she had been possessing Claire. So why would she save him?

No one will save Douxie.

Mordred hears footsteps, and he recrosses his arms.

“I am so glad you’re finally taking an interest in your past,” Archie says as he half reads, half lies on top of the plans that Krel and Zoe have drawn up.

“I’ve ‘taken an interest’ in artificing work before,” Zoe says.

“You wanted to make a magical flamethrower. Honestly, given that three of your uncles are firefighters and both your father and grandfather worked in a chemical plant, I wouldn’t be surprised if a mild case of pyromania runs in your family,” Archie says. “Really, you’re the Lady of the Lake, not the Lady of the Bonfire.”

“Some planets have lakes of fire,” Krel provides. Archie glares at him, stands up, and walks to sit directly in the doorway. Zoe just rolls her eyes.

“By the way, why does your armor need to have pink and blue ribbons?” Krel asks. No one else is getting anything as fanciful. Toby’s armor is being upgraded to be more like Jim’s in that Toby will be able to put it on in a flash of light. Steve is going to be getting a helmet and breastplate, and also an axe, all of which will be collapsible. He has broken far too many baseball bats when fighting constructs; it’s time for him to get a real weapon.

“Because in combination with the armor being silver, it’s trans rights,” Zoe says. “Also, I probably watched way too many magical girl shows when I was a kid. I mean, that was one of things that was actually cool about getting the Lady of the Lake powers. I thought I was getting a cool, supportive black cat that would actually be a useful and effective guide.”

“I can hear you,” Archie says.

Zoe ignores him. “That, and just the gender affirming part. By the way, Krel, are you sure you don’t want to do any upgrades?”

“I’m fine with just my serrator. I mean, it’d be nice to work on my portable wormhole generator, but we need weapons and armor. Besides, I’m more durable than the rest of you.”

Zoe frowns. “Sure, I just don’t want you to get hurt when we go to save Doux… Mor… ugh, I don’t know what to call him.”

“I’m sure we can ask him when we rescue him.” Krel hopes they can do so soon.

For once, it’s Agravaine dragging Mordred out of his cell. Literally dragging. At least Jim had left Mordred with some dignity left by allowing him to walk. Agravaine had taken the chain binding Mordred to the wall and is using it to drag Mordred along at a demanding pace. Or perhaps it’s a normal pace, and Mordred’s limbs are just not used to being able to move this long. Mordred does not know how much time he has spent shackled to a wall. He does not know how long it has been since he lost his hand.

He doesn’t dare to ask. When he was a child, Merlin told Mordred that he asked too many questions. Mordred doesn’t dare ask any now, for fear of punishment.

Agravaine takes Mordred back to the room where he lost his hand. Mordred tries not to hyperventilate as he looks around for a source of escape. Agravaine attaches the chain to the wall and leaves the room.

Excalibur isn’t in the room, but that does not give Mordred any comfort. Merlin might keep it with him. He might also keep it in some sort of pocket dimension. Not that Mordred can remember Merlin ever using that sort of magic. It had always been Aunt Morgana using magic inherent to alternate dimensions.

Then again, according to Krel there were more than three spatial dimensions, so maybe shadow magic isn’t needed to access them. Mordred misses Krel and everyone else so much. He doesn’t deserve to miss them, though. Especially not Krel. He doubts they miss him. They think he’s a ruthless, bloodthirsty killer. They hate him. Mordred doesn’t blame them. He hates himself, too.

Merlin enters the room. One of Merlin’s hands is empty. The other is clasped around something.

Merlin releases the shackle around Mordred’s wrist. Immediately, Mordred can feel his magic begin to return to his body. Before Mordred can attempt to cast any spells, Merlin’s hand wraps around Mordred’s throat. Merlin then places something circular and cold against Mordred’s chest. As Merlin removes his hand from Mordred’s throat, there is a flash of green light.

Mordred feels a numbness wrap around his skull and armor wrap around his body.

He doesn’t feel like Mordred anymore.

He doesn’t feel like Douxie anymore.

He doesn’t feel like a person.

He feels cold.

This feeling is familiar, and he is terrified.

The construct they were sent to fight was incredibly weak. Or maybe the upgrades to their weapons and armor are just that strong. Either way, after Merlin’s ambush Krel is nervous about weak constructs. He gets the feeling that the others are as well. All four of them look around, making sure there is no other threat.

It’s rare that any of them have seen one of the knights or the constructs actually teleport in front of them, but it always starts the same way. Smoke begins to swirl in the floor. As it rises, it glows with green light, and when it clears the knight or construct is there.

Mordred is there. He wears black armor. His helmet has a dragon with outstretched wings on it, and his pauldrons, knee-guards, and elbow-guards all look like wings. There are wings on the armor’s tasset as well. Mordred’s hands are completely encased in armor, and the guards on his knuckles are similar to the ones on his other joints. An amulet glows on Mordred’s chest plate with a poisonous green light, and the brightness of the carvings in his armor seem to correspond to how close they are to the amulet. The amulet looks like Jim’s, but the hands resemble wings. In addition, the amulet is about a third of the size of Jim’s.

His eyes are black and green and glowing.

Krel moves to take a step towards Mordred, but Toby puts his arm out and steps to the front.

“So,” Toby says. “You’re still too much of a coward to actually face us, so you’re going to keep using my friends as a shield.”

“I’m sorry,” Mordred says. His voice sounds pained and so very tired.

Toby’s expression changes from determined to terrified. Mordred’s hands open from the fists they had been clenched into. He waves his left hand in an arc, and five floating daggers appear in the air. He reaches out his right arm, and a sword appears in his hand. The crosspiece of the sword and daggers all have the same wing motif.

He lunges forward, and everyone has to scatter from formation to avoid the daggers.

Krel has fought Douxie before in practice spars. So have the others. Douxie rarely won, because he was always cautious while fighting them. Like he was afraid of hurting them.

The way that Douxie fights now is far more ruthless. It’s not the exact way that Douxie fights knights and constructs, because Douxie would be precise with his dagger and shield. He’d have to be, without armor and the reach of a sword. Worse, it’s not just an improvement to Douxie’s weapons and armor. He casts spells that create light and fire.

What Mordred loses in accuracy he more than makes up for in precision. Every strike makes Krel thankful that he and Zoe upgraded everyone’s armor.

But armor can’t fully save them. Sure, Mordred can’t pierce into the armor’s gaps because he can’t see them, but the armor doesn’t fully cover any of them. And too late, Krel realizes that Steve should have some sort of guards on his arms.

Right before Steve’s arm can be reduced to a bleeding mass of ribbons, the daggers twist so that the flat end hits them. And yes, being hit by them probably still hurts, but not as much as it would have.

Mordred places his left hand on his sword’s hilt. His jaw shifts, like he’s gritting his teeth.

Like he’s fighting back against Merlin.

Afterwards, the fight is slightly easier. Yes, Mordred now has more power to the blows, but he has more control. The fight is not easy enough for any of them to try and ask Mordred how to save him.

A single tear rolls down Mordred’s face as he stops himself from slashing through Krel’s chest.

An emerald floats up from some unseen spot in Mordred’s armor and crushes itself above him, sending Mordred away.

Krel isn’t sure which of his soulmate’s names he screams in frustration.

The cold numbness doesn’t leave when Merlin once more chokes Douxie as Merlin replaces the amulet with the shackle. Merlin then walks away, probably to summon Jim or one of the knights to bring Mordred back to his cell. Douxie doesn’t feel like a person, but he forces his lips to move and sound to escape his throat because he needs to know.

“You…” Mordred says, trying to force out the accusatory anger that he feels in some distant place that all of his emotions and everything else that makes him a person have been sent to. “You killed my father, didn’t you?”

Merlin glances over at him. “We both know that you stabbed him through the chest. And given how you’ve been fighting back against my control for the past several days, I’d say that you were more than capable of fighting back then, especially if you had truly cared about him. So, no. You killed Arthur. I just gave you the needed push. Unfortunately, you lack the discipline that you had back then.”

Merlin steps away, and some of that distant anger and shock is replaced by fear. Fear that Mordred is going to lose his left hand as well. Merlin continues speaking. “It’s really too bad. If your parents had just listened to the false prophecy I had given them, I could have stolen you away with the promise to kill you and instead raised you as my weapon since I had always known your magic would be powerful. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about any of this. But no. Without doubting the prophecy’s validity, Arthur, Lancelot, and Guinevere all thought the best choice was to raise you themselves and hope that I had misinterpreted the idea of you killing Arthur. Funny, that. When I created the false prophecy, I didn’t yet even have any intention to have Arthur killed. He had still been useful, then.”

The numbness is so intense that the entire trek back to Mordred’s cell is a blur.

Toby’s house is the closest, this time, so that’s where they go when Douxie is gone. Toby very purposefully avoids looking towards Jim’s house as they do so.

“That was Douxie’s voice,” Toby says as the four of them climb the stairs to Toby’s room. It’s the longest sentence he’s said since they heard Douxie speak.

“So?” Steve asks.

“Possessed people don’t have their own voice, they have the voice of the person possessing them. Draal spoke in Gunmar’s voice. Claire spoke in Morgana’s voice. Douxie isn’t possessed.”

“But he’s not the one in control,” Zoe says.

“No, but he was fighting back,” Krel says.

“The point is, how do we get him back? I’d go to Strickler for possession stuff since he was somewhat helpful with Claire, but like I said,” Toby says, glancing behind himself towards the direction of Jim’s house.

“Well, what if we cut him off from his magic?” Steve asks. Zoe winces at the idea. “Uh, cut him off from Merlin’s magic, anyways?”

“Wait, cutting Douxie off from his own magic might work,” Toby says. Zoe cringes away from him.

“How?” she says in a horrified tone of voice.

“Merlin’s tomb,” Toby says.

“I thought the entire problem is that Merlin is alive and none of us know how to kill him,” Steve says.

“It’s where me and the others woke Merlin up from in the first place.” A guilty look forms on Toby’s face. “Big crystal cave, weird rooms, the point is, Douxie won’t be able to use his magic there. Only Merlin’s magic works there, which is why I didn’t mention this to any of you for Jim. Plus, even though only Merlin’s magic working, that’s not where Merlin’s home base is. Don’t get why, though. But the point is, Douxie will only be using a sword. Maybe sword and dagger, by dual wielding. But he’ll be at a disadvantage.”

“But if he can’t use magic, then isn’t there a chance that Douxie will have a harder time fighting back?” Krel says as he sits on Toby’s bed.

“Merlin summoned Douxie back because he was fighting back,” Zoe says. “I think. Maybe? But I get the feeling that no matter what, it’s going to be a lot harder for him to fight back against Merlin next time he’s forced to attack us, no matter what.”

“How would we get Douxie to the tomb, though?” Steve asks.

Toby smacks a hand to his forehead. “Right. Forgot about that. We had to break Jim’s amulet to turn on the ignition for a gyre. I mean, Claire’s checked that place out with her portals, but I don’t want to ask her to do any portals. She’s got enough on her plate with protecting the trolls; I swear she has more white hair each time I see her.”

“I’ve been working on a portable wormhole maker, as a side project,” Krel says. “I need a power source, but I think it could work. The person operating it would have to stay behind, though.”

“I might be able to provide power?” Zoe says. “I’d have to see the schematics, though. But I think I’d be able to.”

“And then the three of us can save Douxie!” Steve punches a fist into the air. He winces as he moves his arm wrong; a bruise is forming.

“No. I have to go alone,” Krel says.

“No. You’re. Not.” Toby stands up to his full height so that he’s almost eye-level with Krel.

“All your weapons are at least somewhat magical. Same with your armor. It won’t work in Merlin’s Tomb. I’m the only one who will be able to fight him.”

Toby sighs. “Fine. But if you don’t come out after four minutes, then we’re coming after you.”

“Okay. Hopefully, the fact that Mordred’s my soulmate will help me in this.”

Mordred doesn’t really sleep after the revelation about the prophecy being false. He had a hard time sleeping in his cell before, since his left wrist was always restrained and there was always some amount of pain from his right arm. But it’s worse now.

Knowing that Merlin has been using Mordred since before he was even conceived makes it hard to sleep, eat, or walk the limited range his chain allows him to. All Mordred wants to do is stare at a single point in the wall and try not to think about, well, anything really, because everything leads back to the fact that Mordred is a weapon and always has been. He is a weapon, but if he had tried harder not to be he wouldn’t have killed his father.

His wrists ache constantly. His left wrist is constantly restrained. He is not sure how often the bandages on his right wrist are supposed to be changed, but they’re changed rarely enough that they’ve become dirty.

When he is able to try to fall asleep, he does not sleep well. Nightmares attack him constantly. They aren’t just the nightmares that have plagued Mordred for the past three years, not when some of them feature his friends being the ones with gaping stab wounds in their chests.

He feels so cold all over. Almost all over; his head feels so unbearably hot.

He is so tired. He is too tired to fight back when Merlin forces the amulet upon him again.

After all, Mordred has always been a weapon. It’s useless for him to fight back.

In that distant place where everything that makes him a person is being kept, he hopes his friends will kill him before he can kill them.

Four delsons are barely enough to finish the portable wormhole generator. Four delsons pass between the last time they saw Mordred and now.

Mordred doesn’t wait to attack them like he did before. He is silent. He doesn’t seem to be fighting back against Merlin. His eyes glow a brighter green, as do the carvings. His blows are meant to cause as much harm as possible.

A cut forms on Steve’s arm and another on Toby’s face as they shield Zoe, who’s channeling her magic into the wormhole generator.

“Are you sure about this?” Steve asks.

“Stick to the plan!” Krel shifts his serrator to its shield form to avoid the barrage of daggers.

Mordred is suddenly backlit by the wormhole’s cyan glow. Krel shifts his serrator into its sword form and charges. Mordred sidesteps him, parrying the blow. A line of blue fire forms between the two of them and the wormhole.

“Hey, Douxdred!” Toby shouts. For the briefest of moments, confusion cuts through Douxie’s blank expression. This gives Toby enough of an opening to slam his warhammer into Douxie’s upper legs, sending Douxie and one of his daggers flying through the wormhole. The others fall to the ground. Krel pulls out his hoverboard and flies over the flames and through the wormhole. It closes behind him.

Mordred walks towards him. He throws a dagger at Krel. Krel jumps off the hoverboard in order to avoid it. Mordred breaks into a run, sword pointed at Krel.

Parry. Dodge. Parry. Lunge. Parry. Krel grits his teeth as he adjusts his grip on his serrator.

Parry. Dodge. Thrust. Parry. Krel glances downwards to see if he could try and trip Mordred. Krel has to jump out of the way to avoid Mordred stabbing directly through Krel’s core.

Parry. Advance. Parry. Krel’s serrator gets caught on one of the wings of Mordred’s helmet, and he has to shift it into a shield to avoid losing it. Mordred’s sword clashes into Krel’s shield once, twice, three times before Krel forms a sword again.

Thrust. Parry. Krel wonders how quickly this fight would be over if he just shot Mordred. But Krel isn’t sure how to shoot Mordred and not kill him.

Advance. Mordred’s sword slices into Krel’s jaw, tearing the fabric. Krel parries to avoid any actual damage but loses his serrator in the process.

Krel pushes away at Mordred’s right wrist. Mordred howls in pain and drops his sword. As Mordred attempts to pull away, Krel’s fingers reach around the amulet and pull it out of the armor. Mordred’s eyes close and he falls backwards. Krel reaches for Mordred’s right hand, but his fingers slip through empty air. Mordred’s head slams into the stone floor.

Krel kneels next to him. All four of his hands shake. One of them is about to touch the bandaged stump where Mordred’s right hand used to be, but he decides against it. He doesn’t want to cause any pain. With his lower pair of hands, Krel texts the group chat so they know he’s safe. At the same time, he grabs his serrator and the amulet from where they’ve fallen and sticks them in his pockets.

Krel’s fingers ghost over Mordred’s cheek as he tries to remember where to check a human’s pulse. Akiridions aren’t as sensitive to fluctuations in temperature as humans are, but Krel is pretty sure Mordred’s head shouldn’t be so hot. Mordred leans his head into Krel’s touch, and Krel sighs with relief. His soulmate is alive. Mordred opens his eyes, and Krel realizes that something is wrong.

Mordred’s eyes are no longer green; they are the same shade of gold that Krel has missed more than he had known. But they are hollow, like Merlin has reached into Mordred and taken out everything that makes Mordred a person.

“Krel?” Mordred asks. He sounds so tired. Tired, and scared, and pained. His hollow eyes focus on Krel’s jaw, where the suit is ripped. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, it was Merlin’s,” Krel says.

“Not just for that.” Douxie trembles as he sits up. Krel reluctantly removes his hand from Douxie’s cheek. He doesn’t want to put any pressure on his soulmate.

The wormhole opens behind them.

“Let’s go home,” Krel says. They stand up; Krel catches Douxie as he begins to collapse. Douxie cradles his right arm against his chest.

“Here, lean on me,” Krel says, his voice more frustrated than he intends. He’s not frustrated with his ex. Not too frustrated, anyways. He’s angry at Merlin. Krel had known that Mordred losing a hand was a possibility, but the reality hurts.

The selfish part of Krel wants to push Douxie away. Douxie is sticky with sweat and blood, and his gait is just different enough to throw Krel off. But the heartbroken part of Krel cherishes the way Douxie’s body presses against Krel’s own, the way Douxie leans into Krel’s touch. He knows it won’t last, but he wants it to.

They exit the wormhole into Krel’s house. Krel isn’t always the best at reading other people’s emotions, but it is easy to pinpoint when his friends realize that Douxie is missing a hand.

“I, uh, I’m gonna go call Dr. L,” Toby says, darting off as he pulls out his phone.

“What happened?” Zoe asks as the four of them follow Toby upstairs.

“Merlin happened,” Douxie mumbles.

“He hit his head when I got the armor off of him,” Krel says at almost the same time.

Krel deposits Mordred into a comfortable chair. Mordred’s hollow eyes follow Krel as he walks away, but then he just starts staring at a random empty point on Krel’s wall. His eyes start to flutter closed.

Steve pokes Mordred in the cheek.

Mordred opens his eyes. “Why?”

“Sorry, but you might have a concussion. If you fall asleep, you might fall asleep forever.” Steve turns to Zoe as he removes his finger. “He’s burning up.”

“Hey, Lucy, where do you keep your towels?” Zoe asks, running off as water begins to coalesce in her hands.

“I doubt it’ll be forever,” Mordred says. “Just another millennium and a half, like last time. Maybe then I can stop being Merlin’s weapon.”

Zoe comes back with a damp towel, using her magic to keep it from dripping on the floor. She unceremoniously lays it over Douxie’s forehead.

“Cold,” he complains. He reaches up with his left hand to move it, but Zoe presses the towel against his forehead.

“Yeah, well, suck it up, you’ve got a fever. Towel stays.” Zoe bites her lip as she steps away. Mordred sighs and continues staring at the blank wall, expression completely blank.

Quietly, she says, “I’ve never seen him this sick before. And his eyes. They’re…”

“Hollow?” Krel provides.

Zoe wraps her arms around herself. “I was going to say voids, but that works better.”

Toby walks over towards them. “Okay. So, Dr. L’s driving over. She’s going to pick him up and take him to the hospital.”

Krel takes the amulet out of his pocket and hands it to Zoe. “Do you think you or Archie could do something with this?” Zoe shrugs, but takes it anyways.

“Thanks for fighting back,” Mordred says, startling the four of them.

“Well, what else would we have done?” Steve asks.

Mordred sniffles. “My father didn’t when Merlin made me kill him. I wish he had.”

Toby, Zoe, Steve, and Krel all look at each other, not sure what to say after that. Mordred just continues staring at the empty wall.

Toby pulls out his phone. “Oh! Dr. L’s here.”

Steve takes Douxie out to the car. Krel looks down at his right hands and realizes that Mordred lost the wrist with Krel’s name on it.

A day later, Douxie is released from the hospital with instructions on how to keep his right arm clean, a list of legal instructions to handle with his employers considering that he’s lost a hand, medical results revealing that he doesn’t have a concussion, and several prescriptions. One is for the infection, one is for the fever, and another is for the pain. He isn’t sure how his health insurance will pay for any of it, not with how hard it is to try and get flu vaccinations covered, but Dr. Lake says not to worry about it and how the city is trying to set up a fund to help with defense. It’s hard for him to worry, but not because of her reassurement. He feels better than he did yesterday, but he still doesn’t feel like a person with actual, non-distant emotions.

Getting re-dressed is a frustrating endeavor. He drops his belt once before he gets the hang of using his forearm. He has no idea of how to tie his shoelaces with only one hand, so he stuffs them inside his shoes. He can’t figure out how to roll his hoodie sleeves up, so he lets them hang around his wrists. It feels wrong. For nearly as long as he can remember his sleeves have been cut short or rolled up. Long sleeves were a fire hazard around a toddler who would make fireballs, so Mother, Father, Da, and anyone else who cared about Mordred would make sure to roll up his sleeves if for some reason his were long. Mordred hasn’t accidentally set fire to anything in a long time, but rolled up sleeves are such a habit that the way they are now feels wrong.

And yes, he can technically use his magic to dress himself, but his magic feels tainted now. Tainted and distant, just like everything else about him as a person.

He walks into the hospital waiting room, arms pressed to his sides. It is mostly empty, aside from the receptionist and three other people. Specifically, three of Douxie’s friends.

Specifically, Zoe, Steve, and Toby. He is relieved to see them, to see that they care about him enough to come here. He doesn’t allow himself to be disappointed that Krel isn’t there, not with how Douxie hurt Krel. Krel should hate Douxie. Krel deserves to hate Mordred even more than everyone else does. Yesterday was just a fluke when Krel had handled Douxie so tenderly. It may have not even been truly tender, it may have been the aftereffects of possession, infection, betrayal, losing a hand, and otherwise poor living conditions causing Douxie to seek out any source of comfort even when there wasn’t one. It wasn’t tenderness, it was just wishful thinking.

The three of them are talking, but Toby notices Mordred first. He taps Zoe on the shoulder, and she looks up. She stands up from her chair and marches towards Mordred, anger radiating off of her.

Mordred tries not to flinch away. Of course. They hate him. They think he’s a bloodthirsty killer. Merlin forced Mordred to try and kill them and so they should hate him for their own safety.

“I can’t believe you,” Zoe says. “Seriously? Why am I listed as your next of kin? I have to get my parents to approve of my own, but somehow I have to make the medical decisions for you. Is that even legal? Why couldn’t you have found some adult to trust with this?”

She then hugs him with enough force that Mordred has to adjust his footing. His left arm shakes as he wraps it around Zoe.

“I can change it, if you want?” Mordred says. He doesn’t understand why it’s somewhat-legal paperwork that she’s mad about and not everything else.

Steve and Toby walk towards them. Steve pulls Douxie’s phone out of the pocket of his khakis.

“You dropped this,” Steve says. Zoe pulls away from Mordred so he can grab his phone. His hand shakes less now. Steve continues, “Oh yeah, you should probably change your password, since all four of us hacked into it so we could pretend to be you so your jobs didn’t think you’d just skipped town.”

“Yeah, also,” Zoe says, “we were wondering if you preferred to be called Douxie or Mordred?”

“I… it doesn’t matter,” Mordred says. He can’t hide from his past anymore, so there’s no reason to continue being Douxie, but Douxie is an identity he claimed for himself when everything else was ripped away from him. He can be both. Maybe he can find a way to change his name to legally incorporate the name he chose into the name his parents gave him. Considering how he was able to falsify his legal existence; it shouldn’t be too hard.

“Okay, Douxdred it is, then,” Toby says.

“One or the other; don’t call me that,” Douxie snaps, then cringes. He isn’t sure how he earned their forgiveness, but he can’t be threatening or else they’ll hate him. “I’m sorry.”

Toby shrugs. “Hey, I get it. I still hate that Claire’s nickname for me stuck.”

“You don’t hate me?” Mordred asks, glancing between his friends. “Not with everything I’ve done? You don’t think I’ll betray you?”

“Why would we?” Steve asks. “It wasn’t your fault. You literally told us that in a kind of depressing way. I know a therapist, she’s really nice.”

“But I didn’t know Merlin made, made me…” Douxie looks away, lowering his voice so it sounds less choked. “I thought I was dangerous, that I was a time bomb before I killed someone I cared about again. I thought it was something engrained into me by fate, not Merlin. And I didn’t tell any of you.”

“And I didn’t tell any of you that Merlin and the knights had a very specific vendetta against me and thus my very presence probably escalated at least one fight more than it needed to,” Zoe says as she rolls her eyes.

Douxie sighs, a very slight smile forming on his face. He doesn’t understand why his friends trust him, but he’s thankful that they do.

Krel’s phone buzzes right as he hangs up after talking to Eli about math and technology. Krel pulls it out of his pocket and unlocks it.

Oh. Right. Mordred got out of the hospital, and the others were going to check on him. There are updates from Zoe, Toby, and Steve. None of the updates ask why Krel wasn’t there. None of the updates are from Douxie. Which makes sense, considering that they aren’t on speaking terms. Krel hasn’t blocked Douxie’s number, not when Merlin is a threat.

According to Zoe, Mordred’s eyes are still just as hollow as they were yesterday. Krel wants to hug his soulmate, to hold him until the emptiness goes away. But Douxie had looked at Krel with a bored expression when Krel had claimed to never want to speak to Douxie again. Which means that Douxie doesn’t feel the same way about Krel. Yesterday was just a fluke. The aftereffects of possession, infection, losing a hand, and anything else that Merlin may have just caused Mordred to find a way to seek comfort out from any source, even if he normally wouldn’t want it. Mordred wasn’t actually taking comfort in Krel’s touch; it was just Krel’s wishful thinking.

Krel types out a quick question, one devoid of emotion but polite, the way his parents taught him to be with dignitaries. He then holds down the backspace button. As much as Krel wants to see if his soulmate is okay, he also wants an apology and an explanation from his ex.

Douxie has less than a day to recover when Merlin sends another enemy. An alert shows up on his phone. It takes far too many tries to unlock his phone; he really needs to change it to something that can be easily unlocked with one hand. When he finally unlocks it, he checks the location of the enemy. Afterwards Douxie shoves his phone in his pants pocket, grabs his keys, and runs out of his house.

He does technically know how to use a dagger with his left hand. But he’s never really liked doing so. He’s trained himself into ambidexterity, so he can cast spells with his left hand and wield a weapon with his right. But he can’t do that anymore. He has to make a choice.

Fire is out of the question, unless he wants to deal with a burning hoodie. Just using shielding spells isn’t going to be helpful.

Douxie stops, several feet away. It’s a swarm of small constructs. Zoe, Steve, and Toby are all trying to smack them. Krel is trying to shoot them with his serrator.

Zoe’s armor doesn’t contain a visor. She gets hit in the nose hard enough to bleed. Blood drips from her nose across her face and onto her armor. Onto her armored chest.

Mordred can’t breathe, not with the memories are overlaying themselves on top of the present. This is all his fault. They’re all going to die and it will be his fault just like it was Mordred’s fault when –

It hadn’t been Mordred’s fault, back then. It had been Merlin’s fault. Or at least, the only fault Mordred had was not fighting back hard enough. He has to fight back now.

Mordred exhales quietly before he bites his lip. He summons a dagger, and then summons four more. He inspects them, makes sure they have a soft blue glow and the crosspieces don’t resemble dragon wings at all. He then swings his left arm like he’s trying to throw something, and he sends his daggers into the fray. He is careful. He doesn’t want to hurt his friends.

Steve stumbles as a dagger takes down a construct about to attack him, but he smiles slightly as he turns towards Mordred. “Oh, huh, you can do that outside of being controlled.”

Douxie tries not to wince.

Parry. Weave. Misdirect. Trying to focus on five different daggers gives him a headache that still doesn’t make him feel real. It doesn’t matter though. His friends are getting hurt less. And he will make whatever needed sacrifice to protect him.

He can see a construct trying to sneak up on him of the corner of his eye. He ignores it. He needs to keep his friends safe. It jumps, ready to pounce, and he does not flinch away because he needs to protect his friends.

The construct is consumed by cyan light. Douxie looks up, and his lips part slightly in a gasp. For the briefest of moments, Krel looks concerned. He then catches Douxie staring and looks away.

Right. They’re in the middle of a fight. But despite everything, Krel might still care about Douxie, or at least, not hate Douxie enough to let him be injured.

Parry. Slash. Stab. The fight finishes more quickly than started. Zoe’s nose is finally starting to clot, and she uses her water magic to clean the blood off of herself. Removing the armor means there isn’t much blood on her clothes. It still looks gruesome. Steve offers her a ride to patch up her face at his house, which she accepts. Toby needs to help his Nana. Krel starts to slowly walk away without a word.

Douxie wants to go home, to avoid everyone. But guilt gnaws at him, and so he jogs over to Krel.

“Can we talk?” Mordred asks, trying to make sure he doesn’t sound pushy, because he doesn’t deserve this.

Krel gives him a long look before speaking. “Sure. Let’s go to my house.”

Krel unlocks the door and steps inside, holding the door open for Douxie while shooing off the Blanks. He does not need Lucy to sharpen her paring knives or Ricky to practice juggling objects heavy enough to crush a human skull while Krel talks to his ex.

They sit on opposite sides of the couch. Krel folds both pairs of hands in his lap. Douxie is about to wrap his arms around his torso, left arm protectively folded on top of his right, but he then presses them to his sides instead.

“So. Talk.” Krel’s voice comes out harsher than he intends. He really needs to get better at talking to people.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you, when I found out that you’re my soulmate,” Mordred says. “And this isn’t an excuse or a justification for how I treated you, because I shouldn’t have, but please let me explain myself.”

Krel nods slightly.

“I… ever since before I was born,” Mordred says shakily, “there was a prophecy where I would kill my father. I didn’t want to kill him, but one day I suddenly was forced to do so, and I didn’t know why. And so, I rationalized it as that for some reason, the forces of fate hated me and wanted me to kill everyone I love. And it was really Merlin manipulating me all along, but I didn’t know that. So, I assumed that fate would make me kill my soulmate. And I was thankful, when I realized that my soulmate wasn’t human, because I thought that the chances of me meeting him, well, you, were so low that I wouldn’t have to worry about pushing… you away to keep you safe. And then I met you, and up until you told us about your soulmate, I just hoped that my soulmate was literally any other Akiridion. But then I found out the truth, and I was so scared I was going to kill you. I didn’t want to hurt you, so I pushed you away.”

Wait… Douxie loves Krel? Mordred loves Krel back?

Douxie gives a wet chuckle. He blinks harshly, like that will stop the tears from forming in his hollow eyes. Like he doesn’t want Krel to pity him, or for his tears to influence Krel. “I really didn’t think that through. Pushing you away that is. Because yeah, I was avoiding killing you. Or at least, trying to. But I still hurt you. And I’m sorry. I was wrong, and not just because it was Merlin controlling me instead of pure fate, but because I should have told you why. And you don’t need to forgive me, and I completely understand. I’m, uh, I can go now, and we can continue not speaking to each other if you want. Thanks for hearing me out, though.”

Douxie rises from the couch.

Krel has wanted three things ever since he found out that Douxie is Mordred: an explanation, an apology, and his soulmate. He has two of them, and he doesn’t want to let the third go.

Krel inhales, sharp and loud, and grabs Douxie’s hand between both of his lower ones. Krel then cradles his soulmate’s face with his upper pair of hands, using his thumbs to brush away Mordred’s tears.

“I love you, too,” Krel says. “Never lie to me again.”

Mordred smiles a half-overjoyed, half-broken smile. “I can do that.”

Krel hugs Douxie as he starts sobbing into Krel’s chest. Krel might shed a couple relieved tears as well.

When Douxie shows his face again, his eyes seem just a little less hollow.

Krel loves Douxie, and mostly forgives him. This keeps Mordred feeling buoyant and more tethered to his own body than he has felt ever since Merlin forced the amulet upon him. That evening, Douxie still feels rather real as he walks into Zimue Records, where Zoe is finishing up her shift. She asked him to come around at the end. If he squints, he can see faint bruises on her nose.

She pulls an amulet out her pocket, and Douxie’s regained sense of reality fades away once more. It is the same amulet that Merlin created out of Douxie’s hand, but the crystal inside of it is utterly clear.

“You didn’t destroy it?” he asks. He digs his nails into his palm as a twofold task: not hyperventilating and maybe regaining a sense of reality. He manages the former.

“Archie showed me how to take Merlin’s magic out of it,” Zoe says. “It has your hand in it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I was thinking that, well, since your hand’s in it, I could use both of our magic to turn it into a prosthetic. It won’t be able to summon the full armor, but hey, the armor made you look like you still had both hands.”

“Merlin could take control of me again!”

“I won’t let him.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I… look. I don’t want you hurt again, and if you don’t want me to do this then that’s fine, but you’re my best friend and I want to help you. And if something goes wrong and Merlin manages to control you again – and I’d take precautions to make sure he can’t – I will save you.”

“If you need to, you should kill me.”

Zoe’s eyes widen. “What? No!”

“Zoe, I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself if I kill someone under Merlin’s control again. I’m not fully sure how I lived with myself after Camlann and coming to Arcadia.”

“Okay. But understand that killing you would be the last resort. And that we might have a hard time living with ourselves if we were to have killed you.”

“I understand. But, what are your plans for the prosthetic? And can you make it look a little less like armor I would’ve designed when I was eight?”

“So, after he lied to you, you got back together?” Aja scrunches her face as she says this.

“Yes, I’ve explained this to you multiple times.” Krel had almost immediately tried to call his sister and tell her the good news about him and his soulmate. She had called him back with surprising speed. He’s starting to regret it now.

“I don’t think you should.”

“Unlike you, my boyfriend has never caused an injury to my sibling, which means that you don’t get to lecture me.” She flinches slightly at his statement.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I… look, I gave him an ultimatum. I can handle myself. How have you been?”

“Um. Fine.”

“Aja, I know you’re lying. What’s wrong?”

Aja mumbles something.

“I couldn’t hear you,” Krel says.

“I met my soulmate today.” The words rush out of her. She doesn’t sound happy. “Or, well, I found her name.”

“And?”

“She’s a Taylon. Much better than average at shooting, slightly worse than average at hand-to-hand combat. Her name was on a list of Taylon soldiers in training who were vetted as loyal.”

“I mean, that’s good. Does she know about you?”

Aja rolls her eyes. “She has my name on her wrist, just like I have hers on mine. I think she knows that I’m her soulmate.”

“I mean, have you talked to her?”

“Krel, I can’t. You know, I was jealous of you, growing up. There was a chance that you might get to have a relationship with your soulmate – and obviously I didn’t think your relationship would be so complicated, but you’d still get to have one. Mama and Papa would have never let me. I think they’d approve more of me and Steve, and well… I’m not sure how they would’ve felt about him. I mean, you didn’t like him at first. Ugh, I’m not even sure how to tell Steve about my soulmate.”

“Again, Steve punched me! Plus, I hadn’t found anything that made Earth worthwhile yet. But, I don’t think Mama and Papa would want you to be unhappy.” Even if they probably would’ve wanted to uphold the caste system. “So, you should probably talk to her and Steve, without caring what others think.”

Aja sighs. “Since when are you smart?”

“I always have been!”

“I meant about emotions. But also, the offer is still open to beat up your boyfriend if he hurts you again.”

Krel rolls his eyes as Aja transitions into talking about something funny Luug did.

Mordred takes his sword, and he stabs it directly through Krel’s core. A grin forms on Mordred’s face as he twists the sword. He grabs Krel’s shoulder for leverage as he then rips the sword out of the wound. The sword disappears, and suddenly Mordred is made very aware of what he has done, what he has been forced to do. He holds Krel to his chest and presses a hand to the exit wound on Krel’s back, trying to stop the blood from flowing out of Krel’s body and soaking into Mordred’s clothes. Redness stains across Krel’s body as he becomes limper and heavier in Mordred’s arms. Mordred stammers out apologies and pleas for Krel to live. The scent of iron burns his nose. He doesn’t know how to heal Krel, he doesn’t know how to fix this, this is all Mordred’s fault and Krel didn’t deserve any of this.

Krel dies in his arms, and a mournful wail breaks free from Mordred’s lips.

With a scream that could shatter glass, Douxie wakes up in his own bed, tangled in his sheets and soaked in his own sweat. While it is too cool of a liquid and it doesn’t have the same scent, the sweat feels too much like blood, and he is tempted to go take a shower and scrub until his skin is raw, but he left a window open and for once, a cold night breeze is blowing. He doesn’t want to have to leave the warmth of his bed. He fumbles around his nightstand for his phone and unlocks it, thankful that he has changed the pattern to something more accessible. It’s 1:03 AM. Without thinking, he calls Krel.

Krel picks up on the second ring. “Douxie?”

“Sorry I woke you,” Douxie says, suddenly realizing that he had been hyperventilating. He tries to banish the image of Krel bleeding out from his mind.

“Bold of you to assume I even need sleep.” Douxie is pretty sure Krel does need sleep, but he is too panicked to state this. “Are you okay.”

“I…” Douxie wants to lie and say it’s nothing, but he needs to be honest with Krel. “I had a nightmare. I killed you, and there was so much blood, and I just wanted to hear your voice to make sure you were okay.”

In the background, Douxie can hear Krel drum his fingers on the table, like he’s trying to think of something to say. “In your dream, what color was my blood?”

“What? Um, it was red.”

“And what form was I in?”

“Akiridion.”

“I don’t have blood as an Akiridion, and as a human my blood is cyan. So, next time you dream about my red and bloody death, hopefully you’ll remember that and realize it’s not real.” The reminder isn’t that comforting; the fact that Krel is trying to be comforting is.

They end up talking until it’s around 3 AM and even Krel has to acknowledge that he needs sleep.

Their first date after they get back together ends up being at the same coffee shop as their first one was. It’s louder this time and there’s more people, which is annoying. Still, they’re able to tuck themselves into a corner, even if they end up having to press against each other. Which isn’t bad, but there is a slight electric feeling to it that distracts Krel. It’s less intense and more comforting than the first time they held hands, but there’s more surface area.

“Did you know that our friends made a bet over whether or not we would get together?” Krel says. Mordred nearly chokes on his chai.

“Technically,” Krel continues, “Toby and Zoe never agreed to it, but they did speculate about us with Steve.”

“Hmm,” Douxie says, having recovered. “I wonder if they’re speculating about whether or not we got back together.”

“Should we tell them?”

“Not our fault those three are oblivious at times.”

Everyone is crowded around Zoe’s kitchen table. Her idea of collaborating on the prosthetic really boiled down to Douxie pumping magic into the amulet and giving design tips, and then her shooing him off. He’s used to it, considering how she is every single time there’s a group project assigned by one of their teachers at the Academy. Mostly used to it, considering that ever since the two of them joined the independent study track at the start of their junior year they haven’t ever had a group project, just homework they’d work on and gripe about together.

Zoe brings out the reconstructed amulet. The stone is now two separate swirling shades of blue; Douxie’s pale blue and Zoe’s cerulean blue. The hands are now daggers instead of wings. The amulet is attached to a black glove.

“Uh, Zoe?” Douxie says. “If I’m not mistaken, if an ornament is attached to a glove, then it goes on the back of the hand. Which means that that’s a glove that goes on the right hand, which, well…”

Zoe and Archie narrow their eyes in unison.

“Just put it on your right arm and twist the amulet clockwise,” she says. Douxie does as told. The amulet glows, and the glove turns to blue light. Metal shoots out from the amulet and forms a gauntlet. It looks like the armor his father, mother, and da both wore, aside from the fact that there’s an amulet and Mordred’s is completely black.

“You’ll probably have to wear a sock under it, to keep your skin from being damaged when the weather gets extreme, like when it’s really hot or the rare occasion that it’s really cold,” Zoe says. Douxie cringes at the idea of another source of cold. “Anyways, can you do a hand gesture or something, to make sure you can use your fingers?”

He feels clumsy. There’s a slight strain on his magic as he tries to correct the clumsiness. Douxie sticks his tongue out as he sticks his thumb, index, and pinky fingers up while curling his middle and ring fingers inward, much to Steve and Toby’s frustration.

Douxie has started working at the bookstore once more, and Krel is hanging out with his boyfriend. It’s nice and quiet. Then again, Krel’s pretty sure the bookstore only gets a few more customers than Stuart’s Electronics. Douxie is sweeping while listening to music on his headphones; Krel is looking at books and rolling his eyes at what random humans think the mystical secrets of the universe are. According to Douxie, only a third of the books here hold actual magical truths and the rest are new age material. The book that Krel is reading almost certainly falls into the latter category.

Krel puts the book back, an idea coming to him. He clears his throat. “Can you kiss me?”

Douxie takes off one headphone; Krel can hear his boyfriend’s music blaring through it. Krel will readily admit, metal growls and yelling about death aren’t his thing, when it comes to music, and this song is doing precisely that. “Did you say something?”

“Can you kiss me?”

Douxie’s face turns a shade of red similar to Toby’s sweater. His voice comes out as a high-pitched squeak. “I mean, I can but why? Uh, that came out wrong. I just, you never really indicated that you wanted to and I’m going to shut up now.”

Krel walks up to him. Embarrassingly enough, his voice is almost as awkwardly squeaky. “Scientific research? On kissing that is? I mean, unless you don’t want to, I was just wondering.”

Douxie cups Krel’s cheek with his left hand and kisses him. It’s an awkward feeling, but it’s nice.

Douxie then pulls back and looks away. Apparently it is possible for Douxie’s face to get even redder. Krel glances towards one of the bookstore’s reflective surfaces and realizes that his own face has a heavy cyan blush.

“So, um, how was that?” Douxie asks.

“Okay,” Krel says, “but inconclusive. I think I’ll need to perform more research.”

Douxie rolls his eyes, his blush receding by a small fraction. “You know, if you want to kiss me more, you don’t have to frame it as scientific research.”

“If I carve something into the prosthetic, will it damage it?” Mordred asks. The two of them are on their lunch break from their respective jobs at the books store and the record store. Zoe raises her eyebrows.

“I made it scuff proof.”

“Oh. Well. Darn.”

“You know, if you wanted it to have carvings, you should’ve told me before I made it.”

“I didn’t think of it until late last night?” It had been really late, considering that Mordred had been kept up by his brain replaying the memories of yesterday’s kiss.

Zoe groans. “What do you want carved into your prosthetic?”

“Krel’s name. I know I hid it before, but I regret doing so now.”

“Oh.”

“And, like, if that’s not possible it’s fine. I can just use markers or something until I can save up for a tattoo.”

“I’m guessing you don’t know any embroidery?”

“I know some. Oh, don’t give me that surprised look. You were a literal blacksmith in your first life, so you should know that gender roles in Camelot weren’t as strict as most of Europe.”

“I’ve got some enchanted thread. You can embroider Krel’s name into the glove, and then it shouldn’t be hard to make it engraved in the gauntlet.”

Merlin sent constructs to two different areas, so Krel and Mordred are alone with a pair of constructs that look disturbingly like overgrown soolians with extra-long legs.

There’s something different about Douxie. Krel can’t figure out what, though. Granted, he’s using a different fighting style than usual. He’s holding a dagger in his right hand and manipulating a cloud of daggers with his left. But that doesn’t feel like it’s it.

Krel blinks and focuses on fighting the constructs. As he slices the head off of one, he tries not to wince as the other one bites down on Douxie’s right arm. The dagger cloud stabs into the other construct’s eyes, and it crumbles. Krel helps to pry apart the constructs jaws so that Mordred can get his arm out.

“I’ve got bandages at my apartment,” Douxie says through gritted teeth. He takes his hoodie off of his left arm and awkwardly wraps it around his right arm to stem the bleeding for now..

“Do you need any help?” Krel asks.

“I can take care of myself, but I’d appreciate it.”

The walk back is thankfully a short one. Douxie hisses as he pulls off his hoodie. “First aid kit’s under the bathroom sink.”

Douxie turns on the water as Krel reaches underneath. As Krel stands up and opens the kit, Douxie rolls up his sleeve and sticks his injured arm under the faucet.

“So, what do you want me to do?” Krel asks.

“See the tape?” Douxie says as he dries off his arm. “I’m going to put gauze on the bite holes; could you please tape them in place?”

Krel undoes the roll of tape and cringes at the stickiness. The two of them tape up Douxie’s injuries, starting with the upper arm and working down. Krel finishes taping up the last of the injuries when something on inside of the wrist of the gauntlet catches his eyes. It’s an engraving that softly glows with the same blue light of the amulet.

“You carved my name into it?” Krel says. Douxie smiles sheepishly.

“I, this isn’t how I wanted you to find out, but yeah. Is that okay? I can undo it if you’d rather me not have.”

“Yeah, just, I didn’t think you really wanted a soulmate?”

“I… no, I didn’t. But after Merlin told me the truth, I realized that having a soulmate wouldn’t have been so bad. And even if I got to choose who I wanted to be my soulmate; I think I still would’ve chosen you.”

Krel beams before kissing his soulmate on the forehead.

Author's note: If you liked this, please reblog and/or go to one of the links and leave a comment! I worked very hard on this so I hope you enjoyed reading it.

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writer-and-artist27 · 5 years ago

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No Longer the End

Notes: Inspired by AmaLee’s cover of Brave Shine, specifically this AMV, and written in honor of Healing over Time’s first anniversary and the first Saber I ever got to know in Fate.

@withanina. No, Aqui. You gave me the last bit of inspiration needed to write this. Thank you for everything. :)

I’d like to think this takes place in-between Chapter 5 and the WIP Chapter 6, where Arturia dreams again in the middle of the night.

-----------------------------

Sometimes, when Arturia closed her eyes, she found herself back on that last battlefield. Knights collapsed on the soil, bleeding out with no hope of getting up. The number of spears and swords left scattered amongst the bodies creating an insurmountable pile of death.

“Camlann…”

She knew it was a dream, but it did not stop Arturia’s desire to scream in anguish. As much as she wished to improve Britain’s aspects in the world by becoming King Arthur, she never truly wanted so many to die that day for the sake of change.

The Holy Grail Wars were originally supposed to be a way to fix all this. To fight for a chalice that could change Britain’s tragic fate. But the Holy Grail was gone now, far too corrupted to do anything. Arturia knew she did what she could, for everyone sitting on this hill, but it did not stop her from feeling hopelessly empty when looking on from the top of the same hill.

Mordred’s blank green eyes staring off into the sky was hard enough to acknowledge as is. Even if he had rebelled, he was still a Knight of the Round Table. To see him like this—

Arturia looked away, tightly clutching the handle of Excalibur. Rhongomyniad had disappeared somewhere after it had pierced Mordred’s armor and now, in this flashback, Arturia was not intending to look for it.

This was the time where King Arthur had met his end.

So then, why? Why was Arturia back here again?

Her armor felt heavy as she clutched the handle of her Holy Sword. It felt like Excalibur was her only lifeline. Somewhere, somehow. “Everyone…”

No one answered.

“Eh?”

All of a sudden, there was another presence. With a solemn “Oh,” cutting through the deafening silence, Arturia was now aware that she wasn’t the only one alive now. A shudder reverberated through her figure as soon as her eyes caught sight of bare feet slowly tiptoeing past all the bodies, past all the bloodied swords to reach the top of the Hill of Camlann.

Arturia didn’t raise her head simply from the sheer disbelief.

How— What? She shouldn’t be here—

The figure kneeled, revealing the hem of a white dress as an unscarred hand reached over to gently close Mordred’s unseeing eyes. “I see,” she said, sympathy clear in her voice. “This is where…”

Long black hair brushed the girl’s shoulders as she shifted on her feet, exposing two blue hair ribbons as she turned to meet Arturia’s eyes.

Arturia flinched. “Tomoko…”

Tomoko smiled sadly, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” she said in the same quiet voice. “I didn’t mean to come here and see something this personal to you.” She still inclined her head, looking over Arturia once or twice before standing up again. A few careful steps were all it took for Tomoko to reach Arturia’s side and Arturia lowered her head.

“Milady, I…” Nothing left her lips.

How shameful. Even if this was a memory, a dream, for a Knight to let her Lady see this—

There was no warning preceding the arms suddenly throwing themselves around Arturia’s neck. Arturia gasped wordlessly, barely letting go of her Holy Sword in time for Tomoko to nestle herself against Arturia’s front, hugging tightly. Tomoko’s white dress was starting to get stained with flecks of blood that surely must have come from the battles before, but Tomoko was not moving. Rather, it was as if Tomoko could see no one but Arturia.

“You’re not alone, Saber,” was the whisper into Arturia’s ear. “You’ll never be alone. I promise.”

Arturia slowly raised one gauntlet-covered hand. It would have been easy to return the hug. To place her hand on her Lady’s hair, to return the gesture, but—

“Milady, I—”

I have no right to touch you. Even if I did all I could, even if I should not regret my time as King, I still could hurt—

Tomoko shook her head, tightening the hug enough for Arturia to feel something in her dulled nerves. “I don’t know how you got here. I don’t know what happened that led you here, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you. And I’ll do whatever I can to be here. To stay with you.” There was a shuddering breath against Arturia’s neck, enough to tickle. “I won’t leave.”

Arturia shuddered. “Tomoko.”

Tomoko slowly pulled away from the hug, a lone tear close to falling if not for a quick hand to catch it, wiping away before Arturia could move. “It’s not because I see you as King Arthur. It’s not because you’re my Servant.” A small smile dawned on Tomoko’s lips. “It’s because you’re Art-san. My silent, loyal, and loving friend, Art-san.”

I’ll do anything for you, was clear in Tomoko’s gaze.

Arturia opened her mouth. Nothing left her lips, replies cut off entirely from shock, so all she could do was close them. It left her barely flinching as soon as Tomoko reached over to press a small kiss to Arturia’s forehead. “It’ll be okay. You’re not alone anymore.” An unscarred hand was slowly taking one of her gauntleted ones, gripping the metal tight enough to make Arturia’s fingers twitch. “Let’s go home now, Art-san.”

Arturia blinked a tear of her own away. “…As you wish, Milady.”

-----------------------------

The next time Arturia opened her eyes, she could see a familiar beige ceiling. The sunlight was starting to shine in, illuminating the room with its pale beams, and she put a hand to her eyes.

Morning. When had it become morning?

“…Mugahhh…”

Arturia blinked, swiveling her head to her right side. The scent of rosemary filled her nose and without thinking, Arturia smiled. Of course. “Good morning, Milady,” she whispered.

Tomoko barely stirred, simply making another sleepy noise before moving her arm to hug Arturia tighter. The stuffed black cat that was Blake was thrown haphazardly elsewhere. In fact, when Arturia looked to the other side, it became painfully obvious the plush had taken up a position sitting rather awkwardly a meter away from the futon.

Another day. Arturia held back a resigned sigh before returning the embrace, pressing her nose into her Lady’s hair. “Five more minutes?”

“Muuuu…”

“Five it is.” This Servant occupation was certainly changing throughout the years, but at this point, with peace, Arturia barely found herself caring. Guarding someone who could easily be called family was worthwhile enough. “I will make sure to rouse you, Milady.”

“Mugu…” was the complaint.

“Heh.”

For once, after seeing that hill, Arturia knew she was home.

#healing over time #writing #arturia pendragon #hoshino tomoko #anniversary things #long post #fate stay night #crossover

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holisticfansstuff · 5 years ago

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the diamond of the day part two

I don't like sad endings but I really liked the show, so I did all I could to prepare myself for the end. I found out about Arthur's death ahead of time, exactly how and why he dies, what Merlin says to him, looked up the scene in advance so I'd be ready, skipped to the end so I could see for myself who survives and who's conspicuous by their absence.

It wasn't enough. I've watched the end of the finale before. It still didn't prepare me for the emotional impact of what happened, when I watched the entire episode. Nothing could have prepared me for Colin Morgan's acting in those last scenes ( and Bradley's too! He'd gotten so much better by the end of the show! ) Colin made me feel his pain with him, suffer with him, as he suffered (as many great actors do. Look at Jensen. You can love Dean, you can hate Dean, but it's almost impossible not to empathize with him when he's in pain). I thought I'd be able to stay detached if I made fun of them or knew ahead of time what was going to happen. I was wrong. Lol.

The episode was so beautifully shot and acted with the most lovely music playing in the background to set the mood. Hats off to the writers and the cast, honestly. It's not how I would have chosen to end it, but then again, I've never written a script for a hit TV show with fans and producers all breathing down my neck, so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The ending wasn't as bad as it could have been. At least Gwen was still alive. And without a Pendragon on the throne, perhaps magic will be allowed back in Camelot? Especially since the Battle of Camlann was won via sorcery. Perhaps that's what the prophecy meant? Maybe Arthur was never meant to survive the process, or he was meant to only live long enough to play his part in making that happen. Merlin didn't fail. He just lost sight of what his real goal was. Somehow, somewhere along the way, for Merlin, success ceased to mean the end of bigotry against magic and came to mean the survival of Arthur at any cost, including magic itself. At least that's the only explanation I can come up with. Let's pretend for a moment that TV scripts make sense and there is logic at least within the narrative.

I don't think Merlin never returned to Camelot. He had friends there too. Yes, Arthur was his best friend but his other friends needed him and he, them. I can't see him abandoning Gwen, newly widowed and a peasant queen, vulnerable to threats within the court and outside it. Gwen was his first real friend, or at least the first friend he had who was close to his own age in Camelot. No matter how grief stricken he was, I just can't see him simply taking off.

I think Gaius had his favourite meal ready like he'd promised, when Merlin finally returned. I think Gwen, Leon and Percival rallied after allowing themselves some time to grieve-after all, they had a kingdom to care for. They governed Camelot together, for a long, long time, before the time came for them to move on. The ban on magic was lifted for good, the magic folk and regular people lived side by side in peace, and prospered.

Merlin never gave in to the temptation of deliberately creating a crisis, so that Albion needed Arthur so badly that Arthur had to return, as I surely would have, so-ahem. Just kidding. Haha. Or am I?

We know Freya lived on in some form as the Lady of the Lake, probably in Avalon. It's fair to assume that Arthur did too, then. He had a life there, as did Merlin, in another dimension. And they are fated to meet again. So far every attempt to avert any prophecy in this story has failed spectacularly, so we can assume this one is set in stone too. At some point in the future, they are reunited. And in the meantime, they find new purpose, discover new passions, find happiness in old friends and new.

#the diamond of the day part two #merlin #5x13 #arthur Pendragon #merlin headcanons #merlin emrys #emrys #the once and future king #since Gwen is the once and future queen #I'm assuming she returns too when Arthur does?#heh #freya #avalon #long post #mt #merlin finale

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chaldeluxe · 7 years ago

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LONDON: CHAPTER 5.

____________

Andersen: Hoh. Not bad for a hideaway. I like it. I’ll take the study.

Andersen: I’ll be unpacking, so call me if you need something. Ah, and if you’re entering, be sure to knock.

Mordred: ... Ahh, I’m exhausted. Twice as much thanks to the luggage. Three times, even!

Jekyll: You’re treating my sofa so roughly again… if possible, I’d like it to be a guest-only… … no, nevermind.

Jekyll: It’s fine as is. Listen closely, Mashu and Gudako.

Jekyll: Jack the Ripper appeared again. Only this time it wasn’t to murder a woman under the cover of the fog.

Jekyll: They’ve got Scotland Yard under siege. I’ve received telegraphs for reinforcements from police stations all over London.

Mordred: That bastard’s finally shown up again!

[CHOICE]

1. Is that some kind of fated encounter for you? 2. An acquaintance of yours?

Mordred: Yeah. They’re a Servant. Assassin Class. We fought a lot in the fog, but…

Mordred: Every time they get away. I can’t lock ‘em down. They just escape into the fog!

Mordred: That and I can’t remember a single concrete detail about them. Not their face, or form, or even their abilities. It’s frustrating as hell… !

Mordred: Best I can do is nod my head whenever I hear the name Jack the Ripper like, ooh yeah, that Assassin!

Mordred: Damn. My head’s all fuzzy just thinking about that asshole!

Jekyll: You two might’ve run into them as well. What do you think? Do you recall fighting an Assassin?

Mashu: Ah…

Mashu: Now that you mention it… it sort of feels like we did. A surprise attack... by...

Mashu: That’s right… we got ambushed. My memories are suddenly coming back to me.

Mashu: I almost forgot everything. But, there has to be some reason for what happened...

[CHOICE]

1. A skill? 2. A Noble Phantasm?

Mashu: Yes, Senpai. That must be it. I wonder which one it was, though? A skill or Noble Phantasm.

Mordred: That one’s quick to run. If we don’t get moving, they’ll have cleared out already. Let’s go!

Andersen: What, you’re leaving? You should’ve said something. If you’re going out, let’s see... I’ll take a scone, then.

Mordred: Like hell you're going! Well, not like you’d be useful if you did…

Mordred: … hold up. You think we’ll have as easy of a time as before?

Andersen: That was an phenomenal exception. Don’t go depending on me for everything. And just what are you looking to get out of us authors, truly?

Andersen: Do you think of me as some all-knowing being? If so, you’d best reconsider.

Andersen: Listen up. Authors are just morons whose words run off the page simply because they couldn’t get anything in life!

Andersen: Do you think someone like that could ever be useful?

Mordred: … I was stupid for even asking. Let’s get moving, Mashu, Gudako!

// SHIFT TO OUTSIDE. //

Mordred: Full speed ahead to our destination. Mashu, carry Gudako. It’s a race against the clock.

Mordred: There’s no way a human can keep up. We’ll head straight for the Yard with pure Servant sprinting power.

Mashu: R-Right …excuse me, Senpai. It’s just for a little while.

[CHOICE]

1. Try not to drop me. 2. Likewise. Sorry for this.

Mashu: O-Okay.

Mashu: …I’ll be as careful as possible. Be sure not to let go of me, Senpai.

Mordred: Hey, get movi--- tch. Soon as I say it, there's enemies at our flanks!

Dr. Roman: Huge enemy readings. They’re closing in from all directions. Break through before they surround you!

// BATTLE. //

Mordred: We almost crushed ‘em all! Forget the rest. We’re making a run for it, Mashu!

Mashu: Right!

Dr. Roman: She sure is full of moxie. I guess they don’t call her the Knight of Treachery for nothing.

Mashu: That’s right. That combat efficiency is straight out of the legend.

Mashu: As swift and accurate as a bolt of lightning across the sky, the point of her sword never wavers.

[CHOICE]

1. Knight of Treachery? 2. You mean Mordred?

Dr. Roman: Ah, that reminds me--- no one said anything to you, did they, Gudako-chan?

Dr. Roman: The Knight of Treachery, Mordred. A Heroic Spirit manifested in this world under the Saber class.

Dr. Roman: He’s[1] not from this era, of course. His origins lie in the 5th-6th century with the legend of King Arthur.

Dr. Roman: The individual who brought about the end of an era. The one person who literally staged a rebellion against King Arthur.

Mashu: And it was by all means an exceptional rebellion. It was the first time someone had ever rallied together anti-Arthur forces made up of their foreign enemies.

Mashu: In order words, Mordred stood alone as the King of Treachery. If times had been more peaceful, perhaps she might’ve even succeeded the King.

Mashu: There are countless legends about Mordred’s bravery as well. As one of the Knights of the Round---

Dr. Roman: They called him the son of King Arthur. Only they also said the King never properly acknowledged his child.

Dr. Roman: That may be the reason why he changed their mind about the rebellion. So why did Mordred still defy King Arthur at every turn?

Dr. Roman: I suppose only he--- she[1], would know the real reason why.

[CHOICE]

1. The rebellion succeeded? 2. The rebellion was a failure?

Mashu: … yes. The knight Mordred lost her life during the Battle of Camlann.

Mashu: In reality, it was more of a tie. She wielded the Demonic Sword Clarent against King Arthur in battle.

Mashu: King Arthur fought with his holy lance and pierced the traitor.

Mashu: The king himself had also fallen, mortally wounded when---

Mordred: What’re you blabbing about over there!? Get moving already!

Mashu: Ah, r-right!

[CHOICE]

1. Let’s go!

Mashu: …Roger, Master!

// BATTLE. //

Mordred: They’re closing in from the side, one after the other!

Mordred: Pick up the pace again, Mashu!

Mashu: Okay… !

Dr. Roman: Sorry to interrupt while you’re en-route. I’ve got a hot report straight from Da Vinci-chan!

Dr. Roman: It’s about those huge, armored, mysterious robots. I’ll be reporting the results of our findings concerning the Helter Skelters.

Dr. Roman: It’s as accurate as we can be while still analyzing, but here’s what I’ve got, based on the preliminaries.

Dr. Roman: First of all, they’re not golems. Traces of magical mechanisms can’t be confirmed with video evidence.

Dr. Roman: Though they’re purely mechanical… there’s still a lot I don’t get. It seems like they’re running on steam engines. Any other details are unknown.

Dr. Roman: It seems like technology you’d find in our time, the year 2017.

Dr. Roman: Made with some kind of hidden or long-lost technique---

Dr. Roman: Almost like they made rapid progress with their super technology by taking a different path from our world.

Dr. Roman: … ...yep.

Dr. Roman: … well, of course. Of course you wouldn’t answer, ‘cause you’re busy running and stuff…

Dr. Roman: That’s enough out of me. Do your best out there!

// BATTLE. //

Jack the Ripper: … ....huh?

Jack the Ripper: So you came from that direction. Then, hehe, we’ll… What should we do with you?

Jack the Ripper: Should we kill you? One, two, three. So many. A whole lot.

Jack the Ripper: Hehe. We already killed a whole bunch, but we’re still hungry. Starving.

Jack the Ripper: All ‘cause Mr. Policeman didn’t have much magical energy.

Jack the Ripper: So, thank you! We’ll eat your magical energy up and be full!

Mordred: We made it---

Mordred: Or not, it looks like. The smell of blood… so the Yard’s been wiped out.

Dr. Roman: I’m detecting two other signatures besides you guys. Jack the Ripper and one other.

Mashu: I can guess pretty well who the unknown Servant is. That man over there---

(???): Yes. I just so happen to be a Caster Servant. One of the three pulling the strings of that “Project”.

[CHOICE]

1. The Demon Fog Project? 2. Why’re you doing this?

(???): We have several of our own conditions and circumstances. You may call me “P”, if you wish.

P: I’m afraid you were just a tad too late. The poor Scotland Yard has already been annihilated.

P: They all died in such horrid, gruesome ways. For you see, that child hasn’t an ounce of compassion in her heart.

P: It was all necessary, however. An unavoidable sacrifice. It almost seems a tribute to the fallen when you say express it in such a way.

P: Truly, man is a creature who ought to be adored. Both love and affection are such dazzling things.

P: How sad, that the cause sometimes takes precedence.

P: Something we required was tucked safely away in Scotland Yard’s headquarters.

P: As one would expect, the Mage’s Association, Clock Tower, reside in the British Empire. They applied a strong magical seal to the place.

P: Thus they, while unfortunate, ended up posing a grand obstacle to our cause.

Mordred: What's with this blowhard. Who gives a damn about love or affection!

Mordred: You went and put your hand on what’s mine again. You, who are not the king, have touched that which belongs to the king.

[CHOICE]

1. You killed innocent people despite being a Heroic Spirit? 2. Don’t you have any pride as a hero!?

P: Indeed. And that is why I cannot show any sadness.

P: Those bound to hope should be noble. Those bound to love should be brilliant.

P: I’m not likely to save them with this paltry power of mine. That alone should be clear when you consider the aforementioned outcome.

P: This era will fall to ruin. Even humanity itself will fall to ruin.

P: Annihilate desires, love, humanity’s progression, and only four idiosyncrasies will remain in this left behind world.

P: What a miserable outcome it’ll be. But neither you nor I can stop it.

P: No. If you’re unable to stop it, that is---

Mashu: … you’re contradicting yourself.

Mashu: I feel a deep discrepancy in those words of yours, Caster. No, P. Who are you, really?

Mashu: You’re using Jack just to take human lives. It sounds to me like you’re the one who lacks an ounce of compassion.

P: That may very well be true, beautiful young lady.

P: I’m nothing more than a wicked magus in the end, it seems. Even now, I command an innocent girl.

P: Jack. I’ll leave the rest to you.

P: Do as you like. That girl may even be your Mother, you know.

Jack: Eh? Is that… true. ?

Jack: So that’s how it is. Hmm. Then… we’ll treat you just like our own Mother.

Jack: Will you let us go back? Deep, deep inside of you… inside Mother…

Mordred: Forget it. You’re going straight back to the Throne. Here’s where you die.

Mashu: We need to think of a way to stop Assassin in her tracks. ...Senpai…

[CHOICE]

1. We’ve got to stop her. 2. Let’s start this.

Mashu: ---OK! Master!

// BATTLE. //

Jack: Mo… ther…. no…. no, no, no… it, hurts…

Jack: Why… why did you…

Jack: … why, did… tell me... hey… …?

P: Farewell, child who knows naught of love. One day, you’ll obtain the affection you seek.

P: ---now, then. I suppose this is where I die, felled by your hand.

P: The cold-blooded magus is defeated by the hero. Therein lies the sole answer I seek.

P: But. I must carry out my role first.

P: Farewell, you heroes who walk on a radiant path. And you, Knight of the Round---

P: I pray for your continued existence as a champion of justice who strikes down treachery.

Mordred: Wait! Shit, he vanished! Magi always do this!

Mashu: Spatial Transportation--- that’s the spell that let him be forcibly removed.

Mashu: It was originally a form of magecraft that could hold a candle to True Magic. Using it like that... it’s very possible that a Holy Grail is…

Dr. Roman: It’s very likely. At least for the sole mastermind who’s behind the “Demon Fog Project” that’s trying to destroy this era.

Dr. Roman: Otherwise, it’s possible that possession of the Holy Grail was transferred to him.

Dr. Roman: I wonder what his true purpose in London is…

Mordred: I could care less. All we’ve gotta do is flush him out and flatten him!

// TO THE LEAGUE OF GENIUSES. //

P: … I’ve returned safely.

B: Psssh… kohh…

M: Good work. …that girl was defeated, then?

P: She died, unfortunately. We've suffered a sequence of failure since Mephistopheles’ loss.

M: It won’t affect that much. All we need to focus on is carrying out the “Project”.

P: Yes. I suppose so. You’re right. We three are Servants. All we need do is follow the whims of our Master.

P: There’s no need to wallow in regret. You should be moving forward with your own “Project”, yes?

M: …I know.

B: Creating a path for this world and its civilization--- therein lies the greatest mission for we wise scholars.

B: If this world were incinerated, both humanity and civilization itself would be well on its way to that established point of demise.

B: We would no longer be---

[1] Roman only uses カレ and 彼 (kare, katakana then kanji, he/him) in reference to Mordred when he gets carried away talking about the legend here. Mashu doesn’t do that in that segment. Once Roman catches himself, he corrects himself to 彼女 (kanojo, she/her) which is also what Mashu and everyone else uses for Mordred usually.

It’s difficult to put in English because in Japanese pronouns aren’t necessarily required when referring to someone and Mashu isn’t using any during the exposition. It’s only supposed to be Roman, so the official translation probably missed the context and falsely had Mashu use he/him too while explaining Mordred’s legend.

Editor V note: Since it’s a topic in tandem, everyone uses kanojo for Mordred and usually she doesn’t slice their throats open so she doesn’t care about pronouns. Just don’t call her or treat her explicitly like a man or a woman. That’s why she threatened Jekyll in the other chapter.

#fgo #fate grand order #mordred #click for more Fun Mordred Trivia #story: london

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applegelstore · 7 years ago

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Orchestra AU thoughts in three charming parts

A few people voiced their interest, so I figured I could explain what’s actually behind the orchestra AU idea, since this one isn’t exactly a crossover with some other franchise, and therefore you can’t guess any context from what you know about the other part of the crossover :,D Feel free to skip, it’s just text, but if you wanna talk orchestra AU with me, please go ahead! Warning, way too long post ahead (why did I spend an entire afternoon on this?):

PART 1 (basics)

The AU as such is the one where nothing hurts and everything is musical jokes (or musical sex jokes in Zaveid’s case) and shameless geeking. And it’s actually supposed to be a cross-Tales thing. With Rollo probably following Ludger wherever he goes like a dog, and nobody ever minds. And Phi probably following Velvet around, and nobody minds that, either.

So far I’ve deduced the ensemble from official material as follows:

Jr. Conductor: Cress

Jr. Jr. Conductor: Phi (in training, probably. THEN AGAIN CRESS SHOULD STILL BE IN TRAINING, TOO, HE’S 17, LIKE 90% OF ALL JRPG PROTAGONISTS EVER)

Solo Soprano: Tear, Lailah (not official, but try to fight me on these ladies)

Solo Bass: Zaveid (come on, he’s bass)

Solo Piano: Mikleo (this isn’t official either, but you can try to pry the “Mikleo plays piano” headcanon from my cold, dead hands)

Violin: Mint, Ludger, Sorey

 Viola: Alisha (I guess it’s supposed to be another violin, BUT IT LOOKS SO BIG)

Cello: Velvet

Double bass: Richard

Flute: Milla, Mikleo

Clarinet: Rose (and probably abusing it to stab people)

Trumpet: Jude, Elize, Dezel

Trombone: Eleanor

Percussion: Rokurou, Luke, Edna

As you can see, we don’t have a FULL orchestra yet, but we also have a fuckton of games left.

PART 2  (what most of you are here for. The Sormik spinoff)

…Everything was plot- and painless, until my unhelpful brain decided that we need some Sormik spinoff, some sort of plot, and also some fantasy/dark fairytale shit because I always fall for that. Also there’s the thing that we never learn in the game who the heck Mikleo’s father is, so there was room to fill with AU material. So, some of you may know that I’m a huuuuuge Seventh Wonder fan. If you didn’t, now you know. Seventh Wonder are super duper fucking amazing, and Tommy Karevik is a god. …Ah pretty ripped hipster teddybear god. Okay, back to topic. So there’s this song, King of Whitewater, which is about a water spirit luring in children (…and their relatives) with beautiful violin melodies. From this general theme, my unhelpful brain deduced the following, dark fairytale-ish concept:

When she’s still young and naive, Muse meets the very lonely water spirit. Eventually, she feels pity for him and falls in love with him. But sooner or later she misses a normal human’s life in a normal human town, and when he doesn’t let her get away and turns violent, she runs away, highly pregnant. She refuses to tell anyone who’s the father; the only one he trusts is Michael, who agrees to help her raise the child, too. They hope everything will be well. Yeah, you all know who that child is. Anyway, the water spirit is pretty heartbroken, and that makes him even more violent, and also feel betrayed for that yet unborn child. And from that day on, starts luring in little children who never see the light of day again.

Muse doesn’t know about this. And leads a normal life, believing she escaped.

All is fine until someday during a scouting trip in the woods between Camlann and Elysia, little Sorey and Mikleo get lost in the woods and accidentally find a mysterious (TM) lake. It’s surrounded by mist so thick they can hardly see anything, but all the time, soothing, beautiful violin music plays. Because that’s how the spirit lures in children. Because he wants his child back.

To which little Sorey of course violently disagrees, but it’s not like two little children had much of a chance to escape, so Mikleo talks the spirit into a compromise: stealing children isn’t okay, no matter the circumstances. At least wait til I’m of age. And please stop killing other children in the meantime. The spirit agrees and lets them go. Sorey is of course a crying mess. Somehow through his tears and apologies he manages to promise Mikleo that the spirit won’t get him. And Mikleo trusts him. Problem is that the spirit isn’t exactly stupid either, so he enchants the children so they forget everything that happened instead of like, running for help. Oh, except the song (which is the violin solo in King of Whitewater btw). They never forget the song. They just forget how and where they learned it, and ever since that scout trip it’s their personal thing that they often play for fun, believing it to be some kind of nursery rhyme. And nobody ever suspects a thing.

Everything is perfect. Everything is beautiful. They grow up to be smart kids and with wonderful grades in school. They become marvelous musicians. They meet wonderful friends in high school. Of course they eventually start dating.

But then Mikleo’s 18th birthday draws near and for a couple of weeks, things get weird. He gets nightmares in which he drowns or gets lost in the mist, nightmares in which Sorey dies or simply gets missing, nightmares that he can’t make sense of. He hears the song all the time in his head, failing to remember where he’d learned it. The morning after his 18th birthday party, he wakes up in Sorey’s arms and everything ought to be great and perfect, but somehow it isn’t. He asks Sorey whether he remembers the song they learned as kids. Or how they learned it. What’s it called, even. He doesn’t know, but he remembers the song and plays it for Mikleo. And suddenly, bit by bit, Mikleo remembers. So does Sorey, but much slower.

Sorey leaves for college and Muse and Michael are already gone for work, but Mikleo stays in bed because he’s tired. Sorey has a bad feeling about this (TM) but leaves him be. Mistake. When he gets back home, Mikleo is nowhere to be found.

AND HERE’S THE PROBLEM. I’m stuck here. I have not the slightest idea how to fix this and stop Mikleo from getting lost in a lake in the woods for the rest of his life. Sure, okay, Muse and Sorey violently disagree, BUT WHAT ARE THEY SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT IT. Violent violin battles are some of the less ridiculous “solutions” that have come to my mind so far.

If anybody knows how to give this thing a happy ending that doesn’t involve any deus ex machina moves from any end, I’d be grateful.

The worst thing about this is that experience tells me that I’d have zero trouble to actually leave Mikleo lost in the forest for the rest of his life if this was one of my original stories. Most of them are made of pain and suffering, seasoned with cute animals and super-natural shit for balance.

PART 3 (random Sormik related tidbits)

-Camlann is a tiny, mountaineous town which they love very dearly -they have to travel quite a bit each morning for high school and college (the former where they meet the rest of the squad) and later on to study some music or history related, they still visit their families often because they like it so much -I kinda want Selene to retain her maiden’s name and make it Shepherd for the sole purpose that Zaveid can then continue calling Sorey Sheps -also I came up with this bit about their living situation -shortly before Sorey and Mikleo start dating, they borrow the keys to a concert rehearsal room at some point, so they can practice their grand piano/violin duet a bit (Mikleo only has a piano at home, not a grand piano). It’s gonna be part of a huge concert thing, so it’s only one part of the show with an entire orchestra and occasionally other solos or duets -a hurricane cuts off all public transport for the evening and the entire night, and it’s also goddamn dangerous not to have a roof over your head for the time being -so they’re trapped in the rehearsal room until morning when the storm has subsided and public transport is also working again -once they’re too tired to actually practice once the evening gets late (like. very late. more like middle of the night/morning), they abide their time watching the storm through the rehearsal room’s hugeass windows -at some point, sleepy hormone rushes favor the confession and kissing bit -they have fond memories of thunderstorms afterwards -when she eventually hears about the thing, Rose is hollering with laughter because she probably had bets going that it would take them getting locked up in a room to finally confess and make out after years of mutual oblivious pining. She wasn’t entirely wrong, and probably made lots of bucks with her bet -anyway, when they finally perform their duet weeks later, the entire audience agrees that their duet was one of the evening’s highlights, and Sorey probably spends all evening smiling like an idiot and happily holding Mikleo’s hand -considering that the whole thing could be shamelessly crossover-y, I might get flutist!Milla giving flutist!Mikleo kindly big sister advise feelings (no, not relationship advise, because she’s the worst at that. Hey, not everything has to be Sormik-related) -not sure whether she’s still a vessel for Maxwell, but if lake spirits are a thing, why shouldn’t Maxwell be a thing -fun fact: I hate suits.

#orchestra AU #feat the official Sormik spinoff #no actually it’s not official sorry for trolling you

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somefinelipstickonthatpig · 7 years ago

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Room for One More

"...it’s…also kinda sad, isn’t it?” he says. “To think everything that has happened to us is all just fate? That everything’s predetermined and we’re heading towards some inevitable point?”

“Maybe,” Mikleo mumbles. “Or maybe that makes it easier to deal with.”

Sorey blinks. He looks to the seraph beside him and again Mikleo doesn’t meet his gaze. “Is easier better?”

Mikleo shrugs. He doesn’t know anymore.

Sormik Week 2017 - Day 7: Camlann, Family/Fate

[Read on AO3]

They meet just outside of Elysia. Grassy earth passes quickly under hurrying feet. The night sky is open and with joy in his lungs, Sorey wraps his arms around Mikleo as soon as the water seraph is within reach. He squeezes him tightly, breathless with gratitude. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he cries and it’s a wonder the other seraphim of the village don’t hear him from here.

Mikleo stiffens; his hands are at his sides. His cheeks dust with red. “What, did you really think I would just let you leave Elysia on your own?”

“I really, really hoped not!” Sorey says, but he doesn’t loosen his hold. His chin tucks into a teal shoulder. “But I guess I shouldn’t have doubted you. You always come through, Mikleo!”

“You always come through, Mikleo!” Sorey says in Marlind, the adrenaline from the battle with the drake still coursing through his veins. He places his fisted hands against his waist, a wide grin splitting his face.

Mikleo huffs with a sour-eyed grape look to the human. “Well, I should hope so. That was a tough one.”

Sorey laughs through the exhaustion so evident in his form. Dirtied and scratched from head-to-toe—Mikleo wonders sometimes how his childhood friend can still somehow radiate like an embodiment of sunshine even after such a harrowing fight. “Yeah!” he enthuses. “I’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for you and that bow, haha. That’s pretty nifty!”

‘Nifty’ isn’t sure what Mikleo would call an ancient weapon they had both just armatized to use and to save his best friend’s life. But sure. It’s ‘nifty.’

It does not escape his notice as they turn to head back into town that there’s a slight limp in his human’s gait. A tentative step and then something like a half-hop and drag that Mikleo assumes is supposed to look like another step. He frowns. “Sorey,” he starts—but whatever he wants to say dies on his tongue when those green eyes turn to him, expectant and innocent.

“What?” Sorey asks.

Mikleo sighs.

With Sorey, sometimes, you just have to pick your battles, Zenrus had once said. Mikleo doesn’t think he’s ever heard better advice.

“Just…be more careful next time, okay?”

A considerate hum. “Okay!”

“Mikleo! Be more careful next time!”

Mikleo dangles into the abyss, saved only by a hand on the back of his collar. He blinks for a moment into the darkness beneath and thinks he can hear the crumble of rock finally hit the bottom.

Oh.

It had all happened so fast; the water seraph wasn’t sure when he had fallen. Sorey was rambling about this newfound side of the St. Mabinogio ruins and the Shepherd’s mural on the wall when he had turned away. Mikleo remembers that. He had offered a different perspective on the illustration and then suddenly—

“You know, I can save myself,” Mikleo says with a frown. “You don’t have to catch me.”

Sorey just grunts as he pulls up his friend from the newfound hole in the walkway. He pants with breath Mikleo doesn’t need to take as the seraph dusts himself off and stands.

Sorey looks up at him and pouts. “Yeah, well. You could just say ‘thank you.’”

Mikleo pauses. His amethyst eyes turn to his human. Green stares back and he sighs. He turns. He holds out a pale and slender hand, which Sorey takes. “All right. Thank you, Sorey.”

He lifts Sorey to his feet, who pops up with a bounce.

“You’re welcome!”

“Thank you, Mikleo.”

Sorey says it so simply and so quietly, that at first Mikleo forgets they are talking about losing his best friend. He forgets that they are in Lastonbell and that they are looking up at the stars. He forgets that Sorey just told him he wants to become a vessel for an imminently powerful seraph and that it may be the only way to save the world.

He swallows down his fear and nods. People have given up more, he thinks. In the whole history of the world that Sorey and himself have wanted to explore with their own two hands and feet, there are others who have lost more than he will in these coming days.

It should be fine. It’s a good plan.

Mikleo wonders if this is what courage means, to feel how Sorey��s hands remain so steady when his own shake the instant the human reaches to hold him.

“I’m sorry,” Sorey whispers into his hair.

Mikleo shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” Mikleo says as he sits next to Sorey on the inn bed in Loghrin. His legs are brought up to his chest, his pale hands resting against his knees. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no,” Sorey urges. The Shepherd leans forward from the headboard and into the water seraph’s space. All day, the human hasn’t strayed too far from Mikleo’s side; not since the Iris Gem completed its story. Not since the answers they were given don’t match up with the answers they were hoping for. “It’s an interesting thought. I’ve never looked at it like that before.”

Mikleo can’t bring himself to look into too-green of eyes. He sighs.

Sorey leans back. His own legs lie out in front of him, hands loosely lying in his lap. Mikleo wants to hold one, but he wonders if it would be welcome. Sorey tilts his head to look at the ceiling. There’s a thoughtful expression on his face.

“But it’s…also kinda sad, isn’t it?” he says. “To think everything that has happened to us is all just fate? That everything’s predetermined and we’re heading towards some inevitable point?”

“Maybe,” Mikleo mumbles. “Or maybe that makes it easier to deal with.”

Sorey blinks. He looks to the seraph beside him and again Mikleo doesn’t meet his gaze. “Is easier better?”

Mikleo shrugs. He doesn’t know anymore.

“Is easier better?” Gramps asks, turning the spit over the fire between them with slow care.

“Ye…“ Sorey stops himself. He thinks about it. His young green eyes flicker to their elder and then back to his hands and the way they turn the prickleboar meat. In the firelight, Mikleo thinks Sorey’s eyes look especially like the sun. “…n-no…?”

Zenrus chuckles. He turns to Mikleo. “All right. And you, Mikleo? Is easier better?”

“Well, yes,” the answer comes with surprising ease. Mikleo straightens up with pride as the lightning seraph across from them makes a soft and pleased sound. “Because why do something the hard way, if doing it a simpler way achieves the same results?”

“He brings a good point.” Zenrus turns again to the younger of the two. “Well? What do you say, Sorey? Will you defend your position?”

“I…” Sorey blinks hard and frowns. Two tiny hands come up to ruffle the sides of his own head. His Elysalark earrings jingle and he huffs. “…I…I don’t know! It’s hard.”

“Why is it hard?”

“Because…” The young human child sighs with an exaggerated sound. Those green eyes look away. He folds his hands under his bare knees, digging into the earth. “…because Mikleo’s right. But…”

Zenrus watches him for a long moment. A thick, white eyebrow raises. “’But?’”

Sorey frowns and lowers his eyes to the spot right before his knees.

“Sorey?”

He shakes his head. His shoulders slump. Mikleo has the image of a small candle snuffed out, enveloped by shadow. “Never mind.”

Mikleo fights off the smug feeling that crawls over him. He always did enjoy winning an argument over Sorey.

“Never mind,” Sorey sighs into the night.

Lailah, leaning against the balustrade at their room in Ladylake, shakes her head quickly. She nudges the Shepherd’s elbow beside her with persistent pokes. “No, no! Tell me, tell me!”

Mikleo doesn’t look up from the book he is reading. He reads the same line twice, the side of his head pressed against his knuckles, propped up on the arm rest of his chair.

When Sorey finally speaks, he turns his head to listen.

“I’ve always thought…” the young man begins, and then sighs again. His finger traces the woodgrain of the railing. “…so like, it’s easier to stay inside and read books, right? You don’t have to go anywhere and you don’t have to do anything, and you still get to learn about new things and hear about all these cool places and stories and it’s great, right?”

“Right,” Lailah follows with a nod.

Mikleo presses his chin into the palm of his hand, his eyes gazing at some fixed point on the adjacent wall.

“But then, you miss out on experiencing it all for yourself, too,” Sorey says quietly. “I think that’s why the Celestial Record and other books about the stories of the world are so cool, because after you read about ‘em, you can go visit ‘em and see their stories for yourself.”

Lailah hums and it’s a soft, musical sound. She presses a thin finger to her chin, thoughtful. “But isn’t that dangerous? Sometimes those ruins aren’t very safe.”

Sorey shrugs. He straightens up and rocks back to the heels of his feet, hands grasping onto the railing to keep himself from falling back. He grins to the sky. “Well, yeah, but maybe that’s why sometimes what’s easier isn’t always better. Y’know?”

“Ah!” Lailah brightens. “I think I get it, yes.”

Mikleo turns to his book. He doesn’t remember the next page he reads.

He doesn’t know if he gets it.

“I think I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

Mikleo can’t turn to see the fire seraph sitting behind him, though he wishes he could. Lailah’s long, pale hair curls in the grass beside him. His eyes drift to the pillar of light down the hill, protruding from a city lost deep within ruins.

“You’re afraid,” Lailah says it so simply and so quietly that at first Mikleo forgets that they are talking about seeing his best friend again. He forgets they are sitting on the outskirts of his and Sorey’s hometown, staring at the only thing he has left of his other half. He doesn’t know if he wants to remember. “You’re afraid he won’t wake up. Right?”

Mikleo sighs and closes his eyes. He presses his forehead into his crossed arms over his knees. Lailah’s fingers in his hair are nimble and gentle, gathering his long locks back behind his ears.

Her voice is just as tender. “You needn’t be. He’ll return to you.”

Mikleo takes a breath. “How do you know?” he asks into his arms.

“Because I know Sorey. And Sorey would never not choose to see you again.”

Mikleo swallows. “What if he doesn’t have a choice?”

Lailah hums. She holds Mikleo’s hair up as she ties it.

Mikleo doesn’t know what he wants to say to the silence.

“Sorey was never afraid,” he murmurs instead. “He chose to leave Elysia to save Alisha. He pulled the sword in Ladylake and made a pact with you. He took that same sword and drove it through Heldalf’s chest.” He takes a slow and deep breath. “He made his decisions his own, no matter how difficult they were.”

There’s a distinct smile in Lailah’s voice. “He did,” she hums. “But that’s not what’s bothering you, is it?”

“No,” Mikleo agrees.

Lailah finishes fluffing the water seraph’s hair with her fingers before she comes around to his side. Mikleo lifts his head to her. The fire seraph watches him closely.

Mikleo lowers his eyes and sighs. “Camlann, I think, is what bothers me. Sometimes I think about how Gramps took Sorey and I and raised us, knowing what we would become. I think about how Sorey was practically groomed to become the Shepherd, and how you were waiting for us in Ladylake. How you knew who we were and what we would become, too, the instant you knew our names. How everything was so…”

Lailah doesn’t say a word. Her hands are folded in her lap neatly. Her green eyes never waver from his profile.

“I think about how this is Sorey’s purpose, in a sense. How he was destined to become Maotelus’ vessel right from the start. He was going to be the Shepherd that purified the whole world and I wonder if we realized everything sooner, if we could have said no. If Sorey would have wanted to. But now…” Mikleo sighs and it’s heavy. “Now that he’s fulfilled his purpose and fate’s finally done with its Shepherd, I wonder if he will even get the chance to wake up.”

“I see.” Lailah nods. She folds her hands together before her. Her gaze is soft and knowing. “You wonder if fate will be kind enough to find room for one more in the world—just for the sake of happiness, yes?”

Mikleo looks to the fire seraph.

“You want to know what I think?”

He nods.

“I think fate is what you will,” Lailah begins. Her hands fall to her lap again, smoothing out her dress. “It’s not easy to believe that, I know, but maybe in the end that’s what courage really means: to hold out and fight for the future you want, even if it doesn’t fit in with fate’s plans. I think that if you want to see Sorey again, you need to be brave just like that. For a little while longer, at least.”

“Lailah,” Mikleo murmurs with a small, chiding smile. “I don’t think I have any power over whether or not Sorey wakes up.”

“Just be brave, Mikleo. Do the hard thing,” Lailah urges. Her smile is contagious. Confident. “It’ll be better. I promise.”

“Just be brave, Mikleo,” Mikleo whispers to himself. He dusts off the plaque with his gloved hand and squats, trying to read the letters. “Just be brave.”

He tilts his head up to view the artifact before him: a statue of another Shepherd from eras and eras past.

Mikleo sighs and straightens. He stares at the statue as if it could give him the answers he’s looking for: maybe not even the ones he wants but the ones he needs. “You know how to wake Sorey up, right?” he asks it.

The stone does not speak back.

Mikleo frowns. His eyes roam over the cloak covering the figure, so similar to the one Sorey wore centuries and centuries ago. He wonders, briefly, if this will work. He takes a breath. The hard thing, he reminds himself. He folds his hands and bows his head. His eyes shut tight.

“Please, please, please,” he whispers. It’s the only words he can muster. It’s the only words he’s got. “Please, please…!”

But when he peeks open his eyes, the statue remains the same and nothing has changed.

Mikleo sighs. His hands fall to his sides. “Fine,” he murmurs under his breath. “I’ll try something else, then.”

But the earth rumbles under Mikleo’s feet as he turns away. A fragment of a conversation from centuries past sharply occurs to him—something about ruins being dangerous and roads far less travelled—then the ground opens up from underneath him. He starts to fall.

Ah.

He thinks of another part of the St. Mabinogio ruins, not nearly this deep, where he had fallen and a hand had grasped him by the back of his collar. ‘Yeah, well. You could just say—’

—Mikleo doesn’t expect the hand that grabs his.

His head snaps up.

For one moment, it is like he has forgotten how to breathe.

The next, suddenly, there’s joy in his lungs.

“Thank you,” he breathes as he dangles over the abyss. He raises a hand to cover the one over his own. He grips it tight. “Thank you, thank you.”

Sorey just smiles above him. It’s like the sun.

#sormik week 2017 #sormik #zestiria #sorey #mikleo #fanfic #mod krissey writes a thing #hooooooooly cow this is the longest thing i've done for sormik week yet #fuuuuuuuuu #also i noticed a lot more people did family than fate for today #it wasn't really #my intention to do something different but here have a whole lot of fate talk #and other mush #and out of order snippets #gosh i'm so tired i just hope u like it ok #night

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cerastes · 8 years ago

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Sir Percival Is Very Nice And Disconcertingly Gullible Part 1

HELLO citizens. Today, I want to share with you the story of a certain Knight of the Round Table who knows how to maneuver his foot around people’s asses, looks like a prim and proper lady in a skirt, and also doesn’t know what a penis is. I am talking about the one and only Sir Percival. But before Sir Percival was a Sir or Percival, he was a lady, a cute girl, an adorable toddler. No, there’s no magic involved, no magic transformation, it’s just that he was raised as a girl (culturally speaking, in relation to the time) by his mother, and he never really questioned it, because to question things, you need life experience, and you get more life experience from cleaning dirty fingernails than you do cooped up in a caslte. Oh yeah, by the way, his mother kept him cooped in a castle and he was ffffffforbidden from ever leaving it. Also, I’ll have to split this in parts because it is TOO LONG.

LET’S ELABORATE: Percival was the prince of certain lands, and his father was either King Pellinore or Alain le Gros, and in either case, the father is a celebrated warrior. Point is, Percival is of noble lineage and the son of a warrior king, which of course means he has superpowers, because this is Arthurian mythos. Regardless of who his father was, he also had at least four siblings, all four of them Knights of the Round Table. Now this is the part where you expect his family to be proud of how many fine warriors it has produced. Except you are WRONG, because my man’s mother was actually Not Too Happy With The Family Business, so when Percival was born, Mom, who is unnamed because being a woman in Arthurian mythos sucks because you either die or are a huge asshole, said “mmMMMM NO” and raised Percival away from everything that could be considered “manly” back in the day (read: knights) and without letting him ever learn of dangerous stuff like “swords” or “holy grails”. Accounts vary whether Mom took Percival and his sister away from their castle and to live in the forest or if she simply raised Percival in the castle proper, but for all intents and purposes, what matters here is that Percival looks better than you and I in a dress, can knit a fierce sweater, weaves the meanest baskets, and can sew a whole dress from the ground up using only dirty curtains and positive thoughts.

So Mom, Sister, and Percival are having fun, living a soft and cute life, when SUDDENLY, knights appear. Mom was busy watching Star Trek reruns and this distracted her long enough for Percival to notice them and ask “MOM HOLY FUCK WHAT ARE THOSE METAL DUDES”. Mom realized too late that He Had Been Exposed, so she acted fast on her feet and said “Ah, Percy, those are... Angels. They are servants of God, so don’t look at them too much, because you see them when you die or when you are close to something that could result in your death!”, so the first thing Percival does is ask his sister if she can tie a sturdy noose, nice and cozy, so he can hang himself immediately to become an angel, they look SO COOL, and his sister, with all the delicacy of a car accident, shuts him the fuck up and asks him to stop being a weirdo for one second.

Since his UNCOOPERATIVE family was made of unreasonable asses out of nowhere, P-Diddy sneaks out of the castle (which is also the first time he ever gets out of that castle WOW LOCKING YOUR KIDS IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA) and approaches the angels, trying to not be seen by them because he doesn’t want to die, but during his Sneaking Operation, he steps on the loudest,most scandalous tree branch in history and mythos because it lets out a CRRRRRCCCKKK SO FUCKING LOUD the knights’ horses go apeshit, one of them kicks a knight in the face, and another straight up runs into a river and drowns, which makes you think what in the fuck are these horses on the field of duty for if a kid in a dress can scare them into Escort Mission AI-levels of idiocy. Well, that aside, the knights obviously freak the fuck out and are like “WOAH HEY WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT STOP!” which quickly turns into “WHY ARE YOU WEARING A DRESS!” and honestly, Parsee was kinda weirded out because angels are supposed to be more solemn than this, and definitely not as loud. P-kun voices these concerns, and the knights have themselves a gigglesnort, quickly and politely explaining that they are knights, not angels, and that yelling, questioning, and killing was part of their job. Then they explained it was a lie, because they never ask questions, only yell and kill, which you guys and gals at home probably think is just me making a joke, except Knights of the Round Table killed each other a SHITLOAD of times simply because they didn’t know who the other guy was, because there was this understanding, this covenant back in the day where, if you were a knight and the other guy was a knight and yelling was involved, as it usually is in the field of battle, you most likely were enemies and had to murder each other, and apparently no one fucking recognized each others’ armor or anything.

What I am trying to say is that people in Arthurian mythos are MORONIC BRUTES and that Britain is a PvP-enabled zone, which is why shit like Camlann happens.

Anyways.

Percival was apparently pretty ok with these metal dudes being professional loud murderers because he immediately asks if he can become a professional loud murderer, but he gets turned away because he is still a kid at this point, and kids can’t be knights, BUT, as soon as his hormones start going nuts and awkward, solitary strands of hair start growing on his moles and around his nipples, he’s old enough to become a knight. He’s content enough with this answer, and so he heads home and gets turbo-grounded the moment his mom catches him. In the process of being turbo-grounded, Percy let out to his mom that he wanted to become a knight, which turned this into an ultra mega turbo grounding instead because he said The Forbidden Word and now Mom’s angry.

Even being his mom and everything, however, Mom knew she couldn’t really oppose the wishes of his son like this, so what did she do instead? What every normal person in a front of a situation that requires cooperation from both ends and that demands maturity and sensibility would do: Lie.

She outright kept telling Percival that he was still 12 years old, even as the years passed. More concerning is the fact that P-kun didn’t question this at all. Well, whatever floats your boat, weirdo Arthurian family.

Percival turns 17 or 18 years of age, depending on the source, which is the age where kids are considered men and can thusly start screaming and killing [for honor], but he is still convinced he is 12 years old because Mom Sucks. All is well as usual in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber Castle WHEN SUDDENLY, a knight appears, except this one is a BAD KNIGHT, his first thought upon seeing the castle was “my, what a NICE and GORGEOUS door, I bet ramming it down and raping whatever girl I find inside would make this an even better day! : )“ so he gets to work and, sure enough, just solo-decimates the entire castle door and is getting ready to Bad Touch Mom and Sister when Percival, now no longer a kid, but rather, a powerfully built, ripped, 24 pack abs superwarrior (remember what I told you about lineage and mythos?) appears before him all like “hey can you maybe not do that shit to my family? It is rude”.

The Bad Knight takes one look at this body building champion, and lets out a “WHY ARE YOU WEARING A DRESS”. Ah, yeah, Percy was still wearing the dress. So the Bad Knight is kinda laughing because this kid, he can be SSJ Broly all he wants, he’s still in a dress. The laughing, however, ceases immediately when Percival grabs the dude, who is encased in armor and that knocked down the castle door all by himself, and just sorta casually throws him past the castle walls and breaks his entire body. Again, Percival, who never has trained his muscles in any way or learned anything more violent than embroidery, just gave this dude the So Long Gay Bowser throw from Mario 64, from the courtyard, launching him ABOVE the castle walls, and right into the ground outside. That huge “CRASH BOOM!” you heard just now was not the knight falling down, it was his self-esteem crashing after having a kid in a dress ragdoll him. No, wait, no, never mind, it was his body, because DEAD PEOPLE can’t feel shit.

“so, uh, mom” “no” “I just threw a fully armored man” “nope” “I think uh” “nu uh” “I might be an adult” “Grounded”

So P-kun is grounded, fine, and more time passes, when SUDDENLY, a cockatrice attacked the castle. Now, what is a cockatrice? It’s a two-legged serpent with a rooster’s head, and it kills you by looking at you and petrifying you. Basically, a gorgon with a funny hat. Sometimes, because the “petrifying” bit is something of a conjecture by latter authors or analyzers of mythology. The cockatrice actually just kinda sorta outright killed you when it looked at you. So this thing is wreaking havoc in the Censorship Castle, shooting rude glares and crying loudly in the morning, and this Deeply Annoys Percival. The young man simply walks out, uproots a whole a tree, as you normally do, and swats the cockatrice with a flick, sending it DBZ-style flying against the nearest wall. When he saw THAT didn’t kill the very confused monster, Percival, with his bare fucking hands, rips the tree he uprooted into a thinner form by legit ripping the bark layer by layer with his unreasonable strength, fashioning a spear with the tree by doing this (what the wtf?) and using that to stab the shit out of the cockatrice, who probably was already dead as fuck the moment it saw this dude just outright manhandling the tree and turning it into a spear with his bare hands.

“mom” “no” “mom I just uprooted a tree and killed an instakill monster with it’’ “NO’’ “I’m no scientist because those still don’t exist but I am pretty sure I am an adult now” “no sweetie that was just a stray dog” “mom I know dogs and that wasn’t a dog. No dog of ours ever shot laser beams out of its eyes or looked like a dragon wearing a chicken hat” “it’s a breed that comes from Scotland” “MOM”

So Percival more or less has enough of Mom’s shit, and finally gets her blessing to leave the castle. Immediately afterward, Mom dies. Because being female in Arthurian mythos means you ei-- Oh, I already made that one. Well, yeah, there you go. Also the sister also died. But Percival is on his way to become a knight!

What exciting adventures are in store for Percival? Stay tuned for PART 2, in which Percival enters a dysfunctional relationship, makes bad business decisions, and headbutts Sir Lancelot du Lac right in the face, and yes, this is all shit that happens on the exciting Road To Knighthood.

#Part 2 is where this gets really good but you sorta need to KNOW PERCIVAL'S UNORTHODOX ORIGINS

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fate-ad2021 · 8 years ago

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18(b). “Conspiracy Unveiled” (part 2 of 2)

Session 18, May 7, 2017

Word count: 4,421

In-Game Date: Tuesday, June 15, 2021

In which the group learns entirely too many unsettling possibilities about their enemy’s state of preparedness.

VII. Morning Meetings and Phone Calls

Breakfast on Tuesday morning is accompanied by a flurry of planning. The first priority, the group decides, is to continue working at Vasilyevich’s laptop. They reason that there must be something in there to help them prepare for the situation ahead.

But not everyone can help with the laptop investigation. Jim decides that he should call Granny Gertrude again to see what she can dig up about Rhongomyniad, since she has access to material that they might not otherwise find. Caster volunteers to help him with that topic; Jim and Siobhan understand computers better than he does, but his eyewitness experience will allow him come up with more nuanced search terms than they could.

Granny knows a little off the top of her head about the spear. She knows that it is from Arthurian legend, and mentions that it is often conflated with the spear that pierced the side of Christ on the cross – called the Lance of Longinus – although she is nearly certain that they are not the same artifact. However, that is where her knowledge stops: when Jim asks about the spear’s other attributes and abilities, as well as its other wielders, she says that she will need to do some additional research and call back later.

It is with this knowledge that Siobhan, Jim, and Caster begin their research. While Assassin seeks out Archer to talk and Val steps away to phone Reines again, the three sit down with a laptop and start to dig.

Caster suggests compiling a list of everyone who has the right to wield the spear. If they are going to have to face the spear, he explains, the best thing they can do is narrow down the identity of the person on the other end of it. He knows – somehow, strangely – that he belongs on that list, and he knows – with a growing sense of dread – that King Arthur does as well, but he wants to see who else might make the cut. He also suggests looking up characteristics of the Lance of Longinus, since mythic associations can be just as important as original attributes.

It takes them a few hours, since there is not much in the way of extant records of either the Lance of Longinus or Rhongomyniad. But they finally manage to narrow it down to a disturbing truth: the list of wielders for the world-breaker lance is a short one. Merlin himself is thought to be able to wield it, due to his sheer power if for no other reason; that much is as they suspected. Besides that, the two Pendragon kings are the only people thought to have access to it. It was passed down from Uther to Arthur. Caster knows that it hardly ever came into battle; Arthur preferred Excalibur, but there were times when the holy sword failed and the King had to use Rhongomyniad. He cannot remember witnessing such a time, though.

“What about Saber?” Siobhan asks. “Gawain was Arthur’s right-hand knight, wasn’t he? Wouldn’t he have been there for most of the major battles?”

“That’s a good point,” Caster nods. “We should talk to him about it.”

At the other end of the house, Val is pacing the room on the phone with Reines. “…so that’s what I found about the Sophia-Ri. It tracks with what you told us, so there’s that.”

“I’m glad you decided to believe me.” Reines sounds more annoyed than grateful.

“Look, I had to check,” Val insists, “and I figured that I would learn some more that I didn’t already know, too. Now, what else can you tell me about the family? The others are looking into how to deal with the Servant that Emil probably has, so here I am looking into how to deal with the man himself. Got any advice?”

Reines heaves a deep, slow sigh. “I can’t tell you anything about the man himself, but I can tell you what his family specializes in. The last patriarch was head of the Department of Summoning here at the Clock Tower. As a house, they are far more advanced in that field than Archibald.”

“So they’re summoners like you?”

“No,” Reines murmurs, “their specialty is on another level entirely. I can summon nature spirits – things of wind and water and fire. The things that Sophia-Ri summons… That family reaches outside this plane to call their allies. We call that class of things ‘Void creatures’. Those cloaked shadows that you described? Those are Void creatures. They exist beyond human comprehension. The ones you faced before were likely just his cannon fodder; if he sees how strong you and your allies have become, he won’t hesitant to level the full force of his power against you. And if he could bind a Faery to his will, then he is very powerful indeed.”

“Yikes,” is all that Val can say in response.

“And be careful, too,” Reines goes on, “he’s a slippery bastard. I’m impressed that you were able to independently confirm everything I told you; through either his natural skills or his magic, he’s been able to block and divert every attempt that I’ve made to find out more about his motives and whereabouts. It wasn’t until I realized that some of my assets have been broken into—”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Val exclaims.

Reines gives a petulant huff. “Apparently I need to monitor my bank accounts more closely. If it wasn’t for Vol pointing out the suspicious transactions, I never would have known. But that just confirms my suspicions and what you’ve found: this War, this whole situation, is very personal.”

Before he hangs up, Val decides to come clean: “Look, Reines, you should know what decision we’ve come to. Once we learn how to deal with this Grail, we’re going to destroy all of the information, and we’re not going to send any of it back with Dimitri and France.”

“Wha—why would you tell me that?” she sputters, taken aback at the bluntness.

Val explains it the same way he did to Dimitri: “You know as well as I do that if you have it, other people will be able to get access to it. That’s what you hire people like me and Dimitri for; you can’t tell me that nobody else at the Clock Tower does the same. I know they do. So we’re destroying the notes.” He pauses, then adds, “And don’t forget to make sure that Belfaban gets in safely. And to see if he has any additional information about or from Vasilyevich. We have reason to believe that he can partial copies of the notes, and those should be destroyed too.”

Reines is quiet for a moment, then agrees. “You’re right. This whole thing has gotten out of hand. I suppose we’re in the damage control stage now. So that’s what I’ll focus on. I’ll let you know when we’ve got Belfaban in custody.”

VIII. Chat with Archer

Amid all these goings on, Assassin retreats to seek out Archer. More than simply getting to know her Master’s other Servant, she wants to ensure his loyalty and to make sure he understands the risks that they are about to face.

She finds him in the decrypters’ chamber, watching the proceedings with Saber. Neither of them understand the miracles of the technology or the magecraft at work, but they both provide valuable insight to the workings of the War from the Servants’ perspective. Assassin joins them for a few minutes before tapping Archer’s arm.

“Sit with me a while?” she asks. He nods and slips away with her.

They wind up on the roof, as Assassin and Lancer had done a few days ago. Archer waits for her to speak, sensing that she is gathering her thoughts. Finally, she ventures to ask, “Were you able to speak with Saber?”

“I was.”

“About the possibility of the Eighth being the King?”

“Yes,” Archer sighs, “And he told me to get back to him when the time comes. He sounded as though he was unsure where his loyalties would wind up falling. But truth be told, neither of us believes that King Arthur summoned to this War would be the person we served in life.”

“You think death would have changed him that much?” Assassin asks mildly.

“If Camlann didn’t, then whatever had to happen to get him here now would have done it,” Archer replies. “I know I’m biased, but the King ultimately did have the people’s best interest at heart. But this War stinks of corruption; even a heart like that could not survive intact.”

Assassin does not manage to suppress her frown; she sees that he noted it. Nevertheless, Archer goes on, “If it comes to blows, then odds are good that Saber will allow the King the first strike. If he’s still standing afterwards, hopefully that will change his mind. So long as that first strike does not hit you, or me, or Jim, then it does not matter to me.”

Assassin chuckles as Jim chimes in, “Nice to know I’m loved too.”

Archer turns an appraising gaze toward Assassin then; she finds a very interesting brick on the street to examine. “And what of you, Lady?” he inquires. “You know of Saber’s relationship to the King, and mine as well. What of yours?”

Assassin clears her throat as Jim gives a hearty laugh in the back of her mind. She uncrosses and crosses her legs, utterly failing to hide her discomfort. “I was… a magical advisor at the court, before Arthur’s… religious convictions became apparent. There came a time when I could no longer ignore the damage that was being done to the land, to our people, and to our traditions. So I left.”

Archer chuckles. “The simplicity of your explanation hides the truth of your legend!”

Assassin raises an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps from you, who left so early. I don’t believe we properly met, except in passing.”

“That may be true,” Archer nods, “the Knights were few, but the priestesses around Camelot were many. Still, you must have been someone of no small importance, to be summoned as a Servant.”

Assassin sighs. “That does seem to be the way of it, doesn’t it? It’s never the common folk or the neutral ones who go down in history. It is ever only the extremes: villains, heroes, the immensely powerful either way.”

Archer nods. “And I would like to think that a personage such as yourself, who would go down in history as such a powerful sorceress, would be forever seared into my memory. But I confess myself clueless. Take pity on a poor old soldier, Lady Assassin? You know my name; give me yours.”

His plea is met with silence, then a quiet chuckle. “Alright. I was called Morgana. I do recall meeting you once, with Bedivere and some of the others, but that was before I came to anyone’s attention but my Lady’s.”

Archer studies her for a moment, as though retrieving some far distant memory, then confesses softly, “The Grail has given me some knowledge of you, but I’m not inclined to believe secondhand stories. However, I must ask… Are you the Morgana who has relation to Mordred?”

At this, Assassin balks. “Unfortunately, yes. He was a mistake. A failure. And worse, a traitor to the old gods and to all our stated intentions.”

“And a bad child besides,” Jim chimes in.

Archer holds up his hands, eyebrows raised and an amused smile on his face. “I’ve clearly touched a nerve. And I’ve decided that whatever else was between you, I do not want to know. Now, let’s go rejoin the others and see what they’ve found, eh?”

IX. The Three Knights

At the group’s request, the decrypters focus their efforts on finding out information about the Eighth Servant. It takes them the better part of the day to piece it all together; Dimitri calls them in for an update close to dinnertime.

“We know that the first two Wars in this series had Ruler as the eighth Class,” Dimitri begins, projecting an incomprehensible chart of statistics and variables onto the wall, “but it looks like Vasilyevich wasn’t expecting to pull up Ruler at all.”

“Are there other options?” Val asks.

“Some of the Fuyuki Wars had a class they called Avenger, but we have unfortunately little data on that. Most of it was lost over the course of those Wars; all we know is that it was partly to blame for things falling apart in the Third Fuyuki War. There are bits here that refer to Avenger, but it doesn’t look like that’s what he was going for either.”

Dimitri points to a few variables and numbers. “Look here, and here. These variables correspond to features commonly found in Knight classes. Chances are, this isn’t a real Class. It’s like he was trying to build a Knight Class from scratch.”

“What?” Jim gasps. “You can do that?!”

“Apparently so,” France responds. He points to an equation in Dimitri’s projection. “See that? That has the same variables that he used to represent the Death Seals, which suggests that he might have wanted to power this thing with the energy from the seals at some point.”

“And then we’ve got this,” Dimitri says, flipping back a few pages on the laptop and projecting a new image onto the wall.

“Oh!” Jim and Val exclaim. “It’s the summoning chant!”

“Yup, but look at what’s different: it has an extra line, like you would use to summon Berserker. Only it doesn’t mention the Berserker Class – just ‘corruption’, and ‘Camelot’.”

“So he was expecting interaction with the Arthurian mythos,” Assassin murmurs, “and he was expecting whoever it was to come back wrong.” She and Caster share a glance with each other and with the Knights, all of them filled with a palpable dread.

“These notes here even mention a Red Knight,” France explains, “and here is the mention of a possible White Knight.”

Saber nods. “We got both of those. Berserker was the Red Knight of Treachery and I’m the White Knight of the Sun, although I always got the sense that I wasn’t the one he intended to summon initially.”

Dimitri shrugs. “If he was aiming for this… this Black Knight, then yeah, getting the White Knight would be pretty disappointing.”

They spend a few moments compiling a list of features common to Knight Classes: high Strength, Endurance, Riding, and Magic Resistance. Heavy defenses and heavy outgoing damage are both common; the knights tend to be the strongest things on the field. Given the variables in play, Dimitri suspects that it should fall most in line with a Saber class; Val reminds him that whoever it is wields a spear, which suggests elements of a Lancer.

Assassin leans forward in her seat. “I would know more about this corruption that you mentioned.”

Dimitri takes a few more moments to search for details before compiling a chart of common class statistics.

“Honestly, there isn’t much there. If I had to guess, it looks like he was stripping pieces of Saber, Lancer, and Berserker Classes and flinging them into one Servant. He was hacking the code of the Grail War to make this happen. That’s going to end up fucking up any Servant; you can’t just do that… although I guess he did.” Dimitri shakes his head. “There’s not much mention about what this corruption means beyond that, though. Sorry.”

The group sits in silence for a few minutes, mulling over thoughts and possibilities. They appear to be at another dead end when, both at once, Val and Jim snap their fingers and point at each other. “The Shard!”

Dimitri and France look confused, and Val and Jim stumble over each other explaining: two other Masters had gotten their hands on a Shard of the Round Table for their employer, who has been evading all attempts at locating him until now. The group knows that the pair of ex-Masters dropped the Shard at the Colosseum after using it to summon Berserker, but the group never got around to looking for it because they were chasing Archer at the time and then got caught up in trying to ensure Stella’s safety.

“Caster,” Val asks, “can you do your thing and track the Shard through time?”

Caster nods and sinks onto the floor and into a trance.

The Shard in the vault, in the luggage, in the circle, in the cubby behind the brick…

The impression of a man, reaching, grasping… Red hair, red Command Seal…

The Shard in the bag, in the second summoning circle…

An overwhelming sense of horrible dread, still strong for its temporal distance…

The Shard in an iron box on a shelf in a mansion somewhere out of the way.

Caster shakes himself out of the trance and announces his success without enthusiasm. “Emil got his hands on it alright; after it was used to summon Berserker, he used it to summon that terrifying thing I mentioned earlier.”

“He probably had Jordan and Petri use it first so that someone else was guaranteed to get Berserker,” Jim realizes, “which would leave him free to get the Knight that he wanted.”

Val shakes his head, “But there’s no way that he could have known about the eighth Servant class! Maybe he was trying to get Saber? Saber is commonly seen as the most powerful Servant, after all.”

“I would love to agree with you,” France interjects, “but I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Where did you guys get this laptop?”

Jim answers: “From the Mastermind, in his bunker. What’s wrong?”

“Look, Vasilyevich was a good researcher. He was also paranoid as shit, and really picky about version control. He had these files set to automatically save new copies every time they were closed, and every one of these files has changes made for each time it was opened. Except once: exactly one time, the files were opened, viewed, and then closed without any changes.”

“You think maybe somebody else broke in and viewed the files?” Assassin asks.

“It could be nothing, but it doesn’t fit his pattern.”

“When was that incident?” Caster inquires.

“Looks like it was last Sunday,” France replies. “The sixth of June.”

Caster and Assassin share a dour frown. “We were summoned on Wednesday. If it was Emil getting access to the notes, then that puts him well ahead of everyone else. Perfectly poised to observe and then make his move, to force Jordan and Petri to summon Berserker so he could summon the Black Knight.”

The realization is followed by somber silence until Saber speaks up again. “You know, I don’t feel so bad anymore.” When everyone cocks an eyebrow at him, he explains with a bright smile, “My former Master was very good at making a person unwanted; it’s a little comforting to know that I was summoned to him because someone thwarted his plan.”

X. The Spear that Pierces the World

Shortly after dinnertime, Jim’s phone rings; Granny has rustled up some more information about Rhongomyniad. She shares her findings with the group gathered close around the old phone and the volume turned all the way up. The spear’s last known use was at the battle of Camlann, when King Arthur used it to strike down Mordred. There is also record that it was used to defeat a dragon, somehow in connection to one of Camelot’s enemies, but details of that battle are vague and elusive.

“I assume that some of his knights were there,” Granny tells them, “but unfortunately eyewitness testimony is a little far out of our reach.”

Val and Jim shoot pointed looks at Caster and Assassin, who have just barely managed to muffle their laughter. Caster mouths the word “Saber” at the group, and they nod solemnly: if anyone of the current group was at such a battle, it would be Gawain.

“What else did you find about the spear’s nature, Granny?” Jim asks.

“Not much, I’m afraid. There are a few common themes throughout these texts, though: if it has any assigned attributes, they’re things like connection to the World, to reality and the stability of this realm. It all sounds a bit silly, if you ask me, but magic is all about conceptual connection, after all.”

The group is pale with concern by the time they hang up with their contact. Jim turns to Caster. “Shall we go talk to our eyewitness?”

“Allow me,” Caster implores, “he probably won’t appreciate being interrogated by the whole group. Again.”

So Caster shows himself to the room where Saber rests. Saber is seated at the desk with a book; he looks up when the other Servant enters.

“Magus,” he greets Caster, having determined that the ever-changing face must belong to his ally, “is something wrong? You’ve gone pale.”

“We’ve been learning more about our remaining opponent,” Caster replies, taking a seat himself, “and what we’ve found has the potential to be… very unfortunate. We were hoping you might help us with some things that only an eyewitness could know.”

“I can certainly try,” Saber answers with a nod.

Caster takes a deep breath, steels himself, then asks bluntly, “What can you tell us of the spear Rhongomyniad?”

At the mention of the name, Saber sits up a little straighter and closes his book. He gets a faraway look, and Caster senses his understanding of the gravity of the situation. After a deep breath of his own, he begins to speak:

“Few of us at Camelot understood its true nature. I cannot count myself among those who did. I know of only three people who could wield that artifact, and perhaps only one who ever did: the King, his father, and their advisor the magus. Such a weapon required a certain right to wield; it was even more powerful than Excalibur, although the King preferred the sword to the spear. None of us questioned it too much, I’m afraid. I myself was only present for one use of it.”

“Tell me about that.”

“It happened when the King took the field against his uncle, Vortigern. Vortigern was Uther’s brother and a contender for the throne until Arthur came along. Naturally, he was displeased with the development, but it never became a problem until after Uther passed. Vortigern maintained a citadel some distance from Camelot, and upon learning of his brother’s death and Arthur’s crowning, he decided to launch a rebellion.”

Caster nods; this much, he remembers. He himself had once advised Vortigern, but there was no reason to inform Saber of that fact.

Saber goes on, “Vortigern was of the Pendragon line but lacked the innate attributes that his brother and his nephew possessed. Nevertheless, he… made do. He learned the power of dragons, and by some unholy magic was able to transform himself into one.”

Caster’s eyebrows climb steadily toward his hairline as Saber continues, “Fighting the dragon was… it was truly a terrible beast. I have no idea how Vortigern managed it, but the result was an unholy creature, a thing not of this world against which Excalibur and Galatine were useless. The battle raged for days; by the end of it, all the knights who accompanied Arthur had fallen to exhaustion, and the King himself was beginning to despair. I recall… I was on the ground, in what I thought to be my final moments, when there shined great searing light. I looked up, and Rhongomyniad had come to the King’s call, in his moment of desperate need. There was a pillar of light; when it cleared, the dragon was gone, and only Arthur remained.”

Caster remains still in his seat for a long moment. Then, with a shuddering breath, he declares his assessment:

“Okay, we’re fucked.”

In the back of his mind, Val is sputtering panicked expletives. “Shit, shit, shit. We’re all gonna get killed.”

Aloud, Caster says, “I can only hope that we’re up against a pale imitation, of both the King and the weapon.”

Saber bites his lips as he brings his gaze back from the middle distance. “I tell you this: if it truly King Arthur who was summoned as this Black Knight that we learned of, then he is not the Arthur that I knew and served.” He continues aloud but directed at Val, “If it was summoned as Arthur, then you have my loyalty. We will destroy whatever it is. No matter what shape it takes, it is not my king.”

Val beams with pride as he relays the conversation to the rest of the group. Shortly thereafter, his phone rings with Reines on the line. She is pleased to report that they have Belfaban is custody – he is safe but utterly clueless about the danger or the goings-on. It remains unclear whether he was under the influence of a geis like McFarrell had been. Reines reports that he does appear to know who Vasilyevich was and that he had been explicitly sent to Russia to look for artifacts, some of which he brought back with him. Reines assured the group that the artifacts have been quarantined until she can spare people to examine them, but at first glance they appear to be old Orthodox relics and the like, the sort of thing that Vasilyevich was working with before he got his hands on the Grail ritual.

“Don’t forget to check his computer, his briefcase, whatever he had with him,” Val reminds her. “We don’t want anything that Vasilyevich sent him to slip away.”

“Of course,” Reines replies. “And how is your investigation going? Have you found anything else?”

Val hisses out a tense sigh. “Yeah. We’re starting to get a sense of the eighth Servant Class. It was constructed from scratch to be like one of the Knights. We’ve started calling it the Black Knight Class. We think whoever it is wields a spear: Rhongomyniad. Do you know anything about it?”

“…What?”

“I… can spell it for you?” Val offers.

“No, no, I know what it is. What I mean is: are you certain?”

“Fairly certain, yeah.”

Reines is silent for a long moment, then replies, “I’ll get back to you.” And hangs up without another word.

The group sits in silence around the phone, hope and dread filling them in equal measure as things become ever clearer.

#session log post

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