#otherworld intercession | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

akampana · 3 years ago

Note

Can I request diarturia in 6 please 🥺🥺👉👈

6. “I just need to lie down.” Diarturia.

Hi! :D Thank you for the ask! Always glad to do some Diarturia!

Words: 10,031 (lmao, this went places)

I wanted to incorporate some fae shenanigans as well as explore Diarmuid's demigod side as the son of the god of the dead, so this is a little different take on the characters from what I usually do. Regardless, hope you enjoy!

AO3 link here because this thing is long.

Arturia stumbled through the trees in panic, thorns ripping through the thin linen of her dress like knives through paper. Everywhere she looked it was the same: jagged branches whipping her from every angle, roots latching on to her feet like venomous snakes, and worst of all, the noose-like vines that stole the air from her lungs at every opportunity.

The girl suddenly recoiled, yanked to the ground by the cursed greenery that wrapped around her throat. Her desperate fingers looped around the offensive twine, tearing at the woody growth and her own skin, but it only seemed to wrap around tighter the more she fought. Soon she was face-first on the grass. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as her lips turned as blue as the sky.

No!

She scrambled for something, anything to get her some air. Her fingers dug through the dirt, grabbing onto sticks, cutting her nails on pebbles and root. But, it seemed the Earth itself had decided to wage war on one, green-eyed, blonde, spawn of Uther. The sacrifice. The extra.

Her vision began to fill with black stars. Her lungs screamed for the air her mouth could not provide. She could do nothing as the creatures that hunted her came upon the clearing she’d fallen into, nothing but claw at her neck for one last, sweet breath.

As her consciousness began to fade, she wondered what she’d done to deserve such a fate. She’d lived her life according to her father’s wishes. She learned from her tutors. She kept silent and out of the limelight. She supported her brother the best way she could. Was that not enough?

If only she knew it was no fault of hers that she ended up here.

Merlin’s intercession to produce an appropriate heir had failed, birthing a tiny girl instead of what the king wished for. In Uther’s desperate attempt to save Britain, the ailing, anxious King of Camelot turned to the fae. He pleaded with them, promising this, and that, everything as long as his country would not meet its end at the prophesized red dragon’s claws.

The mischievous, conniving fae gave Uther a son to raise along with his shunned daughter, knowing even then who was the superior heir. They even mirrored the poor baby’s features, such that Igraine’s womb produced “twins”. Oh, how perfectly the fae copied the incubus’s creation, everything save for its little flaws, all so Uther could damn a different child to the same tragic fate.

Satisfied with his prize, the King tried to make payment. But the fae were not interested in being showered with riches. They needed no fruit of the field when the Otherworld was abundant in goods. No, what they wanted was Merlin’s lovely little experiment, and all the energy that philandering wizard fused into that tiny girl.

But not yet.

The fae would claim their payment when she was ripe for the picking, delicious, still young, of course, but not too aged that she’d taste more like mutton than lamb. Just grown enough such that her little dragon-like core would give the fae the kick they needed when they sank their teeth into her soft, supple skin.

After all, eighteen human years was not too long a wait.

“Are you not happy, my lady?”

Arturia turned around to meet the eyes of one much taller, much stronger, much more beautiful than her. She tried not to flinch too much, lest the nobles say her gown was disheveled or that she’d shifted her carefully done-up braids once again.

“Diarmuid, you...you gave me a fright.”

Arturia glanced behind her personal knight, off to the festival taking place in the main hall. The party was more Arthur’s than it was hers, because it was his coronation as prince occurring on the morrow. In a way, she was grateful for it, for at least once in her life there weren’t fifteen or so suitors asking for her hand. For better access to Camelot’s resources, of course. Arturia wasn’t stupid enough to believe they were honestly attracted to her.

None of them knew her, not really. What could they learn when all they heard from her were the manners beaten into her head by the tutors Uther hired to make her desirable to the male gaze? None of them knew her actual interests. None of them cared. Although, she did suppose feelings didn’t quite factor into marriages as much as Merlin tried to make her believe they did.

Arturia sighed, turning back to the night view of Camelot that had her so preoccupied and the forest that lay just outside the limits. One day, maybe even tomorrow, one of the men conversing with Arthur was going to take her away and she would go with him as her duty dictated. She’d make sure her husband’s kingdom remained Camelot’s ally, of course. Then bear her spouse an heir. That was her duty as one with the Pendragon blood, one she was ready to carry out.

“I do not believe you have answered me, princess,” Diarmuid chuckled, draping the finest of silks over her bare shoulders before the night air could chill her skin.

Arturia thumbed the soft fabric, bringing before her eyes the sheer, almost glowing cloth. The garment was an iridescent white, shining in colors not unlike the rainbow patterns on a beetle’s shell. Although it felt lighter than air,her shivers disappeared instantly, as if her knight had just embraced her from behind to share his heat.

The woman’s eyes lit up with wonder, seeing the skillful repeated pattern traveling all-throughout the hem. There were more than a few druidic symbols embroidered throughout, each sewn in a thread that harmonized with the cloth enough that from a distance it was just a simple shawl. She recognized all of them: knots, trees...symbols that were important to those who were born on Erin. Diarmuid had introduced them to her before.

“What is this?” she asked him, tone lifted as she faced the friend that stood beside her, looking out into the distance.

“A gift,” answered the gentle knight, surveying his surroundings before scooping up Arturia’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “Although today’s festivities have made the town believe otherwise, the actual day of your birth comes tomorrow, does it not?”

He remembered. Arturia kissed her teeth, a smile slowly breaking through her rather serious facade.

“Although it is quite early, I thought it best to deliver this simple celebratory offering before your handmaids spend hours dressing you for Arthur’s coronation in the morning,” he explained, gently pulling the lady he served closer to himself.

“I am happy now,” she answered him, emphasizing the final word such that he knew he was the cause. “This is far from just a simple gift, my knight. I do not know how to repay you, as it seems you’ve forgotten the most important fact about tomorrow.”

The corners of his amber eyes crinkled as he laughed. “I assure you, it has not escaped my notice, Lady Arturia.”

That was the other reason Diarmuid had pulled out all the stops for this gift. It was true that tomorrow, the twins would be of marriageable age, but tomorrow was also the anniversary of the moment they first met.

Lady Arturia was not aware this was his second life. After his death to the tusks of a boar and his former king’s neglect, his godly father had permitted him back to the world of the living to seek a better fate. A happier one, where he could live out the life of service he desired before returning to Tech Duinn. Donn sent his son off with his blessing, even teasing him to bring back a proper spouse.

It was not the kings of his homeland he could serve, however, for his face would surely be recognizable in the countenances of his descendants. Instead, the Irish knight came to Camelot, seeking out a lord who was kind and just: The Once and Future King, as so prophesied by his kind.

It was then he’d first met Lady Arturia, by a cabin in the woods. He’d come running, excited by the familiar clang of swords, only to find two of the same face sparring in the backyard. One was strong and tall, the other small but lithe. He could tell at a glance that the two had the same foundation, for their strikes and stances were similar, but clearly, each had adapted their swordplay to their strengths.

Diarmuid had never seen such an agile style as that of the tiny one—squire, perhaps? Or knight?—which was so clearly made to make up for her disadvantage in size. Neither had he seen a man wield his sword so impossibly gracefully.

So mesmerized was he with their exchange, that he only noticed the two swords at his throat when the shorter blonde had demanded his name. He knelt at once.

“My name is Diarmuid ua Duibhne, First Spear of...nay, I am but a simple knight, come to Camelot seeking a valiant king to serve. My deepest apologies for the interruption, fellow knights, I was merely...entranced,” he trailed off, locking gazes with the lady, who listened to him so intently.

“Ah, then you’ve quite found yourself in a favorable position,” hummed a third stranger, a white-haired man from the trees. Diarmuid smelt magic on the newcomer, the blood of one that was not quite human, just like himself. “Arthur here is the Prince of Camelot, and a knight much like yourself.”

Face flushed, the Irish knight bowed his head again, “My deepest apologies, I was not aware I was speaking to one of an even higher position. But my mission still stands. Prince Arthur, if you shall have me, I wish to serve your court, and milady...”

“Princess Arturia, my sister,” Arthur furnished for him, asking the knight to stand. “We’ll have my father decide what to do with you, Diarmuid ua Duibhne. I imagine he’d want to test your mettle—”

“Not before I do,” the Lady Arturia spoke, smiling down at him with the sun igniting her gem-like eyes.

Diarmuid still remembered every detail of that fight. She moved like a leaf dancing in the breeze, dodging between each and every blow from his swords with graceful ease. He was quicker than her, still, but the princess’s movements were clearly just as calculated as his were. It was her wit that drove her to make anticipated swings, catching him off guard every so often.

But she was not as seasoned a warrior as he was. Her arms were thin. Her hands were blistered, not callused. Although she fought like one who’d witnessed many battles, it was clear to him that she’d been a literal witness to those matches rather than a participant.

She wasn’t a knight. Not like her brother. But Diarmuid could honestly say her first dance with him was one of the most memorable.

Arthur endorsed Diarmuid to his father that very afternoon. Although Uther was impressed with his skill, that Diarmuid came from lands Camelot was once at war with stayed the king’s hand. Although the knight offered unwavering loyalty, he could not quite trust Diarmuid at the level he did the rest of the Round Table. Yet, it was quite a waste to refuse a man so talented with sword and spear.

That’s when Arturia entered the throne room. She was dressed not in the simple linen she’d been wearing in when he met her, but in a luxurious gown of deep red. Diarmuid had to stop his eyes from following the path she walked, fearing the king would find his admiration offensive. He’d found her beautiful when they exchanged blows, sweat dripping down her brow and a competitive smirk upon her lips, but it seemed even in such restrictive attire as this dress she looked divine.

Witnessing Diarmuid’s obvious attraction to that...thing Merlin made, Uther had his answer. There was one way to keep the man from the green isle in his service but also at a safe enough distance.

Diarmuid was knighted under Camelot and given to the child he scorned. She could do Camelot one more duty: groom and tame the Irishman till he was a loyal lapdog to the flag of Britain.

As the years passed, Uther saw her do just that, without his instruction.

The Irishman fought valiantly, leading Camelot into victory after victory before running back to his lady to claim her praise. Although all the knights came to respect Sir Diarmuid, he never asked for a seat at the Round Table, much to Uther’s relief. The fool was satisfied being the princess’s escort, following her through the various activities required of a soon-to-be queen and taking her riding in the afternoons.

His manipulation had been more effective than he realized. Diarmuid’s love for the daughter he detested would keep the knight in Camelot’s service. Perhaps even after the fae came to collect what they were owed.

But neither Arturia nor Diarmuid were privy to the king’s conniving thoughts. The knight had gotten what he wanted: a life of service, and one to a maiden he was most fond of. Meanwhile, Arturia finally found herself a loyal friend, who took her sparring when the palace thought she was merely riding into the forest, who gave her a break from her duties at the castle.

“It has been three years, has it not?” Arturia asked her knight, fondly squeezing his calloused hand. “And you’ve given me such a lovely gift. Please, ask anything of me, and I shall furnish it for you.”

The knight smiled, hoping the night would shroud the heat across his face in the darkness.

“Anything, my lady? That is quite the dangerous word.”

“Anything, Diarmuid.”

Steeling his resolve with a subtle gulp, Diarmuid whispered his request.

“A kiss,” he answered, reveling in the blush that spread throughout her cheeks. “One for every year I have served.”

Seconds of silence passed between them as their heartstrings intertwined.

Arturia’s hands cupped his face, her large green eyes glowing as she stared into his. He wondered if the princess could feel his heartbeat where she touched his skin; if she knew what such a quickened pulse implied.

“Are you certain that is all you desire?” his lady asked him, her voice so quiet it could be carried away by the breeze.

“I am,” he confirmed, knowing well he was playing with fire. He knew Arturia held love for him. Not quite the way he wanted, for that was forbidden by her duty, but that she’d come to care for him was irrefutable. There was a bond between them now, strong enough to last throughout their lifetimes. Maybe even universes.

“Then…” Arturia trailed off, slowly pulling him down to her height while she tiptoed to reach him.

Her soft lips pressed against his cheek, giving him a kiss so tender and lasting Diarmuid closed his eyes to properly remember the sensation. Then, she pulled him even closer, blessing his forehead with the same gift as gently as a mother would. She pulled back for a breath as his hands hovered over her waist, not quite touching her, but keeping her within his space nonetheless. He felt her lean in once again, her warm breath on his cheek, but she hesitated before she could make the contact.

Fear gripped his heart at the thought he’d asked too much of her, but before he could open his eyes, he felt her lips on his.

She tasted like honey, sweet and addicting as her soft mouth touched his. He felt his heart soar, felt his blush spread to his ears, but he couldn’t care less his love for her was on full display. He’d dreamt of this too many times before, a fantasy that couldn’t come to be, but one he desperately longed for anyway.

It was over too soon, for she shyly pulled away. For the first time in ages, they could not hold each other’s gaze, each too flustered by what had just transpired.

“Milady, I—”

“Princess.”

Both of them jumped at the familiar voice. It was Merlin, looking uncharacteristically grim as he approached Arturia with an open hand.

“Your father wishes to see you in the east hall,” the magus informed them.

Arturia didn’t take Merlin’s offer to escort her, excusing herself from the two men with one last meaningful look in Diarmuid’s direction. Her knight watched her until her dress disappeared beyond the large double doors, longing to be by her side even if she’d only just left his presence.

“You saw?” he asked Merlin, ready to throw himself into the fire and take the blame if ever Arturia’s actions were questioned.

“What’s this? Do you think me so loyal to Uther I’d report a simple kiss? Nay. I shan’t give my princess more trouble than she already has on her plate.”

The incubus’s latter statement seemed questionable, since the wizard had been responsible for most of the shenanigans that got both twins in trouble way back when, but he digressed.

“But I do have a question for you, Sir Diarmuid ua Duibhne,” the wizard drawled, tossing magelight between his hands absentmindedly. “Do you consider yourself loyal to Camelot?”

Flabbergasted, the knight blubbered out his response. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Merlin gave him a smile that seemed rather melancholy. “And if Camelot betrays her, would you still give the same response?”

“That’s a silly question. Betray milady? For what reason? You know as well as I do she’s played the part of a perfect princess all her life. I can’t think of any man in that courtyard who would hesitate to ask her to wed.”

Including...myself. He finished in his mind.

Merlin watched his expression silently, as if the magus could discern his true thoughts on the matter.

“You didn’t answer my question, First Spear of the Fianna. Aren’t I the wily trickster between us, hm? Why answer me with flowery words?”

A beat.

Diarmuid nearly choked on his spit as questions popped up in his mind. He’d never told anyone of his rather troubled past, not even Arturia, who he held closer than anyone. Had Merlin known about his true identity this whole time? Did the wizard guess this was his second life? How much did he understand about his past? Was he sure of it even when they first met all those years ago?

Purple irises stared straight through to his soul, doing nothing to calm the raging turmoil within. “Given your history, I believed you would feel more strongly for this. Perhaps...for once, I was wrong.”

A burst of pink and white flowers, and the wizard was gone, leaving Diarmuid to figure out what he meant all by himself.

Tomorrow was the big day. Finally, Uther could be rid of Merlin’s little mistake. Without his older daughter in the way, there wasn’t anyone else to his knowledge that could lay claim to the throne. Especially now that he knew that accursed girl wouldn’t be spawning any kids of her own. The Fae only seemed intent on consuming her, whatever the hell that meant.

Uther uncovered the small package the creatures left with him nearly two decades ago, revealing a small golden apple which hadn’t rotten for as long as he’d had it.

“Father, you called for me?” came Arturia’s voice through the door. She came in, looking surprisingly beautiful in her white dress.

“I know I have been distant from you, dear daughter,” the king said, approaching Merlin’s creation with a tacked-on smile. “But I thought it best to watch your growth from a distance. And my, have you grown.”

“I owe it all to you, father,” she answered mechanically, keeping her gaze down. Uther tried not to let his distaste for her show. He needed to execute this perfectly, after all.

“Your hands, child.”

Obediently, the princess held out two open palms, to which the king placed the golden fruit. Even in her hands, the shiny thing looked so small. No more than two or three bites, surely.

“Do not tell your brother of this, there is only the one,” her father said as the princess’s heart swelled. “He will receive his own gift tomorrow, not to worry.”

“Thank you, father.”

Arturia cupped the small fruit like it was the most precious of jewels. It was beautiful, a perfect replica of a normal apple save for its smaller size and metallic skin. She took it between her thumb and pointer finger, turning it in the light. Despite how it looked however, it felt soft and fresh, like it had just been plucked from a tree.

“Go on then,” Uther urged, a bead of sweat falling from his brow. “I hear it's quite delicious.”

Arturia did as she was told, sinking her teeth into the fruit as she covered her mouth with her free hand.

Her eyes went wide as the flavor danced inside her mouth. She’d never tasted such perfection. Sweet but not saccharine. Sour but not unpleasant. The apple was as crisp as it was juicy, its delectable syrup embracing her tongue like a tender lover. She’d never eaten anything like it. There couldn’t have been any food on earth quite as good, it almost seemed otherworldly—

Arturia snapped back to attention, suddenly remembering she’d scarfed down a whole apple in front of her father. She straightened her skirt, wiped her hands on her kerchief, berated herself for looking so crude. She tried not to meet her father’s eyes knowing he’d be disappointed, but…

For the first time in her life, Uther Pendragon was smiling at her, looking as relieved as an accused man cleared of guilt.

“F-father?” the woman stuttered, her eyebrows crossing in worry. She was so unused to him being this kind.

“Enjoy the rest of your celebration with your brother, girl,” Uther laughed, sending her off, “You never know when you can enjoy such a feast again.”

His laughs continued even after the doors to the east hall shut behind her, leaving Arturia to wonder what had lightened his mood so much.

The latter half of the evening saw Diarmuid watching Arturia from the other side of the hall, kicking Gawain’s shins under the table whenever the blonde knight was being too loud. The man was on his eleventh tankard of ale and counting, and boy, could he talk.

“If I were as handsome as you, Deeeeeer, I might have had some luck with the ladies around, hm? Why do you have to steal them all? Hmmm??? Couldn’t leave some for poor Gawain?” his friend slurred, swaying back and forth like some cursed gigantic pendulum.

“Sir Gawain, even if he had the face of a donkey, and the hair of a rat’s ass, and the body of a cow—” Tristan wisely cut himself off when he felt Diar’s glare, “You’d have the same luck, sadly.”

“Thank you!” Gawain loudly exclaimed, Tristan’s beration flying leagues over his head. He thumped the poor redhead on the back, and before long, the table before them was some cursed mix of ale and moist food.

At that, Diarmuid let a few chuckles loose. One would think someone as large and broad-shouldered as Gawain could hold his drink, and he could, just not as well as everyone else did.

“You have been quite silent,” voiced the knight that sat beside him. Sir Bedivere was on the quieter end of the spectrum, which Diarmuid did appreciate. “Did something happen?”

Bedivere tilted his head to the right as he spoke, almost like a confused puppy. Words bubbled to Diarmuid’s lips at once, for Bedi was a knight he quite trusted, but he hesitated on account of the subject matter.

Merlin’s cryptic words had haunted him all throughout the evening. He didn’t know what the old wizard meant by them, but now he couldn’t shake the feeling that the princess was in danger. Sadly, his feelings of protectiveness overshadowed the ridiculous amounts of joy he felt knowing the taste of her lips.

Diarmuid felt the heat rush to his ears.

Scratch that. Clearly his affection for her was a little stronger. A lot stronger.

“Nothing important,” he mumbled, realizing he’d been silent for too long. Luckily, it seemed Bedivere would not push the subject any longer. If only his next question wasn’t so damning.

“Do you suppose Lady Arturia’s future husband is amongst the crowd?”

Diarmuid’s honey gaze landed on his lady, who stood surrounded by four men from different kingdoms, yet seemed to be holding her ground. Of them were two brothers with midnight hair and red eyes, a rich king from a distant land across the sea, and another whom neither he nor the knights seemed to recognize. Diarmuid could immediately tell only one of them was truly interested in Arturia, for he was the only one whose gaze never traveled down from her face.

“Perhaps,” the Irishman mumbled, his voice lost in the chaos Tristan and Gawain had just gotten into. Apparently the latter had just said something to the effect of older women not being all that great. But he couldn’t care less about their debate. Because Arturia was starting to look pale.

Before Bedivere could ask what was going on, Diarmuid made a beeline for his lady, reaching her side quickly enough that he could take the goblet from her hands before she could drop it.

“Milady, I believe it may be time to excuse yourself. It has been quite the taxing day,” Diarmuid mumbled just loudly enough for the royals to hear. He gave them each a bow for courtesy, maintaining a calm facade so as not to alarm the other guests.

Arturia’s hands clamped onto his elbow. She was clearly humiliated at the situation, but knew Diarmuid had just given her an out. She would be a fool to deny it. Especially when the room was beginning to spin.

“I’m afraid my knight is quite correct,” she managed, her eyes beginning to defocus. Despite the vertigo slowly dragging her into unconsciousness, she managed to speak each and every man’s name before giving them a polite curtsy and allowing Diarmuid to escort her out of the party.

And as the double doors thudded closed, Arturia finally allowed her knees to buckle. Diarmuid was there to catch her, holding his most precious person before she could hit the floor.

“My lady?!” Diarmuid’s voice came in a panicked whisper. She wasn’t like this before they separated earlier tonight. Had something happened since her father called for her?

Tender fingers cupped her cheek, turning the small woman’s face to him. Her skin was cold and colorless, nearly the same hue as her gown. In the moonlight that filtered through the window she was almost ghostly.

“Should I call for Merlin?” Diarmuid asked softly, moving away the bangs that obstructed her face. Her eyes were jaded, barely able to meet his, but she shook her head.

“No. No, I just...I just need to lie down. If you would please...” she said between breaths, but she didn’t need to finish her sentence for her closest friend to understand.

Diarmuid looped his arms under her legs and back, lifting her with ease. He tried not to think about how natural it felt to hold her, to feel her lean her head to his chest, but it was getting difficult. He should just admit it to himself already.

Diarmuid loved her. He might have loved her since the day they met.

How horribly ironic. In his first life, he was forced to abandon the life of service he loved to run away with his king’s would-be queen. Now it was his love that he was forced to abandon, to continue the life of service he’d been resurrected for. At least this time, the woman involved was not betrothed, not yet. He had a little more time to pretend.

Besides, she kissed him. He could live on happily knowing that at one point in his new life, his feelings were returned. He’d be satisfied, right?

Right?

Arturia passed out before they even got to her quarters, trusting him with her safety even while asleep. As he touched his forehead to hers, Diarmuid realized his answer.

Of course not.

When she was beneath her covers, the man knelt next to her bed, caught between waiting at her bedside for her to wake or finding Merlin to report the incident. Arturia may not have endured the same physical training that he and the other knights regularly put themselves through, but he’s sparred with her enough in secret to know she was no weak woman.

He should go. Perhaps she’d taken something from the buffet that had made her feel sick. He ought to find the wizard so they could test the food and wine. He knew she didn’t see the need for a healer, but he should probably alert the palace alchemist just in case.

Halfway out the door, he stopped, his heart aching as he remembered the crowd of people Arturia had been entertaining just before the incident. One of the bluish-haired brothers, the quieter one. He was going to ask for Arturia’s hand, Diarmuid could feel it.

The knight turned around and dipped down to steal one last kiss on her forehead, thanking her for indulging him earlier that night. He brushed her hair from her face, smiled, then left the room.

As he walked back toward the main hall, however, something kept nagging on the back of his mind. Was she...wearing a different scent? She smelled sweet, but...too sweet, like the white apple blossoms in the land of the fae.

Diarmuid shook his head. Impossible. Fair folk were less common in this day and age, and the Pendragons were quite human, unlike himself. How could she have come across something like that?

Arturia opened her eyes to the dawn.

The...dawn?

The woman sat up like a flipped lever, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself. The dark walls of her bedroom were glaringly absent, and so were her sheets.

That...that couldn’t be right.

Grass tickled her bare feet as she scrambled to get her bearings, but there were no landmarks to tell her where she was. The rolling plains to the east were missing and so was the mountain to the north. The stars that remained in the heavens could not guide her way. There were too many glittering lights. More than she remembered the night sky ever having. As her lungs heaved, she tasted salt in the breeze, when there shouldn’t have been. Whipping her head to the east, she saw the sea in the distance, but she didn’t recognize the shore.

Wherever she was now, Camelot was far, far out of reach.

Arturia gulped down her fear as Merlin had taught her to do, calming herself to give room for rational thought. She should start from what she remembered. Retrace her steps. Yes.

Father had given her a gift, and then when she returned to the celebration, Arthur introduced her to some of his friends: her possible suitors. It couldn’t have been the wine, she refused to have some, but she remembered feeling lightheaded, then Diarmuid took her to her room—Diarmuid!

His name left her lips, but it was quickly drowned out by the sounds of rustling of leaves too thick to have been from the forests near Camelot.

“Diarmuid!”

That wasn’t her. Goosebumps peppered her skin as Arturia whipped her head around to face the echo. Then she came face to face with someone who looked familiar. Too familiar.

It was herself, copied right down to the smallest of details. Twenty-two freckles across her nose. A scar that ran from her palm to her wrist. One stubborn lock of hair sticking out from the rest. When Arturia breathed it did too, when she blinked it followed suit. It even made a mockery of her distress, mirroring her quivering lip as she stepped back.

“That is not your name, Arturia Pendragon,” the two figures spoke in unison, only one of them horrified. “Your father traded you off a long time ago.”

Arturia nearly screamed when her body moved on its own, reaching behind her back the same way her “reflection” did. She was a puppet to “her” strings, twisting awkwardly in manners no normal human would. But less damning was her sudden loss of control than what her “reflection” said in that too-nasal gravelly voice.

“What...do...you...mean?” Arturia managed to word, forcing her clone to do the same.

It didn’t seem to mind, and used her fingers to grasp the fruit of a nearby berry bush. She didn’t recognize the red berries her hand pressed to her lips. Arturia willed her mouth shut, warring with the invisible force that pried it open.

“Open up, poppet.”

Arturia blinked, suddenly finding herself surrounded by the most beautiful people she had ever seen. Their faces contained no flaw, no imperfection. Their hair was long, braided with flowers and the colorful leaves of the forest. In comparison, her “reflection” seemed so ugly as it pulled its jaw open with its free hand.

One of the handsome creatures stole the berries from her grasp, placed them within her mouth, and pulled her hair back till she swallowed.

Suddenly her limbs felt loose, and she was on the ground once again, staring up at fifteen perfectly symmetrical faces. So lovely they looked. Too lovely to be human.

Oh.

Arturia’s eyes widened as all the puzzle pieces fell into place. Her surroundings, the creature’s ability to control her once they had her name, the too-perfect bodies that circled her.

She was in the domain of the fae.

Arturia’s hand went to her lips, the delicious fruit’s flavor still clinging to her tongue. They’d forced her to eat their food. Which meant…

For her, there was no going back.

“I’d start running, Spawn of Uther.”

“Father, my sister is missing, we cannot hold the coronation today. All of Camelot knows you’ve selected me for the throne. What harm shall there be in a delay?!” Arthur’s muffled voice came through the door. Never had anyone heard the prince so agitated, and so his alarm put everyone on edge.

Especially the resurrected former First Knight of Fianna, who was trying not to tremble as he held his head in his hands. He’d just lost his charge. Right under his nose, she’d been taken from the castle, with the perpetrator leaving no footsteps, no sign of struggle. Arturia must have never woken. She would have put up a fight.

A loud slap echoed throughout the corridor, making even the sturdiest of knights flinch.

“You will be crown prince, Arthur! That is what the King declares and that is what you shall obey,” Uther’s voice came through the door.

The rows of knights averted their eyes, bearing no witness to the fresh cut on Arthur’s cheek. Outside the castle, the common folk carried on with their preparations, unaware their generous princess would not be around to enjoy the ceremony.

Later, the King would announce to her admirers that the princess was unwell, and the world would be none the wiser. Later, Uther would insist the celebration carry on into the night time. Later, he’d send all the guests home without his daughter bidding them farewell.

By the ‘morrow, the king was still giving the same excuses, the Crown Prince Arthur standing stifled by his side. There were more bruises on the young prince than there were the night prior. When Diarmuid locked eyes with the man that had introduced him to Camelot, they knew Uther hadn’t the intention to find her at all. He wouldn’t spare a single cent on her search, much less a knight.

Merlin’s query from the other night seemed all the more damning.

And if Camelot betrays her, would you still give the same response?

Arthur held Diarmuid’s gaze and made a subtle nod, like he knew of the choice the Irishman was going to make. In fact, the prince even looked proud.

Every piece of armor, every cape, every medal he was lauded, Diarmuid dropped onto the Round Table like rubbish. He’d come to Camelot seeking an honorable king to serve, but alas, it seemed he came too early.

It hurt his heart to abandon his wish a second time, even if this instance, it was his choice. However, he couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving the princess lost, either.

What a terrible twist of fate.

Diarmuid spun on his heel, his face so contorted in disgust that even the maidens whose hearts he’d swayed looked on him with fear. Perhaps he was cursed to serve horrible people, those that knew nothing of love and loyalty.

Just as the double doors of the hall closed behind him, the king uttered words Diarmuid was not meant to hear. But the former Fenian knight had been a hunter his whole life, and such whispers would not escape his notice.

“Fool. Do you love that failure of a creature so dearly, you’d take it back from the fae?”

The knight’s heart sank into the abyss faster than a rock dropped into the sea.

The events of the other evening finally made sense. Uther had given her fruit from the Otherworld when he summoned her to the East Hall, that was why her breath smelled far too sweet when he’d taken her to bed. He now understood Arturia’s sudden sickness while at the party. Humans couldn’t stomach such magical food when given it for the first time.

Fae food had another quality. When eaten in the human realm, it made the consumer a target, far easier for the fair folk to whisk away into faerie lands, especially during dusk or dawn. That is how she’d been taken without leaving a trace. But when eaten in the Otherworld…

“Father,” Diarmuid called, marching down the halls of the castle. Black smoke rose wherever the man’s feet touched, leaving the floor singed in his path. Soon Diarmuid’s simple green garbs were replaced by expensive silk, his roughly pulled back hair graced with a circlet of gold. Servants and knights alike parted like the sea, fearful of the gentle Irish knight. For the first time his welcoming honey eyes looked like those of a wolf’s, alight with the rage of a hunter.

Camelot’s walls dissolved before Diarmuid’s eyes, stone blocks contorting into green grass and large trees. Soon his steps no longer echoed along castle halls, but burned through thick vegetation. The demigod spared one look at the sky to find it dotted with too many stars and knew he’d crossed to the domain of everlasting youth and abundance. His father had eased his passage.

Meanwhile, Merlin smiled as Arthur delivered the news of Diarmuid’s magical disappearance.

Arturia was fading fast.

She could no longer feel her bloodied fingers, nor the scratches all over her feet. She’d run so far to no avail, there was no escaping the land of the Fae. Still, the princess could not accept going to her death without a fight. If she were to lose her life, a warrior’s death seemed more honorable than the alternative.

Still, her death meant she could no longer follow the path her father set her down. She wouldn’t be queen, wouldn’t be the catalyst for a lasting alliance, wouldn’t bear a son for whatever prince or king Uther would assign. Arthur’s future reign would be robbed of a loyal ally. She regretted that much.

Then there was Diarmuid. Her one true friend, who knew her better than anyone, even Arthur. The last three years of her life were the brightest, for he filled them with happiness. He indulged her love for swordfighting, risking punishment to take her out to spar. Although he stayed by her side, he never made her feel like she was made of glass like her tutors tended to do.

They were duty-bound, they knew that, but they grew close anyway. Arturia was sure she loved Diarmuid the way that he loved her. She didn’t know when or how, but...she did. Perhaps that’s why it was so easy to steal one final kiss before her duty took her away.

The tears that brimmed beneath her eyelids finally fell.

If on her deathbed, she could be selfish, she wished for the chance to tell him how she felt.

Alas, it seemed her breath had finally run out.

Arturia's eyes snapped open as fresh air entered her lungs. A warm hand pulled her up out of her grassy grave and into a familiar embrace, holding her as she hacked and coughed. A quick grasp for the necklace of vines at her collarbones revealed nothing but crumbling ash, like the offensive plant had spontaneously combusted.

"Forgive my tardiness, my lady."

Dazed eyes crawled up to the face of her savior, his name on her lips, but found a sight known and unknown to her at the same time. It was her knight’s face, undoubtedly, with the same droopy eyes and handsome features, yet there were parts of him that had been replaced. His orange irises now glowed like embers against the coal of his sclera, a quality decidedly inhuman.

“D..iar?” she croaked, reaching up to touch his ear, now knife-shaped at the end when it wasn’t before. He responded to her at once, resting his face in her palm to quell her fears. She must have been so confused to see him in this form. He’d never worn it in Camelot, after all.

With the little strength she had left, she returned his embrace, tucking herself into the crook of his neck without a second thought. She had so many questions, beginning with why he left a trail of death in his footsteps from whence he came, but all that could wait. Her knight was here.

“You have suffered in my absence, and for that I apologize,” the man said, regretfully seeing the red stain of a berry at her lip.

He was too late. Arturia belonged to the Otherworld now. Likely, the ones that had taken her forced the fruit down her throat to eliminate any chance of escape. Oh, and of course, to further weaken the human who wasn’t yet used to consuming magic-riddled food. If he had to guess, the mischievous fair folk were hunting their latest catch for sport. That would explain how she was still alive.

“Do you know why they took you, milady?” he asked, his watchful eyes scanning his surroundings for the ones that pursued her. They can’t have been far behind.

Arturia shook her head, leaning on his chest. “All they told me...is that my father...traded me to them. By the way they spoke...it seems it has been a long time since then. They...know my name.” she said in between heavy breaths.

Luckily, they wouldn’t have to live in mystery much longer. The fair folk had finally decided to show themselves.

“That belongs to us, Son of Donn.” fifteen salivating mouths spoke in unison. The roots around them creaked as the trees behind them sprouted legs and walked. No wonder Arturia looked like she’d been pushed through several thorny bushes. The forest sided with its inhabitants.

That complicated things quite a bit. Even Diarmuid would rather not challenge an army of trees and fae. There was only so much he could do with Donn’s blessing. He’d rather not leave this entire area dead.

“On what grounds?” queried the demigod.

At his words, the small circle of death that surrounded the pair spread its reach, slowly sapping the life from every plant and animal within it. Even the more arrogant of the Fae knew better than to step within the territory of the god of death’s son, snarling and hissing as they backed away.

“King Uther’s payment for furnishing his barren wife a boy.”

Diarmuid’s hold on Arturia’s body only tightened. Payment? Was that damned king so heartless he saw such little value in his own child that he used her to purchase another? Around them, the grass began to decay, as if the knight’s growing anger scared the life out of the greenery.

The man cursed under his breath. Fair folk were unable to lie. The fae hadn’t been malicious in their capture of Arturia at all. They were simply taking what they were owed, no matter how twisted it felt to be dealing in human lives. Then again, fae didn’t quite view humans as equals. In their eyes, man could range from being lovers, to pets, to food. It seemed the latter was what they saw in his princess.

Unlike Diarmuid, whose rage simmered on behalf of his charge, Arturia’s diminished in favor of curiosity. Because if her mother truly was barren, how could she have birthed two? And if Arthur was the doing of the fae, then...who made her?

In a blink, Diarmuid was armed with his red sword and spear, a shrouded Beagalltach dropping on Arturia’s lap for her to use. Truthfully, he’d rather not fight, even if the woman who guarded his back eased his worries a bit. The fair folk were far more wily than common humans, and Arturia, who’d only been sparring against Arthur, Merlin, and himself, would be at a severe disadvantage. Especially when the Fae didn’t always play fair.

The best way out of this was to make Arturia undesirable in their eyes, but how? She had been owed to them since she was a baby. What could possibly ruin her for them—oh.

“Then I’m afraid you’ve been double-crossed, fair folk,” Diarmuid declared confidently. He locked eyes with Arturia meaningfully, giving her a slight nod so she’d play along.

“Double-crossed?” questioned the angered fae folk. Clearly his ruse was already working. “Explain yourself, demigod.”

“Uther has gifted her to me first,” he smirked. Technically, he’d spoken nothing false. Arturia was made his charge the same day he was knighted under Camelot. What was that if not a gift?

Luckily, his princess’s look of surprise was ignored in the Fae’s rage at being scorned. Especially by someone who they’d done such a huge favor.

“You lie!” screamed the beautiful creatures, all of them rushing forward to claim their prize. That couldn’t be true. They waited so long for her to ripen, expending so much energy to make Uther’s wish come true.

“I do not,” the demigod said calmly, pulling Arturia to himself like he’d always wished to do. She must have been so uncomfortable wrapped in a situation she could not control. He hoped she didn’t mind his actions too much. “She wears my token.”

That was the first time the fae took notice of the cloth that the tiny blonde so viciously hung on to throughout the chase. It was clearly woven in the Otherworld, perhaps blessed even by Donn. The craftsmanship was far too intricate in detail to have been made by human hands.

But the fae would not be denied so easily. “Our dealings predate yours, demigod. Surrender us what we are owed—”

“Even if this woman is secondhand?” Diarmuid drove in his point, flabbergasting all the terrifyingly beautiful faces that hovered just beyond the circle of death at his feet.

“I am afraid that I have already been allowed a taste,” he said smugly.

Arturia’s reaction was perfect. With a small gasp and her fingers tenderly touching her lips, the fae had all the proof they needed.

Uther had played them all for fools, thinking they’d accept leftovers when he promised them a feast. Some of their eyes still stared at Arturia’s thin arms, but no longer with desire. Rather, they were beginning to see that the King hadn’t prepared her for them at all. She was short. Clearly starved rather than fattened for their consumption.

They should have known she had already been claimed. The scent of the death god was on her skin the night they took her.

Slowly, the fae began to disappear. One by one, they left, a look of vengeance on their faces. If the Otherworld ever received news that King Uther was dead, he wouldn’t be surprised at all.

“Will they seize Camelot?” Arturia asked as she followed Diarmuid down a trail of death. Although he left tracks of lifeless plants wherever he stepped, after some time, new ones would grow in their place. He’d changed nothing about the cycle of life, only accelerated it. A blessing from his Father, he explained, which did not follow him into the Human Realm.

It would be long before the princess became accustomed to the fact that Diarmuid was royalty as well. The son of Erin’s God of Death, Donn. She couldn’t believe she had someone so renowned in her service for the last three years. Especially if that someone was actually living a second life when he had done so. Suddenly, Diarmuid’s incredible prowess in battle made sense. He’d already lived a life of war once before.

The raven-haired warrior was patient with her, answering her every query as he led her to a small healing pool to recuperate.

“No,” the man said, leading his princess into the shallow water. “The Fae only quarrel with your father. You needn’t worry for the kingdom.”

Her knight—was he still her knight?—sat behind her, undoing the messy braids in her blonde hair as the water washed away her wounds. Being this intimate in public might have been improper in Camelot, but they were no longer bound by the laws and practices of the white castle. Human customs meant nothing in the realm of the fae.

In fact, most everything she knew meant nothing in this realm. She felt like a fish out of water, nay, perhaps even a fish in the desert in this magical land of plenty. There were no kingdoms here, not really. No wars to end with marriage, no diplomatic ties to establish. Here, her title was little more than a luxury price tag. An excuse for her captors to sell off her meat as premium.

Arturia shivered in the cold, goosebumps crawling up her figure.

“I feel I should have accepted death if it meant sparing my father’s life—”

“—Don’t,” the knight stopped, moving his hands from her loose hair to her shoulders. “In all this, you are innocent. It is your father’s own fault he transacted with the Fair Folk. Especially so...if he already had you.”

Arturia turned around so that they faced each other in the water. Her emerald eyes shined brighter than the pool they were in, curiosity and dread rippling within their depths.

“If Queen Igraine truly was barren, do you not suppose your father would first turn to his own court mage for help?” the knight voiced his suspicions.

Neither of them could confirm the answer, but deep down they knew the truth. Arturia was Merlin’s creation, just as Arthur was the Fae’s. No wonder they’d chosen her for their payment. Hers was a unique existence, fashioned in the hands of a demon.

“Have I endangered my brother, then?” she mumbled. “What if they claim his life instead of mine?”

“They are proud creatures. To have someone borne of their interference seated in the highest seat of the kingdom will have them thrilled. The fae will not remove him,” he replied.

A quick glance above her white dress’s neckline revealed the healing waters had taken care of the bruises on her neck. A few moments more and he’d set a fire somewhere close so they could dry off. Then he could take her...where, exactly? To his father? Maybe?

Donn would take her in. Of course he would. His father’s domain never ran out of space. Perhaps he could even take Arturia to Aengus, if she desired a fancier lifestyle more attuned with the arts.

However, it wasn’t Camelot. This was not the world she was raised in. The people within it were different. He had no doubts that she would adjust, but the fact remained that Arturia was a foreigner here.

A long sigh escaped Diarmuid’s lips. He was never a stranger to the Otherworld, but Arturia was. His princess sat here, forever stolen from the life that she knew, and yet she hadn’t spared a single question for her own fate.

“As long as you are human, my liege, you cannot return to Camelot. The fruit of this land anchors you to this realm in more ways than one. Even if your passage were somehow permitted, only starvation awaits you on the other side, for no food of man shall ever taste like what you consume here. Your body will reject anything else,” the demigod elaborated, loathing every word that left his lips.

His heart begged him to hold her, for comfort was the only other thing he could offer for her plight, yet he hesitated. Arturia may have known him for three years, but he’d concealed from her his form, his past, his lineage. If he weren’t the only familiar thing to her within the Otherworld, he wondered if she’d still trust him.

Arturia hugged her knees to her chest. Whether it was to combat the chill of the water or give herself some sense of security, he didn’t know.

“If I cannot fulfill my duties to Camelot, Diarmuid, then what purpose is there to me existing?”

Her words pulled him forward til he rested a hand on her head. Arturia unraveled herself like a blooming rose at his touch, her expression still solemn, but less worried.

“I suppose finding that purpose, becomes the purpose. We’d be in the same boat, Arturia,” he said, giving her a slight smile. She still looked dubious. Of course she did. Arturia knew no other life than the one she spent following tradition and her father’s orders. He, however, was different.

“The reason I came to Camelot at all was to live a life of service as a knight. I thought it might grant me some fulfilment. However, the moment I realized the very order—the king—I served had forsaken you,” he paused for a moment, bringing his hand lower to cup her cheek, “...It was all too easy to rescind my loyalty.”

The irony of it all was killing him. In his last life, he would have done anything his king demanded. He was only forced to leave due to extraneous circumstances, and as soon as his king declared forgiveness he was all too ready to retake his position at Fionn’s side. This time, he’d left Camelot peacefully and by his own choice, but he’d left nonetheless. It turns out that losing your life because of your lord’s jealousy changed a person. This time, he was finical in choosing who to serve, and Uther certainly did not fit his criteria.

“I do not know anything else but the knight’s path, just as you know only your path as a princess,” he continued as she leaned into his touch. “But I am beginning to think my happiness is not strictly confined to that life. If I may be so bold, milady, I believe you may be the same.”

Looking back, he indeed was happy as a knight of Camelot, but most of his joy came from serving her. There was nothing more thrilling than bringing victory to her doorstep, or wearing her token during tournaments, or riding with her into the forest whenever they could. In the beginning, he did strive to join the Table, but that wish quickly diminished when he realized the added duty would shorten the time he was able to teach her to wield swords and spears.

Diarmuid wouldn’t claim she was his new purpose. But he was sure that whatever awaited him, he wanted Arturia there.

This time, he really did pull her into an embrace. Although the water was cold, Diarmuid felt warmth where their skin touched. It helped remind him that although he’d been too late to take her back, he wasn’t too late to save her life. She was still here. He just had to convince her to stay.

“I offer you my company, Arturia. You will never be alone if...if you wish to continue your journey here.”

The blonde woman closed her eyes, contemplating his proposal. This fate was not the one she was born for. Nay, in a way it was, since her father had sold her off the same day she was born. She’d only been tricked into believing she’d be a political tool for forging alliances. In not succumbing to the Fair Folk, however, she’d basically rejected that fate. Who knew now what her life was meant for?

Diarmuid started a fire as she pulled his gift tighter around herself. She hadn’t let it go from the minute he gave it, only momentarily giving up its warmth to bathe in the healing waters. He was being so kind to her, so patient. He no longer owed her his service, considering Camelot’s rules no longer bound them, but he remained with her.

So much had changed in such a short time. But even if her knight looked different, his soul stayed the same. He was her one constant, a beacon of light in the world of unknowns she was thrust into. There was much she had to learn about Diarmuid’s past, but he didn’t feel like a stranger at all.

Finding purpose, he’d said. Arturia didn’t even know where to begin. What was she if not the princess her tutors had groomed since birth? What was she if not her Father’s sacrifice to the Fae? She scoured her mind for any wish, any want she may have had beyond her duty, looking for something, anything that might give her some direction.

As her eyes followed her knight, she remembered her last thought before she believed the vines at her neck would take her life.

She wished she could tell him how she felt.

But that wasn’t all, was it?

What she wished for was no end to the time she spent with Diarmuid, for in those moments, she felt most herself. Perhaps she had been wanting that for a long time. She may have been ready to be married off for the sake of peacekeeping, but their kiss was a result of a selfish, pent-up desire to stay with him instead of fulfilling that duty. A final goodbye that conveyed her feelings before she had to go.

It was mere coincidence that the same kiss was what landed them in their current position.

Arturia reached for the hand of the man beside her closing her small fingers over his.

“I do not know who I am yet,” she admitted, her grip tightening such that he wouldn’t leave. But the gods knew Diarmuid never had the intention to do so. He needed her the same way she needed him.

“Neither do I know myself,” he answered, stroking her fingers with his thumb.

Arturia bit her lip, still wary of the future. This was quite literally the first time in her life when she didn’t know what would come next. There was no schedule to maintain, no grand plan to follow, nothing.

“All I am sure of,” she continued, gently tilting his chin so they gazes locked. “is that I need you with me. Is...Is that alright?”

Diarmuid pulled her closer with their interlocked hands, shielding her from the wind with his body. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, more than relieved that was her answer.

“More than alright, Arturia.”

The pair faced the bountiful world beyond the fire at their feet, wondering what it had in store. It would be a long journey for each of them—finding oneself was quite the task after all—but they had each other. That was more than enough.

_____

Thank you for the ask! :)

I've been playing with this concept in my head for a while. An AU where Arturia isn't the King of Knights, but set in her time (not in a Modern AU) and incorporating beings like the more mischievous kind of Fae. Also you know, since Donn is the god of the dead, hc that Diarmuid's Hope you enjoyed!

35 notes · View notes