[in the early morning, today, Merlin wakes. the sun is softer, the winds brisker in the autumn season, and so he takes to his robes. it's not time that he's hungry yet, so instead, he chooses to wander - the forest holds potential, and it's been months since he came here. no closer to understanding the whys and hows. there's much to contemplate.
he walks without care, sees a hint of blue in the corner of his eyes, and turns, expecting to see a butterfly or a flower-
only, he does not. he sees a ghost, or a dream, or something too much to be real.
the wind blows, ruffling his hair, and he barely feels it. how many years, locked in his tower? how many times did she repeat the cycle, until she was free? so stubborn, so full of pride. so full of hope. so many things in his chest that he had locked away to keep himself together, to be the Merlin he knew how to be.
if he moves closer, will she fade away? if he calls out, will she disappear? something in him is-
not frightened. but wanting to linger. one step is all he'll allow himself.
one step, and a small branch cracks under his foot, a sharp sound in this morning haze.]
[ the crunch of a branch underfoot is what alerts her to someone else nearby. Artoria's senses are not as keen as Merlin's, that she might divine friend from foe, but she has been assured that they are all meant to be allies here. and so she does not spin with great alarm but, rather, turns as if she might greet someone for the first time: with a smile and bright eyes.
but as she turns, she, like him, seems suddenly paralyzed.
green eyes fall upon iridescent hair. white robes. the unchanged face of her magician, who stares back at her with a similar expression of absolute shock.
Artoria stares. stares long enough that she begins to wonder if she is not seeing ghosts, herself.
and then, she takes a step. two. stops there, uncertain. ]
[she says his name, and it's like a spell is released from his bones. he can move, but does that mean she's real? is he dreaming, his thoughts coming to crystallize in the form of a long awaited reunion?
he doesn't know. but Merlin steps forward as well, one, two, then enough to cover the distance between them. until if one of them reached out, they could touch the other, and see if they were solid. he won't, and he'll say it's because it's not necessary. but really...
anyway. the expression of serious thought gives way to a smile - one that doesn't quite fill his eyes, but it's there nonetheless.]
It's been a while, hasn't it, Artoria?
[longer than perhaps she knows. time is a fluid thing.]
[ he is close enough that she can smell the flowers that seem to follow him, the strange scent of greenery, ivy. crushed grass underneath her boots. like sunshine in the open glade of a deep wood. she remembers those long days so many years ago, when she had smiled, when she had called his name so informally.
eons ago. a lifetime ago. before the shattering of her armor, the loss of her lifeblood. the fall of Camelot.
Merlin smiles and her heart only aches. ]
It has been. I cannot even count the days.
[ too long. hundreds of years, millions of moments ago. her throat closes up and she feels she is at a loss for words. some part of her wants to say something, anything, and the other side of her feels as if it is unjustified. she does not deserve his smile.
after all, hadn't she failed?
had he known? in all of his wisdom, had he known Artoria would not carry out her kingship through the decades? or had Merlin seen some miracle that she had failed to achieve? did it matter now?
hesitantly, she reaches out. she reaches for his hand and, finding he is real, grasps it. tightly.
she goes down on her knees in front of him, head bowed. contrite. ]
[in answer, he kneels with her, hand secure in hers. he knows why she's apologizing - that she'd see it as failure, but to him it was part of her success, for that day she would finally accept her fate. to know that the power of a Grail wouldn't bring her what she really wanted, Britain achieved by her power, her blood, her heart. a king could accept nothing else and still call himself the true king, if they were like his Artoria. the ideal king. a creation, and something that forgot what it was to be human.
had it been a mistake, all those years ago, to make her so?
he had guessed, had known. knew that she would never accept it as truth, and so it would only be pain to push the point, wasted effort. instead, he had watched her sail away, and believed that never again would he be able to see her in person. not until the world ended, and him with the heart of the star, and perhaps he would have enough of a soul to find where others rested. and then, after so many years observing from his window, not until humanity was saved and he might send a shadow of himself to walk certain halls. but this...they were no shades of who they were. they existed, like they had when Camelot was still strong.
it is more than one could hope for. it is almost too much to bear.
setting his staff aside, his other hand goes to tilt her chin up. look at him. he does not smile, but he looks at her, and something aches in his chest, like a muscle long out of use.
he's happy to see her, he realizes.]
There is nothing that needs forgiveness. Not between us.
[ Merlin kneels with her, much to Artoria's surprise. this is an act of penance, and he has circumvented that, coming down to her level and simply holding her hand rather than to allow her to demean herself in any way. and she should have known he'd do something like this, really.
his hand is warm in hers, strangely soft as if from years of disuse - but she knows better. she clutches it tightly, head bowed, until he bids her to look up at him.
Artoria's eyes are wet. she feels as if she has spent a hundred lifetimes, thousands of years, upon that hill with her eyes blurry with the tears of her grief, her anger, her despair. if they could have washed away the blood and pain from all of those who died beneath her banner, never to rise again, she would still shed more. but her tears are meaningless. her blood, her strength, her heart, her body... none of those were enough to save her kingdom. why would tears bring a miracle?
not even the Grail could bring back that which she wanted. it was only mired in darkness.
she couldn't bring back her kingdom. could not save her people. and Merlin tried to tell her there was nothing that needed forgiveness. ]
They depended on me and I failed them. All this time, I thought if I could but obtain the Grail...
[ she could prevent herself from ever taking up the sword. but would that have fixed anything? would she have saved more lives that way or doomed others, or even more?
her shoulders shake for a moment, emotion barely restrained. Artoria bites down on her pain and forces herself to look at him. ]
But it is good to see you, Merlin.
[ a kindness she does not deserve. her friend, her mentor, her magician. ]
[he cannot save her from the truth of the Grail. no one can, or even should. it did not need forgiveness, because it was simply what was. no act of the gods could change it - no work of the hands of man could undo what had occurred. and no condolences could convince Artoria that she did not fail, because Britain still existed. it is not hers, and so it is not the same.
you fought bravely to the end. he knows she did. he watched her do it, until the end.]
We've both wandered so far from home. Perhaps the witch who runs this place knew exactly what she was doing.
She has done...something. Whether she knows or not-- No, I imagine she did. If she has such power as to draw the both of us here together...
[ a Heroic Spirit and a powerful magician. it must take so much power to do this. what cause is there? she knows what Astoria has told them...but is all of that true? whichever the reason, Artoria will fight. it is a worthy cause and she would help these worlds they go to.
but for both of them to be summoned? it is auspicious.
her hand grips Merlin's once more, tight, squeezing. ]
[ Artoria brings her other hand up to place over his own, warm, as she might have years ago. lifetimes ago. she has felt so very human in this place, far more than she has in such a very long time. ]
It is...strange. I wondered why we were summoned but not contracted.
[ and perhaps there is the answer. ]
Have... Have others come here from our time?
[ the Round Table. Lancelot. her heart aches in her chest. ]
[there's a shadow that passes through his features when he thinks on it, and he breathes in. but the truth, he can tell, is better here than not. she'll listen, and it gives her time to prepare.]
Bedivere was here, for a time. I know not why he has returned, but I suspect he has gone back to the right time in our world. And...Mordred is also here.
[he pauses.]
It is not the brightest news, I know. But you were bound to find out.
[ the first bit of news is met with a flicker of pain and remorse, that Bedivere would have come and gone and her none the wiser. to see his face would have brought her joy, if only fleeting. but the rest--
Mordred. her...son. her killer. the dissenter who destroyed her kingdom.
Artoria's grip tightens over his hand. were Merlin a weaker man, it would be enough to bruise. in Chaldea, Artoria has kept her distance from her son but it seems fate will not let her be. again and again, she must confront this piece of her past, this fury. this rage. ]
[he knew it wouldn't be good. but keeping it from her would have only brought wrath and pain. he keeps his hand in hers, holding on steadily. making sure she's breathing.]
For now, nothing has happened. We are aware of each other, and are content to lead lives on separate paths. Indeed, we haven't even spoken in months.
[except for that promise that he made that he knows will come back to hurt him, but on that matter, he is silent. the point is, it's possible to minimize her presence and pain that comes from knowing.]
Not a word of your existence here shall come from my lips, if you wish.
She will know, one way or another. It will not be a secret for long.
[ for months Mordred has been here. months. it chills her, but it brings so many questions, too. questions about time and Chaledea and...and everything else. all of this troubles her. but more than that, much more, is that she knows Mordred will want to fight again. and Artoria's anger can only be kept at bay for so long.
she bites down on her lower lip for a moment, then releases it. tries to think, tries to maintain her composure. ]
Mordred may consent to live her life apart from yours. But she will seek me out once she knows of my presence. For now, we might keep silent, while I think on what to do.
[ she could simply leave her in peace. Artoria will like to. but the odds of that are slim to none. ]
[because he had thought on this, of course. thought about every single one of the knights and others besides, made plans and possibilities in his hours that he wanders and draws and dreams and experiences life in the capacity he has. he had thought about this since he knew Mordred was here - hoped both for Artoria to see her again and hoped that she stayed far away. now the pieces fell where they would. they can adapt.
[ he asks his question so simply, as if it means nothing. or, perhaps because he already knows the answer. but the offer is heartfelt and genuine, and Artoria turns her eyes on Merlin. slowly, she smiles. ]
Of course. If you would have me as--
[ well, she isn't a king any longer, is she? or-- hm. ]
As your king and as your confidant.
[ as his servant, as Artoria has always served her people, including her dearest friends. even him, in small ways. ]
[except he has always served her, for good and ill both. but he will always be her magician, her advisor, her follower. this path was wrought by his own hands - it is only fitting he see it through.]
Take charge of this. When you feel ready, seek Mordred out before she can seek you. Give yourself that position of strength, so that you need not constantly be on the defensive from her. I will come with you - for someone needs to ensure she does not too hastily raise her hand - but all the words shall be yours.
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no subject
he walks without care, sees a hint of blue in the corner of his eyes, and turns, expecting to see a butterfly or a flower-
only, he does not. he sees a ghost, or a dream, or something too much to be real.
the wind blows, ruffling his hair, and he barely feels it. how many years, locked in his tower? how many times did she repeat the cycle, until she was free? so stubborn, so full of pride. so full of hope. so many things in his chest that he had locked away to keep himself together, to be the Merlin he knew how to be.
if he moves closer, will she fade away? if he calls out, will she disappear? something in him is-
not frightened. but wanting to linger. one step is all he'll allow himself.
one step, and a small branch cracks under his foot, a sharp sound in this morning haze.]
no subject
but as she turns, she, like him, seems suddenly paralyzed.
green eyes fall upon iridescent hair. white robes. the unchanged face of her magician, who stares back at her with a similar expression of absolute shock.
Artoria stares. stares long enough that she begins to wonder if she is not seeing ghosts, herself.
and then, she takes a step. two. stops there, uncertain. ]
Merlin?
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he doesn't know. but Merlin steps forward as well, one, two, then enough to cover the distance between them. until if one of them reached out, they could touch the other, and see if they were solid. he won't, and he'll say it's because it's not necessary. but really...
anyway. the expression of serious thought gives way to a smile - one that doesn't quite fill his eyes, but it's there nonetheless.]
It's been a while, hasn't it, Artoria?
[longer than perhaps she knows. time is a fluid thing.]
no subject
eons ago. a lifetime ago. before the shattering of her armor, the loss of her lifeblood. the fall of Camelot.
Merlin smiles and her heart only aches. ]
It has been. I cannot even count the days.
[ too long. hundreds of years, millions of moments ago. her throat closes up and she feels she is at a loss for words. some part of her wants to say something, anything, and the other side of her feels as if it is unjustified. she does not deserve his smile.
after all, hadn't she failed?
had he known? in all of his wisdom, had he known Artoria would not carry out her kingship through the decades? or had Merlin seen some miracle that she had failed to achieve? did it matter now?
hesitantly, she reaches out. she reaches for his hand and, finding he is real, grasps it. tightly.
she goes down on her knees in front of him, head bowed. contrite. ]
Merlin. Merlin, forgive me. I'm so sorry.
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had it been a mistake, all those years ago, to make her so?
he had guessed, had known. knew that she would never accept it as truth, and so it would only be pain to push the point, wasted effort. instead, he had watched her sail away, and believed that never again would he be able to see her in person. not until the world ended, and him with the heart of the star, and perhaps he would have enough of a soul to find where others rested. and then, after so many years observing from his window, not until humanity was saved and he might send a shadow of himself to walk certain halls. but this...they were no shades of who they were. they existed, like they had when Camelot was still strong.
it is more than one could hope for. it is almost too much to bear.
setting his staff aside, his other hand goes to tilt her chin up. look at him. he does not smile, but he looks at her, and something aches in his chest, like a muscle long out of use.
he's happy to see her, he realizes.]
There is nothing that needs forgiveness. Not between us.
no subject
his hand is warm in hers, strangely soft as if from years of disuse - but she knows better. she clutches it tightly, head bowed, until he bids her to look up at him.
Artoria's eyes are wet. she feels as if she has spent a hundred lifetimes, thousands of years, upon that hill with her eyes blurry with the tears of her grief, her anger, her despair. if they could have washed away the blood and pain from all of those who died beneath her banner, never to rise again, she would still shed more. but her tears are meaningless. her blood, her strength, her heart, her body... none of those were enough to save her kingdom. why would tears bring a miracle?
not even the Grail could bring back that which she wanted. it was only mired in darkness.
she couldn't bring back her kingdom. could not save her people. and Merlin tried to tell her there was nothing that needed forgiveness. ]
They depended on me and I failed them. All this time, I thought if I could but obtain the Grail...
[ she could prevent herself from ever taking up the sword. but would that have fixed anything? would she have saved more lives that way or doomed others, or even more?
her shoulders shake for a moment, emotion barely restrained. Artoria bites down on her pain and forces herself to look at him. ]
But it is good to see you, Merlin.
[ a kindness she does not deserve. her friend, her mentor, her magician. ]
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you fought bravely to the end. he knows she did. he watched her do it, until the end.]
We've both wandered so far from home. Perhaps the witch who runs this place knew exactly what she was doing.
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[ a Heroic Spirit and a powerful magician. it must take so much power to do this. what cause is there? she knows what Astoria has told them...but is all of that true? whichever the reason, Artoria will fight. it is a worthy cause and she would help these worlds they go to.
but for both of them to be summoned? it is auspicious.
her hand grips Merlin's once more, tight, squeezing. ]
Are you well?
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[she'd missed the sickness, the strange fluctuations of power. as it is, he's about as much of himself as he could hope to be.
unconsciously, when she grips his hand, his thumb strokes the back of hers, soothing.]
Though I confess it is quite...novel to be back in a world, fully flesh and blood.
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It is...strange. I wondered why we were summoned but not contracted.
[ and perhaps there is the answer. ]
Have... Have others come here from our time?
[ the Round Table. Lancelot. her heart aches in her chest. ]
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Bedivere was here, for a time. I know not why he has returned, but I suspect he has gone back to the right time in our world. And...Mordred is also here.
[he pauses.]
It is not the brightest news, I know. But you were bound to find out.
no subject
Mordred. her...son. her killer. the dissenter who destroyed her kingdom.
Artoria's grip tightens over his hand. were Merlin a weaker man, it would be enough to bruise. in Chaldea, Artoria has kept her distance from her son but it seems fate will not let her be. again and again, she must confront this piece of her past, this fury. this rage. ]
How long has Mordred been here.
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[he knew it wouldn't be good. but keeping it from her would have only brought wrath and pain. he keeps his hand in hers, holding on steadily. making sure she's breathing.]
For now, nothing has happened. We are aware of each other, and are content to lead lives on separate paths. Indeed, we haven't even spoken in months.
[except for that promise that he made that he knows will come back to hurt him, but on that matter, he is silent. the point is, it's possible to minimize her presence and pain that comes from knowing.]
Not a word of your existence here shall come from my lips, if you wish.
no subject
[ for months Mordred has been here. months. it chills her, but it brings so many questions, too. questions about time and Chaledea and...and everything else. all of this troubles her. but more than that, much more, is that she knows Mordred will want to fight again. and Artoria's anger can only be kept at bay for so long.
she bites down on her lower lip for a moment, then releases it. tries to think, tries to maintain her composure. ]
Mordred may consent to live her life apart from yours. But she will seek me out once she knows of my presence. For now, we might keep silent, while I think on what to do.
[ she could simply leave her in peace. Artoria will like to. but the odds of that are slim to none. ]
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[because he had thought on this, of course. thought about every single one of the knights and others besides, made plans and possibilities in his hours that he wanders and draws and dreams and experiences life in the capacity he has. he had thought about this since he knew Mordred was here - hoped both for Artoria to see her again and hoped that she stayed far away. now the pieces fell where they would. they can adapt.
(he can adapt.)]
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Of course. If you would have me as--
[ well, she isn't a king any longer, is she? or-- hm. ]
As your king and as your confidant.
[ as his servant, as Artoria has always served her people, including her dearest friends. even him, in small ways. ]
no subject
Take charge of this. When you feel ready, seek Mordred out before she can seek you. Give yourself that position of strength, so that you need not constantly be on the defensive from her. I will come with you - for someone needs to ensure she does not too hastily raise her hand - but all the words shall be yours.