#and gaius but that old man has always been a liar

[like-sands-of-time]

What the hell?? When/why/how would Kilgharrah let aithusa far from his sight ??? Let alone be anywhere near Morgana to heal her ?

Surely the writers weren't forgetting they said Morgana can't be killed by a mortal weapon? The sword wouldn't have been enough to kill her, just make it so she has to magically heal herself right?

And Are they not going against their own dragon lore by saying aithusa would go to anyone but Merlin or Kilgharrah? I thought the reveal was gonna be Mordred finding her but this doesn't even make sense . At least that explains why they just forgot about the dragon for the entire rest of the season bc that really seemed out of character for Merlin. That's a connection to his father right there, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to experience something his father had, watching a dragon grow up, teaching him how to speak, bonding

(also I can't believe the whole of Camelot was in the forest and nobody saw the great dragon flying overhead several times and LANDING NEARBY)

I keep hoping for this great battle between Merlin and Morgana, an actual show of powers like they keep giving us glimpses but then it'll fizzle out. Even in emrys/dragoon form he still only temporarily takes her magic at the end. This is Morganas second attempt at the throne, there were so many times Arthur could have died.

I know it's about not wanting to kill her, wishing she would return to who she was etc. But She's done so much and to so many, far more than Nimueh ever did and he killed her. I love her but it's almost insulting to her own powers to keep dragging it out isn't it? This isn't Harry Potter... Back again once a year for a murder attempt.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin has been gone for two years, Arthur has a meeting with the Lord Emrys to help with the changing laws:

And he has never bitterly regretted sending Merlin away more

Part 2(final part)

Angst,

SO

I'm gonna say... about 6 months before Uther dies, Merlin's magic is revealed to Arthur.

He really does NOT react well.

Arthur doesn't let Merlin get a word of explanation in, before he hits him on the head so hard he's unconscious before he even hits the floor.

When Merlin wakes up, what he can only assume is MUCH later, he's wearing cold iron shackles, he's been blindfolded, and gagged.

He just listens at first, still dazed and certainly concussed.

After about twenty minutes he's more aware, and realises... he's outside, in a forest, and he's on his own.

~

It’s been two years since Arthur abandoned Merlin in the woods beyond Camelot’s border.

He’s been King now for about a year and a half.

He went back three days later and tracked Merlin for a few hours, before coming to the conclusion that he'd gotten away safely, and heading back to Camelot.

He always tried to justify it to himself as protecting Merlin from Uther, ignoring the fact that Merlin had managed just fine on his own for years.

But really that was just an excuse. All he saw in the moment was a liar and a traitor. Really he should've had Merlin executed so... he's still a good person. He did the right thing.

He hadn't told anyone else the truth (perhaps because he knows they would hate him for it). Instead he told them that he and Merlin had argued, and before Arthur could get to the bottom of why his manservant was so irate, he stormed off in the middle of the night, and told him he wasn't coming back.

He stuck to that story the whole two years, though he's fairly certain they at least suspect he's lying. Gaius definitely does.

I imagine Gaius, only a few days after Merlin's disappearance, taking Arthur aside one night, and demanding to know if Merlin was dead. If Arthur had killed him:

"No! No of course not. He... we had a fight. It's like I said. He left in the night and told me not to follow him, that he wasn't coming back. I plan to respect his wishes."

Gaius releases the bruising grip he'd had on Arthur’s arm and takes a step back, his expression unreadable as he stares at the Prince.

"I...why would think I killed him?"

"Despite the fact that he most certainly could've defended himself against you, I always found it troubling how willing he was to let you execute him, should that be what you wanted."

Arthur has no reply to that, what would he even say? Would Merlin really have willingly walked to a pyre? If Arthur had only asked?

Gaius goes to walk away at that, but just before he shuts the door behind him, he pauses, and without looking back, says:

"If I find out you have killed my son, Sire, for who he is, there will... there is a large group of people who would see that justice is served. Myself included."

Everyone notices the change in the relationship between Gaius and Arthur since Merlin had left.

Arthur, with the knowledge that Gaius knows. Knows the truth and had guessed what he'd done. He couldn't face that.

They barely spoke to each other, Arthur avoided the physician wherever possible and words of encouragement and kindness were no longer aimed his way from the gentle old man.

His relationships with the others deteriorated as well.

They either thought he was telling the truth, and resented him for both being cruel to Merlin, and letting him go so easily.

(After years of Arthur treating Merlin terribly, no one is really surprised that Merlin had decided he'd had enough and left.)

OR they thought he was lying, hiding something, and resented him for not telling them the truth, and potentially doing something unforgivable to Merlin.

All but Gwaine are still polite to him, showing him the due respect of a Prince, and then a King, but not of a friend.

After a series of hijinks, Arthur comes to the terrifying realisation that magic isn't all bad.

Really I think, he's known all along. But admitting that magic wasn't pure evil made what he did to Merlin even more unforgivable.

He begins making moves to legalise it. It's slow and difficult, and he meets resistance at every turn.

BUT he also has the surprising support of Gaius, and his knights, and Gwen, and Morgana.

Still, none of them treat him like a friend, not the way they used to, but they're helping him along the way. He hadn't realised how many people close to him opposed the ban, until he started dismantling it.

Hope rises in him, over the months, as he realises that once he's legalised magic, he can find Merlin, and bring him back. The first place he'll check is Ealdor.

He's... scared of that. Scared that he won't be able to find him, but more scared that he will. That Merlin will hate him. That Merlin won't care that he's repealing the ban and won't want to come back.

Arthur doesn't think he could bare that.

Mostly because he knows that it would be entirely his own fault.

After the ban is finally lifted, there are huge celebrations. If the King is seen to be searching the crowds, as if for a familiar face, no one mentions it.

A few days later, a group of Druids come for an audience with the King, and are met by Arthur in the courtyard.

After quick introductions, and pleasantries, the leader begins to speak:

"Once and Future King, I first want to extend my gratitude for this warm welcome, and promise that you have the Druid's full support in lifting the ban. We hope for a peaceful future, full of cooperation and compassion."

Arthur nods and smiles slightly at that, but before he can reply in anyway, the Druid speaks again:

"Our leader, the leader of all Druids and all magic of the world, would like to convene with you, and discuss the specifics of any future agreements between our two worlds."

Arthur is surprised at that, but hides it well. Leader of... all magic? Sounds... powerful:

"Of course, I readily accept. They may bring themselves forth, I will make time for a meeting whenever they so choose."

"Your majesty, My Lord Emrys already awaits you in the throne room-"

(The Druid smiles at Arthur's barely concealed shock at his words, both at the idea that someone had snuck into his castle undetected, and at the mention of Emrys. One of the the few conversations he'd had with Gaius had been an in-depth explanation of who Emrys was, and his and Arthur's destiny (the physician had failed, of course, to mention Emrys' true identity.)) 

The Druid continues gently:

"-He's not one for public appearances."

"I.... of course. Will you and your group be attending? Or would you like to be shown to your rooms immediately?"

"This is a matter to be discussed privately, between the two of you, My Lord. Myself and my group have a camp just beyond the city walls that we will return to. Thank you for the offer of hospitality, we appreciate the kindness greatly."

With that, the Druid gives another short bow before turning and leaving through the castle gates, his group following closely behind him.

Arthur takes a deep breath, briefly glancing at Sir Leon, who stands at his side, and instructing him to inform the council that any remaining meetings for the day had been cancelled.

Leon gives a stiff nod and stalks off. He had been the best at hiding his disdain for his former best friend, but it still shone through occasionally, and Arthur's heart clenches as he thinks that he really can blame no one but himself for the deterioration of everything in his personal life.

With another deep breath, he re-enters the castle, and heads towards the throne room, trying to psyche himself up for meeting the supposed Leader of All Magic, who had managed to sneak his way into the heart of the castle, without anyone noticing or raising the alarm.

He pauses briefly outside the doors, and instructs the guards to not let Anyone in, without the King's express permission.

They nod, and with that, Arthur opens the doors and enters, shutting them quietly, before turning around to be faced with a near empty throne room.

He furrows his brow as his eyes settle on a single man, his back to Arthur where he stands gazing out a window, onto the courtyard below.

Arthur can't see his face, he can't see much of him to be honest, he's shrouded in a floor length blue cloak, hood up and covering his head.

The King stares only for a moment before raising himself to his full height, clearing his throat, and speaking:

"Lord Emrys? It's my honour to welcome you to Camelot. Thank you for coming."

The man turns his head slightly at that, though not enough for Arthur to see any more of his face.

"Your honour?-"

He huffs a small laugh at that, though it sounds dry and sarcastic, as opposed to genuinely humoured.

"- we shall see about that."

His voice comes out strangely, obviously magically altered, and Arthur has to stop himself from gulping at the many voices echoing around the otherwise empty room.

They sound sort of... familiar? But he pushes that feeling down and takes yet another deep breath:

"Of course. I've been told a great deal about you. That you have always been an ally to Camelot, and have protected both me personally, and the Kingdom, from the shadows, never asking for credit or requesting recognition. I thank you for that, my gratitude knows no bounds. You had no reason to protect a kingdom that previously would have seen you burn, though I swear to you, that is not how things work now."

Emrys let's out a chuckle at that, this one somehow even less humoured than the last

He gives a small nod, before saying, almost to himself, though Arthur hears anyway:

"Yes, we shall see."

His voice is no longer disguised, and Arthur once again pushes down the feeling of recognition blooming in his chest. He's sure he knows that voice.

("It sounds like.... no. It isn't. Stop hearing things that aren't there. You're just setting yourself up for heartbreak." runs through his head.)

Arthur is unsure how to continue the conversation from there, but before he has to force some sort of response out, Emrys finally turns, and lowers his hood.

Arthur takes a step back and gasps, his eyes wide.

Merlin's hard eyes stare back at him, his expression completely blank. He looks very different, but is still recognisable as Arthur's former manservant.

"...Merlin?" Escapes Arthur's mouth, so quietly he can barely hear it himself

At this, Emrys let's out a deep sigh, sounding almost resigned, as he cocks an eyebrow and replies:

"No one's called me that in two and a half years. You know, I used to hate the idea of people calling me Emrys instead of Merlin. Now, I find that I feel the exact opposite.-"

He tilts his head slightly, looking briefly puzzled as he maintains eye contact and mumbles:

“-Or perhaps it’s just you.”

At this Arthur gulps, and really looks at Merlin... or Emrys.

He's bulked out a little, no longer skinny and sickly looking, he fills his clothes (good quality, blues and silvers and blacks, intricate patterns and fitting well) in a way he never had before. His hair has grown out long and curls around his ears. His beard has grown in a little.

(Think, the living and the dead) :

His hands, which now have druid markings tattooed all over (they're also just about visible above his collar, though they don't go very far up his neck) , are clasped tightly in front of him, his fingers adorned with a couple of rings.

Nothing he wears looks especially expensive, Merlin had never been one to dress up, but they are good quality, and screamed "Druid" and "powerful".

"You're Emrys? Why did you never say??"

Merli-... Emrys tenses his jaw at that, his face showing slight anger as opposed to the boredom it displayed before, but before he can answer, the gang bursts in all at once.

Arthur can hear the guards yelling over the top of the door banging against the wall, and the footsteps of eight people rushing into the room.

"I tried to stop them sire but they wouldn't- Merlin??" From Leon has Arthur letting out a frustrated growl.

The King sweeps his eyes over the rest of the group as they all stare in surprise at Merlin.

Gaius is the only one who doesn't look surprised, he is instead smiling, and steps forward to offer Merlin a hug, which he accepts with no resistance as a small smile graces his face.

Merlin speaks quietly, but everyone can hear him:

"It's good to see you Gaius. I've missed you. When this is all sorted I've got so many things to tell you, to show you."

Gaius pulls back and grins even wider,

"All in time, dear boy. You're looking very well. I'm glad you've finally revealed yourself as the Lord Emrys."

Merlin blushes slightly at that and looks down:

"I haven't gone by the name Merlin in almost three years Gaius, Camelot has been the only place to not know me."

Merlin steps back, and glances quickly at the others, before settling his gaze on Arthur, who is looking a little like an animal caught in a trap. Merlin's eyes harden once again, and he schools his face back into disinterest and boredom:

"As I was about to say before, My King, I didn't get a chance to explain myself to you before I awoke, shackled and blinded and cold, with a rather nasty head wound, in the middle of a forest. And quite frankly, after that, I wasn't prepared to stumble my way back to Camelot and try for a second time. Though perhaps I should be grateful you simply knocked me out and dumped me, as opposed to burning me?"

Arthur looks to be in physical pain, but doesn't look away from Merlin, not even as the others gasp and mutter and stare and glare at him.

"Shackled? You.... I knew you were lying you monster. How could you?!" From Morgana is the first thing loud enough to be heard.

It's Gwaine who speaks next, but Arthur still doesn't look away from Merlin:

"You bastard. What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He goes to draw his sword and step towards the King, but Elyan holds him back:

"No, Gwaine. It isn't our place. This is Merlin's fight, and he knows we all stand with him."

At that, Merlin finally looks away, an ever so slight smile escapes as Elyan nods to him, and becomes the first of the group to move to stand behind Merlin, facing the king. The others follow shortly after.

They stand in a group just behind him, the fury rolling off them in waves.

Morgana steps forward and takes one of Merlin's hands in her own. Staring Arthur down, she speaks, her eyes flash gold as a sharp wind whips through the throne room. No windows or doors have been left open:

"Would you have done the same to me, brother-mine? Would you have beaten me and shackled me and left me in a forest to rot?"

Arthur steps back in complete shock, the group behind her and Merlin are also shocked, but take it in their stride.

Merlin squeezes her hand in a silent "I'm sorry, I'm with you, I'll teach you, you're safe."

Arthur doesn't really have the words at this point. He's speechless and in shock and almost crying.

He had always known that his first meeting with Merlin would be difficult, but he wasn't expecting everyone who had ever been important to him to be there as well, stood opposite him, hating him.

The wind dies down as Gwen places a hand on the other woman's shoulder from behind. Merlin looks towards Morgana first, and offers a comforting smile to her teary face, before looking behind him to the others.

"As much as I appreciate the support, and as much as I love, and have missed you all, I think me and the King need to have a private meeting on the matter. Personal problems aside, I need to see to the continued safety of my people."

It’s quiet, reserved Percival, who speaks up:

"Like hell are we leaving you with him now we know what he did." The others nod at this, but Merlin replies gently:

"I'll be fine, I'm perfectly capable of defending myself. Go, I'll find you later."

At this, he turns once more to Morgana:

"There is a group of Druids camped just beyond the city walls, go to them, take Gaius. They will help you until this is all resolved, and then I can teach you myself." he says with a smile, and at her nod, he glances at Gaius, who steps forward and leads Morgana out the room, closely followed by a hesitating gaggle of knights.

Gwen is the only one who remains, as she takes Merlin’s hand briefly in Morgana’s place, and snarls at Arthur:

"Monster."

-before following the others out of the room, and shutting the door behind her, leaving the throne room once again empty of people, bar the Forever King and the Immortal One.

Merlin speaks first, looking back to Arthur, unwavering and determined:

"How do I know this is all real? The change in laws?"

"I... what? What do you mean real? Of course it's real. Merlin please, can we just-"

Merlin turns away as he interrupts him, and walks back towards the window, to look upon the courtyard, where countless innocents had been slaughtered:

"Pretending to change the laws so you can lure my people to your city, before starting another purge, sounds like exactly something Uther's son would do. I will not put my people in danger by encouraging them to come here, before I can be sure they are truly safe from the Pendragon line."

Arthur's heart breaks even more. He really had damaged the relationship between himself and Merlin more than he ever could've imagined. Merlin had seemed to make it his life goal to assure Arthur that he wasn't his father, that he could follow his own path and create his own legacy. Before Arthur had ruined everything.

"I would never. The law is changed. Sorcer- your people, are safe. Merlin will you please-"

Merlin turns and interrupts again, looking Arthur directly in the eyes, obviously not prepared to let the conversation turn personal.

"Promises made to beings of magic are... powerful. There is magic in words, swear to me that my people are safe from persecution, and I will believe it."

"I...yes. I swear it. People with magic will no longer be unfairly persecuted in this kingdom as long as I am king, I swear it, in the name of Camelot."

Merlin’s eyes flash gold, and Arthur feels as though the words he's just spoken have been branded onto his soul. In a way, they have.

Merlin looks once more out of the window, and replies quietly, but darkly:

"I will hold you to that, Arthur Pendragon."

~

THE END!

This two-parter has been finished!!

As per usual, I only write drafts, so if someone wants to write this up all proper, then go for it, credit and tag me✌

[theroundbartable]

Dragon island (part 3)

Stars in your hands “Do you think it was wise to send Arthur on this mission? It's dangerous.” A light breeze cooled the air within the not quite empty throne room. Two figures were present.

One, with broad shoulders and a long unnecessary cape, stood to look outside the giant window. The king of Camelot wasn't really looking at anything.He just watched the casual movements and interactions of his people sometimes. It gave him peace. Uther Pendragon was painfully oblivious to all the chaos and disturbances the purge had caused in his kingdom. He was oblivious to their suffering, their starving, their poverty. All of which he caused.To him, this was normal. And it was calming and peaceful to him. It was an achievement. The king was too stuck up to be corrected. Too insistent on his successes to see his wrongs and his failures. He thought himself smart.

And because he was king, there was no one to proof him otherwise.“Arthur is Camelot's best warrior. He can handle it.”, he said and his hands were crossed behind his back, as if he were absolutely relaxed.“Sire...”“I send Sir Leon with him.”, Uther sighed, as if that explained anything and nodded at the window as if to reassure himself.Gaius nodded with concern. “Do you think that wise, Sire? Sir Leon will suffer from the curse like his father did. I don't think they will be welcomed at the island. And I certainly don't think Leon can fight the dragons all on his own. Especially, if he is weakened like that.”Uther sighed. Half admitting that the situation wasn't exactly ideal. “For once, I wish Sir Leon was less like his mother.”Gaius eyes moved downwards, regarding the floor with disinterest. “Sir Leon's father has sacrificed a lot to ensure Camelot's win against the dragon lords.”, he agreed. “But he has also proven himself to not be very trustworthy. And Leon lacks the knowledge that his father possessed. I'm not sure we should count on him too much.”Uther nodded. “I should have killed him where he stood, when I had the chance.” He didn't clarify whether he meant Leon or his father. “I suppose the attempt itself could have doomed Camelot.”, Gaius commented simply.“That is true.”, Uther hesitantly admitted. “But it would have saved us the upcoming war.”Against that, Gaius could only nod. Gaius was aware that Uther didn't mean that the war could have been avoided. He meant, it wouldn't have to take place at all. Because the war would have already been won.Neither of them were aware of the startled figures that were hiding in the nearest closet. What Gwen an Morgana had been doing in the throne room before Gaius and the king disturbed their girl time?

The answer is as simple as it is obvious. If there was any light inside the closet, you could see that their necks were covered with “bug bites”, as they would later explain. Not to mention their clothes needed some serious repositioning (if not repairing, in Gwen's case, cause Morgana had sharp nails).Anyway, both had been forced to hurry inside the fortunately giant closet and overheard everything. They exchanged glances, as they tried to hold their breaths to not be heard by those unwelcome figures outside.

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

If Arthur had ever known what a tropical island was, he would have something to compare the giant leafs to that seemed to grow from almost everywhere.The trees didn't look like trees at all, more like giant straws and it had giant nuts hanging from them. There were other plants with yellow fruits hanging from them too. The sight itself was bizarre. But absolutely fascinating. If only Arthur wasn't facing a said to be invincible creature that could kill them each within a second.Arthur had seen a dragon precisely once in his entire life. And the damn thing had been the size of a castle, with claws made to squish him like a bug and a mouth that was meant to eat horses or cows. It had been giant and terrifying and murderous.The thing that stared at him right now, was tiny. Small enough to wrap itself around his arm and fit it's small head snugly into his hand. It was covered in blue scales that flapped up and down with each movement and shimmered golden in the sun light.By the way, it was considerably warmer outside than it had been inside the cave. It was like walking from a winter snow land into a warm living room. Their skin buzzed from the sudden warmth.The dragon's eyes were green and it's teeth round, as if meant to eat vegetables, not meat. It's wings were wide, but it had them pressed tight to it's long and thin body. And it looked at them with curious, but not unfriendly eyes. It tilted his head. Arthur assumed that was, because the eyes were attached to the side. To look at what was ahead of it, it had to move it's head in all directions.Despite it's unexpected friendly appearance, Arthur found himself breathe in a panic. He had positioned himself between Merlin and the creature – as he always did when faced with dangerous monsters – and pointed Excalibur at the thing. The dragon just looked at him with tired unblinking eyes. Like a snake, it had no eyelids and was therefore unable to blink at all. So Arthur couldn't tell if it was judging him or not.“Merlin, stay back.”, Arthur whispered. Not for the first time today and he could practically feel Merlin pull at his own arms. “No, Arthur, you won't.”, Merlin growled, knowing exactly what Arthur was doing and pulled at his sleeve to drag him away. Which resulted in Arthur and Merlin to fight each other to who was to face the vile creature and get eaten alive. Because, you know … that's their entire dynamic. (2)Okay, maybe not eaten. The creature hadn't moved or done anything yet. It just watched them curiously.“You wield the mark of Kilgharrah.”, the dragon suddenly commented.This finally distracted Arthur enough to be pushed into the dirt beneath them. His hair was a bit disheveled, because Merlin used unfair methods in a fight. Unbelieving, he stared at Merlin. Most of all, because Merlin had managed to push him to the ground. A lot less, because he didn't know the word Kilgharrah. “What are you talking about?”, he huffed out. What he thought he had heard made no sense. It came out of absolutely nowhere. And admitting that he had lost was an absolute no go.“I didn't say anything.”, Merlin waved his arms in front of him, crossing them repeatedly to underline his point. He – however – didn't appear to be as startled as Arthur was as he turned to frown at the dragon. Which Arthur should noted as odd. Why would Merlin look at the dragon? Then, however, Arthur realized what Merlin was implying. The dragon talked! (They always do that, Arthur. Yet, you're always surprised.) Arthur gaped, incredulously, before jumping to his feet and holding up his sword yet again. (Obviously, it had hindered him in the fight against Merlin, because he couldn't exactly use it against him, right?)“Hmm”, the dragon suddenly flapped it's wings and flew in a circle around Arthur. Paranoid to equal amounts as curious, Arthur twisted around himself to follow it's movements. “Did he send you?”, it asked him, as if Arthur somehow knew the answer. In reality, Arthur didn't even get the question. Before Arthur could open his mouth to reply, the dragon's attention shifted to Merlin.In a similar way as it had around Arthur, the creature snaked it's way around Merlin's neck. Much much closer than he had been to Arthur as it was now sitting directly on his shoulder. But Merlin made no sign of discomfort or surprise. He only eyed the creature with suspicion. Arthur could only marvel at such bravery.“This can only mean one thing.”, the dragon continued. Arthur blinked. It's voice was strange. It didn't waver when it came to high or low. But somehow sounded more feminine the one moment, more masculine the next. It's richness, it's smoothness and softness, roughened and loosened from sentence to sentence. Yet the voice was unmistakably theirs/ hers/ his. (1)“You must be the once and future king.”, the dragon's voice finally settled into something more masculine, while some of his scales flipped and turned a rich purple.He flapped his wings against Merlin's face, and tilted his head in a way that allowed him to look at both Merlin and Arthur at once.“The what now?”, Arthur felt lost and confused once more. And he was fighting the urge to stab the creature, because it was far too close to Merlin's neck. Which is why he settled on … not doing that. The dragon snickered amused and swirled around Merlin's neck further.“The old bastard kept you in the dark, didn't he? Let me guesss...”, he hissed out the last word, as if to keep them silent while he thought things through.

“You're the other half, aren't you? Hmm.... Your presence is clouded, young man. Tell me. What does destiny have in store for you?”Merlin swallowed, while Arthur began to sweat with nerves. 'The other half? The other half of what?', Arthur asked himself.“Hmm... it's not easy to get that old bastard on your side. How did you do it?”, the dragon hissed out a snake like tongue and scented the air around Merlin's cheek while staring at Excalibur, instead of explaining further. Arthur slowly came to the realization that the creature was talking to himself and just examining them. He wasn't expecting answers. Furthermore, he seemed to know they didn't have any.“I don't know what you're talking about.”, Merlin tensed and stiffened his shoulders as the dragon's stare started to make him itch all over. Arthur blinked. Merlin was a horrible liar. And his defensive stance just now, proved that he knew more than he let on. This couldn't be. What did Merlin know?Finally the dragon seemed to have had enough and had decided that Arthur and Merlin were not worth any further suspicion.

“Welcome to Drakonier, the dragon island. Where the last dragons hide and the last members of destroyed and powerless dragon lord families reside. My name is Ciril. I am the master of the gate you just stumbled through.”Ciril bowed to them both, his snarky voice giving away just how honored he really felt to see them. And that introduction was perhaps the most straight forward sentence Merlin had ever heard a dragon utter.It was silent for a few more seconds. Which turned into minutes. Arthur was still uncertain whether or not it was okay for him to move. Let alone attack the creature. Merlin was frozen still in his position, as if contemplating whether or not to save himself or risk getting eaten alive, so Arthur had a chance to flee.After all... who was to say the dragon was actually friendly? + Merlin decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, as the dragon was clearly just confused why Kilgharrah was helping them.

Knowing the great dragon and his very dramatic appearance, his riddling tongue and the way he killed a few dozen people after being freed, because he was so hung up on revenge on Uther, Merlin couldn't say he was surprised. They didn't really start of on the right foot either. Manipulation here, unkept promises there.... well.Ciril tilted his head, before he blustered up his scales and their color changed into red for a few moments. “Are you going to tell me your names? Or should I introduce you as Dumb and dumber at the village?”Arthur blinked, before straightening his back. “I'm Arthur. And this is Merlin.” Arthur made the wise decision not to offer his last name and therefore reveal himself as an enemy. The dragon didn't appear to hostile at the moment and Arthur didn't want to risk getting on his bad side.“Merrrrlin.”, the dragon hissed and swirled around Merlin's neck once more. Merlin only followed him with his eyes in suspicion. “You're an interesting one.”“He's just a servant.”, Arthur commented, hoping to get the dragon to stop. He wasn't supposed to see Merlin as a threat. Or in any way important. That wouldn't exactly increase Merlin's survival chances. “Let him go.”, Arthur added.Ciril snapped his head to him. Then his eyes softened, as did his/her voice. And then she sounded a lot more comforting than before. “I mean him no harm.”, she said and her scales turned green, before she jumped off Merlin's shoulder and lay herself around Arthur's neck instead. Arthur was still confused about her intentions, so he let her. Her scales felt warm and inviting and their claws softly sat on his shoulders, without hurting him in any way.Arthur – who wasn't used to such close proximity – (he even struggled with dogs. Because his father had said their animals were tools for hunting. If he treated them too nicely, they'd soften and become useless at their job.)- tried to wiggle himself out of the situation. Ciril seemed to notice his distress and flapped her wings to fly between them instead.This act of awareness, caused Arthur to pause and take a deep breath. “Alright then.”, she said and nodded at them both. “You too should dry up, before you get to Senvilla. (3)

 I'll tell them of your arrival. But you should seal your sword, young king. It can seriously harm us. Some of our kind may see you as a threat.

But do not hide it anywhere. You are under the protection of the great dragon Kilgharrah. This sword was made for you and you alone. Therefore, we can not attack you, unless you prove to have ill intentions. I advice you, to not attack anyone. Understood?”, Ciril eyes Arthur warily who nodded in confusion and slight panic. “And you boy, stick to your partner. They may not treat you nicely, if you wander around by yourself.”With that, she flew off, leaving Arthur completely flustered at the word 'partner.'They stared after her for a few minutes, before Merlin decided to clear his throat. “She's right.”, he said. “We should dry up. I'll get us some firewood.”, he said and already turned around to walk into the forest, when Arthur stopped him. “She just said, we should stick together. I'll help you.”“Since when do you know how to collect firewood?”, Merlin asked casually, one eyebrow raised. Arthur frowned and the implied insult. “Shut up, Merlin.”It wasn't exactly difficult for them to find firewood. Mostly everything in this forest was dry enough to burn and there was more than enough for them to carry around for a whole night. But Arthur had never seen plants like these. The forest could hardly be called a forest, because non of these trees looked like actual trees.There were bushes, everywhere with some plants he recognized, and there was plenty of fruits and nuts and the like. But trees? Nope.Arthur and Merlin kept bantering the entire time, but eventually they found a place to make a fire without endangering all the wild life here. They had seen lots of wild animals too. And none of them seemed scared by Arthur or their weapons. It was like people weren't hunting on this island at all.Finally the fire was made and Arthur realized that the day was starting to fade anyway. It was probably a good idea to make up camp for now. So they built themselves a small pyre and burned the wood like stuff they had found in the forest. And because Arthur had no armor anymore and was therefore unprotected anyway, he decided to take of his still wet clothes and put them on a rock beside him to let it dry.

He'd do the same with his pants. But should they get attacked, he'd rather not defend himself in his underwear.Merlin watched him, causing Arthur to get that unnerving feeling you get, when you undress in front of clothed people. Arthur bit his lip and then moved closer to the fire, to warm his cold skin. Finally, Merlin followed his example. And step by step, he removed first his scarf, then his jacket and, after a considerable amount of hesitation, his shirt as well.Arthur pointedly did NOT watch him doing that. He stared at the fire instead and Arthur begged and prayed that Merlin wouldn't notice how uncomfortable he started to feel again.

They took off their shoes to let them dry at the fire as well. And stretched out their toes to dry their wet socks.Silence stretched between them and Arthur started to feel weirder and weirder under his skin. The night was a strange thing. The stars lighted the sky, as well as the moon, and it had the effect to make people dream. No matter were they awake or fast asleep. And it made Arthur nostalgic and strangely emotional. And he wondered, if he should talk about these things with Merlin. These things that worried him.

But maybe, opening up to Merlin would only push the man away? Or maybe it would make their entire dynamic too strange? Would they always have to be emotional and open with each other, if Arthur started with that now?Arthur – for the first time – looked up at Merlin, his mouth open to say something. But then his mouth clapped shut immediately. Merlin was comfortably resting against a rock, his toes playing how far they could get to the pyre. And the fire light flashed golden in his eyes and on his scarred chest.Scars. So. Many. Scars.Arthur sat up, confusion and startled alarm widened his eyes as he finally noticed. There were burns and cuts and bruises and all kind of things marked into that skin that did not belong there. That Arthur couldn't explain the heritage off. Earlier, Merlin had seemed like he knew things that he wasn't supposed to know. About the dragon for example. Things he pretended not to know. Then there was Freya, the woman Merlin never cared to mention. Was there more that Arthur ought to know? More he was so horribly oblivious to?Whatever it was, it proved one thing once again. Arthur had no idea who Merlin really was. Arthur stared at him, unable to open up now. What had Gwaine said again?

Merlin was the most affectionate person he knew. And he was open about his feelings.

Obviously, he wasn't open about them with Arthur.“You're keeping secrets from me.”, Arthur finally pointed out. Merlin looked up in a daze, suddenly aware of Arthur's presence again. He followed Arthur's gaze and froze comically. Had he forgotten those scars were there? Did he think them nothing? Unimportant? How old were they that he was so used to their sight?“I don't know what you mean.”Arthur looked at him one moment, then he looked down and fiddled with his hands again. “You know exactly what I mean.”, Arthur said and bit his lip yet again.“I'm serious, I don't -”“It's okay to have secrets, Merlin.” Merlin stopped, confusion and startled surprise written all over his face.“I think, everyone has stuff they don't talk about. Or … can talk about. Even you.”, Arthur picked up a stray branch that they hadn't burned yet and started playing with it in the fire.Arthur didn't look at him. He felt... ashamed that Merlin didn't trust him. But, he had to admit, he wasn't much better himself, was he? He was hiding his feelings from Merlin. His feelings about how his father actions wore him down. About how Arthur felt about Merlin. The way he felt about this entire mission. About Merlin sacrificing himself for him again and again. About his fears, stuff like that.

Occasionally Merlin figured things out, of course. And he always reacted perfectly. Which only proved that he deserved the truth. Even if Arthur was never really ready to tell him.Arthur had managed nothing like that in return and he was painfully aware of that. He didn't think he deserved that Merlin shared such personal information with him. “You don't have to tell me whatever it is. I just... I thought I knew you.”, Arthur said and already regretted his wording. “I thought you trusted me.” That.... made it worse. Arthur cursed his own mind and turned his head away once more.Merlin stared at him for a moment, before he stood up and walked around the fire to sit beside Arthur. The prince didn't move an inch, as Merlin finally sat down. “I do trust you.”Arthur hated how Merlin sounded so pitying towards him. How he didn't deny that Arthur didn't know him fully. Yet, it was so comforting. So much, it felt wrong as well.

Merlin was the one with the personal problems that he couldn't share with Arthur. Arthur should be comforting Merlin, not the other way around. He should be the one who picked up on the other man's distress and pat his shoulder and what not. But no – Arthur was wallowing in self pity once again and Merlin had to play therapist as usual. Arthur hated himself sometimes. This had not been his plan. He took a deep breath. He had to do this differently. But how? Arthur didn't know.“You didn't trust me with Freya.”, Arthur pointed out and it felt like an accusation. Arthur held his breath. Why was he always sounding like that? He didn't WANT to sound accusing!Merlin pressed his lips together. “You're right. I'm sorry. I should have told you.”“What do you know about the great dragon?”, Arthur averted the point, because... Merlin shouldn't be the one apologizing. Merlin looked at him in confusion that the topic was suddenly changed. “What do you mean?”“Ciril said, the sword was the mark of Kilgharrah. That I'm under his protection, because this sword was made for me. That's the great dragon, right? This makes no sense. I found this sword in a stone.(4) The dragon was supposed to be dead by then. And the sword is supposed to be stuck inside that sword since king Bruta.

As you told me. Because it was Bruta's sword. Even if the great dragon is a few thousand years old and gave the sword to Bruta, there is no way he knew I would be born one day. You don't owe me the truth about everything, Merlin. But please don't lie to me.”Arthur watched Merlin flinch at that last line. And another wave of regret formed in his stomach. Merlin shouldn't feel bad. Arthur didn't want him to feel bad. He was supposed to feel comfortable sharing the truth. He should have never felt forced to lie. That's what Arthur meant and what he failed to explain.Merlin took a deep breath. And then he exhaled, as if for once, it was him who was actually unable to deal with his feelings. Arthur waited and watched and realized that some of those scars made no sense either.

He fought the urge to trail his hand over that one scar on Merlin's back that looked suspiciously like a serket sting.(5) But that was impossible. Nobody survived those wounds. Not without the help of magic. And Arthur didn't want to think that Merlin in some way had been saved by magic. Because that would be another thing Arthur ought to know. Another thing that would change Arthur. Perhaps it was a change that needed to be made.Arthur was a lot more mad about those secrets than he wanted to be. That he thought was fair to be. He meant it. Merlin didn't owe him that explanation. But it hurt so much that Merlin didn't seem him worthy enough for it.Merlin looked down. “Alright. It's true. I do have secrets.”, he admitted and closed his eyes. As if the confirmation of that was a secret in itself. Arthur sucked in a deep breath he didn't know he was holding. And his frustration melted away a little. Finally. Some truth. “But I can't tell you about them.”, Merlin looked down.It stung. Arthur looked away. “Not yet.”

Arthur waited, but Merlin was obviously nervous. “Why not?”, Arthur asked and sadness washed over him once again.Merlin seemed to fight with the answer. Arthur had already decided to tell Merlin to just leave it be, when Merlin finally found one that startled Arthur enough.“I couldn't bear to loose you.”, Merlin finally said and looked at Arthur with an open honesty that Arthur had never seen on his face. A fact which he was horribly aware of. And it was this openness, that gave Arthur the courage to share a truth himself. “I don't think there is anything you could do to lose me.”Merlin locked eyes with him. Arthur felt vulnerable again. Too vulnerable. Like he had cut himself open. It burned. It was a humiliating truth and he was almost certain that Merlin would question it. That he wouldn't understand it at all. But Merlin suddenly grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Causing a shiver to run down Arthur's spine. He should really put his pullover back on. Maybe it could protect him from this feeling. Deep down he knew, he would feel naked either way. Regardless if he wore armor or not. Had it been anyone else, Arthur may have thought the gesture was meant in a romantic way.

But Merlin was affectionate with everyone. This was normal for him. And right now he needed comfort.For Arthur it was completely different. But he let it happen anyway. Despite knowing for sure, that Merlin couldn't mean it the way he wanted him to mean it. At the same time, he DIDN'T want him to mean it. Because that would cause even more problems. The heart can contradict itself. That's why it's hard to make sense of it.“You don't know what you're saying.”, Merlin said and looked at their intertwined hands almost in confusion. As though it had been a mere instinct for him to grab it and he was surprised that Arthur hadn't slapped him away yet. To be completely honest, Arthur felt just as surprised.Arthur looked up at Merlin. “I mean it.”, Arthur admitted, but pulled his hand away from Merlin's grasp. It was too much after all.Merlin watched after it in thought. “You don't.”, Merlin shook his head and Arthur sighed with barely contained frustration. Merlin, however, didn't stop. “You can't.”“I know you think you love me, but you don't.”, Merlin said. Arthur startled immediately, his face paled and then flushed in utter shock. They had never talked about that before! And there Arthur had thought Gwaine was right that Merlin didn't know about his obvious affection for his servant. Clearly that idiot was wrong. Merlin knew. He clearly knew. And now Arthur had gone and -Wait a second.... “think?”, Arthur asked out loud and cursed himself. That was as good as confession. What on earth was he doing? Giving Merlin every chance to tease him about it!“I overheard you talking to Gwaine.”, Merlin sighed and looked away. Which gave Arthur more than enough room to realize, that …. nope... Merlin REALLY didn't know before.

Which meant.... Merlin wanted to talk about it with him now. Oh hell no. That was even worse than teasing. Before Arthur had been certain Merlin knew and was fine with it and just left him alone. But now that he just figured it out.... Arthur felt like his head was served on a silver tablet and Merlin was ready to eat him skin and hair and all.“You don't know what you're talking about.”, Merlin shook his head and stared at the fire now. “You don't know me after all.” Really, Merlin was thinking about destiny. And how destiny had forced them to be two halves of the same coin. Always together, but never meant to be.Somehow, Arthur had the feeling they were talking in circles. Contradicting themselves at every turn and being completely lost in their own thoughts. But that one.... that 'you don't know me', felt like a slap to his face. Because it was exactly what Arthur was afraid of.“I know you enough.”, Arthur finally said, because now that it was said out loud, he didn't believe it. But Merlin shook his head. However, Arthur's didn't let him interrupt him again. “You've changed my entire life, Merlin. I wouldn't be who I am today, had you not walked in and insulted me.”

Merlin scoffed. And it was clear that he didn't understand what Arthur meant. At least not at the level that Arthur meant it.“I wouldn't be alive today, had it not been for you. And I cannot imagine my life without you anymore. You challenged me and I accepted that challenge. And for that I have changed the way I look at people, the way I look at myself, the way I make decisions. Everything I do, I do for you. Or because of you, or with you as a guide. Because it feels right. Nothing ever felt this right. I know it's selfish. But there is nothing you can do, to change what you've already done. The way you changed me and Camelot for the better. You could be a murderer, a thief, a spy, I wouldn't care. Nobody can replace you. Even if someone came now and did the exact same thing. They wouldn't be able to replace you. They couldn't, because they weren't there, when Camelot, when I needed you most.There is only a life before you. And a life with you in it. Even if you were to leave, I could never forget you and you would never leave me. You have shaped me to be the man I am today and I am proud to be that. And I would never be able to not talk to you every day. Even if you're not there.I don't love you, because it's some kind of infatuation, there is no condition or anything, Merlin. Just being yourself, means everything to me. And I hate that you can't be that completely. I love you on purpose. There is nothing you could do to change that. You could hate me, leave me, betray me, try to murder me even, it wouldn't change that I want you to be happy. And if possible, I want to be the reason for it. Don't ever hold back because of what I might think. But you should know that the way I feel will never change. Hell, I know you love this Freya woman that you never told me about and I'm so sorry that she's dead, because you deserve to be happy, Merlin. Just... don't tell me, I couldn't love you, just because I don't know everything about you yet.”Merlin looked at him with wide eyes. Arthur however, had to look away again. What was with him and confessing all these embarrassing things lately. Maybe it was the almost dying all the time thing. The... my father send me on a mission that he knows I cannot survive thing. Or the, I thought I lost Merlin part. Probably the latter. Merlin should know that he was loved. He shouldn't live, having to hide or keeping secrets.Finally, Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand again. And now, that Arthur had told him all that, it suddenly didn't feel out of place. Instead, it felt reassuring, as if Merlin was saying he understood. And he wouldn't leave Arthur for anything in the world. It was a promise.“I would never betray you.”, Merlin said and he locked eyes with Arthur.

Arthur smiled embarrassed. “Then what secret could you possibly have that makes you think you'd lose me?”Merlin stared at him. Eyes still wide, face flushing and his breathing fastened. “And I've moved on from Freya years ago. She knows that too.”, Merlin tilted his head and Arthur nodded silently. “I believe you.”, Arthur said and hoped desperately that wasn't a lie.“But -”, Merlin closed his mouth, as if he had multiple things to say and confess and didn't know where to start. He looked close to panicking too, because he had not expected to be ready to confess now. “Arthur, I...” Arthur nodded, waiting, as he put a free hand on Merlin's scarred shoulder.

“I have magic.”

The bomb dropped so suddenly, that Arthur had no time to evacuate his feelings. Arthur had expected, or rather hoped, for anything. Just not that. And yet.... Arthur couldn't say he felt totally surprised. He didn't lie when he said, he would accept Merlin for anything. That there was nothing that could make him lose Arthur. Arthur was prepared for anything. Even this. The bomb had dropped, but it didn't explode.The hand Arthur had held on Merlin's shoulder now wandered up, to cup Merlin's jaw. Merlin leaned in to hit, panicked tears in his eyes. For a moment Arthur wondered why. And then he realized that Merlin just admitted to having magic. He finally registered, this meant Merlin was a criminal. That – according to the laws – Merlin should be hanged or burned or killed in another similarly disturbing way. And Arthur? Arthur marveled at the fact that Merlin was still here. Still at his side. He didn't run away. He lived directly under Uther Pendragon's nose, at Arthur's side. And now he told him this. Even though Arthur immediately understood why he shouldn't.Not for a second, did Arthur think that Merlin was actually a criminal. Not for a moment, did he feel betrayed by that. Because there was no way that Merlin would ever use it against him. Arthur just knew that. And if he did... he'd do it for a good reason.“Okay.”, Arthur said and tears spilled from Merlin's eyes in utter disbelieve. “Okay?”, he asked, utterly shocked. “I told you.”, Arthur nodded, even though he struggled to imagine Merlin using magic. “It doesn't change a thing.”All of a sudden, Merlin jumped at Arthur and buried him in a sobbing hug. Once more today, Arthur felt completely overwhelmed. But he also didn't push Merlin away. “Thank you.”, Merlin whispered in Arthur's ear. Arthur, however, was completely occupied by the fact that they were both pretty much shirtless and Merlin already knew about his feelings and obviously didn't give a damn. “No. Thank you for telling me.”, Arthur mumbled back and tried not to show just how overwhelmed he actually was. First<< Previous< Masterlist> Next  ------------------------------------------------------ --------------------------------------------------- :(1) Ciril (the blue dragon) is genderfluid. Any nonbinary folks in this story express themselves however they feel through other means than pronouns and dress codes (because … duh... dragons don't wear clothes.) This counts for appearances as well as behavior. As far as dragons go, dragons shapeshifters in general. Ciril, the blue dragon, has used this advantage to change their voice on will as a means of gender affirmation. Meaning, that upon meeting strangers, they will let their voice shift freely, so the stranger takes note of the shift, and remembers to change pronouns, whenever the voice noticeably differs. Many dragons do that. Later on, when the stranger has turned more familiar, the dragon will settle on the voice that fits their gender at the moment best. Of course, there are alternative methods, for example if a dragon is deaf or blind. Obviously, neither behavior nor appearance define what gender is, but it works in an affirmative way. It's functional. And what is gender anyway, beside a social construct?It won't be addressed much. It's just a little background information about this tiny character. I don't really make up characters. They just appear out of nowhere. And they are who they are. I am always surprised myself when they introduce themselves.I know I use they/them pronouns a lot in my stories and I am well aware that there are many variations other than this. I do that, because I find gender neutral terms fitting for everyone. They neither confirm nor deny anyone's gender and I like that. I'm not familiar with the combination of multiple pronouns yet and before I go and mess up every sentence, I'll stick to these first.(2) I rewrote this entire chapter at least 9 times, because their reactions didn't fit the situation. At one point I had Merlin hide behind Arthur. Which isn't totally OOC, but they both just almost died. I'm pretty sure Merlin doesn't really give a damn at that moment. He gets reckless when he's nervous and afraid for Arthur. And that's what he is right now. (3) Honestly, I have no idea how I come up with names anymore (4) the entire story doesn't really line up with canon. I just picked out stuff that fit the story. I mean, by all means, Uther should be dead, when Arthur has the sword. (5) Look at (4). Morgana isn't evil in this one. So where would he have gotten the serket sting? Morgause everyone?

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 7: The Hierophant

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ⥽

They fled New York with one purpose. Find, hunt down, and return with a way to kill a vampire god. They abandoned their loved ones and survived the City of Shadows; had their trust broken and darkest secrets brought to light. All that... and Gaius still won anyway. But now that they have nothing to lose, Nadya and her friends are finally ready to do whatever it takes to see the King of Vampires overthrown.

They just have to avoid a vampire population eager to gain favor with their new monarch, the ruthless Order of the Dawn, and whatever plans Gaius has that involve Nadya captured and brought to him alive. So... easy-peasy, right? The worlds of both dark and light hang in the balance. The time has come for the Bloodkeeper to embrace her destiny. So if anyone wants to clue her in on whatever that means, now would be great!

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere​, @cess02​, @hellyeah90sbaby​, @tayab12​, @saratustra4​, @imnotdonewiththeelementalists​, @thepotatobleh​​ 

*join the Tag List here!

⥼ Summary ⥽

In Prague, Nadya and the others seek the audience of the most famous name in histories both mortal and vampire. It's probably for the best that she doesn't get her hopes up.

content warnings: language

[READ IT ON AO3]

Prague is cramped roads and buildings of all sizes and heights all mostly the same four or five different earthy, rusty tones. Cobblestone streets and narrow alleys she can’t help but look at even in passing and think, with the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention, there goes another hiding place for something wicked and foul.

That isn’t to say Prague isn’t beautiful. Because it is. One of Nadya’s favorite things about living abroad in college (and only in the very smallest back of her mind in Paris and the other cities they’ve hopped to and from here while on the run for their lives and the very fate of the human race) was all the old architecture she got to walk past every day like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Prague is full of opportunities like that.

In her most Nadya-esque fashion, she chooses to focus on that instead of what may or may not lurk in the shadows. She chooses to look at the beauty and history around her because you don’t see stuff like this every day.

That, and because she knows it doesn’t matter what hiding place she might spot — doesn’t matter whether that alleyway or this abandoned road is empty or not. There are things out to get them — out to stop them — regardless of whether or not she’s lucky enough to catch a glimpse.

That’s just their new reality.

Prague is chillier; a fact not made any better by the fact none of the bodies she can cling to in the cold have an ounce of warmth for her to leech. Prague is also kinda rainy; and more often than not when she has the chance to push back the curtains of their modest hotel room the sky is the same shade of grey it was the day before. That’s totally fine — just add some snow and it’s almost like home.

Prague is also the long-time home of Vlad Tepes, the vampire more popularly known around the world as Dracula.

Don’t forget that bit.

Lily certainly hasn’t.

“C’mon,” she’s brought this up half a dozen times now and it always ends the same way but when has that ever stopped her before, “he can’t really be that bad.” Because she’s convinced herself that Kamilah, Serafine, and Adrian are all being a touch too dramatic when it comes to their biased opinions on the most (in)famous vampire in history.

And part of Nadya is inclined to agree… but it wouldn’t be fair not to take into account how literally none of the aforementioned vampires are prone to excessive hyperbole. So maybe he can really be, well, that bad.

Kamilah simply sighs and continues sipping her wine in idle silence. She stopped entering the discussion early on; probably of the mindset that Lily will see exactly what they all mean when the time comes. Whatever that means.

At this point the only one who will actively engage with her is Adrian. Which says a lot — that’s really out of character for him. “I thought much the same before I met him in person, but the truth is much stranger than the fiction when it comes to Vlad.” He’s said something to this effect every single time, too.

And don’t think Nadya hasn’t noticed how he usually ends up shifting where he sits and-slash-or stands. Or how Serafine is usually there to offer him an affectionate touch in some form or another. There’s a story there, she’s certain of it. But she trusts him to bring it up if or when it becomes relevant to their current dilemma — and if it isn’t then she looks forward to teasing him when the world is safe and Gaius is dust in the wind.

Because it’s important to note that truth and fiction are as different as oil and water when it comes to the man, the myth, the legend. Who apparently did his fair share of noteworthy conquests in his human years and even his first couple of decades as a vampire; but somewhere down the line wound up going from famed ‘impaler’ to something that — based on Serafine’s general description anyway — is shaping in Nadya’s mind’s eye to look something like a cross between Vegas-sensation Mario Bautista and KISS without the face paint.

“There’s something to be said for the measure of success Vlad has been able to attain while living in the heart of the Order’s battleground,” says Serafine almost absently, “but any praise for him should live and die there — even that I find myself questioning from time to time.

“He has been widely reviled from the moment he brought that ridiculous novel to light. Not only for placing us in the public eye but for doing so with such utter… disregard for our truths.”

Jax raises an eyebrow. “You’d think spreading a bunch of lies that humans end up believing wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” But everything on Serafine’s face disagrees.

“One might think, perhaps. But if anyone was less suited to such an ill-fitting ego…”

“So he’s got a big head,” Lily shrugs, “what’s the big deal?”

The Big Deal is, apparently, how Vlad Tepes has gone from boasting ass to full-on diva in the centuries that followed. Something Serafine seems to take more than a little personally. “And one could suffer his endless tales when they revolved around little more than himself. When he shifted his focus to the Church of the First things became… complicated.”

Needless to say the entire premise of ‘Vlad Tepes—the Dracula—considers himself to be a prophet for the First Vampire in all but official theophany, and serves as Europe’s go-to for all things related to the devotion of Rheya Herself’ is something Nadya has been struggling to wrap her head around for… this whole time.

Maybe seeing it all with her own eyes will do something about that, she thinks, if only so Lily will finally stop trying to poke and prod for answers their friends don’t seem eager to provide.

Unlikely, but, you know.

“How a person takes in faith is unique to them, and a deeply personal experience. Regardless of their…” Serafine purses her lips for the right words. Or at least ones that are a little more in English and a little less like curses. “… unchecked vanity.

“While I cannot speak with certainty as to whether or not Vlad was a true believer in the ideals of the Goddess, whatever he did feel was enough to earn him a place at Gaius’ side during the pivotal years he spent spreading Her belief.

“What he lacks in all else he makes up for in his ability to sensationalize anything that comes tumbling out of that vacant head of his.”

Which explains the whole ‘singing Gaius’ praises’ thing; the largest source of disagreement when it finally came down to whether or not they were willing to risk it all for what Vlad might know.

And while it was unanimous that they would have preferred to wait and see what more concrete information they could dig up, time isn’t on their side. “Still an awful lot to risk on a mere hunch,” comments Cadence — whose natural affinity for research has made spontaneously vanishing away to Prague more than a little stressful for him.

“I just can’t understand how anyone would even consider believing his claims to have seen the Eternal Tree for himself when there’s literal published proof he’s a pathological liar.”

But this is something they’ve been over, too. Not that Nadya doesn’t totally understand venting the same frustrations in the wake of inaction. But it’s not faith in Vlad Tepes that she has.

Her faith lies in Kamilah. That is more than enough.

“Time and time again I witnessed retribution served by Gaius unto those who claimed to have been touched by the First in some divine form or another. He would not suffer anyone speaking falsely of Her — for good or for ill. Vlad’s claim to have seen the Tree with his own eyes wasn’t exactly kept quiet, yet he remained untouched and, unfortunately, very much alive.”

Which pretty much confirms it’s the one impossible thing he’s actually telling the truth about. This is a good thing!

“And you’re sure you are up to the task, petit?”

Nadya knows Serafine only asks because this is something they can’t do without her. Serafine could try to suss out the truth from him on her own but it would only waste more time.

For once though, Nadya feels… not-as-uncertain as she usually does about these things. She wouldn’t be so bold as to call it confidence, but how hard can one ordinary (fame aside) vampire be after she literally pulled Gaius’ oldest memory out of thin air?

“I am.”

“And if your way doesn’t work, we can always go my route.”

And perhaps the most disconcerting thing of all is how those who would normally oppose Jax’s methods of sword-related threats and violence remain pointedly and purposefully silent. Not that anyone is particularly inclined to draw attention to it.

Just like they don’t draw attention to the way Kamilah tactfully uses the rim of her wine glass to conceal the barest twitch of her lips.

Though none of them are surprised at his offer however, Serafine seems to have outright expected it. She throws him a coy smile across the table; a devious glint in her eye.

“Actually Jax, I’m glad to hear you are up to the task. As what I have in mind will not be possible without your help.”

Sometimes the best plans are the ones that take the most direct route to get to where you’re going. And there’s really nothing more direct than what Serafine has in mind.

The estate is a little under an hour away from Prague itself; swathed in lush and vibrant countryside — or that’s what Nadya imagines. It’s kind of hard for her to see out of the tinted limousine windows as they venture on their lonely road after dark.

Not that the place itself is hard to see. Like a beacon in the night the Tepes manor and surrounding land is lit up in the night. Even with the moon hidden behind roiling clouds the moment their car pulls in and begins ambling up the long gravel pathway they are met with what’s practically a battalion of lamp-posts to show them the way.

All she can think about is how long it must take someone to travel the grounds and light up every single one.

The rest of Vlad Tepes’ lands are hard to see properly. On account of the towering and neatly-trimmed hedge walls that flank their path. “Vlad’s labyrinth is somewhat of a popular novelty,” Serafine explains quietly, “though our heightened senses take most of the intrigue and mystery from the search from start to finish.”

But some well-manicured bushes are nothing compared to the splendor of the actual castle itself. With its sprawling Gothic architecture in spires and buttresses it’s truly everything one would expect when they hear something like ‘the Castle of Vlad Tepes.’

Flickering flames in old stained-glass windows somehow both perfectly preserved and still allowed to age with grace. Not unlike vampires themselves, Nadya thinks fleetingly, and lets herself drink in the passive appreciation of it while she can.

Before something inevitably goes wrong and, much like in the way of Marcel’s castle back home, has her thinking back on it with a sour taste in her mouth.

“I still can’t believe you just called the guy up.”

Jax has barely paid any of it a second glance; not the journey or the destination. He’s stayed in pretty much the same position the entire drive; arms never uncrossing from his chest and, to literally no one’s surprise, with his sword never leaving his lap.

“How would you rather I have gone about arranging this little parley then, hm?”

The two vampires stare one another down in silence. Suddenly the cabin feels a lot more cramped and heated than it did just a moment ago. Nadya tugs at the collar of her shirt in discomfort.

“I’m not saying I had a plan, but if I’d had time to make one it wouldn’t be walking through his front door.”

But the younger’s irritation only seems to amuse Serafine, who purses her lips into a thin line to keep from smirking at him too obviously.

“Ah, oui. I suspect you would have gone looking for a secret entrance of some kind… perhaps a sewage tunnel by which to secret yourself in and out undetected?”

Jax just shrugs. “Can’t say I wouldn’t.”

“I can.”

Two words and just like that all the mirth is sapped from the air around them. Nothing fills the void left behind; it stays hollow and empty with foreboding.

“If such a passage did exist, which I can assure you it does not, would the Order not have used it long ago in much the same way?” She raises a single eyebrow at Jax, continuing before he has a chance to answer her.

“While your modern methods are indeed a fresh eye on an old war, Jax, they seem to blind you to the full scope of the kind of life we have lived here for all these centuries. Safety is but a fleeting dream to us. No shadow goes undisturbed for signs of the enemy. Every shelter — from a boarded-up chapel on the wayside to a sprawling manor house such as this — has been deemed safe only after proceeding with the utmost caution.

“Even someone as brazen as Vlad would not dare risk his own life by doing anything else.”

Nadya swears she can hear Jax’s teeth grind in his set jaw. That may be the gravel under the tires though.

The limo starts to slow down as they pass through a break in the hedges to reveal a wide arcing roundabout that stops just shy of the castle’s imposing front doors.

“So what you’re saying is if this goes to shit tonight there’s really no escape plan, huh?” Jax finally asks, and with a much softer voice than either Serafine or Nadya would have expected.

It makes the vampiress throw him a sympathetic look. One he pointedly ignores, but when has that ever stopped her before?

“Have you such little faith in my charming disposition?”

It’s a meager attempt to lighten the somber mood at best, but it’s enough to at least ease his suddenly white-knuckled grip on the sheath of his katana.

“More like a lack of faith in your judgment.”

“Inspired by?”

“Whatever the hell you see in Raines.”

It’s as though the driver has been taking his sweet time waiting for a break in their tension to finally get there. Which can’t possibly be the case; since the partition has been up from the moment they pulled away from the hotel and the ones they left behind… can it?

He cuts the engine abruptly. Something about the reigning silence makes Nadya’s heart start to inch its way up into her throat. Jax, sitting closest to her and no doubt hearing the spike in her pulse, reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.

“You okay there?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug, glad when he doesn’t drop his hand. “Situationally or existentially?” The joke, unfortunately, doesn’t quite land.

“At least this one is above ground.” He tries to reassure her. But apparently neither of them are allowed the luxury.

“The parts you can see…” Serafine says; her last words before the door opens to signal their arrival.

The night air is cold and makes Nadya’s eyes water as she steps out between her companions. She would have rather had Kamilah or Adrian at her side but that just wasn’t possible.

Serafine had made a point that couldn’t be denied. Between Kamilah’s assumed death and Gaius’ known ability to hold a grudge longer than most modern civilizations had been around, those two were pretty much screwed if anyone just so happened to recognize them.

With Antony and Isseya off the radar since Kamilah’s return and none of them having any hint or clue as to whether or not Gaius had started extending his reach overseas yet, they were better off housebound (metaphorically speaking) for the time being.

As it is they’re risking enough bringing Jax along, but apparently the fact he hadn’t made “much of an impression” on Gaius, to put it in Kamilah’s own words, was to their benefit. They were playing safe over sorry with Lily and her newly-acquired quirks too.

It was easy to write off the fact that Serafine hadn’t even allowed Cadence to volunteer before shooting him down as being, well, Serafine and Cadence being Serafine and Cadence. But there’s still a lot they don’t know about whatever had happened to their friends when the group split up — whatever it was though was enough to ease that tension in ways nobody would have expected.

“The intention is to meet with Vlad as quickly as possible, and ideally without arousing suspicion from him or any who might be in his entourage.” Serafine had explained. “Seeing as Cynbel of the Trinity has been famously dead for over a century now, seeing him suddenly reappear in the midst of Gaius’ ascension might as well be the definition of suspicious.”

The argument was fair and valid and lucky for them to have that kind of forethought, honestly. But when Nadya thinks back to the vague air of their talk back at Ahmanet in London and pairs it almost absentmindedly with the way Serafine and Kamilah exchanged a long and almost nervous glance at one another when Cadence’s back is turned…

Let’s just say at this point she’s just waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Or the other-other shoe. Like the kind of shoe an octopus might wear or something.

All of that and only Nadya is left; always the odd one out. But the Bloodkeeper can’t not do this, so what choice does she have?

They just have to hope Kamilah was right when she assumed Gaius would want to do everything in his power not to let Nadya’s name and face spread too far or wide. That he wouldn’t dare run the risk of someone else getting to her before he could.

Neither option appeals, for the record. But at least she’s not the only one risking her neck.

The driver gestures for them to wait at the base of the castle steps, letting them know they will be shown in shortly. He doesn’t linger, job completed, and soon Nadya is throwing a glance over her shoulder to catch the bright red tail lights before the car disappears back around the hedge line and out of sight.

Serafine’s hand comes down in between her shoulder blades somehow both heavy and comforting. A simple touch that eases the tension beginning to knot there that Nadya hadn’t even realized existed.

“Your heart is racing, Nadya,” she states the obvious with a gentle smile of her own, “we may be able to account his notoriety for your nerves but please… try to control your breathing.”

She nods, wide eyed, and swallows through her dry throat before inhaling deeply through her nostrils, holding, and letting it out as a warm breath on her lips. In, and hold, and out, and in, and hold, and out several times before she glances and sees the tiniest nod of approval from the vampiress.

“You’re pretty calm, given everything.”

“Why would I not be?” asks Serafine in obvious surprise. A little too sincere, in Nadya’s opinion.

“The way you’ve been talking about him sounds a lot like you guys aren’t old friends.”

Her rouge-tinted lips purse wryly. “No, I would not associate myself with him so plainly.”

“Then why did he agree to meet with you?”

A fair question, too. One that has Jax listening attentively even if he doesn’t look away from the doors still not yet opened to greet them.

Given the gravity of the situation, Nadya’s grateful that the woman doesn’t seem to need the time to carefully choose her words on this. Hopefully that means she isn’t sugarcoating it.

“The truth is that I did not reach out to him, but rather chose to finally accept a long-standing invitation.”

“Invitation to what?”

Serafine’s answer is drowned out by the sudden opening of the front doors; old heavy wood on ornate hinges designed more with the aesthetic in mind. Their harsh squeal cuts into the trio’s ears and makes Nadya flinch violently.

Soft yellowing light spills out into the night. A haze that stretches down the stone steps and all the way to where they stand gathered on the gravel. Nadya quickly throws the back of her hand over her eyes as she blinks away hazy colorless dots in front of her sight.

It’s just one big gaping hole of uninterrupted brightness… until a shadow starts to cut a long path through the din. It stretches longer and longer until it nearly reaches all the way back near the break in the hedges; a towering figure that, once her eyes adjust to the new lighting, doesn’t quite match the reality that stands before them.

“As I live and breathe — what be this vision before me? It could not be the captivating sight of one Serafine Dupont, surely!”

There’s so much to unpack there but Nadya’s brain is already frozen and buffering on account of the singular thought that consumes her entire being.

Those are some tight leather pants.

The fact that Vlad is wearing all black only adds to the formidable, if shapely, shadow he cuts across the front path. He gestures widely and exuberantly and with no small amount of purpose; the kind of motion that makes sure his large billowing sleeves move in precisely the right way and give him the perfect amount of flair.

Even without the combined warnings from Kamilah and Serafine prior to this exact moment, Nadya’s certain this first impression is all it would take for her to know exactly the kind of man Dracula is.

A one-hundred percent unrepentant drama queen.

Neither Jax or Nadya miss the sight of Serafine quickly steeling herself. How she tucks away any lingering distaste (though maybe it’s the whole psychic-connection thing but Nadya swears it’s not that hidden if she can still feel the remnants of it) and slips on what could very well pass as a genuinely sincere smile for how natural it looks.

Oh, she’s good.

“Vlad,” she coos, somehow both a greeting and an endearment both with one meager syllable. “I see the years have remained kind.”

With his hands on his cocked hips Vlad lets out his own rich bellowing laugh. The kind that has Nadya looking subtle as she can over her shoulders to see if there really is anyone able to hear him waiting in the shadows; witnessing them all like a permanent audience for his constant theatrics. Her senses may be perilously human but Jax doesn’t seem to notice anything off… hopefully he’s got a better grasp on their surroundings while their host holds Serafine captive with a gaze.

“Whereas you, my exquisite creature, look absolutely radiant. Perhaps even glowing as much as I am!”

The ‘Count’ is definitely younger than Serafine, which makes his comment more than a little suspect. About as suspect as the fact that he hasn’t moved from his place at the top of the steps… nor has she moved from her place here below.

They’re having a good old-fashioned stand off. Each one waiting for the other to yield their ground and move things along. But it’s different between the pair of them, that much is obvious.

Vlad shifts on the heels of his boots with an expectant lilt to his smile. He’s used to being greeted with respect and reverence — which Serafine isn’t not giving him — but it means he makes others come to him.

And everyone (Vlad included) knows quite well that Serafine only does what she wishes and nothing more. Hence the way she stands graceful, calm, and poised. Hands folded lightly over the bodice tight against her blouse.

She tilts her head to the side so gently her hair falls around her shoulder in a dark pillowing cloud.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks bemusedly, “aren’t you going to come give us a kiss?”

With his hand forced and no time to find a reasonable way to turn the tables Vlad has no choice but to acquiesce. “Of course, of course!” Then he’s skipping down the worn stone steps two at a time, the rhythm of his heels following him all the way down. “I just needed a moment to take all of you in, darling. Alive and well and vibrant as ever.”

He embraces his fellow survivor with open arms and a kiss to each of her cheeks.

Another good reason Adrian didn’t come with, Nadya finds herself thinking — the only distraction she can muster to keep from cringing at how he gets a little too friendly on her face with his lips, we need Vlad alive after all.

And after that display… that might have been something up in the air.

Vlad coaxes Serafine back to hold her at arms’ length; only he doesn’t actually let her go. Some small attempt to reconcile his failed power play, maybe.

It doesn’t matter. Just as she did before Serafine breezes her way through anything he might do to her — a simple gesture and roll of her shoulders to adjust her hair has Vlad all but staggering back like she’s thrown him backwards with all of her strength.

“You say such things as though they may have been in doubt.”

His recovery is a meager and tight-lipped smile. “My ears on the ground have a lot to say about changes abound on your side of the continent. Absolute chaos, from what I’m told.”

Tension ripples through Jax and has his hand drifting to the sword affixed to his belt. Nadya throws him a worried look; all wide eyes and silent pleas, but from the looks of it she didn’t need to bother.

They might as well be invisible for all the attention the famed vampire gives them. Not when he has whatever old grudge fuels the calculated exchange between himself and Serafine to put his energy into. But never in her life has Nadya been more glad to be considered chopped liver.

Serafine doesn’t immediately answer. The inaction makes Vlad’s eyes flicker in ruby shades of delight; makes his smile grow wider and a little more meaningful — he thinks he’s won somehow.

“Surely you know of what I speak,” hand over his heart and eyes downcast in cheap, tacky grief, “as I can’t begin to imagine why you wouldn’t have been in Paris during the Dark Solstice. A morbid affair, from what I’ve heard. Almost no survivors to speak of.

“Save yourself, of course.”

Tension crackles between the vampires like electricity. It amps up the long pause that lets his words settle in like a rot; one he’s content to let spread so long as he can’t see it, or as long as nothing of his is damaged by it. Though if he lets it fester everyone’s gonna succumb eventually… or some other metaphor like that.

“You’ve always given credence to such boisterous tales, Vlad.” The woman replies a mite too calmly.

“You deny the Order has reared its fearsome head on your side of the continent?”

“Did I say that?”

“You did not say otherwise.”

“No…” Her voice trails into something soft; hand coming up the brush the back of her knuckles over the high arch of Vlad’s almost alabaster cheekbone. He could bat her hand away, step out of her immediate reach; anything to abate the way he’s shaking very obviously now in his boots. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch.

He just takes it.

Topped with the cherry pink of Serafine’s angelic smile.

“No I did not.”

And just like that she’s restored some sort of hierarchy between them. One that existed long ago and that Vlad Tepes had apparently forgotten in the intermission that followed. There’s less fear in him when he finally relaxes, when she lowers her hand to clasp his with a gentle little squeeze. But there’s a difference between showing fear and being afraid.

Serafine continues with a newfound confidence. “But your concern warms my heart, old friend. Such as my heart warms to know that with our differences aside we can remember the one thing that binds us. That which is more important than anything else.

“By the Will of the Goddess.”

She takes their joined hands and twists them gently. The darkened copper of her skin in stark contrast to his as she coaxes his palm facing upwards.

Nadya watches intently. She wonders for a moment if Serafine intends to draw blood from the bright vein under her thumb… but it passes over like a kiss and nothing more.

“By the Will of the Goddess,” Vlad repeats — far more winded than he had been mere moments ago.

To Serafine’s left Jax shifts on his boots restlessly. Not that anybody asked but Nadya’s seriously impressed with him right now; given his track record with these kinds of things the fact that he can resist rolling his eyes and looking for all the world as though he’d rather take his way through this in favor of the bare minimum of neutrality is worthy of some serious accolades.

Not that he gets any. But Serafine can take a hint.

“Vlad, ma puce, let us move this inside, shall we? I’ve yet to introduce my delightfully stoic American friend here; and he’s been so patient with us hasn’t he?”

It isn’t hard for Jax to pretend to be utterly disinterested in Vlad as the man finally seems to acknowledge his presence — simply because he’s not even pretending. But Vlad had been; that much is obvious. As he looks the younger vampire over with a lazy enough eye.

One that makes it abundantly clear that he had noticed Serafine was not alone; but that he simply didn’t see why he ought to make the effort to care.

“American you say,” — oh of course he says it like that; snooty upper crusty and like he’s actively trying to get Jax to put him at the top of his hit list; maybe even higher up than Gaius at this point — “how… bold of you.”

But his attitude aside, it’s impossible to miss the shift in the way Vlad’s eyes rake over Jax to take him in fully and as a person, less like a piece of Serafine’s luggage left aside.

His eyelids lower a fraction, likes like smoldering embers as he drags his gaze up to finally take in Jax’s handsome features through thick lashes. If there was any doubt left as to what the man’s mind conjures up with the sight before him — there really isn’t though — that’s pretty much dashed the moment he swipes a hint of his tongue out to wet his lower lip.

“Yes, bold indeed…”

Before he can say anything else there’s a loud noise from just beyond the castle doors. A heavy thud that sounds an awful lot like heavy furniture or something else being dragged across a floor.

Jax’s shoulders sag in visible relief as the sound jostles Vlad out of his thoughts and back to the present. He turns back to Serafine.

“Yes yes, do come inside! The American too, I suppose… You can even bring your little snack.”

It takes Nadya entirely too long for her to realize she is the snack. That doesn’t sit well, to be honest.

But it’s the first time Vlad’s even acknowledged her existence and… it’s a little underwhelming if she’s being honest. Not that she wants to earn Vlad’s attention in any form — especially with how touchy-feely he’d been with Serafine — but maybe by this point she’s just gotten so used to strange reactions from vampires that being completely and utterly ignored is… a whole lot of strange for its own reasons? If that makes sense?

It does make sense, if Serafine’s face is anything to go by. How she darts a quick look between Vlad and Nadya and just barely manages to wipe the confusion from her face before it becomes something worth noting.

It could be worse… so she counts her blessings.

Without further pleasantries the man takes long strides back up the steps. He assumes they will follow right at his heels, and they do. Though if the looks shared between the three of them are any indication nobody is feeling as confident about this whole mess as they did before they exited the car.

And they can’t even mention it. What with the whole vampires having supersense-hearing and all.

Vlad doesn’t stop at the top of the stairs. He continues striding right on through the doorway and immediately he’s met by an attendant on either side. Each face is pretty in the way model runways are pretty; with a sharpness to their features that makes them look almost feline and, these two at least, with some kind of gold-colored highlighter that accentuates the sharpness of their umber skin in the distant candlelight.

One steps behind him to catch the suit jacket he shrugs off of his shoulders, while the other who places a fresh glass of a brown liquor in his waiting hand.

“I hope you can forgive the mess of the place,” Vlad pauses to sip his drink and thanks one of the pretty faces with a knuckle stroked along their long throat. They remain impassive to the act but the intimacy can’t be denied.

“You know how crazy things can get when planning the social event of the year and all that.”

Only it’s not a mess so much as it is just a bit… bustling. From the front walk Nadya’s human hearing hadn’t caught onto the noises coming from inside the place but seeing it all now she’s considering getting her hearing checked.

One would expect an estate that looks like that on the outside would be no less decorated within, but decorated is pretty much an understatement. Though if anyone were to make sure any place they lived was decorated to the nines regardless of the time of year it would be Vlad.

Despite knowing that, the hectic bustle of bodies between propped open grand doors and up and down a staircase that branches off on three of the castle’s main floors, though the staggering height of the place from afar tells her there are more levels than what she sees here.

Everything is decorated with the kind of taste that comes from old and inherited wealth and is topped off with a modern edge.

Banisters roped with thick twines of velvet in various shades of reds and golds and what look like real diamonds acting as little more than baubles dangling from the tassels at the hems; furniture scattered around the large foyer in plush cushions and couches that look at first like the genuine antique but on second glance are gold-inlaid replicas built with modern crafting techniques and with longevity in mind.

Another thud comes from a handful of attendants moving a large chaise from one side of the hall through another doorway.

On the ground floor there’s a giant ladder propped up against the far left wall and an attendant balancing atop it. They hold themselves perfectly still, almost delicate, while they secure dark nearly blood-red ribbons around the bottom rungs of a chandelier. They must be nearly done, judging by the same material already wrapped around the chain securing it to the ceiling, and the dark color of the fabric dulls the light and leaves the room hazy both from the continuous heat of the flames that don’t quite permeate the thick texturing.

By the time this place — or this space at the very least — is done being decorated it will certainly be beautiful. But it will be a dark kind of beauty — gothic in a way.

Exactly the kind of event decorations you would expect from Count Dracula; but there’s a respect to be had for the fact he leans into the aesthetic with gusto.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Tepes,” praises Serafine through a hitch in her throat. She’s looking around the foyer with a wistful kind of wanting; a small sparkle held in her eyes that has nothing to do with the lavish decor and everything to do with the invisible hand squeezing her heart up into her throat.

Given recent events especially, the vampiress is no stranger to grief and longing.

And Vlad beams like the way she speaks is more of a compliment than the words themselves.

“Only the best for the best of us, as I’m sure you remember.”

“All your earlier words about the Order, yet you insist on throwing your bal masqué.”

“It is specifically because of these troubling times that we must continue with our most important traditions, Serafine!” He feigns shock with a hand on his chest. The ice in his tumbler tinks together delicately in his grasp. “I thought you, of anyone, would agree.”

He’s goading her and getting more obvious in how he does it by the second. She’s taken it with grace up until now but there’s a tight edge to her tone starting to chip through her armor.

“Tradition, in times of war, can be put aside if that’s what ensures it has chance to be continued.”

“When are we not at war? The Order is no less vicious now than it was before…” He stops and sips his drink again. Casting a passive appraisal around the continued decorating.

“Unless,” with a click of his tongue, “there is a different war you speak of.”

Nadya doesn’t know what’s scaring her more right now; the fact that Serafine had let something that dangerous slip to begin with or the fact that Vlad had caught on so easily. She risks a look at him out of the corner of her eye… much to her relief his sights are still set on Serafine.

An easy grin curls his mouth. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment; let me make sure the parlor’s been made to greet us.” And when he takes his leave of them off to the right and around a set of double doors there’s a saunter to his gait that wasn’t there before. His smugness lingers in the air like a bad perfume.

The moment he’s out of earshot Jax rounds on Serafine with barely-restrained frustration.

“What the hell are we playing his games for? We don’t need to do any of this to find out what he knows.”

With pursed lips Serafine continues to watch the preparations taking place around them. Jax’s frown deepens.

“Serafine.”

“I heard you Jax, don’t worry.”

But that’s still not an answer. Before he ends up raising his voice even more, Nadya reaches out and lays her hand over Serafine’s where she wrings her fingers together at her waist.

“Serafine…” If only she didn’t sound as worried as she is; as the woman’s continued silence makes grow inside her. Serafine doesn’t push her away, but she doesn’t seem welcome to the touch either.

She finally lets her head hang with a weary sigh. “I had thought that given all that transpires around us, Vlad might have chosen to postpone this for the sake of his own safety.

“If not because of Gaius, then because of the Order.”

“Because they’ve been attacking more often, you mean.”

She nods. “But that’s assuming far too much of him. Cunning though Vlad may be, he isn’t very bright.”

“He’s certainly…” Jax’s growl drips with venom, “something.” Nothing good.

“So are we keeping with the plan?”

Squeezing the woman’s hand is enough to finally wrench Serafine’s attention back to Nadya. “No, we are not.”

Jax tenses. “Why the hell not?”

“Because this —” Nadya’s hand falls to let her offer a sweeping gesture to the foyer’s decorations, “— his bal masqué? It changes things. It changes everything.”

She says it in a way that has Nadya feeling like she’s missing a few key facts. She and Jax exchange equally confused glances, and make Serafine sigh heavily for it.

“There’s too much to be explained here. We must leave while we still are able.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he knows who you are, Nadya.”

It’s like a large gust of wind blows out every candle in the room. Not literally — but the warmth of them is sucked from her bones easily enough. It leaves Nadya feeling hollow as much as she is cold; makes her wrap her arms around herself like that will somehow protect her. She shakes her head slowly… but the disbelief isn’t as intense as she would have hoped it to be.

“But he —”

“— is a performer before he is anything else,” interrupts Serafine; and she’s not wrong. “While he may not have guessed you would be at my side tonight, he has likely known your face and who you are for as long as Isseya and Antony have.”

“So Gaius has been in contact with him then.”

Serafine doesn’t even have to give Jax a verbal response.

“Then we need to go. We need to leave the city; regroup somewhere else.”

“We’ll take our leave of him tonight, yes… but—” —there shouldn’t be any ‘buts’— “—we will be back. We’ll be here for the bal masqué, with the others; and, Goddess-willing, better prepared.”

Uhm… what?

“Why the hell would we do that?” And Jax just barely manages to check his volume, though he’s no less angry. “It’s a party for fucks’ sakes. What’s the big deal?”

“Not here.”

The swordsman throws a look over his shoulder towards the doors Vlad should be coming back through any minute now. “He’s not just gonna let us leave. Especially if —”

Especially if he knows.

But Serafine seems to think otherwise.

“He will. He knows we’ll return; I would even hazard to say he is counting on it.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Unsurprising.”

Before he can try and push the issue Serafine wraps a strong arm around Nadya’s shoulders and all but shoves her towards Jax. “Take her and go. I will deal with Vlad and give you what time I can.”

He just barely manages to catch Nadya before she falls into him. Reaching out to steady her and make sure she has her feet before rounding on their companion. “What the he—”

But he’s too late. Serafine is already five long strides away — far enough that he’d need to raise his voice to catch her. And they both know he won’t take the risk in alerting Vlad’s house staff. They’ve all been dutifully working this entire time, but if the woman dusting picture frames or the couple laying down ornate Persian rugs are anywhere as deceptive as their boss they may be ready to strike at any time.

That thought does not sit well with Nadya’s meager dinner.

“We should try and leave.” While we still can.

His jaw visibly tenses, but already he’s starting to slowly nudge the pair of them back through the open doors. “Fine. But she and I aren’t done with this.”

They catch the distant sound of Serafine’s laugh just as they walk through the doorway. The cold bites Nadya’s hands and face harder than before but sheer panic is more than enough to keep her putting one foot in front of the other. When they’re out of the building and back in the darkness, Nadya and Jax don’t hesitate to pick up the pace. Any faster when they hit the gravel and they’ll be full-on running into the night.

Well… they are running into the night. That’s the point.

“What’s with all the vampires on this freaking continent and the fact they can’t give a straight answer to save their lives?”

“Well they can’t all be like you.”

At the glower he gives her Nadya just barely manages a smile through chattering teeth. It definitely helps her feel less panicky.

“And that means what exactly?”

“They can’t all be bold Americans, obviously.”

Jax groans, fully under-appreciating her brand of awkward humor, and takes Nadya’s hand to bring her along as he speeds away.

[thegeminisage]

ON THE SUBJECT of the s4 finale (major spoilers ahead) 

i DID like:

arthur getting mortally wounded again. partially bc i was still angry at him, partially because it’s always good fun to see him staggering around half-dead and fueled only by determination

merlin shooting a crossbow was great. it’s so nice to see him non-magically hold his own in a fight

gwaine “singing for his supper” was pretty badass. i love that fella

i feel a way about arthur observing that everyone in his life betrays him sooner or later. under one hand: bad time for a pity party, bud, and since i was mad at him at the time i felt merlin’s subsequent ep talk/praise was a bit unwarranted. under the other hand it’s like...really fucked up actually that a lot of people DO lie to arthur (going back to 2.08) in particular because of his station or because of things uther has done - in a way, even merlin lying to arthur is a result of uther’s choices. arthur’s not a bad person, most of the time, unless the writers want to torture gwen, but he’s surrounded by quite a lot of bad people and uther’s genocide is partially arthur;s legacy too whether he likes it or not because it was arthur’s birth that triggered it. it’s just fucking sad to me that he can’t seem to fight his way out of the ugliness he came from and was born into

MERLIN CALLING DOWN A MOTHERFUCKING DRAGON TO AMITE AN ARMY FOR DARING TO FUCK WITH HIS LIL HOMETOWN...BABE...WHAT A BADASS. HE CAN COMMAND A DRAGON

in fact love merlin getting to be a badass so much i put up with his old man merlin guise for it but JESUS FUCK that was so much more than i ever expected. he DECIMATED an ARMY with a few words! if merlin had half a mind to be evil he’d be fucking unstoppable and instead he uses his powers to polish armor and heal battle wounds

arthur’s very long look after merlin leaves to go “create a diversion” aka perform more badass sorcery without having to worry about being seen

I WAS SOOO HAPPY TO SEE AGRAVAINE DIE LIKE FUCK YOU DUDE LOL

oh man. you could see it on his face. a very long pause where merlin’s counting up his enemies, calculating his move, pros vs cons, can he take them all out at once, will there be survivors enough to tell his secret

i realized what he was gonna do about a split second before he actually did it and i YELLED OUT LOUD and spent the entire section laughing like a maniac

he fucked them all up without moving a muscle. he just stood there and his eyes glowed and he toppled nearly a dozen men. i. was. LOSING IT

merlin really is the bravest character on this whole show. when arthur thought he was gonna die he was bugging but merlin faced down both morgana and an army without one little bit of fear. totally cool and calm. i LOVE this, who he is, when he’s really pressed down to the wire, and lets himself be seen. he’s grown up so much and he’s so GOOD 

doubly impressive: agravaine is so SHOCKED by what merlin truly is he’s delighted and laughing and impressed, in spite of the fact that merlin just killed maybe a hundred of his soldiers and is about to kill him too. it’s a bruce wayne/batman situation. i know i complained about merlin keeping it too close to the vest before but now i’m actually impressed with how his cover is SO good his enemies are delighted to find out his secret

arthur taking time out of his escape to go back and look for merlin and merlin REALIZING WHAT HE’D DONE and arthur going “you’re my only friend”

THEY ARE FRIENDS! NONE OF THIS “WE COULD HAVE BEEN FRIENDS” THEY ARE FRIENDS

THE SWORD IN THE STONE THING look i can’t believe after all arthur angsted about being lied to merlin would then lie more to him but OH MY GOD no matter how they did it i was always going to love it. i died. arthur went full legend of zelda

and like. ok. merlin tells this whole dumb story and arthur argues with him the entire time and THEN merlin finally goes “are you calling gaius a LIAR?” and arthur says “no im just calling YOU an idiot” and merlin says “oh yeah? what’s that then?” and arthur stops dead in his tracks and gives that sword the llllooongest look and the muted piano comes in and sldkfgjhlsdfkjhlsdjfghsldfjgh

the timing. the drama. the cinnamon topography. i hate the word epic but it was epic. i’m such a fan for swords in stones. i’m so glad they gave it some nice fanfare

i do also feel human emotion about merlin’s like...faith in arthur. somehow all of merlin’s onetime flaws have become good character traits for him - him saving uther seems like weakness and then strength, him keeping his secrets close seems cold and then clever, and now his belief in arthur, which at first seemed blind faith but has since sort of matured into true devotion...arthur doesn’t always deserve it but since it’s coming from someone so WISE the more merlin says it the more i believe it. in season 1 it’s like “someday arthur will be a great king” and you’re like “yeah whatever” but NOW it’s like “holy shit he really might be” and it’s nice that arthur can believe merlin even when he doesn’t believe in himself

merlin’s one-man mission to sneak into the castle in the middle of the night as old man merlin just to sabotage morgana’s magic was like...also really badass tbh. he REALLY used that braincell

GWEN WITH A SWORD

the knights reunion: “elyan! oh thank god! are you alright?!” “well, i have been locked up with gwaine for a week”

merlin is SUCH A BADASS him blocking morgana’s magic ON THE SLY with ALL THOSE PEOPLE LOOKING god god god

GWEN IS QUEEN NOW AND GOOD FOR HER! i really hated their breakup and reconciliation but whatever she looked so good in her dress it’s everything she deserves

i did NOT like:

that will-bending, make-someone-compliant spell. that is skeevy as shit and i hate that they introduced something like that into canon. angry as i was with arthur it made my skin crawl the entire time. especially unfun when they played it for laughs...like...the amount of agency lost...it’s not funny. any normal person should feel terrible about doing something like that

furthermore, arthur even in his right mind having to pretend to be stupid is like...what? this is the season finale. this is NOT the time for hijinks

WHY are we still torturing people LEAVE elyan alone

you know? fuck morgana. like. it’s not her fault. the writers dropped the ball. i understand that & will always be angry on her behalf about it. but between this and turning gwen into a deer to be SHOT at...i’m like. really done having sympathy for her character or rooting for her to succeed. i don’t like that feeling but there it is

HOW did gwen not see merlin using magic to save her also WHY is she forced to see morgana who has hurt her more than anyone

speaking of gwen, they did not have time to do That Plot and reconcile arthur and gwen all at the same time. it was SO badly paced. i’m not talking about the gwne thing bc i will black out from rage but wow

don’t like tristan and isolde mostly because he looks WAY OLDER than her. although i did soften up a little when she was like dying and she was just lying in his arms and all she wanted was for him to hold her.........That’s Sad. i did feel human emotion

[kzesl]

So I saw a random post about Merlin, and it reminded me how much I loved that show, and now I want to read fic again. Arthur-centric fic, because he was my fave. The trouble is that I rarely find the type of fic I want to read, because Merlin is a fandom fave, or at least that’s the impression I always got. Where are all the Arthur-centric writers? I already wrote two fics in this fandom when I couldn’t find what I wanted to read, and I don’t feel like writing another. I want to read it, not write it.

Anyone have any recs?

A reincarnation fic would be nice. 

But not one where Arthur is a spoiled businessman that behaves the same way as he did in the first episode of the show, as if he had never learned anything in his previous life and is doomed to always repeat the same mistakes. And Merlin showing up will automatically make him remember, and change his behavior to how it was at the end of his previous life. No. Not that. 

I want Arthur who is an old soul, but not like Merlin who is immortal and has been alive for all this time. I want Arthur who has been reborn many times, has lived many lives since Camelot and now. I want Merlin who keeps not meeting Arthur because he has certain expectations, and the new Arthur never meets them. I want Merlin who passes by Arthur on the street and does not recognize him. Because he is still Arthur, but he is not that spoiled prince form episode one. (Arthur doesn’t always look like Arthur we know. Sometimes he does, and those lives are hard.). I want Arthur who remembers, but not from the moment he was born, but he always remembers when he reaches the age he was when he died, that first time. Arthur was made by magic, originally, and Albion never forgets that he is hers. I want Albion that cries for its King and I want Arthur who can hear it, even before he remembers.

I want knights who are sometimes there and sometimes not. Morgana, who is always his sister, in every life, and Mordred who is sometimes his brother, sometimes his son/friend/grandson/uncle, always there (sometimes a frenemy, but never an enemy, not a mortal one, not after that first time Arthur was reincarnated and Mordred turned out to be his son). Imagine Arthur waking up, after remembering everything in a dream, when being mortally wounded by Mordred is still fresh in his mind, only to find his son, standing in the doorway and clutching a teddy bear, because he is afraid of the monsters in the dark. His son, who looks like Mordred did, when he was a child. Not exactly, because genetics, duh, but enough for a terrible expression to appear on Arthur’s face, one that makes his son flinch away in fear (Arthur never forgives himself, despite it being completely understandable). 

I want Uther and Ygraine, sometimes happy, sometimes divorced, and sometime they never meet. I want Uther who is not bitter and angry and murderous. Not in every life, at least. Not in most of them, either. Give me a very kind Uther, for a change.

I want magic. More subtle, different, but still there. Maybe just in traces, or maybe as strong as it ever was. I don’t know. Both options are good.

I want a fic that focuses on the life when Arthur and Merlin finally meet again, but I want subtle hints at what happened in previous ones. They don’t always have to be explained. 

I want Arthur to see Merlin first. 

I want some drama. Because it’s been a long time, but some betrayals run deep. Merlin is a manipulator. He has his reasons for doing things, but that doesn't change the fact that he is a liar. The road to hell etc.

Give me Gwen, who is sometimes his wife and they never meet Lancelot and they are ridiculously happy.  And sometimes she is already married to Lancelot when they meet. Sometimes she leaves Arthur for him. Gwen always loves Lancelot more, if she ends up meeting him. In one particular life Arthur meets her, falls in love with her again and she falls in love with him and he never does anything because Lancelot might show up, and it will hurt too much when she leaves. But Lancelot doesn’t show up in that life, and they are both miserably in love with each other, until the day they die. She asks him why, once, and he doesn’t know what to say so he says nothing. 

Lancelot is a bad man in one of his lives, just because he is the purest cinnamon roll of them all and him being actually bad (not under-the-spell bad, but bad) would be fun to explore. Or maybe not horrifically bad, but still a criminal with dubious morality. An art thief, maybe. And Gwen works at a gallery. Ta-da.

Modern jobs for everyone. Gwaine being an accountant, doing an office job, and living for the pub nights. He is actually some sort of spy undercover (still lives for the pub nights). Elyan being a pub quiz master, during the weekends, and Percival a kindergarten teacher, maybe.

Leon, a detective, and Gaius a drug dealer (okay, maybe just make him really young and a gamer). Ugh, I don't know, there are just so many options. Maybe someone gets reincarnated as a really famous person. Leon as Ed Sheeran. Or Adele. They don’t have to stay the same gender in every life.

Morgana remembers sometimes. That first life, or them all, Arthur doesn’t know. (One night he wakes up and cracks an eye open to see her standing in his room, with a knife glinting in her hand. He closes his eyes and waits.) 

She never says anything. Not until Merlin comes back into their lives)

Kilgarrah in some form, because the Dragon needs to be there to cryptically annoy everyone.

Some villains, the spice of life. 

Gen or any pairing. I love gen, but I also think that the show was incredibly slashy and Arthur/Merlin was really strong. But whatever. Rare pairings can be fun and delightful. 

In this life, they all remember, whether on their own, or because Merlin has waltzed back in. Dynamics are a bit weird at first. People calling each other the old names, using old titles, court etiquette, round table at the pub, speaking an old language, outsiders being freaked out and wtf. They need to be expelled from a pub at least once. Bring back the Merlin is in the tavern, Sire. Just because. Arthur being kingly, but in a good way.

Happy ending, because they all need it, and I need it, okay?

I’m going to stop now, because this is too long as it is. It was not meant to be this long. Or go in this direction. Sigh.

[capmerthur]

THE ONCE AND FUTURE FIC

Yet another resurrection fic (sorry???). ARTHUR RETURNS IN CHAPTER 2. Lots of feeeeels, and overdue conversations (at last!) between our precious King and Warlock. Title might change as this goes along, but this has always been the work title in my head since I started thinking about writing it, so… Starts right when 5.13 ends. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IN CHAPTER ONE.

Excerpt PART III:

If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. "You're here. You're well. That's all that matters, Arthur; I swear that's all that has ever mattered to me."

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin's clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: "And you're here, Merlin, and you're *you*; and I swear that's all that will matter to me from now on."

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER CHAPTER III)

@clone-number-1

III. (MERLIN POV)

"I'm fine, Merlin. I'm fine."

And not only the voice is perfect, but the language is the one Merlin hasn't heard for over a millenium...

"Arthur?" is all Merlin can let out - no more than a somewhat hiccuped whisper as he still has no breath, no voice, to start with; but an obvious plea coming from the depths of his soul. A world of wonder, and longing, and ache, and disbelief, and hope - because no matter what, Merlin can't help but want; can't help but hope - in those two syllabs that own his heart. Magic *does* exist, after all; and Merlin would give it all - all the magic he possesses, all his pain, all his hopes, everything - for this vision to turn real.

Arthur's already fragile smile falters: "Don't you remember, Merlin. No man is worth your tears." The reproach is nothing but badly fake though, and Arthur's voice somehow breaks as it ends: "Especially not me."

And then suddenly - and so quickly Merlin doesn't register any of it before it has actually happened, and so it is too late for him to move backwards to prevent it from happening - Arthur brings his hands on Merlin's face, gloved fingers brushing his tears away under his eyes - and Merlin can *feel* them!?

Merlin is lost; lost in what he sees, lost in what he hears, and lost in what he feels. Can this be true? Can it truly be true?

But then Arthur starts speaking again - rushed out words leaving Merlin stunned.

"I apologize, Merlin. The way I reacted- (sigh) I deserve all the names you've ever called me and more. I'm thick, and dumb, and *such* an idiot, and a complete dollophead, and a cabbage head, and a prat, and a royal *ass*, and I still don't know what a clotpole exactly is but I'm certain I am the definition for one indeed too. I may have seen anyone with magic turning against me; but I should never have doubted *you*, Merlin."

Merlin just cannot believe what he's hearing. It's everything he has ever wanted to hear; everything he has ever hoped to hear - so how can it be real?

"But more than anything, I think, I'm sorry because I should have known, Merlin. I called you a liar; looked at you like you had betrayed me. But you've told it. You actually shouted it for everyone to hear; and I believe you nearly told it to me, privately, at least once, and presumably more... But I just didn't want to hear it, did I? So I'm sorry I was such a coward; a *coward*, Merlin. And I'm so sorry, and so ashamed - and honestly I really can't blame you for not trusting me to understand: because you were right; and it guts me, Merlin."

Merlin shakes his head, about to interject - real or not just cannot matter anymore; not when Arthur's gaze is boring into his very core, pleading and honest and full of a guilt Merlin just can't bear to witness: "Arthur-"

Arthur silences him though, cutting him off by shaking him once by the shoulders: "But what counts is that I know, now, Merlin. Your magic is not only part of who you are; it also makes you who you are. And I will trust it; because I trust *you*. You must believe- No, let me rephrase this before you obey me again - because you *always* obey me, don't you Merlin; even when whatever I say in anger or despair isn't intended nor meant to be an order; and I've done it so often, haven't I... 'Do not put me into that position again'? 'Tell me it's gone'? (AN) So. Can you believe me; Merlin? It's not an order; I definitely do not deserve to give you any order at all to start with anyway. And you don't even have to forgive me; you shouldn't forgive me. But please, at least, can you b-"

"Of course I believe you. And there is nothing to forgive, Arthur. Nothing." Merlin half shouts, ancient words flowing instinctively, head skaking 'no' for emphasis, bringing his hands up to Arthur's wrists and pushing downwards, keeping Arthur's hands in place on his shoulders. If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. "You're here. You're well. That's all that matters, Arthur; I swear that's all that has ever mattered to me."

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin's clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: "And you're here, Merlin, and you're *you*; and I swear that's all that will matter to me from now on."

.

AN: Tiny quote from my Body Swap fic; sorry, I just couldn't NOT put it there, it just FITS...

(Also, just imagine they speak in old brittonic... but please don't expect me to write it? sorry?)

.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

(Warning for this chapter: suicidal thoughts)

I. (MERLIN POV)

Merlin holds Mordred's sword in his right hand, appraising it. He still can't believe he has found it; still can't believe it's actually in his hands.

Over sixty years now - nothing; yet far too long - Merlin has been waiting for this moment. Since he has begged Freya, and threathened (and apologised - he couldn't blame Freya for not listening; he wouldn't have either, if their roles had been reversed), and begged again - in vain, for Excalibur. Since he has finally understood that he was a fool to hold onto hope for something that couldn't, wouldn't come to pass. Arthur was *never* coming back: Merlin had simply witnessed enough - he had witnessed too much; and too many times; and definitely one time too much one time too many - to ignore it any longer.

/

It was not that Merlin had grown too tired of waiting - too tired of the ache, the longing, the loneliness... For Arthur? Merlin would *always* wait; however long it might take.

It was not that Merlin had come to believe mankind didn't deserve Arthur to rise again to start with - even though it *was* an easy conclusion, when it was at its worst, when it turned its anger against itself - too many horrors, atrocities, bloodshed. But mankind could be beautiful, when loving, in any form; and marvelous, too, when it was at its best; when it turned its anger towards its limits: the medical progress over the ages would have had Gaius exhilarated, and proud; and what about its general neverending thirst for discovery, for explorations, for quests? - of course Arthur would come back: if only he could.

It was just that Merlin had finally understood that he had been played - not even because Albion (the name has since long fallen out of use and its people had been scattered through the globe, so it might mean nowadays something else than it had used to to start with) had got united without Arthur (and even if it still only meant Great Britain, well, it might after all need to be united again); but simply because the list of unending reasons why Arthur should have come back to save the day and yet hadn't (to mention only the very top of the list: half of humanity wiped out in a finger snap by the Black Death? the whole world collapsing in chaos, bend on destroying itself - World War?) had turned out suspiciously too long, and finally impossibly too long, as mankind had truly reached the lowest point not only ever but even possible without Arthur rising yet again (organised experiments and torture on toddlers, honestly?).

So.

Arthur wasn't ever coming back from the dead, simply because no one ever came back from the dead (except as a shade - and that would be even worse, wouldn't it? - or at a cost too great to burden anyway). It had been easy to believe in the prophecy; simply because it had been what Merlin had wanted. A distant promise of Arthur returning was still way better than no Arthur at all, and so Merlin had willingly taken the bait. But the fake prophecy had obviously been made up; as revenge, or entertainment - or both; and Merlin had felt stupid for not having realized this ages ago - The Sidhe were proud indeed; and Merlin had thwarted them. (It had been easy to forget it at first - to tell himself that they hadn't known Arthur was THE Arthur at the time, whatever...) Merlin wasn't sure about what Kilgharrah might have exactly known or not (On the one hand, Kilgharrah had forged Excalibur, who had always truly helped them. And Merlin had been warned by the Great Dragon, right from the start, and repeatedly; so wouldn't it all have worked out just fine if he had listened. On the other hand, if he had listened? Wouldn't he have been a monster, punishing people for crimes they had not yet committed? So maybe giving him the truth had in fact been the sure way to have him not acting on it. After all, Kilgharrah had hated the Pendragons - at least Uther - enough to have tried to wipe out Camelot. And he hadn't been exactly pleased either to discover Merlin was a Dragonlord, even if he had seemed to soften when he had realized that Merlin would not control him as a puppet. And last but not least, Kilgharrah hadn't taken care of Aithusa as Merlin had thought he would; and that's how Aithusa had ended up with Morgana - and had forged the sword that had killed Arthur), but it didn't change anything anyway...

Well, you bet Merlin hadn't been willing to indulge them any longer. Not that anger was what was driving Merlin, of course. There was simply *no point* anymore in waiting. Nor in living, to be honest - especially as it might be what kept him from actually finding Arthur again somehow; next life, paradise, wherever and however and whenever? Merlin was no religious man, but even he had no answer about what happened after death after all. Maybe it was worth a shot? It was a very, very thin chance indeed; but it was still more of a chance than just staying here waiting for *nothing*... So. Merlin had begged Freya for Excalibur. But as she had kept absent, it had dawned on him at some point that Excalibur wasn't the only blade he could use... Merlin had searched for that other mighty weapon through his magic for years; then had sent his creature to retrieve it when he had successfully localized it.

/

And here, now, finally, is Mordred's sword.

And Merlin feels no dread, no fear, while holding it. If anything, he feels calm - calmer than he has ever been, probably. And that's how Merlin knows that his decision is indeed right: even his magic agrees.

He should do it in the lake though. Magical artifacts just shouldn't linger around in the open, huh...

Yes.

Let Mordred's blade rest along Excalibur.

And let Merlin rest along Arthur.

Freya will make sure they all lay undisturbed.

Merlin blindly pulls at the cord around his neck, taking it out from under his tunic and sliding his left hand along it until it closes around Arthur's mother sigil (AN) and Camelot's ruler's ring (Gwen had it brought to him, so he could give it back to its true owner on his return: Camelot in the meantime was to be ruled by a Concil of Knights and a Guardian, until Arthur would come back to sit on his kept empty throne and his kept empty seat at the Round Table).

Merlin closes his eyes; makes a silent promise.

I'm coming, Arthur.

He takes a first step into the lake.

.

Backstory: +1500 years in short - because it hurts and I just don't have the heart to fully write the prologue I had intended to write:

Merlin has never left the lake. He kept waiting. He couldn’t, wouldn’t leave, (nor SLEEP even for that matter by the way) no matter for how short - imagine if Arthur came back just when he was NOT there, huh. And of course he wouldn’t trust his magic to warn him somehow - it had failed Arthur when he needed it the most after all. So no. Merlin has never left the lake. But Gaius has mentioned to him (Merlin got visitors, in the beginning (and his mother came to live with him until she died); before he cut himself off the world) how maybe the time he was given without Arthur was to LEARN more about magic; so that he would be prepared when Arthur came back to face whatever ordeal they were supposed to face. Because even if Merlin is hyper *aware* - he feels *everything*, through his magic - practice is necessary too.  So Merlin mastered the art of molding sand/clay and animating it with his magic (basically, he walks the Earth as Old Merlin - because people tends to let old grumpy men on their own - whenever he needs anything physically). He can speak, hear, see, learn, through him, following the world as it expands (America, Australia, etc etc, because even if he was aware they existed, he couldn’t physically *go* there before they were ‘found’). And he can touch, and carry (for example you bet he brought back something red for Arthur to wear every time - Merlin sort of owns a ‘male red mode through the ages’ museum by now - and he hates it, of course).  The first time Merlin has truly thought Arthur *would* come back has been The Great Plague. The second time has been WWI. The last drop has been the Nazis and Unit 731 experimentations.  So Merlin sent its creature to fetch Mordred’s sword after having localized it though his magic - and that’s what Old Merlin is bringing back to him when this all starts (aka that shot at the end of 5.13)…

(AN: Just so you know, Merlin's magically pierced in the thickness of Ygraine's sigil to pass a cord - he  wouldn 't make a hole in the front design of course!)

(Also... A resurrection fic!? What am I getting myself into!? I'm still a newbie around here so I definitely haven't read enough Merlin fics to ever claim making something original (so by the way, please feel free to let me know your all time favourites resurrection fics! So far I’ve read The Change Trilogy and Like the cycle of the year we begin again (and they’re both gorgeous reads so run and read them if you haven’t yet!) but I haven't seen (yet?) my take, both on the waiting and on the getting along after Arthur's return, in the fics I've read so far, so I thought I might as well write this down ?)

.

II. (ALTERNATE POV)

Arthur regains consciousness under water.

He's cold; so cold he's shaking - helpless, steady spasms he just can't put an end to (being past half dead apparently has repercussions?). But it's bright, up over him, and he instinctivally pushes himself up towards the light; towards the air.

The moment he breaks the water, Arthur registers that he's not only alive but that he feels *just right*. No pain in his side, no weakness, no dizzinesss, no strain: nothing wrong at all - except from the convulsions from the cold, but you bet he's not going to complain, all considered. The sun is veiled by clouds, but feels nonetheless like a welcomed warmth on his face, and Arthur breathes deep, bringing his arms up and turning his palms towards the warmth too as the tremors start to subdue; he's alive!; and well! He doesn't need to pat his absent wound in wonder, nor to look at the water, transparent clear instead of bloodened red, to know that what he feels is true.

Merlin's done it.

He *has* saved his life.

Again.

It's both unexpected (Arthur had been so sure he had taken his last breath, when all had finally faded to black, no matter how much he had been trying to stay with him, as Merlin had pleaded; to hold onto Merlin, to his voice, to the way he was holding him) - and yet somehow expected. Magical waters and a sorcerer who knows how to work its power would do wonders, obviously. It has happened before after all, bringing his beloved Guinevere's spirit back?

A sudden realization; and Arthur can't help but laugh. And it feels so exhilarating - alive! alive! - the laugh turns into a howl; and Arthur relishes on it, throwing his head back. Honestly? How could he have ever been *so* blind - of course it had been Merlin then too by the water edge, disguised as an old woman!

/

Somewhere on his right, a buoying laugh erupts.

And Merlin knows that laugh. So hearing the exact right tone of that entirely unexpected laughter at once feels as if a vicious invisible hand is squeezing at his heart.

He had forgotten it; he realizes. But he would recognize that howling laugh amongst any other...

Merlin doesn't dare to *believe*. Cruel hope nonetheless blooms unbidden in his heart, and his eyes can't help but zero in on the source of that sound.

And it is exactly as it should be; exactly as it has used to be...

There *is* ARTHUR; standing in the lake, water reaching his hips, chainmail glistening, head thrown back as he laughs. (Has anyone ever looked more simply breathtakingly majestic no matter what they did and even without trying?) Merlin can only see his back, but you bet he would recognize the shape of that back amongst any other too.

Merlin's breath is knocked out of him; and Mordred's sword falls from his hand.

Merlin knows what he hears and sees *cannot* be true. He has seen the world in a much, MUCH more desperate state without Arthur coming back then. There is absolutely no reason for Arthur to come back right now. So. He is being granted a vision; that's all. But of course Merlin wouldn't, couldn't, try to take his own life anymore, not after having had even just a glimpse... Besides, he has just handed over the last sword that could end him anyway. Merlin has to acknowledge The Sidhe's thinking; they know exactly well how to play him. But damn, they are vicious.

But no matter the abysmal pain from such a low blow, Merlin still considers this to be a gift, and is determined to draw it out for as long as he will be allowed to. Those few seconds might sustain him for another fifteen centuries to come, and maybe more...

/

Arthur quiets down after a while. Thinking about his savior: where is he?

Arthur scans his surroundings; and the warmth he feels when he finally spots Merlin definitely eclipses the sun.

/

The laughing stops, and Arthur turns, eyes searching; and a bright smile appears on Arthur's face the moment they find him.

"Merlin!"

Merlin's knees give out. His name through Arthur's lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this* too? It shouldn't have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

And Merlin's fingers dig; hard, deep into the sand. He cannot reach out. He longs for; he *aches* to - both physically and emotionnally. But he cannot. As long as it's only his eyes and ears that are deceived, then he can pretend it is true...

Merlin starts to cry. He can't help it; he cries - as he hasn't cried since, well, all those years ago: silent tears endlessly streaming down his face, unabached, treacherous; and Merlin hates them - hates the way they blur his vision when he has to - HAS TO - *see*. He is powerless to stop them though.

It is *blinding*.

Merlin has tried, so hard, to keep remembering, to NOT forget. But his memories, even sustained with his magic, have so obviously failed him; haven't done Arthur any justice at all. Merlin has forgotten so, SO much; and being proven just how much he has actually forgotten slices through him like a knife. The exact darker shade of Arthur's blond hair when wet. The exact way Arthur stands and moves. The exact sharpness of Arthur's features - his nose, his cheeckbones, his jawline. The exact shape of that smile - that particular, undeniably fond smile following his name Merlin has used to live for and from. Guilt slashes through him again. How could he have *forgotten* the exact shape of *that* smile; the most precious to him amongst the myriad of each and every of Arthur's smiles?

/

But then Merlin collapses, instead of cheering with him - he has thought him gone for good? And Arthur suddenly feels like there is still after all a gaping aching wound on his body; but this one deep in his chest, and of his own making. He owes Merlin *everything*, doesn't he? Yet he has hurt him - and so very severely. Despite it, though, Merlin obviously still cares for him; and so very much... His own behaviour puts Arthur to shame. So. Arthur hadn't had the time nor the strength to plainly apologize before. But he has now; and he won't run away from the words that he needs to say - and even more important, that Merlin needs to hear...

/

Arthur is now rushing through the water towards him - so fierce!, so strong!; alive and well!? His smile is gone though; replaced by worry - because of Merlin's tears, no doubt: yet another reason to hate them then...

And then Arthur is plopping down in front of him, out of breath; and Merlin gets proof again of just how much he had forgotten - the exact colours and depths of Arthur's eyes! There is now a fragile smile back on Arthur's face - a soothing smile, meant only for Merlin's sake; and it's going to break Merlin's heart, no doubt.

[imaginefeawakening]

Do you think you could do the male Shepard's reactions after femu has lashed out at them after shes been worried about her Grima side hurting them? Im sorry if thats worded oddly >

Your name: submit What is this?

My understanding is that MU has been ruminating over the Grima thingy and then they check up on em and then it’s all ‘grahahghragh’ , I hope I understood that right! //is slow

Frederick: “Your brow has been furrowed for an awfully long while,” observes Frederick. You’ve been hugging a pillow to your chest and intensely contemplating the fate that you have been given. Where to go, what to do, how to do it--Nothing makes sense at all. “Is there something you need--”

“Just leave me alone!” It comes out more harshly than intended, and you bite your lip. Yet an apology doesn’t come out. Perhaps, if you could isolate yourself, it would make things much easier.

Frederick regards you for a while before finally bowing his head. “As you wish.” To both your relief and dismay, he exits the tent and leaves you to wallow by yourself. It’s better this way...right? You look dolefully over your shoulder in hopes that he’s there but it’s only you by yourself. After several more moments of silence your husband returns, and gently sits beside you. “I cajoled Gaius out of these but--” He opens his palms to reveal two sizable helpings of your favorite tarts. “While these won’t solve your problems, I do hope I can alleviate your burdens even a bit. If my presence is truly unwanted, I do bid you to tell me at once.”

His last sentence makes you sniffle. You can’t imagine being without him at all. Ever. “Sniff--I’m sorry Frederick--of course I want you with me--” His face is right in front of yours, and his eyes crinkle with a warm and tender smile. He wipes your eyes and messy nose, and insists you take a nibble of the treat he’s brought for you. He’s happy to see that he’s right, and you’re far more relaxed now that you’re not alone.

“You can always count on me, _____.” He strokes your hair in soft caresses and speaks to you in a low and soothing voice. “Even if you want to shoo me away, I’ll be here to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother Frederick.” You reach up to squish his cheeks together and he smiles at you wryly. “But Frederick....Say I really am...Grima…”

“It wouldn’t change a thing in the world for me.” This time it’s his brow that furrows. “Do not suggest that you would--is that what you were so tense about.” He stops stroking your hair and his hands move down to your wrists. “You mustn’t. You cannot.”

Your eyes dart to the side, no longer able to hold the gaze of his warm, but now stern brown eyes. “I...I must do what is right, Frederick.”

“Sacrificing yourself is not right, by any means!” His voice holds a desperate fury that you cannot shy away from. He holds your chin up so you’re forced to look into his eyes. “Swear you won’t do such a thing.”

You lock eyes for a painfully long time, and every bit of you aches to simply hold him and tell him it’ll all be okay and that you’re being silly. But perhaps for now that would be the correct path of action...to lull him into a sense of security, with promises of tomorrow. And perhaps being positive may even bear fruit….perhaps.

“Fine, Frederick...I’ll swear it. I couldn’t bear leaving your side as it is.” You curl up in his lap and hug his waist, your cheek nuzzling his torso as you look up at him with a soft smile. “You’re my Freddy Bear, after all.”

“Won’t you quit that silly nickname even now?”

“Never, my dear Freddy Bear.” With a sigh he lets go of the debate for now, wishing to instead lavish you with so much attention that you never even think about leaving him.

Stahl: He’s gently stroking your hair with the same old smile as always. Yet--you find it unbearable to look at. You could be the one to get rid of it, to be the one that takes it away forever--

Before you’ve realized it, you’ve flinched from his touch and swatted his arm away. “D-dont!” His face falls, but he attempts to maintain a wobbly grin.

“Ah...sorry for bothering you. Do you want to stay alone for a bit..? You must have a lot to worry about but, you know you can count on me, right?”

He’s so sweet, damn him.

“I can’t rely on you forever Stahl. I have to learn to take care of myself.”

His mouth forms a tiny little ‘o’ and he rests his head on your lap. You look down at him with a surprised glance, while he in turn examines you, as though studying you for the first time. “When we got married, I thought the whole point was we could rely on each other?” He pokes your cheek softly and you sigh.

“I….It’s different now.”

“Really?” He pokes your other cheek and you wriggle your nose. “Do you not love me anymore?”

“You know that’s not it. It’s about…”

He sits up carefully and looks at you with a piercing gaze. “You potentially being Grima?”

You inhale sharply, not expecting him to know. “You...Yes. That’s...I can’t put anyone in danger. Not Morgan, not you, not anyone--I would rather die a million times over before I hurt any of you.” Your hands are shaking and you just wish he would get that you can’t live your life like before. But he won’t hear it at all.

“You’re not going to hurt any of us. It’ll be different this time.”

“How do you know? What if we said the same thing in that life?”

“Then I have all the more conviction in this one,” he says firmly. “I’ll hold you back, should you need it. But I believe you won’t do anything to harm us.”

“Stahl...would you take my life if I asked you to?”

“Absolutely not.”“Then my dilemma is the same.”

An uncomfortable silence falls, and the two of you ponder for a long while.

“If the time comes….If a time should ever come--”

“Then let it be you. Please? And don’t let it just be lip service.”

“....I’ll promise. Because I know it’ll never come to that.” His answer is resolute, and he squeezes your hand firmly to prove it. “Now...will you finally smile for me?”

You oblige him, if shaky and anxious, but it’s enough for now.

Gerome: He refuses to leave you be. “Gerome...get off of me.” He cages you in his arms and is adamant about not budging. You squirm weakly, half wanting solitude and the other half craving to continue receiving his affection.

“No. Because I was like you. Do you really think you can pull this with me around?” His hold only gets firmer and you get a whiff of his woody scent. “You’re giving up.”You grumble softly under your breath. “I’m not.” You’re determinedly looking at the ground, but he persists in getting your attention.

“Really? You’re not? Then why are you pushing me away.”

You almost retort, ‘what, like you?’ but you hold your tongue. He’s gotten better recently. Before when he held his tongue, you always wondered what was going on behind his surly silence and gloomy demeanor. And being prickly to him won’t do anything but make you feel even more guilty. “So I don’t kill you in this timeline as well.”“In this one as well? I assure you I’m whole and healthy.”

You push his face away slightly, sighing. “If we’re splitting hairs then...almost. I was the murderer of your parents. What’s to say I won’t take everything else from you too? Including your life this time, our son’s, I--”

He holds your cheeks firmly and finally has you look at him. “Quit that. For one thing--you’re not the same _____ from that lifetime. Even if you were...you and Grima aren’t the same.”

“So you...you don’t hate me? For being the monster--” He kisses you before you can go another rant again, although slowly enough that you could pull away if you so wished to. You return the soft peck, so gentle his lips caress yours rather than kiss.

“I detest Grima. Not you. So stop that. If you die, I’ll kill you, you know that, right?” He says such harsh words in such a soft voice. Before you know it, you’re laughing, and he nudges you with a playful smile. “Finally. That took a long time. I kinda feel bad for you for having to deal with me all the time.”

“It was worth it in the end. So you really believe in me Gerome?”

“I do. So you believe in yourself too, alright?” His words are strong...you don’t wish to betray his belief, nor take anything else away from his life. So you close your eyes and pray, pray that you can keep to your word and not break his heart ever again.

Chrom: Not sure what to do, he decides upon respecting your space and giving you time to breathe. He’s the one that you worry about the most. You’ve stolen his life in one timeline. What keeps you from doing it again and again?

Wracked with guilt, you stay up for him to come to bed so you can apologize for your sharp tongue, and promise to not shout at him again. But he doesn’t come back. In the late hours of the night, you finally doze off, exhausted from fear and stress. When you wake up in the morning, you’re not cold. He must have tucked you in once you dozed off. Braving the morning chill, you crawl over to the opening of the tent and poke your head out. Chrom’s right there, fast asleep against the front flap of the tent. With a heavy sigh, you grab him under his arms and drag him in.

He of course wakes with a start and almost attacks you, but calms down at the first sound of your voice. “_____,” he yawns and comes into the tent with a sleepy stagger. You invite him under your blanket and he snuggles up to your side in an instant. “_____...talk to me.”

“I wanted to,” you grumble, “but you never came back.”

“I...was doing patrols.” He rubs the back of his neck and averts his eyes. The man never made a very good liar.

“So you slept outside of the tent?” Your arms are crossed, and you cock your head to the side. He shrivels under your accusatory tone, and he wears a half smile that makes him look boyish (adorably so, you think with a pang). 

He looks down and hides his face in your shoulder. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so tired…”

You gently pet his head and he slumps his shoulders and sighs. “I’m sorry Chrom. I never should have yelled at you. I’m really, truly sorry.”

“Will you kiss it better?” he jokes, but anxiety pervades his voice. You both know the conversation that’s coming. Better now than keep the elephant in the room waiting. But he doesn’t give you the opportunity to even open your mouth, and makes a defensive maneuver. “Don’t.”

“Chrom.”

“We’re not discussing this again.” His tone holds finality but you don’t have any of it.

“Chrom! Be reasonable!” As much as you fight against it, your voice goes up by a decibel. You clench your fist to maintain control, but you’re shaking nonetheless.

“I’m the reasonable one here. You’re spouting nonsense!”

You curse inwardly, biting back the profanity in your mouth. Why wouldn’t he listen? Surely, surely it all made sense from a logical perspective. But a man like him listened to his heart above all, much to your dismay. “If you would just let me explain to you just why we should--” 

He holds your hands and brings them to his chest. He’s gone from snuggling in you to sitting up straight, his eyes full of desperation and a steely glare you’ve only been on the other side once before. It sends a chill down your spine. “There’s nothing to explain. I cannot allow you to...to--”

“Oh, and it’s alright for you to die? It’s okay if you die?” Your voice grows more shrill by the word. “Do you think love me more than I love you?”

“I do!”

“No you don’t!” He turns away as though he’s been slapped, and your throat burns from the guilt, as though it bears responsibility for physically paining him. “Y-you don’t Chrom, you don’t know what you are to me...what you mean to me,” you hiccup, unaware when you’ve started crying. You try to maintain a steady voice, but it remains a tremulous mess, and your words are barely coherent. “You’re my everything. If I did anything to you...if this hand ever hurt you I’d--I’d cut it off!” You announce this dramatically and he looks very concerned. His eyes too are brimming with tears, and it catches you off guard.

“_____…” Suddenly, he clutches you to his chest, holding you so hard as though he’ll never release you again. As though his arms are a cage he can protect you in forever. “Don’t go. Don’t hurt yourself. My every heartbeat matches yours...how could you say I don’t love you just as much as you love me?” His hands move from your back to your cheeks, and he cups your face as though you’ll slip away if he’s not careful enough. “So don’t ask me to hurt you...and don’t go where I can’t follow you.”

“I’m sorry,” you finish pathetically, and he kisses you. He kisses your eyes, all of your tears, your cheeks, your nose, everywhere he can reach. It’s come to an impasse. You can shout your lungs out all night but in the end a false promise is all you can give him. And all he can do is accept. Between every sorry, you receive another kiss, and you remain at war with each other, to do all you can to ensure the other lives. it’s a truce, albeit an unwilling one. All that’s left to do now is to enjoy each other’s company while it still lasts.

[servingliesarch]

non - rp  blogs  please  don’t  reblog !!

MERLIN: Did you ever study magic? GAIUS:  Uther banned all such work twenty years ago. MERLIN:  Why? GAIUS:  People used magic for the wrong end at that time. It threw the natural order into chaos. Uther made it his mission to destroy everything from back then, even the dragons. MERLIN:  What? All of them? GAIUS:  There was one dragon he chose not to kill, kept it as an example. He imprisoned it in a cave deep beneath the castle where no one can free it.

a) uther is the fucking worst. b) gaius, you fucking liar.

okay, so unpopular opinion time, but considering gaius is such an important character to merlin’s arc and is one of the main factors ( along with kilgharrah ) in merlin’s character development and the choices he makes along the way, he’s really full of shit sometimes. i mean, i can understand the dragon, who was IMPRISONED for twenty years, who watched all of his family die, all the magic being eradicated by one man. he’s over a thousand years old dragon, he’s going to be a cryptid, and play his cards to his liking.

and i don’t hate gaius at all, but you have to keep in mind that gaius is and has always been fundamentally a coward. the acts of bravery in his station are vastly influenced by merlin, but at the same time he also strongly influences merlin back, and not in good ways.

i mean, just look here. gaius is lying. it’s probably a nice story he constructed for himself out of necessity. it surely must make him feel better, but the truth is that the great purge happened purely because uther was a dick, who made a deal with his friend to get himself a son with a woman on which he had already cheated before, and then when she died, he decided to blame the consequences of HIS decisions on everyone even remotely tied to magic. it wasn’t nimueh’s fault. nimueh was their friend, and he betrayed them all.

and gaius?? gaius studied magic. gaius was a sorcerer. and he kept his position, he kept close to uther, and as much as he helped people escape (mind you, people he likely cared about in some capacity), he also sold others. he turned a blind eye on people like him who suffered, he lied his way out of all of, which is also something that kilgharrah points out when he comes to visit him. it’d be a smart way to survive, if it only wasn’t for the fact he continued to do nothing to change it, not until merlin came along, and even then. 

truth is it wasn’t merlin who had the most capacity to help morgana, gaius did. merlin was just a kid, he was literally eighteen when he came to camelot, and he was born into a world where being who he was was illegal. merlin was born a peasant, he had no such privilege as morgana did. and she trusted gaius. she told gaius about what was going on and he lied to her. he lied to her again and again, and he told merlin to lie to her too, and he told him to lie to everyone else, to keep him safe like he kept himself safe for all those years. 

truth is, merlin was willing and ready to trust others enough to tell them at the start. he had a good heart and he thought that if he had to choose between saving others and his secret, the former would always come first. but merlin’s situation was awful, and he was scared, and on top of all of that he also had all those destinies and impossible choices shoved onto him. and both gaius, and kilgharrah, and frankly even his mother conditioned him to lie to survive. to make choices different to the ones he would have done otherwise.

the point is, gaius did a lot of good for merlin. he cared for him like a father he never had, he helped him, he taught him so much. merlin loved him and he never blamed him, but sadly as it goes with the people we love, they can always damage us in the worst ways, and gaius, the same man who helped so many people, was a liar and a coward.

[letters-from-paradise]

Appendix 1. Does History Confirm The Coming of the Son of Man in AD70?

by David Sorensen (from his eBook “The Second Coming of Christ Unveiled”)

Appendix to Letters from Paradise Special Episode 64b concerning the Lord’s coming and being seen over Jerusalem at the time of the siege and destruction of the city by the Romans in 70AD..

Matthew 24:29-30 “Immediately after the suffering of those daysthe sun will be darkened,and the moon will not give its light;the stars will fall from heaven,and the powers of heaven will be shaken.Then the sign of the Son of Man will appear in heaven, and then all the tribes of the earth will mourn, and they will see ‘the Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven’ with power and great glory.”

__________________________

Before we check the history books, we need to assess what history needs to reveal, in order for us to know whether Jesus Christ prophesied in truth or not. What did He announce? It would take me too long to list all the details, but here is a basic outline of what Christ announced would happen during that generation (who would witness his coming):  

Jerusalem would be destroyed (Matt. 23:38)

The temple would be destroyed (Matt. 24:2)

Christ would be seen in the sky (Matt. 26:64)

His angels would be seen in the clouds (2 Thess. 1:7,8)

There would be a great light (Matt. 24:27)

A supernatural sign would appear in the sky (Matt. 24:30)

The sun would darken and the moon turn red(Matt. 24:30)

There would be earthquakes, famines, disease, wars and false

prophets (Matt. 24:6,7)

All this would happen in the first generation of believers 

(Matt. 24:34)

So, can we find these events in the history books?

It may be a shock for you to read this, but during my research I found that indeed all these things have been described in detail, by the most authoritative historians of the first century!

For example, the leading expert on the history of the Jews is Flavius Josephus, who documented the Jewish history of the first century in tremendous detail. He describes in his book 'Wars of the Jews' how indeed during the years 68-70 AD Jerusalem was completely destroyed by the Romans and the temple was ruined till the very last stone. That happened indeed within that generation, less than 40 years after Jesus predicted it. More than 1.3 million Jews died in the most horrendous ways. The sun darkened because of the smoke that rose up from Jerusalem and the moon turned to blood, due to the flames that went so high up. The sea turned red because of the river of blood flowing into it, and tens of thousand of dead bodies were covering the streets. Famines were so horrendous that mothers ate their children, there were false prophets all over the place, earthquakes shook the world and wars erupted in every direction. That was indeed the 'Great Tribulation' announced by Jesus Christ.

But not only did Josephus describe the great tribulation, he also describes how armies of angels appeared on the clouds, with great fire, how supernatural signs were seen in the heavens and on the earth, how a bright light shone from heaven, how the presence of the Lord left the temple and moved to the Mount of Olives, and so much more.

Several Jewish, Greek and Roman historians describe how a tremendous figure of an unknown beauty was seen on the clouds of heaven, along with the armies of angels.

If these historic documents are true, then Jesus Christ was also true! But... I am fully aware that this is all too shocking for most of you who read this, so I will let you read the historiography with your own eyes. Then you can come to your own conclusion: was Jesus Christ a liar who fooled Christians for the past two thousand years with false promises? Or was He speaking the truth when He said He would come on the clouds with His angels, during the first generation of believers? Let's see what the authoritative history books of the Jews and Romans reveal to us...

The Historiography of the Pseudo-Hegesippus

The Pseudo-Hegesippusis a well-known historical writing of the Jewish people. This classical Jewish historiography mentions that, prior to the destruction of Jerusalem in 66-70 AD, impressive angelic armies appeared in the clouds, clearly visible for all to see. Moreover, the Pseudo-Hegesippus states that a figure of enormous size was observed in the sky, along with the angel armies.

'A certain figure appeared of tremendous size, ​which many saw, just as the books of the Jews have disclosed, and before the setting of the sun there were suddenly seen in the clouds chariots and armed battle arrays, by which the cities of all Judaea and its territories were invaded.'

(Quote from chapter 44_ _from the Latin version of the Pseudo-Hegesippus)

This is literally what Jesus and the apostles had predicted! Jesus would appear in the sky with the angels. Some may try to deny that this was the coming of the Lord on the clouds, with His angels. But If this wasn't Jesus Christ, then who was it? Who has the power to be revealed in the clouds, with armies of angels? Certainly not the devil! He cannot command the angels of heaven. This basically cannot be anything else than what the Lord Jesus Christ had announced: He would come on the clouds with His angels and this would surely happen during the lives of the first Christians. According to Jewish history this indeed happened. But The Pseudo-Hegesippus is not the only historical writing that describes this supernatural event.

The Historiography of Eusebius of Caesarea

The best-known Christian historian of the first centuries, was the Greek Eusebius of Caesarea. He was considered an exceptionally educated man of his time and is called the father of church history. Eusebius reported in detail on the earliest church. In his book ''Ecclesiastical History'' he describes what was observed in the sky, shortly before the destruction of Jerusalem in the first century ...

'A demonic phantom appeared of incredible size, and what will be related would have seemed a fairy-tale had it not been told by those who saw it, and been attended by suffering worthy of the portent. For before sunset there appeared in the air over the whole country chariots and armed troops coursing through the clouds and surrounding the cities.'

(Ecclesiastical History, Book 3, Chapter 8, Sections 1-6)

When the apostles saw Jesus Christ walking on the Sea of Galilee, they also shouted that He was a demonic phantom or a 'ghost'. Apparently people do not always recognize Jesus, so Eusebius wrote that the huge figure, who appeared on the clouds with armies of angels, was a 'phantom.' But again: who else could this impressive appearance in the sky, along with the armies of angels, have been but Jesus Christ? After all, this happened precisely at the place, the time, and in the way He had predicted. And it wasn't only mentioned by the Jews, this is the father of church history who also records it! Whether Eusebius himself understood this was the coming of the Lord or not, is of no importance to me. He does confirm the appearance of a figure of tremendous size in the clouds with the armies of angels, and that is exactly what the Lord Jesus had predicted. There is however far more historiography about this event, so keep reading...

'At one time a star, in form like a sword, stood over the city, and a comet, which lasted for a whole year;' and ... so great a light shone about the altar and the temple that it seemed to be bright day; and this continued for half an hour. This seemed to the unskilful a good sign, but was interpreted by the sacred scribes as portending those events which very soon took place.'

(Eusebius of Caesarea, Ecclesiastical History_, Book 3, Chapter 8, Sections 1-6)

The Historiography of Flavius Josephus

The chief Jewish historian of the first century was called Titus Flavius Josephus (37-100 AD). In his world-famous historiography ''Wars of the Jews'' he describes in great detail how Jerusalem and the temple were indeed destroyed by fire, exactly as predicted by Jesus Christ in Matthew 23 and 24. That was the day of God's revenge and retribution, the 'Day of the Lord', the outpouring of God's wrath, the 'day of Jacob's Trouble', the 'Great Tribulation', as was abundantly prophesied throughout the Old and New Testament. In Josephus' writings we read about the plagues that struck the land, the supernatural signs that appeared in the sky, the names of the false prophets Jesus had predicted, and many more details.

Flavius Josephus also mentions the appearance of angel armies on the clouds.

'...chariots and troops of soldiers in their armor were seen running about among the clouds, and surrounding of cities.'

(Wars of the Jews, Book 6,  Chapter 5, Sections 2-3)

'Thus there was a star resembling a sword, which stood over the city, and a comet, that continued a whole year. Thus also before the Jews' rebellion, and before those commotions which preceded the war, when the people were come in great crowds to the feast of unleavened bread, on the eighth day of the month Xanthicus and at the ninth hour of the night, so great a light shone round the altar and the holy house, that it appeared to be bright day time; which lasted for half an hour.'

(Flavius Josephus, ‘Wars of the Jews_’, Book 6, chapter 5, sections 2 and 3)

The Historiography of Gaius Tacitus

Not only the Jewish and Greco-Christian historiography mentions the armies of angels in the clouds, the Roman historian named Gaius Cornelius Tacitus (56–177 AD) also describes it in his books. Tacitus was a Roman orator, senator, and governor. He is recognized as the most reliable Roman historian from the first century. The following quote comes from his famous work 'the Histories', a description of the Roman Empire between 69 and 96 AD. This excerpt comes from Book 5.13, which, like the previous writings, reports on the period prior to the fall of Jerusalem:

'There had been seen hosts joining battle in the skies, fiery gleams of arms...'

'...the temple illuminated by a sudden radiance from the clouds.'

(Gaius Tacitus, The Histories, Book 5.13)

It is remarkable that the Roman historiography mentions these biblical events. Tacitus even describes an important sign that would be characteristic of the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. Jesus had said that His coming would be like a lightning or a flash of light, as it is written in the Greek text. Later on we will talk more about this blazing light that appeared from heaven, during the appearance of Jesus and the angels on the clouds.

'...the temple illuminated by a sudden radiance from the clouds.'

(Gaius Tacitus, The Histories, Book 5.13)

The Historiography in the Sepher Josippon

A medieval historiography of ancient Israel, called Sepher Josippon, also mentions the fiery angelic armies, but adds that at the same time a male face appeared above the holy of holies of the temple. That face had a beauty they had never seen before and is described as 'very impressive.' I have had personal contact with Professor Steven Bowman, the Josippon-to-English translator. He assured me that the Josippon is a reliable historical writing and this appearance is therefore historically accurate.

'Now it happened after this that there was seen over the Holy of Holies from above for the entire night the outline of a man's face, the like of whose beauty had never been seen in all the land, and his appearance was very awesome.'

'Moreover, in those days were seen chariots of fire and horsemen, a great force flying across the sky near to the ground coming against Jerusalem and all the land of Judah, all of them horses of fire and riders of fire.'

(Sepher Josippon,  Burning of the temple, Chapter 87)

[merlinficreview]

The Student Prince Chapters 31-35 Review!

The Student Prince by FayJay

Word Count: 145222

Chapter 31

“Glad to hear u r OK. Sorry cannot come back this term. Merry Xmas.” That’s the opening of this chapter. It’s a text from Arthur to Merlin and Merlin starts freaking out that Arthur wants nothing to do with him after that whole murder situation. “Of course, Merlin was pretty damned sure that if he'd just seen somebody he was sleeping with turn around and kill somebody they both knew – kill them really quite horribly, and whilst they were trying to run away, at that – well, he'd probably have been a bit horrified himself.” At least Merlin is somewhat self-aware.

Merlin has a chat with Morgause who tells him that he’ll end up killing more people if he takes the job to protect Arthur. Merlin acts like this is brand new information.

Later, Lance and Merlin are getting ice cream and Merlin asks Lance if he would stop loving Gwen if she robbed a bank. Hopefully not. How else is he supposed to get his share of the loot? Anyways, Lance of course says he wouldn’t and brings up Arthur because Merlin is not subtle. Lance tells Merlin to not assume things on Arthur’s behalf. That’s pretty good advice.

Merlin has an aneurism over sending an “I miss you” text to Arthur. Arthur responds with, “Me 2. Hope to see u in the New Year.” Yikes. That’s not really something you text your boyfriend. It would be more like, “See you in the New Year!”

Chapter 32

Merlin and Gwen are taking the train home and Gwen is worried about seeing her mother’s side of the family.

Merlin worries about Arthur, “He was wondering where Arthur was right now, and what he was doing. It was five days since he'd seen his face.” Wait, I’m sorry. It’s only been FIVE DAYS? Calm the fuck down, Merlin, damn. I thought it had been like two weeks or something.

Gwen invites Merlin to go see fireworks with her, Lance and a few other people. Merlin asks if he can bring Will.

Merlin gets home to his mother, “And then he was ringing the doorbell, and he could make out his mother's sihouette through the frosted glass, and a moment later he was holding her tight, startled again that she was so much smaller than she should be and losing himself in the familiar smell of her hair and the warm press of her arms.” Why the hell is he ringing to doorbell to his own home? That’s really weird.

“There was so much he wanted to tell her – about his magic, and about Arthur, and about Morgana and Gaius and Gwen and everything that had happened to him since she waved him off at the train all those months ago. But he couldn't find the words, and he had a lowering suspicion that if he did try to explain himself he'd end up in tears.” Has… Merlin not spoken to his mother since September? What?

A couple of days before Christmas, Morgana breaks her radio silence and asks Merlin, “’Oh my God, Merlin, did you know?’ ‘...sorry?’ ‘Did you know what he was going to do?’ she hissed.” “’You didn't know? Bloody hell fire, I never thought – Uther's going absolutely ballistic. I don't think they're going to show the whole thing on the Beeb after all – at least he's trying to stop them from airing it, but they're quoting the Royal Charter back at him, and it's all on tape, and they've got an army of lawyers, and he can't actually have Mark Thompson or Martin Bashir beheaded, however much he might want...’ her voice was stifled suddenly, and Merlin strained to pick up what was happening. ‘Shit – sorry, got to go. Look, if they air it – you'll want to watch it.’” How fucking useless. I fucking hate it when people start a conversation to make a massive big deal about something and then don’t answer questions or explain what the fuck is going on. It’s a huge pet peeve for me.

Merlin texts Arthur asking what the fuck is going on and his response to Merlin is just as useless as Morgana’s phone call, “Everything alrightish. Do not think pater likes his Xmas present much. Please watch Bashir interview tomorrow if it airs? Am v. sorry about all of this. <3”

Then the chapter ends on that cliffhanger. It would be annoying if it wasn’t painfully obvious that Arthur outed himself in the interview.

Chapter 33

Merlin and his mother are watching the interview Arthur gave and she gets all up in Merlin’s business trying to get him to tell her what the big reveal is. Calm down.

“’How are you finding life as a student?’ Bashir asked, his voice warm and attentive. Arthur smiled. ‘Obviously I have quite a heavy workload, with essays and presentations and things – International Relations is fascinating, but it's not exactly a walk in the park.’ He laughed. ‘And my other subjects are just as bad! I'm afraid I've spent a lot of late nights in the library – that's a bit sad, isn't it?’” What? That’s news to me. When has Arthur ever gone to the library? Does he even know where it is? Arthur is a liar.

Arthur tells the interviewer all about Raisin Sunday and Half of Monday. “’That sounds like fun!’ said Merlin's mother, beaming over at him. ‘Did you do that, cariad?’” I am convinced that Merlin literally never called his mother once in four months. How would she not know any of this? Merlin is a horrible son.

“’Well – more or less like a normal student. There are always bodyguards, and so forth, but I do my own laundry and burn my own toast, like anyone else.’….” Again, when? Arthur gets his toast from the cafeteria. Stop making up weird lies, Arthur.

The interviewer awkwardly asks Arthur about a girlfriend. They have a really long winded conversation where they really beat a dead horse instead of actually getting to the point and Arthur says at least four times, “I don’t think I’ll ever get married,” and the interviewer kind of drops the ball. It’s an annoying conversation because all Arthur had to do was say, “I’ll probably never get married because I’m gay,” instead of beating around the bush for 84 years.

“’I'm really not expecting to meet the girl of my dreams over a jar of coffee, because I'm gay, Martin,’ Arthur said, each word clear and deliberate.” Fucking finally. He could have just said that the second the dude brought up the parents meeting over coffee story instead of going on and on and on and on.

Arthur gives a big long speech about how he can’t hide his sexuality with all the bullies and hate crimes and such and I’m just kind of “too little too late” because he never once did anything about Kay, who he even praised in the interview. So it’s fallen on deaf ears for me.

The interviewer asks Arthur if he has a boyfriend and Arthur says that he hopes so. I would actually be furious with Arthur if I was Merlin, to be honest. Arthur did this entire thing and outed their relationship to the entire world without so much as a heads up to Merlin. He’s an ass. Merlin of course doesn’t see it that way and flips his shit. "Merlin?" said Hunith, her voice going suddenly shrill. “Merlin? tell me you didn't seduce the Prince of Wales? You're not having an affair with Prince Arthur, are you? You're not, are you? Merlin?” Merlin does not love his mother. He doesn’t tell her shit. She probably doesn’t even know what his major is.

Chapter 34

Gwen immediately calls Merlin and confronts him about being with Arthur. Merlin says it’s true then gets off the phone with her to call Arthur… who doesn’t answer.

Merlin then calls Morgana who answers the phone with a whisper. “’Oh, thank God – is this a good time?’ he asked, wondering where she was and who was listening.” I mean, I feel like her answering the phone with a whisper is a fairly good indication that it’s not a good time but what do I know? Morgana tells Merlin that Uther is pissed and that he has to rewrite the whole King’s Speech now to address Arthur’s coming out. Morgana says shit has really hit the fan and she’s worried that Arthur is going to be forced to step out of the line of succession which would make her the heir to the throne. Merlin tells Morgana to tell Arthur he loves him and then they hang up.

Gaius calls Merlin and asks him about that love spell from forever ago. Merlin tells Gaius that he was the one who kissed Arthur and broke the spell. Gaius is worried about Uther’s feelings about Merlin once he finds out that Merlin is the one whom Arthur came out for. Then Gaius is, as usual, a useless critical asshole, yelling at Merlin for shit that isn’t his fault. “’Really – do you stay up late at night trying to work out the most stressful thing you can throw at me?’ ‘No!’ Merlin said. And then he felt a wash of guilt, because Gaius was an old man. ‘No, sir. Sorry, sir.’ ‘When I asked you to try to keep out of trouble over Christmas, this really wasn't what I meant, you know.’ ‘But this isn't my fault!’ ‘And yet here you are in the middle of it again, Merlin.’” Then he makes it even worse by asking Merlin if he has any siblings. Gaius is the worst.

Christmas Morning, Merlin and Hunith are watching the news and Kay gets the most infuriating redemption arc ever. He assaults a journalist who is trying to offer him money for information on Arthur. “I'll stick your bloody camera where the sun don't shine, you scum! Offering me bloody money for dirt on Arthur! You're not worth the mud under his shoes, you leeches, even if he is a bloody poof! He's our bloody poof!”

Like… am I supposed to forget all the shit he’s pulled? Because I don’t. Merlin thinks about how he is rooting for Kay and he and his mother decided it’s great how loyal he is to Arthur. What. The. Fuck. Nope. Fuck right off with that.

Chapter 35

Uther gives his King’s Speech and it’s all very boring and blah blah blah. Here’s the only part we care about, “Let me make this absolutely clear: Arthur is, and will remain, the heir to the throne. Whether the Church of England finds the prospect of him eventually becoming Head of the Church of England to be tenable or not is of course a matter for the Archbishop of Canterbury and his colleagues to discuss, and it is possible that when he succeeds me as king he will not succeed me as Head of the Church.’ Uther's voice dropped lower, and his expression grew sterner. ‘But succeed me he most certainly will.’” Good job, Uther.

The King’s Speech ends and Merlin’s mother is super annoying, “’Ooh, no,’ said Hunith, shaking her head in disapproval. ‘I don't know about importing random Germans to be king! No, no, you'll have to sort something out with a surrogate mother, or adopt a Romanian orphan or something.’” 

This isn’t the first time she’s said anything like this either. Merlin and Arthur have been together for like two months and they are 18. Stop it. Merlin agrees with me.

Morgana and Merlin text each other and it’s weird because they get super specific when in the previous chapter she says she shouldn’t talk to him on the phone because paparazzi have spies on the phones. Whatever. Morgana says Arthur left Merlin a message, “I quote: ‘Second star to the right, and straight on till morning. Another stupid adventure. Come and be king of the world?’ Does that make any sense to you?”

Merlin creates a magic door on his bedroom and has a chat with the dragon. They banter. Merlin just tells him he wants the dragon to take him somewhere in a few days. Well that was stupid. Now Merlin is stuck with the dragon. Why didn’t he just create the door the day he wanted to go somewhere?

Merlin and Arthur meet at that building they snuck into and spent the night at that one time. They have a big conversation and make out and it’s nice but it’s right in front of Arthur’s bodyguard so it’s super awkward. Then Arthur invites Merlin to go with him to meet Uther. The end.

So that’s all folks. The famed Student Prince fic! Now I know sometimes in reviews I come off sounding a little hateful but I do actually like this fic for the most part. The parts I hate just kind of overshadow the parts I like. I dislike Gwen and Lance in this fic because their will they won’t they set up is so infuriating but not in a well written angsty way. It’s ridiculous and no real person acts the way they do in this fic. I also HATE Kay. There was absolutely no reason to have him written the way he was and then continuously beat us over the head with it in EVERY. SINGLE. SCENE. Then that redemption arc? Get the fuck out of here with that. I found Arthur to be genuinely unlikable. He’s an asshole to Merlin during the whole Raisin Weekend thing and he’s an asshole when it comes to his weird undying loyalty to Kay. Fucking. Stop. That’s about all want to say about the fic. I feel like anything would just repeating myself. I did like the general Arthur/Merlin angst, minus when Arthur is being an asshole towards Merlin. I also like Raisin Sunday and Half of Monday.

Until next time!

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 4: The Feast

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Should she really be surprised that Valdas tricked her, kidnapped her, and now is forcing her to attend a dinner party? Well... that last bit isn't exactly a villain cliche, but Nadya learns all too quickly who the real villain truly is.

[READ IT ON AO3]

They aren’t exactly whispering but Nadya still feels like she’s intruding on something she shouldn’t.

“I’ll leave you two to get ready. He’ll want everything to be perfect and you know how he obsesses over the smallest detail.”

Valdas cups Isseya’s face, threads his fingers through the curls at her temples, and kisses her hairline. The sight of them — creased foreheads and the way crinkles rest just at the corners of their eyes in age and fear and in acknowledgment of all the lonely souls who have walked the paths of grief before them — burns behind Nadya’s eyelids against her will.

She looks away before she gets swept up; before she drowns in them.

“And remember, my love,” he rests their foreheads together, “she can help us. I know it. I’ve felt the power myself — he was right.”

Isseya flickers heavy-lidded eyes in Nadya’s direction. She feels the hairs at the back of her neck stand up; alert.

“That she can does not mean she will, Valdas.”

“Have faith.”

“In who — the fledgling child?”

“In me.”

Nadya looks back — quickly wishes she hadn’t. Every other time she’s seen the woman smile it’s been in some twisted form of malice. It’s been Isseya taking pleasure in someone else’s pain.

But that’s genuine hope she sees now. She’s felt that brief-but-meaningful lifted weight before and well enough to know it when she sees it.

Looking like that, Nadya understands how easy it must have been to fall in love with her.

Valdas barely spares a glance Nadya’s way — his nod curt and formal before he departs and closes the door behind him. She doesn’t even bother trying to run for freedom any more.

She just has to hope that the longer the night goes on the closer Kamilah is to finding her.

“What did he mean,” she asks; and finds it easy not to take it personally that Isseya refuses to look at her, “he said we had to ‘get ready,’ what did he mean by that?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Stuff that usually involves me is my business.”

“Not when you have no choice in the matter.”

“Like you don’t?”

Nadya’s gut lurches at the sudden red-eyed glare she’s staring into. But she holds her ground — which is a lot more than to be said for the last time she and the Trinity vampire were alone together.

Unlike last time, though, it doesn’t last. The heated fury flitting away, smothered into embers.

“I… suppose such a case could be made, yes.”

She makes her way around the room and when she even gets close to the bed Nadya curls her knees up tighter to her chest on instinct. If Isseya sees it (if she gets any joy out of it, more likely) she says nothing. Just opens another door and flicks on the lights to an en suite.

This is your chance, but even her thoughts don’t hold a full heart in it. So Nadya stays put.

Her gaze falls on a nearby pillow — it’s just a pillow; as fluffed and embroidered and tasseled as Nadya’s failed weapon. But it triggers a memory. Or is it a dream?

“Who was the other woman?” she asks — though she isn’t holding her breath for an answer. “She looked familiar — someone else from the Ball?”

“What other woman? There’s no one else here.”

Because she would know, wouldn’t she? “She was in here before Valdas. Having someone watch me in my sleep is creepy, by the way!”

When Isseya returns she’s wielding an ornate hairbrush like someone would a kitchen knife and doesn’t that make Nadya press herself back further against the headboard. “Do you call me a liar?”

“N-No,” but… “but I remember someone was here.”

“Haven’t you had a hard time telling fantasy from the truth?” And she didn’t need to come at Nadya that hard but she does anyway. “She was in your head. Now — come here.”

Of course she doesn’t — which was the wrong decision to make and one Nadya doesn’t even get the opportunity to regret before she’s being shoved into a chair in front of the nearby vanity. “Hold still,” Isseya growls; and this time Nadya listens.

Everything she does is methodical; stiff and out of an obligation Nadya still doesn’t understand. But at the risk of being tossed around like a doll again she complies with every one of Isseya’s clipped commands. “Turn your head,” “remove your glasses,” “hold still — you fidget like a squirming hog.” And she isn’t gentle about her movements, either.

Though when the vampire steps back to observe the high-and-tight bun she’s somehow fashioned out of the impossible she does give a little “hmm” of self-congratulations.

“Strip,” comes next and that crosses so many lines Nadya doesn’t even know where to begin.

“No.”

“Was I asking?”

Which is how Nadya ends up in nothing but her underwear trying not-so-subtly to cover herself. Though Isseya apparently couldn’t care less; barely turns an eye to her that isn’t observing something only on the surface before she’s digging in the armoire in the corner.

Finally she pulls out a dress — beautiful and plum and way more skin than Nadya’s ever shown in her life and probably not something she can decline — and gives it a careless shove into Nadya’s hands. Nadya tries to grab it before the fabric hits the floor — by the looks of it such a thing might actually be a federal crime — and god forbid their fingers brush.

Isseya recoils as though burned. The suddenness of it has Nadya stumbling back. “Keep your distance. Now dress — quickly.”

Suspicious might be the understatement of the century. Though it sparks in Nadya a thought, one confirmed when she struggles to reach for the zipper at her back and the woman hesitates to help.

“Why are you scared to touch me?” she all but accuses, “I’m not the one of us who bites, remember.”

The very implication which Isseya takes a little too personally. “As if I would fear a thing like you.”

“Well whatever we’re doing there’s no way I’m doing it half dressed so either help me or fess up.”

She does help — eventually. Somehow she still manages to avoid skin contact, too. But when the dress is zipped properly there’s a shield once again between them; this one of rich velvet. Isseya’s fingertips rest underneath Nadya’s ribs light as a feather but make it impossible for her to pull away.

A glance in the vanity mirror tells her everything she needs to know. Epics and tragedies spun in the dark eyes watching Nadya’s reflection.

“He said… at this stage of your condition that… touch is the trigger.” Of course. Nadya nods.

“Just as he told me of the memory you conjured. How do you do it? How do you choose?”

Isseya’s own touch turns pressing; makes Nadya feel like she’s about to be pushed into the floor and lower still. “If I knew I would tell you.”

“Would you?” comes the snapped reply. This time Nadya doesn’t let it phase her. This time she knows what that forked tongue means; what it hides.

“I would, I mean it,” and she continues more for herself than for Isseya, because like she’s gonna let all of this happen and not get her two cents in; unlikely, “because this might surprise you, Isseya, but not everyone is as selfish as you two are. Some people do things even though they know they won’t be getting anything in return.”

Nadya actually watches the incredible amount of restraint it takes for the woman not to rip her throat out right there. She watches with her head held high and maybe a little bit of haughtiness — almost taunting her.

It doesn’t work.

Whatever Isseya is doing here — whatever she and Valdas both are doing here — it’s more important than two thousand years’ worth of pride.

“Wait here,” the vampire tells her; and she actually sounds a lot scarier in this weird state of calm more than she ever did with her fangs bared.

Enough to keep Nadya rooted to the spot while she goes about getting herself ready.

The moon is high in the sky by the time Valdas comes to fetch them. He knocks but doesn’t wait for an invitation to enter and he cleans up just as well in a tuxedo as he had in his old Roman fare — Nadya won’t deny it. He offers his arm to Isseya and she takes it in all of her splendor. Shiny and sleek and like the thing weighing her down is her own perfection — not the pain she feels every time she remembers she’s alive.

Her partner takes in every inch of her like it’s the very first time; like she’s the only thing in his entire world. Judging by the way he almost startles when he catches sight of Nadya behind her — that’s not too far from the truth.

“You look lovely, Nadya.” But Isseya preens under the implied compliment. Nadya just shrugs it off.

“Come, we’ve made him wait long enough.”

Nadya stops in the doorway. “Who?”

And it isn’t the first look of remorse the man gives her… but it’s the first one she actually believes.

“Come.”

No matter how much she wants to Nadya stops herself from punching the familiar bespectacled vampire who pulls her chair out for her.

She’s not a violent person, really she isn’t. But the same kind of feeling has her stomach in knots as it did back during Adrian’s trial; after all hadn’t Jameson betrayed Kamilah just as Nicole betrayed Adrian?

Jameson waits for her to sit. Nadya doesn’t feel like sitting.

“How could you do this to them?”

“If you’d be seated, Miss.”

“Screw that — answer me. How could you do this to Kamilah? She gave you a spot in her Clan.” Which has to mean something, doesn’t it?

Apparently not. “If you would be seated, Miss.”

Nadya makes her protest well known despite the fact that she does, in fact, sit. Jameson pushes her chair in maybe a little too tight before offering the same courtesy to the Trinity.

From what little she’s seen of the so-called scholar it’s not exactly unusual for him to be acting the way he is. Stiff, formal and adhering to rules of etiquette they probably stopped teaching around the same time as the invention of the light bulb. He’s the picture of politeness and it’s just plain unnerving.

The dining room is one of the places that had been roped off during the Ball. Nadya actually prefers it this way. It makes the castle feel a little less familiar and with all the awful memories she already has tied to this place… it’s probably for the best.

Rather than taking a seat himself, Jameson keeps busy with a decanted wine on a silver serving cart. Which leaves one place — the head of the long (long) table — and one guest unaccounted for.

“Where is Marcel?”

Valdas and Isseya exchange glances across the table centerpiece; a bouquet of blood-red orchids and deep purple roses covered in thorns. Night-blooming flowers, she recalls.

“It was decided that the young Lord not join us for this evening’s meal. This is all very distressing to you, of course, and he agreed it would not do well to make it worse.” Valdas answers.

“Wait — decided? Decided by who?”

“‘Whom,’” he corrects, but chooses not to answer.

Instead he waves two fingers in a summoning gesture even Nadya would be insulted by. “Jingyi, the wine if you would.”

Jingyi is apparently Jameson; even more apparent is his contempt for the name and, Nadya is quickly realizing, the vampires who would use it. It bleeds through his teeth clenched around his words “yes, my Lord,” but the Trinity don’t deem it worth even the smallest acknowledgment. Their attention is instead reserved for Nadya.

“Sweet reds, correct?”

Nadya hates to admit it but she’s glad for the distraction of Jameson’s suddenly very close proximity to her neck while he pours. “Sorry?”

Valdas nods to the contents of her glass. “You prefer sweet reds.”

“What’s with you and being creepy about my eating and drinking habits?”

“Live as long as we have and you learn to differentiate people by things other than their faces and their names.” Valdas takes his filled glass and gives it an idle sip. “For example; you are hardly the first Nadya in our lives. But you are Nadya of sweet red wines and terrible eyesight. That sets you apart.”

Isseya’s snort is, like the rest of her façade, perfectly maintained and somehow glittering. She looks to her lover in amusement. “As if the rest of her did not?”

“Your dinner conversation is as tactless as ever, beloved.”

“Well… yes, but that aside,” she turns to Nadya and raises her own glass in a toast either forced or mocking — it’s hard to tell, “he picked a Lambrusco especially for tonight, for you.”

And yeah, okay, any other time one or even two incredibly attractive and incredibly flirtatious people fixate on her with such intensity Nadya might find it in herself to be flattered. But she’s seen what they can do and how little they can feel doing it. That darkness—Valdas’ darkness—she still has trouble shaking.

So for now she’ll settle on feeling uncomfortable.

“Oh…” Quick, what do fancy people do with wine again? Nadya racks her brain hastily until a vision of Kamilah on their last date comes up in her mind’s eye. She swirls the contents slowly (and in doing so tries very hard not to make the literary parallels between red wine and—y’know—blood but ultimately fails) and brings the glass just shy of the tip of her nose.

“It’s very… wine.” Nadya… no…

So she chugs the entire glass on the first go to avoid saying anything else incredibly stupid.

Thank god Jameson doesn’t have to be asked to top her off.

Jameson who disappears through a set of doors and returns not moments later with a new cart bearing trays of small nibbles and bits. It’s almost getting difficult to play along — like she’s supposed to pretend she isn’t being held against her will, dressed up like Secretary Barbie, and still is refused any actual answers? But when a plate is set down in front of her Nadya’s stomach remembers she had declined (with big big regret) to eat at the cafe… so she pushes down any worries of this is probably poisoned they’re totally poisoning me and samples a bit of everything.

Scraping cutlery, chewing, swallowing; scraping cutlery, chewing, Jameson’s muffled footsteps on request, swallowing. Over and over again. What, are they saving the juicy gossip for their missing guest?

Their plates are cleared before Nadya finishes, which is just as well because now that it remembers what food tastes like her body is ready for more than snacks. This time the scholar’s cart bears four silver-domed platters that he places at the head of the table last.

Before Nadya can do a dramatic food network reveal Valdas startles her with a quick tilt of his head. Listening for something her human ears can’t quite hear. Whatever it is it sets the Trinity on edge; makes Isseya look about ready to crawl out of her own skin and Valdas tug at his collar and loosen his tie even though it can’t exactly choke him out.

Nadya slowly slinks her hand back from her cover almost comically.

The double doors at the other end of the room swing inward with dramatic gusto. The small breeze that comes with it pushes an unfamiliar and definitely unpleasant smell against her crinkling nose. Not even the centerpiece flowers or the aroma of the food so close can cover it up.

Her vampire companions stand with creaking chairs just in time for his grand (if trumpetless) entrance.

It’s not an active resistance to this the unmasked authority that keeps her seated. Nadya’s just not sure her legs would be able to hold her up right now. So sitting and not collapsing is probably more respectable, right? She’s rambling — worse than that she’s rambling in her own head.

What else is she supposed to do, though? All these months of crippling headaches and nightmares unending and the feeling of losing herself and filling up the space with a bunch of unknowns — nothing like this has ever happened. She’s seen faces, spoken names, held identities of her own that she could never be. And this is the first time she’s come face to face with one of them.

Nadya knows this man; she’s been him, been loved and Turned and banished and even killed by him. The things she’s seen… the things she’s done with those hands as her own both pale in moonlight and drenched dark near-black with blood how his fingertips look spread wide over the tanned slopes of Kamilah’s bare skin and the strength with which they’ve plunged into hundreds, no, thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of ribcages—

And he’s more than that, too. He’s the man who brought vampires to America, who built his Shadow Kingdom with a conviction Nadya feels like a knife in her gut.

He’s the man who Turned Kamilah, Adrian. The man who loved both of them before eternity did.

The worst part of it is that Gaius Augustine is beautiful. That’s just an objective fact. It’s what makes him so seductive. No wonder the world has fallen on bended knee to him. He looks like a god.

In a way, perhaps he is.

Jameson moves quickly — and with an anticipation that definitely wasn’t there before; something like eagerness — to pull out the high-backed chair but Gaius waves him off with a flippant hand. The same carelessness shown by Valdas but from this man Jameson accepts it without disdain.

There’s a reverence by which Gaius grasps the velvet backing of his chair. Deep in every fingertip; an appreciation Nadya empathizes with against her will. He knows what it’s like to not have such things; little things, insignificant things… or they were until he was entombed.

He looks good, uncomfortably good, for a guy who spent a hella long time starving in a black stone coffin.

He sweeps a crystal blue gaze over his dinner guests but doesn’t seem to register Nadya’s lack of respect. Actually she suspects he only backtracks to her because she’s on the verge of a panic attack and is conveniently the only one in the room with a heartbeat.

“Nadya,” croons a voice she recognizes instantly; her mysterious guide through the winding paths of the Musea Sanguis, “we finally meet — well… face to face.”

He smiles at her; it isn’t returned. Even if Nadya wanted to say something to him she’s not entirely certain she wouldn’t just turn off her filter and let him have it right there. Her mom would probably forgive such unladylike behavior in this one case.

Only her tongue is knotted up too tight for even a little peep.

Of course now would be the time I learn to shut up.

Gaius watches and waits, and when he finally accepts she’s zipped her lips he throws his head back in jovial laughter. The sound makes Isseya crumple the steel fork under her hand into a ball like tin foil.

He stops just as abruptly. “Is this really how we want to begin things? The choice is yours — and yours alone.”

No, it wasn’t, her mind quickly reminds her but Nadya hasn’t forgotten. She didn’t get to choose this awful, terrible thing in her head. Just like she didn’t get to choose to be here; the definition of kidnapping or nearly so. Nadya didn’t even get to choose her own dress! And frankly her thighs are really cold in here.

It’s in that moment that Nadya learns everything she needs to know about Gaius Augustine. He’s a beautiful face and honeyed words but hell will freeze over before he lets anyone forget he’s also death incarnate.

In a blink Gaius’ smile is gone. “Dolling her up was a waste, Valdemaras, if the time could have been better spent teaching her simple manners.”

Valdas fixates on a spot on the table. His head lowered in respect — and fear.

“My apologies, Augustine.”

The older vampire throws him a look of disdain. “Not that I did not anticipate it and prepare myself for the disappointment. You’ve always fallen just short of the mark — little Made-God.”

He seats himself; undoes the black button of his trimmed dinner jacket and relaxes into his chair like a king on a throne. She’s seen his throne — this is exactly how he would sit upon it. On either side of them the Trinity sink back into their chairs and Nadya realizes, now, the cruelty with which Gaius has devised their arrangement.

Isseya’s hand twitches and closes; hard enough for her blood to try and fill the gaps in her fist. She just wants to touch Valdas in comfort. And Gaius has made sure she cannot. In some strange way her heart breaks for them — or is breaking with them — or her heart is theirs and breaks as them — or…

This is really starting to make her head hurt.

Jameson resumes his duties with an obvious change in attitude. He fills Gaius’ glass with a different decanter — the contents of which are still a deep and rich red but she’s been living with vampires for a year now; Nadya knows what blood looks like. And the sight of it takes away all her appetite. Even as Jameson takes the covers off of their plates and reveals what looks like a delicious and expensive cut of steak… she can’t stop looking at the elder vampire’s cup.

“Marvelous,” Gaius compliments, “absolutely marvelous. Boundless are humanity’s shortcomings but they’ve always retained a passion for decorating what they eat. I suppose that may be the one thing left I have in common with them.”

He looks to Nadya with a smile — as if she’ll somehow understand, or agree with him. But she is decorated tonight. And she knows exactly what he eats.

“Don’t you agree?”

Nadya once told Kamilah that she was prone to doing stupid things when she was scared. Good to know that still holds true. “That what, you have something in common with humanity? That’s a hard no.”

Valdas’ knife scraaapes against the china plateware; his quick recovery is honestly impressive.

In a mockery of disappointment Gaius lets his head hang and as he does the waves of his dark brown hair fall in a shadow over his face. Nadya pushes her wine away so fast and so hard she nearly spills it all over the tablecloth.

Because she needs to be clear-headed for this; and she’s obviously already tipsy. How else is she supposed to explain it; he way his skin goes from vivacious and full to taut and decaying and grey; pulled back thin over the shape of his skull.

It makes Nadya think of the strange smell that preceded Gaius’ arrival. The smell of rot and death, she realizes, and can’t even bear the sight of her plate when she does.

And with everything else going weird and wrong in her life Nadya isn’t even surprised that when she looks back up Gaius once again looks perfect; not a hair out of place.

“Why are you so adamant on rejecting my hospitality? Surely you’ve realized this is all for your comfort.”

She chokes on her laugh. “All of what? The meal?”

“Of course. To serve purpose as both an apology for the… unfortunate terms of your arrival —”

“You mean my kidnapping.”

Gaius ignores her interruption; “— and to ease any discomfort you might have about me. I imagine Adrian hasn’t exactly been singing my praises.”

Petulantly Nadya leans against the back of her chair; slumping a little as she does with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Actually, kinda the opposite.”

Of course that grabs his attention, but she doesn’t expect the strange delight captured in his smile. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, given that he hasn’t mentioned you at all. And—before you ask—neither has Kamilah.”

The fork in his grasp bends and is made useless. But then Jameson is there with a replacement in hand and she doesn’t even get the satisfaction of Gaius being inconvenienced.

“I know you believe the course you stay now is, perhaps, the upper hand. But dear Nadya it takes much more than that to get under my skin.”

“Good to know.”

“Nadya.”

Is Valdas seriously trying that right now — does he really think that after what he’s done that’s an okay thing to be doing? Because no, it’s not, and she’ll be more than happy to stop whatever she’s doing that gave him that impression. “No.”

“If you would calm yourself —”

That’s it — Nadya snaps.

“‘Calm myself?’ You’ve gotta be joking. Because that’s a really good joke. Right up there with how you reached out to me, offered me help, and wedged a knife in my back with a psychic roofie.” She chokes on her voice, thick and wet, but to Nadya’s credit she’s gotten really good at keeping how badly she wants to sob inside and close to her chest.

“The things I’ve seen him do — the things I’ve lived through because of him? I told you, Valdas — I told you how this is making me feel. I… I confided in you. Told you things I haven’t even told my best friend, things like how I feel like I’m falling apart at the seams… how sick I feel because I shouldn’t know what killing someone feels like but I do—

“And now, after kidnapping me and bringing me to him —” she jabs her finger at Gaius who simply watches; silent, bemused, “— the man who has done more of those horrors than I can count — horrors I’ve been forced to live through… you think you have a right to tell me to be calm?”

She’s splotchy and flushed and can hear her pulse in her temples but nope no way Nadya regrets absolutely nothing. Even though were this any ordinary dinner party — or even ordinary adjacent — she’d be mortified enough to flee from the room crying.

Then Gaius is clapping; polite and reserved. Jameson goes to join but doesn’t get in even one before a glare from Isseya has him practically cowering where he stands.

“Brava signorina, brava,” and really, does nothing phase this guy, “it’s been far too long since I’ve had dinner and a show. It’s the little things you miss, really.”

“It wasn’t for you.” Nadya snaps with far less heat.

“No, no I see that it wasn’t. It is fascinating, though.”

“What is?”

“How you seem to attract the affections and loyalty of my progeny.”

It gives her whiplash. “Wait—seriously?” But Valdas doesn’t deny it. “So you’re the one who set him free.”

There’s no use in pretending this is going to be a conversation over a polite and decadent meal, so Gaius sets his utensils down and dabs at his mouth with his napkin. Nadya swears she isn’t hallucinating when she sees morbidity and decay for a hand where the cloth covers it.

“My my my, you’re more informed than I could have hoped for. And this regardless of your efforts to spite me, Valdemaras.”

“I know how entertained you are by the pursuit.”

“Is that what you call it?” Gaius nods; makes Valdas look so petty — so small, “Well I suppose one of us ought to succeed in the end. And even Nadya here knows such a thing is impossible for you.”

Don’t bring me into this she wants to say, but to what end? She already is in this. Way way deep in it. Drowning, practically.

So what’s the harm in diving deeper if she’s already going to die choking on water? Too far with the analogy, maybe.

“I know the Council locked you up because you were mad with power. Because so many people were dying and they knew you wouldn’t listen to reason.”

Nadya feels her confidence waiver at something as little as Gaius cocking a brow. “Oh please, do go on.”

“I know there’s a throne under Central Park that once belonged to you.”

“Once? Who sits there now, pray tell?”

“No one.”

“Then perhaps it is mine still.”

“I know you’ve killed more people than I think even you remember.”

Gaius hums. “Possibly. The ends more than justify the means.”

No they don’t. “And I know that everything you do—all the killing, Turning, plotting and kingdoms and thrones… it’s all for her.”

A hollow caricature of sentiment crosses his face and if Nadya were a bigger person (bolder, braver, any other b-word for that matter) she’d smack it right off him in a heartbeat.

“My Queen has —”

“No, I don’t mean Kamilah.” The name tumbles from her lips before she can hold it back.

“I meant your Maker… I meant Rheya.”

Nadya’s having dinner with the dead but only now is the room silent as the grave. Gaius’ expression is unreadable no matter how much she tries. Valdas can’t quite meet her in the eyes and Isseya, well she’s the opposite; like she’s looking at Nadya for the first time and with tears prickling in her eyes.

“Then it’s true…” She laughs in the way mourners are reminded of small fragments of their loved ones’ they’d forgotten. “It’s… you. You’re her.”

Her? Who her? “Indeed she is. And a far more advanced Bloodkeeper than the last I possessed.” Gaius drinks deeply from his glass like he wants her to marinate in his words; wants her to panic from them. “You’ve served me well, Jameson.”

And Jameson nods with a beaming smile. “Thank you, Master. Anything to see our good work done.”

Gaius thumbs a stray drop of blood from the corner of his lips and sucks it clean. “My turn, I think.” But when he stands this time he stands alone. “Shall I tell you what it is that I know, Nadya?”

She has a strong feeling she can’t exactly say no. That feeling would be correct.

“I know the forces that govern our supernatural world are never without a sense of irony. I know that you, the genuine Bloodkeeper, are more valuable than you realize. You call them visions; nightmares. We —” he gestures an arm wide to their vampire audience, “— would call them memories. The Bloodkeeper has been for as long as we have been. Back through the centuries, the millennia, all the way to my Goddess, the woman you name Rheya.

“The more I spread our kind across the world, the more memories there were for her to see. Too many for a mortal mind, though. The last one could not give me what I seek. So I knew when the time came… I could not risk losing her again. Her gift had to be… cultivated properly.”

Gaius leans forward against the table with palms spread wide. Pushing darkness; death out into the world and all of it in her direction. “I had my doubts about you, Nadya. I am not above admitting it was the incessant vehemence of my progeny that convinced me to pursue you; not a mere human dabbling in psychic parlor tricks but the real thing. But you’ve convinced me now; you are that which I am unable to deny.

“So few know of her; my Goddess of Blood and Fury, the First Vampire. Fewer still know the truth of my beginnings; that I am the last of the pure, her devoted one. But you do, Nadya, you do. And the joy that knowledge brings me… I dare say in my current state I am unable to express it justly.”

She’d like to tell him he’s expressing it just fine; perhaps a little too much even. Eyes wide, practically maniacal; the only way to widen his smile would be to take the cutlery to the corners of his mouth and tug.

But Gaius is like all beautiful things — the longer she looks the less perfection she takes in; the more flaws start to leap off the canvas of him and scream to her for attention.

His irises once a blue as bright as the sky now faded pale like a heralding storm, even the pupil gone grey — pearls perfectly fit into the eye sockets of his skull now a little too prominent, protruding a little too stark.

Teeth even and dazzling cracked, thin like eggshells and the same kind of not-quite-white. All the white he could ever need rather rests in thin wisps on the top of his head in clumps and disarrayed — torn out from decade after decade of endless isolation.

Nadya came here (however unwillingly, that didn’t matter now) for the truth. That truth now stands before her in all its repulsive glory and she doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for some unexpected shadow to pass it by. Gaius Augustine hasn’t aged well; not at all. He is a corpse; now as ugly on the outside as he is within. All that without even mentioning the smell of death her senses will no longer deny.

A breath catches in her throat. Nadya quickly covers her nose and mouth with the back of her hand; couldn’t give less of a care about subtlety or Gaius’ feelings on his condition. She can’t look away and Valdas’ stare is too heavy for her to deny; the weight of sympathy.

The Trinity, Jameson; they’ve been seeing Gaius as he really is this whole time. His masquerade; just another lie Nadya didn’t ask for.

His voice was a ruse, too. Because now his every word creaks of old stone lids prying themselves from their coffins. “You ought to be a little more cautious with the tales your expressions tell. A lesser man might take offense to such… distaste.”

If he expects Nadya to apologize for hurting his feelings he’d best be ready to live another couple thousand years before that happens. “What was it? A—A veil of some kind?”

“Of a sort — you learn quickly. But it was merely a glamour to ensure the evening was an amenable one.”

“For my peace of mind,” unconsciously Nadya plucks at a string; not a real one but one within her mind — everyone else has been digging around in there so she might as well join the party, “or for your vanity?”

Gaius’ decaying face can barely show a frown but some vibes just can’t be mistaken. “Cheeky.”

“So what do you want from me?” Nadya asks; with a calm even she didn’t expect. “You’ve spent all this time planning, plotting, torturing—sorry, cultivating—me… what memory was it all for, Gaius?”

He resumes his seat and smiles slow; satisfied. Maybe he thinks she’s being complacent… and maybe there’s a part of her that is.

“I need you to find something for me; an object of great importance.”

“Something tells me it’s not the teddy bear you lost when you were five… hundred.”

This time Gaius laughs a bit more reserved. He taps a withered finger to his lips in thought and Nadya pretends for her own sake that she doesn’t see a fingernail just fall off and onto his half-empty plate. “It is an object of mine; an amulet. And it was, at one time, my most cherished possession on this earth.”

All of his guests (willing and otherwise) watch the unconscious way Gaius trails his fingertip down his chin, his throat — to rest just shy of the last button done up on his crisp red dress shirt. They watch as he traces an idle and misshapen circle. Lost in the moment; in the memory.

So why does he need Nadya?

“When the time came for me to part with it I was reluctant. But it was for the best given the circumstances. For centuries come and gone I had conquered armies, laid waste to entire lands and cities — and yet even I am unable to bend nature to my whim.”

His words lull her in their own strange way like the low, rasping drag of a violin. The first time she feels a tickle at her nose Nadya brushes it aside — it’s an old castle, dust isn’t any surprise. But the second, the third? Nadya can’t help but drag her knuckles over her cheek.

She pulls her hand back and the skin is stained a smeared grey. Darker than Gaius’ pallor across the table. And it burns.

Ash.

Nadya remembers the nausea starting to churn in her belly all too well but that isn’t exactly a good thing. She almost jumps out of her skin when Jameson is suddenly at her side pouring a glass of water from a clear pitcher — didn’t even realize how parched she was until she snatches it forward and practically out of the scholar’s hands for long, deep drinks.

“Beautiful…” Gaius breathes; watching Nadya in awe — even when she chokes on the last gulp. “You can feel it, can’t you; you know exactly of what I speak.”

With anyone else — even Kamilah, even Valdas — she could at least try her best to avoid this awful feeling by keeping her hands to herself. But Gaius is all the way over there, and Nadya is all the way over here, and it doesn’t. matter. one. bit. She feels the influence of him — of his memories — reaching out to her from the other side of the room.

Nadya takes a burning breath and the answer finds itself somewhere between them.

“Vesuvius.”

Gaius confirms with a nod; “I could not risk my amulet falling prey to anything — even that which was beyond my control. So I entrusted it to my firstborn and tasked him with its protection.”

“Hold on — ‘him?’” This whole time Nadya’s been under the impression that Kamilah was the first person Gaius Turned. Or that’s what her visions—his memories—had made her assume.

But who was the only person she knew of that was older than Kamilah?

She looks to her right and Valdas nods without a word, chin resting on hands clasped in front of him.

“You?”

“My first mistake,” answers Gaius for him — contempt for the man beside him dripping foul between his teeth, “and regrettably not my last. As I had given it to mine, so too did Valdemaras give the amulet to his firstborn. And we all know how that ended.”

Neither of the Trinity will look at her; at Gaius either. No longer with their heads held high; like his disapproval of them is a real, tangible thing forcing their heads down, eyes down, and demands of them to feel nothing but shame.

Jameson refills her water slowly. Nadya drinks because if she does then she can’t open her big mouth.

“Thus the task falls unto you, my little Bloodkeeper, to remember where the cur misplaced my amulet.”

He says it like it’s so simple; like flipping through the pages of a book she ought to know well. But not only has Nadya never even heard of that metaphorical book — it’s in a whole other freakin’ language.

And she has a feeling Gaius isn’t the kind of guy to take excuses in stride. So — she stalls.

“And what are you going to give me in return?”

Gaius scoffs but easily grins around it. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” though judging by the state of decomposition on his ears… “I have something you want,” or at least that’s what you think, “so what do I get out of it?”

“You get to live.”

“Not good enough.”

Isseya’s lips twitch — the barest hint of amusement that Gaius misses in his incredulity.

“Is that so? Here I was under the impression mortals held their lives in higher value.”

“Well you’re not the first vampire to threaten me. Actually, that was Kamilah. Heck, you aren’t even in the top three. So I’ve gotten used to it. And besides…” Nadya pushes her glasses up her nose until it hurts. “If you kill me then you don’t get what you want anyway.”

In the silence that follows Nadya’s thoughts dissolve into a whirling chaos; desperate to think of her next move. She could demand that Gaius let her go — but that didn’t help her much. She could demand that and that she’s brought back to Manhattan, to Adrian and Kamilah, safe and sound. But the thought of him anywhere near them just makes her queasy. He kept them out of this — what would they think of her if she were the one to bring them in?

The longer she’s left to think the more incredulous Nadya’s ‘conditions’ become, though, so it’s almost a relief when Gaius inclines his head in a subtle nod.

Almost because he’s smiling and so far nothing—nothing—good happens when he smiles.

“I can see why my Queen has taken to you so.” Gaius says darkly, somehow darker than all the darkness he’s been hurling out already and it makes Nadya’s blood curdle in her veins. “She always preferred a certain recklessness in her mortals. Not to mention how surprisingly refreshing it is to meet such resistance for so long. But understand well — it never lasts.”

He raises a hand and Nadya’s body flinches on instinct, eyes squeezing shut waiting for a blow that doesn’t come.

Instead, Gaius snaps. “Get on with it.”

And she can’t move. She can’t move. Why can’t she move?

Fingertips brush feather-light at her temples.

Jameson.

One touch and Nadya can already feel the headache starting to build; storm clouds gathering on fast-forward in her head and everything is growing fuzzy at the edges of her eyes. The same kind of reaching, probing curiosity the psychic vampire had used back at Adrian’s trial but comparing the two is the difference between water and acid.

He’s killing her. Oh god he’s killing her. Burning her up from the inside out and without the mercy to let her even so much as scream while she’s forced to endure it.

Isseya on her left, Valdas on her right. A not-unfounded pity in their eyes watching but not making any move to help her as Nadya struggles, tenses her muscles until she’s shaking in her own skin but it’s all in vain — she still doesn’t move.

Help her, because it isn’t Nadya who owns her thoughts anymore; they belong to Jameson. Help her please help her help her helpher—

They don’t.

“I would have thought all of this —” Gaius’ voice blends into the pain; makes them synonymous with each other, “— would have explained things as they are, crystal clear. You are valuable to me as an object is valuable, Nadya. But objects do not dictate who owns them, nor make conditions upon their use. They are but objects; used as the owner sees fit.”

Behind her, Jameson’s whisper roars over the pain that can’t be anything other than her brain trying to punch its way from her skull.

“Remarkable — a vast improvement from when last I walked these paths…”

Get out get out getout!

“Valdemaras tells me she’s encountered these particular memories before. Does that make your task easier?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Then find what I need, and be quick about it.”

“If he isn’t cautious… she may burn out.” And even though Valdas sounds sympathetic she knows he’s anything but — this is all his fault. What she wouldn’t give to tell him to shove it. “Or the memory may be… incomplete.”

Nadya blinks, feels tears clinging to her lashes heavy and the warm trails they leave down her cheeks. But she can’t see. Not black or white, not the dining room or whatever Jameson digs for in her mind.

She just sees agony.

There’s a clap — the distinct sound of flesh on flesh. What might be a choked noise from where Isseya was sitting.

“Question me again, Valdemaras, and you will be mourning two-fold.”

“… Forgive me, my King.”

“If you earn it.”

“I feel it,” cries Jameson with glee, “I believe I’ve found the Amulet of Nero, Master. Strange… how she resists me still. As though she’s pulling the memory just out of reach.”

Nadya doesn’t have to see Gaius to feel the weight of his glare.

“Then dig deeper.”

Then she sees nothing; nothing at all.