Summary: Dyllan Pennington is an 18-year-old girl who can see visions of the future and hears the voice of a long-dead king. With her mother hospitalized and unable to recognize her, and being a social outcast at school, she doesn't know how much more she can cope. It's in the midst of her troubles that she finds an unexpected friend: Lance. Dyllan is drawn to him; it's as if they've known each other for centuries. Her intuition tells her there's a reason they met: he may know why she's having the visions, and why they're getting worse...
༶•┈┈ ┈ ┈ ┈┈•༶
"Don't adventures ever have an end? I suppose not.
Someone else always has to carry on the story."
–Bilbo Baggins, The Fellowship of the Ring
༶•┈┈ ┈ ┈ ┈┈•༶
[Lancelot]
The whisper of the breeze draws me gently into wakefulness. A soft rustle and the gentle creak of a branch is just enough to stir me. I am outside. That much is evident, though it doesn't seem right somehow. I think back, desperately trying to pinpoint my last memory. Where had I been? What had I been doing?
It's hazy, as though it's happened to another person. I remember the room in Joyous Gard and the face of my squire. Then the memory hits me, slamming into me with the force of a charging warhorse.
I was dying.
Death came to everyone, and it finally came for me. There was no escaping it. And I did not want to. After all, my life was over. My king was gone and the kingdom I served was failing. I looked forward to death as a welcome relief. I saw it as a chance to put down the grief and guilt I carried for so many years.
But, what happened?
I'm not dead; of that I am certain. Even though I believe in some kind of life after death, I know this isn't it.
Finally, with some effort, I force my eyes to open. Puffy white clouds race ahead of the westerly wind in a periwinkle blue sky. I lay on my back in thick, prickly grass with the clean smell of water nearby.
I lift one hand to brush back my hair and stare at it in wonder. I flex young, strong fingers untouched by age; they are the hands of a young man. They certainly are not mine. Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I realize my hands are not the only thing that has changed. My entire body is young and whole again, as I was in my prime; fit and strong. I am also naked; the thought doesn't bother me, I seem to be alone, and there are more pressing matters to concern me.
I know exactly where I am. The Lake of Avalon lay unchanged, still reflecting a sky that doesn't exist in this world, stars blossoming in its smooth surface when the sky overhead is clear and bright.
I'm alone, but I don't think I will be for long. I struggle to my feet. My body may be young again, but I feel painfully stiff, as though I have been laying in the grass for years. I crack my joints and stretch, still waiting for some sign of life.
Gazing around, I take in the lake, feeling as though I have not seen it in a lifetime. Nothing has changed, but then nothing ever does at the lake. The Lady makes sure of that. Then I notice one small thing out of place. A pile of clothing lay neatly folded at the edge of the water.
I can only assume it's for me, but when I pick up the bundle I frown. Instead of the breeches I am accustomed to these are made of a strange blue material. They would be useless in a fight; too tight and constricting. The top is a thin, white buttonless shirt. Odd.
I hesitate for a moment, uncertain. Something about the whole world feels off-kilter. It is the only way I can describe it.
A cool breeze rippling across the lake brings goosebumps to my skin, and I hurriedly shrug into the clothes. They will certainly take some getting used to, but they are the only ones I have.
Movement out across the water catches my eye. An owl swoops over the lake, winging its way toward me. Palpable relief surges through me.
Merlin.
He will explain.
A nimbus of bright light grows around the bird until I have to close my eyes and, when I open them again, Merlin stands beside me.
"Lancelot!" He draws me into a rough embrace, shocking me with the thick emotion in his voice. I can't understand when I saw him only a month prior.
I step back and hold him at arm's length, my hands clasped firmly on his lanky shoulders. "Merlin? Why am I here?" I am not foolish enough to ask how. Merlin's magic is something I can never understand. But I am curious. How have I come hundred of miles from Joyous Gard, and in a body that might have been mine fifteen years ago, but not any longer?
"I know you must have a million questions, Lancelot, but I don't really want to explain this more than once."
I raise an eyebrow. "You are expecting more company?"
Merlin smiles, his blue eyes twinkling, while jerking his head, signaling that I should look behind me. The bank was empty when I first woke, but now two figures step out of the trees. Like me they look dazed and confused, even more so because the lake is unfamiliar to them.
For a long moment I can only stare. I never expected to see them again. It has been so many years since our last meeting, but they too are far younger than last I saw them.
Percival's boyish grin appears the moment he sees me, but Gwaine's expression is dark, his eyes wary.
"How—?"
Merlin laughs softly behind me. "The 'how' is a little complicated. But the 'why' will come plain enough."
Percival and Gwaine reaches us, and the former sweeps me into a rough embrace, laughing with disbelief. Gwaine stands behind him, his arms crossed tight over his chest. He looks as though he isn't sure whether to greet me or hit me.
"I'd like to hear some of the 'how,'" I say, turning back to Merlin. I turn my hands over, looking at the smooth, tanned skin not yet damaged by age. "It's a little disconcerting. How—How old am I?"
Merlin laughs again and leads us over to a slight hollow on the bank where a fire appears, burning merrily. "Again, a complicated question. And even I am not entirely sure of the answer. Looking at you, I'd say twenty at most. How many years has it been since the moment of your birth? Far more than a thousand."
My head snaps up, my hands dropping back to my sides. "A thousand?"
Gwaine and Percival appears to be just as shocked as I am.
"Many more than a thousand, in fact. Though it's hard to know the exact number. We were not as...diligent in our record keeping back then, as they are now."
I try to think, try to focus, but my mind feels like it is spinning. Ever since I've awoken it has seemed as though my mind is shifting. The memories of my life already seems hazy in parts, as though they are a dream, or has happened to someone else—someone else who wears my face and bears my name. Other things are taking their place, a changed language and the sense of a world very different from my own.
Merlin takes my shoulder and smiles gently. "Try not to fight it. It is the magic at work. I had to ensure that you could fit into this time and this place. It was necessary to combine your memories with those of people from this time."
The feeling subsides and I manage to focus back on Merlin. "Magic is the answer for 'how'—but why? Why bring me—us—to this strange time? Why did you bring us back?"
For a moment, something like guilt flashes across Merlin's face, but he hides it just as quickly. "You were there, Lancelot. You too, Gwaine. The day that Arthur fell—"
My gaze meets Gwaine's and I shudder. I could never forget that day. The day I arrived at the battle too late to save my king, reaching him as he already lay dying in Merlin's arms.
"You know of Arthur's destiny," Merlin continues, seeing our pain reflected in his own eyes is gut wrenching. "That he was the Once and Future King, the rightful king of all Albion. And that if ever Albion needed him, he would return."
I almost look around at the sorcerer's words, expecting Arthur to emerge from the trees. But, in my heart, I know he won't.
Merlin touches my arm and smiles sadly, knowingly. "I'm afraid not, Lancelot. Though, you are right, the time has come for Arthur. Albion has need of him. But the wound Arthur received at Camlann was fatal. In Avalon he cannot die, but should he return to this world his wound will kill him."
"But, Merlin, if Arthur—"
"There are other ways. Out there in the world today is the last of Arthur's line. The last Pendragon, though they no longer carry that name. In them, the magic of the Old Religion has been born anew, in their veins still runs the blessing of the Fair Folk." For a moment Merlin fell silent, then shook off his melancholy enough to continue. "When the time comes, when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur's soul will join with his heir to defeat the evil that threatens."
I shoot a glance at Gwaine and Percival, but they seem content to let me take the lead. "And us? What is our purpose?"
"I knew that should all of this come to pass, the last Pendragon would have need of strength, wisdom, and chivalry of Arthur's knights. I picked the best; the three knights I knew were the most loyal, the most honor bound, and the bravest. The magic was complex and dangerous, and verging on a darkness that only necessity could have driven me to, but here you are. And I have only one question—will you serve Arthur one last time?"
"Yes." There is no hesitation; there is no other answer I can give. This is my chance, my moment to redeem myself, to right the wrongs I once committed.
I betrayed Arthur once, I will not do it again.
Percival and Gwaine answer the same, but Gwaine's eyes bear into me from across the fire. We were closer than brothers once, I would have laid down my life for him, but I betrayed him, too. Betrayed the bonds of brotherhood we once shared. Percival is a simpler man, quick to forgive, willing to forget, but Gwaine will not forgive me readily. If he ever will at all. Even after all this time, he still doubts me, still fears that I will betray him yet again.
Merlin is speaking, and I force myself to pay attention.
"...the town lies north of here, and you must travel there soon. Even now I can feel Morgana's power moving around the country. She seeks Arthur's heir as much as we do."
"Morgana?"
Merlin glowers at me. "Were you not listening, Lancelot?"
I grimace. "I—"
"At least some things don't change," Gwaine mutters.
I glance up and meet Gwaine's wry smirk with one of my own. "Some things will never change."
"Enough!" Merlin cuts across, glaring at the both of us. "Morgana is back, Lancelot. Without my knowledge, she found a pathway into Avalon all those years ago. Mordred was dead, her hopes for the throne of Camelot dashed, but she was never one to give up easily. She also had the gift of prophecy. She could see how the world would one day change, and how it might work in her favor. And so she passed into Avalon where, like Arthur, she wouldn't die, and she waited until Albion was ripe for her to take."
"She plans to take the throne from Arthur's heir?"
Merlin smiles crookedly. "Arthur's heir is not the ruler of Albion. Far from it, actually. They are a regular person. No power, no fortune. But Morgana will kill them because she knows they are the only person with any hope of defeating her. And we cannot allow that to happen. And so you must travel. You must find Arthur's heir. You must protect her, watch over her, until she comes into her birthright."
"She?" I blink at Merlin in surprise.
"A girl, yes. She is young, barely eighteen. And she will need you. All of you."
༶•┈┈ ┈ ┈ ┈┈•༶
A/N: I've been watching the show Merlin for the umpteenth time and I just couldn't help myself... I've always wanted to write a story that's based off the show, and I'm so glad to finally see it come to fruition!
I've taken some creative liberties, mostly with the plot. This will be AU, though certain plot lines I will use from the show. So, if anything confuses you, please don't hesitate to ask questions! I'd be happy to answer them :)
Until the next chapter,
Dev
