Eeyeahh...I totally forgot where I was going with this, so we're just going to wing it. I promise I have not abandoned this. Its just the fatigue of everything (pandemic, the election craziness, no leaving the state) getting to me and while I am getting professional help, its a snails pace. I having trouble with all my hobbies and projects. But I will keep trying guys. You'd think this year would've been the perfect time to write everything, but unfortunately that not how this year's depression decided to manifest itself (the spiteful bitch...)

Anyways, thanks for coming to my TedTalk. XD

Either way, by the time I finished writing this, I rather like where it is going. Feel like we are finally getting somewhere. Also, I wrote this in one sitting in the middle of the night with a few glasses of wine. There is no proofreading and it may or may not make sense.

So! ENJOY!

********and i can never remember how to do that line-break thing!**************

Ch. 8

In the present:

Where in tarnation was the goddamn sun? It is so gloomy here; rainy. So, meh! Texas couldn't help but grumble. Sure, his state was well known for its fantastic storms…and tornadoes…and hurricanes…but it was home! And therefore, he was shamelessly bias. He signed again as he entered the hotel to check-in before heading to the embassy to sit down with the officials there for debrief. More like tell me everything I can't do here. He had half a mind to just skip the embassy and just raid the Englishman's home, but diplomacy was a pain; he couldn't snub the representatives of the British government. Tex hated stuff like this; didn't believe the interactions genuine. At least temperaments were honest in the early 1800s when he had his own Republic's embassy here, however short lived. Hell, even post-Civil War dealings were more sincere. Or at least, no one hid their disdain for one another.

Anne was so much better at it internationally than he was anyway. Meanwhile, he could play hard-ball at the home front; let nothing fall to the wayside while she was deployed. Tex was Anne's right hand; her partner; her confidant. And her safety net. And right now, something was wrong. And no one was talking. His instincts were screaming, like they did right before a tornado hit.

Perching his suitcase into the corner caddy of his modest room, he replied to a few texts from California. He and Molossia were going to purchase tickets and make their way over. Good. Reinforcements. He was sure he was going to need it. He had a bit before his ride arrived to escort him to the embassy, so he decided to head back to the lobby and wait.

Elsewhere:

Arthur paced the room as he awaited his eldest brother's translation efforts. Waiting was the worst. There were so many moments where he'd have to wait; for news of this battle or that battle, in hospitals when his children were hurt, and now…especially when he wanted nothing more than to act. Because Anne needed him, he could feel it. His magic was becoming terribly chaotic. He felt the pull closer and closer in one direction. And it wasn't to Stonehenge. No, it was closer to somewhere he never thought he'd venture to again. Glastonbury. How long has it been? Goodness, he can't even remember now. The abbey was in ruins and he'd always had other officials attend to it's matters in his place. What mattered to him was that no one messed with the seal hidden deep within the well which was luckily caged so no one would think to attempt a climb down. He was certain that this was where his magic was so insistently tugging at him, as if that weren't foreboding enough with all the past revelations, but when he voiced his concerns he was asked (read: commanded) to stay put until Wales had completed his task while the second eldest explained away the scorch marks across the grounds of Stonehenge. Arthur was beginning to suspect a fine would be in order. Blast. He can only imagine that if things turn for the worst at the abbey just how much potential damage could occur there and the backlash from the organizations that manage it. At least Reilly was beginning to feel better; injury healing nicely. He did feel a little guilty that this debacle had caused his brother harm.

He might feel it a bit more if the idiot would stop whining so much.

His phone pinged with an incoming message and he groaned at the message from his secretary. Texas had arrived, barely allowed his diplomats to get a word in, and rented a car to drive to them. Arthur gave a small prayer to the drivers on the road. He'd never driven with the other nation, thank heaven for small favors, but if some of the video feed from Anne's adventures with him are anything to go by, then roads were optional to the Texan and speed limits were merely suggestions. The universe truly hated him. And judging from the string of Gaelic curses in the next room told him anything, it meant now his brothers also knew the Texan was coming.

"Don't suppose the translation is coming along?" Arthur called out only to receive a scathing remark in Welsh and a snicker from another. Probably Alistair.

"Afraid of the boy, are you?" Alistair snarked from the doorway. Arthur scowled.

"Certainly not. I merely lack the patience to deal with him. He will get in the way."

"I dunno. Crymu seems optimistic."

"And now you are trying to be as well?"

"A little. Maybe." Arthur's eyebrows rose at that and Alistair shrugged. "Been around the boy enough. He's a bit o' a bull in a china shop, as they say, but he's reliable."

"I'm not reassured. And how do you know this?"

"I get out. I visit people." He grumbled. "Unlike you, I can be fun. S'why I am the favorite uncle."

"I thought I was the favorite uncle!" Reilly piped in.

"They go to you for free alcohol at the occasional pub." He snorted.

"Doesn't make me not the favorite!"

"I'm the favorite because I do all o' that and I go with them on their crazy adventures! I go camping with Anne and let me tell you, she goes to some rough places! And don't get me started on Aus and Zea; nearly died a few times! Anne can handle a sword thanks to me!"

"When did you teach her that?!" Arthur gasped while Reilly groused 'Well, I taught her proper boxing!'Alistair shrugged. "Why would she need to learn that?"

"Because she already knew how to shoot a gun. And what if she lost the gun, eh? She needed to know how to fight. She's of our clan, after all."

"When, Alistair?" and the Scotsman sighed.

"Before her revolution, but that doesn't mean what I can already tell is forming in your idiot head! I had nothing to do with her revolution. I helped you fight it!"

"But if she hadn't learnt all of that—"

"What? You'd have taken her down? Won the war? Your ego is astounding! She won her independence; its done! Its over! It's been centuries now!"

"That's not what I am saying…"

"Oh, yes it is. You just can't let it go and you never will at this rate. And that's why this is all happening now."

"What happened was an accident!"

"Sure, sure. And wouldn't have happened if you just stopped being such a bitter, petty arse!"

"I am trying! And that's not fair, Alistair. You didn't have her wrath pointed at you. You got to return there whenever you liked after and she welcomed you as if nothing had changed. Because nothing changed between you two. And you didn't have what we had because I am her father; not just an uncle who no doubt broke rules and encouraged her willful behavior against me. You didn't lose what I did. You didn't lose a child." Arthur was breathing heavily, glaring at his seemingly indifferent elder sibling.

"Wrong." Alistair pointed a thick finger his way, "We had to work some things too, but we understood that wars were messy, and things moved on no matter what. So, we moved on. You, however, spent as much time as you could after flaunting your empire to anyone who would listen, especially in front of her. Petty is what you are! You wanted her regret just so you have any victory; every victory. You've always been this way! Little Albion who had to always win; always have the last say; his way." Alistair scoffed, walking out of the room, and Arthur felt his eyes begin to sting. Damn Alistair. Damn him and his ability to make Arthur feel like he was a crying toddler grasping at his brother's cloak again.

"He's got a point, you know." Arthur tossed a glare at Reilly, who put his hands up. "Hear me out. Anne has said before she felt helpless with you. Like…she'd always be your biggest regret; the skeleton in the closet, you know?" And whatever scornful remark Arthur prepared died in his throat.

"She has told you this?"

"Only when she feels comfortable to speak candidly, and has had a few drinks, which is very rare! For the longest time I thought she never drank, but its only that she rarely imbibes. You know, I always wondered why? She never seemed that big on the whole prohibition thing…"

"But she feels this way…around me."

"Think about it, idiot. You were an empire. One who, as Alistair said, flaunted it. And she was a fledgling nation who had what? Farms and a mountain of war debt? Not that she was expecting the first-class treatment or anything. She said she understood you were angry with her, but when it just seemed to carry on and on…" Reilly sighed, staring out the window, "Well, I guess after a while, she reconciled to never being forgiven. She lost hope with you."

And, god…that hurt. That hurt so much. It was one thing for their relationship to be strained, estranged, even mildly hostile at worst, but…that he'd been given up on. It hurt. And as he knew before, he had no one to blame but himself. Arthur sat heavily on the bed, staring at his shoes, hands tensely pale from their grip on each other, and he tried to breathe.

"To be absolutely fair, Anne is very much like you in so many ways." Reilly startled, hearing Rhys from the door, book in hand with a finger holding his place, "She has wit and a rather confrontational manner towards many things, rather always ready for a fight. Just like you." The eldest said in amusement whilst also casting a sympathetic glance towards the youngest of them. "Your personalities are just so. It's no wonder you both clash so much, but lost hope? I disagree. She is feeling lost and disconnected perhaps, but the hope is still there. If it wasn't you wouldn't be feeling her magic now, calling to you. She is reaching out as she always has; clumsily, foolhardy, and (heh) with no sense of direction. Typical America. But a steadier hand can grasp it." He gave a pointed look to a miserable Arthur.

"Clumsy, foolhardy, and no sense! Good one, Rhys." Reilly snickered which caused Arthur to frown.

"I seem to recall someone so inebriated he got lost in his own flat and ended up locked in his closet." Arthur shot back.

"Oi, I had a lot that night. And I only meant that it makes her sound like a baby bird or something. Like, she wasn't booted from the nest when she was ready, she fell out. Chirpin' for help and having to learn how to fly on her own after failing so many times. Or maybe like a calf—no. No, the bird analogy was perfect." Rhys shook his head at his brother before continuing.

"Not sure that fits exactly, but no matter. The point is, she is like her father. This is as much a blessing as it is a curse. She has your talent for finding trouble and being self-willed at times," it was said with exasperation, Arthur noted with a sulk, because he knew Rhys was referring to his own misadventures, "but…she also has your tenacity and resoluteness. Do not let yourself flounder now; it does not help our cause. You want to repair things; you begin by bringing her home. On this we must not fail."

"Well said." Reilly nodded, but Rhys only rolled his eyes.

"The translation is complete, by the way. I finished it while Alistair gave you a dressing down."

"Then let's get a move on." Arthur stood.

"No."

"No?"

"No, we are going to wait for Texas."

"I—what? Why? He gets underfoot it'll ruin everything."

"Don't be such a catastrophist, the situation is dire whether the boy is here or not. Though I say, it must certainly be before the others arrive."

"Others?"

"Oh yes, did I forget to mention? Terribly sorry," Arthur didn't think Rhys sounded sorry at all, "The personifications of California and Molossia are also on their way. I suspect if we fail, we will also be visited by more Americans than we'd ever care for."

"But why are we waiting for Texas?"

"Diplomacy? And because my plan requires him." He waved the book.

"How?! How could you have possibly planned for him?"

"I'm Merlin." Rhys smirked and Reilly just groaned about his eldest brother's endless stream of names over the centuries.

"Brother—" Arthur felt the air shift, but dismissed it.

"You trusted me under that name before. And you had faith in all of us as kin before. Do so again. We are exactly where we need to be. This has all been building up to this."

"This being?"

"All in good time, Arthur, "who actually squawked when his brother had the audacity to actually pat his head, "We will finally end this cycle from long ago." Arthur thought his eldest brother was acting strange; practically chipper which was unusual for the typically stoic persona. Why, he hadn't behaved this energetically since…

"Myrddin?"

"Arthur?" Rhys smiled, looking younger…but almost faded?

"Is this?...Your magic…it's…" Arthur was surprised. He didn't notice…even sense his brother's magic had changed.

"A temporary fluctuation. All to aid our cause. Fear not, little brother. We have our charge now. You have your charge now. All coming full circle, as Nimue foretold. Once and Future king." Rhys—Myrddin smiled and retreated back to the desk in the room, but by the time Arthur followed to ask another question, Rhys was staring up at him, looking weary and needing time to rest before the last member of this apparent quest was set to arrive. 'Not as young and spry as I used to be, Albion,' his brother had grumbled pinching the bridge of his nose to ease the coming headache. Morganna had foretold America with her prophecy on Arthur, and apparently Nimue foretold Texas? How did no one catch that? Arthur couldn't wrap his head around it. 'What would Anne say at something like this? "Dude! What the literal fuck?" Arthur almost snorted to himself. 'That sentence makes no sense, dear.' This was all becoming too strange. He was just supposed to pull his daughter back to her rightful time, not engage in yet another battle with a long since dead witch. How was this his life again?

In the past:

People were scrambling away from Alistair as he paced his way through the halls looking for Reilly who he hoped had Anne with him. Their eldest brother's magic went haywire for a moment, revealing a different version of their eldest brother. A future version. And it honestly unsettled Alistair. His eldest brother was, well, older. Wiser and grim. Honestly, Rhys could always be a bit of a wet blanket, always the responsible one; the mature one. But…good lord, how many centuries had past where this version existed now? What was the state of the world then? Alistair felt tired and old just thinking about it. And he didn't like it. Warriors should never see into their future because it usually wasn't pleasant.

If they survived to old age it followed a multitude of problems; aches and pains, no real sense of purpose now they were no longer young enough to fight, just waiting until death took them. Alistair shuttered at the thought of so many aging soldiers he'd witnessed fade away to time; many of which would be forgotten. Alistair was not a fool; aging was a fact of life, even for them, but…he wasn't so confident he could live with it. Fighting gave him as much purpose as it had fulfillment. Rhys tried to impart other hobbies to him, but shepherding is not exciting at all. At all. Alistair has spent most of his life fighting, so what else was there?

And Rhys? Rhys was a stoic, but strangely energetically so. Eagar to learn every wonder. Eager to talk your ear off about it too. This elder version must've achieved it or something, to be so…dull? No, that wasn't quite right…Alistair never fancied himself a wordsmith, but there had to be a word for this beyond simply aged. He was like an old man with a young face, just so obviously…damn it all, what was the word he was looking for? Rhys would know, but Alistair couldn't talk to him now. He needed to find his niece.

The point was, they were young; wild. All of them were. And it was far too soon to see one them so wizened…and tame. If it happened with time, as it did when humans aged, so be it. Didn't mean he had to witness it before his time. Hell, Alistair ran a hand through his hair. If this had been any other person that he had seen he would have called the man a 'fatherly figure'; they were too young to be that. And it was one thing to acknowledge the lass as his niece and Arthur as her father, but the other aspects of it… the realization of how much time will pass…Ach, forget it. Put it away. There's no use thinking on it now.

Alistair rounded a corner and knocked a young woman down. On instinct, he reached down to help her up, until he realized what he was seeing. It was a young boy, the apprentice that had been missing for months. One of Rhys' students and…he was bloodied; a hole in his chest. Alistair had felt the sharpness of pain far after he realized that a blade had been rammed into his stomach. No matter. His body reacted; sword unsheathed and struck the puppet corpse down. He blacked out hearing his name echoing the halls.

'Well...shit.'