Ch 11: The ties that bind
Texas got that feeling again. The bad calm before the tornado ripped the roof over your head away. The kind when the ranch was silent because you were about to be dragged off into the darkness. The kind before you knew you were very likely about to die. He dug through his bag, as the others were about to walk to the old abbey-thing they drove to ("Gatten..Gaston? No, Gastroberry? Whatever."), and pulled out his rosary, carefully draping it overhead and tucking it beneath his shirt. He was contemplating the granola bar tucked in another pocket of his jacket, but his stomach was churning too much to eat anything now. His fingers felt cold, and his toes, and he felt an extra weight that he'd hoped to never feel again.
The thing about America was that there was more than one. Anne may be the face of it, but they were all "America". And they all had a vague sense of each other's respective territories. A sense that increased when one of them "died" or was "dying". It wasn't pleasant because it felt like Death was trying to pull you along too. When her strength waned, it meant theirs grew, almost astronomically because she was insanely strong. It meant one of them was in trouble and that meant all of them were in trouble. World War II was testament to how real that was. So was 9/11. He wished Anne was here. They were stronger together. But then, if she were here, then they wouldn't need to be here. She'd be back home, safe, and probably watching Disney movies and snarking about everyone's popcorn choices. What can he say? Tabasco on popcorn was delicious.
But this feeling was deep in his bones, and he knew they were running out of time. The others must be sensing it too as they ran through the battered and fallen stones towards who knows what. Texas just kept pace and hoped there was light at the end of this bizarre nightmare of time-travel and witches and cannibalism. He had the sudden, strange, urge to call his Papa, but shook his head to dispel the thought. Spain didn't understand his fear of cults; just shrugged, brandished his axe and just plowed through it because 'God was on his side.' Texas wasn't always so lucky and wasn't always this strong; didn't believe in gods. In their reality there were only monsters and monstrous people. Why couldn't things be simple…like a shootout. He'd gladly take bullets over magic. When they'd finally stopped, Texas was a bit confused. They stood before a…well? One that had a gate blocking it. What use is it to block a well?
"We need to get through this gate and get below. Quicky!" And Alistair, brandishing a crowbar, set to it, but it seemed the gate had other plans because it wasn't budging. And Texas would have left him to it, after all, he wasn't on his home front and his aides are constantly having to remind him that property damaging outside of their lands was apparently a big faux pas. But that feeling, damn it, it was making him shake with anxiousness. Anne needed them and she needed them now. So, forget the political weirdness; they needed to go down the well for Anne? Fine, they're going down the fucking well. And Texas pushed Alistair aside without any warning, causing the Scotsman to stumble and snarl until Texas quite unabashedly tore the gate from the stone with a loud snap and ringing of iron.
"Bleeding christ, lad…" Riley commented.
"We gotta go, yea? Let's go." The bad feeling wasn't subsiding. And Arthur didn't hesitate, jumping through, Rhys startling and following closely after their youngest sibling. Eire waved Texas through and the last to go was Alistair.
And, well, it was water they landed in. Surprise, surprise. And it was hella cold! Texas cursed as the iciness seeped into his legs. He shuddered both from the cold and sense of foreboding. The well was more of an aquifer, with a great cavern of musty air and stalactites and whatnot. At least there were no bats…that he could tell. The brothers, save a few curses in several languages, moved on rather quickly through the water to a wall with a lot of intricate carvings. Texas almost sighed and thought Anne would've loved this, Molossia too. Both such fans of Indiana Jones; the nerds.
Arthur, meanwhile, had pulled out a stick with a brightly glowing star at one end…Texas just stared a moment. Is that a…was that supposed to be a wand? He thought it'd be something like a gnarled stick with a rock attached to it, like…the wizards in movies. And the others seemed to pull things out of the air too. The Irishman had something of a knife, which sounded far more useful, but there were so many things attached to it, it seemed like it'd get in the way. Alistair's seemed so much cooler as he'd conjured up a giant-ass sword! What were they? Claymores or was this a broadsword? Texas thought that was cool as hell. And then, there was the wizard stick! Rhys' staff was as tall as him, intricate and expertly crafted.
Though, it was at this moment that Texas realized he had no weapon. He couldn't bring his favorite gun into the country; he wasn't magical. He had his fists…maybe the crowbar Alistair was using earlier. Crap. He should've got special permission to take his gun, but that would've taken time; time he didn't have. And they were here now, so it was too late. No matter, the cowboy nation thought, I've worked with less. So long as no one tries to rip my heart out and throw my still living ass into the fire…fucking Temple of Doom…focus Pedro!
By this point the brothers had been chanting whilst Texas had been trying to shake old adventure films from his head, and the intricate carvings on the wall began to glow bright and the stone began to crack. Arthur stood close, insistent to pull his sealed magic to him. He needed to be ready for the backlash would be great and he needed to ensure the witch didn't have any opening to try and snatch it for herself. He needed to be ready; his child needed him.
In the past:
Trekking the forest was never pleasant as so much magic was interwoven into the very roots. That's why it was The Dark Forest. Magical creatures, fae folk, and wild magic was very present. It was as much a danger as it was protection for their borders. Arthur walked with purpose allowing his magic to pull himself towards his daughter. The air seemed static, and they knew they were heading in the right direction. There was a sharpness to the mist, and dark fae seemed to scatter about with chaotic little laughs and a heady feel in their wake. They cared not for what was to transpire, but it was amusing to witness, nonetheless.
Alistair had his sword unsheathed and ready, as did Arthur, the two of them leading the front and tense for any strike. Rhys was tense for different reasons. He could vaguely sense the auras of students he once had, gone missing, and he was unable to ever find them. They died here, he could tell, violently and in anguish. This was a terrible revelation. They'd been hunting Morganna, but she'd cleverly shielded herself in the Dark Forest at a very high risk to herself. What was left of her anyhow. Hiding in almost plain sight. But it was obvious she was luring victims into the forest. What an odious hag! Rhys never trusted her. Her eyes were too hungry with the way she started at Arthur. And at first, he thought it was because she desired his youngest brother, but it was that she desired to be him. And in the beginning, he could do nothing for their youngest was always desperate for a friend, brushed off the threat of another powerful magic user, something they'd never encountered before. She was new and fascinating and seemed simply curious as anyone would be.
But her mania grew as did her lust for power. And she wanted to be immortal. So many wanted to be immortal, as if by being so their power would never wane. Such simple ambitions. Power was capricious. Empires fell and new ones would rise. So, it would always be. The mad woman was too plain for her own delusions; leave it to a human to have such grandiose ideas. Rome was notorious for producing such people into thinking they were gods amongst men. And Rome himself simply laughed it off, calling his leaders interesting and fun, but where were pretty ladies at? It wouldn't be the first time Rhys thought Rome was as insane as some of his emperors. No matter. He's dead now.
A metallic scent seemed to begin thickly permeating the air, they could taste it. Blood. So much blood. And Arthur huffed, increasing his pace, muttering to himself. Eire took it upon himself to give a signal for everyone to keep up as there would be no stopping Arthur on a war path. He'd been genuinely hurt by Morganna's betrayal, when she'd tried to absorb his magic. When she led her dark forces against him; sending her own child to her dirty work, laughing and taunting even as said child died by his sword. She used to be bright and beguiling. Now she was his enemy.
In the present:
The stone gave a thick, grating fracture, and Texas jumped as the energy from within seemed to burn hotly enough that he was sure his eyebrows must be singed. Were his eyebrows gone? Ugh, he'd look so weird, and he did not want Anne to see him like that. He felt comforted when, after running a hand over his face, his eyebrows seemed intact, and he could still feel the beginnings of stubble on his chin. Glancing at the elders, they seemed to waste no time running into the brightly swirling abyss and Texas followed.
To say it'd hurt was an understatement. And Texas could only vaguely wonder what the hell they just walked into. Needle-like pain erupted over his skin, and he tried to reach for someone, anyone. And where was everyone? Did they just leave him here? He needed to fine Anne. He focused on that thought, on his best friend, who stood by his side no matter what hardships came his way. Who dug him up after the Alamo, tended his wounds, and gave him bright, shiny cannons as a gift. She trusted him to fight on her behalf. To run things when she was deployed. She trusted him to be at her side when they went to dangerous places. They had each other's backs. They were each other's support. And he trusted her hand when she extended it. And they didn't need blood to be so; they were connected by their vow to one another. Friendship power, he thought almost hysterically.
When the pain seemed to subside, he felt like he was going to lose whatever contents he had left in his stomach, despite not eating anything all day. A firm hand roughly pushed at his shoulder, and he peered up to see Eire grimly looking down at him.
"Up, lad. Breathe. Be ready." And Texas nodded, wishing the clenching of his gut to subside. It was just like walking into the battlefield, he thought, no different. He could do this. Peering around they seemed to be in another…room…space? And before them, a forest. But it was like trying to see through a very dirty window. There was mist and stone, and Arthur's wand shone bright. Texas moved to step forward, but Alistair stopped him. They can't go any further than this. Then what was the point? Texas thought.
"Not yet, Texas." Rhys answered his thoughts. "We have to wait for the veil to weaken at the right point." And what the hell did that mean? He was about to ask when he saw movement through the window—veil thing. Armored knights? And at the head of it…was that?
"Wait. Is that you?" Texas pointed to what looked like Arthur, in armor, glowing sword in hand and metal crown upon his head. And with him, his brothers, in various states of armor and weapons ready.
"Indeed." Was the only reply from Arthur.
"Wow, you weren't kidding about the King Arthur thing, huh?" The Englishman only sighed in response. "You even have a crown."
They rather ignored him after that and watched as their view seemed to follow that of their past selves. It meant what was to come to pass was drawing near and their fates were now aligned. Whatever scene awaited them was upon them. But there was a deep sense of trepidation. Bring Anne home was simple enough; they were stronger now than back then, but having them there, past and present, was a rather dubious plan because they had no real plan. No one knew how this fight would go, and the thought was unsettling to the brothers. Rhys had no more information. Only that they had to be there and so they were. Arthur tensed as the fated scene drew near. The ritual began, and the magic was rising quickly. All, magically inclined or not, could sense its potency.
Morganna smiled at the gasping girl before her; blood lazily seeping from the wound she'd inflicted. It was finally time and Morganna would be strong again. And when that wretch and his brothers appeared she would kill them and take their powers too. It was fate, destiny! She would be queen!
"You just barely missed my kidney, you lucky bitch." Anne clutched her side and glared up at the witch. Morganna just chuckled.
"Just be still, child. Embrace your sacrifice to a higher purpose. I shall become—" But Morganna didn't finish as a fist rammed into her stomach. She stumbled back, lungs seizing in shock and pain, and clutched a nearby tree to regain her balance. She glared at the petulant little thing in the circle. "Why you insolent, little—"
"I've been called worse. And injured worse, I might add." Anne grimaced as she tried to get to her feet. Suffice to say, she thought, the "circle in the woods" was not her ticket out of Oz. Not that she thought it would be, she'd never be so lucky. "What…you'd thought I'd go down without a fight."
"No, that wouldn't be fun at all." Morganna sneered.
"Just to make sure I'm tracking – you must be Morganna, right? The wannabe immortal?"
"I am Morgan Le Fay! The greatest dark witch to ever—"
"Ever live?" Anne childishly mimicked, "Sure, sure. Whatever. You know you will never be immortal, right? Even if you kill me now. You will never be immortal."
"Silence! You do not know the deep magic!"
"This isn't magic, lady. This is reality. You will fail today, even if you kill everyone. But…my father beat you once before. He will do it again."
"Arthur is a fool. He does not deserve the power he has!"
"My Dad is a magical, cantankerous old fusspot, but he earned his place. And he is the strongest person I know. You, lady, are dead meat. And you'll have to go through me first."
"Indeed. And I will!" Morganna raised her blade and Anne shakily stood. Anne hesitated for only a second as she could swear, she heard Texas. But unfortunately, there was a crazy witch lady with a knife coming at her and Anne figured at the rate she was bleeding she wouldn't last as long as she usually could when at full strength. She needed to end this fast.
The young Arthur gasped as he took in the scene from the intricate circle to the potent magic almost stifling the air. It was dark, the night of the new moon, and the magic was strong despite not being a solstice. How had they not noticed such powerful magical concentration happening in the Dark Forest?! And at its center, among the glowing runes, was his child perilously fending off the witch attacking her with an athame!
Texas shouted Anne's name as he saw the weird lady hold a dagger high and charge forward. He could feel a point of pride as they'd entered the view just as Anne gave a strong blow to the witch's stomach and sending her tumbling back! Nice hit! Even Alistair gave a small noise of satisfaction. But Rhys had also stepped forward with Arthur, their wand and staff burning hotly, and loud rushing sound followed. Eire had commented to him that they were one step in the ether, whatever that was, but that when the time was right, they'd open the portal, and that Texas was to help drag Anne back to them while they simultaneously fought the witch. Let us fight the witch, lad, you focus on getting our little Anne back.
"Morganna!" the young king shouted in rage. How dare the witch go after his child! How dare she place a curse upon his mother's talisman! How dare she try to harm his family; his legacy! He felt no small amount of satisfaction when his shout gave his daughter an opportunity to land a rather strong hit to the witch's face who screeched as she was pushed back. The moment was short, however, as she caught sight of Arthur and his brothers; a small gathering of knights behind them.
"Welcome, Pendragon. You are right on time to bear witness to my rise! You're too late, I'm afraid." Morganna had blood dribbling down her chin from the right hook delivered to her face. "The blood is already upon the stone and the ritual hath begun! Just as it has been foretold!"
"The debt for your treachery is overdue, witch! It shall be paid today!" Excalibur seemed to vibrate the very air, causing a dull sort of roar to grumble and groan into their very bones. But this was the Dark Forest and because of the ritual, all manner of creatures sparked into action, causing the scene to turn into chaos. The knights sprung into action, swords and spears aloft, as they fended off creatures they hadn't seen since the war. And Arthur ran forward to charge the witch. If he could get the focus off his child, they could remove her from the circle.
"Now!" Texas heard Rhys shout, and he felt himself twitch as if to do…something. He honestly didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do. Did it mean they were going through the window-veil thing now? Alright then. The others seemed to move forward. This would be so much easier if they'd had some kind of battle plan in place. Who was the lead? Who was the weakest link—crap, it's him, isn't it? He's the non-magical weak link. Whatever. Texas moved to breach the veil and found it was so much harder than expected. The same burning, prickling feeling settled in and his grit his teeth in pain. The others pushed forward, weapons ready, as the scene before them erupted into chaos.
The witch managed to meet every blow King Arthur threw her way, and Anne had been tugged down by some weird, gross looking thing pulling at her legs and causing her to crumble to the ground with her strength waning. The younger versions of the brothers seemed to set themselves upon the ground itself, tearing about the runes and knocking through the mounds of mud, and thrusting some manner of stones into the ground instead. Light flickered and stuttered as if the sun itself was just a candleflame struggling against the wind and with each flicker the air grew more and more oppressive. Texas got the vague sense that the young king was just knocked back, hearing Anne shout in alarm, and glanced up in time to see his best friend tackle the witch to the ground, both emitting rather feral sounds. The small blade knocked from the witch's hands, and Anne, pale from blood loss, gave the most wicked headbutt Texas had ever seen.
The Kirkland brothers, the elder ones, moved in tandem to the fallen witch weapons ready to keep her down. Texas, finally through the veil and seemingly to the shock of the young king, leaped forward to grab Anne from the ground. He grabbed her arm, hauling her up and grimacing at having to ignore her cry of pain, and pulled her back towards the veil. Should have been easier, the cowboy had hysterically thought but it seemed the very energy from them both was being seeped from them and towards the witch snarling on the ground. The younger Arthur had called out to them, but the elder Rhys shouted louder.
"Finish the seal, Albion!" They were struggling with the witch who scratched and cast out dark and very painful blasts towards them.
"You are too late!" Morganna screamed, "Her power is mine!" And with a great heave of magic thrust the brothers away from her. She grasped her blade and ran towards Anne currently hobbling to the portal. Anne sensed the danger before seeing it, the foreboding feeling she had got many times before, usually before she was shot, and reacted without thinking. Clumsily as her focus was waning, she was sure she accidentally elbowed someone in the face, and moved to catch whatever was coming after her, or block it, something. Well, she thought as pain lanced through her hand and down her arm, I certainly caught it. Her thoughts were almost detached as Morganna's blade had pierced her hand; fingers woven around the hilt as it met her palm. Good thing too, she mused, for it was bound to hit her or the other in the back.
The witch looked momentarily shocked, staring at the girl glaring before her, eyes unfocused and blade through her hand. The girl was panting heavily, skin color lost of any pinkish, healthy hue, but her eyes never wavered. And with a great inhale, wretched the blade from Morganna's before swinging her injured hand down to land on her neck. Whether the girl was trying to slap her or not, Morganna didn't know, but the thing was, the blade was through her hand. And that meant the blade was now in her neck. The witch gave a startled sound, shock settling fast. She attempted to blast them both from her as instinct to repel danger took place, but the blast failed and the talismans around their necks flashed blindingly. The other child, the boy, eyes wide, simply lifted his leg, thrust it out and hit her squarely in the chest. Their standoff was parted but not before the blade in Anne's hand tore through the skin in her neck as she collapsed backward into the circle.
Morganna immediately gasped out a healing spell to seal the wound in her neck. Panicking and enraged as blood spilled from her throat. The elder Kirkland siblings wasted no time in pushing their magic forward, focus finally aligned; to complete the seal their younger selves had not been able to manage the first time. But Morganna, strengthened by some of Anne's power was already moving to stand, called forth her dark magic to crackle around her hands as the bleeding slowed and the healing spell was working to close the gaping hole in her throat.
The moment was short, but time was almost at a standstill for the young king. His daughter was being pulled to the portal by whoever the boy was to where she was meant to go, but he had so much he wanted to say to her before she left. No matter the impossibility of it, he wished she could stay with them. He knew he would miss her. The scene was incredible really. There were their elder selves; united, strong, and focused in a way they'd never been before. How much time has passed for them? He found himself wondering again; they looked…not much older…but wiser; harder. And, oh, Morganna was standing again, strengthened by stolen magic, his child's magic, and he reacted. She would not win; she would not have his child. He was her father, and his duty thus and always was to protect his children.
Excalibur was a sacred blade, ordained and blessedly light, and a powerful tool towards his cause. It would become what he needed it to be. From his place on the ground, he turned the shining sword in his hand, pulled his arm back, and launched his arm toward. The blade careened forward and landed in the circle before the witch, glowing white hot, and emitting a blast of heat. His siblings, the younger, gave the sealing its name, and the stones they placed activated and cracked. It might be said, the scene was anti-climatic in a way, as the spell completed. But Excalibur shattered and the witch screamed, her bloody wound reopening, and the scream turned to gagging and slick sounding coughs and she slowly crumpled to the ground. But Arthur's sword was gone, and he watched, mouth agape.
The elder Alba, face darkened with righteous rage, wasted no time in lopping with witch's head from her shoulders. Myrddin's casting fire to the corpse. The flames showed a sickly greenish yellow, sizzling with the scent of rotting fish. The chaos quieted, the knights in the woods shouting silenced as the dark creatures dispersed. In the background, near the portal, a frazzled looking Texas was holding a very exhausted looking Anne on the ground, both breathing heavily.
Rhys recovered the quickest, barking for his siblings to move to the portal. And they flinched as the silence was broken. The eldest personification gave a small glance to his younger self, giving a curt nod, and followed. The portal was stable, but it wouldn't be for long. They can't all be trapped in the past. Eire and Alba carefully pushed forward in the veil, using their own ability to make the portal transition as easy as they could, while Texas tried to help Anne stand, but her strength was gone.
"Come on, Anne! Get up! We gotta go." Texas' own voice was shaky and almost bewildered. Arthur was upon them fast.
"Go on, lad. I have her." He instructed quietly, pushing the younger nation towards the portal and lifting his child. It was worryingly easy, Arthur fretted, her strength usually so immense that it was like trying to lift a mountain. But she weighed as much as a normal human would. And she trembled violently in his arms as shock was settling in. They needed to move fast. The younger Arthur stepped forward, as if to stop them, but his brother Myrddin stopped him.
"We need to cleanse this space, brother." And stepping closer in comfort he added, "You will see her again, in time. Tell her then what you want to say." The portal flickered and crackled before disappearing into the mist, and Arthur flinched. His child was gone. Back to her proper place, but he still felt gutted. How many centuries would he have to wait for his child to reenter his world? Would she even survive the portal back or would we fully lose her then? Arthur hated not having all the answers. "Come." His elder brother steered him towards the smoldering circle. Arthur glanced at it dispassionately. The witch was finally dead. She would no longer threaten him or his family. It was done. Crouching down, he sifted the ashes and found the remaining shards of Excalibur. His sacred weapon had served him well, but this was all that was left. What was he to do now? All the brothers had their sacred weapons. What did one do when theirs was destroyed? The shards still warmed in his hand, the call of magic still apparent and he carefully tucked them and the hilt he found into the pouch he always carried. They set to their work, cleansing the grounds, strangely being in the Dark Forest, but needs must. It would be the only pure spot in a dangerous place, and wouldn't that be something? And when the work was done, they would make their way back to Camelot, no princess in tow and the people mourned, their king subdued and lost in thought and life went on.
It would take a few weeks before the usual chaos of the kingdom would continue forth, and plans were made to expand Camelot into the forest to absorb the pure spot they'd created. It would be easier access to the river and they could develop a well, Eire and the chief architect would argue, and Arthur waved it forward without asking too many questions. Yuletide rituals would be needed to replenish their magic again, and Arthur had hoped to be able to forge a new weapon for himself, or perhaps heal Excalibur. But when they began at the solstice, the snow falling hard, the shards of Excalibur reformed in the flames.
It burned hot with a sense of protection and roar in the distance, a faint scent of saltwater, and when the young king fished it from the fires, in his hand was a single, golden star the size of his palm. It glowed brightly, happily, and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. His brothers certainly teased him, but he was fascinated. In the end, Alba was kind enough to whittle a handle from the sword's old hilt, Crymu had used the same melded iron from his staff to fasten it, and Eire had woven some lovely textiles around the handle to hold everything in place and strengthen the grip. An unusual wand, to be sure, but it was his.
In the present:
It took weeks for Anne to fully heal. Arthur had found himself grateful for the aid of his kin who managed to report to their governments, spin some believable tale, and finally have some blessed silence. Texas, and the other Americans who had taken up residence in their London embassy, finally quelled when the Texan stood before them and explained the fantastical tale and set them to work. Eagle One is convalescing, so all the political stuff is up to them. He had told them. Arthur felt sympathy for Japan when their meeting was still held and they had to negotiate with California. Ah, well, not his problem. His concern was his daughter.
It was days before she was able to stay awake for longer than a few minutes. Her hand had to be immobilized and seen by proper doctors, who raised their eyebrows at their explanation of the wound but removed the knife and closed the wound in his poor daughter's hand. She would need physical therapy. Arthur was all too happy to remain by her bedside and ensure she had everything she needed, sending the Molossia boy to fetch things. The micronation grumbled but at least he complied as the Texan had to assume the main bulk of duties that Anne typically handled. At the very least, they were certainly useful. The only annoyance was the frog demanding to visit. Arthur eventually agreed if only to quell the Frenchman's worry and that he would give comfort to a very weary Matthieu. He swept in during Anne's more lucid moments, fussing and promising to bring all manner of fancy creams for her skin and a promise to brush her hair and Arthur couldn't argue. He didn't have an…extensive beauty routine. Certainly not to the caliber of Francis, so if it made her feel better, he wouldn't stop it.
Well, he didn't think he could deny her anything to be perfectly honest. Not when they'd emerged in their proper time, finally, and she looked at him in the darkened abbey as he held her over the damp grass. She could already sense her lands, the threat of her own demise passed, and it was the face she always knew. She'd clung tightly to him and sobbed. His poor child! And it was all he could do to cling just as tightly and tell her over and over that everything was alright, that he was here, that she would be okay now. She'd exhausted herself crying, but he refused to let her go, even in the car, glaring at anyone who attempted to take her from him. Texas had kindly removed his jacket to drape over her and said nothing as he held the doors open or pulled the blankets back as Arthur moved her from place to place.
And now, she quietly ate her porridge in her bed at his flat in London where the whole misadventure began. He always coaxed her to eat more, drink more, to think about regaining her strength. She'd paused a moment as he fussed with slicing an apple for her and placed the spoon down.
"Dad?" Arthur paused, ready to do whatever needed to be done or call Molossia to fetch whatever for her. "I…I'm sorry."
"Whatever for, poppet?" his eyebrows crinkled as he stared at her.
"For…everything? I guess? For all this trouble." The fingers in her left hand clumsily fiddled with the spoon, her dominant right hand being kept immobile.
"That's enough of that. You don't need to apologize for anything. It should be me who owes you one." Arthur sighed, placing the apple down. "I'm a selfish person. I don't like to let things go. And after years of needing to always be on top, my pride wouldn't let me admit that things change and sometimes, they change without me. I let my own fears lead my actions. And I tried to stifle you because of it. As for what has just happened; would I ever want to repeat it? No, but I do believe we can learn from it."
"Don't step in potions? Don't piss off dark witches?"
"Among many things." The elder nation snorted. "But more importantly, to learn to let things go. To let you go."
"Dad—" Anne startled, but Arthur smiled at patted her arm.
"Please bear with me, dear. I will always want to fight to protect you, and your siblings, but that doesn't mean I don't think you capable. But I shall endeavor to be better at letting you all be yourselves. And I may disagree with some of the actions or decisions you all might make, but that doesn't mean that I would love any of you any less. You are my children, and always will be, even when you don't need me anymore."
"Oh, Dad. That's one thing you keep missing though." Anne gave a wet chuckle and cleared her throat. "No matter what, we're always going to need you. Just like I needed you this time. I need you now. And you came. You're here. That matters so much you know. We…I always wanted…still want to just make you proud."
"And I am, Anne. I am so proud of you." He reached forward to wipe a tear. "I know I am terrible at expressing it, but I am. And I worry, always, too."
"Thanks…thank you for saying that." She sniffed.
"Come now. It's all alright, isn't it? You should finish your porridge and focus on your rest. You can continue impressing me when you're fully recovered."
"Trying to get me out of here, old man?" she teased, her throat still thick.
"Of course not! And who are you calling old?"
"Oh, my apologies. Should I call you captain or scallywag?" And Arthur pretended to be offended by her remark. "Privateer, my butt! You were a pirate!"
"How outrageous. Spurious lies, I say!"
"Uh-huh. And when were you going to tell me you were King Arthur? I feel silly for how much I idolized that story and the whole time it was you!"
"Not all of it. Some of it is myth." Arthur did look a little embarrassed.
"So, you say. You think Uncle Rhys would be offended if I bought him a wizard's cape?"
"Maybe a little." It would be funny to see his stoic elder sibling scrunch his nose as he always did when he was being teased.
"I'm going to buy him a cape – one with bedazzled stars!"
"He can put a hex on you, you know."
"Nah, he wouldn't. Not when I have the Once and Future King protecting me."
"Oh, indeed?"
"Of course, I am the princess, after all." And her father chuckled.
"Well, you're my princess, at least."
"So, I know you had to let the kingdom go, but does it still…exist? Or is it all really gone? What about the Red Dragon?"
"It has long been absorbed into these lands. Myths must be seen thus."
"And the dragon?"
"Planning to find it, are we?"
"Is that possible?!" Anne sat forward, almost spilling the porridge. Arthur reached forward to settle it, almost exasperated, but of course, of course she was excited about dragons. Rhys would be pleased. It was his brother's favorite subject.
"You'll have to ask your uncle, but I doubt he'll be forthcoming about it. And you should know, I am strongly against you getting involved in yet another misadventure." He smiled when she slumped, a small 'aww' escaping her. "He's happy to tell stories though…probably. Give him time to recuperate. He's expended quite a bit of magic." And Anne took on a thoughtful expression.
"Why could I see the magical creatures there? I never could see them before." And Arthur looked a little sad.
"Magic was certainly more potent then than it is now. Strong enough to be visible to even those who do not possess the "sight". But also, much that is left will rarely make themselves known which is why it is always a treat when they visit."
"So…is that why I was never able to see them before, when I was little? Because magic is weaker?"
"Perhaps. I wouldn't worry about it, dear. I am glad you were able to see some of them. They had been very disappointed when they realized you couldn't see them. At least now you don't think I've gone mad."
"I never thought you were crazy, but I knew you were disappointed. But then, you never saw the things I could either."
"I'm sorry." Her father gently grasped her hand.
"Oh, don't be. I'm glad about it. Those were monsters, the Skin Walkers and the Shapeshifters. They want nothing more than to tear your flesh from your bones. So…I'm glad you don't see them. They're not a pretty sight." And her father was silent for a moment.
"Anne…did you ever have any run ins with…cannibals?"
"Not often. They were down south mostly."
"But you did have to deal with them."
"They weren't strong enough to get me. They stopped trying after the first few times when I killed their hunting party by crushing them with boulders that only I could lift. Stories travelled and they'd never try to get me anymore." And for a moment, Arthur looked shocked, "But I know they got Texas a few times. He still gets nightmares, but it's rare now."
"That poor boy." Arthur shook his head sadly, "He mentioned them, but not how much interaction there was." And Arthur made a mental note to call the Spaniard and tell him he needed to go hug his poor son. The lad clearly had been traumatized and it was no wonder why. "I had no idea you had been hunted."
"It was before you found me, Dad. That's not your fault." And while Arthur could concede that, it made the revelation no less devastating. And it was more obvious now as to why she was so fearless or perhaps indifferent to the dangers of the world around her. She'd been dealing with it since she was a babe. And she was used to her strength; able to simply punch her way through problems and the monsters of the world stood no chance against such a force of nature. He should be grateful, he told himself, that his child was born strong. Born resilient. But once again, the point was that she should never have had to. Her childhood should have been safe, peaceful.
"I can almost see you're spiraling, Dad. It's okay. I'm okay. Hardships aside, I've had a good life. I have you to thank for that. And things got better. I mean, you don't find me peeing in the woods or eating raw meat anymore."
"Thank the heavens." Arthur huffed and Anne laughed. "One would think you were raised by wolves."
"I mean…yea. Kind of."
"Darling, please, my blood pressure can't take much more." He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Sorry, sorry! Here, I'm eating porridge and sitting in bed. Perfectly safe and civilized."
"Finally." Was the deadpan response and his daughter only laughed.
"Things are better now, yea? We're okay?" and his response was an immediate and almost affronted of course! "Oh, did you want this back?" And she reached for the talisman around her neck. "I got it from you in the 17th century trip just before I went to Camelot."
"No, it's yours now. And it will keep you safe." Arthur noticed a flash of relief across her face and knew it was the right call. So, she was still a little afraid from her ordeal and was trying to remain chipper…for both their sakes, his silly child. Not that he'd intended to take it back anyways. And it was true, it would always keep her safe. It was meant to go to her anyway as his blood kin. And in the end, it is what he wanted for her, as for all his children, which is to be safe. It was hard to reconcile that, as a parent, knowing that life was hard and oftentimes unkind, that you could not shield your children from everything. But still, if he can just be here when they needed, with a warm hearth and shoulder to lean on, perhaps that would be enough. It would have to be enough. He would remind himself of that every day if need be.
And if the time came again, when he would need to draw upon his own strength, wand or sword, or pen, or handkerchief, he would be there. Time and space would not stop him from protecting his little family. It was what a king does; what a father does.
Okay guys, I'm so sorry this took so long to finish! Years, guys! But I got so stuck and then so busy that my creativity just went into hibernation. And I wish I could say that suddenly things are better, but that is hardly the case. I'd managed to find a really good job, and this is supposed to be my big break despite it being insanely busy and my commute being unfortunately over an hour, but now there's been a long lasting strike and now they're slashing jobs, and I am nervous about my place there. And if I get let go, there are so few options out here, so my stress level is peaking. So, color me surprised when I was just skimming over this over, as I have done over the years, still trying to add to it, and suddenly...I just sat down and began to type away. I'm not 100% sure I like how it went, but I do feel satisfied that it is complete. I had thought I'd only write a few thousand words and just end it, but it kept going that I suddenly was needing to remind myself that the story is over and to stop adding to it. There's just always so much potential and different aspects to look at. I did take some historical liberties with certain timelines, but eh, I thought it added to the story.
Anyways, for those of you who left comments and favorited and followed. Thank you! I am always nervous about my writing and seeing that many enjoyed reading this makes all the difference in my confidence as a writer. It's why I felt so bad that this was pending for so long and why I still tried to ensure this was completed. I still have so many stories floating around my head, maybe I can churn them out and hopefully that won't take years!
Take care everyone!
