Warning: this is the chapter where Bo wakes up and the OT3 are reunited (finally!) so the ending gets a little…spicy.
Merlin and Morgana followed their escorts – at least they preferred to think of them that way, rather than as jailers – through a complex maze of grand halls, winding corridors, and up and down several staircases, every inch of which seemed designed to display the vast wealth of a culture far more ancient than any that still endured in the human world, with marble walls hung with exquisitely detailed tapestries and paintings and windows that were practically works of art unto themselves, though their ultimate destination proved to be less luxurious. The walls in the guards' wing were of plain gray stone, the decorations, though still of good quality, were sparser, and the windows were just ordinary glass.
The room they finally ended up in was the same; it was fairly large, with a window that provided a pleasant view, and the furniture was obviously well-made, yet there was no doubt that this was not a room for some pampered noble to lounge around in. There were a couple of servants bustling in and out, putting sheets on the bed and bringing in other amenities to prepare the previously vacant chamber for occupation, and Zhadia drew one of them aside to verify that the lock was proof against magic.
"Yes, all the standard security measures are in place, milady," the maid assured her. "Is there anyone in particular the new tenant's worried about keeping out?"
"No," Zhadia replied with a hard-eyed glance at Merlin and Morgana, "it's more what needs to be kept in."
"The humans are staying here?" the manservant blurted out, apparently alarmed. "I'd better take the rug out in case they soil it… But what if they get on the bed?"
"Let's hope they're housebroken," Mireya said carelessly, idly flicking an imaginary piece of lint off her tunic. "You are, aren't you?" she asked, directly addressing the humans in question for the first time.
"I beg your pardon?" Morgana sputtered, outraged. "Housebroken?!"
"Yes." A slight frown marred the redhead's pretty face as she peered inquisitively at them. "If they bring in a bucket for you, you'll know how to use it in case your mistress' bodyguard doesn't come back in time to take you outside, won't you? And you won't tear things up?"
Merlin and Morgana traded incredulous looks at how the woman seemed to think they had the mentality of mischievous puppies before he assured her that they knew how to behave themselves.
"They'll be fine, cousin," Gabriel added his two shillings' worth. "They must be very well-trained if they're smart enough to learn magic tricks." He then gave them what looked like a genuine smile. "I'm glad you're staying; maybe we can have a rematch sometime."
"So you can throw more fireballs at us? Thanks but no thanks," Merlin said dryly.
"I can do more than that – watch." He picked up an empty pitcher that had just been placed on the nightstand and waved his hand over it, filling it with water. "I'm an elemental," he explained, grinning broadly at their expressions of surprise – based on their observations of him during their long walk, he seemed to be a perfectly genial fellow as long as he wasn't under orders to capture you – "but Zhadia says I rely on fire too much in a fight. I need to work on being more creative with the other elements."
"I also say you talk too much. Why don't you work on that?" Zhadia grumbled, smacking the back of his head.
Gabriel scowled and moved away from her, rubbing his head. "I guess I could've pulled all the air away from you and captured you once you'd passed out, or filled your lungs with water. Do you think that would've worked?" he rambled on, looking at them as if honestly hoping for their approval, much to their consternation.
"Yes, it probably would have," Merlin said at last, "so I'm glad you didn't think of it."
"Gabriel," Zhadia growled, "shut up."
She made a move as if to whack him again, but Mireya's arms wrapped around her waist from behind, holding her back. "Why don't you keep your hands off my cousin," the shifter purred, "and put them on me instead?" She punctuated this suggestion by licking the other woman's ear.
Remarkably, no one batted an eyelash at this blatant display of affection between the two women.
"You're a shameless flirt, Mireya," Zhadia grumbled, though her voice was much less harsh than it had been, and the corners of her mouth actually twitched in what might have been the beginnings of a smile.
"Only because I had to be to get your attention," the redhead retorted, "and I'd say it paid off. I got you to marry me, didn't I?"
"Marry her?" Morgana echoed incredulously. Hoping to take advantage of Gabriel's apparent willingness to chat with anyone and everyone, she asked him, "Is that allowed?"
"Of course," he answered, looking confused by the question. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Instead of trying to explain the human world's prejudices regarding such matters, Morgana looked over at Merlin, silently confirming that he was thinking the same thing as her – that for all the drawbacks they were just now discovering, it seemed that there was at least one part of fae society that wasn't all bad.
###
Meanwhile, in the castle's infirmary, every fae on staff who possessed any form of healing power or skill at concocting medicines and restorative potions was hard at work on Bo, and Dyson was glad to see that she already looked better, at least as far as he could tell from his vantage point across the room, where the healers had shunted him to get him out of their way.
Once her condition was stabilized, with her nascent pneumonia cleared up, her minor scrapes and bruises healed, and some color restored to her pallid face thanks to a powerful nutritional potion, the Blood King moved in to prick her finger, collecting several drops of her blood in a small glass vial he took out of his jacket.
"You can learn a great deal from a person's blood," he explained to Dyson in his private workroom, where he was mixing the sample with a number of strange chemicals in a silver dish. "In this instance, my aim is to analyze this curse that has infected her, to find out how it attached itself to her and how it can be drawn out or nullified."
He stirred the mixture with a glass rod for exactly three minutes while carefully observing the reactions that took place, then poured it onto a sheet of paper and sprinkled in some sort of powder. The pool of liquid spread outward, separating and flowing into lines that formed arcane symbols which were incomprehensible to Dyson but seemed to mean something to the king, judging by the way he frowned thoughtfully and nodded to himself as he studied them. "Yes, I see," he muttered. "Ingenious…"
Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Dyson asked, "Is all this really necessary? I thought you only needed to write something in your blood to make it happen."
"That's true, but it isn't always as straightforward as it sounds. The powers of a Blood Sage are nothing to toy with, and if they aren't used carefully…" A dark, troubled look passed over the king's face, but he opted not to finish that thought, choosing instead to focus on the present challenge. "In Isabeau's case, the curse has embedded itself deep within the core of her life force, so if I simply erased it… Well, it would be like cutting someone's hair by ripping it out at the root; it would achieve the desired result, but it would be painful and the results…messy. Instead, I'm going to draw it out by transferring it to an alternative host, much as she did when she extracted it from the original vessel."
"Who do you expect to volunteer for that?"
"Someone who feeds on dark magic."
The fae in question turned out to be an olive-complected man with gray-streaked black hair slicked back from his face, who briefly examined Bo before announcing that the curse was so deeply entrenched that he wasn't sure he could pull it out.
"I'll take care of that, Emid," the king replied. "Just be ready to consume it when I do." He then rolled up his sleeve, got out his dagger and his writing instruments, and got to work.
For some reason, Dyson had expected the process – the same one by which the laws had been created – to be something profound or spectacular to witness, but it was almost disappointingly anticlimactic; the Blood King simply cut his wrist, drained a small amount of blood into a glass bottle, bandaged the shallow wound, and dipped his pen into the blood as matter-of-factly as if it were ordinary ink.
"My apologies if you were expecting more of a spectacle," he said as he pulled a piece of paper toward him, "but fortunately for me, I believe this writing will be simple enough not to require much blood."
"When will we know if it's working?" Dyson asked, recalling how the king's curse on Kilgharrah and his kin had taken centuries to come to fruition.
"If you watch Isabeau, the results should be readily apparent."
Dyson obediently turned his gaze to his comatose friend, who had been relocated to the king's private working area along with them and was now lying on a sofa that stood between a mahogany bookshelf and a large window, looking somewhat healthier than before but no closer to waking up. He heard the sound of a pen scratching over paper; then, just after it stopped, a symbol that appeared to be written in blood appeared on Bo's forehead, her mouth opened, and a thick stream of almost tangible darkness poured out.
Emid the dark magic eater stepped forward and eagerly drew it into his own mouth, a rapturous expression passing over his face as if he'd just taken a bite of some savory dish.
Then he moved back, and Dyson came closer, peering anxiously at Bo as he searched for some sign that it had worked. "Bo?" he asked softly, hesitantly. "Can you hear me?"
As if in answer to his question, she sat up in a sudden, violent motion, almost like an invisible hand had yanked her upper body off the cushions she lay on, and her eyes snapped open – except they weren't the warm brown her friend and lovers had so often wished to see during their long journey, but a bright, blazing blue.
Dyson felt an odd tugging sensation that seemed to be centered somewhere in his chest, before his mouth opened of its own accord and his life force spilled out, pulled forth by the inexorable force of a succubus who had been deprived of sustenance far too long. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a second stream of blue energy making its way toward her from the direction of the king's desk, though she didn't seem to want the magic eater's chi. The black-and-gray-haired man nevertheless made a quick exit, just in case she changed her mind and decided to feed on him next.
She continued drawing energy from Dyson and the Blood King for several minutes – they were both strong fae, but it still took a lot to make up for all the weeks she had been unable to feed – before she finally had her fill and flopped back onto the sofa as suddenly as she'd sat up, panting and staring up at the ceiling with a dazed expression as her eyes slowly faded back to brown.
Dyson staggered forward and sat down beside her on the edge of a cushion, peering anxiously into her face. "Bo? Are you all right?"
She blinked, her eyes slowly focusing on him. "Dyson? What…? Where are we?" She lifted her head enough to catch a glimpse of the blue silk adorning her frame, which only served to increase her alarm. "And why the hell am I wearing a different dress?"
"We're in the palace of the Blood King. Bo…what's the last thing you remember?"
"Camelot was under a curse," she said slowly, her gaze growing hazy as her focus turned inward. "Morgana was the vessel…she had to die to break it, so I… Oh my God, Morgana! Is she okay?! Did I- I didn't… Did I?"
She thrashed her way into a sitting position as she spoke, looking around frantically for her girlfriend and panicking when she found no sign of her in the unfamiliar room, until Dyson grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Calm down – Morgana's fine. You broke the curse's hold on her and took it into yourself, and then you…passed out…"
"I remember that," Bo interjected, interrupting his search for the right words to explain what had happened to her. "Not the 'passing out' part, but I remember sucking something out of her that wasn't chi – ugh, it tasted awful – and then she and Merlin were saying the curse was broken, but my head started spinning and I couldn't understand them anymore; it was like everything melted into a big blur…" She raised a hand to her head as she recalled the sickening feeling of dizziness and exhaustion that had overcome her. "I guess the curse got to me, huh?"
"I'm afraid so. Merlin and Gaius couldn't break it; only the Blood King was powerful enough to do that, so we – Merlin, Morgana, and I – brought you to him. Kilgharrah flew us here, but even with his help, it took weeks."
Bo was silent for a moment as she digested the news that she had been unconscious for weeks, during which she had apparently taken a trip on a dragon's back – one which must have covered a great distance, if it had taken that long even in the air. "So you guys busted Kilgharrah out to get me here?" she asked at length, her voice much quieter than before. "You must've been pretty desperate." She couldn't imagine that anything less than the very direst of circumstances could've moved Merlin and Morgana to free the scaly backstabber after everything he'd done.
"We were," Dyson confirmed just as quietly. "You couldn't feed, couldn't eat… We were all afraid we were going to lose you."
Bo shivered and looked away from his grave expression, preferring not to dwell on how close she might have come to dying. "But everyone else is okay, right? You said Merlin and Morgana came with us, so where are they? What about Kenzi, and Arthur, Gwen…?"
"Merlin and Morgana are safe; they've been taken to my quarters. Kilgharrah said he could only carry four passengers, so Kenzi and the others are still in Camelot."
"But she's all right?" Bo demanded again. "Curse-free and everything?"
"Yes, everyone woke up when you lifted the curse from Morgana. Kenzi was in perfect health the last time I saw her, just worried about you."
At that, Bo finally allowed herself to relax; the whole situation was still extremely disconcerting, and she still had a ton of questions tumbling around inside her head, but it was reassuring to know that at least the people she loved were safe and well. Turning her attention to the next pressing matter, she asked, "So, the Blood King, huh? If we're talking about the same guy who wrote the laws that set up the whole Light/Dark system, I'm guessing he's kind of a big deal, so how'd you get him to take time out of his busy schedule for little ol' me?"
"I think he might prefer to answer that himself." Dyson got up and moved aside to make way for the king, who had hung back while he explained the situation to her, thinking that she might handle the disorientation of waking up in a strange place better if the first face she saw was a familiar one.
Bo looked around, only then realizing there was someone else in the room…and then her face lit up as she recognized him. "Trick?! Is it really you?"
She jumped up and tried to rush over to him, but her knees wobbled, prompting him to hurry forward and catch her by the arm, gently guiding her to sit back down. Then, to his utter astonishment, she threw her arms around his neck.
"It is you! I wish Kenzi was here – we've both missed you so much – but what are you doing here?"
Trick – dear Goddess, no one had called him that in years, not since his beloved wife died – lifted one hand and awkwardly patted her on the back; not having been at all certain what sort of reception he might get from the granddaughter who was a total stranger to him (or so he had thought), this was better than anything he'd dared to hope for, but so unexpected that he didn't quite know how to respond. "Where else would I be? This is my castle, after all."
Bo frowned and pulled back, her happiness at seeing him giving way to confusion. "Yours? But I thought-" Then she froze as her mind, which had initially been overwhelmed with joy at finding herself in the company of someone she had thought she might never see again, finally looked past the familiar face and began taking in other details, such as… "Trick," she said slowly, "how come you're wearing a crown?"
"Oh, that." He reached up to touch the gold band encircling his head, as if only just remembering it was there. "Usually I only wear it when I'm holding court or conducting other official business, but in all this excitement I must have forgotten to take it off." He did so then, setting it aside on his desk.
His casual way of handling the priceless object spoke volumes about his familiarity with such things, and Bo's head spun as the reality of the situation slowly sank in. "Holy crap," she whispered, "you're him. You're The Guy."
Trick raised an eyebrow at her phrasing. "I beg your pardon?"
"You're the Blood King?!" Bo clarified, her voice rising incredulously. "I mean, I knew you were a Blood Sage, but I didn't realize you were that Blood Sage. How-?" She broke off the question after a single word, because even though she was dying to know how he'd gone from this to tending bar at a waystation, she couldn't ask since this version of him hadn't done it yet. Instead she asked, "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you save me?" Lifting her head from her hands, where she had buried it as she struggled to process the shocking revelation about her former (future) mentor, she fixed him with a look of piercing curiosity. "When we met in the future – long story – I kind of assumed you took a special interest in me because of my unique circumstances, being raised by humans and all, and the fact that I needed all the help I could get to figure out all things fae, but this you is a king – the king. So why give me the time of day?"
"Isabeau… Bo – I've been told you prefer 'Bo', is that correct?" At her nod, he stepped forward and took both of her hands in his, holding them gently while gazing earnestly into her eyes. "I've been scouring every part of this realm where my influence extends for you since the day you were lost, so when fate brought you back to me, how could I not do everything in my power to aid you?"
Bo shook her head in bewilderment; he sounded perfectly sincere, yet she couldn't fathom why he would say such things. "You were looking for me? I think Kilgharrah might've mentioned something about that back in Camelot, but why? What do you want from me?"
Now it was his turn to look puzzled. "Do you truly not know?"
"Know what?"
"That I am your grandfather."
At that, Bo's spine straightened sharply, causing her to inadvertently pull her hands free as she sat up against the back of the sofa. "My…my grandfather?" she repeated, her voice reduced to a whisper once more. "No, I didn't; the most Future You ever told me was that my mother was 'of your clan', and it took him long enough to cough up even that little tidbit. I guess he didn't want me to know that he – you – handed your own daughter over to the Dark for execution."
A note of accusation crept into her tone at the end, and she was pretty sure it was present in her eyes as well when she fixed her gaze on his face once more. He flinched, and for a second she saw real pain in his eyes, the kind of raw, deep pain that came from the very depths of one's soul, but then he closed his eyes and deliberately schooled his features into a sterner, harder expression, as if he was purposefully closing a door on his feelings. It was something Bo had seen Arthur do a couple of times when he was trying to project royal authority, and it almost seemed to come more naturally to Uther than actually showing emotion; now she wondered if it was a skill all rulers possessed, and if so, whether they worked at it or just picked it up from their parents.
"These are matters which are best discussed privately," he said firmly, before glancing at Dyson. "Leave us."
Dyson, who had already been edging toward the door as the newly reunited relatives' conversation became more emotionally charged, looked only too happy to comply, but before he could make his escape, Bo stood up, and was pleased to find that her legs were perfectly steady now.
"Wait up – I'm coming with you. I don't know if I'm up for any more private discussions right now, and I want to see Merlin and Morgana."
"You will stay," Trick countered in a no-nonsense tone that clearly said it wasn't up for debate, which sounded disturbingly similar to the one Uther used for giving orders – yes, she decided, it was definitely a royal thing. "There is much you do not understand, much I need to tell you, and much I need to learn from you as well. It's nearly dinnertime; come, dine with me. Rest assured, your humans are in good hands."
Bo hesitated, wavering over what to do. On one hand, she desperately wanted to get back to her boyfriend and girlfriend, because even though it didn't feel to her like more than an hour or two had passed since she last saw them, she knew it had been a lot longer for them, or at least a lot longer since they had seen her conscious.
On the other, as awkward and even painful as it might be to hear them, she also knew that sooner or later she would want answers from Trick, and this version, though much more emotionally repressed than the one she was used to dealing with, paradoxically also seemed more willing to volunteer information, so maybe she should take advantage of his forthcoming mood while it lasted.
Besides, his authoritative demeanor seemed to suggest that there might be consequences for refusing him, and although it was hard to imagine Trick coming down too hard on her, she had to remind herself – just as she had when she first met Medieval Dyson – that this wasn't the same person she knew, even if he wore the same face. It would probably be a good idea to figure out exactly where she stood with Blood King Trick before she started testing the boundaries. Of course, he wasn't just a king, he was also her grandfather, which she supposed meant she owed him a certain amount of consideration. After all, it wasn't his fault he hadn't been part of her life until recently, and whatever their flaws, both versions of him that she had met did seem to care about her.
"All right," she said somewhat grudgingly, as if she was doing him a great favor, "I guess I have time for dinner."
"Thank you," he replied with exaggerated politeness, making a mental note that she obviously shared her mother's willfulness. He just hoped she would prove more reasonable than Aife.
Turning back to Dyson just in time to catch him before he left, Bo asked, "Will you let Merlin and Morgana know I'm okay? Tell them I'll see them soon."
"Of course." Recalling the courtiers' debate over how often to feed humans, he added to himself, "I'd better make sure they get something to eat too."
###
The dining room Trick led Bo to was small and intimate, obviously intended only for members of the royal family rather than public banquets, though its furnishings were as elaborate as anything that could be found in more heavily trafficked areas of the palace, with a gilt-framed oil painting on one wall and two windows bordered in elegantly patterned stained glass in another. The dishes were rimmed with intricate designs formed by inlaid gold and silver, the goblets were the finest crystal, and even the napkins were embroidered with gold thread.
Bo's first thought was that this stuff was too pretty to eat off of – not that she hadn't seen some fancy dinnerware in Camelot, but Uther didn't usually go all out like this for a private family meal – but when the servants brought in their food and the mouthwatering aromas hit her, her concerns about messing up the lovely dishes went right out the window. Still she hesitated to dig in, wondering whether Trick would be upset if she used the wrong fork.
Seeing the naked longing in her eyes as she forced herself to butter her bread properly before tearing into it, Trick said, "Go on, eat. You must be famished."
He was right; the chi she'd taken from him and Dyson had gone a long way toward revitalizing her, so maybe she didn't really need food, but her empty stomach still caused her some discomfort. Besides, she'd grown accustomed to eating in the years before her powers emerged, and she still enjoyed it even if it wasn't a strict necessity.
She gave him a searching look to gauge his sincerity; then, at his nod, set aside her delicate butter knife and commenced ripping hunks out of the bread with her teeth. She moved on to the meat and vegetables next, and although she did make use of her utensils for them, she sawed at the turkey cutlets and stabbed the potatoes and greens with unwonted ferocity.
When she was finally able to stop cramming everything into her mouth and slow down enough to actually taste what she was eating – which was well worth tasting – she looked up at the head of the small table to find Trick watching her with a peculiar expression she couldn't quite decipher, though she was relieved to see that at least he didn't seem completely disgusted with her table manners. Whatever that look was, it definitely wasn't revulsion.
Feeling her eyes on him, he put down his goblet and faced her squarely. "I suppose I must seem heartless to you."
The bottom seemed to drop out of Bo's newly filled stomach, and she abandoned the spoonful of peas she had just gathered. So much for savoring the gourmet spread here. Out loud, she merely said, "'Heartless' is a strong word… When I met you in the future, the other you said you didn't want to give Aife up, but you didn't think you had a choice." She wasn't sure if she agreed with that – in her mind, people always had a choice – and to her surprise, Trick echoed her sentiment.
"I did," he said grimly. "Not a good choice, but I could have chosen to break the very laws I had just created, to shield my daughter from the consequences of her reckless, vengeful actions…and in so doing, reignited the war I had worked so hard and sacrificed so much to end. You have no idea of the death and destruction the Great Wars wrought, the hatred and division, the families torn apart, the oceans of blood spilled over countless ages… Tell me, Bo, could you let that vicious cycle begin anew to save a single life, even the life of someone you loved dearly?"
Bo looked down at her lap, only then becoming aware that she was wadding her fancy embroidered napkin into a crumpled ball in her clenched fists. "I don't know," she admitted while hastily (and futilely, she suspected) trying to smooth out the abused linen in her lap. "It sounds like the Great Wars were pretty awful, and something tells me your description doesn't even come close to what actually living through it was like, so I understand why you felt like you had to end it by any means necessary. Still…your own daughter?"
"It wasn't an easy decision," Trick confessed, pain creeping into his eyes once more. "I love Aife more than words can tell – after we lost Isabeau, she was all I had left – and I did what I could for her; I only handed her over on the condition that her execution was to be swift and painless. When I found out the Dark king had reneged on his promise, his punishment was…too severe to make for suitable dinner conversation."
He paused for a moment, his expression darkening in a way that almost made him look scary, which was such a foreign concept when it came to Trick that it left Bo rather disconcerted, before he tamped down his anger and assumed his calm, kingly demeanor again. "However, as the Blood King, my duty to all fae-kind must come before my personal feelings, even my duty as a father. As much as I loved Aife, no one can be above the law, or the law is meaningless. When she killed the man she blamed for her mother's death after I commanded that all hostilities cease, I had to allow justice to be done as it would have for anyone of lower rank, because to do otherwise would have been to throw away everything I had worked for. Those of us who are privileged and cursed to rule often have less freedom than anyone; that is a lesson you must learn if you are ever to wear the crown."
"Huh? Crown? What crown?" Bo sputtered, accidentally dropping her now straightened but still badly creased napkin on the floor. "Nobody said anything about me getting a crown!"
"Since Aife's act of rebellion and treason has proven her unfit to lead, you are now the heir to my throne," Trick informed her briskly, as if he was merely recapping things she should already know. "Your coronation will be held forthwith-"
"No – you don't want to do this! Trust me, I'm not princess material!"
"Nonsense. You are of my blood – the last of my line, unless you were to have a child-"
"Yeah, that's not happening any time in the next million years," Bo blurted out, before it occurred to her that she might actually live for a million years. "Maybe even longer."
"Then you are the heir." That was all he said – just five syllables, yet each one held such finality that they seemed to crash down on her like boulders, leaving her scrambling to claw her way out from underneath the weight that had suddenly been dumped on her.
"But you're basically immortal," she protested, aware that she was starting to sound desperate yet unable to help it. "I mean, I met you more than a thousand years in the future, and you didn't look a day older than you do now, so what do you need an heir for anyway?"
"I may not die of old age, but I can be killed. A successor to the throne is needed to provide stability should that happen."
"But I can't-"
"I understand that this must come as quite a shock," Trick cut in soothingly, taking his turn at interrupting her. "Just yesterday, by your reckoning, you were in Camelot, and now you've awoken to a very different reality. I'm sure you'd like some time to yourself, to rest and take it all in."
Seizing the chance to put off any further talk about this coronation business, however brief the reprieve might be, Bo nodded eagerly.
"I've taken the liberty of having Aife's old chambers prepared for you; I believe you'll find them satisfactory. Come, I'll show you the way."
###
As she took in her new room, Bo decided 'satisfactory' was an understatement; the place was certainly fit for a princess, with gold everywhere – even on the walls, for some reason – an enormous chandelier that looked like it was just waiting to crash down in the middle of an opera, not one but two mirrors, a little table where someone had placed a vase full of fresh flowers, and a bed even bigger than the one she'd had in Camelot with a chaise longue at its foot (all decorated with more gold, of course). In fact, it almost seemed like a bit too much, but she reminded herself that this used to be Aife's room. Judging by that mansion she'd set up shop in when we first met, I'd say she definitely liked things luxe…and I guess some things never change.
"I think you'll be comfortable here," Trick said as she looked around with wide eyes, trying to see if there was any more gold hiding in a place she hadn't checked out yet.
"You can say that again," Bo murmured, still somewhat awestruck.
"If you need anything, you need only call and a servant will be with you at a moment's notice," he continued. "I've also sent word for someone to fetch your human companions so that you can, ah, fully refresh yourself."
Bo started to thank him, then did a double take as the implications of his words sank in. "Wait. You had someone go get Merlin and Morgana so I can…?"
"Well, yes." Trick frowned up at her, his matter-of-fact attitude changing to one of perplexity as he took note of her reaction. "I assumed that's why you keep them with you… Was I wrong?"
"No, it's just… You're okay with that? Me being with both of them, and Morgana being a girl?"
"Of course." He was now giving her a blank look, as if he couldn't imagine why she might think he would object to such an arrangement. "I'll admit I'm surprised that you would choose to feed on humans when you had a fae available-"
"Dyson and I are just friends," Bo interjected firmly. "Friends without benefits."
"That much is obvious," Trick rejoined. "He only ever referred to you as his friend, and when I saw you together, you didn't treat one another as lovers. Anyhow, if you prefer the company of humans, finding a pair with magical abilities was probably a wise choice. Does the magic make their chi more potent?"
"Yeah," Bo said uncertainly, still baffled by how easily he seemed to have accepted her unconventional relationship. "Sorry, this is just…not what I expected. I thought you'd make a stink about me having a girlfriend or not saving myself for marriage or something."
Once again, Trick surprised her, this time by bursting into laughter. "Bo, I raised a succubus," he said when his mirth subsided. "I'm familiar with your needs – more than I'd like, to be honest – and you're hardly the first fae to make use of your humans in that manner. All I ask is that when you tire of them and seek new lovers, you exercise good judgment in your selections. When your mother was seventeen, she seduced the heirs of three rival houses within a fortnight of one another and nearly brought a blood feud that had been simmering for eight hundred years to a boiling point. It was all I could do to smooth over that mess," he recalled with a grimace.
Bo's only response was some incoherent stammering; while she should have been glad to learn more about her biological mother, she would have preferred to hear a less embarrassing anecdote. She also didn't appreciate Trick's assumption that she intended to engage in the same kind of hijinks Aife had, but before she could recover from her flustered state enough to set him straight on the fact that she wasn't going to tire of Merlin and Morgana any time soon, that theirs was a genuine, solid relationship, he bade her good night and walked out.
Left alone in her ridiculously luxurious new room, she paced around restlessly, inspecting everything closely yet afraid to actually touch most of it. It really was a bit overdone for her tastes, almost verging on what she would call gaudy, but when she tried to picture a younger Aife in her place, the image came easily to her mind. Aife, she was certain, would've felt right at home in surroundings like these, and suddenly she knew she wasn't going to ask Trick to find her a different room or let her redecorate this one. After all, this had been her mother's private space back when she was happy and carefree and not homicidally unstable, and staying here was probably the closest Bo would ever get to the person she had been.
…Although, from what Trick told me, it sounds like she was a handful even before she went crazy. Bo didn't know if Aife's back-to-back-to-back seduction of three people who already hated each other was out of the ordinary for her teenage self (somehow she doubted it), but even if it was the only stunt of its kind she'd ever pulled, Bo reflected wryly that after having to deal with that, maybe Trick's concerns about what she might get up to weren't entirely unreasonable.
###
Merlin and Morgana arrived a short while later, just as Bo finally worked up the nerve to sit on the edge of the chaise longue, though she jumped to her feet as they entered the room. They took a brief look around, but as soon as their eyes found her, nothing else registered. They rushed toward her just as she did the same, the three of them meeting somewhere in the middle of the shiny hardwood floor, and the next thing Bo knew she was wrapped in their arms, both of them clinging to her as if afraid she might vanish at any moment.
"Thank the Goddess you're all right," Merlin's voice murmured in her ear. "We were so worried…"
"Well, don't be," Bo tried to reassure him, lifting her face from where it had been pressed into his shoulder so she could look him in the eyes. "I'm fine. Really."
Their lips met in an intense kiss that seemed to convince him at last that this wasn't a dream, that she really was present, awake, and almost fully restored to perfect health. Then she turned toward Morgana, who had embraced her just as eagerly as Merlin but had been oddly quiet the entire time, and her heart sank at seeing the younger girl's jade-green eyes filled with tears. "Morgana…?"
"I'm so sorry, Bo," she said sadly, which only served to confuse the succubus.
"For what?"
"Are you serious? I almost killed you! You could have died, all because I was stupid enough to trust Morgause-"
Her self-recrimination was abruptly cut off by Bo's lips pressing against hers, making further speech impossible. Morgana made a halfhearted noise of protest, as if to say she didn't deserve to be greeted in that manner after what she'd done, but Bo only kissed her more insistently, and after a moment she gave in to her girlfriend's persistence as well as her own desires and kissed her back.
When they broke apart, Bo said sternly, "Listen to me – you're not stupid. You were just excited to find out you had a sister you didn't know about, not to mention desperate for a solution to what looked like an impossible situation, so of course you wanted to trust her when she swooped in and offered us a way out of marrying Leon and that asshole Urine. She took advantage of your trust, which says a lot more about her than it does about you."
"Thank you, Bo," Morgana said with a faint smile while Merlin voiced his agreement, not bothering to correct her on Urien of Mercia's name. "You're very kind. Still, I-"
"Still nothing. I know you would never do anything to hurt me on purpose, and I don't want you beating yourself up for making a mistake, you hear me? …If it makes you feel better, though, I forgive you even though you didn't do anything wrong."
It was Morgana who kissed Bo then, trying to show her gratitude for Bo's understanding and forgiveness, which was beyond words, while Bo tried to show through her reciprocation that she wasn't just saying those things, that she truly didn't blame Morgana in the slightest for causing her to get cursed into a coma and still loved her as much as she ever had.
Soon, however, their kiss stopped being about communication and turned into simply relishing the intimacy they had been denied far too long, while Merlin, who had missed Bo just as much as Morgana had even if he didn't need the same reassurance that all was well between them, swept her long hair aside so he could kiss her neck. She eventually turned her head to claim his lips instead, alternating between the two, and the tenderness that had initially defined their kisses and caresses quickly gave way to more heated passions. Hands began to roam with greater urgency, clothing found its way onto the floor, and before Bo knew it, she was flat on her back in the center of the oversized bed, sandwiched between her lovers as they took advantage of her restored consciousness to do all the things they were unable to do to her without her awareness or consent.
As Merlin's deliciously rough fingers slipped between her thighs and Morgana's slender, delicate ones played with one of her breasts while her mouth latched onto the other and Bo's hands stroked and teased them in turn, she decided – in whatever distant part of her brain was still capable of forming cogent thoughts – that her new room wasn't so bad after all. However uncomfortable the unnecessary opulence of the décor (especially that Phantom of the Opera chandelier) made her, the huge bed more than made up for it.
Well, I hope you all enjoyed that little reunion. I'll be posting a link to the picture that served as my inspiration for Bo's new room on my profile, and yes, there is a lot of gold. Just imagine candlestick holders on the bedside tables instead of those modern lamps.
Now that we've gotten Bo out of her coma and she and her crew are in a fairly good place, we'll be jumping back to Camelot in the next chapter to check in with the other half of our cast.