Paperlegends: The Raven Knife (5)
Masterpost
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 & Epilogue
“So you must be Mithian,” Robin said when Mithian arrived to see Bran.
She nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lancaster.”
Bran introduced her to Ophelia. She complimented Mithian on her shirt which had a woman with long brown hair in a green dress on it. The long dress had golden trimming and slightly puffed sleeves at the shoulders. The woman was in a forest with a tree branch curved over her head. Some sort of gilded head ornament was across her forehead.
“Oh my aunt bought this for me. She thought it sort of looked like me, so she wanted me to have it. She likes medieval depictions like that,” said Mithian.
“Your aunt has good taste,” praised Robin.
“Thank you.”
“Well we better go then,” Bran started. He saw the mischievous look on Ophelia’s face. He doubted he would get out of this unscathed.
“Oh no,” Ophelia spoke up all too cheerfully. “But you must see the pictures of when Bran was younger…”
“Ophelia, please, it’s not necessary,” Bran pleaded with her. He could see Robin shaking his head at Ophelia’s antics.
“It’s all right, really, I don’t need to,” said Mithian.
“Ophelia, we should just let it be,” Robin told her.
“Nothing embarrassing, I promise, Bran,” Ophelia attempted to reassure Bran.
“Sorry about this…Ophelia can’t resist, so we’ll just humour her,” he said to Mithian.
Meanwhile, Gwydion perched on Robin’s shoulder, was laughing - at least in Bran’s head. Bran gave him a reprimanding look.
“This should be fun,” declared Gwydion inside Bran’s mind.
“Oh Gwydion. You wouldn’t be saying that if you were the target,” Bran pointed out.
“Maybe.”
So a triumphant Ophelia got out one of the family albums they had. She showed Mithian a few photographs of Bran as a baby. When a photo of Alice holding Bran came up, he somberly explained to Mithian about who Alice was and that she’d passed away.
Then Ophelia, randomly, showed some photos of herself making silly faces. Everyone couldn’t help but laugh at those shots. And then there was one of Ophelia sitting down with Bran as a baby cradled in her arms because Bran had been too heavy for her at that young age to carry standing up.
Before Ophelia could continue, Bran smoothly thanked her and suggested that was enough photos for now. Ophelia gave him a knowing look, and nodded, ruffling his hair, and releasing him and Mithian. Gwydion flew to Bran, settling upon his shoulder.
“Your godfather and cousin are really nice,” commented Mithian as they walked to Bran’s room.
“Thanks.”
“And don’t worry about the photographs. They were sweet.”
“I guess Ophelia’s evil scheme worked then,” Bran joked.
Mithian laughed.
They entered his room, sans Gwydion’s special tree. Mithian remarked upon the picture on the wall of a younger Ophelia, Bran, and Gwydion on his shoulder. The picture had been taken not long after Bran’s reunion with Gwydion six years ago.
“Gwydion must be very old for a bluebird,” said Mithian shrewdly. “I thought they only lived five years, although that’s in the wild.”
“Gwydion’s not a normal bluebird. He’s one to defy convention,” Bran told her.
“Oh okay. He certainly has a lot spirit in him.”
“And a lot of magic too,” Gwydion put in silently.
Even though he couldn’t speak to her properly so he wouldn’t freak her out, Gwydion still couldn’t resist speaking his mind. Bran knew it was a common thing Gwydion did to sometimes amuse himself. Usually Bran was left with what Gwydion wanted to say because of their mental link. It was probably a good thing that Gwydion had to keep up appearances as a bluebird. Half the time, the comments Gwydion made were best not heard by the intended recipient.
Mithian looked at Bran’s desk, noticing the silver case upon it.
“What is in that case?” She asked.
“It’s a family heirloom. Just a fancy-looking knife. It’s called the Raven Knife,” Bran informed her.
He was lying about the family heirloom bit of course. He frankly wasn’t sure who his mother and father were in this reincarnated life.
The truth was he’d found the Raven Knife at a castle ruin one early summer day. He, Ophelia, Robin and Alice had been spending time together as a family. That had been not long before Alice’s untimely death.
“Gwydion, only me or you can make the Raven Knife visible, and it wasn’t me,” he said to Gwydion silently. “I thought it’d be best to keep it concealed.”
“It’s just Mithian. She is Belle’s incarnation after all. It shouldn’t be an issue. And anyway, the Raven Knife is an example of my craftsmanship. I want to show it off.”
“You know I can’t tell her that my bluebird, Gwydion, made the knife in his past life when he was human… That would be a little too much for her.”
“So she won’t know it was really me who made it. As long as she sees it. I know she’ll be impressed by it.”
“Gwydion, you’re always so humble, it surprises me sometimes,” said Bran dryly.
“Why be humble when you can be amazing?” countered Gwydion.
“Could I see the Raven Knife?” Mithian asked him.
“All right,” Bran said. He opened the case and inside was the sheathed knife. The sheath was a dark silver colour with little diamonds in a V-design near the middle. This V-design of diamonds bookended the white raven at the sheath’s center on both sides. The raven’s spread out wings made a similar V-shape to match the layout of the diamonds.
Bran removed the sheath to reveal the Raven Knife. One unusual feature of the knife was that the blade wasn’t just made of silver, but also there was a diamond core embedded amidst the silver. The diamond bit was spectacular, as reflective and beautiful as any diamond.
Bran knew that Gwydion had added the diamond embed on the blade and the white raven on the sheath when he realized that Bran would be the knife’s wielder. So Gwydion aimed to incorporate touches that spoke of the knife’s wielder being a member of the White Diamond Clan. Then there was the normal-coloured black raven upon the knife’s silver hilt. That was an obvious reference to Bran meaning ‘raven’. Of course, Gwydion also signed his own name upon the edge of the blade as was his right as the knife’s maker.
“Wow. I’ve never seen a knife like it. The diamond is impressive. And oh, the raven! Your name means raven, right?” She asked.
Bran nodded. “One of my ancestors had the name. It’s a name that’s passed down every so often in my family.”
That was technically true except his namesake was Branwen instead of Bran.
“It’s signed ‘Gwydion’,” Mithian indicated, pointing at the signature. “Was he the knife’s maker then? Did you name your bluebird after him?”
“Yeah because he couldn’t come up with a more original name,” Gwydion answered smartly.
“You wouldn’t even let me change your name. You gave me the evil eye,” Bran mentally shot back at him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Gwydion in mock-innocence.
Bran nodded. “Yes I did. Gwydion’s quite fond of the name. Likes to sleep by the knife’s case every night.”
“Very funny,” said Gwydion.
Bran put the knife away in its sheath and then in the case. “So that’s the knife. I could show you something else. Not as exciting, I suppose, but it isn’t easy to make.”
“What is it?” Mithian inquired with interest.
“I do origami sometimes. I think I finally managed a decent-looking origami rose.”
The real reason was because an activity like origami gave Bran something else to concentrate on other than all his memories of his old life. While his past life had been a life he looked back on fondly for the most part, he still had experienced battle more times than he’d care to count. Coupled with being just eleven in this life now, he sometimes felt that his young mind couldn’t quite handle all those memories as well as he would’ve liked. So doing something like origami helped to relax his mind and deal with the memories better.
Gwydion brought him a piece of blue paper that he carried in his talons.
Bran gave him a look.
“The red paper mysteriously vanished. Really strange, I tell you,” Gwydion explained in pretend bewilderment.
“I’d like to see,” declared Mithian with a smile. “It would be nice to learn how to do a rose.”
So Bran showed her.
“What is it, Robin?” Ophelia asked him. He was looking at the photos in the family album Ophelia had shown to Mithian earlier.
“It’s Alice, isn’t it?” She figured out, speaking quietly. She noticed him looking at a picture of Alice holding Bran as a baby.
Robin glanced up at her. “Yes, sorry… I know it’s been years since she passed away, and I thought it would get easier with each year that went by. But I think I’m just fooling myself.”
Ophelia sat down next to him. She put her hand over his. “Don’t apologize for feeling like that. Alice was your sister, your twin, and don’t they always say that twins have a stronger bond than other people? And more so, you two were a team - raising me and Bran. Everyone deals with loss differently, and it’s okay to feel grief for years afterwards. It just shows how much you miss her, how much you cared for,” she told him, hoping to reassure him.
“I still feel that hole in my heart, you know, with her gone,” Robin confided in her with a resigned sigh. “It feels like that hole, that empty space, won’t go away. You’re right. We did have a close bond as twins…and sometimes I worry I’m doing the wrong thing and Alice isn’t here to give me advice. It’s ridiculous, I know. I wish it was easier to let her go, but it isn’t.”
“You’re doing a great job, my love. Don’t worry about that. And you still have me, Bran and even Gwydion…” she said with a small smile.
“What would we do without Gwydion?” He wondered.
“Gwydion’s quite well-versed on answering that question,” Ophelia said, grinning, and happy to see Robin looking a little better. The mood lightened, thankfully.
“Of course he is. I don’t doubt that,” said Robin with a smile. He stood up. “I should go and see Charlie about that Excalibur. Are you staying here?”
“To keep an eye on Bran and his lady friend?” Ophelia asked in amusement.
“And Gwydion too. He can be a tricky little bluebird, we both know that.”
Ophelia laughed.
Robin moved to leave the room, but Ophelia couldn’t help but speak up, “Robin, wait.”
He turned around to face her, and Ophelia kissed him without preamble. Robin deepened the kiss, to Ophelia’s pleasant surprise.
“If Bran’s friend sees us,” Robin brought up between breaths.
“I just wanted to say goodbye,” she said as innocently as she could. She smiled brightly at him, her hands around his neck. “So goodbye, sweetheart.” Then she kissed him on the nose.
He unexpectedly swept her off her feet, making her gasp in shock.
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” Robin told her.
“I’m impressed. You can still carry me without breaking a sweat?”
“Oh honestly, Ophelia, you’re like a feather.”
Ophelia raised her brow at him. “Are you implying I’m too thin?”
Robin gave her a disbelieving look. “It’s called a metaphor.”
“Now I’m sure that’s a simile. You’ve been out of school for a while. It’s understandable you’re confused. But don’t worry, you’re still my Prince Charming.”
Robin shook his head. “Goodbye, Snow White,” he quipped back at her, a name he sometimes called her due to her snow white hair. He kissed her again before he set her down on the table.
Ophelia smiled, pleased with herself. “Think of something more original next time, Robin!” She advised him as he left the kitchen.
“I’m already on it,” he assured her.
Even after a few days, Merlin still hadn’t met with Gwydion’s reincarnated form. Bran told him that Gwydion was just being stubborn and possibly Merlin not remembering yet was a deterrent for Gwydion. Yet Bran promised that he’d try to convince Gwydion to see him.
Merlin didn’t hold out much hope for the persuasion. He’d just have to remember his past life. That’s all there was to it. Apparently according to Bran, Gwydion had gone invisible every time Merlin was in sight, so he wouldn’t even catch a glimpse of his reincarnated form.
With the impending meeting on hold, Merlin woke up Thursday morning with an unpleasant burning feeling upon his Compass-embedded forearm.
“What the--?” Merlin couldn’t help but utter a little too loudly as it woke up Arthur.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked in concern. He sat up.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Don’t worry,” Merlin hurriedly assured him.
He practically leapt out of bed before Arthur could venture further with his questioning.
Merlin locked himself in the bedroom. He looked over his forearm and saw to his great dismay, that the immediate area surrounding the Compass was all red. Like a kind of strange infection.
He asked Athena if there was something he could do about it. Maybe removing the Compass would do the trick?
“I don’t think it’s an infection from the Compass. It’s a warning. I don’t know of what. I can decrease the pain from the burn.”
“Thanks,” he said as he felt the irritating pain sensation subside. “What about the redness?” He asked.
“I can’t do anything about that. I think it’ll remain until you’ve dealt with the problem you’re being warned about.”
But he didn’t know what the problem was.
He decided to ask the Diamantine Compass, and it told him that someone would be in danger and that he needed to help this person.
Upon asking who this person was, the magical device was coy and told him that Merlin should know who this person is.
How was he supposed to help someone who was going to be in danger when he didn’t even know their identity?
Merlin groaned. He left the bathroom, feeling admittedly frustrated. He didn’t like not knowing something if in fact, someone would be in trouble and he’d be able to help them.
“I’m sure you’ll learn who it is,” Athena tried to assure him, her strength of belief giving him hope.
He decided to get ready for work.
“Merlin, why is your forearm red?” Arthur asked him. Apparently Arthur had sneaked a look, but as expected, he didn’t see the Compass or at least he didn’t bring up seeing it. Merlin highly doubted Arthur would keep quiet about it.
“Oh! Um…it’s a weird apple allergy,” Merlin explained in such a rush that his mouth spoke before his brain could inform him what a pathetic lie that was. “It doesn’t hurt, trust me. There’s just this annoying redness. It’s nothing. It’ll pass.”
Arthur raised one eyebrow. He looked incredulous. “An. Apple. Allergy,” he repeated in disbelief. “What did you do, Merlin, rub an apple slice all over your arm? Do I have to toss all the apples now? Or maybe I’ll just eat them. Shame to get rid of apples.”
Something about what Arthur had said and the deprecating, sarcastic tone he said it in amused Merlin. He let out a laugh, and then he felt like he couldn’t stop laughing.
Arthur just continued to stare at him like he was mad.
All the overwhelming number of things he’d learned over the past few weeks, all the pressure and weight of knowing that his life was not as average as he’d once thought - had finally built up to a point that Merlin had to release it somehow. Everything he’d discovered seemed so extraordinary and a bit ridiculous and he still couldn’t believe that it was the honest-to-goodness truth.
He almost wished he was just crazy. That everything about other worlds, other versions of himself, his father being a god once upon a time, his familial connection to fairytale characters, having a past life and possessing real magic were just elaborate fabrications. But Merlin knew that this wild, nonsensical hope wouldn’t come true. His new magical reality was as real as the sun rising and setting in the sky.
Merlin didn’t notice that Arthur had left the room as he was in the grips of laughter. But Arthur had returned with a bucket of water, which Merlin soon discovered was ice-cold when Arthur helpfully dumped it over his head.
That got Merlin to stop laughing. He glared at Arthur, his arms crossed. Water dripped from his black hair down his face.
“You’re such an arsehole,” Merlin shot back at him in mild irritation.
“Hey. You were laughing so hard that you looked like you couldn’t breathe,” Arthur defended himself. “It’s important to, you know, breathe. So you’re welcome. I saved your life.”
Merlin sighed, deflating, and he shook his head. “Fine. All right. Thanks.”
“So was I really that funny?” Arthur asked him. “You’ve never found me that funny before,” he declared.
“Yes Arthur, you were hilarious. I love finding ways to inflate that great big blond head of yours,” Merlin said in a dry tone of voice.
“And that’s why I love you,” Arthur said cheerily.
Merlin put the empty bucket over Arthur’s head in a small play of revenge. His lips twisted into a pleased smile. “Yeah, I love you too,” he said to Arthur’s bucket-covered head.
Bran thought he was home alone, but he realized too late how wrong he was. He felt his vision darken, and he was sure it was a blindness spell. He knew his spells after living his past life in the World of Magic. Though he didn’t possess his full magical abilities, memory still counted for something.
He was about to send a distress signal to Gwydion via their mental link, but the stench of chloroform got to him. An all too silent attacker had come up behind him and a cloth soaked in chloroform was shoved up against his face. Bran felt himself fall as he was knocked unconscious.
~ * ~
He was stuck inside his mind, fighting to return, to wake up again.
“Bran, I’m scared,” said Gwydion silently to him.
Bran didn’t understand what he meant. Being restrained by the Prince of Darkness, Bran could only watch in horror as Gwydion took the dagger and stabbed himself in the abdomen.
Gwydion had been put in a terrible position, but he was only eleven, and Bran couldn’t believe that he’d chosen to die. The damned Prince had given him no better option: Gwydion’s beloved star cat or Bran yet with the nasty twist that Bran would suffer no matter Gwydion’s final decision.
It was no choice in the end. But Bran didn’t think Gwydion capable of taking such a drastic measure.
“Gwydion, no!” Bran exclaimed as tears shone in Gwydion’s eyes and he collapsed to his knees.
Bran watched him touch his bleeding abdomen, looking oddly both confused and pleased at the blood on his hands.
He was surprised to hear the Prince echo his words. There was shock and deep concern in the Prince’s stricken yell. Despite the Prince’s ill-intentioned plans for Gwydion, he appeared to still care for him even though Gwydion wasn’t his son to look after anymore.
But Bran’s primary focus was on Gwydion. It wasn’t the time to consider if the Prince was as bad as he was made out to be or not.
Fortunately the Prince had released him as he was intent on getting to his former son. Gwydion had since completely fallen to the ground, managing to remove the dagger from his abdomen, giving a little sigh of peace. A light shower of rain began to fall in the forest they were in.
Bran stood in the Prince’s way. “Get away from Gwydion.”
“I’m not going to have a boy stand in my way. You’re just a nobleman’s son, thinking you can enchant Gwydion with your unnatural looks,” the Prince of Darkness accused of him darkly.
“No. He and I are friends. It’s that simple,” said Bran quietly. “It was your impossible proposition that forced Gwydion to do what he’s done. You’re a danger to him.”
“I want you…to…go, Father,” uttered Gwydion weakly from the ground.
The Prince had heard Gwydion, but he still remained rooted to the spot like he couldn’t believe that Gwydion had told him to leave.
Bran ignored the Prince. Instead he went to Gwydion who was still clinging on to life. He sat down beside him and held his hand. Gwydion’s eyes were half-closed, his blue eyes darker and so unlike their usual lively blue. Gwydion’s star cat, Vaella, was lying beside him meowing mournfully, her silver spots glowing in the dark of the night. The rain continued to fall, but now it was falling harder, more urgently.
Bran peered up at the sky, considering it, and he prayed. Yet this time, somehow, he felt it was most appropriate to seek the help of the God of Magic’s son, James.
Then the scene shifted and he was older now. At eighteen, Bran held his firstborn child, his daughter Nymeria, in his arms for the first time. She had hair as red as her mother’s, as red as dragon’s fire.
Bran had called her his little flame.
His surroundings faded away and then reformed into numbing darkness. He was sure he was blind. He couldn’t see a thing.
Then Branwen appeared, how he always imagined her. She was a woman of unspeakable beauty and grace with long white hair and a diamond tiara upon her head. She wore a long flowing white gown. Her eyes were purple, the eye colour of the Immortals.
She smiled softly at him, though her eyes were sad. “The wolf calls. The once-heir comes. I will always be with you, my child.”
Branwen faded away, though Bran still felt her presence nearby.
“Bran, Bran! You need to see it!” A twenty-two year old Gwydion told him excitedly. “I finished the Raven Knife. We need to test it.”
“I haven’t seen you this happy since you started courting Alice,” Bran pointed out. Yet he was just as enthused as Gwydion about the Knife being ready for use.
“Less talking, more following me,” said Gwydion efficiently, though he smiled that ‘I’m so in love I don’t what to do with this feeling’ smile upon the mention of Alice.
Merlin’s hands were sweating around lunchtime. He worried that an anxiety attack was imminent. To his relief, it wasn’t an attack, but a flash of a memory instead. Although it was inconvenient that he was dealing with it while at work. It was still much more preferable to suffering an anxiety attack here. If a fellow employee would see him that would lead to awkward explanations.
Merlin believed this memory to be before he and Arthur had gone into exile. He recalled the fleeting memory when he saw Lancelot, when Lancelot’s past self had given Arthur Excalibur.
But here, he was still in Camelot and it was before everything had gone wrong and forced him and Arthur into exile. Whatever that ‘wrong’ thing was.
He saw his past self in a lady’s chambers with a woman. The chambers were most likely hers. She looked like she could have been Arthur’s sister, Morgana, had she lived into her twenties.
Notably, there was a green and blue butterfly upon her shoulder. Zlota was a firefly nestled in his past incarnation’s hair.
His former self and the familiar woman were looking at a book of spells when a knock at the door interrupted them.
The Morgana look-a-like opened the door.
The person at the door was Arthur with his white wolf.
“Morgana,” he said, sounding quite put upon. “Could I please have my manservant back?”
“Wow, you even said please,” Merlin remarked.
“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur shot back at him. “You’ve been stealing my manservant, Morgana. This must be rectified.”
“Oh honestly, Arthur. We’re not children anymore. Stop sounding like I’ve stolen your precious toy.”
“You stole my sword once,” Arthur pointed out.
“Your wooden sword,” Morgana corrected with a wide smile.
Merlin’s past incarnation laughed. “Oh boy. What a tragedy.”
Arthur noticed the book of spells in plain sight. “I hope I don’t have to remind the both of you to exercise caution with your witchery,” he warned them, waving his hand about in a strange mimic of performing magic. “Like better concealing a magic book, for one.”
“Witchery? Where did that word come from?” Morgana asked intently.
Arthur just gave her a sharp look. “Good day, Morgana. Come on, Merlin. The fire in my hearth won’t build itself,” He told him, and pulled Merlin along by his arm. Zlota commented on the funny word ‘witchery’.
The memory flash ended and Merlin was brought back to reality with a gasp.
Or was it reality?
Because Morgana was now before him, but she was a ghost and most strikingly, she looked like she was in her mid-to-late thirties.
“Morgana?” Merlin uttered in surprise. “I just saw you in a memory.”
She smiled quietly. “Yes. From my past life in Camelot I expect. I’m from the future, the future life you have yet to live.”
“Are you…have you passed on?” Merlin ventured lightly.
Morgana looked unbearably sad and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Oh Merlin. I have two children. I failed them, Merlin. I should have been stronger, but I was killed despite my best efforts,” she told him, sounding quite miserable about it. “I can’t bear to see how they’re doing now. It’s a grim future. The worlds are in dire trouble. But that’s not why I came to see you. I want you to do something. You need to go and help Bran. Now. Please, Merlin. It needs to be you.”
“Wait. What’s wrong?”
“It’s where he lives, you know where it is. You will have an ally there, but your magic is still needed. Please hurry.”
And then she faded away into nothing before Merlin could ask her anything more.
“We better go,” Athena said. She started to release magic to transport Merlin away.
“No, Athena… we can’t do it here. Better in a more discreet place. I don’t know how I would even begin to explain vanishing from my office.”
With that, Merlin left the office claiming a lunch break, and Athena magically transported him away when he was in his car.
Merlin opened the door to the Lancaster home. But when he saw what was happening in the foyer, he was half-tempted to close the door and make his escape. Yet he steeled himself because if he had to help Bran, then that’s what he had to do. There was no chance he’d back out now.
He slipped inside and watched as a big grey wolf had his mouth clamped over an unknown man’s leg. The suspect-looking man was lying on the ground, trying to shift away from the wolf, but he was unsuccessful. He gritted his teeth, trying to stop from screaming out in pain most likely.
“Don’t even bother,” the wolf told him harshly. At this point, Merlin just took the wolf talking as he attacked this man in stride. Because he hadn’t witnessed enough strange things lately. Clearly.
He decided to speak. He could guess that this man was an intruder who might have harmed Bran. He needed to know where Bran was.
“What the hell is going on?” Merlin demanded to know, putting on his most authoritative-sounding voice.
At that moment, the grey wolf bit off a part of the man’s lower leg like it was a piece of meat. The intruder screamed bloody murder.
“Don’t fuck with the Big Bad Wolf,” the wolf said gruffly. He finally turned around to face Merlin while the injured man scooted away from the wolf, trying in vain to stop the blood now coming from his half-eaten leg.
“You’re another Gwydion?” The wolf asked him.
“Another Gwydion? I just need to know where Bran is.”
“I suppose it’s actually another ‘Merlin’…but you have full magical abilities?”
“Yes. Is Bran all right? What’s happened to him? Who is he?” Merlin wanted to know, pointing to the intruder. “And who are you?”
“Bran’s in his room. He’s alive, but I think Tauren - that’s the bastard of a man hopefully bleeding to death behind me - did something to him,” he informed him with an evil look directed at Tauren. “I’m Charlie Potter, a descendant of the Big Bad Wolf from the Fairy Tale World. I’ve been exiled from my home world and I’ve known Bran, Gwydion and the others for two years. That’s all you need to know.”
Merlin felt uneasy being in the presence of the wolf or Charlie as he was called. He was one big wolf, his height reaching above Merlin’s waist. “I’m Merlin, but you probably knew that, I expect.”
Then the grey wolf transformed into a man with brown hair and a scruffy beard. He was dressed business casual. Seeing a white dress shirt and efficient grey trousers on him seemed a stark contrast to his dangerous looking wolf form.
“What do we do with Tauren?” Merlin asked.
The man was fighting a losing battle. He only grunted in continued pain as dark blood seeped from his torn out leg.
“You should kill him,” declared Charlie curtly.
“Wait. What?” Merlin uttered, not expecting Charlie’s bluntness.
“I think Tauren here might have taken advantage of Bran. He deserves to die. It’s that simple.”
“What are you…?” Merlin trailed off. Then he realized what Charlie was insinuating, and a seed of anger grew inside him.
“Bran is no child. He’s an incarnation. It’s a different story,” Tauren muttered bitterly.
Merlin glared at Tauren. “That’s no excuse. So what if he remembers his past life or not. I saw Bran, and he looks like a child to me. That’s what matters. You have no right to force something upon him without his consent.”
Tauren didn’t look like he was listening. “Yeah, whatever,” he said flippantly. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Charlie glared at him. “I hope Death tortures you, you bastard,” he drawled, looking at the man with disgust.
Merlin had heard enough. He may not remember his past life, and he hadn’t yet used his magic to do something as big as killing a person - at least in this life - but he felt it deeply necessary to do so now.
He made a fist with his right hand and willed Tauren’s heart to stop with Athena’s help.
Then he just had to go further and he directed Athena to set Tauren on fire, to effectively burn him to death. Only Tauren’s ashes remained once Merlin was done with him.
“Come on, I need to see Bran,” Merlin said quickly as he went up the stairs. He didn’t spare a glance at the big pile of ashes on the floor, all that was left of the man.
Charlie followed after him. “Shit. That’s impressive.”
“I don’t make a habit out of doing that,” Merlin said.
“Of course not. Best to kill in moderation,” said Charlie thoughtfully.
Merlin hoped he was just making a joke. Although his attention was elsewhere, so he didn’t have the energy to concern himself about Charlie’s true nature and why exactly he was exiled from his world. Judging by the big grey wolf he could turn into, the reason didn’t look good. He could’ve been falsely accused. That was certainly another likely possibility.
He entered Bran’s room where a short and thick barked tree was impossibly growing inside of it as if the wooden floor was soil. Bran himself was lying in bed, almost as if he was lying in his own coffin - the knife pointed upward in his hands emphasized the effect of him not just sleeping. It was akin to days of old when Kings were buried or sent off in a pyre with their trusted weapons grasped in their cold hands.
Although interestingly here, there was a golden glow surrounding Bran. Luckily Merlin could see the boy’s chest rise and fall slowly indicating he was still alive.
Merlin went immediately to Bran. “Bran, wake up,” he urged him. He nudged his shoulder to rustle him awake.
Bran’s eyes opened and with that, the glow subsided and seemed to return to the knife in his grasp.
But Merlin noticed something wrong with Bran’s eyes. They looked clouded over, the tawny gold dulled. If Merlin would make a guess, Bran was blind. Or had been blinded by Tauren.
“Bran, are you all right?” Merlin asked him.
Bran didn’t quite look at him directly. Instead, he gazed to Merlin’s right, making a guess as to where Merlin was speaking from.
“Except for not being able to see, I think so. I was blinded by the man who attacked me. I’m sure he was sent by the Prince of Darkness to kill me.”
Merlin gave a long sigh. There was the Prince, rearing his ugly head. Of course he would be the one behind this. Merlin recalled James telling him how the Prince thought of the White Diamond Clan as his enemy, and if Bran was a part of that Clan, then this included him too.
“Is it possible to magically fix the blindness?” Merlin asked. He figured that sometimes things didn’t have a magical solution, but hopefully Bran’s blindness could be reversed with magical assistance.
Bran shifted position so that he sat on the edge of the bed. He said quietly to the knife to ‘return home’ and Merlin watched as the knife vanished from his grasp - presumably returning to the place it was usually kept in. A sheath or something, Merlin assumed.
“Yes, there’s a book of spells--” Bran started, but Charlie was ahead of him. He took out a thin book from one of the drawers.
“Is it this book, 2010 Edition Book of Spells?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah, Gwydion and I got that book last year when we were in the World of Magic. I’m sure it has a spell to reverse what I have.”
“Was the knife that just vanished the Raven Knife then?” Merlin guessed due to the mention of traveling to another world and the Raven Knife being a knife used for world travel.
He had noticed a black raven on the knife’s hilt. If Gwydion was the Raven Knife’s maker along with the mention in a vision that the Prince disliked the knife’s wielder, then the pieces fit together. Of course Gwydion would stay close to the person who was the knife’s sole wielder, and Bran was his good friend after all.
Bran nodded. “That’s it. My name means raven, so the knife became known as the Raven Knife. Some people call it Gwydion’s Knife too, in honour of him making the knife. That certainly makes Gwydion happy,” he intimated with a soft smile.
“Your name definitely gives it away. I’ll go ahead and heal you now,” Merlin declared.
He took the book from Charlie.
“It should be under ‘B’,” Bran said.
The spell book grew thicker as Merlin opened it and thinking of going to section B, the book obliged him and that section was before him. He barely had to turn a page as Athena magically perused the book until Merlin reached the correct entry.
“I could do the spell now,” Athena told him as Merlin scanned the page.
Yet despite Athena’s confidence, Merlin couldn’t help but be nervous because he hadn’t healed anyone yet. If he did it wrong, Bran might lose his sight forever. Maybe his barely remembered experiences of his past life would help him here. He had to have used healing magic on others back then, right?
Charlie told him, “You can do it. I mean you’re Merlin. Nothing to worry about.”
“If I could actually remember what it means to be Merlin, that’d be even better,” Merlin mused, biting his lip as he concentrated.
“I could try to contact Gwydion,” Bran suggested. “But I’m worried I’ll be blind permanently if I wait too long.”
Merlin shook his head. “No, that’s all right. I’m here, I’ll do it,” he said quickly. He gave a half-smile, and then realized a second later that Bran couldn’t see his face due to his blindness. “I’m just being careful, that’s all it is.”
He knelt down in front of Bran and he spoke the Latin words of the spell. While he wasn’t fluent in Latin - certainly not a language he’d learned in school - Athena helped him with a magical boost to aid in proper pronunciation. Truth be told, Merlin did believe he wasn’t half-bad at speaking in another language.
Merlin swept his hand over Bran’s eyes as the instructions directed him. He let out a sigh of relief when the reversal spell appeared to have worked. Bran’s eyes looked normal again.
“You did it,” Bran said. “Thanks. You need to return to work, don’t you? I’m sorry about that. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
Merlin shook his head. “No, it’s completely fine. You were in trouble, and I would have felt worse if I wasn’t here when you needed my help.”
Charlie cleared his throat. “Well you two. I’d better go and take care of some things. I’m glad you’re all right, Bran. Are Gwydion, Robin or Ophelia coming soon? It’d be wise not to be on your own now.”
Bran sighed, looking down at his hands. “Gwydion will be here soon. Robin’s at Rosebrooke, I think, and Ophelia’s out shopping…she’ll probably come home soon. I dread telling them about this.”
“I bet Gwydion will tell Robin and Ophelia. Isn’t that how usually is, you tell him first and he informs the others?”
Bran shrugged. “Yeah I suppose so.”
“Good luck with that,” Charlie wished him. “Goodbye, kid.” And he ruffled Bran’s hair, at which Bran frowned at him a little and patted his hair to fix it.
“Thanks for being here, Charlie,” Bran thanked him.
Charlie nodded at him. “Not a problem. It was nice meeting you, Merlin,” he said.
“Yeah you too,” replied Merlin.
And Charlie left the room. Merlin watched him go.
Then he turned back to Bran. “Why wasn’t Gwydion here?”
“I didn’t get through to him via our mental communication in time. I think you were meant to help me now instead of him. So you could see that you didn’t need a full awareness of your past life to do what you just did now. This is all a bit hard for me since I used to have full magical abilities in my past life, but now my magical powers are greatly reduced. It’s rather frustrating to depend on others…spending 24/7 with Gwydion seems like overkill. But I guess it’s necessary now after Tauren.”
“Were you born in the World of Magic in your previous life?” Merlin guessed after Bran mentioned having full magical abilities.
Bran nodded. “Yeah, as a member of the White Diamond Clan, the warrior faction. The members who make special diamond items like the Diamantine Compass are a part of the inventor faction. As you can imagine, they’re the highly creative group and they’re quite the dreamers too. You have to think outside of the box and dream big to produce what they do. ”
At the mention of the Compass, Merlin looked down to his own. He noticed the redness around the Diamantine Compass had completely gone. “That makes sense. You can see the Compass?”
“Yeah. Any member of the Clan could,” Bran said logically. “I mean, hate to say it, but some called the inventor faction a bunch of crazies, but er…it was meant in a fond way. I think.” He gave a half-shrug.
“This Compass does have an attitude, so I could understand that opinion of the inventor faction. Still, the Compass is impressive,” Merlin had to add. He certainly had a hate-love relationship with the magical device.
“Yes. The Diamantine Compass is a great accomplishment for that faction,” Bran agreed.
“By the way, why was the Raven Knife glowing?”
“Because Gwydion is an overachiever, which you’ll know all too well when you remember,” Bran let him know. “He didn’t just make a knife to use to travel to other worlds. He conjured a magical raven from scratch. Within the Knife is the spirit and soul of that raven. The raven’s bound to serve and protect me and Gwydion as we’re the two owners of the Knife. That’s the reason for the glowing shield. This particular raven is even cleverer than an average raven and has magic too.”
So the Raven Knife was a sentient being in and of itself, Merlin concluded.
A bluebird suddenly appeared upon a branch of the tree in the room. “Thanks for helping Bran, Merlin,” the bird told him.
He sounded like a boy to Merlin as he spoke. It was disconcerting to hear that voice coming from a bluebird. Merlin stared at him. Gwydion was a bluebird? He was surprised that he hadn’t even thought of that possibility.
“You could go back to your regularly scheduled life.” Gwydion said curtly.
“You’re Gwydion?” Merlin asked in disbelief.
“Yes. I’m a bluebird now in this life. I understand it’ll take some time to process.”
“It’s good to finally see you after you concealing yourself from me.”
“Gwydion is terribly shy,” Bran teased him.
“Bran, stop it,” he retorted in a petulant tone.
“All right. I’ll go now. Please be cautious, Bran,” Merlin asked of him. “After what happened to you…”
Bran gave him a small smile. “Yes I understand. Gwydion won’t let me forget it. Don’t worry about me.”
Just before he exited the room, Merlin saw Gwydion fly over to Bran’s side.
Toward the end of his workday, Merlin was hit with another vision. This one alarmed him a bit. It was another future vision, but Robin looked a few years younger than in the vision with Alice. He could be sixteen here? Or fifteen?
Robin was at the balcony of his castle. Merlin noticed worrisome cracks throughout the early evening sky. Vines of red roses decorated the stone walls on either side of the balcony. A great thick forest could be viewed feet away from the castle as if the forest locked in the castle from the outside world.
This future Robin was holding a dagger and Merlin was horrified when he looked intent on slitting his left wrist. Merlin knew Robin was in a bad state after that vision with Alice, but it was hard to see him willing to hurt himself here, maybe even kill himself.
Yet the hand holding the dagger was shaking and Robin was clearly hesitating. A black raven flew toward him. With his beak, he grabbed the dagger by the hilt and took it away from Robin.
Robin’s blue eyes settled on the raven, but Merlin felt that he wasn’t really looking at the bird. That his true attention was elsewhere.
The raven dropped the dagger down on to the small round table at the balcony. Curiously, the raven remained perched upon the table and didn’t fly away.
Robin didn’t seem to have the energy to scold the raven for making mischief and doing as ravens did: steal shiny objects. But what if this raven had been aware of what Robin had been meaning to do and had come to stop him?
Instead, Robin collapsed to the balcony floor and put his face in his hands. His shoulders shook and Merlin could hear him sobbing.
He uncovered his face, which was tear-streaked and his eyes were red. He looked the definition of tired and miserable. Not the look any sixteen year old should have. “Please just leave me alone. Please,” he pleaded with the raven.
Yet the raven stayed despite his protests, cawing at him as if to tell Robin ‘no’.
The vision faded away.
Merlin thought on what Morgana’s ghost had told him. That she had two children in this future life. He knew that Robin and Alice were siblings in their future life, so couldn’t they be Morgana’s children as well? That made sense to him, and connected the different visions too.
He had to believe there was a reason for these future visions. So Merlin couldn’t resist matching them up with what Morgana had told him. Morgana would be heartbroken to see what would become of Robin. He himself couldn’t stand to watch Robin fall apart before his eyes.
It made seeing these future visions a bit of a torture, honestly. If only bad things would happen to bad people and good things to good people. Sometimes reality could be a cruel mistress.
“So Tauren was killed. Thanks to the Big Bad Wolf, and more so to that Merlin you gave the Compass to. Really, Arthur,” Morgaine spoke critically of him. “If you want Bran killed, you may as well do it yourself. What is keeping you?”
“I didn’t like Tauren. I’m glad he’s dead. Cheers,” Arthur said dryly. “And can’t you see I’m trying to have a bath? Could we discuss this at another time?”
“No,” said Morgaine briskly. “We have to talk about this. You’ve been weird lately.”
His wolf Achilles was beside the bathtub, and he growled in threat at Morgaine.
“I hate your damned wolf,” Morgaine confided in the Prince. She glared at Achilles.
The Prince dunked his head underwater, wetting his blond hair, in lieu of answering his wife.
He lifted his head back up. “Tell you what. I’ll buy you an obscenely expensive necklace if you’ll leave right now,” the Prince suggested.
Morgaine crossed her arms over her chest. She frowned. “It better be expensive. And I want a new dress too.”
“Done. Anything for my wife,” he said smoothly in a half-distracted tone.
“If you’d get rid of Nimueh--”
The Prince groaned. “Again with Nimueh,” the Prince said in annoyance. “For the love of everything, why don’t you two just wrestle it out in the mud or something? Actually, that sounds like a brilliant idea. I’ll watch.”
Morgaine pursed her lips and swept out of the room. Luckily his words had done the trick.
Sometimes the Prince wondered how his life might have been different if the World of Magic hadn’t been so irreversibly altered. That world had been his home, and he would have been King of Camelot if it hadn’t been for that bloody plague.
Once upon a time, centuries ago, the World of Magic had been a normal world. The majority of people hadn’t possessed magic while few were magic users. It’d been far from being labelled a World of Magic. But then when Arthur had been very young, a plague had reared its ugly head and wiped out all those who didn’t possess magic. The non-magic users, the majority of the world’s population, had grown very ill and then died. The world had been reshaped, now magic users were the kings, the rulers, of what was once Arthur’s world.
While Arthur’s mother and father had died from the plague, he had somehow withstood the plague’s death grip. Though he still suffered from the plague-caused sickness, Arthur’s body had been strong and didn’t give in to death. He hadn’t had a lick of magic in him, and yet, the universe had decided that Arthur should still live.
Due to being a well-liked magic user, Balinor had taken the throne of Camelot after Uther had succumbed to the plague. The Pendragons no longer had Camelot. Arthur had to live with the knowledge that he was now irrelevant in the world of his birth. Everyone in the World of Magic possessed magical abilities. They would never accept someone like Arthur who was not a wielder of magic - being good with a sword didn’t matter.
When he had been five, he’d been taken by a man named Agravaine to live in the Dark World. He’d come to believe that King Balinor had been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to kill Arthur. As long as Arthur had lived, his birthright - though on shaky grounds at that time - still had posed a threat to Balinor’s reign of Camelot. Agravaine had told him that Balinor had been pretending with him - keeping Arthur hidden away in one set of chambers. The King had just been making Arthur comfortable until he passed away from the plague.
Being taken to the Dark World, away from the tense atmosphere of Camelot, had saved Arthur’s life. He had grown up in his new world with a steadily growing anger against his former world, and despair at what he had lost and could have had.
He’d learned that the only way to make his plan of revenge work was to gain magical abilities. It had killed him a little inside to turn to magic. After all, magic had been the reason he’d been effectively kicked out of his own world. But dark magic became a comforting addiction to him. Dark magic was the sort of magic that even a magicless person like Arthur could gain access to with welcome ease. He just had to have the ambition, the desire to want the magic; and Arthur had all that. Revenge consumed him. Gaining power became his passion.
Arthur had learned to accept the need to possess magic. He relished how magic had made him powerful, and a legitimate threat to King Balinor, and his son, Prince Merlin. It was his former world’s Merlin that he despised the most. That Merlin was in his place. Arthur should’ve been the Crown Prince, on his way to being King of Camelot.
With a fiery hatred, he saw Merlin become King and be beloved by all his people, the great harbinger of Camelot’s Golden Age. Arthur became known as the Prince of Darkness, the enemy in the shadows plotting the destruction of all the worlds.
Some even dared to call him the Mad Prince, thinking they could belittle him by calling him crazy. Someone to be sectioned. The good King Merlin, the arsehole, allowed horror stories of the Prince’s violent acts like stabbing children in their sleep to grow and spread. That further gave reason for the Prince being mad and out of his mind. A crazed murderer.
Before Merlin had ascended the throne, Arthur had made one play of revenge. He had loved the irony of it. He got some delight out of Merlin dealing with the knowledge that one world’s Merlin had been adopted by the Prince of Darkness, enemy of his World of Magic.
It had been almost too easy. With Nimueh’s help, Arthur had come at the right time to a world where a Merlin was about to be born. Back then, he hadn’t been aware of the true nature of this Merlin’s father. All Arthur and Nimueh had known was that the child’s father had been nonexistent, which suited them just fine.
But the most important element was this Merlin’s mother had been very ill. Giving birth had taken a toll on her. It’d been the perfect timing for Arthur and Nimueh to swoop in and take the newborn.
Nimueh’s reassurances to Merlin’s sick mother that her son would be well looked after were enough to placate the woman. She died with hope and peace in her eyes, believing that her son would be all right.
And Nimueh hadn’t been wrong. Arthur did insure Merlin had been happy and felt loved. He’d been especially pleased when the boy liked to go by another name, Gwydion, instead of his birth name Merlin. He, like Arthur, wasn’t terribly fond of the name, which showed that the boy certainly had good taste.
But everything had come to a halt when Gwydion was ten years old. Gwydion’s birth father, the god of unnatural magic, finally decided to give a crap about the boy. With the god’s aid, Gwydion was removed from Arthur’s care and taken to the World of Magic so that King Merlin could keep a closer eye on him.
So maybe Arthur had had plans for Gwydion that would lead to his death. The boy would have still lived to adulthood even if his quality of life would have most likely suffered.
Arthur had realized how fond he’d grown of Gwydion. When he was gone, Arthur had felt out of sorts for some time afterwards.
But it was when Gwydion met Bran and forged a strong bond with him, Arthur knew it was over. Gwydion would never love him like he did before. Ten years of having him, and it seemed like it was all so fleeting. Like only yesterday Gwydion was a tiny baby who’d looked up at him with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
The bathwater was cool at this point, but Arthur warmed it up with a light touch of his magic. He submerged himself fully into the water, vaguely wondering if he could drown himself. He couldn’t die due to his immortality, but the thrill of being on death’s brink had not been lost.
Before he saw the edge in front of his closed eyes, he thought that yes, the universe was a fucked up trickster laughing at the misery it put on its inhabitants.
All for the sake of a good laugh.
Fucking bastard of a universe.
Part 6 -->
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 & Epilogue
“So you must be Mithian,” Robin said when Mithian arrived to see Bran.
She nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lancaster.”
Bran introduced her to Ophelia. She complimented Mithian on her shirt which had a woman with long brown hair in a green dress on it. The long dress had golden trimming and slightly puffed sleeves at the shoulders. The woman was in a forest with a tree branch curved over her head. Some sort of gilded head ornament was across her forehead.
“Oh my aunt bought this for me. She thought it sort of looked like me, so she wanted me to have it. She likes medieval depictions like that,” said Mithian.
“Your aunt has good taste,” praised Robin.
“Thank you.”
“Well we better go then,” Bran started. He saw the mischievous look on Ophelia’s face. He doubted he would get out of this unscathed.
“Oh no,” Ophelia spoke up all too cheerfully. “But you must see the pictures of when Bran was younger…”
“Ophelia, please, it’s not necessary,” Bran pleaded with her. He could see Robin shaking his head at Ophelia’s antics.
“It’s all right, really, I don’t need to,” said Mithian.
“Ophelia, we should just let it be,” Robin told her.
“Nothing embarrassing, I promise, Bran,” Ophelia attempted to reassure Bran.
“Sorry about this…Ophelia can’t resist, so we’ll just humour her,” he said to Mithian.
Meanwhile, Gwydion perched on Robin’s shoulder, was laughing - at least in Bran’s head. Bran gave him a reprimanding look.
“This should be fun,” declared Gwydion inside Bran’s mind.
“Oh Gwydion. You wouldn’t be saying that if you were the target,” Bran pointed out.
“Maybe.”
So a triumphant Ophelia got out one of the family albums they had. She showed Mithian a few photographs of Bran as a baby. When a photo of Alice holding Bran came up, he somberly explained to Mithian about who Alice was and that she’d passed away.
Then Ophelia, randomly, showed some photos of herself making silly faces. Everyone couldn’t help but laugh at those shots. And then there was one of Ophelia sitting down with Bran as a baby cradled in her arms because Bran had been too heavy for her at that young age to carry standing up.
Before Ophelia could continue, Bran smoothly thanked her and suggested that was enough photos for now. Ophelia gave him a knowing look, and nodded, ruffling his hair, and releasing him and Mithian. Gwydion flew to Bran, settling upon his shoulder.
“Your godfather and cousin are really nice,” commented Mithian as they walked to Bran’s room.
“Thanks.”
“And don’t worry about the photographs. They were sweet.”
“I guess Ophelia’s evil scheme worked then,” Bran joked.
Mithian laughed.
They entered his room, sans Gwydion’s special tree. Mithian remarked upon the picture on the wall of a younger Ophelia, Bran, and Gwydion on his shoulder. The picture had been taken not long after Bran’s reunion with Gwydion six years ago.
“Gwydion must be very old for a bluebird,” said Mithian shrewdly. “I thought they only lived five years, although that’s in the wild.”
“Gwydion’s not a normal bluebird. He’s one to defy convention,” Bran told her.
“Oh okay. He certainly has a lot spirit in him.”
“And a lot of magic too,” Gwydion put in silently.
Even though he couldn’t speak to her properly so he wouldn’t freak her out, Gwydion still couldn’t resist speaking his mind. Bran knew it was a common thing Gwydion did to sometimes amuse himself. Usually Bran was left with what Gwydion wanted to say because of their mental link. It was probably a good thing that Gwydion had to keep up appearances as a bluebird. Half the time, the comments Gwydion made were best not heard by the intended recipient.
Mithian looked at Bran’s desk, noticing the silver case upon it.
“What is in that case?” She asked.
“It’s a family heirloom. Just a fancy-looking knife. It’s called the Raven Knife,” Bran informed her.
He was lying about the family heirloom bit of course. He frankly wasn’t sure who his mother and father were in this reincarnated life.
The truth was he’d found the Raven Knife at a castle ruin one early summer day. He, Ophelia, Robin and Alice had been spending time together as a family. That had been not long before Alice’s untimely death.
“Gwydion, only me or you can make the Raven Knife visible, and it wasn’t me,” he said to Gwydion silently. “I thought it’d be best to keep it concealed.”
“It’s just Mithian. She is Belle’s incarnation after all. It shouldn’t be an issue. And anyway, the Raven Knife is an example of my craftsmanship. I want to show it off.”
“You know I can’t tell her that my bluebird, Gwydion, made the knife in his past life when he was human… That would be a little too much for her.”
“So she won’t know it was really me who made it. As long as she sees it. I know she’ll be impressed by it.”
“Gwydion, you’re always so humble, it surprises me sometimes,” said Bran dryly.
“Why be humble when you can be amazing?” countered Gwydion.
“Could I see the Raven Knife?” Mithian asked him.
“All right,” Bran said. He opened the case and inside was the sheathed knife. The sheath was a dark silver colour with little diamonds in a V-design near the middle. This V-design of diamonds bookended the white raven at the sheath’s center on both sides. The raven’s spread out wings made a similar V-shape to match the layout of the diamonds.
Bran removed the sheath to reveal the Raven Knife. One unusual feature of the knife was that the blade wasn’t just made of silver, but also there was a diamond core embedded amidst the silver. The diamond bit was spectacular, as reflective and beautiful as any diamond.
Bran knew that Gwydion had added the diamond embed on the blade and the white raven on the sheath when he realized that Bran would be the knife’s wielder. So Gwydion aimed to incorporate touches that spoke of the knife’s wielder being a member of the White Diamond Clan. Then there was the normal-coloured black raven upon the knife’s silver hilt. That was an obvious reference to Bran meaning ‘raven’. Of course, Gwydion also signed his own name upon the edge of the blade as was his right as the knife’s maker.
“Wow. I’ve never seen a knife like it. The diamond is impressive. And oh, the raven! Your name means raven, right?” She asked.
Bran nodded. “One of my ancestors had the name. It’s a name that’s passed down every so often in my family.”
That was technically true except his namesake was Branwen instead of Bran.
“It’s signed ‘Gwydion’,” Mithian indicated, pointing at the signature. “Was he the knife’s maker then? Did you name your bluebird after him?”
“Yeah because he couldn’t come up with a more original name,” Gwydion answered smartly.
“You wouldn’t even let me change your name. You gave me the evil eye,” Bran mentally shot back at him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Gwydion in mock-innocence.
Bran nodded. “Yes I did. Gwydion’s quite fond of the name. Likes to sleep by the knife’s case every night.”
“Very funny,” said Gwydion.
Bran put the knife away in its sheath and then in the case. “So that’s the knife. I could show you something else. Not as exciting, I suppose, but it isn’t easy to make.”
“What is it?” Mithian inquired with interest.
“I do origami sometimes. I think I finally managed a decent-looking origami rose.”
The real reason was because an activity like origami gave Bran something else to concentrate on other than all his memories of his old life. While his past life had been a life he looked back on fondly for the most part, he still had experienced battle more times than he’d care to count. Coupled with being just eleven in this life now, he sometimes felt that his young mind couldn’t quite handle all those memories as well as he would’ve liked. So doing something like origami helped to relax his mind and deal with the memories better.
Gwydion brought him a piece of blue paper that he carried in his talons.
Bran gave him a look.
“The red paper mysteriously vanished. Really strange, I tell you,” Gwydion explained in pretend bewilderment.
“I’d like to see,” declared Mithian with a smile. “It would be nice to learn how to do a rose.”
So Bran showed her.
“What is it, Robin?” Ophelia asked him. He was looking at the photos in the family album Ophelia had shown to Mithian earlier.
“It’s Alice, isn’t it?” She figured out, speaking quietly. She noticed him looking at a picture of Alice holding Bran as a baby.
Robin glanced up at her. “Yes, sorry… I know it’s been years since she passed away, and I thought it would get easier with each year that went by. But I think I’m just fooling myself.”
Ophelia sat down next to him. She put her hand over his. “Don’t apologize for feeling like that. Alice was your sister, your twin, and don’t they always say that twins have a stronger bond than other people? And more so, you two were a team - raising me and Bran. Everyone deals with loss differently, and it’s okay to feel grief for years afterwards. It just shows how much you miss her, how much you cared for,” she told him, hoping to reassure him.
“I still feel that hole in my heart, you know, with her gone,” Robin confided in her with a resigned sigh. “It feels like that hole, that empty space, won’t go away. You’re right. We did have a close bond as twins…and sometimes I worry I’m doing the wrong thing and Alice isn’t here to give me advice. It’s ridiculous, I know. I wish it was easier to let her go, but it isn’t.”
“You’re doing a great job, my love. Don’t worry about that. And you still have me, Bran and even Gwydion…” she said with a small smile.
“What would we do without Gwydion?” He wondered.
“Gwydion’s quite well-versed on answering that question,” Ophelia said, grinning, and happy to see Robin looking a little better. The mood lightened, thankfully.
“Of course he is. I don’t doubt that,” said Robin with a smile. He stood up. “I should go and see Charlie about that Excalibur. Are you staying here?”
“To keep an eye on Bran and his lady friend?” Ophelia asked in amusement.
“And Gwydion too. He can be a tricky little bluebird, we both know that.”
Ophelia laughed.
Robin moved to leave the room, but Ophelia couldn’t help but speak up, “Robin, wait.”
He turned around to face her, and Ophelia kissed him without preamble. Robin deepened the kiss, to Ophelia’s pleasant surprise.
“If Bran’s friend sees us,” Robin brought up between breaths.
“I just wanted to say goodbye,” she said as innocently as she could. She smiled brightly at him, her hands around his neck. “So goodbye, sweetheart.” Then she kissed him on the nose.
He unexpectedly swept her off her feet, making her gasp in shock.
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” Robin told her.
“I’m impressed. You can still carry me without breaking a sweat?”
“Oh honestly, Ophelia, you’re like a feather.”
Ophelia raised her brow at him. “Are you implying I’m too thin?”
Robin gave her a disbelieving look. “It’s called a metaphor.”
“Now I’m sure that’s a simile. You’ve been out of school for a while. It’s understandable you’re confused. But don’t worry, you’re still my Prince Charming.”
Robin shook his head. “Goodbye, Snow White,” he quipped back at her, a name he sometimes called her due to her snow white hair. He kissed her again before he set her down on the table.
Ophelia smiled, pleased with herself. “Think of something more original next time, Robin!” She advised him as he left the kitchen.
“I’m already on it,” he assured her.
Even after a few days, Merlin still hadn’t met with Gwydion’s reincarnated form. Bran told him that Gwydion was just being stubborn and possibly Merlin not remembering yet was a deterrent for Gwydion. Yet Bran promised that he’d try to convince Gwydion to see him.
Merlin didn’t hold out much hope for the persuasion. He’d just have to remember his past life. That’s all there was to it. Apparently according to Bran, Gwydion had gone invisible every time Merlin was in sight, so he wouldn’t even catch a glimpse of his reincarnated form.
With the impending meeting on hold, Merlin woke up Thursday morning with an unpleasant burning feeling upon his Compass-embedded forearm.
“What the--?” Merlin couldn’t help but utter a little too loudly as it woke up Arthur.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked in concern. He sat up.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Don’t worry,” Merlin hurriedly assured him.
He practically leapt out of bed before Arthur could venture further with his questioning.
Merlin locked himself in the bedroom. He looked over his forearm and saw to his great dismay, that the immediate area surrounding the Compass was all red. Like a kind of strange infection.
He asked Athena if there was something he could do about it. Maybe removing the Compass would do the trick?
“I don’t think it’s an infection from the Compass. It’s a warning. I don’t know of what. I can decrease the pain from the burn.”
“Thanks,” he said as he felt the irritating pain sensation subside. “What about the redness?” He asked.
“I can’t do anything about that. I think it’ll remain until you’ve dealt with the problem you’re being warned about.”
But he didn’t know what the problem was.
He decided to ask the Diamantine Compass, and it told him that someone would be in danger and that he needed to help this person.
Upon asking who this person was, the magical device was coy and told him that Merlin should know who this person is.
How was he supposed to help someone who was going to be in danger when he didn’t even know their identity?
Merlin groaned. He left the bathroom, feeling admittedly frustrated. He didn’t like not knowing something if in fact, someone would be in trouble and he’d be able to help them.
“I’m sure you’ll learn who it is,” Athena tried to assure him, her strength of belief giving him hope.
He decided to get ready for work.
“Merlin, why is your forearm red?” Arthur asked him. Apparently Arthur had sneaked a look, but as expected, he didn’t see the Compass or at least he didn’t bring up seeing it. Merlin highly doubted Arthur would keep quiet about it.
“Oh! Um…it’s a weird apple allergy,” Merlin explained in such a rush that his mouth spoke before his brain could inform him what a pathetic lie that was. “It doesn’t hurt, trust me. There’s just this annoying redness. It’s nothing. It’ll pass.”
Arthur raised one eyebrow. He looked incredulous. “An. Apple. Allergy,” he repeated in disbelief. “What did you do, Merlin, rub an apple slice all over your arm? Do I have to toss all the apples now? Or maybe I’ll just eat them. Shame to get rid of apples.”
Something about what Arthur had said and the deprecating, sarcastic tone he said it in amused Merlin. He let out a laugh, and then he felt like he couldn’t stop laughing.
Arthur just continued to stare at him like he was mad.
All the overwhelming number of things he’d learned over the past few weeks, all the pressure and weight of knowing that his life was not as average as he’d once thought - had finally built up to a point that Merlin had to release it somehow. Everything he’d discovered seemed so extraordinary and a bit ridiculous and he still couldn’t believe that it was the honest-to-goodness truth.
He almost wished he was just crazy. That everything about other worlds, other versions of himself, his father being a god once upon a time, his familial connection to fairytale characters, having a past life and possessing real magic were just elaborate fabrications. But Merlin knew that this wild, nonsensical hope wouldn’t come true. His new magical reality was as real as the sun rising and setting in the sky.
Merlin didn’t notice that Arthur had left the room as he was in the grips of laughter. But Arthur had returned with a bucket of water, which Merlin soon discovered was ice-cold when Arthur helpfully dumped it over his head.
That got Merlin to stop laughing. He glared at Arthur, his arms crossed. Water dripped from his black hair down his face.
“You’re such an arsehole,” Merlin shot back at him in mild irritation.
“Hey. You were laughing so hard that you looked like you couldn’t breathe,” Arthur defended himself. “It’s important to, you know, breathe. So you’re welcome. I saved your life.”
Merlin sighed, deflating, and he shook his head. “Fine. All right. Thanks.”
“So was I really that funny?” Arthur asked him. “You’ve never found me that funny before,” he declared.
“Yes Arthur, you were hilarious. I love finding ways to inflate that great big blond head of yours,” Merlin said in a dry tone of voice.
“And that’s why I love you,” Arthur said cheerily.
Merlin put the empty bucket over Arthur’s head in a small play of revenge. His lips twisted into a pleased smile. “Yeah, I love you too,” he said to Arthur’s bucket-covered head.
Bran thought he was home alone, but he realized too late how wrong he was. He felt his vision darken, and he was sure it was a blindness spell. He knew his spells after living his past life in the World of Magic. Though he didn’t possess his full magical abilities, memory still counted for something.
He was about to send a distress signal to Gwydion via their mental link, but the stench of chloroform got to him. An all too silent attacker had come up behind him and a cloth soaked in chloroform was shoved up against his face. Bran felt himself fall as he was knocked unconscious.
~ * ~
He was stuck inside his mind, fighting to return, to wake up again.
“Bran, I’m scared,” said Gwydion silently to him.
Bran didn’t understand what he meant. Being restrained by the Prince of Darkness, Bran could only watch in horror as Gwydion took the dagger and stabbed himself in the abdomen.
Gwydion had been put in a terrible position, but he was only eleven, and Bran couldn’t believe that he’d chosen to die. The damned Prince had given him no better option: Gwydion’s beloved star cat or Bran yet with the nasty twist that Bran would suffer no matter Gwydion’s final decision.
It was no choice in the end. But Bran didn’t think Gwydion capable of taking such a drastic measure.
“Gwydion, no!” Bran exclaimed as tears shone in Gwydion’s eyes and he collapsed to his knees.
Bran watched him touch his bleeding abdomen, looking oddly both confused and pleased at the blood on his hands.
He was surprised to hear the Prince echo his words. There was shock and deep concern in the Prince’s stricken yell. Despite the Prince’s ill-intentioned plans for Gwydion, he appeared to still care for him even though Gwydion wasn’t his son to look after anymore.
But Bran’s primary focus was on Gwydion. It wasn’t the time to consider if the Prince was as bad as he was made out to be or not.
Fortunately the Prince had released him as he was intent on getting to his former son. Gwydion had since completely fallen to the ground, managing to remove the dagger from his abdomen, giving a little sigh of peace. A light shower of rain began to fall in the forest they were in.
Bran stood in the Prince’s way. “Get away from Gwydion.”
“I’m not going to have a boy stand in my way. You’re just a nobleman’s son, thinking you can enchant Gwydion with your unnatural looks,” the Prince of Darkness accused of him darkly.
“No. He and I are friends. It’s that simple,” said Bran quietly. “It was your impossible proposition that forced Gwydion to do what he’s done. You’re a danger to him.”
“I want you…to…go, Father,” uttered Gwydion weakly from the ground.
The Prince had heard Gwydion, but he still remained rooted to the spot like he couldn’t believe that Gwydion had told him to leave.
Bran ignored the Prince. Instead he went to Gwydion who was still clinging on to life. He sat down beside him and held his hand. Gwydion’s eyes were half-closed, his blue eyes darker and so unlike their usual lively blue. Gwydion’s star cat, Vaella, was lying beside him meowing mournfully, her silver spots glowing in the dark of the night. The rain continued to fall, but now it was falling harder, more urgently.
Bran peered up at the sky, considering it, and he prayed. Yet this time, somehow, he felt it was most appropriate to seek the help of the God of Magic’s son, James.
Then the scene shifted and he was older now. At eighteen, Bran held his firstborn child, his daughter Nymeria, in his arms for the first time. She had hair as red as her mother’s, as red as dragon’s fire.
Bran had called her his little flame.
His surroundings faded away and then reformed into numbing darkness. He was sure he was blind. He couldn’t see a thing.
Then Branwen appeared, how he always imagined her. She was a woman of unspeakable beauty and grace with long white hair and a diamond tiara upon her head. She wore a long flowing white gown. Her eyes were purple, the eye colour of the Immortals.
She smiled softly at him, though her eyes were sad. “The wolf calls. The once-heir comes. I will always be with you, my child.”
Branwen faded away, though Bran still felt her presence nearby.
“Bran, Bran! You need to see it!” A twenty-two year old Gwydion told him excitedly. “I finished the Raven Knife. We need to test it.”
“I haven’t seen you this happy since you started courting Alice,” Bran pointed out. Yet he was just as enthused as Gwydion about the Knife being ready for use.
“Less talking, more following me,” said Gwydion efficiently, though he smiled that ‘I’m so in love I don’t what to do with this feeling’ smile upon the mention of Alice.
Merlin’s hands were sweating around lunchtime. He worried that an anxiety attack was imminent. To his relief, it wasn’t an attack, but a flash of a memory instead. Although it was inconvenient that he was dealing with it while at work. It was still much more preferable to suffering an anxiety attack here. If a fellow employee would see him that would lead to awkward explanations.
Merlin believed this memory to be before he and Arthur had gone into exile. He recalled the fleeting memory when he saw Lancelot, when Lancelot’s past self had given Arthur Excalibur.
But here, he was still in Camelot and it was before everything had gone wrong and forced him and Arthur into exile. Whatever that ‘wrong’ thing was.
He saw his past self in a lady’s chambers with a woman. The chambers were most likely hers. She looked like she could have been Arthur’s sister, Morgana, had she lived into her twenties.
Notably, there was a green and blue butterfly upon her shoulder. Zlota was a firefly nestled in his past incarnation’s hair.
His former self and the familiar woman were looking at a book of spells when a knock at the door interrupted them.
The Morgana look-a-like opened the door.
The person at the door was Arthur with his white wolf.
“Morgana,” he said, sounding quite put upon. “Could I please have my manservant back?”
“Wow, you even said please,” Merlin remarked.
“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur shot back at him. “You’ve been stealing my manservant, Morgana. This must be rectified.”
“Oh honestly, Arthur. We’re not children anymore. Stop sounding like I’ve stolen your precious toy.”
“You stole my sword once,” Arthur pointed out.
“Your wooden sword,” Morgana corrected with a wide smile.
Merlin’s past incarnation laughed. “Oh boy. What a tragedy.”
Arthur noticed the book of spells in plain sight. “I hope I don’t have to remind the both of you to exercise caution with your witchery,” he warned them, waving his hand about in a strange mimic of performing magic. “Like better concealing a magic book, for one.”
“Witchery? Where did that word come from?” Morgana asked intently.
Arthur just gave her a sharp look. “Good day, Morgana. Come on, Merlin. The fire in my hearth won’t build itself,” He told him, and pulled Merlin along by his arm. Zlota commented on the funny word ‘witchery’.
The memory flash ended and Merlin was brought back to reality with a gasp.
Or was it reality?
Because Morgana was now before him, but she was a ghost and most strikingly, she looked like she was in her mid-to-late thirties.
“Morgana?” Merlin uttered in surprise. “I just saw you in a memory.”
She smiled quietly. “Yes. From my past life in Camelot I expect. I’m from the future, the future life you have yet to live.”
“Are you…have you passed on?” Merlin ventured lightly.
Morgana looked unbearably sad and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Oh Merlin. I have two children. I failed them, Merlin. I should have been stronger, but I was killed despite my best efforts,” she told him, sounding quite miserable about it. “I can’t bear to see how they’re doing now. It’s a grim future. The worlds are in dire trouble. But that’s not why I came to see you. I want you to do something. You need to go and help Bran. Now. Please, Merlin. It needs to be you.”
“Wait. What’s wrong?”
“It’s where he lives, you know where it is. You will have an ally there, but your magic is still needed. Please hurry.”
And then she faded away into nothing before Merlin could ask her anything more.
“We better go,” Athena said. She started to release magic to transport Merlin away.
“No, Athena… we can’t do it here. Better in a more discreet place. I don’t know how I would even begin to explain vanishing from my office.”
With that, Merlin left the office claiming a lunch break, and Athena magically transported him away when he was in his car.
Merlin opened the door to the Lancaster home. But when he saw what was happening in the foyer, he was half-tempted to close the door and make his escape. Yet he steeled himself because if he had to help Bran, then that’s what he had to do. There was no chance he’d back out now.
He slipped inside and watched as a big grey wolf had his mouth clamped over an unknown man’s leg. The suspect-looking man was lying on the ground, trying to shift away from the wolf, but he was unsuccessful. He gritted his teeth, trying to stop from screaming out in pain most likely.
“Don’t even bother,” the wolf told him harshly. At this point, Merlin just took the wolf talking as he attacked this man in stride. Because he hadn’t witnessed enough strange things lately. Clearly.
He decided to speak. He could guess that this man was an intruder who might have harmed Bran. He needed to know where Bran was.
“What the hell is going on?” Merlin demanded to know, putting on his most authoritative-sounding voice.
At that moment, the grey wolf bit off a part of the man’s lower leg like it was a piece of meat. The intruder screamed bloody murder.
“Don’t fuck with the Big Bad Wolf,” the wolf said gruffly. He finally turned around to face Merlin while the injured man scooted away from the wolf, trying in vain to stop the blood now coming from his half-eaten leg.
“You’re another Gwydion?” The wolf asked him.
“Another Gwydion? I just need to know where Bran is.”
“I suppose it’s actually another ‘Merlin’…but you have full magical abilities?”
“Yes. Is Bran all right? What’s happened to him? Who is he?” Merlin wanted to know, pointing to the intruder. “And who are you?”
“Bran’s in his room. He’s alive, but I think Tauren - that’s the bastard of a man hopefully bleeding to death behind me - did something to him,” he informed him with an evil look directed at Tauren. “I’m Charlie Potter, a descendant of the Big Bad Wolf from the Fairy Tale World. I’ve been exiled from my home world and I’ve known Bran, Gwydion and the others for two years. That’s all you need to know.”
Merlin felt uneasy being in the presence of the wolf or Charlie as he was called. He was one big wolf, his height reaching above Merlin’s waist. “I’m Merlin, but you probably knew that, I expect.”
Then the grey wolf transformed into a man with brown hair and a scruffy beard. He was dressed business casual. Seeing a white dress shirt and efficient grey trousers on him seemed a stark contrast to his dangerous looking wolf form.
“What do we do with Tauren?” Merlin asked.
The man was fighting a losing battle. He only grunted in continued pain as dark blood seeped from his torn out leg.
“You should kill him,” declared Charlie curtly.
“Wait. What?” Merlin uttered, not expecting Charlie’s bluntness.
“I think Tauren here might have taken advantage of Bran. He deserves to die. It’s that simple.”
“What are you…?” Merlin trailed off. Then he realized what Charlie was insinuating, and a seed of anger grew inside him.
“Bran is no child. He’s an incarnation. It’s a different story,” Tauren muttered bitterly.
Merlin glared at Tauren. “That’s no excuse. So what if he remembers his past life or not. I saw Bran, and he looks like a child to me. That’s what matters. You have no right to force something upon him without his consent.”
Tauren didn’t look like he was listening. “Yeah, whatever,” he said flippantly. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Charlie glared at him. “I hope Death tortures you, you bastard,” he drawled, looking at the man with disgust.
Merlin had heard enough. He may not remember his past life, and he hadn’t yet used his magic to do something as big as killing a person - at least in this life - but he felt it deeply necessary to do so now.
He made a fist with his right hand and willed Tauren’s heart to stop with Athena’s help.
Then he just had to go further and he directed Athena to set Tauren on fire, to effectively burn him to death. Only Tauren’s ashes remained once Merlin was done with him.
“Come on, I need to see Bran,” Merlin said quickly as he went up the stairs. He didn’t spare a glance at the big pile of ashes on the floor, all that was left of the man.
Charlie followed after him. “Shit. That’s impressive.”
“I don’t make a habit out of doing that,” Merlin said.
“Of course not. Best to kill in moderation,” said Charlie thoughtfully.
Merlin hoped he was just making a joke. Although his attention was elsewhere, so he didn’t have the energy to concern himself about Charlie’s true nature and why exactly he was exiled from his world. Judging by the big grey wolf he could turn into, the reason didn’t look good. He could’ve been falsely accused. That was certainly another likely possibility.
He entered Bran’s room where a short and thick barked tree was impossibly growing inside of it as if the wooden floor was soil. Bran himself was lying in bed, almost as if he was lying in his own coffin - the knife pointed upward in his hands emphasized the effect of him not just sleeping. It was akin to days of old when Kings were buried or sent off in a pyre with their trusted weapons grasped in their cold hands.
Although interestingly here, there was a golden glow surrounding Bran. Luckily Merlin could see the boy’s chest rise and fall slowly indicating he was still alive.
Merlin went immediately to Bran. “Bran, wake up,” he urged him. He nudged his shoulder to rustle him awake.
Bran’s eyes opened and with that, the glow subsided and seemed to return to the knife in his grasp.
But Merlin noticed something wrong with Bran’s eyes. They looked clouded over, the tawny gold dulled. If Merlin would make a guess, Bran was blind. Or had been blinded by Tauren.
“Bran, are you all right?” Merlin asked him.
Bran didn’t quite look at him directly. Instead, he gazed to Merlin’s right, making a guess as to where Merlin was speaking from.
“Except for not being able to see, I think so. I was blinded by the man who attacked me. I’m sure he was sent by the Prince of Darkness to kill me.”
Merlin gave a long sigh. There was the Prince, rearing his ugly head. Of course he would be the one behind this. Merlin recalled James telling him how the Prince thought of the White Diamond Clan as his enemy, and if Bran was a part of that Clan, then this included him too.
“Is it possible to magically fix the blindness?” Merlin asked. He figured that sometimes things didn’t have a magical solution, but hopefully Bran’s blindness could be reversed with magical assistance.
Bran shifted position so that he sat on the edge of the bed. He said quietly to the knife to ‘return home’ and Merlin watched as the knife vanished from his grasp - presumably returning to the place it was usually kept in. A sheath or something, Merlin assumed.
“Yes, there’s a book of spells--” Bran started, but Charlie was ahead of him. He took out a thin book from one of the drawers.
“Is it this book, 2010 Edition Book of Spells?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah, Gwydion and I got that book last year when we were in the World of Magic. I’m sure it has a spell to reverse what I have.”
“Was the knife that just vanished the Raven Knife then?” Merlin guessed due to the mention of traveling to another world and the Raven Knife being a knife used for world travel.
He had noticed a black raven on the knife’s hilt. If Gwydion was the Raven Knife’s maker along with the mention in a vision that the Prince disliked the knife’s wielder, then the pieces fit together. Of course Gwydion would stay close to the person who was the knife’s sole wielder, and Bran was his good friend after all.
Bran nodded. “That’s it. My name means raven, so the knife became known as the Raven Knife. Some people call it Gwydion’s Knife too, in honour of him making the knife. That certainly makes Gwydion happy,” he intimated with a soft smile.
“Your name definitely gives it away. I’ll go ahead and heal you now,” Merlin declared.
He took the book from Charlie.
“It should be under ‘B’,” Bran said.
The spell book grew thicker as Merlin opened it and thinking of going to section B, the book obliged him and that section was before him. He barely had to turn a page as Athena magically perused the book until Merlin reached the correct entry.
“I could do the spell now,” Athena told him as Merlin scanned the page.
Yet despite Athena’s confidence, Merlin couldn’t help but be nervous because he hadn’t healed anyone yet. If he did it wrong, Bran might lose his sight forever. Maybe his barely remembered experiences of his past life would help him here. He had to have used healing magic on others back then, right?
Charlie told him, “You can do it. I mean you’re Merlin. Nothing to worry about.”
“If I could actually remember what it means to be Merlin, that’d be even better,” Merlin mused, biting his lip as he concentrated.
“I could try to contact Gwydion,” Bran suggested. “But I’m worried I’ll be blind permanently if I wait too long.”
Merlin shook his head. “No, that’s all right. I’m here, I’ll do it,” he said quickly. He gave a half-smile, and then realized a second later that Bran couldn’t see his face due to his blindness. “I’m just being careful, that’s all it is.”
He knelt down in front of Bran and he spoke the Latin words of the spell. While he wasn’t fluent in Latin - certainly not a language he’d learned in school - Athena helped him with a magical boost to aid in proper pronunciation. Truth be told, Merlin did believe he wasn’t half-bad at speaking in another language.
Merlin swept his hand over Bran’s eyes as the instructions directed him. He let out a sigh of relief when the reversal spell appeared to have worked. Bran’s eyes looked normal again.
“You did it,” Bran said. “Thanks. You need to return to work, don’t you? I’m sorry about that. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
Merlin shook his head. “No, it’s completely fine. You were in trouble, and I would have felt worse if I wasn’t here when you needed my help.”
Charlie cleared his throat. “Well you two. I’d better go and take care of some things. I’m glad you’re all right, Bran. Are Gwydion, Robin or Ophelia coming soon? It’d be wise not to be on your own now.”
Bran sighed, looking down at his hands. “Gwydion will be here soon. Robin’s at Rosebrooke, I think, and Ophelia’s out shopping…she’ll probably come home soon. I dread telling them about this.”
“I bet Gwydion will tell Robin and Ophelia. Isn’t that how usually is, you tell him first and he informs the others?”
Bran shrugged. “Yeah I suppose so.”
“Good luck with that,” Charlie wished him. “Goodbye, kid.” And he ruffled Bran’s hair, at which Bran frowned at him a little and patted his hair to fix it.
“Thanks for being here, Charlie,” Bran thanked him.
Charlie nodded at him. “Not a problem. It was nice meeting you, Merlin,” he said.
“Yeah you too,” replied Merlin.
And Charlie left the room. Merlin watched him go.
Then he turned back to Bran. “Why wasn’t Gwydion here?”
“I didn’t get through to him via our mental communication in time. I think you were meant to help me now instead of him. So you could see that you didn’t need a full awareness of your past life to do what you just did now. This is all a bit hard for me since I used to have full magical abilities in my past life, but now my magical powers are greatly reduced. It’s rather frustrating to depend on others…spending 24/7 with Gwydion seems like overkill. But I guess it’s necessary now after Tauren.”
“Were you born in the World of Magic in your previous life?” Merlin guessed after Bran mentioned having full magical abilities.
Bran nodded. “Yeah, as a member of the White Diamond Clan, the warrior faction. The members who make special diamond items like the Diamantine Compass are a part of the inventor faction. As you can imagine, they’re the highly creative group and they’re quite the dreamers too. You have to think outside of the box and dream big to produce what they do. ”
At the mention of the Compass, Merlin looked down to his own. He noticed the redness around the Diamantine Compass had completely gone. “That makes sense. You can see the Compass?”
“Yeah. Any member of the Clan could,” Bran said logically. “I mean, hate to say it, but some called the inventor faction a bunch of crazies, but er…it was meant in a fond way. I think.” He gave a half-shrug.
“This Compass does have an attitude, so I could understand that opinion of the inventor faction. Still, the Compass is impressive,” Merlin had to add. He certainly had a hate-love relationship with the magical device.
“Yes. The Diamantine Compass is a great accomplishment for that faction,” Bran agreed.
“By the way, why was the Raven Knife glowing?”
“Because Gwydion is an overachiever, which you’ll know all too well when you remember,” Bran let him know. “He didn’t just make a knife to use to travel to other worlds. He conjured a magical raven from scratch. Within the Knife is the spirit and soul of that raven. The raven’s bound to serve and protect me and Gwydion as we’re the two owners of the Knife. That’s the reason for the glowing shield. This particular raven is even cleverer than an average raven and has magic too.”
So the Raven Knife was a sentient being in and of itself, Merlin concluded.
A bluebird suddenly appeared upon a branch of the tree in the room. “Thanks for helping Bran, Merlin,” the bird told him.
He sounded like a boy to Merlin as he spoke. It was disconcerting to hear that voice coming from a bluebird. Merlin stared at him. Gwydion was a bluebird? He was surprised that he hadn’t even thought of that possibility.
“You could go back to your regularly scheduled life.” Gwydion said curtly.
“You’re Gwydion?” Merlin asked in disbelief.
“Yes. I’m a bluebird now in this life. I understand it’ll take some time to process.”
“It’s good to finally see you after you concealing yourself from me.”
“Gwydion is terribly shy,” Bran teased him.
“Bran, stop it,” he retorted in a petulant tone.
“All right. I’ll go now. Please be cautious, Bran,” Merlin asked of him. “After what happened to you…”
Bran gave him a small smile. “Yes I understand. Gwydion won’t let me forget it. Don’t worry about me.”
Just before he exited the room, Merlin saw Gwydion fly over to Bran’s side.
Toward the end of his workday, Merlin was hit with another vision. This one alarmed him a bit. It was another future vision, but Robin looked a few years younger than in the vision with Alice. He could be sixteen here? Or fifteen?
Robin was at the balcony of his castle. Merlin noticed worrisome cracks throughout the early evening sky. Vines of red roses decorated the stone walls on either side of the balcony. A great thick forest could be viewed feet away from the castle as if the forest locked in the castle from the outside world.
This future Robin was holding a dagger and Merlin was horrified when he looked intent on slitting his left wrist. Merlin knew Robin was in a bad state after that vision with Alice, but it was hard to see him willing to hurt himself here, maybe even kill himself.
Yet the hand holding the dagger was shaking and Robin was clearly hesitating. A black raven flew toward him. With his beak, he grabbed the dagger by the hilt and took it away from Robin.
Robin’s blue eyes settled on the raven, but Merlin felt that he wasn’t really looking at the bird. That his true attention was elsewhere.
The raven dropped the dagger down on to the small round table at the balcony. Curiously, the raven remained perched upon the table and didn’t fly away.
Robin didn’t seem to have the energy to scold the raven for making mischief and doing as ravens did: steal shiny objects. But what if this raven had been aware of what Robin had been meaning to do and had come to stop him?
Instead, Robin collapsed to the balcony floor and put his face in his hands. His shoulders shook and Merlin could hear him sobbing.
He uncovered his face, which was tear-streaked and his eyes were red. He looked the definition of tired and miserable. Not the look any sixteen year old should have. “Please just leave me alone. Please,” he pleaded with the raven.
Yet the raven stayed despite his protests, cawing at him as if to tell Robin ‘no’.
The vision faded away.
Merlin thought on what Morgana’s ghost had told him. That she had two children in this future life. He knew that Robin and Alice were siblings in their future life, so couldn’t they be Morgana’s children as well? That made sense to him, and connected the different visions too.
He had to believe there was a reason for these future visions. So Merlin couldn’t resist matching them up with what Morgana had told him. Morgana would be heartbroken to see what would become of Robin. He himself couldn’t stand to watch Robin fall apart before his eyes.
It made seeing these future visions a bit of a torture, honestly. If only bad things would happen to bad people and good things to good people. Sometimes reality could be a cruel mistress.
“So Tauren was killed. Thanks to the Big Bad Wolf, and more so to that Merlin you gave the Compass to. Really, Arthur,” Morgaine spoke critically of him. “If you want Bran killed, you may as well do it yourself. What is keeping you?”
“I didn’t like Tauren. I’m glad he’s dead. Cheers,” Arthur said dryly. “And can’t you see I’m trying to have a bath? Could we discuss this at another time?”
“No,” said Morgaine briskly. “We have to talk about this. You’ve been weird lately.”
His wolf Achilles was beside the bathtub, and he growled in threat at Morgaine.
“I hate your damned wolf,” Morgaine confided in the Prince. She glared at Achilles.
The Prince dunked his head underwater, wetting his blond hair, in lieu of answering his wife.
He lifted his head back up. “Tell you what. I’ll buy you an obscenely expensive necklace if you’ll leave right now,” the Prince suggested.
Morgaine crossed her arms over her chest. She frowned. “It better be expensive. And I want a new dress too.”
“Done. Anything for my wife,” he said smoothly in a half-distracted tone.
“If you’d get rid of Nimueh--”
The Prince groaned. “Again with Nimueh,” the Prince said in annoyance. “For the love of everything, why don’t you two just wrestle it out in the mud or something? Actually, that sounds like a brilliant idea. I’ll watch.”
Morgaine pursed her lips and swept out of the room. Luckily his words had done the trick.
Sometimes the Prince wondered how his life might have been different if the World of Magic hadn’t been so irreversibly altered. That world had been his home, and he would have been King of Camelot if it hadn’t been for that bloody plague.
Once upon a time, centuries ago, the World of Magic had been a normal world. The majority of people hadn’t possessed magic while few were magic users. It’d been far from being labelled a World of Magic. But then when Arthur had been very young, a plague had reared its ugly head and wiped out all those who didn’t possess magic. The non-magic users, the majority of the world’s population, had grown very ill and then died. The world had been reshaped, now magic users were the kings, the rulers, of what was once Arthur’s world.
While Arthur’s mother and father had died from the plague, he had somehow withstood the plague’s death grip. Though he still suffered from the plague-caused sickness, Arthur’s body had been strong and didn’t give in to death. He hadn’t had a lick of magic in him, and yet, the universe had decided that Arthur should still live.
Due to being a well-liked magic user, Balinor had taken the throne of Camelot after Uther had succumbed to the plague. The Pendragons no longer had Camelot. Arthur had to live with the knowledge that he was now irrelevant in the world of his birth. Everyone in the World of Magic possessed magical abilities. They would never accept someone like Arthur who was not a wielder of magic - being good with a sword didn’t matter.
When he had been five, he’d been taken by a man named Agravaine to live in the Dark World. He’d come to believe that King Balinor had been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to kill Arthur. As long as Arthur had lived, his birthright - though on shaky grounds at that time - still had posed a threat to Balinor’s reign of Camelot. Agravaine had told him that Balinor had been pretending with him - keeping Arthur hidden away in one set of chambers. The King had just been making Arthur comfortable until he passed away from the plague.
Being taken to the Dark World, away from the tense atmosphere of Camelot, had saved Arthur’s life. He had grown up in his new world with a steadily growing anger against his former world, and despair at what he had lost and could have had.
He’d learned that the only way to make his plan of revenge work was to gain magical abilities. It had killed him a little inside to turn to magic. After all, magic had been the reason he’d been effectively kicked out of his own world. But dark magic became a comforting addiction to him. Dark magic was the sort of magic that even a magicless person like Arthur could gain access to with welcome ease. He just had to have the ambition, the desire to want the magic; and Arthur had all that. Revenge consumed him. Gaining power became his passion.
Arthur had learned to accept the need to possess magic. He relished how magic had made him powerful, and a legitimate threat to King Balinor, and his son, Prince Merlin. It was his former world’s Merlin that he despised the most. That Merlin was in his place. Arthur should’ve been the Crown Prince, on his way to being King of Camelot.
With a fiery hatred, he saw Merlin become King and be beloved by all his people, the great harbinger of Camelot’s Golden Age. Arthur became known as the Prince of Darkness, the enemy in the shadows plotting the destruction of all the worlds.
Some even dared to call him the Mad Prince, thinking they could belittle him by calling him crazy. Someone to be sectioned. The good King Merlin, the arsehole, allowed horror stories of the Prince’s violent acts like stabbing children in their sleep to grow and spread. That further gave reason for the Prince being mad and out of his mind. A crazed murderer.
Before Merlin had ascended the throne, Arthur had made one play of revenge. He had loved the irony of it. He got some delight out of Merlin dealing with the knowledge that one world’s Merlin had been adopted by the Prince of Darkness, enemy of his World of Magic.
It had been almost too easy. With Nimueh’s help, Arthur had come at the right time to a world where a Merlin was about to be born. Back then, he hadn’t been aware of the true nature of this Merlin’s father. All Arthur and Nimueh had known was that the child’s father had been nonexistent, which suited them just fine.
But the most important element was this Merlin’s mother had been very ill. Giving birth had taken a toll on her. It’d been the perfect timing for Arthur and Nimueh to swoop in and take the newborn.
Nimueh’s reassurances to Merlin’s sick mother that her son would be well looked after were enough to placate the woman. She died with hope and peace in her eyes, believing that her son would be all right.
And Nimueh hadn’t been wrong. Arthur did insure Merlin had been happy and felt loved. He’d been especially pleased when the boy liked to go by another name, Gwydion, instead of his birth name Merlin. He, like Arthur, wasn’t terribly fond of the name, which showed that the boy certainly had good taste.
But everything had come to a halt when Gwydion was ten years old. Gwydion’s birth father, the god of unnatural magic, finally decided to give a crap about the boy. With the god’s aid, Gwydion was removed from Arthur’s care and taken to the World of Magic so that King Merlin could keep a closer eye on him.
So maybe Arthur had had plans for Gwydion that would lead to his death. The boy would have still lived to adulthood even if his quality of life would have most likely suffered.
Arthur had realized how fond he’d grown of Gwydion. When he was gone, Arthur had felt out of sorts for some time afterwards.
But it was when Gwydion met Bran and forged a strong bond with him, Arthur knew it was over. Gwydion would never love him like he did before. Ten years of having him, and it seemed like it was all so fleeting. Like only yesterday Gwydion was a tiny baby who’d looked up at him with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
The bathwater was cool at this point, but Arthur warmed it up with a light touch of his magic. He submerged himself fully into the water, vaguely wondering if he could drown himself. He couldn’t die due to his immortality, but the thrill of being on death’s brink had not been lost.
Before he saw the edge in front of his closed eyes, he thought that yes, the universe was a fucked up trickster laughing at the misery it put on its inhabitants.
All for the sake of a good laugh.
Fucking bastard of a universe.
Part 6 -->