Chapter Text
Home was a little cottage by Lake Avalon, framed by forest on all sides, quite a distance away from any other kind of civilization, though not nearly as far as he would have liked. To his infinite chagrin, they had built a road much too close to the lake, that was used mostly by passersby and heavy lorries.
He started his treck through the woods in the morning, enjoying the calm and harmony of untouched nature. The woods of ancient Camelot looked much different than they had 1500 years ago, the statues in the Valley of the Fallen Kings that had already been old and weathered when Merlin first came here, were now nothing more than vague shapes, barely recognizable as anything at all. (He was glad for it. He did not need tourists wandering through the cursed land.)
When he reached his destination, he hesitated in front of it for a long moment. This place still sent shivers down his spine, even after all these years.
The Crystal Cave was best entered blind, Merlin had learned over the years. He kept his eyes closed, focused instead on the feel of this place. The raw magic.
His suspicions proved immediately right. The sceptre, the Tesseract and the Crystal Cave … they were related, they had to be. And still it was so different. Here, it was not just the universal, entirely consuming force in the air. It might have started out that way, millions and millions of years ago, but the crystals were not only overflowing with this strange kind of energy, but also with the magic flowing through Merlin’s own veins. He could feel the love and belief poured into the space, the presence of the Triple Goddess permeating every inch.
Merlin sank to the floor. He had been weary to enter, but now that he was here, he didn’t want to leave. It just felt so familiar. It made him yearn for a time when he could still feel magic at every corner, in every person and every living thing.
And, gods, it hurt .
He hadn’t realised for a long time that magic was dying and when he had, it had already been too late. Of course it had not yet entirely disappeared, but there was so little now and so hardly noticed. He hadn’t known, back when Arthur had still been alive, how much of everything he had felt all the time, how integral the world’s magic was to himself. He had gradually gotten used to its absence, but being here was like healing an invisible wound, soothing a hurt he had long since forgotten.
He opened his eyes.
Red magic holding a cube afloat between a woman’s delicate hands. Clint, shielding a child, staring in horror at something in front of him. The back of a woman with dark curly hair, staring out over Lake Avalon. A man with a metal arm. A green stone encased in gold. An abandoned London street. Excalibur, in Merlin’s own hands -
He buried his head in his arms, breaking the connection. No.
No more visions, no more destinies.
He was done with that shit.
He was.