Chapter Text
“Wake up, Arthur Pendragon.”
Arthur bristled: how dare someone talk to the King of Camelot in that manner? He resolved to keep his eyes shut but against his will, they were wrenched open. He found himself standing in front of a figure. Apart from the fact that the figure looked like a woman, Arthur couldn’t discern any more details as the image flickered before his eyes, switching between minute details but noticeable for him to hesitate.
What was going on?
“Who are you?” he called, hoping not to sound as fearful as he felt, still rapidly blinking in the hope that his eyes would finally work.
A derisive snort answered him. “Mortals. So convinced of their superiority, believing they can demand answers from anyone.” The woman’s voice was light and cheerful, even if her words were sharp. Arthur abandoned his fruitless attempts and begrudgingly accepted defeat, glaring as the woman laughed, her voice echoing in the blank room.
“I am a king,” said Arthur, his head held up high. “The King. I will not be spoken to—”
“Silence!” she commanded, her voice no longer pleasant, but instead so deep that it reverberated in his bones. Arthur couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath as he felt the rising anger emanate from the woman — no, that was no ordinary woman. She had to be a goddess for how much fear she could evoke with one word.
Arthur decided wisely to keep quiet but made sure to express his dissatisfaction by frowning. The goddess took no note of his expression and switched back to her musical tone. "The time has come for you to take your rightful place."
"On my throne?" Arthur belatedly remembered his decision to stay quiet and regretted his loose mouth when the goddess's eyes flashed and he felt a hint of her ire.
He bowed his head in an attempt to appease her and was rewarded with a wave of warmth which filled his cold body. It felt like heaven. No, it felt better.
It felt like life.
He took a stuttering breath, praying to the very god his father callously rejected for more. He didn't want this feeling to stop, to return to his previous dark and damp existence.
Arthur wanted to live.
"And you shall, Son of Pendragon," stated the goddess, her voice no longer light and musical but deep and commanding — like the tone of one who controlled the world. "You are the Once and Future King. The time has come for you to return to the land of the living. To rule once more."
Arthur nodded along, shamed to admit he hadn't been paying the goddess all that much attention. It was quite hard to keep listening when he felt his fingers tingle as blood rushed into his veins, warming him up from the inside. He truly hadn't realised just how… dead he had been.
"—Merlin."
"What?" Arthur snapped back in, apologising as the goddess sighed, sounding more human than before.
"Two sides of the same coin," she stated with a small grin. "In exchange for your return, you must complete what Emrys, known to you as Merlin, has failed at. You must remind him of his duties to restore the balance of magic."
Arthur gulped. At the mention of Merlin, he felt uncomfortable. No longer was Merlin just his bumbling manservant, utterly useless and simply there as comic relief, but he was a sorcerer. A warlock. And a very powerful one. Somehow, Arthur didn't know how to digest that. How would this affect their relationship? Arthur could hardly have a powerful sorcerer dressing him. Did Merlin outrank him?
Would Arthur have to dress him?
"Put aside your petty mortal questions, Son of Pendragon," sighed the goddess when Arthur opened his mouth. "I do not have the time to entertain your nonsense. Emrys shall arrive to collect you imminently and you must prepare for his arrival and your ascension to the mortal plane once more. All I can tell you is to ensure the Parasite does not succeed and, if you hold your Merlin dear, try to bring him back from the precipice he has situated himself upon."
With that, she disappeared, leaving Arthur to ponder his many questions by himself.