Blood stained the Promised Queen’s hands.
The blood of a friend, of a Knight she’d never seen falter, who’d even dueled the Bandersnatch and come out, not unscathed, but untouched by the Last Hunter’s deadly blade.
Now he was on death’s door, though Merlin insisted he wouldn’t die.
Guinevere walked in Merlin’s wake, with Ava at her side, occasionally nudging her one way or the other, gently redirecting her on the right path. For Guinevere’s eyes would not leave her bloodied hands.
Snow crunched underfoot. There was still the sound of rushing water, mingled with the now faint, but still present, discordant song echoing from the depths of the newborn Fracture. Much of Guinevere’s body shivered, chilled by the vicious cold of the north.
But her hands were warm, still hot with the memory of Tobias’ wound at her fingers, fresh blood running over her, his life slipping through her grasp.
It was a long time before Guinevere realized that there was not just one furry companion walking alongside her, but two. At some point Flynn had come back from his anxious place at Merlin’s side to accompany the Promised Queen, aiding Ava in keeping her on the path.
Something in her heart stirred at Flynn’s kindness to her. But his attentive care for her played even more into the suspicions whirling in her mind.
Mordred. She knew that name, not from Tobias or Elliot, though they clearly knew him. No, she knew of Mordred from letters she treasured, letters from Artorius when he’d lived in Wonderia. Mordred had been one of his very best friends, alongside Elliot’s brother, Eliwood.
She’d wondered at the connection when she’d heard Tobias mention the name just outside Cuindeigh. And then seeing him in the flesh…
It was too much. She shook her head, fixed her eyes on her hands, and the blood that stained them.
Her friend was dying. She had to focus on that, not on the whirl in her mind.
And a moment later, there was a shift. The wind switched directions. Where there had been only the sound of running water and the distant Fracture’s song, now that song faded away, and running water grew more faint — birdsong was the primary sound, all of a sudden.
A nightingale’s tune. Not like the discordant mockery that had heralded the birth of a Fracture, no. This was the pleasant, hopeful, very real song of that lovely bird that reminded anyone who heard its song that, no matter how dark the night, dawn always came to bring back the light.
Guinevere looked up, for the first time since they’d begun their long trek from where Merlin had come to retrieve the black-clad Knight and guide him and his friends to safety.
She felt like she’d stepped into a new world.
The biting chill faded to something still cold, still wintry, but no longer painful, no longer unkind. Snow dotted the ground here and there, and occasionally decorated a leafy bough, but was sparse, giving way to stone paths and lovely grassy gardens with flowers of all colors blooming in the winter chill. Up the stone path, a large estate sprawled, a one-story complex in the architectural style common to the Kisetsuryuu-En, with paper sliding doors, round windows, and wide outdoor walkways connecting various parts of the estate. The grounds were dotted with various intriguing set-ups — Guinevere spied multiple rather complex obstacle courses, what looked like two separate gymnastics areas, and several training dummies weathered by age and scarred by countless swords making contacts.
To the right was dense woods, but Guinevere’s gaze was drawn left, where the view opened up and revealed a vast, still lake, its glassy surface reflecting the serene light of the twin moons high above. Guinevere gaped in awe. She’d never seen a lake so vast, its distant shore barely visible, and might not have been at all were it not for the rugged mountains rising on that far shore, their towering heights capped with snow.
“All right, that’s settled,” Merlin said, and Guinevere realized with a start that he was coming towards them from his estate, and no longer had a Knight slung over his shoulder. His hand was clean, though, as were his clothes — even the shoulder where he’d born the Knight’s wounded body was devoid of bloodstain.
And that was when Guinevere noticed something else. She’d missed it before in her panic and the suddenness of the moment, but now that she looked at Merlin, she realized that his long coat, with its long sleeves, was somewhat asymmetrical. It wasn’t the coat itself, though, no.
It was the fact that only one sleeve, his right sleeve, had an arm. The left sleeve hung empty, useless.
“What’s settled?” Sheena asked.
“The kid’ll live,” Merlin said. He gave Sheena an appraising look. “Your triage may have saved his life. It certainly bought me enough time to get him here and finish the job.”
“You promise?” Guinevere asked, surprised at the desperate accusation in her voice.
“The things he’s been through,” Merlin said, and there was something faintly dark in his voice, though Guinevere couldn’t place it, “this won’t be what kills him. But he needs rest. He probably won’t wake until morning at best. Might be out a whole day or two. And that should be a cue to you all — rest. Spend the night. I’ve got ample guest rooms. He can show you around.” He nodded to Elliot. “Welcome back, by the way. Kind of a sorry excuse for a reunion. But we’ll make it work.” Before Elliot could conjure up an awkward reply, a chuckle brought a wry smirk to Merlin’s lips. “Save it. It’s good to see you. All four of you.”
As if on cue, Hector and Flynn trotted up to Merlin, tails wagging. Merlin petted them both with his one hand, taking turns. “All right, then,” he said after a moment, straightening and withdrawing his affection. “Go. Sleep. We can talk in the morning — and he can talk plenty, whenever he wakes. No guarantees on a time frame, though.”
Guinevere realized he was looking straight at her. His eyes were the color of lilacs under a blue sky, gentle and soft, and yet there was a sharpness in there, a little hint of grey, of steel. Despite their beauty, those eyes held a penetrating gaze that saw right through her.
“Well, that’s my job done for today,” Merlin said suddenly, and turned on his heel, walking along the path leading around the estate, on the side facing the lake. “See you all in the morning.”
“He hasn’t changed,” Elliot said with a chuckle. Guinevere saw the genuine nature of his humor — and what a strain it was to be humorous at a time like this. His hands trembled at his sides, and the color had gone from his face. “Anyway. Tobias will live.” He nodded, and repeated the phrase, as if trying to convince himself. “Merlin was right about the rooms, by the way. Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Guinevere didn’t want to sleep. But the only other thing she wanted was something she couldn’t have.
Except… she couldn’t sleep just yet. Once she was shown to a guest room, the first thing she found was a sink, and she turned on the water, as hot as it would go. Putting her hands under the scalding spray, she scrubbed at them. Water ran red, for a time. Slowly, she worked the blood off of her hands, scrubbing at it with her nails, not flinching at the heat.
The red was gone, the blood washed clean, the waters running clear… but Guinevere still scrubbed at her hands. She sniffed, and swallowed a sob. Tears stung her eyes — and she let them fall.
——
“I thought I told you all to sleep.”
Alice frowned at Merlin’s dismissal. While the others had gone off to sleep, Alice had left her room and followed the path around the veranda, eventually finding Merlin sitting on the porch, looking out over the distant, beautiful lake.
And she took a moment to really take in Merlin, the man who had trained Tobias and Elliot. But more than that…
He was the Merlin she knew.
He’d changed, there was no doubting that. He wore his dark hair long now, tied back in a ponytail that reached the middle of his back. He was still tall, and broad-shouldered, well-muscled, but he was leaner than she remembered, his imposing physicality more restrained now, or perhaps tightly-coiled, waiting to spring. He dressed differently, too. She had been so used to seeing him in red, but now he wore dark colors — a black coat that reached down to his knees, and underneath a midnight-blue shirt and storm-grey pants. Despite the winter chill, his feet were bare.
Funny. She hadn’t noticed that until now.
They weren’t dirty, either, nor wounded or scarred from the elements.
Alice walked until she stood right in front of Merlin. He kept his eyes fixed across the landscape, towards the distant, vast lake.
“Why are you here?” Alice asked, her voice tight. “You should be with her.”
Merlin sat back slightly, and turned his gaze skyward. “I was,” he said softly. “The doors shut, and I remained by her side for a long time. But from her side, I could see… everything. One day, I saw a boy who’d just lost his parents. A frightened orphan boy who didn’t know what it was to be an orphan yet, panicked, on the edge of death, all alone… he’d die. Unless I intervened.”
The weight of reality settled onto Alice. She lowered her gaze, her anger fading away, and took a seat beside Merlin. “You never went back,” she said in a small voice.
“I couldn’t,” Merlin said. She looked up at him. His eyes were still fixed on the sky. “Once it was sealed, anyone could leave. But to re-enter… the way is shut. Ninian knows as well as me. She made the same choice — albeit for her own reasons.”
Alice looked away. In the silence that stretched between them, she heard the distant song of a nightingale.
“Is she safe?” Alice asked.
“She was when I left,” Merlin said. “She should remain so.”
“But nothing is as it should be, is it?” Alice swallowed a sob, blinking at sudden tears. She shook her head. “How can Lacie be awake?”
“She isn’t awake,” Merlin said firmly. “If she was…” Alice didn’t notice the momentary hitch in his voice, the subtle shudder in his body. “What she’s been able to do while yet asleep shows how terrible her waking would be.” He turned his gaze finally on her. “Take heart, little bird. The world is not yet lost. Reach Elysia, and set this right.”
Alice wanted to panic, to lash out, to ask so many, too many questions. But it was all too much. She couldn’t stay on this line of thought, or she might collapse under its weight. Instead she glanced towards Merlin, and reached out a tentative hand, taking hold of an empty sleeve. “Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Not anymore,” Merlin said.
“But you’re left-handed,” Alice said, tugging on the sleeve.
Merlin chuckled. “Not anymore.”
Alice frowned. This was not cause for levity. “What happened?”
Merlin looked back out towards the lake. “I protected my Lady,” he said. He reached his right hand across his body, taking hold of Alice’s hand. His touch was warm. Strong, yet gentle. “You’re doing well. You seem… healed.”
Alice turned away. Dark memories crowded her mind. “No,” she said softly.
Merlin didn’t press. Silence filled the space between them for a time. When he did speak again, it was a welcome change of subject. “How is Carroll?” he asked.
Alice giggled. “He’s the same as ever,” she said. “As aloof as he can be, I do believe he misses you.”
Merlin smiled. “And I him,” he said. Wistfully, and with no small part of sorrow. Alice felt the sadness, too, and for a moment hesitated on her next question. But Merlin didn’t miss it. “You’re wondering about Mallory?”
Alice nodded. “Lacie, she… she implied I should know where he is,” she said. “But I don’t. How could I? I’m… not myself.”
“You’re always you, Alice,” Merlin said. “Broken or whole, you’re you. Don’t let Lacie confuse you. As for Mallory… he was buried with her. I thought he died. But he’s survived things before that should have killed him. If he lives, and he isn’t following wherever she goes… then we should be very worried about what he’s up to.”
“What do we do?” Alice asked, and wiped hard at her face, furious at the tears starting up again.
“We wait for him to wake up,” Merlin said, and Alice didn’t have to ask who he meant. “The Queen’s got plenty she wants to say to him… and he needs to hear all of it. Once they’ve talked, we figure out what comes next.”
Alice looked at Merlin. She wanted to ask, but she saw the answer in his eyes before the question left her lips. So she just smiled and shook her head. “She’s going to be quite cross with him.”
“Oh, I expect so,” Merlin said. “He deserves it, though.”
Alice raised an eyebrow. “Here I thought you’d defend your star pupil.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “He can stick up for himself. He may be the best swordsman I’ve ever trained, but he’s still a kid, and a foolish one at that. Not that I blame him. Everything he’s had to endure, the choices he’s struggled to make…” He shook his head. “He’s a good kid. Just a bit of a mess.”
“He isn’t the only one,” Alice said.
“We’re all broken, little bird,” Merlin said. “All damaged. But we’re still here. He’ll live. And his waking, their conversation… it just might start putting some of those broken pieces back together.”
“And the rest of us?” Alice asked.
“We’ll find our way,” Merlin said. “Despite how you feel, I can see it. You’ve already started putting yourself back together. Just a little bit — but it counts. Don’t believe for a second it doesn’t.”
“I’ll try,” Alice said.
Quiet filled the space between them again. Alice leaned against Merlin, resting her head against him — against the empty space where his left arm had once been. And despite the loss, she could feel him. Solid, warm, strong. Despite his brokenness, despite the change, somehow he was still just as she remembered him.
——
Tobias gasped, the breath leaving him as Mordred’s sword ran through him.
“Next time,” Mordred said, face twisted in rage, “bring a real sword.”
Through the pain, and the terror, Tobias faintly wondered why Mordred was so angry. He feebly grasped for Mordred’s hands, tried to pull, to rip himself free from the blade.
Mordred didn’t pull the sword out. And Tobias didn’t have the strength to do it himself. His legs were giving out, but Mordred wouldn’t let him fall. He took one hand off his sword to grip his shoulder. Tobias cried out, a feeble whimper of pain, his voice stolen away by the pressure in his chest.
And then it wasn’t Mordred, but Saoirse, holding the blade. The visage of rage was now a seductive smile, all desire and wicked confidence. “One favor, Tobias,” she purred, drawing close, so close her lips almost brushed against his. Tobias tried to recoil, but he didn’t have the strength. It was only the sword, digging into him, sending pain lancing through him, and Saoirse’s hand on his upper arm, that kept him from dropping to his knees. “Oh, darling,” Saoirse continued. Tobias felt her breath on his lips, smelled roses. She pulled the slightest bit closer, and Tobias felt himself being drawn towards her, very nearly closed the hair’s breadth distance between his lips and hers.
For a moment. He flinched back, gasping in pain and in shock at his own actions. Saoirse chuckled. “You’re already mine,” she said, and raised her hand to stroke his face. Tobias tried to plead with her to pull the sword free, to give him some relief, but the words wouldn’t come. “When the time is right, you’ll see it.”
There was a rush of wind, and rose petals flew across Tobias’ vision. When they passed, it was Mordred again, eyes steely, boring into Tobias.
“Did you forget already?” he asked, and his voice shifted, pitching upwards. The world flickered, a flash of lightning blinding Tobias for a moment.
When the light faded, the Fracture had morphed, transformed in a long padded hall, with flickering lights overhead. Metal doors lined the corridor, their windows barred.
“The Asylum,” Mordred said, and he wasn’t an adult, but fifteen years old, splattered in blood. The Mordred who had killed Tobias’ parents ten years ago now held the sword that pierced Tobias’ chest. He drove the blade in a little deeper, and Tobias shuddered, nearly fell, but Mordred turned and shoved him against the wall. Faintly down the hall, Tobias heard a horrible, deep sing-song voice uttering a rhyme that made his blood run cold.
“Did you forget what made us?” Mordred asked.
Tobias gasped, and there was a glimpse of light, and someone whispered, “Drink this.” He saw a warm ceiling, and felt cool, sweet liquid passing his lips, soothing his throat.
Then he was back in the hall, back in the horrid Asylum, a sword through his chest, everything in him weak, fading, and yet the numbness spreading throughout him couldn’t take away the sharp, piercing pain in his chest.
Mordred suddenly turned aside, eyes wide in fright. He wiped at the blood on his face, smearing it rather than clearing it.
And then he was gone. In his place, holding the sword that pierced Tobias, were three dark-haired women, fair and beautiful, so alike they must be sisters — and something in Tobias’ mind told him that they were sisters, as if it was a fact he was remembering. Yet while they smiled at him, their eyes held such cruel schemes, full of dark desire. Each of them held the sword with one hand, and with the other, stroked Tobias’ face.
“Sweet prince,” they murmured, their voices overlapping, nearly identical. They were too tall, and knelt so they could meet Tobias at his level.
It was then he realized that he wasn’t an adult anymore. He was no Knight clad in black, no.
He was a child, trapped in a nightmare he’d forgotten. Not fifteen, but five, a small boy with no strength of his own, impaled on a white blade stained red with his blood. And three women who promised love held that blade inside him, not moving to set him free from his cruel fate.
He tried to beg, to plead, his whole body shaking with terror, tears stinging his eyes, running down his cheeks. But no sound could come from his lips.
“Have no fear,” the woman in the middle said, placing a finger to the child’s lips. “There is no point in resistance. Why fight against love?”
“You will always be ours,” said the woman on the right, stroking Tobias’ hair.
“Hush now, darling,” said the woman on the left, her hand cupping his cheek. “Sleep, and dream, of the true promise you were born to fulfill.”
“Our perfect child,” said the woman in the middle, and she closed her eyes, letting out a sigh of joy.
The sisters stood, and there was a flicker in the lights, shadows played across the walls. They turned so they stood sideways, and Tobias realized all three of them were pregnant, hands now caressing their rounded stomachs.
Then there was a flash, a roll of thunder. The women vanished, and blood splattered the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The lights were tinged red. There was a scream down the hall, long and sustained, desperate, forceful.
It cut off, so suddenly. Silence stretched for one, two, three heartbeats.
And then, Tobias heard the distant cries of a newborn baby.
“There, now,” said the horrible voice, the sing-song voice that sent a paralyzing fear through Tobias’ heart. “A beautiful baby boy. Just as you imagined.”
“His eyes are wrong,” said one of the three beautiful, but frightening, sisters.
“He is something new,” said the horrible voice, chuckling low. “Don’t worry. He’ll be everything you dreamed and more.”
Tobias cried out as a hand slammed him against the wall, drove the sword deeper. Misty spray splashed at his face, and he was an adult again, a Knight, on the edge of the Fracture. Mordred glared at him, blood all over him, even in his hair, turning golden locks scarlet. “Next time, bring a real sword,” he said again, but he choked out the words, like he was the one wounded. He screamed suddenly, a vicious cry of rage, and pulled, yanking away from Tobias. He wheeled, trying to throw Tobias away from him…
But something yanked at Tobias, an invisible thread. He was flung back towards Mordred, and a scream finally ripped free from him, the pain finally drawing out his voice. Mordred grabbed him, tried to push him away, but couldn’t. Then it was Saoirse, drawing him close, lips parted invitingly. Then it was the three sisters, moving to embrace him, drawing him further in, towards Mordred, towards Saoirse, towards themselves, in the Fracture, in a rose garden, in the Asylum, it was all a whirl of people and places and pain storming through Tobias as lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and then…
Silence. Tobias swayed, feeling his own feet on solid ground. Standing under his own power. He patted his chest, but there was no sword, no wound.
And he realized he wore white. A clean, pure shirt and pants. Bare feet were gently caressed by grass and flowers that danced in a warm breeze. Blue flowers, with a warm golden center, asagao from Haruo.
There weren’t just a few of the blue flowers, but a whole field of them, an endless plain, stretching to the horizon in all directions. Tobias turned in a slow circle, gazing at them all, taking in the sudden lack of pain, the soothing relief, the blessed, peaceful silence.
When he’d finished his circle, he found he wasn’t alone.
Standing across from him in the field of flowers was Guinevere. She too wore white, a pristine white dress that fluttered in the wind.
She didn’t look at peace, like Tobias felt. She fixed him with a hard stare, her emerald eyes seeing right through him.
“Wake up,” she said firmly. A command from a Queen.
Tobias opened his mouth to speak. But the wind picked up, stole his words away. Flower petals danced in the space between him and the Promised Queen, and a moment later…
Tobias woke up.
His eyes snapped open, but they swiftly fluttered closed, and it took him some time to open them again. He was heavy, and weak, and so tired… but he couldn’t fall back asleep.
When he got his eyes open again, he recognized the ceiling. The bright wooden paneling, the diagonal crossing of the beams, the way the morning light played across them…
Merlin’s. We… made it.
He shifted, and realized that even a small movement hurt, awakening all the muscular fatigue, bruises, and other damage he’d been dealt in the last day. Between Bandersnatch and the Fracture and Mordred…
Mordred.
Tobias’ hands went to his chest, and realized his chest was bare, save for a thick winding of bandages wrapping around him.
He…
Tobias wasn’t sure where his thoughts were going, what surprised him most. That Mordred had found him? That he’d known him, after so long and so much had changed? That he’d stabbed him?
That he’d won the fight?
Of course he won. After Bandersnatch, I didn’t have anything left. I never stood a chance.
Tobias shifted again, sore and aching and so tired but desperately wanting to sit up. He couldn’t just lie here. As much as it all hurt, as heavy and tired as he was, he could feel the need to move, to rise, to come back to this world.
Maybe, too, sitting would keep him awake. And staying awake prevented further nightmares.
He then felt a softness at his side, a light stirring. A moment later, the most perfect dog in the world was looking down at him, wagging his tail, kissing his nose.
Tobias laughed, and it hurt, but he didn’t mind this pain. “I’m happy to see you, too,” he said, his voice hoarse and rough, his throat dry, tight from disuse. How long had he been asleep?
When his hands touched the fur around Flynn’s face, and rubbed down his neck and side, life coursed through his veins. Flynn shoved his face in, bumping his forehead against Tobias’, and gave a little sigh. Tobias returned the sigh, and they rested in that moment, relief and joy intermingling.
A paper door slid open, and small footsteps padded into the room. Tobias knew it was Alice before she spoke. “You’re finally awake,” she said.
“I was ordered to wake,” Tobias said. He looked past Flynn, saw the confusion on Alice’s face, and decided not to elaborate. “How long…?”
“A day and-a-half,” Alice said. “Yesterday morning was the morning after, well… the Fracture. Mordred. All of that.”
Less than I’d expected. But if I woke up that soon, then I’m healing quickly.
Tobias started to sit up, and Alice rushed towards him, arms extended. “Don’t sit up!” she said. “Just rest, you’re still healing!”
“This much is all right,” Tobias said, and he did manage to sit up, shifting his pillow so it gave him a backrest against the wall. He winced, and he could feel all sorts of pain through his whole body now, but he was glad to be sitting. “I’m not going anywhere just yet, don’t worry. I just… need to be awake.”
“If you say so,” Alice said, frowning. She sat a few feet away, facing him, looking him over. “How do you feel?”
“Beaten,” Tobias said, and laid his head back against wall, sighing. Flynn curled up beside him, resting his head in his lap, and Tobias kept his hands running through Flynn’s fur, resting in that reassuring softness and warmth.
“You…” Alice started, then faltered, looking down. “I’m glad you’re okay. You’ll… heal.” Tobias heard the question she didn’t quite ask.
“I will,” he said, and noticed how the tension in Alice’s shoulders eased. She looked at him, and opened her mouth to speak.
But heavier footsteps sounded on the veranda, and then the Promised Queen stepped into the room. She halted just beyond the threshold, her emerald eyes fixing Tobias with the same hard stare she’d had in his dream.
“Alice,” she said, “can you give us the room, please?” Despite the polite request, her voice was firm.
“Of course,” Alice said, as if she’d expected this. She stood, gave Tobias an empathetic look, and then left the room.
When Alice had left, Guinevere stepped fully inside. She turned, slid the door shut behind her, and then sat on her knees on the floor, facing Tobias from the center of the room.
Her eyes never left his face. He struggled to hold her gaze, and realized his heart was pounding in his chest. Guinevere’s posture was taut, her whole presence suggesting a question, or perhaps an accusation, about to spring forth.
Tobias knew, watching her, exactly where her mind was set. He found his hands shaking, and buried them further into Flynn’s softness. It wasn’t as reassuring as it should be. He prayed for his heart to calm, but it only beat faster, harder, building dread and tension sweeping over him.
Guinevere took a breath, and Tobias held his. When she exhaled, she blinked once, her eyes narrowed slightly, and she finally spoke.
One statement, a request that Tobias knew was coming, and dreaded more than he’d feared fighting the Oldest Hunter.
“Tell me your name.”
Tobias opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He swallowed, feeling that he stood on a wire, staggering back and forth, in danger of pitching to the left or the right, uncertain where he would fall.
She presented him with a horrible choice. A choice he hadn’t had to face in ten years, that he’d hoped he’d be able to make in his own time, when he was fully ready.
But…
Maybe this was that moment. Maybe he would never be ready, until Guinevere forced him to choose.
Tobias swallowed again. He found his breath. Slowly, he found his voice — and made a choice.
In response to her request, he spoke one word, a truth he’d kept hidden too long:
“Artorius.”
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