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Complementarity, Entanglement and the Uncertainty of Destiny —or— A Feminist Mage in King Arthur's Court by Jenrose, procoffeinating
Fandoms: Merlin (TV)
22 Aug 2016
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Summary
Merlin was once told that Arthur would rise again at the hour of Camelot's greatest need. But a thousand years pass, with no Arthur. When the last war comes, and the world dies, and Arthur still doesn't return, Merlin suddenly realises that the hour of Camelot's greatest need… was a thousand years ago. Sometimes he's a bit slow on the uptake. Fortunately, he's figured out how to go back. What would YOU do if you had 2000 years of experience in the body of a 17 year old, and absolutely nothing left to lose?
Note: E-rated sections clearly tagged, can be skipped.
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The silhouette is backlit from the headlights on the Mini Cooper and he’s maybe hit his head harder than he thought because it almost looks like…
“Merlin?”
And Merlin feels as though his heart is exploding in his chest because that voice and his real name and as he looks up...the golden hair reflected in the light from the car.
Arthur Pendragon is standing, completely starkers, in the middle of the road leading up to Lake Avalon.
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While clearing out Morgana’s old rooms, Merlin discovers a pair of unusual magical bracelets. Arthur wants to destroy them, of course, and so begins a quest that will take them over snowy mountains and through rain-soaked forests, dealing with Druids, bandits and inns of questionable repute. With the future of magic itself hanging in the balance and matters complicated by the changing nature of their relationship, Merlin discovers that destiny comes at a price.
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King Arthur sleeps in Avalon, waiting to return at the hour of Albion's greatest need. But once a year he awakes and spends a single day with Merlin, who will never, ever leave him.
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First, there is the rage, like nothing Arthur has ever known. It’s hot, hotter than anything, hotter than the kitchen ovens and the blacksmith’s forge and dragon’s breath. It fills him to the brim and carries on, washing over him in waves that scald, and, as Arthur looks around him at the carnage, the man at its centre, he has no idea how he is ever meant to let go of it.
“I can explain,” Merlin says, his eyes still blazing as he kneels there, charred by the fires he lit, blood on his hands. So much blood. “Arthur, sire, please, I can explain.”
First, there is the rage, and then there is a knife at Merlin’s throat.