Return of the (Pint-Sized) King

With a flick of her hand, Merlynn conjured enough seating for everyone, facing the blank wall, with the bowl situated behind them.

"This is a pensieve. It allows the user to review memories from a third person angle. Normally, we would have to enter the pensieve to properly view the memories, but I modified this one. It will project to play the memories on the blank wall there like a moving picture. There will be sound. I will show you how to use the pensieve in the time I have left as an adult, so that anyone can later view any of the memories in this room. I have a catalogue of which bottle contains which memory, and who's memory it is. But that is beside the point." Merlynn took a deep breath, and placed her wand on her temple, pulling strand after strand of memory, before going to a heavily locked cabinet and collecting other memories from it to add to the pensieve.

Merlynn took a deep breath, before pressing several runes and dimming the lights. She joined Leon and George huddled on a three seater, needing the support of those who lived this with her.

Merlynn stood at the edge of a lake, tears flowing down her cheeks, in the guise of an old woman. Saddened blue eyes closed as hunched shoulders dropped even further, wispy white hair pulled into a soft bun gnarled hands gripped a walking staff tightly, and a shuddered breath escaped her. “Goodbye, Queen Gwenhyfer. Goodbye Gwen. I am the last, now.” She glanced around, noting that there was no one, having sent them back with no intention to return herself. Her eyes flashed gold, and the aging spell dropped, revealing Merlynn in her mid-twenties, thick black hair popping from the confines of her bun, arthritis-free hands releasing the staff to grab a knife. “Perhaps now I can join you. Perhaps now, my destiny is done, and I may rest.” She raised the knife in both hands, and plunged it into her chest, hitting her heart, and collapsed, dead, a smile on her face.

A few minutes later, a golden glow surrounded her, the knife getting pulled out of her chest by an unseen force. The wound sealed itself, and color returned to Merlynn’s body. With a gasp, she shot up.

”No!” Her cry was sharp and devastated, startling the birds out of the nearby trees. “No! No, no, no! This was supposed to be the end. I just want to join my friends! My family!”

It is not your time. Your time has ended, and your time will come. Travel, learn, help, and you will know when you are needed again. You will see them again.

The words reverberated through the air, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and Merlynn burst into tears.

”Merlynn! I hope to the Goddess you got past the suicidal part quite rapidly!” Merlynn stared, wide eyed, at her mother, before silently pointing at the screen.

The times had definitely changed. The style of Merlynn’s clothes was somewhere in the middle class, and she was in an alley, watching, heart broken, as a mob pelted stones at an old lady, shouting magic related slurs.

”I wouldn’t try to interfere with that. They’d just kill you alongside her.” Merlynn, startled, spun and lashed out with a left hook that caught her surpriser neatly across the jaw, causing him to stumble backwards, nearly falling on his arse. The startled face of Sir Leon stared at her, hand cradling his jaw. At the other end of the alley stood another familiar face - George. Merlyyn stared slack-jawed for a few precious minutes, before shaking herself off and pulling herself straight.

”I have so many questions. Come. Both of you.” Without pausing for a response, she turned and stalked off, striding away from the mob to a small house on the outside of town. A faded sign declared it an inn, and she stalked inside, thankful the parlour was empty. She led the two men up the rickety stairs, and ushered them into the small room she had rented. Her eyes flashed gold, and a bubble of silence surrounded the room. “You. You, Leon, disappeared from a routine patrol. The entire patrol was found dead, and you were gone. Please tell me you didn’t kill them to run away! Huh?!” She folded her arms over her chest, red neckerchief bunched oddly, showing mottled bruising peeking out from underneath. 

“I did not kill anyone to escape. I saw an opportunity. You may not have heard any of the rumors, but Gwen and I did. I wasn’t aging. I had to leave. Gwen knew I would do so, but she didn’t know when, so that she could be properly surprised. I went to the druids, since they were the reason I’m immortal.” Leon went quiet, gazed fixed worriedly on Merlynn’s neck, but she turned and pushed on.

”And you George? I remember you returning home not ten years after Arthur’s death. Your mother, was it? So why are you here, four hundred years later? Hmm?” Everything in her stance and tone screamed defensive, and Leon physically backed up, jaw already beginning to bruise:

”I was raised a druid, though my magic is pretty weak. I was sent to Camelot to wait for you, to keep an eye on you, but was forbidden to reveal myself to you. When the druids saved Leon, they made him swear the same. We did our best to cover for you when you went to take care of the threats. I just wish we had ignored the druids’ warnings. I didn’t realize Emrys really meant, quite literally, immortal. We would have never left you alone if we had known you would suffer like this.” George scrambled to talk, hands twisting as he stared down an angry Emrys. The stand off went on for several minutes, before Merlynn turned away.

”The Cup of Life?” The question was soft, and the answers were equally soft yeses. “Leave. Both of you. Before I sink a knife into your chests. I’ve got work to do. By the end of the day, I won’t be here. Don’t try to find me.”

It was obviously the same day as the previous scene. Merlynn darted between buildings, head down, hood of her brown shawl pulled close. She had a worn pack pulled close to her chest, and as she glanced around, a child's scream rent the air. With the coast clear, she darted in the direction of the scream, and burst into a house as a young boy screamed again, knife in his leg, and a man who was clearly his father loomed over him, snarling about witches and demons. His wife lay in front of the fireplace, body broken, and Merlynn shuddered as she turned to focus on the man. She threw out her arm, and a knife went flying into his chest as she approached the child, who had passed out from the pain. Quickly, she bound his leg around the knife, unwilling to pull it out right now, and carefully lifted him into her arms. Just as swiftly as she had entered, she exited, knife returning to the hidden sheath, pack now on her back, and shawl removed to wrap the small boy in.

She walked into a camp of mercenaries, and into a large tent with red bands. Inside was a bustle of activity, cot lined up, and physicians attending to wounded people. she walked to the furthest cot, set him down, and removed her pack, pulling out a full kit, including various remedies, salves, and herbs. A small jug of alcohol, a clean rag, and a sewing kit were set on a tray, followed by various herbs and remedies. She tilted the child's head back, opening his mouth, and dripped a small measure of one such remedy down his throat, one hand on his chest measuring his breaths as they slowed and deepened. Before she could continue, a strong voice sounded out behind her.

"I see you've found another child of magic to tend and teach, Lynn. But what happened? You're late." Merlynn glanced behind her, and smiled distractedly at the tall, broad woman with wild red hair and freckles.

"Winnifred. Lovely to see you again. Ran into some... memories. This is Salazar. He's about the same age as Helga, Rowena, and your own Godric. But his father was in the process of killing him. He'd already killed his own wife, and I don't know if she even had magic. You know I focus on the children first. Now, let me concentrate. And bring me a candle, just in case. He's already lost a lot of blood." Merlynn washed her hands in the basin brought to her by one of the attending nurses, before sending her away with a glance. A quick spell had the trouser leg cut above the makeshift bandage, and she pulled a clean basin closer, before swiftly removing the bandage, knife, and trouser leg. "I want that bandage back." She bunched a rag under his leg, popped the cork off the jug of alcohol, and grabbed another rag. Carefully, she poured alcohol over the freshly (and heavily) bleeding wound, pausing only to gently wipe away the resulting mess. After a few rounds of this, she set aside the rag and jug, and dipped her hands in the steaming basin before grabbing the threaded needle. She knelt on the ground beside the cot and began to painstakingly stitch the sluggishly bleeding wound shut, eyes glowing gold as she did what she could to assist with his healing. It took several minutes, but soon enough, she was able to snip the thread, toss the needle in the basin containing the rags and bandage, and sit back. With a sigh, she washed her hands and checked his vitals, before turning back to her tray. She picked up one of the salves, opened it, and gently dabbed it onto the wound, before neatly winding fresh bandages over the stitches. A young boy, already showing signs of becoming a broad youth and strong man, appeared at her side, holding a bundle of clothes. His face was a deep tan that spoke of a life outside, and his hair was a dirty blonde that threatened red. Dark blue eyes looked at the other boy in worry.

"Is he going to be alright, Miss Lynn?" Merlynn turned from her work with a weary smile, and nodded towards the chair by the bed. The boy set down the clothes before tucking himself close to Merlynn's leg, watching her every movement. Not far away stood two girls, about the same age. One had a face that was lent towards smiles, the other had a haughty look, but both faces were pulled in frowns. The smaller girl had dark brown curls, pulled back into a tail, and a ruddy complexion. The taller of the two had straight midnight hair, and a pale complexion. Merlynn looked at the boy in the bed, with black curls so similar to her own, and a sickly pale complexion. Gently she removed the rest of his clothes.

"Helga, dear, get me a soft rag. Rowena, love, I need a basin of bath water. Godric, honey, some fresh bed sheets. I will have a better answer after I finish tending to him." As the three children rushed to do as she asked, Merlynn took stock of the various injuries she had found under his clothes, grabbing and lining up various salves and herbs to apply once she had cleaned the dirt off the thin body. With the arrival of the bath water, she did just that, turning him and wiping away grime and blood until she declared him as clean as she could manage with what she had. She lifted him, gently cradling his body, as the other three swiftly changed the sheets. Once he was set back down, she treated is other injuries, checked his ribs for breaks or cracks, and, finding none, dressed him before pulling a blanket up and tucking him in. With a sigh, she sat on the chair and repacked her kit. "If he survives the night without developing a fever, he will have gotten through the worst of it. I won't lie. He lost a loth of blood. Almost too much. If his wound won't stop bleeding, I will have to cauterize it. I don't want to unless I have to." Kit repacked, she placed her pack under the cot, and ran a hand through his curls. "This is Salazar. He's as special as you three. He doesn't have your gift of the future, 'Wena. He's not got the greenest thumb in the whole wide world like our dear Helga. He doesn't have the strongest offense nor the staunchest defense like our King of the Arena," she reached over and tugged a lock of the dirty blonde hair of the boy beside her. "But even without training, I saw him brew a strong sleeping draught. I've also heard him speaking to the snakes, learning to hide like they do. He's our little ambitious one, cunning and quiet. He'll do great things with that." The three children were eventually chivvied off to bed by a harrassed looking Winnifred, who gave her a look that was summarily ignored.

As the night went on, Merlynn sat rigidly on the chair. She had long since cleaned out her neckerchief and returned it to her neck, covering the large, handprint shaped, bruises encircling her throat. Her shawl, the boys clothes, and the excess thread had been tossed on the fire, and the knife had been sent to the travel forge to be cleaned, sharpened and returned. She tended to Salazar, frowning as he grew colder, and she changed the bandages. After the third time, she growled, lit the candle, and stalked over to one of the other physicians.

"Ella. I need a couple of free people to hold him down. The wound won't stop bleeding, and I treated for poison several times." Ella frowned and gestured at a couple of the nurses that had been going around feeding broth and gruel, before going and opening as many openings of the tent as possible. Merlynn caught sight of Leon and George sitting outside, and sighed, before rolling her eyes and turning her back on them. She had no time for this right now. At the fire, she placed a poker in the middle, before turning to watch as the nurses removed the bandages and stitches, before moving him to the edge of the bed. Merlynn took the hot poker with a sad look, and took it to press against the wound for several seconds before replacing the poker by the fire, and rushing back to tend to the burned, but sealed wound.

She pressed a hand to his chest, cheek over his nose and mouth, before sighing when she registered breathing. Salazar hadn't twitched at all during that, and she had been afraid that she had lost him.

It took three days for Salazar to wake up. In the interim, Merlynn had a screaming match with Leon, that ended in fatal bloodshed for the both of them, swords falling limply to their sides.

"What was that fight even about?" Arthur demanded. Merlynn and Leon glanced at each other, and shrugged.

"I'm actually not sure about much, just that we both had a lot of anger built up. To be honest, that's not the only time we've killed each other. In fact, the most recent was a decade ago, but that was honestly pure accident." Merlynn's head dropped back on the couch and she groaned, remembering that incident.

"We had been wrestling, playfully, too, but we happened to be on a cliff. We rolled off. George went tumbling with us. He didn't speak to either of us for eight years." Hunith and Balinor dropped their heads into their hands with resigned groans, and everyone else just glanced at them, trying to figure out when they started hating each other.

"What I don't get is how you two went from being civil when we were all alive, to this," Gwaine gestured at the screen wildly, Percival dodging nimbly, "And now to... whatever this is..." Gwaine pointed at them now, trailing off, lost. Leon sighed.

"We aren't anything right now, Gwaine. Just, a kind of friends that spends their time fighting and playing mean pranks that, if timed wrong, could be fatal, but it's all good because we come back to life. Though, we're getting better about that last bit." Merlynn rolled her eyes.

"And that," she pointed calmly at the screen, "was a build up of loneliness, pain, anger, and what is now labelled as depression. I suffer severe bouts of it."

"You also suffer severe anxiety, severe panic, and severe self confidence issues. And we both suffer severe PTSD. Though, that's getting better." Leon purposely turned back to the screen, prompting everyone else to do the same.

It was early morning, the sun just barely lighting up the sky in a predawn glow. Two men, both in just trousers and boots, were sparring in a makeshift arena with quarter staves. One figure was obviously Leon. The other was Merlynn, in a male body. Both of them were heavily scarred, and both had taken on the appearance of older men, but not so old as to be overlooked and infirm. George sat on a fence nearby, a basket at his feet, and their shirts beside him.

"Are you two serious about the Crusades?" He asked as the blows slowly came to a stop, and they circled each other, looking for an opening.

"I miss the comradery of my fellow soldiers, George. I don't necessarily think the Crusades are the right thing, though. So no, I'm not really serious about the Crusades. Em, you?" Merlynn cocked her head to the side, and surged forward without answering, causing George to sigh as he waited for the flurry of blows to stop once more.

"Not really, for me." He eventually answered. "I just don't want to be trapped. Society has regressed in the last seven or eight hundred years. Hard to track the years, isn't it? But I'm nothing more than a broodmare if I stay female, and I refuse to allow that. I hate that I have to hide who I am just to have a job!" Merlynn snapped harshly, and Leon jumped out of the way.

"Why not return to that school those four children made. Teach there. I'm sure they wouldn't look to harshly at immortality, right?" George questioned as Leon straightened back out, and squared his shoulders.

"Actually, they would. And women are still looked down on, though not as much as here. It's more subtle there. A comment here, a snub there. Selective hearing, and all that."  As one, they turned and walked over to George, who leaned forward to lift the basket, and therefore, all three of them missed the approach of three men, armed with daggers, who swiftly murdered the trio.

"That was one of the more embarrassing times, I will grant you that." Beside a ruefully grinning Merlynn, Leon had sunk into the cushions, face red as a tomato, and George, on her other side, was banging his head on the arm rest. With her comment, the other knights, Gwenhwfer, and Morgana burst out laughing. Hunith, Balinor, and Gaius all face palmed, while Ygraine and Uther just shook their heads.

Machine gunfire echoed over the field, shouts lost in the fray. Mortar blasts pierced the air sharply, and screams were cut off as an explosion rocked the ground. Many different soldiers in many different uniforms fought side by side, with a common enemy. This mixed battalion of soldiers was quickly overpowered when spell fire joined the fray. The remaining soldiers were taken captive, and soon, the torture began. Floggers with barbed tips, water boarding, electroshocks, sleep deprivation, and starvation, as well as freezing cold conditions, were normal. Soon, only Merlin and Leon remained, and their captors quickly found out they didn't stay dead. Soon, the experiments started. Merlynn was dissected - while still alive. And that wasn't the worst of it. That's just what Merlynn could remember. Four months, they died and came back, enduring never ending torture side by side, gaining more and more scars, all layered up on top of each other. Four months it took for George to find them. And at that point, George just set the charges and blew up the complex, before searching the rubble for their bodies. They died several more times of infections and illnesses as they recovered. George sat with them, tending their injuries, keeping their dead bodies warm to ease the transition from dead to alive. He painstakingly fed them broth, even as they fought, thinking they were being waterboarded once more. He held them as they shook apart from the memories, as they tried to kill themselves in increasingly creative - and heartbreaking - ways, as they eventually turned on each other, lashing out at the memories and not caring if they injured or killed the other. Eventually, George placed them in separate rooms, running back and forth with the help of the free elves employed by Merlynn. They got better, unless they saw each other. Some days, they clung to each other, dependent on the other to be able to function. Other days... well, George was getting tired of nursing them back to health. Five years passed in this vein, and eventually, they healed more and more. They agreed to meet up every five years, and promised to never join a war again. Leon went to explore the continent. Merlynn stalked the Wizarding World. George went between the two of them, still trying to take care of them. They never wore anything that didn't cover the entire neck, down to their wrists, and down to their ankles.

Silence filled the room, and Merlynn reached up to stop the projection. The lights slowly brightened up, and she turned to face Gaius.

"And now you know about the worst of our scars. I only took the one stab to my chest, and it still tightens up painfully when cold or I get stressed. We both actually managed to hit each other's lungs, and breathing can be a chore. All three of us had our throats slit, so that's not really a pretty sight. And then, well, despite George's care, those wounds gained as a prisoner of war didn't heal quite right, made worse by the way they were layered.” She turned away, just to catch Arthur staring between her and the blank screen. Before she could ask, he turned back to her.

”You can change your gender?”