Chapter Summary: Post-credits
WARNING/S: Brief (3 sentences) non-graphic depictions of transphobia
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Epilogue I: To Be Free
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A few nights ago, in the fringes of a Camelot desolate of magic, a woman with long unkempt locks and clothed in a tattered dress sleeps fitfully inside a derelict hovel.
She tosses and turns, pale face contorted in confusion and pain.
The smell of lightning and burning wood sting her nose. A wave of agony assaults her temples like a thousand needles stabbing her skull. Even with the pain, she cannot wake.
The helpless and distant voices scream her name in anger, in fright, in plea.
Gone
The balance —
You must right it —
She feels like she's falling into an endless abyss, no walls or air to stop his descent. She screams but the darkness swallows any sound she makes.
Gone
Destruction —
Death to our —
Emry, Emrys, Emrys.
Find him —
Emrys is —
"— gone," she breathes out, sitting up as she jerks awake. Her head swivels around, looking for enemies.
Eventually, the blurriness of her eyesight dissipates, rooting her in reality. She takes the time to compose herself, evening her breathing and processing the contents of her dreams.
The Old Religion has reached out to her in a way it never has, desperately asking for salvation. Emrys is gone, the voices have informed her. Why it turned to her for help in that affair, she knows not.
Morgana Pendragon should celebrate. Emrys, after all, is her doom. Was her doom, anyway. He must have succumbed to his old age or some sort. Now, Camelot stands unprotected. How easily she could conquer it without Emrys' help and intervention.
But the deep and complete sense of wrongness clinging in the air like a hangman's noose stifles whatever glee Morgana feels. She feels nauseous and suffocated, like the very air has turned to smoke.
No, Emrys isn't dead. Emrys is gone. She doesn't understand the difference yet but there is a very important one.
After a while, her surroundings inexplicably calm down. She no longer feels smothered, and the sense of wrongness simmers at the back of her mind, easily forgotten.
She gets to her feet, irritated at bewildering information given to her by the dream. She suppose she should expect no less; her visions are rarely informative. She needs to be sure that Emrys is truly dead or, at least, well out of her way before she could risk another attack upon Camelot.
Something monumental has changed. If the change is to Morgana's advantage, that is yet to be seen.
She swaddles herself with a black cloak and heads out of her hovel to find answers.
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A few nights ago, in a forest of a Camelot desolate of magic, a servant and a lamp fell out of the top branches of a tall tree. Only the lamp hits the ground.
King Arthur and his knights snap their heads left and right, up and down, searching for the missing servant.
"Do you see him?" Arthur demands, trying to make out if Merlin has caught onto one of the tree's branches. He hasn't. The tree offers nothing but darkened leaves and twisting branches.
"No, Sire," Leon says grimly. "He — He's gone."
"He can't disappear just —" Arthur's eyes fall to the golden oil lamp innocently laying on the ground. He recalls the Djinn popping in and out of existence with a snap of a finger.
Without hesitation, Arthur roughly grabs the lamp. He turns it over, ignoring the expensive jewels encrusted upon it and instead looking for any runes or clues. He lifts the lid and finds nothing, not even dust or dirt, inside. Worry crests over him like a wave in the ocean, and he spies the knights still desperately looking around. Damn it, Merlin, why is it always you?
Belatedly, he remembers Gaius' instructions regarding Djinns and their lamps. He bites down on the leather glove of his right hand, and brusquely removes it. He spits out the glove, and vehemently rubs one side of the golden lamp, warming up the cold metal.
The Djinn springs up in front of him without a sound, startling Arthur into almost dropping the lamp.
"What is it that you desire?" it asks in its usual monotone.
Arthur deftly unsheathes his sword, pointing the tip on the Djinn's chest. The Djinn remains unimpressed. He growls, "Where is my manservant?" Behind him, he hears his knights unsheathe their own weapons, following his lead.
The Djinn promptly answers, "He is in my lamp, in my room."
Coldness blossoms in Arthur's chest, spreading swiftly to his limbs. He has never believed the Djinn had no will of its own, despite what Merlin insisted. Arthur has never let his guard down around it, knowing it could attack them at any moment. But he had believed that the Djinn, without anyone wishing, would be incapable of using its powers on its own. Clearly, he was wrong. He was not alert enough, and Merlin is currently paying the price. Now, with the lamp in their grasp, it seems the Djinn had decided to cease all pretenses, and had started its assault.
Arthur adopts an unaffected visage, hiding his worry and anger. "So you've taken him hostage." A flash of annoyance flicks by the Djinn's youthful face. Yet further proof that the Djinn has a will and motivations of its own. It opens its mouth but Arthur will not let it beat around the bush, not with Merlin's life on the line. "What do you want?" he asks directly.
"To be free," the Djinn replies without missing a beat. Its periwinkle eyes widen, as if surprised by its own admission.
Arthur frowns. "To be free? From what?"
"To be free from the lamp. To be free from being a Djinn." Again, the answer comes without hesitation. Yet its teeth are gritted, as if the words are being pulled from it unwillingly.
Gaius did inform them that the Djinn is bound to its lamp, unable to wander far without it. So the Djinn wants to be free of that bond. But, "How can you be set free?"
"Someone has to wish me free."
Arthur blinks rapidly. That easy? He narrows his eyes, firming his grip on the hilt of his sword. "What happens when you're set free?"
"I — I don't know. A Djinn has never been set free before."
The king breathes out, mind already working through the possible consequences. What will happen to Merlin if Arthur refuses to wish the Djinn free? The Djinn has already caused the disappearance of eleven people. Will Merlin be the twelfth? The notion sickens the king. If Arthur does wish the Djinn free, what will it do? Even bound by its lamp, it can already cure illnesses and make crops grow overnight. Will it become more powerful once unbounded? What kind of destruction will it wreak upon Camelot?
"What will you do once you're set free?" Arthur asks, unknowingly cutting off the Djinn again before it could speak. The king is under no illusion that the Djinn will tell the full truth regarding its intentions.
The Djinn's blank facade splinters ever so subtly, the corners of its lips turning down. "I might not get to do anything. I might die and merely turn to ashes."
Arthur is taken aback. This time, Gwaine's exclamation from behind interrupts their conversation. "You might die!?"
"A Djinn has never been set free before," the Djinn repeats nonchalantly. "I might die. Or I might turn into a normal human. Or I might turn into an all-powerful being hellbent on the destruction of the world. One of the three, really."
Silence greets the Djinn's words for several moments. The king grits his teeth, irritation spiking in his chest. The Djinn is obviously toying with them, and Arthur cares not for it. "Speak plainly, Djinn." He nudges the tip of his sword the slightest bit onward. Had the Djinn been capable of it, it would have been bleeding from the prick of the blade.
"I thought I was. Speaking plainly." A hint of sarcasm slips through the Djinn's emotionless act.
Arthur clenches his jaw, patience running out. "Will you attack Camelot once you're freed?"
The Djinn blinks. "No."
"Will you attack other kingdoms? Villages? Innocent people?"
The beginnings of a scowl mars the Djinn's face. "No. If I don't die and actually get to keep my powers, the very first thing I'll do won't be destroying villages. What will I even gain by doing that? Dirt and soot, that's what. I'll be summoning ice cream. Or Nutella." A dreamy look crosses its face. "Hamburger. Pad Thai. Eclair. Mooncakes. Chocolate mousse cake. Chapchae. Chicken alfredo and carbonara. Arroz Caldo."
The Djinn continues listing things that make little sense. The sudden disappearance of its aloof demeanor throws Arthur and his knights into stupefied states.
Then, the king nods. Gaius has warned them about the wiliness of Djinns; how Djinns can grant the speaker's wishes in twisted ways if they're not careful with the wording of their request. The Djinn is distracting them, confounding them with nonsensical words so that it could have an opportunity to catch them off-guard.
Arthur will go about this with overt and painstaking caution. This Djinn may find loopholes with its promises, or trick them outright with a web of lies. But Arthur has the advantage of pointing a sword right at it. He quietly and discreetly signals to the knights. They tighten their grip on their swords in response, drawing slowly closer.
The moment Merlin is back, safe and sound, with them, Arthur will do what he has to do. The Djinn has already hurt people. As with anything or anyone with magic, it simply cannot be trusted. He'll need to incapacitate it immediately.
"Very well, Djinn," Arthur cuts off the Djinn's babbling, shoulders tensing.
The Djinn frowns. For the first time since the start of the conversation, it starts to speak out of its own volition. "I think I need to clear up —"
The king interrupts again, not desiring to be waylaid further. "My manservant, Merlin. Let him go. I want him to be safe." Then, Arthur catches himself, remembering Gaius' warnings about specific wording. "Beside me." The Djinn might fling the idiot somewhere unknown. Safe, but faraway. Abruptly, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Those eleven people most likely went missing because of badly worded wishes. He rephrases hastily, "I want him out of your lamp and safely by my side."
Years down the line, Arthur would look back at this very moment and wonder — wonder what would have happened if he had just said it differently, or perhaps if he didn't rephrase it at all. He would go over his words and wonder if the right ones for that moment even exist. Alas, those potential futures are meant for other King Arthurs on other realms. Not for this one, not for him.
The Djinn opens its mouth to recite its customary phrase when granting wishes. But Arthur speaks before it could.
"Then, I wish you free."
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"Then, I wish you free."
As soon as the words are out in the air, the metallic piercings on Djinn's lip and ears drop to the ground without fuss. The manacles around their wrists that are disguised as decorative bracelets join the jewelries on the soil not long after. There's no lightshow. No triumphant music swells in the background, no sparks of lightning crackle in the skies. Just pieces of metal releasing their grip upon Djinn's skin and plummeting down.
Of course, it might be because they're not truly free yet. There is still one more wish they're obliged to fulfill, one final command to follow.
"Your wishes are my commands," they choke out, mind spinning, mind wondering if any of it is real.
Here's the thing:
Djinn is an all-powerful all-knowing entity. The problem is they cannot use said power or access said knowledge on their own. A question must be asked before Djinn can know the answer themselves. A wish must be spoken before Djinn can bend the universe to fulfill it.
Maybe the proper phrasing would be Djinn can be an all-powerful all-knowing entity — as long as they're executing others' wills and whims.
There will be none of that now.
Here's what happened:
"Then, I wish you free," says Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot at this point in the late 5th century A.D., an era without TVs or smartphones or even the internet. Camelot is a kingdom banned of all types of magic. Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon, has enforced the ban in the one year he has been king. Kind and strong. Handsome in the eyes of most maidens in the village. Not really Djinn's type.
But before those impossible words, there is this: "I want him out of your lamp and safely by my side."
Language is a very funny and peculiar thing, Djinn thinks. Context, circumstances, intonation, timeline, and several other minute variables can cause phrases to vastly change meaning.
Djinn had been accused many many times of purposely misinterpreting wishes, of twisting words and wants into something barely recognizable. And sometimes — only sometimes! — they do intentionally decipher things the wrong way. After all, what's the use of a long life and cosmic powers if you can't troll people once in a while? But the rest of the time, Djinn really thought they were executing the wishes perfectly. It isn't Djinn's fault anyway; they can only interpret wishes based on what they know of the situation. Most of the time, Djinn knows zilch. Really, people should just develop telepathic powers or something to get their points across.
Here's what Djinn knows:
They only have to fulfill one last wish. Inexplicably, like a painter etching the finishing strokes of their masterpiece, Djinn wants to execute this one with absolute perfection. There will be no misunderstandings in this one, no sir. So they analyze each part, each word, of the whole sentence.
"I want him out of your lamp and safely by my side."
Him is clearly the king's manservant. Merlin. Merlin, the sorcerer, who destroyed Djinn's room because of his willfully contained magic. Merlin, who also wished their room to be put together again. Not a complete jerk, at least.
Out of your lamp refers to Djinn's lamp. Okay, Djinn will be happily kicking Merlin out of their home.
And safely. Fine, Djinn will be gently guiding Merlin out of their home.
By my side. My is King Arthur, obviously. Arthur's side. Safely by Arthur's side.
Okay, there's no room for any other interpretation —
Wait.
Place a magic-user safely by a magic-hater's side?
Safely?
Djinn is stumped by the paradox.
They enter their lamp in a trance, still pondering on the conundrum and mind still cottoned by the notion of being free.
"Are you all right?" Merlin, who's still in their lamp, asks with concern. Merlin, who needs to be safely by Arthur's side. "What happened?"
"I'm . . . I'm free," Almost. Like lightning, the answer to the paradox strikes them. Of course! They look up at Merlin, grinning. "And so are you."
Here's the key:
A woman born in the shape of a man weeps in front of Djinn. Her mother does not understand, does not want her to be as she truly is. You're abnormal, her mother says. Please just act normal, her mother begs.
Heart broken to pieces, she mutters hoarsely, "I wish I could be who I am and still have my mother accept me. Is that possible?"
"Your wish is my command," Djinn declares.
Djinn cannot bend another's will, cannot make her mother suddenly have a change of heart. But the woman's question produces knowledge of another world where a lot of things are possible. There is a world where a welcoming version of the mother longs to hold her daughter in her arms again. There's a world with legal and tested potions capable of changing one's physical gender.
A world where magic remains in the heart of Camelot.
A world where one Arthur Pendragon grows up loving magic, loving magic-users.
With the last of their omnipotence, Djinn fulfills the final wish.
And Djinn sets them both free.
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Djinn pops out of the lamp, unbridled joy tickling their whole being. King Arthur and his knights startle, brandishing their weapons towards them once more. Djinn is too happy to care, stretching their limbs and checking out their whole body. They feel so grounded, so real, as if they have woken up from a deep slumber. They attempt to summon a tub of ice cream, staring hard at their palm. No power surges in their veins, and most importantly, no ice cream appears in their midst. They sigh heavily; disappointing but to be expected. They suppose they should just be thankful they're still alive, and not ashes on the ground.
The king glances around before demanding, "Where's Merlin?"
With glee, Djinn notes that they're not compelled to provide an answer. But they proudly announce nonetheless, "I've granted your wish. Merlin is out of my lamp and somewhere where he can be safely by your side."
In a split second, the sharp end of a sword presses into the soft skin of Djinn's neck, and their back roughly meets the bark of a tree. Behind the king, the knights shout warnings and calls for him to stop.
"Ow!" They blink away the tears that sprung from their eyes. "So that's pain, huh. I don't like it."
"Stop it with your lies, Djinn! Where is my manservant?" There's a dangerous glint in King Arthur's eyes, one that is poised to cut Djinn down into pieces.
With the sensation of pain, and the blatant loss of most of their powers, Djinn finds the threat much more effective. They swallow, and blood trickles from the shallow cut upon their throat. No, Djinn does not like pain at all.
"I told you!" Djinn yells, gathering their bravado and feeling rather irritated. They fulfilled the wish perfectly and this is what they get? "He's somewhere where he can be safely by your side."
"Clearly not!" The king growls, gesturing brusquely at the empty air beside him.
"Well, obviously, not you you." Even in the face of death, Djinn can't help but roll their eyes. "Merlin can't be safely beside you."
An astounded stupor falls upon the king, his darkened features going lax. He ceases pushing against the Djinn, and the Djinn takes the opportunity to take a deep sorely needed breath.
"What do you mean?" Confusion fills the king's voice, making him sound rather like a young tween. "Merlin's no danger from me."
Djinn frowns, staring at King Arthur in disbelief. "What are you talking about? Of course he is."
Lancelot lunges forward, ambling to halt the discussion as a horrible epiphany dawns on him. Before the knight can reach them, however, the Djinn speaks, tone tinged with utmost bewilderment.
"How could a powerful magic-user like him be safe beside the king who persecutes his kind?"
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A/N:
"But, oh, to be free . . . To be my own master. Such a thing would be greater than all the magic and all the treasures in all the world."
– Genie, Aladdin (1992)
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SIKE.
Okay, I promise this is the real ending to Arc 1. (See, it even says 'Epilogue')
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Credits time!
Sometimes, a fanfiction is just a bunch of different art forms stitched together.
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SONGS
Characters:
White Rose by Heather Dale – Characterization of Ygraine
True and Destined Prince by Heather Dale – The overall feel of Prince Arthur for Arc 1.
I Follow My King by Heather Dale – the dynamic between cool Galahad and hotheaded Bedivere
One of Us by Heather Dale – Isolde as Head Knight
Tristan and Isolt by Heather Dale – Tristan and Isolde relationship
? – Lancelot
? – Wracu
King of All Trades by Heather Dale - ?
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Events:
Bow to the Crown by Heather Dale – the overall feel of the Apprentice Exam
Stone Soup by Heather Dale – the idea of the second test
Embers by Owl City – the feel of the third test
Spirit of Albion by Damh the Bard & Homeland by Celtic Woman – the overall feel of magical!Camelot
Also, check out the awesome spotify playlist made by sayabenz, some of which made me cry T^T: bit. ly / aww-by-sayabenz
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RESOURCES
To solidify the whole of Albion, I used this amazing work: MAP: Atlas of the Kingdoms of Albion by versaphile (AO3)
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ART
Have you checked out the incredible "Fanart for vividpast's "A Warlock's Wish"" by Schoernchen (Shyorn), Shyorn for this fic? After that, feast your eyes on the art on The Emrys Chronicles tag in AO3!
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TV Show
Have you checked out BBC Merlin – just kidding! Galavant (2015-2016) is my type of humor and inspired some of my attempts of humor in this story.
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That's all, folks!
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See you in a couple of months (hopefully)! If not, then, thank you for tuning in!
~ Vividpast