Work Text:
Chapter 1
Another day at the office. Another attempt at stifling, unsuccessfully, his frustration with his department being so restrictive.
“I don’t care if accounting is complaining about the latest round of cutbacks; we are not skimping out on the weapons shielding!” Arthur barely kept his voice in check, his words still rising in volume towards the end.
“But, Mr. Bear, sir, it’s an unnecessary waste of energy for a device that is itself meant to combat other energies! If we get rid of the shielding, we won’t need to add in the adjuster to compensate for going up against other energy wavelengths and we’ll save—”
“We are not getting rid of it.” His tone went deathly quiet and the surrounding people within hearing range went deathly still accordingly. “Do you know how many times our weapons have been compromised by the energy tech of our opponents before we added the adjuster alongside the shielding?”
“Statistically eighty-three percent of forty-nine percent of the combat battles we engage in as an organization,” Leon added helpfully from the sidelines.
“So you can see,” Arthur leaned in while the unfortunate warehouse assistant shrank back. “We will not be cutting any shielding from our uniforms.” The poor youth nodded their head, narrowly avoiding whiplash and scampered away while Arthur huffed satisfied and Leon expertly hid a grin.
“One of these days, you’ll stop scaring the minions in R&D, Arthur.” Leon commented casually as they started walking out of the warehouse; Arthur was already sinking in to the glow of satisfaction in terrorizing THO staff.
“Never gonna happen, Leon,” Arthur responded with a grin. “Never gonna happen.”
è . é
“You’ve all been called here on the matter of our newest batch of intel involving the most recent unknown assailant rampaging our city,” Uther surveyed the pairs of eyes staring focused on him; Arthur withheld a snort. His father was getting more dramatic with every passing year.
On the screen, the few images of the current topic were enlarged and blurry around the edges, overlapping one another. It hardly mattered; they were all out of focus, the image quality and zooming in doing the clarity of the figure no help, most of them simple blobs of black. The only other color of the figure leaking through the swathes of darkness were the twin pinpricks of gold shining brilliantly through the leftmost image.
Arthur tuned his father’s hissy dramatics out and focused on the eyes staring back, instead. Morgana had confirmed ages ago, after her scare had lead her and Arthur down the current path they had undertaken and tossed them both into a flurry of research ever since, that the brighter the HUE, the more power contained within the sorcerer.
The eyes currently staring out back at Arthur from the screen were the most vibrant, solid colored gold he’d ever seen.
Arthur felt a nudge in his left side and turned to see Leon’s raised brow—they really needed to stop picking up mannerisms from Healer Gaius whenever they suspected someone of feeling off—blinking at the nearly empty room around them; even Uther had vacated the boardroom without having a word with Arthur.
“You alright?” Leon’s concerned gaze poorly masked the injury glance over he was doing of Arthur’s body.
Arthur frowned. “Fine,” he said curtly, rising from his seat and striding out the door, Leon following close behind on his heels as always.
“You hardly said a word all meeting.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow in what he thought was a passable imitation of Healer Gaius but didn’t look away from in front of his stomping path.
“Not much to say; same meet, same drill. Only difference here was the target.” Leon hummed disbelievingly but didn’t add much more. Arthur grimaced internally.
For all that people generally believed his right hand man to be the epitome of stoic and silent, Leon often said more with his silences that other people figured. Currently, Leon’s silence was skeptical and humoring of Arthur’s reluctance to open up and discuss the real reason he was so distracted as of late.
In truth, Arthur himself wasn’t entirely sure why he was so apathetic. He had at first attributed it to growing bored of the repetition: of waking up, debriefing, fighting the current magic using villain of the week, cleaning up the mess in the aftermath, finishing up reports, and then heading home to start the process all over again. But even after the most recent battle against the latest High Priestess had shaken things up enough to disrupt the usual flow—the result of which had prompted the decrease in available funds and the attempt by Research and Development to try and cut corners in response—Arthur had been enlivened by the adrenaline of an unexpected match but not much else. As soon as the coursing excitement through his veins had worn off, he had returned to the previous listlessness as before.
Morgana would simply say he needed to get laid. Gwen would gaze at him sympathetically, hand on his arm, and suggest some easy platitude that she would undoubtedly mean. Leon might have a different answer for him, if Arthur were brave enough to confide this worry in him, but he also knew that Leon wouldn’t entirely understand the source of the feeling either, which would make it all the more harder to find a straightforward solution for.
Arthur sighed. “There’s something different about this one,” he gave over; it was the only way he could think of to come close to representing his current swirling vortex of feelings.
Leon hummed once more, this time thoughtfully. The two continued silently on through the corridor.
è . é
“Give over then,” Merlin slaps on the bandage, ignoring Arthur’s exaggerated wince. His lips purse when Merlin continues to fail at appearing apologetic; they’ve known each other for too long now to be intimately familiar with the other’s moods and tells. He sighs internally and rolls his eyes.
It’s been a few months into the new villain’s arc and they’ve remained frustratingly silent throughout its entirety. The rapport the Hero Association has with the Villainous Collective—colloquial nicknames, official ones still pending—had long since fallen into a well-worn pattern between the two and a, saddeningly, much anticipated spectacle to the general populace. For all that it’s generally agreed that the members of the Villainous Collective are Up to No Good(TM) and should be denied their demands, Arthur is well aware of the actual cause and continuing origins of why people join the Collective and rail against the Government to such degree as to need a hero’s association.
And for all that times are ever advancing and the public is discernibly more accepting of differences between individual groups than previously before, the concept and existence of magic is still so fraught with obstacles and dead ends caused by the unbelieving, the stringently devout against, and those still too enmeshed in the allure of sciences that continues to hold several hordes enthrall still—a holdover prevailing from the Enlightenment of several centuries ago refusing to release its sway upon those simply convinced it can explain away everything and give some semblance of existential control over one’s surroundings—it is sadly still not possible to come out with magic to the general public and start setting up support systems to integrate their gifts into society. This is what started the very public spectacle of the Hero Association vs. the Villainous Collective all those years ago by people like Arthur’s dad, Uther, and Gaius and those in the Villainous Collective who rail against the disbelief facing them over a part of themselves that is so entrenched within.
They’ve lost sight of that objective, Arthur muses. His father now firmly believes in wiping the Collective out and nothing Morgana nor Arthur have uncovered have explained the reasoning behind this.
A hand waves suddenly in front of his face, “Hello, Earth to unresponsive Prat. Come in, Prat.” Arthur glares to ill effect at Merlin who just smiles cheerfully once more. “Hey, you’re back.”
“Hard to be back, Merlin, when I never left the room,” Arthur sneers. Merlin, the contrary git, just laughs in his face at that.
“Where do you go when you get all stoic and middle distance-y, huh? I've always wondered.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow in what is even less of a passable imitation of Gaius’s; Merlin amused smirk in response tells him he’s unimpressed by the effort.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Ah, yes,” Merlin nods, mock sagely. “You’re always stoic. Of course.”
Arthur scoffs, smothering his answering grin.
“Just wondering how long it’s going to take this newest opponent to come out and strike.”
“And how long it takes before your dad starts obsessing with him?” A strange look comes over Merlin’s face.
“Be fair, Merlin,” Arthur gazes at him. “He’s already started.”
è . é
“All cleared then?” Leon’s soft inquiry breaks through Arthur’s daze. He scowls.
He’s been doing that a lot more, lately, and he needs to get a handle on it before Uther catches him at it and starts up ranting at him again.
The talk with Merlin left him in a melancholy mood; he couldn't discuss the specifics of the latest villain with Merlin for his own protection, but talking it out with the idiot always seemed to help center Arthur's mind and focus. Now, it only helped briefly before the bone deep exhaustion sunk back in and Arthur found himself disassociating.
He knew what he needed to do, really. All their plans thus far, starting from the very first altercation, were the same: reactionary.
They always waited for the Villain to strike first, make their demands, give the Heroes a reason to assemble and fight back, with the public and the government on their side. (The suits got tetchy when they did anything that looked like they were striking first because it disrupted the balance between the to opposing groups and the result often split the public opinion on whether or not the Government was doing what it should in response to the perceived threat.) Once the Villain came out and loudly called out what they wanted to achieve, only then can the Association emerge and fight back.
Really, both sides were breaking down and losing sight of what was real and what was performance.
“All clear, Leon,” Arthur told his still expectant waiting expression. Bless Leon and his patience. “I’m good to go. It’s just the usual waiting game now.”
“About that,” Morgana’s voice broke in between the two men. They turned together to face where she was strategically, deliberately posed in the open doorway to one of the storage rooms on base. She smirked at Arthur's eye roll.
“We’re going to have to shake things up a bit. We’re going on close to two weeks now since the last sighting of our latest rogue and even the suits are getting worried.”
Arthur frowned. “Rogue?”
“Yes,” Morgana nodded, then gestured the two men to follow after her into one of the many conference rooms scattered throughout the command centre building they were in.
She took the head seat at the table, naturally, and let the two settle into their seats before picking the conversation back up again.
“I’ve spoken to my contacts—”
“Morgana!” Arthur hissed, instantly getting up and checking the place for bugs or eavesdroppers. Leon frowned while Morgana rolled her eyes.
“I’ve already cleared the room, Arthur, do sit down and stop skulking about.”
Arthur finished his searching before reluctantly sitting back down, shooting a blink and gone glance over to Leon.
Morgana obviously trusted him, now, if she was openly bringing that out in front of him.
“It never hurts to double check,” Arthur scowled at Morgana’s hard face. “If it gets out that you have friends on the other side—”
“We’ve already prepared for that scenario, Arthur,” Morgana cut in. “Relax.”
“What did these contacts say?” Leon asked carefully, eyes darting between the two siblings.
“Yes.” Morgana cleared her throat and sat up straight from her careless sprawl. “They say that this newest figure is an unknown to them. Nobody’s met him, nobody’s claimed to see him, nobody really knows him.” Arthur frowned.
“If they don’t know him, how is it that they were able to give us a code name for them?”
“Apparently,” Morgana stared at Arthur. “There are prophecies that speak of one named ‘Emrys’ who will be the leading force in bringing back magic into the world and setting things right.”
Arthur blinked.
“Then, he’s the one the Old Man spoke of at the beginning of this?” Leon’s question bounced in Arthur’s head.
“Why aren’t the suits the ones telling us this? They’re supposed to be our moderators, they should know this information; if we’re nearing the end of this constant showdown, why aren’t they prepping us for the endgame and putting the necessary legislation in place?”
Morgana snorted derisively, “Because they’ve become to comfortable reaping the benefits of profiting off each side?” Arthur shook his head and thought it through, trying to answer his own question.
“There’s no doubt they’re profiting but it doesn’t seem like the primary cause. If we’re hearing this through the back channels, from people who haven’t any affiliation with the suits, then it’s because the suits don’t know it yet.”
Morgana tilted her head. “The only reason the Collective would have for neglecting to mention this before is because of cultural reasons; those are covered under our agreements. Particularly if it’s enshrouded in their prophecies, they wouldn’t just give over that information.”
“So, why did they tell you now?” Leon asked, hand stroking his jaw. Arthur shifted in his seat while Morgana turned to face him.
“Because he’s destined to kill me.”
è . é
Merlin paced back and forth in the narrow corridor of the greenhouse, careful of the rows of plants in their beds surrounding him.
He known it was a mistake to go out there; he knew the moment he decided and took up that random ragged cloak nearby that going out there would lead to the chance of someone seeing him and his presence leaking out to the media, and thus, to the Association.
He couldn’t just leave that child calling for help, Merlin frowned, not when he could do something about it. Now, the Association was convinced he was the next Villain of the Year and were waiting for him to do the expected dramatic reveal and announce his absurd demands so the public could continue to rest assured that they were well protected and cared for when the suits sent the Association members out after him.
Merlin turned around sharply to pace back away.
The problem was, Merlin wasn’t quite sure what sort of demands to make; aside from the usual extremely ridiculous and absurd demands of having an entirely separate and independent country for magic users—though they didn’t explicitly mention the word ‘magic’—like the last one had or even a seat at the table in Government so they had their own voice in legal matters and state of affairs. It seemed obvious, as he wasn’t outright affiliated with the Collective that they were also waiting for what sort of demands he would make, not just of the people in Government and the Association, but of the Collective as well. For all that he was being portrayed as part of them, they knew him as an unknown and, therefore, other.
Merlin swiftly pivoted back around once more.
The true fact of the matter was, Merlin hadn’t the mind for the political sphere and aside from small observations based entirely on his own experiences and upbringing, he had no idea what sort of changes he’d like to see implemented. His first instinct was to think of Arthur, whose own mind was more politically savvy, but from Merlin’s observations of his, debatable, friend, Arthur seemed more or less content with the direction the current path of the fighting was going in. Merlin could see that Arthur had grown far too tired of the constant fighting, but he still seemed as invested and passionate about seeing it through to the end as ever.
Merlin’s second thought was of Morgana. She gleefully pranced around the politicians and suits, even around Uther himself sometimes, as was want, and was always looking around for an opening in which to pursue her own agenda. The problem with this other Pendragon sibling was that Merlin could barely fathom what lurked in the depths of her mind. He with certainty only that she was far more sympathetic of the Collective’s plight than Uther was comfortable with and that she abhorred senseless death and violence.
Merlin swung around once more. And then stopped.
There was one thing. Something suitably far grander than the last Villain’s grandiose monologue of expectations and still relevant and near to his heart.
è . é
Alarms were blaring, piercing his eardrums and making him wince.
Arthur vehemently made a mental note to look into the volume of the call to arms even as another part of his mind noted its uselessness. The very reason he was contemplating getting up on a chair and thoroughly whacking down every strobbing flash was the same reason they were implemented and so effective in rousing them.
Privately, he knew part of the real reason he was so peeved was that it had taken almost three weeks before the expected dramatic entrance announcing the newest Villain’s name and demands had finally come. Three weeks of hurry up and wait, always on the edge of springing into action, before the relief of succumbing to the dash of movement to relieve the rush of adrenaline speeding through his veins. Three weeks of enduring Uther’s growing frustration and mounting paranoia that whatever it was had already happened and they had missed something.
Arthur dashed out, full kit already squeezed into, Leon reliably at his side. The two quickly sat and strapped themselves into the mini-copter, taking off after a quick appraisal of the systems and flying out to the location blipping on the map in the centre of the console.
Arthur continued performing the usual checks, monitoring all the flight systems while mentally going over what little information they had garnered thus far on the figure rumored to be Emrys; for all that he was admittedly called that by the Collective, the man himself hadn’t come out and said it yet. Maybe they’d get an introduction this time before the demands and the inevitable fighting ensued.
Leon piloted them up to the scene: despite the large overcast of dark grey clouds enshrouding the sky, there was hardly any rain or winds buffeting them to indicate a natural storm. Arthur frowned. The guy must truly be powerful, indeed, to have this kind of sway over the natural elements of the world. The only thing indicating the possible storm and gave cause for the clouds were the intermittent flashes of lighting, accompanied by the occasional growl of thunder.
Arthur frowned some more while Leon glanced at him while they did a careful, slow circle around the designated platform the city willingly sprang for to give members of the Collective a stage to play out their entrances without legitimately endangering the public and constantly destroying public property and homes.
Looking closer at the flashes, Arthur’s eyes darted. There was a pattern, they were only striking the same spots, albeit in random orders, on the ground surrounding the raised marble plateau in the middle of the broad steps spiraling away from it. Glaring at the ground itself, trying to ignore the way the light wanted to call his eyes and attention away, Arthur fixed in his mind the image of the ground and the positions of all the spots the lighting forks continued to strike.
With a start, causing Leon to glance at him in worry once more, Arthur gestured for Leon to lands in the Association’s designated landing pad. He took them down and they went through the shut down procedure in terse silence. Jumping out, Arthur only took a few steps away from the mini-copter before unconsciously assuming his hero pose: feet a careful shoulder distance apart with his thumbs tucked slight into the utility belt slung round his hips. Leon took up position standing by him a moment later and the two of them gazed expectantly at the empty stage before them.
They didn’t have to wait much longer, now. The wind immediately picked up once the two were in position and the flashes of lightning increased in tempo, gaining size and strength until a massive lightning bolt struck dead centre in the stage and shone a bright blinding white that they both had to shield their eyes from briefly until it slowly died out and the afterimage cleared from their eyes.
Still blinking away the echoes, Arthur immediately clocks onto the hooded figure now standing where the bolt struck the centre. The hood isn’t pulled that low, but even so, he still can’t make out any distinctive features apart from the two glowing irises peeking out at them. Leon crouches defensively and even Arthur outwardly gets on guard wondering which way this outcome will flop.
Ideally, the figure rumored as Emrys will make his rambling speech like those before him and then they can get on with the fighting and Arthur can figure out what other powerful gifts he might be hiding up his sleeves.
Instead, the three of them stand there motionless for an indeterminable time, regarding each other. Arthur holds out for as long as his patience lasts him, which, admittedly, isn’t very long.
“You—,” is all he gets out before the figure interrupts him; as if he was simply waiting for them to attempt to speak before breaking in.
“I am here not on behalf of myself.” There’s a pause where Arthur reluctantly shuts his mouth into an angry grimace and Leon shifts his weight. “I am here to correct those wrongs you all seem so beholden to continuing. I am here to point out the pain you have inflicted on those whose only perceived failing is not being like you. I am here to destroy the upset balance you persist in upholding and put a halt to the suffering of my people.”
A slight breeze blows across the empty courtyard, teasing the excess fabric of the figure’s hooded cloak and tugging on the weapons hidden about Arthur’s person. He tenses, feels Leon seize up briefly at the same time. For all the air may seem innocent, to someone who can control the weather, it is merely an extension of their body and it doesn’t escape either hero’s notice that it only tugged on the handles of their weapons and not on their own hair and clothes like the figure’s.
“And who are you,” Arthur sneers, “to claim to speak for others.”
They can’t see his face, but Arthur still somehow senses an air of amusement surrounding the figure across from them.
“I am Emrys, the last of the Dragonlords, and you will acknowledge my people’s rights and free my dragonkin from the cages you have locked them in.” Arthur starts, dragons???, but, again, before he can do much more than blink with his mouth agape, the wind picks up further and begins to throw dirt and debris at them. Arthur and Leon crouch further down, keeping balance by keeping low to the ground, and throw up their forearms to block out the grit trying to embed itself in their eyes.
The wind grows stronger, starts pushing them physically back, Arthur can feel his toes ineffectually curl to try and gain more traction, something to grab on to, and Leon grunts beside him. They’re trying to advance, Arthur can barely make out the shape of the figure, Emrys, indeed, now for all that he hasn’t mood and the gale seems to leave him untouched. They only manage a few steps before Emrys’ voice is reaching them again.
“I want no violence, no wars between us. I am only asking for that which is in your power to give and which should have been freely granted to us as our natural born right.” Thunder growls out above them, louder and backed up by the noise of the wind blowing them back. A staff appears in Emrys’ hand, a blue stone glowing atop the knob’s end. “I am not here to fight. But I WILL defend those in my care and I will do what I must to ensure our survival and future happiness.”
The pressure picks up and swirls around Emrys, growing as if he were in the eye of a tornado; which, Arthur belatedly realizes, is altogether possible with the power Emrys is displaying right now and a niggling trickle of fear and other tangled emotions trickles its way down his spine with the air current at the thought. Emrys is calling up a storm oh, so casually without any words of ancient tongues nor elaborate hand gestures or aid at the same time he is talking to them. The darkness of the clouds takes on a life of its own, reaching out to them; Arthur can sense Leon beside him fighting ineffectually, less successful than Arthur and slowly being pushed back. The lightning starts up again, striking out the shape of a dragon Arthur feared it signified and a sudden burst of rain pours down heavy upon the two heroes, weighing them down further and aiding the now cold and biting wind pushing them away from Emrys.
Another large lightning bolt flashes, this time inches away in front of Arthur and he flinches back involuntarily, the small movement giving the forces pushing him more help and he’s suddenly back abreast of Leon, the two of them mere feet away from the mini-copter’s feet and then it stops.
Both take a sudden step forward to keep from falling flat on their faces. The air around them is light, the sun beginning to shine through the slowly dispersing white clouds that are changing into wisps before their eyes. The rain is gone, the ground is dry as if it never was otherwise, though a single glance at Leon confirms that his clothes and gear are still as soaked as Arthur’s are.
And right before them, atop the platform’s centre, Emrys is gone.
è . é
“This is all you can give me?” Uther utters quietly. Arthur does his best to hide his instinctive wince; for all that he disagrees with many of his father’s methods and what he concentrates on, Arthur still has trouble growing out of the ingrained reactions Uther gifted him growing up.
Instead, Arthur firms his spines, reminds himself of the weighted support of Leon behind him to his right, and focuses on the important aspects of what they have gleaned so far in their limited interactions with Emrys.
“The fact that this new opponent can summon and control the weather at whim, without word nor ritual, is in and of itself deeply concerning.”
“And makes it all the more concerning that this is the power with which the scum chooses to throw as his opening volley.” Uther scowls. Arthur’s lips thin; he has, of course, thought of this. It presses heavily on his mind, but drowned out by the questions plaguing his mind and shutting his lips.
When were you going to tell me about dragons? Do we really have them all locked up? In chains? Was what this Emrys said true? Were there actually dragons??
The voice sounds sadly like hurt child whinging about being left out and Arthur knows he’ll get no answers from his father to his questions. The very blatant avoidance the man before him is doing in dismissing the existence of bloody dragons from the conversation tells Arthur all he needs to know about his father’s stance on the matter.
“I’ve thought of that; it’s possible we can discern his other abilities from what he’s already told us.” The words make his father look up at him and frown, so Arthur elaborates.
“He called the dragon ‘kin,’ he titled himself a ‘Dragonlord,’ so it is very likely that he has similar traits to the beasts of old.” Uther’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t like me bringing them up; he’s hiding something more there.
After a slight moment of silence in which Arthur and Leon are made to wait, Uther nods.
“Talk to Gaius. Inform only him of this. He’ll tell you what you need to know.”
è . é
“I needed to do something, Gaius! Everyone was waiting for some sort of grand reveal, a massive entrance from the latest big bad and the longer I didn’t show the longer every one grew nervous!”
“I understand, my boy,” Gaius sighed. “I know why you thought what you did necessary, but now that they know you and what you can do, they won’t rest until you’re hunted down and drained like the rest.” Merlin gazed at his mentor fearfully, one hand rubbing his other arm.
He knew his Uncle was making sense. He knew it was altogether possible that he would have been safely overlooked and forgotten eventually had he done nothing. But: to hear Arthur tell it, to listen to him speak about how paranoid everyone was getting and anxious they were all waiting for what they didn’t know might never happen, Merlin couldn’t take the tired heaviness lurking in behind Arthur’s eyes.
“Now that I’ve made some demands they’ll never relinquish and done my show of strength they can rest easier.” He gazed at Gaius in hopeful entreaty.
His Uncle only sighed again. “Except now, they also have a better idea of how powerful you are and will stop at nothing to track you down and drain you out!” Merlin bit his lips, all his nervous motion stilled. Gaius looked on as his nephew abruptly sat down on the bench and put his head in his hands.
“What else could I do?” he asked hopelessly. Gaius suppressed another sigh and leaned over to reassuringly pat his nephew’s shoulder.
“Be careful. And do you best; that’s all I ask of you.”
Outside, out of sight behind the Healers’ door, Arthur stood silently still, eyes wide, rubbing his aching forearm, holding his breath.