o13 ♔ video / semi-open action

[pratentious]

[ Because this picture is pretty and I wanted to share it with you. Shush. ]



[ Arthur hasn't been gone long. Many of you likely wouldn't have even noticed his absence at all. But he is returned now, just over a year older and with a new crown that he may or may not have stolen from Burger King is far more ornate than a Prince's coronet hanging in his hands. He may not be much older but he certainly looks aged. ]

It would seem this realm has not tired of its want for Kings and Queens.

[ A tight lipped smile. King Arthur of Camelot has just come from the middle of his coronation, and he is hardly amused. ]

I would ask a question of you, Travellers, if you care to answer. How many of you believed you would return home following the battle of Ragnarok, as was promised? How many of you were prepared for it? Wished for it?

[ A pause. ]

Are there any among you that held dread for the prospect, and are glad now to remain in this city for however long you might?

[ He did, once. Now, he is not so sure. He rolls the crown in his hands once, shifts. ]

Or - an easier inquiry, if you are not inclined to answer the other. How many have returned to their native realms, despite the unresolved conflict? Those of you that have made my acquaintance or would call yourselves my friends, I ask that you make known your presence.

[ Another beat, another tense smile. ]

I suppose Asgard is not yet finished with me after all.

[ The feed ends there. Arthur can be found walking from the Heimdall district in the direction of Thor, golden crown once more upon his head and his rich red cloak trailing in the dirt behind him. He might seem a bit dazed, as he is trying to fit the memories of Asgard into his memory of Camelot or perhaps the other way around, but he will stop to speak with people if approached.

He hesitates only a moment on the sidewalk before the New Camelot residence. Arthur's not sure if he's still meant to call it 'home.' But after taking the time to look his fill, to try and remember what he already knows, he will finally cross the yard to knock on the door. He no longer has the key, after all. ]

Comments

[Video]

[5thchild]

I won't be able to return to my world because I have died, and I rather like this place. However, to stay here or not isn't something I think about. I didn't prepare myself for it, either, preferring to see what would come out of the recent events.

[Video]

[pratentious]

[ Ah, the deceased. Always a special case. ]

I suppose Asgard's not so bad, once you overlook the illness and the war, and the gods on their bad days.

[ Baldr. ]

What do you make, then, of the outcome and the Travellers' extended stay?

action;

[sworntovalor]

[It may not have been long by any logical count, but to them it seemed an eternity has passed since they last heard his voice. Things have been bad in their little home, to say the least, and Lancelot has tried to keep them together but he is no leader.

It's with great relief that he races towards the entrance while fiddling with his bracelet, hoping the prince -- nay -- king now, will head that way, only to find him already at the door.]

Arthur - ! [His face lights up and for a moment he forgets himself; overwhelmed with relief to see him home and safe.] You have been sorely missed.

action;

[pratentious]

[ He thought to call beforehand, to ask who of Camelot remained within the city walls, but doubtless Morgana would have his head for wasting the precious few seconds to ask rather than simply see for himself. Snatched so suddenly as he was (released, wasn't it? not stolen, but returned?), Arthur isn't certain what expect of their numbers, so to see Lancelot in full, alive and well and still three (four, now, right) years younger -

- a year in days, snapped back to the future in the past, and Arthur feels vaguely like he's just come out of the losing side of a melee.

But that never happens, see. Arthur never loses, on the tourney grounds or in his own head, and the whiplash from being greeted so brightly by his recently deceased Knight is hidden well beneath the lifetime of training and the colours on his back. No likelier now as King than Prince to lose his cool, there is only a flicker of shock before he schools it away to pleasant surprise. ]

Rightly so, of course. I might call it a miracle you lot survived three days without me.

[ He quirks a teasing brow, playful arrogance and a dark humour; he knows it can't've been pretty for any of them. If he's a mess of conflict and loss, there's certainly no telling the state of the others. But Lancelot is here, alive, and Arthur extends an arm for his Knight's forearm. If he grips perhaps a bit too hard, to make sure he's real, it is surely your imagination. ]

video;

[permutation]

You're back.

[ She'd searched for him when things finally got quiet again and there was nothing left for her to do. She has a bone to pick with him, after all.

She shakes her head, though, as if to remind herself that she didn't want to take about that over the network and to remind herself that she's just here to answer his questions and be helpful ]

It would have been nice to go home but I was a little skeptical about them actually keeping their promise. And I wanted to go home, too, though staying a little longer has its upsides, I guess.

[ She likes the people here and they seem to accept her. That's about where the good of this place ends though ]

video;

[pratentious]

I am that.

[ The same, small smile. He should be happy for it, and perhaps at some point, he will be, but. For now, he needs time to think. Hence the questions, and the answer that gets a slightly amused grin. ]

To call the gods' word dubious would require a generosity most do not have to spare, though they do readily delight in their favours.

[ People appreciate the good things and rag on the bad things. Nothing new there, particularly not in the life of sovereign. ]

Would you consider yourself happy here, Mystique?

action; also this will be wordy, I can tell

[veneficus]

[ The house was quiet since he left. Morgana remembers it all as long hours that mix together in her head. Her face pressed into Merlin's shoulder blade as she wept and the way he looked, the way they all looked, lost, as if their sense of path was stolen from them and it was. Arthur was Merlin's best friend, he was Lancelot's prince and commander and he was her brother. An anchor for them all that has been taken away.

Only Morgana mourned for something quite else. She wept and lost sleep and neglected eating not only because Arthur left, but because of what it meant for them. He returned to her betrayal, to her letting him down and hurting him.

She had lost him and Nakama and her joy of life. There was no comfort to her in those hours, nothing but the certainty she will probably not see them again for a long time, if at all.

Which is why she thought she had lost her mind when she heard his voice, saw her face; not different, not truly but somehow older.

The crown in his hands freezes her heart. King, she thinks. Uther is gone, Arthur's father - her father? is dead. The King is dead. Long live the King. At once, she feels ill, remembers the worries she had when she heard of Uther's death and her betrayal.

Shall Arthur demand the price now?

But Arthur - because it is Arthur, flash and blood and real and alive and well, does not look angry, does not seem to seek her head. She hears his words but makes nothing of them. Not when she thinks Arthur, Arthur, thank the Gods, thank whichever God that allowed this.

She looks dreadful, there is no way around it. With red eyes and fresh tears, pale and scared for him and scared for herself and scared for them but she gathers her strength and moves down anyway, hears voices and steps as the house is revived back to life with his return. She is crying, of course she is, much as she was when he first arrived to Asgard.

She can't bear to say anything to him yet, to greet him or apologize or both, she just looks at him from the steps, shoulders shaking before she rushes forward to maybe knock the air out of him as she crashes into him, arms wrapping around his neck and her face pressed to his shoulders and this can never again, the Gods cannot do this to my heart again. ]

action; lmfao in which Adi and Faith write a new Arthurian novel.....

[pratentious]

[ This is the one reunion Arthur has been awaiting most with anticipation and dread in equal measure. He did not call to ask who remained as he'd briefly considered, but he did check the registry. Not long enough to find them all, everyone he's grown to care for over the time he's been here, but to look for the ones that matter most - and there are none that matter more than Morgana. None here, nor in Camelot, nor anywhere in the universe, and she is still here.

And not Morgana Pendragon, daughter of Uther and Vivienne, witch and High Priestess of the Old Religion. Not the name feared across the land and cursed in his Court, that Lady of Camelot who has become her greatest foe. Arthur thinks to when last he saw her, and he cannot recall - the day she usurped the throne and smiled with blood-red lips (blood-stained, then, bathed and borne in the blood of Arthur's men, Arthur's kingdom, Arthur's blood, and she wore it beautifully in the moonlight as she smiled at her triumph).

But no, no. That's wrong. That is not she, here. Not Morgana Pendragon, enemy of Camelot, but Morgana, simply so and lovingly, too. She gave their House gladly here, did she not? As a proud relation, not a weapon to those that question her legitimacy, not a means of striking at the heart but of holding it as they did each other so many times before; on the night when her memories came to her in a dream and she feared for his rejection, when Arthur declared openly his support of magic and she reaffirmed his belief that there are worse crimes to commit than treason, when he arrived a month after she and so wary was he in spite of her open relief.

He thinks back to then, too. The dissonance between who she was and who she is (was then, there; is now, here, and he doesn't know which is which anymore), his fear for her trickery once more, and he'd told Merlin - 'I can't stand to lose her again, Merlin. She may be Morgana now, but if I let myself close to her and she turns on me again' - and isn't that precisely what's happened? Did he not let her back into his heart (closer, closer than ever, near enough to strike to kill) only for things to return to precisely as they were before?

He thinks of his father, in the year before his death. That hollow shell of a man, all what was left behind after her betrayal. Arthur wonders if the same might become of him, some day; if she should break his heart repeatedly enough that the life should leave him altogether, just as she was the one to breathe it into him to start.

But - this is not she.

It is not the enchantress that stands weeping upon the stairs, looking every bit the mimicry of that man that lost everything he held dear. It is not the traitor that runs to him and clings as though he is her last tether to this plane. It is not the liar or the usurper or the murderer that he wraps up in his arms, one hand cradling the back of her head as he presses his nose to the dark tresses he has known nearly all his life.

This is Morgana. An ally at arms, for all that she (mistakenly) believes herself a better hand at the sword. A brat that leaves him sweets that he gives to the others and then calls him fat the very next day when they're all gone. A pillar for all that he fights for in love and loyalty and honour and justice. His sister, his friend; his first love, and perhaps his last love, as loving her will surely be the death of him.

Arthur will claim the life of every member of his family through the beating of his heart. ]

Is bathing my mail in snot to become a habit with you?

[ He cannot even feign heat behind the jest, so busy he is holding her as close as he can without hurting her, without melding them together so that they might never again part as he knows they eventually will. Again, and again, because time is cruel and the Fates do not favour them; perhaps they never have. Arthur has made promises he will not keep, can't, as the gods will take them from him and he knows this as fact now, has experienced it firsthand and is suffering for it. He has lost his father, his Knight, his best friend, his sister; his heart.

Asgard will not let him keep it, how is he meant to survive? He thinks he will not. Perhaps he will die like this, torn a thousand different ways under the crown of his people, Camelot's red draped around him and all the breath gone from his lungs, in the arms of the one that would take it all from him.

Perhaps Arthur simply needs to learn to let go. Not today, though, no; today, he holds on tighter. ]

Audio

[samantha_grey]

[She hadn't noticed he was gone. Sorry, Arthur, but she had a habit of getting caught up in her own things pretty frequently, and it wasn't that long of a disappearance for the people here, so she didn't realize. She could tell there was something different though.]

I haven't decided which I wanted. The night before Freyr... part of me didn't want to leave. It didn't want the war to end because that might have meant I would go back.

Part of me wants to be back. I have unfinished business with my father, but I'm not sure I want to go back to deal with him without a shred of memory of this place. That seems just as wrong. Today, I'm just dealing with still being here, and what that means.

Nakama's gone... if you knew her.

Audio

[pratentious]

[ He's silent a moment after an initial sharp intake of breath. Nakama, good gods. They are surely cruel to take such a girl so full of life to her death. ]

She was a dear friend. If there should be any worthy of a place amongst the stars in Heaven, it would be she.

[ May her soul find rest at long last in the Otherworld. ]

To live each day as it comes may be the most sensible course of action in this realm, though I must confess I have never been given to such a practise. I was raised to think in the long-term, and I cannot know what lies ahead in the future of a place that holds no regards to the flow of time. Our memories are key and they have claimed the lock.

video;

[this_chair]

I definitely didn't believe it. I've seem this kind of thing too much to even try to get some kind of hope.

video;

[pratentious]

Such is wise, as the gods have done little to earn our trust.

[ Well - there is, perhaps, Freyr. That remains to be decided, however. ]

If you would, then - is it only that they would return us that you do not believe, or do you question the validity of Ragnarok as well?

[ealdorsprince]

Still here, and still as frustrated as earlier.

[He notices the crown, but he can't bring himself to say anything about it.]

[pratentious]

Nothing new there, then.

[ Somewhat amused, but part of him is ... not quite distant. He's simply trying to remember. How long has it been since Will died for him in Ealdor? Time has become so disjointed; he cannot tell, and the thought disturbs him. ]

Have you otherwise fared well, William?

[video - private]

[holmes_fanatic]

Conan, checking in.

[Because that's what this really is, isn't it? Conan's ignoring Arthur's less easily answered questions in favour of trying to weigh what has changed. It's more than just a crown isn't it?]

You were away for longer than you were gone here, Arthur-san?

[video - private]

[pratentious]

Just over a year, as it were.

[ He's trying to distract himself from thinking on it too much, though, but Conan is a smart kid and someone Arthur trusts. He'll answer his questions, as he is typically to have some. ]

[Action] fuck it, breaking hiatus for this.

[dreamsonwings]

[She was gone for awhile again wasn't she?

Instead of going to Sigyn's welcome hall or Ayame's, the acrobat decided to walk around the city, taking in what she missed these past few days. Instead of making a post asking what was going on, she already checked the network and found her answer.

Again the gods send her away when it was needed the most. It brought up that nagging feeling in her head of why be gone when people needed her...some help. No, there had to be a positive side to all of this. Too bad Sora couldn't think of anything. But as she made her way around, she spotted that red cloak close by. It didn't mean much until she looked above the cloak and recognized that head.

It was like her body was moving without her head being consultated and it was saying 'I know you and I missed you'. So Arthur, there is a midget acrobat hugging you from behind. And no, she doesn't care about crying or you being a prince, or king now. Just let her do it ok?]

[Action] I feel so special, lil' sis. \( ; ∀ ; )/

[pratentious]

[ Listen closely to your brother, Sora, and listen well. Do not bum rush a warrior.

Arthur is dazed and only half-present as Camelot and Asgard collide head on, but he is still hyperaware even in his sleep. His body tenses the moment he hears her footsteps, but her arms are around him before he has the chance to realise he hasn't even got his sword (didn't need it, not for his coronation, not to stand tall and strong before his people, those of his that aren't here).

But he quickly cottons on to her lack of ill intent, to the fact that this isn't an attack but rather some sort of backwards embrace, and he has to twist just slightly to see who and oh.

Oh, but he hasn't seen that head of hair in quite some time, has he?

After a moment to comprehend and come to a decision, Arthur sighs softly and places on of his hands atop her arms around him, not turning into the embrace but acknowledging it, returning it in his own small way. This is hardly proprietary, the King hugged in open space, but, well. He had to get used to setting aside his title once before, he will have to do it again, and there is no better a time to do so than when faced with someone dearly missed. ]

You know, it is among the highest of crimes to assault the King. And in public as well, it's like you're not even trying.

[ Even with his back to her, the smile should be evident in his voice. Teasing, as per usual, but in a light sort of way that comes with time and loss and sobriety. Things should hardly ever be so easy between them. ]

video;

[burping]

[ She feels a swell of relief to see him. Perhaps it's selfish, perhaps it's unkind, to hope that he had not been sent home forever, assuming that's where he's been instead of just lost. She does not understand how it works here. And Arthur, despite all that's happened (and not happened to him), is still her closest connection to home.

But the crown he wears is familiar, not that she can exactly say that she knows it well. She sits up in the chair that is in her room at House Freya.]

Arthur-- I thought we would all go home.

video;

[pratentious]

[ It is not appropriate to wish, but still, they have and they will. It's why he asked, after all; surely there are some as selfish as they, that they might cling to something fragile and precious and small: each other.

Arthur is different for it, for them, and yet, still the same. He is hardly changed from when he left Asgard, yet perhaps something closer to what she once knew of him. These are the things Arthur does not understand and may never, how he might be so many people all at once, and if he is all of them, then perhaps he is none at all.

Who do they see when they look at him?

But he is King and she, a Princess, his friend; this, he knows with certainty, even if there are doubts aplenty elsewhere. Arthur affords her a small smile, as warm as proper given the situation. ]

As was intended, or so they claim. I do not think we can consider time our ally on this front.

[ For they will surely be here longer still, with no end in sight. The not knowing when is half the suffering of Asgard, if not the whole altogether. ]

video;

[zodiacal]

I try not to get my hopes up when the authorities promise me something. [Not that she... didn't get them up even slightly, but if she did, she didn't expect the war to be over in that short amount of time. It didn't seem feasible.]

What about you?

video;

[pratentious]

[ His lips quirk in slight amusement. ]

I am the authorities.

[ Which is how he knows intimately, sometimes you must give reassurances you can't guarantee. It's not how Arthur would do things in his kingdom, but he knows politics. ]

I know only that there is war upon us still. If they intend to keep their word, it may not be for some time yet.

video;

[gwenhwyfar]

How ironic -- as much as I am needed home, I do not believe none of you can provide that for me.

video;

[pratentious]

There are those that would say none can provide such but yourself.

[ Building a home here, or trying to return to your own. ]

They have bade us work for our wage, paid us in shelter but not home as we cure their ills and fight their battles. I don't believe this is something any one man could provide.

fail-action? By the gods why can the world not run on stares.

[childofthewickedday]

[Mordred's face presses to the door only where it has been left open, and he opens it no further. For a moment his eyes are intent on the scene that unfolds between Arthur and Morgana before he retreats within, opting to wait as he did the first time: steps back from the door, expression blank, and breath held prisoner to uncertainty.

The crown most has not gone unnoticed, nor have the last words they shared been forgotten. And it all leaves the question: what has changed?

It is enough to make him reconsider his stance and after another hesitation and frown cast about the room, he backs down from where he had planned to greet Arthur at the door, and moves to crouch beside a balustrade at the lower stairs.]

because not everyone is as creepy as you, creepred.

[pratentious]

[ Arthur knows Mordred is still within the city, had made certain of it upon his arrival, but he can't say he's entirely surprised when he doesn't see the boy amidst all the kerfuffle at his entrance. Whatever lies between them (friendship, they'd once spoke of, but time has not given them near enough the chance) is still tenuous and new, fraught with uncertainties. He hardly expects Morgana's theatrics or Lancelot's joviality, but hiding?

It would be endearing if it weren't also somewhat troubling.

Once he's extricated himself from Morgana (no small feat), he will seek out the boy, glancing around the rooms downstairs before noticing Mordred behind the balusters. Arthur quirks a small smile before walking over and placing his hands on the lowest cap of the railing. ]

You know, Morgana and I used to seek out the most obscure niches of the castle when we wished to escape our tutors. I don't know that this house is quite so suited to hiding in plain sight.

[ He smiles lightly and crouches down in front of him again, like the last time, to remove that imposing height, but perhaps it's not quite as effective when he's still adorned in crown and cape. ]

Have you been well, Mordred?

[Audio]

[occulthymns]

Those are awfully personal questions.

[she's saying that quickly because there is something else she'd rather focus on.]

That's a nice crown.

[Audio]

[pratentious]

[ He's a bit startled by the brusque statements, amused in some measure. 'A nice crown.' ]

That's quite kind of you to say, thank you. I'm told it's fit for a King.

[tradingsecrets]

So, should I be worried that you're asking for people to sound off here? Did something happen I didn't know about?

[Finnick has been taking care of Katniss, Annie and Rue of course, so he hasn't really been paying much attention to the network these days.]

[pratentious]

I would say there's cause for concern, no, though I suppose that depends on whom you ask.

[ Morgana and Merlin, for instance, might say it is the end of the world. ]

I was returned for Camelot for some time, is all. I'm curious to know who else may've departed in the days I was away.

[Voice]

[falenandawn]

I am still here.

[The way Arthur phrased his words seemed odd. But the request for others to check in, and the topic of his questions.... And the crown, as well. It hinted enough that he chose to venture a question.]

You were returned home?

[Voice]

[pratentious]

Freyjadour.

[ Acknowledgement, brief; is he meant to say he's glad to hear from him? He's not sure. ]

Yes. What passed as three days here was a year for me in Camelot.

video;

[meant]

( alayne does not want to go home. it's difficult to say where home is, even. the vale? once, it had been winterfell, back when she was still sansa stark, but theon greyjoy had burned it to the ground. others had taken her family away, betrayed and killed them in cold blood. it is a familiar song to alayne, now. it is familiar to all of the starks.

this place has snatched robb and arya back from the hands of the stranger, the god of death. it has given her a chance to live outside of the control of the lannisters. nobody here knows her true name, save for her siblings. no one in asgard knows of the accusations thrown her way - treason and regicide, poison slipped quietly into joffrey's cup the day of his wedding. the orders for her capture have no power here.

if asked to choose between asgard and westeros, alayne would choose to see her siblings again every time. but she says nothing of this, because she is supposed to be a lady, and these are ugly secrets that no one will hear from her, not even robb and arya. instead, she offers a tiny dip of a curtsy over the feed. that crown is not a prince's crown. those clothes are not for everyday wear. the two worlds might be different, but alayne can extrapolate well enough. she does not know him, but there are certain courtesies outlined by the westerosi.

alayne dips her head, and remarks quietly: )

I am sorry for the loss of your father, your grace.

( she knows something about loss. but these are words no one ever said to her about sansa's father. ( even now, the mask still remains: alayne's father is alive and well and rules over the vale ) the deaths of alleged traitors are awarded no honours at all. )

video; i am sorry for my existence ;A;

[pratentious]

[ Strange, that this should be perhaps the hardest of his return to Asgard yet.

He has been faced with his recently deceased Knight, sacrificed in place of him when Arthur had never (would never have) asked it of any of them, not when it was his duty, and they greeted each other in cheer and lies (Lancelot doesn't know, gods let him never know). He held his traitor sister close, the very same that has sought his throne and his life, that would hold a blade behind him as she wept upon his shoulder in his time (not hers, though, not theirs, here).

Everything about this realm is a challenge for him in this moment, as he tries to reconcile the two places he would call home, but this - simple words of consolation, words heard all too many times from the lips of his counsellors and friends and not his people, never his people, because it is not their place and Arthur wonders if they'd even have the words to spare. Yes, this is the hardest, for that very reason.

Arthur was King-to-be from birth, raised and groomed from his very first breath for the moment his father would shed his last and he would ascend the throne. But it is a castle built upon lies and cruelty, the blood of innocents upon the hands of guilty men kept clean for the title before their name, and these are things Arthur only knows in Asgard. Truths he has only been granted by being displaced in time and station, and the words stung in Camelot, but here, they burn.

He loves his father. His loss is crushing (on his birthday, in place of him, for him, by him, again) but now he is all too aware he never truly knew his father, never will in Camelot, and Arthur feels as though he might be torn apart by sweet and sincere condolences that may never pass in Camelot. Strange, that he might mourn for one so dearly beloved, and hated by all. Arthur swallows hard once, twice, before he can trust his voice to speak without breaking. ]

I thank you for your kind words, Alayne. My father was [ is? he is still alive here ] a great King [ not a great man, the head beneath that crown was twisted ], and I hope only to continue on in his stead so that Camelot might continue to prosper and grow.

[ The words sound shallow and empty, and he feels such, too. His vision of their kingdom is so different from what Uther would have, moreso now, when he knows so much of magic and the worlds and would fix everything his father never considered broken. What a bastard of a King you are, Arthur Pendragon. ]

voice

[doomfire]

I wasn't expecting the war to be over with just one battle. [ but that doesn't really matter as much at the very moment- ] Did you go back to your world?

voice

[pratentious]

For a few days' time, yes. I apologise for my absence, it was ... most unexpected.

[ They weren't supposed to leave, after all. ]

[text | private]

[swedge]

Checking in for duty, sir.

[If Jo had felt like pulling up a video feed, he might have been able to hear the sarcasm, a little bit of a joking tone even. But she doesn't, so hopefully it doesn't miss it.

It's a little later that he should receive another text from her, and it does not carry with it the same tone.]

Not all of us had a home to go back to.

[text | private]

[pratentious]

[ Jo, you're hoping for the man that didn't even know what a text message was a few months ago to pick up on something most people in your age miss anyhow. In fact, he's just about to text back (jokingly) that she missed the "e" in "sire" when he receives the second and ah.

Gods be damned.

She isn't the first of Arthur's acquaintances to come from the Otherworld, far from. In fact, there've been a few he sent there himself wandering the streets, living just down the hall from him, wondering when next he'd have to kill her. Arthur doesn't know whether it's a mercy or a cruelty, to bring the dead to life in a realm caught up in war and strife. This, though, is a question he cannot ask until he takes that journey himself.

Instead, he sends her a text that is perhaps ill-advised, but it's the only thing he really knows, the one thing he is best at. ]

When did you last venture to the firing range?

[ Yes, put a weapon into the hands of the one that may very well have taken insult in your words. Perhaps it is unwise, but Arthur is hardly in the mood for propriety and logic. He has just been crowned King the day after his birthday, been thrust back into a world that defies everything he knows (knew, because everyone he loves and trusts has lied to him), and is in dire need of distraction. The discussion - again, an act of impropriety for sake of reprieve - might suit some, but Arthur has always been more physical than emotional anyhow.

Fortunately, he is quite spectacular at ducking. ]

video;

[emblazing]

[ she was curious to know what manner of crown he carried. it was too ornate to be a prince's crown, and so daenerys watched him, seeing the familiar signs of one heavy under the weight of such.

it's quiet, but clear when the queen speaks: ]

Are you well, Prince Arthur?

[ a pause, a pointed glance to the crown ]

Or perhaps I should call you King.

video;

[pratentious]

The latter would be correct as of today, and I am quite well, thank you.

[ He smiles, tired but warm, the proper sort of solemnity. ]

I hope the same can be said of you, Khaleesi.

[video]

[magnifique]

I was not even aware it was promised we'd return home, Monsieur.

[ Cue France looking rather agitated by that fact. ]

But then, I've only been here for a short time... I do not believe we've been introduced, even, oui? Francis Bonnefoy, enchanté.

[ a king would surely be good for him to ally himself with, he's thinking. But then, there's something about this king that seems so english. ]

Ah, if you knew that Angleterre - er, Arthur Kirkland - it seems he, and others from his world - Bulgaria, and Romania, shall all be returning home.

[ He's still getting used to the fact, and laughs off his worry at being one of the only nations left. ]

Figures that he'd leave me here, eh...

[video]

[pratentious]

Ah, you must be France, then. Kirkland would speak of you often.

[ Though not usually in a kind light, but he doesn't need to know that. Arthur will offer a smile instead, cordial and every bit as proper as the regalia he's wearing from his coronation. ]

I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, and I have been here for quite some time now, barring the last few days. I'd be glad to answer any questions of yours, one friend of that obnoxious prat to another.

Video

[burningcreator]

[The farmboy is leaning on the outside wall of the barn in the Gefion Park horse corral, chewing on a piece of straw.]

I sure thought we were goin' home, no' tha' I wan'ed to...

People 're nicer here an' theres a lot I don' gotta worry 'bout 'nymore...

[He gives a little sigh, looking off into the field the horses are grazing in.] ...Bu' I'm gettin' sick an' fuckin' tired, o' people disappearin'.

Video

[pratentious]

[ Arthur chuckles quietly; Shou certainly puts it eloquently. ]

Our tethers to this realms are not hardly so strong as those that bind us to the earth. I sometimes wonder if they aren't simply losing us rather than sending us away.

video

[circuses]

[ Regina's attention immediately goes to the crown in his hands, which causes her to move to respond in the first place. Ooh, shiny crown. Pretty crown. Her eyes sparkle as she stares, before finally piping up with: ]

I'm sad that I can't see my friends from home, Your Highness. [ She's still gazing at the kingly bling. The title is only a guess, for all she knows he could have stolen it. ] I really thought we were going back! But then everyone said we weren't after all...it's kinda confusing.

video

[pratentious]

[ wow rude, Regina, Arthur so did not steal his crown from the King of Burgers!!!

But he smiles anyway, because she is polite unlike so many others, though there is some amusement for her very obvious interest. ]

Not yet, perhaps, but I'm not entirely unconvinced that we will be returned at the end of the war. We've just yet to meet the end.

[action || heimdall]

[extraordinarymuse]

[After the battles ended, Kate hasn't bothered taking time to rest. There was too much to do and too much to help with and an entire city to rebuild. Because of this, she hasn't been on the network very often, and misses this post completely. She might go back and find it later in the day, but for now she ends up seeing Arthur from a ways away as she was passing through her old District.

She notices his new clothes, that he seems to be carrying himself a little differently than she last saw him, but that's about it. Therefore she doesn't see any reason not to call out, smiling as she catches up to him.]

Arthur! Haven't seen you around. [Her eyes fall on the crown, the cloak, the everything and she raises a questioning eyebrow.] Am I missing something?

[action || heimdall]

[pratentious]

[ He paused only briefly at the palace steps to send out his message after the bracelet was returned to him, just a short moment to sit and breathe before he went to face all that remains for him here, and it starts immediately. Katie is a friend and a welcome sight, but it takes Arthur a moment to remember that, to know with certainty that this is real, this is Asgard and he has been here before, he will remain here again, and Camelot will not suffer or prosper for it.

It is all meaningless. ]

It is rather I that has been missing.

[ A soft smile, but he is tired and the day has been long. He held his father's hand as he died, stood vigil beside him until daylight, and was crowned King just seconds before being whisked away to Asgard. Yes, Arthur has been missing much; there are pieces of him left behind. ]

[dragonspeak]

[It's only by sheer luck that Merlin sees the message as soon as it's sent out. Though he and Morgana, and the rest of their friends, have been offering each other what comfort they could the past two days, there's only so much sitting around Merlin can stand. It's been quiet--too quiet, almost, in the halls of their home. They've survived the first leg of the war relatively intact, but none of them have had the heart to celebrate. Not when there's an absence that started on one side of a shared room and spread until it permeated every corner of the house. Even Archimedes hasn't dared to cross the invisible line that separates Merlin's half of the room from Arthur's just yet. It's that silence that's been eating away at Merlin since he first glanced at the list and realised Arthur's name was missing, and the only reliable distraction he's found is...work. Lots of it.

When he isn't curling up with Morgana or Lancelot or whoever might need his shoulder, he's throwing himself into healing, hoping to exhaust himself until he can do nothing more than stagger home and fall into a deep sleep. It's only a temporary arrangement--so he's been telling himself--to take the edge off his anguish until he feels Arthur's absence less keenly. What he hasn't let himself wonder is how long that might take.

Nor has he let himself wonder what he'd do if Arthur returned without his memories, and that thought slams into him while he stares stupidly at the screen. Having Arthur returned to them as only a shadow of the man he's grown into would have been a blessing and a curse. The idea steals the very breath from Merlin, leaving behind a sharp, bittersweet sense of relief. While he would have accepted Arthur in any shape and form (always, there simply is no other option for him), the thought of their slate wiped empty--empty, not clean--and having to start over completely is a painful one. There are no words to describe how grateful he is that it was only a fleeting possibility, and not his current reality.

He drops everything, of course, stumbling out of the hospital in his haste to reach the castle at the heart of the city. When he finally catches Arthur just as he's about to enter Thor district, the uncomfortable knot in his chest finally eases. There are shadows and lines of worry that hadn't been there before--and Merlin can only imagine he looks about the same by now--but the most important part is that Arthur's been returned to them whole, his memories of Asgard intact. Merlin forces his legs to move until he's in Arthur's path, trembling, eyes still wide as if he can hardly believe what he's seeing.

His throat works soundlessly until he manages to utter one word.]

...Arthur.

[pratentious]

[ Oh, Arthur remembers.

He remembers everything all too clearly, to the point that it becomes distorted simply from its focus, like staring at the words on a page until the ink bleeds together and 'these reports don't need done until next week, Arthur, please get some rest;' he remembers this well, the long nights during the year his father's body withered to greys and whites, hollow contours and faded lines until he was more spirit than man, when Arthur would work himself to aching and only Guinevere or Merlin could coax him away from his desk to sleep, or eat, or simply do nothing but breathe during the long moments he felt he was drowning.

Those many days, he remembers, but so too does he recall laying up at night in a bed a third the size of his own, not a few feet from Merlin's, staring up into the darkness of the ceiling and talking about nothing until daylight broke across the horizon and they'd have tired lines across their faces throughout the day, but felt no weariness for the easy chatter that grew between them as friends, unfettered, unbound by Court because then, they were free, and now - now Arthur is bound by memories of everything under the Sun.

Merlin remains hidden beneath lies and pretenses. Morgana remains lost to madness and hatred. Lancelot has given his life for the kingdom, and Uther has given his life for his son.

Or are they friends and family living together under one roof, one city, together in joyful bliss, not an easy feat managed but one they strove for because they could?

These are the things they were, are, at once and altogether separately in Arthur's broken mind, and there is no relief on his face when Merlin seeks him out before he reaches the house, their house, the house they built together in the ways Camelot was never raised but borne in stone and blood and handed to him by the worn hands of his father whispering his name on his final breath - but that is not here nor there. Arthur can't breathe out in solace for the man that would give him the luxury to do so, not when he is neither the servant nor his best friend, not here nor there.

Hues and shades and broken understanding of reality and fiction; these are tales, now, stories for the books they will never read because they are living them, and the writer has lost his pen. Your King is here, but he is not here. ]

Good god. You look horrible.

[ Lightly, easy and short because this, their banter and brevity is the nature of their relationship, their roots. Arthur doesn't know where he stands right now, but he knows where they began, where they will end up every single time because it's who they are in spite of everything else, and he reaches up to tug on Merlin's earlobe. ]

Did one of those eight-legged monstrosities run you over or something?