Recent Posts

Arthur knew he could not waste too much time with pleasantries, and kept his tone polite so that it would not appear rude. A few years ago, he wouldn't even have given it a second thought. But much had changed since then . . . he had changed since then. And while he had always cared for the people, he had learned how to address them. Not with arrogance and authority, but rather speaking to them as they deserved: with respect and patience. Though the latter was difficult to implement right now for time was of the essence. Each moment that passed, was another moment his father was fighting for his life. And Arthur wanted to bring him to ease and lure him to consciousness. "Some time ago you found me in the woods, and used a rare and special herb to heal me." He could not remember the name of it, but prayed she remembered.

No. Surely she remembered. She had spoken of the herb and how it was difficult to find, and to keep the remedy between them so not to abuse its use. This could very well be the answer to saving the king. "Such a herb can hold the power to heal the king, can it not?" It must. It had brought Arthur back from what otherwise would have been certain death. "Do you have any of this herb? If not, I will search for it with you, give you a small army to find it." If it was difficult to find, he would provide the man power to quicken the search. "And I will of course pay you, whatever the cost may be." Gold was no issue. He would give her every last coin that he had if it meant saving his father's life.

Arthur was not sure how to process all that Mordred was saying. His mind could not keep up. He had been dead then, but risen back to life? Is that . . . is that what happened to Arthur now? He had risen from the dead? Was such a thing possible? The young former knight then spoke of destiny, prophecy, fate . . . Merlin spoke of similar things. Prophecy, how he had tried to stop what happened. None of this made any sense though! How was this all possible? How could they both rise again? Were their destinies really so great that fate brought them back to this world? He was with the druids after all . . . they held powers that Arthur could never truly understand. Arthur tried to organize his thoughts, enough to bring them to voice, however it was Mordred's next actions that caused him pause, and made him look at the druid. He was kneeling in front of him, speaking of trust and . . . forgiveness.

Arthur looked away, the pain of what had happened between them too great. As he once looked at Mordred with pride, he now could hardly hold his gaze. "Get up Mordred," he said in a low voice, the pain stronger than any demand. In fact, his words held no authority. They were words of a man, a former friend, rather than a king. "You have no reason to kneel in front of me right now." Because here, Arthur was no king. He was . . . well, he wasn't sure what he was. He didn't know how to react to anything Mordred was saying or even doing. Did he know Morgana was dead? Is that why he wished for Arthur's forgiveness? No, that did not make sense. For he was with the druids and had no reason to falsely want Arthur's trust once more. Was Morgana dead still? Or had she too risen from the dead? Arthur prayed not. He hoped that wherever she was, she found more peace there than she did in this world.

"When you thrust your sword in my chest, you spoke of how you had no choice." Arthur remembered those words, loud and clear, for they had been the last things he'd heard before slipping into darkness for the first time -- prior to Merlin finding him. He slowly brought his gaze to Mordred's, needing to see if he could detect the sincerity in the druid's words, of if Arthur was being his usual naive self in trusting people more than he should. "Why?" He questioned in a low voice. "I embraced you as a brother and believed we were such. Perhaps the fault is mine, for not seeing how easily swayed you could be to join Morgana's side. Had you merely parted from Camelot, I would have understood. But you sought vengeance. How could you side with someone who's methods you so strongly disagreed with for such a long time?" For the months he was with him. That was why he fought on Camelot army was it not? For he shared the same values, methods and ideals as Arthur. So why . . . how had he changed? Had the loss of the woman truly done that much to him? Had it really made him hate Arthur that much?

As Arthur focused so intently on gaining his strength, enough to walk, and maintaining his balance, the voice that filled the otherwise somewhat silent air slightly startled him. He turned his head to see who had spoke and if he thought the unexpected words startled him . . . shock consumed him when his eyes lay on the source. Mordred. Arthur's hand reflexively went to his belt, only reminded of how he had no weapon, yet felt the need to defend himself. A reflex of a trained warrior and . . . Mordred was a threat to him. Surely. After all he had killed him, or nearly killed him or . . . Arthur wasn't sure what was happening. He just knew that Mordred had chosen to side with Morgana. And that was enough of a betrayal to deem Mordred a threat and enemy. Yet, seeing him now . . . there was an undeniable calmness in his voice. But perhaps this was Arthur's problem. His naivety, to not see an enemy when one was there. He had done it with Morgana, he had done it with Agravaine . . . and Mordred.

While Mordred had fled from Camelot rather than pretend to be a friend, he still managed to turn the young former knight against him. So why now, did he sound so . . . calm. And it was not just his tone, but his words of reassurance that greatly confused Arthur. His eyes had slightly widened at the shock of seeing Mordred alive, having truly believed that he'd killed him. "You . . . " Died. "I . . . " Killed you. This was too much; too many unanswered questions and it was making Arthur's head spin. "I thought you were dead." He didn't know how his tone sounded. Thick with confusion, that much was certain. While Arthur never enjoyed killing, it was necessary at times. During war, and in eliminating threats, like Mordred. Though these were the only words that escaped his lips for now, as he kept his eyes firmly on Mordred . . .cautious and wary, and . . . curious to know what made him so reassuring toward Arthur's safety; a drastic change from their last encounter.

Arthur wasn't sure how long he had been walking for. It could have been days, it could have been months. The more likely answer was days. Yet without food and water, he felt himself weakening at an alarming rate. He had emerged from the water, confused and disoriented, and was now forcing one leg in front of the other, eager and desperate to return to Camelot. Why had he been in the water? How long had he been there for? So many unanswered questions raced through his mind, and the hope of answers as well as the need for the comfort of his home, was all that kept him moving. His memory returned to him in flashes, recalling the battle, and Merlin's reveal, as well as Morgana's death -- which brought some ease of mind knowing that her great threat was eliminated. And that perhaps Camelot could rest in peace once more.

He just didn't understand what happened from the time he slipped into darkness, to when he rose from below the lake. His unwillingness to stop only caused his energy to decline at a rapid pace. Until he reached the peak of physical exhaustion and his body no longer held the same determination as his mind. He collapsed to the ground, struggling to keep his eyes open, for he feared that if he closed them . . . he would either wake up at the bottom of the lake, or never open them again. His vision blurred as he slipped further from consciousness, but he heard voices in the distance. Was it his mind concocting these hallucinations? Or was there really someone near? What if it was a threat? Arthur tried to reach for the hilt of his sword -- the first thing he noticed when coming out of the water -- but he couldn't. His arm would not move no matter how hard he willed it too. These voices, if they were indeed created by his mind, suddenly became more severe as an image of a man loomed over him. Arthur could barley see him, and yet there was a strange familiarity about him . . . something about his presence.

He was an elder man, clad in a robe with a hood and . . . that was all Arthur could remember, for once again, he slipped into an unconscious state, despite his efforts not to which yet again, proved to be futile.Once again, the passage of time in which Arthur was unconscious was not known to him. This time, when he opened his eyes, he was not gasping for breath. Instead, he saw the roof of a cave. A cave? Or some sort of cave like dwelling? Arthur attempted to sit up but his body protested as he felt every limb ache in pain. Still, he could not just lie here. His confusion made him restless and he felt the need to gain answers. He sat up, moving a little bit at a time, and it wasn't until then that he noticed how he was dressed. His chain mail had been removed, leaving him in his shirt and trousers. His boots were on the side, and his sword was . . . no where in site. He felt a slight panic, being without a weapon. A weapon that marked him as the king of Camelot.

Although, if they wanted to kill him, then he would be dead already. If it was a ransom, then his hands would be tied. Instead, he was in a place of comfort, with sheets under him, pillows under his head, a blanket draped over him and a small fire to keep him warm. This was not how a hostile group treated a prisoner. So, where exactly was he and who exactly was he with. Finding the curiosity too great to bare, he reached over for his boots and slipped them on. Then, he forced himself to his feet, groaning at the pain this action caused, but fought through it, has he reached for the wall of . . . wherever they were, needing it for support and balance. Though had to pause before he moved any further. He needed to make sure he would not appear weak in front of the others, even if they had seen him at his weakest state. He had to show that he was strong and stable, even if he didn't feel like either right now.

_{Setting: Somewhere in the woods, at a druid camp
Time of Day: Late Afternoon
Timeline: A few years after The Diamond Of The Day II
What If: Mordred and Arthur met again after their presumed deaths
Tag: Mordred}

Arthur heavily inhaled, gasping for air that finally came to him as his head emerged from the water. Though the strain caused him to gasp a few times in order to catch his breath. His vision was blurred from having been underwater and he felt massively disoriented. He had no idea where he was, how long he had been here . . . or how he had gotten here. He let his instincts take over as he began to swim to shore, which was not as far as he dreaded it may be. The armor that he seemed to magically be wearing weighed him down, and while he should be used to the heavy weight of it, it felt far more of a burden than it ever had before. When he finally made it to shore, he rested on his hands and knees for a moment, continuing to catch his breath as it came out short and staggered. Blinking a few times, he shook his head a bit to help clear it as well as his vision.

Naturally looking around, he noticed something laying next to him. It was unmistakable, the way the gold markings glistened in the son. He reached for it, his hand gripping the hilt as he had done numerous times before. It was the first sense of familiarity he had right now: his sword pulled from the stone. He rose to his feet, still holding the sword as he looked over it, and then at the lake he'd emerged from. Something felt . . . off. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't feel . . . right. Was that how to phrase it? His mind was filled with incoherent thoughts. Right now, he had to focus. Focus on returning to Camelot. For who knows how long he had been here for and surely everyone was looking for the king. He could not waste a moment. Slipping the sword between his belt, he began to walk forward, hoping to gain an idea of where he was so that he could head in the right direction.

The further he walked, the more his memories began to return to him, even if it was just in flashes. Mordred. The battle. Morgana. Merlin. The thoughts of Merlin were strongest right now; thoughts of his revelation and what he had concealed from Arthur. But also, recognition for all those times he had saved him. Merlin's face had been the last Arthur had seen; hearing him try to keep him conscious was the last thing Arthur remembered. It had not worked, for he'd slipped into darkness after that . . . only to wake now. But from the bottom of the lake? How was that possible? Arthur needed answers and knew that the only way to get them was to return home. Which is why he did not stop. Yet it was also why he was weakening. Without food, water, or any strength to begin with, he could feel his energy withering away, but he could not stop for long. He needed to get back to Camelot, to Guinevère who was probably worried sick about him.

Arthur was not sure how many days had passed before he felt he could not take another step. His knees fell weakly to the ground, his back rested against a tree trunk as he focused on taking deep breathes, trying to calm his racing heart and spinning mind. He was not sure if his mind and senses was starting to play tricks on him, for in the distance, he could have sworn he heard voices and the sound of horses. But surely, that was too good to be true. Surely, fate was not that kind to him, for when had it ever been? And yet, that hope that someone was coming or the need to stay concsious should it be bandits or someone of a more violent nature, was what forced Arthur to stay conscious, just waiting, with his hand on the tip of his sword just in case he would need to draw his weapon to defend himself.

_{Setting: Starts in the woods, may move around
Time of Day: Evening
Timeline: After The Diamond of the Day II
What If: Arthur returns three years after his death, to help restore Camelot and eliminate its threats
Tag: Sir Percival}

HEY ALL!!! SO if you're reading this then you probably know what happened at the end of Season 5 OR if you don't but want spoilers . . .well, ARTHUR DIED!!! Along with Mordred, Morgana and Gwaine!! BUT YEAH!! DIED! THE WRITERS KILLED HIM!!! ok right, enough of a rant there!! ANYWAY the point of this thread is that I was thinking of creating sort of an AU plot where he returns! Because the dragon said that Arthur would return at Albion's greatest time of need (and I'm going to conveniently ignore the fact that Merlin was still waiting for him!!). Guinevère and I have a thread where we've sort of set up circumstances for his return!

Basically, Camelot is on the brink of war, with numerous threats surrounding them! King Lot and his army are narrowing in, and Saxons are still fighting for Camelot's land as well! Arthur returns three years after his death to sort of help get everything back in order and eliminate the threat of impending war!

EDIT: Magic is not yet legalized in Camelot (that is something Arthur will probably do upon his return) and Merlin is MIA, and I guess no one else knows he has magic apart from those who found out in the show. I was just talking to Guinevère and Merlin to see what the situation in Camelot was and thats it!

Thats the general plot we had worked out!! SO, if anyone would like to thread with me based on this plot, or if you would like to tweak it or anything, then please do let me know!! I'm not gonna lie, I'm DESPERATE for AU threads where Arthur comes back and not every just dies and lives a sad and lonely life!! hahah!! So yeah! if anyone would like to thread it, feel free to reply here OR PM me so we can fit it according to your character!!! Thanks for reading!!