Chapter Text
There is magic in the world. A magic that a king of Albion sought to purge from his Kingdom of Camelot in the 12th century.
But magic is resilient. Magic cannot truly die, but it can be changed. Magical creatures and magical peoples went into hiding. The great wizard Merlin created another reality, another world, for the persecuted to live in.
The tales of Merlin, of King Arthur, of the Knights of the Round Table, have filled volumes of historical texts. But history repeats itself.
As history repeats itself, so to does magic. Magic must have balance. Magic is. Magic is light and dark and shadows. Magic is male and female and animal and other.
But the balance is not equal. Rather the balance is like night and day. The day lasts longer than night, and light casts out darkness.
In twilight times, times of upheaval, times of war, times of change, magic makes itself known. It sends us the three, the triskelion.
The one that was made for magic.
The one made from magic.
And the one that is made of magic.
There is balance in magic. And the balance is about to be shifted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1912, Camelot, Albion
In the most ancient and noble manor of the royal family of Pendragon, Ygraine trudged through the honorable hallway. Her pacing weighed down by that which was weighing on her mind.
She was a stream of moonlight. Pale. Her silvery hair cascaded down wildly, untamed. Queen Ygraine was spirited in nature but reserved by nurture. But there was a chaos raging in her opal blue eyes.
Her white lace nightgown, made of the finest spun acromantula silk, billowed in the drafty house. She looked otherworldly. And, perhaps, that is because the woman was.
King Uther Pendragon was in his study, unaware of the battle warring within his wife. Gaius, his political ally and personal friend, was the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Magic and Wizardry. The law that King Pendragon had championed, barring muggleborn students, was getting an unusual amount of pushback from his usually amiable inferior.
One might not think that the headmaster of a school would carry such clout, politically speaking. But Hogwarts was the sole school in all of the Wizarding World of Albion, let alonetheWizardingKingdomof Camelot. Hogwarts was the future of the wizarding kingdom. Uther had heard his brother-in-law, the wormy Agravaine, refer to Uther as the head of Camelot and Gaius as the neck.
The law was still being processed by the Wizengamot. It was causing quite a stir. Uther had predicted as much, but he had not been prepared for Gaius's defiance.
Uther heard a noise. He paused, the scratching of his quill on parchment silenced, and he strained to hear the sound. Footsteps.
He reached for his wand, not expecting anyone else to be awake at this time. With a calm but powerful voice he called out, "Who is there?"
He had contemplated "Who goes there?" but ultimately deemed it unnecessarily pompous. Even a King as dedicated to tradition as he knows that one needs to adapt to certain things.
The footsteps stopped. A deep breath was drawn.
And his beloved wife answered, "It is just me, love."
The tension broke and peace erupted, "Come in."
"Unbidden?" She asked, Uther could hear the eyebrow raise in her voice. His smile turned into a smirk. He refused to show it, but he was fond of her petulant streak.
"I bidded it," he teased.
She opened the door, the candle lights flickered, as did Uther's heart. She looked like an angel, rather than a witch.
Not known for his legilimency, he was still struck by the worry marring her lovely face.
"What ever is the matter, Ygraine?"
She stood at the open door, unwilling to take a single step further. The darkness was a halo that marked her silhouette.
"I believe…," a rattling breath, a raspy gasps, "Well, my King, I believe that I am with child."
The words were too good to be true, too good to be believed.
Over eleven years they had been married. Ygraine had barely graduated from Hogwarts when they wed. A marriage of love that had spawned from an arranged betrothal, how rare and wonderful. If they had conceived and bore a child when they had first begun, their child would be a first year by now. A Slytherin like all of the Pendragon family, no doubt.
At first, the struggle to conceive was swept away. They were young, Ygraine barely more than a child! They had plenty of time. But as the years passed, grains falling in eternity's hourglass, whispers started. Pureblooded barrenness plagued the kingdom while muggleborn wizard rates soared. Would the royal pureblood line die? Would it mean the death of the monarchy? Or would some schemer with a water thin blood tie claim the throne?
Or would the King take a consort to bare him an heir? Or divorce his wife and take another? Which of those two fears scared Ygraine the worst?
Uther, for once, had the wisdom to gather his wits before he spoke, "Well, if you are with child," he chose his words with care, "then that would be joyous news indeed. What is it that troubles you so?"
"Fear."
Uther nodded as though he understood, regretting that Gaius had pursued academics and healing instead of focusing on purely healing, "I will find the best midwitch healer that St. Mungo's has to offer to tend to you and the child."
How could she tell him? She looked away, not daring to catch his eyes. She had tried. She had tried so hard.
The normal way, at first. Then herbal remedies. Then light potions and light spells. He knew of that, of course. But he knew nothing of her trips to Knockturn Alley. Of her collecting his blood and seed.
How could she ever tell him? Of the darkest magic she had used in her desperation. How she had to look away as the wicked potion master made the brew, feeling sick to her stomach. She tried to convince herself that the corpse used had to have been a fetal pig, for how can she live with herself knowing the truth. But she did know, she knew. A fetus, a human fetus, an unborn baby, had been used in this most vile of potion.
How could life, or anything of any light, come from such a sacrilegious act?
She was afraid. Afraid of how weak she felt, how she could feel the magic seeping from her, afraid of the monster she had created. But most of all she felt afraid of the monster that she had become, of what she had done.
She stayed in the door, darkness dancing behind her, light in front of her.
Since she would not approach him, he stood from his desk and walked to her. He pulled her into his embrace. He did not notice how slight she was, that she had lost weight even though she had already been slender, or how she trembled.
The pregnancy progressed. Ygraine bleed out blood and magic throughout it. Even the best midwitch could not figure out how to help.
But as the baby grew inside of her, Ygraine's fears and resentment were cast out by the light of her love. This love was overwhelming. She had thought she could never love something more than she loved her husband, but how wrong she was.
On the 31st of December, 1912, the Queen went into labor. It was a little early, but that was not what was concerning the healer. Ygraine looked like a ghost when the baby boy was handed to her.
The mother looked at her child. His cry stopped as he looked at her. Big, dark blue eyes that were full of love looked at her in wonder.
No matter the darkness that had gone into this child, Ygraine was consumed with the feeling that he was good, that he was light.
Her final breath was a breath of relief.
The baby wailed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1914
Lord Gorlois Cadogan was a great political ally. However, no matter how much King Uther respected and loved the brave and noble wizard, Gorlois was an annoyance. Loud and bawdy, ever the consummate Gryffindor. Though Uther had a soft spot for the man. Back in the day, when Uther equally a prince and an auror, Gorlois had been his partner. Uther owes Gorlois his life.
Vivienne Lyra Black-Cadoga was another matter entirely. She was beautiful and bold, but showed a restraint and composure that her husband lacked.
Gorlois's blonde hair was beginning to turn white with age, and the crow's feet that lined his bright brown eyes showed his many years of laughter. Vivienne Lyra was not only younger but oddly unchanged. Her inky curls were arranged perfectly, as were her black dress robes. She was beautiful.
He was looking at her with a desire he had not felt since Ygraine. He mourned her so. His heart was not ready to move on, but his body was. But he would never do that to Gorlois or to Ygraine's precious memory.
Gorlois's laughter faded, and an uncharacteristically solemn look graced his big, friendly face, "Working with you sure was the good ol' days, aye there Uther?"
"Yes," they were good and they were old and they were gone.
"Who would 'ave known being in politics would be more straining and dangerous than being aurors?"
Uther had known, had always known. When he was a green auror, he sometimes found himself hoping to die heroically to avoid the crown that awaited him. But the dragon took that away from him when it killed his father, King Constantine the VI.
"Yes, indeed."
There was a pause, as Gorlois summoned his not inconsiderable amount of courage and said, "The decrees are causing quite the stir."
Ah, of course. One does not invite themself to dine with the king without some ulterior motive, even it seems the oldest of friends could not be true in their intentions.
"I expected as much."
"Don't get me wrong, Uther. In the ignorance of my youth, I would have disagreed with every single one. But wisdom cost me my youth, quite a pretty knut. I want a refund, to be honest. It was not worth it," Gorlois's forced humor made Uther grimace. "It pains me to say that I understand where you are coming from. On most of them. The Statute of Secrecy is a big deal, bigger than I can fathom. I get regulating and monitoring muggleborn wizard. But banning them entirely? And ordering the exile and executions of so many magical creatures? And banning whole branches of magic kinds. I mean, not only did you call for an extermination on dragons in Camelot, but you retroactively outlawed dragonlords!"
The impassioned spiel had his emotion, but they were far too eloquent to be his words. He leveled a stare at Vivienne Lyra, her eyes held his. She was unflinching, unflappable, and unapologetic. Clearly she had coached her husband.
A crashing sound ripped Uther's gazing gaze from Vivienne Lyra. Which was quite right, he should not be looking at a married woman in such a way. But looking at her was like looking into the starry night sky.
"What was that racket?" Asked Gorlois, jovial smile a bit tight. He rarely let his mental scarring show, but he had been quite startled.
Uther welcomed the distraction, "I do not know, perhaps a lousy house elf dropped our desserts."
But into the dining hall ran Arthur, his speed and sure footedness a testament to a natural athletic ability in the toddler. His golden blonde hair was a mess, his bright blue eyes were full of tears, and his scream was gut wrenching. Red blood poured from his nose.
Uther went to his son. The king knelt down and his little boy buried his face into his father's chest. The sobs were heartbreaking.
Morgause Aquila Black-Cadogan entered in shortly after. She had the coloring of her father, but features of her beautiful mom.
"Is the baby alright?" She asked, blinking her big dark eyes and smiling.
"What happened?"
The girl rocked back and forth, heel to toe, heel to toe, hands clasped behind her back, "He fell while playing on his baby broom."
"Oh, the poor dear," Vivienne Lyra sighed. Uther jolted, not having realized that the beautiful woman was right by him, he turned to her. The woman handed the baby her monogrammed handkerchief, the V. L. B. stitched in silver thread. He looked at Vivienne's endless eyes as he took the thoughtful offering.
"Come along, Arthur," groused Uther, caring but firm.
He brought Arthur to his nursemaid. He did not return to the dinner, after enduring so much political turmoil he was not quick to lose another ally or friend to this bickering. King Uther sent one of his servants to give his guests a formal apology and a warm welcome. They had the use of the guest wing.
Lady Vivienne Lyra Black-Cadogan did not utilize the comforts of her personal suite. Rather she chose to make use of the king's chambers. And he allowed her in.
To his surprise she was still there when he awoke. She had his bed sheet wrapped around her body.
"You should return to your husband."
"Good morning to you too, dear," she greeted in turn, giving him an indecipherable look.
"That is not an appropriate way to address your king."
She slid the sheet off and he looked away, "It is too late for proprietary between us now, is it not, your majesty?"
"No, I do not believe so, Mrs. Cadogan."
"You weren't calling me Mrs. Cadogan last night. You were calling me Vivienne," her voice lowered. "And you even called me Ygraine once."
"Get out."
"Now, I did not mean to-"
King Uther Pendragon roared, "Get out!"
The determination etched into her beautiful face faltered, but it was just a flicker, "I beg your forgiveness, your majesty. Please, I spoke brashly. After being with you last night, it hurt to see how coldly you regarded me this morning. Please."
She was looking at him, and her eyes enchanted him. And the rest of her too.
Soon they were together again, but before another mistake could be completed, but not before another sin stained his soul, he heard a scream.
It made his boiling blood freeze. The scream was Arthur. Uther somehow managed to throw his night robe on before apparating towards the scream.
Arthur was curled up, and Uther saw the blood seeping from his son's stomach. He turned and saw Morgause Aquila standing, Arthur's toy sword in her hand, but the usually dull edge was sharp and gleaming red.
Morgause smiled, "Sorry, it was an accident."
Uther held the wound on his son's stomach, to staunch the bleeding.
He summoned Gaius, Hogwarts' potions master, to tend to the injured prince.
Azkaban was dismissed by the Wizengamot Council. After all, the girl was only six, but they agreed that Morgause Aquila Black-Cadogan was to be exiled from the Magical Kingdom of Camelot.
Lord Gorlois Cadogan's meek defense, "But she is only a child. It was an accident, it was accidental magic."
Lady Vivienne Lyra Black-Cadogan was calm, cold, till she was called to talk, "King Uther Pendragon is a coward and a monster. He is so desperate for power that he seeks to destroy anything or anyone that he fears is stronger than him. He is weak, his son is weak. I am strong. My daughter is strong. I have taken what I want from him. I leave my seats and bank vaults to my older sister. I will go with my daughter."
Shock reverberated through the stands.
By the trial she already knew that her plan was in motion. Knew that an heir to the throne was within her.
A kowtowed Golois apologized, but followed after.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ealdor Village, in the Muggle Welsh Countryside
"Goodness gracious, how many pints did you have mate?"
The voice was decidedly too cheerful, too unfamiliar and too feminine to put Balinor Merlin at ease. His aching head felt like a cracked open coconut. He opened his eyes. Even the gossamer pale light of cold dawn was too bright.
He raised his hand to cover his eyes, "Note to self, never apparate without knowing exactly where you are going."
The rhyme will help him remember this important little life lesson. He was far more used to flying by dragon
The voice guffawed, "What are you speaking about?"
He blinked his eyes ferociously before looking at the girl. Balinor Merlin was, yes, a descendant of that Merlin. A Ravenclaw through and through, he was used to having his wits about him.
But the wits he was trying to gather flew out of his mind upon seeing the kindly eyes of the sweet faced girl.
Love at first sight must be some sort of magic. And Balinor Ambrose Merlin, descendant of Merlin the Great, one of the last of the dragon lords, was very, very magical.
"Uh, hi," Balinor greeted, eloquent as ever.
The young woman smiled, a genuine and kind smile, "Hello, can I help you?"
She was dressed in farm clothes and had a basket of eggs in her hand. Chicken eggs, not dragon eggs. That would be weird. Balinor suspected that he had sustained some head trauma. His brain usually made more sense than all this rubbish.
"Muggle?" He asked her.
Fortunately, she misunderstood him, "Oh, you poor man. You were mugged! Here," she set her basket of chicken eggs down and pulled him up, "I will bring you to my house. You need to rest up, I'll get some breakfast in you."
Balinor smiled, a bright shining thing, "I like breakfast."
…
Almost a year later and he was still eating Hunith's breakfasts. But she had stopped, her stomach not able to stomach eggs and sausage or beans on toast in the morning.
She tried to broach the subject.
"If you had a child," she scrambled to cover up for herself, "you know, in the future, what would you name him or her?"
He dipped his muffin into some fallen butter, "Um, probably Merlin?"
Hunith was a sweet Muggle but was prone to some know-it-allness, something that the Ravenclaw Balinor was fond of, "You would name your child Merlin Merlin?"
He chuckled around a bite of food, swallowed and said, "Yep, my son, Merlin Merlin. Named after my great great whatever great grandda, Merlin."
"Really."
"Nah, now that I say it out loud it sounds…"
Hunith suggested," Stupid?"
"I was going to say redundant," Balinor fake pouted.
"So, are you sticking to Merlin Merlin."
He looked out the window of their kitchen. Lightning lit up the rainy, grey sky, "Emrys. I would name my son Emrys, after my ancestor. Emrys Merlin."
"And what if this theoretical offspring of your's was a girl?"
"Emrys is pretty enough for a girl's name, don't you think?"
Hunith took a breath. Thunder boomed in the distance. Balinor looked out the window, his face was apprehensive, strange. She decided not to tell him.
But she said, "Emrys Merlin, it is beautiful."
"Yeah," Balinor mumbled, eyes on the dark sky.
He had disappeared before she told him about the baby.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
30th of July 1915, Avalon Isle
Vivienne Lyra Black had come to Avalon, the secret and mysterious island, and could sense the wild magic. It felt so free, nothing like the tame and controlled magic of Camelot. Avalon was a wolf, Camelot some annoying yipping lapdog in comparison.
She looked down upon the baby in her arms. Her dark hair, her fair skin, but she was disappointed that the greenish blue eyes were Uther's.
A startlingly beautiful baby.
"Can I hold my baby sister?" Cooed Morgause.
"The child is a boy, which will serve my purpose well," she handed the baby to her daughter. "His name is Morgan Corvus. And he will be the King of the Wizarding Kingdom of Camelot."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
July 31th, 1915, Ealdor Village
The day after Morgan Corvus was born, a baby on the other side of the country was born.
Hunith was alone. Muggle phones had been invented but Hunith, a farm girl in the middle of the countryside, saw no use in the expensive and unexplainable gadget. Hunith was a Muggle and, as such, did not have an owl to send a message.
She focused on her breathing and pushed when a contraction hit. Hunith held the slimy little baby. The baby was silent and limp. Terror flooded her. She held the baby on her shoulder and patted, as she had seen other mothers burp their babies. She prayed to the Lord and then she heard the baby cough then a cry. Relief flooded her, love flooded her.
"Emrys Merlin, I do love you, my girl."
Still attached by the umbilical cord, Hunith waddled to the nearest neighbor, a few kilometers away, holding her baby. The baby cuddled to her mother's chest, listening to and feeling her mom's heartbeat.
In a land of myth, in a time of magic, the destiny of the wizarding kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young girl. Her name is Merlin.