𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐃 𝐈

into sleep he will fall, forever

BLEEDING ONE WITH THE starless night, the drowsing citadel of snow-white stone was overcome by the blackest of all magic. A magic so oppressive, so scathing, it could be felt by every living thing. The flowers and trees carried midsummer ambrosia upon the breeze, yet as if drowning in a sea of smoke and flame, the air Arthur Pendragon breathed was heavy and burning.

Though the witch was banished from their world and cast to perdition, her touch haunted the grounds like a ghost. Even with her gone, not a thing felt as it should be, and perhaps that was the true curse. Everything Arthur thought he knew—everything he loved—had shattered like glass at his feet, and this he knew all too well: that which was broken could never again be made whole.

Aurora Lothbrok was fading. Dying.
Time was like sand. Slipping.
Merlin Wyllt had magic. Sorcerer.

Three among the most difficult trials he could ever think to face had become a reality, and cruelly enough, all at once.

All at once. Too much.

Everything that could be felt, with the weight of a thousand ages on his shoulders, seemed to magnify tenfold with every step. Every breath. Every peripheral glimpse in Merlin's direction. His every thought became a merciless onslaught of fear, fury, and self-doubt. Not just in his servant, but in himself.

For years, he'd written Merlin off as a clumsy fool with a courage unlike any he'd ever seen, and it was one he could understand or explain. How could a farm boy with no formal education in combat be brave enough to stand by his side? To follow him into battle time and time again when he had nothing to fall back on?

Magic.

Merlin's true nature was obvious, and it had been from the start. Arthur could see that so clearly now, and he couldn't believe he never noticed before. How could he be so blind? How could he be so stupid?

There was much to fear, much to revile and question, but that barrage of thought fell silent upon entering the topmost tower's lone chamber. Black magic reached its crippling peak the moment he saw her—the sleeping beauty, whose beautiful soul was cursed to roam briar and flame until the end of time.

No power on earth can change it, the witch had promised, but Arthur would lay down his life to defy those words.

Death surely tried—that much any eye could see—but it had no effect on her beauty. Both hands enclosed over a thorned rose in early decay, but even if the waters of life were to reverse the wilt, the flower would be shamed by the natural hue of her still lips. To the world, she looked peaceful as the sunrise—an ocean with not a storm in sight—but Arthur knew better. Flesh of pink-flushed ash, so frighteningly hot to the touch, told of the nightmare lurking beneath the illusion.

Blood will become liquid fire and bones molten... walk the fire and brimstone until the body is razed to ash... She was burning alive from the inside out, ever so slowly, and that reality stole the breath from his lungs and cleaved his heart in two.

It was impossible, he thought, but if ever there had been a time he doubted the love in his heart—that the woman before his eyes was his destiny—it was a time he didn't remember, nor did he care to. All that mattered was what he knew now, and without a doubt, theirs was a love the poets bled sonnets in the name of. Even so, lingering insecurities and deeply-rooted guilt whispered in his ear, reminding him what would happen should his kiss fail.

And he couldn't fail the woman he loved—not again.

Ice-frozen thorns coiled around his heart like a noose, spreading through his veins until Arthur became everything he never thought he'd be again. The fearless became the fearful, the strong became the weak, and the great king became a simple boy. A boy made of glass, so easy to break, and more afraid than he'd ever been.

"Come back to me..." Lips trembled with a prayer so soft, no other could discern it, but hearing his words was not necessary. All was crystalline in those eyes of hollow skies.

Knelt at her bedside, those eyes ingrained every freckled constellation and sunset strand into his heart. Clinging to the rise and fall of her chest. The honey breath in her lungs. Ancient texts spoke of her salvation, how only an act of true love had the power to reverse the sleeping death; Arthur was quick to act in the only way he could think of, pressing his lips to hers in a short-lived embrace. Unlike the orthodox hummingbird flutter she often roused, his heart stormed and roared against his chest, threatening to burst clean through muscle and sinew.

Countless heartbeats passed as he waited for her to wake, for even a glimmer of life stirring in the stillness. Instead, he was met with a wave of somnolence all his own.

Hypnotic drowse rose from thin air, growing evermore in power as he fought against it. He was shackled. Drowning. Desperation burned like a fire as he struggled to break its binds, but the wave forced him deeper. The shackles tightened. He was drowning. His heart raced with fear of the unknown, every fiber of his being finally shattering like glass.

His kiss didn't work.
It didn't work.
Why didn't it work?

"Arthur?"

Though he knew Merlin was right there with him, the sound of his voice echoed so distantly, as if he were calling out from above the surface while Arthur remained lost in the deep. Moving his lips to speak, not a sound was set free; he was confined to the prison of mind, body, and silence. All caused by the forcible sleep he could no longer resist.

Not even true love will have the power to save her, he recalled the witch's threat. This is what she meant...

Arthur had no choice but to let go. To let the sleeping death steal him from the light, as it had first taken his love, and he was met with that same realm of briar and flame before his body hit the floor.

It's been a hot minute, huh? So sorry about disappearing on y'all—adulting got in the way. Finished my student teaching placements and I'm now a full-time teacher??? So obviously between lesson planning for this school year and actually teaching, my priorities were elsewhere. But now I'm back—very slowly, and my job will always come first, but back.

Happy Holidays, y'all! Hope it's been wonderful for all of you. 🫶🏼