Chapter Text
The Kingsmen family has a legacy.
Arthur had known this his whole life. His parents spoke of it with reverence. An honor, to raise the next Arthur. A delight, to raise their child. Lance spoke of it with a mix of disdain and grief and joy, all wrapped up in his gruff exterior. An honor, he said; an honor and a burden and, most importantly, a secret.
Keep it safe, they all agreed, and pinned it to his chest. A ward that shaped itself to suit the times and hide them away. No one thought anything of a child with a gold star.
Arthur was mostly overwhelmed, and didn’t really understand. He knew he was important, but not in the way other kids were important. No, he was important because of what he was supposed to be. He was important because he was the next Arthur. The next. One in a line of many. It was exhausting.
Arthurs-who-were were amazing. They were influential writers, or politicians, or doctors, or royalty. Of course, the first Arthur-who-was was the most important one. The one they all carried with them. Arthur learned and learned, memorized all the old stories from the tomes in the Kingsmen vault, memorized the twisted versions that had saturated the media, learned to tell them apart purely by feel.
Arthur-who-is was mostly just a ball of anxiety and dread. How on earth, he wondered, could he possibly live up to a legacy that long?
His parents loved him. His parents were always pushing. Better, better, better. Trying to find his skill. His trade. His legacy. Arthur was tired, worn to the bone by the expectations and hopes placed upon him. His only solace was the hour and a half after school that he spent with Lance. Sure, it may have just been another expectation - it was only right that Arthur spend time with his Lancelot - but it was such a relief.
(He wondered where the other knights were. He was supposed to have them. All the other Arthurs did. Arthur-who-is wasn’t very good at living up to the legend. At least he wasn’t the Arthur-who-was who lost Excalibur. No one ever seemed to let that one go.)
Lance didn’t expect anything from Arthur-who-is. He let Arthur be, instead of expecting all the Arthurs-who-were. He handed him some tools and a project, and went about his work. And Arthur learned. He fiddled, and usually messed up and broke things, and Lance just… laughed. Encouraged him to try again the next day, and the next, until his parents came to pick him up.
Until one day they didn’t.
Arthur knew the moment it happened. He could feel a weight settle on his shoulders. The Kingsmen family has a legacy and they were too few now to carry it easily, and too many cast it aside entirely. And Arthur, well. Arthur was the most important one. He felt it settle like a wrench in one hand, and a crown on his head, and a weighted blanket on his shoulders. It felt right, but god. Sometimes, he wished so desperately to put it all down.
And this Arthur only had one of his knights. It left him flinching at shadows, terrified of his own mind. The Kingsmen had a legacy and not all of it was good. The Kingsmen had a legacy and their legacy was a purpose and with purpose came opposition. Arthur-who-is didn’t have enough knights. If the opposition found them now, it would win.
Then, in middle school, Arthur met Vivi and Mystery. Vivi was not one of the knights. She was not tied to his legacy, didn’t have any obligation to a king nestled somewhere at the bottom of her soul. She liked him anyway - just liked the Arthur-who-is without the expectations of the Arthur-who-was and he adored her. He couldn’t help but adore her and her friendly dog.
The only downside was the way she dragged him towards the shadows at the corners of his eyes instead of away. Lance started keeping rock salt on the gun shelf.
“Sorry,” Arthur said meekly.
“You’re fine, kid,” Lance said. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find something we all missed. And Vivi’s tough as any knight.”
“How will I know if I- if I…”
“You’ll know.”
Arthur supposed that was true. Just like he knew Lance-who-is and Lancelot-who-was, maybe better than he knew himself.
“You going to tell her?”
Arthur startled out of his thoughts. “NO. No.” Then she would be another person looking for the Arthur-who-was instead of the Arthur-who-is and that would hurt. She wouldn’t mean to hurt him, but Vivi was curious. Always, always curious. “...Unless we find Excalibur.”
“Wouldn’t that be a trick,” Lance laughed.
Then, in high school, Arthur and Vivi met Lewis. Lewis was big and gentle and liked Arthur-who-is without any expectation or upset. They played games together and when Arthur finally got what Lance called ‘the old rust bucket’ up and running, Lewis picked the paint colors and designed the logo and then they weren’t just friends, they were the Mystery Skulls, and they could chase the shadows farther.
Arthur also met Gavin-who-is and Gawain-who-was in high school, but his friends didn’t know that, and Gavin didn’t stay long. His restless feet always pushed him to move to go to search and Arthur couldn’t blame him. Gavin agreed to call at least once a week and the Arthur-who-was part of him wept to see him go, but was unsurprised. Every Gawain was a wanderer, looking for something never found. Well, and searching with a purpose at the same time. (The Kingsmen had a legacy and with legacy purpose and with purpose opposition -)
So it was Arthur, and Vivi, and Lewis, and Mystery, and sometimes Lance, and occasionally Gavin.
So it was Arthur, and Vivi, and Lewis, and Mystery.
And they were the Mystery Skulls.
And that meant they had to find some ghosts.
They had found a number of ghosts over the years. Even so, the cave was weird from the beginning. Arthur-who-is didn’t like it and Arthur-who-was didn’t like it, and Arthur-who-was didn’t normally have opinions about things like this. In short, Arthur didn’t like it.
“Maybe - maybe we should leave this one alone?”
Vivi frowned at him. “But this could be our big break!”
“It doesn’t feel - right.”
He swore he could see hearts forming in Vivi’s eyes. “Of course it doesn’t, it’s haunted!”
“I’m sure it’ll be alright,” Lews said. He rested a big hand on Arthur’s shoulder, warm and real. “But if you really don’t want to, you could keep the getaway vehicle ready?”
Arthur smiled. “Rather stay together,” he said. “Just - let’s be careful, on this one? No one on their own?”
“That we can do!” Vivi beamed, hoisting her bat over her shoulder. She made him feel brave, just like Lewis made him feel safe and warm.
Arthur loved them, but he would never say a word. They were good together, and as much as he missed them - missed them, with an ache that never quite went away - he would let them go. They had never shown a hint of wanting him the way they wanted each other. That was alright. Arthur-who-is wasn’t terribly interesting, and his only skill was mechanics.
He was too weak to walk away, though. So long as they kept asking him to come, he would. He was selfish like that. Mystery’s cold nose nudged his hand. Arthur smiled at the dog (not a dog Arthur-who-was said warily) and brushed his hands through his fur. He felt more settled, more grounded. Where his friends went, so would he. He wouldn’t let them go alone. All the Arthurs were known for being loyal.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Vivi and Lewis beamed at him. He followed them into the cave.
The cave was dark; full of mist, and a faint chill lingered in the air even at the height of summer. The path continued for a while, growing mistier against the lantern light.
Arthur could hear whispers in the mist. He stuck close to his friends, trying to block out the words.
Selfish. Selfish. Let them go let them go be free of you just the useless leftover legacy purpose opposition opposition opposition opposition don’t drag them down with you
There was a break - they shouldn’t split up. His mouth didn’t move -
O p p o s i t i o n
He woke up in a hospital.
Gavin and Lance were there.
His star pin was missing.
His arm was gone.
Lewis was gone.
Vivi’s memory was holier than the grail.
Mystery was inexplicably horrifying.
Lewis was gone.
What had HAPPENED?
It’s a matter of weeks, with Lance’s help. Arthur has always been clever with mechanics, and Lance is happy to be his hands. Together, they build an arm. They build a new piece of the legacy. It was odd, Arthur thought. Just when he gave up on living up to Arthur-who-was he finally built something worth contributing.
Maybe his parents would have even been proud.
It was only days later that they headed out. Arthur had maps and a grid and a long, long list of haunted places. He thought they went to a cave, but there was no harm in being thorough. Lewis’ family believed he could bring Lewis home.
“If anyone can, it will be Arthur,” his mom said.
Arthur… well. None of the Arthurs had a great track record for finding lost friends, but they were amazing at searching for them, forever if need be.
“Remind me again,” Vivi said.
“We’re looking for Lewis. We think he was magically removed from your memories, and no matter how much I say his name, you forget it again. But he’s important, he’s so, so important.”
“And you love him. And you say I was in love with him.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
Vivi was quiet. “The way you talk about him, he must be impossible not to love.”
It was Arthur’s turn to be silent. “I think so,” he finally said.
“Did he love you?”
“No,” Arthur said. “He loved you. And we’re going to find him and fix your memories and everything will be okay again.”
Vivi watched him. “I don’t know if it’s that easy,” she said.
Arthur’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Probably not,” he said. Searching never was. “But it’s better than nothing. He’s out there somewhere. We just have to find him.”
“Where is he?”
Arthur leaned against the steering wheel. “I can’t remember. I can hardly remember anything about that night and it’s all - disjointed. But we were - we were looking for a ghost. We were looking for somewhere haunted.”
Vivi met his eyes. She looked worried. “Arthur, you hate ghosts.”
Arthur looked away. “Doesn’t matter.” Not when he loved Lewis more than he hated ghosts, or lingering old magik, or being afraid.
They didn’t find Lewis on the first job, or the second. They didn’t find him in the cornfield or the barn or the manor (though that one was… unique). They didn’t find him and Vivi kept forgetting, and Arthur kept reminding her, and Mystery was still terrifying.
Arthur was never afraid of dogs before, but now he finds himself grabbing his lost arm, getting flashes of something not a dog. Told you, said Arthur-who-was. Mystery gave Arthur strange looks, too, sometimes, when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking. Arthur wondered what had happened that night. Had he given away his secret? Had Arthur-who-was had to act? Arthur-who-was never did anything, leaving Arthur-who-is to his life.
And Arthur-who-is was a failure, in terms of Arthurs. He can’t imagine he’d have the sort of spiritual power some of the other Arthurs had had, to channel the first one.
Neither of them bring it up. Arthur because he was starting to feel like he was going mad, and Mystery because he was a dog.
(Only Mystery remembers it all. Remembers the way Arthur’s eyes glowed, one green one gold. The way Arthur’s soul swelled, shoved, forced the demon out, farther than he should have been able. Do it, he’d told Mystery. Do it. The Kingsmen have a legacy, he’d said in a very un-Arthur way. With legacy, purpose, with purpose - Mystery tore the demon from his flesh, and Arthur screamed, the glow of green and gold fading, fading, and the pin in Arthur’s vest crumbled to dust. Mystery didn’t need to know the rest of the sentence. Mystery had a legacy too. What, he wondered, was Arthur’s? What was Arthur?)
They didn’t find Lews in the hotel, or the truck, or the escape room. They didn’t find him in any old, abandoned houses. They didn’t find him in two caves, or three forests, or a tiny copse of trees on the edge of a lake.
Arthur drove, and drove. He slept when he could, but he couldn’t often. Nightmares haunted him, and the purpose of Arthur-who-was and Arthur-who-is was in perfect tandem for the first time in centuries and it drove them. Drove Arthur like he drove his van.
Forward.
He didn’t find Lewis, but he did find Excalibur. Go figure. He told Vivi it was a replica and he mailed it to Lance the next day. Lance’s reaction was a single text, three exclamation points. If they were still around maybe even his parents would have been proud. Arthur didn’t really care.
(Arthur was getting very good at lying to himself to keep all the pieces together.)
He was running on two hours of sleep, four mugs of coffee and sheer willpower when the van slowed, and stuttered, and stopped. He didn’t know where they were, but he suspected it was somewhere Lewis wasn’t. Arthur wondered, sometimes, if the Arthur-who-was had gotten them cursed to never find the things (people) they went looking for.
Vivi, of course, was delighted, and her delight only grew at the flicker of the candles lighting themselves. At the sight of dozens of little singing ghosts. At a fall through nothing at a speed that did NOT align with the laws of physics.
If nothing else, at least she got some enjoyment out of the whole terrifying night. What had Arthur done to piss off a spirit he’d never met that badly? Seriously, what? Maybe it was a past Arthur? He nudged Arthur-who-was and they shrugged at him.
Arthur pulled over with a sigh, pulling up his maps, his grids, his charts. Maybe they should go back and recheck some. Lewis could be moving around, nothing said he had to stay in one place. But surely the chances of finding him were better if Arthur kept searching new places?
Lewis would have loved the weird skeleton ghost. Would have commented on his sense of style, his clear superiority to other spirits simply for his love of the color purple. A smile tugged at Arthur’s lips at the thought, and he picked the next destination. Home. Home to refuel and figure out why the van had been so wonky since they’d stopped at the mansion. They’d get back on the road again as soon as their transport was ready. As soon as he could be sure they wouldn’t be forced to stop again.
They were almost home when the skeleton ghost caught up again. Arthur slammed the gas. He would make the best time of his life getting back to Kingsmen Mechanics, he just knew it.
He didn’t expect to crash down the big hill next to the place, but needs must.
The next thing Arthur knew, the skeleton ghost was dragging him into a cave. It was familiar. Why was it familiar? Why was it so green? What was happening?
“Why?” the ghost demanded. “Why did you kill me?”
“I - I -” Arthur wrestled with the grip on his shirt, clung desperately.
“WHY, ARTHUR?”
The way the ghost said his name. The way the illusion swirled.
“L… Lewis?”
Arthur fell. Plummeted towards sharp stone. He heard the crack of a gunshot and landed, dazed, among cardboard boxes and the metal interior of the truck.
Lancelot the whispered relief of Arthur-who-was and oh no, Lance! Arthur heaved himself out of the pile, arm hanging limply at his side. The ghost was turning on Lance, Lewis was turning on Lance. Oh god it was all so messed up. Joy, he had found him and wait, was that Arthur-who-is or Arthur-who-was celebrating? Grief, he was too late, too late too late too late. Fear. Something was here. It was here and it was coming.
Arthur’s eyes landed on the locket and he frowned. It was all silver and cracked, instead of gleaming gold like before. Gently, he picked it up.
This had the added bonus of attracting Lewis’ attention away from Lance.
The heart opened.
Arthur’s heart fell. Lewis and Vivi. Of course. That only made sense. But. The image was shifting. Changing. Arthur squinted. Mystery and - was that…
He got tossed again as Lewis yanked the locket free. It was gold again, Arthur noted, gleaming with light instead of dull and lifeless. Was - was Lewis crying?
A scream.
VIVI MERLIN
Arthur stumbled out of the van. Lewis Guinevere was gone again and it had his heart in his throat. The weird tree ghost that was trying to kill Mystery was back and Mystery was huge. Arthur KNEW he wasn’t a dog! Vivi Merlin gleamed with light, blue and clear and oh shit.
Arthur-who-is and Arthur-who-was were so relieved to see her, they’d found her, not too late not too late not too -
And Arthur gritted his teeth against the pain growing in his skull and ran towards the fight. No more. He wouldn’t lose anyone else.
Yes Arthur-who-was echoed over his own thoughts Ours, our Merlin Vivi and Guinevere Lewis, ours ours ours -
Wait, what? Arthur-who-is was the least of the Arthurs, had he seriously managed to find them? To complete the quest?
“Lance,” he gasped, racing past his very, very confused uncle knight. “Sword!”
Lance didn’t ask if he was sure. He just went.
Arthur-who-is could feel Arthur-who-was bubbling in his veins like liquid gold, burning and hot and pure. He skidded to a halt next to Lewis Guinevere and Vivi Merlin and he’d found them. Lewis Guinevere wanted to kill him but that was nothing new and right now all his focus was on -
Mystery. Mystery, who was changing. Black and green and gleaming, like the haze over his memories, and Arthur-who-was howled in rage, in pain.
“Oh,” Arthur said.
It seemed he’d found Mordred, too.
Lance skidded into place next to Arthur. “You sure?” he asked now, holding out the blade. It wasn’t much to look on at first glance. Just an old longsword, hints of rust on the blade.
Take me up read the side facing Arthur.
“No,” Arthur said. He ignored Lewis Guinevere and Vivi Merlin’s confusion.
“A̷̩͚̯̲͚͉̯̜̪͙̜͎͓͎̕Ŗ̸̡̡̞̲̭̬͈̞̲̓͛̋͑̈́̋͗̕͝Ţ̵̺̣͊̿̾͌̌̅͝Ḧ̸̢̨͚̹̺̰̪̪̭̱̮͉̼́̈́̑̊̾̀̎̓̀̑̉̐̕͜͝͝U̷̧̥̗̞̩͓̟̘̹̝̭̎̉̍̑́͒R̷̝͚͈͈̻͚̟̣̰͔̮̹̅̌͌̂͂͌͛̅͒̄̌̃̊͜͠!” The spirit that was Mordred leapt. Vivi’s blade lit with power, power like Merlin’s staff. Lewis shouted, shouted like the command of a queen who expects to be obeyed.
Arthur grasped his blade and then there was no Arthur-who-is, no Arthur-who-was, No. No, now there was only ARTHUR and he was Once and he was Future and he could feel his own power settle around him, golden and blinding.
His sword blocks Mystery’s teeth, even gleaming with the green power of Mordred.
“Vivi,” he said. His voice echoed. There were so many Arthurs, all waiting, praying that this day would come. That they could rest. Vivi Merlin Abby David Charlie and they had found her before. Of course they had. They always found their people. “Vivi. You know how to drive him out.”
“I don’t - Arthur, what is going on -”
“You do.” And his voice was not that of Arthur-who-is it was ONCE and it was FUTURE. He’s going to miss them so much after this. “You have always known. Merlin never has lost to Mordred.”
“Is now really the time for Arthurian legend!” Lewis/Guinevere screeched, blocking another blow from the thing that was currently Mordred. A wave of fire, gleaming like a line of lancers behind their shields. He was THEIR queen and they would defend him, to the death.
Arthur turned to face her calmly.
(Lewis saw him turn, and this was not his Arthur. This was something more. His eyes shone gold, dripping tears that shone like sunbeams. A crown and a cloak hovered around him, ethereal and powerful, and the sword in his hand hit different, looked like a beam of starlight instead of an old beaten up longsword. Lewis was grasping for memories just out of reach this was right this was wrong this was as it was meant to be.)
“Merlin, right okay freak out about that later.” Vivi/Merlin muttered to themself, bat lighting up. Was it a blade, was it a staff, Arthur could not make it out, overlays of so many lives on top of each other and it hurt.
The blade in his hand burned. He raised his sword. “You must, Merlin.”
Arthur went on the attack. He could feel his body moving as if he’d wielded a sword his entire life. In a way he supposed he had. Most Arthurs were good with a blade. He was holding back, though. He always had to hold back against Mordred. Mordred, who used the people Arthur loved as shields and stayed two steps ahead.
Mordred, who was once a friend.
(They were all so very tired. Why wouldn’t Mordred stop? Why couldn’t they all just rest?)
“Oh!” Merlin Vivi whispered. His hands gleamed with dripping, prismatic light.
“Oh,” Guinevere Lewis breathed. The deadbeats had shields and spears and the joy of battle on her behalf in them. The Valiant Knights of Queen Guinevere, with her always.
“Always waiting for the last moment,” Arthur said, always amused with the dramatics of Merlin Vivi, ever pleased by the joy of Guinevere Lewis and who was he to demand their love, in this life or any other?
All that was important in him was from them, after all.
Sword. Teeth. Fur. MAGIC.
And then Mystery was lying in the dirt and Merlin Vivi rushed to him, Guinevere Lewis watching his back.
Arthur did not watch them. He watched Mordred. Take me up, read the blade of his sword.
Arthur did not want to.
“Mordred,” he whispered. “Mordred, why? Why won’t you come home?”
“D̶̻̂É̶̹̞S̶͓̀̌T̷͈́̽R̶̡̖̓͝O̴͉͈͝͝Y̵͚̲͌̓E̵͒̎ͅR̶̯͚͊,” Mordred howled. “D̸͍̊E̶̺͕͗͝S̵̥͍͐Ț̶͉͌͝R̵͔̍̅O̷̭͠Y̵̝̓̽ͅḘ̵̠̅Ŗ̷̫̿̔ ̸̧́̔ͅM̵̘̀U̶̧̺͗R̸̨̿D̵̺̎͝E̷̖̓R̶̳̃̚ͅE̶̫̿́R̵̖̕ͅ ̵͔͗̅H̶͕͂͜O̶̧͊ͅW̸͓͛̕ ̸̠̩̅̃C̶̰̈Ò̷͚̰̏U̷͙̻̅͝L̶͕͉̃D̴̼͊̋ ̷͔̲͗̀Y̶̱̌̿Õ̸̗͙U̴̱̍́ ̶͚͑̃H̸͖̓̇O̵̰̕W̵̱̦̎ ̷͍̺̓̇C̵̙͖̄Ó̴̢͇̒U̵̲̪͂͂Ḷ̴͓̋̽D̸͍̑ ̶͖̀͋͜Y̶̤̽O̴̰͓͋Ù̶̫̹!”
“Please.” Arthur’s voice broke. He was once and he was future and he was so, so tired. “Do not make me.”
Mordred launched himself at Arthur Arthur, a roiling mass of fury and hatred and green, like the eyes of the little boy Arthur loved like his own.
(Morgana had begged him. Begged Arthur to let her go, to send her off before the curse could overtake her and make her a monster. Mordred was young, and grieving - was old, and angry - was all he had left of his sister.)
Arthur raised his blade.
He let Mordred rest.
Merlin Vivi stared at him, wide-eyed. Guinevere Lewis stood straighter, crossed her arms.
“What,” she said, “is happening.”
Arthur blinked at her, confused.
“Arthur.”
He turned. “Lancelot,” he said. Lance…
“Arthur, let go.”
Arthur looked down at the blade in his hand. Turned it over. Cast me away.
“Is it done?” Arthur-who-was Arthur-who-is had a commanding lost voice.
“It is.”
Arthur Arthur let the blade fall. His limbs swayed. His body burned.
“ARTHUR!!”
He knew no more.