Waiting for Merlin

This isn’t the first time Ryan has showed up to a research session--well, alright, a *date--*before Merlin’s arrived back to his own rooms, and it’s probably not going to be the last. Merlin’s room is, as ever, an unbalanced mix between a bedroom and a study; the bed and most signs that someone actually *lives* in this space have been moved into out-of-the-way corners to make room for a desk and a long worktable. There’s a bare space of wall with a transportation circle scrawled on it in some sort of ink; Ryan carefully stepped over warding lines across the door when they came in, used to it with practice.

There’s probably an order to the chaos with which papers, books, and various spell components have been scattered around the room; Ryan hasn’t figured out what it is yet, but they’re sure they’ll manage to at some point. It’s not that it’s messy, precisely--well, it *looks* messy, but Ryan’s fairly sure Merlin knows where most things in it are. Despite the clutter, though, the room has always seemed comfortable to Ryan, and over the past couple of months a side of the table has, slowly but surely, been cleaned off, and Ryan’s favorite chair has moved over to sit in front of it.

It’s a small thing, but it always makes Ryan smile, and they drop into the chair and fish a book out of their bag, content to wait for a while until Merlin shows up.

The sound of footsteps echoes into the room from the hallway, bouncing off of the stone walls and wooden floors of the Halcyon Knights headquarters. They halt in front of the door, which promptly gets knocked on.

“Merlin, would you perchance have the ingredients in your possession for that gender reassignment spell I asked - Oh! Greetings, Ryan. I did not know you were here.” The figure that opened the door was very much not Ryan’s boyfriend, but a tall freckled blonde in a loose shirt with poofy sleeves, a low neckline, and tight high-waisted pants. They smile.

“My apologies, Merlin oft does not hear me, he is so transfixed on his tomes.” Sir Lancelot says.

Ryan startles, quickly putting their book down when Elle appears in an attempt to look like they have good manners and definitely did not themself miss Elle’s approach in favor of what is absolutely not a romance novel.

“Oh--uh, hi,” they manage, before shoving down their nerves. *Come on. It’s just Elle. You’ve spoken to Elle before and probably not made a huge fool of yourself. Probably.* The mention of Merlin, as always, does manage to steal a smile from Ryan as they relax a bit. “And I know what you mean, I usually just knock and walk in, too. Uh--he should be getting back pretty soon, I’m just waiting for him as well.”

Elle laughs. “Knowing Merlin, he could return either now or within no less than three hours, should the boy have found himself distracted. You are most welcome to stay and wait for him as long as you wish to, of course.” They steal a glance at the novel on the table, and raise an amused eyebrow. “Ah, most interesting research. I did very much enjoy the… connections between the research subjects.” They grin.

“Perchance would you allow me to stay as well? My schedule tomorrow is rather packed, and I would really like to get this ritual done with today. It should not take long once he is here.” Lancelot raises their hands, showing off a tin of cookies. “I did bring a bribe, which I shall be happy to share with you.”

Ryan goes red at Elle’s comment about the book, one hand instinctively moving to cover the title before realizing that, one, it’s definitely too late for that, and two, if Elle recognizes the plot from the title, they’ve read the book as well and Ryan probably doesn’t have much to be embarrassed about. At least, not on that front. They return a sheepish grin over to Elle.

“It’s a good book,” they admit, not as defensively as they might have a few seconds ago. “And, I mean, it’s not my room, of course you can stay. If you’re offering cookies, though, I won’t say no to a little bribery.”

“I enjoyed it as well.” The knight looks around for a place to sit and, failing to find one, waves a hand to create an armchair out of orange energy. It isn’t the most comfortable, but it’ll do for now. They open the tin, revealing an array of homemade cookies, and offer it to their ward’s significant other.

“I believe Merlin might put more stock into your opinion on who to allow entry into his chambers. I can enter, of course, when I need to, but our relationship is rather different. I know he… struggles, with the drastic change in our respective status. His memories of lifetimes spent overseeing many versions of myself conflict with reality, and I am not eager to overstep his boundaries.”

Ryan considers for a moment, and then decides to ask one of the questions floating around in their head. “How does a gender reassignment ritual work, if you don’t mind me asking? I know they exist, of course, but never really looked into it much. I’m doing things the--” they try to find a suitable word, “--more mundane way, so I’m not sure it’s an area where the two approaches mix well, but it’s--interesting,” they finish, aware that *interesting* probably isn’t the best word to use, either, but failing to come up with another one.

Elle nods at the question. “I am happy to discuss it! I change,” they put a hand on their chest, gesturing at their heart, “too often and too irregularly for the… mundane method to work for me. It also wasn’t an option in Avalon, of course. The ritual is not very complicated, but requires some rare materials, and tis.. uncomfortable. “ They wince. “Not painful, exactly, but you feel the changes. Luckily today all I wish for is these to be removed,” They gesture again at their chest. “And for a haircut, but I do not need Merlin for that.

“I could change myself as well, but that would require me to die, and it takes *so* long for my limbs to regain their colour.” They wave a glass-looking left hand.

“Dying *does* seem a little far to go for gender reassignment when you have other options,” Ryan deadpans before realizing that might be a little flippant and shutting their mouth, taking a cookie instead--they look fantastic, although Ryan is quick to say any cookie looks good.

“But yeah, speed definitely seems like an advantage of doing things with magic in this sense, especially when permanence is the opposite of a goal. Mundane stuff was obviously the only option I knew about when I started transitioning, so we just basically paused me before puberty got uncomfortable and while I figured out where I wanted to go from there. It’s worked so far, I guess.” They don’t mention the awkwardness of a late-teens growth-spurt, although the bruises they have from continually whacking the edges of their limbs into things and the fact that all of their sleeves are suddenly too short have been speaking for them the past few months.

“It certainly is. I am not particularly fond of having to deal with my own corpse, either. Better to ask Merlin for a favour, since I can’t ask Deirdre anymore.” Lancelot laughs, taking a cookie as well.

Maybe it’s the fact that they’re both waiting, or that Ryan’s had negotiating boundaries with other people on their mind for the past few weeks, that gets them to offer the next bit of information. “And I, uh, kind of know what you mean regarding the boundaries issue. I mean, not in the same way, but--” how to mention the most recent change in their family situation in a way that didn’t sound absolutely ludicrous? “--I accidentally caused a magical reaction a couple of weeks ago and, uh, created a teenager? And I mean, he’s great, and it’s not a role reversal thing like what you two are negotiating, but it’s awkward to have someone who’s around your age, but who you’re also kind of...responsible for? Trying to look after? But without, like, making things uncomfortable for him. So I get what you mean about not wanting to overstep.”

Lancelot almost chokes on their cookie when Ryan mentions their new creation. “I’m sorry? You *created* a teenager? I’m - how?” There is a look of genuine concern on their face. “I mean - I apologize, that sounds rough and I dearly hope you have help in their care, but - uh - are they… real?”

Ryan flushes again, clearly embarrassed at the entire sequence of events and having to explain it--despite already having done it to their mom and Hisham and several members of Big Team, it has not gotten less weird.

“It, uh--I didn’t mean to,” They begin, before backing up their explanation. “Well, Gwen was trying to get our help--the Big Team’s help--in finding Excalibur a couple of weeks back? And we ended up actually finding Caliburn, but in the process we unlocked a cache of power from this villain, Nachtmusik. And I was trying to help protect one of my teammates, and there was a really weird reaction between my power and Nachtmusik’s power, and, well--it ended up, uh, basically cloning Wolfgang--uh, Nachtmusik--as he was as a teenager back in the 1940s?”

They shift sheepishly. “And, I mean--I couldn’t just *leave* him, not when it’s my fault he’s stranded here in the first place. And it’s not like I can send him back to the forties--we talked about if he’d even want to go back, a bit--but even if he did, the original Nachtmusik is already back there, there isn’t, like, a spot for him to go back to. I didn’t even know my powers could *do* this,” they say, the fact of that--of not knowing that information, of that lack of knowledge having consequences for other people--clearly upsetting to them. They take a deep breath and continue, though, focusing on Elle’s question.

“He’s definitely real, though--I mean, he’s real in every way that I can tell, I guess. He shows up as his own person in my, uh, time-senses, and we--my mom and I, she’s been helping a lot because she actually knows something about raising teenagers--made sure he got to a doctor and everything seems to be normal there other than, you know, not having vaccines that a teenager today would have. He’s his own person,” Ryan says, somewhat protectively. It sounds like they’ve been anxiously preparing an argument, on the off-chance that someone--anyone --claims that Wolfgang is *not* a person. “And he’s not--he’s not a supervillain, he’s not Nachtmusik, even though he’s kind of a clone of him. He’s just a kid, and it’s not--it’s not his fault.” They cross their arms, before realizing that they’ve riled themselves up.

“Not, uh, that you said it was, or anything. I’m just...I’m just worried that people are going to hold it against him, you know?”

Lancelot tenses up as they listen to the story. Despite the various differences, and Ryan’s obvious discomfort, the similarities between the kid’s - between Wolfgang’s and their stories are uncanny. They hold up their hands placatingly.

“I apologize, I did not mean to suggest that he is not… a person, or… anything of the sort, I just…” They frown, looking somewhat lost for words, and probably more vulnerable than Ryan has ever seen them before. They take a breath.

“How much do you know about… me, and my situation? Has Merlin told you much?”

“Not...much,” Ryan admits. They’re disarmed by the moment of vulnerability from Elle, the tension and defensiveness of before draining from their posture as they lean against the table a little. “I mean, I know some about what you did on the Big Team, but...I didn’t really want to ask about your business, you know? I know you’re a younger version of Sir Lancelot, but none of the real specifics about that or how it happened.”

Elle nods. They stand up, walking over to a shelf overflowing with haphazard piles of books.

“Years ago, Nimue - the ancestor of my family, was in Halcyon keeping an eye on Gwendolyn.” They run a finger across the spines. “She watched over her from her sword, gave her the strength to fight, to escape GREY, but she couldn’t interfere directly.

“To do that, she needed a body.” The finger halts, and they pull a book out from under a stack, careful not to make the rest fall. “Something to house herself in this world, something with the skills and strength to protect those she cared for.”

Lancelot makes their way back to the table, putting the book down and facing Ryan. Its title, lettered in gothic script in silver embossed ink on the leather-bound book, reads *Creations of the Fae*.

“She took a… snapshot of me - of Lancelot, of Gwendolyn’s father - at sixteen, just before their quest to earn their knighthood, before their dedication, and poured it into a mold of glass. Molded it into the shape of a person, and sent it through a mirror into Halcyon. It was meant to be a vessel for her, it was never meant to have a soul.

“But it did, and it spent months lost in an unknown world, not knowing what it was there to do, not knowing how to go home to its family and fiancee, until it finally found out that it could not, because that family and fiancee were both far into the past and never really theirs.”

That’s me.”

Ryan listens intently to them, eyes darting down to the book cover for a moment before returning to the knight. They try to keep their face relatively composed, but it’s hard to hide the moment of surprised, sympathetic pain when they learn that Elle was never supposed to have a soul, and did anyway.

“I--I’m sorry,” they say, a moment after Elle stops talking. “I mean--that sounds awful, and like an awful way to learn you couldn’t go back home. I’m sorry that that happened to you. I--I mean, I’m not in any place to criticize, not with what I just told you, obviously, but--did she try to find you? Or help you? At all?”

Elle sighs. “Eventually. But it took her being in danger, and in need of someone to protect her, and even then she took control of me without permission or explanation and - well, she wasn’t in her right mind either, at the time. She had her reasons, and I was just never in her plans.

“The lives of the fey - the true, immortal fey, those such as her, are so wildly different from those of humans. Their lives are so short in comparison. I think she cares for me in her own way. She did give me my sword, and she gave me back my life when she didn’t have to. She’s still my creator, and I don’t hold a grudge.

“But I digress from my point; I tell you this not to garner sympathy, though it is welcome, but to explain my concern about your Wolfgang. I know the pain of his situation all too well.”

At Elle’s response, Ryan catches themself reaching to adjust the glasses they no longer have, and snatches their hand back down to the table before they can. Still, *she had her reasons, and I was just never in her plans* hits close to home, somewhere near *I never expected a child like* that, *what do you want me to do?*

“I understand,” they say, instead of any of that. “And--it does sound similar, at least in result, to what Wolfgang’s going through. I...can’t say I know too much about it. I’m never sure how much to--well, to ask, or to offer, with him. But it makes sense that you would be concerned about someone else going through the same--or, a similar thing, and--well, thanks. For worrying about him.” Ryan offers Elle a smile, still somewhat awkward. “I know that’s kind of weird to say, but I’m...I really want to do right by him, and that also means I’m glad there are other people around who can understand things he’s dealing with that I can’t. If, uh, that makes any sense?”

Elle smiles. “It does. I think he is lucky that, of all people, you were the one to create him, albeit accidentally.”

They are quiet for a minute, unsure where to go after this conversation. What were they even talking about before? The air feels thick with the weight of the subject, of their past and Wolfgang’s.

“Well, uh. As much as I love to talk about myself, this is… usually not the first subject I pick.” They laugh dryly. “I apologize. If I may, though, if it is not too much trouble..”  They take a breath. “You mentioned a.. Temporal vision? Of sorts? I… What do you see when you look at me?”

Ryan blinks, looking back over at Elle. “Yeah, I--I’m retrocognitive. Kind of like Gwen, but it shows up in different ways. Mine doesn’t recreate a moment the way hers does, it’s purely visual, but it’s also sort of...always on. People are different than places, though, I have to actually work to see bits of their history.” They shrug. “And, well, I don’t do that often, because it’s a little invasive and the strongest parts of someone’s history aren’t always the good parts.”

They pause, taking a moment to look at Elle and--well, they don’t try to peer back into their history, because they don’t do that, but they stop trying to filter the past out of their vision for a moment, let themself relax and actually take in what they are seeing. It’s something that it took a while for them to get used to, but it’s gotten easier with time.

“I mean, mostly I just see...you, honestly. I’m not, uh, doing the looking in your history thing. Just normal looking,” they clarify. “Some variability in what you look like, probably because, you know, shifting around what your body looks like every once in a while. Your--well, your more mirrored parts look a little weird--not in a bad way, they just look like stuff in Avalon looks sometimes, where practically, they can’t have existed forever, but there’s some part of them that *has* existed forever. Avalon temporality is strange to look at,” they admit.

“Other than that, there’s a bit of--” they wave their hand, realize that the gesture is inexplicable to anyone who isn’t them and isn’t seeing what they’re seeing, and stop. “The, uh, history of Lancelot? I guess that’s the best way to put it. The sort of cycle of being Lancelot. It’s hanging around you a bit--not a ton right now, but when I’ve seen you actually fight it gets stronger, because that’s, like, when that part of the history is more relevant. Not that you’re not always Lancelot, of course, but--” they shrug. “It’s hard to explain. Like, the times when you being Lancelot are particularly in line with how other Lancelots have been Lancelot, back through history? I think it’s because of the cycles, but I haven’t had time to actually put together any comprehensive study or hypothesis as to what it really means.”

Elle sits still while Ryan does their thing, uncertain whether movement would somehow interfere. They look at the time hero intently, taking in their focus, their posture, their garb. This was who their ward - who Merlin had decided to date. They hadn’t spent a lot of time together, but Lancelot had still kept an eye out, just to make sure - they trusted that anyone on Big Team had good intentions, really, but Merlin was Merlin, and despite his ageless wisdom could oft be blind to the feelings and intentions of others.

Still, nothing had given Elle the impression that he had chosen badly. Quite the opposite, Ryan seems like a very impressive, thoughtful and kind person, and a good companion to their ward.

They’re somewhat shocked out of their thoughts when Ryan speaks of the cycle, of the images of the previous Lancelots.

“There… there are?” They ask, tears springing unbidden to their eyes. “Other Lancelots, I mean? There’s not just… Glass, and nothing else?”

Ryan looks initially surprised by the question, shocked out of the focus they always enter when they’re concentrating on their vision, but when Elle elaborates the surprise turns to a moment of realization.

“Yeah, they’re there,” they say, blinking and watching as the image of previous Lancelots play over Elle’s face for a moment, before receding again as Ryan stops focusing on them and focuses, instead, on the Lancelot currently in front of them. Unsure entirely what to do, they reach out and put a hand on Elle’s shoulder, hoping it will be some sort of comfort. “Like I said, it’s more visible when you’re fighting, or when you’re commanding the Knights, but--I mean, at least to my eyes, you’re Sir Lancelot, as much as any of the others were or are. Your history is a lot more than just glass, Elle.”

Elle wipes a tear away with a handkerchief. “Ah. ...Thanks, Ryan. That means a lot to me.” They smile. “I mean, I… guess I knew that? I know who I am, and I would even if I was just that, but it’s nice to know for sure. And, uh, for what it is worth - you have my blessing.” They put a hand on their heart. “I am in your debt.”

This is the moment Merlin returns with a pile of books, which he promptly drops with a *thump*.

“What, and I do not say this lightly, the *fuck* is going on here?”

“Uh,” Ryan says, suddenly very aware that they’re in Merlin’s room with a half-eaten tin of cookies, attempting to comfort a somewhat weepy Lancelot, none of which is normal. “Welcome back?”