𝕭𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝕿𝖜𝖔
𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: From trolls to dragons to foreign princesses, Astraea Aphelion grows stronger as she
continues to navigate medieval Britain using her wit and heart, standing unshaken beside Merlin and Arthur as they face every threa...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
📍 Camelot
⏳May, 505 AD
I bit down on my bottom lip as I watch Arthur move to stand in the middle of a pentagram that had been drawn on the floor at Morgause's command. His eyes closed as the witch spoke some words in a foreign language. An incantation, I assumed. Then a tall, ghostly blonde woman wearing a white robe appeared in front of the Prince. She was beautiful, and looked radiant. Probably because she'd had a lot of time to rest in the after-life.
"No forking way," I mumbled, gripping Merlin's sleeve tightly.
"Arthur," the woman said, prompting the Prince to open his eyes hesitantly. He gaped at her for a few seconds. "Mother," he whispered in awe as tears pooled in his eyes. "My son," she teared up as well, then moved to hug the boy. He melted into her embrace. "When I last held you, you were a tiny baby. I remember your eyes. You were staring up at me. Those few seconds I held you were the most precious of my life," she spoke softly.
I felt my heart clench. I couldn't help it, I was kinda jealous. But also very happy for Arthur.
"I am so sorry," he told his mom as tears streamed down his face.
My heart clenched again, but now for an entirely different reason. I couldn't stand to see him cry. Merlin put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to him, noticing that I was getting emotional. I sniffled and wiped away the tears that had managed to escape me.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Ygraine assured her son, softly caressing his cheek. "It was my birth that caused you to die," he mumbled with anguish in his eyes. I tightened my grip on Merlin. "No, you are not to blame," the woman continued to reassure the Prince. "I cannot bear the thought that you died because of me," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Do not think that. It is your father who should carry the guilt for what happened," she raised her voice slightly as a frown came upon her face.
I flinched and frowned as I looked up at my friend, who seemed too invested in the conversation to notice. I wondered if he had any clue as to what she was referring to.
"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, his bottom lip trembling. "It is not important. What matters is that you lived," she waved him off and looked away. "Why should my father feel guilty?" he pressed on, now frowning, though the tears didn't stop coming. "It is better left in the past," Ygraine argued. "You cannot leave me with more questions. Please," the Prince begged, holding tightly onto her hands.
The woman-ghost let out a sigh. "Your father...he was desperate for an heir. Without a son, the Pendragon dynasty would come to an end. But I could not conceive..." she started, then trailed off as she looked away from Arthur. "But how was I born? Tell me!" he insisted. The desperation in his voice made my heart shatter. "Your father betrayed me. He went to the sorceress Nimueh and asked for her help in conceiving a child," she continued, then gulped. "You were born of magic," came the big reveal.
