Merlin woke up with a sense of excitement (he would later- much later- accept that that was also because he wanted to pee) and nervousness. He made his way to the kitchen, had breakfast and probably what was his last cup of coffee, showered and dressed in clothes that would easily blend in and started to chant;

"Ewch â mi yn ôl i'r cychwyn. Gadewch i'r hen stori ddechrau'n newydd. Lladd y dyn ifanc a'i ddisodli gyda'm corff ac enaid. Rwy'n archebu'r cydbwysedd hwn, felly tynnwch sylw iddo" Take me back to the start. Let the old tale start anew. Unravel the youthful existence and transmute it with my body and soul. As the Master of Life and Death, I demand this balance, so mote it be.

As the incantation of the time-travel spell left Merlin's lips, a rush of energy enveloped him, swirling around his being like a whirlwind. But instead of a grandiose and dramatic transition, he found himself plunged into an unexpected sensation of being sucked into an air shaft as if gravity itself had conspired against him.

A disorienting sense of weightlessness engulfed him as he tumbled through the unseen currents, the rush of intense silence made his ears screech. It was an unnerving experience, akin to falling through an endless cosmic void. And just when he thought the descent would never end and his sanity would abandon him, he abruptly landed, jolting his frame against a surface that felt oddly rough.

As he gathered his wits- blinking away the stars from his vision- and took stock of his surroundings, Merlin realized with a mixture of surprise and disbelief that he had landed on a pile of hay. The coarse texture pricked against his skin, contrasting sharply with the soft magical landing he had been expecting. 

Rubbing his sore backside, Merlin couldn't help but let out a rueful chuckle and think that it could be worse- he could have landed in the mound of horse-dung right beside him. The hard landing had made him glad that he put a 'no-damage' enchantment on his bag, he just wished he had used the same enchantment for his back too. 

He looks up and comes face to face with a horse- who snorts in Merlin's face. Well, at least now he knows where he is- in the stables.
Merlin stands up, putting some distance between himself and the horse before looking down at himself and is pleased to find that he still retains the body that has changed throughout these years and not the lanky, nineteen-year-old, no coordination body he had in the past.
The changed appearance could get hard to explain to people who know him, but he would take that confusion over his younger lankier body, anytime.

But something... something else feels strange too. Merlin can't pinpoint what it is that he is feeling but it just doesn't sit right.

He tries to shake the feeling by going outside the stables and sees people milling about-- and blinks when he realises that he recognizes the village. It was the village he had spent a night in when he had been going to Camelot for the first time. In fact, he'd slept in a good-looking tavern's stables if he remembers correctly, which was a good thing as Merlin was quite hungry.

It's a slow afternoon at the tavern, with only a few people ordering anything to drink when Merlin makes his way over to the counter. He heads straight towards the barman who is wiping the sticky countertop and the warlock takes the opportunity to order a drink as an excuse to rope the barman into a conversation.

After talking for a few minutes about the weather, Merlin finally questions him about Camelot,

"So, what news hails from Camelot?"
 The barman passes Merlin another drink and sits opposite to him, obviously quite willing to share as long as Merlin kept paying for both his time and his alcohol. 
"Just the same, young man. The war's done quite a bit of damage to Camelot, but people are happy with their victory. Uther has been planning quite a big celebration for the Prince- his first war and the young lad has already made his Kingdom proud with nary an injury." This gives Merlin a pause- the barman keeps talking but Merlin is already lost...because-

War... what War?

Merlin hadn't seen any damage on Camelot when he had first entered it.
Had his interference in Time caused a bloody war already-- He'd barely been here a minute!
(And he'd spend that minute cuddling with a snorty horse-- how had he caused a WAR?!)

Though he was relieved to know that Arthur was finally being appreciated by Uther for winning the war for Camelot.

"Are you certain that the Prince was unharmed?" Merlin leaned forward, his magic roiling and his face must have shown his worry- or something- because the barman looked at him weirdly and asked, 

"Do you know the Prince, Young man?" He asked and Merlin pulled back a little- impatient. Was Arthur hurt? Is that why Merlin had been feeling strange? Is that what his Magic had been trying to tell him?
The barman was still waiting for an answer so Merlin shook his head and as genuinely as he could, he said-

"Just worried- Prince Arthur is the only child of the g-great King Uther." 
Merlin wanted to slit his own throat for adding that adjective. 

"Ah yes, the only son and heir the good King has, I have heard the Prince takes after his Father-," 

"No." Merlin interrupted, his face losing all friendliness abruptly before he controlled himself, "That is to say-- I have heard that he takes after his mother." 

"A mother he never once met? I doubt it." The Barman had thankfully not noticed the lapse in Merlin's countenance, "He will be a ruthless warrior that one, magic will have no place to run and hide when he takes the throne after his father." 

"Uh-huh." Merlin said, "But more about that victory celebration?" He prodded, trying to find out more about this war only the Barman did not take the hint-

"Aye, that too. But more like a Birthday Celebration, Prince Arthur turns 19 this year." Merlin who had been about to swallow a big sip of mead spat it all out on the recently cleaned countertop.
The barman grumbled and got up to clean it and started to suggest something to Merlin, but he wasn't listening.

19th birthday...
This explained the War, as Merlin remembers Camelot and Mercia had fought but it just gave way to more questions.
Merlin was sure that he had entered Camelot a day before Arthur's 21st birthday. Not 19th.

After paying the Barman a few coppers and confirming that he hadn't been spewing rubbish and that it really was two years before Merlin really had to enter Camelot. He started to question his timing and magic, had something gone wrong? Was the Time-travel spell wonky? Or had he chanted it wrong? 

If not that then what was he doing here so early? Two years before he was really needed. And-- had he killed the younger Merlin who should only be...seventeen right now.
Merlin's mother was going to skewer him. 

But soon, realization sparks and Merlin's eyes widen, the old religion was at play here. This was the feeling that he'd been trying to shake since the moment he'd arrived back in time, it was the feeling of being early.

And since the Old Religion was at play then there must be some reason for which Merlin had been brought here, to this village- which lay halfway between Ealdor and Camelot, years early- which meant that Magic did not wish for him to go neither Ealdor- his past nor Camelot- his future. So then what was his Present supposed to be?

He abandons the drink and hurriedly stands up, exiting the heady tavern in pursuit of the fresh air outdoors. 
Once he has breathed in deeply and calmed himself a little, he starts to think of what he can do while he is here, maybe then he could think of a reason the Old Religion had made him kill his underage self before his time. 

What could be the reason...perhaps-- but no. Surely not. Surely...not.
In the Future, the Old Religion was Merlin and Merlin was the Old Religion for so many years that the lines had blurred and Merlin's dreams and wants had become the Old Religion's dreams and wants so perhaps it was possible. 

There had been multiple times during his life in Camelot when Merlin had resented his destiny and his Mother for sending him to Camelot- this was back when he had been a newly appointed servant, back when he had no care for Arthur. 
Back then, Merlin had been looking for a purpose for his Magic with such determination that when Kilgharrah had seen Merlin, he'd seen a puppet willing (begging) to be manipulated. 

He had believed- and truly so- that his magic was special and consequently that made HIM special but later...much later, Merlin had also realized that with that power had come a responsibility to magic as a whole. 
He was Emrys- a creature of the Old Religion, he was Magic itself-- so they why had allowed his people to continue being persecuted and hunted. 
Merlin had wanted more. 


Even after Arthur did become his friend, there had been many moments when Merlin wanted...more for Magic. For himself. 
So he had dreamt of a day when Arthur would know and see Merlin for what he truly was. Dreamt of a day when Magic would be free, when Merlin would be free. 

Alas, that day had never come. 
Oh, magic had become free under Gwen but by then Merlin had been shackled by chains of guilt and pain.  Losing Arthur had turned him into a living corpse, he was half of a whole forever alone. 
Magic had been freed but Magic had long died with Arthur. 

Anyway, one such dream...a daydream really,  from which Merlin had been jarred quite rudely by Arthur- the prat- was of a Place.
A land more beautiful than paradise, where people lived and loved without fear. A land where the Cathas could train and the Druids could pray. A place where animals could rest and misfits like Merlin could find a fit- he had, of course, planned to bring Arthur with him to such a place because Arthur too was a misfit, even though he would never agree to such a tag.

But it had all been swiped under the rug as a mere dream because back then Merlin couldn't even find time to eat lunch, leave alone create such a place.
He couldn't leave Arthur while his King was in danger and that had been that.
Arthur was and will always be his priority.

Merlin looks down at his hands to fiddle with his Court Sorcerer ring- much like Arthur did when in deep thought- when suddenly... it clicks.

A slow smile breaks upon his face and Merlin knows what he must do. And just WHERE he must do it. 

He jumps up, picks up his bag and heads North.

(Using this Map for reference- Merlin is the Purple Dot.)


*

The journey to the Perilous lands of the Fisher King was much easier compared to the last time, there were still many bandits on the way and animals wanting to kill him for food but not many could withstand Merlin's magic...he forgave the animals and allowed them to eat two of the bandits he'd killed while burying the others as fertilizers for this beautiful Earth- he really was an environmentalist at heart. 

Soon though, he reached the much familiar narrow bridge of the lands where he was faced by the same elf that had greeted him the last time.
What was he called again? Brebbir? Tredir? Gebbir?

"Grettir, Emrys." The elf interrupts him and looks as if amused by Merlin's thought process. Mind reading...

"I am not reading your mind, Emrys- not that I could even if I tried. Just the confusion was clear on your face." the elf chuckles and Merlin looks at him closer. Grettir's magic is closer to that of Anhora's, but unlike the Unicorns, his was tied to this land.
He was powerful, Merlin thinks, a good security measure against the people wanting to enter these lands and for the people already in it.

He makes his face blank and tries not to scowl when the elf, Grettir, scrutinizes him so closely as if he was trying to count every fleck in Merlin's eye but the magic of Grettir could only gauge Merlin's intent. 

"You have come for a different reason than I had thought you would, but I can't say that I object to the plan you pose." The elf leans back out of Merlin's personal space before continuing,

"This place was a paradise, a very long time ago. It will be good to see it being used again in the same way." Grettir then bows to him and moves aside for Merlin to pass. Merlin returns the bow with a shallow dip of his head in thanks and crosses the bridge.

It was exactly like Merlin remembered it, the red wastelands, the sweltering heat and no life anywhere close by except, of course, the wyverns- who came at him altogether in a fit of hunger but stopped at the last moment when Merlin allowed his Dragonlord side to come to the surface. He growls almost inhumanly at them, his eyes flashing gold a little.
The Wyverns screeched in surprise and their wings instinctively flapped in a rapid motion to retreat in reverse...their soul recognized his soul, which was similar to their own and wisely retreated.

But in gratitude, Merlin promised that when the land is revived they will have plenty of food, he will make sure of it.

With unwavering recollection, Merlin retraced his steps, arriving at the castle's grand entrance just as the golden orb of the sun began its descent. Driven by urgency, he forged ahead without pause, striding purposefully toward the throne room. As he entered, a scene hauntingly reminiscent of his previous encounter unfolded before him—the feeble form of the Fisher King, barely clinging to the tenuous threads of life.

Like the desolate realm itself, the King appeared on the brink of death. Save for the vigilant presence of the wyverns and the sporadic sightings of pheasants, no signs of life graced this forsaken land.

With an agonizing slowness, akin to the crawl of a snail, the Fisher King used his dwindling strength to lift his head. His gaze was filled with a disconcerting intensity when locked onto Merlin's eyes.
In that penetrating gaze, there lay a mixture of weariness, wisdom, and a glimmer of recognition that pierced through the veil of his fading vitality.

"Ah, Emrys. You have arrived," rasped the Fisher King, his voice weary yet carrying a trace of contentment. "I have awaited your presence for a long time and had resigned myself to further wait. Yet, behold, here you stand before me. If only my frail body allowed me to rise, I would bow in reverence. Alas, forgive me for my physical failings."

Merlin, attuned to the subtle nuances of the King's voice, sensed a flicker of joy amidst the weariness, a glimmer that spoke of relief and fulfilment at the long-awaited reunion. Merlin shook his head and smiled at the King.

"It is not you who should bow but me, my lord." Merlin bows to the man who had been born Mortal but with his actions had won the love of a Magical land and lived a life rivalling an immortal's.
"I also know what you need from me but before I give you over to Avalon, I have a request to make." Merlin spoke, hoping that the Fisher King would be amenable to his idea. 

"Ah, Merlin," the unexpected acknowledgement of his true name from the Fisher King's lips surprised him. Before he could fully process the significance, the King's words continued, casting a wave of confusion upon Merlin's thoughts.

"I am already aware of your Dream, thanks to the interfering Old Religion and hence there is no need for you to make a request for I bestow this land upon you freely, granting you the authority to shape it as you see fit. Once a great kingdom, I believe that under your Rule, it shall rise even higher."

Merlin's bewilderment grew as he grappled with the unexpected turn of events. He had envisioned creating a sanctuary, a safe haven for those in need, but ruling a kingdom had never been his intention.
His plan had been to select a worthy leader among the druids, someone like Iseldir, to guide the haven in his absence while he returned to Camelot. The notion of becoming a king, a leader, was far from his self-perception. That was Arthur's destiny, not his own.

"A kingdom? No, my lord, you misunderstand. I am not a king. I am Emrys, a warlock, destined to serve the Once and Future King," Merlin asserted, his voice emphasizing 'Emrys' and the 'King' whilst looking the Fisher king in the eyes, trying to explain to him as he would a small child. However, instead of understanding, the King emitted a raspy laugh that seemed to be wrested from the depths of his throat.

"You are Emrys, indeed. Yet, you are also Merlin, the son of Dragonlord Balinor Ambrosius and Hunith of Ealdor and while I am known as the Fisher King, most have forgotten my given name." The wounded king paused, not for dramatic effect, but to cough, his frail body trembling under the strain. After a deep breath, he resumed speaking.

"Allow me to introduce myself to you, Emrys. I am Makarius Strogen Ambrosius, King of these lands, and your great-great-grandfather. Consequently, you are the apparent heir to the throne. Blood of my blood." The Fisher King beamed at Merlin, as though presenting him with a precious and wondrous gift, though whether Merlin shared the same sentiment remained uncertain.

"But... Balinor is still alive. He is the rightful ruler of this kingdom. I cannot assume the role of a king and fulfil my destiny," Merlin stammered, his thoughts scattered. The realization that he might have to take on the responsibilities of a monarch and participate in the affairs of the kingdom clashed with his primary mission—to safeguard Arthur and aid him in his destined path.

The weight of the crown threatened to pull him away from his duty in Camelot, a task he deemed paramount. How could he protect Arthur and guide him towards his destiny if he became entangled in the affairs of a kingdom?

The Fisher King observed Merlin's internal struggle, his gaze filled with a mix of understanding and sympathy.

"Balinor can indeed assist you in ruling the kingdom, but he cannot be the King himself. The eldest, Emrys, is the rightful heir to the throne, and it is safe to say that you surpass even my own age," the Fisher King explained, his voice carrying a weight of ancient knowledge. As Merlin grappled with this revelation, the Fisher King mustered his remaining strength and slowly rose to his feet, his weakened legs carrying him unsteadily toward Merlin.

As the Fisher King drew nearer, his frail form displayed a determination that defied his feeble state,
"Emrys," the Fisher King whispered, his voice barely audible, "this is the very reason why you arrived in Albion long before your destined time. You are meant to rule over these lands, as ordained by the Old Religion."

The Fisher King reached out, his feeble hand coming to rest upon Merlin's shoulder, taking support and a tangible connection amidst the weight of their conversation. With his other hand, he tenderly presented Merlin with a vial containing the sacred water from the mystical lake of Avalon- Merlin already knew what to do with it- as Makarius continued, 

"Only your power, Emrys, can breathe life back into these desolate lands, and only the Ambrosius blood flowing through your veins grants you the authority to do so," the Fisher King rasped, his voice filled with a conviction borne from his own experiences. "This land will heed the call of no other but an Ambrosius."

Summoning his already fading strength, the ancient King raised his head and locked eyes with Merlin, their gaze carrying a profound understanding and shared purpose.
"After all these years, Merlin, this kingdom deserves a worthy ruler. You are Emrys, even Time bends at your command, this is just a Kingdom." His grandfather rasped with a slight smile and proceeded to remove his crown, worn and weathered, and gently placed it upon Merlin's head.

Merlin's heart raced with a mixture of panic and uncertainty. Throughout his long existence, he had skillfully avoided assuming leadership roles, recognizing that they evoked painful reminders of Arthur, and anyway, being a king or a leader wasn't in Merlin's nature- he had never considered himself to possess the qualities required for such positions.
Diplomacy was a foreign concept to him, and he had always prided himself on speaking his mind, regardless of the consequences or the audience.

The mere thought of having to navigate the intricacies of courtly etiquette and curb his outspoken nature made him shudder. He had always pitied Arthur when he had seen his King mince his words for propriety's sake and now winces when he realizes he might have to do the same. 

But then...he looks into the eyes of the King in front of him who had waited patiently for centuries, yearning for this very moment, an opportunity to pass on his legacy to someone worthy. It was a chance for him to find peace, knowing that his beloved lands would be entrusted to capable hands.
He knew that what the Fisher King said was true, that this is what the Old religion wished. He could feel it in his soul...

And perhaps, when the time came, Merlin would kneel before Arthur, offering more than just his magic. He would present a Kingdom—a realm shaped by his own efforts and guided by his unwavering dedication. In this way, Merlin realized, he could stand as an equal to Arthur, not just as a trusted advisor or a friend, but as a ruler in his own right.
It was this revelation that finally made Merlin close his eyes and bow his head in acceptance- the Fisher King smiled. 

He knew that it was now time for him to give the Old King his due, the bracelet. He summoned his magic and clicked his fingers causing the phoenix eye bracelet to materialize in a shimmering display above his open palm. Suspended in the air, it radiated with the ancient power of life and death. 

The Fisher King looked at Merlin as if he had given him the greatest gift and held the bracelet with both hands reverently, and with a contended sigh he allowed his soul and body to fade. 
Just before the Fisher King disappeared fully, his blue eyes- glowing faintly gold- met Merlin's briefly and those eyes spoke of relief.
Merlin found himself feeling envious-- Oh, to have an escape from the eternal coil of immortality.
With a soft sigh, mingled with a bittersweet smile, Merlin accepted that Makarius was gifted death because he was born a Mortal...but Merlin was born as Emrys which meant that death had never been and will never be in his cards. 


"Goodbye, Makarius Ambrosius," Merlin whispered into the air, his voice filled with a mix of reverence and longing. "May you find the peace and respite you so deserve, grandfather, a well-earned rest after your enduring journey."

.

.

.

After a long moment of silence, Merlin allowed himself to move on. 
Well," he thought, "no point in lazing around, is there?"

With a swift clap of his hands, the crown adorning Merlin's head vanished into thin air, dissipating like a wisp of smoke. Simultaneously, a wave of magic surged through him, causing his attire to transform before his very eyes.

In an instant, his subtle garments from the future were replaced by the familiar attire he had once donned during his days as a servant- for he needed to look the part if he was going to clean his new home. 

It took Merlin and his army of enchanted brooms and mops full five days to finish cleaning the castle. This process had been essential because now Merlin had gained full knowledge of the castle's siege tunnels and secret exits. The treasury, the ancient tombs of past Kings and the water catacombs were even more interesting. 
He had also spent a full day familiarizing himself with the castle library which, Merlin was happy to see was almost as extensive as his own.

He had decided to adopt the colour of Blue and Gold – Blue which was the Ambrosius House colour and Gold because that was the colour of his magic, as his Kingdom colours. He had also chosen a Dragon, which, unlike the Pendragon crest, was roaring in flight with a dragonlord riding on it- as the sigil for his kingdom. The flag was going to be a midnight blue with a Golden Dragon and Dragonlord on it.
What to name his Kingdom though? Should he keep the old name- Elmet or should he change it to signify new beginnings? 

Shelving that thought for later, he instead chose to look into some more basic details and asked Grettir questions whenever he couldn't understand something. The elf had centuries of knowledge related to this land and had proven to be quite useful to Merlin.

It took Merlin a week to regain the strength he had lost to achieve the Time Travel- he wasn't depleted completely but he wanted to be in full power for what he had planned next.

He made his way outside, to the middle of the wasteland called the Perilous Lands, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Spreading his arms wide he tipped his head back up towards the sky and called the Magic of Albion to him- the magic of the Earth, of the Sun and of the Sky and smiled when they readily responded. 

Kneeling on the dead and dry Earth, Merlin called the sky to the ground and heard the crackle of thunder and lightning. The pressure his Magic built called the water of the skies to him as it demanded that Nature fulfil her duty to this neglected Land.

For a second nothing happens...but then--Merlin huffs out a laugh when a drop of water lands on his upturned face, running down his cheekbone. His eyes open softly and only the skies witness golden light emanating from his eyes.
Two more drops hit his cheek and lip in quick succession and his tongue slides out to taste the fresh, cold water. 

A minute later the clouds burst and rain comes down in abundance. Signalling that it was time to move on to the next part of the ritual. 

Looking down at his hands Merlin sharpens his magic and makes it cut into his palms, blood starts flowing freely and the warlock sees it seep into the Earth below him. The land drinking it greedily. 
Merlin was both Life and Death, his immortal life force in his blood made it powerful beyond measure...his blood could heal this land better than Time could. His blood could revive the sleeping magic of this Land.
But that was not the only reason Merlin allowed himself to bleed...no. The main reason was that he was an Ambrosius and Blood Magic is what made the Perilous Lands so perilous so...to re-awaken this land, Merlin had to bleed and whisper as the Fisher King had in his dying moments, 

"Blood of my Blood. Land of my Ancestors...hear my words. Reawaken. Replenish. Revive."

Merlin's magic focuses on the dead, wasting life of the land and urges it to heed his bidding. He wanted the land to heal itself- to use Merlin's power for itself. He wanted it to be capable of growth and life.
But still, the land did not respond, stubborn in its repose. The rain continued coming down in sleets and Merlin's magic continued to prod but the land refused to budge.
A curious strand of Merlin's magic dug deeper into the core of the Perilous land, searching for its soul--and suddenly Merlin knew.

He knew what he needed to do- he had accepted the crown from Makarius before allowing the ancient King his eternal rest. He had essentially stolen from the Perilous Lands its King- a King it had worked hard to sustain. 
Now, the Perilous Land felt lost. Adrift without its King.


Merlin had accepted the crown but he had not accepted the title.
He needed to accept his new role as the King of this land, take on this responsibility and promise the land that he WILL take care of it. Only then will the Land beneath his feet will prosper. Merlin continued feeding his magic and blood into the land, but this time not as Emrys but as Merlin Ambrosius, King of this Land.
With that thought in mind, he tried once more.

He commanded the earth beneath his feet to obey, commanded its trees to grow, land to flourish, its water to flow and a wish for the Kingdom to be magical. He commanded its creatures to be friendly to the people of this kingdom but ferocious to those who meant to harm it. He was Merlin Emrys Ambrosius- warlock, dragonlord and a King.

"Finally," echoed the Land beneath Merlin's feet, its voice carried by the gentle tremors beneath the surface. The once-wounded earth responded to his touch, yielding and shifting with newfound vitality. The tectonic plates groaned and grumbled in both relief and awe, as if awakening from a long slumber. Life surged forth from the rejuvenated soil proving nature's resilience.

Trees sprouted and stretched their branches towards the sky, adorned with leaves of vibrant hues, as if celebrating their newfound strength. Fruits emerged, ripe and luscious, inviting the touch of those who dared to partake in their sweet offerings. Flowers burst forth in an array of captivating colours, each petal a brushstroke of nature's own masterpiece. The flora was so vibrant and vivid that even the slightest touch threatened to leave an indelible imprint of beauty on those fortunate enough to touch it.

The awe-inspiring transformation did not go unnoticed. Wyverns, their majestic wings outstretched, hovered in the air, drawn by the spectacle unfolding below. Their watchful eyes beheld the land's restoration with a mixture of curiosity and reverence, witnessing the power of magic intertwining with the innate resilience of the natural world.
Even Grettir, the stoic guardian of the border, stood at the edge of the transformed land. His usual stern expression softened, his eyes shimmering with tears of wonder. The sight before him moved him deeply, for he had witnessed the land's decay and desolation firsthand. But now, as he beheld the vibrant revival of nature and the enchantment that permeated the air, his heart swelled with awe and gratitude- Merlin smiled when Grettir bowed towards him. 

Wherever Merlin walked, flowers sprouted beneath his feet, their petals unfurling towards him as if he were the Sun itself. Each step he took seemed to breathe life into the surrounding landscape, coaxing nature's dormant magic to awaken and flourish. The air was filled with the delicate scent of blossoms and unable to resist its allure, Merlin reached out and plucked the ripe mango from one of the nearby trees. 

Without a second thought, he brought the fruit to his lips and took a bite, savouring the explosion of flavour that burst upon his tongue. The sweet juice of the mango cascaded down his hands, staining his fingertips with its golden nectar. It was a moment of pure indulgence, a simple act that brought joy and mirth to the sorcerer's heart.

In that moment, as laughter bubbled up from within him, Merlin felt a profound connection to the abundant life that surrounded him. The mango juice became a symbol of the land's generosity, its willingness to provide sustenance and delight. It was a reminder that magic, in all its grandeur, could be found in the simplest of pleasures.

With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, Merlin licked the sticky juice from his fingers, relishing the taste and the sheer delight of being in harmony with nature's bounty. He then spun around, his eyes dancing with delight, eagerly capturing every enchanting detail. The soft glow of bioluminescence illuminated the path before him, casting a gentle radiance that seemed to breathe life into every blade of grass and every whispering leaf. Merlin's gaze wandered, taking in the mesmerizing spectacle, until it finally settled upon a structure in the distance—a majestic edifice that bore a striking resemblance to a Majestic Castle. Its towering spires reached for the heavens, the sun shone behind it casting it in a Halo of its own. Its silhouette commanded attention, standing tall and proud against the horizon. 

With a mixture of curiosity and anticipation, Merlin felt an irresistible pull drawing him towards that distant castle as he approached the castle, Merlin was greeted by a breathtaking sight. Waterfalls cascaded gracefully from hidden openings in the walls, their crystalline streams adding a touch of ethereal beauty to the fortress. The water danced and sparkled, breathing life into the very heart of the castle.

The flag of the Kingdom fluttered proudly atop the highest tower, its vibrant colours waving defiantly in the sky. Wyverns soared in graceful arcs, circling protectively around the castle, their presence both a warning to potential foes and a promise of safeguarding its precious inhabitants. It was a symbol of unity and strength, a testament to the resilience and determination of the people who called this place home- the people who had lived and survived regardless of Uther's cruelty and intolerance. 

The name "Kingdom of Ambrosia" seemed to fit his surroundings. It was a name that resonated with him on a profound level, encompassing both his own heritage and the transcendent feeling the Kingdom instilled in his being for Ambrosia was the mythical nectar of the gods which embodied the essence of divine bliss and immortality. 
An immortal Kingdom for an Immortal King- it seemed to suit... now he just needed citizens. 

With a profound sense of purpose, Merlin closed his eyes, allowing his magic to extend its reach far and wide across the realm of Albion. His mind connected with the druids, the Cathas, and the ordinary people who concealed their magical abilities, like Gilli. He reached out to those who had been living in fear and on the run for years, such as Ruadan and Sefa.

He called upon those who had sacrificed their own happiness to protect their loved ones, like Gaius's daughter, Alice, and those cursed souls who had no place among their own kind, like Freya. His plea extended to all magical creatures, from the desperate gryphons forced to hunt for survival to the wise centaurs and enchanting fairies.

Merlin's voice carried across the winds, resonating with a message of hope and liberation. He beckoned to them, inviting them to find solace and belonging in his kingdom, a place where they would no longer be hunted or repressed. It was a call to gather under the banner of magic's rightful place, to unite and stand together against the shadows of the past.

To those who heard his words and recognized his true identity as Emrys, they would feel a sense of safety and joy, knowing that a brighter future was within reach...

They would know that the time of oppression was soon going to come to an end.

With unwavering trust, Merlin extended his call beyond the boundaries of magical beings. He summoned those without magic who held a special place in his heart. Like his mother, Hunith, and his first-ever friend, Will.
He called for Gwaine because even though he had been Arthur's knight, he had always been Merlin's friend first (Also, Merlin had a feeling that he would be needing Gwaine if he was to remain sane during this new challenge of being a King).

Merlin tried to call on Lancelot as well, but something told him not to as Lancelot's destiny was in Camelot, not in Ambrosia. 

Merlin's magical call echoed across the realms, reaching even the hidden corners, as he called upon his father, Balinor. The elusive dragonlord to come and find a home in Ambrosia- the land of his Ancestors too. 

With his call complete, Merlin opened his eyes and a gentle smile graced his lips.

He had done his part, now it was time to wait and see how many would respond to his call

*

A/N. Hey, guys hope you liked the chapter. If you did, don't forget to vote and leave a comment! Thank you !! ❤️