Sometimes, Things Went Wrong
The Emrys was supposed to be old, but he was never supposed to be this old. His joints were positively unmanageable these days.
But Arthur still hadn't risen from the lake, and the Emrys had promised to wait for him, so here he was.
"And you had better appreciate this," he grumbled at the lake. "I could be off exploring the New World instead of sitting around on the off chance that you're going to wake up sometime soon and need some explanations."
"Emrys?" Nemine said gently.
Too gently. Just because they'd argued earlier was no reason for her to treat him like glass now.
"I made supper." She held up a bowl of stew. It certainly smelled better than the meals he had to cook for himself every time his student visited the village.
But his magic roiled sickly within him, and he didn't think he could eat a bite. It always got bad near the anniversary of . . . well. The end. Normally it didn't get this bad this quickly, but by now he was resigned to it.
"You have to eat something," she said, eyes pleading.
He could never resist that look.
"Fine," he conceded. He could at least try to keep some down.
She smiled as he took it and started eating, but it faded quickly. She sat next to him on the grass. "Tell me the story again."
Not going to treat him like glass after all, it seemed. "Our people had opposed the Pendragons ever since Uther took the throne," he began. His voice was as past its prime as the rest of him, but he could still tell the story just fine.
"Not that part."
He stalled for a few precious moments by forcing more of the stew down. He could pretend she wanted one of the smaller stories that she'd loved when she was a child. He could start the story about Lance and the grey dragon or the funny one about Lionel and the cursed daisy chain.
But he knew better than to think that was what she wanted now.
"It's late," he tried, setting the bowl aside.
She stopped staring across the lake and turned to face him. "Emrys."
"You've heard it before," he reminded her desperately.
"It needs to be told again. They were our people, Emrys! Has a hundred years really made you forget?"
That was too far. He lurched to his feet. "I am not the one who doesn't remember!" The words echoed with a thread of his old power. Nemine flinched, and he gentled his voice. "You were a child then," he reminded her. "The memories are not so painful for you." To his old eyes she looked like little more than a child now. Thus far, at least, the spells he'd wrought to make sure he wouldn't lose the last of his people held firm.
Nemine was on her feet too. He'd never seen her eyes blazing that fierce. "Tell me. Tell me again how you left them vulnerable to go save your precious king! Tell me again how you abandoned them - "
"They should have been safe!" he roared back. "They - " A stabbing pain shot through his stomach. He wavered.
Nemine grabbed his arm and steadied him, but her nails bit hit into his fragile skin hard enough to draw blood. "Tell me again how your precious Arthur will rise again and make everything right while our people are no more than dust," she hissed.
"Nemine," he said. The word came out half-choked. "Something's wrong."
"All that magic," she said bitterly, "all that magic, and you just use it to wait for him. All the magic of our people left for us and us alone, and all you can think to do with it is wait for a failed king."
