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#land of albion
chaos-has-theories · 7 months
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The thing about "two sides of the same coin" is - you can only ever see one side.
Look: the coin is in the air. Flip, flip, flip. One face, then the other. One side up, twinkling in the light; one side down, obscured in shadow.
But at least the coin is still spinning.
At least they're still both there, almost meeting, two parts of a whole - flip, flip, flip.
But the coin was always going to land eventually.
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inalandofsadclowns · 11 months
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Forever salty over Kilgarrah not being able to help save Arthur, because if he couldn't save Arthur, that means his sole purpose in the finale was to give Merlin a speech. Just an elevated speech that was supposed to give Merlin hope for the future. The dragon, who had used Merlin's trust to break free. The same dragon, who had convinced Merlin to do some really bad things, while dangling the hope of a brighter future in front of his face like a treat. Bad things Merlin did NOT want to do, like attempting to kill Morgana instead of helping her–even though helping her was the choice that came naturally to him. Or like making an enemy out of Mordred, until he finally became one for real. Choices, he had made between tears, all because he trusted Kilgarrah. And then the dragon's words are going to be the final ray of hope for Merlin for the coming 1500 years, you say?
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arthurslesbian · 1 year
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nimueh saying "i expected so much more" she is such a compelling villain
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calledemrys · 1 year
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@stormbcrn​      /      closed  starter.
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𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓'𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐍'𝐒. his walk slows some at the mutual regard. their power is one unmistakable, is his the same to them? as kin, does he give off a similar aura towards them as they to him? his walk has come to a complete stall now. other servants stood anxiously in their presence, he provides them with a calm bow. 𝙰𝙽 𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝙵 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃.
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there is a slight pause before attention is pulled to their mother. silver tray is held out on one hand with practiced manners. ❛      𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓.      ❜ said as an explanation, half a smile pulling across. ❛      i know i'm not the usual to deliver but ... i think some of the others are just nervous.      ❜
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felixwylde · 6 months
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Norman's King Arthur
The legendary King Arthur presided over a mythical era of yore. His knights, while wielding swords, surprisingly upheld a code of honour, though it occasionally spiraled into violence.Arthur’s council comprised a solitary elder versed in peculiar matters like white phosphorus and willow bark chewing. None of this had democratic input from the people of Albion, Arthur’s realm.So, why do we still…
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bardoftara · 1 year
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History Always Rhymes
I’ve been informed lately, And I cannot understand, Why someone who lives in England, Wants to put me off my land! So I gotta write about it, And put it in a poem, Why should that English person want, To evict me from my home? (more…)
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i8i8t · 2 years
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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Selkie
In Celtic and Norse mythology, selkies (also spelled silkies, sylkies, selchies) or selkie folk (Scots: selkie fowk) meaning 'seal folk'[a] are mythological beings capable of therianthropy, changing from seal to human form by shedding their skin. They are found in folktales and mythology originating from the Northern Isles of Scotland.
The folk-tales frequently revolve around female selkies being coerced into relationships with humans by someone stealing and hiding their sealskin, thus exhibiting the tale motif of the swan maiden type.
There are counterparts in Faroese and Icelandic folklore that speak of seal-women and seal-skin.
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onceandfuturelesbian · 6 months
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COOL MERLIN FIC PROMPT THAT I NEED TO READ RIGHT THE FUCK NOW
okok so merlin’s arthur’s servant blah blah blah and his magic is revealed to arthur and arthur banishes him cause uther would kill him
when arthur becomes king, he sends search parties to find his servant friend love and bring him back home but they never find him
when merlin was banished, he wandered aimlessly until he came across the perilous lands. he decides to settle there to test the limits of his power and finds none. he heals the land, the flora blossoming beneath his touch and fauna returning to the once poisoned land. he revitalizes the castle to call his new home. builds the city back up so it doesn’t feel so empty. the wyverns come to accept him because he made the kingdom feel like home.
once the perilous lands, the kingdom of elmet is now known as a safe haven for magic users and king emrys, the greatest protector of magic and life.
arthur, heartbroken all over again because he can’t find merlin, begins to form alliances with kingdoms that previously wouldn’t consider camelot an ally. kingdoms where magic thrived. arthur had lifted the ban on magic the same day as his coronation, proving he was serious about peace for all. the first kingdom he contacts is elmet.
i think mordred probably lives in the castle with merlin, maybe morgana fled there too when she started realizing she had magic. arthur and morgana are united as brother and sister for the first time, uther had revealed on his death-bed. obviously merthur reunion and merthur endgame cause DUH!!! probably also morgwen or maybe morgwencelot (morgana was gone for a long time and lance was there for gwen)
they unite their two kingdoms, then the rest of albion, under the rule of the two high kings
ok this was longer than i intended but i would love love love to read this please i’m begging
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personaje-fics · 1 month
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you keep watching my eyes
Merlin/Arthur Pendragon. 1.100 words. General Audiences. AO3.
…….
"Come on, attack me as if you mean it."
Merlin adjusts his footing into a defensive posture, expecting his taunt to rise something in Arthur. It does. Apart from his words, his eyes are heavy on Arthur’s, his lips red and smug, his hands clenching and unclenching, ready to cast.
A soft breeze ruffles his hair. Arthur swings his sword.
Their weapons clash with a piercing sound, the force of it sends a thrill down Arthur’s arms. He laughs with exhilaration and swings again.
Little are the times when they can escape from their duties. It happened more often when Merlin was his servant, but since Arthur named him court sorcerer they never seem to have time for themselves, even though they still spend most of their days together.
That's why Arthur decided to tell Merlin to go to the stables that morning, and without explanation, he threw him the reins of his horse.
Merlin didn't complain, so he took it as a win.
The travel through the forest was surprisingly swift and uneventful. The gallop of the horses blended with the singing of birds above them, and blooming flowers announced the coming of spring. In the middle of all that nature, Arthur watched Merlin admire the landscape, and longed.
They arrived at a clearing covered in daisies, ate some of the food Arthur had brought and talked about the latest court gossip they knew. Then, when the silence grew too comfortable, Arthur had the marvellous idea of duelling, him with his sword and Merlin with his magic. The idea turned out not to be so marvellous, because he is, as expected, losing.
Merlin fends off every single one of his blows with magic. Arthur has never had more fun sparring.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Merlin taunts him, and, all right, he’d have more fun if Merlin didn’t spend half of the time mocking him.
"I'm trying here," Arthur does not whine, because kings don't whine.
"What? Is this too hard for the best warrior of Albion?"
Arthur gives him a smirk,
"You think I'm a good warrior?"
Merlin rolls his eyes and attacks again with the one-handed staff he had conjured. His eyes shine golden, like a sunset but better. Arthur gets a good few hits, trying to get closer to him. 
Arthur swings to his right, leaving his left open, and Merlin hits him with a beam of magic that sends him to the ground, landing on a bunch of daisies.
"You keep watching my eyes," Merlin points as he offers him a hand, "which is a good way of getting yourself killed."
Arthur takes the hand and gets up. He is closer to Merlin than he intended, but neither steps away. There, face to face, breathing the same air, Arthur pretends to be calm and with a grin says,
"What? Trying to kill me often?"
Merlin looks at him with something resembling fondness, but that might be exasperation. Then he puts his hand on Arthur's shoulder and gently pushes him, creating a distance between them Arthur never wants to be there.
"One last time?" Merlin asks. Arthur nods and grabs his sword from the ground.
He swings first, to Merlin's right, the sword bouncing off a golden magic shield. Merlin moves his hand down, and magic forms the vague shape of a sword that looks less solid than Arthur knows it is.
Merlin is not holding his weapon; it hovers in the air above his hand, and though it gives him agility and speed, it lacks firmness. Arthur strikes it, stepping towards Merlin, who steps back. Merlin swings, meeting Arthur's sword once, twice. He steps back again and slowly circles Arthur. He is careful to fully face Merlin at all times, though that is something he doesn’t need much practice on.
It’s easy to lose yourself in the slow dance that is fighting. Paying attention to every little one of your opponent's movements, and pointedly not looking at his eyes. Merlin raises his sword, and Arthur meets him there. Then, he lowers them both with a swift movement, and takes advantage of the lack of obstacles between them to tackle Merlin with his shoulder.
Because that is something Merlin has not yet learned. Your weapon is only an extension of yourself, and you must fight like you dance: with your whole body.
He lands on top of Merlin with a thud, and grinning, he says,
"I think I win."
Just after he speaks he realises how breathy his voice is, how his panting is less controlled than he thought it was. He notices how Merlin's chest moves against his own.
He rolls off him before their closeness makes him do something stupid, because this is something he has yet not learned: He can’t just tackle Merlin and expect to feel normal when they touch. He settles on his back, grass tickling his neck and forearms.
"You win," Merlin breathes. He then gets himself comfortable on the ground and closes his eyes. 
Sunlight filters through the tree leaves and paints Merlin with light, and Arthur wants to trace every inch of his face with his fingertips. The curve of his lips, his nose, his cheekbones. He wishes he could have the peace to see him like this every day, forever. 
"I can feel you watching me," Merlin whispers. 
"I don't know what you're talking about," he whispers back.
Merlin's lips stretch into a smile. He turns his face towards Arthur and opens his eyes. Arthur does not have the strength to look away.
Merlin props himself on an elbow, and looking down at Arthur, haloed by the afternoon light, says,
"Hi."
"Hi," Arthur answers, unsure how to react and what to do as Merlin brings a hand to his cheek, and, ever so slowly, leans down.
When their lips touch, it’s like the sun meeting the horizon. Arthur never wants to let go. He wraps his arms around Merlin, who climbs onto his lap without breaking the kiss.
Arthur lets his hands travel to Merlin's neck, then lower to whatever warmth they can find. He can feel one of Merlin’s hands on his chest, where his heart threatens to escape from his ribcage.
"I think I win, now," Merlin murmurs against his lips.
Arthur can only manage a "hm?", his mind fuzzy.
"I'm on top of you. I win."
Arthur huffs.
"That's cheating."
"According to who?" He can feel Merlin's smile against his.
"Me." He runs his fingers over Merlin's cheek, his chin, his jaw. It feels better than he would have ever imagined. "Now stop talking."
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emrys-merlin · 1 year
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I'm still so pissed about Merlin ending not because the episode was bad. Actually the episode per se was beautiful. Colin and Bradley were perfect. I cried.
I'm pissed because the protagonist was set up to fail, which doesn’t make for satisfying storytelling at all.
That's what gets me about the finale. For 5 series and 65 episodes, we've been promised Albion and freedom for sorcerers. And, okay, sure maybe Merlin got that when he went back to Camelot under Gwen's (and possibly Leon's) rule, but Arthur was supposed to be at his side as they unite the lands. When you watch it you're kinda just left going 'What the fuck?', and not in a good way
I mean, you could probably argue that the ending makes some sense, because Arthur did accept Merlin in the end, and it can be assumed that he was made free and Albion was perhaps born even after his death. In a way, they did unite the lands and make magic free and Arthur was at his side, albeit for only like a day. But that's the thing, we are just left to assume, because of that strange lorry-Dragon scene at the end. For all the emotional impact they've put into the show to make sure we latched onto the characters and their goals, etc, just leaving us to assume isn't enough, and I think that's where a big part of the problem lies.
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Queen of Hearts, A Summary:
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oumaheroes · 3 months
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My soul cries out for Scotland and England being siblings; I love those two and their stormy sense of brotherhood. I may or may not be biased cos my favourite period is medieval, which is ripe for England and Scotland conflict and shenanigans.
Congratulations on 1000 followers! You deserve it!
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Thank you so much, Ballad!! And to you too Nonny, that's a high compliment indeed <3
I got a few requests for UK bros and England and Scotland as a pair, so there will be more than just this. I hope this quick little story fits the bill in the meantime!
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Currency
Alba nodded in satisfaction as he tilted the horse's face slightly to the side, its rubbery lips soft and warm against his bare palm.
'Teeth seem fine.'
'Let me see.'
Alba bent to hold Albion up to the animal, settling his weight against his hip.
'Careful.' He warned as his brother reached out for the horse's nose, 'Slowly. Or she'll bite.'
'I know.' Albion said sharply, but paused his hands in mid air before lowering them carefully down on the short fur, 'I'm not stupid.'
'Sure.'
'So what do you think.' The horse's owner, a traveller from Gaul unusual this far up north, peered at them with lowered brows. His accent was thick, more used to the Brythonic dialects of the south than the midland ones now quick on Alba's tongue. 'You take her? She's strong; good for distance.'
'She seems healthy.' Alba agreed, 'Perfect for the winter.'
'That what you need her for?'
Alba didn't reply.
The stranger raised his hands, conceding, 'Well, she is yours if you want. She can't have more foal so she no good to me, and no war mount either.' He patted his other horse on its thick neck, the creature a good few hands taller than the smaller female they were discussing. They were tied together with a long rope, the smaller horse further tethered to a loaded wooden wagon.
Alba ignored this comment too. 'What do you want for her?' He asked, switching to what he hoped was the man's native tongue, a language from Northern Gaul he had picked up from some sailors a few years ago. It was useful to know the closest ones from the mainland and he was rewarded for his rusty troubles with a wry smile.
‘125 denarii’, The Gaul said smoothly, ‘Or equivalent, if you have other currency.’
'Coins?' Alba shifted Albion's weight, his brother slipping from his grip in his attempt to lean closer to the horse, too interested in stroking her to pay any attention to the conversation. 'What about in trade?'
'I trade in coin for horses.'
'We don't use coin here.' (1)
'Then you don't trade with me.'
Alba silently cursed. They did not need a horse, not in the way they needed food or shelter, but it would certainly be useful. Winter was tightening its grip on the land and a horse would make tracking across snow and icy terrain between clans much easier. Alba and Ériu could cross the distances fine enough, but their brothers were too young to make as many long treks without either numerous breaks in between or long stops in settlements. Summer, with its days of generous light and warm weather, made the amount of travelling Alba wanted to do easier, but as soon as the days grew short it became more and more difficult to move safely at any decent speed. Mama always had them more settled at this time of year, but even Albion could feel a new restlessness in the air that hadn't been there in her time.
A mare would help.
Alba placed Albion down and felt discreetly for the pouch of assorted coins against his leg. 'Why do you want coin?'
The Gaul shrugged, 'Much of the mainland uses coin. It's common.'
'Not here.'
'Here is not the main land.'
'Why for horses?'
The man spread an arm in an arc over his wagon, the thick waterproof cover high over whatever was piled underneath, 'Everything else, I'll trade for in these parts. But horses are worth their weight in gold, here as much as anywhere else. The value is not tradeable.'
Albion tugged at Alba's trousers, 'Let me back up.'
'We have quality things to trade.' Sticking to the stranger's language, Alba kept the Gaul's gaze. Albion tugged at him again and Alba gripped the shoulder of his cloak to hold him still, fingers digging down firm. 'Cloth, dyed. Jewellery, skins, meat-'
'I only trade horses in coin.'
The man spoke politely enough but Alba could hear the note of finality in his words.
'Adair-'
'Shh!' Alba pushed Albion away towards the horse, noting that she was still patient and calm despite the child by her feet. 'Go away.'
From his inner pocket, he lifted out the pouch which held their meagre collection of coins. They were all different: various sizes and colours, with different pictures on their sides. They found them along their travels by the sides of worn and well walked roads, usually in the south around port settlements and trade points. Albion and Ériu had a keen eye for them in the mud and grass and they had amassed a fair few.Alba selected the biggest one and held it out.
The man blinked at him.
'For the horse.' Alba said.
The man laughed loudly. Alba felt his cheeks flush and brought his hand back down, feeling wrong-footed. 'What?'
'You are serious?' The man shook his head and grinned, 'One coin?'
Alba frowned. 'You said you wanted coin. One horse, one coin.'
'By the Gods.' The man ran a hand through his hair and laughed again, 'If I didn't know you were serious, boy, I'd beat you for the cheek of it. One horse, one coin; my my.'
He huffed in amusement and gestured for the pouch, 'Show me those.'
He took the collection and tipped the contents into Alba's palm, moving the coins around with a thick index finger. 'You see the different faces and sizes? They all have different worth.'
Alba stared at them.
'They're not like pots, or furs, where the value is unique to what you’re trading.' The man continued, flipping over one of the coins, 'If one if shiny or newer, it doesn't change value. So long as it is the same weight. And the different sized coins represent different value, as well as what they’re made of.'
‘But some are gold.’
The man patted Alba hard on the shoulder, 'You need to learn money, boy, if you want to do proper trade.'
Alba forced his face to stay expressionless, 'Is it enough. For the mare.'
'No.'
Alba scoffed and tipped the money back into the pouch. 'Then this has been a waste of both our time.'
The Gaul sucked at his top lip behind his moustache and jerked his head over Alba's shoulder, 'They all yours?'
Ériu and Cymru were further away behind them on the muddy track, kicking a small rock back and forth between them. Ériu caught the rock between Crymu's feet and kicked it free with a shout of victory, dashing away to gain a clear advantage.
'Yes.' Alba said, watching them.
‘Parents? Clan?’
‘No.’
The man nodded. 'That's a lot of you. You’re all young to be alone as you are.'
Alba didn't reply.
‘Tell you what.’ Before Alba could react, too quick even to register exactly what happened, the man hunkered down and gripped a hand around Albion’s upper arm. He tugged him closer, hard enough so that Albion tripped over his feet, ‘I’ll take this one as payment. We’ll do it your way and make it a trade.’
He cupped a hand around Albion’s head to stare into his eyes, critical and cool as if assessing an animal, ‘He seems strong enough to grow into something worthwhile.’
‘Get off him!’ Alba’s voice cracked, surprise rendering him younger, and stepped forwards, one hand going to the dagger by his side.
The man put up a hand, eyes still on Albion, ‘Calm down. I’m only looking.’
‘He’s not for sale.’
‘You want to trade rather than pay? This is at least a fair exchange.’
Albion, the shock of being tugged about by a stranger finally having worn off, twisted sharply and bit down hard on the man’s wrist. The Gaul reacted in kind and stood with a yelp, sending Albion flying back with a wet thud into the muddy ground.
‘Vermin!’ He kicked out at Albion where he lay sprawled, catching him in the stomach.
Over Albion’s cry of pain, Alba heard Ériu shout something from behind him, then the sound of running.
The man returned his attention to Alba and cradled his wrist, his eyes flashing, ‘It was a true offer, made in kind faith. He would have had a better life with me and you’d know it, if you weren’t so damn foolish. Food, shelter; not this.’ He gestured to Alba’s worn clothes, travel stained and haphazardly repaired.
‘We don’t want the kindness, sir.’
‘Then by your own death be it.’ The Gaul shook out his hand and swung himself up onto his horse. Clicking his tongue, he kicked at its flank and moved them off without a look back.
Alba lunged forwards and quickly dragged Albion out of the way of the wheels before they could clip him, hoisting him into his arms.
‘You’re alright.’ He told him, more to make it true than anything else, ‘It wasn’t that bad.’
‘What happened?’ Ériu came panting beside him, looking from Alba to Albion and then at the retreating caravan, ‘Did he-‘
‘Leave it.’
Ériu reached for his dagger as Cymru came breathless and horrified by his side, ‘Who does he thi-‘
‘Leave it.’ Alba, grabbed his arm. ‘It’s not worth it.’
He felt Albion press his face into his shoulder, arms tight about his neck, and swallowed back something hot and bitter, ‘He’s not one of ours.’
Ériu’s expression soured into disgust, ‘I don’t think that should change anything.’
‘Doesn’t matter what you think.’ Alba turned away so that Ériu couldn’t see the shame and anger on his face, ‘It fucking does.’
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‘Adair.’
Alba opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling of their makeshift shelter. The campfire Ériu was guarding outside made the shadows jump, the outlines of the branches supporting the skins above their heads jumping and lengthening into nothingness.
‘Ad-‘
‘What, Arthur.’ Alba turned his head to find Albion, wide-eyed and watchful between him and Cymru.
‘What that man said earlier-‘
Alba turned away. ‘Go to sleep.’
‘Is that how people see us now?’
Albion’s voice was quiet, smaller beyond trying not to wake Cymru fast asleep on his back. Alba rolled back to face him, ‘See us like what.’
Albion shrugged, a small movement under heavy furs, ‘Alone.’
More than simply alone, Alba knew he meant. ‘Alone’ as something bad, something less than. Something to be pitied. He cracked the knuckles of one hand with his thumb under the covers as he thought of what to say, ‘We are alone.’
‘Mama was alone.’ Albion said quietly, ‘She used to say so, before we were here. But-’
‘Mama was grown.’
‘She wasn’t always.’
‘Before then, there were more. Mama was the last one of her family before we came along.’
‘It wasn’t a bad thing then, though. For her to be alone.’
‘Were you born?’ Alba raised an eyebrow even though Albion likely couldn’t see it, ‘How do you know.’
Albion stayed silent. Alba thought of his belly, the purple bruises they had found bloomed into his pale skin from the boot that caught him earlier, and reached for his brother to gently pull him closer, ‘We are alone. That’s our fate now. Believing it to be good or bad won’t change it. It just is.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Nothing wrong with being alone, anyway.’ Alba tucked Albion’s head under his chin, his hair cool from the chilly air, and closed his eyes, ‘We’re alright on our own.’
‘We need to get better at it.’
‘I’ll take your advice when you can stay awake through a watch.’
‘...That was one time.’
‘The only time we let you try.’
Albion huffed and shifted closer. ‘I don’t want to go on watch anyway.’
‘Then I don’t want your advice.’
Albion fell silent, and Alba listened through Cymru’s snores as his breathing slowed and deepened. Every experience had something to learn, Mama had always said, and the day’s teaching was a valuable one, as hard as it was to take. The world beyond their lands was unknown, and something they’d need to learn to read and understand if they wanted to work with it successfully.
The next day, Alba spread the illegible coins of foreign kings onto the ground and began to learn.
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AN:
(1) Celts and trade. Celtic peoples used a bartering system of trading goods, rather than using money. Coins were used to store or show wealth but were also just as often used in jewellery. Celtic nations on the European mainland did eventually start minting their own currencies, followed by the British Celts much later, but it was a system quite late to take compared to their contemporaries
You can read more about it here, though as always please do your own research!
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https://www.instagram.com/reel/CjlrMntsmN2/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link
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theredneckerchief · 7 months
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In which Melrin and the Knights are sitting around the campfire and Sir Percival is in charge of the story telling...
Percival: They call him...Emrys
Lancelot: *glances at Merlin*
Merin: *chokes on his soup*
Arthur: It's alright Merlin no need to be scared, Emrys doesn't actually exists
Percival: The Druids say, he was born from mortals in the time of the great purge, from a dragonlord who saught shelter and from a woman with a heart of gold. A child born from a love that could never be. The tripple goddess took pity on her peoples and gathered the lost magic of the dead felled by the Butcher King -sorry Arthur.
Arthur: *waves his hand for him to continue*
Merlin: *trying to catch Lancelot's eye and get him to change topics*
Lancelot: *looks at Merlin and nods* What happened next Perc?
Merlin: *mouths* traitor
Percival: Well, the babe was born with the lost magic of Albion coursing through his veins. A God in his own right. He can level any kingdom with a thought, create or destroy armies with the snap of his fingers.
Arthur: See Merlin? If he existed, I doubt "The Butcher King's" kingdom would still exist. *satisfied smirk at Merlin's pale face*
Percival: Ah you see Emrys was not born without purpose Arthur. He is the guardian of the Once and Future King. A King destined to usher a golden age of prosperity and unite the land of Albion under a banner of peace.
Gwaine: Sooo how would we know who this Emrys is? What if Arthur is that King?
Arthur: Whilst I appreciate the praise Gwaine, it's a children's story meant to scare people like Merlin. It can't possibly be true.
Percival: Well there is a way to test it... it is said that Emrys will respond to any prayer spoken sincerely by the Once and Future King.
Gwaine: Go on Arthur, try it *winks*
Merlin: I really don't think this is a good idea.
Leon: I agree with Merlin here, summoning a dangerous sorcerer is a bad idea...
Gwaine: We're not summoning him, just pray for something harmless, he can't refuse it right? So why not try? Or are you worried you're not this great King? *wiggles eyebrows*
Arthur: *growls* Fine. *closes eyes* As I sit here now I pray to Emrys to...uh...give Gwaine an apple.
Merlin: *Magics an apple infront of gwaine*
Arthur: *opens eyes* What? Why's everyone looking at me like that? *sees apple*...oh
Leon: Merlin...?
Merlin: *high pitched squeek* yeh?
Percival: I saw it too.
Gwaine: And me.
Arthur: What? What is it? I command you as the King of Camelot to tell me what the bloody hell is going on.
Leon: It's Merlin sire. His eyes... They blazed gold at your prayer...
Arthur: *laughing hysterically* Good one Leon.
*silence*
Arthur: You're serious? Yo- you mean Mer- *turns to Merlin, eyes fixed on his* As I sit here today, I pray to Emrys to sharpen my sword.
Merlin: *Eyes blaze gold*
*Arthur's sword unsheathes itself and starts sharpening itself mid-air*
Merlin: Um...tada? *jazz hands*
Elyan: *comes back from gathering firewood* So what was Percy's story about today?
(Inspired by this tumblr post:
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