Chapter Text

The end is really just like the beginning. (Messy and foolish and stupid.)

It is out of the storybooks and the fantasies that Lancelot helped spin when he waxed nostalgic over Camelot sometime in the 17th century. It's picturesque in the worst kind of way, for Galahad—well, Jenkins, always ended up looking like the very picture of heartbreak.

"Charlene. The sun still rises and sets in your eyes. Your soul is the only place I have ever found peace..."

"Oh, Galahad, please don't." Charlene hushes him. He loves her, she knows, in the same way he once loved Morgan... Well maybe not quite as much. Or right now. Or ever. (For one, she’s pretty positive he never told Morgan anything half as cheesy as that.) For all of his vices, Jenkins never lies, but he's not great at telling the truth and nothing but the truth.

Charlene knows exactly who he picked that up from.

(There’s always an endgame with him.)

It's odd, really, to see him like this again after so many years—broken, lonely, shattered. He's not the same boy that she had met all those years ago, but he's not quite the man that she knew he could be.

It's a pity to watch such a pure soul descend into its own personal hell. 

He would have made a good Librarian. Once.

He would have made a good Guardian too. (At least before attaining the Holy Grail.)

"You are the bravest, boldest, most loyal knight I have ever known," she tells him, kissing his cheek. It's not a lie, they both know, but it's not quite true. "You would've made a fine Librarian. But still my heart belongs to someone else. And that is who I must return to now."

He knows. He always does. (His eyes looked at her as if she was a dead woman walking the moment she returned home.)

"Yes. I understand." He sighs heavily. "It's just... well, it sucks."

"I know." (Just like it sucked when she lost Judson.)

(Just like it sucked when he lost her.)

—

She can hear the children twittering.

—

—

If only they knew half of it.

—

—

Chapter Text

scene i.

She first meets him when he is young, still handsome, still whole. It's a routine visit by Merlin who's dropping off the latest confiscated magical weapons and artifacts. Galahad is his escort at Arthur's insistence. After all, the aging sorcerer is getting up in his years, and Arthur doesn’t want to lose his most-trusted companion and greatest wizard over a milk run.

Galahad hovers by Merlin's side—close but not too close—to watch over the sorcerer. He certainly doesn't seem to mind being reduced from a knight to a common servant boy, and he listens to her instructions without complaint.

"I'm Galahad," he says to her with an easy smile, after insisting Merlin take a well-deserved break. "Pleasure to meet you, Guardian." He leans down to kiss her hand for an appropriate amount of time. (Even so, out of the corner of her eye, she can see Judson stiffen.)

She notices first that he's the only knight to properly address her by who she is and not what. (If she gets called 'my lady' again, she has half a mind to smack them upside the head. She is a lady, but she isn't theirs.)

Still, he reminds her too much of Lancelot—and Lancelot, for all his skill with the sword and way with words, is and will always be a Grade-A ass. (Her assessment isn’t entirely wrong—Merlin later tells him that the boy was the prick’s squire.)

"Unfortunately, I can’t say the same,” Charlene replies coolly, swiping her hand away. (Judson, she notices, breathes a little easier.) 

Most men would be upset at the rejection, but Galahad’s smile never falters.

His eyes are shining. “Hopefully I can prove you wrong.”

“I hate boot-lickers,” she says, rolling her eyes, and returns to her rightful place by Judson’s side.

—

—

scene ii.

“Need help with that?” Galahad asks as she’s trying to replace a book on the top shelf. “May I?” He holds out a hand for the book. Because her back’s been hurting, Charlene reluctantly relents and gives him the damn book. (It’s not her fault that she’s not as spry as she was a couple hundred years ago.) The boy replaces it on the shelf easily, sliding the book back into its rightful place.

“Thank you,” Charlene says begrudgingly.

He grins. “My pleasure.”

“Is it really?” She raises an eyebrow. Boys of his age probably have different things in mind when they think about their pleasure. Galahad, on his part, remains the same, his expression unchanging.

(Maybe the reason that she doesn’t trust him is because his smile is too bright to be real.)

“I do stuff like this all the time.” Galahad picks up the stack of books Charlene has been lugging around and begins to return them to their proper home on the shelf. “It’s really no trouble.”

As much as Charlene doesn’t trust the boy, she isn’t about to turn down free, high-quality work. “I still don’t like boot-lickers, you know,” she calls over her shoulder as she leaves him to it. 

Galahad laughs. “I know.”

—

—

Still, he helps her and Judson with their work whenever Merlin takes a break, smile bright (too bright to be real), eyes shining.

It might not be real, Charlene decides, but it’s real enough.

—

—

scene iii.

“This is amazing!” Galahad is bustling around, analyzing the newest artifact from some corner of the world and examining it under the careful supervision of the current Librarian Marcus. “It seems to have a formula of some sort to minimize magic usage and maximize damage output.”

He and Merlin begin to endlessly talk shop about the implications of the artifact or another before Galahad whips out a small silver hand mirror and starts bouncing ideas off the woman who answers on the other side. He’s grinning as he snarks with her on whether to focus on power or safety, and this time, Charlene knows for sure that his smile is real.

“Get the weights,” Charlene murmurs in Judson’s ear. “If he talks any longer, I swear he’s going to fly away with happiness.”

She fights back the urge to gag at the exchange. (For all of their obvious intelligence, the two of them obviously haven’t fully understood the meaning of discretion.)

Judson snickers behind his hand. "They're children," Judson reminds her gently. 

To her and Judson, perhaps, but to the rest of the world, they’re basically adults.

Charlene corrects, "They're fools."

Judson reaches out and intertwines their fingers. "We were like them once."

"Once." She harrumphs begrudgingly. "Then we wizened up some."

"We're still together, aren't we?" He raises an eyebrow.

Charlene rolls her eyes affectionately, drawing meaningless circles on the back of his hand. "I did say some, didn’t I?"

Judson laughs.

—

—

“I thought you were supposed to be more interested in swords, boot-licker,” Charlene calls as the boy is forced to stop mid-debate and take a much-needed breath for air.

Galahad looks at her and his smile fades. (And in this moment, it hurts to look at him, it hurts, because she recognizes those jaded eyes.) “Swords may win battles, but magic wins wars,” he says solemnly, “and war is coming.”

—

—

scene iv.

He’s right…almost.

War comes and is barely averted.

The Reynes Kingdom of the elves, in their arrogance, had decided to expand its territory into Camelot’s, only to be beaten back, though not without damages on both sides. Charlene had been up to her neck in paperwork, for it’s the Library’s responsibility to try to sort this matter out between the two kingdoms.

“Thus, based on the accords in Section 2, subsection 4, part D, you are in violation of the conclave’s decision, and we are legally able to bring down the entire force of the Library upon your kingdom,” Galahad says cheerfully.

Charlene and the newest Librarian Marcus exchange glances, both of them internally screaming at the idea of the Library, a very much neutral party in the magical community, going to war.

Galahad’s smile sharpens into a smirk. “Now, as much as I’m sure Camelot would love a good fight, we are civilized people in a very uncivilized world. An alternative to this impending conflict would be for damages to be paid to Camelot in reparations for endangering the lives of our citizens.”

“Merlin?” Judson, as the arbiter, prompts. “Anything you’d like to add?”

Merlin looks up from the spell book he’s writing, glances at Galahad, and then jabs a gnarled finger at the young knight in question. “What he said.”

“We attacked dragons and selkies!” The more aggressive of the two Reynes Kingdom’s representative protests, seething. “They’re nothing more than uncivilized beasts!”

Galahad’s expression tightens. “They are citizens of Camelot that are under our protection.”

“I expected nothing more from a kingdom run by those half-breed abominations.” The elf haughtily scoffs, cracking his knuckles. “We of the Reynes Kingdom are far more powerful than any little mortal like you could ever hope to be.”

“Don’t underestimate us. You don’t know who you’re trifling with.” Galahad stands to his full height, dwarfing the representative in shadow. His eyes burn hotter than dragon fire. “You will lose.”

“Confident, are we?” The elf smirks, rising from his seat. He jabs Galahad’s chest. “How’s this? I’ll agree to your terms if you can defeat me in a duel. If I win, Camelot will be ours.”

“Merlin?” Galahad looks at the sorcerer for permission. Appropriate, Charlene thinks, considering that Merlin is technically the official Camelot representative—in name, anyway.

“Stop stalling and beat the bloke already,” Merlin says without glancing up from his work. “I want to be back at Camelot in time for dinner.”

Galahad’s incisors glitter. “As you wish.”

—

—

“Aren’t you just a little concerned for the boy?” Charlene asks Merlin as the delegation mills around and waits for the duel to start. “That elf is one of the greatest warriors the Reynes Kingdom has produced.”

“Careful, Charlene.” Merlin raises an eyebrow, snickering behind his hand. “For a moment, I thought you were worried about him.”

“As if.” Charlene rolls her eyes. “I’m just worried about the mess he’s going to leave.”

“Well, Galahad’s ‘supposedly’ the greatest knight in the world.” Merlin shrugs. “Besides, he’s Morgan le Fay’s personal knight…” Merlin’s lip twitches at a memory that Charlene clearly isn’t privy to. “I think he’ll be fine.”

Merlin finally returns his spell book to his robes, looking down as the duel begins. Judson somehow has been roped in as the referee.

The elf rushes forward, blade brandished. He launches a volley of spells toward Galahad, racing toward the knight with all the force of a falling star. Galahad’s smile hasn’t wavered once as he unsheathes his sword. His blade is a blur, as the spells burst into harmless dust and gold.

In the dust, Charlene can see the elf lunge for Galahad’s undefended back. The knight spins around, his blade parrying the elf, sending sparks flying through the air. His foot rises up, smashing the elf in the face and sending the representative flying away. The elf retreats out of Galahad’s reach to the farthest corner of the arena, launching a seemingly endless barrage of spells and arrows.

Galahad seems to float just above the ground as he just dances out of reach, getting closer and closer. The elf feints, aiming for a shallow thrust, only for Galahad’s sweeping parry to pick up his blade and send it flying into the stands. The elf scrambles, attempting to put more distance between them, but Galahad’s hand shoots out and grabs him, magic burning at the knight’s fingertips.

Charlene smells the burning flesh before she hears the screams.

Galahad’s foot collides with the back of the elf, pushing the representative into the ground and literally grinding him underfoot. The tip of his sword presses up against the elf’s neck. Even as the elf writhes desperately on the earth for freedom, Galahad’s grip never once wavers. As the elf’s movements become smaller and weaker, Galahad whispers something quietly in the elf’s ear.

“I concede,” the Reynes Kingdom’s representative says at last, the elf’s pale skin flushed red and his silver eyes glaring daggers at the floor. “It’s your victory, knight”

“Good.” Galahad allows the elf to get up, offering him a hand. He gives the elf a very serene smile. “Let’s go over those terms.”

Merlin gives Charlene a small, little smirk. “You were worried?”

She glares at him. “Shut up.”

—

—

Chapter Text

scene i. 

For a knight, Charlene supposes, Galahad’s too soft during war and Galahad’s a little bit too indulgent during peacetime.

Charlene watches as the children clamber around him and on him. They’re all chattering away, trying to learn about one of his many exploits or another. Galahad beams at them all, humoring them with stories of his adventures and the like. Laughing, he pulls gifts out of midair and spars with each of them with wooden sticks.

“You look like you’re having fun,” Charlene notes in amusement, as Galahad manages to fenagle his way toward her, the children still dangling off him.

Galahad grins at her. “Want to join?”

“I’ll pass.” Coming to Camelot alone had been headache in it of itself. “Thanks.” Charlene adjusts the sleeve of the dress uncomfortably. “When will the negotiations begin again?”

“They’ll resume in fifteen.” Galahad’s eyes wander over to where the delegations are supposed to be not arguing. Charlene hears the raised voices and the egos that are beginning to bruise. “I’ll go make sure things are okay.” He gives the children a rueful smile. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

“Aw…” Reluctantly, they all disentangle from him and return to the ground, giving both Galahad and Charlene a cheerful wave before scampering back into the castle.

“You’ll play with us next time, right?” A girl tugs on his leg.

He ruffles her hair, flashing her a brilliant smile. “Of course.”

Pleased, the girl runs off to join the rest of her friends.

Charlene gives him a pointed look. “Should I add heartbreaker to the names I have for you?”

“Boot-licker and Galahad are fine,” Galahad laughs, his cheeks coloring just a little.

Charlene joins him as he begins cutting a path through the milling delegation members until they finally find the location of all the noise. Someone evidently had the bright idea of opening a bottle of fay wine and most, if not, all the delegations (Camelot’s included) had drunk enough until they were red in the face. Two dragons are brawling over some territory dispute, Merlin’s chatting up an elvish sorceress, Arthur is leading a couple of representatives through a rambunctious drinking song, and Morgan le Fay and Lady Sililandria are laughing and joking in the corner, thick as thieves.

“I take it negotiations are not happening in fifteen?” Charlene asks, already regretting letting Judson talking her into taking this particular convention.

“Probably not.” Galahad sighs before giving her a smile. “You should enjoy yourself.”

“Boot-licker, I am an official representative of the Library.” Charlene glares at him. “I am not about to get drunk.”

—

—

She is sooo drunk.

A lot of glasses of wine later and she’s as happy and exultant as the rest of them. Judson and the delegation can go take a hike, because Charlene is very single tonight! …or that’s just the alcohol talking. She’s not quite sure.

“I wanted to drink more, boot-licker!” Charlene protests as a very sober Galahad leads her through the castle and back to her guest room. “I do not have a bedtime!”

“Sorry, Guardian. The party’s over. Time to get to bed. We have a big day tomorrow.” The boy helps her to bed, urging her to drink a couple cups of water that she does reluctantly. “Good night, Guardian.”

“Hey.” Charlene drunkenly reaches out and grabs his hand before he can leave. “Why do you put up with me?” she slurs.

Galahad smiles, gently removing himself from her grip. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Maybe.” Charlene snuggles underneath the covers. “You’re still a boot-licker.”

The last thing she hears is his laughter before she falls asleep.

—

—

scene ii. 

With another Librarian’s passing, Charlene feels so…old. Since the destruction of Alexandria, every thing seems to be a wheel that keeps on turning, the same old coming and going. The Librarian and the Guardians of the new age come and go, yet she and Judson remain.

Everything’s just…numb. Her eyes are covered with jade colored glass, and right now, it’s like there’s nothing but darkness and more of the same.

The worst part is that she can’t talk to Judson about this—because to him, he is the Library, heart, body, and soul. Charlene…isn’t like that. Not at all. (She became his Guardian because of him.)

“Hey.” Galahad knocks on the door of her working quarters.

She stares at him. “I thought the artifact drop wasn’t supposed to be for another month.”

“It’s not.” He gives her a bright smile. “It’s a… personal visit. Mind if I come in?”

“Please do.” Charlene gestures for him to sit down.

Galahad settles down, offering her a steaming beverage. “I’ve brought tea from the fay. Apparently, it’ll be big in a couple hundred years. It’s supposed to be a good comfort drink.”

Charlene takes a cautious sip, tasting the herbs and the flower flavor, before she looks at Galahad. “What are you really doing here?”

“Checking up on you.” Galahad tilts his head, his eyes tracing over her and the surroundings like it is a strategy. “How are you?”

“Well, I’m fine,” Charlene says, shuffling a few papers in front of her. “So you can leave now.”

“Are you sure?” Galahad asks quietly. A pause. “I miss him too,” he admits quietly.  

She thinks of all of the Librarians she has loved and lost and thinks of the only one who she will always guard for the rest of her immortal life. “I’m so tired of it all, sometimes,” she says quietly. “Sometimes, I just wish it would just…stop.”

Galahad reaches out to give her hand a squeeze. His hands are surprisingly warm. “I’ll make more tea.” He smiles, and she feels less alone.    

Wiping away the seemingly never-ending tears, she finds herself recounting Marcus’s blunders and triumphs and all the stupid things he used to do and all of the things she’ll miss. She tells him about Alexandria and Judson and their adventures.

Galahad listens to her the entire time.

—

—

He’s just about to leave when Charlene has to force herself to stop him.

“Galahad…” The message in her hand feels like it’s corroding her soul. (Because she doesn’t want this life for him, not at all.) “Catch.”

He nearly drops the scroll that is clearly addressed with his name on it. Galahad looks at her, and her heart breaks. “I’m sorry,” he says without a moment’s hesitation. “I can’t.” 

She thinks of the way she saw Galahad look at Morgan le Fay. “I know.”

He moves to return the invitation, but she shakes her head. “Once given, the invitation can’t be returned. It’s the rules.” She gives him a ghost of a smile. “We both know how much you love rules.”

Galahad keeps looking at her, as if waiting for permission like a sad puppy. She decides to throw him a bone.

“Just get rid of it then, boot-licker. I don’t care.”  

“Very well.” Magic gathers in his hands, igniting the invitation in an inferno. “I’m sorry, Charlene,” he tells her again.

They both watch as the scroll burn to ashes in his hands.

—

She never tells him how relieved she is.

—

—

“Travel well,” he tells her before he leaves. 

“Where would I be going, boot-licker?” Charlene rolls her eyes. “I’m the Guardian of this Library, remember?”

He grins. “I remember.”

—

—

scene iii. 

When the Camelot delegation comes around, Charlene can’t help but linger in the doorway in hope of catching a glimpse of Galahad and thanking him for the tea he snuck into her desk. Instead, it’s only Merlin and a few knights that Charlene doesn’t recognize.

“Where’s Galahad?” she asks Merlin as they watch the knights unload the artifacts and technology. “Please tell me the boot-licker isn’t slacking off or…” Charlene trails off as she sees the odd expression on Merlin’s face.

“Charlene…” Merlin stares at her with the weight of a thousand ages upon his shoulders. “Galahad’s gone.” 

“Gone?” she echoes, wondering if this is all just a terrible joke.

“Gone,” Merlin repeats. “He’s dead.”

The world seems to stop. Galahad dead? Galahad? Charlene’s legs somehow feel very wobbly, and she somehow manages to find a chair. 

He died valiantly, according to Merlin, as the wizard begins to quietly recount the Grail Quest. Long story short, in the end, Galahad saved Sir Bors and Sir Percival as the cavern containing the Grail began to collapse, telling them to leave him behind and that he’d catch up later.

“There was no later,” Merlin whispers. “Idiot.”  

They never found the body. (There is victory in small mercies, she supposes.)

“What a fool.” Charlene covers eyes with her arm. She and Merlin both pretend they’re both fine behind their hands as they wipe the water away from their face. “Stupid, stupid boy.”

—

—

—

He was always a tragedy waiting to be written, she finally realizes, a character in a story living on already borrowed time.

Charlene never wanted to see the ending.

Chapter Text

scene i. 

A knock on her door makes her look up with annoyance. The current Librarian never once knocked and Judson knew he was welcome at any time and she’s beyond annoyed that someone managed to breach the Librarian’s defenses. “What are—” The anger evaporates as she sees the familiar smile and shining eyes.

His story was meant to be closed with the Holy Grail, but Charlene never once expected that there would be an epilogue.

“Hello, Guardian.” Galahad seems to be the same as ever, all kind smiles and gallant chivalry. He holds up a weighty chalice and gives her a broad grin. “Is there room in the Library for another artifact?”

Charlene struggles for words. “Galahad?” she breathes, rising up from her desk and beginning to cautiously bridge the gap between them. “But… you’re… you’re dead.”

“Well, I don’t feel dead,” he says teasingly. “You’ll have to wait until after Lady Pendragon gives me a tongue lashing.” Galahad presses the artifact into her hands. Charlene can feel the heady thrum of power vibrating from the grail. 

“Galahad?” Galahad tilts his head, scrutinizing her carefully, worriedly. “You must have really missed me, if you didn’t call me boot-licker. Sorry, Guar—” She knocks the breath out of his chest as she hugs him, squeezing him tightly to reaffirm that it is him, that he is in fact flesh and bone and here and safe and still alive.

“Welcome back, Galahad,” Charlene murmurs. She loosens her grip on him, looking up at his eyes, still shining but there’s something….different, something darker. “What happened in those two years?”

“Oh, this and that.” He shrugs. “Nothing much.”

Charlene looks at Galahad’s face, and she wonders what he had to do to get this artifact, why he had to return after two years. His eyes reveal nothing except a burning desire to return home.

Charlene reaches out and gives his arm a squeeze. “Are you sure?”

“I’m fine.” His face darkens a little when he adds, “Just make sure no one drinks from the Grail.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and she’s afraid to pry.  

—

“Travel well,” Charlene murmurs as Galahad prepares to depart for Camelot. “Boot-licker,” she adds. That gets him to laugh, just a little. His eyes sparkle in amusement.

“Travel well,” he echoes before he and his horse disappear with the horizon. 

—

(Galahad’s slightly broken smile haunts her for quite some time.)

—

—

scene ii. 

Since his return, Galahad’s visits become fewer and farther in between, but Merlin’s certainly aren’t. 

“He’s in high-demand,” Merlin sighs, rolling his eyes, as he and Tristan swing by with several rather dangerous artifacts in tow. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re the greatest knight in the world and the Grail Knight.” Merlin reaches into his robes and hands her a scroll. “The boy told me to give you this though.”

Charlene opens it up, scanning through the message. “This is lot of effort to just say that he’s fine,” Charlene says with a frown. “I’m most certainly not worried about the boot-licker that much.”

“Sure, sure.” Merlin holds up his palms in surrender. “No need to give me a reply or anything.” He smirks.

“Shut up.” Charlene scribbles a quick admonishment, though wishing Galahad the best and good fortune in the wars to come. She hurls the scroll at Merlin, conking him on the head with the message. “Make sure that gets to the boot-licker, will you?”

“I’ll do it when I see him.” Merlin winks. “Maybe.”

Charlene doesn’t even grace that comment with a response.

(But if Merlin gets ‘attacked’ by Nessie on the way out, Charlene has no idea how in the world that happened.)

—

—

—

scene iii. 

Galahad has long since stopped coming by the Library, duty sending him every which way at Arthur’s behest. Still, Charlene finds little notes and updates randomly scattered throughout the Library, and Charlene recognizes that neat scrawl.

Putting things in random places is her job, she thinks a little annoyed, as she finds a note tucked behind the globe behind her desk. It’s sweet of him to check up on her, but at this point, she’s far more interested to know how in the seven hell’s is the boot-licker is still getting in here. 

She writes a reply all the same.

—

Years pass and life goes on as usual.   

With the pixie problem of Camelot finally behind them, Morgan has somehow managed to drag both Judson and Charlene out of the Library to a local magical bar.

“The fate of the world isn’t hanging in the balance,” Morgan says at Charlene’s protests, flashing her a brilliant smile. “Enjoy yourselves for once.”

As much as Charlene wants to refuse—Morgan, after all, was supposedly one of the most evil magic users out there—Morgan hasn’t really done enough to warrant her distrust…or the rumors surrounding her, for that matter.

And if Galahad trusts her...

She hesitates. It’s enough for Judson to return to her side and give her his most winning smile.

“Come on.” He holds out a hand. “It’ll be relaxing.”

(It isn’t, but that’s beside the point.)

At the bar, one round of drinks later, and Merlin, Arthur, Tatiana, and Oberon eventually join them, ordering another round of fay wine. Judson’s hand rests on the small of Charlene’s back, and she feels the youngest she has in years, like in the old days in Alexandria.

Many, many glasses later, she and Judson are half-way recounting some exploit or another to the cheers and laughter of their friends, when Morgan’s face suddenly lights up and subtly moves away from the group.

“Galeas!” Morgan waves over the man who just walked into the bar. Galahad beams at her, navigating his way through the tables and patrons to return to her side. His eyes are outshining even the stars as he looks at her.

Morgan grins. “Welcome home, you fool.”

“I’m back, my lady.” He presses a quick kiss to her hand, their fingers briefly intertwining. There’s a glint that there causes Charlene’s eyes to squint, and through the drunken haze, Charlene just notices the ring of silver on Morgan’s hand and an identical ring of gold on Galahad’s.

(Charlene’s not drunk enough to not understand the significance of those rings according to fay custom, but she is sober enough to not call attention to it.)

Charlene can’t help but smile, intertwining her fingers with Judson.

—

After all these years, they’re still fools.

—

—

scene iv. 

Charlene is going to kill Judson when this is over. This is the last honest to god field mission she is going on while Judson plays babysitter to the newest Librarian.

Actually, this time.

She, Galahad, and Morgan are all trying to get into some nunnery for an artifact with little luck—as per usual. The nuns have been stone-walling her and Morgan for the past few minutes and she’s beginning to remember why she loathes mortals every few decades or so.

“Any ideas?” Charlene whispers as one of the nuns goes on a rather interesting tangent on religion.

Morgan winks, signaling to Galahad, who’s standing just across the way. “Just play along.”

Galahad comes over to the two of them. “My fair lady, is everything all—” he cuts off, collapsing on the spot, moaning. Morgan is immediately by his side, checking his forehead and gasping quite dramatically.

She should have been an actress in another life, Charlene thinks dryly. (It takes all of her willpower not to laugh at the sight of the greatest witch the world the greatest knight in the world putting on the worst theatrical performance of this century.)

“You’re burning up, sweet knight! Why, you’re deathly ill!” Morgan’s eyes well with tears as Galahad gives a surprisingly convincing chest-rattling cough. “Sisters, will you not help him in this time of need! Please, I beseech to help one of your faithful flock!”

The nuns exchange concerned glances.

—

Fifteen minutes later, they’ve retrieved the artifact, kicked some major demon ass, and are on their merry way, having rescued Galahad from the infirmary and the clutches of the mother abbess there.

“Faithful flock?” Galahad snickers behind his hand as he and Morgan begin to escort Charlene back to the Library at their insistence. In the past, Charlene would almost reveled in this discovery of a new side to the Grail Knight, but she’s a little preoccupied at the present. “My great aunt’s probably rolling in her grave.”

Morgan sticks her tongue out at him. “We both know she doesn’t have one yet.”

He shrugs, grinning. “Well, if you keep saying things like that… You never know.”

“Unlike someone, I—”

“Remind me to tell Judson to never go on an artifact hunt with both of you again,” Charlene interrupts, rubbing her temples. Her head feels like it’s splitting open. She gives them a very pointed look. “You two still haven’t learned the meaning of discretion.”

—

That comment, at least, shuts both of them up for the entire return trip home.

—

—

—

—

Judson looks up from the tome he's pouring over, giving Charlene that same little, knowing smile that she fell in love with. His eyes flick to where both Galahad and Morgan are hovering by the door. "I thought you said you were never going artifact hunting with Morgan le Fay and Galahad again, Charlene," he says wryly.

Ushering the witch and the knight out of the Library, Charlene rolls her eyes and heads out with them, not even bothering to grace Judson with a proper response. His playful laughter rings in her ears, even after the Library's door closes. 

She can't help but smile. 

Chapter Text

scene i. 

“Swords may win battles, but magic wins a,” Galahad had once said solemnly, almost prophetically, “and war is coming.”

The magical wars of Europe have begun.

There is only more death and more destruction. It is kingdom against kingdom, city against empire, empire against kingdom, and tribes against all of them, a chaotic swirl of absolute madness in which all are fighting for retributions for a slight that no one even remembers.

In the ensuing turmoil, Charlene finds her thoughts drifting to Camelot more than is appropriate for a Guardian of the very neutral Library. 

It’s been years since Galahad has personally come by the Library, a few months since she’s last heard from him at all. She hears from passing minstrels all about his exploits, ranging from the potentially believable to the absolutely ludicrous. (There is no way in all of the seven hells that Galahad would ever make a dragon laugh fire—for the love of the Library, the man couldn’t even act.)

She doesn’t see him again until there is a celebration for the peace brokered between the Fae Legion and Iron Kingdom, thanks in no small part to the Library and Camelot’s timely intervention. For a brief moment in time, there’s finally some semblance of peace. She and Judson had been forcibly dragged out of the Library by the current Librarian for the festivities.

Shooting her a very resigned smile, Judson had gone off with the Librarian a few minutes ago to go socialize and make nice. (Two things that Charlene is very much not a fan of doing at the moment, after dealing with the Fae Legion and the Iron Kingdom’s bullshit for the past month and a half.)

She’s much happier nursing her drink in the corner of the room alone, until she catches a glimpse of a familiar face moving swiftly through the crowd. “Boot-licker!” she calls, beckoning him to join her.

Galahad finds her waving in the crowd, his face bursting into a brilliant smile. “Charlene!” He’s by her side in an instant. “How are you?”

“Much better now that the negotiations are over.” Charlene takes a very long sip of her fay wine.

“I’m sure,” he laughs. “Lady Sililandria mentioned that you were exasperated by the end of it all. Excellent work with the treaty.”

Charlene harumphs good-naturedly. “And you?”

No matter how hard he tries, his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine.” 

“I see…” Narrowing her eyes, Charlene scrutinizes him more closely. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced, but the determined flames in his eyes stubbornly refuse to burn out. A red traveling cloak drapes over his shoulders, the golden Pendragon dragon on the back contrasting with the silver of his armor underneath. “Where are you heading off to?”

“The frontlines.” Galahad pulls his cloak around himself more tightly. “We still have wars to win.”

Charlene frowns. “I thought the war was over.”

“It’s never over.” There’s a cold distance in his voice, darker, deeper. The mask of the perfect, smiling knight cracks ever so slightly, but the darkness that leaked out evaporates as soon as he returns her concerned gaze, banishing the shadows with a reassuring, easy grin. “Travel well, Guardian.”

Charlene reaches out to grab his arm. “You should stay,” she finds herself saying, the words slipping out before she can stop them. “Let Lancelot take care of whatever mess he’s left you to clean up. Take a break.”

His lips twist into a pained smile. “Unfortunately, duty calls,” he says hollowly, “and big or small, we must do our duty.”

Galahad vanishes into the crowd before she can even properly say goodbye.

—

—

scene ii. 

The fragile peace doesn’t last for long. (It never does.)

Merlin disappears. Wild magic escalates

The Library is scrambling. There are more artifacts popping up day by day and they do not have the manpower to protect them all from untried and evil hands.

Even the Gods are beginning to move, striking up deals and bargains with mortals and immortals alike. Half the time, she doesn’t even know who’s alive anymore. (One day, they’ll be rumored to be dead; the next day, they’ll pop back up fine and dandy. A few days later, they’ll be gone forever, just like that.)

It will be a wonder if the world is still standing after this century as magic threatens to tear this world apart.

The Library needs more people, she realizes with a sinking feeling in her stomach. They need Librarians, not just a Librarian.

And lo and behold, Librarians come in the form of two identical twin brothers as if by Fate. Balthus and Zharradan. The greatest minds of their age with identical intellect and outlook.

They’re almost too good to be true.

(Many are called out, the Library whispers in their ears, but only one is chosen.)

Both she and Judson have reached an impasse fraught with doubt and uncertainty. There are rules for a reason, but in desperate times…

So they table the discussion—if at least, until they talk it out first. Judson goes off soul-searching with Odin and Thor while Charlene traverses down to Greece to speak to Athena and Apollo before circling back around what would become Europe to discuss matters with Freya.

Athena had offered strategy for the coming war and Ragnarok, reminding Charlene “You always have a choice.” Apollo had only given her terrible poetry. (“Sorry, Guardian,” he had said remorsefully. “The future’s a little dark right now… Ask later. …oh hey, that was a haiku!”)

Unlike the other two immortals, Freya merely shrugs.

Charlene tries again. “But the rules and the traditions and—”

The Norse Goddess cuts her off with a grand gesture toward the fjord below. “In the scheme of things, Guardian, does it matter? Fate is Fate is Fate. It has already been woven into the loom.” Her eyes are sad as she continues, “I look forward to meeting the warriors that will join me in Fólkvangr.”

Charlene can only watch thank Freya for her (unhelpful) counsel before the Norse Goddess rides off to what looks to be a battle far off into distance. There is a stillness, a quiet calm before the raging storm, then she can hear the war cries of the frost giants before a flash of light envelopes the area. 

She recognizes that magic anywhere.

Heart hammering out of her chest, Charlene begins to move rapidly in that direction.

—

—

By the time she gets there, Camelot’s forces have emerged victorious, and all that’s left of the frost giants are ashes and dust. Charlene finds herself swept up in the flurry of Camelot’s army as the soldiers—knights and witches and wizards alike—all scramble around to prepare for a rapid transition. A few of them give her a polite greeting and a wave, while Elaine the archer (not Elaine of Astolet or Elaine of Corbenic as Elaine liked to tell Charlene repeatedly) points Charlene in the direction of the general.

Charlene finds Galahad overseeing the operation with Mordred by his side. The boy, by the looks of it, is attempting to convince Galahad of something and not doing a good job at all. However, Galahad must have said something to soothe the boy’s pride or ego because the boy walks over to Bedivere’s side without further complaint. (Still, Charlene still catches Mordred giving Galahad a few concerned looks when the boy thinks Galahad isn’t looking.)

“You should relax a little, boot-licker,” Charlene says as she approaches Galahad. “You look like you’re still on the battlefield.”

“Well, one can always do battle—whether it be with swords or words.” He looks less and less like a knight and more and more like a battle hardened general, once shining eyes dulled with loss and war, his shoulders weighted down by armor and duty and the fate of the kingdom. “What can I do for you?” he asks dryly. “Surely this isn’t a social call.”

“Do you have time?” she asks, gesturing down to the rapidly moving army. “I don’t want to—” 

“Of course, I have time. What kind of question is that?” The formalities of the Library and of his position drop once again. “We have an hour before we move out.”  Galahad gives her a smile that reminds her of the boy he used to be. “I’ll make tea, Charlene.”

—

—

She tells him about everything, launching into the pros and cons and traditions and rules and everything and anything in between. At the end of it all, Charlene turns to look at the man.

“What do you think, boot-licker?”

He takes a long sip of tea. “I think…” he says slowly, carefully, “that some rules are meant to be broken.”

Charlene frowns. “What does that mean?”

Galahad shrugs, looking back at the burning remains of the battlefield. “Whatever you want it to, Charlene.”

—

—

The two Librarians are welcomed the very next day.

—

The Library rumbles. Charlene can’t quite tell if it’s in approval.

—

—

scene iii. 

Zharradan and Balthus are still arguing over the proper usage of magic and the Library, of the possibilities of letting normal mortals access the catalogs of the Library.

…they’ve been doing it for hours.

(This hasn’t been the first time; this is an argument that seems to be moving in perpetual motion, around, around again.)

“We are letting innocent people die when we could save them!” Balthus argues. “With magic and the Library, we can build a Utopia, the likes of which that have never been seen!”

“We are supposed to maintain balance!” Zharradan snaps. “What you are proposing is not the duty of the Librarian!”

“But we could make it so!” Balthus says with stars in his eyes, turning his attention to the knight stalking toward the bookshelves. “What do you think, Sir Galahad?”

Galahad glares at the both of them. He had come bearing artifacts from Camelot and hadn’t once stopped moving since his arrival weeks ago after being ordered to stay there and compile a catalog of some sort for Camelot. “You are both Librarians, and your duty is to protect the Library, not squabble over it like some petty children!” His answer is a predatory snarl, indicative of a caged beast desperately wanting to go free.

That at least silences both of them, and they both have the decency to look at least a little contrite.

She and Judson exchange concerned glances. (And briefly, Charlene wonders if it was a mistake to take both of them.)

—

—

“Something’s wrong.”

For the first time in weeks, Galahad is completely still, fear rolling off him like frozen gas, the darkness threatening to consumer his very being.  He moves to the door, preparing to depart, only to find Judson standing in his way.

“Stand aside, Judson!” he says, his voice smoking with fury. The boy is finally gone, dead and buried, and she doesn’t know the man who has replaced him. “I have to go back.”

“You had orders to remain here.” Judson levels a glare colder than a frost giant’s winter storm. “Morgan told me so. You must stay—the Library needs you!”

Galahad matches his stare. “I don’t care!” He seethes. Power is instinctively drawn to his fear and his fury, as the very ground around him begins to burn. “Stand aside!”

“No.” Judson juts out his chin, squaring himself and bracing for impact. Charlene activates the wards surrounding the Library preventing anyone from going in or out. “You know as well as I do that It is your duty to stay!”

“Duty?” Galahad’s lips peel off his teeth, his eyes full of flame. “Don’t you dare speak to me of duty, Librarian!”

Galahad makes a fist, and suddenly, Judson seizes, frozen in midair, as invisible, serpentine-like forces begin to pull him into their embrace. Judson sputters for breath, hands clawing at the nothingness strangling him, his feet dangling helplessly.

Charlene tries to rush forward, only to find herself and the other two Librarians frozen in place, straining against invisible bonds.

“Galahad, please….” Charlene manages to croak, even as his magic begins to tighten painfully around her. “Big or small, we must do our duty.”

He freezes.

Galahad lets his now unclenched hand fall to his side, dropping Judson unceremoniously to the ground. Judson falls to his knees, heaving for breath, clutching his throat. Charlene can suddenly move again. She chooses to race to Judson’s side, examining the elderly Librarian for injuries—only to find none.

She looks back to find Galahad smiling sadly down at them.

“Love is the death of duty,” Galahad says softly, his eyes roving between Charlene and Judson, “and we are encouraged to love, are we not?”

Galahad’s palm rests against the door, shattering the wards that prevent him from leaving.

He gives them all one last rueful look. “I’m sorry.”

The Library doors close with a slam.

—

—

She doesn’t know the details of what happened. (Bedivere never said, Excalibur won’t tell her, and there’s no one else left of the once shining kingdom to let her know.)

All she knows is that Camelot burns.

As the smoke clears, Galahad is long gone.

—

—

Chapter Text

scene i.

Her fears for the two Librarians prove correct during the Civil War that tears the Library in two. Even when both of the brothers are buried six feet under, their successors continue to take up arms and the cycle repeats over and over and over again. 

It is the twilight of the golden age of magic. Its light has surrendered to the darkness, leaving a shadow of civilization in its wake. The Dark Ages have fallen over Europe, torn apart by wild magic and the Library’s civil war. 

The Library survives. It always does in some way or some form. She and Judson are not new to this game—they have always learned how to endure. The Library is the reed before the storms of change, bending, perhaps at times, but never breaking. 

It takes years for her to finally see Galahad again—and by then, he is nothing but a pale imitation of himself. (Galahad, unlike the Library, broke.) 

She’s ambushed by some random peons of the Serpent Brotherhood while doing an artifact retrieval. Charlene is all ready to let them have a taste of blood and steel when a figure materializes from the shadows. The attack is over as soon as it started, the figure’s weapon becoming a glinting paintbrush that is dying the canvas with red. 

Her unwanted helper turns to her, offering a hand before freezing when their eyes meet. “Guardian?” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “Is that you?” 

“Galahad.” Charlene looks at the boy, and she doesn’t know who she’s looking at anymore. It’s a familiar face, yes, but he is a complete stranger. There is no Pendragon crest emblazoned on his cloak. The sword he had pulled from the stone is nowhere to be found. 

“I go by Jenkins now,” he murmurs. The familiar stranger looks down at his feet. “I’m glad to see that you’re well.” 

The shock of seeing him alive has finally worn away to reveal the white hot anger buried under layers of grief. Charlene herself cannot stop her hands from trembling and her head from thinking of what-could-have-beens if he had made the correct choices those hundreds of years ago. 

“The Library needed you, you know.” Her voice tightens. “You could have helped us end the war sooner.”  Charlene crosses the distance between them, yanking him down by his collar so they are truly face to face. 

“You knew your duty and yet you shirked it,” she hisses.  

“I know.” He shirks underneath the weight of her stare. “I’m sorry. There isn’t a day I wish I made another choice, but...” His voice breaks. “I thought I could save them.” (But Fate had a different plan. Camelot’s destruction had always been a fixed point in time, forever fated to become something so beautiful and so full of life only to collapse and die from within.) 

The silence stretches on for eons until Jenkins finally looks at her. “Look Guardian, I’m not asking for forgiveness or a second chance, but if you need help… next time let me know.” He says softly, “I’ll choose right this time.” 

She believes him. 

("I'm Galahad," he once said with an easy smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Guardian.") 

“What happened to you?” she asks, her heart quietly breaking. “Boot-licker…” 

He doesn’t reply and disappears once again into the darkness. 

—

—

She tells Judson about Jenkins when she returns to the Library and artifacts in hand. 

Judson says nothing, but no words are needed to feel the full extent of his fury. 

They both try not to speak of him again. 

—

—

scene ii.

They end up having to speak of him again. (It’s inevitable, really, if only because he seems to be dead set on retrieving artifacts and as a result, ends up running into the Librarian.) They decide to let it go. They’re short-staffed as is and a friendly, helping hand is welcome, even if it is his.

She sees him yet again when the newest Librarian Cateline drags him back to the Library, accusing him of something or another. “I found him trying to disable a trap around the artifact!” Cateline snaps, brandishing an accusatory finger at the bemused knight. “I think he’s with the Serpent Brotherhood!”

The years have softened them slightly to the point that even Judson laughs at that accusation. 

Gala—no, Jenkins just sighs, removing himself from the ropes Cateline tied him up in, pulls out a sack of dangerous artifacts, and begins to place them in their proper wings. 

“Hey!” Cateline races after him. “What part of you are my prisoner don’t you understand?” 

“All of it,” he says dryly, slipping away into the darkness without further ado. 

“Come back here!” Cateline snaps, running after him. “You could be with the Serpent Brotherhood for all we know!” 

“I’m not!” he calls from what sounds like rows of books down. “I can’t stand one of the leaders in charge.” 

—

— 

Charlene finds him reorganizing the occult section, adding several volumes that he must have picked up here and there. She looks at him disapprovingly. “Galahad.” 

“It’s Jenkins, Guardian,” he replies without missing a beat. “It’s organized by author name before topic,” Galaha—Jenkins explains rather crossly. “How are Librarians supposed to study the appropriate material quickly?” 

“You could just tell them,” Charlene points out. 

The younger man scoffs and goes back to reorganizing the bookshelves, writing a few labels in his neat scrawl. “That’s Judson’s and your job.” 

Sighing, she leaves him be. 

—

—

If Judson or Cateline notice that the bookshelves are more organized than usual, neither comments. 

—

—

“Why do you keep coming back?” Charlene demands when she finds Gala—Jenkins hiding out in her working quarters. (A better question, she supposes, is how, but he is firmly on their side at the moment and reducing the Library’s workload in the process, so she can’t really complain.)

“Same as you, I suppose.” He shrugs. “It’s all I have left.” 

—

This time, she only overlooks it because he makes her tea. (Galahad always made the best tea; Jenkins doesn’t do too bad of a job either.)

—

—

She once sees him into the Library with an artifact in tow and tired, empty eyes. Galahad reaches out to Excalibur, and finally, finally, finally, Excalibur finds him worthy enough to wield it once again.

His fingers run familiarly along the handle, finally resting to the pommel. Galahad presses his forehead to the cross guard, tears welling in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

The sword whimpers, nuzzling closer, urging its handle into his hands. 

She’s never once seen him look so broken. 

—

(She makes tea and leaves the kettle on. The next day, she finds the pot empty and a note in a neat scrawl that reads, Thank you.)

—

—

—

“You know, if you want to help, you’d be more useful if you just stayed in the Library.” Charlene leans on the doorframe. He’d just gotten back with Megingjörð, Thor’s belt, in tow. “It’d be a lot better than you hiding out in my workspace, you know.” 

Galahad—Jenkins looks up mid-tinkering, several less important artifacts scattered around him, Excalibur on his right handing him the appropriate tools. “Only Guardians and Librarians belong in the Library, Charlene,” he points out quietly, “and we both know what happens when rules are broken.” 

“We could still use your help.” Charlene settles by his side. “We need all the allies we can get after the civil war.”

He frowns. “You already have my help.” 

“Well, we need more of it,” she says in a tone of voice that means that doesn’t take no for an answer. “And I’m sick of you sneaking in, so you might as well just help out here.” 

“Judson won’t be mad?” he asks uncertainly. 

“He’ll be furious,” she deadpans, not mentioning that Judson has already long since approved of the notion (albeit begrudgingly). Charlene adds wryly, “But not as angry as I’m going to be if you keep making a mess in my quarters, boot-licker.”

A shadow of Galahad’s shining smile flits across his face. “Understood, Charlene.”  

—

—

The Library, it seems, has a fondness for bastards and broken things.  

When Ga—Jenkins joins (unofficially), the world doesn’t stop spinning, the Library remains standing, and things are business as usual. 

The Librarian and the Guardian are the face of the Library, but they know he have a demon that lurks in the darkness, a protective ghost that follows in their wake.  Where the Librarian and the Guardian are bathed in the light of the Library, he willingly walks in its shadows. 

As light battles with the dark, he is His Judgement that balances out the two sides through any means possible. She knows exactly where he goes and what he does when he disappears at random intervals or late at night—she’s not foolish enough to ignore the rumors surrounding a newfound specter in the magical community. 

Galahad would have never done anything like this. 

But Jenkins is not like Galahad in the sense that at least he has finally learned the meaning of the word discretion. 

—

—

—

—

scene iii.

As the years pass, life goes along as usual. Librarians and Guardians come and go, but she, Judson, and Galahad remain constant fixtures of the Library. There’s a tenuous equilibrium that has settled between them, a sort of cohesive mix of balance and trust that manages to last centuries. 

It’s almost broken by a single light fairy. 

He’s briefing Judson, Charlene, and Michael, the current Librarian, when a light fairy bursts into the Library, frantically zooming toward the “Custodian” (or whatever Judson has taken to calling him) and screeching to a mid-air stop. “Galahad!”

“Navi…” He pauses mid-lecture, holding the light fairy in his hands. “Why are you here?” 

“She needs help.” Charlene already knows exactly who she is. The light fairy flies up to his ear, muttering things that make Galah—Jenkins’ eyes go wide. 

Jenkins starts moving, grabbing his coat. “Hey! Where are you going?” the fairy races after him, demanding. 

“Yes, Galahad.” Charlene levels a cool gaze at him. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m going for a walk,” he says quietly. Magic whips around him with snarls of power, and the ghost of Galahad burns in his eyes. He grins, smile serene, eyes shining too brightly to be real as they meet Charlene’s. “Don’t wait up.”

“Gala—” He’s gone before she can say a word edgewise. 

—

—

She watches the ending unfold through a scrying glass. 

 “Morgan… please…” He holds out a hand, eyes pleading. “Please… I’m asking you to stay.” 

For a brief, painful moment, Charlene thinks she will, until Morgan glances over to where Charlene’s spell is hiding, her face falling. “I’m sorry, Galeas. Not this time...” Morgan pulls her hand back, where Charlene can see just a familiar glint of blue, and steps back into the shadows. “Travel… travel well, you fool.”

His hand falls uselessly to his side, face covered in shadow. “Travel well, my lady.” 

—

— 

He comes back a week later.

“Long walk,” Charlene remarks quietly, as he slips into the Library.

“Mmm” is his noncommittal response.

She calls, “We could have used your help you know.” 

“It worked out in the end, didn’t it?” A worn silver mirror is twirling in his hands. “Everyone’s alive. The artifact was retrieved. Happy ending.” 

“Is it?” Charlene doesn’t bother dulling the sharp, accusatory tone that has seeped from her words to what feels like her very being. “Would you have still come back if she had stayed?” 

“Yes!” he snarls.

“If you had to choose between her and the Library, who would you choose?” she demands, her voice echoing throughout the room. He stills, turning around to look at her, the mirror unceremoniously shoved back into his pocket.  

His gaze hardens. “The Library.”

—

—

It’s the only lie he ever tells her. 

—

—

scene iv.

Judson has been kidnapped by a nefarious entity, and Charlene has frantically tracked him down to Venice, Italy, with Gal—Jenkins tagging along for some reason. 

“No one asked you to come!” she snaps, as they race down the crowded streets with their pursuers hot in pursuit. “I’m a Guardian! I don’t need your help!” 

“Contrary to popular belief, I care about Judson too,” Jenkins points out crossly. He pushes a nearby fruit cart down, causing a commotion behind them. In the midst of the chaos, Jenkins yanks her into the alley. 

“Trust me,” he whispers, pleadingly. “Please play along.” 

He reaches out to cup her face, leaning in closer, and his eyes are so very deep and dark. For a moment, the rapid shouts and boots of their pursuers fade away. All she can hear is her heart thudding in her chest, a drumbeat for a soldier’s death march.  

“Mi amour,” he whispers, his breath tickling her ear. Jenkins pulls her close to him and moves to kiss her. 

Her hand instinctively smacks him across the face, sending him flying into the street, holding his reddened face in his hand. 

It’s cathartic…even if it did get them caught and hauled off to the lair of whoever kidnapped Judson to begin with. 

“Great work. I told you to play along, not get us caught!” Jenkins glares at Charlene as they are all marched to the villains to await their judgement. “I wasn’t even going to kiss you, you know.” 

“Well, how am I supposed to know that?” Charlene snaps, her cheeks coloring. 

“I know you’re a Guardian, but you should still be able to do the math,” he says dryly.  

“Oh be quiet, you…you…”

“Fool?” he supplies. 

Her retort involves several different curses in multiple languages. 

“…touché.” 

Charlene groans as they get closer and closer to their destination, pulling at the anti-magical chains binding her hands together. “This is the last time I do field work, you hear me?” 

“Isn’t that what you said last time?” Jenkins asks. 

“Be quiet or I’ll dock your pay!” 

“…but you don’t pay me?” 

Charlene can already feel a migraine coming. “Shut up.” 

—

—

If they don’t move soon, Judson is about to become a human sacrifice. Charlene is straining against her bonds, half-wishing that she brought more trustworthy backup than a man that can’t quite decide if he is a knight or a….custodian? caretaker? …Associate of the Library?

“Trust me?” Galahad asks her, as she continues to struggle desperately against her chains. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“You have a plan?” 

He nods. 

“Judson will live?” 

Another nod. 

Charlene doesn’t have anything else to lose at this point. “Fine.”

—

This time, his stupid plan works. 

Galahad breaks them both out of their bonds and proceeds to go to town on their captors. Charlene hauls Judson off the sacrificial glyph, smacking the old man lightly on the face. “That’s for making me worry, you idiot.”

Judson gives her a weak smile. “Fair enough.” 

They make it out without further difficulty as Jenkins covers for them, allowing them to escape through the door. Back in the Library, Charlene tends to Judson’s scrapes and cuts, and it’s just like old times. 

When Jenkins returns, his anger has burnt away to cinders of fear. 

“You all right?” he asks Judson, concern evident in his voice. 

Judson gives Charlene a small smile out of the corner of his eye. “Everything’s right as rain.” His hand squeezes Charlene’s, and in that moment, she remembers why she fell in love with him all those years ago. 

“Good.” The fear hasn’t quite left Jenkins’ eyes. “That’s good to hear.” 

—

—

—

—

“What are you so afraid of?” she asks Jenkins quietly over tea late one night. 

“Everything” is his immediate reply. She glares at him, and he continues, “I can’t lose you... or Judson.... or the Library...” He smiles, that same broken smile that he gave her when he returned from the Grail Quest. “Maybe it’s because by your side is the only place I’ll ever find any peace.”

She thinks of Judson and his kind eyes and his easy grin. “Gala—Jenkins, I—” 

“Charlene.” He gives her a small, reassuring smile. “I know.”

“Then…” 

“After all these years, all those losses, all that despair, you haven’t turned out like me.” He pours them both another cup of tea. “You have the purest soul I’ve ever met. Kind enough to take in a freeloader like me… Strong enough to last all these years as the Library’s faithful Guardian… Smart. Intelligent. Wise. Beautiful…” He trails off lost in thought before he turns to fix her with somber eyes.

“How easy it would have been to fall in love with you.” He reaches out, his hand ghosting over her cheek. “Sometimes… Sometimes I wish I had fallen in love with you,” he finally admits softly, guiltily. 

“Galahad…” She reaches out to close the distance, but he just pulls away. 

“It’s Jenkins, remember?” Galahad’s smile fades to Jenkins’s sober one. He won’t meet her eyes. “Thanks for listening, Charlene.” 

He leaves before she can get in another word, his cup of tea long forgotten. 

—

—

Chapter Text

scene i. 

Charlene sighs. As much as she loves Judson and the Library, she doesn’t have to like all of it. 

Case in point—the newest Librarian, Darrington Dare, is most certainly not on her top ten favorite things about her job. Darrington Dare is going to be a handful, Charlene knows off the bat. He’s brilliant, most certainly one of the greatest minds of his age, but he’s going to be a handful . 

Especially when he keeps butting heads with their resident…custodian? Steward? Protector? Well, no matter what Gala— Jenkins is officially called, he and the Librarian are certainly having a…vivid “discussion” over the artifacts. 

…she can already feel the migraine coming.

They’ve been at it for hours. 

It all started when Darrington tried to drink from the Holy Grail and only escalated from there. 

“Then what are the artifacts for? Gathering dust?” Darrington scoffs. “I thought you were supposed to be bold, Galahad . They didn’t mention you would be such a stickler for the rules. The legends are wrong, apparently.” 

Before Jenkins can open his mouth and hit Darrington with an even more acerbic comment, Charlene steps between the two of them. “Enough. You.” She jabs a finger at Darrington. “Go with Judson and get to work organizing the new artifact collection.” 

“But—” 

Her glare sends him off scampering, his tail between his legs. 

Charlene rounds on Jenkins. “And you …” She glowers at him, glasses glinting. 

The irritation emanating from Jenkins dissipates at once, as he says in amusement, “You know that your death glare doesn’t work anymore.” 

Charlene rolls her eyes, sobering slightly. “You’re being awfully hard on the boy.” Uncharacteristically so, she notes. Gala—Jenkins generally had a tendency to be mild-mannered and polite (to an irritating degree) to most Librarians and Guardians.  

 “Perhaps.” He shrugs. “He’s brash… arrogant…. prideful... stubborn...”

“Projecting much?” Charlene asks dryly. 

“Most certainly.” Jenkins’s eyes darken. “He’s not going to last long at this rate…” His voice drops a quiet octave. “…Mordred certainly didn’t.” 

Charlene bites her lip. They rarely talk about the past, particularly the elephant smothering the entire room named Camelot. This is a quiet intimacy that she is afraid of, where things hit too close to home, where she’s reminded of how deep and dark his eyes were that one time he had almost kissed her. 

(That unopened door, they both know, needs to remain firmly closed.) 

“It doesn’t have to be that way this time,” Charlene reminds him softly, gently. “You could help him.”

“It won’t be enough.” Jenkins shakes his head, his eyes full of ghosts. “It never is.” 

—

—

She still finds him watching her and Excalibur train their newest disciple regularly, like clockwork—even as the boy uses his old name to wound him, even as the boy disparages everything that Jenkins has become. (She regrets her slip of the tongue. After all these years, he’s still Galahad to her, still one of the heroes of the story.) 

Jenkins finally joins in one day, leaning against the bannister. “Work on your parry four,” Jenkins says quietly, as the pair takes a break after a furious spar. “And you’ll want to brush up on fighting multiple opponents.” 

“I don’t need help from a washed-up old has-been, Galahad, ” Darrington snaps. “You don’t even fight anymore.” He returns his attention to Excalibur, who’s intently gazing at Jenkins...or at least Charlene thinks it is. (It’s a little difficult to know, considering Excalibur doesn’t exactly have eyes.) 

A nod from Jenkins is enough for Excalibur to increase its speed, blasting past the boy’s guard. The sword clatters from Darrington’s hands, and Excalibur’s tip is pressing against Darrington’s throat. 

“You may have an anti-magic tattoo, but a doodle like that isn’t what’s going to keep you alive.” Jenkins calls Excalibur off with a wave of his hand, and Camelot’s Young Dragon rears his head, Galahad’s burning eyes fixing themselves upon Darrington. “The fundamentals first. They’re your life.”

Darrington’s expression softens slightly. “I didn’t know you actually cared.” 

“Please, Mr. Dare,” Jenkins deadpans. “I just don’t want to organize your funeral.” 

—

—

—

He doesn’t organize Darrington’s funeral, but that’s only because Charlene does it in his stead.

They find his body in his workshop, sword in hand, eyes glassy and vacant. It had been Jenkins’s idea to surprise him for a birthday, Judson’s idea to wait until late evening, and Charlene’s idea to burst open the door when Darrington didn’t answer. 

Judson is darting around the room, trying to recreate the scene, ever the Librarian. 

Charlene raises an eyebrow at Jenkins. “Aren’t you going to join him?” she asks quietly. 

Jenkins’s eyes darken. “There’s no need for such theatrics.” He bends down to close Darrington’s eyes. “Someone got through his parry four, and that was enough to let the rest of his assailants finish him off. Seven assailants, most likely from the Serpent Brotherhood. Only one remained uninjured from this fiasco…” Jenkins scrutinizes the cuts more closely, his eyes widening. “Lancelot…” he breathes, voice pained and furious all at once. He rises mechanically, eyes as empty as Darrington’s, crossing the room to open the door. 

“Where are you going?” Charlene calls after him. 

“For a walk.” Jenkins gives her a reassuring smile that just unnerves her even more. “It won’t take a week this time, I promise.” 

Nothing she ever could say would ever make him stay, so instead, she smiles. (Maybe this is why Galahad smiled so much in the old days.) “Then you better come back in time for dinner then.”

“Understood, Guardian.” 

—

—

He’s a little late that evening, but he makes up for it by bringing back her favorite dessert to the Library and a bottle of vintage fay wine. 

(They don’t hear from the Serpent Brotherhood directly for a good hundred years.) 

—

—

scene ii.

She first meets Angela when she is young, already beautiful and already whole. Charlene never expects Jenkins of all people to ever fall in love again, but here they are, in the 1930’s and the boy has done just that. His eyes are shining as he comes into the Library with a little girl clutching his hand like a lifeline. 

For a moment, she sees Galahad, all of him—the good, the bad—walk into her Library like old times. 

Excalibur races forward, blade at the ready to deal with the intruder, until it spots Jenkins and freezes, tilting its hilt quizzically. Jenkins waves the sword away, reaching down to ruffle the girl’s hair affectionately. 

“Why don’t you go introduce yourself?” Jenkins gently nudges the child forward, who, Charlene notices is, practically vibrating with excitement. The redhead bounds over to where Excalibur is waiting, asking the sword questions at a million miles a second. Excalibur—the traitor—indulges her along with Jenkins, excitedly whirling around the child, much to the redhead’s delight. 

(Someone ought to get the girl weights, Charlene notes somewhat nostalgically. She might float away at this rate.)

Then, of course, that traitorous excuse for a sword just happens to point out where Charlene is watching from the shadows, so of course , Jenkins suggests that the little girl introduces herself to Charlene too. Charlene can feel magic practically pooling around the girl, the child’s happiness drawing magic unconsciously to her like a moth to flame.

Charlene hasn’t felt so much magic in a mortal, since, well, before the Dark Ages, back during the Camelot days. 

“I’m Angela,” the little girl says, offering an outstretched hand accompanied an easy, familiar smile and shining eyes. “Nice to meet you, Charlene!” 

Charlene already has a very bad feeling about this. “Nice to meet you too, Angela.” She gives the child’s hand a firm shake before glaring at Jenkins. “Please tell me you didn’t kidnap her.” 

Angela and Galahad both exchange glances before shrugging, both quite not wanting to say yes and not quite saying no . “It was more along the lines of a daring rescue,” Galahad says, winking at the little redhead. “Right, kiddo?” 

“Right!” Angela smiles back, eyes shining. 

—

For some odd reason, Charlene doesn’t quite believe them. 

—

—

—

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve brought her here, Galahad?” she asks while Angela and Nessie and Excalibur are horsing around in what Nessie likes to call her Library lake. Charlene and Galahad are watching them by the wayside, still in view but well out of earshot. 

“She’s the result of a German magic experiment,” he begins slowly, deliberately. His expression is inscrutable. “Surely, you can sense what kind of magic she possesses and what she can become. She could be a great force for good, and she’s got nowhere else to go but here.”

It’s a somewhat decent argument, she’ll admit, even if it isn’t the whole truth. There is something to be said about seeing the same eyes in different people, but sometimes, that statement—like now—can be taken quite literally. 

Reincarnation is rare but not unheard of, Charlene supposes. (Though she never once heard anything about a child being born to Arthur’s second eldest sister.) 

“This isn’t a shelter, Galahad,” she points out softly. 

“This is better .” His eyes flash fiercely as he looks at her, his gaze heavy, his eyes pleading. “This is the Library .” 

The intensity burning in his eyes forces her to look away. “We can’t save everyone, Galahad,” Charlene says, even as she looks at Angela happily riding on Nessie’s back and desperately wishes they could. “Sometimes… sometimes, you just have to let go…”  

“I can’t .” Galahad’s eyes follow Angela like she is the gravity holding him to this world. His sealed magic roils inside of him, searching for an outlet, his emotions and memories spiraling out of control. “What use is power if you can’t protect the ones you love?” 

There is no use, Charlene knew—knows—as well as he does from her years of experience as a Guardian and as a mother who had to bury her son before his time. But still… 

The civil war still burns in both of their memories, still fresh and raw even underneath the scars and old wounds. “You know the rules and what happens to those that break them,” she reminds him.  

“You’re right of course, but sometimes rules are meant to be broken.” Galahad looks at her, really looks at her, and her resolve falters when she sees his familiar, shining eyes. “I think this is one of those times.”

Silence falls between them, broken only by the laughter coming from the Library Lake coming from afar. Charlene watches as Excalibur flies to Angela’s outstretched hand, the sword letting her brandish it in the air, like one of the knights of old.  

Seeing the child’s innocent smile, she privately can’t help but agree. 

—

—

The temporary arrangement becomes official and permanent when the girl’s magic goes out of control that night. Her no longer dormant powers cause the walls of the Library to shake, her nightmares becoming reality as the Library is swarmed with ghostly demons in white with shining scalpels and cold diamond black eyes. 

Jenkins calls Excalibur to him, and the two of them make quick work in turning those nightmares into dust. He kicks down the door of her temporary room with Judson and Charlene just behind him. They find her writhing on the bed, shrieking as phantom wounds and spasms wrack her. Galahad’s magic wraps around her protectively, easing her out of the nightmare. 

Angela’s brown eyes snap open. Her arms fling around Jenkins, frantically trying to make sure he is real . “Jenkins—they were coming to get you!” She is in hysterics, her breaths short and fast. “You said you left me—they… they—” 

“Shh… It’s all right. I’ve got you,” Galahad whispers soothingly as she sobs into his chest. “I’m not going to abandon you. No matter what, I will always be here for you.” Galahad’s eyes burn as he pulls her close. “I won’t let anything harm you—not now, not ever . ” 

It’s a promise born of love and devotion, but Charlene is terrified of what will happen if he cannot keep it.

He holds her until Angela has cried herself out. She sniffles, using the back of her hands to wipe her tears. She offers her pinky. “Promise?”

Galahad links their pinkies together. He smiles and magic itself seems to radiate with the very depths of his feelings. “Promise.”

—

—

—

scene iii.

“Charlene?” A knock causes Charlene to glance up from her accounting ledgers. 

It’s been a few months since Galahad brought the girl to the Library, and the little tyke had taken to it like a western dragon to fire, eagerly devouring every last bit of knowledge and gleefully exploring magic and swordplay. 

“You again ?” The corners of Charlene’s mouth quirk into an affectionate smile when she sees Angela standing in her doorway. The child’s fresh from the school day, her books in hand and a small, cheerful grin on her face. “Why must you keep blighting my work?”

Angela gives her an easy smile with bright, shining eyes. “Because you secretly adore me.”

(She does, but that’s not the point.)

Sometimes, Angela reminds her of Galahad so much that it hurts.  

“You know the rules now.” Charlene places the already prepared cookies and the just-finished pot of tea before the child, schooling her expression into one not unlike a serious school mistress. “Don’t touch—” 

“—the ledgers,” Angela finishes dutifully. “And always save the receipts!” 

“Mmm,” Charlene hums her approval. “Now make sure your old man remembers to do that, will you?” 

“Of course!” Angela grins before she busies herself helping Charlene sort through the Library’s correspondence and stamp letters and the like. They fall into an easy, companionable silence broken by the munching of cookies and the sipping of tea. 

Angela, of course, occasionally chatters about how Jenkins was going to make a training robot or something once he got back to make it even easier to train. 

“I’m going to name it Bob!” she says excitedly. 

Charlene can think of five million names that are better than that, especially given that the robot in question is only going to be a stupid machine. But Angela looks up at her so expectantly that Charlene can only smile and say, “That’s nice, dear” and offer her a cookie. 

—

—

Angela usually ends up staying with Charlene (or touring the Library with Judson when he has time) until Galahad returns from wherever he’s gallivanting off to. He comes home at six o’clock sharp like clockwork, and Angela races toward Jenkins, leaping into his arms for a bear-crushing hug. 

Today is no different. 

“Jenkins!” Angela squeals excitedly. “Welcome back!” 

“Hey there, kiddo.” Gala—Jenkins grins, ruffling her hair before swinging Angela around in the air in dizzying circles. “How’s my little lady doing?”

“Amazing!” Angela laughs. Jenkins sets the precocious child back onto the ground, bending down so he’s eye-level with the little girl. “I worked with Charlene today!” 

“Did you?” Jenkins gives an aside glance to where Charlene is standing, his eyes glimmering with amusement. Charlene sticks her tongue out at him. For a moment, she sees Galahad giving her a playful wink.  

“Yes! We had tea and cookies, and she let me organize her desk!” Angela clings to Jenkins’ leg, and the former knight gives her an adoring smile. “She also told me to tell you to remember to save your receipts.” She pokes an imperious finger to Jenkins’s stomach, staring at him with an expression of the utmost seriousness. “You’ve got that, Jenkins?” 

He gives Angela  a mock salute. “Loud and clear, ma’am.” He rises up to his full height. “Want to help me make dinner?” 

Angela’s excited little dance is answer enough. “Will you let me set something on fire again?” she asks as she calls Excalibur over to come join them.  The sword gleefully does, chattering away happily. 

Charlene’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “ Again?” She glares at Jenkins accusingly. Angela gives Jenkins a guilty expression, and the man has the decency of looking somewhat contrite. 

“Of course not ,” he says with an exaggerated, all-too-guilty-of-said-crime laugh. He schools his face into one that would not be out of place on a somber scholar. “We practice appropriate fire safety practices in the kitchen here, don’t we Angela?” 

Angela nods furiously. “Of course!” 

Excalibur chirps its agreement. 

Charlene glares at Jenkins, who just her an all too innocent shrug.

Jenkins then leans down and says in a mock-stage whisper to Angela and Excalibur, “I just got a new recipe that involves lots and lots of fire from Hephaestus.” He surreptitiously stares at Charlene before looking down at the two of them, “Don’t tell Charlene,” Jenkins mouths before beginning to whistle a jaunty little tune and heading off to the kitchen. Angela follows suit with Excalibur right behind her. 

Charlene sighs exasperatedly, an indulgent smile spreading across her face, as she watches the trio leave. It’s a quaint little picture of a father, daughter, and floating sword. 

….simultaneously, she’s praying that they don’t accidentally burn the Library down. 

—

(For the record, the Alexandria Fire Part II is thankfully avoided. Dinner that night is delicious.) 

—

—

Charlene finds herself hovering outside of Angela’s room as Jenkins tucks the child into bed one night. She watches Jenkins transform back into Galahad as chases the little girl around until he finally catches her, laughing and squealing, and hauls her into bed. Angela snuggles underneath the covers with her stuffed dragon in hand, looking up at Galahad expectantly. 

“Tell me about the witch and knight again,” Angela pleads. “Please?” 

“As you wish, my little lady,” Galahad says at last, settling himself on her bed. He begins weaving the tale of a nameless witch and her knight, who both go on adventures to help the people in their magical kingdom. 

Charlene can’t help but tune into Galahad’s smooth baritone as he describes the witch and her companion knight wandering around the land meeting friends and foes alike. Charlene joins them in their epic battles against dragons and frost giants, wanders with them in the forest with the mischievous Fay, and helps them build the shining city on the hill with a golden king with a golden crown.

“Did they love each other?” Angela asks quietly, her voice thick with drowsiness. 

“Very much,” he replies quietly. “They promised to love each other for forever and a day.” 

“Did they?” 

“They still do to this day,” he tells her softly. 

“That’s good.” Angela yawns. Charlene can hear the little girl shifting amongst the pillows and sheets. “They deserve to be happy.” 

He doesn’t reply, merely humming noncommittally. 

“I want to be just like them when I grow up,” Angela whispers softly like it is a secret. “I want to be able to help people too.” Charlene can hear Angela move on the bed, most likely reaching out to tug at Jenkins’s sleeve. “What did you want to be when you grew up, Jenkins?”

There is a long silence. 

“I wanted to do the very same,” he admits sadly. 

“And you did.” Angela wraps her tiny arms around his middle. “You helped me, didn’t you?” 

His expression freezes, and it’s Galahad, not Jenkins, who looks down at the little girl. “You’re right, of course, as per usual,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, as he presses a gentle kiss to the forehead. “Good night, my little lady.” 

Charlene can see Angela’s eyes drooping, her eyes heavy with sleep.“G’night, Jenkins,” she drowsily murmurs, tugging him closer before she drifts off to sleep.  

—

— 

—

Angela grows up quickly. 

It’s almost as if one day she’s seven and the next she’s twenty. 

Charlene sighs as she watches Angela patter around the Library, shelving books and helping them maintain the artifacts. It seems like only yesterday that Angela had been helping her with ledgers and afraid of her own magic. 

Now, she reminds Charlene of the best Camelot—the boundless enthusiasm for knowledge and the starry-eyed hope that there was always a chance to seize the light back from the darkness. Angela is the very picture of her mother, but she has her father’s eyes.  

(Charlene never once thought that she would ever find the best of Morgan le Fay and Galahad in one person, and yet here they are.) 

With the uncertain peace and numerous covert operations after the end of the Great War, it surprises no one that the Librarian dies. 

It does surprise everyone that, this time, the Library only sends one letter. 

Angela receives it with the same buzzing enthusiasm she had when she first came to the Library. Jenkins’ face whitens considerably. He looks at her with a mixture of pride and fear mixed into one.  

Fate is wrapping its hands around their necks, setting wheels and cogs into motion like a perverse Rube Goldberg machine. “You don’t need to do this,” Jenkins murmurs quietly. “You can still say no.” 

Charlene and Judson both glare at him, but Angela smiles. “I have to. Sometimes, you just have to meet your Fate, Jenkins,” she murmurs. “But you know that already, don’t you?” 

“I’m the Librarian,” Angela says to the Library, her voice ringing with absolute shining certainty, “if you’ll have me.”

The Library rumbles in clear approval. 

—

—

—

“It was my mother’s,” Jenkins says quietly as he presses a small ring into Angela’s hands. He just managed to catch Angela before she went off on her first field mission. “It’s been passed down from father to son.” 

Angela’s lower lip trembles. “I’m not your son.” 

“No.” Galahad’s eyes shine. He smiles. “You’re better.” 

It’s the only time Charlene ever sees either of them cry.

—

Angela never has a Guardian, but she does have a Jenkins.

(That’s more than enough.)

—

—

“Don’t forget me,” she tells him when he’s off to go take care of the situation in Japan. Jenkins, after all, had always gotten along better with the fei lung than Judson, Charlene and Angela ever did, and the drums of war are already beating loudly. 

“Never.” He ruffles her hair. 

She swats him away, pouting slightly. “I’m not a child anymore, Jenkins!” 

Galahad’s eyes sparkle with devotion. His hands reach out to pinch her cheek affectionately. “You’ll always be my little girl.” He kisses her forehead, his expression all soft, rounded edges and fondness. “Travel well, my little lady.”

She grins. “Travel well, Jenkins.” 

—

—

—

The end is just like the beginning. 

Angela is still beautiful and still whole, always ready with sparkling eyes and a reassuring smile. It’s her seventh year and counting as the Librarian and she’s still going strong, though she’s making plans to take a vacation once the war is over. 

But the second world war is still raging on. 

With the Spear of Destiny, Germany has been able to tilt the tide of the war in their favor. Hitler’s magical experiments are now intensifying to a frantic fever-pitch, threatening to engulf the world in darkness and chaos. 

Jenkins is still on the other side of the world tying up a few loose strings, but Angela, after just finishing an artifact retrieval mission in Italy, is ready and raring to go. Judson is already giving her the low-down, and Angela is already geared up and ready to go. 

Charlene watches the two of them prepare for a while before she asks the question that is the elephant in the proverbial room. “Are you going to let Jenkins know?” 

“No.” Angela continues to pack, not quite meeting Charlene’s eyes. 

“He’d want to know.” (“I won’t let anything harm you—not now, not ever ,” he had once promised her.)

“He can’t .” Angela, weighted down by duty, fixes Charlene with a hard stare. “It has to be me who does it. It’s my duty to fix this.” Her eyes sparkle. “And big or small, we must do our duty.” 

Charlene can practically see Angela being strangled by the loom of fate, her destiny and fate pre-ordained from the beginning. From the moment she was born, Angela has only ever been a puppet on a string yanked along by Destiny and Fate. 

“She is the Librarian,” Judson reminds Charlene softly. “She can handle it.” 

Charlene glares at him. She thinks of Angela’s intricate candelabra in the Candle Room and how her once brilliant flame is slowly burning out. Judging by the tense expression on his face, Judson is thinking about that too. 

Angela holds them both close in a bone-crushing hug. “I’ll be fine,” she reassures them both with a smile that does not quite reach her eyes. “I’ll be back soon.” 

—

—

She never comes back. 

—

—

Jenkins does. (What was left of Galahad doesn’t.) 

Jenkins returns a week since Hitler’s “suicide,” throwing open the Library doors with a bang before marching down the stone steps. Magic leaps to him, joyously reveling in his unraveled soul. It intertwines with his own magic to become an inferno that has become a summer storm, incinerating everything in his path.  

“There’s your peace,” he snarls, tossing the recovered piece of the Spear of Destiny onto the floor. It lands with a loud clatter before rolling over to where Judson and Charlene are standing. Jenkins’ eyes are crimson red, one part anger, two parts pain, and one hundred percent pure, unadulterated grief.

The boy that she had known and loved has been snuffed out like Angela’s candle. In that moment, Charlene knows that the incorruptible Grail Knight, the greatest knight in the world, is truly gone.  

“Jenkins,” Judson begins, “we’re—” 

“You got what you wanted. I hope you’re happy,” he snarls, brusquely pushing past him, all fire and flame and fury. The former knight storms away, slamming the door behind him. 

—

—

Charlene eventually finds him in an abandoned room in the midst of ashes and smoldering embers. He’s on the floor staring blankly at nothing, bottles of emptied alcohol and shattered mirror shards surrounding him.

His eyes flicker to life when she enters the room. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Charlene?” he asks in a broken whisper. “I could have saved her. I should have saved her.” His voice crescendos to a fortissimo. He rises to his full height, glaring down at her with all the fury of Hell in his eyes. “ Why didn’t you tell me? ” 

“She didn’t want us to,” Charlene replies quietly. “She said it was her duty to take care of it.”

Jenkins lets out a strangled cry, as he sinks back down to the floor despairingly. “Of course she would.” Angela had been the best of her mother and father, after all, and unlike the two of them, she had chosen correctly. (Somehow, duty won over love.) “I just wanted…. All I ever wanted for her was to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted.” 

“I know.” She reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “I know.” 

—

—

( Charlene had summed it up best, when she was uproariously drunk a hundred years ago. “You are a tragedy written in human skin,” she had said, cupping his face. “You were never meant to be happy.”

He had laughed at that. “I know.”)  

—

—

scene iv. 

There is a terse semblance of peace for a time with the newest Librarian and his Guardian filling the void that Angela left. 

It breaks when Charlene comes back to the Library to find Jenkins and Judson in a furious screaming match. 

“Ragnarok is coming, Judson, whether you like it or not!” Jenkins is pacing around like a caged dragon, eyes burning with rage. “You are preparing to refight the last war against the forces of darkness, but they have changed, studying you and the Library to remark themselves into something new . We need to adapt as well by experimenting on the artifacts and expanding our arsenal to—” 

“We are not fighting a preemptive war!” Judson growls. “That’s enough , Galahad.”

“Then what are you going to do with this? Use it to go and slay monsters and save people when the clippings book activates?” Jenkins seethes. “How will that protect them when the war is on our doorstep and all of Hell is here?”

“We always find a way with our minds—because that is what the Library and its Librarians are defined by.” Judson grounds his teeth in frustration. “What you are proposing is exactly what brought about the Civil War!” 

“And what you’re proposing is why you almost lost,” Jenkins shoots back. “You know as well as I that the pen is not mightier than the sword. Your mind didn’t protect you when all seemed lost—magic did. If we prepare accordingly we can—” 

“What good does it to prepare that way, you reckless, arrogant, selfish bastard?” Judson rounds on him, all pretense of politeness dropping. “Look at what you’ve done! You may blame Morgan for raising an army but you and only you were the one who destroyed Camelot!” Judson snaps. “And if your way worked so well, why did Angela come home as a corpse?”

Jenkins stares at him, the words hanging in the air. The truth wounds him far more deeply than any sword could. 

“ How. Dare. You. ” The shadow of the Grail Knight flits across his face. He raises a hand and Excalibur obliges, instinctively returning to his hand. “You have absolutely no right—” 

“Neither do you,” Judson growls, summoning his shield and spear. 

The murderous intent from both of them is enough for Charlene to take that as her cue. 

“ Enough! ” Charlene plants herself between the two of them before they can clash and damage the artifacts. Both of them freeze, staring at her. “Both of you go and cool your heads.” When they both don’t move, Charlene barks, “That wasn’t a suggestion, you numbskulls. That was an order ! Move !” 

After a terse second, Jenkins finally releases Excalibur and stalks away. Judson reluctantly returns his sword and shield to their usual resting place before moving to his office in the opposite direction. 

Charlene chooses to follow Judson out.

(She can feel the weight of Jenkins’ stare trailing after her.) 

—

—

Jenkins slides his official request for reassignment onto her desk the following month. She opens the letter, scans his bullshit reasons for wanting to go to the Annex in Portland and Judson’s concurrent with said assessment, and prepares to vehemently deny it. 

She’s just about to stamp it when Jenkins reaches out to stop her, his fingers gently wrapping themselves around her hand. 

“Please, Charlene.” His eyes—Angela’s eyes—are pleading. “I have to go.” 

“Jenkins… Why do you really want to go to the Annex?” Charlene pauses. His hand is warm against hers. ”It’s not on a ley line, you won’t have access to the artifacts, and it’s in Portland . No one in their right mind wants to go there.” 

“Well, good thing I’m not in my right mind,” he laughs hollowly. His once pristine soul has been bent and burnt and scarred to leave this broken shell of a knight. “I can’t do this anymore,” he says at last. “I can’t save you, I can’t save Judson, and I can’t watch you die. But no matter what I do, nothing ever changes—not now, not in the past, not ever.” Jenkins smiles sadly. “I finally learned my lesson. I’m finally letting go.” 

She sees him clearly for the first time—love and duty and honor and expectations and fear and fury are all chains around his neck, suffocating him underneath their weight. If he stays here any longer, he will strangle himself alive trying to free himself from their shackles. 

The years have mangled him beyond repair, and for all of her years and experience, Charlene can’t save someone who no longer wants to save himself. 

Her hands shake when she stamps approved on the request. “You will always have a home here, you know,” she says softly. 

“Thank you, Charlene. Thank you for everything.” He reaches across the desk to pull her into a warm embrace. “Good bye, Charlene,” he whispers. 

She holds him close. “Good bye, boot-licker.”  

He smiles. (Her heart breaks.)

—

—

Chapter Text

As dramatic as that parting was, both of them knew that wasn’t really goodbye. Time can heal all wounds, maybe not fully but enough so the cuts no longer bleed. She and Jenkins still keep in touch, even after he departs for the Annex.  

When she and Judson are going through a rough patch, she goes to Jenkins. (Outside of those at the main Library, Jenkins, she realizes, is her only friend.) When she and Gaston don't work out, she goes to Jenkins. (There’s no way in the Seven Hells that she’s talking about the matter with her not-ex but not partner Judson and Edward Wilde—who was never her favorite person, even before his betrayal—is a hard no.) When she and Judson finally work things out, Jenkins is the first one who congratulates them. (She has a sneaking suspicion that Jenkins had something to do with it—not that Judson or Jenkins would ever admit it.) 

She tells Jenkins about Flynn, keeps him up to date with the goings-on, complains about the boy having a nasty habit of forgetting the receipts. Jenkins talks about his latest experiments and breakthroughs. He sometimes asks for access to certain artifacts, and Charlene can’t find it in her heart to say no. 

She trusts him, flaws and all. 

After all the years Jenkins has served the Library, Charlene can confidently say that there is no one else she would rather have on their side. 

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And now…. Charlene has said her goodbyes and made her peace. The children are still tittering. Flynn, the son she never knew she wanted nor needed, looks on and she cannot wait to see how he and the rest of them will grow while she watches from the other side.  

“Goodbye, Galahad,” she whispers. 

For a brief, shining moment, Charlene sees the briefest glimmer of Galahad in Jenkins’ eyes. “Goodbye, my love.” 

Charlene forces herself not to laugh at the terrible pantomime for one Galahad is starring in. (An elderly immortal Galahad may now be, but his acting is still awful.) The chessboard is being set up, she knows, and she has a sneaking suspicion Jenkins has finally managed to regain his Queen, after all of this time. 

This time, she supposes, she will play along with his little game. 

Taking a step back, Charlene presses her hands to Jenkins’ and closes her eyes. 

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She can’t wait to see Judson again.