Archive of Our Own ^beta

Arthur was wary. They were expected to go off on some suicide mission just to appease a preacherman- although he had to admit, the worst-case scenario wasn’t that Galahad had been lying or gone insane- the worst-case scenario was that he wasn’t, but they didn’t entertain the idea. So the Lovers were preparing to leave. Arthur woke up early, smiling down at his lovers, asleep on the bed. They were his everything. They were all he had left. He leaves the quiet bedroom- or the would-be quiet bedroom, had Lancelot not been snoring. He decides to go check up on the wagon before they leave. He pushes open the door and takes a step out into the-

Lancelot was drunk. After Galahad’s prophesy, drunk seemed best. He hardly wanted to go on this quest, but he knew they had to. If God had damned the entire planet, then God had damned Camelot, and that was their town. God or not, Lancelot wasn’t going to stand for that. So, the night before they prepared to leave, Lancelot dragged his loves to the local tavern to drink the night away. Lancelot, drunk and loud, stumbles his way through the door towards-

Guenivere was worried. Arthur had been injured during a raid and he was rambling on about golden ages and redressed somethings- redressed wounds, probably. He was obviously delirious. Bedivire had said they would be better off leaving him to die in the desert. Lancelot had put a bullet in his head for that comment. She thought of their beloved Ygraine and their darling Peacemaker, thought of their fates. How would she ever forgive herself if she left three of her fifths to rot in the desert? Whenever she shut her eyes, it was all broken wedding bands and little kid limbs with bites taken out. What would she see if Arthur joined them? Caught up in her thoughts, she steps through the caravan entrance and-

Galahad was religious. If you asked any of the people who had ever met him, that’s what they’d say. His mother and father both agreed that he was only fit for the church, sending him off when he was young to travel around the world to preach to the people. Maybe this was why, when a statue started talking to him, he was sure it was a sign from God. What else could it be?! Inanimate objects don’t talk unless the Lord is talking through them. That’s just how it works. So when the Lord spoke through Merlin, Galahad knew what he had to do. He pushed open the door to-

Mordred was ecstatic. Finally, finally, he had gotten the power to make peace. All that was left to do was get the ghouls to agree. That couldn't be too difficult, could it? All that he had to do was go down into the underworld of people who were entirely displeased with the fact that he was raised among them, tell them that their worst enemies were suddenly ready to have peace, and get them to come up to the surface... yay! He jumps off of the ladder to the ground of-

Gawain was pissed. Mordred had vanished, leaving him to run Camelot all on his own. What if ghouls had raided? Sure, they hadn’t for years, but what if they did? And Mordred was just going to leave him?! Hell, no! He knew what Mordred was doing. He wasn't stupid. Mordred was chasing his stupid-ass fantasy of peace with the ghouls. He was going to get murdered, and that wouldn't be Gawain's fault. Good riddance, actually. He throws open the door-

Ulysses was in pain. Their bones ached and their muscles were being pulled apart as the big guy just kept hitting them. They felt like hell. Even the pain wasn’t enough to bring their mood down, the comedy of the situation still ringing in their mind. Tests, once built to test a if resistance leader deserved the last shred, the last evidence of nature, are now being broken by a bunch of thieves, murderers, and worst of all, a musician. They close their eyes as the big guy lets loose another blow-

Oedipus was intelligent. That was the main thing people told you about him, at least it was before the incident. The incident that destroyed his career, his reputation, everything. He tries not to think about it, as he always does. He wonders if his mother (his mother) knew of their relations. He hopes not, hopes she had nothing to do with the plot, because if his mother was willing to… ahem. Well. He hopes not, because what would that say about his genes? He was a firm believer in nature over nurture, so if that was his nature- well, he supposes it almost is, now. Whatever. He grabs the plugs and shoves them into his eyes-

Heracles was enraged, but when wasn’t he? That fucking nymph had just blamed him- him- for Hylas. Oh, no. No, no, no. No way in Hell was he going to just take that laying down. Not like he was sure Orpheus had, ha! God, that slut had some nerve- Heracles is gonna teach him a lesson- and then Ariadne is pushing him back, keeping him away from that- that- Is there anything he hasn’t called Orpheus? Ummmmm… Uhhhhhhh… whore? Whore, he hasn’t called him that yet. Ariadne is pushing him back, keeping him away from that whore. She says something to him. He doesn’t catch it, but he assumes that it’s something about how he shouldn’t bash that- that- oh, forget it- Orpheus’s head against the wall. he responds to her-

Orpheus was singing. Orpheus hadn’t sung in a while, not since he begged Hades to give him back his true love. But he was singing now, wasn’t he? It takes him a while to get back into the feeling of it. For a minute, he’s focused on everything but his song. The way the blood drains out of Ulysses’ nose, the way Oedipus turns his head so his ears are focused on Orpheus instead of his eyes, the way Heracles scowls, the way Ariadne is literally not paying attention at all. But eventually, he gets into his groove. The vault explodes with song, the wind whistles a tune, the water drips a beat, everything, everything, everything makes music. He can't help it, he sobs, weeps. So do the other suits, so does Ulysses. He's always been so good at making people cry with his songs, even more so when he's as desperate as he is now. The tears force his eyes shut-

Ariadne was jilted. She sat at the altar and sobbed. Her legacy was ruined, without a doubt. She didn’t even care. She wasn’t thinking about her legacy for the first time in years. She was just crying. But that had been years ago. Now, she just tries to get her money and go. She watches as Oedipus and Heracles do their own tasks. Oedipus’ trial is unseen, Heracles’ is simple. Fitting, she thinks. Orpheus says something he likely doesn’t have the mental capacity to understand is rude and Heracles tries to kill him for it. If Orpheus didn’t have to play his little harp or whatever it is, Ariadne would let him. But he does, so she doesn’t. She groans, moving to block him from-

Daedalus was hidden. He sits just outside the doorway, waiting for the moment they got the door open, but Lord, they were taking forever. Sure, maybe it wasn’t even half an hour, but Daedalus was never a patient man. Just ask Icarus. Granted, Icarus had been… a little bit of an accident. Maybe. But no matter, Icarus wasn’t the point, nor had he ever been, despite the foolish boy’s insistence. The point is that he’s paying these people way too much for them to not hurry through this. He rolls his eyes, turning around-

Rose was captured. She knew that much as she kicked and flailed, trying desperately to escape the soldiers’ grasps. They drag her down, down, down into the depths of New Constantinople, a horrible capital for a horrible country for a horrible king. They must get sick of her kicking, because they shove her head against a wall, not being nearly as careful as she knows Cole told them to be. Maybe that was why she was his best soldier. She always knew just the right ways to bend his rules so she wouldn’t get caught, but these guys? Amateurs. But it works, sufficiently incapacitating Rose just long enough to get her down the hall before they have to do it over again. When she keeps standing back up, they slam her head into the wall just hard enough-

Snow was crying. Of course she was! If even a single crew member stopped the constant up and down and left and right and back and forth of their motions, the entire ship was going down. She thought about the day before, when she had been preparing for a wedding. She thought fondly about helping her twin sister secure a veil to her hair, trying really hard not to cry. The twins didn’t have any parents left, so Snow had the honor of walking her sister down the isle. She had led Rose to the altar and moved to stand next to her, maid of honor. It had been wonderful. The General officiating the wedding had gotten far enough for Cinders to say her ‘I do’s, but before Rose could-

Cinders was singing. Cinders had to keep singing. If Cinders didn’t, it would be like giving up on Rose, and she couldn’t give up on Rose. She refused to. It just wasn’t an option to give up on her perfect, soft, wonderful Rose. Cinders could not die happy unless she got to hear Rose say her vows. If… if she still wanted to. Thirty years of being away from her love had convinced Cinders that the wedding day slaughter would never have taken Rose away from her, if only Cinders hadn’t have let her fight. Cinders pushes back the pain and sings-

Briar was free. Well, maybe. She was conscious. She was off of Briar. She wasn’t fighting. Although, even with all of those things, she still felt like a prisoner with these strange… musicians. She doesn’t want to be with musicians, much less strange ones. She wasn’t sure where they were taking her or what they would do with her, but she could go over what she does know. Her name is actually Rose. She has a sister named Snow. She misses her wife, her beloved Cinders. She wants to kill the king. All good things to know. She shouts as the starship lands, sending the inhabitants (and captive) flying-

Old King Cole was giving a speech. a good speech? Well, don’t ask him, the answer you get would be wrong. Cole was definitely giving a speech, though, regardless of quality. He was preparing his soldiers- and, of course, his civilians- for war. He had set his sights on a pretty, fertile planet. Ariel, it was called. He wanted- no, needed to have it. He was going to have it. So he rallied his forces and hand-fed them a story about tyranny on the small farming planet. He spun tales of conquest, pushing the people to strike against the planet-

Odin was talking. Talking about the train, about the wonders that would come from it. The conquest, the power. She held her head high and spoke of all she had done to make sure the train would be a success. She thanked the engineers, and if anyone noticed her eye dart to a compartment, the only one with the curtains drawn, they thought nothing of it. She steps onto her train and bids goodbye to her people-

Loki was… was she? She couldn’t be. Was she ever? She was. She had to be. But now she was not. Was she? Who was she? She was Loki. Loki was… was she? She couldn’t be. Was she ever? She was. She had to be. But now she was not. Was she? Who was she? She was Loki. Loki was… was she? She couldn’t be. Was she ever? She was. She had to be. But now she was not. Was she? Who was she? She was Loki. Loki was…

Thor was furious. Loki wasn’t dead. Loki was meant to be dead. He didn’t know if he was angrier that she hadn’t been executed for what she had done or what had been done to her- but he was sure he was angry for both. Loki deserved to die, yes, but to live how she was? She never deserved that. Nobody did. He threw open the door to Oden’s compartment-

Sigyn was reassuring the crew. They would soon break Fenrir from prison and take down Asgard. The plan would go off without a hitch, she was sure of it. The resistance had practically the entire Asgardian government hostage, any attempt to deny them would result in the deaths of every single government leader. Yes, even the sick ones. Gross. While she walks through the compartments, she notices something- a broken lock. Suspicious, she pushes open the door-

Lyfrassir was fucked. They did not want to work on this case. A missing train popped back up after decades of being lost to the cosmos. Oh, how they hated history class. It was tedious work, rewinding and fast-forwarding and replaying anything that looked key to the case. Almost nothing was. They pause when they see something in the compartments. It looks like a woman, curled into a ball on her bed, clutching at-