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(𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗢𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝘀; 1x3, 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝗻; OC)
..••°°°°••..
Emery often wondered how drunk the Triple Goddess had to have been to declare Arthur Pendragon as The Once and Future King.
It was this in this particular moment that the thought plagued her mind; as she watched the golden King declare his everlasting love to his sword, Excalibur.
She blinked once, twice.
And thrice.
Then slammed her head against the wall.
A part of her cursed her father. The idiot had only gone and jinxed her two weeks of supposed peace before he'd left to the outlying villages from reports of a spreading sickness.
She'd assumed it would be easy; not allow Arthur out of her sight, ensure the Knobheads of the Round Table didn't accidentally kill one another and Camelot didn't go to war for any petty reason.
Easy. Simple.
This, however, was not in the regime, and she was somewhat delighted that Lancelot Du Lac ―the man to whom she referred to as a gift from the Goddess― could share the disgust at the sight.
"What―" The Knight started, gesturing to their King before turning Emery away from the gory scene of Arthur devouring the sword, in an attempt to preserve a sort of innocence in the young girl. "What is this?"
"Magic." The raven-haired sorceress said with a 'duh' tone. She sent the Knight a raised brow and a 'seriously' look.
Lancelot pursed his lips, nods his head, chastising himself for even asking the obvious. "Yes, but what spell exactly?"
"My guess, a love spell or potion gone wrong."
"Can you do a spell to rid Arthur of it?"
Emery shakes her head, "Not without knowing what spell it is exactly or having the potion to reverse it."
"Right, well, Arthur hasn't left the castle at all for the last few days, so it's safe to assume that the sorcerer is still within our walls or more accurately―"
Lancelot's theory's fall dead of the girl's ears as magic thrums through the air sending goosebumps across her skin. She turns on her heel, heading for the door, ignoring Lancelot's calls as she begins trudging out of the Castle and down into the lower town of Camelot.
Her eyes dart along the villagers, multiple in heated moments of passion in broad daylight, ―some even uncaring of their spouses watching-others fawning over inanimate objects, ―much like the King― but magic oozed from their beings.
