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after

The sun cast golden hues over the land as it began to set, dipping slightly below the enormous parapets and spires of the towering castle that stood grandly at the center of Camelot. Though the day's work had ended, the activity of the evening had only begun, as people spilled into the streets and onto the castle grounds, talking excitedly amongst themselves.

In the days following the battle, the wounded had been treated – the dead buried and mourned. There were far fewer dead than most had anticipated, miraculously – their numbers cut short by the amazing light that had swept through Camelot in rumors and stories that would soon become myth. George had become a legend in his own right. And now, Camelot was safe, its citizens returning to their homes, a buzz of excitement in the air.

Tonight, there was to be a feast.

"A feast," the head cook complained bitterly, amidst the chaos of the kitchen. "Less than a week after the castle was nearly destroyed."

"But it wasn't destroyed," his assistant said with a grin, her hands and apron dusted with flour. "That's why there's a feast."

"Still. King Clay could have given me a little more time to prepare," the cook argued back, but he wasn't truly angry. Nobody was. Celebrations were being held across the entire city- across the entire kingdom, really - and the joyous atmosphere was hard to resist.

The war with Mercia was over, and Camelot was safe.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bad said, rushing across the Great Hall. "Sapnap, get down from there. Oh, my goodness."

"What?" Sapnap asked from the top of the ladder, where he was helping pin up decorations on the ceiling. "I'm helping!"

"You literally just got stabbed," Bad worried from the floor, holding onto the bottom of the ladder as though to steady it.

"I'm already better, Bad," Sapnap said, but when he leaned up a little higher to try and pin the garland, he had to hide a little wince at the stretch in his chest. "Ow. Okay... maybe these healing potions aren't an instant fix."

"That's literally what they told you," Bad said, but when Sapnap reached the ground, he just gave him a small, relieved smile as other people bustled around them, busy with preparations.

"I don't know if I thanked you," Sapnap said, suddenly looking embarrassed. "For helping me during the battle."

Bad gave him a look. "Sapnap," he said dryly. "No offense, but you are very dumb if you think you have to thank me for making sure you don't die. Give me a little credit as a friend, here."

Sapnap laughed and slung his arm across Bad's shoulders. "I do, Bad. I do."

"Can you believe we can't go to the feast?" Tommy grumbled from Mercia.

"I don't think it would be very proper," Tubbo said cheerfully as he continued washing dishes. The two of them were living in the Mercian castle, now; with the Circle effectively disbanded, Wilbur had taken charge of the country for the time being, and possibly forever.

"Oh, whatever," Tommy said, leaning against the wall and watching Tubbo do his chores. "Wasn't very proper for us to help them, either. Might as well get in on a bit of the fun."

"Wilbur has a lot to do here," Tubbo said.

"We aren't Wilbur, though."

Tubbo stopped for a second. "That's... actually a good point."

Tommy stood up straighter and looked at him with a glint in his eye. "We could nick a horse. Be there by supper."

Tubbo looked nervous. "Would... would they let us in?"

"Would they let us in," Tommy scoffed, grabbing Tubbo by the wrist and pulling him away from the kitchen, ignoring his little squawk. "Tubbo, I'm a personal friend of King Clay. They'll let us do whatever we damn well please."

Sylvia was holding her own, private celebration.

Her fire flickered warmly in her hearth, and she hummed as she swept around the kitchen, pulling a loaf of fresh-baked bread from the oven. Her windows were open, her curtains fluttering in the breeze, and for the first time in decades, she used her magic without restraint, nudging the oven door closed and using a small spell to fill the room with the scent of lavender.

While the bread cooled and she waited for her pot of water to boil, Sylvia went into her garden. Her plants were blooming with the spring, yellow marigold and red roses and branches of honeysuckle surrounding her. It was here Sylvia had always felt closest to the earth, and to her magic; here she had always felt closest to her daughter, even after her death.

"If you could see what your son has done," she said to the breeze, her eyes filling with tears, "you would be so proud."

The wind knocking against the branches sounded almost like wind chimes.

The Mercian boys made it to Camelot just in time to sneak their way into the Great Hall for the feast, and although Tommy did an excellent job of commandeering his way inside, he really didn't have much of it to do; there was enough commotion and excitement for the two boys to go largely unnoticed.

The Hall had been transformed into an enormous dining room, long tables filling the space that had just recently been occupied with the war table, stacked tall with food, as decadent as any of the King's feasts. The room was packed with noblemen and civilians alike, knights and servants, all eating from the same tables, sharing wine and stories of the previous days.

Tommy and Tubbo grabbed plates full of food right away, sequestering themselves to the far corner and watching with amusement as the festivities carried on; musicians played from the opposite corner as one especially loud knight named Eret told the story of the battle to a group of nearby children.

"The magic light stopped the bad sorcerers from attacking," he said grandly, "and then we fought them back, one by one, until they retreated – and Camelot was saved!"

"The magic light," Tommy scoffed to Tubbo. "Give George a little credit, here."

"Have you seen him, by the way?" Tubbo asked, scanning the crowd. "Or King Clay?"

"Come to think of it, I haven't." Tommy felt an actual stab of worry. He had heard George had been seriously hurt – and he wondered if he was doing okay.

He didn't have to wonder for long. The doors to the Great Hall opened with the grand sound of trumpets, and every person rose to their feet in roaring applause as King Clay walked through the doors. Standing next to him, limping slightly but alive and smiling, was George himself.

Tommy leapt to his feet alongside the crowd, whooping loud enough that he earned himself a few glances from those closest to him – and from George, who seemed to recognize the cheer, and whose eyes found Tommy in the crowd. George looked bewildered to see him, but he grinned anyway and waved at him weakly.

"That's my boy," Tommy roared as Clay and George walked through the tables, noticing how George leaned just a little against Clay's arm, like he was using him for balance.

Clay turned and motioned for quiet, and a hush fell over the crowd.

"We have a lot to celebrate tonight," King Clay said, his voice cheerful. "Our kingdom is safe. The war is over. And – as many of you have heard, and now understand why – magic will be restored to Camelot."

There was a great cheer.

"The process of reintroducing magic to our lands will be an ongoing process with several challenges," Clay continued. "And as such, I've determined I need an advisor – someone to help me oversee magical affairs. After... much deliberation," he said, sparking a few chuckles, "I've decided who that person should be."

He turned towards George, who sank to one knee in front of him, in a motion that echoed a knighting.

"George," Clay said quietly, so that Tommy could barely hear him.

"What, do they think they're the only two people in the room?" he muttered to Tubbo, who giggled.

"Do you swear to defend Camelot with your life, and to use your magic solely in defense of its people, and those who are helpless and in need of aid?" said Clay, his voice ringing clearer now.

"I swear," said George.

"Then rise," Clay said, "as the first Court Sorcerer of Camelot."

Although Clay had to help George to his feet, the effect was the same. As were the cheers.

And of course, because Wilbur always knew what Tommy was going to do before he could do it, Tommy found a letter in his travelling jacket, addressed to King Clay. He delivered it sheepishly that night, watching the king skim it over briefly before smiling and thanking Tommy for the delivery. The letter read:

To His Highness, King Clay of Camelot:

The war is over, and our initial reason for correspondence has come to a close.

I hope, however, to maintain our communication. I remember speaking to you briefly about a possible alliance, of sorts; a different kind of governance, less reliant on warfare and inheritance to sustain itself. Perhaps it is time for these old kingdoms to come to an end.

I would like for us to talk about this new system of governance soon. In the meantime, I hope our kingdoms can enjoy a period of peace.

Finally, I thought to inform you that Technoblade and his companion have moved on from Albion, in search of new lands to explore – and perhaps to conquer. Though it seems perhaps the two of you found some understanding – I would not want you to live in dread of another unwelcome encounter.

With well wishes, and, as always, in solidarity,

King Wilbur of Mercia.

P.S. You may keep Tommy for as long as you can tolerate him.

The feast stretched well into the evening, the food good and the wine flowing generously. But long after the last drunken celebrators had found their way home – after George had found Tommy and Tubbo an empty guest room for them to sleep in before they returned to Mercia – after the lights had gone out in the castle, leaving it dark and peaceful, there was still one window left alight, two voices left whispering into the shadows.

Dream and George were curled up next to each other on their bed, propped up against the headboard. George's head rested against Dream's chest and Dream's arm wrapped around his shoulders. The fire was starting to dim in the hearth, and George lifted an absent hand to relight it, coaxing the flames back to life. He was still adjusting to the feeling of using magic without the light underlying his movements – but he liked it, in a way; he could feel the limits of his power, now, and they felt safe. He was still an elemental; his magic would never leave him.

"Tell me another story," Dream mumbled sleepily, his hand tangling in George's hair. "One I don't know."

George hummed and gave it some thought, his brow creasing. Then his eyes lit up. "I hit a bear with a rock, once."

Dream's forehead crinkled, and he laughed disbelievingly. "What?"

"We were out in the woods," George said. He could still picture it, as clear as day. "Just you and me. You were up ahead of me, and – I stumbled on a great, huge bear, and it reared up and roared, and looked just about ready to gut me -,"

"You're making this up," Dream said, his tone fond.

"I swear I'm not," George said with a giggle. "I was so panicked I just – magicked a rock up and bonked it in the head."

This shook a real laugh from Dream, the kind that always made George feel warm. "No way."

"I knocked it straight out," George continued, "and I had no idea what to do. You hadn't seen anything, so I just – I just left it!"

"You left it in the forest?!"

"What else was I meant to do? How was I going to explain that to you?" George insisted, though he couldn't help but laugh at the memory as well. He had been so nervous at the time, so afraid that Dream would discover what he had done. It was so long ago.

"It feels like a lifetime ago," Dream murmured, echoing George's thought.

"I know," George said, turning his head towards him. "So much has changed."

Dream tilted his head, as though to disagree. "Well. Not that much."

"Oh, really?" George huffed.

"Sure, I mean, there's the whole magic thing -,"

"Mhm."

"And I guess it's a big deal that I'm the king, or whatever -,"

"Just a little."

"But it's still just us," Dream said. "It's still Sapnap and Bad, you know? It's still just the bunch of us, figuring things out as we go. Having each other's backs."

George pretended to consider it. "Well, when you put it that way..."

"I keep telling you, George, I'm always right," Dream said playfully, but he seemed a little distracted as George shifted position, swinging his leg over Dream's lap so he was sort of straddling him, and they were face to face.

"Still," George said, "I couldn't do this to you back then," and he leaned in to press a kiss to Dream's jaw – "or this," against his neck, "or this -,"

"Okay, I get it already," Dream said, pushing him off playfully, and George sat back, satisfied at the flush he saw creeping up Dream's neck. "You are insatiable, you know that?"

George grinned and shrugged, rolling back into his position, snuggling a little into Dream's side. "And what're you gonna do about it, Your Royalness? Tax me?"

Dream laughed again. "I gave you that fancy Court Sorcerer title, I can take it away..."

But for some reason, the trail of thought those comments sparked brought something back to the surface for George – something that had been shoved down under several layers of survival instinct over the past few weeks. He shifted and sat up, apart from Dream a little, his legs folded underneath him.

Dream seemed to notice the sudden shadow on his face, and he sat up a little, too. "What's wrong?"

"It's stupid," said George, because it was.

"Tell me anyway."

George looked up at him. "No more secrets. Right?"

"Right," Dream said, his expression slightly worried.

George grabbed Dream's hand, turning it over in his own, staring down at where their fingers linked. "What is... this? Are we a secret?"

Dream hesitated, and George couldn't help but feel his heartbeat pick up in his ears.

"I don't want it to be a secret," Dream said, and George felt a small rush of relief. "I just want this. I want us - together. Is – is that what you want?" And for a second, Dream sounded insecure – a hilarious concept –

"Of course I want that," George said fondly, and Dream's face broke into a luminous grin, but as he leaned forward again, George brought up a hand to stop him. There was one final question on his mind. Maybe the only question left.

"You told me once that you – that your partnership had to be strategic." George avoided the word marriage, as even uttering the phrase in this moment felt too vulnerable to handle. "I'm basically the worst strategic choice you could possibly make."

"I wouldn't say that," Dream said, but George continued:

"I have no wealth, no power – my family has no influence, I'll bring you no alliances. I know Wilbur wants to work with you, but you still have a long road ahead of you in uniting Albion. I – I don't have any special power, anymore, and -,"

The words hurt, but he felt they needed to be said. Everything, everything that had been done up until this moment had been in service to their mutual destinies. To uniting Albion and restoring magic. This was a deviation, and George – George wasn't sure he was worth it.

"This isn't what's best for your destiny," he said, turning his gaze down.

There was a pause, and then Dream hummed, as if he were thinking about it. "Maybe." He brushed his hand slowly up George's arm. Then he pushed George down gently by his shoulder until George was lying on his back again. Dream shifted so that he was leaning over him, and George's heart skipped a beat at the easy affection in his eyes. "I don't really care."

"You don't?" George asked in muted surprise, his attention drifting to where Dream's hands touched him, leaving trails of sparks.

"No," Dream said, and brought a hand up to touch the side of George's face. George melted into the touch, and Dream's voice was soft and sure as he said, "We've given enough to destiny. This... this can be for us."

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(r/n : - here is the end of the story, i feel sad that this fic ended with only 12 chapters. but again, this has like so many words don't even ask me.

the pdf version has like 229 pages of the story)

a/n : - Please indulge me with this end note. I love this fic and this is something of an emotional ending for me!

This is the first long-form fic I've ever finished. It has been a wild experience and incredibly fun. The final word document for this fic is 100,884 words, and 183 pages long. I've written that all in under three months!

Part of the reason I've been able to write so much in so little time is because of quarantine, and I think this fic will forever stand partially as a testament to my experience with the COVID-19 pandemic. I've been in strict quarantine - and at times been totally isolated - since March, and it's led to some difficult times over the past few months. But writing this fic, and especially reading the comments you all left every week and seeing that other people were enjoying the story - those were genuine bright spots for me during a time where I needed a few more bright spots in general.

While I tried to respond to as many comments as possible, I know I always missed a bunch. But I am going to make sure to respond to all of the comments left on this chapter, because I want you all to know how much they've meant to me. I also know there are a lot of people who have been reading and not commenting - I know because some insane number like 600 of you actually get emailed every time I post a new chapter! I should emphasize - that is totally fine, and nobody is ever required to comment, but if you've been reading along quietly, I would just love if you left a short comment on this one - just so I can thank you for coming along on this journey with me!