Chapter Text
Dudley Dursley was 18 when his life changed inexplicably.
It had been only a year ago when he and his family had left his childhood home at Number 4 Privet Drive. They had been forced to leave lest the crazies that were after his cousin decided to take out whatever grudge they had on them instead. Harry had explained to them about the war and the fight between different factions of the wizarding world, but to be honest, Dudley couldn't tell you what he'd said for the life of him. He’d tuned it out as he did with most things related to his cousin and his odd world of magic and wizards (especially after they both turned 15 and Harry saved his life from invisible soul-sucking monsters).
Dudley never thought that his truthfully dreadful relationship with Harry would ever evolve from that. He'd bullied his cousin for as long as he remembered and been an annoying spoiled brat that probably made Harry's life even more of a living hell than it already was.
But he was 18 now - legally an adult - and was going to Uni soon. He'd moved on from childish bullying and beating up other kids to make himself feel better, to feel respected. (That was what his Dad did, and kids tend to learn how to approach the world by emulating their parents - and sometimes their worst characteristics as well). Somewhere along the harsh years of high school, Dudley had learnt. It hadn't been easy, it hadn't been remotely pleasant. But he liked to think himself a better person now, that he'd truly learnt from his mistakes and grown as an individual.
He hoped to one day make things up with Harry, but he was not ready yet - so, when he last saw him, he simply left with a 'I don't think you're a waste of space'. A far cry from the real apology the other was owed. But that wouldn't come for a while yet. Dudley had other issues to solve now.
Even then, he never even imagined that this part of himself, that his dire relationship with his cousin could ever become something so incredibly ironic to him (especially after they moved out). But here he was, being forced to rethink his entire self (again) after finding one single antique in their new home's attic.
Dudley was busy the summer after his 18th birthday preparing for Uni and worrying over what life as an adult would be like. It was time to start thinking about dorms and housing and how he would deal with staying away from his parents during the school months. Because of that, his Mom and him had been going over some of his old things - to see what was worth keeping and what had to be thrown away for this next step of his life.
There was still a great amount of closed cardboard boxes in their attic. Things they'd never bothered unboxing from when they left Privet Drive in a hurry the previous summer.
That was why he was in his new home's attic when it happened. His Mom had asked her dear Duddykins to please check their attic for the boxes with his old clothes and school things. She'd probably meant to use the opportunity to give some of his old things away to charity - not that Dudley thought any of his old stuff would be in good enough condition to give to anyone . He knows he didn't take care of his possessions with anything that could be called 'care'. To be fair, he still doesn't.
So, here he was, looking through dusty piles of cardboard for something that could be salvaged from their inevitable fate in the dumpster outside.
But something caught his attention in the middle of all the light brown boxes. A golden glow, a glitter maybe, he saw from the corner of his eye.
He moved with curiosity towards it. It was a box, on top of several other cardboard boxes sitting just next to the doorway that led downstairs. But this box wasn't made of cardboard. It was similar to a jewellery-box, made of old wood with intricate carvings resembling those he'd seen on adventure movies in the telly. The type of decoration that looked both natural and foreign in the dark oak the box was made from. Like it carried a special meaning he wasn't (yet) privy to.
The box itself was a small chest, sized so that Dudley could grab it and it would fit between his hands just right. The lid was curved with a silver metallic piece in the middle - the mechanism to open it, he thought, intrigued. It didn't have a keyhole though, so he didn’t know how anyone was supposed to open it.
The thing that he focused on, however, was the symbol on the silver metal. The strange symbol was surrounded by a single ring of gold with dots spaced equally on the outside. It was a half circle that twisted itself around and crossed with a smaller full circle under it. All made of an intense fiery gold he had never seen on any of his Mom's jewellery before. He didn't remember seeing anything like it before, but it gave him this uncanny feeling that he should know what it was. That he should recognise it.
It was familiar to him, in a way he'd never felt before. Not like his Mom's cooking or his old room at Privet Drive. That was home . But this… This was ancient. And intimate . Like a part of himself lost to the winds of time and space.
Dudley wasn't sure if whatever the box contained was dangerous or not, but he could not move his gaze away from it. He was in a trance. The more he looked at the little box in his hands, the more he left from the bottom of his heart that this was his . And it was important. He had to open it.
Nothing nor no one could stop him at that moment. And despite the fact that, consciously, he didn’t know how to open it, his hands moved on their own from their place on the sides of the little treasure chest, softly stroking the metal symbol with his thumb.
The carving on the silver metal lit up. The quiet golden glow of the circular symbol was amplified to a blinding gold that made him cover his eyes with the hand that had just reached for the symbol.
The glow expanded for a few seconds, stretching itself through his hand and arms and touching him in an incredible sensation.
After the glow dimmed and settled on a soft fluorescence, his mind was filled with a buzzing brightness that left him unable to look away. His skin was tingling and a warm shiver went up his spine. His feet were stuck, unable to move from their place.
‘Is this what magic feels like…?’
There was a soft click . The mechanism had unlocked itself. He had never felt the need to be so careful with his hands, to use a gentle touch so he would not harm the artefact as he finally pulled the lid open.
Distant voices echoed through his head.
(“Where you headed?"
"Camelot. To fight in the tournament.”)
As he looked inside, he found a ring. A silver ring with the same symbol as the box itself and tangled threads of metal on the sides reminiscent of the wood carvings on its container.
The ring was beautiful. The butterflies in his stomach danced as the chills going through his body intensified.
It was too much.
His body started shaking lightly when his hands went to grab the ring.
(“My father. He left it me.”
“Did he have the same powers as you?”)
As he held the ring - oh, so prized - in his hands, he couldn't help but wonder about it, its origins, its purpose. Why did he feel nostalgic about it? Just holding the piece of silver and gold jewellery had him in this sense of profound deja vu. Of something he’d forgotten about for too long, until it became the centre of his world. It just felt so right. The ring was his .
He heard someone else’s voice in his head, clearer this time.
(“You don't have to fear me. It bears the mark of the Old Religion. Where did you get it from?”)
This voice - he knew this person. It’d been someone important to him once upon a time. He couldn’t quite place it yet.
The ‘Old Religion’…
That name was ringing quite a few bells in his head. He should know what that was.
The pull to put the ring on became stronger. His own mind joining in with its own drive to discover and remember .
(“You've been pretending for so long now that you've actually forgotten who you are.”)
His resolve settled against the overwhelming sensations in his mind and the continuous tremors of his body.
He put the ring on.
An unwilling gasp left his lungs, something stuck inside him coming out for the first time in a long time. He could feel a warm pressure behind his eyes. His core ripping itself open, wanting out ! Suddenly, He was being thrown into the past, shoved through voices and memories that were his but also not.
(“I just wanted to feel...what it was like to be...respected.” “But this... I’m not a killer. This isn't me.”)
Visions swam through his head. Sounds and sights became much clearer than before. He was seeing things he’d never seen before, but had also seen a thousand times. He was hearing voices that were new to him, but also so familiar he must have heard them everyday for years. Places where he’d never been, of a time long past. But also, places where he grew, as a child and as a person, the world and the times that moulded his soul to what it was now.
(“Where you headed?"
"Camelot. To fight in the tournament.”)
…
(“Well, thanks again. I'm- ” [“ Mer lin?!”] “- Merlin. That's me.”
“I'm Gilli.”)
…
(“It's... lonely. To...be more powerful than any man you know and have to live like a shadow. To...be special and, and have to pretend you're a fool. I know how it feels, I understand.”)
…
Tears were running freely down his cheeks, falling to the ground and forming two miniscule puddles at his feet.
The memories - because that’s what they were - were surging through him faster than lightning. His mind could not keep up.
(“I never understood my father. I thought that he was afraid of magic. But he wasn't. He was afraid of what it can do, how it can corrupt. I know now that he was, he was strong. Well, he was stronger than me. I'm sorry.”)
He fell to his knees and wept, silent sobs wrecking his body as he stood arched over in that hidden dark attic, away from everyone else.
It felt like years had passed since he took the ring upon his finger. In reality, it was no more than a couple minutes, but the all-consuming feeling of sadness coming over him wouldn't go away.
He had a life before. Before Dudley and Privet Drive and his parents and Harry-
He was someone else once before. A long time ago.
He had never felt so alone in this life before. The weight of this knowledge on him. It was too much.
So he ran. Grabbed the ring’s box and, not- never removing the ring from his finger, ran downstairs, to his bedroom. He ignored his mother’s calls of worry as he stomped down the hallway and locked the door behind him, crumbling in his bed.
He sat on the border of the bed, hands on his face, elbows propped on his knees.
This was a lot, especially at once. The knowledge, the memories of a past life. That he’d been- that before- he-
He looked at his reflection in his bedroom mirror. His irises were pure gold, shining so bright that they could be seen even in the darkest of environments.
He had magic .
His name was Gilli, and he was a sorcerer. In Camelot. Ancient, Legendary Camelot, where sorcerers were hunted to extinction in the name of the tyrant king.
Except. No, that’s not completely right. Uther was long since dead by the time Gilli himself had entered Avalon (not for his own lack of trying notedly). Arthur was King.
King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, who were known for their noble hearts and loyal dedication. The strongest and the bravest in all of Albion.
Gilli still remembered the druid legends - of Emrys and the Once and Future King. The immortal sorcerer and the king who would rise again from the waters of Avalon to bring peace and magic back to the realm.
Emrys. That was… He recalled his last conversation with him. Hope filled his chest, his tears drying out in the sea of gold.
(“We , we will be free. And who knows, maybe, maybe then our paths will cross again.”
“I hope so.”
“Oh, they will. We're kin.”)
Kin…
“Merlin!”
— End of Chapter 1 →
Word Count: ~2200