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Chapter Text

Psychology student Mathilde had a very, very, very strange dream:

A young, dark-haired man with blue eyes and large ears, dressed in some rather ugly clothes, muttered something under his breath.

A few seconds later, Mathilde found herself—barefoot, in her pajamas and all—in a giant hall in front of a blonde dude with a red cloak. Oh, and chainmails. There were chainmails. Lots of chainmails. And men in those chainmails. And more red cloaks.

What the hell was going on?

Before Mathilde had time to reorient herself, a dozen or so (but really, who had time to count in a situation like that?) swords were pointed at her throat.

“Sorcery!” The blonde dude shouted.

Mathilde was bound to agree with him.

“Arrest her!”

“What?” Mathilde's eyes darted around. She moved her head as far back and forth as the swords around her sword would permit (which is to say, not very far). “I'm clearly the victim here.”

A guy with strawberry-blond hair stepped forward while the swords retreated. “Sire?” The eyes of the strawberry-blond guy sought out the eyes of the blond-blond dude.

Mathilde followed Strawberry's lead and turned towards the blonder of the two men. “Are you some kind of king or something?” It wasn't the most intelligent sentence she had ever muttered (that honor would go to her insightful social commentary on the general uselessness of felines) but, well, a few seconds ago she had been sound asleep.

In her warm, comfortable bed.

Far away from people who apparently took their LARPing way too far.

The blond-blond dude straightened himself up. “Do you know who I am?” His tone sounded threatening.

Mathilde shook her head. “No idea.” She looked around. “Also, where am I?”

“Arthur.” A man emerged from the shadow. He seemed to have been hiding somewhere behind the crazy “king” who was apparently called Arthur. Mathilde wondered if that was his actual name.

The man came up to stand next to “Arthur.” That's when Mathilde recognized him. Those ears were a dead-giveaway.

“You...” Mathilde pointed an accusatory finger in the big-eared guy's direction. “You... you did something. I saw you. And now I'm here.”

Big Ears blanched. He swallowed, before once again turning towards Crazy King. “I... I don't think she's a sorceress, Sire.”

Mathilde cleared her throat. “I'm standing right here.”

Strawberry Head stepped forward. “I must agree with Merlin here, Sire. This...,” he scanned up and down her body, “this woman here appears to be clueless as to what happened.”

“Hey!” Mathilde was getting angry. Sure, things hadn't gone quite so well when she had let her (male) flat mate give her a haircut (while drunk). Still, her bowl cut didn't give this, this buffon the right to question her womanhood. “Watch yourself, Strawberry Head.”

Big Ears-who had apparently adopted the stage name “Merlin” (seriously, had these people no imagination?)-nodded gravely: “See?”

“Arthur” huffed. “She appears to be suffering from a mental affliction.” He turned towards Big Ears. “Go fetch Gaius.”

Chapter Text

Gaius was, thankfully, much more reasonable than his younger counterparts. Mathilde wondered if that was why he had chosen a slightly less ridiculous name than the other people she had met so far. She had decided to just play along with whatever anyone in here was throwing her way. Generally, that was the best way to deal with crazy people, wasn't it?

After conversing with Gaius for a bit, the old man had gathered that she was a) "not from here" (wherever "here" was—Mathilde still hadn't received a satisfying answer to her question) and b) "good with people" (whatever the hell that meant).

A little bit later she found herself in a large, empty room by herself. Gaius had brought her there and then excused himself. A few minutes later, the door opened. In walked "Arthur." 

Mathilde curtsied. The intended deferential effect may have been somewhat ruined by her super-hero themed pajamas but there was nothing she could do about that. "Sire?" Mathilde remembered that that's what the other people had said. She just hoped that it wasn't an inside joke she had missed. 

"I see you have come to your senses." The blond sounded seriously stuck-up. Mathilde barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. 

"Yes, your grace." Somehow, Mathilde managed to keep the disdain out of her voice. 

"So..." the blond fiddled with a ring on his index finger, "Gaius tells me that you're good with people?"

Mathilde nodded. She was good with people. Whether that included these crazies here remained to be seen. 

"Arthur" apparently seemed satisfied with her answer and sat down. "Have a seat." He pointed towards a nearby seat. 

For perhaps the first time in her life, Mathilde did as she was told. She couldn't quite tell what it was but this "Arthur" character seemed to have some natural authority. She got as comfortable as possible on her wooden chair (which is to say, not at all). "So...," she cleared her throat, "how can I help you?" 

"Arthur" jumped at the opportunity like an overexcited cat at a ball of yarn: "I... ever since becoming king, I feel like I've been losing myself. I have... I have become distanced from Merlin. I treat him like my servant, well, he is my servant, but really we used to be friends." He cleared his throat. "Well, as much friends as the crown prince of Camelot and his servant can be." 

"I see." Mathilde leaned back in her chair. She wondered if "Arthur" and "Merlin" had some weird Arthurian-themed dominance/submission thing going on. After scrutinizing the "king's" stern expression, Mathilde decided to not pursue that particular line of questioning any further. The swords that had been pointed at her throat before had seemed rather sharp and she was very attached to her head (and intended to keep it that way). 

Arthur sighed. "It's complicated." 

"So, you would like to be closer again with Merlin?" Mathilde noticed that it didn't take her any effort to refrain from making quotation marks with her hands while saying "Merlin's" name. Perhaps this madness was contagious? 

"Yes!" Arthur looked relieved. "That would be wonderful." He paused. 

"But... there's more, isn't there, Arthur?" Internally, Mathilde kicked herself. Was that a way to address a king? 

Thankfully, Arthur was too inward to notice. "I fear I am becoming like my father."

"Would that be so bad?" Mathilde leaned forward in her chair. 

Arthur nodded grimly. "You have no idea." 

"Okay, let me see if I got this right." Mathilde looked at Arthur. "You want to become closer to Merlin again, and you don't want to become like your father. Is there anything else?"

Arthur nodded so intensely that Mathilde feared he might end up with whiplash syndrome. "I am the worst at trusting people." 

"I see." Mathilde crossed her legs, then immediately regretted moving. She had almost gotten to the point where she forgot that she was wearing the world's most ridiculous pajamas. But then, on the other hand, at least she wasn't the one who had spend a fortune renting some sort of castle, then forced herself into chainmail and named herself after some Arthurian legend's character. Pajamas with super-hero prints were her guilty pleasure. And didn't everyone deserve one? 

During the next hour or so, Mathilde noticed herself drifting off as Arthur recounted his past mistakes when judging people. It was only the opening of the door that prevented her from the disgrace of starting to snore in front of the... the king of Camelot. 

(As Mathilde realized with an increasing sense of dread, this madness really was contagious.) 

Chapter Text

After "King Arthur" left, Gaius ushered Big Ears into the room. 

Mathilde gave him a bored once-over. "Let me guess, you're really good with magic." 

Big Ears blanched. "No, I'm not."

"So you're not really Merlin, then?" Mathilde was wondering if the man in front of her was on some kind of drugs. Why would you call yourself Merlin and then refuse to do any magic? That was like impersonating King Arthur but somehow forgetting the sword! 

"Of course I'm Merlin!" He stemmed his hands into his hips. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You can't really be Merlin if you're not good with magic, can you?" 

Big Ears swallowed. "How did you find out?"

"It's not really a secret that... you... are really good at that sort of thing." Mathilde could not believe that she was actually having this conversation. Some people were really, really strange. 

"It's not a secret?" Big Ears voice was suddenly a few octaves higher. He looked panicky, which didn't make any sense to Mathilde at all. "What do you mean? Do you think everyone knows?"

"I don't know for sure," Mathilde decided to play along. And the thing is, she really wasn't sure. After all, so far, everyone she had talked to (with the possible exception of Gaius) had seemed completely bonkers. She looked at Big Ears who was hyperventilating. "Would it be so bad if your friends knew about your talents?"

"Are you serious?" Merlin stared at her. "I don't want to be burned at the stake!"

"I very much doubt that your... king... would have his most trusted adviser executed." She leaned forward, and whispered conspiratorially: "Besides, I have it on good authority that Arthur... I beg your pardon, King Arthur," Mathilde wondered why she was suddenly switching from her regular American to a British accent, "that King Arthur wants to be closer to you again." She leaned in even more while lowering her voice further: "He told me as much himself." Yes, she was breaking client confidentiality right here but, well, the profession she aspired to didn't even exist in Camelot, did it? 

"He did?" Big Ears was lit up like a Christmas tree. 

Mathilde nodded. "And I don't think he only meant that in a platonic way."

Big Ears visibly blushed. "Oh... "

"Go get him, tiger." With those words, Mathilde pushed Big Ears towards the door. 

Chapter Text

In that moment, the door opened and a woman in a beautiful red gown entered the room: "What's a tie-ger?"

"Oh." Big Ears blushed, for no apparent reason. "I believe a tie-ger is a rare magical creature, my lady." He turned to Mathilde: "Is that right?"

Mathilde nodded quickly: "Sure. It's a... a magical creature. Very rare." 

"I will see you later, Merlin," the other woman said. She sat down on the chair nearest to Mathilde and looked at her expectantly: "I am Gwen. How does this work?"

"Gwen?" Mathilde asked, pleasantly surprised to meet a person here who had actually chosen a normal name for herself. 

Gwen nodded. "Guinevere, actually, but before I became queen, most people would call me Gwen."

"Oh." Mathilde put two and two together. "Queen Guinevere! King Arthur's wife."

"Yes, that would be me." Gwen graced her with a wide smile. "Although sometimes I wonder what I have gotten myself into with this role. Being a servant was so much easier." 

"Servant?"

"Yes, I was a servant before I became queen. Of course, the nobles don't let me forget that." 

Mathilde noticed herself getting excited. Finally someone who was being playful with all of this. She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially to Gwen: "I love your reinterpretation of this role."

"Reinter...?" 

"You know...," Mathilde pointed towards Gwen, "everything. The servant-to-queen storyline, your modern name, you're not blonde..."

"Why would I be blonde?" Gwen looked extremely confused. "Arthur's the blond one." She leaned forward to Mathilde: "Are you sure you're alright, my dear? I know that listening to Arthur can be tiresome. I was hoping to have you listen to me but I wonder if you might need a break?"

"Oh, no no no." Mathilde made a throwaway gesture before bowing in her seat to Gwen. "I am at your disposal, your highness." 

"As you wish." Gwen shot Mathilde an unsure look before settling back into her chair. "So, how do we do this?"

"Well, you just tell me about the things that trouble you, your highness." Mathilde searched her brain for some information on Queen Guinevere that would allow her to pass the Bechdel Test but to no avail. "Such as your love, Sir Lancelot."

"My... " Gwen squinted at Mathilde. "How did you know that?" 

Mathilde stopped herself from telling Gwen that her legendary love affair with Sir Lancelot was public knowledge. After all, that reference to the ubiquity of the Arthurian legend and its characters hadn't gone so well with Merlin. Perhaps it destroyed the illusion that they were actually living these things, right now?

"Oh... " Mathilde made an elaborate gesture with her hands that she hoped looked mysterious. "I have my ways." She winked at Gwen. "It's a secret of my profession, your highness. But don't worry, I am sworn to confidentiality." Mathilde decided to omit to mention that she had just told Merlin what Gwen's husband Arthur had told her about wanting to be closer to him. (And yes, the whole situation was getting about as complicated as that sentence.)

"Ah." Gwen visibly relaxed in her seat. "So nothing we say here leaves this room?"

Mathilde nodded. "Yes."

"In that case... " 

And thus began a long description of the various ways in which Gwen's life had changed for the worse after becoming queen. Apparently Gwen was now permanently stuck in the role of ruler and couldn't be who she really was anymore. Mathilde, remembering some 21st century women's magazines, advised Gwen to embrace authenticity and told her that the people loved it when royalty was down-to-earth. 

Gwen left the room with a skip in her step. 

Chapter Text

After bringing more happiness to three of the players at this strange LARP event, Mathilde felt that she deserved a break. 

Just as she was ready to get up to leave the room, Gaius entered once again, a woman in tow. 

"No rest for the wicked," Mathilde grumbled to herself before taking a look at the woman. "Gaius, who's the Goth?"

"Goth?" Gaius looked confused. Oh, right. She had forgotten their age difference. 

"The... young lady with you," Mathilde said. Mentally, she added, 'the pale one, with the crazy hair.'

"I'm the Lady Morgana," Goth-Woman said, looking expectantly at the other woman. 

"Oh, right." Realizing that she had been impolite, Mathilde offered her hand for a handshake. "I'm Mathilde."

Goth-Woman stared at Mathilde's hand as it it was an offending object, crinkled her snow-white colored forehead, and lowered herself to the nearest chair. Mathilde studied her new patient who eventually snapped at her, "is something the matter?"

"If... if you forgot your hairbrush, I'm sure we can find you another one." As soon as the words left her mouth, Mathilde wished she had never said them. 

Goth-Woman narrowed her eyelids, giving her an almost feline look. "How exactly is that supposed to help me?"

"Well," Mathilde gestured, "sometimes taking care of ourselves can be the first step in getting better."

"How exactly," Goth-Woman leaned forward in her seat, "will brushing my hair help me get over the fact that my friend tried to poison me, my father pretended I wasn't his daughter and that he'd burn me alive if he knew the truth about me, and that my little brother is sitting on the throne that rightfully belongs to me?"

Oh, right. Mathilde had an internal 'd'oh- moment.' That was supposed to be Morgan le Fey in front of her. She decided to play along. "Well, if anyone can do it, it's you, isn't it?" Mathilde smiled at the other woman. "You're a feminist icon!"

Goth-Woman stared at her, a confused look on her face. "What's a feminist icon?" 

"You're a great role model for female empowerment!" Mathilde noticed herself getting excited. "You're strong and you forge your own path. You speak truth to power."

"Well," Goth-Woman Morgana brushed through her unruly hair, looking rather flattered, "when you put it like that... " She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially to Mathilde: "Do you know that I used to beat Arthur in sword fights?"

"I'm not surprised." Mathilde whispered back. "He does strike me as more of a surfer boy, and less than a fighter."

"What's a surfer boy?" 

Mathilde sighed. Morgana appeared rather committed to staying in character for their whole conversation which made things a bit tedious for her. "Oh, it means... well, it just means that I can't really imagine him on the battle field. I mean, what would that do to his perfect hair?" 

Morgana stared at her. "What is it with you and your obsession with hair?" 

"Me?" Mathilde stammered. "Oh, it's nothing." She swallowed. "How about we get back to you? Now, do I take it that you don't really feel like you're fitting in here at Camelot?"

Morgana nodded emphatically before breaking into a rant about the various ways in which the kingdom of Camelot oppressed the magical inclined, and well, underdogs in general. Mathilde found herself nodding along, getting enraged, flinching at some of the graphic descriptions of people being burnt at the stake, agreeing with Morgana's biting observations about the hypocrisy of most everyone in Camelot and just in general found herself getting ready to storm the Bastille. 

When Morgana finally finished, she looked at Mathilde expectantly: "So, what do you think?"

"I think," Mathilde slammed her fist on the table in front of her and rose up, "that this calls for a revolution!" She made a grand gesture with her hands. "How about this slogan: Camelot—by the people, for the people." 

"What do you mean?" Morgana looked at her confused. "I already tried to take over Camelot a few times. It didn't go too well." She coughed. "Including for the people." She coughed again. "I might have used them for... shall we say, blackmailing purposes?" She looked at Mathilde apologetically. "You see, the knights wouldn't bent their knees so I wagered the lives of some of our citizens."

Mathilde's mouth dropped open. "But Morgana, that's terrible!" She shook her head. "That is so out of character." She reached out and touched the other woman's shoulder. "You can do better than that!"

Morgana's face lit up. "You really think so?"

"Yes, of course!" Mathilde nodded emphatically. "After all, this is your show, isn't it? You can be anything you want to be?"

Morgana's face took on a dreamy look as she repeated: "I can be anything I want to be." She jumped up from her chair. 

"Wait, Morgana, where are you going?" Mathilde shouted after the woman. 

"I've got a popularity contest to win." Morgana turned around. "I'll show everyone that I'm the favorite Pendragon!" 

Mathilde nodded. "Just remember, Morgana..."

"I know, I know," the other woman waved her comment aside, "kill them with kindness!"

Chapter Text

After her talk with "Lady Morgana," Mathilde thought her day (dream, she corrected herself, for this couldn't be real, could it?) couldn't get any stranger. 

Cue Camelot: "Hold my beer." 

Things started rather innocently, with a long-haired man who introduced himself to Mathilde as "Gwaine." Gwaine ("without a," as he insisted) was a noble-hating noble. Mathilde could deal with that sort of thing.

What she couldn't deal with were Gwaine's advances and so she soon found herself in his arms, crossing the appropriate boundaries between them. Mathilde consoled herself with the realization that a) she wasn't a therapist yet, b) Gwaine wasn't really her patient, and c) this was all a dream. Camelot wasn't real. Camelot couldn't be real. Or could it? 

Whether or not Camelot was real remained to be seen but Gwaine soon managed to convince her of his own... realness. 'Oh well,' Mathilde thought to herself (while she was still capable of coherent thought), 'what happens in Camelot stays in Camelot.'

Unfortunately, her attractive knight wasn't able to stay for much longer as her next patient was waiting. Compared to Gwaine (well, compared to anyone, really), he was a total downer. 

George spent the better part of their session talking about... brass. The other part was spent talking about "proper protocol" at court. After a few minutes of listening to this, Mathilde realized that she wouldn't wish this on her worst enemy. A bit later, she had the impulse to beg "King Arthur" for a quick death (preferably George's although her own would do just fine). Towards the end, she was ready to burn herself at the stake. George seemed to have that impact on people.

When Gaius appeared in the room, effectively ending her session with George, Mathilde could have kissed him. Thankfully, she didn't act on that impulse as Gaius wanted to process his utter disgust about that one time he got his face licked by a... pixie? Mathilde nodded in sympathy as he shared a truly terrifying tale involving an overly flirtatious creature called Grunhilda who had apparently never heard of affirmative consent. 

Mathilde decided that she would have to change this. Her preliminary efforts to bring the #metoo debate to the magical kingdom (and well, Camelot at large) were thwarted when she got attacked by an angry ghost. Apparently the ghost formerly known as Uther Pendragon was offended by her decision to address the people from the royal balcony. Before trying to push her throw her into the courtyard, he had muttered something that sounded like "insolent peasant."

Not to be outdone, Mathilde responded: "At least I still have a body."

Her comment was met with an angry roar as the ghost made a U-turn and flew back into her direction, glaring at her menacingly. To keep up appearances, she decided to hide her delight about the "ghost's" amazing acting performance. How did the person behind the ghost costume even manage to appear this translucent? And how did he manage to throw her up into the air just like that? 

Wait...

This was not good...

Chapter Text

Mathilde would surely have broken her neck in her fall from the royal balcony had she not suddenly found herself—belly-up—suspended in mid-air.

‘Huh?’ Mathilde thought to herself. ‘Has someone broken gravity?’

She had a royal freak-out when a voice answered her: ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Wait!’ Mathilde unfortunately couldn’t remember all that she had learned about hearing voices in one’s head. Was that a bad sign? Also, why did that voice sound so familiar? ‘Are you… me?’ She didn’t think so, unless her alter ego was more male than she thought.

‘No. Don’t you remember? We have met before.’

‘Oh!’ Mathilde finally realized who she was speaking to. ‘So you’ve decided to embrace your wizard-identity?’

‘Wizard?’ Merlin sounded almost offended. ‘I’m a warlock.’

Mathilde noticed herself getting slowly lowered down on the ground. ‘Alright, alright.’ She presumed that it was good to not get someone upset who currently held one’s life in their sorcerous hands. ‘Impressive trick!’

‘It’s not a…,’ Merlin’s voice got cut off by a loud shout: “MERLIN!” Mathilde vaguely recognized the voice as “King Arthur.” Before she had time to think more about that, she found herself rapidly plunging towards the ground.

“Ouch!” Mathilde screamed out loud. That had been her collar bone. When she looked around, she saw Arthur stabbing an accusatory finger in Merlin’s direction, right before screaming: “You have magic?”

Later that day, Mathilde found herself standing in the royal courtyard. A small crowd had gathered, wanting to see her off… King Arthur and Merlin who were holding hands, Morgana (who had taken up philanthropy and was now chugging along two heavy sacks of grain that she could distribute to people in need, wherever she met them), Queen Guinevere whose neck was decorated with hickeys that had presumably not been King Arthur’s handiwork, Gaius and Sir Gwaine.

“We have found a way to return you to where you came from,” Gaius said, gravely.

“Although we would love for you to stay,” Queen Guinevere chimed in.

“Especially me,” Gwaine said while daring to wink. Mathilde blushed a violent shade of red. Perhaps she should discreetly slip him her phone number?

“All of us,” Arthur interrupted him. “You have done us a great service by allowing us to talk about the problems we are facing. I could certainly use your assistance in my kingdom.”

Mathilde agreed with that statement and evaluation of the situation, although she wasn’t sure that he would much like the solution she had in mind. “That is very kind of you, Sire.” She remembered to do a curtsey. “But my people miss me and so I must bid you farewell.”

“Thank you for helping me!” Morgana stepped forward, giving Mathilde a hug. “It’s not like anyone else did!” Her tone was as reproachful as her facial expression.

Mathilde looked at Morgana, then at Gwaine. “Perhaps, perhaps I can come back from time to time.”

“That would be wonderful!” Morgana beamed. “Merlin can help with that.”

Gaius nodded. “Indeed. But now, it is time for her to return.” He looked towards Merlin. “Merlin, would you do us the honours?”

Merlin mumbled something under his breath and just like that, Mathilde once again found herself in her bed, wondering what had just happened. 

Surely this hadn't been real, had it? 

It was only when she got up that she noticed that her collarbone hurt like hell. 

In disbelief, Mathilde stared at the ceiling: "OH NO!" 

(But then again, on the plus side, this meant that she would get to see Gwaine again.)


ADDENDUM: A few months later, Mathilde stated the following: "If you think a cross-cultural relationship is hard, try a cross-temporal one."