Archive of Our Own ^beta

The landscape lay shrouded in mist- he'd tracked it through the windows of the bus as he travelled here, the endless flat vista seen only through an ever changing grey and swirling filter, giving the impression that the fields and villages of the Somerset Levels lay under water.  It was easy to envisage the old times, when the sea claimed these lands and boats travelled between ancient islands- Athelney, Mount Of Frogs, Avalon- or travellers made their way by ancient tracks through boggy peat moors.  If he closed his eyes he swore he could hear the echoes of the rebels, marching, pitchfork in hand towards rebellion; following the contender for the throne to death and the assizes: history had paused here, overlaying itself- modern towns and motorways blending with all that had gone before, magic in the air, a place for the quester: Arthur, Joseph of Arimathea... Colin?

The Tor rose above the depths, shafts of light giving it the impression of floating, casting the surrounding area into myth and legend: fata morgana, he'd read about that- an illusion, mirage, pure physics and yet everything spiritual converged here, didn't it?  Holy thorns, Arthur and the grail, shadowed monks in their black robes, modern day goddesses channelling the divine: the convergence of the leylines, where feminine meets masculine- balancing energy, a place outside time: the matrix of well, tor and abbey. He'd flown across continents for less, perhaps now that journey would end.

The road forked ahead of him;  right and he would head away from here, from this insane delusion he'd been chasing so long- years now of worldwide wanderings, insisting to everyone else that he was ‘finding himself’, ignoring his mother’s whispered worries, allowing those around him to blame Marina- long gone and nigh on forgotten really, a handy excuse at most; actively avoiding Anthony’s glares and Benedict’s solicitude, knowing that this journey was only for him, that anyone one else would think him pitiful at best, mad at worst- it was what he thought of himself, after all: why would they be any different?

The road left, then: past the abbey, ruins standing alone, demolished by a long ago King, a King caught up in his own pursuit of a dream, the need to break down every barrier that came between him and a beloved- and what of that dream? It had ended in disaster of course, five hundred years of ridicule, a strong leader known only for his inability to settle into love and willingness to destroy everything in his path.

Was that a message for him? His own destiny, if somewhat less regal? “Carry on this foolhardy lifestyle for much longer and you’ll lose everyone”- that’s what Anthony had said to him, the last time he had been home, squaring off against each other on the terrace, his brother in law Simon brought in to intervene but shrugging and walking away at that, knowing the battle was lost.

He had not been home since.  Anthony's had been a self fulfilling prophecy.

It had been ten years since he had started to dream of her, the woman gradually pervading his every fantasy and reverie, bringing with her not just hopes for the future but what also felt like memories- snapshots of lifetimes together, repeated over and over:

The medieval Knight, safely returned to his village, bringing just one spoil of battle: her.  Flame hair flowing behind as they rode together, the smell of smoke from the hearth surrounding them.

A carriage- “Feelings like dreaming of you when I'm asleep. And in fact, preferring sleep because that is where I might find you. A feeling that is like torture, but one which I cannot, will not, do not want to give up” (even past fantasy Colin was doomed to live amongst the dreams it seemed). Over and over again, he knew every word, every expression, every breath: a film scene on repeat, but a film starring Colin and... her.

The cheers around him as the boat returned,  Colin in an officer’s uniform, pausing on the dockside as that red glow and her luscious curves came into view, crowded into a nurse's dress.

Over and over, endless lives but always Colin and her.  Sometimes there were children- he knew them as well as he knew his own nieces and nephews, had spent more time with them in truth: two boys and two girls, clever little things that he missed with a yearning so strong that it physically pained him, even as he knew they had never really existed and would never do so because she wasn’t real, she was a fantasy and he?

He was mad: he must be.  Chasing something that couldn’t possibly exist, flying around the world at such a cost to his family's coffers.

When he’d first found the forums it had felt better for a while: here were others like him, with tales to match: their bonds stretching around the globe.  Some disappeared, claiming to have found their goal; others became disillusioned and gave up, or were cut off by friends and family, cast out into the world broken and distraught, bitter and alone, never entirely whole.

Colin had held on, bolstered not just by the resources that came with being the son of a noble father, but also inheriting his romantic soul; a mother who had raised all her children to seek out true love as they sought air itself, to find sustenance in their emotions- raised in the belief that Bridgertons loved true, and there was but one soul out there and that their mission was to seek them out.  Her words had been wise, prophetic even: Anthony, cantankerous and explosive as he was, had found himself the most passionate of loves, a heart that reflected his own in both energy and depth; Benedict, creative and caring, fulfilled with a soul mate who offered resilience and practicality; Daphne matching her soft motherly ways with Simon’s hard edges; Eloise, fierce defender and warrior finding herself in Philip, the abused soul immersed in nature… and here he was in love with a dream woman, someone whose name even was lost to him.

It was time then: a last chance to solve the mystery, to work himself out.  She had first come to him in the dark time after his break up with Marina, cuckolded and sensitive heart smashed, refusing to step out of his bed for weeks on end.  At first his dreams had been what one would expect- Marina and her lover, Marina and their children (for she had been pregnant with someone else’s baby when she left him), Marina on her wedding day… and then they had faded, replaced at first by vague glimpses of something new, and then a face that came into focus gradually over many weeks, a smile of welcome and familiarity.  A hand extended, as she drew him in.

Blind madness or the recognition of inevitability?

This was his last chance to find out, the end of the quest- even insanity, it seemed, has its limits.  Here he was, stood in the ancient town of Glastonbury, an address scribbled on a piece of paper folded into the pocket of his long brown leather coat, a name to ask for, instructions to wear strong boots (as if he ever travelled in anything else), a warning that nothing was ever guaranteed:

He didn’t need guarantees, he needed closure.

She had reached out to him online; one of many over the years, promises and reassurances.  It had been the familiarity that had caught him: "Hello again, Colin": a ghost, something flickering across time.  It was not her, but the writer claimed to know where they would find each other: that she was also waiting. He'd expected requests for money, complicated rituals, calls for him to swear allegiance to an all too human leader- but no, it was the mudanity of it all that caught him in the end, in fact.

The High Street stretched before him and he wandered up the hill, searching for the number he’d been given.  “Don’t worry about the shop,” he’d been told; “magick and trinkets is the trade of the town, but you have to look deeper to find the true spirituality, the lifeblood that pumps along the leylines.”

Leylines? He hadn’t even known what they were until then, obsessively googling in an attempt to talk himself out of this journey, finding reason after reason to doubt this latest escapade, deciding over and over to give up, pack it in, accept his delusions for what they were- the wishful thinking of a troubled mind.

But… he’d travelled around the world for this, hadn’t he? Met gurus on mountains in Peru where he sought clarity by partaking in ayahuasca rituals (10/10 for the experience, 3/10 for the results- technically nothing useful but there was a certain sense of clarity… and 0/10 for the nausea and vomiting afterward); Touring India, spending time with Jain and Hindu Sadhus alike, studying the Upanishads, learning meditation and self denial, grappling with the concepts of ahimsa, samsara and non attachment (the latter finally sending him away because what was he if not attached, even to a vision); months with a Buddhist monastery in Tibet, studying the teachings of the Buddha, growing sturdy and disciplined under their watch even as he grew disillusioned…

Always disillusioned.

A brush with a cult in North America, Anthony blocking the trust fund and having him retrieved (looking back he was grateful but at the time he’d been so very sure he was just about to make a breakthrough); Astral travel in Germany, past life retreats in New Zealand, pagan rituals in Nordic forests …

Always disillusioned, always.

The shop was just like many others in this row- quaint, small, set where the hill started to climb steeply, a window of small statues and icons he’d seen the likes of a thousand times, tempting American tourists and other seekers alike.  He pushed the door and a bell rang,

“Mr Bridgerton.”

Colin stopped sharply: he’d never used his full name, too easy to google.  Christopher Ledger, that’s all he’d told them- his middle name, his mother’s maiden name.  Impossible to trace.  Still, the woman on the stool sorting what looked like a basket of friendship bracelets in front of him looked unconcerned, in no doubt of her accuracy.

“Sit down, you make the place look untidy. You always did, all gangly limbs and untamed hair.  Are there no hair brushes in Mayfair?" 

She nodded to a chair, a fold out camping chair, next to her own without taking her eyes off the task.

“Forgive me, it is the school trips- the stock gets tangled.  I will be but a minute.”

He pulled his water bottle out and took a swig whilst he waited, eyes flitting to the shelves: nothing unexpected- a shelf of silvered ornaments, mostly Ganesha and Kali from what he could see; jewellery, by the look of it likely to leave green stains on the skin- ankhs and crystals, some strange circular symbols- "you're drawn to the well? you're perceptive in this lifetime"; some bright tie dyed tops and patchwork trousers.  The smell of cheap incense. He stood and wandered to a little area at the back filled with books and picked up one on Jainism,

“you have an interest in the Jains?”

“I spent time with them in Jharkand, good people- but no answers.”

“You travelled far from home child, all for a dream?”

“Not one dream, endless dreams- not even that, I only have to close my eyes and the memories return, she’s right beside me until I open them and I am alone.”

“Have you considered that you might just be unwell?”

“Endlessly.” He gave a dry laugh, “it would make the most sense.”

“I am Rae, by the way.”

“Not the most mystical of names.”

“Unlike Colin?” she chuckled, “there is a kettle in the back room, Yorkshire tea, I take mine with a splash of milk and two sugars- just like you.  Go ahead and make them whilst I finish up.”

He had thought that perhaps he had replied to her from the wrong email account, inadvertently given her his full name, but his tea order? He stared at his stomach, perhaps the fitness regime needed addressing, he’d returned from Tibet over six months ago now. 

“Why did you travel all this way if you didn’t believe, Colin?”

“I travelled to Peru, Tibet, India… this was just two buses and a train.”

“All that journeying and you didn’t even ask the question.”

He placed her tea in front of her, a very unspiritual yellow ceramic mug emblazoned with the logo of Wookey Hole, a local tourist attraction.

“Yellow mattered to you, once.”

“The main questions I have are based on my sanity.”

“You are sane, Colin.”

“You have known me for five minutes.”

“Yes, and I have known you for centuries- more.  You and Penelope both.  We always end up here- or rather somewhere.”  She waved her hand, “Mayfair, Dover- it’s all the same.  You two have to find each other and it is my job to help.”

“Penelope?”

“That is her name.  Penelope Featherington.  Well, Bridgerton soon I am sure… again. Maybe you will invite me to the wedding this time, it would be a first.”

“That doesn’t make sense, if you play such a pivotal role…”

“Your families were noble Colin, of course yours still is- I have mostly been a servant, or something incidental.  This might actually be the most equal we’ve been, my status is climbing.  It’s only taken several millennia to get this far.”

“What happens to you then if we meet and your job is done?”

“Well I live my life, same as you all- I am not here for your benefit, this is just a fixed point, something that echoes. I shall close up my shop, go home to my husband and eat a takeaway like anyone else on a Friday afternoon. I have other missions, other travellers to guide. Once that was not the case- but now, things change. I could not watch you online when you were dodging Napoleon, after all."

“I have spent time with all kinds of wise men and mystics, venerated and famous or isolated hermits alike, and none of them have even pretended to have the answers you do.  Why is that?”

She laughed, “because they are men? Did you never think of asking the women? Not that anybody ever does.  You are a traveller Colin, you needed to seek out goddess magic, Hecate lighting the way for travellers, at the crossroads. You have always been a traveller Colin, she protects you: I am her- avatar would be the closest term you'll know, I suppose. I am an echo of her. You may not remember…”

“I do, I remember arriving home from war, travelling on a great wooden ship, horseback in armour.  I don’t know how, I don't know when: it doesn’t make sense but I do.”

“You are seeing the light then? You must go to Penelope, that is your journey, always has been.  Your souls are bonded: your stories reverberate through time, they are in the stories- once you were celebrated as Eros and Psyche, then the old ways faded and with each cycle you simply became Colin and Penelope, destined lovers.  Reincarnated into each lifetime with the same fate: to find each other and never be parted.  Why do you think she is named Penelope?”

“And my name, Colin?”

Rae shrugged, “it means pup, perhaps you simply follow her around? You do seem to have Golden Retriever energy… maybe you are forever loyal, devoted?"

“Where is she? Please don’t tell me I have yet more travels, I don’t believe my family will fund me for any more tickets, they are ready for me to come home.”

“Anthony worries about you: it is his own mission, to protect.  Finally you asked, though- she is at the well, of course, waiting for you- the symbol you picked up, that was the Chalice Well.  Close to the Tor.  Go and find her Colin.”

“Thank you, Rae."

Colin closed the door behind him, a sense of anticipation filling his entire body- he looked around for signs to the Tor but closed his eyes for a moment and he could feel her now- drawing her to him, ‘I am waiting Colin, where are you?’

‘You have a name- Penelope.  Penelope, Penelope, Penelope…”

‘I have always been your Penelope, you just needed to find me.’

He opened his eyes in shock- this was new; he had never been able to talk to her before, only hear her.  He heard a sigh behind him, Rae was locking up the shop:

“Names have power Colin, close your eyes- she will guide you.  Open them when you are crossing the road though, we’re not ready to lose you yet.” She nudged him and walked away.  He closed his eyes; he could feel her, reach out, soothe her, reassure her: 

'I am coming, Penelope.'

It was but a fifteen minute walk, for a strong healthy young man; a small hill, nothing compared to Machu Pichu or Parasnath and yet his heart beat wildly, a sense of destiny mixed with nerves and pure excitement.  Perhaps Rae was nothing but a liar or a con woman, and yet…

He began to run.

She laughed as she saw him approach, sat by the little entrance hut, waving:

“Finally! It took you so long- I have been calling you for an age. Thank goodness Rae found you!”

“You know Rae?”  Shyly he took her hand, tiny in his: she was a small thing his Penelope- a fertility goddess really, curves and softness against his hard angles.

 “I have always known Rae, we are inseparable- she watches over me until you find me.  It is the way.”

“Now what?”

“Now Colin,” she smiled at him and the whole world grew brighter, the grass greener- the sky more blue, “now you kiss me.  Can you do that, for me?  I have not yet had a lifetime where I have not been kissed by you, I should not want this to be the first…”

He cradled her face in his hands, reverently.  Slowly, aware of the sensation that he was meeting his destiny, he lowered his lips to hers, moving them gently- experimentally- at first.  His eyes flew open as sparks flew through him; she laughed,

“it gets better every time. Please Colin… more.”

His kiss was powered by the frustration of years of searching for her, the pain of being near cast out by his worried family, the fear of doubting his own sanity.  As she opened to him he thrust his tongue into her, tasting home, destiny, forever- he cradled her head and pulled her closer, their bodies flush, a sense of completion.

“Penelope.”

“My Colin, come at last.”  She sighed. "I love you."

“Why do you know all this and not me? I have spent so long searching, doubting, wandering;  I have spent so long trying to feel less, trying to be the kind of man society expects me to be and failing: always drawn to you, caught in your web.  I love you too, so why did you not come and find me?”

“We are in Avalon, cauldron of the crone, Colin;  I am a maiden but I required the crone and the mother- Rae- to know Rae's path: Hecate is a three bodied goddess, without all three I could not know.  If I had left- I would have forgotten, had to wait unknowing.  I was destined  to trust that you would come, that your wanderings would lead you home and to me, my Odysseus.”

“There was always email.”

She laughed; “I am not certain that is how it works- I too saw you in my dreams, waited patiently, knew that you would come but not your name or when until today.  Rae has tried to explain but…”

“It makes no sense?”

“I can tell we are bonded, I remember… things.”

“As do I: reunions, children, a sense of joy.”

“I recall separations, harsh words, but also destiny- perhaps you knew more than me after all?”

"Carriages?"

She laughed. “I remember the carriage. Hecate can be summoned with a mirror, do you recall?"

He blushed, "I do not think there is any way I could forget that. Perhaps the whole truth requires us to be together.”

She nodded.  “Take me home, Colin?”

“Where is home?”

“Rae says it is in London, that Anthony and Benedict will welcome me and Eloise befriend me: do you know these people?”

“They are but 3 of my 7 siblings.”

“That sounds glorious.”

“This has happened so swiftly…”

“and yet across centuries…”

“But I need to ask in case I lose you… Penelope Featherington…”

He’d only known the name for a few minutes yet already he had that sense that it was written into every strand of his DNA, imprinted on his very soul-

“Penelope Featherington”- he could not stop saying her name, he could taste it: it was vanilla- warm, comforting, silky- “are you going to marry me or not?”

They walked down the hill hand in hand, laughing at waiting for something so mundane as a bus after their reunion, staring at each other in fear that they would wake and find it all to be yet another dream.  They journeyed to Mayfair, their train pulled in and Benedict met them, summoned by a text from Colin:

“You found her then, who you were searching for?” Benedict smiled, “I have always known, Colin- if you’d spoken… for me it was a thunderbolt, but you, you were destined for something different; Eros and…”

“Psyche.” Penelope completed the sentence with a smile, “rippling through time and eternity, endlessly and evermore.”

They wed quickly; Colin sending the date by email to Rae, with no reply- he travelled again to her shop, finding only an old cafe, locals confused by his investigations.  In time the children came along, familiar to both in their joy, treasured: the memories faded over the years, told only as if someone else's story, apart- by the time both became aged they were simply a fairy tale they'd heard, once, long ago, and when the cycle began again Rae appeared- Penelope's nursery teacher, smiling in recognition at the small chestnut haired boy joining his mother to collect his sister and her friend from class:

"Hello, Colin: again."