[Fic] Crossover, Zelda/Arthur -- Sometimes I Wonder (If They Need Me at All)
They meet through their respective servants. It isn't often that Sheik takes her on a run- she's never even met the man that he gets her zydrate from much less been to the shadier distracts. Her father is strict, wealthy- likes to protect his little princess from the decaying world outside of their mansion. Rumor has it that he has ins even at GeneCo, and she believes it. Not all of her surgeries are performed by Sheik's steady hand. The woman that he hires for those, she has slate gray hair pulled back into a severe bun- eyes as red as Sheik's. But for all that she looks terrifying, her hands are gentle and she sings Zelda lullabies as the scalpel presses and slices-
And maybe Zelda is a junkie, but that doesn't make her any less sheltered. It annoys her, because she likes it outside. The world is crumbling around the edges, it's people caught up in their own vices- but she likes it, mostly because it doesn't feel fake.
So the next time her skin starts itching, that familiar burn of addiction scratching and clawing it's way up her insides, she begs Sheik to take her with him. At first he is wary, says no on principle, but he can never really say no to her.
So he wraps her into a dark cloak, wraps her up in it until even her eyes are hidden in shadow.
It's cold outside, icy and the air tastes like death. The streets are quiet, though the farther they walk the more it comes alive. District after district, block after block and the corners are bleeding junkies. A girl with glitter in her red hair smiles coyly at Sheik as he passes, though he does not spare her a glance. Another girl- heavy indigo hair, her skin pigmented blue with sharp cheekbones and a delighted smile, slits in her neck- gills.
They meet Merlin outside of a run down shack and he's all smiles- not perturbed at all by Sheik's wrapped face or her cloak.
They say that Merlin's the real magician. That he's the one the Graverobber goes to when he needs to rob a few graves without being noticed. They say that his hands are magic, that even without the zydrate tripping your senses he can make the press and pull of the scalpel as feather light and pain free as the kiss of a dozen butterflies.
They also say that he's high up on the food chain, though his existence is cloaked in shadows. They say that he's the prince's magician- that Arthur in his castle and Uther at the top of GeneCo have it so cushy because he's the one who worked this spell. That he spun up zydrate with his alchemy and his experiments and pressed it all into Uther's hands.
Arthur though, they say that the prince is clean. That despite being the son of GeneCo's king, he's never touched zydrate, never had a surgery. That he's pure and good, that he'll make their world right again once Uther has passed on.
She's never believed it, never, until she meets him.
The inside of the shack is smoky, rank with the scent of stale sweat and stale drugs and stale, washed out people. Arthur is grinning, feet kicked up onto a cracked and slightly broken wooden table, sharing whispers with another man- white face and thick dark hair, colors threaded through the strands.
For all Arthur's an attractive specimen, she can tell that the rumors are true. No scalpel has touched him. He even has scars.
Something is pressing beneath her skull- an itch that needs scratched, it needs scratched and she can't get to it. Can't get to that thing brushing up against her cerebral cortex, can't get to it and she has to reach, has to-
Sheik's hand against hers is gentle, guiding her fingers away from her temple. There's blood under her nails, blood on her fingers, and her skin is still itchy.
When it comes, she doesn't even feel the gun- doesn't feel the needle, but Arthur's gotten up- it's his hands on the gun and his smile is gone now. He looks a little sad, like it's his job, and she thinks beyond the sudden flood of zydrate that she understands. He's not actually a prince, just the son of the man who owns the world, but she thinks that she might understand why he feels responsible. Why he refuses the drug and the surgery, why there are rumors that he wants to change the world.
But the zydrate is working it's magic and it's Arthur's hands that are lowering her back onto a couch, Sheik unwinding his wraps and tugging out his scalpels, and over Sheik's shoulder is Merlin, who looks just as sad as Arthur had, like he made a mistake.
She presses a quick kiss to Arthur's lips, light and sweet, and laughs around a mouthful of cotton when he looks distraught. She wants him to understand that she gets it, that zydrate is hers, that she may be it's queen, but she likes the idea of him saving their world.
Long live the King, she thinks.
The world explodes with color, the knives dig in. She won't remember anything else.