"Wake up, Vee… wake up…"
Oleandra's eyes fluttered open at the sound of that familiar voice. She blinked down at herself, momentarily confused as to why she was upright rather than lying horizontally. Somehow, even though she had lost consciousness, she was still on her feet.
"You're finally awake," said Merlin the Enchanter, giving a brisk nod. "Well… as awake as the dead can be. Which is to say, as it turns out, not very."
Oleandra scowled at him.
"Very funny, Merlin," she growled. "As ever, you're cloaked in the aura of deceit."
As always, Yggdrasil appeared as a sprawling tree spun from countless twinkling stars. Merlin hadn't moved an iota from behind the veil of starlight that confined him within the World Tree's trunk, adrift in an endless void with only the stars for company.
"Merlin…" Oleandra began. "What's going… on?"
As she stepped closer to the tree, she was wrenched to a sudden halt, her arms and legs yanked backwards. Frowning, she tugged at her wrists and ankles, where she'd felt some resistance, and a faint clink of chains answered her.
"It seems I'm not the only prisoner here any more," said Merlin lightly. "I could do with the company."
Why on earth were her limbs bound? Oleandra wondered fleetingly, and then the memories came flooding back. Daphne had tortured her for hours on end, because she refused to answer any of her questions. At last, her body had failed her, and she'd retreated inwards to her inner lake of consciousness, refusing to come out… and somehow, she must have ended up here.
"Gah!" Oleandra yelped.
Her form grew translucent, and the molecules of her body flared into miniature star systems, each one battered by the deep‑space storm that seemed to rage across her entire form. Crimson lightning lanced between the stars that composed her, blackening them… then, as swiftly as the change had come, it passed; her body turned from illusory and starry to solid once more, leaving nothing more than a tingling in her fingertips and toes.
"This Voldemort is quite the rough customer," observed Merlin. "Even after taking over your sister's body, he shows no compunction in harming you before her very eyes. In fact, he even seems to take pleasure in it, while she screams from the depths of her soul for him to stop. It elicits a vicious sort of satisfaction from him, perhaps to distract his own soul fragment from the pain it was forced to endure…"
"That's enough," Oleandra said miserably. "I don't want to hear any more."
However, even though she was at the end of her rope, she hadn't given up hope. Although Merlin was not omnipotent, he was omniscient. His eyes could peer into the past, present and future, and even sideways into parallel worlds where her choices had taken her down different paths. Surely…
"I'm afraid not," said Merlin, as though reading her mind. "You've partaken of Felix Felicis, which means every version of you across all world lines is now charging headlong down the same path… at least for the next two hours, until the potion's effects wear off, at which point, your paths will diverge once more, as your individual probability fields expand."
As Oleandra had correctly guessed, there was no such thing as luck.
Even so, Felix Felicis was a most marvellous creation. For a brief time, the potion would grant its drinkers magic akin to Merlin's own innate ability to see forwards and sideways through time, letting their subconscious minds glimpse every possible future and select the one they believed would serve best.
Thus, whoever drank the golden potion would find their probability fields drawn into a single, straight line; from all the choices that might have branched into other world lines, only the best path was preserved. And that was why its users brimmed with confidence; they were merely retracing a path they had already trodden.
"What about…" Oleandra began, but Merlin once again interrupted her.
"There is nothing to glean from those few versions of you who chose not to squander the first of their two doses of Felix Felicis," said Merlin brusquely. "Their paths have already run their course."
Oleandra fell silent. It went without saying that making foolish choices could lead to an early death, but to hear that some version of her, somewhere out there in the vast multiverse, had died from what might have been a coin‑flip decision… that was sobering indeed.
"I know what you're going to say," Merlin said. "I know every possible future, but I will never, ever tell you the exact steps you must take to reach the best possible ending."
"Can't, or won't?" Oleandra asked.
"Won't," said Merlin firmly. "I can only lend a guiding hand. If I tell you too much, you'll only muck it up at the worst possible moment. But if you make your own choices, you might just find a way to save everyone you love— and still accomplish your goal."
Oleandra's eyes widened. So a happy ending was still on the cards, even after all that!
"I shan't waste any more of your limited time here upon the matter of escaping your present predicament, someone is already attending to that as we speak," said Merlin, his tone brisk. "Now, heed my words, and commit to memory what I am about to tell you."
"…"
"At the end of her journey, Oleandra Greengrass shall encounter Death, and as it was with the Brothers Three at the beginning of their own journey, she shall be presented with a choice," Merlin intoned. "Three impossible choices, one for each of the Peverell brothers… yet each a path towards a brighter tomorrow."
Oleandra frowned. If each path led to a better future, what did it matter which she chose? Besides, everyone knew the Invisibility Cloak was the right choice. It was the moral of the story, after all.
"Though I loathed the man, Odin's wisdom vastly surpassed mine," Merlin said melancholically. "I believe he said it best when… do you remember his rune carver's poem?"
Oleandra's throat went dry.
Do you know how to carve? Do you know how to read?
Do you know how to tint runes? Do you know how to suffer?
Do you know how to ask? Do you know how to offer?
Do you know how to sacrifice? Do you know how to slaughter?
Better not to ask than to sacrifice too much
For a gift is always rewarded
And a boon always demands a return
Better not to offer than have to slay too many.
"You ask for the stars, Oleandra Greengrass, but what are you prepared to offer in return? What are you willing to surrender to achieve your goals? Whom are you prepared to slaughter?" said Merlin, mournfully. "The power over life, the power over death, or the power to endure… each may grant your heart's two desires, yet each will demand a different sacrifice."
Merlin paused.
"So, I ask this of thee, O Lady of the Lake, thou who art both Fae and Witch and walked amongst both: which of the three matters most to thee?"
Oleandra said nothing as the starry night dissolved around her, Merlin's shining eyes the last stars she saw before waking from her long dream.