- Chapter 6 -

"There's nothing half so pleasant as coming home again."
~ Margaret Elizabeth Sangester

Merlin was making his way up the stairs to his apprentice's room, where he expected to see the boy still awake. But the moment he got to the door, he was rather surprised to see no such preparations were done at all. There was the boy, on bed on a sitting position, back on a pillow, opened Encantus on the lap.

"Shouldn't you supposed to be packed?" asked Merlin, catching the boy's attention.

"Huh? Packed?" answered Maxim looking up.

"For tomorrow," said Merlin, confused himself why the boy apparently had no idea at all.

"Are we going somewhere?" replied the boy. Merlin shook his head.

"Not 'we'. You!"

Dead silence followed after between the master and the apprentice, as they stared at each other for a few moments. It was Merlin who spoke again.

"Don't tell me it completely slipped your mind."

Shaking his head, Maxim was implying that he still didn't know what his master was talking about.

Rolling his eyes with a sigh, Merlin thought best that he probably should say it straight. "It's your first home visit tomorrow."

Home visit?

Maxim looked down on his Encantus once more, but he wasn't looking at anything in particular in those printed pages.

Has it been a month already?

The boy threw his legs over to the side of his bed and reached for his boots, putting it on, then got out of bed. "I have to pack!" he said, running over to a corner in his room pulling out his bag, then stopped at his bed, trying to fold his Encantus into its pocket-sized edition that Merlin taught him. In the middle of the process of getting a few clothes, he raised a hand to his head.

"Oh, how forgetful of me!" he said, slight panic surfacing in his features. "Of all days! Why have I forgotten about 'home visit'?"

It was hard not to smile for Merlin, but neither did he tried to hide it. He complied to the urge of approaching his apprentice from behind, slightly startling the boy when he carefully placed a hand on the lad's shoulder. He gazed upon those dark eyes once again for the hundredth time, still unable to come up of a perfectly good enough word to describe it, because the boy's eyes can tell so many things than what just appears on the surface. Still, what could possibly be the right word for it? Mysterious? Dark? Deep? Hypnotic? Oh yes. For the second time around, he found his apprentice's eyes almost hypnotic like. Perhaps it was a fascination he couldn't help but notice, since he had never seen such eyes on anyone in particular before...Until a not so pleasant idea came in mind...Had he not seen it before in a...Morganian?

Shaking off the thought in mind, Merlin didn't want to think of such things about his apprentice. The boy was under his care, and he would do anything under his power to guide the boy to the rightful way. Just as what he have done, and was currently still doing, for Arthur.

The sorcerer finally managed to smile when he realized that his apprentice was still looking up to him expectantly. "You need to rest, so that you can leave early tomorrow for your journey back home. Let me pack for you."

Maxim opened his mouth to protest, shaking his head. "Oh, no, that won't be necessary, Merlin. I can do it myself."

"But I insist," said Merlin, still not losing his smile, and was keeping his eyes on the boy. "Besides, I'm already done with it."

Furrowing his brows, Maxim turned around to look down on his bag, which was already all packed up indeed. Although he felt his master's hand had left his shoulder, he only looked back when he heard footsteps walking away and it became apparent that the sorcerer was already going towards for the door, Merlin's back facing him. Maxim was smirking when he called out over his master's shoulders. "I thought you said magic shouldn't be used for unnecessary things?"

"Helping someone is never unnecessary. Never forget that, boy," said Merlin, holding out and shaking a finger to the boy behind him, not looking back as he disappeared out the door, making a left turn.

Maxim once again looked down on his bag, his thoughts was of his mother...home...


One month, the whole of it spent with Merlin, magic, and other activities he had never done before...when he was still just any normal boy, that is. And it took just one night, one magical situation, for just a few moments, his life changed...completely. Those were the thoughts in Maxim's mind as he rode off, mounted on a brown stallion. It had been a grand total of two hours and ten minutes since he left Merlin's castle, and so there he was, on the road to his home.

He wasn't, in any way, regretting that fateful night, nor will he ever regret it at all. Yes, there was no denying that with it, there were many risks. Danger for example, your life always in the line, Merlin had reminded him many times before that one day, he would have to face a Morganian sorcerer, at the most unexpected times, in as many possibilities, and it could happen anywhere. And the most preferable moment for attack, is usually, when alone. But for the mean time, Maxim was assured that he stand to be of no threat for 'the enemy sorcerers'...yet. When he grows older, wiser, more skillful with the art, and more powerful, perhaps, that would be the time that he'd be a threat.

Maxim smirked to himself.

For him, being a threat to other sorcerers wasn't entirely bad. That was when a silly thought suddenly came to mind. He just realized, that both Merlin's and Morgana's names starts with the letter 'M', and that each sorcerers' followers were called after their names. He wondered, that if he ever make another kind of sorcerers after himself, then would his followers be called 'Maximians'?

Laughing at the thought, Maxim found it rather amusing to have sorcerers who would call themselves like that. But then that would be ridiculous. There will always be just two. The world was always been about two things. First there was the very common black and white, then there's the powerful and weak, the rich and poor, the beautiful and the ugly, and then, there was always the constant battle of...good and evil. Things just gets complicated if one comes in between, making up a triangle. Because choosing had always been a part of life. One to accept, one to reject. After learning that about life, once, Maxim said he'd never wanted to be the one rejected, but as he grew older, he also considered the fact that: how was he to know it wouldn't actually happen to him?

Passing by the fields, the more did Maxim think about the memory of how he ended up becoming apprentice to the famous Merlin. Perhaps his master was right after all; that everything happens for a reason. Maybe that was the reason behind it, on why he found himself in the fields that night; to meet his destiny in becoming a sorcerer.

He shook his head thoughtfully.

Destiny? Since when did he ever talk about destiny? Or better yet, since when did he believe in such a thing? But what about magic?

Sighing, almost slightly annoyed with thinking about so many things, Maxim turned his gaze towards front of the road, which he kept on ignoring for the last three minutes. That was when he gazed upon a sight he was very familiar with, and that he couldn't possibly be mistaken. Not far from where he was still mounted on the stallion, still trotting forward, was a house having a tree just outside, and the neighboring building was a blacksmith shop, which was also quite a familiar sight for him.

"Home..." he whispered to himself.

Once he came just as close enough to the opened fence, he unmounted his horse, adjusted his bag that he was still carrying on his back, and went in, a little hesitantly at first.

Nothing much had changed, except for his mother's flowers, which was all in bloom. The tree hadn't changed much itself as well; still having all those lined-scars that his father carved out each time he'd grow an inch taller. He remembered he'd have to stand with his back behind the tree trunk and he'd smile up to his father, both of them wanting to know how tall he had gotten, with him being the more excited one. That ceremony started since he was three, and continued on every year, every birthday, till it had to end, when he turned eleven. His mother didn't want to continue doing it, since it only reminded her of his father, and he couldn't blame her.

Running a hand on the last carved out line on the tree bark, he smiled rather sadly, realizing how tall he had gotten since he was looking down on it. Perhaps another line wouldn't be much, just for one last time. He turned around, drew out his sword, its hilt glowing blue. He placed it above his head, then made a line on the tree. Turning around, he contemplated at it. If only his father was there, then again, he knew what the man would say; 'Look here, my boy! You're much taller than before! Someday you'll grow up becoming a very tall man, I believe.'

Suddenly, a familiar, manly voice came from behind, apparently calling out to Maxim.

"Begging your pardon, stranger, but, can I help you?"

Maxim smiled to himself. He knew exactly who it was.

Carlyle...

The thirteen-year-old turned around, still smiling. "Just came for a visit, sir."

The blacksmith returned the smile, then beckoned to the boy to come to him. The boy complied to it, not even hesitating a step, until it was only the fence that kept them from each other.

"How are you?", said Carlyle, reaching out a hand, and brushed rapidly on the boy's dark hair for a few times. Carlyle couldn't contain his happiness on seeing the boy.

"I'm fine, Carlyle! Stop that! You're messing my hair!" said the boy rather playfully and still smiling, trying to free his head from what the blacksmith was doing. "Where's mother?" he then asked after looking up and right after the blacksmith finally stopped.

"She's out, but she won't take long," answered Carlyle. "Now, tell me all about what you have been doing for a month."


Among the hundreds of grave stones in the cemetery, there was one certain grave that which have a visitor. A woman, who was a mother, and was also a widow, her dark hair being tossed over to her left shoulder and a few strands over her face by the cool wind. Her brown eyes were sad although there was a smile on her face. Her gaze was lovingly set on the engravings on the grave stone. It read:

Iztvan Gaspar Horvath
Beloved husband and father

There was nothing entirely quite special that day, but it didn't have to be a special day for Ulla to visit her husband's grave. It was a rather unusual feeling that was urging her to do so since the day started, and she eventually complied to it. She even bought a few flowers along the way.

As she stood there, her thoughts were of how Iztvan would have reacted in finding out about their only son becoming apprentice to the sorcerer Merlin, if he were still alive. Perhaps he would be happy, but at the same time, very concerned. Nervous, but was willing to let go of the boy. Uncertain, but still trusting on Merlin. Then perhaps, also as proud as her.

Two years. It was hard for her at first, same with Maxim. On the night after the funeral, the boy went off to the hill behind their house. All three of them had shared beautiful memories on that hill, that Ulla could only imagine the pain her son was going through just by being there. Though she envied him somehow, because he was strong enough to even stay up there. Memories about a loved one who died only torture you. She knew that all too well. She went through such a pain when her own father died. Yet still, losing a husband was more painful. But she also tried to be strong, at least for her only son, for her beloved little Maxim who was eleven that time.

A tear fell from her left eye, and her cheek felt how hot it was.

She wasn't the one there in the tavern when Iztvan died, it was Maxim. It must have been terrible for the boy. The moment Iztvan's body was taken to the house, with Carlyle having the boy with him by the hand, Ulla's first tentative reaction was to come running for her son, her tears flowing, crushing him into a tight embrace. His eyes were watery, and already red from crying when they reached home, she was hurt just by the sight of it. But it had hurt more when Maxim returned the embrace, and she heard him sobbing those words: 'He killed my father. That man. I'll find him. And I'm going to kill him too. I promise I'm going to kill him.'

All that she could do was hush the boy, whispering that everything was going to be alright, but it pained her knowing that there was nothing she could possibly say or do that would help ease the sorrow her son was sharing with her.

Her little Maxim...

Or not so little anymore. He was growing up, rather too fast. To think that she had to let go of him at the age of thirteen already.

"You left too soon, my love," she whispered into the wind, her words directed to Iztvan.

Maxim was taught on how to become independent, so she wasn't that worried at all, but sorcery never came in mind. They never considered such a thing was possible. And she, nor Iztvan even, never thought that their boy could be that special.

Wiping away the tear that fell, Ulla thought that it was time to leave, before more tears threaten to fall. She gave one last look on the grave, then turned around to leave. Yet still, her thoughts wandered on to her son, and it all ended up in questions. How was he now? How has he improved? Was he ever hurt in each training? On each spell he learns? Did Merlin ever had problems with him? Most importantly, when will she see him again?

Ulla sighed heavily.

Not even she herself could rightly describe how much she missed her boy. She was right. It hurts more in missing someone who's far from you when said someone is still alive.

The road back home wasn't quite far, that Ulla found it quite in a walking-distance, and she never got tired of it. Walking was one of her simple pleasures in life, especially if she wanted to think, needed time alone to consider important matters.

In reaching home she expected to hear Carlyle still at work, but the silence of the shop gave her the idea that perhaps the blacksmith had decided to take a rest. She entered the opened fence gate, not surprised that the front door of the house was opened, thinking that perhaps Carlyle had taken the pleasure of getting himself inside, which was fine. He has been quite a very close friend of the family.

Entering, she immediately caught sight of the bag on one of the chairs at the dining table.

She knew that bag.

Ulla ran quickly to her son's room, hopeful that she might find her boy there. But as she reached the room, she was disappointed, because it was empty. She went for the kitchen, still empty. Outside once more, still no one was there, not even Carlyle. Ulla wondered to herself. Perhaps Carlyle had a visitor?

"Looking for someone?"

The voice. The familiar, boyish voice. Ulla sighed, a smile slowly crept across her face, as she turned around, facing where the voice was coming from. She was right. There in front of her eyes was her boy - dark hair, grinning face, sword on his side, and the look on his face as though saying 'Surprised you, didn't I?'

"It's a spell that I learned," said the boy. "Helps me blend with my surroundings, so it would be impossible to see me."

Ulla shook her head, took in the few distance between them, and pulled her boy close to her.

"I've missed you too, Mother," was what all she heard from him.

That night, the house was alive. Both Ulla and Carlyle were full, not from the food, but from all the stories that Maxim told them. All the training he went through, a boy he met, the first time he fought and killed a dragon, and others. Though Ulla was very concerned about most of the stories told, she was at least thankful that her son came back to her in one piece.

Maxim also made a few examples of his magic and of what he learned so far in that one month time. He was smirking to himself all the way until he finished his little show, seeing the widened eyes of both his mother and Carlyle. Both were in awe, and in much amazement. So in the end, it was Maxim who first collapsed into bed. Apparently all the spells he cast must've drained him.

After the dishes were done, Ulla found herself leaning by the door frame of her son's room. She was looking at his face so lovingly, and was too busy contemplating on her boy, that she almost didn't notice Carlyle coming up to her.

"Ulla?" The blacksmith thought best to give a warning as he approached, he only continued when the woman looked up. "I'll be off to now."

"Yes, of course. You must be tired yourself," said Ulla, nodding. "Thank you for helping with the dishes."

Carlyle only shrugged for an answer.

Both then looked towards the boy sleeping on the bed inside the room.

"Watching over him?" asked Carlyle, briefly risking a glance towards the woman standing across him.

"I couldn't help it," replied Ulla, her arms placed across her bosom, her head resting on the door frame. "Haven't seen him for a month."

When Carlyle looked back to Ulla, he didn't took off his gaze on her anymore. "You kept looking at your son like that; he'll melt in front of you."

Breathing out a short, quiet laugh, Ulla immediately took on the blacksmith's humor, and only gave him a playful shoo of her hand.

"Good night then," said Carlyle, grinning, finally saying his good bye. "You should be sleeping yourself." And he was out of the house.

Before complying indeed to the call of sleep, Ulla stepped inside the room. She knelt at the bedside of her son's bed, and carefully brushed away a few strands of hair on his forehead.

"Sleep tight, my Maximus," she whispered into his ear, not even caring whether he heard it or not. She then planted a soft kiss on his forehead, and went out of the room, content that his son was home again, even if it was only for a week.