Chapter Summary: Rest up, dear Merlin. In time, they'll see.
Recap of Named Original Characters:
- Tina: An exam official that processed Merlin registration in the Apprentice Exam
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Chapter XX: When Destiny Calls You
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Balinor leads them out of the training grounds and towards the eastern side of the castle. There, six exam officials await just outside the castle shield.
"My lord." Tina bows low as they approach, the motion emulated by the rest of her companions.
An array of bronze pendants strapped with leather cords hangs by their left forearms, clanging softly together with their every move. The pendants are motleys of shapes no bigger than Merlin's palm.
Tina lifts her head, and seems to startle to still see the Court Sorcerer in her midst.
"Three talismans," Balinor prompts, holding out his hand.
"Talismans . . . Three." Tina repeats, looking rather befuddled. Her gaze finally strays to the people behind the Court Sorcerer, and brown eyes widen in disbelief. "Of course, my lord . . . Three. Um." Awkwardly, she extracts three talismans from her arm. Balinor accepts them from her without further fuss.
"These will be your castle talismans," Balinor begins, presenting the pendants to three curious apprentices. "Each will be tailored to you, and can be used by no other. Have it at all times for you cannot go through the castle shield without it. Should you lose it, inform me immediately." Separating one pendant from the others, he turns to Morgana and signals her.
The said lady walks closer, fingers separating a curl of her hair from her head and summarily plucking out a strand. She gingerly puts the lock upon the crescent moon-shaped pendant Balinor holds out. From underneath his tunic and around his neck, the Court Sorcerer pulls out a pendant of his own, his the form of the triple moon. He presses both pendants together, hazel eyes glowing as he whispers an enchantment. After a few moments, he detaches the talismans, and bequeathes the other to Morgana.
Morgana happily accepts it. She wears it around her neck, tracing the metal with slender fingers. The Court Sorcerer gestures at the castle with his head. Without another word, Morgana strides towards the entrance. She reaches the archway and pauses, encountering no hindrance.
"Mordred," Balinor calls.
Mordred places a strand of his own hair on a pendant with swirling circles. Balinor repeats the same process, enchanting the talisman as before. Same as Morgana, after putting it on, Mordred goes through the castle shield with no difficulty at all.
Merlin approaches, a tinge of excitement tickling him and a strand of hair already upon his fingers. The warlock's own talisman is that of interweaving almond shapes, forming what looks similar to a three-petalled flower — a triquetra. Balinor does the same spell upon it, interlocking his own talisman with it.
Unnaturally warm metal suffuses Merlin's palm as he cradles the talisman in his hands. The hum of its magic feels comfortingly familiar. He puts it on with more enthusiasm than necessary and rests it just beside Arthur's given sigil. He glances at the castle, and at Morgana and Mordred who stares expectantly at him. Slowly, he places a foot forward and takes a step. And then another. And another. The resistance that hurt his nose that very morning does not do so this time. Within a few moments, he touches the castle's stone walls with reverence.
Finally! He grins, pleased that at least he has achieved a goal he has set for himself that morning. He is now able to enter the castle grounds.
"Come along now." Balinor waves his hands at the three, and they all follow him into the castle proper.
Inside, just beyond the archway that served as the entrance, servants line the corridor, conversing casually. Upon seeing the new arrivals, all stand to attention, immediately straightening their backs and silencing their words. A servant leaps ahead of the rest.
George, with his hawkish nose, bowl-cut hair, and formal air, looks exactly the same as the one Merlin knows. Even his clothes mimic the same combination of colors — the light blue tunic, deep red undercoat and deep brown overcoat. It amazes Merlin quite a bit, and brings him a strange sort of comfort.
"Lord Balinor, I shall lead your new apprentices to their rooms." If George is surprised that Balinor has any apprentices at all, he does not show it. The same cannot be said for the other servants watching them with awe.
"Thank you, George," Balinor says. He gestures at Mordred and Merlin. "Take these two to their chambers. I will take Morgana to hers."
Merlin pauses in looking around the familiar walls to give Balinor and Morgana a curious glance. Morgana smiles at the warlock again as their gazes meet, something Merlin still can't properly return.
"Very well, my lord." To Mordred and Merlin, George says mildly, "If you would follow me." The servant turns on his heel and strides into one of the twisting halls of the castle.
Mordred and Merlin comply, walking a step behind him. Merlin glances back just in time to see Balinor and Morgana disappearing into another aisle.
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"I have the strangest feeling that we're not heading to any of the apprentice chambers," Morgana remarks guilelessly as they climb the sets of stairs heading towards the parapets.
Balinor replies somberly, "I wish to speak with you privately."
They reach the top of the stairs, and enter the battlements. The cold night air blows by their cheeks, the torches doing little to provide warmth. Morgana pulls her cloak closer to her body.
"What do you wish to talk about then?" Morgana asks, staring at the Court Sorcerer placidly. Balinor opens his mouth to answer but another voice beats him to it.
"Your visions."
Both their heads snap to the source of the words. Arthur emerges from the shadows of the turrets like a ghost at midnight.
Morgana cocks a brow. "An ambush, is it?"
Balinor's brows furrow. "Arthur, what —"
"I knew you would speak with her as soon as you can," the prince cuts Balinor off. He smirks, a small and almost invisible thing. "I also know the battlements are what you consider a 'private setting'."
Balinor debates whether he should be offended or not. Morgana releases an amused huff. Arthur shifts his attention to her, gaze nothing less than piercing.
"Will you tell us, Morgana, what you Saw?" Arthur inquires, tone casual as if he's not fully interested in the subject. The way he stalks closer and leans forward, however, belies otherwise. "And what this Merlin has to do with it."
Morgana inhales sharply. "Astute as always, my prince."
"So you did See something." A hint of accusation slips through Balinor's tone. "Why did you not tell us? We have to know and act as soon as possible to prevent a catastrophe from occurring."
"It's not —" Morgana presses her lips together, a flash of sorrow flitting by her features. "It isn't like that."
"Then, what is it like?" Seeing the hesitation on Morgana's expression perplexes Balinor quite a bit because, "You've never once hidden the contents of your visions before."
Morgana dithers some more, emerald eyes flicking from an expectant Arthur to a curious Balinor.
"Information for information." Balinor cocks his head to the side. "Did I not let you listen in on our conversation in the tent?"
Arthur shoots the Court Sorcerer a surprised look. "You let her listen in?"
Balinor responds airily, "I believe she would be more lenient with information on her end should I give her the same courtesy."
"And here I thought I expertly dispersed your spell without your knowledge." Morgana appears more exasperated than guilty at being caught.
Balinor allows himself to smirk. "You're still far too young to hope for that." A pondering look crosses his face. "But the fact that you attempted to do so in that tent confirmed that Merlin truly has something to do with what you Saw. Morgana, I wish to know if any of my apprentices pose any threat or will be in any danger."
Morgana sighs. "I suppose it's only fair. There's no chance either of you is going to let this slide, is there?"
Arthur gives her a look of 'do you really need to ask?'. Balinor merely raises a brow.
Morgana nods, a blatant resolve sets her shoulders in a determined line. She holds out both her hands, palms up and fingers splayed, and says, "It'll be easier to show you."
"Show us?"
This time, it is Balinor and Arthur's turn to hesitate. It's no secret that Morgana's prominent Sight, while very useful in saving lives and preventing wars, is also a great blight upon her. She glimpses upon futures bathed in the blood of innocents, deafening with the pained cries of the people, and suffused with unmerciful betrayals in courts. She declares their contents as soon as she receives it, describing each event in detail to ensure the accuracy of the information. However, she has never offered to show them to anyone. Consequently, no one has ever asked to see them personally.
While Balinor and Arthur are no strangers to gore, they're still unsure whether they can just plunge into it without knowing what the visions entail.
Noting the look upon their face, Morgana's lips twist into a knowing smirk. "I suppose if you're that afraid to know . . ."
Arthur rolls his eyes and takes Morgana's hand into one of his own before she could finish the sentence, curiosity winning over caution. Balinor lets out a breath that may have been a sigh, and places his own hand on top of Morgana's free one.
Without further preamble, she sends out a pulse of energy through their points of contact, slithering through veins and lightly prodding at their minds. They open a door for her magic in their heads, giving her permission and allowing her in.
And Morgana projects.
Sunlight streams between the gaps of the leaves, flickering as the tree's branches frolic with the breeze. The bushes nearby rustle boisterously as a strong gust of wind circles and plays with them. The smell of spring, of newly formed life and new beginnings, fills the air wonderfully. Silken cloth drapes over their skin, and another rougher texture rests upon their hands.
Soon, other smells filter in. The sweet scent of honey and jams. The fragrance of freshly baked bread. The tang of good wine and cheap ale mixing unexpectedly smoothly. Sizzling meat wafting in the air. Cut fruits dripping juices.
Soon, other sounds also begin to reach their ears. Laughter.
"— and then, Lancelot, the absolute lightweight, falls over his seat in mere minutes!"
"I had one whole mug of ale!"
"Yes, someone getting utterly smashed on only one cup of ale is what we call a lightweight, Lancelot."
Their field of vision shifts, drifting down to the people conversing. Lancelot is dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, scowling mightily at whatever embarrassing story is being told. Having had enough, the knight grabs a bread roll from the picnic basket, and shoves it in the storyteller's — Gilli, Morgana supplies them — mouth to cease his speech. Gilli flails, trying to prevent himself from choking. Mordred, slouching beside Gilli and adorning familiarly stitched blue robes, merely guffaws at his friend's fate, making no move to help him.
"I think it's adorable." Beside Lancelot, garbed in sleeveless leathers and earthen-colored cloths, sits the most renowned blacksmith of the citadel. Toned and prominent biceps flex as the blacksmith reaches out to liberate a peach from the bowl, ringlets of brown curls swaying at the movement. "Sir Lancelot merely isn't a man to indulge too often in drink, and so hasn't had a strong resistance to it. Not that there's anything wrong with indulging in it too often. As long as they can still work by the next morning."
Lancelot blushes heavily, grabbing an apple from the fruit pile and aggressively biting into it.
"They aren't subtle at all."
Their eyes turn to their left, turn to the owner of the voice. Merlin, dressed in the same robes as Mordred, stares at Lancelot amusedly. A hovering butter knife spreading raspberry jam on a hovering bread lays close to his wiggling fingers. On his lap, curled atop his folded legs is a pale-colored winged creature, sleeping peacefully amidst the bickering. Merlin rubs the ridges on its back absentmindedly.
"No, they're not." Beside Merlin, Arthur plucks the bread from thin air and takes a large bite out of it. Merlin's irritated "Hey, that's mine!" goes largely ignored. After swallowing, the prince says, "I should start a betting pool among the knights on when Lancelot will finally admit he has actual feelings other than grumpiness."
Merlin huffs, dark-blue eyes glowing gold as he lifts another piece of bread and begins smearing blueberry jam on it. "Lancelot will skin you."
"I'm the crowned prince, Merlin. The worst he can do is glare at me from a distance."
"You're a clotpole." Undeniable fondness paints Merlin's tone. "I'll be taking revenge in Lancelot's stead then."
A pale delicate hand robed with the same shade of blue is raised in the air. Merlin's blueberry-soaked bread comes flying towards their fingers.
"My thanks, Merlin," Morgana's voice says before the taste of blueberries fills their tongue.
Merlin squawks, indignant. "Prats, both of you!"
Morgana's laughter rings loudly and freely in the air. Merlin, grumbling about thieving nobilities, grabs another slice and uses strawberry jam this time.
"I see you're having fun."
Their heads whip behind them. Balinor emerges from the trees like an unbidden nightmare. Merlin's bread drops with an unappetizing squish onto the cloth-covered ground.
Balinor stares, unamused, at the whole scene. "I don't remember today being a day-off."
They trade panicked looks with Mordred and Merlin.
"Merlin was getting antsy."
"It was Morgana who dragged us all out!"
"Mordred told us he'd never had a picnic!"
The three blue-robed individuals in the group yell simultaneously. Then, the three of them send each other offended looks. The creature on Merlin's lap abruptly jolts awake with a sharp croon at the shouts. Lancelot, the blacksmith, and Gilli make themselves smaller in the hopes that the Court Sorcerer won't notice them. Arthur's sudden coughing fit definitely started out as a laugh.
Balinor's unimpressed gaze switches to Arthur. "I see you've kidnapped the prince as well and forced him to forsake his own duties."
Arthur clears his throat. "That's right. These scoundrels have kidnapped me and forced this on me." He takes another large bite of his raspberry-smeared bread. "I'm not enjoying this at all."
The pale creature yawns, beak-resque mouth opening widely and showing an array of pointed baby teeth. Merlin's gaze is drawn by the movement. He grabs the creature by the middle and presents it to Balinor like an offering to an altar.
"She can't stay inside the castle all the time. It's too stifling. She needs open air and the sun to grow." Merlin informs him, adopting a pitiful look. The creature turns its big dark pupils to Balinor and trills, wagging its ridged tail languidly. "We were just accompanying her."
"Is that so." Balinor drawls out, looking like he would like to twist Merlin's ear for using the creature as an excuse.
Merlin thrusts the creature further forward, shaking it for good measure. Thankfully, the creature takes his actions in good humor rather than gnawing on Merlin's fingers in revenge. Balinor continues staring at Merlin, stoic and unyielding. Everyone else in the clearing waits with bated breath.
Then, Balinor sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He ceremoniously seats himself beside Merlin, and snatches the creature from Merlin's grasp. "If the queen asks, I was not here." He gently puts down the pale creature on his own lap, whereupon it curls on its stomach and resumes its slumber.
"Yes, sire," Merlin replies with a giant grin and a mock salute. He hands Balinor a goblet. A bottle of wine comes leaping in the air to fill it.
"We'll pin it all on Arthur, not to worry," Morgana's voice assures.
"Oi," the said prince protests with a faux glower.
Gilli continues his story as if they haven't been interrupted. On the picnic cloth they're all sitting on, the blacksmith's callused fingers definitely rest a lot closer to Lancelot's than before. The knight either does not notice or does not want to acknowledge it. Mordred steals another one of Merlin's lovingly prepared bread with a quick wave of his hand, prompting a round of curses from the latter.
"Why don't you lot prepare your own!?" Merlin harrumphs, annoyed. "I'm not anyone's servant here."
"But you do it better than any of us," Mordred retorts, sounding more earnest than necessary.
Merlin sees right through the act and glares. Balinor snorts before gulping down his wine. Arthur chuckles, throwing Merlin a sweet roll as an apology. Merlin catches it without looking and bites into it huffily.
Warmth swells in their chest, swirling leisurely and filling their whole being. The vision fades slowly, glimpses of the cheerful scene lingering tenderly before blackening in the edges.
Balinor, Arthur, Morgana blink rapidly, temporarily disoriented from transitioning from sunlight to night. Morgana releases their hands as they compose themselves.
After several moments, Morgana explains, tone low and soft, "I Saw it two days ago. It's the first time I had a vision like that — so peaceful, so trivial, such an insignificant moment. There was no useful information I could gather, nothing I should prevent. No one was in danger." A smile flits by her face. "Just people having a picnic on a very nice day." She lifts her head, glancing between them. "For the first time, I desire this vision to come to life. I wish to see it, to experience it myself. I gathered that mentioning it to anyone before the results of the Exam would not be conducive to that."
Arthur looks at her, expression blank. Then, he turns around and stalks away without a word. Morgana stares at his back as he disappears down the stairs, features marred with bewilderment.
"A lot has changed since we've seen you last," Balinor tells her, tone making it clear he's not willing to talk about said changes at that moment.
"So I have observed," Morgana replies, lips pressing into a thin line.
"You participated in the Exam because of this vision?" Balinor asks, straight to the point.
Morgana smiles. "Packed up my things as soon as I woke up and headed straight here. I recognized the stitchings on our robes." Morgana gestures at Balinor's own attire. "You've always favored the symbol of the triple moon."
"You knew who I would be choosing. That I would pick three."
"I suspected. You know as well as I do my visions only show a possible future." She looks up at Balinor, and continues grimly, "But I assure you, I did not know the böggel-man would show up during the Exam. I would have warned you otherwise."
Balinor nods, already knowing that. After a beat, he says, "Thank you, Morgana. Let me take you to your chambers then." With that, he leads her down the parapets.
Morgana sounds taken aback as she asks, "That's it?" She follows him, walking by his side.
The Court Sorcerer side-eyes her and simply answers, "That's it."
But even as he says so, his mind is still processing the information Morgana has given them. For even if Morgana claims the moment as insignificant, it is anything but. The prince knows it as well, hence, his quick departure.
Arthur smiling and laughing, carefree in actions and mannerisms.
Lancelot mingling carelessly with people, looking unworried and off-guard.
Balinor himself, acting so familiarly with people he has promised himself not to grow attached to.
For Balinor, perhaps the most damning information of it all is the small white creature with leather wings slumbering comfortably in the arms of someone not their kin.
A white dragon — the rarest dragon kind in existence. It's no surprise Morgana and Arthur did not recognize it. Furthermore, the white dragon in the vision is in its infancy. A month old, maybe less. Balinor reels at the knowledge that somehow, one day, him and his apprentices would possibly acquire a dragon and keep it. He fails to wrap his head around it.
They reach Morgana's assigned chambers with the Court Sorcerer still ruminating upon the many implausibilities in the vision.
"I am sorry I didn't tell you sooner," Morgana says solemnly, interpreting Balinor's silence throughout their whole trip to be because of anger.
Balinor is quick to correct her. "I understand why you did so. There's no need to apologize." If nothing else, at the very least, the Court Sorcerer can breathe a little easier knowing his decision causes no major tragedy in the near future.
Morgana nods, relief evident in her countenance. Then, tentatively, hands fidgeting ever so subtly on the hem of her cloak, she inquires, "You're not averse to it, are you? It is just . . . a picnic."
Balinor pauses.
He understands why Morgana is so invested in the vision. Being the first vision to depict something close to neutral, the importance of it to her is nothing to scoff at. For her, it is not just a picnic.
On the other hand, there are still things in the vision that Balinor just cannot believe, things that merely cannot be possible. Morgana's Sight is splendid indeed, and eerily accurate. This one cannot be a fluke but Balinor has a hard time believing that it's within his future.
"A lot has changed, Morgana," he repeats, a subtle warning.
"And it seems a lot more changes are coming," Morgana replies, her smile soft and understanding.
Surprise overcomes Balinor for a moment at the unshakeable certainty present in Morgana's tone. The Court Sorcerer's mind flashes to the momentous proceedings and decisions of the day, and finds a kernel of truth between her words. So, instead of further challenging the vision, he responds with a mere,
"I suppose we shall see."
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For all the hallways and ornaments look similar, the castle feels utterly different.
It takes Merlin several minutes to realize why. He runs a hand through the smooth stone wall as they trudge, sending a tiny pulse of his magic. Electric energy meets with the skin of his palms, causing the hairs at the back of his neck to rise. A passing servant, easily carrying a tray filled with foodstuff, glances at him bemusedly. Merlin takes his hand back and stares at it with amazement.
Every inch of the castle vibrates with unadulterated magic. Merlin recognizes a couple of defensive charms but there are layers upon layers of other enchantments wrapping around the stones. The whole castle feels like it's teeming with life. Merlin has never seen anything akin to it.
"And here are your chambers." George stops in front of a room, knocking Merlin out of his musings.
The warlock peeks into the dark room, along with Mordred. Three beds line half of the chambers, three wardrobes take up a fourth, a privacy screen surrounding a large tub stands in another corner, and three writing desks take up one side. Even with all these furnitures packed in, the chambers are still surprisingly spacious. In his realm, Merlin recalls this to be one of the guest rooms reserved for high nobility.
"You will, of course, be sharing it with another male apprentice." George enters the room, approaching the unlit torch beside the door. With a short spell, and a flash of gold eyes, the torch flares with fire.
Merlin gapes and nearly takes a step back. George has magic!?
The servant continues walking to and lighting the torches peppering the corners of the chambers like it's nothing unusual. "Tomorrow, I shall be rousing you two candlemarks after sunrise to guide you through the workings of the castle and discuss its rules. I believe your first lessons will start in the afternoon." He nods to himself as he finishes his task. "Now, would any of you be wanting a bath?"
Merlin wants one, feeling sticky and dirty after the day's events. But he's always been the one fetching baths; it seems a tad awkward to ask someone else to do so for him now.
"I-If it's no trouble, I would like one," Merlin eventually stutters out, the desire to be clean overcoming his embarrassment.
"No trouble at all," George replies easily. He looks expectantly at Mordred. The druid shakes his head, and George nods. "I will be back in a few minutes with water and oils." With that, he exits the room and leaves the two of them alone.
Mordred claims the bed in the middle and one of the empty wardrobes. Merlin takes the bed nearest to the door, and sits down on the feather-filled mattress. Yet another one of the benefits of being Camelot's apprentice. He debates whether he should start a conversation with Mordred to alleviate some of the awkwardness. However, the druid seems to still be in a gleeful trance, taking in everything in the room with a barely restrained smile.
Stomping footfalls start out as faint background sounds but grow quickly louder. Soon, a blur of a figure arrives at the open door of their chambers.
"Mordred, you incredibly lucky sod!" Gilli exclaims, a giant grin almost splitting his face in half. "You did it! The Court Sorcerer's apprentice!"
Mordred jumps up from his own seat, expression matching Gilli's even as he says, "Luck has nothing to do with it. It all comes down to my magnificent skills."
Gilli laughs, boisterous and unbridled, and almost tackles Mordred from the force of his hug. "Congratulations! I bet you cried!"
"I'm not like you, Gilli."
Merlin watches their antics with amusement, and perhaps a tiny bit of envy.
George and another servant appear in the entryway, prompting Gilli and Mordred to seat themselves onto Mordred's bed so as not to block them. The servants carry four buckets of water each yet they don't seem to be having a hard time with them. In fact, they look as if they're merely carrying pieces of fabrics.
George and the other servant carefully pour the water into the large tub behind the privacy screen. With the bathing tub three-fourths filled up, George mutters another spell upon it. Steam rises from the now heated water, and George dips his hand into it to check its temperature. Satisfied, he arranges the oils and soaps around the tub, and puts a clean piece of cloth over its lip.
"Your bath," George declares in a rather humorously serious manner.
"Thank you, George," Merlin says, still rather shocked at the way the servant has seamlessly used magic to do his chores. Yes, Merlin does that as well but, well, the threat of execution usually hangs over his mind and he certainly doesn't do it around other people.
George nods. "We shall take our leave then." Without further fuss, him and the other servant leaves the room.
Merlin extends the screen before stripping and submerging himself into the tub. Immediately, the warmth of the water relaxes his sore muscles. As a servant, one doesn't usually get the opportunity to bathe in large tubs such as this. As the king's servant and very amazing best friend, however, Arthur graciously allows Merlin to use the king's tub as often as he likes. Merlin just has to perform a discreet spell to heat up Arthur's used bathwater, and he can bathe as often as Arthur does. Which, due to knights' training and regular hunts, is quite often.
Merlin hears Gilli and Mordred conversing excitedly, although their words are too low to make out. The hum of their voices serve to ease him further.
He allows himself a moment to just be. With no one looking, there's no need to put on a mask, no need to pretend. He sinks deeper into the water, and sighs.
Gods, he's so tired.
It feels like an eternity since he has seen his friends last. Gaius, with his disapprovingly raised brow but amused tilt of his lips. Perceival, Elyan and Leon, with their roughhousing and banter. Gwen, helping him prepare the food for their journey, telling him to be careful and to make sure Arthur doesn't do anything too foolish. Gwaine, with his roguish grin and jests at inappropriate times. Lancelot, clapping him on the shoulder and smiling and softly encouraging him. Arthur, the prat who told Merlin to climb a tree and then woke up the mother crow with his shouts.
Will I ever get to see them again? His fingers flit by the brooch settled on his chest. His fingers touch upon a different piece of metal, reminding him of the additional pendant now around his neck.
Merlin shakes his head and abruptly dunks his head into the water. It's no use thinking like that. One step at a time, as Gaius once advised. He got into the castle. That's one step done.
When he resurfaces, a third voice has joined Gilli's and Mordred's. Merlin immediately recognizes Theo's voice. It's a slight relief that they'll be sharing the room with someone at least familiar and friendly to them.
Merlin is reaching for the soap when Mordred calls out from the other side of the screen, "Merlin! We're going to be celebrating at Tom's inn and getting our things. Would you like to join us?"
The very notion exhausts Merlin further. "I think I'll just rest up."
"All right."
Merlin hears them all shuffle out, still talking. The door creaks closed and their voices eventually peter out, leaving the warlock with only the flickering fires for company.
He quickly finishes bathing, viciously scrubbing out the dirt from his hair and skin. Seeing as he has no other clothes to wear, he washes his current clothes, including the borrowed tunic. During his habitual search of his pockets, he's astonished to pull out a bloodied embroidered handkerchief.
After ensuring he's truly alone, he mutters, "Fordwin wamm." In a blink, the handkerchief returns to its pristine unbloodied state. He runs his thumb over the soft white cloth, having almost forgotten about it. On one of the four corners of the fabric, the symbol of the triple moon is darned with silver-colored thread. Underneath that, red threads stitch a dragon laying curled on its side. He huffs out a laugh. If nothing else, at least he has another reminder of his father to take back to his own Camelot.
He dries his clothes with another spell. He wears them again and unceremoniously flops down onto the soft mattress of his bed, hair still wet.
He closes his eyes, and goes over his plans. On the morrow, he will ask George where the library is. Attend apprentice lessons, whatever that may entail, and spend whatever free time he has in the library to search for information on Djinns or other worlds. Perhaps he should research more on this world's history and magic too; he needs to appear as a normal resident of this realm and he can't do that with different knowledge of past events or differing views on some spells. It couldn't hurt to decrease those suspicious and condescending looks . . .
Slumber takes Merlin in its tender embrace before he can think of anything more.
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A/N: (A LONG one)
"When destiny calls you
You must be strong
I may not be with you
But you've got to hold on
They'll see in time"
– Phil Collins, "You'll Be In My Heart", Tarzan (1999)
Thank you so much, Kokorrosive, for the generous kofi donation! And for the information regarding AO3's rules about it! I should really read up on AO3's guidelines . . .
The speculations are all awesome! I love reading them and imagining the scenarios you've all conjured up. There will be shenanigans. A lot of them. Balinor will probably gain more gray hairs from it.
The current mysteries ~
Who is Lily and what exactly happened to her? What's her connection to Arthur and Balinor? Why is Arthur limping or if that's relevant at all to the story and not just a funny little detail? What does the queen think about Merlin having the sigil and what does Agravaine have to do with all of it (also, I am CACKLING)? Where is Gwen, Gwaine, Elyan, Perceival, and Leon in this alternate universe? How will Merlin get home? Who wished him there in the first place?
And what is up with Wracu and his Army? To that, my answer is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Does this story even deserve Merlin/Arthur tag given that Merlin has interacted with Arthur (both of them) a total of five times in this 115K story? Will this even become Merlin/Arthur!? I should really remove this tag for now, but I don't want people reading and then having whiplash if I do decide on the Merthur route. Though, I don't want to give false hopes to those people who were hoping for Merthur if I do decide to go the pre-slash route. Hmmmm, lol, I should really decide soon on this. But to reiterate, romance (between any of the characters) really isn't going to be a big thing in this story.
Speaking of, I'm just gonna put this out there just in case: most, if not all, of the characters in this story are part of the LGBTQA+. Selia/Selly is the first one I've explicitly introduced as such but there will be more. If these types of characters aren't your thing, kindly click the back button now and save us both the heartbreak.
Now, for an update schedule! I'm going to try to write the whole Arc 2 within a couple of months! I plan to finish at least the first draft of Arc 2 before posting any more chapters. That way, I can consistently churn out chapters more regularly. Which means . . . yeah, see you in a couple of months? Hopefully . . . *escapes*
Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Thank you for those who pointed out the tense and subject-verb agreement issues – rest assured that I'll be working on them on the rewrite!
Thank you all for tuning in into this self-indulgent project of mine! I hope you found some enjoyment in the journey ^_^
For any further questions or clarifications or want to get me off my lazy butt and write, hit me up at my (almost unused) tumblr: blissful-whims. tumblr. (c)(o)(m)
See you all around. Keep practicing those safety tips!
~ Vividpast