Chapter Summary: Familiar faces show themselves, some more welcome than others.
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Chapter III: Beyond Your Mortal Imagination
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"Unbelievable. Merlin. Wake up."
The warlock's eyes fly open, and quickly snap shut when they meet the harsh light of the morning sun. Wait, morning?
Merlin jerks up from the desk that served as his bed the night before, his back and neck creaking in protest. The piles of tomes around him shake precariously at his sudden movement. Fortunately, they remain in their places.
"Wha —?" Merlin rubs his eyes before his gaze blearily catches on to George, who's standing just beside his chair.
The servant appears utterly unimpressed. "Lord Balinor has asked the servants to look for you. Your lessons with him started more than half-an-hour ago."
The warlock curses up a storm, hurriedly reaching for the books.
"I shall return the books to their proper places," George intones, shooing him away. "I suggest you do not keep Lord Balinor waiting."
Merlin takes the servant up on his offer without hesitation. "Thank you!" He says, sheepish and grateful. Without further delay, Merlin heads out of the library and dashes once more towards his mentor's chambers.
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"Late. Again." Balinor looks up from another mountain of paperwork as Merlin barges into the room without knocking (again). There's no anger in the Court Sorcerer's expression but he does not look at all pleased.
"Sorry, sorry." Merlin rushes to his seat and almost bowls over the chair in his haste. Mordred's look of disapproval is even more blatant this morning. Morgana merely appears uninterested in the issue.
Balinor lifts a brow. "Should I expect your lack of punctuality to be a habit?"
"Er — Definitely not, my lord. Sorry, again. This will be the last time I'll be late; I promise." Merlin hopes he can keep said promise.
The Court Sorcerer shoots him a skeptical glance before directing his attention to his work. Likewise, Merlin starts on the crystals, shattering them before he can fill them up.
Again, much to Merlin's continued astonishment, Morgana has presented him a bundle containing sweet rolls and cut up fruits. Merlin stutters out his thanks and consumes the proffered with food in a couple of minutes. He's used to missing meals because of various kingdom-destroying or king-prat-related reasons but he truly prefers not to do so when he can.
The four of them proceed as such in silence for hours. Merlin, already accustomed to the amount of magic he needs to prevent the crystals from shattering for the second time, finds an easier time than the day before.
Given that, he lets his mind wander. He has found nothing of use during his research the night before. No creature, so far, has matched the Djinn's power and ability to bridge the gap between worlds. He has been focusing his search on earth creatures — pixies, faes, fairies. The Sidhe is mayhap the most promising he has seen, as the books depict them as guardians of Avalon, another entire world in and of itself. He shall have to look more into them later.
When knocks thunder from the doors of the chambers, Merlin startles badly and almost drops a crystal. As one, the three apprentices and the Court Sorcerer whirl to the source.
"Enter," Balinor responds, and the door squeals open not even a second later.
Merlin unconsciously grips the crystal tighter as the figure of one Morgause Le Fay determinedly strides in. He stares at the blank-faced sorceress who nearly brought the citadel to ruin using an undead army; he knows, of course, that Morgause may have been alive in this realm but to face the living breathing proof causes Merlin's magic to flare in alarm. He tamps it down before it could escape his skin. However, judging by the way Balinor's and Mordred's eyes flick to him, his slip doesn't go unnoticed.
Across Merlin, Morgana abruptly gets to her feet, a flabbergasted expression upon her face.
"Lady Morgause," Balinor greets, a hint of inquiry in his tone.
"Lord Balinor." Morgause offers a shallow bow. "With your permission, I would like to speak with my sister. It will take but a moment, my lord."
"Go ahead," Balinor says, waving dismissively before returning to his papers. Seeing as Morgana has nearly thirty filled crystals in her box, Merlin supposes that there's no fear of Morgana falling behind.
"I thank you, my lord," Morgause replies demurely before fully turning to the table of crystals and Morgana.
Her brown eyes dart to Merlin, and away. Then, a split second later, her wide-eyed gaze swivels back to the warlock. Recognition blazes bright and evident in her irises, and shock colors the rest of her features.
Merlin bristles. She recognizes me — how — what should I — For one hysterical moment, the warlock considers the possibility that he's not the only one from his realm that was transported to this one. None of the people of this world have recognized him so far, and, likely, he had not been born at all. Morgause was supposedly dead in his realm but Merlin had not seen the body. What if Morgause —
"Let us go somewhere private then," Morgana pipes up, breaking the staring competition Morgause and Merlin have startlingly fallen into.
Morgause tears her gaze away and replies, "Lead the way."
With that, the two sisters exit the chambers with nary a glance back. Merlin releases a quiet sigh of relief.
He returns to his crystals and attempts to regain his lost concentration.
Thinking about it clearly, Merlin disregards the possibility of the Morgause being transported to this world as well. A life sacrifice was needed to open the veil to the spirit world just as a sacrifice was needed to close it. Morgause was most certainly dead, offering her life in exchange for vengeance. Brave Sir Lamorak had ensured her sacrifice had been in vain when he dashed through the veil before Merlin or Arthur could offer themselves.
Revenge has truly destroyed many lives, hasn't it? Merlin finds it all exhaustingly endless.
He fervently hopes that, after he gets home, he and Arthur could end the bloody cycle soon.
An hour of meandering musings and filled crystals later, Morgana reenters the room. Merlin and Mordred immediately catch on to her dour mood, blatant in the pinch of her brows and the purse of her lips. She takes her seat and resumes her task in silence.
She consecutively shatters seven crystals. Mordred and Merlin trade glances. They wisely keep their questions to themselves.
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Balinor dismisses them for lunch, urging them to return not an hour later. He has barely looked up from the documents drowning him as he speaks.
Merlin's stomach grumbles in protest and excitement. The three of them summarily fetch their food from the kitchens. As they walk to the dining halls, a part of Merlin expects to glimpse upon Morgause lurking somewhere. Fortunately, the said sorceress is absent from any of the halls they passed by.
Very few people occupy the dining chambers, and none of them are people the three of them are acquainted with. Mordred curiously inquires the reason for Merlin's tardiness as they claim an empty table.
Several minutes later, Merlin finds himself entering a vehement debate with the druids regarding the merits of books and of reading them.
"What do books hold that a good mentor can't teach you?"
Merlin can't help but gape, putting down the fork full of pork back down on his plate. "While I'm sure it's better to have someone guide you, books are more reliable than the mere memory of a person, no matter how experienced they are."
Mordred frowns, looking like Merlin has personally insulted him. "Books offer too much unnecessary information, too many useless things that have no practical use. Having a mentor will ensure you focus on learning the most important aspects."
The two of them argue about it for the better part an hour as they eat, citing examples for their part of the argument and neither giving in. While Merlin knows Mordred brings up a few good points, the warlock, whose life those very informative tomes has saved against Camelot's enemy of the week, cannot simply let the druid stomp over their importance.
"We should ask Lord Balinor about it then."
"Lord Balinor's a mentor himself. He'll be biased!"
Mordred lets out a breath that could've been a stubborn huff. "He's Camelot's Court Sorcerer. He won't be biased."
"I think —" Both the druid's and the warlock's gazes whirl to Morgana, who has been silent throughout the meal and their discussions. "— you've both raised some good points." She gives them a patient smile, her sour mood seemingly lifted. "But you're all forgetting that the type of learning depends mostly on the person learning. Are they more comfortable interacting with someone rather than learning in solitude? Do they learn more by reading rather than acting it out?"
Merlin and Mordred mull this over and see her point.
Morgana deduces their silent agreement from their sheepish expression. "Well then, that's settled. If we don't get moving, Lord Balinor will think Merlin's tardiness is contagious."
Mordred puffs out an amused laugh, and Merlin lets out an indignant sound.
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Merlin would like to say that the rest of the afternoon is uneventful, but he would be lying.
Mordred, prompted by a question from Morgana, narrates the usual routine of people living in tents in a forest. He explicitly reveals himself as a druid. For a split second, Merlin forgets to act as surprised as Morgana. Right. The warlock shouldn't have known Mordred was a druid.
Mordred tells them how to forage for the best ingredients, the method in which one seemingly communicates with trees —
Balinor . . .
Merlin and Balinor straighten abruptly as a voice pierce their heads. Mordred and Morgana look between them, curious and confused.
Kilgharrah! Of course, that riddle-loving dragon is here. Merlin should have realized sooner. Surely the old dragon would and could help him in finding a way home, what with the old creature's obsession with Merlin and Arthur's destiny.
Meet with me . . . Now.
For a moment, the warlock assumes Kilgharrah is speaking to him.
Then, Balinor smoothly gets to his feet, dropping the documents in his hands. "Continue your task. I shall be back shortly." Without another word, Balinor leaves the chambers.
"What was that?" A frown pinches Morgana's brow. "Merlin?" She asks, knowing the warlock knows more than them, seeing as he reacted similarly.
Merlin needs to see Kilgharrah for himself, and perhaps figure out a way to meet with the dragon alone. While he still feels the power of the dragonlord coursing through his veins, he's uncertain whether this world lives by a different set of rules regarding it.
(Merlin has also never seen his father talk with dragons, the man's untimely death robbing him of such an opportunity. The notion of seeing him do so now sends strings of giddiness through his stomach)
The warlock stands up, too excited to properly listen to any of his fellow apprentices' questions. "Need to — Chamber pot," he says lamely before heading for the doors, unable to think of a better excuse.
It doesn't take him long to track down the Court Sorcerer. The various servants he asks unhesitatingly points him to the direction the man went. The midday sun beats down on Merlin's exposed skin as he dashes out of the castle and into the bustle of the markets outside. Dodging the crowds of haggling merchants and playing children, Merlin finally catches up with Balinor just as he's exiting through the eastern gate of the citadel. The warlock hides behind barrels and pillars, ensuring the Court Sorcerer has no clue to his presence.
Merlin goes to exit the citadel himself, forcing a casual air upon him because he's not at all following Camelot's very own Court Sorcerer.
Even so, one of the guards shouts, in his direction, a commanding, "Halt!"
Merlin adopts a guileless look as he complies and turns to the aforementioned guard. The soft rounded features and long dark hair of a woman greets Merlin from underneath the clunky helmet, astounding him a tad. He supposes, if women can be knights, guards can be too.
The guard's narrow dark eyes take in Merlin's form and face. "Are you Merlin of Ealdor?"
Merlin blinks, surprised that the guard knows his name. "Er— yes."
The guard crosses her arms. "You're not allowed out of the citadel."
"What?" Merlin boggles. "Why?"
The guard shrugs, armor clanking at the movement. She looks as if she couldn't care less. "We have our orders."
"From whom?"
Merlin's heart almost gives out as he spins around to face the speaker of the question. Morgana tilts her head at the guard. Mordred looks similarly interested in the answer. Was Merlin too focused on following Balinor that he failed to notice he was being followed himself?
"From the Court Sorcerer himself," the guard answers. She eyes the new arrivals. "Morgana Le Fay and Mordred of the Forest of Engred?"
Astonishment spills into Morgana and Mordred's features. "Yes?"
"You both are not allowed outside either."
"Interesting," Morgana remarks lightly. "We thank you for the information."
Morgana grasps Merlin's wrists and hauls him none-too-gently away before the warlock could think to protest. Mordred follows them not a step behind, furrowed brows and narrowing eyes lined with contemplation. Finally, Morgana leads them into an alleyway between two wooden homes.
"Wha — I need to—" Merlin attempts to relinquish Morgana's tight grip on him.
Morgana releases him. "We need an unnoticeable enchantment."
"A . . . what?"
"Isn't it strange that we're not allowed outside of the citadel?" Mordred says, perturbed.
"It is very very strange indeed," Morgana replies, a feral grin catching onto the corners of her mouth. "That's why we should confront our mentor about it immediately."
An unnoticeable enchantment, it turns out, is a spell that allows them to be practically invisible to anyone as long as they don't make a sound. Morgana casts it upon the three of them, and they're able to sneak out of the citadel with the guards none the wiser.
"There must be a reason why we're not allowed outside," Mordred says as they walk along the drawbridge, a hint of worry dripping in his tone. "We could get in trouble."
"They should have told us then," Morgana responds with a flippant wave.
Merlin, too focused on catching up to the Court Sorcerer to worry about anything else, decides that's a problem for the future him. They tread hastily towards the direction Morgana's tracking spell points them to.
Soon enough, they see their mentor striding just up ahead, swiftly avoiding the hindering foliage. The apprentices take to hiding behind wide trunks and thick bushes.
"Where is he going, you reckon?" Mordred asks, azure eyes darting to their mentor's back.
"Merlin? Care to enlighten us?" Morgana directs, cocking a brow.
Merlin shrugs, figuring he shouldn't act too knowledgeable in this situation. "Just got curious and wanted to follow him."
"Right." Mordred and Morgana trade glances.
The three of them move ahead before they could lose sight of the Court Sorcerer. Mordred flippantly pelts out another enchantment; this one seems to silence their treads. Now that, Merlin needs to learn.
At last, after a few more minutes, Balinor finds a big enough clearing and halts. The Court Sorcerer crosses his arms and waits. The three apprentices who stalked him crouch down the nearest bush.
"What's he waiting for?"
The answer to Mordred's question comes in the form of a giant shadow engulfing them. Whipping winds assault the four people near the clearing, the leaves of the closest trees shedding at the force. Morgana and Mordred look up, mouths agape. Merlin grins, taking in the enormous golden form of the Great Dragon Kilgharrah.
Kilgharrah gracefully lands in front of an unimpressed Balinor and folds his leather wings. "Balinor," his deep growly voice greets.
"A dragon?" Morgana whispers harshly. "How — Why —?"
Merlin shushes her, determined not to miss a word said.
"Why did you call for me?" Balinor asks, straight to the point.
"Tell me, young dragonlord, have you heard of Emrys?" the dragon asks, face solemn,
On second thought, maybe Merlin should have let Morgana keep talking to distract the two fellow apprentices from the oncoming discussion. He feels two sets of eyes boring into him. Merlin cannot believe Kilgharrah chose this moment to be less riddle-y.
Silence and stillness come upon the Court Sorcerer's form for a beat. With Balinor's back to them, the three apprentices have no clue as to what kind of expression he's making. "A popular name lately, this Emrys. Who is he?"
"Someone who should not exist," Kilgharrah declares with a frown. "His birth has thrown the creatures of the Old Religion into chaos."
Well, Kilgharrah is right about the first part. The second part concerns Merlin greatly, given his less than stellar experiences with such creatures.
"His birth?" Surprise colors the Court Sorcerer's tone.
"He came into existence five days ago. We sense him near Camelot," Kilgharrah says, tail flicking out and eyes narrowing in agitation.
Coincidentally, Merlin has also been in this world for five days.
The dragon leans his head down and closer to Balinor. "You must find him and bring him to me."
"And what on earth are you going to do with a days-old babe?" the Court Sorcerer asks, incredulity dripping from his tone.
Merlin leans forward himself, interests piqued.
"That is for me to decide. You just have to bring him to me, Balinor."
"I see." Balinor nods. "No."
Kilgharrah stills. "No?"
"Did you expect me to obey you without question or hesitation?" the Court Sorcerer drawls out. "We may be kin but I'm going to need more than that if you want me to rip away a babe from his parents without cause."
Kilgharrah's golden eyes narrow further. Then, his head snaps up, the slits in his eyes widening. His gaze flicks to the set of bushes the three apprentices hide behind. The three of them duck further down.
Emrys.
Merlin bristles as he hears Kilgharrah's voice directly in his head.
It is you. Merlin can feel the wonder and disbelief in the words.
"You three."
A burst of magic overflows around them, dispelling the enchantments cloaking them. The apprentices' heads snap up to find their mentor looming over them, absolute fury upon his face. Merlin supposes, as a fellow dragonlord, Balinor has heard Kilgharrah's none-too-subtle way of communicating.
"Lord Balinor, we can ex —"
"Stand up. Now," Balinor demands, cutting off Morgana's words.
They hurry to obey, scrambling to their feet. Balinor's angry expression does not at all abate.
"Bring Emrys to me," Kilgharrah says behind them.
Balinor shoots the dragon a completely venomous glare. "There's no one named Emrys among my apprentices. I bid you good day, dragon. Seek someone else to do your bidding."
"Balinor, this is a matter of—"
To his apprentices, the Court Sorcerer commands, "Start walking towards the citadel."
The apprentices, faced with their mentor's wrath, comply without question. Merlin glances back at the dragon, who's staring straight at him. He shouldn't waste an opportunity.
Careful to keep the words between them, he sends, Meet me here at the same, Kilgharrah. Five days from now. That should be the apprentices' day off.
Astonishment flashes by the dragon's face. Then, Kilgharrah nods and straightens. Merlin watches him flap his wings and take to the sky, leaving a boisterous whirlwind in his wake.
"Merlin. March. Forward," Balinor grits out.
Merlin hastily catches up to Morgana and Mordred, facing forward. The three of them stride in silence, exchanging nervous looks. Perhaps following their mentor has not been the best of ideas.
Behind them, Balinor stalks close behind. When Merlin glances back at him, he sees the Court Sorcerer gazing around, eyes darting everywhere, and shoulders tensed.
Merlin surreptitiously lets his own eyes wander. Are they about to be attacked? The Court Sorcerer seems to think so.
After several silent and strained minutes, they finally exit the forest and see the archway of the citadel's entrance. As they walk towards the gates, the guard who stopped the apprentices earlier stares.
"I-I'm sorry, sire," the guard stutters out, bowing to the Court Sorcerer. "I didn't notice them —"
Balinor waves a hand, interrupting the guard's apology. He says nothing in reply. Merlin notes that, at the very least, the tension in the Court Sorcerer's body seems to loosen somewhat as they all enter the citadel.
"To the castle," Balinor tells the three apprentices, tone more blank than angry this time.
Wow, they really are in deep trouble. Past me is an unthinking sod, Merlin thinks to himself. He swallows and lowers his head. He's not too sure what happens when one gets on the Court Sorcerer's bad side but he's about to find out.
The apprentices march through the city in several minutes of silence. With the Court Sorcerer behind, they attract a bit of attention from the townspeople, but none dare approach. Finally, they reach the castle and climb up to Balinor's chambers once more.
Once they're all inside the room, Balinor closes the door behind them.
Morgana clears her throat. However, to everyone's surprise, before she could speak, Mordred beats her to it.
"You're a dragonlord," the druid blurts out. Then, he looks as if he wants to put the words back in his throat and cover his mouth.
Balinor's jaw clenches. "It would be better if that information remains here with the four of us."
Merlin's head snaps up. "It's a secret? Why?" And how? Thrakon Isles, the place always included in Balinor's introduction, literally means Dragon Isles. On second thought, it is in dragonlord tongue so perhaps Merlin is the only one who could make the connection.
Three sets of eyes glance at with varying degrees of incredulity.
"Dragons are plentiful but dragonlords are rare on this side of the continent," Morgana answers somberly. "More than one kingdom would be willing to go to war to get a hold of one and have dragons under their control."
Huh. Good thing to know now before Merlin carelessly reveals his own status to anyone else.
Morgana's emerald eyes flick to Balinor. "Does Queen Ygraine know?"
"What the queen does and doesn't know is none of your business," Balinor replies. His tone turns icy. "I would, however, like to be informed as to why the three of you had the audacity to stalk me and sneak out of the citadel."
Mordred lowers his head and gaze. Morgana fixes the sleeve of her dress and smooths out the nonexistent creases of her skirt. Merlin scratches his head and pretends to look guiltless.
Balinor's glare steadies on Merlin, who has probably failed in his attempts at innocence.
"W-Well, what about you? How come you've ordered the guards not to let the three of us out of the citadel?" Merlin redirects.
The Court Sorcerer's eyebrow rises.
"I was about to ask that myself," Morgana supports, shoulders straightening. "Why are you forbidding us from going outside?"
Mordred remains silent but his expression indicates that he would like to know too. Balinor looks between the three of them. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"I thought to tell you once you've settled longer in the citadel, but I suppose there really is no good time," Balinor begins. He folds his hands at his back. "Camelot's greatest enemy had disrupted the exam and singled out one of you." Balinor sends Merlin a meaningful look. "But we know not if they're the real target or merely a distraction to hide the real agenda. All of us in court have decided to be cautious on the matter. The citadel is protected by a network of enchantments; the three of you will be safer inside of it than out. I ask that you sneak out no more."
Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred absorb the information with grim faces. Merlin has been careless. Not long ago, a malevolent entity tried to kill him; he can't go gallivanting around with his guard down. On the other hand, he did get to meet someone who could help him get home (and witness his not-father talk back to Kilgharrah without care), so he can't bring himself to regret it.
"I've answered your questions. Now answer mine." The Court Sorcerer's countenance hardens. "Why did you follow me?"
"Technically, Mordred and I were following Merlin," Morgana admits with a beatific smile. Mordred nods repeatedly. "Who was following you, my lord."
Inwardly, Merlin curses. Each man on his own in the face of their mentor's fury, huh? Hastily, Merlin thinks of an excuse.
"I - uh — I just got curious when you left the room . . .?"
Balinor crosses his arms over his chest, hazel eyes flaming. His jaw visibly clenches once more. "Is this some kind of disorder then, Merlin? This constant need to lie?"
Merlin flinches back, hurt and guilt stabbing their way into his chest.
"The truth, for once, boy," Balinor demands. "Or so help me, I will throw you out of the citadel myself."
Merlin's heart pounds and sweat beads upon his brows, the threat hitting right at his fears. In the single moment, staring as Balinor vibrates with barely contained rage, Merlin comprehends how frightening Camelot's Court Sorcerer and very own dragonlord can be.
Lying about magic and what he knows of it has become almost second nature to Merlin. He doesn't even know why he's hiding the truth this time. There's nothing too incriminating about it.
"I heard him," Merlin confesses, voice unable to rise louder than a whisper. He swallows and tries to get rid of the lump in his throat. "Ki— The dragon. When he called for you, I heard him too."
The words steal every trace of ire in Balinor's demeanor. "What?"
Merlin breathes easier now that he's not faced with the full fury of his not-father. He shrugs in an attempt to look casual, but his shoulders are a bit too stiff for that. "I-I don't know why I heard him." Which is the truth truly. Is it because of his dragonlord powers? He assumes so. But given the apparent rarity of dragonlords, he doubts that's the first conclusion anyone else would draw. Let them think it's part of being . . . Emrys. "I was curious to see who it is. That's why I followed you."
"You heard him? The dragon?" Mordred cocks his head to the side. He adopts a thoughtful look. "I didn't hear anything."
Balinor appears thoughtful as well. It's a definite improvement to his earlier mood so Merlin's not complaining. The Court Sorcerer glances at Merlin and then, at the other two apprentices.
"Continue your task," Balinor says, shoulders straightening. "Eighty filled crystals by the end of the week." With that, he heads to his desk and to his paperwork.
"Eighty?" Mordred's eyes widen. "But —"
"If any of you fail to meet the quota." The quills at Balinor's desk spring to life in a frenzy. "Be sure to prepare your bags," Balinor ends, tone utterly apathetic. His eyes don't ever stray from the piece of parchment in his hands.
The apprentices exchange terrified glances. Then, they dash to their respective chairs and pick up their crystals.
Merlin gulps, staring at the twenty crystals inside his box. He has to achieve four times that within four days. Gods, they should never have been caught.
Sunlight wanes as the apprentices frantically fill up several crystals. Perspiration peppers their brows and their eyes redden with exhaustion. By the time Balinor lights up the torches with a wave of his hand, Merlin has placed down ten more in his own box.
"Mordred, Morgana, you are dismissed," Balinor informs them with a blank look as the sun fully sets on the window behind him. "Merlin, you stay."
Morgana and Mordred offer Merlin sympathetic looks. Merlin stares wide-eyed at Balinor, mind churning.
The two apprentices bow and leave the room without further fuss. The Court Sorcerer calms the quills and parchments. They clatter down and rustle back on the desk.
The Court Sorcerer stands and claims the seat across Merlin's. Merlin leans back on his chair, pretending he's not as nervous as he seems.
Balinor makes a gesture. The crystals and crystal shards sweep themselves to the side, emptying the space in front of the Court Sorcerer and Merlin. The cabinet at the corner flips open and a bottle of what looks like wine floats towards Balinor's waiting hand. Two empty silver chalices follow, and they settle themselves atop the dining table, glinting almost menacingly in the firelight. Balinor grabs the bottle by its neck and swivels it around as if to shake off the nonexistent dust around it.
"Merlin." Balinor's hard gaze pierces right through Merlin's being. "I think it's time we talk properly."
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Morgause Le Fay seethes as she marches her way through their stronghold, body vibrating. Her failure to convince Morgana to leave the citadel has soured her mood completely.
Morgause had cajoled, reasoned, yelled, and demanded. Morgana, as stubborn as her own sister, met each of Morgause's words with spiked words of her own. In the end, the argument that lasted less than an hour had left them both drained, weary and wary of one another. Morgause left before she could do something foolish, like strangle her sister.
They haven't had the best of relationships, true. They have always been pitted against each other since childhood, causing despise to line every little interaction they make. But Morgause only wants —
She passes by a closed door on her way to her rooms to sulk. It's an unremarkable wooden thing but the enchantments suffusing it can drown a fae. Another flash of anger lances through her.
Morgause steps closer to the door and knocks aggressively upon it.
A beat passes. Then, the door's locks click open, the enchantments loosening enough for Morgause to slip in.
Darkness shrouds the chambers, the faint moonlight filtering in from thin curtains the only source of light. Morgause remedies this with a wave of a hand. Torches alight with bright flames, abruptly drenching the chambers with flickering warmth.
Wracu sits on the bed that consumes almost half of the room, a thick tome upon his lap. His head doesn't even turn to Morgause's direction nor does he stop running the pads of his fingers through the pages of his book.
Morgause staggers back, momentarily forgetting her irritation. It's always so eerie and rare to see Wracu out of his customary dark cloak, face bared to the world wholly and without masks. Morgause feels disillusioned, as if discovering that a childhood terror had been nothing more than shadows under her bed. She closes the door behind her.
"I take it the talk with Morgana didn't go well," Wracu states rather than ask.
Morgause recalls the purpose of this visit, and her anger returns full force. "No. And I'm also here to inform you that your plan regarding Emrys fell apart completely."
"Oh?" Wracu sounds only mildly interested, and Morgause grits her teeth.
"It has been chosen as the Court Sorcerer's apprentice," she says, wanting to gloat at his failure and remove that stupid placid expression. "And do you want to know how I recognized who Emrys is?"
Wracu says nothing.
Morgause hates being taken by surprise, especially in enemy territory. When she arrived in the Court Sorcerer's room to talk to her sister, she had been confident in her act. Then, the ground was stolen under her feet as she met the eyes of one of the apprentices, and she nearly said something she shouldn't.
"You told me it could take a human shape. And oh, it does so very well, doesn't it?" Morgause stalks towards the bed and looms over Wracu's form. She snarls, "It certainly has Lily's eyes, doesn't it?"
"Does it now, Morgause." Magic crackles in the air, lightning poised to strike.
Morgause is not a person who cowers. She's not a woman who backs away from a fight with anyone, no matter their status. Amidst the scrutiny of the court she grew up in, she has stood tall and proud with no hint of faltering.
But Wracu's tone abruptly reminds Morgause exactly why böggel-mann is his epithet. Even sitting defenseless on a bed without a night-black cloak, Wracu emits a presence so singularly bone-chilling with his countenance and tone alone. Ice races down Morgause's spine and pumps through her veins. She breaks out in cold sweat.
Morgause cows, lowering her head and placing her hands behind her back in deference. Inwardly, she curses herself for being brought along by her emotions. No one mentions that name within Wracu's hearing and gets away unscathed. Morgause wanted to invoke a reaction and knock off that emotionless persona. And she did.
Wracu, who has not ceased reading his book throughout their whole interaction, pulls the threatening magic out of the atmosphere with naught but an exhale. When he speaks, his tone is less minacious and much milder. "The form it mimics is no cause for concern. Its magical signature is."
"M-Magical signature?"
"No creature should be able to emulate how another's magic feels, smells or looks." A frown mars Wracu's face, his expression changing for the first time since Morgause came into the room. "And yet, Emrys can."
The implications sink in. Morgause's eyes widen. "You mean —"
"No hint of difference. Completely and exactly the same."
"Impossible," Morgause breathes out. "No two beings can have the exact same magical signature." Blood relatives may have similar signatures but there certainly will be noticeable distinctions when put to test. To be exactly the same? Morgause has never heard of such a phenomenon.
"Clearly, this creature can imitate someone's signature completely," Wracu replies. "I would really like to get my hands on that Emrys and crack it open. It's a pity we won't be able to get it while it's in the citadel. I doubt Balinor will grow careless with it sometime soon." He taps the tome. "For now, however, I'll settle on finding other sources of information."
Morgause opens her mouth, about to ask the exact nature of the information he needs, when a knock interrupts her. Daegal opens the door and startles slightly to see the room has two occupants.
He clears his throat. "Lord Wracu, Urvel has returned. She said she found something."
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A/N:
"My powers are beyond your mortal imagination. For instance, my eyes can see straight through your armor." – Mushu, Mulan (1998)
Man, all your theories are so clever, and I want to diverge the path of this story to add some of them. But I'm afraid I'll get lost if I do that T^T. As I said, nothing I write will ever live up to you guys' imaginations.
And damn, I can't believe someone pointed out Balinor's collection set of apprentices before I could include it in the story. 😂
As usual, the next chapter will come in an uncertain time. 😅
Hope everybody has a fruitful and proud week!
~ Vividpast