Chapter Summary: A look into Merlin's dragonlord lessons.
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Chapter V: Stories of Our Elders
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Merlin cracks an eye open, glancing at the crouched form of Balinor scribbling at his desk.
"Merlin," Balinor says without removing his attention from his documents. "Keep meditating."
Merlin closes the eye and huffs. He shifts on his position on the carpeted floor, folded legs nearly numb from being in the same position for an hour.
"I've been meditating for three days!"
When Merlin had been offered dragonlord lessons, he expected going out to the fields and calling forth dragons. He gets hours of meditating lessons instead. Moreover, he has to give up his nightly research in the process. Balinor insists on keeping him as late as possible. Although seeing he is to meet with Kilgharrah in two days' time, said research may not be necessary.
"Perhaps, if you've been meditating properly, we would have proceeded onwards by now," Balinor replies wryly, finishing the last pile of paperwork for the day. Then, he sighs. "It takes time, Merlin. Be patient."
Merlin frowns but complies, albeit begrudgingly. He's truly envious of Morgana and Mordred who have been dismissed for the day. They have all been dismissed at the same time, of course. To prevent the discovery of Merlin's secret lessons, he joins Mordred and Morgana in exiting the chambers. Before they reach the kitchen, Merlin makes some excuse about going to the library and skulks back into their mentor's room for dragonlord lessons.
All those sneaking around for hours of mind-numbing meditation?
In a manner, Merlin does understand the need for meditation. Balinor explains that the magic of the Old Religion and the powers of a dragonlord comes from two different sources that cannot intrinsically mesh.
"The Goddess has women as their stewards while dragonlords have men," Balinor has said to an avidly listening Merlin. "Although, with the invention of gendershifting magic, none of that matters much in terms of hierarchy and inheritance."
As such, Old Religion magic usually overwhelms and blocks more than half of a dragonlord's capabilities. Had Merlin not been born with the Goddess' favor, Balinor reckons that the opposite would be true—that his dragonlord power would hinder his magic.
Meditation contributes greatly to reconciling the two separate sources or so Balinor says. Something about meditation relaxing the body and mind, more so than sleeping, and allowing both sources to flow into a natural state. Merlin can admit the concepts are still far too foreign for him.
Merlin has never meditated a single minute of his life before all this. Apparently, emptying one's mind and staying as still as possible for long periods of time can be difficult when one has a million problems at hand.
Merlin attempts again anyway, clearing his thoughts and breathing out. What's supposed to happen anyway? He feels no different in the past three days. His magic is as it always has been. The part of him that is dragonlord feels unchanged. What happens if he reconciles the two sources? Merlin is already capable of commanding dragons, hatching a dragon egg, and speaking to them as kin; what else is there?
"Merlin," Balinor calls again, a hint of chastisement in his tone. "Meditate properly."
Merlin bites down a sassy response and empties his mind. He forces everything to fall away.
After an eternity of blankness and darkness, something deep inside him shifts. For a brief bewildering moment, Merlin feels no ground under him and the heavy thing in his chest hauls him down to the depth of the earth.
Merlin gasps, eyes flying open.
Balinor, suddenly in front of him in a flurry of deep blue robes, catches his flailing limbs and steadies him. "Breathe slowly, Merlin."
Something is still fluctuating in the area of Merlin's chest like large sinuous snakes wiggling between his ribs. Numbness prickles the tips of his fingers and toes. "There's —" Merlin swallows and inhales deeply.
"You've broken the barrier. Your magic is adjusting." Balinor places a palm flat on Merlin's chest. His eyes flare gold.
Merlin sighs as the unpleasantness eases slightly. "Ho - How long is this going to last?"
"Just a few minutes." Balinor's gaze slides to Merlin's neck before hurriedly flicking away.
Merlin's nape prickles sharply. He unthinkingly scratches his neck to relieve the sensation. His fingertips brush against smooth and rigid textures.
A fingernail-sized glossy obsidian scale plunks down to the carpeted floor with a dull clunk.
Merlin stares at it.
Balinor grasps Merlin's wrist when the warlock's hand darts up in a panic. "Better not touch it. It looks tender."
"Why do I have scales?" Merlin asks, voice strangled.
"I would say that it's a side-effect . . ." Balinor trails off, observing the phenomena with a frown.
"But that wouldn't be quite true, would it?" Merlin finishes, dread heavy in his stomach.
"All dragonlords have the innate ability to change forms," Balinor says. "But we don't do it without effort and certainly not by accident."
Merlin blinks rapidly. "Change forms . . . I can turn into what? A dragon?" The warlock laughs incredulously at his own suggestion.
Balinor offers him a wry look and does not laugh with him.
Merlin's jaw drops. "You're pulling my leg."
"We are dragonkin. Why does this surprise you?"
"Because people can't turn into dragons!" Merlin almost shouts. The ocean in Merlin's chest crests and wanes. He falters and swallows the bile threatening to climb his throat.
Balinor releases him and leans away to escape disaster. After a few seconds, the Court Sorcerer tilts his head. "The scales are disappearing."
"Thank the gods for that," Merlin coughs out, all feelings of nausea dissipating too. He rubs his neck. Sure enough, nothing but smooth skin meets his fingertips. Then, he pauses, an epiphany hitting him like a slammed door. "Wait, you can turn into a dragon?"
Before Balinor can open his mouth to answer, a knock on the door interrupts them.
"Hm. Must be dinner," Balinor says before getting to his feet. "Enter."
Merlin perks up in anticipation and rises, hunger panging in his stomach. Because of their secret lessons, Balinor has opted to let them take their dinners together and informed the servants to bring extra portions.
Surreptitiously, Merlin grabs the black scale on the floor and stuffs it in his pocket. He wishes to hold on to prove that he hasn't hallucinated the entire thing.
"Balinor, I thought we could —"
Prince Arthur freezes near the doorway. The servant behind him, who's carrying two trays of food, almost spills the trays' contents on the prince's back.
"Y-Your Highness," Merlin greets and lowers his head.
Prince Arthur's gaze roves between Merlin and Balinor. The servant clears his throat and proceeds further into the room to place the meals down.
"I was led to believe that apprentice lessons have long since finished," Prince Arthur casually points out. His blue eyes settle on the Court Sorcerer.
"Merlin needs further lessons," Balinor opts to say, telling the truth while hiding it.
Merlin fights down a scowl; the phrasing makes it seem like he's falling behind. And he's not! He only needs eleven crystals now to fulfill Balinor's exhausting eighty-crystal quota. Granted, Morgana only needs three and Mordred needs ten, but Merlin is certainly not that far behind.
"Will you be wanting to join us for dinner?" Balinor asks, face utterly blank.
"Us?" The prince communicates something with his eyes.
Merlin cannot, for the life of him, decipher it, which saddens him a bit. Balinor seems to reply with a look filled with another set of silent words. Tension rises in the room as both the prince and Court Sorcerer participate in a rather unexpected staring competition. Merlin glances between them, more than a little confused.
The servant quietly tiptoes out of the room after hastily laying out the dinner. Merlin envies his capability to escape the situation.
After a few more seconds of bewildering silence, Merlin throws his hands up and turns his attention to the food. His movements appear to break whatever stalemate they have because the prince and the Court Sorcerer finally blink.
Merlin takes his customary seat and piles chicken legs on his plate. The servant has brought dishes fit for three people.
After a couple of moments and after Merlin starts his meal, Balinor and Prince Arthur quietly sit down to partake. The prince limps towards the table and claims the chair across Merlin, his injury still evident. Merlin wonders why the injury hasn't been healed already. Surely any physician in this realm would be able to heal a simple sprain with a simple spell? Balinor claims the seat beside Merlin.
They all eat in awkward silence thereafter.
Merlin is clearly missing something, but he cannot imagine what. He watches the two men practically glare at each other a foot away, feeling a lot like he's in the middle of a battlefield.
Merlin observes Prince Arthur as inconspicuously as he can. On a much closer look, the warlock notices the tiny scars present on his best friend's face (earned from various bandits and heinous creatures) are absent on Prince Arthur's. Of course, with Camelot seeming at peace with magic and using it for protection, Prince Arthur must have seen much less battle and have been in very few dangers. Merlin somewhat envies this Camelot's protectors.
Prince Arthur catches Merlin's eyes and coolly stares back. Merlin tears his gaze away, telling himself hurt isn't lounging in his chest.
"How goes the paperwork then, Balinor?" Prince Arthur asks, slicing the tension in the air. He cuts up a portion of his chicken and takes a bite.
"Decreasing," Balinor answers before sipping another cup of his sweet wine.
Another pregnant and stifling pause ensues.
Merlin swallows the last bite of his meal, unable to take the stressful air anymore. Abruptly, he realizes he cannot bear to be on the receiving end of the prince's aloofness. "If—If there's nothing else, Lord Balinor, perhaps I should go now," he says, bringing back titles in front of an audience.
Their lessons usually continue after dinner, but Merlin doesn't think that would be possible with the prince in the room.
Before Balinor could reply, Prince Arthur beats him to it. "Don't let me interrupt your lessons," he says. "Go on."
"I'm afraid it's something even you cannot be privy of," Balinor replies calmly, finishing his meal with a flourish.
"Oh?" Prince Arthur sets down his own utensils, a challenging glint in his eyes. "I've been allowed to sit in through many apprentice lessons. Why not this one?"
"This lesson won't interest you one bit, Your Highness."
"Why don't I decide that, Lord Balinor?"
"I'm certain you have more important duties to attend to."
"Not at all. I'm free of duties for the rest of the night."
"I'm a dragonlord," Merlin blurts out to cease the volley between the two of them. If he can't escape it, then he'll cut it short. "Lord Balinor is guiding me because er— I asked him for advice regarding it. They're secret lessons." Just in time, Merlin remembers that Balinor's own dragonlord status is a secret itself.
Two heads snap to him. Balinor stares at the warlock with astonishment, eyes widening a fraction. Merlin shrugs. He doesn't mind Prince Arthur knowing anyway. In fact, it feels somewhat cathartic—like a heavy bag that Merlin has finally placed down after hours. Merlin distantly wonders if it would be this easy to confess his heritage to his best friend.
For the first time, Merlin witnesses complete and utter shock paints itself on Prince Arthur's face. The blatant admission seems to knock off his usual indifferent mask, leaving a comically gobsmacked expression that Merlin is more familiar with.
"Dragonlord?" Prince Arthur's astounded gaze swivels to Balinor. "What on earth?"
Balinor lets out a breath that may have been a sigh. "I discovered that Merlin is a fellow dragonlord a few days ago and an untrained one at that. I am training him."
Oh, so Prince Arthur must have known about Balinor too. Merlin wonders how the prince found out.
Again, the prince and the Court Sorcerer seem to fall into another silent conversation, glances meaningful. Merlin clears his throat, reminding them that he's still present.
Balinor turns to Merlin. "We shall resume our lessons. We need to smoothen out your newfound abilities or you'll wake up with unforeseen circumstances in the morning." Merlin recalls the scales by his neck and fights down a shudder. Then, to the still confounded prince, the Court Sorcerer says, "Your Highness, I'm afraid we can't afford a distraction."
Prince Arthur blinks. He visibly composes himself and asks, "Can't I watch, nevertheless? I've never witnessed such a lesson before." Intrigue drips from his every word, his blue eyes glimmering with a hint of excitement.
"Uh, we — I just meditate, Your Highness," Merlin stutters out, off-kiltered by the sudden interest and change in demeanor. He finds that he can't fully deny the prince's request even though, "It's not really interesting."
"You will allow me though? To sit in?" Prince Arthur asks. To Balinor, he vows, "I'll merely be a quiet observer."
Balinor sighs and relents. "Very well. Do what you wish."
Prince Arthur nearly smiles. Merlin stares at him with no little bit of incredulity. The prince of Camelot is excited about magic? Huh.
Balinor beckons Merlin to sit on the floor once more. The warlock does so, trying not to notice Prince Arthur watching their every move.
Balinor seats himself in front of Merlin. "A dragonlord's affinity to fire magic is usually stronger. You know a spell for summoning a small flame?"
Merlin nods. He holds out a palm. "Forbærnan."
An inferno twice the size of Merlin's head flares to life. Merlin's eyes widen.
Balinor throws up a transparent shield just in time to avoid getting singed. "Heavens above, a small flame, Merlin!"
"It — It was supposed to be!" Merlin attempts to wrangle it; attempts to decrease the magic he's feeding the fire. Heat licks his skin, but the magic fire knows better than to actually burn him. The fire burns merrily in the air, size barely decreased by Merlin's efforts. Merlin glares at it and is rewarded by black spots in his vision.
"Extinguish it," Balinor says.
Merlin does, closing his palm. The smell of smoke lingers in the air as Balinor places down his shield.
"Give me your hand."
Merlin holds out one arm. The Court Sorcerer grasps it, wrapping his fingers around the soft side of the warlock's wrist.
Then, for several seconds, absolutely nothing happens. The seconds tick by, and Balinor's brows rise higher and higher. Merlin frowns, utterly confused.
Finally, a spark of lightning fizzles upon Merlin's skin. He flinches in surprise. Balinor summarily releases him.
"Your magic sensitivity lowered even further," Balinor says, his tone filled with incredulity.
"Truly?" Prince Arthur stands from his seat and treads closer.
Merlin's heart sinks. "I still need to fill up eleven crystal for tomorrow." If his sensitivity lowered, he doesn't think the improvised lesson will work for him now.
"Your priorities amaze me, Merlin."
Merlin splutters, arms flailing. "You were the one who told us you'll kick us out if we don't meet the quota!"
"Why did his sensitivity decrease?" Prince Arthur inquires, obviously abandoning his role as a silent observer.
"He broke the barrier between his magic and dragonlord powers," Balinor says, observing Merlin with a frown. "But that shouldn't have done anything but unlock abilities as a dragonlord. I do not know why it would affect his magic."
The Court Sorcerer studies Merlin as a physician would study a peculiar unknown herb in a forest. Prince Arthur appears similarly interested, eyes going over the warlock as if he could deduce the fix to the conundrum by sight alone. Merlin does not favor the scrutiny at all.
"I'm just special that way, I guess," Merlin says, plastering on a grin.
"It's possible that the blockade not only hid your dragonlord abilities but also part of your magical ones as well," Balinor muses out loud, rubbing his chin.
"Oh?" Prince Arthur looks thoughtful as well.
Merlin perks up. "I've become powerful?" He looks at his hands, mind running through spells he could use to test himself.
Balinor arches a brow. "More powerful, I would say. But I hope you don't let that get in your head."
Merlin finally decides on an enchantment. It's one that needs no words at all.
He closes his eyes, pulls on his magic, and slows down time.
When his lids flutter open, every movement slows to a definite crawl. Balinor's mouth is opening, clearly about to speak. A frown begins furrowing Prince Arthur's brows. Merlin stands up and nearly stumbles when he feels no air resisting his movements. He can still breathe but even the slightest wind seems to have ceased its wafting.
Usually, Merlin can only hold this particular enchantment for a few precious seconds. That's all he needs to save a prat's arse anyway. Using his heartbeat, the warlock measures the length of time. Thirty beats later, and time stays stagnant around him.
Merlin definitely feels the strain of the spell. It's as if weights are strapped to all of his limbs; he can endure them for a while, but they will eventually exhaust Merlin if he keeps it up. Merlin reckons he can hold the enchantment for a few more minutes before it can tire him out. After more than a minute, Merlin can already feel sweat pooling upon his forehead.
A grin climbs his face. He doesn't stifle the gleeful laugh that escapes his mouth. He can't believe this; his magic really has grown! What else can he do better? He'll have to do some more experiments later. Merlin will never whine about meditation sessions ever again.
Merlin steps around a sitting Balinor and treads to the desk filled with paperwork. He plucks the wooden sculpture of a dragon mid-flight, keeping his eyes away from the confidential documents. No need to tempt trouble by reading something he shouldn't.
The palm-sized sculpture is really well-made, Merlin can tell. The facets are smooth and sanded down expertly. The snarling face and the details of its leathery wings mimic a real dragon's perfectly. Merlin also spies a set of runes etched at its base, although he can't decipher what they mean.
Merlin returns to his spot on the floor, sculpture in grasp. With a blink, he resumes time.
"I believe we should—" Balinor rapidly blinks, confusion marring his face. "Why are you suddenly perspiring?"
Merlin wipes the sweat from his brow and quietly catches his breath. "Te —Tested a spell just now. My magic really is different." He beams, unable to help himself.
Prince Arthur drops down on the floor and seats himself beside Balinor. "What spell?" His eyes dart all over Merlin's form. Then, they catch sight of the item in Merlin's hand and darken imperceptibly.
"Just a simple one," Merlin replies. He raises the dragon sculpture and brandishes it at them. "See? Your desk is way over there. I wouldn't have been able to get this before—"
Balinor snatches the sculpture from Merlin's grasp. Merlin ceases speaking, shocked to silence by the aggressiveness and speed of the action. The Court Sorcerer holds up the object to the light of the torches, scrutinizing every inch with almost visible mania. After a few more seconds, he lets out a breath. Prince Arthur and Merlin quietly watch him all throughout.
"I'm—I'm sorry," Merlin says. The ornament is clearly valuable to Balinor, if the way he checked it fervently for damages is any indication.
Balinor heads to his desk. "Don't touch anything from my desk." Carefully, as if he's handling breakable glass, he returns the sculpture to its previous place.
Merlin nods jerkily. Balinor sits back down across Merlin, expression emotionless. "What spell did you use?" the Court Sorcerer asks as if the whole few minutes didn't happen.
"A—A time-slowing enchantment." Merlin doesn't know what else to call it.
"A what?" Balinor and Prince Arthur ask in unison, disbelieving.
"It—I slowed down time? Everything around me moves at a snail's pace while I can move normally," Merlin elaborates. "Before, I can only hold the spell for a few seconds. But now, I was able to do it for a couple of minutes."
"You . . . slowed down time?" Prince Arthur frowns. "Don't you mean that you sped up your movements and it seemed as if time slowed for you?"
Merlin stares at the prince for a moment, off-kiltered once more that someone with his best friend's face openly talks about magic and appears knowledgeable about it. Speed up his movements? Merlin doesn't feel like he sped up anything with that particular enchantment.
"Speed spells take at least a full minute to prepare," Balinor says, eyes not straying from a thoughtful Merlin. "When you do it, it feels as if the wind is fighting you as you move, and your surroundings blur slightly at every turn."
"Oh, definitely not that then. This enchantment takes me a second to do. There wasn't any wind at all, and I can see my surroundings clearly," Merlin says.
Prince Arthur sends him a quizzical look. "That's —"
Balinor holds up a hand, halting the prince's next words. "Are you capable of stopping time completely? Or perhaps, going back a few minutes, seconds?"
Merlin blinks rapidly at that. "I haven't tried it." They do sound like enticing abilities though. Merlin imagines how many mistakes he could've unmade had he been capable of it. His gaze strays to the Court Sorcerer's face, and his mind's eye flashes back to the moment a sword darts forward to pierce his father's abdomen. He roughly shakes off the memory.
"Good. Don't attempt it until I tell you to. We'll do it another night." An incredibly somber lilt underlines the words, and Merlin can do nothing but nod in compliance.
The Court Sorcerer observes him for a few minutes, gauging the sincerity of his agreement, before nodding in approval. Prince Arthur wears an absolutely skeptical expression but remains silent. With the way Balinor is reacting, one would think such time enchantments would spell the end of the world. Does an instinctive spell truly warrant that degree of seriousness?
Balinor continues on a slightly lighter note, "For tonight, we'll merely find out what else has changed and perhaps attempt to mitigate its harmful effects, if there are any. You're familiar with sense-enhancing enchantments?" When Merlin nods in affirmation, Balinor lifts a hand and lets it hover over Merlin's head. "I'm going to perform a spell akin to it on you. It'll enhance your magical senses, allowing you to perceive the magic in your surroundings more keenly. It's a spell not to be taken lightly for it might permanently damage your sight."
"My sight?" Merlin can't help the dubious look from crossing his face.
"It's easier to explain after you experience it yourself. If I may?" The Court Sorcerer gestures at his hand. Merlin figures he really has no other choice. "Close your eyes."
From beneath the darkness of his lids, Merlin hears Balinor murmur a long string of spells. Merlin's nape prickles as he feels magic not his own running under his skin. His own magic hums just beneath his fingertips, ready to defend him should the enchantment prove not as harmless as it seems.
After a few seconds, Balinor ceases speaking. Merlin raises his head and opens his eyes.
And sees absolutely nothing but blackness. Not a sliver of moonbeams, not a flicker of the crackling fires.
"Don't panic," Balinor's voice calmly tells him as Merlin's breathing grows ragged in bewilderment and hysteria. The words don't exactly calm him down. "The spell is working perfectly."
"How is the spell — I can't see!" he almost shouts. In another second, Merlin realizes that isn't quite true.
Blackness still fills his vision but somehow, there's something else, something nagging the back of his mind. Because even though he can't glimpse upon Balinor, he knows the man is still seated across him. He knows Balinor's head is tilted to the side, one hand still raised after performing the spell. Glimmers and pulses of magic pump through the Court Sorcerer's limbs, allowing Merlin to detect Balinor's every move without needing his eyes. The Court Sorcerer's clothes emit a motley of enchantments, revealing to Merlin how even the smallest of things in this world can be bespelled.
Merlin knows that some of the knickknacks in the room contain heavier spells than others. He could describe the shapes of the artifacts right now even though he barely glanced at them in the past few days. He could detect the remains of their dinner, the lingering magic of the fires used to cook them. The hundreds of crystals, both filled and unfilled on the dining table, occupy his attention for a short period of time; he senses each and every one of them as if he's looking at them from a close point. One of Merlin's filled crystals in the box feels different from the rest, although he can't pinpoint why. He frowns at it before moving on.
Balinor's dancing quills come to the forefront of his mind, buried, and surrounded by their equally frolicky parchment partners. The sculpted dragon atop Balinor's desk presents so little in ways magic that it could barely be considered a magical artifact.
Merlin can imagine the shape of the whole chambers because the stones of the walls, the floor, and the ceiling vibrate with an energy that Merlin barely noticed before.
It's nothing short of eerie. Information trickles into Merlin's mind from an indescribable source — information not borne from sight, smell, taste, noise or even touch. If Merlin were to attempt to put it into words, he would describe it as looking through a foggy glass window while a reliable and sharp-eyed friend whispers the events outside in great detail. Like having a cold and unable to smell or taste anything; as such, one tries to imagine what their food tastes like based on memory and manages to invoke the sensations quite vividly but not quite the same.
"A sixth sense?" Merlin murmurs in confused awe. He closes his eyes, or so he thinks anyway. He feels the brush of his lids over his eyes but, even closed, nothing is different. He's still sightless and still capable of sensing the magic around him.
"Of a sort," the Court Sorcerer says, a hint of approval slipping in his tone. "This is the Sightless Sense enchantment, more commonly used to detect minuscule amounts of magic in one's surroundings. Using it around environments with high concentration of magic has dire consequences; it will amplify every bit of it." Balinor elaborates succinctly. "There are, of course, intricate versions of the spell that prevent such effects, but they take longer and are much harder to maintain. Can you sense me?" The Court Sorcerer gesticulates a symbol in the air. Merlin feels the magic around and in Balinor pulse strongly, his movements now more distinct to Merlin's additional sense.
"I can." The warlock allows himself a grin. Then, he abruptly recalls that he should be identifying another thing — or rather, another person — in the chambers. He turns his head left and right, more because of habit than necessity. "Did Prince Arthur leave?" he blurts out, surprised to find not a single trace of the prince. Merlin hasn't even noticed the prince's departure nor heard the door creaking open.
A beat of silence. Then, "No, I'm still here."
Merlin startles; Prince Arthur's voice had come from nowhere. He furrows his brows but no matter how much he concentrates, he's unable to find the prince. There's a floating arm guard, one that's usually strapped around Prince Arthur's left arm, but Merlin cannot detect the prince himself.
"I was born without an ounce of magic in my body," Prince Arthur says, something unidentifiable in his tone. "With this spell, I suppose I'm almost invisible." He lets out a chuckle that contains no humor at all.
Merlin valiantly fights down the urge to reach out and offer comfort. He doesn't even know if the prince truly needs it, and the prince certainly won't welcome it from a stranger.
Prince Arthur having no magic at all? "But . . . Back in the training grounds, your arrow — you called your arrow to yourself," Merlin ventures, despite knowing he is treading on a possibly sensitive topic. He distinctly remembers the moment Prince Arthur's arrow whizzes towards his open palm after a mere gesture. Merlin has thought that the prince himself at least has a bit of magic because of it.
"My arm guard is enchanted." Merlin hears leather creaking as Prince Arthur must have grasped said item. "It's connected to the arrowhead. As long as my arm guard still has magical energy left, I can call the arrow to me even if it is more than a hundred miles away."
Merlin gauges no emotion whatsoever in the prince's tone, confirming the fact that it is indeed a bit of a sore topic. The warlock merely nods in response, a tad awkward now that he had asked.
"Have you looked to yourself?" the Court Sorcerer asks, swiftly changing the subject.
Merlin straightens, grasping the opportunity to do something else. He lifts his arms and lowers his head as if to see himself better. He wiggles his fingers and barely spots their movements with his new sense. In fact, Merlin can detect little magic along his limbs and through his veins.
"That's odd," he murmurs. Surely, Merlin has more magic than this?
"Hmm. So even you can't get past the aura suppression," Balinor observes, accurately guessing Merlin's conundrum. Hints of disappointment underline the Court Sorcerer's tone.
Merlin has no idea how to remove said suppression. It's not like he's doing it consciously. Now he understands a bit of everyone's frustration with him regarding this aura suppression. He himself would like to know the extent of his prowess.
"How do I get past it then? Or remove it entirely?" Merlin asks, an impatient note in his tone.
"I do not quite know," Balinor admits. "Usually, magic-users put it up intentionally. That you do it inadvertently is curious indeed. I shall have to consult a few books before I can help you unravel it."
Even the Court Sorcerer doesn't know and needs books, huh? Points for books. Merlin direly wishes to narrate the whole thing to Mordred and present proof of his argument. In the past three days, Mordred has sent Merlin unbearably smug looks whenever Balinor displays his bountiful knowledge and skills. If the druid heard the Court Sorcerer's words now . . .
"Now try a fire spell." Balinor's command knocks Merlin out of his useless victory. "Use the same amount of magic you sense on those storage crystals on the table."
Merlin focuses on the aforementioned storage crystals and observes them for a short while. Then, he opens his palm and breathes out. Bit by bit, he builds up threads of magic beneath the soft skin of his hand. A careless second causes him to double the amount of magic needed. He lets out a frustrated sound and dispels the coalescing energies. He tries again and overshoots the magic not even three breaths later. He shakes his palm to disperse it again and attempts another a third time.
Drat it, he has filled more than sixty of those tiny storage crystals completely and without excess. Outputting small amounts of magic should be easier by now. Unfortunately, breaking the barrier between his magic and dragonlord abilities appears to have regressed his capabilities on that end.
"Don't banish it completely," the Court Sorcerer interjects. "Diminish it bit by bit if it exceeds."
Merlin nods sharply and does just that when his third attempt proves the same as the last two. Decreasing it comes easier than trying to reduce his initial output, especially with the Sightless Sense distinctly informing him of every change. In a matter of seconds, he manages to perfectly gather the exact amount of magic needed.
"Forbærnan."
A perfectly tiny flame forms atop Merlin's palm, flickering meekly. A grin springs unbidden upon the warlock's face at his success.
"Very good, Merlin." Balinor banishes Merlin's hard-earned flame with a simple wave, not even giving the warlock the time to fully celebrate his victory. "Again."
Merlin resists the urge to roll his eyes and tries it again. After over an hour later and a handful of fruitful attempts later, the Court Sorcerer ceases the Sightless Sense enchantment upon the warlock.
Merlin hisses and winces, an ache spiking between his eyes at the sudden influx of lights and hues. Even though only the measly fires of the torches keep the darkness away, everything seems as bright as day.
"You should have kept your eyes closed."
"Thank you very much for telling me after I opened them, my lord," Merlin can't help but snark, squeezing his eyelids shut.
An amused huff cut through the air, and Merlin whips startled teary eyes towards an almost smiling prince. With Prince Arthur remaining invisible and silent in the past hour, Merlin has nearly forgotten his presence. Overflowing with curiosity and feeling a tad self-conscious, Merlin wonders what the prince was thinking as he watches the warlock perform spells after spells.
Eventually, Merlin's eyes adjust to their colorful surroundings once more. When they do so, Balinor commands Merlin to do the exact same fire spell.s
"Don't think. Just follow what your body has recently memorized."
Following the advice, Merlin merely lets his instinct direct him. He murmurs the same spell and witnesses the same tiny flame dancing upon his palm with his own eyes.
He stares at it in surprise because, "I don't feel like I'm doing magic at all."
"Low sensitivity. We'll train and increase it soon," Balinor reminds him. With a gesture, he, for the fifteenth time that night, extinguishes Merlin's fire without preamble. "For now, again."
For the next hour, Merlin performs the enchantment again and again. He falters a few times, now extremely conscious of Prince Arthur's intense scrutiny. There's nothing even remotely interesting about his actions, and yet the prince's blue eyes rarely stray away from him. The prince wears his usual blank mask, unchanging and unmoving in the hour after Merlin regains his sight. Balinor seems to ignore the royal observer entirely, gaze steadily on Merlin, and his full focus on their lesson. Merlin wishes he could do the same.
(The warlock keeps wondering if this is what it would feel like when (if?) he reveals his magic to his best friend. This spell is the one he used to show the Gilli of his realm that they are kin. He probably won't use it to show Arthur. It's not exactly impressive. But perhaps an enchantment involving fire as well? But not something that looks dangerous because Arthur might think the warlock is attacking him. Merlin knows a particular spell using fire embers—)
Prince Arthur, no matter how quiet or unobtrusive, is a distraction.
After Merlin fails to incite a properly sized fire for the third time in a row, Balinor says, "I suppose that's it for tonight." The Court Sorcerer's eyes flick to Prince Arthur before cocking a meaningful brow at Merlin. The warlock nearly winces. It's quite obvious that his concentration has no way of recovering for the night. Prince Arthur gives no indication that he's aware of the silent exchange. "Keep practicing on your own until tomorrow morning. Hopefully, you will be able to finish the morning lessons given the unexpected disadvantage."
"Right. I'll do that." Merlin gets to his feet, somewhat eager to break out of the prince's familiar-eyed perusal.
Prince Arthur and the Court Sorcerer similarly rise to their feet, smoothing out the creases of their deep-colored clothing.
"We'll skip the night lessons for tomorrow," Balinor informs the warlock before summoning a blank parchment and a quill from his desk. "I'll need time to prepare the next ones." The quill begins scratching long strings of letters on the floating parchment. Prince Arthur frowns as he reads the writings before brightening considerably. "Keep meditating. At least half-an-hour every day. And I ask that you use magic as often as you can from now on. Just little tricks will do."
Merlin tears his gaze away from the scribbling quill to shoot Balinor a bewildering look. "Er—Why exactly?" The mere suggestion sends a sliver of trepidation drumming in his stomach. He can't let himself get used to doing magic willy-nilly because he'll (further) endanger himself when he returns to his Camelot.
"Are you familiar with the concept of líhtinge?"
A memory of golden walls and the Djinn's drawl flit by his mind. "It's the . . . regular release of magic, usually by performing harmless tricks . . .?"
A startled expression crosses the Court Sorcerer's face. "Yes, that's correct. You have great magical capacity. Líhtinge will help you control your magic much easier in the future, and not let it carelessly respond to your emotions. Moreover, it's the first step in increasing your magic sensitivity."
The warlock runs a hand through his hair. Torn doesn't even begin to describe what Merlin feels. He doubts he could proceed with the next lessons if he refuses to do this.
Balinor cocks his head to the side, inquisitive. "Do you have any concerns you wish to share?"
"Ah, no. It's —It's fine. I'll do it." Surely, a little bit of magic won't hurt? It'll only be for a couple of days at most.
"Good." Balinor plucks the parchment and quill from thin air, prompting Prince Arthur out of his reading of it. The Court Sorcerer adorns the lower part of the parchment with his loopy and distinguished signature before folding it. He holds it out to Merlin. "This has a small list of books containing basic information about dragonlords. Give this letter to Geoffrey and he'll lead you right to them. Skim through the tomes if you can. If you have any questions, I'll discuss them with you in our next lessons."
Merlin grabs ahold of the paper with more enthusiasm than necessary, delight swelling in his chest. Books about dragonlords? He'll do more than skim through them. "Thank you, my lord."
Balinor nods, a hint of a smile curling his lips as he observes Merlin's barely contained elation.
In a few days' time, Merin may find his way home after meeting with Kilgharrah. This may very well be his last dragonlord-related lesson. His mouth dries up at the notion, the low burn of sorrow settling at the base of his stomach. The warlock glances at the Court Sorcerer who appears to be expecting questions. He mentally shakes away his gloom. Every minute he spends with his not-father is more than he could have imagined, and he's every bit grateful for it.
"May I observe your sessions onwards?" Prince Arthur speaks for the first time in hours, surprising Merlin a tad. The prince looks between the warlock and the Court Sorcerer, eyes brimming with curiosity. "As I said, I'll be naught but a silent observer."
Balinor turns narrow and unamused hazel eyes at the prince. "Your Highness, are you certain your time isn't better spent elsewhere?"
The prince shrugs flippantly, meeting the Court Sorcerer's challenge with a hint of a smirk upon his lips. "I'm sure I'll miss some sessions if some important duties come up but I'm mostly free this time of the night. And you know whatever I learn during these lessons won't go past this room."
"N-Not even your own mother, Your Highness?" Merlin asks tentatively, wanting to know if Prince Arthur will confide the secrets to his mother. The queen knowing about the warlock's dragonlord status will definitely spell trouble for him. Even though he'll only be staying for a few more days, he would rather not spend those days in difficulty. Merlin doesn't think the queen likes him very much.
Something cool and blazing gleams in the blues of Prince Arthur's eyes. "I'm not running off to my mother with every little thing I discover. The queen won't hear your secrets from me."
"T-That's reassuring. Thank you, Your Highness." Merlin has the strangest feeling that he has somehow pissed off the prince with that one simple question. Good to know Merlin isn't getting rusty on that end. "I'm not opposed . . . if you want to observe the lessons, Your Highness." Especially since there probably won't be more.
The prince sends Merlin the smallest of grateful smiles. As it's the first time the prince has been remotely warm to him, Merlin is unable to fight down his responding smile. As one, both of them turn to the Court Sorcerer for the final agreement.
After a brief pause, Balinor places his hands behind his back and lets out a sigh. "If Merlin is agreeable, I have nothing against it." The Court Sorcerer glances at the prince before addressing Merlin once more. "Go on then. You're dismissed. I shall see you tomorrow morning. On time."
"I haven't been late in three days," Merlin retorts, carefully pocketing the parchment. Seeing as it's already deep into the night, Lord Geoffrey has probably retired. The warlock will have to snatch the books as soon as he can the next day.
"That's not an accomplishment to be proud of, Merlin," the Court Sorcerer replies dryly, a tint of exasperation coloring his tone.
Merlin grins, walking backwards to the door. "It is for me." Just ask Arthur, who's usually late for at least one council meeting a week because of his manservant's tardy tendencies. If Merlin didn't have to deal with a threat looming over Camelot once every week, he would have been punctual more often than not. He offers the Court Sorcerer and the prince a shallow bow that's more for show than anything. "Your Highness, my lord. Good night."
Balinor and Prince Arthur nod in sync. Merlin leaves the chambers with a light heart, a crackle of lightning sizzling underneath his skin, and a tiny black scale hidden in the folds of his pocket.
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
A/N:
"Aue, aue, we are explorers reading every sign
We tell the stories of our elders
In the never ending chain" – Moana (2016)
Wow, look at that – the longest timeskip in this story. 3 days! Lmao. Hopefully, this chapter isn't too much of a mess for y'all.
Have you guys checked out RoyalPrat's gorgeous art of Balinor? And this so accurate and beautiful moodboard made by circusofwolves? (Links are in my profile). They're very awesome T^T
Next chapter: Prince Arthur and Balinor discuss some things.
Hope you are all coping healthily amidst all these 2020 happenings!
~ Vividpast