Chapter Summary: "My son!" "What."
Warning/s: Someone is being too touchy with another person, making the latter uncomfortable.
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Chapter VII: Make Way for (the) Prince
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"And done!"
Merlin laughs and holds up his eightieth filled crystal in the air.
Morgana and Mordred, done with theirs more than an hour ago, clap politely. The warlock rolls his eyes and drops the last crystal in his box.
"I wasn't that far behind," Merlin grumbles and replaces the lid of the box.
"You weren't," Mordred assures him with a small smile.
"It is quite strange though." Morgana's brows furrow. "You seem to have a harder time filling the crystals today than yesterday. Are you feeling all right, Merlin?"
Merlin freezes for a split second before proceeding to drag his box in the middle of the table, accompanying the two other filled boxes. "I was nervous that I won't be able to meet the quota."
Morgana and Mordred nod in assent and understanding.
"I thought I wasn't capable of it too," Mordred confesses somberly. Then, he grins, wide and unrestrained. "Eighty crystals!"
The Court Sorcerer, standing by the window behind his desk and basking in the midafternoon sun, hums. The three apprentices shift to face him, expectant. Balinor's amber gaze, however, remains firmly outside. His eyes trace something below and his brows furrow.
After a moment, the Court Sorcerer glances behind him and locks eyes with Merlin. There is a certain meaning behind his demeanor. Merlin bristles, wondering if Balinor is trying to send him a silent message. If he is, Merlin does not receive it at all.
Balinor breaks his stare and stalks towards the three of them. "Let us see then."
The Court Sorcerer opens each box, scrutinizing the crystals within. The apprentices watch him with bated breath, hoping he finds no fault in their work. After several minutes of crystals clinking and boxes thumping close, their mentor finally looks up. He sends them a nod of approval, to which they reply with bright smiles.
"Bring your boxes to the steward's room,'" Balinor says before closing the last box. "Ask a servant to accompany you. After that, you are dismissed for the rest of the day. Tell the steward such and you'll be given your allowance for the week." The Court Sorcerer returns to his previous spot near the window, gaze straying down once more.
Merlin's smile widens as soon as he hears the word 'allowance'. It has been far too long since he has gotten his hands on some coin.
"I urge you to rest up," Balinor adds, folding his hands behind his back. "I have been told that next week's lessons would be grueling at the very least."
Morgana, Mordred, and Merlin trade apprehensive glances at the ominous remark. The week's lesson has been exhausting and stressful at best. Next week's lesson would be worse then. They bid farewell to their mentor with that in mind, carrying boxes full of crystals in their arms.
"Merlin," Balinor calls out. Merlin pauses, nearly at the doorway. "Líhtinge," he reminds the warlock.
"Oh, right." Merlin gives a rapid nod. Honestly, he has forgotten to do so last night.
With a look tinged with exasperation, Balinor gives a dismissive wave. Merlin leaves the room with a sheepish expression.
Mordred, having remembered the way to the steward's room based on the castle tour, leads the way. They arrive at the steward's chamber not long after. Shelves of crisp scrolls and thick tomes fill the room, and several desks take up more than half the space. Merlin recalls the steward's room in his world appearing much the same. The official who had taken care of Merlin's registration in the Apprentice Exam sits behind the largest of the desks. Tina, if Merlin is remembering correctly, lifts her head upon their arrival.
"We are to deliver these crystals to the steward," Mordred announces, gesturing at their boxes.
Tina's nose wrinkles. She points at the space empty of paraphernalia on her desk. "What's inside?"
Mordred, Morgana, and Merlin carefully put down the boxes at the area indicated. "Storage crystals filled with our magic."
Tina's face brightens. "Oh. About time, I say." She opens one box and favors the contents with an appreciative glance. "How many are there in total?"
"Two hundred and forty. What are they going to be used for?" Morgana asks, curious now at the hint that Tina has been expecting the crystals.
"A drought has been plaguing a great portion of the east," Tina says, lifting one crystal and inspecting it with squinted eyes. "Lady Jayden and her apprentices will journey there and use these to invoke rain that will span a couple of days."
Surprise flits by Merlin's being. He didn't think they would be used at all. He is glad that he'll be indirectly helping, and that their crystals won't go to waste after all.
Tina hauls one of the boxes up into an empty spot on the shelf behind her. "Is there anything else?" She cocks a brow at their continued presence.
"Lord Balinor said we're dismissed for the day," Merlin says, diffidently, but unable to hide his excitement.
"Oh, the allowance then." Tina rummages through the drawers of her desk.
She produces twenty-one silvers and hands each of the apprentices seven. Merlin accepts his with relief and summarily pockets the coins, owning no coin pouch. With the coin, Merlin can finally pay back Tom and buy whatever he needs for the duration of his stay. He's been far too dependent on everyone's kindness and charity.
"Any plans?" Morgana asks them with a beatific smile as they leave the steward's workroom. "It's far too early for dinner. We can go outside and explore the markets."
Mordred shrugs. "Gilli's lessons won't finish for another couple of hours. I am amenable to getting some fresh air."
Merlin sees no harm in joining them. "Why not. I haven't left the castle since—uh. Well."
The three of them wince simultaneously, recalling their foolish plan to follow their mentor out of the citadel and the subsequent scolding they received.
After shaking off the horrible memory, the apprentices head out. Just as they turn the corner of the hallway on their way to the exit, they nearly stumble into the three people heading in the opposite direction.
Queen Ygraine and Lord Tristan halt in their steps, preventing a rather mortifying ordeal. Their companion, a middle-aged man sporting slick black hair and dark clothes, pauses with them.
"Your Majesty, my lord." All present apprentices lower their heads and greet demurely. All except Merlin whose wide eyes lock with the curious brown ones of the third companion in the queen's entourage.
Merlin's heart thumps a quick dreadful beat as ice runs through his veins. You have magic. So, it's you. You're Emrys. You've been at court, all this time. At Arthur's side. How you managed to deceive him. I am impressed, Merlin. Perhaps we're more alike than you think.
His magic surges in remembrance of a quickly drawn sword aiming for his throat and no, that's not good at all.
Mordred's eyes widen, and he none-too-gently elbows Merlin. The pain the action caused snaps the warlock back to his senses. He immediately emulates Morgana and Mordred, lowering his gaze in the presence of royalty and nobility. He knows his misstep has not been missed by anyone present.
"Lady Morgana. Mordred. Merlin," the queen acknowledges with naught a twitch in her expression. Lord Tristan's face holds the same cold nonchalance.
"My son!" Agravaine De Bois, looking exactly as Merlin remembers him, beams like a child. He steps forward with open arms. "I've barely recognized you. How you've grown!"
Queen Ygraine and Lord Tristan bristles, jaws clenching. Morgana's and Mordred's heads whip up, unbridled shock spilling in their demeanor. Merlin himself freezes, mind blanking as Agravaine firmly clasps his shoulders and gives him a friendly shake.
"What," Merlin blurts out, sending the crazed noble a bewildered look.
"Agravaine," Queen Ygraine warns with a hint of a growl, azure eyes darting around for onlookers. She spies two guards standing unusually still and three laundresses slowing their paces. The passers-by badly hide their interest in the proceedings. The queen pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Shocked to see your old man?" Amusement glimmers in Agravaine's brown eyes. "I suppose I didn't leave a good impression the last time we saw each other."
Merlin attempts to extricate himself from Agravaine's hold, gooseflesh running down the length of his arms. "I'm - I'm not— What are you—"
Agravaine's grasp tightens to the point of pain. Irritation pierces through the absolute confusion simmering in Merlin's chest. He barely tamps down the compulsion to blast away a ghost of another not-enemy.
"Have your reunion somewhere private," Lord Tristan seethes, glaring at both Agravaine and Merlin.
The glower is wholly undeserved in Merlin's case; he isn't the one causing a commotion this time. In fact, he has not a clue as to why he has fallen into such a strange circumstance. Morgana and Mordred have passed the shocked phase and have fallen into numb disbelief at the scene. Well, those two are no help at all.
"My lord, you've made a mistake —" The warlock tries again, briefly entertaining the idea of elbowing the lord to create distance.
"Come now, Merlin. No need to deny it anymore. My siblings have already figured it out." Agravaine gestures, with an unnecessary flourish, at the smoldering mien of both Queen Ygraine and Lord Tristan. Merlin swallows nervously and shoots Agravaine a glare of his own. The action seems to amuse Agravaine further instead of discouraging him. "But Tristan is right. Perhaps we should talk in private. We have a lot of catching up to do!"
Agravaine hauls Merlin into a one-armed hug, laughing in delight. The warlock nearly shoves the lord away, skin crawling. However, Agravaine looks at Merlin straight in the eye and wiggles his brows. Play along, Merlin receives the intended message clearly. Merlin blinks rapidly before sending a narrow-eyed gaze in response.
What on earth is this Agravaine planning? In a split second, Merlin decides on the proper course of action. Whatever this counterpart of his enemy is scheming, the warlock plans to figure it out and stop it. He doubts it's anything less than sinister. "Do you have a place in mind where we can talk privately, Lord Agravaine?" Merlin asks, plastering on a timid countenance, no longer denying anything but neither confirming any of Agravaine's ridiculous claims. The notion of the lord being his father provokes a deep-seated disgust in him.
Agravaine grins. "To my rooms, then!" To his sister and brother, he bids, "I shall talk to you later, Ygraine, Tristan. My son must be very confused right now, seeing as I acknowledged him now when I didn't before."
Agravaine's voice is unnecessarily loud, bringing quite unnecessary attention to the whole endeavor. Queen Ygraine and Lord Tristan seem to think so too because their gazes could burn their brother to ashes.
Thankfully, Agravaine speaks nothing more. He drags Merlin away without any more fuss. Merlin glances back at Mordred and Morgana, who still stands frozen in their spots. They stare at the warlock like he has transformed into a jester before their eyes. Gods, Merlin hopes no one believes the nonsense Agravaine has been spouting. They did see his clothes during the Apprentice Exam — the worn-out patched clothing that no noble would be seen wearing. Merlin could not be the son of anyone but a commoner.
Agravaine leads Merlin into one of the royal rooms. Merlin spies luggage still unpacked, the large room wholly undisturbed. Agravaine must have arrived just recently, which is no surprise. Merlin has seen Agravaine nowhere in the castle until today, so the warlock guesses that the lord does not permanently reside here.
The lock clicks boisterously from the chamber's doors, and Merlin spins around to face the room's other occupant.
Agravaine leans against the wood of the doors and crosses his arms, further blocking Merlin's only exit. The lord tilts his head to the side, an amused smile still flitting by the curve of his lips.
"Merlin, is it? I apologize for my forward behavior earlier." He does not sound apologetic at all. "It's not often that I get to prank my uptight siblings."
Merlin's brows rise. "You did all that—for a prank?" The warlock's voice similarly rises in incredulity.
Agravaine waves a flippant hand. "Mostly for a prank. Did you see their faces?" He guffaws uproariously, eyes tearing up. "It's as if they want to skin me alive! Goddess, what I wouldn't give to set that moment in a painting."
Merlin gawks at the lord for a long while, the image of a stern conniving uncle of a king shattering like glass. For all that they look the same, this Agravaine's carefree and rather mischievous personality momentarily catches the warlock off-guard.
When Agravaine finally composes himself, he turns to Merlin with a curious glint in his eyes. "Let's see it then."
"See what?" Merlin eyes the lord dubiously.
"Your De Bois sigil." Agravaine treads closer to the warlock.
Merlin plants his feet to prevent himself from taking a step back as the lord draws close. "I—" He can't deny having one. Queen Ygraine has clearly informed Agravaine of it. It makes sense that all De Bois siblings should be made aware of a De Bois seal of unknown origins.
Thinking he can get out of this situation quickly and get some answers as to Agravaine's motives, Merlin lifts the leather cord from underneath his tunic but does not remove it from around his neck. The silver brooch clangs with the bronze triquetra castle talisman. Merlin, tired of lugging two cords around his nape, has simply tied the two of them in one leather string.
"May I?" Agravaine gestures at the sigil with wagging fingers. Merlin sighs and lets the lord take it in his hand. "Oh." Agravaine leans in closer, observing the brooch with great interest. The warlock once again resists the urge to back away. "That isn't fake at all. No wonder my sister came to certain conclusions."
"How could you tell? That it's real?" Merlin asks with a frown, possessively snatching the brooch back. Agravaine lets him take it without protest. The warlock shifts the sigil in his palm, wondering how people keep recognizing it's authentic when Merlin had claimed it is anything but.
Agravaine leans back, finally giving Merlin the space he desires. "The weight and details of the sigil must be set specifically. Of course, I cannot tell you what those specifics are. But those of De Bois and a few of our allies can recognize a real seal. Fewer still know how to instruct a jeweler to create another one." The lord cups his chin, pondering. "Only Ygraine, Tristan, and I should have such knowledge. My sister and brother seem quite convinced I was the one who gave it to you." His shrewd gaze pins Merlin with a leveled look. "You and I both know that isn't true. So, tell me, Merlin, where did you really get it?"
Gods, why do people in this castle keep dragging Merlin into interrogations like these? Merlin grows weary of it. "A friend of mine gave it to me. I don't know where he got it, as I told the queen," he bites out. He slips the sigil and talisman underneath his tunic once more.
"And this friend of yours?"
Merlin smiles, close-lipped. "None of your concern, my lord."
Agravaine's eyes gleam. "That means you suspect how he came about the seal. And that you know he'll get in trouble if anyone finds out."
That's not inaccurate. But Merlin has no sensible name to give Agravaine or anyone else in this realm. If he had, he would spit it out just to stop all this fuss for a simple token of friendship. "Perhaps, my lord."
Agravaine waits, expectant, obviously thinking that the warlock will reveal more. Merlin cocks a brow and not another word passes by his lips. They hold the stalemate for several uncomfortable minutes.
Agravaine is the first to break. He sighs. "I am indubitably curious, Merlin. Indubitably. But I'll pry no longer regarding your friend. Instead, let me make you a deal."
"A deal?" Merlin let his tone express how skeptical he is of it.
"You are Lord Balinor's apprentice, right?" Merlin nods without thinking it through, startled by the unexpected question. Agravaine continues in a completely different vein, "I shall tell the queen fully and without a doubt that I gave you the seal, saving your dear friend from punishment."
And saving Merlin from further suspicion. If the brooch Merlin owns can be traced back to a reliable source, questions on that end will dissipate. He needn't watch his words regarding the sigil, and that's one less problem for the remainder of his short stay. "In exchange for what?" Merlin knows there's always a catch.
Agravaine grins, quite manically. "I shall claim you as my blood-borne son."
The notion sends shudders running along the warlock's spine. "Er—I don't think everyone will believe that." Balinor and Prince Arthur certainly won't, seeing as Merlin has revealed his dragonlord status to them. "And I can't act as your s-son. I don't even know how to!"
"That doesn't matter. We'll say we just met once when you were a child, and I refused to acknowledge you then. You grew up as a commoner," Agravaine elaborates with a dismissive tone.
Belatedly, Merlin realizes what being Agravaine's son would imply. "I don't want to be mistaken as a noble!" Merlin has far too many problems already without involving himself in this world's politics.
Agravaine frowns, a ripple of confusion upon his face. He opens his mouth. Then, he shuts it with a click. Something akin to intrigue flits by the lord's eyes. "You won't be mistaken as a noble, I assure you, Merlin." Before the warlock could express his doubts regarding the validity of that statement, Agravaine plows on with a sweetened offer. "And you don't have to pretend to be anything. I've ensured that the rumor mill will take care of things." Right. With the way Agravaine was loudly declaring potentially juicy gossip, half of the castle residents have probably come to their own ridiculous speculations. "When people ask, just don't deny my claims. Tell them that you have nothing more to say on the subject if you wish. Easy, right?"
When put that way, Merlin sees that he must practically do nothing. "And what do you stand to gain in all this, my lord?" Merlin asks with narrow eyes. He knows a too-good-to-be-true arrangement when presented with one. In his experience, such transactions always spell trouble for him in the end.
"The chance to have fun at my siblings' expense!" Agravaine laughs out, eyes wrinkling.
The warlock can't help but stare with befuddled eyes. Is this the kind of person Agravaine would have been had his sister not died? Had the ban on magic not been implemented? For all that they look the same, this Agravaine and the one Merlin knew couldn't have been more different in personalities. Even so, the warlock knows better than to let his guard down no matter what.
The lord says thoughtfully, "I did think to proclaim you as my catamite but—"
This time, Merlin backs away from the utterly deranged lord, disgust and alarm rising in him in nauseating waves.
"Well, that's quite a blow to my self-esteem, I'll have you know, Merlin." Instead of looking offended, Agravaine grins like a child presented with sweets. "No matter. I suppose you're glad I went with 'illegitimate child' instead."
"I'm not glad you've involved me at all," Merlin mutters.
The lord's brows rise with unbridled amusement. "You've got quite a tongue on you for a commoner."
Merlin ignores that. "And if I refuse, my lord?"
Surprise crosses Agravaine's demeanor as if the thought hasn't occurred to him. "Then, I'm afraid I will have no choice but to inform my dear sister that I have no idea where you got the seal. I presume that wouldn't be good for your friend now, would it?"
For moments, Merlin takes the time to weigh the benefits and the downsides of Agravaine's offer. Balinor and Prince Arthur won't believe him to be the lord's son, of course. Will they tell the queen? No, that would mean telling the queen Merlin's dragonlord status and they've both tightly kept that secret until now. On the other hand, Merlin really won't be claiming to be someone he's not. It isn't his fault that the queen and some others arrived at some erroneous conclusions. If he neither denies nor affirms it, he won't be lying really. Let people think what they want. Merlin doubts he'll be staying long enough for the imposed noble status to be a problem. It would be more of a problem if the queen discovers that Merlin isn't what she thinks he is. Merlin foresees far more annoying interrogations in the near future were that to happen.
"All right." This time, Merlin sees that the advantages outweigh the disadvantages. "It is a deal, my lord. I'll not deny being your son, but I won't lie either. I'll not confirm it to anyone, not even the queen if she asks directly."
"Splendid! That's all I ask!" Agravaine exclaims. He reaches out to shake Merlin's hand and to seal their agreement. Merlin pointedly backs away from his touch. Just because he agreed does not mean he is in any way warming up to the lord. "Ah." Agravaine takes a few steps back, hands folding behind his back. "Well then. I suppose I'll see you around, Merlin."
Carefully, Merlin nods. Without anything more to discuss, Agravaine gracefully allows him to take his leave. Merlin exits the chambers, relief loosening the band around his chest.
That's one problem solved. A few more to go, Merlin thinks ruefully.
So great is Merlin's desire to leave the rooms as quickly as possible that he fails to notice the smug look overcoming the lord's affable expression.
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With no way to know where Mordred and Morgana went, Merlin decides to loiter in the library instead. With him meeting Kilgharrah on the morrow, he'll probably figure out a way home shortly after. Merlin wishes to read through most of the books in Balinor's list before he gets home. They don't really have those in his Camelot, and it isn't like Merlin, with his three separate duties, will have the time to read them if they do.
He hands Lord Geoffrey the list with the Court Sorcerer's signature. The head librarian delightfully leads him to the proper aisle.
"Dragonlords! People with the most interesting of abilities, I must say," Lord Geoffrey remarks with a chuckle, combing his white beard with his fingers. "Here we are then."
"Thank you, my lord," Merlin says with a small bow.
"No thanks necessary." Lord Geoffrey waves off. "You haven't been in the library for days now. I was concerned that you've lost interest."
Merlin blinks rapidly. "Lost interest?"
"Rarely do apprentices ever make use of our great library," Lord Geoffrey informs him, affront evident in his stance and huff. "'Tis a pity. Look at all these books!" The lord makes a grand sweeping gesture. "All this knowledge that those mentors of theirs won't be able to teach them fully!"
Merlin lets his gaze linger at the two-storied establishment and sees the same thing Lord Geoffrey does. All this knowledge is lost in Merlin's world. Thousands of books burned — purged — and those who may have had the chance to rewrite them either long dead or in hiding.
"They are taking it for granted," Merlin accedes, chest tightening and eyes prickling. "I certainly won't, my lord."
"See, you understand, young man." Lord Geoffrey sends him an earnest and appreciative smile. "Well, I'll not keep you. Go ahead and enjoy."
And Merlin does. He enthusiastically plucks the books from their shelves; some are half-as thick as his arm, others as thin as his nail. With half of the listed books in his arms, he happily strides towards his customary reading desk.
He startles to find it already occupied by a familiar figure, with more than twenty books piled on either side of them.
Prince Arthur looks up from his rather intense reading, sensing Merlin's approach. His already expressionless face turns even more blank.
"Y-Your Highness." What is the prince of Camelot doing in the library in the middle of the day? Didn't he have duties?
"Merlin." His tone contains a mild note of amicability. Merlin considers that as progress. The prince takes in the items in the warlock's hands and raises a brow. Then, after a moment of contemplation, he comments, "The table's big enough for both of us."
Merlin takes on the prince the silent offer, albeit hesitantly. Prince Arthur's presence will likely distract him again; if Merlin's not careful, he'll end up spending his time comparing Arthurs instead of consuming the books he fetched. However, this is the best spot in the entire library, especially since the sunlight perfectly beams through the window and to the pages of the books. Furthermore, Merlin rather not garner suspicion by blatantly avoiding the prince.
Prince Arthur turns back to his reading as Merlin gingerly claims the seat across from him. Merlin arranges his own selections so as not to mix it with Prince Arthur's considerable collection. Then, determined to pretend that he is by himself, the warlock cracks open a book titled A Study of Dragons and Dragonlords, Volume I.
The Old Religion claims ownership of the creation of dragons, one of the most powerful creatures in existence. Some scholars, however, believe this to be false. They argue that the existence of dragonlords disproves the fact that dragons are creatures of the Old Religion.
Dragonlords are people with the ability to command dragons and their cousins. Others speculate that they are capable of much more: that they can hatch dragons, control dragonfire, spawn wings, breathe fire from their lungs, and the like. As dragonlords are a secretive race, none of these other abilities can be fully confirmed. The author wishes not to join in giving voice to baseless claims.
Dragonlords are not of the Old Religion. The story of their origins has been recounted by Taruk, a dragonlord that this author encountered himself. Taruk had been allowed by his chiefs to share the following tale in the hopes of providing clarity regarding the dragonlords' separate beliefs.
A thousand years ago, dragons targeted the isles where the ancestors of the now dragonlords lived. Dragons aimed to hunt for food, which is plentiful in the isles. The islanders' crops burned, their sheep stolen, and their houses ruined beyond repair. In vengeance, Taruk's ancestors trained themselves to fight back and invented ingenious traps to kill the very dragons that targeted them. For several generations, man and creature fought relentlessly. No one knew exactly how many people and dragons fell at this period of their history but Taruk assumed it would number millions.
Unlike in the continent of Albion, Taruk's isles, which he had refused to name, have chiefs instead of kings. It is the son of the Great Chief that brought about the end of the bloody feud. Hurdul the Blameless Archer had struck an unlikely friendship with a dragon whose wings were damaged during a fight. Hurdul named the dragon Tafiel, which meant 'the wingless' in the ancient language of the isles. Hurdul nursed Tafiel back to health; this was not without challenge, given that both had been sworn enemies. It is uncertain why Hurdul chose to —
A book closes none-too-gently nearby, snapping Merlin out of the rather immersive legend. The warlock lifts his head to find Prince Arthur frowning at a closed tome as if it had done the prince a great insult. Merlin peeks at the title embossed on the cover out of curiosity.
"Cornelius Sigan?" He blurts out loud.
Blue eyes dart to Merlin, unamused, before returning to the book. Then, Prince Arthur sets it aside and grabs another tome from his pile.
Has Cornelius Sigan's tomb been uncovered in this realm? Do they know what that one enchanted jewel contains? Do they have the means to suppress Sigan once worse comes to worst? Worry simmers at the base of Merlin's stomach, his reading forgotten amidst the possible threat. He restlessly runs his fingers over the crackling parchment of the book. He should warn them, shouldn't he? Lives could be lost, and citizens could be hurt. There are plenty of capable sorcerers here to possess, plenty of the power Sigan could use to bring ruin.
Finally, unable to handle the notion of any of the people he already knows getting injured, Merlin ventures, "Ha—Has Sigan's tomb been discovered?"
Prince Arthur's head snaps up. "What did you say?"
"Um, Cornelius Sigan's tomb, Your Highness." Merlin gestures at the similarly titled books in the prince's section. "I - I just wondered why you would be interested in him," he tacks on awkwardly.
"His tomb?" Prince Arthur adopts a contemplative look. "There are accounts claiming Sigan helped build Camelot — that his spells built the foundations of the castle itself. It's not so far-fetched to think he would be buried somewhere around here."
So, the tomb hasn't been discovered then. They'll be caught off-guard.
The memory of Sigan's soul trying to possess him pops up, and Merlin wrinkles his nose. That hasn't been the most pleasant of experiences.
Sigan's soul felt like oozing tar at the back of Merlin's throat. The warlock's nostril had been filled with the smell of rotten eggs for days afterward. Merlin doesn't remember much of it now, his mind too foggy at that moment to think clearly. He recalls thinking GET OUT GET OUT OUT and the impression of slamming a wooden coffin closed over a screaming struggling black smoke.
The warlock shivers.
Merlin would have to warn them without letting on to the fact that he knows something he shouldn't. Can he use the books as an excuse for his unexpected knowledge? Merlin can't let the people of this realm remain ignorant of Cornelius Sigan's insidious capabilities.
"It would be an interesting find indeed, Your Highness." Merlin returns his gaze to his book but has no intention to read it. He puts upon an air of someone who's having an intriguing discussion that does not personally affect them. "Sigan died wealthy and not a single ingot of his treasure was found. They're all probably hidden away in his tomb." Please let that be the case too in this realm.
"That's true enough, I suppose," Prince Arthur answers slowly, brows furrowing.
Merlin releases an inaudible sigh, glad that fact remains the same. "It must have enchantments in place then. To still have the location hidden after so long."
Prince Arthur's eyes widen a fraction, a brief flash of something unidentifiable flitting by his bearing. "Perhaps." The prince turns to the stack of books on his left, studying the titles on the spine. He murmurs, "What was inside the tomb? Why would he mention . . ." Gracefully, he slides out the deep-blue covered tome near the bottom. He skims through the contents of its first page.
Merlin looks at the prince and wonders if his subtle hint would be enough to ensure a certain wariness if the tomb ever be found. He should drop more hints to be sure. Leaning forward, he whispers conspiratorially, "I heard that Sigan was trying to cheat death until his very last breath. Do you think he succeeded, Your Highness?"
Prince Arthur stills, the slightest movements halting in an incredibly abrupt manner. With the blankest tone imaginable, he repeats, "Cheat death?" The prince lifts his head slightly, looking at Merlin from under his lashes. "There were several witnesses to his beheading. His remains were burned. How would he have succeeded?"
Merlin leans back slightly, unable to decipher the stare that the prince is favoring him with. It's not quite a glare but it's far from approving. "W—Well. His body died but what of his soul?"
"His . . . soul?"
Merlin nods and pretends to go back to the open book in front of him. "If he managed to . . . keep his soul alive. Maybe store it somewhere that does not die, unlike his body . . . He would have cheated death in a manner, right? Or so - so speculated the book I read." The warlock worries the edge of a page with restless fingers before remembering himself. He smooths out the crinkled portion of the parchment, hoping Lord Geoffrey won't notice the imperfection. "I guess it isn't really living though. Not until he could find a real living body to possess," Merlin adds absent-mindedly.
He ponders on what Sigan feels right now, locked in a cold beautiful jewel. Alive and aware but capable only of raging inside a pretty cage — no friends to talk to, nothing but yourself for company for years and years. Merlin stifles a horrified shudder. Such a terrifying fate, even for a heartless enemy.
Belatedly, the warlock notices the prince's long silence. He raises his head, curious.
The sight of Prince Arthur's utterly stunned gaze greets him. The royalty's lips are parted in what might be awe or terror or maybe a little bit of both. Several emotions flicker by his face, each flicking far too fast for the warlock to completely decipher.
Merlin glances behind him, making sure nothing alarming is happening out of his sight. But no, nothing but books and shelves fill his vision. And Prince Arthur is still staring straight at him.
"Your Highness?"
Then, without a word of warning, Prince Arthur pushes himself to his feet. The chair screeches against the stone floor at the abrupt movement. The prince swiftly strides away without nary a second look. Merlin is left blinking at the prince departing back, deathly confused as to what exactly happened in the past few seconds.
After several minutes, with the prince obviously not planning to return, Merlin eventually resumes his reading. He has warned the prince enough, he thinks. Cornelius Sigan, should his tomb be discovered, will cause as little harm as possible to this Camelot.
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
A/N:
"Make way for Prince Ali
Say hey, it's Prince Ali" – Genie, Aladdin (1992)
Thrakon Isles was known by another name at that time. Its name was . . . Berk. Nah, just messing with y'all. uNLess ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).
This would have come out earlier but I got plunged into the beautiful writing of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Even more than a hundred years later, it is so good and I am so jealous T^T.
Anyway, this might be the last update in a while. I need to read more beautifully written works to improve my writing.
Have you guys checked out RoyalPrat's and Schoernchen's new works for this story? The new ones make the heart ache in a good way T.T
Next Chapter Hint: You get to find out why this chapter is titled as it is. Although, knowing you guys, you might have already guessed 😉
Happy holidays, yule, Hanukkah, and whatever else you celebrate in your culture!
~ Vividpast