Chapter Summary: Merlin meets with the böggel-mann.
Warning/s: A character's physical form changes and the speech they use thereafter may cause gender/body dysphoria. Brief non-graphic implications of transphobia.
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Chapter XV: Better Pay Attention
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Cloaked in an unnoticeable enchantment, Merlin peers from behind the wide trunk of an oak tree.
The afternoon sun dapples the lively green leaves and healthy grass of the forest. The wind caresses the bushes and plays games with loose wildflowers. A bite of chill whips the air as fall beckons and spring nearly bids its farewell.
Despite that, sweat rolls down Merlin's forehead, caused by a combination of spring heat, trepidation and anticipation. He wipes it using the back of his hand.
The damaged tree trunk and the broken thick branch are still present as remnants of his last encounter with the böggel-mann. He keeps his eyes on the area.
Merlin barely lets himself blink, focused as he is at catching every little movement in the place where he's supposed to meet the famed enemy. His jaw aches from the tension, and his now thin shoulders throb from holding himself guarded.
"What are you doing?"
Merlin spins on his heels to face the owner of the voice, magic flaring in alarm. His long hair promptly flies to his mouth. He splutters it out.
He has heard neither footfalls nor the rustle of clothing that could have preceded the approach.
Two individuals, one boy and one girl, blink up at him. The boy, with guileless bucked front teeth and a mop of cropped dark hair, looks barely sixteen years. The girl, looking a few years older, has her mouth gaping open, looking at Merlin with almost palpable curiosity. Both wear simple peasant clothing, and the boy adorns a small knapsack upon his body.
"What are you doing?" the boy asks again, tilting his head to the side and staring up at Merlin with clueless brown eyes. His gaze remains steadfastly to the left of Merlin's head.
The girl remains silent, fidgeting nervously behind the boy and sneaking glances at Merlin.
Merlin cools down the fires of magic in his veins. "Just picking up flowers." Merlin clears his throat before recalling that yes, his voice is meant to be a pitch higher now. "You both shouldn't be here. The sun's nearly setting, and it'll be dangerous." Wracu is undoubtedly dangerous, and the warlock wishes for no one else to be involved with the encounter with him, especially not these innocent passers-by.
"Why will it be dangerous?" the boy inquires further, voice still having the slightly high-pitched quality of a child.
Merlin scratches his cheek. "It-It will be dark, and all sorts of creatures appear after dark. Hurry home now." The warlock rummages through his mind for a plan if these two refuse to listen to him. Should he force them to march towards the citadel?
The boy's whole demeanor changes, his shoulders setting into a straight line and his expression blanking eerily. "Well, good to know you've not been setting a trap for me, Emrys." His voice loses its childish quality, becoming whole and assured.
With a quick gesture, he dispels the unnoticeable enchantment around the warlock.
Merlin steps back, unease and dread ringing through his being. His magic bubbles in response. What the hell?
He observes the boy in front of him much more guardedly. The boy no longer looks like the innocent clueless one from earlier; instead, his sharp piercing gaze and assured countenance speaks of someone far more perilous.
"Cease your posturing. Our time is short," the boy — Wracu — says monotonously. Not one ounce of fear shows in his mien.
Merlin cannot believe he fell for the same innocent-boy act twice. Of course, no normal citizen would be wandering the Darkling Forest at this time. And of course, no normal people can see through the unnoticeable enchantment he has put up.
"Have you learned the spell?" Wracu prods.
"I haven't agreed to anything," Merlin growls, stepping away in defense. "You fooled me again and you expect me to be all right with it?"
Wracu lifts a brow. "Do you expect me to walk into a potential trap so carelessly?" Uncloaked and with his (albeit obviously disguised) face exposed, he's much easier to read. Right now, he appears utterly unamused.
Merlin supposes that's fair. It doesn't stop the irritation from welling up in his chest.
"Have you learned the spell?" Wracu asks again.
"Who's she?" Merlin gives the girl, who has been quiet and trying to melt into the background, a suspicious glance. He pointedly ignores Wracu's question.
"Merida, this is Emrys. Do not call him anything other than that," Wracu introduces without fanfare.
"Hello." Merida attempts an awkward wave before wringing her hands. "I'm — Well, I'm from the same world as you."
Surprise flicks by Merlin's expression before he tamps it down. "Oh, really?" He crosses his arms over his chest. He promptly uncrosses them upon feeling the unusual softness of his chest.
Merlin doesn't believe either of them one bit.
"Have you learned the spell?" Wracu repeats for the third time. Judging by his face, he's prepared to repeat it a fourth, a fifth, a hundredth time until Merlin answers him.
The warlock relents, seeing as they're getting nowhere. "Yes, I did."
"Good. Merida." Wracu beckons the girl forward. Merida immediately complies. "Perform it on her and determine the truth for yourself."
Merlin does not waste the opportunity presented, doubt and hope warring in him.
Because he's not a mannerless beast, Merlin lets his hand hover between them and asks, "May I?"
Merida nods, stepping closer. The warlock places a hand around the girl's throat and mutters the enchantment. Merida flinches but allows the spell to run through her.
Finished, Merlin retreats and asks grimly, "Did you truly come from the same realm as me?"
"Yes," Merida confirms confidently.
The swīġan unsóþ does not flare in protest to her answer.
"What's your name?"
The girl straightens and practically proclaims, "Merida is my name."
Merlin's eyes narrow. "Who was the ruler of Camelot?"
"King Uther Pendragon and now King Arthur," Merida answers without missing a beat. She seems to be shedding her awkwardness and diffidence with every word.
Well, Wracu could have told her that fact.
"How did you get here to this realm?"
"I made a wish that the Djinn granted by throwing me here."
The Djinn's fault too, Merlin thinks.
"Where did you live? In the realm before?"
"Camelot. In a small village called Vestra."
Merlin startles. "Milda's village?" Vestra is the village where the Djinn had been lurking about, where Arthur and the knights had planned to go.
Merida blinks rapidly, astonishment filling her expression. "You knew my mother?"
"Your mother?" Merlin gapes. His gaze travels from the girl's boots to the top of her brown-haired head. "Milda never mentioned her daughter going missing. She told us it was her son taken away by the Djinn."
A bitter smile flits by Merida's lips. "She would say that, wouldn't she?" Her back slumps ever so slightly, and a resigned sigh escapes her lips. "I am —" She coughs, throat tightening. The spell reverberates a warning both to the caster and the ensorcelled. "— No, I suppose I was her son."
Merlin suddenly recalls Selia and her preference for shifting genders. How her father has seemed wary of Merlin's reaction as soon as he found out. Merlin has thought nothing of it back then but now . . . The warlock abruptly realizes that Tom and Selia probably encountered people who reacted poorly.
"Your mother wants you back," Merlin informs her, keeping his voice soft. "She even went to the king and pleaded for help to bring you home."
Merida's face crumples in sorrow. Merlin instantly regrets putting such an expression upon her youthful visage.
"Done interrogating her?" Wracu interjects coldly, badly startling Merida who has forgotten his presence.
Compared to the two of them, Wracu, or his disguise anyway, is a foot shorter. The lack of height does not diminish the threat he emanates in any way. Even still, seeing a face upon a previously faceless shadow does alleviate the intimidation quite a bit.
The revelation of the village's name does end Merlin's interrogation. He has never mentioned it aloud to anyone in this realm, not even when narrating the story to Kilgharrah. That Merida knows it proves she comes from the same world as Merlin. The fact that the swīġan unsóþ enchantment prevents her from speaking the untruth also helps.
Merlin sends one last worried glance to a now timid Merida before glaring down at the so-called böggel-mann. "Yes. It's your turn now, isn't it?"
Wracu raises his head and exposes his throat without hesitation as if he doesn't even see Merlin as a legitimate threat to his well-being. The warlock grits his teeth and grabs the proffered throat a tad more roughly than he did with Merida. Wracu barely blinks at his actions.
Merida wisely steps back so as to not get in the way of a potential fight.
After Merlin has performed the spell and withdraws his hand, he immediately asks, "Do you truly know how to get me home?"
Wracu looks up at him with unfocused brown eyes before responding with a simple, "No."
For a brief moment, Merlin can do nothing but stand in utter disbelief.
Then, anger bursts out in waves out of his chest, his hopes raised and crushed once more. "What!? You told me—"
"Well." In the face of Merlin's barely caged fury, Wracu flinches not one bit. "I know not yet. But I do know where to start looking for answers. I lied before because you would not meet with me for anything less." He tilts his head and adds, "As you said, if a dragon well-versed in the Old Religion does not know how, how can I?"
Merlin growls. "How am I supposed to trust what you say now?"
"What is the point of learning the swīġan unsóþ spell and performing it on us if you would not trust it?" Wracu counteracts calmly, unflappable.
The temptation to strangle the man in front of him nearly overwhelms Merlin's senses. Thankfully, with Arthur as his master and best friend, he has plenty of practice reigning in that certain impulse.
This has been a bad idea from the start. Merlin is not failing to notice how Wracu has been pushing him around until he has no choice but to go along. The warlock needs to wrangle some sense of control in this situation.
"What's your name?" Merlin asks curtly to assess the effectiveness of the spell.
"I am called Wracu," the other man answers. Nothing in Wracu's blank expression or dry tone changes but Merlin gets the strong feeling that he's being humored like a child.
"Where do you live?"
"I reside in a ruined castle," Wracu replies once more without missing a beat.
Merlin blinks rapidly, taken aback at the unexpected answer. "A ruined castle where?"
"In the middle of a forest."
"Which forest?"
"One of the forests in Albion."
"Which kingdom?"
"In one of the kingdoms in Albion."
Merlin's temples ache in annoyance. He supposes he shouldn't have tried to wheedle out information like this. After all, the enchantment does not force people to answer questions and merely prevents them from speaking lies.
"Why do you want to help me return home?" Merlin switches the line of questioning.
"I believe you will be an obstruction to my plans, and I desire you gone," Wracu repeats the same reason he gave before.
The swīġan unsóþ holds no protest. Merlin breathes out a sigh of relief.
Having learned his lesson, Merlin does not ask what the aforementioned plans are.
"Who else knows about me? About me being from another realm?"
"Merida. Me. The large dragon. I do not know who else you told."
Merlin blinks rapidly. "Am I supposed to believe you told no one else? Not even your — your mother or those in your supposed Army?"
"On my side, the fewer people who know the existence of Djinns and of you, the better."
This time, confusion furrows Merlin's brows. "Why is that?"
"You are a weapon, Emrys," Wracu declares as a fact. "Some would attempt to wield you, despite the consequences."
Merlin should be offended by that. He's not some artifact to be used. The idea does sadden him slightly, and he tries to hide it.
With the prophecies about the golden age and his supposed duty to usher that in, to view him as a pawn in fate's games would not be entirely incorrect.
The warlock scoffs, tearing himself away from the maudlin ponderings. "And you don't have any plans in that manner?" He lets his arched brow speak of his disbelief.
"I admit that I did have plans to use you." Merlin is surprised Wracu is carelessly willing to admit that much. "But I've seen that you're sentient enough to resist a certain measure of manipulation. To try and control you would be a foolish endeavor, I believe."
Not so foolish an endeavor. Merlin recalls Nimueh's trick to make him drink poison, Edwin Muirden's kind and gentle pretense, Julius Borden's dragon-saving act, and many other instances where he has been deceived and used. In his defense, he was a young and naive village boy once. He can no longer afford to be that boy.
Wracu has spoken no untruths so far, and Merlin knows the enchantment to still be in effect. But Merlin heeds the warnings about the spell silencing the untruth and proceeds with more questions.
"Do you intend to cause me harm in any way?"
Wracu takes a moment to answer, his brown eyes darting up and to the side in thought. "Currently, you are doing nothing to impede my affairs. But should you do so, I will not hesitate to get you out of the way. Although I will not kill you, harming you is another matter entirely."
Gooseflesh prickles the back of Merlin's neck. "Tell me of these affairs of yours so I can stay out of the way," Merlin says lightly. Not that he has any intention of staying out of the way if those said affairs involves endangering Camelot's citizens.
"Trust me, Emrys." Wracu's gazes straight through him as if the warlock's not even worth his attention. "You'll know the exact moment when you've interfered with my plans."
Merlin vows to learn extensive defensive enchantments to prevent himself from falling into any of Wracu's future traps. Can he really cooperate with so blatant a foe like this? He is doubting this whole thing more and more.
"How did you become Camelot's enemy?" Merlin inquires next, attempting to figure out what exactly Wracu's whole deal is.
"My men and I burn down Camelot's villages for no particular reason," Wracu says without a hint of remorse. Beside him, Merida blanches. Then, the böggel-mann casually adds, "Or so says the propaganda Queen Ygraine spreads."
Merlin, whose wrath sparked when he heard the first statement, finds shock completely snuffing out the anger at the last remark. "Are you saying it isn't true?"
Wracu shrugs, no hint of tension in any part of his body. As if the whole matter is detached from him. "Truth has many dimensions."
Merlin frowns. "Then, what is your truth?"
"My truth comes at a price." Wracu adjusts the bag across his shoulders, his face is still as unchanging. But something has shifted in his demeanor, although Merlin knows not what. "Will you tell me about a weak spot in the castle shield in exchange for it?"
Merlin scowls and ceases the line of questioning. He must find out the history of this Camelot soon; Wracu has too much of an upper hand on him on the matter.
This whole interaction, however, also eases some of the worries in Merlin's chest.
Wracu won't be able to manipulate him, and Merlin will know immediately if the man even tries. If Wracu has any malevolent intentions, Merlin just has to ask the right questions to reveal them.
He cannot trust Wracu, nor does he really want to. He can, however, trust in Wracu's desire to get Merlin out of the way. So, he allows his hopes to lift tentatively and warily.
"You said you know where to start looking for a way to send us home?" Merlin prompts.
For some inexplicable reason, Merida pales even more at Merlin's words. The warlock sends her a concerned look. Before he can inquire after her well-being, Wracu speaks.
"Finally ran out of questions? Good. Now, it's your turn." Wracu's raised hand heads for Merlin's throat.
Out of instinct, the warlock backs away from the pale fingers. "My turn?"
"Yes. You can't be expecting me to trust your words without a spell of my own." Something in Wracu's bland tone hints that he thinks Merlin as an unthinking fool.
Oh. That's right; just as Wracu has power over him, he also has the power over Wracu. They are meeting in Camelot where one loud shout from Merlin can cause a stampede of citadel guards to arrive, and one careless attempt to harm Merlin will activate the protection charms in his clothes and signal his mentor.
(On the other hand, Merlin should buy his own clothes soon. Just in case.)
The notion allows Merlin to breathe a little easier. He does have some control over this whole thing after all.
After several moments of contemplation and observing Wracu's unrestless movements to determine whether the man plans to try and kill him again, the warlock reluctantly steps closer. He lets his magic simmer, prepared to attack should Wracu lift a finger out of place.
Wracu wraps a cool hand around his throat. Merlin bristles, his mind serving up the memory of the warning Wracu himself gave in their previous encounter.
Magic threads its way around Merlin's neck. While Merlin expects it to feel unpleasant and stifling, it is anything but. In fact, his own magic reacts little to the new weave of foreign energy. It's quite an unusual and potentially dangerous reaction to an enemy's power.
Wracu begins withdrawing his fingers. Then, he pauses, stilling completely and his hand hovering over Merlin's throat.
Abruptly, that same pale hand jabs forward. Merlin backs away in alarm, but the other man has already grabbed a fistful of his locks before he could get far. The hood of Merlin's cloak falls to his shoulders.
"Ow! Let go, you clodpole!" Merlin spits out, magic churning.
Wracu does not comply, despite the oncoming magical threat. A curious and slightly confused expression shades his youthful face, bewildering Merlin into a pause. It's the first blatant show of feelings that Merlin has detected.
"Why is your hair longer?" Wracu finally releases the captured hair after moments of studying it.
"Are—Are you like me?" Merida asks quietly, a glimmer of hope coloring her brown eyes. "I've been wondering since I first saw you."
Merlin combs down the tangled locks with his fingers and asks with puzzlement, "Like you?"
"I-I remember King Arthur having a manservant," Merida points out.
Abruptly, Merlin recalls something he has nearly forgotten; namely, that he's disguised as a woman. Neither of his current companions has pointed it out until now.
He turns to Merida and responds with a hint of sheepishness, "I'm not allowed out of the citadel due to a certain someone disrupting the Apprentice Exam and trying to kill me. My mentor caught me sneaking out last time and punished me. I'd hope that by disguising myself as a woman, he won't recognize me even if he finds me."
"Oh." Disappointment paints Merida's face and tone. "A disguise, huh?"
"You are . . . currently a woman twin of yourself."
Something odd in Wracu's tone has Merlin turning to him. Wracu is looking up at his face, his eyes darting drunkenly as his Robin disguise did and his brows holding an evident frown.
Merlin snorts. "What, you didn't notice?" Then, he pauses, wondering if he should be offended that Wracu didn't see any difference between his male and female form. Does Merlin really resemble a girl even in his man form?
No, Merida did notice. Merlin is mollified by that fact.
The fact that he has so obviously shocked Wracu with his womanly facade sends a sliver of glee upon Merlin's chest. He loathes Wracu's never-changing expression; to see a blatant show of emotion now makes Merlin feel like he has won a hidden bet of some sort.
Then, another question pops into Merlin's mind. How did Wracu recognize him at first glance? Merlin has been so sure that his woman form looks different than his usual appearance. His voice even sounds different. Perhaps this isn't as effective a disguise as he initially thought.
Or maybe the fact that he has been skulking around their meeting place has given him away.
"I suggest you drop that disguise," Wracu says, ceasing his observation of Merlin and his voice defaulting back to monotone. "It will do you no good. I will teach you better ways to disguise yourself."
Merlin scowls, feeling like Wracu has insulted his intelligence. "I'd rather not learn anything from you. I would very much like to limit our interactions."
Wracu opens his mouth, preparing to argue. After a moment, he snaps it close and gives a loose shrug. "Very well. Use that disguise if it pleases you. I wish to speak about the price for my help."
Merlin bristles, the idea sending a pang of unease through him. "I thought that getting me out of the way would be enough of a reward for you."
"It isn't," Wracu proclaims. "I am one of the most powerful people in this realm. My time is valuable; my knowledge, even more so."
Well, Wracu must have earned the böggel-mann epithet for a reason and not just because he's an arrogant and overconfident sod.
Merlin crosses his arms. He uncrosses them once more upon remembering why he didn't wish to do so. "So, what do you want?"
"Information. About Camelot."
Merlin lifts his chin, anger sparking. "Then, we're finished talking. I'll not be your spy, you git!" He turns away, fully prepared to storm off and mark this endeavor as a waste of time.
Oh, wait, he'll have to at least talk to Merida and —
"I do not mean this realm's Camelot. I desire information about your own."
The words make Merlin pause. He turns back, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why would you want that?"
"I am curious, I suppose." Nothing in Wracu's blank expression looks remotely curious. "I wish to determine the differences between the events and the development of magic of the two realms." He gestures to Merida without looking in her direction. "She did not live in the heart of Camelot, and she doesn't know magic. But you did. You served under its king. So that is my price—your knowledge of the citadel and its history."
Merlin keeps up his suspicious mien. "Just so you know, the security measures between my Camelot and this one —"
"—are vastly different," Wracu finishes. "I concluded as much given how little you know of magical theories." Merlin cannot help but feel insulted, like he himself is causing others to view his realm in a bad light. "You and I both know that the information I get about your Camelot cannot be used against this one."
Merlin adopts a contemplative look, thinking through it and seeing if Wracu can make use of the information he gives. If the böggel-mann asks about Arthur's weakness to get to Prince Arthur . . . Well, Merlin simply won't give out that information. And, given what he knows of Prince Arthur, he doesn't think their weaknesses are even remotely similar.
"All right." Merlin nods, still hesitant. It isn't that steep of a price, but Merlin still has to be extra cautious of whatever comes out of his mouth. "But I will refuse to answer questions that can endanger people in this realm."
"Of course. I expect nothing less." With that, Wracu swiftly turns in another direction. "Come, I'll ask more as we walk. We've wasted enough time with your endless inquiries." Strangely, he gestures to Merida to somehow lead the way.
Merida nods rapidly and hurriedly trudges away. Without another word, Wracu follows and walks in step with her.
A glower climbs Merlin's face but he hastens to amble in between the two. He may not know the exact nature of Merida and Wracu's association, but he has noticed that fear of the latter paints the former's interactions. Merlin wishes to prevent any harm from coming to Milda's daughter.
Merlin trips over his ill-fitting boots and almost sprains his ankle. He muffles a curse. This disguise has made him even more clumsy.
"Where are we going?" Merlin asks after he has composed himself.
"T-To the place where I first turned up when I arrived at this realm," Merida answers. "It's about an hour and a half away from the citadel."
"Where you first turned up?"
Merida glances at Wracu. Wracu does not glance back; however, he does dutifully elaborate. "Merida wished for a mother that supported her decisions. The Djinn granted that by transporting her here in this realm. But why not transport her directly to her village? Why near the citadel?"
Merlin, sensing Merida's discomfort, decides not to ask further about her wish. Instead, he offers, "I first appeared near the citadel as well."
"Likely in the same exact place as her," Wracu adds.
The proclamation comes as a surprise for Merlin. "And why do you think that?"
"It's an assumption. Which is why we'll go there to confirm it." Wracu's head tilts to the side. "If the two of you appeared in that exact spot, there must be something there."
Why didn't Merlin think to go back to that area? It is a good starting point. He cannot believe an enemy has to point it out to him.
Walking side by side, Wracu then asks Merlin, "Have you informed anyone that we will be meeting here today?"
So Wracu is beginning his own interrogation. "No."
"Are you truly Emrys and not someone else in disguise?"
Merlin's brows rise at the question. "Yes. And you?" he shoots back.
"I am who you met in this forest a week ago," Wracu replies. "Do you have any plans to set up a trap for me, now or in the future?"
"It depends." Merlin levels Wracu with a measuring look. "If I find out you have nefarious plans for the citadel or any innocent village, I won't merely stand by and watch those plans unfold.
Wracu nods as if he expected the answer. "That is fair. Have you told anyone else of your origins?"
Merlin shakes his head. "No."
"Why not?"
Astonishment flicks by Merlin's face at the question. "I didn't think anyone would believe me. I've no proof after all." His eyes drift down, and he frowns. "And as you implied, people can take advantage of my ignorance of this realm. I don't know who to trust to help me without ulterior motives."
Well, at the very least, now with Wracu, Merlin is aware of the ulterior motives.
"But you willingly told that dragon."
"I trusted that Kilgharrah will believe me and will help me," is all Merlin will say on the matter.
"And you trust no one else will and can do that?"
"No, no one else," Merlin raises a skeptical brow. "What, are you implying I should tell someone? Who, the queen?" He drawls out the last statement. "I'm sure telling the queen will lead to no —" trouble at all, Merlin is about to finish but his throat tightens in warning. Great. He can't even use sarcasm with this spell in place.
"Are you an imbecile?" Wracu asks without changing his bland tone, offending Merlin even more. On the other side, Merida lets out an odd-sounding cough. "I am clearly referring to your mentor."
Surprise unfurls in Merlin's chest. Yeah, the warlock did not get that impression at all. "You think I should confide in Lord Balinor?"
"He is the Court Sorcerer of the largest kingdom in Albion. He has access to a lot of information and has connections to magic-users of the highest ranks. What reasons have you not to confide in him? In fact, if you'd like, talk to him using your current disguise."
"Why would he even believe me?" Merlin shoots back.
"Why would he not?"
Merlin rolls his eyes and lists off, "He may think me mad. Or perhaps he'll think I'm inventing a ridiculous story to hide something. He may think me a spy sent by another kingdom. Stories of other realms are pretty hard to prove." He shoots Wracu a narrow-eyed look. "Why are you pushing me to tell Lord Balinor? Are you aiming to get me in trouble?"
"It may work differently in your realm but here, the covenant between mentor and apprentice is not one you enter lightly. He will believe you, and he will try to help you." Reprimand sharpens Wracu's voice. "If you tell him, perhaps I'll not even need to help you. Why did you enter into an apprenticeship with him if you trust him so little?"
Balinor's furious face at Merlin's little lies pops into the warlock's mind. No one likes being lied to, but Balinor can't be expecting Merlin to reveal all of his secrets. They've known each other for a little bit over two weeks; surely his mentor doesn't expect his trust to be so easily gained.
But then again . . .
Balinor gives his apprentice concrete and valid answers when the latter directly asks for it — something, Merlin realizes with shame, he rarely reciprocates. His mentor could have forced answers out of him, locked him in the dungeons until he confesses. After being targeted by Camelot's enemies, revealed to be clueless to common knowledge, caught sneaking out of the citadel after explicit orders not to, tangled with a harmful prank with the queen's brother, Merlin is an utterly suspicious individual no matter which side one looks at.
Yet, the Court Sorcerer has done nothing but ensure Merlin's not chasing trouble.
Clearly, his mentor trusts him. A bit too much, actually.
He shouldn't.
Because here Merlin is again, sneaking out of the citadel and meeting with the man Balinor obviously despises.
An unhealthy amount of guilt consumes Merlin's chest and stomach. He groans and rubs his face.
"I'll consider telling him," Merlin begrudgingly relents, if only to alleviate the guilt crumpling his insides.
"Although, I do advise against telling him about our meetings," Wracu remarks.
Merlin sends the other man a contemplative glance. He can still recall the absolute hatred in the Court Sorcerer's countenance as he chased after Wracu during the Apprentice Exam. He also remembers Prince Arthur's blank facade falling to give way to the same degree of loathing.
Do they react the same for each of Camelot's enemies? That instance seems different — seems a bit . . . personal.
Wracu doesn't appear to feel an ounce of hatred for them in return. Or perhaps he simply doesn't care, which is more likely. Who knows with this unfeeling tricky dolt.
"Seeing as this will be the last time we see each other, I won't need to mention you," Merlin says dryly.
"You assume too much, too soon," Wracu replies without missing a beat.
The words unsettle Merlin, causing him to frown. He hopes this truly will be his last interaction with the böggel-mann of this realm.
"Do you really not know why the Djinn sent you here?" Wracu inquires next.
Merlin shakes his head, the memory of the fickle and bewildering creature souring his expression. "I made no wish that would get me here."
"So, your assumption is someone else did?"
"A lot of people want me out of the way," Merlin says with a pointed look.
"Could the Djinn not have sent you off themselves without anyone wishing for it?"
Merlin ponders upon that before speaking once more, "The Djinn apparently cannot use its powers on its own." Merlin had to wish the Djinn's room back to its orderly state even though the creature appeared utterly upset at its destruction. "Its abilities are bound to the wishers' whims."
"Can the Djinn not override previous wishes?"
"It can."
Wracu's movements still, a frown hinting at his visage. "Then, why did your companions not wish you back to your own realm?"
Chills claw their way down Merlin's spine and a cold stone of dread drops into his stomach. It's a question that's been niggling at the back of his mind, waiting for an opportunity to strike. It's a question he has been pushing down and locking away so it may never see the light of day.
Because every possible answer to that question will send him to the depths of immobilizing despair.
— Arthur and the knights, dead in the forest from a threat Merlin could have protected them from, the Djinn's lamp glinting in the blood-soaked ground —
— Arthur, finding out about his magic, furious and betrayed and deciding Merlin's better off gone. Or maybe, he's the one that wished Merlin away in the first place —
— The Djinn's lamp stolen away by some greedy rascal, never to be seen again by Arthur and his knights, never to be used to bring back the people lost in other worlds —
Merlin swallows the lump that's forming in his throat. "I don't know." He shakes away the pessimistic musings; it will do him no good now.
In this instance, Merlin thinks he would rather remain ignorant for a bit longer.
Wracu's eyes glide in his direction before flicking away. "Tell me more about the Djinn's powers. Perhaps we can find some answers there."
Merlin shoots the other man a suspicious frown, recalling his and Arthur's discussions about the Djinn's abilities attracting the greediest and foolish of people. "When a Djinn passes by, death and catastrophe follow," he quotes the passage Gaius found regarding the creature. "You shouldn't even think of tampering with it."
Wracu stills at his words, astonishment and intrigue flashing by his expression like lightning. "Death and catastrophe." A contemplative look paints his face. "An interesting warning. And an apt one, I suppose."
Merlin nods in agreement. Wracu questions him no more, remaining quiet and blank-faced.
After that, the trio walks in relative silence. Only the crunches of leaves underfoot and the rustling of clothing break the quiet. The sun has mostly sunken into the horizon, painting the sky brushes of reddish-orange, light purple, and dark blue.
Eventually, they stray from the dirt path and traverse through the forest. Merlin vaguely recognizes the surroundings. Ah, there's that tree root that always trips him up whenever he accompanies Arthur on hunts.
Then, an hour later, the enchantment swīġan unsóþ breaks; an unmistakable ringing echoes across Merlin's temples. It's not truly unpleasant but it's not comfortable either. The happenstance startles Merlin out of his inner debate of whether to tell his mentor the truth.
"Sorry!" Merida wrings her hands, for it is the spell on her that perishes. "I didn't think it would be so fragile. I've never had such magic performed on me." She offers an apologetic smile and lifts her head. "You can redo it."
"It's all right." Merlin sends her an understanding smile of his own. "I only ever expected to cast it on him anyway." He points a thumb down at the enemy trudging at his other side.
Wracu does not even deign to glance at them.
"How did he find you anyway?" Merlin finds himself asking Merida.
After sending Wracu a nervous look, she replies with a tiny shrug, "The—The Merida of this realm died a year ago and — and then I appeared last month. I supposed I wasn't that hard to find."
"Oh. I'm sorry," Merlin says in sympathy.
Merida nods, a wry twist to her lips. "My mother — in this realm — had been catatonic with grief before I came. I —" She lets out a shaky breath. "Why do you wish to go back?"
"What?" Merlin blurts out, the question hitting him like a slap.
"I mean —" Merida's voice drops to a whisper, decades-old wariness gripping her. "Magic is forbidden in our world. You have magic. And you're the king's manservant as well! But here, —"
"What he desires —" Wracu's sharp tone cuts through their conversation, making them both flinch like children caught sneaking sweets before mealtimes. " — matters little. He will go back."
"Y-Yes." Merlin nods, resolute and unmoved despite the unexpected shift in the conversation. For the first time, he agrees wholeheartedly with Wracu. "I have duty back home. I need to go back."
Merida's eyes dart to Merlin's face before flicking down. "I see." Then, she suddenly halts, head snapping up. "I think we're here."
Merlin and Wracu halt with her.
The warlock glances around; this part of the forest appears the same as any other they walked by. "How can you tell?"
Merida points to an unremarkable and indistinguishable tree trunk. "The drawing was the first thing I noticed when I was transported."
"Drawing?" Merlin pads closer to the aforementioned trunk and finally sees what Merida referred to.
Carved in the bark of the pine tree is the shape of a heart the size of Merlin's palm. The heart encloses the distinctive figures of 'U + Y'.
"What is it?" Wracu sidles beside the warlock like an unwanted ghost.
Merlin doesn't jump. Not even a bit. Thankfully, he can still say the untruth in his head. "A lovers' carving."
It's a popular tradition to mark a tree with the initials of the couple, showing their love and the permanence of their bond.
This particular marking appears to be many years old; the bark has healed over the lines and softened the edges.
Wracu's fingers tentatively pat the wood, questing for the carving. Except, he's touching the area several inches below the downward point of the heart. After a few seconds, his hand climbs to the right height.
Merlin watches him trace each shallow indent and deeper dip in the bark. Wracu's not even looking at the carving; rather, his gaze remains steadily below it. The warlock squints at him, wondering—
"This isn't made by a dagger."
The statement causes Merlin to take another look. It's true; the curve of the heart is too perfect, the letters too elegant to have been caused by a blade. Perhaps a sculptor's tool? Or —
"A carving made using magic." Intrigue flutters by Wracu's expression as he digs a nail in the stem of the 'Y'. "Curious indeed."
Then, he strides away from the tree. His head swivels around, searching.
"Is this the place where you appeared?" Wracu asks.
Merlin scratches his head and messes up the long locks. He looks around; darkness creeps in the forest, the sun setting fully and the stars beginning to shyly twinkle. Merlin mutters a "Léoht" and produces a ball of light upon his palm. He takes a long look at his surroundings once more.
"Probably?"
"'Probably?'" Wracu mimics dryly. "What use are you?"
A squawk of indignation escapes Merlin's lips. Before he can throw out a clever retort for that, Wracu speaks over him.
"Look for anything unusual. An off-colored leaf, a healthy fallen branch, a greener patch of grass, anything."
Merida complies with jittery movements. She bends over logs and peers under rocks. Her countenance is anything but enthusiastic.
Merlin sends the carving one last contemplative look before joining in the search. He stays near Merida, offering her light.
Fall is nearly upon them, and the frosty night air blows harshly. Merlin's lengthened hair covers his eyes and mouth, and he swipes the strands away with irritation. How do women live with long hair like this?
When Merida shivers in her thin dress, Merlin gives her his cloak and hurriedly gathers firewood.
He lights a campfire in the middle of the clearing with a quick spell. Merida sniffles, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders. "Thank you."
"Sit by the fire and rest. No girl should be out this late at night anyway," Merlin fusses.
A small smile dimples Merida's cheeks. She takes Merlin's advice and warms her hands by the fire.
"Hmm." Wracu, having come back from somewhere Merlin cares not to know, stares unblinkingly at the fire from a few feet away.
He's going to damage his eyes if he keeps that up, Merlin thinks with a snort.
Suddenly, Wracu flicks a hand. The firewood and its fires scrape the ground and move several feet away from its original spot.
Merida yelps, backing away. Thankfully, none of the spewing embers reaches her. Merlin straightens and warns, "Oi!"
Wracu ignores them both, padding to the area surrounded by soot. He crouches, frowns heavily, and flails a hand in front of his face as if swatting a fly.
Then, he declares solemnly, "I believe I've found the bridge between worlds that took you both here."
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
A/N:
"Mister Oogie Boogie says there's trouble close at hand.
You'd better pay attention, now, 'cause I'm the Boogie Man,
And if you aren't SHAKIN', there's somethin' very wrong,
'Cause this may be the last time you hear the Boogie Song!" – Oogie Boogie, The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
Too. Many. People. With. M. Names! Haha, what have I done.
I honestly never thought to bring Merida back but when I was writing this chapter, I thought she and Merlin should at least meet.
Did you and Merlin heed the chapter title? ;)
Again, thank you for all your support in this fic! Check out the new uploaded Russian translation and this very awesome pic of female!Merlin. (Links in my profile)
Happy holidays and I hope y'all are resting well this season!
~ Vividpast