Chapter Summary: Merlin gets a vital clue on his quest to get home. Then, he unwinds for the night – or at least, attempts to.
Warning/s: A character's physical form changes and the speech they use thereafter may cause gender/body dysphoria.
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Chapter XVI: Trouble Close at Hand
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"What!? Where?" Merlin dashes towards the spot and nearly smacks to the ground due to his ill-fitting boots. Thankfully, a little bit of clumsy footwork saves him from a painful fall.
He barely takes note of the near-trip and crouches beside the silent Wracu.
Is the warlock getting home tonight?
Merida looks over to them but does not rise from her comfortable position beside the campfire.
"There." Wracu points at nothing but empty air.
The look Merlin bestows upon the böggel-mann is distinctly unimpressed. Wracu responds by bringing forth sizable flickering flames atop his hand and letting it hover in the still empty air in front of them. Merlin draws closer and squints.
After several minutes, with the fire almost rendering him blind, Merlin finally sees it.
A black dot barely the size of a quill's nib floats in the air, two feet from the ground. The flames Wracu generated do not burn it nor alight it in any way, emphasizing its voidness. It's an abyss that can barely be seen by the naked eye. Merlin nearly crosses his eyes just looking at it.
Merlin doesn't know how Wracu saw it.
"What is that?"
"A portal, I assume." Wracu extinguishes his fire spell. "Likely the hole between your realm and mine."
Merlin takes the opportunity to poke the dot. He feels no resistance. In fact, his index finger passes through the dot as if it isn't even there.
"How can that be a portal?"
"Is it possible your realm is a tiny one?" Wracu muses.
"What? That's ridiculous." Merlin defends.
"You and Merida are sized similar to any other in this realm," Wracu relents on that theory. "Did you both shrink as you travelled?"
"I don't remember shrinking," Merida replies, looking nauseous at the idea.
Merlin frowns, trying to recall. "Me neither. Are you sure this is an actual portal?"
Granted, Merlin has never seen a portal before. The grimoire Gaius gave him has depictions of it, although not how to form or use it. It is said to be a feasible alternative to teleportation spells, but no magic-user has found a way to stabilize it. Well, no magic-user in his realm, anyway.
The warlock knows little about it. Merlin, however, is pretty certain a portal is supposed to be bigger than a hangnail.
"Can you not sense the power emanating from it?" Wracu asks, head tilting and eyes closing. "It is faint and easily overlooked but it is there all the same."
"I don't sense anything," Merlin reluctantly admits, slightly embarrassed at his low sensitivity to such things. "And even if it is a portal, how can you be sure it leads to our realm?"
Wracu opens his eyes. "You both found yourself in this area after you travelled. Coincidentally, here is a small portal maintained by no one and nothing. It is not so far-fetched to think that this is where you came through. But what is powering it? How is it still open?" He attempts to pinch the black dot. Like Merlin, his fingers merely phase through. "All our questions will be answered if we can enlarge this."
Merlin stares contemplatively at the easily overlooked dot in the air. Perhaps if they —
Merida sneezes loudly and breaks their focus. Both look over to her to find her wiping her nose with a limp handkerchief.
"I'm sorry," Merida croaks out, offering an awkward smile.
Wracu straightens from his crouch, shifting the bag over his shoulder. "The night is already deep. We should study it when there's more light."
Merlin stands up as well, shocked. "What? We have a fire. We can continue still!"
Merlin feels like he's so close to finding a way home. He's not willing to leave just yet.
"That we found this portal is enough of an accomplishment for today," Wracu remarks with a pointed look. "It is better if we consult our tomes first before doing anything else. We may accidentally and permanently close the bridge between worlds if we are too impatient."
Fear lances through Merlin's chest at the notion, his blood turning cold in his veins. "Right." Merlin shouldn't just dive in without concrete information. "Right."
Wracu fetches a piece of wood from the pile that Merlin gathered. With a muttered spell, he slams the wood on the soil right beneath the minuscule portal. The firewood buries itself almost all the way to the ground, with only two inches or so sticking out.
Merlin and Merida both instinctively take a step back; the action has shaken the ground ever so slightly and made a noise akin to a dying deer.
"What are you -"
"A marking to remember where the portal is," Wracu responds before Merlin can even finish his question.
He claps the dirt out of his palms before dipping his hand into his pack. Merlin bristles, half-expecting a dagger to appear. However, a tightly rolled strip of blank parchment shimmies out of the pack instead.
Wracu offers it to Merlin. "A way to communicate. Whatever you write on it appears on its partnered parchment. I have the other one. Do not write anything incriminating on it, like my name; if it's found, you'll only have yourself to blame."
Merlin lets the proffered parchment hover between them. "Why do we need to communicate? Let's just meet up here a week from now in the morning." As the warlock said, he would rather keep their contact to a minimum.
"I am not so free that I can meet any time that's convenient for you," Wracu says monotonously, making Merlin feel like an entitled prat.
Merlin glowers. "You're the one who wanted to help." He snatches the parchment and crumples it in his trouser pocket.
"Tell your mentor, and perhaps we'll need not meet again." Wracu cocks a brow at him before turning to Merida. "Come."
Merida scrambles to her feet and pads closer.
Merlin puts up an arm between Merida and the böggel-mann. He sends a hard look at the latter. "Where are you taking her?"
"Back to her village," Wracu answers curtly.
It's the complete truth according to the still active swīġan unsóþ. Still, doubt and wariness swim through Merlin's veins. "I'll take her."
"Do you know a single teleportation spell?" The mocking implied by the words makes that strangling impulse rise in Merlin once more.
Unfortunately, although he has seen many magic-users use them, Merlin has not learned a single teleportation spell.
"Judging by your silence, I'm guessing not," Wracu remarks dryly.
"It's all right!" Merida interrupts before either of them can come to blows.
She sidesteps Merlin's arm and approaches the böggel-mann herself. She stops a foot away, trying and failing to hide her trepidation.
"Please don't start a fight." Merida will be the one caught in the middle if that happens. She glances up at the darkened sky, her concern blatant. "I do need to return quickly. My mother will worry."
"She is a very reliable source of information," Wracu says. Unlike you, goes unsaid but Merlin hears it loud and clear.
Merlin sends the böggel-mann a half-hearted glare. Loathed as he is to admit it, the truth of the statement does sting him. But he can't be blamed for not paying attention after he got transported; he had inadvertently left his friends in the company of a powerful creature such as the Djinn, and he had other things that needed his attention.
"You will not allow any harm to come to her," Merlin declares, chin lifted and daring Wracu to lie.
"I will not take any actions with intentions to cause her harm," Wracu phrases. Impatience gleams and shows through the edges of his brown eyes.
Merlin looks him down for a few more seconds. Wracu stares right back, nonchalant and unphased.
The warlock gives a curt nod.
Wracu takes that as the end of the conversation and summarily breaks the swīġan unsóþ upon him. Merlin flinches in surprise, the spell reverberating against his skin. The warlock decides to dispel the same enchantment on himself too.
Wracu extinguishes the campfire with a swift gesture before beginning a teleportation spell.
Merlin asks Merida, "You're sure about this, right?"
Merida, red-nosed and ruddy-cheeked, offers a smile and nods. "Yes. And oh, your cloak!" She begins removing the borrowed clothing.
"Keep it," Merlin insists. "It's a very cold night out."
"Th—Thank you." Merida re-wraps the cloak around her, clearly desiring the warmth.
"I'll write to you soon, Emrys," Wracu promises with a blank look. "Do some more studying in the meanwhile."
Merlin scowls. Before he can give a scathing reply, Wracu grabs onto Merida and envelops them both in whipping winds. After a few seconds, the winds die down and Merlin is alone in the dark forest.
He glances at the tiny portal and the wooden marking below it.
Finally, a viable clue. When Kilgharrah told him that no otherworlder had gone back to their original realm, Merlin was frightened beyond words, and he had immediately pushed the fear at the back of his mind.
But now, hope thumps its way through him with every heartbeat. He may have had his doubts about meeting up with the böggel-mann, but he can admit to himself that it had been the right decision in the end.
He sighs and begins heading back to the citadel.
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"Hurry up, lass!" one of the guards in the gate entrance shouts upon spotting Merlin at the edges of the forest. "The drawbridge's closing."
Oh, Merlin has forgotten about the citadel curfew. He speeds up his pace, striding atop the chainless drawbridge and fully entering the citadel.
"Th—Thank you for the warning," Merlin says to the guards in between pants.
"Don't mention it, lass. No woman should be left out of the Darkling Woods at night. Mind the curfew next time," one of the guards replies with an amiable smile before striding away.
Behind Merlin, the wooden drawbridge raises itself up with loud groans. Spiraling runes carved on its sides glow a golden hue. Merlin observes it with no little bit of awe. When the drawbridge thumps fully close, just seconds later, the runes cease their glow, and all remains still.
Really, the security measures in this Camelot are wonderful. In his own realm, the drawbridge takes several minutes to close, allowing criminals to escape and enemies to infiltrate in more than one instance. He wonders if he can discreetly apply some useful runes to prevent such further happenstance.
Merlin heads for the inn he rented, planning to shed his disguise and perhaps get some food from the tavern below.
The marketplace still bustles with activity despite the late hour. Some stalls have closed but most food-related ones still beckon customers. Merlin spies Levi's brothel lit up the brightest among the establishments along the main road. His cheeks warm, and he hurries past it.
Several drunks roam the main streets, stumbling and heckling. One of them, a burly woman with cropped brown hair, abruptly throws up her hands high up. The ale in her companion's tankard lifts itself up in the air, droplets frolicking and twirling leisurely. Her companion shouts delightedly, sipping the ale in the air and chasing every droplet with his mouth.
Then, the floating ale suddenly comes raining down to the soil like rain, drenching their boots. Merlin jumps out of the way just in time to avoid being soaked.
"My ale!" the man cries out.
"S'rry. My magic just went —" The woman makes a wavy gesture that in no way informs her companion of anything. She adopts a severe frown, staring at her palms as if they suddenly turned unfamiliar in her eyes.
Merlin sends them both an amused and bewildered glance. He's been in this realm for two weeks now but he's still a bit shocked whenever he sees anyone use magic so trivially.
The warlock continues on his way, hoping for their sake that those two also know the spell to cure their headaches in the morning.
In the distance, Merlin hears someone loudly selling lily flowers – almost obnoxiously so, in fact. All sorts of businesses seem to be still open tonight. Wait, are lilies even in season? He supposes, with magic, every flower can be in season throughout the year.
He turns a corner and slips into a narrow alleyway. From there, he reaches the inn within a few minutes.
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"Merlin!" echoes above all the noise in the lively tavern.
The warlock looks up from his meal, a bite of grilled pork swelling one cheek. "Hmm?"
Morgana, Mordred, Gilli, and Theo stride to the table he has been occupying by himself. Merlin, undisguised and castle talisman back around his neck, blinks owlishly at their approach.
"Why are you eating here all alone?" Gilli claims the seat nearest the warlock, lower lip jutting out and a frown marring his brow. "You didn't even invite us!"
"Well, we're inviting ourselves anyway." Mordred flashes a quick grin before also seating himself at Merlin's table.
Morgana lifts an arm and makes a graceful gesture to call for the barmaid. The barmaid shoots her a puzzled look but seems to get the meaning behind it.
With such an action, Morgana has just revealed herself as a court lady to all the drunkards watching their table. She unabashedly ignores the attention and sits down with a beatific smile. "You're lucky we found you lest you'll finish your meal all by your lonesome."
Merlin swallows the food in his mouth. "What are you lot doing here?" he asks, surprised at the indeed lucky coincidence.
Theo sits down with a relieved sigh. "We were exploring the citadel to see which tavern we'll patronize tonight. Then, we glimpsed upon you when the tavern door opened." He gestures at the door, which, until now, is opening often to welcome new batches of customers. "Guess we're eating here."
The harried barmaid approaches them to get their desired meals and drinks.
"Oh, Theo and Clar are friends now, apparently," Gilli drops the information casually after the barmaid leaves. "I saw them greeting each other amicably on our way here."
Theo blows out an exasperated breath. "We don't hate each other's guts anymore, at least."
"And why is that?" Morgana asks, an amused smile lilting the corners of her lips.
Theo shrugs. "We came to an understanding during our trip to the east."
"The Bonding Cuffs enchantment worked then?" Mordred tosses Theo a teasing smirk.
Theo sighs, resigned. "I suppose. In a way. We got to talking at night. Her brother's still a bloody git, by the way. But at least Clar's not as incorrigible as him."
Gilli pipes up, "Don't I know it! That prince has it out for me, I tell you! In every lesson, he's all 'Of course a peasant like you wouldn't know this', 'don't touch me with your filthy hands, braggart', 'I've been brewing this potion since birth'. Ack! I want to hit him— just once! If the Goddess is merciful, She'll provide me an opportunity for it."
His druid friend turns to him with a concerned frown. "This is the first time I'm hearing this. Has he been bullying you?" Hidden fury glints in Mordred's azure eyes.
Gilli waves a flippant hand. "I can handle him. Just wish I didn't have to." He smiles, all guileless and harmless. "I get my revenge in petty ways."
Mordred huffs out a laugh at that. "Just tell me if he takes it too far."
"We'll get him back for you," Morgana adds, her grin promising a threat.
Gilli laughs, bright and delighted. "Thanks, I suppose."
Their food and ales arrive shortly after and everyone, sans Merlin, digs in with vigor.
"What exactly did you do on the trip with Lady Jayden?" Merlin asks Theo, curious. Merlin hasn't encountered him and Clar the whole week because of it. He wonders if Balinor will take the three of them on a similar excursion.
Theo leans forward, an excited gleam in his eyes and food in his mouth. "It was amazing! Lady Jayden taught us how to form different sorts of rainclouds." He swallows his food before chuckling. "We had to physically stop Clar from creating more because she was going to flood the area and exhaust her magic. Ah, to be an excitable youth."
"If you don't dye your hair gray, maybe you'll feel youthful once more," Gilli quips.
Theo self-consciously ruffles his silver locks. Then, he mumbles, "I think I look charming with gray hair."
"You do," Morgana assures him, her tone that of a parent reassuring their child. "Don't listen to Gilli. He thinks rats are magical creatures."
The aforementioned mage splutters in indignation. "I do not!"
Merlin watches them with a small smile. Honestly, he doesn't think himself fit for company tonight. Dealing with Wracu for hours has taken the desire for socialization out of him for today. However, he doesn't mind this at all — basking quietly in the presence of friendly companions.
Theo proceeds to narrate the flow of his week, from travelling to drought-ridden areas to redirecting river flows. He has a set of avid listeners, asking questions and drawing closer to hear more.
"Lady Jayden is still unwell, I think," Theo reveals with a sigh. "We were able to accomplish our goal, but I'm worried about her. Having apprentices and being a court magic-user really is too much work."
Merlin thinks back to his own mentor. Balinor doesn't seem that fatigued despite having three apprentices and providing extra night lessons to a younger dragonlord. Nevertheless, Merlin mentally tells himself to observe closely and see if his mentor's getting overworked.
The tavern door slams open. It's not an unusual occurrence, given the rowdiness of the patrons at this time of the night. Merlin's eyes, however, are inexplicably drawn to this particular entrance.
The sight of one Sir Lancelot and one prince in disguise with a cane upon his hand meets his sight. The former has a glower upon his face while the latter —
Merlin straightens in his seat. There's a panicked glint in Prince Arthur's expression, his eyes wide and mouth pursed in a worried line. From the normally composed prince, the obvious display of emotion worries the warlock.
The two newcomers approach the counter and converse with the barkeep. From where he is, Merlin's unable to distinguish the topic of their discussion. He, however, witnesses Sir Lancelot lifting a hand to describe a height the level of his temples. Prince Arthur taps at his own cheek and speaks a few more words.
They're looking for someone? Merlin warily watches the interaction, grabbing his mug of ale and taking a sip.
The barkeep adopts a pondering look. She points at the stairs leading up to the rented rooms. Then, her gaze roams the tavern, drifting over rowdy drunks and exhausted travelers.
Her eyes lock with Merlin's. The warlock blinks back, astonished.
Then, she lifts a hand and points to him.
Sir Lancelot and Prince Arthur's heads whip to his direction, expressions writhe with anticipation.
Merlin startles badly at the abrupt attention, nearly choking on his ale.
When their gazes land on him, the disappointment that Merlin can nearly taste paints their figures.
What the hell is their problem with me now? He scowls, a tad offended.
Upon seeing the two of them march towards his table, he nearly groans out loud. No. Go away! Merlin is in no mood to entertain their semi-hostile company.
"Huh? Sir Lancelot?" Morgana is the first to notice the newcomers. "And . . ." Her brows furrow in confusion, recognition absent from her features as she eyes the brunette disguise of the Prince of Camelot.
Prince Arthur smiles, small and disarming. "I'm Wart. Lancelot's friend."
Merlin snorts, placing down his ale because he might inhale it.
The panicked edge has dissipated from the prince's facade, replaced by a demeanor too untensed to be casual. Prince Arthur's gaze is not quite on Merlin, but somehow, the warlock senses the prince's attention has never left him. Merlin ducks his head and prays to any deity listening that the prince leaves him alone for tonight.
Sadly, no deity answers his pleas.
"Your name is Wart?" Gilli crinkles his nose. He visibly bites down a comment that will surely be in poor taste.
"It's more of a nickname." A glimmer of amusement sparkles in Prince Arthur's eyes. Uh-oh. That doesn't look good for Merlin's well-being. "May we join you?" Prince Arthur asks, all polite and not at all like he's ruining Merlin's quiet night.
Besides the prince, Sir Lancelot crosses his arms, looking quite unhappy and reflecting Merlin's exact feelings.
"Certainly," Morgana says with a smile before Merlin can give voice to his protests. Judging by the gleam in her gaze, she has definitely recognized the prince once he had spoken. Unfortunately, no one else seems to catch up because they wouldn't have been as relaxed as they are now in the presence of a prince. "Come squeeze in."
Prince Arthur sends her a grateful smile before dragging a spare chair from another table. Sir Lancelot fetches his own as well.
Merlin grumbles under his breath as they lift their seats to make room for two more people. It is a tight fit indeed because Merlin's table certainly isn't meant for more than five people. But, like magic, they manage to arrange themselves properly in the end.
Merlin finds himself shoulder to shoulder with Mordred and Morgana; he's certainly glad he's not beside anyone else. Morgana calls for the barmaid once more to order additional food for their new friends.
The warlock resumes eating, desiring to finish quickly, meditate a bit, and finally sleep the day away.
A brief awkward pause ensues, no one knowing how to start the conversation.
Then, Gilli claps his hands, attracting everyone's attention. A mischievous grin adorns his normally guileless face. "Well, since plenty of friends are gathered here, why don't we play a drinking game?"
Mordred shakes his head, exasperation lining his visage. "Gilli, I always have to be the one to carry you home whenever you do this."
"It's the end of another successful week where not one of us got expelled from apprenticeship. Now that's a cause for celebration!" Gill reasons, chest puffing up in pride.
Merlin pauses in gulping down the last dregs of his drink. "Wait, did someone get expelled?" Balinor did once threaten him with destroying the Apprentice Contract, but he never thought other mentors would do it.
"Lord Ivaír's apprentice. Jaren, I think?" Theo scratches his stubbled chin in thought. "Lord Ivaír supposedly sacked him because of incompetence." He sighs, picking up his mug of mead. "The Apprentice Exam really is just the beginning. We have to prove ourselves to our mentor every day."
"Enough maudlin musings," Gilli interjects empathically. "This is a night for joy and drinks! Barmaid! Seven more cups of ale for our table!"
The barmaid shoots them an annoyed glance but hurries to fetch the drinks anyway.
Merlin finishes his own drink, his plate already empty. "I'm afraid I won't be joining," he says with an apologetic smile. He heaves himself up from his seat. "I really am quite tired —"
"Come now, Merlin," Prince Arthur cuts off, a friendly smile upon his lips. Merlin is not fooled by his amiable demeanor (not anymore). "Life as a court apprentice must be stressful. Take the time to unwind."
Mordred frowns, turning to the disguised prince. "You know Merlin?" There is a curious and suspicious lilt to his tone.
"No, he doesn't," Merlin replies curtly before Prince Arthur can. "Well, Wart, I'm unwinding by getting to bed so I can be well-rested for tomorrow's lesson."
Prince Arthur hums in response. Mordred and Morgana glance between them, unvoiced questions painting their expressions. Sir Lancelot lets out a sigh and slumps in his seat, resigned to stay where he is. Theo, the only sensible one in the bunch, is too focused on his food to pay attention to anything else.
"But drinking games are better with more people," Gilli says, staring up at the warlock with wide pleading eyes.
Merlin's demeanor softens as he turns to the mage. "I've truly had a long day—"
"How about one game?" Prince Arthur cuts off. A guileless smile — one that Merlin distrusts immensely — flits by his thin lips. He looks to the others. "I've seen Merlin here drink his own weight in ale. And he's quite hilarious when drunk."
Merlin freezes where he stands, immediately realizing the implications of the statement. Prince Arthur watches him with a knowing glint in his blue eyes.
Sir Lancelot hasn't been the only audience to Merlin's drunken babblings.
What else did I say? What has this darned prince found out from all those ramblings?
Judging from the fact that the prince seems to be keeping a closer eye on him the past few days, what he found out isn't to Merlin's benefit.
Gooseflesh peppers Merlin's skin.
For the first time, he looks at Prince Arthur and sees an unmistakably dangerous threat.
The clever thing to do would be to retreat and to avoid interacting with said threat altogether. And Merlin has tried that the past week. It's not very effective, given the prince has invited himself to every dragonlord lesson and a few apprentice ones.
Prince Arthur's face right now is not blatantly pompous, but Merlin senses the patronizing quality to it all the same. As if he has caught a fish in a hook, an animal into a trap.
Although Merlin has already differentiated the counterparts of Arthur Pendragon, Prince Arthur is still very much wearing the face of the prattish king. Merlin really really hates seeing Arthur's smug expression stand unchallenged; it's practically an ingrained habit to make the king's arrogant facade crumble. One smart quip from Merlin usually does it.
In Prince Arthur's case, it'll take a bit more work.
It's time to try a different tactic and face the threat head-on.
"I am truly the funniest when drunk." Merlin sits back down, letting himself be baited.
He'll show the prince that he's not someone that should be underestimated—that he's no prey to be toyed with. Maybe he'll also find out what the hell this royal blank-faced dolt actually wants with him.
The smile he bestows the prince is all teeth and no humor. "I guess we'll see how entertaining I can be, won't we, Wart?"
For a flash, Prince Arthur's visage hints at something less than confident.
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Carrying a tray of dinner, Daegal cheerfully enters the chambers after the door has opened. Upon his entrance, the torches in the room promptly light up.
He, therefore, has a clear view of himself sitting casually in front of the vanity mirror.
He almost drops the tray, his heart climbing to his throat in shock. "O-Oh, Lord Wracu."
"Ah. I apologize." Lord Wracu grips the impersonation totem around his neck. With a flash of gold, the disguise smoothly falls away. "I needed a face," is all he says on the matter.
Daegal's heart slows its beat upon realizing he isn't witnessing a ghost of himself parading around. "It—It's all right, my lord."
As he putters deeper into the room and places the food upon the dining table, he wonders why Lord Wracu chose his face. His master usually favors disguising as that village boy in Veelin for any covert endeavors.
Lord Wracu must have needed a different face this time. Daegal doesn't mind, really.
Unless Lord Wracu is traipsing around the citadel with Daegal's face, it truly won't affect his life in any way.
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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)
Thank you so much, Pfannkuchenpferd, for the kofi!
I don't think I split the last chapter properly. I didn't mean to end it in a cliffhanger, so sorry!
I think this may be the last update for a while because the next chapter is mostly unwritten lol. Still, these temporarily weekly updates do feel good! I felt like a proper writer.
For any questions, feel free to message me on tumblr or in PM system! I usually leave most of the story up to the reader's interpretation (because we are all writers in spirit, if not in practice, out here ;)). But seeing as this is a 200K-worded monstrosity, some details may be confusing or lacking clarification in some areas. Let me know!
Next up: The Trouble Close at Hand is Merlin. But he's not the only kind of trouble coming for Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot.
Happy holidays, and I hope y'all managed to refill your energy for next year!
~ Vividpast