Title: Memoirs of Merlin
Author: Moriah Muse, whose own muse wakes her at ungodly hours of the morning to sleepily jot down ideas for this story
Disclaimer: This Merlin = MINE! No touchy! Harry Potter = J.K. Rowling and all her affiliates. No touchy! I believe the reference to being hung from the ceiling by one's fignernails comes from Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit, the fic that inspired me to attempt diary form.
Author's Notes: I'd like to thank everyone who's reading this (all two of you) for your fantastic support and positive feedback and whatnot. Merlin's quite fun to write for. I hope his ramblings are just as fun to read. Can you guys catch the brief references to Shakespeare and a certain 60's musical?
Dedication: For Kitty, who is always supportive of my feeble attempts at fanfics which pale in comparison to her own glorious work, and for She's a Star (Nita), who gave Merlin his first reviews. Which were very well-thought-out, nice reviews that told me exactly what I was doing right. ::sniffle:: I love you guys!
An Hour I Care Not To Disclose:
I am plagued with most disturbing thoughts...
A figure of bluish light haunts my dreams. I repeatedly hurl spells at it, but it catches them and flings them back at me. I am forced to back up and find myself trapped against a stone wall. The luminous form raises its arm threateningly and—lowers it. The light dims, and it vanishes. I fall backwards against the rock and wake.
On the floor.
Archimedes was so startled, he did not have any scornful looks ready to throw in my earthward direction. He hooted softly and tilted his head. I got up, groaning like some feeble old man—which I am not!—and collapsed again on the bed.
I doubt whether this nightmare was prophetic, but it would do no harm to consult the Lady about it. I'll visit her on the morrow.
Next Morning:
Odd.
Upon waking this morning, I did not recall my dream at all. Had I not written of it here, I would have failed to remember it. It's fortunate I penned the details last night while they sat fresh in my mind. I shall take this document with me when I see the Lady.
Midday:
By my beard, that woman is nearly as insane as I am.
Not that I am insane.
I am lovably eccentric.
The Lady of the Lake, however, is very distant and a bit eerie, as though she was born in the wrong time on the wrong planet.
She is lovely in her own right, not beautiful like Morgan or stunning like Nimue, but her grace and calm extend to her features, making her content and slightly sad smile very sweet. She wears simple robes of blue, green, gray, and white, depending on the appearance of the Lake according to the season. She does not own anything revealing or velvet. Her eyes are wide and searching, like moons reflected in water. Her hair that falls in waves is so fair it appears white, though she may not be as aged as I am. Still she seems ageless, and I know her wisdom exceeds my own.
I found her sitting at the water's edge, her feet—always bare—resting in the shallows. Without turning, she addressed me in her voice like raindrops on a river's surface.
"Ah. Merlin. I expected you earlier."
She wished me to sit on the rock across from her, I knew, but I remained standing, leaning on my staff.
"I dreamed a dream last night."
The Lady smiled and looked over her shoulder at me. "So did I. Everyone dreams each night, but rarely do we remember. When we do, it may be of import."
"Curiously, Lady, I did not remember my dream. I have only what it written here." I handed her the parchment.
Her large eyes drifted pensively across the page.
"Ah," she murmured.
"What is it?" I asked.
She fixed me sadly with those luminous eyes. "You will be betrayed."
"What?" I sputtered. "By whom? I've no foes!"
"You think them friends," she said gently. "And one has yet to live."
"You mean someone unborn? How could one that young harm me so?"
The Lady sighed. "He will harm you indirectly by hurting another."
Who is so dear to me that an injury to them would affect me? Arthur! I suddenly wished the boy were with me, that I might draw him to me protectively.
"Who dares—or, will dare?" I demanded.
She smiled regretfully. "I know not. I can only tell you that he is a sower of discord. He will end what you begin."
Not Camelot! Can a dream truly reveal so much? Must I really lose Arthur and his kingdom to one man? I'd trade Camelot and all of England if it meant Arthur would live.
"You spoke of multiple enemies," I ventured. "Can you warn me of the others as well?"
The Lady looked away. I was surprised; she usually maintains eye contact until, awed, I am the one forced to cast my glance aside. She stared apologetically at the waters of her home.
"The other is too close to you for me to tell. It may be someone very dear." She turned to me again, her normally static expression growing concerned. "Do not let a broken heart stop you from being the greatest wizard of all time."
I stared at her, shocked. I nodded and managed to thank her before hastening home. I stalked through the door and glared at Archimedes suspiciously until he rolled his eyes and caused me to feel rather foolish. I retrieved the rest of my memoirs and began documenting the morning's events. Most curious.
Will Camelot really last for one brief shining moment?
Next Day, After Noon:
I caught Arthur nodding off today as I attempted to teach him history and I made him clean up Archimedes' owl pellets. He grew rather cross and complained that history shouldn't be so boring. I admit I had been drifting into a bit of a monotone but I was talking about the slaying of the chimera, and by my beard, that's a riveting story! Honestly. People have no idea how trying it is teaching young children. I think it would be much easier—granted, more dangerous—to be king than a teacher. Really, Arthur shouldn't complain. It's not as though I have him attached by his fingernails to the ceiling, though I daresay that would have taught him a lesson.
I do love him. Really.
I wonder if I immersed myself so fully in today's lesson to busy my mind? Am I attempting vainly to keep from thinking about certain enchanting half- veela witches who have yet to contact me about lessons?
Of course not.
I think I will begin planning future lessons. Not to steer my mind away from—people—but to be better prepared. Let me see...I should teach him values, an appreciation for nature, how to properly wield an enchanted sword--
There is a sound outside! Is it--?
No. There is no one at my door. Foolishness.
Where was I? Ah. Ideas for teaching Nim—Arthur. How can I make lessons more interesting? When he was small and I was teaching him to write, we played a game at rearranging letters. "I am the king" became "I think game," "of Uther Pendragon" became "gone proud father" with an "n" left over, "Stonehenge" became "get no sheen." Arthur also began turning things 'round. He discovered those delightful words that are the same both ways, such as "moon" and "noon." He also found that "Desire" becomes "Erised" when spelled backwards. "Erised," of course, is not a real word, but it taught the boy how to spell.
By my beard, something made a noise at my window! It is the same sound as before, though I realize now it couldn't possibly be a person.
I'm telling Archimedes to go open the window. He's giving me that "I'm not your slave!" look but of course he is complying grudgingly.
Ah! Icarus is here! An unforeseen and welcome visit.
Evening:
Have I properly introduced Icarus on these pages? I think not.
Ahem.
Icarus was my first pet bird and faithful friend when I was the sole wizard in the country. Some may think it odd that my only childhood companion was a wild falcon, but I was less lonely wandering the moors with Icarus than among crowds of humans. I named him Icarus, of course, after the unfortunate youth of myth, son of the inventor Daedalus, whose waxwings melted when he flew too near the sun. I did not think my merlin friend would perish if he flew too high—he is a bird, obviously!—but he has the same youthful, adventurous curiosity and joy of life as his namesake. And as me.
I met him when I was first practicing transforming. I am an Animagus, so of course my animal form is a merlin. Icarus came across me in the sky and thought me a rival—young male birds of prey do not share territory well. He shrieked and pursued me until I was forced to land and change back into a human. Instead of taking off again disinterestedly or fleeing as other merlins might, Icarus remained and stared at me in utter fascination. I hesitated and then transformed back. We were able to communicate and found we were kindred spirits. We became close friends and had many adventures together.
Being the friend of a wizard has prolonged Icarus' life. I fear I may yet outlive him, but for now he is as energetic as the day I met him. I have warned him not to wander into forests where hunters may fire at him, as he may still be slain, and he has thus far heeded my advice—the first living creature to do so—and remained out of harm.
I would like to point out that, during my exploits as a merlin, I found that the air actually grows colder as one ascends, so the idea of the sun melting one's wings is ridiculous.
Anyway.
Icarus came to tell me a strange woman is wandering around the edge of my woods. –The woods do not actually belong to me, but no other humans besides Arthur bother to venture here, and Icarus thinks the forest to be my "territory." Icarus seemed to think the woman a threat and related huffily that she shot "red lightning" at him with a stick.
So a witch is stalking about my woods—er, THE woods—shooting sparks at unsuspecting merlins, eh? I'll put a stop to her! I'll—
Bless my beard! Someone knocks at my door.
Night:
Well. That was...interesting. I'll begin where I ended:
Icarus glared out the window at whoever knocked and fixed me with his fierce and piercing stare.
It's her.
I slipped my wand from its traveling niche in the end of my staff and slunk to the door. I thrust it open to find—
Nimue.
"Merlin," she purred in that disarming way of hers. "I thought we could discuss our lessons. Ah, I see you already have your wand out."
Beards are glorious things. They mask reddened cheeks wonderfully.
"Eh," I said intelligently.
Nimue glided in, nonchalantly twirling her wand. Her silver hair caught the weak candlelight and sent scintillations across the walls. I closed the door after her, frantically searching my brain for a polite topic of conversation. Nimue continued toying with her wand and grinned.
"Er," I said. "Lovely wand."
She smiled. "Thank you. Four hands, dragon heartstring."
Odd. I had assumed she had used her mother's hair for the core of her wand.
"Interesting," I said. "Mine is dragon heartstring as well."
"And you have owned that wand so long! How did you come by its core when you were young?"
I shook off my stupor and attempted to converse normally. "Well, George and his army of dragon slayers were annihilating dragons all over the land. Ever a lover of life, even wild dragon life, I intervened to prevent them from destroying the entire species. I arrived at one scene too late, however. In addition to being an advocate of life, I am an analyst, so I gathered the various valuable dragon parts the slayers had so irreverently left to rot so that I might use them in my studies. I did not want to feel like a grave robber, however, so I took only one of each body part."
Nimue stared. "But I came upon my dragon's body abandoned on a plain! It had one heartstring missing. Do you think it may have been the same beast?"
"It is possible," I shrugged. "Two members of the council took feathers from the same phoenix."
"I believe it's a sign. Our friendship was meant to be!" Nimue laughed, filling the dreary cottage with light and mirth.
"Eh," I said, glad again of my beard.
Nimue finished laughing—I could have listened to her for an eon—and smiled at me. "When might we begin my lessons?"
"Er," I said.
"Does mid-week work?" she inquired.
"Eh, er, yes. Yes, Arthur usually comes at the beginning and end of the week."
"Excellent!" Nimue beamed. "I shall see you in the middle of next week."
"Er, yes." I said.
Nimue crossed our wands in a salute. "Very well! Until then, Merlin."
I love how she says my name!
She left then, and the cottage seemed empty. Icarus gave me a calculating look. He doesn't trust her, but he sees how I enjoy her company and will let it be for now. He fluttered awkwardly beneath the ceiling and landed on my shoulder, as is our ritual. I stroked his head and muttered, "Away!" and he departed.
Archimedes is far less supportive. He is all puffed up in that owl defensive position, where they fluff their feathers to appear bigger and more intimidating. He actually hissed as Nimue left.
Downy idiot. I bet his mother knocked his egg from the nest. That would explain his intelligence and poor social skills.
Only six days until Nimue comes again.
Author: Moriah Muse, whose own muse wakes her at ungodly hours of the morning to sleepily jot down ideas for this story
Disclaimer: This Merlin = MINE! No touchy! Harry Potter = J.K. Rowling and all her affiliates. No touchy! I believe the reference to being hung from the ceiling by one's fignernails comes from Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit, the fic that inspired me to attempt diary form.
Author's Notes: I'd like to thank everyone who's reading this (all two of you) for your fantastic support and positive feedback and whatnot. Merlin's quite fun to write for. I hope his ramblings are just as fun to read. Can you guys catch the brief references to Shakespeare and a certain 60's musical?
Dedication: For Kitty, who is always supportive of my feeble attempts at fanfics which pale in comparison to her own glorious work, and for She's a Star (Nita), who gave Merlin his first reviews. Which were very well-thought-out, nice reviews that told me exactly what I was doing right. ::sniffle:: I love you guys!
An Hour I Care Not To Disclose:
I am plagued with most disturbing thoughts...
A figure of bluish light haunts my dreams. I repeatedly hurl spells at it, but it catches them and flings them back at me. I am forced to back up and find myself trapped against a stone wall. The luminous form raises its arm threateningly and—lowers it. The light dims, and it vanishes. I fall backwards against the rock and wake.
On the floor.
Archimedes was so startled, he did not have any scornful looks ready to throw in my earthward direction. He hooted softly and tilted his head. I got up, groaning like some feeble old man—which I am not!—and collapsed again on the bed.
I doubt whether this nightmare was prophetic, but it would do no harm to consult the Lady about it. I'll visit her on the morrow.
Next Morning:
Odd.
Upon waking this morning, I did not recall my dream at all. Had I not written of it here, I would have failed to remember it. It's fortunate I penned the details last night while they sat fresh in my mind. I shall take this document with me when I see the Lady.
Midday:
By my beard, that woman is nearly as insane as I am.
Not that I am insane.
I am lovably eccentric.
The Lady of the Lake, however, is very distant and a bit eerie, as though she was born in the wrong time on the wrong planet.
She is lovely in her own right, not beautiful like Morgan or stunning like Nimue, but her grace and calm extend to her features, making her content and slightly sad smile very sweet. She wears simple robes of blue, green, gray, and white, depending on the appearance of the Lake according to the season. She does not own anything revealing or velvet. Her eyes are wide and searching, like moons reflected in water. Her hair that falls in waves is so fair it appears white, though she may not be as aged as I am. Still she seems ageless, and I know her wisdom exceeds my own.
I found her sitting at the water's edge, her feet—always bare—resting in the shallows. Without turning, she addressed me in her voice like raindrops on a river's surface.
"Ah. Merlin. I expected you earlier."
She wished me to sit on the rock across from her, I knew, but I remained standing, leaning on my staff.
"I dreamed a dream last night."
The Lady smiled and looked over her shoulder at me. "So did I. Everyone dreams each night, but rarely do we remember. When we do, it may be of import."
"Curiously, Lady, I did not remember my dream. I have only what it written here." I handed her the parchment.
Her large eyes drifted pensively across the page.
"Ah," she murmured.
"What is it?" I asked.
She fixed me sadly with those luminous eyes. "You will be betrayed."
"What?" I sputtered. "By whom? I've no foes!"
"You think them friends," she said gently. "And one has yet to live."
"You mean someone unborn? How could one that young harm me so?"
The Lady sighed. "He will harm you indirectly by hurting another."
Who is so dear to me that an injury to them would affect me? Arthur! I suddenly wished the boy were with me, that I might draw him to me protectively.
"Who dares—or, will dare?" I demanded.
She smiled regretfully. "I know not. I can only tell you that he is a sower of discord. He will end what you begin."
Not Camelot! Can a dream truly reveal so much? Must I really lose Arthur and his kingdom to one man? I'd trade Camelot and all of England if it meant Arthur would live.
"You spoke of multiple enemies," I ventured. "Can you warn me of the others as well?"
The Lady looked away. I was surprised; she usually maintains eye contact until, awed, I am the one forced to cast my glance aside. She stared apologetically at the waters of her home.
"The other is too close to you for me to tell. It may be someone very dear." She turned to me again, her normally static expression growing concerned. "Do not let a broken heart stop you from being the greatest wizard of all time."
I stared at her, shocked. I nodded and managed to thank her before hastening home. I stalked through the door and glared at Archimedes suspiciously until he rolled his eyes and caused me to feel rather foolish. I retrieved the rest of my memoirs and began documenting the morning's events. Most curious.
Will Camelot really last for one brief shining moment?
Next Day, After Noon:
I caught Arthur nodding off today as I attempted to teach him history and I made him clean up Archimedes' owl pellets. He grew rather cross and complained that history shouldn't be so boring. I admit I had been drifting into a bit of a monotone but I was talking about the slaying of the chimera, and by my beard, that's a riveting story! Honestly. People have no idea how trying it is teaching young children. I think it would be much easier—granted, more dangerous—to be king than a teacher. Really, Arthur shouldn't complain. It's not as though I have him attached by his fingernails to the ceiling, though I daresay that would have taught him a lesson.
I do love him. Really.
I wonder if I immersed myself so fully in today's lesson to busy my mind? Am I attempting vainly to keep from thinking about certain enchanting half- veela witches who have yet to contact me about lessons?
Of course not.
I think I will begin planning future lessons. Not to steer my mind away from—people—but to be better prepared. Let me see...I should teach him values, an appreciation for nature, how to properly wield an enchanted sword--
There is a sound outside! Is it--?
No. There is no one at my door. Foolishness.
Where was I? Ah. Ideas for teaching Nim—Arthur. How can I make lessons more interesting? When he was small and I was teaching him to write, we played a game at rearranging letters. "I am the king" became "I think game," "of Uther Pendragon" became "gone proud father" with an "n" left over, "Stonehenge" became "get no sheen." Arthur also began turning things 'round. He discovered those delightful words that are the same both ways, such as "moon" and "noon." He also found that "Desire" becomes "Erised" when spelled backwards. "Erised," of course, is not a real word, but it taught the boy how to spell.
By my beard, something made a noise at my window! It is the same sound as before, though I realize now it couldn't possibly be a person.
I'm telling Archimedes to go open the window. He's giving me that "I'm not your slave!" look but of course he is complying grudgingly.
Ah! Icarus is here! An unforeseen and welcome visit.
Evening:
Have I properly introduced Icarus on these pages? I think not.
Ahem.
Icarus was my first pet bird and faithful friend when I was the sole wizard in the country. Some may think it odd that my only childhood companion was a wild falcon, but I was less lonely wandering the moors with Icarus than among crowds of humans. I named him Icarus, of course, after the unfortunate youth of myth, son of the inventor Daedalus, whose waxwings melted when he flew too near the sun. I did not think my merlin friend would perish if he flew too high—he is a bird, obviously!—but he has the same youthful, adventurous curiosity and joy of life as his namesake. And as me.
I met him when I was first practicing transforming. I am an Animagus, so of course my animal form is a merlin. Icarus came across me in the sky and thought me a rival—young male birds of prey do not share territory well. He shrieked and pursued me until I was forced to land and change back into a human. Instead of taking off again disinterestedly or fleeing as other merlins might, Icarus remained and stared at me in utter fascination. I hesitated and then transformed back. We were able to communicate and found we were kindred spirits. We became close friends and had many adventures together.
Being the friend of a wizard has prolonged Icarus' life. I fear I may yet outlive him, but for now he is as energetic as the day I met him. I have warned him not to wander into forests where hunters may fire at him, as he may still be slain, and he has thus far heeded my advice—the first living creature to do so—and remained out of harm.
I would like to point out that, during my exploits as a merlin, I found that the air actually grows colder as one ascends, so the idea of the sun melting one's wings is ridiculous.
Anyway.
Icarus came to tell me a strange woman is wandering around the edge of my woods. –The woods do not actually belong to me, but no other humans besides Arthur bother to venture here, and Icarus thinks the forest to be my "territory." Icarus seemed to think the woman a threat and related huffily that she shot "red lightning" at him with a stick.
So a witch is stalking about my woods—er, THE woods—shooting sparks at unsuspecting merlins, eh? I'll put a stop to her! I'll—
Bless my beard! Someone knocks at my door.
Night:
Well. That was...interesting. I'll begin where I ended:
Icarus glared out the window at whoever knocked and fixed me with his fierce and piercing stare.
It's her.
I slipped my wand from its traveling niche in the end of my staff and slunk to the door. I thrust it open to find—
Nimue.
"Merlin," she purred in that disarming way of hers. "I thought we could discuss our lessons. Ah, I see you already have your wand out."
Beards are glorious things. They mask reddened cheeks wonderfully.
"Eh," I said intelligently.
Nimue glided in, nonchalantly twirling her wand. Her silver hair caught the weak candlelight and sent scintillations across the walls. I closed the door after her, frantically searching my brain for a polite topic of conversation. Nimue continued toying with her wand and grinned.
"Er," I said. "Lovely wand."
She smiled. "Thank you. Four hands, dragon heartstring."
Odd. I had assumed she had used her mother's hair for the core of her wand.
"Interesting," I said. "Mine is dragon heartstring as well."
"And you have owned that wand so long! How did you come by its core when you were young?"
I shook off my stupor and attempted to converse normally. "Well, George and his army of dragon slayers were annihilating dragons all over the land. Ever a lover of life, even wild dragon life, I intervened to prevent them from destroying the entire species. I arrived at one scene too late, however. In addition to being an advocate of life, I am an analyst, so I gathered the various valuable dragon parts the slayers had so irreverently left to rot so that I might use them in my studies. I did not want to feel like a grave robber, however, so I took only one of each body part."
Nimue stared. "But I came upon my dragon's body abandoned on a plain! It had one heartstring missing. Do you think it may have been the same beast?"
"It is possible," I shrugged. "Two members of the council took feathers from the same phoenix."
"I believe it's a sign. Our friendship was meant to be!" Nimue laughed, filling the dreary cottage with light and mirth.
"Eh," I said, glad again of my beard.
Nimue finished laughing—I could have listened to her for an eon—and smiled at me. "When might we begin my lessons?"
"Er," I said.
"Does mid-week work?" she inquired.
"Eh, er, yes. Yes, Arthur usually comes at the beginning and end of the week."
"Excellent!" Nimue beamed. "I shall see you in the middle of next week."
"Er, yes." I said.
Nimue crossed our wands in a salute. "Very well! Until then, Merlin."
I love how she says my name!
She left then, and the cottage seemed empty. Icarus gave me a calculating look. He doesn't trust her, but he sees how I enjoy her company and will let it be for now. He fluttered awkwardly beneath the ceiling and landed on my shoulder, as is our ritual. I stroked his head and muttered, "Away!" and he departed.
Archimedes is far less supportive. He is all puffed up in that owl defensive position, where they fluff their feathers to appear bigger and more intimidating. He actually hissed as Nimue left.
Downy idiot. I bet his mother knocked his egg from the nest. That would explain his intelligence and poor social skills.
Only six days until Nimue comes again.
