Memoirs of Merlin
Author's Notes: Woo! I have THREE readers! ::dances:: Thank you all very much! I have discovered that my muse feeds on feedback. I just wrote this chapter today! I think my muse ultimately lives for keeping me up all night or waking me early in the morning, though. Fear my Monty Python and HP movie references! And quail before the squirrel army. Quail, I say!

An Unholy Hour of the Morning:

I had that nightmare again. I sincerely hope it will not become recurring. I do not like being reminded that Arthur might be killed and that Camelot may fall.

Why did the Lady bother telling me all this Once and Future King nonsense if it will all amount to naught?

Perhaps I could teach Arthur some defensive spells? Ah, but the boy hasn't a magical bone in his body. Bless him.

Archimedes is gone, perhaps out hunting. I wish he wouldn't eat squirrels; I'm rather fond of the furry little creatures. Squirrels can be quite dangerous, however. They're easily irritated and hurl nuts at you if you disturb their tree in bird form.

Not that I would know from experience.

I suspect the squirrels have some secret rodent army, and it is only a matter of time before they invade, attacking everything in their path with nasty, biting teeth!

...

I am even more insane than usual early in the morning. Wait...not insane, lovably eccentric. Yes.

I'm going to bed, before I get myself killed by squirrels, or worse, sleep- deprived.

...

I need to prioritize. Or go back to sleep.

Mid-Morning:


The nerve of that woman!

I may have disliked her before, but I am now quite certain that I despise her.

HATE!

Hmm. It was rather cathartic to nearly tear the parchment in my rage. Now I may be calm enough to relate what just occurred (HATE!)...

I slept through the sunrise, having wasted valuable sleeping time last night—actually, in the early morning only hours before—writing about the coming squirrel invasion. I was abed, snoring quite contentedly, thank you, when a sharp and impatient rapping at my door tore me rudely from my slumber. I grunted groggily and tumbled out of bed. It took me several moments to pull on my robe, as I was so weary I kept putting my arm through the wrong sleeve. My inconsiderate visitor knocked more loudly. I staggered sleepily to the door and thrust it open irritably.

"Who calls?" I croaked. "You woke me!"

Morgan le Fay raised a perfect brow. "Really? I hadn't expected the 'wisest' of the council to waste half his days sleeping. The sun came up hours ago."

"Engh?" I blinked up at the sky and saw that she was right.

"Well?" Morgan sniffed. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

I stared at her blankly. "No. Not unless you have a reason for coming and rudely awakening me."

"Trust me, I would not have ventured into these forsaken woods if I did not have business with you," she stated with displeasure.

Irreverent wench. There was a time when elders were respected. Really, the forest is the best environment for a wizard to operate. It is near to nature, a better place to clear one's mind for magic than in a smelly village or cold stone castle. Morgan would probably love to work in a castle, surrounded by gaudy elegance and attended by an army of servants. Though personally, I would not object to living in a functional, warm castle, as long as it was in the woods. And near a lake. Perhaps the Lady's lake...

I scowled and reluctantly moved from the doorway to let Morgan pass. She swept in haughtily in an overly dramatic swirl of black. Do you know what she did then?

O. You are still a mindless, inanimate piece of parchment. Remind me to charm some brains into you.

--Then, Morgan took in the interior of the cottage with an imperious glance. And she sneered. At my home! As though all great wizards are expected to live on estates in grand palaces. My residence is simple and functional. Granted, it is also filled with the neat clutter of a working scholar, but it reflects my eccentricity. The bed, of course, was unmade, but Archimedes had yet to return so the floor beneath this perch was free of owl pellets. I imagine Morgan would have left right then if there had been small balls of fur and bones about. Then I would have been freed of her arrogance.

Morgan removed her traveling cloak with an unnecessary flourish and peered about the cottage. She was obviously looking for a place to hang it, or perhaps for an overworked servant to thrust it upon. I bet she would have loved it if I had a mistreated elf for her to kick. I noticed that she was wearing a red dress that was needlessly tight about the bodice.

"Just keep it on," I smirked. "You'll not be staying long, and your seductress's garb has no effect on me."

Ah. The way her sneer transposed to a snarl! She had no beard to hide her embarrassment. It was most satisfying to at last wound that swollen ego.

"Do not insult me, old man. You have made my life wretched enough," she whispered.

I winced, though I do not think she realizes how remorseful I truly am about helping Uther deceive her mother. Still, judging by her extravagant wardrobe, her life is relatively comfortable now. I stared guiltily at the pellet-free floor as she donned her cloak.

"I came," Morgan stated. "To warn you against cavorting with that half- human Nimue."

I bristled, my head snapping up. "What business is it of yours who I socialize with?"

"It is the council's business. We would prefer that you refrain from associating with one whom we have deemed unfit to join our numbers."

"One you have deemed unfit," I growled.

Morgan sneered. "Perhaps. Just know that you go against the council's wishes."

"How do you even know I have met with her?"

"That," she scoffed. "Is none of your concern. What matters is that we know."

"You are poisoning the minds of the council members. You sow doubt and strife for your own benefit. You hunger for supremacy even more than those now feuding for the throne." I leaned toward her, leaking some power into my words. "What would you do to take it from them, Morgan?"

Morgan hissed like a threatened cat. Most wizards feel threatened when I allow my power to become palpable, but Morgan alone had reason to be wary.

"Go," I commanded. "Unless you have some other prejudice with which to waste my time."

She snarled and stalked from the cottage, knocking several items from the table as she left. I said "Reparo!" a bit too angrily, causing my model flying machine to splinter further. Arrogant, sneering wench. She must practice sneering before her looking glass. I should have told her twisting her mouth like that ruins her face. She's so obsessed with her appearance, it might have spared me future sneers.

Evening:

Archimedes has still not returned. As irksome as he is, I am beginning to worry. Were it lighter outside, I could transform and go searching for him. If only merlins could see in the dark...

Perhaps I should contact Icarus and find if he has seen the infernal owl.

A Short While Later:

Confound all birds! Icarus too is missing.

Moments Later:

You don't suppose it's the fowl that have the conspiracy, and not the squirrels?

Moments Later:


What am I going on about? You can't suppose anything (yet), and there are no secret animal organizations!

Night:

I have looked out of the window a total of three hundred and seventy-seven times.

Three hundred seventy-eight.

Where could he possibly be?

Well. I will not waste time worrying about it. He has been gone much longer than this before...though that was while he was delivering a message. I mean, he has a right to have a life outside of this cottage. He is probably doing all sorts of interesting owl things. Perhaps he has even met that nice female owl.

But then why would Icarus be gone? It's unlikely he has found a nice female merlin. Female merlins generally aren't very nice.

Not that I would know from experience.

I am going to bed now. I refuse to wonder about the love lives of my nonhuman friends.

Moments Later:


Truly. I am just—not tired. Suffering from insomnia. Yes, that's it.

Moments Later:

Truly! I should make a sleeping potion.

Moments Later:


In a minute. First I have to...make sure that the windowsill is clean.

Three hundred seventy-nine.

DAMN!