Author's Notes: Though Merlin is quite funny in isolation when he argues alternately with Archimedes and his parchment, I rather like it when he speaks to things that can speak back. Especially when those things foreshadow for me. (huggles the Pollux) If anyone can tell me where I got the name Pollux and point out the two ironies about it in the centaur scene, they get a cookie! It's obvious that I got "Magnificent, Marvelous" from the animated version of "The Sword in the Stone" and "The White Wizard" from Lord of the Rings. Right. I'll stop rambling now. Sorry. I'm just in the Merlin mindset. He's very odd on caffeine. And don't worry if you don't like Pollux (ARE YOU CRAZY?), because Arthur and Nimue are both in the next chapter. YAY! Thanks again for the reviews!

Night:

I went to bed early and what for? For more vexing dreams. For nearly distinguishing the face of my illuminated betrayer, for nearly crying out their name. I had barely closed my eyes when the nightmare struck. It ended before the foul figure could raise its arm, yet I awoke entangled in blankets as though possessed of fever. It is not very late at all now, but I dare not return to sleep.

Midnight:

I sat up with a dozen candles burning and fixed all that Morgan had broken to occupy myself. I proceeded to drowsily watch sand seep through my largest hourglass, leaning my head on one hand. My eyes unfocused and dreams tugged at my mind. My head sagged against my arm. The form of light materialized and I jolted awake.

Archimedes returned from his hunt with several messages. Alertness and curiosity took me together as I broke the wax seals and read.

I have finished the first three letters and I am not impressed. It seems the council has only now realized my importance. Only when I say nothing at the meeting do they miss my words. No one appreciates anything until it is gone. I do feel badly about deserting Elwin, however. He did not accuse me, but merely asked if I was well and if I had been right to attend the meeting if I could not fully devote my attentions to it. Guilt clawed my stomach. He thought I was ill. He believes sickness alone could foil our alliance. The second letter merely demanded wryly who my Mysterious Lady was (I tossed it into the fire), and the third was from Janus, who smugly thanked me for keeping my "unattractive nose out of business." Idiot.

Two days...

Early Morning:

Four more letters for the fire: more sarcastic gloating from Morgan, a notice from Mab about the next council meeting, and an accusing message from Deacon demanding why I had "failed" him. I have only answered Elwin's note. The rest will cover the floor beneath Archimedes' perch.

One left.

Ah. Riordan.

Hmm...

He tells me I am wise to speak little, yet I should voice my wisdom...the council needs me...I might be able to unite our torn assembly...he has faith in me and in Arthur.

Riordan. I should have trusted him to be the voice of truth. Words dance into place beneath his quill. His eloquence is wasted on the council.

Yes. Very well. I shall keep this message on my desk. The rest I condemn to the floor!

Dawn:

The sunrise this morning was glorious. The Master Artist painted the sky orange and scarlet and purple on a canvas of gold, dipping His thumb into the blue of the sea to streak the edges with streams of cyan. These rivulets melted into the violet, creating swirls of wispy royal silk, curtains framing the gleaming copper sun. It was a window to heaven.

An arrow broke that window, sailing through my earthly open door and burying itself in the far wall. I started from my romantic reverie, swiftly closed the door, and crossed to the arrow. Unnerved, I examined the sleek shaft and saw that a thin vine held a message to it. I recognized the work immediately.

"Ah," I sighed, relieved. "Centaurs."

Centaurs do not usually scribe anything, passing knowledge down orally. However, I knew that a few had deigned learn how to communicate with wizards through writing. They much prefer it to speaking with us in person. They really don't care to speak to us at all anymore, Elwin and myself being the exceptions.

The message told me, in precise lettering, to meet Pollux by the great oak marking the unspoken boundary between my young woods and the centaurs' ancient forest. It was he who had sent the message. One of the younger, more open-minded centaurs, he shares with me an understanding—as close to a friendship as his people will allow. I am fond of his intuitive wisdom and had missed meeting him on the edge of the forest and pausing to talk.

I wonder what matter he considers important enough to leave the safety of his herd? I shall soon find out—I'm to come to the oak tree tonight.

Mid-Morning:

It is a shame indeed that Arthur has not learned of the concept of karma.

Archimedes did not approve of the layer of paper littering the floor beneath his perch. I daresay he deemed it rather unsightly. He huffed disdainfully and scanned the cottage for a more regal perch. He spied the arrow still stuck fast in the wall and, assuming it embedded a safe depth, attempted to land upon it.

Obviously, he has not taken in a word I've said about the laws of nature. There was no way the slender shaft of the arrow could possibly support his weight. Of course the arrow snapped, sending a startled Archimedes fluttering awkwardly to the ground. Bewildered, he sat on the floor for a full minute, his eyes, if possible, growing larger than usual. He managed to regain his dignity and swooped back to his proper perch, where he began preening as though the arrow incident had never happened.

I was most amused. At last, I have something to laugh at him about! I can save this and brandish it whenever he dares roll his eyes at me again.

Ah, but I'm weary. NO! I will not sleep. I have all the energy I need.

My pillow looks lonesome...

I think I'll have some tea. Very strong tea. The kind that keeps one awake for hours.

Because I feel like it. I crave its...bitter flavor. Not that I need to jar myself to alertness. Of course not.

A Short While Later:


PReHpas I hAd tooOoOOoo mCuh tAe...

Midday:


I think the shaking is out of my system. My hand is now steady enough to write.

This has nothing to do with the tAe. oF cuRose n0t.

I've been amusing myself by watching Archimedes defecate on the letters, but I'm beginning to notice something.

Everyone has titles.

Asher the Addled, Felix the Flighty, Deacon the Driven. Astrid the Arcane. Riordan the Poet, Elwin the Kind, Mab the Just (I like "Magnificent, Marvelous Mab" better). They don't sign their letters using their titles, but when they mention one another, they always include them as a formality.

But I am always Merlin.

Why is that? Why can't I have a title? Something mysterious and noble, like "The White Wizard." –Except my clothing is usually brown or blue and my beard is more silver. Hmm.

I fear I shall go down in history simply as "Merlin." Just Merlin. Oh, huzzah.

Moments Later:


I doubt anyone will remember even my titleless name.

Moments Later:

Or if they do, I will end up being called something like "Merlin the Mad" or "Merlin, Corrupter of England's Youth" or "Merlin, That Fellow Who Bred Owls."

Moments Later:

"Merlin the Smitten by a Mysterious Lady."

Moments Later:


"Merlin the Cottage-Dwelling Old Bat." Yes, I could see Morgan encouraging that kind of title.

That's rather depressing. I must resume my studies to take my mind off of it.

Yes, I still have studies. Spherical models of Earth do not build themselves.

Moments Later:

Well, actually, they do, but only after I charm them to do so. Which I will do now.

Evening:


See? I've been hard at work this whole time.

...parchment.

I really must charm you, as well, so your replies will not merely be in my head. I'll do so right now.

A Time Later:

No use. Charmed, you can only repeat everything I write as a question or shout insults like some incensed Jarvey. You shall have to remain inanimate and without sentience. I look forward to conversing with an intelligent mind tonight.

Following Morning, Mid-Morning:


Humans are such strange creatures. I am beginning to grow ashamed to be called one.

I arrived at the old oak tree and found it gilded with silver moonlight. No, gilded is not the proper word. Moonbeams painted the leaves, sprayed each beam, tumbled down the trunk like water falling from the river Lethe. Lines in the bark shone like those in a weathered face. Something so beautiful, so ancient, should be honored, but it was its own tribute to decades, possibly centuries, of endurance. The awe-inspiring monolith rose from amid smaller, lesser plants that all seemed to bow to its might and shelter beneath its protective boughs.

Pollux had moved silently beside me in that undetectable manner of centaurs. I do not know how long he watched me gaze at the noble tree, for I know not how long I gazed.

"Your reverence for nature is lost in most humans," he said.

I turned, mildly surprised to see him there. His eyes, warm yet distant spheres of dark brown, were fixed thoughtfully on my face.

"I wish it were not so," I sighed.

He nodded, sending a black curl sweeping across his swarthy forehead. I wondered briefly weather Morgan would loose her seductress's nerve in the presence of a "half-human" more attractive than she. Moonlight shone on the sleek black of Pollux's equine half. I pondered whether Morgan would be stricken with rage or ardor.

I quelled my thoughts and returned the deep nod respectfully. I would have bowed, but that may have appeared sarcastic or an insulting allusion to the treatment of hippogriffs.

"How fares your brother?" I asked.

"Dead," he said softly. "Shot by humans blaming their turmoil on supposed black magic of our kind."

I bowed my head. "I am sorry,"

"It is a bitter irony that he was killed by a human's crude arrow—he, our most skilled archer."

He did not seem to wish to speak of his loss any longer. He would now move on to the reason he sent the message. I waited. Centaurs are not very direct; to inquire why he had asked me there would have been rude. Pollux looked back at the oak tree before speaking.

"Venus is brighter from your side of this tree."

I was confused. No word of Mars, of the war that had driven the centaurs into the depths of their forest? I said nothing, puzzled.

Pollux turned back to me. "Are you troubled by dreams of betrayal?"

I started. Had he really learned this in the stars? He could not have spoken with the Lady, for she lives too near the human kingdom.

"Yes," I replied.

"So I feared," he sighed.

"The Lady of the Lake says I will be betrayed by someone very dear," I stated uncomfortably.

"So you will." He looked on me with the Lady's same sympathy. "Do you know how dear?"

I shook my head.

He stared again at the tree as though its glorious sight would assuage the regret he now displayed.

"How dear?" I asked.

He pointed at Venus, which indeed appeared very bright. Mars too glowed threateningly. Pollux sighed as he lowered his arm sadly.

"You love her."

I said nothing. He turned to go and touched my arm in the reassuring manner of friends. I was too mystified to realize what a serious compliment this was. Pollux seemed to understand and told me he would give Ixion my regards.

"Please try to sleep despite her phantom," he added gently.

He nodded once more and walked off into the dark forest. I blinked after him. I turned and gazed at the tree again, but its beauty somehow haunted me. I looked instead at the sky, intending to locate the constellation Gemini, but found myself staring at Venus. It shone like some bright and alluring eye.

I went home and did not hesitate at my bedside, regarding my pillow with mixed desire and dread. I fell immediately upon the blankets without a thought. A mercifully dreamless sleep took me instantly. I awoke refreshed yet dazed.

Curious.

He did not say, "You loved her," or "You will love her." He said, "You love her."

I do not love her. She lacks the proper sense of humour and a love of nature and of animals. She is too delicate to take on walks through the woods. Archimedes doesn't like her. Her airy nature is rather ominous. I know nothing about her home, her family. I know so little about her.

She comes tomorrow.

I will not bother to clean my cottage or even to remove the letters from beneath Archimedes' perch. I should not have to please her. I will conveniently forget where I place my comb. I will ask suspiciously what was wrong with that flower.

I will make similar humourless, sarcastic remarks to her as I did Morgan. Though Nimue was born that lovely...

Pollux never said it was her, anyway. And since I do not love her, he clearly meant someone else.

Ah! I've an idea for Arthur's lesson today.