Chapter IX: Learning
When he woke, it took Arthur a few moments to realize where he was, and then a few more moments to remember why, exactly, he was in the dungeons. Emrys, Sigan, Geoffrey. His father's rage that Arthur hadn't taken advantage of the Emrys's distraction after Sigan vanished to kill him, only partially assuaged when that one guardsman—Donald or Duncan or something—had timidly interjected that surely the prince and knight must have been enchanted. Then his awkward chat with Sir Leon and the revelation that Sigan had, indeed, gotten away.
Arthur was starting to get heartily sick of the man.
"Sire," a voice croaked.
"Sir Geoffrey," Arthur replied, allowing himself a tiny smile. "You're well?"
"Yes," the old man sighed, "or well enough, at least." He swallowed hard, the sound audible even with a wall between them. "Sire, when I was… controlled…. It wasn't equal, not by any means, but I could… sense, I suppose… sense some of his plans."
"Like what?" Leon asked, gazing intently into the cell beside Arthur's
"He wants to possess Emrys," was the flat response. "He was… he is extremely impressed with the boy's power. He thinks he might be real."
That was right, Arthur remembered. He hadn't heard all of the warlocks' conversation, having been slightly distracted by the undead abominations trying to kill him, but they'd been acting like Emrys was a title of some kind rather than a name. Emrys or Ambrosius or both.
The prince had no idea what "Emrys" might mean if it were a name rather than a title, but "Ambrosius" was Latin. If Arthur recalled correctly (and though he'd never been good with Latin, he thought he remembered this much, at least), it meant "immortal" or "divine."
"What do you mean by that?" Arthur asked.
Geoffrey was silent for a long moment. "I… I can't say."
"I think you can," Arthur retorted.
"No," the old man replied, "I can't say." He swallowed again. "When your father outlawed magic, sire, he also outlawed discussion of certain magical things. Knowledge of spells, books on the topic, and… this. I cannot legally tell you what Sigan meant."
"But my father knows?" Arthur asked, remembering the king's stubborn insistence that his warlock only claimed to be Emrys.
"He knows," Geoffrey confirmed. "Those he condemned made sure of that."
"So I'll just have to ask him."
"If you do, sire, please, please tell him that you're asking because of Sigan, not unless he's already put me to death for getting possessed." There was fear in his voice, and Arthur could imagine the fear on his face.
Arthur started. "Of course he won't," he protested automatically. "You could hardly help getting possessed, and besides, you've served Camelot well and truly for longer than he's been alive. He'll not persecute you for that."
Geoffrey's sigh was bleak and weary, that of an old man who had seen far much more than any foolish youth. "I hope you're right, my prince."
Merlin probably shouldn't be doing this, but he'd never let a silly thing like 'rules' slow him down before. The guilt he felt for taking advantage of Geoffrey's incarceration (why Uther felt the need to imprison the poor man, he had no idea) to break into the library and look up the records of his grandparents' trial was partly because he felt bad for the poor historian and partly because he really ought to be doing more about Sigan. Still, he told himself, he'd been looking at the Sigan problem for days and was no closer to learning anything, so maybe a brief break would be good for him.
Unfortunately, the trip was a complete waste of time. The only new detail he learned was that the knights had been to the west of the city when they'd stumbled upon two strangers levitating a bound, hooded, and unconscious Prince Uther further into the forest. Everything else was familiar: how his grandmother had been carrying baby Hunith on her back, how she and her husband had been beheaded for kidnapping a prince, how Gaius had given their infant to his childless brother Demetrius and sister-in-law Claudia to raise.
Well, the warlock supposed, that was something, at least. There were a lot of magical sites to the west of the citadel: Gedref, the Isle of the Blessed, even the Lake of Avalon. Perhaps they'd been heading for one of those. Or perhaps the official story was right and they'd kidnapped a prince, albeit the youngest of three, for ransom. King Constantine would have paid handsomely for any of his sons, and Vortigern had been prowling around Camelot's borders, looking for weakness.
Merlin, like his mother and their family before him, had always believed that his blood grandparents had intended to ransom Uther, that there was nothing else they even could have been doing. Certainly Niamh and Fergus had given no indication that they weren't trying to assure their daughter's future by selling Uther for obscene amounts of gold. But now Merlin and Hunith knew about her ability to see through illusions, an ability that might have come from them….
Oh. Merlin could have hit himself, the thought was so obvious. There was an easy way to see if Hunith's ability to see through illusions was hereditary. All he had to do was have someone cast an illusion and see if he could see through it.
Merlin made his way to the physician's chambers. Gaius knew how to cast illusions; he had been the one who changed Merlin's eyes from their natural gold to a more ordinary baby blue. To his disappointment, the chambers were already occupied by a heavily pregnant noblewoman.
Perhaps he could see through his own illusions? Merlin tilted his head, thought back to Blaise's lessons about glamor. He was reasonably certain that people weren't supposed to be able to see through their own spells, but he'd have to double-check.
The warlock entered his room, locking the door behind him, and murmured a spell. One of Arthur's dogs appeared in his room, staring at him with her head cocked. Merlin closed his eyes and thought about how his mother saw through illusions, how she focused on the truth.
When he opened his eyes, the dog was gone.
The spell was still active; he could feel its existence. He could even sort of see where the illusion was, for the air shimmered faintly where he had conjured the hound. Mother had mentioned that, too.
Merlin blinked, and the dog sprang back into his line of sight. He blinked again and it was gone, with only the faintest shimmer to mark its position.
Frowning thoughtfully, Merlin dissipated the spell. He was fairly certain that an incantation existed which allowed the caster to see through glamors, but he didn't know the words. Neither did his mother, and anyways, if this was traditional magic, shouldn't she have other abilities? Yet she didn't. As far as Merlin and Hunith knew, her the ability to see through glamors was her only power.
Except that wasn't quite true, Merlin realized. His mother had always had a sort of sixth sense, a very deep intuition. She knew who could be trusted and who couldn't, and her knack for knowing a baby's sex was downright uncanny. They'd always taken those things for granted, but maybe there was something more to it.
The warlock left his room, went into the physician's chambers. The pregnant noblewoman was gone, leaving Gaius alone with his herbs. "Gaius, people who cast illusion spells aren't supposed to be able to see through their glamors, right?"
"Not without the proper incantation."
"That's what I thought," Merlin sighed.
So the ability really was hereditary, meaning that one or both of his mother's parents had also possessed it.
Merlin thought again of what he'd learned, of how his grandparents had been bringing Uther to the west. It was entirely possible that they really were terrible, terrible slavers, but what if they'd been doing something magical, something related to their special ability?
"Gaius, can you think of any magical rituals that require a prince?"
The physician arched his famous eyebrow. "I can't think of anything offhand. Do I want to know why you're asking?"
"It's about Mother's birth parents," he explained.
Gaius leaned back in his chair, frowning thoughtfully. "You think they took Uther for a ritual?"
"That, or they really were planning to ransom him. I can't think of anything else that makes sense."
"…We will have to research your theory after Sigan is dealt with."
"Or Mother and Father can research it on the Isle."
Gaius's lips quirked. "Or that. Good thinking, Merlin."
His ward grinned. "Thanks."
"You're fidgeting, Morgana."
"I most certainly am not."
"You most certainly are," Gwen replied.
Morgana huffed. "You're the one who's fidgeting."
"We both are," Gwen said in that hatefully reasonable tone of hers. "Of course we both are. It's not every day that we meet with the most wanted spellbinder in Camelot—and I'm fairly certain that I'm counting Cornelius Sigan as well—so he can teach you dangerously illegal magic right under Uther's nose."
"You have a point, but I'm still not fidgeting," Morgana insisted.
"If you say so," her friend sighed.
"I do," Morgana replied.
Gwen did not look entirely convinced, but someone knocking on the door cut off her retort. The two women exchanged wide-eyed glances before Morgana hurried over to the source of the noise, flinging open the door.
There was no one there.
The lady blinked into the dark hallway for a few moments, wondering if she'd been hearing things. She hoped not. She saw Merlin literally every day, considered herself one of his closest friends, so it would be really embarrassing if anticipating a meeting with him (even a rather unusual meeting) was that stressful. Flushing slightly, she turned back into her room, closing the door behind her.
"Thanks," said Merlin-as-Emrys, shifting into visibility.
Morgana jumped, then blushed more brightly. That was right. Merlin could make himself invisible, and he'd already promised to not just teleport into her room. She felt like an idiot. Still, her voice was composed as she gestured to a table and said, "Please, take a seat."
"Thanks. Can I put up a muffling spell first, though?
"Of course," Morgana agreed, because the last thing she wanted was for someone to hear her learning magic.
Magic.
She'd known for quite some time that Merlin would be teaching her magic—honestly, it felt like months since she'd arranged this lesson with him—but suddenly, it seemed so much more real. She was going to learn something that would get her killed if the wrong person found out about it. Ward or not, she doubted that Uther would look kindly on her defection.
But what choice did she have? She could barely understand her dreams, much less stop them, and if she was a witch as well, her magic would eventually manifest whether or not she could control it. In the weeks between Morgana's discovery of Merlin's secret and the summit at the Isle of the Blessed, he'd told her enough about his own history to make her extremely leery of untrained, uncontrolled magic.
Morgana's fists clenched, the knuckles white. "What first?"
Merlin started slightly. Apparently he hadn't expected her to get right to the point. He really ought to have known better. "Well, the first thing you need to learn is how magic works."
The warlock leaned back in his chair, his voice adopting an almost rhythmic cadence. "Essentially, human magic is a spellbinder's will made manifest. Human magic isn't the only kind there is, of course, but for now, it's the only type we need to worry about. When humans use magic, we reshape the world through our will and our power, which are mediated by our words."
"Spells," Morgana said.
"Yes, spells. In theory, we don't actually need them. In practice, though, no one has ever been able to perform all of their magic without speaking out loud. The ability to use magic without spells is dependent on a lot of things: practice with that particular act, power, skill, and experience. Once you've learned a bit more magic, I'll help you learn how to cast without speaking, but for now, we're going to focus on spells."
He reached down, pulled a heavy metal lock from the pouch at his waist. "Magic is one of those things that's often easier done than explained, especially at first. The spell to unlock this is tospringe."
The lock clicked open.
Smiling slightly, Merlin pushed it closed. "When you cast a spell, you have to combine the word with the activation of your magic and a sort of state of mind. You need to determine that what you want to happen will. It's not the wanting, it's the determination that this is what's going to happen. Does that make sense?"
Morgana considered it. "You're saying that magic is a bit like Sir Cador."
"Who?"
"Sir Cador. My cousin was named for him. His king ordered him to retreat, but he decided that the battle would be won and positioned himself on a bridge to stave off the invaders. The other knights of Camelot were so inspired by his bravery that they joined in, and Camelot took the enemy king captive. He decided that Camelot would win, and so it did."
Merlin nodded slowly. "That sounds about right. Anhora once told me that a lot of magic is convincing the universe to see things your way."
"So you want me to try and convince the universe to open that lock?"
"Sort of, but not exactly." Merlin grimaced. "Like I said, it's easier done than said. That being said—" His face hardened as he fixed narrowed golden eyes on his pupil "—you will open the lock tonight."
"Okay," Morgana hastily agreed.
Merlin grinned at her. "See? It's sort of like that, but without the intimidation."
"Would… would you compare it to a parent with children or a general with soldiers?" Gwen asked timidly.
Merlin considered. "Sort of, I suppose. It's more like parenting than commanding, though, or… or like a king in disguise making people do what he wants through the sheer force of his will."
"Okay," Morgana muttered. "I think I understand." She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly very dry. "What did you say the unlocking spell is again?"
"Tospringe."
"Topspringe."
"No, just tospringe."
"Tospringe," she repeated. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck, plastering hair to skin.
"That's right."
Morgana repeated the word a few more times, entirely because she wanted to memorize the pronunciation and not at all because she was suddenly very afraid. But then, after far too short a time, she could delay no longer. Screwing up her face in concentration, she told herself that the lock would open, that all other outcomes were unacceptable. "Tospringe!"
Nothing happened.
Merlin wasn't concerned. "It usually takes a few tries."
"Right. Tospringe."
The word came more easily that time, like spitting it out even once made all the difference. The fear was a bit lighter, tinged with a hint of relief.
"Tospringe. Tospringe. Tospringe."
Morgana lost count of how many times she tried the spell. Fifty? A hundred? And all the while Merlin sat there looking completely unperturbed as sweat ran down her brow and the candles shrank almost to nothingness.
"I'll get more candles," Gwen volunteered.
"No need," said Merlin, conjuring that stupid globe of light without a single word.
Seeing him use magic so casually, so easily, make anger flare in Morgana's gut. She would do this. "Tospringe!"
The lock exploded, half flying towards Merlin (who caught it automatically, probably a reflex from Arthur's goblet-throwing habit) and half colliding with the wall. Morgana jumped almost out of her skin, gawked at the broken lock in Merlin's hands with huge eyes.
Without a word, the warlock held it out to her. Hand trembling, the witch took it.
"So what changed?"
"Huh?"
"What helped you with the spell?" Merlin clarified.
She flushed. "I got angry."
"Ah." Merlin nodded. "Good thing I didn't start you out with a fire spell, then."
It wasn't a particularly funny joke, but it still made her laugh. A nervous laugh, yes, with perhaps a hint of disbelief, but a laugh nonetheless. Merlin and Gwen glanced at each other, clearly alarmed, and it was so much like their normal behavior that the lady laughed harder.
"Are you all right, Morgana?" Gwen asked, her brown eyes wide with concern.
"I just did magic in the heart of Camelot. I'm Uther Pendragon's ward, living in his home under his protection, and I just deliberately did something that can get me burned at the stake."
"So that's a no then," Merlin muttered, inspiring another round of giggles and a disapproving stare from Gwen. He hesitated a long moment, then began to speak in a soft and hesitant voice. "Look, Morgana, I know. I know. I've been through it, and while I can't tell you that the terror ever goes away completely, it does fade. With time, with practice, with exposure, with power, even with planning, it fades." His eyes went distant. "Besides, fear is the only reason we have courage."
"If you way so," she muttered. The laughter had drained away, leaving her strangely empty inside. She'd really truly done it. There was no more wondering if Rodrik had made a mistake, no more halfhearted denial. "So… what now?" She gestured at the broken lock. "I don't think we can keep using it."
Gwen examined the larger half. "No. It's completely ruined. Unless Emrys knows a lock-fixing spell, of course."
"I don't." He leaned back, a frown on his lips. "We could either quit the lesson or work on another minor spell. Any preferences?"
Morgana considered. Her first impulse was scrying, but Merlin had taken months to master the art, and he'd already been powerful and skilled. Levitation felt like it would require too much finesse if she didn't want the levitated object to shoot through the ceiling. "What spells do you use most?" she finally asked.
Now it was Merlin's turn to think. "Well, I'm quite fond of levitation, but that's just a little advanced for a first lesson. Spirit walking and scrying take forever. Same with teleportation. Most combat magic is a bit dangerous for—oh! How about a shield spell?"
"You mean that energy barrier?"
"Yes."
Morgana thought of the insane misfortunes that plagued Camelot (sometimes literally) roughly once a week. "Sounds useful."
"The basic spell is scildan. For a stronger shield, you can use gescildan, but for now, let's just stick with basics."
Eventually, she managed to produce a small, rather pathetic shield, just a flicker of color in the air. It had been green, Morgana thought, green like pine trees at midnight, but it hadn't been around long enough for her to tell for sure.
"Good job," Merlin said, rising to his feet.
"Not really," Morgana grumbled.
"Considering that this is your first time ever using magic and you made two spells work, I'd say you did well." Merlin smiled. "And since I'm the teacher, you have to listen to me."
"…Thank you."
There was something very soft in his eyes, something she couldn't really identify. "You're very welcome. Practice the shield spell when you can and I'll come again next week, all right?"
"I'm looking forward to it," Morgana said, and was surprised to realize that it was true. Dangerous as it was, she wanted to learn, wanted to explore this new side of herself, even though she was afraid.
Merlin's smile was different, full of the same softness that warmed his golden eyes. "I am too."
Alternate chapter title: "Wherein Morgana Finally, At Long Last, Actually Gets the Magic Lesson She Was Supposed to Get, Like, a Really Long Time Ago"
Next update: November 11. Uther has a plan.
So, guesses about Hunith's blood parents? Is it too obvious what's going on with them? Also, they got their names because I like the name Niamh and because "Fergus" apparently means "man with energy." The name "Demetrius" is a reference to Geoffrey of Monmouth's History, where Merlin's maternal grandfather is the king of Demetria. "Claudia" is just a Roman name that I picked for the heck of it.
-Antares