Chapter Summary: The trio registers for the exam and meets an unexpected celebrity.
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Chapter VII: Fill the World With Sunshine
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When the three of them turn the corner that leads to the eastern side of the castle, bustling crowds meet their sight and chatter fills the once quiet air.
Gilli moans in exasperation. "I knew we shouldn't have dawdled!"
Mordred claps his friend's back, unperturbed by the intimidatingly large mob. "There, there. At least you personally got to meet Mage Gaius."
Gilli grumbles but concedes to Mordred's point, looking slightly mollified. The trio weaves through the horde of applicants, struggling to find and join the shortest line. Seeing as more people are pouring in by the minute and each line is at least twelve people long, the quest is more difficult than they initially think.
Merlin peers at the proceedings ahead as Gilli and Mordred search, unable to curb his desire to find out what the long lines are for. Even when the centuries-old traditional no-rules tournament was held in his Camelot, the lines never stretched as far. On the other hand, even that tournament didn't have nearly as much participants as this exam clearly does.
An assortment of people form roughly six lines. There are some as young as sixteen summers and those as old as twenty-five. There are blondes, brunettes, red-haired and dark-haired, males and females wearing either earth-colored garments or lavishly colorful wears and headdresses. Most of them are performing simple spells such as creating a small fire or lifting stones while waiting in line. Merlin's heart clenches once more at the casual and open use of magic in front of Camelot's castle; he has never before seen such an impossible sight.
The front of each line ends at varnished wooden tables. From the little Merlin can glimpse, parchments and quills litter the surface of the opulent tables. On the other side, six finely dressed men and women are seated beneath the shade of an enormous agape red tent. Each of them are conversing with an applicant in front of the line, countenance varying from polite to bored. Merlin supposes the lengths of their talks cause the long lines; they seem to be exchanging more than just names and birthplaces. In one line, the seated man hands an applicant, a blonde girl of sixteen summers, an unusually shaped black stone. The girl accepts it without hesitation in her palm and then -
Distracted by his intense observation of the affairs, Merlin reckons that he really should have expected what happened next.
There is an applicant already obediently standing in a line, a boy with hair the color of hay running off in a hurry, and Merlin who is absentmindedly following behind Gilli and Mordred. After two more moments, the paths of these three collide quite violently.
The air abandons Merlin's lungs as he, for the second time that morning alone, slams into a firm clothy surface. However, this time, the impact does more than force him back; his feet betray his clumsy self and lose the ground underneath them. Someone yelps and the world is spinning and tanned hands are grappling with Merlin's shoulders. Earth-colored cloth fills Merlin's vision and the fluttering of leather reaches his ears. He sees a sleeve and a pale slender hand stretching towards him but fail to grasp him. Merlin braces himself against the fall using his elbows, and bites off a cry when spikes of electrified pain climb up his forearms. A split second later, All his efforts to prevent his head from meeting the ground fail as a heavy body crashes right on top of him. His back unceremoniously lands flat on the dirt. This time, Merlin lets out a groan.
"Sorry!" The boy that is languishing on his torso swiftly sits up, thighs bracketing the warlock's hips. His bright green eyes refuse to focus on Merlin's face but his expression exude mortification and earnestness. "I'm so sorry!" He start patting down Merlin's chest and stomach for injuries. "Are you hurt? Oh Goddess, I'm really stupid and clumsy. Oh no, your head!" The boy's fingers sweep the back of Merlin's skull, pulling at hair. "Does your head hurt? Do you feel dizzy?"
"Uh, no, I-I'm fine." Merlin awkwardly disentangles himself from the boy, attempting to escape the boy's fussy ministrations. Thankfully, Merlin thinks he won't suffer a head wound for the second time that week.
The applicant donning a brown cloak stands in front of them, still and silent. Even with the hood up and their face shrouded in shadows, their gaze is evidently on Merlin and the boy. Slowly, they lower their outstretched arm.
"Merlin!" Both Gilli and Mordred call out upon seeing the warlock's sprawled out form. The druid and mage dash toward the fallen men and help them get back on their feet.
"I'm really sorry!" The boy continues babbling apologies as they dust the dirt out of their clothes. "I've forgotten my glasses and I was in a hurry, I could barely see without them, I don't even know how I managed to -"
"Breathe." Mordred halts the boy's endless rambling, although Merlin finds amusement dancing in the druid's eyes. The boy complies, panting like he can't get enough air in one breath and the next. Mordred turns to Merlin. "Will you be willing to accept his apology, Merlin?"
"The fault is all mine," Merlin admits hastily, trying to placate the nearly breathless boy. "I wasn't watching where I was going." The warlock switches his gaze to the cloaked applicant, the third victim of the altercation. "I apologize for bumping into you too. I shouldn't have been daydreaming." Merlin gives them a feeble and apologetic smile.
The boy looks utterly relieved. "No harm done on my side!"
The cloaked applicant nods in agreement and replies, "None on mine as well."
The smile freezes on Merlin's face and every hair on his body prickles. He distantly notes the boy bidding them farewell and hurrying off somewhere. The warlock's stare has locked onto the the shadows covering the figure's face, trying to make out their features. The recipient of the scrutiny stiffens and subtly pushes their hood further up.
"Are you sure you're fine, Merlin?" Gilli's concerned inquiry jerks the warlock's attention to him. The mage quickly gives him a once-over, attempting to determine any injuries.
"We've no idea you're so fond of the soil here in Camelot," Mordred remarks with a smirk.
Gilli elbows his friend in the stomach. "Don't tease him."
"Y-Yes, I'm all right." Merlin eyes the veiled applicant once more, wanting no more than to rip off their hood and confirm their identity. But what then? This isn't his world. If they are who he suspects and he manages to prove it, what is his next course of action?
Absolutely nothing, Merlin concludes because there is nothing for him to do. No matter how much he knows them in his world, he knows nothing of their circumstances in this one. He vows to avoid them from here on out; to do otherwise will just complicate matters.
"Come on then." Mordred beckons them, already walking ahead. "I think I saw the shortest line over there."
Gilli and Merlin trail behind him, the former conveying more enthusiasm at Mordred's fruitful find than the latter. The warlock glances at cloaked figure once more and catches them facing his direction. He forcefully tears his gaze away, hands curling into a fist on his sides.
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"What are the tests like?" Merlin asks without preamble when they get settled in a line, trying to stop himself from thinking about the applicant he has bumped into. "We're not going to fight each other but how are they going to appraise our m-magic?"
"The exam changes every time." Gilli bites his lower lip, apprehension hinting at his face. "No one knows how we're going to be tested except for the ones judging us."
"Don't worry, Merlin, we haven't heard of anyone dying from the exam," Mordred reassures with a boyish and mischievous grin. "Though there are a few who may have lost a limb or two."
"Sounds about right," Merlin mumbles, letting out a sigh. Given the turn of his luck in the past few days, Merlin half-expected himself to be knocked out again in the duration of the exam.
It seems there is no way to actually prepare for the exam. It means he may be in slightly even footing with the other applicants; they are just as clueless as he is.
"Why does it take so long for the exam officials to talk to each person?" Gilli frowns, voice dipping in a whine.
Just then, the applicant at the front finishes speaking with the seated woman - the exam official, Merlin presumes - and proceeds to the training grounds. The trio steps forward as the line moves.
The mage wipes the sweat dotting his brows with the back of his hand. "What can they possibly be talking about?"
Merlin agrees with the sentiment. Since the registration is located at the east side of the castle, the people waiting in line can find no shade to defend against the intense mid-morning heat. Except, of course, if they are already first in line and can bask in the shadow the enormous tent is providing the exam officials. Merlin is used to being under the sun at length though, courtesy of Arthur's impossible chores and quests-that-princes-should-do-alone. Still, he actually doesn't want to needlessly suffer, and hopes the line moves a bit faster.
Mordred shrugs, looking totally unaffected, eyes glimmering and lips clearly fighting down a smile. "It's not that bad, waiting in line. You get the chance to observe all the people you'll be competing with." He takes a fleeting glance around the area to prove his point.
Their line shortens once more and they dutifully push forward.
Merlin feels a bead of sweat rolling down his right temple. He uses his palm to flick it away before remembering his neckerchief. He is sure he can find a clean spot in it somewhere . . . or he can perform a quick cleaning spell to remove the remnants of Selly's food, with magic allowed in Camelot and all.
"'Not that' - It's so hot!" Gilli complains, indignant that Mordred should ever think that it is anything but. "How can you not feel that?"
Merlin reaches into and rummages around his jacket pocket. He pauses. He could have sworn -
"You utter clod!" Gilli's sudden and emphatic exclamation nearly makes Merlin jump. "You're using a cooling spell."
"A cooling spell?" Merlin searches for anything different in Mordred's appearance.
Mordred, unable to keep his expression straight in the face of Gilli's accusation, snickers akin to a mischievous teen stealing their neighbor's socks. Merlin notes, for the first time, that not a hint of perspiration plagues the druid.
"Use one on me too!" The mage demands fiercely, stepping adamantly closer to the druid.
"All right, all right, calm down." Mordred lets out one last boisterous laugh. He clasps Gilli's shoulders. "Gecélan." His eyes flash a brilliant gold, and Merlin feels a brief whiff of a cool breeze radiate from him.
Gilli sighs in relief, shoulders visibly slumping. "I can't believe you would wait until I asked to do that."
"You're the one who told us to save our magic for the exam." Mordred's ribbing earns him a punch on the shoulder from the mage. The druid turns his attention to Merlin. "Merlin, if you want?" He wiggles his fingers. "I promise I won't purposely freeze you to death."
"You . . . You want to do magic on me?"
Hesitation grips Merlin. He knows Gilli must have used a healing spell on him days before but now that he is conscious and aware . . . images of cold blue eyes and a cracked colored window races in his mind even though he has promised himself never to compare the two again. Several other memories flash in his mind's eye: a fireball spinning towards his chest, a blast of air causing him to smack against stone walls, a snake head burrowing its way at the back of his neck with green eyes drowning him with contempt -
Merlin fights down a shudder. He plasters on a wide smile, hand coming up to rub the back of his bare neck where a marginally raised portion of skin meets the pads of his fingers. "Thank you but I think I can endure the heat for a little while."
Mordred drops his arms, cocking a brow. "If you're sure."
The warlock nods curtly, gaze flitting back to the cloaked applicant that he has been trying hard not to think about. He is slightly astonished to find them already in front of their own line. Then, Merlin's eyes wander to Mordred, who has began lecturing Gilli about some useful enchantment or another. A ball of uneasiness settles at the pit of his stomach. How are they are both - No, no. Merlin smothers the line of thought halfway through. This is not his reality, he reminds himself.
Suddenly, a wave of gasps and murmurs ripples through the crowd, startling them out of their discussions. The three of them search for the source of commotion.
Merlin finds it immediately because it is the first place his head whipped to. Everyone's attention is on the brown-cloaked applicant, whose right hand is loosely wrapped around an irregularly shaped stone. The stone glows a soft pure white light. Merlin blinks in mild bemusement; he has only seen black stones on the tables. He wonders where the white stones were hidden.
"A White Level," someone mutters reverently.
"They're definitely going to get chosen," another remarks, a hint of worry slipping in their voice.
"They might have taken a Drýcræftéaca potion, you know?" one sneers.
"The officials will surely disqualify them for that."
Merlin knows not what the fuss is all about and is about to ask for clarification. But then, the cloaked applicant gently sets the crystal down on the table. As soon as their touch retracts from the stone, the white ebbs away and lustrous black takes its place. Merlin's eyes widen fractionally. The stones glow white upon touch?
The exam official in front of the cloaked applicant appears undoubtedly impressed. Most of the people remaining in line express different variation of disbelief and wonder. Merlin feels his stomach twists into uncomfortable knots, more than confused at the reactions of the people around him. What is so special about a black rock turning white? What do the stones do?
A middle-aged guard approaches the cloaked figure. "I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to take the hood down," the guard says as politely as possible.
"Yes." The exam official clears his throat, picking up a quill and gathering his composure. "We can't have any, uh, suspicious character running about. We also need your name."
The applicant dithers, fingers gripping the material of their hood. After a short while, they give a sharp nod. "I understand."
They reach out and pull the hood of their cloak down to rest on their shoulders. Behind the shadows of the cloak lie long dark locks framing a pale slender face. Lips painted a deep red press in a tight line. A straight back and confident countenance emerge, although emerald eyes bely a hint of uncertainty.
Merlin detects the meaning behind every gesture and every tic because he has known them. He has once known her.
Chin lifted, she speaks, "I am Morgana Le Fay."
Merlin has almost forgotten what Morgana looks like without a hateful glower. Now, he drinks his fill of her face free of maliciousness, of the smoothened lines on her forehead and the tender smile touching her lips; he has thought he will never see such visage from her again. A pang of remorse shoots through his chest, terribly missing the friend he once betrayed.
"Did she just say 'Morgana Le Fay'?" Gilli whispers harshly, eyes almost popping out.
Even Mordred is fazed, mouth opening and closing not unlike a landed fish. After several moments, he releases a quiet groan. "Drat, why did she have to apply the same time as us?"
Morgana cocks an amused brow at the gaping exam official and guard, unheeding of the whispers and exclamations surging through the crowd. "I believe you have some more questions?" Morgana prompts gently, hands clasped together in front of her.
"O-Of course." The exam official yet again visibly gathers his composure, swallowing audibly.
Merlin can listen no longer and tears his attention away from her. He sees a once friend; at the same time, however, he cannot help but envision hidden smirks, glinting scheming eyes, and treacherous sneers reflected upon her benign mien. They're not the same person, Merlin repeats what he has previously told himself regarding Mordred and Gilli.
The warlock misses the quick glance thrown his way by the sorceress currently occupying his thoughts.
"There goes the spot for the Court Sorcerer's apprentice," Mordred grumbles, tracking Morgana's movements as she strides towards the training grounds after her short conversation with the official.
"Do you know her?" Merlin inquires as offhandedly as he can of Mordred.
"Everyone knows the prodigious Lady Morgana," Mordred replies, preceded by a hopeless sigh.
Gilli pats his friend's back in comfort. "There, there, Mordred. You were never going to get that spot in the first place."
Mordred responds by muttering a spell. Judging by Gilli's surprised squawk and the beads of perspiration appearing upon the mage's forehead, the druid has relinquished the cooling enchantment upon the mage.
"Wha - It's true! He has taken only one apprentice in the history of the exam!"
Mordred huffs, crossing his arms. "You don't have to crush my dreams of being the chosen one special enough to rekindle his interest in mentoring."
Merlin tunes out the two as they continue bickering. Mordred has implied Morgana's fame to be the only reason why the druid knows of her. They have not met. Now, however, with her and Mordred vying for the same position, Merlin doubts it will stay that way. What an interesting coincidence that the two would apply for the exam at the same time.
'The ancient prophecies speak of an alliance of Mordred and Morgana, united in evil,' echoes in his mind. Merlin shakes his head and rids himself of such thoughts. He needs to focus on getting home. Whatever prophecies that exist in this world are none of his business.
But what is Morgana's situation in this realm? Is she still of Camelot? Do her parents still live? What deeds of hers ignited her popularity? What of Morgause? Merlin cannot bear the uncertainty and unanswered questions any longer. He turns to Mordred and Gilli, planning to interrupt their argument to interject queries of his own.
"Oi! You're next!" The annoyed voice of an exam official, a young dark-haired woman, interrupts Merlin before he can begin.
It takes the warlock a second more to comprehend that she's referring to him, seeing as there is no longer a person between Merlin and the tables. Mordred and Gilli ceases their bantering, coming to the same realization.
"Go on then, Merlin!" Gilli prompts, clasping both Merlin's shoulders from behind. A gleeful smile adorns his face as he pushes Merlin onwards.
"B-But, maybe you should go first?" Merlin squeaks out. The warlock has neglected to observe the processes happening at the front. "I don't know what to do!" He admits.
Before Mordred or Gilli can reassure him, the exam official drawls out, "None of these people here do, boy. Now, hurry up here so I can explain."
Merlin blinks and then complies after a moment. He staggers near the table, eyes taking in the parchments stacked in two small piles, feathered quills, and an irregularly-shaped black stone lying between them. Strangely, there are no ink bottles around.
The exam official plucks out a parchment from the stack, quill already in hand. "Age?"
"T-Twenty-four winters."
The official tuts, nose wrinkling as she scratches out some words onto the parchment. Ink flows through the tips of the quill even though it hasn't been dipped. "Should've joined a bit earlier. The court's magic-users will be prioritizing younger applicants, understand?"
"Right." Yet another obstacle for Merlin. The warlock attempts to peer into whatever is being written about him. The official shoots him a quelling stare and covers most of the words with a slender hand.
"The use of Drýcræftéaca or any magic-altering substances on yourself or any applicants is strictly prohibited. Do you swear that you've not done such in the past day?" She lifts her gaze and gives the warlock a look one would give to a charlatan trying to sell you forgeries.
"I s-swear that I have not." Magic-altering substances? Merlin hopes he has not inadvertently taken one. His magic does not feel different in any way so he takes that as a good sign.
The exam officials hums. She extends a palm. "Hand."
Merlin places his hand atop hers, curiosity overflowing. With a quick movement, she pricks his index finger with the tip of the quill in her other hand.
"Ow!" Blood bubbles from the small wound. Merlin takes his hand back and glares at the official "What was that for!?" A metallic taste spreads in his mouth as he puts the finger in to staunch the bleeding.
She grimaces unbecomingly at the warlock's actions. After a shake of her head, she writes on the parchment again, ignoring Merlin's question. The ink of the quill remains black even though the nib has been coated with Merlin's blood. The official nods with brief approval.
She meets the warlock's gaze and proceeds to sternly explain, "Had you taken Drýcræftéaca, the ink would have turn a blue color when soaked in your blood." No trace of illegal substances in blood, Merlin finally manages to read. The officials points at the black stone. "Hold that in your palm then."
"What does this one do?" Merlin also points at the stone with his injured finger, now suspicious and hesitant to adhere to her orders.
Belatedly, Merlin notes that behind him, Mordred and Gilli are oddly quiet. He ventures a brief glance at them. He finds them staring intently between him and the stone. Upon seeing him looking back, they plaster on encouraging smiles. Merlin turns his attention back in front; mayhaps they are just as nervous as he is.
The official pauses, looking taken aback at Merlin's question. "You don't know what a scinncræfte crystal is?"
Merlin shakes his head, eyes on the stone - the crystal. That explains the glossy quality of its color. The young woman mutters, "They get worse every darn year," under her breath before ruffling through the papers.
Merlin has no doubt his intelligence has just been insulted. He scowls; it is no fault of his that the Djinn didn't directly pour in knowledge of this new world into his head when he was unwillingly transported.
The official pats the papers down and steeples her fingers together, a condescending expression marring her face. "A scinncræfte crystal measures the magical capability of the one who holds it," she says slowly as if talking to a child incapable of understanding common sense. "The stone will turn a different color; the brighter the color, the greater the magic. We, unfortunately, only accept applicants with Yellow level and above."
"Oh." The warlock stares at the crystal with new eyes, mouth parted.
He doesn't recall encountering such devices in his world. Unbidden, the morbid notion of Uther making use of such crystals to identify sorcerers to burn crosses his mind. He purses his lips and banishes the thought.
So that is why people were so astounded at the white radiance when Morgana held a crystal. Merlin guesses not a lot of magic-users can achieve that shade. "Y-Yellow's a pretty bright color."
"Indeed it is." The exam official bestowed upon Merlin a look one would give a simpleton. Merlin recognizes it because it is the one he gave to Arthur when the king was an actual a simpleton spouting random things. "Now, if you would." She gestures at the crystal with flourish, raising both brows.
Merlin nods, setting his shoulders in a determined line. Surely, all that 'most powerful sorcerer to ever live' counts for something, right? Surely, the scinncræfte crystal will turn at least yellow with him. But then again, a lot of the magic in this world appears quite different from the one in his. With the not-deaths of hundreds of magic-users, there is no doubt that this realm's advances in magic are far greater. The 'most powerful sorcerer to ever live' may just translate to the 'most mediocre magic-user in Camelot'.
He lets out a noisy breath and reaches out with his right hand. He wraps his fingers around the crystal, feeling the ragged edges and smooth facets. It is light, cool, and roughly the size of his palm. He grips it tightly, lifting it nearer to his face.
Yellow, yellow, yellow, please turn yellow, Merlin chants, unblinking eyes never wavering from the obsidian crystal. Which stays raven-colored.
One, two, three . . . the seconds tick by with the crystal not gaining the slightest bit of hue. For each unchanging second, Merlin's heart gradually thumps its way down to his boots. He knows the whole process should not have been taking this long.
"What?" he hears Gilli breathes out in incredulity.
"But he -" Mordred starts before cutting himself off.
A ferocious frown is inching its way through the exam official's youthful face after ten seconds of nothing. She opens her mouth wide, no doubt preparing a sour speech.
Then, a blinding white light engulfs the whole east side of Camelot's castle.
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A/N:
Thank you, PurpleFlyingBird and Merrr, for bouncing ideas with me! Thank you so much, Megan, for informing me about the dead link in my bio (man, didn't know FF kills the links even in the bio), and for the coffee! You are all so awesome! ^_^
Thanks so much for all the comments, favorites, follows, kudos, and bookmarks. I treasure them always! Many of you asked questions about certain things and fear not! All will be slowly expositioned (hopefully).
I'm so sorry the much anticipated examinations are not in this chapter. But there is a nice BAMF moment there, isn't there? ;)
Check my profile/bio to see my progress on the next chapter!
Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
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Have a day full of sunshine!
~ Vividpast