Chapter Summary: Merlin's display with the crystal summons some very important people.
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Chapter VIII: Remember Who You Are
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The Court Sorcerer gazes down through the gap of the half-opened third story window, face solemn. Magic-users of all sorts clump around the long tables positioned just outside the castle shield, numbering approximately a hundred. Guards usher the crowds into organized arrangements, although some rebellious applicants try to cut the line and insert themselves way ahead of the others who came before them. The exam officials are already seated in front of the tables, piles of papers and quills at their hands and glossy black scinncræfte crystals at their side. They have begun processing applicants almost an hour ago, and it seems an hour more is needed to handle the rest.
Already, he distinguishes two who emanate great magical capacity — a pale lean boy in a green tunic and a brown-cloaked hooded figure near the front of the line. If they both prove to be more than their raw power and should they choose the path of sorcerers, he thinks Jayden will gladly have them.
He observes the rest of them with a clinical eye, contemplating and assessing. So deep he is in thought, he only notices he has a companion when they speak.
"Everything seems to be going well." Strands of dirty blonde tresses trickle down from a tightly coiled bun as the man beside him props himself against the window frame.
"It's barely begun, Tristan," he replies monotonously, casting his companion a side glance before he resumes his scrutiny of the people below.
"Is there anyone you favor so far?" Tristan asks, tone casual and features revealing nothing as he gestures with his head at the mass of applicants.
Still, the Court Sorcerer knows of his goal. His fingers tighten imperceptibly on its grip on the window sill. "I've found a few Jayden will surely take a liking to," he says coolly.
"Have you?"
The Court Sorcerer responds with no words, tired of the conversation and hoping Tristan will leave him alone. After several seconds of silence and of the other man's continued presence, he concludes that luck is definitely not on his side this day.
Tristan sighs the sigh of a man preparing for a difficult conversation. "Come now, it's been three years. Won't you consider taking apprentices again? At least one?"
"It'll be four years in a week," he cannot help but correct softly, pointedly overlooking his companion's last remarks. "Not that anyone's counting."
He faces the bustling mass instead of Tristan; nevertheless, he feels the blonde's pitying glance boring through the side of his head. The Court Sorcerer ignores him. He sees a dark-haired lass of barely sixteen summers happily skip towards the northern side of the castle instead of the training grounds. An apprentice mage, then.
Tristan follows his gaze. "She wouldn't want you to be like this, you know?"
The Court Sorcerer snorts. "Your sister? Of course not. She's been hounding me to find potential successors."
"No, not my sister." Tristan pauses, taking a deep breath. "Lily."
Fire flares unbidden on a torch a few feet away. The Court Sorcerer's face mimics a statue as he slowly lifts a hand and extinguishes the fire with a flick of a finger.
Tristan rubs his forehead, grimacing. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have —"
"It seems the Lady Morgana's joining us this year," he interrupts smoothly as murmurs burst forth from the crowd below. The brown-cloaked applicant he has been eyeing has just revealed their White Level status and identity, the latter of which is that of the gifted Morgana Le Fay.
"What?" With wide eyes, Tristan leans forward and looks for her. He finds her calmly conversing with an exam official. "What's she doing here?" Tristan whispers harshly, brows rising when he recognizes the face beneath hood. Albeit it has been years since Gorlois and Vivianne's youngest daughter visited Camelot, no one in court can fail to identify her face.
The Court Sorcerer's expression remains unchanged, having already suspected her identity before she even pulled down the hood. Still, Tristan asks the same question he has been asking himself. Last he heard, Vivienne wanted her daughters to study under Mercia's court.
They both watch as the Lady Morgana saunters over the training grounds with other processed participants, indicating her desire to apprentice under a sorcerer. The Court Sorcerer wonders why; in her younger years, she often preferred scrying and mixing potions over performing elemental magic.
Tristan begins, "The Lady Morgana is a brilliant magic-user —"
"And Jayden will be glad to have her should she pass the tests," he finishes, irritation underlining his words.
In another line, a gangly boy in a brown jacket and blue tunic stumbles forward as he takes his turn.
Tristan's fingers tap the stone of the window sill. The lull in their uncomfortable conversation is strained and overflowing with things unsaid. Both are stubborn but neither are patient. The Court Sorcerer opens his mouth, prepare to fire off a snipe that will surely get Tristan to leave.
The spectacle that ensues traps the words in his throat. His breath hitches.
A bright pale light consumes their visions, bathing their surroundings in white. Any kind of sound, even that of the chirping birds, becomes muted in the face of such phenomenon.
"Goddess above!" He hears Tristan yell.
The Court Sorcerer's eyes water and he has to tear his gaze away. Even though he knows no harm can possibly penetrate the castle, he shields himself and Tristan with his sleeved arms, forcing both of them several steps away from the window.
The light dies off just as abruptly as it had come to life. He blinks away the dark spots pelting his view and sprints back to the window, fiercely searching for the cause.
"What the bloody hell was that!?"
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"Watch your footwork, Bedivere! You'll lose a limb if you keep your left leg open like that."
Bedivere nods curtly and swiftly pulls his leg back just before Galahad hits it with a dulled blade. Galahad abruptly switches the direction of his blade, swinging it upwards. Bedivere expertly blocks the strike aimed at his left side.
"Good, good. Galahad, you have to be faster than that."
Ris continues instructing the two young knights, circling them as they spar. His hawk-like eyes observes all the weaknesses and openings they expose. Practicing behind the audience stands gives them quite a bit of protection against the intense heat. The extraneous activity makes them all profusely sweat anyway.
A couple of people walk by, giddy and excitement overflowing from their gestures. Ris glances at them, watching as they enter the training grounds with a skip in their steps. While his view of the training grounds itself is hindered by the high wooden stands placed around the area, Ris can still hear the incessant chatter of the people inside.
It seems the seats will be filled again this year, Ris concludes by the degree of the noises. The audience is never this many or so enthusiastic when it is the knights themselves holding tournaments.
Bedivere yelps, and Ris' gaze snaps back to the two he is supposed to be mentoring. He sees Bedivere sprawling onto the ground and Galahad pointing a sword at his throat.
The older knights sighs. "All right, that's enough. Cool down." He rummages through the bulging packs gathered at the corner of the field.
Bedivere sits up. "But —"
"The exam's starting soon," Ris interrupts, tossing each of them a waterskin. Both catch them without looking. Ris gracefully leans against the flat surface of the back of the audience stands. "I'd rather not get scolded by our esteemed Court Sorcerer for interrupting a very prestigious event."
"So what? I'll tell him it was all my idea." Something akin to a pout crosses Bedivere's face.
"Which is true," Galahad points out. "But we really should be enjoying the rest of our day off," Galahad mutters before taking a swig from the waterskin.
Every year, on the day of the Apprentice Exam, all the knights are given the day off from their daily training. Their training grounds will be occupied by aspiring sorcerers, and, therefore, cannot be of use to them. But Bedivere, who has just recently been promoted from squire to knight, had not wanted to miss a single day of practice. The young knight, through his youthful charms and sheer stubbornness, has managed to rope in the third-in-command, Ris, and a fellow neophyte, Galahad, into humoring him.
Galahad offers Bedivere a hand. Bedivere takes it and uses it to raise himself back on his feet.
"All the other knights are in the tavern. Why don't we join them?" Galahad recommends hopefully as Bedivere dusts himself off.
A pint would not be unpleasant, Ris thinks.
Bedivere huffs instead. "All the other knights except the ones that accompanied the Head Knight in the patrol." Envy drips from his every word.
Ris understands his bitterness; when the Head Knight and the second-in-command declared an impromptu patrol before dawn broke that morning and explicitly ordered him to stay behind, Ris can do nothing but comply. He can admit only to himself that he is the tiniest bit wounded at being left behind. Something is clearly afoot and he can only hope they will choose to inform him of the issue soon.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out another sigh. Yes, a pint is more than welcome at this point.
Bedivere takes a long drink from the wineskin given to him. After wiping his mouth, he resumes whining, "Why wasn't I picked? Why was Gertie, who came to training drunk on more than one occasion, allowed to join?"
"Gertie's a senior knight, Bed," Galahad argues. "And look, even Sir Ris got left behind."
"Well, that's a comfort," Bedivere murmurs, oozing sarcasm.
Ris rolls his eyes, taking little offence. "No respect for your elders, you lot."
A glimmer of white at the corner of their eyes steals their attention, halting their conversation. All their heads snap toward the cause at the same time.
A light brighter than the mid-morning sun originates from the east side of the castle where, incidentally, registration for the exam is being held. Ris remembers the short briefing they had the day before; no one mentioned a scheduled lightshow of any kind before or during the exam. The light fades away soon after as if Ris' suspicions have made it shy.
"What the heck was that?" falls from his mouth as he straightens, uneasiness clawing at him.
The knights exchange calculating glances. After a beat, they simultaneously dash towards the source.
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Merlin, alarm ringing throughout his entire being, flings the crystal away. In midair, the crystal shatters into hundreds of little pieces. The warlock feels and hears it rather than see it because the brilliant light emanating from it clouds everything else. The whiteness unbearably stings his eyes. The blazing light disappears suddenly, as if heeding Merlin's silent plea, and obsidian shards drop onto the wooden table with musical clinks.
Merlin stares at the fragments blankly, still seeing dark spots in his vision. He glances at the exam official, who has apparently gotten to her feet in the midst of the whole debacle and now stands a few steps away from the table. The other five officials are also out of their seats, all of them wearing expressions of pure dumbfoundedness. Their gazes keep flicking between Merlin and the crystal shards.
Deafening silence reigns for several moments. Then, a burst of exclamations violently break it.
"What on earth —"
"Did ye see that!?"
"I doubt there's a soul here that didn't."
"That crystal just exploded."
"What the hell happened?"
The warlock himself would like to know. Judging by their slack jaws, Merlin reckons what happened is more unusual than the crystal turning mere white. Merlin just held the crystal as he has seen others do. What exactly did he do differently? He looks at his hand, the one that grasped the crystal, and curls and uncurls his fingers.
The brighter the color, the greater the magic, the official has said. Huh. Mayhaps this whole 'most powerful sorcerer to ever live' business does have some merit. The title didn't exactly benefit him before but he is glad it is of some use now.
"Well . . . that was pretty bright, wasn't it?" Merlin remarks before letting out a nervous chuckle.
"'Pretty bright,' he says." A note of hysteria pitches Gilli's voice higher.
Merlin turns to the mage at the remark. Gilli's eyes resemble dinner plates, disbelief and wonder warring in his expression while Mordred . . . The wideness of his azure eyes makes him look vulnerably younger, as does the pinch of genuine fear hinting the edges of his facade. His hand encloses around Gilli's wrist, and he gingerly drags his friend a few inches back. Merlin does not miss the way the druid subtly places himself between the warlock and the mage.
Merlin blinks rapidly in response, unknowing of what to feel. Mordred, who has been nothing but amicable, now treats him as if he's a wild animal on the loose. Merlin's gaze darts back to the shattered remains of the crystal he held; what has the druid gleaned from it that caused him to act undoubtedly wary? He opens his mouth — to reassure them or to express his confusion, he does not know yet. However, before he can speak a word, thunderous footfalls and clanging metal silence the speech out of everyone in the area.
The crowd parts to let through three armored knights and a handful of guards. Two men lead the intimidating group, their nobility status showing in their purposeful gait and regal and colorful apparels. Streak of grey pepper both men's hair, and wrinkles line their eyes, indicating their ages to be more than forty summers. One of them bears blond curls clustered in a bun, his stormy-blue eyes narrowing as he takes in the astounded mob. Merlin, however, is more perturbed by the way the dark-haired noble's glare immediately settles on him. The dip between the noble's brows deepens in a frown as he stalks towards the warlock, his broad and prominent stubbled chin raised determinedly.
Their arrival arouses more whispers, although they are much more subdued than before.
"Who're those then?"
"Some very important nobles, to be sure."
"Ack! Don't you recognize that one from paintings?"
"I think that's the Court Sorcerer!"
Merlin's eyes widen in further alarm at that; his gaze flits between the two nobles, attempting to distinguish which one is the famed Court Sorcerer.
"My lords," each of the exam officials murmurs softly with a bowed head as the two nobleman pass by.
Merlin swallows around the lump in his throat and instantly drops his head and eyes when the dark-haired noble halts less than a feet away. Contrary to Arthur's claims, the servant does know how to act around the highborns; he just chooses to ignore proper etiquette around the king himself. The blonde noble stops half a step behind the dark-haired one, the knights and guards aligning themselves around the former.
From the corner of his eye, the warlock sees Mordred and Gilli emulating his actions. Although, Mordred seems to be sneaking glances at the dark-haired noble, looking akin to a child given the amazing toy he has always wanted.
Ah. So the one piercing the warlock with his eyes is the Court Sorcerer. Good to know.
"Tina." The Court Sorcerer's rough and low voice causes the official that questioned Merlin to jump. "What happened here?"
His voice is familiar, distantly crosses Merlin's thoughts.
The exam official, Tina, clears her throat. "I-I was just processing an applicant as usual, my lord." With a frail hand, she gestures at Merlin. "I asked him to hold the scinncræfte crystal so I can take note of his magical capability. As you have no doubt seen, the crystal lit up brightly. Then, it shattered." With a slightly trembling finger, she points at the raven-colored shards.
"Shattered?" The blonde noble almost exclaims, hastily approaching the table and observing the remains closer. The knights and guards tense imperceptibly, their grips on their respective weapons tightening. Tina nods vigorously, wide-eyed gaze going back to Merlin.
"Lift your head, boy."
It takes Merlin a while to realize that the Court Sorcerer is talking to him. The warlock slowly looks up, meeting the nobleman's hazel eyes. Merlin attempts to appear as guileless as possible, which isn't too difficult; as far as he knows, he hasn't done anything wrong (yet).
Looking directly at the face of Camelot's Court Sorcerer, Merlin suddenly finds familiarity in the lines of his forehead, on the shape of his nose or maybe on the curve of his jaw. Where have I seen him? Merlin tries to place the noble's features, rather irritated with himself when the answer does not immediately come to him. It is there at the tip of his tongue . . .
The Court Sorcerer's bushy brows furrow deeper, and the noble's lips press into a moue of displeasure. His glare sharpens even more.
Oh, right. Merlin thinks he has been asked a question.
"S-Sorry. Can you repeat that?" A second too late, he adds a "my lord".
"Have you drank or applied any sort of magic-enhancing potions or ointments?" The dark-haired noble emphasizes each and every syllable, annoyance shining through.
Merlin shakes his head vehemently. "N-No, Sire."
"I've checked for that, my lord," Tina interjects respectfully. "His blood is clear."
"A charm, then?" The noble nods at Merlin. "What's that around your neck, boy?"
Without his neckerchief, Merlin realizes what must be showing. His hand darts up to hide the leather cord peeking through his tunic. "Nothing," he replies instinctively, wincing when his voice comes out a bit squeaky. Knowing how he sounds, he amends, "It's just a normal pendant, my lord."
The noble cocks a brow in disbelief. He holds out a palm, his countenance both intimidatingly demanding and coolly expectant.
Merlin valiantly fights the sarcastic remark threatening to erupt from his mouth. If only he knew beforehand how much trouble it would bring him, he never would have laid a single finger on that damn crystal.
Better get this over with. Already, he is tired of all the unnecessary attention he has attracted. So much for laying low. He has to remedy this, and acting like an obedient little peasant feels like the right step. With gritted teeth, the warlock calmly removes the cord and its corresponding brooch, trying not to show how much the action pains him. When he releases them atop the noble's hand, Merlin has to stamp down the anxiety threatening to strangle him; rarely has the brooch left his person in the past year.
The Court Sorcerer stares at the brooch for a very long time. Something in his expression shifts, although Merlin fails to read it now. The blonde noble frowns at the Court Sorcerer's prolonged silence and strides towards him. He glimpses the object lying on the other noble's palm, and pauses abruptly.
His head whips to Merlin. "Where did you get this?" he demands, tone a laced with fury and incredulity.
"I, ah, my friend gave it to me as a gift," Merlin answers cautiously, worried now that they are going to claim the brooch for some unreasonable reason.
"And where exactly did your friend get it?" This time, the Court Sorcerer asks the question, voice as casual as one can be but amber eyes promising something dangerous.
Merlin cannot exactly tell them, Well, it bears his mother's sigil so I assume he inherited it because . . . the warlock belatedly comprehends what a thoughtless idiot he is. The brooch bears the sigil of Arthur's mother, Ygraine, who now rules Camelot's court. These two nobles recognize the mark, and are now suspicious as to how and why Merlin, a mere peasant, possesses such a valuable seal.
"M-My friend saw it in the market." Merlin hurriedly weaves a viable story in his mind. "He, uh, he sees the bird! Yes, right there on the brooch is a bird. He thought it would suit me because of my name. Merlin — that's my name. Merlin is a type of bird, you see. S-So, my friend bought it and gave it to me." The warlock clears his throat, mentally patting himself for such a brilliant on-the-spot lie. "Rest assured, it's a complete forgery. It's not even real silver. I-I didn't even realize that it's engraved with such an important sigil until much later."
The nobles, knights and guards are silent as they digest Merlin's story. Meanwhile, the people in the crowd continue gossiping, their words thankfully unintelligible. Merlin does not want to know what kind of assumptions they're spreading.
"I see no runes nor do I sense any magic from this," the dark-haired noble proclaims, face devoid of any emotion. He hands back the brooch.
Merlin accepts it a bit too hastily. When the sigil settles securely underneath his tunic, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"Merlin, is it?" The Court Sorcerer waits for the warlock to nod before continuing. "We must resolve this issue and it would be much quicker if you were not pretending to be magically impotent." Judging by the titters that arise, Merlin feels as though he has just been insulted. The nobleman's expression belies nothing though. "I ask you to unsuppress your aura for a moment."
"Right, of course." Merlin nods vigorously, understanding only half of the words the Court Sorcerer spouted. "How — How exactly do I do that?"
The nobles' brows practically fly through their hairlines. The blonde noble looks mightily displeased, as if Merlin has spilled a tray of his favorite food. "Boy, you cannot be —"
"I see." The Court Sorcerer halts the other man's tirade before it can begin. "Very well then. Ris," he calls out.
One of the knights, a middle-aged man with dirty blonde hair cropped near his ears, calmly approaches. Merlin stares at him. He immediately recognizes the weathered face of Tristan, the smuggler who helped them take Camelot back from Morgana's claws for the second time.
The fact that Tristan is a knight of Camelot in this realm comes only as a little bit of a surprise. In Merlin's world, Arthur had offered the smuggler knighthood. However, Tristan, still grieving from the loss of his lover, could not bear to be near the place where she breathed her last.
"Fetch me another crystal." The Court Sorcerer's order snaps Merlin out of his reverie. The knight hurries to obey.
The blonde noble frowns disapprovingly. "Balinor, you cannot possibly believe the boy is telling the truth!"
Merlin loudly chokes on air, causing everyone's eyes to settle on him once more. In his mind's eye, the dark-haired noble's cropped hair and neatly trimmed beard superimposes with the image of the ragged man whom he called father in his memories. Merlin does not know how he missed it.
My father's alive, is the first coherent notion that occurs to him. A ball of warmth pulses in his chest. Complete bewilderment is the only thing restraining him from doing something stupid like hug the man in front of him. (That first and last time he had held his father in his arms, the man had been on his final moments). And he is Camelot's Court Sorcerer. The second one brings forth a wave of hysteria. How? Why? Millions of questions races in his mind, all struggling to be the forefront of his thoughts.
The Court Sorcerer — Balinor, his father — gives off an unimpressed glance as Merlin gapes at him. To the blonde noble, he says, "There's no harm in testing him again, is there? Obsidian scinncræfte crystals can see through any kind of suppression magic."
While Merlin is having his inner crisis, Tristan — Ris? — has grabbed another black crystal from the table. The Court Sorcerer jerks his head at Merlin when the knight holds it aloft. Ris offers the item to the warlock then, his bright cerulean eyes wary and vigilant.
Merlin takes it numbly, still off-kilter.
Ten seconds of tense silence follows.
Then, the same brilliant light consumes the surroundings, forcing everyone to once again shield their eyes. Merlin is less surprised and impressed this time, though the fact that his mind is on other things may be a factor to that.
The light dissipates, and the crystal splinters in Merlin's hands before he can think to drop it. He hisses as a great number of the shards bury themselves into the skin of his palm instead of falling to the ground, creating shallow bleeding lacerations. Blood flows in rivulets along his arm.
Incredulous cries start off once more, each applicant now exchanging anxious glances. The knights, guards, and nobles are oddly quiet and nonplussed.
"Merlin." Gilli draws closely to the warlock, concern etched on his face.
"Gilli." Mordred attempts to grasp his friend's sleeve and pull him back. Unfortunately, Gilli stubbornly pushes ahead.
"It's fine, it's fine," Merlin reassures. He yanks out three fragments in quick succession, wincing. Horror befalls the mage and he reaches out to stop Merlin.
Someone beats Gilli to it. "Don't —" In one swift move, Balinor has encircled his fingers around the wrist of Merlin's injured hand. "— do that."
The warlock startles, almost withdrawing, but the Court Sorcerer's grip holds true. Merlin opens his mouth, words like 'Father?' about to stupidly pass through his lips. Thankfully, Balinor gives him a quelling look that steals his speech. "If you carelessly pluck them, they might break off halfway and get stuck."
"Of course." Merlin nods almost mechanically. He starts to take his hand back but the Court Sorcerer does not relent.
"Áswæpaþ," whispers the Court Sorcerer. Merlin watches with dumb amazement as gold furnishes his irises. It's the first time he has seen his father blatantly do magic.
Pieces of the crystal gently slide out of Merlin's flesh. Even the tiniest shard falls away with little resistance, and the warlock barely feels their movements.
When the last of sliver of crystal deserts Merlin's palm, Balinor mutters another spell. "Þurhhæle dolgbenn." The cuts on the warlock's hand heals without a fuss, leaving not even a scar. Even the pierced skin caused by the exam official's sharp quill disappears.
Finally, the Court Sorcerer releases him to fish an embroidered handkerchief in the space of his sleeves. He sets it atop Merlin's palm and the obviously expensive cloth is immediately soaked with blood.
"I apologize for the implied accusations," the Court Sorcerer says stiffly as Merlin properly wipes his hands. Balinor does not appear at all apologetic. To Tina, he says flippantly, "Note him down as White Level and proceed."
"Balinor —"
"Tristan." The Court Sorcerer shoots the blonde noble a deadpan look. "Would you prefer that we let him smash every scinncræfte crystal we have? They don't exactly grow on trees."
"But —"
"Ris, with me. We'll need to fetch two more crystals." The Court Sorcerer gives the huge crowd a once-over. "I doubt we'll finish in time with only four."
With that, the Balinor and Ris strides into the castle. The blonde noble, Tristan, and the other knights follow them reluctantly after bestowing unreadable glances upon Merlin. The guards go back to their posts, muttering to themselves.
Eventually, the exam officials sit back down. They call upon the first applicant in line and resumes the registration. Slowly, most of the gazes stray away from Merlin as the proceedings continue. Normalcy never returned, though; the air is filled with a bubble of anticipation that seems minutes away from bursting.
Gilli, without preamble, takes Merlin's newly healed hand into his own. "I can't believe the Court Sorcerer used his magic on you!" A big grin almost split his face in half as he examines said Court Sorcerer's handiwork.
"Yeah," Merlin replies distractedly, eyes on the spot where Balinor has disappeared to. He pockets the bloodied handkerchief.
"Look at that. Not even a trace of the wounds."
"If you wanted to hold hands with Merlin," Mordred speaks for the first time in a long while, lips twitching into a smile as he steps forward. "You need not use the Court Sorcerer as an excuse."
Gilli drops Merlin's hand as if scalded. He shoves Mordred, spluttering. Merlin's head snaps at the druid, wondering at the sudden switch of his manner. Just earlier, Mordred had looked ready to get Gilli and himself as far away from the warlock as possible.
Tina clears her throat loudly, getting the trio's attention. "You still have some question to answer."
Merlin steps closer to the tables once more, head still a jumble of half-formed thoughts.
"Name?"
"Um, Merlin."
"Your full name?"
"Merlin of Ealdor."
"Have you apprenticed under anyone?"
Again, Gaius comes to mind but Merlin shakes his head instead.
The exam officials politely asks for a few more information such as how many spells he knows (less than fifty) and where he learned them (in a book).
After dotting the last sentence, Tina explains the additional rules to the exam, "Staffs, charms, crystals, totems or any magical tools are not allowed inside the area during the exam. Some parts of the exam involve a certain degree of risks. Do you agree to participate knowing this?" She pulls out a parchment filled with blocks of texts and reads from it. "The Court of Camelot will not be responsible for any harm inflicted upon participants due to recklessness or failure to follow instructions."
Of course. Merlin never expected any less. "I-I agree."
"Any attempt to violate the rules is grounds for disqualification and/or for banishment from future exams," the exam official emphasizes.
When Merlin nods in understanding, Tina gathers all the papers she has inadvertently scattered. She gestures to her right, offering Merlin a jittery smile. "Kindly proceed to the training grounds and wait for the exam to start."
Merlin blinks. That's it? After all that commotion about the crystal, what followed is a bit underwhelming. Merlin is almost disappointed.
"See you later, Merlin." Gilli bids as Merlin walks towards where he assumed the training grounds are. Mordred gives a small wave. Merlin waves back with a wan smile.
The stroll to the area of the exam leaves Merlin alone with his thoughts for the first time. The revelations of the past few minutes has left him reeling. He rubs his wrists where uncalloused fingers once were, warm with impossible life. Balinor acts much the same as he did when Merlin first met him; suspicious, sharp-tongued, and dignified.
But Merlin knows this Balinor is not his father. He mustn't confused himself. His father is dead, has been dead for a few years now. He has grieved him and he has moved on.
He lets out an explosive breath, and strengthens his resolve to avoid complicated matters. To be involve as little as possible in the affairs of the realm that is not his is the best course of action. Everything that has happened or will happen in this world is none of his business.
Likely, after the exam has concluded, Merlin will never again see the one who bears his father's face. After all, what business would Camelot's Court Sorcerer have with a magically inexperienced peasant?
As he enters the training grounds, he pretends the notion does not sadden him in any way.
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A/N:
"Remember who you are. You are my son, and the one true king. Remember who you are." —Mufasa, The Lion King (1994)
If you haven't noticed, all my chapter titles are from Disney quotes. Three guesses as to why the chapter title this time is this!
Thanks so much for all the encouraging comments, favorites, follows, kudos, and bookmarks. They always make my day! ^_^
Also, I legitimately didn't realize that the last chapter ended in a cliffhanger. I don't know how I didn't see it but I'm so sorrryyyy, guys. This one's not a cliffhanger. Right?
Wow, so much has happened in this chapter, hasn't it? Some of you predicted this plot twist and I'm very proud of y'all :D.
And so many mysteries has been introduced! I don't usually introduce mysteries before solving the others I previously presented but I realize, it really can't be helped in this story. I dislike having so many mysteries in stories because I am an easily confused lamb that cannot keep track of most of them. Worry not! I'll try to unravel the mysteries as soon as possible. (Do you guys think I should keep a list in my profile about the ongoing mysteries here?)
Next up: People are still reacting and discussing. The first challenge is introduced!
Check my profile/bio to see my progress on the next chapter!
Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
If you enjoy my content, please consider buying me coffee (ko-fi c.o.m / vividpast) ;)
Don't forget that we are all a soft marshmallow on the inside!
~ Vividpast