A Warlock's Wish

by Vividpast

In the midst of capturing a magical creature, Merlin is transported to a world where Camelot is home to thousands of magic-users. Merlin plans to get back to his own reality. To do that, however, he must get inside the castle. The only way in is to pass the Apprentice Exam and be an apprentice to a magic-user inside Camelot court. Should be easy...right? Full summary inside.

10. Your Attitude About the Problem

Chapter Summary: People are still suspicious after Merlin's astounding display. The warlock himself is off to make new friends.

Recap of Named Original Characters:

- Selia/Selly: Thomas Collins' offspring who has an affinity for gendershifting

- Levi: The drunkard at the tavern who is into some shady business

EDIT: Just fixed some grammatical errors and clarified some things. Thanks, jka03!

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Chapter IX: Your Attitude About the Problem

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As soon as all five of them enter the castle proper, Balinor spins on his heel to face the knights.

"You two."

Bedivere and Galahad stands to attention as the Court Sorcerer points at them. "Sire."

"Today is supposed to be your day off." Bedivere winces inwardly, thinking that they are about to get scolded for practicing near the training grounds. But the next words out of the Court Sorcerer mouth alleviates Bedivere's worries. "But I must ask you a favor."

"Anything, my lord," they reply.

"Change into a less conspicuous attire." The Court Sorcerer's gaze skims the knights' heavy armors. "Find out whether the boy went to the scrying room or the training grounds." Balinor lowers his voice. "Keep an eye on him and take note of any suspicious actions."

Bedivere is glad to be given a task worthy of a knight. He cannot quite fight down the broad grin creeping on his face. "Yes, sire."

"Yes, my lord," Galahad affirms, expression disgustingly neutral.

Bedivere does not understand how the other novice knight can hide his excitement so thoroughly. It is the first time someone has entrusted them with such a crucial duty.

The Court Sorcerer nods. Taking the nod as dismissal, the two knights hurry out of the castle once more. Balinor waves his hand at Ris as he begins trudging along the castle's vast halls, indicating the knight to follow him. Ris complies without a word.

Tristan hastens to match Balinor's steps. "Scinncræfte crystals don't shatter," he states the obvious.

"I know," Balinor replies.

"We can't even cut and polish them. They don't shatter."

"I know," Balinor repeats.

"Then, tell me: why did you allow someone who is obviously cheating into the exam?"

"Is he?"

Tristan blinks. "What?"

The Court Sorcerer halts abruptly. Tristan gracefully comes to a stop. Ris almost bumps into them.

Balinor turns to Tristan, unamused. "Is he obviously cheating? You must have noticed something I, the Court Sorcerer, hadn't."

"Balinor, the scinncræfte crystals shattered," Tristan restates as if Balinor wasn't there to witness the impossible feat.

"Yes. Yet none of things he wore bear the slightest hint of an enchantment, and his blood failed to provoke a reaction from the aárásae quill." Balinor's gaze loses their sharpness as his thoughts drift. "I know of no spell that can destroy a scinncræfte crystal upon touch."

Tristan raises both brows in disbelief and his tone is as dry as summer when he says, "Are you saying the crystals shattered because his magical capacity is too much for the them to handle?"

Ris shifts uncomfortably at the implication. Balinor shakes his head briefly and resumes walking. "I don't know. But I have observed nothing that disqualifies him from the exam."

Again, Tristan and the knight treads half-a-step behind him. Tristan adorns a contemplative frown as they round the corner and enter the spiralled staircase leading underground. The air grows damp and cold the further they go down, strategically placed torches the only thing lighting up their path. Tristan opens his mouth then immediately closes it half-a-second later, eyes flicking to the knight dogging their steps. The three of them march together in relative silence.

After climbing down for several minutes, they finally reach the bottom. A black metalic door twice their height and just as wide greets them with its intimidating presence. Tristan and Ris remain at the last step of the stairs while the Court Sorcerer unhesitatingly draws closer to it.

A groove lays carved in the left corner of the door. It takes the shape of a perfect circle with two half-circles woven on each of its sides — the symbol of the triple moon. Balinor pulls out a similarly shaped talisman from under his tunic and fits it into the embossment without removing it from around his neck. He plants his free hand flat on the metal door, and murmurs a long string of spells. The locks behind the door boisterously click out of place. After a few more seconds, the noises cease and the door grunts the slightest bit open.

Balinor removes the talisman from its place and slips past the gap, leaving the noble and knight standing in the ominous and relatively narrow hallway.

"What do you think, Sir Ris?"

Ris glances at the lord. "Of the boy, Sire?" He returns his gaze back to the door. After a beat, he answers, "I don't know, my lord. He does not appear dangerous at first glance."

Tristan cannot find it in himself to agree. Something about the boy triggers a rush of alarm within Tristan. The way the boy unhesitatingly had met Balinor's eyes, the fact that he had barely remembered to tack on titles when speaking with them — an ordinary commoner would not have been so insolent in their actions. There is also the matter of the De Bois' sigil . . .

Balinor exits from the the room beyond, cloth-covered scinncræfte crystals under his arm. He roughly pushes the door close behind him.

"Hurry now, Sir Ris," the Court Sorcerer commands, handing the crystals to the knight.

Ris nods curtly as he accepts the package. He jogs up the stairs without a second look. Balinor and Tristan climb up in a much more sedate pace.

When Tristan is sure the knight is out of earshot, he tells Balinor, "Put up an anti-eavesdropping spell."

The Court Sorcerer complies, already having suspected that Tristan will ask him to. He utters a short spell and gestures in an arc. Both are immediately enveloped in an invisible bubble; sounds filter in but not a spoken word can be heard from the outside.

"That seal wasn't fake," Tristan begins abruptly.

The fingers which held the said sigil tingle at the remembrance of the warm metal. From the moment Balinor touched and saw it, the weight and details of its engraving betrayed its authenticity. "It's rare that someone who holds a genuine seal would pass it as a fake. It's usually the other way around."

Tristan gives Balinor a narrow-eyed look. "You don't think he stole it." It isn't a question.

"Perhaps he did. But to what end? He insisted it was fake in front of the very people who can confirm its credibility." Balinor tilts his head. "Or maybe he is simply a fool."

Both remember how the boy's eyes looked everywhere but Balinor's, how he fidgeted minutely, and how his phrases halted unnaturally. Evidently, the boy had been lying through his teeth regarding where he got the seal. Balinor suspects the boy is aware of the sigil's authenticity. The Court Sorcerer can only think of a few reasons to his denial, most of which spell scandal for the royal family. Balinor also cannot help but find the boy extremely familiar. He knows not where or when he has seen the likeness before but seen it he has. It bothers him tremendously; is the boy someone he has met before? Or a close relative of someone he knows?

They reach the top of the stairs and find themselves in the castle halls once more. Swiftly, Balinor swivels to the right and heads deeper into the castle. Tristan's eyes widen a fraction as he realizes the other man's intended destination. Again, he follows.

"Your own sigil?" Balinor queries.

"I know it was inside my desk just this morning." Tristan answers. "Besides, the seal the boy held is smaller than mine."

They clamber up an opulent set of stairs, leather boots making barely a sound onto the carpeted stone. The noblemen stride in anticipatory silence, their minds whirring with possibilities. They arrive at the fourth story of the west wing, and halt just outside the first intricately decorated door.

Balinor relinquishes the anti-eavesdropping spell and knocks. After a few moments, a voice from inside says, "Enter." They comply and get into the lavish chamber twice the size of the standard rooms.

An unlit fireplace littered with unused logs and adorned with deep red tapestries sits directly across the entrance. A long varnished table surrounded by oaken chairs takes up the left side of the room while an enormous bed fills up the right. A wardrobe that can fit five adults lays open, displaying a sizeable collection of garments. Pushed in a corner beside the wardrobe is a gilded desk where the sole occupant of the room sits.

Queen Ygraine Pendragon pauses in brushing her flaxen-colored hair as she meets the eyes of her visitors through the vanity mirror. She stands from the cushioned stool, grace and confidence draping around her like a cape. The velvet skirt of her midnight blue dress swishes as she swivels to face her brother and Court Sorcerer.

"Is there a problem?" A concerned frown deepens the lines on her forehead.

"Not yet," Balinor says.

Ygraine delicately lifts a brow in disbelief. Tristan closes and locks the door behind him. "An applicant has a De Bois sigil," he explains, cutting right to the point.

Ygraine sets down her brush and confusedly asks, "Who gave it to them?"

"He claims that it's a forgery, an item he found in the markets," Balinor answers. "Where is your sigil, Your Highness?"

Ygraine's brows rises at the implication of the inquiry. She pulls back the drawer of the desk, revealing a silver brooch lying amidst an array of colorful perfumes, white powders, and shiny jewelries. It is identical to the brooch around the boy's neck.

"Judging by your presence here, you don't think the sigil's fake," Ygraine says pointedly, crossing her arms.

"It's not." Tristan lets out a breath upon seeing his sister's seal. "And looks like he didn't steal it from the castle either."

The queen's bright blue eyes narrow. "Agravaine's?"

Tristan shakes his head. "Agravaine's sigil is the size of a ring and the boy's has the same size as yours."

Ygraine hums. "Someone has issued another seal to be made then." She shoots her brother a meaningful look.

"I haven't ordered a copy," Tristan defends quickly.

"Nor have I," Ygraine replies before she favors a thoughtful look. "That leaves only Agravaine."

Tristan frowns. "Agravaine would have informed us had he awarded someone with a De Bois seal."

"And if the boy had indeed been given the sigil as a reward, why would he claim that it's fake?" Balinor asks further.

"I suppose we can't put it down as a commoner willing to be humble?" The queen suggests before letting out an almost unladylike snort.

"Is it out of humility then?" Tristan looks and sounds as unconvinced as his sister. "I doubt it. There's also the fact that —"

A knock interrupts Tristan in the middle of informing the queen about the unusual reaction of the scinncræfte crystals. Three heads whip toward the door and a wave of relief ripples through them as they see it still locked.

"Mother?" is the muffled call from the other side. "Are you nearly done? The exams are starting soon, I think."

Tristan and Balinor remain quiet as Ygraine faux blaisely answers, "I'll be delayed for a while. Why don't you go on ahead, dear?"

For a few seconds, a loaded silence greets the queen. Then, her son replies with the same fake brisk tone, "I'll see you there, Mother." Uneven footsteps echo in the halls and eventually peter off.

Ygraine turns to Balinor when she's certain her son is out of earshot. "Do you believe the boy will use the sigil to ask for special treatment during the exam?"

The Court Sorcerer's expression holds a hint of a sneer. "Even if he does, I'm afraid I cannot grant it, Your Highness. You know the exam does not condone —"

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm not asking you to favor him." Ygraine picks up her brush again. "In that case, I see no harm in putting this matter aside for now."

"But —" Tristan begins protesting.

"We have the esteemed Apprentice Exam to host, Tristan." Ygraine's slightly patronizing tone brook no argument. "I'll write to Agravaine and ask him if he made copies." Ygraine waves a dismissive hand. "Most likely, he had given the applicant the sigil and neglected to tell us. Interrogate the boy later if you must. Privately and discreetly, that is. But for now, we focus on the exams."

Balinor, as the one who spearheaded half of the planning for months, cannot help but agree. "I believe that would be wise, Your Highness."

"I'm glad you approve, Lord Balinor," is the queen's dry response.

Balinor arches a brow. The corners of the Ygraine's lips curl up. Tristan resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"We'll leave you to your preparations then." The Court Sorcerer bows his head and heads for the door, mind half on the boy, half on the oncoming sorcerer's exam.

"I truly hope no harm comes from putting this aside." Tristan's face blatantly expresses his doubts. He gives one more shake of the head before following Balinor out.

The door closes behind both men as they exit the queen's chambers. Ygraine sits down once more and faces the mirror. Her expression remains serene even as millions of thoughts bombard her.

First, the incident this morning, and now, a dubious applicant with a De Bois seal. It is unlikely that the two problems are related but Ygraine takes them as ominous signs for the day. The Head Knight has yet to return or to send word, and Ygraine cannot help the worry nibbling at her core.

She prays that the examinations will go on without further trouble, if only for Arthur's and Balinor's sakes.

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"Why did you not ask him about the type of exam he wants to take?" Mordred questions as he takes his turn in the line.

While the other four lines continue on as normal, two of the adjacent lines have stalled in their processes. Without a scinncræfte crystal of their own, the registration for them cannot possibly resume.

Tina looks up with a frown. "Lord Balinor has shown obvious interest." In a low but still audible mutter, she voices, "which he never does." Her voice picks up once more. "I just assumed he would want to take the sorcerer's exam."

Mordred has assumed otherwise. With Merlin's inquiries about Mage Gaius, the druid thought he would be more inclined to take the mage's exam. Has the Court Sorcerer's notice truly changed his mind? For a moment, relief courses through him when he realizes that Merlin will not be in the same room as Gilli for an extended period of time. Then, piercing guilt immediately follows; Merlin has done nothing to warrant Mordred's sudden wariness. Just because Merlin possesses an unusually high magical capacity doesn't mean the druid has any right to give a biased and cynical judgment upon him. Mordred recalls Merlin's sáwle glæm and another bucket of guilt drops onto him.

He tries to remove such unfavorable notions from his mind. Out of all people, the druid understands more than most the feeling of being on the receiving end of them.

"Looks like Merlin's a legitimate competitor for you," Gilli teases, oblivious to Mordred's inner turmoil.

The druid plasters on a smirk. "Worried for me, are you?"

Just like that, the mage is no longer oblivious. Gilli sees right through him. The mage frowns. "All right, what's wrong? You've been on edge ever since Merlin's processing."

A fond smile lifts the corners of Mordred's lips. If nothing else, the druid can always expect his friend to call him out. "Why aren't you?"

"Why aren't I what?"

"Why aren't you on edge after what we've just witnessed?" Mordred glances at the black shards still littering the ground.

Gilli's eyes widen. "Should I be? You told me there's nothing to worry about Merlin," he says in a harsh whisper.

"There isn't," Mordred amends. "Or at least, I hope so."

"You hope so?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not actually omniscient."

The mage rolls his eyes. "So should we be worried? I admit that what he did with those crystals is a bit scary. But — Just because Merlin has an astounding magical capability doesn't mean he's dangerous." An uncertain glint flashes in his eyes. "Does it?"

A sigh escapes Mordred's lips. It would be hypocritical to say anything else but, "Of course not."

"Yeah." Gilli nods assuredly. "Yeah, I think not. He's too clumsy and clueless to be an evil schemer, isn't he? I mean, he didn't even know about scinncræfte crystals!"

"I'm sure Merlin will be flattered by what you think of him."

A knight approaches their line before Gilli can think of a retort. He sets down scinncræfte crystals in front of the exam officials who lost theirs. Mordred notes, not for the first time, that even though the knight holds the crystals with bare fingers, the crystals remain unchanged in hue.

"Thank you, Sir Ris," Tina says demurely, tucking a strand of dark hair behind an ear. From her left, the other officials mutters the same, though with less finesse.

The knights nods in acknowledgement. "That young man — What test did he choose?"

"He went to the training grounds for the sorcerer's exam, sire," Tina answers with a small smile.

The knight nods again and leaves without another word. Tina's brown eyes zero in on his armor-clad bottom as he dashes away, a wicked grin curving her lips.

Mordred loudly clears his throat. Irritation flashes through the exam official's face and she lets out a sigh of displeasure. "All right. Come now and let's get this over with."

Mordred answers the same questions that Merlin was asked. He gets pricked with the quill and when the ink remains black, Tina points to the crystal. The druid picks it up without hesitation. In two breaths, a white radiance filters out from between the gaps of his fingers.

Tina gapes as do the exam officials sitting next to her.

"Another White Level!?" From the crowd behind Mordred, someone cries out.

"Unbelievable. What the hell?"

"Three White Levels in this year . . ."

"That's it! I'll just try my luck in another three years," another grumbles and the stomping that followed indicates that they did indeed desert their spot in the line.

Gilli looks on at their shocked expressions, amused. Mordred calmly places down the crystal, unbothered by the attention. "My lady?" he prompts.

Tina shakes her head, tearing herself out of her reverie. "Right." She rubs her temples. "Name?"

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Merlin pauses just inside the training grounds. His jaw slackens as he takes in the amount of people both in the audience stands and the wide grassless field. The seats are filled to the brim and many have already secured a spot in the platforms' pathways. Merlin estimates no less than two hundred people clamoring in the stands, mostly peasants but there are few notable highborns uncomfortably squeezing in. In the center of the stands, located directly across the entrance, lay the only area cleared of people. There, an ornate red-cushioned chair stands empty.

The Apprentice Exam truly is a prestigious event, and that fact sinks in to Merlin as he takes in the crowd. He wonders if the mage's exam also entertains a great number of onlookers.

The warlock's eyes widen. He was so addled by the sight of his living father that he had absentmindedly complied with the exam official's directions. If he hopes to impress Gaius, why is he in the training grounds where the sorcerer's exam will supposedly take place? He should be taking the mage's exam, wherever that will be held.

Merlin scratches his head. Drat, he should have been thinking more about this earlier. He briefly closes his eyes, thinking it through now.

Healing spells are not exactly his forte. While Merlin can mix a good potion here and there, he has also never consciously scried for anything or anyone before. On the other hand, he knows more about elemental magic (according to what Mordred has told him of it) and has more practice with it. How can he impress Gaius as a mage when his expertise lies elsewhere?

Surely, as long as he gets a talisman and be allowed entry into the castle, he will have the opportunity to talk to Gaius and prove that he deserves a little bit of the mage's time.

All right, he says to himself with a sharp and resolute nod. He'll take the sorcerer's exam; with his past experiences, he's more familiar with the magic being tested in this one.

The fact that he may be able to glimpse more of his not-father in this exam may have affected his decision a bit.

"Hey!"

Merlin's head snaps up as several sets of footsteps thunder towards him. A slim and short brunette with thick eyebrows and sharp nose leads the small group, her dirty brown dress rustling agitatedly with her movements. The baker's daughter, Merlin recognizes yet another face, although her name eludes him.

"Did you know what that light was all about?" She asks, face openly curious.

"Uh, light?"

"We saw white lights coming from the registration area," a boy with a bowl cut pipes up. "You were there a few minutes ago, right?"

"Oh." Merlin realizes what they are referring to.

Before the warlock can think of a reply, someone snorts and sneers, "Probably just some idiot doing accidental magic."

Heads dart to the owner of the voice. Merlin's brows rise and then dips into a small frown as he meets the cold green eyes of the girl in the pumpkin carriage who assaulted him days before. He recalls another person from the carriage calling her Clar. A sliver of annoyance slithers in his chest; he's not going to forget that revolting slimy green substance the girl had pelted him any time soon. Merlin wisely chose not to provoke her with a cheeky retort.

So she's a sorceress. The warlock hopes he won't be involved with any sort of trouble with her around. Snobby nobles usually bring with them an assortment of headaches.

Scowls direct themselves toward the girl of obvious noble background, signaling that the applicants around him share more or less the same sentiments.

She has certainly endeared herself to a lot of people, Merlin notes dryly.

The warlock is debating whether to make an effort to refute the the girl's remark when he hears a familiar high-pitched shout of "Merlin, Merlin, Merlin! Over here!"

The warlock whirls to the direction of the shout and finds Selly waving frantically from the audience stands. A smile makes its way to his face before he can stop it and he goes to approach him.

"Wait, you haven't answered the question," the baker's daughter insists, holding him back.

"Wha — Oh, she's right." Merlin points a thumb at the haughty noble girl, spontaneously choosing the option that needs little explanation. "Someone was just practicing some magic." With that, the warlock resumes his walk towards Selly, leaving the group unsatisfied.

Selly's grin is toothy as he leans heavily onto the wooden barrier separating the audience and the applicants. "I'm so glad that you're joining the sorcerer's exam! The mage's exam is boring anyway, or so I've heard."

Merlin chuckles. "I don't think Gilli will take kindly to that." His eyes wander the crowd and his brows pinch when he fails to find Tom. "Where's your father?"

"He has to close up the inn."

Merlin slowly lifts his head, and Levi's grinning visage greets him cheerfully. He's lounging comfortably in the row nearest the barrier, red locks mussed and cheeks matching the color of his hair. The warlock hesitantly returns the smile, recalling what Mordred told them about the man's occupation.

"Tom asked me to accompany Selly here in the meanwhile," Levi explains. "Even promised me a free drink for it!" A doubtful expression flashes by Merlin's face and Levi huffs. "Don't look at me like that. I'm good with children," he claims before burping loudly.

Selly and Merlin wrinkle their noses as the smell of mead wafts through the air.

Selly lowers his voice. "Da actually asked me to take him with me because he won't leave the tavern otherwise."

"Rude." Levi mumbles, hearing the words clearly, but seems to take little offense.

"What about your, uh, job?" Merlin ventures.

"It's my day off." The red-haired man waves a flippant hand.

"It's always your day off," Selly retorts with a snort.

"That's the beauty of running your own business, lad." Levi roughly ruffles Selly's short locks, making them stick out in every direction. Selly irritatingly slaps the hand away. "You can choose when to work."

The little boy rolls his eyes so hard that Merlin fears they may fall off.

"Me and Da will be cheering you on from here. Don't worry, Merlin. You've had your share of bad luck in the past days." Selly has the grace to look sheepish, recalling the ball incident. "I'm sure you're due for some good luck!"

Merlin smiles feebly, only slightly comforted by that. "I hope you're right."

Luck is something he's always out of. With that in mind, Merlin decides he actually needs to form some kind of concrete strategy instead of improvising on the fly. Lately, he's been an expert in thinking ahead. All right, perhaps not an expert but sneaking into Morgana's room to place a poultice temporarily robbing her of magic has certainly contributed to their recent victory against her.

He bids farewell to Selly and Levi not long after, too deep in thought to hold up a proper conversation. Without knowing what type of exams there are, how can he prepare a plan? The warlock looks around some more, hoping to see something that may give him a hint. For the first time, he notices a large number of applicants standing around the two long tables pushed in the corner left of the entrance.

Curious, he draws closer to the congregation. Delicious smells of sizzling meat and steamed buns tickle Merlin's nose. His jaw drops as his eyes feast on the drool-inducing foodstuff burdening the long tables. The sturdy wooden things offer plates of chopped lambs, diced pork, fried vegetables, smoked fish, and other viands peasants can only eat once or twice in their lifetime, if they're lucky. On the end of one table, two barrels of ale and three barrels of water are propped up, inviting all to quench to their thirst.

The food and ale is already half-gone, the water barely touched because why drink water you can find in a well when you can sample some good ale? The applicants of commoner descent eagerly gobble up all that they can. Nobles, like Clar, turn up their nose at the feast, as if it isn't worthy of their stomachs.

Merlin's own stomach gurgles at the sight, even though it hasn't been too long since his last meal. Deciding he can think of a plan and eat at the same time, he grabs a wooden plate. Forks and knives are nowhere to be found so Merlin uses what the other diners are using: their fingers. A young man with unusually gray hair politely moves a bit to the side to make space for Merlin.

Just as Merlin is reaching out for a bit of bread, the hairs at his nape prickle. His head snaps up to meet the scrutinizing stare of the baker's daughter, who's on the other side of the table with a plate of her own. Merlin blinks back at her in askance. Then, he finally notices that a whole group of applicants has been none-too-subtly giving him weird looks.

Uh-oh. Merlin thinks he has been caught in the lie he had thoughtlessly muttered earlier. Of course. One question from another applicant present during Merlin's registration would have revealed the truth. Merlin offers a sheepish and apologetic smile for the white lie before turning his attention back to the dishes. He hopes that by ignoring the stares and whispers, no one would make a fuss about the crystals again.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" the gray-haired man comments with a wide chicken-filled smile after Merlin begins digging in. "Even if I don't get chosen, I reckon this fare here will be worth the three-day trip I undertook."

The warlock glances at the dishes as he swallows a bite of savory pork dish, silently agreeing with the sentiment. "It's generous of the k— queen to prepare some food for us."

"Yeah. They didn't have stuff like this last time."

"Last time?" Merlin perks up. If the other man was here the last time the exam was held, the warlock may be able to get some useful hints. "You watched the exam three years ago?"

"Watched?" The man scoffs. "I was a participant!"

"Oh." Merlin has incorrectly assumed a person can only apply once. The warlock halts his meal for a while, now more eager to question the man. "What was it like?

The young man peers at the remaining dishes, contemplating his choices. "Humiliating, that's for sure." He ruefully shakes his head. "That Court Sorcerer is absolutely bonkers."

Merlin feels a tad offended on behalf of his not-father. "Why?"

The gray-haired beckons Merlin to come closer with a seasoning-stained finger. The warlock complies with obvious hesitation. The other man then whispers, "Three years ago, a maze was set up here and all of us had to go through it and find the exit at the other end."

Merlin checks around, measuring the size of the grounds and deducing the length of the said maze from there. The labyrinth would have been huge but navigating through it would have taken only an hour at most.

The young man continued, as if reading Merlin's mind, "You think it would be that simple? Nah. The walls shifted with no reasonable pattern every damn minute. And we had to dispel the illusions inside and that took hours." He visibly fights down a shiver of horror. Merlin draws closer when the other man's voice grow another notch softer. "Some of the illusions replay the mortifying things you've done so yes, we needed to dispose of them and we needed to do it quickly. Goddess above, my best friend was in the audience and saw the whole thing. Now, she's always bringing up the fact that —" The gray-haired man abruptly cut himself off, realizing he is on the verge of oversharing. He clears his throat. "A-Anyway, it was utterly embarrassing but I can take comfort in the fact that it won't happen again. Lord Balinor doesn't repeat the same things from the last exam to prevent any unfair advantages."

"Really?"

For a second, Merlin thinks the word came out of his own mouth and ponders whether his voice always sound so squeaky. But the gray-haired man addresses someone just beside Merlin and replies with a solemn nod and a firm, "Really!"

Merlin turns and comes face to face with the hay-colored boy who toppled onto him earlier in the registration lines. The boy beams, his forgotten glasses lifting slightly upon his freckled nose. But even with the glasses, the boy's irises remain slightly to the left of the warlock's face. Merlin deduces that perhaps his glasses are no longer apt for his eyesight. Merlin recalls Gaius replacing the glass on his eyewear once, and the physician thoroughly explained that his degrading vision needs a different kind magnification over time. (Gaius had explained for hours so it's a lecture Merlin would hardly forget.)

"Hello!" The boy exclaims, wrenching Merlin out of his sidetracked musings. The boy clumsily waves at them. "I'm Robin! I was the one who bumped into you earlier!" He directs the last remark to Merlin. To the gray-haired man, he queries, "Who're you then?"

The gray-haired man doesn't seem to mind the boy's excitableness. "Theodore but call me Theo."

"I'm Merlin," the warlock interjects, a tad embarrassed that he has been conversing with the man without knowing his name.

"Ooh, we're both named after birds," Robin points out as if it's the best thing he's ever discovered. "Where are you from? There aren't a lot of merlins near these parts. A lot of robins though! My mum really liked pretty birds. And pretty flowers! She said had I been born a girl, she would have named me after a flower. But really, Robin could be a girl's name too. I quite like it!"

"Um, I was born in a small village outside of Camelot." Merlin is overwhelmed by the boy's enthusiasm and loquaciousness. At least Gwen paused long enough to breath; Robin seems to lack the need to do so in between words.

Beside him, Theo muffles a snicker.

"Are you from Essetir?" With wide green eyes, Robin goes on another tangent. "I heard there's a few merlins there. Small but vicious creatures, those merlins. But you're not small though." The boy reaches out and almost punches Merlin in the face when he attempts to demonstrate the difference in their heights. Indeed, Robin is a good foot shorter than Merlin.

"Yes, I'm from Essetir." A hint of exasperation drips in his words. He shoots Theo a pleading look.

"Ooh, are you Merlin of Essetir then? Hmm, I'm pretty sure there are a lot of Merlin of Essetir though. How do you differentiate —"

"I'm Merlin of Ealdor," the warlock says quickly.

"And I'm Theo of Drefir," Theo jumps in, taking pity on Merlin. "And as I was saying, we didn't have such a wonderful feast last time! Why don't you dig in, Robin?" Theo hints heavily, hoping that with something else occupying his mouth, the boy would calm down.

Robin chuckles. "No, thank you. I'm not actually a participant. I don't think I'm allowed to eat from here."

Theo blinks rapidly. Merlin frowns in confusion. "You're not participating?"

"Nope! I'm sneaking in for a while to see someone and I'll slip out and go to the stands once the exam starts." Robin dips his head, pupils drunkenly roaming around the dishes. "I wonder why they decided to prepare food and washing basins this year though. I mean, they have to remove the whole lot to make space for the tests. Seems like a lot of trouble."

"The feast is a boon before the Court Sorcerer tortures us," Theo says with a tint of bitterness.

"Washing basins?" Merlin latches on to that. The sauce is starting to make his fingers sticky.

"I almost tripped over them." Robin gestures at the general direction of the throne-like chair. The statement is surprisingly unsurprising to Merlin. The warlock is starting to think that Robin may be clumsier than him.

When Merlin turns to look, he sees five buckets the size of the king's bathtub lining the space nearest the empty chair. Three wooden pails are clumped together in the rightmost corner while the last two are huddled in the leftmost. Three are filled with colorful liquids while the others contain colorless ones — Merlin is almost certain they aren't water.

"I don't think they're washing basins," he comments, now wondering what exactly the buckets are for.

"There are cloths over there," Theo points out before smashing a cookie into his mouth. With his mouth full, he continues, "If you want to clean up. Dunno why they didn't just provide us some forks. Shouldn't have been too hard."

Merlin discovers the pile of said brown cloths just in reach. He claims one and thoroughly wipes his hands on it. So concentrated on the mundane task, he only notices the sudden silence of his surroundings when he finishes. He looks up, a bit alarmed. The gazes of the people, both in the training grounds and audience stands, are all focused at the entrance. Merlin himself whirls around to glimpse upon the source of the commotion.

The sight that greets him steals a beat from his heart and twists his stomach into unbearable knots.

His wide blue eyes take in the form of Prince Arthur Pendragon as the royal trudge his way into the grounds.

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

A/N:

"The problem is not the problem. The problem is your attitude about the problem." – Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)

I'm super sorry for the late update! I can't promise anything right now about the date of the next update because we're super cramming something. But my excitement over the events of the next chapter might be able to motivate me to write consistently.

Thank you so much for all the favorites, follows, bookmarks, (500+?) kudos and encouraging comments! They really got me going through these harsh months ^_^. You guys are the bestest best!

40K+ words and we're not even starting the exams *cries* Okay, okay, I promise the pacing of the story will be much faster from now on. These 40K+ words are (sort of) necessary expositions and world-building (okay, fine, 10K of these words were maybe for my own amusement and indulgence). Next chapter, the plot gets moving and we'll finally get some Arthur (yes, Arthur plays an important role in this story, fear not, dearies)!

(Wait, did this chapter end in a cliffhanger? It didn't, right?)

Also, to Guest who has been giving this story a chance even though they don't like slash, if your question isn't rhetorical, I'll be really happy to discuss with you! Just PM me at FF or message me at blissful-whims at tumblr. :D

But as I mentioned in my notes in the prologue, the Merthur might just remain preslash. (I have another story which is tagged with slash. It's already 100K words and the protagonists have just become friends so yeah, preslash is a pretty big possibility for that one as well.) If ever this story continues, Merthur would probably happen at around 170K words so if ever, I hope you bromance lovers enjoy the friendships until then!

Honestly, I do hope I reach 170K if only for that one gut-wrenching scene that I —

And that ends my 2AM babbling! 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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Hope you get to listen to your favorite song/s today!

~ Vividpast