Chapter Summary: How exactly can that assess their magic?
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
Chapter XII: Soup du Jour
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
"Everything he does is suspicious!" Bedivere declares to Galahad, having to lean closer to the other casually dressed knight to be heard over the cheers of the crowd.
"Really?" Galahad blinks. "He's doing magic. How is that suspicious?"
"Didn't you see that whirlwind?" Bedivere exclaims. "And the way he almost destroyed Lord Dalion's shield? Do you think normal magic-users can do that?"
Galahad frowns, still confused. "They can't?"
Bedivere lets out a frustrated noise. He forgets sometimes that Galahad grew up in a little village with at most two novice magic-users. Bedivere, born and bred in Camelot, tries his best to explain the intricacies of the spells that were just performed. Galahad listens avidly, the furrow of his brows softening slightly with each word.
Ris, dressed as simply as the other two, tunes them out. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.
All throughout the first test and even before that, the three of them have been keeping a keen eye on that Merlin as instructed. They have watched him interact with other applicants, react with shock at the prince's entrance, and become enraptured by the queen's speech. Up until that point, Ris can see nothing but an ordinary and sheltered commoner. What happened with the crystals, however, couldn't have been a fluke so Ris merely waited and observed.
Sure enough, the boy began whipping out elaborate spells during the first test, showing his astounding aptitude for magic. The audience themselves have been silenced for a half-a-second before letting out a roar of delight that shakes the entire grounds. It is no doubt that the Apprentice Exam is the most entertaining event of the year for nobles and commoners alike.
Even after all that, Ris cannot understand Lord Balinor and Lord Tristan's apprehensions. Isn't it good that such a talented magic-user is hoping to be one of Camelot's apprentices? The boy has revealed nothing malicious through his actions, and Ris doubts the boy possesses great acting skills. Ris is beginning to think the lords' suspicions are without basis.
The senior knight's gaze flicks to the figure of the Court Sorcerer. To those who don't know him well, it would seem like he's observing the applicants with a nonchalant eye. But Ris knows Lord Balinor long enough to recognize the flickers of fascination crossing his face as that Merlin perform magic.
A blossom of warmth, along with an aching pang, swiftly goes through Ris.
The incident more than three years ago has left its mark on the castle and its residents but none are more affected than Lord Balinor and Prince Arthur. The two haven't been the same since, and it pains everyone to see them so.
Lord Balinor's attitude regarding the boy now, however, gives Ris a tiny glimpse of hope. It pleases the senior knight to see the glimmer of interest in the Court Sorcerer's eyes once again.
Ris' gaze goes back to the boy. Should he be chosen as an apprentice, Ris can't help but think he will bring about some intriguing changes around the castle.
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
Morosely, eighteen purple-haired applicants begin heading towards the still shielded exit. A handful of them puts on a dignified bravado, head lifted as they march through the grounds.
Balinor tilts his head as he says the words that shock them all. "Are you all withdrawing your applications then?"
Silence reign for the longest moment as all attempt to process the implications of the Court Sorcerer's statement. Passed and failed applicants alike turn wide surprised eyes at the gathered sorcerers and sorceress.
"Aren't . . . Aren't we disqualified?" a noblewoman has the courage to ask.
The sorceress beside Balinor shrugs. "If you want to be, we won't be stopping you."
Balinor hums, faux contemplative. "I don't recall mentioning disqualification if you didn't meet the goal of the first test."
Many think back to the Court Sorcerer's instruction and find his remark to be true. Merlin doesn't believe for one second that his not-father is clueless to the erroneous assumption they all made. The amused glint in Balinor's eyes blatantly gives him away. The warlock supposes he would be pretty amused himself if he isn't one of the applicants threatened with elimination just an hour into the exam.
Many of those who passed the test release indignant sounds, their efforts rendered null in the face of the revelation. Even Mordred and Morgana looks mildly surprised. Theo merely shakes his head, rolling his eyes but smiling slightly. Clearly, he expects such trickery from the Court Sorcerer. Merlin wishes he can say the same.
"But you are welcome to leave if you so desire," Balinor adds. He glances at Lord Dalion. The said lord draws a circle in the air with his index finger, not bothering to hide how entertained he is by the whole debacle. They all watch in bemusement as a door-shaped hole appears on the opaque dome shield. It's located right where the ground's exit is. From it, Merlin glimpses upon the gray bricks of the castle and the hint of morning light. Cacophonous sounds also begin filtering in, the audience shouting simultaneously in obvious enjoyment.
The eighteen failed applicants exchange meaningful looks. Then, almost as one, they hurriedly back away from the exit. Not a single one of them hesitate to walk back to their previous places. Clar, with her long violet locks, yet again adorns a smug look. Members of each opposing group glare at one another, countenances far from friendly.
Lord Dalion quirks an amused brow and proceeds to patch up the hole. Again, the noise outside the shield becomes subdued, and they settle in relative silence.
Merlin sighs, a tad dismayed. He has thought, with the number of applicants decreasing, that there would less competition. After a moment, he shakes himself out of his self-pity. He just have to work hard to stand out among the rest and get chosen. Seeing as he passed the first test, surely he has a slight advantage over those who didn't?
Merlin's not too sure anymore. This test is far from what he expected it to be. He wishes belatedly that it had been a real tournament instead, one where they just have to fight each other and win. Merlin now slightly understands Arthur's predilection for fighting tournaments and lancing matches; the simplicity of them must be a balm to the complications of the court.
The Court Sorcerer's waves his hand, the gesture grabbing everyone's attention. Suddenly, the hourglass above them disappears only to be replaced by a much larger one. Merlin reckons the new hourglass is as tall as him.
"Now that everyone is on the same page," Balinor drawls out, oblivious or uncaring to the obvious tension between applicants. "Let's proceed to the next test."
Several of the applicants adopt diffident countenance, uncertainty coloring their expressions. The events of the first test have humbled most of them.
"Wait," Clar unhesitatingly calls attention to herself, showing that not all failed applicants have the same subdued reaction. She points at the unusual color of her hair. "You must give us the antidote for this."
"Must I?" To say that Balinor looks unimpressed would be the understatement of the hour.
Behind him, several others of court wear the same expression. Clar shrinks a bit at their combined stares. Merlin and a few others cover their mouths to hide a smile.
"It'll wear off in a few hours," Balinor answers after making Clar squirm for a good while. "As will the green stains. Surely you can wait until then."
Clar nods, short and curt, red tinting her cheeks.
"Are there any more questions?" Balinor's face does not exactly look encouraging. It's no surprise no one speaks up. "No? Very well then. For the test of magic, you are tasked —" The applicants brace themselves against another arduous or perhaps tricky endeavor. " — to make soup."
Once again, befuddlement and incredulity crest through them like a wave in the sea. Merlin's mouth parts; how exactly can that assess their magic? He himself can cook up a simple broth without using magic! Murmurs surge up in volume, each applicant asking similar questions.
"Goddess, not another weird task," Merlin hears Theo mutter with an exasperated groan.
Fortunately, they don't have to wait long for an explanation.
The Court Sorcerer continues, "In this, you may work together, seeing as you will pass or fail as one."
"As one?" The man beside Merlin shoots a particularly petulant glare at the nobles. "Does that mean we have to work with them?" He's not the only one wearing a disgusted look.
"Not that we would be pleased to work with you too," a violet-haired young woman scoffs, crossing her arms.
"Unlike the first test, failure in this one will be rewarded with elimination." The Court Sorcerer gives each talking applicant a quelling look, silencing them immediately. "We never had an exam where all had been disqualified. I urge you not to be the first batch to be so."
Merlin swallows thickly. It seems the second test is much more serious than the first, even though it sounds just as ridiculous.
Balimor resumes laying out the instructions. "The soup must be plenty enough to feed —" He plasters on a pondering look. "— about three hundred people."
"T-Three hundred!" Elise appears a little faint. Merlin feels the same.
"The soup must, of course, be edible and suitable enough to serve to royalty."
"Royalty?" Merlin's eyes widen. A soup of such quality must be sprinkled with a plethora of meat. To have enough meat to feed a hundred will take at least seven healthy deers. To have enough to feed three hundred . . .
Balinor continues blasely, as if he hasn't just asked the impossible out of them, "You may use anything that's here on and in the grounds. I need not remind you that stepping a foot outside will mean forfeiting your applications for this year's exam. You may not do any kind of harm to any sentient being during this test." The Court Sorcerer places special emphasis on the last remark. "And lastly, as this is a test of magic, I do hope you take this opportunity to flaunt your skills." He sends them a challenging look. "We're looking for worthy apprentices after all."
With a careless wave of his hand, the giant hourglass flips over, starting the timer. "You have three hours to prepare."
Again, neither Balinor's tone, words, or actions indicate that he is done speaking. After several seconds of him looking quite expectantly back at them, they are forced to conclude that he has nothing more to add.
Cava exchanges unsure looks with Fi. Fi clears his throat. Hesitantly, for he's afraid of the answer, he asks, "When - When will the ingredients arrive then? And the pots and pans?"
Balinor cocks a condescending brow. "You may use anything that's here on and in the grounds," he repeats slowly.
Fi makes a strangled sound. The applicants look around. Their findings yield five buckets, a plethora of goblets, two barrels of water, two long tables, dirty plates with barely any leftovers, and fifty-two stunned applicants.
The sand on the hourglass mercilessly trickles down. Panic starts to take many of them in its tight and suffocating grip.
"Where are the meat?"
"What about the seasonings?
"Where will we cook? We don't even have pots or ladles!"
Desperate pleas fill the area, each applicants clamoring to be heard and answered. Balinor and the court's magic-users, however, offer nothing but silence and blank faces. Merlin, used to being put under stressful life-and-death situations, manages to calm himself down after a few seconds. Another trick, he deduces as he thinks carefully. Just like the first test, they just need to figure out what on earth his not-father wants them to do.
Merlin looks around again; this time, he does so slowly, considering everything they have on the grounds. The warlock sees that he's not the only the one doing so. Half of the applicants have ceased panicking, and have begun running a critical eye over every object in sight. The other half, however, continues despairing over the task.
The warlock's gaze locks on the goblets abandoned on the ground. He blinks, hit by an idea. Well, that's one problem solved, about ten more to go. Although, he knows little of metalwork to create a —
"Everyone, shut up!" Theo shouts, voice booming unnaturally and gold swirling in his blue eyes.
The air becomes bereft of any sound after the gray-haired man's outburst. Merlin startles, unconsciously taking a step back from Theo. He has to tamp down the burst of magic that desires, unbiddenly, to come to his defense.
"Now that I have your attention," Theo drawls out with a tight and humorless smile. "I'd rather start on the task right away, if you don't mind."
"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" Clar asks, tone as dry as the desert.
Theo raises a brow. "There's something you and I both have that I think would help greatly: magic."
Clar turns up her nose, severely offended at whatever insult she found in the man's statement. "Go on then! Conjure us some soup." Her upper lip curls in mockery.
Theo rolls his eyes. "Are you really incapable of listening? The task is to make the soup."
Clar must really be getting under Theo's skin, Merlin thinks. Theo has mostly acted even-tempered during the nerve-wracking first test. Now, however, annoyance emanates from him in great waves.
"You —" Clar steps towards Theo with a growl, arms rising and the start of a spell at the tip of her tongue. Theo looks prepared to defend or retaliate, flecks of gold lining his irises.
People around them back away, clearly not wanting to be involved. Some applicants, Merlin himself included, attempt to reach for them to stop the inevitable fight.
"Enough, both of you." Morgana, using a great invisible force, pushes the two away from each other. Clar's and Theo's boots loudly scrape against the soil at Morgana's wordless spell, and both struggle to retain their balance. "Remember, no harming anyone during this test."
Morgana used to have that tone when scolding Arthur on his condescending behavior, Merlin recalls. A twinge of nostalgia mixed with remorse flares in him.
Theo, like Arthur sometimes is after such a scolding, appears appropriately chastised at the reminder. Clar merely lifts her chin unapologetically. After that, several moments of silence ensues, no one quite knowing their next course of action.
Unable to stand the somewhat awkward silence and hoping he can move things along, Merlin blurts out, "We can make a large pot out of the goblets." All eyes slide to him. The attention pricks him uncomfortably and he resists the urge to fidget. "They're metal. I - I think if we flatten them and solder all of them together, we can make a pot big enough to cook the soup needed. I mean, there's fifty-two of them."
A purple-haired nobleman glances at him with naked surprise. "You can count that high?"
Merlin feels a tad offended, and shows it with a frown. "Of course I can." As the warlock sees more than one commoner look away in shame, he belatedly remembers that not a lot peasant-born can do so.
"That's a brilliant idea. Merlin, was it?" Morgana praises with a wide and open smile.
The warlock nods and offers a small smile of his own before looking away. He has never thought that he will again be a recipient of such an earnest smile from Morgana.
He fails to see Morgana's smile dimming ever so slightly. She looks at the other applicants. "Does anyone here know how to make a metal pot?"
"I know my way around metals," Cava pipes up cheerfully, glad to finally be useful. "I'll need help flattening all the goblets, of course."
Assuming she's referring to him as he's the one to suggest it, Merlin mutters, "Forswíðian clympre" and makes a forceful downward motion with one palm. Every goblet in sight crumples into flat lumps on the soil. Everyone flinches as sounds of crunching metal loudly reverberate throughout the grounds.
"A - A little warning next time would be appreciated," Elise stutters out, staring warily at the distorted chalices. The cups have become so flat that the red and blue bands have merged seamlessly with their bronze colors.
"Oh. Sorry." Merlin is a little surprised himself. He has just done magic in front of a lot of people without thinking, without hesitating . . . He has only been in this Camelot for a few days and he has already adopted their way of thinking! Dread trickles into him; he can't go back to his Camelot with such a demeanor. He resolves to be more conscious of his use of magic from now on.
"Let some of us show-off once in a while, Merlin." Mordred claps a hand on his back, an amused grin dancing on his lips. The druid takes this opportunity to do exactly that; his blue eyes give way to gold as he wordlessly performs a spell without moving his arms. The flattened metals take to hovering in the air, each piece simultaneously roving. They gather and drop themselves in a large pile in front of Cava, becoming motionless in less three breaths.
The applicants stare gobsmacked at Mordred. A familiar sliver of fear claws at Merlin for a moment before he manages to crush it with reason.
"To manage so many objects at the same time . . ." one murmurs dazedly.
Cava clears her throat. "All right then." Her brown eyes glow as sky blue flames lick her right palm. "Anyone here good with fire?" About ten applicants, a motley of nobles and peasants, approach to assist her. Fi and Elise join them.
Clar huffs and then struts away from all of them. Very few pays her mind.
Seeing as he can only produce a small flame or one large enough to consume a tiny house and nothing in between, Merlin opts not to intervene. Curiosity grips him, however, and he watches them work. Cava demonstrates the process; she picks up two metals and lays them on the ground, making sure one overlaps the other by an inch or two. Then, she heats the overlapping portions with fires from her hand. After a few seconds under the heat, the metals melt and coalesce. She turns the welded metal over and does the same process on its back, ensuring that the two pieces flawlessly become one. She irons out the uneven lumps with another spell, smoothing out the dents and embossments with dark fingers.
"Though I think I'll do that last step myself," Cava informs them with a chuckle. "No offense meant but the spell's difficult to teach and to learn." None protests too loudly to this after witnessing the enchantment for themselves. They proceed with the task, picking up the metals and emulating Cava's exact instructions.
Amazement fills Merlin; he's never done such a precise and delicate spell. The warlock is a bit envious of Cava's finesse and control over her own magic.
A split second later, the warlock finds himself being dragged away from the spectacle by the arm. Theo forces him to join the loose huddle of the rest of the applicants as they begin discussing their next steps.
"Now, the next problem is kindling," Mordred says thoughtfully.
"Shouldn't we be more worried about the ingredients?" a young peasant woman suggests. "We have nothing to cook!"
The boy with the bowl cut suddenly lit up. "Oh! We can use the tables for kindling." He points at the two long tables used to hold their earlier feast. Many nod at the suggestion, casting cursory glances at the aforementioned tables. They find a lone figure kneeling beside the tables draw their stares instead.
"What on earth is that girl doing?" Theo asks, words dripping with irritation.
Merlin himself would like to know. Clar has settled on the ground, sitting on her knees and dirtying her dark green dress. Her fingers in one hand are buried an inch into the soil while her other hand holds a wobbling ball of water in the air. The warlock watches as she ceremoniously drops the glob of water onto the soil underneath her palm. The movement of her lips and the glow of her eyes indicate that she is in the throes of a particularly intense spell. After a few seconds of observing her, Merlin's eyes widen. He recognizes what she's doing.
Someone in their circle scoffs. "Ignore her. Clearly, she doesn't want to lower herself and work with us. Wait, where are you going?"
The question is directed to Merlin, who has broken away from their congregation. The warlock marches towards Clar, unable to fight down the excitement coursing through his veins.
A noblewoman, the same noblewoman who seems to have figured out the trick of the first test, hums thoughtfully. "On the contrary, I think Lady Clarisse is doing something very crucial." With that, she follows Merlin, similarly planning to approach the kneeling girl.
"This should be interesting," Morgana says, a mischievous smirk curling her lips as she joins them.
Mordred, curious himself, decides taking a closer look wouldn't hurt. Theo sighs in resignation, going along with them. Not knowing what else to do, the other applicants shrug and follow them.
Merlin bends down beside Clar, making sure not to crowd her. Clar shoots him and the others an irked glare nonetheless, even as her mouth keeps moving to mutter the enchantment. The warlock observes the ground underneath her with anticipation, looking for a hint of green. Behind him, the others wait, expressions varying from doubtful to inquisitive.
After a few minutes, confusion swirls through Merlin. He knows that the spell shouldn't be taking so long. At the very least, the results should have been visible by now. Did something go wrong? Merlin lays his left palm flat on the ground, feeling the soft moist earth under his fingertips. He closes his eyes, concentrating and waddling through the threads of magic rooted in the soil.
Merlin senses Clar's enchantment sluggishly weaving a path underneath. Small rounded black seeds nestle comfortably underneath the soil, drinking up the water Clar has offered to them. Green buds struggle to break free from their little black shells, the unravelling painfully slow. Clar keeps murmuring, repeating the spell and patiently coaxing their growth.
A wan smile quirks Merlin's lips. The first and last time he had tried this specific enchantment was a week after he burned the body of the girl he loved. He had stolen away strawberry seeds from the palace kitchens. He had planted them in a secluded spot in the forest far away from the citadel, and performed the spell he had studied day and night. The seeds had grown into the most gorgeous strawberry bushes, and bore the most delicious strawberries the warlock had ever tasted. As the saccharine tang coated his tongue, Merlin had remembered Freya's sweet and beautiful smile when he accidentally produced a single rose instead of the strawberries she wished for.
"That's not a strawberry," she had said, accepting the rose with the smallest of laughs. He burned the bushes that very same night and couldn't bear to recreate the spell since.
Merlin pulls himself back to the the present. He's not the one casting the spell now. And Clar seems to be doing the spell differently. Merlin's strawberry bushes grew fully and blossomed flowers in just a few minutes. The black pepper seeds Clar planted are barely beginning to sprout out of their pods after the same amount of time.
Different seeds flourish at different intervals, Merlin recalls reading. Although, Merlin doesn't think the difference should have been drastic. The black pepper seeds should have at least breached the ground by now. The warlock gingerly tangles his own magic with Clar's, trying find out what's going awry.
The noble girl's eyes narrow as she gives Merlin a venomous glare. Not that the warlock notices, with his own eyes closed and his attention elsewhere.
Oh. Merlin sees the problem. Clar pours her magic on the soil by pulses instead doing it in a continuous stream. The plants grow quicker than the normal rate for a second then halts growing at all for three. It's definitely more time-consuming than when Merlin did it. Perhaps Clar doesn't know that there's a more efficient method?
Merlin decides to demonstrate. They have less than three hours to complete the task and hurrying the completion of this spell would help them immensely. Without further thought, he discharges a flood of his own magic towards the seeds, suffusing them and the earth surrounding them with golden threads.
Clar's enchantment consumes it like a starving animal upon finding fresh meat; Merlin continues feeding it for several seconds, encouraging its gluttony. Clar herself releases a great and shaky gasp, unable to utter a single word. She does not need to; her spell needs no more further support from her.
Healthy green sprouts pop from under the soil, astounding the participants oblivious to the exact nature of the spell. The sprouts spawn spade-shaped leaves, their growth accelerating by the second. In less than ten heartbeats, the sprouts have matured into proper plants that reach beyond their knees and sprawl as thickly as wild bushes. By this time, the plants cease growing; instead, tiny lavender flowers burst forth from their stems. The flowers blossom then transform into clumps of green peppercorns. In another two beats, the peppercorns ripen, colors flicking from green to blood red and finally settling on a wrinkly black.
The applicants behind them let out various sounds of awe; half a dozen black pepper plants have come to life before their very eyes, and now bear more than a hundred peppercorns.
Theo whistles, undoubtedly impressed. "Didn't know you had it in you, snobby lady."
"It wasn't me!" Clar snarls, making everyone around her take a step back.
She glares at Merlin, emerald eyes dark with unbridled contempt. The warlock can only stare back, shock at her sudden resentment.
"You!" Without warning, Clar lays her dirty palms on Merlin's chest and roughly pushes him. The warlock barely manages to stay on his knees. "You just have to show off every bloody time, don't you? You just can't help it!"
"I - I was just trying to help," Merlin stutters out, hands up in a placating manner even as his tone holds a sour hint. "The spell - it was taking too long and I thought —"
"It was supposed to take long, you bloody dolt!" Clar howls. She points at the plants. "Do you really think it's normal for something like these to grow in mere seconds? It takes a quarter of an hour at best!"
"I -" Merlin has no answer. He has never really thought about the proper duration for his spells.
"And how are you still conscious and talking?" Clar's face slowly morphs from annoyed to unguardedly blank. A flash of an epiphany flitters by her eyes, and her gaze on Merlin contains no little bit of incredulity. "With the amount of magic you poured in there . . . You don't even look a little bit tired. What the hell are you?"
The question should not have caught Merlin off guard but it does. It seems every time he does magic, the more he proves his ignorance of this realm. He can't quite believe that magic, the thing that's actually legal in this world, is the one earning him dubious looks right now.
The warlock opens his mouth. Then, he realizes he doesn't know how to reply so he closes it.
Merlin is absolutely grateful when someone decides to intervene. "Now, now, my Lady." Mordred grips Merlin's arm and hauls him up, forcing him on his feet and away from the fuming girl. "No need for such rudeness. Your spell did earn us an important spice, and for that we should be thankful." Mordred's smile is calming and disarming as he relinquishes his grasp on Merlin. "We shouldn't argue over semantics."
Clar looks ready to vehemently argue nonetheless. She gets to her feet, her dress fluttering at the abrupt movement.
"Princess Clarisse." Morgana's tone is brisk and almost threatening. Clar flinches and then scowls, deeply displeased by the title Morgana has called her. "We have only a few hours left to complete the task. We best proceed to producing and harvesting more spices. Now what seeds do we have left here?" Overly saccharine is the only way to describe Morgana's smile as she glances at the bowls and plates at the tables.
The applicants mutter to themselves, stunned by Morgana's revelation. Princess? They all know that Clar is a noble of some sort but none suspected that she is of royalty.
"Do not call me that," Clar replies icily. The princess shoots one last glare at Merlin before turning to the tables. "I found black pepper seeds, and a whole ginger root. That's it." This time, her glare is for everyone when she says, "Maybe if certain people haven't finished it all, we would have more."
Theo looks up, asking the Goddess for patience. "Nothing we can do about it now." The gray-haired man picks up a wooden plate stained with brown sauce and leftover bits. With a whispered spell and a hand hovering it, the stains disappear from the plate, leaving only an almost shining clean wood.
"Well, then." Theo holds out the plate to the cluster of applicants and gestures at the ripe peppercorns with his head. "Who'll help me ground those?"
A handful of the applicants, all eager to showcase their own talents after that ordeal, clamor to help. The peasants clean up all the dishes with muttered enchantments. One even splits a plate and shapes it into two pestles without touching the wood. The nobles, oblivious to such menial spells, focuses on harvesting the pepper plants instead. One by one, clumps of black peppercorns detach themselves from their respective stems, and slowly float towards the now empty plates. The rest of the applicants opt to stay back, the area too crowded for them to even try to help.
Merlin steps toward the hubbub; he can use an enchantment similar to earlier to instantly crush the black peppers. However, a hand grabs the back of his coat and manhandles him away.
He yelps and turns his head to see who's dragging him. Theo (again) determinedly carts him in front of Clar. Apparently, Mordred, Morgana and the others desire entertainment more than they desire to pass the test because they decide to watch the unfolding drama instead of doing something more productive.
Merlin's gaze darts from Theo to the revealed royal, confused and a tad nervous.
"How much magic did you need?" Theo holds out the lone ginger root to Clar, glancing between Merlin and her. "For that spell?"
Clar snatches the ginger root. "I can do it by myself," she spits out, looking at Merlin as if he's about to steal that opportunity from her.
Merlin replies with an expression saying 'by all means'; he has no plans to interfere with anyone's spells any further. In fact, starting now, he plans not to do any magic unless it is asked of him. With that, he can ensure that he does no more enchantments that they deem unusual. It's a good strategy and Merlin can only scold himself for not thinking of it earlier.
"Be that as it may," Theo drawls out, crossing his arms and cocking a skeptical brow. "Merlin made the spell quicker. Right now, time is something we can't waste." He turns to the warlock. "How much magic did you expel for the plants to grow at that rate?"
"I didn't really measure it," Merlin admits sheepishly. "I just . . . gave the spell what it wanted?"
Theo and Clar stares at him.
"Are you an idiot?" Clar asks with a surprised blink, the question absolutely genuine.
"You could have killed yourself," Theo says slowly as if talking to a child. "You do realize that?"
Merlin blinks. The warlock doubts that; he does the same sort of spells all the time. Merlin wisely chooses not to divulge that. "Well . . . I'm still alive, aren't I?" He plasters on a bright smile, hoping to convey a 'I'm just a simple and innocent peasant farm boy who knows nothing'.
Clar lifts a disbelieving brow. But it must have worked on Theo because the man merely sighs in resignation. "All right, we'll figure it out. Just . . . sit down somewhere. You might not feel the effects of what you've done now but you'll surely feel it later." Theo beckons at the idle applicants. "You lot! Come here and make yourselves useful."
Eleven of the applicants grumble but comply eventually. They draw closer to Theo and Clar to join in their discussion. Mordred, Morgana and the rest seem to be involved in a separate vehement conversation, and therefore, unable to accede to Theo's request. The gray-haired man sends them an inquiring look but eventually concludes that they know what they're doing.
Merlin shrugs. He'll help out the others with the peppers instead. Before he could do so, however, someone grabs him again from behind. Merlin is getting real tired of being dragged around.
"Come, Merlin." Morgana, her petite figure hiding the strength of her grip, brings the warlock into the inner circle of the remaining applicants. "Help us figure out the rest of our problems."
"The meat?" Merlin asks.
"That and the other spices," a flaxen-haired peasant replies with a grim nod. "We may have black peppers and gingers but the soup would barely be edible with just that."
"Truly?" An oblivious noblewoman asks in surprise. All common-born glances at her, expressions varying degrees of disbelief and patronizing. The noblewoman harrumphs, her purple hair ruffling at the gesture. "Forgive me for not knowing such a blatantly peasant thing." Eyes roll in response to that.
"We could use the ale," the boy with the bowl cut suggests brightly. "To add more flavor. I think there's still more than a barrel left."
"Good idea," the flaxen-haired man acknowledges. "But I still don't think it'll be enough. Plus, we need more water. I don't think the two barrels would cut it."
A nobleman cups his chin and says thoughtfully, "Maybe we can transform a few of the applicants into pigs and slaughter them for the meat." Everyone takes a large step away from him. The nobleman stares at them guilelessly. "What? It's still in the parameters of the test. As soon as they become pigs, they'll no longer be sentient."
Mordred pats the man's back, and he does it none-too-gently by the way the man staggers forward. "Let's leave cold-blooded murder as a last resort, shall we?"
The nobleman finally cracks a grin. "I jest, of course." The maniacal glint of his smile convinces no one.
"Of course." Morgana clears his throat, trying to dispel the awkwardness. "The water's easy. But the meat —"
"Pardon me but how exactly is getting more water easy?" A noblewoman interrupts brusquely.
"We make it rain," Morgana answers simply as if it is obvious. "Merlin here will create a hole up above —" Here, she points and glances up. They lift their gazes at the dome ceiling of the milky white barrier. "And we'll catch the rain with the pot."
Morgana then gestures at Cava and her assistants. Merlin is surprised to find the base of the pot, which can now comfortably accommodate five lying men, already finished. In fact, Cava and the others are midway in the process of curving the main body.
"As expected of the great Lady Morgana," Mordred says, lips quirking. "Even the weather plans to bend to her will."
Morgana notes the teasing tone, and offers a smirk of her own. "The weather must do no less to please me."
Merlin glances between the two of them, and promptly looks down to prevent himself from spiraling into useless thoughts once more.
"What if Lord Balinor strengthens the shield again if we attempt to dismantle it?" someone points out.
Morgana's brows furrow as she considers this. "I doubt that Lord Balinor will interfere again." Jade eyes dart to the magic-users of court standing in the same corner of the grounds. "In any case, I suppose we just have to try and see."
Merlin follows Morgana's gaze, eyes flitting by the Court Sorcerer and the other magic-users behind him, all of them yet again adorning frighteningly impassive faces.
Then, Merlin does a double take, struck by the potential solution to all their conundrums.
He gapes, mind working over his epiphany. Can it be? After a few seconds, a laugh bubbles out from his mouth and he can't keep it in. He holds onto his aching stomach, unable to believe that Balinor has managed to hide the answer in plain sight.
"Merlin?" Mordred and a few others shoot him wary glances. "Maybe Theo's right. You should sit down for a bit."
Merlin waves their concerns away and turns around. He staggers towards the group of magic-users everyone has largely neglected. Several applicants watch with bemusement as the warlock halts a few feet in front of the Court Sorcerer. Balinor tilts his head to the side in acknowledgement.
With the shield from the first test gone, nothing but propriety is stopping the applicants from approaching them. So with an insolent grin reserved for prattish kings, Merlin says, "You did say we can use anything that's on the grounds, right, my lord?"
A hush settles over the grounds, each applicant mortified at how a mere peasant could speak so brazenly to a high member of Camelot's court. A few nearby applicants straighten, preparing to pull out the foolish boy to spare him from further embarrassment.
Balinor looks at Merlin blankly for a few moments. But Merlin sees the smallest of smiles tugging the Court Sorcerer's lips, and knows his suspicions are correct.
"I believe I did," Balinor replies finally.
"Then." The warlock's grin grows wider. He gestures expansively at the experienced and knowledgeable sorcerers and sorceress of court. "That means we can make use of you lot."
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
A/N:
"Be our guest, be our guest
Put our service to the test
Tie your napkin 'round your neck, cherie
And we'll provide the rest
Soup du jour, hot hors d'oeuvres
Why, we only live to serve
Try the grey stuff, it's delicious
Don't believe me, ask the dishes" – Lumière, Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Arthur's POV is supposed to be here but that's where I cut it lol. See, see, Merlin's not the only BAMF around! (But he is the most BAMF ;) )
Flattening/Crushing Spell: I figured, if Merlin can slam many people hard enough into trees to kill them, he can do the same and as hard to other objects.
Plant-growing Spell: Merlin does some pretty cool earth magic (that freaking earthquake, wth!) so I figured this one isn't so far-fetched for him. And after that failed to produce strawberries for Freya, I think he would research the hell out of it.
Thank you to the awesome miajanuary, not only for the coffees but also for all the encouraging feedback! I truly hope I can answer all the questions you posed before in the coming chapters! Honestly, whenever you and the others speculate about parts of the plot, I get giddy and my brain goes "Oh, man, I can't wait to show you guys." Thank you so very much :D
But I'll answer two general questions here: how long will this story be and will Merthur be the focus?
Right now, I don't know exactly how many chapters but I estimate that this story will reach more than 100K words but no more than 200K. There are 3 major arcs to this story and the first one is just ending in about 2-4 chapters (yippie!). Each arc is composed of a couple of mini-arcs. Will Merthur be the focus? For most parts of this story, no. There'll probably be 2-3 mini-arcs in which it will become the central theme (that'll come waaaaaay later though). As I said before, I'm not even sure if I'll make this full-on Merthur or just preslash XD. I guess I'll just do what's right for the plot when I cross that bridge.
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 (link in my profile) ;)
I hope you all get lots of amazing hugs!
~ Vividpast