Chapter Summary: "Underground?"
Warning/s: Attempted unprompted violence but no graphic descriptions
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Chapter XIII: A Culinary Cabaret
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Prince Arthur Pendragon taps an index finger on the wooden armrest of his chair, bright blue eyes calmly roving the training grounds. He has watched the applicants scramble to solve the riddle of the first test, and now watch them work together to fulfill the second. With a small amused smile, Arthur thinks Balinor has truly reaffirmed his reputation as a taskmaster in this year's Apprentice Exam.
The smile lasts for only a few seconds. In these last few days, that's all he can manage. With the anniversary looming, not even the Apprentice Exam can distract him for too long. His hand shifts, fingers skimming the stitching of the leather arm guard on his left forearm. He sighs, once again violently cutting off that trail of thought before he reaches the end.
Arthur's gaze settles on Balinor. At the very least, the prince is glad that their Court Sorcerer is enjoying himself this year. The prince feels a tad envious; he misses the days when excitement courses through him just at the thought of Camelot's prestigious event. He can barely stomach the exam last time, seeing as a few weeks prior to it —
The prince exhales through his mouth. At least, this year, an intriguing applicant seems to have found their way in. His eyes return to the applicant he has been eyeing the most — the young raven-haired man, one who appears to be a few years younger than Arthur himself.
Before the exam began, the prince had heard whispers of someone shattering a scinncræfte crystal during the registration. He had deemed it an exaggeration, a tale that had been twisted as it passed from mouth to mouth. However, having seen the young man fearlessly use up so much magic and not even show hints of magical exhaustion, the prince rethinks that assumption.
The man is an enigma, a mesh of paradoxes. He's older than the average applicant yet too young to be flawlessly performing the advance spells he has been throwing out. Graceless would aptly describe him but he obviously possesses enough finesse to ensure no maiming occurs during his flamboyant spells.
What baffles Arthur the most, however, is the absolute clueless expression perpetually plastered on the man's face. Clearly, as demonstrated by the first exam and the beginnings of the second, the man bears an astoundingly quick wit and clever mind. While arrogance is not something Arthur admires, the prince sees no reason for the man to act so modest. Or is it an act? At this point, the prince is beginning to have doubts.
"I didn't really measure it. I just . . . gave the spell what it wanted," were the words the man carelessly let out. How can someone with such skills be utterly ignorant of the basics of magical theory? For Goddess' sake, the young sorcerer had almost dismantled a shield created by Lord Dalion himself! It's simply unbelievable.
The prince's gaze flicks to the woman who adds more to the mystery: the Lady Morgana stands beside the young man with a beatific smile. Arthur has noted her eyes drifting far too often towards the young man during their brief conversation earlier. The two applicants know each other, that the prince is sure. Or mayhaps, more appropriately put, Morgana knows him. The young man seems to avoid any kind of unnecessary interaction with the prince's almost cousin. In stark contrast, Morgana looks almost desperate to catch the other's attention. To anyone else, Morgana may just appear amicable to a fellow applicant. To Arthur, however, the subtle nuances in every uptick of her mouth, every twitch of her eyes, and every subtle movement of her body loudly broadcasts her undoubted interest. The young man has caught Morgana's eye even before he started displaying his power. The question is: how and why?
Before the exam began, the prince had told Morgana, "I didn't think you'd be interested in being our court's apprentice." His tone had held a hint of inquiry.
Morgana's whole countenance had softened at that moment. Arthur did not miss the way her gaze drifted toward the cluster of applicants near the feast. She had replied, "I suppose my interests have shifted in the past few years, Your Highness."
Their conversation had been cut short, leaving Arthur vastly unsatisfied. Now, after watching them together, the prince may just have his answer.
The prince cocks a brow, gaze returning to the man who has garnered much attention. Basing on his appearance, Arthur observes nothing extraordinary. Hair as black as ebony, complexion much too pale to belong to a working peasant, frame lean instead of skinny, ears that stick out prominently, eyes the same shade of stormy blue as —
Arthur forcefully ceases his observations, the leather gloves adorning his hands creaking as his fingers curled into tight fists. This isn't the day to be lost in useless wanderings.
He leans back on his seat, and drags himself firmly to the present. After making that bold and impudent remark, the paradoxical applicant should provide distraction and entertainment — the two things Arthur sorely needs.
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"And what makes you think we'd be willing to help you?" a big-bulked dark-haired lord asks, tone as scathing as a vat of hot oil. Clearly, he doesn't appreciate Merlin's impertinent words.
The warlock concludes that perhaps he should have approached them with more tact and less sass. He has been too excited, too delighted to have figured out the test's loophole to be aware of his actions. Well, too late for that.
In an attempt to remedy his less than stellar start, Merlin lowers his eyes and head. He contemplates the lord's question for a few moments before answering.
"You said it yourself. If we fail this second test, we'll all be eliminated." He shrugs, glancing around. "All this effort you put into testing us will all be in vain if not one applicant passes. You have as much to lose in this exam as we do." Then, he remembers that he's supposed to be reverent, and tacks on belatedly, "My lords and ladies."
But he can't quite smother the cheeky grin on his face.
The lord, who still seems offended despite Merlin's attempts to placate, opens his mouth once more. The Court Sorcerer holds up a hand, halting any more withering remarks the lord plans to deliver. The lord harrumphs but obeys the unspoken order.
Balinor's gaze and expression is chillingly cool as he meets Merlin's eyes. The warlock's gleeful demeanor falters in the face of it. He begins to doubt his assumption; could he be wrong and has just made a complete fool of himself?
"What would you have us do then?" The Court Sorcerer drones out, the amusement Merlin has glimpsed earlier completely absent from his countenance.
"I — Well." Merlin's becomes abruptly aware of the multiple of eyes on him, those of the shocked applicants and those of the hidden audience. His nape prickles at the attention he has carelessly drawn to himself. He rubs the back of his neck, silently scolding himself for yet again failing to keep a low profile. "I-I-I figured, since you were the ones to plan the exam, you would know where we can get the spices? And the meat? We - We just need a bit of help getting the ingredients . . . ?"
Balinor says nothing, merely continued staring at the warlock with an unreadable face. Merlin can feel the tension rising, the applicants behind him waiting with bated breath.
The warlock recalls instances of his mother catching him doing something out of the ordinary, and Merlin had to await her verdict on whether she approved or not. The same uncomfortable sensation grips him now. Of course, with his mother, he never has to worry about being skinned alive merely by the force of her glare.
Just as Merlin opens his mouth to retract every idiotic thing that he has said in the past few minutes, the woman in a violet dress steps forward with a grin.
She chuckles. "Stop teasing the boy, Lord Balinor." She turns to Merlin, blue eyes crinkling with mirth. "Honestly, we thought none of you would have the courage to ask us. We'd be happy to help!" Then, from her dress' pocket, she fishes out a bunch of saffron bulbs. With a wink, she and three more others break away from the group.
Clar, Theo, and those applicants who deign to help them watch with wide unbelieving eyes as the four prominent magic-users head in their direction.
Balinor rolls his eyes, his severe expression fading. He glances at the hourglass above. His hazel eyes glitter with unbridled approval when he says, "It took you only half-an-hour to figure us out . . . Impressive."
Merlin can't help but beam at his not-father's words, a ball of warmth consuming his chest.
The dark-haired lord snorts. "Could have been more respectful about it." That, Merlin easily ignores.
"And the meat?" Morgana, who has sidled up beside Merlin, follows up with a delighted smile.
Balinor smirks and looks down meaningfully. Morgana and Merlin gape as they follow his gaze.
"Underground?" The warlock tries to look for any hint of anything unusual and finds nothing but plain old dirt.
"There's a storage room underneath," Lord Dalion supplies helpfully. "Unfortunately, the entrance to it is outside, just beside the training grounds." He doesn't sound at all sympathetic. In fact, he sounds nothing short of amused.
The applicants murmur amongst themselves, troubled.
"If we can't step outside the training grounds, how are we going to get inside then?" Mordred inquires with a thoughtful frown.
"Quite easily," The Court Sorcerer answers, smirk still in place.
He hops swiftly to the side and smoothly falls through solid ground, the sand rippling like it's made of water. A strangled gasp escapes Merlin's lips, his feet stumbling forward and arms uselessly reaching out.
Morgana's eyes widen in surprise. Even Mordred is gaping, face a portrait of shock. Applicants of all groups pause in their tasks and motions, staring stunned at the spot where the ground has swallowed up Camelot's Court Sorcerer.
"Wait, stop!" Cava exclaims, pointing at the distracted sorceress who's fires are currently burning a giant hole into their large pot.
The said magic-user staggers into action, immediately putting out her flames and attempting to fix the damage. She pales, hand hovering over the melted metal. Cava hurries towards her to help. Two magic-users of court surprisingly move ahead to take a closer look at the impairment. The debacle frightens the other applicants into focusing on their respective works lest they become the source of delay. Those without yet a task continue speculating the Court Sorcerer's abrupt dispersal.
The warlock notices none of these. Merlin knows, at the back of his mind, that there's no reason to worry. The magic-users of court wear varying degrees of amusement and giddiness on their faces, denoting that this is another part of Balinor's schemes. Yet, the warlock can't help but drop to his knees and pat the dirt where his not-father has disappeared into, chest tight.
Hard-packed soil meets his fingertips, no trace of a hidden hole or a trapdoor. An enchantment, then, not that Merlin has any doubts about that. He did see the ground undulate unnaturally before Balinor disappeared.
Mordred, having gotten over his initial bewilderment, hastily joins Merlin in his investigation.
"A liquifying spell," Mordred mutters, azure eyes speckled with gold as his hand runs over the undisturbed area.
Merlin blinks. "A what?"
The druid gives Merlin a sidelong glance as he elaborates, "It's a spell that temporarily turns a solid object into a substance akin to water." He hums, brows knitted into a contemplative frown. "I'm guessing the Court Sorcerer used it to get to the underground storage, and wants us to do the same."
"Very good."
Both Mordred and Merlin lift their heads to find one of the dark-haired lords looming over them. Merlin gulps; it's the lord who didn't appreciate the warlock's none-too-respectful speech.
Thankfully, his blue-eyed gaze is fully on Mordred this time. "Mavin Bathurst, my boy," he introduces shortly, bending down until his knees hit the ground.
He doesn't seem overly concerned that the expensive material of his trousers are being padded with dust. The lord places his rough and wrinkled hands atop his folded knees. Up close, Merlin notices that this lord seems almost a decade older than Balinor.
"And that analyzation spell you did is very subtle and thorough. I'm impressed. Not many would care to learn such an enchantment at your age," the lord continues with a small grandfatherly smile.
Mordred's cheeks are tinged with a hint of pink even as his expression remain amazingly blank. "Thank you, my lord."
Lord Dalion scoffs at Lord Mavin's words as he crouches down. "Yes, yes, yes, we've all heard it before, Bathurst." His gravelly voice lowers to mimic the older man's tone. "'Youth today, only wanting to learn things that can cause explosions or make the earth quake.'" Sarcasm drips from his every word.
Lord Mavin casts him a baleful glare. Lord Dalion merely beams, rubbing his goatee.
"Dalion of Yany Village," Lord Dalion says with a slight incline of his head.
Merlin startles at the introduction. Of Yany Village? That doesn't sound like a noble title or surname.
Someone behind the warlock clears their throat, breaking him out of his musings. He turns his head and takes in the several applicants crowding around them.
"So we merely need to perform a liquifying spell on the ground," Morgana remarks, joining their inner circle. "How far down is it?"
Lord Dalion answers, "About two feet of soil and two inches of wood.
Morgana nods thoughtfully. Without warning, she kneels down and mutters a short enchantment. The applicants all shout in surprise yet again when, a few seconds later, Morgana herself gracefully slides through the ground and disappears from sight.
Merlin's lips part both in shock and amazement. Mordred wastes no time emulating Morgana. The druid utters the same spell, and Merlin watches as he slips through the rippling soil without fuss.
"Well, it seems at least two of you know the spell," Lord Mavin says dryly. Then, his blue eyes settle on Merlin, expectant. Lord Dalion does the same.
"I - I don't know the spell." The warlock doesn't know why they expect him to know.
"Very well. We'll be teaching you," Lord Dalion informs him cheerfully. "Now, lad, just place your hand on the ground." He demonstrates the action.
Merlin follows the instruction gingerly, looking at the lords with hesitation. More often than not, Merlin's first attempt at new spells would result in something unpleasantly unexpected. He hopes luck favors him this one time and prevents him from embarrassing himself.
"Envision the ground as a circle of water," Lord Mavin continues, watching Merlin with a hawk-like gaze. "Or something less than solid, something less likely to obstruct you. Something you can pass through."
The warlock does just that, eyes steadily on the soil beneath him. Tiny grains of sand dig into the pads of his fingers, solid and unyielding. He imagines each of them coalescing, merging, melting beneath his palm. Concentrating fervently, his eyes spark gold in answer to the image he creates. He can almost feel the soil changing their structure, their main essence, bending to his will. Quicksand, runs through his head. Then, he shakes the texture out of his mind. Not quicksand but a pond. A small and smooth pond, clear of debris and deep enough to flow through the storage room below them.
"Now, the spell is —"
Merlin never gets to hear the end of Lord Dalion's sentence. His feet loses their balance as the ground beneath him softens and wavers. Wide gold-tinged eyes snap up to meet the shocked stares of Lords Dalion and Mavin.
Drat it, is Merlin's last thought before he falls.
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"Well." Dalion licks his lips, blinking at the spot where the applicant, Merlin, has abruptly disappeared without uttering a word.
He supposes they should have expected something like this; that Merlin has proven himself to be full of surprises, and accidentally performing a liquifying spell should be the least of them. Dalion shakes himself out of his trance. No matter — he is Balinor's problem now.
He lifts his gaze to the remaining applicants. "Who's next?"
"Are - Aren't you gonna make sure if he made it all right?" one asks, fear present in her voice.
"That wasn't supposed to happen, was it?" another remarks, voice shrill with hysteria. "He didn't even get to say the spell."
Bathurst waves their concerns away, his initial shock ebbing away. "Stop wasting your time speculating." He beckons them. "Unless you want to fail the test, I suggest you try and learn the spell yourselves. I'm certain the three of them would need your help."
The applicants swap unsure glances. After a few moments, they reckon that there's really nothing else to be done. They tread closer and listen attentively to Lord Dalion and Lord Mavin's instructions.
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For a few terrifying seconds, all Merlin sees is darkness and all he feels is the unsettling texture of fluid sand. Then, just as the warlock is beginning to think he's going to be stuck in the endless abyss for all eternity, his body encounters refreshing air.
His landing on a thick pile of hay pulls a pained groan from his throat. Merlin blinks at the wooden ceiling, attempting to gather his wits. That was the correct enchantment, wasn't it? The warlock is glad he managed to do it successfully the first time, and didn't get stuck halfway through the ground.
A familiar face pops into his vision, startling him out of his musings.
"Glad you could join us, Merlin," Mordred says, a tiny smile gracing his face. He holds out a hand.
Merlin takes the proffered arm, grasping it as he hauls himself up to his feet.
"I suggest you vacate that space." Balinor's gaze flits above. "I believe it's going to start raining bodies soon."
With that ominous warning, Merlin and Mordred strolls away from the area filled with beds of hay. The warlock takes the time to look around the so-called storage room. It's quite big, perhaps as wide as the training grounds themselves, although Merlin can almost reach the top of it if he stretches out his arm. Lit torches pepper every crevice, lighting up the room brightly and showing impressive arrays of paraphernalia. Long spears, a motley of crossbows, differing sizes of shields, mattocks of worn-out conditions, hammers, swords, daggers, throwing knives, staves with dull-colored gems, and other assortment of weapons line the wooden walls. In one corner, the warlock spies a set of stairs leading upwards to what might be proper entrance.
But what catches Merlin's attention — and the attention of all the others in the room — are the chickens filling the space in the middle of the room, numbering approximately a hundred. The warlock stares bewilderingly at them as they cluck and strut about, uncaring of the four humans in their midst. The noise is almost deafening, their crows overlapping cacophonously.
Merlin's eyes wander again and he finds the Court Sorcerer (hale and blank-faced as always) standing next to Morgana. Something in his chest loosens at the sight.
"I suppose this would be enough for our soup," Morgana remarks, eyes glistening with amusement. "Though you could have warned us about the smell, my lord."
The smell truly is horrible but Merlin has honestly experienced worse, what with a prat for a master.
The Court Sorcerer lifts one shoulder in what might have been a shrug. "Do you have plans on how to get them out?"
Morgana hums, jade eyes flicking to the chickens and then upwards. "It'll take more than the three of us if we want to do it quickly."
Just then, a noblewoman materializes from the ceiling. "Ow," she moans, gingerly sitting up. Her nose wrinkles. "What is that smell?"
Another body joins the fray, landing just a few inches away from the noblewoman. The noblewoman, realizing the danger, hurriedly dashes away from the area. She sees the four of them in a corner and approaches.
"Oh, you are alive after all," she remarks with a surprised blink as her eyes settle on Merlin.
The warlock stares back at her warily. "Er - Is there a reason why I shouldn't be?"
A peasant-born appears next. Upon realizing his free fall, immediately performs a levitation spell to slow his descent. He gracefully reaches the floor on his feet. Unfortunately, another applicant falls through the ceiling in the same exact spot he's standing in, rendering his efforts void. They both lay sprawling on the ground half-a-second later, groaning in pain.
"You just disappeared without uttering the spell," the noblewoman replies. "We thought you might have accidentally buried yourself alive."
Merlin swallows nervously at the notion. "Well, thank the gods that didn't happen."
The warlock must have said something strange because, now, all present in the room shoot him incredulous looks. He goes over the statement in his head and finds nothing that would earn him such stares.
The noblewoman is the first to clue him to it. "You're a believer of the New Religion?" She sounds as if she would die on the spot if he said yes.
Merlin blinks rapidly, the question seemingly coming out of nowhere. "I - uh - no?" He thinks it should have been obvious that he's of the Old Religion, seeing as he's been using magic.
"As thrilling as this conversation is," Balinor drawls out, no trace of sarcasm in his tone but all know it to be present in his words. "I remind you again that you have less than two hours left."
As if to punctuate his statement, six applicants unceremoniously and consecutively enter the room. Various sounds expressing their painful entrance echo loudly in the enclosed space.
"Is that all of us?" Morgana asks, making sure to project her voice and to grab everyone's attention.
"Yes," one applicant grouses, rubbing the shoulder they landed on.
"All right, let's start then." Morgana smiles brightly, excitement blatant on her mein.
They all naturally gather around to discuss. To transport the animals up to the surface, they first need to perform the liquifying enchantment on the ceiling. With the requirement to actually touch the wood above to do so, they plan to create a raised platform to reach up.
"You're thinking we could use those?" Merlin points at the metallic scratch-filled shields arranged neatly in one corner.
Morgana nods in approval. "Exactly."
Again, the warlock forces his gaze away from the offered smile.
"And then we can use levitation spells to fling the chickens up," a noble suggests blaisely.
With a loose plan in mind, they begin enacting it. Merlin, along with three others,lugs the shields over to the hay-covered area — the only place certain to be cleared of people above. Well, at least they hope it's still cleared of people or else they would be gaining more companions. Mordred and the rest work on gathering the chickens in as tight a group as possible for easier transport.
The Court Sorcerer observes them work from an isolated corner of the room, not offering any input or lifting a finger to help them. Which is fair, Merlin supposes. It's not like Bainor's the one being tested.
"Wait, why don't we just kill them here before throwing their bodies up?" a flaxen-haired peasant pipes up with a frown. "It'll be easier to transport them afterwards."
The noblewoman beside him gags. "Do you really want to add an additional stench while we're here? I'd rather dispose of them in open air instead of suffocating here with the smell of their corpses."
The flaxen-haired applicant thinks on that and grimaces. "Fair enough."
So, their work continues. Merlin and his companions finish the platform in only a couple of minutes, even without the use of magic.
The warlock tentatively steps onto four layers of curved metal. The structure wobbles, producing an unholy screech. After a second, it stabilizes, and Merlin lets out a breath. Two of the others join him on the platform.
They nod to each other before lifting their arms up and laying their palms flat on the wood above. The two applicants beside Merlin intones, "Formeltaþ."
Oh, so that's the spell, the warlock thinks to himself. He recalls Lords Dalion and Mavin's instructions before uttering it himself.
The grainy wood undulates like brown waves in a lake as their magic intertwined and combined. With three people doing the spell, the range of it has widened considerably; the circle of rippling surface is approximately an eighth of the training grounds, certainly big enough for six people to simultaneously go through. Fortunately, they gain no further companions.
"Hold it steady," Merlin hears Morgana command. "All right. Lift them now."
From the corner of his eye, Merlin sees chickens floating in the air like ominous prophecies. The chickens seem nonplussed at their current positions, cocking their heads left and right.
Mordred twists his wrists and the floating animals shoots up into the liquified ceiling like arrows from a crossbow. Merlin and his companions flinch as clucks and claws approach them. Thankfully, the druid has enough control not to let any of the chickens hit them.
"Save some for us," one of the applicants grumbles as she struggles to lift five chickens at a time out of the room.
Mordred, easily levitating at least thirty, smirks unapologetically. "Sorry about that."
Morgana is the only one looking amused at Mordred's actions as she lazily lifts one animal at a time herself.
With the druid's prowess, they manage to get the chickens out — all one hundred and thirty of them, Balinor informs them — in just a couple of minutes. All that's left are plucked feathers and their droppings.
"Impressive display of magic, boy," the Court Sorcerer says to Mordred, tilting his head in acknowledgement.
The druid tries hard to stifle his pleased grin but Merlin sees it anyway. The warlock allows his own lips to curl into a smile; in the face of the Court Sorcerer's approval, Mordred's cool and detached facade seems to fade rather easily.
"Let's rejoin the others, shall we?" Balinor gestures at the still ongoing liquifying spell.
A noblewoman is the first to move, performing a levitation spell on her body and floating towards the wavy wood. Merlin is both astounded and weirded out at the sight. He has never seen levitation spells used to fly before. Make others fly off cliffs and into walls, yes, but he has never seen it used as a means to levitate oneself.
"You lot better not bury me alive," she warns them before flying up.
Mordred follows, along with three more applicants. The druid gives Merlin a small smile before soaring upwards. The rest all glides up not long after, leaving Morgana, Merlin, Balinor and the two helping Merlin with the spell.
"Um." The girl next to the warlock turn to him. "I can't do a levitation spell while maintaining this one," she confesses, nodding at the liquifying spell.
"Me too," the man on Merlin's left admits next.
"Let me then," Morgana offers, already coming forward. "I'm sure between Merin and I, we can keep up the spell." She bestows the warlock another malicious-free smile. Merlin finds himself still unable to return it.
"Thank you." The two applicants sigh in relief as they dismantle their own spells. They step down with heavy exhausted feet, surrendering the space to Morgana.
Merlin manages to maintain the watery surface even as the two pull back their support, albeit the circle is significantly smaller now. Not that the warlock pays much attention to that. Instead, his eyes are solely on the approaching lady.
His stomach twists as Morgana climbs up beside him. She puts her hands flat on the ceiling and mutters the enchantment. Green eyes flare a fiery gold. Her magic reaches out to the threads of his, and seamlessly lace them together.
At the back of his throat, Merlin tastes the burn of acid, and flaming emerald fires fills his vision.
— it's the same horrible tang stuck in his tongue as Morgana fights him in the crypts, her magic keeping the skeleton army alive, supporting them in slaying Camelot's citizens —
— it's the same haze he sees and feels as Morgana roughly heals the mortal wound on his chest, as she whispers sinister words and rams a snake at the back of his neck —
— the acidic taste drips on his tongue for a brief second as he places a hexing poultice underneath Morgana's bed, a dark curse to temporarily bind her magic and prevent her from hurting his friends —
— it is the color of envy and the shade of the vilest of poisons, and he has long since associated it with trouble, danger, protect Arthur, save Camelot —
Merlin stumbles back, tearing his own spell away from Morgana's. Magic courses violently under his skin, urging him to defend, attack, attack, attack. He almost gives in to it, to follow the instincts that has saved him and Arthur from several skirmishes.
However, his blue eyes lock with wide puzzled jade ones. The hint of vulnerability Merlin glimpses in them instantly douses the boiling heat in his veins, leaving him cold and horrified. With a flurry of clothes, the warlock finds himself face to face with the Court Sorcerer half a second later. The man has come to stand between him and Morgana, hiding the sorceress from his sight.
"Merlin." It's the first time this Balinor has called him by his name. Merlin just wishes the name isn't accompanied by a cautious and somber tone. The Court Sorcerer has one hand lifted towards the warlock, gold flitting by his hazel irises. "Are you calm?"
"I - Yes. Yes, I am." Merlin runs a shaky hand through his hair, willing for the statement to be true. His magic has fizzled out after its unbidden resurgence, and now, Merlin just feels drained. He curls his hands into fists in an attempt to keep them still.
"I'm sorry," Morgana says, peering from behind Balinor's shoulder. She does it so earnestly that something in Merlin's chest clenches. Concern, confusion and no little amount of hurt furrowed her brows. "Did my magic hurt you?"
She seems awfully civil to someone who almost tried to maim her without apparent reason. Merlin knows everyone in the room felt the surge of his magic, and figured out he had been about to do something dangerous. The wary stances of Balinor and the two other applicants contribute to the growing tension in the air.
Merlin's reply, when it comes, is soft and quiet. "No, you - you didn't do anything. It should be me who should be apologizing." The warlock lifts his head to meet Morgana's eyes, hoping to convey his sincerity. "I'm sorry, M - my lady. I - I thought you - you were someone else." Merlin inserts a kernel of truth, knowing he has no other way to explain his hostile behavior.
One thing's for sure; he can't be near Morgana right now, not after that. He grabs the first excuse I can think of. "I - Sorry, I must have been more exhausted than I thought. I don't think I can do any more spells." He's glad that his words comes out calm and steady. He lowers his head, unable to look at any of them.
Morgana opens her mouth, uncertainty contorting her features. Balinor, however, manages to speak first.
"Very well. There's no use delaying." The Court Sorcerer lays a hand on the wood of the ceiling, and engulfs a portion of it in a liquifying enchantment. The circle of the spell is easily the size of their earlier one. He jerks his head up, eyes on Morgana and on the other applicants. "Go on. I'll take care of transporting him." Balinor gestures briefly at Merlin.
He's trying to keep the others away from me. Merlin swallows down the hurt that formed a lump in his throat. It makes sense, and the warlock would do the same if it had been Arthur facing a potentially unhinged sorcerer. He winces. Unhinged. Is that what he is now?
The two other applicants obey without hesitation, clearly eager to get out. Morgana dithers, looking as if she's about to protest. One look from the Court Sorcerer, however, silences her. With a one last confused glance at Merlin, she follows the other two and fly off upwards, disappearing without another word.
Balinor's scrutinizing gaze lingers on Merlin for one long moment. Then, the Court Sorcerer stretches out his free arm to Merlin, lifting a brow. The warlock unfurls his tightly clenched fists and grasps the arm with both hands.
The Court Sorcerer's face is back to its unreadable state. Merlin can only hope he hasn't done anything to damage his chances of getting chosen. Because now, more than ever, he feels the strongest desire to just go home — to his Camelot, to his friends, to familiar walls and familiar routines.
What he wouldn't give for his Gaius' presence and advice right now. His mentor always knows what words to say to ground him and make him feel a little less lost.
But all Merlin has right now is himself, and the ghosts of once friends and dead relatives.
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
A/N:
"We'll prepare and serve with flair
A culinary cabaret!
You're alone
And you're scared
But the banquet's all prepared
No one's gloomy or complaining
While the flatware's entertaining
We tell jokes! I do tricks
With my fellow candlesticks" – Lumière, Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Belated thank you to Nobody who bought me kofi! I apologize to everyone for the very long wait. I legit rewrote this chapter about seven times already. The previous versions didn't come out the way I wanted it to and it frustrated me to no end that I stopped writing at all for months. I hope you guys managed to enjoy this one ^_^.
Don't worry; Prince Arthur will return very very soon. What happened more than 3 years ago? That will also be answered (or at least, elaborated on) very soon too! Also, if you're wondering what the focus of this story is – the relationship tags are arranged by priority ;)
Thank you, everyone, for all the encouragements and constructive criticisms! They helped me push forward when I thought there is no hope for this story anymore. Now, I really suck at replying to anything because I've never been eloquent in all my life but here are just quick silly replies to some of your awesome comments . . .
Ordalie Gwynfyd — Oh, I didn't know that the Soup in Soup du jour should have been spelled with an e. I considered changing it but in the end, just chose to follow the exact spelling in the lyrics of the song to fit it to my Disney theme. Thanks so much for informing me and I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter ^_^
XMeikoX – 'Is Arthur from original Camelot going to appear in this world?' Weeeell, let's see where the wind takes us ;)
miajanuary – Why did I keep all the contestants for the second task? Weeell. You're half-right with 'Or maybe it's simple as you wanted to keep Clar around a little longer' ;). And also, thank you so much for all the encouragements and inspirations! Your consistent reviews really pushes me to write more and more!
AnonBlue (Azurila_Ringbell) – `would merlin end up falling for this worlds arthur or would he realize his feelings for his worlds arthur[?]` and SeaShellSakura – 'are you talking about Merlin/his-Arthur or Merlin/other-Arthur' - I'm gonna be real honest with you guys. This would be my main conundrum if ever I decide on putting Merthur in this story. Because that begs that question: can Prince Arthur (of magical Camelot) and King Arthur (of magic-hating Camelot) be considered as the same person? If Merlin falls in love with Prince Arthur, would this story be Merlin/Original Male Character instead of Merthur? What makes a man, nature or nurture? *spirals into an endless existential crisis*
Angel_Bazethiel – `It has also been a bit sad since this is everything Merlin could have ever asked for but he couldn't have them because it's not his.` Duuuuude, you just uncovered the angsty realizations I've been trying to hide with humor and magic! *glances at story's title*
Keelan_666 – 'He has no idea what the norm is and seems almost more out of his depth than he was when he first came to others camelot in terms of culture shock, even tho it's a culture that he has a right to and would know if it weren't for the purge. As a result there are things Merlin takes for granted without ever putting much thought into such as the scale of his power, and on the flip side there are things the magical citizens of THIS camelot take for granted as well, apparently never having known the terror and genocide of the purge.' Oh my god, THIS is exactly what I'm going for in this story. I'm so glad I was able to express these ideas clearly :D! Thank you so much!
Rest assured that I read and treasure each and every word in your feedback. I'm so grateful for all you guys, for all the kudos, bookmarks, favorites, and follows!
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 someone elicits a genuine smile from you today!
~ Vividpast