Chapter Summary: Merlin gets a proper scolding, contributes further to the cooking, and learns what the future holds.
Warning/s: Brief descriptions of animal death
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Chapter XIV: Be Our Guest
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When Merlin emerges to the surface with the Court Sorcerer, an onslaught of tumultuous activities greets him.
Surprisingly — or perhaps not surprisingly, given what Merlin has asked for earlier — the magic-users of court have joined the other applicants in their efforts in making the soup. The lords and ladies have seamlessly integrated themselves into the chaos of the groups.
The warlock glimpses one of them demonstrating an enchantment that easily patches the minuscule gaps in Cava's enormous pot. On first glance, the hodgepodge of a pot looks nearly finished. The applicants are now merely circling the bronze-blue-red metal and checking for any faults. Morgana and Cava seem to be involved in a deep discussion, their eyes running over said pot.
Sensing eyes on her, Morgana shifts and locks eyes with the warlock himself. Merlin looks away quickly, smothering the swell of guilt in his chest.
The next thing Merlin registers are the chickens. Well, he supposes it's quite hard to miss them, seeing as they run amok in almost every corner. Applicants are attempting to shepherd them in one place with varying degrees of success. Lord Dalion and Lord Mavin are conversing with Mordred and the rest of Merlin's companions underground, although the surroundings are too noisy for Merlin to make out a word. However, when Lord Mavin gestures sharply and the three chickens by his feet collapse, Merlin gets a hint as to the topic of their discussion. The animals, motionless and clearly dead, all showcase broken and twisted necks. The warlock observes more than one applicant blanching at the sight.
From Clar and Theo's group, Merlin spies additional foliage lining their corner. Fully grown ginger and saffron plants sprout in the area, in addition to the peppercorns. A handful of applicants are harvesting them, some through the use of magic while others opt to use their bare hands. Clar and Theo themselves seem to be under the guidance of the sorceress in a violet dress as they attempt to expand the planted spices.
"I'm going to need my hand back," the Court Sorcerer tells the warlock dryly, snapping him out of his observations.
With a start, Merlin realizes he's still holding onto Balinor's arm. He releases his grip immediately, cheeks heating. "Sorry."
The Court Sorcerer gives Merlin a considering glance. Then, he says with a beckoning hand, "Come with me." He strides away without looking back, completely expecting Merlin to follow.
Wanting to meet said expectations, the warlock complies only with slight hesitation. Balinor leads him to an isolated corner of the grounds, and Merlin yet again has to swallow the sour taste of hurt at the back of his throat. It's reasonable to be wary anyway after that less than harmless display.
As they reach a fairly far off corner, Balinor sharply swivels to face the warlock.
"The second test demands no harm come to any applicant," Balinor starts, clasping his hands behind his back. "Down there, you certainly had intentions to do harm. I cannot let you continue participating unless I know you're fully in control of your magic."
Merlin winces at the implied accusation, rubbing the back of his neck. His stomach turns and twists as he thinks through his reply.
"I am. In full control, that is," he says carefully, knowing each word would be measured. He can't afford to be disqualified; he needs to get into that castle, talk to Gaius, and go home. "I was just caught off-guard. It won't happen again, I promise."
"Even if, say, I ask you to work with the Lady Morgana in dismantling the shield?" Balinor inquires in a too casual manner.
Merlin can't fight back a flinch at the mere notion.
The Court Sorcerer nods upon seeing the warlock's reaction, expecting such. "Elaborate on the real reason, Merlin, and I might consider letting you continue on to the third test." His hazel eyes narrow. "You said you thought the Lady Morgana was someone else."
Merlin takes a deep breath, fighting down the sweeping panic that the words invoked. "Her magic looks — uh, feels similar to someone I know. Someone I'm not really on friendly terms with." That's an understatement, the warlock adds quietly. "My - My magic reacted, I tried to defend myself without thinking, and . . ." he trails off, making a gesture that encompasses the whole debacle.
Balinor stares at him, processing his excuse. "And if you work with Lady Morgana, it'll happen again?"
"Probably," the warlock admits, eyes lowering. "Better not to risk it." He's ashamed at his inability to curb his innate response with regards to Morgana. But in his defense, he never had to before. Morgana had always attacked first, without warning or mercy.
Except this Morgana had not an ounce of malice towards me, Merlin says to himself.
"Can this happen with anyone else?" Balinor prompts, dragging the warlock out of his self-pity.
"No, I —" Merlin stops himself because there may be one other person. He purses his lips, pondering. Well, he has been honest so far, and as much as he wants to be chosen, he has no desire to hurt anyone in this realm with his carelessness. "Um, my magic might react poorly with Mordred too." The warlock attempts to point discreetly at the druid, who's currently speedily unfeathering the dead chickens through simultaneous air magic.
The Court Sorcerer gives the said druid a scrutinizing look. "Another one with a magical signature similar to an enemy of yours?"
That's an apt way to describe it. "Yes," Merlin answers with a sigh, knowing each word that comes out of his mouth is making him more and more suspicious in Balinor's eyes.
"I see." Balinor shows none of the suspicion in his countenance, of course, but Merlin can feel it, nonetheless. It's clear that the Court Sorcerer wants to ask a thousand more questions but visibly refrains. He straightens and shoots Merlin a firm look, one a neighbor would give to a rascal child who has been known to cause trouble. "If anything akin to the incident earlier occurs once more, you'll be disqualified from this exam and perhaps banned from future ones. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, boy." Balinor's tone turns dry. "I hope you won't make me regret it."
If Merlin nods more vigorously, his head might just fall of his shoulders. "Of course. Er - thank you. I'll make sure it won't happen again." He rambles some more promises, hoping he sounds as sincere as he feels.
The Court Sorcerer gives him one last long look before marching away. Relief blossoms in Merlin's chest, and he lets out a breath.
After basking in the fact of surviving another confrontational moment, the warlock wanders around. While he may have claimed to have exhausted his magic (a claim that Balinor, Merlin is now realizing, believed not one bit. Is Merlin really that terrible of a liar?), the warlock is sure he can find some non-magical way to help further.
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When the Lady Morgana asks, Lord Dalion willingly dissipates the top part of the opaque shield, revealing bright blue skies.
Morgana thanks the lord with a smile before lifting her pale hands. With fingers spread wide and golden eyes on the sky, Morgana summons dark rolling and rumbling clouds. The sky darkens ominously and thunder growls. The air crackles with static, and the heavy smell of dew tickles their noses.
Merlin, sitting down on the ground, freezes in pestling the saffron bulbs, a prickle of alarm raising all the hairs on his body. Morgana's magic saturates the atmosphere, and his own can't help but react to it. He beats down the energy rising in his veins, forcing it to recede. The action is as painful as folding one's whole body to fit in a bag half of one's size. He exhales and lets out his frustrations on the saffron; unlike peppercorns, it takes quite a lot of effort to transform the filaments into fine powder. He would be less tense if he didn't feel the Court Sorcerer's stare pricking his back.
Many applicants look up from their tasks to watch as concentrated rain pours down from the heavens in great quantities. The drops land on the completed pot with noisy clinks and plunks, filling it with water at an amazingly quick pace.
Applicants hurriedly surround the bottom of the pot with dry wood; some came from the two long tables that held the feast, some from the five buckets that contained the hair-dying potions. With a flick of a finger or a wide gesture of the hand, the wood catches fire and heats up the metal. A couple applicants perform a spell to keep the rain away from the fires, and another to keep the flames hotter than a normal campfire.
"Not too hot!" Cava warns, checking the temperature of the fires that they produced with her bare hands. All right, Merlin reckons she's probably using some sort of spell but it's still a frightening sight. "Or it might melt the metal." Cava sighs in relief when she finds no flame too hot.
After a few more minutes, water fills almost half of their pot. A flaxen-haired applicant beckons Mordred and a couple of others, pointing at the container's opening where rain continued to cascade. Mordred merely flicks his right wrist upward while the other applicants lift both arms.
Slices of meat, plenty enough to nearly block their vision of each other, soar through the air and plop through the half-filled pot. Merlin can't help but stare in amazement at the feathers and three-fingered feet strewn across the grounds, the only remnants of the chickens they kidnapped from below. Had they done it the normal (non-magical) way, Merlin estimates that they would have taken at least three hours just to pluck out the feathers. As it is, it took eighteen sorcerers and sorceresses just a little more than half-an-hour to kill, unfeather, gut, and cut up all one hundred and thirty chickens.
All the meats have been dropped into the pot and submerged in the rapidly heating liquid. When water fills three-fourths of the pot, some several minutes later, Morgana abruptly ends her spell with an almost audible sigh. The dark clouds dissipate almost instantly, and the sky colors a bright blue once more.
Elise, with a determined mein, mutters a short enchantment. A wobbly shield pops into existence, and thoroughly covers the pot's opening. Not even air could escape the magical covering, trapping the heat inside so as to ensure that their meat is cooked properly. The sorceress grins triumphantly at the success of the spell she just learned a few minutes prior.
"Shouldn't you be working on that?"
A poke on the arm drags Merlin's eyes away from the main event. When the warlock turns to face the doer of the said poke, he finds a wan-looking Theo sitting right next to him. Red tints the whites of his eyes, and his skin is two shades paler than when Merlin last saw him. In addition, his hair seems to have lost what little color it had.
"Are you all right?" the warlock asks in concern, placing the wooden mortar down on the ground.
"On the verge of magical exhaustion, thanks for asking," Theo drawls out. If he had been less exhausted, there would have been a bite to it. He pilfers the saffron-laden container from under Merlin's hands. "Gave too much to the plants. Lady Jayden ordered me to stop doing magic for the next couple of hours because of it."
'Magical exhaustion', Merlin mouths as Theo viciously grinds the spice, although his movements are a tad too sluggish to ever truly be described as vicious. So that's the proper term for it. The warlock himself never experienced it too severely so he can only imagine how horrible Theo must be feeling.
A certain spell leaps in Merlin's mind. "I know — er, I've read something that might help." He wiggles his fingers, silently asking for permission.
Theo halts in torturing the already crushed saffron. He blinks up at Merlin, and then, his gaze darts to the side. A few feet away, three applicants hastily look down to the ingredient they're preparing. Merlin sighs and drops his hand. Wary eyes have followed him ever since the debacle underground; in fact, Theo is the first person to willingly approach him after his talk with the Court Sorcerer.
"I thought you can't do any more magic," Theo replies, tone curious instead of accusing.
Gossip sure travels fast. Merlin shrugs carelessly, figuring that he has little hope of really maintaining the lie. "I can still do a little bit."
Theo contemplates for a while. Merlin waits with bated breath. Then, the gray-haired man says simply, "All right. What do you need me to do?"
The warlock beams, warmth unfurling in his chest. "I just need to —" Merlin reaches out and clasps a hand around Theo's shoulder, his index finger settling on the skin on the other man's neck. "Oferċyrre drýcræft." With intention, the warlock pushes a tiny pulse of his own magic out through his fingertips.
Theo draws in a sharp inhale, the color returning to his cheeks. He loses the slump on his shoulders, back straightening abruptly and dislodging Merlin's hold.
"Wha?" Theo looks at his hands and his arms, feeling a surge of foreign magic transforming into something familiar, something like his own. He snaps his fingers, and a small flame hovers over his palm. His wide-eyed stare swivels to Merlin, who has been watching him cautiously. "You . . . a magic-transference spell!?" His voice is almost shrill, dripping with incredulity.
"Yes," Merlin replies slowly, beginning to suspect that this spell is yet another spell that he shouldn't have done. But Theo had appeared so drained, and the man had been nothing but friendly to the warlock thus far. "Although I just gave you a little bit of magic so I don't recommend doing exhaustive spells any time soon."
"Just a little bit of . . ." Theo chokes out and then, gapes for several seconds. The warlock shifts, growing uncomfortable. He considers moving away, helping out with the other groups and giving Theo a wide berth.
A laugh startles Merlin out of his considerations. Theo puts a hand over his mouth, attempting to stifle his chortles. The gray-haired man looks at the warlock with glittering eyes denoting amazement and disbelief. "You are impossible, Merlin. Did anyone ever tell you that?"
Despite himself, Merlin feels his lips twitching into a smile. "Once or twice."
Theo shakes his head, seemingly unable to curb his incredulous smile. "Well, I'm grateful for the help. I never believed them, you know, when they said you decimated two scinncræfte crystals during registration."
Those crystals again? Merlin nearly groans in exasperation. Instead of doing so, he opts to scrape off the pulverized saffron from the mortar, and dumps them onto a wooden bowl already brimming with the spice. He grabs another batch of dried saffron strands and begins grinding them.
"I suppose it's mad to deny it now," Theo continues blithely, grasping a handful of saffron himself. He holds it over the bowl. With glowing eyes and a whispered spell, the strands in his hand break apart into tiny red particles and join their similarly powdered comrades in the bowl. "And to think, all this time, I thought I already saw the brightest of them all. Wish I could've seen what you did during registration. Must've been spectacular."
Merlin pauses, looking up at Theo. "Who was it?"
"Hmm?" Theo hums distractedly, crumbling a few more crimson filaments with a spell.
"The one who invoked the brightest from the crystals that you saw?" Merlin, other than himself, has only seen the crystals turn white with Morgana. Curiosity grips him at the notion that another could achieve the same or brighter shade. Mayhaps he knows of them in his world? The warlock looks back and thinks on potential candidates: Edwin, Nimueh, Cornelius Sigan, Morgause . . . On second thought, maybe knowing won't be such a good idea.
Before Merlin can take back his question, Theo begins answering. "I think it was Lord Balinor's first —" He tilts his head in thought. " — and, so far, last apprentice."
Immediately, the warlock's attention fully focuses on Theo and his words. "Oh?" Merlin leans closer. "What happened? How did they pass the tests? How did they get chosen by the Court Sorcerer?"
"She was incredible, I remember," Theo says, a nostalgic smile flitting by his lips. "And also a little frightening, to be honest. I was telling you a bit about it before, wasn't I? The Apprentice Exam six years ago?"
Merlin vaguely recalls their conversation touching upon such a subject but the details elude him. Drat it, he should have listened closely. He might have gotten a clue as to how to get chosen, and acted accordingly. Not that he's expecting to be chosen by the Court Sorcerer himself. Nor hoping to be. Not at all.
Merlin really is a terrible liar, even to himself.
"What happened then?" Merlin asks. "What was the test?"
Unfortunately, before Theo could start narrating, another applicant barges in their conversation.
"Um, are you nearly done with that batch of saffron?" an applicant with a bowl cut inquires timidly. "Only, we think the chicken's almost done cooking and we'll be placing the other ingredients in."
"Oh." Merlin stares at the remaining saffron threads that need to be grounded.
The plate is still half-full. Well, he has just performed magic earlier on Theo so he reckons another tiny and simple spell couldn't hurt. After this whole Apprentice Exam, he vows to avoid using magic for something so trivial again with so many people around. He can't let himself get used to doing magic so casually and openly like this.
He presses a palm over the filaments and mutters the same spell Theo has been using. Instantly, the threads dissolve into something resembling crimson dust. Merlin smiles happily as it produced the desired result, seeing as it's the first time he tried it. The warlock claps away the residue from his palm, and hands over the bowl and the plate full of saffron powder to the other applicant.
The boy accepts them and scurries away.
Theo stares at the warlock. "Why didn't you just do that from the start?"
Merlin tilts his head. "I didn't know the spell before."
Theo blinks rapidly. "You learned it from watching me? Just now?"
Something in the gray-haired man's tone tells Merlin that answering 'yes' would be detrimental to the warlock's already precarious reputation among applicants and to Theo's overall mental health.
". . . No?" Merlin tries, not knowing what else to say.
"Huh," is all Theo can reply with.
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Elise demolishes her shield almost an hour later. Applicants carrying bowls of grounded ginger, saffron, and peppercorns perform levitation spells on themselves to reach the pot's opening. They simultaneously deposit the ingredients at hand onto the nearly boiling waters, careful not to fall in themselves. Another applicant, meanwhile, lifts the the lone barrel of ale in the air and spills it bit by bit into the pot.
"All right, I think that's enough," a flaxen-haired applicant commands the other. The barrel gently settles down on the ground, its remaining contents barely filling five cups. "And now, to stir."
Fi straightens, as the said task is given to him. He levitates himself after all the others have their feet on the soil. He takes a deep breath and holds up both arms.
"Hwyrfepól."
The mixture in the pot, slowly but surely, twirls and forms a whirlpool. Chicken legs and wings, already a rich and darker color than flesh, float from below, disturbed by the enchantment. Fi frowns and repeats the spell to quicken the spin of the thickening broth.
Merlin inhales the delectable scent wafting from the pot. He sees more than one applicant sighed in delight from the smell. He feels his chest loosening with something akin to reprieve; they only have less than an hour left to compete the second task but they're nearly done. Unless something very tragic happens, Merlin reckons they'll all be passing the test.
Deciding not to dwell on dark thoughts lest they tempt bad luck, Merlin casts his gaze around to observe. Most of the applicants have slumped down to the ground, even the uptight nobles like Clar. Exhaustion lines their grimy faces but a hint of satisfaction shines through their visage. A handful of applicants are still tensed and restless, unable to sit down and relax as their eyes never waver from the cooking soup. The magic-users of court have struck up discussions with the applicants, postures and expressions candid. It's a stark contrast to their nonchalant behavior earlier. A few of them, like Balinor, stiffly stand isolated from the rest, contenting themselves on merely watching from afar.
Mordred and Morgana have joined the circle of applicants around the enormous pot, their own spells contributing greatly to the maintenance of the cooking flames.
Merlin considers lending hand but knows he can't, not with the alternate versions of his enemies in the mix. The warlock sighs, about to tear his gaze away when a glint of light color catches his eye.
Blue eyes dart to the source. Merlin squints. He rubs his eyes, leans forward a bit, and squints again. In one corner of the grounds, their placement from behind the pot almost hiding them from Merlin's view, are two wooden crates. They were the crates that once held the goblets used during the first test. But there's something odd about them. Merlin feels like he's seeing them through water, the facade wavering and wobbling. A slight ache shoots up at the back of his head for each second he stares directly at them.
It's also strange that none of the applicants have scavenged the crates for kindling. Magical fires can certainly go on without firewood, albeit it's the magic-user's own energy that will fuel it. It takes a lot less effort to sustain the fires if they have more materials to burn.
Merlin gets to his feet and dusts of the sand from his trousers.
Theo halts his conversation with another applicant and turns to look at the warlock. "Where're you going then?"
"To get some more kindling," he says briefly as he walks towards the crates. If he's being completely honest, his main desire is to investigate the bizarreness surrounding the wooden boxes.
As he gets closer, the oddness does not abate. The crates appear even blurrier, like anxious ghosts or flickering mirages. A brilliant headache spikes up inside his skull, and Merlin has to look away for a moment to relieve it.
As he stops in front of them, he notices that their lids are back on, hiding its contents. Do they hold something else, aside from the goblets?
"What are you doing?"
Merlin jumps and whirls around. Theo stands behind him, a quizzical frown on his face.
"There's something weird about these crates," the warlock says, his own brows furrowed.
Theo glances down. Then, he looks back up at Merlin. "What crates?''
Merlin blinks back at him. "The . . . crates." The warlock gestures down, having no words to describe them further.
The gray-haired man follows the direction of his hand, head tilting down. Theo's eyes narrow, blue irises searching but never focusing on the boxes themselves. The bafflement stays on his face as he stares back at the warlock.
"Merlin, there's nothing there," Theo says slowly.
Merlin, beginning to doubt his own sanity, looks again. But, even in their blurry glory, the warlock sees the crates lying in front of them.
"They're right there," he insists. He bends down over one of the boxes and reaches out, trying to prove that they exist beyond sight.
His fingers barely skim the rough surface of the wood when a high-pitched otherworldly scream pierces the air. The familiar sound chills the warlock's whole being, and he breaks out in cold sweat. Merlin's palms fly to his ears to cover them, and Theo does the same with a severe grimace. The warlock tumbles to the ground after a full-body flinch.
The blood-curdling cry dies out shortly thereafter. Shakily, Theo places his hands down and croaks out, "What the bloody hellwas that?"
Merlin, equally tremulous, gingerly backs away from the boxes. His head whips around, and he's utterly flabbergasted to find not one other applicant seems to have heard the ear-splitting shriek. In fact, none of them are even vaguely looking in their direction even after the hysterical display.
"I should have known you'll be the center of trouble again."
Merlin immediately gets to his feet as he hears the Court Sorcerer's familiar speech. He spins to face his not-father and says the words of the innocent: "I didn't do anything."
Balinor lifts a brow. "Perhaps not you." He waves a hand, amber eyes flaring gold. "Ovrel has clearly mucked up the stealth spell."
Merlin glances back at the crates, and goggles when he finds no trace of them. But wait . . . They're there, a part of Merlin asserts. His eyes just can't seem to fasten on them long enough to actually detect them. The warlock tears his gaze away, rubbing his throbbing temples and thoroughly bewildered.
"A stealth spell!" Theo exclaims, the light of realization gleaming on his face. "No wonder I couldn't see them."
Merlin can easily deduce that a stealth spell is meant to veil the boxes from sight. He also has a very strong hunch as to why the crates need hiding.
"Yes," Balinor drawls out. He beckons them away, an air of authority emitting from his countenance. "I must ask you to step away from this area," he says, offering no reason or explanation.
"O-Of course, my lord," Theo answers without hesitation or question. He begins walking away and then halts. He reaches out, encircles a hand around Merlin's upper arm, and hauls them both away. Theo recalls Merlin's demeanor the last time he talked to a member of the court, and the gray-haired would rather not have a repeat of that small heart-stopping event. The warlock lets Theo drag him away, lost in his own musings.
"You all right?" Theo asks with a hint of concern when Merlin has gone quiet for too long.
The warlock swallows loudly. He opens his mouth. Then, thinking better of it, he snaps it shut. Shaking his head, Merlin replies shortly, "It's nothing."
Theo appears unconvinced, judging by his raised brows, but thankfully does not pry. Merlin reckons there's no use in telling him anyway.
There's no use in telling Theo that the warlock may just have figured out what the third test will be. It's not like there's any way any of them could prepare for it.
Merlin has heard that screech only once in his life, and yet the distinctive terror it invoked is hard to forget. He forces his eyes forward, stopping himself from looking back at the crates and at Balinor.
The third test will probably be the hardest of them all, and Merlin is not too sure if he would be willing to subject himself to it.
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As the last grain of sand falls from the hourglass, applicants nervously present twenty-four steaming bowls of soup to the magic-users of court. The broth's consistency is more watery than thick, the copper color having a reddish tint because of the saffron. Small bits of chicken meat float to the surface but they made sure each bowl contain at least a piece of chicken wing or breast.
Balinor graciously accepts a wooden bowl from a grinning Morgana. As if just waiting for his cue, the other full-fledged magic-users does the same. A couple of them even offer encouraging smiles at the apprehensive applicants as they obtain their bowls.
Merlin is a tad amazed at it all, honestly. Just a few hours ago, all they had was several goblets and a couple of leftovers. Now, a part of the training grounds is a small spice garden, and a pot filled with mouthwatering chicken broth stands temptingly in the center.
The warlock glances at the aforementioned pot, whose contents are barely lessened by the bowls they gave to their potential mentors. He hopes they won't be throwing any leftovers away. On the other hand, even with more than fifty people, they can't possibly finish the food meant for three hundred.
Merlin redirects his gaze back to the clustered magic-users. Time slows down for the applicants as the Court Sorcerer, with both hands, lifts the bowl to his lips. Behind him, other sorcerers and sorceress mimic the action.
"Hmm," Balinor hums. They fail to identify whether it's a sound of approval or disappointment.
"Did we pass, my lord?" Fi bravely voices out the question everyone is clamoring to ask.
"It's not only up to me." When the applicants' gazes shift to the others of court in tandem, the Court Sorcerer adds, "Nor only up to them."
With a smirk, Lord Dalion abruptly dismantles the remains of the milky white shield. The loss of the barrier reveals the excited faces of hundreds of people in the audience.
Servants burst forth from the ground's unhindered entrance, lugging hundreds of empty wooden bowls in their arms. Applicants jump out of the way as the said bowls soar into the air as soon as they're in sight. Lady Jayden, with an entertained smile and golden eyes, swings her arms in an arc. The dishes fly higher and higher until they reach the enormous pot's opening. Then, each of them dips itself into the hot soup, and glides away filled with the applicants' hard work.
Merlin watches with wide stupefied eyes as the brimming bowls carefully hover themselves towards the audience. The people themselves enthusiastically pluck bowls of soup from the air, and their joy soaks the atmosphere. Merlin even sees Tom clutching two bowls, and handing one to a bouncing Selly.
Oh. Merlin feels a bubble of warmth unravelling in his chest as he observes various people sipping and enjoying the soup — the soup that took all their combined efforts and energy to make. I see. He glimpses more than a few applicants' eyes misting over as they witness the proceedings. I suppose not a drop would be wasted then.
The warlock looks to the Court Sorcerer, who's summarily finishing up his own portion with solemn grace. Balinor raises a brow when they lock eyes, and Merlin offers a wan smile.
"Here, Merlin."
The warlock startles when a bowl thrusts itself into his line of sight. Mordred, amusement glittering in his azure eyes, slightly shake the bowl in his grip.
"T-Thanks," Merlin takes the proffered soup with a brief quirk of his lips.
The druid nods. He drinks from his own share of the broth himself, head turning to the now visible audience.
Merlin follows his stare, watching as the soup gets distributed among applicants and members of the crowd in the stands. They both watch as the audience titters and converses with one another, eating their portions happily. The warlock sips from his bowl. The rich tang of the broth immediately fills his tongue, and he sighs. Not bad, not bad at all.
"Well?" Balinor's voice reverberates loud and clear around the whole area, overpowering even the noisiest of chats. He addresses the audience members as he asks, "Have the applicants this year passed the second test?"
A beat of silence.
Then, the people in the stands roar out in unanimous agreement.
"Yes!"
"Aye!"
"Yeah!"
They raise their bowls, cheering and hollering even as soup slosh around their hands because of their carelessness.
Several applicants themselves let out whoops of glee. Others attempt to maintain their cool demeanor but the giant grin on their faces ruin their nonchalant image. Clar smirks as if she predicted the results all along. Then, Theo quips something to her, and the royal girl scowls mightily at him.
Merlin tries to summon a brighter smile himself. Knowing what's coming next, however, hinders whatever delight he might have felt at passing the second test.
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"Here you go." Levi turns to his left, about to hand a bowl to the brunette beside him.
Which is why it surprises him when a voluptuous dark-haired woman accepts the soup instead.
"Thank you, love," the woman says brightly and begins her meal without another word.
Levi blinks rapidly in growing confusion. He looks around, searching for a hint of the dirty-white tunic the green-eyed boy has been dressed in but finds nothing of the sort. The brunette, loquacious as he is, has rambled almost constantly since the first test. Levi is astounded to find him gone so suddenly without any warning. He didn't even see the boy move from his seat, didn't hear the rustle of clothing or felt any shifting movements.
Uneasiness paws at him, more at his failure to notice such an obvious change than anything else. He frowns, contemplating on that for a moment. After that moment, he shrugs it off. He's most likely overthinking.
He faces his new seat mate and gives her an assessing glance. "Say, are you looking for work?" Levi asks as he starts on his own soup, already preparing the spiel in his mind.
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
A/N:
"Then we'll sing you off to sleep as you digest
Tonight you'll prop your feet up
But for now, let's eat up
Be our guest
Be our guest
Be our guest
Please, be our guest!" – Lumière, Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Sorry about the late(r than usual) update! Good Omens (TV Series) took me by the throat and screamed "Queer rights!" to my face, and I couldn't resist. Honestly, it's the first time I saw an asexual relationship depicted in mainstream media, and it makes me so happy! I actually already (casually) inserted an asexual character here but have yet to reveal them as such.
Thank you so much, Z, for the coffee! And the very kind comment T^T. And thank you all for the kudos, bookmarks, favorites, follows and reviews! I reread them always to get inspiration (because your analyzations really emphasize and solidifies magical!Camelot for me). Some of your speculations and questions will be answered very soon, I promise!
And, OMG, please redirect your attention to Schoernchen (Shyorn)'s wonderful art (link in my profile)! They're so gorgeous!
On the note about Old and New Religion: I'll expound this later on in this story but I would also just like to clarify that this is based on historical context about the politics in medieval religion. 500's A.D. is the time when Christianity (New Religion, believers of the Triune God) is beginning to sprout in Europe, and paganism (Old Religion, believers of the Triple Goddess) is starting to get oppressed. I'm not going to explicitly name these religions in the story but that's how it'll be implied. Of course, magical!Camelot is a world where paganism is the more dominant religion while non-magical!Camelot is where Christianity is the main religion. Fair warning now: this story might contain bits of philosophical/theological discussions and debates ('cause I'm a sucker for that).
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's kindness reaches you today!
~ Vividpast