Chapter Summary: The test of character is not a test of courage. Very few applicants, however, see the difference.
Warning/s: Brief non-graphic descriptions of cliché nightmares.
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Chapter XV: Blooms in Adversity
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When Prince Arthur delicately sips from the steaming bowl of soup, a rich flavorful taste bursts upon his tongue. The warmth of the broth settles in his stomach comfortably, making him relax a tad.
Not bad at all, he thinks to himself, stifling a smile. While he has admittedly eaten more scrumptious fare, he can't deny that the soup's quality is one suited for royalty. The saffron and ginger combined seamlessly and subtly, the hint of ale emphasizing the chicken's juicy taste, and the meat itself is cooked evenly and properly despite the crudeness of the tools used. Without a doubt, the applicants have truly passed the second test.
Suddenly, his neck prickles sharply, bringing him out of his musings. His gaze instantly swivels to the owner the gaze currently piercing him. Astute blue eyes meet the paradoxical applicant's stormy blue ones.
The dark-haired young man blinks at him. Arthur stares back, face set into the most neutral of expressions. This is usually the time when the other party remember themselves and look away. Contrary to expectations, however, the applicant merely cocks a brow, amusement dancing in his lanky features. The prince hides his astonishment behind a completely blank facade - astonishment both at the completely unexpected action and the ungraspable familiarity that jolts through him. A moment later, the applicant's eyes widen comically, the light of a belated epiphany dawning on him. The young man tears his gaze away from the prince, the corners of his lips turning downwards.
Interesting.
Being a prince, Arthur is used to being stared at, being pointed to, being whispered about. It's part of the job of anyone lucky enough to be born into a royal household. But it's the first time someone who he has never properly met acted so forwardly to him. It seems the applicant's insolence extends even to princes.
Arthur leans forward and observes the young man further for a while, hoping to receive clues for the questions buzzing in his mind. The young man doesn't even shift his head in the prince's general direction, electing to fervently concentrate on whatever discussions the other applicants are having.
Arthur returns to his own soup, curiosity unsatisfied. No matter, he thinks to himself.
He has a strong feeling that he'll be seeing that certain applicant around the castle; he'll have enough time to find his answers then.
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Aren't you glad it isn't rat? the warlock attempts to convey with a meaningful glance as he sees Arthur drinking his share of the soup. Merlin has expected Arthur to scoff or to shoot him a disgusted look. When the blonde merely continues staring at him with indifference, the warlock's heart plummets right into his boots.
Right. Prince Arthur.
He immediately looks away, blowing out a shaky breath. For a short oblivious moment, the warlock has forgotten about Queen Ygraine, about alternate universes, about friends who are strangers, and enemies who are not. For a moment, Merlin has only wanted to share a quick banter with his best friend after and before another tiring ordeal, like they always do. Prince Arthur's reaction (or lack thereof) sharply reminded him that he has no friends here.
"I think that went well," Elise declares blithely as she walks up to Merlin, Mordred, and Theo, providing a much needed diversion.
"That it did," Theo accedes with a firm nod. He lifts his wooden bowl, and Elise enthusiastically bangs it with her own in a makeshift toast.
"There's only one test left," Mordred says, a hint of relief coloring his tone.
The relief would be short-lived, Merlin thinks grimly. He decides not to voice it out, not wanting to tarnish the brief reprieve they have.
"Well, let's hope it'll be more straightforward than the last two," Theo says dryly.
"I don't know. The second test was sort of fun," the baker's daughter replies with a shrug. She plucks a chicken leg from her bowl and takes a giant bite. With her mouth still full, she adds, "I even got to learn a spell from Lord Dalion himself!"
"And I from Lord Mavin," A sliver of quiet pride slips in Mordred's otherwise placid tone.
"I suppose the second test was educational," the gray-haired man admits reluctantly, recalling Lady Jayden's teachings regarding plant-growing enchantments.
"It's a pity the Court Sorcerer himself didn't volunteer his teachings."
Merlin tenses, grip tightening around his own wooden bowl. Everyone, except the warlock, turns to Lady Morgana as she approaches their tiny group.
"It is," Mordred responds, disappointment blatant in the purse of his lips. "I suppose only those who are truly worthy could have the opportunity to learn under him."
Morgana's face is taken up by a knowing smile. "That's true enough, I think."
Merlin belatedly realizes that Morgana is a seer, able to see visions of the future; does she already know the results of the exam? Does the warlock dare ask her? Does it matter now that they're more than halfway through?
Before he can decide, Theo starts up another subject, effectively ending the line of conversation. "Lady Morgana. The name's Theo of Drefir." The gray-haired man tilts his head down in a small bow. "I've heard a great many things about you, my lady," he says, delight and curiosity obvious in his features.
The genial smile upon Morgana's lips becomes imperceptibly strained. Merlin doubts the change is obvious to anyone who knows her less."Most of the tales are exaggerated, I'm afraid."
"The one about the Lamia," Elise pipes up, excitement pitching her voice higher. "Was that one true, my lady?"
"I did predict the creature's movements and helped in defeating it," Morgana answers politely. "But it was my sister who laid down the fatal blow."
Morgause, lances through Merlin's mind like an unexpected headache. So she's here too. Is it too optimistic to hope that they never cross paths?
"And the one with Princess Elaine and the scheming Sidhe?" Theo asks next.
"It was completely obvious that something was afoot. I'm sure you all would have noticed too had you been there," Morgana replies again with a tight smile. "I merely relayed my concerns to King Godwyn."
Morgana's expression grows increasingly shuttered with every word. Something deep within Merlin twinges, a ghost of a long-suppressed instinct. Without thinking it through, he blurts out, "Theo, weren't you telling me about the Court Sorcerer's apprentice before?"
Theo blinks rapidly, off-kiltered by the sudden change of topic. Elise, in the middle of inquiring about another story, snaps her mouth close in surprise.
Mordred visibly perks up, azura eyes shifting to the gray-haired man. "You knew Lady Lily?"
Lily? Merlin tries to recall if he has met someone with that name in his world. The name fails to arouse a memory, which the warlock considers a good thing. At the very least, it seems like Balinor's first apprentice isn't a former enemy.
"I - not really," Theo answers, still discombobulated by the non-sequitur. "I met her briefly in the exam six years ago. I didn't really get the chance to talk to her."
"What was she like?" Merlin encourages with a wide-eyed look. From the corner of his eye, the warlock spies something akin to relief flits by Morgana's face. "Surely Lord Balinor won't just pick any normal sorceress."
"Well, she was certainly extraordinary during the exam. Never thought anyone could swim and perform spells that fast."
Merlin boggles, attention completely stolen by that one statement. Swim? What exactly was the exam back then? Before he could give voice to incredulous questions, Theo continues.
"I do wonder where she got to after the apprenticeship." A confused frown climbs the gray-haired man's face as his eyes dart around.
Mordred glances around himself. "She's not in Camelot's court?"
Theo shakes his head. Then, he pauses, contemplative. "Unless she drastically changed her appearance . . . No, I haven't seen her anywhere so far."
"That's a shame," Elise remarks, lips pursing in a thin disapproving line. "If I get chosen, I'll definitely work here after my apprenticeship."
Mordred and Theo nod in solid agreement. Merlin ponders upon such a circumstance; getting chosen, learning magic under an experienced mentor, securing a job as a sorcerer in Camelot's court, being able to defend and protect Camelot openly without worrying about the executioner's axe . . . He rids himself of the ridiculous notion.
"Perhaps she merely found something else that suited her better," Morgana suggests lightly, seemingly more relaxed now. "I never had the chance to meet Lady Lily myself but a woman of her talents surely isn't lacking in opportunities."
"Lily of Veelin?" A derisive snort grabs their attention. Each one of them turns to a sneering Clar, who apparently deems it appropriate to eavesdrop on their conversation and share her unasked opinion. "Rumor has it that she didn't even get to finish her apprenticeship. That's what you get for choosing a peasant as an apprentice."
Something dark crosses Mordred's features, and his tone contains a hint of ice when he responds, "Careful, Princess Clarisse. I don't think the Court Sorcerer would take kindly to whatever you're implying."
Clar blinks rapidly, only just realizing the ramifications of her prejudiced declaration.
"It's best not to put worth on baseless rumors, Princess Clarisse," Morgana follows up with a saccharine smile.
Instead of ducking down amidst the subtle chastisement, Clar lifts her chin and crosses her arms. She hisses viciously, "I told you not to call me that."
"And we want you to stop calling us 'peasants' in a condescending manner," Theo drawls out. "Alas, we can't always get what we want."
Clar's nostrils flare. Her hands drop to her sides, gold flecking her green irises. In response, Theo abandons his bowl of soup in favor of lifting his arms in both defense and offense.
Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred step forward almost simultaneously, placing themselves firmly between the two. Elise wisely traipses away with her soup, not wanting to be involved in a potentially violent happenstance.
One would think that since they have worked together, their antagonism towards one another would have abated just a smidge. On the other hand, it's really difficult to tolerate Clar's type of prattishness.
"Are you mad?" Suddenly, a nobleman applicant grasps Clar's wrist before she could utter anything, pulling her back. "Are you really going against three White Levels?" he asks in disbelief, completely misunderstanding the target of her ire.
"What?" Clar roughly snatches her hand back, a confused scowl on her face. "Three White Levels?" Her bewildered-laden gaze shifts to the magic-users standing in front of her.
Morgana offers her an affable grin while Mordred tilts his head to the side, blue eyes cool. Merlin himself glances at the druid in surprise; he didn't know that Mordred is a White Level too, although he should have suspected. Magic strong enough to . . . The warlock cuts that line of thought abruptly. Another world, different Mordred, he reminds himself aggressively.
"Didn't you know?" Elise pipes up with a smirk before finishing the remains of her soup.
Clar huffs but there's something vigilant in her stance now. "Not worth my time, anyway." She shoots one last venomous glare at Theo before striding off with the nobleman.
"That girl really likes picking fights," Theo remarks with a sigh. He casts a forlorn glance at his spilled soup.
"And you like goading her into one," Merlin points out, lifting a disapproving brow. He hands his own bowl of soup to the other man.
Theo shrugs as he accepts, the corners of his lips curving up. "Not my fault she's easy to rile up."
Morgana tuts but she can't quite stifle the amused smile on her face. Elise has no such compunction, smiling widely. Mordred merely shakes his head.
A shrill noise steals their attention before any further conversation could proceed. Five heads whip to the source of the sound in alarm.
Lord Mavin, almost an hour after the conclusion of the second test, calmly approaches the empty bronze pot. He puts a palm flat on the metal surface, and whispers an enchantment. The structure carefully crumples into itself like it's made of paper, causing a toned-down screech.
The pot gingerly bends and bows to form a dense ball. When the metal is but a smooth rounded sphere, Lord Mavin makes a sharp gesture. The bronze sphere sleekly rolls to an empty corner of the grounds, applicants jumping out of the way to prevent their toes from being run over. Lady Jayden flimsily waves a hand, and the remains of the cooking fire sweeps themselves aside, joining the metal ball in its isolated niche. The center of the grounds is left clean and unblemished with debris.
Twin cracks resound in the air, and the warlock turns to the cause with trepidation. The crates have been pried open; they're the same boxes that Merlin has prodded earlier, and ones he can now directly look at without gaining a headache. He supposes the stealth spell is no longer needed, and the implications of that sends a chill down his spine.
A sorcerer and sorceress of court, ones whose names Merlin has yet to learn, lean down on a box each, hands reaching for the items inside. As they straightened from their crouch, they each brandish clay jars twice the size of the warlock's head, sealed with wooden corks.
The corks come out with foreboding pops. The applicants have gone deafeningly silent and eerily still, observing the proceedings with wary eyes. None dares to speak or even look away. The audience, sensing the bubbling tension in the air, grows quiet themselves.
With purposeful movements, the sorceress tilts the jar. Liquid as black as a raven's feathers oozes from the lip, and dribbles in a continuous syrupy stream onto the ground. The sorceress begins treading slowly, spilling the substance in a designated pattern. Several feet away, the sorcerer does the same with his own jar of unknown liquid.
"What is that?" someone whispers with an inkling of dread. No one else dares to speak to answer them.
After a few more minutes, the two magic-users finish their ministrations. A gigantic inky black ring consumes the majority of the grounds as the sorcerer and sorceress step back, jars empty in their hands. Tiny detailed runes surround its arcs, neatly drawn and intricately placed.
"The third test," Balinor starts steadily and without emotion, shattering the fragile quiet like glass. "The test of character." With a flick of his wrist, the large hourglass of the second test disappears, only to be replaced by one the size of Merlin's palm. "The black ooze is a potion made from the diluted essence of mandrake roots."
Gasps of disbelief and fright vibrate the air in the area. Merlin sighs heavily as his suspicions are confirmed.
"Wait, isn't that dangerous?" Clar protests, sounding both angry and hysterical.
Balinor answers without missing a beat, "As I said, it's diluted. It'll have no lasting effects on any of you." While the statement may imply that it isn't in any way dangerous, Merlin notices that Balinor fails to explicitly say so. The Court Sorcerer continues over the increasing noise. "As several of you may know, mandrake roots have the ability to read your fears, and show you vivid visions of them. The circle here, once it's activated with an illusion spell, will allow us -" Here, he gestures to his fellow members in the court and to the audience stands. " - to see those visions for ourselves." Then, he adds with a hint of reassurance, "However, as it is diluted, it is not capable of accessing your deepest and worst fears."
At that, some of the tension drains from the applicants' bearings.
"The illusion cannot physically harm you and will be dispelled on touch." Another ripple of relief crests over the grounds. "It will also dissipate once you decide to step out of the circle." He points to the small hourglass. "We want you to stay inside the circle and avoid physical contact with the illusions until the time ends."
Merlin squints at the hourglass. Only a couple of minutes . . . Surely not enough time to make an utter fool of himself . . .
Then, the Court Sorcerer casually releases the words that provoke a wave of confused murmurings. "Of course, that is what we want but not necessarily what is required to pass the test." His assessing gaze glides from one baffled applicant to another, making them fidget. "This is a test of character, not of courage. We don't expect any reckless acts of bravery. We don't expect you to be fearless or to confront the illusions without a flinch."
"Then, Lord Balinor." Morgana arches a brow, steadfast amidst the abrupt attention she garnered. "What exactly do you expect from us?"
Balinor clasps his hands behind his back, a hint of challenge in his expression as he replies, "We expect to see you." He cocks his head and follows it up with a, "That said, the criteria for passing this test is, I'm afraid, quite arbitrary."
Morgana nods in understanding, satisfied. Merlin figures that Balinor's response would be something akin to that; the test's purpose is obviously to glimpse upon the applicants' true selves. The two of them seem to be included in the very few who comprehended the Court Sorcerer's answer.
The applicants exchange uncertain and anxious glances, lost but unwilling to ask the Court Sorcerer for further clarification. They begin mumbling to one another, voicing out their concerns.
"Do you really think this is safe?"
"I don't know but the Court Sorcerer said it's fine so . . ."
"Do you know what it'll show you?"
"Oh dear, I really wish it won't show anything embarrassing . . ."
Theo murmurs, "Oh, it'll definitely show something embarrassing."
"What does it mean, anyway, that it's arbitrary?"
"I think it means if they don't like what they see, you're going to fail."
"Better last until the time ends just in case . . ."
Even the audience members cannot help but discuss and express their worries on the matter. Balinor allows them several moments for their speculations before speaking once more.
"Your names will be called out one by one. We'll activate the circle and you'll be asked to step in."
The Court Sorcerer's shoulders straighten in a determined line. A hint of something grim flashes by his features but it's gone before Merlin can properly identify it. Balinor then lifts a hand towards the marred ground and encants. The runes warp into liquid gold in response, pulsing like a heartbeat. A familiar shriek once again reverberates the air but unlike before, it's severely muted and distant. Merlin grimaces nonetheless, the screech causing his skin to prickle.
"However." The Court Sorcerer begins treading closer to the circle. "Know that I will not ask you to do that which I will not do myself."
With that, he steps inside the circle as if he's merely entering a normal room. The ring suddenly ceases glowing, the runes returning to its blackened state as the flow of magic converges inwards.
Horrified silence ensues. Merlin unknowingly holds his breath.
A giant furless and bony rat suddenly appears inside with Balinor. The applicants nearby yelp and spring farther away from the circle. Some of the audience members, particularly children, scream unabashedly. Perhaps more terrifyingly, Merlin hears someone coo amidst the noise, and another say, "It's adorable!" He opts not to look for the voices' owners.
The rat - the wildren, Merlin recognizes - sniffs the air, large protruding teeth hovering dangerously close to Balinor's head. It's so realistic in its movements and noises that Merlin questions whether it is truly only an illusion. The Court Sorcerer stares impassively at it, not moving an inch. The warlock simultaneously admires and fears Balinor's unshakeable aplomb.
The wildren disappears just as abruptly as it had come to existence. Near the black outlines of the circle, directly opposite the Court Sorcerer, sprawls a woman instead. The woman, looking as young as Merlin himself, wears expensive-looking robes the color of pale sapphire and darned with intricate symbols at the edges. Her long dark hair fans out around a pale angular face, and her hands are splayed carelessly by her sides. Dark cerulean eyes gaze up at blue skies, glassy and unseeing. She lies on the ground, chest still and whole body unmoving.
A spark of recognition niggles the back of the warlock's mind as he observes the woman's features. He has met her in his world, he is sure, and yet he couldn't pinpoint where and when. Not one of his memorable enemies then, if ever . . . Perhaps one of the townspeople he passes by every day on his way to his chores?
His attempts at remembering is the reason why it takes him an embarrassingly long time to figure out that he's staring at a corpse. The epiphany feels akin to a bucket of icy water being chucked over him.
His attention veers to the Court Sorcerer. If Merlin thought Balinor was emotionless before, he was wrong. The Court Sorcerer's face right now resembles the sentinel statues guarding the castles of Camelot. Before, Merlin might have detected a hint of something in the arch of his brows or curve of his lips. Now, all those traces are gone, replaced by pure utter blankness. Merlin doesn't know what to make of it.
The ability to read your fears, and show you vivid visions of them, reverberates in the warlock's mind.
A choked gasp reaches Merlin's ears, and he turns to the source without thinking. Theo's blue eyes are wide and aghast as they take in the scene. "Is that why . . . ? But . . ."
The warlock glances around; most of the applicants, even Morgana and Mordred, appear befuddled regarding the meaning of the scene, indicating their lack of knowledge regarding the woman's identity. Half of the audience looks similarly puzzled while the other half has summarily looked away from the sight, expressions pinched.
Later, Merlin would understand that this behavior meant they were giving the Court Sorcerer a semblance of privacy in the midst of a precarious moment.
The magic-users of court have gone and adopted their previously eerie nonchalant mien. Merlin is about to ask Theo, the only applicant to obviously recognize her, who she is and what her significance is to the Court Sorcerer.
Then, his gaze strays and latches onto something else, stealing the words from his mouth.
Prince Arthur's face mimics that of the Court Sorcerer's, features smooth and cool. His knuckles, however, are white where his fingers grip the armrests of his chair.
Merlin may not know much about Balinor, both versions of him, but the warlock knows a lot about Arthur. King Arthur, anyway. But it seems that fact is enough for him to read the barely caged sorrow raging in Prince Arthur's cold eyes.
Merlin stares, stunned that the first emotion he perceived from the prince is one so strong and adverse. It occurs to him then that what they may be seeing isn't just an illusionary nightmare coming to life but rather a grief-stricken memory from the Court Sorcerer. And maybe for Prince Arthur too.
Before the warlock could observe the mirage further and gather more clues, it disappears, replaced by another just as disturbing.
A tall hooded figure stands in the middle of the circle, cloaked in the blackest garb Merlin has ever seen. Staring at the material is akin to staring into an endless abyss that threatens to swallow the warlock whole. Even with the sun directly shining on the figure, the shadows under the hood refuse to abate, leaving a sinister faceless facade. A chill runs down the warlock's back as he continues gazing at it.
Elise and Mordred hisses at the sight, backing away several steps. Morgana follows them, face guarded. Theo blanches, seemingly frozen on the spot. Several people, applicant or not, convey varying degrees of terror, recoiling and turning away.
The hooded figure begins walking towards the Court Sorcerer, one leather-gloved hand outstretched. The movement evokes a ripple of yells and flinches from everyone. The warlock cannot help but balk himself. Malevolence emanates from the figure, their aura on par with the malicious Morgana of his world.
"As I said," Balinor speaks for the first time since entering the circle, voice as devoid of emotion as his face. He looks as if a very frightening and realistic vision of death itself isn't approaching him with intent. "It's merely an illusion. It's incapable of inflicting physical harm." He lifts a hand and shoves the hooded figure as soon as it's within arm's reach. As soon as his fingertips make contact with the dark cloak, the figure dissipates in inky smoke.
Merlin feels everyone sighing in relief at its disintegration.
Balinor seamlessly step out of the circle, the whole demonstration taking less than a minute. The circle pulses once more in response, symbols glowing. The applicants stare at him, amazed that he could face such frightening visions without so much as a twitch.
"That's Camelot's Court Sorcerer for you, I suppose," a nobleman remarks dazedly.
"I guess even the Court Sorcerer's afraid of the böggel-mann," another says, a drop of terror present in their nervous chuckle.
"Afraid? Did we watch the same thing? There's nothing afraid in the way he handled that!"
"Well, the essence of the mandrake root did show that . . . so he must be the tiniest bit afraid?"
The böggel-mann? Merlin mouths the word to himself, having heard it clearly amidst the mutterings. The term exists even in his own realm; it's a creature used by parents to scare their children into behaving. You should finish all your chores or the böggel-mann will get you! Oh, don't stay out too late; the böggel-mann lurks in the night, waiting for children like you to get lost! The böggel-mann eats disobedient children! It's a mythical tale, and one every adult knows does not truly exist.
Merlin thinks back to the malefic figure in black. Does the böggel-mann actually exist in this world, terrorizing citizens in every kingdom? The notion simultaneously intrigues and appalls him.
Any further musing on his part is disrupted, when, just a few seconds later, Lady Jayden enters the enclosure. The ring shifts into charcoal-color once more in preparation. Surprise flits by the Court Sorcerer's expression at the happenstance. Lord Dalion visibly rolls his eyes.
Lady Jayden cocks a brow and says, "Just like Lord Balinor, I won't have you do something I'm not willing to do myself."
Shockingly, just like Balinor, a sniffing wildren is the first to appear for her. There are less screams this time, the people watching more prepared. Lady Jayden wrinkles her nose but looks otherwise unperturbed by the creature. A few seconds later, the wildren disappears without a fuss.
A man with a halo of blonde curls spawns next, on his knees and clutching a bleeding wound on his chest. He turns their wide agony-filled eyes to Lady Jayden, pleading for help. Exclamations resound in the area at his blood-soaked appearance.
Lady Jayden presses her lips into a tight line, staring at the man with a hint of pain. Her hands are twisted into fists by her sides. It's obviously taking a lot of effort for her not to move an inch, not to go nearer and heed the pleas.
Merlin looks closer as familiarity flares again in his mind. Unlike before, however, he is able to put a name to the face almost immediately. Edwin Muirden, with one side of his face scarred by the fires that burnt his parents, is one of the first sorcerers Merlin had encountered and defeated during his first year in Camelot. Edwin is also the first person to teach Merlin that being a naive sorcerer in Camelot would get you and your loved ones killed.
Now, it is Edwin Muirden's unblemished face that is currently twisted in undeniable pain. Merlin returns his astounded gaze to Lady Jayden; what exactly is her relationship with the Edwin of this realm?
The illusions fizzles out after several seconds, and Lady Jayden backs out of the circle in one giant gait. As soon as the sorceress is out, Lord Dalion takes his turn. The action prompts Balinor to lift a delicate brow, seemingly astonished with the turn of events but making no motion to stop it.
A serket and a heartbreaking scene with a dying little girl later, Lord Dalion stalks out of the circle with a blank face but pale pallor. Lord Mavin bravely steps in next.
On it goes, the twenty-four sorcerers and sorceresses of court nonchalantly slipping inside the beaming runes. They exit with not-so-nonchalant faces. Merlin supposes it's difficult to be absolutely aloof after seeing scenes depicting frightening creatures or bleeding loved ones.
The audience are torn between wishing to watch the proceedings and wishing to look away to make it less awkward for the magic-user inside the circle. The applicants, meanwhile, has no qualms in observing the whole process keenly; hopefully, they'll extract a viable technique on how to deal with the phantoms appearing inside. Unfortunately, however, it seems there are none - no tricks, no loopholes, and no further help. It is as straightforward as Balinor advised.
"Be careful what you wish for, they always say," Theo mutters with exasperation. Merlin almost laughs out loud because wishes are exactly what brought him here.
Merlin, along with the other applicants, fully realizes just what they will be revealing as soon as they enter the ring. The naked vulnerability, the idea of being practically exposed in front of dozens of eyes, the petrifying truths that they themselves may be denying . . .
Cold dread trickles down Merlin's stomach. What will the illusions show with him in the circle? He side-eyes the two magic-users beside him. Morgana or Modred attacking him? Camelot's castle in ruins? The Dorocha, the wild griffin, the Afanc, or any of the terrifying creatures Merlin has fought? Nimueh, with cold blue eyes, summoning a fireball? Morgause, with the moue of utter hatred, lunging for him? The possibilities are endless. More than anything, however, Merlin fears the illusions might reveal a little too much of his origins.
"I don't think I can do this," Elise confesses quietly, mouth turned downward.
"It's the last test," Morgana soothes, offering her a soft smile. The tightness around her eyes, however, belies her own anxiety. "I'm certain it'll be over before you know it."
Theo cocks a brow at that, doubt and worry written in every inch of his face. Although Mordred has adapted another unaffected visage, tension lines the set of his shoulders. Merlin takes a deep breath, steeling himself. Morgana is right about one thing: it is the last test. He can't turn back now. If the illusions divulge something strange for the people in this realm, he just need to invent an explanation quickly.
And I face my fears everyday, don't I? The warlock ruefully thinks of the pyre, of lying to his friends' faces, of bantering with Arthur and wondering if that will be the last day he will get to do so.
Half an hour later, the last sorcerer of court backs out of the circle. "Now that our respective demonstrations over -" The Court Sorcerer shoots the magic-users of court an unamused glance; clearly, only Balinor was supposed to show how the third test worked. " - let us begin with yours."
A sorcerer with long dark curls and sheafs of paper on both hands comes up beside Balinor. He mindlessly and speedily shuffles the parchments, the articles shimmying and crunching in protest. The sorcerer finally halts his ministrations, clears his throat, and calls out the first name on the parchment on top, "Danali of Obina Village!"
The applicants and audience glance around, looking for the first victim of the third test. After several seconds, a short-haired woman in cream-colored frills staggers forward. She has a look of understandable panic as she draws closer to the circle. The Court Sorcerer flips the tiny hourglass as soon as her feet are placed firmly inside.
At the sight of several large red-bellied snakes, she yelps and hurriedly backs away. She accidentally withdraws out of the circle.
"Um. I'll try again," she says sheepishly.
"Oh, no need," Lady Jayden replies, offering her an understandable smile as the sorceress herself twists the barely trickled hourglass back to its previous state. "I think that would be enough."
Danali slinks away with a grimace, no doubt commiserating over her not-so-stellar performance during the test. Another applicant pats her back in consolation as she rejoins the group.
The sorcerer with the parchments leafs through the next document, through the next casualty. "Theo of Drefir!"
Mordred, Morgana, Elise, and Merlin turn to the owner of the name. The gray-haired man startles. Then, he lifts the bowl of soup in his hand and finishes it in one giant gulp like a tankard of mead.
Theo lets go of the empty bowl, and rolls his shoulders. "Wish me luck," he quips in a false cheery tone before marching forward.
The hourglass starts the time and Theo drags himself inside the runes.
The böggel-mann materializes not even a full second later in all its black sinister glory, reappearing for the first time since Balinor's demonstration. Theo flinches violently, almost recoiling out of the circle. Thankfully, he manages to keep himself still at the last moment. His fingers curl into tight shaky fists, blue eyes darting everywhere but the vision in front of him.
Merlin's gaze slides to the Court Sorcerer and Prince Arthur. Both stare at the illusion with scarily impassive faces even as the rest of people shirk away.
"What is the böggel-mann?" Merlin can't help but ask, curiosity nearly overwhelming him. In the ring, the böggel-mann begins gliding towards Theo in slow unhurried treads.
"Not what but who," Mordred replies, attention still on the spectacle before them. He gives the warlock a sidelong glance, tone casual as he remarks, "It seems you've lived an awfully sheltered life, Merlin."
The warlock tries not to let alarm show on his face. "W-Well, yeah, somewhat. My mother was overprotective, and our village is really isolated." None of those things are, technically, lies.
Theo dashes to the other side of the circle, ensuring he's as far away from the hooded creature as possible. The vision follows him like a haunting ghost.
Mordred hums, displaying no hint whatsoever as to whether he believed Merlin's lies or not. Fortunately, he continues his elaboration, "The böggel-mann is merely an epithet. No one mentions him by name; it's said to bring bad luck."
The böggel-mann is a person, not a magical creature of darkness or chaos. Somehow, that fact makes it - him - much more disturbing. Merlin halts his line of questioning, suddenly feeling that just knowing more about this supposed böggel-mann will attract (more) trouble for him. It's not the warlock's business, anyways.
In the circle, the böggel-mann has finally disappeared. Instead, it's replaced by an apparition of a white-haired young woman convulsing on the ground. Theo releases a choked sound that might have been a name, and unhesitatingly drops to his knees by her side. As soon as his hand makes contact with the woman, she fizzles out in smoke. Theo stares at the spot where she laid with wide unnerved eyes.
"Thank you, Theo of Drefir. You may exit," Lady Jayden says amiably, flipping the hourglass again. Half of the sand had already been at the bottom.
Theo gets to his feet and exits the circle with a jerky nod. Behind him, the symbols glow once more, asking for the next prey.
"Well, that wasn't so bad," the gray-haired man informs them with a wobbly smile. "Could've been worse, really."
They all merely nod in sympathy.
"Orphel Williams!"
A nobleman with a mop of light brown hair walks ahead. He straightens his garments, takes a deep breath, and declares with confidence, "I forfeit my application for this year's Apprentice Exam."
Exclamations follow his proclamation, applicants giving him scandalized looks.
"No shame in that," Lady Jayden assures them firmly. "You may opt to stay in the grounds until the test is over if you wish."
Orphel nods, not at all bothered by all the gawking. "I do wish it." Without another word, he swivels around and away from the circle.
Half of the applicants stare at him dubiously while others appear contemplative. Merlin admits that professing one's shortcomings in front of hundreds of people also takes a certain kind of courage.
"Francs Heloise!"
Another nobleman drags himself into the circle, face a mesh of anxiousness. One by one, applicants take their turns in exposing their fears in front of several seemingly judgmental eyes. The illusion are never too gory or disgusting but their lifelike movements and sounds do little to remind the applicant of their safety. An angry guardian sprinting towards them, a dying dog whimpering its last, a tsunami of water cresting over, a deep pit slowly crumbling the ground underneath, a ghostly image with far too many teeth . . . The warlock stares with awe and trepidation as nightmares upon nightmares spring into existence. More than one magic-user accidentally perform enchantments in an attempt to keep the illusions away. Unfortunately for them, the spells merely bounce off of the visions without much effect.
The audience watches in rapture, some making quiet gasps of surprise with every frightening imagery.
A couple of the applicants manage to keep themselves inside the circle and touch nothing in it until the time ran out. They are met with raucous applause from the observers in the stands as soon as they step out. The magic-users of court give them worthy nods of acknowledgement. Fi and Cava accomplish such a feat, getting through the third test with the hourglass emptied out at the bottom. Clar, who has faced a crumbling castle wall and crawling scorpions with a practiced sneer, also succeeds in fulfilling the Court Sorcerer's requirements.
The böggel-mann resurfaces a few more times, and each of those who summoned him fails to last long. None can even look directly at him, preferring to blindlessly run around him. Merlin wonders how one singular person can evoke such terror in so many hearts. He fights down a shudder at the potential answers. He hopes, for this realm's sake, that this böggel-mann gets caught sooner rather than later.
Since the precedent has been set, more than fifteen applicants have actually dropped from the Apprentice Exam, deciding not to submit themselves to the ordeal that is the third test. The warlock can't help but breathe out a sigh of relief each time; with the applicants decreasing, his chances of being chosen are increasing.
From Merlin little circle, Elise's name is selected next. Despite her earlier lack of confidence, she pushes through and refuses to forfeit, even though she does dither for quite a while.
A wall of fire, a dying baker, and a revolting mass of maggots later, Elise withdraws from the circle, only a tiny bit pale. Applause ensues, seeing as the hourglass has run its course. Elise beams and practically skips back to the other applicants.
"Well done," Theo congratulates with a grin.
"I thought it would show worse, to be honest," Elise says with a wince. "Not that those things were easy to face . . ."
Their conversation stops when the next applicant is named: "Mordred of the Forest of Engred?"
The said druid's back straightens abruptly, shoulders tensing. He gives the others a solemn nod before striding towards the runed ring. The hourglass pitches downward and the countdown starts as Mordred casually steps inside.
A young woman with a sharp nose and long brown locks stands demurely in the middle of the circle. She dons tattered druidic robes the color of a clear lake. Her humble appearance doesn't match the absolutely manic and mocking grin stretching her lips wide, and her cobalt eyes hold twin drops of malice.
Mordred doesn't look surprised at the vision. His cool azure eyes bore through the woman as if he's trying to freeze her on the spot. Nonetheless, the illusion begins marching towards him, expression not faltering in the slightest. Mordred carefully side-steps her attempts to reach him, keeping his hands folded upon his back. Merlin sort of feels like he's watching a dance, albeit one where the two partners are avoiding any contact with one another.
The woman abruptly disappears after several seconds of the chase.
Then, Mordred finds himself facing an exact image of himself, in the same stance, clothing and mien. The druid's eyes widen fractionally, countenance becoming more wary and hands falling to his sides. His cloned image slowly begins to smirk, a tint of mania slipping in his youthful features. Mordred backs away from him - it. It follows, stride confident and unhurried. Its eyes blaze a bright golden color. Suddenly, bodies are strewn inside the circle, all bloodied and motionless. Mordred's twin image is marred with splatters of blood itself - in its hair, cheeks, tunic, hands. All the while, its grin has turned wider and borderline insane.
Mordred takes in the scene with eerie tranquility. His jaw clenches. As calm as the eye of the storm, the druid then places his right foot back, and leaves the circle in one smooth move. The illusions vanish, and a few moments of stunned silence settle over the area.
Merlin blinks rapidly, not knowing how to interpret what he has just seen. The vision is fictitious, that the warlock is certain of, because he doubts the court of Camelot would allow the druid to walk free if it's not. Is Mordred capable of all that? Or does he only fear that he might be? Again, the warlock recalls the prophecies in his own world and wonders whether there are similar prophecies in this world about Mordred, about the devastation he will bring to the kingdom of Camelot.
Lady Jayden clears her throat and resets the hourglass. "Thank you, Mordred of the Forest of Engred."
Mordred nods gravely and returns to the other applicants. Most of them give him uncertain glances and a wide berth, their attitude towards the druid not unlike their behavior towards Merlin now.
"Wasn't that bad, really," Theo attempts to comfort as the next applicant is called. His smile resembles a grimace more than an actual smile.
"The illusions have shown worse earlier," Elise tries afterwards, looking as unconvinced as she sounds.
Mordred says nothing, and seems to avoid meeting anyone's eyes. His expression, as usual, reveals little but Merlin sees, in the cracks of his mask, the undeniable rattled quality to his whole visage.
And for the first time since Merlin has been transported into this unknown unfamiliar world, he sees not the man who's destined to end his best friend, not the druid who killed men with an angry shout, but rather the injured child lost and mute in the markets.
"It's only natural to be apprehensive, I think," Merlin says quietly, looking at the applicant currently being tested but not really seeing them. "Especially when we know we're more than capable enough to inflict hurt." At this, his eyes can't help but stray to Morgana in remembrance of the incident earlier. He immediately snaps them away, and, by chance, locks eyes with Mordred. Merlin offers a wan smile and shrugs in an attempt to be nonchalant, in an attempt to hide that he had worried (is still worrying? 'I'm not a monster, am I?') about the same thing. "It's good to be aware and wary of our strength. Makes us think before we act."
The druid casts a considering glance at the warlock as if the words are the last thing he expects to hear from Merlin. Merlin feels a tad offended; he says wise and profound things all the time! Although perhaps not so much in the past few days, seeing as he is clueless of the realms's workings.
"Well said, Merlin," Morgana remarks approvingly with a soft smile. She places a gentle hand over Mordred's shoulder. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. The exam is meant to test your mettle, and I should think you've done more than enough to prove your worth in the third test."
The ghost of a smile lifts the druid's lips. Again, he says naught a word in reply but he nods to all four of them in gratitude. They offer no more advice, letting the druid gather his thoughts.
After three more applicants, another familiar name echoes. "Morgana Le Fay?"
The aforementioned sorceress inhales deeply before gracefully strolling towards the pulsing circle. Merlin feels the mounting interests of the townspeople in the stands, the applicants on the grounds, and the court's magic-users scattered around. The warlock can't help but lean forward himself as the Morgana easily enters the ring.
Merlin breathes in sharply when the solemn image of Morgause emerges, dressed in extravagant but practical hunting gear. This Morgana is afraid of her own sister? He observes that many of those in court wear similarly astonished faces, clearly recognizing the apparition. The illusion arches a condescending brow at Morgana. By her sides, Morgana's fingers twitch for a brief moment. They both stare at each other for a long while, silent and expectant.
After several seconds of standstill, Morgana blinks.
As if on cue, Morgause snarls, face transforming into something less than human. Her hands curl into claws, long nails heading towards Morgana's neck. Morgana freezes for a split second, emerald eyes widening. She snaps herself out of the trance and begins running to the side to avoid the assault. However, it's too late; the illusion's fingers graze her skin, and Morgause's image dissipates with nary a trace. Morgana stares at the spot where the illusion has dissipated with blank eyes.
Then, she summarily composes herself; she smoothes out the creases in her dress and cloak before exiting the circle.
"Thank you, Morgana Le Fay," Lady Jayden says in the same cordial tone as before. The next applicant is called without further fuss.
Morgana takes up her previous spot beside Merlin and sighs heavily. "That was disappointing, wasn't it?"
"A bit," Theo admits with a careless shrug. "You still lasted longer than me though." He doesn't seem too bothered by this fact.
Morgana replies, shaking her head slightly, "I suppose we'll just have to see in the choosing ceremony."
Mordred's face shifts into something a tad grim. Theo bites the inside of his cheek and crosses his arms. Elise herself worries the hem of her sleeves, eyes darting to the magic-users of court. They all have been confident regarding their status after the second test. After taking the third test, however, their spirits have drastically plummeted.
The choosing ceremony? The warlock's gaze slides to the Court Sorcerer; the man himself has adopted an almost bored bearing as he watches the applicants get scared out of their wits. Merlin pulls his eyes away, ridding himself of the ludicrous thought that crossed his mind. Laughable, really, he thinks ruefully to himself, rubbing the back of his bare neck. He has made a mess of things at the latter part of the second test, and barely figured out the trick of the first. Perhaps he can redeem himself during the third test? Then maybe . . .
A shout freezes the blood in his veins. The warlock abruptly realizes that, even though he has been provided ample time, he has lost the opportunity to prepare himself for his turn. Arthur is right; he really is an idiot sometimes.
"Merlin of Ealdor!"
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
A/N:
"The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all." – The Emperor, Mulan (1998)
I spelled Lady Ja(y)den's name incorrectly from the start, uuugh. I'll change it on the rewrite, I promise! It seems jarring to change it now.
This chapter kicked my butt and it broke me in a bad way. I hope this chapter didn't break you guys too. I'm so sorry, I tried my best but what are words? What are sentences, dialogues and paragraphs?
(On another note, I'll probably rewrite this whole chapter on another more fortunate day)
Thank you so much Maria (Elemental-Zer0) for the kofi! I can only update once a month now but I'm trying to set a schedule for myself for Arc 2 of this story. Hopefully, I'll be able to put out more chapters at a faster rate soon!
Again, thank you so much for such encouraging comments, and for the constructive criticisms! All them bookmarks, kudos, follows, and favorites . . . How do you guys put up with me? ( ´△｀)
Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Please point out any glaring errors and help me improve my writing!
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Let the Goddess of Luck favor you today!
~ Vividpast