Chapter Summary: Merlin does some side-quests and progresses the main quest.
Warning/s: Some initial misgendering that is corrected almost immediately. Some non-explicit sexual discussions.
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Chapter IX: The Only Thing Predicable About Life
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"Hey, could you —Oh."
Merlin pauses and turns to the owner of the voice.
Having just finished breakfast while bathing in the not-so-discreet scrutiny of servants and other apprentices, he longs to get out of the castle and lose himself in the early morning crowd. Hopefully, people will stare at him less outside. The fact that Agravaine, who has accompanied his siblings for breakfast, has eluded his grasp again only contributes to his need for fresh air.
Fi, Lord Mavin's apprentice, shuffles in the entrance of the armory. He clearly has not been expecting Merlin to be the one walking nearby.
"Do you need help with something?" Merlin asks. He's in no real hurry after all. His meeting with Kilgharrah won't be for another couple of hours.
"Ah, uh." A flush of red paints the brunet's freckled cheeks. "I apologize, Your Highness. I didn't know it was you. Please never mind me."
Merlin almost scowls and opens his mouth to explain. Then, he decides that it'll be redundant because he'll be fixing this little misunderstanding soon. "It's all right. If you need help or—" Merlin hears metal clanking boisterously inside the armory, behind Fi. "—an extra hand, I can help."
"Um." Fi dithers, clearly not wanting to ask someone he thinks is royalty. His brown eyes dart everywhere, looking for anyone else. Seeing as it's early in the morning and the armory is nowhere near any guest rooms, there is no one else. Fi sighs and decides to forge on. "We need to carry some armor and weapons to the blacksmith, Your Highness. Of course, we can just do two trips if, uh.."
Merlin pads towards the armory, offering a disarming smile. "I can help. I'll be going outside the castle anyway. And please, drop the titles." Merlin tries not to beg, skin prickling whenever he hears a deferent 'Your Highness'. "Just call me Merlin."
"If-If that is your wish, Your — Merlin," Fi stutters out.
Merlin is near enough to see inside the armory. The sight that greets him causes a ripple of astonishment.
The chamber is half the size of what Merlin is used to, making the room more compact and cluttered. Shiny shields, elongated spears, sharpened longswords, heavy broadswords, meticulously crafted bows, frightening maces, and a motley of throwing daggers decorate most of the space. Vambraces, helmets, gauntlets, and other armor parts fill in the rest. The number of armaments is a lot less than Merlin expected because the armory in his realm contained a hundred more than this. Potent enchantments soak every inch of the articles in the room, excusing their lack of quantity.
"Oh. Um, you're going to help us? Y-Your Highness." a female voice squeaks out.
Merlin's eyes swivel to the two occupants of the chamber, belatedly noticing their presence. Cava, the dark-skinned girl taken in as one of Lord Dalion's apprentice, gives Merlin a bewildered look. Her hands are filled with damaged and dirty metal parts. Beside her, Sir Lancelot, arms equally brimming with impaired weapons, lifts his chin and frowns at Merlin. He says nothing.
Merlin, unable to resist, gives Sir Lancelot a wide grin edging on manic. Sir Lancelot glares, clearly not amused.
"Just call me Merlin," the warlock repeats. His eyes rove the remaining parts by their feet. "All right. Let's give this to the blacksmith for repairs, shall we?"
"Don't you have anything better to do?" Sir Lancelot grumbles.
"Sir Lancelot!" Cava gasps, sounding scandalized. She elbows Lancelot in chastisement, hands otherwise occupied. Sir Lancelot does not look the least bit chastised.
Merlin notes, with surprise and a bit of envy, the familiarity with which Cava interacts with the disgruntled knight.
Cava clears her throat before offering Merlin an amiable smile. "We're glad to have your help, Merlin."
In no time at all, the four of them march out of the confines of the castle, hauling a mountain-worth of armaments. Merlin easily arranges the items in his arms, and it seems his companions are similarly used to handling armor. The articles, however, are quite heavier than Merlin expected.
Merlin blinks, a realization coming to him. "Why don't we use a featherweight enchantment?"
"These are bespelled against such spells," Cava answers cheerfully.
"Lest the enemy can just incant and render the armor useless," Sir Lancelot adds ruefully.
Oh, Merlin must learn the spells soaking these weapons. Protecting Arthur and his knights against magical threats will be less difficult. Maybe he can needle Sir Lancelot into telling him the types of enchantments on the armaments.
The sound of wind whistling and a loud thump steal Merlin's attention. His head shifts to the source of the sound. In the near distance, surrounded by training dummies, stands a lone figure clad in crimson and brown. The flaxen hair and the unmistakable bow instantly indicate the figure's identity.
Merlin watches as Prince Arthur nocks another arrow in his foldable bow and shoots. The training dummy, placed almost half-a-click away, gains another accessory upon its already arrow-field head. Merlin is properly impressed; not even his own Arthur can accurately hit something that far.
Prince Arthur limps towards another set of feathered arrows by the side and bends down to fetch three.
"Prince Arthur seems to have that leg injury for more than a week now. Shouldn't the mages have healed it already?" Merlin asks, concern furrowing his brows. He asks it more to himself than anyone else.
Three sets of eyes swivel to him, all painted with varying degrees of disbelief. Merlin feels like he said something he shouldn't again and wracks his mind for a way to take it back.
"By the gods, I know he's your cousin, but I hoped you didn't say that to the prince's face," Fi says with horror, nearly dropping his share of the load.
Merlin wrinkles his nose at the 'cousin' part.
Sir Lancelot's face crumples like he has eaten something sour. His dark blue eyes practically stab Merlin with glares. "The prince's injury is one he gained as he was born, and I'll not have you speak of it so lightly."
Merlin boggles, shock exploding in his chest. "He was . . . He was born with it?"
"In a way," Cava says carefully. Discomfort paints every line of her body, and she clearly wishes to switch to another topic. "It's no secret, of course, but . . ."
"People don't really want to talk about it. It's highly discouraged, even," Fi finishes. "It's a mystery why you don't know, Merlin. It's a cautionary tale spread far and wide even outside of Camelot."
Cautionary tale? Merlin walks even closer to them, curiosity overwhelming him. "How did it happen?"
"Well." Cava wets her lips. "As the exchange of life happened between King Uther and the newly born Prince Arthur, the king was holding his son in his arms. When the king died, it was so sudden and unexpected. No one was quick enough to act. Prince Arthur was dropped to the ground, and his left leg shattered. The healers managed to save the leg. But a babe's bones are fragile, especially one who's only minutes old. They were unable to fully reconstruct the broken bones. Hence, the limp."
"Magic can't do everything," Lancelot adds, tone bitter.
As the whole story spills out of Cava's hesitant lips, blow after blow of shock encompasses Merlin's whole being. As the astonishment ebbs away, a visceral mesh of feelings replaces it.
Relief. That explains Uther's absence then. Merlin doesn't know what he'll do if faced with the counterpart of the man who massacred his kind. He's glad he doesn't have to find out.
Bewilderment. The fact that Arthur is a child born from a dangerous enchantment is common knowledge in this realm? It's clearly why the tale is a cautionary one. Was Queen Ygraine unable to suppress the rumors that spawned? How and why did such a story spread far and wide, and not cause dissent?
Rueful. It's Uther who died instead of Ygraine. And how different the years have been between the two realms because of it. A band clenches around Merlin's chest, leaving him a tad breathless. One twist of fate has sealed the deaths of hundreds and the sufferings of thousands. The notion sickens Merlin to the core.
Sorrow. Merlin glances at the prince once more. What does Prince Arthur think of all this? Arthur, up until now, has remained blissfully unaware of the origins of his birth and his mother's death. Prince Arthur has no such luxury. Furthermore, the business of their family seems to reach the ears of people even outside the borders of Camelot. Merlin does not know Prince Arthur well enough to deduce his thoughts about the circumstances, but he doubts the whole thing feels good.
Prince Arthur, feeling scrutiny on him, pauses his training. His head whips to Merlin, and their eyes lock for a long minute. After a moment of stillness, the strangest thing happens.
Prince Arthur lifts one of his hands in a wave and adorns a smile visible enough from a distance.
Merlin fumbles in surprise. A hauberk hits the ground due to his carelessness.
Sir Lancelot, who has witnessed the interaction, similarly falters in his tread. "What the f—"
"You should be more careful, Merlin," Cava says, concerned but oblivious to the whole thing. She carefully bends down, picks up the hauberk, and places it back in Merlin's arms.
Fi splutters. "Cava, didn't you see that? The prince just smiled!"
"What?" Cava's head snaps to the prince. Unfortunately, Prince Arthur has resumed his training and no longer faces them. "Are you sure?"
"Bloody sure," Sir Lancelot replies. His wide brown eyes hone in on Merlin, who's still recovering from the unexpected happenstance. The knight's slack expression greatly reminds Merlin of his own friend, of his realm's Lancelot, even with all the scarring.
Merlin knows not what caused the prince's sudden turnabout, but he's pleased by it. He's certainly not missing the cool and indifferent demeanor.
The four of them turn a corner, removing the prince and the castle entrance from their sight. Up ahead, a row of wooden homes and stalls lines the streets, just beginning to come to life. Cava suggests that they may have been mistaken while Fi voices out his doubts regarding the whole thing too. Sir Lancelot, however, insists that they saw true.
"Do you really think he would smile today of all days?" Cava asks, the corners of her lips downturned.
Something unidentifiable flash by Sir Lancelot's and Fi's features, too quick for Merlin to accurately describe.
"What's—What's the importance of today?" Merlin asks, ensuring his voice is as soft as Cava's. He has a suspicion that the answer is anything but delightful.
"The prince's closest friend died four years ago today," Fi replies in a whisper.
"Oh." Merlin has nothing else to say about that.
"He was the last person who saw her alive, rumors say," Cava shares somberly, head bumping close to Merlin's. "Well, that we know of. Of course, her kill—"
"Cava," Sir Lancelot growls. The said girl jumps. "Even if it is you, I'll not tolerate any crass gossip about the prince."
Chastisement lines the corners of Cava's features. "Sorry."
Merlin winces, guilty at the part he played. He has always loathed it when people gossip and spread false information about Arthur. And yet, here he is, participating shamelessly.
After that, they walk in relative silence towards the blacksmith's workshop.
The city is just beginning to come alive, merchants and vendors dragging out their wares with noisy wheelbarrows and floating spells. Some do so with energetic fervor while others' sluggish demeanors indicate their preference for their soft beds. It isn't long until the four of them reach a semi-large structure where heat emanates in waves. From above its doors, a sign with a crossed hammer and sword indicates what kind of establishment it is.
Cava cheerfully leads them all inside. "More work incoming!"
Sweat immediately dots Merlin's brows as intense heat wafts over him the moment he steps in. The strong smell of burning iron fills Merlin's nose; he almost tastes the metal at the back of his throat. Various metalworks pile up in every corner of the room, from a high-quality sword to a lowly cooking pot. In the center of the initial chamber, a lit forge burns merrily and hotly, producing dark spots in Merlin's vision as his gaze turns to it.
Just a few feet away from the flames, a man sits upon a small chair, his long dark curls gathered in the tightest bun Merlin has ever seen. A sledgehammer occupies his gloved right hand while the other holds a set of tongs that keeps a pliant metal still upon his anvil. His head adorns a thick bronze mask, protecting his whole face from the heat. As he slams the huge hammer down upon the glowing steel, the considerable biceps of his sleeveless dark-skinned arms ripple firmly.
All in all, he makes the perfect portrait of an ideal blacksmith. Merlin is slightly in awe.
Seeing as time is of the essence and lack of attention may prove fatal, the blacksmith can do little but nod at them in acknowledgment. He doesn't remove his focus from his work.
Cava puts the damaged armors and weapons next to a mountain of dull longswords. Sir Lancelot, Fi, and Merlin follow her example, gingerly placing down their heavy bundles.
Just as they finish rearranging the new pile into some sort of cleanliness, the blacksmith soaks the now shaped steel into a bucket of water. He carefully drops his tools by the ground and gets to his feet.
With surprise, Merlin notes that he is noticeably taller than the blacksmith. With the blacksmith being made of pure muscle, he now only notices the height difference.
The blacksmith turns to them and raises his mask out of his face.
Merlin's jaw almost drops to the floor, unbridled shock numbing his entire being.
The blacksmith is no man.
"Sir Lancelot!" From underneath the mask, the features of Guinevere beams. Her face is firmer, more angular than round, but it is unmistakably her. "How delightful of you to come by."
Sir Lancelot nods solemnly as if a counterpart of Gwen did not just enthusiastically greet him. The reaction, or lack thereof, further exacerbates Merlin's stupefied state.
"Fi and I are here too, by the way," Cava pipes up.
Dark red sweeps across Gwen's grimy cheeks. Her expressive brown eyes slide to Cava, who smiles guilelessly at her. "Yes, of course, how could I forget my dear little sister who always forgets that castle weaponry goes to the left side pile," Gwen says pointedly.
"S-Sister?" Merlin whips to Cava with new eyes, finally seeing the resemblance from the curve of her nose and the shape of her chin.
Gwen blinks at Merlin as if noticing him for the first time. Her skin is darker, a small burn scar lines the corner of one cheek, and her whole body is one big mass of muscle, but it is Gwen. As his stupor abates, Merlin is hit with the sudden longing to hug her and tell her how he has missed her.
"Hullo. I don't think we've met," Gwen says, curious.
The words punch Merlin like a waylaid mace. He will never get used to his friends' lack of recognition.
"This is Merlin," Fi introduces, coming up beside the warlock. "Son of Lord Agravaine, the second prince of Camelot. And Lord Balinor's apprentice."
"Prince!?" Gwen shouts, backing away, a touch of fear hinting her countenance. She hurriedly smooths out the creases of her dirty leather apron. "You—Your Highness, I apologize—"
"No, no, no, please." Drat it, Merlin should have corrected them earlier. "It's all—a misunderstanding. I'm not actually a prince. I'm just Merlin."
"What?" Four sets of voices echo, tones in varying degrees of bewilderment.
Merlin blows out a breath, silently cursing Agravaine's sly little plot. "Look, Lord Agravaine wanted to prank his siblings, and I was just swept along with it. He's not my actual father, and I'll be correcting the misunderstanding soon." But not soon enough for Merlin's taste.
"That . . . sounds like a lie," Gwen blurts out. Instantly, she slaps her gloved hands over her mouth. "That is to say — I'm not calling you a liar or anything. It just seems an unbelievable and ridiculous circumstance. Not that I think you're ridiculous —"
Merlin's eyes prickle the longer the blacksmith babbles on; oh, he misses his own Gwen dearly.
"Breathe, my lady," he says around a wet chuckle. "'Tis true, though. I'm no prince."
Gwen clamps her mouth shut, biting her lower lip, and blushing fiercely. "And I am no lady. My name is Guinevere, but most people just call me Gwen."
"Well met, Gwen," the warlock greets, unable to curb his grin.
Gwen returns the smile with the same intensity, and Merlin nearly hugs her again. It's nice to see at least one of his friends acting much the same as their counterpart in his realm.
Sir Lancelot grunts, as if on cue. "Don't you have other things to be doing?" he asks Merlin again. If the knight didn't look absolutely deadpan, Merlin would have claimed he sounds jealous.
Cava and Fi badly stifle their giggles.
"Not really," Merlin responds, insolence emanating from in waves in response to the challenge the knight is presenting. Sir Lancelot appears to wish nothing more than to strangle Merlin. To Gwen, the warlock cheerfully offers, "I have time to help if you need any."
Gwen's eyes gleam with approval. "No further help needed, Merlin." She glances around her workshop, one gloved hand tightening her bun further. "Thank you for lending a hand with the castle equipment." Gwen claps a friendly hand upon Merlin's shoulder and nearly sends him down to the ground. "Oh, sorry! I don't know my own strength sometimes." Mortification overcomes her previously jubilant face.
"It's—It's all right." Wow, that will bruise. Merlin rubs the aching curve of one shoulder, keeping up his smile to prevent Gwen from being too embarrassed. "Caught me off-guard, is all."
Sir Lancelot snorts before crossing his arms. "Nothing else for you to do here then, as Gwen said. Go."
"Don't be like that, Sir Lancelot," Gwen scolds lightly. Sir Lancelot replies with a noncommittal sound.
Merlin cannot help but grin at the interaction, sorely tempted to join in with the banter. Then, with a touch of grief, he remembers himself.
The warlock doesn't trust that he can temper himself right now. He doesn't trust himself not to talk to Gwen as a long-time friend. So, before he can act overly familiar to Gwen's counterpart and say something he shouldn't, he decides to retreat until he's better prepared.
"It seems our resident heroic knight is kicking me out. I shall have to bid you goodbye."
Sir Lancelot growls, hands curling into fists and looking seconds away from a conniption.
Gwen bites the inside of her cheek to suppress another smile. "It's nice to meet you, Merlin. Come join us in the tavern tomorrow night— the one just across the street. It's Sir Lancelot's nameday celebration!"
Merlin blinks rapidly. "Nameday?"
He casts a curious glance upon the glowering knight. Merlin's own Lancelot doesn't have a nameday; most commoners don't have the knowledge to tell the exact day with which their children are born. Only nobility and royalty can access such expertise.
The knight shows his displeasure at Gwen's invitation by glaring at Merlin, daring him to accept. Quite tellingly, he does nothing to reprimand Gwen for issuing said invite.
Warmth bubbles inside Merlin at the kind welcome. Half in desire to spend time with a not-friend who's not hostile and half to irritate an easily riled up Lancelot, Merlin gleefully replies, "I'll be happy to join in."
"And you can tell us all about your lessons with Lord Balinor!" Cava exclaims, brown eyes gleaming. Beside her, Fi is nodding vigorously, equally enthused.
"It's not that interesting, truly," Merlin replies awkwardly. "I don't think it's any different than yours."
"Of course it's different. He's the Court Sorcerer!" Fi insists.
Cava and Fi finally let Merlin go when he relents; he is to narrate every interaction with the Court Sorcerer the next night. Of course, Merlin will leave out the secret dragonlord lessons. Merlin just hopes they won't be too disappointed when they find out all he did was put magical energy in crystals.
Merlin bids farewell to them and heads out of the blacksmith workshop. Gwen waves a rough and calloused hand while Sir Lancelot grunts impatiently. Right next to a bulky Gwen, the knight looks positively skinny. Merlin, with a touch of concern, wonders if Sir Lancelot is eating well.
The whole encounter has done wonders to Merlin's mood. Gwen is the first counterpart who closely resembles his own friend in demeanor, if not in appearance. And even with all those toned muscles, Gwen can still effectively emit a harmless and amiable countenance. Their interaction eases Merlin's homesickness quite a bit. It makes sense that she's a blacksmith; Morgana did not become Uther's ward so Gwen must have taken up her father's job.
Then, Merlin pauses walking, brows furrowing. A woman carrying two buckets nearly bumps into him. She huffs out an irritated sound and walks around him.
Where's Elyan then? Being the eldest man of the household, Elyan should have been the one to inherit the work. The warlock has seen not even a glimpse of him in the workshop. Will Merlin see him in Sir Lancelot's nameday celebration? Cava didn't even mention an older brother.
And Cava. Isn't that another punch in the gut?
Merlin resumes walking, a hint of somberness slipping into him.
In his world, Gwen's mother died of sickness when Gwen was a mere babe. In this one, she clearly survived long enough to birth another child. Merlin has unknowingly met another person whose existence he would have never known.
A blur of feathers attacks Merlin's face, slapping him out of his morbid musings. Thankfully, he recognizes the assaulter before his magic can react to them.
"Kelly! Stop running around. You still need rest," a familiar childish voice shouts, accompanied by running footfalls.
Merlin pulls off the baby griffin clinging to his head with difficulty. "K'lly, geroff!" After much effort, the warlock finally holds the griffin at arm's length. Parts of his face bore reddened lines from Kelly's sharp claws, but none seem to be bleeding.
Kelly croons, flapping her wings and staring at Merlin with big pitiful eyes.
"Merlin!" The warlock glances down to find Selly — or rather, Selia — looking up at him in awe. Her jaw is wide open, showcasing some missing front teeth. "You're alive!"
"Of course I'm alive," Merlin says around a chuckle.
He hands the clingy griffin over to the child. Selia hugs Kelly to her chest almost absentmindedly, still gaping at Merlin.
"I thought you got killed by the böggel-mann," Selia whispers.
Merlin bristles for a fleeting moment. Then, figuring children have no business being so frightened, he plasters on a carefree grin. "Me? The böggel-mann barely touched me, Selia. Besides, I'm certainly a lot stronger than that shadow of a man."
As expected, Selia's expression transforms into one of pure amazement. "Really? You defeated him?"
"Well, he's not going to come back to Camelot any time soon." Merlin fondly pats Selia's light brown hair, messing up the bun hair slightly.
"Whoa." Amazement vibrates Selia's whole body. Kelly's tail flicks back and forth, similarly excited. "Teach me how!"
"W-Well, maybe when you grow a bit older." Merlin certainly isn't imparting weaponized spells to a little girl. When Selia begins scowling indignation, Merlin hurriedly changes the subject. "Speaking of grown-ups, can you lead me to your father? I got my apprentice allowance and I'd like to pay him back."
"You don't have to pay back Da," Selia says. She takes Merlin's hand into her own while holding Kelly with her other arm. "But you can buy me sweets, if you want." Her grin, when she directs it to Merlin, is partly toothy.
Merlin huffs out an amused sound and lets Selia lead him along. "Not sure if sweets will be good for you. Your teeth are falling out."
"My Da says it was time for them to fall!" Selia squawks. "Children's teeth are meant to fall out, Merlin."
Unable to refrain from teasing her, Merlin replies mock-somberly, "Sure they are."
Selia looks up and frowns at him as if debating whether she should be angry or not. Thankfully, before she can decide, they've arrived at her father's inn.
"Merlin!" Tom exclaims from behind the bar as they enter. "You're alive!"
Merlin cannot help but feel quite offended this time. "Did you both really think I died?"
"Well, the böggel-mann did attack you," one of the early patrons of the tavern pipes up.
"Ach! I told you lot I saw him and two others accompanying Lord Balinor just days ago," another retorts.
"You also said that you lost your magic," a third patron drawls out. "And, coincidentally, just as you planned to show us, you can do magic again."
"But 'tis true, 'tis true!"
"Perhaps you were just too drunk again, mate. Shouldn't be in your cups so early in the morning."
"Why're you lot lecturing me? We're all in the tavern right now early in the morning!"
Merlin decides to tune out the drunken ramblings. He walks to the wooden counter and blithely greets Tom. "Good morning, Tom." With a swift movement, the warlock fishes out three silver coins from his trouser pocket and drops them on the bar. "Payment for last time. I can't thank you enough for taking me in."
Tom blinks at the coins. Then, he lifts his head and shoots Merlin an indecipherable look. Abruptly, the warlock recalls Balinor's words. Wracu has singled you out. Had I not taken you as my apprentice, no one else in the citadel would be willing to put you under their employ. Or their inns.
Merlin swallows the ball of hurt forming in his throat. Perhaps he should have been used to it — used to getting shunned —
A tiny hand darts out and swipes the coins from the surface, breaking both Tom and Merlin from their respective stupors.
Selia stashes the coins into the pockets of her deep brown dress. "If Da isn't taking it, I'll have it all. Thanks, Merlin!"
The girl then climbs onto the stool beside the warlock, grunting with the effort of sitting on a chair almost half-as tall as her. Kelly flies on top of the counter, crawls in front of Merlin's folded arms, and rubs her feathered head on Merlin's sleeves. Hesitantly, Merlin runs his fingers through her body. Kelly coos in delight.
"I — uh." Merlin wonders what to do now. Should he leave? He has been so thoughtless, assuming that everyone he has met will treat him the same after the debacle in the Apprentice Exam.
Tom clears his throat, resuming his task of wiping down the counter. "As I said, no need for payment, Merlin. But since Selia has already stolen your coins —"
"Hey! I didn't steal them!"
"— how about some food then?" Tom offers, a tinge of awkwardness to his manner. He's clearly far from comfortable.
Tom's effort to remain friendly mollifies a small part of Merlin. However, a larger part of the warlock feels perturbed by the vastly different behavior.
He paints a fake grin upon his face, and he shakes his head. "I just ate breakfast." Merlin straightens, leaning away from the counter and ceasing his petting of Kelly. The griffin lets out a displeased sound. "Thanks again for helping me. I better get going."
Tom also attempts a smile. "You take care of yourself, Merlin."
"Wait!" Selia clutches Merlin's sleeve, a pout marring her features. "You just arrived. Where are you going?"
Merlin gently attempts to extract himself out of Selia's hold. "I'm afraid I have lots of things to buy from the market, Selia."
"I can go with you!" Selia offers enthusiastically. Kelly jumps on her shoulders and looks similarly eager for an adventure.
From the corner of his eye, Merlin spies Tom bristling. Merlin is further disheartened at the confirmation that Tom wishes to get his daughter nowhere near him.
Merlin rummages through his mind for an excuse to separate himself from Selia without informing her of her father's disapproval. From the brief time he has known her, the warlock knows Selia is an absolute precocious and stubborn child, so it has to be a fairly good excuse.
Fortunately, a possible escape comes barging in.
"Oi, Tom!" Levi shouts as he marches towards the counter, fiery red curls flaring upon his head. "Some lunch for my workers, if you wouldn't mind." He gives Tom a toothy grin, setting down a pouch of coins on the counter.
Tom takes the coin. "My errand boy took the day off. I don't have anyone to help you carry the food, so you'll have to do two trips."
"I'll do it," Merlin immediately pipes up. Levi, Tom, and Selia turn to look at him in confusion. "I'll help you carry the food." If Merlin is remembering right, Selia definitely cannot follow him in Levi's place of business.
"Sure, I guess." Levi shrugs, green eyes favoring Merlin with an odd look.
"I'll help too!" Selia immediately volunteers, raising her hand.
A scowl forms upon Tom's brows.
"Er. Lass, your father will kill me if I let you set your tiny feet inside my establishment." Levi gestures haphazardly at Tom's frowning face.
"No fair. What's so special about your business anyway?" Selia crosses her arms and huffs.
"Oh, it's very specially for grown-ups, little lass," Levi replies before rubbing Selia's head with an open palm and messing up her hair.
"Hey! Stop!" Selia, with brown locks chaotically covering her face, screams shrilly. Kelly squawks and nearly bites off Levi's fingers.
Levi retracts his hand immediately with a chuckle.
Tom slides a tankard towards Levi, which the latter happily accepts. The innkeeper favors Selia with a firm "Stay" and casts another uncertain glance at Merlin before going out back to prepare the food. Selia pouts but finally relents. Merlin and Kelly help tame her hair and remove the large tangles Levi's actions have caused.
"I'll have Levi accompany me to the markets instead," Merlin responds when Selia insists on going with him to the markets anyway. Levi's brows rise, uninformed by this decision and his involvement with it. Merlin sends him a pleading look, asking him to go along for now. "He — He knows where I can buy what I need."
Suddenly, Levi catches Merlin's wrist, startling the warlock. A pondering look spreads upon the man's face as he pulls at the sleeves of Merlin's moss-green tunic. Belatedly, Merlin notes the dark circles underneath Levi's eyes and the way the man is slumping ever so slightly. Underneath his cheery demeanor, Levi hides an exhausted visage. A feel of kinship lightly goes through the warlock; Merlin does the same sometimes to prevent people from worrying.
Levi's jade eyes trace Merlin's torso and track down to Merlin's lower half. Well, that's not a comfortable scrutiny. Merlin resists the urge to scowl and demand answers.
"Where did you get your clothes?" Levi asks, curiosity brimming in his tone.
"Someone gave them to me. I had nothing else to wear so I'm quite thankful for them," Merlin answers, seeing no harm in telling the truth.
Levi hums, still looking thoughtful. He folds the hem of the sleeve and reveals the stitching underneath. Astonishment breezes by Merlin's being as he sees the clear and distinct symbol of the triple moon darned on the sleeve. He has never looked too closely at the clothes and just accepted them as his.
Levi releases his hold on Merlin and takes a gulp of his drink. Merlin looks underneath the other sleeve and finds the same stitching of the triple moon. Huh. At least now he knows the clothes' original owner, seeing as he only knows one person who darns the said symbol on clothes. And he'll definitely be taking the clothes with him home.
Selia chatters on about the happenings of the Apprentice Exam, much to Merlin's dismay. She narrates how her father lost her in the crowds, how Kelly got kicked in the face, and how brave knights rescued her. Although Merlin knows he's not completely at fault, he does feel guilty for putting her in such danger.
Finally, after several minutes, Tom and Polly barge out of the backroom with cloth-bundled food in tow. They summarily hand the heated package to Levi and Merlin. Levi gulps down his tankard in one swallow before accepting his bundle. Each bundle is quite heavy and large enough to almost block Merlin's vision.
"Smells delicious, Polly," Levi compliments as the fragrance of it wafts over the air.
Polly nods, expression as severe as ever.
"Come visit us again, Merlin!" Selia calls out as they walk to exit the tavern.
Merlin smiles as wide as he can but makes no promises. He knows he likely won't come back, not with Tom now discomfited with his presence.
"Well, Merlin," Levi starts cheerfully as they trudge down the street. "Let me congratulate you on being chosen as the Court Sorcerer's apprentice. My establishment would have paid you more but well done!"
Merlin cannot help but laugh. "Thanks, I suppose."
"How's the castle then? Must be so different from your little village, 'no?"
"I haven't lived in my village for years. I actually worked in a castle much like this one," Merlin says, knowing to keep close to the truth as possible to keep his lies straight. "It is not so different."
"Oh-hoh, these ears heard a rumor about that too." Levi smirks, hugging the cloth of meals closer to his chest. "You are of royalty or so the rumors say."
Merlin groans in exasperation, hefting his bundle of food higher. "Those rumors are exaggerated, I assure you."
"Truly? I wonder why, then, do you have a knight dogging your steps if not to make sure you come to no harm," Levi remarks casually. "What a strange rumor though."
"I have a what?" Merlin snaps his head behind him in alarm.
Already, all the stalls in the markets are open, brandishing various products. The townspeople have crowded around the popular stores, haggling, and exchanging coins. Merlin, however, catches the sour face of one Sir Lancelot mixed in the motley of people. With the knight out of his armor and dressed in a commoner attire, it's no surprise that Merlin has not noticed him. Sir Lancelot frowns down at a yard of dyed fabric, giving no indication that he is tailing anyone at all.
"Come, Merlin. Keep up," Levi calls out, having noticed that Merlin has stopped in the middle of the busy road. "You'll get trampled if you don't."
Merlin hurries to catch up and almost tackles a child running across the street.
"How did you know a knight was following me?" the warlock questions, a bit suspicious. How utterly observant is Levi to note a knight in casual wear in the middle of a crowded street?
"Sir Lancelot is popular among these parts. There's a betting pool going around here as to when that blacksmith will finally drag him into a courtship. I bet that it would be in two winters," Levi cheerfully informs him without shame. "And I spotted him before I even entered Tom's inn. When he started following me when I left with you, it's obvious who he's tailing."
"A . . . betting pool." Somehow, Merlin feels the need to inform Gwen of this, if she didn't already know.
"It's all in good fun," Levi assures him.
Merlin casts a discreet glance behind him. Sir Lancelot, now conversing with a fruit merchant, still stalks nearby. Why is Sir Lancelot following him? Merlin has done nothing suspicious for a good while now. On the other hand, Sir Lancelot appears to be the kind of person who'll be suspicious for a long time.
Good thing Levi pointed him out. Merlin must lose the knight before afternoon comes lest he'll get discovered sneaking out of the citadel.
"Here we are then!" Levi announces as they halt in front of the house at the end of the street.
The structure is as big as Tom's inn, supporting several rooms inside. Merlin swallows as he observes the signage depicting detailed smiling lips. Levi enters, whistling, and Merlin has no choice but to follow.
The receiving room merely contains three benches by the sides and a small counter. Behind the counter stands a voluptuous woman with dark curls cascading thickly over her shoulders and apple-shaped cheeks Upon noticing their entrance, the woman looks up from the tome she's flipping through and offers a delighted smile.
She looks familiar, and Merlin suspects he has met her in his world already. But Merlin doubts he would have been able to recognize her were her first words to him not the same.
"Mhm, you're a handsome fellow." The woman's dark eyes shamelessly rove over Merlin's form.
Merlin nearly trips over his own feet, identifying the woman as the barmaid of the tavern where he first met Gwaine.
"Are you a new recruit? Levi finally managed to hook one with one of his spiels? It is truly a miraculous day," the woman remarks, an absolutely wicked smirk upon her lips.
Levi sniffs, offense lining the moue of his lips. "My spiels are amazing; I'll have you know."
"Amazing in its inaccuracy, that's for sure," the woman shoots back, amused. She turns her attention back to Merlin and leans forward as if sharing a secret. "This man here — the owner of this damn brothel—is completely inexperienced in the service he's providing. It's unbelievable, truly."
"I'm not inexperienced," Levi huffs out before gingerly setting down the bundle of food on the counter. Merlin eagerly follows his example, desiring to finish the whole interaction quickly. "I tried it once and decided it wasn't for me."
Merlin blinks rapidly, simultaneously taken aback and confused by the admission. "You . . . decided that it - it wasn't for you?" Merlin has never encountered anyone averse to the activity before.
"Yes." Levi cocks his head to the side and reads Merlin's continued bewilderment. "I'm not attracted to anyone that way. Just isn't for me, I guess. Rather spend my time cuddling."
Merlin absorbs the information and categorizes it as one of the baffling norms of this realm.
"See!" The woman behind the counter chuckles. "What a sap."
"Sod off."
The woman laughs some more before turning to Merlin again. "That's why we never leave the recruiting to him. But it looks like he finally snagged one. Well, let's get you settled then. We'll have plenty of customers who'll be lining up for you."
Merlin splutters, not knowing whether to feel flattered or aghast.
"Nah, Pat. This young man is a court apprentice. Apprenticed under Lord Balinor, in fact. He's just helping me bring the food," Levi explains, taking a certain delight in Merlin's reactions.
"Oh, a pity." The woman — Pat, apparently — juts out her lower lip. "Didn't know Lord Balinor was taking apprentices again. Good for—Nini!" Pat's smile almost splits her face in half.
Merlin glances behind him, glances at the brothel entrance, which has creaked open. Beside him, Levi does the same but with a grin as bright as the sun upon his face. A tall man with a halo of blonde curls gracefully enters the brothel. Merlin immediately recognizes him as the potion-maker of the stall near the citadel entrance, the first person Merlin saw do magic right at Camelot's heart.
"Patricia, my dear," the curly-haired man greets solemnly. Then, he turns to Levi, a smile hinting at his lips. "Levi."
Pat grins, placing a fist underneath her chin. "No smile for your little sister then?"
"Here you go, dear." The curly-haired man stretches his mouth in a close-lipped and obviously fake smile.
Pat rolls her eyes. "Incorrigible."
The new arrival then catches sight of Merlin. Surprise colors his face. "You're the man Selia hit with a ball."
Merlin feels his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. "That's me."
Levi looks between the two of them. "You saw it, Nini?"
"Yes. Quite a commotion but you seem all right now." The man scrutinizes him for a while as if trying to find injury.
"I am now." Merlin rubs the back of his head in remembrance of the pain.
"Hmm. I am Loksni, my dear fellow." He nods as he introduces himself. "If you experience any pain still, I sell several potions in my store that may help."
"Nini, you are shameless." Levi draws near to Loksni and laughs. Loksni scrunches his nose in offense. "Lunch at Kithes' then?"
"Aww, you two aren't eating with us?" Pat asks.
"I'm afraid not." Loksni holds out his arm, and Levi unhesitantly hooks his own arm around it. "Kithes has been bragging about her new oyster imports. We've got to try it before she runs out."
Merlin edges away as they chatter, wondering if it would be rude to leave without informing them. He has never really been inside a brothel, even though Gwaine, the ever-regular patron of such places, has teasingly urged him to visit. He's not even aware if this specific brothel exists in his world. While he knows there's no shame in availing its services, Merlin has grown up in a small village where talks of such activities in public are highly frowned upon.
"I-I'll just be leaving then," Merlin manages to interject after a short while.
Thankfully, the three of them let him leave without a fuss.
Levi waves. "Thanks for the help, mate!"
Merlin nods and darts out as quickly as he can without being rude. Upon finally exiting the establishment, he breathes out in relief.
Well, it's been an eventful morning. He has a feeling that the rest of the day will be no less lively.
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Losing Sir Lancelot is easy. He pretends to head back to the castle, hurriedly turns, and dash back to the markets in a circuitous path before Sir Lancelot can even glimpse him again. For extra measure, he slows down time for more than a minute, so Sir Lancelot won't see him heading back.
Merlin weaves through the crowd for another half-an-hour to ensure he has truly escaped the knight's scrutiny. He sees not a glimpse of Sir Lancelot's glower, so he considers his endeavor a success.
The sun lazily slides over the cloudless sky, denoting that afternoon approaches. Merlin buys scrumptious grilled meat for lunch and eats it quickly as he searches for a clothing vendor.
He finds one, a sleepy woman who appears to miss the comfort of her bed. He buys the most unremarkable cloak offered — an earth-colored one that should camouflage perfectly with tree barks.
He walks into a dark and isolated alleyway with it. All right. Time to see if this works. Recalling the spell Morgana used days before, Merlin casts an unnoticeable enchantment upon himself. The spell has made him feel no different, just like before, so he knows not if it succeeded. After, he dons the newly bought cloak and lifts the hood over his head. With it, he becomes just another traveler instead of a resident of the citadel. The cloak will hopefully hide him from the guard's notice if the unnoticeable enchantment proves to be a failure.
As he heads towards the eastern gate, Merlin considers putting on a disguise for additional measure. Merlin hasn't forgotten the scolding he received after being discovered outside the citadel. Should he take the extra precaution? Selia has taught him that gendershifting spell after all, saving him from Dragoon's old-man aches.
However, when Merlin arrives at the gate, none of the guards favors him with the slightest bit of attention. The unnoticeable enchantment and the cloak work, Merlin confirms with delight. He goes through the intimidating stone archway and pads along the wooden drawbridge. No one attempts to stop him.
He lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding. Although he has only seen Morgana perform the unnoticeable enchantment, it's good he was able to replicate the same desired results.
With straightened shoulders and a face shrouded in a hood, Merlin enters the glimmering forest.
It isn't long before he finds the same clearing they visited days before. That Kilgharrah, as large as a castle and as golden as the afternoon sun, is already sprawled on the green grass helps too. Merlin glances around one more time to make certain they're alone. Then, he dispels the unnoticeable enchantment.
"Emrys," the dragon greets rumbly. Yellow irises focus on Merlin as he steps into the clearing with a raised head.
"Kilgharrah," Merlin intones, similarly solemn.
The dragon gets his claws under him and flaps his leather wings. The motion sends gusts of wind whipping along Merlin's cheeks. The warlock pulls the billowing hood further over his head.
"You know my name," the dragon says, curiosity and wariness mixed in his voice.
Merlin winces. Not a good way to start this conversation but at least he can get straight to the point. "I do. And I am in need of your help."
"And what can I help the great Emrys with?" Kilgharrah's eyes narrow into slits.
"I do not belong here—in this world. I wish to go back home." Merlin sighs and decides to just spill it all out.
He launches into his story without further hesitation, making sure to only reveal the relevant parts to save time. He tells Kilgharrah that he belongs to another world, a world where Uther had been king and a world where all types of magic are banned. He tells the dragon of the purge and of Kilgharrah's own imprisonment. Of the dragon's counterpart being his guide towards his own destiny and the purpose of his magic. Of being a servant in the citadel and secretly getting rid of the threats with magic. Of the Djinn who transported him into this Camelot filled with magic with no explanation.
Kilgharrah speaks not a word but, judging by the alertness of his gold eyes, he is listening attentively. When Merlin finishes, more than an hour later, his throat is parched, and his eyes are lifted hopefully at the dragon.
"What a tale, Emrys," Kilgharrah mutters. "I did not expect this."
"Do you know how I can get back?" Merlin asks.
Kilgharrah shifts, claws cutting through grass. "I have heard of Djinns."
Merlin perks up. "So, they do exist in this world?"
Kilgharrah nods. "They do. But they are extremely rare, and even I have yet to see one for myself."
"That doesn't sound promising," Merlin murmurs, disheartened.
"I have heard of otherworlders as well." Kilgharrah bends his serpentine neck to draw his head closer to Merlin. Caged intrigue brims in his reptilian face. "And none of them ever went back to the world from whence they came."
Merlin's heart stops beating for a split second, and the ground underneath his feet sways. "W-What? No, that's—" The warlock releases a strangled sound, hands curling into fists. "There has to be a way! I got here so there should be a way back!"
"Perhaps there is," Kilgharrah says calmly. "In your case, we should find one, or the consequences will be grave."
Merlin nods somberly in agreement. Even now, Arthur stands unprotected against magical threats. Gods, he hopes the prat hasn't gotten himself killed already. "All right, what do you suggest?"
"Nothing."
Merlin gawps. "What?"
"I can suggest nothing." At the very least, Kilgharrah seems bothered by it. "This is out of my expertise, Emrys. Djinn magic is not of Old Religion, and transdimensional travel is something the Old Religion forbids. There is little to no study about it."
Merlin's eyes widen. "Forbids?"
Kilgharrah nods. "Spells of its ilk risk unbalancing the order the Old Religion seeks to uphold."
"B-But it's possible, right? There must be a spell that can—" Merlin gesticulates haphazardly. "— that will allow me to travel back home."
"If there is, I do not know it," Kilgharrah replies. "But I will find out. Rest assured that I will do everything I can to get you back where you belong, Emrys."
Hopelessness grips Merlin in its painful hold. Although Kilgharrah's assurance comforts him a bit, he has thought the dragon will have immediate answers. The Kilgharrah of his realm certainly always emits an all-knowing air and an instant solution to the conundrums he is in.
Kilgharrah seems to take pity on him. "Be patient, Emrys. The answers you seek will come to you." His golden irises drift over the trees of the forests before focusing on Merlin once more. "I will not be the only one aiming to return you. You are unbalancing the forces of our world, and many will wish to help you."
"Should I go meet with the druids then?" Merlin asks, grasping for anything to do while Kilgharrah searches for the enchantment to get him home.
"They know less than I do," the dragon says with a slight huff.
"Oh."
Merlin sighs, shoulders slumping. He has been putting all his hopes into this meeting, expecting that he will find a concrete way after he talks to Kilgharrah. He should have known it will never be that simple. Nothing in Merlin's life is.
Kilgharrah gazes at him thoughtfully. "Emrys, do me a favor: do not get killed."
Merlin stares at the dragon with a frown of disbelief. "That will be in my interest too."
"When I sensed your presence, I sought to kill you," Kilgharrah admits without remorse.
"You what!?" Merlin backs away several steps, preparing a shield spell just in case. "I – You thought I was a babe, and you were going to kill me?"
"Emrys wasn't meant to be born in this world. Your birth and continued existence will spell destruction and chaos in our future," Kilgharrah says grimly. "Killing you would have saved innocent lives. But I see now that you aren't our Emrys. Therefore, you cannot die here."
"B-But what about this world's prophecies?" Merlin cannot help but ask. "Not to brag but your counterpart told me my birth has been prophesied for a thousand years."
"Such prophecies do exist. But they have long been obsolete." A hint of a smile curls the corners of Kilgharrah's lips. "Your birth is a precursor to a golden era after a dark age. But in this realm, no such dark age occurred. Your existence, therefore, is not necessary."
Prophecies can become obsolete? If so, Merlin could have changed Morgana's fate. He can change Mordred's. He has a fighting chance to prevent Arthur's death. Sorrow and anticipation war within him at the notion. Now, more than ever, he's determined to go back to his own Camelot.
"I must go," Kilgharrah informs him. "The sooner we find a way to get you to your own world, the better."
Merlin nods and offers a wan smile. "Thank you, Kilgharrah."
Kilgharrah bows shallowly. "Emrys, take care. And I urge you to welcome any help offered to you." With that one last obvious advice (of course Merlin will take all the help he can get), the dragon bats his wings and flies off in a great flurry of air.
Merlin watches him go until he's naught but a speck in the sky. He sighs, fixes his cloak and hood, and begins heading back to the citadel. The meeting isn't as fruitful as he thought it would be, but he did manage to learn somewhat important things.
For now, Merlin has no choice but to make use of Camelot's library. At least he knows what to search for now. Transdimensional travel, was it? If it's a forbidden art, information about it won't be easily lying about. He wonders if Lord Geoffrey will entertain him if he asks the lord about it.
Lost in thought as he walks, he manages to snag his arm onto some bushes. Merlin nearly trips over his own feet due to the constraint. He glances at the constriction around his wrist, his free hand already hovering to remove the bush branches.
What he sees aren't bush branches.
Leather-gloved fingers enclose his wrist in a caging grip.
Merlin's breath hitches, his heart beginning to hammer a fast tempo. He raises his gaze and finds the hand attached to a cloaked individual leaning against a trunk of a tree. Dark shadows shroud the hooded face of the figure adorning the blackest cloak known to man.
"Emrys. How careless of you."
The words spoken by an inhuman voice are the last things Merlin hears before a golden shimmer envelops him completely.
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A/N:
"The only thing predictable about life is its unpredictability." – Remy, Ratatouille (2007)
I have nothing written after this so (；・∀・).
Finally, some answers! And a cliffhanger, I guess. I swear I don't actually aim to end chapters on cliffhangers, I just don't know where to end it most of the time T^T.
Yay, my first confirmed asexual character - Levi the Brothel Owner!
Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and maybe I'll see you guys next time!
Have an uber happy and warmth-filled week!
~ Vividpast