Chapter Summary: Another night of dragonlord lessons, another scheme taking place, another reckless choice for Merlin.
Warning/s: A character's physical form changes and the speech they use thereafter may cause gender dysphoria.
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Chapter XIV: What You Give is What You Get
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Prince Arthur joins them in dragonlord lessons that very night, much to Merlin's dismay.
After the revelation of Prince Arthur's sharp observation skills and depths of distrust during Sir Lancelot's nameday celebration, Merlin has been hoping to avoid the prince as much as he can. Sadly, Prince Arthur doesn't seem keen to give him such an opportunity.
Fortunately, the prince truly embodies a quiet observer tonight. While Merlin and Balinor discuss the details of the dragonlord books Merlin managed to skim through, Prince Arthur merely listens without saying anything.
In fact, he roams the chambers with careless nonchalance. Merlin's not even sure if he's paying any attention to what the Court Sorcerer and the apprentice are doing.
Merlin becomes certain of Prince Arthur's inattention when Balinor begins speaking in dragonlord tongue, and the prince does not even look the least bit concerned. Instead, he's awfully interested in the articles near the vanity mirror.
"The story of Hurdul the Blameless Archer and Tafiel has much more details than the one depicted in the book. Only our people and those we trust can know the full tale," Balinor says pointedly.
From the Court Sorcerer's open palm, cool blue lights bloom and take shape. A tiny figure of a man with a bow and a sleek smaller dragon sketches itself into existence. Merlin leans forward, a sense of awe spreading in his chest.
"Hurdul was ostracized for his weak constitution. He found kinship with a damaged dragon whose flight was stolen by the war. But the books do not mention this: it is Hurdul himself who damaged Tafiel's wings during battle. The Great Chief's son, wracked with guilt at the sight of the flightless dragon, cannot bear to kill him."
The lights shift and display the human offering a bowl to a hissing dragon. After a few moments, the image changes to the dragon throwing a flopping fish in front of the human.
"Most people believe Hurdul tamed Tafiel. Others say it was the other way around. Perhaps they both tamed each other in a way." A small smile touches the Court Sorcerer's lips as the human and dragon light prance around. "Their friendship didn't develop overnight. It took years for them to even begin to trust one another. But once it did develop, it was a deeper bond than any of their kind could ever hope to achieve."
The pitting vowels and sloping consonants of the dragonlord language flow smoothly from Balinor's tongue. With the slow and soft words, the warm fire crackling in the fireplace, and the ethereal lightshow upon the Court Sorcerer's palm, sleepiness trickles into Merlin's laxed limbs. He tries his best to listen to the tale, truly interested in it. But the whole ambiance feels a lot like he's being lulled to sleep.
"Arthur," the Court Sorcerer says sharply in common tongue, startling his nearly dozing apprentice. "Will you cease fiddling with my things?"
Prince Arthur calmly puts down the comb back to the vanity desk, appearing thoroughly unchastised. "I apologize. I find that listening to you speak in a language I can never hope to understand is less entertaining for me." He claims the red armchair in a corner of the room and offers them a small disarming smile. "Please, continue with your lesson."
Balinor sends him one last warning glance before resuming the story.
Hurdul and Tafiel managed to broker peace within their people, their friendship ending the decades-long war. The transition wasn't easy and not all wished to ally themselves to their enemies. To smoothen relations, Tafiel blessed Hurdul and his family and marked them as kin. But it weakened Tafiel, leaving him feeble and unable to even move on his own. Hurdul wept at his friend's sacrifice and faithfully cared for Tafiel for the rest of the dragon's short life.
"And thus, the first dragonlords were created," Balinor says before extinguishing the lights upon his palms. "All ancient dragons have the capability to bestow the abilities of a dragonlord unto a normal man, albeit at the cost of their lifespan and lifeforce. And that is a secret we protect. You know as well as I that there are humans out there with greed the size of mountains."
Merlin straightens. "Wait, you mean more dragonlords can be made?" I don't have to be the last dragonlord?
"At the cost of a dragon's life, yes," the Court Sorcerer reminds him, tone lilting in a warning.
Merlin grimaces and sighs, recalling the only two dragons remaining in his realm. He supposes that the only way to preserve the dragonlord bloodline is for him to have a son.
A son, huh? Too busy with saving kingdoms and doing chores, Merlin never really thought about having children.
Another thought occurs to him. "You said that Tafiel blessed Hurdul's children. Why are the dragonlord's abilities only passed from father to son, and not mothers and daughters? Tafiel didn't seem to have made that distinction. What if the family didn't have any sons? Will the dragonlord abilities still be passed?"
"We go to the second part of this tale," Balinor replies.
Hurdul's granddaughter, crowned the Great Chief after decades of peace, became unsatisfied with her rule over the supposedly measly isles. She sought conquest, aiming to conquer the nearby lands and make them hers. Abusing her powers as a dragonlord, she and her devoted followers commanded dragons to raze the lands of their enemies. It took the collective effort of five ancient dragons to suppress her power and cease the bloodshed. Since then, women of the clan are unable to inherit the past generation's dragonlord abilities.
"Until the gendershifting spell," Merlin interjects, looking down in contemplation. "So having a woman's body suppresses dragonlord abilities." It's an interesting restriction. Merlin wonders how the generations of female dragonlords felt about being excluded just because of the action of one greedy ancestor.
"Perhaps. It is a subject of extensive study among our people," Balinor says. "If you wish to know more, you can ask the isles' scholars when we travel there."
Merlin begins nodding before the full statement sinks in. His head snaps up. "Wait, what?" He falls into common language in shock. "When we travel there? I — You — What!?"
"Oh, are you taking Merlin this year?" Prince Arthur casually pipes up. He has somehow gotten ahold of a tome, and he doesn't even look up from it as he speaks. "Balinor takes a yearly leave to return home for a few weeks."
Merlin gapes at the prince then at his mentor. "Return home?"
The Court Sorcerer pours sweetened wine into his goblet before replying in a matter-of-fact tone. "All children born outside the isles must be presented to the chiefs to be blessed and have their abilities assessed. As the only elder dragonlord in your vicinity, that duty falls to me. I must bring you to them."
"Blessed . . ." Merlin trails off, still in a stupefied state.
He has never once thought about going to the Thrakon Isles. He thought he would have been in his realm at this point.
But now, the realization that he can go to the dragonlords' homeland — his homeland — with his not-father exhilarates him beyond belief. He can meet his people, witness their culture, and know their history. He can find out how his father grew up and soak in the sceneries that his father had lived around.
All of that is impossible back in his world.
The notion brings a prickling of unbidden tears in his eyes, joy and grief warring inside him. He desperately blinks them away and attempts to hide how one subtle invitation has affected him.
Prince Arthur mutters, "How enviable."
The Court Sorcerer takes a sip of his wine, hazel eyes steadily on his apprentice. Something in his demeanor softens. "Merlin, if you do not wish to go . . ."
"No, I do!" the warlock exclaims, hands flailing. "I do. I want to see the isles. When—When will we travel?"
Balinor nods and places down his goblet. "In two months or so. We have a lot of preparations to make, and I'll need to think of an excuse to give as to why both of us are leaving without revealing our heritage."
Two months. Merlin swallows. If he doesn't manage to return home at that time, he can see the isles. If he doesn't manage to return home at that time, his Camelot may be nothing but rubble.
Merlin sighs and pushes the worries to the back of his mind. He'll have to wait and see for now.
The history lesson proceeds without further surprises, with mentor and apprentice discussing in their people's language and an unobtrusive prince reading quietly in a corner.
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"Did you get it, Lancelot?"
"Yes, Sire." A scoff. "He didn't even question it when I pulled at his hair during training." A handkerchief folded over strands of black hair is handed over.
The knight's companion accepts it, bright blue eyes glinting with interest. He stashes the handkerchief inside his coat pocket, right along another cloth enveloping another set of dark locks — locks that have been stolen away from Court Sorcerer's chambers two days prior.
"Will we tell the mages of our suspicions when we asked them to test it, Sire?"
"No need to inform anyone else and cause a fuss until we're certain." Lips purse into a thin line. "If it turns out to be true . . . then Balinor has the right to know."
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After days of physical training in the morning and reading books on basic magical theories in the afternoon, the week goes by much quicker than Merlin expected. Mordred, Morgana, and Merlin miraculously finish the three books given to them. On the last day, their mentor spends hours discussing the contents with them, clarifying confusing terms, and debating the conflicting assumptions presented by parts of the books.
Merlin's a tad embarrassed to admit he has asked the most questions out of Mordred and Morgana combined. Balinor doesn't seem to mind, patiently explaining everything and demonstrating a few spells to present the ideas better.
It is undoubtedly one of the most enjoyable hours of Merlin's stay in this realm.
The night before the next apprentice day off, Balinor ends the dragonlord lessons hours early to prepare for next week's. Merlin is torn between prioritizing two different problems that he has been pushing to the back of his mind throughout the week.
First conundrum: the wildfire rumors spreading around the citadel regarding Merlin being the second prince.
So far, no one has bothered him about it save for some servants bowing and greeting him with 'Your Highness'. The longer Merlin maintains this farce, however, the more he's hurting Prince Arthur's standing in court. No matter how much he denies it, they all think of him as royalty trying to uselessly hide his identity.
He can confront Agravaine tonight and break off their agreement. He will have the lord declare the whole mess as a prank to the queen and the residents of the castle.
But the second conundrum also equally demands his attention.
He must decide whether he risks going out of the citadel tomorrow (without his mentor's permission) and meet with the so-called böggel-mann.
It's obviously a trap, right?
However, . . .
If Wracu wants to kill Merlin again, he has had plenty of opportunities to counterattack and maim the warlock during their last encounter. Instead, Wracu only defended himself when Merlin assaulted him.
If he wants to kidnap Merlin, he has had plenty of chances before to do so too. Or at least, plenty of chances to attempt it because Merlin isn't in the habit of getting himself captured.
So, what exactly is Wracu's goal for this trap?
Maybe he plans to gain my trust and use me to spy on Camelot. It's not so far-fetched.
There's also a tidbit that Wracu mentioned that Merlin finds himself curious about.
"Learn the enchantment of swīġan unsóþ, and I will allow you to perform it on me."
Silence the Untruth.
It's likely a truth spell. Merlin knows truth spells are forbidden; asking around about how to learn it will only lead to trouble.
But if it's truly a spell that'll force Wracu to tell the truth, Merlin may just risk it.
Aside from sitting on his thumbs and waiting for Kilgharrah to call for him again, this böggel-mann, loathed as he is to admit it, is his only concrete clue on how to return to his own realm.
Oh gods, Merlin is considering meeting with one of this Camelot's greatest enemies. He rubs his face and marvels at his desperation.
All right, all right. He just needs to be extra careful and plan every step and action he takes. As soon as he smells trouble, he'll immediately run in the other direction or attack without hesitation.
"Idiot," he hears Arthur's voice already chiding him for this decision.
I know. Merlin sighs.
He supposes the meeting tomorrow takes precedence over ceasing Agravaine's harmful prank. Merlin mentally apologizes to Prince Arthur and vows to resolve that problem soon enough. He also promises himself never to procrastinate on things like this again, no matter how busy he gets.
For now, he heads to the library.
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"Ah-ah, my boy." Lord Geoffrey blocks Merlin's way as he's about to enter another wing of the library. "That part of the library is forbidden without a written certificate from a court magic-user."
"Oh." Merlin does recall something like that written in the rules of the library. He glimpses at rows upon rows of books of the east wing, temptingly visible from where he's standing.
Merlin has been trying to look for tomes about truth spells on his own, afraid to ask Lord Geoffrey for the Head Librarian may find it suspicious.
A forbidden place in the library likely contains forbidden knowledge. Like transdimensional arts . . .
Perhaps Merlin may find another clue there.
Lord Geoffrey observes the curious glint upon the apprentice's eyes and asks, "Now, what exactly are you looking for? I've seen you wandering around here for hours now. You know you can always ask me for help, my boy."
The remark tears Merlin out of his pondering on how to sneak in the forbidden east wing. No matter, he'll plan that out later.
"Er —" Merlin scratches his neck, contemplating. He has wasted enough time; he figures he should try a different approach. "Lord Balinor mentioned truth spells and anything like it being illegal. And I heard discussions of the swīġan unsóþ enchantment, so I am searching for anything that documents the exact law."
"Oh. That." Lord Geoffrey hums. "Yes, a truly controversial enchantment. There have been attempts to completely remove it from the list of forbidden spells."
Merlin's head snaps up, staring incredulously at Lord Geoffrey. "What? Why?"
"Well, the swīġan unsóþ enchantment is a low-tier spell that even non-magic-users can break if ever one is performed on them." Lord Geoffrey looks up in thought. "So, it is a spell that can never be maintained without both sides' consent. Some wish to use it when transacting with untrustworthy people. Others say that it is an unreliable spell that will only lead to ruin if made legal." The Head Librarian's voice drops into a near whisper. Merlin leans in to hear. "Personally, I think those who oppose it are just afraid of their lies being revealed." He shakes his head with a rueful smile before adding. "Nonetheless, concessions were made. It is illegal to perform it on someone other than yourself inside Camelot's borders, but you are allowed to learn it for scholarly purposes."
Even if the magic-user cast it upon themselves to make themselves trustworthy, the other side may not believe that the spell has been performed at all. The enchantment truly is useless when it comes to helping with honest trades.
Wracu, however, has agreed to let Merlin perform it on him. Illegally, apparently. But the law never stopped Merlin before, and it's not going to stop him now.
Merlin straightens, interest piqued. "Is-Is there a book where I can learn it?"
Lord Geoffrey smiles upon seeing Merlin's excitement and misinterpreting the reason for it. "Certainly. Come with me."
Merlin takes one last glance at the archway leading to the east wing before following the Head Librarian.
The book Lord Geoffrey gives him is thin, small, and easily overlooked. Merlin takes a seat and hurriedly flips through the right page.
As Lord Geoffrey mentioned, it is illegal to perform it on other individuals. Even then, the victim can opt to immediately break it without the slightest effort. As soon as the enchantment breaks, the caster will be made aware of it. The caster can then rest assured that the spell is still in effect.
The spell is quite easy to learn as well. Within an hour, Merlin is confident he can perform it. He tries it on himself and nearly chokes to death when he attempts to claim that the sky is purple.
At the bottom of the page, however, the author places a simple and easily overlooked note.
"This spell may be convenient, but I will emphasize the importance of the name. Truth is not absolute and may have many variants. Silencing the untruth does not give you anything absolute but rather something subjective. Be cautious when relying on this spell."
That doesn't sound ominous at all, Merlin thinks wryly.
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The next day, Merlin sneaks out of the castle before Mordred or Theo could wake. After ensuring he has no knight following his trail, he proceeds to the inn closest to the north gates and rents an empty room for the whole day.
After fluffing up the covers and pillows to make it look like a body is lying down on it, he buries his castle talisman among the sheets. It won't fool anyone who decides to take a closer look, but it will do for a brief glimpse.
Hopefully, if, for some reason, Balinor ever tracks him down again, his mentor will realize he's just in an inn inside the citadel and won't personally come to check.
Merlin dons his trusty cloak and sighs.
Now, for the extra assurance.
He breathes out, closes his eyes, and mutters the first spell he learned upon coming to this realm.
Gold threads flow through his whole body, shifting bones and transforming skin. Familiar discomfort pings his nerves, so he grits his teeth. He feels his muscles displacing, his shoulder bending and shrinking.
When the transformation is done, a handful of minutes later, Merlin stumbles and pants. Somehow, turning into Dragoon has taken less energy than this. Fortunately, unlike Dragoon, no aches afflict his joints and bones after the transformation is complete.
He straightens, the front of his chest feeling a tad heavier. In the corner of the room stands a small mirror. Merlin putters to it with boots that don't quite fit. His feet must have gotten smaller.
Dark blue eyes study the reflection of the woman staring back at him.
His chin is softer, his features are more rounded than angular. His cheekbones are less sharp, and his lips have thickened slightly. He runs a fingertip over them, curious.
His ears are still enormous and likely to give him away. As with the Dragoon disguise, he casts another spell to lengthen his dark hair and hide his ears.
Black locks promptly spill over thin shoulders and small breasts. Heat suffuses his cheeks, so he hastily looks away from that part of his new anatomy.
His hips have grown wider and between his legs . . . Yeah, that's odd. But honestly, it's truly no odder than being Dragoon. Nevertheless, Merlin's never going to look under his trousers while in any form other than his normal one.
He focuses on the face once more. No matter how much Arthur teases him for being a girl, he really doesn't look like one in his usual form. Now, he truly appears to be a woman, all soft curves and gentle form.
He shifts uncomfortably. Moving in this disguise truly is quite different.
While he shares similar features with his male form, he thinks no one would recognize him if he doesn't tell them. He looks far too different to be recognized at first glance. It's the eyes, as Gaius once mentioned, where people may find something familiar.
He smiles. The woman in the reflection smiles back. "Well, I hope our mentor won't recognize us even if he finds us." His voice is deep and whole but certainly not deep enough to be a man's. It's not surprising given the lack of a certain bump along his throat.
Merlin fixes his cloak, hugging it tighter around his slightly smaller figure and pulling the hood deeper over his head.
Resolve hardening and fully prepared for battle, Merlin heads out of the inn and out of the citadel.
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A/N:
"What you give is what you get
My daddy said that and I'll never forget
And I recommend it to you" - Tiana, The Princess and the Frog (2009)
Wohoo, another chapter done!
Someone mentioned tomatoes not existing yet in this time period, and yes, it didn't! I try to research fruit/spice/vegetable existence and history before I mention it here in this story because one of them is going to be an indulgent plot point in the future. And I did consider not putting the tomatoes in here but then BBC Merlin used it during one of Merlin-in-the-stocks scenes and I'm like welp, guess tomatoes exist in 5th century England now. XD
Hmmm, I feel like this chapter is putting a definite black and white view over the male and female gender. Just note that this is mostly from the POV of Merlin, who grew up in a heteronormative realm. He'll learn more about the spectrums of gender soon enough!
Well, hope to see you all again next week!
Next up: The meeting with the böggel-mann.
Have a magnificent week and keep staying safe!
~ Vividpast