Chapter 15: Mithian (3)
As the palace of Nemeth topped the hill it and part of the town were built upon, and the royal residences were on the upper floors, Mithian and her two sisters-in-law in Crissa's sitting-room were quite high above the training field. Not so much that the men below were unrecognizable, only enough to be removed from the harshest of the noises.
"Open or shut?" Crissa said, kneeling up on the generous window-seat.
"It's not too cold to open them?" Amylia said, arranging her blooming body next to her, more clumsily. She peered through one of the tiny diamond-shaped panes, then dodged a bit to see if another gave a better view.
"If it gets too cold, I'll have a fire laid later," Crissa decided, reaching for the latch and swinging one of the windows open.
"Oh, they've got Merlin in armor," Amylia said. "Mithian, come and – oh."
"Dear, he's not very good, is he," Crissa murmured, frowning at Amylia.
Mithian put Amylia's youngest down to amuse herself – the room was safe at a two-year-old level - and came to lean on the casement behind Amylia, peering down into the training yard, a level square between the dairy and the stable.
Ybor was leaning on one of the tables beside the green, left for bearing weaponry or armor or occasionally discarded articles of clothing – this morning, a patch of red that Mithian suspected was Merlin's tunic. He looked to be hollering – advice or abuse, it was impossible to tell and either was equally likely – at the pair circling each other, swords and shields raised.
Black-haired Merlin stumbled and let his sword-point dip; Antor with his lighter hair braided down his neck, wearing a green tunic like Ybor's, attacked with a descending over-head swing. Merlin gave ground generously, heavy-footed and relying on his shield, making only one rather wild attempt to use his own blade. Ybor threw his arms up, turning away – but looking back almost immediately to see Antor trip up his opponent somehow, knocking the shield aside and stepping on it to place his blade at Merlin's throat in the claim of victory.
"Hm," Crissa made a disparaging sound.
"Not everyone needs to be good with a sword," Amylia said encouragingly, up to Mithian. "Maybe he's just… not a warrior."
"He's not a swordsman," Mithian corrected. Merlin's grin was visible at the distance, and he took the hand Antor offered to lift him up without hesitation.
"It's not surprising, really," Crissa said. "He can't have had any kind of regular instruction, much less from the caliber of tutors that princes have."
"He didn't use his magic, though…" Amylia whispered.
And that, was powerful enough that he'd needed only a couple of spells – that he'd crafted himself, on the spot – for that morning's performance at breakfast. And not only strong, but skilled, to accomplish multiple and delicate focuses at once…
On the field, Ybor had come out from behind the table, reclaiming his equipment from Merlin, and facing off with his brother. At the upstairs sitting-room window, their wives made attentive and pleased noises.
Mithian had seen this pairing repeated weekly if not daily, ever since she could remember. Instead, she watched Merlin wriggle out of his borrowed chainmail, laying it carefully on the table with neat, professional movements. Then, leaving his tunic despite the icy edge of the air, he strode around the square of the field – where's he going? is he mad, or offended, after all? – to the water barrel the knights emptied hourly in the height of summer. Locating a pair of horn cups in general use, he dipped water, then returned to the table to hitch one leg over the corner and wait, watching.
She ignored the short, excited comments her two sisters-in-law made – ignored also her brothers' match. It would be Ybor, almost always these days. Since he'd filled out just enough broader and taller than their older brother to notice, and since Antor had taken some of the indoor duties from their father. She was curious to note that Merlin's attention did not stray from the princes' match, nor did he fidget like he was bored.
When the two brothers fell back, Antor retreated as far as the table, to accept one of the cups Merlin offered. It looked like he also offered a few words – nothing that took Antor's gaze off his opponent, however – and the prince regent nodded twice, before passing the cup back to Merlin and advancing to engage Ybor again.
And then, somehow managed to catch him off-guard, spinning and ducking as Ybor over-extended. Crissa gasped at the thwack! Antor's blade made on Ybor's arm – and his sword slipped to the grass. Antor lifted his blade instantly, pushing his brother back from his fallen weapon so it could not be retrieved.
"Oh, my," Amylia said.
Merlin appeared to cheer them both; Antor switched his blade to his left hand and offered the other. Ybor took it – stiff in body, but not in manner. Antor tucked his sword under his arm to use both hands in investigating the damage he'd done to his brother's shoulder, and Merlin put down the cups of water and hopped off the table to join them.
"Should we go down?" Crissa asked.
"I think I will," Mithian declared. "At the very least, I can find out if Merlin is a better archer than he is a swordsman."
"If Ybor is really hurt, have him come in and see Alice!" Crissa called after her, and she waved to show she'd heard.
It had been many a long year since Mithian had traveled the halls and stairs of her palace at anything faster than a seemly walk – but that morning she hurried her pace, hoping the men would not abandon the field before she reached them. Breathless, she exited the palace and nearly skipped over the grass.
They'd gotten Ybor's chainmail off him, and Merlin was just easing his gambeson down his shoulders also, when she arrived at Antor's side. The prince regent slouched on the table and sipped at the water in his cup, and glanced down at her with a reassuring smile.
"Maybe we should have told Merlin to take it easy on you, Ybor," she quipped.
Ybor gave her a sour grimace, but Merlin grinned over his shoulder. "His Majesty's hit, not mine," he said, his fingers deftly exploring Ybor's shoulder and back, through the thin white shirt he still wore. "Here?"
Ybor straightened and inhaled suddenly. "No, I just caught a chill," he said sarcastically.
"Have your knights got ointments for bruises and strained muscles?" Merlin asked, snaking one arm over Ybor's opposite shoulder and across his chest. "Ours use such tinctures so routinely that Gaius keeps it stocked in the armory and barracks… It's one of the things we let Tobe do, now, mix it up – under supervision, of course." He gripped Ybor and bent his strength into whatever he was doing behind him, making a frown of concentration – but his eyes, though she watched them, never flared with magic use.
"I'm sure our healer has something similar," Antor answered. Ybor made a face, but Mithian wasn't sure if it was for distaste of those tinctures, or the discomfort of whatever Merlin was doing.
"Who's Tobe?" Mithian asked.
"Son of Arthur's manservant – I'm sure you saw him about when you were in Camelot. Errand boy, really, but he's smart and – interested, so we – teach him things. Useful things." Merlin straightened and withdrew around to Ybor's other side, a satisfied look on his face. "How's that."
Ybor worked his arm. "A lot better actually – I thought I wasn't going to be able to move it for a while there."
"Exaggerator," Antor said dryly.
"I won't even have to see our healer, now," Ybor declared, grinning at Merlin.
"You probably should, anyway," Mithian cautioned. "Or Crissa might be upset."
Ybor humphed. "See you all at dinner, then," he said, beginning to stalk back toward the palace.
Merlin called after him, "Wait, you've forgotten your –"
"Don't mind it," Antor said negligently. "A servant will get it." Over Merlin's subdued, Right… yes, the prince regent added, "Thanks for the advice – and the match."
"I can't do it very well," Merlin said cheerfully, shrugging, "but I've watched it done by several of the best, often enough."
"You did well enough," Antor disagreed. "Maybe well enough to be admitted to the knights' trials, here…" Merlin scoffed and Antor grinned as he excused himself, heading away to his own duties with a salute of his sword before sheathing it; Merlin turned to begin gathering the chainmail from the table.
"Leave it," Mithian suggested. "Someone really will take care of that for us. You're a guest," she reminded him, when he seemed inclined to protest.
He gave in with a sigh, relinquishing the chainmail to reclaim his tunic. "I suppose you saw my match, then?"
"Yes, I did," she added, when his head was still inside the garment. "Amylia and I were wondering why you didn't use magic?"
He grunted, emerging and tugging the tunic into place, getting it settled over his shirt and the belt buckled properly – but neglecting the slight disarray of his hair. Mithian thought of Crissa running her fingers through Ybor's longish locks – wondered how Merlin's would feel and if he would like that, and shivered.
"Perhaps we can talk while we walk back to the palace?" Merlin suggested. "It's a good question – and a good explanation, I promise you – but the wind is chilly, and neither of us has our cloaks."
"Oh – I was going to take you around to the archery butts," Mithian said. "Unless – you're cold?"
"Not really – hardy peasant upbringing," Merlin said. "But I'm as bad with a bow as I am with a sword, I'll just tell you now – I was thinking of your comfort?"
"I do like to practice once in a while – even in winter if the sun is out," Mithian said. "We hunt fairly regularly, and it's the one thing I can beat my brothers at, the crossbow."
"Oh?" Merlin said, with interest. "We can go round there, if you like. If you're sure you're not cold."
"No…" She was slightly embarrassed, now. "There's no need for me to show off my one and only skill –" Merlin scoffed gallantly to disagree with one and only, and she smiled. "We can go back inside, if you'd rather."
"There was something I wanted to see you about – in private," Merlin said, glancing around them. She took his elbow, and the first step, and as they walked back toward the palace, he commented, "You enjoy hunting, then?"
"I do…" She looked at him more closely, and suspected the pleasant neutrality of his expression. "You're not a fan of hunting?"
His mouth quirked. "What sport is it when one side has dogs and spears and crossbows and the other side has nothing?"
She thought for a moment of the larger meets she'd participated in. And what the servants had been doing while she and her siblings had been galloping about in the excitement of the chase. Running, all day. Carrying, cleaning… She knew that their hunts usually made use of volunteers, and their beaters seemed to enjoy the exercise and the fine weather as much as they did, but… this wasn't Camelot.
"And yet," she ventured, "You took two helpings of the venison sausage…"
He grinned more fully. "Sometimes, Arthur used to drag me out to the forest with him, to hunt. Just the two of us, creeping along – well, til recently he'd have told you I don't have a stealthy bone in my body – and the game we returned with was truly earned. Not just overwhelmed or exhausted…"
"Do you enjoy riding?" she asked deliberately.
"Never really did it for the fun," he said with good humor.
"We often let our quarry escape," she told him gently, "if we don't actually need the meat…"
"Then why not just go riding?" he countered, just as mildly.
She smiled because he was smiling. Of course it wasn't logical to expect that any two people would agree on everything, but she was glad that their differing backgrounds and opinions were counterweighed rather than adversarial. He appreciated the reasons for her enjoyment; she respected his aversion in the details.
When they reached the door, he held it open for her.
"I'd like to hear your good explanation for my good question," Mithian prompted, keeping her eyes open for a good place where they could be alone without trespassing on propriety. "Why you didn't use magic in your match with Antor."
She felt the muscles of his arm tense through his sleeve, though he spoke calmly. "Arthur asked the same thing. He wanted his knights to practice fighting magic, so that if they had to in the future…"
"That seems sensible enough," she observed, even reading that he didn't agree. "Why don't you?"
"It's a bit like…" He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably, but kept her hand firmly at his elbow. "Pairing a bowman and a swordsman, for practice. It isn't done."
"Ah," she said. Yes, usually like weapons fought like – though in tournaments, which were more serious, the combatants themselves could choose and agree otherwise.
"In a battle," Merlin said slowly, "every man must fight with what he has, weapons and skills. But in battle, it's about life and death, not – practice. I could have used my magic very easily against Antor – I've done it a couple of times against Arthur, only don't tell him that – tricks and surprises and deceptions, but why would I? Neither of us is happy with my victory, then. I haven't proven anything, he hasn't learned anything. It might be beneficial for the knights to watch two sorcerers duel, or a sorcerer who plans to aid the knights in fighting to observe their training, but…"
"I see." Even though she hadn't, ever seen battle and the desperation of kill or be killed. Men had been hurt in tournaments here, but they'd never had fatalities. Or magic-users who were interested enough in battle-magic to risk it against each other for display, even if such was encouraged in Nemeth. "Do you have someone in Camelot that you practice with, then?"
He smiled at her. "There's only Ally, right now, though I am teaching her how to defend herself. And I… seem to do better on the spur of the moment."
She thought about the moment when the boulder in the corridor vanished, and the rest of the castle's stone rumbled ominously. Spur of the moment. She said, "A genuine need for defense?"
He nodded.
Something to keep in mind, anyway, especially with Crissa's preference for a more obvious warrior. Given the hints of things unsaid in his stories and answers, Mithian could not but believe Merlin had been in battle, himself – maybe not army against army on a great open field, but still fighting enemies personally and close, that would take his life or Arthur's without hesitation.
She didn't know whether to wish someday to see her suitor in genuine action – or to hope that there was never the need.
It was hard to find a place that was truly private; even with all the members of her family occupied elsewhere, there were servants and guards in almost every corridor. The only places she knew where they'd be truly alone were their respective chambers – both of which were inappropriate for privacy at this point in their relationship. But Merlin didn't seem impatient, and then Mithian remembered one painting of the Labyrinth of Gedref in an alcove in the upper north gallery had curtains, and a little seat.
"Oh, wow," Merlin said, when they stepped into the alcove.
The murmur of the men gathered in the audience chamber below to transact the business of the kingdom was unobtrusive, not unlike the background sounds of nature, were they outside in nice weather.
"Is this an accurate rendering?" he continued, leaning close to the painting to trace the lines of light and dark green.
The windows in the domed ceiling above separated the sunlight into diffuse rays; Mithian let one of the curtains fall and the alcove was still bright with almost-midday light. She seated herself on one-half of the small bench, reflecting that if Merlin was built like Ybor, they never could sit there together.
"I believe so," Mithian said. "At least, accurate to the Labyrinth at the time; I've heard it said that it changes."
"I'd believe it," Merlin said, following his fingers to the eastern edge of the painted maze, where the greenery gave way to the glittering pale sand and white-topped waves of the coast.
"You've been there?" Mithian asked – almost disappointed, if she was going to lose that idea for an outing. It was getting too cold anymore to make the journey all the way to the Labyrinth unless it was to show it to him for the first time.
"Once. It was more a quest, though, than a sight-seeing trip."
"With Arthur?" she guessed. He turned to her and smiled, and she reasoned, "Being in that place with the son of Uther Pendragon… yes, that would be quite dangerous. But you were allowed out again, which says a lot."
"Says a lot about Arthur," Merlin corrected softly.
For a moment he looked at her, and she didn't feel the need to fill the silence with words. Then he fumbled with the hem of his tunic to find his trousers' pocket, and brought his fist out clenched around something, before sitting down next to her. The bench was so short that their clothes brushed, arm and hip and leg, but it was nice – calming rather than embarrassing, even when their elbows bumped. At least he wasn't apologizing and calling her Your Highness.
"I have something for you," he said, his eyes on his closed hand. "I… brought something, for you. But I wasn't sure if I should give it to you right away, before we got to know each other. I wasn't – exactly – sure, how you'd react. But now… this is for you." He opened his hand to show a slender strip, twisted and kinked on his palm, scarlet-red with a hint of gold, and dark opaque stones.
She picked it up to examine more closely – a bracelet of red silk threat, knotted and tied in a delicate web that wasn't solid, but would show gaps and spaces in a lacy pattern, with a single gold thread winding throughout. Three small dark pebbles, roughly round in shape, were bound into the bracelet with the thread, and several strands were braided beyond the bracelet's ends, to tie the piece onto one's wrist, knotted themselves so they wouldn't unravel.
Merlin continued, sounding nervous. "Arthur said jewelry, and I know he meant silver or gold, with gems fit for a princess, and I know I could pick anything from the merchants' stalls or commission something from the 'smiths, and tell them Arthur would cover the cost. And he would, and think nothing of it – he feels like he owes me, and offered me far more in salary than I wanted, when I came back to Camelot this spring. But what I do for him, you can't put a price on that, and you shouldn't, it isn't a job to me, it's my destiny and my pleasure and my purpose, and of course I have to make a living also, but…"
He sighed, and she had no words.
"I'll never be a rich man, my lady. I don't want to be a rich man. And I didn't want to give you anything I felt I hadn't earned. I don't want to give you things that Arthur's paid for."
"I understand," she said. Her throat felt just a bit tight, her breathing just a bit strained in her chest. Because she did – and she also understood the risk he'd taken, giving her something like this instead of a more expensive and meaningless bangle.
She also determined to leave the bulk of her own jewelry in Nemeth, if and when they journeyed to Camelot together; she didn't often wear more than the gold necklace that was important to her as her mother's, and which Merlin had recovered for her among the rubble of the collapsed ruins. Finery was unimportant, when compared to… this.
"I thought you would. I hoped you would. There was a vendor in Camelot's marketplace that showed me how to do all the twisting and tying – part of it you use a needle for – so I bought the thread, but the stones I found in the –"
"You made this?" Mithian said, incredulous, lifting the bracelet and stretching it out delicately for a closer scrutiny.
"Don't look too closely," Merlin said lightly. "You'll see all the mistakes."
The tight sensation was pinched toward a lump in her throat; she suspected he meant more than just his work on the bracelet, suddenly. And she couldn't speak.
"The stones," he continued, "I found in the stream that supplies the ruined castle with its water."
"Oh, Merlin," she managed faintly.
Some girls would prefer gemstones, no matter how he explained his reasoning, and be absolutely horrified to receive stream-smoothed pebbles, but what he was giving her was a link to his past. To – she could imagine – a time that had been dangerous and uncertain for him, maybe even occasionally despairing. A time when hopes and dreams had been just as important as another day's provisions, and survival – the true companionship of a select few and the pain of separation from home and family – the satisfaction of forging a new home and family…
"They're enchanted," Merlin added shyly. "The stones, I mean. For your protection. I – Arthur says I worry too much, but things happen in Camelot, and if I bring you there, I want to try to keep you safe."
She blinked, and a tear spilled. "You could not have given me anything more precious," she told him. And impulsively twisted on the bench, pushing her knee into his, lifting her free hand to hold his face so she could kiss his cheek.
He smelled, incongruously, like grass and snow – crisp and tingling and alive. And held his breath, and didn't move. She hoped that was all for good, right reasons as she pulled back, her heart thumping. He cleared his throat, as she draped the bracelet over her wrist and held it for him to tie.
His fingers were gentle and sure – physician's fingers, and she wondered whether his dexterity and the use of the needle had come from servant's experience in mending a master's clothing, or from stitching wounds.
"I don't have anything to give you in return," Mithian said. Trusting that Merlin would know she was not fishing for an insincere compliment – the pleasure of your company is worth all the stars and diamonds in the kingdom and so on – or a pass. You don't need to.
"Well," he said, tightening and adjusting the bracelet's ties – practical as well as romantic. "There's another reason I gave you this – it's because I intended to ask a gift from you in return."
She sat back, running her fingers over the silky bumps of the bracelet, feeling the embedded stones, and couldn't anticipate what his favor might be, at all. "What is that?"
"I want to ask you to allow me to be useful, here?" His eyebrows and the corners of his mouth rose hopefully together. "I've thoroughly enjoyed our time together, and I hope I don't offend you if I assume you don't spend all day every day simply strolling about."
A chuckle tumbled out of her, and his smile widened into a grin.
"If I'm to stay through the season, I beg you will give me something to do to help. You, or your family – your brothers and father – the kingdom, anything I can do. At least a few hours? Maybe that makes me a bad guest, but I'd like to demonstrate my appreciation for your hospitality – and not keep you from any responsibilities or duties, either."
"Well," Mithian said, happy and relieved that his feelings about the visit complemented hers – how am I supposed to keep him entertained? – "I usually teach some classes to the village children. Nothing really structured, because their parents need them so often, and nothing really intense – it's been a while because harvest-time is always so busy, and when winter takes hold quite a few don't care enough to brave the cold in coming. But there's that and… some other things I could show you. After the noon meal? Are you hungry?"
"I think it's in the Knights' Code," Merlin said, with a glint in his eye, "that any type of fighting is supposed to work up an appetite."
Mithian laughed. "In that case," she rose and he followed, only a moment later, "let's get to the dining room before my brothers, if we still can."
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
In the early afternoon, Mithian took Merlin to another of her favorite rooms in the palace – the library.
Being on the west side of the palace, the slowly-setting sun glowed off the rock of the walls, and since the royal living quarters were above them, the ceilings were only a dozen feet from the floor. Sturdy, ancient shelves ringed an open area with carpets and desks and the effect of the whole was quite cozy.
"I have to say," Merlin followed her more slowly, as he looked around, "if Camelot's library was like this, I'd probably spent more time there, instead of sneaking books out one at a time to read somewhere else."
Mithian made a sound of agreement. Geoffrey was very cordial, though she hadn't really spoken to him beyond introductions, but the library at Camelot had much in common with the vaults and crypts.
"Hi, Merlin," Gunnor said from the desk by the window, where his tutor was supervising a lesson. Sometimes his next-oldest sister came too, but the younger children's lessons were very basic and conducted in the nursery.
"Good afternoon, Your Majesty," Merlin said, grinning at the boy. "I hope we're not disturbing you – I've asked the princess to put me to work if she can."
"Good," Gunnor returned. "Courting's boring."
Mithian snickered, and warmed at the glance of amusement Merlin sent her. She perched on the high stool behind the desk she usually claimed, opening its slanted lid to retrieve her manuscript and parchment, quills and ink.
"What's this?" Merlin said. He showed such genuine interest in everything; it was something she was beginning to love about him.
"Father gives me an allowance for parchment and ink," she said. "I make copies of our books and give them away where they would be of the most use. Or I copy something in disrepair – or maybe something valuable that the merchants will buy and I can give Amylia the coin for her women-and-children fund."
Merlin bent over her desk, reading the last she'd written, a list of the competitors and accounts of the matches of their last tournament, held that summer in honor of Ybor's newborn son.
"Sometimes I translate," she added, a little shyly. "And I have been known to – reword accounts such as these, and draw pictures to match. For the children."
He lifted his head to smile at her, and she let her gaze flit over his features again, learning him. The shape of his nose, the curve of his cheek- and brow-bones, the line of jaw and bend of mouth – the smooth skin and the faintest hint of a dark beard that would show if he didn't shave.
"You have a neat, steady hand," he told her.
She stored that away in her memory with the other few, strange, honest compliments he'd given her. She liked that about him, too, that he didn't waste credulity on calculated or flowery praise.
"I often do this for several hours a day," she told him. "One, at least, I can usually manage. Each of these desks has ink and quill, and I keep my store of parchment here…"
She reached back into the desk, balancing all her materials on top of it, and gave him two sheets. Four pages, front and back.
"I sometimes do more than one project at a time, for the sake of variety, so if you prefer a treatise on common childhood complaints that our healer has asked for…" She trailed off, studying him and sensing his hesitation. "What's the matter. You don't want to? Oh -" A horrifying thought struck her – "I'm sorry, I completely assumed you could–"
"Read and write?" he finished for her. Still meeting her eyes and smiling, and she decided she also loved his indefatigable good moods. "I do. Read better than I write, Gaius and Arthur both say so. It turns out I'm too impatient to be neat, even, and so my hand is atrocious."
"You're serious," she said in dismay.
"I've been meaning to copy Gaius' spell-book," Merlin said. "But if I do, it would be more like this…"
He bent over her work again, studying to match where she had left off last week, then spread his hand above the page. "Icuis bisan hraed thaes gediht."
That was one she understood. And therefore, wasn't surprised to see letters and words and paragraphs, flourishes and illuminations spill over her page. That would have taken her until dinnertime, and probably her hand would ache since she'd neglected her hobby for several days, now.
Merlin grinned up at her, then turned her page over to its blank back and repeated the spell for the next page of the book. Hours of painstaking work by hand accomplished beautifully and flawlessly in a matter of heartbeats.
"Hey, Merlin," Gunnor called, "I'm supposed to be copying part of our code of law over here…"
"No," his tutor and Merlin said at the same time.
But when he reached for one of the fresh sheets of parchment she'd laid out for his use, simultaneously turning the page of the book she was copying, she snatched his hand away in both of hers, as though she could block his magic. As though his magic was a physical thing that emerged somehow from his palm, and she could squeeze it back inside.
"Oh, no," she told him, laughing and pleading at once. "My father will only pay for so much at a time, and it must last – it is a difficult and lengthy process to make the parchment, so… you mustn't."
Merlin wasn't offended. "I suppose I could read, while you write," he proposed. "That treatise on childhood complaints – or medical texts, if you have any that Gaius doesn't."
"I highly doubt that," Mithian said, disheartened that her good idea had come to nothing. At least she could hope to work in the library at Camelot, if and when they went; she was sure she could make improvements there.
Which thought prompted her to consider, how Merlin was used to passing his time, when he was at home. Of course they couldn't have him polishing floors and windows here – and servanthood was in his past there, as well. Neither King Rodor nor Antor needed an advisor on magic, but… she remembered his room in the abandoned castle, before it had truly become ruined.
"Oh, I haven't introduced you to our healer, yet," she realized. "Or shown you the infirmary. Crissa occasionally helps in there – or she did, before the baby…"
"If you think he wouldn't mind my help," Merlin said hopefully. "Some physicians can be very particular about their craft – Gaius was very grouchy with Tobe, when he started. And with me, actually."
"She," Mithian said.
"Your healer is a lady?" Merlin sounded intrigued, straightening off the desk so Mithian could pack her things away again. If Alice and Merlin hit it off, she could come back to it later, maybe.
"An old lady," Gunnor corrected, skipping up. "I'm done with lessons now, Auntie, can I come with you? Only Alice chases me out if I go to the infirmary by myself."
"With good reason," Mithian reminded him, closing the lid of the desk and standing.
Merlin's head was tipped, his expression curious. "Alice?" he said.
"Yes." This time Mithian did not have to wait for him to follow – his chest was inches from her shoulder blade as they left the library and started down the corridor, Gunnor tagging along behind them. "She's been here about a year. Not very talkative about her past, except if it pertains to a patient, but she's mentioned Gaius a couple of times, as someone she studied with a long time ago. Before Camelot's Purge, I would imagine."
"Has she," Merlin murmured – and Mithian glanced at him sharply, but could discern nothing from his expression, other than that he was intently interested.
The infirmary was just next to the library, an enormous L-shaped room with one wing devoted to patient residency and care, and the other to the study and formulation of medicaments. Cupboards and drying-racks and bookshelves lined the walls, equipment littered a pair of tables in crowded organization. A fire crackled comfortably in the hearth, and Alice was just turning from bandaging the hand and wrist of a soldier who swung his legs boyishly off the edge of an empty table.
"Oh!" Alice said, noticing their trio. Wiping her hands on the apron she wore over a plain brown wool dress – reflexively, if she'd just been doing a bandage – she came toward them slowly, her eyes lowered.
"Alice," Mithian said, "this is Merlin of Camelot, Gaius' apprentice, who's come to be my suitor."
"Yes, I know," Alice said, reaching them. The pink of her round cheeks had nothing to do with the level of heat in the room, and after a quick keen glance at Merlin, she dropped her gaze again. "Gaius told me about you."
"He did?" Mithian said, puzzled. Rodor had employed Alice while Uther was yet alive, last autumn, but Merlin had been in Camelot, with Gaius, for less than five years, if she wasn't mistaken.
"I've been here three days," Merlin said to her. "I didn't even know you were here – why didn't you come say hello? Or write to Gaius where you were, at least?"
"You two know each other?" Mithian asked, curious. That would mean that their healer had spent some time in Camelot recently, before coming to them. Interesting.
The healer watched the soldier make his way past them – with a bow for Mithian and Gunnor – to the door, and excuse himself, to leave them alone. Then she focused on and reached for Merlin's hand – and he let her do it in a distracted way - declaring softly, "Merlin saved my life."
"That's not true," Merlin returned, gripping the hand of the plump, grand-motherly woman in a more intentional way. "You helped Arthur to save his father – and he vouched for you to spare your life."
"That's not what I meant." Alice sighed and hesitated, then looked at Mithian and Gunnor – who were probably equally intrigued, though Mithian was better at containing herself. "Last mid-autumn, I brought a manticore into Camelot, to kill Uther."
"What?" Mithian said, incredulous. Their gentle, feminine healer – a cold and calculating killer?
"A manticore," Gunnor breathed. A nine-year-old boy had different concerns, obviously. "What's that?"
"An evil creature of magic," Merlin told him, seemingly unperturbed by Alice's admission. "About so big –" he measured the size of an average dog with his hands.
"I have a picture in one of these books," Alice said, going to her shelf. "I am sorry I didn't tell your family this when I arrived, Mithian, but I was just so glad to be free of the creature's thrall – and embarrassed that I had ever been so enslaved in the first place. That is what I meant when I said, Merlin saved my life."
"What happened with the creature?" Mithian asked, glancing over Gunnor's shoulder and shuddering at the picture. That thing, the size of a lapdog. She was curious also, how Alice had been forced into its service, and how that worked – but that would be too rude for her breeding, to ask.
"Not all magic is good, or even neutral, Prince Gunnor," Alice addressed the boy, and the sorrow Mithian had sometimes glimpsed in the older woman was present once again. "And any form of power can corrupt. The desire for more power, nearly always. In our studies, Gaius was content to learn what he could not do… but I was not. I thought, with more power at my disposal, what more good I could do in healing horrible wounds or curing fatal diseases…"
She trailed off for a moment, and Merlin reached to cup his hand around her shoulder, quietly compassionate. Mithian thought it was a very good thing that someone like him was able to be so impartial.
"I thought I could control the magic of a creature from another plane of existence, and opened a portal to summon it," Alice continued. "But I was unprepared for its strength – and it took control of me." Gunnor leered at the illustration in curious disgust. "It forced me to Camelot, where I used its poison to taint one of the medicines Gaius was used to giving Uther. It did not care if my old and dear friend took the blame for the king's death – but neither did it care a great deal when I was arrested, instead. I wonder, sometimes, whether it might have found someone else to possess, after my execution…"
Beside Mithian, Merlin shuddered.
"So how did you kill it?" Gunnor demanded, glancing from the healer to Merlin.
"Creatures like the manticore, summoned from another plane, don't belong in our world," Alice told him. "It would come through the portal to give me commands or… and, to make sure its will was accomplished. But it resided on its own side."
"So you summoned him…" Gunnor turned expectantly to Merlin, who gave him a self-deprecating grin.
"Yes, and it almost didn't work. And then King Arthur and Elyan – that's Sir Elyan now, and he's going to be brother-in-law to the king – had to fight the creature off with swords and fire-irons, while Gwen – that's Sir Elyan's sister, the one who's going to be queen – and I screamed and jumped up on the top of the cabinets –"
Mithian swatted his arm in teasing disbelief. "You did not."
He shrugged. "All I did was to destroy the box it came through, trapping it and cutting off its life-force."
"You collapsed the portal between worlds," Alice corrected softly. "If you knew the time and energy that took me to construct…"
"Sorry?" Merlin offered, still grinning.
Alice shook her head. "Gaius didn't even seem surprised. Nor Arthur, but he doesn't – didn't – understand much about magic."
Mithian stood right next to him, very close, and thought, it took much deliberately open-minded study of the young man and a good bit of intuition, to see Merlin's depths. Powerful magic, left unused when it wasn't needed – and he held nothing against this woman for her part in a plot of regicide that endangered not only his mentor, but his prince and his other friends. Not to mention himself.
"So did it just – get tired of fighting and lie on the floor and die?" Gunnor said, frowning as if dissatisfied with the story's conclusion, and intent upon all the details he could glean.
"Nope. It exploded into invisible bits, just as it was leaping for Arthur's head," Merlin told him, understanding and indulging, like a grown-up boy himself.
"Wow," Gunnor breathed.
Mithian rolled her eyes to Alice. "We came to ask if you might like Merlin's extra pair of hands around here."
"Since I'm not the sort of suitor to sigh and swoon around the princess' feet," Merlin added impishly, "and make her sit in the garden while I recite poetry I've written to her freckles and fingernails and try to strum an out-of-tune lute."
"Thank heavens," Mithian said fervently, her heart lifting effervescently with his teasing humor.
Alice's cheeks were bunched in a merry expression. Gunnor said disgustedly, "Her fingernails?"
"The prettiest part of a woman's hands," Merlin declared facetiously to the boy.
Mithian had to rein in a sudden urge to check that hers were neat and clean; Gunnor made a worse noise, and decided he was finished with their company, skipping out the door and leaving it ajar.
Alice said teasingly, "If Gaius has taught you, then I can trust you to prepare an elderberry syrup without poisoning the batch?"
Merlin grinned, and Mithian began to turn toward the door, intending to leave them to it. His hand on her elbow startled her, because in their infrequent touches, she invariably initiated. He said softly, puzzled, "You're not staying?"
She almost said, Why? But intuited something of his answer – and further, that it might be uncomfortable for him to admit, or at least to express out loud. She glanced at Alice, who smiled contentedly and nodded both welcome and approval. Of what, exactly or cumulatively, Mithian could not define.
"After all," Merlin added, "Your day's work in the library is already done." His eyes twinkled playfully, and Mithian found him in his entirety – his humor, his intelligence, the tilt of his head and the way he held his body – nearly irresistible, in the moment.
"Perhaps you should use magic in your preparations also," Mithian said, and because she was a bit breathless, the sarcasm did not sound the way she meant it to. "Then you will be done in a flash, and we can go back to boring each other with our company."
He grinned and slipped his hand down to hers, capturing and keeping it as he turned to follow Alice's directions to materials and equipment in the infirmary.
A/N: Some dialogue from ep.4.11 "The Hunter's Heart". And, the spell Merlin uses is taken from ep.1.5 "Lancelot", amended slightly for a general rather than specific (forged charter of ancestry) use. "Thaes gediht" meaning "this piece of writing, composition, literary work."
(Elderberry syrup is good for relieving flu-like symptoms, but since the plant contains cyanide, it must be professionally prepared. *wink*)