Camelot didn't do banquets by halves. It was widely-known – not official, but exploited nonetheless – that the Great Hall was technically open to everyone during certain festivities, and that the guards only started rejecting people when the place was stacked, so King Uther generally found that on the high days of the year, his table would end up overcrowded and his kitchen-staff ridiculously overworked. Everywhere, people: the knights and nobles first, then the other castle staff who were not waiting on the table, then those fortunate city-folk who had managed to bag themselves a place; the chatter was loud, so loud it drowned out the music, played by three or four devoted musicians who were entirely ignored but continued nonetheless. The servants found themselves squished into corners, with scarcely enough room for the jugs that they held. Those with better table-manners, at the top of the room, dined quite literally like kings; nearer the bottom end, there would be spillages, bones thrown to waiting dogs, copious amounts of wine poured down waiting throats.
It was an eclectic yet somewhat terrifying spectacle, and Merlin had never seen anything quite like it.
He and Gaius had been placed fairly near the top end, owing to Gaius's renown among the people and estimation by the king, and so he did not have to face being among the loudest, bawdiest crowds: but he found it rather bewildering nonetheless, despite that he had been in Camelot for a couple of months now, and was getting used to large amounts of people. He had been worried about ending up next to unpleasant conversation-partners, but fortunately he was near to a couple of knights who fawned over him a little, and some teenage squires who made polite and cheerful conversation. He was relieved to find that he was far enough away from Arthur not to be required even to make eye contact with the boy. He was however slightly disappointed that Gwen was right at the far end, with her father, and an older boy who was probably her brother.
But the food was good, and the atmosphere compelling, and so nobody could complain too much, least of all Merlin. Furthermore he, like most of the people present, was looking forward to the after-dinner entertainment, which would be provided by a famous singer from a neighbouring kingdom. Though it was not immediately obvious, considering that nobody could hear, or indeed was listening to, the resident musicians, the entirety of Camelot had a fondness for music. Merlin especially. He thought it close to magic in the effect it had on one's emotions. There had been a couple of musicians back in the village, musicians on the side at least, who had been able to pluck out a few songs on a rudimentary lute: he missed them sometimes, he missed the gentle atmosphere that they had created, but he was excited to hear the efforts of this renowned singer.
She had not yet made an appearance, allegedly because the rich food and heady atmosphere would have ruined her voice, and anyway, she did not much like the bawdiness of this sort of event. Merlin thought she seemed a bit of a spoil-sport. So, to be perfectly honest, did most of the people present. But people will excuse anything for artistic talent, and so they all waited eagerly for her arrival, devouring the food and the wine and everything in their path.
At last the nourishment looked as if it might be running out, and there was a disturbance in the corridor outside that strongly suggested the appearance of the night's spectacle. A guard scurried up to the king, and informed him of something; then the king stood, and clapped his hands, and bade for silence.
Not everyone stopped talking, especially those at the end of the table, who hadn't actually heard the command; but the room ended up quiet enough: weirdly quiet, indeed, compared to the hour of rabble that had preceded it. Then the king announced:
'Please welcome our guest this evening: the Lady Patricia of Wessex, an astounding singer, I am sure you will agree, if you have heard her before: and if you have not, well, you are in for a treat!'
A smattering of applause accompanied the singer as she entered. Merlin could not help but notice that the resident musicians threw her some rather dark glances; he himself clapped, carried away by the excitement of it all. Furthermore her presence was overbearing and seemed to demand recognition, even though she had not yet opened her mouth.
She was startling: the very picture of beauty, but with a cold fire in her eyes, and not a single hint of a smile. Merlin supposed that this was what pride did to people. He did not much like her appearance, but he hoped that her singing would make up for it.
The people at the far end had at last realised that something was going on, and fallen silent; all eyes turned to the lady, who, after bowing briefly to the king, drew herself up and began to sing.
She truly was extraordinary. King Uther had not exaggerated: her voice was powerful, heart-rending, magnificent. It filled the hall, despite that it was full of people, soaring to the rafters, echoing from every wall. Merlin felt certain that people would be able to hear it out in the countryside. He had never heard anything quite like her voice, and he wondered if he ever would again. It was this thought that began to settle him into a sort of rapture, sitting back, falling still, eyes half closed –
No. This wasn't right. He didn't feel enraptured, he felt sleepy. How could he sleep with her singing like that? He started back to reality, tried to focus on her singing – and began to slip back again.
What was wrong with him? He wasn't tired. He was sure of it. His eyes just felt strangely heavy, a yawn was rising up his throat –
He lifted his head from where it had fallen onto his chest: and he was astounded to see that the squire opposite him, the friendly one who had addressed him earlier, had gone to sleep. As had the man next to him.
The song continued, and became more insistent. Now the notes were strident, and it seemed as if the Lady Patricia might strain her voice: yet still she sang, she did not seem to falter. How long had she been singing for? It felt like forever. Merlin blinked, and began to nod.
He jolted himself awake again. Something wasn't right. He could sense it. There was a headiness in the air, a headiness he thought he recognised – magic.
He looked around, panicked. Everyone about him was nodding off; most were already asleep. The hall seemed darker than it had before. He glanced towards the candelabras. The ones nearest the back had all gone out.
By now he was deeply flustered, but, not knowing what to do, he sat tight and watched the singer, realising that she probably had magic, and hoping that she wouldn't notice him. But as a precaution he put his fingers in his ears and tried to think of something other than the swaying, passionate song that filled the hall.
He dipped his head, as if in sleep, and just at the right moment: for the Lady Patricia had begun to walk down the ranks, still singing, inspecting the effects of her spell, if it was a spell. He was small enough to go unnoticed. Once she had walked down to the other end of the table, she returned, looking satisfied, but still singing.
Then her hand went to the folds of her dress, and she plucked out a dagger.
Merlin saw the glint of metal before he realised what was happening. When he registered the situation, he saw that she had approached the royal family, and had raised the dagger as if to strike –
'No!' he cried, standing.
He did not know what bravery or foolishness had prompted him to speak; he hoped he would not regret it. Her eyes flashed, and turned to him. Still she sang. Merlin stuffed his fingers deep into his ears, composed himself, and jumped onto the table, for want of a better plan.
The Lady Patricia sighed, and prepared to dispose of this unexpected distraction. She flexed her fingers, began to cast a wordless spell –
But Merlin acted first. He did not even know he had done anything until he felt a surge of energy rise up in him; then a great invisible wave swept across the table, scattering the crockery, and buffeting into his adversary, who tumbled backwards, in a sweep of light and force –
And then she disappeared.
The most terrible silence fell. Everyone in the hall was sleeping deeply still; Merlin jumped down from the table, feeling as if he was going to faint. He did not know what he had done. He hoped it hadn't been too much. He wondered how he would explain away the broken crockery, his sudden pallor, the absence of the Lady Patricia. In an instant, he decided that he wouldn't stay to find out, and fled from the hall.