I Don't Want to be a Hero - Second Year
Chapter Twenty
Merlin & The Gift of Speaking With Animals
"Myrddin was just a small boy of ten when he was given the gift of speaking to animals.
Myrddin liked to fish, and his favourite spot to fish was at Silver Lake; a remarkable lake in which magic would sometimes bless someone. Myrddin, who was already learning the many arcane arts hoped that with all the fishing he did he might be so blessed…"
Myrddin was a scruffy, thin child of ten with long red hair that was messily braided by himself each morning. He wore leather breeches, a long cotton shirt belted with a piece of rope around his waist, and he was barefoot. He carried a waxed leather bag, empty, slung upon one shoulder, and a fishing rod he had made from a long, slightly crooked stick. He had strung it with a piece of long, thin string, and a piece of metal he had bent for a hook. It was his pride and joy.
This was the instrument that kept himself, and his mother fed.
Each day Myrddin would venture into the depths of the Sacred Forest and he would take a worn path to Silver Lake. It had long been legend that truly blessed visitors to the lake would receive a gift. Such a gift was so random that Silver Lake was never crowded with pilgrims hoping to receive such a blessing.
Silver Lake was not a very big lake but it was nestled in a slight valley surrounded by a fairy ring of trees. Flowers bloomed in fragrant profusion, and there were many places where a fisherman might sit along the banks, lean against a tree, and fish.
Myrddin had a favourite spot where he would settle that was warmed by the sun before he arrived in the morning so it was a pleasant place for him to be. He would set up his fishing pole by sticking the end into the earth, and supporting its angle by piling a few lake pebbles beneath it. He would then sit down, untie a kerchief that held his lunch, and he would dine upon whatever scraps he had sneaked from his mother's cooking pot, and hard bread when it was available.
For awhile Myrddin watched as ripples of breeze danced against the surface of the lake. Dragonflies of many colours darted here and there, and a songbird sang its song in the branches of a tree near him.
Later on as his meagre meal, the long walk, and the pleasantness of the day worked against his eyelids. They drooped, then dropped, and Myrddin who had been awake before the sun had settled on the horizon, slept warily.
Moments before the end of morning the young fisherman woke to the preternatural sense that his fishing pole had been wakened for business. Awareness flooded his blood as he caught up his fishing pole and was rewarded with the heaviness of a struggle. The fight was minimal but Myrddin was still careful. It had been weeks since he had caught a plump fish, and he wanted to take this home to his mother with all of his pride at bringing home food.
The fish, one of the lakes own sacred creatures, struggled against the hook in its mouth as the little boy struggled against it. Then, as Myrddin fell backwards onto his bottom the fish wriggled out of the water in a final flourish of a leap, and landed at his feet.
Myrddin let out a whoop of joy! The fish, nearly as long as he himself was, would feed he and his mother for a week. With such food in their bellies they would be sure to avoid the plague that swept like a sickening, greasy, green miasma through the cities and towns and villages.
Just as he was to stuff his bounty into his sack the water of the lake boiled ominously. Myrddin watched the waters foam and then peel back to admit the head and shoulder of the Spirit of the Lake, the Lady Nimüe.
"Myrddin," her voice burbled like sweet water in the breeze over his ears.
"Lady Nimüe, I am honoured by your presence," he scrambled to his feet, and bowed.
The Spirit laughed delicately. "You are such a polite child. I see you have caught one of my children."
Myrddin, his heart sinking in sudden foreknowledge, glanced down at the fish fallen to the ground. "You're ch-ch-child, Lady?" he asked faintly.
"If you let him go, surely will I reward you, young Myrddin," she purred with her water-flecked voice.
Oh, Myrddin was in a quandary! If he kept the fish it would surely feed he and his mother during the month of plague. It would stave off hunger of which they had become too familiar with the last few weeks. Yet, this fish was no simple fish; it belonged to the Lady of the Lake. If he kept it he would no longer be welcome to fish. Indeed, his mother, already pale and thin from lack of food, would likely perish when the plague came to their tiny village.
Myrddin, though, knew what was right and what was wrong when dealing with the powerful spirits he lived around. With great sorrow, silent though it was, he picked up the fish, crouched down, and let it slip back into the safety of the waters.
"I'm sorry I caught your son, Lady Nimüe," Myrddin spoke with all the respect he could muster.
"You are such a good boy, young Myrddin. Come. Step into the edges of my home and allow me to bestow this Gift upon thee. Come, child."
Gingerly the young boy stepped into the edge of the water, glad of his barefeet since his worn shoes would never have survived the wet. As he stood within the icy water, the Spirit leaned forward and bestowed upon his youthful lips the first kiss that ever touched him.
Myrddin felt at once he would crumble like silk, or leap to the air and fly as Lady Nimüe's magic spread through him to finally touch his soul.
"What have you done?" Myrddin asked in a daze of bliss.
"I have given you the Voice to speak with all the animals, my good child. You will never again fish within my lake, nor sup upon my children, but you and your blessed mother will live. Seek ye in the forest a stag that awaits. Speak to him, tell him of your need, and he shall lie down to your knife. Send the stag's spirit to me as you stop his beating heart, and thank him for his sacrifice. This you must do, evermore." The waters around the Spirit tossed, turned, and foamed, and the Lady Nimüe vanished into them.
Myrddin was alone. Not even the songbird sang. A part of him still desired that fish but he had been tasked with something greater. Leaving the Silver Lake behind he moved into the greater depths of the Sacred Forest until he came upon the stag. He was a fearsome and magnificent beast, and Myrddin trembled. The antlers upon his head were sharp and could easily end his little life.
"Are you the stag that the Lady of the Lake spoke to me of?" although he heard Welsh what the stag heard was its own language. He bowed his great head, and slowly knelt upon his knees before the boy.
"I am here to begin your journey, young Magister. It is my blessing to feed you and your mother." The stag's voice rumbled gently in Myrddin's heart. He did not want to take the beast's life but the stag lay down upon the earth revealing the vulnerability of his throat to the child.
Myrddin did as he had been told by the Lady Nimüe, yet he wept as he took the grand stag's life. He spoke to its spirit, thanked him, and sent him to the Lady of the Lake.
~!~!~!~!~
Myrddin and his mother ate well, and both survived the plague that swept over the land. Many were taken but there was always meat in the cooking pot, and bread. And, ever after as Myrddin became the great wizard of kings, he spoke to every animal whether it be bird, squirrel, or snake.
Regulus closed the small book, and gave it to Harry. "So, you see, Harry, the gift of knowing the language of the snakes is a rare one. A blessing from The Lady of the Lake, herself, that resides in your heart." He touched the child's beating heart. "No matter what everyone else thinks... it is your kindness that they will truly remember. And, Justin, will remember this, too."
Harry turned the precious book over in his hands, and looked up to see that his father and Professor Malfoy sat nearby. They had heard Regulus reading the story, too.
"Thank you, Regulus," Harry said softly.
"Keep that book, Harry. There are many stories of Merlin growing up, and talking to the animals. He learns to take on their shapes from the white serpent he named Snow."
Harry clutched the book to his chest, rose from his seat on the sofa, and wandered over to where his father sat before the large fireplace opposite Lucius. He leaned against the arm of the chair, and was welcomed by the warmth of his father's arm as it moved across his back to one-arm embrace him.
"Dad, I'm not evil," whispered Harry as he shyly showed him his gift from Regulus.
With his other hand Severus brushed aside his long fringe that tended to hang over his forehead, and sometimes brushed his eyes. "I have known the kindness of your heart, Harry. Evil would never survive within it." Heedless of those around him the Potions Master leaned over, and brushed his lips to his child's forehead. In a whisper, only for Harry's ear, he said, "And, if you were evil, you would never have touched my heart."
a/n: Myrddin is the Welsh spelling of Merlin. Most scholarly sources give Wales as his place of birth.
The Lady of the Lake was the Keeper of Excalibur, and the Queen of the Isle of Avalon. Scholarly sources have attributed a number of names to her but my growing up knowledge had her as the Lady Nimue who not only was Merlin's lover in the twilight of his years but she also became the instrument of his death when he sought to bind her powers.