Stave II: Guidance from Gaius
Merlin burst, unannounced, in on Gaius, who sedately leaning over his workbench lifted his head at the unseemly disturbance.
"Oh Merlin, what is it this time?" The old physician grumbled with infinite exhaustion.
"There was this- thing- this- creature," Merlin began, erratic as he paced in the doorway. Gaius raised a speculative eyebrow under his spectacles.
"Won't you at least close the door behind you?" He reprimanded. Merlin did as he was bade, before launching into a full explanation.
"It was the most vile, ugly, horrible creature I've ever come across. It was this… tiny, deformed thing- as white as snow, with these long arms all spindly like a spider. It had these huge black eyes- if you'd have seen it Gaius- the way it looked at me…" Merlin paused to shiver. "It tore the corridor apart- destroyed everything. And it was only about this high," he demonstrated with his hands for Gaius's benefit. "If it created that much damage in a matter of moments… just imagine what it could do to the entire castle."
Defeated and panting for breath, Merlin slumped upon a stool, wiping profuse sweat from his forehead.
"Give me a Cockatrice, or a Goblin, or even the Dorocha, any day. But this, Gaius? This is where I draw the line. My destiny doesn't involve pest control for his royal majesty. You can find that written in the fine print," Merlin bemoaned.
Reluctantly, Gaius abandoned his tasks at the workbench. Various crumpled papers covered with meticulous scrawl and the occasional dubious stain were spread across the surface. Vials of varying tinctures hued in purple, green and red bubbled lively, spewing camphorous wisps of vapour into the air. Bundles of dried herbs were scattered sporadically.
"I can't say I've ever heard of a creature of such distinct nature, but I'm sure we can find out what it was that you saw," Gaius counselled Merlin, offering him a consoling pat on the back as he passed. Merlin, with his head in his hands, could only manage a murmur of desperation in reply.
Gaius shuffled creakily over to the vast leaning bookshelves lining the walls, brimmed with timeworn tomes. Despite the impressive quantity of literature before him, Gaius knew precisely which book he required and its precise location upon the shelf. Shimmying up the ladder as though age was not a concern, he plucked the book out and blew the dust from its leather-bound cover. Heaving with the burden of the tome's substantial weight, Gaius laboured back down the ladder and slammed it down upon his work bench, knocking over a red vial of tincture as he did so. He muttered severe language of a blasphemous kind as liquid fizzed and soaked into his work papers. After a decidedly hasty effort to mop up the spillage, Gaius set to work flipping through pages.
Resolving no more to sulk in his stupor, Merlin rose from his stool and manoeuvred to Gaius's side. From there, he surveyed the grotesque illustrations of demon-like beasts emblazoned upon the books' pages.
"Anything you recognise?" Gaius asked wearily.
"Not yet," Merlin answered with a bleak shake of his head.
On, Gaius flipped pages, past impish creatures with venomous barbs, lethal claws, spiked fangs and tusks, creatures with bears' heads, lions' tails and serpentine bodies. And then, like a sickening nightmare Merlin would never be rid of, those swallowing black eyes and pin-prick of a mouth taunted him from an ashen white face.
"There!" Merlin burst out, his eyes haunted by the remembrance of such a creature. The illustration bore an uncanny resemblance to the creature in the flesh, too alike in fact, for Merlin was soon shivering with goosebumps.
"You saw an Elf!" Gaius proclaimed, incredulous.
"An Elf?" What's that?"
Gaius read the page rapidly, relaying the information as he did so. "An Elf is a creature of the Yuletide season. It has only one end upon its mind: mayhem. Elves live but fleetingly, therefore strive to wreak as much havoc as possible in the brief twelve days that they are afforded upon this earth. Elves reach the height of their power at the last toll of midnight on the eve of the Winter Solstice."
"The eve of the Winter Solstice?…But isn't that midnight tonight?" Merlin mused aloud.
Tilting his head, he attempted to interpret the information for himself, concern flickering in his gaze as he considered tomorrow's Yuletide banquet. He would prefer if the celebrations would go ahead without any hitches, or else Arthur would be more irritable than he already was- if that was even possible. Merlin didn't relish the thought of being on the receiving end of the King's wrath.
"I shouldn't think there's any cause for worrying, Merlin. It says here that elves are mischievous in nature, not malignant." Gaius tapped a finger upon the parchment, underlining the relevant passage.
"You didn't see what I saw, Gaius," Merlin cautioned.
Gaius opened his mouth to dispute the matter, though conceded when he espied Merlin's tormented grimace. "Then we best deal with the situation before it gets out of hand," Gaius concurred.
"Right, and any ideas on how we do that?" Merlin exhaled a sigh of dramatic proportion.
It was dawning on him that yet again, he would be chasing a creature up and down the castle all day without a word of praise from even a soul. Indubitably, this burdensome task would keep him from his day's duties and ensure a berating from Arthur. Merlin prepared himself for the reality that he would find himself in the stocks, the chief spectacle among tomorrow's festive entertainments.
"Creatures of this ilk are most often pacified with an offering. I suspect his particular creature would accept an offering of the festive kind. Perhaps you might be able to bargain with the Elf and persuade it to leave Camelot in peace," Gaius suggested sagely.
"A festive offering…" Merlin resumed his pacing back and forth about the chamber. He scratched at his head fastidiously, as though that effort alone might speed up his thought processes.
"I suppose a sprig of ivy or holly wouldn't be enough?" Merlin pondered, bereft of the great task he must now endure.
"Unlikely."
Merlin paused his erratic pacing by the window, contemplating snow-cushioned streets below, and the bright woollen-clad folk that traversed them. A fresh flurry of snow began presently to fall, flakes skirling and whirling in a funnel of spectral white. As the snowflakes kissed against the window their fragile crystals instantly thawed, leaving drops of dew pearling the glass as the only trace that they were ever corporeal.
"What about something from the feast? A plum pudding, or a roast swan? That's about as festive as it gets!" Merlin proclaimed. He snapped his spine up straight, correcting his slouched posture and turning towards Gaius for his seal of approval. Merlin found himself to be addressing a turned back that hunched over the workbench.
"Yes, that might do the trick…" Gaius responded vaguely, entranced with his deciphering of the book's information.
"It's worth a try, isn't it? I have to do something, or I'll never have any peace." Merlin edged toward the door with revived vigilance.
"Now hang on Merlin, just a minute!" Gaius beckoned after him urgently. "There's something else here that you must be weary of." He tilted the page up so as to find better light, deftly readjusting his spectacles as he did so. Gaius wore a scowl of solemnity as he communicated his warning.
"In some cases, Elves with powerful magic possess the ability to steal the strength of a chosen victim, adding it to their own. They do this by draining its chosen victim of the festive spirit, until he or she bears resemblance to that of a 'Scrooge.' Once this process begins, the Elf will become unstoppable in its quest to wreak mischief."
"What's a 'Scrooge?'" Merlin's upper-lip raised in perplexion.
"I believe…" Gaius began, pushing his spectacles back up his nose as he inspected the text before him, "the term refers to an individual contrary to the goodwill and cheer of the winter season. They abhor the sight of anything remotely festive, and are characterised by their utterance of the phrase: 'bah humbug.' Individuals caught in the vicinity of a Scrooge will be affected by their foul mood and bad temper, and will exhibit symptoms of lethargy and melancholy."
Merlin considered Gaius's warning. "That doesn't sound good," he said as he morosely envisioned Arthur seething about his chambers in a paroxysm of contempt, hurling obscenities and objects in Merlin's direction. Merlin's face drained to a pallor almost as ashen as the elf's he sought to vanquish.
"Be heedful, Merlin. If the Elf attains the height of its power, we will find ourselves in a situation quickly escalating out of our hands."
"Don't worry Gaius. That Elf won't be destroying Yuletide; I'll make certain of it."
Merlin dashed from the room, intent on his quest, leaving Gaius to mutter his faint farewells. Gaius closed the book, releasing a fresh plume of dust springing into the air. Setting it aside, he commenced his sedate task of grinding herbs into a fine powder, working in serene silence.
"I can't get one moment of peace, not even at Yuletide," Merlin lamented under his breath as he raced down corridors, sidestepping harried servants.
Drawing closer to the heart of the castle, Merlin discovered that he had to leap and dodge over the bedlam that had unfolded in his brief absence. It was as though the entire castle had been lifted off its foundations, turned upside down and shaken about. Every garland that had been painstakingly hung that very morning had been torn asunder, leaving pine needles scattered across the flagstones. Just as Merlin has initially witnessed, tapestries were flung from the walls, urns and decorative frivolities were smashed to shards upon the floor, while the torchlight's cheerful warmth was squashed to cinders.
As Merlin halted to comprehend the catastrophe, he became aware of the creeping bitter chill in the air. Icy winds whistled through seams in the masonry, whipping down the halls to rattle against window latches and ripple curtains. Merlin wriggled his toes, trying to regain some sensation as they froze in his boots. He trudged onward through the melancholic gloom, arms wrapped around himself, his breath frosting to white mist as he exhaled.
Merlin was snapped out of his icy reverie when a serving maid tumbled past him, knocking into his arm with seldom care. As he spun to reprimand her, he retreated back, aghast at her desperate state. Balanced in her arms were bulging sacks of kindling, while tousled hair escaped her cap and tears grimed her flustered cheeks. Kindling fell from her arms, unheeded as she struggled on down the corridor with laboured gasps. Following in her wake came a string of servants, some heaving similar bundles of firewood, while others bore teetering piles of quilts. Merlin pressed himself against the wall as they marched past. He quivered away as he marked the desolate shadows that were plain to witness upon each face. Like a phantom, the sour stench of scorched charcoal clung to the air, wrinkling Merlin's nose. Trailing his eyes downward, it was then that he noticed the tiny, sooty footprints smeared across the floor. With a groan, he burst into a thundering sprint, scrupulously following the trail of footprints.
As Merlin narrowed the distance between himself and the Elf, the chaos erupting before him only grew. Scores of flurrying servants rushed hither and tither, as though they were a gaggle of headless geese fleeing an impending doom. Guards on post shivered where they stood, chainmail clanking. Windows swung on their hinges, inviting in the lashing blizzard. Merlin could scarcely see where he was headed, for the dark had gathered swiftly and there was little torchlight left to banish the shadows away. Merlin's gut wrenched as the footprints sloped, edging in the direction of the king's chambers.
"Oh no…" he bemoaned to himself, swaying with irrepressible dread.
From beyond the darkened murk came the echo of Merlin's name, reverberating down the corridors to drum against his ears. The echo swelled, deep and booming, and without a question, Merlin knew who that voice belonged to. He approached the source with great trepidation.
"MERLIN!" Sounded the consecutive bellow, cleaving fear deep into his heart.
With his pulse surging, he hastened his steps, stumbling to a halt when he arrived at the king's chambers. The door was propped wide open, spilling outwards a circle of watery candlelight that should have been inviting, were it not for the fervent shouting coming from within. Merlin was provided with an unhindered view of the havoc that had ensued. Instinctively, he raised his hands to the back of his head and his mouth fell agape.
"What happened?" He exclaimed, standing back to observe the mess, befuddlement misting his face.
It was as though a whirlwind had been conjured up, flung about the room and cast what little neatness was there to begin with into disarray. The laundry Merlin had earlier left deposited in a pile had been strewn all across the floor, more crumpled and besmirched than ever. Upon Arthur's desk, inkpots were spilled, black puddles soaking over jumbled scrolls. Sooty handprints grimed Arthur's bedsheets and curtains and had torn into every soft furnishing in sight. Drawers and cupboards were riffled, an array of belongings tossed in an eruption across the room, from socks and undergarments, to candlesticks, quills, books, coins and golden trinkets. The hearth, that was roaring when Merlin left it, was fizzling weakly, futile against the cold that permeated the air.
"I was hoping you would provide an answer to that question," answered the curt voice from within.
Merlin tiptoed over the threshold, afeared to deal any further damage, but reeled when he glimpsed a flash of rippling red skirts.
"Gwen?" Was his second outcry.
"Well? Can you explain yourself?"
Gwen stood at the epicentre of the fallout, arms crossed gravely and a sanctimonious scowl worn upon her face. Merlin stammered for an answer, reduced to a state of mortification over his mistake. He would have vowed to the court that it was Arthur shouting his summons; the tenor of those enraged cries were precisely on a par with the king's volatile temper.
"Don't just stand there, Merlin. I haven't the time for you gawking at me like an idle buffoon. Do you have an answer?"
"Well, I didn't do it," Merlin demurred pathetically, throwing up his hands in an erratic display, akin to a man who had lost hold of his senses.
At his excuse, Gwen pushed her lips together into a tight line and her scowl deepened. She picked her way through the rubble, kicking aside debris with aloof indifference, drear and rigid and as launched into a tirade.
"Look at the state of this place! It's unseemly. How could you allow it to fall into such an abominable condition? You are manservant to the king! It befalls you to ensure that his chambers are clean and presentable at all times. King Arthur relies upon you to take care of his needs while he is tending to the vital matters of the kingdom. If you are not performing your duties to the best of your ability, the King suffers, and if the King suffers, Camelot suffers as a result! Do you not take any pride in your position?"
Merlin remained silent throughout the haranguing, stomach curdling with shame. In all the years that he had lived in Camelot, he had received more beratings from Arthur than he cared to count. Merlin was well seasoned to a verbal lashing, but the barbs upon Guinevere's tongue were more than he could swallow. This was not something that could be shrugged off with a smile and a sarcastic witticism hurled the other way, as in the normal circumstance. Merlin simply hung his head in shame, feeling no better than an insolent dog.
"At a time such as this, when the King is busied with the affairs of Yuletide, you should be flogged for neglecting your duties. I am sure that Arthur would agree with me, if he were here. I will not allow you to go unpunished for this, Merlin. As Arthur's Queen, my first priority is his welfare, and if you continue to shirk your responsibilities, you will be dismissed from your position. For now, I think the stocks are a suitable punishment; Cook has plenty of vegetable peelings and rotten sprouts that I'm sure the peasants of the town would be willing to throw in your direction. But for now, you can start with cleaning up this mess before the King returns from his excursion."
Gladly, before Gwen could deal any more damage to Merlin's fractured self-esteem, her attention was stolen by a sudden commotion stirring in the courtyard below. Gwen stomped over to the frost-rimed window and wrangled it open, scowling down at the boisterous revel that was amassing. Merlin blew a sigh at the reprieve.
"Mummers," Gwen tuttered with evident disdain. "Odious fools. Why can't they take their droll antics elsewhere, and save us all the discomfort? How dare they sully the royal doorstep with their presence?"
The group of mummers, dressed in their motley garb, had finished their procession of the lower towns and had roved their way to the castle's front door. Their rambunctious jingling of bells was punctuated with peals of delight as members of the court received the mummers with an amiable welcome. Floating up from below was a merry chorus of singing.
"All hail to the days that merit more praise
Than all the rest of the year,
To drink and carouse to all in the house
As merry as bucks in the dale!
Where cake, bread and cheese are brought for your ease
To make you the longer stay;
Forgetting old wrongs, with carols and songs,
To drive the cold winter away!
To drive the cold winter away, away,
To drive the cold winter away!
Forgetting old wrongs, with carols and songs,
To drive the cold winter away!"
Merlin observed Gwen silently. The wintery light spooling in from the window limned her hair to a silver sheen, and when she wheezed a cough, fatigued from her lecturings, she seemed almost to be a woman thrice her age. And was that an icicle dripping from the tip of her nose? Merlin pondered as Gwen shook her head disparagingly, ice glimmering as she did so. An icicle, to be certain, and almost an inch and a half, by Merlin's estimate.
"Every idiot who goes about with a 'merry Yuletide' on their lips should be roasted with his own hog, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. They should! As Queen, I declare it to be so!" Gwen spat with impassioned vehemence.
"Gwen!" Merlin remonstrated, shocked that ever such a statement could leave the lips of one so gentle and kind as she.
"Merlin!" She turned from the window, as hunched as an old beggar woman, and shot Merlin the foulest, blackest of looks.
"Woooah there, that's not the festive spirit! What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing, Merlin. I don't see why it concerns you. Keep Yuletide in your own way, and let me keep it in mine."
"Keep it? But you aren't keeping it!" Merlin repeated. "Come on, it's Yuletide, it's supposed to be a time of cheer. It'll do you good to join in with the festivities."
"Bah!" Gwen grumbled, and for good measure, followed it up with a "Humbug!" With that, she turned back to the window, muttering her disapproval.
Thus, Gwen launched into a second tirade, this instance addressed to the mummers that had so incurred her wrath with their jolly shenanigans. She growled down her orders with a scolding voice so like Arthur's, that Merlin found himself shivering at the uncanny effect. Gwen was swiftly locked into a battle of expostulation with the crowd flocked below.
Merlin thought it best to intervene, to save those poor souls below the shame he felt as a result of Gwen's rebukes. However, he only made it a step before a white, spindly form flashed on the edge of his peripheral. Merlin tracked the shape with sharp eyes, readying himself for a skirmish. He turned about the room, darting wildly, until his gaze came upon the creature.
There, dangling from the crimson bed curtains was the Elf. Its hollow black eyes blinked dolefully, feigning innocence. Merlin shuddered with disgust, his skin horripilating as he witnessed the nest of squalor that the elf had established in the rafters of Arthur's bed. The Elf was nonchalant as it crawled upside-down, its pinprick mouth mockingly triumphant. Merlin repressed the urge to gag.
Seizing an advantage while Gwen was preoccupied, Merlin shot into action and willed the first item that his eyes fixed upon- a silver platter- into the air to bring it down hard upon the Elf's sickeningly gaunt face. Unfortunately for Merlin, the elf's instincts were faster. It ducked for cover, delving into a mountain of crumpled bed sheets, leaving nothing behind but a deposit of sticky soot. With an almighty crash, the silver platter collided with the bedpost and clattered to the floor, quite dented.
Merlin catapulted himself upon the bed, tackling the mound of sheets. Fervently, he snatched and shook them out, unearthing nothing but thin air. The Elf had all but vanished.
An anger surging up in him like he had never felt before, Merlin cast the sheets to the floor with an anguished cry. He could not believe the Elf had evaded capture without even an ounce of difficulty. Then came the muffled pittering of feet and Merlin spun in its direction, stumbling over the cluttering debris with the eagerness of force he moved with. His every hope was dashed, however, for he discovered that Gwen had been silently observing his struggle and now stood between him and the door, arms crossed and brows raised in severity.
"When you've quite finished defacing the silverware, you can deal with this mess. And put some more logs on the fireplace, won't you? It's as cold as death in here- anyone would be mistaken to think this is a mausoleum. Now, if you don't mind, I am going to find someone willing to throw those blighted mummers headfirst out of the castle gates."
"No, Gwen, wait-" Merlin began his protest, but she was already making fast for the door.
"Bah, humbug," Gwen muttered with an icy bitterness, swiping him away.
Ignoring Merlin's frantic predicament, she scuffled out of the room with a growl, sinking into the impenetrable shadows beyond. A gust of wind whipped through the room and with phantom hands slammed the door with a ferocious, whistling rattle. Merlin cowered, irrepressible shivers surging through his body. He considered for a moment the sea of mess he found himself stranded within. It would be prudent to follow Gwen's instructions, that much he was sure, yet he couldn't even hope to begin his infinite list of chores while the Elf was at large. Until that Elf was far, far away from Camelot where it could do no harm, Merlin would not consider laundering even one sock. Of course, delaying his duties would gain him another character assassination from Gwen, and he did not think he had the forbearance to endure that.
Gwen….
Gwen had not sounded like Gwen at all…
"Bah…humbug…" Merlin rolled the syllables in his mouth carefully and with great deliberation. He clicked his tongue, frowned at the floor. Then, with a dawning realisation, his mind flickered back to Gaius's warning.
"Oh no!" he cried, dragging his hands down his face in horror. "Gwen's turned into a scrooge!"
This was reason enough for Merlin to cease his dilly-dallying at once and strike into action. He could not allow the Elf to establish its bleak and icy dominion over the castle. And as the veil of twilight fell upon the kingdom with its obsidian embrace, Merlin tore like a whirlwind down corridors, resolute upon his undertaking.