Stave IV: The Visitor Vanquished

Under Gwen's imperious supervision and battling a storm of harrowing insults, Merlin put to rights Arthur's chambers. And then her's, for good measure. When she finally wearied of haranguing him, she banished him from her sight. Merlin was left in awe of both her lung capacity and stamina. It was a wonder that upon Artur's return that evening, each one of his possessions were in their rightful places, the hearth was filling the room with its golden warmth, while a hot meal set upon the table awaited him.

Arthur strode in, door swinging on its hinges, just as Merlin was drawing the heavy curtains against the black of night. The wind railed outside and hail lashed against the windowpane. Arthur tousled his dampened hair and hurried to the spritely fire, warming his chilled he had noticed anything peculiar about the tumultuous affairs of the castle, he made no remark. Merlin did not put it past his King that he had simply strolled through the chaos, entirely oblivious.

"I trust your trip went well, sire?" Merlin asked, laying on the niceties thick. Arthur's cheeks were a heightened red from the biting winds, so Merlin surmised he must have rode far.

Arthur gave a vague grunt in answer, chafing his frostbitten hands together. Merlin's gaze flitted to the flaxen sack Arthur had deposited by the door as he had entered. Evidently, his excursion proved fruitful.

Merlin skittered forwards to relieve Arthur of his horse-smelling riding attire.

"Where did you go, to have been gone so long?" He kept his tone casual, so as to appear disinterested.

"Do I pay you to ask impertinent questions as well as attend me now?"

Merlin quirked an eyebrow at this, but was determined not to be distracted as he stashed Arthur's cloak away in the closet. The day's exploits had worn at his usual jovial endurance to rise to Arthur's drollery.

"It would be a sorry waste of gold," Arthur supplemented his gibe, flourishing it with an exaggerated scowl. He let out a crumpling sigh as he watched Merlin flit to the dining table and pull out a chair. With an uneasy shake of the head, Arthur relinquished into the seat.

When he lifted his glance to check on Merlin once more, he discovered him at his elbow, making the perfectionary motions to pour Arthur a stream of wine. Arthur took a deep draught from the goblet and turned to his meal, of which was a measly sliver of squab pie.

"Is this it?" Arthur bemoaned, prodding the pie with distaste.

"Yes, sire."

"Isn't there any bread…or cheese…" Arthur trailed off, swivelling his head around to find Merlin.

"Nope." Merlin stepped forward to replenish Arthur's goblet, so much that it spilled over the brim and left a ring of red upon the oaken surface.

"Not even any roasted vegetables?" Arthur asked, temper quickening.

Merlin shook his head with a grace that belied his guilt.

"It's the grand banquet tomorrow. We wouldn't want you spoiling your appetite before all that heavy feasting."

"But-"

"Eat," Merlin silenced the King's wailing protestations. Wine jug in hand, he receded out of Arthur's view, surveying the meal's progression with rapture.

Tutting, Arthur turned his attention to the meagre plate set before him. He scooped up a forkful of meat and pastry and lifted it to his mouth. There, he stopped.

"I can't if you're hovering over me like that!" he grumbled.

"Sorry, sire," Merlin exclaimed, capering forward to set the wine jug down with a great slosh.

Wood shrieked against stone as he pulled out the chair at Arthur's right-hand and perched himself upon it. He leaned back on his elbow, and with his free hand, drummed rapidly against the table, an expectant gaze fixed upon Arthur.

At his servant's unseemly behaviour, Arthur let his fork clatter to the plate. Much chagrined, he reached for his goblet and took a lengthy swig, leaving the contents all but drained.

Merlin motioned with withering impatience for him to eat. Eyes flitting nervously from Merlin to his plate, Artur ate several mouthfuls in unsettled silence.

When the King took a pause to glance at the empty chair opposite, Merlin was compelled to mask a most necessary eye roll.

"Is Guinevere not joining us this evening?" Arthur's wistful tone and guileless upturned eyes made Merlin's task to skirt around the truth almost difficult.

"Gwen's resting. She said she wanted to save her strength for tomorrow's celebrations." Merlin bristled, awaiting Arthur's dispirited reply. In reality, Gwen was stewing in her chambers, lecturing anyone fool enough to enter on the finer points of why the Yuletide banquet was a drain on the kingdom's resources.

"Very wise of her," Arthur replied, not in the least dejected. Merlin blew out a breath, then looked pointedly at Arthur's food. He twitched in his chair.

"The celebrations always get carried away and go on until dawn. Do you remember last year when the knights decided to hold a wheelbarrow race down the corridors, and they woke up Geoffrey of Monmouth when Percival fell down the stairs? Ahh, he was not impressed," Arthur chuckled to himself, recalling the memory fondly.

"Hm, yes, I remember. Why don't you eat some more of your pie?" Merlin squirmed restlessly in his seat again. Arthur did what he was bade and took up another forkful, chewing thoughtfully.

"Speaking of the Yuletide banquet…" Arthur began, with a twist of mirth to his voice that Merlin knew of old. "Have you managed to finish that speech yet?" Wicked delight sparked in Arthur's eyes.

Merlin's heart squeezed in his chest and his eyes popped wide. His complexion paled as he wondered how many times a man can be reasonably sent to the stocks. Perhaps he should make it easy for Gwen and Arthur and simply pack his bags now and live in the stocks, if his face was bound to be the target for rotten tomatoes and mouldy cabbages for the rest of his days. Might as well make an occupation of it, Merlin surmised, and prance about as a jester and make a general oaf of himself, all whilst Gaius stood by with a collection box. Merlin could almost hear the faint jingling of bells that would be sewn to his motley echoing in his ears.

Merlin regained consciousness as Arthur deflated with wheezing fits of laughter. He gaped mawkishly, wounded at the King's cruelty.

"After all these years, Merlin, haven't you learned when I'm teasing you?"

"Oh…" Merlin croaked, failing to share in Arthur's boisterous fervour.

Arthur's teasing smile faded to one of ardent friendship when he found Merlin's abashed eyes.

"You didn't really think I'd force you to write my speech for me, did you? It's my responsibility, not yours. What sort of king would I be if I went before my court preaching of gratitude, but did not extend as much to my own servant?" Arthur snorted. He leant forward to clap Merlin's shoulder with a reassurance of affection.

"I'm glad you regard my work so highly," Merlin professed with a smile, impressed by Arthur's declarations of self-awareness. He had a niggling suspicion that the Elf had an opposite effect on those with a naturally irritable disposition.

"Yes," Arthur answered, and after some consideration, "but not enough to give you the evening off. My boots are covered in mud and in need of a thorough polish."

"Ah," Merlin sighed, recognising the old Arthur again.

As the evening's hours whittled away, Merlin raced through the last of his chores. He whisked away the dishes, brushed horse hair from Arthur's riding garb, wheedled clods of earth from the soles of Arthur's boots and polished them to a beetle-black shine. Finally, with acute attentiveness, he laid Arthur's freshly pressed ensemble for the morrow. Meanwhile, Arthur retreated to his desk in pensive thought, his earlier restive state at the burden of speech-composing mollified. With a rallied vigour he dipped his quill methodically into ink, its scratching upon vellum the only sound that filled the easy silence between the pair.

Yet, the night grew late and the ominous threat of the Elf loomed over Merlin just as an encumbering weight might slow even the swiftest of steeds. He found himself by the bed, making a show of plumping up the pillows. Next, he rearranged the bed's drapings.

Darting a glance in Arthur's direction, Merlin was most vexed that his attention did not stir but remained engrossed in his writing.

Merlin pinched his face into a frown and deliberated. Another glance at Arthur and he coughed meaningfully. Nothing.

Huffing the air from his nose, he clomped around the bed noisily, and with pronounced showmanship, set about smoothing the wrinkles in the quilts. He let slip another cough.

"Something in your throat, Merlin?" Arthur asked idly without raising his eyes from his desk.

"No…" Merlin began, lacing his words with as much innocence as he was capable. "I just thought… It's getting late. You need your rest for tomorrow's festivities."

"Perhaps you're right," Arthur estimated. He scrutinised his work with a tilted head. "It's near enough finished." Deftly, he rolled the scroll up and rose from his desk, all the while Merlin was skittering around the chamber snuffing out candles.

Merlin flung back the quilts and all but threw Arthur into bed, bundling him up like a cocoon. Arthur winced at the coddling throughout, yet bore it without complaint.

"Alright, well. Sweet dreams," Merlin wished merrily. He leaned to abruptly blow out the bedside candle, dousing the room in shadow. It was altogether too dark for Merlin to witness the sheer look of disgruntlement that wrenched at Arthur's face.

Merlin marched down the corridor, resolute that he would rid Camelot of the Elf swiftly, be abed early, and enjoy Yuletide with as much rigour as his youthful spirit could muster. As he walked doggedly on, he entertained himself with the heady visions of the flagons of ale he would be drinking and all the bawdy songs he would be singing with the knights this time tomorrow.

Along the corridor, he passed servants sweeping away vast piles of soot, straightening tapestries and repining garlands. The earlier turbulence of activity had quelled to an industrious hum as servants worked to restore the castle to its former lively and festive cheer. It seemed that the Elf had grown weary of tormenting the folk of Camelot and had slunk off somewhere to renew its strength. Merlin pictured the vile little thing stashed inside a wall somewhere, malingering in a nest of Gwaine's foul-stinking socks.

With Gaius as his accomplice, Merlin began to set a trap.

A bag of glossy, freshly roasted chestnuts in hand, Gaius and Merlin worked to lure the Elf from hiding. They interspersed the chestnuts along the corridors, with the intention of cajoling the creature in the direction of the banqueting hall.

"This had better work, Merlin, or there shall be no Yuletide for any of us this year," Gaius whispered his cautions to his young ward. Merlin met his glance in the murky gloom and echoed back such wordless anxieties.

They came to the great oaken doors of the banqueting hall, securely bolted and locked for the night. Merlin counted his blessings that this wing of the castle was as still and silent as ice, everyone since retired for the night. Despite the deserted hallway, habit compelled him to caution a glance up and down the corridor. Quiet hung upon the air.

Merlin drew in a fortressing breath, feeling very much as though he were poised to fling himself into a bottomless chasm. Extending his arm so that his fingertips grazed the lock, he relieved his lungs of the breath.

"Aliese," he uttered, eyes gleaming in the dark.

The doors sighed open, nary a heave or creak to give away trespass. With a lightness of foot that only years of subterfuge could hone, Merlin crept into the ample hall.

The lofty ceiling bounced the echoes of their footsteps as the pair entered. Trestle tables were set out along the length of the hall, furnished with gilded cutlery and platters polished to a mirror-shine. Two verdant fir trees were set up upon the dais flanking the King's table, strung with silver beads and carved ornaments of stars and woodland animals. All within was trimmed with streams of ivy and holly. Heavy garlands of evergreens groaned above. Unblemished candles as white as frost were set within candelabra and would twinkle over folk like stars in the night sky come the morrow. The great hearth was swept and stacked neatly with kindling, while the Yule Log, which would give warmth to the day's celebrations, stood by. A space had been cleared in the centre of the hall for the minstrels to play and for dancing to commence.

The entire hall was festooned in splendour. Gauzy moonlight spooled in through latticed windows, silvering all with its ghostly hue. Merlin was at a loathe to put such grandeur at risk.

Resinous pine scent thick in their throats, Gaius and Merlin hurried to the task, laying the last of the chestnuts down in a trail that would coax the Elf towards the hearth. With bated breath, Merlin laid the tribute of partridge before the Yule Log, astutely acknowledging that this was the blazing heart and the epicentre of Camelot's festive spirit.

"There. Now we just have to sit and wait," Merlin whispered. They both took their posts behind the ajar door, fidgeting with nervous agitation.

It felt an age before the air stirred and gave heed to the Elf's imminent approach. Merlin's breath turned to wisps of vapour as a chill trickled down his spine. He felt the temperature of the cool air pressing against his skin plummet to freezing. A sheen of frost bloomed upon the flagstones.

Merlin's stomach flipped with burgeoning dread as the susurrus pittering of footsteps approached, almost as imperceptible as snow falling upon snow. Gaius and Merlin exchanged identical expressions of horror.

The creature came trundling in, as pale and grotesque as Merlin recalled in its loose rags and pointed cap. Gaius's frozen grimace of repulsion spoke plainly of his first-impressions of the Elf. Merlin gestured at the old physician with a silent 'I told you so.'

The Elf followed the trail with its spidery agility, clutching at every chestnut and stuffing them down into its cavernous belly. It made squelching sucking noises on each instance that it absorbed a chestnut in through its pinprick mouth. Once it had safely crossed the threshold, Gaius heaved the door closed with only a scarcely audible creak of a hinge, confining the oblivious Elf. Merlin lurked in shadow, stalking the Elf's progress. It came before the partridge platter, eyes engorged as they fixed greedily upon the plump, golden bird. It bared needle-like claws as it took a stance to pounce upon the dish. Before it had the chance, Merlin ambushed the Elf.

Arms crossed and manner dour, he came between the Elf and its would-be-prize. The Elf squealed a pig-shout and scuttled back, pressing itself into the wall's shadow.

"You've brought enough chaos to Camelot and it's time you left in peace. Here is our festive offering. Take it, and never come back here again," Merlin issued his demands with ringing authority, a narrowed gaze fixed upon the Elf's pale orb of a face. It took all that he could muster to maintain that scrupulous stare.

The Elf was no more than a white blot in the shadow, but Merlin sensed a cool sentience glittering in its button eyes as it considered his offer. It took a spindly, calculated step forward into the light. Merlin retreated a careful step back, offering the Elf the space it required. Hollow, swallowing black eyes feasted upon the partridge. The Elf shivered with irrepressible glutton. It swivelled its moon-face, staring unblinkingly as an owl up at Merlin. Tipping his head, Merlin beckoned the Elf to accept the tribute. Merlin dared not to breathe too loud, lest it frighten the Elf into the shadow once more. It appeared that the Elf was drawing to a decision.

Just as Merlin indulged the thought that the fate of Camelot was secured, bells tolled, splitting the residing stillness to shreds and tremoring in every passage of the castle. Nothing Merlin could do or say could stop the relentless march of those terrible bells. They tolled on, one, two, three, four, Merlin counted them to the last: twelve in sum.

Merlin's face was a vision of abject terror as the Elf writhed and frothed with black, ominous potency. Its needle-jaws gnashed, its spindly limbs quaked and its fathomless eyes rolled as it unleashed a banshee shriek that could raise the dead from the grave. Gaius and Merlin clapped their hands to their ears, paralysed by the thrall of that baleful shriek.

Twelve bells tolled, ringing in the Winter Solstice, the darkest day of the spinning wheel of the year. And on this blackest, bleakest of hours, the Elf reached the height of its power. As soon as the clamouring din of bells ceased, the Elf reined down every sinew of its flagrant mischief without sympathy upon Camelot.

While the Elf shivered out of its paroxysm, Merlin wasted a faltering moment. He lurched for its brittle body all too late, for now the Elf was seething to the core with its insidious magic and evaded Merlin's clutches with unnerving litheness. A sooty, noxious cloud of black emanated from its form. Needle-fangs barred and cavernous eyes insatiable, the Elf beheld the delights of the banqueting hall with unyielding lust. Before Merlin could land a blow with a counterattack, the Elf sprung upon the table, shredding the delicate holly-red runners to ribbons within the matter of a heartbeat. The Elf clanged along the wooden surface casting aside platters and knives to the floor, composing an errant melody of metallic notes.

Merlin lurched after the creature, which was presently no more than an amorphous white streak wreaking havoc, and grasped to seize a hold. In a bid to match the Elf's unrelenting swiftness, Merlin stumbled on clumsy feet, knocking over chairs and falling bodily upon the table. As the Elf doubled back on its tracks to dance a taunting jig in front of a hunched over and breathless Merlin, he made a frenzied grab. Against all odds, he surfaced victorious, or so he believed for a fleeting but glorious moment. His palm furled around the Elf's pointed cap, however, when Merlin whisked his hand upward, the cap came away, but the Elf did not come with it.

Merlin's cry of self-adulation died upon his lips as soon as it was formed. The Elf needed as long to comprehend its very immediate cap-less condition. Now devoid of coverage, its bristly black hair was exposed to be beheld by the world. The Elf's surge of fury was palpable as it trembled with untethered rage and unleashed a vehement screech. Merlin's skull splintered in pain as the Elf's screaming trembled against his every sense.

Maw gaping wide, the Elf pounced from the table. Merlin, anticipating a virulent onslaught cowered back, arms readied in defence. Instead, the Elf deigned to swing from the candelabra and rain down upon Merlin a bombardment of candles. Merlin let cry a muffled objection as he made to shelter himself from the showering missiles rapping against his skull. Incensed, he began an offensive of his own, plucking up dented platters from the floor and flinging them up at the fiendish form. The Elf ducked and dodged every glancing blow. Just as Merlin javelined a fork at the Elf's sickly face, it leapt with nimble instinct and swung itself from the candelabra and higher into the rafters. Nestled in its vantage point, the cutlery missed its mark and clattered to the floor. The Elf's luminous black eyes glittered in self-satisfied triumph.

With savage abandon, the elf resumed its mission of destruction, tearing garlands down so that a deluge of foliage sluiced upon Gaius and Merlin's heads. The Elf's rampant defilement of the Yuletide bedeckings were nothing but efficient.

Merlin dithered, distress carving graven lines upon his temples. It was a longer duration that he cared to admit before he recalled that he was not limited to the physical constraints of how far he could fling a fork. With a lazy ease and scarcely a thought, he willed platters and goblets into the air. They arched in a stream of silver and gold, honing in on the Elf's position. Each utensil missed its target and pummelled to the floor.

The elf was springing from rafter to rafter, tossing down garlands and candles with spiteful disregard. When its frenzied lust was quenched, the Elf settled its impish gaze upon the fir trees and took exception to their pristine state of decoration.

Avoiding a carefully aimed spoon, the Elf plunged through the air, flailing for a grip hold on the treetop. Under the sheer force of momentum proceeding the Elf's flight, the grand fir toppled, crashing upon the King's table and scattering an array of finery. Beads spilled and branches splintered. The Elf unearthed its pale face in an explosion of fir needles. It shook the barbs from its tattered mantle and crouched, gathering itself to spring upon the second fir and gratify its every maleficent impulse.

Merlin sped forwards, flinging every spell he could think of in determination to protect the hall's sole remaining vestige of Yuletide.

"Forþ fleoge!" He cried, anticipating the Elf to keel over dumb-struck. Yet the spell did nothing to impound the Elf.

"Wáce ierlic!" he hazarded, this time hoping to fling the Elf senseless against the wall. No effect was wrought. Indeed, the Elf was already heaving against the fir's trunk, exerting its scrawny body. The tree toppled dangerously.

"Ástríce!" Merlin bellowed in one last desperate effort. His powerful incantation, however, did more harm to the tree than the Elf. Lethal shrapnel of woodshards and shattered baubles flew in the air. The Elf tore its way out of the rupture, unscathed and shrieking as dementedly as ever.

As the Elf made its wild chase pouncing on anything it could sink its claws into, Merlin fought with a beleaguered will to endure. Spell after spell he flung at the Elf hoping to stun or maim, but it was no more immobile as it was innocent. The Elf was impervious, and Merlin's magic unavailing. Merlin was inconsolable as he gruelled to stop the Elf wreaking irrevocable damage. All his toiling was for naught.

Gaius, from his station warding the door, observed the carnage wearing a face of detached rationality. He paced over to the hearth and gripped a crate stacked up with wood. In one swift twist, he flipped the crate over and the wood tumbled out. As Merlin came circling around the hall staggering after the Elf and clutching at his sides, Gaius composed himself.

By the time the Elf came hurtling past the heart, tailed by Merlin, Gaius was ready. He leapt forward with a vigour that belied his years and sieged the Elf, bringing down the crate and trapping it underneath. The Elf lurched against its sudden confines and the crate jerked upward, almost allowing escape. Arduously, Gaius pushed down with all his might against the crate. Merlin, heedful of the skirmish, sat atop of the crate and added his weight in preventing the Elf's desperate scrambles for freedom. Merlin was jostled as the Elf commenced to batter its claws against the walls of its prison. Inside, it seethed and gnashed with wicked fury.

The pair were austere as they maintained their pressure-hold on the crate, allowing the creature to expend its vicious energy. After a prolonged, nerve-wracking interval, the Elf's endeavours to escape waned in strength. Its shrill shrieks dissipated to disgruntled yowling, while its roiling and hammering turned to a half-hearted scrabbling. Merlin kept his jaw set, reserved that he would not succumb to even a shred of sympathy in response to the creature's pitiful situation. When the Elf's muffling scrapes finally ceased, Merlin acted without remorse.

"Now, are you going to leave Camelot alone?" He demanded of the creature, speaking through one of the slits in the crate. The glint of the Elf's button eyes shrunk back in Merlin's shadow.

The Elf released an ailing shriek, like that of a mouse caught in a cat's clutches. Merlin had no choice but to take the indistinct noise as a sign of concession. He peeled himself off gingerly, but did not scruple to lever pressure on the crate, lest the Elf's surrender was a deception.

"Right. I'm going to let you out now, and you're going to behave. If you try anything, you'll spend the rest of Yuletide locked in a box. Have you got that?" Merlin threatened with sharp authority. The Elf conceded with a stifled squeal.

Merlin gasped a steeling breath, wondering if this was to be the most foolish decision he had made yet. But he shrugged it off with disdainful care for his fate, for there was nothing more to do. With an affirming nod from Gaius, they both yielded their pressure from the crate and lifted it with gritted teeth.

The creature was huddled in a wretched ball. When exposed, a plaintive hiss leached from its mouth as it revealed its needle teeth. Gaius and Merlin still held the crate aloft, suspicious of the Elf's woebegone state. With dolorous effort, the Elf uncrumpled its form and blinked up dazedly at Merlin. Merlin felt his stomach curdle with repulsion as he compelled himself to meet that swallowing black gaze. He choked down his disgust and commenced bartering with the Elf.

"Our offering is over there. You can have it, but in exchange, you must leave and create your mischief somewhere else. You have feasted upon enough Yuletide spirit here. Allow us to enjoy our festivities in peace."

The Elf's gluttonous eyes found the platter of partridge. Startling Gaius and Merlin, it sprung forward and with savage appetite loosened itself upon the partridge. Aghast, the pair looked on as the Elf sank its jaws into the carcass and ripped flesh. They gagged, in equal measures horrified and disgusted. They could not bear to watch the creature as it tore into its meal, so both turned aside. Merlin shuddered at the sounds of bones cracking, while Gaius closed his eyes in an effort to bear the excessive slurping and sucking sounds leaving the Elf's mouth. Every last morsel was devoured within the space of one painful yet merciful instant.

Merlin cast his attention back to the Elf, who was smothered in grease and looking very pleased with itself indeed. The platter was licked clean. The Elf stretched and yawned, revealing a greatly distended belly. It released a satiated burp, and with that flung Merlin a last repugnant glare. It dematerialised in a fetid miasma of black smoke. All that it left behind was a sticky blemish of soot where it had stood.

The crate clattered to the floor. Gaius and Merlin sagged against the wall, their energy spent and their wordless relief salient. The Elf was vanquished and the threat to the Yuletide banquet lifted. All that was left to do was pick up the pieces.

Merlin panted breathlessly, feeling urgently heavy at the prospect of yet more demands on his ability to set straight a mess. His head fell limply against the wall as he allowed his eyelids to droop closed. The immediate danger had passed. No one would begrudge him a moment to regather his strength. As far as he was concerned, the universe owed him. Soon, air was puffing out of his slack mouth.

Gaius jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. Merlin startled awake with a snort, blinking at Gaius bemusedly.

"Wake up! You're not finished yet, you've got all this to clear up first!" Gaius admonished.

"Can't I just rest for five minutes?" Merlin lamented wearily, dragging his hands down his face.

"You can. In your bed, after this mess is cleared up."

Merlin huffed at the scolding, but obligation drove him heavily to his feet. Gaius creakily rose to standing beside him. The physician wiped the pretence of a scowl off his face and let a grin burst forth. He encircled Merlin in a hug, thumping him heartily on the back.

"Since no one else will say it, and because you deserve it, well done Merlin. No one will know that it was thanks to you that the Yuletide banquet was saved."

"Well- you helped too. I couldn't have done it on my own," Merlin professed humbly.

"Yes, you're quite right there. If I'd have left you to your own devices, you would have sulked in your room until the Elf had turned the castle into the bleakest place imaginable. Someone had to take charge," Gaius concurred with a rasping chuckle.

Both drew back from the embrace, both laughing and awash with blessed relief, though tinged with the slight derangement that comes with engaging in late night shenanigans. When their attention fell upon the cataclysmic mess before them, their smiles twisted to grimaces.

"I think perhaps, Merlin, this is one of those rare occasions that I permit you to use magic to clean up a mess," Gaius remarked pithily, "otherwise, neither of us will be sleeping until dawn."

Merlin nodded his affirmation emphatically. While Gaius did his best to retrieve dishes from the floor, Merlin employed his sorcery to will the hall back to its former splendid state. Fir trees levitated and set themselves back upon the dais, beads and baubles drifted through the air and draped upon branches as if upon their own accord. Discarded garlands suspended themselves upon high, while a dance of candles, cups, knives and forks floated to their rightful places upon the tables. Merlin made short work of the task and very soon the banqueting hall was as pristine as ever, ensuring none were the wiser on what events had transpired there upon that fateful eve.

The pair trudged to their beds, where exhaustion found them and smothered their restless anticipation for the day ahead. Both were rewarded with welcome rest, visited by shimmering, sparkling, tantalising dreams of a jewel-bedecked feast, the thrum of minstrels singing, the skim of dancing footsteps, all beneath festoons of evergreen and the golden glimmer of candlelight.


Don't worry, this isn't the end yet! There is one more chapter to follow. 3