Merlin Fanfiction: Love As Thou Wilt | Part 2a
Part 2
In the carriage, Kilgharrah pats the seat opposite him and Merlin sits. Kilgharrah knocks his knuckles against the wooden shell of the carriage. Taking his signal, the driver sets off, the wheels clattering over cobblestone streets. Kilgharrah settles back into the cushions staring out of the window, its curtain drawn back.
Merlin waits edgily for something to happen, for the man to say something but as time passes, Kilgharrah ignores him, staring out at the view of the city passing by. Sighing, Merlin scoots to the other side of the carriage.
Sliding the curtain back, he peers out at the passing buildings. With the arrival of summer, the city seems to flourish. Trees stand bright and green; the streets washed clean by all the rain. Camelot is vibrant and thriving.
Slowly, they maneuver through the city, leaving the edge and working their way inward. And always, the castle stays in view, a shining beacon for the citizens of Camelot. They enter a better area of the city. While the Court is on the fringes of Camelot, in the poor section of the city; this place speaks of money.
Large buildings, with two even three floors, stand well back from tall walls that surround them. The carriage pulls up in front of one. It is a two story building. Behind its wall, Merlin can glimpse the bright greens and splashes of colors of a garden.
The driver comes around to open the door and Kilgharrah steps down first, his costly clothing still looking immaculate even after the ride. Merlin is just stepping down when a door opens and someone comes out.
Her hair is a rich brown and it falls in waves down to her shoulders. It frames a heart-shaped face that is a light peach color. Her eyes when she is close enough for Merlin to see them are a golden brown, like a cat’s and she appears to be his age maybe a year older. She smiles warmly at them both, giving a little curtsy as she comes to a stop.
There had been no mention of there being someone else here beside him. “Freya, this is Merlin. Please make him comfortable.” She nods eagerly and turns to Merlin.
“It’s nice to meet you finally. He wouldn’t let me come as well and I’ve been dying to meet you. Come Merlin, I’ll show you to your room,” she says. Freya grabs his pack before he can get to it and carries it inside. Looking at Kilgharrah, the man just smirks and nods in the direction she has run off to.
Sighing, Merlin follows her. She’s waiting for him at the base of the stairs and once he’s close enough, she takes off again, walking quickly up the stairs. She leads him to a room halfway down the hall, the door open and sunlight spills into the room through two huge windows in the opposite wall.
Setting the pack down, she turns to Merlin just as he walks in. “Do you have magic?” Freya asks him. Merlin nods and she smiles, “So do I. I was a Druid,” she pulls her skirt up slightly to show him the bottom swirl of an inked tattoo on her thigh. “After the Druid's threw me out, milord Emrys took me in. If it hadn’t been for him, I might not have survived.” Her story is sad, but she sounds happy.
Merlin can’t help but like her. She reminds him of Gwen, with her optimistic demeanor and ever present smile. She leads him back out and for the first time; Merlin actually pays attention to his surroundings. The place is big and airy; the walls are half wood paneled with a light colored wood, the other half is painted stone, the shade a pale brown.
The wooden floors, covered with plush rugs, do not creak as he steps, and everything is clean, as if someone has recently cleaned them. Someone is waiting for them as they reemerge from the hall. The man bows and Merlin realizes that this is a servant of the house. The man, his tunic bearing a crest of a curled dragon, leads them down the stairs and out where the center of the house has been removed and a cobblestone courtyard takes its place.
Plants grow everywhere, and part of the courtyard has a trellis overhead that shields it from the sun with interwoven vines. Kilgharrah is lounged on a reclining couch under the trellis, pipe in hand as he blows smoke rings into the trellis where they break up among the vines. A table is next to him, a pitcher of water, a skin of wine and goblets waiting for them on it.
“Welcome, Merlin,” Freya says, giving him a hug before falling back onto another reclining couch with a thump, a happy grin on her face. Pulling her legs up, she crosses them, the edges of her skirt trailing over pale legs.
Kilgharrah hums his welcome, blowing a smoke ring in Merlin’s direction with a smirk. Grabbing a goblet and filling it with water, Merlin sits as well, watching the two uncomfortably, waiting for them to explain why exactly he was bought. What use could a noble have of a child raised of the Court, someone destined to become a courtesan in pleasant wording, a whore in not so pleasant wording?
“Do not cast yourself so low, young warlock. In this house we are all equal. I only ask that you show each person the respect they deserve and that, when required, you acknowledge their rank, should they have any,” Kilgharrah says, seeming to read Merlin’s mind.
“You say I am your equal, yet you still own my bond,” Merlin tells him, studying the sharp golden eyes that watch him back. The lines around his eyes deepen as the man smiles, nodding to Merlin’s words.
“Yes, I own your bond, but I do not own you. And one day, you will make your Mearcung and you will remember it was I that helped you achieve this.” Sitting up, he pours himself a goblet of wine, sipping it as his sharp eyes watch the two of them.
“You just like having something to hold over people to get favors out of them,” Merlin bites out sullenly, but even then, he smiles a little at Kilgharrah’s shrewdness.
Kilgharrah gives a great guffaw, slapping his hand on his thigh in amusement. “A quick mind and an even quicker tongue, though you will need to learn to curb that before it gets you in trouble, but yes, I like favors. I also like helping those who need it, young warlock.” He pauses for another sip of wine. “Tell me, how far have your studies in magic progressed?”
“I learned what they teach the children there. I was about half way through the Gewrit Drycræft and I was just starting to study magical lore,” Merlin takes a gulp of his water.
“Hmm, so not too far behind Freya. Anything else?”
“I studied some history and Dame was just starting to show me some of the ancient runes of the Old Religion,” Merlin stares at the tip of his shoes, feeling uncomfortable for some reason.
“Hmm, a fine base to work with. You should be able to keep up with Freya in lessons. As for languages, we’ll start with Druidic. Theirs is similar to the Old Religion and the Drycræft Spræc. As well as Pictish, the language of the northern tribes.”
Merlin blinks in confusion. This is not what he has been expecting when his bond-price had been bought. Fiddling with the stem of his goblet, Merlin asks quietly, “I thought you would have wanted me to continue my Court education?”
Kilgharrah eyes him over the rim of his goblet. “I had not planned to force you down that path if you had no wish to continue your Court education. I am to understand from my conversation with Dame that you excelled in these studies. You are passible on the lute and your hand at art is smooth and steady and you have the ear of a singer, but not the voice,” Merlin flushes at this, “and you know your poetry. A tutor can be brought so that you may keep up these skills, but they are not the most pressing.”
“They’re not?” With a snap, Kilgharrah dumps the ashes from his pipe into a small dish set aside for him. Refilling the pipe, he holds a taper out to a small lit candle and uses it to relight his pipe.
“No, although they can have their uses, it is what I will teach you that will become your most powerful tool. I will teach you to think for yourself, to see what most overlook, and to understand it in a way that will give you a better understanding of your surroundings,” Kilgharrah tells him, taking a long drag from the pipe.
“But what will that help me with?” Merlin asks, frowning.
Kilgharrah sighs, releasing a cloud of smoke. “When you look at this garden, what do you see?”
Is this a trick question? “I see a garden with a trellis full of vines.”
“Good, now Freya,” Kilgharrah nods to her.
“I see a well maintained plot. The soil is rich and fertilized and there are a variety of plants here that are not native. This speaks of someone who knows their craft and how to maintain plants from foreign soil. A specialist like that will have a high wage, which means that the person who employs him has money, enough money to not only get the plants, but to keep them alive, even in a different climate.” She smiles and Kilgharrah gives a nod of approval.
“Much better. You see what is right in front of you, young warlock. I want you to look deeper, to see more than what is on the surface. Understand?” Merlin nods reluctantly. “With these tools, I can be sure that you will go far in the five kingdoms.”
Suddenly, an idea comes to Merlin, Gwaine’s words echoing in his head, “Milord, did you place a bet that Dillon de la Escetia would play the Sun King?”
Kilgharrah lets out another guffaw, slapping his thigh again, holding his pipe away from his body as he shakes with laughter, Freya laughing with him. Finally, he seems to pull himself together. “Oh, young warlock, you will go far here.”
~*~
Kilgharrah is true to his word about lessons. The next day, Merlin is roused by Freya, drawing him from his bed to come down to breakfast. Kilgharrah, pipe as usual in his hand, is already dressed and seated by the time Merlin descends the staircase.
He informs them that their tutor will be arriving soon. After breakfast, Merlin and Freya spend the rest of the morning reviewing so that their tutor can gage where Merlin is. They pause only for lunch and afterwards start the actual lessons. The day is spent learning the history of the five kingdoms. By the time their tutor leaves, they’ve barely gotten past the division of Albion into the five kingdoms.
Merlin goes to bed with his head buzzing with words and facts that flash behind his eyes. He dreams of shining metal, the clash of swords, and a battlefield and rising above, a gleaming dragon roars to the sky. He wakes feeling lost, but before he can figure out why, Freya is knocking on his door and the dream slips away. Sighing, he calls out and starts to get dressed.
Days turn into weeks and they progress slowly but steadily. His lessons in Druidic go well and his continuation in Drycræft Spræc speeds by, Merlin swallowing whole chapters in a day. He had never realized there was this thirst for knowledge inside him. The one time it had appeared, Dame had stopped him and he never had the taste again. Now it sits like honey on his tongue, sweet and addictive. He soaks up the knowledge like a plant soaks up the sun.
Merlin feels a small stab of anger, briefly, at Dame. There is so much more he could have learned by now, but she had stopped him before he could start. Freya has had years to learn this and has already lived with Kilgharrah for two years, studying under him. With each day, he feels the gap between them get wider, even as he tries desperately to fill it.
It is the world of politics that confuses him the most though. Merlin has never been one for subtlety, always preferring the straight forward approach. He learns the hard way that not everything someone says is the truth.
While he has trouble just finding the truth in a snarl of lies, Freya seems to navigate court politics with ease, slipping easily from here to there. She can already give a full list of the lineage of the five royal families going back to the original leaders of the five tribes, all the noble families in each kingdom, even the familial connections between them.
Envy and jealousy bite at his heart, but no matter what, he can’t hate her. She has shared a small portion of her story with him and he knows that she has fought hard to get where she is. She deserves to be allowed to show off her knowledge. This understanding does little to sooth his pride though.
Kilgharrah often entertains, his guests ranging from associates to friends to enemies. As his guests lounge in the courtyard, Freya is there to serve wine, offering a cheerful smile that would have them asking for more wine than they would normally drink. Many left there drunk, not knowing the secrets they have left behind.
Merlin asks why Kilgharrah doesn’t have him serve. He has been taught how to serve by the Court. But the man shakes his head. “When people look at you, what do they see?”
“A boy, pale, dark hair, skinny,” Merlin says, not seeing where this is going.
“Yes, but they also see these,” he runs a finger under his eye, like he did on that first meeting. “They see these and they see the power in them reflected back. Many are nervous around those with power like yours, young warlock, which is why I hide you from them; it isn’t wise to show my entire hand. What do people see when they look at Freya?”
He looks over to where the girl is seated on a chair in the courtyard, head bent as she reads from a small brown book, “A girl.”
“Precisely,” Merlin’s still lost, and he frowns. Sighing, Kilgharrah explains, “Although an unfortunate perception in our society, many still look at young girls as naïve, dim. More likely than not, they will be more willing to spill a secret around her because they have no fear that she will use the knowledge to her advantage. They look at a pretty face and just see a pretty face. They do not see the mind underneath.”
“Oh,” Merlin says as something slips into place in his thinking. He’d always wondered how Gwaine did it, charmed all the people around him. This is the same thing. Understanding of what Kilgharrah is trying to teach him also blossoms. Knowledge is power and currency in the political world and being able to tell a lie from a truth is the first step needed to start collecting knowledge.
The guests all vary, from budding artists to nobles, all flock to Kilgharrah’s impromptu court. Kilgharrah has friends all over the five kingdoms. He is friends with Uriens de Isidore, Comte de Isidore and cousin to Cenred de la Escetia. Merlin learns later that Uriens has a knack for feeling his way through political snarls and that he is the one who tipped Kilgharrah to Dillon’s arrival in Camelot and his role in the Midwinter Masquerade.
Merlin’s life is never boring and it fills his days up. Merlin’s head steadily fills with knowledge, ideas, inklings, connections he could never have made before, and after each gathering with his guests, they all sit in the study, Merlin learning even more than he thought possible about what happened that he missed. Freya is thorough with her reports and though he is still a little jealous of her, he still crams the knowledge she gives him into his aching head.
It is through these impromptu lessons that he learns the second reason why Kilgharrah has kept him hidden in the shadows. Word of Kilgharrah’s second ward has gotten out and if there is one thing that will draw people in like moths to a flame, it is a secret. As Kilgharrah holds back, the more Merlin’s reputation grows. When Merlin is finally revealed, they will be falling over themselves just to see who he is. There is one though who appears to have been exempt from Kilgharrah’s teasing baited hook. The day Merlin meets Nimueh de l’Isle is a turning point in his life.
Three years have passed since Kilgharrah had taken him in and in this time, he has learned much. He has learned more history then he knew existed. His knowledge of magic and all that goes with it has expanded by bounds and leaps. He can speak passably in Druidic, Pictish, Drycræft Spræc, Hibernian the language of the inhabitants of the island to the west of Albion, and he can write and read these languages as well as having has learned so many different codes that he can barely read a book without seeing code in it.
At the moment, he and Freya are learning tumbling from a master that has arrived with a troupe a month before. Kilgharrah felt that it is time they focus on the physical side of life, so every afternoon, they take a carriage to a field outside the city where they are taught by the woman tumbler how to move.
They are learning different ways to fall when Kilgharrah arrives with a woman in an open carriage. Merlin’s first glimpse of her is upside down as he does a hand stand but even then she leaves an impression.
Her hair is a dark, lush brown that is pulled back into an intricate hairstyle, a few strands curling around her pale face. Her lips are painted a vibrant red and her eyes, when Merlin looks at them are a searing electric blue that seems to look right through him.
“Nimueh de l’Isle, may I introduce, Merlin nó Emrys, my ward. You remember Freya as well,” he gestures to the two of them.
“The Druid girl, I remember her well. A pleasure,” she says to Freya before turning to Merlin. Stepping forward, she seems to tower over him and he can’t look away or move as she reaches out. As her fingertips run under his eye, a spark seems to ignite something inside him and he feels something tugging him closer.
It isn’t until later that he learns that that feeling is his magic reacting to Nimueh’s, like reacting to like, for her magic is wild magic just like his, though of a different branch. She smiles, a twisted upturn of the corner of her mouth and it never reaches her eyes. “Kilgharrah, you have been holding out on me. To think, that you have found yourself a warlock, you sly dragon.”
“I knew you would recognize him for what he is,” Kilgharrah says aloud, preening under her words.
“I was wondering what it was you were hiding. There’s a betting pool you know, of whom exactly your warlock is and it’s grown considerably in the last month or so,” she tells him, stepping away. Merlin nearly staggers as the magical connection is broken.
Kilgharrah smirks, arching a brow, “You made a deal with me not to tell. Not unless you want Lionel to know what really happened to his country home.”
“Now, now, no need to chastise someone for making a mere statement,” she says, tapping him on the cheek in play, a small smirk playing on her lips. “You should remember me when you decide it is time for his Rites. You do wish to have your Rites, don’t you warlock?”
The Rites are a time when a child of the Court comes of age. At this time, their virgin-price is sold to the highest bidder and the money is given to the owner of their bond-price. For those with magic, this is an essential moment, for it is when they came of age that their magic settles, using their partner as an anchor to guide them through their magic. It is considered an honor to be a sorcerer’s first partner.
“I…yes, milady,” Merlin mumbles, not wanting to be captured by her gaze again, he doesn’t look up.
“Good,” she says and he can hear the laughter in her voice. She and Kilgharrah head back to the carriage and Merlin and Freya stare at one another, unsure of what to make of her appearance. With nothing to do but their lessons, they push Nimueh’s presence to the back of their minds and focus instead on their tumbling.
~*~
The land of Albion is divided into five kingdoms. Camelot lies to the west, butting up against the sea and the mountains to the north. Camelot and Escetia, Cenred’s kingdom, guard the northern portion of the kingdom against the Pict, a fierce people that take pride in fighting and wear their life stories on their skin.
To Camelot’s east and Escetia’s south lies Tintagel. The Bois line rules there and it is where Camelot’s late queen was from. Still further south is Mercia. Mercia’s current king, Bayard, is an ally of Camelot and is a longtime friend of the Pendragon king. Acestir is the last kingdom and lies far to the south, ruled over by Godwyn. Also an ally of Camelot, the kingdom flourishes with trade. With sea on two sides and many rivers, its ports teem with people.
There are two things that tie the five kingdoms together: the Moonlight Court and the Round Table Brotherhood. Both are a hard path to follow and have become less popular among the people as time passes. Except those who show signs of magic, few children are fostered to the Court willingly. The Brotherhood is a harsh discipline. A warrior’s code is followed, and children are fostered at ten. Only the oldest nobles follow the custom of sending younger sons to the Brotherhood. The knights are protectors and once assigned to a charge, they guard their charge until death.
As Kilgharrah’s finger skims over the map, information floats into being in Merlin’s mind. He has learned much over the years and can read the map with ease. “Here,” Kilgharrah says and Merlin shakes himself out of his thoughts and pays attention. “This is where there has been fighting. Cenred has sent word to Uther of the Pict war parties raiding along the mountain’s edges. He was able to drive them back, but the Pict, it seems, are becoming restless.”
Merlin remembers Freya’s report from a few nights back. She had eavesdropped on a prominent merchant that had been invited to one of Kilgharrah’s gatherings. He’d apparently had to hire more guards for his caravans that were transporting iron ore from the mountains. Even then, he’d lost part of his train and a good portion of his guards to Pict raids.
“They haven’t been this restless since the Battle of Highpass so many years ago,” Kilgharrah murmurs.
“Where you there?” Merlin asks quietly, watching his master and mentor as he stares down at the map.
“I was young warlock. That was a sad day indeed. We lost many good men, including Gorlois le Fey. I was with the reinforcements that Uther had sent, but we were too late to save him. We paid greatly for the victory. It was ten months after that that Vivienne le Fay gave birth to Morgana le Fey, the current heir. No one commented on the affair between Uther and Vivienne, but he still accepted his daughter since he had no other heirs,” Kilgharrah tells them as he sits back, taking a drag from his pipe.
“Cenred fought there as well in that battle. To this day, I wonder if he held back when he was there to save Gorlois, but I may never know. All battles hang on the smallest things as do all major events. Remember to plan for any and everything. Preparedness can make or break someone.” He releases a sigh laden with smoke.
“You think Cenred let Gorlois die on purpose? Do you think he was trying to get the Pendragons?” Merlin asks, sitting forward.
“I don’t know. At the time, Cenred was not yet married to Morgana’s half-sister. Perhaps he knew of Vivienne’s infidelity and hoped to isolate the child of her and Uther. If he plans to use Morgause’s influence over her sister, I do not know. For now, we can only watch and plan,” he says.
“But what does it have to do with the restlessness of the Pict?” Merlin asks as he finally realizes why Kilgharrah had been at the Masquerade.
“It could be nothing, or everything. One cannot see how events will play out and even the seers cannot say for sure as the future is mercurial and constantly changing with each choice we make.”
“Do you think the Pict will invade?” Freya asks as Kilgharrah stands from his chair with a groan.
He smiles down at her, “No. The passes and borders are well defended and the Pict are a chaotic group. Each clan will only follow its leader and none of the clans are able to stand above the others. We will be fine,” he says as he steps around the table for the door, “There will not be another battle like the Battle of Highpass. We have improved since then, but it is still important to plan. As I always say-,”
“A good plan will always trump a good sword,” they echo back at him and he smiles.
“Go on, you’ve earned a rest,” he says as he steps out of the room and they scramble to follow.
~*~
“Emrys isn’t Kilgharrah’s real name,” Gwaine says as they sit in the back of the tavern.
“And you know of this how?” Merlin asks with a lazy smile at his friend.
“I asked around on my network,” Gwaine explains and Merlin lifts an eyebrow. “I wanted to know more about the man who took my friend away.”
“It’s not like I left the kingdom. I’m still in the city, you know,” Merlin informs, with a flutter in his stomach. He never knew Gwaine cared so much.
“As I was saying, Emrys is not his real name.” Kilgharrah has many secrets and Merlin isn’t surprised by this. Of course, it is hard to keep a secret around Kilgharrah as well. The first time Merlin had escaped to go see Gwaine ended in interesting results.
~*~
Merlin set off through the city, the map he had drawn in his hand. He kept his hood up, not wanting people to see his eyes. Walking, he made it, finally, to the lower city, where Gwaine lived. Gwaine of course had been in the tavern near his home.
After many hugs and time spent catching up what had happened since they last spoke, they spent the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon in mischief. After stealing a bunch of grapes for old time sake and talking with Gwaine’s mother while she worked, helping her out while they talked, they had settled back in the tavern.
Apparently Gwaine had made a name of himself since Merlin had last seen him, rubbing elbows with any and everyone who came into the tavern, knowing all the best gossip. Merlin glanced up when he heard Gwaine talking with someone and saw a boy, younger than them, nodding and waving a hand towards the entrance.
“What’s the matter?” Merlin asked.
“He says there a man outside with a carriage for you. His surcoat is bronze and black with a curled dragon on it,” Gwaine told him.
“Kilgharrah,” Merlin says softly and swallows. He’s not sure how Kilgharrah will react to his friend.
“The man says to send Daren to fetch him when you are ready to leave. Who does the Dragon think he is?” Gwaine muttered, sending the boy away with a wave of his hand. Gwaine had started to acquire a following of street children that he’d turned into a network of errand runners and messengers. Merlin really wasn’t surprised to know that Kilgharrah knew of Gwaine and their friendship.
By the time Merlin returned home, Kilgharrah was waiting in his study, pipe out and a smirk on his lips. “I’m not going to punish you, young warlock. Sit,” he pointed to the chair across from him. “Dame informed me of your habitual disappearing act. I like to know things, especially about those close to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, staring down at his fidgeting hands in his lap.
“And yet you are not,” Merlin looked up confused, “I do not object to your friendship with your charming young friend. In fact I encourage it. You might well learn things there and from him that you can’t here. I also do not mind the escaping, but the city is a dangerous place for a child. I will not let you wander it alone. When you have free time and wish to visit your friend, you will inform Will,” Kilgharrah informed him sternly.
Will was Kilgharrah’s man through and through. Merlin didn’t know his story, but the quiet man always hovered around the edge of life in the Emrys household, a silent guardian to all their secrets.
“That’s all?” He nodded. “He’ll follow me or have me followed,” Merlin said.
“I know, but please, try and lose them. If you can, I applaud your skill and will know you can take care of yourself. But you will still inform him when you leave these grounds, is that understood?”
“And if I don’t?” Merlin asked.
“I am not one to play games with you, young warlock. You may be equal to me in this house, but you will show me the respect that I deserve and if that is too much for you, I will sell your Mearcung.” His voice seemed to rumble like thunder through the silent room. Merlin nodded shakily. “Good, you may go.”
Merlin had left with a healthy dose of humility and the knowledge that Will would be watching over him from then on.
~*~
“So what is his real name then?” Merlin asks.
“That I don’t know,” Gwaine admits. “But I did find out something else. I know why Uther almost banished him.
Merlin’s ears perk up at this and he sits forward. “Why?” he breathes more than says.
“Do you know how the Queen died?” Gwaine asks with his voice lowered as he scoots closer to Merlin.
“Yes, she died in child birth, with her son Arthur.” It had happened a year before Merlin was born, but Merlin had learned much about history and the events that surround that event. When he had read that, he had mourned for the king. To lose both his wife and son on the same day must have struck a blow.
“Well apparently, the queen was barren and could not conceive. They had asked Kilgharrah to help them get a child, an heir. Kilgharrah agreed and succeeded, but after the queen and the prince died, Uther blamed Kilgharrah. Apparently, the guards had to restrain the king from killing him that day and afterwards, he was nearly banished from the kingdom.”
“Is he an enemy of the crown?” Merlin asks, wide-eyed.
“No, if he were, he would have been banished or even executed. He is still welcome at the Court. Someone with influence protected your master, that’s for sure.”
“How did you learn of this?” Merlin asks.
“One of my boys has a friend who is a stable boy in the castle. He overheard one of the nobles speaking.” He grins at this. “I will try to find out for you, Kilgharrah’s real name.”
“You will rue the day you get your answers,” someone says behind them, but when they turn no one is there. Merlin shivers, eyeing Gwaine. The other boy shrugs and they go back to their drinks. The words though would not leave his mind.
~*~
Merlin’s fourteenth birthday has passed when Kilgharrah summons him to his study. For once, he is not smoking his pipe, the pipe resting on its side by his elbow. His face is calm as he motions Merlin to not the chair opposite him, but the one next to him.
Wondering what Kilgharrah could want, he sits and waits. Kilgharrah stares back, his eyes seeming to glow slightly in the dim lighting of the study. Finally, he seems to stir as if from sleep, a statue coming to life before his eyes.
“I have something to ask and I will have you answer truthfully,” Kilgharrah says and Merlin nods. “Is it your wish to take your Rites as a member of the Court?”
Merlin blinks, not having expected this. He has come of age to start studying for his Rites. Normally, he would have started the year before if he had still lived in the Court and would have studied and trained in both the art of magic and pleasure for the next four years. He had figured Kilgharrah wouldn’t have wanted this, seeing it as a drain in his other studies.
“If that is -,” Merlin starts.
“No.” Merlin stops, his teeth clicking as he shuts his mouth. “This is not about what I want. Tell me truly, is this what you want? You may refuse if you wish.”
Merlin stares back, taking in the seriousness of Kilgharrah’s answer and the tension that he hides as he waits for Merlin to answer. Pulling a breath through his nose, Merlin releases it slowly and nods. “It is.”
Kilgharrah nods, some of the tension leaving his frame and the lines around his eyes seem to soften just a little. “Good. We will get an appropriate offering and travel to the shrine so you may pledge your magic to the Old Religion,” Kilgharrah says, giving his shoulder a squeeze, Kilgharrah stands and leaves, taking his pipe with him.
Freya is in his room when he slips in. When Merlin tells her his decision, she smiles gently and gives him a hug. “I’m glad. That means we can study together,” she tells him. Although not of the Court, she had pledged herself to taking the Rites earlier that year. She had told him that had she still been amongst the Druids, she would have had to do something similar.
“I am too,” Merlin whispers and hugs her back, placing a small kiss to her cheek that just makes her smile even more.
She grabs his hand and tugs him from the room and down the stairs where Kilgharrah is waiting for them. The carriage takes them to a nearby market where they select a few pieces of fruit, a fresh loaf of bread, and a couple honey cakes from the stalls there.
The ride out of the city is quiet, the open top allowing them a view of the trees as the forest swallows them up. Eventually, the carriage comes to a stop in a cleared out glade in the forest. A small stream runs along one side and on the other side are stairs carved out of the small mountain, slabs of stone acting as walls and forcing them in single file as they climb.
A few minutes later they reach the top, and the ground flattens out. Trees grow around them, hiding the shrine from those below, but leaving the sky open above. A lone bird soars high above, flying on the thermals.
On the other side of the flattened hilltop is the shrine itself. It’s a small thing, just a slap of stone with a small indention in its center to place offerings. A bell hangs behind it; a braided cord of flax connects to its tongue.
Walking over to the shrine, Kilgharrah reaches out and rings the bell once, the chime suddenly loud in the stillness of the shrine. As the last echoes fade, a priestess steps out of what seems to be nowhere, her face serene as she looks at them.
She is wearing a simple dress of woven wool; the material dyed a dark brown. She has pale blonde hair that falls around her shoulders in waves and braids, a few feathers and leaves woven into it, peeking out from under strands.
“Welcome,” she murmurs, bowing her head slightly.
“One among us wishes to pledge themselves to the preservation of the balance,” Kilgharrah says, his voice low.
“Then let them step forward of their own volition and pledge themself.” Merlin takes a breath and steps forward. She smiles at him. “Welcome, brother. It is your wish to pledge yourself to the balance?”
“It is,” Merlin says.
“Then place your offering on the altar.” Merlin steps forward, holding the bag that carries their offering. He gently places the items in the dip. She walks to his side and stands there, a hand on his shoulder. “Do you promise to uphold the balance, to work in protecting it?”
“I do.”
“Then welcome, brother. May the balance always watch over you,” she says and reaches forward to ring the bell. It peals loudly and something inside him seems to at last slip into place. Some missing piece falls into its position and Merlin feels his magic suffuse him, filling his veins.
As the glow seems to fade, he shakes himself, bringing himself back to reality. The priestess has gone and Kilgharrah and Freya are watching him closely. Turning from the shrine, he walks back over to them. Freya just hugs him again and they descend the stairs again without speaking.
The ride back to the city is filled with inane talk of upcoming events and celebrations. Merlin talks, but inside, he can still feel the subtle pulse of his magic, as if for the first time it has been fully awake. The whole ride, he can’t keep the small smile off of his face.
~*~
When Merlin asks later what it was he had felt, Kilgharrah motions to couch in the courtyard. “Young warlock, you are a creature of magic. As such, you have a connection to nature as well as the balance. Since you were born, a part of you has been cut off from these links, if only partially. When you dedicated yourself to the balance, you removed these blocks and opened these links and in sense your magic as well. This was one reason why you had so much trouble with spells. Without full accesses to you magic, you could not fully do magic.”
“Oh,” Merlin says, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders. He’d always wondered if there was something wrong with him when his magic wouldn’t work like it was supposed to.
“The balance is not fickle or cruel. It has its reasons for what it does and only waits for the right moments to act to create the best possible outcome. Always remember, patience is not a weakness. Sometimes the act of waiting is in itself a better option than action. Remember that, young warlock.”
“I will,” Merlin says, nodding.
Kilgharrah has held off on teaching Freya until he had been sure Merlin wanted to do his Rites. Now, he begins in earnest. Later that week, he announces over breakfast the first step in their learning. “I have talked with Dame Alexandra Fors,” here he looks at Merlin, “and she has agreed to arrange a Viewing. Her words precisely were ‘I will not allow one of my charges go uninitiated into the arts of homage to the Balance.’”
Kilgharrah is smirking at this and Merlin looks down to hide the small smile on his lips. He can see the expression on Dame’s face as she spoke those words and though he still hasn’t forgiven her in her role of his ignorance, he still loves her for her willingness to raise him despite the stigma that lay over him.
That afternoon, they ride over to the Court where Damas is waiting for them. He nods to Kilgharrah and looking at Merlin and Freya, gives a smile. The moment they step into the Court proper, Merlin is assaulted by a warm body flinging itself at him.
He can’t help but grin, hugging Gwen back as she tries to squeeze the breath from his lungs. Pulling back, he looks at her. She has grown as well and is starting to fill out. He can feel the subtle curves emerging on her where she is pressed up against him and she is even lovelier than he can remember.
Freya looks at him and he smiles at her. Pulling out of Gwen’s hold, he motions to Freya. “Gwen, this is Freya nó Emrys and that is Kilgharrah nó Emrys. This is Guinevere Bran or Gwen for short.” Kilgharrah just nods, but Freya hugs her, smiling.
Merlin looks up at Kilgharrah where he is standing next to Damas. “Go on, there is still some time before the Viewing is to start,” Damas says with a laugh and Gwen grabs both of their hands and tows them away further into the Court.
They’re in Gwen’s room, which she shares with Anna. Merlin and Gwen exchange stories of what has happened since Merlin left. They fade off into silence when all has been aired and finally, Freya talks. “How did you become a member of the Court?” she asks Gwen.
“My mother died soon after having me. Afterwards, my father came to the Court to talk with Dame. He realized that if something happened to him, my brother and I would have no one. He asked that I be allowed to become a member of the Court at ten and that should something happen to him before that day, that they take me in. Dame agreed and signed a contract for me. He did the same with the Round Table Brotherhood for my brother, Elyan. He died when I was four and Elyan was eight helping someone out of a burning building and it collapsed on him before he could get out. I came here and Elyan went to the knights. We see each other twice a year.”
They’re quiet as Gwen finishes her short tale. “I’m sorry,” Freya says and hugs Gwen around her shoulders. After a few minutes, they get up to go find Kilgharrah and Damas.
The room they are shown to is set aside just for the Viewings. Only members of the Court or those pledged to take their Rites are allowed to see a Viewing. Kilgharrah leaves them at the door and they walk down the three shallow steps into the room proper.
They aren’t the only ones there. A few who have come of age are there as well as some of the older members. Damas is seated in the back, keeping a watchful eye over everyone.
The seats circle a low stage, cushions placed for them to sit and be comfortable. Thin, gauze curtains obscure their view of the stage, candles placed around the room to allow dim light. As they settle onto their own cushions, the door closes, cutting off any light from outside and the candle light seems to dim until they’re sitting in semidarkness.
The room goes silent as a tapestry over the stage is pulled back and two people step out from a hidden door, the curtains pulling back one at a time until their view is clear. They only wear silken robes; the sashes tied loosely and the robes hang open slightly. The woman is dark, darker than Gwen’s own tanned skin, the low light adding a touch of warmth to her dark skin tone. Her hair falls in ebony waves down her back, her eyes a dark ocher that shines out from under dark lashes and kohled eyes.
The man is lighter, his skin the color of sun touched flesh, muscle rippling underneath. His hair, a dark russet, is pulled back in a small tail at the base of his head and limpid blue eyes peek out from under pale lashes.
Merlin, seated between Freya and Gwen, watches transfixed. As a child of the Court, he had grown up around this, had learned like the rest of the children that are bound to the Court. But he had never seen anything like this. It is hard for one to truly understand what is read in a book until one sees and experiences it for themselves.
And it is a sight to behold. With each touch and caress the two lovers share between each other, it feels like more and more magic is being drawn into the room. For a second, he thinks he can almost see the dart of magic between their skins where they touch, like static on a dry day.
By now Freya and Gwen are pressed against his side, holding his hands, both held in thrall by the spell that is being woven like a dance between the two lovers. They may not be sorcerers, but you do not need to be in order to offer homage to the balance. The act of a joining is always a magical occurrence, whether those involved know it or not.
As Merlin watches the man holds the woman gently, like she is something fragile, and precious. He presses into her, and something inside Merlin uncurls warmth that spreads through his body and stains his cheeks pink. But Merlin doesn’t look away, even as she arches with a soft gasp, hands clutching at his back. The man stills and groans and the magic seems to swell impossibly before it comes to a head in a burst of power before it dissipates.
Merlin’s panting by the end, more from the wash of magic than from what he just saw. His own magic churns, drawn to the magic that was just released and he has to concentrate to keep it from spilling out to mingle in the room.
Gwen and Freya steer him from the room. “That was…” He’s unsure of what to say or how to describe the sensation or the images. The two girls just nod; their own faces a little pink as well. Kilgharrah is waiting as they step out into the sunshine of early afternoon. It seems like ages passed in there but it has only been near an hour.
They stay for the noon meal, the fair simple but delicious. As they’re about to leave, Gwen hugs the two of them. “Can I visit?” she asks.
“Of course,” Freya says, Merlin nodding eagerly. “Send a message ahead and we’ll meet up in the city somewhere. Maybe when your brother is here to visit?” Freya says, remembering the bit about Gwen’s brother.
“Oh, that would be wonderful.” She hugs them one last time before letting go reluctantly. Waving one last time, the two step out of the Court where their carriage is waiting for them.
~*~
Soon after, Kilgharrah gets to work on their education in the arts of pleasure. Merlin is in the store room just off the courtyard when Kilgharrah meets with their chosen instructor. He can’t see her from his spot without giving himself away, but he can hear every word and rustle of clothing.
Kilgharrah has been teaching them to listen and gather information, so he will, even if it is against the man himself. His master and mentor is a mystery, one that he wants to solve. But Kilgharrah is tight lipped and evasive in his answers, often distracting them with riddles and words of “fate” and “destiny.”
Still, the moment he hears their tutor’s voice, he knows he will like her. Her voice is soft, each word spoken with care and reverence, as if each word is a precious jewel leaving her mouth. A breeze flows through the room and he can smell a hint of her perfume, the scent subtle and light.
He only knows her name, Kilgharrah having informed them the day before. Alice Verdant-Beau is a woman well into her fifties, but though her face is lined, her magic is still strong. Merlin has heard of her.
A natural healer in her own right, she had served in the Fire Branch of the Moonlight Court for many years, making quite a name for herself before she had finished her Mearcung and gotten her freedom. Soon after, she had opened up her own healing shop, helping people through both magic and natural herbal remedies. It was there she had met Gaius Beau, Royal Physician to Uther de la Pendragon and his family.
The two had married and though she had closed up shop to help her husband, she still saw to people who asked for her. And it appeared Kilgharrah calls on her now, though not as a healer. After the usual pleasantries and talk of health other such small talk, Kilgharrah makes his request to Alice.
“Are you sure you ask the right person, my dear? I am retired, have been for many years now from that life, though I still take offerings to the temple on the great holidays.” Merlin heard a click as she set her goblet down on a table.
“You took an oath, Alice. Besides, it is not your physical knowledge I seek, but your learned knowledge. There are many things I cannot teach them. There are books, Hyldu to se Frod Æfæstness, Geornful Drycræft and I’m sure you know the rest.”
“Should I also teach the boy of Draca Hygebend?” she asks softly, her voice like the sharpest steel.
“No!” Kilgharrah’s voice rumbles out like a rock fall, as if it rises from the very earth itself. “We both know that that knowledge is forbidden as well as being lost years ago. You know this.”
“I do, but what I wish to know is, what is it you plan, my dear? I will not be lied to in this, not with two children and who knows how many others on the line in your games.” Merlin hears the couch creak and knows Kilgharrah has stood to pace. Smoke wafts through the window, evidence that he has taken up his pipe.
“You are an ex-member of the Court and a healer, I’m sure you have this memorized,” Kilgharrah says lightly, a small smirk in his voice.
“You know what I ask?” Alice says, not rising to the bait.
Kilgharrah sighs and the couch creaks again as he sits down once more. “That is the question though: why? There are so many questions and so few answers, but this I can answer. There are places I cannot reach, people out of my range, though it was not always so. So many places in the five kingdoms were barred to me that day, but…,” he pauses to take a sip of his drink, the goblet makes a small noise on the wood of the table as it is set back down. “But, I know what they desire, what it is that fuels their passions and loosens their tongues. With this, I can finally reach them.”
“I have long known this side of you, my dear, but still you evade my question. Why do you do this?”
“You already know why,” he whispers and for the first time, Merlin hears regret in his master’s voice.
“You still blame yourself. Well, you always did hold yourself to high standards and the fact that you still keep this promise is no surprise to me. I will teach them what I can, but swear to me that both of your wards have given their consent when they dedicated themselves to this path.”
“Upon Draca Hygebend,” Kilgharrah whispers.
“And you talk about me speaking of forbidden things,” she says though her voice is fond now.
“What is the extent of their knowledge?” she asks.
“Enough to get by, but not enough to get them killed,” he tells her.
Alice sighs softly. “Ygraine de la Pendragon is dead, these many years, my dear. Do you honestly think she hasn’t forgiven you?” Alice asks.
“There are still amends to be made,” Kilgharrah answers and she just hums in acceptance.
“I do have news though. Duc d’Alene’s wound became infected, despite Gaius’s best efforts. He died yesterday. His son Valiant will become Duc d’Alene within the week. He has already petitioned Uther for reinforcements up north.”
“I’m sure he has need of them, with the north becoming so unpredictable.” There’s a clink as their goblets are filled again.
“Yet he still made time to visit Nimueh de l’Isle while she was visiting the Escetian court. And Prince Dillon seems to have become attached to Nimueh. No one can tell if Morgause de la Escetia is displeased or not.”
“Nimueh likes to collect hearts; she has a large collection, all broken of course. Uriens has said he will pass word to Cenred in hopes that his cousin can put some sort of leash on his son,” Kilgharrah says with a dismissive tone.
“Do not underestimate Morgause or Nimueh for that matter. Events in history have been changed by the hand of women as well as men and sometimes I think you forget that. Good day my dear. I shall return on the morrow to begin their instruction into the arts.” Merlin hears them both stand, their footsteps fading into the distance as Kilgharrah escorts Alice out.
Wiggling out of his hiding place, Merlin races on silent feet up the stairs to where Freya is laying on her stomach on her bed, reading. Putting their heads together, he tells her everything he has just overheard. Although they parse it every which way they can, some things are still left in the dark to them. Kilgharrah comes to the door to tell them of Alice’s acceptance and that they should expect her in the morning.
~*~
When Merlin finally sees Alice, it isn’t what he has been expecting. She is a small woman, her skin lined with age, but underneath it, he can see the beauty she had been when she had been younger. Her hair is a pale brown that is slowly fading into grey and is pulled back into a braid down her back. Her eyes are a kind blue that seem to always be smiling. She wears a simple dress that is made of fine cloth; a ring of gold adorns her finger.
She doesn’t hesitate to put them to work and soon both Merlin and Freya are ensconced in the study, reading from a book they have not read before. Merlin reads the words on the paper and understands with ease. He was raised to this and though his education is selective, he at least knows the basics, the rest he learned from listening in to the kitchen gossip.
Freya, on the other hand, seems amazed, absorbing each word with a relish. Merlin never realized how innocent she was until now, how much she lacks from this area of knowledge. It seems to lessen the gap still between them. Smiling, he helps her understand and together they work through the pages.
But though they take in the knowledge, they do not practice it. Although Kilgharrah has not told them not to, they can read what is not said. Still, it makes Merlin wonder how they are to become good at it, if they can’t practice.
Alice seems to read his thoughts though. “You wonder why Kilgharrah does not want you to practice?” she asks as they sit outside sipping tea.
“I just…I can feel it in me, my magic, wanting out and it makes me itch and I want to scratch but I can’t. Sometimes at night, I feel like I’ll explode from all the magic inside,” Merlin admits.
“Unfortunately, all sorcerers feel this, though you more than most. There is a reason why Kilgharrah does not wish you to practice though. The act of homage is a spell, though there are no words. With those whose powers have yet to fully awaken, sometimes, when they try, their magic gets out of control and things happen. It can be dangerous and he only wishes to protect you two from yourselves,” Alice says, setting a gentle hand on his arm.
“I just wish I would stop itching,” Merlin says and draws a laugh from Alice.
“Don’t we all.”
~*~
Two years go by like this, the two learning and studying and gathering information. Merlin goes through a growth spurt in this time and now stands taller than both Freya and Alice and is almost as tall as Kilgharrah and Will. Slowly he fills out, no longer the skinny child with too big ears. Freya has also grown taller, filling out, curves rounding even more and leaving a beautiful young woman where there had only been a young girl. Her hair reaches down to her waist now, kept in line by ribbon and braiding.
They aren’t the only ones. Gwaine has grown, growing broader in his shoulders and chest. His hair is still long and a scruff has started to grow along his jaw, giving him a roguish look that has women and men alike taking notice.
He meets up with Gwen and she has grown as well, her hair almost as long as Freya’s and her body filled out. Soon she will start working towards her Mearcung and her freedom. He also meets her brother Elyan once. He is darker than Gwen, his head shaved close to the skin. His eyes are a dark brown and his full lips are prone to giving smiles. He is heavily built from years of training as a knight and the crisp black of his tunic shows the crest of the Round Table Brotherhood: a pair of crossed swords over a shield with the image of a flowering tree. A scroll underneath is has small letters sewn on it: Lifwraþu, protection of life.
They are seated at a small table soon after her brother’s departure back to his lodgings. Gwen seems sad, but she still smiles at Gwaine’s jokes. He had introduced the two of them earlier and his two friends seemed to get on well.
They are sitting quietly when someone yells out, “Oy, boy.”
They look up to see some drunken idiot, a lordling trying to be adventurous by coming to this part of the city. He swaggers up, swaying with his drink, a cocksure grin on his face. “How much for your friend here?” he asks Gwaine and doesn’t indicate which of them he means. He chucks a purse onto the table. Merlin feels a spark run through his body and his magic tingles at his fingertips. He has been feeling its press more and more lately. How easy it would be, to just slip away with some random stranger, to let this be done with and be free of this itch that seems to suffuse his body.
Gwaine’s face is thunderous and he’s about to stand when a quiet voice says behind the lordling, “There is no one for hire here, my good man. Best take your money and spend it somewhere more…accommodating.” The man swallows, quickly sobering up now with a knife pressed low on his throat. Merlin wonders when Will had arrived let alone how he had known what the man was asking.
The man scurries away, swiping up his purse. He and his friends leave the bar, sending looks their way as they stumble out of the building. Will watches them until they are gone before turning back. “It is time to go.” He has the look of seriousness about him, so Merlin doesn’t argue. Giving Gwaine a hug and Gwen a hug and kiss on the cheek, he follows Will out, pulling the hood of his cloak up.
The carriage ride home is quiet. Will is watching him quietly, eyes unreadable. “It is not always for us to choose,” Will says. Merlin starts, looking up at the man. He is plain looking, short brown hair, brown eyes, and square face. He has frown lines around his mouth and his eyes see the world from a different perspective.
“I was fourteen when my father was killed protecting his charge. He was a knight and he died for a noble who then turned his back on me and my mother when we had nothing left. For years I hated all nobility. Eventually, my anger and restlessness led me to the city and I fell into a bad crowd. I gambled and drank and racked up a debt to a man who used my skills that I learned from my father and my brief start amongst the brother’s before I quit. I have done many things that I will regret for the rest of my life. Then one day, he comes to me with a job to assassinate a noble.”
Merlin’s heart beats harder. “Kilgharrah?”
Will goes on as if Merlin hasn’t spoken, “Something inside me rejoiced, to be able to take out my hatred on a noble. I waited for their carriage to stop and attacked. I was disarmed and waiting for the death blow when he spoke, ‘You fight for the wrong reason, my boy. Whatever has happened to harden your heart so, you will not find relief from the pain on this path.’ Something seemed to let go then and I realized my grave mistake.”
The carriage is silent as Merlin waits for Will to continue. Outside, night has fallen and there are only a few out. The sound of the horse’s shoed feet is loud in the quiet. Finally, Will continues, “Milord Emrys saved me that day and took me in when few would have. I owe him a great debt, as do you and while yours may one day be paid in full, mine will not be until my death. Do not betray his trust in you.”
Merlin shivers at his words. It had only been a thought, but sometimes even thoughts were enough. It seems Kilgharrah collected more than just favors, if his influence was even able to sway the heart of one bent on mindless revenge.
“Who was it that wished Kilgharrah dead?” Merlin asks softly watching Will.
Although it is too dark to see, he can feel Will’s gaze on him. “Agravaine de la Bois, brother to Ygraine de la Pendragon.”
~*~
Merlin never forgets Will’s words, though the man never speaks again of his life or how he came to serve under the wing of Kilgharrah nó Emrys. But as ever, life goes on. With the enigma of the queen’s death, her brother, and Kilgharrah to puzzle over at night and in spare hours and with studies during the day, neither Merlin nor Freya have much time to themselves.
It is just after winter has yielded its grip on the land to spring that news of a major victory against the Pict makes its way into Camelot and the Emrys household. It is a few weeks before Freya’s seventeenth birthday and it fills the kingdom with a need to celebrate.
With the combined forces from Camelot and Escetia, led by the Duc d’Alene and Dillon de la Escetia, the brash prince, they drove the invading clans back into their mountain holes. It seems Prince Dillon has made a name of himself out on the cold northern border and has acquired quite a following. They call themselves Dillon’s Men and ride alongside him into battle.
Uther orders the men to keep defending the border, calling only a few back to parade the victorious warriors though the city. All except two are surprised by the king’s order to include the Escetian prince, but Kilgharrah and Nimueh always seem to have a knack for knowing things before everyone else.
With the upcoming procession through the city, it seems almost fate that it happens on the day of Freya’s birthday and her coming of age. With her first homage to the old religion, she would come into her magic. Alice, wanting it to be special, opens up her home to them, planning an event for her.
~*~
Part 2b
In the carriage, Kilgharrah pats the seat opposite him and Merlin sits. Kilgharrah knocks his knuckles against the wooden shell of the carriage. Taking his signal, the driver sets off, the wheels clattering over cobblestone streets. Kilgharrah settles back into the cushions staring out of the window, its curtain drawn back.
Merlin waits edgily for something to happen, for the man to say something but as time passes, Kilgharrah ignores him, staring out at the view of the city passing by. Sighing, Merlin scoots to the other side of the carriage.
Sliding the curtain back, he peers out at the passing buildings. With the arrival of summer, the city seems to flourish. Trees stand bright and green; the streets washed clean by all the rain. Camelot is vibrant and thriving.
Slowly, they maneuver through the city, leaving the edge and working their way inward. And always, the castle stays in view, a shining beacon for the citizens of Camelot. They enter a better area of the city. While the Court is on the fringes of Camelot, in the poor section of the city; this place speaks of money.
Large buildings, with two even three floors, stand well back from tall walls that surround them. The carriage pulls up in front of one. It is a two story building. Behind its wall, Merlin can glimpse the bright greens and splashes of colors of a garden.
The driver comes around to open the door and Kilgharrah steps down first, his costly clothing still looking immaculate even after the ride. Merlin is just stepping down when a door opens and someone comes out.
Her hair is a rich brown and it falls in waves down to her shoulders. It frames a heart-shaped face that is a light peach color. Her eyes when she is close enough for Merlin to see them are a golden brown, like a cat’s and she appears to be his age maybe a year older. She smiles warmly at them both, giving a little curtsy as she comes to a stop.
There had been no mention of there being someone else here beside him. “Freya, this is Merlin. Please make him comfortable.” She nods eagerly and turns to Merlin.
“It’s nice to meet you finally. He wouldn’t let me come as well and I’ve been dying to meet you. Come Merlin, I’ll show you to your room,” she says. Freya grabs his pack before he can get to it and carries it inside. Looking at Kilgharrah, the man just smirks and nods in the direction she has run off to.
Sighing, Merlin follows her. She’s waiting for him at the base of the stairs and once he’s close enough, she takes off again, walking quickly up the stairs. She leads him to a room halfway down the hall, the door open and sunlight spills into the room through two huge windows in the opposite wall.
Setting the pack down, she turns to Merlin just as he walks in. “Do you have magic?” Freya asks him. Merlin nods and she smiles, “So do I. I was a Druid,” she pulls her skirt up slightly to show him the bottom swirl of an inked tattoo on her thigh. “After the Druid's threw me out, milord Emrys took me in. If it hadn’t been for him, I might not have survived.” Her story is sad, but she sounds happy.
Merlin can’t help but like her. She reminds him of Gwen, with her optimistic demeanor and ever present smile. She leads him back out and for the first time; Merlin actually pays attention to his surroundings. The place is big and airy; the walls are half wood paneled with a light colored wood, the other half is painted stone, the shade a pale brown.
The wooden floors, covered with plush rugs, do not creak as he steps, and everything is clean, as if someone has recently cleaned them. Someone is waiting for them as they reemerge from the hall. The man bows and Merlin realizes that this is a servant of the house. The man, his tunic bearing a crest of a curled dragon, leads them down the stairs and out where the center of the house has been removed and a cobblestone courtyard takes its place.
Plants grow everywhere, and part of the courtyard has a trellis overhead that shields it from the sun with interwoven vines. Kilgharrah is lounged on a reclining couch under the trellis, pipe in hand as he blows smoke rings into the trellis where they break up among the vines. A table is next to him, a pitcher of water, a skin of wine and goblets waiting for them on it.
“Welcome, Merlin,” Freya says, giving him a hug before falling back onto another reclining couch with a thump, a happy grin on her face. Pulling her legs up, she crosses them, the edges of her skirt trailing over pale legs.
Kilgharrah hums his welcome, blowing a smoke ring in Merlin’s direction with a smirk. Grabbing a goblet and filling it with water, Merlin sits as well, watching the two uncomfortably, waiting for them to explain why exactly he was bought. What use could a noble have of a child raised of the Court, someone destined to become a courtesan in pleasant wording, a whore in not so pleasant wording?
“Do not cast yourself so low, young warlock. In this house we are all equal. I only ask that you show each person the respect they deserve and that, when required, you acknowledge their rank, should they have any,” Kilgharrah says, seeming to read Merlin’s mind.
“You say I am your equal, yet you still own my bond,” Merlin tells him, studying the sharp golden eyes that watch him back. The lines around his eyes deepen as the man smiles, nodding to Merlin’s words.
“Yes, I own your bond, but I do not own you. And one day, you will make your Mearcung and you will remember it was I that helped you achieve this.” Sitting up, he pours himself a goblet of wine, sipping it as his sharp eyes watch the two of them.
“You just like having something to hold over people to get favors out of them,” Merlin bites out sullenly, but even then, he smiles a little at Kilgharrah’s shrewdness.
Kilgharrah gives a great guffaw, slapping his hand on his thigh in amusement. “A quick mind and an even quicker tongue, though you will need to learn to curb that before it gets you in trouble, but yes, I like favors. I also like helping those who need it, young warlock.” He pauses for another sip of wine. “Tell me, how far have your studies in magic progressed?”
“I learned what they teach the children there. I was about half way through the Gewrit Drycræft and I was just starting to study magical lore,” Merlin takes a gulp of his water.
“Hmm, so not too far behind Freya. Anything else?”
“I studied some history and Dame was just starting to show me some of the ancient runes of the Old Religion,” Merlin stares at the tip of his shoes, feeling uncomfortable for some reason.
“Hmm, a fine base to work with. You should be able to keep up with Freya in lessons. As for languages, we’ll start with Druidic. Theirs is similar to the Old Religion and the Drycræft Spræc. As well as Pictish, the language of the northern tribes.”
Merlin blinks in confusion. This is not what he has been expecting when his bond-price had been bought. Fiddling with the stem of his goblet, Merlin asks quietly, “I thought you would have wanted me to continue my Court education?”
Kilgharrah eyes him over the rim of his goblet. “I had not planned to force you down that path if you had no wish to continue your Court education. I am to understand from my conversation with Dame that you excelled in these studies. You are passible on the lute and your hand at art is smooth and steady and you have the ear of a singer, but not the voice,” Merlin flushes at this, “and you know your poetry. A tutor can be brought so that you may keep up these skills, but they are not the most pressing.”
“They’re not?” With a snap, Kilgharrah dumps the ashes from his pipe into a small dish set aside for him. Refilling the pipe, he holds a taper out to a small lit candle and uses it to relight his pipe.
“No, although they can have their uses, it is what I will teach you that will become your most powerful tool. I will teach you to think for yourself, to see what most overlook, and to understand it in a way that will give you a better understanding of your surroundings,” Kilgharrah tells him, taking a long drag from the pipe.
“But what will that help me with?” Merlin asks, frowning.
Kilgharrah sighs, releasing a cloud of smoke. “When you look at this garden, what do you see?”
Is this a trick question? “I see a garden with a trellis full of vines.”
“Good, now Freya,” Kilgharrah nods to her.
“I see a well maintained plot. The soil is rich and fertilized and there are a variety of plants here that are not native. This speaks of someone who knows their craft and how to maintain plants from foreign soil. A specialist like that will have a high wage, which means that the person who employs him has money, enough money to not only get the plants, but to keep them alive, even in a different climate.” She smiles and Kilgharrah gives a nod of approval.
“Much better. You see what is right in front of you, young warlock. I want you to look deeper, to see more than what is on the surface. Understand?” Merlin nods reluctantly. “With these tools, I can be sure that you will go far in the five kingdoms.”
Suddenly, an idea comes to Merlin, Gwaine’s words echoing in his head, “Milord, did you place a bet that Dillon de la Escetia would play the Sun King?”
Kilgharrah lets out another guffaw, slapping his thigh again, holding his pipe away from his body as he shakes with laughter, Freya laughing with him. Finally, he seems to pull himself together. “Oh, young warlock, you will go far here.”
~*~
Kilgharrah is true to his word about lessons. The next day, Merlin is roused by Freya, drawing him from his bed to come down to breakfast. Kilgharrah, pipe as usual in his hand, is already dressed and seated by the time Merlin descends the staircase.
He informs them that their tutor will be arriving soon. After breakfast, Merlin and Freya spend the rest of the morning reviewing so that their tutor can gage where Merlin is. They pause only for lunch and afterwards start the actual lessons. The day is spent learning the history of the five kingdoms. By the time their tutor leaves, they’ve barely gotten past the division of Albion into the five kingdoms.
Merlin goes to bed with his head buzzing with words and facts that flash behind his eyes. He dreams of shining metal, the clash of swords, and a battlefield and rising above, a gleaming dragon roars to the sky. He wakes feeling lost, but before he can figure out why, Freya is knocking on his door and the dream slips away. Sighing, he calls out and starts to get dressed.
Days turn into weeks and they progress slowly but steadily. His lessons in Druidic go well and his continuation in Drycræft Spræc speeds by, Merlin swallowing whole chapters in a day. He had never realized there was this thirst for knowledge inside him. The one time it had appeared, Dame had stopped him and he never had the taste again. Now it sits like honey on his tongue, sweet and addictive. He soaks up the knowledge like a plant soaks up the sun.
Merlin feels a small stab of anger, briefly, at Dame. There is so much more he could have learned by now, but she had stopped him before he could start. Freya has had years to learn this and has already lived with Kilgharrah for two years, studying under him. With each day, he feels the gap between them get wider, even as he tries desperately to fill it.
It is the world of politics that confuses him the most though. Merlin has never been one for subtlety, always preferring the straight forward approach. He learns the hard way that not everything someone says is the truth.
While he has trouble just finding the truth in a snarl of lies, Freya seems to navigate court politics with ease, slipping easily from here to there. She can already give a full list of the lineage of the five royal families going back to the original leaders of the five tribes, all the noble families in each kingdom, even the familial connections between them.
Envy and jealousy bite at his heart, but no matter what, he can’t hate her. She has shared a small portion of her story with him and he knows that she has fought hard to get where she is. She deserves to be allowed to show off her knowledge. This understanding does little to sooth his pride though.
Kilgharrah often entertains, his guests ranging from associates to friends to enemies. As his guests lounge in the courtyard, Freya is there to serve wine, offering a cheerful smile that would have them asking for more wine than they would normally drink. Many left there drunk, not knowing the secrets they have left behind.
Merlin asks why Kilgharrah doesn’t have him serve. He has been taught how to serve by the Court. But the man shakes his head. “When people look at you, what do they see?”
“A boy, pale, dark hair, skinny,” Merlin says, not seeing where this is going.
“Yes, but they also see these,” he runs a finger under his eye, like he did on that first meeting. “They see these and they see the power in them reflected back. Many are nervous around those with power like yours, young warlock, which is why I hide you from them; it isn’t wise to show my entire hand. What do people see when they look at Freya?”
He looks over to where the girl is seated on a chair in the courtyard, head bent as she reads from a small brown book, “A girl.”
“Precisely,” Merlin’s still lost, and he frowns. Sighing, Kilgharrah explains, “Although an unfortunate perception in our society, many still look at young girls as naïve, dim. More likely than not, they will be more willing to spill a secret around her because they have no fear that she will use the knowledge to her advantage. They look at a pretty face and just see a pretty face. They do not see the mind underneath.”
“Oh,” Merlin says as something slips into place in his thinking. He’d always wondered how Gwaine did it, charmed all the people around him. This is the same thing. Understanding of what Kilgharrah is trying to teach him also blossoms. Knowledge is power and currency in the political world and being able to tell a lie from a truth is the first step needed to start collecting knowledge.
The guests all vary, from budding artists to nobles, all flock to Kilgharrah’s impromptu court. Kilgharrah has friends all over the five kingdoms. He is friends with Uriens de Isidore, Comte de Isidore and cousin to Cenred de la Escetia. Merlin learns later that Uriens has a knack for feeling his way through political snarls and that he is the one who tipped Kilgharrah to Dillon’s arrival in Camelot and his role in the Midwinter Masquerade.
Merlin’s life is never boring and it fills his days up. Merlin’s head steadily fills with knowledge, ideas, inklings, connections he could never have made before, and after each gathering with his guests, they all sit in the study, Merlin learning even more than he thought possible about what happened that he missed. Freya is thorough with her reports and though he is still a little jealous of her, he still crams the knowledge she gives him into his aching head.
It is through these impromptu lessons that he learns the second reason why Kilgharrah has kept him hidden in the shadows. Word of Kilgharrah’s second ward has gotten out and if there is one thing that will draw people in like moths to a flame, it is a secret. As Kilgharrah holds back, the more Merlin’s reputation grows. When Merlin is finally revealed, they will be falling over themselves just to see who he is. There is one though who appears to have been exempt from Kilgharrah’s teasing baited hook. The day Merlin meets Nimueh de l’Isle is a turning point in his life.
Three years have passed since Kilgharrah had taken him in and in this time, he has learned much. He has learned more history then he knew existed. His knowledge of magic and all that goes with it has expanded by bounds and leaps. He can speak passably in Druidic, Pictish, Drycræft Spræc, Hibernian the language of the inhabitants of the island to the west of Albion, and he can write and read these languages as well as having has learned so many different codes that he can barely read a book without seeing code in it.
At the moment, he and Freya are learning tumbling from a master that has arrived with a troupe a month before. Kilgharrah felt that it is time they focus on the physical side of life, so every afternoon, they take a carriage to a field outside the city where they are taught by the woman tumbler how to move.
They are learning different ways to fall when Kilgharrah arrives with a woman in an open carriage. Merlin’s first glimpse of her is upside down as he does a hand stand but even then she leaves an impression.
Her hair is a dark, lush brown that is pulled back into an intricate hairstyle, a few strands curling around her pale face. Her lips are painted a vibrant red and her eyes, when Merlin looks at them are a searing electric blue that seems to look right through him.
“Nimueh de l’Isle, may I introduce, Merlin nó Emrys, my ward. You remember Freya as well,” he gestures to the two of them.
“The Druid girl, I remember her well. A pleasure,” she says to Freya before turning to Merlin. Stepping forward, she seems to tower over him and he can’t look away or move as she reaches out. As her fingertips run under his eye, a spark seems to ignite something inside him and he feels something tugging him closer.
It isn’t until later that he learns that that feeling is his magic reacting to Nimueh’s, like reacting to like, for her magic is wild magic just like his, though of a different branch. She smiles, a twisted upturn of the corner of her mouth and it never reaches her eyes. “Kilgharrah, you have been holding out on me. To think, that you have found yourself a warlock, you sly dragon.”
“I knew you would recognize him for what he is,” Kilgharrah says aloud, preening under her words.
“I was wondering what it was you were hiding. There’s a betting pool you know, of whom exactly your warlock is and it’s grown considerably in the last month or so,” she tells him, stepping away. Merlin nearly staggers as the magical connection is broken.
Kilgharrah smirks, arching a brow, “You made a deal with me not to tell. Not unless you want Lionel to know what really happened to his country home.”
“Now, now, no need to chastise someone for making a mere statement,” she says, tapping him on the cheek in play, a small smirk playing on her lips. “You should remember me when you decide it is time for his Rites. You do wish to have your Rites, don’t you warlock?”
The Rites are a time when a child of the Court comes of age. At this time, their virgin-price is sold to the highest bidder and the money is given to the owner of their bond-price. For those with magic, this is an essential moment, for it is when they came of age that their magic settles, using their partner as an anchor to guide them through their magic. It is considered an honor to be a sorcerer’s first partner.
“I…yes, milady,” Merlin mumbles, not wanting to be captured by her gaze again, he doesn’t look up.
“Good,” she says and he can hear the laughter in her voice. She and Kilgharrah head back to the carriage and Merlin and Freya stare at one another, unsure of what to make of her appearance. With nothing to do but their lessons, they push Nimueh’s presence to the back of their minds and focus instead on their tumbling.
~*~
The land of Albion is divided into five kingdoms. Camelot lies to the west, butting up against the sea and the mountains to the north. Camelot and Escetia, Cenred’s kingdom, guard the northern portion of the kingdom against the Pict, a fierce people that take pride in fighting and wear their life stories on their skin.
To Camelot’s east and Escetia’s south lies Tintagel. The Bois line rules there and it is where Camelot’s late queen was from. Still further south is Mercia. Mercia’s current king, Bayard, is an ally of Camelot and is a longtime friend of the Pendragon king. Acestir is the last kingdom and lies far to the south, ruled over by Godwyn. Also an ally of Camelot, the kingdom flourishes with trade. With sea on two sides and many rivers, its ports teem with people.
There are two things that tie the five kingdoms together: the Moonlight Court and the Round Table Brotherhood. Both are a hard path to follow and have become less popular among the people as time passes. Except those who show signs of magic, few children are fostered to the Court willingly. The Brotherhood is a harsh discipline. A warrior’s code is followed, and children are fostered at ten. Only the oldest nobles follow the custom of sending younger sons to the Brotherhood. The knights are protectors and once assigned to a charge, they guard their charge until death.
As Kilgharrah’s finger skims over the map, information floats into being in Merlin’s mind. He has learned much over the years and can read the map with ease. “Here,” Kilgharrah says and Merlin shakes himself out of his thoughts and pays attention. “This is where there has been fighting. Cenred has sent word to Uther of the Pict war parties raiding along the mountain’s edges. He was able to drive them back, but the Pict, it seems, are becoming restless.”
Merlin remembers Freya’s report from a few nights back. She had eavesdropped on a prominent merchant that had been invited to one of Kilgharrah’s gatherings. He’d apparently had to hire more guards for his caravans that were transporting iron ore from the mountains. Even then, he’d lost part of his train and a good portion of his guards to Pict raids.
“They haven’t been this restless since the Battle of Highpass so many years ago,” Kilgharrah murmurs.
“Where you there?” Merlin asks quietly, watching his master and mentor as he stares down at the map.
“I was young warlock. That was a sad day indeed. We lost many good men, including Gorlois le Fey. I was with the reinforcements that Uther had sent, but we were too late to save him. We paid greatly for the victory. It was ten months after that that Vivienne le Fay gave birth to Morgana le Fey, the current heir. No one commented on the affair between Uther and Vivienne, but he still accepted his daughter since he had no other heirs,” Kilgharrah tells them as he sits back, taking a drag from his pipe.
“Cenred fought there as well in that battle. To this day, I wonder if he held back when he was there to save Gorlois, but I may never know. All battles hang on the smallest things as do all major events. Remember to plan for any and everything. Preparedness can make or break someone.” He releases a sigh laden with smoke.
“You think Cenred let Gorlois die on purpose? Do you think he was trying to get the Pendragons?” Merlin asks, sitting forward.
“I don’t know. At the time, Cenred was not yet married to Morgana’s half-sister. Perhaps he knew of Vivienne’s infidelity and hoped to isolate the child of her and Uther. If he plans to use Morgause’s influence over her sister, I do not know. For now, we can only watch and plan,” he says.
“But what does it have to do with the restlessness of the Pict?” Merlin asks as he finally realizes why Kilgharrah had been at the Masquerade.
“It could be nothing, or everything. One cannot see how events will play out and even the seers cannot say for sure as the future is mercurial and constantly changing with each choice we make.”
“Do you think the Pict will invade?” Freya asks as Kilgharrah stands from his chair with a groan.
He smiles down at her, “No. The passes and borders are well defended and the Pict are a chaotic group. Each clan will only follow its leader and none of the clans are able to stand above the others. We will be fine,” he says as he steps around the table for the door, “There will not be another battle like the Battle of Highpass. We have improved since then, but it is still important to plan. As I always say-,”
“A good plan will always trump a good sword,” they echo back at him and he smiles.
“Go on, you’ve earned a rest,” he says as he steps out of the room and they scramble to follow.
~*~
“Emrys isn’t Kilgharrah’s real name,” Gwaine says as they sit in the back of the tavern.
“And you know of this how?” Merlin asks with a lazy smile at his friend.
“I asked around on my network,” Gwaine explains and Merlin lifts an eyebrow. “I wanted to know more about the man who took my friend away.”
“It’s not like I left the kingdom. I’m still in the city, you know,” Merlin informs, with a flutter in his stomach. He never knew Gwaine cared so much.
“As I was saying, Emrys is not his real name.” Kilgharrah has many secrets and Merlin isn’t surprised by this. Of course, it is hard to keep a secret around Kilgharrah as well. The first time Merlin had escaped to go see Gwaine ended in interesting results.
~*~
Merlin set off through the city, the map he had drawn in his hand. He kept his hood up, not wanting people to see his eyes. Walking, he made it, finally, to the lower city, where Gwaine lived. Gwaine of course had been in the tavern near his home.
After many hugs and time spent catching up what had happened since they last spoke, they spent the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon in mischief. After stealing a bunch of grapes for old time sake and talking with Gwaine’s mother while she worked, helping her out while they talked, they had settled back in the tavern.
Apparently Gwaine had made a name of himself since Merlin had last seen him, rubbing elbows with any and everyone who came into the tavern, knowing all the best gossip. Merlin glanced up when he heard Gwaine talking with someone and saw a boy, younger than them, nodding and waving a hand towards the entrance.
“What’s the matter?” Merlin asked.
“He says there a man outside with a carriage for you. His surcoat is bronze and black with a curled dragon on it,” Gwaine told him.
“Kilgharrah,” Merlin says softly and swallows. He’s not sure how Kilgharrah will react to his friend.
“The man says to send Daren to fetch him when you are ready to leave. Who does the Dragon think he is?” Gwaine muttered, sending the boy away with a wave of his hand. Gwaine had started to acquire a following of street children that he’d turned into a network of errand runners and messengers. Merlin really wasn’t surprised to know that Kilgharrah knew of Gwaine and their friendship.
By the time Merlin returned home, Kilgharrah was waiting in his study, pipe out and a smirk on his lips. “I’m not going to punish you, young warlock. Sit,” he pointed to the chair across from him. “Dame informed me of your habitual disappearing act. I like to know things, especially about those close to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, staring down at his fidgeting hands in his lap.
“And yet you are not,” Merlin looked up confused, “I do not object to your friendship with your charming young friend. In fact I encourage it. You might well learn things there and from him that you can’t here. I also do not mind the escaping, but the city is a dangerous place for a child. I will not let you wander it alone. When you have free time and wish to visit your friend, you will inform Will,” Kilgharrah informed him sternly.
Will was Kilgharrah’s man through and through. Merlin didn’t know his story, but the quiet man always hovered around the edge of life in the Emrys household, a silent guardian to all their secrets.
“That’s all?” He nodded. “He’ll follow me or have me followed,” Merlin said.
“I know, but please, try and lose them. If you can, I applaud your skill and will know you can take care of yourself. But you will still inform him when you leave these grounds, is that understood?”
“And if I don’t?” Merlin asked.
“I am not one to play games with you, young warlock. You may be equal to me in this house, but you will show me the respect that I deserve and if that is too much for you, I will sell your Mearcung.” His voice seemed to rumble like thunder through the silent room. Merlin nodded shakily. “Good, you may go.”
Merlin had left with a healthy dose of humility and the knowledge that Will would be watching over him from then on.
~*~
“So what is his real name then?” Merlin asks.
“That I don’t know,” Gwaine admits. “But I did find out something else. I know why Uther almost banished him.
Merlin’s ears perk up at this and he sits forward. “Why?” he breathes more than says.
“Do you know how the Queen died?” Gwaine asks with his voice lowered as he scoots closer to Merlin.
“Yes, she died in child birth, with her son Arthur.” It had happened a year before Merlin was born, but Merlin had learned much about history and the events that surround that event. When he had read that, he had mourned for the king. To lose both his wife and son on the same day must have struck a blow.
“Well apparently, the queen was barren and could not conceive. They had asked Kilgharrah to help them get a child, an heir. Kilgharrah agreed and succeeded, but after the queen and the prince died, Uther blamed Kilgharrah. Apparently, the guards had to restrain the king from killing him that day and afterwards, he was nearly banished from the kingdom.”
“Is he an enemy of the crown?” Merlin asks, wide-eyed.
“No, if he were, he would have been banished or even executed. He is still welcome at the Court. Someone with influence protected your master, that’s for sure.”
“How did you learn of this?” Merlin asks.
“One of my boys has a friend who is a stable boy in the castle. He overheard one of the nobles speaking.” He grins at this. “I will try to find out for you, Kilgharrah’s real name.”
“You will rue the day you get your answers,” someone says behind them, but when they turn no one is there. Merlin shivers, eyeing Gwaine. The other boy shrugs and they go back to their drinks. The words though would not leave his mind.
~*~
Merlin’s fourteenth birthday has passed when Kilgharrah summons him to his study. For once, he is not smoking his pipe, the pipe resting on its side by his elbow. His face is calm as he motions Merlin to not the chair opposite him, but the one next to him.
Wondering what Kilgharrah could want, he sits and waits. Kilgharrah stares back, his eyes seeming to glow slightly in the dim lighting of the study. Finally, he seems to stir as if from sleep, a statue coming to life before his eyes.
“I have something to ask and I will have you answer truthfully,” Kilgharrah says and Merlin nods. “Is it your wish to take your Rites as a member of the Court?”
Merlin blinks, not having expected this. He has come of age to start studying for his Rites. Normally, he would have started the year before if he had still lived in the Court and would have studied and trained in both the art of magic and pleasure for the next four years. He had figured Kilgharrah wouldn’t have wanted this, seeing it as a drain in his other studies.
“If that is -,” Merlin starts.
“No.” Merlin stops, his teeth clicking as he shuts his mouth. “This is not about what I want. Tell me truly, is this what you want? You may refuse if you wish.”
Merlin stares back, taking in the seriousness of Kilgharrah’s answer and the tension that he hides as he waits for Merlin to answer. Pulling a breath through his nose, Merlin releases it slowly and nods. “It is.”
Kilgharrah nods, some of the tension leaving his frame and the lines around his eyes seem to soften just a little. “Good. We will get an appropriate offering and travel to the shrine so you may pledge your magic to the Old Religion,” Kilgharrah says, giving his shoulder a squeeze, Kilgharrah stands and leaves, taking his pipe with him.
Freya is in his room when he slips in. When Merlin tells her his decision, she smiles gently and gives him a hug. “I’m glad. That means we can study together,” she tells him. Although not of the Court, she had pledged herself to taking the Rites earlier that year. She had told him that had she still been amongst the Druids, she would have had to do something similar.
“I am too,” Merlin whispers and hugs her back, placing a small kiss to her cheek that just makes her smile even more.
She grabs his hand and tugs him from the room and down the stairs where Kilgharrah is waiting for them. The carriage takes them to a nearby market where they select a few pieces of fruit, a fresh loaf of bread, and a couple honey cakes from the stalls there.
The ride out of the city is quiet, the open top allowing them a view of the trees as the forest swallows them up. Eventually, the carriage comes to a stop in a cleared out glade in the forest. A small stream runs along one side and on the other side are stairs carved out of the small mountain, slabs of stone acting as walls and forcing them in single file as they climb.
A few minutes later they reach the top, and the ground flattens out. Trees grow around them, hiding the shrine from those below, but leaving the sky open above. A lone bird soars high above, flying on the thermals.
On the other side of the flattened hilltop is the shrine itself. It’s a small thing, just a slap of stone with a small indention in its center to place offerings. A bell hangs behind it; a braided cord of flax connects to its tongue.
Walking over to the shrine, Kilgharrah reaches out and rings the bell once, the chime suddenly loud in the stillness of the shrine. As the last echoes fade, a priestess steps out of what seems to be nowhere, her face serene as she looks at them.
She is wearing a simple dress of woven wool; the material dyed a dark brown. She has pale blonde hair that falls around her shoulders in waves and braids, a few feathers and leaves woven into it, peeking out from under strands.
“Welcome,” she murmurs, bowing her head slightly.
“One among us wishes to pledge themselves to the preservation of the balance,” Kilgharrah says, his voice low.
“Then let them step forward of their own volition and pledge themself.” Merlin takes a breath and steps forward. She smiles at him. “Welcome, brother. It is your wish to pledge yourself to the balance?”
“It is,” Merlin says.
“Then place your offering on the altar.” Merlin steps forward, holding the bag that carries their offering. He gently places the items in the dip. She walks to his side and stands there, a hand on his shoulder. “Do you promise to uphold the balance, to work in protecting it?”
“I do.”
“Then welcome, brother. May the balance always watch over you,” she says and reaches forward to ring the bell. It peals loudly and something inside him seems to at last slip into place. Some missing piece falls into its position and Merlin feels his magic suffuse him, filling his veins.
As the glow seems to fade, he shakes himself, bringing himself back to reality. The priestess has gone and Kilgharrah and Freya are watching him closely. Turning from the shrine, he walks back over to them. Freya just hugs him again and they descend the stairs again without speaking.
The ride back to the city is filled with inane talk of upcoming events and celebrations. Merlin talks, but inside, he can still feel the subtle pulse of his magic, as if for the first time it has been fully awake. The whole ride, he can’t keep the small smile off of his face.
~*~
When Merlin asks later what it was he had felt, Kilgharrah motions to couch in the courtyard. “Young warlock, you are a creature of magic. As such, you have a connection to nature as well as the balance. Since you were born, a part of you has been cut off from these links, if only partially. When you dedicated yourself to the balance, you removed these blocks and opened these links and in sense your magic as well. This was one reason why you had so much trouble with spells. Without full accesses to you magic, you could not fully do magic.”
“Oh,” Merlin says, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders. He’d always wondered if there was something wrong with him when his magic wouldn’t work like it was supposed to.
“The balance is not fickle or cruel. It has its reasons for what it does and only waits for the right moments to act to create the best possible outcome. Always remember, patience is not a weakness. Sometimes the act of waiting is in itself a better option than action. Remember that, young warlock.”
“I will,” Merlin says, nodding.
Kilgharrah has held off on teaching Freya until he had been sure Merlin wanted to do his Rites. Now, he begins in earnest. Later that week, he announces over breakfast the first step in their learning. “I have talked with Dame Alexandra Fors,” here he looks at Merlin, “and she has agreed to arrange a Viewing. Her words precisely were ‘I will not allow one of my charges go uninitiated into the arts of homage to the Balance.’”
Kilgharrah is smirking at this and Merlin looks down to hide the small smile on his lips. He can see the expression on Dame’s face as she spoke those words and though he still hasn’t forgiven her in her role of his ignorance, he still loves her for her willingness to raise him despite the stigma that lay over him.
That afternoon, they ride over to the Court where Damas is waiting for them. He nods to Kilgharrah and looking at Merlin and Freya, gives a smile. The moment they step into the Court proper, Merlin is assaulted by a warm body flinging itself at him.
He can’t help but grin, hugging Gwen back as she tries to squeeze the breath from his lungs. Pulling back, he looks at her. She has grown as well and is starting to fill out. He can feel the subtle curves emerging on her where she is pressed up against him and she is even lovelier than he can remember.
Freya looks at him and he smiles at her. Pulling out of Gwen’s hold, he motions to Freya. “Gwen, this is Freya nó Emrys and that is Kilgharrah nó Emrys. This is Guinevere Bran or Gwen for short.” Kilgharrah just nods, but Freya hugs her, smiling.
Merlin looks up at Kilgharrah where he is standing next to Damas. “Go on, there is still some time before the Viewing is to start,” Damas says with a laugh and Gwen grabs both of their hands and tows them away further into the Court.
They’re in Gwen’s room, which she shares with Anna. Merlin and Gwen exchange stories of what has happened since Merlin left. They fade off into silence when all has been aired and finally, Freya talks. “How did you become a member of the Court?” she asks Gwen.
“My mother died soon after having me. Afterwards, my father came to the Court to talk with Dame. He realized that if something happened to him, my brother and I would have no one. He asked that I be allowed to become a member of the Court at ten and that should something happen to him before that day, that they take me in. Dame agreed and signed a contract for me. He did the same with the Round Table Brotherhood for my brother, Elyan. He died when I was four and Elyan was eight helping someone out of a burning building and it collapsed on him before he could get out. I came here and Elyan went to the knights. We see each other twice a year.”
They’re quiet as Gwen finishes her short tale. “I’m sorry,” Freya says and hugs Gwen around her shoulders. After a few minutes, they get up to go find Kilgharrah and Damas.
The room they are shown to is set aside just for the Viewings. Only members of the Court or those pledged to take their Rites are allowed to see a Viewing. Kilgharrah leaves them at the door and they walk down the three shallow steps into the room proper.
They aren’t the only ones there. A few who have come of age are there as well as some of the older members. Damas is seated in the back, keeping a watchful eye over everyone.
The seats circle a low stage, cushions placed for them to sit and be comfortable. Thin, gauze curtains obscure their view of the stage, candles placed around the room to allow dim light. As they settle onto their own cushions, the door closes, cutting off any light from outside and the candle light seems to dim until they’re sitting in semidarkness.
The room goes silent as a tapestry over the stage is pulled back and two people step out from a hidden door, the curtains pulling back one at a time until their view is clear. They only wear silken robes; the sashes tied loosely and the robes hang open slightly. The woman is dark, darker than Gwen’s own tanned skin, the low light adding a touch of warmth to her dark skin tone. Her hair falls in ebony waves down her back, her eyes a dark ocher that shines out from under dark lashes and kohled eyes.
The man is lighter, his skin the color of sun touched flesh, muscle rippling underneath. His hair, a dark russet, is pulled back in a small tail at the base of his head and limpid blue eyes peek out from under pale lashes.
Merlin, seated between Freya and Gwen, watches transfixed. As a child of the Court, he had grown up around this, had learned like the rest of the children that are bound to the Court. But he had never seen anything like this. It is hard for one to truly understand what is read in a book until one sees and experiences it for themselves.
And it is a sight to behold. With each touch and caress the two lovers share between each other, it feels like more and more magic is being drawn into the room. For a second, he thinks he can almost see the dart of magic between their skins where they touch, like static on a dry day.
By now Freya and Gwen are pressed against his side, holding his hands, both held in thrall by the spell that is being woven like a dance between the two lovers. They may not be sorcerers, but you do not need to be in order to offer homage to the balance. The act of a joining is always a magical occurrence, whether those involved know it or not.
As Merlin watches the man holds the woman gently, like she is something fragile, and precious. He presses into her, and something inside Merlin uncurls warmth that spreads through his body and stains his cheeks pink. But Merlin doesn’t look away, even as she arches with a soft gasp, hands clutching at his back. The man stills and groans and the magic seems to swell impossibly before it comes to a head in a burst of power before it dissipates.
Merlin’s panting by the end, more from the wash of magic than from what he just saw. His own magic churns, drawn to the magic that was just released and he has to concentrate to keep it from spilling out to mingle in the room.
Gwen and Freya steer him from the room. “That was…” He’s unsure of what to say or how to describe the sensation or the images. The two girls just nod; their own faces a little pink as well. Kilgharrah is waiting as they step out into the sunshine of early afternoon. It seems like ages passed in there but it has only been near an hour.
They stay for the noon meal, the fair simple but delicious. As they’re about to leave, Gwen hugs the two of them. “Can I visit?” she asks.
“Of course,” Freya says, Merlin nodding eagerly. “Send a message ahead and we’ll meet up in the city somewhere. Maybe when your brother is here to visit?” Freya says, remembering the bit about Gwen’s brother.
“Oh, that would be wonderful.” She hugs them one last time before letting go reluctantly. Waving one last time, the two step out of the Court where their carriage is waiting for them.
~*~
Soon after, Kilgharrah gets to work on their education in the arts of pleasure. Merlin is in the store room just off the courtyard when Kilgharrah meets with their chosen instructor. He can’t see her from his spot without giving himself away, but he can hear every word and rustle of clothing.
Kilgharrah has been teaching them to listen and gather information, so he will, even if it is against the man himself. His master and mentor is a mystery, one that he wants to solve. But Kilgharrah is tight lipped and evasive in his answers, often distracting them with riddles and words of “fate” and “destiny.”
Still, the moment he hears their tutor’s voice, he knows he will like her. Her voice is soft, each word spoken with care and reverence, as if each word is a precious jewel leaving her mouth. A breeze flows through the room and he can smell a hint of her perfume, the scent subtle and light.
He only knows her name, Kilgharrah having informed them the day before. Alice Verdant-Beau is a woman well into her fifties, but though her face is lined, her magic is still strong. Merlin has heard of her.
A natural healer in her own right, she had served in the Fire Branch of the Moonlight Court for many years, making quite a name for herself before she had finished her Mearcung and gotten her freedom. Soon after, she had opened up her own healing shop, helping people through both magic and natural herbal remedies. It was there she had met Gaius Beau, Royal Physician to Uther de la Pendragon and his family.
The two had married and though she had closed up shop to help her husband, she still saw to people who asked for her. And it appeared Kilgharrah calls on her now, though not as a healer. After the usual pleasantries and talk of health other such small talk, Kilgharrah makes his request to Alice.
“Are you sure you ask the right person, my dear? I am retired, have been for many years now from that life, though I still take offerings to the temple on the great holidays.” Merlin heard a click as she set her goblet down on a table.
“You took an oath, Alice. Besides, it is not your physical knowledge I seek, but your learned knowledge. There are many things I cannot teach them. There are books, Hyldu to se Frod Æfæstness, Geornful Drycræft and I’m sure you know the rest.”
“Should I also teach the boy of Draca Hygebend?” she asks softly, her voice like the sharpest steel.
“No!” Kilgharrah’s voice rumbles out like a rock fall, as if it rises from the very earth itself. “We both know that that knowledge is forbidden as well as being lost years ago. You know this.”
“I do, but what I wish to know is, what is it you plan, my dear? I will not be lied to in this, not with two children and who knows how many others on the line in your games.” Merlin hears the couch creak and knows Kilgharrah has stood to pace. Smoke wafts through the window, evidence that he has taken up his pipe.
“You are an ex-member of the Court and a healer, I’m sure you have this memorized,” Kilgharrah says lightly, a small smirk in his voice.
“You know what I ask?” Alice says, not rising to the bait.
Kilgharrah sighs and the couch creaks again as he sits down once more. “That is the question though: why? There are so many questions and so few answers, but this I can answer. There are places I cannot reach, people out of my range, though it was not always so. So many places in the five kingdoms were barred to me that day, but…,” he pauses to take a sip of his drink, the goblet makes a small noise on the wood of the table as it is set back down. “But, I know what they desire, what it is that fuels their passions and loosens their tongues. With this, I can finally reach them.”
“I have long known this side of you, my dear, but still you evade my question. Why do you do this?”
“You already know why,” he whispers and for the first time, Merlin hears regret in his master’s voice.
“You still blame yourself. Well, you always did hold yourself to high standards and the fact that you still keep this promise is no surprise to me. I will teach them what I can, but swear to me that both of your wards have given their consent when they dedicated themselves to this path.”
“Upon Draca Hygebend,” Kilgharrah whispers.
“And you talk about me speaking of forbidden things,” she says though her voice is fond now.
“What is the extent of their knowledge?” she asks.
“Enough to get by, but not enough to get them killed,” he tells her.
Alice sighs softly. “Ygraine de la Pendragon is dead, these many years, my dear. Do you honestly think she hasn’t forgiven you?” Alice asks.
“There are still amends to be made,” Kilgharrah answers and she just hums in acceptance.
“I do have news though. Duc d’Alene’s wound became infected, despite Gaius’s best efforts. He died yesterday. His son Valiant will become Duc d’Alene within the week. He has already petitioned Uther for reinforcements up north.”
“I’m sure he has need of them, with the north becoming so unpredictable.” There’s a clink as their goblets are filled again.
“Yet he still made time to visit Nimueh de l’Isle while she was visiting the Escetian court. And Prince Dillon seems to have become attached to Nimueh. No one can tell if Morgause de la Escetia is displeased or not.”
“Nimueh likes to collect hearts; she has a large collection, all broken of course. Uriens has said he will pass word to Cenred in hopes that his cousin can put some sort of leash on his son,” Kilgharrah says with a dismissive tone.
“Do not underestimate Morgause or Nimueh for that matter. Events in history have been changed by the hand of women as well as men and sometimes I think you forget that. Good day my dear. I shall return on the morrow to begin their instruction into the arts.” Merlin hears them both stand, their footsteps fading into the distance as Kilgharrah escorts Alice out.
Wiggling out of his hiding place, Merlin races on silent feet up the stairs to where Freya is laying on her stomach on her bed, reading. Putting their heads together, he tells her everything he has just overheard. Although they parse it every which way they can, some things are still left in the dark to them. Kilgharrah comes to the door to tell them of Alice’s acceptance and that they should expect her in the morning.
~*~
When Merlin finally sees Alice, it isn’t what he has been expecting. She is a small woman, her skin lined with age, but underneath it, he can see the beauty she had been when she had been younger. Her hair is a pale brown that is slowly fading into grey and is pulled back into a braid down her back. Her eyes are a kind blue that seem to always be smiling. She wears a simple dress that is made of fine cloth; a ring of gold adorns her finger.
She doesn’t hesitate to put them to work and soon both Merlin and Freya are ensconced in the study, reading from a book they have not read before. Merlin reads the words on the paper and understands with ease. He was raised to this and though his education is selective, he at least knows the basics, the rest he learned from listening in to the kitchen gossip.
Freya, on the other hand, seems amazed, absorbing each word with a relish. Merlin never realized how innocent she was until now, how much she lacks from this area of knowledge. It seems to lessen the gap still between them. Smiling, he helps her understand and together they work through the pages.
But though they take in the knowledge, they do not practice it. Although Kilgharrah has not told them not to, they can read what is not said. Still, it makes Merlin wonder how they are to become good at it, if they can’t practice.
Alice seems to read his thoughts though. “You wonder why Kilgharrah does not want you to practice?” she asks as they sit outside sipping tea.
“I just…I can feel it in me, my magic, wanting out and it makes me itch and I want to scratch but I can’t. Sometimes at night, I feel like I’ll explode from all the magic inside,” Merlin admits.
“Unfortunately, all sorcerers feel this, though you more than most. There is a reason why Kilgharrah does not wish you to practice though. The act of homage is a spell, though there are no words. With those whose powers have yet to fully awaken, sometimes, when they try, their magic gets out of control and things happen. It can be dangerous and he only wishes to protect you two from yourselves,” Alice says, setting a gentle hand on his arm.
“I just wish I would stop itching,” Merlin says and draws a laugh from Alice.
“Don’t we all.”
~*~
Two years go by like this, the two learning and studying and gathering information. Merlin goes through a growth spurt in this time and now stands taller than both Freya and Alice and is almost as tall as Kilgharrah and Will. Slowly he fills out, no longer the skinny child with too big ears. Freya has also grown taller, filling out, curves rounding even more and leaving a beautiful young woman where there had only been a young girl. Her hair reaches down to her waist now, kept in line by ribbon and braiding.
They aren’t the only ones. Gwaine has grown, growing broader in his shoulders and chest. His hair is still long and a scruff has started to grow along his jaw, giving him a roguish look that has women and men alike taking notice.
He meets up with Gwen and she has grown as well, her hair almost as long as Freya’s and her body filled out. Soon she will start working towards her Mearcung and her freedom. He also meets her brother Elyan once. He is darker than Gwen, his head shaved close to the skin. His eyes are a dark brown and his full lips are prone to giving smiles. He is heavily built from years of training as a knight and the crisp black of his tunic shows the crest of the Round Table Brotherhood: a pair of crossed swords over a shield with the image of a flowering tree. A scroll underneath is has small letters sewn on it: Lifwraþu, protection of life.
They are seated at a small table soon after her brother’s departure back to his lodgings. Gwen seems sad, but she still smiles at Gwaine’s jokes. He had introduced the two of them earlier and his two friends seemed to get on well.
They are sitting quietly when someone yells out, “Oy, boy.”
They look up to see some drunken idiot, a lordling trying to be adventurous by coming to this part of the city. He swaggers up, swaying with his drink, a cocksure grin on his face. “How much for your friend here?” he asks Gwaine and doesn’t indicate which of them he means. He chucks a purse onto the table. Merlin feels a spark run through his body and his magic tingles at his fingertips. He has been feeling its press more and more lately. How easy it would be, to just slip away with some random stranger, to let this be done with and be free of this itch that seems to suffuse his body.
Gwaine’s face is thunderous and he’s about to stand when a quiet voice says behind the lordling, “There is no one for hire here, my good man. Best take your money and spend it somewhere more…accommodating.” The man swallows, quickly sobering up now with a knife pressed low on his throat. Merlin wonders when Will had arrived let alone how he had known what the man was asking.
The man scurries away, swiping up his purse. He and his friends leave the bar, sending looks their way as they stumble out of the building. Will watches them until they are gone before turning back. “It is time to go.” He has the look of seriousness about him, so Merlin doesn’t argue. Giving Gwaine a hug and Gwen a hug and kiss on the cheek, he follows Will out, pulling the hood of his cloak up.
The carriage ride home is quiet. Will is watching him quietly, eyes unreadable. “It is not always for us to choose,” Will says. Merlin starts, looking up at the man. He is plain looking, short brown hair, brown eyes, and square face. He has frown lines around his mouth and his eyes see the world from a different perspective.
“I was fourteen when my father was killed protecting his charge. He was a knight and he died for a noble who then turned his back on me and my mother when we had nothing left. For years I hated all nobility. Eventually, my anger and restlessness led me to the city and I fell into a bad crowd. I gambled and drank and racked up a debt to a man who used my skills that I learned from my father and my brief start amongst the brother’s before I quit. I have done many things that I will regret for the rest of my life. Then one day, he comes to me with a job to assassinate a noble.”
Merlin’s heart beats harder. “Kilgharrah?”
Will goes on as if Merlin hasn’t spoken, “Something inside me rejoiced, to be able to take out my hatred on a noble. I waited for their carriage to stop and attacked. I was disarmed and waiting for the death blow when he spoke, ‘You fight for the wrong reason, my boy. Whatever has happened to harden your heart so, you will not find relief from the pain on this path.’ Something seemed to let go then and I realized my grave mistake.”
The carriage is silent as Merlin waits for Will to continue. Outside, night has fallen and there are only a few out. The sound of the horse’s shoed feet is loud in the quiet. Finally, Will continues, “Milord Emrys saved me that day and took me in when few would have. I owe him a great debt, as do you and while yours may one day be paid in full, mine will not be until my death. Do not betray his trust in you.”
Merlin shivers at his words. It had only been a thought, but sometimes even thoughts were enough. It seems Kilgharrah collected more than just favors, if his influence was even able to sway the heart of one bent on mindless revenge.
“Who was it that wished Kilgharrah dead?” Merlin asks softly watching Will.
Although it is too dark to see, he can feel Will’s gaze on him. “Agravaine de la Bois, brother to Ygraine de la Pendragon.”
~*~
Merlin never forgets Will’s words, though the man never speaks again of his life or how he came to serve under the wing of Kilgharrah nó Emrys. But as ever, life goes on. With the enigma of the queen’s death, her brother, and Kilgharrah to puzzle over at night and in spare hours and with studies during the day, neither Merlin nor Freya have much time to themselves.
It is just after winter has yielded its grip on the land to spring that news of a major victory against the Pict makes its way into Camelot and the Emrys household. It is a few weeks before Freya’s seventeenth birthday and it fills the kingdom with a need to celebrate.
With the combined forces from Camelot and Escetia, led by the Duc d’Alene and Dillon de la Escetia, the brash prince, they drove the invading clans back into their mountain holes. It seems Prince Dillon has made a name of himself out on the cold northern border and has acquired quite a following. They call themselves Dillon’s Men and ride alongside him into battle.
Uther orders the men to keep defending the border, calling only a few back to parade the victorious warriors though the city. All except two are surprised by the king’s order to include the Escetian prince, but Kilgharrah and Nimueh always seem to have a knack for knowing things before everyone else.
With the upcoming procession through the city, it seems almost fate that it happens on the day of Freya’s birthday and her coming of age. With her first homage to the old religion, she would come into her magic. Alice, wanting it to be special, opens up her home to them, planning an event for her.
~*~
Part 2b