Every story, new or ancient / Bagatelle or work of art [ Narrative ]
Characters: The greatest wizard to have lived and his equally famous counterpart
Time: A very long time ago
Location: A grotto
Content: A gift for the king
Warnings: None
The torch in her hand flickered hotly, tiny amber-flecked embers falling to the cold mossy floor beneath her slippers. The faint but numerous echoes of water dripped somewhere further down through the cold blue-gray mists of the hallway. She knew her way along the path in the bowels of the castle - it was an old pathway that she used to run along when she first came to this place of intrigue and magic. Many people had used these corridors as shortcuts, but she knew this particular path led to somewhere more special and less visited.
Just ahead, unnatural silver and gold like danced on the walls, alerting her to his presence. Gathering a fistful of her skirt, she turned the last curve of the damp corridor and spotted her destination at last - the sound of rushing water had been muted by the strange acoustics of the hallway, but it looked as if it went no farther than the waterfall that cut off the path. The water cascaded down into a two-foot wide groove that cut and disappeared into the wall - to the untrained eye, it looked as if this were nothing more than a dead end.
Not for her. The same silver and gold brightly lit trickled through the water like sand.
“Incantare.” The muted roar of water abruptly ceased, the silence nearly startling. She jumped across groove into a small grotto, previously hidden by the waterfall. Pale moonlight filtered down from the gaps in the stony ceiling, falling on the cowled head of someone in the middle of the room wielding a powerful, richly-welded broadsword. She gave him a terrible smile, gesturing at him with her torch as embers drifted to the ground.
“That is my brother’s present, Merlin.”
The man reached up with one hand to lower his hood, revealing a face with a sardonic smile she knew all too well. Blue eyes narrowed at her before glancing down to the sword in his hand. “This is an angelic weapon - how did you obtain it?”
She shrugged gracefully before walking to a small boulder and perching on it with only slightly exaggerated aplomb. “That’s a secret.” She leaned forward slightly, giving him a conspiratorial smile. “If you would like, I can place it in some deserted boulder somewhere and have him find it as such. Perhaps I could even enchant the silly rock so that only he can pull it out - imagine the fame and the gossip.”
Merlin looked exasperated, but his tone was firm. “I doubt Arthur will need another sword.”
She frowned at him. “Do you really doubt it or are you just saying so? The trouble with you fortune-tellers is that it is terribly difficult to understand when you are being facetious.”
“I do take pride in my ability to confound you on a daily basis, dearest.”
“I find more annoyance in that than you could possibly imagine.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He sheathed the sword, the glimmer of the blade disappearing into the black leather scabbard. “When, pray tell, do you plan on giving this to His Highness?”
She cupped her chin in her hands, dark green eyes glittering with something akin to mischief and black secrets. “I am sure I will find an appropriate occasion.”
“Morgana-” There was a tremor of warning in his voice which she easily dismissed with a wave of her hand.
“My beloved wizard, I worry that sometimes you trust me far less than what I deserve,” she said, cherubic face somewhat marred by that frigid accusation.
Merlin sighed. “You meddle in the black magicks, Morgana.”
“One of us shall be Arthur’s winged Gabriel and the other his dark Lilith - it is an equal balance.” She raised one lovely, dark brow. “I do recall a fellow pupil of the arts telling me - on more than one occasion, might I add! - that balance is the key to the universe. Are you retracting your words now?” Her smile became playful, teasing. “Or is that jealousy I detect?”
Arthur’s advisor and Camelot’s archmage took the jibe at face value, walking over to her to hand over the concealed sword. His expression was impossible to read, but his eyes appeared troubled by something he would never say aloud. He was very silent as the sword passed between them and only when the tiny young woman rose to leave did he say, “I admit that I worry about your chosen paths often.”
She laughed, the sound clearer than pure moonlight that floated down onto their heads. “Charming words you have.” Leaning forward, she kissed him lightly - a touch too long to be that of casual friendship and too short to be of something more. “But what are these games we play if nothing but mystery and things that are inevitable? I understand what I want from my lessons and my life - you cannot be my teacher forever.”
Merlin raised his hand to her face, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “I care not to be.”
Morgana only smiled again, slipping from his grasp with a dignified curtsy and walking back to the hidden doorway. Glancing back over her shoulder, she called to him, “I believe you are the greatest mage who will ever live, my dear. I am only a contemporary of yours - how can I be more than a student unless I become your rival?”
She disappeared back through the narrow entrance and soon, the water continued its steady cascade to parts unknown, far beneath the sprawling walls of Camelot. Merlin’s gaze at the silvery-blue curtain of water that barred his pathway was remote, his lips pressed into a thin and thoughtful line. There were words unspoken that he would never be able to utter, not until it was far too late. A curse and a blessing, for he could plan even if could not act.
“You speak far more truth than you know,” he murmured.
And it was not a man, but a large, solemn-eyed owl that emerged from the roof of the grotto and flew off into the quiet, blue-lit night.
Time: A very long time ago
Location: A grotto
Content: A gift for the king
Warnings: None
The torch in her hand flickered hotly, tiny amber-flecked embers falling to the cold mossy floor beneath her slippers. The faint but numerous echoes of water dripped somewhere further down through the cold blue-gray mists of the hallway. She knew her way along the path in the bowels of the castle - it was an old pathway that she used to run along when she first came to this place of intrigue and magic. Many people had used these corridors as shortcuts, but she knew this particular path led to somewhere more special and less visited.
Just ahead, unnatural silver and gold like danced on the walls, alerting her to his presence. Gathering a fistful of her skirt, she turned the last curve of the damp corridor and spotted her destination at last - the sound of rushing water had been muted by the strange acoustics of the hallway, but it looked as if it went no farther than the waterfall that cut off the path. The water cascaded down into a two-foot wide groove that cut and disappeared into the wall - to the untrained eye, it looked as if this were nothing more than a dead end.
Not for her. The same silver and gold brightly lit trickled through the water like sand.
“Incantare.” The muted roar of water abruptly ceased, the silence nearly startling. She jumped across groove into a small grotto, previously hidden by the waterfall. Pale moonlight filtered down from the gaps in the stony ceiling, falling on the cowled head of someone in the middle of the room wielding a powerful, richly-welded broadsword. She gave him a terrible smile, gesturing at him with her torch as embers drifted to the ground.
“That is my brother’s present, Merlin.”
The man reached up with one hand to lower his hood, revealing a face with a sardonic smile she knew all too well. Blue eyes narrowed at her before glancing down to the sword in his hand. “This is an angelic weapon - how did you obtain it?”
She shrugged gracefully before walking to a small boulder and perching on it with only slightly exaggerated aplomb. “That’s a secret.” She leaned forward slightly, giving him a conspiratorial smile. “If you would like, I can place it in some deserted boulder somewhere and have him find it as such. Perhaps I could even enchant the silly rock so that only he can pull it out - imagine the fame and the gossip.”
Merlin looked exasperated, but his tone was firm. “I doubt Arthur will need another sword.”
She frowned at him. “Do you really doubt it or are you just saying so? The trouble with you fortune-tellers is that it is terribly difficult to understand when you are being facetious.”
“I do take pride in my ability to confound you on a daily basis, dearest.”
“I find more annoyance in that than you could possibly imagine.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He sheathed the sword, the glimmer of the blade disappearing into the black leather scabbard. “When, pray tell, do you plan on giving this to His Highness?”
She cupped her chin in her hands, dark green eyes glittering with something akin to mischief and black secrets. “I am sure I will find an appropriate occasion.”
“Morgana-” There was a tremor of warning in his voice which she easily dismissed with a wave of her hand.
“My beloved wizard, I worry that sometimes you trust me far less than what I deserve,” she said, cherubic face somewhat marred by that frigid accusation.
Merlin sighed. “You meddle in the black magicks, Morgana.”
“One of us shall be Arthur’s winged Gabriel and the other his dark Lilith - it is an equal balance.” She raised one lovely, dark brow. “I do recall a fellow pupil of the arts telling me - on more than one occasion, might I add! - that balance is the key to the universe. Are you retracting your words now?” Her smile became playful, teasing. “Or is that jealousy I detect?”
Arthur’s advisor and Camelot’s archmage took the jibe at face value, walking over to her to hand over the concealed sword. His expression was impossible to read, but his eyes appeared troubled by something he would never say aloud. He was very silent as the sword passed between them and only when the tiny young woman rose to leave did he say, “I admit that I worry about your chosen paths often.”
She laughed, the sound clearer than pure moonlight that floated down onto their heads. “Charming words you have.” Leaning forward, she kissed him lightly - a touch too long to be that of casual friendship and too short to be of something more. “But what are these games we play if nothing but mystery and things that are inevitable? I understand what I want from my lessons and my life - you cannot be my teacher forever.”
Merlin raised his hand to her face, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “I care not to be.”
Morgana only smiled again, slipping from his grasp with a dignified curtsy and walking back to the hidden doorway. Glancing back over her shoulder, she called to him, “I believe you are the greatest mage who will ever live, my dear. I am only a contemporary of yours - how can I be more than a student unless I become your rival?”
She disappeared back through the narrow entrance and soon, the water continued its steady cascade to parts unknown, far beneath the sprawling walls of Camelot. Merlin’s gaze at the silvery-blue curtain of water that barred his pathway was remote, his lips pressed into a thin and thoughtful line. There were words unspoken that he would never be able to utter, not until it was far too late. A curse and a blessing, for he could plan even if could not act.
“You speak far more truth than you know,” he murmured.
And it was not a man, but a large, solemn-eyed owl that emerged from the roof of the grotto and flew off into the quiet, blue-lit night.