Merlin hadn’t slept in three nights, plagued by the thoughts and worries that concerned him, almost constantly now. Thoughts of Morgana’s warnings, and her thinly veiled threats. He had had conversations with Arthur about magic, but he could tell the king what to do, what actions to take. Still, he knew Arthur must make some sort of an acknowledgement of magic, for there was a power growing now, in the South. Merlin could feel it in his bones; it filled those few hours of rest he did get. Those being of magic, hidden in plain sight for so long, were banding together, prepared to assault Camelot, to take back what they believed to be theirs. There would be a war soon, Merlin was sure of it.
He tried to warn Arthur, tried to drop hints about a public acceptance of magic, but Arthur was wary – he didn’t want to appear weak, this would leave him prone to other attacks, and he was reluctant to turn his back on his father’s firmly held beliefs, so soon after Uther’s death.
When it happened, it happened quietly, with little publicity. The execution dates of those held for sorcery in the palace gaols were postponed indefinitely; a boy in the lower city, accused of using sorcery to create balls of light was pardoned; druids, slipping into the town for supplies were ignored. He still executed a man plotting to use sorcery to acquire goods that were not his, and so the mutterings spread, that Arthur accepted sorcery, when it did no harm to him. Slowly, but surely, it became known that magic was accepted in Camelot once more.
But that did nothing to halt to steadily growing magical force, assembling in the south. Merlin knew its leader; he would know the feel of her magic until the day he died. And that was why he set out to raise Excaliber from her watery tomb.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Merlin’s departure from the castle occurred nearly two months after Morgana’s and it left two of the castle’s younger inhabitants without their closest friends. Arthur and Gwen, or Guinevere, as he always insisted on calling her, were unlikely companions, he being of the royal house of Pendragon, and she, merely a serving girl, the daughter of a blacksmith, but they became companions nonetheless.
In lieu of her job as Morgana’s maidservant, Arthur had given Gwen the job of royal seamstress, allowing her to fill her days with a task she loved, and, when he had found his afternoons full of tedious paperwork, and no one to talk to, he had taken to calling her in to sit with him.
Initially, there conversations had been difficult, stilted, since she was unsure of how much she was permitted to say, but, over time, they grew. He found that she had a strong and steady mind, and as her shyness passed, she wasn’t afraid to speak against him. Their conversations deepened and became more friendly, until the point when Arthur was bouncing almost every single thought against her first. As spring turned into summer, they even began talking walks in the castle ground together, and gossip quickly spread.
…The King and a serving wench, they say…
…I’d do her, she’s fair pretty, not bad for a mistress…
…She’s got the King’s ear too, reckon he’d do anything if she suggested it…
…Whole court’s up in arms, can’t believe he’s carrying it on so openly…
…In my day servants were just for tumbling, never trust a word that comes out of their mouths mind…
The gossip in the Servants’ Hall infuriated Gwen, but she never passed it along to Arthur. She let their resentment grow in her heart, wishing only that they understood her relationship with Arthur. They were friends, not lovers. Not that she didn’t wish, sometimes, when she was alone, late at night, or dreaming, that it could be something more. But this sordid obsession everyone else seemed to have, with the idea that she was sleeping with their King, it embarrassed her, and slightly scared her.
Still, he was the only person in the castle she felt she could speak to openly now. If only Merlin was here…
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Merlin had been gone for three months. His first task, of raising Excaliber had not been easy. He had quickly established that the sword was being held by The Lady of the Lake, and that she would not relinquish it lightly. She was, like he, a creature of the old religion, and had made him prove his worth rigorously. When he had eventually realised the only solution – to dive into the lake and plead with her face to face, or mind to mind as was more accurate – she had kept him in negotiations for days.
Even when he had finally obtained the sword, Merlin had to decide where to place it. He knew he should ride south, for that was the most likely site for a battle between Arthur’s forces and Morgana’s. But the sword must be placed somewhere, where only Arthur, in his dire time of need, would be able to obtain the sword.
It had been four and a half days riding when he eventually found a suitable spot, a rocky outcrop abutting a wide plain; almost an ideal battle field, it could provide both sides with food, water and shelter, and plenty of space to fight in.
Merlin set about implanting the sword into the stone, and then layering his creation with many enchantments, designed so that only Arthur would be able to wield the sword, even without his help. With any luck, magic that strong would have a magnetic affect on the magical components of both sides of the looming fight, and the battle would come to this place. Merlin could only hope.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Guinevere, do you miss them?”
She didn’t even need to ask who Arthur meant, she simply nodded. “Yes, Sire.”
Their eyes met, and Arthur nodded too. He wondered how often, in the future, Merlin would spend time away from Camelot. He missed his friend dearly; he missed the late night conversations it would be improper to have with Gwen. The idle gossip about visiting nobles, especially noblewomen, which would keep them awake for hours. The concerns Arthur tried to hide, about his governing, about his reluctance to find a suitable marriage, about his lack of an heir. And he missed their lessons about magic.
Magic intrigued Arthur, a fact he never thought would be true. Brought up from birth to believe magic was wrong, he had not been inclined to trust him. And yet, watching his manservant closely, he had noticed the flashes of gold, the improbable events, that had occurred over the years, and yet he still trusted Merlin implicitly, still called him a friend. When the revelation had finally occurred, Arthur had only been happy that Merlin had acknowledged that trust and trusted him in return. Merlin had taught Arthur that it was not magic that was bad or good, it was the witch or warlock or sorcerer or sorceress that wielded it. Merlin had taught him well.
He tried to warn Arthur, tried to drop hints about a public acceptance of magic, but Arthur was wary – he didn’t want to appear weak, this would leave him prone to other attacks, and he was reluctant to turn his back on his father’s firmly held beliefs, so soon after Uther’s death.
When it happened, it happened quietly, with little publicity. The execution dates of those held for sorcery in the palace gaols were postponed indefinitely; a boy in the lower city, accused of using sorcery to create balls of light was pardoned; druids, slipping into the town for supplies were ignored. He still executed a man plotting to use sorcery to acquire goods that were not his, and so the mutterings spread, that Arthur accepted sorcery, when it did no harm to him. Slowly, but surely, it became known that magic was accepted in Camelot once more.
But that did nothing to halt to steadily growing magical force, assembling in the south. Merlin knew its leader; he would know the feel of her magic until the day he died. And that was why he set out to raise Excaliber from her watery tomb.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Merlin’s departure from the castle occurred nearly two months after Morgana’s and it left two of the castle’s younger inhabitants without their closest friends. Arthur and Gwen, or Guinevere, as he always insisted on calling her, were unlikely companions, he being of the royal house of Pendragon, and she, merely a serving girl, the daughter of a blacksmith, but they became companions nonetheless.
In lieu of her job as Morgana’s maidservant, Arthur had given Gwen the job of royal seamstress, allowing her to fill her days with a task she loved, and, when he had found his afternoons full of tedious paperwork, and no one to talk to, he had taken to calling her in to sit with him.
Initially, there conversations had been difficult, stilted, since she was unsure of how much she was permitted to say, but, over time, they grew. He found that she had a strong and steady mind, and as her shyness passed, she wasn’t afraid to speak against him. Their conversations deepened and became more friendly, until the point when Arthur was bouncing almost every single thought against her first. As spring turned into summer, they even began talking walks in the castle ground together, and gossip quickly spread.
…The King and a serving wench, they say…
…I’d do her, she’s fair pretty, not bad for a mistress…
…She’s got the King’s ear too, reckon he’d do anything if she suggested it…
…Whole court’s up in arms, can’t believe he’s carrying it on so openly…
…In my day servants were just for tumbling, never trust a word that comes out of their mouths mind…
The gossip in the Servants’ Hall infuriated Gwen, but she never passed it along to Arthur. She let their resentment grow in her heart, wishing only that they understood her relationship with Arthur. They were friends, not lovers. Not that she didn’t wish, sometimes, when she was alone, late at night, or dreaming, that it could be something more. But this sordid obsession everyone else seemed to have, with the idea that she was sleeping with their King, it embarrassed her, and slightly scared her.
Still, he was the only person in the castle she felt she could speak to openly now. If only Merlin was here…
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Merlin had been gone for three months. His first task, of raising Excaliber had not been easy. He had quickly established that the sword was being held by The Lady of the Lake, and that she would not relinquish it lightly. She was, like he, a creature of the old religion, and had made him prove his worth rigorously. When he had eventually realised the only solution – to dive into the lake and plead with her face to face, or mind to mind as was more accurate – she had kept him in negotiations for days.
Even when he had finally obtained the sword, Merlin had to decide where to place it. He knew he should ride south, for that was the most likely site for a battle between Arthur’s forces and Morgana’s. But the sword must be placed somewhere, where only Arthur, in his dire time of need, would be able to obtain the sword.
It had been four and a half days riding when he eventually found a suitable spot, a rocky outcrop abutting a wide plain; almost an ideal battle field, it could provide both sides with food, water and shelter, and plenty of space to fight in.
Merlin set about implanting the sword into the stone, and then layering his creation with many enchantments, designed so that only Arthur would be able to wield the sword, even without his help. With any luck, magic that strong would have a magnetic affect on the magical components of both sides of the looming fight, and the battle would come to this place. Merlin could only hope.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Guinevere, do you miss them?”
She didn’t even need to ask who Arthur meant, she simply nodded. “Yes, Sire.”
Their eyes met, and Arthur nodded too. He wondered how often, in the future, Merlin would spend time away from Camelot. He missed his friend dearly; he missed the late night conversations it would be improper to have with Gwen. The idle gossip about visiting nobles, especially noblewomen, which would keep them awake for hours. The concerns Arthur tried to hide, about his governing, about his reluctance to find a suitable marriage, about his lack of an heir. And he missed their lessons about magic.
Magic intrigued Arthur, a fact he never thought would be true. Brought up from birth to believe magic was wrong, he had not been inclined to trust him. And yet, watching his manservant closely, he had noticed the flashes of gold, the improbable events, that had occurred over the years, and yet he still trusted Merlin implicitly, still called him a friend. When the revelation had finally occurred, Arthur had only been happy that Merlin had acknowledged that trust and trusted him in return. Merlin had taught Arthur that it was not magic that was bad or good, it was the witch or warlock or sorcerer or sorceress that wielded it. Merlin had taught him well.