Chapter Text
MERLIN
Merlin strode from Gaius’s new home in a fury. By the time he reached the castle, he was running. He wove past guards and servants and took the stairs two at a time. When he got to Arthur’s chambers, he threw the door open and entered without knocking.
Arthur was at his window, watching the courtyard below pensively. His eyes briefly flicked to Merlin. “Do you enter every room without invitation, or is it just mine?”
Merlin closed the door behind him. He wasn’t in the mood for banter. “You can’t let your father do this to Gaius.”
Arthur sighed and rubbed at his temple like he had a headache. He turned away from the window. “Merlin, we’ve had this discussion. You know as well as I do that nothing can be done. My father’s decision is final.”
“You’re not even going to try?”
“You really think I didn’t?” Arthur’s voice was curt, but there was sadness in his eyes. “His mind is made up. I’m sorry, Merlin, but there’s nothing more I can do.”
Merlin set his jaw. “Gaius deserves better and you know it.”
Arthur’s face hardened. “I’ll see you at dinner. I trust you’ll have calmed down before then.”
Merlin didn’t reply, taking the dismissal for what it was. As he left, he swung the door shut behind him, wishing he could slam it.
When Merlin entered the physician’s chambers, Edwin was at his workbench. The walls had been stripped bare of Gaius’s medicinal diagrams and the herbs that hung above the hearth had been ripped down.
Edwin looked up when he heard the creak of the door. An old scar covered his face, pink and white and angry. His long fingers were tying twine around sprigs of sage. “Merlin.” Edwin sounded pleased. He wiped his hands on a cloth slung over his shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”
“Hello Edwin.” Merlin gave him a short close-lipped smile, then headed for his bedroom. He wanted to close the door, shut out the world, and read his magic book until dinner.
“Have you thought any more about my offer of an apprenticeship?” Edwin asked. Merlin stopped halfway across the room. Since his appointment as court physician yesterday, Edwin had been sickeningly kind to Merlin. It would have made it difficult to begrudge him, had Merlin’s bitter mood not made him impervious to Edwin’s charms. “You will be allowed to keep your room regardless of your decision, of course.”
It was an exceedingly generous offer, for Edwin was far younger than Gaius and had no need of an apprentice. Merlin’s pettiness tempted him to refuse the bedroom, but he knew he would be a fool to. There wasn’t the room to stay in Gaius’s home in the town, and Arthur’s antechamber was out of the question, especially if he wanted to continue practising magic.
When Merlin didn’t answer, Edwin’s smile faded. “I know this must be difficult for you. But please understand, I did not manipulate my way into Gaius’s position.”
“Yes, Gaius has assured me of that,” said Merlin. Gaius had advised Merlin to keep an open mind. He had even admitted that perhaps Edwin was the better physician, which Merlin thought was ridiculous. Gaius had been the court physician long before Arthur’s birth. One man’s bout of luck in curing the king’s dying ward shouldn’t have changed that.
“You may speak freely around me, Merlin. If we are to work and live in such close quarters then there should be no secrets.”
Merlin could have laughed. Keeping secrets was all he had ever known. “I don’t believe Gaius’s methods are flawed.”
Edwin regarded him curiously. “Why is that?”
“In the years that I have studied under him, not once has he failed a patient,” Merlin said with certainty.
“Would I be right in assuming you have not studied under anyone else?” When Merlin nodded, Edwin said, “You are clearly well-read and I commend you on that, but you are also young and have much to learn. Were you my apprentice, our first lesson would be to take nothing and no one at face value. I’ll give you an example: when you read a book, you are reading the author’s opinion and therefore understand only what they wish you to. To see the whole image, you must read around. Try different books, different authors, different ideas. The field of medicine is ever growing. If we are to shy away from new ideas and teachings, then we risk stunting our own growth. As healers, it is not only our lives on the line; it is the lives of our patients, those who put their trust in us. We have a duty to them to allow ourselves to grow.”
Merlin listened in silence. He had no argument. So many times, he had thought the same of the narrowminded laws which restricted magic users.
Edwin’s face softened. “Give me until the end of the week. If I have not convinced you of my methods by then, we can part ways. Does that sound reasonable?”
Merlin couldn’t deny his curiosity. Perhaps Edwin’s methods would be compelling, and if they weren’t, Merlin would inform Arthur and get Gaius his position back. “All right. Until the end of the week.”
Edwin’s face lit up. “That is excellent to hear, truly. Something tells me we will make a formidable team."
ARTHUR
On the third day of Merlin moping about with a sorry look on his face and hair more unkempt than a bird’s nest, Arthur decided he needed to get his servant out of the castle for a bit. As luck would have it, today was a good day for a hunt; the skies were clear and the rising sun promised to chase away the chill of the crisp spring morning.
Despite Arthur’s thoughtful suggestion that Merlin join him, the servant grumbled the whole ride. “Merlin,” Arthur said, “if you don’t stop complaining I’ll take your horse and you can walk the rest of the way.”
Merlin frowned, adjusting his position in his saddle for the hundredth time. “Could I walk home instead?”
Arthur smirked. “I didn’t know you were so eager to wash my socks.”
“Well, they’re better company than the prat who wears them.”
Sir Walton, an older knight with a greying beard, straightened his back and pressed his lips at Merlin’s retort. The four knights accompanying Arthur and Merlin were more his father’s men than Arthur’s; Arthur had mostly brought them along because it was entertaining to watch their poorly concealed reactions to a servant as improper as Merlin.
The early sun heeded its promise and by the time they had made it deep enough into the forest to hunt, the air was warm and Arthur was glad he’d opted to wear his thin summer jacket beneath his chainmail. The trees tightly hugged the path and their dense canopies shielded the party from the sun’s rays. It was a pleasant ride and the steady crunching of his steed’s hooves on the forest floor lulled Arthur into almost a trance. He was so relaxed that he almost missed the hiss of an arrow shooting past him. He looked sharply behind him and saw the arrow imbedded in the chest of one of his knights – Sir Aldwyke – whose face slackened as he slumped in his saddle. Then men flooded in from the treeline and were upon them.
Arthur dismounted his horse and unclasped his red cape, throwing it to the ground. He dispatched one man with a slice to the gut, then took another down with a clean cut across his throat. Blood sprayed as the man fell without a sound. There was a choked sound behind him and Arthur spun to see a man who had somehow impaled himself on his own sword. Thank the gods for clumsy fools, Arthur thought.
Although they were outnumbered, Camelot’s knights greatly out-skilled their enemy and it wasn’t long before Arthur stood among the fallen. He looked down at one of the bodies. The man’s face was dirty beneath his beard, and he wore dark leather armour bearing no crest. Bandits, then.
“Merlin,” Arthur called. He heard a twig snap and then Merin appeared from behind a tree, tripping when his foot caught on a root. Arthur rolled his eyes.
“Sire!” called Sir Walton, his voice sharp. He was kneeling beside an unmoving figure whose red cape was tangled beneath him. The other two knights hovered behind Walton with troubled faces. Arthur hurried over and knelt on the other side of Sir Aldwyke. The knight’s eyes were glassy and his breathing was choppy. There was an arrow protruding from his chest.
Walton’s hand reached for the arrow, but before Arthur could say a word, he heard Merlin shout, “Wait!” Both Arthur and Walton looked at Merlin, who knelt beside Arthur. “You mustn’t remove the arrow. It’s the only thing keeping him from bleeding out.”
It was strange seeing Merlin give orders to a knight. Arthur often forgot that Merlin was the court physician’s apprentice. “Is there anything you can do?” Arthur asked.
Merlin, with sure hands and more strength than Arthur gave him credit for, raised Aldwyke so he was lying on his side, then ran his hand down his back. When he checked his palm, it was clean of blood. “It didn’t pierce all the way through,” he said, letting Aldwyke rest on his back again. Merlin’s hands closed over the wound in Aldwyke’s stomach, where blood had soaked through the chainmail. “But it is a deep wound. I’ll bandage him as best I can until we reach the castle.”
When one of the other knights left to fetch Merlin’s medical pack from his horse, Aldwyke coughed and blood splattered his lips. He had grown paler. His eyes stared vacantly at the canopy above them.
Merlin’s blood-covered hands stilled over the stuttering chest of the knight. He swallowed tightly, then said, “It must have pierced his heart.”
“Can anything be done?” Arthur asked.
“No, I don’t – there’s nothing more I can do for him.”
Aldwyke coughed again, bringing up more blood. He was fading fast. Arthur gripped his shoulder and gently squeezed. “Thank you, Sir Aldwyke. Rest now,” he said. Aldwyke’s eyes closed, then his chest fell and did not rise.
The ride back felt colder; a stinging wind whistled through the trees, biting at Arthur’s cheeks. He glanced at Merlin, who was hunched miserably on his horse with his thin jacket pulled tightly around him. His eyes were locked on the body of Sir Aldwyke, who had been wrapped in his cape and strapped to his horse.
Aldwyke had been several years older than Arthur, but he had looked young in death. More of a boy than a man. Arthur wondered if there was a woman at home waiting for him, or young children. Arthur selfishly hoped there wasn’t, for he would be the one to deliver the world-shattering news.
MERLIN
Merlin woke gasping.
He sat up sharply, breaths coming in gulps. In the shadowy darkness of his bedroom, his quivering hands almost looked like they were still drenched in Sir Aldwyke’s blood, despite the time he had spent scrubbing them yesterday.
He looked out the window. The moon had completely risen in the black sky. Dawn wouldn’t be for hours yet, but Merlin knew he couldn’t go back to sleep.
Usually when he was having a restless night, Merlin would curl up on the windowsill in Gaius’s chambers and watch the stars as he listened to Gaius’s steady breaths. But it wasn’t Gaius in the main chamber, it was Edwin, so Merlin tiptoed out of his bedroom, crept past the still form of the physician, and left the tower.
He wandered through the empty castle until he found an alcove with a window seat. He sat with his knees tucked to his chest and watched the moon slink across the sky. A long time passed. His eyelids were finally beginning to grow heavy when the hairs on the back of his neck bristled, and he turned to look behind him.
Morgana drifted down the corridor soundlessly, looking like a ghost in her white nightgown. “Merlin,” she said when she reached him. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Sorry,” said Merlin, “have I stolen your place?”
“I think I can bear to share it,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “It’s very late. Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Morgana smiled kindly. Moonlight ran through her hair, black like silk, and illuminated her white skin. She was beautiful whenever Merlin saw her, but something about the nighttime complemented her perfectly. “That makes two of us,” she said. “Would you walk with me? It helps to settle my mind.”
Merlin knew which paths to take to avoid the guards, but it was Morgana who led them through each unoccupied hallway. He wondered how often she snuck around the castle while its inhabitants slept. “Why couldn’t you sleep?” Morgana asked as they walked.
“It’s different, living with Edwin. I’ll get used to it though.” He glanced at her and noticed the dark crescents beneath her eyes. “Are you still troubled by nightmares?”
Morgana sighed. There was defeat in her eyes. “They stopped for a day or so, after Edwin healed me. But over the past few nights they have returned, more vivid than ever.”
“Have you asked Edwin for a sleep tonic?”
Her gaze dropped to the ground. “I’ve known Gaius for so long. He understood why my dreams should be kept from Uther. Edwin… I know he healed me, and I am grateful, but I’m not sure I can trust him with this.”
The truth about Morgana’s nightmares danced at the tip of Merlin’s tongue. But Gaius had warned him against telling her the truth, so instead he said, “Would you like me to provide your tonic? I’ve watched Gaius brew it many times.”
“Would you?” She looked at him with eyes like emeralds.
“Of course.”
As they continued their walk in comfortable silence, Merlin’s mind drifted to his own nightmare. He thought of Sir Aldwyke, choking on his own blood while Merlin knelt uselessly beside him with blood-covered hands. He wondered if Aldwyke would have survived, had Edwin been there with his ‘remedy to cure all ills’.
Morgana, far more perceptive than she let members of the court believe, began to tell Merlin about the lovely day she’d had with Gwen. It was the kind of idle chatter she never usually entertained. Merlin knew it was for his benefit, so he listened gratefully as she recalled the flowers she had bought in the market and the street performer with his lute, until eventually they arrived at her chambers.
“I’ll deliver your tonic tomorrow,” promised Merlin.
“Thank you, Merlin. You’re a good friend.”
“So are you.” Merlin dipped his head. “Goodnight, my lady.”
She bid him goodnight, then slipped into her dark chambers, quiet as a mouse.
Merlin returned to the physician’s tower and snuck past a slumbering Edwin. When he was in his bed and beneath his blanket, sleep found him quickly.
The next morning Merlin woke with the sun, feeling well rested despite the short time he had slept. He dressed and left his room, and was surprised to find the main chambers empty. Edwin must have already left for his rounds.
The room was incredibly tidy. A sick feeling suddenly came over Merlin. He had felt the same during his first few nights in Camelot, when he had been away from his mother and surrounded by strangers. Gone was the comfortable clutter of Gaius’s workspace, with its towering piles of books, wax from melted candles, unlabelled glass vials, herbs, papers, quills and half-empty ink pots left lying around. Edwin’s obsessive neatness permeated every corner. Everything had a proper place. It wasn’t lived in. It wasn’t home.
Merlin hurried across the room, eager to start his chores: scrub floors, serve breakfast, sharpen swords, anything to chase away the loneliness. But he halted when a little wooden box on the table caught his eye. It would have been perfectly ordinary if not for the inscription carved into its lid in black ink: bebeode þe arisan ealdu. It was the language of the Old Religion. A spell, no doubt.
Merlin’s heart was pounding in his chest as he lifted the lid of the box and peered inside.
It was empty.
He closed it, feeling almost disappointed, and dusted his fingers over the spell. Alight with curiosity and certain he wouldn’t be seen, Merlin whispered, “Bebeode þe arisan ealdu.” Magic blossomed within him like a summer flower, warm and familiar.
For a moment he was convinced that nothing had happened. Then he heard scratching. He raised the box to his ear and from within heard the sound of many quills all writing at once. He looked inside and almost dropped it. Two-dozen black beetles scuttled about, their legs scuffing against the wooden base as they climbed mindlessly over one another.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” said Edwin from directly behind Merlin.
Merlin startled and the box slipped from his hands, but Edwin was fast and caught it before the beetles were spilt. Merlin’s eyes widened. “It’s not what you think!” he blurted.
Edwin didn’t look angry, or afraid, or like he was about to summon the guards. He smiled at Merlin, then closed the box and whispered the spell. His eyes glowed molten gold. The scratching sounds stopped.
“You’re a sorcerer,” Merlin choked out.
Edwin regarded Merlin with sharp eyes. “As are you,” he replied.
Merlin shook his head. “You’re wrong. I don’t know what you think you saw, but you’re wrong.”
Edwin looked amused. “Don’t be ridiculous. Only magic can summon these creatures.”
“They were already inside.”
“Do you think I would turn you in?” Edwin carefully placed the box on the table. “We are kin.”
“I’m not a—”
“Why do you shy away from your gifts?” asked Edwin.
Merlin swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, then nodded to the box. “What are they?”
“They,” said Edwin pridefully, “are what saved Lady Morgana.”
“Saved her?” Merlin was confused for a moment. Then he remembered Morgana’s uncurable illness, Gaius’s solemn eyes as he gave his diagnosis, and the way Edwin had swept in and saved the day. Like magic, Merlin thought. He glared at Edwin heatedly. “You used magic to heal Morgana?”
Edwin nodded, looking pleased. “I did.”
Merlin scoffed and bit out, “You sabotaged Gaius’s reputation, then stole his position when the opportunity arose.”
“I was not wrong in my assessment,” said Edwin. “But my diagnosis would have been Lady Morgana’s untimely death if left to medicinal remedies. Nothing I said was false, not even my remedy to cure all ills.”
“The beetles are that remedy?” Merlin stared at the box. He was still furious with Edwin but couldn’t deny the spark of curiosity which reared its head whenever he had the chance to learn more about magic.
“They are part of it, certainly,” replied Edwin. “But the remedy itself is, quite simply, magic.”
Merlin looked back up at Edwin. “Magic… With the king watching like a hawk?”
Edwin’s face darkened. “Uther is a fool. He seeks to eliminate that which can do so much good.”
“If he so much as suspects you’re using sorcery, he’ll have you arrested,” said Merlin.
Edwin was unperturbed. “Uther is narrowminded. He has been told my methods are scientific, so that is what he will continue to believe.”
“He was desperate to save Morgana. Now she is better, there will be nothing blinding him from suspicion. You haven’t seen what Camelot is like when there’s a witch hunt. You’ll bring us all down with you.”
“I’m a careful man.”
“It’s too dangerous, you are right under the king’s nose. You’ll get caught.”
“Yet here I am, all in one piece.” Edwin smirked. “Strange.”
“It’s barely been four days!”
“I can tell you do not trust me. It is understandable, given how close you are to Gaius. But I’m asking you to give me a chance.”
Merlin crossed his arms. “And when will that chance be used? When you get us all executed?”
“I promise you, that will not happen,” Edwin said with surprising sincerity. He tilted his head at Merlin. “Have you ever performed a healing spell?”
Merlin blinked. “What?”
“Humour me.”
Merlin wet his lips and glanced around nervously. Then he said quietly, “Yes but… I’m not very good.” His stomach twisted. It was the first time he had told anyone of his magic, indirectly or otherwise. Even Gaius’s discovery of Merlin’s abilities had been an accident. It felt almost like a betrayal to Arthur, to have put his trust in a stranger over his prince.
“Would you like me to teach you?” asked Edwin. His eyes were alight with interest.
Merlin frowned. “Gaius wouldn’t like that.”
“Why not? He knows of your powers, doesn’t he?” Merlin’s face became horrified. Had he unwittingly implicated Gaius? “Don’t fret, Merlin!” Edwin’s voice was amused. “It’s common knowledge that Gaius practised sorcery before the Purge. I doubt he remembers me.”
“You lived in Camelot?”
“I did.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Why do you think? I didn’t fit in anymore.”
Merlin’s heart tugged. There was pain in Edwin’s eyes, pain that Merlin was familiar with. “Gaius has always told me to use my magic sparingly,” he said finally. “He says I need to be careful.”
“Is it not possible to be careful while making use of your powers? I used magic on the king’s ward and was awarded the role of castle physician!” Edwin put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. He was a little taller than Merlin and ducked to meet his gaze. “Gaius means well but he is stuck in the days of the Purge, when magic was something to be ashamed of. Let me teach you, let me show you that your powers don’t have to be a curse. They are a gift, Merlin, meant to be utilised. You could save so many people. Don’t you want that?”
Merlin did. It was why he had come to Camelot in the first place – to apprentice under Gaius and learn the craft of a physician. And here Edwin was, encouraging Merlin’s magic like Merlin wished Gaius would. “Yes,” he said, “but Gaius—”
“Doesn’t need to know.” Edwin squeezed Merlin’s shoulder, then let go. “It would be our secret.” A secret where they were equal parts; where Edwin had just as much to lose as Merlin.
Merlin shook his head. “I couldn’t keep this from him.”
“Then tell him, if it would make you feel more comfortable. Unless the king lends Gaius his ear?”
“Gaius wouldn’t tell a soul!” said Merlin vehemently. “He’d sooner die.”
“Then we have nothing to worry about. It is your choice and I won’t force it upon you. But the way I view it… I have the power to prevent suffering. To help people. If I stand by and watch it happen, does that not put me in the wrong?”
It was a question that Merlin had battled within himself since arriving in Camelot, and he envied Edwin’s self-assurance. It was clearer now more than ever that hiding away was getting him nowhere. If sorcery could have saved Sir Aldwyke, then Merlin had sealed his fate by not acting. Merlin looked at Edwin’s patient face, then the box on the table. “Can you show me how it works?”
Edwin smiled like he had expected Merlin’s response. “It would be my pleasure.” He swept a hand over the box, muttering the spell. “I assume you are familiar with the words of the Old Religion?”
“Gaius thinks I have a, uh… natural ability.”
Edwin plucked a beetle from the box, holding the wriggling insect between his thumb and forefinger. Merlin leant in and peered at it curiously. “The Old Religion is the only language these beasts answer to. I simply ordered one to crawl into Lady Morgana’s brain and fix her.”
Merlin’s gaze snapped to Edwin in surprise. “You – what?”
Edwin chuckled. “It sounds strange, I know.”
“It’s kind of… gross,” Merlin said with distaste.
“Don’t let it hear you,” said Edwin, placing the beetle back in its box. “Elanthia beetles are very sensitive creatures.”
“I’ve not heard of them before. Are they rare?”
“No, not rare,” replied Edwin, “but sorcerers tend to lean toward other branches of healing magic. While these little creatures may appear simple, one mistaken syllable could prove fatal.”
“Right,” said Merlin, unsettled. He decided he wouldn’t be using elanthia beetles anytime soon.
“I’ve held you up enough,” said Edwin. “I’m sure Arthur will be wondering where you’ve got to.”
Merlin found himself desperate to ask more questions, to learn from Edwin the way he couldn’t from Gaius. But he knew that if he stayed any longer Arthur would send someone for him – or worse, come looking himself.
Edwin seemed to sense Merlin’s reluctance. “I should be available at midday, if that suits you?”
Merlin lit up. “Yes!” he said quickly. He would worry about getting away from Arthur later. “I’ll be here."
As it turned out, Merlin needn’t have worried about escaping Arthur.
Merlin had spent the entire morning almost bouncing in anticipation of his lesson with Edwin. Arthur, frustrated with Merlin’s preoccupation and no doubt stressed about his growing list of council meetings and reports, had dismissed him early. Despite the dressing-down he had received from the prince, Merlin walked the whole way back to the physician’s chambers wearing a wide smile.
Edwin had told him that his first lesson would be testing the waters: a way for Edwin to gauge Merlin’s strengths, weaknesses and techniques. Merlin didn’t think he had a technique, but he was eager to find one.
“What magic comes most naturally to you?” asked Edwin. He was seated across from Merlin, a closed magic book on the table between them.
“The sort I don’t have to think about,” Merlin replied. “When I first arrived in Camelot, I saved Gaius from falling from the balcony without a spell.”
Edwin nodded like he was familiar. “Instinctive magic.”
“Yes,” said Merlin, “where something happens just because I want it to.”
Edwin leant back in his chair and regarded Merlin with a satisfied smile. “Fascinating. Many magicians can only dream of casting a spell without uttering a word, yet you do it as naturally as breathing.”
Merlin shifted, uncomfortable at the implication that he was unordinary, even if Edwin meant it as a compliment. Thankfully, Edwin quickly moved on. “What would you like to study?”
Merlin was surprised at the question. “What do you mean?”
“In my experience, the best lessons are those enjoyed by the student. If you are not interested in the content, then you will not pick it up as quickly. So, I’ll let you lead. What magic would you like to master?”
The possibilities that flew through Merlin’s head were almost overwhelming. A more appropriate question would have been to ask what magic would Merlin not like to master. He had always studied whatever spells were required to protect Camelot. He hadn’t considered learning something just because he wanted to, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to learn it all.
But there was one spell which came to mind above all others. He thought of candlelit catacombs, a girl with a pretty smile and wary eyes, and a rose in the place of a strawberry.
“Conjuring,” said Merlin. “I’d like to be better at conjuring.”
Edwin nodded. “Am I to assume from this that you already have some ability to conjure?”
“Yes,” said Merlin, “but I find it difficult. I’m not very… accurate.”
“Show me.”
“I, uh—” Merlin stopped, suddenly nervous. “What should I make?”
“Whatever you like,” said Edwin. Merlin’s mind was suddenly blank. Edwin must have seen his trepidation, because he soon added, “We’ve yet to have lunch. So how about an apple?”
“Um. Okay. I’ve made an apple before.” Merlin cupped his hands on the table. He focused on the space between his palms and thought of a perfectly red and ripe apple. The warmth of his magic flowed through his veins like breath through his lungs. It tingled pleasantly and pooled in his fingertips. Then he felt something in his hands, but it wasn’t the weight or texture of an apple. He opened them to reveal a small seed in his palm, like those in an apple’s core.
Merlin signed in disappointment, tipping the seed onto the table.
“Good, Merlin,” said Edwin. There wasn’t a trace of condescension in Edwin’s voice, but Merlin couldn’t help but feel like he was being mocked.
“That’s not an apple,” he said, unable to keep the petulance from his voice. He glared at the seed. It was like his magic was taunting him, giving him something with the potential to be what he’d asked for, but only if he planted it and then waited several years. He thought of Arthur requesting chicken for dinner and Merlin serving him an egg straight from the chicken coop instead. The image of Arthur’s unamused face was almost enough to make him snort with amusement.
“No,” Edwin agreed, “but it’s something. You haven’t met many sorcerers, Merlin, so you may not know this, but the art of conjuring is extremely advanced and near unheard of among most magic users. I would certainly struggle to conjure something even as simple as a blade of grass.”
“I’ve done it correctly before,” said Merlin, only slightly reassured.
“So you’ve said,” mused Edwin. “Where were you when you conjured an apple the first time?”
“Back home in Ealdor. I used to practise in the forest.” His mother had never liked him to use his magic, especially not in the village. They’d had enough suspicion and superstition cast their way from the absence of Merlin’s father. Instead, he would take his magic into the trees where no one could see.
“How about you pretend I’m not here?” suggested Edwin. He rose from his seat and stood beside a potion cabinet against the wall. “Close your eyes and focus. Imagine you’re back home in the forest with no one watching you.”
Merlin did as he was told, feeling silly with his eyes closed.
He breathed out, then imagined he was in the lush forests which surrounded Ealdor, with rippling streams and thick undergrowth. His bench became the fallen log he would sit on as he let his magic loose. He saw himself lifting up the bronzed leaves which coated the ground and making them swirl into the air, forming moving images of horses or people or dragons. He’d never felt truly at home in the village, but he could feel the forest, feel its life and its magic. It didn’t judge him, it encouraged him; the wind ruffled his hair fondly and the trees rustled in warm greeting.
He pictured the seed and saw what it would grow into. He exhaled, his magic flowing into the seed like he was breathing life into it. When he opened his eyes, in its place was an apple, its coat a glossy Pendragon-red.
He beamed and turned around to show Edwin, then froze. The physician’s chambers had become a dense wood. Trees had burst through the floor, their roots cracking the stone and their branches piercing the ceiling. Edwin appeared from around a thick trunk, picking a low-hanging apple from the tree. He looked at Merlin with raised eyebrows.
Merlin held out the apple in his hand. “Did it,” he said weakly.
“I can see that,” said Edwin. He took in the trees around them with a measured gaze. “You did quite a bit more, too. When I said to imagine the forest, I didn’t mean to bring it with you.”
Merlin winced. If anyone walked in on them, there would be no explaining this away.
“Don’t worry,” said Edwin as though he had read Merlin’s mind, “the door’s locked. Your instinctive magic is very powerful – far more powerful than I had anticipated.”
“I only meant to create the apple,” said Merlin.
“And yet, we stand amongst trees.” His gaze turned thoughtful. “Clearly you require a different technique of training. Reading books and learning spells is one thing, but they will not aid much in helping you to control this sort of power.”
“Sorry,” said Merlin guiltily.
Edwin raised his palm placatingly. “There is no apology to be made. We must simply alter our lessons.” He gave Merlin a wry smile. “And perhaps choose a new location.”
Merlin’s smile in return was weak.
Edwin spun around, looking at the trees. “Can you reverse this?”
“Uh…” Merlin looked around doubtfully. “I’m not sure.”
Edwin looked over his shoulder at him with sharp eyes. “Then try.”
“I don’t know any spell for this.”
“It’s clear that you don’t need spells. You yearned for the forest, so you brought it here. Now, you must send it back.”
Merlin glanced at the trees and this time did not close his eyes. He let his magic flow and told the trees to leave, and then they were shrinking, sinking back into the ground like they were growing in reverse. When they had all disappeared into the floor, Merlin waved a hand and the shattered stone and holes in the ceiling repaired themselves.
“Remarkable,” said Edwin, who had been watching with rapt attention. “You are a very talented young man.”
“Thank you,” said Merlin bashfully. He was unused to anyone seeing his magic and even more unused to being praised for it.
“I think that’s enough for now.” Edwin gestured to the table. “Come, join me for some lunch. We can discuss where to take your lessons.”
After lunch, Merlin crafted Morgana’s sleep tonic. He didn’t need to request the recipe; after so many times watching Gaius mix it, his hands worked surely with the ingredients spread on the worktop before him.
Once the potion was ready, he went in search of Morgana. As he walked, he thought about his first lesson with Edwin. He felt as though he had learnt so much in such a short space of time. He wondered how much his power could grow and looked down at the potion in his hand. Maybe one day he could conjure it from thin air, rather than spend time mixing it.
Merlin was so lost to his thoughts that he almost collided with Morgana, who had been hurrying round the corner, her green skirt billowing behind her.
“Merlin!” she cried, clutching his forearm. “Where have you been?”
Merlin felt himself flush. It was one thing Arthur thinking him a scatterbrained idiot; it was quite another having Morgana think it. “I’m sorry, I know I was supposed to come this morning—”
He froze when he got a look at her. He had never seen her with a hair out of place, but today it was dull and tangled. Her face was white as the moon. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said, sounding out of breath.
He frowned and showed her the vial in his hand. “I… have your sleep tonic.”
She barely glanced at it. “Never mind that.” She scanned the empty corridor with wild eyes then pulled him close to whisper, “You can’t trust Edwin.”
Merlin leant back to look at her. “What?”
Morgana looked deeply distressed. “You can’t live with him. You can’t apprentice under him.”
“Why?”
“You’ll get hurt.”
“How do you know?”
Her mouth became a fine line. “I just do.”
The little bottle in his hand suddenly felt heavier. “Did you dream it?” he dared to ask.
She was clutching his arm like it was the only thing holding her up. Her eyes were bright with terror and stared unseeingly. “You were surrounded by flames. Edwin’s eyes were glowing…” She shook her head, dispelling the memory. “He has magic, Merlin. He can’t be trusted. I know I sound crazy, but you must promise me you won’t go back to him.”
Merlin looked at her seriously. “I don’t think you’re crazy.” Morgana scoffed and turned away, releasing her grip. He caught her arm and tugged lightly until she looked at him. “I don’t. I just… It’s a lot to take in. Did you see anything else?”
Morgana looked surprised that he hadn’t immediately dismissed her. She quickly shook her head. “No. Just you, the fire and Edwin.”
“Have you told the king?”
“No and I won’t. But Merlin… You must remove yourself from him. I saw him hurt you.”
“Morgana, I—” He stopped at the sight of her desperate face. He sighed. “I believe you, but I can’t just dismiss him because of what you dreamt.” He pressed the vial of sleep tonic into her palm and closed her fingers around it. He kept hold of her hand as he said, “I promise I’ll be careful. The moment I suspect Edwin isn’t as he appears, I’ll go to Arthur. All right?”
Morgana’s pale lips tightened as she searched his face. “All right. Make sure you do.”
When she walked away, something sent him after her. “Morgana, wait,” he called. She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”
She smiled weakly. “That makes one of us.”