Merlin Fanfiction: Love As Thou Wilt | Part 1

[reiya_wakayama]

Part 1




The sun is beating down outside. He can see it through the open window, though inside, the small house is cool. It is midsummer and noon, the hottest point of the day when many take their rest and midday meal while the heat passes by. Inside the house, five year old Merlin watches his mother Hunith and father Balinor argue with bound, lined parchment and quills laying on the table between them.

This has been happening more often lately. Merlin remembers his father saying something about bad crops and low funds, but he doesn’t know what that means and doesn’t ask. Balinor is frustrated; Merlin can sense it, even though the man has spent most of his time holed up in his workroom. When he does that, Hunith cries, softly and Merlin hugs her legs until she stops, eyes red.

This is the worst Merlin has seen his parents fight though. Balinor tugs at his hair in frustration, a few strands coming away in his fists. Hunith is sobbing and sending desperate glances at Merlin like she’s afraid he’ll disappear. Eventually they calm, Balinor holding his wife as she sobs into his shoulder. Merlin doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but he’ll know soon enough.

~*~

The cart ride into the city has him staring wide-eyed all around him. Merlin stands on his father’s lap, small chubby arms around his neck and watches the world pass by. Next to them, Hunith weeps softly, hand pressed to her lips to stop any sounds from escaping.

They stop before a large building, a tall wall surrounding it. They get out of the cart and Balinor sets Merlin down. He stares at his son for a long time, eyes wet and pained. Finally, Balinor hugs him, for the last time though Merlin hasn’t realized it yet. He quickly hands Merlin off to Hunith, breathing heavily as he fights with his emotions.

A large wooden gate bars their way and it slowly opens to let them through. Merlin glances back at his father, blue eyes wide, wondering why his father isn’t coming with them. They’re led down a hall, one side open to the sunlight and the gardens of the place.

Someone is waiting for them in front of another door and open the door for Hunith and Merlin. There are two people in the room, a woman seated on a throne-like chair and a man standing behind her on her right. The windows are open to let in the afternoon breeze and lamps burn in the corners of the room, the lamp’s mirrored backs reflecting the light all around them.

Two chairs wait for them and Hunith helps Merlin onto his. He sits on the edge, swinging his feet as he wonders why they are here. “This is the boy?” Dame Alexandra Fors asks. She is the Head of the Fire Court branch of the Moonlight Court, seated in the outer rim of the city of Camelot. She is a striking woman, with fair skin, bronze colored hair that shines in the light and luminescent green eyes that see every little thing happening in the room. Behind her is her Second Damas Cœur. He is tall, his skin tanned into an even bronze, and his dark hair cut close to his skin. Golden rings protrude from his ear and nostril.

She beckons and Damas steps forward to help Merlin off of the chair, keeping a large hand on his shoulder. His smile is friendly when Merlin looks up at him. Though her demeanor is severe, her touch is gentle as she runs soft hands over Merlin’s pale face. His dark locks are cut short, his skin fair. She tilts his chin up to look into his eyes and jerks back. His eyes are a dark blue and studded in the blue, like stars, specks of gold wink back.

She lets him go and straightens as Damas leads Merlin back to his chair. “So what I have heard is true. He will not be able to serve in the Court, not completely. No one would be willing to buy his contract with a rumor of being cursed or possessed hanging over him.”

“My lady-,” Hunith starts.

“He is fair and when he grows, he may even be something worth praise. He is also Court-born; though you had bought your freedom by the time he was born. He may fetch a sizeable bond-price. For your years of service to the Court, I am willing to buy his bond,” Alexandra says, her green eyes hard as emeralds.

Hunith sniffed, “My lady, thank-,” she tries to speak again.

“There are conditions that must be followed if I am to buy his bond.” Hunith stares at her, trembling slightly, slowly she nods for Dame to continue. “No word of this transaction must leave this room. You will not be allowed to see him. The moment you leave this room, his existence as your son will be wiped from record. For all purposes, the next child you have will be your first. I will not let it be known that the Fire Court has taken in an unwanted whore’s get.”

Hunith gasps softly, her face pale, trembling harder as she shifts her gaze from Dame to her son. “He is not-,” she starts again.

“It is my only offer.” Hunith’s lips tremble as she stares at her son hard. “We will raise him as our own. Any abilities he might show during this time will be noted and when he is ten, his bond-price will be admirable. Can you offer him anything more?” Slowly Hunith shakes her head.

Merlin stares into his mother’s eyes, such a rich brown and she stares into his blue. A soft sob falls from her lips and she pulls him forward into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Merlin. Please forgive me what I must do.” Merlin clutches at her dress, tears coming to his eyes in response to her sobs.

Slowly, Hunith stands, extracting herself from Merlin’s hold. “Take him,” she bites out bitterly. Letting Merlin’s hand go, she steps back and Damas steps forward, large hand settling heavily onto Merlin’s thin shoulder.

“Mama?” Merlin asks with his blue eyes wide as he starts to realize what is happening.

“Come, little one,” Damas says, starting to lead Merlin away through another door.

“Mama?” Hunith has her back to him as she walks out. “Mama!” Merlin’s crying now, tears running down his cheeks, but Hunith doesn’t turn, though her shoulders shake with sobs. Merlin’s last image is of Hunith walking away from him before the door shuts behind her.

“Come, Merlin. It’s all right, everything is all right,” Damas is whispering as he tugs Merlin through the door. The door shuts and Merlin’s life in the Moonlight Court begins with the end of a transaction.

~*~

Life changes for Merlin after that. With his mother and father gone, he is alone in the Moonlight Court. Although many think life in the Court is nothing but fun and pleasure, they don’t seem to realize that behind the silks and precious metals and stones and wafting incense, it is just business like any other.

There are no servants to keep the place running. Every member puts their own into keeping the place running, even the children. Merlin quickly falls into his role. Between their lessons, he and the other children are put to work. Most often, they are sent outside with one of the older members to help weed the gardens, small bodies and hands much more adept at snagging the clinging weeds.

There are four other children his age. Anna is about his height, but is blonde and blue eyed with rosy cheeks and dimples. The older women in the kitchen coo over her and ply her with sweetmeats. Then there is Ywain. He is a year older than Merlin’s five years and already growing. His dark locks curl loosely around his head and his throat seems to sing pure music. He is already apprenticed to a chorus master and is soon to be singing on stage.Dorian is more like Merlin in looks, with dark hair and fair skin. His eyes are near black and he rarely smiles. He likes to spend more time in the library than any of them, reading books until his eyes cross from exhaustion. Then there is Gwen. If Merlin has favorites, she is his. She has long curling locks and pale brown skin and when she smiles, it is with everything she has. She doesn’t treat him like the other members of the Court do. Most look at him and see his eyes and turn away as if afraid of him. She holds him when he cries, for his mother, for his father, for a home he will never see again except in his memories and dreams.

But life goes on and soon his sixth birthday comes. Merlin has been dreading this day. It is the day they test him, as all members of the Court are tested, to see if he has magic. There are stories of how the Moonlight Court hadn’t always been the way it is now. It used to be that the five Courts, one in each of the five kingdoms, were centers for magic users to gather, to learn and to teach. Apparently, back then magic had been everywhere. Now though, really only about half the members of the Court have magic and only a handful of them have any real power.

Merlin dreads it though. His mother had tried to test him, teaching him spells and rituals and incantations and none of them worked. Oh, he had magic, but he had no control over it. It seemed whenever he muttered a spell, the magic thrumming through his veins went off and did something totally different. It is just another thing about him that sets him apart from those in the Court.

So when the summons to Dame’s study come, he cringes a little. Following behind Damas, he slides into her study, staring at his feet and refusing to be the first to speak. “Sit, Merlin,” she says softly, dismissing Damas. “You know why I have asked you here,” she says him. Merlin nods. “Good, then I don’t have to explain. On the table in front of you is a book, please look at the first spell and read it out.”

The book she mentioned is already open and sits on the wooden table next to a bowl of water. Hladan is written in neat handwriting. Next to it is a description of what the spell does: To draw (summon) water to the caster. It is a simple spell, maybe nothing will happen when he tries to cast.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin lets it out slowly and speaks clearly as his mother taught him to do with spells. One mispronounced word could turn a good spell into a bad one. He holds his breath, waiting for something to happen. Nothing even moves in the room and he sighs in disappointment. “One more time please and concentrate this time,” Dame instructs.

Merlin nods and stares at the bowl of water. He wants the water, needs the water to come to him. Mother had said a person’s will and how much they wanted the spell to work is just as important as having magic. If you didn’t want the spell to work, it wouldn’t work. He tries again, “Hladan,” he whispers and something in his chest expands, like he just stepped outside under the sun after being stuck inside all day, feeling the warmth caress his skin.

He doesn’t realize he has shut his eyes until he opens them, and instead of seeing the water floating above the bowl like it is supposed to be doing, the bowl is on fire, or more specifically, the water is on fire. Except the wooden bowl isn’t burning and there is no smoke, just bright blue flames that flicker and flare. The light seems to grow brighter now that he is actually looking at it, like the flames want his attention.

Something tugs at his hand and he reaches forward. Hesitating for a moment a few inches away, he slides his fingers into the flames. They don’t burn his skin; the heat is lukewarm, like putting your hand into warm water. The flames touch his skin and it tickles and he can’t help but giggle a little.

Dame whispers something and the flames die down and flicker out. The bowl is still as it was and the water is unchanged by the heat. Merlin dips his finger in and finds it cool. He looks up and sees something he may never see again. Dame stares with abject amazement.

She quickly composes herself and calls Damas back into the room. She turns to Damas and he must see the wonder in Dame’s eyes for he just looks at Merlin before looking back at Dame. “Send word to Kilgharrah nó Emrys. There is something he would like to see,” Dame says.

~*~

The day before Kilgharrah is supposed to arrive Merlin does the one thing he hasn’t done yet. He leaves the Court. The back wall has a trellis along it and though it doesn’t reach the top of the wall, its vines do, and work just as well as hand and foot holds as the wooden structure does.

When he’s over the wall, he looks back and realizes that he can’t get back in by that way, but he’s not too concerned with it. This is the first time he has seen the city in over a year. The last time was when he arrived with his parents and they came from the country side into the city. He’s never been into it proper.

From the hill that the Court sits on, the city looks up close but as he looks further, one thing catches his eye. He’s seen glimpses of it from the higher rooms, but never such an unobstructed view. The castle sits in the middle of the city like a shining beacon. Its white walls gleam in the morning sun and the red of its flags fluttering in the breeze only enhances the magnificence of it.

Deciding to use it as his focal point, Merlin starts walking. It’s not until he’s at the bottom of the hill that he realizes that his vantage point misled him. The city is closer than it seemed and there’s so much of it between him and the castle that he thinks it would take days just to reach it by walking.

Still, he keeps walking. There are shops everywhere, and people, so many people of so many different origins. The streets are hard packed dirt between buildings in the alleys and cobblestone on the main parts. Debris and refuse litter the ground and it smells bad compared to the perfumed halls of the Court, but for once it feels real and not like something created by herbs and incense. This is life, this is what it smells like.

Pretty soon, he’s lost, but he’s not too scared because he can still see the castle standing proudly over the city. Eventually, his stomach starts to grumble, making him aware of the little he had eaten for breakfast. He had been too nervous about Kilgharrah’s arrival to eat much. He’s regretting it now.

He comes to a stop as the smell of pies wafts through the air. Turning, he follows it and pushing through some crowds, he stumbles into a small square where the smell is coming from. There are tables and stalls and booths with everything from food - which smells really good and is making his stomach grumble - to fine cloth and jewels.

Following the scent from earlier, he ends up near the edge of the market where a line of food sellers are hawking their wares. He doesn’t even think about it, just reaches for the closest pie. A fat hand wraps around his wrist as a pudgy face comes closer. “You’d best ‘ave the coin t’ pay fer that, sonny,” the face booms out, startling him. Her teeth are brown and black and her face is red and panic wells up inside his chest.

He pulls against her hold and the pie slips from his fingers to land on the filthy ground, gravy and bits of meat and vegetables splatter his leggings and shoes. “Now look what ya done, you idiot!” she screeches at him, but in her anger, her hold has loosened and he wrenches his wrist from her fist.

She screeches, literally screeches, like some sort of animal as he stumbles away and she starts to charge him. People try to grab hold of him, but he wiggles out of their grasps, breathing fast and trying not to cry. A woman manages to grab him and he looks up at her afraid and she lets him go as if he burned her. “Psst,” someone hisses from nearby.

He looks up just as a grubby hand reaches between two men and snags his arm, tugging him between them. They give a yell, but Merlin is already running, the boy holding his arm tugging him down a side alley. They run for what seems like forever before the boy comes to a halt somewhere quieter.

Merlin’s shaking, but he’s getting control of himself. He needs to have control of himself, or else his magic might do something. It’s done it before. The other boy is laughing though, doubled over as his whole body shakes, shoulders trembling as he clutches his sides.

Eventually, he stops and straightens back up. He grins broadly at Merlin, his brown hair brushing his shoulder and his eyes screwed up in mirth. “That’s the most fun I’ve had in a while. The name’s Gwaine.” Gwaine holds out his hand and Merlin takes it.

“Merlin,” he says back.

“I take it you’re not from around here, are you?” Gwaine asks.

Merlin shakes his head, “I…I’m from the Court.” Glancing around, he can’t see the Court or the castle, the walls of the buildings around them too high to see over.

Gwaine whistles, “Never been in the Court before. I live on over off of Wyvern Lane, over by the breweries.” Gwaine stops speaking as he finally looks at Merlin. “You’re eyes, they’re,” Merlin tenses for a scathing remark, “sparkly. That’s pretty neat. Why are they like that?” Merlin’s thrown for a loop and just shrugs. He doesn’t know what they mean. “Are you gonna become one of the big members of the Court when you’re older, like some of the ones that see to the Royals and nobles?”

Merlin shakes his head no. “Why not?” Gwaine asks him.

“My eyes, people think I’m possessed or cursed or something along those lines. No one wants a cursed bed partner. The Court plans to sell me when I come of age.” Merlin shrugged. He’d already been sold once and he’d gotten over that pretty quickly.

Gwaine is about to say something when the clatter of hooves grows suddenly loud and a pair of guards ride into the alley they’re in. The crest of the Court stands out against the jerkins. “There he is,” one calls out and they ride down the alley.

One of the men easily picks Merlin up, settling the child in front of him on the saddle. “You’re in for wallop of trouble, you are youngling. You’ve turned the Court onto its head like a beehive looking for you. Dame is none too pleased with your disappearing act.” Merlin bows his head in shame.

“Out of the way urchin,” the second guard says swinging his quarterstaff lazily at Gwaine who dodges it like it’s nothing. They start riding away and Gwaine runs after.

“Merlin, remember, Wyvern Lane, down by the breweries. Ask anyone and they’ll point you to me. I’ll wait for you to come say hi again,” Gwaine’s calls fade as they turn one corner and then another. All too soon, the Court comes into view. Dismounting, the guard helps him off the horse, and though he’s gruff, he’s gentle with Merlin.

Damas is waiting for Merlin at the main gate. “This way,” he says with his voice devoid of anything that might give away what he’s feeling. Merlin waves dejectedly at the nice guardsman and follows Damas back into the Court. The gate shuts behind him with a solid thud.

~*~

Dame sits behind her desk, watching as he shuffles into the room. Damas closes the door and comes to stand in his usual spot behind Dame. Merlin’s a mess, leggings and shoes covered with bits of pie and mud. He can feel a streak of something on his cheek, but he’s not sure what it is or how he came by it.

Eventually, Dame closes her eyes, a large sigh escaping her lips. “That was very stupid, what you did, Merlin,” she says softly, looking at him. Her face is still severe looking but the skin around her eyes has softened a bit, like she understands the need for control of one’s life, even just for a few hours.

“I’m sorry, Dame,” Merlin whispers, but he’s not. For the first time, he felt free of the weight of the Court and the fearful glances that everyone sends his way. He’s seen the city and it seems he has acquired a friend as well. If given a choice, he would do the same thing all over again, pie and all.

“You could have been hurt or even killed. You’re lucky the guards found you when they did.” Merlin just nods. “You will be punished for this. Not only did you leave without permission, but you didn’t tell anyone where you were going and had us all worried.” Merlin waits for her to say his punishment. “You will go to bed without supper and you will apologize to the guards for pulling them away from their posts to go looking for you. Is that understood?” Merlin nods and she dismisses them.

Damas escorts him to where the two guards are and Merlin apologizes like instructed. Neither is angry and the one from before just nods and smiles before ruffling his hair good-naturedly. That night, he goes to his room, which he shares with the other children, without supper. Gwen comes after dinner with a round of bread hidden in a napkin and tucked into her pocket. He smiles and thanks her and eats it.

The next morning, the day of Kilgharrah’s arrival, he is taken by one of the older boys to the baths. Erec is eight years his senior and has already started his apprenticeship with the Court. In a few years, he will be inducted fully into the Court and will soon be able to start working to make his Mearcung.

Erec sits and waits while Merlin cleans himself in the communal bath, washing sweet scented soaps into his hair. He has a towel waiting when Merlin climbs out and wraps him in it quickly. Clothing has already been set aside for Merlin to wear. It’s nicer than what he usually wears but then, he is only a child and the finer clothes are for the full members of the Court who actually work.

Erec straightens a sleeve here, a line there, runs his fingers quickly through Merlin’s still damp hair, combing it back. “Erec, who is Kilgharrah?” Merlin asks and the older boy looks down at him.

He eyes Merlin for a second before answering. “He’s a noble that is friends with Dame and that’s all you’ll hear from me,” he says. Finished, he leads Merlin out of the bath and to Dame’s room where Damas is waiting for them. Nodding in thanks to Erec, Damas grips Merlin’s shoulder and leads him into Dame’s room.

Dame is already waiting with someone new. He’s old, older than Merlin had expected. Lines crease his face, laugh lines and frown lines. His hair is a dark brown, but where the light touches it, it shines like brass. His eyes, when they flick to Merlin, are amber and seem to shine for a second. A pipe rests on the table between him and Dame, unlit, though the smell of smoke still lingers.

Dame motions them in and Merlin takes a seat while Damas stands behind Dame. “This is the boy you spoke of, Alexandra?” Kilgharrah asks, and his voice seems to rumble from his chest. Merlin starts at the sound of it.

Kilgharrah leans forward and Merlin follows his movement, wary of this man who might be interested in buying him. His eyes up close are even more golden than Merlin had thought and they look at him in kindness even as they trace every inch of Merlin’s face. A hand comes up, tracing under Merlin’s eye, light as the brush of a moth’s wing.

“Do you realize what you have found?” Kilgharrah asks. Dame does not answer and he goes on anyway. “A warlock, a genuine warlock; do you know why your eyes are like they are, Merlin?” he asks and Merlin shakes his head, too caught up by Kilgharrah’s words to be afraid. “Your eyes shine like they do because the magic in you has altered your body. Your magic is wild magic, a thing of nature and it changes all that it touches. Warlocks are even rarer now than they were in times past.”

He sits back abruptly with a rumbling laugh and the spell he has woven over Merlin is broken. Merlin blinks, trying to focus. There is a reason his eyes are like this. He’s not cursed or possessed or anything else as bad. It strikes him then and he feels weightless with this revelation.

Kilgharrah drains the goblet that Merlin just realized is sitting next to his elbow. “Have you set a bond-price yet,” he asks, eyes shrewd as they watch Dame. She smiles, in her element here. She rattles numbers off and Damas shifts, staring in shock at Dame.

“Done,” Kilgharrah replies easily. Dame frowns and shoots Kilgharrah a glare as she realizes she’s been played and could have asked for a higher price. “He will remain here until he turns ten. I will return then and take him to my home. Is this satisfactory?” Reluctantly, Dame nods. Kilgharrah turns to Merlin. “Well, young warlock, until we meet again.” Merlin can only blink as Kilgharrah stands and leaves the room with a nod of his head.

~*~

With his bond-price sold, all Merlin can do is wait until Kilgharrah comes to get him in four years’ time. Merlin’s schedule changes drastically, spending more time in the library, learning reading and arithmetic.

Twice a week, a teacher comes for all the children to teach them etiquette and proper manners and so forth. One must know the proper way to address a Duc or even a king, should such a meeting occur. He and Gwen would often spend time practicing on each other to get it right.

A month into his eighth year of life, a priest comes to the Court. Brother Dinadan is a robust man, with red, windswept cheeks and a beard that covered the bottom half of his face. He is a priest of the Old Religion, one of the few who dedicated their lives to keeping the balance in the world.

Brother Dinadan is a storyteller and he has come to give them the history of the five kingdoms and how they had come into being. He takes them outside into the garden. The air is warm and sweet, filled with the scent of the ripening harvest. They gather under a shady tree and listen as he spins his tales.

“Long ago, before the birth of Camelot and the other kingdoms, the land was ruled by turmoil in an endless cycle of bloodshed and war. The five clans fought and warred for land, resources, anything they could have, and none were willing to attempt peace, for too much blood had been spilt between them. This went on for many generations.

Then, one day, a wise man descended from the mountains where he had spent many years by himself, meditating on life and death and their meanings. His wandering paid off, for an idea had formed in his mind. He gathered all the clan leaders and elders and with much effort and hard debating, he persuaded the leaders to divide the land into equal portions. Each agreed to respect the boundaries drawn on the map and how each leader ruled over their land,” he told them.

“And the five kingdoms were created,” Dorian pipes up, listening avidly.

Dinadan nods at the boy’s words, “Just so. With the wise man’s help, peace was brought to these lands. Soon after, the man disappeared back into the mountains and was never seen again.”

“Who was he?” Gwen asks, leaning forward with wide eyes.

“There are many different ideas. Some say he was one of the Old Ones in human form, come to show the clans a better way at life. Others say that he was just an old wise man wishing for peace. But there is another legend about him. They speak of a man in the mountains who spoke with and commanded the Great Dragons themselves and through them, gained their wisdom. He was the first Dragonlord and many believe he was the one to teach the clans the Dragons wisdom,” Dinadan says with a lowered voice.

“What happened to the Dragonlords?” Merlin asks.

Dinadan looked to him, “They died off many generations ago when the last dragon died. If there are any left, none know where they are.”

“All right children, time to come in for lunch,” Miriam calls out from the door. “Tell the brother thank you for his tale.”

“Thank you, Brother Dinadan,” they chorus before standing.

“Do you think there are any dragons left?” Merlin asks as the others race for the door. Dinadan stands with a grunt, dusting soil from his hose.

“If there are, youngling, then they are well hidden,” he answers, ruffling Merlin’s hair before strolling off to get his own lunch. Merlin stands there for a moment, taking in the priest’s words. Shaking his head, he follows with his stomach rumbling with hunger.

~*~

Merlin spends the next few days, scouring the library, searching for any reference to the Dragonlords. He doesn’t find anything but the merest hint of them, just a brief mention in Camelot’s history and an even smaller hint in the five kingdom’s history. But his investigating is put to a stop when Dame learns of his searching.

“The Dragonlords are long since dead and you will not find them in our library,” she tells him from her spot at his usual table. Sighing, he nods, having already figured it is a useless quest for more information on them. She beckons him over, “Show me what you have learned of Camelot’s history in your quest for knowledge.” He dutifully sits and recites all he has retained. She smiles approvingly and gives him the afternoon off to do as he pleases.

There is one source he hasn’t tried. As soon as Dame has left, he leaves the library, making for the back wall. With ease, he scales it and is over before he can have any second thoughts. He hasn’t left since that first time, but he remembers Gwaine clearly, and the boy’s words.

Setting off at a light jog, he reaches the city proper in a few minutes. What had felt like forever to a six year old is only a short distance now that he’s older. It takes a few tries before he finds someone willing to point him in the right direction of Wyvern Lane. He knows he’s close when the smell of the breweries gets stronger.

But when he’s there, he’s unsure of what to do next. Buildings line the road and he’s not sure where to start looking for his friend. Seeing another boy about his age, he decides to ask him. “Yer lookin’ fer Gwaine?” Merlin nods. “Ye might be tryin’ in there,” he points to a low building, its door open and a sign hanging off of it, a mug painted onto the wood. “’e’s in there most oft’n.” Thanking the boy, Merlin walks away, staring at the building nervously.

He’s never been into a tavern before and it looks dark inside, but he wants to find Gwaine. Squaring his shoulders, he slips into the building, stepping to the side to let his eyes adjust to the low lighting. It’s loud inside with people scattered all over the big main room. A staircase in the back leads up to the second floor.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he jerks around, startled. Gwaine is standing behind him, grinning mischievously. “Merlin, you finally made it,” he yells over the din. Merlin nods, smiling back and Gwaine motions for them to go back outside. Merlin follows willingly, still nervous to be in this place.

They walk a little further down the road until Gwaine stops at a building. Taking the stairs, they climb to the second floor. A dim hallway greets them and is studded with a few doors. Gwaine stops at the last one, unlocking the door and letting Merlin in.

“I live here with my mother,” he says. It’s a small room with only a tiny window to let in light. A bed is shoved into a corner, a rough pallet next to it. “She’s a laundress. She’s working at the moment.”

“So how have you been?” Gwaine asks, sitting on one of the two chairs in the room, a small rickety table between them.

Merlin sits as well. “My bond-price was sold,” he admits, staring down at his hands. “That was the reason I left the Court the day we met. The next day, I met the man who bought it and I was nervous and wasn’t sure I wanted to be sold.”

“Oh, well that sucks.” Gwaine lays his hand on Merlin’s and Merlin smiles a little at him.

“But I met you, so I guess that’s a good thing, then.” Gwaine grins at that. “What do you know of Kilgharrah nó Emrys,” Merlin finally asks.

“Emrys? Is he the one that bought your bond-price,” Gwaine asks and Merlin nods. “Well, he’s a noble, I know at least that. From what I’ve heard, he used to be really close with the Pendragons, but after the Queen died in childbirth with her son, Uther stopped seeing him. I hear he nearly banished Kilgharrah from the kingdom. No one knows why, but the old dragon, -that’s what they call him in these parts- keeps to himself mostly. So, he’s bought your bond-prince?”

Merlin nods again. “I met him the day after I met you. He seemed all right. He told me what my eye meant, though, and why they’re like this,” Merlin says happily. He tells Gwaine quickly the man’s explanation.

“A warlock? Wow, even us poor folk know tales of them. There’s a saying, that when a warlock is born into the world, it means change is coming. Good or bad change, none know.” Gwaine grinned at Merlin.

Merlin fidgets for a second before asking his second question, “What do you know of the Dragonlords?”

“Where’d this come from?” the other boy asks, leaning forward and Merlin quickly tells him about Brother Dinadan’s visit and tale. “Hmm, well, I’ve only heard tales about them. How they could command the dragons and talk with them. No one’s seen or heard of one in years and the same with the dragons. If you want, I could ask around, see if I can find out more,” Gwaine offers. Merlin smiles in thanks.

Gwaine stands, pushing his chair back. “Come on, I’m hungry. Let’s get some food, my treat.” Merlin tries to tell Gwaine he doesn’t have to do that, but the older boy just shakes his head and drags Merlin back down the stairs and into the street.

What Merlin doesn’t realize is that Gwaine’s treat means helping the boy steal some grapes while the vendor isn’t looking. They both run for it as the yells behind them grow faint and stop altogether. Laughing, they find a shady spot and divvy up the fruit. Merlin’s chin is stained purple from the juice and his hands are sticky by the time they finish.

A nearby fountain fixes that and they start walking in the general direction of the Court. They only get about halfway when the two guards from last time ride up to them. Merlin smiles sheepishly at them and turns to Gwaine. Smiling, he waves at the boy before letting the guard help him into the saddle. “Bye Gwaine,” he calls out as they start to ride away.

Dame isn’t pleased with his little escape and he’s sent to bed without supper again. The next morning, he’s put to doing the most labor intensive chores that a child can do. He’s tired and sweaty and dirty by the end of the day, and isn’t even allowed to have super again. His stomach keeps him up half the night with its growling.

Merlin’s third escape from the Court is a few months later. He finally meets Gwaine’s mother, a sweet lady with arms that could rival those of a man. She spent much of her time hauling heavy loads of laundry and scrubbing the linens against a wash board that she has become muscled. She just nods as Gwaine explains who Merlin is and gives him a nod before heading out to do her work.

The guards find Merlin on Wyvern Lane just as the two boys are leaving Gwaine’s small home. Waving to Gwaine, they take him back, but instead of releasing him, they march him to Dame’s office. Leaving him in the room, they shut the door behind him. Dame is behind her desk, face devoid of any emotion. “This is the third time, Merlin, that you have disobeyed the rules of the Court. Apparently, the last two punishments did not stick. I will have to make sure it sticks this time.” Motioning him forward, he comes around the desk.

“Drop your hose,” she says flatly. Merlin stares at her for a second but she’s not playing around. Slowly, he pushes his hose down until he is standing bare from the waist down. Grabbing his arm she pulls him across her lap.

He didn’t notice the paddle when he came in, but he does now as the wood lands heavily across his rear. He jerks, but Dame’s grip is strong and sure. The strikes go on, loud in the still room. By the tenth one, his breath is hitching. By the twentieth one, he’s crying and asking her stop, apologizing over and over. She keeps going until the pain blurs together and his rear and upper thighs are throbbing with each beat of his heart.

Finally, she lets him go, setting the paddle aside. He pulls up his hose with a sniff, his butt sore and sensitive. He jumps when she touches him, but she’s just holding a handkerchief to wipe at his eyes and nose. “I’m s-sorry,” he finally gets out.

“I expect you at dinner and no more escapes.” He nods glumly and leaves when she dismisses him. That night at dinner, he can barely sit from the pain in his rear and keeps his eyes down feeling like everyone is staring at him. In bed, he lies on his stomach, his arse still throbbing.

~*~

The winter of Merlin’s ninth year, he is allowed to attend the Midwinter Masquerade. Normally, he would have to wait until he turns ten, but with Kilgharrah coming to collect him then, Dame has allowed his attendance, a final gift to him before he leaves the Court for good.

By the time the day has arrived, the hall has been bustling for weeks. The Court is closed on this one day in celebration of the New Year. Merlin and the other children old enough to attend will be helping to serve, carrying the heavy silver trays laden with small glasses filled with clear liquor that has been distilled from the winter berries in the mountains.

Merlin is dressed as an ice nymph, the pale blue of his tunic and hose speckled with small golden beads. His mask is a simple thing colored the same as his clothing, its edges lined in gold. A few paper leaves, painted to look frosted, stick out to one side.

Gwen is dressed similarly, though she has a dress instead of tunic and hose and her hair has been woven with ribbons. Her mask is up at the moment as she sorts through her things, looking for something. She glances up and sees him standing in the door fidgeting. “Merlin,” she beams at him and beckons him over.

“Hi Gwen, you look good,” he says, sitting down on her bed.

“So do you. Of course, your skin is so fair, I wouldn’t be surprised if you are an ice nymph,” she teases and he sticks his tongue out at her. “Ah ha, here it is.” She pulls something out of her small trunk. “This is for you.”

Taking it, Merlin looks at it closely. It’s blue and when he touches it, the cloth is the softest he’s felt. Opening it, he looks at the square of cloth. “It’s a neckerchief, or handkerchief, whichever you prefer. I got it for you for a midwinter present as well as a goodbye present,” she admits.

“But I didn’t get you anything,” Merlin says, looking at her worriedly.

“You don’t need to, just promise me that when you use it you’ll remember me.”

“I promise,” he swears, and then hugs her fiercely. If it hadn’t been for Gwen, his life here might not have been as good as it was. He owes her a lot. “I’ll always remember you Gwen. I promise, if I can, I’ll come visit you. Promise you’ll visit me when you can?” She nods and then they pull away smiling. “The Masquerade is gonna be starting soon. We need to get ready.” Nodding, she walks with him to his bed, where he tucks the square of cloth into his own trunk. They head off to the kitchens where Cook is waiting for them to give instructions.

The ballroom of the Fire Court is near to bursting as all the people invited gather for the Midwinter Masquerade. Nobles from all over Camelot stand together, dressed in their finest with masks obscuring their faces. Merlin can see a hawk here and unicorn there and someone is walking around like a lion, mane and all.

His arms are just starting to tire from carrying the tray when a hush falls over the crowd. They all turn as the Winter Queen makes her appearance, dressed as a crone; she is bent nearly double, holding onto her walking stick.

A few applaud, but the rest stay quiet, waiting for the appearance of the Sun King. The main doors open and a group of men come crowding in. Bets have been placed on who would be asked to play the Sun King. Merlin wonders how many would have guessed at Dillon de la Escetia, prince of Escetia.

A murmur goes up as people start to talk but the prince ignores them. He has dark, curling hair that is tied back into a horse tail. His mask, a work of art made of gold-leaf and silk, makes him stand out. He is just approaching the Winter Queen when someone says something to Merlin and he turns to look up.

Kilgharrah is standing next to him, a small smile on his creased face. He is wearing a mask shaped like a roaring dragon. Washed in brass paint, each detail is exquisite and it shines in the candle light. “We meet again, young warlock.”

Merlin holds out his tray for Kilgharrah to take a glass. He knocks it back with ease, setting the glass back where it was, “Luck, young warlock.” A gasp goes up and they look to see where the Sun King has unmasked the Winter Queen, revealing the youthful woman beneath. It is Sarah, one of the girls who help out in the kitchens most often. Her brown hair is shining in the candle light, her green eyes glowing from under a mask of pure white silk.

“An interesting combination, don’t you think?” Kilgharrah asks him, “A prince and a serving girl.” He gives a huff of laughter at some joke only he gets. He looks down at Merlin. “Enjoy the Masquerade, young warlock.” Giving him a nod, Kilgharrah disappears back into the crowd. Merlin follows him for as long as possible before the man disappears from view.

Shifting his tray to one arm, Merlin reaches for one of the still filled glasses. “Luck,” he whispers to no one in particular. He drinks it like he saw Kilgharrah do. It’s sweet as it hits his mouth and then starts to burn as he swallows. Trying to keep from choking, he finishes swallowing the liquid. Slowly, he feels warmth flow through his body. Smiling, he heads back to the kitchen to exchange his empties for full glasses.

~*~

Soon after that night, the days began to lengthen as winter came to its close. Merlin watches the trees impatiently for new growth, wanting desperately for the cold to go away. He visits Gwaine one last time before his tenth birthday, though this time with permission to leave and a guard to take him there and back.

“Why were people so surprised by Dillon being the Sun King at the Masquerade?” Merlin asks him as they lounge in his small home. Merlin’s guard waits down below in one of the wine shops.

“The son of Cenred de la Escetia being chosen out all of the many other available nobles, and Camelot nobles to boot and you’re confused?” Merlin nods at him. “I’ve heard rumors that Uther and Cenred do not get along, no matter that they’re allies. And the fact that Cenred married Morgause le Fey, half-sister to Morgana the crown princess of Camelot does not sit well with Uther. Everyone knows that Morgana is Uther’s illegitimate daughter with the wife of his friend Gorlois, but with no wife and heirs, he had no choice but to accept her. Cenred married Morgause to flaunt that connection and the fact that Escetia royalty was in Camelot at all is suspicious by itself. No one knows why he was here or how he was chosen, so they wonder and talk and now the rumor mill is going.”

“Oh, that makes more sense now. Kilgharrah didn’t seem surprised though, when I was talking to him. In fact, he laughed like there was some sort of joke about it,” Merlin says, frowning to Gwaine.

“I don’t know about anything Kilgharrah might be involved in, but I do know this. Only two people made a bet on Dillon de la Escetia being chosen. No one knows who they were but whoever it was, they made a lot of money that night.”

~*~

On the day of Merlin’s tenth birthday, he is roused by Erec a second time and like his first meeting with Kilgharrah, Merlin is cleaned and dressed. When they exit the bathing room, Damas is waiting for them. Thanking Erec, he leads Merlin away, big hand resting in its customary position on his shoulder.

Stopping some distance from Dame’s room, Damas turns him and kneels. “You may not have come here willingly, young one, but I have watched you grow and I’m glad to have known you…even though you were a handful. Leave here knowing you have friends.” Damas ruffles his hair and stands with a final smile at him

Dame is waiting in the room, Kilgharrah seated across from her in the same position as before. Dame eyes Kilgharrah before looking down at the parchment in front of her. “Everything is ready, you just need to sign.” Kilgharrah nods and taking the quill, signs the parchment with a flourish. A wax dollop of wax is poured onto it and he presses his ring to it.

Dame motions Merlin over and looks him over, green eyes maybe a little wet, but it is hard to tell. She gives an amused snort, “I should have asked for more. Live well Merlin.” Giving his cheek one last part, she lets him go. “Until next time, Kilgharrah,” she says to him, nodding.

“I look forward to it, Alexandra.” Kilgharrah stands and leads Merlin from the room. Outside, he pauses next to Merlin. “Go pack your things; I will wait for you by the front gate.”

Merlin nods and heads back for his room. There is little to pack, just his clothes, a few knickknacks he has collected over the years. Buried at the bottom of his trunk, a little wooden figure rests wrapped in a handkerchief. It’s his mother’s handkerchief and the little wooden dragon is his father’s, carved for him for his birthday. All he has left to remember them by.

He tucks them away into his pack. Pulling out Gwen’s midwinter gift, he stares at it before tying it around his neck. It feels odd having it there, but the cloth is soft and he smiles. Finished, he shoulders his pack, staring at the room he has shared with the others for the last four years. Like his last home, he will not see it ever again. He hopes he’ll have his next home for much longer.

Kilgharrah is waiting, as he said he would be. Gwen and the other four are there as well as the guard and Miriam and Sarah and even Erec. Smiling at them, he comes forward to stand next to his new master. Gwen is crying a little but she hugs him fiercely. “Goodbye for now, Gwen. I’ll keep my promise.”

“And I’ll keep mine. Take care of yourself.” She steps back and with a gentle tug on his shoulder, Kilgharrah steers him from the Moonlight Court and into a new life. A carriage waits for them, led by a team of horses. Looking back once, he waves farewell and climbs in.


~*~

Part 2