Merlin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
markedcard) wrote2007-12-09 05:25 pm
markedcard) wrote2007-12-09 05:25 pm
Entry tags:
Amber: In The Beginning
He'd wanted this.
Since that conversation on the bluff overlooking the Abyss, and the Courts beyond, he'd wanted -- desired -- burned for this, even if it hadn't been a conscious thought at the time. And the liege lord of Amber had given him permission to try.
Merlin took a deep breath, and then another, fighting down a case of nerves. This was what he needed to do, to conquer, silencing wagging tongues in regards to his parentage once and for all. Honestly, he wasn't afraid. After all, the Logrus had been navigated and triumphed over, even if he had few sane memories of the weeks directly afterward.
And there were eyes on him, at least one person standing near the doorway. Possibly two. Which made things easier, really, because he wasn't about to bungle this attempt in front of an audience. Even if the Chaosian side of him did not want him to step foot on that thing.
One more breathe, and the lordling moved forward before he could think better of it again, placing his first step onto the Pattern. The raw Power shooting up through the soles of his feet, never mind the bloody boots, was enough to make his teeth grind together. Half a dozen steps managed, then a baker's dozen, and he found himself fighting to get past what felt like a wall of pure electricity wrapped in a blanket of steel.
Time stood still, or perhaps even faded away altogether, and Merlin wasn't sure how long it took him to struggle through what had to be the First Veil. He knew better than to stop moving completely, or try to step off, for that only led to death, and that was a state of being he'd every intention of avoiding. Forever, if possible.
Finally, finally, the young halfbreed felt himself break past the barrier, which made him feel like dancing a jig. Memory suggested caution, much to his own chagrin, for there were still two more Veils to endure, and he was moving toward them no matter how slow his step.
The lights behind him, and in front of, combined with the sparks resulting from each movement of his boots, effectively blinding Merlin to everything else but his current location. He could no longer see the exit, or hear anything but the roaring of his own blood, dual bloodlines screaming for supremacy. Which, y'know, hurt like the dickens. But he kept going anyway, one foot in front of the other and ignored the pain radiating throughout his frame, until a sudden lack of resistance almost made him tumble off the Pattern and to his Doom.
Whoops! Merlin righted himself just in time, taking a few quick steps forward and around the Grand Curve before something slammed into him with all the finesse of a locamotive (or so he'd understood from his father's tales), and tried to re-write his innards. Really, it felt like a giant hand was trying to turn his body inside out sans any sort of numbing salve, which really did break things down to extremely simple concepts.
Just. Keep. Moving.
And so he did, even reduced to crawling once he'd slowly battered his way through the Final Veil some time later, flesh tingling in a way that was the polar opposite of 'good', until he dragged himself into the center of the Pattern and lie there like a broken survivor. Merlin's head was pounding, his body felt like it had been trampled by an entire herd of zhine, and his throat... well, that felt like it had been living in the desert for a few decades.
It was Merlin's last sane thought for the near future, this demand for a glass of water and maybe some soup. In a shower of rainbows, the young Chaosian princeling found himself in Amber's kitchen, with a host of underlings, and a massive bear of a man gaping open mouthed at his unusual arrival.
"Glass of water, please?" He croaked.
Since that conversation on the bluff overlooking the Abyss, and the Courts beyond, he'd wanted -- desired -- burned for this, even if it hadn't been a conscious thought at the time. And the liege lord of Amber had given him permission to try.
Merlin took a deep breath, and then another, fighting down a case of nerves. This was what he needed to do, to conquer, silencing wagging tongues in regards to his parentage once and for all. Honestly, he wasn't afraid. After all, the Logrus had been navigated and triumphed over, even if he had few sane memories of the weeks directly afterward.
And there were eyes on him, at least one person standing near the doorway. Possibly two. Which made things easier, really, because he wasn't about to bungle this attempt in front of an audience. Even if the Chaosian side of him did not want him to step foot on that thing.
One more breathe, and the lordling moved forward before he could think better of it again, placing his first step onto the Pattern. The raw Power shooting up through the soles of his feet, never mind the bloody boots, was enough to make his teeth grind together. Half a dozen steps managed, then a baker's dozen, and he found himself fighting to get past what felt like a wall of pure electricity wrapped in a blanket of steel.
Time stood still, or perhaps even faded away altogether, and Merlin wasn't sure how long it took him to struggle through what had to be the First Veil. He knew better than to stop moving completely, or try to step off, for that only led to death, and that was a state of being he'd every intention of avoiding. Forever, if possible.
Finally, finally, the young halfbreed felt himself break past the barrier, which made him feel like dancing a jig. Memory suggested caution, much to his own chagrin, for there were still two more Veils to endure, and he was moving toward them no matter how slow his step.
The lights behind him, and in front of, combined with the sparks resulting from each movement of his boots, effectively blinding Merlin to everything else but his current location. He could no longer see the exit, or hear anything but the roaring of his own blood, dual bloodlines screaming for supremacy. Which, y'know, hurt like the dickens. But he kept going anyway, one foot in front of the other and ignored the pain radiating throughout his frame, until a sudden lack of resistance almost made him tumble off the Pattern and to his Doom.
Whoops! Merlin righted himself just in time, taking a few quick steps forward and around the Grand Curve before something slammed into him with all the finesse of a locamotive (or so he'd understood from his father's tales), and tried to re-write his innards. Really, it felt like a giant hand was trying to turn his body inside out sans any sort of numbing salve, which really did break things down to extremely simple concepts.
Just. Keep. Moving.
And so he did, even reduced to crawling once he'd slowly battered his way through the Final Veil some time later, flesh tingling in a way that was the polar opposite of 'good', until he dragged himself into the center of the Pattern and lie there like a broken survivor. Merlin's head was pounding, his body felt like it had been trampled by an entire herd of zhine, and his throat... well, that felt like it had been living in the desert for a few decades.
It was Merlin's last sane thought for the near future, this demand for a glass of water and maybe some soup. In a shower of rainbows, the young Chaosian princeling found himself in Amber's kitchen, with a host of underlings, and a massive bear of a man gaping open mouthed at his unusual arrival.
"Glass of water, please?" He croaked.
no subject
"Fiona will probably want to talk to you about where you're from. How much you feel comfortable telling her is entirely up to you."
no subject
"Dad seems to hold her sorcerous skills in some measure of awe..." Perhaps he's fishing around for some sort of tidbit to gauge her level of skills.
no subject
And Benedict has been around forever. Though admittedly, Random knows he knows, and observes and remembers a lot more than he tends to let on.
no subject
Then he eyes the tall, heavyset cook who may or may not have been hovering since his less-than-subtle arrival. "'s really good," Corwin's son hastens to add, just in case the guy really needs to hear his opinion on the meal. The one he's tucking away like nobody's business.
no subject
That's a clear enough hit to push off that the man finally does so. Random's eyes follow him until he's on the other side of the extensive kitchen. Random can't really abide hoverers.
"You should visit Arden, while you're here."
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"Arden has hounds who eat cars." As if Random could forget, right? To say nothing of their master.
Merlin paid very close attention during his father's tale.
no subject
So long as he doesn't have them chasing you.
"He's taken Martin before. I find it a little too full of memories for my taste, but he loved it, is why I mention."
no subject
Still, he does miss the hunts of his youth. And there is the question of what sort of beasts roam the ancient forest.
"Perhaps, should he mention it."
no subject
They are technically of the same generation, and everything. Random hopes that perhaps, on some level, they'll relate. What with growing up in the absence of their fathers in outside cultures that tended to look down on them somewhat.
"Unless you're going chasing kitchen maids again."
no subject
It seems he will probably be offering those two words a great deal in the coming months, depending on the various moods of his relations, and if they really want a Lord of Chaos underfoot. His mother has mentioned Martin before, as well, and Merlin is quite looking forward to meeting him.
"Apparently not tonight." Oh, doesn't he look serious?
no subject
Random nods his approval. Even if Merlin is a Lord of Chaos and kind of just sprung up and obviously a flirt, Random would still like Martin to have something approaching a peer group and this is the best that people like them can probably come up with.
"You must have other questions. Even just about Amber herself."
no subject
"Yes, so many it's hard to pick just one." But he doesn, with a twinkle in his eye. "Tell me, from your perspective, about my aunts and uncles."
Forewarned is forearmed, after all.
no subject
Wry. He feels like they're half gone, sometimes.
"Benedict is the oldest, but not the first born. He is the most reserved of us, he gives the best advice because he has lost the most. Bleys... Bleys is good to be drunk with."
no subject
An echo and a heartfelt sigh. Chaos lost people on their end too, but that was more a result of the war than anything else. Nevertheless, Merlin sits up and listens intently.
"Keep on Benedict's good side, and get drunk with Bleys. Alright." If it seems like he hesitates, well, he does.
"Julian really hated my father, didn't he." Doesn't he.
no subject
He drums his fingers on the table, and has to smile.
"He may hate you in your own right, because he's sort of crochety that way. Julian will never be a bubbling ray of sunshine, but I think he's grown up a little since your father and he fought."
no subject
Merlin leans back in his chair and yawns, still very much recovering from his successful Walk. "Being ambushed in my sleep for something my father did might have been a worry, though."
[chaosian inna bar, btw]
no subject
He leans back in his chair.
"That to say, no one will hate you because of him. Now, I think I should go. Time to smooth out the ripples of the latest splash in the pond. What do you think you want to do next?"
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"Next? I'm going to pass out." He pulls himself to his feet, glancing down at his uncle. "If I have your Majesty's leave to do so?" Sarcastic, but damned cute.
no subject
He grins up at him.
"Or early afternoon, from the looks of you. Be well, Merlin."
no subject
"Tomorrow night at dinner, I'm thinking."
He wanders out of the kitchen soon after, after asking directions to his room.
[fade?]