markedcard | Amber: In The Beginning

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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.

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"He did. I was gifted with the last several years of his life. Or his recollection of it." There is a small, sly grin, as of Merlin is acknowledging the bias of an autobiography ...even if it was given verbally.

"Merlin, House of Sawall, Lord of Chaos. Son of Corwin. At your service, Uncle." Despite the casual atmosphere, that was the closest he'll get to a formal introduction outside of the throne room.

"I hope you'll stay with us for a while, Merlin. Now, do you need something to eat? What you've just done, if I'm not mistaken, is never easy, even on the best of us."

Perhaps especially. Magic can be perverse like that.

"And I'll answer any questions you want to ask with as close to neutrality as I can pull. Which is a lot more than back when I had to seriously worry about offending people, let me tell you. Job perk."

"It would be an honor, I think, and an adventure. Maybe a mixing of both." He sits back in his chair absently, fingertips tapping out a staccato against the table. At length Corwin's son speaks again, this time with none of the formality he has cautiously demonstrated up to this point.

"Starved. And still thirsty." When he grins, there is a hint of the teenager about him now, eyes offering a relaxed twinkle. Merlin seems to have crossed some internal hurdle.

"Is my father well-liked here, or just tolerated?" It's important to know who he should watch out for.

"That's probably a very apt description of most people's experiences with Amber."

He climbs to his feet and goes poking into cabinets, before a kitchen staff member (Merlin was right, they were eavesdropping,) approaches to point out shyly that they are surrounded by cooks. Dinner for both of them is promptly requested.

"Corwin. Well, it depends on who you ask, of course. You need to understand, we were all terrible to each other when we were growing up. So you'll hear terrible stories about your father, probably some of them from me. I still count myself lucky to have been his brother. But if we bell curve 'well liked' out over family standards... I would say he was, yes. Especially for all he did in the wars."

It's obviously enough for Merlin. At least for now. He nods, filing that information away to mull over at a more appropriate time.

Random has been very kind, considering the circumstances, and even if the young man doesn't trust him in the family sense, well, that's all par for the course. At least there aren't any overt shifting of glances and twirling of mustaches.

However, there is distraction from mental politics with the announcement of dinner. Merlin watches the food preparations in confusion for a few moments before understanding dawns.

"You physically cook your food. No magic?" Chaos, it would seem, really is light Shadows away from here.

"The simplest solution usually seems to be the best. If you want the food to be cooked, cook it. There's less potential for things to go wrong. That is, unless you let Julian near a stove. The man could burn water, Martin tells me."

Martin, you see, has more patience for Julian than Random does, and thus spends some time with him.

"I think initially it had something to do with dad's paranoia about poisons, actually, though I could be wrong, but nowadays it's tradition. It's not common, I take it?"

Julian's penchant for burning things is dismissed as incident to the present, though that too is filed away under 'interesting'. Martin's name produces a small, brief grin, the sort of expression that one young punk will offer when faced with the name of a comrade.

Which means Merlin knows Martin.

"No, not that I'm aware of. We have one but I don't ever recall seeing it used for anything but feast arrangement." He pauses to watch a fetching kitchen maid sashay by with a large bowl of stew meat.

"Cantrips make hosting balls and other formal affairs much easier." Perhaps he sounds a mite distracted.

It's very subtle, but Random looks a little bit more gentle when Martin comes up. Whatever you want to say about politics, about priorities, about blood, Random is Martin's father and he loves him.

"How very peculiar. Come down here some time, and I'm sure someone will be able to help you learn. You'll probably need to if you're serious about living on Earth."

He glances at the kitchen maid, then at Merlin's expression, and can't help but grin.

"She'd probably be happy to help."

From the way Merlin's eyes narrow on the girl's retreating backside, there is probably little doubt that the lordling plans to engage that 'help' in the near future.

Perhaps this evening.

Light eyes pull themselves away after a few moments, and all of his attention is deposited back in Random's lap. So to speak.

"Learning to cook would be a good survival skill." One of the few he hasn't acquired yet. Obvious, much?

"Ask for Jessica." He is trying very, very hard not to laugh outright. It's kind of showing.

"Good grief, Merlin."

Merlin has the temerity to look affronted, and vaguely annoyed for a few seconds before he grins.

His new expression could probably be described as 'sheepish'.

"Pretty things are supposed to be admired, Uncle." This is delivered with an air of 'Duh'.

"It's good. You're young. You're supposed to flirt with all sundry at this point in your life; you could probably make a good case for skirt chasing being genetic, in our line."

His father certainly made respectable do.

"So, you are telling me that it is my genetic duty to sleep with every good-looking servant who crosses my path?"

Why, yes. That is a sly smile, one reminiscent of his father a few thousand years ago.

"It just might be. Those that are used to the family might give you a slap or two, but so long as you brace yourself then you might just find Amber a pleasant place. Oh good, the food's coming."

He points this out, because it's Jessica who's bringing it and it wouldn't do to utterly ruin Merlin's shot now would it?

He nods absently to the warning; there are similar, and unwritten, rules in places in the Courts as well. At least for the higher species of servants.

Jessica and food, all at the same time. Now, Merlin is old enough to understand and curb his own impulses, but ignoring such a tender morsel would ruin the game. So he waits until all of the plates and trenchers have been set down before pulling her into his lap and popping a carrot into her mouth before she can form a protest.

Son of Amber? Yes, we think so.

Random turns a snort into a decidedly odd and surprised sounding cough. And reaches for his fork, staring with some bemusement at his plait as said kitchen maid attempts to absorb the situation.

"More scotch, Merlin?"

"One more glass-ful, I think." He agrees, keeping an eye on the serving girl and her angry chewing of said carrot. "I'm sure this lovely lady would prefer her dalliance to be awake and sober during the entirety of ... events."

And he's pouring on the charm, feeding her the very same bits of food he takes for himself. This ensures that she's too busy eating to start a verbal fight, and that his food is not poisoned in any way. Lifelong habits are not broken in a single day.

"And for you dear? It'll help with the shock."

She shakes her head no, either because he's the king and she's not sure if she's allowed to talk to him or because it'd be rude to talk around a mouthful of Merlin's (non poisonous) food. Random tops up Merlin's glass, and his own.

"What part of Earth were you thinking of heading to?"

Merlin manages a light shrug to suffice for conversation until he's finished with his latest mouthful -- of food. The pile of wriggling woman on his lap isn't going anywhere, unless she very clearly states that she wants nothing to do with him.

The Chaosian may be many things, but he does not care for unwilling bedmates.

"I don't know. Paris, maybe. Dad seemed very found of that kingdom."

"I haven't been to that particular city, though I have spent a fair bit of time in that Shadow. It's a good one; more than a couple of us have wandered through, I have it on good authority."

He nods his approval, though. He knows of it, and it seem like a good place to spend a few years.

"There are very few kingdoms left, these days. Democracies, for the most part."

Surprisingly, Merlin's expression relaxes even further. It may come as a shock to Random, but his nephew seems to be developing a small measure of respect for his person, and his word.

Only, there's one tiny snag.

"Democracy? I am unfamiliar with this word." Explain, please, oh patient kind?

"Essentially, the leader is elected by taking the votes of the entire population of the country."

Random eats for a moment to let that one... sink in. It's kind of tricky for some people.

Oh, this will take a while to sink in. And distract Merlin enough so that Jessica is able to wriggle out of his arms and flounce back to her duties.

Which he doesn't seem to notice, or perhaps doesn't care. Probably the later, for it seems the young man has latched on to the one thing that will override everything else.

A puzzle. "And they're allowed to do this?" Coming from a man who has known one King his entire life.

"They consider it something of a sacred right to do this. The idea behind it is when a government needs to be afraid of its people, and to count on them for re-election, then they will take the best care of them they can."

Random sets his fork down, and concentrates on explaining properly.

"Which has benefits. A leader should have the care of his kingdom above all else. But what a society wants and what they need sometimes differ, and so it does not always work out for the best."

Merlin absorbed the explanation with the aura of a man who has never considered the will of the people before, and it has apparently made something of an impression on him. To be fair, his upbringing was geared toward a natural assumption of divine rule.

"Humans are interesting creatures. So I shall live amongst them and learn." It's that last prospect glinting in his eyes, a chance to discover something new.

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