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.
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"Good grief, Merlin."
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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'.
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His father certainly made respectable do.
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Why, yes. That is a sly smile, one reminiscent of his father a few thousand years ago.
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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?
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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.
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"More scotch, Merlin?"
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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.
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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?"
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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."
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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."
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Only, there's one tiny snag.
"Democracy? I am unfamiliar with this word." Explain, please, oh patient kind?
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Random eats for a moment to let that one... sink in. It's kind of tricky for some people.
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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.
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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."
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"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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And hey, sometimes you just need a change of pace. Earth, to Random, is a place to relax a little. He may be speaking too soon in Merlin's case, but what can you do?
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Random might be surprised at what Merlin considers relaxing. Then again, the younger man has spent almost half a millenia under the tutelage of a woman that has already shown her mettle in dealing with the scions of Amber.
"Another question, uncle. Is it possible to avoid all the pomp and circumstance of a formal Court introduction?"
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"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."
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"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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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."
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