#Adept Morwenna

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

‘Faith Is My Sword’ - chapter three

a Doctor Strange fic inspired by this piece of art

As he had done to maximize his studies and training in the Mystic Arts, Stephen utilized the Time Stone to spend the equivalent of nearly twelve hours reading the weathered tomes, ancient scrolls, and fragile parchments which Wong had handed over to him—while allowing for only about twenty minutes to pass in the normal course of time. After all, time was of the essence in resolving this mystery and preventing any further loss of life. His medical studies served him well in his research, for what hadn’t been written in old, archaic English turned out to be recorded in Latin; in fact, he had found it easier translating the Latin than ‘ye olde English’. Either way, he was fairly bleary-eyed by the time his research was completed. 

Tackling the Ancient One’s History of the Mystic Arts in the British Isles proved intriguing. It had clearly been written by two different hands, the majority of which had been recorded and annotated by Merlin’s apprentice, Morwenna. Stephen assumed this was a feminine name, which didn’t surprise him in the least; in the long and ancient tradition of the Mystic Arts on Earth, women had always been equal in standing, education, and responsibility to their male counterparts, and like men, their rank and accomplishments were arbitrated solely on natural ability, skill level, and personal determination. There was a good reason that both sexes had always been referred to as Sorcerers, and that remained a constant to this day.

Even throughout periods of history when many cultures treated their women as chattel, this value was strictly observed. And it had been the formidable sisterhood of Kamar-Taj’s female Masters that had saved thousands of lives when an alignment of Dark Sorcerers had infiltrated the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church and brought about the persecution of midwives and other women of knowledge and healing skills, as witches in league with the devil.

Fortunately for Stephen, Morwenna’s script was clear and concise, and delivered with an astute understanding of those things most vital to the practice of the Mystic Arts—while Merlin’s (who, in all his notations, referred to himself as Myrrdin Emrys) entries appeared as a spidery, sprawling hand, and tended to be meandering and quite self-aggrandizing. 

Stephen had been ready to concede that as fascinating as the compendium was, it lacked the information he was searching for, when a single sentence only a handful of pages from the end--and set down in Morweena’s hand--changed his mind and determined his course. ‘Only by use of the most powerful magick, did the young Sorcerer drive the foul Beast into the anciente circle of standing stones and binde it welle, casting it back into the deepe cave from whence it had entered the Worlde.’ An obvious reference to Stonehenge, and too much of a coincidence with where the current trouble had appeared to have begun, for him to disregard. 

Still, he was puzzled by the descriptive word ‘young’, wondering if it referred to someone other than Merlin. The history book had painstakingly chronicled the fabled mage’s deeds and the growth of his powers from the viewpoint of his loyal apprentice, so that it seemed to Stephen that Morwenna must’ve had an honest reason to neglect crediting the Master of the Londinium Sanctum with disposing of the creature. Had this been because he had already been trapped in his own crystal cave by the lover who, as a matter of legend, have woven a diabolical spell upon Merlin and seized his powers for her own? And had it followed then, that Morwenna was the young Sorcerer who had actually defeated the ‘foul Beast’? 

The reckoning of years was tricky to figure out, as he would need to arrive as closely as possible to the Beast’s initial appearance, and all that Stephen had to go by was a rough estimate. Until he realized that Morwenna had provided him an unwitting map--for throughout the work, she had mentioned important celestial events such as shooting stars, eclipses, and what his hunch insisted was the passage of Haley’s comet. Based on those key historical dates, Stephen did a google search to pin down the month and year almost to the day. Things were swiftly falling into place, and though he wouldn’t share this thought with Wong, it had begun to feel like this quest was one he had been destined to take on, from his first fascination with The Sword in the Stone.

All that was left was to insure he was dressed and equipped to blend into the twelfth century. Stephen’s online search provided a bounty of historically accurate images to base his disguise on. His own tunic and leggings were easily transformed to resemble those of an itinerant healer and practitioner of rudimentary mystic arts. He fashioned himself a pair of well worn leather boots in keeping with the era, and even cast a charm upon himself to lengthen his hair, further fitting in with standard appearances. Cloak would be able to pass as is, and its rich fabric and sumptuous color and construction would reinforce the image he needed to project. Finally, Stephen used a simple but unbreakable spell (by anyone other than himself) to bind The Eye to his essence, so that he could use it while protecting it from detection; he planned to keep it tucked between his sleeveless, light weight undergarment and his tunic. 

Stephen’s cover story would be that of a man who had traveled the Holy Land amidst the Crusades, not as a soldier, but as a man seeking knowledge and fortune, and left it having found his vocation. A tale not too far removed from his own experience. He dipped into the Sanctum ‘treasury’--a small utility closet on the third floor that no one ever bothered to lock--for the currency he thought would best serve him. A large handful of modestly sized precious gems and gold nuggets, which he secured in an enchanted velvet sack that only he could access, and then tied it to his sash. Anything else he might need, even weaponry such as the Sacred Sword of the Vishanti, he could easily conjure as the situation might arise.

Oddly, as Stephen’s departure time drew nearer, Cloak had gone unusually silent; that is to say, the almost constant low hum of reactions and suggestions, which it normally made by conveying feelings, seemed to have ceased. After all their adventures and all their time in partnership, Stephen found this unsettling--a feeling reinforced by the vague impression that the ancient relic was experiencing an interlude of reluctant anticipation. He knew it couldn’t be at the prospect of time travel. They’d been through that on enough occasions for Stephen to have proven his ability to handle the intricacies of non-interference in the timeline. But trying to decipher the cause of Cloak’s reluctance was useless, for it remained it’s essentially stubborn self, the same as at such times when it felt some level of opposition to Stephen’s plans. 

Though  eager to be on his way. he took time enough to eat a full meal, unsure of what odd victuals would be on an Arthurian era menu. Stephen then meditated a while as well, achieving the depth of concentration necessary to work the spell which would send him to his intended time and destination. 

When creating a dimensional gateway, one needed to visualize the target as fully as possible. So too with this Time spell, created by the well-revered Sorcerer, Cagliostro--and tinkered upon these past few years by Stephen Strange. As he had no idea what the actual Camelot and it’s environs looked like, Stephen decided to focus on arriving at the time and place where existed a particular person. In this case, as he had gotten such a striking impression of Merlin’s apprentice--rather than that of the Master himself--Morwenna it would have to be. At least he was confident that his extraordinary arrival would not alarm her over much, for initiates of the Mystic Arts learned early on that sudden appearances and disappearances were just part of the experience.

                    _____________________________

Stephen opened his eyes to find himself in a circular room bisected in the center by heavy velvet draperies, which featured a repetitive series of gold symbols representing the heavenly bodies of Earth’s solar system on a midnight blue background. He wore a little half-smile at the familiar scent that filled this room, just as it did his quarters back in New York, back in the future. Frankincense, sage, and citrus. That alone confirmed that he had indeed arrived in the presence of a fellow Sorcerer trained in Kamar-Taj. 

The fitted stone walls told him that he was in a fortress of some sort, the shape of the room an even further clue. Surely this was the turret of a castle or keep. somewhere in  Camelot. Or Caerleon, as Morwenna had sometimes referred to it. Stephen heard someone moving about behind the thick draperies, so that he called out to them to alert them to his presence. “I seek the Master known as Myrddin Emrys.” His call went unanswered, though he felt a wariness emanate for the figure on the other side, and he continued, “I have traveled far to consult with him, on matters pertaining to magic.” The silence remained. “Please,” Stephen added, “This is a matter of providing for the protection of a village and its people. Surely Arthur’s own mage would wish to aid me in this endeavor.” 

Cloak had tensed around him; if it had been human, Stephen could have sworn that it wanted to flee from whatever waited behind the curtains. Trust me, he thought as clearly as he could, you know I’ve got your back, just as you always have mine. His loyal relic briefly tightened across his shoulders, long enough to signal its acceptance of that promise. 

The ongoing silence was broken only by the crackling logs burning in the unseen hearth on the other side of the room, yet still Stephen sensed someone was listening for him. Time to try another tactic, he decided. “By the Sacred and Supreme Vishanti, I swear I mean you no harm. If you understand the meaning of such a vow, then you know I would not make it blithely.” 

Apparently, that was the assurance needed, for a woman’s hands parted the drapes, providing Stephen with one of the biggest surprises of his life--and that included the myriad wonders he had encounterd in his forays across the multiverse. The woman’s dark eyes locked on his and for a moment he forgot to breathe. She was a good dealer younger than when he saw her last, and the long, blonde hair that framed her clever-looking face was a shock to behold. “Master Myrddin has gone to the King’s Council,” she told him, the unexpected lilt of her accent indicative that she was native to the British Isles--completely unlike the cadence of the final words she’d spoken to him before her spirit passed into the existence beyond mortal men. “But in the name of the Vishanti, I would be glad to provide you with what help is in my power.” 

Stephen was speechless as his mind accepted the stunning serendipity that was part and parcel of the world he moved in, ever since his mentor had taught him to see through his Third Eye. The Ancient One smiled at him reassuringly, “I am Morwenna, apprentice to Master Myrrdin, and in his stead, I will do what I can.”

Chapters 1-3 on AO3

tagging:  @strangelock221b  @ben-locked  @doctorstephenvincentstrange  @aelaer  @aeterna-auroral-avenger  @starkiller-queen  @tsukuyomi011  @d0ct0rstrangewife  @ravencatart  @doctor-stephenstrange  @dxctorstephenstrange  @doctorstrangeaskblog  @battledress  @strangesunicornsparkle  @letterstosherlock  @puddlejumper72-blog-blog  @accolatus  @splunge4me2art  (and I’m going to tag @elennemigo​ because even though there’s no Molly or romance in this one, I know that you love Stephen very, very much ;-) )

[desperatlytryingtowriteabook]

Fathers’ Day

It’s Fathers’ day here in Belgium! Happy day to all the dads, dad-figures, and others in your life!

As I wrote a Moms’ post (here), I made a Dads one :)

TW: abuse (marked by a *)

Primum Sanguis

Galeazzo Maria Sforza: Cat and co’s dad. A good dad. If you do what he asks you to. He enjoys teaching his children about warfare and fighting and the occasional bit of politics.

Rafaelle della Rovere: The Good BeanTM. Loving and kind, the dad who will tell you stories, take you to walks and beheadings (not much on TV during the Renaissance...), and will scold you a little when you come back wasted from a night out.

Pietro Riario: Bianca’s husband and father to her many children. Who he never cared about.

*Piero Landriani: Lucrezia’s husband and father to her two eldest children. His son Gian Piero is his pride and joy, while he despises his daughter and his step-children. Also a low-key abuser.

Ijandia - Arson, High Sea Piracy, and Other Activities

Morwen Westfall: Teyrn of Armadeis (Astos Orthra) and High King of Idhilwhon. Husband of Meriagan, who bore him two children, Morwenna and Baldwin. As High King, he didn’t spend much time with his children but ensured they’d have the best education possible.

Heregil Westfall: Morwen’s eldest brother and father to Soren and Sigryn. Commander of the Armies of Idhilwhon, he is power-hungry and blood-thirsty despite his parents’ teaching. His only redeeming quality would be his uncoditional love for his children.

Thaddeus Westfall: youngest son of Alda and Renth and the only one with some sense. He acted as Idhilwhon’s Ambassador for a long time and always sent gifts to his nephews and nieces. Now that he’s back from his travels, he wants to make sure his niblings don’t murder each other.

Harrow “Row” One-Eye, the SeaFarer: captain of the Sea Mist. He sees himself as a father to his crew and is an adept of tough love, even if his heart melts sometimes.

Saiyth Avaleis: Counsellor to his brother the Emperor, he is a stern man who sees his children as pawns in a game. He almost opposed Thyia’s going to the Academy but yielded when he understood she might find a good husband there and advance their family’s position.

Renth Terondvar Athior: King Consort of Indhilwhon, husband of Alda Westfall and father to her three sons. He loves his children and grand-children and spent a lot of time with them. He was the first to encourage Morwenna’s love of the sea.

Ijandia - Ellerin’s Inheritance

Ewald Terondvar Athior: Lord of Belriz and Ruler of Imyslaën. He is Alda’s father-figure and helped raise her. They were very close when she was young, but grew apart when she was a teenager. Their relationship is now friendly, but they both ache for the old days.

*Beathan Highhorn: King of Leharion and Teyrn of Astos Let, husband of Madge Highhorn and father of her children. Very close to his second son, Drinian, who is everything a dashing prince should be, Beathan is less enthralled by his heir, Damiel, and by his three other children.

Eroan Highhorn: King of Ellerion and father of Essylt, who is his only daughter. Eroan and his wife struggled so much to conceive a child that they were elated when Essylt was born and Eroan has been overprotecting and spoiling his daughter ever since.

Morvan Westfall: Former King of Ellerion and Alda’s father. He died when she was a child and she barely remembers him. But he loved her very much.

Ijandia - Aisling (to be renamed)

Vladji Westfall (He needs a new name): High King of Idhilwhon, who fell in love with a naïad. He is a good father to his three children - Bash, Aisling and Nolan - and would do anything to keep them safe.

Zoltan Mordrak: Valon’s father. The Bad Guy. But a surprisingly ok dad.

Edwin Greengrass: Kaherdin’s uncle, a farmer who raised him. A good man, who just wants to feed his family.

Ijandia - To Be Named WiP

*Torkan Avaleis: Ruling Emperor of the Archipelago. Father to Kaël, his eldest son and heir, Swanhilde, and a few more kiddos I still have to name! He never really cared for his children, seeing them mostly as necessities for his rule, but which prevented him from bedding his lovers.

Ijandia - The Way of the Gods

Ieva’s dad: the Last King of the Ostreis Dynasty and father to many children, most of whom were killed during the Helioson’ invasion. A wise and old man, who share his knowledge with his children.

Taho Helioson: Ieva’s husband and father of her children. A sanguine, ambitious, hot-headed man, who is a good leader and a strict but loving father.

Father Stone: the Dwarven Deity, who watches over the mountains and their dwellers.

Don’t hesitate to share informations about the moms of your WiP! And to ask questions about some of mine if you want to know more about them!

Like what you read? Consider becoming a Patreon, follow me on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

‘Faith is My Sword’

a Strangebatch WIP by sobeautifullyobsessed

Summary:   Stephen Strange is called upon to assist when a looming threat materializes in the English countryside. He turns to the ancient texts of Kamar-Taj, searching for any clue as to where the danger may have arisen, and how to defeat it. He finds in the collection of The Ancient One, a book penned by Merlin himself; Merlin of Camelot, and King Arthur's court. Will it contain the answers he seeks--or will it plunge him into further mystery, where he discovers that history and myth are often the opposite of what they seem?

Chapter One (prologue)

Even as a child, Stephen Strange had stood apart from his contemporaries, reading an average of two grade levels beyond his age, and earning straight A’s on every report card as though it were the easiest thing in the world.  But that hadn’t made a world of difference to his father, who always stressed that the most important lessons his sons and daughter needed to learn were in the school of hard knocks, and in the reality of their life as farmer’s children, rather than in any classroom.  He made them responsible from their earliest ages for chores around the farm, and as they grew from primary school to middle school and then to high school, he insisted that their chores always came before homework.  “You’re on my time, when you get off that school bus,” he reminded them often enough, “You can do your homework on your own time, after finishing your tasks and having supper with the family.”

Therefore, it wouldn’t have surprised a soul that Stephen was often eager to make an escape from such drudgery into a world of imagination, fueled by books that told of exotic lives and circumstances playing out as distantly as could be from his family’s Nebraska farm.  On the last day of school before Thanksgiving break, the gangly, precocious sixth-grader checked out a slew of books from the school library, planning to read his way through the lot of them in what free time he might have, hoping to complete them all by Sunday evening.  But he only managed to get through one—and that one spoke to him on such an elemental level, that his vision of what his future could hold was drastically changed for the better.

The Sword in the Stone, by T.H. White.

Of course, he’d seen the Disney film on videotape several times—it was one of his sister Donna’s favorite cartoons, so he was vaguely familiar with the story of King Arthur’s coming of age and into his throne.  This particular copy of the book had cover art that intrigued him; a boy in silhouette drawing the mysterious sword in a nighttime forest, with dazzling sparks of color denoting the unexpected magic that flowed from the boy’s hands.  This was nothing like the childish looking line drawings and primary colors that marked the Disney version—there was adventure there, discovered by a simple boy whose life had seemed to be leading him to a simple, unremarkable future as a farmer on his adopted father’s estate.  Wart was a boy just like Stephen—always being told what to do, always being told what his place in life was certain to be—and yet he had broken free most unexpectedly, and a destiny undreamed of was catapulting him forward towards excitement and tremendous purpose.  It was exactly the sort of thing an 11-year-old boy with a vast imagination and keen intellect would dream of for himself.

Stephen read that book four times over during that Thanksgiving weekend, and never regretted for a moment all those other books that sat unopened in his backpack, to be returned unread to school on Monday morning.  He felt he had found an echo of himself in young Wart and he wished with all his might for a Merlin to find him, and teach him, and lead him to a destiny beyond the ordinary one his father had planned for him.  For the first time in his young life, Stephen felt encouraged enough to hope that he could make of his future what he wanted.

Inevitably, over the course of college and medical school, through the many years of his residency and then his ascendency to the upper echelon of his field of medicine, Stephen had forgotten that striking childhood revelation---and even that it had been his impetus to take the first steps towards building the life he envisioned for himself.  He was already a Sanctum Master with vast experience in innumerable aspects of the Mystic Arts before that vital memory resurfaced---stunning him when he realized he had forgotten it altogether, while pleasing him with the discovery that there might be some degree of truth behind that grand, mythical tale.

And it all started with an urgent request for help from the Master of the London Sanctum…

Chapter Two

As was so often the case, Wong was already waiting for him when he stepped back through the access way from the London Sanctum---reminding Stephen once again of his fellow Master’s impeccable sense of timing.  Skipping the preliminaries as usual, Wong simply asked outright, “So---how did it go?”

Stymied by the puzzled presented to him in London, Strange could only shake his head.  “I’m afraid I wasn’t much help to Master Banerjee---at least for the time being.”

Wong fell in step beside Stephen as he strode to the grand staircase, “Meaning you have no idea what the creature is or where it came from?”

“Well, from the few eyewitness accounts they’ve managed to gather---and from the evidence left in its wake---I’d say it’s definitely not native to Earth.”

“That doesn’t rule much out, Stephen.”

Strange grunted, while taking the stairs two at a time, making a beeline for the main library of the New York Sanctum.  “Of that I am keenly aware, Wong---but thanks for reminding me anyway…”  Though he had only logged a few years’ service as a Master of the Mystic Arts, Stephen’s experience was far deeper and much farther reaching than any of his peers---for his judicious use of the Eye of Agamotto had allowed him decades and more for study, training, and exploration across even the most distant reaches of this reality.  Making him the go-to source when any in the Mystic Fraternity faced a threat unknown in the annals of their collective experience.

Alisha Banerjee, Master of the London Sanctum, had contacted him with the urgent request to assist in discovering the cause of a rash of animal mutilations that had followed a two-week long, meandering path from Salisbury Plain to the sheep farms of South Cadbury, in Somerset County.  In the last two days, humans had become prey as well, their grisly remains following the same patterns as those of the missing goats, sheep, and cattle---remnants of desiccated flesh and bone found in a trail of corrosive slime that ended at the edges of rivers, ponds, and lakes.

Given the timing, Stephen had quickly concurred with Alisha that the beginning of the disappearances and mutilations coincided with a series of earthquake-like events that had plagued the countryside surrounding Stonehenge.  Although the violent seismic activity had seemed to emanate from the very center of the ancient stone circle---with onsite tour guides and tourists alike describing quakes that had felt to them like at least a magnitude six on the Richter scale---there was no physical or scientific evidence to explain the disturbances.  Not a stone had been toppled, let alone even minutely displaced, while none of the British Geological Survey centers could begin to offer a scientific explanation, for their instruments showed no quakes, no shakes, and not even a vague tremor at the time of the occurrences.  Meaning the cause had to be beyond the understanding of human science.

Fascinated by the mysterious details---and ever ready to provide protection for the unknowing, vulnerable people in the creature’s vicinity---Stephen had promised Banerjee to do his utmost to find both the cause of the danger, and a solution.  He decided his best resource to begin with, would be the text and scrolls that contained millennia of collected knowledge of the countless generations of sorcerers that came before him.

           __________________________________________________

Stephen and Wong stood at the library entrance, as Stephen contemplated which sources might shed some light on the dire mystery facing him.  Cloak had flown off, knowing full well that it’s Master would be immersed in some intense research for at least the next few hours.  “But where to begin,” Stephen had muttered, hands on hips as his eyes raked across the rows and rows of books. He turned to Wong, “Any suggestions?”

Wong considered the question for a moment.  “Well, it might help if you told me everything we know about the creature so far.”

“Right.”  Luckily, Stephen’s memory was exceptional, so that he was easily able to recall what he’d been told about the beast.  “No one has been close enough to it to get more than an impression---fortunately for them, or they might have made a handy snack for it.  Unfortunately for us, because the descriptions sounds…pretty outrageous.”

“How?”

“As seen from a safe distance, the consensus seems to be a serpent’s head and neck on the body of some huge, big cat, like a leopard or a lion.  Some witnesses claimed it was spotted, so I suppose that’s explains the comparison to a leopard.”  Stephen chewed his lip, trying to picture such an odd combination in his mind’s eye, “One of them said the neck scales gave away gradually to fur.  But instead of the paws of a big cat, it had hooves.  And a long, thick tail with several nasty looking spikes near the end of it.”

Wong looked skeptical, “Sounds like somebody’s bad dream after a trip to the zoo.”

“More like somebody’s acid trip about the zoo,” Stephen suggested with a grin---though Wong didn’t even crack a smile.

“And it leaves a trail of slime…like a snail?

“Slime yes,” Stephen confirmed, “Though snail slime is most often produced to facilitate better locomotion.  I think with this creature, that it is more likely digestive juices from whatever it’s consumed.  The stuff seems to eat through flesh and bone pretty quickly, unless it’s hit with full sunlight; otherwise, it just evaporates in strong daylight.  But most of the sightings have been around dusk, so maybe the creature shies away from the light.  Hmmmm…”

“I know that ‘hmmmm’, Stephen,” Wong interrupted, “It means you’ve got a hunch about something”

“Yeah…maybe…could be…yeah, there was something more.”  He turned to the Master Librarian, “Do we have any books here about really odd lifeforms?  Like native and other worldly?”

“We’ve got a few basic texts, but the bulk of that material will be at the library in Kamar-Taj,” Wong told him.  “Why---what are you thinking?”

“A couple of the witnesses whose livestock were taken told Master Banerjee that the creature made a god awful noise.  So bad that they thought their eardrums might rupture.”  Stephen was not so much as discussing this new information as thinking aloud, mulling it over, and looking for a clue that was just out of his reach.  “And one of them did start bleeding from one ear…”

Wong knew his job now was to stoke Stephen’s intellect and draw the answer from his prodigious mind, “So this is something familiar to you?”

“Wellllll,” Stephen hedged, “It’s something vaguely familiar.  A beast out of Arthurian legend.  It was like an…unholy amalgamation of different animals.  The…”  Stephen closed his eyes again, reaching for that distant memory from his childhood, “…damn…I haven’t thought of it for decades, for Vishanti’s sake…”  He looked back to Wong, grinning, “I’ll be damned…it was described in Mallory’s Le Morte d’Arthur, and over and over again through the ages since, by whomever took up the tale.  The Questing Beast…”

Wide-eyed, Wong watched his friend, while finally breaking into the smallest smile he could manage, knowing that Stephen had gotten the answer he needed.

“…I read about it in a book series called The Once and Future King when I was just a kid…there was this old knight named Pellinore whose sole mission in life was to hunt the beast down.  He described the sound it made as…,” Stephen turned his head slightly, as though he was hearing the actual sound himself, “…‘like thirty couple hounds a-questing’…basically outrageously loud, like it’s belly was filled with a huge pack of vicious hunting dogs zeroing in on their prey…”

“And that’s what the witnesses in England described?”

“Kinda like, yeah.  The farmers whose livestock were taken, said they were alerted that something was wrong by the noise. One of them described it as being like a rabid pack of dogs on steroids.”  Stephen sighed, reflecting on the impossibility of his sudden insight holding the answers he sought, “Of course, those tales are pure fantasy, based on Roman legends and Celtic myths.  The Questing Beast was never real, just like Arthur and Merlin never really existed.”  He shrugged, preparing to dismiss his flight of fancy, “They’re really just composite characters, Wong. Shrouded in folklore, and no more than fables and fairytales.”

Though he moved towards the book stacks, resolute to find any sort of realistic clue to solving Master Banerjee’s deadly dilemma, Wong was quick to stop his brilliant friend.  “Hold on a moment, Stephen,” he counseled him, “That assumption isn’t entirely accurate…”

“Right,” Stephen scoffed, “And I suppose you’re going to tell me Camelot was real and someday, when England needs him the most, Arthur will return to wield Excalibur again, and set to right all that has been wronged.”

“Actually,” the librarian and fellow Master of the Mystics Arts informed him, enjoying a rare opportunity to leave his friend speechless, “Merlin was entirely real…and he served as Master of the London Sanctum in those days.  It was known as Londinium then—but yes, Merlin was a sorcerer trained in Kamar-Taj.”

Agog, Stephen regarded Wong with a mix of skepticism and surprise clouding his brow.  “You can’t be serious, Wong…this is a joke, right?”

Wong smirked and shook his head, “You should know by now I wouldn’t make light about such a matter, Stephen.  But if you need proof, there are several volumes that are part of The Ancient One’s private collection---it was a time period she was most interested in, and she prided herself on having one of the few surviving copies left of A Complete History of the Mystic Arts in the British Isles, as dictated by Merlin to his apprentice.  I’ve seen it myself…and Merlin himself penned some of the entries.”

“Why am I only finding out about this now,” Stephen exclaimed.

“It’s one of her more esoteric texts,” Wong explained, “I figured you’d get to it when you get to it.”

“Now would be best, Wong, don’t you think?  The sooner, the better, in fact.”  Eagerness gleamed in his eyes.  

Wong turned on his heel, and jogged back down the hall to the staircase, calling back as he went, “Just give me ten minutes.  Ten minutes, and I’ll have the books sitting on the desk in your study.”

Stephen rubbed his hands together, a delightful combination of curiosity and anticipation causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.  Until just now, he had forgotten the happy hours he’d spent, reading about and imaging what life colored by the magic of a Merlin could be like.  That he was now living such a life was not lost upon him---and that a Merlin had actually existed, doing the same work that he was doing himself every day, was a thrill of knowledge he never would have dreamed.  Regardless if these books give me some answer to Banerjee’s problem or not, he thought, this is one adventure I’m thrilled to be a part of.

            __________________________________________________

Author’s note:  Posting with the hope that I’ll get around to updating this sometime soon!