#it has been so desperately rare for merlin to experience love without fear

[panharmonium]

a face like a wounded bear (i’ve just got a few things on my mind, that’s all)

back on my merlin rewatch rambles this week.  i’m finishing up S1 now and just putting down some notes here for myself about 1.11 - specifically, how it ties back to/is informed by 1.10, because this is something that’s been on my mind for a long time.

these got a bit long so feel free to scroll past if this isn’t your cup of tea!

standard disclaimer for people who don’t know me and might stumble across this: i got into this show late and i have not finished season 5.  i am GOING to finish season 5, hence this rewatch.  so far i have remained unspoiled for the end of this show; i super appreciate everybody helping me stay that way.  you have my permission to laugh at me for being ten years late to this show in the first place and also for taking a geological age to finish the last four episodes.  i understand and fully support you in this; in my defense, i have been using the break to write fic, so i hope all can be forgiven in the end X)

with that out of the way, some thoughts!

i. a wounded bear

i really appreciate how much angrier merlin suddenly is at everything once we hit ‘the labyrinth of gedref.’

he’s still trying to help solve arthur’s problems, and he’s still rooting for arthur to succeed, but he’s also snappy and irritable and getting lost staring out windows, and his patience level with arthur in particular is set to absolute zero.  it’s not a catastrophic change - it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like arthur anymore or that he doesn’t still respect arthur for what arthur...could be, and for what he is, at moments; merlin obviously still deeply admires him for caring so much about the people of camelot and he obviously still believes that arthur is noble at heart and worth supporting.  but he’s simultaneously sick and tired of arthur’s particular brand of princely BS, and in this episode it’s starting to show.

before this episode, merlin used to tolerate arthur’s dumbassery with a kind of...willingness to be amused as opposed to annoyed.  arthur would go into his “insult merlin” routine or say something only a rich idiot would say and merlin would just laugh it off, or quip it away, or roll his eyes and get on with his day.  he was kind of…gently entertained by the people he had to serve.  he was having a little adventure right then, you know?  and the nobles, arthur included, were colorful characters in this story he’d walked into.  if they were occasionally insufferable, well, at least they were good for a laugh.

for example, that episode where arthur keeps asking merlin to cover for him so he can go have his little dates with sophia?  merlin winds up in the stocks for it three times in a row, but the first time, he just shrugs it off with his typical cheery equanimity and wryly says, “i forgot how much fun this was!”  and then when arthur asks him to cover for him a second time, merlin is just psyched that arthur is having such a good time with sophia, and he immediately agrees to do it, saying, “don’t worry, i’ll find a way to get you out of it!”  and then he’s back in the stocks, but when he comes out of them, gaius is more annoyed at arthur than merlin is.  and then after arthur runs off to “elope” with sophia, and merlin ends up in the stocks a THIRD time, it’s just the funny zinger at the end of the episode.  he’s not upset about it.  it’s just like, “meh!  here i am again!  classic merlin misadventure, what can you do? :)”

there is no chance that would fly in the back quarter of S1.  none.  zero.

merlin is completely fed up in 1.11.  starting with the hunting party’s slaughter of the unicorn, and then branching out to other, smaller things - every dismissive thing arthur says to him, every time arthur ignores or denies the reality of their situation and tries to pin responsibility for camelot’s misfortune on sorcery rather than his own actions, every time arthur makes stupid comments like ‘merlin you’re less intelligent than a rat’ - in this episode, merlin doesn’t roll with those things.  he snaps back, or raises his voice; he refuses to be talked over, he bites back “i’m THIRSTY” when arthur tells him to stop smacking his lips in the granary.  

in another episode, that stuff might have been delivered in a jokey way - and it will be again, some day in the future, when they’re both back to having fun with it - but merlin’s not having fun with it in 1.11.  he’s giving arthur challenging stares and resentful glares instead of friendly, this-is-just-how-we-tease-each-other looks.  his tone isn’t amused or fondly exasperated, it’s frustrated or irritated or, sometimes, straight-up angry.  

there’s a point in one of their arguments where merlin says he believes what anhora is saying, and arthur’s cold response is, “then you’re a fool.  you cannot trust a single word a sorcerer says.  you’d do well to remember that.”  

and merlin gives him the most baleful glare. like he wants to just...strangle him with his eyes.  like he has so many cutting things just sitting on the tip of his tongue and can’t decide which one he wishes he could say first.

ii. a few things on my mind

this, i think, is where it’s worth remembering that this episode takes place in a larger context than ‘arthur did a dumbass thing at the beginning of the episode and merlin’s upset about it.’  

because merlin definitely is upset about the unicorn, but merlin’s also just upset, full stop, about things that have nothing to do with the unicorn or camelot’s curse or camelot to begin with, and it’s bleeding over into other areas of his life.

to clarify: i don’t think we can really understand merlin’s subtle attitude shift in 1.11 without understanding that 1.11 takes place immediately after 1.10.  

1.11 is one of two S1 episodes whose positions in the timeline we can actually pinpoint relative to their neighbors (the first being 1.02, which is directly stated to take place on merlin’s “first day as arthur’s servant,” aka the day after 1.01).  1.11 likewise can be mapped accurately onto the timeline, because kanen comes thundering into ealdor bellowing “it’s harvest time!” in 1.10, and then in 1.11 camelot is bringing in their harvest, too (literally, gaius yells at the end, “they’re bringing in the harvest!”). 

there’s really not any wiggle room there.  the harvest season is only so many weeks long to begin with, and we know ealdor was pretty far along with their work in 1.10 - we see the evidence of their labor, and if the grain hadn’t already been harvested, kanen’s group wouldn’t have had anything to steal.  ealdor is smaller, so it makes sense for them to finish faster than camelot, but it looks like camelot is just getting started in 1.11, given the state of their grain reserves and the fact that so much grain appears to be unharvested when the blight hits.  and, that being the case, honestly, camelot had to have started like, immediately after 1.10 finished, or even while that arc was still going on.  it’s already pushing the boundaries of disbelief that they wouldn’t have started by the time ealdor has gotten so much done.  there’s no plausible way they could have waited any longer.  harvest season is the same for everyone; it’s not some kind of rotating schedule.  people only have about a month to get it done in the first place.  

so these two episodes occur, at the absolute most, a couple weeks apart from one another, and that’s only by the most generous of estimates; it’s more likely that they’re closer together than that, given the information above.  but honestly, it doesn’t matter whether it’s two weeks or two days - either way, merlin in 1.11 has something going on in his head that’s extremely recent and taking up kind of a lot of his energy.  

i don’t know that this angle gets looked at often, because the understandable tendency is to mostly focus on merlin in relation to arthur, and this becomes especially true in episodes that contain arthur+merlin umm...idk, focus scenes like the one near the end of 1.11.  but this is the angle that’s always on my mind when i watch the end of S1, because if there is one hill i’ve staked out for the digging of my future grave, it’s the following:

merlin’s life does not revolve around arthur pendragon.

this probably qualifies as an unpopular fandom opinion, but it’s something i absolutely refuse to budge on.  

and of course it’s just my own read, obviously; you may have more fun coming at this episode from a different direction, and that’s totally cool!  but for me, my understanding when i’m watching this season - merlin’s life does not revolve around arthur pendragon.  especially not yet, especially not now, when merlin has only known arthur for a few months and he’s just coming back from being with people who have known him (and i mean known him, known everything, known him for real) for something like twenty years.

merlin’s life does NOT revolve around arthur pendragon.  his relationship with arthur, at this point, is not the most important relationship in his life.  arthur is not the best friend he’s ever had.  arthur is barely merlin’s friend at all, right now.  arthur likes him all right, yes, and merlin likes him back, most of the time, but arthur doesn’t even know him, really. 

arthur doesn’t know.

and i love arthur and merlin, like - i’m as down for the mythic, destiny-laden, we-find-each-other-in-every-universe dimension of their dynamic as anybody, and when those two finally have an equal, healthy friendship going on, i’m going to be cheering for them.  but it doesn’t change the fact that merlin had a life before he came to camelot, or the fact that by 1.11 he’s only been in camelot for a few months and doesn’t really know arthur all that well yet.  

you can pick whatever example you want to illustrate this point; there are enough of them to choose from, but one of the clearest is in 1.11, when arthur passes his final test and drinks anhora’s fake poison.  merlin thinks arthur is dead, at that point - he’s pretty well convinced that the poison was real and that arthur has just keeled over dead on the beach - but his reaction to arthur’s ‘death’ is....i don’t want to minimize it, exactly, because merlin's obviously upset about it, but at the same time the level of distress he displays is visibly, objectively different from what we see from him in other contexts.  it looks nothing like his naked grief when will is slipping away from him in 1.10, or his desperation when his mother shows up deathly ill on his doorstep in 1.13.  he doesn’t look at potentiallydead!arthur the same way, or talk to him the same way, or touch him the same way - of course he hustles right over and shakes him to see if he can wake him up, but it is just...you can watch these scenes next to each other and they are just not the same.  it is not the same gentle way he leans over his mother, the way he takes her hand, strokes her forehead, folds gaius’ rabbit’s foot into her fingers.  it is not the same way he cradles will in 1.10, when his fingers are in will’s hair and his hand is just - reflexively rubbing will’s head in a way that is just so...intimate and automatic and brokenly tender like -

of course it’s different with them!  he loves them!  watching them suffer is torture for him, and the idea of losing either of them is devastating to him on a scale i can’t possibly understand.  he’s only ever had two people in his life.  one parent.  one friend.  they were his whole world.

so, yeah, merlin is stressed about arthur’s apparent death.  he’s upset.  he likes arthur, he believes in arthur, he’s appalled that this is happening.  but it’s not a personal grief.  there aren’t any deathbed confessions.  there aren’t any gentle touches.  there aren’t any tears.  his protest to anhora isn’t ‘i love this person and i don’t want them to leave me;’ it’s ‘i was meant to protect him!’  it’s about him failing at his “destiny;” it’s about the fact that someone told him he was born like this for a reason and now he’s failed at the job that gave him a sense of purpose, at the thing that made him feel like having magic was worth all this terrible trouble.  

contrast this to when his mother shows up dying in 1.13, and gaius tries to prevent merlin from saving her by bringing up the importance of merlin’s “destiny.”  on that occasion, merlin’s immediate incredulous retort is, “my destiny?  this is my mother.”  

arthur’s death and merlin’s distress over it all come back to merlin’s unfulfilled destiny, in 1.11.  but merlin couldn’t care less about his destiny when it’s his mother’s life on the line.  my destiny means nothing if i cannot save her.

merlin’s life does not revolve around arthur pendragon.  not here, not now.

[that said - it’s different, of course, later in the series.  merlin’s reaction to arthur’s supposed death in 5.07 isn’t just “oh no i failed!”, it’s also a personal, particular anguish.  they matter to each other, by then.  (though even then i think there’s a lot to be said about the…unhealthy tragedy of merlin giving up on his own wants and needs and worth as a person who exists outside the context of this narrow mandate to protect someone who doesn’t know who merlin really is and wouldn’t love him if he did - but that’s just the situation merlin’s trapped himself in, by that point.  it’s what he’s accepted for himself.  it’s all he thinks he deserves.)]

[that’s a post for another day, though, so.  back to the point.]  

merlin’s life does not revolve around arthur pendragon.  merlin had a life all his own before he came to camelot, and during the last quarter of season 1, every part of it that matters to him is falling apart.

i keep coming back to this, every time i think about this kid.  there’s just no way to overstate the fact that merlin’s world up until this point has always been just two people.  his whole life has been just two people.  his whole life has been just one parent.  his whole life has been just one friend.  

and after 1.10, his one friend is dead.

i think we dramatically underestimate the impact of merlin having half of his world obliterated, just like that.  

that’s not something he gets up and strolls away from.  he can’t roll with that punch.  he carries that for the rest of his life.

you know what i mean?  it would be a disastrous enough thing on its own, without even getting into the fact that it unfolds in a way that is SO complicated and tied up with messy personal history and regret/guilt that it needs to be parsed in an essay of its own (which, yes, i might already have half-written; yes, i have too much extra time on my hands this month.)  we’re also not getting into the fact that like - okay, the sort of grimly positive flip side to only having two significant relationships in your life is that you’ve also never personally experienced any significant bereavement.  you don’t have any extended family to mourn, no friends to lose, et cetera.  so to have your first experience with loss be something so huge, when you’ve had no practice dealing with grief, and to be trapped in a place where you aren’t allowed to discuss it honestly because if you told somebody what it all really meant you’d be executed?  

i’d be in a bad mood, too.

merlin is such a good kid and he tries so hard to have a smile for everyone, but i can’t watch the last quarter of S1 without seeing the strain of this weighing on him.  it affects how he reacts to the situation with gwen’s father in 1.12 (more on that another time), and it absolutely plays into the fact that he spends the season finale racing from one side of the kingdom to the other, desperate to sacrifice his life for someone else’s.

^^ regarding that last bit - i think about that a lot.  merlin tries to die three separate times over the last three episodes of S1, and it’s not that he’s...running around trying to get someone to kill him, exactly, but there’s definitely a very real sense that he’s dumped any interest in self-preservation, at this point, that he doesn’t care what happens to him.  if dying is what it takes to make sure nobody else is taken away from him, then that’s fine.  he will do literally anything to not feel this again.

merlin is trying to process something so big for him and he’s trying, by necessity, to do it alone, because he left his mother behind and came back to camelot where nobody understands that the only person other than his mother who ever loved him just died lying for him.  he is so stressed out in the last three episodes of this season and so desperately unhappy about things he isn’t allowed to even mention, and i just think it’s impossible to evaluate these episodes outside of that particular context.  

“we haven’t done all the things we’re meant to do,” he protests in the finale - and you can feel that aching admission come welling right up out of his soul.  it’s uttered in a new context, yes, but he’s been thinking it for weeks and weeks and weeks already, too late to change anything, too late to buy his friend any more time.  he’s hurting.  and he goes zipping around from life-sacrifice to life-sacrifice in the last three episodes in a desperate attempt to keep himself from hurting more.

iii. i’d never have a friend who could be such an ass

the point of all this is the following: the reason merlin sounds like he’s fed up with arthur in 1.11 is because he is fed up with arthur in 1.11.  he’s fed up with everything.  they all just got home from ealdor somewhere between a couple of days and a couple of weeks ago, and merlin is reeling.  he feels like his head and his heart are still trapped on the other side of the border.  he’s sick of looking at arthur’s arrogant, insensitive, infuriatingly alive face - and i say this while recognizing that, even at the same time, merlin also cares about arthur, and believes in him, and lionizes him; admires him; hero-worships him, even.  these two things can be simultaneously true.  merlin’s relationship with arthur is already so fraught with dissonance (how can you care about someone who thinks people like you are inherently evil?  how can you respect someone who oppresses you?) - and merlin’s always carried two contradictory truths when he navigates their relationship, one in each hand.  and right now it’s just that one hand is holding something too heavy.  he’s not being bitchy, he’s busy - he’s trying to deal with something that is taking up 100% of his mental and emotional energy; he doesn’t have anything left over to accommodate arthur pendragon’s dumbassery. 

and arthur pendragon IS a dumbass; let’s not pretend that he isn’t.  i love him, and he has moments that are so admirable and glorious and shining that they take your breath away, when you can see why gwen says you are going to live to be the man i see inside you; i can see a king that the people will love and be proud to call their sovereign (that speech makes my eyes sting EVERY TIME, it gets me right there) - but arthur is STILL a dumbass.  no question about it.  he has so far to go, still.  he’s dumb in all the generic ‘oblivious rich dude’ ways, and he’s also a jerk in his own specific ‘arrogant arthur pendragon TM’ ways, and merlin at this particular moment doesn’t have the energy to deal with it.  he likes arthur, even at this early stage, despite all the mental gymnastics he has to do in order to like someone who hates magic-users.  but merlin’s closest friend in the world is dead, and arthur is such an asshole sometimes and it’s like - this is what i got in exchange?  this is the trade the universe made?  what the hell makes arthur more deserving of being here than somebody who loved me without being told, without being taught, without needing to be constantly convinced that i should be allowed to exist and be safe and be loved on this earth?

are we really surprised that merlin wants to strangle arthur after that trademark ‘you cannot trust a single word a sorcerer says’ comment?  merlin has enough reasons to resent that on his own behalf, but his own secret isn’t the problem, this time; the problem is that they literally just got home from their little jaunt to ealdor and the only reason arthur even made it back from ealdor in the first place was because (as far as arthur knows) a ‘sorcerer’ died saving his stupid life, and arthur knows that, and still, this is what he has to say?  

and that’s on top of like - back in ealdor before they left, the fact that arthur really felt it was necessary to take time out of his day to come over and reproachfully chastise merlin about not disclosing will’s ‘magic,’ AT WILL’S FUCKING FUNERAL???  “you know how dangerous magic is.  you shouldn’t have kept this from me.”  AT WILL’S FUNERAL?  RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS BURNING CORPSE?  LIKE????  HELLO????

can you imagine being in this scenario???  and thinking???  yeah this is appropriate.  this is the time.  

how is merlin supposed to respond to that?  when arthur’s like ‘you know how dangerous magic is’ and merlin is just like ????!!  we are AT HIS FUNERAL!!!  we are literally WATCHING HIS BODY BURN!!!!  you know how dangerous magic is FFS THAT ‘MAGIC-USER’ COULDN’T STAND YOU AND HE STILL SAVED YOUR UNGRATEFUL LIFE AND HE’S DEAD BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT AND WE’RE AT HIS FUNERAL OMG IS THIS THE TIME?  IS IT EVER GOING TO BE THE TIME?  SHUT!  UP!

of course merlin wants to kill him.   

so anyway.  i really appreciate merlin’s sudden prickliness in this episode.  it’s subtle enough not to be completely jarring, but it’s still clearly perceptible, and i’m glad for that, because this is something that should be perceptible, given the timeline, but at the same time merlin would never, ever mention what’s really bothering him out loud, because a) the sorcery element and arthur’s involvement in how things went down have made it an absolutely unbroachable, forbidden topic, and b) guilt has wired merlin’s jaw shut.

^^ re: that last thing - it’s a post for another day, and i won’t really get into it now, but suffice to say, once again, that merlin spends the last quarter of season 1 running around trying his absolute hardest to throw his life away for someone, and i just feel like...i think it says something about the kind of pain he is in, and the kind of apology he feels he needs to make.  

he is having a very hard time.  merlin in the back quarter of S1 is feeling very alone and very much like he doesn’t deserve to ever feel better. 

so if he’s a little bitey with arthur’s trademark noble nonsense, i think we can cut him some slack.

[bazwillendinflames]

Wish For You

Read on AO3 

For Matteusz, he had hoped that travelling to the kingdom of Rhodia would bring a better life. Despite a job at the castle, his magic - forbidden by the Queen - and growing feelings for Prince Charles, have only complicated things.

For Prince Charles, tired of living in a carefully controlled world meant to protect him, seeks a night of escape, with the help of the closest thing he has to a true friend. A night at the Festival of Souls provides them both a night of freedom. But how free can you truly be when there's a part of yourself you're always hiding? 

(AKA A loosely based Merlin Marlie au)

Part One - Magic

Matteusz did his chores by hand, even though it was so early the grand hallways of the castle were practically deserted. He had seen the fate of magic users first hand within his first week in Rhodia. Even almost a year later, the smell of smoke still brought back uncomfortable memories of the woman’s screaming. 

He pushed open the Prince’s door without knocking and almost dropped the breakfast tray as Charles let out a startled yelp. Matteusz was equally surprised to see him awake so early - it was rare for him to be awake before Matteusz arrived. It was even rarer for him to awake and ready, although his shirt was ill-fitting and old. 

“My apologies Matteusz,” Charles said formally. 

“I should have knocked,” he said, not quite sure whether to comment on the fact Charles was usually sleeping at this time. “Your breakfast.” 

“Thank you.” 

Charles began eating, in the delicate way only nobles who had their next meal guaranteed could. Matteusz tried not to stare at him, although he was more concerned the Prince had gotten himself cursed again than the other reasons he sometimes found himself watching him . But Charles’ eyes were the same pretty blue, no hints of enchantment or glossiness there. (He always seemed to get himself in trouble, magical or otherwise. Matteusz wasn’t sure how the Prince made it to nineteen without him.) 

“Are you feeling alright?” 

Charles nodded. “Why would I not be?” 

They may be friendlier than Mattuesz suspected a Prince and a servant were meant to be - almost friends (which was enough, even if a part of him ached hopelessly for more) - but he still knew better than to push it. 

“No reason,” he answered politely instead, busying himself with lighting the fire. 

“What has my Mother planned for me today?” 

“Strategic meetings in the morning, training with the knights in the afternoon.” The same as every Friday. 

Charles’ handsome face twitched into a frown. “How… lovely. What of the evening?” 

“No plans I know of.” 

That seemed to please Charles, although he didn’t let on why. “Excellent.” 

Matteusz didn’t pry. As long as Charles did not get himself into danger (again), he was welcome to his secrets. 

Matteusz started tidying the room picking up crumpled clothes. Charles may be polite and remember the names of his servants but he was incredibly messy. He could afford to be in a house full of servants, part of him thought bitterly. Still, Matteusz enjoyed his job, he liked the quiet domestic mornings and he liked being at Charles’ side. He was lucky to get a job at the castle, even if it was a little tedious at times and he was too fearful to use magic. The paycheck that funded his sisters’ education kept him going. 

A canvas was set up in the corner, still wet at the edges. It must have been why Charles was awake so early, although Matteusz would never have guessed he was an artist. It was impressive, a beautiful painting of the Rhodian town square, lit up with hundreds of candles. Only half of the night sky was painted but Matteusz could tell it would be a gorgeous piece when finished. 

“Did you paint this?” He found himself asking. Then, as it was an obvious question he added: “it is very good.” 

Charles looked over at the canvas, his expression pained. “I did. I can explain-” 

“You are very talented,” Matteusz interrupted, hoping he wasn’t pushing any of the unspoken boundaries between them. “Is it ever lit up that way? With all the candles?” 

“Yes, candles,” Charles said quickly. “It’s how I imagine the town to look at night. I have not been able to see it like that.” 

“I would like to see it like that as well,” he agreed, “you make it look magical.” 

“Do not tell the Queen that,” Charles said dryly. Matteusz stepped back from the painting guiltily. But it was clear Charles was not being serious, just another of his jokes that did not land right. 

“Our secret,” he promised. 

Charles smiled at that and Matteusz made himself busy again. It would not do him well to linger on the fluttering in his chest for too long. A Prince and a servant - especially a foriegn one with magic -  like him would never work. (But it was nice to imagine sometimes. But only sometimes. If he indulged in Charles' smile for too long, he’d never get anything done at all.) 

With the prince busy all morning, Matteusz found himself in a cramped corner of the palace library. Tanya always seemed to know when he’d be away from Charles’ side and had ambushed him half-way through doing laundry. There had been little point arguing as he was dragged around the castle, although he made a token attempt at protesting anyway. 

“Shouldn't you be working?” 

She hushed him, balancing another scroll on the pile in his arms. Matteusz was sure they weren’t allowed to access the royal library for personal use but there was little point bringing it up to Tanya. She was both stubborn and clever enough to get away with it. Besides, she was one of his only friends. 

“Come on,” she hurried him along. 

Matteusz followed her, weaving through the many hallways and servant passages of the castle. It had been an impressive sight on his first day but there was always some new pathway or hiding spot he was learning of - impossibly, it was bigger on the inside. Tanya had taken them to a small room, the size of a cupboard, with two beds squeezed in and a rocky dresser in the corner. 

“Do not let anyone see you here.” 

“I won’t,” he promised. 

Tanya pulled on the bottom draw until he came out completely with a creak. A dozen scrolls were hidden there. 

“Clever,” he noted. Matteusz had hidden a few texts of his own - old books of magic from the old religion, half-translated to Polish by his Grandmother. Under the queen’s rule, it was important to know how to hide. 

“Thanks. I usually don’t take so many, but it was so busy today. Everyone is preoccupied with the festival today.” 

“What festival?” 

Tanya looked up from her scrolls. “You don’t- I keep forgetting you’re new. Tonight is the Festival of Souls. All staff get the night off. It’s tradition.”  

“That’s unexpectedly nice of the Queen.” 

“The Prince actually,” she corrected. 

Matteusz smiled. “Really?” 

Tanya wedged back the draw with force. “Come help me finish my chores so we can go early? And please take that sappy look off your face.” 

Matteusz followed her smiling. Tanya may drag him around the castle but at least she dragged him out of it too. A kingdom away from Cela, he had found himself another sister. 

   “So tell me more about this festival?” Matteusz asked.

They were taking the long walk on the outskirts of the castle, carrying heavy buckets of water out to the stables. As one of the younger servants, Tanya was usually stuck with grunt work like that. Matteusz had only been roped into helping her out of his own niceness. 

“It’s fun. There’s live music and nice food. At the end, we light candles that’s meant to be our soul’s wish.” 

“It sounds wonderful.” 

“You’re lucky you get to experience it for the first time.” 

They crossed over from the cobblestone bricks onto the uneven grass. It was a short cut that they desperately needed - Matteusz arms were starting to ache. 

“Thank the gods,” Tanya said, dropping the buckets on the ground. “I wish they’d just install a pump out here.” 

Matteusz put down his own load and sat by her on the ground. “We deserve a break.” 

“Agreed.” 

“Did someone say break?” April asked. “Count me in.” 

She ignored her own duties of taking the buckets in and joined them. April was one of the stable hands who looked after the castle horses. It was a job that suited her - she was very gentle with them. Matteusz had even caught her singing to them a few times. 

“Are you coming to the festival?” 

“If the right person asks me,” she replied coyly. 

“Are you talking about a certain knight?” Tanya teased. 

They were sat close enough to the training fields to make out the figures sparring with each other. 

“I might be.” April waved in their direction. The knight in question, Lord Singh, waved back and was knocked on the ground. He did his best to style it out, jogging over in their direction. 

“Here’s your chance,” Tanya muttered. “Oh hey Ram. You know you’re meant to stay on your feet during a fight, right?” 

“Funny.” He smiled at them charmingly. “I wasn’t expecting my fans.” 

“More like casual spectators,” Tanya replied, although it was clear his attention was now firmly directed at April. 

“I think that’s our sign to leave.” 

“Agreed.” They stood up to leave. 

Matteusz smiled over his shoulder. “Hope to see you later April.” 

“You will!” 

“Should I be jealous you have plans?” 

Matteusz almost laughed. He had far more interest in him than April. (Ram flirted with everyone. It said a lot about how smitten he was with Charles that Matteusz wasn’t taken by him more.) 

“Just the festival later. You know the one you’ll be taking me to later.” 

The pair continued flirting as Tanya and Matteusz walked back in the direction of the castle. 

“Good for her.” 

“Yeah.” She seemed a little wistful. “Wish it was that easy for people like us to find someone.” 

Matteusz’ thoughts ended up back to Charles. “And tell them,” he added. 

  “My apologies, I didn’t realise you were back from your training already.” 

Charles was sitting in front of his canvas, a smudge of dark blue paint on his chin. “No need to apologise.” 

“You didn’t go, did you?” 

“It may have slipped my mind,” Charles confessed. 

Matteusz peered over his shoulder at the painting he had been working on this morning. It was now near finished, with the indigo sky complete and a pale moon in the corner. “You really are talented.” 

“You flatter me,” he replied. But Mattuesz could tell from the smile that he enjoyed the flattery. 

“Is it the festival?” 

“It’s close. I’ve not yet been able to attend myself.” 

 The Queen was likely behind it: she was a paranoid woman. (She had enough reason to be paranoid, the magical community had targeted Charles a dozen times over her policies against them.) 

“I can tell you about it tomorrow.” 

“You’re attending?” Charles asked, turning away from his painting. 

“If I am allowed to?” 

He nodded. “Of course. It’s funny, in ways you have so much more freedom than I do.” 

“In some ways,” Matteusz replied, thinking of the flow of magic under his skin he was terrified to use. 

“Could I ask something of you?” There was a softness to the Prince’s voice that Matteusz had clung onto. He had a feeling whatever it was Charles would ask of him, he would agree. 

“Anything.” 

“Could you take me with you?” 

Part 2 - Magic

Part of Charles had been hoping that Matteusz would have lent him some clothes. It was strangely disappointing that he hadn’t - his painting clothes had been women enough to pass as commoner wear. Although perhaps if he claimed to be cold later, Matteusz would offer his jacket, or the soft looking scarf he usually wore. 

(Charles usually didn’t allow himself to linger too long on Matteusz like that. There were a hundred good reasons not to linger on the way Matteusz had tenderly wiped paint from his face earlier. It wouldn’t end well, for either of them.)  

As if Matteusz could tell what he was thinking, he looked over (or down, more accurately) at him. “Are you alright?” 

Charles felt his cheeks flush. “Yes.” 

Matteusz smiled at him. Perhaps his simpler clothing was doing something good: it seemed like they were almost equals. Matteusz rarely smiled at him as much whilst he was working. 

“I can see from here.” 

Charles followed him, catching sight of the lights threaded amongst the trees and windowsills of the square. He had only been in the town square a few times before and never in under conditions. This was no emergency evacuation due to cursed wells or an unfortunate face off with an embittered magic welder. (Or, on one special occasion, a dragon.) 

The square was far from the state of chaos he was used to. The festival was filled with dozens of lights, meant to represent the souls of their lost family and friends. There were small stalls, with barrels of ale or delicious smelling foods. A band played music in the centre. 

“It’s so much more than I was ever able to imagine.” 

“You can try and repaint it,” Matteusz suggested. 

“Some things are just too beautiful to really capture.” 

“You don’t know until you’ve tried.” 

Under the waves of gentle candle light, his warm brown eyes were almost golden. It was hard not to get caught up in it all, so Charles forced himself to step away. He was still a prince after all, no matter how free he felt or how simple he was dressed. 

“Best not to. I don’t want to give us- me away.”

Matteusz seemed to get the underlying message and nodded. “Yes, of course sir.” 

“You know I hate that,” Charles said, hoping his exaggerated frustration would lighten the mood. 

Matteusz looked almost relieved. But before Charles could really analyse his expression, Mattuesz was pushing forward through the crowd towards the cluster of stalls. 

They stopped at a few stalls, browsing the various wares there. Matteusz picked up a set of two woven bracelets. A matching set. 

Charles swallowed back any jealousy. It wasn’t his business to ask who it was for, Matteusz was allowed to have a life outside of his work. 

“Best ale in the kingdom,” Matteusz said. He was talking to the old woman who ran the stall with an easy charm. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere young man,” she replied. Her accent was similar to Matteusz’ own - she must be from the edge of the kingdom as well. “Who’s this?” 

“A friend from the palace,” Matteusz answered. 

“Ah. Another unlucky soul?” 

Charles stayed quiet, mildly alarmed. Maybe his Mother was right when she told him there was danger everywhere. 

“But we have so kindly been given a day off,” Matteusz replied. 

It hadn’t occurred to Charles that Matteusz might actually want to spend his day off away from him. He couldn’t imagine any of his past servants doing the same for him. 

Matteusz paid for the drinks, passing a tall glass of a dark ale to him. 

Charles gave it an experimental sip and spluttered on the bitter taste. He was glad Matteusz was turned away for that one. 

They moved away from the stalls, crossing a group of giggling young women pushing past in the other direction, knocking their bags into him and splashing their drinks. 

“It seems like your disguise is working.” 

Charles rubbed at the dark stain now on his arm. “Yes. Maybe too well.” 

“Surely it is nice to be invisible for once?” 

“It’s certainly… a change.” He sighed. “Although if we could escape the crowd, I’d appreciate it.” 

Just a small comment had alerted him to all the unknowns in the crowds. It would only take one magic user with a grudge to cause chaos. 

Matteusz seemed to sense his anxiety and reached for his hand, navigating them through the masses of people into a more secluded corner. 

“Better?” 

Charles nodded, trying to ignore how his hand was tingling. (He had once fought a magic user who shot bolts of lightning at people. It felt similar - like all his nerves were on edge.) 

“I will get us new drinks.” 

Charles found himself suddenly alone, in a quiet corner at the edge of everything he had ever dreamed of seeing. He closed his eyes and let the sounds wash over him: endless chatter, musical warm ups from the band, laughter. He could still feel the warmth of Matteusz's hand in his own. 

This was a life that Charles could imagine for himself if he had been born common. Visiting the festival every year, not having to worry about meetings or magic or pleasing the Queen. Marrying for love, not power. 

It was merely a fantasy - and it would only ever stay a fantasy. But it was nice to imagine otherwise. 

“We have a good view of the musicians.” 

Charles opened his eyes again, with Matteusz now by his side. 

“Uh, yes.” 

“Oh there’s April.” Matteusz pointed at the dark haired woman holding a fiddle. “She works at the palace. We should be careful though, Lord Singh is with her.” 

“You know a lot about the palace.” 

“They’re my friends.”

Charles wanted to ask what that was like but he didn’t want to look too naive. He busied himself by trying the ale again, but the taste hadn’t improved. 

Matteusz tried his best to hide it but Charles caught the laughter behind his hand. 

“Are you laughing at me?” 

“No.” 

“I can hear you.” 

Matteusz moved his hand, revealing his bright smile. It was almost enough for him to be forgiven. “Okay. Just a little. I’ve seen you drink caskets of wine in the kingdom with no problem.” 

“They taste nice!” 

Matteusz took a long sip of his own drink. “You’ll get used to it.” 

They say in a peaceful quiet. They were positioned perfectly to watch couples dance to the music played. Now Matteusz had mentioned it, he could make out Lord Singh spinning the pretty musician girl. 

“Must be nice to dance without such strict rules.” 

“Yes,” Matteusz agreed, sounding a little wistful. 

Charles took a longer gulp of his ale before asking: “do you have anyone to dance with? If you hadn’t escorted me?” 

“Escorted?” Matteusz seemed amused. “You’re a little old for a babysitter.” 

…Which wasn’t answering his question. 

“But no,” he answered. “I had someone back home but I had to leave him behind.” 

Him. Charles tried not to overthink it. 

“Do you miss it?” 

“Dancing?” Matteusz asked. “I am not very good.” 

“Having someone.” He felt his face flush again. At least it was darker now and less obvious. He could always blame the ale. 

“It was nice.” He looked away from the couples. “I miss other parts of home more. Like my sister. I send her gifts when I can. Like the bracelets I brought earlier. She likes to make ones like them.” 

Charles felt a little foolish. “You don’t mention her a lot.” 

“I miss her,” Mattesuz replied. 

“I sometimes wish I had a sibling,” Charles confessed. “To share the burden of being a prince.” 

“Must be lonely.” 

He looked over to Matteusz, reliably by his side as always. “Not always.” 

  Wobbling slightly, Charles was starting to regret his second and third ales. It had taken them to finally pluck up the courage to ask Matteusz to dance with him. It had been ungraceful, yet freeing, to be spun around in hazy circles. 

“I’m dizzy.” 

“I’m sure you are.” Was Matteusz laughing at him? He found it more endearing than anything else. They had both let their guard down. 

“I wish I was normal so we could do this everyday.” 

“The festival is only once a year.” 

“Then I’ll make it law to happen everyday.” 

“Normal people can’t make laws.” Matteusz was definitely teasing him now. “This way.” 

“I’d run away after.” 

“You can’t just run away.” 

Charles frowned. “You did. You left everything you knew.” 

“Yeah. But it is different. They need me to be here, even if it's dangerous for me. Rhodia needs you right where you are.” 

“How is it dangerous?” He asked. “Magic?” 

Matteusz stopped for a moment and Charles stumbled into his back. 

“It’s okay. I’ll protect you from the evil magicians Matti.” 

“Don’t call me that,” he replied. All the fun sucked out of the conversation suddenly. 

Even in his inebriated state, Charles knew when to shut up. 

“This is a bad idea.” 

“Is it?” 

“This shortcut I mean.” Matteusz glanced over down the steep hill. “Not when you’re like this.” 

“I’m fine,” Charles shot back. He didn’t want Matteusz to think he was incapable of walking. 

“Wait, don’t-” Matteusz called, his voice the last thing Charles heard before he slipped.

   Charles had fallen down a hill, in the darkness of early morning, and woken up to the natural light pouring through his open curtains. He had expected the light to sting but he felt okay, minus a fogginess in his head. 

Matteusz was nowhere to be seen. He was usually on time for his duties, but maybe Charles had just missed him. There was tea and breakfast on the side, fresh clothes and the open window. Charles just hoped he hadn’t done anything stupid yesterday. 

(Charles could remember looking up at him, opening his mouth, a horrified expression on Matteusz face. He couldn’t remember what he said, which was somehow worse.) 

He dressed himself. In the mirror, he spotted a small scratch on his forehead. (He could remember falling last night. Maybe just the stairs. He was drunk after all.) 

Matteusz was still missing as Charles went about his day. He had done his lessons alone, then was served by a new servant at lunch. By the time his mother had her meetings, he was convinced Mattuesz was avoiding him. He let Councillor Ames speech wash over him, recounting the last night’s events again, trying to find where he went wrong. 

Charles recalled his face when he had called him ‘Matti', his warning of caution, then a weightless falling, as if time slowed down. That part felt even blurrier, perhaps he had hit his head, even if it didn’t hurt. In fact, he hadn’t even been hungover. It was like- 

“Magic,” Ames was saying, “is evil.” 

(“Magic,” Charles recalled himself saying yesterday, “but you’re not evil.”) 

“Yes, my lord?” 

Without realising he had stood up. It wasn’t just the councillor’s eyes on him, but the whole meeting room. “Um, I agree with the councillor.” 

“What was she saying?” 

He winced: the queen never went easy on him. “Er.” 

“Just go Charles,” she said sternly, “it’s clear your mind is elsewhere.” 

“My apologies,” he said. Usually being told off like a child would be upsetting, but there was already something else on his mind. 

Charles forced himself to walk out the room slowly. Once he was back in the empty hall, he took off running towards his room. He sunk into his bed, shaking, as the events of the night before finally clicked into place. 

  He had been falling, Mattuesz shouting something. Not for help, something else. Words he didn’t recognise. 

Charles had stopped falling, more like drifting, like a feather caught in the wind. The world suddenly slowed, until he had harmlessly landed on a patch of grass and wildflowers that hadn’t been there before. 

Matteusz had gotten down too, suddenly crouched in front of him. He had wiped the small scratch on his face gently and suddenly the bleeding had stopped. 

“Are you okay?” 

Charles was dazed. “You did something.” 

“No I didn’t,” Matteusz said, too quickly. “You just got lucky.” 

“No, it was you,” he had repeated, with clarity. “I was floating, it was like…” 

“Don’t say it.” 

But he had said it. “Magic. You have magic. But you’re not evil.” 

“I’m not anything.” 

“It all makes sense,” he had said, feeling suddenly sober, “all those fights we won - that was you. I thought I was special. I thought I was a hero.” 

“I needed to protect you,” Matteusz whispered. “I will keep protecting you. I’m sorry.” 

He had put his hands on his face and for a second Charles had thought he was going to be kissed. Instead, there was just blankness, nothing. 

Matteusz had made him forget. 

Charles had finally caught up with Matteusz after training with his knights. He had fought better than usual, filled with so much anger that he had even managed to beat Lord Singh. 

He had been with the same musician they saw yesterday, watching from a distance. 

“Let’s go for a ride,” he had suggested. The musician girl had been a stable hand and given them a horse each and they headed into the quietness of the forest. 

“How’s your head?” There was a forced playfulness to Matteusz’ voice. 

“Alright, considering how far I fell.” 

Matteusz had stopped. “I-” 

“I remember.” Charles stopped his horse and slid off him. “Have you made me forget other things?”

“No, never. I only ever used my magic to help you. Memory spells are tricky.” 

“You used untested dark magic on me?” 

Charles was starting to wonder if going somewhere alone with a magic user was a bad idea. If it was up to his Mother, Matteusz would be executed by the next morning. (He couldn’t let that happen. Charles couldn’t be that wrong about him.) 

“It wasn’t dark magic,” Matteusz said, “no magic is dark-” 

“Experience tells me otherwise. Magicians killed my Father.” 

“I know and I’m sorry that happened. But we are not all like that.” Matteusz stepped back, like he was the one to be afraid. “I will leave tonight. You won’t have to see me again. Please, don’t tell the queen.”

“How could you say that?” Charles asked. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“You have done it to others like me,” Matteusz said. He still looked scared. 

“Is that why you didn’t tell me the truth?” 

“It is dangerous to be magic,” he explained. “I could take no chances.” 

“I understand. I have my own secrets. Even from you.” 

Matteusz didn’t ask. (He wished he would. Then he could do something. One kiss, if he really was going to leave, if Charles was allowed one indulgence.) 

“For what it’s worth, I wish for you to stay. I will keep your secret. You have saved my life so many times, I owe you that.” 

Mattuesz looked relieved. “Thank you.” 

(When Charles woke up the next morning, it was Matteusz opening the curtains and letting the light in.)

[elizabethemerald]

Mistress of Shadows

Ok, I just really liked the idea of Pre evil Morgana being a mentor figure to Claire, especially when she senses dark magic around her. Also this story uses some of my personal headcanons and original ideas on how magic works. Enjoy!

AO3 

“Hand maiden? Could you attend me?” Morgana called softly into the study attached to her rooms. The girl, Claire of House Nuñez, entered her rooms with a sour expression on her face. A strange child. She had accompanied Merlin’s apprentice Hisirdoux, and Lancelot’s newest squire. 

Morgana extended her awareness a little. She could sense hostility radiating off the girl. The same hostility had been mixed with a wave of fear when the girl first sighted her in the throne room. However she quickly schooled her face, showing nothing but pleasant interest. 

“What may I do for you, Lady Morgana?” Claire’s voice was so carefully trained to a pleasant neutrality. She would do well with statecraft, though she would need to learn how to hide her emotions from other magic users. 

“There is a celebration to happen tonight. Would you assist me into my formal attire?” Morgana watched the girl with shrewd eyes, as she gestured to her outfit for the evening. Claire stepped up to the dress, her careful mask slipping for a moment as she examined the dress. Her face briefly showed her confusion, as she worried her lip with her teeth. Then her mask returned and she picked up the first piece of the outfit. 

Morgana would have raised an eyebrow, if she did not have her own mask firmly in place. The girl didn’t recognize one of the most popular and current styles of attire. And yet she had control over shadow magic. Morgana could feel the unmistakable aura around the child. 

As Claire walked around her, helping her into the dress, Morgana examined her closely. There. At the corner of her eyes, as she leaned closer to adjust a button. And there. On her hands as she placed a cloak around Morgana’s shoulders. The tell tale hairline cracks of dark magic. 

Truly no one who didn’t have personal experience with dark magic would have noticed. Morgana had felt her own skin splintering under the force of the magic she wielded. Had seen the cracks spiderweb up her arms and had seen the scars they leave on her own face. 

“Claire?” Morgana said softly. The girl’s eyes flicked to her own before returning to the garment. “That is your name correct? Claire?”

Claire nodded, not making eye contact again. “Yes it is, Morgana- uh, Lady Morgana.”

“There is no need for such formalities when it just the two of us. You can call me Morgan if you like.”

Morgana moved a hand to lay on Claire’s shoulder. To her surprise the girl flinched back like she expected to be struck. And if Morgana hadn’t been watching her closely for any signs, she might have missed her eyes briefly changing from brown to purple and black. Morgana allowed her hand to return to her side. 

“You don’t need to pay attention to all the stories Hisirdoux tells about me. The boy has quite the imagination.” Morgana paused, watching Claire’s face closely. She also kept her senses tuned to the waves of emotions flowing off her. “I won’t hurt you Claire.”

“Of course my Lady.” Claire gave a slight curtsy, no longer meeting her eyes, before turning on her heel to leave, Morgana’s attire set for the evening. 

“Though continuing to perform Dark Magic might.”

Claire stopped, her back straight and rigid as a spear. The hostility that had permeated the air around her since meeting her was suddenly swamped in fear. Morgana moved to sit at her table. 

“Come here girl.” Claire turned, and Morgana could almost see the dozens of lies and excuses bubbling to the surface. “Do you think I wouldn’t recognize the signs of someone who had used Dark Magic?”

She stood there stiffly for a few moments, before slowly stepping closer. When she was closer Morgana carefully lifted her hands, keeping her motions slow and deliberate. She didn’t want to spook the girl again. When Claire didn’t flinch away again, Morgana put her hands on her cheeks, examining her face even closer this time. 

The cracks were carved deep. And yet there was only one set. If someone had used dark magic multiple times the cracks would be layered on top of each other, changing the color of the skin to an ashen gray. Their depth however was interesting enough in its own right. A singular use of dark magic, yet powerful to a degree she had rarely seen before. Morgana sat back, allowing her hands to drop to the table top again, a small smile on her face. 

“I recognized your shadow magic earlier. How could I not? I’ve been the sole practitioner of shadow magic in the castle for years. But I thought I felt a trace of dark magic. That is a dangerous magic to use.”

Claire’s face crumpled in frustration. “I already got this lecture from Merlin. I know shadow magic is dangerous!”

Morgana allowed one elegant eyebrow to rise towards her hairline. “Not shadow magic, Claire, Dark magic.”

She leaned back, again carefully bring her hands up, making sure she broadcasted each movement clearly. A hint of shadow danced at her finger tips. The light in the room dimming a little. 

“There is nothing inherently wrong with Shadow magic. It just another specialization. Like fire magic, or healing magic, or even Merlin’s artifacing. It is neither good, nor bad. It simply is.” Again Morgana carefully watched Claire’s face. The girl looked surprised, and watched the dancing shadow with interest. Her rapt attention showed a calculating mind, quick learning. Morgana had no doubts that she would be able to perfectly replicate the magic after only a little practice. “It is certainly true that the nature of shadow magic makes it a favoured tool of assassins or thieves, or even the trolls in the wood. But that does not make it evil.”

“However,” Morgana continued her lesson. “Dark magic is a different beast all on its own.”

Claire stepped back a moment, then glanced at the other chair at the small table, almost unconsciously. Morgana gestured to the chair, inviting her to sit. Then when she was seated and again paying attention, Morgana breathed in, then out slowly. She drew on the darkness that was only ever a whisper away from her. It was as close to her as the clothes on her back. 

Claire gasped as the dark magic took hold. Morgana knew hair line cracks were appearing around her eyes. She carefully made sure they were not deep enough to leave any permanent mark. Then she sighed and released her hold on the magic. 

“Shadow magic is a tool. As one may prefer a hammer over an axe so might one prefer to dwell among the shadows as among the flame. Dark Magic, however is a source of power, not a tool to direct.”

“You know that all magic has a source?” Morgana waited for Claire’s hesitant nod. “Most wizards utilize the magic within their own bodies. Merlin is quite the fan of using the magics inside minerals and elements of the earth around him. Dark magic allows the wizard to pull more magic than their body can hold. It kills the body, to do so, but it allows for powerful works of magic, for those in dire need or with little care for the value of life.”

“Dark magic… kills the body?” Claire asked, her eyes wide now. 

“Yes. It can cause the mess that is inside a body to die, the cracks that are on the skin only show the barest hint of the damage that is being done. Enough usage of dark magic could cause the organs to fail, the lungs to be unable to draw breath, the heart unable to beat.”

Morgana knew that a careful practitioner could exclusively draw on this necrotic force from outside their body, ensuring that only other living things paid the cost of the magic. Or, as Morgana often did, just the opposite, ensuring that only they pay the cost, so nothing else is harmed. However this wasn’t a lesson she wanted to impart on to a young magic user. That way laid corruption. And eventually, succumbing to the evil of killing those around them for their own reward. 

Claire’s face was closed off. Thoughtful. Good. Morgana well knew the danger of Dark magic. It was difficult to tread the line between the benign shadow and the cruel darkness. Too easy to began to enjoy the death and suffering the darkness could cause. Morgana leaned forward, catching Claire’s attention again. 

“There are only two kinds of people who resort to dark magic. Those who care not for the suffering their magic causes.” Morgana watched Claire’s mask drop again. She looked horrified. Scared. Morgana gave her a warm smile. “Or those whose need is so desperate that they must resort to destroying their own body.”

“So tell me. Claire of House Nuñez. What road lead you to such desperate straits as to risk your body and soul to cast a spell of this magnitude?”

Claire had tears in the corners of her eyes. Her hand, almost on its own accord flew to cover her mouth, suppressing a sob. Morgana prided herself on her perceptiveness. This Claire was not a girl to play with magics without reason. Much less with dark magic on a scale that could have caused the cracks on her face. 

“The-the troll, I was found with-” Claire hesitated, her eyes flicking away, grief and longing on her face. 

“You love him?” Morgana said softly. She waited for Claire’s nod, then again put a gently hand on the girl’s shoulder. This time Claire did not flinch away. “A human and a troll in love? I never thought I would see the day.”

“Well he was my boyfriend first!” Claire declared, her usual forcefulness and fire returning to her voice. 

“In that case. If you would resort to dark magic enough to mark yourself like this, then it seems there would be no sense in keeping the two of you apart.” Claire looked up at her, tears still shining in her eyes, but determination shining there too. “After all, I’m sure the two of you would do anything for each other.”

Some fun author notes on this one. I really loved Morgana’s arc in Wizards and liked how she acted as a narrative foil to Claire’s own study of magic. Morgana thinks Claire flinched from her because she had been abused in the past. Its why she makes sure to telegraph her movements clearly so Claire isn’t taken by surprise. Claire doesn’t know how to put on the dress Morgana picked out, having never seen the style before. However she is able to make some connections between the style and certain historical costumes she’s seen. If the story had been from her perspective Claire’s thoughts at the dress would have been about breaking it down and analyzing it as well her doing her best to emotions, unknowning that she was projecting those emotions. Also I feel like Claire is constantly surrounded by men, so I wanted to have one time where there is another woman around her, to help her with her magic.