Chapter Text
The tavern was loud.
Not unusual loud—Merlin had been in enough taverns across Britain to know the difference between normal loud and someone-is-about-to-start-a-brawl-over-a-chair loud.
Tonight leaned toward the latter.
Merlin sat near the hearth, hood low, a mug of ale warming his hands. He had no intention of finishing it. The ale was mediocre, the mug was sticky, and someone nearby smelled like they had attempted to bathe in horse.
Still.
Taverns were useful.
Traveling taught you many things. One of them was that the best place to learn what people were really thinking was a tavern.
People got honest when they were drunk.
Also louder.
Much louder.
Merlin leaned back in his chair and surveyed the room with the weary patience of a man who had seen humanity at its worst and somehow kept encountering new lows.
At the bar, two farmers were arguing loudly about whose cow had looked at the other one “disrespectfully.”
Near the door, a bard was attempting to sing a heroic ballad about a knight who had slain a dragon.
Unfortunately, the bard appeared to be three verses behind his own lute.
At a nearby table, a man was explaining very passionately to a woman that he was “definitely not banned from the neighboring village.”
Merlin sipped the ale.
It was worse than he remembered.
Remarkable, he thought dryly. You’d think after hundreds of years someone would learn how to make decent ale.
He glanced toward the hearth again—
And paused.
Four figures sat at a table across the room.
They stood out immediately.
Not because they were being loud.
Quite the opposite.
They were the only ones in the tavern who looked like they had functioning brain cells.
The group consisted of two men and two women, all roughly in their twenties.
The broad-shouldered man had reddish-blond hair and bright green eyes that practically sparkled with excitement. He talked with his hands constantly, knocking his mug dangerously close to the table edge every few seconds.
Next to him sat a taller man with long black hair and pale skin. Thin glasses rested on his nose, and his posture was rigidly precise. His clothes were neat—Way too neat for a tavern.
Snake-like, Merlin thought immediately.
Then there was the woman with long straight black hair and round glasses. She had parchment spread across the table and the intensely focused look of someone who would absolutely correct your grammar mid-sentence.
The last woman had short curly caramel-brown hair and a constellation of freckles across her nose. She smiled often, warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners whenever the others spoke.
Merlin watched them for a moment.
Then he frowned slightly.
Magic.
All four of them had it.
Not weak sparks either.
Powerful.
Very powerful.
Which raised the obvious question:
What in the name of Albion are four magically talented young idiots doing discussing things in the middle of a tavern?
Magic these days was… complicated.
Feared.
Misunderstood.
And frequently called dark, wicked, or cursed by people who would faint if they saw someone levitate a spoon.
Sensibly, most magical folk kept their abilities quiet.
Which meant these four either had excellent self-control…
…or very poor survival instincts.
Merlin shifted slightly in his chair, pretending to be uninterested while angling his hearing toward their table.
The freckled woman was speaking.
“—I just think we could do more,” she said gently.
The tall man with the glasses sighed.
“We could do more, Helga,” he said. “But magical families guard their knowledge like dragons guard treasure.”
Ah.
Helga.
Good to know.
The parchment woman pushed her glasses up her nose.
“Britain’s magical community is a disaster,” she said flatly.
Merlin snorted quietly into his mug.
Finally, someone says it.
“Families hoard knowledge,” the tall one added sharply. “Power stagnates.”
The broad-shouldered man leaned forward eagerly.
“We could change that.”
Merlin’s attention sharpened.
Glasses tapped the parchment.
“We are powerful witches and wizards. Between the four of us we could build something extraordinary.”
“A place,” Helga said thoughtfully.
“An institution,” Glasses corrected.
“Rowena,” the broad-shouldered man groaned, “those are the same thing.”
Oh
So glasses' name is Rowena
“They are absolutely not.”
“Are too.”
“They are not.”
“Rowena—”
“Godric—”
Ah.
Godric.
Merlin filed the name away.
Godric grinned like someone who enjoyed arguing.
“A place people will remember,” he said dramatically.
“A legacy,” he added.
The Snake looking man tilted his head slightly.
His green eyes gleamed behind the glasses.
“Something that lasts.”
Merlin waited.
They were circling the idea like cats around a bowl of milk.
So close.
Painfully close.
Rowena frowned at the parchment.
“But how would we do that Salazar?” she said. “Even if we agreed to do something… what would it be?”
Godric shrugged.
“We start a guild?”
Salazar—apparently— immediately made a face.
“Guilds are political nightmares.”
“Fine,” Godric said. “A council.”
“Even worse.”
Helga hummed thoughtfully.
“Maybe… a library?”
Rowena brightened slightly.
“A magical archive—”
“No,” Salazar said immediately. “how would be able to bring it to the people.”
They fell quiet.
Merlin watched them struggle.
It was almost painful.
The idea was right there.
Right there.
Just—
“You want to build something,” Merlin said casually from the next table.
Four heads snapped toward him.
He raised his mug in greeting.
Godric squinted.
“…Have you been listening to us?”
“Yes.”
Rowena narrowed her eyes.
“That conversation was private.”
“You were discussing magical reform at a volume loud enough to wake the dead,” Merlin said calmly. “Privacy was not part of the arrangement.”
Helga tilted her head curiously.
“And who are you?”
Merlin considered.
Then shrugged.
“Merlin.”
Salazar studied him.
Carefully.
“You just happened to overhear a conversation about magical society,” he said slowly.
“Yes.”
“And felt the need to interrupt.”
“Yes.”
Godric leaned forward eagerly.
“Are you a wizard?”
Merlin sighed.
Honestly.
People these days had the subtlety of a charging goat.
He lifted his gaze.
For the briefest moment—
His eyes flashed gold.
Not bright.
Not obvious.
Just enough.
The reaction was immediate.
Helga went very still.
Rowena’s eyes widened behind her glasses.
Godric looked delighted.
Salazar’s gaze sharpened like a drawn blade.
Ah.
They understood.
Good.
“Yes,” Merlin said casually, lowering his hood. “And if you’re thinking about testing me, please don’t. It’s rude, and I’m not in the mood for a duel.”
Merlin took another slow sip of ale.
“Now, you want to build something, correct?” he repeated.
Helga gave him a slow nod
“But you’re thinking too small.”
Rowena frowned.
“How do you mean?”
Merlin gestured lazily with his mug.
“You’re trying to fix magical society.”
“Yes,” Salazar said.
“Which means you’re starting with adults,” Merlin said. “Which is your first mistake.”
Helga blinked.
“What?”
“Adults are stubborn,” Merlin said bluntly. “They hoard power. Guard secrets. Refuse to change.”
Godric nodded slowly.
“…True.”
Merlin set the mug down.
“If you want to change magical Britain,” he said, “you start with children.”
Silence.
Rowena froze.
Helga blinked.
Godric’s eyes widened.
Salazar went very, very still.
Merlin watched the realization bloom across their faces.
“Why not build a school?”
The idea hit them like lightning.
Rowena shot to her feet.
“That—”
She pointed at him.
“—is brilliant.”
Godric slammed both hands on the table.
“A school for witches and wizards!”
Helga beamed.
“Oh that would be wonderful!”
Salazar’s mind was already racing.
“A centralized place of learning… where knowledge is shared freely…”
Rowena was practically vibrating.
“We could teach theory—advanced magic—history—runes—”
“And sword fighting!” Godric added immediately.
“Godric—”
“Defense training is important!”
Helga clapped her hands once happily.
“We could accept magical children from all over Britain!”
Godric turned to Merlin.
“You’ll help us build it!”
“I will not—”
“Please,” Helga said kindly. “Since you clearly have a great idea, and sound like you know what your doing… and it will be temporary. Until we get the school running.”
Merlin hesitated.
The castle they were describing had good bones.
The people were…
He watched as Rowena and Salazar immediately began arguing about tower placement.
“…the astronomy tower must face north!”
“That is architecturally inefficient!”
Godric was sketching swords on the parchment.
Helga was trying to convince them to include kitchens.
Merlin rubbed his temples.
These four were powerful.
Brilliant.
Ambitious.
And completely incapable of cooperating for longer than ten seconds.
Which meant they would absolutely destroy themselves without supervision.
…And probably take half of magical Britain with them.
Merlin sighed.
“…Fine,” he said slowly.
Rowena immediately lit up.
“Excellent. We’re also designing the staircases.”
Merlin paused.
“…The staircases?”
“Yes,” Rowena said happily. “They’ll move.”
Merlin stared at the door.
Then at the four young witches and wizards now loudly arguing about towers, classrooms, and whether or not the school should have a lake.
This, he realized with sudden dread,
might have been a mistake.
But judging by the chaos already beginning—
…it might also be worth it.
Merlin leaned back in his chair, watching the future founders of what would one day be the greatest magical school in the world, argue about staircases.
And for the first time that evening,
he finished the ale.
He was going to need it.