merrimanlyon | (no subject)

(no subject)

It is evening, and fires burn brightly on hearths all through the castle.

(fire to burn away the Dark)

For light, though not so much for warmth -- it rarely grows cool enough in the evenings to make a fire crucial to survival. One more difference, of all the differences, between what was then and what is now.

Merlion sits in a chair drawn up close by the library fire. A book is in his hands, though it hasn't been opened and isn't likely to be opened any time soon.

Too much has happened in the last few days. His concentration is on other matters entirely.

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The evening progresses.

Some time later, the door opens. There are footsteps -- soft ones, very soft ones, but still audible.

And humming -- an excerpt of Purcell.

It stops, along with the footsteps. "Where is it...ah. Yes."

The sound of a book being drawn from the shelves. Then the footsteps approach the hearth.

And then --

"Good evening, lion." Mildly cheerfully.

'Harper.'

Not so much with the cheer.

'What is your selection this evening?'

Not so much with the cheer, forsooth.

Gwion sits in the adjacent armchair. "Wordsworth. And yours?"

He's noticed the unopened book.

Merriman actually has to consult the spine of the book to remind himself of the title.

'Arthur Hugh Clough. Not the most skilled of poets, but his "Songs in Absence" have a certain rhythm to them that is not displeasing to the ear.'

Lightly observed: "Not skilled enough to hold your attention?"

'There are other matters which have a far more pressing claim on my attention at present.'

He looks at the harper for the first time, then.

'When were you last in Milliways?'

-- ah.

His expression settles into something a little graver. "A week or so ago. This has to do with the White Rider?" Then, quickly, he says, "We exchanged barbs. No more. Nothing that I thought it was worth troubling you over."

Merriman's expression had been grave, but now a thin and humourless smile hovers around his mouth. 'It has a great deal to do with her, and more than words have been exchanged.'

He sets the book aside, and clasps his hands in his lap. It keeps them steady.

'Bran Davies has angered her, enough for her to seek revenge on him and those who are close to him...and by extension, anyone else who happens to cross her path.' 'She has worked a trap-spell on a number of the bar's patrons, attempting to bind them to her will. And though the means of casting the spell has been destroyed, those who have been ensnared remain in thrall.'

He lets out a breath of air that is not quite a sigh and not quite a snort.

'And that is only the beginning of it, truthfully.'

Quietly: "Well." Gwion has paled, a little. "And -- I will assume that there are things that can be done, but that they are...not going as well as they could?"

Otherwise Merlion would have been pacing by the hearth. Either that or acting smug.

'The very nature of the place rather ties my hands,' he says, with a touch of irritation. 'She has as much right to be there as you or I do. And as I would prefer not to become persona non grata there, I must abide by the rules of the place even if she chooses to break them. Which means that within the confines of the bar I can only undo what she does, not prevent her from doing it.'

The situation, unsurprisingly, is massively frustrating to one who has spent so long both undoing the Dark's work and preventing its spread.

"What of those working for Security?"

He understands -- understands well -- how frustrated Merlion gets when he is (as he so rarely is) powerless, but his concern is more for those affected.

Perhaps understandably so.

A slight shake of the head. 'If any of them happen to be caught in the trap-spell...well, it is difficult to be certain of anything at the moment. The spell is subtle, more a matter of quiet influence than outright compulsion, but the longer it remains in place the stronger it grows. And as might be expected, the White Rider is not exactly forthcoming with the details of who she has claimed for her own.'

There is a chill in the room, one that lingers even this close to the comforting warmth of the hearth.

'The Dark is rising at Milliways. Or doing its level best to do so, before the breaking point comes on Twelfth Night.'

There's silence for a moment. It lengthens.

Then, finally, Gwion says, "Perhaps it would be worth risking becoming persona non grata?"

His voice is just a little strained.

It's the strained note -- with a vibration like that of an out-of-tune string -- that registers most deeply with Merlion.

He looks up, and meets the harper's gaze. Quiet, serious...and sincere.

'Should matters come to it, I would take that risk.'

The quiet half-smile comes back then.

"To tell the truth, I expected nothing less."

Merlion nods then, closing his eyes briefly. It is only for a moment, but the moment is long enough for the firelight to play across the deep lines of his face, heightening what seems to be a resigned sort of weariness.

'It is a risk that must be taken, at any rate. She has been far too industrious of late' -- the euphemism comes out through gritted teeth -- 'and not all of her captives have been wholly unwilling.'

"...really." The smile is gone.

'The White Rider accepted an oath of allegiance from a young man, a wizard in his world. Who quite clearly had very little idea of what such an oath entailed.'

Merriman's expression quite clearly gives a good indication of his opinion on the matter.

'So the Dark gained a new bondsman, for a time. At least until the moment of desperation' -- for desperation, read screaming panic -- 'he called upon the Light for aid, to break his allegiance to the Dark and enter into the Light's service instead.'

Gwion is silent.

-- very little idea of what such an oath entailed --

After a long moment:

"And?"

'And the Light accepted his oath.'

At the moment, being cryptic or evasive would take far too much energy. Not to mention the fact that it would be counterproductive.

'Though shortly afterwards, he and I had a talk. The conversation was, I admit, primarily one-sided. But because of the extenuating circumstances of his request, I had the authority to release him from his service to the Light. And when he asked to be released, his request was granted.'

Gwion sits back in his chair, and nods, and doesn't say anything.

Merriman's gaze returns to the fire. 'One less complication, at any rate.'

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