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Merlin     Night has fallen in Dun Realtai, and the cold weather is indeed settling in. At least it's not raining anymore, though the ground is still a little muddy from the afternoon's showers. It's a good thing it's dark, as well - the kind of thing that Enya is riding to the village is not something most villagers and especially not the children should see. It would scare the hell out of the former, and be the most awesome thing ever to the latter.

    Merlin waits upon the road, a cloak in his hands for his wounded student. Well, there is never a time like the present to start learning proper healing magecraft, and Enya's...remarkable background certainly gives her the stamina to see through what pain might come. Though first, they have a task to accomplish, and to that end Merlin has prepared a place.

    It's not far from his own room on the first floor of the keep, actually - right opposite the wall. Perhaps there's something special about the land in that spot, or perhaps it's merely the wizard's own personal space. Either way, a pit quite deep has been dug, for Enya to bring her ursine companion to its final rest.
Eithne Sullivan     The creature shambles down the path, its feet heavy on the earth. Eithne rides astride its back, wounded arm tucked tight against her front and her bicycle clutched in her good hand, balanced behind her on the bear's back. She's holding on with just her knees and the dogged determination to do right by the creature she'd raised from its well-deserved rest.

    She finds Merlin waiting for her; the Scion carefully drops her bike to one side of the road before climbing down, good hand patting the bear's shaggy shoulder. Three-headed, with a long scorpion-whip tail that's been severed, missing one of its jaws entirely, it's ...certainly seen better days. "Hullo, cousin," she greets him, fairly calm for someone in as bad a shape as she is. Her limp left arm is a bloody mess of melted flesh from shoulder to elbow, her body slow to purge the necrotic poison from the bite wound she'd torn the bear's jaw off for. There are splattered burns across her bare legs. It wasn't a very satisfying battle, and that feels worse than her wounds do.

    The cloak helps - it hides the worst of her injuries and even fights off a bit of the chill. "Thanks. I'd forgotten how cold it gets here at night." This is a half-lie - she hadn't forgotten, she just hadn't been thinking about it until now. At the edge of the grave, she leads the bear to climb down into the earth. "C'mon then, yeh did a good job," she tells it quietly, patting its flank one last time as her thrall clambers down the side on stiff legs.
Merlin     Merlin takes his time to examine this...chimeric monster. Whatever it had been in life, it was truly a monster now, and it was only right to put it to rest. There was, perhaps, a soft spot in Merlin's heart for the creature - it seems some aspects of his legend liked tying in the ancient word for bear into his name, and playing up his wild natural ways. They never actually believed he /was/ a shapeshifter after all. Ah well, sic semper historianus. Thus ever will be the historian with their head up their ass.

    "Cousin." He settles the cloak over her, thankful at least the wind hasn't started up. It probably will later, but for now it's properly still. "You look well. This, then..." Merlin totally blows off the terrible injuries she'd sustained to take a closer look at the shuffling beast, setting her bicycle to the side. Once the creature is settled in, he offers Eithne a hand to her good arm - one that comes with a spell of lightness, thankfully. With her injuries, the bear's disturbed shape, and the mud, it makes it a quick affair to settle her back on her feet.

    "Where did this poor beast come from...this was the work of the armored wizard you spoke of, I take it. You have done it a kindness." He'll wait, letting her have a word if she wants one, before a hand gestures to either side of the bear's form. Dirt begins to slide in place, slowly covering the beast.
Eithne Sullivan     It had been a bear, once. Now it was a true monster - the bones of its armor snapped and cleaved in places by Eithne's sword, one of its sides torn out. "It only looked happy when it was dying," she sighs, tugging the cloak tighter around herself. "I wanted to fight somethin' that wanted to fight me." There's nothing exhilarating about putting down a sick animal.

    The ghost of a snort sounds a bit more like a drawn breath, but there's a curve to her mouth. "Yeah. I feel fuckin' fantastic," she tells him, smirking despite everything. "It was bein' used to tear a way into a hospital. Dunno if it belonged to the crazy wizard guy or not - I don't think the other ghoul was his either. I killed the bear, Rebecca killed the ghoul, an' the magic knight wizard guy poofed away when I attacked him."

    She turns from him to watch earth settle down over the creature. "Thanks fer helpin' me," she tells it solemnly. "I'm sorry it was right after yeh'd finally just gotten to sleep. Pass on in peace an' bear me no ill will."

    She's... ignoring the pun. For now. :x
Merlin     There is no joy in the act of mercy. But there is, in its own way, glory. Merlin takes in its wounds, and nods once, understanding her words. A hand rests atop Enya's head, a comforting pat of acceptance. "I suppose the creature simply sought release. You provided it. It is a kind thing you have performed, and we both thank you." We? Well maybe Merlin embraces his ursine legends a little.

    She describes the battle, and Merlin raises an eyebrow at her feelings. Fantastic? Interesting. And he nods slowly when she mentions the hospital, and the crazy wizard. Interesting...what would he have need of such destruction for? Three heads, and some sort of great tail, and bone armor all over.

    There's no reply from the creature, of course. The dirt fills back in, a shallow - but wide - mound where it had been. Merlin reaches down beside him, plucking a small bag from his robe - and then with his hands digs a small hole. Into that hole goes a tiny rosebush, one just having been a seedling not so long ago. "May its spirit bless this new life, and may we never forget the bear's being." There is a small flicker at the top of Merlin's staff, an eldritch fire that wicks and gutters a moment and casts a silver moonglow - and yet no shadows or light falls upon the land.

    Then he turns to Enya, and looks her over - the somewhat battered clothing, acid burned legs where the skirt hadn't protected them. Her arm, still roiling with poison and acid where those great teeth had sunk so deep. "And now for you. Injured indeed. Sit. Stretch your legs. And remove your cloak; you will not need its protection from the cold in a moment."
Eithne Sullivan     A little of the stiffness goes out of her spine. Despite her independence, there will always be a part of Eithne that warms quickly to someone else's praise, as long as she likes or respects them. She is her father's daughter, but he isn't here. Merlin and Bedivere are.

    She glances over a bit at the use of 'we', but considers it another of Merlin's many oddnesses - not something for her to worry much over. He plants a tiny rosebush, and she actually smiles for the first time since returning. Careful of her mangled arm, she reaches out with her good one and gently touches a leaf. After raising a massive creature from death, she should be conserving her Legend, but... Eithne infuses the little plant with her blessing. As if it needed the help, it'll grow strong and healthy.

    Feeling eyes on her, she looks up at him from so close to the ground - from this angle she looks like a wild thing and not a teenaged girl, all tangles and wounds and pale eyes - but rocks lightly on her heels before gingerly settling into a sit on top of the cloak before shedding it the rest of the way. Revealed like this, the cold air doesn't feel great on her wounds, but it does ease some of the burn. "Don't suppose yeh brought any bandages?" she jokes, tucking her skirt in between her thighs.
Merlin     It's hardly a surprise. Praise is acceptance, acceptance means you have a place that desires you...and everyone seeks that. The wizard's words are gentle and kind, and not at all the typical teasing sort that needles Bedivere and takes great pleasure in Gawain and others. Well, he /is/ Merlin, and dares anyone to predict him! Besides...in a distant way, Eithne /is/ family in the end. There's nothing wrong in sharing joy with family.

    There's a curious look on the wizard's face as she reaches forward and touches the leaf - and then a small smile. With his inner eye, he watches the power flow through her - even just a trickle, perhaps, but the blessing is enough to help him understand better. Even as he does so, there's a nod as she glances up at him, one of approval. Perhaps in summer they can see what kind of roses might grow. But for now...

    "You will not need them soon. The cold will also be something you will not notice soon enough." To meet her gaze, and get a better look at her arm and legs (to inspect her injuries, geez!), he sits beside Enya and lets those blue eyes take in the wildness. "There is a poison...you're holding it off, I imagine. But it is a violent one, as is the burns. What we are going to do now is the origin of all magecraft, from the foundation of the world - all of the worlds." It's Dun Realtai now, not Camelot.

    He closes his eyes, and seems to almost meditate. "Focus in upon yourself. The thoughts, the words that are your innermost being. The very deepest concept of your soul, that spark of something more than yourself. This is your mana...and we are going to gather it and draw it through your body. Find an image," he continues. "A heart growing tense, then pierced by a knife. A dam surging with water, then exploding. A gathering of power and then a sudden release of it, as it flows through your body."

    He doesn't add it might hurt just a little bit - but he at least catches her good hand suddenly, in case she suddenly needs to crush the shit out of something.
Eithne Sullivan     Family is something Eithne has never taken for granted. For a very, very long time (as she reckons it) there was 'herself and her father', and then there was 'everyone else'. To have her mother now, distant as the Phantom Queen can be, and a cousin of sorts, and several half-siblings and more traceable cousins and uncles and aunts... it's a strange kind of family tree, but Eithne doesn't dislike it.

    She smiles back at him, settling a bit more comfortably as he begins the lesson. She isn't sure how it will mesh with her divine blood - can you be one thing, and also another? - but she's willing to try it out. "It's a necrotic kind," she nods at him, eyes lidding as she traces the taste of the poison on her teeth. "Like... a brown recluse. Flesh-eating." That she's managed to keep so much of her limb intact is a testament to the sheer sturdiness and vitality of her body. A normal human would be having it amputated if a competent healer weren't in reach. "It hurts a bit." It's fire, and knives scraped across her nerves, and she's growing stronger and stronger as the pain gets worse and worse, or maybe it's the other way around...

    She realizes with sudden insight that the poison is probably messing with her head, or maybe that's just the pain doing it. Eithne pays close attention, closing her eyes when instructed, melting arm cradled in her lap.

    What is she? What is she made of? Are there words? There is silver in her veins, running alongside the red. The red and silver of divine blood, the grey and black of Cu Chulainn's horses, the green of sap, the orange of leaves. The white and black of snow and wet earth.

    What is 'eithne'?

    It's a spark... it's a seed.

    In the furthest recess of her soul that she can reach, the hull cracks open. A leaf peeks out.

    Her hand tenses in his, shivering once before going deliberately still. Blood blooms at the line of her closed mouth, a thick red line threatening to dribble down her throat. Rather than crush his hand, she's bitten her lip through. "..."
Merlin     Sometimes a family tree is a tradtional, typical thing. They're hardly traditional, typical people, though - heroes and legends outside of time, and spread across many worlds. But family is still family - and it knows its own.

    Divinity will hold its own - but at the moment mere divinity doesn't seem to be doing much more than holding things at bay. She's still alive, still focused, as near as Merlin can tell. It will be suitable. Eithne searches inside herself, and her teacher watches with eyes within as she searches for herself and finds her trigger. Merlin nods as mana bursts.

    "Pain is natural. You have never used this part of your body before," he continues, referring to the Magic Circuits that make up all living things. "But you will learn. It will supplement your divinity, and be of the truest part of /you/. Remember this...and now notice. You no longer feel the cold, I imagine." Her grasp of Merlin's hand is more than enough for him to feel the heat coursing through her body.

    The pain will subside, the electric burning sensation settling to become something more stable. "Mana suffuses your body, now. This is your own power, your own soul's strength, rather than anything borrowed from your birthright. Feel it, feel how it pools through you..and now focus upon your shoulder. Your left arm, above the poison. Focus your attention there, and feel your arm. Understand the makeup of your arm. The muscle, the bone, the blood, the nerves. All of that which is /you./"

    He gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Gather your mana there; imagine it however you wish - but let it go no further. Understand your arm at its most intimate level that you can...and then push your mana into that arm." The trickle of blood at her lip gets a glance, and he's a little sorry for what has to come next. But Reinforcement is simple...and, in a way, the best means to purge the poison. And it is time for that purge to take place, as the tissue below the bite continues to darken.

    "Now, with all of your might.../push/ that all the way to your hand." He steels himself, even with her own kindness - this is going to hurt them both.
Eithne Sullivan     Sometimes a tree is a normal thing, and sometimes its roots hold up the world. ...Or something like that. She doesn't ever retain all of what she reads. Plus that's Norse, and she's still a little pissed at them for raiding so many monasteries.

    Were she a bit older, or a bit more experienced, she might be able to purge the poison from her system by herself. Eithne already heals at an amazing rate compared to the human she used to be, but this is a poison unlike any she's ever encountered before. Even though this will hurt, has hurt, she knows pain too.

    Swallowing a mouthful of blood, she licks more from her mouth and grits her teeth against what she knows will come. "S'like a pulled muscle," she murmurs, eyes clenched tightly shut. It feels like fire, it feels like stolen whiskey on a cold night, it feels like the sun on her skin. "It's all here. It's really all mine?" It's hard to tell the difference, sometimes, between what is her and what's her mother's blood... but if she listens, tastes, scents the new power, it's different. Or, it's familiar. It's her.

    If nothing else, she's suited to understanding the composition of her own body - although she loves to read, to dream, Eithne is at heart a practical, earthly soul. She thinks in wood and meat and blood and iron, things that can touch and be touched. Things that have a shape and form given to them already. An arm is made of muscle fiber and sinew and the tiny open cells in bone where marrow lies, where blood cells are created. It is coated in fat and skin and fine hairs and freckles.

    It is part of her <self>.

    The spark and sap of her mana and blood combine at the rotator cup of her shoulder. She knows what comes next, like the next chapter of a book. All she has to do is turn the page.

    There's a snap as the sprout forces itself just a little further out of the seed. Despite her best efforts, something very much like a strangled scream escapes Eithne's throat, spraying blood and saliva through the fence of her clenched teeth. Blood and rot and poison burst from her skin, splattering in steaming red and black and brown across the material of her skirt and shirt and the cloak. Her grip is close to 'crushing'.

    And Eithne gulps air, even as she's gingerly wiggling the fingers of her restored left arm.
Merlin     Well that ought to make things interesting with Inga. Then again if Bedivere and Mordred can make at least a truce between them, if not a peace, then maybe his two favorite Dun Realtai cuties can get along too. Right? Sure thing~

    "It is you." The confirmation is simple, just three words, but Enya already knows the truth. "I can see it. Underneath that which made you is your truest core, and you have found it," he adds. And then there is a vision for Merlin, one not entirely unexpected but not deliberately intended. For a moment, he touches her soul itself, and finds it...

    A field of dirt, ridged and broken and plowed. Just as Enya understands herself, there is a simplicity of a small spot of farmland deep within the girl's soul. In the center of this land is a small tree, one of verdant blossoms of a thousand colors and fruits, a synergy of self and an expression of mere, simple growth and /strength./ There is warmth in this place, though - Merlin looks up, and the sky is no blue sky of earth. The tree of a thousand colors grows under a sky gold and blindingly brilliant with divinity, Enya's nature revealing itself at its core.

    The cough of blood, the sudden purge of the poison from her arm, the nearly splintering grip of her hand, all break the momentary glimpse in an instant. Merlin opens his eyes, and smiles at the result. The reinforcement was successful, driving everything /else/ out besides the pure nature of of Enya's own body.

    Once she's got a breath in, Merlin opens his eyes. "You are...not quite in the best of shape, I suppose. Do not move." He gathers a sleeve, then dabs at her mouth and chin, letting the soft, sleek not-quite-silk not-quite-fur fabric absorb the majority of the blood from her bitten lip. Once her face is cleaned, he'll then gesture to her arm. "You did well. Note the soft glow," he adds, pointing out that oh hey look at that, Enya's arm does have a strangely luminous quality.

    "That is the sign of using mana upon your own body. As you refine it, and learn to truly control it, that pattern will shift - but it will always be a part of you." There's a smile, as he gently rubs her good hand and then pats her hair softly. "You did fantastic, Eithne. What you have done is to truly understand yourself...and to draw upon that power. When you are ready, we will continue."

    That hand drops and gently pats her leg, feeling the acid burn very lightly. He's checking how bad it is! "But...I suggest you rest for the moment. You'll notice, at least, how much warmer you are. Take your time. Enjoy the stars." He grins, since well...the only shivering was from the burst of pain. And yet there's almost a layer of frost starting to form on the ground, except around them...and around that tiny little rosebush sapling.

    Merlin, you think of /everything/ don't you. Of course I do.
Eithne Sullivan     She really... isn't in the best shape she's ever known, no. But she's already better than she was just moments ago. There's a kind of surprise that comes when he wipes the blood from her mouth, a prickle of the fine hairs at the back of her neck, but it's not uncomfortable. It's just been a long time since Eithne let herself be taken care of, instead of taking care of others.

    Her eyes open to look at the soft glow of her repaired arm. "It feels strange," she remarks, twisting it to look from different angles. "'New', maybe?" Fresh growth in spring. "...It'll stop shinin' soon, right?" Eithne asks suddenly, side-eyeing Merlin a bit. It must, otherwise everybody here that uses mana would be wandering around with glowing limbs and such!

    Second-degree chemical burns would be bad for most, but for Eithne they're 'mostly inconsequential'. They just burn and itch. "I'll fix 'em up in a sec," she nods. To feel gentle hands is strange - it makes her heart beat fast and light in her chest, and she tilts her head to hide the look on her face. But she doesn't pull away.

    "Thanks fer teachin' me this," Eithne grins instead, once she can look at him without betraying that vulnerability. She's missing a tooth on the left side.
Merlin     It's certainly far less potentially dangerous to her life, especially as her divine healing was fighting at its own. "All I did was showed you how to use your nature to combine your potential. You are of what the fool would say mixed breeding...and what the knowing would describe as 'a foot in each world, drawing from both.' Tonight you have learned how to use parts of your body you never knew existed before...and in time it will become much easier."

    Fortunately, a lot less painful too.

    Being doted on is always nice! Everyone likes having someone who is willing to help take care of them, and those gentle hands do their work with pride. "You may release the mana, as you see fit - it will flow back to you, and no longer show in such ways. However, with a little practice...you can do much more than glow slightly."

    There's a small flare of mana, a strange sensation that Enya might never have noticed before. She never had known the nerves to sense it were a part of her body. Merlin's hand glows, a gentle bluish-silver light matching his hair that forms a deeply intricate celtic knotwork with what look like fractal fur and root patterns branching off. "If Bedivere himself were to strike my arm, it would not break the skin." The glow diminishes, and then he nods.

    "As you wish. If your legs are not serious...perhaps a moment of rest would be best. You have attempted things tonight that a stronger student would fail at, and have succeeded. Well done, cousin. Well done." He gently gives her head a pat, then decides that /something/ must be done to salve the wounds there as well. Sure, Eithne's curly-haired, but that is hardly a mark against her. Not one bit, Merlin decides. "The last thing you must learn to take care of, dear cousin...is staying beautiful." Wink. "Especially one so young. Now, no getting up. Just close your eyes..."

    In his hand there is now a small hairbrush, bristles soft and long. "And relax," he adds. Wielding the brush like a scalpel, Merlin begins to pick at Eithne's hair, just around the edges at first. Little bits of debris, dried blood, and other bits that don't belong come free easily.

    "Every good magical girl should keep her beauty and elegance, you know. Or at least pretend to," he adds, giving the tomboy a wink. And Merlin is more than willing to take all the time it needs for Eithne's vanity to be restored. It is a beautiful night, after all.

    Perhaps the bear's spirit in the rosebush wouldn't mind the company either.
Eithne Sullivan     People used to believe in a thing called 'hybrid vigor', Eithne knows. It was supposedly the best reason for combining bloodlines, after the folly of inbreeding became better known. Now most people understand that a creature is the sum of its heritage and evolutionary luck. A thing isn't stronger simply for being a hybridization, but neither is it weaker.

    And many beautiful, hardy flowers have been made by artificial crossings.

    Releasing the mana isn't as easy as gathering it was, somehow. It's her nature to grab and hold, not to release - but in time Eithne manages to figure it out, like letting go of a held breath. Everything settles back into place, like a seed lying dormant beneath a breastbone, between two lungs.

    Like a crow's feather, her hair is black and shiny; just a little preening is usually enough to put it all back to rights. The idea of beauty and elegance is nice, and makes her chuckle. It's impractical! And yet even their king is a graceful beauty, and so is their steward (though Sir Bedivere would doubtless not appreciate such a compliment). "Magical girl, eh," Eithne grins, letting her eyes fall closed. She'll fix her legs in just a minute. For now, it's a freezing winter night but she's not cold, it's been a long and frustrating day but she's feeling peaceful.

    She bends her neck to let him get at a twig and siiiiighs contentedly. Then, because she's a little brat, she snickers. "Magical girl, my arse."