6th century AD
As at Camelot, Merlin lived apart from the great hall in a humble dwelling, a cottage with a thatched roof and wattle and daub walls. He could have had a whole stone fortress to himself had he asked the King for it, but this was where he chose to stay. It was an ordinary enough looking place in the day, but Geraint knew that it was no more an ordinary house than Merlin himself was an ordinary man.
Merlin himself sat in a carved and cushioned chair. A great book, bigger even than the bishop's scripture, was spread out before him. He looked up, his face mild and unsurprised as Geraint entered, and he shut the tome before Geraint could make any sense of the runes and pictures written there.
'And what would you with Merlin, Sir Geraint?' inquired the sorcerer.
Geraint stood there for a moment. Until he had walked through the door, he had thought he knew what he was coming here for, but now, faced with Merlin's lined and ancient visage and his deceptivekly clear eyes, he was suddenly uncertain.
'What has happened to the Lady Elen? he asked finally.
Merlin ran his hands over the tooled leather binding of his book. 'I do not know for certain. She is held captive. Something prevents her from speaking plainly. If it is Morgaine, it is most certainly a binding or curse that holds her.'
'How may it be broken?'
Merlin stared into space ...
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