A/N: This is my first ever fanfic. I am soooo excited. I really, really, really love Merlin - Merlin/Arthur OTP!! I really wanted to write fic for them and I'm a big fan of Shakespeare - Romeo and Juliet is my favourite novel and it inspired me to write this: a tale of star-crossed lovers with a new twist. There's some het in this part but I promise it will be Merin/Arthur very soon because they are meant to be 33333

Morgana was like syrup – her breasts were like sugar, sweet and bouncy. Her hair was like chocolate sauce on pancakes, one of Arthur's favourite things, snaking across her creamy shoulders. The tempest-eyed woman had ensnared him as though she was a sorceress and he loved her, everything about her, like the way she was always so kind and affectionate to his father and to everyone around her. But not Arthur. It made him sad. She was forever telling him to pick up his dirty linen and that he smelled like carrots, which made no sense, because he didn't even like carrots. But he loved her anyway: her angry, firey eyes of disdain exited him.

So much that he had to corner her one night in the corridor outside of his father's room (it was very late; he'd been waiting outside the room for hours so she would come out and he could her. At last she did, so he did).

"Morgana." he began gruffly, "I have been waiting for you for hours. What were you doing with my father? I had no idea you were so interested in crop rotation. I think its boring. Anyway, what I came to say here is this. I want you. I have always wanted you. Ever since the day we first met, even though we were only three. I think it was because I had never met a three year old with breasts before. I love you anyway. You are my soulmate, my destiny, the shining star of my wretched life. Please, I am begging you, be with me for the rest of our lives. I love you."

Morgana looked horrified. And then she laughed. "Oh, Arthur," she said in that perfect mocking way of hers that Arthur loved so much it hurt (partly because she was mocking him). "I am afraid that we can never be together. It is against the law in Camelot, and also, I think you are a bit of a loser. I cannot understand how such a retard came from the erotic mingling of my genes with your father's."

"I do not understand either," Arthur said, not understanding. "What are you even talking about?"

"Arthur, I am you mother!"

Arthur's entire world came crumbling to a halt. His face felt hot and bloodless. It was as if that syrup that he loved so much had spoiled and fermented, the glistening translucent liquid turniny green and goopy and filling with the white fluff of despair.

But then a thought struck him.

"Wait, wait! Why are we all the same age?!" Arthur demanded desperately, a single perfect hope almost stirring him to a single perfect tear. Morgana wasn't even a year older than him – he had been to all her birthday parties and he wasn't so stupid as to miscount the candles on her three tiered chocolate fudge cake. She couldn't be his mother! When she realised how mistaken she was she would surely fall swooning into his arms and they could ride of into the sunset and make love in sun-dappled meadows and have lots and lots of blonde babies with sparkling sapphire eyes (of course they would inherit Arthur's good looks and Morgana's cleavage) that Morgana would raise and nurse while Arthur was out working in golden fields and when he comes home every day she will kiss him and call him her perfect hero and all his dreams would have come true. It would be a simple farmers life, simple but perfect, and there love would keep them going through all the hard times (Arthur had sat in on many very very dull policy meetings, he knew all about crop rotation, and how to skin pidgeons for smoked sandwiches) because that was what true love did: it was the blanket on your bed, and the awful smelling pottage in your bowl.

But anyway, we're getting carried away here; where we are is this: Arthur has just asked a very important question, and one that requires an answer if the author is to prove anything but lazy and inept – how can he be Morgana's daughter when they are cleerly almost the same age?

"Were not the same age," Morgana said simply, her sapphire eyes puzzled.

"We're...not?" Arthur was getting worried – did everyone else in Camelot use a different counting system? He was sure this would have come up in one of those very very dull policy meetings.

"No. Defiantly not."

Arthur frowned. He didn't like where this was going and he wasn't sure he still wanted Morgana if she was secretly old and disgusting; true love can only take a person so far after all.

"How old are you?" he questioned suspiciously.

"23."

"And I'm...23."

"Yes. So we're not teh same age," Morgana finished triumphantly.

Arthur, for reasons unknown to any but himself, could not argue with that. "So how old is my father then?"

"Uther?" a dreamy look splattered itself across her face, "He's 23."

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That was the first part! I hope you laughed over the ages thing (lol!) - this fic is a biiiiiit cracky but I promise serious Merlin/Arthur in the end (maybe even up to an M ^_^). Please review! I'm always looking for new writing tips. I love all you guys!

~ SMW