I do not own Merlin, or any of the characters. They belong to the BBC.
Just so you know, Merlin won't be staying a girl. I am changing him back. And this is just a short (crappy) prologue, the actual chapters will be longer. :)
Let me know what you think. Does it suck? Is it OK? Can I make it better?
(And remember, this is a tradgedy!)
Prologue
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
A continuous "tapping" noise echoed around the luxurious bed chambers of Arthur Pendragon, who was leaning back in a chair that befitted one of his royal stature. The expression on his face, however, might have befitted a sulking five year old, however. And the source of the tapping noise came from the prince too, as he drummed his fingers against the table in front of him.
Hours. He had been waiting for bloody hours!
He knew his manservant was incompetent, but this...
In all honesty, Arthur didn't know why he was surprised. Even before the three years of unfortunate accidents such as broken furniture, cold baths (because somebody forgot to warm it up!) the odd spot of rust on his armour, and his room being mysteriously trashed (again!), he had known.
He had known that Merlin was going to be the most incompetent, lazy, pathetic, disrespectful, clumsy, and generaly the worst manservant the world had ever known.
So he really shouldn't be surprised that after asking Merlin to fetch him breakfast an hour ago, without any result or sign of the servant.
Suddenly there was a rap at the door.
Arthur scowled darkly at it. If he wasn't so hungry, he'd refuse the arriving meal just out of spite. Maybe he'd eat Merlin afterwards too, just to show him how angry he was!
...alright, maybe that was a little extreme.
Perhaps...
'Come in,' he grumbled.
As the door opened the prince's head shot up, a snarky insult at the ready. Luckily, he managed to hold the words back as he saw that it wasn't Merlin after all, but another (more competent, Arthur added sullenly) servant.
'Forgive me sire,' said the serving girl, bowing her head in respect. 'But the king requests your presence.'
'Thank you, you may leave,' said Arthur, dismissing her with a wave of his hand, glaring darkly at the corner of his room.
Looked like he wasn't going to get his breakfast after all.
When he next saw Merlin, the boy was going back in the stocks, and staying there for so long, and unfortunate grandchildren of his would also be in the stocks!
A low groan passed Merlin's lips as his eyes flickered open - only to clech shut again as harsh sunlight attacked his eyes.
Right. No more messing around with metamorphing spells then... he thought as he struggled to sit up. As the warlock's eyes adjusted, he realised he had colapsed in the middle of the forest. Funny thing though, he could have sworn it was still early morning when he left the castle...
Oh.
Merlin felt a twang of guilt as he realised he had forgotten Arthur's breakfast. Luckily, his guilt was quickly dissolved as he pictured the crowned prince of Camelot, sitting in the same chair for hours as he waited for his breakfast with an expression like an angry child on the verge of a tantrum. The young warlock laughed as he imagined what Arthur would say when he got back. Nothing for polite company, he was sure!
Had the sorcerer not been laughing so hard, he might have noticed something odd about his voice - particularly the pitch.
And had he not been laughing, he might have noticed the approaching footsteps before it was too late. But of course, Merlin was never known for his observational skills.
A soft yelp of surprise escaped his lips as a rough, heavy hand gripped his arm. Spinning around, he came face to face with a grimy, midle-aged man in worn leathers, a leacherous expression on his face.
'Well, well,' he sneered. 'What 'ave we 'ere? Didn' expect to see such a pretty young lass like you out in the middle of these woods.'
Merlin bristled visibly. Lass? Lass! OK, so he may not be the most masculine example of the male species, but he was not girly!
'Who are you calling a girl?' he shouted, glaring at the man as he tried to shove him backwards. The man caught his wrist easily, and the smirk on his face widened if anything. 'We like em' feisty. 'Aint that right, boys?'
From the surrounding woods, half-a-dozen men stepped out, all clad in similar battered leathers, and each with a weapon in hand - bandits.
But Merlin didn't notice. He was too busy staring in horror at his arm. Since when had his wrist or fingers been so slim and dainty? Since when had his voice been so high-pitched?
The bandit's words echoed in his head - "lass"
Taking a deep breath, Merlin gathered his courage and glanced down.
Since when had there been lumps like that on his chest?