It's a complicated dance. In general, the kingdom has come to accept, and even appreciate, the odd dynamics of the royal family. But that doesn't mean they can relax. Much as Merlin dislikes it, the public's opinion does matter. Arthur can't very well rule if his people don't respect him. Neither can Gwen perform her duties well if everyone is speculating on her honor. It even affects Merlin's job as the newly appointed court physician and advisor to the king. Nobody wants some home wrecking whore treating their sick and injured. Really, Arthur's lucky Merlin loves him so much as to put up with all the ridiculous posturing at court when his time could be spent far more constructively.
The reason for tonight's feast is one Merlin doesn't remember. In fact, there may not even be a reason at all. The gods know the nobility have been liable to throw huge parties in the past more out of sheer boredom than anything else. He would love to feign a headache and escape, especially now that dinner is winding down and music is starting up. Unfortunately, he can't. Feasts are ridiculously important to the royal household's image. They're the perfect opportunity to prove that the king having both a wife and a lover is working out fine. That's why, even though he would love nothing more than to slink off to his room and hide away for the rest of the night, Merlin stays put in his seat at the high table, sipping wine and consciously keeping an amiable expression on his face. Just a hint of displeasure could potentially start the rumor mill.
"Merlin!" Lady Catherine greets, sliding smoothly into the empty seat beside him. "Enjoying yourself?"
"A bit tired," Merlin hedges, "but it's always nice to take some time to relax." All those years of secrecy spent building lies to keep his magic hidden have done wonders for Merlin's ability to bullshit his way through court with relative ease. Though to be fair, Merlin actually likes Lady Catherine. She's never been anything but good to him, even when he was still a servant. Her kind disposition disguises the woman's love of gossip. If ever you want to know about the happenings of Camelot (or even, on occasion, the neighboring kingdoms) Lady Catherine is your woman.
"Have you seen Lord Humphrey's new...escort?" Lady Catherine asks. The way she says escort, with the slightest hint of distaste, is telling. Merlin glances across the room to where a woman is attempting to force herself past the fringes of a group of women courtiers. Something was just a little off about the way she wore her dress and how she laughed too shrilly and just tried too hard.
"I heard," Lady Catherine continued, leaning in close to impart this particular piece of gossip, "that she fancies herself his majesty's next lover."
Merlin can't stop himself from snorting inelegantly into his wine, but Lady Catherine seems equally amused. "She is most definitely not his type," Merlin states.
"Certainly," Lady Catherine readily agrees. "But you do have to give her credit for aiming so high." Fair enough. "I almost want her to try it," the lady confesses.
"You want some slag to make advances on the king?" Merlin asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Come now Merlin," Lady Catherine prods, "you know as well as I that his majesty's reaction would be well worth it." Merlin almost chokes on his wine just imagining the look that would cross Arthur's face if Lord Humphrey's latest bedwarmer attempted to seduce him.
"You are a cruel woman, my lady," Merlin tells her. Lady Catherine's answering smile is wicked. Before they can continue their conversation Gwen sweeps over and takes the empty seat on Merlin's other side.
"She's simply awful, isn't she?" the queen says without preamble.
"Horrible!" Lady Catherine eagerly chimes in. "Merlin and I were just discussing her ambitions to seduce his majesty the king." The queen throws back her head and laughs.
"Oh, I would love to see Arthur's face!" Gwen says, a mischievous glint in her eyes. They spend a few more minutes watching the awkward woman attempting to insert herself into court life. Clearly, she doesn't understand that screwing a lord doesn't give her any special privileges.
"Part of me dearly wants to go over and give her some advice," Merlin admits to his companions, "while another part of me is quite certain she's a lost cause."
"Poor dear," Gwen comments. She turns to Merlin then and clasps their hands together. "Would you grant me a dance, Merlin?" the queen requests. Merlin smiles and stands.
"Gladly," he accepts. They bid Lady Catherine goodbye and make their way out onto the wide open area between the tables. The minstrels have struck up a jaunty tune. Knowing how it embarrasses his friend, Merlin takes Gwen's hand and bends low to place a kiss on her knuckles with an embellished, "My lady." Gwen's cheeks color bright red and she almost swats playfully at his shoulder until she remembers they are at a public feast and not in the royal chambers. Instead she promises retribution with a warning look. Merlin smiles smugly at her before beginning to whisk her about the floor.
Merlin loves dancing with Gwen, but that's not why he does it. As he spins her, Merlin is aware of the eyes that watch the queen and the king's lover laugh and twirl about. Dancing with Gwen at feasts is all about assuring the people that they are still close friends, that no drama has broken out amongst the royal household. Merlin would do it even if he hated dancing with a fierce passion, as would Gwen.
"It never ceases to amaze me how graceful you are when you dance Merlin," Gwen tells him. Merlin laughs, taking no offense at the comment.
"Arthur is convinced I use magic," the warlock replies. "He insists there's no other way I can possibly avoid stepping on your toes."
"Do you?"
"Use magic?"
"Yes."
"Nope." Merlin is sure the wicked grin he can't help showing isn't convincing Gwen, but she lets him keep his secrets. He doesn't use magic when dancing, no matter what Arthur says. In fact, when Merlin learned of some of the more frivolous parts of his elevated position at court, he'd spent a lot of time learning how to be a graceful dancer so as to avoid embarrassing himself (and by extension, Arthur and Gwen) when at feasts. Naturally, Arthur refuses to believe him.
They dance for a couple more songs before Merlin leaves Gwen to one of the knights and returns to the high table. He wants to go sit beside Arthur and start hinting that they should retire for the night, but a quick glance shows that the king is in deep discussion with one of the lords. Instead, Merlin retrieves his cup and sips from it as he observes those still at the feast. A few of the nobility have already retired to their chambers. He takes note of Percival and Leon staggering out of the hall with Gwaine draped between them and Mordred wondering after them in a state of drunken confusion. There are times where you would never guess they are Arthur's most trusted knights.
"I don't believe I've introduced myself yet," someone interrupts Merlin's musings. "I am Eliza." Merlin need only glimpse the woman out of the corner of his eye to realize it's Lord Humphrey's lover.
"Pleasure," Merlin says in a way that clearly indicates it isn't.
"Aren't you the king's lover?" Eliza prods. Blunt, she is.
"Indeed. And I imagine I shall remain so for many years to come." She doesn't go away, though her expression does turn rather sour at Merlin's subtle hint to stay away from Arthur. Before he can rethink it, Merlin downs the rest of his cup and turns to Eliza with intent. "Look," he starts, "You're not really endearing yourself to the rest of the court."
Eliza's eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"
"Lord Humphrey has someone new every month. Being his bed warmer doesn't make you anything special."
"Well being the king's bed warmer doesn't make you anything special either!" she hisses.
"On the contrary, the king loves me and I him. I am also the court physician and a trusted advisor." His eyes slide over to Arthur again, but the king is still caught up with speaking to the lord. "I dare say I am far more than the king's bed warmer." Eliza looks like she's about to speak so Merlin cuts her off. "You have no status. You are neither high born, nor a valued member of this court. Stop while you're ahead."
"Perhaps you're underestimating me." Eliza sticks her nose up in the air defiantly. It takes an immense amount of willpower not to double over laughing.
"People here think you're a joke," Merlin tries to emphasize. "They laugh at your pitiful attempts to pretend you belong here. As I said, quit while you're ahead."
Eliza, predictably, is fuming. Not that Merlin has been particularly kind about imparting advice to her, but he has no patience for her kind. Self entitled, thinking she's better than everyone, assuming the world will bow to her whims. Some think it a characteristic of nobility, but after so many years at court Merlin can safely say some people just have it hardwired into their character, regardless of social status. A wealthy merchant's daughter Eliza may be, but that makes her nothing special. Pretending she's better than the lords and ladies of Camelot's court will gain her powerful enemies and few, if any, allies. Allies are important to have in a place such as this.
They're eyeing each other warily now. Merlin's aware that this has got to stop soon or they will make a scene. Thankfully, before any more disparaging comments or petty words can be exchanged, a familiar arm wraps around Merlin's waist, tugging him close to a warm body. Arthur rests his chin on Merlin's shoulder.
"I feel I have been neglecting you this evening," the king says.
"That is because you have, my lord," Merlin replies easily. From the corner of his eye he can see Eliza eyeing them critically, perhaps looking for any chink in their relationship that she can exploit.
"I shall have to make it up to you. Who have you been making friends with over here?"
Friends is most certainly not the right word, but Merlin answers anyway. "Eliza. She's here with Lord Humphrey."
"Ah." Arthur's answer says that he understands exactly what that means about Eliza.
"Eliza," Merlin continues the introduction, "May I present King Arthur Pendragon." Her curtsy is perfect. Merlin can picture her spending hours practicing it in front of the mirror, planning for the day she will seduce the great King Arthur of Camelot. Nevermind that Arthur has never been interested in the female form. And beside that, he has made it quite clear that Merlin is the only one he wants in his bed.
"Your highness," Eliza says respectfully, voice breathy with excitement. It rankles something in Merlin, after he's explicitly told her off from doing just this. This being flirting with his lover.
"Are you ready to retire for the evening, sire?" Merlin asks.
"Yes, I think I am."
Eliza's glare is far more satisfying than frightening. Merlin loops his arm through Arthur's as they leave the feast and resists the urge to look back over his shoulder to stick his tongue out at Eliza. Barely.
A/N: I had the stupidest working title for this thing: A Knight At The Ball. I felt dumb every time I looked at the document.