Disclaimer:I am neither lucky, powerful, rich, or influential enough to own BBC's "Merlin". If I did I certainly wouldn't be sitting around dreaming about it. (Ha! Who am I kidding, I still would!) But regardless, everything and everyone belongs to their respective studios, corporations, and companies. (God damnit!) And thus, I own nothing but my rabid plot bunnies and hopeless dreams, thank you very much!
Warnings: Well first off, this is a slash story boys and girls, so if that doesn't float your boat then I suggest with the utmost politeness that you swan off as this will likely not be to your liking. (Heh, you never know you might just get converted! Hee!) And secondly, since the current season is, and had been over for some time, there are potential spoilers for all episodes from the first season here. Just so you all know!
Authors Note #1: While I am in the middle of writing four or five different stories at the moment this one was simply demanding to be told, resorting to even haunting my dreams in order to do so. (Much like another story I ended up writing in another cannon). Sometimes having an overactive imagination bites!
Authors Note #2: Unlike in a Zoo, please feel free to feed the author! Your reviews not only give me a warm fuzzy feeling inside, but they also help me improve myself. As well, this is my first foray into Merlin fanfiction, so please keep that in mind! ...So yes, please read and review.
Never Trust a Handmaiden
Chapter One - "Do you ever think when you're all alone...All that we can be, where this thing can go?... Am I crazy or fallin' in love?"
Oh yes, it was bloody well official now. He, Arthur Pendragon, current Prince of Camelot and it's realm, future king of Camelot and said bloody realm, which to his fathers eternal joy included all sorts of magical monsters, man-eating beasts, unicorns and their meddling keepers, sorcerers, sorceress's, and every other near apocalyptic disaster bringing nasty...was officially, and irrevocably jealous.
Not that he had any right NOT to be jealous however. He was the prince! Therefore, he had not only the right but the privilege to be jealous at anyone he chose. It was simply one of the many perks that came with being the crowned prince and heir to the kingdom of Camelot....or so he surmised at any rate.
However, the dilemma he now faced was of whomhe was jealous of... In truth he was not normally a jealous man. Why would he be? He had nearly everyone at his beck and call, a wardrobe that depressingly could probably clothe Merlin's entire village, as well as the finest food, wine, and education he could ever ask for. He owned what was arguably the best armour and the most well bred horse, save his father's charger of course, that had been foaled in the royal stables in over a decade. He had been born in an inane talent for warfare and leadership, and had been taught by the very best fighters and strategists in the realm and thus had very rarely seen his own fighting prowess matched, whether in Camelot, Mercia, or beyond. Truly, in his comfortable and luxurious life there was really nothing to be jealous of, everything within reason was his to draw upon...Until now...
But this, this was enough to make even him see the face of jealously scowling back ay him in the reflection of his shining pewter plate. Truly she had no right, no claim for this type of behaviour! Merlin was his man servant. HIS! Everything from his prominent ears that really had no right to be as intriguing and as adorable as they actually were, down to those ridiculous kerchiefs he insisted on wearing everywhere he went. His! 'What part of the 'Prince's manservant' did this ungodly wench not understand?!'
Besides, it didn't make any sense what so ever, Merlin was painfully clueless about the attentions of the opposite sex, before he wouldn't have even been able to tell the difference between if a woman flirting with him or simply asking him to help her with the washing. And now...now, he was being handfed little mouthfuls of sweet meats by the wretched girl right in the middle of the welcoming feast.
Tugging at his high collar in annoyance, he attempted to lend his ear back into the political conversation that had overtaken the high table. The words however no longer held any enticement anymore, just as it had waned for the admittedly impressive bosom of Lady Amelia, Lord Retchers daughter who sat opposite him, and had been fluttering her long eyelashes towards him becomingly for the past hour and a half.
'It's a wonder that her face hadn't gone into spasms with all that smiling, blushing, and fluttering.' He mused in foul temper, smiling back at her diplomatically as he defiantly did not watch as the little foreign upstart at the other table refilled Merlin's cup, her hand most definitely on purpose pausing to run her fingers over his pale arm in the guise of cleaning the droplets that had most certainly NOT spilled from the flagon as she had poured.
Merlin of course remained perfectly oblivious to her subterfuge, only smiling at her hugely, his bright blue eyes seeming to glimmer like the blue stones on his father's signet ring in the bright candle light, wiping his mouth on that ridiculous red kerchief around his neck before tucking back into his plate of venison and greens. A plate that he had noticed, she seemed to refill at every opportunity as she engaged him in meaningless chatter, letting him gab on about god knows what while she sat and listened to him adoringly, her expression so rapt and interested that she must have been faking it. He hoped.
He banged his empty goblet loudly on the table in his temper, barely noticing as it was promptly refilled by his fathers aging attendant, only noticing that it wasn't Merlin who had filled it. Something which was the skinny arsed country boy's job by the way! But no, the moment the Merican party had been formally met and welcomed in the great hall nearly two days ago, the incorrigible little sprite had taken one soul-searching look at Merlin, and had whispered slyly into her lady's ear, and before he knew it, his own father had granted the request that Merlin be assigned to aid the lady and her party in all matters during their stay in Camelot. Wench.
'Women!' He groused irritably, as he mused on the dangerous nature of all handmaidens in general. 'They were all in cahoots with each other! How was a man to truly triumph over them when they combined their forces? He had fought entire invading armies that were easier enemies! Even Morgan was a breath of fresh air compared to this lot!'
So yes, he was righteously jealous of the attentions his own man servant was basking in...all given by Lord Retcher's eldest daughter, Lady Amelia's first handmaiden, Jacquelyn, the daughter of a much honoured and well respected Knight of the realm of Mercia herself.
And damn her to the very depths of the seven deepest hells for it!!
The tart in question was admittedly a beautiful creature, holding such natural beauty that it would have made even a saint weep. And in that sense he had no idea what she was playing at anyway, she could literally have any man she chose. She was the eldest daughter of a powerful man, and a born lady in her own right. From the very moment Lord Retcher's party had rode up to the gates the young woman had nearly all the men in Camelot falling over themselves for her, leaving even his most grim, and war-hardened knights with smitten expressions and twisted tongues.
The girl had the sort of perfect natural beauty that led to her needing neither eye ochre or face powder. 'In fact..' He noted in irritation. 'He could find naught a flaw on her at all. She seemed virtually perfect in everyway.'
Her hair was a rare and brilliant shade of auburn red that cascaded down her back in loose, natural ringlets, the prized color setting off the ivory paleness of her perfect skin. Like her arms and from what he could tell, the rest of her body as well, her face too was a creamy ivory hue, with deep dimples and alluring almond shaped eyes that shone as brightly as the emeralds in the royal treasury. Her waist was slim, but still solid and healthy, with graceful hips, and an ample bosom that lent even more to her desirable figure. In fact her beauty was so great that when set beside the Lords daughter, the blond haired beauty, who was quite stunning in her own right, simply paled in comparison.
And it appeared that out of all the men in Camelot, he alone seem immune to her charms...not that she had spared the slightest glance for anyone else since she had set her sights on Merlin however.
Merlin. The same Merlin that was his man servant! And yet at the same time the one person in this world that he would have to call, but never admit to being his best of friends. He was the same country upstart that had both insulted him and mocked him on their first meeting, and nearly trounced him as he taunted him in their brawl the second time. He was also the man that had developed the annoying and somewhat embarrassing tendency of saving his life, dieing trying, or getting nearly mauled by anything from wild animals, to old crones, magical creatures, and even the occasional sorceress.
...And of course, not to mention the very same man that he was irrevocably and hopelessly in love with...
'Bugger.' He muttered with a generous roll of his eyes, refusing to watch as Merlin grinned back at the infernal girls never-ending smile, a piece of beef forgotten halfway on it's trip to his mouth as he reached forward and tucked one of her long wayward curls back behind her ear, the action causing the girl to blush delicately and pick up another sweet meat from the gilded tray in front of her. 'The man was actually letting the little tart hand feed him!' He snorted in disgust, not even noticing as the Lady Amelia gave him a reproachful glance from across the table before her smile was quickly plastered back on her powdered face.
'And Merlin called HIM a prat?!' He thought disbelievingly, not quite able to take his eyes off the scene as the woman covertly edged herself a few feet closer to Merlin on the bench, the distance between them shrinking rather alarmingly as the volumous green folds of her dress threatened to envelop the young mans hide breeches entirely.
She was all but opening her chamber door to him, her desires and intentions displayed as clear as day across her angelic face...Merlin's however, was more like a closed book, with the title written in a foreign language even his fathers scribes couldn't transcribe. Since the very first time they had met, he had never quite known what Merlin was really thinking, and he was sure that there was more then met the eye with the man, what it was however he just hadn't figured it out.... yet.
He returned to reality with a snap as he realized his gaze had attracted the attention of the sharp eyed Lady Amelia, who had shifted in her chair to see what had attracted his attention so fully. But when her icy blue eyes returned to his they had turned from over-eager and becoming to calculating and suspicious.
Knowing this look was anything but a good sign from such a woman, he changed his expression into a charming smile, and lounged back in his chair as he took a sip of wine, pretending to muse over the selection of meats in front of him before selecting a dark piece of water fowl and popping it whole into his mouth, sighing with exaggerated pleasure as he swallowed thickly. He had calculated correctly, his display had worked, and he had recaptured both her attention and her smile, and quickly engaged her in a running dialogue of the events that had transpired during her party's long journey from Mercia, only half listening to her rambling and painfully boring response.
It was Merlin's loud laugh that brought his gaze back to the lower table again, this time the girl had pressed herself in even closer, her slender arm wrapped far to closely around his shoulder as she whispered intimately into the tousled black hair at his ear, with whatever she was sharing causing his eyes to half close as he laughed in mirth, her light giggles closely following, as her head tipped forward to rest against his as she laughed, the long flowing curls of her flaming hair clashing magnificently with his the boldness of his stark ebony hair.
The hand that rested on his knee underneath the table tightened, his nails digging painfully into the leather of his breeches as he sought to control himself. And he definitely did not clench at his goblet until the metal creaked alarmingly in his grip, the red wine sloshing over the rim and onto his arm in a splattering shower of crimson as the cup tilted dangerously to port.
'Melding woman! Just who did she think she was anyway?!" He groused imperiously, his blood itching for action as his mind whole heartedly agreed, his conscience strangely no where in sight, having either been squashed by the power of his current conviction, or rendered mute by some other means...Perhaps even his conscience was for once in full agreement with his body and mind... An unprecedented event to be sure….
Either way he blamed Merlin. Why? Because he could. And because it appeared that he was slowly beginning to respond to this Mercian temptress' shameless attentions. He hadn't even looked up ONCE at the high table! Not for hours! Not even for him!
They had been dancing around this strange thing between them for years. He wasn't as stupid as Merlin tended to believe, he had noticed their connection...the relationship that had sprung up between them since their very first and rather unforgettable meeting, the first time anyone save his father had dared to tell him just what they thought of him, and calling him on his admittedly dishonourable behaviour to his own people to boot. Merlin had come into his life like a breath of cool, refreshing air in high summer, like a wild and mysterious whirlwind.
And even when he had known just who he had so rudely insulted, the gangly limbed country boy had not once backed down, standing steadfast to his convictions and beliefs with a fierceness and independent loyalty he would kill to have among even his own knights. Still to this day the strange young man continued to insult him and generally tell him off at every opportunity, relishing in the relative freedom he had come to allow him.
From the very start Merlin had found the weak spot in him that he never knew he had, and never wanted to have for that matter...until he had met him...
Yet at the same time, despite everything else Merlin was the fastest and truest friend he had ever known, selfless, cheerful, a bit strange and mysterious, but righteous, staggeringly quick witted and heroic in his own unique way. He had never met Merlin's like in all of Camelot' nor all the foreign countries he had rode through, and he fancied that he would probably never again.
But most of all, as the years had died and been reborn once again, unstoppable as the setting sun, he had come to know Merlin, both Merlin as his man servant, and Merlin the man, his closest and most trusted friend. And as time had swiftly past, streaming along as it always tends to do in such times, their friendship to him had developed into much more, into something deeper and in that sense, something that made the sight before him that much harder to bear.
Because, when all the truths had been put down on the table and every weakness and barrier had been shed, he came to realize that he not only wanted and desired that messy haired, ragged clothed, bumbling country commoner, but that he loved him as well.
Love. Even to him, it was an intimidating prospect, and one he had seen fit to ignore and bury under the disguise of friendship, and the power of his station...until now that is...until HER.
And now this conniving tart, in her long green silk gown, with cheeks so rosy red they would have made apples jealous, had flounced in and stolen his attentions as if by magic, homing in on Merlin as if he were the Prince of Camelot himself and showering him with her unending favour and adoration. If he wasn't such a gentleman he would have disgraced himself by calling her out on it.
But regardless, this girl wasn't going to get the better him, and she was certainly not going to steal Merlin away! He simply wouldn't allow it!
A/N: I am unsure as to how this story will be received, so I will stop it here and depending on the feedback and reviews I will decided then whether to continue or not! Please let me know what you think!
A/N: The chapter title for this story was lyrics from David Archuleta's song: "Crush." I was pondering the perfect chapter title for this story and got inspired when this song popped up on my ipod while it was set to shuffle!