Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, or any of these characters. Don't sue.
A/N: My first fic! Yay!
This is just a light little one-shot, sort of fluffy. I'm just breaking myself in. :) Please leave a review, I'd love to know what you think!
Morgana: Bring back memories of when I used to beat you?
Arthur: That never happened!
-Merlin, The Moment of Truth
The Lady Morgana was beautiful.
She knew she was, because people told her. Maids gushed at her feet, brushing out her raven locks and dressing her in the finest gowns of wine-red fabric, with golden edging and soft fur wraps, like a most prized doll. She bore it all with a tight smile and carefully practiced graciousness.
As a child, she never cared for beauty. It took nothing to be beautiful. She watched in silence from a window as Arthur swung his sword and knocked his friends to the ground with ease, laughing all the while. She longed to join him. She hated being paraded as though she was another ornament in the castle, as though to flaunt Uther's apparent kindliness at taking in this sweet, vulnerable little orphan. But Morgana was not sweet, and she certainly wasn't vulnerable. She may not be as strong as Arthur, bet she knew perfectly well how to wield a sword; her father had taught her when she was very young, and she beat all the boys in her village with ease. She could fight; she was much smaller and faster than many others. She had a quick mind and fierce intelligence, something her father had always praised her for. But the people of Camelot saw nothing past the flowing ebony curls and crystalline green eyes of the king's beloved ward.
It was one day when she was about fourteen years old that she finally snapped. It was a fresh, dewy morning, and the princess's breath mushroomed out in front of her as she made her way out of the castle, the stone flags icy under her bare feet. Her white silk slip billowed against her slim body as she made her way onto the grounds. Arthur was, as she had known he would be, practicing on the grassy tournament grounds. She watched from afar as he lunged and parried, fighting an invisible opponent. A heap of swords and shields stood heaped on the ground. She lifted a sword into her hands, loving the familiar feel of the cool metal under her fingers. She bounced its solid weight in her hands, before swinging it in a perfect circle in her right. She beamed, suddenly liberated.
Arthur stopped fighting as her saw his might-as-well-be sister making her way towards him, bare-footed and clad in only her nightdress, sword in hand.
"Do you need an opponent? Or are you happy fighting thin air?"
He stared at the small, sweet young girl whose green eyes now sparkled with a life he hadn't seen since she had arrived in Camelot.
"Morgana, what are you talking about? Go back inside; you'll catch your death."
She grinned, and levelled her sword at him.
"Scared I'll show you up?"
"I mean it, Morgana! I'm not going to fight you!"
They looked at each other for another long moment, and he just caught a flash of her wicked grin before she was at him, swiping the blade with deadly precision, never loosing her footing, never breaking rhythm. He stumbled back, only just managing to parry her lightning-quick lunges. Finally, she pushed him back until he stumbled and fell to the floor. She stood over him, giving a triumphant swing of her sword, before pressing the point very lightly to his chest.
"I win." She announced smugly.
Arthur looked like he longed to speak, but he couldn't deny anything with her sword against his chest without looking like a fool. Finally, she threw he sword to the ground and allowed him to get to his feet.
"Again." He said stubbornly, picking up his own sword and wiping the dew off on his shirt. "I wasn't ready."
Morgana smirked playfully.
"I thought you weren't going to fight me? I thought you were worried I might get hurt?"
He scowled at her tone, and she laughed.
"Best of three?"
"Best of three." He agreed.