Story Notes: Had this lurking around for a while so I thought I might as well share it.
Merlin isn't mine; you can tell because of the poor choice in canon pairings. ;)
"Arthur, why do you always get to be the hero? I want to kill the dragon this time," huffs the dark haired girl, jumping onto the low branch which formed the edge of their 'castle' and hopping along it, arms outstretched.
"Well then what am I supposed to do?" responds her companion, stomping down below as he stares up at her suspiciously. They are in the woods on a spring morning, and the sun is bright and cheerful, though the same cannot be said of the young Prince Arthur.
"I don't know. You can be the prisoner."
"What! I'm a prince. Princes don't play prisoners!"
"That's stupid, Arthur. I'm going to fight the dragon, or else I won't play with you."
"That's not fair! I'm the boy! I should get to fight it."
"You always get to fight it! And I'm older."
"I'm faster!"
"I'm taller "
"I'm better with a sword!"
"No you're not!" Morgana exclaims indignantly. She jumps down with a whirl of her skirts and rounds on Arthur, glaring down at him with hands on hips and standing up to her full height, her extra year making her a good few inches taller than him. He puffs himself up too, despite his skinny frame, and glowers at her stubbornly.
"Yes I am! Sir Owen taught me how to fight properly!"
"You liar. You're too small to use a proper sword," Morgana snorts. Arthur looks mightily offended.
"Fine, I'll prove it to you!" and he rummages in the small bag of provisions they brought, hauling out two child-sized swords a moment later. They are both extra-lightweight, short and carefully blunted at Uther's immediate insistence so they can do no damage. They are really only toys, but to the two children, they are revered objects of power. They are a chance to best the other. Morgana raises an eyebrow as she eyes them keenly.
"Oh really, Arthur, why don't you just save yourself the embarrassment and let me fight the dragon?"
"Because you wouldn't be able to beat it." Arthur says smugly, twirling his sword with a novice's clumsiness. Morgana looks irritated, but it's the last straw and she snatches the second sword from him, pointing it at him with a cross frown knitting her brow.
"You asked for it! I can beat you any day, Arthur Pendragon." She tucks her skirts aside as best as she can and promptly swings her sword at Arthur with plenty of gusto for such a small person. He ducks hastily and stumbles back, watching the whirling blade in panic. Suddenly he looks a lot less cocky as Morgana rounds on him, swishing her little sword vehemently. His eyes go wide and he suddenly can't remember any of the tips an amused Sir Owen had given him just last week, because he's too busy ducking and scrambling backwards to even think about an attack of his own. When did Morgana learn to use a sword like this? Arthur begins to wish he had never made the challenge, for he concedes step after step, faster than he can think.
Morgana smirks triumphantly as she beats the young prince back and back. He's giving ground to her faster than a scared rabbit and he has no idea what to do about it. His sword is flailing wildly and he can't seem to get his hands and feet to work together, so before long, Morgana has him backed against a sturdy old tree. One quick smack and he drops his sword, yelping and holding his wrist in surprise at the sharp nip.
"Ha!" She crows as she jabs the toy sword at his chest. "I win!"
Arthur looks like he's trying very hard not to cry and he shouts at her furiously. "No you don't! You cheated!" he howls. "You're just... a... a... stupid girl!"
Morgana rolls her eyes at him, still prodding him with her sword. "You're such a bad loser, Arthur. Stop being a baby. Now let's play the game!"
"I don't want to play with you." Arthur replies sullenly. "Go away." Morgana sighs in exasperation.
"Oh come on, Arthur, don't be silly. You can fight the dragon too if you want." She finally retracts her sword. Arthur glares at her and clutches the small red mark on his arm from where she hit him with the blade of her sword.
"Oh Arthur, you are a baby." Morgana snorts. "Shall I kiss it better?" she mocks. Arthur, not knowing what answer he should give in order to regain his lost pride, blusters incoherently for a second.
"Yes," he says mutinously, just because it's the response he thinks she doesn't expect. To his dismay, Morgana grins wickedly.
"Fine then." She says airily. Before he can stop her, she's swooping in on him and instead of kissing his wrist, she plants a gleeful, wet kiss on his cheek. He stares at her, utterly aghast.
"Morgana!" He yelps. "Ugh!"
She cackles in delight. "You asked for it. Now come on, are you playing or not?"
Arthur's not quite sure what to say and he stands there blankly, so she rolls her eyes and drags him into place. "So the dragon's over there..."
o-o-o-o-o
"Slow down before you get us killed, Morgana!" comes the exasperated shout from Arthur, urging his horse on to keep up with the woman who is rapidly disappearing ahead.
"Oh, Arthur, don't be a spoilsport!" she calls over her shoulder delightedly. Her hair is loose and long and streams behind her as her horse canters eagerly through the forest. She looks quite wild, like some forest spirit out of a fairy-tale. Or perhaps a rampaging bull. One or the other. Arthur sighs and nudges his own horse on, manoeuvring his way through the wood to catch her up, finally drawing alongside her. Their high-speed race continues for a few moments as she looks up at him with a smirk, her blue-green eyes bright. He raises an eyebrow at her and she holds his gaze defiantly for a heartbeat before she rolls her eyes and slows her horse down. He follows suit.
"Now I'm sure you used to be more fun, Arthur Pendragon." She says nonchalantly once they've stopped. She is somehow unruffled despite the wild ride and merely reaches forward to pat her horse's neck casually.
"You used to be less trouble." Arthur retorts with an answering roll of his eyes. Morgana snorts at that and swings her leg over her saddle, lightly landing on the soft forest floor. "What?" Arthur asks as he does the same.
"Are you sure about that? As far as I remember I've always been trouble for you. Don't you remember when I would beat you at swordplay?" Morgana says lightly.
"That did not happen, Morgana!" Arthur immediately says, just as she knew he would. She just laughs at him and tethers her horse loosely to a low branch to allow him to recover. She squints at Arthur and then down the pathway, considering.
"You don't remember that tree?"
"What?"
"That one." Morgana points at a tree branch lying close to the ground. The same tree she'd balanced on some ten years ago, now even more covered with soft green moss. "We were playing Castles and Dragons. I wanted to fight the dragon for once." Arthur's expression tells her he remembers.
"And I wouldn't let you," he says, nodding as that warm spring day comes flooding back.
"No. You were never very nice to me, were you?"
"That's not true. I let you play with me, didn't I?"
"Please. I was the one who let you play with me. I am older, after all."
"But now I am taller."
"And I'm faster."
"And I'm still better with a sword."
"I beg your pardon, Arthur? Need I remind you who won that match all those years ago?" Morgana snorts derisively.
"I just didn't want to hurt your feelings." His casual expression makes her stare in outrage.
"What! That's rubbish, Arthur. You were a terrible swordsman until you finally grew something which vaguely resembled an arm muscle. Sometime last month, wasn't it?" To her annoyance, he only laughs at her.
"Well all right then, Morgana. Let's see who's the better swordsman today." He is grinning as he draws his sword from its sheath. She stares at him for a moment, but her competitive streak starts up and she immediately slides her own sword from its place at her hip.
"Don't expect me to go lightly on you." She says defiantly. He smirks in response and then their competition begins in earnest. Metal clangs on metal as swords flash rapidly in a complicated dance. Both players refuse to yield even one inch, and they circle each other with equal determination.
Arthur is a good half-head taller than Morgana now, but she is as nimble today as she was when she danced on the tree branch aged ten. Arthur is far stronger and much less panicky than his child self, but he is not so fleet footed. He has years of experience and proper knights' training, though, and he won't be beaten by a few smartly aimed jabs like his nine year old self was. Even so, he is surprised by Morgana's skill with a sword. She handles it as well as one of his knights would have to, and it seems that she has had plenty of practise too. It does make him wonder: how did she learn to use one so well?
"Come now, Morgana, there's no shame in yielding now." He says infuriatingly in a moment of pause. Morgana narrows her eyes and her sword glints as she launches another attack, the blade curving down in a smooth arc. Arthur blocks it with an almost casual flick of his own sword and gives her a cocky smile. They continue like this for a while, each of their attacks easily parried by the other. They do not fight with a child's toys anymore, for now they are grown they are assured in the each other's ability to defend themselves – in any case, Uther cannot divert their regular challenges with dulled half-size blades anymore.
"Well, Arthur, why don't you show me those masterful moves you insist you have?" Morgana says challengingly, her smile wide and bold, though her breath is coming somewhat faster than normal.
"As you wish." Arthur replies, and he steps forward swiftly, slashing his sword in an upward motion and sidestepping Morgana's answering thrust. He uses his size and strength to his advantage, bearing down on her slender form with hard blows. It works, and she is forced to concede valuable steps and he can see her brow knotted in concentration. For all her sharp little swipes, though, she cannot force him back, and to her dismay he has her stepping back and back to avoid his attack. He smiles gleefully, knowing he now has the advantage.
As Morgana is pressed back, her foot catches on a thick old root and she is thrown off balance, her arm instinctively going out to hold onto something to try and stop her fall. Her hand grasps Arthur's left wrist and he lunges to try and catch her, but he is not prepared to take her weight and instead of steadying herself, Morgana promptly pulls them both over. They stumble to the ground together, ending up tumbling down the slight hill they had been sparring on the top of, and Morgana lets out a yelp of surprise. She is thoroughly entangled with Arthur as they both come to a rest at the foot of the hill and she groans faintly.
"Arthur, you're squashing me, you great lump," she complains, feeling the prince sprawled over her torso.
"Am I? Good." He says, sounding faintly muffled and making absolutely no move to get up.
"Arthur!"
"Do you admit that I have beaten you?"
"Absolutely not!"
His face suddenly looms above hers and she peers up at him through strands of wildly tangled dark hair which are strewn across her face.
"Morgana, I think it's fairly clear who is on top here. Quite literally." He smiles smugly as he idly reaches out to brush the hair off her face and tuck it behind her ear for her.
"Get off, Arthur. This hurts." She grumbles.
"Well, you are being a baby. D'you want me to kiss it better?" Morgana stares at him in utter defiance and is silent for a heartbeat.
"No!" She replies indignantly.
"Too bad." Arthur says cheerfully, and then he's pressing his lips to hers and she doesn't do anything to stop it. Instead, she smiles against his kiss almost immediately as if it were what she had been waiting for all along (which it might have been), her arms winding around him to pull him close. She is a willing participant and she quite loses her sense of time at the strong yet oddly gentle touch of his mouth on hers, but she really does feel quite pleased with this turn of events. What had been turning into a defeat was looking rather more promising. It may not be proper for her, the king's ward, to be laid under Arthur, the king's own son, in the middle of a forest in the thick heat of a summer's day, kissing him for all she is worth, but she doesn't mind in the slightest. After all, when have Arthur and she ever been proper? He seems to feel the same way, for he covers her body with his own, half-supporting himself on a forearm, the rest of him coming to rest pleasantly on her.
They kiss just as they fight, giving and taking in equal measure. And neither one is ever ready to yield. As they roll together on the earthy forest floor, lips and hands wrestling for control, it is like a continuation of their fight in a different form.
She slides her hand up his loose shirt and runs her palm over his chest mischievously, and she feels him murmur against her mouth slightly in pleasure. He has one hand knotted gently in her hair and it tightens, deepening his kiss at once. Morgana nudges her hips up against his coyly, and he emits a small strangled sound and pulls away.
"Morgana, don't start something you won't finish," he says roughly against her jaw, lips brushing her skin ever so slightly.
"I always finish what I start," she replies, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head to look at him challengingly. He takes in a breath, blue eyes darkened with want, and shakes his head slightly.
"I know you're not suggesting anything inappropriate, Morgana."
"And if I am?"
"Then I refuse," he answers, raising himself up though he eyes her body longingly. She has to admire his restraint.
"Why must you choose such irritating times to be chivalrous, Arthur?" Morgana says in vague annoyance. He shakes his head again and gets to his feet, offering her a hand up. She takes it grudgingly and stands, brushing her rumpled and muddy clothing impatiently. He smiles slightly and picks a leaf from her hair, tucking the dark strand behind her ear, and she glances at him. All her annoyance immediately dissipates, just because it's him and he can be so sweet sometimes. She sighs and leans against him in a rare display of gentleness.
"Do you concede defeat yet?" Arthur murmurs before he encloses her in his arms. She immediately bristles, her body going tense in his embrace.
"Never," she answers, though she doesn't pull away and soon relaxes again. He chuckles into her hair and she settles against his strong body, her arms winding around his waist. He leans his head against hers and hugs her gently, their fierce competition and an end for the day and replaced by a tender calmness. It will all begin again the next day, because that is how they are. They challenge, they fight, they kiss, and they make up. And then there're usually a few more kisses after that. Indeed, Morgana cannot resist tilting her head up to steal another, one which he gives willingly, more softly and chastely this time.
Morgana thinks that maybe, just this once, they will have to agree on a draw.
o-o-o-o-o
Fin
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