Kingdom Of Ealdor

The first time Arthur saw him, he was riding on a black horse to the tournament field. His tunic was dark blue with a silver tree spreading embroidered onto the front, identifying him as one of Lord Balinor's sons. Glinting plate armor covered his shoulders, his arms and the top of his legs. Underneath he wore black breeches and boots.

Arthur felt no shame in staring as he took in the appearance of the younger man. The armor he wore was polished but functional. It was well used, not that of a mere peacock knight. A silver girdle hung low on his narrow hips. His frame was slender but Arthur could see the well-shaped muscles under his clothes; there was nothing of the larder on him. He rode his horse as light as a feather. Arthur's eyes dropped to his spurs - gilded. He was a full knight. But of course, Arthur knew well enough that such a thing was expected for a son of the nobility- and not always hard earned.

The current round of the tournament was archery, and the young knight wore no helmet; Arthur could see his nearly black, messy looking, hair and face. It was the finest face Arthur had ever seen - long, narrow and delicate, with full quirked lips, a straight nose and blue eyes. His big ears, the only malformity on his face, somehow fit perfectly with the rest of him. His skin was as pale as cream. There was a rosy cast on his cheekbones; perhaps it was a battle flush in anticipation of the contest.

Arthur knew and valued the importance of first impressions. In his mind there were men made for battle; rough-hewn and crude, but this young knight was definitely a woman-pleaser. He was beautiful in a way Arthur had never seen in a man. In truth, he doubted he'd ever seen anything like it in a woman. He registered the distinctly feminine cheers of welcome the crowd afforded the rider, aptly proving Arthur's point. And then the young knight rode past Arthur- and looked at him.

It wasn't a mere glance. The knight met Arthur's eyes when still twenty paces away and held his gaze, unrelenting, as he rode in front of Arthur. He even turned his head as he passed before letting his gaze finally slip away. Arthur did not back down from the stare, he dropped his eyes for no one. He stood stoically, no emotion showing on his face. It seemed to take forever for the knight to pass, eons in which those blue eyes were locked on Arthur's. They reached inside him and made his stomach clench hard with something.

What did he mean by looking at him thus? They'd never met. Was it a challenge? A welcome to a stranger? The admiration of a knight for another? Had he heard of Arthur's bravery and nobleness? Or had he mistaken Arthur for someone else?

A blacksmith standing beside Arthur asked, "Do you know him? The Raven?"

Arthur frowned. "No. Did you say 'the Raven'?"

The man glanced at Arthur knowingly and chuckled. "Aye, Sire. Poor lad, he's the youngest of four boys and his brothers took all the more favourable names."

Arthur's eyes were drawn back to the Raven as he moved away, tall and straight in the saddle. "The Raven, what's his true name?" Arthur asked the blacksmith.

"His name is Sir Merlin, Sire. Let's go watch him shoot." The blacksmith and his companion hurried away, following the general flow of the crowd toward the archery targets. He paused and gave Arthur a friendly look. "Come and watch? The archery rounds are often the most exciting."

Arthur was tempted. Of course he was curious to see the Raven shoot, to see if he had any skill to match that noble bearing. Caution bid him think better of it. He did not knew the meaning behind his look, but an uneasy feeling warned him that keeping his distance was the most wise course.

"No. I'm off in search for a meal. Good day."

Arthur headed for the food stalls. He was here for a purpose. He needed to put his cause to Lord Balinor and earn his help. His suit was too important - to Morgana and to himself. As Arthur walked away, the thwunk of arrows and the roar of the crowd rose up loud behind him.

ooOoo

"The Champion's purse for archery goes to one of our own, Sir Merlin Balinor!" Lord Balinor held up the coin-filled pouch so the cheering crowd could see it, and handed it to his son.

Merlin made a small, formal bow. "Thank you father."

The crowd cheered happily, and Lord Balinor met his son's gaze and smiled. It was not the sort he gave Merlin's brothers freely and often, but it had a genuine warmth in it all the same.

Merlin's blood rushed through his veins. It had been a pleasant day. He'd won the archery competition easily, and the crowd had supported him wholeheartedly. It was worth the years he'd spent practicing with the bow to finally have a skill that made his father proud.

Lady Kara leaned forward as he passed. Her lips were smooth and perfumed as she gave Merlin a lingering kiss on the cheek. The crowd's murmurs turned into hoots of approval. Merlin ducked his head shyly, which earned him laughs and hearty slaps on the back from his father's men. But he didn't miss the look of disdain his older brothers Will and Malcolm shared.

Let them be jealous, then- or find him goofy; Merlin didn't care. To prove it, he waved the purse at the crowd and did a mock salute, earning him more enthusiastic calls. But as he faced the crowd, Merlin find himself searching for one particular, fascinating face; one with lips not smooth and most definitely not perfumed.