A/N: Hello, and welcome to my new fanfiction! I've had this idea bothering me for a while and now I decided to put it in a real work. I hope you enjoy it! But before we get started, let me warn you. First of all, this is my first fem!Merlin fanfiction, and I'm trying my best not to let her be too much of an OOC. I hope I can do it right. Now, there'll be a lot of mature content ahead, as treason, plots of assassination, attempts of sexual assault, slavery, and maybe more. But fret not, for there'll be some romance too! If you don't like any of those subjects, please leave now. Thank you so much for reading this, and now let's move on!
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to BBC, and the original idea of The Grand Game comes from Dragon Age, that belongs to BioWare. I own nothing but minor OCs and my own writing.
Warnings: Fem!Merlin; royal!Merlin. Mature content. Assault, treachery, assassination plots, language, manipulation, slavery. Age difference, dubious consente.
Pairings: casual Merlin/Arthur; Merlin/Uther; Arthur/Morgana
Summary: No one could deny Daobeth was a prosperous kingdom that thrived beyond imagination through the years. Camelot was in need of a powerful ally, but perhaps the price to be paid would be higher than he had ever thought. The Game has begun.
The Grand Game
Prologue
No one could deny Daobeth was a prosperous kingdom that thrived beyond imagination through the years, a powerful kingdom that stood for its own, with no need of alliances or peace treats. Uther Pendragon was no fool, and as much as his skin crawled every moment he remembered the King of Daobeth was a friend of magic and its users, he'd rather turn a blind eye to the very existence of that cursed land than start a war that couldn't be won. Trying to march against the strongest of the five kingdoms was pure madness, and he wasn't a mad man (at least not like Enred). Let the damned place to crumble to ruins by its own mistakes, as trusting in sorcery. Sooner or later it'd bring nothing but chaos and death, and Camelot would claim these lands and thrive as much as Daobeth.
But nothing had really prepared the King of Camelot for the messenger that arrived unexpectedly one day, invinting his court to come to Daobeth and take part of the Winter Ball. Everyone had always heard the rumors about Daobeth's court, about the internal conflicts that seemed to occur daily, and how only a few were invited occasionally to participate of such special events held by King Balinor's only child, the treasure of his heart. He'd give her the world if she asked for it, and Uther didn't doubt the man would do anything only to achieve his daughter's sickening desires. Unfortunately, even if every inch of his body screamed against it, refusing was just out of question - refusing would mean war, and Camelot wasn't at her full strenght to deal with a place filled with sorcerers in the moment.
He could do nothing but bend to the wishes of a very peculiar King and Princess.
The messenger left happily at dawn, but Uther didn't feel so content. As his court traveled through Camelot's lands faster than he'd desired, he couldn't ignore that little ugly feeling gnawing at his guts, poisoning him slowly. Those next weeks would be very, very long, but if he was lucky enough, perhaps he could even survive the Daobethian court and their so called Game.
Uther wished he knew how to play it, and now it was too late to try to learn.
