The Misadventures of Merlin
Disclaimer: The author accepts no responsibility for any misrepresentation of the characters within, as they all (apart from maybe Gaius) are figures of myth and legend, not solely the property of the BBC and those who play them – namely, Colin Morgan, Angel Coulby, Bradley James and Anthony Head. However, if you wish to have their faces in your head as you read this, feel free. They are a hell of a lot prettier than the cast of the mini-series starring Sam Neill!
Setting the scene: Merlin is a young warlock who has to hide his magical powers from his employers at Come-a-lot as the King, Uther Pendragon, is a paranoid schizophrenic who hates witchcraft with a passion. He also hates germs, too, but since he can't cut their heads off, he takes it out on his constituents with gusto. Anyway, I'm getting off the point here. Merlin's destiny is tied up in protecting Uther's son Arthur from getting his stubborn arse killed – a full time job when your charge keeps putting his head on the chopping block against killer wraith knights and falling in love with murderous wenches. Merlin is helped by loyal bit of rough trade whoops pervy old man whoops court physician Gaius, as well as the promiscuous and very saucy seamstress / part-time arms dealer Gwen and her boss, the beautiful but icy Morgana, whom it is rumoured has worn a chastity belt all her twenty-nine years because her father lost the key before he died in battle.
Episode 1 – King Arthur… Not!
It is midnight. All is quiet in the peaceful kingdom of Come-a-lot. The only noises that can be heard are the occasional screams from the dungeon below the castle where unfortunates are being tortured with gramophone records of Justin Beiber; and a couple of cats screwing out in the courtyard.
Morgana, the king's beautiful adopted daughter, is having a particularly bad night. She tosses and turns, disturbed by visions of her brother Arthur usurping Daddy to the throne and forcing all women to wear Princess Leia-like bikinis in his presence. She wouldn't put it past him, because that's just the kind of guy he was. Also, her visions tended to have an accuracy rate of about 99.98%. Damn it, she thinks, rolling onto her right side for the umpteenth time that hour. I wonder if Gaius is up? I could really do with one of his super-handy sleeping draughts…
Opening her eyes, her vision first blurs, then clears – and she lets out an almighty scream, the likes of which could outdo Freddy of the Five-Finger-Discount down in the dungeon.
'Hi'. Gaius, the court physician – an old man with a super-long face and last season's hair – smiles down at her, waving his arthritic fingers in greeting. His robe hangs open and Morgana turns away in disgust. 'Ew, put it away, put it away!' she cries. 'I don't want to see it!'
'It's just my wand, dear' Gaius tries telling her. 'I thought you might be having trouble sleeping so I tucked my wand into my jammies so I could bring this to you'. He holds out a small brown bottle and a medicine cup. 'Your draught; my dear'.
'Oh…' Morgana turns back toward the wizened old man and takes her medicine eagerly, guzzling down the bottle of sleeping potion like Ben Cousins on a caffeine bender. He barely has time to warn her about the effects of drinking the whole bottle before she drops back down onto her pillow, and lets out a resounding snore.
Gaius stares down at the young beauty with her raven hair and perfect, snow-white skin, and is reminded of someone else. He turns and heads out the door for his chambers, his lust rekindled. Ah, but the night is young…
Arthur Pendragon sits on his bed, penning his memoirs into a leather-bound notebook. It's likely to be a short story, as he's only just turned 21, but he figures if he doesn't get a start on it now, his cousin Gawain would beat him to the punch, and Gawain had bedded far less wenches than he, Arthur – so had less to reminisce about. Gawain was a huge liar, though, and tended to take credit for stuff he didn't do. So it would be just typical if he got his autobiography published first. The pompous prat was always trying to be the first to do things. Arthur snorted in derision at the empty room. First to go hunting for the Holy Grail… first to get his jousting licence… first, even, to join the Knights of the Kind-of-Round-but-Slightly-Oblong Table. First before Arthur, even, and Arthur was the king's son, God-damn it! It just wasn't right.
Then again, the old man had always favoured Gawain over Arthur. Treated him like he was his son, which grated Arthur's cheese; no end. I just have to get my book published first, Arthur thinks, as his quill flies over the papyrus. That'll show the poncy git who's boss around here! Me, Arthur Pendragon, future king of Come-a-lot, future husband of the gorgeous and very randy Gwen…
He is disturbed by a funny scratching sound coming from under his bed. Frowning, he puts his quill and notebook on the bedside table, and leans over, hanging his blonde head mere inches from the floor in an attempt to see under the bed.
A small box sits just beyond reach under the bed. The scratching noise is coming from inside the box. Intrigued, Arthur gets down on all fours on the floor and reaches for it. Just as his fingers touch the lid, the box snaps at him. Arthur hisses and pulls his hand back. Great, he thinks. It's bloody enchanted. I hate magical, enchanted objects! They never behave the way you want them to. Even when they're supposed to be on your side.
'Now, come on' he says to the box, in his most charming, hopefully persuasive voice, 'You've obviously been left here for a reason. And that reason is for me to find you, right? So how about coming over here, like a good, friendly box…'
The box moves back a couple of inches. Arthur groans. 'Oh well… do you what you like, then' he grumbles, and climbs back onto his bed. 'What do I care? Merlin will probably find you when he gets around to sweeping the floor…pfft… in the next century… so you'll be under there for a while, I'm thinking. Whatever's in you will probably shrivel up and die, by then. But I don't give a fat rat's clacker. Do you hear me? I don't care'.
The scratching noise begins again, in earnest. Arthur rolls his eyes and signs. 'Will you cut that out? If you're not going to let me open you, I don't want to know'.
"Aaaarthur" says a whispery voice, from under the bed. "Aaaaaaarthur…."
'Oh, all right, all right! But if you try to bite my fingers off again, it's the dumpster for you' he warns, kneeling beside the bed and reaching for the elusive box. Jesus Christ, he thinks, this better be worth it! Sweeping a hand around the box, he cleverly avoids the sharp looking clasp in front, and pulls the box, which is about the size of a cake of soap, out from under the bed. Blowing on it to clean off the dust bunnies, he makes a mental note to send Merlin to the stocks again for his frankly, shitty effort at housekeeping.
'Now' he instructs the box, 'Behave, will you? I'm missing valuable writing time here. Gawain's probably got three or four chapters on me, now'.
This time the little pale blue box co-operates, allowing Arthur to push the lid back on its hinges. And before his eyes a faerie, about the size of a clothes peg, stands up and rubs her lower back, her tiny face screwed up in pain. 'Argh' she complains in a surprisingly deep voice for a creature her size, 'Bloody sciatica! You try sitting doubled over in this thing for hours on end. It'd make you grumpy, too'.
'I have no doubt. Who sent you?'
'Well! Like to get to the point, don't we?' she replies, crabbily. 'Okay… look. I was delivered here by magic. Yes, magic. Someone heard your call. They want what you want. An end to Uther's tyrannical reign over Come-a-lot. A return to the old ways. You, Arthur, are the only person who can overthrow the king. We want to help you'.
Arthur frowns, thoughtfully. 'Who do you work for? My father has enemies all over the place. Or at least, he thinks he does. He's pretty paranoid, these days'.
'No, actually, he does' the faerie confirmed. 'Heard the old saying, just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get you? Well, they're all out to get him'. She stretches her tiny arms over her head, going on-point like a ballerina in her little dress, which looked to Arthur like the petals of a white rose. 'Sorry' she says, 'I'm just getting off on finally having some room to stretch out! You really don't spend much time in your chambers, do you?'
'How long have you been in that box?'
'All day, by my reckoning' she grumbles. 'Oh, I heard someone shuffling about earlier and humming Summer Holiday by Cliff Richard, but I figured it wasn't you. It sounded like a way older person. Like maybe your old man, or that pervert you call a doctor'.
Gaius? Arthur thinks, puzzled. Why on earth would Gaius be in here? Unless he was looking for something... Nosy old coot! Now that I think about it, he does have some pretty awful taste in music. The Carpenters, The Best of Barry White… I wouldn't put it past him to listen to Cliff Richard…
'Excuse me for interrupting your thinking, I know its slow going in there' the faerie says, rudely. 'But I don't have all bloody night. I moonlight as a tooth fairy, you know'.
'So what is it you want, exactly?' Arthur asks. 'What is the purpose of all this?'
'Finally he asks the right question' the faerie says, throwing up her hands in exasperation. 'Well. It's like this. I have the ability to summon whatever supreme being you wish, to help you dethrone the old man. I personally have the pager numbers for all the gods you can think of. Hades, Zeus, Hecate, Diana, Eris…'
'Eris?' Arthur interrupts. 'Never heard of him'.
'Her' the faerie corrects him. 'It's a her, and she won't take kindly to being mistaken for a bloke. In fact, she's a rather vain piece of work. But she gets the job done. She's the Goddess of Chaos and Disorder. Just the thing you need, wouldn't you say?'
Arthur pouts. 'I don't know. What does she do?'
The faerie blows a raspberry. 'What doesn't she do? She can influence the weather, the tides, the god-damn cycles of the moon, if she wants! If you want your old man out of the picture, off this mortal coil, she's the one who can get it done. Heck she can summon a tornado to wipe him right off his smug arse and out the gates of Come-a-lot forever, if that's really what you want'.
'Blimey' says Arthur, impressed. 'That sounds like a plan'.
The faerie rolls her eyes. 'They said you'd be easily pleased'.
Gaius stares down at his young protégé, the boy who is destined to bring about the unification of Come-a-lot and you don't give a shit about that boring stuff, so I'll get to the point. He lets out a tiny sigh and tilts his head to the side, as the moon pulls a swiftie and hides behind a cloud. Now the room is in darkness and he can no longer see Merlin's face, with its perfect bone structure and pouty lips. He was just imagining those lips wrapped around… argh… he's waking up, Gaius realises, and in a move more reminiscent of his younger days, ducks to his knees before Merlin could open those big, blue eyes of his and catch him staring longingly…
But it was a false alarm. A bit of an eyelid flutter; nothing to worry about. The lad must be dreaming, Gaius thinks, relief flooding through him. Still, I'd better not hang around. In a couple of hours it'll be daylight and if I don't pop off to bed now, I'll never get any sleep. And then where would the royal family be, without their trusty physician at his sharpest?
Gaius reluctantly pulls his hand out of the waistband of his grubby pyjama pants, takes one more look at the sleeping boy-wizard (who was a hundred times hotter than that Harry Potter kid, in his estimation) and shuffles off, on his knees, toward his chambers, and the dark dreams of a man who hasn't had sex in a long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long…. You get the idea. A long time.
'Gwen, get my cloak for me'.
A please wouldn't go astray, Morgana's handmaiden thinks, as she pins the last rosette on a dress she's making for Her Nibs. Jeez, sometimes these bloody royals can be so rude and unappreciative of all the trouble we go to, as servants! I wonder what they'd do if we formed a union and went on strike?
Guinevere, or Gwen as she was known to her friends, father and employers at the castle, sighs and goes to do her Lady's bidding. Morgana is standing in front of a full length mirror, as usual, pouting in that way she has when she knows how beautiful she is but is considering pointing out an imagined flaw just so Gwen would gush and reassure her that it was all in her mind. Really, the lengths I go to, she thinks, for the extra tips!
Settling Morgana's deep green cloak around her shoulders, she smiles at her boss's reflection. 'There. Perfection, wouldn't you say?'
'Oh Gwen' Morgana giggled, 'You do flatter me so'.
Gwen turns her back and makes a face, pulling at a corner of her mouth with her finger, like a fish-hook. 'It's only the truth, my Lady' she replies, then conveniently changes the subject. 'So, are the knights convening today?'
Morgana grins into the mirror. 'Why, so you can ogle Sir Lancelot? He's supposed to marry a Lady, you know. Not a common serving girl'.
'I'm not common' Gwen pouts. 'How many handmaidens do you know can bash out a suit of armour, sew a dress and be at the beck and call of a Lady all day? Oh, that reminds me. I was going to go and ask the king for a raise'.
Morgana swings around to face her serving girl, her green eyes troubled. 'I wouldn't' she advises Gwen. 'Father has been in a really foul mood lately. It's all the talk of a mutiny brewing between the Druids and those kinky lesbian Wicca types in the village. They're planning on storming the castle gates in a so-called peaceful rally about the Prohibition of Magic. Daddy's furious. His blood pressure's right up. I'm worried he's going to have a stroke. Or worse, a psychotic break'.
A stroke is worse than a psychotic break, you dimwit, Gwen thinks, but doesn't say. Not by much, but still, I wouldn't want to have to wait on the old man if he pops a blood vessel and ends up incapacitated in a wheelchair! It's bad enough that he rants and raves like a lunatic in his chambers, convinced that every nobleman in the country is out to usurp him from his throne. He ought to look a little closer to home. Arthur's been trying to kill him for years…. Ooooh, Arthur…. Gwen allows her mind to wander to the dashing figure perpetually clad in chain mail. To the last time she helped him on with his armour – how she stood up and almost collected her head on his codpiece… Blushing, she crosses the room, unwilling to let Morgana into her thoughts. Her boss could be a little too insightful at times. Better not let her know I'm carrying an Olympic-sized torch for her adoptive brother!
'Okay, well… I suppose I could wait another couple of weeks' Gwen concedes, tucking a pin between her lips as she surveys her handiwork. The dress for the Masquerade Ball was all but done. How she wished she had the time – much less the cash – to make a dress of equal value for herself. She'd just have to turn up in her boring old lilac number, yet again. Don't bet on me waiting too long to ask the old boy for more money, she thinks to herself, narrowing her eyes at Morgana, who was, yet again, staring at her own reflection in the mirror. Risk of stroke or no, he's gonna pay up!
Morgana nods, and glances out the window. 'Ooh… Gwenny… guess who's here? Sir Lancelot…'
But Gwen is already halfway out the door…
'Sir Lancelot, at your service'.
The young, extremely handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed knight is certainly the catch of the millennium around these parts, Gwen thinks as she feigns nonchalance in floating down the stairs instead of running at her usual full-steam-ahead pace. The one she'd use if it were Arthur at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at her with an adoring expression, instead of dopey-but-gorgeous Lancelot. Reaching him just as King Uther entered the room, Gwen smiles fetchingly and lets her eyes wander down to the hilt of his sword at his hip. 'Ooh...' she whispers, in awe. 'Is that what I think it is? Can I touch it?'
'Guinevere! That's no language for a young lady!' roars Uther, outraged. 'To your chambers, this instant!'
'If you please, my lord… she was talking about my sword. And I don't mean my…' Lancelot stammers, blushing furiously as Gwen wraps her hand around the handle of his sword, achingly close to that other weapon of mass seduction, and pulls it out, gazing at the broadsword as its metal shone in the sun coming through the tall windows.
'All right, all right' Uther says, stopping him in his tracks. 'But no dilly-dallying. We've got a meeting in five minutes. Be sure you're not late'.
'It's such a thing of beauty' Gwen marvels, 'But it's no Excalibur'.
'Arthur, Arthur, Arthur' whined Lancelot. 'Do you still have the hots for that jerk? Really, Gwen, when I can give you so much more…'
'I was talking about his sword, not him' Gwen corrects him. 'There's a difference'.
'Speak of the devil' Lancelot mutters, 'And he appears'.
Arthur rounds the corner from the kitchen, a chicken drumstick in his hand. 'What's this about a devil?'
'Oh, Arthur' Gwen says, shoving Lancelot's sword back at him, impatiently. 'I finished that new armour for you. If you want to come and try it on this afternoon, I'll be in the stables. You know… alone'. She smiles at him, suggestively, trying to ignore the grease from the chicken fat that's dribbling down his manly chin.
Arthur waves the drumstick at her. 'Oh, right. Cool! You can bet I'll be there. I do have some stuff to take care of first, though…'
'Like the meeting' his father cuts in, reminding him. 'Of the Knights of the Kind-of-Round-but-Slightly-Oblong Table that's about to happen, in like…' he checks his watch '…About three minutes time'.
'Yes, Father' Arthur snaps, impatiently. 'I'll be there too. Christ, you people, all trying to get a piece of me! I can't be in three places at once…'
'Then we shall just have to find a way to clone you' Gwen jokes. She steps closer and puts a hand on his chest, over his heart. She can literally feel it beat against her palm and it makes her quiver in places proper little handmaidens shouldn't quiver. 'So we can all have what we want'.
'Gwennie-baby' Arthur replies, winking salaciously at her over the drumstick, 'You know you can have me anytime you want…'
'Arthur!' his father barks. 'Meeting room. Now. On the double!'
Arthur makes a face, flings the chicken drumstick to the floor then hollers for his manservant, the cute but scatterbrained Merlin, to come and clean it up. Merlin all but falls through the door, predictably tripping on the drumstick, and lands at Arthur's feet. 'For God's sake, get up you clumsy fool' Arthur groans. 'Why I keep you around as a servant…'
'Uh-uh' Merlin interjects, 'Man-servant'
'Man-servant' Arthur adds, rolling his bright blue eyes in Gwen's direction, for her amusement. 'When there are plenty more capable serfs in the village, I'll never know. I bet half of them could manage to sweep floors better than you can'.
'I'm sorry, Sir…'
'And dust shelves…'
'Absolutely…'
'And muck out stables…'
'I get your point!' Merlin grumbles, heading for the broom closet. 'I'm right on it'.
Surveying the small cluster of hopefuls for the vacancy of 9th knight of Come-a-lot (one of the agendas of the excruciatingly boring meeting earlier), who were warming their hands over a fire-pit in the courtyard, Arthur scoffs to himself. Freaking pansies! If they were any kind of real men they wouldn't be out there, huddled together like a flock of penguins! Time to break up this little mother's club. I'll sort the boys from the men…
'Sire…'
Arthur turns at the sound of the voice. It was his servant – sorry, manservant - Merlin, carrying a bucket of dirty water. Ah, he's finally gotten around to mopping the foyer, Arthur thinks. It's about time! 'Did you clean my chambers?' he asks of Merlin.
Merlin nods. 'That's why I'm here. The faerie who was in that little box on your dresser told me she'd gotten in touch with someone called Eris and that she and her handmaiden would be here, at the gates of Come-a-lot, tomorrow morning. Really, Arthur, the poor thing had a terrible back-ache! Did you have to leave her in there all day yesterday?'
'I had no idea she was even there' Arthur snaps, crossly. 'Don't blame me. She never even told me who she works for! And I gave her a nice little hanky and the lining from my cigar-box to make a bed out of. She shouldn't have anything to bitch about now'.
'Who is Eris, anyhow?' Merlin wanted to know. 'I've never heard of her. Is she a princess?'
'Actually, she's a God' Arthur says in a low voice. 'You mustn't repeat anything I'm about to tell you, you hear? It's a secret'.
Merlin raises an already arched eyebrow. 'A God? You're not messing with the forces of evil in a bid to become king again, are you sir? I don't think His Excellence will be at all pleased…'
Arthur narrows his blue eyes and sticks out his chin, defiantly. 'I could do a way better job than Father. He has promised me Come-a-lot for years and has never delivered. Honestly, Merlin, I don't think he's ever going to retire! So I'm just going to have to give him a gentle push. That's what Eris is for'.
'But a God? Isn't that overkill?'
'No, Merlin' Arthur assures him. 'It's just exactly the right amount of kill'.
The two young men turn and glance at the knights standing by the fire-pit. 'They all look pretty scared, Arthur' Merlin points out. 'Your reputation precedes you'.
'That it does' Arthur smiles, knowingly. 'And for good reason. I'm going to put these screaming namby-pambies through their paces. If you don't want to see a bunch of grown men cry, you better hop along, Merlin. You still have to muck out the stables and polish my arm… oh shit!' He puts a hand over his mouth. 'I'm due at the stables at one o'clock. Um… to meet Gwen… she wants me to try on my new armour. Could you tell her I'm going to be a little bit late?'
'Of course, Sire' Merlin says, with a funny kind of grin on his face. 'I'll let her know'.
Arthur frowns at him. 'Why are you smiling like that?' he asks. 'There's nothing going on between me and Gwen'.
'No. Nothing at all' Merlin says, in that cheeky way of his. Arthur's frown gets deeper. He remembers Gwen saying how she thought Merlin's chin dimple was sexy, and he had to point out that it was a scar from the time he had to practice knife-throwing and Merlin happened to be the only person around to practice on. But the girl still sighed and said something along the lines of, 'That just makes it sexier! Scars are so hot'. Really, Arthur had thought. You just can't win with women, sometimes!
'So? What are you still standing around for?'
Merlin takes off as fast as his skinny legs can take him, and Arthur turns toward the men waiting to try out for the position of knight. 'All right, you lot' he yells. 'Drop and give me twenty!'
'Twenty what, Sire?' one of them asks.
'Twenty sit-ups, you moron! And when you're finished with those you can do twenty push-ups. On your knuckles. Then…'
'Uh… Sir?' A man with a shock of red hair interrupts. 'My name is Seamus McPhee. I was just wondering if King Uther was going to be present at the try-outs. We will be protecting him, whoever wins, so…'
'Silence!' Arthur shouts. 'No, King Uther retired to his chambers this afternoon with a headache. He trusts my judgement, and I'm to be your leader anyway, so what I say goes!'
The men grumble amongst themselves for a few seconds, and then seeing Arthur was dead serious, drop to the ground and try to master sit-ups in full armour and chain mail. Not an easy feat for the fittest of men, but Arthur knew that. Suddenly there was a tug on his sleeve. Arthur turns to find Sir Galahad standing beside him. 'Oh, Galahad' he says. 'Here to check out the contenders?'
'Yes, Sire. But I feel I must warn you, there's rumour of dissension in the ranks. A few of the boys think you go too hard on the young fellows. They sent me down to make sure you don't… um, you know… kill anyone. Accidentally, of course'.
'Believe me' Arthur replies, 'the only one getting killed in this scenario is sixty-five in the shade and way overdue for retirement'.
'Gaius?'
'No, my old man, you nitwit!' Arthur says, rolling his eyes. 'Get with the program! I've got a very special visitor coming by tomorrow. She should help with the whole bloodless coup thing'.
'Oh, so you got in touch with that Julia Gillard chick?'
Arthur groans. Really, the stupidity of some people! 'No, I'm going way over Gillard's head! You'll see. In the meantime, the less I say, the better' he sighs, wistfully. 'If everything goes to plan, this kingdom will be mine! Mwah-ha-ha!' He pauses for a second. Galahad looks scared. Arthur puts a hand over his mouth. 'Oh shit, I didn't just say that out loud, did I?'
'Uh, yes sir… I'm afraid you did' says Galahad, quivering in fear.
Arthur pats him on the back. 'That's okay, old chap. I'm sure we can forget this conversation ever happened. Let's see, what's it worth to you, to keep your mouth shut?'
'Hmm… Oh… I know! How about a date with that luscious sister of yours?'
'Morgana? You fancy her?' Arthur says, looking grossed out. 'She's my sister!'
'Yeah' Galahad says, grinning, 'But she's not my sister, is she?' He nudges Arthur and winks. 'You could throw in some cash for a limousine and tickets to the theatre. I was thinking maybe, Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants?'
'That's still in the theatres?'
'It's the musical version' Galahad informs him. 'And I hear there's a nude scene'.
'Morgana won't go for that. She's totally frigid' Arthur warns him. 'Anything to do with sex and she totally goes red as a beetroot. You heard the rumour, right?'
'About her old man? The chastity belt thing?'
'Yeah'
'Of course' Galahad grins. 'Why do you think I did that locksmith course?'
Arthur guffaws, and claps his friend and fellow knight on the back. 'You old dog! Clever like a fox, you are! Well, all right. How does fifty bucks sound?'
'Fifty bucks won't even get us a taxi into town' Galahad reminds him. 'Jeez, you really have lost touch with the common people, haven't you? A hundred and fifty would be closer to the mark'.
'All right, all right' Arthur says. 'As long as you don't mention that certain conversation we had earlier, to anyone'.
'What conversation?' Galahad asks. No really. He actually has forgotten by now. His brain is the size of a peanut. And as far as short term memory goes…
'Good man' Arthur says. 'Now let me get back to these jokers, will you? Can you believe I have to pick a knight out of this bunch? Really… they couldn't hit water if they fell out of a boat'.
Galahad chuckled and turned to watch the try-outs. 'Imagine what you can do when all this is yours, Sire' he says. 'Add magic to the mix – because once you're in charge, you can abolish that stupid no magic rule – and you've got an army fit for a king'.
Arthur sighs again. 'I can't wait to be king…'
Galahad glances at him, and looks over at Lancelot, who's just arrived, along with Arthur's oafish cousin Gawain. 'That sounds like the opening to a jaunty musical interlude, boys' he says, with a wink.
'Cool' says Lancelot.
'Right on' says Gawain.
Arthur is still standing there, looking dreamily up at the flags on the turrets, flapping in the wind. He imagines his face on them all. Suddenly, he opens his mouth, and out comes…
I'm gonna be the ruler
Of most everything around
From the grandest of the mountains
To the humble common ground
My reign will be a super awesome thing
Oh, I just can't wait to be king
(in the midst of all this, the knights have linked arms, and are doing the can-can with all their might)
No one saying do this
No one saying be there
No one saying stop that (he gives one of the potential knights an atomic wedgie)
No one saying see here
("Now see here" says Galahad, in exasperation)
Free to run around all day
Free to do it all my way
(Galahad looks a little worried at this point but doesn't interrupt Arthur from going into the second verse)
It's easy to be royal if you're already leonine
It isn't just my right even my left will be divine
The monarchy is waiting to go zing
Oh i just can't wait to be king…
Oh I just can't waaaaait, to be kiiiing….'
(Arthur has his sword in hand and accidentally chops off the end of Seamus McPhee's beard; twirls to face his audience and gives a gracious bow).
Galahad looks at Lancelot and says, in a low voice, 'I've got a baaad feeling about this'.
Merlin finds Gwen in the stable, hammering out a sword on her anvil. She looks peeved. Merlin stands back as there are sparks coming off the sword; she's hitting it so hard. 'What's the matter, Gwen?' he asks, wincing. 'I'd hate to be that sword you're going mental on'.
'Bloody Arthur!' she snarls. 'Bloody men! You can't trust them, any of them!'
'Hey' says Merlin, indignantly. 'Man here, remember?'
Gwen goes on as if she didn't hear him. 'I mean, you throw yourself at their mercy, tell them that you'd do anything for them, and what do they do? Huh?'
Merlin holds out the plate with the jam sandwich he'd prepared for himself. 'Want a sanga?'
Gwen grabs the sandwich in a tight fist, and holds it up, ignoring the fact that the jam is trickling down between the webs of her fingers and down her wrist. 'I swear, if that jumped-up excuse for a prince doesn't get his arse down here RIGHT NOW I'll go and… and… join a convent! No more men for me! Ever!' A vein throbs visibly in her forehead. Shit, Merlin thinks. She's really serious this time! He approaches her, with caution. 'Um… actually… Arthur sent me here with a message for you'.
Gwen blinks, and lowers the sandwich. 'Oh yeah? What did he have to say for himself?'
'He says he'll be a little late', Merlin replies. 'But he is coming' he adds, hastily.
'He better' she says, appearing to calm down slightly. 'If I have to marry that brain-dead gimp Lancelot I think I'll offer myself up to medical science'. She grins. 'Or Gaius'.
Merlin makes a face. 'Ew! Like, don't even go there'.
'You know he's got the hots for you, don't you?'
Merlin puts his hands over his ears and starts humming The Battle Hymn of the Republic rather loudly.
'Okay, okay I get the hint' Gwen laughs. 'I won't mention it again'.
Merlin stops humming, drops his hands and instead starts singing "Gwen and Arthur sitting in a tree… K I S S I N…'
And Gwen throws the remainder of the jam sandwich at him before he can finish the immature little schoolyard ditty.
Uther sits up as Gaius enters his chambers. 'Oh, it's about time', the grumpy king says. 'Have you got anything for a headache? I feel like there's a jackhammer going off in my skull.'
'Why of course, my Lord' Gaius says. 'Take off your shirt'.
Uther looks puzzled. 'But why? What does taking off my shirt have to do with a headache?'
'Absolutely nothing' Gaius says, winking salaciously. 'I just want to get my rocks off'.
Uther rolls his eyes. 'Jesus old man, you need a prostitute'.
'Point taken' says Gaius. He waits as Uther sheds his cheesecloth shirt; then gives him a headache draught. 'Drink it all' he orders. 'It won't work if you go at it half-arsed'.
Uther looks at him, suspiciously. 'You're not trying to poison me are you, old man?'
'If I was trying to poison you, you'd know it' Gaius tells him, not the least bit insulted at the insinuation. After all he was used to Uther's paranoid; "the world's out to get me" crap. 'Now drink up'.
Uther grimaces at the taste, holds his nose and downs the lot in one gulp. Throwing aside the goblet, he falls backward onto his pillow, completely unconscious in seconds flat. 'Ah-ha' says Gaius, rubbing his calloused hands together.
'Time to test The Rack'.
Arthur knocks on the already open door to the stables where Gwen is sitting polishing a chest plate. She looks up, and the expression of annoyance on her face turns to joy. 'You came!'
'Well', Arthur says, with a grin, 'Not yet, but… if you play your cards right…'
'Oh very funny' says Gwen, blushing furiously. 'How about trying on your new armour, first?'
'I could do that, but don't you think we've wasted enough time, already?'
Gwen throws down the chest plate and runs to him, eagerly. Before she could get her dirty little mitts on him (and they were dirty, covered in soot from working at the anvil) he picks her up in a fireman's hold and carried her to a hay bale in the corner of the first stall. It was probably lucky Morgana had taken her favourite horse for a run, or they would have dropped trou right in the middle of the stables, they're both so horny!
Within minutes, Arthur has Gwen moaning his name, and doesn't hear someone sneaking up behind them. He also doesn't hear the click of a camera's shutter going off; or the maniacal chuckle of the person behind the lens. No, while buried in the throes of passion, and also about a tonne of straw, all Arthur hears is the sound of his and Gwen's heavy breathing.
The camera man lowers his instrument of evil and grins, one of his gold teeth gleaming. Arthur Pendragon was going to rue the day he told the News of the World to go fuck themselves…
Uther's vision appears clouded; then as his focus returns, he recognises the hideous burnt orange shag pile carpet on the wall of the dungeon, a kind of cheap soundproofing held over from the days his great, great grandfather used to torture people for fun and profit. Now of course, it was entirely Gaius's domain, because he was the only one sick and twisted enough to get off on torture. Speaking of which, Uther is steadily coming to realise that he is no longer lying horizontally, the way he'd fallen asleep. He appears strapped to a vertical gurney, like Hannibal Lector in his favourite movie, Silence of the Lambs; his arms down by his sides and his head fixed to the platform via a leather strap around his forehead. Panicking, his eyes dart around the room, taking in the hanging light bulb Gaius had installed to make the place look dank and spooky; and the "interrogation chair" some feet in front of him. A bucket sits on the chair, but Uther can't see what's in it.
Suddenly the old healer is in front of him, inches from his face, and if Uther could have turned his head to get away from the smell of rotting meat wafting from Gauis's maw, he would have. 'Good God, man' he cried. 'Brush your teeth!'
'Oh, I'm sorry' Gaius mocks. 'Does my terrible dental health bother you? I asked you to add a dental plan to my workplace agreement years ago, but you were far too cheap. So this is what you get for being such a tight-arse'.
Uther grimaces. 'It doesn't take a lot of money to invest in some Listerine'.
'No, maybe not, but it tastes disgusting. Have you ever tried it?'
'Better than the rotting carcass that curled up and died in your gob, old man!' Uther hisses. 'Get away from me!'
'Ah. How do you think I torture my unfortunate victims?' Gaius asks. 'Apart from playing endless tapes of Lady Gaga and Justin Beiber, of course. The Jonas Bros were also doing the trick until I developed a fancy for the drummer. Can't have that kind of distraction while I'm working people over, you understand'.
'I don't pretend to understand anything about you, you sick fuck' Uther spits, angrily. 'Now let me out of here! What is the meaning of this?'
'Oh, I'm so glad you asked!' Gaius cries, clapping his hands gaily. 'That's the best part. This little contraption, my friend, is an invention of mine called The Rack. What it does is hold you in place while I do whatever I like to you! Of course, I can also stretch you out on it, using this little handle at the end here, but I prefer the personal touch that comes with pliers and hot wax'.
'Candle wax?' Uther's eyes widen in alarm.
'No. Veet Hot Wax. I liberated some from Morgana's bathroom last night. I rather enjoy a nice, smooth canvas to work on'.
'You're mad'.
'No, I'm quite sane, actually. What I am is particular. I like things to go according to plan and that's where you come in. I need practice you see. Practice for the main event'.
'And what does that entail?' Uther asks. 'Nothing to do with my son, I hope?'
'Oh Goodness, no! He's not my type at all' Gaius assures his king. 'I rather fancy bagging myself a certain servant boy, actually'.
'Merlin? You like Merlin? Poor tosser. I don't actually like the boy very much but he doesn't deserve this'.
'Oh don't worry. I'll go gentle on him'.
Uther eyes the pot of hot wax bubbling on the Bunsen burner across the room and sighs in resignation. 'But I daresay you're not going to offer me the same courtesy'.
Gaius grins, evilly. 'I daresay you're right, My Lord'.
The next morning, Gwen rises and shines with a big old smile on her dial. It's been a really long time since she'd gotten any, and boy, Arthur had made the wait worthwhile! Sighing in happiness, she practically skips to the loo, my darlink After her daily shit, shower and shave, Gwen heads down for breakfast and spots Merlin skulking suspiciously in the corner, the News of the World clamped in a fist.
'What are you going to do with that?' she asks, gesturing at the paper. 'You can't recycle that. Uther wouldn't have read it yet. You know he always likes his morning news with his kippers and eggs'.
'I know… it's just… there's a really interesting article about… uh… fly-fishing in here that I want to check out' Merlin stammers nervously.
'Fly-fishing? Since when have you been interested in fly-fishing?' Gwen asks, disbelieving. 'I thought that was a sport for old men and rednecks. Of which you are neither'.
'I know, but…' Merlin falters… 'Oh look, you're probably going to see it anyway, so I suppose I should show you before you walk past a copy at the market and have, like, a cardiac arrest, or something'.
'What are you talking about?' Gwen asks. 'Why would I have a cardiac arrest?' A second later, her mouth drops open. 'I know. Arthur's got himself a Twinkie in the city, hasn't he? He's running around behind my back! That's what it is, isn't it?'
'Uh… No?' Merlin says, and reluctantly passes her the paper.
Gwen barely turns the page before she sees what he's getting at. Merlin watches as the skin on her face goes from warm brown to a garish purple. Pretty soon she's hyperventilating. He takes a step backward, and almost falls the rest of the way when she opens her mouth and screams…
'ARRRRTHURRRR!
Meanwhile, Arthur was heading downstairs and out the back door, as he had an important guest to greet at the castle gates, and he doesn't want anyone to follow him. Least of all his father, who has a habit of sending his guards on spying missions whenever he thinks Arthur's up to no good. Making it out of the house unnoticed was the biggest step. Once his guests were safely stashed in one of the castle's 30 odd spare rooms he could relax, but until then, he had to be extra stealthy. So when he heard Gwen's scream, Arthur did what most red-blooded males do when they're in the doghouse with their significant other. He ran.
'My Lord' says a guard by the castle gates. 'There's a young lady and her servant waiting for you. It's a good thing you got here when you did. When they were handing out patience, I don't even think she stood in line'. Swinging the gate open, the guard holds it for Arthur's guests; and in walks a tall, beautiful woman with mother-of-pearl skin and jet black hair cascading to her shoulders. Arthur blinks in surprise. This was Eris? Funny, the faerie neglected to mention she was an A-Grade hottie! Typical females!
A cute blonde girl with pixie-like features arrives in Eris' wake, laden down with so much match-luggage Arthur's amazed her arms haven't dropped off yet. He steps out in front of the two gorgeous women and bows, courteously. 'The glorious Goddess Eris and her charming lady-in-waiting, I presume?'
'Pleased to meet you' the blonde says, putting down a bag or two so she can extend a hand to Arthur. He takes it, marvelling at how tiny and delicate it is inside his own, and kisses the back of it, like the gentleman his Nanny had always tried to raise him to be.
To his surprise, the girl doesn't squeal and shriek like a Twi-Hard in the presence of Robert Pattinson, the way most commoners did when they met Prince Arthur Pendragon, heir to the throne of Come-a-lot. She merely smiles and says, 'How do you do?'
'This is my Girl Friday, beautician and general dogsbody, Camilla Everhart' Eris was saying. 'She goes where I go. I take it you're Prince Arthur of Come-a-lot? Because if you're yet another servant or guard; I'm going to be very upset. I just hate people who waste my time'.
'No, I'm Prince Arthur' he tells her. Eris regards him with a critical gaze, her sparkling lavender eyes appraising him the way a housewife checks out the meat at the butcher's. 'I thought you'd be bigger' she replies, finally. Arthur feels about six inches tall, not to mention quite insulted, but what could he say? She was a God, FFS, she could tear him limb from limb if he dared smart-mouth her!
'Oh, don't pay any mind to her, she just likes to be a big bully sometimes'. The blonde girl laughs, and tries to pick up the bags she'd dropped. 'Here, I'll help you' Arthur offers. 'Oh… Where is she going?'
Eris had already walked across the courtyard and was heading for the front doors of the palace. Oh shit, Arthur thought. Can't have that!
'Hey wait'. He calls after the goddess. 'You can't go in that way. Around the back'.
'Around the back?' Eris looks mortified. 'Are you saying I have to use the servants' entrance?'
'Just for today' Arthur promises. 'Just until the ball tonight. We're having a masquerade ball in honour of…'
'Spare me the details' Eris cuts in, waving a hand dismissively. 'Whatever. Just show me to my rooms so I can have a bath and get out of these filthy clothes'.
That sounds like a plan, Arthur thinks, salaciously, but doesn't say. He has a feeling she could filet him with the power of her mind and that's not a chick you want to get angry!
Camilla Everhart was struggling to get the match luggage up the stairs. 'I'll just call my loyal servant…' Arthur gets halfway through saying before he's interrupted by Merlin at the foot of the stairwell. 'Man-servant'
Arthur rolls his eyes. 'Eris, Camilla, this is Merlin. Please ignore just about everything he says. He's a simple soul, really. Doesn't understand much beyond two syllable commands'.
'Oh, hey now… that's not fair…' Merlin started to say, then claps eyes on Eris's pretty little pixie-like beautician and is stunned into silence. Arthur wanted to groan. Oh no! The last thing I need is for that fool to fall in love! He's absent-minded enough, now! What on earth would he be like with a girlfriend?
Camilla extends a hand to Merlin, who looks at it as if he's never seen a hand before in his life. 'Kiss it, dipshit' Arthur whispers in his ear. 'She's going to think you've been lobotomised if you don't do something, soon'.
Merlin leans his dark head forward and kisses the hand quickly, then looks as if he's about to faint. Camilla smiles at him and blushes prettily. Arthur is fairly sure this chick would look pretty going to the can. But her boss was in another league altogether.
'Meet me in half an hour in my rooms' Eris instructs Arthur. 'We must talk about this plan of yours to usurp your father's throne…'
'Ssh' Arthur says, fearfully. 'He'd be on his way to breakfast right now, and he's paranoid enough as it is. If he sees you…'
'He won't see me, and he wouldn't recognise me if he did' Eris tells Arthur. 'I don't exactly make a habit of introducing myself to people I plan to overthrow. Tends to spoil the surprise'.
'Okay well… I'll let Merlin show you up to your rooms and see you in thirty minutes, then' Arthur says, giving Merlin a push toward the stairs. 'Merlin, be a gentlemen and help the ladies with their luggage. And try not to be an idiot and fall down the stairs; or something'.
Merlin looks hurt but says nothing, choosing to take a bag in each hand and clomp up the stairs to the first floor guest rooms in silence. He'll keep, he thinks to himself. I'll teach him to embarrass me in front of Miss Everhart! He thinks he's all mighty and powerful and…
'Merlin, is it?'
Merlin almost drops the bags and loses his balance, but regains his equilibrium just in time. 'Uh… Yes' he says to the cute beautician. 'Arthur has a bunch of other names for me, but I usually only answer to Merlin'.
'Forgive me' Camilla giggled, 'But Arthur seems like a bit of a prat'.
'You got that too?' Merlin gasps; amazed. 'Wow. You're a pretty quick judge of character'.
'Oh well, I can read minds' Camilla says, shrugging. 'So I could hear what he was thinking. It wasn't exactly PG rated, either' she lowers her voice, 'Especially not where my boss is concerned'.
'Oh, that's just Arthur' Merlin laughs. 'You'll get used to it'.
They reach the landing and Camilla puts her bags on the carpet beside the door.
'Oh, by the way… have you ever thought about doing anything about that scar on your chin? I could cover it for you'. She whips out a white powder puff and dabs at his face with it. For one scary second Merlin could have sworn he saw a face in the midst of the white puff. Blinking, he shook his head. No. Couldn't be. A living powder puff?
'There' Camilla says, smiling. 'All gone. Have a look'. She grabs a hand-held mirror out of the bag at her feet. Merlin checks his reflection and his mouth drops open. 'It's gone' he says, in amazement. 'How did you do that?'
Camilla shrugs. 'Pure talent'.
After a night on The Rack, Uther's feeling a tad worse for wear. He's also not feeling entirely matey toward his favourite physician, either. In fact, he has a good mind to order the old bastard's execution. Unfortunately, no one else in the castle knew how to concoct just the right tincture for aching joints the way Gaius could, so the mutinous prick was safe for a while yet. Uther heads for the breakfast table holding his right hip and groaning. When Gwen asks him what's wrong, he quickly makes an excuse. 'Oh… I think it's time for a new mattress. Where's Arthur?'
'Don't talk to me about Arthur', Gwen grizzles. 'If I never see that piece of excrement again it'll be too soon'.
'What's he done now?'
Gwen bites her lip, considers her options then figures he's going to see it anyway, and tosses him the morning newspaper. Uther stares at the front page, blankly. 'I don't see it'.
Gwen leans over and turns the page; then waits for her employer's face to turn apoplectic with rage. But to her dismay (she wants Arthur to get in trouble) it doesn't. In fact, the man laughs! And laughs, and laughs.
Gwen boils with indignation. 'What? What's so funny?'
'I told him something like this would happen one day' Uther gurgles. 'That reporter from the News of the World has had it in for him, ever since Arthur told him he was a low rent hack and that his newspaper – which wasn't worth the ink used to print with – could go get shagged, but not in those exact words'.
'I can imagine' Gwen states, flatly.
'I seem to remember him also saying something about using the News of the World to line his birdcage. Not that Arthur has a bird, but it was pretty funny, anyway' Uther says, chuckling at the memory. 'The bloke was so mad, steam was practically coming out his ears. But if he planned to embarrass Arthur, he didn't do a very good job. I should imagine this would only serve to bolster his reputation as a ladies man, not ruin it'.
'And what about my reputation?' asks Gwen, getting all hot under the collar. 'You can see my face over his shoulder, clear as day! My father's going to have an absolute fit'.
Uther grabs his hip as he laughs uproariously. 'I wouldn't worry about that' he assures her. 'I think he knows your feelings for Arthur'.
'God, does everyone know about my feelings for Arthur?' Gwen asks, her heart sinking. Uther attempts to stop laughing long enough to answer her. Tears are streaming down his weathered face. 'Well, if they didn't before' he chuckles, 'they certainly do now'.
'Oh, shut up' Gwen grumbled. As Merlin takes his place beside her at the breakfast table, with a bowlful of porridge, she glances at him. 'I suppose you think it's funny, too'.
'Um… Nope. Not really' Merlin replies. He looks at both of them. 'What exactly are we talking about?'
'The newspaper' Gwen groans. 'What else?' She stops, and props. 'Hang on… What's wrong with your face?'
'Huh? What?'
'Your face… there's something different' Gwen insists. 'Smile'.
Merlin raises an eyebrow. 'Have you gone mental?'
Instead of answering, she digs a finger into his ribs, and starts tickling him. He couldn't help but laugh, despite himself. Gwen gasped. 'Your scar! It's gone'.
'What are you talking about?' Ever vigilant about the "danger" of magic in his kingdom, Uther stared at Merlin's face. 'She's right. That little scar below your lip – the one that looks like a dimple. It's disappeared. How is that possible… without magic?'
His last word was a guttural growl. Above all else, Uther hated magic. Witchcraft, sorcery, whatever you like to call it, he loathed it. And anyone found using magic of any kind in his kingdom was summarily executed, ASAFP (As Soon As Fucking Possible).
Merlin pales visibly at the thought. 'It's not magic' he blurts. 'I just happen to know a very good beautician. It's cover up, really. That's all it is'.
'So wash it off' Gwen says, prodding him. 'I like that scar'.
'Yes' says Uther, through clenched teeth. 'Wash it off – and prove it's not magic'.
Merlin looks at Gwen, then Uther. 'Um… Okay. If it's that big a deal…'
'I will not tolerate the existence of sorcery in my kingdom' Uther reminds him. 'Wash it off… and if you can't, maybe the fires of attrition will burn it off'.
Gwen looks at Uther, shocked. 'You wouldn't burn Merlin at the stake! He hasn't done anything wrong!'
'We'll see, won't we' Uther says, grimly. 'If he can't wash it off, I'll have him and the person who performed the glamour or whatever it was executed post haste. That should serve as a lesson to all those Birkenstock-wearing, man-hating, muff-diving Wiccans in the village'.
'Father!' Morgana has entered the kitchen and is pouring herself a short black. 'You can't talk of executing Merlin! He's been a faithful servant of your son for many years now! Besides, I doubt very much he knows magic, knows anyone who uses magic, or even would recognise magic if it reached out and slapped him in the face'.
'Hey' Merlin protests, 'I'm not exactly stupid, you know'.
'I know, darling, I'm sticking up for you here' Morgana replies, giving Merlin an affectionate pat on the shoulder as she passed. 'The fact is, Daddy…'
'He can go and wash his face and prove to me that no magic has been used in this place' Uther insists. And from the tone of his voice, they all knew not to argue. Merlin gets up and hurries away from the table, his first thought to go and find Camilla Everhart and get her to undo whatever it was she had done. Surely it was just some freakishly powerful foundation or something. Or else, Merlin thinks, panicking, I'm screwed!
Arthur whistles a merry tune as he climbs the stairs toward the floor housing the guest rooms. If all went well, Father would be forced off the throne and he could take his rightful place as king. The very thought is enough to put him in such a good mood he doesn't mind when Merlin almost barrels him over in the upstairs corridor. 'What's wrong?' he asks, as Merlin brushes past him. 'Did you forget to lay my clothes out? Don't worry; I'm in a really good mood today. I think I'll dress myself…'
'Where is Camilla Everhart?' Merlin breaths, his face flushed and his palms, which were grasping Arthur's forearms, sweaty. 'I need to find her… immediately'.
Arthur scoffs. 'Jeez, Merlin, if you're really that desperate for a snog…'
'It's not about that' Merlin insists. 'Please… where is she? I put her in the first guest room, and she's not there!'
'Maybe she's having a shower, or something' Arthur suggests, grinning wickedly. 'Hey, here's your chance. You could knock on the door; ask her if she needs another towel…'
'Arthur! How can you think of chicks at a time like this? Your old man is all set to burn me at the stake if I can't prove that she didn't use magic to get rid of my scar!' Merlin hisses, frantically. 'I've tried washing it with everything – soap, shampoo, Morgana's massage oil – nothing has worked! I know I always hated that scar, but now I'd give anything to have it back'.
'Gwen likes it' Arthur says, his face looking dreamy at the mere mention of Morgana's lady-in-waiting. 'She thinks it's sexy'.
'Gwen also likes you. I'm not fully convinced of her sanity at this point' Merlin jokes, bitterly. 'Ah hell… why don't I just face it? I'm going to die…'
'No you're not' says a voice that sounds to Merlin like bells tinkling. Camilla seems to appear out of nowhere, and steps up to the young warlock, putting a hand on his cheek. She recites a Welsh chant in a low voice and runs her fingertip over the place the scar once was. 'There you go' she says. 'All better. Come to think of it, I don't know why I tried to get rid of it. It's actually kind of…'
'Sexy?' Arthur groans.
Camilla giggles, blushing. 'Something like that'.
'Chicks' Arthur says, rolling his eyes. 'I don't get it!'
Eris winds a purple chiffon scarf around her throat as her faithful servant Camilla bursts in. 'I've got a date with the cute manservant' she gushes. 'So… how's your morning coming along?'
'It'll be fine once we actually get to figure out what our plan of action's going to be' Eris says, grumpily. 'Oh, blast it; I think I'm getting a zit! Make…'
Camilla is at her side before she could finish the sentence. 'Let me get rid of that for you…'
A knock at the door renders them both silent. King Uther doesn't know they're here, and if he did, he'd surely have them burned at the stake as witches. The guy could be a touch unreasonable that way.
'Who is it?' Eris asks.
'It's Arthur… who else would it be?'
'Oh right. Come in'.
Arthur enters the room, his loyal servant Merlin not far behind. Camilla gives him a shy smile, and he smiles back, the scar now visible again just under the edge of his bottom lip. It does look like a dimple, she thinks. Cute!
Arthur is all worked up. 'My father was about to throw Merlin on the bonfire for what you did' he tells Camilla. 'I hope you're proud of yourself'.
'She didn't know'
'I didn't know'
'All the same' Arthur says, 'This can't go on. My father's tyranny has kept this kingdom in fear of him long enough. I'm ready to rise up, and take my rightful place as king of Come-a-lot. Only trouble is…'
Eris interrupts. 'You have absolutely no idea how?'
Arthur nods, ruefully. 'I hope you do'.
'I do, in fact' says Eris, mysteriously. 'By tonight, King Uther won't know his arse from his elbow. He will be totally and utterly incapable of ruling his kingdom. I can guarantee you that'. She held out her magnificent arms. 'Huddle' she ordered them. 'Here's what's going to happen'.
To be continued….