WiltingDaisies94: This story is first and foremost for Arthur and Morgana lovers, and is dedicated to the beautiful, inescapable chemistry that electrifies the air between them on the show.

The writers have taken some liberties with the legend, so in the spirit of Merlin, I'm planning to do the same. In this tale Guinevere is a princess (which she was in the legend) but Morgana, rather than being a lady, is Guinevere's maid.

Note: This story is a tribute to the following couples: Gwen/Lancelot, Gwen/Arthur, and Arthur/Morgana. I've been reluctant to put it under Arthur/Morgana, because Gwen is not a secondary character, and I don't want her romance with Lancelot to become a side thing. They are just as important as Arthur and Morgana!

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, the BBC network, or any of the original Arthurian legends that inspired the show.

Chapter 1

"Morgana? Morgana, where are you? I need you!"

"Coming, Mistress!" The owner of the name came hurrying into the room. "I am sorry, Milady, one of the serving boys decided to give me a spot of trouble on the way up."

"No excuses, Morgana, I was supposed to be packed and ready to leave a half an hour ago."

"I am aware, Milady. I apologize." Morgana placed the armful of gowns she was carrying down on the bed.

Princess Guinevere smiled benevolently at her maid. "Now take a breath, Morgana; you know I only tease."

"Of course, Milady." Morgana dipped a curtsy to her mistress.

Guinevere fixed her elegant travelling cloak about her shoulders. "So," she asked, "which mischievous serving boy was it this time?"

Morgana rolled her eyes and began folding up the gowns. "George," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Ah." Guinevere nodded knowingly. "That would certainly explain the delay. Did he ask you to marry him again?"

Morgana tossed her head dismissively. "Does he ever fail to do so?"

The Princess smiled. "And what did you tell the poor boy?"

"The same thing I say every time," Morgana answered. "No."

Guinevere laughed as she watched her maid pack her clothing. "Why do you always refuse him, Morgana?"

The maid shrugged her shoulders. "I do not love him," she replied simply.

Her mistress gave a bitter chuckle. "And what has love to do with the matter?" she asked.

Morgana looked up from her work. She had served Princess Guinevere for years, and was no amateur at reading her facial expressions. Behind her apparent indifference, Morgana knew her mistress was less than pleased with her current situation. "Are you well, Milady?" she asked gently.

"Of course," Guinevere replied without a hint of hesitation. "What reason would I have to be otherwise?"

Morgana smiled. "There is no need to pretend in front of me, Milady. As ever, I am happy to listen."

Guinevere's smile faltered momentarily. "I… I am fine, Morgana."

Morgana returned to packing, knowing that Guinevere would rather speak of her own volition than have the truth pulled forcibly from her.

"This will not be my first time visiting Camelot," the Princess remarked, beginning to pace back and forth, as was her habit when anxious. "Although it will be yours, will it not, Morgana?"

"Yes, Milady."

Guinevere smiled faintly, looking away from her maid. "It is a city that makes an impression. I was only a little girl when we last travelled there – Father had business to attend to – but I have never forgotten."

Morgana made a light noise in the back of her throat, signaling that she was listening, and that Guinevere should go on.

"The castle itself is enormous," the Princess recalled, "and surrounded by beautiful, rolling grasslands. The gates to the city are higher than three men standing atop each other's shoulders. Great pennants fly from the heights of four impossibly tall towers, holding the Pendragon crest aloft for all to view."

Morgana smiled, tucking away a midnight blue gown. "It sounds lovely, Milady."

"And the food!" Guinevere continued, "It was simply heavenly. I can still remember the exquisite way they cooked their meat; it was wonderful, deliciously tender."

"Better than our cooks' recipes?" Morgana asked.

"Certainly," Guinevere replied, "though if you ever tell Cook I have said so, I will have you put in the stocks before you have the chance to so much as utter a protest."

"Of course not, Milady." Morgana shook her head. "You know I would never repeat your secrets." She started on a periwinkle gown and added quietly, "Large or small."

Guinevere smiled at her maid. "I do know. You are a good friend, Morgana." She put a hand on her shoulder. "I am very glad you will be accompanying me."

"It is my pleasure to do so." Morgana placed her hand over Guinevere's.

The Princess smiled sadly. "You will like Camelot, I imagine."

Morgana tilted her head to the side, her expression genuinely concerned. "But will it please you, Milady?"

Guinevere shrugged, attempting to seem lighthearted. "Well enough."

Morgana closed the case she'd been packing, having finished storing her mistress's clothes. "Milady, I am your friend, as you have said. There is no need to be brave simply for my sake."

The Princess nodded hesitantly. "You are right, Morgana." She ducked her head a bit sheepishly. "Perhaps I am… slightly… anxious."

"Why is that?" Morgana asked, carefully leading her mistress into confessing.

Guinevere sighed. "I have not seen the King since I was but seven years of age and he was only a prince. What if I do not like him? What if he likes not of me?"

"Impossible, Milady. What is there not to like?" Morgana grasped her mistress's hand. "There could never be a man who did not find you utterly charming. You are a lovely, intelligent, gracious lady."

"And he is the King of Camelot!" Guinevere released Morgana's hand. "He was eleven years of age the last time we met, and more than slightly arrogant, if memory serves." She shook her head. "What if we do not get along?"

"Ridiculous." Morgana dismissed the notion immediately. "All boys are obnoxious cretins at age eleven; most of them grow past it."

Guinevere turned away. "How can you be certain?"

Morgana moved around in front of her mistress. "Milady, I have had occasion to speak to the King's servants, those who came with the ambassadors, and I must tell you, they speak very highly of their master."

"Oh?" Guinevere looked up. "What do they say?"

Morgana led her mistress over to the bed and sat down beside her. "They say he is a great warrior, strong and courageous, his prowess in battle unmatched." She smiled. "They say the King is extremely attentive to his people's needs, and always judicious in his decision making."

"But as a man?" Guinevere folded her arms. "What of that?"

Morgana took her mistress's hand, gently encasing it between her own. "He is reportedly very handsome, Milady."

"So too was the Duke of Cornwall's son," the Princess snapped, "but I have certainly no interest in marrying him."

"Be calm, Milady." Morgana patted her hand. "Servants are often the most truthful of taletellers. A discontented maid has no qualms with whispering behind her master's back. So," she concluded, "it is a tribute to the King that even miles away from home, his servants still sing his praises."

Despite Morgana's logic, Guinevere remained uneasy. "Does he drink?" she asked.

"To no great extent," Morgana answered.

"Does he beat his servants?"

Morgana shook her head. "No, Milady. But seldom, and never without cause."

Guinevere closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "It seems impossible that he should be so good," she whispered.

Morgana laughed softly. "Milady, are you seeking to find fault with your betrothed? By all accounts the King is a good man; what more must you know?"

Guinevere looked at Morgana, appraising her earnest expression. "Sweet Morgana," she said, patting her maid on the cheek. "You are so goodhearted."

Morgana shrugged, looking fondly at her mistress. "You have my loyalty, Milady. You are equally welcome to my thoughts."

"Milady?" A young pageboy poked his head into the room. "His Highness requires your presence. He is impatient to begin travelling, and insists he will brook no more delay."

Guinevere sighed shortly and stood. "Inform His Majesty that I will be with him presently."

"Yes, Milady." The page bowed low and was gone.

Morgana stood. "Shall I bring your things, Milady?"

"Yes." Guinevere had resumed her resilient tone. "And be quick about it." She folded her arms and breathed deeply.

"Of course, Milady." By the time Morgana had finished curtsying and looked up, the Princess had left.