Hi! This my second story on fanfiction, so I'm not a complete novice, but I do have a lot farther to go! Just to say, this is just a prologue to the real story, which will be set in the time of the TV show, and the rest of the story will not be in the present tense, so if it annoys you, no need to worry! It will be a romance, with some (hopefully) humor, but the romance will not be Gwen Arthur, but Gwen/Lance, although this is not the main pair. I hope that you enjoy the story!

Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC production of Merlin, or any of the characters except Cassandra.

PROLOGUE

It is one of those perfect summer days. The sun was a bright ball of fire in a sapphire blue sky, and amongst the colourful flowers in the green meadow, children were playing. In the background stands a city, with gleaming white walls, and flags that billow in the gentle breeze, she remembers. She can see it in her mind's eye; the group of small girls and boys, around the age of eight, although some are younger, and they are running full pelt across the grass, immersed in their game of catch. However, the boys are tiring of the game, and soon decide to end it in pursuit of a more adventurous type of fun.

Off they run, the girls left behind, apart from one girl with short black hair, who has her small dress hiked up around her knees to avoid tripping as she paces beside a boy with blond hair. This boy may not be the oldest, but there is a sense about him that he is used to orchestrating and overseeing everyone, even the older boys. Across fields they run, in their game, and far back, struggling to keep pace, there is a smaller girl, aged perhaps six, who is trying to catch up with the older children, and most especially the raven-haired girl and blond boy.

She is short, with a smudging of freckles across her nose, curly hair which is a rich chestnut colour, and as she runs she is shouting at the figures in the distance:

"Morey! Wait for me! Please!"

The older children run on, heedless of her cries, and at last, having fallen over so much that her hands and knees are scraped, her dress ripped and her shoes muddy, she dejectedly gives up and turns back towards the other girls. Those girls; the ones that aren't any fun. All they think about is keeping their dresses clean, being quiet and sitting very still with their backs straight. Those girls aren't like her adored Morey, who doesn't care about dirt or noise or censure. Nor are those girls like the boys, who are restricted by stupid skirts, and who don't have to have their scalps pulled off every morning by combs which hate her messy, tousled hair.

It takes her a while to get back to the meadow, as she is now too tired to run, but arriving back at last she meets her maid, who at once begins to rant on about the state of her clothes and her general appearance. The sun is sinking lower in the sky, and is now obscured by the castle, whose white walls have turned red and orange in its light. The maid takes her back to the castle, and arriving in the main courtyard, the maid lets go of her hand as her anxious mother and father run forward and embrace her. They, at least, do not acre about her being ladylike; as her mother says, its abominable for six year olds to be expected to sit still and learn to sew, but as they are at court, she must behave with more "decorum" (her nanny's favourite word, which she has grown to hate), like the other girls.

A man steps forward, and places his hand on her father's shoulder;

"She's back safely now. Nothing to worry about."

Her father nods and the man, whom she remembers is the king, turns to the blond-haired boy and declares;

"Although it is no thanks to you, Arthur."

The boy expostulates - "She wasn't my responsibility, father!"

"Nevertheless," the king replies, "You should look out for the younger and weaker members that you socialise with. Everyone should be your responsibility. I would hope that nothing like this occurs again."

With that, he turns and begins to make his way back into the castle, the adults following. The boy, Arthur is his name, steps up to her and exclaims;

"Look what you did! You got me into trouble with your stupid game!"

"It's not my fault that you ran away," she replies tearfully, "I was shouting but you didn't stop."

"Well it's not my fault you are too slow. Stupid girls," he mutters as her turns away.

He does not see her little face screw up in anger, and her jaw set determinedly. Hearing footsteps behind, he only just has time to turn as he feels her small arms give him a very determined shove. And then he is falling over, falling backwards, not to land on the cobbles that he expected, but in the freezing water of the fountain behind him. The members of the court, his father, all the adults turn as one hearing the splash, and all the small girls and boys gasp as they see him hit the water. The girl sticks her small nose in the air, and with a wink to the black-haired girl, she walks off as the spectators begin to laugh at the spectacle of the heir apparent of the kingdom of Camelot, sitting drenched in a fountain. He was beaten by a girl!

Lol EllieBaby xxx