Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the S1 DVDs.
A/N: This is set to 'complete' for now, but as I rewatch episodes, I may add to it.
I'm officially done with school, so this is my celebration present! Lol, with summer here, I'll hopefully be able to write a bit more, or at least finish the stories I have in mind.
Morgana sweeps down the corridor, purple satin skirts flowing around her ankles. A familiar face out in courtyard catches her attention, and she doubles back to the window to peer out curiously, leaning forward slightly as she tries to make sense of what she sees. Arthur's new manservant, stroking his chin thoughtfully, and her own handmaiden, hands on her hips, stare at something beyond her view. Lifting herself onto her toes and craning her head for a better look, she narrows her eyes in confusion when she notices that they're contemplating a statue of a dog.
As her heels touch the ground again, an incomprehensible ache settles in her chest, one that only increases when Merlin and Gwen work together to lift the statue into a nearby wheelbarrow.
What she would give to share a friendship like that.
Gwen is her friend, certainly, her most cherished companion. She's the one she shares her nightmares with, the one she laughs with. But there's a barrier between them that neither ever acknowledges. At the end of the day, Morgana's the one with the fancy gowns and the priceless jewelry; Gwen's the one with the callused hands and the two-room house.
Gwen's the one with friends.
Friends like Merlin, who, despite being in Camelot for only a short time, is quickly proving himself loyal to a fault. If he'd seemed unhappy with his appointment as Arthur's manservant, the accusations brought against Sir Valiant this morning surely show who has his allegiance.
He is Arthur's man, through and through, even after just a few days.
She loves Gwen as if she were her own sister, but how can she ever hope to win such affection? She won't fool herself into believing that Gwen would ever choose her over a friend like Merlin, or, even less likely, she'd be good enough to deserve a friend like him.
And as she watches them now, watches Merlin dash off with the wheelbarrow and Gwen send him a last laugh and wave, the ache wells up until she cannot bear it, until she can barely breathe.
Gwen is already there when she returns to her chambers, humming contentedly as she works. Morgana walks over to the table, pours herself a glass of wine, and tries to ignore the soft smile on Gwen's face.
She gulps down a mouthful of wine, the liquid cool and tangy. Gwen says she drinks too much, and she's probably right, given the way it can so easily weaken her judgment and loosen her tongue.
She prefers to think that it bolsters her courage.
"Gwen."
The maid pauses in her work and looks up. "Yes, my lady?"
"You're . . . friends with Merlin. What do you think of him?"
Gwen purses her lips as she folds a sheet. "He is . . . unusual, but very kind. He has a good heart."
"Do you think he's telling the truth about Valiant?"
Gwen hesitates before returning to folding. Morgana sees the conflict in her eyes, enough to guess what her answer will be.
Or would be, if she had the courage to say it, but a servant cannot speak against a knight (unless that servant's name happens to be Merlin).
Morgana takes another sip of wine and says, "Come, Gwen. You may say it. You have nothing to fear from me."
"I know," Gwen sighs, sitting down on the window sill. "Valiant fights well. He's a good knight."
"But?"
"But I don't think Merlin would lie, not about something like this." She gazes up at Morgana curiously. "Why? Do you think he's telling the truth?"
"I'm having the same dilemma," Morgana confesses, tapping her goblet with her forefinger and twirling contemplatively on the stone floor. "I don't understand how a man could be so different from what he seems . . . But at the same time, I can't imagine a servant who would make false accusations."
"No," Gwen agrees quickly, "Merlin wouldn't do that."
Morgana stops revolving and looks up with a smile. "No. And if it were you, I would trust you." Gwen smiles shyly, but Morgana continues, "And if you trust Merlin, then I trust him as well. And so should Arthur."
"Respectfully, my lady, but I've been in your service for close to ten years now. Merlin hasn't been the prince's manservant for even ten days yet."
Morgana lets out a breath and regards her maid with a frown. "The problem is that he's too damn stubborn. He knows now that something is . . . off with Valiant, and yet he insists on fighting in this silly tournament."
"He is a knight; that's what he does. But hopefully Merlin will figure something out."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, he said he was going to find a way to make everyone believe him."
Morgana chuckles and leans a hip against the table. "With the dog statue?"
"Yes," Gwen answers, glancing up in surprise. "How did you . . ."
"I saw you out the window," she smiles. Her smile fades as she thinks of the coming morn. "But if we are up against Valiant and our only weapon is a statue of a dog . . ."
She trails off, lets the implication hang in the air.
Gwen chuckles softly. "I told you he was unusual."
Morgana sits in the grandstand beside Gwen and tries not to look as if she's about to lose her stomach. The blood runs out of her cheeks as Arthur blocks Valiant's blow with his shield and a thwack resounds through the air. There's a hush in the stadium that speaks to the cold fear in her heart.
She can't get it out of her mind – the dream, the vision of a slain Arthur. And on top of that, Merlin's accusations against Valiant seem only to reinforce what she's seen. If the knight is using magic, then Arthur stands no chance.
He's faltering. They've discarded their helmets, and even from where she sits Morgana can see the sweat on his brow. Tensing, she sucks in a breath as Valiant presses his attack and Arthur grimaces as he struggles to parry the relentless blows. But Valiant is older, stronger, and he pushes forward angrily, smashing Arthur in the jaw with his shield and knocking him to the ground.
The prince, his shield pinned beneath Valiant's boot, rolls to avoid a mortal blow. He bounds to his feet, but Valiant attacks so violently that his sword goes flying to the dirt. Arthur, left without a weapon, charges and pins Valiant's arms. The older knight lets out a cry and pushes the prince against the wall of the stadium. With a mighty effort, Arthur lands a punch on his jaw, forcing him backward.
But Valiant's the one with the sword.
And then, just when she begins to lose hope, his serpent-adorned shield comes to life with a hiss.
A gasp runs through the spectators, now on their feet.
A look of confusion and fury crosses the dark-haired knight's face, but Arthur takes the opportunity to scurry out of his compromised position.
But his sword, so far out of reach, might as well be back in its sheath at the armory.
With barely a thought, Morgana lifts a neighboring knight's sword from its scabbard at his hip and tosses it to her prince with a cry.
He turns swiftly, catches it, and pivots just in time to slice off the heads of the snakes that have emerged from Valiant's shield. Suddenly the tide of the contest has turned, and within a moment, Arthur is hugging Valiant to him, his sword plunged through the opposing knight's stomach.
Morgana lets out a shaky breath before joining in the applause. Arthur throws his borrowed sword to the dirt and gazes up at his father for the approval he so desperately craves. She smiles, applauds dutifully, but finds it hard to banish the feeling that he's cheated fate.
Morgana strolls slowly around the hall, still in a snit from her earlier conversation with Arthur, her emerald eyes observant but focused on no particular object. As much as she enjoys dressing in her finest and being escorted by the tournament champion, she derives little pleasure from the company of courtiers.
She lets out a sigh just as her gaze lands on Arthur's manservant, hiding in a corner with a pilfered goblet of wine. A grin spreads across her lips as she automatically changes direction and strolls toward him.
"Merlin," she greets happily.
There's a healthy flush in his normally pale cheeks, and his answering grin is a little too crooked to be entirely sober. He drops an unsteady bow.
"My lady!" he replies.
She tilts her head. "How much have you had to drink?"
"Just the one." He laughs, "I'm not really supposed to be drinking at all until the guests are finished, and Arthur said he wouldn't buy me a drink."
"So you pinched a glass?"
Merlin nods with a wide smile and takes another sip of wine.
"Well," Morgana chuckles, nipping the goblet out of his loose grip, "I suppose I should congratulate you. You were right about Valiant after all."
Merlin purses his lips, a far-off look in his eyes, and doesn't answer right away. She scrutinizes him, tries to understand what's going on behind those eyes, so startlingly blue, the gold flecks hinting at the depth of what he leaves hidden.
He wears clothes that are too big for him, his lanky frame nearly swallowed in his oversized work jacket. He's clumsy, barely able to walk down a corridor without tripping over his own feet. He talks too much, chattering away to anyone who will spare an ear while he grinds away at his chores. He's got a goofy grin, and a mop of unruly hair, and big ears.
But those eyes.
No servant should have eyes that enchanting.
She takes a small step back before she loses herself in those eyes, but Merlin, still distracted by his own thoughts, doesn't notice. She clears her throat, and he tears his gaze back to her with a sheepish smile.
"Arthur is lucky to have you as a friend," Morgana tells him.
Blushing furiously, Merlin rubs at the back of his neck. "It was the right thing to do."
"Perhaps, but it's not every servant who would risk his livelihood to protect a prince who undervalues him."
Merlin chuckles. "Someone's got to look after him; he can't seem to do it himself."
Morgana bites her lip, stares at him thoughtfully. "And who will look after you?"
His smile falters before he shrugs and replies, "I'm not the one who needs a servant, am I?"
"A servant, no. But a friend? Everyone could do with a friend, surely."
There it is again, that elusive gift known as friendship.
Merlin's gaze pierces her. He purses his lips a little and prompts softly, "Including you?"
She takes a sip from his wine goblet and holds it up to him. "Thank you for the wine, Merlin. Perhaps you should get back to your duties, now that you're in Arthur's service again."
He inclines his head, all trace of intoxication gone but a knowing smile still gracing his lips. "Good night, my lady."
Morgana strolls away, that now-familiar ache residing in her chest. Feeling his eyes on her as she goes, she wills herself not to look back. If she does, she'll lose herself in visions of what could never be.
After all, he's just a servant.