Chapter 2: The Wedding Feast

"He's rather pretty, your servant boy," Lady Petronilla said coyly to Arthur, and the prince rolled his eyes.

"Debatable," he said dismissively, and it was Merlin's turn to roll his eyes, albeit behind Arthur's back.

The wedding banquet was lavish. Bride and groom were seated at the high table, next to the Lady Morgana, and a multitude of dishes was being paraded down the center of the banquet hall. An enormous bride cake had been placed before the young couple, and wine was flowing freely at the lower tables. But it was not yet time for the bride and groom to drink their spousing toast.

Merlin had risen before dawn, and although he quietly used his magic to see to Arthur's armour and deal with the small mountain of laundry, he nearly had been late to prepare the prince's bath. Fortunately, Arthur appeared to be in a much better mood, immensely diverted by the sight of Merlin in his official, ceremonial garments, his face partially obscured by the feathers of the precariously perched hat, and he was smiling when they reached the castle chapel in time for the ceremony. Linnet, ashen-faced in a red gown, and young Gareth, pale in a dark green tunic and hose, said their vows shortly after the sun had risen, and walked soberly into the courtyard to the cheers of the castle folk and townspeople waiting outside. The newlyweds did not disappoint them, scattering coins and sweetmeats across the paving stones. Trumpets sounded from the battlements, although the musicians were evidently sleepy, or their throats were muffled with morning fog, for the music that came from them was dreadfully out of tune.

"Good job it's not your wedding," Merlin had said under his breath. "Or the king would have their heads."

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur had replied amiably, his eyes on those nodding feathers. He even smiled broadly, so that his eyes crinkled at the corners in the manner Merlin always found irresist...annoying.

Arthur smiled through most of the feast, until that unfortunate comment by the Lady Linnet's father, addressed to Uther not long before the second pass of the silver wine ewer: "Be certain, my lord, that we will all be present when the time comes to celebrate the nuptual of your son and heir. And may that be soon."

The crown prince's mouth had instantly turned down at the corners, and when Lady Petronilla smiled sweetly at him and complimented him on his manservant's looks, the frown only deepened in intensity.

"Debatable," he repeated. "I mean, honestly!"

Merlin rolled his eyes toward the ceiling again. He was perfectly aware that he wasn't about to win any court beauty contests (Arthur had made enough disparaging comments about awkward elbows, bony knees and scruffy hair, not to mention his ears), but he was also aware that he had admirers. The Lady Petronilla was one of them. She had never said as much to him, but he had caught her watching him out of the corner of her eye, and on the few occasions that she had spoken to him, her gaze had lingered on his face (and on his mouth in particular) in a manner that made him uncomfortable. Then there was Sir Owain, who was known to take his pleasure with the servants, when they were willing. He had spent the previous year hovering around one of the young milkmaids in the castle dairy. This year, he had been making eyes at Merlin. He was a well-mannered young knight, who would never have dreamed of propositioning anyone openly unless he knew the object of his desire shared his feelings, and he had never gone further than to sigh dreamily whenever Merlin filled his wine cup or brought him a message from the crown prince. However, he had taken to writing love poetry ("Ode to a Pair of Azure Eyes," "Lily-Pale with Midnight Hair," and worst of all, "Sweet Lips Made for Kisses") on scraps of parchment and leaving them in places where he knew Merlin would find them. It was becoming really embarrassing.

There were several rosy-cheeked scullery maids and even a few of the well-born ladies-in-waiting of the court who had made their interest known to Merlin, but he had never really felt inclined to take them up on their implied invitations.

He might not have Arthur's classically chiseled features and athletic physique, but it was obvious, even though difficult for him to acknowledge, that his appearance-long limbed, dark haired, with a creamy pale skin, full lips, and changeable blue eyes above a striking set of cheekbones-was pleasing to many.

Trumpets sounded again, although this time they were in tune, and Merlin realized that it was time for the bridal toast. He had abandoned that travesty of a feathered hat, praying Uther wouldn't notice, and now he stepped forward from his place behind Arthur, and topped the prince's cup from one of the silver ewers that were used only at the high table. (Pottery pitchers fulfilled the same purpose at the lower tables.) Then he reached behind him for the love potion (smuggled into the banquet hall earlier, poured into one of the silver ewers, and hidden behind a pile of rushes), and filled two goblets for the bride and groom.

The recipe and spell for the love potion had been inscribed on a loose piece of vellum that had not been bound into Merlin's precious book of magic, but rather, sat loosely betwen two pages. He had therefore removed it from the heavy volume, folded it carefully, and put it in a pocket he had sewn into the lining of his official surcoat. That morning, he had reread the basic description of the potion and its results, not bothering to pay any attention to the postscripts. According to the primary description, once the spell took effect the eyes of both bride and groom would show faint sparkles of gold, noticeable only if one looked carefully, until the moment when their marriage was consummated.

Uther was making a speech, which was thankfully brief, and the assembled company raised goblets in a hearty toast to the young couple. Merlin watched, eagle eyed, as the pair drank from their goblets of finely chased silver, and sighed with relief to see that they had downed the entire contents.

Everybody cheered, and the musicians at the other end of the hall struck up a merry tune, a bit heavy on the shawms and rebecs. Morgana embraced Linnet, and Arthur thumped Gareth energetically on the shoulder. Uther kissed the bride's hand, smiled at her, and then looked around for his wine cup. Finding it empty, he gestured to Merlin, who still held the silver wine ewer in his suddenly shaking hand.

"Bring that here, boy!" Uther shouted jovially, and Merlin froze. Uther could not drink that potion. He would fall in everlasting love with Lady Linnet, try to take her from his young vassal. Gareth's father would intervene, and there would be civil war in Albion.

Standing on Uther's other side was old Geoffrey of Monmouth. What would happen if the king looked at him after drinking the potion Merlin did not even want to think about.

"S-sire," Merlin stammered, glaring at the contents of his ewer and stepping backward. "You can't drink this, there's...there's...there's a spider in it."

"A what!" Uther said, scowling. "Well for God's sake, boy, pour it out on the midden and fetch some more!"

Arthur snorted behind his goblet, wearing his what-else-would-you-expect-from-an-idiot-like-Merlin look.

Merlin nearly ran down to the far end of the hall, seized another silver ewer from a passing servant, and filled it with wine from the barrel just outside the door of the hall. At a loss as to what to do with the remains of his potion, he surreptitiously dumped it into a pottery pitcher from one of the lower tables. The pitcher still contained a fair amount of wine, the scent of which effectively disguised the blackberry aroma of Merlin's love potion.

Shoving the pitcher under a chair, he hastened back to the dais and the high table, where he poured wine into Uther's goblet and then set the ewer down on the table with a thud to hide his trembling. Steadying himself against the table, he watched as couples rose and took their places in the center of the room. Older folk, sluggish and sleepy after a meal of massive proportions (Lady Linnet's father was complaining of indigestion) looked on. The musicians began a lively estampie, and the newly married pair moved to the head of the row of dancers. At the same time, there was a general rush of young women towards the high table, in the hopes of claiming their first dance with the handsome blond heir to the throne of Camelot. Merlin kept his eyes on the newlywed couple as they passed by in the dance. They raised their eyes, smiling, to each other as they circled and bowed, and Merlin was able to catch a glimpse of faint gold sparkles that suddenly lit up the darkness of their pupils, a sure sign (according to the description) that a lifetime of love was guaranteed. Satisfied that his plan had worked and his potion had taken effect, he drew a deep breath and retreated to the wall, leaning against the cool stone to relax.

But not for long. A loud noise caught his attention, and that of others. Uther's elite bodyguard, a cadre of six highly skilled knights, was clattering about loudly at the other end of the hall. They were laughing at some lewd joke or other being told by Sir Fulke (their leader), banging their sword hilts on the table and stamping their feet. The king frowned at them and they quieted down respectfully, but as soon as his attention turned elsewhere they were at it again.

"They're dead drunk," said Arthur, looking down his nose. At the high table, Morgana (who had refused to dance with anybody) and Gwen (who was stationed behind her) were glaring disdainfully in their direction. It was apparent that Uther had selected his bodyguards purely for their fighting ability, with refinement of character hardly a necessary quality.

Their goblets had gone dry, and they were looking about for a pitcher of wine. With a start, Merlin remembered the diluted potion in the pitcher under a chair, and he was just heading in their direction when Sir Fulke (who had been loudly comparing the size of his cock to that of Uther's prize stallion) gave a triumphant shout, leant over and straightened up again with the clay pitcher in his hand. Before Merlin could reach him, blurting out a warning not to drink that stuff because it was full of...of spiders, he had poured dollops of the contents into several cups which were instantly hoisted by his companions. Sir Fulke himself guzzled his share out of the pitcher, as the other bodyguards looked on and laughed.

Well, it was the diluted potion, so no permanent harm was done...still, if he remembered correctly, there would be three days and nights of intense passion for the first person they saw. Merlin swallowed hard, and as their heads turned in his direction he dove under the nearest table before they could properly clap eyes on him, not wanting to become the victim of a drunken knightly gang rape.

Consequently, the bodyguards ended up staring quizzically at one other, muttering things like, "Erm, who was that?" and "What was he tellin' us? Spiders?" and "What was that silly bloke on about anyway?"

Seconds later, they were grinning slyly into each other's eyes (which now glimmered with tiny golden sparkles), and their conversation sounded something like, "I fancy a stroll in the courtyard, what about you?" and "By God, Gilbert, I never noticed how muscular your neck is," and "There's no moon tonight, is there? Nice and dark outside, innit? A little stroll might be just the thing." All six were pellmell out the door before Uther could take any notice of them

In a panic, Merlin seized the discarded pitcher, raced down a hallway until he found an open window, and then flung the contents outside and into a flowerbed.

When, not ten minutes later, he was sent across the courtyard to Gaius' workroom to retrieve the physician's best cure for severe indigestion, he passed the royal stables and was alarmed to hear a clamour within. Peering through the partly opened door, he could see the six knights of Uther's bodyguard, still howling with laughter, in the hayloft above. Even though they were barely visible in the-fortunately-very dim light of a single lamp, it was clear what they were up to. Roars of approval were greeting Sir Fulke's display of his equine proportions. Tunics, followed by hauberks, vambraces and spurs went flying all over the place. Merlin ducked as a gauntlet soared past his head.

Feeling mildly queasy, he made his way back to the banquet hall, flask of indigestion cure in hand, and presented it to Uther, who graciously shared it with Sir Gareth's groaning father. Then, ducking behind the king's high-backed gilded chair for privacy, he drew the love potion page out of his hidden pocket and reread the description of its effect. Yes, the diluted potion produced a mere three-day, three-night infatuation. (Heaven help the stablehands when they see what I saw, tomorrow morning, Merlin thought.)

Then, for the first time, he read the very first of the smaller-print postscripts, not an easy task as it had been inscribed with a careless hand. It informed the reader that once the three days were over, the potion drinkers would completely forget everything that had happened during the brief period of intense desire.

"Well, that's a relief," Merlin said aloud. Uther's bodyguards would be spared the humiliation of knowing what besotted fools they (and most particularly the oversized Sir Fulke) had made of themselves, larking about naked in the hayloft.

Dancing was over, and the revelers had risen from their tables, some already heading for the door. Lady Linnet was being escorted to the bridal chamber by a group of chattering maidens, and Merlin was gratified to see that she was smiling and blushing prettily, her doe eyes turning towards Sir Gareth before she disappeared in a crowd of women and young girls. Gareth himself looked inordinately pleased as his fellow knights slapped him on the back and roared out the usual bawdy wedding jokes.

Arthur was still at the high table, his cheeks faintly flushed, but he didn't look any drunker than he usually was at such feasts, and Merlin supposed that getting him upstairs to his room wouldn't be too much of a hardship. When the prince gestured to him, he walked quickly to Arthur's side and dutifully provided a shoulder to lean on as they made their way down the length of the room towards the door.

"You'll be relieved to know, Merlin, that there will be no, hic, sword practice tomorrow," the crown prince murmured, stumbling only slightly and tightening his grip on his manservant's shoulder. They passed the place where Uther's bodyguard had left their empty goblets strewn across the table, and then, suddenly, Arthur's arm shot out and he lifted a partially filled cup...one of the bodyguards hadn't quite finished his drink.

"Last one," he said in a faintly slurred voice, and downed the quarter cupful of diluted potion before Merlin could strike it from his hand.

As he stared, horrified, at the empty goblet, he heard a giggle. The Lady Petronilla drifted past, hair fallen loose from its jeweled circlet, her eyes turning langorously in Merlin's direction.

Merlin groaned. Now, if Arthur were to be struck with a passion for her...

"Merlin."

He slid his eyes back toward the crown prince, only to find Arthur's intense stare fixed on his own astonished countenance. His mouth was curved in a little smile as his hot blue gaze swept his manservant from head to foot, before returning to his face. As Merlin gaped and then stared back, he saw the faint golden sparks, dancing like fairy lights, behind the pale sapphire of the prince's eyes.