Okay, I know I said that I wouldn't upload this if I didn't get any reviews, but... well I can see that the prologue isn't getting any despite lots of hits and visits :( I am a little worried people that people are losing interest (already!) because of the extremely short prologue - so here is the first chapter and I hope it will inspire some reviews. I think I should apologise now for the shortness of everything - my stories seem so long when I am writing them, but look feeble when I upload them here! Ah, well. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Although I wish I did - with all my heart! - I do not own BBC or Merlin, only my original characters.
CHAPTER ONE
"It's morning, Arthur, time to wake up," Merlin announced brightly, drawing the curtains. Fresh sunlight flooded the room in golden strands and cast itself daintily across the prince's restful blonde head – he hadn't stirred at Merlin's greeting.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, wake up you royal…" Merlin trailed off and searched the room for inspiration. "Doorknob!" He stood back and waited for the prince to rouse, then as an afterthought, darted forward and snatched away the bed sheets. Arthur grunted angrily at the sudden cold before rolling out of bed and stumbling to his feet. He rubbed his eyes on his shirtless arm and blinked wearily.
"Well, I'm awake now – and freezing!" He hurled his pillow at Merlin, who dodged easily. "My God, you can be irritating when you want to be. On second thoughts, I bet you don't even have to try, do you Merlin?"
His servant smiled sheepishly.
"I have to try very hard, actually."
The second flying pillow barely missed him.
"What's the hurry, anyway? It's still early," Arthur scowled, shrugging on a shirt and disappearing behind the wooden divider to change his pants.
"You are such a child," Merlin scoffed in disbelief. "I have been up for hours already, running errands and working and –"
"Oh, that reminds me, polish my boots, won't you? They're by the window."
Merlin rolled his eyes and tugged off his red neck-scarf – he hadn't brought a rag to use, so it would have to do. He sat against the windowsill and began to polish the prince's leather boots, despite their already decent condition. Arthur emerged from behind the divider, dropped his pyjama bottoms absent-mindedly on the floor (Merlin bit his tongue) and wandered to stand beside his friend.
"That girl, there, next to the wealthy-looking fellow," he said after a brief look outside. "Does she remind you of anyone?"
Merlin looked up from the boots and followed Arthur's gaze down through the window to the courtyard. The King was standing outside with his guests, and the girl in question was the jeweller's servant, whom he had hardly noticed earlier that morning because her slender figure was swamped by her master's imposingly broad build. She seemed fragile – though anyone would when compared to Dougal, Merlin guessed – but also afraid, and she had a nervous air to match. Her blue eyes, partly hidden by a curtain of dark hair, darted as if frightened by the goings-on around her; and despite being delicately angular and pretty, her pale face was clearly too thin to be healthy.
"A little," he agreed. "Can't quite put my finger on who, though." He glanced at Arthur, suddenly aware and suspicious of the lopsided grin splitting the Prince's face. This was often an indication of an up and coming insult, and usually one directed at Merlin, so he bit his tongue and kept quiet. After a few moments filled only by the muffled squeak of neck-scarf polishing leather, Arthur turned to his servant expectantly, still grinning widely. Merlin rolled his eyes and sighed, unable to resist.
"Alright, fine," he succumbed, already regretting his curiosity. "Who does she remind you of?"
Arthur folded his arms across his chest and pulled a face in mock consideration. "She reminds me of –" he hesitated. "Actually, never mind."
"No, come on, who?"
"Well, Merlin, I was going to say she quite closely resembles you, to be honest," Arthur chuckled.
Merlin snorted to himself and returned his attention to polishing the boots.
"No, I'm serious!" Arthur protested, then wrinkled his nose as if he had thought of something particularly entertaining. "But then, I suppose you always have had a rather girly figure,haven't you, Merlin?"
"At least I'm not letting myself get out of shape," Merlin muttered under his breath, allowing himself a satisfied grin at the reaction he knew would follow his comment: though the Prince was not vain, as such, he took remarks about his physique with considerable weight.
"I heard that!" Arthur scolded as expected, an indignant and somewhat insulted expression now replacing his smirk. "And as I assured you last time, I am fighting fit!"
Merlin waved a dismissive hand in the Prince's direction.
"Whatever you say, Arthur. Now if we're finished admiring strangers, I really should get back to polishing your boots – it's good for my arms."
Gaping like a fish in open air, and irritated at his sudden loss for words, Arthur sputtered, "Royal doorknob is not an insult!"
Merlin grinned indifferently and handed him the finished boots.
"Would you like me to put them on for you too?"
Arthur huffed and pulled out a chair. Glancing up while tugging on his now-spotless boots, he noticed Merlin dejectedly holding his red neck-scarf by a corner. It was smeared and stained with black polish. Knowing it would never wash out, the prince felt a pang of guilt.
"Have one of mine, Merlin," he said, getting to his feet and lifting a crisply folded, royal-issue 'kerchief from his clothing drawer. "I never wear them anyway."
Merlin looked at him in surprise.
"It's fine, Arthur, I can get another-"
"Merlin, take it," the prince implored him. "I… I wasn't even serious about the boots… they were already clean," he paused. "And now, mainly because you are only obedient when I don't mean for you to be, your scarf is ruined. But it's my fault and I'm sorry. Please, take this."
The scarlet handkerchief remained in his outstretched hand as Merlin leaned forward and seemed to inspect it.
"That's very - uncharacteristically - kind and generous of you, Arthur. And thank-you, but…" He sat back and sighed, feigning disappointment. "Red's really not my colour."
The prince gave his servant a cuff to the head and stormed off to the knights' arena to practice hurting something. But he was smiling.