~Chapter three: The Dragon's Warning~
FREYA WAS KNEELING by the fireplace round ten of the clock the next morning, warming her hands and fingers over the flames.
"Freya?" Morgana knocked, then pushed the door open a crack. "Lady Freya?"
Freya fell back, onto her bottom, and glanced up at Morgana almost nervously, as if she thought she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. She hadn't done anything wrong, actually, and of course it was probably not abnormal for a noblewoman to want to warm themselves, but this was her natural reflex. She wasn't used to being treated gently, except by Merlin. And he was definitely right about one thing: he wasn't a bit like most people. Morgana might be good to her, having magic herself and understanding, and having been good enough not to tell Uther about her Druid mark, but, even so, Freya didn't know her well enough to trust her.
"I'm sorry," said Morgana, smiling apologetically. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"No, it's all right," Freya said quickly, pulling herself up. "I don't know where my mind was at."
"What happened to your nightgown?" Morgana noticed it was torn to pieces, hanging in unsightly shreds.
Freya blushed and looked down at her feet. "I caught it on a nail," she lied.
It was, in a way, a lucky thing the nightgown had been about five sizes too large for Freya's small, half-starved frame. If it had been fitted to her, she wouldn't have even been able to cover herself with it properly once she'd turned back into a human; being a Bastet would have completely destroyed it. But, as it was nearly big enough to fit Freya and still have room for a gorilla, she had been able to keep it on, damaged quite beyond mending though it still was.
This nightgown had not been loaned to her by Morgana, but rather had been left behind in her chambers by the last guest who had occupied those quarters. That noblewoman had had rather a gaudy taste in ruffled fabric, a weakness for cream puffs and excessive helpings of venison, and, by default, an ever thickening waistline. Thus the less-than-pretty appearance of the sleeping garment even before Freya's transformation ruined it.
Indeed, it was so ugly one might have thought Freya had done the world a great service by ensuring it could never be passed down to another guest.
Morgana was not sure if she believed the Druid girl's claim. It looked, after all, as if had been torn in several different places, not just by the damage one nail could do, but she didn't press her. "Never mind, the thing was hideous anyway. I'll loan you one of mine. We're closer in size. I'm sure you'll be much more comfortable that way."
"Thank you," Freya said softly, looking into the fire.
Morgana looked at the fire herself, and wondered. "You didn't tend the fire yourself?"
Freya nodded. She had. She'd thought of trying to use magic, since no one was about, but Merlin was better with fire (she still remembered the floating candlelight trick he'd showed her), most of her own small magical talents, picked up from the Druids before being cast out, were better with wet elements, such as water or mud; it came of living by a lake, she supposed. Anyway, she'd been tending normally, without magic, to her own fires (that is, when she could risk lighting them) for years. She'd taken the poker back with her when she returned to her room, so it hadn't been difficult to manage.
"Why?"
"I was cold," was Freya's simple, honest response.
"You were cold," Morgana repeated, shaking her head. "You could have rung for the servants. It's their duty to light the fireplaces."
She had servants? Freya was dumbfounded. She knew the castle had servants, naturally, Merlin being one of them, but she hadn't imagined Uther meant for any of them to wait on her. It was one thing, at mealtimes, if they tended to everyone dining with the king, his ward, and the prince, but he surely couldn't intend for servants to drop what they were doing and light her fires for her, could he? Did he think, because he believed her to be the Lady of Shalott, she was too well-bred to light a fire when she was cold?
"Rung?" repeated Freya.
"The bell, by the side of your bed," Morgana explained. "Didn't you notice it? The tiny silver one?"
Oh, so that was what it was for! Freya shrugged. "I didn't want to disturb anyone."
"You wouldn't," Morgana told her. "They're already up and running errands for the Camelot nobility. It wouldn't bother them to stop in here on their way and attend to you. It's no more than Uther expects of them, since you haven't got a maid of your own." She laughed faintly. "It's a little funny. You in here, scared to disturb the servants, and Arthur breaking his serving bell every other day shouting for his."
Poor Merlin, thought Freya.
"Do you need anything?" Morgana asked next.
"I am a little hungry," Freya admitted. "When do we join the king for breakfast?" She was in no hurry to have another formal meal with them, but if she kept her head down she thought she could endure it. It hadn't been so bad last night. And having as much as she wanted to eat was rather nice; she thought she could get used to that part of staying in Camelot as Uther's new ward.
Morgana shook her head. "We don't. Breakfast is carried in by the servants. Didn't anyone think to leave yours here for you?"
"I didn't hear anyone come in," she said. "Except for you."
"Don't worry, try ringing the bell. Perhaps they didn't realize you're awake yet." Some guests liked to sleep in late and were very cross if roused by a servant's footfalls. "If nobody answers, I'll have Gwen bring you something."
Freya walked over to where the bell was and gingerly rung it, as if she was afraid of making too much noise.
However, the bell, its purpose in mind, was designed to carry sound through the echo-filled corridors, and Merlin, on his way to Arthur's chambers, already very late bringing his breakfast to him, his head somewhat in the clouds, heard it.
Weren't Freya's guest chambers down that way? Did she need something? He decided to go see, forgetting about Arthur for the time being, not realizing he still carried the tray.
Merlin found the door already open and Morgana sitting in there with Freya, whose expression went from mildly ashamed to be ordering someone to come and bring her food to positively delighted when she saw Merlin entering.
"Ah, Merlin," said Morgana. "You can set the tray down on the table."
Tray? Merlin tore his eyes away from Freya's lovely, beaming face and looked down at what he had in his hands. Oh, look, what did you know? A tray. Of food. All right, then. He smiled and set it down on the table.
"Thank you," Freya reached over and broke off a piece of bread.
Merlin's smile widened a little, remembering the first time he'd seen her eat. Poor thing had been so hungry she had more or less crammed half of it into her mouth before saying anything. She ate more normally now, of course.
"Merlin!" bellowed an angry voice that snapped him out of his memory and made him grimace. "Mur-lynn!" The shouting sounded closer and Merlin knew what was coming.
"Isn't that Arthur?" Morgana asked.
Freya swallowed the bite of food in her mouth before speaking. "Why is he shouting?"
"Possibly because I just gave you his breakfast," Merlin realized.
Arthur stuck his head in the door. "Has anyone seen my useless ass of a servant?" Then he spotted him standing in the room, false-grinning guiltily. "Merlin! There you are! Where the hell is my breakfast?"
Freya quickly finished off the sausage she'd started nibbling on, in case the prince wanted what was left on his tray back.
"Good morning to you, too, Arthur," said Morgana coolly.
"Yes, hello, Morgana." He glared at Merlin. "I've been waiting hours. You are, without a doubt, the worst manservant I've ever had!"
"Even worse than the one who pinched your ceremonial clothing and sold them on the black market in the lower town?" Morgana asked, sounding bored.
"Well, he at least brought my breakfast on time," Arthur grumbled. "So where is it, Merlin?"
"Where's what?"
"My breakfast!"
"Oh, I... See, it's a bit of a funny story, you're going to find this really..."
"He gave it to the Shalott lady," Morgana told him, gesturing over at the tray with her chin.
"Did he?" Arthur smiled hospitably at Freya, as if to let her know it wasn't her he was mad at, then snarled at Merlin, "Get me something else from the kitchen this instant. And, when you get back, my hunting boots need cleaning and my horse's stables need mucking out."
GAIUS APPROACHED UTHER. "Sire, may I speak with you?"
Uther, who had been looking out of a corridor window at the courtyard below, turned and acknowledged him. "Certainly, Gaius. Tell me what's on your mind."
"It's about the Lady Freya," Gaius told him.
"Please tell me you're not still foolishly thinking she's a troll," said Uther tiredly.
Gaius forced a chuckle. "No, Sire, I'm quite convinced she's nothing of the sort. But I'm afraid I come bearing some rather grievous news about her that I hope will not upset you."
"What is it?" Uther's attention returned to the conversation. He no longer looked like he was only half-listening; now he appeared truly concerned.
"Well, I didn't want to say anything until I was certain," Gaius explained, "but while Freya is, considering all she's gone through, overall in remarkably fine health, I fear she may suffer from a rare medical condition that would need immediate and routine treatment for quite some time."
"What manner of treatment?" Uther wanted to know.
"Quite simple treatment, really," he assured him. "Luckily her illness is not far out of the early stages. All she would need is a tonic taken regularly at the same time every evening. At worst, Sire, it would be a bit inconvenient timing for the poor girl, but nothing worse."
"How so?"
"Well, the tonic itself is easy to make, but it must be given to her fresh and at the same time, and in order to prepare it properly and keep regularity, which would be crucial to keeping her condition under control, she would have to come and see me a quarter to midnight. I only hope it will not disturb her rest too greatly. I just do not wish to see her fall sick with something that could be so easily prevented with my tonic."
"Certainly, Gaius," agreed Uther, nodding. "It may be inconvenient, as you've said, but I trust your medical advice. If you think that is what's best for Lady Freya, so be it. I do not think her father would be pleased that I welcomed her to Camelot only to then allow her to sicken under my roof. I'm very pleased you caught this, Gaius. Who knows what we would do without you."
After saying thus, King Uther turned and left the corridor, having some matters of state to attend to.
Gaius breathed out a sigh of relief. Thank heavens Uther bought into that nonsense. He hadn't been at all sure his fabrication would work.
Last night, after talking with Merlin, he had, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to invent a medical reason why Freya would be wandering around the castle at midnight. It would save them a lot of trouble if someone found her leaving Gaius and Merlin's quarters looking dazed and tired, or worse, entering them, looking high-strung and anxious over what she knew was about to happen to her.
Merlin, having been a little disturbed that not even something so strong as death could do anything to loosen Freya's curse, had asked Gaius if there was anything they could do-if they could find some way to try and break it. Such would involve studies that could rage from things that Uther disapproved of to ones he had out-right forbidden, so there was no hard and fast answer. And it was quite possible that nothing could break the curse and she was stuck as she was for the rest of her life. Yet, seeing as she could control herself around Merlin, perhaps she could learn to live with it. Merlin was the first person who had ever thought to help her cope with what her curse forced her to become rather than running from it in terror or pushing her away. Maybe he was right and she did stand a chance. They could hope for a way to break the curse, but if none was forthcoming, this was what they must take on.
Gaius only hoped Merlin knew what he was doing. He was already playing a dangerous enough game at Camelot, having magic under Uther's roof, adding a cursed Druid girl companion to the mix... Well, what good could come of it? And, still, here he was, playing along, helping him. Oh, Merlin was entirely mad! And he himself was an old fool. But, alas, it was what it was.
A COUPLE OF weeks later, Merlin gleefully flung the curtains open, letting a soft, gray morning light spill into Arthur's chambers. "Rise and shine!"
Arthur's eyes peeked halfway open. "Merlin," he groaned crankily, "what part of 'let me sleep in tomorrow' did you not comprehend last night?"
Gesturing at the frost-speckled window, Merlin said, a little pathetically, "But it's snowing."
"Very good, Merlin," simpered Arthur, more awake and openly peeved now. "Figure that one out all on your own, did you?"
"I'm guessing this doesn't excite you," said Merlin, wincing sheepishly.
"That's two for two today," Arthur snapped sarcastically. "You're a genius."
"I thought everybody liked snow," Merlin protested.
Arthur finally sat up in bed, glaring at him. "And what on earth gave you that idea?"
"Well, I like snow."
"So, in that confused little brain of yours, everyone likes the same things you do?"
Merlin shrugged. "I'm sorry you hate snow, I was just-"
"I do not hate snow, Merlin," Arthur said grouchily. He liked snow fine, whenever it came, though most winters in Camelot they tended to get more cold rain and hard sleet as a general rule, but he wasn't about to jump out of bed on a day he was meant to be sleeping in just because his manservant had the mind of a ten year old child and got excited every time he saw a white flake fall from the sky. "However, I'm not too crazy about you right this second."
"All right, I'm going to leave now," Merlin decided, "before you do something-"
Arthur bent over and picked up a leather boot that was by the side of his bed, hurling it at the back of Merlin's retreating head.
Much to his disappointment, Merlin found himself being kept doing indoor chores most of that day. He was fairly certain Arthur was punishing him for waking him up early by giving him the most menial tasks he could think of that just happened to be in the most inward parts of the castle.
But, around early evening, just as it was starting to grow dark, Uther came in to see Arthur while Merlin was busy sharpening and polishing his swords and cleaning the silver and gold buckles on his sword-belts.
"Arthur, the whole courtyard is frozen over, everyone's out sledding and skating, some of the lower townspeople have opened booths to sell hot tea and biscuits..." He blinked at his son's unmoved face. "Oh, suit yourself. I'm going to take a walk and join in the fun. If you do decide to come, remember to invite Morgana and Freya." With that, he was gone, vanished from the doorway.
Merlin always thought it was strange, seeing Uther so happy and lighthearted like that; it was, best he could figure out, rather a rare mood for the king. But at least it was more pleasant and easy-going than whatever mood he was in when he hunted down Druids, burned or drowned sorcerers, and had the heads of anyone else he happened to take for enemy chopped off.
He cocked his head in Arthur's direction.
"Yes, Merlin, I see you," he said, without even glancing at him. "Don't worry, I'm going and you're coming with me."
Merlin perked up, smirking.
"Oh, don't look so pleased," Arthur snorted. "I'm only bringing you along so I have somebody to hold my drink and take snowballs to the head for me." He stood up. "Come on then."
They stopped by Morgana's chambers, where they found Morgana standing by the window and Freya, sitting in a corner, watching with polite interest while Gwen carefully mended a small tear in the sleeve of one of Morgana's velvet dresses and stitched some new embroidery round the hemline.
Freya looked up and smiled when she saw Merlin standing by Arthur's side. She had been beginning to think she wouldn't have a chance to see him at all that day until it was time for her to change into a Bastet.
"Everyone's outside enjoying the snow," Arthur announced. "Any of you ladies feel like joining us?"
Morgana shook her head. "It's too cold for me."
Freya, not taking her eyes off Merlin, said, "I'll come."
Gwen looked momentarily wistful, which Morgana caught. "You should go, too, Gwen, you've done enough today."
"Are you sure, my lady?" she asked, carefully biting off the end of the thread, sticking her needle in a pincushion, and neatly folding up the dress spread across her lap.
"Of course," Morgana said sincerely. "Go on, then. Have some fun. Goodness knows you've earned it."
"Thank you, my lady." Gwen stood and curtsied.
Merlin noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Arthur's face looked much cheerier after it registered that Gwen was coming with them.
Outside, it seemed that all of Camelot was in celebration. It seemed, perhaps, like a lot of fuss to make over a few feet of snow, but everyone was enjoying themselves, so it could not be all wrong.
Freya stayed close to Arthur, simply because Merlin had to stand by him, holding his drink and working as a human shield, and it was giving her the chance to remain near him in public.
Gwen was with them at first but then went off to help a large family who lived close to her own home light a bonfire in a small space they had cleared out. It might have been a bit of a waste, seeing as there was more snow falling from the sky, putting it out fairly quickly, but she wanted to help anyway. And the orange-red flames did look rather striking, for the short time they burned, against the crystal paleness of the surrounding snowbanks.
Uther noticed Freya and Arthur, taking no more note of Merlin than he would of a wooden table or sled, and came over to them carrying something in a silver, gem-encrusted canister.
"Drunk yet, Father?" Arthur teased, having noticed there was quite a bit of mead being served as well as tea.
Uther held the canister with one hand and used the other to give his son a light punch on the arm. "Look at this."
"A round box," said Arthur dryly.
Uther opened it, revealing some dark brown squares.
"Nice," said Freya, puzzled, realizing Uther was looking for her reaction. "Very dark and smooth... But what is it?"
Uther laughed. "It's called chocolate. We've been getting brinks of it shipped over by some rather peculiar Spanish monks of the New Religion."
"What's it for?" Arthur wanted to know.
"It's a kind of food; made from some foreign bean, I'm told," Uther said. "You eat it."
Arthur shrugged and picked out a piece, putting it in his mouth.
"Would you like to try one?" He held it out to Freya.
She picked a piece and bit off half of it, letting it melt on her tongue. "It's good," she said, putting the rest of it in her mouth.
Curious, Merlin reached over to take a piece, too, but Uther slapped his hand away as if he were swatting at a fly. "Don't even think about it."
"May I have another piece?" Freya asked.
"Of course, child, have as much as you want." Uther let her take another.
As soon as the king's back was turned, she gave it to Merlin.
Just as Uther was leaving, possibly to go drink more mead or some cider, on account of he was starting to get some feeling back into his body and register the cold, Gwen returned.
Arthur chuckled softly when he saw her. "Guinevere..."
"What?"
"You have a smudge of soot on your chin," he told her, reaching over and gently wiping it off with his thumb.
Freya and Merlin exchanged a look of understanding at this little display. Freya giggled. Arthur's fondness for Gwen was rather precious. It was a love made, not of looks or matters of state, for a baker's son could be as handsome as Arthur, or a princess as beautiful as Guinevere, Morgana's serving girl, but they fancied each other as people, not mere faces.
Their admiration for one another reminded Freya a little of a story, a folktale of sorts, told among the Druids: a young, poor maiden, serving a more wealthy Druid family since her father passed on, disguised herself to attend a gathering and fell in love with a duke, who adored her, even in her humblest of rags, and finding that the slipper of his companion from the feast fit her foot, was delighted and wed her in the Druid fashion before sweeping her off to his kingdom and presenting her before his king. Of course, the formerly timeless story took place in a time when rules of Camelot and other neighboring lands were not so rigid; when Druids and servants alike had more standing, more chances.
Arthur was still gazing at Gwen when suddenly a snowball flew out of nowhere and hit Freya on the side of the arm.
She glanced over her shoulder, to see Morgana had come after all, kept warm by a large cloak of green velvet and a pair of black fur-lined gloves.
Gwen laughed, and began to make a snowball of her own. Arthur's was larger, the size of his two fists, better packed, and actually grazed the side of Morgana's shoulder, whereas Gwen's missed her entirely.
At first, Arthur pulled Merlin in front of him, and the poor warlock got a great deal of snow up his nose and in his mouth, but as he began winning and getting less snow near his face, he cast his manservant aside, throwing more snow at Morgana, teaming up with Gwen behind a makeshift fort she had constructed, taking lower-aimed hits himself.
It was then, amidst all the laughter and wildness, that Merlin grasped Freya's hand and led her away. "Come on, you've been here long enough that there's someone you should meet." As a Druid, Freya was also a creature of the Old Religion. There was somebody who she really ought to see.
He took her to the Great Dragon, chained up under Camelot.
Freya's eyes widened when she beheld the creature. She had never seen a dragon, they all, save this one, having been killed off, and she was wonder-struck. "Beautiful," she murmured.
Merlin had come to see him many times, to ask his advice, but never had he brought anyone with him. The Great Dragon's eyes fixed curiously on Freya. "Who is your friend, young warlock?"
"Freya," said Merlin. "A Druid."
"An outcast Druid," the dragon corrected.
Freya lowered her eyes in shame.
"And currently a lady of the court, if I'm not mistaken?"
Merlin nodded.
The Great Dragon snort-chuckled. "My, my, young warlock! This is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into."
"I don't understand," said Merlin.
"Yes, but I do." There was something like amusement mixed with pity in the dragon's bright eyes. "I had a mate once, Merlin. And, in the Great Purge, Uther separated us forever. As he will you from yours. Better that she had stayed in the land of the dead after you took her to the lake."
Merlin's forehead crinkled. "You know about all that?"
"Merlin, you hid her under the castle," snorted the Great Dragon. "I do have ears."
"If I had thought to bring her to you then," Merlin asked, "could you have saved her?"
"Could I?" The dragon considered. "Yes." He stretched out his wings and jingled the chain that kept him bound. "Would I have? No."
"Why not?" Merlin scowled. "She's a creature of the Old Religion, same as you."
"Yes." He nodded his great, beautiful scaly head. "And that is why I would have taken pity on her and let the poor girl have a peaceful-and lasting-death. It would have saved you both a great deal of pain."
"I don't understand," said Merlin, again.
"I know, young warlock," he sighed, "I know. As of right now, you cannot even begin to understand. You're blinded by your foolish relief and shallow happiness. But you will. Sooner than you realize." With that, he would say no more, and he flew off to another part of his prison, high above Freya and Merlin's line of vision.
"He's acting very strange today," Merlin told Freya. "He speaks in riddles a lot, which can be frustrating, but he's not usually like...well, this..."
"It's all right, Merlin." Freya didn't understand, either, but she felt strangely calm around this creature, massive and odd-mannered though he was. She was glad Merlin had brought her to see him. "I don't know, but I think... I think I trust him."
Merlin shook his head. "He only helps me because he wants to be set free."
"I don't blame him," whispered Freya. "I know what it's like, to be in chains."
"That's all over now, Freya," Merlin told her. "You will never have to worry about that again."
"Merlin, not all chains are made of iron." She reached up and touched the side of his face. "Come on, let's go back. We don't have long before they realize we've been gone."
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Arthur spotted Lady Freya walking down the corridor and pulled her aside. He had something to tell her.
"Lady Freya," he said. "Guess what?"
"What?"
"I think I may have talked my father into your round table idea."
"It was nothing," Freya stammered. "A passing thought..."
"No, it was something worth considering. It was a good idea, Lady Freya," Arthur told her truthfully. "Now, he was a bit tight when I asked him last night, and I don't have anything in writing, but there is a chance, that, by the next feast, a round table for our banqueting hall will at least be under construction."
"That's wonderful," said Freya, smiling in spite of herself. Never had she imagined something she would say would have any real impact on Camelot!
The two of them did not know they were being observed by a grinning Uther and a wary, extremely overtired Gaius.
"Have you noticed, Gaius," sighed Uther happily, "that they are always together?"
"It must have slipped by me, Sire," he said, fighting back a yawn. He could hardly tell the king that it was Merlin, a servant boy, Freya followed about like a shadow and Arthur, his son and heir and the boy's master, only happened to be standing next to him. In fact, the physician was fairly certain this was the first time he'd seen Freya and Arthur speaking alone, unaccompanied by Merlin, Gwen, or at the very least, Morgana.
"I've come to a decision that I think will make the both of them, myself, and Camelot, very happy."
"How nice, Sire," Gaius said, wishing only to stay out of it and also hoping that his guess as to what Uther meant was incorrect. "If you will excuse me, I have some medical research I cannot hold off any longer today."
"Oh, forgive me for keeping you with my prattle, Gaius," said Uther. "By all means, do what you must."
He bowed and left him.
Arthur suspected nothing, an hour after this, when he was summoned by his father.
"Arthur, there is a delicate matter I wish to discuss with you." Uther looked him straight in the eyes.
"Yes, Father?"
"It has not escaped my attention that you appear to have developed an attachment to a certain young woman here in Camelot, as of late."
"Attachment, Father?" How could he know about Guinevere?
"Oh, don't act so coy, Arthur, I'm not a fool. I was young once, I know what the signs of it look like. You're distracted, constantly in her company, trying so hard and yet failing to hide your growing feelings..." Uther shook his head at him. "Don't you think it's time to drop the act? Instead of struggling to keep it from your own father and king?"
What Arthur couldn't understand was why Uther looked so pleased. He'd thought he was be furious about Gwen. "You're not angry?"
"Oh, Arthur, how in the world could I possibly be angry at such an innocent display of young affection?"
"I thought you would be furious," Arthur confessed, letting out a heavy breath, unable to believe this was happening. "Because her station is so far below mine."
Uther laughed. "So far below?" He raised his eyebrows. "Honestly, how did I raise such a snob? She's high enough, and she'll be a princess and, one day, queen after you wed her, so why should it matter?"
Now Arthur's confusion was complete. A blacksmith's daughter was 'high enough'? Wed her? If he was so welcoming of their feelings, shouldn't he give them time for a proper courtship? What was his father saying? This couldn't be real; he was dreaming this. Merlin had failed to cook something correctly in his supper last night and a bad case of food poisoning was giving him wild delusions. Yes, that must be it.
Of course, when he finally realized that his father was not speaking of Guinevere at all, he found himself thinking that perhaps food poisoning would have been a more appealing alternative.
MERLIN AND ARTHUR were sitting on the steps of the castle, looking out at the courtyard. It still had some patches of snow, but most of it had been cleared away or melted on its own. One had to be careful to watch for slick icy spots still, which was why Uther was ordering the groundskeepers to put salt on the cobblestone.
Freya, Morgana, and Gwen walked along an already cleared path. Morgana was laughing about something, Freya was nodding, and Gwen was reaching over to adjust the clasp on Morgana's cloak.
"Merlin, tell me something," said Arthur, glancing over at Freya as she went by them. "Do you... Do you think her beautiful?"
Freya was wearing another of Morgana's dresses, this one a dark green. Merlin had seen it on Morgana before and never taken much note of it. Whereas it made Morgana look tall and stately, it made Freya look small and delicate, like a young fir tree, beautiful and alive, yet not high and unreachable. Then again, Merlin would have admired Freya's quiet prettiness even if she'd been wearing a potato sack.
It wasn't hard to admire her, even in public, especially since, half the time, even when Arthur caught him at it, he mistakenly thought his manservant was staring at Morgana and was often too preoccupied with Gwen's inevitable presence to even bother making fun of him.
"Yes," Merlin said honestly. "Why?"
Arthur's voice was hollow, his face suddenly crestfallen. "Father wants me to marry her."
