Chapter Four
A/N: I'm honestly so unsure of I'm writing the characters well... o_o If they seem at all out of character, I apologize!
Early the next morning, Merlin has just arrived in Arthur's chambers. The room is dark, save for a few columns of light streaking in through the thick, red curtains. Arthur is still fast asleep in his bed, covers pulled up to his eyes and a single arm dangling over the side, fingers nearly brushing the floor. He snores quietly, effectively drowning out the sound of his manservent coming through the door.
A tray is braced against Merlin's chest, stacked high with meats, cheeses, breads and assorted fruits for the prince's breakfast. Merlin wastes no time in setting the heavy tray down on the table on the far side of Arthur's room. Stretching out his arms - which are still aching from helping his master train all week - he strides across the chamber and goes straight to the window. Grabbing the tails of the thick curtains, he tosses them open. "Rise and shine!" He announces loudly.
"Ughh..." Arthur groans, rolling over and trying to cover his eyes with one of the many pillows that litter hs bed. "Merlin..." He complains. "Get out."
"Can't do that, Sire." Merlin tells him. "The big tournament is today. You have to get ready."
"Ughhhhhh..." The prince moans again, but starts kicking off the sheets regardless. He sits up, blonde hair messy and eyes half-lidded. Yawning, he reaches out a hand and Merlin places a goblet of water in it. He takes a few gulps of the drink and then Merlin takes it back, replacing it with a plate of food and utensiles. Without a word, the servant crosses the room to the wardrobe, pulling out a white tunic and a pair of dark grey trousers, laying them across the bed. Then, from the foot of the bed, he grabs the prince's boots and sets them beside the clothes. Only then does Merlin notice the look Arthur is giving him.
"What?" He asks warily.
"You're being awful...helpful today." The prince remarks suspiciously. "It's unlike you, Merlin."
The sorcerer recoils slightly and frowns. "I'm helpful everyday." He protests, earning a scoff from Arthur.
"Pff." The prince climbs to his feet, stretching his back out and rolling his neck. "Sure Merlin." He says superciliously. "Whatever you say."
Merlin's lips are puckered into a dissatisfied scowl, a single eyebrow arched in irritation. But he holds his tounge, not entirely sure what kind of disrespect would escape if he let it. He does, however, allow himself to mutter a single, quiet, "Dollophead" before snatching his master's sword from the table and tossing it to the bed beside Arthur's clothes.
"You know, Mern, not many princes would put up with your prat-ness. You should be thankful you have such a forgiving master." It's obvious Arthur is trying to entice more anger from his normally good-natured manservant. Merlin can practically feel his friend's blue eyes burning into the back of his head as dutifully begins making up the bed while Arthur dresses behind the screen. But suddenly, the sorcerer's mind is elsewhere. Specifically when he's going to get the opportunity to knock Arthur out, allowing him to cast his spell and take the other man's appearance, as well as his spot in the tournament. The only response Arthur gets out of him is a half-hearted grunt of agreement.
Suddenly, the prince's blonde head peeks out from behind the screen, brow pinched between his eyes. "Didn't you hear me, Merlin?"
"Oh, I heard you, Sire." His servant replies distantly, thoughts still mostly elsewhere.
"And you haven't got any kind of clotpole-ish remarks about it?" Arthur challenges suspiciously.
"None I can think of."
When Arthur steps out from behind the changing screen, he's tunic isn't yet tucked in and he's still barefoot. There's an annoyed look about him as he studies Merlin, who is silently finishing up with the bed. "Are you angry with me, Merlin?" He asks flatly, not sounding overly-concerned.
"Not at all, Sire."
Now Arthur is surely very confused. He folds his arms over his chest and shifts his weight, eyes narrowed toward his friend. "So let me get this straight then." He begins, too distracted by Merlin's curtness to notice the way his servant is hanging very closely near his breakfast, back turned to him. "You're actually doing your duty as manservant to-a-tee, you're polite, and you've called me Sire at least three times already this morning."
Having finished what he was doing, Merlin turns to face him. "Apparently."
"Are you sick or something?" Arthur demands, crossing the room to study his servant's eyes, seeing if they're at all bloodshot or glassy. Anything that would indicate illness. Suddenly, the prince's own eyes narrow. "Or hungover?"
Merlin rolls his eyes and frowns. "I've not been in the tavern!" He insists, earning a skeptical snort from Arthur.
"Sure, Merlin." He backs off again. "Well there's nothing you can really do for me today. The tournament will take up most of the day and I'm sure I can handle putting on my own armor. So until you decide to tell me what's wrong with you, why don't you return home to Gaius and nurse whatever it is that's bothering you?"
Merlin opens his mouth and is about to protest the idea when something comes to mind. With a small smile, he nods. "I think that would probably be best, Sire." He admits, trying to sound sheepish and reluctant. "I'll go back as soon as you're done with your breakfast."
Arthur pauses for a moment, obviously not having expected him to accept the idea of missing out on watching the competition. For just a moment, it's almost as if there's actual concern in the prince's eyes...but then it's gone as quickly as it came and he nods stiffly. "Very well then." He crosses the room in a few long strides and takes his seat at the table.
Merlin tries to look casual as Arthur picks up his fork and sections off a bite of ham. As soon as it's in his mouth, Merlin has to turn away to hide the look of guilt on his face. He hides his culpability by obsessively straightening the curtains.
"Mm? This ham tastes a little-" Thump.
Merlin flinches at the sound of Arthur's face hitting the table. He turns slowly, grimacing. And there, cheek crushing a small handful of raspberries, is Arthur. Deeply asleep with mouth ajar and nose crushed against the edge of the plate. In any other circumstance, seeing his arrogant, condescending master with a faceful of eggs and ham would be quite comical. But Merlin knows Arthur will be unconscious for the majority of the day and night and it's because of the enchantment he put on the food.
Swallowing nervously, he inches a bit closer. "Arthur?" He asks in a whisper. "Arthur? Can you hear me?"
No response other than a soft snore.
Merlin nods to himself, satisfied the enchantment is working, and then goes to the large chamber doors, peering outside to make sure the coast is clear. Finding it empty of guards and servants alike, he disappears back inside and closes the doors again. Digging out the vial from his pocket, he pops the cork and knocks back the foul-tasting potion in a single gulp.
With a flash of golden eyes, Merlin feels a near-nauseating wave of magic roll through him and then everything goes black for a split-second.
When he's recovered, the sorcerer quickly crosses the room to the mirror, smiling a little uncomfortably when he finds his reflection showing Arthur's square jaw, smooth blonde hair, and blue eyes. "Ahem." He clears his throat, lifting his chin to try and look arrogant and prince-like. "I am Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot." He says in a voice that is slightly deeper than his own and sounding fully like his master's.
Only now he does he let himself crack a satisfied smile. For once, things seem to be going right for him. He hurries across the room to the real prince's side, hesitating. He hadn't expected things to go this smoothly, now all he needs to do is put on his armor and head down to the arena. Well, that and-
"Learh fearnancai." Merlin breathes once he's in the hallway, hand extended toward Arthur's chambers. The massive, wooden doors swing shut and he hears the metal frames fizzling together, effectively locking them. Can't have anyone accidentally stumbling across the real Arthur face-down in his breakfast while he's supposedly participating in the tournament.
Merlin smirks and then spins around to head down to the arena, only to come face to face with Sir Leon. "Ah-hahahahaaa...Sir Leon!" He sputters. "What...are you doing here?"
The knight hesitates a split second before offering up an apologetic smile. "Um, sorry, Sire. I was just coming to wish you luck in the tournament."
"Oh, thank you." Merlin replies, still a bit frazzled. "You too."
But Leon only tilts his head. "Are you...feeling alright, Sire? You look pale."
Pale?! Merlin squeaks silently. The spell can't be wearing off already! No...no, it must just be because I'm nervous. "Fine. I'm fine." He assures him, voice cracking slightly in a very un-Arthur-like way. "I was just heading down to the arena to prepare."
Leon nods, still looking a little curious. "Of course." He steps aside, clearing the hall for 'Arthur' to pass. "Good luck again, Sire."
"You too!" Merlin tells him, scurrying away as quickly as physically possible without actually running. ...that went well. He remarks dryly to himself.
Merlin reaches the tournament arena a few minutes later and wastes no time in disappearing into Arthur's tent, which he himself set up not a day ago. He tosses his helmet to the table and goes to straightening his shoulder plating, once again finding himself bitterly wondering how Arthur wears this stuff all the time. He's sure his shoulder is going to be knocked out of joint by the end of the day.
The only relief on his already weary mind is the knowledge that everything truly important has been taken care of. Arthur is safely locked in his room - maybe covered in ham - but safe. Despite his mannerisms being a less than accurate portrayal of the prince's, no one will question him to harshly now that he looks like Arthur. All he has to do now is keep up the facade and win the competition. Oh...and not get killed by a sorcerer in the process. Sounds easy enough.
Merlin is about to turn to his sword to sheath it when he hears the tent flaps being gently pushed aside. He turns, heart thumping, only to relax slightly at the sight of who stands in the opening. "Morgana." He greets easily, finding comfort in the presence of the Uthir's kind-hearted ward, who he's become friends with over his years of employment in the castle.
The beautiful young woman smiles mischievously at who she believes to be Arthur and steps a bit closer, emerald-green silk dress sweeping across the ground, equally gem-like eyes shining as she smirks at him. "Arthur." She replies. "I've come to wish you luck in the competition."
Merlin smiles at her, not realizing it isn't something the real prince would do. "Thank you." He says, absently toying with a loose tie on his chain mail. "I'm going to need as much luck as I can get..."
The look on Morgana's face is enough to say he's said some very unexpected of the prince and Merlin inwardly flinches. "You're...very welcome, Arthur." She tells him, curiously, black hair falling to the side as she tilts her head. "Are you actually nervous for once?"
"Wh-what?" He stammers, digging for the most arrogant reply he can think of. "Of course not! There's no doubt in my mind that I'll be the champion today." He turns away to hide the uneasiness that is surely showing on his face and pretends to be inspecting his blade.
At the sound of Morgana's weary sigh, he relaxes again. "What a shame, for a moment there, I actually thought you'd grown a sense of humility."
"Pff, you're beginning to sound like Merlin now." He mutters, just to erase any doubt she might have. Even though he's positive she has none.
"Well I think it's good of him to speak up to you every once in a while." She says. "Not that it'll do any good. I've been trying to talk some sense into you for years."
Merlin can't help but chuckle a little at the ridiculous idea of someone being able to talk sense into Arthur's thick skull and he finally turns back to Morgana, who is no longer watching him, though, and is instead holding his helmet in her hands, smoothing out a smudge with her thumb.
"Speaking of Merlin, where is he? It's unlike him to be late like this."
Merlin inwardly swells a little. At least someone realizes how hard he works around here... But that isn't something Arthur would readily agree with. "Hmph, my lazy manservant never showed up today." He lies flatly.
"Really?" Morgana frowns. "That's unusual. Perhaps I should pop over to Gaius's before the competition and check on him-"
"No, no!" He interrupts urgently, causing the king's ward's eyebrows to go up in surprise. "Erm, the truth is...I noticed Merlin acting sick this morning so I let him have the rest of the day off."
If Morgana looked surprised before, she looks blown away now. "Really? Arthur Pendragon let his servant have the day off? And on today of all days?"
Merlin forces a nervous smile.
"Well, I've got to admit I'm impressed. And here I thought you were a spoiled brat, Arthur." She jokes lightly, suddenly stepping closer to help him with that accursed loose tie he's been playing with for several minutes now.
Merlin has to physically fight the urge to make some irritating remark just to counteract the compliment she'd given his master and instead thanks her for her help with his chain mail.
Morgana wishes him luck one last time before disappearing out of the tent again, leaving Merlin alone once more. As soon as she's gone, he deflates against the table with a relieved sigh. Who knew pretending to be Arthur would be this challenging?
Just then, he hears the sound of horns being blown, announcing the arrival of the king. With an anxious swallow, he scoops up his helmet and tucks it under his arm. He grabs his sword with his other hand and holds it out in front of him. I have to win this tournament for Arthur's sake but the only way I'll be able to win is with magic and I can't perform spells in the arena. Too risky. This is the only way.
He closes his eyes for a moment, focusing on the blade in his hand. "Gladii, facere me inexpugnabili." He whispers and then the sword begins to glow a hot, white light. After a short moment, the radiance fades away and the sword looks completely normal again. He flips it around it in his hand a few times, testing its weight and balance. It feels okay, he supposes. Not that he's ever been good with a sword... Hopefully, this enchantment will change that.
Merlin peeks out of his tent to find that most of the knights have already lined up before the king. Only he and one other contender haven't yet arrived. Swallowing, he steps out onto the dusty arena floor, sheathing his sword, heart thrumming at the sound of the audience erupting in applause at the sight of him. Him, Arthur, their hero and future king.
Another set of footsteps suddenly join him from behind and he glances over his shoulder, finding another man just stepping out of their tent. Over his chain mail he wears a light blue cape bearing an unfamiliar insignia. One depicting a deadly arrow being shot from a bow. The man is tall and broad and probably twice Arthur's age, with dark brown hair and a stubbly chin. When the man notices Merlin staring, he bows his head respectfully but despite this, Merlin shivers.
There's something...not quite right about this man...
Something...menacing.
"A great evil has arrived in Camelot, young Warlock. One that I fear may be seeking the death of the young prince..."
Merlin frowns and turns away from him, ducking his head low as he joins the ranks the of other knights and princes. Could he be the sorcerer?
"As king of Camelot, I would like to extend my warmest welcome to all visiting dignitaries and noble families with sons participating in this tournament toady!" Uthir is standing in his balcony above the arena, looking regal and dignified in his crimson cape and gold crown.
The audience cheers excitedly until Uthir lifts a hand to silence them.
"An especially fervent welcome for Sir Brayden Glowarrow, whose family has just allied with Camelot not two months ago. Their friendship is one of great value to the Pendragons, as is his son - Sir Alder's - participation in this monumental tournament!"
Merlin's eyes go slightly wide when the man with the arrow insignia politely bows his head and then raises a fist to the air, grinning arrogantly as the crowd cheers. Once more, Merlin finds himself shuddering. There is definitely something quite threatening about this man - Sir Alder. And suddenly he's very sure that his prior assumption is right.
He's sure Alder is the sorcerer the dragon warned him about.
As if hearing his thoughts, the knight turns his head, eyes locking with Merlin's. A slow smirk crawls over his mouth, a dangerous glint in his grey eyes.
This is the man who wants to kill Arthur. Suddenly Merlin is a lot less confident in his ability to win the tournament against this man. On the bright side, if he kills me, he'll be exposed and I won't have to worry about burning at the stake for using sorcery since I'll be dying anyway...
"The fights will go according to the Knight's Code. May the tournament begin!"
A/N: The tournament starts next chapter! (Let's hope Merlin knows what he's doing)