Hi all! I decided to give this to you a little early because I'm not sure I'll have time to do so in the next couple of days; my husband and I are moving this next week so things are going to be a little crazy on my end. Thank you, as always, to those who have reviewed and favorited this story. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and leave a review at the end - if you have the time. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or Harry Potter
Chapter 10
Arthur was secretly terrified. He was sure almost half of the town of Alnwick could fit in this hall. The chamber was glorious with a high domed ceiling sporting images of an ox on its hind legs painted in colorful strokes of blue and gold. There were two upper floors and the whole perimeter was surrounded by archways, the columns made up of blue marble and the arches themselves decorated with masterfully cut circular patterns. Never in his life could he remember setting foot in such a remarkable place.
Then there was the king himself who wore clothing finer than any rich man Arthur had ever seen pass. His black tunic was embroidered with golden thread and a cape lined in fur was clasped together over his collarbone with a solid gold buckle. The scent of rich yet tasteful spices lingered about him and his hair was combed perfectly to the side. Arthur immediately felt incredibly self conscious in his worn red tunic, brown trousers, and dirt encrusted boots. He hadn't shaved in a few days so a light stubble covered his face and the last time he'd had a chance to wash the dirt from his face and arms was three days ago in a stream. To say he was completely out of countenance was an understatement! It was taking everything he had not to turn tail and run from the room!
The chamber immediately filled with hushed whispers at the exclamation of his name. Arthur briefly noticed the disbelieving – and in some cases disgusted – looks on some of the nobles gathered around the vast hall. He tried not to show how much that bothered him as he forced his eyes to focus on Rodor's assessing gaze – until a woman appeared at Rodor's side that instantly left him feeling intimidated and small.
Her long light auburn hair flowed freely about her shoulders except for the strands pushed back by a thin circlet of gold resting over her forehead. She wore a beautiful blue gown that, though well made, did not appear in the same high demand of jewelry and embroidery as that of the other noblewomen's dresses in the background. A necklace in the shape of a thick crescent moon decorated with bronze beads was draped around her neck between a fur throw which she wore about her shoulders. Her pale blue eyes were filled with wisdom and she exuded an unspoken warning: challenge me and you will regret it. Arthur swallowed nervously as she assessed him with an intensity double that of the king.
"I am Queen Annis of Caerleon," she introduced and Arthur was shocked to see a smile lift her stern gaze into a genuine countenance of kindness. "I knew your mother well, Arthur. She was a wonderful woman. I can see her in your eyes."
"Yes, he does seem to hold a resemblance to Igraine," Rodor agreed.
"Though he does have some of his father's strong features," said a third man who now stood on Rodor's other side.
Slightly taller than Rodor, this man wore a thick bronze crown over his short gray locks. His kind face square and lined with age, his blue-gray eyes betrayed a gentle soul as he sent Arthur a fond smile. He wore a thick red tunic under a flowing gray cape decorated in fine bronze thread and orange stones in the seams.
"But has he inherited his temper, Godwyn?" Annis chuckled.
"Maybe a little," Leon answered.
Arthur sent him a glare. "And you would know?"
"I was nine when we left Camelot, Arthur," Leon smiled. "There are some things I remember and your father's temper was definitely one of them."
Morgana then stepped forward and inclined her head to the three royals. "I'm glad you followed my instructions."
"Of course," Annis answered with a smile, "we've learned not to doubt your word, priestess."
"Thank you for bringing him here safely," said Godwyn before turning back to Arthur. "Your father was my dearest friend. I was deeply sorry to hear of his untimely passing."
Arthur didn't know what to say. He'd always thought of Uther as a horrible man but Godwyn held a kindness that couldn't be faked. Why would a man like him be friends with a man like Uther? Perhaps Arthur didn't know his father as well as he'd thought.
"Who are the others?" Rodor asked Morgana.
"Men and women chosen by the Triple Goddess herself to assist Arthur in his destiny," she answered, before adding, "and they should be treated with honor and respect."
"Those three?" Annis cried in shock and outrage, spotting Percival, Lancelot, and Gwaine. She looked on the verge of wanting to chop their heads off.
Arthur came to their defense. "I do not know what wrong they have done you in the past but please, your highness, I ask you to pardon them."
Annis's face was sour but after a moment she nodded. "Since you wish it, Arthur, I will – but I want it clear you three have yet to regain my trust."
"Understood, milady," Lancelot muttered with a bow.
Rodor motioned some servants to draw near. "You all look in need of rest. My servants will take you to your quarters and we will prepare a feast to celebrate your arrival. Arthur, this is Geraint. I have assigned him to be your personal servant while you are here."
"Nice to meet you," Arthur said, holding out his hand to the well built young man with a head full of dark brown hair.
Geraint looked as if he'd been slapped, staring at the hand as if he was unsure what to do. Wondering if he'd just done something he shouldn't have, Arthur lowered his hand and cleared his throat.
"Um, right, lead the way then – wherever we're going."
Geraint snapped into action at once. "Right this way, Sire."
They left the hall and Geraint had Arthur turn left while the other servants led the rest of his company to the right. Arthur caught Leon's eye but the man just shook his head and silently indicated for him to trust where Geraint would take him. Arthur wasn't at all thrilled but nodded his consent.
"Why aren't we going with the others?" he couldn't help but ask as he followed the servant down a corridor made of solid white stone.
Geraint glanced back at him, a little nervous. "They are being taken to the regular guest chambers, my lord, but King Rodor insisted that you be placed in the wing reserved for the royal class since you are Camelot's rightful heir to the throne."
Perfect, Arthur silently grumbled, separated from his friends because he was a king and they were not? How was that fair? They were just as important as he was! At least Rodor wasn't throwing any of them into a dungeon for soiling his clean throne room with their muddy boots...
After three flights of stairs and countless corridors, Geraint led Arthur into a room that was much too big for one man. The bed itself was gigantic – four people could easily fit in it – with red pillows and a thick cream colored blanket embroidered in red and gold thread. A dividing screen stood off to the side near a bathtub that was deep enough for Arthur to sit in and long enough for him to comfortably stretch his legs to their full extent. He'd never used a tub before but he had to admit he was eager to do so. There was a collection of different bottles next to the tub's edge; probably filled with scents similar to what Rodor himself used. Arthur couldn't imagine himself so clean.
"Would you like me to draw you a bath, Sire?"
Arthur started, looking around to find Geraint staring at him in silent amusement. "Um, you could just tell me where the water is and I'll get it myself," he answered.
Geraint's amusement was replaced with surprise. "Sire?" he questioned.
"Please, don't call me that," Arthur implored. "As far as I'm concerned you can call me Arthur just like everyone else."
"But Sire –" he began but Arthur glared at him. "I mean… Arthur," he hesitantly corrected.
"That's better," Arthur said, smiling easily to reassure him. "Now, where can this water be found?"
Geraint shook his head. "I can't allow you to fetch your own bathwater, Sire – I mean, Arthur."
"And why not?"
"Because it isn't proper!" the servant stuttered, bewildered that they were even having this argument in the first place.
Arthur sighed, running a frustrated hand through his grimy hair. "I'm doing it again," he murmured to himself before glancing up at Geraint apologetically. "I fear you may find me to be quite strange. I wasn't raised a noble."
Geraint's confusion transformed into understanding and he hesitantly smiled. "I see. Well, if I may, can I be honest with you?"
"I prefer honesty," Arthur encouraged.
"A king never fetches anything for himself," Geraint revealed. "If he wants something, he asks someone else to get it for him."
"That's ridiculous," Arthur argued. "Why would I need someone to retrieve my sword when I can walk three paces across the room and get it myself?"
Geraint opened his mouth to reply before closing it and then shrugged. "Every noble I've ever served has been like that."
"Then you're in for a rude awakening," Arthur chuckled. "I'm not at all comfortable with making people do things that I can do myself. Speaking of, I've heard that some nobles have others dress them. Is that true?" Geraint nodded and Arthur immediately voiced his dislike on the matter. "What a ridiculous notion, not being able to dress yourself! I'm perfectly capable of identifying where clothing is supposed to go without assistance. Please, never try to help me with that unless I specifically ask you to do so."
Geraint's silent amusement had returned but he nodded. "Very well – but may I at least pick the clothes you are to wear for the day?"
Arthur frowned. "All I have are the clothes on my back."
The servant eyed him up and down before letting out a sigh. "King Rodor suspected this. He said that if that was the case I was to take you to the royal seamstress as soon as time was made available. We can go right after you bathe and Lauren should be able to make something for you straight away. Right, I'll fetch the water and you can relax here until I return. This room is yours to do with as you will, Sire, I mean, Arthur – yes – right, I'll leave you to it."
Geraint bowed to him and strode for the door before pausing. "Is all of this agreeable with you, Si–Arthur?"
Arthur stood completely overwhelmed. "Um, sure?"
Geraint sent him a friendly grin. "I will return shortly. Oh, I had some food brought to your room – I requested it right after you arrived in the throne room. It's over there on the table." He then left, leaving Arthur to his own devices.
The poor king didn't exactly know what to do. He felt like moving around would only track the dirt from his boots all over the white stone floor but he couldn't just stand here until Geraint returned with the water; he'd look an even bigger fool than he already felt. Sighing, Arthur decided to simply remove his boots and socks and walk across the room barefoot towards the table he hadn't noticed when first entering.
Three open arches separated it from the bedroom, the doorways covered in a sheer fabric that could be pulled back and tied to the marble columns if so desired. There was another door to the left; Arthur suspected it was another entrance to the private chambers since there was a small hallway one had to pass through to get to it. In the opposite corner, under a beautiful stain glass window depicting a forested glen, was a writing desk with parchment, ink, and quill at the ready for use.
"At least I know how to read and write," he murmured, silently thanking Gaius for his education while walking over to the table and sitting down in front of a plate full of ham, cheese, and bread.
Hesitantly he started to nibble on the food, his eyebrows rising in pleasant surprise by how rich the cheese tasted. The seasoning of the pork was superb and the bread seemed to melt on his tongue the second it was placed in his mouth. Was this how it felt to eat like a king? He was mostly used to watered-down gruel, vegetable soup, the occasional rabbit, and wheat bread. If this was what was considered normal for nobility he couldn't even fathom what foods would be at the feast tonight.
It was while he was in the midst of enjoying the last slice of ham that Geraint returned with five other servants carrying buckets of steaming water. Arthur had a mind to help them but stopped himself.
You're a king now, you idiot, a voice suspiciously like Merlin's reminded him, you need to learn that allowing other people to do things for you is not only acceptable but expected.
Arthur sighed and stayed where he was, watching silently as the servants worked. They were dressed similarly as he was, their clothing coarse and worn, the colors simple and solid with the occasional embroidery in the women's bodices. The two women in the group glanced over at Arthur occasionally while waiting for their turn to empty the buckets they carried. Both looked away with suppressed giggles when they noticed he was staring. Arthur averted his gaze, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Were they laughing at him? Had he done something he shouldn't have? He suddenly became painfully aware that he was barefoot, his boots and socks left in plain view for all to see. Maybe he wasn't supposed to do that?
Arthur scowled, his frustration growing. He'd never been one to sit back and remain in the dark. When he didn't understand something, he would first try to figure it out on his own and then go to those with experience after admitting defeat. He feared he was falling into the trap of wanting to do things his own way instead of what was expected of him. But was it wrong to do things his own way? Whatever happened to being an individual, for standing up against the norm, fighting for what he felt was right instead of what was socially acceptable? Arthur was struck by a memory and he leaned forward, his fingers threaded together as a long past conversation echoed through his mind...
"Can I ask you something?"
"You know you can ask me anything, Arthur," the warlock smirked.
"I've seen the way sorcerers and druids look at you when I've come to visit Farworyn. Why do I feel like they're judging you and not in a good way? Does it have something to do with you being Emrys?"
Merlin snorted. "You know, at times I wonder if your observation skills have an erratic sleeping pattern; sometimes you're fully aware of a situation and other times you're horrifically blind."
Arthur scowled. "I didn't ask you to insult me, Merlin."
"I don't think I need an invitation for that, Arthur."
The blonde chuckled despite himself. "I suppose not. Now, answer my question."
Merlin let out a heavy sigh. "Some people believe that I am supposed to act a certain way since I'm Emrys," he admitted, "that there's some high and mighty protocol I'm supposed to adhere to that I'm not currently following."
"And is there?"
"If there is I'm not going to follow it unless I agree with it. It doesn't do to force yourself to be something you're not, Arthur. You'll never be happy if you try to bow to the opinions of others and not listen to what you feel is right. Listen to advice but make your own decisions. If they lead to mistakes then learn from them, but take pride in the fact that you were the one who learned the things you did because you acted yourself instead of being acted upon."
"Sire? Arthur?"
Arthur blinked, looking up to find Geraint staring at him in slight apprehension.
"Is all well?" the servant prompted.
Arthur smiled at him though it was a melancholy one. "Yes."
Geraint didn't seem entirely convinced but he kept his opinion to himself. "The bath is ready for you now. I laid a towel over the dressing screen. While you bathe I can have your clothes washed and your boots shined."
Arthur realized what Geraint was doing; he was trying to give instructions of what Arthur should have been telling him to do while he bathed. Some might find this impertinent but Arthur could only be grateful. By making suggestions, Geraint was helping him learn what should be expected in a master and servant relationship.
"That's a great idea," Arthur agreed, walking over to the partition.
He felt a tad awkward undressing behind a screen while hearing Geraint move around the room. He wasn't a stranger to stripping down in front of others – growing up he'd had to do it all the time with Kay and Leon because their house only had two rooms – but he preferred knowing the person that was about to see him exposed. Grateful for the towel Geraint had left him, Arthur wrapped it around his naked bones and came out from behind the screen.
The servant was standing over a table arranging a bowl, a pitcher of water, a small bottle of cream, and a thin knife. "If you choose to shave," he commented, gesturing to the assortment.
Arthur felt the stubble on his chin. Yes, he would indeed be getting rid of it; he'd never liked facial hair to begin with. One time he asked Merlin to remove it permanently with magic. The warlock had merely laughed at him and said that doing so would be abusing his powers. Arthur wasn't at all pleased with his answer but accepted it nonetheless.
"Thank you," he muttered.
Geraint inclined his head before heading to the partition to retrieve Arthur's clothes. Dumping them and his boots into a basket, he smiled. "Am I right to assume that you would prefer not to be disturbed?"
For Arthur had yet to get into the tub, standing next to it awkwardly. "Yes," he confessed.
"I'll be sure to knock twice when I return," the servant promised before heading to the door.
"Geraint," Arthur called. The man turned back to look at him. "Thank you."
Slightly surprised, Geraint accepted the gratitude before taking his leave. Even after he left Arthur stared at the door for a full minute. He didn't like being exposed for multiple reasons, one of them being his scars; trying to clear out Alnwick's resident criminals in his younger years had left several of them. He didn't like revealing them to others because most of the men he knew bragged about their battle wounds like they were trophies and he didn't want to be associated with them; he didn't feel it necessary to showcase such things, considering it a petty action of insecure men.
Gathering his courage, Arthur finally removed the towel from his waist and stepped into the warm water. A gasp followed by a contented sigh escaped his lips as he settled himself inside the tub, leaning his head back and allowing himself to relax. He didn't know how long he stayed in that one position but he didn't really care. This was ecstasy – no – utter bliss! It was better than he'd ever imagined. Who would have thought that changing the water's temperature would create an entirely different experience?
Arthur had grown up either washing himself in the river or wiping his body down with a wet cloth; both rather uncomfortable experiences due to the water being so cold. But this… this warmth! It completely changed Arthur's opinion of bathing. After a while he dunked his head under, holding his breath for as long as he could, simply enjoying being surrounded in the peace and quiet of his first hot bath.
It wasn't until he felt the water's temperature beginning to decrease that he realized he should probably actually wash himself. Turning to the small table next to the tub, he surveyed the items before beginning by washing his hair with a concoction that smelled decent enough. After thoroughly scrubbing, he dunked his head and scrubbed some more. After making sure all of the mixture was out of his hair, he grabbed the bar of soap and started lathering his body. The suds turned a darker color, the dirt collecting in it from off his skin. Arthur was somewhat repulsed by how much the water changed from being clear to a murky gray by the time he was finished. Hastily getting out of the water the second he was done, he grabbed the towel and worked on drying himself off.
After securing the towel about his waist, Arthur approached the table displaying the necessary tools to comb his hair and shave his face. When he was done, Arthur looked at himself in the mirror and was astounded by what he saw. His skin was clean, not a hint of dirt anywhere, and his hair was lighter and softer than it had ever been. He glanced down at the tub and smirked.
"I guess there's one advantage to accepting who I am," he lightly chuckled to himself.
Not really knowing what to do while waiting for Geraint to return, Arthur sat himself down at the dining table where he'd been earlier and returned to thinking. Now that the luxury and relaxation of the bath was over, Merlin's words once more echoed in his head.
"Listen to advice but make your own decisions. If they lead to mistakes then learn from them, but take pride in the fact that you were the one who learned the things you did because you acted yourself instead of being acted upon."
Arthur wanted to hit himself. He'd been so overwhelmed with what he should and shouldn't do that he'd forgotten to be himself. Sure he was flustered when meeting King Rodor and the others but he didn't need to sit here and stress over what they thought of him. Just because he had accepted his birthright didn't mean he had to stop being the man he'd chosen to be. He was sure mistakes would be made as he trundled forward in his new role but he couldn't live behind the fear of opinions if he wanted to progress into the king he wanted to be.
Arthur's head fell into his hands and he smiled weakly, staring at the wooden table. "He'd definitely call me a dollophead at this point," he weakly chuckled.
Even when not physically present, Merlin was continuing to influence him. And then an incredible amount of guilt and sadness passed through him for while he was relaxing in the comforts of an enormous castle, Merlin was somewhere in chains, his very life force painfully suppressed against his will. Anger like nothing Arthur had ever felt before replaced the grief and he suddenly slammed his fist into the table. Someone yelped to his right and Arthur was once against startled by finding Geraint standing there.
"Sorry," he apologized, "but I did knock."
"I'm afraid I didn't hear you," Arthur admitted, suddenly sheepish due to his earlier behavior. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just had something on my mind."
Geraint looked as if he was about to pry but then the young man cleared his throat and held out Arthur's clothes. "Here, you can put these on and then we can go to Laura. She's expecting us."
Arthur did as he was told and sooner than he would have liked they were standing in front of a small but rather fierce-looking woman. Her hair was worn in an interesting twist off to the side of her head, the blonde locks cascading over one shoulder of her evergreen dress. Her green eyes surveyed Arthur's profile in a way that made him both self conscious and uncomfortable.
"Turn," she ordered.
"What?"
"Turn," she repeated, spinning a finger round and round. "I need to get a good look at you from every angle."
Feeling like an idiot, Arthur spun on his heel. Reprimanded for completing the action too fast, Laura demanded he repeat the process at a much slower speed.
"Much better," she praised, her eyes glinting with excitement. "You have an excellent figure, Your Majesty."
"Um, thanks?"
"Right," she muttered, walking over to a wall that was covered in outfits, cloth, and boxes of accessories, "Their Majesties, Queen Annis and Kings Rodor and Godwyn, gave me a small warning that you might be in need of a new wardrobe – clearly they were right." She looked at his clothes as if they had personally wronged her in some way. "Of course I accepted the challenge to make several outfits befitting a king from Camelot. Your house colors are red and yellow so I thought this appropriate."
She pulled a velvet and leather jacket out from under a pile, the color a brilliant shade of red and the back studded with round golden beads. It was the finest piece of material Arthur had ever handled and he found himself rather satisfied with the design.
"It's masterfully made," he complimented, fingering the material.
Laura looked pleased. "I'm glad you like it." Bustling over to another pile of clothes, she ruffled through until finding a fine brown tunic tied loosely at the top with leather string. "Perhaps this for underneath – with a belt and trousers, of course?"
Arthur immediately agreed with her. "I was afraid you were going to make me look like a peacock," he confessed as she handed him the suggested items along with the jacket.
"Forgive me, Sire, but you strike me as the type of king who would despise overly dressing himself," Laura confessed with slight hesitancy in her eyes.
Arthur laughed, putting her worries that she'd offended him to rest. "You're absolutely right; I would."
"I thought so. Now, go and change behind that screen so I can see if there are any adjustments that need to be made," she ordered, back to being the fearless seamstress she truly was.
Arthur hadn't noticed the partition before but that might have been because there were so many colors and patterns in this room. Trying not to bump into any of her work tables, Arthur made it over to the screen and once again experienced the awkward feeling of having to strip down in a room of strangers. Sighing, he went to work pulling the worn fabrics from his skin and replacing them with the richer ones associated with nobility. The difference was immediate and Arthur was surprised by how comfortably everything fit. The tunic was a little loose but he didn't mind in the slightest. In fact, he preferred it that way. Placing the sword from the stone against his hip – he never went anywhere without it – Arthur looked down at himself to check he'd put everything on properly before stepping out from behind the screen.
Whatever conversation Geraint and Laura had been having was cast to the wayside as they both looked at the newfound royal. Arthur tried not to shrink under their surprised stares, keeping his posture and shoulders straight.
"What do you think?" he asked.
Geraint's face broke out into a grin. "It suits you, Arthur."
"Indeed," Laura muttered, circling him with a critical eye. "My, my, I seem to have guessed your measurements rather well. The tunic is a little loose –"
"I like it," Arthur interrupted.
Laura raised an amused brow. "Well, if you approve of it all then my work here is done. Now that I have your measurements I can make a few more outfits for you."
"How many will I need?" he nervously asked.
"The usual standard? Enough every day wear to last a fortnight, three classier jackets to wear to banquets, at least a dozen simple tunics – mostly worn underneath things, like a gambeson for when you're in training – and a couple outfits that will cause none to make the mistake that you are, without doubt, a king."
Arthur's head spun. "I've never owned so much clothing in my life."
Laura grinned. "And that's just when you're first introduced to being a royal."
"There's supposed to be more?" he cried in horror.
"Don't worry, Arthur," Geraint assured, "Laura would have to sit here for over two years to get you caught up with the amount of outfits King Rodor has."
"Please don't feel the need to do that," Arthur said. "I mean it. I really don't need that many clothes."
The seamstress sighed. "You're no fun, Sire. Very well, I won't overdue it. But you will have more than just three outfits."
"Alright," Arthur agreed though he wasn't at all thrilled. What was he supposed to do with all those clothes when it came time to leave this place? He decided not to think about it for now.
Leaving his old clothes with Laura who promised to have them burned before the end of the day, Arthur followed Geraint back to his chambers. They passed by several servants and a few nobles, all staring at him in shock before hastily continuing on their way. Arthur frowned. Was he to be a spectacle his entire stay here? He hoped not.
"There is still a few hours before the feast, Arthur," Geraint said as they entered his room. "Is there something you'd like to do?"
Arthur immediately looked to the bed and was hit with a wave of exhaustion. He hadn't slept much the previous night and the emotional stress of the day seemed to have finally caught up with him.
"I think I'm going to take a nap, honestly," he confessed, shrugging out of his jacket.
Geraint took it and immediately hung it up on the back of the nearest chair. Arthur sat down on the edge of the bed and removed his sword and boots before flopping backward onto the bed. It was the softest mattress he'd ever laid on and he instantly started to drift. He vaguely heard Geraint saying he'd be back to wake him for the feast before Arthur turned on his side and fell asleep.
[][][]
Arthur masked his terror behind an iron mask, following Geraint down the corridor ending with a set of double doors belonging to the banquet hall. They were open, music and laughter heard in the distance, nobles and knights parading about in clustered groups wearing fanciful clothing. He nervously pulled on his velvet and leather red jacket, hoping that he wouldn't make a fool of himself.
Idiot, just be yourself, remember? His inner voice chided. Why put on a façade when you really want to be who you are anyway? People are going to reject you no matter what you do. Just do what you think is right and come what may and love it.
Geraint stopped outside the doors and turned to the king. "I'll be attending you at the feast so if there is anything you need, signal me. Are you alright?"
Arthur swallowed his nerves and smiled. "I'm fine. Thank you, Geraint."
"One more thing," Geraint muttered before Arthur stepped through the doors, "you may wish me to address you by your name but in settings such as this it is not only inappropriate but I might also get in trouble with King Rodor for doing so."
Arthur sighed. "I understand. I suppose I can allow formalities in public..."
"Thank you, Sire," Geraint grinned, bowing to him before indicating for Arthur to enter first.
Taking a steady breath, Arthur crossed the threshold, entering a world he never thought he'd be in. Lords and Ladies dressed in fine apparel milled about, speaking cordially to each other with the occasional bout of laughter. Servants in ceremonial tunics bearing the crests of various kingdoms stood along the walls waiting to serve the higher class while a small group of minstrels in the corner plucked away on several different instruments.
"Arthur!"
Arthur turned to see Leon walking towards him in a rather handsome red tunic and brown breeches. The others in their party were with him, all the men wearing the same tunic as Leon's, while the women each wore a different color and styled dress. Arthur's eyes were drawn to Guinevere in particular and something stirred in his gut that had nothing to do with nerves. Her gown was the soft color of lavender, the front embroidered with white flowers and fern leaves. A simple but stylish silver belt hung loosely over her hips and her curly hair fell freely over her shoulders. For a moment the king forgot how to breathe.
"You cleaned up pretty well, princess," Gwaine commented, ruining the moment.
Arthur turned to him with a raised brow. "So did you. Tell me, why are all of you wearing the same thing?"
"It's so we can be distinguished as being part of your company," Leon answered.
"Though the ladies weren't awarded that punishment," Gwaine said, winking at Guinevere.
Arthur's eyes unconsciously narrowed.
"Women can't wear the same thing, Gwaine," Morgana reprimanded, wearing a fine gown of white and gold. "Such beliefs are blasphemous."
"I agree with you wholeheartedly, milady," the rogue bowed, kissing her hand. "Wearing the same outfit would make it hard for me to find and bask in your unique presence."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Fickle idiot," he murmured.
Harry and Ron snickered while Leon sent him an agreeing nod.
"There you are, Arthur."
Arthur turned around to see King Rodor and a very beautiful young woman in a silk olive green gown walking towards him with a warm smile.
"Your Majesty," he recognized, inclining his head.
"Laura seems to have succeeded in finding something suitable for you. I'll have to be sure to give that woman a raise."
The woman beside the king lightly coughed and Rodor glanced at her apologetically.
"Forgive me. Arthur, allow me to introduce my daughter, Princess Mithian."
"It is nice to meet the true king of Camelot," she said, her large brown eyes friendly and her smile equally so. She really was quite lovely.
"It's nice to meet you too, princess," he answered, smiling slightly. "I want to thank both of you for accommodating me and my friends. You have been most kind."
"It was no trouble at all, Sire," said Mithian. "Though the reason we have been brought together is a grave one, we're pleased to have you and your company in our presence."
"Now that you're here we can begin the feast," said Rodor with enthusiasm. "We have a seat picked out for you, Arthur. Your companions may sit anywhere they'd like amidst the nobility."
Arthur was not at all thrilled about the seating arrangements. He'd been placed on the King's immediate right, signifying he was the honored guest, with Mithian sitting right beside him. He was both envious and grateful to see his friends had all chosen to sit together but he wasn't at all happy that Guinevere was sitting next to Lancelot. The two looked to be having a wonderful time while he was stuck with the royals pretending to understand the politics they were speaking of. But, while the company wasn't agreeable, the food was. There was so much on the plate Geraint placed before him that he didn't know where to start. Deciding on the bread, Arthur once again experienced the bliss of royal food and soon was digging into the meal with great gusto. His earlier imaginations of how the food would be at the feast turned into delightful realities and the king's stomach purred in contentment as he filled it with the contents of his plate. He also was surprised to find wine in his goblet along with an endless supply provided by Geraint if he so wished for more.
The night wore on and slowly noblemen and women began to retire for the evening, bidding goodnight to the royals before taking their leave. Princess Mithian thankfully left his side after a few failed attempts at conversation; Arthur was too busy eyeing the table were a certain dark-skinned beauty sat to notice the princess's advances. His attentions were only called away from Guinevere when Godwyn asked him if he would be interested in participating in a training to take place tomorrow morning.
"Training?" Arthur repeated.
Godwyn nodded. "We've been preparing for battle since Morgana came to us three months ago explaining that you were going to need an army to reclaim Camelot. All three of us readily agreed to come to your aid, Annis and her men traveling by boat to my country before our combined armies marched across the borders of Gedref and Camelot into Rodor's lands. Men have to remain fit for war so there are daily trainings where all of our knights practice together in large groups."
Arthur's eyes widened. "Though I appreciate that all of you have gathered to help me, I can't help but wonder why? I have done nothing to earn your loyalties."
"Your father was our friend, Arthur," said Rodor, joining in the conversation. "He would want his son restored to his throne – and frankly none of us enjoy the idea of Bane ruling over Camelot. He's destroyed everything your father built."
Arthur frowned. "Can Bane be stopped? I hear he is a ruthless and powerful sorcerer."
"While both things are true, nothing is unbeatable, Pendragon," Annis replied on Rodor's other side. "With enough manpower and strategy, any man can be brought to his knees."
"This is why we've been working on training our men together," Godwyn stated. "They need to be able to work as a team if they are able to accomplish the goal of restoring Camelot's heir. We feel they are coming along rather well but your opinion is worth more than ours since it is your kingdom's fate that is at stake."
"So you want me to attend the training tomorrow to see how well your men work?" Arthur deduced.
"If you wouldn't mind," Rodor smiled.
Arthur considered it a moment before grinning. Identifying whether men could fight together or not was definitely something he could do. "I'd love to be there," he said before glancing at the table where his friends still sat. "Will my companions also be permitted to oversee the training?"
Annis looked over at Gwaine, Lancelot, and Percival with slight distain but nodded her consent. "They can come if they wish."
"The women as well?" Godwyn asked.
Arthur shrugged. "I don't see why not. I value the opinions of both men and women. They might spot something I miss and I would rather have a problem be discovered and corrected than left unaddressed until on the battlefield."
The three royals were both surprised and impressed by his answer.
"Well said," Godwyn praised.
Arthur smiled at them before standing. "If it is agreeable, I believe I will retire for the evening."
"But of course," Rodor answered, smiling. "The training will start at dawn."
"I'll be sure to be there. Your Majesties," he inclined his head to them collectively before leaving the table, heading over to where Guinevere and the others sat. Geraint silently followed him, his ever present shadow.
"What's up, Arthur?" Harry asked, being the first to notice his approach.
"We've been invited to see the men training tomorrow," Arthur revealed.
Morgana's eyebrow rose. "All of us?"
"Yes, Morgana, women included," Arthur clarified, rolling his eyes.
The High Priestess grinned. "How quaint. What do you think, Freya? Do you want to watch a bunch of sweaty men fight against each other with pointed sticks?"
Arthur scowled as her green eyes silently taunted him. This sorceress was infuriating! She was like an unwanted little sister.
"I would," Freya answered, "since these men are to be the taskforce that helps us rescue my husband."
"I'd like to see it too," said Hermione, her brown eyes filled with excitement. "I've only read about these kind of things. It would be amazing to see it in real life."
"What about you, Guinevere?" Arthur asked, silently hoping the maiden would say yes.
Her cheeks turning a light shade of pink as she shyly nodded. "I would love to come, Arthur."
The feeling in his stomach returned and Arthur felt an unconscious grin growing on his face. "Right, well then, I'll see you lot tomorrow. The training starts at dawn."
"Dawn?!" Ron cried in dismay. "But it's like one in the morning!"
No one else seemed to see the problem with this. Arthur shrugged it off as being a reaction expectant of someone in the future before bidding the others goodnight and taking his leave. Geraint led him back to his chambers and turned down the covers of the bed while Arthur changed into a pair of loose trousers the servant had brought up at some point from Laura.
"Did you enjoy yourself tonight, Sire?" Arthur glared at him and the servant corrected his mistake. "I mean, Arthur?"
"Yes, if I were honest," Arthur admitted, "Though the company was not my preference."
"That is surprising since you were seated next to a woman that every man in the kingdom desires," Geraint flippantly commented.
Arthur raised an eyebrow before beginning to grin. "Are you included in that comment?"
Geraint's face transformed into one of horror and the young man instantly started fussing with the pillows he'd already fluffed. "Of course not," he denied.
Arthur chuckled. "Relax, Geraint, I won't tell anyone. And, for the record, I'm not interested in her."
It was Geraint's turn to get a little revenge. "Was that because of the woman in lavender?"
Arthur froze mid-step before regaining his composure and slipping into the bed. "Of course not, Geraint. Guinevere is a friend."
Even to his own ears that sounded ridiculous. He didn't want to admit it because the thought of courting any woman terrified him but Arthur couldn't deny he was attracted to her. There was something about Guinevere… something that just called to him…
"Was there anything else you needed, Arthur?" Geraint asked, amusement causing his eyes to dance.
Arthur scowled. "No, Geraint, thank you."
The servant bowed. "I'll return in the morning to wake you for training."
After putting out the candle, Arthur watched him leave before stretching out on the bed. Once again he was struck by how incredibly soft it was. He was also shocked when his head encountered the pillow. It was filled with feathers instead of cotton. If he thought he was being spoiled before, this bed was the catalyst of it all. Arthur closed his eyes and thought about how bizarre this day had turned out to be. He never would have guessed he'd end up lying on a bed fit for a king in a kingdom that considered him as such. It was an alien world but Arthur found himself excited for the morning; after all, training was something he was more than familiar with.
