The Coming Queen
Gaius did not take the revelation that Arthur knew Merlyn's secret well.
"You must leave," he said, rushing around to gather food and a travel satchel. "You must flee the city, return to Ealdor at once."
"I cannot, Gaius," she said, sitting tight as a bowstring at the table in the physician's quarters. She followed the panicky old man with her eyes. "If I run, Arthur will never accept me. He may even have me hunted down."
He swung around, eyes wild. "He may yet have you burned," he exclaimed. "It matters not that he has been silent so far. He has a duty to his King as Prince of the Realm. Do not be foolish, Merlyn! You must go while you still can."
"Gaius," she said, shoving herself to her feet and grabbing his hands as he moved past. "Gaius, stop." He did so but she felt the trembling in his fingers. She squeezed his hands reassuringly. "I cannot leave, Gaius," she said softly. "If I do then Arthur will never accept me and what I represent. It is as you said; I cannot leave when the going gets tough. I must dig in my heels and remind the world why I was chosen to guide Arthur. And, one day, Arthur will know me and accept me, and Albion will be born. Gaius… he had to find out eventually."
"Yes," he agreed, voice shaky. "But he is still too young, too naïve. Too caught under his father's beliefs. Merlyn," he removed her hands from his and reached out to cup her cheeks. She leant into his touch, eyes closing. "My dear girl. I cannot watch you burn. I cannot. It would kill me."
She covered his quivering hands and whispered with conviction – probably more than she truly felt inside, but his panic was calming her own, oddly enough; "I am not going to burn, Gaius. I have faith in Arthur. He has known what I was for weeks now, and he has done nothing. If he was going to have me arrested, he would have done it before admitting to me his knowledge. I do not believe he will turn me over unless I commit a crime, and I have no plans thus."
"Using magic is a crime in itself, Merlyn. You cannot predict when he will change his mind. I beg you, please, leave Camelot."
She removed his hands from her face but kept them between her own, bringing them to her mouth to kiss. "All will be well, Gaius. You will see."
He eventually relented, forced to do so when she refused to obey his pleas. She felt awful, seeing the toll her stubbornness was wearing on his soul but she truly believed that if she did not stay, all hope would be lost. It was a certainty deep in her heart, in the place where her magic lived, and she would not ignore such an instinct.
So she stayed.
However, Gaius did not go quietly. He informed Lancelot and Gwen, seeking them out the moment she left him, and they, too, believed she should flee.
Thankfully, they were not as hysterical as Gaius and listened to her reasons. Gwen, her dear friend, did cling to her for several long minutes, tucking Merlyn's head into her neck as she stroked her hair. It appeared to be more for the maid's comfort than Merlyn's, but the black-haired girl was far from complaining. It was always nice to be cuddled.
Lancelot was the one that had Merlyn's heartrate spiking when he offered to approach the prince and reveal his knowledge.
"No!" she exclaimed, grabbing his tunic sleeve lest he enact his foolish plan right then. "Don't be daft, Lancelot, you know what a risk that is. What if he decides you need to be punished for your knowledge? To aid a sorcerer is to be condemned as one and you are a knight, a noble now. Do you know what they do to nobles who betray them? They cook them in a vat of oil. Alive. No," she added, shaking her head. "I'll not let you risk it."
The brown-haired knight appeared slightly nauseous at her claim, but his features were still earnest as he covered her hand with his own. "It is a risk, but so is you remaining here at the mercy of the Prince's preconception. At the moment, he is alone with this knowledge and it will be eating at him. If I can be an ear to vent and explain – one less biased than his father – perhaps he will be the better for it. I know you, Merlyn. I have seen your courage and your sacrifice. Arthur needs to see you as we do – as you are, not what you are – or he may choose to do something he cannot take back."
"I cannot," Merlyn pleaded, feeling a sense of panic rise at the thought of Lancelot laying himself bare for her. "I cannot permit you. Please, you and Gwen are to be married in two weeks. I would never forgive myself if your future was to suffer because of the present. This is my path to walk, and my burden to bear." She looked between Gwen and Lancelot imploringly. "Arthur will change his views; destiny assures it."
Lancelot bowed his head, disappointed, but Gwen grabbed Merlyn's forearm gently. "I do not care for destiny or fate, Merlyn. I only care for your happiness."
The knight looked up at her from under his enviously long eyelashes and added, "The path may lay true, but destinies are always wrought with heartache and struggle. I would not see you suffer a pain that is avoidable."
She smiled at them, eyes burning with their sincerity. "That is what you are not understanding," she said softly. "This is necessary. 'Without struggle, there is no progress'. But do not fret, I have friends who know me and love me. I know I am not alone. And that gives me strength."
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She visited the dragon that night and told him of the revelation. He reared back in surprise.
"This is sooner than the tales foretold," he admitted and dipped in close to peer at her keenly, golden eyes narrowed. "What happened?"
She avoided his intense gaze by staring at her twisting fingers and said, "He… asked me to stop. He still believes magic is corruptive. But," she held up a hand and looked up at him. "He has not revealed me to anyone, nor has he had me restrained."
"Hmm," said the dragon, settling back on his perch and refolding his wings. "Destiny is as stubborn as it is dangerous, young witch. Be warned; you tread a narrow path between progression and devastation. Do not be reckless."
"I promise," she said. "But I refuse to leave Camelot. Gaius wishes me to flee, but my heart warns me not to."
"And that," the Great Dragon intoned. "May be either your saving grace or the ruin of everything. Heed my words, Merlyn. Albion may still fall."
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Arthur was on the rampart overlooking the courtyard and lower town. He stared at the people bustling below, content and healthy as they concentrated on their little circle of life. Arthur stood above it all, and felt ancient and alone. How he wished he could be the merchant selling jewels, or the blacksmith forging swords, or the groom training horses. How simple their lives were. How straightforward. Wake, eat, work, sleep. Find a partner, get married, have some children…
Unbidden, an image of Merlyn plucking a flower from her hair and gifting it to a little girl who stared up at her adoringly, hair golden and eyes blue… he shook his head sharply and clenched his hands into fists atop the broad balustrade.
She was a sorceress, a liar, a deceiver. The woman he knew was nothing more than a façade, and what was underneath was a demon waiting to grow. His trust was broken, but he would not condemn her to suffer for her naivety. She was too kind for it to be entirely an act, for not even a skilled performer could pretend one hundred percent of the time with one hundred percent of the people she interacted with. So, perhaps her purpose in Camelot was purer than first thought. Merlyn had told him of the circumstances which drove her from her home, and he had seen evidence of an earthquake when he defended the village from invaders, so that part had not been a lie. The rest of it…
And still, their interactions. Her sincerity, his attraction, their kiss… no sorcerer would desire one that hated their kind. That would be beyond stupid.
So she must be playing him.
A familiar laugh echoed up to him and his eyes automatically sought black hair, spotting her quickly near the entrance to the training grounds. She was leading her beast of a horse alongside a guard, who guided his own mount towards the grand staircase of the citadel. He was saying something to her, something that had her face lighting up and laughter spilling from her mouth. The guard looked pleased with her reaction, grinning at her amusement. He appeared to be, maybe, double her age, mid-thirties, but he might be called handsome if Arthur were a woman and could judge thus.
As it were, he felt a surge of unfamiliar irritation towards the guard, scowling at his figure as they drew to a halt alongside a collection of other mounts, some with guards, others with stableboys awaiting their masters. This was a knight patrol then.
Arthur's eyes moved back to Merlyn's steed and saw that he was faintly sweaty, meaning that he had already been worked. Why then had she accompanied the guard up the path instead of returning to the stables, which they would have passed on the way?
Several knights marched down the staircase, relieving the stableboys of their steeds. Leon was the captain of this contingent and he mounted swiftly, checking his men before ordering them to file out.
The guard mounted quickly and efficiently, Arthur disappointed he didn't fumble more, then he bared his teeth as Merlyn dared to touch his boot. She said something softly and the guard dipped his head before he joined his fellows in their leaving. The prince was glad to see sleep rolls and bulging packs on their mounts for it meant they were to be gone for days. Days where Merlyn would not see him, whoever he was, and laugh that carefree laugh that always warmed Arthur's belly. It was a sound he had not heard for many weeks now, not since he had discovered her duplicity, and changed his attitude accordingly.
Despite all that, despite his sound reason, he found he missed it, like one missed a favoured treat when it was no longer available. He hadn't realised how much until he heard it again and his heart ached like it was bruised.
Perhaps she was simply misguided. She cared for people so much and sorcery was a powerful substance – which was why it was so corruptive. Merlyn might have been desperate for a way to care for others more easily, as a healer, as a daughter, as a servant. She told him she had tried to stop before; that meant she understood the danger it posed, she just hadn't the will to enforce her decision. Drunks often understood the dangers of alcohol but they were too dependent to turn away without support.
If he could… find some way to help Merlyn, save her, then things could return to how they were. The playfulness, the camaraderie… the flirting.
He watched as Merlyn patted Sunstrider's shoulder then turned him to stroll back the way they came, clearly only having walked that way for the guard. The golden devil nuzzled her shoulder at they moved but laid his ears back at a servant who accidentally stepped too close. The servant backpedalled quickly, clearly familiar with the tales of the horse – as many people were – and Merlyn walked on, oblivious.
Arthur shook his head and turned away. He had stocktake to file for his father and he could only procrastinate for so long. He nodded to the guard by the door and stepped back into the stone behemoth, wishing for a moment that he was joining Leon on patrol. As much as he loved being prince and having the power to care for his people, his duties sometimes weighed on him like he shared the burden of Atlas.
Prince he may be, but in the end, he was only a man.
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Merlyn wasn't sure how to act around Arthur now she knew he knew. Was she still employed? Should she gather his breakfast? Maybe she should wait for him to summon her?
"Merlyn!" Arthur snapped and she jumped, spinning around to see the prince in the doorway of the royal stables. She dropped her pitchfork like an idiot then blushed and picked it back up, holding it to her chest as she stared with wide eyes. The grey dawn silhouetted his figure imposingly, the sun barely risen above the trees. Arthur was rarely awake at this time, and never for something good.
"Sire," she said nervously, unable to see his expression with the backlight. "You-you're up early."
"Didn't sleep," he replied, stepping closer, blues eyes tracking over the walls and horses as if checking for changes. "Too many things are occupying my mind at the moment."
He looked back to her pointedly and she swallowed, tugging on the end of her hair anxiously and unable to meet his gaze.
He asked, "Have you decided whether to heed my words, or continue your path of treason?"
"Arthur," she whispered. "Before you decide my fate, please, listen. Sorcerers and witches are not the same thing. Sorcery is a study, like you know, but witches and warlocks are born with their gifts. I have no choice to possess magic, I never have. My mother said that I was able to do things before I could walk or talk. I only learned spells after I arrived here."
Arthur stared at her in disbelief. "Do you take me for a fool?" he demanded and she shook her head frantically.
"It is true!" she implored. "Ask Gaius. Ask – ask my mother. They will tell you; my first day here, I slowed time to save Gaius from a terrible fall. I did that without any spell on my lips. Please, believe me."
"How can I?" he asked. "When all you have done is lie?"
"I have never lied to you, Arthur. Not once!"
"A lie by omission is still a lie!" he snapped and she recoiled, dropping her head.
"Why did you come to Camelot in the first place?" Arthur asked. "Why come to the heart of a kingdom that despises your evil and work under its prince?"
She chewed on her lip, watching the prongs of the pitchfork dig into the straw. Better that than meeting Arthur's accusing glare.
"Remember the tale I told in Ealdor, of the attack that occurred in the night?"
"Yes," said Arthur after a pause, but she didn't glance up to see his expression.
"Well, the earthquake that saved me wasn't-wasn't natural. I caused it." She did look up then, studying his reaction from under her lashes. He was staring at her, dumfounded. "I was concussed and unable to think straight. I struggled against him but I was too weak. The man held me down and undressed me. He… when he tried – I screamed and it-it caused his head to explode, like pressure had erupted from within his skull. But I had no control; my scream echoed over the entire village, forcing people to their knees in agony. The very earth rebelled and my mother's home was destroyed – by me."
She looked down again, stabbing the fork into the straw with more venom. "Magic is not outlawed in Cenred's kingdom, but it is feared and hated. My abilities were the worst kept secret in the village, but no one really hated and feared me until after I caused such terrible devastation. Mama worried that they would report me or attack me if I did not leave immediately." She shrugged. "So I came here, to Gaius. He is my uncle and he does not despise magic. Mama knew he could protect me. It was only luck and fate that had me serving so directly under royalty. I didn't plan it."
"It matters not if you planned it; it is done. You live in Camelot and preside under her rules. Magic is outlawed, and you must obey or face the punishments."
"But I cannot stop!" she shouted, frustrated. He was not listening! "I tried after the earthquake but my very skin felt like a static charge. I had to sleep with socks on my hands lest I tear my skin from scratching in the night. It beats in my blood, just as strong as my pulse, and I cannot stop one any more than I can stop the other!"
"I will not have your soul condemned by associating with the dark art!" Arthur growled. "If you cannot stop it yourself, you will find a method that will do it for you. A spell of binding, or-or a ritual or whatever sorcery is required to stop this madness! You are my servant and I will not have you shrouded in darkness or twisted into a wicked creature because of something you will not control. You may never thank me but it is for your own good."
"What do you mean?" she asked, dread rising swiftly in her belly. "There is no spell that binds another's. Such a task would be impossibly complex. Magic is a state of awareness and connection; it is intangible to our reality, incorporeal. I-I do not know if such a thing exists."
Unbidden, the image of the Magical Cuff appeared in her mind's eye but she shoved it down roughly. They were an abomination, potentially entrapping one's spirit alongside their magic. She would not risk such a horrible thing, not even for Arthur's beliefs.
"You will find one," he ordered. "There will be a way, even if it is yet to be created. Gaius is knowledgeable in the Old Ways; he will help you. And Merlyn," he stepped closer, imposing in his broadness. But she refused to cower. "Do not test me when I ask for updates. I will know if you lie; I am no longer beguiled by our friendship."
He spun on his heel and marched out. Merlyn leant against the pitchfork and simply breathed for a while, grateful no stableboys or grooms were present. Well, she thought to herself. I was right in trusting Arthur not to turn me over for execution. I just didn't expect him to have me cut off my nose to spite my face.
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Gaius was greatly reluctant to research such a horrible topic but Merlyn's pleads and the threat of what the prince might do if he refused coerced the physician into complying. It was clear, he did not try very hard, however, and had a ready-made excuse for when Arthur requested updates.
"Most books regarding sorcery and things alike were all destroyed in The Purge. Finding the appropriate material will take time if it is to appear at all."
Merlyn could tell that Arthur, a man of action and intent (and impatience), was chafing at the delays. He ventured into several of the storage vaults, particularly the ones holding confiscated magical artefacts and ancient tomes, in search of spell books. That, in and of itself, spoke of his dedication to his decision, for she would never have expected him to knowingly hand over tomes of the Dark Art, as he liked to call it, for the very study that he despised.
But he did, so Gaius researched, Merlyn tiptoed, and Arthur snapped and snarled and grumbled. And time passed.
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The Feast of Samhain came and went. Merlyn waited on Arthur from behind his seat at the long table, watching the small crowd ebb and flow before them. The knights were arrayed along the edge of the floor at their own long tables while nobles and wives sat beside them or moved from one platter of food to another. It was much more subdued compared to the usual feasts, but Merlyn supposed that was due to what the holiday was representing: a time of remembrance and transition – leaving the warmth behind to ready for the cold.
Contrarily, Merlyn always felt a little wilder during Samhain and Beltane, like the earth and air had awakened and her magic was gorging itself on the untamed energy.
Her every breath felt alive with static and she had the familiar urge to take off into the forest or dance to music. In Ealdor, she would disappear into the trees, weaving flowers and playing with the animals that were brave enough to come near. They, too, seemed a little more reckless, like they also felt the magic in the air and fed from it just as she did.
It was strange to be in Camelot, oppressive, conservative city that it was, and feel as she did but, thankfully, the solemnness of Samhain could be followed by a time of celebration, and what better celebration of the future was there than marriage?
Gwen's pre-union stress gave the black-haired girl a focus for her restlessness, as the soon-to-be-ex-maid was fruitlessly fretting when Merlyn and Morgana arrived the next morning. She was unable to sit still, which made prepping difficult, and Merlyn was forced to sit on her lap while Morgana styled her hair into long, loose ribbons. They traded places so the highborn could paint Gwen's face and Merlyn plaited two bands back from her temple to bedeck with tiny lily-of-the-valley blossoms. It was out of season for the flowers but Merlyn's magical touch on the forest glades had many flowers blooming out of season, if in smaller size and less numerous numbers. In a bowl, waiting to be carried, a bouquet of pink-veined white gillyflowers sat fleshed out with waxy, white stephanotis florets, the stark contrast in colours complimenting the wine-red gown Morgana had gifted her curly-haired friend to wear for the wedding.
Traditionally, commoner nuptials were a simple affair, vows spoken before a witness or two and badabing badaboom, they were married. Noble marriages were a little more pompous. It required a contract and dowry, and a presentation before the Altar of Spirits by a priest.
Thankfully, neither Lancelot or Gwen wanted too much fuss so their contract was a list of basic requisites; money, children, inheritance, infidelity, etc. They signed, the priest blessed them, they exchanged rings, hand-fasted, and Lancelot kissed his bride.
A cheer went up from the small gathering, Lancelot's knight friends, including Arthur, surrounding the new husband to clap him on the back while Morgana, Merlyn and a couple of the castle servants squealed over Gwen. The newly married woman glowed with happiness, a wide, white smile piercing her bronzed cheeks as her rich eyes glistened with emotion.
She clung to Merlyn for a long moment and whispered, choked, into her ear, "Thank you for introducing us, Merlyn. I will never be able to repay you."
"Just be happy," she whispered back. "That's all the repayment I need."
The gathering moved to the Celebration Hall – requisitioned by Arthur and Morgana personally – and the second feast in two days was brought out by castle servants alongside special bride-ale and mead. There was even a band for entertainment and dancing, which Lancelot took full advantage of. Merlyn gaped at the newlywed couple, spinning together like they were made for it and turned to Morgana, stunned.
"Lancelot couldn't dance," she stated dumbly, seeing the smug smile pulling at the highborn's lips.
"He can now," she replied, folding her hands together and straightening up proudly.
A slow smile stretched over Merlyn's face, delighted at the noblewoman's forethought. "Well done, Morgana," she said, nudging the older woman with her elbow. "It didn't even cross my mind he would need to learn."
"You were busy organising the honey wine for their first month," she said and Merlyn smiled out at the couple, who were oblivious to everyone around them as they stared at each other.
"I am glad that everything has come together without hassle," the black-haired girl said, sighing whimsically. "The day was clear and bright, the flowers undamaged, no emergencies to threaten the city. I want to believe it is because they are both good people and their future is going to be bright and strong."
Morgana said nothing and Merlyn glanced over to see her green eyes unfocused and her lips pressed together. Unease churned in her belly and she gently touched the older woman's arm.
"Morgana?" she murmured. "Are you well?"
The highborn blinked and turned to Merlyn with a faint frown. "I am fine," she said. "Let us go celebrate. I feel Gwen and Lancelot have had long enough alone on the dancefloor and Sir Lucan has been watching you in that stunning gown."
Merlyn blushed, eyes darting to where Sir Bedivere and his younger brother, Sir Lucan, were speaking. Indeed, the dark-haired knight with his chiselled cheekbones and square jaw kept glancing her way, and a blush darkened his sun-kissed skin when he saw her looking back, though he smiled hopefully.
Merlyn turned back to a grinning Morgana and shoved her lightly, heat suffusing her cheeks. The noblewoman laughed and stepped away just as Sir Lucan approached, leaving Merlyn to meet him alone. She clenched her hands together but smiled at him pleasantly.
"Miss Merlyn," he said with a pretty grin. "Would you care to dance?"
Merlyn loved to dance. Why would she say no?
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"So," said Merlyn, sidling over to Gwen as the new wife soaked within the castle bathhouse the next day. "How is married life?"
Gwen opened her rich eyes, a blush already darkening her cheeks, though a grin tugged at her lips. "Wonderful," she said, glancing around to see if they had privacy. They did, as it was midmorning and most sensible servants were out doing their duty. As Gwen was on her honeymoon and Merlyn avoiding Arthur, they were alone. "Lancelot is a gentle man. He was very careful with me."
She squatted down beside the ex-maid's bathtub, reaching out to tug on one of the older woman's wet tresses. "Was it his first time also?" she asked, curious.
"No," admitted Gwen, not sounding overly disappointed. "He told me there was one girl during his nomadic days, Elaine, but she was wild and did not want to be tied to a man. I cannot fault him, for he was only sixteen and did not believe he would find love."
"And he had some experience," Merlyn added. "That would help him to make it pleasurable for you."
Gwen blushed darker, pink tinging her skin, but she shared furtively, "At first, it hurt, but he was slow and allowed me to adjust. He found what I liked and – it was…" she shook her head, a blissful expression on her face. "It's indescribable."
Merlyn giggled and Gwen did too.
"Tell me," Merlyn whispered, leaning close. "Is he… as well-endowed as appearances suggest?"
Gwen gasped, scandalised, and splashed water at her. Merlyn squealed and fell on her rump, wiping droplets from her face to pout at her friend. Gwen's glowing face, however, answered her question.
Merlyn burst into loud, raucous laughter, the sound echoing in the empty hall.
"Well done," she complimented Gwen. "Ten out of ten."
Gwen answered by splashing more water at the girl, ignoring her apologetic shrieks until she was soaked enough to appear as if she'd dived into the bath, clothes and all.
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Winter came and went. Morgana's twentieth birthday was celebrated as befitting a princess – which, as she was secretly King Uther's daughter, was a valid remark – and she gained a new handmaiden. Farah was skilled in medicine and sturdy in temperament, perfect for the highborn's current needs, though it was clear Morgana missed Gwen. The new wife passed her time sewing clothes for the ones who suffered most after Sigan's attack, as married women did not work independently and she did not have need of an income. It was fortuitous that Morgana was skilled in weaving and spinning so the pair often spent time together, labouring in Morgana's chambers, or visiting orphanages to deliver their wares. They were a clear favourite of the children, as Morgana would beguile them with clever storytelling and Gwen would teach them their letters. Merlyn didn't want to be petty but she was a little jealous; she had always loved children but had never been gifted much opportunity to surround herself with them. Ealdor did not have much in the way of a growing community.
When the snow melted, Merlyn sent an expensive letter to her mother, updating her on her life and wellbeing – though she stayed silent on Arthur's discovery of her magic, unsure how to phrase it into a letter and unwilling to risk the messenger reading its contents. Her mother sent a letter back with the same boy, apprising of her and Tom's health through the winter and her happiness at the turn of season.
Merlyn was glad also. She hated the bone-deep chill of a winter's morning; the biting wind that nipped at any exposed flesh. Gaius had caught a cold in the darkest part of the season and Merlyn had fretted herself into hysterics before foregoing Arthur's request and healing her guardian with magic. She did not tell the prince that though, he was already temperamental enough.
Finally, the days grew longer and warmer and life retook the castle. A jousting tournament was announced and preparations began. Apparently, it was a yearly entertainment to celebrate the end of winter, though Merlyn knew not how it symbolised new life and growth as springtime festivals were usually wont to do.
"It's a test of strength and endurance through pain, Merlyn," Arthur snapped, moving around in his full jousting regalia to be sure it was still sound. "Winter is a time of fortitude through suffering; so is this tourney. Understand?" it was droned sarcastically, as most of his jibes towards her intelligence were said, but she gritted her teeth, as she always did, and ignored him.
"Looks good, sire," she said in regards to his armour. He snorted at her assessment.
"Two of these buckles are wearing," he argued. "The leather needs to be replaced." He started stripping himself, ignoring her outstretched hands to dump the pieces on the ground. "Have it done before the rest of Camelot's knights arrive," he ordered.
"Yes, sire," she sighed, following him until he pulled the last piece of armour from his body and dropped it carelessly.
"Oh – and polish it too, while you're at it," he added then swept from the room. Merlyn glowered at his back, always annoyed at the dull stab that his aloofness caused. She should be used to it by now, but somehow, it hurt the same every time.
Her longing for how it used to be was like a hollow wrenching in her gut, similar to homesickness yet somehow worse. She could always go home but she could never go back in time. Arthur would never not know that she had magic, and he would never not feel that betrayal.
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Arthur and his knights had a practice bout of jousting a week before the tournament was to begin, and Arthur was faced with some ugly realisations.
"It doesn't matter who I am!" he shouted at the knights, incensed that they would coddle him. "I do not expect any special treatment from you – from any of you! Is that understood?"
His friends hesitantly nodded and Arthur marched off, leaving Merlyn to hand Hengroen off to a stableboy with an apologetic word. The boy waved her on, hazel eyes watching the prince's angry stomping with a raised brow.
She caught up when Arthur reached the castle and followed him silently as he grumbled all the way to his chambers.
"How am I to prove myself if my opponents aren't trying their hardest?" he asked as he shoved through his door, starting to strip his armour.
"I'm sure it's not happening all the time," she assured him, rolling her eyes as she picked up his vambraces from the floor.
He turned back to her, annoyed, "So it's happening some of the time?" he demanded.
"Um," she said. "No?"
"Now you're doing it!" he shouted, flapping at her. "You're telling me exactly what you think I want to hear!"
"Well," she drawled carefully. "You don't exactly leave a lot of room for debate."
He turned away, not listening as he pulled off his pauldron and gorget in one big mess, and let it fall to the floor. "All my life I've been treated as if I'm special. I just want to be treated like everyone else."
She stared at his back sceptically. "Really?" she asked, bending down to heave his things into her arms.
"You have no idea how lucky you are," he lamented and she stared, incredulous, at his blonde head.
"Well, anytime you want to swap places, just let me know," she snarked, turning to tend to his gear, as he would, no doubt, soon command.
"That's not a totally stupid idea," he said but Merlyn rolled her eyes, not stopping in her march to the door.
"You are Prince Arthur. You cannot change who you are." To herself, she grumbled, "Like you would want to, pampered prat."
She didn't linger to see the idea flash across his face, nor the spark of determination and mischief glint in his eyes. If she had, she would know to brace herself for an utterly ludicrous idea.
As it was, when he told her that afternoon that he planned to enter the tournament in disguise, she stared at him, gobsmacked.
"Are you mad?" she demanded, dropping her shoe brush to the floor. "That's a terrible idea!"
"You'll not dissuade me. My mind is made up. Find me a place a reside for the time of the tournament and a face to act in my place when I do not wear my helm. You have two days."
She turned and walked away, jaw clenched. He didn't want special treatment and yet he demanded it always.
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Merlyn found an old abandoned hovel in the back streets of the lower town, in fact, the very same shack that Mary Collins owned before she went rogue and tried to kill the prince in revenge of her son. It was common practice to leave such buildings to be torn down or abandoned, superstition and fear of prosecution by the King keeping squatters and new families away.
The prince stepped inside, nose scrunched in distaste as he took in the single room interior, coated in dust with a rat or two scampering at their appearance.
"You cannot possibly expect me to stay here," he stated and Merlyn eyed the filthy innards with uncertainty. The shutters had been sealed and unbroken so the weather had not invaded but it left the house smelling stuffy and vermin-infested. The narrow bedframe was sound, though the covers were beyond salvaging, which also meant the mattress was probably gone too.
"It's all I could find, sire," she said, pushing past him and opening the two narrow windows in the house, one at the back and one beside the door. A faint breeze stirred up the thick dust and she sneezed. "'s not so bad. I haven't yet had a chance to clean since I thought you'd want to see it immediately."
He shot her an incredulous glare and she shrugged, saying, "Better this than the streets."
"The streets would be cleaner," he said bluntly and she rolled her eyes.
"Give me two hours to tidy it and even your delicate, princely sensitivities will be satisfied, alright?"
He stared at her with narrow eyes for a long minute before finally conceding to her demands. "Two hours," he repeated sternly. "And my replacement had better be here soon."
"Yes, yes," she said, waving him away. "Go hide out somewhere for a little while. Everything will be fine, trust me."
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Merlyn gutted the hovel then swept, scrubbed, and scoured the soiled area. The bed was a lost cause so she took it to the salvagers then snuck up to the physician's chambers for her old mattress in Gaius' back room. The room had reverted into a storage space with her absence and she had a nostalgic pang for the times when this was her place. It may have been difficult, but it had been straightforward. Now… now, everything was second-guessing and tiptoeing; bitterness and anger.
But change was always scary – particularly a perceptual change. She just had to hope that Arthur's good character would show through before their friendship fragmented beyond repair.
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The man Merlyn had found to replace Arthur between bouts – a friend of her mother's friend's son – was a cheery fellow and quite clearly not a noble. He did learn to act the part quickly, though, which pleased Merlyn and cooled Arthur's attitude. The prince handed him a lump of coins to stay at The Rising Sun and sent him off with instructions to appear early the next morning for preparations. William left the little hovel with his eyes bulging at the weight of the purse and Merlyn understood all too well his reaction. One gold coin was enough to drool at where they came from, a whole bagful was unfathomable.
"Show no one," she advised quietly as she led him outside. "And split the coins between several carriers. There are eyes in the city much keener than those at home, and with fingers much nimbler."
He nodded in understanding and marched off in his new clothes towards the famous Camelot guesthouse, the setting sun illuminating his brown hair richly as he reached the end of the shadowed alley and stepped onto the main thoroughfare.
"Merlyn," Arthur snapped, and the black-haired girl took a fortifying breath before stepping back inside.
"Yes, sire?" she asked, trying to keep the weariness from her tone.
He was reclined on the lumpy, narrow mattress pushed into the corner that had once held the old bed. The holes chewed into the walls by rats had been temporarily covered, though there were surely other means of entrance she hadn't yet found.
"Get me food from the kitchens. I'm starved. And we'll need some candles as the dark grows. Oh – and grab a blanket; you're to stay here for the duration of the tourney."
"What?" she exclaimed, frowning at him. "But I… there's no second bed." It was said weakly, knowing that he could care little for her comfort, but unable to find a better excuse.
Expectedly, Arthur scoffed. "You survived sixteen years sleeping on hard floors like a beggar. I'm sure you can handle a couple of nights doing the same – or has castle life pampered you too much?"
Merlyn clenched her teeth, angry at his dig at her previous living conditions. Her mother had done her best she could with what she had; what did this arrogant pig know of struggle? "You're one to talk, My Lord," she spat out. "You wish to be a commoner, treated without consideration? Well, here you go." She waved at the one-room shack. "I'll be back once I have completed my duties. I'm sure you can entertain yourself while I am absent."
She spun towards the door but Arthur's sharp voice had her halting despite her desire to flee. "Merlyn!" he growled. "While I may be acting the part of peasant, you are not given leave to behave as you are. Remember your place."
Once upon a time, she would have been able to snap back in a mocking tone or brushed off his words without reprimand. But not any longer.
She swallowed her ire, though it bubbled at a high simmer in her belly, and forced out, "I'm sorry, sire. Only, you demand so many controversial things it is hard to keep track sometimes."
She darted out before he could retort, satisfied at getting the last word, even if she might pay for it later. The clotpole was living in a fantasy world. Treat me equally! Give me special treatment! Oh, woe is me, I live a terrible life of luxury.
"Give me a break," she growled, marching up the long path to the castle.
She wished she could remember the camaraderie and trust they'd once had, but it was like a fading dream, overwritten by the harsh face of her new reality. And it stabbed like a tragedy.
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Arthur stared into the darkness that night, unable to sleep. The far wall of the hovel was dotted with thin strips of light from the cracks in the shuttered window, but that did little to illuminate the rest of the hovel. Not that he'd much want to see. He could hear faint scratches and scurries of feral animals in the night and hoped Merlyn had blocked their entrance into the shack. The last thing he wanted was a four-legged visitor on his bed.
He sighed softly, knowing he was going to regret his insomnia on the morrow. Life had been stressful enough without sleeplessness involved. His volatile temper drained him until he was exhausted, but he couldn't help it. Just the sight of Merlyn, trotting around without remorse, seeming uncaring for the task he put to her, had his blood boiling with anger and mistrust.
Was she doing as he asked or was she lying to him when he asked for updates and he simply couldn't tell, just as he couldn't tell she was lying about practicing magic in the first place?
He listened to Merlyn breathing, soft, almost silent, and had the insane urge to reach out and make sure she was real.
He knew what his explosiveness was doing to her, saw the wary eyes that followed him, the careful way she skittered in his shadow, and he flitted between a sick sort of satisfaction and the acidic burn of guilt. He didn't want the two of them to be this way. He wanted to return to how they had been – the way they were in his secret, whimsical dreams. Where she danced through the trees of the forest with flowers in her hair, laughing freely as he followed, as helpless as a moth to flame, in her wake. Where she touched his face so tenderly, cool grass against his back; brushing his fringe from his brow, running her fingers over his lips, tracing his ears, kissing his eyelids…
He scoffed to himself and rolled over, punching his pillow into a new shape for his head. What a fanciful idea. Even if she hadn't stabbed him in the back with her duplicity, she was common born, a peasant. He could no more marry her than he could remain in this commoner life forever. He had a duty to his people and, once he had proven to his men (to himself) that he did not need to be coddled, he would return to them. And, one day, he would marry a princess – one he loved – and Merlyn would be nothing more than the passing daydream of a lonely prince.
And with that, Arthur resolutely closed his eyes, and did not dream of eyes so blue they sometimes looked purple, nor of lips so soft they felt like silk against his own. And he certainly did not dream of curly, black-haired children with her kindness and his swordsmanship.
He did not.
(He did).
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So here's a – slightly – happier chapter for you all. Gwen and Merlyn's friendship is just… fabulous. It flows so easily from my keyboard, and everything about them makes me happy. I hope you like them just as much as I do!
On another note: I'm hopping on my first racehorse tomorrow morning as a track rider, and I just – I can't wait! I've been working towards this since I started this job last year and – let me tell you – I definitely thought they were going to turn me down. They ummed and ahhed for MONTHS! Then they said they'd try me out but didn't give me a start – then! Then they gave me a date only for it to roll around and pass with nothing. FINALLY, my boss talked to me and explained what was going on, so I can finally be confident that I'm starting tomorrow. Like – I understand delays and unexpected circumstances but TALK TO ME! Honestly, that was what riled me up the most, not being told what was going on as if I wasn't worth the time. Communication exists for a reason, people!
But, anyway, rant over. I have what I want, I understand why it was delayed, and things are progressing as planned. Happy days! And this will not affect my writing as the hours remain the same as previous until I'm completely trained and then I'll actually have more time off, so rest assured.
On another 'nother note – I've almost completed this book. I'm at the pinnacle scenes that sets the stage for the rest of the story; and let me tell you… actually. Just kidding. You'll have to wait and see. ;)
P.S tell me if there's any mistakes as I had to chuck this up quickly, and wasn't able to read thoroughly. And thanks so much to those lovelies who reviewed! I know how hard it can be to sum up your opinions into viable sentences, so thank you for the effort!
TBC...