A/N: This is for Mergwenthur Week over on Tumblr & AO3! Day 1: Role Reversal

Arthur had grown up with tales of Camelot—of its white towers and its busy town streets, of the grand feasts and lovely ladies in their colourful gowns. His mother had lived there for a time, and she rarely talked of it. She'd left it behind, long ago, and she didn't like to speak about it, but when she did describe her days in Camelot, Arthur marveled at her stories. The castle wasn't all that far from home, just a bit over the border from his little village of Ealdor. Arthur hoped to visit there one day, but he figured it could never be… for one reason in particular.

That reason was that Arthur had a secret. Not a bad one, but one that could get his head mounted on a pike if he wasn't careful, and that secret was that Arthur had something special running through his veins—magic. He'd had it as long as he could recall, from a young child causing things to float or even accidentally causing a vase to shatter when he was angry. He'd long since learnt to control it, but he'd never forget his mother sitting him down as a young boy and warning him to keep it secret, keep it safe, for both their sakes. While the ruler of their kingdom, King Cenred, did not totally ban the practice of sorcery, it was not encouraged and sorcerers were often hunted down and killed… or worse, used for some nefarious means. The last thing Arthur needed was to get wrapped up in something like that. He shuddered at the thought.

But the fact of the matter was that he was getting older. Arthur was nineteen now, nearly twenty, and with each passing day he felt more and more out of place in Ealdor. He wasn't like Will, his best friend of the past decade, who was more than content in their little village—passing the days with baling hay. Arthur was not. He was restless, and frequently, he'd been getting dreams. Not nightmares, but rather glorious dreams of Camelot, with its white towers and busy streets, just as his mother had described.

It took him weeks to work up the courage to ask her. To look into his mother's face and ask her if he could go. Leave Ealdor, and to make for Camelot, where his uncle, Agravaine, lived and worked as the court physician. Ygraine had always spoken of her brother with mixed feelings, assuring Arthur that while Agravaine loved her and his nephew very much, he'd chosen to remain at Camelot when Ygraine had chosen to flee. Ygraine had made it very clear that she disagreed with Agravaine's decision to stay, and with what little Arthur knew, that decision was rooted in the ban on magic that had been placed upon Camelot. His mother had been angered by it, and then with a babe showing signs of magic in her arms, she'd left, while Agravaine continued to serve at court—continued to serve the tyrant, Uther Pendragon.

Arthur had seen the face of Camelot's king in his dreams many times. He wasn't sure if the image of him was real or merely a figment of his imagination, but it didn't matter. The king and his laws against sorcery were a real concern if he were to travel to Camelot. The minute he crossed the border he'd be in greater danger than ever before in his life, but in some ways, Arthur no longer cared. He was going insane living in the middle of nowhere, of being starved of books and resources and help that his uncle could absolutely provide—even if in secret.

He wasn't sure what part of him was telling him that he could do it. That he could walk in the shadow of death and survive it. It was an adventure that called to him, stronger than anything ever had before. He had to go.

Will's face contorted when Arthur told him of his plans. "You're insane," was his response. "Absolutely mad. You'll get yourself killed."

"Maybe," Arthur said. "But I—"

"I guess I'll just have to go with you, then, won't I?"

Arthur stared at him like he was the one who'd gone mad. "Come with me?"

"What, you think I'll let you go out on an adventure all on your own? I think not," Will scoffed. "I'm coming too. I'll sleep in the stables if I need to. Like Jesus."

"I'm sure we can come up with something for you, no need to be Jesus," Arthur murmured with a laugh, relieved that he would not be going alone, and it certainly helped him convince his mother—although her face was still tight with worry as he prepared to leave.

Her hug was crushing on the day he slung his pack over his shoulders, about to set off. "Be careful," she whispered in his ear. "Please. Promise me. And write, whenever you can."

"Of course, mother," Arthur murmured, hugging her tightly back and taking in the sweet scent of her blonde hair, a trait they shared. He'd treasure the memory of their hug in the days to come.

The trip to Camelot was arduous. Arthur was grateful to have Will at his side to navigate it, despite Will's constant whining, but he'd never forget the moment the towers became visible above the trees. They were tall and glittering in the sunlight—exactly as he'd seen them in his dreams.

Together, he and Will crossed through the town and through the front gate. Arthur practically vibrated with excitement as he took it all in. The hustle and bustle was more than he'd ever experienced, and it was more people than he'd ever seen at once. They appeared to be gathering for something, and Arthur was curious to see what.

He was quickly disappointed. There was a chopping block being set in the middle of the square. "Oh, that looks promising," said Will sarcastically.

"Maybe it's for something else," Arthur murmured, not one to give up on hope, but that was quickly dashed. Will and Arthur stood on the outskirts of the crowd, solemn and more than a little nervous as they watched a sorcerer stumble to the chopping block and his head end up in a basket, severed from his body. Arthur's stomach churned, especially as he saw the king for the first time, the spitting image of the man in his dreams. Suddenly, Arthur's dreams were starting to feel less like dreams and more like visions.

Following the execution, the king declared a festival—a celebration to "mark 20 years since the Great Dragon was captured." Arthur didn't know much about that, but the idea of a festival sounded nice, and he tried to put the execution behind him. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to. He'd known that this was likely something he'd see, that Camelot was no place for a person like him… but the face of the condemned man, Tom Collins, was imprinted on his mind. That, and the wail of the grieving mother. It made Arthur think of his own mother, and her terror at Arthur coming here.

He could not let her down. He would not let himself be brought to that chopping block. He'd be careful.

Will seemed to be reading his mind. "Let's make sure that's never you, yeah?" he muttered, low enough that Arthur was the only one who could hear him. Arthur nodded in agreement, and with that, they made their way to the physician's chamber using the direction's Arthur's mother had given. "Agravaine lives in the back corner tower, all the way at the top," Ygraine had described. "There is a staircase adjoining the courtyard that leads there."

Arthur was pleased when they found the staircase, excited to explore the castle and meet his uncle, but he was less than happy about the many, many winding stairs. Will, predictably, groused the whole way up. Arthur ignored him, more than a little apprehensive as he knocked on his uncle's door.

There was no answer, and Arthur waited a long moment before trying to push the large door open. It swung wide with little resistance, revealing a splendid circular room filled to the brim with books, vials, and all manner of other objects Arthur didn't recognise. His heart leapt a little as he wondered if there were any magic books safely stashed away in here from prying eyes.

"Hello?" Arthur called, wondering if his uncle was even in as he didn't see anyone. But then he saw movement from above and caught sight of a person up on a little balcony connected to a short staircase, loitering amongst the books. The man turned around at Arthur's call, startled, leaning back—

Arthur's eyes widened, his body automatically going into danger mode. His senses tingled, his magic rising to the surface of his skin. The world moved into slow motion, the man falling in increments that left Arthur time to focus on the bed tucked in the corner and summon it, pulling it under the man to break his fall. The man crashed onto the bed, rising with a splutter as he stared at Arthur through his curtain of dark, greasy hair. He looked exactly as Arthur's mother had described him.

"What… what did you just do?" Agravaine exclaimed, horrified, and Arthur quickly realised what he'd just done without thinking. There was no way his uncle was going to miss the fact that his bed had vaulted across the room without anyone touching it.

"Now you've done it," Will whispered beside him, which was not helpful.

"I… I have no idea what happened," Arthur lied, which was probably not the best way to explain it.

"Nicely done," Will muttered. Again, unhelpful.

Agravaine looked Arthur in the eye with a sternness that reminded him so strongly of his mother it scared him. "If anyone had seen that…" Agravaine said, trailing off, and he didn't need to finish the sentence for Arthur to understand.

"Er, no, no, that was… that was nothing to do with me!" Arthur tried, but he knew from experience he was a rotten liar. "It was—"

"I know what it was," Agravaine interrupted, and his expression was more intense now. "I want to know where you learnt to do it?"

Learnt to do it? Arthur didn't totally know what he meant by the question, and he wrung his hands nervously. "Nowhere," he answered, which wasn't untrue.

"Then how is it you know magic?" Agravaine interrogated, growing closer to him with an intensity in his eyes. Arthur suddenly noticed his uncle carried a dagger with him at his side and he didn't like that. "Where did you study?"

Arthur struggled to answer. "Well—"

"He didn't study," Will answered for him, finally somewhat helpful. "He's just strange like that. Been doing stuff like that since we were young."

Agravaine squinted at Will like he hadn't even noticed the other boy had entered. "You're lying," he muttered. "You must be. Don't lie about something so important."

"We're not lying," Arthur said weakly. "I've always been able to, erm… do stuff like that. I was born like this."

"That's impossible," Agravaine snapped.

Was it? Arthur didn't know what to say, so he just swayed awkwardly, trying to think of a response. Will piped up again. "Why would it be so impossible?"

"Magic requires incantations, not to mention intense studying and years of training," Agravaine explained, still squinting at Arthur. "That was… you didn't even say a spell, did you? That was instinctual."

"I suppose," Arthur murmured, not liking this sudden spotlight on his abilities. He'd never thought about if he was different than other sorcerers. It seemed he was. "I don't know any spells."

Agravaine studied Arthur critically. "Who are you?" he asked finally, and Arthur realised that with everything he hadn't introduced himself yet.

"Oh," he said. "I'm Arthur."

Agravaine blinked at him. "Arthur?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "Ygraine's son?"

"Yes, that's me," Arthur said.

"But you're not meant to be here until Wednesday," Agravaine said, vexed, and Arthur frowned.

"It… is Wednesday…" he replied awkwardly, and he didn't need to look at Will to know he was rolling his eyes.

Agravaine's brow furrowed. "Is it?"

"We're doomed," Will whispered, and Arthur elbowed him in the ribs.

"It is," he said. "And this is my friend Will, who decided to come along. He's more than willing to find work."

"Am I?" Will said, frowning, and Agravaine surveyed them both.

"We both are," Arthur continued. "And you won't say anything about the, erm…"

He didn't say the word but they both knew it. Magic. Agravaine gave a cursory glance to his bed that had just broken his fall. "No, of course I won't," he said, and Arthur's shoulders slumped in relief. "I should've known you were Ygraine's. You're the spitting image of her and your father. No wonder you have such strong magic."

Arthur bristled at that. He knew very little of his father—only that he'd left, and that his mother didn't like to speak of him. "What does that mean?" Arthur asked, a tad more accusatory than he'd meant it.

Agravaine suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "Nevermind," he said, before turning to his work table. "Here," he said, handing Arthur and Will some vials. "Let's put you two to work. I'll need these delivered to my patients by the end of the day. It'll get you good practice at navigating the castle and town. Do you think I can trust you both with that?"

"Of course," Arthur said, at the same time Will said "Maybe." Arthur glared at him.

"Right," Agravaine said, sounding unsure now, but he still handed all the vials over with a list of the corresponding patients. He gave some further directions before ending his speech with, "and I needn't tell you, but it would be unwise to do any of… that sort of display out in public. Not if you want your head on your shoulders."

Arthur shivered a bit. "Yes, of course," he said, and Will sniffed.

"Don't worry, no one is going to suspect this bloke of magic," he said, sounding far more sure of that fact than Arthur was. "He looks like he's been chopping wood all his life, not doing magic tricks."

Arthur glared at his friend at that. "I have been chopping wood all my life," he defended himself, and Will sighed.

"Yes, I know, so have I and yet I don't look it," he said. "My point is, you don't exactly scream sorcerer from first impression. So you've got that going for you."

"Yes, that is true," Agravaine agreed, and he was studying Arthur again, and Arthur didn't quite like the strange glint to his gaze. He wondered if this had something to do with his father again. He planned to pry further on that later. "Well, you best be off. Please, do stay out of trouble. I don't know what I was thinking, agreeing to all this, but Ygraine has always won me over in the end."

"We will," Arthur promised as they left, closing the door behind them.

But of course they broke that promise within the hour.

It was in the marketplace that Arthur first encountered her, and he really had no idea what he was getting into. He and Will had split up to divide and conquer Agravaine's deliveries, and Arthur hadn't minded the break from Will's incessant complaining. It was a thrill to explore the castle and town, to observe the day-to-day and people watch. He did believe he'd grow to like it here.

But then he spotted the injustice. A servant being mistreated. Arthur had always been sensitive to bullying, especially after years of shielding Will from it, and whilst this poor boy was trying to set up a target, a group of girls were cooing and laughing at him. Arthur frowned as he drew closer, listening in to what they were saying.

"Where's the target, Morris?" the lead girl called, and Arthur didn't like her mocking tone. She looked dressed to ride, with dark trousers and leather gloves, her curls pulled back in a braid. Her brown skin glistened with sweat, as if she'd been training in the sun. Perhaps a stablehand? But no, the other women were dressed in splendid gowns, clearly ladies of status. Arthur's curiosity increased, and he drew even closer.

"It's there, m'lady," the servant—Morris—answered, pointing to the target, a round wooden shield he'd set up. But a target for what? Arthur wasn't sure.

"Yes, but it's into the sun," the lady griped, and the other ladies snickered at that. She was clearly just being difficult, and Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"It's not all that bright," Morris protested, which made Arthur wince, sensing the low-hanging fruit.

"Bit like you then?" the lady shot back, and her posse giggled with cruel delight.

Morris looked more than a bit put out. Arthur's heart went out to him. "I'll just put it at the other end, shall I, m'lady?" Morris said, beginning to do so. The ladies simply watched on, chattering amongst themselves, shielded by their hands as they gossiped. Arthur watched them closely, not missing the mirth in the lead lady's eyes as she turned to her friends and said, "This'll teach him."

Her hand went to her waist, and Arthur's eyes widened to see her pull out a dagger. She twisted it with ease, clearly experienced, before taking aim and sending it flying at the poor serving boy. Arthur yelped as it hit the target perfectly, but narrowly missed Morris, who stared at the lady in fear.

"Ha-hang on!" Morris called weakly in protest, staying still in clear fear of another throw—which the lady was already preparing, another dagger in hand. The blade glinted in the sun.

"Don't stop," she ordered Morris, sounding annoyed and gleeful at the same time.

"H-here?" Morris said nervously, having taken a few steps back, only for the lady to respond with another dagger sailing through the air, a direct bullseye on the centre of the target. Morris and Arthur both flinched at the thunk.

"I told you to keep moving, didn't I?" the lady complained. "Come on, run!"

Morris' face twisted in discomfort, but he obeyed, beginning to stumble back and forth more than fully sprint, the target barely shielding his body from harm as the lady prepared more daggers.

"Keep going!" the lady called as she twisted another dagger between her fingers with a sly smile before letting it fly. Her aim was spectacular, but Arthur still flinched as he watched it soar through the air and bury itself in the wood. "We want some moving target practice," she added, just as Morris tripped, sending the target rolling away from him.

It was then that Arthur acted. He used that opportunity to step in, placing his foot on the target to still it. "Hey!" he called to the women, but he immediately questioned whether he should've interfered, because now all three of them were staring at him and he could feel their scathing gazes. "Come on now, that's enough."

The lead lady's eyebrows shot to her hairline. "What did you say?"

"You've had your fun, darling," Arthur said without thinking, and instantly regretted his word choice, the word sort of slipping out.

It was a mistake. A big one. Arthur saw a rather dangerous look enter the lady's expression as she squared off with him, fully turning her attention away from Morris. Arthur got a better look at her now—she was much shorter than him, but she seemed to make up for that with sheer confidence. Her arms were crossed against her red tunic, her weight on one hip as she observed Arthur through narrowed eyes. "Darling?" she repeated, a warning edge to her tone. "Do I know you?"

"Er, I'm Arthur," Arthur said, trying to course correct as he awkwardly offered his hand for a friendly shake. The lady looked at it like he was diseased, and he slowly lowered it again.

"So I don't know you," the lady said, and Arthur grimaced.

"No," he confirmed, stepping back a tad.

"Yet you called me 'darling,'" the lady said, and it was not lost on Arthur that she still had a dagger clutched in her grasp.

"That was my mistake," Arthur admitted.

"Yes, I think so."

"Clearly, you aren't the lady I mistook you for," Arthur snapped back, and he'd really dug himself a hole now.

The lady's eyes widened. She laughed, and her laugh was crystal clear like a bell—and also dangerous as hell. It was not a friendly sound. "My," she said. "Clearly, I also mistook you for someone with a brain."

She advanced on him then. Arthur let her, not backing down, and he felt his magic tingle—just a bit under his skin, especially as he eyed the woman's dagger. "Tell me, Arthur," the woman said as she grew closer, and Arthur didn't like how she said his name. "Ever been on your knees before a woman?"

Arthur didn't like where this was going, nor just how much of an effect those words had on him. The lady was eyeing him like a wolf did its prey, her beauty very apparent now from this distance—a lithe form, muscular arms, and a little beauty mark near her nose. "Can't say I have," Arthur answered her, unhappy with how tight his voice sounded now.

His reaction was not missed by the lady, who grinned. "Would you like to?" she said, her voice having switched from aggressive to seductive, but that was somehow more threatening.

"I wouldn't try it if I were you," Arthur said, trying to be just as dangerous back, but he could hear the emptiness of his own threat. His magic was still curling within him and he could knock these women to the ground within seconds if he wanted. But he couldn't do that, not really. Not if he wanted to keep his head.

"And why's that?" the woman asked, and she was awfully close to him now. Arthur could see the intensity sparkling in her brown eyes—the excitement at having someone dare to challenge her. "What're you going to do to me? Please, enlighten me on your… skills."

She said skills with such silky seduction that Arthur swallowed, only to find his throat dry. Her eyes seemed to have trapped him, and he couldn't look away, even as the lady's friends snickered. "You have no idea what I can do," he managed to reply.

"Really," the lady said, her tone swirling with disbelief that left Arthur bristling. "Come on, then. Show me what you've got, since you think so highly of yourself."

She nodded to Arthur's chest, and Arthur flushed as he grasped her meaning. He considered for a moment if he was going to degrade himself before her only to decide, yes, he absolutely was and reached behind his back, pulling off his shirt in one go.

He grinned a little as he watched the lady's reaction. She stared at him, clearly not having quite expected the physique hiding beneath his baggy clothes. "Like what you see?" Arthur said cheekily, testing his luck, and the lady quickly recovered.

"Seen better," she said, but Arthur didn't miss the hitch in her voice. "And no man has both."

"Both what?" Arthur said, frowning, and the grin on the lady's face was wicked.

"A great body," she answered, "and skilled kissing."

The oooo from her cronies was deafening, and it was a challenge if Arthur ever heard one. His face was hot as he stared down the lady before him. She stared back, unblinking as she said, "Come on, big boy, let's see if you're the rare unicorn who has both."

Arthur hesitated, and that was not lost on the woman. "Come onnn," she goaded, stepping away to lure him like a fish on a hook. She spread her arms wide, her beautiful lips curved in a smirk. "You know you want to."

Arthur felt himself quiver, envisioning himself stepping forwards and sweeping this beautiful, barbed-tongue woman off her feet, leaning down to grant her the best kiss of her damn life. Before he knew what he was doing, he was going for it, striding forwards—

And the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, the air knocked from his lungs with a sharp oof.

"Hmm," the lady mused with uncontained amusement as she leaned over him, her dagger at his throat. Her knees were planted on either side of his hips, straddling him as she pinned him down, and Arthur's arm throbbed from where she'd grabbed him and flipped him over. "I rescind my earlier offer, I think you look much better on your back than on your knees."

Arthur wheezed, trying to regain his breath as the lady's friends all howled with laughter. He couldn't move, not without slitting his own throat. "Who… who are you?" he managed to ask, and the lady looked delighted to be finally asked.

"My name is Guinevere," she answered, and every molecule in Arthur's body was suddenly on fire. "Perhaps you've heard of me."

The air had left Arthur's lungs again. "Guinevere?" he repeated weakly. "The princess?"

Guinevere's smile was wide. "So you have heard of me," she said. "Good. Then you also know that assaulting a royal is a punishable offense. Perhaps a night in the dungeons will cool you off, hotshot."

Panic flooded Arthur's brain. "Wait—" he exclaimed, but the princess had already moved away, leaving Arthur to be scooped up into the arms of a pair of guards that had materialised from the castle gates.

"Have a good night, Arthur," the princess said mockingly as she turned away with a royal wave. Her laugh echoed in Arthur's ears as he was dragged away.

~O~

It was Will that came to get him in the dungeons the next day. Arthur had long since passed out on the dungeon's uncomfortable bench and was startled awake by loud clapping.

"Excellent job!" Will's sarcastic voice filtered through the bars as he continued his mock applause. "Truly a stunning performance by the Wart, getting arrested within twenty-four hours of moving to Camelot. 'We won't get into trouble,' he tells his uncle, only to get completely bodied by the warrior princess herself twenty minutes later."

Arthur groaned, and he rolled off the bench to bury his face in the straw. "Don't remind me," he murmured. "And don't call me that, you know I hate it."

"You deserve it," Will shot back. "And here I thought those muscles and, ah, other abilities were meant for something. How did you manage to lose that badly to her? Everyone's talking about it."

"Are they?" Arthur murmured with dread. "In my defense, I didn't realise she was the princess."

"What gave it away, the moment she flipped you over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes?" Will said and Arthur groaned again. "Is it true, then? The stories we heard? That she won the king's tournament? Got herself declared heir?"

"I dunno," Arthur said as he finally stood and faced Will properly. "But if my back pain is any indication, she's certainly capable. I didn't see the sword, though."

"The one she supposedly pulled from solid stone?" Will said with more than a touch of disbelief. "I'm skeptical on that. It sounds like bunk to me. Wive's tale. Trying to legitimise her win and claim to the throne."

"Maybe," Arthur said as he rubbed at his sore back, but the princess hadn't exactly seemed the type to lie.

Will studied him from beyond the bars. "Was she as beautiful as they say?" he asked, curious, and Arthur flushed a bit.

"More," he murmured, and Will whistled.

"You're already down bad, I can see it," he teased. "Leave you to fall for an unattainable woman who held a dagger to your throat."

"Shut up," Arthur muttered, and he eyed the keys in Will's grasp. "Are you going to let me out or not?"

Will clicked his tongue, but obediently put the key in the lock, swinging the cell door open for him. "You can thank your uncle for this," he said, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "He pulled a few strings with the guards. However, there is a small price to pay."

Arthur's eyes widened. "And what's that?"

He soon found out.

The rough wood of the stocks on his neck was not a welcome sensation, nor was the rotten fruit sailing at his face and dripping down his nose. It was so brown and mushy by this point he couldn't even identify what sort of fruit it once was, overwhelmed by the foul smell and the mocking laughter of the children pelting him.

None of the children were laughing louder than Will though. Arthur glared at his friend whilst Will tossed a rotten apple at him with a wicked grin. Luckily, he missed.

"You're a rotten friend!" Arthur yelled at him, only to get more laughter from Will in answer.

"You okay, there?" said a new voice, laced with real concern, and Arthur contorted his head just enough to see a man had approached him, clutching a basket of flowers. The sweet smell of the bouquet was a welcome thing in place of the rotten fruit.

"I'm fine," Arthur grumbled. "I deserve it."

"I doubt that," the man said, and he extended a friendly hand. His yellow tunic was embroidered with flowers that matched the ones in his basket, and his smile was warm. "Hi. I'm Merlin. I'm the castle gardener."

"Nice to meet you, Merlin," Arthur said as he awkwardly twisted his wrist to accept the gardener's handshake. "I'm Arthur."

"I know," Merlin said, and when he dropped the handshake, he played with his dark mop of hair self-consciously. It took Arthur a moment to realise he had a flower crown resting there, and he was adjusting it. "I saw the whole thing. It was good of you, you know. Standing up to the princess. She was being a right bully."

"It was stupid," Arthur grumbled, looking away from Merlin long enough to get hit in the face with another cascade of fruit. Merlin, luckily, managed to dodge it.

"Nah, you meant well," Merlin assured, which Arthur appreciated. "But you weren't going to come out on top with that one. You should've walked away."

"I could've come out on top," Arthur murmured sourly, and Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"You think?" he said, and he said it nicely, but Arthur resented the lack of confidence. "Because I've seen her take out men much bigger than you."

"Yes, well, it's not all about size," Arthur griped before going a bit red. Not the best choice of words.

Merlin laughed awkwardly. "That's… true," he agreed, having gone a bit red himself. "Well, regardless, it was nice of you to do that. And I wanted to come and say hi. Since it looks like you need a friend."

"Thanks," Arthur said, a little put out by that, and Merlin quickly backtracked.

"Not that you look like you don't have friends!" he attempted to course-correct, but he was just making it worse. "Because you absolutely do. Look like you could have friends, I mean. But I, well—I just wanted to introduce myself, that's all."

The gardener's face was a dark red now and Arthur smiled. "Thank you," he said and he meant it. "I could use a friend."

Merlin beamed, his cheeks still rosy, but Arthur thought he'd never seen someone so cheerful. Merlin then plucked a purple flower from his basket and tucked it behind Arthur's ear.

"There," he said. "An orchid. For luck. If you ever run into the princess again."

"T-thank you," Arthur said again, overwhelmed by the gesture. "I might need it."

Merlin's smile was truly radiant and he opened his mouth to say something else, but at that same moment, a woman's voice called out Merlin's name. Both Arthur and Merlin looked down the street to see a woman waving, a green scarf tying back her dark hair and soot all over her face and arms.

"Oh, that's my mum," Merlin said, whilst Arthur gawked at the woman's impressive arms. "She must need my help."

"Do all the women of Camelot have arms like that?" Arthur asked, aghast, and Merlin laughed.

"She's the local blacksmith," he explained. "Comes with the trade. Well, I best be off! It was nice to meet you, Arthur."

"Likewise," Arthur said. "I best be getting back to my adoring fa—"

He didn't quite finish his sentence before his face was plastered by a rotting orange. Merlin winced in sympathy. He took out a handkerchief and valiantly tried to wipe Arthur's face before his mother called again.

"Perhaps I'll see you at the feast, I'll be doing the floral arrangements!" Merlin told him cheerfully as he skipped off, and Arthur watched him greet his mother. They hugged fondly before disappearing into a house nearby. Arthur smiled a bit fondly too.

"Who was that?" said Will's voice and Arthur jumped—which was painful in the stocks.

"Ow," he complained. "Give a man warning, will you?"

"Not a chance," Will said. "But seriously, who was that?"

"Castle gardener," Arthur answered. "He was just being nice."

"Hm, yeah, because I'm sure he gives flowers to everyone," Will mocked as he touched the orchid in Arthur's hair. "Pick a struggle, Arthur."

"I hate you," Arthur gripped, especially as Will dodged another onslaught of fruit coming Arthur's way.

"No, you don't," Will said. "Well, I'm off to prepare for the feast. Your uncle said we could assist him. See you there?"

"If I've recovered," Arthur answered, and Will sniggered before he waved and headed off too. And that's when Arthur heard it. A voice, but this time not one beside him. This one was in his head, low and rumbling.

Arthur, it said, and the voice chilled him to the bone. Arthur…

Who are you? Arthur asked back with his thoughts, unsure if that would work. He merely got a chuckle in response.

He heard the voice again when he was let go from the stocks a few hours later. Night had begun to fall on the castle, the moon hanging in the sky and the lights from the throne room spilling out into the courtyard. Arthur could hear the beginnings of the festivities, music and laughter sounding in the distance. But then there was the voice again, louder inside his head than before.

Arthur…

With a strange sort of foreboding, Arthur followed the voice. He wasn't sure how he knew where to go, but he did, and he wondered if it was his magic guiding him as he found himself at the top of a staircase—one that cascaded down into the dark. There was a guard, but he was fast asleep, a pitcher of ale beside him, and Arthur inched his way by. He snatched a torch out of a sconce to the light the way.

The voice grew louder the further down he descended. Arthur… ARTHUR…

I'm coming, Arthur shot back. Shut up.

Rude, came the voice's answer, and no sooner did they have that exchange that the stairs ended and Arthur found himself entering a cavern, chilled by the cold air.

He hadn't realised there were caverns beneath the castle.

He also hadn't realised there was a bloody dragon beneath it—which left Arthur suppressing a rather unmanly scream as the sound of wings reached his ears and a giant creature landed before him with the force of a mountain. The giant creature shook the whole cave as it peered down at him with its round, golden eyes.

Arthur squeezed his own eyes shut, waiting to be burnt to a crisp, but no ball of hellfire came upon him. Instead, the creature spoke. "Hello, Arthur Pendragon," it greeted, its voice identical to the one he'd been hearing in his head, a bit like water running over rocks.

Arthur slowly cracked his eyes back open. "P-Pendragon?" he echoed weakly, debating on whether he should just drop the torch and run. But he hadn't been barbequed yet, and something told him to stay—something deep within him, rooting him in place. "I'm not… I'm not a Pendragon."

The dragon laughed, and somehow, that shook the cavern even more. Arthur looked up, nervous that the whole thing might collapse on them. "What's so funny?" he cried, his confusion overtaking his fear. "Why did you summon me? What is this?"

"The beginning," the dragon replied vaguely. "You have strong magic, Arthur Pendragon. I did not think you would arrive so soon."

"How did you know of my magic?" Arthur asked, breathless as he took in this creature before him properly. This magical creature before him, one that had summoned him using his mind. In all his life, Arthur had never encountered another magical creature. It was stunning to be presented with one now. "Did you sense it?"

"Of course," confirmed the dragon. "I've always been aware of you, Arthur. Your birth, and your magic, has been prophesied for some time."

Arthur's breathing grew shallow as he tried to process that. Your birth… your magic… prophesied… "So there is a reason?" he whispered, enamored with the idea. "A reason I was born like this?"

"Yes, young warlock," the dragon said, its voice a bit more gentle now, and Arthur's mind whirled, trying to digest this new information. It confirmed what he'd been feeling inside—that he was right in coming to Camelot. That his abilities had a purpose. "All people have destinies, but yours in particular is of great importance."

"But what is it?" Arthur asked a little wildly, almost getting too close to the edge of the precipice he was on from his urgency. "Please, tell me!"

"Guinevere is the Once and Future Queen," the dragon said, and Arthur's brow furrowed.

"Okay…" he said slowly. "But what does she have to do with this?"

"Everything!" the dragon said, unhelpfully. "For while Guinevere is the future Queen, you are the Once and Future King. Without you, she has no hope to succeed in building a new Albion for us all. She needs you, and that begins tonight. Your destinies are irrevocably entwined."

Arthur's brain was swimming, and he felt like he was drowning. "What the hell are you talking about?" he exclaimed. "I—are you saying I'm fated to marry the princess? You must be mistaken."

The dragon chuckled again, and the cliff shuttered beneath Arthur's boots. "I am never mistaken," he said, and Arthur thought that was rather arrogant of it. "You will one day be king, Arthur, with Guinevere at your side. You must prepare, the both of you, for the trials ahead will be great."

"What trials?" Arthur exclaimed, panicked and incensed by it all. "You must be joking. There—there must be another Guinevere, because this one is insufferable!"

"Why, because she bested you?" the dragon asked, and Arthur's face grew warm. He didn't like that the dragon knew of that. "Do you prefer the gardener boy instead?"

"H-how do you know about that?" Arthur stuttered, but he was only met with another bout of laughter.

"Do not despair, the gardener is wrapped up in this too," the dragon said. "The web of fate is a complicated one. You will need every ally you can find, Arthur. Cherish them, for they will be your heart."

"What in the seven circles of Hell is that supposed to mean?" Arthur griped, but to his horror, the dragon spread its wings and began to take flight, returning back to its dark space above.

"Hey!" Arthur called after it. "Dragon! I'm talking to you! Come back!" But after a few minutes of fruitless yelling, it was clear the dragon had decided they were done talking, nothing but the imprisoned creature's long chain left behind. It clinked against the side of the cavern.

Arthur stared at the chain for a long moment, just listening to it jingle and trying to chew on everything he'd just learnt. He made a mental note to ask his uncle about the dragon before he noticed his torch burning low. With one last squint up at the dragon's hovel, he turned his back on it, beginning to make his way back up the stairs and to the feast.

Little did Arthur know, of course, he was about to save the princess' life—just as the dragon predicted. A new position as the princess' squire awaited for him, and a destiny on top of that.

For better or for worse, the adventure Arthur had yearned for had begun.