Here be chapter 4! Sorry about the wait, I have no excuse, all I can offer is an apology ;3;
In record time, Arthur's attire was complete.
The silky pink flowed off his masculine form with unusual grace, hiding his hairy, muscular legs as it trailed on the ground. (It also hid the purple high-heeled shoes Morgana had forced on him.) The edges and the bust line were trimmed with a fine lavender ribbon, accentuating the many angles and curves of the wearer.
There was a translucent purple shawl wrapped around his shoulders, doing an uncanny job of slimming down his biceps. His large hands, though, were a little more conspicuous than was strictly necessary, but he did have sparkling blue polish adorning his rough swordsman's nails.
His face looked a whole lot better after he'd submitted to his step-sister and allowed her to fix it up. His eyelashes, once pale, were now dark, curled, and considerably longer, framing popping blue eyes. Morgana had (after a lot of convincing from the two servants standing by) been allowed to apply some faint blue eyeshadow to his eyelids. His full lips were a darker shade of pink, almost magenta. There was a brushing of crimson swept across his cheekbones, giving his face more shape and a permanent blush.
The frown on the prince's face, though, dulled down the bright colours.
"Morgana, wipe this off this instant."
"Well… no, I don't think I will," she said, smirking.
"I think you look quite good, actually. Makes you look softer."
"Shut up Merlin."
"Gwen? Have you an opinion on this masterpiece?" the King's ward asked, turning to smile at her maidservant.
The poor girl's blush returned tenfold, deeper even than Arthur's makeup-enhanced redness. "I—well, I… the-the—it…." She took in a deep breath. "It looks lovely, my lady," she finally settled for, nodding with a small smile.
Arthur, if possible, turned even redder. "Morgana, can I please take this off now?"
She pursed her lips. "No, I don't think so."
"Morgana—"
"You lost the—"
"—bet, I know, but I'm wearing this, so—"
"But you're not done there, you still have to—"
"Morgana—"
"I'm not letting you get off this easy, Arthur Pendragon—"
"Morgana, please—"
"No, Arthur. You are either to… go prancing around Camelot like one of those air-headed visiting princesses, or you go up to Uther as his new serving girl and bring him his supper."
Arthur stared at her, completely mortified. "I can't do either of those."
"Is the great Arthur Pendragon a coward?"
Merlin and Gwen avidly watched the heated argument, heads swivelling emphatically to watch the next speaker.
"Which do you think he's going to choose?" Merlin whispered, casually grabbing a grape from the bowl of fruit on the table and mindlessly chewing it.
Gwen frowned at his thievery, but said nothing on the matter. "Well, it's either the people seeing him as maybe… unfit to be their next King, or it's the King himself, seeing his son… crossdressing."
Merlin nodded pensively, cheeks full of food. "I think he's going for his father."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well," he said, flailing his arms a little for emphasis, "it makes the most sense. I mean, it's either his future people seeing him as slightly mental, or it's his father seeing him as slightly mental. And even if Uther is King, he won't think too badly of his son for doing… whatever he's doing. Either way, Uther is one man. Camelot isn't."
Arthur, who had been listening to the progressively louder voices of the servants, spoke up a complaint, almost-purple lips extending into a pout. "It's bad enough that you three have to see me like this! Morgana, please, this is… this is childish. There is no point in making me do this. You've won the bet; isn't the glory enough for you?"
"No," she replied simply.
Arthur heaved a great, exasperated sigh. "Morgana, please! Does it make you feel better about yourself to see a grown man prancing around in such demeaning attire?"
"Well, it would, but I haven't seen you prance yet," the king's ward said, putting on her own—and far more effective—pout.
Arthur steeled his expression. "No."
Morgana grinned. "Yes."
Arthur groaned.
"This ought to be fun," Merlin stated.
"Alright, now Arthur, point your toes on your left foot—your other left, Arthur—good. Now, raise your arms a bit higher… no, no, like this. Like this. Arthur!"
"Morgana," Arthur grumbled, "I can't do this. It's impossible. How do you move in these shoes?"
The King's ward let out a puff of laughter. "Oh, calm down, Arthur. It's just another feat that women can do better than men. Get used to not always being perfect at everything."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, another feat?"
She rolled her eyes. "Have men ever tried birthing a child?" Arthur turned red. "Exactly. Now, raise your arms like this," she said slowly, raising her own arms so they hovered at her sides, bent at the elbows and nearly parallel to the floor.
Arthur grumbled under his breath, but raised his arms. He looked like a very angry, manly princess trying unsuccessfully to keep her balance.
Morgana tsk'ed. "Arthur, shoulders back!" she exclaimed for the umpteenth time.
Arthur wanted to scream and pull his hair out, but he was a man, and men don't do that. He settled for stomping his foot angrily and crossing his arms, finishing off with a pout. No matter how childish that was, it very clearly expressed his innermost thoughts of the moment.
"Morgana, I'm not doing it wrong!"
She narrowed her eyes. "Oh really? Well then, Prince Arthur, show me that you can prance like a proper Lady."
His eyes widened as she stared expectantly at him. With a resigned sigh, he raised his arms to the proper position, staring pointedly at anything but the people around him, and, well, pranced about the room. It was strangely graceful, with his skirts billowing around him and his short hair almost (almost) flowing in what wind came from the window. He skipped separately around each person, blushing darker than he would have liked to admit around Gwen. He had somehow mastered the conspiring shoes, submitting them to his will, all the while trying to protect his vulnerable ankles.
Arthur finished off his little frolic, he exaggerated a mock-curtsey at his step-sister, who was smirking in bloodcurdling satisfaction.
"Was that good, my Lady?" he questioned, voice rising an octave or two as he slipped into character.
His manservant beamed like an idiot and clapped loudly. He looked like he was trying painfully hard to keep in his laughter.
Arthur ignored him, staring imploringly at Morgana from under thickened lashes.
The King's ward raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Well?"
Arthur, taken aback, stopped playing the innocent little girl (it was a little disturbing, after all). His brows furrowed in utter confusion. "What do you mean, 'well'? I just pranced around you! What more could you—"
"I mean, are you going to show off your lovely 'prancing' to Uther,or to the people?"
The prince paled. He'd nearly forgotten about that part. He turned to the servants for help, not that it would do much good. With the doe eyes and the pouting pink lips, it was a rather nice effect; unfortunately, it would do him little good. He gave a great groan of capitulation, running his hands through his hair.
Morgana hurriedly gripped his hands, pulling them away. "Don't. You'll ruin your hair."
Arthur frowned, momentarily forgetting his predicament. "You didn't do anything to my hair."
She raised an eyebrow, daring him to ask again. Her step-brother looked suspicious and more than a little worried, but said nothing.
There were a few more moments of silence before Morgana got impatient again.
"Arthur, don't try my patience. Make your choice."
Arthur most definitely did not gulp (except he did, quite loudly).
whoo
Thank you for reading!