Things That Merlin Isn't Allowed To Do (According to Prince Arthur)
24: Disguise Himself As Someone Else To Fool Assassins
"Father!" Arthur stares at the king disbelievingly. "You cannot be serious!"
"Refusing their request could trigger a war. Besides, we cannot rely merely on rumour."
"Merely rumour? There've been threats, attempts at taking Morgana's life – and we're inviting them? It's like asking them to come and just get it over with!" Arthur exclaims. The idea of opening the doors of Camelot to lord Guthrie is simply outrageous.
Morgana, seated on the opposite side of the dining table, snorts. "As if they could." If anyone tries to take her life, they're going to be in for a surprise. No one expects a lady to be able to wield a sword. So well in fact, that Arthur rather forget about their 'silly match' eight years ago (which he did absolutely not lose - he was just going easy on her; she's a girl after all, not a knight).
But the king takes the prince's word into serious consideration. He's right, he realizes, allowing lord Guthrie and his entourage to come to Camelot poses a risk to his ward's safety. "You are right, Arthur," Uther says gravely, and turns to his ward, "I cannot put you in danger, Morgana."
"So we refuse, then," Arthur says, exhaling, while thinking: By god, please don't let that foul, snobbish, arrogant, ugly, annoying lord into Camelot.
Uther waves a hand, dismissing the words. "We need a diversion, something to keep their minds off Morgana during their visit."
... We're still inviting them? What? No!
"Hmm, yes, I suppose," the lady agrees, the hint of a smirk beginning to form which Uther probably doesn't notice, too deep in thinking himself, but Arthur does notice and shivers involuntarily: this means something dreadful is about to happen, something which will probably affect him too. It's the kind of evil smile he knows he must be cautious when seeing. "What about a substitute?"
Interest perking up, Uther turns to her; there's the hint of a raised eyebrow. "A substitute?"
"Yes – we could find someone to play my part as the lord visits; I could keep in the background, posing as a maidservant or a kitchen aide. They won't suspect a thing."
Uther's eyes lights up. He's starting to like this idea: it'll protect his ward, and by using a bait, they could actually make a trap and catch the assassins in action, get confirmation that they really have been sent by lord Guthrie and thus let the king give them the punishment they deserve. Yes. Now, the only problem is finding a suitable "replacement": someone who won't be noticed missing for a week, someone who knows not enough but not too little either, someone who won't leak to outside the court of the plan…Someone dependable, trustable. And of course, someone who looks at least a bit like Morgana. For she's known far and wide as a tall, pale-skinned, dark-haired beauty, there's no fooling any assassins that.
He voices this worry, and Morgana smiles slightly. "But I have an idea, sire," she says; "why not let Merlin, Arthur's manservant, play the part?"
Uther looks thoughtful. "Merlin?" (The servant boy has proven himself incredibly loyal and is admittedly quite suitable for the role, even if he does seem to have some kind of mental disease.)
Arthur's jaw drops, eyes as wide as saucers. "Merlin?"
Which is the exact moment said pale-skinned, dark-haired servant enters the large room with a tray of wine, looking utterly confused at the mention of his name.
()()()
"How does it fit?"
"Err, it's. Uhm. I don't – I don't know," is the faint answer from the other side of the dressing screen.
Again, he tugs at the lacings, trying to make sense of them. Gwen notices, and pulls the silk bands out of Merlin's hands: "Don't do that. Now stand still," she says, using needle and threat to fix the last few adjustments so that the garment fits perfectly.
"Why can't an actual girl do this?" he asks pitifully. "Why me?"
"Because I know I can trust you, and the King agreed," Morgana replies, smiling smugly though the boy can't see that. "And we do share the same colouring."
She's certain that the manservant is pouting. "But what if I get recognized! What if they discover I'm male! I probably look absolutely ridiculous and ugly anwyay! What if-"
"Calm down, Merlin. It'll be fine. You won't be unprotected; Uther has put up certain precautions, there are guards down this whole corridor, and guards will escort you everywhere – no one will think it's actually you. And we'll do everything we can to stop you from being actually hurt: no assassins will touch you. Even Uther's sworn this, and you know he's as pigheaded as his son, even worse. And Arthur won't leave you out of sight, I'm sure. Don't worry." Morgana smirks slightly. "And I am certain you don't look ridiculous, or ugly. Anyone thinking that must be out of their minds." (And if they did they might suddenly be standing at swordpoint in front of a certain angered lady. Or possibly angered prince, because anyone insulting Merlin in any manner should, in case the prince is notified of such an awful event, fear for their lives.)
It's almost frightening how quickly the lady's mood can change, from demanding and not to mess with, to gentle and kind, and back again in the blink of an eye.
Gwen finishes her needlework, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "There, all done." She gathers her things, promising shortly start working on the other dresses; she just needs to fetch some extra thread. At hearing that, Merlin blanches.
"Others?" he asks, close to tears, as he's pulled out so that Morgana can examine the results. By her expression, Merlin can tell she's very pleased, but how she can be that when he feels like an idiot he has no idea.
"Don't worry, just a handful. You're supposed to be a lady, and they don't walk around wearing the same dress for a full week. We have to make it convincing, don't we?"
Merlin buries his face in his hands despairingly, and Morgana pulls out another garment from the wardrobe, holding it up with narrowed eyes. "Hmm. Not the right colour..."
What god up there has punished him like this, forced him into this suffering? What has he done? And what on made Arthur agree on this plan anyway? Yeah - he was surely a prat again. An arrogant dollophead not caring for his manservant's suffering and humiliation.
He looks at Morgana pleadingly: "But, but I don't know anything about being a…a lady, about behavior or talking like a lady or anything like that!" He nearly starts to hyperventilate.
"That won't be a problem," Morgana fills in smoothly, "because I am going to teach you."
()()()
Arthur spends a whole day sulking outside Morgana's chamber doors. Not that he'd ever call it sulking. More like … generally standing around grimacing and glaring at whoever walks past, and feeling in a rather gloomy mood. Yes. He's merely annoyed, that's all. What on earth flew into Morgana to suggest that Merlin, his Merlin, dress up and pretend to be her for the following two weeks? And what in heaven made his father agree to it?
They could have come up with some other plan to protect Morgana! Merlin shouldn't be put in danger like that! Stupid Morgana. Stupid dress-up plans that father agrees to. Grrr. Stupid visiting lords...! Shouldn't let them come here. Why won't father listen to reason? Argh.
The prince's brow wrinkles in an angry frown as he proceeds to glare the door into splinters.
He is Merlin's master. He is Merlin's prince. And he is the only one to make decisions like these regarding Merlin! Not Morgana, not the king - him! Yet they won't listen, won't pay heed to his protests or complains of how ridiculous idea this is, no, they just ignore him and Uther lets Morgana grab Merlin's wrists and lock him behind some stupid thick doors, and then they refuse to let Arthur in.
"Sire," the guard says for the umpteenth time, slightly nervous when he receives a cold glare; "I'm sorry but I cannot let you linger here. The King's orders. You must leave this corridor or we'll have to forcibly remove you."
With a sigh, squaring his shoulders, Arthur starts to walk away. Slowly. Hands clenched into fists. He doesn't say anything but the guard jumps out of the way, practically seeing the prince's anger radiating around him creating an oozing, terrifying aura.
(The prince is back on the same spot ten minutes later, stubbornly glaring at the wood separating him and his manservant.)
()()()
To his great disappointment, Arthur doesn't get the chance to see Merlin until lord Guthrie's entourage arrives many, many hours later. There's a dinner prepared for them: the smaller hall, where Uther keeps events like these, is full of candlelight and people and the smell of rich, good food, and wine – voices rise and fall in greetings and chitchat, although both Arthur and Uther's moods are stiff and doesn't exactly welcome the lord with open arms. Said lord doesn't seem to be aware of the dark looks Arthur sends at his back.
When the large oak doors open, breath is knocked out of Arthur's lungs.
It's Morgana. But it's not. It's Merlin, he can see that clearly, he knows the boy so well (and has silently memorized every angle of the beautiful face and high cheekbones) - it's Merlin, but at the same time ... it's not. It's very confusing. And he has to admit it might've been a clever plan so far since Merlin looks eerily like Morgana right now, and at the same time he definately looks like Merlin, skin pale and glowing in the candlelight, his cheekbones sharply but beautifully defined, lips painted with that red colour Morgana seem to favour. The clothes he's wearing is a gorgeous shade of blue.
Arthur never thought the warlock could wear that colour so well. Or a dress ... a dress that looks like that. Of course, Morgana - the clever mastermind behind this plan - must be the only reason he's wearing that dress. It's quite ... daring. Almost too daring to be honest (not that Arthur really minds seeing so much of Merlin's bare smooth skin or naked elbows) and Arthur's jaw works trying to form words, but no sound manages to get past his lips. One single thought works its way through Arthur's brain, which is experiencing an overload meltdown.
Oh. My. God.
There's the faintest hint of nervousness, but it disappears quickly, and the steps grows more confident as 'Morgana' steps further into the room - every eye turns to look at the figure wide-eyed, almost like enchanted. There's a guard hovering discretely in the background, but Arthur doesn't notice. His gaze remains fixed on his amazingly transformed manservant.
And Arthur finds that the dress definitely is too daring when Merlin passes him (in the last minute Arthur remembers bowing his neck an inch in a show of respect, to keep up the pretense) and he sees just how low the juncture of the back of the dress goes, showing off at least half of Merlin's back and then some. It does take one's eyes from the rather flat front, but still. He looks very ... very ... uhmm.
All right, Arthur gives in, exhales (rather loudly) trying to keep himself in check. Merlin looks absolutely gorgeous. He's done something with his hair as well: it's the same dark colour, but seems a bit longer (now how that's possible, Arthur isn't quite sure; it must be either a trick of Morgana's, or Merlin's magic at work) and is put in some strange but attractive fashion. The dress is flowy and blue and cut low at some places and high in others, and everyone in the hall seems to have stopped to stare: women in jealousy, men in awe.
And then Arthur notices that damned lord Guthrie's leer.
It takes all of his self restraint to not march over and punch the guy in the face. He bites his cheek and his hands turns into fists, and he struggles to simply stand still.
It also takes a moment for king Uther to react; but everyone seems so taken by the entrance to notice the one-second-too-long delay before he greets the 'lady'. "Lady Morgana. You look lovely tonight."
Merlin blushes like a fool, and sounds a bit faint, but manages to courtesy without stumbling and falling flat on his face. "Th-thank you sire."
It is kind of hard to pretend to be the beloved ward of the King Who Beheads People With Magic when you're one of the strongest magical beings ever to exist. And harder to take seat next to said king and answer to conversation and smile like nothing's wrong and that he's not, in fact, a servant boy pretending to be a lady. At least Gwaine, who's familiar and kind, is sitting on his other side.
Everyone else find their seats, hushed voices fading away; king Uther stands to hold a welcome speech (which Merlin doesn't listen to, too distracted by all the eyes on him and the silky smooth feel of fabric against his thighs and other little things like that, making it difficult to keep his face straight and guarded, and not start chewing his bottom lip anxiously. He's certain that Lady Morgana never would show nervousness like that).
The food is then brought out. Merlin's mouth waters. Of course, he's seen the kind of food royals eat before. He serves it to Arthur all the time, and he's been standing in the corner to enough feasts to know that half of that food will remain untouched by the royals, who are too full to eat anymore, and then it'll be either thrown away or, if they're lucky, some of the servants or kitchen staff may taste it. But Merlin's never eaten food like that, and he's sure he'll never it anything like it again. It smells amazing. And so many kinds of it! Meat, fish, fruits, greens, delicacies. And lots and lots of wine. And to think he's able to taste it all!
If he's going to sit here and suffer, at least he'll be able to eat his fill while doing so.
"Isn't it weird?" Gwaine whispers from the corner of his mouth, distracting Merlin from the overfilled plates.
"...huh?"
"I mean," Gwaine says, lowering his voice even more so they won't be overheard; "Being-a-girl-even-if-it's-pretend ... isn't it weird?"
Merlin glances at him. "Um, yeah, no, I mean - it's strangely okay, it's not completely awful," he says uncertainly, because even if it's embarrassing and a bit uncomfortable, a small part of him can't help but enjoy being in the spotlight of such attention, and he feels ... attractive in a way he's never before felt. And then Arthur's been staring at him for the past fifteen minutes in a way which causes Merlin to constantly blush, as well. Which isn't very bad at all.
Gwaine grins and raises his cup. "So it's all right then!" Obviously he needs to work on this discreet thing, because he raises his voice so everyone at the table can hear. And the people smile and agree with the knight, when he says; "Good folk! We should cheer! Cheer to the wealth of Camelot, and to our guests, and of course to the lovely lady sitting here next to me. To the lady Morgana!"
"Lady Morgana!" echoes around the hall merrily, cups clinkering together and wine sloshing dangerously close over the brim. Merlin squirms in his seat, trying to sink into it and disappear, but it doesn't work. Why is everyone staring at him?
As he takes seat, Gwaine looks rather smug.
"Why did you do that?" Merlin whispers, eyes wide. "Now they're all looking at me!"
The knight briefly lays a hand on Merlin's arm, like a pat. "Oh, no reason, no reason ..." Gwaine responds mysteriously, ignoring how the prince is glaring daggers at him.
Merlin's gaze flickers around the hall. People have resumed eating and talking now but there a few eyes lingering on him. Arthur stares right back at him. Merlin really wishes he could have sat beside the Prince instead of the King ... he doesn't feel quite safe here. After a moment of staring, Arthur's face flushes, the prince squirming and Merlin feels a blush creep up his cheeks, and he averts his gaze.
The other pair of eyes on him are dark and cold and Merlin flinches, returning his focus to his plate. It's lord Guthrie. Merlin doesn't like the looks the man is giving him. Not at all.
()()()
It feels like hours before dinner is finally over, and the king stands. Merlin feels mentally exhausted, trying to sit there and smile and pretend to be fine when in fact he's terrified because he's sitting right next to the man who kills his kin, and has an overly talkative knight on his other side. (Gwaine's had so many cups of wine now there's a distinctive slur and nobody has gotten his jokes since the mention of the goat, and Merlin is subtly inching away from king Uther, because Gwaine is still a lot less horrifying.) People starts filing out of the hall. For a moment, Merlin's mind struggles to remember what Morgana had told him eight hours earlier about court and a proper lady's manners; is he supposed to linger with the king or can he take his leave or must he excuse himself first...?
"Are you all right?"
Merlin startles at the voice. He's not heard it for hours, and when he hears it he realizes he's kind of missed that voice's presence. "Y-yeah. Fine," he murmurs. Arthur's got an odd look, his smile tense, jaw clenched and he sounds slightly strained.
"Let me escort you back to your chambers."
"Okay."
Arthur gives him a pointed look, and it takes a couple of seconds before Merlin reacts and loops his arm around the Prince's offered one. No one raises an eyebrow, not even the king but Merlin tries not to delve on it. Instead, he lets Arthur lead him out of the hall, through the darkened corridors: evening has fallen, and the only light is provided by torches and candles. It's nice, this; walking so close to Arthur and the Prince's heat radiating around him and the feel of smooth silk against his skin; Merlin doesn't mind that the Prince pulls him closer and closer, their arms and legs brushing.
However, he feels Arthur tense up after a while and his breathing is rather short. "Arthur?" he asks quietly. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm fine. Here we are," Arthur says quickly to avoid the subject. It's wierd to lead his manservant to Morgana's chambers, of all places. (He usually avoids this part of the castle as much as he can. And he'd rather prefer leading Merlin to the Prince's chambers...) He pushes open the doors, then pauses in his tracks seeing a horde of maidservants waiting in the room: the fire's going, and nightclothes are being laid out.
One with some fabric tied around her hair, concealing it, approaches them with a faint smile on her lips. "Have you enjoyed your evening, Prince Arthur?"
The prince startles as he recognizes the voice. "Mor-" Arthur cuts himself off. There's a risk they're being overheard or watched. "I mean ..."
Morgana catches on and smoothly fills in: "Mori, that's my name. I'm glad you remember, sire." (With her sarcasm like that she sound really like an uncanny female version of Merlin when the manservant is in a bad mood, only a lot worse. Arthur shudders. Hopefully, hopefully Guthrie will leave Camelot soon. Maybe Arthur could come up with a good excuse to make said lord leave in a hasty manner ... )
Merlin's jaw works trying to form words, as he stares into the room, not listening to the prince and lady's conversation.
"Why ... why are all these maidservants here?" he asks finally, and Morgana smiles. Arthur recognizes it as her I-was-bored-and-needed-something-fun-to-do smile, which is also quite evil, and thinks he should fear for Merlin. He'll probably be subjected, the rest of the evening, to lots and lots of dresses and makeup and hair-styling and other girly things. He considers taking Merlin back to his own chambers, starting to steer Merlin away using their linked arms.
The women beats him to it, rushing forward and starting to fuss over Merlin who, to Arthur's annoyance, blushes and smiles nervously and lets them lead him into the room. Morgana smiles sweetly at the scowling prince. "We'll take it from here, Prince Arthur. The lady will be well taken care of."
"You, umm, don't have to do that," Merlin stutters when one of the women tugs him over to the vanity table chattering about hair and dresses. "I'll be fine doing it myself, really..." But his words are ignored.
Arthur doesn't look too convinced, but the doors is shut and locked in his face. He's sure that it's Morgana's faint laugh he can hear through the wood. Damn it.
()()()
Merlin doesn't feel too convinced.
The nightgown feels far too decorative and thin and soft, so smooth it's like wearing nothing so he keeps smoothing the material against his sides just to make sure it's still there. And the white embroidered ... stockings ... things Morgana has forced him to wear in addition to the short nightgown, leaving half of his thighs bare, makes his face keeps flushing because he's wearing something like that. It just doesn't seem all that necessary to keep up the charade.
But Morgana is stubborn and has handpicked these handmaidens just like the clothes, and therefore (though they take pity and pat his head like he was a kicked puppy) they won't let him wear something simple to bed and they keep fussing over him with small smiles on their faces. It takes seemingly hours before the maids leave, with the promise to be back tomorrow morning with a hot refreshing bath.
"Is all this really necessary?" Merlin asks carefully as he's shooed into the bed. Admittedly it's kind of nice; he's never felt so pampered in his life, and the bed is very comfortable: he sinks into it with a sigh of pleasure. It's a huge difference from where he usually sleeps. But still. The whole day has been rather overwhelming, and sleeping like he would in his own chambes would at least bring some normality into the evening. He looks at Morgana pleadingly. "I could sleep on the floor or something, I shouldn't-"
Morgana gives him a disapproving glare, so Merlin wisely shuts up.
Eventually it's just him and a candle on the nightstand left. Unable to resist, Merlin snuggles into the pillows. Within minutes he's fast asleep.
()()()
Morning dawns bright and cheerful. Well, for some people anyway.
"Er," Merlin says. "Is ... is it really necessary?"
Morgana rolls her eyes. "You can't feel that fresh from yesterday night and you want to make a good impression, don't you? Walking into the great hall stinking and with yesterday's makeup still on your face won't do that."
In vain, Merlin tries to cover his body, clinging to the towel and inching backwards, but Morgana grabs his upper arm with a surprisingly strong voice. "Honestly," she says with shake of her head. "Don't be so modest. I can't see what's there to be ashamed of." She shares a look with the two maids present, "Why don't you fetch more water?"
The maids nod as one and stifle their giggles as they exit the room.
Somehow Morgana manages to coax Merlin into the bathtub, turning her back briefly to give him enough privacy to move. She hides her smug smirk as she turns around, when Merlin sinks into the water, so that she won't embarrass him too much. Oh, the boy is so innocent, it's a wonder he's made it this far in Camelot without getting deflowered by one of the knights, more forward citadel guards or the Prince - though it might have something to do with said prince's threat to cut off the crown jewels of whoever dares lay a hand on his manservant. Oh, Arthur, Morgana thinks. You never fail to amuse me.
There's a knock on the door. A muffled voice carries through it. "Mer- err, Morgana, may I come in?"
With a sharp intake of breath, Merlin wraps his arms around his torso and pushes his knees up tightly against his chest, frantically hissing "No! Don't open, please!" - pleading and red-faced. Morgana smirks and opens the door a few inches, not enough for anyone passing by in corridor to see into the room clearly, but Arthur stands right on the doorstep and from this angle he gets a glimpse of a pair of naked, wet knees glistening in the candlelight. He swallows audibly.
"Sire, what a surprise," 'Mori the handmaiden' greets him. "The lady is currently occupied with her bath."
Arthur does not try to look behind Morgana, at the tub from where he can hear movements of water and an inquiring, "Arthur? Is that you?"
"Oh - I, err, I shall get going, uhm. Yes. I'll, err, see you later."
Arthur does absolutely not steal a glance over his shoulder as he turns and leave. Absolutely. Not.
()()()
What is it with the court and feasts?
They never seem to get enough of them, these royals. Merlin thinks they ought to have a grand headache after so much wine, and they shouldn't be able to stomach all that food, but seemingly they can't get enough of either. It's not humanly sane.
Tonight it will be even grander; with music and song and a longer night than the previous, so the dress Merlin is presented with is even more decorative than the one he wore yesterday. All right, he must admit, it is very beautiful and the fabric looks so fine, he barely dares to touch it. (But since Morgana threatens to force him into the hall in nothing if he doesn't wear it, Merlin complies. Morgana is dangerous when she's angry.)
"It suits you so well," the handmaiden gushes, a happy grin on her face as she holds up the flowy garment against Merlin's body. It's not Morgana, but one of the many girls who've gladly accepted to help him this week: she's incredibly energetic and chipper, a girl Merlin normally would've liked talking to and being friends with, but his situation is too awkward now for him to share the girl's enthusiasm.
"The colour matches your eyes so well and I love the details. Gwen has truly undone herself this time!"
Somehow he manages to put it on, but it's quite a struggle. Noticing how long he's taking behind the dressing screen, the maiden hurries to help with the lacings and Merlin can't for the world understand why women wears these kind of complicated things every day, and he's incredibly glad he doesn't have to help Arthur into this because it'd take ages to figure things out. (Besides, imagining Arthur in a dress is weird, to understate matters.)
At least there's just one maid and not a horde of them. They're all nice and Merlin recognizes half of them, having seen them around the castle before, but doesn't know them very well and it's, well, awkward having a group of almost-strangers help you squeeze into female articles of clothing.
Honestly. He deserves a pay rise and a long holiday without weird things happening.
"Oh, I almost forgot! Please, stay here, I'll be back in a minute." Suddenly the handmaiden rushes out of the room and Merlin is left seated at the vanity table. Now when no one is there to reprimand him, he absently scratches that itchy spot in his side, idly wondering what Arthur is doing right now.
Does another servant cater him now that Merlin is unavailable? Hopefully it's not a too good servant. Not that Merlin has anything against any other servants, but what if Arthur realizes how quiet and obedient other servants can be compared to Merlin and decides to replace him permanently? Or what if the temporary servant can't find his red jacket for tonight, or serves him wine to breakfast every morning? Arthur hates having wine for breakfast. He'll be insufferable if he drinks too early or if his precious clothing goes astray.
Oh, the warlock just wants to leave this room and hurry to Arthur's chambers to make sure the prat isn't putting on his clothes inside out and that his armour is polished and that he's comfortable so he won't be too hard on the knights during training, and maybe, maybe just a little he wants to make tiny sabotages for the temporary servant, to assure he'll keep his position after this whole craziness is over. If it's ever over. Anxiously, Merlin bites his bottom lip. There has been no word that lord what's-his-face will leave Camelot anytime in the near future. What if this lasts for weeks or months?
A couple of minutes later, the woman returns with sir Gwaine in tow. The knight eyes Merlin like in shock, and the maid is forced to nudge his side to pull him out of his dreamlike state. The man coughs pointedly behind a hand. "Mori asked me to escort you to the hall. If you let me, m'lady?"
Merlin wrinkles up his nose at the title. "Yes, but drop the lady thing, please. I'm being humiliated enough as it is!"
Gwaine, having resumed his usual posture, grins and sidles over to the table. Casually he picks up a small flower from one of the many bouquets spread about the room, and places it behind Merlin's ear, causing the warlock to blush. "I wouldn't dare offend you." He offers his arm gentlemanly, winking. "M'lady? May I escort you to the Hall?"
Unable to resist, the servant hits his arm. "I said you'd drop that!"
He doesn't acknowledge his blush or the flower, because the though just makes him blush more.
"Can't help it," the knight says, defending himself. "Not when there is a lovely lady in front of me."
With a sigh, Merlin takes the stubbornly held out arm. Gwaine is hopeless sometimes. Merlin guesses he'll have some harsh weeks ahead trying to pick up the shreds of his dignity and put them together. The pair takes their leave, the maid lingering behind giggling as she lays out the 'lady's' nightgown on the bed. She's got a feeling that tonight is going to be exciting.
()()()
Dinner is nice. The food is warm and perfect and Merlin tastes some flavours he's never had the chance to before. This time he got a seat between the King and sir Leon, and Leon never gets as drunk as Gwaine which is nice, although Merlin is starting to get tired of being called lady and having the men fuss over him, offer him their arms and pull out chairs for him and whatnot, and Merlin's face still has an awful habit of getting red and hot. But all in all it's not bad.
But then three musicians picks up their instruments and the king stands to announce it's time for dancing. Dancing. Merlin never thought there'd be dancing! Morgana hasn't taught him anything about it and he's never danced in his entire life! Just how is he supposed to do this without looking like a bumbling fool?
Maybe he could just sit here and smile and look happy, and people will ignore him? Hopefully. So he tries that tactic, looking as small and unimportant as possible, sinking into the chair. Smile, smile.
Arthur immediately notices, when seeing that everyone else have stood and reached the dance floor while Merlin remains sitting.
"May," the prince says with a hint of nervousness, "may I have a dance with you?"
Merlin smiles awkwardly. "Thanks, but, I'd rather not."
"Nonsense," Arthur says, waving a hand. He persistently holds out his other for the servant to take. "I'm sure you're a good dancer - better than most peasants, anyway." It sounds like somewhere between an insult and compliment in true Arthur-fashion. When Merlin doesn't agree or respond, Arthur presses on; "Fine, I could always let someone else dance with you. I don't care. And not when you step on their feet, it's your problem, their problem, not mine."
Merlin looks at him hoping to convey that he's not good and would most of all like to retire or sink into the ground, but Arthur doesn't get it. "Come on then." And Arthur doesn't admit it out loud, but he's getting very impatient now, and he nudges Merlin's chair with his foot.
With a sigh, he takes the offered hand. It's warm and the palm fits neatly with his, fingers entwining.
"I'll look like an idiot," Merlin mutters, reluctantly letting the prince lead him to the open floor where the tables have been cleared from the area. He's too annoyed to notice the expression of triumph on Arthur's face. "If I fall flat on my face, it's your fault. Completely your fault. Just like this stupid plan ..."
Arthur grins. "You'll be fine. Here, lay a hand on my shoulder." Merlin does and the prince grabs his other hand, and guides him into the beat of the music: at least it's slow a dance - any faster and Merlin would've tangled his legs together at once. People keep looking at them and Merlin lowers his eyes, trying to avoid the gazes. (Is there something on his face? Is he doing this wrong? He really must be looking like an idiot ... )
After a while, he finds himself relaxing. It's not that bad, really. The music flows around him and Arthur doesn't complain (much) when Merlin accidentally (for the third time) steps on his foot (the "Why are you bumbling so much? Watch your step!" doesn't count). Somehow they manage to go through the whole song without crashing into another dancing couple or a piece of furniture. The dress tonight is wide and soft and he doesn't have to take such short, restricting steps and the fabric isn't itchy against his skin: in fact, he rather likes it, the silk pressing against his body and the gentle, firm grip of his hand and the palm resting against the low of his back, slowly inching him closer to the prince's body, ghosting their forms together, their contours fitting almost perfectly. No, it's not bad at all, even if Arthur still is a prat.
One song passes into another and the minutes trickle together, and Arthur shows no sign of letting him go. Merlin doesn't mind, and when he glances up at the prince, seeing Arthur looking back at him with half-closed, intense eyes, he has this sudden silly urge to maybe press himself flush close against the prince so he can feel the buds on Arthur's jacket through the dress, and touch the man's strong chin with his lips-
Blushing furiously, Merlin tears his gaze away, turning to look in some other direction. Why was he thinking that? Arthur didn't ... No, the prat probably just was dancing with him to keep up the charade or ... something. Arthur wouldn't like if Merlin ... It didn't make sense if he would!
At the end of the fifth song, unwillingly Merlin edges out of the prince's grip, the thoughts refusing to let him go. A shadow passes over Arthur's face. "Merlin?" the prince whispers so that no one else can hear. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I-I'm tired," Merlin says feebly. "Could we stop? Please?"
Arthur doesn't look pleased and suddenly, he's tense, almost like he's angry. But he concedes. "All right."
When his hands drop, they leave a rapidly growing cold, shadowy imprint of a touch on Merlin's waist; Merlin wants his hands back there, where they felt good, like they belonged. Only, such a thought doesn't help his blush or awkwardness and his embarrassment heightens when, as he takes seat by the table again, the King notices and asks if he's all right. At Merlin's quick nod, Uther smiles kindly (it's a kind of scary look on his face, to Merlin) like sensing that he's absolutely not all right, and suggests Merlin should retire. The servant jumps at the chance of escape.
"I'll let my son escort you to your chambers," the King says, and Merlin's pulse picks up and his palms go sweaty and hot-cold-hot. But Uther is the king so he can't protest, even when Arthur smirks smugly as he offers his arm to the 'lady'.
"This is your fault," Merlin mutters quietly. "You prat."
()()()
"We'll take it from here, sire," the handmaiden says when they appear in the doorway five minutes later. The girl isn't quite able to conceal her giggle at seeing the prince's hand entwined with Merlin's.
Arthur slowly lets him go. "Of course. I, uhm." Eyes flickering to meet Merlin's. "Good night."
"… Good night, Arthur."
()()()
Getting out of the dress is as much of a fight as it was getting into it. Merlin can't understand how women stand all these complicated procedures. Eventually he's clad in a nightgown and the candles are being put out. The maid keeps chattering and asks about the feasts. Word by word she even manages to make Merlin talk about the dancing, and his thoughts starts wandering, so he might have admitted that bit about Arthur being a dollophead out loud. The maid smiles and insert comments and giggles in moments that makes Merlin's blush worse, and he wonders if he'll any day be able to forget about these last few horrible (or not so horrible) days.
He crawls into the bed, burying his face in the pillows. They're so soft and comfortable. Could he convince the prince to give him a pay rise after this is over, maybe? Then he could afford buying a pillow like this. Mmm.
The handmaiden blows out of the last candle and leaves, the door gently clicking shut. After a couple of minutes, Merlin starts shifting. He can't sleep, lingering between dreams and wakefulness for several minutes. There's ... something. Like. A feeling, slowly creeping up on him, up his spine, chilling him; he hugs the covers closer, eyes opening. The room is dark and foreboding, and he feels suddenly very lonely and vulnerable.
Abruptly, he tenses up. There. A rustle! Cloth being moved, something moving. Nearby. Merlin gulps, and slowly begins to turn, gaze searching the chamber wildly for any kind of sign, but there's nothing. Nothing ... His shoulders relax. There's nothing ...
Another rustle, faint but still there. Merlin doesn't dare to breath. His neck turns so he's looking directly upwards, into the canopy of the curtained bed.
He barely has time to react as he sees the knife.
()()()
He might have lingered far longer than he should have outside the lady's chamber doors before starting to walk back to the feast, but he could not help it, and afterwards he's very glad he did.
When the shriek reaches his ears, Arthur jerks into action, grabbing his sword and rushing through the corridors retracing his footsteps. He calls for the guards to help him: they leave their posts and are right on his heels when he slams open the door to Morgana's chambers, thundering into the room, sword glinting dangerously and eyes burning with concern, ire.
"Merlin!" he shouts, heart in his throat; "Are you all ri-iii-..."
The prince's words die on his lips, eyes widening as he sees the servant, and the guards does too, first stopping instinctively as their commander does. But then they see what Arthur sees. The nightgown has slipped from the left shoulder and Merlin's arms are bare, just like his thighs, but from beneath the blankets Arthur can see the beginning of pair of long beautiful legs, wearing some kind of stockings that still reveals skin through the embroidery. Merlin grabs for the blanket, pulling it closer up to his body. "A-Arthur," he squeaks.
"Uh - there's - err, y-you screamed. Err, intruder," Arthur manages to gasp out. He exhales, inhales deeply and turns his head sharply toward the guards, glaring when seeing their blatant stares. He points at the unconscious body by the foot of the bed. "You two! Grab him and take him to the dungeons immediately."
"Yessire!"
The guards scurry to comply, partly because of the Stare-one-moment-longer-and-I'll-gauge-your-eyes-out-glare which the prince sends them, which could easily send them to their too-early deaths.
Finally, Arthur manages to take in the rest of the scene: the rumpled bedding, the pillow on the floor next to the assassins' head, the fallen candle-stand, the ripped bed curtains. The knife buried in the mattress, in the centre where the bed's occupant was resting just minutes ago. Horrified, Arthur asks; "What happened?"
"I'd just fallen asleep when I heard this noise, and I looked up and he was kind of ... hanging in the ceiling above me. Brandishing a knife. So, I, well ...you know." The warlock gestures at the ceiling above the bed, visible between layers of curtains. There's an odd human-shaped burn-mark staining the stone; Merlin makes a sign Arthur thinks he's supposed to interpret as 'magic' but it could as well mean 'fireworks' or 'donkey' - "And then he fell down and I knocked him out will a pillow."
"You defeated him ... with a pillow?"
"Err, yeah. But it worked!"
Normally Arthur would've smacked his lips and shook his head at the servant's incredulous ways, but now Merlin is sitting there dressed so skimpily and the prince has a strong urge to run his hands over those beautiful half-naked legs, so his response is more of a croak than anything. "Idiot," he mutters, walking forward unable to hinder himself.
Merlin's skin is very smooth, warm and soft beneath his palm. He runs his thumb in circles on the right thigh, just above the stocking, the edge of his palm catching the material. He pauses briefly when he notices Merlin's hitching breath and looks up to see the servant's eyes flicker closed. Liking this reaction and thus growing bolder, Arthur lowers his head to kiss the spot he just touched, and Merlin mewls and melts beneath him. "A-Arthur."
The prince presses feather light kisses up the thigh and reaches the edge of the nightgown, nose brushing into silk, but just then footsteps echo in the corridor. Arthur forces himself up and distances himself quickly, neck warm and spine tingling but he manages to put himself together enough to not give away any hints of what's been going on; Merlin isn't that good at hiding stuff, especially with a heavy blush like that, and he feebly wraps the covers around himself again.
"Sire! We heard-!" Gwaine, Leon, Percival and seemingly the whole group of Knights of the Round Table are suddenly crowding the doorway. "Is everything all right?" Leon asks, seeing the mess of the room.
Arthur's voice is firm and professional. "Yes, everything is fine now."
"Merlin! You're not hurt are you?" Percival asks worriedly.
The warlock shakes his head, still trembling from the prince's unexpected touches. "I'm fine."
The knight however mistakes his tiny shaking and wavering voice as fear and strides into the room, reaching the bed with three steps; "We should get you to Gaius." He grows pale when seeing the knife. "Right now." He makes to lift Merlin up but Arthur beats him to it, one arm slipping beneath Merlin's knees, the other around his shoulders.
Admittedly, it's kind of nice to be carried like this. Not though as much when he's dressed like this and has no cover anymore and the knights are staring at him. Arthur senses the tensing of Merlin's posture and drapes his jacket over Merlin, covering as much as possible, and walks as quickly as he can. When they enter the physician's chambers, Gaius is already awake, and doesn't even look surprised.
"Is anyone injured?" he asks. "Merlin?"
"I'm fine," Merlin says indignantly, arms crossed. Arthur puts him down on the bed in front of the hearth, his hand lingering on Merlin's knee.
"I never trust that word, especially when he's saying it," the prince mutters.
"I'm fine. The knife barely touched me." He shows his wrist, because there's the tiniest of scratches, it's hardly a nick in the skin. But, of course, that doesn't help to soothe anyone at all.
Elyan, Leon and Gaius (who hasn't heard all details yet) go berserk, of course. "Knife? There was a knife?" and Gwaine threatens to cut off the assassin's limbs one by one and offers to do the interrogations himself, which Arthur doesn't agree to because that'd not lead them anywhere, only leave them with a mutilated body. No, they need strong evidence that this is Lord Guthrie's work, thus they need the assassin alive. (Even if Arthur would like the assassin dead and Lord Guthrie to burn in the fires of the prince's wrath.)
The physician takes the wrist, muttering, "I'll put a salve on this." Then he turns to search through one of the shelves.
"I'm all right."
"Just sit and do as the physician says, Merlin," Arthur says, pushing Merlin back when the servant attempts to stand.
"I don't need getting patched up."
Gaius returns with the salve and makes a shoo-shoo-motion with his hands, herding the knights toward the door. "Out you lot. I have no room here for a bunch of knights."
"But," Arthur says - he's cut off.
"You should go and inform your father, sire, of these events."
The prince nods distractedly, "Yes," and glances at his manservant. "You'll make sure he's ... Right, Gaius?"
The physician nods gravely. "I will, sire. You needn't worry." The words are serious and a promise Arthur will hold him to, so, certain that Merlin is in safe hands, Arthur takes his leave (leaving a guard behind. Just in case.)
"I'm fine, Gaius!" Merlin says for the umpteenth time, "Arthur is just exaggerating. I'm not hurt." Why isn't anybody listening to him? The knights, the prince, Gaius - they're all so stubborn! He's fine; he can't even feel the small injury, so why do they have to make such a fuss about it? "Argh, why are you making such a big deal out of it? I'm not weak you know, I defended myself, I defeated the assassin! Can't you just listen to me for once without - ouch! That stings."
He's ignored. Gaius rubs the salve onto the skin, causing it to itch and pain slightly. When Merlin raises his hand to scratch at it the physician stops him with a stern look.
"This is all the prat's fault," Merlin mutters darkly. "I could've had a normal week, and instead I'd to get forced into dresses and makeup and dances with dollophead. This is so stupid. Why couldn't they've picked a real girl instead of me? It'd be so much simpler. And then I'd not be blushing all the time and people wouldn't look at me so much."
"I'm not sure, Merlin," his mentor replies, not able to hide his amusement. This whole thing is quite hilarious. He's not seen events this bemusing and exciting for years. This will be a fond memory, and he's sure that in a few years Merlin will realize this too. "I think you've played the part extremely well. It's not every day you get a chance of defeating an assassin while wearing women's clothing."
"That's exactly the problem! Because of these stupid clothes people will never treat me normally again! Can I get out of this now? Please?" Merlin asks pleadingly, tugging at his clothes.
He's not mentioning the fact they feel quite good against his skin and he feels actually beautiful in it, and that he quite likes the way Arthur looks at him when he's wearing this stuff. No, he doesn't want to think about that, or his ears will soon fall off because of overheating. "Where are my regular clothes? And my neckerchief? I need my neckerchief."
Gaius raises a curious eyebrow. "Now?"
"Yes, now!"
()()()
The following few days are very strange. His old clothes are back and he's sleeping in his real chambers and once again eating Gaius' gruel (and Arthur's leftovers). None of it can really compare to the smooth silks and warm beddings and people's general fussing over him of the last few day. He kind of ... misses it. A little bit.
The touches, however, are still there. Arthur's hand lingering on his lower back. Arthur coming up to him not to berate but to stroke his arm or, like yesterday, gently touch his cheek, his jaw. Sometimes Merlin wonders what's going through the prince's head. The gazes still are there. Not only from Arthur, though, but from practically the whole court.
Merlin isn't sure which one is first: Camelot learning that lord Guthrie tried to murder lady Morgana, or Camelot learning that lady Morgana was in fact Merlin pretending to be her and thus saving her life.
Anyhow, soon enough both of these facts spread through the court and the rest of the city like wild fire through grass, and two days after lord Guthrie's punishment, Merlin can't walk through a corridor without having people walking up to him and thanking him, or in some men's case, complimenting him. It's actually flirting, but Merlin doesn't catch on, much to the men's disappointment. The head cook, who usually chases him around with the rolling pin, now lets him be in her kitchen as much as he wants and this morning he was presented with a bucketload of sweet pastries just for him.
At first it's confusing, but not bad, to finally be recognized for something (even if he'd rather be recognized as Prince Arthur's saviour thanks to him being a powerful warlock and doing epic things, than as a crossdressing manservant). The King himself has been acting weird and kind after this. But after a while, Merlin starts getting ... edgy with the whole affair; he doesn't mind people being nice to him, but why they have the need to mention dresses all the time is beyond him, and he just wants an afternoon in peace without people bestowing him with gifts and thanks left and right.
So when Merlin finds the parcel on his bed, he's not completely startled.
"Who's this from?" he wonders aloud, searching around and eventually finding a note, which only states 'Use with care. -G&M'. Intrigued, Merlin opens it.
It's a dress. Several of them in fact. All the garments he's worn when posing as a lady. He's shocked, but can't subdue the thrill rushing through his body and with an excited squeal, he picks the first garment up (the long, red one) and holds it close against his body, the silk very inviting, and he glances at the door: Gaius is out on errands, and he's got an hour or so before he should be serving Arthur: he's got a few minutes to try them out ...
This is how Arthur finds him, an hour later, yelling while looking for his wayward servant: Merlin, trying to tie some difficult silky laces with the help of a knob in the wall.
"Merl...! Oh. Oh."
The prince grabs his unhinged jaw and pushes it back into place, and Merlin fails to hide his blush. "Err...Arthur," he squeaks. "I. Uhm." he gestures at the opened parcel, hoping to convey that It's a gift and I couldn't help myself.
Then Arthur says, "You're supposed to bring me dinner." It's somewhat far-away. The prince's eyes are fixed on the servant's neckline.
"Err. Sorry I'm late."
"But ... That's all right. Very much all right - I'll find my own meal," the prince murmurs and closes the door. It clicks shut and Merlin finds himself frozen and then Arthur's hands are resting on his hips, warm and broad and Merlin feels all tingly and hot, thinking about other places those hands could be. "You surprise me sometimes, Merlin. Really, you do. You're far a better lady than I could ever have imagined..."
"... thanks? I guess ..."
"But never, never agree to such a stupid plan again," Arthur says heatedly, clasping Merlin's hands in his own tightly. "I don't want to risk you getting hurt."
The servant opens his mouth to complain that it's actually Arthur's fault he was in that position to begin with, and that as a servant he can't really disobey an order from the King without dire consequences, is drowned i a soaring kiss.
This lady business isn't so bad after all.