Chapter Text
They say that Queen Ygraine died the moment the babe was born, as if the child had stolen the breath right from her lungs. It was a scrawny little red thing, and seemed too stunned by its arrival in this world to even so much as cry. With all attention on the queen, the babe was left to a lonely midwife’s assistant, who firmly swatted its back, trying to bring about a cry. Babes that came silent into the world were not long for it, she knew.
As time ticked on, it became clear that the queen would not be revived, and all fell silent. They looked away, out of respect for both the silent queen and the king, who had insisted on being present for the birth. Upon realizing that his wife was truly lost to him, King Uther, always so composed, fell to his knees and wept. His heart-wrenching cries were the only sound in the room, echoing around the high ceiling, until a weak cough interrupted. The babe, finally roused by the midwife’s assistant, coughed mucous from little lungs, and then began to howl. Even King Uther fell silent, suddenly made aware that the world had not truly ended, despite the death of Ygraine.
“The child?” He asked in a watery voice, sounding weary beyond his years.
“A girl, Your Grace,” said the assistant.
“A girl.” The king bowed his head, and spoke no more.
Later, when a nursemaid had been found and the king’s tears had long since turned to rage, he gave the child a name.
“Arthur,” he said. “For I shall have no son.”
The protests of his advisors fell on deaf ears. The one who dared suggest he remarry was arrested, sent to rot in the dungeons until an appropriate crime could be assigned and punished.
“I shall have no son,” the king repeated, and no one dared to speak. “Arthur will be my heir.”
Arthur, who had been silent through the naming, began to whimper. “Take her,” said the king to the nursemaid, who quickly stepped forward to collect the babe. The king could hardly bear to look at the infant, being reminded too much of the queen. The naming, for which no religious authority was present, was the first time the king had seen the babe since the day of her birth. He had been otherwise occupied, enacting his revenge on what was now to be referred to as the Old Religion: magic and its gods.
Those in the lower town, the peasants to whom the filth ran down, whispered that the city stank of blood and death. Those nearer the castle noted, but would never risk saying, that the stones were stained brown with it, soaked in too deep to be scrubbed out. The king’s heir, known in rumors as the child who did not cry, was seen by many as an ill-fated omen, the bringer of death and destruction to Camelot.
Arthur, of course, heard nothing of these rumors. Her early years were filled with nursemaids and wooden blocks, soft-sung lullabies and hand-painted walls. She knew little of her father. Every year, her likeness to the queen only grew. The king spent little time with his heir, but, true to his word, had her educated in politics and diplomacy, geography and war, language and philosophy. Arthur was to be Crown Prince, and she would be raised as appropriate to her station. When the king took a ward, the young daughter of his friend and vassal, fallen in battle, the two girls grew close. There were seldom other children in the castle, even rarer appropriate playmates for royalty, so Arthur and Morgana spent much time together. Arthur, all of twelve years old, soon realized that Morgana lived a very different life than she did. Gana sat in with Arthur for lessons in diplomacy and etiquette, but was gently denied Arthur’s other lessons and explicitly forbidden from learning the art of the sword.
When asked, Arthur’s tutor told her that Morgana was to receive a lady’s education, appropriate to her position in the court. “Swordplay,” he said, “is not an appropriate activity for a young lady.”
Arthur had scrunched up her face and asked, “Am I not a young lady?” A difficult question, indeed.
“You have different responsibilities,” was all he would say, no matter how hard Arthur pressed.
After that, though, she started to notice that people treated her differently than Morgana. They were dressed differently, too. Arthur, in fact, was only dressed in gowns like Morgana’s for very formal occasions. Otherwise, she wore a strange hybrid: a gown, shorter than Morgana’s but longer than the tunics of the court lords, with hose and boots below. Her hair was styled differently than Morgana’s, tied back, rather than braided and pulled up under a veil. She was not gifted delicate jewelry like Morgana’s, and she was not encouraged to float around and smile, the way Morgana was.
When Morgana was 12 and Arthur 14, she attended her first execution. Morgana, being both young and a lady, was not invited to attend. Arthur, being apparently neither, was ordered to. She sat at the right hand of the king, feeling ill. She had heard executions before through her window, and had no wish to witness one firsthand. Uther’s favorite method of execution for treason had been, lately, burning at the stake. The accused, Arthur noted, looked very guilty indeed: his skin was inked with swirls and symbols, no doubt evidence of his devilish powers. As he was led and tied to the stake, the man had the audacity to spit at the king; Arthur scowled, which caught his attention. She shuddered under his gaze.
“Any last words, sorcerer?” Uther asked in a booming voice. Geoffrey, the librarian, was present and waiting to record the last words of the damned, which was their one right and their last chance to profess innocence (which was a lie, of course – Arthur knew that sorcerers told only lies). This man, though, merely spat once more, saying, “You have made many enemies, Uther Pendragon, and your kingdom will pay the price. The child,” and Arthur imagined with horror that he would be pointing at her, were his arms not restrained, “was an omen. The silent child has grown into the woman-prince. You’ve fed well this demon, while your kingdom suffers.” And he laughed.
Uther’s voice was cold when he ordered them to start the fire.
Arthur did not wish to watch, but found herself frozen to the spot, unable to look away.
On rare (but increasing) occasions, the family would have a private dinner. Uther, at the head of the table, with Arthur on his right and Morgana, family in spirit, on his left. They had little to speak of, so, most often, the air was filled with Morgana’s prattle: her current embroidery project, the brightly colored bird she saw in the garden, a poem she’d recently learned, and other such things. The night after Arthur’s first execution, however, the air was somber.
“Father, why did he say those things?” Arthur asked, unsure whether to be angry or frightened.
Uther shook his head. “Magic corrupts, Arthur. Sorcerers are insane and mad with power. They’ll say and do anything to cause harm. Don’t ever listen to them.”
“Yes, but why did he call me—”
“Arthur!” The king’s voice was sharp. “Listen not to the words and superstitions of sorcerers. They can do nothing but lie.”
“What did he say?” Morgana asked, though neither paid her any attention.
Arthur nodded. “Yes, Sire.” She hesitated. “Why does Camelot have no princess?” She asked, not willing to ask directly what she wanted to know.
“Morgana is my ward,” he said. “The title of princess is for the daughter of the king, Arthur, you know this.”
That was not what Arthur had been asking, and they both knew this.
“My title is Crown Prince,” Arthur said.
“You are my only heir, Arthur.”
“Yes, but—”
Uther sighed. “Why must you be obstinate, Arthur? Camelot has no princess because you are my son and heir,” he said, obviously growing frustrated. “My daughter,” he amended with a weary sigh. “But my heir, nonetheless.”
Arthur nodded, looking away to hide her face. Morgana looked between them both, wide-eyed. She was clever, much cleverer than Arthur, even at twelve, and knew exactly how to diffuse the situation. She paid more attention in their diplomacy classes, perhaps. After a pause to let the dust settle, she made her move.
“I watched the knights training today, Sire,” she said, voice carefully bright. “They’re ever so good. The best in the world, I would imagine. I remember the last tournament we hosted; I don’t believe that any of the competitors had much of a chance at all. Do you suppose we’ll have another soon?”
And, thus, the subject was changed. Arthur, who would take command of the knights in just two years, would normally jump on the chance to talk about them, but said nothing tonight.
“Excuse me, Sire, My Lady,” she said, standing. “I don’t feel well. I believe I’ll retire for the night.”
She waited long enough for Uther to wave a hand in acceptance, then bowed and made her way back to her room. She was quickly joined by her maid, one of her former nursemaids who still seemed to think of Arthur as a toddling infant.
“I won’t need any assistance tonight,” Arthur said, wanting to be alone. “Go away,” she growled when the woman hesitated.
She frowned, but bowed and left with a quiet, “Yes, Your Highness,”
Morgana had a lady’s maid, an older woman who had been hired when she first arrived, as well as a whole troupe of ladies in waiting, all young women. The youngest, Guinevere, was close in age to Morgana herself, and Arthur knew they were growing close. She tried not to let it upset her. Arthur had no ladies in waiting, and her lady’s maid was as old as Uther himself. Arthur considered Morgana to be a beloved (if irritating) little sister, but she couldn’t help feeling lonely at times. She trained with the knights, some of whom had squires her age, but they were all either too afraid to speak to the crown prince or laughed at her behind her back. The children of visiting nobles were much the same; they either found her odd or intimidating. Worse, still, was when they were nice to her, but clearly only to gain favor with her father.
Arthur would never admit to thinking it, but she hated her father sometimes. She knew he wanted a son, and his words tonight had made it clear that Arthur might as well be a son, in Uther’s eyes. She didn’t understand why he had made her this half-thing, neither man nor woman. It must be so easy to be Morgana, she thought, or, even better, to be one of the peasant boys she saw when she snuck out to the market. What did they do all day, she wondered. Carry sacks of flour? Sweep? Play at swords with sticks in the street?
When Arthur’s wallowing had just about sent her to sleep, there was a quiet knock on the door. She pulled the pillow over her head, not interested in whatever it was.
“Arthur!” Someone hissed through the door.
Morgana.
Arthur sighed and set aside the pillow. Morgana was not likely to give up anytime soon. Reluctantly, she dragged herself out of bed and over to the door, pulling it open just enough to usher Morgana inside.
“What do you want, Gana?” she asked, feeling very old and weary for her fourteen years.
“I want you to teach me to fight. With a sword.” Her arms were crossed, and her chin jutted out. There was no use arguing with her now.
“Right now?” Arthur asked.
“Everyone’s asleep,” she explained. “It has to be now. Come on!”
And so Morgana began learning the illicit art of the sword. She excelled, and Arthur knew that she practiced long after Arthur had retired for the night. Everything that Arthur learned with the knights, she passed on to Morgana under the cover of darkness. As Arthur’s role within the knights’ order became increasingly authoritative, she also learned things that she did not pass on to Morgana. The men respected her because of her title, she knew, but she also knew that most of them found her lacking. She heard whispers: they said it wasn’t appropriate to have a little girl leading the knights of Camelot (despite the fact that a real prince would have taken on this position at sixteen just the same), they said that she could never possibly be a real knight, for she simply didn’t have the strength for it, in their eyes. To compensate, Arthur found herself adopting increasingly masculine behavior around the knights. Her manner of speech changed, she laughed at jokes that she wanted to recoil at, and she became cruel, especially to the squires that had once laughed at her. Power and authority, however slight, were intoxicating, and Arthur pretended not to see the disappointment in Sir Leon’s eyes as she tormented the servants and young squires. It made the younger knights like her, the older knights laugh and remember their misspent youths, and, best of all, it was simply fun.
On one such occasion, Arthur found herself throwing daggers at the servant holding her target.
“I told you to keep moving!” she shouted, when the incompetent boy froze. She threw another. “Come on, run!”
The boy, clumsy and stupid, tripped and sent the target rolling. It landed at the feet of some peasant, and Arthur was just about to ask for it back, when the boy said, “Hey, come on. That’s enough.”
She almost laughed. “What?”
His eyes widened when she spoke. He had assumed she was a man, then? Good – maybe the shock would knock him back to reality.
But apparently not: “You’ve had your fun, my friend,” he said.
Then, she did laugh. “Do I know you?”
He sort of shook his head. “Er, I’m Merlin.”
She raised a brow. “So I don’t know you.”
He dropped the hand he had held out to shake. “No.”
“Yet you called me friend?”
His eyes narrowed. “That was my mistake.”
The knights behind her laughed, and Arthur felt her blood boil. How dare this stranger come and try to humiliate her? “Yes, I think it was.”
“Yeah,” the boy, Merlin, said. “I’d never have a friend who could be such an ass.”
Arthur gaped. By the time she recovered, Merlin was already walking away. “Nor I one who could be so stupid,” she called to his back. He stopped. Arthur grinned, knowing she had caught him now. “Tell me Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?”
He turned, eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Would you like me to help you?” she asked, sweetly.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Arthur almost rolled her eyes. “Why? What are you going to do to me?”
“You have no idea,” Merlin said, tilting his head down. He was really trying very hard to be intimidating, the poor sod. He couldn’t be any older than she, judging by the pitch of his voice, and he was thin as a rod, with gangly limbs to match.
“Be my guest,” she said with a laugh, spreading her arms wide. The young knights behind laughed and whooped. “Come on,” she taunted. “Come on!”
Merlin struck out with his fist, but, as Arthur suspected, he had no sense of balance. Arthur was able to easily wrangle his arm behind his back.
“I could have you in jail for that,” she hissed, infuriated by the audacity of this peasant boy.
He dared to huff a laugh, even in his current position. “Who do you think you are? The King?”
She grinned viciously. “No. I’m his heir, Arthur.”
One kick to the back of the knees had the boy down, and she tossed him aside. The guards, who had come over in the commotion, quickly hauled him off, hopefully to the dungeons.
Arthur shook her head. What an ass, she thought. He hadn’t even known who she was.
The trio of young knights jumped to her as soon as she turned back to them.
“That was wicked!”
“Stupid peasant learned a lesson today!”
“He’ll know his station now.”
She let them throw arms over her shoulders and laughed along with them, but her heart wasn’t in it. Something about that boy…
Later, in her chambers, Arthur let herself think about it. She didn’t know why she couldn’t get the scene out of her head. No one spoke to her that way, no one! Well, Morgana, sometimes, but that was different. And he had tried to hit her, as well, which was something she’d only just convinced the knights to do in training. Even then, they wouldn’t fight her unless she was kitted out head to toe in armor, not wanting to face Uther’s wrath if they hurt her – or worse, she knew they feared to so much as clap her on the shoulder without armor to help them forget she was, in theory, a lady of the court. Not that any of the knights had to fear that she would suddenly swoon if they so much as smiled at her. No, Arthur had long since realized that, whether due to her strange upbringing or her own inclinations (she had gone beet red upon being introduced to Morgana’s maid, Gwen, and still thought the girl was probably the most beautiful in Camelot), she was not likely to marry for anything but political alliance. Even then, she knew that few princes or lords would wish to marry a woman who would become king. She had never put much thought into it, not too upset by the realities, but now, she thought about Merlin. Infuriating and ill-stationed, but he did have quite a sweet face. He could grow into the ears, she supposed. She registered this vague attraction with a sort of apathetic surprise. She was a bit surprised to find that she found the boy attractive, but nothing would come of it, so it hardly mattered. And that was that.
When her maid woke her, Arthur was in a right strop. She’d never been a morning person, and it was worse when she’d spent much of the night thinking about stupid nonsense. She yelled at the maid for waking her, then yelled for making her late, then yelled for not setting out her armor the right way. Finally, the woman threw her arms up with a huff and dismissed herself from the room, which only further soured Arthur’s mood. Her father thought the former nursemaid would handle Arthur’s temper better than the last few maids, but obviously not.
It soothed her a bit when she looked out of her window to see Merlin in the stocks, being pelted with rotten vegetables.
After a long morning of dull meetings, hearing the complaints of the townspeople, Arthur had to suffer through lunch with Morgana and Uther, who berated her for making another maid quit.
Morgana, the little shit, was smug. At fifteen, she thought she knew everything and was the maturest person in every room. “Arthur, how crude of you. She was only doing her job, you know,” she said, batting her eyelashes sweetly.
Arthur resisted the urge to stick out her tongue, choosing instead to aggressively stab at the meat on her plate.
The day only started to look up when it was time for training. Arthur had gotten pleasantly sweaty and was just about to call for a new sparring partner, when she spotted Merlin, trudging across the field.
“How’s your knee-walking coming along?” she called, grinning as the younger knights howled with laughter.
“Aw, don’t run away!” she cried, when he didn’t look up.
He stopped and sighed. “From you?”
“Oh thank god! I thought you were deaf as well as dumb,” Arthur said, prompting another round of laughter.
“Look, I’ve told you you’re an ass,” Merlin said. “I just didn’t realize you were a royal one.”
Arthur gaped.
“What are you going to do?” Merlin asked, mockingly. “Get your daddy’s men to protect you?”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “I could take you apart with one blow,” she hissed.
“I could take you apart with less than that,” Merlin responded, voice dark.
“Are you sure about that?” She asked, cocking her head with a grin.
Behind her, the knights began to chant: “Fight, fight, fight!”
Merlin took off his jacket and she grinned. This would be fun.
Someone handed her a mace. She tossed it to Merlin. “Here you go.”
He didn’t catch it, but bent to pick it up and immediately began swinging with little skill and little strength.
She leaned back out of his range with a laugh. “I should warn you, I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”
Merlin’s eyes widened, but it didn’t look genuine. “Wow,” he said. “And how long have you been training to be a prat?”
“You can’t address me like that!” she cried, irritated but also somewhat gleefully surprised.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Merlin said, contrite. “How long have you been training to be a prat, My Lady? Or is it My Lord?” he asked. “I didn’t think women were allowed to be knights in Camelot.”
She bared her teeth. “They’re not,” she said, then started swinging.
Arthur was not yet the best swordsman in the knights order, but she was damn well close. Fighting Merlin took little skill. He stumbled, trying to block a blow, and fell to the ground.
“Need a hand?” She asked, teasingly.
“Oh god,” he grimaced, and started flailing around, looking for something to help.
He shoved a box into her shins, and Arthur stumbled a little. “Ow,” she said, more out of irritation than pain. Then a rope came out of nowhere, knocking her knees out from underneath her. She fell hard to the dirt, winded.
“Ready to give up?” Merlin asked, getting to his feet and grabbing the mace again.
“To you?” she laughed, standing and shaking herself out. She drew her sword again, and easily fended off Merlin’s swings with the mace. She almost had him, but then stepped backwards into something, and lost her balance, falling again to her ass. Her balance was normally fantastic – what on earth was going on?
Someone must have called Merlin, because he turned, looking away from her. Foolish. She grabbed the closest item – a broom – and whacked him with it, knocking him to the ground.
The guards rushed over, but she held up a hand. “Wait,” she said. “Let him go. He may be an idiot, but he’s definitely a brave one.” She squinted at him, trying to suppress a grin. “There’s something about you, Merlin, I just can’t quite put my finger on it…”
The rest of the training session went by as usual, and Arthur slipped away to her chambers before any of her father’s servants could catch her. He had been trying to introduce her to Lady Helen, whose visit was ostensibly to give a vocal performance, but Arthur harbored suspicions that her father intended to marry the woman. She wanted no part of any of it.
She could never escape Morgana, though, nor would she often try, so she was waiting in their training spot at the usual time when Morgana arrived.
“You’re late,” she said, matter of factly.
Morgana groaned. “My head is killing me. I haven’t slept well in days.”
Arthur frowned. “Nightmares again? I didn’t know they bothered you during the day.” Morgana had spoken for years of terrible dreams that woke her up at night. Gaius had a potion for it, but it seemed to do little.
She shook her head, then frowned. “No, they don’t bother me during the day. It’s just from the lack of sleep, I suppose.”
Arthur frowned. “Gana, we don’t have to do this tonight – go get some sleep.”
“No!” she cried, then took a deep breath. “No. Please, Arthur. I need this.”
She sighed, then handed over a sword. “If you say so. Come on, arms up.”
Morgana had fought well, but Arthur was still worried. She ended their session early, claiming fatigue.
“Will you go to Gaius? Please? There might be something else he can give you.”
Morgana rolled her eyes. “Not in the middle of the night. But yes,” she said, when it was clear Arthur was about to argue, “I will go in the morning. I hear he has a new apprentice, too, so it’ll give me an excuse to meet him.”
“I hadn’t heard,” said Arthur, absent-mindedly. Now that she had Morgana’s agreement, she focused on cleaning the practice swords.
Morgana hummed. “He’s cute, apparently. Gwen told me.”
Arthur absolutely did not feel a pang of jealousy at that. “Oh, well if Gwen said so,” she said, teasingly.
Morgana pouted. “You might agree! You’re such a bore these days, Arthur – you spend too much time with the knights.”
“What, because I won’t sit here and coo over the new apprentice with you? Gana, come on,” she huffed.
Morgana rolled her eyes again. It was an annoying new habit she’d picked up. “Yes,” she said, “You never spend time with me anymore. And the knights have you bullying the servants and telling crude jokes like a —” she cut herself off, but Arthur still caught it.
“What, Morgana? Like a man? Gee, I wonder why.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she said. “I just meant you’re nicer when you aren’t around them, that’s all.”
She huffed. “Right. I’m going to bed. Night, Gana.”
“Arthur!”
She ignored Morgana’s protests, not in the mood to baby her pseudo-sister right now. Tomorrow was the banquet for Lady Helen, and Arthur knew it would be draining – she wanted to at least be well rested before it started.
Well-rested, indeed. Forgetting that she had chased away her maid, Arthur hadn’t thought to ask anyone else to wake her, so the sun was high in the sky by the time her eyes finally opened.
“Oh, great.”
And with the banquet tonight, too, she would have to beg Morgana or one of her ladies to help get her appropriately dressed. Well, she would dress as usual for breakfast and figure the rest out later.
As it happened, it was more like lunch by the time she arrived at the kitchens. Luckily, Arthur had no obligations today, as she was meant to be preparing for the banquet. The kitchens, on the other hand, were bustling. Hardly anyone even looked up when she opened the door, and Arthur was left to a young kitchen maid, who gave a deep bow but looked highly annoyed.
“Your Highness,” she said, looking at the floor.
Arthur almost felt bad, now. “I was hoping for a spot of lunch?”
“Right away, Your Highness,” said the maid, but Arthur could tell she was annoyed. Well, they should get used to it. After all, she would be king one day, and then no one could complain about her requests.
After being sent off with a tray of meat and cheese, Arthur made her way to Morgana’s room, and entered without knocking.
She was perplexed by what she saw. Gwen, having a silent argument with someone wrapped in a cape. The cape was pulled aside to reveal –
“Merlin?” She asked, confused beyond belief.
“What? Arthur?” That was Morgana, behind the dressing screen.
She looked back, but the cape was empty – Merlin must have run off. Very strange. She raised a brow at Gwen, but Gwen just smiled prettily and shrugged.
Arthur decided to do the same. “I’ve brought food,” she announced.
Morgana’s head poked around the screen, eyes narrowed. “You’ve come to steal my maid, haven’t you?”
Arthur looked at Gwen and blushed, then coughed and said, “No, of course not. Just one of the ladies in waiting,” she mumbled.
Morgana laughed. “Poor Arthur, perhaps if you were nicer, you could keep a maid for longer than a month.”
She pulled a face, sticking her tongue out when she knew Morgana wouldn’t see. Gwen did, and she giggled, which made Arthur flustered.
Shoving a cube of cheese into her mouth, she attempted to change the subject quickly. “What are you wearing to the banquet?”
Morgana hummed. “I don’t know yet. What do you think?”
She stepped out in her dressing gown, holding up two options. “This is one of my favorites,” she said, “but this is new and glamorous.”
Arthur nearly choked on her cheese. “You are not wearing that, Gana.”
Morgana shot her a sour look. “And why not?”
“You’re fifteen!” Arthur exclaimed. “And you’re my baby sister!”
“That’s almost of age, anyways,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And what does that matter? I’m not asking you to wear it.”
Arthur shook her head. It was hopeless, now. She should have said she hated the other one, then Morgana would have chosen it out of spite. She locked eyes with Gwen, who just smiled and shrugged again. Obviously, she knew how stubborn Morgana could be.
“Fine,” Arthur sighed dramatically. “But don’t come crying to me when the lords all stare at you.”
Morgana grinned like a shark and darted behind the screen again. Gwen followed to help with the laces and buttons and such.
“And what will you wear?” Morgana asked, voice muffled as the gown was pulled over her head.
Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have as many gowns as you, so I’ll probably just go with whichever is in the front of the wardrobe.”
Morgana sighed. “Honestly, you’re hopeless. Wear the red one.”
“The red one. Why?” Arthur’s nose scrunched up.
“Because it suits you and I said so,” Morgana said. She couldn’t see her, but knew she was rolling her eyes.
“I can’t tie it once it’s on,” Arthur said, “so I’ll definitely need to borrow one of your ladies.”
Morgana waved a hand over the screen. “Yes, yes, fine. Go on, now, leave me be.”
Arthur laughed. “Fine, fine.”
Morgana’s ladies, when not in her presence, were usually in the antechamber, mending or doing whatever else their jobs entailed. Arthur knocked on the door and stuck her head in, somewhat sheepishly.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” she said. “I am in need of some assistance for this evening’s banquet, and find myself without a maid.” She tried to smile charmingly. Honestly, it wasn’t her fault that Morgana was the only girl she ever had any interaction with.
The ladies all looked at each other, had some sort of silent communication, then seemingly nominated one of them, who stood and bowed. “I’ll help, Your Highness.”
“Thank you,” Arthur said. She didn’t know any of their names, nor did she particularly care. She was sure Morgana did. Probably.
The banquet was not off to a good start. Morgana’s lady had dressed Arthur almost too well, and she felt entirely uncomfortable. She wasn’t seated at her usual place by her father, either, since they had guests, so she was stuck between two nobles. She could feel the Lord looking her up and down, as if trying to verify that she was, indeed, a woman. At least Morgana was across from her, which drew most of the attention. Morgana, despite what she might say, loved attention. She was wearing the dress that Arthur specifically told her not to, and she was reveling in the attention it drew. It made Arthur want to roll her eyes.
The whole thing was quite a bore, as Arthur expected. Her father eventually called attention to introduce Lady Helen, and Arthur couldn’t be more grateful. At least they would get a show.
As Lady Helen began to sing, Arthur began to nod off, which was both rude of her and, also, slightly humiliating. A sudden crash made her spring up, though, only to see that the chandelier had fallen directly onto Lady Helen. Everyone gasped, and Arthur stood to see if she was alright. She froze when the Lady began to push herself back up, only to throw a dagger directly at Arthur.
Arthur normally had exceptional reflexes, but she was so stunned and bewildered by the unexpected events that she didn’t react fast enough to dodge. Instead, she was grabbed and forcibly yanked into someone’s arms, watching with wide eyes as the dagger impaled itself to the hilt in the chair where she was just sitting.
Arthur turned, jaw slack, to see, of all people, Merlin, looking equally surprised.
“Release her at once!” Uther’s cry made Arthur realize that she was still pressed against Merlin’s chest. She quickly freed herself, then held up a hand. “Father, he saved my life.”
Uther still looked furious. “And practically assaulted you as well!”
That was dramatic. “Father, what —”
“Arrest this boy,” Uther said, carelessly waving a hand.
Merlin looked resigned, but Gaius, who must have been summoned, stepped forward.
“Sire, if I may,” he spoke, waiting for Uther’s nod of approval to continue. “Merlin is my apprentice, only just arrived to Camelot. She has not yet had time to adjust, or to shed the disguise from her travels.”
She? Arthur turned to Merlin, looking carefully. How strange…
“Is this true?” Uther asked, sounding suspicious.
Merlin nodded emphatically. “Yes, Sire. My mother sent me to Camelot to study with Gaius, but it’s not safe to travel the woods as a woman alone, so I adopted this disguise for safety.”
Huh, Arthur thought. She considered Merlin, now seeing that features she had assumed to be from youth were actually feminine.
Uther seemed satisfied with this response, and Arthur knew he trusted the word of Gaius. “In that case, you have saved Arthur’s life.” As if she hadn’t before, Arthur thought. “A debt must be repaid.”
“Oh, uh…” Merlin stammered.
“Don’t be modest,” Uther told him. “You shall be rewarded.”
“No, honestly,” Merlin was saying, “You don’t have to, Sire.”
Arthur was tempted to agree. She did not like the look on her father’s face.
“No, absolutely,” Uther said. “This merits something quite special. You shall be rewarded a position in the royal household. You shall be Prince Arthur’s lady’s maid.”
He looked quite satisfied with himself, but Arthur could only imagine what this would bring. The Prince’s lady’s maid — how ridiculous. She would never hear the end of it. And Merlin, of all people? Arthur had terrible luck.
Unlike Merln, however, she knew better than to argue with the king over what was meant to be a great honor.
“But—” she began, then stopped sharply when Arthur pinched her wrist.
“Not another word,” she growled.
Merlin did not look happy about it, but she stayed quiet, so Arthur took that as a win. She made the mistake of looking to Morgana, who was giving her a knowing smirk. She scowled. Terrible end to a terrible week.
“So, Merlin,” she said, when the girl followed her back after the banquet to undress her for bed. “I thought you fought like a girl.” She smirked.
Merlin scowled. “And you’re still an ass. Why do they call you the prince, anyways?”
Now, Arthur was the one scowling. “Learn some respect, will you?”
Merlin rolled her eyes. “Yes, Your Ladyship.”
Arthur scoffed. “That is not how you address me. Honestly, Merlin, don’t you know anything?”
“No!” she snapped. “I don’t. Because I didn’t come to Camelot to be your bloody maid, I came to be Gaius’s apprentice.”
“It’s a real honor, you know,” Arthur said stiffly.
Merlin huffed. “Yeah, I’m sure it is. What do I even do?”
“You don’t even know what to do?” Arthur scoffed.
Merlin scowled. “What part of “I didn’t want this job” do you not understand?”
“You have to undress me. Turn down my bed. Tidy the room. That sort of thing.”
“Hang on,” Merlin said, holding up a hand. “You’re telling me that you don’t even know how to take your own clothes off? And you called me an idiot?”
Arthur cuffed her around the head. “Watch your tone. It’s more complicated than that, you ass. Look at this,” she gestured to the complicated lacing on the sides of her gown. “I can’t even reach it, let alone untie it properly. So either help me, or I’ll rip it off and it’ll come out of your paycheck.”
Merlin grumbled, but set about untying the laces, though with little skill. When the gown was crumpled on the floor and Arthur was dressed for bed, she spoke again.
“Look, you can still be Gaius’s apprentice. I don’t really need a lady’s maid, anyways. Just…pick that up, first of all,” she said, nudging the gown with her foot. “You’ll have to wake me and bring me breakfast —”
Merlin snorted, but Arthur ignored her.
“And help me dress, especially with my armor for training. You’ll have to clean and polish my armor as well. And keep my rooms clean.”
Merlin stood, hands on her hips, with one brow raised. “Oh, is that all?”
Arthur scowled. “Whatever, Merlin. You’re dismissed.”
The girl gave a sarcastic bow, then left the room with little ceremony.
She was utterly infuriating. Arthur decided then that she wasn’t at all attractive. In fact, she had to be the most repulsive creature in Camelot. Certainly the most annoying.