Archive of Our Own

By some unspoken decree, Arthur had decided that he and Merlin were not going to discuss anything which involved the tournament; the (now-deceased) scoundrel, Sir Valiant; or the charged and heated exchange that had occurred between the two of them during the celebration banquet, a few weeks prior. Merlin wasn't sure why this was suddenly such a taboo subject, but, frankly, she was growing tired of Arthur's snide comments whenever she happened to wear her hair a different way, or wear a dress that he hadn't seen her in a million times before.

Today, in rare form, she woke up a little bit early, and, though she would've liked nothing better than to fall back into bed, decided she'd head to the kitchens and fetch Arthur his breakfast - on time for once. She was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she made her way down the kitchen corridor, when she encountered Gwen. Gwen, who looked far more perky and awake than anyone had any right to look at that ungodly hour, took one look at her and gave Merlin one of her intentionally sunny smiles that said (in so many words): Oh dear.

Gwen had placed her hand on Merlin's arm and had steered her away from the kitchens and towards Morgana's chambers, before Merlin’s sleepy mind registered what was going on.

When they arrived, they found Morgana sitting up in bed and sipping a cup of juice. “Err, good morning,” said Merlin uncertainly, unsure of what she was doing there. She shifted uncomfortably, now fully awake and keenly aware of Morgana’s thorough, though friendly, scrutiny.

Morgana swept her gaze over Merlin from head to toe, canted her head, and then pointed to the vanity on the other side of the room. "Over there, Gwen," she said, a small smirk turning her lips. "I'm sure that we can find something different for you, Merlin." Morgana's voice was decisive, yet kind. "You have nothing to worry about." She smiled. "You're in good hands."

A hint of mischief flashed through Morgana's eyes and played about the edges of her smile, which, despite her assurance that she needn't worry, worried Merlin.

As Gwen led her over to the vanity and sat her in front of the large mirror, something told her that she should protest. She didn't, because while she might never say it out loud, Merlin was secretly beginning to enjoy being pampered by Gwen and Morgana - even if was because they thought her a bit of a hopeless cause.

Merlin looked at her reflection in the vanity mirror, watching herself and wincing every now and then as Gwen began to work the snarls from her hair with a large, flat brush. She bit the inside of her cheek in embarrassment as the brush caught on a particularly nasty tangle. Generally, Merlin just finger-combed her hair to rid it of the most obvious tangles, having little patience for such things.

Gwen, however, continued brushing her hair until it was sleek and smooth, the bristles sliding through the strands as easily as if it were water. Merlin relaxed back into the chair with an oddly contented sigh, and watched in the mirror as Morgana rose from the bed. She looked as magnificent as usual and far more put together than Merlin could ever hope to be, first thing in the morning. Morgana gave Merlin another slightly worrisome though rather sly smile, before turning to rummage through a large trunk at the foot of the bed. She pulled out several garments and tossed them onto the bed.

"Erm, nothing too fancy, Morgana," Merlin said doubtfully, glancing at the other woman from beneath a relaxed, hooded gaze. She felt a bit like an overindulged house cat, enjoying the feel of Gwen's fingers carding through her hair as she began to twist it into a messy bun. Merlin's eyes drifted shut. "Arthur doesn't like it when I wear something other than the usual frocks." As bad as it sounded, it was the unfortunate truth. She opened her eyes and frowned into the mirror.

Morgana's answering frown matched Merlin's in spades, except hers was supplemented by such an impressive look of disdain that Merlin was glad wasn't truly meant for her. "Oh that boy," Morgana replied, sneering, "would probably like it if you wore a potato sack instead of anything that might," she paused and shared a look with Gwen, before continuing. "Garner unwanted attention."

Merlin was confused. Behind her, Gwen burst into a fit of giggles.

She stared at Morgana in the mirror, uncomprehending. "Unwanted attention?" she repeated, feeling somewhat slow and decidedly stupid. She also had the sneaking suspicion that she was overlooking something that was glaringly obvious. Morgana clicked her tongue and shook her head as she came to stand next to Gwen, a few dresses in her arms. She favored Merlin with a toothy smile and held up one of the dresses, testing its color against Merlin's skin.

"Sir Owain!" Morgana exclaimed. She made a small, 'hmm-ing' noise in the back of her throat, before discarding the dress and holding up a different one. When Merlin simply stared at her blankly, Morgana smiled again, gently this time. "Oh dear, Gwen was right about you. Don't worry, Merlin. We'll take care of you." She tossed another of the dresses she'd been considering onto the bed and held up one which was deep red in colour. Merlin eyed it: it was simple enough to work in and had a neckline that was low enough to make her blush.

"Arthur would hate it," she groused, though she personally thought it was lovely, if a bit daring for her tastes.

"It's perfect then!" Morgana clapped her hands together delightedly and shot Merlin a perfectly impish grin. Merlin swallowed; she thought she understood now what Arthur meant when he called Morgana 'wicked'.

Suffice to say, Merlin was late serving Arthur his breakfast. Arthur was not pleased in the least. Merlin found she could really have cared less.

"Where were you?" questioned Arthur, grumpily. He speared a piece of cold ham from the platter, frowning at it. He glanced at her and paused, eyeing her dress. Arthur's gaze lingered a touch longer than was proper on the low cut neckline, which, while not scandalously low, did offer up Merlin’s modest bosom for perusal. He glanced away and shoved the piece of ham into his mouth, chewing noisily before swallowing. "I should sack you for wearing that." Arthur's tone was casual and perfectly demeaning.

Merlin’s temper flared immediately and rose dangerously close to the boiling point. She turned to Arthur from where she'd been gathering up his laundry, and felt heat creep along the back of her neck in response to his smug expression. Her mouth drew into a thin line and she breathed out a frustrated huff through her nose. "Since when is my state of dress any of your concern?" she shot back. She absently swept a loose tendril of hair behind her ear as she turned back to the discarded laundry.

She missed how Arthur's eyes tracked the motion and lingered for a moment on her fingers.

"As my maidservant," Arthur replied, with a lazy drawl, "it is definitely my concern as to how you present yourself." He looked up at her before speaking again, and this time his tone held an oddly serious note. "How you present yourself is a direct reflection upon not only me but Camelot, as well.

Merlin moved and stood next to Arthur stiffly, glaring down at him while he looked up at her from his chair, an arrogant set to his jaw. Merlin's eyes were as cold as ice chips as she set her shoulders and stared into his handsome face. "And how exactly, am I presenting myself?" she asked, forcing the words through the tight press of her lips. Her tone was thick with venom.

Arthur wasn’t impressed. "Like a harlot," he stated, unflinchingly.

Merlin balled up her fists as she fought the urge to stab Arthur with a fork, her chest heaving as she grasped at her control with a tenuous hold. She narrowed her eyes and briefly entertained the fantasy of melting him with a single look. Realistically, she could, but explaining why or how the Crown Prince had suddenly become into a melted pile of royal goo, was not a conversation she wanted to have with Uther Pendragon.

After a moment or two, Merlin released a slow, steadying breath and unclenched her fists. She rested a hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side, though every line of her slender frame still screamed of her anger. "I didn't realize you were so prudish, Arthur," she said, at length. Her voice was dull, flat, cold. Arthur blinked, momentarily taken aback. Merlin's lips twisted into a rigid grimace and considered it a minor victory.

Arthur, however, recovered his composure quickly and covered his shock with a deep scowl. "Hardly." He ground out the word tersely, the syllables pressed out from between his teeth. "And that will never be any of your concern." Arthur dropped his gaze and turned back to his food in a clear dismissal.

Merlin stood for a moment, rooted to the spot, her eyes fastened to the back of Arthur's stupid, blonde head. She bunched her hands in the folds of her skirt and wondered why his words bothered her so much. With another frustrated huff, she stomped away and gathered the laundry she'd dropped, then swept from the room.

"How'd Arthur like the dress?" asked Gwen conversationally, later that afternoon. She wove another flower into the complicated garland she was constructing, as she waited for Merlin's answer. Tomorrow, the garlands that she, Merlin, and the other servants were creating, would decorate the banquet hall in celebration of King Bayard of Mercia's arrival to Camelot.

Merlin sat with Gwen at the edge of the field where the knights practiced, working on her own garland. She was concentrating hard in a somewhat futile attempt to not botch yet another one. As it was, Gwen had a large stack of neatly woven garlands, while she had a growing pile of bent stems and torn flower petals scattered around her. The tip of Merlin's tongue peeked out from between her lips as she carefully tried to work a daisy into the garland in her hands. "Huh?" she absently replied.

Gwen completed another decoration and placed it carefully atop the pile of finished garlands. She reached for more flowers, breathing a small laugh. "Oh," said Gwen, delicately looping the stems of two flowers together, "was it that bad?" Her tone was light, all sugar and honey; a soothing voice. It drew Merlin's attention. She finally looked over at her friend, smiling ruefully as she met Gwen's warm gaze. Her smile, however, shifted into somewhat of a grimace when she thought back to the events of that morning.

"You could say that." Merlin shook her head, residual anger and a great deal of confusion surfacing, the longer she thought about it. She made a quick, slashing motion with her hand, as if physically dispelling her annoyance. "I'm beginning to think Morgana was right: Arthur would prefer me in a potato sack and nothing else." Her tone was mild, though a hint of delayed bitterness remained underneath. Merlin made a face and gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes, dismissing it.

Gwen grinned against the back of her hand and her dark eyes danced. "Don't you," she began, and nudged Merlin with her shoulder. "Don't you, um, mean: 'or’ nothing else?" she teased. Merlin's mouth fell open in momentary shock, before she snapped it audibly shut. She scowled and threw a flower petal at her; a flush of color swept the high planes of her cheeks which had nothing to do with anger or annoyance. She turned back to her work with a snort and shook her head.

"You're mad," Merlin muttered, good-naturedly. "You and Morgana are bloody batty." She frowned at Gwen, but found it difficult to hold at the bright, utterly mischievous grin that Gwen gave her. The corners of her mouth twitched upwards in response, despite her best efforts. She mouthed the word, 'batty' as she returned her focus to the garland in her lap and immediately fumbled with the flower she'd been trying to weave into the latticework of other flowers, causing the whole garland to unravel.

Merlin sighed and tossed the ruined decoration into her growing pile of mutilated flora. She turned back to her friend to say something, when Gwen suddenly stood, startling Merlin. Merlin shaded her eyes and looked up at her, though the sun was at Gwen's back preventing her from seeing her expression. "I err, um, I'm going to go and get some you know, more flowers," Gwen chirruped, in an unusually high-pitched tone. She hurried off before Merlin could tell her that there were more than enough flowers for several more garlands in the extra basket they had brought with them - provided Merlin didn't butcher them all, of course.

She stared after Gwen's retreating back, an expression of bewilderment fixed upon her features. Had she said something to offend her?

A minute later a shadow fell across her. Merlin shifted and looked up to find Sir Owain standing over her. Somewhat offhandedly, she thought he looked remarkably well for one sweating in full armor at high noon. Grinning slightly, she was about to offer a comment to that effect, when realization dawned on her. Oh. That's why Gwen hurried off so quickly.

Merlin was beginning to think that Gwen was more like Morgana than she realized.

"Good afternoon, milord," Merlin said quickly, realizing that she'd been wordlessly staring up at Owain for a minute or so. She smiled pleasantly and rolled a broken flower stem in between her fingers, hoping that he didn't think that she was intentionally being rude. Sir Owain, however, didn't immediately reply, and after a minute or two of discomfiting silence, Merlin was beginning to think that perhaps he was the rude one. She shielded her eyes against the sun and craned her neck to get a better look at his face. She blushed immediately with the realization that Owain was staring resolutely at a point over her shoulder, in what she gathered was a chivalrous attempt to be a gentleman and not look down her bodice.

Ah.

Merlin scrambled to her feet quite ungracefully and brushed bits of flower from her skirt, her face hot even though she appreciated the courtesy. Next to her, Owain seemed to breath a sigh of relief and he seemed to relax, the tenseness ebbing from the set of his shoulders as he shifted fully to regard her. He greeted her and offered a friendly smile that reached his eyes, making him appear even more youthful than Merlin had previously thought; she figured he was probably close to Arthur's age, if not a few years younger. He was cute, though not handsome, per se, with slightly rounded, boyish features that reminded her in many ways, of Will.

All at once, Merlin was struck with a fierce pang of homesickness. The feeling seized her like a vice; as if iron bands had been snapped closed around her chest and were being cinched so tightly shut that it felt like her ribs would crack as the air was squeezed the air slowly from her lungs. Merlin wrapped her arms around herself and fought down a sudden weal of panic at the tightness in her chest, the emotion knotting in her throat like a clenched fist. She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled sharply before taking another shaky breath, willing the emotion to pass.

She opened her eyes when Sir Owain reached out and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Is milady okay? Does something ail you?" he asked, anxiously. His brow wrinkled in concern.

A sort of gratefulness that Merlin couldn't quite define washed through her, which abruptly chased away the homesick feeling that had come over her. After a moment, she gathered herself and straightened, a thankful smile clearing away the distress that touched her features. Merlin looked up and noticed Sir Owain's steady regard, making her patently aware that he still had his hand upon her shoulder. A flush crept up her neck and she worried her bottom lip, flustered and overcome by his honest kindness and worry. Besides Gwen, Morgana, and Gaius, no one had treated her with this much genuine concern since she'd arrived in Camelot. It made her grateful for Sir Owain's unexpected attention, and, loathe as she was to think it, suspicious of his motives.

She wasn't beautiful; Merlin knew that. And Sir Owain was a royal knight of Camelot; he likely had his pick of other, far lovelier maidens that her. Even though she told herself that it didn't matter nor any of her concern, Merlin felt her spirits droop at the thought. She averted her eyes from his and fidgeted with a bit of invisible fluff on her dress.

"I'm fine, thank you for your concern, milord," she replied, at length. She shrugged uneasily and tried her best to hide her disappointment when Owain dropped his hand from her shoulder. He shifted; Merlin looked up and her eyes widened as Owain leaned closer to her. Heat rose and flamed across her cheeks, and, for a wild, improbable moment, Merlin thought that he was going to kiss her.

He didn't. Instead, he raised a hand and reached up towards her face. He paused, then tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her right ear, at the same time extracting a crumpled white flower petal that had been tangled there. Owain examined flower petal with a slight furrow in his brow and Merlin, unable to contain herself, was seized by a fit of embarrassed giggles, her face aflame.

Sir Owain stared at her for a moment, perplexed by the turn of events, the crushed petal in his hand, forgotten. He gave Merlin an uncertain grin before he too was infected by her laughter, his own light-hearted chuckles dissolving any strangeness or tension between them. Merlin snorted and wiped the tears from her eyes as she wrapped her arms around herself, completely humiliated but unable to stop her laughing fit. Sir Owain, she decided between laughs and gasps of air, had a nice laugh. She liked it a lot.

"Just WHAT is going on?" barked a voice from a short distance away, cutting clean through the sound of their laughter. Both Merlin and Sir Owain ceased laughing and turned in unison as Arthur stormed up to them. Arthur's steps were heavy and aggressive, and his expression reflected only an explosive anger. His mouth was etched into a thin, hard line as he came to halt before them, his blue eyes flinty as he flicked his gaze towards each of them, in turn. "I don't remember giving you leave to stand around and fraternize," Arthur snarled. Umbrage snaked around his every word and vibrated within his tone until it practically bled into the very air.

Merlin's hackles instantly rose in response to Arthur's words and tone. She immediately opened her mouth to protest in resentment at being told whom she could and couldn't speak with, when she realized that Arthur wasn't addressing her. He was addressing Sir Owain. While the realization did little to quell her irritation, Merlin tore her gaze from Arthur's enraged face and slid her eyes to Owain, instead.

Sir Owain's face was pale and his features were pinched and tight with chagrin. His head was bowed, as if bent beneath the weight of Arthur's disappointment and rebuke. His face was turned away from Merlin.

"I think a few laps in full armor around the practice field is suitable punishment, Owain," Arthur said. Even as Owain replied with a quick, 'yes milord', Arthur growled: "Now. ."

Sir Owain nodded once and swiftly moved off, though he paused and risked a quick glance at Merlin before tugging on his helmet. He turned and loped off at a slow jog. "Faster!" barked Arthur, drawing his sword. He followed behind Owain for a few feet and laid a series of stinging blows across the back of Sir Owain’s thighs with the flat of his blade. Owain stumbled, before he settled into a fast, almost grueling pace around the practice field.

Merlin raised her chin defiantly as Arthur stalked back to her, frowning when he slid his sword back into its sheath with unnecessary force. She could practically see his irritation seethe from his pores. "What was that for?" she snapped, as soon as Arthur was back in earshot. She couldn't keep the slight tremble from her voice, but the expression in her eyes matched his: darker blue; same vexation.

Arthur ignored her question. He pushed into her personal space and used his greater bulk to crowd her. He stared at her with hard eyes, his gaze level with her own. "I'll say this once," he said in a low, gravelly tone. "Do not ever seek to distract my knights like that again.” He paused, looking away briefly to mark Sir Owain’s progress on the field. “Any of them,” he added bluntly, returning his gaze to Merlin and holding it. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and serious. “The safety of Camelot may mean little to you, but it means everything to me."

Merlin drew herself straighter and squared her shoulders, cognizant of the fact that she and Arthur were standing nearly toe-to-toe, chest to chest. "Sir Owain came on his own volition to say hello to me," she replied, matching the deadly softness of his tone. "I was being polite. And moreover, I should think that I am allowed to converse with whomever I wish, so long as the other person is amiable." Merlin’s emotions were running high and she leaned towards Arthur, her words slipping from her in a rush before she could stop herself. “And Camelot matters to me because - " She froze and trailed off abruptly, suddenly aware that she'd already admitted too much. She took a small step back from Arthur and looked away.

"Because why?"

Arthur’s words hung heavily in the air, filling the spare space between them with a kind of significance that Merlin couldn’t even begin to defie. She looked back at him, raising her eyes slowly to his. Her breath caught in her throat: Arthur bore the same passionate intensity that she’d seen in his eyes, weeks back during their argument at the tournament banquet. The depth of emotion she now saw within them, slammed into her like a punch to the gut. She breathed out slowly.

"Because,” Merlin said, her voice quiet and serious, “despite the fact that you're a royal prat, I am loyal to you.”

For one, long moment Arthur said nothing and simply regarded her, his eyes never leaving hers. Then, with an abstruse expression that Merlin couldn’t decipher, he stepped back and put on his helmet. He turned from her and looked instead towards his knights out in the middle of the field, presenting her with the hard lines of his profile. His jaw was tight.

He made as if to step away, then stopped. He turned his head towards her. "If you truly feel that way,” he said, his tone harsh, “then see to it that you show it, once and awhile.” This time it was Merlin who walked off, whirling away from Arthur as she blindly made her way back to the castle. She was shaking, though whether from anger or something else entirely, she didn’t know. All she did know, was that her head was full of ire and confusion, while her nose was full with the smell of him.

The next day found the whole castle buzzing like a busy hive when King Bayard of Mercia and his contingent of knights and servants arrived in Camelot. The castle corridors were full of unfamiliar faces as the servants from Mercia bustled to and fro, continuing to carry out their duties to their lord in foreign territory. Merlin moved through the crowded halls, picking her way through the jostle of sharp elbows and harried feet as she wove somewhat clumsily in between the press of bodies. Though always good-naturedly, she stared at all the people she didn't know and paused here and there to exchange greetings with the ones she did.

Merlin was making her way to Arthur’s quarters with a load of freshly laundered linens, when a servant girl that she’d never seen before tripped in her path, spilling the contents of the basket she’d been holding. Without a second’s thought, Merlin immediately set down the linens she was carrying and went to the girl’s side. She helped her to her feet and when the girl turned to her with a grateful smile, Merlin saw that she was very pretty. A scarf tied elaborately around her head tamed her reddish hair, and her skin was milky and smooth. Her most striking feature, however, were her large blue eyes - they ensnared Merlin. After a moment, Merlin blinked and looked away, realizing that she’d been staring openly into the girl’s eyes, much to her embarrassment.

For her part, the girl didn't seem to mind, though she blushed prettily and looked down. When Merlin glanced back at her, the girl looked up at her from beneath her lashes, her eyes large and uncertain. She seemed lost and out of place, a stranger in a strange land, and Merlin's heart instantly went out to her: she knew exactly how that felt. "I'm Merlin," she said to the girl, giving her a genuine and friendly smile.

The girl's pretty eyes widened almost comically and recognition flashed through them. A hand flew to her mouth and she gasped before exclaiming, "You're Prince Arthur's maidservant!" She regarded Merlin with a thunderstruck expression, her eyes shining brightly.

Merlin's own eyes widened in response - how did this girl know that? Merlin had never seen her before today - was it common knowledge that she was Arthur’s maidservant? She frowned to herself a bit; should she know who King Bayard’s personal manservant was? Well, it was something she’d certainly ask Arthur about, later. She blushed a bit as the girl ogled her with admiration, a shade dumbfounded by it. "Err, yes," Merlin replied belatedly, a faint smile curving her lips.

"That's amazing!" the girl said earnestly. She gave Merlin a broad smile and stood looking at her for a moment, before she sucked in a shocked breath, her eyes growing large once more. "Oh, where are my manners?” she said, aghast. “I'm Cara.” She smiled again, her eyes crinkling.

"Nice to meet you, Cara," Merlin replied, feeling better now that she knew the other girl’s name. She returned Cara’s smile warmly, some of her initial shock ebbing. Still, Merlin found herself humbled by Cara’s obvious awe of her position in Camelot - if only she knew what a pain it actually was to be Arthur's maidservant! Merlin’s smile turned apologetic as she bent to gather up the linens she'd carelessly discarded. She straightened and shifted the linens in her arms, stalling for a moment; she found herself strangely drawn to the other girl. An odd, yet comfortable silence dropped between them, lingering for several minutes before Merlin said, "I better get these to Arth- erm, the prince."

Cara nodded in understanding and knelt to pick up the basket that she'd been carrying before she tripped and fell, placing the spilled contents neatly inside before rising. She inclined her head and moved a little past Merlin, heading in the opposite direction. She paused and turned, glancing up at her. "Thank you for your help Merlin," she said sincerely, with another pretty smile. She walked off, but when Merlin turned and looked over her shoulder, Cara was looking back at her too.

The tension which permeated through the banquet hall settled heavily into the corners of the vast space, pressing in from every angle and curling thickly in the lungs. Though both Mercia and Camelot were on their best behaviors, every motion seemed stilted; every smile was tight. Each word that was spoken was weighted with all that was unspoken, years of war between the two nations filling the spaces between their words with resentment and mistrust. And stretched thinly between them was a tenuous thread of peace, so fragile that it seemed ready to snap at the slightest misstep; the slightest provocation.

After all, how smoothly this banquet went could very well determine whether or not Camelot and Mercia continued to wage war with one another.

Merlin, for her part, was having an interesting dilemma: she couldn't decide if she was more anxious at the mounting tension; more embarrassed at the utterly humiliating hat that Arthur had commanded she wear (he'd stated that it was formal wear and every servant would be dressed similarly - they weren't); or more bored at all the pomp and ceremony. She glanced around the room. Though tense, so far the feast had been going well and no blood had been shed or declarations of war made. Merlin stifled a yawn decided it was a toss-up between embarrassment and boredom.

Her attention had wandered a bit from her immediate duty of refilling Arthur's wine goblet, when a low murmur swept through the banquet hall. Merlin straightened next to Gwen where they stood unobtrusively to one side and came alert, automatically looking to Arthur. She watched silently as King Bayard, with grave formality, presented both Uther and Arthur with gifts. Another quiet murmur went through the crowd as Uther and Arthur both opened their boxes, each revealing a beautifully crafted chalice - each chalice created in fitting representation of their stations as King and Crown Prince. Merlin let her gaze touch upon Arthur's face as he took his chalice from his box and held it aloft. His expression was drawn and taut, as if each of his features had been carved from stone. His face betrayed nothing, though Merlin knew from living in such close proximity to him, that he was rigid with sudden uneasiness.

She wondered why.

Merlin heard a noise from the hallway and glanced over her shoulder to see Cara gesturing urgently to her from the open door. Merlin swept her gaze about the hall and saw that everyone was otherwise occupied, focused intently upon King Bayard as he filled Uther's and Arthur's chalices each with wine. Everyone, except for Gaius who caught her eye, giving her a severe frown. He raised an eyebrow meaningfully and gave a quick, decisive shake of his head. He was still frowning at her as Merlin slid from her place next to Gwen and quickly went to Cara. "What is it?" she asked. Apprehension wound through her as Cara tugged her into the hallway, distress clearly written across her features.

Cara leaned in close and Merlin could smell a strong, almost flowery scent on her skin. Worry twisted Cara's pretty face as she leaned up and whispered urgently into her ear. Merlin eyes widened with disbelief.

"Are you sure?" Merlin demanded, taking Cara firmly by the shoulders. Merlin's voice was tight with trepidation. Apprehension crimped her brow as she stared hard at the other girl. "You have to be sure."

Merlin felt her dread curdle in the back of her throat as Cara nodded slowly, uttering a quiet though resolute, "Yes." Merlin whirled from her without a second thought.

'Because despite the fact that you're a royal prat, I am loyal to you.'

Merlin raised the chalice to her lips. Her hands shook, her fingers tightening reflexively; the dark red liquid sloshed over the rim and spilled onto the tabletop, soaking into the wood like drops of blood. The entire banquet hall was hushed, as if everyone held a single, collective breath. The silence pounded loudly in her ears; she felt the press of every eye upon her like the prick of needle-sharp teeth dragging along her skin. Nearby, King Bayard was poised stiffly, his mouth set in a hard line of consternation. Everything hinged on her. Arthur began to step forward. Merlin could see the protest forming on his tongue.

'If you truly feel that way, then see to it that you show it, once and awhile.'

Merlin met Arthur's gaze and held it. Then, she tipped her head back and drained the chalice in one, long swallow, her eyes never leaving his.

Merlin stood, the chalice clenched white-knuckled in her hand, and waited. A full minute passed. Nothing happened. All at once, those from Mercia released a cumulative breath, relieved; then outraged. Before Merlin had registered the shift, King Bayard was demanding she be handed over to as a prisoner of Mercia, as per the agreement.

Thirty seconds later, Merlin collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap, the chalice rolling from her slack fingers.

Merlin heard a chorus of voices, low and seductive, calling to her from beyond a pristine white veil. The veil fluttered in the breeze, skipping along the air currents in a slow, sensual dance.

"Come," whispered the voices, "follow."

Merlin reached out to touch the veil, straining to touch it as it lifted towards her. When the tips of her fingers grazed the edge of the gauzy fabric, scalding heat seared through her, white-hot and sudden. Her skin came off in flakes, charred and burned, the tips of her fingers blackened. Her flesh was scorched to the bone. Merlin screamed until her voice was hoarse.

She burned.

The voices continued to beckon her, urging her onward with promises borne upon silky cadence. They slid over her like cool water, each nuance dripping over the ridges of her spine and soothing away the hurt, relief spelled out in every syllable. 'Come,' whispered the voices, "follow."

Merlin grasped at those promises, the words trickling through the cage of her fingers like smoke. She dragged her burned body through the grass, her flesh peeling off in strips with every brush against her skin. Blood trailed behind her. Still she crawled, chasing the veil, drawn by the voices and the promises they held.

'Come,' whispered the voices, "follow."

Merlin couldn't crawl anymore. Her flesh was rubbed raw, skin sloughed off to reveal muscle and red blood vessels beneath, pulsing with each tired beat of her heart. She was so tired. She didn't want to follow the voices anymore. She didn't want to go where they went. She didn't want their promises. Still, the veil undulated in the wind like something alive. It twined around her wrists and dragged her with it, scraping her along the ground as if it was scraping mud from its shoe.

Her world was agony.

Merlin lay with her cheek pressed against the dry grass. Her throat was parched, her lips cracked and chapped; the fire that burned through her veins continued to eat her alive. Barely, she clung to life. Merlin breathed laboriously, the air dragging raggedly into her lungs, each breath rattling wetly.

She was so very tired. Merlin closed her eyes; when she did, she saw Arthur behind the dark of her eyelids.

Arthur's cheek was pressed against stone, his turned away from her. Darkness was all around him, impenetrable and absolute. It breathed against the back of Arthur’s neck, stirring the fine hairs with every breath. As Merlin watched, Arthur turned towards her and stared blindly out into the endless dark, as if searching for something. His lips moved and a single word rose out of the blackness: her name.

”Merlin.”

And suddenly, a pale, glowing light, pierced the darkness around Arthur.

Distantly, Merlin could feel the dampness of her skin and the soreness of her body, as the fire in her bones slowly began to ebb. Her muscles hurt; no, everything hurt.

But she was alive.

Merlin moaned and shifted, fighting to awaken. She was held pinned by the weakness of her body as the fire within her receded. She moaned again, then felt a hand on her forehead, dry and cool against the heated flush of her skin. The hand was a small, fingers slender, as they pushed the hair back from her face and trailed down her cheek.

Something quieted within Merlin. Stillness overtook her, creeping through her limbs and blanketing her senses until she was filled with blissful nothingness. It seemed like she remained that way for a lifetime.

Merlin opened her eyes.

Shapes swam in her vision, blurry at first, before they sharpened to reveal the concerned visages of Gaius and Gwen. Her body jerked; air flooded her lungs. Merlin sucked air into herself in great, shuddering bursts, as if somewhere along the line she’d forgotten how to breathe.

Gwen threw her arms around Merlin’s neck and hugged her close. Her breath was a hushed sob of joy in Merlin’s ear. Merlin smiled, returning her embrace awkwardly, when Gwen drew back and of all things kissed her.

Merlin’s lips were dry but Gwen’s were soft and plump and wet with tears. She tasted a hint of salt. Gwen pulled back with an apologetic smile and retreated a few steps. “Sorry,” said Gwen with a pretty blush on her dusky cheeks, “I’m just so happy.”

“Um, sure,” Merlin croaked painfully. She managed a somewhat dazed twist of her lips and then asked for water.

Gwen’s way of apologizing for kissing Merlin - which was silly, as Merlin thought the kiss had been rather pleasant, overall - was to wash her hair. She arrived a few days later with a basin of water and some soap, and bid Merlin to lean back in her chair while she tended to her dirty locks. Briefly, Merlin wondered if Gwen did this for Morgana. Nevertheless, it was a relief to have the smell of sweat rinsed away and replaced by the faint scent of roses.

Afterwards, Gwen sat and chatted with her as she mended some of Morgana’s clothing. Merlin was happy for the company, which provided a welcome distraction from boredom. She still felt weak and her strength had only just begun to return, but Merlin was going stir-crazy in her quarters, quarantined to the ward per Gaius’ instructions.

When her hair had dried enough, Gwen fixed it up into some sort of elaborate coiffure that Merlin was sure looked odd considering her sickly appearance. She thanked Gwen anyway and smiled as her friend hurried off to attend her chores elsewhere, leaving her alone.

Merlin wrapped herself in a blanket and placed her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands as she let her thoughts drift. Her eyes began to droop.

“If you’re that bored I should put you back to work early.”

Merlin nearly jumped out of her skin with surprise. She turned in her seat to regard Arthur, who was standing in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. They stared at each other for a moment, the silence between them uncomfortable before Arthur stepped into the room. “You’re a real idiot, you know that?” he said, but Merlin caught the softness beneath his words; the worry. She rolled her eyes at him and tried not to smile.

“Yes, well I don’t expect I’ll be drinking poison for you again,” she replied, a shadow of a grin hovering around her lips despite her best effort to keep her expression serious. “That was a one time deal, milord.”

Arthur snorted. “And don’t you expect me to go running off to some dank cave again, just to fetch you a pretty flower,” he said. A corner of his mouth tugged upwards and Merlin felt her face break into a relieved smile. The strain that had wound between them melted away, and for the first time Merlin thought she understood Arthur just a little better.

Arthur casually pinched the head off of a daisy from a bouquet of flowers that had been arranged in a ceramic vase on the table. “From Sir Owain?” he asked. Merlin nodded and a shadow briefly flitted across Arthur’s handsome face. He glanced at her and she saw his eyes drift up to touch upon the intricate coiffure that Gwen had coiled her hair into. His mouth opened and Merlin braced herself for whatever acrid comment Arthur was sure to make. Arthur, however, only said, “Your hair looks…complicated.”

Merlin blinked and her mind went blank with shock. Before she could respond, Arthur turned on his heel and strode from the room. He turned back at the door to tell her that he expected her back at work first thing tomorrow morning.

His voice drifted to her from the hallway, “And I actually mean the morning, Merlin."