Where Legends Begin

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Merlin informs Arthur in a tight voice that she remembers very well what they discussed and she leaves it at that, not questioning or engaging in any other speech. She falls back away from him and back into the rank of Knights as they go further into the town and the people start to cheer. She does not want to be seen up there with him for she knows it might give a very wrong impression. She does not want rumors to be spread about her before she can even get established here and she is more than certain the best way to make an impression on Uther is not to have him hear about how his son might be thinking of marrying a girl he's never met nor has he arranged a match for.

Such rumors would spread like wildfire through a dry field and Merlin is smart enough to know it. So she pulls her hood up and remains as inconspicuous as possible as they travel through the cheering crowd. She can't help but watch Arthur because no matter how much of a prat he is, he's still Arthur Pendragon. He's magnetic and charismatic. He's like the sun and his people open to his light wherever it touches, welcoming him, looking up to him with love and warmth in their eyes.

It makes Merlin wonder just what kind of person Arthur TRULY is because it takes a great man to be so loved by his people, to inspire such loyalty. She hopes that at some point, she sees such a side of him because so far....she just wants to strangle him and shove his own ego down his throat until he chokes on it.

She smiles a bit at the mental image, pushing her hood back as they enter the courtyard inside the third wall and pretends not to notice when silence falls at her presence. She dismounts with an ease of a month of practice and pets Cobalt's nose as her things are unloaded, watching as he's led away. She brings her dark blue eyes to the yellow-haired child then and she smiles back at him gently as he speaks. Casting a glance back at the Knights who seem to not even notice her existence she follows Kaine and then stops him with a hand to his shoulder before they are out of sight of the others.

"Come on, give me some of those bags. You shouldn't be carrying all of them anyway." When he hesitates, she grins and ruffles his hair, causing the boy to blush and not protest as she takes a few things from his hands and then gestures with her head toward the tower. "Well, come on then." As they walk, she looks down at him, feeling a bit more relaxed and open around a child, though, she is wise and does not say anything that can be used against her. "Thank you for your help, Kaine, but please, call me Merlin. If I can convince you to do so, you might be the only person here who does."

She'll miss that.

The boy leads her to her room and she has to stare at the size of it, the grandeur of the place. The bed itself could fit four people! And she's never seen such richly colored fabrics for pale and dark blues, pure whites that look like they have never been touched by a dirty finger. Merlin has to bite her tongue against asking if this is really her room. Surely not! It's beautiful and she feels wholly inadequate standing in the midst of it. She's still in her travel clothes and while Merlin sets her things down, she doesn't touch anything, doesn't dare to until she's clean and doesn't smell of horse.

Her dark blue eyes look to Kaine then and she runs a hand through her hair, looking around again. "Um...I guess my first question is...where do people bathe here?" She is certain it's not in the stream.
 
"You're very lucky, miss Merlin," Kaine tells her as he grunts to open up the glass window with a proudly pointed arch on the top. Three more windows like it litter the walls, lots of light being able to sneak its way in to her room at practically all parts of the day. "You have a view of the courtyard," he sticks his head out, smelling the fresh flowers below from their lofty height. "Come, smell!" he motions her closer, closing his eyes and sniffing before pointing at the Western keep across the long lapse of stone wall, "That's Arthur's tower, his room is that one, see?" The boy's finger points to a room larger in size, "But he also has his study, library, balcony, as you can see." wrapping around the tower is a small balcony and at Merlin's angle, she can get away with seeing him looking out towards the river.

"It's marvelous," he breathes, adoring the place he works. Considering his structure, he is well fed along with the other men and women in this area. Servants and Lords alike have plenty of pickings. "And I'm sure you'll love it miss. Even if you get homesick every once and a while." his face lights up, an idea clicking on like a light switch. "I'll bet all my savings that the Ladies of the castle will gladly comfort you. They're all so comely, you'll fit right in, lady Merlin!" Moving past the bookshelf, he opens up the door with a grunt, the metal latch closing behind them.

So the tour of the castle begins, the little boy nearly running at his full pace he is so excited. Every little thing is everything but ordinary to him. He even throws in a few stories, mainly about Arthur for the little man seems to have quite the admiration for the Prince, along their way. He shows her where Arthur did this and where he did that but what should touch Merlin's heart is that the stories are about Arthur and Kaine. Not just a servant looking on his Prince from afar but Arthur actively educating the boy all he knows. Soon, though, the stories turn to Guinevere then to other ladies and lords of the castle.

When their tour is complete, Kaine stops her at the entrance to the bath's and bids her a warm welcome to Camelot. "And I hope, if you'd like, that if you really want to, that you won't be a stranger. Please?" The boy looks very hopeful that Merlin and him will become as friendly as Arthur has become in his life. "Because I'd really love to know more about where you come from and why you're here. Why are you here?" A maid comes up to them, telling Kaine something about shining some armor and the boy, with so much as a wave, dashes off. The maid leads Merlin to the tubs for a thorough, yet silent, washing. Sending her back up to her rooms, she will see an array of options for gowns she is required to wear tonight when she dines with the King himself after inspection, whether or not she passes such a test.
 
She doesn't get an immediate answer to her question, but Merlin doesn't mind as the boy beckons her to the window and she obliges, looking out over everything she can seen from the heights she's at. She quirks a brow at being told she's so close to Arthur's part of the castle, but doesn't think much on it and simply moves back into the room as Kaine does. He takes her from her quarters and shows her around as he's been ordered to and she lets him, keeping up with his exuberant pace rather well for she is used to walking, to running and hunting and especially following the laughing face and fast feet of children.

The brunette doesn't comment on much, merely listening and she has very few questions to ask as the boy's stories give her more than enough information without her having to ask. He speaks of Arthur as one would a big brother and once again Merlin finds herself curious about this man she's yet to meet. It seems everyone has something good to say about him, has some loyalty they owe him, a gratitude or admiration, adoration. He has given Merlin no reason to feel such things though and she contemplates the fact that maybe he just does not like her. It would not be the first time she's gotten on the wrong side of nobility - first time for royalty, though - and the thought doesn't bother her at this point.

Technically she's not here for him now, is she?

Realizing she's zoned off, Merlin comes back to herself and realizes that Kaine is speaking directly to her now. She smiles down at him and ruffles his hair again affectionately for he is already growing on her. "I would love to be friends, Kaine, but I am afraid those answer are for another time." She has seen the maid coming and knows she won't have the time to tell the boy what he wishes to know. She watches him as he leaves and then allows herself to be taken into the bathes. When the maids try to help her, though, she adamantly refuses - politely - and though they are puzzled and certainly whispering behind her back, Merlin is left in peace.

She soaks for a time, enjoying the quiet and then finally gets out when all the grime is gone, dressing in a robe that has been laid out for her return to her room. It's soft and she smiles at that simple pleasure as she makes her way through the halls and finally comes upon her own quarters. She's got a head for maps and a good memory and does not get lost, though, a maid meets her about halfway and apologizes profusely for not being there to guide Merlin. She's black of hair, thin as a reed and introduces herself as Elwyn.

Merlin likes her immediately as the maid speaks with a soft demeanor, but is not shy to speech itself, chattering about what color dress might be best for Merlin and if her lady would like her hair arranged a certain way. Merlin finds herself chuckling.

"Elwyn, please. It's just a dress." she intones with a smile and the maid looks flabbergasted for a moment before she clears her face of everything but curiosity. "Do you not like them? I can have more sent for if you do not like them..."

Merlin shakes her head, running her fingers over a green dress, marveling at the texture of the rich fabric. "Nay, they are lovely. I am just not....used to such finery." She picks up the green dress, the simplest of the five. "This one, please."

Elwyn smiles and though Merlin is hesitant, she helps her into the gown, seeming puzzled that the brunette refuses a corset, tying up the laces in the back as she speaks. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but where are you from?"

"Camiliard and I am not a lady by any stretch of the imagination, Elwyn. I am healer among other things."

Brows furrow. "A woman healer? Is that common in Camiliard, Lady Merlin?"

Merlin sighs. She's never going to get them to stop calling her lady, is she? The brunette shakes her head and lets Elwyn take her to the vanity and start to brush her hair out. It feels strange having someone do all this for her, but she doesn't protest it because she figures that to do so would be rude and Elwyn is sweet and merely doing her job. It would be like someone requesting Merlin not wrap their injury because they could technically do it themselves. It is her duty, an instinct almost that she must fulfill and she knows such is the same way with other people and their work.

"No, women healers are not common there." she finally answers and Elwyn frowns a bit at the downcast look on her lady's face, but wisely she does not ask and continues her work on Merlin's hair.

Dress
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Hair
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When Merlin is summoned to the throne room she is escorted by not one but two of Uther's decorated guards. Like Arthur's armor, they have a dragon etched into their plate, symbolizing their undying dedication to King Uther and Camelot. Their capes are embroidered and made from the wool of the very sheep Merlin passed when coming into Camelot. But unlike Arthur's rectangular cloak that comes down to nip at the end of his heels, their's only come to their elbows, fastened to their right shoulders with a pin. The whole walk down the spiral staircases of the Eastern keep, one knight stays silent while the other one attempts conversation with Merlin, nearly straining himself just to utter a simple hello. Luckily for him, he doesn't slip down the narrow staircase specially crafted to give the defending knights an advantage over their attackers because of their triangular shape favoring the right side when descending.

The talkative knight, a man named Nasfar, attempts to speak once more to Merlin, his gaze safe underneath his helmet. "I-I... um, Lady... Lady Merlin, you, um, look quite the ... um, presentable lady." Taking her through the inner ward, they pass the gardens and the well nestled comfortably in the middle of green grass and hills of flowers. The Queen, Nasfar tries to explain, tends to her roses every single day along with native and foreign flowers brought or found by people both near and far. Chuckling a little, the knight points out that the Queen always admires men who bring her gifts of flowers instead of treasures and such marketable gifts. People forget the turmoil of the day when they walk through the open courtyard, able to take a breath from the stuffy castle gloom of the looming walled fortress they call their home. Visitors forget their troubles but aren't too overwhelmed by idiotic flaunting as most Kings do.

It's all a game for royalty for their outfits are specially crafted just so that they can have the satisfaction of seeing the commoners scramble around for the expensive supplies and recreate a gown the Queen had in January or a robe the King wore in November. Those are, of course, restricted to the royalty and any of the wealthiest nobles who can actually get their hands around the vibrant dyes. It might be a contest but Queen Igraine soon puts and end to Uther's foolishness, turning his focus with a tender finger to other areas of his expertise besides money.

Halting at the throne room's doorway, the doors wide open and welcoming Merlin with open arms, the two knights wait for the highlight of the evening to be announced. "Don't... Lady Merlin... For-forget to smile," whispers Nasfar before a loud trumpet is heard, silencing the Lords and Ladies standing in clusters, idly chatting and gossiping while the King and Queen sit on their thrones. Side by side Uther and Igraine sit, dressed in stunning garments of bright blue, red, purple, and gold, their heads held high with a row of sentries posted behind them should anything stir in the room that is unwanted. A woman with beautiful red curls hanging down to her elbows stands next to the Queen, giggling and leaning over to whisper remarks in her mother's ear. The elder of the two women nearly shrieks with laughter, hearing what the girl has to say but the room is too loud because of the stone to hear.

The trumpet sounds, an even stronger voice booming after the instrument is lowered: "Your Royal Highness Uther Pendragon..." the man starts, going through each of the four ranks seated by the throne before finally announcing Merlin, "...presented to you tonight is a healer by the name of..." the corpulent fellow, seat beading at his brow looks towards Merlin and whispers, "What is your full name, girl?" before announcing it before the King and allowing her to be escorted right to the two steps to Uther's stone throne.
 
Merlin is amused by the Knight who attempts to make conversation with her because it is rather clear that he's not used to the company of a woman. Lucky for him, she doesn't mind the stumbling attempts because she's not nobility - well, as far as anyone knows - and she listens and watches everything with rapt attention. The gardens they walk past fascinate her, draw her and she does question Nasfar about that as she wants to know who they belong to and who they are open to. She thanks him for his explanation and smiles a little at his observation about the Queen. She sounds like a kindhearted woman and Merlin is interested to see what she is like.

The brunette is too soon before the large doors that will take her before the King and in a way...her future though she only barely perceives what that entails in all truth. Merlin takes a deep breath, feeling her heartbeat pound in her ears and she chides herself to get a grip. They are people just as she is. They are not above her whatever they'd like to think. They bleed red just like anyone else, die just like anyone else, have petty thoughts and secret desires, fears and strengths just like anyone else. She is not beneath them, not inadequate and she will stop thinking that way or she'll slap herself silly.

Mental pep-talk over, her dark blue eyes flicker to the man who would announce her and for a moment Merlin considers giving them an alias. In the end, though, she knows that being untruthful is not going to get her anywhere in this place and so she answers calmly. "Emrysia Wyllt."

The name causes a hushed stir as she's escorted down the hall. Wyllt. People recognize that name - or they think they do - and they whisper to each other, trying to figure out how they know it, where they have heard it. Wasn't there a Lord in King Lot's land by the name of Balan Wyllt? Did that Lord have a daughter? No, it was said his house perished. Wasn't there a rumor around that household, a long-kept secret about the family?

Merlin looks neither left or right and though she's been told to smile, she finds no reason to do so. At the moment the best she can muster is a neutral, relaxed expression, her mouth neither in a upturn nor a frown. When she comes before the King, she curtsies low and with surprising skill and grace before she allows her eyes to come up and meet the King's. She's paid respect, but she won't look down or away when being spoken to or speaking.

She can feel the eyes of everyone burning into her back, head and shoulders, but she doesn't flinch from it and her dark blue eyes flicker briefly over the Queen, Princess and then Arthur before coming back to Uther. She resists the urge to raise a brow, merely waiting.
 
King Uther
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King Uther lets the men and women of his court nearly uproar in whispers once Merlin's name is announced. Narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, he lets her image sink in before looking to the others inside this expansive room. When his headache has grown enough, the poor man as pale as the white of his feathered collar, he clears his throat. A few Lords and Ladies in the first few clusters start to quiet down, sushing back to the main doors. When a few given groups do not give their attention to Uther, he lifts his right hand and snaps, signaling something to Arthur. The young Prince, nearly sparkling from a long wash, takes a step up, "Silence!" his youthful voice rings through the hall, the last of the voices dying down to a whisper. With his job done, Arthur steps back and lets his father continue.

The whole hall grows silent, eager ears waiting to hear any word from their prized King or at least a tell tale look. But the old king, keeping his weight upright on his left knee, only straightens up when Merlin arrives. His eyes give nothing away, their color the same shade as the glinting armor behind his stone throne. The arms of such a grand sculpture are carved with insular bands wrapping around the square, tomb shaped, arms. Behind his head lies an intricate knot pattern, carved there by a Celtic man, with the Pendragon, a head of a dragon, in the center. It will make no squeaks when the King moves himself upwards, fingers curling around the edge of the long arms.

When Merlin doesn't move, her eyes fixed right on his, the King is the first to break away, looking at Arthur, "Prince Arthur, will you lower yourself from my steps and stand next to our Lady Wyllt?" He is a man of many mysteries, neither a frown nor a smile upon his sickly face. Large pools of black have stamped themselves below his eyes, showing lack of sleep and thus, his energy is drained from the heat of the day. A short motion of his arm comes and Arthur snaps to attention, stepping down to stand a few feet in front of Merlin. He turns and kneels before his father, head dipped down as if he were being knighted.

"Proceed," Uther practically hums, his voice much deeper but his lungs stuck with a nasty cough that won't leave his system.
 
Merlin studies the King carefully, noting his coloring, the dark circles under his eyes, the way he moves in a stiff way as if he can't get warm or comfortable and then she notes the huskiness of his voice, as if his throat is clogged with something or his lungs full, trying to breath past the cumbersome feeling. And despite the fact that he is a King, her power sparks restlessly within her, sensing the illness presented to it and while Merlin does not know if she can truly heal it, she knows she can alleviate some of the symptoms and when she's presented with a sick person, no matter what she might think of them personally, honor and skill bids she help them.

She knows that to approach the King now or to offer to help would be a bad idea, though, and so she says nothing. She does, however, arch a brow when Arthur is requested to join her at her level. She's not sure what that is about but assumes its a court etiquette or some such nonsense that she just doesn't understand. It doesn't much matter as the King says for someone to 'proceed' and Merlin waits for the span of a breath, but no voice is forthcoming so she decides to risk speaking.

What's the worst that can happen? As long as she doesn't insult anyone, she shouldn't be in 'trouble' and at the worst, she'll be rejected and sent home. The tragedy. Really, she'd be crushed.

"Your Majesty, I am not entirely familiar with court life, so please pardon me if stumble over what is right and proper to say to a King." There is silence, almost uncomfortably so - no, scratch that, very uncomfortably so - but Merlin goes on. "I am Emrysia, but for years now I have gone by Merlin. I am not a Lady, but a healer by right and choice. I have lived in Camiliard for five years and when your son was brought to my village, I was called upon to heal him. Once he was fully recovered, he requested that I journey here and meet with you, to perhaps offer my skills if it would please the King."

It was the most she'd said in a month. And was FAR from the scathing words and tones she'd used on Arthur and the Knights. In fact, she could see a few of them out of the corner of her eyes giving her blinking looks, as if they couldn't fathom that the firm, but eloquently spoken woman before them was the same fiery thing they'd encountered in the village. Merlin, however, was a person of many facades and they'd yet to scratch the surface of who she was.

And who she was...was completely not used to court rules because she'd unknowingly interrupted the Prince who was technically supposed to speak before her. Oops.
 
If only Merlin could take back all that she had said, the first of many reprimanding looks coming from the Prince beside her. A black raincloud now comes over the room, an aura of unpleasantness settling in everyone's stomach much like a bad lunch. Why has she spoken out of turn? Or Why has she spoken at all? are a few of the thoughts weaving their way through the baskets of the higher class minds. But her words, causing fire in most folk, have caused the King's paleness to subside, as fractional as the change might be. She has snatched his attention out of the air like an eagle digging her talons into a leaping salmon making its way upstream.

The small whispers start to grow behind Merlin from the second she opens her mouth, everyone's attention stuck in the past while Merlin and King Uther are the only two actually interested in what is being said. It's as if a dam has been breached, the water spilling over into the throne room. But Uther listens to her words carefully, being sure not to let the quiet gossip grow too loud in the noise of the background. He doesn't let the fact that Merlin called Arthur "your son" instead of "his royal highness" overrule any part of his mind. Quite the opposite for he admires her strength in speaking up and pushing past the usual normalities. A quick smile creases his lips and all of the court misses it but Merlin. A hand comes up to silence the court then the hand bestows itself in Arthur's direction.

"And what do you have to say about this, Arthur?"

"Father, your Majesty, all that Emrysia has stated is true. I was injured gravely in the last of our campaign, and even though my guard rose up in protest to have a lady heal me, it was Emyrsia whose integrity and adeptness healed my wounds. Now it's as if I'm not injured at all. I brought her back to Camelot with a proposition. Your health, father, your Majesty. She will stay until your time has come, then she will part her way and return to Camiliard from whence she came," quickly glancing at Merlin, he nods, confirming their conversation before continuing in his speech, "and until that day, she will stay within the walls of Camelot as your personal physician."

Morgana, eager to speak, cuts in after Arthur finishes up, "Father, if I may," but she doesn't wait for permission, Uther's chest expanding with an eagerness to hear what his darling daughter has to say. A finger raises, giving her all she needs. Rounding the chair as if she were floating on air, the orange dressed woman stares down at Merlin, trying to make testaments for the poor girl in front of the entire court. "Lets have a challenge for this Camiliard healer," oh there is a fire sparkling in her eyes, an excitement to run poor Merlin to the bone before she even so much as comes within two feet of her father. "To test her so that you may be assured, your Majesty, that you are, indeed, in the best of care."

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She's done something wrong. Merlin realizes it the moment the whispers actually reach her ears, but here in this room, she knows only the King can pass true judgement on her so that is who she keeps her eyes on. She doesn't miss the small, barely perceptible smile he gives and her own mouth turns up in return to the gesture. She is perfectly receptive to kindness and humor when it is shown to her and Merlin doesn't exactly relax - she's not stupid - but she does allow herself a moment to breathe and not feel so suffocated. Her dark blue eyes watch Arthur when he speaks and he doesn't say anything that isn't true and he doesn't insult her, in fact praising her skill.

Oh, she'd like to challenge him on that, remind him of how startled he was that she'd been female, about how he'd insulted her, though subtly, but she knows nothing would come of such things. Still, if the arrogant prat would apologize for it that would be a step in the right direction.

She lets none of this show on her face, her eyes only shining with the smallest spark of fire and then her attention is captured by Morgana and Merlin feels something cold slide its way over her skin, like a forewarning of sorts and her guard is instantly up for this Princess may look like gentle sunlight, but she burns like a flame and her intelligence shines in her eyes. At her words, though, Merlin actually smiles, unfazed and there is clear challenge in that look. She nearly laughs as soft, but somehow clear words escape her throat.

"If your Majesty is receptive to this idea, I have no objections."

Oh, no. Merlin knows her skill and she knows what she can handle and what she can't. She highly doubts that these people can give her anything she's not encountered a hundred times over and in more quantity.
 
Uther stands, a statue of a man towering before his people on the raised platform, motioning his daughter closer. Using her body as a crutch of sorts, her assistance eagerly given to her father. There is a light that shines in his eyes when he silently dotes upon his daughter for her quick thinking. His love of such games, tournaments and attestations to strength and dedication always welcome in his court. Knights flood in from all over his, and other, Kingdoms just to take part in the feasts and festivities that Camelot brings to the dark ages. A good time and hearty meal always found here whether its pouring or shining.

"I have come to a conclusion but my judgement will be withheld until these pillars have been passed. Well if the young Merlin agrees to such terms, I have very little choice but to accept them. I give great thanks to Morgana, my darling daughter, for allowing such thoughts to grace my mind, tickling my gray cells. Now for you, Merlin," he sits down one more with the help of Morgana, her frame now where Arthur once stood. Fixing her father's furs, she whispers a thanks in her father's ear before kissing his cheek. Uther, giving her a second of his smile, keeps speaking, "You will dine tonight in aft dining room with the servants," an authoritative smirk comes over Morgana's eyes, thankful she doesn't have to deal with such low class eating the same food off the same table, "Tomorrow morning will be a bright beginning for you and your first pillar of this trial will ensue. Rest well and we shall meet again at the crack of dawn. Court dismissed."

Arthur attempts to move from Merlin's side when his mother stands from her own wooden throne, decorated in a floral design by a Roman artist residing in the court. "My son, my dear Arthur, bring Merlin here," By the time she speaks, the clashing voices of the Lords have removed themselves into the wings of the castle to be spread out among the castle like peanut butter. Obliging to his mother's wishes, only Igraine and Morgana are left on the raised wooden platform. Glancing at the empty stone throne, Uther being carried away by two able bodied guards by a fit of excited coughing, he hears a soft whisper in the back of his mind. One day you'll be sitting where he sat. Judging as he judges now. King Arthur Pendragon.

His mother draws him back to reality, snapping at her son, his eyes taking the time to refocus before looking at the blonde hair of his mother. "Leave us to speak, Arthur but don't stray too far. I expect you to escort Merlin back to her room," a brow raises, not in spite but curiosity, "Surely, you have not memorized the whole castle with just one tour. Have my son answer any of your questions, leaving you to ready yourself for dinner with the servants." Arthur, frowning a tad, bows before his mother before exiting through the grand doors Merlin walked in.

"Now, my dear, tell me more about this Camiliard territory you hail from. My husband will want to know all he can before you are accepted," the warm smile talked about earlier comes across her face. Simple yet elegant, a smile fit for just her position. Morgana, on the other hand, slithers around the thrones to her mother's side, fingers curling into the carved wood. "and trust me dear, you will be accepted." Morgana is as quick as a band of galloping horses to dash Merlin's hope of being welcomed in Camelot. Her mother simply sighs.

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Merlin is actually rather grateful that she will not have to dine with the Lords and Ladies of the court today and thought Morgana smirks, Merlin gives the King a genuine smile and merely bows her head in acquiesce. To be among the servants will be to give her a better understanding of all that goes on here in the castle anyway for servants tend to know things most nobles don't. They rumor yes, but most rumor is steeped in some truth and there are a few reliable sources here and there if one can find and discern them. Merlin is rather good at that and she won't mind in the least being in their presence. Better than being up here, judged by every eye that falls on her, though, she know it will happen eventually because she won't fail her test.

Good thing she is an early riser.

Merlin actually makes to leave when the Queen's voice halts her just as surely as it halts her son and at the words the older woman speaks, Merlin protests as politely as she can. "Oh, no, your Grace, there is no need to take the Prince away from his duties." When Igraine counters with Merlin surely not having memorized the whole tour, she clamps down on her tongue. The fact of that matter is, she knows her way back. Oh, there is still much to explore and many things to discover in this great castle, but she can find her way back to her room just fine. Unfortunately, one does not argue with a Queen when one has just met her, so Merlin protests no more and merely comes forward as the woman wants, dipping her head again respectfully.

And then she wonders how many people have sore necks and backs from such ridiculous posturing all day long, every day.

At the Queen's request, she opens her mouth to speak and is cut off by Morgana who reminds Merlin of nothing less than a coiling serpent. Arthur called HER a snake. HA! He should know. His sister fits the description quite well! Dark blue eyes meet the Princess' gaze and Merlin speaks civilly, but there is an edge of ice to her tone, just the thinnest hint of the hard nature that lies beneath and has not been broken for anything. "I am sure I will enjoy my stay here in Camelot, however long it may be."

The brunette looks away from Morgana then as if she has no more need to speak with her and addresses the Queen once more, putting her hands behind her back, clasping them there easily and she shifts to lean on one leg, the other slightly extended beneath the gown she wears. Most women keep their hands in front, demure and their statue straight, but Merlin doesn't even understand such gestures or the reasoning behind them. "Camiliard is a small territory, your Highness. It's covered mostly by trees and mountain ranges. The summers are mild and the winters' harsh. Many become ill in the early spring and late winter seasons so I have had yearly experience to keep my skills honed. Camiliard's Noble are often quite warmongering, always desiring more power so there are always plenty of injured to care for after their wars and battles. Being a healer, I saw the need to stay in such a region during my travels and I had been living there for five years when Prince Arthur came to me."

She tilted her head, curious to know what exactly the Queen was actually interested in discovering. "Are there any questions I can specifically answer for you, Queen Igraine?"
 
"Enjoy your stay in Camelot?" Morgana retorts under her breath, a gesture meant to sneer at Merlin's confidence, "I seriously doubt you will. Perhaps in a year mother can ask you that same question and, if you're lucky, it might change." Cackling underneath her breath, Igraine twists around in her seat and slaps her daughter right across the face. Morgana's face immediately shifts, eyes going wide at the contact from her mother's warm skin on her own cheek. The sting, no doubt in anyone's mind, will stay for the majority of the night mainly in spirit. Morgana's mouth immediately shuts, her shallow look only worsening when her mother scolds her in front of Merlin.

"Will you ever shut that gaping maw of yours, Morgana? Out, get out! I do not wish for your company if its to be so callous. Or, or, brazen!" Huffing the last words out, Morgana's orange dress tails dance at her heels, her long fingers shielding her face as she runs out of the room. Arthur, holding in a healthy amount of laughter, finally lets it loose once the astonished sister of his, ashamed greatly by her mother's reprimanding, slams the door. It's an action a mere child would do. Morgana might be quick witted and sly but when it comes to anger, she stomps and carries on as if she were a toddler once more.

"You're quite the catapult, mother. No one is safe from your... capricious..." Arthur starts after his laughter has settled down to a quaint mutter. But before he can even get a single sentence in, Igraine wags her finger at him, silencing her son.

"Come now, Arthur, you know how she is," looking back to Merlin, the Queen sighs, knowing an apology is long due from her lips, "I have to apologize for my daughter, Morgana. The girl doesn't quite know her place in this kingdom yet," flicking a finger at Arthur, she continues, "unlike my son who has grown into his position as Prince. Soon he will be King Arthur, not that I'm counting the moments until my dear Uther has passed. I love that man with my heart and soul even if he is a bit rough around the edges."

Tapping her chin, the Queen thinks a long moment on Merlin's home, wondering more about her healing abilities, "Tell me, when did you start to be this healer? You must have been of some importance to your people for Arthur to be taken to you. His personal guard would only want the best for him, no less. What were your teachings like? How did you learn such a magnificent art?"
 
While Merlin is not pleased with Morgan's words, she is just as equally shocked by Igraine's reaction to them. Yes, the Queen has defended her, but perhaps it would have been wiser to do it in private? Now Morgana will constantly see her as a threat and a reminder of the Princess' embarrassment and shame. It will not be an easy road to friendship or even tolerance if such a road even existed in the first place. And WHAT is it with these people and slapping? Merlin can remember getting popped in the mouth or on the cheek when she would sass her mother and she got many a paddling from her father in her younger years, but never in public.

Merlin knew that when you punished a child in order to humilate them, resentment built quickly. Still, she's not a mother and Morgana is not her daughter and Igraine is free to do what she would like with her children. Even if she is building anger in one - and toward Merlin herself - and callousness in the other for it is right for a brother to tease a sister, but not with such gusto as Arthur has. Such teasing, again, should be for a private affair.

She will never understand why Nobles and Royalty act the way they do and the brunette is sure to stay quiet about her opinions. She feels she will be doing that often and her tongue will shrivel up into nothing until she can't remember how to speak at all.

Dark blue eyes come back to meet the Queen's. "There is nothing for you to apologize for, your Majesty. Every man, woman and child is responsible for their own actions and words and if Princess Morgana is sorry for her own words, I am sure she will approach me herself." Perhaps she has spoken out of turn, but Merlin knows she's not said anything insulting so it should be fine. Maybe. She goes on to answer the Queen's question, wishing to merely escape this place of etiquette and stiffness that she does not like and does not want to be a part of.

"I started healing when I was seven years of age, your Highness. I studied herbs and remedies, bandaging techniques and the like from the healer in my village. My father and mother recognized my skill for what it was and desired that I live up to my potential. I surpassed the village healer when I was ten and from then on, I taught myself, reading what I could and occasionally speaking to other healers in nearby towns when my father would go abroad with me on business." Merlin paused and behind her back, her fingers fidgeted.

"I...am no one of importance, your Grace. Since I was fifteen what I have learned and what I know I have taught myself and my p-...skill has only grown since then. When I was seven, I did not have to learn it and I find that despite the knowledge of herbs and remedies I hold, I hardly use them unless it be for minor things."
 
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"A literate woman?" Igraine breathes, she too moving on from such affairs of her family. Oh how she has tried to suppress Morgrane's snapping tongue and unpleasant tone but Morgana knew what was coming. Physical abuse is not something she is proud of, especially slapping her daughter in front of the new healer. But the Queen had to make a split second decision and quiet her daughter. Arthur is still smirking when the two women converse, wanting to talk more about Morgana with his mother. The woman is a loose leaf fluttering in the wind. No. She is hardly fluttering. Morgana is caught in the whirling winds of her own imagination, that leaf soon becoming a sharp edged throwing star used in the bloodiest of trades.

"You grace us with your presence, Merlin. Come to me tomorrow, after your trials while you are resting, and I shall bring you a few good books to read. Lord knows your time within these walls will be dreary. Well, perhaps I'm too quick to judge. As a lady of the courts and a Queen to my King, I am restricted to such manners. You, on the other hand, Merlin, shan't let my shadow nor any of my Ladies' shadows crawl over you. Live your life because you are not bound to Camelot. Arthur knows that," her eyes exchange silent words to Arthur, "and has made a very wise decision giving you leave once..." she swallows hard, a quick moment of fear striking her heart for being without a husband in this large world, "... once your duties have been fulfilled."

Arthur casts a side gaze upon Merlin before turning more towards her, his arms crossing over his chest as he hears her story. Even he is amazed, not knowing how young a healer could be. Perhaps Merlin has some special skill he has yet to fathom. Yet, she is humble, telling his own mother, the Queen, that she is of no importance.

"No one of importance?" Arthur laughs, not in the jabbing way Morgana does but one of amusement, "Her words show folly, mother. An intelligent woman she is, yes, but when my men asked for me to be healed, every, EVERY, finger pointed in Merlin's direction. My own wounds were healed within a day - injuries that have taken months by our own healers here. She is hardly one to be passed over. Tomorrow she will show Camelot and father all he wishes to see. No longer will they be laughing behind her back, sneering when she walks past. If anything, Merlin will show them her place."

Igraine raises a brow at Arthur's words, almost unbelieving them before she turns to Merlin. "Is this true, Merlin? Have you healed in such a rapid pace?" once Merlin answers, Igraine stands from her own throne, glancing to the door Morgana ran out of - her mind filled with worry for her daughter. "Well, your skills, as you call them, shall be tested tomorrow. I presume you'll show me much amazement, Merlin. Don't disappoint me. That's a very bad alley to walk down," fluttering her fingers in a goodbye, Arthur bows before his mother and stays with his back bent until the doors are opened for her by the guards and she has exited.
 
Personal one moment, aloof the next, praising in a breath and threatening in another. The banter of court life buzzes around Merlin like angry bees and she doesn't know whether to let them alight on her and trust that they will not sting if she is still and peaceful or to bat them away and hope that she can fight her way out of the hive. She wants to relax around the Queen for she truly seems like a genuinely kind woman, but she holds great power too and one wrong move can land Merlin in a heap of trouble, this she knows clearly. It's a sixth sense that doesn't need a great deal of honing to work properly and it will only get sharper as time goes on.

She merely nods quietly at the Igraine's words about freedom and restriction, not knowing if she should comment on such things or not. Many people seem to speak here without truly wanting someone to reply to them and Merlin doesn't quite understand it, but she's erring on the side of caution for the moment until she better understand the world around her. She is fiery-spirited but not entirely rash and certainly not foolish.

Her dark blue eyes glance toward Arthur as he speaks and she is extremely puzzled by his continued praise of her. If she is so skilled and wonderful and he is certain she will succeed, then why such a rude greeting when they met? Why has he not discovered any of what she has told his parents for himself in the month that they traveled together? He is a mass of contradictions and she does not like it. And because she does not trust him, she can't help but feel that his exclamations about her talent might work against her in the long run. She can't perform miracles and the last thing she needs is to disappointed a bunch of nobles who might label her a witch and to be executed.

She has no faith that being under the 'protection' of a King or a Prince would spare her of such things.

"I have healed that quickly, yes, your Grace." It is all Merlin says and she forces herself not to speak out of turn when the Queen warns her not to disappoint. Right, because its that easy when these people's whims are as fickle as the wind! She bows along with Arthur when the woman leaves and then finally relaxes her posture slightly and lets out a sigh that seems to echo in the nearly empty, grand hall. Her fingers come up to rub her temples for a moment as she asks herself just WHAT is it she's gotten herself into.

Merlin straightened and turns, composed once more as she moves back to Arthur and lets him lead her toward the her quarters. She tunes out about half of what he says. It's going to be a long day tomorrow and her mind is on that.
 
In the morning, the sunrise advances up the sky, beating back the cruel blackness of the night sky. Camelot basks in a pool of gold from the calm rays of the warm day ahead of the residents. The farmers are the first to wake, long before the brightening of the sky starts in the east, stretching her digits out across the barns and fields. There is a quiet solace to the morning before the bells start to toll and the citizens start to rise from their straw stuffed cots or plush beds. Soon the marketplace will be bustling with carts, horses, sheep, and vendors, lots and lots of vendors. They'll all scream, trying to attract prices with guarantees of sorts or even scams that many fall into. Business is business.

The newly washed glass of Merlin's window, lets the bright rays dance across her tousled sheets. While she ate last night, the windows had been done with circumspect while she dined with the servants in the lower hall. Little does she know, as the birds happily chirp, greeting their fellows and preparing for the day ahead of them, that the King and his family are already up and almost prepared for the trails. These tests, from quick thinking on ones feet to long divided knowledge from old texts, will certainly give the townspeople a run for their money. Uther intends for this to be a public event for all of Camelot to witness.

Servants have already cleaned up the tournament ring, used for jousting and an exhibition of true strength through melee combat, for today's trials. The King, proudly sitting at the North box, shall witness it all. His personal scribe will be next to him, taking down any notes he may wish to keep for later reference. Even he, King Uther, cannot remember all the events of a single sitting. Anyone who does is surely a genius. Every single detail? No. Impossible. And so when the trumpet blasts through the castle, radiating out from the perches of the castle wall's wooden galleries or fortified spires, men, women, and children, all hurry their way to catch a seat for their entertainment. Merlin, no doubt, should be escorted here shortly, the entire royal family, Lords and Ladies, being kept waiting.
 
Merlin has decided that since today is a day of testing, a day she will be in her element, she will wear what she wants to. And what she desires to dress in is the attire she's worn for years; breeches, loose-sleeved shirts, a corset and boots. Her hair is half-haphazardly tied back with a rawhide string and Merlin can feel the energy buzz at her fingertips after she eats a breakfast brought to her room and is then escorted out to the tournament ring. She instantly hears the whispers that start up when she enters, not only about who she is but also about her attire.

It makes the healer grin. They'd better get used to it. She's not changing who she is for them, not any one of them be they King or the most lowly man in the city. She stops before the King's box high above and bows, going through the formalities before her trial is set upon her. It's boring at first, incredibly so and Merlin stands in the middle for all to see, her arms crossed and hip cocked as she answers the questions thrown at her with rapid speed.

She gets some wrong. She doesn't know all the equipment or the most ancient herbs, but whatever she can't answer, Merlin improvises on, explaining how another technique can work just as well and by the end of the debate, the elder healer is almost behaving like he is curious as to her methods and not so much as to how they should be performed. At the end, her tally is wracked up and it's impressive at a 176 out of 200 questions. And fifteen of those she'd been able to come up with a different or better solution to.

It's clear Merlin has passed the first trial and that is when the second takes place. She watches, almost impassively, as men are carried in on stretchers and laid down in the field they had surely fought on at some point. They are all injured, some gravely so and each ones' name is announced as they are brought in and set down. They are all nobility and Merlin curses under her breath. Of course. If she can't heal them, they'll have her head and if she does, they will have their precious Knights of Camelot back to full strength, yet another blow to Camiliard and a testament of their strength. Clever.

Merlin doesn't really think about that, though, as she approaches the first man nearest her and another healer hovers behind her, making sure she doesn't do anything not approved of. The brunette pays him no mind as she studies the damage to the young man's - and he is young - leg. It's gangrenous, that is clear and the Knight, who's name is Galahad, looks up at her with fear in his eyes. "Please...please don't cut it off..." His voice rasps and Merlin palms his cheek, looking into his green eyes steadily.

"You will walk again. I promise."

"You can't promise that! Are you so cruel as to give the boy false hope?" the healer behind her hisses and Merllin stands and whirls, her tongue lashing like fire. "You will be silent!" Her voice cracks through the air and everyone hears it. The healer looks infinitely startled and Merlin goes on before he can even get a word in edgewise. The brunette almost seems to not realize the words pouring out of her own mouth, though. All she can feel is the power within her, beating on her flesh, demanding that she release it to do its task.

"You will not tell me what I can and can not do, you who have not seen my skill, nor felt the power of the Sun's Touch in my fingers. I am Child of the Sun and Sky, something you can not begin to fathom. Leave me to do my work and go back to whatever dusty corner you crawled out of."

She leaves him to gape like a fish and goes back to Galahad, her smile soft once more like a switch as been turned. "Now, lay still. This shouldn't hurt and if it does, it will be a brief pain."

The young Knight nods and Merlin takes a breath and lets it out slowly, letting the world fade away as she lets the energy in her body surge forward. It senses the injury, the illness and death around it and Merlin is lost to its swirling power as her eyes glow gold and her fingertips touch the young man's leg. He gasps, but it's not in pain, as the gold energy flows around the limb, but Merlin doesn't hear it. She's focused on fighting of the poison in his blood and the leg under her turns healthy and pink, the wound closing, knitting together as if it never was.

The brunette rises then and she moves to the next man, the next injury, the gold sparking at her fingers, dancing about her eyes. She knows she could use bandages, herbs, equipment. It's all laid out for her, but these people wanted a show, yes? Well fine, she'll give them one they will never forget.

She goes about the pallets and everywhere the golden light touches, there is healing. Some of it is painless, but some men scream and must be held down because mending broken bones hurts no matter how it is done. Eventually every Knight, every person of Noble blood in this field is whole again though and then she finally stops. Merlin's eyes fade to dark blue and she seems to come back to herself as she realizes she is facing the King and his family. Her eyes skim over the Queen, silently asking if she's suitably amazed, then to Morgana; challenging, to Arthur; wondering if he's seen what he wants to see, and then finally back to Uther. Her voice rings out with simple confidence into the silence.

"Is there anything more the King would have me do?"
 
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It's amazing how quickly a crowed can be turned over. When Merlin first starts, there is even some booing coming from the far end of the arena from a given cluster of ratty folk. Throughout the questions, though, most of that rowdiness has been silenced by Uther's raised hand, a quiet hush cast over the arena. It's a simple test in comparison to what it could be. Questions fly like flashes of thunder but soon the healer with the large tome, starts to give her scenarios and she has two to five minutes to come up with a witty answer in time for the injured in question to be healed before death takes over. All the important folk, clustered around Uther's box, stay silent throughout the whole trial, their beady eyes saying enough as to where they stand.

Bright rays of gold project themselves from her fingers, catching everyone's attention. The third pillar of the trial has begun with the rows of knights laid down on the ground, awaiting Merlin's hot fingers. Silence once again eats away at everyone, most of the mouths in the audience left gaping to catch the flies buzzing around their smelly heads. Then a whisper is transacted and it spreads across the seats, low and true. Most think she is using witchcraft, pleading with Uther to stop this before she casts spells on all of them. Thus, all the hope she has bottled up in everyone in the first part of the trial, has been smashed with this single word. Screaming starts from one end of the wooden arena, a young woman not being able to handle the fact that their knights are to be touched by such soiled hands.

Uther, with a wave of his hand, has the woman be taken away by her friends, family, and some of his guards, for this trial must be absolute. The woman, thrown back into the streets from whence she came, is ordered not to return to the arena. The guards stand stiff and unwavering as the walking pile of rags walks away.

But the King, seeing Merlin work with a fierce gusto, questions his scribe upon the type of magic she is using. He has never seen such beauty in his life, watching as the raw energy seeps into the skin of the wounded, doing all it must within seconds or minutes depending on intensity. When he has seen enough, the King already making his decision, he stands once all the men have been healed. They're carried away, leaving Merlin to look into his gray eyes. Before he can speak, the shouting starts up again, begging Uther to throw her in the river, stone her to death, or burn her at the stake for what she is.

Uther, having knowledge his people cannot possibly acquire, he has them all settle down before his voice is heard booming across the sandpit. Upon her eyes meeting his, Arthur settles back into his chair, fingers stroking his goatee. Uther's voice towers over them, turning Arthur's attention back to his father,"You've surprised me, Merlin," he starts, another loud hissing sound coming from the southern steps, "Now! People of Camelot. What you have witnessed here today is, indeed, a treat for all your eyes. Savior it and remember this day. Today you have seen Emrysia Wyllt use magic of old. A dying breed, much like our enemies to the north. That doesn't mean we can't learn to accept such Druidistic enchantments within our walls."

The Queen beams, knowing what her husband will say next before he does. Giving a subtle nod to Merlin, she smiles wide, showing her teeth before turning her attention to her husband as well. Morgana, on the other hand, keeps her daggers lifted. She won't give the girl an inch. In her mind, any healer could have done what Merlin has done even though that's far from the truth. Scoffing lightly when their gazes meet, she widens her eyes, warning the girl once again of her never becoming a part of Camelot.

"You shall be accepted, Merlin, and dine tonight with my family in the great banquet hall. A celebration will be healed of your prowess," raising his arms, the crowed behind him starts to cheer, even the Lords and Ladies looking pleased in their own unique ways, "But! Don't think your tests are over, Merlin of Camiliard. Your next trial is something far graver. You must heal me, a task that none of my top physicians are able to do. It's the ultimate test for you and one, noting your abilities, that will be a challenge. All of my subjects are dismissed." with a clap of his hands he spreads them like a blanket over a bed, the commoners taking their leave before the Lords and Ladies follow far behind the stench.
 
Merlin listens to the cries around her, shouts for her death and all she can feel is pity for these people. They know so little, like trusting sheep they follow anyone, accept anything told to them and she knows, even when the King calms them and starts speaking, that it will take much to get them to accept someone like her. It takes everyone a while to accept someone like her and such has been her life since she was seven years of age, healing one of her friends' cats. That boy never spoke to her again, his parents warning him firmly against it and his mind wary of her. No, she has never been easily enfolded into any place she's gone and Merlin is rather used to it.

Enchantment. She nearly snorts and if it hadn't been the King speaking, she would have. There is no enchantment here and it is such talk like that which will make people further believe she can cast spells on them, making them fear her. Oh, well. There is not a great deal she can do to change their minds this day. It will take many months, perhaps even years to do that, but Merlin is patient and she knows whatever will come of this...will come.

She's passed the test and yet all Merlin feels is tired. Heal the King. No, not an easy endeavor for she has an inkling of what plagues him, but not impossible either. She will have a place - even if just in name - here in Camelot, but she doesn't look at it as home or even as being welcome. Morgana will make sure she is come against left and right and who knows what enemies she's already made with Nobility and commoner alike this day. Perhaps she should not have used the power she held. Maybe it had been stupid....and yet, it had nearly been begging for release in a way she'd not felt in a long time. It had come so easily, not reluctantly like a dog woke from slumber, obey because it had to but rather as an eager hound, excited for the hunt.

As everyone jostles each other out of the arena, Merlin feels a hand on her shoulder. She blinks owlishly as she turns and looks up at the first man she healed. Galahad. Right. He is looking at her rather curiously, young green eyes both innocent and yet fierce all at the same time. "My lady, how did you accomplish such a feat? Are the King's words true? Did you use ancient enchantments?"

The brunette shakes her head, smiling just slightly for he is the only Knight to have stayed, to be acknowledging her and for that he wins a place of respect in her mind. "Nay, not an enchantment. Did you hear an incantation fall from my lips? No, it is a power I was born with. Whether it be called magic or not, I can not say, but I am no witch."

"A druid then, perhaps, Lady Merlin."

Merlin smiles a little more. "Perhaps, Sir Galahad."

The young Knight takes her hand and place a kiss on the back, green eyes sparkling with good humor and health. "Thank you, Lady Merlin. I owe you my life." He does not wait for a response before leaving with proud dignity, the Knight he is and Merlin tilts her head, feeling a wisp of gold flash in her eyes. She shakes her head then, fondly almost, at what she sees and then turns to leave herself, moving toward the two guards who will escort her...somewhere.

She doesn't get more than three steps before a drop of blood drops down and lands on her white shirt and Merlin reaches up. She looks at the back of her hand as she pulls it away from her face and sighs at the crimson liquid that is now dripping and pouring steadily from her nose. The world flickers black around her in a threatening manner and the healer reaches out to touch a support beam for the stands, forcing herself to breath slowly as she threatens to black out. That's the last thing she needs. Maybe using that much power in one concentrated sitting hadn't been the wisest of ideas.

Galahad
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So the richly homespun colored bands of color leave the arena after the Royal family struts out. Morgana is, no doubt, seething about Merlin's success to her father, trying to plant small seeds of destruction in the wise man's head. Uther will have none of it, turning to his daughter with a smile. He is never one to dilute his image in front of his people. For now he stands the tall and passionate King of Camelot, weak yet strong in the binds that hold him to his throne.

He won't give up without a fight. In simple words, he tells his daughter to drop the issue, his mind is made up. He won't stand to be corrupted by such ignorance. She barely knows Merlin and thus shouldn't act in such brash ways. Igraine tucks her arm over her husband's, an approving gesture on how he handled Morgana's paramount quality. Her spite. Igraine is hard with her discipline but Morgana is still her daughter, along with Arthur, so any anger sizzles out in a short time. She can't stay angry at her babies. Not like Uther can.

One man seemed glued in his seat, hand stroking his facial hair and his mind in a whir of thoughts. It's true that he has been amazed today, more than he thinks he has ever been. But his thoughts aren't on that, they're silent and reflective on Merlin and her newly befriended Sir Galahad. His eyes are glued on the interaction between the once limping Sir and the enchantress. As soon as his lips press against her knuckles, the man huffs out a breath, quiet enough so that only he can hear it. It won't dare travel down to the two unwillingly standing before his audience. One thought travels through his mind, seeing the green eye'd man smiling on his way from the arena.

Where does such an energy come from? To ignite golden air from the fingertips and heal wounds as if they were never created. Never inflicted by friend or foe. It all just vanishes... where? Into what? I don't understand this magic. Sorcery.

But then his eyes look back to Merlin, her weight leaning against the support beam to his right exit. Pausing, the man finally stands, a Prince alone among the box. Why he stayed is because of his own rampaging mind, nothing more. But now he sees Merlin's corset drop to the ground along with the rest of her body. Frantically looking around the arena, Arthur's voice catches in his throat, unable to call for there is no one to hear him. Frowning, he looks to the small staircase leading down from the box to the sandy floor below. The brunette is still sprawled out upon the sand where many footsteps have placed their weight, moving to and from glory or defeat. She was a goddess and now she has fallen.

Huffing out his disbelief at no one, no one, being around, Arthur quickly jogs from the box, kneeling down before the twisted mass of sand sprayed hair. Lowering himself enough to kneel before her, he is thankful that no one is around to see him take care of Merlin. He thinks about waking her up, perhaps tapping her on the cheek until he sees those dark blue eyes again, yet, the less she knows about his alluring qualities, the better off they both are. She might be accepted by her father and him, but that doesn't mean he trusts her completely yet. Dawning his hood from his cloak, he picks up Merlin in his arms, taking the back streets to the inner castle walls and to her tower.
 
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