Where Legends Begin

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Merlin wakes in her own bed, with Elwyn beside her in a chair. The maid looks infinitely relieved to see her awake and says as much, explaining that a healer had been by to see her but had only said that she needed rest as the brunette sits up slowly. Elwyn flutters around her like a frantic mother hen and Merlin eventually snaps at her to stop, her head pounding as she cradles it. The maid stills immediately and flinches before looking down and clasping her hands before her demurely. "I'm sorry, my lady. I was simply worried."

A sigh answers her. "I know. I am sorry for being harsh with you. My head hurts is all."

Dark eyes look up curiously. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but why do you not just make it go away? I saw what my lady did in the arena."

Merlin gave a wry smile, looking up and she slowly got out of bed, used to the vertigo that hit and then the spots that float before her vision before she steadies and while her head aches something fierce, she knows she is going to be fine. Eating would be good and going to bed early will fix everything. She's merely depleted of energy. "That is the funny part, Elwyn; I can not heal myself."

The maid blinks in surprise. "Not at all?"

"Not even a scratch." Merlin chuckles, already stripping out of her dirtied clothes and Elwyn snaps to attention, coming over to help, picking out a dress for the brunette to wear. It's a wine-red with gold flowered embroidery. It's completely too rich for Merlin's taste, but after she washes up, Elwyn convinces her to wear it and her hair is pulled back in a simple way. Merlin doesn't like that her face is not partially hidden anymore by the stray strands of hair that fall out of her ties or a complete curtain when she wears it loose, but she's going to dine with the King and it's important she look the part. It's a real pain in the arse as far as Merlin is concerned.

Still, she thanks Elwyn for her work which has the maid beaming and then leaves her room before any guards can come escort her. It's almost thrilling to have escaped them and Merlin is smiling to herself as she makes her way toward where she knows the dining hall is located. She figures from that point she will see people entering and can just...slip in unnoticed. Maybe. She's quite tired of being the center of attention already.

"Lady Emrysia?"

Merlin nearly cringes at the name, but she composes herself and turns around to see a woman of great beauty with auburn hair and the palest blue eyes, surrounded by three guards and a serving maid, coming toward her. There is a smile on her lips, a genuine one full of real warmth and Merlin finds herself intrigued. "You are she, as I thought. I am Guinevere. I wanted to bid thee welcome to Camelot. Your skill is quite astounding. Is it hard to do?"

Merlin smiled, instantly relaxing in a way she'd not done since arriving. Guinevere...she was good. So very good that the brunette found it amazing how at ease she felt around the other. It was a sense, a warmth that curled through her, the power inside humming happily as if encountering a patch of sunlight. "It can be difficult at times, yes. I am delighted to meet you, Guinevere. I have heard much of you and none of it bad."

There is light laughter as the two begin to walk together, as if they are old friends, toward the dining hall. "You speak without titles. Bold for a woman." There is a glint of teasing laughter in Guinevere's eyes and Merlin raises a brow in counter. "You introduced yourself as such."

"An excellent point made. And what do you call yourself?"

"Merlin."

Guinevere smiles as they approach the doors to the hall. "Then Merlin you shall be to me."

Guinevere
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Dress and hair
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Arthur, sitting at his father's right arm, leans against the embroidered cloth of the wooden table. His eyes scan the room but they see nothing of importance. The man waits in anticipation for something, anything that will catch his eye. Perhaps tonight he will dance and be merry or be his normal brutish self, spiting at dancing and merriment. But those times should be past him. There is no longer a war in their mist, a glorious battle that he thinks he has yet to witness. But he was sent by his father to Camiliard and has come back a better man because of it. Lifting his head from his palm, Guinevere strides into the hall with none other than Merlin at her arm. If her gaze meets him, he simply nods, plastering a smile to his face for his dearest friend. He trusts her with his being and would have no other woman's company but hers if he had the choice.

The Prince knows he shouldn't but his body feels a sharp stab in the side, seeing Guinevere so close to the dark blue pools that belong to Merlin. The same color eyes, blue, are found on each of the women. A deep sea which any ship can get lost in, compared to a friendlier and less mysterious hue. Arthur has been able to stare into her eyes and see the reflection of the skies in her hues. The color is as soft as the clearest of summer days, no clouds to block any thoughts. And Arthur feels jealous, almost threatened, that his Guinevere shall be basking in anyone else's company but his. The velvet covered chest of his expands, holding taught until his brain reminds him to just breathe and relax. The food is set down before the King's table first before the other tables are treated. Everything one could imagine is present from duck to dates and from fresh wine to a hearty ale. Everything is glistening on shining platters and poured into chalices for this occasion is one to feast to.

The two women are seated at one of the two long benches stretching down the length of the great hall. Pillars hold up the stone ceiling, the arches truly something to gawk at. It's much like the cathedral in town with its flying buttresses except this hall has been specifically designed for the Pendragon family. Each pillar has a portrait carved into the stone, telling a story of a previous King long dead and buried in the catacombs of the city. A dank, dark, and wet place smelling of a decay of the centuries. Now that Uther has fallen ill, he has spent many days in those chambers, preparing himself to greet his father, father's father, and so on. A great line of men - a family he is proud to call his own. The conversation of the night touches on either, if not both, of those topics.
 
Merlin is glad to be by Guinevere. She'd not thought to find a friend in this place, a person she could speak to, but she'd been very wrong and is glad of it. Guinevere speaks of her home and of her father, mother and three brothers. She is from the Summer Country and her father is the Lord Leodegrance and he had once served as a Knight under King Uther before being given ruling over Summer Country in the name of the King. He is a loyal friend and ally to Uther and to Camelot, and Guinevere has been raised around Arthur and Morgana most of her life. Her brother, Percival, is even one of Arthur's Knights, serving his Prince as his father before him served Uther in the same way.

It is a proud heritage Guinevere holds, but she is gentle and kind and genuinely sweet like summer itself, warm to all who would be friends with her. She is not stupid, though, this Merlin can tell easily as they start to speak of affairs of the Kingdom, their heads turned toward each other, deep in conversation. Their talk heads from such politics to more personal things again and this time Guinevere wants to know of Merlin.

"Is it true that your father served King Lot?"

Merlin nearly chokes on the water she is sipping and she clears her throat before nodding. "Yes." She plans to leave it that, but Guinevere's pale blue eyes shine with curiosity, with prompting. "Is that all you will say?" The brunette sighs, tracing her finger around the rim of her cup now, listening to the joviality around her. She suddenly wishes to disappear into it rather than speak of her family, but it's bound to come out sooner or later. Better that she tell Guinevere herself. "He was Lord Balan Wyllt, Right Hand of the King, in much the same way your father is to King Uther, I suspect."

Guinevere's eyes widen in surprise and she looks around before focusing on Merlin again. "If you are the daughter of such a Lord, why have you come to Camelot as a commoner?"

Merlin opens her mouth to speak, but a trumpet sounding the end of dinner and the beginning of dancing and entertainment echoes through the room and saves the brunette from having to explain something she is not ready to disclose. Everyone rises, chattering as bright and gay music starts up and men pair off with women in a lively blur of color and movement.
 
The more Arthur looks at the two women converse, stealing as many glances as he can throughout the meal and dull conversation of his own, the more anxious he is to hear of what they're talking about. He looks to the stars, knowing they're blanketing the sky past the dome of the stone roof. Past the iron chandelier, the hot wax dripping into the rounded pans at the base of each candle, Arthur knows that the night sky fans over Camelot. Those rolling hills will soon be his to rule and he will, just like his father, look upon them every single day and appreciate all he has. Until that moment though, Arthur nearly is at the edge of his seat.

Hardly touching his food, Arthur orders the servant to leave his plate alone. Igraine looks to her son with worry from across Uther, knowing its rather unlike the Prince to skip a meal and barely pick at it with his fork. Her gaze follows her son's when she believes he cannot tell, noticing his ordinary brown hues wanting to catch none other than Guinevere's. The Queen smiles, not understanding her son and his mind but retrieving a small hint from that voice in her head that Arthur might fancy Guinevere in one way or another. Leaning over to her husband, she grips his fingers in hers, whispering sweetly into his ear. He stands and she follows him to the floor once the benches have been moved away by servants.

Kaine, the boy who is most fond of Arthur, runs up to his hero. Bowing promptly, he then starts to divulge the important information of his day, hoping that it will put a smile on his face. Throughout the meal, he has looked at Arthur stare in a ghostly precision and now the boy wishes to wake the beast. A tinge of worry is in Kaine's voice but he soon brings Arthur's eyes to him and the man's voice from his throat. Reaching out, the Prince places a hand on Kaine's yellow hair, adoring the splash of red mixed well in the strawy strands. After a mild conversation, Arthur picks one of the daughters of a Lord that Kaine talks about so desperately. She is pretty, in a young, very young, sort of way, Arthur supposes. Standing up, he curls a finger at Kaine, wishing him to follow.

The young girl is around Kaine's age and she immediately is dumbstruck when she sees the Prince walking over to her bench. Towering over the raven haired girl, Arthur almost announces young Kaine to her but pauses in front of the girls seat. He asks for a momentary pause and she nods her head eagerly. Arthur kneels down before him, whispering a few words of charisma, pushing the kid's messy hair into some sort of acceptable order. He will, after all, be dancing with a noblewoman's daughter. Taking off his own velvet vest, Arthur places it through Kaine's small arms, telling him that this vest is what will give him the confidence he needs. Withholding his laughter, Arthur glances down at his workmanship. Kaine, having this large bulky vest on, hardly looks like himself but its the thought that counts. Nudging the newly primed Kaine forward, he asks the girl to dance, Arthur's presence alone causing her to accept.

And so the boy will have the evening of a lifetime, the two small pairs of hands joining as they too make their way over to the swirling colors in mid dance. Arthur stands, a Lord commenting on how thoughtful his actions are. Arthur, not really noticing, nods but doesn't hear a word of what the wine guzzling man is saying. Standing only in a royal tunic now, woven from fine silk and dyed an off yellow color, matching his red vest but doing well on its own.
 
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Merlin has watched Arthur because despite the many faults she see in him, she longs to see the good, too. There has to be a reason she has dreamed of him for sixteen years, why her visions circle around him, why she has been pulled away from everything she's ever known...for this one man. There must be something to this Prince, something she is not seeing. Oh, she's heard plenty, but Merlin has yet to witness anything astounding in any kind of way from Arthur and so even when she does not look like she is watching him, she always knows where he is. From the corner of her eyes or a sixth sense that seems to be growing stronger the longer she's around him...she can always find him like her eyes are opposite ends of a magnet to his own brown orbs.

She feels a smile quirk at her lips at his display to young Kaine. It is apparent that he cares for the boy and Merlin departs from Guinevere as the auburn-haired woman is asked to dance and she looks at Merlin apologetically only to have the brunette laugh in a soft way and shoo her off. A bold Knight asks Merlin the same question, but she declines, much to his surprise and continues on in her mission as she moves through the bodies of those around her and finally to Arthur's side.

Merlin says nothing at first, merely watching Kaine and the Noble-man's daughter, a smile twitching at her lips as the vest keeps slipping on Kain's shoulders slightly and he shrugs to get it back up in order. He is rather adorable and she realizes that she already has at least four people she'd be saddened to leave; Kaine, Elwyn, Guinevere and Galahad.

It's a nice feeling.

"How long have you known him?" Her voice is smooth and easy, nothing like the snapped tones she has directed to him before and Merlin's dark blue eyes catch his brown for a moment before she looks away again and back out at the dancers, hands behind her back and posture straight, but relaxed. As long as his answer is civil, she will remain as such.
 
Arthur moves to the sidelines, his hand coming up to his chin as he examines the young Kaine's movements with the young lady. Even though he has yet to catch a name of the raven haired girl, he is sure its something beautiful. There is a certain aspect about the way she smiles, the sides of her lips twitching ever so slightly when she truly wants to show off her radiance. Even though Kaine is but a servant, Arthur feels like a fatherly figure towards the growing boy. He will fiercely storm to Kaine's side if anyone should object this dance, not caring how rude or callous he will be if someone so much as smirks at the two and hints at a chuckle. It's their dance. An important one for the young boy to become a man.

A voice sounds into his ear, the Prince jumping right out of his skin. His eyes dart to Merlin's, calmed by what he finds there. It's only her. He assures himself once again, quickly scanning the crowed of people before assuring himself that he isn't seeing some sort of apparition. Many men and women have told him as a young child, mainly servants, of ghosts haunting the castle. Arthur has long stopped believing in the ghostly tales of one-handed-Horus or Chin-less-Chaliv. He has never witnessed such a meeting and he is steadfast in his beliefs until they're altered by a ghostly spirit.

"How long have I known him?" Arthur sighs, his mind's gears quickly working out the dates that he has had Kaine under his careful eye and guidance. "It's been several years, Lady Merlin. I'm not quite sure I can give you an exact time. He is still young, only just blossoming into his teens. So if I had to guess," math was never really his strong suit, always having to use his fingers to count out problems for him instead of just memorizing the numbers, "I would assume its been nearly four years. His father worked for my father, his servant so when his son was brought here by his mother from the country, Uther thought it only natural that Kaine should assist me. He has done a fine job, a bit too mouthy at points but all is fair. I'm sure I was the same at his age, every little thing coming to me as a big amazing ball of fire falling from the sky," he chuckles, "When really, it's as simple as closing a door all by one's self."
 
Merlin chuckles and it's a soft sound, like the trill of a night-bird as she looks back at Arthur and seems to studying him for a moment, her dark blue eyes veiled and stormy, but at the moment not challenging or sparking with fire that could consume a dragon itself. Or perhaps a Pendragon. "He is quite fond of you. I heard many a story yesterday about every activity done in every place in the castle between you both."

Again she flashes a slight smile and looks away again. Her fingers come up absentmindedly to take the band out of her hair and she slowly retrieves the pins as well, letting the waves fall down her back once more, sweeping out near her cheekbones. She holds the hair accessories in one hand and reaches up to rub her temple with the other. The bright colors and sounds of laughter and speech, even the candle-light is starting to make her head hurt even more. It's nothing she can't handle, though, but having her hair loose and not confined to her scalp helps with the pressure and she hardly cares what anyone thinks at the moment.

They are all mostly too drunk to care anyway. Merlin hasn't tasted a drop, managing to get away with it even during impromptu toasts and she hopes it stays that way. Is glad it has this night.

"Why do you not dance?"

She asks without really knowing why she does. After all, the same could be asked of her. The simple truth is that Merlin doesn't know how, but what reason does this Prince, who could have any girl - with a partner or not - in his arm with but a glance their way, have for not dancing? She brings the full weight of her gaze on Arthur then, a slight frown marring her features as her head tilts just a little. "You are weighed down by something. It makes your heart heavy." It's not a question.
 
They converse without any problems - yet. The latter part of his conscience thoughts know who he is talking to - how could he not - but Arthur just finds himself speaking and not caring. For once he actually stays put, not turning his shoulder or his attention to the stray locks of his blonde hair. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Arthur still keeps his chin up in approval for Kaine. The man might be staring off into the crowed but his thoughts are hardly where his eyes are. His thoughts are on the woman next to him. Particularly why she is being so sweet, her words as light as the single feather attached to his collar. Merlin has let her guard down. Perhaps, just this once, they can have an actual conversation. This is, after all, her feast.

After her show on the battlefield, he knows he must congratulate her. But even if this feast is really being held in her victory, he still chuckles at his own thoughts, knowing the true toll it took on her body. Blood dripped from her nose, her body falling to the ground like a tree in the forest. It was he who had to escort her warm body, still radiating the golden heat from her trials, to her room where he summoned Elwyn. It's ironic, a healer of her caliber, a holder of old magic, needing Elwyn to tend to her nosebleed. He would have assumed healers never hurt themselves, their bodies always quickly mended. Perhaps seeing that she could bleed, just like any other person, has made her -human- to him.

Blinking, Arthur crashes right back down into his own body, leaving the caverns of his own mind behind. The Prince shakes his head a little, trying to sort out his discombobulating setting. The dancers are still here. So are the minstrels and assorted flutes and drummers. The people are, obviously, here too. Glancing over at Merlin, he tries not to ask too surprised at her question and even more so at her statement. An observation that all could witness tonight but most are too merry to care about the toils of a Prince. Yet, here is Merlin. Concerned? Arthur doesn't think so.

Immediately that brick wall starts to form around him, his gaze turning to her less and less as he speaks. "You're quite the hidden treasure, Merlin. Thinking you know what is when you could have no idea of the truth. Bold statements coming from a Camiliardian. I shan't dance tonight, Lady Merlin. Are you upset by such tidings?"
 
As soon as he speaks, she knows this isn't going to end well. She doesn't even register that he's actually said her name without the aggravating title of 'lady' before it. All she hears is his tone and Merlin bristles, all feelings of tentative concern or interest fading in the wake of irritation and sharp-edged wariness as he speaks. When he finishes, she is stiff at his side and though she doesn't let anything show through in her expression, her dark blue eyes have grown even stormier, lightning flashing in their depths and thunder rolling there. She doesn't look at Arthur when she replies, much as he doesn't look at her.

"Hardly, your Majesty. Far be it from a simple Seliceian to feel any kind of worry for a Prince. You are right, I could not possibly know anything I have not been told in the most simplest of terms. Such thought and power of observation must be beyond me. My company is not fit for the Crown Prince of Camelot, so I will take my leave of you, your Highness."

Merlin's voice is low and nearly drips with soft sarcasm before she gives him a stiff curtsy and whirls around and away. She could care less in that moment that he's a prince. He's also a royal prat! She seethes as she makes her way among the people milling about and toward a balcony where the air is not quite so stifling and she feels she can breathe again. The night sky looks down at her, though, and Merlin can almost feel its disapproval.

She knows then that she's let her temper get the better of her - again - but right now she's unsure why she should care. She tried being nice. It gets her nowhere with that man. He can't even hold one conversation without insulting her in some way! He doesn't retain any information given him! Camiliardian? She's made it clear she's not from there, but in reality is from North Britain, ruled over by King Lot. And who is he to tell her that she doesn't know the truth of things?! She knows far more than he can guess at and yet, he takes no time to discover this, merely assuming that she knows nothing!

Even when she is polite, he finds a way to demean her! Is she that offensive to him? Why by all the stars in the sky is she supposed to be near this arrogant man?!
 
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Arthur is somewhat relieved when Merlin leaves his side as he brushes his hair out of his eyes. What was she thinking? Coming up to him in such a way and asking, saying, such personal statements for his mind and his mind alone. It's not her place to simply tell him, tell him what he indeed does feel? A weight like no other crunches down on his shoulders, its true, making him shuffle his feet while he walks. But how could she tell all that by simply looking at him? Let alone think she is in some commonplace where she can assist him. He is a Prince. What is she? A nobody. That's what she is. A simple face in a crowed even if she does possess magic of old in her fingertips.

The prince's brown eyes, as strong as wooden beams holding up magnificent structures people call homes, don't bother to follow the mage. In his mind, he has done nothing wrong. Sure, he didn't look at her when talking, which is a bit rude, but his mind is elsewhere. Thought after thought and worry after worry flow in and out of his head. Some are of his father's health and other's of his own reign. Now that he is old enough to know what his purpose is in this Kingdom, it troubles him that he must be as great as his father. It's true the people love him, screaming and cheering his name when he rides past, but when he has to tax them and punish them, will they still have the same smiles on their faces? Arthur doesn't know.

He has never sentenced anyone to death or had fingers cut off for stealing or an ear sliced off for insubordination. There are weeks that pass by, people cursing his father out for holding justice up instead of corruption. Will he be the same? Surely no rotten fruit will be thrown at him like the men and women in the gallows. Still, the Crown Prince worries. He sweats at night, dreaming of failure and hate, unable to obtain a blink of sleep for every time he closes his eyes, he fears of the outcome. Surely its just his mind playing tricks on him but he has heard of Greek soothsayers and fortune tellers having dreams of the future in their sleep. What if his dreams are yet to come in his life? How can he change it?

A voice behind him, smooth and sweet, interrupts his thoughts. Nearly jumping, Arthur turns around to find Guinevere's eyes locking with his. Immediately, his troubles sizzle off of his skin, causing his shoulders to relax and a content sigh to escape him. Holding out both his hands for hers, he kisses them, one by one, and leaves them clasped between them.

"I was wondering when I would be able to finally speak with you, Guinevere. Hopefully your ride here was easy, no bandits or trouble along the twisty roads? Even though, I am sure, your knights could deal with any who come in between you and Camelot. Still, these halls already look brighter now that you're here to glide through them. Have you seen the gardens? The Queen has put in a new patch of lilies near the southern pillars. I am sure your presence alone might cause them to bloom radiantly."
 
Guinevere giggles and though she keeps one hand in his, she swats at his shoulder with the other, her fingers doing no harm. "Stop that, you flatterer." She smiles at him, her old friend and brother and links her arm with his own, brow raising. "I would love to be shown the gardens, my dear Prince." She lets him lead her toward the place in question, knowing very well the way, but in no hurry to get there. She desires to speak to Arthur and that is why she has come to his side, attracted his attention.

"The ride over was fine, as it is always is. The roads between our provinces are well protected between our fathers' patrols, you know this. There is little reason to worry." She gives the man a glance. "Though, you seem to be doing a great deal of it lately, Arthur Pendragon."

Guinevere knows she is one of a few rare people who get to speak to the Prince so freely and she takes great care with that, uses such a power with wisdom. She pushes Arthur to think and have a gentler nature, but Guinevere knows her influence only goes so far. No, even she is not quite daring enough to stand up to the Crown Prince completely, but from what she has seen and heard from the Knights in their drunken revelries....Merlin is. It intrigues her.

"Tell me, dear friend, what is on your mind? What plagues you so that you can not enjoy a feast? Is it worry over your father?"

--

Merlin has taken her leave of the celebration and she is more than sure that with as drunk as everyone is, she won't be noted as missing for quite some time and at that point most will assume that she's simply exhausted from her feats of the day. It's not a lie; Merlin IS tired, but more than anything, she's restless and her feet don't take her to her room but to the castle grounds outside. She's well aware that she's not alone, not unnoticed by the guards but she's a guest here, dressed for the feast that is going on in the great halls and they don't interfere with her movement as she's not harming anything.

The brunette inhales the air, feeling less like she's strangling inside when the night wind brushes over her skin and pulls at her hair. Her dark blue eyes find the stars and Merlin sits on the edge of a fountain, tracing the constellations and wondering, once more....what is her purpose here?

Am I to heal a King? Is that why I am here? Then why do I dream, why do I see Arthur? What am I missing here?
 
"That is magnificent to hear, my dear," taking her arm in his, he soon sneaks them both out of the merriment, finding their own peace and quiet in the silence of the garden. The plants silently sing their songs, perfumes erupting into the air from each and every giving flower. Its a place to think and a place to find ones true purpose. Their conversation is idle, talking about what needs to be known. Royalty comes with a price and ignorance of that fact will lead to ones downfall. When that chatter is set aside, their range well on the outskirts of any Lord or Lady, Arthur continues to slump his shoulders. No longer does he puff his chest out in a victorious smile for all to see.

Coming to the garden's open air, Arthur's pace starts to quicken. It's not enough so that he is pulling the poor princess along with him but its noticeable. The smells of the flowers waft over them when the enter the moonlight in the open courtyard from the stone pillared roof surrounding the parameter. Her question comes after Arthur introduces her to the newest bunches of lilies his mother had the servants plant. The soil is a deep and rich brown, giving the bright orange lilies just the nutrients they need to be as radiant as they are.

A small hedge separates Merlin from Arthur and Guinevere. It's not enough to completely shield the two royals but perhaps give them a little more privacy. Only their heads, or perhaps Arthur's head and shoulders, can be seen from Merlins angle. Looking across the opposite side of the garden, Arthur shakes his head at Guinevere's question. Is it really that obvious that something plagues him the way it does? He would really rather everyone go on with their own lives and not worry so much about him. He is twenty-five years of age for gods sake. As much as he knows Guinevere is only trying to assist him, her kindness smoothing over his jagged edges like glass underneath a bombardment of waves.

With a deep sigh, Arthur closes his eyes, "You are right, Guinevere, as you are always right. I could never doubt you for all you say is always so wise. You have a wisdom beyond your years and each and every time I need you, specifically you, you have arrived here in Camelot. Letters do not speak the same words that come fluttering from your mouth. Your voice soothes even the greatest of depressions. A simple smile enough to cause the whole world to shift underneath my feet." pausing, the Crown Prince takes in a deep breath, remembering a time long ago where he would lash out at anyone who tried to help him as Guinevere is right now. But that man, as far as he is concerned, has changed. An alteration because he doesn't want to push Guinevere away. She can help him. He trusts her and only her with his life.

I thank you for your pains, my dear, but what has buried itself deep inside me are my own demons. I alone have to face them," opening his eyes once more, he reaches out to touch her cheek with the pads of his fingers, "alright?" he asks in a slow whisper, his gesture not surprising to Guinevere. It's a sign, a signal, a mark. It's a love for a girl who knows his mind, perhaps too well. None the less, Arthur adores her, thinking of her as the sister Morgana should be. A loving second half to what it means to be a brother.
 
Guinevere eyes him sadly and with Arthur, she does not hide such things. She has three brothers already, but that only endears Arthur to her even more for she knows how to read him and what to say to him. Most of the time, she does not think of him as a Prince and her a Lady, but rather like they are siblings and she loves him like a brother. She smiles a little and reaches up to take his hand, holding it gently in her smaller one. Her fingers are soft, unused to hard labor, but Guinevere loves to help others and would do all manners of work if she could, if she was allowed. Her father and brother are far too protective to let her do common work, but Guinevere didn't consider it beneath her.

She didn't consider nearly anyone beneath her and her loving, trusting nature could easily be taken advantage of. She wasn't stupid, but she tended to show kindness when such a thing should not be shown and to consider people honest until they'd hurt her. It was probably that innocence that had made Arthur trust her and had taught him to be gentler around her like she was with him.

Now looked down at the hand she held and sighed lightly, softly. "I understand, Arthur. You speak of my wisdom, though, so please hear me now." Her pale blue eyes come up to meet his brown, loving and tranquil, candid. "You may believe you must face your troubles on your own, and perhaps some of them you do, but no one person ever needs to be alone, Arthur." Guinevere touched his face. "Not even a Prince. Find someone who cares not for your position but for you and you will have found someone to trust. I know you trust me, my brother, but our paths are too closely mirrored of each other for us to fully let our guards down and we both know it."

--

Merlin doesn't see the Prince and Guinevere at first, lost inside her own thoughts, but their voices soon float to her, distorted, but attention garnering. She stands and looks toward them, recognizing Guinevere's voice even thought she can't see her and noting that it's Arthur's head and shoulders she is observing. Merlin doesn't wish to know what they speak of. She's still irritated with Arthur, confused by him and Guinevere is his friend first.

She makes to turn away, intending to go back to her room to sleep, but her eyes flash gold and burn steadily as she looks toward the two. She sees flashes of images; Arthur and his father, a man she doesn't know, Guinevere, a crowd of people, toasting.....an engagement.

Merlin breathes in deeply when her power fades from her eyes, leaving them a stormy dark blue again and she blinks for a moment before looking back to the two in the garden. She smiles a little before turning away and going back the way she's come. A marriage between Arthur and Guinevere. That should be a good match....even if Merlin can not yet see what in the world is so appealing about Arthur.
 
"I commend you so for trying to riddle me from my confines, Guinevere. But please, do not ask for I will not tell. You are a flower that as bloomed for I am certain you already know your way in the world. Some Prince will come to your home and ask your father for your hand in marriage. Your father will give his blessing as long as you are pleased with the tidings. You are a bright star and when that man comes to pluck you from the night sky, you'll amaze him," Arthur grins, closing his eyes at her touch to his face. His tone remains serious but a small hint of a smile gives him away, "Render him speechless for he will realize the toil he has gotten himself into."

Sighing, he finally returns to what his ultimate point is. His brown eyes open, placing a hand on top of Guinevere's for he doesn't wish for that warmth to fade just yet. The softness of her fingers help clear his mind. Yes, he has touched many hands before but Guinevere's have a magic that Arthur doubts Merlin even possesses. She can tame him and his Pendragon. For a while he has known their gestures are all too friendly to onlooking eyes. Most think them galloping through the fields of love but Arthur couldn't love this woman. Well, maybe if he tried real hard but knowing Arthur, he would protest such a thought till the end of his days. Guinevere is beautiful and quite the charming young lady, Arthur admits, but to love her? To bed her? No. It simply wouldn't work.

"You must understand that I don't want crutches. You and Lady Merlin have asked me tonight about my affairs of my mind," thinking on his encounter with the mage, Arthur starts to rant, "I know Lady Merlin meant no harm in asking what troubles me but you know me, Guinevere. Merlin is a stranger among these halls. She may have preformed fantastic sights today at the trial, for I damn well say I was impressed by her old magic, but she has gone too far. Asking me, me! Of my feelings, my toils. I know you, Guinevere. I don't know her."

Stroking his hands through his bronze hair dancing in the moonlight with the shake of his head, Arthur heaves a great sigh. "You know me, Guinevere. I can't be open. I'm a shut door. If I am going to get anywhere in the world I can't be throwing my troubles on other people. It would only burden them and that's not what I wish to do. You know that. We have kept secrets for one another over the years and I know how heavy that weight is upon the heart. If I am going to be anything like my father, I must know how I work. Guinevere, its not that I don't care about your worrying because I do... I just... if I am going to be King Arthur one day than I have to know my own mind and deal with my own troubles. If I don't do it now, I'll never learn."
 
Guinevere shook her head with a sigh, but she gave Arthur a fond look. "See, Pendragon, that is where you and I see things quite differently. It is good to know one's mind, yes, but to do that to the exclusion of all else, to block everyone from that mind, to trust no one only leads down the road of loneliness, heartbreak and yes, weakness. You wish to be like your father and that is admirable. I adore Uther as I do my own father, but even King's have flaws and your father's is that he does not place his trust in anyone. It has made him more enemies than friends, Arthur."

Her voice was still gentle and soft, but Guinevere was speaking a bit more forcefully than she normally did. She wasn't even entirely sure why. Perhaps the wine had made her tongue looser than normal, though, she'd not consumed much of it. Her pale blue eyes pierced the Prince. "If you would be a greater King than your father, then do not make him mistakes." Her hand left his face, but the one holding his fingers squeezed gently. "We know each other too well, Arthur and yet not well enough. It is always to be our shortcoming. I will never be what you need, not as a King. I will always be your sister by heart, but your confidant; I can not maintain such a position as we grow older and our responsibilities change. Friends help us carry our burdens though, Pendragon, and I urge you to find someone who you can truly open up to, else you be alone even surrounded by so many people."

Guinevere sighed once more and started to walk, delicate fingers touching a lily, the petals soft under her hand. Her pale blue eyes looked around at the rest of the garden, smiling. This was her favorite part of the castle. However, her attention did not stay on the beauty for long and in fact her mind had never truly strayed from the topic at hand. She'd merely been giving Arthur a moment to gather his thoughts as was his want.

"Tell me, Arthur, did Merlin's words upset you because you consider her beneath you or because she saw past the mask you present to those around you?" She raised a delicate brow, expression both genuinely curious and yet slightly teasing as well. Her voice remained serious, however. "She is a stranger, yes, but so are you to her and yet she was concerned enough for your state of unrest to ask about you. Why is this a bad thing? Do you look down on compassion, Prince?" She knew very well he did not, but sometimes even the Prince of Camelot needed to be reminded that underneath his crown, he was only just a man.

"Merlin desires nothing from you, is after nothing that is yours. Put aside your pride and your title for but a moment, Arthur, and realize how rare that is for people like us, to be seen for who we are and not what we have, not what can be gained from us."

"Lady Guinevere?" A maid's voice interrupted their conversation and the auburn-haired woman smiled. "It is late. I shall retire now." She turned to Arthur. "Think about my words, my brother, and give Merlin a chance. You might be surprised. Or do you only have enough room in that mind of yours to think up flattery for me?" She laughed softly and kissed his cheek before dipping her head and retreating from the garden, meeting up with the maid who'd come to look for her before the two disappeared inside, leaving Arthur to his thoughts.
 
"Why do you assume that I will be lonely for the rest of my days, Guinevere?" he huffs, trying to contain a spark of anger she has ignited in his bosom. "Who says I'm lonely now? I am a Prince and have the world at my fingertips. All it is, Guinevere, is the aftermath of battle. You wouldn't understand for you've never charged down a hill and clashed swords with an enemy who would adore to see you dead and bleeding on the floor beneath them." He lashes out as so because he knows deep within his mind that she is correct. Guinevere is always, always, correct. Such smarts, her smarts, still amaze him. She lets him blow off his steam before answering, as he expected, allowing him time to cool down too.

Finally turning back to Guinevere, she takes his hands in hers, Arthur keeping his gaze to the floor. She talks of confidants and her place once he is King. Guinevere, he is certain will leave him one day and marry another Prince. Then her wisdom shall be used elsewhere but her loyalties will always be with him. At least a part of them anyway. Their roads will part, Arthur will find himself some princess somewhere who maybe he will love but more likely he will marry for her father's favor or to keep the peace. That is, after all, what most marriages are. Love of the heart is seldom but babies are plentiful.

The Prince, wrapping his arms around his chest in a defensive measure, nods his head at Guinevere. Her kiss is still warm on his cheek but as expected, he is used to such devoted gestures. Taking her fingers, he returns her kiss to each knuckle before her slender fingers slip from his hand. Standing straight, the Prince keeps his posture steady, unwavering, his head held high and arms in a posing position across his chest.

"Goodnight, sleep well. Dream of nothing but resplendent lands and a handsome Prince to carry you away," with a wave, Arthur turns to a wooden bench propped up against the hedge and takes a seat. The weight hasn't lifted off of his shoulders as he thought a walk with Guinevere would achieve. Instead, he fears, more weight has been added. Now his mind is plagued with thoughts of Merlin. This new mage who is to become his father's own healer. Uther, he is sure, will still keep some sort of guard up for his own Kingly safety but for the most part, he will allow her to treat him without so much as a second thought.

Arthur may think his father brash for allowing that stranger so close to him but yet, wasn't it Arthur who brought her here? Sighing, he rubs his face where the annoying little prickles of itching have risen. After an hour or so of contemplation, the Prince goes back to the hall. The festivities are nearly over, his mother and father long retired to bed. Taking his time, Arthur drinks himself until he can't barely walk. He isn't quite sure what he was thinking at the time but the ale tasted so divine, he couldn't stop after the fourth mug. A servant helps him up the steps and settles him into bed. The servant closes Arthur's curtains, telling the castle to let the Prince sleep in the morning to recover his strength.
 
-----

Three weeks pass in Camelot and Merlin is kept busy during the first week. She heals the King completely over the course of six days and by the seventh, there is a spring in his step, color in his face, his lungs are clear and he can speak with his deep, booming voice again. Merlin has also healed an old injury in his shoulder, a battle wound that was ill-healed years ago. It no longer pains him, is no longer stiff and the brunette finds that the more favor she has with the King, the more Morgana hates her, the Queen adores her and the more Merlin's responsibilities and privileges grow.

She is now working with the other healers and is allowed anything and everything of her trade to help the sick and injured around her. She is permitted to treat anyone she wants - only if they are friend to Camelot - as long as it does not interfere with her duties to Uther and now the Royal Family as a whole. By the second week, Merlin was becoming better settled into her routine and her new life here. Guinevere left in that second week, but the two had become better friends and the Lady would be back in two months time for another visit. During that second week, Merlin hardly saw Arthur. She interacted with Kaine and Galahad often and a new Knight named Bors who was nothing short of a towering giant next to most men but had taken a shine to the 'little spitfire' as he called her.

The brunette assumed the Prince was busy and by the third week, she was looking for him less than usual...which honestly puzzled her as she'd not realized she'd been keeping an eye out for him at all until she stopped. And then when she stopped, something would appear to remind her of him and make her think about him once more. It was as if the universe wouldn't let her be relieved of the constant presence that was Arthur Pendragon...even when he wasn't here. The damn dreams wouldn't stop either and Merlin had given up long ago on trying to make them. Only now they'd gotten worse, more vivid...and dangerous. Always Arthur was in danger and she didn't understand why that should be of such great concern to her that the Old Power would flare so badly inside her at the mere thought of it.

He was a Prince, had Knights, soldiers! He'd be fine! He'd made it very clear that she was a 'nothing' to him and that she'd clearly overstepped every and all boundaries even daring to ask him a question or make an observation. So Merlin was done seeking him out and hadn't for the last three weeks, not even when she managed to catch a glimpse of him.

Right now, though, her mind wasn't on Arthur. It was focused on the baying hounds out in the courtyard. The dogs' keepers and Knights were milled about, the former trying to get the dogs under control and the latter laughing and egging the animals on. It looked like it was just good fun, but Merlin was more focused on what was in the midst of the dogs that had them so riled up. She was in a lower tower and when her stormy dark blue eyes finally caught sight of the unfortunate creature the hounds had captured and were trying to attack, her blood went to a boil and the brunette raced down the steps, taking them almost three at a time and leaping the last few. Her smaller form ducked between two Knights and her voice was like the crack of a whip, sharp and loud even in the chaos.

"Enough!"

The men paused, startled, but the dogs continued and Merlin's eyes swam gold and this time her voice was like the rolling of thunder, a different kind of power behind it. "Qhira! Qe ssej!" Down! Be silent! The dogs whimpered and cowered, bellies crouching down to the ground as their ears went back and they looked up at her with rapt attention, tails wagging slowly in an attempt to appease her. Merlin moves past them, her aura exuding something far different than her healing power and her gold eyes fixed upon the mass of bloodied feathers in the midst of the hounds. She crouched and took the bird in her hands, voice growing softer. "Kwi, svabol tepoha astahii authot ekess wux? Svabol tepoha astahii authot, Nyina." Oh, what have they done to you? What have they done, Nyina.

The bird screeched weakly in her hold and Merlin took in the arrow sprouting through the bird's wing, feeling a haze of gold, of fury lap against her mind as she turned to those around her. Gold eyes pierced them as if they were glass and no one man was left without a chill that ran slowly down his spine. "Who shot her? This is not a duck or a goose! It's not a fowl or a pheasant! This is a merlin! She is not an opportunity for sport! Are you all pigs that you would harm such a creature! She is a merlin and she is mine! You will not touch another of her kind again!" As she yelled at them, gold wrapped like liquid water around Merlin's body, down her arms and into the bird she held with such reverence. The arrow disintegrated as if it never was, rotting rapidly until it fell apart and then the bird was being healed, feathers regrowing at a rapid pace until the merlin gave a strong screech and flapped its wings, rising from the brunette's hands, flying overhead once and then settling on her shoulder with another piercing shriek.

It's gold eyes matched perfectly those of its mistress before Merlin's faded back to a dark blue. The anger that sparked there was no less for the change in hue and the dogs around her only slowly rose, tails wagging tentatively as they approached and licked at her hands and sniffed at her clothes. Not one of them even looked up at the bird of prey on her shoulder and Merlin sent them back to their keepers with but a finger point. Those men left quickly with the canines and that left the Knights, five of them in total to face down the young woman.

It was a more daunting task than it sounded like.

Nyina
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Over the three weeks, the Prince is indeed very busy. It may not be actual Princely duties but his outings are just to keep him busy. Before Guinevere left for her castle and her life, Arthur spent almost the whole afternoon with her. They would take walks when their parents allowed it and sneak out to the countryside to swim in the river that flows so close to Camelot. It's a neighbor that Arthur can always rely on. It just lets him enjoy the waters and wash away his troubles from his skin. At the end of the day they're still there but for that moment, the rushing mountain water carrying him downstream, Arthur just relaxes and enjoys the moment. Guinevere is always trying to get him to live life one step at a time and the river allows him to do just that.

So when his dear friend departs from Camelot, Arthur throws himself into his work once more. He takes rides as often and as lengthly as he possibly can before his father or mother sends a party of knights out after him. They know his spots, where he likes to hide away. There is a mountain near Camelot where Arthur desires a good climb. Igraine turns pale at the idea of Arthur climbing bare stone with his fingers. He tells his parents that he needs the full body exercise. Uther lets him go but always, immediately after Arthur passes the last of the walls, sends out a knight or two just to make sure that his son doesn't kill himself on the slopes. Arthur returns when the sun is well down under the horizon, eating dinner in the great hall by himself and then storing himself, like a jar, in his own room.

On those long and strenuous hikes or climbs up the rocky faces, Arthur finally gets time to think on his own. There are no distractions, no whispers in his ears telling him to do this or sign that. Instead, he just has the world around him. The wind, trees, and animals all living in an ecosystem he admires. Unlike the toils of court, nature simply exists. Coexists. When animals don't get along, they fight, mourn, and move on. He thinks of what will happen when Uther dies. It's true that his smile has returned more often than not because of his father's health but Arthur still prepares his mind mentally. Merlin has done a fine job but sicknesses have a way of keeping themselves at bay, giving all the signs that they're gone before striking tenfold.


After Merlin's ordeal with the Knights and bird, Arthur rides through, taking a second glance at what is unfolding. Swinging from the saddle, he wobbles before gripping onto the sides of the saddle, his back facing Merlin and the other men. It's been a long morning ride, his legs simply jelly underneath his weight. Once he gains his strength, a servant comes to take his steed away. Arthur simply nods to the young woman, smiling and whispering a compliment to make her turn and blush. Yanking off his leather gloves, the prince shoves them between his body and his belt, a hand resting on his sword. Looking around the cobbled entranceway connection to the courtyard, he adjusts his long red cape before making his way towards the band of five knights.

"Alkor," he bellows, the plump black haired knight turning in his direction, "Will you make sure that my armor is polished by Jay when you see him? Training starts tomorrow morning for the tournament we are expected to have this weekend. I have had enough of rock climbing. Schedule a training with Master Garret for the morning." the knight nods his head, repeating Arthur's wishes to him. When he doesn't move a muscle, Arthur nods his head, "Off with you." he orders, the knight saluting frantically before scampering off. The Prince turns, eyes resting on Merlin and the bird. His brown eyes look from her to those golden eyes of the alert little being.

"Yours?" He questions, stepping forward away from the band of four knights.
 
Merlin tenses subtly as Arthur draws near and it's not something she can help right now. Every time they've interacted, it's not gone well and she has little hope that it's going to be different this time. But there IS some hope, some stubborn faith that she knows not the origin of nor why it continues to stay. She hardly knows how to ride herself of it. The bird on her shoulder senses her unease, though, and screeches at the Prince, making a small smile grown on he brunette's face. She reaches up and strokes the merlin's head and beak like one would a faithful dog, hardly noting the talons that almost dig into her skin.

"In a way, yes, she is mine. At the same time, no she is not." She's looking at the bird as she speaks and then finally looks to Arthur again, dark blue eyes fixing on his steely brown with the same wariness that can be seen in the bird of prey. "This is Nyina. She is free to come and go as she pleases. She chooses to check up on me every now and again."

"If the falcon is yours, my lady, it should be hooded and tied when not hunting." a Knight comments and Merlin bristles, her eyes darkening further as she looks to Nyina and the blood still on the bird. Her voice is nearly a growl when she addresses the male and if not for Arthur's presence - not that she understands why that should stop her - she looked like she probably would have attacked the male in question. No one had seen what Merlin could do outside of healing and she'd purposely kept it that way. The less these people knew about her, the less they could use against her and the more they underestimated her, giving her the advantage.

"Tamed or not, she shouldn't have been shot out of the sky and attacked by your mangy hounds, you bas-"

"Merlin?"

Merlin's mouth clamps shut at Bors' deep voice and she lets out a seething sigh before everything fades from her face behind a mask that would do any Noble proud. Her eyes look up at Bors, the man towering over her and even Arthur. "Something wrong, little spitfire?"

The brunette shakes her head with a small sound that is suspiciously like a snort. "No. Nothing I couldn't handle." Dark blue eyes look to Arthur, wondering what he might have done had he come upon the scene she'd witnessed, but she's not about to ask him. She's mad enough already. Her attention turns to Nyina who looks straight back at her and Merlin smiles a little, a genuine expression of like as her eyes flare a warm gold to match the merlin's eyes. "Gethrisj, vur tir ti confn ini nomeno idol tenamalo. Qe tokeq, sia thurirl." Go, and do not come by this way again. Be safe, my friend. The language rolls of her tongue like soft thunder, something ancient and powerful in the sound and Merlin watches as the bird takes off and flies away from Camelot before her gaze goes back to those at hand.

She's ready for a lecture....or rather, ready to tune it out.

Bors

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"Nyina is a pretty name for such a majestic bird," Arthur breathes and even though the comment is aimed at the animal in question, he hopes it will settle some ease into Merlin. All his thinking has come to a conclusion. For whatever reason, his actions really dig under her skin like a sharp needle piercing a vein. The women and men of Camelot adore him, yet Merlin is a completely different audience. She is not from this land and therefore does not understand the toil that comes along with being Prince of it. The gossip around town spreads as quickly as the sun's rays of light blanketing the rolling green hills of Camelot. Arthur can be known, as well as one can be known by word of mouth, in every and all of the houses in his kingdom.

Blinking, he comes back to the matter at hand, forgetting the ramped pace of his wondering thoughts. "From Camiliard?" Arthur asks next, his question being cut short by the knight speaking out of turn. Glancing over his shoulder, Arthur gives the knight a very cold stare. It's enough to nearly stop his heartbeat along with his tongue. Shaking his head at the recoiled knight, the Prince rests his hands on his hips as if he were some sort of modern superhero, his chin rising ever so slightly.

"And I'll have you know, Lady Merlin, that I don't intend to cease visitation from this," he pauses, adjusting his words gently, "from Nyina. She is a bird after all and they can be as free as the wind around us." shooting a sideways glance at the knight who spoke of hoods and bindings, "For a bird who is properly trained," he starts to spite the man, "doesn't require such restraints. If taught right, as you can see by Nyina here, the master will be relieved to have a peaceful and cooperative bird. If not, such as your falconry has been, I just hope you aren't hurting the falcons you attempt to settle." Arthur has had practice with such matters from another Master of his who excels in bird care, their flight, and how to manage it all, "Or shooting them out of the sky."

Turning his attention to the knights now, his body still half facing Merlin when Bors approaches, he marks down each of their names in his mind. "If you wish to kill game, we shall go hunting tomorrow afternoon so that you can fill your desires. But," he lifts a finger, "you all should know all too well that hunting inside the castle grounds is frowned upon. You're lucky I'm casting the judgement instead of King Uther. Next time, it might cost you what is most valuable." Leaving his words as such, Arthur turns back to Merlin.

"As for you, Lady Merlin," he doesn't care much if she wishes to just be called Merlin, "I look forward to speaking with you at dinner. Until then." nodding his head out of respect, the man leaves the scene alone and moves towards the Western tower entrance.
 
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