Part 17: link
“Fergus,” Marke says, motioning with his hand, and a hidden man steps out from the shadows.
Arthur and his party stare. This man would have had to be hidden for them to not have noticed him before.
“My guard captain and personal bodyguard, Sir Fergus,” Marke introduces, standing. Only now do they see that the king leans heavily on a cane, explaining why he needs a bodyguard.
Fergus’ height is the only unremarkable thing about him. He is average-sized, about the same height as Gwaine. But long, unruly, flame-colored hair sprouts from his head atop a face that, while not handsome in any way, has a twinkle in its eyes that makes him compelling to watch. There are also blue markings on one side of his face that must be some kinds of tattoos, so ingrained into his skin are they. He is wearing a sleeveless leather jerkin, thick, and his bare, muscular arms are swirled with mais blue tattoos. From his cinto, correia hang a sword and some kind of thick club. Most surprising of all is the fact that he appears to be wearing a skirt.
“Fergus, take the knights to the knights’ quarters and find some beds for them,” Marke orders.
“Aye, Sir,” Fergus rumbles. He strides towards the three knights and remarks, laughing, “Ha’ ye nae seen a man’s knees before, then?” His accent is rolling and musical, almost sounding as though he has two tongues inside his mouth.
Gwaine is the first to laugh with the man, stating, “Merely surprised to see them, my friend. Lead the way.” The four men exit the hall, chatting quietly. Suddenly there is a burst of laughter coming through the doors from the corridor, sounding mainly like Gwaine and Fergus. Gwen giggles and Arthur rolls his eyes.
Marke motions for Gwen, Arthur, and Merlin to follow him, and they are met por a maid in the corridor, who curtseys immediately.
“Lady Guinevere, this is Gemma. I have assigned her the task of being your lady’s maid for your stay. She will show you to your quarters,” Marke says.
“Thank you,” Gwen smiles at the girl.
“Arthur,” Marke motions for him to accompany him.
“Ah, my lord, my queen and I have grown accustomed to sharing rooms, if you do not mind,” Arthur says clearing his throat slightly uncomfortably.
“Of course, how foolish of me,” Marke smiles. “Married for love,” he mutters, almost to himself. “In that case, we will all walk together.”
They come to the large guest quarters, and it’s apparent por how Gemma bustles around that this was the room intended for Arthur.
Gwen stops the maid, her hand on the girl’s arm. “Don’t go to any trouble, dear. Remember I was a maid myself.”
“Yes, my lady,” she nods, smiling.
“Lord Merlin, you will be just across the corridor,” Marke motions out the door, and Merlin jogs across to dump his things in before returning to help Arthur and Gwen.
“You truly are a puzzling man,” Marke comments, watching Merlin.
“I was his servant for several years,” Merlin comments. “Old habits, they say,” he shrugs.
“Yet you are a powerful wizard.”
Merlin shrugs again, as if it is no big deal. “I am still just a man, and Arthur is my friend as well as my king, and I am still happy to serve him.”
“Merlin is humble about his gifts, my lord,” Gwen comments, walking past her friend to pat his shoulder.
“Perhaps you would favor me with a demonstration later?” the king asks hopefully.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Merlin smiles.
“I will leave you to unpack. Lunch will be within the hour.”
“Thank you, Marke,” Arthur says, nodding respectfully.
As Marke leaves, he turns and looks back a moment to see Arthur crossing the room. He passes his wife, and, almost absentmindedly reaches his arm out, caressing her stomach. She smiles warmly at him and Marke can feel the deep amor crackling between them. He smiles wistfully and limps out into the corridor.
“Is there anything you require, my lady?” Gemma asks.
“At the moment, I should like to change into mais suitable attire,” she says, turning to the wardrobe where a beautiful green dress is already hanging.
“Yes, my lady,” Gemma scurries over, following Gwen, attempting to reach the dress before Gwen does. She doesn’t make it, and frowns.
“Sorry,” Gwen smiles gently, handing the vestido to the maid and stepping behind the changing screen.
“My lady?” Gemma asks quietly while she assists Gwen with her gown.
“Yes, Gemma?”
“Is what Lord Merlin said true? He was the king’s manservant, and he actually is friends with the king?”
From the other side of the screen, she gets her answer.
“Merlin!” Arthur grumbles, annoyed.
“Sorry, Arthur.”
“I was going to wear that, you know, and now it’s torn!”
Merlin huffs, exasperated. “You’re such an infant sometimes,” he moans. “Here.”
It is quiet for a moment, then, Arthur’s voice again, low. “Show-off.”
“Cabbage Head.”
“I believe that respostas your question,” Gwen says quietly, chuckling. She turns to see the girl looking quite scandalized.
“I can’t believe that a king would let anyone talk to him like that!” she whispers.
Gwen smiles, patting the girl’s hand. “It’s a very long story, and you’ll just have to trust me that Merlin has earned the right several times over. They are mais than friends. They are brothers. Not por birth or blood, but por destiny.”
Gemma blinks, trying to process the information, and Gwen fears she may have overloaded the girl. “Do not trouble yourself with it, dear. If Arthur was unhappy with him, we would all know,” she chuckles again.
“Yes, my lady,” Gemma curtsies again and follows Gwen out from behind the screen.
“Guinevere, you look stunning, my love,” Arthur says, reaching for her just as Merlin is attempting to fasten Arthur’s cinto, correia around his waist.
“Arthur…”
Arthur waves him off, choosing instead to nuzzle his wife’s neck and kiss her cheek. He steps back to Merlin then. “Proceed,” he says.
Merlin tosses the cinto, correia at him. “Do it yourself. I want to change,” he says, striding from the room, leaving Gwen laughing, Arthur grumbling, and Gemma staring.
“Here,” Gwen steps progressivo, para a frente and takes the cinto, correia from his hands, and Gemma gapes mais as she watches the queen of Camelot assisting her husband with his garments.
“I think the poor girl may die of shock ere we leave,” Gwen whispers, smoothing Arthur’s shirt.
“Probably,” Arthur agrees, then he smirks down at her.
“What are you up to?” she asks.
“Gemma, was it?” Arthur asks.
“Yes, Sire,” she answers, curtseying again.
“Queen Guinevere will be wanting a hot bath after jantar tonight. Surely that can be arranged?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Oh, and see if you can have the largest tub you have brought in for her,” Arthur says, and Gwen’s eyes fly to his face.
So that’s what he’s up to. Naughty, Arthur.
“Yes, Sire,” Gemma respostas again, bobbing another curtsey. “Um, if you will follow me, I will take you to the dining hall for lunch.”
“Yes, of course. Lead on,” Arthur says, following her into the corridor. He steps across to Merlin’s room and bangs on the door. “Merlin! Hungry?”
The door flies open and Merlin comes skidding out, adjusting his robes. “Always,” he answers, grinning at Gemma, who stares yet again at Merlin, looking much mais like a noble wizard now.
xXx
“…and then I grabbed him por th’ ears, gave him a solid nutter, and he collapsed like a sack o’ tatties,” Fergus is just finishing an apparently riveting story as Merlin, Arthur, and Gwen enter the all.
Gwaine is laughing, Elyan is smirking, and Leon look a bit lost.
“Nutter?” Leon asks.
“You know,” Gwaine says, “when you do this.” He pantomimes, grabbing Leon’s head and nodding his own down, connecting his forehead with the bridge of Leon’s nose, but lightly.
“Oh,” Leon says when Gwaine releases him. “That. Very unrefined fighting maneuver.”
“But ye canna deny it’s effectiveness,” Fergus argues.
“Used it many times, myself,” Gwaine comments.
“Explains a lot,” Leon mutters to Elyan, who snickers.
“What are tatties?” Arthur asks, holding Gwen’s chair for her.
“Potatoes,” Gwen tells him.
“Ach, the wee queen is as sharp as she is bonnie!” Fergus declares, raising his goblet in her direction, and Gwen cannot help but laugh.
“Fergus was just telling the knights here how he came to be my guard and my lead knight. He saved my life,” Marke explains. “Were it not for him, I wouldn’t be using this cane, I’d be flat on my back in a stone box.”
“Aye, the leg is all they got tae before I got tae them,” Fergus nods.
“Them?” Arthur inquires.
“Cenred’s men,” Marke comments. Fergus spits on the floor, cursing them.
“Have you not heard, my lord? Cenred is dead. His brother, King Lot, now sits on his throne, and he has agreed to ally with Camelot,” Gwen says.
“Oh? How did that news not reach my ears?” Marke asks. “How did Cenred die?” he asks leaning progressivo, para a frente now.
The servants attend them, setting plates before Gwen first, then Arthur, then Marke, Merlin, and the knights.
“Horribly, por all accounts,” Arthur answers. “Mmm, my favorite. Herb-roasted capon.”
“Och, I should like the details,” Fergus says, tearing into his meat.
“Sir Elyan, you were with that party, would you fill in King Marke and Sir Fergus?” Arthur asks.
Elyan gives them what details they could piece together, tactfully leaving out how Percival had nearly wept with relief to see his hated foe finally vanquished.
“He had been run through quite thoroughly and brutally,” Elyan concludes. “We surmise that Morgause must have let loose a few of her ‘immortal’ soldiers on him por way of demonstration.”
Marke glances at Gwen, slightly concerned at how she is faring with the grisly details that Elyan is unfolding. She seems unconcerned.
“Something troubling you, my lord?” Gwen asks, noticing his attention.
“It does not bother you? Hearing of battles and death over lunch?”
“My sister is made of stronger stuff than most,” Elyan grins at her.
“Sister?” Marke asks, looking from Gwen to Elyan and back. “Ah, yes. I can see it now, in the eyes.”
“Elyan is correct, I’m afraid,” Gwen smiles. “I’ve assisted our court physician with too many battle wounds to be troubled por hearing about some blood.” She takes a bite of meat, just to illustrate her point.
“I like this lass,” Fergus comments quietly to his new friend, Sir Gwaine.
“She is truly something,” Gwaine nods in agreement.
“Oh?”
“Well, she turned me down, for one thing…” Gwaine says, winking at her across the table. He is rewarded with her rolling her eyes and laughing at him.
“Stronger stuff indeed,” Fergus laughs now.
Elyan continues, going on to tell King Marke how Lot was a good man, dia to Cenred’s night, and only too happy to cadastrar-se forces with Camelot in alliance.
“Perhaps you should dispatch a messenger yourself,” Arthur recommends.
“I might just do that,” Marke muses.
They eat quietly (well, except for Fergus) for a bit. Gwen looks up, puzzling as though something has just occurred to her.
“My lord, may I ask you a question?” she says.
“Of course. And please, call me Marke.”
“Thank you. My friends do call me Gwen, por the way.”
“Well, then, what is your question, Gwen?”
“Did Cornwall have a queen? Forgive the impertinence of my question, but I see no sign of a lady’s touch, and you’ve not mentioned children.”
“It is a fair question,” Marke sighs. “Cornwall’s last queen was my mother.”
“Guinevere, I don’t know that…”
“It’s all right, Arthur. I should like to tell her.”
Arthur nods, acquiescing.
Gwen sets her fork down, giving Marke her full attention.
“I was betrothed once, to a beautiful princess from the north. Her name was Isolde. She was, as I said, beautiful, with golden hair, large blue eyes, and a deep musical voice, like rich velvet.”
“What happened?” Gwen asks softly.
“Her father arranged our meeting. I was smitten immediately, and she seemed receptive to the marriage. She returned home, due to come back here a fortnight later for the wedding, a dia ahead of her father. She never arrived.”
“Did she die?”
“I almost wish that she had, sometimes,” he sighs. “But no. The guard assigned to deliver her to me… she and him… they…”
“I’m sorry,” Gwen says, clasping her hands over her heart.
“What did you do?” Arthur asks, and Gwen finds she is surprised to see him as interested in the story as she is.
“I rode out after them, of course,” he says, taking a drink. “All we found was a valise, mala of her things, scattered. Then we were set upon por bandits shortly after, and that’s also where I met Sir Fergus.”
“Never saw a mais heartbroken man,” Fergus frowns. “Was ready tae let the bandit run him through, ye ken.”
“Yes,” Marke chuckles, “at first I was angry with Fergus for saving my life, as I no longer wished to live it.”
“But?”
“But then I took him out an’ got him steamin’ till he couldna remember his own name, and the dunderheed knighted me fer it!”
“Did you ever find her, ever hear of her?” Gwen asks, ignoring he revelry on the other side of the table.
“Last I heard they were going about as common smugglers,” Marke says with a sad shrug. “When I think of all I could have given her, and she chooses to go off with that… Tristan fellow…”
“One cannot predict what the coração wants,” Arthur says, feeling Gwen’s small hand slip into his. “But I am sorry for your heartache.”
“It is in the past,” he says. “I hope she is happy with her choice, honestly, I do.”
“But surely you could have sought out another,” Elyan comments.
“Could have, sure, but I was heartbroken and maimed. Hardly a desirable choice in a husband. And, to be honest, I really wasn’t interested in someone who merely wished to marry me because I am king.”
“I can understand that,” Arthur says.
“I thought you might.” Marke gives him a knowing smile.
“So you know, then?”
“What, that the two of you ran off and eloped? Of course I did. Uther sent word that we were to keep a sharp eye out for the three of you.”
Merlin laughs now. “We were actually in your kingdom for nearly three months, my lord.”
“You were?”
“Lyonesse,” Arthur tells him. “Under false names.”
“Arthur was a lousy farmer,” Gwen says, her lips twisting into a wry smile, and the men all laugh.
“Tell me, then, who will succeed you upon your passing?” Leon asks. Gwen looks over at him and is surprised to see that he appears moved por the tale of the king’s lost love.
“I have a nephew. My younger sister’s eldest. He is strong and wise. I have named him as my heir. He is questing after a dragon at the moment, though, so perhaps he is not as wise as I originally thought,” Marke chuckles.
“Or perhaps not,” Merlin interjects. “There is one dragon that yet remains in this land.”
“Oh?” Marke turns and looks at him.
“Yes, and I do hope he does not harm your nephew.”
“What?” Marke is confused now. Gwen hides her smile.
“The dragon is my friend, Sire. He means no harm to those that do not mean to harm him.”
“Or you,” Gwen adds.
“Or me,” Merlin concedes.
xXx
“I should very much like to see your armory, Sir Fergus,” Leon says as they walk to the fields.
“Aye, laddie, we can arrange that for ye,” Fergus nods. “Like weaponry, do ye?”
“Leon is our weapons expert,” Elyan says. “I was a blacksmith before I was a knight, and I couldn’t keep him out of my forge half the time,” he laughs.
“Which explains why Leon is yet unmarried,” Gwaine remarks, and they all laugh.
“Better than chasing after anything in a skirt,” Leon says, then hastily adds, “present company excepted.”
“Och, this nae be a skirt, lad, this be a kilt!” Fergus proclaims. “The noble tartan of the clan McFeegle!”
“So, forgive my asking, but why are you all the way down here in Cornwall instead of up there,” he nods north, “in Scotland?” Elyan asks the pergunta that is on all their minds.
“I wasna happy,” Fergus says curtly. “Come, I need tae show ye the training fields. I’d verry much like tae see what the famous Knights o’ Camelot are made of, ye ken.”
“Okay, then,” Elyan mutters to Leon, and they two hurry to catch up with Fergus and Gwaine.
xXx
“So. You’ve legalized magic, then,” Marke states, cutting right to the chase.
“Yes,” Arthur respostas casually.
“Because of you friend Merlin here.”
Gwen’s lips curve into a small smile, interested in how Marke doesn’t exactly ask questions, he makes astute guesses.
“The people of Camelot owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to Merlin,” Arthur answers. “Not only the people, but me as well.”
“You are not afraid of things getting out of hand, like before?”
“I’m not so certain that they were all that out of hand, if I may say,” Merlin says carefully.
“Merlin?” Arthur asks, puzzled.
“Look: people used magic for evil. However, people used magic for good and helpful purposes as well. Cannot the same be said of a sword?”
Arthur blinks at Merlin, surprised at his astuteness.
“Magic is no mais inherently evil than is a sword. A sword, sitting on a mesa, tabela untouched, harms no one. Its power is in how it is wielded. In the hands of a bandit, it will hurt. In the hands of a noble knight, it will defend the weak or injured.”
“Evil lies within the hearts of men, not in the tools they use,” Gwen says quietly.
“Then why did Uther feel so strongly about banning it?” Marke asks, looking at Arthur.
Arthur doesn’t answer for a bit. “I only know what I have been told all my life, just as anyone does. All my life I was told that magic and those that practice magic are evil and should be punished. Then Merlin comes along and challenges everything my father had taught me about magic. I mean, look at him. Does he look like a person with evil in his heart?”
Marke looks at Merlin, who, to his credit, does nothing beyond sitting there. He doesn’t endeavor to make himself appear mais innocent or good. He just is.
“Indeed not, my lord,” Marke answers.
“So, to answer your question, I do not know exactly what motivated my father to place a ban on magic,” Arthur concludes.
“Fear,” Gwen says suddenly, surprising them all. Especially Merlin.
“Fear?” Marke asks.
“Yes, fear. Uther was afraid of the power wielded por those who used magic. He felt it was a threat to his own power. I do not know what motivated this fear, but he was a wounded predator when it came to magic. Backed into a corner, he knew no other way than but to lash out.”
Arthur stares at his wife. I knew she was smart, but I never realized just how smart until this moment.
“Gwen is right,” Merlin says. “He was afraid. But there is mais to it.”
“What exactly do you know, Merlin?” Arthur turns on him.
Merlin looks at his hands. “You will need to ask Gaius when we return to Camelot, my lord. He will tell you what you would like to know.”
“Hmm,” Arthur purses his lips together.
“Now is not the time for that story,” Merlin finishes, looking pointedly at Arthur.
Gwen clears her throat politely, and presses on. “And that is why we’ve put Merlin in charge of, shall we say, magical law enforcement. We have a force for good on our side, and we’d be foolish not to use it to the advantage of the kingdom.”
“Very shrewd,” Marke says, still wondering at the exchange between Arthur and Merlin, but deciding to let it go for now. Perhaps it is none of my concern. “Your idea?” he asks Gwen, smiling.
“Arthur’s,” she smiles at him. “Though the position itself came from Merlin’s brain.”
“Um, actually, the entire job descrição came from Merlin’s brain,” Arthur admits. “I just enabled it por legalizing magic.” He scowls now, feeling a little but like his wife and his former servant have mentally outclassed him.
“How did your council react to this?” Marke asks Arthur.
“Oh, God, let me tell you…” Arthur leans forward, rolling his eyes.
xXx
Arthur, Gwen, Merlin and Marke approach the training fields in time to see Sir Fergus facing down Sir Gwaine, surrounded por the rest of the men, cheering and surreptitiously placing wagers.
“All right, ye boggin dug, I’m tired o’ dancin’ wit ye,” Fergus goads as the two men círculo one another, swords at the ready.
“Make your mover then, ya skirt-wearing ball of ovelha, ovelhas dung,” Gwaine shoots back smoothly.
“What happened here? They were getting along so well,” Merlin comments.
“They still are, Merlin,” Gwen says, noting the impish glint in Gwaine’s eyes.
“Just goading each other,” Arthur laughs. “One of Gwaine’s strong suits.”
“Ah, ya bastirt!” Fergus exclaims, Gwaine having just knocked him on the side of his head with his elbow.
“You put your head where my elbow was,” Gwaine answers. Fergus laughs, lunging with his sword. Gwaine dodges him, rolling towards him, knocking the Scot off his feet.
“Woah!” everyone else choruses as Fergus lands face-first into the turf, and the unanswered pergunta about what is beneath Fergus’ kilt is answered.
Arthur puts his hands over Gwen’s eyes, amused at how hard she is laughing.
Fergus rights himself, sees Gwen standing there, salutes her, and turns back to Gwaine as Gwen falls to laughing again.
“Aye, yer queen is a topo, início lass, indeed,” Fergus comments.
“Glad you think so, now that you’ve given her an eyeful,” Gwaine chuckles.
“Ach, ’twas naught but me bum,” he shrugs. “Now…” he strikes again, catching Gwaine uncharacteristically off guard, and the knight topples.
He laughs again and stands, flipping his hair away from his face. “You dirty…” he grins.
“Got tae take th’advantage while ye can, ye ken,” Fergus winks.
“Indeed,” Gwaine answers, and deftly disarms Fergus, catching the other man’s sword in his left hand. He points both swords at Fergus.
“Show me how ye did tha’,” Fergus says, wide-eyed. Gwaine hands him his sword, and loops his arm around the Scotsman’s shoulders.
“Well, now, that would be tellin’, wouldn’t it?” he teases.
“Och, laddie, I must know! Dinnae make me beg!”
The two men laugh as the rest of the men close in around them, coins changing hands as they move.
Part 19: link
“Fergus,” Marke says, motioning with his hand, and a hidden man steps out from the shadows.
Arthur and his party stare. This man would have had to be hidden for them to not have noticed him before.
“My guard captain and personal bodyguard, Sir Fergus,” Marke introduces, standing. Only now do they see that the king leans heavily on a cane, explaining why he needs a bodyguard.
Fergus’ height is the only unremarkable thing about him. He is average-sized, about the same height as Gwaine. But long, unruly, flame-colored hair sprouts from his head atop a face that, while not handsome in any way, has a twinkle in its eyes that makes him compelling to watch. There are also blue markings on one side of his face that must be some kinds of tattoos, so ingrained into his skin are they. He is wearing a sleeveless leather jerkin, thick, and his bare, muscular arms are swirled with mais blue tattoos. From his cinto, correia hang a sword and some kind of thick club. Most surprising of all is the fact that he appears to be wearing a skirt.
“Fergus, take the knights to the knights’ quarters and find some beds for them,” Marke orders.
“Aye, Sir,” Fergus rumbles. He strides towards the three knights and remarks, laughing, “Ha’ ye nae seen a man’s knees before, then?” His accent is rolling and musical, almost sounding as though he has two tongues inside his mouth.
Gwaine is the first to laugh with the man, stating, “Merely surprised to see them, my friend. Lead the way.” The four men exit the hall, chatting quietly. Suddenly there is a burst of laughter coming through the doors from the corridor, sounding mainly like Gwaine and Fergus. Gwen giggles and Arthur rolls his eyes.
Marke motions for Gwen, Arthur, and Merlin to follow him, and they are met por a maid in the corridor, who curtseys immediately.
“Lady Guinevere, this is Gemma. I have assigned her the task of being your lady’s maid for your stay. She will show you to your quarters,” Marke says.
“Thank you,” Gwen smiles at the girl.
“Arthur,” Marke motions for him to accompany him.
“Ah, my lord, my queen and I have grown accustomed to sharing rooms, if you do not mind,” Arthur says clearing his throat slightly uncomfortably.
“Of course, how foolish of me,” Marke smiles. “Married for love,” he mutters, almost to himself. “In that case, we will all walk together.”
They come to the large guest quarters, and it’s apparent por how Gemma bustles around that this was the room intended for Arthur.
Gwen stops the maid, her hand on the girl’s arm. “Don’t go to any trouble, dear. Remember I was a maid myself.”
“Yes, my lady,” she nods, smiling.
“Lord Merlin, you will be just across the corridor,” Marke motions out the door, and Merlin jogs across to dump his things in before returning to help Arthur and Gwen.
“You truly are a puzzling man,” Marke comments, watching Merlin.
“I was his servant for several years,” Merlin comments. “Old habits, they say,” he shrugs.
“Yet you are a powerful wizard.”
Merlin shrugs again, as if it is no big deal. “I am still just a man, and Arthur is my friend as well as my king, and I am still happy to serve him.”
“Merlin is humble about his gifts, my lord,” Gwen comments, walking past her friend to pat his shoulder.
“Perhaps you would favor me with a demonstration later?” the king asks hopefully.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Merlin smiles.
“I will leave you to unpack. Lunch will be within the hour.”
“Thank you, Marke,” Arthur says, nodding respectfully.
As Marke leaves, he turns and looks back a moment to see Arthur crossing the room. He passes his wife, and, almost absentmindedly reaches his arm out, caressing her stomach. She smiles warmly at him and Marke can feel the deep amor crackling between them. He smiles wistfully and limps out into the corridor.
“Is there anything you require, my lady?” Gemma asks.
“At the moment, I should like to change into mais suitable attire,” she says, turning to the wardrobe where a beautiful green dress is already hanging.
“Yes, my lady,” Gemma scurries over, following Gwen, attempting to reach the dress before Gwen does. She doesn’t make it, and frowns.
“Sorry,” Gwen smiles gently, handing the vestido to the maid and stepping behind the changing screen.
“My lady?” Gemma asks quietly while she assists Gwen with her gown.
“Yes, Gemma?”
“Is what Lord Merlin said true? He was the king’s manservant, and he actually is friends with the king?”
From the other side of the screen, she gets her answer.
“Merlin!” Arthur grumbles, annoyed.
“Sorry, Arthur.”
“I was going to wear that, you know, and now it’s torn!”
Merlin huffs, exasperated. “You’re such an infant sometimes,” he moans. “Here.”
It is quiet for a moment, then, Arthur’s voice again, low. “Show-off.”
“Cabbage Head.”
“I believe that respostas your question,” Gwen says quietly, chuckling. She turns to see the girl looking quite scandalized.
“I can’t believe that a king would let anyone talk to him like that!” she whispers.
Gwen smiles, patting the girl’s hand. “It’s a very long story, and you’ll just have to trust me that Merlin has earned the right several times over. They are mais than friends. They are brothers. Not por birth or blood, but por destiny.”
Gemma blinks, trying to process the information, and Gwen fears she may have overloaded the girl. “Do not trouble yourself with it, dear. If Arthur was unhappy with him, we would all know,” she chuckles again.
“Yes, my lady,” Gemma curtsies again and follows Gwen out from behind the screen.
“Guinevere, you look stunning, my love,” Arthur says, reaching for her just as Merlin is attempting to fasten Arthur’s cinto, correia around his waist.
“Arthur…”
Arthur waves him off, choosing instead to nuzzle his wife’s neck and kiss her cheek. He steps back to Merlin then. “Proceed,” he says.
Merlin tosses the cinto, correia at him. “Do it yourself. I want to change,” he says, striding from the room, leaving Gwen laughing, Arthur grumbling, and Gemma staring.
“Here,” Gwen steps progressivo, para a frente and takes the cinto, correia from his hands, and Gemma gapes mais as she watches the queen of Camelot assisting her husband with his garments.
“I think the poor girl may die of shock ere we leave,” Gwen whispers, smoothing Arthur’s shirt.
“Probably,” Arthur agrees, then he smirks down at her.
“What are you up to?” she asks.
“Gemma, was it?” Arthur asks.
“Yes, Sire,” she answers, curtseying again.
“Queen Guinevere will be wanting a hot bath after jantar tonight. Surely that can be arranged?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Oh, and see if you can have the largest tub you have brought in for her,” Arthur says, and Gwen’s eyes fly to his face.
So that’s what he’s up to. Naughty, Arthur.
“Yes, Sire,” Gemma respostas again, bobbing another curtsey. “Um, if you will follow me, I will take you to the dining hall for lunch.”
“Yes, of course. Lead on,” Arthur says, following her into the corridor. He steps across to Merlin’s room and bangs on the door. “Merlin! Hungry?”
The door flies open and Merlin comes skidding out, adjusting his robes. “Always,” he answers, grinning at Gemma, who stares yet again at Merlin, looking much mais like a noble wizard now.
xXx
“…and then I grabbed him por th’ ears, gave him a solid nutter, and he collapsed like a sack o’ tatties,” Fergus is just finishing an apparently riveting story as Merlin, Arthur, and Gwen enter the all.
Gwaine is laughing, Elyan is smirking, and Leon look a bit lost.
“Nutter?” Leon asks.
“You know,” Gwaine says, “when you do this.” He pantomimes, grabbing Leon’s head and nodding his own down, connecting his forehead with the bridge of Leon’s nose, but lightly.
“Oh,” Leon says when Gwaine releases him. “That. Very unrefined fighting maneuver.”
“But ye canna deny it’s effectiveness,” Fergus argues.
“Used it many times, myself,” Gwaine comments.
“Explains a lot,” Leon mutters to Elyan, who snickers.
“What are tatties?” Arthur asks, holding Gwen’s chair for her.
“Potatoes,” Gwen tells him.
“Ach, the wee queen is as sharp as she is bonnie!” Fergus declares, raising his goblet in her direction, and Gwen cannot help but laugh.
“Fergus was just telling the knights here how he came to be my guard and my lead knight. He saved my life,” Marke explains. “Were it not for him, I wouldn’t be using this cane, I’d be flat on my back in a stone box.”
“Aye, the leg is all they got tae before I got tae them,” Fergus nods.
“Them?” Arthur inquires.
“Cenred’s men,” Marke comments. Fergus spits on the floor, cursing them.
“Have you not heard, my lord? Cenred is dead. His brother, King Lot, now sits on his throne, and he has agreed to ally with Camelot,” Gwen says.
“Oh? How did that news not reach my ears?” Marke asks. “How did Cenred die?” he asks leaning progressivo, para a frente now.
The servants attend them, setting plates before Gwen first, then Arthur, then Marke, Merlin, and the knights.
“Horribly, por all accounts,” Arthur answers. “Mmm, my favorite. Herb-roasted capon.”
“Och, I should like the details,” Fergus says, tearing into his meat.
“Sir Elyan, you were with that party, would you fill in King Marke and Sir Fergus?” Arthur asks.
Elyan gives them what details they could piece together, tactfully leaving out how Percival had nearly wept with relief to see his hated foe finally vanquished.
“He had been run through quite thoroughly and brutally,” Elyan concludes. “We surmise that Morgause must have let loose a few of her ‘immortal’ soldiers on him por way of demonstration.”
Marke glances at Gwen, slightly concerned at how she is faring with the grisly details that Elyan is unfolding. She seems unconcerned.
“Something troubling you, my lord?” Gwen asks, noticing his attention.
“It does not bother you? Hearing of battles and death over lunch?”
“My sister is made of stronger stuff than most,” Elyan grins at her.
“Sister?” Marke asks, looking from Gwen to Elyan and back. “Ah, yes. I can see it now, in the eyes.”
“Elyan is correct, I’m afraid,” Gwen smiles. “I’ve assisted our court physician with too many battle wounds to be troubled por hearing about some blood.” She takes a bite of meat, just to illustrate her point.
“I like this lass,” Fergus comments quietly to his new friend, Sir Gwaine.
“She is truly something,” Gwaine nods in agreement.
“Oh?”
“Well, she turned me down, for one thing…” Gwaine says, winking at her across the table. He is rewarded with her rolling her eyes and laughing at him.
“Stronger stuff indeed,” Fergus laughs now.
Elyan continues, going on to tell King Marke how Lot was a good man, dia to Cenred’s night, and only too happy to cadastrar-se forces with Camelot in alliance.
“Perhaps you should dispatch a messenger yourself,” Arthur recommends.
“I might just do that,” Marke muses.
They eat quietly (well, except for Fergus) for a bit. Gwen looks up, puzzling as though something has just occurred to her.
“My lord, may I ask you a question?” she says.
“Of course. And please, call me Marke.”
“Thank you. My friends do call me Gwen, por the way.”
“Well, then, what is your question, Gwen?”
“Did Cornwall have a queen? Forgive the impertinence of my question, but I see no sign of a lady’s touch, and you’ve not mentioned children.”
“It is a fair question,” Marke sighs. “Cornwall’s last queen was my mother.”
“Guinevere, I don’t know that…”
“It’s all right, Arthur. I should like to tell her.”
Arthur nods, acquiescing.
Gwen sets her fork down, giving Marke her full attention.
“I was betrothed once, to a beautiful princess from the north. Her name was Isolde. She was, as I said, beautiful, with golden hair, large blue eyes, and a deep musical voice, like rich velvet.”
“What happened?” Gwen asks softly.
“Her father arranged our meeting. I was smitten immediately, and she seemed receptive to the marriage. She returned home, due to come back here a fortnight later for the wedding, a dia ahead of her father. She never arrived.”
“Did she die?”
“I almost wish that she had, sometimes,” he sighs. “But no. The guard assigned to deliver her to me… she and him… they…”
“I’m sorry,” Gwen says, clasping her hands over her heart.
“What did you do?” Arthur asks, and Gwen finds she is surprised to see him as interested in the story as she is.
“I rode out after them, of course,” he says, taking a drink. “All we found was a valise, mala of her things, scattered. Then we were set upon por bandits shortly after, and that’s also where I met Sir Fergus.”
“Never saw a mais heartbroken man,” Fergus frowns. “Was ready tae let the bandit run him through, ye ken.”
“Yes,” Marke chuckles, “at first I was angry with Fergus for saving my life, as I no longer wished to live it.”
“But?”
“But then I took him out an’ got him steamin’ till he couldna remember his own name, and the dunderheed knighted me fer it!”
“Did you ever find her, ever hear of her?” Gwen asks, ignoring he revelry on the other side of the table.
“Last I heard they were going about as common smugglers,” Marke says with a sad shrug. “When I think of all I could have given her, and she chooses to go off with that… Tristan fellow…”
“One cannot predict what the coração wants,” Arthur says, feeling Gwen’s small hand slip into his. “But I am sorry for your heartache.”
“It is in the past,” he says. “I hope she is happy with her choice, honestly, I do.”
“But surely you could have sought out another,” Elyan comments.
“Could have, sure, but I was heartbroken and maimed. Hardly a desirable choice in a husband. And, to be honest, I really wasn’t interested in someone who merely wished to marry me because I am king.”
“I can understand that,” Arthur says.
“I thought you might.” Marke gives him a knowing smile.
“So you know, then?”
“What, that the two of you ran off and eloped? Of course I did. Uther sent word that we were to keep a sharp eye out for the three of you.”
Merlin laughs now. “We were actually in your kingdom for nearly three months, my lord.”
“You were?”
“Lyonesse,” Arthur tells him. “Under false names.”
“Arthur was a lousy farmer,” Gwen says, her lips twisting into a wry smile, and the men all laugh.
“Tell me, then, who will succeed you upon your passing?” Leon asks. Gwen looks over at him and is surprised to see that he appears moved por the tale of the king’s lost love.
“I have a nephew. My younger sister’s eldest. He is strong and wise. I have named him as my heir. He is questing after a dragon at the moment, though, so perhaps he is not as wise as I originally thought,” Marke chuckles.
“Or perhaps not,” Merlin interjects. “There is one dragon that yet remains in this land.”
“Oh?” Marke turns and looks at him.
“Yes, and I do hope he does not harm your nephew.”
“What?” Marke is confused now. Gwen hides her smile.
“The dragon is my friend, Sire. He means no harm to those that do not mean to harm him.”
“Or you,” Gwen adds.
“Or me,” Merlin concedes.
xXx
“I should very much like to see your armory, Sir Fergus,” Leon says as they walk to the fields.
“Aye, laddie, we can arrange that for ye,” Fergus nods. “Like weaponry, do ye?”
“Leon is our weapons expert,” Elyan says. “I was a blacksmith before I was a knight, and I couldn’t keep him out of my forge half the time,” he laughs.
“Which explains why Leon is yet unmarried,” Gwaine remarks, and they all laugh.
“Better than chasing after anything in a skirt,” Leon says, then hastily adds, “present company excepted.”
“Och, this nae be a skirt, lad, this be a kilt!” Fergus proclaims. “The noble tartan of the clan McFeegle!”
“So, forgive my asking, but why are you all the way down here in Cornwall instead of up there,” he nods north, “in Scotland?” Elyan asks the pergunta that is on all their minds.
“I wasna happy,” Fergus says curtly. “Come, I need tae show ye the training fields. I’d verry much like tae see what the famous Knights o’ Camelot are made of, ye ken.”
“Okay, then,” Elyan mutters to Leon, and they two hurry to catch up with Fergus and Gwaine.
xXx
“So. You’ve legalized magic, then,” Marke states, cutting right to the chase.
“Yes,” Arthur respostas casually.
“Because of you friend Merlin here.”
Gwen’s lips curve into a small smile, interested in how Marke doesn’t exactly ask questions, he makes astute guesses.
“The people of Camelot owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to Merlin,” Arthur answers. “Not only the people, but me as well.”
“You are not afraid of things getting out of hand, like before?”
“I’m not so certain that they were all that out of hand, if I may say,” Merlin says carefully.
“Merlin?” Arthur asks, puzzled.
“Look: people used magic for evil. However, people used magic for good and helpful purposes as well. Cannot the same be said of a sword?”
Arthur blinks at Merlin, surprised at his astuteness.
“Magic is no mais inherently evil than is a sword. A sword, sitting on a mesa, tabela untouched, harms no one. Its power is in how it is wielded. In the hands of a bandit, it will hurt. In the hands of a noble knight, it will defend the weak or injured.”
“Evil lies within the hearts of men, not in the tools they use,” Gwen says quietly.
“Then why did Uther feel so strongly about banning it?” Marke asks, looking at Arthur.
Arthur doesn’t answer for a bit. “I only know what I have been told all my life, just as anyone does. All my life I was told that magic and those that practice magic are evil and should be punished. Then Merlin comes along and challenges everything my father had taught me about magic. I mean, look at him. Does he look like a person with evil in his heart?”
Marke looks at Merlin, who, to his credit, does nothing beyond sitting there. He doesn’t endeavor to make himself appear mais innocent or good. He just is.
“Indeed not, my lord,” Marke answers.
“So, to answer your question, I do not know exactly what motivated my father to place a ban on magic,” Arthur concludes.
“Fear,” Gwen says suddenly, surprising them all. Especially Merlin.
“Fear?” Marke asks.
“Yes, fear. Uther was afraid of the power wielded por those who used magic. He felt it was a threat to his own power. I do not know what motivated this fear, but he was a wounded predator when it came to magic. Backed into a corner, he knew no other way than but to lash out.”
Arthur stares at his wife. I knew she was smart, but I never realized just how smart until this moment.
“Gwen is right,” Merlin says. “He was afraid. But there is mais to it.”
“What exactly do you know, Merlin?” Arthur turns on him.
Merlin looks at his hands. “You will need to ask Gaius when we return to Camelot, my lord. He will tell you what you would like to know.”
“Hmm,” Arthur purses his lips together.
“Now is not the time for that story,” Merlin finishes, looking pointedly at Arthur.
Gwen clears her throat politely, and presses on. “And that is why we’ve put Merlin in charge of, shall we say, magical law enforcement. We have a force for good on our side, and we’d be foolish not to use it to the advantage of the kingdom.”
“Very shrewd,” Marke says, still wondering at the exchange between Arthur and Merlin, but deciding to let it go for now. Perhaps it is none of my concern. “Your idea?” he asks Gwen, smiling.
“Arthur’s,” she smiles at him. “Though the position itself came from Merlin’s brain.”
“Um, actually, the entire job descrição came from Merlin’s brain,” Arthur admits. “I just enabled it por legalizing magic.” He scowls now, feeling a little but like his wife and his former servant have mentally outclassed him.
“How did your council react to this?” Marke asks Arthur.
“Oh, God, let me tell you…” Arthur leans forward, rolling his eyes.
xXx
Arthur, Gwen, Merlin and Marke approach the training fields in time to see Sir Fergus facing down Sir Gwaine, surrounded por the rest of the men, cheering and surreptitiously placing wagers.
“All right, ye boggin dug, I’m tired o’ dancin’ wit ye,” Fergus goads as the two men círculo one another, swords at the ready.
“Make your mover then, ya skirt-wearing ball of ovelha, ovelhas dung,” Gwaine shoots back smoothly.
“What happened here? They were getting along so well,” Merlin comments.
“They still are, Merlin,” Gwen says, noting the impish glint in Gwaine’s eyes.
“Just goading each other,” Arthur laughs. “One of Gwaine’s strong suits.”
“Ah, ya bastirt!” Fergus exclaims, Gwaine having just knocked him on the side of his head with his elbow.
“You put your head where my elbow was,” Gwaine answers. Fergus laughs, lunging with his sword. Gwaine dodges him, rolling towards him, knocking the Scot off his feet.
“Woah!” everyone else choruses as Fergus lands face-first into the turf, and the unanswered pergunta about what is beneath Fergus’ kilt is answered.
Arthur puts his hands over Gwen’s eyes, amused at how hard she is laughing.
Fergus rights himself, sees Gwen standing there, salutes her, and turns back to Gwaine as Gwen falls to laughing again.
“Aye, yer queen is a topo, início lass, indeed,” Fergus comments.
“Glad you think so, now that you’ve given her an eyeful,” Gwaine chuckles.
“Ach, ’twas naught but me bum,” he shrugs. “Now…” he strikes again, catching Gwaine uncharacteristically off guard, and the knight topples.
He laughs again and stands, flipping his hair away from his face. “You dirty…” he grins.
“Got tae take th’advantage while ye can, ye ken,” Fergus winks.
“Indeed,” Gwaine answers, and deftly disarms Fergus, catching the other man’s sword in his left hand. He points both swords at Fergus.
“Show me how ye did tha’,” Fergus says, wide-eyed. Gwaine hands him his sword, and loops his arm around the Scotsman’s shoulders.
“Well, now, that would be tellin’, wouldn’t it?” he teases.
“Och, laddie, I must know! Dinnae make me beg!”
The two men laugh as the rest of the men close in around them, coins changing hands as they move.
Part 19: link
