Merlin: Destined for Greatness 1/?
Title: Destined for Greatness
Rating: T
Characters/Pairing: Guinevere, Arthur, Elyan, Leon, Morgana, et al.
Warnings: None. This is a prequel to the series and specifically to my fic Desperate Measures although reading both is not necessary to understand either fic. However, there will be little tie-ins.
Summary: AU. Guinevere-centric story about her early life right as it is forever changed in the Pendragon household. This story will explore her family life, her friendship with Leon, and her adjustment as Morgana's handmaiden. According to legend, Arthur fell for Guinevere at first sight. I tend to agree and believe the series wasn't clear on how to show it and neither was Arthur considering he was such a prat. So bits of this will contain Arthur's life pre-Merlin and possibly explain how an arrogant prince and a sometimes awkward handmaiden will become the once and future king and queen.
Chapter 1: Frogging at Midnight
Hands clasped tightly in front of her, twelve-year-old Guinevere Degrance reminded herself not to fidget. It was a difficult task as her first inclination was to move when her nerves became rattled, and nothing rattled her more than being under her mother's scrutiny. Although this time, it wasn't Gwen's table setting or bedding under inspection but a very important gift for a dear friend.
"This stitching," Deira said in a low, husky whisper, "is tight and even. The line is perfect. Far better than anything I could have done."
"Really, Mum?" Gwen took a tentative step forward.
Her mother's slender, but work-worn hands turned the deep red fabric over, holding it closer to the small window where light from the morning sun beamed in. The petite woman beckoned her daughter over with a warm smile and a jut of her chin. Since her birthday, Guinevere had grown the few inches to stand a little above her mother's shoulder. Stray tendrils dangled from a bun onto Deira's cheek. She tucked them behind her ear in an offhand gesture that Gwen mimicked unintentionally.
"See here and here," Deira said once Gwen stood at her side. "This is better than the Court Seamstresses."
Heat flamed the young girl's cheeks. Gwen smiled as she shook her head in denial. "It's not that good."
"I wouldn't put you on." Deira was in the process of handing the cloak back to her daughter when she paused.
Gwen held her breath. Did her mother see? She didn't want to point it out. Humility was a noble characteristic and one's ability was nothing if she could not be humble. At least that's what Gwen had been taught by her parents and she believed it to be true. Yet, that still didn't quell her wish for her mother to notice that one extra embellishment and for Gwen to hope she had further gained her mother's approval.
"Oh, Gwennie…" Trembling fingers traced the golden lines of the dragon within a circle. "The embroidery is… Such detail, daughter. Leon will be a proper squire for certain when he arrives in Court wearing this."
"So you think he will be pleased with it?"
"Very. Here." Her mother folded the cloak and handed it to her. "Careful it doesn't get soiled. You know he leaves tomorrow."
"I know. I thought maybe you'd take it with you this morning."
"Me?" Her mother headed to the hearth. Even though the day had just begun, her movements were slow and measured as she dished porridge into four bowls. "I will not take credit for your work and you mustn't allow anyone to ever do so. Are you listening?"
"Yes, Mum."
Gwen carefully folded the cloak and wrapped it inside parchment paper, tying it with string. As noise sounded at the rear door, she joined her mother at the hearth. She was balancing the four bowls in her arms when her brother and her father entered.
Although only two years separated them with Elyan being the elder, her brother stood tall and gangly beside their father. His coloring, darker like their mother's, seemed almost ruddy against his pale muslin shirt. Up since before sunrise, he gave her a look as he waited behind Tom to wash for breakfast. Gwen bit back a smile. She and her father got along quite well, but father and son often butted heads. She couldn't wait to hear Elyan's version of 'Morning at the Forge' when they broke bread at lunch.
After washing up, Tom kissed his wife soundly on the cheek. Her responding giggle erupted into a cough. Gwen and Elyan exchanged another look as their father rubbed their mother's back. This wasn't the first time they'd heard that hacking cough ravage their mother's small frame. Gwen clutched the back of her chair.
"Elyan, run and fetch Gaius."
Elyan was at the door when his mother said, "You do no such thing."
"Deira."
"Tom Degrance, no. Gaius has more than enough to do than to worry with me. It's just a case of the morning chills." She pulled a shawl from a hook near a door and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Elyan, sit and eat."
Elyan's eyes widened. He looked at his father. When Tom slowly nodded, the boy left the door and joined his family at the table. Once everyone was settled, Deira chatted about the day's expectations. Gwen listened but she also noticed how her father stared a little longer at her mother than usual.
Later as mother and daughter made the trek to the de Maris manor, Deira headed toward Lady Angelica's chambers to help her dress. Gwen hesitated in the corridor, her package tucked securely under her arm.
Deira shooed her with a quick wave. "Go along now. He will like it."
"Are you sure it's good enough?"
"Gwennie, dear," her mother said with a soft sigh, "never doubt yourself. Never. You are better than good enough. Now run along before it's too late."
Taking her mother's words to heart, Gwen bolstered her nerve. She had worked on the cloak for weeks, taking great care with every seam. Not once had she ripped a bit of fabric or had cause to unravel a piece of thread. It was the first work that she had done alone without her mother's assistance. She hoped Leon would be proud to wear it as he served the great Knights of Camelot.
She found him in his quarters, taking in the last bits of his morning meal. He smiled around a bite of bread as he waited for her to come in.
"Morning, Gwen. Where's Elyan?"
"At the forge."
She sat at the table. Her eyes wandered the room. She and Elyan had spent many days in these four walls. Jumping. Playing. Making noise. His mother didn't mind the children being together despite the difference in social status, but Gwen's mother was always certain to remind them to take care. Now as Gwen looked around, she noted the open trunk at the foot of the bed. Clothes and a new, shiny shield rested on top. Her good friend really was leaving. Her fingers tightened around the package. The crinkling paper sounded loud in her ears.
"What's wrong?"
He pushed his plate aside. Slate blue eyes stared back at her. The soft lines of his boyish face had started the shift into the angular planes that resembled his father. Gwen returned his stare, a little surprised at how he'd grown up and she hadn't realized until now.
"You look sad. Elyan teasing you again?"
Leon chuckled softly as he stood. Perhaps overnight, he had grown inches. He was much taller than her brother now. When and how did all this happen? Puzzled, Gwen chewed her bottom lip.
"Gwen?" He stepped to her chair. Two fingers grabbed hold of wayward curly strands and tugged. "Don't cry. I'll show Elyan the proper way to treat his sister."
"It's not that. He's been good. At least as of this morning."
Leon rested against the table's edge. Arms folded across his chest, he frowned down at her. "Then what is it? You're always smiles and giggles. What have you got there?"
She looked down at the wrinkled parchment that rested on her lap, clutched firmly in her grasp. If he hadn't said something, she would have forgotten. "It's for you."
"Is it?" He laughed. "I could hardly tell."
"Oh, Leon!"
A bit embarrassed and determined not to show it, Gwen thrust the package into his waiting hands.
He caught it effortlessly.
"Am I to open it?"
"If you don't want it, I'll take it back."
Merriment twinkled in his eyes as he looked at her. Whenever Elyan picked on her, the young noble often came to her rescue but that didn't mean he didn't get his fair share of teasing in. The three of them were close friends. Still Gwen knew with the coming morn, all of that would change.
"Open it."
He hesitated only a fraction of a second. Then he tore into the parchment like a beast feasting on his prey. The urge to move swept through Gwen. Sitting on her hands provided a quick solution. That didn't help her racing heart as Leon's eyes rounded as all the red came into view.
He whipped the cloak in front of him and stood to his full height in one move. His mouth opened. No sound came out. Gwen's watchful gaze took in everything. The flush of his cheeks. The slow smile on his lips. The look of wonder as he visibly traced the Pendragon emblem.
"This is a squire's cloak," he said in reverence. "I do not have one yet."
"You do now."
"I know, but…" Their gazes met. "Where did you get this? Surely, you did not make this? One of the Court Seamstresses told you to give this to me?"
Remembering her mother's words, Gwen shook her head. "No, no one gave it to me. I made it."
"You?"
At her quiet admission, he quickly inspected the cloak again. Holding it carefully, he marched to the window and peered under the sunlight. Once he was done, he wrapped it around his shoulders. When he turned to face her, he wore the brightest smile.
"I am honored."
Gwen knew the heat of a blush colored her cheeks. She hoped it did not match the richness of his cloak.
She rose from the table and came round to get a better look. Oh, yes, her good friend who liked to run and jump had been replaced. A squire stood in his place. She was proud of him, but sad for her.
"There's that face again." He went to her and ruffled her hair. "If you don't tell me what's wrong…"
She shrugged. "Everything changes when people grow up. Elyan is at the forge all the time. You're going off to Court. Everything's different now. You'll be different now that you're Sir Candor's squire."
Leon reached out to pat her shoulder. "One thing I promise. I'll never change. I'll always be your friend."
D*f*G
"You're fidgeting, Arthur."
Arthur Pendragon held himself erect at his father's sharp, but quiet command. As the son of a king, much was required of him and most he accepted as due course. Even at thirteen years of age. But wearing his ill-fitting crown, ceremonial robes, and wide, false smile as they played host to one of the rudest monarchs in the neighboring kingdoms was more than Arthur could bear. And the fact that Morgana was allowed to be absent from the meet and greet made it altogether even worse. Why did she receive all the perks? He was the crown prince and future heir to the throne. She was only a nobleman's daughter, his father's ward. It wasn't fair.
"Stand up straight," Uther said through clenched teeth. "Never give anyone cause to believe that your guard is down."
"Yes, Father-"
"Sire," Uther corrected. "When we're in this capacity, I am your king."
Arthur swallowed hard. "Yes, my Lord."
Standing just to the right of his father on the step behind him, Arthur kept his back straight and his eyes trained forward. Even with the sun blaring at its highest peak, the young teen refused to blink.
The pounding of hooves signaled the arrival of King Odin and his party of knights. Arthur hoped the man's younger son had come with him. The two used to get along quite well. Being another heir, the boy understood what Arthur did not allow himself to say aloud.
The men all dismounted. King Odin with his chest puffed out and his eyes cold as ice stepped forward. Arthur watched his father and the other man grasp forearms in welcome. Odin's gaze trailed over Arthur in barely contained disdain. Arthur lifted his chin in a faint glimmer of defiance.
"My boy is already a foot taller," Odin said.
Uther released a harsh chuckle as he failed to come to his son's defense. Instead, he invited their guests inside and led the way. Taking this as silent dismissal, Arthur gladly took his leave and stormed to his chambers.
The crown and ceremonial robes were tossed aside in a blind fit of sadness and hurt. He threw himself on the bed. Clutching a pillow to his chest, he swallowed down the tears that wanted desperately to fall. Future rulers didn't cry. Everybody knew that.
Behind him, the door to his chambers eased open. He didn't have to turn to know that Morgana had entered. She always had a way of finding him when he was at his worst.
"Go away." The words came out muffled against his pillow.
"What's wrong?" She climbed onto the bed beside him.
Also thirteen, Morgana had started to look less like the little girl she was when she moved in three years ago and more like one of the ladies-in-waiting. Arthur found himself noticing the green in her eyes and the way her dress clung to parts of her. The changes confused him. Everything confused him.
But today, he noticed none of that at all. Today, he was a shaking mass of impotent frustration and disappointment. If he didn't find a way to channel it, he was sure he'd go mad.
"Nothing," he said.
Before she could protest, he left. What would be the purpose of explaining to her what it was like being the son of Uther Pendragon and never knowing what was expected of him? Uther never smiled at Arthur the way he smiled at Morgana. He always expected and demanded more.
As had become his custom of late, Arthur's footsteps took him to the armory. Among the mass assemblage of weaponry, the young teen felt safe. The swords gleamed with promise. A crossbow rested on the tabletop. He fingered the arrows. Each point was razor sharp and ready for prey.
Shouts and grunts filtered through the thick walls. Arthur slipped through the wooden doors. The familiar path led him to the knights' training ground. A decent mound of earth blocked him from their view but afforded him a range of rituals to study.
At thirteen, he had already begun his training, but the deadlier, combative preparation wouldn't begin until he was of age. For the nobles, they came in as squires at age fourteen. While Arthur would not have to formally serve a knight, tradition deemed that he could not take part until he reached the appropriate age. Of course his father could allow him acceptance, but Uther was nothing if not traditional. Arthur would have to wait until his next birthday.
He hated waiting.
The practice was brutal. The knights held nothing back. They exchanged blows and quickly stood up again. Flashes of silver glittered in the afternoon as blades connected. The hurt that had driven Arthur from his chambers began to fade. This was far more exciting than standing at attention. He wanted to be like these men. A warrior. A fighter who feared nothing, not man nor beast. When he started proper training, he'd show them all. Arthur Pendragon would be better than his father or King Odin. He'd be the best warrior who ever lived.
D*f*G
"Wake up!"
Elyan's excited whisper and persistent shake pulled Gwen from a dream about a picnic with a handsome prince. She slapped her brother's hand from her shoulder. The dream was nice and the prince was sweet. She wanted to get back to it.
"Gwen!"
A sharp pinch on her arm made her eyes fly open. Hands balled into fists, she sat straight up in bed.
"Elyan, stop it," she whispered back.
"Come on."
He hurried back to his bed. She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. The adjustment from dream world to reality came grudgingly. Meanwhile, her brother's shadow danced around as he changed from his night clothes to pants and tunic. By the time he pulled on his boots, she was wide awake.
"Whatever are you doing?" she asked. "Father will have your hide!"
"Leon is waiting," he said. "Hurry up or we'll leave you."
"What?"
"It's a full moon, silly."
A full moon? Sleep still fuddled her thinking. A full moon. She looked up at the window that hung high above her brother's bed. As the outline of Leon's wavy locks came into view, understanding hit Gwen in her tummy.
"A full moon!" She all but squealed. "Frogging-"
Elyan's hand clamped over her mouth faster than a whip. "Are you trying to wake him?"
"Sorry," she murmured when her brother released her.
"Are you coming or not?"
"Yes!"
She had never dressed so quickly. Donning a pair of Elyan's old breeches and boots that he had outgrown years ago, she slipped on a tunic and was ready by the time Elyan met her at the door. They eased out without any trouble as they had done it so many times before.
The three raced to their favorite pond just on the border of the Darkling Woods. Thankfully, Leon had thought to bring a sack as Elyan and Gwen had been too hurried to grab one. With their bare feet dangling in the cool waters, the longtime friends listened to the rippling flow and the croaking frogs. So far, none of them had made a move on their prey. It just felt good to be outside in the brisk night air.
"Benedict showed me the sword you made," Leon said. "That's quite good work."
"Thanks."
"He's almost as good as Father," Gwen piped in, hitting her brother's shoulder.
"Soon, I'll need a sword like that," Leon said. "I would be honored if you would do mine."
"You have the Court's blacksmith for that," Elyan said quietly.
Leon skimmed a rock across the pond. It settled in with a quiet plop. "I want yours."
"I wish I could be a knight," Elyan said so quietly that Gwen wasn't sure at first that her brother had said it. "I do."
The three sat in silence for a moment. The King had strict rules about who could serve the Court and how. As commoners, the Degrance family would never be allowed to wear the royal red that proclaimed every citizen's pride in Camelot.
"Maybe things will change." Leon's voice was quiet. Noblemen did not speak against Uther Pendragon. Even a squire knew to do so with caution.
"Sure they will." Elyan sounded unconvinced.
Her brother's desolation wounded her heart. Gwen did not want to see the world as having limits. Not after the sweet dream that Elyan had torn her from. Maybe some of that dream still filled her now because she could only see possibilities.
She gave her brother a playful nudge. "There's always hope."
Rating: T
Characters/Pairing: Guinevere, Arthur, Elyan, Leon, Morgana, et al.
Warnings: None. This is a prequel to the series and specifically to my fic Desperate Measures although reading both is not necessary to understand either fic. However, there will be little tie-ins.
Summary: AU. Guinevere-centric story about her early life right as it is forever changed in the Pendragon household. This story will explore her family life, her friendship with Leon, and her adjustment as Morgana's handmaiden. According to legend, Arthur fell for Guinevere at first sight. I tend to agree and believe the series wasn't clear on how to show it and neither was Arthur considering he was such a prat. So bits of this will contain Arthur's life pre-Merlin and possibly explain how an arrogant prince and a sometimes awkward handmaiden will become the once and future king and queen.
Chapter 1: Frogging at Midnight
Hands clasped tightly in front of her, twelve-year-old Guinevere Degrance reminded herself not to fidget. It was a difficult task as her first inclination was to move when her nerves became rattled, and nothing rattled her more than being under her mother's scrutiny. Although this time, it wasn't Gwen's table setting or bedding under inspection but a very important gift for a dear friend.
"This stitching," Deira said in a low, husky whisper, "is tight and even. The line is perfect. Far better than anything I could have done."
"Really, Mum?" Gwen took a tentative step forward.
Her mother's slender, but work-worn hands turned the deep red fabric over, holding it closer to the small window where light from the morning sun beamed in. The petite woman beckoned her daughter over with a warm smile and a jut of her chin. Since her birthday, Guinevere had grown the few inches to stand a little above her mother's shoulder. Stray tendrils dangled from a bun onto Deira's cheek. She tucked them behind her ear in an offhand gesture that Gwen mimicked unintentionally.
"See here and here," Deira said once Gwen stood at her side. "This is better than the Court Seamstresses."
Heat flamed the young girl's cheeks. Gwen smiled as she shook her head in denial. "It's not that good."
"I wouldn't put you on." Deira was in the process of handing the cloak back to her daughter when she paused.
Gwen held her breath. Did her mother see? She didn't want to point it out. Humility was a noble characteristic and one's ability was nothing if she could not be humble. At least that's what Gwen had been taught by her parents and she believed it to be true. Yet, that still didn't quell her wish for her mother to notice that one extra embellishment and for Gwen to hope she had further gained her mother's approval.
"Oh, Gwennie…" Trembling fingers traced the golden lines of the dragon within a circle. "The embroidery is… Such detail, daughter. Leon will be a proper squire for certain when he arrives in Court wearing this."
"So you think he will be pleased with it?"
"Very. Here." Her mother folded the cloak and handed it to her. "Careful it doesn't get soiled. You know he leaves tomorrow."
"I know. I thought maybe you'd take it with you this morning."
"Me?" Her mother headed to the hearth. Even though the day had just begun, her movements were slow and measured as she dished porridge into four bowls. "I will not take credit for your work and you mustn't allow anyone to ever do so. Are you listening?"
"Yes, Mum."
Gwen carefully folded the cloak and wrapped it inside parchment paper, tying it with string. As noise sounded at the rear door, she joined her mother at the hearth. She was balancing the four bowls in her arms when her brother and her father entered.
Although only two years separated them with Elyan being the elder, her brother stood tall and gangly beside their father. His coloring, darker like their mother's, seemed almost ruddy against his pale muslin shirt. Up since before sunrise, he gave her a look as he waited behind Tom to wash for breakfast. Gwen bit back a smile. She and her father got along quite well, but father and son often butted heads. She couldn't wait to hear Elyan's version of 'Morning at the Forge' when they broke bread at lunch.
After washing up, Tom kissed his wife soundly on the cheek. Her responding giggle erupted into a cough. Gwen and Elyan exchanged another look as their father rubbed their mother's back. This wasn't the first time they'd heard that hacking cough ravage their mother's small frame. Gwen clutched the back of her chair.
"Elyan, run and fetch Gaius."
Elyan was at the door when his mother said, "You do no such thing."
"Deira."
"Tom Degrance, no. Gaius has more than enough to do than to worry with me. It's just a case of the morning chills." She pulled a shawl from a hook near a door and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Elyan, sit and eat."
Elyan's eyes widened. He looked at his father. When Tom slowly nodded, the boy left the door and joined his family at the table. Once everyone was settled, Deira chatted about the day's expectations. Gwen listened but she also noticed how her father stared a little longer at her mother than usual.
Later as mother and daughter made the trek to the de Maris manor, Deira headed toward Lady Angelica's chambers to help her dress. Gwen hesitated in the corridor, her package tucked securely under her arm.
Deira shooed her with a quick wave. "Go along now. He will like it."
"Are you sure it's good enough?"
"Gwennie, dear," her mother said with a soft sigh, "never doubt yourself. Never. You are better than good enough. Now run along before it's too late."
Taking her mother's words to heart, Gwen bolstered her nerve. She had worked on the cloak for weeks, taking great care with every seam. Not once had she ripped a bit of fabric or had cause to unravel a piece of thread. It was the first work that she had done alone without her mother's assistance. She hoped Leon would be proud to wear it as he served the great Knights of Camelot.
She found him in his quarters, taking in the last bits of his morning meal. He smiled around a bite of bread as he waited for her to come in.
"Morning, Gwen. Where's Elyan?"
"At the forge."
She sat at the table. Her eyes wandered the room. She and Elyan had spent many days in these four walls. Jumping. Playing. Making noise. His mother didn't mind the children being together despite the difference in social status, but Gwen's mother was always certain to remind them to take care. Now as Gwen looked around, she noted the open trunk at the foot of the bed. Clothes and a new, shiny shield rested on top. Her good friend really was leaving. Her fingers tightened around the package. The crinkling paper sounded loud in her ears.
"What's wrong?"
He pushed his plate aside. Slate blue eyes stared back at her. The soft lines of his boyish face had started the shift into the angular planes that resembled his father. Gwen returned his stare, a little surprised at how he'd grown up and she hadn't realized until now.
"You look sad. Elyan teasing you again?"
Leon chuckled softly as he stood. Perhaps overnight, he had grown inches. He was much taller than her brother now. When and how did all this happen? Puzzled, Gwen chewed her bottom lip.
"Gwen?" He stepped to her chair. Two fingers grabbed hold of wayward curly strands and tugged. "Don't cry. I'll show Elyan the proper way to treat his sister."
"It's not that. He's been good. At least as of this morning."
Leon rested against the table's edge. Arms folded across his chest, he frowned down at her. "Then what is it? You're always smiles and giggles. What have you got there?"
She looked down at the wrinkled parchment that rested on her lap, clutched firmly in her grasp. If he hadn't said something, she would have forgotten. "It's for you."
"Is it?" He laughed. "I could hardly tell."
"Oh, Leon!"
A bit embarrassed and determined not to show it, Gwen thrust the package into his waiting hands.
He caught it effortlessly.
"Am I to open it?"
"If you don't want it, I'll take it back."
Merriment twinkled in his eyes as he looked at her. Whenever Elyan picked on her, the young noble often came to her rescue but that didn't mean he didn't get his fair share of teasing in. The three of them were close friends. Still Gwen knew with the coming morn, all of that would change.
"Open it."
He hesitated only a fraction of a second. Then he tore into the parchment like a beast feasting on his prey. The urge to move swept through Gwen. Sitting on her hands provided a quick solution. That didn't help her racing heart as Leon's eyes rounded as all the red came into view.
He whipped the cloak in front of him and stood to his full height in one move. His mouth opened. No sound came out. Gwen's watchful gaze took in everything. The flush of his cheeks. The slow smile on his lips. The look of wonder as he visibly traced the Pendragon emblem.
"This is a squire's cloak," he said in reverence. "I do not have one yet."
"You do now."
"I know, but…" Their gazes met. "Where did you get this? Surely, you did not make this? One of the Court Seamstresses told you to give this to me?"
Remembering her mother's words, Gwen shook her head. "No, no one gave it to me. I made it."
"You?"
At her quiet admission, he quickly inspected the cloak again. Holding it carefully, he marched to the window and peered under the sunlight. Once he was done, he wrapped it around his shoulders. When he turned to face her, he wore the brightest smile.
"I am honored."
Gwen knew the heat of a blush colored her cheeks. She hoped it did not match the richness of his cloak.
She rose from the table and came round to get a better look. Oh, yes, her good friend who liked to run and jump had been replaced. A squire stood in his place. She was proud of him, but sad for her.
"There's that face again." He went to her and ruffled her hair. "If you don't tell me what's wrong…"
She shrugged. "Everything changes when people grow up. Elyan is at the forge all the time. You're going off to Court. Everything's different now. You'll be different now that you're Sir Candor's squire."
Leon reached out to pat her shoulder. "One thing I promise. I'll never change. I'll always be your friend."
D*f*G
"You're fidgeting, Arthur."
Arthur Pendragon held himself erect at his father's sharp, but quiet command. As the son of a king, much was required of him and most he accepted as due course. Even at thirteen years of age. But wearing his ill-fitting crown, ceremonial robes, and wide, false smile as they played host to one of the rudest monarchs in the neighboring kingdoms was more than Arthur could bear. And the fact that Morgana was allowed to be absent from the meet and greet made it altogether even worse. Why did she receive all the perks? He was the crown prince and future heir to the throne. She was only a nobleman's daughter, his father's ward. It wasn't fair.
"Stand up straight," Uther said through clenched teeth. "Never give anyone cause to believe that your guard is down."
"Yes, Father-"
"Sire," Uther corrected. "When we're in this capacity, I am your king."
Arthur swallowed hard. "Yes, my Lord."
Standing just to the right of his father on the step behind him, Arthur kept his back straight and his eyes trained forward. Even with the sun blaring at its highest peak, the young teen refused to blink.
The pounding of hooves signaled the arrival of King Odin and his party of knights. Arthur hoped the man's younger son had come with him. The two used to get along quite well. Being another heir, the boy understood what Arthur did not allow himself to say aloud.
The men all dismounted. King Odin with his chest puffed out and his eyes cold as ice stepped forward. Arthur watched his father and the other man grasp forearms in welcome. Odin's gaze trailed over Arthur in barely contained disdain. Arthur lifted his chin in a faint glimmer of defiance.
"My boy is already a foot taller," Odin said.
Uther released a harsh chuckle as he failed to come to his son's defense. Instead, he invited their guests inside and led the way. Taking this as silent dismissal, Arthur gladly took his leave and stormed to his chambers.
The crown and ceremonial robes were tossed aside in a blind fit of sadness and hurt. He threw himself on the bed. Clutching a pillow to his chest, he swallowed down the tears that wanted desperately to fall. Future rulers didn't cry. Everybody knew that.
Behind him, the door to his chambers eased open. He didn't have to turn to know that Morgana had entered. She always had a way of finding him when he was at his worst.
"Go away." The words came out muffled against his pillow.
"What's wrong?" She climbed onto the bed beside him.
Also thirteen, Morgana had started to look less like the little girl she was when she moved in three years ago and more like one of the ladies-in-waiting. Arthur found himself noticing the green in her eyes and the way her dress clung to parts of her. The changes confused him. Everything confused him.
But today, he noticed none of that at all. Today, he was a shaking mass of impotent frustration and disappointment. If he didn't find a way to channel it, he was sure he'd go mad.
"Nothing," he said.
Before she could protest, he left. What would be the purpose of explaining to her what it was like being the son of Uther Pendragon and never knowing what was expected of him? Uther never smiled at Arthur the way he smiled at Morgana. He always expected and demanded more.
As had become his custom of late, Arthur's footsteps took him to the armory. Among the mass assemblage of weaponry, the young teen felt safe. The swords gleamed with promise. A crossbow rested on the tabletop. He fingered the arrows. Each point was razor sharp and ready for prey.
Shouts and grunts filtered through the thick walls. Arthur slipped through the wooden doors. The familiar path led him to the knights' training ground. A decent mound of earth blocked him from their view but afforded him a range of rituals to study.
At thirteen, he had already begun his training, but the deadlier, combative preparation wouldn't begin until he was of age. For the nobles, they came in as squires at age fourteen. While Arthur would not have to formally serve a knight, tradition deemed that he could not take part until he reached the appropriate age. Of course his father could allow him acceptance, but Uther was nothing if not traditional. Arthur would have to wait until his next birthday.
He hated waiting.
The practice was brutal. The knights held nothing back. They exchanged blows and quickly stood up again. Flashes of silver glittered in the afternoon as blades connected. The hurt that had driven Arthur from his chambers began to fade. This was far more exciting than standing at attention. He wanted to be like these men. A warrior. A fighter who feared nothing, not man nor beast. When he started proper training, he'd show them all. Arthur Pendragon would be better than his father or King Odin. He'd be the best warrior who ever lived.
D*f*G
"Wake up!"
Elyan's excited whisper and persistent shake pulled Gwen from a dream about a picnic with a handsome prince. She slapped her brother's hand from her shoulder. The dream was nice and the prince was sweet. She wanted to get back to it.
"Gwen!"
A sharp pinch on her arm made her eyes fly open. Hands balled into fists, she sat straight up in bed.
"Elyan, stop it," she whispered back.
"Come on."
He hurried back to his bed. She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. The adjustment from dream world to reality came grudgingly. Meanwhile, her brother's shadow danced around as he changed from his night clothes to pants and tunic. By the time he pulled on his boots, she was wide awake.
"Whatever are you doing?" she asked. "Father will have your hide!"
"Leon is waiting," he said. "Hurry up or we'll leave you."
"What?"
"It's a full moon, silly."
A full moon? Sleep still fuddled her thinking. A full moon. She looked up at the window that hung high above her brother's bed. As the outline of Leon's wavy locks came into view, understanding hit Gwen in her tummy.
"A full moon!" She all but squealed. "Frogging-"
Elyan's hand clamped over her mouth faster than a whip. "Are you trying to wake him?"
"Sorry," she murmured when her brother released her.
"Are you coming or not?"
"Yes!"
She had never dressed so quickly. Donning a pair of Elyan's old breeches and boots that he had outgrown years ago, she slipped on a tunic and was ready by the time Elyan met her at the door. They eased out without any trouble as they had done it so many times before.
The three raced to their favorite pond just on the border of the Darkling Woods. Thankfully, Leon had thought to bring a sack as Elyan and Gwen had been too hurried to grab one. With their bare feet dangling in the cool waters, the longtime friends listened to the rippling flow and the croaking frogs. So far, none of them had made a move on their prey. It just felt good to be outside in the brisk night air.
"Benedict showed me the sword you made," Leon said. "That's quite good work."
"Thanks."
"He's almost as good as Father," Gwen piped in, hitting her brother's shoulder.
"Soon, I'll need a sword like that," Leon said. "I would be honored if you would do mine."
"You have the Court's blacksmith for that," Elyan said quietly.
Leon skimmed a rock across the pond. It settled in with a quiet plop. "I want yours."
"I wish I could be a knight," Elyan said so quietly that Gwen wasn't sure at first that her brother had said it. "I do."
The three sat in silence for a moment. The King had strict rules about who could serve the Court and how. As commoners, the Degrance family would never be allowed to wear the royal red that proclaimed every citizen's pride in Camelot.
"Maybe things will change." Leon's voice was quiet. Noblemen did not speak against Uther Pendragon. Even a squire knew to do so with caution.
"Sure they will." Elyan sounded unconvinced.
Her brother's desolation wounded her heart. Gwen did not want to see the world as having limits. Not after the sweet dream that Elyan had torn her from. Maybe some of that dream still filled her now because she could only see possibilities.
She gave her brother a playful nudge. "There's always hope."