FIC: Whip Crack Away! (ACT 1)
TITLE: Whip Crack Away! (An Operetta in Two Acts)
REEL MERLIN PROMPT: Calamity Jane
PAIRINGS: Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Lancelot (unrequited Merlin/Lancelot and Arthur/Gwen)
RATING: PG-13/Teen
SPOILERS/WARNINGS: no spoilers for Merlin, kind of inevitable to avoid spoilers for Calamity Jane. Warning for period-typical language (referring to Native Americans etc) and some (very) mild swearing.
WORD COUNT: 11388
A/N: Written (finally) for Reel Merlin 2013, and my first proper full length fanfic with an actual plot and everything! Huzzah!
Thank you times 10000 to my beta wanderlust48 and to jadesfire for helping me sort out how I was going to do this whole plot thing.
I am not from North Dakota (or even North America) so the dialogue that isn't adapted from the film is made up and probably not accurate. This was written for fun (HAHAHA) so it's far too silly to take in any way seriously. ENJOY <3
read it on AO3
SUMMARY: Boy A is sent to fetch Girl A and brings Girl B back instead. Mistaken identities, angst, embarrassment and heartbreak ensue... but it's a musical (and not Les Mis), so it's all okay in the end, right?
x-x-x
Whip crack away, whip crack away, whip crack away!
x-x-x
The sound of the whip cracking rings out clearly in the air, and the wheels of the Camelot Stage creak and rumble down the grit covered road stretching out over the dust.
Merlin stows his coach gun down the side of the seat, and clambers up on top of the roof. As the landscape opens out into the wide plain where Camelot can be found, he sits atop the stage and looks out over the yellow plains, and the blue skies, and feels like he's coming home.
When he spots the marker telling them that they're close to Camelot, Merlin swings over the side to perch by the window.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, when we git over these here hills, we'll be nearly at Camelot City. Finest place this side of Chicagie - heck - I'd say finest place in the whole darn country! And we've managed it without getting' shot full of more Injun arrows than a porcupine's got quills.”
Merlin grins at the passengers - not many since the stage is going to Camelot and it’s full of goods any way - and turns away to scan the surrounding plains.
He spots movement in the very corner of his eye, and shouts over, “Here, Tyr, mind pickin' it up a little? No time to delay, this here's dangerous country and we're sitting on some mighty fine cargo.”
He hauls himself back up to the roof and plonks himself down, makes sure his shotgun's in easy grabbing distance and just enjoys the feeling of rolling on straight towards home. It's not been an easy ride today - 23 miles of bumping along, and 5 of those were at a gallop when they were spotted an Indian raiding party. It'll be good to get back, for sure. They'll be in Camelot before nightfall, and Merlin's planning on not moving for a long time.
The stage pulls over the crest of the final swell, and he can see Camelot laid out ahead, all the wooden buildings looking like a little kid's toys instead of peoples' homes. The theatre rises all white and shining in the centre, like a beacon drawing them on.
x-x-x
The sound of the stagecoach echoing along the main street summons a fair sized crowd out towards the Golden Garter theatre, which is the final stop for the stage.
Sheriff Leon makes his way out of the crowd, and hollers, “Here they be! Let's give 'em a nice peaceful welcome, huh?” Every man in the crowd points his pistol in the air and shoots at the same time, and Merlin jumps up top with a smile for the people he doesn't know so well and a wink for those he does. Arthur Pendragon gets the biggest scowl he can muster up, of course.
Merlin grabs a hold of the topmost package and starts rattling off a list of the cargo they're carrying, darting to and fro on top of the coach. In amongst the leathers and ammo they've got gingham, calico, silk and fine coloured ribbons for the ladies, the confections that could last the journey and tonics for the townsfolks' aches and pains. There's hats from Cincinatti, worn by all the favourites of the concert halls, the most beautiful artificial pearls and glass jewels all the way from Manhattan, and the finest cigars they could get their hands on.
Merlin feels good, knowing that he helps brighten living all the way out here by bringing back a little life, bringing back a little luxury.
When he's finished his little pitch he supervises the passengers unpacking themselves fom the coach and leaves it to Tyr to organise unloading. He swaggers into the saloon of the Golden Garter, revelling in the knowledge that for this one time he's important enough to get excited about. For now he's angling to get his sarsaparilla paid for.
x-x-x
“Well, fellas, let me introduce y’all to these nice folks that’ve just arrived in town!”
Arthur’s sitting at his usual table, eyes shut, hat pulled down and arms crossed, when he hears a very familiar voice calling out across the room. It’s his (not quite) favourite person, back in town after a blessed week of quiet. It seems it’s too much to ask for Arthur to have the chance to finish his drink and his card game in peace.
“Say hello to my Uncle Gaius, who runs this place in between patching people up - keeps the Golden Garter in style and ready for the cream of Camelot City to dine. A very good friend of mine I’m glad to say, even if he is a relative. And over here’s Agravaine, dressing swanky today old man? A veritable prairie rose I think you’ll all agree.”
Arthur sinks down in his chair. He knows what’s coming, and he’s never humoured the idiot and he sure as hell ain’t startin’ now.
“But what am I sayin’? I ain’t introduced you to the most important man in the room yet! He’s sharper than any showman and he’s certainly smarter than he looks, believe me. The sheriff even answers to him, and he’s got 27 notches in his gun - even if they’re mostly squirrels - I say to you now, I’m glad to tell you that he’s a very good friend… of a friend of mine. The one and only Arthur Pendragon!”
Arthur stands up, tries to snatch back his hat from Merlin’s clutches, and settles for glowering at him when the idiot grins at him and dances away. When Merlin plonks his skinny ass down in Arthur’s chair, he takes the opportunity to drag it away to a different table and gets Leon to throw him another, shaking his head at Merlin all the while.
Merlin just ignores him and swaggers over to the bar, “Let’s wet our whistles, drinks on me boys!”, then falls straight on his behind. Making a spectacle of himself as always.
Arthur sits and shuffles his deck over and over until Merlin’s stories get too idiotic for him to ignore… so he decides to go over to the bar and take advantage of his generosity (stupidity).
Merlin’s in the middle of insisting that there had been at least a hundred Indians pouring down the hill after them while they rode hell for leather, desperately trying to escape;
“You can even check the back of the coach for all the arrows - there’s more stuck in there than a porcupine’s stickles. Yessir, I’ve had plenty excitement this trip. They came down that hill a-howlin’ like souls in torment. Why, must’a been about a hundred of ‘em.”
Behind him, Cedric holds up 5 fingers and the men around them start guffawing. Merlin frowns, “Ain’t no laughing matter, boys.”
“Heck, Merlin, I’d hate to have a war party that big on my tail,” Arthur can’t help saying, injecting enough sincerity that Merlin doesn’t immediately catch on.
“Well, Pendragon, I think you’re the only person besides myself with a sharp enough draw to bring that coach in.”
Arthur just blinks at that and stares at Merlin, trying to find a hint of mockery in his compliment.
“Of course all that called for some mighty rapid shootin’. I thought my gun was goin’ to curl right up it was so hot. Almost had to hold the muzzle between my feet! Yup. Must’ve killed about thirty of those painted varmints before they got discouraged.”
He doesn’t seem to notice Cedric standing behind him holding up two fingers and sniggering away, but Arthur glances in the mirror behind the bar and sees Merlin’s eyes harden before he slowly turns around and fixes his eye on Cedric, who’s still obliviously sniggering away.
He taps Cedric on the shoulder to get his attention, but when Cedric realises what’s happened he yelps something about the horses and bolts.
He’s almost at the door when he’s stopped in his tracks by a whip wrapping itself around his face and pulling him up short, the handle held by Merlin.
Merlin pulls the whip towards him until Cedric is forced to meet his glare.
“How many of those Indians do you reckon I shot, Cedric?”
Merlin’s voice is low and dangerous. Cedric gulps audibly before replying with a meek, “About thirty, Merlin.”
“That’s better. Next time I’m talkin’, keep your hands in your pockets you slimy excuse for a sewer rat.”
The thing about Merlin, Arthur thinks as he adjusts his britches, the thing about Merlin, is that he seems all clumsy and funny and harmless right up until you cross him, and then he gets this look in his eye that tells you it’d be a bad idea to go any further... and that look is the thing that makes Arthur try in every way he can to rile him up, because for some reason he’s always liked it turned on him.
Merlin might be careless with the truth, to put it kindly, but underneath the soft exterior he’s hard as nails.
x-x-x
Gwaine wakes up slowly at first, then jerks into awareness when he feels hands combing through his hair. He’s alone in the stagecoach… except for a couple of Indian squaws who’re pulling at his suit and generally looking at him like they’re about to steal his hat to make into one of them head-dress things. That won’t be happening; Gwaine spent near $30 on this hat. Well, that’s what the asking price was.
He flashes his best grin at them, the one that allows him to escape almost any situation, especially those involving threats to his hat’s well-being, and wriggles out of the coach.
They seem to be outside some kind of theatre - the sign says “The Golden Garter” and there’s a huge poster advertising a new actress come to town, due to perform tonight. That’s good, Gwaine’s timed his arrival well, then.
There’s an old fellow outside wringing his hands, and he calls out to Gwaine, “Hey, is there a young lady in there?”
“Nah, just me - had a nip too many out of the old hip flask and slept all the way from G’want.”
“Aw heck. I’m expectin’ an actress. Name of Gwa-nney. Somethin’ like that anyways.”
That sounds a hell of a lot like Gwaine’s name. Somethin’s startin’ to smell a little funny.
“Say, did you put an advertisement out or somethin’?”
“Sure did. Not many young aspiring actresses in this town, I can tell you.”
Well, the thing is that Gwaine’s arrived in this two-horse town in response to an advertisement looking for an entertainer, which Gwaine most definitely is. “Aw, heck” indeed.
“Howdy. My name’s Gwaine, and I reckon I’ll have to be your entertainment this evening.”
x-x-x
Merlin’s waiting at the bar for Will, when Pendragon swaggers up and plonks himself down next to him.
“Pining for your Lieutenant, Merlin?”
Patronising little… “No actually, I’m waiting for Will,” he says with a smirk, because any mention of Will usually has Arthur heading for cover. Sadly, that doesn’t seem to work today.
Still… Merlin is curious about where Lance is, since he usually comes and meets the stage.
“Say, speaking of the Lieutenant, where is he? Usually sticks around to say hello.”
“Ha, knew it. He’s up at the fort I think, been there about a week.”
Suddenly, through the door comes a crowd of folk, two of them covered in mud and blood and bruises. They gasp out something about a war party ambushing them on a trail and stagger to the bar, downing the booze as soon as it’s handed to them..
“They jumped us up at Eagle Pass, us and a couple fellas from up at the Fort. That Lieutenant and some other boy.”
(The sudden expression of panic on Merlin’s face makes Arthur’s heart seize in his chest.)
Merlin claps a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Which Lieutenant?”
“Du Lac, I think. They got him alright, got him good.”
“A good clean shot in the heart? Did he suffer?”
“Hell, I don’t know, we just came 10 miles and I ain’t got time for no stupid questions.”
“You got time for all my stupid questions if you’re the no-good son of a bitch who left Lance in the dirt to die like a dog,” Merlin growls, before storming out of the saloon and swinging himself up onto his horse.
x-x-x
Merlin’s about a mile out of town before he hears the hoofbeats coming up behind him, and he whips his head around to check who it is.
With a strange burst of relief, he recognises Arthur, and slows down so as he can catch up.
“I don’t need your help, you know.”
“Well, I wanted to give it to you anyway.”
x-x-x
They come upon the Indian camp a few miles out into the woods, and having agreed that Arthur would scare them off whilst Merlin rescued Lance, they waste no time before riding in, guns blazing. Arthur hits a couple, and Merlin takes out a couple more before galloping over to where he can see Lance tied to a tree.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, just- could you untie me?”
Merlin blushes and starts fumbling with the knots, then gives up and uses his knife to cut right through them. The expression of dizzy gratitude on Lance’s face had made him feel all fluttery for a moment.
He helps Lance up onto his horse then hops up behind him, clinging to Lance’s uniform.
When they’re a good couple of miles away, Arthur asks, “Why’re you on the same horse instead of taking one of those Indian ponies?”
Merlin snuggles into Lance’s back before replying, “It’s cosier this way!”
Arthur frowns all the way home, and he’s not going to think about why. He doesn’t care what Merlin gets up to with that big lug nut.
x-x-x
Merlin settles himself down by the bar. Gaius’s been excited about this evening ever since he got that letter telling him that this new actress was on her way - although he’s been inexplicably antsy about it all afternoon, muttering things about lynchings and hangings and ruination. Merlin put it down to pre-show nerves.
Finally, the band in the corner strike up, and Gaius scurries onto the stage.
“Gentlemen and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to introduce to you now, the toast of New York… Miss Gwaine Green!”
After a couple of minutes delay, a leg sticks itself out from behind the curtains with very little finesse, and it’s followed by a figure that’s best described with the word “broad”. The… woman… on stage has apparently chosen to wear some kind of veil over her face, but even it can’t hide the stockiness of her legs and the thickness of her arms.
Beside Merlin, Lance mutters, “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
Pendragon just says, blunt as anything, “Well she ain’t very good looking.”
“That’s not all she ain’t.”
“I’ve got two wonderful arms, I’ve got two wonderful lips, I’m over twenty one and I’m free…”
x-x-x
At the sound of the rough, oddly deep voice emanating from the stage, a bewildered and increasingly angry muttering fills the room, but it quickly turns to laughter as Gwaine plays it up, starting to prance around the room. He even deposits one gentleman who tried to pinch his ass on a billiard table.
Unfortunately, the charade comes to an end when an overly enthusiastic trombonist snags Gwaine’s scarf and reveals his rather ebullient facial hair; he just didn’t have the heart to remove it.
It takes Merlin and Arthur an hour of pouring him liberal amounts of whisky (and discouraging Gwaine from making increasingly crude jokes) to calm Gaius after his (admittedly narrow) escape from lynching. They’ll have to pull something really good out of the hat next time if Gaius wants to keep up business.
x-x-x
When Merlin rouses himself up the following afternoon and strolls down to the saloon, he’s met with a group of men looking more lovesick than a teenage girl in a Shakepeare play. Heck, the looks on their faces’d make a dog feel ill, and that’s coming from a man that’s practically made a career out of pining.
“Say, what’s got you fellas looking so ill?”
Leon starts and looks round. “Oh, it’s nothin’ worth bothering about, Merlin-”
“Morgana! Morgana Le Fay…”
At Will’s heartfelt outburst all of them sigh in chorus, and it’s damn near the spookiest thing he’s seen all day.
Gwaine swaggers up behind him.
“Merlin! I’ll take it upon myself to explain things to your good self. Now, in light of last night’s events-”
Gwaine’s unabashed grin sparks a low grumbling from the group at the table. He winks at Merlin, and whispers, “if it wasn’t for the beard they would’ve loved it.”
“Oh, I’ll bet.”
“Well, anyway. I… encouraged these upstanding gentlemen to keep filling up Gaius’s saloon - in my new capacity of bar tender, seeing as my actressin’ job didn’t last - by agreeing to tell ‘em about my mad, passionate affair with the belle du jour of Chicago.”
“And who would this fine dame be?”
“Oh Merlin, I’m sure you’ve heard of the lady - you can see her on the prow of an ancient ship, in a gambler’s cameo, hell, in the dyin’ embers of a campfire you’ll see her sweet face.”
“And?”
“Well, my sweet Merlin, in this case she happens to be the loveliest singin’ dancin’ star of them all… Morgana Le Fay.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of her.”
This inspires a rapid grumbling from the men at the table, all of whom are staring at him.
“What?!”
“Merlin, you’ve travelled farther than most people in this town and you’re saying you ain’t heard of the most beautiful woman in this whole country?”
“Well, when you say it like that-”
“What you’re forgetting, gents, is that any time Merlin here has an intelligent thought, it curls up and dies of loneliness.”
Hell. Merlin should’ve known that his good luck wasn’t going to last.
The man at the back, who’s been sitting with his head tipped back and his hat pulled over his eyes, suddenly straightens up and confirms that yes, it is Merlin’s least favourite person in the world - Arthur Pendragon. Of course he had to be here, brooding silently in the shadows and passing judgement on Merlin every time he spoke.
“We’ll just have to educate him on Morgana’s many merits, won’t we!”
Arthur meets his eyes with a smug kind of challenge, and Merlin curls his lip in response.
“Sure thing, fellas - I do love hearing about Gwaine’s escapades.”
“Well, to start with, to see her you’d think she was Cleopatra or Helen of Troy come to life - she could give any society beauties a run for their money. Lips like sin and hair as dark as night, with the most beautiful curl to it. And her smile, boys!”
“I should think we’ll all be dreaming of her tonight.” As he speaks, Arthur catches Merlin’s eye and holds it. Merlin tries hard to quash the urge to punch that smug pout right off his pretty face. No good cowardly sonofa-
“I think I’d die of happiness if she ever came to town.”
“You’d be dying of something else, I’m sure, the way she fills up all that silk and brocade. Finest figure you’ve ever seen on a woman.”
“She’s like a star in the heavens…” Daegal looks towards the ceilings with such an addlepated look on his face that Merlin’s sure he’ll fall off his chair, and he does when Gwaine thumps his hand down on his shoulder.
“She’d eat you right up, kid, sure as shit. Here, I heard on the grapevine that we’d be gettin’ cigarette cards with her picture on ‘em soon enough.”
“Oh boy, I’ll be hopin’ and prayin’ for one of them, yes sirree!”
“I’ll be sure to get my hands on ‘em, next trip,” Merlin chirps.
“What was that Merlin? You’ll be sure to get your hands on her? Why, ain’t that frowned upon by the police and such?”
“Shut it Pendragon, you know I didn’t say-”
“But hey! If anyone can get their hands on Morgana for a little show it’ll be Merlin, won’t it boys?”
Merlin can feel his eyes widen as they all look at him, expectation in their eyes.
Damn Pendragon and his games, he can never resist the idiots looking like that.
“Why, of course I can boys! When’ve I ever let you down? Don’t say nothin’, Pendragon... I’ll just nip over to Chicago and bring her back, shall I?”
He punctuates the last sentence with a kind of desperate, hopeful grin, praying that they’ll laugh and tell him not to bother… but all he gets in response is a pleased murmur rippling through the group, and Will beams at him before Pendragon sticks his oar in again.
“Well, that’s settled then, ain’t it? Merlin’ll set off tomorrow and fetch us back the greatest beauty of the modern age.”
x-x-x
“A real gentleman wouldn’t be hankering after a woman dressed like that.”
“A real gentleman eh? What, like you?”
“Yeah like me. Me or…”
“Or… Lieutenant Du Lac by any chance?”
“Yeah like him! He’s more of a gentleman than you in any case.”
Merlin’s been bickering with Pendragon all morning about this Morgana disaster, because Pendragon is an infuriating clotpole when he wants to be, and with this he’s like a dog with a bone. It’s unfortunate that when you’ve known somebody for this long, they tend to know all your weak spots.
When they walk into the Golden Garter, he spots an opportunity to change the subject and grabs it with both hands;
“Hey, Pendragon, do you really think I can do it?”
Merlin's spotted Uncle Gaius in the Golden Garter, whiling away the afternoon beside the bar. Pendragon swaggers in behind Merlin, hat cocked and leather waistcoat as obnoxiously tight as usual. He looks at Pendragon as insolently as he can, daring him to say something prattish in front of Gaius, who is Pendragon's godfather and treats both of them with the same kind of twinkly-eyed indulgence and hard-assed intolerance of bullshit.
“Why of course I do, Merlin!”
“I- Well, that's... mighty kind of you.”
Huh. Pendragon looks almost... nice, for a second, disregarding the permanent smirk. Weird.
“Hey, Gaius, you know as well as I do that nothing’s impossible for Merlin. Didn’t he just save the stage from a hundred savage Indians? And he saved that pretty-boy Lieutenant, twice no less. Besides, you gave the boys your word you’d get Morgana here. And your word is sacred, Merlin.”
Arthur gets up and goes towards the bar, and Merlin scrambles to follow him.
“Do you really have that much faith in me?”
“Hey, now. You gave your word, and I trust that… About as much as I do a blind rattlesnake with a brand new button on his tail.”
Merlin feels proud for about two seconds-
“Well, Arthur- hey, wait a minute! Why you no-good four-flushin’-”
“You talk too much.”
“You know, you’re worse than a great big splinter right in my finger… You’re unwanted by me- by everybody. I’d do without you for the rest of my natural born life if I could.”
“Well I can do without you very well, Merlin, about as well as I can do without an overturned canoe.”
“Pendragon, you could go as far as Texas and I wouldn’t miss you. I’d certainly never ask for you to come back, you mean old son of a bitch.”
“God, I just can’t get away from you-
“I know, I’m like a fly drawn to shit-”
“Hey, now, you half-pint feather head-”
“-I know some things are indispensable, like a buck or two, but if there’s one thing I can do without, it’s definitely you Pendragon-”
“-you’re like a tack inside my shoe-”
“-you’re a dagger in the back!”
“-heck if you’ve got any charms at all, they certainly ain’t bewitchin’ me-”
“Well, you’ve a face no one’d paint!”
“I got the darn’dest itch in me to be as far away from you’s I can get!”
“You’re a knot-head!”
“Troublemaker!”
“Prat!”
“Unreasonable, stubborn, unfeeling little-”
“Traitorous cowardly piece of-”
“Bone-head!”
“Clotpole!”
“Hey, hey come back here Emrys, you idiot! That ain’t even a real word!”
x-x-x
When Merlin arrives at the theatre (about a hundred times the size of the Golden Garter, and covered in shiny gilt and cherubs and such) he’s told that for one he’s just about missed Miss Le Fay’s show, and for another the only place he’ll squeeze in is standing up at the back of the balcony. Merlin tells the ticket vendor that he’ll take what he can get, and makes his way upstairs, only to find that he can’t see a thing over all the hats. Merlin certainly ain’t short, but after an age of shuffling about and craning his neck, all he can see is a head of dark hair hidden under some sort of feathery headdress and a body that’s certainly very shapely, but also squeezed into pink satin corsetry and about as many feathers as the hat. She… seems… to be as beauteous as Gwaine had told them.
She obviously merits all the adulation and the fame, but she’s not really doing anything for Merlin other than the sheer spectacle, so he rocks back onto his heels and listens to the rest of the songs. When the show’s all finished he slips through a side door, intending to find Morgana’s dressing room and request in his most charming manner that she accompany him to Camelot.
x-x-x
Gwen’s been feeling absolutely topsy-turvy all evening. It’s only a few months ago that Miss Le Fay engaged her as her lady’s maid, and now that Morgana’s leaving for the bright lights of New York and Europe, she’s out of a job - she can’t afford to travel as far as NYC let alone all the way across the Atlantic. It’s not even just the job; for the most part, Morgana’s been an almost perfect employer. Gwen would like to think that they’d become friends, even, despite the fact that Morgause’s presence - and then absence - had instilled in Morgana a kind of yearning for bigger, better things.
She’s just walked out of the door one final time, and as she’d swayed out, looking as untouchable and gorgeous as ever, she’d casually thrown over her shoulder that everything in the room belongs to Gwen now. Every single bit of costume jewelry, every scrap of lace and silk and satin, every feather and ribbon and bustle… It’s all Gwen’s. She doesn’t think she’s ever owned a silk dress in her life, and now she has a dozen. Her head spins. Leave it to Morgana to make her departure as dramatic as possible for everyone involved.
Gwen, as a rule, doesn’t think about bettering herself - it’s not in her nature to seek fame or fortune - but tonight she thinks that maybe she’s been given a chance for something more, and suddenly she’s filled with the desire to feel, just once, what Morgana feels on the stage. She runs her hand over the dusky satin of tonight’s costume and with her other begins struggling with her buttons.
The feathers feel wonderful against her skin, a new, exciting luxury, and a blush rushes over her face as she stares blindly into the looking glass and imagines the heat of the stage lights. She draws breath and begins singing. Her voice isn’t like Morgana’s, has none of the deep, warm, rich tenderness that brings men running like dogs in heat, but Papa always said she had a nice sort of sound, and she flatters herself that she has a kind of pleasing warmth when she sings. She’s a lit match next to Morgana’s roaring fire, but that doesn’t matter when Morgana’s not here.
She’s getting to her favourite bit of the song, the part that always makes her laugh, when a knock on the door startles her and makes her turn round-
The door swings open and a tall, skinny looking young man stumbles in clutching his hat in his fists, and stops stock still when he sees her standing there in all of Morgana’s finery. Their blushes probably match, a detached voice in her head considers; then all of a sudden time smacks into the two of them and they both start flailing and apologising.
“I am so sorry, so sorry ma’am-”
“Oh lord, I thought I’d locked the door, I do apologise sir, just let me change out of these things-”
Gwen darts behind the painted screen and presses her hand to her eyes. This evening just isn’t going well. She breathes in and resolves to assist him, since he doesn’t seem the type to have a violent hankering for maidenly virtues… The fact that he’s easy on the eyes helps too.
“Um, is there something you wanted? I mean, can I help you - with anything - I mean-”
“Oh, gosh Miss Le Fay, I guess I just wanted to ask you a favour-”
“Oh, well, what is it? I’m sure I’ll be able to help - wait, you think I’m-”
“Really?! Heck, they oughta add kindness beyond measure to your famous attributes, ma’am. Oh heck, excuse the language!”
That’s all it takes to turn Gwen’s blush into a scarlet beacon, because she’s seen Morgana’s “famous attributes” many, many times, but she’s never had anyone, let alone a man, mention them to her face.
The young man takes Gwen’s mortified silence as an indication to continue;
“Well, I guess it’s like this, ma’am. I come from a town called Camelot, situated over in South Dakota, and my friend, who runs the Golden Garter theatre, he’s told to be a personal acquaintance of yours and certainly a great admirer of your talent. He and my fellow townsmen expressed a desire to have you put on a show… I volunteered for asking you, and all I can say is that it’d make many folks in Camelot very very happy if you was to come along and sing for us.”
Gwen can’t speak; can’t make herself admit his mistake or force a word past her sudden longing to go with him, to be the one having an adventure for once. She’s not Morgana, she’s not Elyan, she’s the one who stays behind and makes things comfortable. Gwen doesn’t do grand plans or excitements.
The man sighs.
“I’m guessing it’s not worth your time to come with us. Great big star like you? What’ll you do in Camelot? I’ll leave you to your… preparations. My name’s Merlin Emrys, by the way. Thanks for your time, Miss Le Fay.”
What possesses her, she’ll never know-
“Wait! Merlin, Mr Emrys, wait. I… I’ll come with you. I’ll come to Camelot.”
x-x-x
ACT 2
REEL MERLIN PROMPT: Calamity Jane
PAIRINGS: Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Lancelot (unrequited Merlin/Lancelot and Arthur/Gwen)
RATING: PG-13/Teen
SPOILERS/WARNINGS: no spoilers for Merlin, kind of inevitable to avoid spoilers for Calamity Jane. Warning for period-typical language (referring to Native Americans etc) and some (very) mild swearing.
WORD COUNT: 11388
A/N: Written (finally) for Reel Merlin 2013, and my first proper full length fanfic with an actual plot and everything! Huzzah!
Thank you times 10000 to my beta wanderlust48 and to jadesfire for helping me sort out how I was going to do this whole plot thing.
I am not from North Dakota (or even North America) so the dialogue that isn't adapted from the film is made up and probably not accurate. This was written for fun (HAHAHA) so it's far too silly to take in any way seriously. ENJOY <3
read it on AO3
SUMMARY: Boy A is sent to fetch Girl A and brings Girl B back instead. Mistaken identities, angst, embarrassment and heartbreak ensue... but it's a musical (and not Les Mis), so it's all okay in the end, right?
x-x-x
Whip crack away, whip crack away, whip crack away!
x-x-x
The sound of the whip cracking rings out clearly in the air, and the wheels of the Camelot Stage creak and rumble down the grit covered road stretching out over the dust.
Merlin stows his coach gun down the side of the seat, and clambers up on top of the roof. As the landscape opens out into the wide plain where Camelot can be found, he sits atop the stage and looks out over the yellow plains, and the blue skies, and feels like he's coming home.
When he spots the marker telling them that they're close to Camelot, Merlin swings over the side to perch by the window.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, when we git over these here hills, we'll be nearly at Camelot City. Finest place this side of Chicagie - heck - I'd say finest place in the whole darn country! And we've managed it without getting' shot full of more Injun arrows than a porcupine's got quills.”
Merlin grins at the passengers - not many since the stage is going to Camelot and it’s full of goods any way - and turns away to scan the surrounding plains.
He spots movement in the very corner of his eye, and shouts over, “Here, Tyr, mind pickin' it up a little? No time to delay, this here's dangerous country and we're sitting on some mighty fine cargo.”
He hauls himself back up to the roof and plonks himself down, makes sure his shotgun's in easy grabbing distance and just enjoys the feeling of rolling on straight towards home. It's not been an easy ride today - 23 miles of bumping along, and 5 of those were at a gallop when they were spotted an Indian raiding party. It'll be good to get back, for sure. They'll be in Camelot before nightfall, and Merlin's planning on not moving for a long time.
The stage pulls over the crest of the final swell, and he can see Camelot laid out ahead, all the wooden buildings looking like a little kid's toys instead of peoples' homes. The theatre rises all white and shining in the centre, like a beacon drawing them on.
x-x-x
The sound of the stagecoach echoing along the main street summons a fair sized crowd out towards the Golden Garter theatre, which is the final stop for the stage.
Sheriff Leon makes his way out of the crowd, and hollers, “Here they be! Let's give 'em a nice peaceful welcome, huh?” Every man in the crowd points his pistol in the air and shoots at the same time, and Merlin jumps up top with a smile for the people he doesn't know so well and a wink for those he does. Arthur Pendragon gets the biggest scowl he can muster up, of course.
Merlin grabs a hold of the topmost package and starts rattling off a list of the cargo they're carrying, darting to and fro on top of the coach. In amongst the leathers and ammo they've got gingham, calico, silk and fine coloured ribbons for the ladies, the confections that could last the journey and tonics for the townsfolks' aches and pains. There's hats from Cincinatti, worn by all the favourites of the concert halls, the most beautiful artificial pearls and glass jewels all the way from Manhattan, and the finest cigars they could get their hands on.
Merlin feels good, knowing that he helps brighten living all the way out here by bringing back a little life, bringing back a little luxury.
When he's finished his little pitch he supervises the passengers unpacking themselves fom the coach and leaves it to Tyr to organise unloading. He swaggers into the saloon of the Golden Garter, revelling in the knowledge that for this one time he's important enough to get excited about. For now he's angling to get his sarsaparilla paid for.
x-x-x
“Well, fellas, let me introduce y’all to these nice folks that’ve just arrived in town!”
Arthur’s sitting at his usual table, eyes shut, hat pulled down and arms crossed, when he hears a very familiar voice calling out across the room. It’s his (not quite) favourite person, back in town after a blessed week of quiet. It seems it’s too much to ask for Arthur to have the chance to finish his drink and his card game in peace.
“Say hello to my Uncle Gaius, who runs this place in between patching people up - keeps the Golden Garter in style and ready for the cream of Camelot City to dine. A very good friend of mine I’m glad to say, even if he is a relative. And over here’s Agravaine, dressing swanky today old man? A veritable prairie rose I think you’ll all agree.”
Arthur sinks down in his chair. He knows what’s coming, and he’s never humoured the idiot and he sure as hell ain’t startin’ now.
“But what am I sayin’? I ain’t introduced you to the most important man in the room yet! He’s sharper than any showman and he’s certainly smarter than he looks, believe me. The sheriff even answers to him, and he’s got 27 notches in his gun - even if they’re mostly squirrels - I say to you now, I’m glad to tell you that he’s a very good friend… of a friend of mine. The one and only Arthur Pendragon!”
Arthur stands up, tries to snatch back his hat from Merlin’s clutches, and settles for glowering at him when the idiot grins at him and dances away. When Merlin plonks his skinny ass down in Arthur’s chair, he takes the opportunity to drag it away to a different table and gets Leon to throw him another, shaking his head at Merlin all the while.
Merlin just ignores him and swaggers over to the bar, “Let’s wet our whistles, drinks on me boys!”, then falls straight on his behind. Making a spectacle of himself as always.
Arthur sits and shuffles his deck over and over until Merlin’s stories get too idiotic for him to ignore… so he decides to go over to the bar and take advantage of his generosity (stupidity).
Merlin’s in the middle of insisting that there had been at least a hundred Indians pouring down the hill after them while they rode hell for leather, desperately trying to escape;
“You can even check the back of the coach for all the arrows - there’s more stuck in there than a porcupine’s stickles. Yessir, I’ve had plenty excitement this trip. They came down that hill a-howlin’ like souls in torment. Why, must’a been about a hundred of ‘em.”
Behind him, Cedric holds up 5 fingers and the men around them start guffawing. Merlin frowns, “Ain’t no laughing matter, boys.”
“Heck, Merlin, I’d hate to have a war party that big on my tail,” Arthur can’t help saying, injecting enough sincerity that Merlin doesn’t immediately catch on.
“Well, Pendragon, I think you’re the only person besides myself with a sharp enough draw to bring that coach in.”
Arthur just blinks at that and stares at Merlin, trying to find a hint of mockery in his compliment.
“Of course all that called for some mighty rapid shootin’. I thought my gun was goin’ to curl right up it was so hot. Almost had to hold the muzzle between my feet! Yup. Must’ve killed about thirty of those painted varmints before they got discouraged.”
He doesn’t seem to notice Cedric standing behind him holding up two fingers and sniggering away, but Arthur glances in the mirror behind the bar and sees Merlin’s eyes harden before he slowly turns around and fixes his eye on Cedric, who’s still obliviously sniggering away.
He taps Cedric on the shoulder to get his attention, but when Cedric realises what’s happened he yelps something about the horses and bolts.
He’s almost at the door when he’s stopped in his tracks by a whip wrapping itself around his face and pulling him up short, the handle held by Merlin.
Merlin pulls the whip towards him until Cedric is forced to meet his glare.
“How many of those Indians do you reckon I shot, Cedric?”
Merlin’s voice is low and dangerous. Cedric gulps audibly before replying with a meek, “About thirty, Merlin.”
“That’s better. Next time I’m talkin’, keep your hands in your pockets you slimy excuse for a sewer rat.”
The thing about Merlin, Arthur thinks as he adjusts his britches, the thing about Merlin, is that he seems all clumsy and funny and harmless right up until you cross him, and then he gets this look in his eye that tells you it’d be a bad idea to go any further... and that look is the thing that makes Arthur try in every way he can to rile him up, because for some reason he’s always liked it turned on him.
Merlin might be careless with the truth, to put it kindly, but underneath the soft exterior he’s hard as nails.
x-x-x
Gwaine wakes up slowly at first, then jerks into awareness when he feels hands combing through his hair. He’s alone in the stagecoach… except for a couple of Indian squaws who’re pulling at his suit and generally looking at him like they’re about to steal his hat to make into one of them head-dress things. That won’t be happening; Gwaine spent near $30 on this hat. Well, that’s what the asking price was.
He flashes his best grin at them, the one that allows him to escape almost any situation, especially those involving threats to his hat’s well-being, and wriggles out of the coach.
They seem to be outside some kind of theatre - the sign says “The Golden Garter” and there’s a huge poster advertising a new actress come to town, due to perform tonight. That’s good, Gwaine’s timed his arrival well, then.
There’s an old fellow outside wringing his hands, and he calls out to Gwaine, “Hey, is there a young lady in there?”
“Nah, just me - had a nip too many out of the old hip flask and slept all the way from G’want.”
“Aw heck. I’m expectin’ an actress. Name of Gwa-nney. Somethin’ like that anyways.”
That sounds a hell of a lot like Gwaine’s name. Somethin’s startin’ to smell a little funny.
“Say, did you put an advertisement out or somethin’?”
“Sure did. Not many young aspiring actresses in this town, I can tell you.”
Well, the thing is that Gwaine’s arrived in this two-horse town in response to an advertisement looking for an entertainer, which Gwaine most definitely is. “Aw, heck” indeed.
“Howdy. My name’s Gwaine, and I reckon I’ll have to be your entertainment this evening.”
x-x-x
Merlin’s waiting at the bar for Will, when Pendragon swaggers up and plonks himself down next to him.
“Pining for your Lieutenant, Merlin?”
Patronising little… “No actually, I’m waiting for Will,” he says with a smirk, because any mention of Will usually has Arthur heading for cover. Sadly, that doesn’t seem to work today.
Still… Merlin is curious about where Lance is, since he usually comes and meets the stage.
“Say, speaking of the Lieutenant, where is he? Usually sticks around to say hello.”
“Ha, knew it. He’s up at the fort I think, been there about a week.”
Suddenly, through the door comes a crowd of folk, two of them covered in mud and blood and bruises. They gasp out something about a war party ambushing them on a trail and stagger to the bar, downing the booze as soon as it’s handed to them..
“They jumped us up at Eagle Pass, us and a couple fellas from up at the Fort. That Lieutenant and some other boy.”
(The sudden expression of panic on Merlin’s face makes Arthur’s heart seize in his chest.)
Merlin claps a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Which Lieutenant?”
“Du Lac, I think. They got him alright, got him good.”
“A good clean shot in the heart? Did he suffer?”
“Hell, I don’t know, we just came 10 miles and I ain’t got time for no stupid questions.”
“You got time for all my stupid questions if you’re the no-good son of a bitch who left Lance in the dirt to die like a dog,” Merlin growls, before storming out of the saloon and swinging himself up onto his horse.
x-x-x
Merlin’s about a mile out of town before he hears the hoofbeats coming up behind him, and he whips his head around to check who it is.
With a strange burst of relief, he recognises Arthur, and slows down so as he can catch up.
“I don’t need your help, you know.”
“Well, I wanted to give it to you anyway.”
x-x-x
They come upon the Indian camp a few miles out into the woods, and having agreed that Arthur would scare them off whilst Merlin rescued Lance, they waste no time before riding in, guns blazing. Arthur hits a couple, and Merlin takes out a couple more before galloping over to where he can see Lance tied to a tree.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, just- could you untie me?”
Merlin blushes and starts fumbling with the knots, then gives up and uses his knife to cut right through them. The expression of dizzy gratitude on Lance’s face had made him feel all fluttery for a moment.
He helps Lance up onto his horse then hops up behind him, clinging to Lance’s uniform.
When they’re a good couple of miles away, Arthur asks, “Why’re you on the same horse instead of taking one of those Indian ponies?”
Merlin snuggles into Lance’s back before replying, “It’s cosier this way!”
Arthur frowns all the way home, and he’s not going to think about why. He doesn’t care what Merlin gets up to with that big lug nut.
x-x-x
Merlin settles himself down by the bar. Gaius’s been excited about this evening ever since he got that letter telling him that this new actress was on her way - although he’s been inexplicably antsy about it all afternoon, muttering things about lynchings and hangings and ruination. Merlin put it down to pre-show nerves.
Finally, the band in the corner strike up, and Gaius scurries onto the stage.
“Gentlemen and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to introduce to you now, the toast of New York… Miss Gwaine Green!”
After a couple of minutes delay, a leg sticks itself out from behind the curtains with very little finesse, and it’s followed by a figure that’s best described with the word “broad”. The… woman… on stage has apparently chosen to wear some kind of veil over her face, but even it can’t hide the stockiness of her legs and the thickness of her arms.
Beside Merlin, Lance mutters, “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
Pendragon just says, blunt as anything, “Well she ain’t very good looking.”
“That’s not all she ain’t.”
“I’ve got two wonderful arms, I’ve got two wonderful lips, I’m over twenty one and I’m free…”
x-x-x
At the sound of the rough, oddly deep voice emanating from the stage, a bewildered and increasingly angry muttering fills the room, but it quickly turns to laughter as Gwaine plays it up, starting to prance around the room. He even deposits one gentleman who tried to pinch his ass on a billiard table.
Unfortunately, the charade comes to an end when an overly enthusiastic trombonist snags Gwaine’s scarf and reveals his rather ebullient facial hair; he just didn’t have the heart to remove it.
It takes Merlin and Arthur an hour of pouring him liberal amounts of whisky (and discouraging Gwaine from making increasingly crude jokes) to calm Gaius after his (admittedly narrow) escape from lynching. They’ll have to pull something really good out of the hat next time if Gaius wants to keep up business.
x-x-x
When Merlin rouses himself up the following afternoon and strolls down to the saloon, he’s met with a group of men looking more lovesick than a teenage girl in a Shakepeare play. Heck, the looks on their faces’d make a dog feel ill, and that’s coming from a man that’s practically made a career out of pining.
“Say, what’s got you fellas looking so ill?”
Leon starts and looks round. “Oh, it’s nothin’ worth bothering about, Merlin-”
“Morgana! Morgana Le Fay…”
At Will’s heartfelt outburst all of them sigh in chorus, and it’s damn near the spookiest thing he’s seen all day.
Gwaine swaggers up behind him.
“Merlin! I’ll take it upon myself to explain things to your good self. Now, in light of last night’s events-”
Gwaine’s unabashed grin sparks a low grumbling from the group at the table. He winks at Merlin, and whispers, “if it wasn’t for the beard they would’ve loved it.”
“Oh, I’ll bet.”
“Well, anyway. I… encouraged these upstanding gentlemen to keep filling up Gaius’s saloon - in my new capacity of bar tender, seeing as my actressin’ job didn’t last - by agreeing to tell ‘em about my mad, passionate affair with the belle du jour of Chicago.”
“And who would this fine dame be?”
“Oh Merlin, I’m sure you’ve heard of the lady - you can see her on the prow of an ancient ship, in a gambler’s cameo, hell, in the dyin’ embers of a campfire you’ll see her sweet face.”
“And?”
“Well, my sweet Merlin, in this case she happens to be the loveliest singin’ dancin’ star of them all… Morgana Le Fay.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of her.”
This inspires a rapid grumbling from the men at the table, all of whom are staring at him.
“What?!”
“Merlin, you’ve travelled farther than most people in this town and you’re saying you ain’t heard of the most beautiful woman in this whole country?”
“Well, when you say it like that-”
“What you’re forgetting, gents, is that any time Merlin here has an intelligent thought, it curls up and dies of loneliness.”
Hell. Merlin should’ve known that his good luck wasn’t going to last.
The man at the back, who’s been sitting with his head tipped back and his hat pulled over his eyes, suddenly straightens up and confirms that yes, it is Merlin’s least favourite person in the world - Arthur Pendragon. Of course he had to be here, brooding silently in the shadows and passing judgement on Merlin every time he spoke.
“We’ll just have to educate him on Morgana’s many merits, won’t we!”
Arthur meets his eyes with a smug kind of challenge, and Merlin curls his lip in response.
“Sure thing, fellas - I do love hearing about Gwaine’s escapades.”
“Well, to start with, to see her you’d think she was Cleopatra or Helen of Troy come to life - she could give any society beauties a run for their money. Lips like sin and hair as dark as night, with the most beautiful curl to it. And her smile, boys!”
“I should think we’ll all be dreaming of her tonight.” As he speaks, Arthur catches Merlin’s eye and holds it. Merlin tries hard to quash the urge to punch that smug pout right off his pretty face. No good cowardly sonofa-
“I think I’d die of happiness if she ever came to town.”
“You’d be dying of something else, I’m sure, the way she fills up all that silk and brocade. Finest figure you’ve ever seen on a woman.”
“She’s like a star in the heavens…” Daegal looks towards the ceilings with such an addlepated look on his face that Merlin’s sure he’ll fall off his chair, and he does when Gwaine thumps his hand down on his shoulder.
“She’d eat you right up, kid, sure as shit. Here, I heard on the grapevine that we’d be gettin’ cigarette cards with her picture on ‘em soon enough.”
“Oh boy, I’ll be hopin’ and prayin’ for one of them, yes sirree!”
“I’ll be sure to get my hands on ‘em, next trip,” Merlin chirps.
“What was that Merlin? You’ll be sure to get your hands on her? Why, ain’t that frowned upon by the police and such?”
“Shut it Pendragon, you know I didn’t say-”
“But hey! If anyone can get their hands on Morgana for a little show it’ll be Merlin, won’t it boys?”
Merlin can feel his eyes widen as they all look at him, expectation in their eyes.
Damn Pendragon and his games, he can never resist the idiots looking like that.
“Why, of course I can boys! When’ve I ever let you down? Don’t say nothin’, Pendragon... I’ll just nip over to Chicago and bring her back, shall I?”
He punctuates the last sentence with a kind of desperate, hopeful grin, praying that they’ll laugh and tell him not to bother… but all he gets in response is a pleased murmur rippling through the group, and Will beams at him before Pendragon sticks his oar in again.
“Well, that’s settled then, ain’t it? Merlin’ll set off tomorrow and fetch us back the greatest beauty of the modern age.”
x-x-x
“A real gentleman wouldn’t be hankering after a woman dressed like that.”
“A real gentleman eh? What, like you?”
“Yeah like me. Me or…”
“Or… Lieutenant Du Lac by any chance?”
“Yeah like him! He’s more of a gentleman than you in any case.”
Merlin’s been bickering with Pendragon all morning about this Morgana disaster, because Pendragon is an infuriating clotpole when he wants to be, and with this he’s like a dog with a bone. It’s unfortunate that when you’ve known somebody for this long, they tend to know all your weak spots.
When they walk into the Golden Garter, he spots an opportunity to change the subject and grabs it with both hands;
“Hey, Pendragon, do you really think I can do it?”
Merlin's spotted Uncle Gaius in the Golden Garter, whiling away the afternoon beside the bar. Pendragon swaggers in behind Merlin, hat cocked and leather waistcoat as obnoxiously tight as usual. He looks at Pendragon as insolently as he can, daring him to say something prattish in front of Gaius, who is Pendragon's godfather and treats both of them with the same kind of twinkly-eyed indulgence and hard-assed intolerance of bullshit.
“Why of course I do, Merlin!”
“I- Well, that's... mighty kind of you.”
Huh. Pendragon looks almost... nice, for a second, disregarding the permanent smirk. Weird.
“Hey, Gaius, you know as well as I do that nothing’s impossible for Merlin. Didn’t he just save the stage from a hundred savage Indians? And he saved that pretty-boy Lieutenant, twice no less. Besides, you gave the boys your word you’d get Morgana here. And your word is sacred, Merlin.”
Arthur gets up and goes towards the bar, and Merlin scrambles to follow him.
“Do you really have that much faith in me?”
“Hey, now. You gave your word, and I trust that… About as much as I do a blind rattlesnake with a brand new button on his tail.”
Merlin feels proud for about two seconds-
“Well, Arthur- hey, wait a minute! Why you no-good four-flushin’-”
“You talk too much.”
“You know, you’re worse than a great big splinter right in my finger… You’re unwanted by me- by everybody. I’d do without you for the rest of my natural born life if I could.”
“Well I can do without you very well, Merlin, about as well as I can do without an overturned canoe.”
“Pendragon, you could go as far as Texas and I wouldn’t miss you. I’d certainly never ask for you to come back, you mean old son of a bitch.”
“God, I just can’t get away from you-
“I know, I’m like a fly drawn to shit-”
“Hey, now, you half-pint feather head-”
“-I know some things are indispensable, like a buck or two, but if there’s one thing I can do without, it’s definitely you Pendragon-”
“-you’re like a tack inside my shoe-”
“-you’re a dagger in the back!”
“-heck if you’ve got any charms at all, they certainly ain’t bewitchin’ me-”
“Well, you’ve a face no one’d paint!”
“I got the darn’dest itch in me to be as far away from you’s I can get!”
“You’re a knot-head!”
“Troublemaker!”
“Prat!”
“Unreasonable, stubborn, unfeeling little-”
“Traitorous cowardly piece of-”
“Bone-head!”
“Clotpole!”
“Hey, hey come back here Emrys, you idiot! That ain’t even a real word!”
x-x-x
When Merlin arrives at the theatre (about a hundred times the size of the Golden Garter, and covered in shiny gilt and cherubs and such) he’s told that for one he’s just about missed Miss Le Fay’s show, and for another the only place he’ll squeeze in is standing up at the back of the balcony. Merlin tells the ticket vendor that he’ll take what he can get, and makes his way upstairs, only to find that he can’t see a thing over all the hats. Merlin certainly ain’t short, but after an age of shuffling about and craning his neck, all he can see is a head of dark hair hidden under some sort of feathery headdress and a body that’s certainly very shapely, but also squeezed into pink satin corsetry and about as many feathers as the hat. She… seems… to be as beauteous as Gwaine had told them.
She obviously merits all the adulation and the fame, but she’s not really doing anything for Merlin other than the sheer spectacle, so he rocks back onto his heels and listens to the rest of the songs. When the show’s all finished he slips through a side door, intending to find Morgana’s dressing room and request in his most charming manner that she accompany him to Camelot.
x-x-x
Gwen’s been feeling absolutely topsy-turvy all evening. It’s only a few months ago that Miss Le Fay engaged her as her lady’s maid, and now that Morgana’s leaving for the bright lights of New York and Europe, she’s out of a job - she can’t afford to travel as far as NYC let alone all the way across the Atlantic. It’s not even just the job; for the most part, Morgana’s been an almost perfect employer. Gwen would like to think that they’d become friends, even, despite the fact that Morgause’s presence - and then absence - had instilled in Morgana a kind of yearning for bigger, better things.
She’s just walked out of the door one final time, and as she’d swayed out, looking as untouchable and gorgeous as ever, she’d casually thrown over her shoulder that everything in the room belongs to Gwen now. Every single bit of costume jewelry, every scrap of lace and silk and satin, every feather and ribbon and bustle… It’s all Gwen’s. She doesn’t think she’s ever owned a silk dress in her life, and now she has a dozen. Her head spins. Leave it to Morgana to make her departure as dramatic as possible for everyone involved.
Gwen, as a rule, doesn’t think about bettering herself - it’s not in her nature to seek fame or fortune - but tonight she thinks that maybe she’s been given a chance for something more, and suddenly she’s filled with the desire to feel, just once, what Morgana feels on the stage. She runs her hand over the dusky satin of tonight’s costume and with her other begins struggling with her buttons.
The feathers feel wonderful against her skin, a new, exciting luxury, and a blush rushes over her face as she stares blindly into the looking glass and imagines the heat of the stage lights. She draws breath and begins singing. Her voice isn’t like Morgana’s, has none of the deep, warm, rich tenderness that brings men running like dogs in heat, but Papa always said she had a nice sort of sound, and she flatters herself that she has a kind of pleasing warmth when she sings. She’s a lit match next to Morgana’s roaring fire, but that doesn’t matter when Morgana’s not here.
She’s getting to her favourite bit of the song, the part that always makes her laugh, when a knock on the door startles her and makes her turn round-
The door swings open and a tall, skinny looking young man stumbles in clutching his hat in his fists, and stops stock still when he sees her standing there in all of Morgana’s finery. Their blushes probably match, a detached voice in her head considers; then all of a sudden time smacks into the two of them and they both start flailing and apologising.
“I am so sorry, so sorry ma’am-”
“Oh lord, I thought I’d locked the door, I do apologise sir, just let me change out of these things-”
Gwen darts behind the painted screen and presses her hand to her eyes. This evening just isn’t going well. She breathes in and resolves to assist him, since he doesn’t seem the type to have a violent hankering for maidenly virtues… The fact that he’s easy on the eyes helps too.
“Um, is there something you wanted? I mean, can I help you - with anything - I mean-”
“Oh, gosh Miss Le Fay, I guess I just wanted to ask you a favour-”
“Oh, well, what is it? I’m sure I’ll be able to help - wait, you think I’m-”
“Really?! Heck, they oughta add kindness beyond measure to your famous attributes, ma’am. Oh heck, excuse the language!”
That’s all it takes to turn Gwen’s blush into a scarlet beacon, because she’s seen Morgana’s “famous attributes” many, many times, but she’s never had anyone, let alone a man, mention them to her face.
The young man takes Gwen’s mortified silence as an indication to continue;
“Well, I guess it’s like this, ma’am. I come from a town called Camelot, situated over in South Dakota, and my friend, who runs the Golden Garter theatre, he’s told to be a personal acquaintance of yours and certainly a great admirer of your talent. He and my fellow townsmen expressed a desire to have you put on a show… I volunteered for asking you, and all I can say is that it’d make many folks in Camelot very very happy if you was to come along and sing for us.”
Gwen can’t speak; can’t make herself admit his mistake or force a word past her sudden longing to go with him, to be the one having an adventure for once. She’s not Morgana, she’s not Elyan, she’s the one who stays behind and makes things comfortable. Gwen doesn’t do grand plans or excitements.
The man sighs.
“I’m guessing it’s not worth your time to come with us. Great big star like you? What’ll you do in Camelot? I’ll leave you to your… preparations. My name’s Merlin Emrys, by the way. Thanks for your time, Miss Le Fay.”
What possesses her, she’ll never know-
“Wait! Merlin, Mr Emrys, wait. I… I’ll come with you. I’ll come to Camelot.”
x-x-x
ACT 2