Not Another Cinderella - Chapter Two
MERLIN
"Ah! Bloody hell!" Merlin cried out as the dinnerware he was carrying fell from his hands and became bits of porcelain when they shattered on the hard tile floor of the kitchen.
He stared at the wreckage, dumbfounded as to what had happened, when something flickered in and out of his vision in the corner of his eye. He turned to see the sweater wearing tabby sitting on a chair and smiling smugly at him - well, as smugly as a cat was able to smile.
Merlin had no idea why Will had found the need to buy the blasted animal, nor why it seemed to spend more time here than it did at Will’s flat.
The Destin Inn was just that, an inn and not an animal shelter no matter what Will seemed to think. Dragoon - yes Will had named it that. Why? Because Will was weird - the cat was a pain in Merlin’s arse and, Merlin suspected, part demon. Will thought he was crazy for not liking the orange cat.
Merlin, in response to Will’s crazy accusations, had pointed out that he owned a cat that was either depressed or suffering from anxiety - depending on the day - and he dressed said cat in little striped sweaters. Will in turn had punched Merlin in the arm, called him a blouse, and told him if he talked that way about Dragoon again, he would find cat piss on his pillow.
Merlin was ninety-nine percent sure that he didn’t actually like Will.
"Merlin…what the….oh Merlin what did you do?" Gwen looked at the broken dishes with a pout that Merlin was sure she believed to be a frown.
"Why do you always assume I did it?"
"Did you?"
"Yes but,"
"And that’s why," she said with a wave of her hand as she swept passed him. "Because it’s always you."
Merlin did frown. There was a flaw in her logic he was sure - now if only he could find it.
"See how much you know. It was that blasted cat’s fault."
"Merlin," Gwen said his name with so much disapproval dripping off it Merlin was sure it would have puddle at her feet had disapproval been a visible liquid. "how dare you blame poor dar-dar," she said reminding Merlin that he was surrounded by a bunch of mental patients.
The cat hoped up onto the counter next to sink, lifted one leg, and proceeded to clean itself.
Merlin wrinkled his nose. "It’s disgusting."
"He is cute and sweet, so stop picking on him."
Merlin wanted to point out that it was just a cat, but decided to save himself the headache that was sure to result. Gwen loved animals, all animals. She wouldn’t even kill ants, and she made it a habit to go around the inn collecting spiders and releasing them outside so they weren’t killed. She didn’t wear leather, didn’t eat meat, and thought animal planet was even better than Doctor Who.
Merlin hadn’t spoken to her for a week after that one, because it was the Doctor, and how could she ever compare animals chasing their own tail, or whatever they did, to the Doctor; especially as it was portrayed by David Tennant. Will thought Matt Smith was better, but it was a proven fact that Will was a bit touched in the head. Though Merlin admitted that he did go around wearing a bowtie for a month after the series five premiere because ‘bowties are cool’. He drew the line at the fez because, as much as it pained him to say, the Doctor got it wrong and, no, fezzes were not cool.
"Aren’t you dar-dar?" Gwen cooed, and Merlin figured she must have continued on about how ‘adorable’ and ‘sweet’ the demon cat was while he had been zoned out with the theme from Doctor Who playing in his head.
The blasted feline had been lurking around for months now, and Merlin figured that it was time for Gwen to see past the mask of cuteness it used to cover up how evil it was. And, no, Merlin was not exaggerating. The cat was evil. Really.
Gwen scratched behind one large ear and Dragoon let out a soft purr; winking at Merlin and licking it’s lips. Gwen topped off the scratching with a kiss, and the cat all but fainted.
"Suck up," Merlin muttered under his breath as he retrieved the dustpan and broom from their spot behind the kitchen door.
"We have guest checking in, a young couple, so you’re going to need to tidy up 208." She retrieved something from the pantry but Merlin was too busy eying the tabby to notice. "Merlin?"
"Yes. I heard, tidy 208." He smiled at her then. "I’m your boss you know. I know how to do my job."
"Of course you do dear," she said sounding like his mum and swung out of the kitchen, leaving him with a pat to the head and the demon cat.
Merlin went back to eying the cat as he cleaned up the broken dishes.
"See this. This is your fault."
"Meow"
Which could have been anything from ‘screw you’ to…..well, no, it was more than likely a screw you.
Merlin shifted and the hose to the sink snaked its way towards the cat. There was a splash of water, an angry screech, and the scurrying of the cat from the kitchen.
Merlin smiled and the hose went back to its place, looking for the entire world never to have moved in the first place.
The floral bedspread slid smoothly over the clean blue sheets and folded over the lumps of pillows, edges tucked in neatly. Merlin peeked up from the book he was reading to watch the progress. Room 208 was one of three that had a fireplace and the only one that had a wood- burning fireplace instead of the electrical burners . The hearth, which had been dirtied with soot when he had first entered the room, almost sparkled in the patch of orange sunlight. A fresh stack of cut wood was piled neatly in the far corner.
Pleased, Merlin went back to his book only to be disturbed once more by the door opening.
"What…? You’re really crap at keeping secrets aren’t you?"
"You didn’t know for years," Merlin said, turning the page with a finger and hardly sparing the man a glance. "Which either means that no, I’m not crap at keeping secrets. Or you’re just an oblivious oaf."
"Cute."
"I thought so." Something hit the side of his head. Hard. "Ow! You wanker!" There was a shiny green apple next to his feet and he stared at it with no little amount of indignation. "Will? Did you just throw an apple at me?"
"Um. Yes." Will sat with a bounce on the bed and ruined all of Merlin’s hard work.
Well, all of his magic’s hard work anyway.
"You are an oaf. I don’t know why I’m surprised, seeing as how I already knew that." He closed the book and slapped it down onto the end table beside him. At the same time, Will tumbled from the bed with a squeak.
"What the…"
"Who the hell throws an apple at another person?" Merlin picked up the fruit in question and lobbed it at Will’s enormous head. Will, who saw the apple was coming, ducked in time for the apple to fly over his head; it smashed the glass vase that had been bought at his mum’s second hand shop for five pounds.
Gwen would kill him. He would die over five pounds of pretty glass and be disgraced in his afterlife. Though, he supposed, it was better than being killed by that blasted cat while going down the stairs.
"I thought you could use a snack," Will said, completely ignoring the shattered glass.
"Yes, I can see how that would end with me concussed." Merlin figured if Will could ignore the glass then so could he. At least for the moment. "Did you want something? I mean, something more than to stone me with fruit."
"No, not really." Will stood,
Merlin figured as much.
"We should go into town tonight. Maybe to a dance club. I can check out the babes and be vaguely disgusted as you not so subtly check out other dudes’ cocks and whatnot. What do you think?" Will said, having picked himself up. He dusted of his bum, not that he had much of a bum and not that Merlin had even looked really, it was just they had known each other all their lives and there were just some things one noticed in that amount of time. Like the lack of bum on your best friend.
"Can’t. I made plans to go to the movies with Gilli."
Will made a face, and Merlin knew what was coming even before he opened his mouth.
"I don’t know why you hang out with him. He’s weird."
"No more so than you."
"I don’t like him."
"You don’t like anyone unless they have big breast and long legs."
"That’s not true!" Will said in the most offended tone Merlin had ever heard from him. "The breasts don’t have to be big."
Merlin pulled a face. "You’re a pig."
"And yet, you still love me."
"Well obviously I’ve gone mental. I’ve been exposed to your stupidity for too long."
Will huffed out something they may have been an insult, but the words were swallowed in a shout before Merlin could hear them.
The chair Will had taken a seat in had all but engulfed him whole, ending with his face pressed against the plush cushion of the head rest. Merlin thought that if chairs were able to attack people, then this is what it would look like. Will was all flailing arms and kicking legs, his head buried as tiny whimpers escaped him.
"Ugh!" Will sprung up from the chair with a great gasp, only to end on his arse as one of his feet tangled with a leg of the chair. "What the…?" His eyes cut Merlin a glare that could crumple stone. "Did you do that?"
"No," Merlin managed between laughs. "But I wish I had. That was priceless. You just got your arse kicked by a chair."
"Shut it."
Merlin leaned out of his own chair until his arse barely touched the seat so that he could pinch Will’s cheek. "Aw, don’t be a grouchy pants," Merlin said with his best baby voice. "I know that chairs can be scary." He reared back to keep Will from grabbing hold of him and pulling him to the floor as well.
"Damn thing’s a death trap. It’ll kill someone one day."
"Most people over the age of five are able to sit in a chair with a risk to their lives." Merlin pouted his lips and tilted his head as though thinking it over. "Though, that explains it, seeing as how mentally you are five."
"I have no idea why I’m friends with you."
"That makes two of us."
Will pouted and glared a bit, and called the poor, innocent chair names that could make a sailor blush before pushing himself back to his feet. Seeming to have decided not to risk death by chair again, he continued standing.
"So, dance club. I say we leave around ten."
"Will," Merlin said in exasperation. "I told you. Gilli-"
"What? Come on Merlin, you can ditch’em. Not like there’s much chance of you fucking him, said so yourself."
"Not everything is about getting laid."
"No. But more things should be. People certainly would be more motivated to get shit done."
"Says the bloke who hasn’t had a girl in…how long again?"
"Shut it, alright. I’m picky.
"Yeah, female and breathing isn’t all that picky," Merlin said. "Especially when I’m pretty sure that breathing isn’t all that much of an requirement."
"You’re disgusting." Will checked his watch. "I have to run and pick up grand da. I’ll be back at eight when shift changes, yeah? We’ll head out then."
"No, we will not. I’m not canceling on Gilli."
"Wanker," Will called over his shoulder as he left the room.
"Whatever! And take that bloody cat of yours with you!"
Will yelled something back that Merlin didn’t catch and was sure was a good thing. A few seconds later there was a soft meow and he looked towards the doorway to see the cat watching him. Dragoon stared down Merlin with his one eye before lifting one leg to piss on the newly clean carpets.
"Damned demon! I’ll kill you! Cat stew sounds good for lunch!" Merlin yelled as he ran after the cat.
Merlin was still upstairs when he heard it. A twinkle of laughter and the padding of little feet that immediately brought to mind children, and while Destin Inn prided itself on being a family friendly establishment Merlin knows that there were currently no children. So he wrote it off as his over active imagination and continues flipping through the pages of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (he knows that if Gwen saw him she’d make fun of him for being a fluff while squeeing over the epic love that is Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett). It isn’t until he heard something break in the loo across the hall that he moved, setting the book on the newly polished surface of the coffee table and leaving the room.
A crystal soap dish, that’s not so much crystal as it is fancy cut glass, lay in pieces on the aqua blue and white tiled floor. Merlin stared at it in confusion, because he knew that dish had been in the vanity, stocked away seeing as how they only had one resident at the moment and he was a middle aged man that Merlin sometimes doubted was real, and has an ensuite. He spent a moment wondering on it before figuring that Gwen must have taken it out. He bent and picked up the bigger pieces of glass with his fingers.
"Bloody hell!" Merlin hissed through clenched teeth as he looked down at his hand, eyes catching on the bead of blood on his ring finger. "That bloody hurts," he said as he brought the bleeding the finger to his lips. He sucked at the wound, decidedly not thinking about how vampiric and disgusting that was, and dropped the broken glass into the waste bucket, making a mental note to take the trash out before long.
He muttered to himself about ‘self idiocy’ and ‘killer glass’ and moved to the vanity, turning the faucet on with a flick of his wrist and holding his wounded finger under the warm running water.
Steam quickly built on the surface of the glass and Merlin turned off the faucet before he turned the loo into a sauna. He lifted a hand to wipe at the misty build up….
"Arthur." Merlin whispered under his breath.
The image looking back at him was not his own. It belonged to a man with golden-wheat hair and sea blue eyes set in a face of strong features. A crown of gold and pure jewels sat on his head, and as Merlin watched, the image changed to a sea of people clothed in rich red and deep purple. They were cheering and Merlin wondered why. For whom? For…him? For the man in the mirror with the jeweled eyes and sun kissed skin?
"Arthur."
"…..Merlin."
Merlin blinked at the sound of his name, the image disappearing from the mirror and from his mind until he had no memory of the strange vision and was left with the stinging pain of his ring finger.
"Shit." Blood had welled up to the surface of the wound again and was beginning to drip down his palm.
"Merlin? Oh my god, what happen?" It was Gwen, and Merlin blinked at her as she rushed to his side, pulling a towel off the shelf as she went.
"No, don’t. I just washed the linen."
"Merlin, the inn won’t fall apart because you dirtied one towel," she said, pressing the towel to his hand and making him hold it while she ruffled through the cabinet for a band-aid. "What happened?"
"Ah, broken glass. Plus me being me, an accident was bound to happen. I figure I’m lucky I didn’t cut off the finger."
"Right. That would so be something you’d do." There was a crinkle of paper, then the sting of alcohol, before the band-aid was placed over his finger tight enough that it created its own pain. "Are you sure you’re okay?" Gwen asked, balling up the towel and tucking it under one arm. It wouldn’t do to leave a bloodied towel where guests could see it.
"Yeah, I’m fine. I just, ah…" he scratched his head and cut his eyes to the mirror. "I just thought I saw something."
"What?"
"I….I don’t remember." He quirked his lips and shrugged. "Guess it didn’t matter."
"Hm, are you sure you’re okay?"
"Yeah Gwen. I’m fine."
"Better be." She pecked him on the cheek. "Did you get to room 208?"
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother."
"Good. They should be checking in within the hour. I’m supposed to be attending my class, but I can stay if-"
"Gwen, it’s a small cut, I’m fine. Go make pots or whatever. Just remember to be back by nine."
"I know. I know." She smiled. "Thanks Merlin. I owe you."
"Yeah, yeah."
Arthur was in hell, sandwiched between a whiny child kicking the back of his seat and a ‘bubbly’ blonde that insisted on popping her gum loudly seated in front of him. An in-flight movie was playing on the screen in front, an infant cried loudly two rows over while its mother ignored it in favor of chatting with the man beside her. The stewardess had not made an appearance since take off and Leon was snoring in his ear, his thick head resting on Arthur’s shoulder, a drop of drool peeking out of the corner of his mouth, while Lancelot read a thick paperback book, no doubt something of a romantic nature or maybe even theological - it was a tossup where Lancelot was concerned - and ignored Arthur’s indignant huffs and squirming.
Arthur had voiced his displeasure, loudly, when his father had brandished the plane tickets at him as though they were a weapon. There was a perfectly good, and quite frankly expensive, Learjet sitting on a private strip of black pavement with the Pendragon crest displayed proudly on the sides in deep red and shinning gold, always fueled and ready. But no, Arthur had been forced onto a commercial airliner wearing a fake mustache, a black wig, and a low-brim hat, looking as though he were going to hijack the plane at any moment. How he had managed to get through security without being tackled he would never know. And as though this normalcy farce and public transportation wasn’t bad enough, Arthur was apparently acting as a poorly paid commoner and had been squashed into a seat in coach.
When he was crowned king someone would pay for this - preferably the snoring, drooling Leon. Arthur huffed again and none-too-gently pushed Leon off his aching shoulder and towards the wall of the plane.
"Sire, I know this is not the most ideal situation, but your father only has your best intentions at heart," Lancelot spoke for the first time since he and Leon had to almost bodily drag Arthur onto the plane. ‘Afraid of flying’ he had told the nervous looking steward whom Arthur was sure had only been seconds away from yelling for security. Arthur had let out a manly gasp, not a squeak no matter what Lancelot the liar said, and denied the accusation. "You should try to make the best out of the situation."
Arthur snorted. "First, don’t call me sire. Second, there is no best here Lancelot. I’m stuck ten thousand feet above ground in a metal tin can that I’m sure is really hell, forget the fire and brimstone - this is more tortuous than either of those things could ever be. And I swear if that brat does not stop kicking my chair I’m going to lose it." Arthur had turned to say the last part of his rant to the child’s mother, who only popped another piece of candy into her mouth and quirked an eyebrow at him.
The sound Arthur made could’ve been a sob or a growl. It was a close thing.
Lancelot tugged on the sleeve of his jumper until he was once again facing forward and sitting correctly in the horribly uncomfortable seat. Honestly, how did people put up with it?
"There is a silver lining Arthur. There always is."
"Really? Then enlighten me, oh great Lancelot. Where is the silver lining in me being forced from my kingdom?"
"Well firstly, there shall be no paparazzi for you to deal with. Or, more accurately for me and Leon to have to keep you from running any of them over."
Once! He did it once and it hadn’t even been his fault. Any sane person moves out of the way when they see ten tons of Range Rover heading for him. And it wasn’t even like he actually ran the man over. He only bumped him. A little. The pudgy bloke hadn’t even been injured.
The brat kicked his chair again, harder this time than before, and Leon grunted in his sleep and swatted his hand at something not visible. Arthur wondered if he was having the dream where he was a cat. Not that Arthur had that dream, it was just Leon had it sometimes. So Arthur had been told.
"I’d take on the whole scum of Avalon over this."
"This will be good for you, Arthur. You’ll see."
Lancelot was so sincere about it that Arthur couldn’t bring himself to voice anything to the contrary.
"Maybe," he mumbled, reaching back to scratch at his neck. The back of his fingers brushed something hanging on the seat. He frowned and brought his hand back around; red, sticky gum was stuck to his hand. Chewed gum. "Maybe not."
Leon shuffled in his seat and, really, it wasn’t Arthur’s fault that the man had chosen that moment to draw his attention. Besides, Arthur thought that the gum looked much better on Leon’s nose than it did on his hand.
‘Attention passengers will be making our descent into Camerden in fifteen minutes. Thank you for flying Albion Air.’
"Camerden." Arthur frowned. "I thought Ealdor was our destination."
"Oh, it is," Lancelot said, reaching across Arthur to shake Leon awake.
The ginger man shifted and the gum fell from his nose onto his bottom lip. A squeak and a flurry of arm waving followed as Leon attempted to fling the wad of chewed flavored synthetic rubber away, only to end with it in his hair. If Arthur had not seen Leon in action before, he would be worried because this was the man whom his safety was entrusted to. Not that he needed saving. He wasn’t some damsel in a fairytale after all.
"Then why are we landing in Camerden? Do we have to drive to Ealdor?"
"No." It was Leon how answered, eyes crossed as he tried to fish the gum out of his hair.
"Then what’s going on?"
Lancelot smiled and Leon, finally, got the gum out of his and flung it to the grey carpeted floor.
"I demanded an answer!"
"You’re not Prince Arthur here, remember," Leon said, lowering his voice and glancing to make sure he had not been overheard. "You’re a commoner for the next six months and commoners cannot demand."
"Well, they can," said Lancelot. "Though their demands hardly matter to others."
They were both far too cheery and amused for his liking. And yes, maybe he shouldn’t have locked them both out of the palace the day before they left, with orders for no one to let the two of them back in. But it had been fun to watch them run around the courtyard, knocking on doors and pleading with the staff. Plus he had been upset that they both seemed to have known what Uther had been planning and had not thought to mention it to Arthur. At the time he had felt justified.
His feeling now did not center on justified. As Lancelot chatted with Leon and they both visibly took pleasure from Arthur’s discomfort, he was sure that his feelings could be found somewhere near the realm of ‘nervous’ but not quite into the area of ‘fear’.
Finally he forced himself to breath and told himself that nothing could be worse than this bloody plane.
Arthur had been wrong.
So terribly, terribly, wrong. There was something worse than that airplane from hell….a smaller airplane from hell. At least Arthur had been somewhat sure that the first plane had been flight worthy. This two motor engine contraption rumbled, bucked, and made loud horrible whining noises. Arthur was sure it was one air pocket away from falling out of the sky.
His nails made indentations in the arm rest of the seat and he felt the blood leave his face as the plane jerked once again. Leon laughed to his right, while Lancelot let out a smaller - no less heard - chuckle.
"Piss off the both of you. You’re both fired." It was an empty threat seeing as how they were employed by Uther and not Arthur, so he could not fire them. He had tried before.
It would serve his father right if he were to die on this stupid quest. And yes, he had just used the word quest, but his fear-addled mind was too busy flashing over his short, but never the less eventful, life to come up with something better.
If he made it back to the ground, alive, he would kiss it.
They were taking the Learjet on the return trip. There was no way Arthur was going through this again.
The plane shook and made another grinding noise, reminding Arthur that he first needed to survive this trip.
"Are you okay sire? You look a little green," said Lancelot.
"Do not lie Lancelot, do you not know it’s a sin." Leon leaned forward so that he could look Arthur in the eye. "Your pale; white as a sheet. Not green in the least."
"I’m going to have the two of you beheaded when we get home."
"That’s no longer allowed," Lancelot pointed out.
Merlin was lazing about; feet propped on the reception desk, Pride and Prejudice resting on one thigh, the pages dry beneath the pads of his fingers and Mr. Darcy declaring himself to Elizabeth in a way that always caused Merlin to cringe. Dragoon was meowing at him and pawing at his seat, giving him a rather decidedly unimpressed look that has caused Merlin to look over his shoulder more than once in search of Gwen. He knows that if she were around she would tease him for being such a sappy fluff then nag him until he found a broom or dust cloth and did something.
Only there was nothing for him to do. The rooms had all been tidied up and Freya had finally showed up and banned him from her kitchen on the pain of death. The laundry had been done and was now hanging on the clothes line in the back, the dinning table had been set and would consist of no more than a handful of people.
But Merlin refused to be bored. The winter season was quickly approaching and the Destin Inn would have its fair share of guest for the prime skiing found in Camerden. So Merlin would enjoy this down time and keep an ear out for the mystery man in 305 seeing as how it was quickly approaching tea time and the middle aged man always called down for tea.
Merlin took a glance at the clock above the front door and figured he ought to remind Freya seeing as how she tended to get a little distracted. He stuck a pencil in the book to hold his page, and slapped it on the desk, standing to his feet just as the front door open, bringing in a breeze of fresh air and the soft twinkle of wind chimes.
A man and woman entered and Merlin’s eyes were immediately draw to the man, as was usually the case, even though the man was hardly his type (not that he had a type, only that if he did he was sure this man would not be it). The man was of stocky build with wide shoulders and large arms that stretched the material of his soft powder blue dress shirt, but not in a way that suggest an uncomfortable or improper fit, but a snug fit that said the shirt had been tailored specifically for the man. He had a nice tan to his skin, a sweet caramel instead of the ugly orange that some got from artificial means. His hair, a dark color that Merlin was unable to distinguish, was cut close to his head with a few tendrils curled over the top of his ears. Merlin thought the man seemed to be more suited for five star resorts and penthouses with suave mannered concierges than a small inn in a town of little importance and renown.
If the man himself did not make Merlin think this than the woman beside him certainly did. As gay as he was -and he was so very gay - rainbows, unicorns, and all as Gwen would say. Merlin could see how attractive the woman was. Glossy black hair fell around her shoulders in large waves, and sharp eyes studied him with so much intensity that he felt himself begin to blush under the scrutiny. She was as pale as the man was tan; soft milk white skin glowed beneath the soft lighting of the overhead chandelier that was almost as old as the inn itself and was beautiful crafted throw light through the room without harshness.
She watched him for long moments while the man whispered in her ear and apparently found him to be satisfactory, because she nodded and smiled wide at him before leaving her companion at the door and eating up the polished wood with determined heeled footsteps.
"Hullo," she greeted Merlin with an open smile and a lot of teeth.
"Hullo, welcome to the Destin Inn, I’m Merlin. How could I be of assistants to you?"
"Merlin?" The woman said with a soft blink. "That’s an interesting name."
"My mother is an interesting woman," Merlin replied, taking no offense to the woman’s statement of fact. He had heard much worse when he was younger and still did on occasion.
"Of that I have no doubt. I would like to check in, reservations under Le Fey."
"Of course, one moment." Merlin flipped through the leather bound ledger on the desk. They had a computer system of course, but with so few guets at the moment it made no sense to use it. "Room 208. It’s one of our finest I assure you. May I inquire to the length of your stay and whether you will need an itinerary designed for you and your…partner?"
"Ah, six months I believe."
"Six?" Merlin was a little astonished, it wasn’t the first time that a guest had stayed for an extended period, but those few who did were usually writers wanting to get away from the crowded cities. Though Merlin supposed that it was possible for the woman, or even the man, to be authors.
"Yes. Is that a problem?"
"No, no not at all madam. I just…"
"Please." The woman said with a hand held out as though she were able to physically able to stop him from speaking. "Do not call me madam, it makes me sound old. And I’ll have you know I am not old. The name is Morgana."
"Nice to meet you, Morgana." Merlin reached beneath the desk for the key to the room, an old fashion metal key and not the key cards that high end and new hotels used. "I just need proof of identification and a credit card, and these are yours."
The woman was reaching for the purse hanging from one shoulder when the man finally approached, wallet in hand.
"Here you go." He said handing over a black card.
"Percy." Morgana glared at the man.
"What?" The man, Percy inquired with such innocence it was almost enduring.
"I think she wants to pay herself," Merlin pointed out, unnecessarily he was sure.
"That’s because she’s stubborn. I long for those days when woman were confined to the kitchen and did their husbands bidding."
"You’re not my husband, which you should be ever thankful for, I know I am. I’m convinced I would hate prison."
"Prison."
"She means to kill you. If you were her husband," Merlin pointed out once again. Though maybe not so unnecessarily this time.
"Oh I like you." Morgana cooed. "I like you a lot. I think you and I shall be friends, Merlin."
Maybe. But as Percy rolled his eyes and Morgana smiled in a way that reminded him of Dragoon in all his mischief ways, Merlin wasn’t so sure that was necessarily a good thing.
~~~~ Masterpost~~~ Chapter Three~~~~
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