Find Part 1 here
Find Part 2 here
Find Part 3 here
Warnings: fluff, my goodness
A/N: I’ve gotten so much positive feedback about this series and I just want to thank you guys so much! Also, terribly sorry about the severe delay in continuing series and writing sequels; I get so excited about new requests I always seem to write those instead!
“Merlin, I’m back!” You called, toeing out of your muddy boots so you wouldn’t track dirt into Gaius’s chambers. When you were answered with nothing but silence, you frowned, crossing over to the boy’s room.
“Merlin?” You asked, but it seemed that no one was there. Hm. Merlin had told you that he wanted to spend the afternoon together. Where was he? You hoped he wasn’t in any danger.
Letting out a sigh, you were about to turn and leave the room when something caught your eye. On your bed, laying across your pillow, was a single red rose, with a piece of parchment tucked under it. You smiled to yourself and leapt forward to grab it, eagerly reading the note. It read:
“If you wish to find me,
You must formulate a plan
Venture out most carefully
To where we met again.”
You recognized both Merlin’s handwriting and his terrible poetry immediately. Who used ‘formulate’ in a romantic poem? ‘To where we met again.’ Well, you figured that to mean the forest. That was were you would go! You pulled your boots on again, this time with no regard for the mud, and began the trek to the forest.
When you reached the edge of the forest, you wondered just how far in you would need to go to find him. After all, when you met again you were deep, deep in the heart of the forest. Your question was answered soon, however, as you spotted another rose and another note secured to the branch of a sapling. It read:
“If you wish to find me now,
Some chaos is what you seek.”
It was even worse than last time! And, the clue had even less information. You tilted your head, scanning the parchment with your eyes once more. Well, you and Merlin were known to cause chaos, inadvertently, wherever you went. He could be referring to any number of incidents. You thought back over your brief time in Camelot, one event in particular sticking out.
On an early weekday morning, you and Merlin had decided to go down to the marketplace and fetch some fresh bread for the day. Arthur was away, (on a hunting trip, if you remembered correctly) and Merlin had a day to himself, which he naturally spent with you.
Even though it was early, the marketplace was a bustling center of activity. The streets were filled with all sorts–venders, peddlers, beggars, vagabonds.Hay damp from the nighttime dew lay fresh in the streets, softening footfalls. A lonesome goat wandered the streets, no doubt sorely missed at home. You and Merlin had marveled at the goat, watching as it munched contentedly on a stalk the wrinkled flower woman had dropped.
Soon your attention was drawn, quite forcefully, over to where there was great commotion. A stack of chicken coops, each filled with far too many chickens each lined the street. Crowing and clucking could be heard for blocks all around. It was a noisy, rhythmless symphony, which unfortunately blocked your path to the bakery. You and Merlin had no choice but to pass by the wall of fowl.
Until your dying breath, you would always claim that it was Merlin who tripped over the first cage, sending them all tumbling in a domino effect. You could only watch, dumbfounded, as dozens and dozens of chickens broke free and began terrorizing the streets, running around like chickens with their heads–well, attached. In a flurry of panicked little birds, you and Merlin found yourself in the middle of it. Needless to say, you spent the rest of the day picking feathers out of Merlin’s hair, not to mention your own.
It was worth a shot to try the marketplace.
With a smile on your face and a certain ethereal lightness to your heart, you tucked the slip of paper away and headed out of the forest, down to the lower town. The marketplace was no less busy today than it had been on that fateful day. Towards the chicken coops, you noticed another rose and a note, tucked into the bars of a cage. You grinned, eagerly pulling it off and reading it.
“You’ll find me soon, don’t worry
But you’ll want to leave in a hurry
The prince won’t wait
We’ll be so late
And his armor is in a flurry”
You snickered at Merlin’s poetry once more, before sobering in thought. Where did he want you to go? He mentioned Arthur and his armor. You remembered one time where Merlin had to enlist your help in order to get Arthur’s armor all polished before a mêlee, because he’d completely forgotten about it until an hour before. When Arthur found you in the armory, you were both practically buried in armor.
To the armory, then.
You were cautious to wipe your even muddier shoes clean before entering the citadel. The maids had enough work as it was. Making your way down the twisted hallways, your arms swung by yours sides as you walked. You found the armory empty, but positioned near the door was a full standing suit of armor, a rose and a note in his outstretched metal hand. It read:
“Here’s one last clue to get you out,
To send you on your way
You’ll find me, without a doubt,
Where forces and fires play”
It was an allusion to your magic, of course! He meant for you to go to them clearing where you practiced together. You eagerly made your way to the clearing, where you found Merlin, holding a single rose, waiting for you. Behind him, a picnic lunch was all laid out on sumptuous blankets. You wondered where he had gotten it all–whether borrowed from Arthur or stolen from the kitchens.
“Merlin!” You grinned, launching yourself into his arms. He squeezed you tight before resting his hands on your hips, smiling down at you and resting his forehead against yours.
“You found me!” He said, offering you the last flower. “Join me for lunch?”
Warnings: all of the fluff. Nudity, because clothes are too much work. Wink wink.
A/N: this is too cute for my soul oh goodness
You awoke the happiest you could ever remember feeling. Why, it was practically as if you were floating on a cloud, like one of the cherubs rumored to lounge in the sky all day, twanging away on their little harps.
Oh yes, cherubic was the perfect metaphor for your condition. Firstly, you were deeply and truly in love, love born out of trust and smelted in the flames of passion. Secondly, you were quite naked like the winged babies, but it was no matter. You quite enjoyed it, actually.
For there, right beside you in bed, lay Merlin. Your Merlin. The delightful dream that filled your mind among waking was reality, and a dreamlike reality at that. You shifted so that you were on your side, propped up on one elbow. You looked over Merlin’s peaceful sleeping face and smiled to yourself.
Last night, before the two of you had gone to bed, Merlin had dropped to one knee and presented you with a ring. Such a small, but momentous, action left you with song in your heart and fire in your blood. Gazing down at the ring on your finger, you were filled with such levity and euphoria that it felt like millions of tiny butterflies in your stomach were trying their very darnedest to pull you aloft and lift you to the sun. You were engaged.
“Merlin.” You murmured, throwing your arm over his sleeping form and pressing yourself close to his body underneath the covers. Facing away from you, his back was warm and smooth and you couldn’t help but cuddle in close right next to him.
You smoothed your hand up from his stomach, sliding up his chest until your palm rested flat over his heart. You could feel the steady, slow beat of his heart the gentle rising and falling of his chest underneath your fingers
You shifted ever so slightly so that your lips could reach the pulse point just below his jawline, just barely brushing his skin. You relished in the fact that you could feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest and you knew that it was entirely because of you.
You dragged your lips down his throat to his clavicle, where you spent a few extra moments worrying over a smooth spot of skin with your tongue and teeth. From there you pressed a row of kisses branching outwards to his shoulder blades. Merlin shifted in his sleep, a low moan escaping his throat.
Your hand picked up where your lips had left off at his shoulder and trailed the rest of the way down his arm until your could intertwine your fingers together. Merlin gently squeezed your hand in his and that was when you knew he was awake.
“You couldn’t bloody well let me sleep, could you?” Eyelashes fluttering, he turned so he was flat on his back. Merlin’s voice was still thick with sleep and his hair was suffering a serious case of bed head. He smiled when he saw you, the morning sunlight casting a sort of angelic glow around your head.
“Of course not.” You replied, “we’re engaged.” You smugly pulled away so that you could flop back onto your pillow. Your shoulder and elbow were really getting sore from staying propped up like that.
Merlin took that as the opportunity to roll over so that he was on top of you, his legs straddling your hips. Looking down at you, he cocked his head to one side, pretending to contemplate.
“Are we?” He asked, ducking only his head to press his lips to yours for too short of a kiss. “Because I really don’t remember. Could you remind me?” He whispered in your ear. His breath, warm and light, ghosted against your bare throat and you shivered.
“Gladly.” You grinned, waving your hand in front of his face. Merlin leaned back to sit on his ankles and snatched your hand in both of his own. He examined the ring on your finger, bringing your hand close up to his face.
“Oh yes,” he murmured, kissing each one of your fingertips, “now I remember.” Merlin then lifted your hand higher, pressing his lips to your palm, then to the pulse point on your wrist, laving his tongue over the soft skin there. You giggled.
“No, stop! That tickles!”
Merlin grinned mischievously at you, tugging gently on your hand so that you’d sit up with him. Instead, you pulled hard on his hand and the momentum flung him down to you. He was forced to brace both of his arms on either side of your head so he wouldn’t collapse on top of you.
You both burst out laughing and, in a stunningly rapid transition, Merlin nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, nipping gently at the soft skin there. You entangled your fingers into his hair.
Gaius’s voice filled the air and Merlin sat up, panicked.
“Sire, I must protest–” The physician was nearly shouting, and you couldn’t help but wonder the reason. Surely, it wasn’t anything you and Merlin could assist with, was it?
“Gaius, I am sorry, but can you really expect me to spend any longer without my manservant? He’s already damnably late and I need him.” Without further protest from Gaius, Arthur burst through the door to Merlin’s room, no doubt expecting to find his lazy manservant asleep.
Instead, he found, well, the two of you. You scrambled to pull the sheets up to your chest, lest he see anything you were not comfortable showing. The prince, it seemed, was the one more uncomfortable. His face turned beet red and he hastily averted his eyes.
“Mer-lin! Y/N?” He choked, just noticing you in bed too. “What are you doing?”
You and Merlin shared a look. He took your hand and proudly held it up for the prince to see, ring visible on your left hand.
“We’re engaged.” You said smugly, the news still too recent to believe. Merlin grinned in response and kissed your temple. Arthur’s mouth gaped and you briefly worried that he might catch flies. His voice cracked slightly when he spoke again.
“Erm, Merlin, you can, uh, take the day off. Congratu… Congratulations.” “ Arthur said, looking very much like he wished for a bolt of lightning to strike him dead where he stood. He hurried to leave, turning and pushing his way through the door–which needed to be pulled to open. Arthur struggled for only a few seconds before getting the door open.
“Thank you, sire.” Merlin grinned brightly at Arthur’s retreating form.
“Now,” he said, tracing a finger down your cheek to your lips, “where were we?”
Warnings: cute, flirty fluff and alcohol, drunkeness
A/N: Wow! My first Gwaine x reader fic! This is a super cute prompt and lovely anon even included a freaking spectacular sentence prompt: “Yes, because your wellbeing is definitely my number one concern.”
Working in the tavern on weekends was a brilliant way to supplement your income. After all, drunk men were very generous with their coins and would often tip well. Plus, the work wasn’t even that hard; all you had to do was pour ale and occasionally prevent brawls between patrons.
The only issue you could see with your employment was that the tavern was the one frequented by Camelot’s Knights. It really wasn’t that bad of a situation, as they were all easy on the eyes, but one knight in particular always seemed to push your buttons, in all the wrong (right) ways.
It didn’t help that you were hopelessly in love with quite possibly the biggest flirt in the kingdom. Gwaine could be found on any given evening with a drink in hand, smooth-talking his way around the room. He would often flirt with you, but, much to your chagrin, with everyone else as well.
You could only watch from afar, and try to suppress the jealousy in your heart.
One such evening, Gwaine had impressively gotten even more drunk than normal and was halfway through seducing an innocent doorframe that happened to be in his way. You watched the spectacle from the corner, where you had been allocated the task of cleaning goblets.
“Y/N, Gwaine’s off his rocker again. Can you bring him home please?” The tavern’s owner begged you, wiping her hands on her apron. An aging, no-nonsense woman, she had put up with more than her fair share during her time in the business. There was only so much she was willing to deal with.
“Oh, but–” You started to protest, but she cut you off with a glare.
“No buts, I did it last time and he nearly vomited in my roses. I love those roses more than I love my own children. I can’t risk it!”
She really did have an odd fondness for her roses. With a resigned sigh, you nodded and left the goblets to soak in a bucket of soapy water. You didn’t doubt for a moment that the tavern owner’s words were true. Haphazardly sweeping your hair back and tugging on your clothes to make yourself at least a little more presentable, you wandered over to find Gwaine leaning heavily on a doorframe, to which he was mumbling incoherently.
“Alright, mate, time to get you to bed.” You said, throwing his arm over your shoulder and steering him towards the door. Gwaine leaned heavily on you and his arm snaked down to rest on your hip.
“Oh really?” He laughed throatily, “I certainly wouldn’t mind that.”
“Not like that, you prick.” You groaned, realizing that this task would be so much harder than you’d anticipated. Just having him in such proximity to you made you blush; you could only hope he didn’t notice.
It was just a game to him, to see how many girls he could make swoon, how many men he could make blush. Every time you went into the game thinking that maybe, just maybe, it was something real and not just a joke.
You decided then and there that you wouldn’t allow yourself to get hurt by these games. Not this time.
As Gwaine stumbled through the streets at your side, you quickly came to the realization that you were not nearly strong enough to
take him all the way back to his chambers in the citadel. Instead, you cursed under your breath and brought him to your home instead.
You lived in a small house on the edge of the city, a decent walk from the tavern, but well away from the noise of the city. It was bequeathed to you from your parents, and thusly had two separate bedrooms, which was certainly useful.
After navigating Gwaine into the spare bedroom, you hurried to make sure he wouldn’t get himself into trouble. He sprawled out on the bed like a starfish, staring up at the ceiling. You quickly grabbed a cup of water, thankful you had just refilled the bucket of drinking water you kept in the corner, straight from the well.
“Drink this. Come on, it will make you feel better.” You offered him a cup of water that would certainly help the hangover headed his way tomorrow.
“I fffeel fine.” Gwaine slurred, licking his lips.
“Tomorrow morning it will make you feel better.” You sighed. Gwaine obediently took the cup and sucked it down.
“Doesn’t taste good.” He wrinkled his nose. Gwaine handed the cup back to you and sat up straight, looking down at you with a peculiar expression on his face.
“Are-arre you okay?” He asked with the innocence of a child.
“I’m fine.” You may have snapped a little too harshly. Honestly, it was all so frustrating, to have someone so oblivious to your heart’s affections, but toy with them all the same.
“You ssseem sad.” He said, stretching a hand out to trace the frown on your face with his fingers. “Why?”
“I’m worried.” You replied vaguely. That wasn’t incriminating, was it? Gwaine didn’t have to know that you worried about him day in and day out, whenever the Knights were called to fight, whether in tournament or battle.
“About me?” He asked, tilting his head cockily. Your immediate response was one of sarcasm.
“Yes, absolutely, because your wellbeing is definitely my number one concern.” You retorted, mentally smacking yourself when you realized the hypocrisy in the statement. Luckily, Gwaine wasn’t quite so observant and instead contented his drunken self to play with a loose tendril of your hair, coiling and uncoiling it around his fingers.
You mentally smacked yourself again when you found yourself wishing, nay, longing, for your hair to have feeling. He mumbled something to himself that you couldn’t understand.
“What was that?” You asked, hoping he wasn’t spouting nonsense.
“You are the most beautiful, most wonderful woman in the world.” Gwaine repeated himself. You scoffed.
“Oh, yeah? How many have you told that to? Five? Ten?”
“A few,” he confessed, “but I never really meant it. Not ‘til now, that is.”
“What do you mean not until now?”
“I mean…” He tried to push his hair out of his face, but only succeeded in mussing it up more. His hair practically covered his eyes even more now.
“Gwaine, you’re drunk. Go to bed.” You chided, moving to blow out the candle.
“No! I w-won’t.” He said, drawing himself up to full height. Gwaine swayed uncertainly on the bed
“Gwaine…” You pursed your lips. “Come on.”
“I mean, Y/N, that I am a hopeless fool. I should have told you from the moment I met you that I love you.”
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Does that mean no?”
“No!”
Gwaine seemed to sober up quickly, if that were even physically possible.
“I’m sorry for asking. It w-was rather rude of me.”
“No, you twat!” You lightly smacked his shoulder. “I didn’t mean no as in ‘no, that’s the answer to the question,’ but as in, 'no, it doesn’t mean no.’” You babbled.
Gwaine’s face split into a broad grin and he, rather clumsily, moved to embrace you in a big hug, his facial hair tickling your neck.
A/N: This aligns with my Headcanon that Arthur knows about Merlin’s magic from day one but does not do or say anything about it because, as we know, both Arthur and Merlin are grandiose idiots. It’s a right shame that I spend my time obsessed with them. :)
The spring season is the most opportune point in the year to get married. The birds were singing and laying fat little eggs; the flowers were in full bloom and spreading their pollen-y cheer across the land, in the form of hay fever. Happy couples lined up around the block to get married, often waiting for hours just to see their local officiator, who may have been anything from just a very literate farmer to the king himself.
In wedding occasions where the king was involved, far more preparations were necessary to bring the wedding party up to par. Firstly, there were the decorations, and the guest list, not to mention the wedding gown. How many pearls did the bride want on the bodice? Was there to be one underskirt or several? And how about shoes? A veil?
Frankly, you found it all rather ridiculous, and you weren’t even directly involved in the planning! As the bride-to-be’s lady in waiting and very best friend, your only task, it seemed, was to take care of her. Wedding planning was said to be the most joyous occasion in the life of any person but she and you found it quite the opposite.
For the man she was engaged to did not love her, and made no effort to hide his disdain at marrying one he did not love. Prince Arthur Pendragon claimed that he would not marry for power, yet here he was, betrothed as only part of an alliance. He openly despised the wedding plans, though, out of politeness, never once saying anything bad about his betrothed.
It was even worse for you, as the one engaged, the Princess Lynnette of Listenoise, had long since given her heart to another. Honestly, you should have seen it coming. He was nothing but a common stable boy called Miles, but when the Princess began requesting more and more outings you knew it had nothing to do with the horses themselves. Instead it had more to do with the way the stable boy bowed, or the way his laugh sounded.
Often they fancied the idea of eloping and running away, leaving titles and decorum behind and becoming nothing but Lynette and Miles, united together as long as they both shall live. Many a long afternoon you were forced to spend listening to her burbles about just how sweet and gallant her stable boy was, a dreamy sigh on her lips and wild, untamed happiness aglow in her eyes.
You would give anything for even the slightest drop of happiness right now. Lynette had been betrothed to Arthur for quite some time now, but it never seemed real. It was just like a phantom cloud over your head, that you couldn’t see but no one else could take their eyes off of. The dark cloud had descended over your carriage as it brought you and Lynette closer and closer to Camelot, where she would be wed without delay to a prince whom she did not love and that did not love her back.
Lynette was despondent, to say the least. She was forced to give her tearful goodbyes to her Miles, carrying the knowledge in her heart that after her marriage she would remain with her husband in Camelot and never again return to Listenoise, except perhaps as an old crone. For the past hour, she had been crying on your shoulder, leaving puddles of tears in your dress, soaking into the fabric like rainwater into the ground.
“Here, take my handkerchief.” You pressed the cloth in your friend’s hand, rubbing her back soothingly. She continued to sob into her hands, but wiped at her eyes with the soft edge of the cloth. Better that than your dress.
“Everything will be alright, I promise.” Even you didn’t believe your own words. Lynette let out a choked gasp and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes were red rimmed and swollen, and it pained you to see her in such distress. You thought of her as more than a sister, and valued her happiness more than your own.
“Oh, p-poor Miles! He’s going to be s-so unhappy when I get married!” Lynette’s slim figure shook, racked with strangled cries. You gently stroked her hair, letting her curl up nearly on top of you, like an overly emotional lapdog.
“Shh, shh.” You soothed, unable to come up with anything other to say. All your life, you had not experienced the fantastical tugging of your heartstrings that so many others reported often with each passing fancy. You had yet to fall in love, to find someone you’d be willing to share the rest of your life with.
The closest you’d come to love would be listening to Lynette’s accounts of minute details, like exactly how he looked in the moonlight, or exactly where he put his hands when he kissed her. To you, quite frankly, love seemed like more trouble than it was worth. But it wasn’t going to stop you from trying to save true love and prevent false love.
As soon as the two of you arrived at Camelot’s stately citadel, Lynette was rushed away from you for her “presentation” to the King, his court, and, more importantly, Arthur. You didn’t seem to warrant an invitation to the grand event, so that left you with a bit of free time to seek out the court physician.
You knew Lynette would have a difficult time sleeping in a strange place; she always did. More than once you had woken up in a foreign castle to find her having not slept a wink. An exhausted Lynette was no more agreeable than a storm cloud–ready to release wind, hail, or lightning at a moment’s provocation.
A kindly guard directed you towards the Physician’s chambers within the citadel, and you found them easily. You moved to knock only to find that the door swung wide open as you approached. Inside, there was only a boy with his nose pressed in a book. You couldn’t get a very good look at him, but you could see that he was young. Perhaps even your own age.
“Excuse me, are you the physician?” You asked. The boy jumped, startled, dropping his book. It fell to the floor with a dusty clatter and he hastily moved to pick it up. As it fell his face was revealed to you, and you marveled at his strong features and bright eyes. Why, he was terribly pretty. For a boy, anyway, and one with ridiculously large ears at that!
“No, but, I can help! I’m the Physician’s… apprentice, you could say.” He explained, carefully brushing his book off and examining it for any damage. Only after he was satisfied did he look up at you, his stunning blue eyes meeting yours before he glanced away quickly.
“I need a sleeping draught for the princess.” You clasped your fingers together and let your sight wander around the physician’s chambers. They were certainly cluttered, with books and parchment strewn about. But it seemed like there was a certain orderliness to it all, as if everything were in its place.
“How do I know you’re not trying to poison her? Too much of this and she could die.” The boy had grabbed a bottle of clear liquid without you noticing and he held it close to his body now, as if he were suspicious of you and your intentions.
“How dare you accuse me of such behavior! I am the princess’s lady-in-waiting! By God, she’s already going through enough with this stupid marriage, she doesn’t need any more worry in her life!”
“I’m so, so sorry.” The boy confessed, handing over the little bottle without another moment’s hesitation. “I didn’t mean–”
“I know what you meant.” You snapped, taking the bottle and placing it carefully into the embroidered pouch that hung at your waist. It was a gift from Lynette. “Thank you.” You said only out of courtesy, beginning to make your way towards the door.
“Wait!” The boy called, “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so rude. It’s just… why did you call the marriage stupid? I thought it was supposed to be a celebration.”
You paused and turned back to face the boy, thoughtfully looking him over. “How can there be a celebration when my lady leaves her true love behind, only to marry someone else?”
“Well,” he hesitated, “it’s true that Arthur’s heart belongs to another, too.”
“Really? What’s her name?” You asked, far too quickly to be considered polite.
“Erm, Gwen,” The boy replied, “she’s the blacksmith’s daughter.”
“I see,” you paused, “Lynette is in love with one called Miles. He’s a squire. Her father wouldn’t have her marry anyone less than a prince and, honestly, it breaks my heart to see her so upset. I just want them both to be happy.”
“I know how you feel. Gwen and Arthur are both my friends, but they can’t admit their feelings for each other because of propriety and all those lousy rules.”
“Are we really to sit idly by while our friends marry each other for not love, but power?” You wondered aloud, melancholy seeping into your very soul.
“People ought to marry for love.” The boy sighed, resting his chin in his hand. “It’s a right shame that they don’t.”
You straightened up, squaring your shoulders to the boy. Your mind was suddenly filled with a daft plan–a plan just daft enough to possibly work if all things lucky were on your side. Suddenly, all the secret disdain you held for the too-forward boy was forgotten, dissipated into the air like morning mist in the afternoon sun.
“Oh, by the way, I’m Y/N.” You stuck your arm out for a handshake.
“Merlin.” He grabbed your hand firmly in his own, then belatedly remembered the proper decorum.
“My lady.” He mumbled, bending to kiss the back of your hand.
“Oh, please,” you tried to hide your blush, “call me Y/N.”
“Yeah, yeah okay.” He replied easily, secretly pleased.
“Merlin, I have an idea. You’ve got to trust me on this, but I think we can solve both of our friend’s problems if we just work together a bit.”
—
“I’ve been thinking.” Merlin began, long fingers tugging at a loose thread in his red scarf. Under the pretense of escorting the couple on an afternoon walk, you and Merlin had gotten both Arthur and Lynette out of the castle and onto the expansive grounds, where you could walk without being overheard.
“God help us all.” Arthur retorted. Merlin shot him a glare before continuing.
“We know that the two of you do not, under any circumstances, want to get married.” Merlin stated mildly, well aware that he could be thrown in the stocks for such a claim.
Lynette and Arthur both resigned themselves to nod ‘yes’ in response. Neither was in the mood to talk much, each walking with crossed arms and very disdainful expressions on their faces.
“We were considering,” Merlin tactfully rambled, “the undertaking of some, ehm, schemes that could perhaps convince the king that maybe this marriage isn’t a good idea.”
“Are you suggesting sabotage?” Lynette, ever bright, asked hopefully.
“Yes.”
“Brilliant,” Arthur finally added his opinion. “but we’ll have to be sneaky. If my father suspects anything…”
“We’ll just have to make sure he won’t suspect anything.” You said with conviction, positive that you could pull it off. Anything for the sake of a friend.
“And I’ve got the perfect idea,” Merlin said brightly, “aren’t ravens considered a terrible omen? Like, if any number of them show up, isn’t something really bad supposed to happen?”
“Well, yes,” Lynette nodded.
“What if this evening’s engagement party were to be interrupted by a flock of ravens?” Merlin continued tentatively.
“How are we going to get ravens?” Arthur scoffed.
“I know a guy.” Merlin replied dismissively. Arthur raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
“My father is terribly superstitious! If he thinks the marriage is cursed there is no way in hell he’ll make us go through with it.” Lynette clapped her hands together excitedly. “This could work!”
“One time,” you said aside to Merlin, “a serving girl broke a mirror in his bedroom accidentally. He was so distraught that I thought he was actually going to keel over right there, screaming about an eternity of bad luck.”
The two of you burst into snickers which were quickly silenced by a glare from Lynette.
“Sorry.”
—
The time had come for a great feast to celebrate the upcoming marriage. The entire court, it seemed, was on edge, and you’d had to run to Gaius’s twice that day to bring back a tonic to calm Lynette’s nerves. Arthur, as Merlin told you, wasn’t faring much better and had thrice threatened to banish him from the kingdom already today for dropping his sword.
As evening fell, you escorted Lynette to the feast. Seated at Uther’s left hand, with Arthur at his right, Lynette looked as if she would rather die instead of being there. Arthur’s expression quite matched hers, and rumors flew about the guests of the feast of the unhappy couple.
The first few courses were served uneventfully, with only the occasional overturned goblet the only cause of distress. Lynette had barely touched her food and Arthur was drinking heavily from his cup, which Merlin was increasingly being filled with water, for Arthur’s sake.
At one point in the night, the high, arching windows that encircled the ceiling of the hall flew open of their own accord. A few screams were heard, but an overall deafening silence ensued when a great flock of birds black as night invaded, carrying chaos on their wings.
They seemed to fear the people down below, not getting any closer than simply perching on the ledges below the windows up above, watching, waiting. Their beady eyes latched on to and followed every being below, boring into the very soul.
It was almost as if time stood still and not a single person in the hall dared to move.
Then one final raven swooped in from an open window only to perch on Uther’s throne. The king looked up at it, eyebrows furrowed, as if he considered either shooing it away or stabbing it with his fork. In the end, he got to do neither, when the bird relieved itself on his head. A collective gasp flurried through the guests, but still no one moved.
The raven cawed a few times from his perch, short, sharp laughs at a king who, it seemed, could not control his own son. The other ravens in the hall joined in the raucous mess, shrieking and screaming. You and Merlin shared a look. Lynette’s father appeared faint.
Silence. The ravensong came to an abrupt end, with nothing but the flutter of wings being heard as they departed to the skies. Their feathers beat the air with the same fluidity of water being poured into a glass. The windows remained open, but not a single bird lingered in the hall.
For the first few moments, no one was quite sure if they were dreaming or not, if everything that had just happened was real. It must have been, for when Uther stormed out of the hall, mess on his head, the chatter roared.
“Did you SEE the look on his face?”
“Ravens? Where those ravens?”
“Our poor king!”
“Ravens coming to call before a wedding…”
“How ridiculous!”
“The union is cursed!”
And so, after the incident, a conference between the two families involved was hastily scheduled. What should be done about the wedding? The meeting was the talk of the town, and many speculations flew through the town as easily as a leaf caught in a breeze. Camelot waited with bated breath for the outcome.
Arthur and his father, Lynette and her father, and Gaius slipped into the room to negotiate. Lynette’s father, pale-faced, looked quite terrified as if he were afraid of being struck dead where he stood. Uther’s face was set in a frown, but, from Merlin’s account of the king, it always was. Gaius entered last, probably the only person in the room with a level head on his
(or her) shoulders.
You were then left to wait outside the throne room for any scrap of news. You paced the hallway alone, hearing the click of your heels echo off each wall. It was enough to drive anybody insane. After what seemed far too long of a time to discuss a time-sensitive issue, Merlin bounded out from around the corner.
“The wedding’s been thrown off!” He whispered gleefully, racing to meet you. How he knew, you had no idea, but he was so excited, it seemed, that he couldn’t contain himself (of course, neither could you, so it wasn’t as if that mattered). You threw yourself into his arms, celebratory laughter on your lips.
Merlin took your face in his hands, thumbs over your cheekbones, and kissed you with surprising conviction. Though you were taken by surprise at first, the pleasurable fluttering in your stomach gave you unexpected courage to continue. You didn’t pull away and instead welcomed his warm, soft lips on yours, eyes fluttering closed.
Merlin withdrew far too quickly for your liking, stepping away entirely so that you were no longer touching. He raised a hand and awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck.
“I-I’m sorry, Y/N, that was out of place.” Merlin murmured, blushing. He either couldn’t or wouldn’t meet your eye, instead focusing on the scuff on the tip of his boot.
“No, no, it was fine. I, uh, actually enjoyed it, really.” You felt your face heat up as well, lips still tingling with the memory of the kiss.
“Really?” Merlin’s face split into a broad grin. He moved as though he were going to kiss you again, but then Arthur’s voice filled the room.
“Merlin? Where are you? I’ve got fantastic news!”
You and Merlin immediately split apart, both equally reluctant. Lynette’s voice followed Arthur’s, resonating through the hallway though the voices’ owners were nowhere to be seen.
“Y/N! Where have you gone? The weddings been called off! can you believe it?”
When Lynette and Arthur, strolling arm in arm, finally found the two of you in the hallway, they neither noticed nor questioned your unusual blushes or the reason that you were standing so very far apart, as if you were afraid to be caught standing any closer.
As Lynette led you in one direction back to her chambers and Arthur with Merlin in another, you glanced back over your shoulder for only a moment. You caught Merlin doing the same, staring back at you with something you couldn’t identify in his eyes. You smiled quickly back at him before Lynette, unsatisfied with how slow you were walking, grabbed your hand and urged you faster.
Once safely inside the privacy of her chambers, the burning question in the back of your mind finally caught aflame and tumbled from your mouth before you could stop it.
“Lynette,” you wrung your hands together, “what does it feel like to be in love?”
Her face brightened, her thoughts undoubtedly scaling mountains and crossing fields to be at home with her beloved Miles. She took both of your hands in her own and excitedly babbled on for the first time in days, like a brook that had nearly gone dry after a heavy rainfall, finding itself flooded and cheerful once more.
“Oh,” she sighed dreamily, “there is nothing quite like it. Your thoughts, your hopes, your dreams–now they all share a face, a name, a voice. Life is nothing without them, and suddenly they become everything. Love shared with another is like a fire in your heart. In your soul.” She finished wisely.
“Oh no.” Your eyes widened, recognizing the symptoms. Were you really in love? With Merlin, no less?
Summary: “The reader is friends with Arthur (she’s a princess whose brother is the king of some kingdom) and is sarcastic, blunt, kind of rude and has no time for anyone unless they involve sleep or books, and usually hangs out with Morgana when she visits Camelot. But somehow she falls for the dork of a manservant that is Merlin.”
Warnings: fluff, insinuations
A/N: I love writing ladies who take no shit. Also, Merlin’s described as “the dork of a manservant.“ I’m in love.
“Honestly, brother, I’m not a child. I can take care of myself while I’m away.” You pointed out after being forced to listen to a good five minute lecture from your brother. You had been invited by the royal court to spend the summer away from your kingdom and in Camelot instead. Your brother shook his head, a smile playing across his lips.
“I know, I know. Still, it seems like only yesterday we were both children and father would spend hours trying to teach us proper decorum.”
“Only one of us actually paid attention.” You smirked. “And that’s why they made you king.” Your brother returned your smile and chucked.
“Yes, indeed. Oh, and please don’t forget to deliver my letter to King Arthur.” He reminded you, having tucked the parchment into your satchel himself.
“I won’t forget.”
“And, Y/N?” Your brother sighed.
“Yes?” You asked innocently.
“Behave yourself.” He pursed his lips and gave you a hug goodbye. Across the land, you had acquired a bit of a reputation for your quirks–most notably your complete lack of subordination for those above your status (as a Princess, there were few).
“I could try.” You grinned, “but that would be so boring.”
—
The carriage was waiting for you outside, all of your bags packed and ready to go. Shooing the coachmen away, you yanked the door open yourself and climbed inside. Frankly, you hated riding in carriages and would much rather prefer traveling by horseback, but your brother had recently uncovered a large painting and wanted to send it along with you to give as a gift to King Arthur.
The painting was a surprise–your brother’s letter explained the entire thing. The painting was, in itself, a portrait of Arthur’s mother, Ygraine.
In one of the less used rooms it was found and your brother decided to send it home to Camelot where it belonged. The portrait hung on the side of the carriage, where it was deemed safest to keep it unharmed during the journey.
The deceased queen’s kindly face smiled down at you. Her frame swung slightly as the pair of horses hitched to the carriage began to walk. You briefly wondered if you would have to catch her were she to fall from the wall during the journey. Luckily, the roads between your kingdom and Camelot were smooth, so you believed you’d be safe.
You pulled a book from your satchel and frittered the long hours away in the events of the story. Before you knew it, the driver has opened the carriage door and informed you that you had arrived. Leaving him with instructions to take care of the painting while keeping it hidden from Arthur, you grabbed your satchel with the letter and your book–which you had been interrupted from–and went off to find the king.
Kings were odd creatures. Sometimes predictable, sometimes not. Finding kings was a terribly difficult undertaking for one person, especially in his home castle. Arthur could be anywhere, be it in the stables, the throne room, the physician’s chambers, the sparring fields, the courtyard, or any number of additional places.
You decided that it would be best to leave the letter in his chamber and then return to your own for a quick nap before dinner–where you would present the painting to him. You’d be certain to find the king at dinner. He never missed a meal.
The alliance between your kingdom and Camelot was many generations strong. In fact, you had spent nearly as many months within Camelot’s citadel that you had spent in your own in your home kingdom. Morgana and Arthur were your dearest friends besides your brother, and you had years upon years of shared memories.
Needless to say, you knew your way around the castle very well, almost like the back of your own hand (well, except for the one time a freckle appeared out of nowhere on the back of your hand and you could have sworn it was not there before). Slipping your brother’s letter beneath the doorframe to Arthur’s room, you walked the dozen or so yards to the chambers you called your own when you visited.
Being one of Camelot’s finest allies came with the perks of a constant room in the palace to call your own. Your room in Camelot was, quite literally, your home away from home. It was adjacent to the Lady Morgana’s bedchambers as well, and you could recall countless evenings you spent there, talking late into the night.
You pushed the door open and grinned when you found the room just as you’d left it. You’d brought a small collection of copies of your favorite books many years ago, so you always had ample reading material. The bookshelf was next to the bed, which was piled high with pillows and blankets. The King had learned the hard way that you preferred to have multiple pillows on your bed when you stomped down to his room in the middle of the night and stole all of his.
You would never forget the look on his face when he found you and Morgana in a makeshift fort made of his own pillows. You smiled just remembering that find memory. Over the years many things had changed, but even more stayed the same.
You were delighted to find your bags and the portrait for Arthur already set in your room. That meant that your work was done and you flopped back onto your bed, intent on taking a quick nap before the king was informed of your arrival.
However, your plans for sneaking off to dreamland were quickly dashed when you turned over and found yourself nose to nose with a certain dark haired manservant. In surprise, you screamed at the top of your lungs before you recognized the intruder to be Merlin.
“Merlin! What the hell are you doing in my bed?” You scrabbled backwards on the duvet, reaching behind you and grabbing the nearest object–a letter opener. Merlin didn’t reply. His shoulders shook with laughter and he couldn’t manage to get a single word out.
“So help me, if I don’t get a satisfactory answer I will cut your ears off and feed them to you!” You threatened, brandishing the letter opener with as much confidence as you could. Merlin knew you would never hurt him, but you did want to scare him a little. Or at least try.
“Not with that, I hope.” He replied cheekily. “It won’t even cut through a letter. Might I suggest using a sword? It’d be a hell of a lot easier.”
Rolling your eyes, you stretched to set the letter opener back on your bedside table. Merlin plopped down on the bed right next to you, your knee touching his and your thighs aligned. He reclined back and relaxed, resting his head on one of your pillows.
“Tell me, Y/N, how are the state of affairs in your home kingdom?” He inquired, lazily stretching out on your bed like a cat in the sun. You half-expected him to begin purring. You giggled, the notion of Merlin purring like a cat absolutely absurd.
“What is it?” He craned his neck to look up at you. “Something funny?” Because of the pillows, Merlin’s hair stuck up in every direction and made him look all the more ridiculous.
“No, nothing at all. Everything is just fine in my kingdom.” You replied truthfully, mussing up Merlin’s hair with your fingers. His eyes closed slightly and a small smile bloomed across his face. “What about Camelot?” You asked.
Merlin buried his face in your shoulder, flinging his arm so it lay across your waist. “Don’t even ask.” He mumbled into the fabric of your dress. “Arthur’s driving me insane.”
“I expect nothing less.” You grinned. “He had better be keeping you on your toes.” Tracing the lines of Merlin’s jacket from his shoulder to his wrist with your fingertips, you soon grew bored with the small talk. It was all terribly impersonal and dreadfully meaningless.
“Merlin,” you began. He tilted his head up to look at you, his wide eyes deep blue. “I’ve missed you so much.” You admitted in a soft voice, knowing that once the words escaped your throat you wouldn’t be able to reclaim them.
Merlin shifted so that his hand was lifted from your hip and could gently cup your face. He smiled and his thumb swept along your cheekbone.
“I’ve missed you more.” He admitted, kissing the tip of your nose. “We all have.” Merlin flushed.
---
“I’m sorry! I don’t want to hurt you.” He stopped, resting his hands on your waist. You shook your head and tightened your grip on the pole of the four poster bed, bracing yourself.
“No, keep going. When I was younger my mother always told me that beauty hurts.” You wrinkled your nose as Merlin yanked on the cords once again. You felt your lungs compress and it was harder to breathe, though still manageable. With one more rib-crushing pull, Merlin tied the laces and looked his work over.
“It sounds like your mother’s a wonderful lady.” He pressed his palms flat against the lacing on your back and slowly traced the lines. A shiver ran up your spine and you could practically see the little self-satisfied grin on Merlin’s face, knowing that he was the one that could make you shiver like that.
A small act of revenge, you whirled around and immediately raked your fingers through his hair and pulled him down for a brief kiss. His hands flew up to cup your face but by then you were already shooing him away.
“Go and grab my gown. Arthur’s expecting us to arrive before the drinks are served.” You pointed to the trunk that your maidservant back home had packed specially with the clothes you despised wearing, but required for all important social functions.
Merlin pouted and you threw a pillow at him. It bounced harmlessly off of his back, but you did get a laugh at watching him trip a little, his long, lithe body moving freely in order to keep him on his feet. The hinges of the trunk clicked and he pulled out the dress right on top, holding it up to his body. It was one of your favorites, a dusty shade of pink.
“This one?” He asked, looking down at himself.
“Not your color.” You snickered. “Try a blue one. Blue brings out your eyes.”
“Very funny.” Merlin smirked, folding the dress over his arm and using his foot to nudge the trunk closed. “But I think that red looks best. A good color accent, don’t you think?” He gestured to the red scarf around his neck.
“Of course I do.” You agreed, running your hands down the stiff fabric of the corset, making sure it was smooth. Merlin grinned, adjusting his neckerchief as he carried your gown over.
“Alright, now, how do we get this thing on?” He examined each of the layers of thick fabric with a mixture of curiosity and fear. You chuckled and separated the different pieces.
“Start with the chemise. That goes underneath everything.” You grabbed the light, floaty shirt and pulled it over your head. The fabric went well past your thighs, but it didn’t matter.
“Underskirt next.” You gestured to the separate piece that was a slightly darker shade of rose. It wasn’t attached to the dress at all and only was seen through the split up the center of the gown on top. Your stuffy old maidservant had informed you that the proper term was a kirtle, but it didn’t really matter.
“Now the overskirt.” You instructed, turning so that Merlin could get the open-fronted skirt around your waist. The ties sat right above your hips and he quickly laced them up, tightening them as he went. You watched him, amused.
“Lastly, the bodice.” You raised your arms over your head and Merlin slipped it over your head. Tugging it down, the angled stomacher covered the ties of the overskirt and made it look like one coherent piece of clothing.
“That is far too much work to get dressed.” Merlin declared, fumbling with the decorative lacing on the back of the bodice.
“Believe me,” you smirked, “it’s even harder getting undressed.”
Merlin paused, placing his hands on your hips so that he could gently spin you around to face him. You tilted your head, looking up at him. His eyes were cool, but burning with intensity.
A/N: The swords I am referring to in this work are more similar to broadswords or hand-and-a-half swords. They’re very long, heavy, and wide. I’m not talking about rapiers, which are more effective for stabbing, but are much thinner and smaller. Broadswords are most similar to what Arthur and the Knights wielded in the show.
Fun fact! I have some training in sword fighting and I know how to fight with a broadsword.
You know, one time, I wrote a theatrical scene a bit like this prompt. My character was a princess and her younger brother had just been crowned king, when she should rightfully have held the title. So, naturally, she was a bit pissed and takes it out on him through her sword. Here’s a brief summary of the scene:
I said “Congratulations on your coronation, dear brother. Now, tell me. How does the weight of the crown upon your head feel? Any heavier than a sword in your back?”
Then I slashed across his torso with my sword and we fought briefly.
“Why are you doing this?” He asked as I attacked.
“Don’t act like you don’t know why. That crown you wear is rightfully mine!”
He then disarmed me and cast my sword aside, moving back to hold his sword to my throat.
“I’ll have you executed for this.” He said. I then ducked beneath his arm and turned his own sword on him, running him through with it. I then pushed him back and spat on him.
“Long live the king.” I said, stabbing him through again. I stood up, tossed the sword away and began to walk off towards downstage right.
“Long live the queen.”
It was probably the best scene I’ve gotten to write/act. I love theatre.
Anyways, now to the actual story.
Your mare’s hooves pounded against the packed earth. You could tell she was beginning to tire but, truly, you were unable to slow your pace even for a moment. Escape was the only thing that mattered. Tearing through the underbrush, leaves and branches ripped at your face, tore at your clothes. Of course, it didn’t matter, not at all.
Eyeing the sun over your head, you made a few quick mental calculations. If you were correct, you had been riding long enough that you should have been nearing Camelot by now. With renewed energy, you spurred your horse faster. You were nearing shelter; you were so close to safety.
From the corner of your eye, you caught the glint of metal–either from a sword or armor–through the trees. Immediately slowing, you cursed inwardly when you realized that your sword was not at your hip like normal. Creeping through the underbrush, you quickly tried to discern whether the other presence in the forest was friend or foe.
A brunet and a blond rode side by side on horseback, ambling along a path. Thank the gods it was a friend.
“Arthur!” You shouted from atop your horse, quickly dismounting and hoping to catch the blond’s attention. Of course you were able to recognize that insufferably charming twat anywhere. “Arthur!”
The blond turned and his eyes widened. He was on alert and reached for his sword, but lowered his arm when he recognized you. “Y/N! Is that you?” He nudged his horse into a halt and slid off its side, frowning. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, a big welcoming ‘Hello’ to you too, you prat.” You rolled your eyes, reaching your hand out to clasp his in a firm handshake, clapping him on the back. He reciprocated the same to you, as if you were one of the Knights. Dumbstruck, Merlin couldn’t help but stare. He had no idea who you were, but your causal insulation of Arthur made him like you immediately.
“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Arthur asked, curious as to why he would find you so far from the borders of your kingdom. You rarely saw each other, save for important festivities and official gatherings. Merlin tilted his head, his mind struggling to figure out who you were and how you knew Arthur.
“In simplest terms, I’ve come seeking refuge.” You said, lifting your chin and staring him square in the eye. You may have been reduced to depending on charity, but you were not going to beg. Merlin’s eyes widened and he glanced towards Arthur for a split-second.
“Refuge? From whom?” Wide-eyed, Arthur frowned.
“The King. My mother is dead.” You tightened your jaw, the memory still fresh and painful in your mind, like a wound rubbed with salt and then stitched closed.
“But you were her only heir?” Arthur protested, his hand immediately flying to the hilt of his sword. Whoever it was that had challenged your authority had hell to pay.
“The key piece of that sentence is the past tense form of the verb. I’ve been cast aside from my own kingdom.” You said with a bitterness your voice and heart.
You had never even laid eyes on the man that had stolen your throne. His armies attacked the kingdom in the dead of night, when all were asleep. He slaughtered many, and destroyed the livelihoods of many others. You were torn from your bed in the middle of the night and thrown in the dungeons.
The next morning he had made plans to execute both you and your supporters. Fortunately, you were able to escape. The guilt of the fates of those who were not so lucky weighed heavily on your shoulders. What had become of your friends, your advisors? There was no way for you to know. You had been driven from your own kingdom! Arthur placed a solemn hand on your shoulder and pursed his lips.
“I am sorry to hear about your mother. She was a wonderful woman. A strong leader.”
“Aye, she was.” You agreed. “Too bad that the new King has no respect for her memory. She brought us out of ruin and into a golden age.”
You and Arthur shared a look, remembering the turmoil in your kingdom before your father’s assassination by mercenaries. He was not a popular ruler. Your mother had been far better of a leader than he was, and she did her job well. She taught you everything she knew, and you could feel in your heart that you were ready to take the throne–until it was violently ripped out from under you.
“Well, you will always be able to find help within Camelot. We are your allies.” Arthur said assuredly. “You may continue on your journey alongside us. We can keep you safe until we get back to Camelot.”
“Thank you, Arthur.” You braved a smile. In light of all that had happened recently, you were comforted to know that good did still exist in this world. Silently, both you and Arthur both got back up atop your horses, continuing straight back towards Camelot, together.
After a short while of riding in silence, you glanced over your shoulder to find the brunet staring at you.
“You’re Merlin, I presume?” You asked him, to which he nodded. “The physician’s assistant and worse manservant to walk the earth. Arthur’s told me much about you, but I don’t believe we’ve met.” You smirked, tugging at your horse’s reigns so that your horse was walking alongside his.
“I don’t think so either. I would remember you.” Merlin said with a lopsided grin. Now that you mentioned it, he had a vague notion of seeing you from across the throne room many months ago, when you came to visit. He remembered admiring your strength, your courage, your beauty.
“I do hope that Arthur’s idiocy hasn’t driven you insane by now.” You teased, knowing Arthur well enough that such jabs could be made without serious offense to the prince. Merlin grinned, his face broadening.
“To be honest, he’s the insane one.” Merlin admitted, patting his horse’s mane lightly. You chuckled, throwing a look over your shoulder back at Arthur.
“I can put you in the stocks for that, Merlin.” Arthur threatened.
“You’ll do no such thing.” You said matter-of-factly. Arthur huffed when you called him out on his bluff, but you kept smiling.
Arthur knew the land the best, so he chose the spot where you would spend the night. Your horse was exhausted, so your party stopped to rest early. Merlin gathered firewood and Arthur laid out the bedrolls. Both men had been insistent that you merely rest; they could tell that you’d been through a lot.
Still, sitting on your backside while there was work that could be–should be–done was rather irritating. You were far from being very tired, in fact, you were twitchy and hyper, though you just accounted that anxiety to the fact that you were on edge from the events of the last few days. You craned your neck to look back at Merlin and check on him, but your peripheral caught movement in the background.
“Did you see something?” You speculated, peering through the underbrush. The sun was lowering steadily in the sky, the elongated shadows it cast occasionally warping into ominous figures. Perhaps you just saw a distinctly odd tree or something of the like.
No.
You were wrong. First it was the unnatural crack of a twig, a discordant tune in the forest’s song. Your instincts kicked in and your heart began to race. Adrenaline flowed through your veins and then you saw them, creeping through the trees. Hidden foes. Armed men, malice written upon their faces, sprung from concealment and attacked.
“Mercenaries!” You cried, recognizing the odd crest they wore as they came into the light. Their crest symbolized their alliance to none but their own–and the highest bidder. Your hands groped around for something, anything, you could use as a weapon.
Your searching hands found a large piece of firewood and you swung it at the mercenary barreling towards you, aiming for the joint of his elbow. You had to get him to drop the sword before he cut you to ribbons. Just as the firewood splintered against his arm, he was thrown back by some unseen force; the man was knocked unconscious by the fall. His sword fell to the ground and you quickly salvaged it, giving it a few test swings. The cold steel was much better than the moldy old log.
You spun on your heel and surveyed the beginnings of the battle around you. There were four of them in total that you could see, but their fighting strategies weren’t unified whatsoever. Arthur was holding two men off on his own, but you knew he would soon fatigue.
Your first instinct was to turn and help him, but out of the corner of your eye you saw Merlin getting backed up against a tree, his assailant raising his blade, ready to strike. His sword was poised above his head and ready to fall down atop of Merlin, who was defenseless.
You shouted curses and ran to push Merlin out of harm’s way. You stepped out in front of the brunet; the sword meant for him hit you instead, slicing your jacket at the shoulder and splitting the flesh below it. You felt a pinching sting in your non-dominant arm, but did your best to ignore the worst of the pain, at least for the time being. Keeping yourself between the mercenary and Merlin, you raised your sword and challenged him, your wounded arm hanging limply at your side.
Your world view narrowed until it was just you and your opponent. In a situation of life and death, kill or be killed, you had to block out everything else in order to survive. It was just you, and him. The enemy. Nothing else. The sword already felt like lead in your hands, but you knew that you did not have a choice–remain strong or be killed.
Shifting your weight to the balls of your feet, you sized up your opponent, the calculations flying through your brain. He was large and slow; you were small and fast. Wits and instinct alone could carry you through this fight. Quick as a cobra, you swung your blade to try and hit his midsection, below his ribs. He blocked your attack and the clanging of metal was heard.
Suddenly, his sword danced into action, slashing through the air with awesome power. A rapid succession of attacks to your shoulder, thigh, head fell upon you. You countered each of them, his blade ricocheting off of yours. He was much stronger than you, but you were faster, able to squirm and dodge his blows.
In order to block attack from above to your head, you twisted your sword so that you could place your opposite hand on the flat of the blade and reinforce your parry, the force throwing his sword off of yours. You hissed in pain at exerting your injured arm, but at least you were successful. Due to your skilled parry, his weight was thrown off balance and he dropped to one knee, following through the swing because of his inertia.
You hesitated, blade poised to strike. His throat was an open target, easy enough to slice and be a quick end. Truly, you did not want to kill him, but you feared that you may not have had a choice. Ears ringing with the sound of metal-on-metal, you did the noble thing: you rammed the pommel of your sword into the back of his skull and knocked him unconscious.
He slumped to the ground and your attention was brought to Arthur’s struggle. The two remaining mercenaries were relentless. Shouting to draw their attention away, you dove straight into the battle to fight alongside Arthur. You were not going to let him die for you.
You had just taken up your sword on Arthur’s second opponent when you heard the heart-stopping crack of a tree branch snapping above your head. The heavy branch, laden with leaves and fruit, plummeted to the floor. The man you had just begun to fight broke the branch’s fall. His mangled body was barely visible beneath it.
Wincing, you averted your eyes from the fallen branch. Your heart pounded in your chest and your lungs burned from overexertion. Still, none of these things mattered until the battle was over and won. Arthur was still fighting bravely, though it was obvious that the prince was heavily fatigued, slowing down and managing to find himself cornered by a tree.
Mustering the rest of your strength, fueled by adrenaline, you thrust your sword through the back of Arthur’s opponent. You tightened your jaw, feeling the resistance of the muscles, organs, and sinew against your blade. Your blade was not made for stabbing, but it would do. His body soon stopped convulsing and you needed both hands to wrench the blade from his corpse.
Another shooting pain ran up your opposite arm and you were violently reminded of the very first mercenary–the one you had protected Merlin from. You glanced over at your shoulder to find it sticky and damp with blood. You dropped your sword and cradled your arm to your chest in an attempt to better examine the wound. You gently rocked your arm back and forth to test the joint, hissing in pain as you did so.
“Thank you. You saved my life.” Arthur said, his voice gruff and face flushed and sticky with sweat. Keeping your jaw clenched, you nodded, focused entirely on the low buzz of pain radiating from your shoulder.
“You’d have done the same for me.” You gently skimmed your fingers over the rough edge of one of the cuts on your shoulder, wincing. Your hand came away bloody and Merlin gasped.
“Y/N! You’re bleeding!” He immediately was at your side, his brow furrowed.
“I can see that Gaius has trained you well.” You remarked sarcastically. “The instincts of a–Ah! Bloody hell, that hurt!”
Merlin had wrapped one arm around your bicep and another braced against your collarbone. In a swift motion, he had pushed one way and pulled in another, coaxing the mangled bone in your arm to do his bidding. An obscene scraping sound was heard, but then your arm felt minutely better.
“I’m sorry!” He cried through a clenched jaw. “I think the, erm, force of the blade shattered the bone in your arm and when you kept fighting it was pulled out of alignment. I just tried resetting it, and I think it worked, but there’s not much I can do without Gaius…” Merlin babbled on, his eyes set squarely on your wound and his mind focused on a single track.
“Merlin!” You touched his arm to get him to be quiet. “It’s alright. You’re a physician; I trust your judgement.” You turned, glaring at Arthur. “However, Arthur, I simply don’t understand why you complain about Merlin so often. Can’t you see? He’s brilliant!”
Merlin flushed with pride, but Arthur merely rolled his eyes. He sheathed his sword, surveying the carnage all around you. Your sword still lay on the forest floor where you’d dropped it, gleaming with blood.
“I keep him around for a reason. He’s wonderful company. Sometimes.” The blond said, though it was obvious that he, too, was quite proud of the boy.
“We need to bind your arm.” Merlin said suddenly, as if he had just remembered. “The bones have been set but they need something to hold them in place. Arthur, can you find me two strong sticks I can make a splint out of? Maybe a third, but I’m hoping that we won’t need a tourniquet too.” He untied his red scarf from his neck and began tearing it into wide strips.
“Merlin, you don’t have to…” You began to say before he looked up at you with his big, blue, doe eyes, which shut you right up. Tenderly, he began wrapping the cloth around your shoulder, pressing down to get it to staunch the blood.
From his viewpoint, he had seen the heavy blade hammer down on your shoulder, slicing your jacket open and scraping down your arm. Frankly, he was surprised that your shoulder was not dislocated, but that your arm was merely broken in a few places. He felt a tinge of guilt that he hadn’t done anything to protect your and he tried to remedy it by giving you the best medical care he could.
Arthur returned not much later and Merlin was able to sandwich the straight sticks in between the layers of cloth to hold the healing bone in place. Luckily, the third stick was not needed for a makeshift tourniquet; after all, Merlin wasn’t quite sure if he had enough cloth to make one.
“You’re not bleeding heavily enough to require a tourniquet,” he said to you, comfortingly, “but I think that you definitely will need stitches just to make sure. Don’t worry, Y/N. Gaius is the finest physician I know.”
“We must return to Camelot immediately.” Arthur concluded, moving to collect the horses, untying each lead quickly.
“I don’t know if it will be safe for her to ride!” Merlin protested.
“I will be fine.” You assured him, pulling a jacket from the pack on your horse’s back and using it to form a sling. “I’ve been riding since I was very young; it will take more than a broken arm to stop me.”
With a slight boost from Arthur, you were able to get up into your horse’s saddle without jostling your arm too badly. Luckily, you happened to be riding your favorite mare, the one you had bonded with since you were a child. You needed only a single hand on the reigns and her instincts did the rest.
The ride back to Camelot was spent in silence. Your party of three, all exhausted, all sneaking terrified glanced over their shoulders (are we being followed?), finally arrived late in the night. Arthur, though reluctant, took care of the horses while Merlin brought you straight to Gaius.
It was lucky that the old physician was still awake at this hour. You silently followed Merlin through his door, gritting your teeth at the throbbing in your shoulder. You were far too proud to complain about the pain.
“Y/N? Is that you? My, how you’ve grown! What are you doing here?” Gaius greeted you with a flurry of questions, per usual. His eyes widened when he laid eyes on your crudely bandaged shoulder and his jaw set, many of his questions answered.
“Mercenaries.” You helped to explain while he bustled around collecting necessary supplies.
“She saved my life.” Merlin said with a quirk of his lips. “Took a sword to the shoulder. Bones are broken; I set them best I could. I think she needs stitches, but I wanted you to look it over first.”
Gaius nodded with each point
Merlin discussed, the two men conferring about your injury. You worked to unwrap the bandages while Merlin brought one of the high-backed chairs over to you. You sat sideways, draping your injured arm over the back of it. Gaius pulled a stool up behind your chair and gently began to examine your wound.
“You’ve done a fine job setting the bone, my boy. I do believe all that’s left are stitches.” He said, nodding. Gaius went to sanitize a needle and thread while Merlin moved around to your side, grabbing a second chair.
“Do you want to hold my hand?” Merlin offered politely, thinking you might want something to squeeze while Gaius stitched you up. You nodded with a clenched jaw and interlaced your fingers loosely with his.
“Thanks.” You murmured, leaning further into the chair. Merlin watched with wide eyes as Gaius moved to take his needle and slowly, gingerly, knit the wound slashed across your shoulder back together.
Each time the needle pierced your flesh you groaned; each time the thread was pulled tight you whimpered, squeezing Merlin’s hand tighter. Your face was contorted with pain and Merlin couldn’t bear to watch, but he still fought to try and offer you some comforts.
During the worst part of it, he gently stroked you hair, though you made no motion to confirm that you felt it. After Gaius had finished, he lightly brushed a poultice over the entire area and you immediately opened your eyes and dropped Merlin’s hand, embarrassed.
“Thank you.” You swallowed hard, trying to hide the hoarseness in your voice. “And you too, Merlin.” You added, trying to stand up. A hand was instantaneously on your opposite shoulder, pushing you back down.
“Wait! You need to rest, Y/N. You need to stay still a little longer at least.” Merlin was quite insistent.
“Fine.” You huffed, glancing down at the angry red gash across your arm. The new, black stitches stood out on the sickly purple, blue, and green bruise like ants marching along the rotting produce often pelted at the unfortunate fellows that found themselves in the stocks.
“Y/N, can I ask you something?”
You looked up and raised an eyebrow at Merlin. He was frowning, seemingly deep in thought.
“Anything.” You shrugged, watching as Merlin rewrapped your arm and shoulder with new, clean bandages.
“Why did you risk your life to save me? I’m nothing but a servant boy and you don’t even know me. I mean nothing to you. So why did you do it?”
“In order to be a ruler, you must understand one thing.” You lifted your chin and stared him right in the eye. “Everyone, no matter how unimportant they think they are, is worthy. Everyone matters in the grand scheme of things. One person’s life does not mean more than another’s.”
“Good morrow, Y/N.” Your father greeted you calmly the morning after the party. The heavy-lidded look on his face was calculating, like a cobra posed to strike.
“Good morning, father.” You answered back just as coldly, suspiciously. You had not slept well the night previous, images of Merlin flipping through your skull and disrupting any possibility of fearfulness.
“I should be congratulating you on your engagement.” Your father began and you froze.
“But, father–” you protested.
“I have scheduled your wedding for a week from this eve. I do hope that you will at least feign excitement to meet your betrothed. He will be visiting later this very day. At least try and make him happy.” Your father glowered, turning his back to you.
You froze, glaring daggers at the back of you father’s head . He had truly gone against your wishes and promised you in marriage to another. Your blood boiled and it was evident then that you knew what you needed to do.
“You may not keep your promises, but I will. Goodbye, father– if I can even call you that any longer.”“ You said, turning on your heel and stalking out of his study. He shouted curses after you and you knew that you had little time.
Gwen had left early that day, having been sent home in order to rest. The party the night before had completely exhausted both her and you. Not a soul crossed your path or bothered you as you made the long trek back to your bed chambers.
Upon arrival, you locked the door behind you. You changed into your plainest clothing and your warmest cloak, draping the hood over your head to conceal your identity.
Sweeping your room quickly, you tossed anything that you might need in your satchel. There was not much, as you had to content yourself with leaving behind every single stitch of clothing embroidered with the crest of the Capulets. They were not your family any longer.
You cracked the door to your balcony open and dropped your bag out into the yard, its fall cushioned by the hedges below. Sparing a glance back at your childhood home, you tightened your jaw and lowered yourself down the balcony, wriggling down the vine trellises until your feet were on the ground.
From there, finding your way to the Montague’s palace was far simpler than you expected it to be. A sheepherder, back crooked from tending his livestock over the years, kindly directed you to the estate on the opposite side of the valley from yours.
You stayed on the edge of the meandering road, avoiding the eyes of any and all passerby. The Montague property was far closer than you had expected, and it only took you about half an hour to get there on foot.
Getting onto the Montague estate turned out to be an entirely separate challenge; a large brick wall ringed around the entire property. Frowning, you decided that going in the front gate would be a terrible idea. Sneaking around to the back, you found a small grove where the trees nestled right up to the wall. A hollowed-out dead log provided a barrier between the grove and the rest of the forest.
After hiding your satchel in the log, you were able to brace yourself between a tree and the wall and shimmy your way up until you were sitting atop the wall. From up there, you could see the gentle rolling slopes of the estate, right up to their grand mansion. When you looked at it, it didn’t seem all that different from yours at all.
Jumping down, the cover of trees protected you and kept you hidden as you made your way closer to the home. Furrowing your brow, your mind raced to come up with the best way to go about doing this. ‘This,’ of course, being the improbable break-in that you were attempting to pull off. You had never once set foot within the Montague estate and, until very recently, never wanted to either.
Now, of course, you needed to find Merlin, which was a challenge all on its own. Now, if the Montague residence was anything like your own, the midday hustle and bustle of servants rushing to and fro would provide more than enough cover for one to get inside unnoticed. In fact, many times you had been able to slip out of your own home undetected, without anyone stopping you or demanding you be accompanied by at least am escort or someone.
Luckily, the Montague servants seemed to have no real talent in keen observance. You waltzed right through the servant’s entrance and found yourself in the kitchen, which was adjacent to the laundry rooms, with their boiling vats of clothing and soap. Neither the cooks nor the laundresses paid you any heed as you made your way towards the center of the home. You thought yourself either entirely mad or ridiculously lucky.
The Montague palace was ornately decorated from floor to ceiling, though you found little difference between their home and yours. The Capulets were very proud people, so of course their decor was at least standard to their rival’s. Regardless, the grand, sweeping staircase in the middle of the foyer took your breath away. Stately marble columns were draped with yards and yards of thick, lush fabric ; it served no purpose but looked fabulous.
Every surface was adorned with some sort of floral arrangement and every single tile of the marble floor was spotless and shining. You almost felt bad for walking over them. Once inside, you suddenly felt very insignificant and small–and scared. Pursing your lips, you kept your head down and dutifully followed a servant carrying a basket of pressed linens. He would be heading towards the section of the house with the bedrooms, wouldn’t he?
As your hard-soled shoes clacked lightly on the marble, you were suddenly very aware of just how dangerous the position that you were in was. If you were discovered to be both and intruder and a Capulet… Why, you’d be put to death!
The servant stopped at the end of a long, winding hallway and you ducked behind a pillar (it seemed that they weren’t so useless after all). He knocked twice before opening the door, ceremoniously stepping inside.
"These are your fresh linens, My lord Merlin.” He said in a dull, breathy tone of voice before the door swung shut.
Your heartbeat quickened. You’d found Merlin! Now all you needed to do was wait until that pesky servant left and everything would be okay. Feeling jittery, you scanned the corridor from behind your pillar. Certainly it was only a matter of time before someone discovered you hiding back there. Faintly, you could hear the clacking of steel toed boots on the marble approaching your end of the hallway.
Thinking quickly, you snapped the ribbon that held the elegantly draped fabric in place and watched as it cascaded downwards, effectively concealing you in a small curtained-in area. The footsteps bypassed you and, as the noise of the boots faded, you could feel your breathing slow and your nerves relax.
“Thank you, my Lord Merlin. If I can be of assistance in any way later, do not hesitate to call upon me.” The pompous and breathy servant was back, this time, though, he was leaving. You heard the door swing shut and peeked out from behind your makeshift curtain to watch the servant’s receding form stalk down the hallway.
As soon as he was out of sight, you knocked twice on the door, copying his manner, before pushing it in and stepping inside. You looked around quickly, trying to discern the best course of action. Merlin’s chambers were very spacious, much like you’d expected. He had a four poster bed in the corner and a magnificent bookshelf across from it. You were envious; your father would never allow such a thing in your bedroom.
A grand table, large enough to seat at least eight men, was situated in front of the fireplace with nine chairs all in a row around it. Turning slowly on your heel to look at everything–the paintings, the artwork, the fine decor, you furrowed your brow, puzzled. As you searched the room, you noticed one troubling thing: Merlin was nowhere to be seen inside his own chambers.
“Merlin?” You asked quietly wandering in towards the center of the room.
“Is that you, George?” Merlin asked. “I did not expect your return so soon.” The voice’s owner hidden, the sound instead carried out from behind a dressing screen you hadn’t noticed before. A shirt was carelessly slung over the top of the screen and your eyes widened. You couldn’t will your mouth to move and make a sound; essentially, you were frozen to the spot.
Merlin, clad only in a pair of low-slung trousers, stepped out from behind the screen. When he saw you, immediately he bounded over to be by your side, taking your hands in his own. Your eyes couldn’t help but rake over his bare chest, upwards to his shoulders and down across the flat expanses of muscle of his torso.
“Y/N!” He exclaimed, startled. You squeezed his hands tightly, worriedly pursing your lips.
“My father’s set my engagement. I don’t know to whom, but I’m supposed to meet him today. I couldn’t stay there and just let him send me away–”
Mid-sentence, Merlin’s mouth was suddenly on yours, hot and insistent. Your eyes fluttered shut
and one of his hands dropped to the small of your back as he gently urged you forwards, closer to him, pressed against his bare chest.
“I won’t let that happen. I promise.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Merlin worked his way across your jawline, moving down to the dip in your throat. His warm breath fanned against your skin and it tickled. You titled your head back and gasped. He sucked lightly at your collarbone, his tongue and teeth worrying over the small purplish mark he made.
Three loud knocks resonated from the door. Both merlin and you knew that it was not a servant, and in burst Gwaine. His eyebrows raised upon witnessing the, ahem, compromising position that he found you and Merlin in. Gwaine let out a low whistle and Merlin rolled his eyes.
“Congratulations, mate.” He winked bawdily. You blushed brightly and wished nothing more than to gain the ability to disappear at a moment’s notice.
“Glad you could make it on time… For once.” Merlin replied, racing to collect a clean blue shirt from his wardrobe and slip it over his head. He pulled out a bright red triangle of fabric and tied it around his neck like a scarf.
“Everything’s ready.” Gwaine said proudly. “Horses saddled, provisions packed–all we need is the two of you.”
“What’s going on?” You asked Merlin, glancing anxiously from him to Gwaine.
“We’re breaking your engagement.” Gwaine supplied helpfully. Your face split into a broad smile.
“Excellent.” You turned to glance at Merlin but instead caught eye of your own reflection in the mirror. What stood out most to you was the quite obvious purple hickey at the base of your throat. You blushed, realizing that your gown in no way covered it. Merlin removed the red swath of fabric from his neck and was at your side in an instant.
“Here, wear this,” Merlin gently tied his odd little scarf around your neck. He smirked slightly, pushing your hair back out of your face and stealing a kiss. Gwaine cleared his throat loudly and Merlin turned, continuing with the plans.
“We’ll each write a letter to our parents, explaining why the feud must end and whatnot.” Merlin’s hand found yours and his thumb brushed over your knuckles comfortingly. “Then, you and I will leave with Gwaine for a, how you say, extended holiday. Also known as, removing ourselves from the picture as we let our families figure it out without us. The key is, they have to reconcile for us to return.”
“Brilliant.” You grinned. “This could actually work.”
“Here.” Returning your bright smile, Merlin handed you a sheet of parchment and a quill, and you took a seat at the table. The words came easily, but you found it difficult to write them down, bring them into the world and dictate them onto the paper. Tears pricked at your eyes; you were giving up everything you knew.
My Dear Father,
I am sorry that I am not the perfect, upstanding daughter you tried so hard to raise me to be. I will not and cannot marry on anyone’s command but my own, and I hope one day you will come to understand this. You will be pleased, I hope, to hear that I plan on beginning a courtship with a fine young gentleman. His is of a good family, which I know matters very much to you. It is only the family name that is the problem.
Yes, father, I’m in love with a Montague. I pray you, do not be angry with me. Hasn’t there been enough anger and bloodshed in our families? Why cannot something beautiful become of it! This feud must end for everyone’s sake.
Alas, I know you too well, father. I will not be able to escape your wrath forever. It is with this letter I announce my resignation from the Capulet family. After all, you run out home more like a business model than a family anyway. I’m certain that your profits will cease to suffer before long. You’ve said it yourself; I’m naught but a detriment to this family.
I will miss you, father. Perhaps one day you will allow us to reconcile. I will not return until that day.
With Love and Blessed Tidings,
Y/N Capulet
~ Epilogue ~
And Thus The Feud Drew To A Close.
Or
They All Lived Happily Ever After, according to their morals and codes of conduct established in the text.
A/N: Alright, confession time. I am a theatre nerd and I adore Shakespeare. However, Romeo and Juliet is my least favorite of his works. I tolerate it for the sole purpose of making fun of it. Juliet is 14 and Romeo is 17! They meet on Sunday and are wed and dead by Wednesday. It’s a tragedy, not a romance!
Therefore, I have taken it upon myself to fix everything morally dubious about said play and retell it here, my way. With Merlin, of course.
Note: The character of the Prince, Nurse, Paris, Tybalt, and Rosaline do not exist in this telling. I want to keep things simple and omit any subplots. I’ve substituted Gwen for the character of Nurse, which is horribly inaccurate historically, but this isn’t supposed to be quite historically accurate anyway.
Also, Romeo and Juliet WILL NOT be getting married the morning after they meet. I won’t let it happen. This all being said, this is very loosely based on Romeo and Juliet.
“Loosely”
‘Twas known throughout the entire kingdom that the families Montague and Capulet were mortal enemies, victims of hatred so vile and intrinsic that not a single person could escape it. How the feud began, not a person alive today could say. However, within the hearts of every man was the story of how this feud came to end.
It all began with a party.
—
“Merlin, why is it that I seem to find myself always stricken with boredom whenever you make plans?” Gwaine whined, disinterestedly flicking through a book. Lancelot chuckled, clapping him on the back.
“Cheer up, my friend. It’s not all that awful. Books are exciting.” Lancelot grinned. “But only if you know how to read.”
“I know how to read! I just choose not to!” Gwaine countered, folding his arms and sulking much like a child told he couldn’t sneak a few sweets before dinner.
“Whatever it is you say, Gwaine.” Lancelot rolled his eyes and turned back to his book.
“That is what I say!” Gwaine ripped the dusty old book from him and tossed it over his shoulder. “Do you quarrel?”
“Could you keep it down? I’m trying to read.” Merlin groaned, snapping his book shut where he had been peacefully reading in the corner. 'Peacefully’ being a loose term, as peace never seemed to follow wherever his friends were.
“Gwaine’s bored, Merlin. What can you expect?” Lancelot replied, calmly retrieving the thrown book.
“You can expect me to come up with a brilliant plan to solve this horrendous boredom.” Gwaine said matter-of-factly. “The Capulets are hosting a grand masquerade ball this evening.”
“What point does bringing it up serve? Have you forgotten of the feud? I could care less of what those dogs, the Capulets, do. Besides, we’d be slaughtered the moment we stepped through the gate.” Merlin pointed out in a quite monotonous tone, lazily flipping pages. Being the only son of the Montagues, he knew better than most of the bitter sting of rivalry between the families.
“But it’s a masquerade!” Gwaine repeated. “We can wear costumes and no one will know it’s us! Imagine telling your children the tale of when you went, in disguise, into the heart of the land of the enemy! We will be legendary among our kin! What say you, Merlin? Lancelot?”
“I have no quarrel.” Lancelot said, the idea of breaking into Capulet Manor quite exciting to him.
“I feel as though I do not have a choice in the matter.” Merlin replied, knowing that Gwaine would drag him there one way or another.
“ 'Tis settled then. We shall depart at sundown.”
—
Capulet Manor, the pride and joy of the Capulet family, was simply the perfect venue for any sort of gathering or social event imaginable. Needless to say, tensions ran high within the Capulet home mere hours before the party was to begin. Your father had summoned you from your bedchamber early that afternoon. He was frustrated, and with good reason. You had received much attention from many suitable suitors around the land, yet you refused each one.
“But I will not marry him! I do no love him!” You insisted after having met one young man after the other.
“Y/N, you have come of age! Why do you insist on delaying your engagement?” Lord Capulet pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. You caused him far too much trouble for a young lady, and his patience was wearing thin.
“Father, I’ve told you many times. I wish to marry for love, not duty.” You calmly replied, not wanting to cause him any more stress than he was already under.
“Like hell you will! I married your mother out of duty. I married for the sake of the family and you will as well!” Lord Capulet snapped at you, slamming his hands on the table. Startled, you jumped.
“But, Father–”
“If you do not chose a husband by this evening, I shall choose one for you.” He stood up, the force of his anger seeming to silence the air around you. His chair was knocked over, but he did not move to retrieve it.
“Then I will not be married!” You replied, stubborn as always. You folded your arms and stared him squarely in the eye.
“I will sooner disown you than let you remain unmarried!” He hissed.
“Then I’ll no longer be a Capulet!” You replied with a snarl, storming out the doors. “See how well the family will prosper without an heir!”
Lord Capulet had no response. It was true; he had no heir but you.
