A/N: I'll go ahead and give you this notice: I'm going to be doing something with the sequel I haven't done so far, which is, to write from female pov. That's right, there won't be Arthur or Merlin pov (at least in the first part, I'm keeping the option open for the ending and/or sequel). Also a new genre heading: romance. Arthur&Merlin will take something of a back seat to developing canon pairings… Just so no one is disappointed in their expectations with the new story… but please do give it a try, if you've liked this a/u, and let me know in review or pm if I'm doing okay with it…

The Towers of Lionys

Chapter 1:

"I can see them opening the city gate… My lady, they're here. He's here!" Enid rushed in from the balcony overlooking the city, cheeks flushed with excitement.

She only shifted her position on the overstuffed cushion and turned a page of her book. Trying with all her might to keep contained the turmoil of emotions the older girl's words had stirred up in her again.

The idea of arranged marriage was an old one. As a child she'd paid it little mind, daydreaming about a handsome prince falling irrevocably in love with her at first sight, though the most important thing about him at that time was the white stallion he'd give her rides on. A few years later, she was convinced that she'd probably meet a dashing knight, noble if penniless, while she was charging about the countryside on quests of her own.

As she'd entered her teen years, her daydreams had coalesced and focused on one young knight, one of her brother's companions, now the captain of her father's guard. Though he had always been too correct and polite to show her anything beyond solicitous deference, and she'd never dared breathe his name specifically even to Enid, she never ceased hoping she could someday turn his heart and his head, and together they could persuade her father that their marriage was meant to be. That she need not consider a stranger. That Lancelot would be the best husband she could ever hope for.

The missive they'd received from Camelot that winter was a surprise. She'd turned down two offers already since she'd come of age – one from one of her father's cousins, and one from a northern knight who'd already buried two wives – without second thought or a moment's concern. But – a prince.

Her father, Lord De Gransse, would not pressure her into anything she truly didn't want, but she knew her duty. At least allow the visit, Father had suggested. It doesn't mean he's going to want you, Elyan had added, at once teasing and comforting.

"No need to get excited yet," she told Enid, turning another page though she hadn't read a single word on the last one. "It'll take them a quarter of an hour to ride here from the gate. Unless they were galloping?"

The older girl went to throw open the wardrobe, as eager for the visit, the first meeting, as if she were the candidate for bride. "But a prince, my lady," she gushed. "They say that Prince Arthur is very handsome."

"Hm," she said, refusing to agree. "And arrogant and self-centered and vain, no doubt." And no one would ever be as good as her knight in shining armor, as sweet and gentle and caring… if only she could get him to look at her.

"And noble and courteous and fair," her maid teased. "You never know – this man could be your husband."

Her heart did something totally against the laws of anatomy, and she wanted to rush to the balcony and hang over the railing for the first look at him. Prince Arthur of Camelot. Prospective groom.

The scary thing was, it was possible. She couldn't deny it, and that made her feel giddy. The great IF. If he was decent, tolerable.

If Lancelot continued oblivious to her – she couldn't propose to him, after all, or suggest the union to her father without the knight's knowledge and agreement – and how long might she spend persuading both men, one to give her and one to take her?

It made her feel hollow inside, anxious and lost, the enormity of the decision that stared her in the face – the rest of her life at stake – happiness and changes and… family. It made her feel self-conscious, knowing that he'd come to look her over as well, as a future bride. Like a filly in a pen. Discuss her pedigree, analyze her conformation, put her through her paces. Stare at her so long and so hard she was too befuddled to learn anything about him.

"Do you have a preference" Enid asked, and she lifted her eyes from the page, drawing her attention back to the practicalities of the moment.

The red velvet gown, highly suggestive of the Camelot colors, was hung over the open door of the wardrobe, obscuring the mirror, while the older girl held the plum-colored silk up to her own body for her mistress to decide between them. Enid was statuesque, tall and slender yet curvy, her hair and coloring almost as dark as Guinevere's own; not for the first time she thought of how perfect that dress would look on her maid's frame.

A thought struck her suddenly, so daring and so brilliant that she let the book fall and pushed to her feet. "I have an idea," she declared.