Chapter 1: In Which Destiny Speaks Through a Great Cryptic Lizard

None of mankind's children, no matter how great, can know his or her destiny.

You humans cannot glimpse your part in the Great Story that is about to unfold.

Like anyone else, those born to greatness must live and learn.

And so it will be for the young witch arriving at the gates of Camelot—

A girl that will in time, give birth to a legend.

Her name: Merlyn.

Approaching the great city was like nothing Merlyn had ever done before.

She glimpsed it several times as she drew closer—white walls and cheerfully waving pennants above crenelated parapets—but when Merlyn crested the forest-bald hill she paused, breathless in the face of such a wondrous sight as Camelot.

The citadel alone was massive. She'd never seen a building more than about eight feet tall, and she wasn't even certain that would even be a useful unit of measurement for this place. It was all massive, soaring turrets and uniform white brick. It was absolutely beautiful.

Her magic gave a small twitch at her excitement and a slight breeze picked up in response.

Merlyn frowned, but the thrill hadn't totally left her. She'd have to be more careful. This was Camelot, birthplace of the purge. She couldn't afford to be caught using magic here. There would be no forgiveness.

Still, even as she watched a huge drawbridge lower to allow someone entrance to the city, she could not help but feel her previous pleasure rise.

There was something terribly right about this place, she decided. And it made her all the more certain that leaving Ealdor—leaving her mother and Will—was the right thing to do. It would be much easier to hid her magic in Camelot, where she could blend into a thousand other faces, than in Ealdor, where she'd been one of one hundred or so.

Some small part of her that she rarely felt keenly relaxed at the thought, allowing her eagerness to resume.

See, mother? Merlyn thought, I do have some self-preservation skills!

Beyond the walls, the city was every bit as breathtaking as it had been from the outside.

More people than she had ever seen congregated within the sturdy walls, offering their services in exchange for the king's military protection. Vendors sold their wares, consisting of everything from golden jewelry that sparkled like the sun to rough homespun wool, to random knickknacks and artifacts. There were things there as familiar as the pack on her back, and things she couldn't name if she wanted to. It was a fascinating place, and Merlyn could see herself wandering endlessly through the stalls, trying to figure out what everything was and how it worked.

She wandered toward the city center, knowing that she had to get to the citadel in order to meet Gaius, her mother's old friend. Merlyn unashamedly gaped at the incredible masonry and brickwork that the city boasted. How long must those archways have taken? What about the cobblestone streets? And how, exactly, did one go about designing a two story building? Wouldn't the stone and concrete collapse on itself—

There was a soft beat. A drum. Low and dark. Ominous.

Merlyn tried to convince herself that she would have avoided it if she wasn't heading in the direction of the drum anyway.

She neared warily, and witnessed the crowd of people gathering around the square. Hundreds of peasants were there, watching the proceedings. But what—?

There was a wooden platform in the middle of the crowd. Raised, so everyone might have a chance at witnessing—witnessing—

She gasped in horror. This was an execution. That—that was an axman, standing before a thick wooden stump, aged solid with previously spilled blood and weathering.

The crowd started to part and Merlyn allowed herself to move with the rest of the gathered people. She glimpsed the condemned, being led between two guards to the executioner's block.

"Let this serve as a lesson to all." A heavy, commanding voice proclaimed. Merlyn froze, and turned her eyes slowly to the man standing above the crowd, on an intricately carved balcony hung with Pendragon red and gold flags.

He was dressed finely, in rich red robes over woven mail, a vestige of the king's days as a warrior. He was poised almost elegantly, but his stern face made him seem overall arrogant.

Merlyn didn't need to see the crown to know.

This was Uther.

This was the man she should fear above all others.

Strangely, despite her situation, she did not feel fear. For all his reputation, Uther seemed to be just a man, albeit a very charismatic one.

"This man," the king continued, "Thomas James Collins, is judged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic. And pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that such practices are banned. On penalty of death."

There was a pause, in which Merlyn could only look on in horror. Uther seemed so self-assured, so terribly efficient in his punishment, she could not breathe for imagining the consequences of letting her magic slip now.

"I pride myself as a fair and just king," And Uther had the nerve to sound almost sorrowful at his great burden here, "but for the crime of sorcery, there is but one sentence I can pass."

And oh, how arrogant, how pompous this man sounded, lording over the people like a savior even as he destroyed. But Merlyn could see, this man was not righteous. He was not acting justly—she knew he was not! Magic did not mean evil, did not deserve destruction! How could he? How could he? It was not evil, it mustn't be evil…

She almost missed it when Uther nodded, and the condemned was lowered over the chopping block. The axe was leveled over the man's neck, and the drums beat faster and faster, foretelling approaching death—

Uther's hand raised slowly, almost as if he were savoring it, and as his hand fell the axe did as well.

Most turned away, but Merlyn could not. She kept seeing herself in that man's place.

"When I came to this land, this kingdom was mired in chaos," Uther continued to justify, to rationalize, but all Merlyn could see was the red of that man's blood matching the color of the Knight's cloaks. "But with the people's help, magic was driven from the realm. So I declare a festival to celebrate twenty years since the Great Dragon was captured, and Camelot free from the evils of sorcery. Let the celebrations begin."

He uttered it all so logically, so magnanimously, and Merlyn could not understand the kind of monster that lived under this man's skin. Or why no one else seemed equally repulsed.

Uther turned to walk away, his work done, and a terrible scream rose from the crowd, like the sound a soul makes when it is rent in two.

It was an old, hollow-looking beggar woman, with unwashed hair and ratty robes. The crowd backed away from her, afraid for their own lives.

"There is only one evil in this land," she declared, "and it is not magic!"

Merlyn's heart rose in her throat, afraid for this woman as much as she agreed.

"It is you!" She continued recklessly, as if one utterance of treason weren't enough, "With your hatred, and your ignorance…you took my son," she sobbed, gesturing helplessly at her son's decapitated corpse.

She took a deep, wild breath, gasping out the new words. "But I promise you, before these celebrations are over, you will share my tears." And anger destroyed her grief. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A son for a son!" She cried, madness coloring her face now.

Uther reacted immediately, not even pausing to blink. Merlyn was kind of surprised he allowed the old woman her speech in the first place. "Seize her."

She raised her cloak over her face—there were whispered words—and she disappeared into smoke.

Magic. Uther had killed her son, but it was the mother he'd been after all along.

Uther seemed to realize this, and Merlyn wondered if there wasn't a flash of concern on his inhuman face before he turned and stormed off.

People were leaving now, though, now that the drama was over, and it would be odd for her to continue staring after the king to try and puzzle out if he had a conscience or not.

So she wandered off, heart heavy with the first-hand knowledge of what happens to those with magic in Camelot.

Finding Gaius' chambers was as easy as she'd expected it to be. Not much point in a court physician if no one could get to them. After many, many flights of stairs and some more bafflement at the how-tos of constructing a castle, she came to a wooden door with a plaque declaring it the residence of the Court Physician. The partition was slightly ajar, and so Merlyn knocked softly as she entered, wondering at the rich smells within and the faint hiss of heat as something bubbled.

No one answered, and so she entered anyway, intending to simply wait for the owner's return.

But there were so many things in this curious little room! Tables full of glass cylinders and loose paper and various pieces of wood and other material—including a rabbit mask? The shelves all around the room were bursting with glass phials, full of different substances Merlyn didn't recognize.

And, on the back wall, there were books. More books than she'd ever seen in her life. Her mother had taught her how to read and write and her numbers, of course, but never had she seen a real bound-in-leather book. They looked beautiful and stately and precious, and so terribly curious.

"Hello?" She called, not wanting to simply intrude if she could help it. Merlyn had no wish to invade the space of someone who kept such a cozy and quirky home.

Finally, she spotted someone—on a balcony shelving more books!

She coughed, loudly, and the man started. Over the railing. Actually he was going to—

A reaction without thinking, a need to fix and save and go to any lengths to make it so. Even her new Uther-birthed fear could not stop this resolve to save, fix, prevent—

Time slowed. Magic swelled in her, a crescendo of movement and intent. Merlyn ever-so-carefully reached out to the man and grabbed hold of him with her magic, twisting her hand to right him, and allowed time to resume.

The man fell slowly with her hand and touched ground without any harm done.

A moment later she came to the same realization as the elderly man apparently did—she'd just used magic in front of a stranger!

"What did you just do?" He demanded, "Tell me girl, speak up!"

She started stuttering, her normally infallible mouth tripping in her panic.

"I—well I have no idea what happened." She tried.

The old man looked at her in horror, and possibly anger. "If anyone had seen that—" He started.

Merlyn shook her head vehemently. "No, that—that was nothing to do with me. At all."

The elderly man turned on her and now she knew he was angry. "I know it was." But his gaze was not unkind, either. "I just want to know where you learned how to do it."

She continued to deny it, her fear freezing her tongue. She'd just seen an execution and she could just picture herself in Thomas James Collins' place—head severed from body, blood spilling into the cobblestone…

"How is it that you know magic?" The old man demanded loudly.

"I don't!" She denied, afraid.

The old man seemed to realize her terror, finally. He took a deep breath. "Where did you study," he asked, like there should be an answer. Unfortunately for him, that just wasn't true. When she didn't respond, his anger returned, "Answer me!"

"I've never studied magic!" she cried, desperate for him to be appeased.

The old man took a threatening step forward. "Don't lie to me, girl."

Merlyn could take a lot, but she truly hated lying, and she especially hated being accused of it on those rare occasions where she was telling the absolute truth. "I'm not lying." She said viciously. "I was born like this!"

The old man scoffed, "That's impossible." Then he paused. "Who are you?"

Yes, well. Formalities seemed sort of moot at this point but she did have a letter...

Instead of answering, Merlyn just pulled the letter out of her pack and handed it to the old man.

But the old man didn't open the letter, just complained about his missing glasses.

Well, there went that option. "I'm Merlyn."

Recognition lit in the man's eyes. "Hunith's daughter?"

Finally, they were getting somewhere. "But you're not to be here till Wednesday," the old man declared confidently.

Merlyn blinked. "It is Wednesday."

The old man—who she now supposed must be Gaius—quickly changed the subject. "Right. You'd better put your bag in there."

She blinked, unsure about the direction of this entire conversation, and started to do as she was bid.

But before she reached the stairs, fear and curiosity seized her. She turned. "You won't say anything about—" She gestured in a vaguely all-encompassing way toward the balcony.

Gaius seemed to grasp her meaning. "No." And he said it so solemnly, so honestly, that something warm built in her chest.

Trust. She knew it could be found anywhere. Even so close to a man who had the heart of a devil like Uther.

She turned to drop off her belongings, and was almost instantly called back.

"I suppose I should say thank you, Merlyn." The old man smiled kindly, and Merlyn saw, for the first time, why he and her mother were friends.

The little room in the back of Gaius' chambers was larger than she thought it would be, and Merlyn briefly felt guilty for taking what was surely Gaius' sleeping chambers. He'd probably given them to Merlyn because she was female.

She explored her room, her natural curiosity compelling her to learn more about her surroundings.

There was a window, and now she realized why Gaius' chambers had taken so many stairs to find.

Her room was situated at the very top of the easternmost turret, overlooking the lower town. Candlelight from all the various homes glowed cheerfully, and Merlyn felt a rush of unexpected contentment wash over her.

This—this right here—this was right. This city and its people, it was like it was trembling with potential, and was ready for Merlyn to join the fabric of its society. She felt an inexplicable fondness for this place, a connection to it she'd never felt with Ealdor or Will or, yes, even her mother.

Merlyn didn't know what it was, but as night fell over Camelot that evening, all she could do was revel in the sensation that she was finally home.

Merlyn woke to a stranger calling her name.

The voice was low and husky, and somewhere in the center of her soul she felt it was almost familiar…if she could just reach—

She woke with a start, somewhat bewildered by her surroundings. And then she remembered, and had to take a moment before getting dressed to reign in her excitement.

When she came down the short staircase to the main quarters, Gaius already had breakfast prepared.

"There's some water," he informed her when she was spotted, then reproachfully, "you didn't wash last night."

Merlyn blushed. "Sorry."

"Help yourself to breakfast," Gaius said kindly.

Merlyn sat down and, still somewhat sleepy, sort of stirred her porridge, trying to figure out what gave it that particular…consistency.

Then Gaius knocked the water bucket over.

She gasped and her magic sprung forth—she could feel her eyes turn gold and the bucket paused, free form, in mid-air as she stood out of shock.

Gaius looked just as shocked, glancing between her and the bucket with something akin to fear.

"How did you do that?" Gaius asked, genuinely confused, "Did you…incant a spell…?"

"No!" she snapped, the indignity of being tricked still haunting her. "I told you, it just happens."

"I see…" Gaius muttered, but from the look on his face, Merlyn could tell he truly didn't. "Well," he started, changing the subject. "I'll have you deliver these. You can work for me until I find something of paid employment."

She nodded happily enough and Gaius proceeded to give her various instructions for the different potions.

Once informed, Merlyn rose to leave, trying to keep the instructions straight, and trying to figure out how to get around the castle.

"Oh and Merlyn," Gaius added as she crossed the threshold, "I don't think I need to remind you to be careful, do I?"

She remembered the rusty old axe and the drums. "No."

Gaius nodded. "Good."

Merlyn was halfway down the stairs when she realized she hadn't eaten anything for breakfast.

By then it just wasn't worth it.

Arthur Pendragon was in a bad mood.

He knew that. And, he thought, everyone else should probably know too. Just in case it was possible for them to do anything about it.

Training always alleviated his bad mood though. Something about the physical exertion and the thrill of having deadly weaponry swinging close to vital body parts made him feel more alive. And after beating Sir Oldwyn, he did feel a little better. But then Sir Bered got in a lucky shot, and he lost.

It was the first time in several months he'd actually lost a swordsmanship match.

He wasn't sure if it was because his own skills were lagging or if his opponents were just improving as well.

Either way, he was in a terrible mood. First because of his father and his ranting about the virtues of public executions and then because Morgana chose him to rant to about his father ranting about the virtues of public executions, and finally because of his subsequent guilt over the whole mess.

Obviously the sorcerer deserved to die. Such crimes warranted death. But Morgana was arguing things like 'collective trauma' and 'perception of ruthlessness,' and some small part of him agreed, and that made him angry.

Clearly he was nowhere ready to be king if he couldn't even stomach the idea of a public execution.

Well if testing his swordsmanship wasn't going to make him feel any better, it was time for his favorite game.

"Where's the target," he drawled.

His servant of three days motioned to the side of the field unsuspectingly. "There, sir."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, already enjoying this game. "It's into the sun," he remarked.

The servant seemed uncomfortable, like he'd gotten an inkling of what was to come. "It's not that bright…"

Arthur pounced gleefully. "A bit like you, then?"

That got a chorus of laughter from the knights.

His servant seemed rather like he was trying to simply make it through the next five minutes. "I'll put the target down the other end, shall I, sir?"

Arthur nodded, and the boy scurried off to fix the target.

One of his knights commented. "How presumptuous to even question you, my lord."

Another gainsaid, "You should teach him a lesson."

Arthur shrugged, shifting as the boy hefted the target. He hadn't been that mad, but his father was always telling him about how much his reputation with the nobles mattered.

The game would continue then—with a moving target this time.

"This'll teach him," Arthur assured his fellow knights.

Arthur was quite confident in his skill, and the boy was in no danger. Still, he didn't take very long in aiming and it showed when the knife just barely managed to land in the bulls-eye.

Dammit. Couldn't he at least hit a target properly?

The servant felt the thunk of the knife as it embedded in the shield. In his surprise he examined it and looked up at Arthur, startled.

"Hey, hang on," he protested. But this was a game Arthur had played before.

"Don't stop," he sneered slowly, incredulously, as if talking to a child.

The servant seemed to remember who it was that he was talking to and shuffled backwards a few steps, the weight of the target now obviously laboring him.

"Here?" he panted, face scrunched in pain.

Arthur shook his head, trying not to laugh, "I told you to keep moving!"

He threw another knife and to Arthur's delight it landed perfectly on target.

Even more…well, not exciting, but…necessary was the fear in the servant's eyes. Of course he was perfectly safe—Arthur didn't miss—but there was something rather powerful about knowing the exercising of one's skills could be used to protect life as much as end it. But Arthur liked it—not the fear, but the sense of control he derived from it.

"Run!" He encouraged the hapless servant, now ducking entirely behind the shield.

He threw another knife and the servant stumbled as it landed, forcing the knife to the outside of the target.

"We want some moving target practice," he said sourly. And this time the knife landed closer to the center.

The servant was now panting for breath, his face scrunched in pain. But his boots didn't falter and Arthur continued to throw until finally the target dropped to the ground and rolled to a stop with his servant beside it.

Arthur turned back to his laughing comrades, and listened to them congratulate him on his aim. It felt good. It felt like respect—

"That's enough," a strange voice called.

Arthur turned back to his servant. A girl stood next to him, clad in leather riding leggings and boots and wearing a long-sleeved red tunic that reached to her mid-thigh, cinched at her waist with a thin strip of leather. A folded blue cloth was tied around her neck with the knot off to the side, and a matching light blue cloak protected her from the autumn chill.

She was a pretty little thing. Pale skin and dark hair tied back in a style uncommon in Camelot, with a heart-shaped face—soaring cheekbones tapering down into a well-defined chin. She had a slender frame, and she was short—probably only coming up to his shoulder, if that. Her stance was strong, and despite being off balance, she was obviously determined in her challenge.

In the end it was more out of shock at her audacity than anything that made him respond. "What?"

"You've had your fun, my friend," she said it evenly, but he could still see the stubborn set of her jaw that betrayed her anger.

Arthur walked closer, suddenly curious. "Do I know you?"

Her eyes narrowed, and Arthur could see now that they were a clear shade of blue. "I'm Merlyn," she said cautiously. Her hand twitched forward like she would normally offer him a hand to kiss in greeting, but was thinking better of it.

"So I don't know you," Arthur reiterated, for the sake of turning this back on her. No one challenged him and got away with it. Especially not tiny little peasant girls like this.

"No," She responded, becoming frostier by the second. She kept on looking at him like he was some kind of vile creature emitting an unpleasant smell that was suddenly shoved under her nose.

Arthur smirked a little at her bravery. Or idiocy. Either one, really.

"Yet you called me friend." Obviously this girl had no idea what respect was.

She nodded, as if in agreement. "That was my mistake."

Ha! He'd won this verbal exchange. It was only out of his own kindness that he didn't have her clapped in irons immediately. This would teach her to mess with royals. "Yes, I think so," Arthur agreed magnanimously, still grinning a little.

So he really wasn't expecting it when she had a rejoinder. "I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass," she said cheerfully, the light in her eyes turning triumphant.

He laughed—this girl was either brave or stupid, and it was amusing to watch her put her foot in her mouth.

(And if he was secretly impressed that she had a comeback and was brave enough to voice it, well, no one had to know)

She was still glaring at him, even though she obviously knew he wasn't going to apologize to his servant or whatever it was she thought she would get him to do by standing up to him.

"Or I one who could be so stupid," he promised. He took a step closer, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his gaze, but instead of shrinking back her glare only intensified.

How startlingly honest she was with her emotions. It made him wonder if other people were always this transparent about their feelings, or if that was just one of those things about human interaction he wasn't privy to due to his status.

He grinned at her cockily, wondering what reaction he'd get.

"I beg to differ—your buffoons over there seem little more than sheep."

His eyes widened involuntarily. This girl had no limits to the number of high-ranking persons she was willing to insult, did she?

"I'd be careful if I were you." He warned her seriously, because yes, he was going to have her punished somehow for this, but he was also a more forgiving noble than most when it came to peasants. It probably wouldn't be worse than sweeping his room or something, but for some of the men over there? They wouldn't hesitate to have a woman flogged.

"What are you going to do, hit me? I wouldn't if I were you."

This girl…

He was a little offended that she thought he would hit a woman in the first place, but it was outweighed by her threat. "Oh, and what's that supposed to mean? Are you going to hit me?"

She glared. "Something like that."

He grinned at her audacity. "I don't think you will."

She surprised him by taking a half-step closer. "I won't if you don't make me. Apologize to your servant!" She demanded finally.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Not going to happen." She opened her mouth, probably to insult him more, but he cut her off. "How about this—If you can hit me, I'll apologize." Honestly if this little girl could land a solid hit he needed to resign as head of the military.

Her eyes narrowed further, and Arthur goaded her on, "Come on, try it."

Merlyn's mouth twisted and she stepped back and then swung—her leg!

Shit she was going for his groin!

He jumped back and out of the way just in time, but coordinated this girl was not, and she overbalanced. Arthur caught her arm and held her wrists together in front of them, partly to keep her from falling over and partly because he didn't want to give her the chance to run.

"Oi, do you know what you almost did? I still need those!"

"Camelot would be better off without your spawn!" she declared, trying and failing to tug her wrists from his grasp. He made sure he wasn't bruising her, but held firmly all the same.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I think not, considering."

She glared at him venomously, "Considering what? Who do you think you are, the king?"

Arthur smirked, and leaned forward, to whisper the truth in her ear. "No, but I am his son." She froze suddenly, and Arthur grinned a little at her reaction, even if it kind of disheartened him. Having someone talk to him frankly was rather…refreshing. "And you just attempted to end the family bloodline," he declared rather happily.

She shot him another venomous glare that somehow just made him more pleased with himself.

Some guards approached then, appearing just in time for him to pass her off.

"Send her to the dungeons for the night," Arthur declared, "and she can scrub the corridor outside my chambers when she's released in the morning."

The guards took Merlyn away, and she went rather quietly, considering how spirited he knew she was.

"So I don't suppose I can claim ignorance?" she asked the guard on her left. The man just took a more deliberate grasp of her shoulder and pushed her forward.

Arthur let out a disbelieving huff that he refused to believe was a laugh. His knights coalesced around him, moaning about how kind he was with the mouthy girl, and how forgiving.

He wanted to nod along, and he wanted to claim that this, in fact was the respect he so craved.

But then he thought of flashing blue eyes and had a traitorous thought.

At least she respected you enough to argue with you.

Arthur threw no more knives that day.

The guards were not gentle as they threw her in the cell. Not nearly as gentle as that asshole prince, at any rate, which was infuriating.

In all fairness she did threaten the family jewels. She probably deserved being restrained.

Of course she wouldn't have gotten involved if the prince had been behaving like a decent human being in the first place. It didn't surprise her at all that the offspring of Uther Pendragon would be like that though. They had the same unfeeling arrogance, the same heartless souls. Monsters, the both of them.

The guards were harsher than the prince though, and she was still rubbing her shoulder the next morning when Gaius came for her.

She'd been unable to sleep. Between her thoughts of the prince, her fear of discovery and the disembodied voice floating through the cracks in the walls and floors, she slept fitfully at best in the dungeon.

She was just starting to doze off when she heard hurried footsteps on the dungeon staircase.

Merlyn started awake, curious, and rose to her feet as Gaius rushed in.

"Merlyn?" Gaius called, stopping in front of her.

"Gaius!" She exclaimed happily.

"You!" Gaius yelled, shaking his finger. It was then that it occurred to her that Gaius was not in any way pleased with her. "You are amazing!" Except it didn't sound like it was a good thing.

This was confirmed when Gaius started pacing. "The one thing someone like you should do is keep your head down, and what do you do?"

Call the prince out on his bullying? She thought, because she wasn't sure it was safe to speak.

"You act like an idiot!" He exclaimed angrily.

Like most half-wits confronted with Gaius' ire, she ducked her head and apologized. "I'm sorry."

Gaius rolled his eyes. "You're lucky. Arthur was very lenient with you."

Merlyn felt her own ire rise at the thought of that arrogant, no-good, cocky—

"I suppose I'm to go scrub floors now?"

Gaius nodded, smirking. "I rather say you deserve it."

It took some time to find the corridor the Prince had assigned her to scrub.

Part of the problem was the castle was massive, and as a newcomer, she had no idea where Prince Arthur's chambers were.

The other part of the problem was, when she saw the state of absolute decay these particular corridors were in, she went numb. Forget morning, this could possibly take until dinnertime.

She squared her shoulders and set the bucket down, starting in the corner farthest from Arthur's room, simply because she didn't want to be reminded any more than she had to be of his stupid face.

Water sloshed in the bucket when she set it down, and it got on her dress. She sighed, and simply dipped the stiff brush in the soapy water before getting to work. There were so very many scuff marks on these floors, like someone deliberately made them whenever entering or exiting their rooms—

She stiffened. If it was Arthur, she was going to have a cow. Literally.

Merlyn bent and stretched along the gaps in the tile, trying to free all the trapped dirt and wash it away. She was, once again, glad she'd chosen to wear one of her rattier old dresses. It would be rather awkward if a male came up and got a view of her posterior while wearing the infinitely more practical leggings. Plus, this dress could take the abuse much better than leather could.

She didn't know how long she'd been scrubbing when she heard someone coming down the hall. Merlyn simply ignored it. She was next to the westernmost wall anyway, and unless whoever it was needed to get into the room behind her, there was no need for her to stop her work.

She was making good progress. Most of the scuff marks weren't nearly as difficult to lift as she'd feared, and the brush did wonders for getting dirt out of grout. Her knees were sore and her hands were a bit cramped, perhaps, but she had a real shot at finishing this mid-afternoon.

As the footsteps drew nearer, she noticed there was not one but two sets of footsteps approaching. Mentally, she shrugged, and returned to her task, imagining that every speck of dirt was actually Arthur's ugly face cringing in pain.

It was really quite understandable then, that she didn't realize the footsteps had stopped until one of the voices spoke.

"Excuse me?" A soft voice asked timidly. Merlyn looked up, slightly startled. Two women stood there, one with warm, coffee-colored skin, and one with skin as pale as her own. "I'm Guinevere, but most people call me Gwen," the dark-skinned one said and gestured to her friend, "and this is the Lady Morgana. I'm her maid."

Merlyn stood, and curtsied while ignoring the pain in her knees and hands. Propriety was hard, but she was working on it. "Nice to meet you, Gwen, Lady Morgana. I'm Merlyn." She smiled, "But today I'm thinking a more appropriate epitaph would be 'gullible fool.'"

Morgana stepped forward then, and clasped Merlyn's hand in her own. "No! Gwen told me what happened. Arthur is a terrible bully, and I'm glad someone finally had the nerve to stand up to him." Morgana blinked. "Well, other than me, of course."

Merlyn grinned despite herself. "I'm afraid I behaved quite stupidly. I'm new here, I didn't know who he was." Not to mention the other nobles she insulted.

Gwen shook her head vehemently, "No! No it was brave. I would never…I mean, I don't have the confidence to…" She bit her lip and cut herself off.

Morgana saved her. "Gwen's right, it was very brave. And sometimes a little recklessness does a girl a world of good," she declared and smiled winningly. Merlyn had to smile. It was nice someone thought she did something right yesterday. Even if it was incredibly stupid.

"And this punishment is ridiculous," Morgana ranted, warming to her topic. "You stand up to him and he makes you do chores? Ugh!" The noblewoman threw a hand in the air for dramatic effect.

Merlyn shrugged. "It's better than the dungeons."

Gwen gasped. "I forgot they put you there! Are you alright?" The sweet woman peered closer. "You look tired. Did you sleep?"

Merlyn shrugged. "It was rather drafty, but I'm fine." Aside from the voice that's only in my head, that is.

Morgana frowned. "Well I think you deserve some kind of reward." Merlyn opened her mouth to protest but Morgana smiled and snapped her fingers. "I know; do you have anything to wear for the celebratory feast coming up? Gwen can make you something suitable, and I'll pay for the fabrics."

Gwen nodded eagerly, "I'd love to—it'll be brilliant!"

Merlyn finally gave voice to her protests. "Wait! No, I can't ask that of you—I'm not even really employed, there's no way I could pay you back—"

Morgana waved her concerns aside, "It's a gift, you're not expected to pay it back." Morgana smirked. "Think of it as my way of saying thank you for doing my job when I wasn't around." She waved a hand imperiously, a mischievous glint in her eye. "We all have to work together to deflate Arthur's ego. The job is much too big for one person!"

Merlyn couldn't help it.

She laughed.

"Are you sure your hands are clean?" Gaius asked as she went to eat dinner. Merlyn glared. After eight whole hours of scrubbing the corridor outside Prince Arthur's chambers was clean. Her hands, however, were nearly raw.

She frowned at Gaius, but she had to work past her appreciation for the joke first, "I know you're still angry with me."

Gaius sat before her. "Your mother asked me to look after you." He said it as if that should explain all, like it was the ultimate explanation for all of Gaius' behaviors.

Merlyn remembered her last few months in Ealdor. The tension. The fear, as her magic grew even more powerful and her mother sought to tamp it down even more when it was all Merlyn could do not to let it simply be free.

It was hard. Despite the risks, Merlyn was safer here, where she could learn about her magic and how to channel it without stifling herself.

"What did your mother say to you about your gifts?" Gaius asked curiously.

Merlyn shifted uncomfortably, "That I was…special." A ridiculous notion, of course, born of a mother's love for her daughter and her fear, as well.

Gaius surprised her. "You are special." He concurred gently, like he was trying not to scare her off, "the likes of which I've never seen before."

Disappointment. Gaius, of all people, would have known something about why she'd been born like this. "What do you mean?"

Gaius didn't answer right away, his old eyes taking him far away from the chambers they now shared. "Well…magic requires incantations, spells, and it takes years to study. What I saw you do was…elemental. Instinctive."

And…this was nothing she did not already know.

"What's the point if it can't be used?" Merlyn was surprised at the forlorn air in her own voice.

Gaius shook his head, not even trying on that one. "That I do not know. You are a question that has never been asked before, Merlyn."

Of course he didn't know. Even as well-educated as the man obviously was, he didn't—

Wait a minute.

"Did you ever study magic?" She questioned with a note of surprise, knowing the answer already on some level.

Gaius hesitated before answering. "Uther banned all such work twenty years ago."

She felt a flash of frustration. In terms of history, the Purge was still so young! What could have possibly happened that led to this genocide of her kind?

"Why?"

To her surprise, Gaius had an answer. "People used magic to the wrong ends at that time. It threw the natural order into chaos. Uther made it his mission to destroy everything, back then. Even the dragons."

Something spoke in her magic, whispered through her veins. "What, all of them?"

Gaius shrugged. "There was one dragon he chose not to kill; he kept it as an example. He imprisoned it in a cave deep beneath the castle where no one can free it." Gaius sounded sad. Then he shrugged and changed topics.

Still, Merlyn's mind lingered on the dragons.

Beneath the castle, huh? That might explain why she kept hearing a disembodied voice floating through the walls.

Merlyn was still thinking about dragons and suspicious singers when she began walking through the market.

Of course, that just had to be where she ran into the asshole prince once more.

He saw her first, she was pretty sure. Either way, they made eye contact, Arthur smiled in a way that would have been handsome if it weren't so arrogant, and Merlin glared but said nothing. Instead she turned on her heel and attempted to walk away.

There was nothing she could reasonably do to improve this relationship either. Not really. Arthur was a prince, so he would act in whatever way he felt like, and she was a commoner, punished for speaking her mind.

To her immense surprise, Arthur jogged after her.

"Hey! Merlyn!" She raised an eyebrow when she realized he'd remembered her name. Her surprise compelled her to turn towards him, just in time to see him weaving through people as they passed. "Do you still want to hit me?" If Merlyn didn't know better, she'd say he was honestly curious.

She ignored him, and turned away again, Gaius' warnings about keeping her head down ringing in her ears. Of course, ignorance was probably grounds for some kind of punishment, but she couldn't quite bring herself to act all deferential and shy and demure. If that was what Arthur was expecting, then he was sorely mistaken.

"Ah, don't run away!" And that arrogant tone, like a whiny toddler who was wanted a toy, just seemed to crawl under her skin.

She couldn't resist. Merlyn stopped, but did not turn around. "From you?"

"Oh thank God, I thought you were deaf as well as dumb." There was a pleased tone in his voice that confused her and angered her at the same time.

She turned to him, anger and indignation forcing her caution out the window. "Look, I've told you you're an ass, I just didn't realize you were a royal one."

Arthur's eyes widened in shock and he turned to the knights behind him as if to say 'are you seeing what I am? Look at the lowly peasant dance!'

If you only knew, she thought, if you only knew what I could do.

"Oh, what are you going to do?" She uttered viciously, frustration at her forced helplessness and anger at his arrogance coalescing into insults. "You going to have your daddy's men punish me? Do you not have the wit or spine to handle insults to your person yourself?"

It occurred to her, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother's that insulting the prince's ability to lead was possibly incredibly stupid.

Arthur laughed, but his eyes seemed suddenly colder. "I assure you, dealing out punishments is something I am intimately familiar with."

She thought there might be an innuendo in there somewhere, but she ignored it. Instead something cold froze her spine at his words, and she had the thought that dealing out justice was probably a difficult thing to do if one happened to possess a conscience.

But, as she had already decided, she was quite certain this absolute prick had no idea what a conscience was.

"That's nice. It would seem you're also entirely familiar with being a prat."

His eyes crinkled again in absolute amusement, looking to his friends in pompous conceit before turning back to her. She couldn't quite make out the emotion in his eyes, but they almost looked…curious? Disbelieving? Maybe even…pleased?

"You can't just address me like that," he declared, somewhat bewildered but mostly amused.

She had to fight to avoid rolling her eyes and instead just smirked. "Oh, I'm sorry. It would seem you're also entirely familiar with being a prat, my lord." She added a mocking curtsy just to emphasize her point.

Arthur blinked. "Why you little—" He lunged for her, but in a rare moment of grace, Merlyn whirled out of the way and gave chase. She could hear him blundering behind her, and she deliberately wove through tight spaces that he, being so much bigger, had a tough time fitting through. She laughed a little to herself, surprised at how playful this felt, and her magic rose to the surface with her enjoyment.

Still, the prince was far too quick to be deterred by her choice of terrain. His gloved hands brushed her arms and back several times before she could duck out of the way.

If she was going to be smart about this, she should probably just give up and let him catch her. But everything in her rebelled at the idea of letting the prat win, of letting him get away with his cruelty and arrogance.

She used magic discretely, moving boxes and various hanging objects mere inches—just enough to get in the prince's way, and make him look like the clumsy fool. She kept her eyes down, when she did it, making sure she could not be seen from any angle. Despite her interference, he continued to catch up with her, until finally she tripped him into a pile of sandbags.

She grinned and turned to him triumphantly, giving him a salute, to which he blinked stupidly. She wondered if he'd hit his head, and mentally shrugged. It was well deserved, the pompous ass.

She turned, with every intention of scampering off before anyone regained their bearings, but then she caught Gaius' disappointed gaze in the crowd, and suddenly felt ashamed.

How could she have used magic so carelessly in front of someone who could end her life with mere words for it? How could she have endangered Gaius, who had decided to protect her for her mother's sake?

Then something heavy slammed into her back and arms like steel wrapped around her front, pinning her arms to her sides and suddenly she was lifted off the ground.

"Got you!" The prince shouted triumphantly, and she scowled.

"Congratulations," she snarked squirming, "you caught me when I wasn't moving."

The prince sounded far too pleased with himself when he responded. "That's your own fault."

She tried to wriggle out of his arms more, legs pumping but only catching air. Dammit, she couldn't even kick his shin. Arthur's arms just tightened a little, and the corner of his mail cut into her back across her shoulders. Merlyn refused to wince from the discomfort.

"Let me go!" She demanded. She felt more than saw Arthur's pleased grin and it infuriated her.

"Alright, alright, keep your shirt on." He set her down rather roughly and she just barely managed to avoid falling over.

Then three guards descended on her and she really did lose her balance. It was only because they had such a tight grasp on her that she didn't hit the dirt.

"Oh, let her go," Arthur said dismissively. The guards released her rather reluctantly, and Merlyn found her footing again, even as she looked at Arthur in surprise. "She's an insolent idiot, but she's brave." Arthur's face turned considering as he looked at her. "There's…something different about you, Merlyn." And now he didn't look so arrogant. "I can't quite put my finger on it."

She blinked in surprise, not expecting such comments. She suddenly noticed how steady his gaze was, almost…powerful. Compelling. She wondered what he would look like when he gave a genuine smile, not colored by arrogance or pride.

Merlyn noticed also, that as he turned away he kept his eyes on her for as long as possible.

She did not acknowledge the fact that she, too, kept her eyes on his back as he walked away.

Gaius saved his rant until they climbed the stairs and shut the door to his chambers.

"How could you be so foolish?" he demanded.

She frowned, forgetting her previous self-reproach. "He needed to be taught a lesson," she declared defensively.

"And what lesson was that? Pride? Because I assure you, Merlyn, I see plenty of that in you!"

She huffed, but could not deny it. "He treats those below him like dirt!"

Gaius seemed near to breaking point. "He is the prince! He is not someone that you should be teaching."

But Merlyn remembered the compliments of Morgana and Gwen, and the grateful look of Arthur's servant as she'd stood up for him. "Not everyone feels that way."

Gaius shook his head fiercely. "Magic must be studied, mastered, and used for good. Not to be your personal instrument of justice, Merlyn!"

She turned to Gaius now, angry and emotional. "What is there to master?" And it surprised her how lost she felt and sounded. "I could move objects like that before I could talk."

Gaius did not see that as mastery. "And by now you should know how to control yourself, not acting like an impulsive child!"

Impulsive? She'd been careful! Hadn't he seen that? She'd hidden it. No one suspected her. "I don't want to hide it. It must be for some purpose, right? If I have it there must be a reason! Who are you to say it's not to correct the injustices I see!"

Gaius grew angrier still. "And who are you, to say that you can see all injustice as it is? Who are you to play God, Merlyn!"

She hesitated, suddenly unsure as old fears filled her mind. Not knowing what she was, or what she was capable of, fearful of her limits and what she wouldn't do. But her sorrow rallied her. "If I can't use magic, then there's no purpose for me at all," she uttered solemnly, certainly.

Gaius huffed. "Oh, Merlyn." He stepped forward, placing a gnarled hand on her cheek. She felt the anger drain from her body, leaving a sense of numbness. "You are more than your magic, you know."

"I'm not, though," She said sadly, surprising herself with her almost tears. "Gaius…you said it yourself. I'm not something that's ever happened before. I'm a monster." Just like the Pendragons. She was just as bad.

Gaius pulled her closer, and she saw his gaze grow gentle. "Never say that, Merlyn. It is a fearful thing, being so different. But it is your choices—what you do with your circumstances—that make you human, Merlyn. You are only a monster if you behave like one." He smiled. "I sense great kindness in your heart, Merlyn. Act on that, and you certainly cannot go wrong."

She couldn't help it. She threw her arms around the old man and cried.

"Thank you, Gaius." She whispered. She cried a little more when Gaius hugged her back.

Merlyn did not sleep that night.

In some respect she was still thinking about her conversation with Gaius, about that absolute prat who'd remembered her name and seemed absolutely bewildered by her in a way that made her sort of sad for some reason. She was also thinking about her mother and Will, wondering what was happening with them.

But mostly, she did not sleep because she was waiting for the voice to speak again.

It was why she was unsurprised when she heard it again.

Merlyn.

She sat up in bed, looking around, now certain she was not imagining things.

Merlyn.

She rose, sneaking past Gaius and dressing in her usual tunic and cloak. But she didn't leave before using magic to replace Gaius' blanket over his shoulders.

He'd told her magic was to be used for good, and that was her choice to make. Surely making sure an old man didn't get cold in the night was proof of that?

She exited the room, knowing she had to be quiet and subtle. There was a curfew in Camelot, and people would ask questions if they saw her wandering around at night.

She headed down, into the bowels of the citadel. The voice most frequently seemed to come from that direction, she had no other guesses besides.

Merlyn thought she must be right when the voice egged her on, continuing to call her name every few seconds.

The guards were easy to get past. Amazing what a little magic could do for sneaking purposes. She wondered if the king and the prince knew…?

Soon it was necessary to steal a torch. These corridors were obviously traversed rather infrequently, and certainly not often enough to light continuously. Merlyn crept forward, cautious now, and a suspicion growing in her mind about who she was heading toward, or maybe what was the proper term…

Concrete and stone gave way to bare rock face. It was no longer a corridor she traversed, but a cave.

She turned a corner just as the voice called again, sounding almost frustrated this time.

It just encouraged her to walk even more cautiously.

But then the cave walls opened, and she was standing on the brink of some great cavern, huge and open like a cathedral, stone walls glistening with dampness.

There was a low chuckling that seemed to reverberate through the very air, and a great rush of air.

She looked around frantically, desperately trying to see the source of the sounds, but the light of her torch was unable to penetrate the darkness.

"Where are you," She demanded, and in front of her something large shot upwards through the darkness. Something large, and scaly, and gold. There was a rush of power unlike anything she'd ever felt before, and her surprise humbled her. Never before had she met a creature of magic, someone with more power than her.

She felt…almost steadied by it. Reassured.

On the great monolith of rock before her rested none other than a dragon, massive and powerful and reptilian eyes glowing in the dark.

"I'm here," the ancient voice proclaimed.

Instinctively, Merlyn took a few steps back, uncertain as she watched this creature curl with self-assurance and pride. But then she looked at it, felt a tug of familiarity or perhaps kinship with it through her magic, and relaxed, curiosity taking over.

The dragon seemed satisfied with this response and leaned back on his haunches. "How small you are," he crooned almost fondly, "for such a great destiny."

Part of Merlyn wanted to say 'I'm quite sure everyone is small compared to you,' but most of her mind latched on to the latter half of that statement. "Why?" She asked eagerly, "what do you mean?" Finally, someone might know something about her powers, about what she was meant to do with them. "What destiny?"

The dragon settled further, shuffling his leathery wings. "Your gift, Merlyn. It was given to you for a reason."

Something settled in her chest, and she felt her spirit rise on wings of hope. "So there is a reason?" She questioned breathlessly.

The great scaly head cocked in amusement. "Arthur is the Once and Future King, who will unite the land of Albion."

There was something wonderful about that phrase, her magic buzzing at the words. But she couldn't resist the disappointment she felt as well. What could Arthur possibly have to do with her own destiny?

"Right," She said sarcastically. The dragon didn't seem to notice, or at least ignored it.

"But he faces many threats," he continued, "from friend and foe alike." The dragon said it like Merlyn should know exactly what to do with this information. Like she should care.

"I don't see what this has to do with me," she said haughtily.

The dragon snapped at her, reminding Merlyn oddly of Gaius, "Everything! Without you, Arthur will never succeed. Without you, there will be no Albion."

Her magic buzzed again at the dragon's words. A subtle knowledge that this was, in fact, true, that the dragon spoke of things she did not yet understand but would certainly come to pass.

She rejected this idea, that she was somehow bonded to that horrible man who would see her dead. "No. No you've got this wrong," she denied, even though her instincts rang with the dragon's validity.

The dragon chuckled. "There is no right or wrong, only what is and what isn't."

She recoiled, disgusted. "How can you say such a thing? Of course there's right and wrong!" She exclaimed, thinking of Uther's Purge, "If there is only what is and what isn't, what need have we of laws and kings?"

The dragon laughed, "So clever already, young witch?" He settled again, "What I meant, my dear, was that Destiny exists outside of morality. It simply is. We all have a part to play in her grand story, and that does not necessarily mean good things for all involved."

Merlyn scoffed, "Why participate then?"

The dragon smiled, "Because, little witch, Destiny is the one thing you cannot choose, and the one thing from which you cannot escape."

She shook her head, appalled at his fatalism. "No, I don't believe that." For what did that mean for her, if she was destined to become a monster? "We all have our choices," she declared, remembering Gaius' wisdom, "And we all choose what we must do when circumstances are presented to us."

The dragon smiled toothily. "Perhaps, young one, but Destiny knows all, and knows what you will choose."

She sneered, "Well that doesn't change the fact that we all have our choices, does it?" She shook her head, trying to move on from this thought. "Besides, there must be someone else you're thinking of. This Arthur is an idiot." She declared, despite the quiet thoughts she'd harbored to the contrary.

The dragon made an expression that could almost be described as a smirk. "Perhaps it's your destiny to change that." And if she had been looking at a human, she would have called the dragon's golden eyes fond.

With that, the beast spread his wings and launched upwards.

Merlyn did not call him back, but she did take a few moments to stare into the abyss before taking her leave.

Merlyn attended her duties for Gaius distractedly the next morning, wandering her way through the castle. She was still thinking about her late-night visit to the dragon, which was probably why she ended up entering Lady Morgana's room without knocking.

"I've been thinking about Arthur," she declared.

What a coincidence, Merlyn thought, so have I.

"I wouldn't touch him with a lance pole," Morgana continued, bustling about behind the next screen. Merlyn had just enough time to wonder why Morgana was telling her this when she said "pass me that dress Gwen?"

Merlyn decided it was best she speak up now, lest things get any stranger. "I'm afraid I'm not Gwen, my lady."

Morgana froze, poking her head around her partition. "Oh! Merlyn! What are you doing here?"

Merlyn smiled and held the potion up for her to see. "Gaius sent me with a sleeping draught."

Morgana nodded absentmindedly. "Set it on that table there," she ordered, gesturing to a table near her bed. Merlyn did as she was told. "I heard you saw Arthur again," Morgana commented gleefully, this time walking forward to take the dress herself. "Tell me, what exactly is a prat?"

Merlyn shrugged, "I wasn't entirely sure until I met the prince. Best I can tell it's a cross between a raging narcissist and a spoilt brat, but I really can't be certain."

Morgana laughed and Gwen entered through the servant's door. Her eyes brightened and she smiled widely when she observed Morgana's visitor. "Merlyn! What are you doing here?"

Morgana's face dimmed its laughter and she gestured to the table displaying the sleeping draught. "She comes with a present from Gaius," she said almost bitterly, but her face brightened again. "And rather accurate character assessments for our dear prince."

Gwen raised an eyebrow, and Merlyn got the feeling she was somewhat impressed. "I see." Then she caught sight of what was in Morgana's arms. "Oh! My lady, let me help you with that!"

Morgana smiled at Gwen, and then went behind the partition again. "So, Merlyn, is that your overall impression of Arthur then?"

Merlyn shrugged, unsure of how to voice the idea that there might be more to Arthur than met the eye. "I'm certain that's how he comes off, but I couldn't dream to speak to his true character, my lady. I'm sure you'd know better than I."

Morgana hummed agreement as Gwen tightened the straps of the dress. "He expects me to attend him at the banquet tonight." And Merlyn could hear the frown on her face. "But he never asked me, he just expects it." Another hum. "I think I'll go alone. Gwen? Merlyn? What do you think."

Gwen smirked, "My lady, I assure you I wouldn't dream of trying to change your mind."

Merlyn smiled at Gwen. "I say teach him a lesson in making assumptions, my lady."

Morgana waved an imperious hand as she stepped out into the center of the room, wearing a lovely blue gown. "Oh please, call me Morgana, both of you." She hesitated in front of the mirror, observing herself. "Now the only question is, do I wear this little tease, or give them a night they'll really remember?" She asked, grabbing a red dress off of a chair near the mirror.

Gwen smiled. "That depends on if you wish to make a statement or not, my lady."

Morgana frowned at her. "Morgana, Gwen, we're friends."

Gwen just gave her a sweet smile in return. Merlyn had to grin at their obvious friendship.

Suddenly the handmaiden turned to Merlyn, excitement showing on her face. "Oh! Merlyn, I forgot to tell you. I have your dress ready! We should fit it right now, so it will be ready for this evening."

Merlyn blinked in confusion and then her face slacked in surprise. "My dress?" She looked between the two women, truly astonished. "Really, that wasn't necessary, I didn't expect you to go through the trouble—"

"Nonsense," Morgana decreed, waving a hand over her shoulder while eyeing the red dress in front of her speculatively. "You put Arthur in his place not once but twice. I should certainly think that deserves some kind of reward." Merlyn opened her mouth to protest further, but Morgana cut her off. "Besides, the dress is already made, and it won't fit either of us."

"You'll just have to keep it," Gwen chimed in cheerfully.

Merlyn gaped, not entirely sure what to say. "Well, thank you. You're both too kind."

Gwen shrugged. "I love sewing. I had fun with it."

Morgana nodded proudly, now turning away from the mirror. "Gwen is quite good. She's even made some of my dresses."

Gwen blushed from the praise and Merlyn smiled. "I'm sure it's lovely."

"Come," Morgana decided, "The dress is in the back of my wardrobe, isn't it, Gwen?"

The handmaiden nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, try it on!"

And that is how Merlyn found herself spending the rest of the afternoon, getting pricked by needles and laughing with two women she was now quite confident in calling friends.

This feast was as unpleasant as these things usually were.

At least that's what Arthur decided when he entered the room and found himself immediately bored.

His fellow knights were gathered in a corner near the head table. He walked up to them and greeted them in the usual manner, with much ribbing and teasing.

But then he looked up and saw Merlyn and he blinked in disbelief.

She was wearing a dark green dress that had an elegant but daring neckline, exposing pale skin and the smooth column of her neck. Her dark hair twisted back into a braid that was accentuated with silver thread, matching the embroidery of her dress.

She looked like a princess, and he almost couldn't believe it was her. Then she took a step forward, her flowing dress not quite hiding the clumsiness of her movements, and he snorted to himself. That was Merlyn alright.

Despite her apparent lack of grace, she walked confidently, and it was with some surprise that he realized she was walking toward Morgana's maid.

Speaking of, Arthur found his jaw dropping further as his eyes lighted on the King's ward. Morgana was wearing a dress with no shoulders. What was she thinking? Everyone would be staring at her!

Something like protective sibling instincts rose in him for the ward in question and, suddenly finding himself distinctly not bored, he walked up to her.

Morgana smirked knowingly at him as he approached, and Arthur found himself suddenly unsure. Maybe this was the reaction she was looking for? Maybe she wanted everyone staring at her?

It was never good to play into Morgana's games. It always ended poorly for him, in embarrassment or in bewilderment and oftentimes both. She just really loved taking potshots at his ego, and it looked like she was waiting for an opportunity now.

So, halfway to Morgana, he changed direction entirely, and turned toward the only other female in the room he even kind of knew.

It only took a few strides for him to get to Merlyn and Morgana's maid—Guinevere? He remembered Morgana talking about a Guinevere…—but then he suddenly froze.

What does one say in these sort of situations? When talking to peasants? He'd had no real purpose when approaching them other than not falling for Morgana's trap, whatever that was.

Guinevere noticed him first, which made sense since Merlyn's back was to Arthur. Her dark eyes widened, and he noted that she was also quite pretty.

"My lord?" She asked, "Can we help you?"

Merlyn turned around now, and one delicate eyebrow rose on her elfin face as she observed him.

He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to say.

Compliments! Girls liked compliments, right?

"Your dress looks more exquisite than I would have expected of your station."

From the look on her face, that…didn't come out right.

"And your manners are much poorer than I would have expected of yours." Merlyn sniffed, and Guinevere 'eeped' behind her. Merlyn was not deterred, "It was a gift, if you must know."

Arthur frowned. "And what, exactly, did you have to do to get such a lovely present?" It was only after the words were out of his mouth that he realized he'd insinuated something rather terrible about her. "I mean—"

She raised a hand to stop him, face flushed angrily and her blue eyes were diamond hard. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

He shifted, trying not to display his discomfort. "Try me."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not sure I should tell you. Ask the Lady Morgana, if you're so curious. It was a gift from her and the seamstress who made it."

Guinevere flushed and seemed to shrink a little, and Arthur had a sudden suspicion as to the seamstress' identity.

But if this was Morgana's gift…

Arthur chanced a glance to his father's ward. She was staring at him with open surprise on her face, and the slow workings of an absolutely gleeful smile.

Like most brothers confronted with a sister's glee, he felt his insides quiver a little in dread.

"Well if it was Morgana's gift I'm sure you did something of some worth. Somehow." Arthur finally responded.

Merlyn's eyes warmed in secret amusement, and he had the sneaking suspicion that he was somehow out of the joke. "I don't know about 'worthy,' but the actions in question were definitely worth it."

His suspicions were further confirmed when Guinevere let out a surprised giggle, and Arthur shifted his gaze to glare at her, somehow feeling as if a joke was being told at his expense.

He opened his mouth to say…something…when the trumpets sounded, announcing his father's arrival to the banquet hall. It was with some relief that he made his way to the head table, standing at his father's right hand. Morgana stood at the King's left, and for the briefest of moments he caught her smug, green-eyed gaze.

Dammit. Somehow he'd played into her game after all.

He'd never understand women.

Merlyn watched from the side of the room as King Uther gave his little speech, obviously fond of this "Lady Helen of Mora," whoever she was. Her mind was still filled with thoughts of Arthur, and preparing scoffing rejoinders for the next time the great cryptic lizard tried to claim he was destined for anything worthwhile.

Of course, she did rather enjoy this last encounter. He'd been rather awkward and off balance, like he didn't know what to do in this setting. She wondered if it was because he didn't have the option of threatening her with a weapon at the banquet.

Everyone clapped as the Lady took her place on the stage, yellow silk swishing around her legs as she entered. The king sat, and everyone else did as well, servants excluded. Merlyn stood almost in the stairwell, waiting to be called on for service.

The melodic plucking of the harp was…soothing. Like a lullaby her mother once sang her to sleep with. Lady Helena opened her mouth, and words tumbled out like a song, but…it wasn't in English…

Invisible wind shifted the lady's clothes, her arms rising as she fell into her song. The room seemed to still with her singing, as if transfixed.

Merlyn smiled. This woman was impressive, if she could command a room like that. But what language…?

Helen stepped off of the small stage, walking deliberately up the center of the room. Merlyn felt suddenly lethargic…

Then her magic met the lethargy and she was perfectly awake.

What just…?

All the warmth seemed to drain from the room, and its occupants swayed in their seats, no doubt overcome by Helen's terrible lullaby.

Merlyn covered her ears, watching in horror as her magic revolted against Helena's, working against it to keep Merlyn awake.

And it must be Helen. She was the only one unaffected other than Merlyn.

Spider-webs crawled over the room's comatose guests, extinguishing candles and rotting fruit. The lullaby swelled, and Merlyn watched where Helen's eyes were fixed…on the front table…on the king?

No…it was on Arthur. Stupid, narcissistic, bullying, rude, merciful Arthur.

From somewhere in her dress she pulled a dagger, raising it above her head as the climax of her song ripped from her voice.

Merlyn reacted, as she always did.

The cast-iron chandelier above her hung from a chain. The chain snapped with Merlyn's magic, and the chandelier fell, candles long-since extinguished.

Lady Helen was crushed beneath the falling metal, cutting off the last of her song.

Merlyn released her ears, doubting that was doing much good anyway. The room was still quiet, covered with cobwebs, and dark. She wondered what it was she should do now…?

But then the guests started to wake, shaking off their magically-induced sleep and, bewildered, pulled the cobwebs from their faces and clothes. Merlyn was relieved to see Gaius wake as well.

Uther stood first, obviously shocked but ready to take charge, and saw Lady Helen on the ground.

Except…she wasn't Lady Helen anymore…

Merlyn gasped. It was the sorceress who lost her son mere days ago!

The wrinkled old woman was apparently not down for the count, because she rose off the ground, dagger in hand, and hurled it at the prince.

Merlyn saw what was happening in slow motion, and saw Arthur's face as death closed in.

Shocked. Scared. Confused. Human.

We all make our choices, she'd told the dragon.

She slowed time.

She raced forward, the dagger spinning and arcing towards Arthur's chest—

Merlyn reached him first, hauling him out of the way with the entirety of her weight and a little magic besides.

It was enough to pull them both to the ground, and the dagger struck the back of the wooden chair exactly where Arthur's heart would have been.

The whole room stared in shock, and with a soft keen of despair, the mother of Thomas James Collins joined her son.

Arthur stood, and she followed suit, clumsily standing in her new dress and shaking a little from adrenaline.

The prince was looking at her in complete shock, like she was the last person on earth he would have expected to save him. Then King Uther prowled over, breathing heavily from what was probably fear and adrenaline from seeing his son almost die.

"You saved my boy's life," the king said gratefully, almost reverently. "A debt must be repaid, my lady." Then the king blinked, as if confused. "Who are you? I don't believe I've seen you before."

She blushed, and tried to hide her fear at the king's proximity. What was it with these people and debts? And how was she to explain she was merely wearing a gift? "I'm Merlyn, my lord. Gaius' ward. I'm not a lady, I'm afraid." She paused. "And there's no need to—"

The king's eyes widened in surprise. "Don't be so modest, you will be rewarded." The king looked to his Court Physician. "Gaius, is she training to be a physician with you?"

Gaius stood, and like everyone else was still partially covered in cobwebs. "She may apprentice me, if that is your wish, my lord. She has a clever mind and a healer's soul."

Merlyn blushed at the praise, not sure what to think. The king nodded in a satisfied way, and turned back to Merlyn. "Very well then. I shall make you Arthur's personal physician. You may train with Gaius, and one day, perhaps, become Camelot's Court Physician when Gaius decides he's grown tired of us."

She wasn't sure what to think, wasn't sure how to take the fondness in the king's eyes when he spoke of Gaius.

A monster did not feel fear for others, or build friendships with those below him.

"Every day," Uther continued, "You will follow Arthur and tend to his ailments," Uther decided, apparently warming to the idea. "You will taste-test his food, prevent muscle-soreness from training, follow him on expeditions outside the castle—"

Arthur, who had not stopped staring at Merlyn since they stood, now turned on the king. "Father!" He objected.

Merlyn tried as well, "Really your majesty, that's not necessary, I need no reward."

Uther waved both their objections aside. "Of course you do—this all merits something quite special. You will be Prince Arthur's personal physician, and be well compensated."

Merlyn tried her very best not to gape at the man as he swept away, apparently satisfied.

Arthur's look of abject horror would have been funny, if it wasn't mirroring her own dismay.

She should have just let the prat die.

Later, in Gaius' quarters, she was wondering with no small amount of fear how on earth she was going to survive being in close proximity with Camelot's royalty every day for the foreseeable future.

Sometimes things just happened. Sometimes vases broke and doors swung shut and curtains fell, and she didn't mean for it to happen, but it did. How was she to keep it a secret? How was she to protect herself in front of the very people who would see her dead for what she was?

She stared at the candle, and watched with despair as it flickered in time with her racing heartbeat.

Gaius walked in, carrying something wrapped in velvet.

"I've decided you'll need this." Gaius announced. He handed her the bundle and she unwrapped it to reveal…

"A book?" She asked curiously, almost breathlessly. She'd never owned a book before.

"A magic book," Gaius corrected. "It's the one I studied from, before the Purge." His expression turned sad. "I hid it to protect the knowledge within. Uther banned such tomes when he could no longer find sorcerers."

Merlyn frowned and traced the curious etching on the cover, written in words she did not understand.

Yet.

She smiled at the thought. "I will study every word," she promised. Her shoulders slumped then. "But I do not know when—I'm to follow Arthur all day."

Gaius shrugged. "I'm sure we'll work it out. You need time to learn the healing arts, after all." Gaius looked down his nose at her. "It requires diligent study, you know. I hope you'll be up to it."

Merlyn nodded. "I'm honored to be your apprentice, Gaius." She said honestly, then smiled. "In more than just healing."

Gaius smiled back, before tapping the book. "Take care to hide that, Merlyn. You don't want anyone to find it."

She nodded, thinking carefully, before an idea crept into her mind and she smiled. "I think I know just the place."

Gaius nodded as she made for the door, swinging her cloak over her shoulders as she went. She'd just reached the threshold, hiding the book in its velvet wrapping before the old man called her back.

"And Merlyn?" Gaius asked. She halted and looked up. "You're a hero. I've known since the moment you saved my life, and you proved it again tonight." Gaius cocked his head. "Perhaps this is what your magic is for. Saving people from their own folly."

She smiled ruefully. "Sounds rather frustrating."

Gaius smirked. "But entertaining, to be sure."

She hesitated before leaving. "You said you believed in choice, didn't you Gaius?"

The man nodded. "Indeed."

Merlyn frowned, trying to reconcile the wisdom of two people wiser than herself. "So destiny…"

Gaius sighed. "Destiny is difficult." He sat down at his chair, suddenly looking old. "Personally, I believe destiny is what we make it. That our choices in the past affect but don't control our choices in the present or the future." The old man settled back into his chair. "It is…difficult, for me, to believe I have no say in what I choose. But perhaps the truth of destiny lies in what others choose, which is not nearly so easily influenced by one's own resolve." Gaius looked at her, suddenly serious. "It is an important lesson, Merlyn: we cannot choose for other people. Only for ourselves. And we must accept that others would not choose as we do, in certain situations."

Merlyn nodded, and sensing the lesson was over, took her leave.

She stood, once more, on the stone balcony overlooking the Dragon's keep.

"Hello?" She called, unsure if he would answer.

The dragon soon responded, wings creating a vacuum of air as he descended on his perch.

"If it isn't the young witch," the great best purred. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She cocked her head to the side. "Do you have a name?"

The dragon blinked in what she assumed was surprise. "Indeed," and he did sound surprised. "My name is Kilgharrah. In the Dragon Tongue, it means 'the guide.'"

Merlyn filed that information away for later, despite having her curiosity piqued. Dragons had their own language? Well she supposed it made sense…

But that wasn't why she was here.

"Do many people come to visit you?" She asked, curious.

"Uther visits every year, on the anniversary of my capture, to gloat." Kilgharrah said huffily. He was slowly reminding her of a great, talking cat. "But other than that…you, Merlyn, are the first in twenty years."

She looked at the dragon, and wondered if he got lonely. She remembered Gaius' words about Uther killing all but one dragon, and thought perhaps she understood something about being utterly alone. There was no one like her, after all, and she was a freak even in the magical community.

But she had distractions. She had people to talk to and a world to explore. Kilgharrah had none of that, locked in this dank cave. Merlyn wondered if the beast was not insane. Surely he had suffered grief? And sitting in this cave for years on end, with nothing to contemplate but the loss of his kin, and his imprisonment…what torture.

"I've obtained a book of magic," She said slowly. "I'm going to hide it down here, and practice here." She sensed his surprise, despite his lack of expression, and she smiled. "You need company, and I need a place to learn in secret."

She got the distinct impression that Kilgharrah was raising an eyebrow. "Have you accepted your destiny then?"

Merlyn frowned at him, then levitated a convenient rock, to the side of the cavern entrance. Using her magic, she hollowed out a space beneath it, so that the book would fit with its velvet covering, and not be crushed.

She hid the book, contemplating her answer. When she stood, she turned to him.

"I have accepted nothing of destiny," she told him. "I just know what choices lay before me. I could leave Camelot, and never learn magic, slowly remove myself from society and be lonelier than I've ever been before." The dragon stayed silent. "Or, I can stay and learn, use my magic to help people, and prevent further destruction. If that involves Prince Arthur…" She trailed off and shrugged. "So be it." She placed her hands on her hips. "I didn't have a choice in having magic. But I have a choice in how I use it. I choose to use it for good."

The dragon sighed, before a reptilian smile stretched across his lips. "An interesting argument." The dragon tensed, and she knew this to mean he was preparing to take off.

"I believe in destiny, young Witch, and someday you will too. On that day, I assure you, your destiny will be greater than even I can imagine."

Then the dragon sailed into the dark of the cave, and Merlyn returned to her warm chambers, the fates unknowingly poised on her narrow shoulders.

I feel somewhat compelled to inform you that I've never done a genderbent story before.

Obviously, you'll have noted some changes to Merlin's/Merlyn's character. This is because she is a girl, growing up in a mostly patriarchal society. She's more mature in some respects, less so in others. She's got a quick temper and she's prideful. I imagined she'd be somewhat like Morgana, but with less melodrama, more wisdom and a mothering nature. If you have complaints about how I've characterized him as a her, then by all means send me a pm or review and I would be happy to explain why I wrote something the way I did.

I used the pilot episode as a template for this. As we get further along, I'll be sticking to the episode story-line less and less, until finally I just do my own thing. I'm planning on going wherever it takes me, which means the characters will stay in character and I won't force them to fit the plot.

I also have the second episode written up, but I want to see how you guys react before I post it.

Now. I have just written 35k words in two days, and it is time for me to sleep. I'm sure there are many, many editing catastrophes that must be addressed in this, but I was really curious about the response it would get. So I'll go back and edit if you guys tell me there's stuff I need to fix. Deal?

Thanks for reading, I know this was a long one.

Don't forget to leave me a review on your way out!