2020 Foreword - Hello, all! It has certainly been a long time... I am deeply sorry for the years of delays. Lately, I have had more time to reflect on my works, and this particular one came immediately to mind. Life has been kind of crazy these past few years, and I haven't had much time to write. I have been doing all I can to practice, writing whenever possible. I was constantly worried about disappointing you guys. I just had too much going on, and a rather nasty case of writer's block to top it off. I recently re-read this, and I saw many things that I could improve. I do not think this is as good as it could be, so I am going to begin rewriting this story. I am going to release the full thing once it is complete, so it may be a while before you see this story again. I hope you are all doing well! I can't thank you enough for the support.

I will be keeping this first chapter up until the new version is complete. Happy reading!

A/N:

Disclaimer: Me, the owner of Merlin? Yeah, right! I wish…

Thank you for checking out this story! Whilst it is FAR from my first one, it is the very first one I decided to share with you all. I scarcely ever finish stories, as most of my plot lines wind up being rather weak or cliché, but I am quite confident that I will finish this one, especially since I have someone in real life who keeps nagging me to update.

I should probably inform you that I have no specific updating schedule, as my ADHD will not permit such sorcery (cue Uther Pendragon), but I will share the chapters with you all as soon as they are polished. I will most likely revisit several of these chapters, being the perfectionist that I am, and revise them, so be warned!

I am also new to this site, so bear with me as I figure things out. In the meantime, happy reading and writing!

Without further ado, let us begin!

~King Dollophead

Chapter 1: The Gauntlet of Scéawung

It was seemingly an ordinary evening in Camelot, and the Round Table meeting was to be no exception; or so everyone thought.

King Arthur and his knights, sirs Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan, sat around an ancient, baroque table with a circular top (hence the name "Round Table"). Beside the king sat his lovely wife, Queen Guinevere, and the court physician, Gaius. Behind the king, lingering disinterestedly in the shadows, stood his gangly manservant, Merlin.

Merlin watched a cobweb gambol lazily from the elaborate ceiling beams above the council chambers, paying little attention to the affairs of the meeting. He was idly aware of Gaius and Guinevere's early departure, as the woman was starting to fall ill—or so everyone thought—and struggled to get through many of her daily tasks.

Merlin knew that the queen's discomfort was not borne of illness, but rather, something—someone—else. Camelot's royal couple was expecting, and did not even know it.

Merlin smiled softly, wishing he could tell Arthur and his wife the good news.

"I could always use the old 'I'm psychic' excuse, but I don't think they'd believe me this time around. Ugh, if only they knew of my magic; I could have told Gwen ages ago!" Merlin thought, frustrated. He had told Gaius about it, but the elderly physician, set in his ways, had refused to inform Gwen without proof.

"I suppose I'll just have to wait. The longer the prat is unaware, the less I have to deal with his anxiety-induced temper," Merlin thought, grumbling as he envisioned the mighty king of Camelot taking all of his apprehension out on his faithful manservant. "I can feel the goblets striking my head already! …I'd better get Gaius to check that out," Merlin mused irritably.

Merlin was just wondering whether or not severe brain damage would warrant a day off (probably not, although Arthur may start throwing pillows at him instead of goblets) when a bright, violet flash flooded the chambers.

The lilac luminescence cleared, revealing a paradoxically youthful-looking elder in its place. The sorceress threw back her hood, revealing a heap of elegantly-styled ash-blonde hair set above a fair, smooth, yet wizened face that surrounded cadaverous, marble-like eyes. The woman was clad in iridescent, armored robes that seemed to sprout from her slight form like flower petals.

The knights drew their swords, poised to strike at the slightest indication of danger.

"Send forth your champion!" the woman demanded, tossing her splendiferously ornate gauntlet to the ground.

"Why should we accept a challenge from a sorceress such as yourself?" Arthur spat.

"If you do not, I can promise that harm will come to your kingdom. It is far easier to deal with a calm sorceress than an angry one, that much I can assure you," the woman replied coolly.

Arthur frowned, struggling to settle on the best course of action. Sighing, the monarch stepped forward, his thick roseate cape billowing out regally behind him.

"I, King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, accept your challenge," he declared, leaning down to grasp the armored glove.

"Halt! I will only do battle with the true champion of Camelot, and you are not he," the woman cried, stopping the flaxen-haired king from picking up her gauntlet.

Arthur was incensed.

"I am the king, and thus, I am my kingdom's champion! It is my responsibility to—"

The woman cut him off impatiently.

"You are mistaken. I shall only do battle with the most worthy and accomplished individual amongst you. Their title is inconsequential, for I judge potential champions solely on merit."

"Then, which of us is worthy to be your contender?" Sir Leon queried politely.

"Your champion knows that he is the one I seek. I see that he is reluctant to humor me," the woman answered with a wry laugh. "I know that he is here. Cease this cowardice at once, Champion, or these men shall face my wrath!"

Unseen by the others, Merlin gulped.

"Oh gods, please don't tell me that she means me!" he thought, an imploring glint in his vibrant cobalt eyes.

"You know that I am referring to you, Emrys; do not deny it," she responded telepathically.

Merlin cursed inwardly; she had heard him.

The woman smirked.

"I have been selecting, challenging, and testing possible Champions for eons. It has all been in preparation for our battle, Emrys. You will not deny me," she replied vehemently.

"What reason could possibly compel me to accept?" Merlin inquired crossly.

"Proving your worth, for one," the woman answered.

"I already know my worth. I have friends and family that validate this, and have little need to do so myself, especially if it puts them and the future of Albion at risk," Merlin retorted.

"I can see that the trivial trials of the nobility hold little meaning in your eyes. Very well," the woman turned towards the knights, a sinister gleam in her cold, dead eyes. "I will simply provide other means of persuasion."

Merlin's eyes widened as the woman summoned a violaceous ball of fire, training her sadistic orbs on the cavaliers of Camelot—Merlin's friends.

"Who are you?" Merlin demanded irately, glowering at the woman before him.

"I am known by many as Scéawung, the contemplator and examiner. I am here to test your capabilities, and perhaps assist you in reaching your full potential, if only you agree to do battle," Scéawung countered declaratively.

Merlin sighed.

"Very well then. It seems you have left me with no choice," the young warlock responded bitterly.

Merlin stepped out of the shadows, a bone-chilling glare contorting his cheery face, mauve firelight contouring his already-distinguished cheekbones.

The knights looked on, flabbergasted, as the young man approached the fearsome sorceress without fright. Their eyes widened as the lanky manservant bent down gracefully and lifted the sumptuous gauntlet.

"I, Merlin of Ealdor, accept your challenge," he announced.

As soon as the young warlock had spoken these words, a circular, auroral wave emanated from the opalescent gauntlet, tearing through everything in its path.

"We do battle at sundown tomorrow, Champion," Scéawung responded, her dull eyes gleaming with unreadable emotion. "You have all of the morrow to prepare. I shall come to you when it is time for our match. Farewell." The woman then turned her gaze to the ceiling, spreading her arms wide. "Lyft, fyr; ágénsendan mec!"

An amaranthine inferno sprung into being, consuming Scéawung and burning her into ash (that was rather reminiscent of her elaborate hair), which was swept away by swirling violet winds.

The knights stared at the place she had vanished for a moment, rendered speechless by what had just transpired.

After a long while, Arthur turned to face his manservant, who was staring darkly at the spot where Scéawung had vanished.

"What the hell just happened?"

A/N: "Lyft, fyr; ágénsendan mec!" = Wind, fire; send me back!