"My lady, you must be still. Your hair mustn't appear crooked at dinner."

The woman's patronizing tone irritated Morgana. For that matter her very presence was an irritation, along with that of all the other "nursemaids" attending her. Honestly she was 11 years old, far beyond the age of needing a nurse.

Hairstyling completed finally - she'd been dressed for over an hour - she was allowed to go to dinner, a full escort trailing after her. It was the wish of her new guardian for his ward to dine with him at the end of every week. Ostensibly for him and that stuck up brat of a prince he had for a son to learn more about her, and her them. In actuality it was to sit and listen to him spout his grandiose theories and designs for the world, complete with vivid details that any sane person would consider entirely inappropriate for a child to be listening to.

She entered the room the two of them occupied after being announced, remembered to give a proper curtsy to the king, then waited for him to nod before she sat.

"About time you showed up," Arthur teased. "Does it always take girls so long just to dress for dinner?"

She snapped something back at him then turned to Uther. In the sharp tone her father had always chided her for she demanded to know why she had to have such a detailed beauty routine. She told him at home she'd been allowed to dress and wear her hair as she pleased.

Uther, remarkably, ignored her rudeness and told her that she lived in his home now and there were standards the people would expect her to meet. The explanation started off kindly enough, but soon dissolved into a lecture about appearances and the requirements of those in the royal household both now and in the future. Halfway through the verbal onslaught she'd caught Arthur's eye and he'd given her a look that was both sympathetic and smug. No doubt he was relieved that for once such a lecture wasn't being directed at him.

Needless to say she was not impressed by Uther's reasoning, and the process of getting her hair fixed up continued to be just one of the many things she was beginning to dislike about her new home. Still the topic might have been put aside were it not for an unfortunate encounter between her and the prince just a couple of weeks later.

Morgana had made it a habit shortly after she'd arrived in Camelot to challenge Arthur to unofficial duels. Her father had indulged her desire to learn sword work and had often commented on how skillful she'd become. Arthur had at first scorned the idea of fighting a girl but had quickly changed his tune the first time they'd crossed swords and she'd knocked him on his backside in less than a minute. She still won their matches more often than not, but such was not the case on this particular day.

A fierce wind was ripping through the training grounds causing multiple issues not the least of which was that her ever present maid had decided to secure her hair back with an artistically tied - but singular - ribbon, despite the fact she'd been informed the king's ward would be going riding with the prince this afternoon (such was the code word for their fights). The style was ill suited to either occasion but for what she was attempting it was downright hazardous. Strands of her thick black waves were constantly getting swept across her face, greatly interfering with her ability to use her sword with any sort of precision. This made Arthur's victory in the match almost effortless - or so it appeared to him.

Normally his smugness whenever he won was tolerable as she always made him work for every victory. But this time she'd half beaten herself and his arrogance pushed her beyond her limit. She'd explained - quite collectedly she thought - that he'd only won because her hair was getting in her face. He accepted that explanation with as much grace as any ten year old boy in his position would, that is to say none at all. Declaring she'd prove it she stormed off back to the castle, her sword still clutched firmly in her fist.

Instead of returning to her chambers she dashed off the opposite direction ending up in an abandoned scullery chamber. If anyone, even a stray cat, had been around to see her perhaps she would have thought twice about what she was going to do. But as there wasn't she grabbed the coal black locks that had caused her so much misery, pulled them over her shoulder and began hacking at them with her sword. It took some time as the blade was rather dull, and her hair wound up being more torn off than smoothly cut. But she stuck to it and in the end accomplished her goal. Aggression worked out, she threw the pile of severed strands down a hole into the drains beneath the castle, and strode from the room with as much weight lifted off her shoulders as had been removed from her head.

The uproar brought on by the event was borderline hysterical. Her chief attendant actually fainted at the sight of her charge's close and unevenly chopped locks. Uther wasn't much better. For several minutes he'd been unable to say a word and had then launched into a violent tirade about obedience and propriety and several other things she hadn't really payed attention to, as after her initial fright - her father had never raised his voice to her - she'd found herself strangely entertained by the various shades of red and purple his face was turning.

Once he'd finally paused to draw breath he ordered her to her room, not to leave unless she had his express permission. When he came to her later he'd told her, after yet another lecture, that he had thought of allowing her to begin attending some feasts. Although it wasn't the way things were typically done, he'd considered her mature for her age and thought she deserved a treat now and then. Now he was reconsidering that opinion. Ultimately she'd been sentenced (for that was now cold and grave he appeared when speaking to her about it) to remain in her room until she learned what it meant to behave in a way one of her station was required too.

She'd pretended to cry and sulk about this, but in reality the confinement was a bit of a relief. She'd only been under Uther's roof for a year, and was tired of people staring at her like she was the newest sculpture on display. Banquets and crowds would only make that feeling worse. If she stayed in her room she could read and eat and wouldn't have to bother pretending she wasn't lonely and homesick for a little while.

Plus it would be a good laugh to see Arthur still have to go. She knew he hated being fawned over too, for all he pretended he didn't.

Thus this was the way of things until the day her hair once again brushed her shoulders in an even way. Uther marched to her rooms unannounced one morning minus his usual scowl which startled her. As frightening as his anger was, she liked it far less when he looked pleased with himself as he did now.

"You can't begin to imagine my disappointment at your lack of appreciation for what's been provided for you," He told her without so much as a greeting. "You have wanted for nothing in this home. It's come to my attention that perhaps that has been the cause of our problems. Having been surrounded by such luxury you have forgotten what your life could have been like had I not made my promise to provide for you. I've consulted about the matter and while I don't believe this to be the most appropriate solution, I accept that it is necessary. And so will you."

He gestured toward her still open chamber door and a peasant girl with dark skin and curly black hair entered the room. She took small timid steps and stopped well behind where the king stood, head down and hands clutching the skirt of her faded yellow dress.

"This girl will attend to you in all necessities from this point forward. If you want to have her try her hand at maintaining your required appearance you're welcome to do that too. But I expect you to be on time for all your activities and to always appear as a lady of the court when you are summoned. Do you understand?" She managed to nod with a straight face although it was difficult seeing the clear amusement on the king's face. Morgana was not quite the spoiled brat he thought she was. She knew how much work was involved in caring for a member of the royal household. Up to this point she'd had at least five different women each attending to a different aspect of her care or that of her chambers.

Did Uther really expect all that work to be done by this one small girl?

8 years later

"Morgana this feast is the most important of the year, will you please promise me you'll be sensible in your attire. I'm not sure father can take another of your ridiculous hairstyles."

"It's quite amusing that he's worrying about that when for years all he has told me is that I am the one to set the example for the ladies of the court. If Camelot is not seen to have the newest and the best of everything then surely we shall suffer ignominious censure. And you Arthur,

certainly don't bother to take any steps to help. I've seen you wear the same chainmail and cloak from the training field to the dinner table, without even bothering to bathe in between.

"I haven't done that since I was fifteen!"

"Hm well, regardless you're hardly the one to be lecturing me about my fashion choices."

The prince's fears were not wholly unfounded. Over the years as the king's ward grew and her maid's styling skills increased, the ways she had worn her hair had also taken on more variety. Some of the styles she had tried out truthfully were quite ridiculous as Arthur had put it.

She wouldn't acknowledge it, but she had chosen some for no other reason then to see the reaction of the court. Ever since the outcry over her chopping all her hair off, she'd taken keen delight in provoking a reaction from the crowd of vapid, insipid hangers on that followed her every move and didn't have an original thought between them.

But tonight for some reason, the thought of working so hard to make an impression wasn't amusing. She hadn't slept well the night before and a headache was already building up behind her eyes. She wished she could use it as an excuse to skip the feast, but having pleaded an ailment of some sort (falsely) twice in the recent months pressing her luck on this occasion would not be wise. Silently she cursed herself for poor planning.

Fortunately it only took a few more minutes of halfhearted snipping before Arthur gave up his attempts at giving advice and left. 'Good riddance' Morgana thought as she stomped her way over to her dressing table and plopped down on it's seat. Snatching up one of her many hair brushes she began working it through her long dark locks.

Gwen appeared soon after and helped her into yet another new dress. Uther had gifted her with several on her birthday the previous month. Well not the dresses themselves, but the money to have them made up - after he'd approved the colors and style of course. She didn't tell him she'd kept a bit of the money stashed away for her next trip to the lower town. He didn't seem to realize that there were others who knew how to sew that would be more than happy to make things suited to the king's ward's personal taste, rather than just what she was given permission to have.

Properly attired Morgana took her seat at her dressing table and spent a brief moment studying her appearance in her mirror. She smiled as Gwen bustled about fetching hairbrush, pins, and water to freshen her curls.

There were times when her maid could still be shy but they had a plentiful array of private jokes that would usually perk her right up. Morgana frequently laughed to herself over how Uther's little joke had backfired on him. He thought Gwen's drastically different origins were at best a source of pity and that Morgana should revel in the fact she had more than her maid would ever dream of having. He also thought she'd be sick of her within a week. Instead the girls had become inseparable and while they kept of the pretense of mistress and servant they were fast friends and there were times Morgana envied the younger girl for her simple home and loving father.

"How would you like your hair done milady?" Gwen asked quietly but with a tease, pulling Morgana from her thoughts.

As Morgana's hair had continued to lengthen Gwen (despite being told she didn't have to) had put herself in charge of taking care of it. The king's ward had initially panicked over this, knowing Uther would take his anger out on the maid if he thought one strand out of place.

To everyone's surprise however, not only could the younger girl put it up into any number of attractive and age appropriate styles, she could do it in less than half the time of her former attendant. When Morgana had asked how she'd learned, Gwen had quietly told her that her mother was maidservant to the wife of a knight. One who habitually ran late for everything, she added in confidence, making her lady giggle. Gwen's mother had learned how to get her mistress from bath to court dress and styled hair with as little as an hour's warning. Her daughter had picked up a few tips.

As much as she appreciated her maid's skill however, tonight Morgana's thoughts lay in a different direction. She considered the question for a moment, eyeing her long, loose waves, then gave a mischievous grin. "You know what? I think it's fine just the way it is."

That Uther's ward could go a single night and not be involved in some subtle (or not so subtle) disagreement with the king was not an expectation held by any in the court of Camelot. But they did have to wonder about the glaring looks exchanged between the surrogate father and daughter at one point during the particular feast held that night. If they'd been privy to the conversation held between the two they might have understood, although it would have been a tough call as to which party deserved more of the sympathy once it was over.

"Must you continue to flaunt your lack of convention at every turn?" Uther queried in a tone that held little volume but no small amount of displeasure.

Suppressing a sigh, Morgana pasted a cooperative smile on her face and spoke with an attempt at civility. "I arrived on time, I've made charming small talk with all the obese lords and their leering offspring without giving into the temptation to smack any of them, and didn't yawn or roll my eyes once all through your endless opening remarks that have not changed since the first time I attended an occasion such as this. What, may I ask, about my behavior do you possibly find offensive?"

"It is not your behavior I object to but your appearance."

"I paid special attention to the lists you gave me after my last five appearances," she answered, clenching her fist around the stem of her wine goblet. "You'll find this dress has none of the features you deemed inappropriate for a lady of my age and status."

Uther sighed. "Must I spell out everything for you?" At her half innocent/half challenging look he spat out, "Your hair makes you look like a peasant waif."

She glared at him then, a fire hotter than any pyre she'd ever witnessed blazing in her eyes. "Uther," she stated in a tone that the king hadn't heard since his wife's death, "do not doubt that I am grateful for the things you have given me and the place I hold in your court. But also do not forget that you made me earn that place, and I am loved if not respected by far more than just you. You told me once that the daughters of the nobles would look to me as their guide and as a guide I have always endeavored to act.

"Yes I have had my share of fun, and I'll admit I enjoy watching the reactions I've provoked from time to time, but such is the right for someone of my station or so I am told. When you express a valid concern that something has gone too far then I change it. In case you weren't listening earlier I told you I'm wearing this monstrosity of a dress because you provided it, and because I am trying to show you appreciation on this night.

"But do not think that your kindness to me will justify you forever. My father raised me to respect myself as much as those around me. You have granted me authority in your kingdom and if you are not willing to work with me, I'm going to use it in my own way. And I'll start with my peasant hair as you so put it."

She smirked at him and Uther had to suppress a shudder. "Do you remember when I cut my own hair all those years ago? Well Arthur felt so guilty for provoking you into taking my father's sword from me that he went and stole it from the vaults where you hid it. He brought it to me that first night and I've kept it safe ever since." She paused and twirled a stand of hair between her fingers. "I'd hate to have to put it to use again after all these years."

"Morgana."

"I can see the faces now. And do you know the best part? This time others will do it too! No father amongst the nobles will dare contradict their daughter's wish to model themselves after the king's ward. Not when he's already shown himself to be so generous and tolerant. And it will just spread from there. Soon the Pendragon household will be setting the foremost trends across the five kingdoms just as you've always claimed it should."

"Morgana!" Uther's face was turning colors the same way it had when she was a child. It was just as amusing now and she couldn't resist pressing just a little bit more.

"If you're concerned, I'm sure Arthur would be perfectly happy to grow his hair out to compensate for mine." She chuckled at the image that made in her mind. "What a trend that would start. It's a brilliant idea, I don't know why I didn't suggest it the last time."

For a brief moment she thought Uther was going to have a public meltdown but he somehow reined himself in at the last second. When he didn't speak, she returned to her now cold dinner and started chatting with the anemic looking daughter of some important house that was sitting on her left.

Her guardian didn't acknowledge her the rest of the night.

Two mornings later she answered her door to a king who looked displeased but not combative.

"Can I help you with something Sire?"

"Morgana," he cleared his throat once or twice. "I have recently been reminded of a promise I made to your father. That if anything ever happened to him I would look after you and give you the upbringing he would wish you to have. As far as education, provisions, and protection are concerned there can be no doubt that I have done so. I forgot however, that above all these things he wished for you to be happy, as any father would. I fear in that way I have not perhaps been as successful as I hoped to be."

Not quite an apology but it was as close as she'd ever seen him get. She stayed quiet, waiting to see if he had more to say.

"Well," he finally continued, "I have decided that a test period is in order. While I must still demand your behavior and associates meet with my approval, when it comes to your clothing and appearance if making your own choices will make you happy then I will allow it. I can't promise I won't forbid an ensemble that is blatantly inappropriate. But if it is simply a difference in taste...I will try my best to yield to your wishes over my own."

Rather speechless she nonetheless nodded her head with a genuine smile. Taking that as a thank you he cleared his throat uncomfortably and withdrew.

Closing the door, she hurried to the back of her room and dug through the bottom of her wardrobe to where she'd hidden the pair of soft but serviceable riding trousers Gwen had given her. The maid had made them from an off cut of fabric left over from another project after Morgana had expressed the difficulty of riding hard and remaining modest at the same time.

Perhaps the polite thing to do would be to wait a few days before pushing against the new boundaries her guardian had staked around her... but then again waiting had never been her style.