Merlin: the secret prince

Naming Morgana Princess

Prince Merlin of Deira stirred in his chamber within the grand city of Camelot. With a passive stretch, he cast off the remnants of sleep that clung to him like a velvety embrace. His drowsy gaze fell upon the royal seal that rested upon his nightstand, a solemn emblem of his homeland, Deira. The ten-year anniversary of Deira's tragic fall weighed heavily upon him, a painful reminder of the kingdom he had left behind.

As the soft hues of dawn began to dance across the horizon, Merlin carefully cradled his royal seal and concealed it within the folds of his clothing. A cherished heirloom and a secret link to his past, it was a constant reminder of his true identity and his duty to his homeland. He dressed in the regal attire of Camelot, ensuring that his royal seal remained hidden beneath his garments.

With the final touch of his ever-present neckerchief, Merlin was ready to face the day. The neckerchief served a dual purpose, concealing his royal seal and offering a comforting sense of familiarity amidst the foreign splendour of Camelot. His thoughts, however, remained tethered to Deira as he silently reflected on the fateful day a decade ago.

Moving gracefully through the chambers, Merlin observed that his trusted mentor, Gaius, had yet to stir from his slumber. The older man's peaceful rest provided Merlin with an opportunity to partake in his clandestine training, an endeavour shrouded in secrecy from King Arthur, whom Merlin affectionately referred to as King Prat.

The pre-dawn darkness cloaked Merlin and his faithful companion, Percival, as they convened at their secluded training spot. Although Arthur served as Percival's knightly mentor, Merlin continued to refine Percival's combat skills and ensure the preservation of Deira's fighting techniques.

"Good of you to join me, Percy," Merlin greeted his friend, a fond smile gracing his features.

Percival returned the smile with an air of admiration. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Merls. After all, it isn't every day one has the chance to train with the best swordsman in the five kingdoms."

Merlin's humility compelled him to protest, "I'm hardly the best, Percy. Arthur surpasses me by far."

Percival, however, refused to accept Merlin's deflection. "We both know that's not true, Sire," he replied, shaking his head.

With a sigh, Merlin chided him gently, "Titles, Percy, remember? How many times have I asked you not to use them? Anyway, what shall we work on today?"

Percival contemplated for a moment before suggesting, "Shall we begin with combat practice against the training dummies and follow it with sparring?"

Merlin nodded in agreement, and with a wave of his hand, he lifted the enchantment on the dummies. These dummies were no ordinary practice targets; they were imbued with magic to provide a formidable challenge. Merlin effortlessly defeated his dummy within seconds, a testament to his unparalleled skill. Percival, on the other hand, faced a more protracted battle, taking a full ten minutes to triumph over his animated adversary.

Impressed, Percival questioned Merlin, "Could you please enlighten me on how you dispatched your opponent so swiftly?"

Merlin modestly replied, "Hours of practice, Percy, and a bit of natural talent. It all adds up."

Percival persisted with admiration in his voice, "Even with hours of training without any guidance, you've become the finest swordsman in the five kingdoms."

Blushing slightly, Merlin replied, "Your praise is overwhelming, Percy, but I'm not entirely convinced I'm the best."

Percival's tone carried finality as he asserted, "You set the dummies on the hardest setting and defeated them in just thirty seconds. Even Arthur struggles on the same setting."