Merlyn's Fate

The Once and Future Queen P3

Arthur was seriously regretting his decision to give Merlyn her bed back, but when he saw her the next morning, looking more refreshed than she had in a long time, he was glad that he hadn't ordered her to get his mattress from his room. He drifted in and out of sleep, but as he watched the sun rise from the small window overlooking the physician's chambers, he decided that his dreams would have to wait. His stomach rumbling, breakfast was at the forefront of his mind. He'd watched Merlyn make porridge a few times before; it didn't seem too hard.

∆

Merlyn awoke to the smell of burning. She rushed out of bed, scrambling down the steps and through the billowing cloud of smoke, making her way towards the cooker. She heard coughing; waving her arms blindly ahead of her, she tried vainly to reach the source. Eventually, her hands collided with a muscular shoulder; she grabbed what she presumed to be Arthur and dragged him back to her room, closing the door behind her.

"What were you doing?" she exclaimed, confused at what could possibly produce so much smoke.

The prince blushed. "I was trying to make breakfast." he gestured to the blackened pot he'd had the good sense to take off the heat, smoke still errupting from its bowels. Burnt oats were stuck to the inside.

Merlyn, flushed with relief, chuckling at his embarrassment. "You're meant to put milk and water in with them."

She shook her head, amused at Arthur's lack of common knowledge. Thank God she hadn't left him to cook dinner: who knows what would've happened.

∆

After some bread and jam, which even Arthur could just about manage not to burn, it was time for the pair to get to the joust. It was a clear day, bright with warm sun, but even the clear sky could do nothing to calm the prince's nerves.

"One more match and the tournament will be over." Arthur mumbled as Merlyn finished adjusting his chest plate, an impossible longing punctuating his words. She felt it too, the lingering wish for just a little longer in each other's company without any distraction, forgetting the pressures of destinies and alliances.

"You can go back to being Prince Arthur." she smiled sadly, unable to quite meet his eyes. She reached into her pocket, producing a burgundy piece of ribbon, the fabric warm to his touch. After a moment, he recognised it from the first night she'd saved his life, the comfortable swaying in time to some off-tune melody, blaming his lack of duty on drink and his gratefulness towards this remarkable woman. If he were honest with himself, he'd known from the moment that she'd held a dagger to his throat that he wanted nothing more than what he now had. This piece of ribbon symbolised everything they'd been through, everything they'd seen in the past year.

"I thought you might wear it for luck." she mumbled, fiddling with the fabric, as if she thought the gesture silly.

Arthur's lips twitched upwards as he looked down at the cloth, trying to find the words he wanted to say.

"Thank you." he spoke sincerely, taking it from her and tying the ribbon around his right shoulder, the colour glimmering peacefully against his armour. For a moment, they stood, gazing soppily into eachother's eyes, until Arthur tilted Merlyn's chin up, bringing his lips to hers. Their kiss was short, but it meant every wish, every unspoken notion shared between them. Neither of them were certain of the future, but if time froze for them, then they could be happy. It was Merlyn who broke the kiss, staring up at her prince with a strange sense of wonder, before something caught the corner of her eye.

"Good luck." she whispered, fleeing the tent to try to grasp another hint of the stranger she'd met the day before. If she'd been right, if Myror had truly been looking in between the slightly ajar tent flaps, Arthur could be in serious trouble. There had been rumours of a dead guard as they'd walked into the tournament; she could only hope that they were false. As she scanned the crowd, she couldn't find the mysterious figure; she was afraid of what the trained assassin might do if he really had discovered her prince.