"The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be." - Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Merlyn is sent to Camelot and things get a bit tricky from there.
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The first week was absolute torture. Merlyn hadn't been taught to follow orders as much as she was forced to handle when around the Prat, and, while she adjusted to having to answer every whim he requested, it took time for her to not bite back at him and tell him to do it himself. He had hands, didn't he? Might as well put them to good use instead of torturing poor boys...
There were lists and lists of things for her to do, ranging from scrubbing to mucking to deliveries to changing to sewing, it was ridiculous!
Merlyn trudged behind Arthur toward the training grounds with heavy shoulders and a sore head. Merlyn had to stay up in the wee hours of the morning in order to sow his shirts together, in a a practice mishap, and she was exhausted. And then, she was forced to practice sword fighting, of all things, with him. As if she knew how to use one, of course, she had whacked sticks against each other for play fights in Ealdor with Will, but otherwise... she was useless. The sword was blunt, but made of steel the finest which would severely hurt once it slammed against her.
Arthur must have been expecting it, and wanted to watch as she stumbled about like a pig with three legs. Merlyn pursed her lips in annoyance as she crossed her arms over her chest and asked, "Is there a reason you picked me to do this, uh, sire?" she forgot to add the formality more often than not. "I mean, sire, that I have no skill with a proper sword, and you have knights who would be more than happy to train with you."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "That's not the point. Besides, if you are to be my servant, you might as well learn to sword-fight in case of anything. There's also a tournament coming up, if you haven't already realized; you need to help me train."
"Fine," Merlyn surrendered and slid on the armor he basically shoved in her hands. It was just a basic helmet, sword and shield, instead of the full chain mail that Arthur wore. "If I happen to get seriously injured, I'm gonna..." He glared in her direction, and she sighed. "Nevermind."
"If I wanted to hurt you, I will," Arthur reminded. "Come on. We're heading outside the castle."
Merlyn followed the arrogant prince until they stood just outside the ramparts on the soft, lush grass. She slid the sword from the sheath and surveyed it for a second. It was smaller than Arthur's, but sturdy and no doubt sharp. Putting on the helmet, she glared at the blonde.
"Ready?" Arthur questioned.
"No," Merlyn muttered and glanced up. "But you really don't care, do you?"
Arthur grinned and spun his sword expertly. "Not really. You know me very well." Suddenly, he attacked. "Body." Merlyn deflected it with her sword. "Shield." Merlyn pushed her shield toward him to block the strike. "Body. Shield."
"Body," Merlyn called and swiped her sword.
With a final strike, Arthur hit Merlyn's sword from her hands. "Head." His own sword slammed against her helmet.
