CHECKMATE [ARTHUR PENDRAGON]

Chapter 5: The Poisoned Chalice

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Merlin, their characters nor their plot. I do however own the Princess Arwyn and Sir Geralt. Their character and story arcs remain my intellectual property.

The early morning air was cold as the sun battled with the moon and the clouds, eager to share its warmth with the world. Mist surrounded the lower town and the tiny blades of grass that rose through the muddy paths were coated in tiny droplets of dew. The town was empty as the villagers remained jailed in their slumber. The only sound was the cheerful songs of the birds in the trees as they awoke to a new day. The dark green hood of the princess' cloak cradled her as she tiptoed down the winding paths of the kingdom. Sleep had long abandoned her. She had always loved the loneliness that the small hours of the day allowed – the quiet time to reflect or to momentarily rid one's mind of the troubles and responsibilities that ensued as the kingdom began to wake.

The first shutters and curtains were beginning to open as the town's occupants came to life and so she knew that she ought to return to the castle. The heat of her breath created a gentle fog in the crisp air as she exhaled a soft sigh. Today was the day that Lord Bayard declared peace with Camelot and so soon, the dew-covered blades of grass on the muddy paths would be ripped from their home by the hooves of foreign horses and the cheerful songs of the birds in the trees would be drowned out by the idle chatter of newfound friends and allies.

Silently, she reached up and slowly removed her hood, allowing her long waves to fall over the shoulder of her cloak. Her thin leather shoes kissed the marble floors as she made her way back into the castle. It was peaceful; the calm before the storm. A couple of servants began their daily duties, pausing only to bow to the young royal.

"You are up early." The deep tones of the man's voice were croaky as he spoke for the first time that morning. Startled by the break in her lonesome reverie, she turned to face the aging man. His crown sat atop his head in its usual manner yet his face held an expression that the young princess had not seen in years. "Walk with me?" Nodding, Arwyn gingerly placed her hand on his outstretched arm, allowing him to guide her. "I come here often." The king spoke as they entered the royal gardens. "Early in the morning before the kingdom rises. Your mother loved the gardens here so much that your father had our gardener transported to the Distant Isles to design her a garden of her own."

A gentle smile spread across the princess' face as she looked up at the man who was once her father's best friend: "She was always out there...near the end." The smile fell from her face as she recalled some of her most painful memories. Swallowing heavily, she shook her head. "I don't remember much about her – just a faceless woman in faded memories. I can't even remember the colour of her hair."

Uther glanced down at the young girl as she bit the inside of her cheek and perched herself on the edge of the fountain, running her fingers through the falling water – a wistful expression on her face.

"Red." He responded, sitting down beside her despite the occasional spirt of water that dampened his cloak. He smiled softly as she turned her gaze to him, a grateful glint in her sea green eyes. Motioning to the guard, Uther held out a hand: "I have something for you. A gift." A frown creased her brow as she watched the knight present an object wrapped in a red fabric, to the king. "During your last summer in Camelot, I had promised you that when you were old enough, I would have one crafted for you."

Her frown deepened as the King slowly removed the red rag but as the fresh morning sunlight sparked against gold, her eyebrows rose in surprise. Carefully, she reached forward to retrieve it – holding it up as she examined the craftsmanship.

"It's beautiful, Sire." She breathed, her voice so gentle that it was barely a whisper. The ornate scabbard was a deep green with golden decoration featuring the intricate twists of the Celtic knots that originated in her kingdom. The blade was small and delicate; thin at the hilt and widening slightly in the centre before coming to a point. The colourings of the sheath were mirrored in the hilt as the knots twisted to the top, ending at the imprint of a dragon. "Thank you."