Merlyn's Only Hope

Lancelot P2

Lancelot didn't see Merlyn again for another hour. She'd left, wordlessly, carrying nothing but a blank piece of paper. When she returned, she presented it to him, mischief glinting in her eyes.

"This," she grinned, "is your seal of nobility."

Inscribed onto the previously plain parchment was an amazingly intricate coat of arms, the ink perfectly even. Lancelot had never seen such fine work, surprised that Merlyn was so capable of creating something so beautiful. Still, the reality of this proof made little sense. As far as he was concerned, he was no noble.

He frowned, staring at the parchment. "I don't understand."

"I give to you, Lancelot, 5th son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria." Merlyn grinned hopefully, giving him a look that told him that it would be best not to ask where the seal had appeared from.

Lancelot sighed wearily. "No, Merlyn, no."

"So you don't want to be a knight then?" she raised an eyebrow, knowing that she was being a little harsh. She didn't want to coerse the newly nobled man into doing anything, but knew that he would regret it if he didn't. This wasn't an opportunity he could afford to waste.

Lancelot seemed to be the epitome of indecision. "Of course I do, but-"

"But what? The rules don't allow it? Damn the rules, the rules are wrong." Merlyn's eyes burned into his soul, flecks of gold flashing amongst darkened blue.

"But it's a lie, it's against everything the knights stand for." Lancelot wasn't even convincing himself.

"But you have as much right to be a knight as everyone else. I know it." she stared at him, knowing that he was close to breaking point.

"But the rules, Merlyn." he warned weakly.

"We're not breaking the rules, we're bending them. This," she brandished the parchment, "Will only get your foot in the door. But after that, you'll be judged on your merit alone. And if you succeed, if you become a knight, it will be because you've earned it, noble or not."

Lancelot nodded slowly, accepting his fate. He knew she was right.

∆

If he was going to pass as a nobleman, Lancelot was going to have to look like one. Merlyn knew that any clothes she could sew would fall apart pretty much instantaneously, so she had enlisted some help. Gwen was incredible. Since arriving in Camelot, she had made Merlyn a few dresses; if she wasn't Morgana's handmaiden, she would certainly be one of the most sought after seamstresses in the kingdom.

"This is very kind of you, uh..."

"Gwen."

"Gwen." Lancelot blushed. From the fleeting glances and reddening cheeks, it was obvious that they had, at the very least, hit it off instantly. Merlyn had tried to leave, but each time she edged towards the door, Gwen would ask for her help in a measurement or Lancelot would begin questioning her about a trick he'd seen her perform when fighting Arthur. It was quite clear that they didn't want to be alone.

"Short for Guinevere."

"Then thank you, Guinevere." Lancelot smiled smoothly, his awkwardness receding marginally.

They shared a look, but Gwen brought her gaze back to her work. "Oh, don't thank me, thank Merlyn. She'd do anything for anyone, wouldn't you Merlyn?" She was chattering, clearly nervous. "Sorry can you raise your arms?"

Gwen continued to take measurements, still babbling away. "I think it's great that Merlyn got you this chance, we need men like you."

"You do?" Merlyn had to admit, Lancelot was smooth. It was funny, to watch Gwen become flustered; she had to hide her grin behind her hand.