A Warlocks' Disguise {ArthurxFem!Merlin}

UPDATED 1/16

The early morning air hung heavy with the cool dampness of dawn as Merilyn made her way to the forge. Overhead, the sun was just beginning to rise, painting the rooftops of Camelot in hues of gold and orange. The city was quiet, the faint murmur of waking life barely audible above the soft clatter of carts and the occasional bark of a dog. Merilyn's footsteps echoed softly on the cobblestone streets, a rhythmic counterpoint to the anticipation that thrummed through her.

The forge came into view, nestled in a narrow alley, its quiet broken only by the steady, deliberate clanging of Gwen's father at work. Each strike of his hammer against metal reverberated through the air, filling the alley with a steady rhythm that resonated deep in Merilyn's chest. The sharp, familiar scent of hot iron mingled with the smoky tang of the forge fires, grounding her in the moment.

Today was the day she'd been waiting for. Ever since Gwen's father had sent word that her weapons were ready, the thought of them had consumed her mind. A week of anticipation had built to this—the promise of tools that were more than just weapons. These would be an extension of her, crafted to her specifications and skill. They were a symbol of progress, of bridging the gap between the girl who had left Ealdor and the warrior she was becoming.

As she rounded the corner, Gwen's bright smile greeted her, a warmth that rivaled the forge itself. "You're here early," Gwen said, stepping aside with a teasing tilt of her head. "Papa's been up since dawn finishing them."

Merilyn smiled back, her pulse quickening as she stepped into the dimly lit forge. The heat enveloped her like a comforting cloak, chasing away the lingering chill of the morning. Gwen's father looked up from his workbench, the warm glow of the fire casting flickering shadows across his soot-streaked face.

"Good morning, Merlin!" the blacksmith called out, his voice as hearty as his grin. He wiped his hands on his apron and gestured toward the table where her weapons lay waiting. "Got something special for you today."

Merilyn's breath caught as she approached the workbench, her eyes locking on the weapons. Her heart raced as Gwen's father picked up the bowstaff and handed it to her. The moment her fingers closed around the smooth, dark wood, a rush of familiarity and awe washed over her. The staff felt perfect in her hands, a seamless balance of weight and strength. But as she examined it closer, she realized this was more than just a tool—it was a masterpiece.

The nearly black wood gleamed in the firelight, its surface polished to a soft sheen. It stood just below her chin in height, exactly as she had requested. But what truly caught her attention were the reinforced metal bands coiled strategically along the shaft, adding durability and weight in all the right places. At one end, a sharp metal tip glistened, its edge deadly and precise, integrated so smoothly it seemed a natural extension of the wood itself.

She gave the staff a few testing spins, and it responded to her touch like an extension of her body. The weight, the balance, the way it seemed to hum with potential—it was everything she had dreamed of and more. Each swing felt fluid, each movement effortless, as though the staff had been waiting for her all along.

"This is incredible," Merilyn breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lips curved into a smile as she turned the staff in her hands, marveling at the craftsmanship. "It's perfect."

Gwen's father chuckled, his pride evident in his wide grin. "Glad you think so," he said, crossing his arms. "And I didn't stop there." He gestured toward a sleek leather sheath on the table. "Figured you'd need something to carry all your new toys, so I crafted a custom rig for your short swords and the staff."

He stepped to the side, lifting a sleek leather sheath from the workbench and handing it to Merilyn. The design was clean and practical, with a rugged elegance that spoke of careful thought and skilled craftsmanship. The rig was sturdy yet lightweight, designed to allow her to carry both swords in a crisscross pattern on her back. The handles rested just above her shoulders, perfectly positioned for a quick and seamless draw. At the center, an easy-release mechanism secured her bowstaff, ensuring it could be pulled free in a moment's notice without fumbling.