A Warlocks' Disguise {ArthurxFem!Merlin}

UPDATED 1/16

The grand Throne Room of Camelot was alive with the rustle of fine silks, the clink of ceremonial armor, and the low hum of murmured conversations. Lords and ladies of the court had gathered, their gazes fixed on the grand entrance. Bayard, the King of Mercia, strode into the chamber, his retinue following close behind. His cape of dark green and gold swept across the polished stone floors as he approached King Uther, who stood tall at the head of the room.

Merilyn lingered near the edge of the chamber, her role simple but important—to remain unnoticed and available should Arthur or Uther need anything. She kept her hands folded in front of her, her servant's tunic plain against the finery of the gathered nobility. She had no love for these grand ceremonies; they were a stage for power plays and whispered rivalries. But Arthur had insisted she be there, and she couldn't very well say no to the prince.

"Let this treaty mark the end of war between our kingdoms," Uther declared, his voice carrying through the chamber. "Today, we begin a new friendship between Camelot and Mercia."

The two kings clasped arms, and the room erupted in polite applause. Merilyn clapped along, her mind already wandering. She was thinking about the chores she still had to finish that afternoon when she felt the prickle of someone's gaze. It wasn't the casual glance of a courtier or knight. No, this felt focused—intentional.

Her brow furrowed as she glanced over her shoulder. Among the crowd, her eyes landed on a woman she didn't recognize. She was striking—dressed in deep blue with a red undertunic, her figure wrapped in a way that accentuated her poise. A vibrant blue scarf was tied artfully around her dark hair, framing her face. Her features were sharp but beautiful, with a hint of warmth in her smile. The woman was staring directly at her.

Merilyn's stomach twisted in mild unease. It wasn't unusual to draw the odd look; she wasn't exactly the picture of a typical servant. She was tall for a woman, lanky in her boyish disguise, and her expressive face often betrayed thoughts she didn't voice. But there was something about this woman's gaze that made her uncomfortable. It wasn't just curious—it was studying her. Measuring her.

Merilyn quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the ceremony. Whoever this was, she didn't want to encourage whatever scrutiny she was under. Still, she could feel the weight of that gaze lingering, like a hand pressed against her back.

Later, in the quieter Upper Corridor, the faint sound of Merilyn's boots scuffing against the stone echoed softly through the empty halls. She trudged forward, her shoulders hunched under the weight of an overfilled sack slung across her back. The bag was heavy—unreasonably so—and every step sent a dull ache radiating through her arms. She groaned under her breath, pausing momentarily to shift the load and roll her sore shoulders.

Ahead, Gaius appeared from an adjacent corridor, his hands tucked into the deep folds of his robes, his pace unhurried. The amused smile on his face told Merilyn he had spotted her struggle long before she noticed him.

"Why do I always get landed with the donkey work?" she complained, her tone a mix of irritation and theatrical suffering as soon as he was within earshot.

"Because you're a servant, Merilyn," Gaius replied, his chuckle warm and familiar. "It's what you do."

"My arms are going to be three feet longer by the time I get this lot inside," she grumbled, hoisting the sack up with another groan of effort.

"Think of it as character building," Gaius offered cheerfully, his tone teasing. "As the old proverb says, hard work breeds resilience."

Merilyn gave him a sidelong glance, her lips quirking upward despite her best attempt to stay cross. "There's no way that's a real proverb. You just made that up."