The maid steadied the young man's footsteps, her fingers light at his elbow as she guided him across the polished stone floors and towards the sunken bath. Through the tall windows, the morning sun could be seen, casting long shadows across the English countryside, hills stretching endlessly beyond the estate's boundaries.
Caerleon in Wales, where his family had presided for centuries.
The tiles were warm to the touch, water hotter still, with brass fixtures continuing to flush fresh water as steam rose in lazy curls. He sank into the bath without resistance, water climbing over his limbs, soaking him through.
He drew a long sigh.
The scent of lavender swirled, clinging thickly to the steam and wafting seducingly around his nose. He closed his eyes, muscles unwinding from yesterday's strenuous training session. For all the burdens of his heritage, this—he was grateful for: hot water drawn by another's hand, the scent of lavender in his bath, and the hush of peace around him.
Something all too rare, he couldn't help but complain.
"You're sighing like an old man," the maid, Elaine, observed, her voice cutting through the lavender haze. She laughed softly, "Or perhaps a young lord dreading another lecture?"
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, stifling a quiet laugh. She stood near the towel rack, arms behind her back in parade rest—the picture of perfect service, save for the small smile playing on her lips.
"You're not wrong."
Elaine wore a traditional uniform; a long, charcoal-dark dress cinched by a pristine white apron that brushed over the slight swell of her chest. Around her neck rose a crisp white collar, matched by cuffs that wrapped neatly around her wrists.
"You'll need your hair properly washed before meeting the Lord," she said, reaching for the shampoo bottle, black strands of hair falling past her shoulders. "Shall I?"
Gesturing his consent with a lazy wave, Elaine approached the bath, kneeling beside it with practiced grace. As she poured the fragrant liquid into her palm, he caught a glimpse of himself in the water's rippling surface—pale skin gleaming in the morning's light, blonde hair darkened by water, and deep verdant eyes reminiscent of emeralds reflected back at him.
Those green eyes and that blonde hair—those were the defining traits that marked him clearly as a Pendragon.
Elaine tilted his head back with gentle fingers. "You sigh so dramatically for one so young, Master Arthur," she teased as she worked the shampoo through his hair. "If you keep brooding like that, you'll develop worry lines before you're even properly sixteen. Then what will the young ladies think?"
"What will they think?" he repeated her question, then continued with shameless confidence, "Surely they'll still think I'm beautiful, no?" He spoke as if it were a matter of fact, before gazing up at her soft features from within her embrace.
He noticed the faint lines of concentration appearing between her delicate brows—soft and arched gently above her dark, round onyx-like eyes—as she worked the shampoo through his hair with careful precision. Arthur couldn't help but chuckle. "Besides, I should be the one asking you that. With you worrying over me all the time, you're growing some wrinkles yourself."
"You should be careful. After all, who'd want to marry an old mai—W-Wait! Bwah!"
In one fluid movement, Arthur found himself plunged beneath the surface, water rushing over his head as Elaine's gentle hold became decidedly less gentle. Bubbles surfaced, and with a sharp gasp, he reemerged like a phoenix.
This woman! Arthur glared, she was surprisingly strong for a woman of her petite stature.
Sputtering and shaking water from his hair, Arthur shot her an incredulous look. "Ugh. Was that really necessary?"
Elaine's expression remained perfectly innocent, though her soft lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Master Arthur. My hand must have slipped. Now hold still while I rinse the shampoo properly—and do keep your commentary to yourself."
He rolled his eyes. Slipped my ass!
Sighing, he shook his head and didn't bother to mask the smile that too, stretched across his lips. He leaned back against the bath's warm tiles and let her fingers work and comb comfortably through his hair as she rinsed off the remaining shampoo.
"Oh, and Arthur?" she said, silence stretching on slightly before continuing, her voice a hushed lull. "Let me remind you: I'm only three years older."
▬▬┃═Excalibur═ﺤ
Once thoroughly washed and cleaned, Arthur rose from the bath, water streaming down his lean frame, and accepted the towel. He made sure to cover himself, but if Elaine's eyes lingered a moment longer than propriety would allow, neither of them acknowledged it.
Elaine avoided his gaze, pink clouding her porcelain cheeks. "Ahem! Well then, Master Arthur, if I may?"
"Y-Yes, go ahead."
With a small nod, Elaine stepped back and raised her hands, her entire demeanor shifting to one of quiet concentration, yet pink still clung faintly to her cheeks. Arthur had witnessed this transformation many times before, yet it never failed to not leave him impressed and filled with quiet awe each time.
Slowly, light began to bloom from her fingertips, white and blue coloured whisps, causing Arthur's skin to tingle and stand on end. Then, weaving itself into existence with graceful precision, an elaborate magical circle materialized in the steamy air, with intricate equations and sigils adorning each ring and curve.
Magic… Arthur commented inwardly.
Unlike devils or angels and other supernatural races, humans weren't born with natural magical circuits. They had to rely on understanding the underlying mysteries of the world; reproducing miracles through knowledge and ritual rather than raw power.
Something about replicating what was once miraculous through systematic study… Arthur recalled from his studies, though the specifics were beyond his current understanding. The System was crafted and designed by Merlin Ambrosius, after all—the Grand Wizard.
Now fully formed, the magical circle began to rotate in clockwork precision, and with it, warm air began to swirl. It pushed and dispersed through the bath's steamy curls and gently evaporated the water droplets clinging to Arthur's body.
It was a Drying Spell!
"Hair," Elaine instructed softly. And Arthur leaned forward, lowering his head towards the warm magical torrent of wind. He ran his fingers through the damp strands, working them apart to ensure the warmth reached every root, drying him entirely.
"And… done," she hummed, turning around with Arthur's clothes draped neatly over her arm. Her cheeks still held that faint pink from earlier, but her composure had mostly returned.
"Arms up," she instructed with a soft efficiency, holding out his shirt. It was crisp and white and sharp, with no crease in sight. She slipped it over his head and smoothed it down past his shoulders. And then she reached for his trousers and undergarments… however paused, and cleared her throat delicately.
"I believe you can manage these yourself, Master Arthur." She held them out at a respectable distance, her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder—the reasoning not lost on Arthur, as he himself flushed slightly. "You're quite capable of dressing your lower half without assistance."
Of course I can! He complained inwardly, yet didn't dare to express something so embarrassingly obvious out loud.
Taking them from her hold, he waited for her to turn around. And after a subtle cough, she pivoted away, busying herself with the folding of towels and the like, while he stepped into his clean underwear and long and dark-navy trousers. The soft rustle of fabric filled the momentary silence.
At least she has some decency.
"Ahem, I'm finished," he announced. And she turned back and approached, this time holding a navy blazer with the Pendragon family crest emblazoned on its breast pocket: A golden dragon rampant on a field of deep blue rolls of hills, with a sword held vertically behind its frame, radiating the majesty worthy of the Pendragon Household.
"Well, how do I look?" he asked smugly, straightening his cuffs,
Elaine simply shook her head, a small smile stretching her lips. "More than adequate, I suppose. Well then, Master Arthur, are you ready? Today is rather important, after all"
▬▬┃═Excalibur═ﺤ
The Pendragon estate sprawled across the winding slopes of the Caerleon countryside, far from the quiet hum of village life, and was masked and veiled beneath a cathedral of towering, mighty oaks, and slender, silver-limbed ash. Its towering walls were tall and proud, and forged of a dense blue pennant stone native to the Caerleon hills. Ravaged by wind and rain and a thousand winters, it stood still as if no time had passed at all.
And deep within its halls, the master and maid duo walked on, their footsteps clinking and clanking across the ancient stone. Arthur trailed a pace behind, while Elaine stepped a pace ahead. On either side, servants bowed low, with maids dropping into curtsies and footmen dipping their heads in silence. Their eyes were lowered and their gazes cast down in wordless deference as the pair passed through.
Arthur hummed to himself, his tune low and thoughtful. It seems even the servants know what's to happen today…
Finally, the pair came to a stop. Looming ominously ahead of them stood a pair of ancient oak doors, infinitely dark and equally imposing. The doors themselves were more than centuries old and had maintained their singular purpose of standing as both sentries and guardians to the Lord's personal study. At their converging point, an intricate carving of the family's insignia bore witness to the expected guests.
Arthur stared at the carving of the Dragon, its eyes seemingly gazing back at his own.
Well, here we go, he thought. No turning back now!
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Chapter title: No turning back
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