Uther Pendragon’s funeral was a sombre affair, as funerals often are. The entire court was assembled, and a few words were said, before Arthur and his Knights carried the King’s body down to the crypt, were it would be entombed for eternity.
The Knights had sealed the stone tomb, and Arthur had dismissed them. He thought he was alone, when he finally let his emotions out. For two days now, he had been the King of Camelot, full of duty and tasks to perform, and he had no let himself grieve, not properly.
The tears came now, in floods, and he let out a few strangled sobs with them. Only when he was alone, could he show this kind of emotion. He cried, long and hard, for his father. It was all he could do.
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“Arthur?”
A voice echoed through the crypt. It wasn’t the one Arthur had expected to come looking for him. He wasn’t sure how long he had been down here, crying amongst the dead; perhaps a search had been arranged.
Swiftly, Arthur dried his eyes on his tunic, hoping they weren’t so red as to embarrass him in front of his seeker.
A few deep breaths later, he was ready to speak. Rising to his feet, he called out “I’m over here,” and waited for the owner of the voice to approach him.
“Your Majesty,” she said, curtsying. She waited for his acknowledgement, before continuing to speak. “The feast is to begin, shortly.”
Arthur nodded. “Thank You.” The pair began their walk toward the crypt’s entrance, and back up to Arthur’s chambers. They walked silently, but both understood each other perfectly. He had been crying. She would never tell anyone.
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Merlin resented his placing at the feast table. He, as a new member of the court, found himself seated, in accordance with the order of precedence, about half way down the Great Hall, quite a long way away from Arthur. It felt wrong, being so distant from his friend; most feasts he had been stood behind Arthur, with a pitcher of wine, ready to quench his master’s thirst. But this was pomp and ceremony, and infrequent. At least, it had been in Uther’s Court.
The food, however, was delicious. Merlin had to concede the Sea Bass starter, and the Roast Lamb that followed were probably the most delicious things he had ever eaten. And this wine! He had only ever drunken ale before. Wine was something else. Something that was going straight to his head, in a rather delightful way.
He looked over at Arthur. The young King was still sat in his old throne, as was customary the King’s throne was left bare during the funeral feast. Every now and again he turned to converse with Morgana, but the space between them made it difficult. His new manservant, some gangly teenager Merlin thought he recognised from the Kitchens, was standing behind him, but neither one of the pair talked. Merlin wondered how they were getting on. Arthur could be demanding at times, perhaps he should warn the boy.
When the feast was over, and the court began to break up, Merlin approached Arthur. As he took a closer look at the new king, Merlin started to notice the things Arthur was attempting to hide. To the casual observer, perhaps even to an intent stranger, Arthur looked regal. Impressive. But Merlin could see the sorrow in those deep blue eyes, the stress bunching up his broad shoulders, the slight frown that seemed to age him. The subtleties that are learnt with years of friendship, betrayed Arthur’s true feelings.
Merlin was directly in front of Arthur now, and the King motioned that he should take the chair next to him. If he had been sober, Merlin would have been amazed at Arthur’s treatment of him, almost as an equal. They fell into an easy conversation about the past, about the tournaments Merlin had watched Arthur win, and Merlin didn’t question it. Didn’t question why Arthur was reminiscing about times gone by – was he avoiding the subject of Uther’s death – what was going to happen now. The wine was to blame for that.
He didn’t know how it had happened, but suddenly Merlin realised that they were alone. He didn’t even know how long they had been conversing, although he knew the effects of the alcohol had diminished somewhat. The conversation was changing too. It had moved from reminiscence into something deeper, more complicated. Arthur was skirting around a subject, and Merlin wasn’t sure what it was.
“Merlin, what can you teach me about magic?”
Oh. So that was it.
The Knights had sealed the stone tomb, and Arthur had dismissed them. He thought he was alone, when he finally let his emotions out. For two days now, he had been the King of Camelot, full of duty and tasks to perform, and he had no let himself grieve, not properly.
The tears came now, in floods, and he let out a few strangled sobs with them. Only when he was alone, could he show this kind of emotion. He cried, long and hard, for his father. It was all he could do.
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“Arthur?”
A voice echoed through the crypt. It wasn’t the one Arthur had expected to come looking for him. He wasn’t sure how long he had been down here, crying amongst the dead; perhaps a search had been arranged.
Swiftly, Arthur dried his eyes on his tunic, hoping they weren’t so red as to embarrass him in front of his seeker.
A few deep breaths later, he was ready to speak. Rising to his feet, he called out “I’m over here,” and waited for the owner of the voice to approach him.
“Your Majesty,” she said, curtsying. She waited for his acknowledgement, before continuing to speak. “The feast is to begin, shortly.”
Arthur nodded. “Thank You.” The pair began their walk toward the crypt’s entrance, and back up to Arthur’s chambers. They walked silently, but both understood each other perfectly. He had been crying. She would never tell anyone.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Merlin resented his placing at the feast table. He, as a new member of the court, found himself seated, in accordance with the order of precedence, about half way down the Great Hall, quite a long way away from Arthur. It felt wrong, being so distant from his friend; most feasts he had been stood behind Arthur, with a pitcher of wine, ready to quench his master’s thirst. But this was pomp and ceremony, and infrequent. At least, it had been in Uther’s Court.
The food, however, was delicious. Merlin had to concede the Sea Bass starter, and the Roast Lamb that followed were probably the most delicious things he had ever eaten. And this wine! He had only ever drunken ale before. Wine was something else. Something that was going straight to his head, in a rather delightful way.
He looked over at Arthur. The young King was still sat in his old throne, as was customary the King’s throne was left bare during the funeral feast. Every now and again he turned to converse with Morgana, but the space between them made it difficult. His new manservant, some gangly teenager Merlin thought he recognised from the Kitchens, was standing behind him, but neither one of the pair talked. Merlin wondered how they were getting on. Arthur could be demanding at times, perhaps he should warn the boy.
When the feast was over, and the court began to break up, Merlin approached Arthur. As he took a closer look at the new king, Merlin started to notice the things Arthur was attempting to hide. To the casual observer, perhaps even to an intent stranger, Arthur looked regal. Impressive. But Merlin could see the sorrow in those deep blue eyes, the stress bunching up his broad shoulders, the slight frown that seemed to age him. The subtleties that are learnt with years of friendship, betrayed Arthur’s true feelings.
Merlin was directly in front of Arthur now, and the King motioned that he should take the chair next to him. If he had been sober, Merlin would have been amazed at Arthur’s treatment of him, almost as an equal. They fell into an easy conversation about the past, about the tournaments Merlin had watched Arthur win, and Merlin didn’t question it. Didn’t question why Arthur was reminiscing about times gone by – was he avoiding the subject of Uther’s death – what was going to happen now. The wine was to blame for that.
He didn’t know how it had happened, but suddenly Merlin realised that they were alone. He didn’t even know how long they had been conversing, although he knew the effects of the alcohol had diminished somewhat. The conversation was changing too. It had moved from reminiscence into something deeper, more complicated. Arthur was skirting around a subject, and Merlin wasn’t sure what it was.
“Merlin, what can you teach me about magic?”
Oh. So that was it.