The Fire From The Stone Hearth Cast Out Its Warmth. Arthur’S
1063 WordsMay 3, 20175 Pages
The fire from the stone hearth cast out its warmth. Arthur’s feet, still damp from a wonderful soak in water mixed with some herbs to relieve the aches, basked in the comforting heat. His elbow rested on the arm of the ornate chair, its high, straight back did nothing to relieve the aches in his spine. With his chin resting on his hand, his blue eyes reflected the glowing reds and oranges of the nearby flames.
Cautiously, his eyes would shift to his manservant when he thought Merlin wasn’t looking. He knew he should confront Merlin about the notes that MIthian had shown him. But, what good would come of it, he wondered.
If Arthur acknowledged the letters, he would be forced to follow it with some decision he was sure to dislike. In some…show more content…
They were tales Arthur already knew, and some adventures he’d participated in himself. He wondered for a moment why they seemed to capture Merlin’s attention so strongly.
Then, he remembered that tonight had been one of the first feasts Merlin had ever been allowed to attend as something other than a servant. Guinevere had been able to slip into the life of a lady easily, her years as Morgana’s maid had given her an appreciation for some of the finer details on posture and poise when it came to the nobles in the court. Merlin rarely displayed such an adhesion to propriety.
Could he actually transcend beyond his role as servant to be a suitor to a princess? There were times Arthur may have thought so, but the bumbling, clumsy idiot part of the man would always make itself known shortly after.
“It won’t work, you know,” Arthur said quietly, his inattention to Merlin’s ramblings obvious.
Merlin paused. His hands stilled as they pulled down the bedcovers. He quirked his eyebrow up in a manner that remind Arthur of Gaius. The manservant’s eyes shifted back and forth trying to make sense of Arthur’s abrupt input to what had been a one-sided conversation. “Well, Gwaine already did get the girl and the mead,” he said, referring to the story he’d been retelling. “Are you saying you don’t think he’d be able to do it again?”
“No. I’m talking about Princess Mithian. I saw one of the letters she received and recognized the handwriting,