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fadagaskiTwo (well, technically three) days late, I present to the most wondrous ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shei this fic, in honour of her birthday. I fail at being on time. And porn. Um. Well, you got porn for Christmas.
Title: DIY
Author: Allocin
Rating: G
Warnings: OOC
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
Wordcount: 957
Summary: In which Lancelot observes the curious domesticity of the round table, including tea and specialised Easter cookies.
There was sweat. A warm, stinging line of it, dripping into his eye. Blinking only made it worse. Resigned, Lancelot stood still as a statue, squinting at his king.
It was abysmally hot in the Council Chambers. Lancelot, like the other knights around the table, was in full armour. They were all flushed and sweaty, muscled arms just beginning to tremble with the strain of holding their swords out in salute. Even King Arthur was suffering in the heat, crown slipping down his forehead, frustration twisting his lips.
Outside could be the heard the hustle and bustle of Camelot life. Inside, only silence.
Lancelot glanced to his right, where stood Sir Gareth, newest knight of Camelot and still wet behind the ears. His arm was shaking quite spectacularly from holding his sword out for so long. If Lancelot focused, he could hear the rattle of Gareth's armour. From the sudden furrowing of Arthur's brow, Lancelot guessed the king could hear it too.
Minutes passed like hours, ticking ponderously over, every sound magnified, every itch and trickle of sweat the worst kind of torture. Gareth's rattling became louder, and was joined in turn by at least two other tiring knights. Lancelot watched Arthur's face grow darker still.
After an interminable amount of time, in which another dribble of sweat made unswervingly for Lancelot's eye, there finally came the sound of approach from the corridor beyond the heavy oak doors. They shunted open with a great deal of effort and every knight around the table – Lancelot included – sighed in relief to see Merlin, balancing cups and a large decanter on a wide tray.
He bustled into the room and set about organising the tea on the table. Not once did he glance at the gathered knights, or at Arthur, whose jaw was clenched so tight Lancelot's ached in sympathy.
"Merlin," the king growled.
"Mmm?" came Merlin's distracted reply. He was too busy adding spices to each cup to see Arthur's dark expression.
"You're late." No answer. "Merlin, you're late. You were meant to be here ten minutes ago."
"Is that right?"
"Yes!" Again, Merlin did not respond. "Is there any particular reason why you're tardy?"
"It's your own fault," Merlin said, lightly. Lancelot almost flinched at the venemous glare Arthur levelled at the back of Merlin's head.
"My fault?" he said.
"Yes," said Merlin. He straightened from his task, wiping imaginary dust from his hands with a satisfied expression. "There, all ready." He looked up, and blinked at the knights still standing in formal salute, sword tips wobbling in mid-air. He gaped at them, then turned to Arthur looking singularly unimpressed. "You didn't make them stand here at full salute whilst I was making the tea, did you?"
"They wouldn't have had to if you had only been on time, Merlin!"
"I would have been on time if you hadn't banned me from using magic for the tea!"
"But it –"
"'Tastes different'. So you've said. You never noticed before you watched me do it." They glared at it each other. By this point, even Lancelot's arm was beginning to tremble from the strain. It was only made worse by the feeling that he was intruding on a private argument between sorceror and king. "Look," Merlin said quietly, after a long and tense pause, "I'm here now. The tea is ready. Why don't we just sit down?" He offered Arthur the first cup with a nod that was more coercive than deferential, but the king took it and lowered his sword.
The collective sigh of relief that followed as every other knight copied his liege made the tapestries quiver. Lancelot accepted his cup of tea from Merlin with a grateful smile, though droplets splashed over the rim and onto his hand from the fine trembles in his arm. At last, every knight had a cup and Merlin returned to his place by Arthur.
"To Camelot," said the King, lifting his cup, and drinking. The knights echoed it, and then waited for Arthur to sit. Merlin did not take his seat, causing Gareth next to Lancelot – who was not used to Merlin's peculiar brand of servitude – to stare in equal parts awe and horror. "Merlin," Arthur sighed, long-suffering, "you're meant to sit when I do." Lancelot thought he didn't sound too put-out though.
"In a minute, Arthur," Merlin said, and walked out the door. Arthur rolled his eyes, resting his chin on his hand and watching the doorway with an exasperated but fond look. Shortly, Merlin returned, carrying another tray laden with what smelt like sweet biscuits.
When Lancelot received one, perched delicately beside his cup with a secret little smile from Merlin, he was understandably suspicious. But, like the other knights, he waited until the king had taken up his own biscuit gift in one gloved hand, and inspected the lettering written on it in pink icing sugar.
"'You are egg-stra special'," he read, eyebrows arching nearly off his forehead. Lancelot read his biscuit also, and found it to say the same message.
"Happy Easter!" Merlin said, beaming. Arthur opened his mouth. For a moment, it looked like he was fighting an internal battle over what disparaging thing to say. Lancelot held his breath. Merlin in a sulk was not a pretty sight, nor healthy for the castle inhabitants. He was braced for the worst. To his surpise, Arthur shut his mouth with an audible click and smiled, a little awkward.
"Thank you," he said, and took a bite from the biscuit. The knights ate theirs too. Merlin flushed red to the roots of his hair when they all murmured their thanks.
"You're welcome," he said, and grinned.
shei this fic, in honour of her birthday. I fail at being on time. And porn. Um. Well, you got porn for Christmas.Title: DIY
Author: Allocin
Rating: G
Warnings: OOC
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
Wordcount: 957
Summary: In which Lancelot observes the curious domesticity of the round table, including tea and specialised Easter cookies.
There was sweat. A warm, stinging line of it, dripping into his eye. Blinking only made it worse. Resigned, Lancelot stood still as a statue, squinting at his king.
It was abysmally hot in the Council Chambers. Lancelot, like the other knights around the table, was in full armour. They were all flushed and sweaty, muscled arms just beginning to tremble with the strain of holding their swords out in salute. Even King Arthur was suffering in the heat, crown slipping down his forehead, frustration twisting his lips.
Outside could be the heard the hustle and bustle of Camelot life. Inside, only silence.
Lancelot glanced to his right, where stood Sir Gareth, newest knight of Camelot and still wet behind the ears. His arm was shaking quite spectacularly from holding his sword out for so long. If Lancelot focused, he could hear the rattle of Gareth's armour. From the sudden furrowing of Arthur's brow, Lancelot guessed the king could hear it too.
Minutes passed like hours, ticking ponderously over, every sound magnified, every itch and trickle of sweat the worst kind of torture. Gareth's rattling became louder, and was joined in turn by at least two other tiring knights. Lancelot watched Arthur's face grow darker still.
After an interminable amount of time, in which another dribble of sweat made unswervingly for Lancelot's eye, there finally came the sound of approach from the corridor beyond the heavy oak doors. They shunted open with a great deal of effort and every knight around the table – Lancelot included – sighed in relief to see Merlin, balancing cups and a large decanter on a wide tray.
He bustled into the room and set about organising the tea on the table. Not once did he glance at the gathered knights, or at Arthur, whose jaw was clenched so tight Lancelot's ached in sympathy.
"Merlin," the king growled.
"Mmm?" came Merlin's distracted reply. He was too busy adding spices to each cup to see Arthur's dark expression.
"You're late." No answer. "Merlin, you're late. You were meant to be here ten minutes ago."
"Is that right?"
"Yes!" Again, Merlin did not respond. "Is there any particular reason why you're tardy?"
"It's your own fault," Merlin said, lightly. Lancelot almost flinched at the venemous glare Arthur levelled at the back of Merlin's head.
"My fault?" he said.
"Yes," said Merlin. He straightened from his task, wiping imaginary dust from his hands with a satisfied expression. "There, all ready." He looked up, and blinked at the knights still standing in formal salute, sword tips wobbling in mid-air. He gaped at them, then turned to Arthur looking singularly unimpressed. "You didn't make them stand here at full salute whilst I was making the tea, did you?"
"They wouldn't have had to if you had only been on time, Merlin!"
"I would have been on time if you hadn't banned me from using magic for the tea!"
"But it –"
"'Tastes different'. So you've said. You never noticed before you watched me do it." They glared at it each other. By this point, even Lancelot's arm was beginning to tremble from the strain. It was only made worse by the feeling that he was intruding on a private argument between sorceror and king. "Look," Merlin said quietly, after a long and tense pause, "I'm here now. The tea is ready. Why don't we just sit down?" He offered Arthur the first cup with a nod that was more coercive than deferential, but the king took it and lowered his sword.
The collective sigh of relief that followed as every other knight copied his liege made the tapestries quiver. Lancelot accepted his cup of tea from Merlin with a grateful smile, though droplets splashed over the rim and onto his hand from the fine trembles in his arm. At last, every knight had a cup and Merlin returned to his place by Arthur.
"To Camelot," said the King, lifting his cup, and drinking. The knights echoed it, and then waited for Arthur to sit. Merlin did not take his seat, causing Gareth next to Lancelot – who was not used to Merlin's peculiar brand of servitude – to stare in equal parts awe and horror. "Merlin," Arthur sighed, long-suffering, "you're meant to sit when I do." Lancelot thought he didn't sound too put-out though.
"In a minute, Arthur," Merlin said, and walked out the door. Arthur rolled his eyes, resting his chin on his hand and watching the doorway with an exasperated but fond look. Shortly, Merlin returned, carrying another tray laden with what smelt like sweet biscuits.
When Lancelot received one, perched delicately beside his cup with a secret little smile from Merlin, he was understandably suspicious. But, like the other knights, he waited until the king had taken up his own biscuit gift in one gloved hand, and inspected the lettering written on it in pink icing sugar.
"'You are egg-stra special'," he read, eyebrows arching nearly off his forehead. Lancelot read his biscuit also, and found it to say the same message.
"Happy Easter!" Merlin said, beaming. Arthur opened his mouth. For a moment, it looked like he was fighting an internal battle over what disparaging thing to say. Lancelot held his breath. Merlin in a sulk was not a pretty sight, nor healthy for the castle inhabitants. He was braced for the worst. To his surpise, Arthur shut his mouth with an audible click and smiled, a little awkward.
"Thank you," he said, and took a bite from the biscuit. The knights ate theirs too. Merlin flushed red to the roots of his hair when they all murmured their thanks.
"You're welcome," he said, and grinned.
