[ There will, Merlin muses, always be elements of his father rooted deep within Arthur, at least until he himself realizes the true potential of what he means to Albion. For all he's grown wiser over the years he's still Arthur, still a hopeless prat, and he still has a lot to learn about the world he lives in and the people who live in it. Merlin can't judge him too harshly despite having found himself on the receiving end of his harsh looks (and now harsh fists) one too many times.
He pushes the door open slowly, carefully, and scans his chambers until he spots Arthur at the far end of the room by his desk. He doesn't look happy. Neither one of them looks particularly happy, actually, and he closes the door behind himself before crossing the room to lean against one of those tall bedposts. ]
I know that I'm just Merlin. [ He pauses, taking a breath. ] I know that I'm not an adviser, or a noble, or anyone even remotely worthy of calling myself your friend, but ...
[ Merlin's open gaze is boring into the back of Arthur's head—he doesn't keep his eyes respectfully low, nor does he nitpick around censored subjects. He just ... talks. ]
Sometimes that's a good thing. Sometimes, people need a nobody to talk to. Even princes. Even kings.
[ He takes a step closer, but remains a good few arm-lengths away. ]
Talk to me, Arthur. If you keep suffering and bottling it up like this then next time I might end up with more than a black eye. [ Perhaps not the best way to attempt to lighten the mood, but hey. He's trying. ]
We'll get there in the end ... 8|
[ There will, Merlin muses, always be elements of his father rooted deep within Arthur, at least until he himself realizes the true potential of what he means to Albion. For all he's grown wiser over the years he's still Arthur, still a hopeless prat, and he still has a lot to learn about the world he lives in and the people who live in it. Merlin can't judge him too harshly despite having found himself on the receiving end of his harsh looks (and now harsh fists) one too many times.
He pushes the door open slowly, carefully, and scans his chambers until he spots Arthur at the far end of the room by his desk. He doesn't look happy. Neither one of them looks particularly happy, actually, and he closes the door behind himself before crossing the room to lean against one of those tall bedposts. ]
I know that I'm just Merlin. [ He pauses, taking a breath. ] I know that I'm not an adviser, or a noble, or anyone even remotely worthy of calling myself your friend, but ...
[ Merlin's open gaze is boring into the back of Arthur's head—he doesn't keep his eyes respectfully low, nor does he nitpick around censored subjects. He just ... talks. ]
Sometimes that's a good thing. Sometimes, people need a nobody to talk to. Even princes. Even kings.
[ He takes a step closer, but remains a good few arm-lengths away. ]
Talk to me, Arthur. If you keep suffering and bottling it up like this then next time I might end up with more than a black eye. [ Perhaps not the best way to attempt to lighten the mood, but hey. He's trying. ]