#lancelot proper

[gawrkin]

The French Vulgate Cycle presents:

"The Bungle-up of the Rings"

Prologue: Arthur's first meeting with the Lady (Lancelot Proper - Chapter 22):

Episode 1 - The Ring (Lancelot Proper - Chapter 22):

Interlude: Guinevere's first meeting with the Lady (Lancelot Proper - Chapter 71):

Episode II - The Attack of the Retcon pt. 1 (Lancelot Proper - Chapter 97):

Episode II - The Attack of the Retcon pt. 2 (Lancelot Proper - Chapter 100)

Interlude: Guinevere's Response later in chapter 100:

Episode III - The Return of the Lady's Ring (Lancelot Proper - Chapter 145):

Episode IV - Rise of Plot Holes (Lancelot Proper - Chapter 156):

To Summarize:

In the middle of the woods, the soon-to-be-knighted Lancelot is given a magic-dispelling ring directly by the Lady of the Lake.

Later, the magic-dispelling ring is then suddenly Guinevere's ring given to Lancelot, as attested by Morgan(*), the narration, and later, Guinevere herself. Notice that Morgan has a similar ring in her possession(**).

Next, the magic ring that was given directly by the Lady to Lancelot is in Guinevere's hands. The narration implies Lancelot willingly gave his ring to Guinevere some time before.

Finally, Guinevere gives Lancelot a magic-dispelling ring that Lady gave to Guinevere around the time Lancelot was knighted.

Reminder: Arthur and Guinevere have never met the Lady prior to Lancelot's knighting. And the Lady never went to Camelot. Lady meets with Arthur in the midst of a hunting expedition and leaves Lancelot in Arthur's custody and is not seen/mentioned again until many chapters later. Guinevere personally meets the Lady of the Lake for the first time during the Saxon Rock arc.

(*) - "The Day Guinevere gave Lancelot her love" is the likely the part after the Galehaut war, where Galehaut convinces Guinevere to return Lancelot's affections... where Morgan is nowhere to be found...

(**) - Throughout the entirety of Lancelot-Grail/Vulgate Cycle, Morgan le Fay never once interacted with, or even talked about, the Lady of the Lake. Ever.

[dayraiser]

listen jedtavius nation i know we love the melodramatic roman octavius who waxes poetic about jed at any given opportunity and emotionally constipated jedediah who is so bad with words that he just goes "hrbghbsf!!!!!!! i!!!! i love he!!!!!! when octy does!!!! does the thing!!!!!"

but have we considered melodramatic roman octavius who can absolutely bust out the longest speech ever about anything else but when it comes to jedediah? sputtering, blushy mess

and what about a jedediah that really can't quite put words to his thoughts or feelings for anything else but when it comes to octavius? hoo boy sit down lad cus youre in for it.

like, look:

Nicky (kid): Jed, how did you know you like, /liked/ Octavius?

Jedediah: Same as I know that the sun's gon' set tomorrow, boy! I'll tell ya now, I ain't never felt nothin' like it before... When he turns and notices me there and his expression changes from this stern glare that's cold and hard like steel to this softer look that feels like a warm blanket on a cold night, or, or like how a good whiskey settles in yer stomach. Then, he calls out to me, and- and, listen, kid- it's like being beckoned to by the sun itself, ya know? I can't quite look at 'im head on, 'cus if I do I feel like I might just burn up and die, seein' all that beauty all at once. I'd die a happy man, though, lemme tell ya...

Nicky:

Nicky: That's cool! A boy gave me a cool rock yesterday and that's why I asked

juxtaposed with

Lancelot: I'm curious, what /do/ you see in that little smelly cowstead?

Octavius: I.

Octavius: Um. He...

Octavius, rapidly shutting down, face extremely flushed: He... hrhgjjhhh..... //////// ;;;;;;;; he.... he make me;;;;;; the warm and the///////// the fuzzy.... hshdhwhdhwkfhjed !!!!! /////////////;;;;;; (curls up into a ball like a pillbug)

Lancelot: Oh dear. Nightguard! I appear to have broken Octavius!

[thefollow-spot]

"Untitled" (Liaison Amoureuse)

Lancelot/Merlin ● General Audiences ● WC: 100 ● No Warnings // Written for @merlinmicrofic 2024, for the prompt 'I'll Be There'.

---

With none of this should they be so bold, only Merlin is treacherous in love. In broad midday, Lancelot hides them—badly—and kisses Merlin until he’s giddied with being known. He whispers,

“My chambers, tonight.”

The others don’t see; Lancelot slips the clasps of proper-reputation frequent as Merlin, defter than Gwaine. Forget secret courtship—for this alcove, Merlin would do magic worth a thousand pyres.

Lips on throat, thumb tracing cheek. Everything is tingling sweet like drinking fresh spring melt.

“I’ll be there,” Merlin snickers, and tips his head forward, muffling his joy and face-aching grin into Lancelot’s gambeson.

[merlinssaggyyfronts]

i just think theres so much more to that time merlin was freeze-dying (get it? like freeze drying? im funny i swear) from the dorocha attack. like what if after those events, hes become extra sensitive to the cold??

like that man absolutely cannot STAND the cold, it not only brings back bad memories (and, unfortunately, reminds him of lancelot) but his body as an in general is weaker to it. so hes always looking for warmth- im talking sitting practically inches away from the fire, stealing blankets, jackets (particularly arthur-), cloaks (particularly arthurs)- you get the gist

and the others catch on, obviously- though they dont realise the severity of it til merlin nearly lights his arm on fire on a particularly chilly night on a hunt (“MERLIN what on EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” “im cold” “you’re ON FIRE” “im cold :(” “?!?!”)

after that arthur, the knights and gwen start gifting him little things- an old cloak arthur insists is too damaged and fugly to wear (its in nearly perfect condition), one of elyan’s old jackets he’d long since outgrown from gwen

and the knights, well their gift to merlin is their physical body heat (gwaine in particularly enjoys holding onto merlin like a koala with the excuse of keeping him warm. the only reason arthur doesnt kill him for it is cause of merlins content smile at being warm)

[talesfromtheenchantedforest]

friendly reminder that, per the Vulgate, the last wars with Lancelot and Rome and Mordred is fought among oLD OLD MEN, to be clear,

Thus did the people of Gaunes speak of the battle, marveling at the way Sir Gawain had held out so long against Lancelot, for they all knew that Lancelot was the best knight in the world and was some twenty-one years younger than Sir Gawain. At that time, Sir Gawain could well have been seventy-six years old, and King Arthur was ninety-two.

— The Death of Arthur, Chapter 20, Norris J. Lacy translation

like we’ve got fifty-something Lancelot who could plausibly at least be in his DILF era, up against AGED Gawain, with crypt-keeper Arthur who on the next couple of pages will throw himself into battle like a feral cat and kill the emperor of Rome. the mental images truly boggle the mind

[hantheheart]

when brain wants "How Lancelot views his different forms" but as fic so im just buzzing in place

[gellavonhamster]

Okay, I’m officially confused: is Gaheris younger than Gareth in the Vulgate? Or are they just listed in The History of the Holy Grail out of order for some reason? 

(On a slightly unrelated note, gotta love Gawain’s description)

[gwaine-lover]

Not sure if you know much about the side characters since I don't, but thought I'd try anyway so I'm clueless:

Who would you ship out of the following:

Any suggestions are helpful. Writing a reincarnation merlin fic is harder than I thought it would be, lol. Also love your blog.

Okay so I actually didn’t rememberd much about Vivian not under the spell so i went to watch this episode (as you can see from post i rebloged before answering xD). And i’m responding from my laptop now bc i’m still scrolling through ‘merlin 2x10′ tag at my phone.

So:

First and most important: leave my boy Lancelot be. #gayrights Only straight ship i see him in is Gwencelot (which i love with my whole heart).

LADY VIVIAN AND LEON. LADY VIVIAN AND LEON! Oh yeah this one. Definitely this one. With how she is annoying at the beginning of the episode he could be annoyed not only with knights at the daily basic but with her too. Absolutely amazing. I know he deserves a break from what he already has at his plate but we don’t have this in this fandom, oh we so don’t have it. And I’m so suprised by this ship and by how well they fit in my head.

But. We hear more than once in this episode that she is too young. For love and for knowing antyhing about it. So yeah, few years older Vivian, more mature, not so rude but still annoying. Perfect paring with Leon. You know hate-love relationship.

With Morgana this will work too. But this one from before she got evil not after.

Morgana and Leon? No, noooo, absolutely no.

Morgana and Lancelot? Which Morgana? Good one? Evil one? That’s hot. Not like Evil Gwen x Evil Lancelot hot, but hot too. They didin’t actually have any relation before 4x09 so i think exploring that with any of the combination could be interesting. (It’s still #gayrights for my boy at the top of the podium, with Gwencelot (any combination) at second, but yeah he and Morgana - they can have and definitley are 3rd place).

Vivian and Sophia. Well Sophia was charming and putting away her manipulating her father i really liked the girl. This could work good too. Ya know by now #gayrights :D

Vivian and Morgause? More like Morgause and Cenred. Thank you, goodnight.

*

Damn you’re really doing job with this fic! All that research, all that posts and asks. It’s really impressive right now for my lazy ass with writer’s block. I’m really curious what finally you will make from all of this. I have feeling that i will definitely come across this fic here on tumblr but if you could remember about me (send me a link or tag me under some post) when you publish i would be very thankful and happy to read that! And of course a lot of time, inspirations and ideas and good luck with all that!

[arthurianasuggestion]

happy birthday!!!!! 🎉

I think one of my fav stories in arthuriana is when lancelot starts on a quest, immediately decides to take a nap, and is promptly kidnapped by four ladies who think he is hot. it is just so funny to me every time I remember it. like why go on a quest when you are clearly wanting to nap?? why does this nap have such dire consequences?? is the moral of the story never to nap?? etc etc. anyway hope u are having a great birthday!!! :)

lancelot practicing the little known lesser sin of being sososo sleepytired :( I think he should be allowed to nap!!

(Thank you!! this is incredible and I love it)

[dreamertrilogys]

no way this show was designed for 10 year olds what the fuck

[oforkney]

was anyone going to tell me that in prose lancelot the gang (arthur, gawain, lancelot and galehaut) gets captured by the saxons but lancelot starts lanceloting and biting people so they let him go and he continues to be insane that guinevere has to lock him up until the lady of the lake shows up to heal him???

[gawrkin]

Merlin's mom in Lancelot Proper

ಠ__ಠ

Hmm...

[noxtivagus]

wmtsb n kh is stuck in my head rn 🥺🫶🏼

[bondsgotnothingonme]

New Tag Dump.

[justaz]

arthur has always been suspicious of the tavern excuse for merlin’s absences, but he has no proof on the contrary and when confronted merlin either tells him outlandish tales of near death experiences that have no chance of being remotely truthful or he admits to and apologizes for slacking on his duties to get drunk. one day, he decides enough is enough and he and all the knights go to the tavern with merlin and arthur casually brings up merlin’s history in the tavern and says he could probably beat gwaine in a drinking contest. merlin tries to divert the discussion away from the idea but arthur is determined. they receive a round of drinks and arthur pushes a pint of ale into merlin’s hands with a look of challenge. merlin’s options are to either commit to the lie to hide his secret or admit to the lie and risk exposing his magic. he takes the former. merlin gives lancelot a Look and then slams back the pint of ale with a minor bit of gagging and pauses to breath. gwaine already finished his pint thirty seconds ago but its entertaining to watch merlin so he doesn’t say anything.

merlin (built like a twig, rarely drinks, lightweight) is proper sloshed. arthur is almost vindicated but he needs merlin to admit it. he orders two more pints and gives one to gwaine and the second to merlin, instigating the competition further despite the fact that gwaine won already. merlin grimaces and tries to do the same thing again but only gets a few gulps in before he folds. he slams the mug down and gives arthur a kicked puppy look before admitting and apologizing for lying. arthur is Vindicated. merlin is still wasted.

the nights wears on and merlin feels the effect of the ale more and more every minute that passes. he sits between arthur and lancelot and feels almost unbearably warm but that could be bc of the alcohol in his system, or the crowded tavern. merlin looks around and watches the people that pass their table by while the knights talk and joke and laugh amongst themselves. merlin feels relaxed and excitable now, his worries seem to have melted away and he cant seem to remember why he was always so stressed and worn down before. he sees a game of [insert game here] (i was gonna say darts but google says that game hasn’t been invented in canon time so ill leave it up to interpretation) going on and climbs over lancelot to join in.

the knights watch with amusement and anticipate merlin’s clumsy attempts at [whatever]. oddly enough tho, merlin is a fucking god at [game]. a small crowd gathers and betting pools form and then challengers approach and put money on the line to go against merlin and merlin absolutely demolishes them all. honestly if arthur didn’t know any better, he’d think merlin was using magic to win bc there was no way his bumbling fool of a servant was that good at…anything.

the challengers take their defeat with honor and grace. the audience is a huge fan of merlin and they keep buying him drinks but he just sends them to the table for the other’s to drink. many people come up to him and flirt, maybe motivated by all the money he won that night or maybe just bc he’s merlin, and when merlin responds to them he’s………..he’s a real good fucking flirt? like could put gwaine to shame and he’s rejecting them???? how can someone come across so flirtatiously while turning down offers to take various beautiful people to bed??

arthur was already itching to intervene when people were flirting with merlin but he seemed to have a handle on it so he let it slide, but then people started touching merlin and arthur’s hand had drifted to his hip where his sword was usually sheathed. however, again, merlin was very skilled at escaping the situations with little to no conflict and he came back to the table with his winnings. the knights cheer for him and order more drinks with his money which merlin is too inebriated to notice and truthfully doesn’t really care about. his eyes are on arthur and if arthur thought watching merlin flirt from afar was bad then having him up close in his personal space, hands brushing against his arms and dark eyelashes fluttering softly against his pale skin, breathing his name into the space between them and licking his full pink lips was absolute torture and the worst and best agony he couldn’t even dream up.

[cbk1000]

I'm bored and feeling slightly under the weather, so I decided to post some of the almost 15,000 words I have of a luxury train holiday fic that I started after learning that luxury train holidays were a thing. Why did I write a fic about such a random thing? Because I fell down a rabbit hole of luxury travel videos, discovered luxury trains, and naturally turned those videos into a Merthur fic.

Waverly Station, not to put too fine a point on it, was the most wretched hive of scum and villainy ever to be stolen by the British Empire; though possibly this was because Edinburgh had rained on Arthur, rather prodigiously, whilst he was legging it for the station; possibly because he had been woken, at the hour of No, to catch a train into Scotland; and possibly because he was carrying everything which Morgana owned, over every limb he owned; and consequently hated everyone. The sad fate of the baggage mule was his own: to be flogged, viciously, by a master too precious to carry their own bloody rubbish, through the most wretched of conditions (mizzle), with as little thanks as can be given by a creature throated to give it: and with that especial garnish, which was that he was being hit by Morgana’s voice, rather than a nice little crop, which would have only broken his flesh, and not his spirit.

He was trying to decide in which order to kill them both when he spotted, at the other end of the station, the sculpted dark head, modelled in the image of a wave; though the wave would have blushed to hear it. And beside it, a head similarly coloured, if not similarly coiffed; though he had got it into some order, and not an entirely hideous one. Gwaine nodded; and then Merlin turned round, and showed Arthur the smile he hadn’t seen in two weeks. And he felt it call up from the depths of him an answering smile, though he still hated, in the following order, Morgana; the weather; everyone.

“Should have asked me and Gwaine to carry your stuff. Arthur’s clearly crumbling under the weight of being overestimated,” Merlin said, exchanging cheek kisses with Morgana.

“I just love how funny you are,” Arthur replied, chucking off the various pieces of baggage, and letting them land where they landed.

“Don’t throw my stuff, you absolute knob.”

“Then carry it yourself!” Arthur snapped. “Did you remember your suit?” he asked Merlin, who in a blazer and shirt which appeared, miraculously, not to have got his breakfast, blood, or tea on it, was so uncharacteristically smart that probably he considered himself to be entirely done improving on himself. “You’ll have to wear a proper suit for the formal dinners.” He paused, squinting at him. “Do you have product in your hair?”

Merlin wiggled his eyebrows. “Gwaine helped me with it. Don’t worry; I won’t embarrass you on your posh train.”

“You embarrass me on the Tube.”

“I think that’s just because you feel a heightened sense of shame at having to ride public transportation with the plebian class.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Where are Gwen and Lancelot?”

“Gwen’s in the loo; Lancelot’s gone to look for something to eat. He’s worried the train’s going to serve tiny rich people portions.” Merlin pocketed his hands in his trousers. “Want a coffee?”

“Sure; I could use one, having got up at the arse crack of time this morning,” Arthur said, glaring at Morgana, who as usual was perfectly untroubled by her conduct. He gave Merlin a little slap on the shoulder, and then draped his arm round it, steering him toward Caffé Nero before he could do something unforgivable, like choose Costa. He had enhanced the blazer and hair product with a little aftershave, so that as they were walking, Arthur caught a whiff of something not entirely abhorrent; though his manners, doubtless, would make up for it. If they got him on the train, in the blazer, and no one was very much harmed in the process, that was the most which feeble humanity could expect of God’s capricious mercy. “How’s work?”

“Like arse,” Merlin said, paying for their coffees, and handing Arthur his. “I think they would have asked me to push off my holiday, except they know I’m a biter. And not just the sexy kind.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Just something to consider, a luxury train holiday with a spa and 24 hour steward service might be the place to consider not being a totally classless knob who talks about his sexual preferences in public.”

“The train has a spa?!”

Arthur ignored that. “You didn’t answer about the suit.”

“Yes, I packed the suit we FaceTimed about.”

“Nice to know you can occasionally conjure up enough sense to listen to me,” Arthur said, sipping from his coffee, and looking across the platforms to where Gwen had now joined Morgana and Gwaine, and the women were talking with their heads close together, and laughing, whilst Gwaine arranged himself for the admiring masses. 

“Sometimes I wish he weren’t so straight,” Merlin said, cocking his head a little to one side, and drinking from his coffee. “Just a little bit gay; that’s all I’m asking for.”

“Gwaine?” Arthur sputtered, choking on his coffee. “Why on earth?”

“Because he’s the fittest man I know.”

“Of everyone you know, Gwaine is the fittest.”

“No, I didn’t say everyone, I said of the men I know. I would never say fittest of everyone I know, when Morgana’s right there.”

Arthur stepped on his foot, and got the maddening dimples which told him that Merlin was being trying for the sheer and unadulterated pleasure of it; though he made up for it, marginally, by stepping out from underneath Arthur’s arm, so that he could have a proper look at him, the measuring appraisal of a (not terribly) discerning bisexual, who was not so simple, at least, as to not notice that Arthur was practically the pinnacle of attractiveness, in regular shirt and trousers; and in a proper jacket was planting his flag at the peak of it. “You look ok, though,” Merlin said, tweaking one of his lapels a little.

Arthur cuffed him across the back of the head. “Ok.”

“Yeah. For a total arsehole.”

Lancelot had returned, and Arthur and Merlin were cordially punching one another, when the Royal Scotsman arrived, and Gwen gave a little squeal, and leapt up holding two very reasonable bags, whilst Morgana and entourage looked at Arthur expectantly.

“I am not hauling all that on the bloody train. You could have asked yourself at any point, ‘Do I need my entire closet for a week-long holiday?’ and come to a sane conclusion, but you didn’t,” Arthur said; and so having stated his piece, hauled his own rucksack over his shoulder, forsaking hers.

They were piped aboard the train, a rather troublesome portent, Arthur felt; all week people would be making noise which they felt to be music, whilst he was trying to work or read or bathe; whilst it was his right to exist with the Highlands of Scotland, doing their piece to be stunning, whilst he did his. He had his luggage taken, and was shown through into the Observation Car, which was kitted out like a lounge with armchairs and sofas, and a small balcony for watching the stars. Merlin, true to his complete lack of noticeable decorum, said, “Holy shit.” There was a decent carpet underfoot, the colour of wine; and the wood panelling was the same as he had seen in hotels of distinction. There was the bar at the end of the car, which he would need, once Morgana boarded with the Luggage, having got Gwaine to do the hauling for her, and still feeling that Arthur owed her his time and lumbar spine.

“Why did you book us a double, you weirdo?” Merlin asked when they were taken to their cabin, having shouldered ahead of Arthur, to get a look at it first, before Arthur could spoil his first impressions, by being, as Merlin put it, ‘a poncey indifferent bastard.’

“I didn’t. It’s a twin.”

“Looks like a double bed to me.”

“What?” Arthur cried, and pushed him out of the doorway. 

Merlin, contrary to all that was sane, or expected, was right: there was the one lone bed, lovely but singular. They had made it up with a little tartan duvet in the spirit of their culture, as if that would make up for the insult. “We’re supposed to have a twin room.”

“I’m sorry, sir, this is the room.” This from the liveried employee who had shown them to the cabin, and was now realising he had done something, inadvertently, to anger the kind of patron who could drop twenty-six thousand pounds on an eight-day holiday. Merlin pinched him. “It’s fine,” he reassured the man, dimpling at him. 

“It’s not fine!” Arthur cried.

“Yes, it is. If you don’t have any other rooms, and I’m assuming you don’t, otherwise you would have said so immediately, as soon as he started turning all red in the face, we can manage. He’s not the worst thing I’ve woken up to,” Merlin said, and dimpled again, this time in a way that made Arthur coincidentally sweat.

“You didn’t have to be a knob to him,” Merlin said when the man had left, tossing his blazer over the armchair. 

“I wasn’t a knob to him, he mucked up my booking!”

“He didn’t muck up your booking, and put your tits back on. I think we can survive sharing a double bed for a week. I don’t know what you’re complaining about, anyway. You’re the one who snores.”

“I do not snore,” Arthur said, outraged. “You’ll have to sleep in the armchair.”

“I’m not sleeping in the armchair.”

“Well--on the floor, then. I’m sure there’s extra bedding to be got.”

“I’m not sleeping in the armchair, or on the floor; if you’ve got a problem sharing, you’re free to kip on either one,” Merlin said, as if it were settled; and now began, with every appearance of serenity, to begin unloading his bag, into the loo, and all over the writing table and bed, as if he were entitled to the calm dispersal of his belongings, whilst Arthur was stood in the centre of the cabin, clutching at his bag, and staring. The bed was an ordinary double; no giant of its kind, but a mere representative, with no girth but the girth to accommodate them, just. Doubles were for couples who didn’t mind mingling their breath and their limbs and their--other limbs. And now he would have to share, with Merlin’s aftershave and thighs, the romantic space in the spirit of platonicness. Already Merlin had sprawled out on it, demonstrating how it was to be, for seven nights, for Arthur’s personal bubble. Already he had taken off his shoes and blazer, and put his fitted trousers all over Arthur’s bed, as if it were decent, or sensible, or respectable, to take off any clothes whatsoever, in that close, warm space in which they would have to violate the edicts of platonic accord.

“So all week, I’m to have your elbow in my ribs, and just deal with it?” Arthur demanded, still clutching at the bag on his shoulder.

“Yeah, and probably my morning wood too, but I wouldn’t worry about it; if our friendship can get past your personality, it can get past anything.”

Gwen poked her head in the door. “Hello! They’re serving afternoon tea soon.” She stopped, and looked at Merlin on the bed, and looked at Arthur, not on the bed, because he was in possession of common decency. “Why have you got a double?”

“I dunno. Apparently Arthur and I are on our honeymoon,” Merlin said, scrolling through his mobile with his thumb without looking up.

“I booked a twin,” Arthur repeated, loudly but uselessly, in the face of Merlin’s indifference, and Gwen’s eyebrow. She was giving him a Look, very capitalised. It was Arthur’s unfortunate but not unexpected cross to bear; he was one of those unlucky blokes who had got some miscreants, instead of those decent, ordinary folk of common friendship; though he had expected better from Gwen. 

“Anyway,” she said, still giving him the odd Look, “are you coming down for tea? We’re in the first dining car.”

“In a minute,” Arthur said, unloading his bag, by the satisfactory method of smacking Merlin in the face with it.

“Ow!”

“Arthur,” Gwen scolded gently, and was gone, leaving him in that strange shrunken space, where before had existed a normal-sized room; even a rather kingly one, for a train. He felt there was a sort of odd pressure round him. He felt already that he had the awareness of Merlin, before he had Merlin--his close, stifling body, in the bed, that was--the close, stifling presence, offensive if not downright repulsive; anyway, he was quite plagued, quite unsurprisingly, as he had been, all their long and troublesome friendship. 

“Get up; we’re going for tea,” he said, poking Merlin in the side, and getting a yelp out of him. 

They watched Edinburgh and the Castle vanishing beyond the windows from the dining car, whilst Lancelot ate an alarming number of canapes, and Gwen warned him, in the roundabout way of innuendo, by someone who actually knew how to make it, that he oughtn't to be too full, for the sake of--of dinner.

“And dessert,” Merlin said, in a dining car full of blazers and cocktail dresses, in a tone which specified, clearly and resoundingly, that he was not referring to a nice little jelly or sorbet.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to embarrass me on my posh train?” Arthur asked, kicking him in the shin. 

“Technically I embarrassed Gwen,” Merlin pointed out, shovelling one of the canapes into his mouth. “What are we doing tonight?” he asked, like an animal, through the canape, rather than after it.

“Drinking, I think,” Gwaine replied.

“There aren’t any excursions today,” Morgana said. “We’re getting off tomorrow at Glenfinnan, but tonight you’re free to do whatever you like, till dinner. Have some drinks, watch the scenery, break in your double bed.” She smirked at him.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “For the last time, I. Booked. A Twin.”

“He just missed me, is all,” Merlin said, turning on him a smirk almost as bothersome as Morgana’s.

“I don’t see how,” she said, sipping her tea. “I’m sure he has a little doll made of your hair that he sleeps with every night.”

“Yeah, but it just can’t live up to the real thing,” Merlin replied, ruffling it.

“I wish you’d never met. Or been born,” Arthur said pleasantly.

“Merlin, why don’t you give your bride a proper seeing-to in your double bed? He’s getting tetchy again.”

“Piss off,” Arthur said, and went to find, in the arms of some champagne, solace from the bitter reality of his genetics.