Stifling a yawn, Arthur gazed from his seat at the babble of silk-clad women making their way to the centre of the room, the hems of their dresses brushing against the flagstone floor. They whispered excitedly to each other, pointing at various men who sat at the tables and twirling their hair between their fingers. Gwaine lounged on a wooden bench at the side of the hall, two pretty maids sitting either side of him and a pretty young man on his lap. Arthur rolled his eyes. The other knights- most of them drunk- were acquiring various ladies for the next dance. Percival, shyer than the rest, took a gulp of ale and slammed the cold, metal tankard down. He boldly marched up to a plump cook, offering out his hands before leading her to the two parallel lines that had begun to form in the middle of the hall.
Dancing. Not something the crown prince was famous for.
He didn't see the appeal in dancing- it was rather too much effort to feign interest in juvenile girls for the length of an entire song, let alone to stoop so low as to actually ask them to dance in the first place (at his father's insistent encouragement, of course). And if he hated dancing, it was nothing compared to the monotonous hours spent watching the retched pass-time. Forget elegant, Arthur always thought men and women looked ridiculous when jumping about, their cheeks flushed red to songs that rarely made sense. Watching Percival trample on his lady's foot, he was certain dancers looked ridiculous. He was thankful he'd never had to witness his father dancing- that would be something he'd be unlikely to forget. He stole a glance at said person who- he wasn't surprised to find- was frowning at him. He knew he would get a lecture later, the same one he always got after his father's more illustrious banquets; " Arthur, you really ought to be more sociable! Why not dance with just one or two people, for the sake of your image boy!" and as always, he would pay no heed to his words, and the next dance would pass similar to this.
The band in the corner began to play a fast-paced tune that Arthur vaguely recognised as one about 'the great dragon' or something. He felt a small shiver of pride- he'd killed that dragon. He yawned again, draining his goblet of what little ale remained. A quiet chuckle sounded from behind him, before the pale hand of his manservant brushed past his shoulder to refill his cup.
"Bored, sire?" Merlin whispered.
Arthur smirked in response, giving Merlin an appraising glance. In times of inescapable boredom, Merlin was always there to amuse him whether he liked it not. Unfortunately, Arthur had forgotten to look out any embarrassing hats to force upon him this time, but he was sure he could think of something.
"Are you not going to dance?" Merlin asked him, receiving a half-hearted glare and a simple "no".
"Boring sod."
He tried to glare but that gleam of impropriety in Merlin's eye made him want to laugh. He gave a throaty chuckle and stopped when Lord Alfred looked up from his dinner to squint at him. Suddenly determined to put his manservant's use to some way that would relieve his disinterest, he swivelled in his seat to examine him, his eyes raking over the young man's body. He gritted his teeth against the rather inappropriate thoughts that came to mind, and scanned the hall for inspiration. Dancing... Arthur grinned at Merlin wickedly, whose eyebrows furrowed in wary confusion.
"Why don't you go have a little dance Merlin?" he said, his voice tainted with dark humour.
His manservant turned bright red (especially around the ears Arthur noticed) and shuffled his feet, mumbling some sort of excuse about Arthur's alcohol supply.
"No, no Merlin, I insist. In fact, I bet you look good on the dance floor" he demanded, in a tone that he knew Merlin would not mistake as optional.