20-37

Euro:

Being a prince, Arthur had very little idea about the real value of money. The only amounts he ever really dealt in were the vast ones needed to run a kingdom, all the humdrum things such as purchasing food or clothes being dealt with by one servant or another.

So it fell to Merlin to tell the king that the price he'd paid to the traveller for a 'songbird' for Gwen almost constituted daylight robbery and he could probably have got him to catch one in the forest free.

And then hold him back as he went to hunt down the 'very helpful' traveller who had made, as he put it, a slight on his honour.

Evanescent:

It had been over so fast, she couldn't be sure she'd seen it.

One moment everything had been chaos and terror, her hair yanked back from her neck, the executioner's blade swinging even as Arthur's forces stormed the castle in a valiant, if futile, attempt to save her. She'd been searching the crowd for a familiar face –Arthur, one of the knights, anyone really to share her final moments with- when her eyes had locked on Merlin. He'd had the anguished expression of someone having to make a difficult decision in the midst of a battle, when Arthur had given a desperate cry of "Gwen!" and with a suddenly resolute expression his eyes had glowed gold and the axe managed to do a 360 degree turn in mid-air and embed itself in her almost-executioner's chest.

It had all got a bit confusing after that, what with all the blood from the man spraying everywhere and Arthur taking her in his arms and actually sobbing with relief, and her being flung over his shoulder and bodily escorted to a safe place, but Guinevere was pretty sure she'd seen it.

Magic from Merlin.

Magic from Merlin.

Well, it certainly explained a lot.

Expurgate:

Gaius was busy rehearsing what to tell Uther. Or, rather, what not to tell Uther.

There was the rather unorthodox ending to the battle (there just happened to be a friendly dragon flying about killing the enemy) his son's on going love affair with a serving girl (very nice girl Gwen, but still) and a hundred other little 'coincidences' that he would be hard pressed to explain away.

Honestly Merlin, he would have said had the boy been with him, I'm an old man, you can't be expecting me to come up with a cover story every time you decided to do anything dangerous like breathe.

But the boy's lecture would have to wait for a more opportune time (say, when he was actually conscious) and Gaius was all alone as he crossed the floor.

(There were actually several people with him, the guards and that horrible uncle of Arthur's and some other people who weren't particularly important, but figuratively he was all alone.)

He bowed and swallowed.

"Well, Gaius," Uther said, "Tell me what happened."

Gaius thought about it for a bit longer. He did some more swallowing, then, very carefully and deliberately said. "We won."

"Pardon me?"

"I said, Sire, we won the battle."

"Oh." Uther looked a bit uncertain, as if he felt he'd been short changed but wasn't quite sure how. "Well… good. That's extremely good. Any details?"

"None that are necessary, Sire."

He looked at Gaius for a little longer. Gaius stared serenely back.

"Well… All right then. You're dismissed."

Gaius bowed and walked out, busily plotting Merlin's painful and imminent demise.

Facetious:

Merlin, Arthur thought, had serious issues with understanding the gravity of anything.

A huge fire-breathing dragon in the sky? Oh, it's sure to be gone by morning.

A man bleeding to death in front of them? He'll be fine after a good night's sleep.

A ginormous boil on Arthur's royal derriere? Well, better you than me, Sire.

As Arthur sat on his throne, delicately balanced on one bum cheek, he called down a little triumphantly to the boy trapped in the stocks. "Better you than me, Merlin. Better you than me."

Fatuous:

'Silly and pointless' his neckerchief had been described. 'Do you have to wear that old thing?' Gaius had asked him on more than one occasion. 'At least find something a bit less tatty," Arthur had said.

Never, he thought rather primly as he wrung it out over Arthur's motionless lips, would anyone be able to put down his choice of neckwear again.

Feckless:

Arthur looked down at the man's lifeless form. He'd been weak, irresponsible, a fool and a traitor. His actions had almost lost Camelot, his love for the lady Morgana creepy at best, and he'd played them all for a fool.

But he had still been his uncle, one of the few people he'd thought he could trust and a man whose advice he thought had been worth its weight in gold. Someone he looked up to, a father figure. Someone he had thought would go to the ends of the earth for him.

Filled with the anguish of betrayal, the young king walked away from the lifeless form.

Feckless:

Morgana stroked his lifeless cheek, reflecting on a life badly spent. Agravaine had been weak, lacking initiative and too in love with her to be anyone, but he had been useful enough in his own way. Now he was gone she'd need a replacement.

She thought about it as she lit the fire beneath him. Who to choose? Who was worthy of her attentions?

As the fire caught his hair, an idea came to her and she smiled, a nasty smile, a merciless smile. A shark's smile.

Merlin. He'd shown some definite initiative in exposing Agravaine, managed to somehow come out of every battle unscathed and had Arthur's implicit trust.

And, she reflected, he was cute.

Standing up, she brushed down her dress, plotting all the while. There was, of course, the slight hitch of his utter loyalty to Camelot to get over, but other than that, he was perfect.

Fiduciary:

Although Arthur would generally deny it with his life, there was a certain amount of trust involved in his relationship with Merlin. He trusted that Merlin would not poison his food or knife him when he was defenceless, and Merlin trusted that he'd be fed and protected in return.

But still, he thought, perched on a stool in his bedroom while Merlin circled round with a pair of scissors, do I really trust him enough to let him touch my hair?

xxx

For the next month the King of Camelot could be seen sporting a variety of large hats and telling anyone who'd listen that he would never, under any circumstances, trust his good-for-nothing manservant again (while said manservant struggled manfully through the worst jobs his master could think of, the memory of his failed attempt at hair cutting hugged to his chest like armour).

Filibuster:

"Where's Merlin, Sire? Merlin? Black-haired, blue-eyed, neck-tied Merlin? Not the other one? What other one, Sire? Oh I really don't know."

I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill him.

"Well it's funny you should ask Sire because when I saw him this morning – and what a wonderful morning it was, with the birdsong and- what was that? It was storming? Well, we do have some very determined birds here in Camelot, but perhaps I meant yesterday morning when I was down in the lower town… Yes, I should get back to Merlin."

I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill him.

"Now I saw him this morning wearing his red shirt and blue necktie- oh you don't care what he was wearing? Why, you should have said! When I saw him this morning – pardon me Sire but if you're going to keep interrupting to tell me I've already said that I'm not going to get anywhere. Now when I saw him this morning-"

The doors to the Great Hall shot open with a crash and a very out-of-breath Merlin burst in, gasping his apologises.

Gaius smiled and pushed him towards his King with a little more force than was entirely necessary. "Oh, there he is Sire," he said brightly. "Too dah loo then."

Gamete:

Gwen looked at the tiny being in her arms, which was waving both him arms in that adorably uncoordinated way of babies. So beautiful, so fragile, so alive.

A tear rolled off her cheek and dropped onto the baby's cheek. Startled at the sudden wetness, he began to cry.

Gwen handed him back to his mother and left before anyone noticed her glistening eyes.

Gauche:

"So, Merlin, I'm interested," Arthur said through a mouthful of bread and cheese. "What were you like as a young man in your village? Popular with the ladies? Lots of friends?"

Merlin thought back to his teen years, standing awkwardly at the side on festival day in the neighbouring town, the rumours about 'Hunith's boy' having even reached here. Spilling his drink on the only lady who felt sorry enough for him to come and talk, and how utterly lost he had been without Will.

"Of course, Sire," he said jovially, then turned back to the buffet and muttered, "Of course I was none of those things."

Gerrymander:

"I'm not trying to influence you," Merlin insisted, dressed in the red of Gwaine's crest, carrying Gwaine's sword which he polished continually, and mentioning every so often how 'absolutely brilliant Gwaine is, Sire'. "You can pick whomever you want to take your place in the tournament."

Hegemony:

Albion was a country split into many segments, each part continually warring with its others.

To many, Arthur's plan to unite them seemed ludicrous, the ravings of a young and unduly ambitious new king. But, to any who knew him personally there was little doubt in their mind that he would achieve all his aims and more, and make Albion a strong and prosperous country.

Or, so they all said when the crown was placed on his head and people from every one of those parts shouted, "Long live the King!"

Haemoglobin:

"Honestly, Merlin, I don't know why you're being so ridiculous about this. You've seen it countless times coming from others, without it you'd die, and, in all seriousness, it's only a scratch."

Merlin, having fainted several seconds ago at the sight of his own blood, didn't respond.

Homogeneous:

Deciding what to get Arthur for his birthday was always difficult.

It was the age old conundrum of what do you get a man who has everything? Weapons? Fine clothes? Both his armouries and wardrobes were full to bursting.

Merlin, on the other hand, was easy. His armoury lent more towards non-existent than full, and his clothes were all of a similar style.

So, as ever, the night before Merlin's birthday Gaius found himself wrapping up a necktie, and smiling fondly to himself.

Hubris:

"I can do it," Arthur had said confidently. "It won't be a problem for a knight of Camelot."

As Merlin reflected on Arthur's excessive pride, he also did a quick cost/benefit analysis of letting him be eaten.

"Merrrrliiiiiiin! Help!"

With a long suffering sigh, Merlin waited for Arthur's eyes to roll to the back of his head before letting his own eyes glow gold.

Hypotenuse:

For the longest time, it had always been Merlin and Arthur. Two constants that were the sword to the stone, the crown to the king. Just the two of them, bickering good naturedly, saving Camelot on a ridiculously regular basis, and generally living the lives of the two most important people that were to exist in that century.

So it was all the more surprising when the addition of Guinevere simply complemented what was already there, slotting into their daily routine as easily as she had to Morgana's initially.

Well, mostly. Sometimes you just wanted to yell and throw things at your servant without an audience.

End of numero 2, I hope you enjoyed.

Entirely unrelated, has anyone got any good puppy names for a black female labradoodle?