Like a Circle in the Water
30 Days of Writing - A Drabble A Day Challenge
Summary: When Gilbert had asked him over for dinner with his family in that casual way that he has Arthur had barely managed to repress the undignified squeak that had almost left his mouth.

. . .

Formal

. . .

Arthur has had to meet dignitaries from the capitol, has been trained from birth to know what is acceptable to discuss with whom and when to keep mum. He has had to attend countless balls against his will where he must entertain maidens of the court that he has little care for and even less interest in. He had – once, when he had been very young – had the honour of meeting the crown prince.

As much as he has loathed every class, Arthur is practiced in the proper etiquette befitting his position and has had much opportunity to put these dubious (in his humble opinion) skills to the test.

None of this does anything for the abject terror that blindsides him as he trundles down the path to where he is meeting Brandt.

Brandt must see the unease in his features as he approaches; the older boy looks to be somewhere between amusement and sympathy. A small smile of reassurance steals across his lips as Arthur comes to a halt beside him, and Arthur can't help but duck his head slightly in an attempt not to fidget.

"Honestly, Arthur, you needn't fret so much. Alte Fritz is nowhere near as intimidating as Berwald is."

He's heard much the same from Gilbert and Mathias, but this piece of information isn't nearly as comforting as it perhaps should be.

Mathias' uncle Berwald, who runs the ale house that the four of them frequent, towers over most of his patrons and can calm an impending brawl with but a single quelling look. His broad build coupled with the seemingly permanent furrow in his brow has made the co-owner of the establishment's assertion that the man is actually a gentle soul very hard to believe.

When Gilbert had asked him over for dinner with his family in that casual way that he has ("Alte Fritz has been asking after you since your birthday and I can prove to you that my cooking is as amazing as I say") Arthur had barely managed to repress the undignified squeak that had almost left his mouth.

Arthur isn't daunted by the prospect of meeting Alte Fritz in the same way that Berwald daunts him. From everything that he has heard thus far, the smith is the best at his trade for leagues and one of the kindest men one could hope to meet. It's clear from the way that Gilbert speaks of him that he is loved as a father, respected as a teacher and means a great deal to his friend.

Alte Fritz is important to Gilbert and the prospect of not gaining his approval – of unwittingly offending him, or the little brother that his friend so clearly adores – has Arthur more terrified than he has ever felt before in his life.

Brandt gives Arthur's shoulder a small squeeze before leading him down the path and away from the castle. "He's not going to want to let you leave by the time you're done…" The way Brandt says it is almost a rueful sigh.

Arthur can't help but hope that he's right.

—

Arthur runs a distracted hand through his hair and attempts to straighten out a non-existent wrinkle from his shirt, before finally steeling himself and knocking on the door before him.

Brandt had left him with an exasperated shake of the head only moments before, and once he is alone he's almost wishing for a little ale to calm his nerves.

When the door opens, Arthur is greeted by the sight of a solemn looking boy with clear blue eyes and neatly combed blond hair. His stare is a little unnerving at first, but after assessing Arthur for a minute he gives a small nod and steps aside to let him in.

"Lutz, was it him?"

Arthur follows the boy through the narrow hallway towards Gilbert's voice and into a room that combines as a drawing room, dining room and kitchen. Gilbert himself is hovering over a large pot, hands on his hips, and the sight so far removed from what Arthur is used to seeing from his friend that he snorts in amusement before he can stop himself. This seems to catch his attention, and he turns around just as his younger brother answers with a prim, "Yes, brother, it was."

Abandoning the pots for a time, Gilbert strides across the room and ruffles the boy's hair as he turns to face Arthur. "I see you've met my brother then; Arthur, this is Ludwig."

Ludwig bears the treatment with a look of practiced long suffering, rolling his eyes as he twists away from his brother's fingers. Arthur hesitantly offers him a hand to shake, and after a moment Ludwig takes it. His grasp is firm but not overpowering, and there is a slight smile in his eyes even though his features remain neutral. It makes some of the tension in Arthur's shoulders ease and he manages a smile in return.

Gilbert beams at them both before shooing his brother away to call Alte Fritz in from the forge. "Honestly," he says as he wanders back over to his pots, giving the contents each a quick stir before carrying them across to the table one by one. "Trying to get him out of the forge is almost impossible, it's like-"

"Attempting to force you to part with your sword?" Arthur interrupts wryly.

Gilbert gives a snort of amusement, prodding Arthur in the side as he passes by. Arthur waits until he has safely deposited the loaf of bread in his hands before retaliating with a swift kick in the shins.

By the time Ludwig and Alte Fritz walk into the kitchen's threshold the two of them are leaning against each other to stay upright as they laugh.

—

By the time everyone is seated at the table, it is clear to Ludwig that Arthur is feeling much more at ease than he had when he'd first arrived.

Gilbert tends to have that effect on people.

Dinner is a fairly quiet affair in comparison to when Mathias and Brandt are over, but Ludwig finds himself preferring the sharp sting of Arthur's wit to the boisterous chortling that he has become accustomed to.

Not that this is particularly unexpected, at least not to Ludwig.

Ludwig has been a stable hand at the castle since he was seven years old, and has seen many nobles come and go over the years. Alte Fritz has always told them that a good way to judge a person is to see how they treat their inferiors – or their animals.

It is a lesson that Ludwig has always taken to heart.

Ludwig doesn't know a lot about Arthur's interactions with the serving folk of the castle. He has always been under the impression that the Baron's fourth son doesn't speak a lot if he has the option but is polite when the situation arises. No news is good news after all, and while Arthur doesn't have Gawain's reputation for kindness, he doesn't have the whispered notoriety that Sean has earned himself.

Still, he's seen the older boy with the horses often enough.

Arthur does not yet have his own horse, having lived the majority of his life in the caste and rarely travelling out of the Kirkland land, but when the opportunity presents itself Arthur is one of the few nobles who insist on caring for his steed after the journey has ended. Most just leave the work to the stable hands, saying that it is what the servants are paid for.

Arthur likes to stay behind, whispering to the horse as he brushes out the tangles in its mane. He drops by when he thinks he can get away from his tutors long enough, and never without a pocket full of sugar cubes.

Out of all of the Baron's children, Ludwig has always liked the youngest two the most. But he hadn't understood why his elder brother had befriended one of them until today.

Arthur seems to stumble into conversation, all knees and elbows until the moment he catches his balance – it's only then that his brows start to furrow as he contemplates a response, only then that he lets his lip quirk up in agreement or his nose wrinkle in disbelief. Ludwig can certainly identify with that initial feeling of displacement; it's exactly what he himself experiences when he runs into Feliciano on the castle's grounds while working, straw sticking out of his hair and streaks of dirt crusting on his cheeks.

…He hopes, in vain, that Elizaveta will spare him the humiliation of Gilbert's teasing by keeping the instance of this that she had witnessed the previous to herself.

But. Moving on.

The current topic of conversation seems to be sword craft, which is hardly a surprise in present company. Alte Fritz has Arthur's rapt attention as he describes one of the more ornate swords he has been commissioned to make in his time, and when Gilbert misses his usual cue in the story to start rambling about his own involvement in the process – being a nuisance and generally getting underfoot – Ludwig glances curiously over to his brother.

Gilbert is cleaning the last dregs of stew from his bowl with the last scraps of his bread roll, one of his rarer, quiet smiles gracing his features as Arthur asks a particularly interesting (if the thoughtful hum Alte Fritz makes is any indication) question.

It's the same smile he usually has as Alte Fritz ruffles his hair with pride. It's the same one he wears when ruffling Ludwig's hair with affection. It's the smile that lights his face when Mathias and Brandt visit unexpectedly, just because they can. It's the smile that had crept across his lips when Arthur 's eyes had warmed in pleasure when trying his first mouthful of stew.

As far as Ludwig is concerned, that's more than enough of a reason to welcome Arthur into their circle.

And if the spark in Alte Fritz' eye is anything to go by, he couldn't agree more.

~Hollyrose~

Notes:

This instalment is completely unbeta'd, since I've literally just finished writing/typing it up! If there are any mistakes/typos, please feel free to point them out~