Here we have frustrated painter Arthur in need of a muse... Part of it is Merlin's POV, as we meet him for the first time. I claim no ownership of "Merlin", no copyright infringement is intended; this story is just for fun.
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Arthur tossed yet another broken paintbrush into the unlit fireplace. He was normally good with all kinds of nature scenes and made beautiful (or so his mother said) paintings of inanimate objects in empty castle halls, but now they were not agreeing with him at all.
He enjoyed painting most things, and people, most of all, but his friends rarely had even half the patience to sit for him that he would have wanted them to, and none of them were models in any way. Well, except if you counted all the posing for photos Morgana had had to do ever since she turned twelve, that was.
With a sigh, Arthur closed his eyes and let out a long, deep sigh. He had many duties, and had spent lots of time in different circumstances, but he always painted every day, it was as much of a constant to him as his everpresent royal duties.
He wasn't having a huge, creative meltdown. No, nothing even half as grand (or old) as that. He was just bored. Well, that was a problem. Problems, by definition, had solutions, as things that were wrong could be made to be right, or they weren't either, they just were.
He could go up into one of the cottages on the mountainside, do some drawing from memory, in solitude, that usually relaxed him. He could make another change of scenery, too, he supposed. His parents were already worried about his mood and would happily send him off for a week or two to any location in the world, if he said it'd help him.
Sitting down, Arthur decided to focus. Start at the beginning. What was bothering him? Well, that one was obvious, at least. Things didn't turn out like he wanted, probably because he didn't find anything really good to paint, and merely "interesting" wasn't doing it for him lately. Everyone had days and weeks like that.
Alright, he decided, so what did he want to paint? People, movement; his mind supplied immediately. Yet, he realised a moment later, that wasn't really it. He wanted to study, like he usually did, only, inanimate objects weren't what his eyes were drawn to right now. Well, that wasn't all that difficult to solve, really.
He would need a model; an actual one that could actually pose for him, until he was done with this little artistic sulk, he concluded. Surely, that could be arranged, couldn't it?
Merlin sat down, blearyeyed and sleepy, in front of his desk, which held his laptop. He was sick and tired of posing in strange circumstances and as a kroki model, but his agent was silent,. There simply were no decent jobs coming through, no actual, classy modelling wanting him, so he had to make do somehow.
Opening up his email, he realised a professor in arts of a sister university from one he had previously worked for briefly as a model for various groups of art students had emailed him.
He read the somewhat odd message, frowned, and called the requested number, only to find out that it wasn't to an university at all, but the royal court of Albion, one of the last functional monarcies in Europe.
A bit shocked, he finally managed to introduce himself, and promptly found himself with an offer to model for their Prince. Invardly groaning, he asked for time to think about it and was given a day, then they rang off.
A Prince. Who probably hadn't touched an easel in his entire life and now decided it was cool, and would likely leer at him and... Merlin shuddered. The worst part was, that he hadn't gotten a new job in five weeks and his lease on his flat was running out anyway, so he had no excuses to decline. Not to speak of the connections he could make in a place like that... and he really needed the job, too. Merlin groaned. He really would have to go, wouldn't he?
