Like a Circle in the Water
30 Days of Writing - A Drabble A Day Challenge
Summary: When Gilbert starts finding excuses to leave their training early, Arthur can't help but worry.

. . .

Flame

. . .

He doesn't notice that there is anything amiss a to begin with.

When Gilbert suggests that Arthur should broaden his horizons by facing a different opponent, Arthur agrees without much thought. There has been a marked improvement in Arthur's progress, and although he has yet to consistently best Gilbert in their bouts, they are often able to predict what the other's next strike will be before it can land.

Mathias is, he soon discovers, far quicker than he has any right to be for his size. Still, Arthur is smaller which enables him to duck under a lot of the broad arcs Mathias' sword makes as he strikes. Arthur has to keep moving to avoid becoming a target, but that also makes it difficult to land a hit, himself.

The first time he manages to get close enough to strike, Arthur feels himself swell with pride. Gilbert lets out a whoop from where he is perched, before getting up to prod Mathias in the side and ribbing him for getting hit at all.

Mathias takes it all in stride, the only punishment that he retaliates with being a severe hair ruffle for each of them.

Soon after, Gilbert is excusing himself with the excuse of having a few errands to run before he is scheduled for a night patrol of the town.

It doesn't hit home until a week later when he's glaring daggers at the dullest book on the importance of ethics that he has ever had the displeasure of encountering. Over the last month, Gilbert has been slipping away with worrying regularity, leaving earlier and earlier until he's only actively participating in their training once or twice a week.

He slams the book shut with a satisfyingly loud crack that sends a lightly dozing Gawain to his feet.

He's determined to get answers tonight one way or another – and he will not let anyone stop him.

Reality has a way of foiling even the most meticulously laid plans.

When Arthur arrives at their designated training area, the small tirade he had been planning through the afternoon slips from his mind as he catches sight of the spectacle his friends are making of themselves as they roughhouse.

Of course, it doesn't seem to last particularly long with Brandt there to suddenly sweep the feet from under the pair. He steps out of the tangle of limbs from the floor with a straight face and enough dignity to make up for Gilbert and Mathias and claps Arthur on the shoulder in greeting.

It all goes promptly to hell from there.

Brandt may be of slight build, but the speed and accuracy with which he strikes has Arthur teetering within moments as they spar. The nickname he's been given by his peers is one that is well earned, and Arthur knows that he will not be besting this opponent any time soon.

It's not until he is back in his room and changing for bed that he realises that Gilbert must have slipped away during one of their bouts – it had taken all of Arthur's concentration just to stay upright for most of the evening, but now that he has the time to think he cannot help but worry.

It takes a long time for sleep to come that night as he wonders morosely how long it will take for the other to tire of his company as well.

"For goodness' sake, be careful boy!"

Gilbert does not really react to the reprimand, continuing to wrestle his boots onto his feet and juggling the package in his hands while attempting to remain upright.

Alte Fritz shakes his head in fond exasperation, placing a steadying hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "You're going to make me think I've raised you to be a barbarian, after all of these years."

"It's taken you this long to realise?" He gets a soft swat to the head for his impertinence, though it only makes his grin grow wider. Gilbert climbs to his feet, straightening his clothes and hefting his package. "Don't worry so much – it's not going to get damaged on the walk to the castle."

"It's you that I'm worried about." The sigh follows him through the door, and Gilbert rolls his eyes – he's not that bad – before setting off in earnest.

He finds Brandt and Mathias waiting for him by the gates and they share a conspiratorial smile before setting off to find Arthur. They do not need to search for very long, finding him sheltered by a tree in a corner of the courtyard, an unopened book in his lap as he gazes off to a side in thought.

Gilbert can't help the smirk that settles across his face at the way Arthur starts when Mathias clears his throat. He can see the confusion growing in the boy's eyes, but Gilbert speaks before the furrow between those thick brows can get any deeper.

"It has come to our attention," he begins imperiously, stepping forward to block Arthur's view of the package carefully held in Mathias' grasp, "that in the next few days a certain princeling we know will be turning fourteen years old, and the most he'll have to show for it is a ball he doesn't even want to go to."

The small, concerned frown that had started to curl down Arthur's lip seems to be smoothing out, the wariness leaving his features… still, the completely befuddled look remains.

Brandt, kind soul that he is, takes pity on him and nudges Mathias forward with his elbow, smiling. "Happy birthday, Arthur. We did want to give you the whole of your present today before the preparations for the ball take all of your time, but as it is still cooling Gilbert will have to try and deliver it to you tomorrow."

Arthur is still looking at them in mild incomprehension, so Gilbert crouches down next to the boy, grabbing his wrist and dragging it forward until his fingers curl around the covering separating him from his gift.

This seems to break him from his trance. Arthur pulls the package open and his jaw drops at what he finds inside.

"And now you know where Gil kept disappearing to. Since you were wondering." Brandt elbows Mathias again for his 'helpful' input, and Gilbert shifts restlessly from one foot to the other as Arthur attempts to reacquire the power of speech. "He had to start the scabbard again, you know, which is why it's going to be a day late.

Gilbert glares back at the big oaf, who just raises his hands as if in surrender while grinning helplessly. Then he turns his attention back to Arthur, suddenly feeling unsure of himself. "It's probably very simple in comparisons to the swords your older brothers have, but the length and balance should be perfect for you since me and Alte Fritz made it. And you've been ready for a sword of your own for long enough, if that stiff of an instructor you have would jus-"

It's a very good thing that Mathias still has a firm grip on the sword and its wrappings when Arthur throws himself at Gilbert, squeezing the air out of his friend's lungs. Gilbert pats him awkwardly from where his arms have been pinned while Brandt hides a smile behind his hand – Gilbert must look quite the picture himself, blinking in surprise as he is. Because although it's clear that Arthur has comfortably assimilated himself into their small band of friends, he is still by far the least tactile of them all. Something to do with keeping his dignity apparently, but Gilbert has his suspicions.

Still as Arthur gives his ribs one last crushing squeeze while mumbling a quick but heartfelt 'thank you' into his shoulder, he can't help but think that the hours spent toiling in the forge, covered head to toe in sweat and soot, have been completely worth it.

~Hollyrose~

Notes:

As you may have guessed, the prompt 'Flame' is from the fire that the sword would have been made with; I had planned to have a scene of Gilbert actually making the sword but I couldn't fit it in properly.

Thank you, WhiteWings9, as always for beta-ing~