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Don't Lose Your Head Over It: A Merlin RP (SevenxKawa)

Merlin scowled as he washed. Somehow it didn't seem right; terrible things were happening, Nimueh had a replacement and Camelot might very well be in grave danger - again - and he had just been sent to bathe. Camelot couldn't be rescued by soap and wet towels, even if it did make things smell much nicer.

But the warlock didn't protest; he followed Gaius' instructions and he waited, going through the motions of every day life, which consisted of a world of armour, replacing bed linens, and cleaning horse stables - and he found himself watching for the soil-stained face of the Warden during those times, equal parts hoping she would appear, and hoping she wouldn't show again. She was pleasant and all, but somehow Merlin hoped that if he didn't see her, it might mean things wouldn't have to go wrong all over again, and no one would have to have their lives put in danger, or nearly be drowned or poisoned or anything like that.

After four days with nothing going wrong, and nearly two weeks since he had - since Nimueh had departed - and things were looking up.

Sort of.

Or they would be, if it hadn't been for the uniform that had been tossed at him; Merlin peered down irritably at the feathers, and huffed them away before he began the unfortunate task of getting into the thing and striding through the castle in it. Of course, by then he was used to being humiliated on a regular basis, but something about the crimson uniform seemed like worse punishment than the pillory - though, that was sort of fun these days, since he was now on a first-name basis with the people who pitched the rotten fruit at him.

He ignored the smirk on Gaius' face when he passed through the cottage, giving as haughty a flip of his feathers as he could manage before heading out the door.
 
â??Merlin.â?

Morgana was waiting for the servant-turned-giant-red-clown, uncannily on time as she always managed to be. She had chosen a beautiful red dress, something Gwen had made for her as a present and which she was in love with, but wouldnâ??t you know, they had extra ribbon.

And she so hated to waste such a lovely red color. Even Uther had mentioned his fondness for it when she had shown him and Arthur her colors for the night, and wouldnâ??t it be such a shame if she couldnâ??t put it to good use?

In her own floating way, she stepped forward and held up the length of ribbon, the clear, saturated color of stained glass and wine in her pale fingers. Twisting in the wind, light caught and shimmered. Silk. A single, thin length of silk, delicate, understated but so full of color that it would be impossible to ignore.

Especially with someone so fond of red as her surrogate father was.

â??I had hoped you would wear this,â? she said. Gwen, over her shoulder, gave Merlin a little wave and sweet, shy smile before returning her hands to their clasped position. â??Gwen had a little extra from my dress and we thought it would look lovely as a collar for you.â?

â??And for luck,â? Gwen added, popping forward on the balls of her heels. â??I mean, you donâ??t have to. But we thought it would be fantastic if you did.â?

â??In any case, walk with me. I would hate if Arthur thought he was the only young man I spoke with these days.â?
 
Looking vaguely like an overgrown crimson bird, Merlin nearly stumbled back down the steps when he found Morgana waiting patiently for him on the landing; she was a vision in red, though, really, any colour seemed to flatter her tiny, pale frame. Standing next to Morgana in all of her grace and beauty, Merlin always felt especially gawky - but she was a sight to be admired, and the warlock always found himself mentally comparing her to a rose, especially now in all of the crimson she was wearing.

His eyes nearly crossed when Morgana held up the ribbon in front of him and he reached up and gently took it from her, peering at her curiously from beneath the mass of feathers; his eyes fell back to the ribbon - a soft, shining strip of material that was delicate and much finer than anything he had ever owned before.

Beyond that, gifts weren't a common thing for Merlin, who had grown up in a tiny village and had spent most of his childhood sifting through mud and working in barns and fields, a tiny community where they celebrated if the crops were plentiful and if the goat had kids.

"Thank you, Morgana, this is - very nice." Merlin said, gingerly running the silk through his fingers and he offered up a cheery smile that made the outside corners of his eyes crinkle for a moment; he fell into step with Morgana then, continuing to toy with the little strip of silk, momentarily bringing it up against his jaw to feel the material against the skin of his face, marvelling at it.

Moving alongside her, he considered the ribbon, then added brightly:

"I suppose I'll need all the luck I can get for the next time Arthur and his father decide they want to use me as a target."
 
While Merlin was busy rubbing his face against the silk, Morgana spared a glance back to Gwen, who ducked her head, smiling. It was hard not to like the young man, who managed an odd balance of adorable, clumsy and astoundingly attractive in that goofy red costume that Arthur was so fond of putting him in. The poor boy probably thought if he put his manservant in that silly outfit, Uther would find the whole thing repulsive.

Arthur had no sense of beauty. Uther was very different from his son there.

â??Here,â? she said, stopping and gesturing for Merlin to turn around. Her fingers plucked the ribbon from Merlinâ??s hands with a grace that spoke of years of needlework, calligraphy and musical instruments (but nothing of the years of swordplay and archery). She reached around Merlinâ??s neck, not over what with the giant mass of feathers, and tied a careful knot in the back (needlework was good for something).

â??Oh, itâ??s splendid,â? Gwen gushed, a mix of nervousness and excitement making her a little more expressive than usual. Morgana grinned over Merlinâ??s shoulder and underneath all the red and green plumes.

â??I told you. Arthur has no sense of style, but heâ??s right in knowing red is good on you, Merlin.â?
 
It took a moment for Merlin to realize how child-like he must have looked with the silk against his face, but he managed not to look too embarrassed about it, offering Gwen one of his slightly sheepish smiles while he obeyed Morgana's gentle command. He could feel her little hands working deftly behind him, securing the strip of ribbon snugly around his throat, not enough to feel as though it was choking him, but tight up against his skin.

It was a little odd, he thought, wearing this sort of thing, but ultimately no stranger than the various other uniforms and costumes he had put on during his time at Camelot - the number of which seemed to be growing on a regular basis. He reached up and touched his fingers gently to the ribbon and where it sat, and discovered that it had been secured so well that he could just barely slip his fingertip beneath it.

But the whole thing seemed to please both Gwen and Morgana, so Merlin went along with it without question - though, their excitement did seem somehow -

- peculiar.

Maybe not. Maybe they were just excited about the party. Maybe this was just how girls were. Maybe they had got into the wine a bit early. They were nice anyways.

At the remark about the colour, Merlin's eyebrows rose,

"Is it? Arthur says I look like a rather large turkey in red. I suspect the feathers don't help." Merlin said, cheery despite knowing he was in for another night of being ordered around by a table full of Camelot's knights.
 
One of those knights came up next to them, offered Merlin a polite little smile (even Arthurâ??s men had learned to like the gawky manservant) as he took Morganaâ??s arm. Gwen fell into step a few feet behind, next to Merlin. Morgana was right: he really did look nice with the ribbon. Hopefully, Uther would think so, too. Maybe hopefully. Gwen wasnâ??t entirely sure if she liked this idea.

As always, the court rose with Morganaâ??s entrance in one smooth, colorful motion, light glittering off of various pieces of jewelry and utensils. Arthur felt it was entirely unfair that a woman so evil would look so good in whatever she chose to wear, especially when she was fully aware of the way her eyes and circlet caught the candlelight as she took her seat at the high table. There was the collective sound of every free person sitting back down as she leaned over to Arthur and whispered, â??You might want to seek out a different manservant for tonight.â?

Arthur glanced up, towards Merlin, then towards his father who was paying no attention to the boy. What in Godâ??s name was she smiling for? Girls. Heâ??d never get them, even if he had to marry one sometime in the future (just, far in the future, he hoped). Morgana was worse than most girls, because she had some intimate knowledge of a manâ??s world and used that to be even more opaque.

â??Merlin, are you daft? My cup is still empty and most of our guests are working on their second glass of wine already.â?

Whatever she was planning, heâ??d figure out and stop it. After all, he was the prince. He wasnâ??t going to lose to some meddling girl, even if it was Morgana.
 
Morgana affected the court like a river in the woods; delicate though she appeared, the strength of her was undeniable - and, Merlin noted, strikingly different from anyone else in the court. Certainly, the women in the court were all beautiful, but to Merlin, Morgana had always had a particular charm, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on - something that felt almost familiar to him.

He watched her sweep to the front of the room, and he looked over at Gwen, smiling delightedly,

"You both look lovely." Merlin said, and there was nothing but sincerity in his voice - Gwen was a natural beauty, a blacksmiths daughter who had never needed any of the things that ladies sometimes used to enhance their features, none of the make-ups or perfumes - in fact, she smelled like soil most of the time, but as Merlin understood from Gaius, it wasn't the sort of thing that girls would take as a compliment, so he kept it to himself.

As it turned out, there was no time to speak, because within moments Arthur was giving him hard looks and barking orders, so Merlin shrugged his shoulders,

"Duty calls." he said, and shuffled off to refill Arthur's cup before systematically working his way around the room, slightly more familiar with the costume now and thus more capable of keeping the feathers away from the candle flames.

Unfortunately, by the time he was done moving around the room, Arthur was in need of another refill; sometimes Merlin swore that the Prince did his very best to make things more difficult - but really, it could be worse. It was, after all, a miracle that Arthur was alive to be a complete prat, wasn't it?

That thought, at least, was enough to keep the satisfied little smile on Merlin's face.
 
That little, self-satisfied smile caught Utherâ??s eye.

It wasnâ??t that the gaudy reds, greens and gold-thread of the mascot uniform (though, he was absolutely sure that giant feathers were not a part of his familyâ??s crest) hadnâ??t; the king had caught sight of Merlin shortly after Morgana, who managed to pull off similar colours in a way one would call elegant unlike Merlinâ??s tights and doublet affair. No, Uther found himself watching Merlinâ??s mouth, the almost subtle play of moving muscles and stretched skin that could easily be missed by someone staring at the boyâ??s stupid clothing.

Merlin really did look good in red, didnâ??t he?

It was why he had requested it, though Arthur would have put him in the tights no matter what. Perhaps he had hoped that his son would catch wind of his message and find Merlin something even more embarrassing, though Uther had the feeling that no matter what Arthur put him in, the boy would wear it with good cheer and that same smile. Sometimes, he worried the boy was simply stupid.

Not that he didnâ??t suspect Merlin was an idiot, there was proof of that, but completely dimwitted? No. So what was he smiling about? Mismatched eyes, dark in the warm colors of candlelight, watched the lad for a moment, hoping to catch him looking the kingâ??s way. He was tapping his gloved fingers along the base of his goblet, ignoring Arthur and Morgana bickering sweetly at his side, having been unable to sit between them with a visiting guest at the table.

Should Merlin look, he would get a slight nod of approval, completely tame save for the wolfish stare.

And Uther hadn't even seen the ribbon yet.
 
Merlin was being stared at.

Of course, with the outfit he had on, he couldn't blame anyone for gawking, but he currently had the eyes of two generations of Pendragons on him. Closest to him, Arthur was giving him that same hard stare, but now it was becoming just a little glassy from alcohol - which admittedly took away from some of the effect, but there was still something mildly disturbing about it.

Merlin decided to just pour Arthur another cup without question; if the prince had something to say, he had no doubt that it would eventually come out - likely prefaced by the word 'idiot'.

The warlock managed to maintain the little smile up until the point he noticed the second pair of eyes that were on him - they were the strange, mismatched green and hazel eyes that had been watching him the last time he had worn the ridiculous outfit.

The king was watching him.

Despite himself, Merlin froze all over again, pinned to the spot by the other man's gaze, holding the wine and truly feeling like an idiot. Uther merely nodded, of course, which was a mild and immensely gracious gesture for the king, but it was the eyes - they were what caused Merlin to swallow hard, hastily return the nod, and nearly stumble over his own feet as he moved away from the head table again, intent on serving guests to distract himself.

And, through it all, Arthur was still staring at him, though he slowly shifted his gaze away and instead towards his father, expression drawn into a scowl.
 
Uther graciously ignored his sonâ??s wine-fueled glare, feeling that to call it out would only cause problems. Arthur, if he was feeling particularly drunk, could argue with him about his choice in staring subjects later if he needed his fatherâ??s anger turned on him.

Except Uther might not really be angry later on, because he felt Arthurâ??s protectiveness to be rather quaint. What, did he think he was to grab Merlin, drag him away like a spoil of war then lay with him like some defeated kingâ??s daughter? Really, that was rather barbaric of him. Uther managed to cover a chuckle with a sip of his wine, eyes taking in the court for any danger than focusing back on Merlin. He wanted the boy to feel his gaze weigh down on his slender spine, wanted to watch those shoulders hunch against the power of it.

If he had been free to, he would have demanded the boy trip a little closer, but that was much too obvious for their little game.

â??Arthur,â? he said lowly, trying to ignore the way Morgana perked up next to his son. He wasnâ??t the only one playing a game tonight, way over Arthurâ??s head, and he wondered what did she have in store for him. â??Send your servant to me tonight.â?

Morganaâ??s white teeth flashed as Arthur scowled a little deeper, turning back to his wine to ignore the evil beasts on both sides of him. Right. His father leaned over to talk to him not about anything important, but to demand Merlin show up to be scared half to death. God damn Morgana. He mumbled this into his drink, trying to ignore the victorious wolf in red silks to his side as Merlin served on, perhaps completely unaware of the conversation that had just determined his night.
 
Merlin had busied himself around the court, getting into a timed pattern to keep all of the goblets full, even managing to deftly step over the outstretched leg of one of Arthur's knights - for some reason Sir Lionel was unceasingly amused by watching him flail and fumble, regardless of how many times he had seen it happen already - and had nearly managed to keep his eyes away from the head table.

Of course, that was until he saw a flash of white.

For some reason, whenever Morgana wore that particular expression, it always gave Merlin the inkling that something terrible was going to happen - as pretty as she was, she had a sort of vicious smile.

And, in-keeping with tradition, only moments later Arthur was gravely crooking a finger at him; Merlin obediently padded across the court - again, he did a cheery little skip-jump over Lionel's foot, much to the knight's dismay - before he came within range.

"Merlin." Arthur said, doing that thing where he drawled the first syllable, somehow managing to make his name sound like a curse; he crooked his finger again, and Merlin came closer still. The prince gave a surreptitious glance over his shoulder then - Merlin's eyes followed his gaze, and found it was directed to Morgana, who was presently busy speaking with Gwen - before looking back to his servant. His eyes dropped then, down to his plate, and he poked at a bit of bread, eating a piece of it with an arrogance that was strangely familiar,

"The king has requested your presence." he said finally, and his eyes flicked up before he added irritably, "Again."

Merlin gave him a boggle-eyed look, and his eyes slowly began to shift towards the king, but Arthur hissed:

"Don't look at him."

And his tone was so sharp that Merlin's eyes immediately snapped back, his eyebrows popping up.

"I mean," Arthur said, collecting himself, "You'll go to him after the party. After you've cleaned up, after the party. I don't want to see a breadcrumb in this court before you leave it, do you understand me?"

Merlin nodded, and Arthur's eyebrows dug downwards,

"What are you wearing?" he asked suddenly.

"You're the one who insisted." Merlin retorted, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Not the uniform, that." he said, and Merlin's fingers followed the prince's gaze, locating the strip of ribbon secured around his neck, "What is that?"

"It's part of the uniform." Merlin said, fiddling with the silk, adding pointlessly, "Lady Morgana said it was my colour."

Arthur's jaw slid forward, and suddenly the warlock felt as though he had just done something terrible; he just didn't know what it was.

"She did, did she?" he said, and gave a scowl that twisted his features ghoulishly, before snarling out, "Merlin."

"Er, yes?"

"Get your damned feathers out of my drink."
 
â??Come in.â?

â??Father.â?

Uther straightened, looking back to the door to find Arthur standing there, his always warm but normally regular complexion flushed some in the candlelight. The older Pendragon turned away from the crops and tribute schedule he had been pouring over with a goblet of water to avoid any after effects of the wine. And because he had no other time for such details; where another monarch might rely on an advisor for such petty concerns, Uther wanted every scrap of information. He owed it to his people.

â??Arthur. I had not expected an audience with you this evening.â?

His son started to pace, shoulders stiff but curled inwards some, golden head turning from his father to the fire then back to him again.

Arthur would have made quite the intimidating figure, if he wasnâ??t Utherâ??s son and if he didnâ??t nearly trip on the edge of a heavy rug.

Ah. Wine.

â??Why Merlin of all people?â? His handsome face twisted into a glower much less artfully formed than the haughty expressions he favoured for distasteful situations. Drunk enough to be a little out of control around his father; Uther didnâ??t know if he should be pleased or offended. He was leaning towards pleased, especially when Arthur nearly tripped again, this time without a rug to blame. His son caught his chuckle and rolled his eyes, looking every bit the adolescent. â??Heâ??s â?¦ stupid. Touched.â?

â??He seems a cheerful lad.â?

Arthur snorted and nearly coughed, his face going some color that was just a few shades off his coat. â??Cheerful!â? he parroted, disbelieving. â??Cheerful. Not right in the head, I say. You did, too.â? The boy took this moment to rethink his course of action, the slowly changing plans twisting along his face in a very visible fashion. Uther couldnâ??t help but watch with some mix of fascination and disgust, like stepping in on Gaius tending a broken leg in which the bone was jutting up from the skin. â??Sire,â? Arthur said finally, his tone turning towards diplomatic pleading, except in his current state, it came out more like a whining drawl. â??You must have seen â?¦ Thereâ??s nothing there,â? he said, gesturing to his eyes. â??Nothing. Empty. Like a light gone out. Sire.â? As if his legs could no longer hold himself under his professed truth of Merlinâ??s stupidity, Arthur directed his wobbly body over to Utherâ??s chair and collapsed into it, a pile of adolescent irritation.

Uther was not entirely sure what to do with that, though he was certain laughing would be a bad choice.
 
"Merlin? What are you doing under there?"

Merlin nearly hit his head off the table he had been bent beneath, but managed to extract himself without a concussion; he found Gwen standing behind him, looking lovely dressed in her greens and yellows and twisting a cloth between her little fingers. She had fixed him with one of her gentle little smiles and Merlin returned it - though, when the warlock smiled, it tended to be an enormous, beaming thing, all bright white teeth and dimples.

"Arthur's threatened to make me lick the cobblestones clean if he finds a crumb around here." Merlin said, and Gwen gave a slow nod of understanding, peering back over her shoulder for a moment, one fine little eyebrow rising - Merlin followed her gaze, and only got a brief glimpse of deeply hued silks. Morgana, then.

At the same time both Merin and Gwen looked back to eachother, with Merlin's expression fixed into one of puzzlement and Gwen's the startled expression of one who has just been caught doing something terrible.

"Is there something - ?" Merlin began, but Gwen was already shaking her head.

"Oh, no. No, Merlin. I was just - checking." she said, stumbling and stuttering over her words, but ending it with a smile that was so painfully earnest that Merlin just didn't ask.

"Alright. Well, I have to -" Merlin said, gesturing to the room in general, about to return to his cleaning when Gwen took hold of his arm so suddenly that he actually stumbled mid-step.

"Why don't you let me do this?" Gwen asked.

"Arthur -" Merlin began, but the woman was already drawing him towards the door, though he was putting up resistance, still pointing in the direction of the court for emphasis.

"- won't mind." Gwen finished, "Really. There's plenty of us cleaning up here, and you've got - other things - to do."

"I do?" Merlin asked, astounded.

"Well. Not that I would know or anything. Just - i'm sure you do. Serving the Prince and all. The - King's son." Gwen said, and Merlin was staring at her, boggle-eyed.

"Gwen?" Merlin questioned.

"You have a good night," Gwen added, "Really, we'll take care of the court. Arthur won't have a thing to complain about."

"I don't know about that -"

"Goodnight, Merlin." she said once more, enthusiastically, and when Gwen turned and headed back into the court, Merlin realized he was standing out in the hallway. Eyebrows raised, he stared after her for a long moment, briefly ready to go back in after her, but stopping himself and going in the other direction, deciding that girls were strange sometimes.

He was halfway to the cottage when he remembered his other order that evening, and it finally occurred to him why Gwen had been so insistant. As he made his way back up the stairs and towards the King's quarters, he suddenly felt as though some terrible joke was being played on him.

Like the last time, he found himself hesitating outside of the door, but after a long moment of steeling himself, he finally knocked and then carefully peered in, the feathers poking in before his head did.
 
Uther was not forced to respond to his sonâ??s sudden bout of sulking because there was an interrupting knock at the door and then â?¦

Well. Feathers.

Merlin.

When the boy came in, it was to a pair of Pendragon faces turned towards him, one smooth and red something like an pompous apple and the other lined and just a little grey like worn stone. But then Uther was moving, tucking away the never ending lists, and he was a flash of mercurial motion. Arhur, likewise, moved a few seconds behind his father, face reflecting the fire as he angled it closer. Now, now he had shadows and lines, severe things that threw his face into contrast like his fatherâ??s and Uther was disturbed by the similarity in that harsh light. But now he was moving, turning away, hoping up and Arthur was back to the haughty stranger that was technically his son but all Igraineâ??s mystery.

â??Well, then,â? he drawled both for rhetoric reasons and simply because he had downed too much wine. â??I will leave you two to your business.â? His mouth twisted around that word, lips curling and spitting the syllables out as if it were some foul series of sounds, like he had managed to get one of Gaiusâ?? salves into his mouth. Arthur had a real skill with that, he did, and Uther wasnâ??t entirely certain whom he had learned it from. Igraine? Himself? Some odd mix of the two of them? It was possible.

In one fluid motion, Arthur pushed past Merlin, purposely hitting him with his shoulder on the way out. â??Careful, Merlin,â? he said, voice too low for his father to hear, because the wine made him less afraid to show care for his servant-turned-friend. And then he was gone, stomping off down the hall, the perfect picture of the cranky drunk.

Uther really had no idea what to make of his son. If it was Morgana, he would have chalked the moodiness up to being a girl (a mystical experience indeed) and all the viscisitudes of the moon and menstrual flow and whatever it was that lead to that specific brand of feminine insanity, but Arthur was happily a man.

Maybe the boy needed to kill things more often. Merlinâ??s femininity must have been wearing off on him.

â??Your master had too much to drink, boy,â? the king said pleasantly, glad he was no one safe and sure footing. Arthur had managed to knock him a little off balance in a way Uther had not had happen in a long while. â??Come here.â? A gloved hand extended out lazily, leather illuminated in the candle-light.
 
Merlin supposed he should have known better than to go in head-first, because he instantly regretted it when he met with the gazes of two generations of Pendragons; Arthur's eyes were large, round, blue things while the King's tended to be more heavy-lidded and of that strangely mismatched green-and-hazel. Different though they were, both of the men's stares had the same impact - that was to say, roughly the equivalent of having a hammer thrown at one's face, and Merlin had to resist the urge to back-peddle.

Though, perhaps freezing like a deer - doe-eyes and all - wasn't such an intelligent choice either. Merlin found himself stuck to the floor with his 100-watt smile frozen in place as both of the Pendragon men advanced, though the King held back mid-way while Arthur continued - in fact, the Prince nearly knocked the warlock right off his feet with the ensuing shoulder-bump. Merlin only just managed to regain his balance, turning to stare after Arthur, eyebrows raised high at the uttered warning.

"Careful, Merlin."

Careful of what?

Merlin turned and his eyes immediately landed on the King, who was currently beckoning him over with a gloved hand.

Oh. Right.

In the reds and oranges of the fire light, the King's already angular features appeared especially sharp, and the play of shadow and light on his skin only served to make him look more - well, Uther. Merlin remained frozen for a moment longer, staring - hat askew from the impact with Arthur - before he finally managed to get his legs working and directed himself into the general radius of the King. Merlin stopped a few feet in front of Uther, just beyond the stretch of those leather gloved fingers, and it occurred to him that the hand in front of him had directed a great many men to have their heads removed in the middle of the town square. Men like him.

Merlin swallowed down his nervousness as best as he could, head ducked very slightly, eyes peering up at the King in a posture that might be taken as bashful.

"He did seem to be filled with a particular jollity tonight, sire." Merlin said, and it was a remark that would have been sarcastic coming from anyone else, though from the warlock it sounded far too cheerful to be anything but benevolence.
 
Merlinâ??s gaze dropped down around the level of his kingâ??s hands, just for a second, and Uther saw something that might have been fear. It was a slight tensing in the muscles of his face, but then the boy was recovering, dropping the rest of his head and pulling off a shy expression. Ha! When had the boy ever been timid? Careful, yes. Frozen like a deer, of course, but timid?

â??Arthur is a rather cheerful young man, with enough wine,â? Uther remarked mildly and then, just to frighten the poor boy, he started to pace, to circle as if he were examining a gift horse. â??I do not believe I got a good enough look at this outfit last time,â? he said by way of explanation, though that was simply for humoring: a king, after all, did not have to explain himself to a manservant, especially not the young, gawky boy in his sonâ??s employ. â??Were there really this many feathers before?â? Just to show Merlin was no longer out of his range, he rested a gloved hand on the boyâ??s shoulder.

It wasnâ??t until he was coming back to his original position that he noticed the ribbon: a bright, saturated strip of color in the shade of frank blood. At first, Uther had been caught in the illusion: now that he saw it, the ribbon was like one single slice across the boyâ??s throat. But it was too bright for that. â??Where did you get this?â? he asked sharply, recognizing the color though he did. Morgana. This was the same color that Morgana had fluttered in wearing, a little flame at his side. So there was a game. â??It is astoundingly attractive, boy." Uther slipped a gloved finger under the silk, noting the snug fit.
 
utherplayingDS2.jpg

HOW STUPID WAS THAT? I MADE THE WRONG POST IN THE WRONG THREAD. HERE'S UTHER PLAYING DS UNTIL I DO IT RITE.​
 
Merlin did his best not to tense up a second time, but the King began to move around him like an animal around prey, forcing Merlin to recognize how often he compared Uther to some vicious predator; the warlock ended up with his hands toying busily with the hem of his shirt, looking down at it while Uther moved behind him, viewing him from a full 360 degrees.

"I believe a few plumes may have been added for the amusement factor, sire." Merlin replied, refusing to turn his head to look back at Uther, knowing he would hate himself for it; he could feel the eyes on him - he was certain he didn't want to see them as well.

A heavy hand pressed onto his shoulder and Merlin started visibly, eyes snapping up to the far wall, expression one of mounting apprehension as the King moved around in front of him once more. He watched as Uther's eyes dropped and it wasn't until he brought his fingers up to touch at his own throat that he realized what he was looking at; the ribbon.

"I was requested to wear it, sire," Merlin replied, having heard the sharpness in the King's tone; surely there was nothing wrong with a simple ribbon, but he was also aware of the precarious balance in the relationship between Uther and Morgana, so he chose his words carefully, "As part of the uniform."

He felt a tug against his neck as Uther slipped a gloved finger under the strip of silk; Merlin swallowed visibly against it, the tension of the ribbon making it just a little difficult to do. At the king's comment, and despite himself, Merlin could feel heat coming to his ears, flushing them in a way that clashed with his uniform.
 
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