TWO PRINCES - Merthur

T W O

Arthur's eyes gaze proudly over the packed hall, taking in the noise and laughter of an entirely successful welcoming partly.

He can, of course, take no real responsibility over the celebrations; the servants had done most of the work and the orders and ideas had come from Agravaine and other court advisors. But still, he feels pride to see Camelot's hall so beautifully lit with a thousand candles and garishly dressed patrons, all fighting for the chance to set their sights on the acclaimed Prince who has fastly become the talk of the kingdom.

Speaking of which. His eyes continue over the crowd until they land on the guest of honour, laughing elatedly as he knocks back another tankard of mead, gesturing to the dark haired manservant Arthur had kindly gifted him for his short stay, encouraging him to follow suit with the contents of his own saturated stein. Arthur grins menacingly at the uncomfortable look in Merlin's eyes, watching with barely concealed awe as the servant's resolve drops with a sigh and he slings the contents of his drink back and down his throat. He watches with abandon at the light raise of an adams apple lifting in a steady rythm as the boy swallows back each large gulp of the beverage until he has drained the goblet dry, lowering it with a breath. He's welcomed with the cheers and proud slaps of the few men Claudin had brought with him, and smiles awkwardly at the show of attention. Arthur tamps down the swell of pride at seeing his lacky, creating such a strong first impression on their guests.

His reasonings for offering Merlin may have been in part for the benefit of watching him wriggle in discomfort at the unexpected change of master, but Arthur is man enough to admit, if only in the safety of his own mind, that Merlin - though clumsy and fidgety and cursed with the inability to keep his mouth shut - is a good servant, likeable and amiable, loyal to a fault and just quirky enough that it airs on alluring instead of annoying; most days.

"Merlin seems to have garnered quite the reaction from your guest of honour," a voice says to his right, and Arthur turns to see Leon, competently tipsy, drawing companionably to his side.

Arthur follows his eyes back to Merlin and snorts derogatively. "He's getting drunk," he chides, nothing short of clinical, watching as the dark haired man draws himself away from the new crowd, tripping over his feet as he approaches Guinevere, who had offered to help tend tonights ball, stood stunningly as ever in the corner of the room, a tray of overflowing golden chalices in her arms, dangerously close to tipping as she rescues a pleading looking Merlin into her protective embrace.

Leon offers no challenge to Arthur's assessment, sipping carefully at his own emptying drink. He hums, thoughfully, eyes still on their guests, assessing - never taking a break even when he has the night off.

They witness their guest of honor split from his men with an easy word to his first knight, before raising his head over the crowd and spying Arthur with a look of achievement, taking long measured steps in their direction.

Leon steps back instinctively, blending back into the crowd but Arthur is certain he is close enough to offer assistance should the need arise. Arthur does not bother to check and greets the Frankish prince with his most charming smile when he eventually saddles up to Arthur's side, taking Leon's place. The festivities have clearly been a success, if the leisurely way in which Prince Claudin acknowledges him any indication - he feels some of the stress he had not even realised he was holding in start to slowly melt away as the man nudges a companionable elbow against his arm.

"I must admit," the new prince says, accent slightly more slurred now following the growing affects of the mead. He is facing the same direction as him now, shoulders close but not touching, taking in the scenes of men and women alike, carefree in their joining of the celebrations. "I was a bit apprehensive of my visit -- my father, as I'm sure you understand, does not have the fondest respect of the Pendragon name, after-" Arthur nods at his struggle, well aware of his father's attack on King Claudas and his people in an attempt to garner more land and therefor more power.

"I am not my father," he promises, the words sure but no less painful as the healing wound of loss opens up at the mention. His father may not have always been the best of men, but the gap he leaves behind is still fresh and bitter.

Prince Claudin nods, taking in Arthur's words. "That I hope is true."

The blonde turns away from his people to face the man, "I was pleased when my invitation was met with receptiveness," he offers, allowing a hint of vulnerability to touch his words. "I cannot undo what my father has done to your people and your land, but I shall provide my efforts trying to make it up to you, of that you have my assurance."

Claudin nods, but does not respond, their eyes returning once more to the crowd. Arthur's gravitating naturally to Merlin and his companion, chatting animatedly on the fringes of the dance floor. He smiles fondly and his guest follows his eyes, humming his approval. "I have no idea how you manage to keep your concentration in a castle offering such distractions."

Arthur's not fond of the pretence, but is not about to start a war with every prince who offers flattery to a pretty servant girl - the wars wohld be never ending. He does not answer immediately, lets eyes fall to Guinevere who admittedly does look rather beguiling this night, dressed in a flattering pale pink gown a similar colour flushing her face as she laughs heartily at something Merlin has said.

He humms his agreement, "She is a beauty," he concedes, not registering the look the other man shoots his way.

"...That she is," he responds, a meaningful undertone to his words that Arthur struggles to make heads nor tails of. He adds, "Merlin is quite the character, too."

An understatement if there ever was one, Arthur adds with a humoured sniff, watching the manservant accidentally trip a server trying to squeeze by. The male glares at Merlin harshly and the other has the decency to at least look apologetic as Guinevere helps the man to his feet before Merlin has a chance to create greater destruction, quite the character indeed.

"I had taken it as a complement," Claudin continues, also watching the struggle play out, a smile to his voice, "when you awarded me your personal manservant -- now I'm not so sure."

Arthur cuts him a look from the corner of his eyes cautious, but all he sees on the others face is amusement, and he turns his eyes back to the hall, actively avoiding Guinevere and her clutzy companion. "I assure you I meant no harm." He promises, taking a large sip from his own goblet, "Though I admit it may have been an oversight on my part." The wine warms soothingly in the pit of his stomach and he swallows another gulp, "I would be happy to appoint a more -- experienced attendant, should you wish."

Claudin waves him off good naturedly, "don't be silly," he laughs, drawing the conversation sweetly to a close. "Admittedly, he's growing on me."

Arthur is unsure what to make of the brunettes tone, but when he turns to offer a questioning look he finds that the man has already disappeared quietly into the throng of the crowd.