Burns Too Bright, Lives Too Fast

So apparently Karla 'wasn't feeling too well' and 'needed some time away from it all' and whatever other rubbish Merlin had been spouting. Arthur still thought this was the worst bloody idea since that time he shot that unicorn. No good would come of it.

In the end, Merlin had insisted, and in the end, Arthur had very grudgingly capitulated, but not before setting up a list of rules for the little witch that reached roughly the size of a small mountain. 'Do not spend more than ten hours a day in the castle', for example, and 'only speak when spoken to' and 'for god's sake, do NOT do that thing you do, you know the one I'm talking about'.

There was also something in there about the proper cut and hemline of servants' dresses, just in case she decided to try and tempt any of the knights. (He had compromised on the list! Look, wear a shapeless sack had been scratched out! As had pretend to be a bag of potatoes!)

Arthur liked being thorough.

Which was also why he'd invited two other people who had a bit more experience dealing with these issues. Just to be certain.

[[ for those who be arriving, and merlin. ]]

This was a horrible idea.

Arthur could attest to that much. Camelot wasn't exactly the safest place for two girls from Fandom-- for many reasons. But. Well. His thoughts had started to slow their wandering process back towards his mother's grave, but he was still feeling a little out of it, a little distant, and that made him antsy at the same time. He had no idea what to do with it all.

So it was easy to let Merlin field this, and to find up here: out in the woods where no patrol would find them, staring at the portal as it shaped itself between the trees, and waiting.

He shifted his feet, restless.

[[ for two girls and a boy. ]]

For some reason, Arthur was in a truly magnificent mood when he woke up.

He was mainly repressing the fact they'd have to go back to Fandom early tomorrow morning. (It would never be 'home'; if anything, this was home) So caught between sleeping in late and getting up to enjoy his surroundings some more, Arthur took the middle road and left his room halfway into the morning.

It was still a fairly beautiful morning in cold, cold Llanuwchllyn. Enjoy it.

[[ open! ]]

Later in the afternoon, they'd have another drive ahead of them.

But not yet.

Now, there was an impressive Bed & Breakfast, a bed, breakfast, and another good helping of coutnryside to explore.

Of course, considering the previous day, you'd be excused for not taking advantage of that last option.

Arthur had slumped over in one of the chairs out in the main area of the place, staring out the window.

[[ open, ocd-less, establish thyself as thy wisheth ]]

Arthur was still driving. He had yet to cause any accidents or collisions, although he'd probably killed his fair share of overconfident birds by now.

He wasn't, after all, going to stop driving because of a mad pigeon or something.

But nevermind that.

Driving around the countryside was getting to be oddly relaxing, once one got the hang of it.

[[ open to those of you currently haunting this part of England ]]

It was their second day out in Caerleon, and Arthur had finally gotten the measure of their achingly familiar surroundings. It was a lot like having something just barely out of his reach, close enough to fill him with some joy and yet not quite... it.

He resolved not to waste time on that thought. It was a lovely hotel, and another lovely (cold) day, and maybe if he was lucky he'd be able to drag Katchoo out for a hike.

[[ open! to those who be here. or those who would call those who be here, to be fair. ]]

There were times where portal transit just wasn't possible, and that inevitably translated to sitting in an airplane for hours listening to Merlin babble about planes (a topic on which he was an expert) and enjoying patently tasteless bags of peanuts. Well, and the meals, but those were practically made out of wood chips or something.

It also meant bickering with the customs man about whether or not he could technically be considered an expat, a matter of much pride on Arthur's part, and this: sitting outside the belt that brought out everyone else's luggage, waiting for a few tell-tale bags to appear.

With their usual luck, Merlin might lose the last of his Camelot trousers this time. Arthur drummed an idle rhythm on his leg and took a swig of water.

[[ for the members of Team UK ]]