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Arthur had deposited Francine's beast of a cake where it belonged - namely, in a corner of his room where he and Merlin could pick at it occasionally. It was easily one of the better gifts he'd gotten for the whole waste of a day that was his birthday, barring perhaps the sword from Lord Ewyn, but he didn't have as much of an apetite for it as he'd thought. At least, not for a single go.
He'd left his door open this morning after Merlin had dressed him: not something he often did, but now it stood as a clear sign to any wayward women from the twenty-first century who might want to come in and speak to him before he took to the training field that day.
They were serving as a brilliant distraction, at least; the time he didn't spend with them was fruitfully spent worrying about their safety, instead of the significance of the past Sunday.
He leaned against the wall near one of the windows and stared out over the courtyard, thinking.
[[ open to anyone in Camelot ]]
He'd left his door open this morning after Merlin had dressed him: not something he often did, but now it stood as a clear sign to any wayward women from the twenty-first century who might want to come in and speak to him before he took to the training field that day.
They were serving as a brilliant distraction, at least; the time he didn't spend with them was fruitfully spent worrying about their safety, instead of the significance of the past Sunday.
He leaned against the wall near one of the windows and stared out over the courtyard, thinking.
[[ open to anyone in Camelot ]]
