Fic: Spring Fling Drabble - Entangled with the girl in Question
Title: Entangled with the girl in Question
Author: mustbethursday3
Rating: G
Word count: 1637+
Characters/Pairings: Arthur,Guinevere, Gareth, Lucan, Percival, Agravain, Lionel, Morgana, Tristan and Tor.
Spoilers: None. It's AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Wow, it feels good to get that out there.
Prompt: Written for camelot_love’s Spring Fling 4# Arthur meet's Morgana's maid for the first time. - rubber_glue
Summary: Everyone but Arthur seems to know the girl in question. (I wiki'd knights of the round table, grabbed a few, ignoring what they're famous for and just put my own very simple spin on them for the fic). I like the idea of Gwen being friends with these guys/heroes, it tickles me. I also love Arthur being left out of THE KNOW.
Author's note: This prompt and I . . . it was like opening up some random floodgate I had a million and one ideas and no motivation to settle, so this is one of numerous posts. Sorry. Or am I? XD This one I promised MDT I'd post. So here it is ;)
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
He finds Gareth on the riverbank, stripped down to his britches and light summer tunic.
He should be at Practice, but instead he’s lying back on the grass, arms behind his head staring up at the sky. And he’s not alone; on his chest is a curly head. The girl, her legs stretched out in front of her, is stripped down to her shift, a fairly flimsy white piece of material that contrasts against the tan of her skin. The two of them make almost an ‘T’ shape against the fresh green of the grass. She has her eyes closed; on closer inspection they both do, looking wholly relaxed and at peace as he advances towards them.
Neither notices that they’re not alone anymore. And once he’s close enough he sees that they’re both wet, hair stuck to their faces, her curls pooled messily to his tunic, as her shift clings to her skin. He can almost see through it.
“Gareth!”
The two of them jump, eyes flying open.
“Arthur!” Gareth lets the girl sit up before he climbs to his feet and offers his hands to her. She stands.
Arthur raises his eyebrows and the girl flushes, quickly bending down to coop up her discarded dress. “My lord.” She steps into her dress, pulling it up her body with a little sway. He turns to Gareth.
“You’re missing training to swim in the river?” Arthur asks, quietly, “with a servant.”
_ _ _
“Stop squirming.”
Outside the tent the crowd can be heard cheering on the next competitors.
Sir Lionel grimaces, “I told you I was fine, Gwe- Ow-ah-OW!”
“You’re not fine,” she replied, exasperated. “You’re bleeding from your HEAD.”
"Just a little bit."
"Just a little bit?" Gwen echoes, with great restraint.
“Well, Gaius didn’t think it was that serious.”
“Gaius only stepped away because Richard has a bone protruding from his leg in a very alarming manner. He asked me to look after you. So sit still.”
“It’s not like it’s the first time-”
Gwen stops tending to him and steps back, she gives him a sharp look and Lionel tries not to shrink back.
“Not the first time,” Gwen repeats, dryly. “Well then obviously I should just let you bleed to death, nothing more can be done.”
The crowd gives a whoop, the wind blowing at the tent flaps and letting the sunlight in.
“Gwen, I should be out there,” Lionel pleads and Gwen narrows her eyes further.
"There's at least two more rounds before your up again," Gwen tries, patiently. "And you know it."
Gareth looks back from the tent doorway and rolls his eyes at his brother. “Just be a man and let the tiny girl fawn over you,” he orders. A cloth hits him in the head and he laughs.
Narrowed brown eyes now look at him. “Tiny?”
“I meant it in an affectionate way,” Gareth smirks.
“You didn’t,” she contests, stepping back to finish cleaning the cut on Lionel’s temple. “You said it to annoy me.”
“And it worked,” Gareth says with a flourish of his hands. "I am truly the puppet master."
"Gwen, fix me up so I can wallop him?" Lionel requests softly and Gwen smiles warmly.
"I'd like that."
_ _ _
Arthur is passing by a window when he sees down in the courtyard, two figures running through the rain. The bigger figure he quickly recognises as Sir Tor, the boy bent at the waist to hold a jacket over the smaller figures head.
He watches Tor fall down, back hitting the stones with what is surely enough force to wind him and the smaller figure, jacket still over her head stops. Kneeling at his side, before discarding the jacket altogether to reveal a wave of curls that reach her shoulder. They’re both completely soaked by the time she helps him up, laughing as he brushes himself down.
“The bigger they are,” Gwen giggles.
Tor points a finger at her, “Don’t.”
Gwen widens her eyes comically, before just blurting it out.“The harder they fall!”
Gwen yelps and dashes for the door to the kitchens as Tor gives chase.
_ _ _
“You’re tired.”
“I’m not tired,” Gwen murmurs, pushing back some hair from her face. “I’m fine.”
“Oh,” Percival points at her, “that’s Guinevere for 'terrible', right?” He looks at Lucan, who's sitting next to him, for confirmation while Gwen continues refilling their goblets.
“Do you really need to persist with this?”
“Sorry, Gwennie but he’s right. You only say 'fine' when something’s wrong,” Lucan agrees.
She pauses at Percival’s side. “It doesn’t make a difference how I’m feeling, I have a job to do and the night’s not half over.”
The two knights share a look and Percival grabs Gwen, Lucan grabs the urn.
“Hey,” Gwen hisses as she falls into Percival’s lap, her arm automatically going around his wiry shoulders.
“Shush, you,” Percival murmurs, pushing her head against his shoulder as he settles a hand on her knee. “Just rest.”
“People are going to think-”
“Let them think it! No one’s going to give you any trouble if they think you’re under knight protection.”
“Lord knows, you’ve a reputation, Percy,” Lucan chuckles. “At least you’re using it for good, finally.”
“Its all lies,” Percival retorts, grinning and shaking his head. “Propagated by my rivals.”
“But my father-” Gwen tries again, reluctantly admitting to herself that she feels comfortable where she is and she knows he's not going to try anything. To her never ending frustration the boys all seem to view her as some surrogate little sister; the perfect target for teasing as well as someone to listen to their many and varied complaints.
“-will never find out,” Lucan assures her, refilling his own drink again. “You know I could do this job.”
“Go ahead,” Gwen laughs into Percival’s shoulder. “You are welcome to it.”
Percival winks at him. “I can just imagine you in the scullery maid dress and apron, Luc.”
“Don’t listen to him Luc, you’d be gorgeous,” Gwen yawns.
"Why thank you, Gwennie," Lucan mutters with a glare at his fellow knight.
"Sweetheart, what have you been drinking? . . . and where can I get some?" Percival murmurs into her ear and Gwen laughs.
"I think you've drunk enough suspicious substances, thank you."
Percival looks at Lucan in shock, "You told her we were making our own mead?" he hisses, exasperated.
"No!"
Percival makes a motion for him to lower his voice. "Well, you're the biggest gossip," he waves a hand to Lucan's goblet, "especially once the mead starts flowing."
Lucan cocks his head, turning to gaze further down the table at the other young knights. "My money's on Gareth."
Percival grit his teeth, listening as Gwen's breathe evened out. "Well, lets just hope he doesn't tell Arthur or we're all screwed," he says, quietly.
"I'll drink to that," Lucan picks up his goblet and drains it. Keeping Gwen balanced against his chest, Percival leans forward to snag the urn.
"I'm going to cut you off now, before you start dancing on the table . . . like last month."
With a sad look at the bottom of his goblet, Lucan sighs. "It's probably for the best."
_ _ _
“Arthur!”
The prince turned on his heel, waiting for Agravain to catch up.
Upon reaching him, his friend rolled his brilliant green eyes in mock irritation. “Arthur, why for the sake that of all that is good, are always in such a hurry?” Agravain puffed. “Are we under attack? No. Therefore, you should try taking your time, smell the roses. Meet a girl . . . or two. Instead of all this paperwork and procedure.”
Arthur smacked the documents onto Agravain’s nose. “This is important.”
“You’re turning into your father.” Agravain pushed the papers back. “And I find it distressing.”
Arthur made a face. “Well, I can’t spend all my time gallivanting around if I’m going to be King one day,” he reasoned.
“Yeah, we’re all dreading that day.” The young noble pushed his short black fringe from his face. “But it’s alright coz I’ll be there to advise you,” Agravain grinned.
Arthur laughed.
“Lord help us all, then.”
The Prince accepted the whack to his shoulder with a snort.
“Look, was there something you wanted? Father’s waiting.”
“Hmm?” Agravain looked at him blankly for a moment before digging through his jacket pockets hurriedly. “Oh, yes. Um.” He tried his britches pockets. “Aha!”
Arthur watched as his friend produced a small piece of folded paper and frowned. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Agravain grabbed his hand and slapped the paper into Arthur’s palm. “Deliver it. I figured you could give it to Guinevere or Morgana, as you’ll see them first. Father’s taking me hunting,” Agravain gave a self-deprecating grin, “and we’re going to stay out there til I slaughter something of a ‘reasonable size’ for a boy my age, you know what father’s like,” he muttered, rolling his eyes again. “I have to measure up to my brothers.”
“Guinevere?”
He saw the side of Agravain’s mouth twitch, before he spoke. “Right . . . well, just give it to Morgana will you?” he started backing down the corridor. “She’ll know what it means.”
“Wait!” Arthur called after him, but Agravain turned and had already begun running off around the next corner.
“Just do it!” he called back.
Arthur looked at the note in his hand and scowled. He wasn’t about to pass love notes from his friends to the Ward, which he’d made perfectly clear time and time again.
With a sigh, he opened up the small piece of paper and stared.
What the hell did that mean?
‘Loose bricks on the far left of the hedge. Don't get me into trouble. You two owe me, big time.
xx A’
_ _ _
Arthur sat down next to a hassled looking Tristan.
“Hey, everything alright?”
Tristan looked up with narrowed eyes. “Girls shouldn’t be allowed to play cards. It’s unladylike.”
Arthur laughed and began scuffing the mud from his boots onto the stone steps. “Have you been playing Morgana, again? I warned you, she’s merciless.”
“Well at least Morgana’s predicable!”
“Predictable.” Arthur turned to regard his friend. “Unlike?” he prompted.
“Guinevere,” Tristan hissed and then rubbed his hands through his already mussed up hair. “A week ago she could barely play, so of course I offered to coach her - naively - and now I’ve been beaten so badly - for hours - that I should just throw myself into the moat, spare my family the shame.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Arthur protested.
“It is,” Tristan replied, darkly. “And now Morgana’s making up rhymes about it. So now I’m just sitting here trying to work out where I can exile myself to . . . preferably somewhere people haven’t even heard of cards.”
The Prince swallowed his question of just how one of these rhymes went and instead patted his friend on the shoulder. “She’ll get tried of you soon.” Arthur frowned. “And Guinevere? Is that one of Lord Eger’s girls?”
“No.” Tristan looked confused for a moment, before looking at Arthur skeptically. “You don’t know Guinevere?” he waved a hand, “Eh, suppose you’re too caught up playing heir, well you’re not missing out on anything but utter humiliation.”
“Is that right?”
Tristan stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go for a ride to clear my head. If I don’t come back I’ve made a run for it, don’t bother looking for me.”
_ _ _
"Go on, then," Morgana hissed impatiently.
So Gwen accepted the hand Arthur held out to her, frowning as she shook it.
“Nice to meet you,” she managed weakly and Arthur nodded.
“Yes . . .”
“Good,” Morgana grinned triumphantly. “Now, I’ll be back in a moment there’s something I have to do. Keep talking,” she added and slipped out of the chamber.
Arthur stared at the empty doorway. “Huh.”
Gwen let go of Arthur’s hand and chuckled. “In my experience, that sums up Morgana, well, my lord.”
Arthur turned back to her with a heavy sigh and then tilted his head. "You know . . . you look familiar, actually."
She laughed uncomfortably, "Um, perhaps you are remembering the river?" Gwen offered, wondering how far back she should go. It was hardly the first time the two of them had crossed paths. But it was the first thing that sprang to mind.
"Oh," Arthur said with wide eyes. He leant closer, as something finally settled in his mind. "Is Gwen short for something?" he asked with a strange smile.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Part Seven of Eight.
Other responses to this prompt:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
I hope we get to meet some round tablers (other than Lancelot) soon. I think Arthur needs some HOT HERO friends, before Merlin drives him mental.
As you've probably realized by now, they're all unbeata'd XD
Oh and guys, sorry to change tenses on you. I'm tired, though and there's SO MUCH LINKING. I can't handle anything more.
Author: mustbethursday3
Rating: G
Word count: 1637+
Characters/Pairings: Arthur,Guinevere, Gareth, Lucan, Percival, Agravain, Lionel, Morgana, Tristan and Tor.
Spoilers: None. It's AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Wow, it feels good to get that out there.
Prompt: Written for camelot_love’s Spring Fling 4# Arthur meet's Morgana's maid for the first time. - rubber_glue
Summary: Everyone but Arthur seems to know the girl in question. (I wiki'd knights of the round table, grabbed a few, ignoring what they're famous for and just put my own very simple spin on them for the fic). I like the idea of Gwen being friends with these guys/heroes, it tickles me. I also love Arthur being left out of THE KNOW.
Author's note: This prompt and I . . . it was like opening up some random floodgate I had a million and one ideas and no motivation to settle, so this is one of numerous posts. Sorry. Or am I? XD This one I promised MDT I'd post. So here it is ;)
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
He finds Gareth on the riverbank, stripped down to his britches and light summer tunic.
He should be at Practice, but instead he’s lying back on the grass, arms behind his head staring up at the sky. And he’s not alone; on his chest is a curly head. The girl, her legs stretched out in front of her, is stripped down to her shift, a fairly flimsy white piece of material that contrasts against the tan of her skin. The two of them make almost an ‘T’ shape against the fresh green of the grass. She has her eyes closed; on closer inspection they both do, looking wholly relaxed and at peace as he advances towards them.
Neither notices that they’re not alone anymore. And once he’s close enough he sees that they’re both wet, hair stuck to their faces, her curls pooled messily to his tunic, as her shift clings to her skin. He can almost see through it.
“Gareth!”
The two of them jump, eyes flying open.
“Arthur!” Gareth lets the girl sit up before he climbs to his feet and offers his hands to her. She stands.
Arthur raises his eyebrows and the girl flushes, quickly bending down to coop up her discarded dress. “My lord.” She steps into her dress, pulling it up her body with a little sway. He turns to Gareth.
“You’re missing training to swim in the river?” Arthur asks, quietly, “with a servant.”
_ _ _
“Stop squirming.”
Outside the tent the crowd can be heard cheering on the next competitors.
Sir Lionel grimaces, “I told you I was fine, Gwe- Ow-ah-OW!”
“You’re not fine,” she replied, exasperated. “You’re bleeding from your HEAD.”
"Just a little bit."
"Just a little bit?" Gwen echoes, with great restraint.
“Well, Gaius didn’t think it was that serious.”
“Gaius only stepped away because Richard has a bone protruding from his leg in a very alarming manner. He asked me to look after you. So sit still.”
“It’s not like it’s the first time-”
Gwen stops tending to him and steps back, she gives him a sharp look and Lionel tries not to shrink back.
“Not the first time,” Gwen repeats, dryly. “Well then obviously I should just let you bleed to death, nothing more can be done.”
The crowd gives a whoop, the wind blowing at the tent flaps and letting the sunlight in.
“Gwen, I should be out there,” Lionel pleads and Gwen narrows her eyes further.
"There's at least two more rounds before your up again," Gwen tries, patiently. "And you know it."
Gareth looks back from the tent doorway and rolls his eyes at his brother. “Just be a man and let the tiny girl fawn over you,” he orders. A cloth hits him in the head and he laughs.
Narrowed brown eyes now look at him. “Tiny?”
“I meant it in an affectionate way,” Gareth smirks.
“You didn’t,” she contests, stepping back to finish cleaning the cut on Lionel’s temple. “You said it to annoy me.”
“And it worked,” Gareth says with a flourish of his hands. "I am truly the puppet master."
"Gwen, fix me up so I can wallop him?" Lionel requests softly and Gwen smiles warmly.
"I'd like that."
_ _ _
Arthur is passing by a window when he sees down in the courtyard, two figures running through the rain. The bigger figure he quickly recognises as Sir Tor, the boy bent at the waist to hold a jacket over the smaller figures head.
He watches Tor fall down, back hitting the stones with what is surely enough force to wind him and the smaller figure, jacket still over her head stops. Kneeling at his side, before discarding the jacket altogether to reveal a wave of curls that reach her shoulder. They’re both completely soaked by the time she helps him up, laughing as he brushes himself down.
“The bigger they are,” Gwen giggles.
Tor points a finger at her, “Don’t.”
Gwen widens her eyes comically, before just blurting it out.“The harder they fall!”
Gwen yelps and dashes for the door to the kitchens as Tor gives chase.
_ _ _
“You’re tired.”
“I’m not tired,” Gwen murmurs, pushing back some hair from her face. “I’m fine.”
“Oh,” Percival points at her, “that’s Guinevere for 'terrible', right?” He looks at Lucan, who's sitting next to him, for confirmation while Gwen continues refilling their goblets.
“Do you really need to persist with this?”
“Sorry, Gwennie but he’s right. You only say 'fine' when something’s wrong,” Lucan agrees.
She pauses at Percival’s side. “It doesn’t make a difference how I’m feeling, I have a job to do and the night’s not half over.”
The two knights share a look and Percival grabs Gwen, Lucan grabs the urn.
“Hey,” Gwen hisses as she falls into Percival’s lap, her arm automatically going around his wiry shoulders.
“Shush, you,” Percival murmurs, pushing her head against his shoulder as he settles a hand on her knee. “Just rest.”
“People are going to think-”
“Let them think it! No one’s going to give you any trouble if they think you’re under knight protection.”
“Lord knows, you’ve a reputation, Percy,” Lucan chuckles. “At least you’re using it for good, finally.”
“Its all lies,” Percival retorts, grinning and shaking his head. “Propagated by my rivals.”
“But my father-” Gwen tries again, reluctantly admitting to herself that she feels comfortable where she is and she knows he's not going to try anything. To her never ending frustration the boys all seem to view her as some surrogate little sister; the perfect target for teasing as well as someone to listen to their many and varied complaints.
“-will never find out,” Lucan assures her, refilling his own drink again. “You know I could do this job.”
“Go ahead,” Gwen laughs into Percival’s shoulder. “You are welcome to it.”
Percival winks at him. “I can just imagine you in the scullery maid dress and apron, Luc.”
“Don’t listen to him Luc, you’d be gorgeous,” Gwen yawns.
"Why thank you, Gwennie," Lucan mutters with a glare at his fellow knight.
"Sweetheart, what have you been drinking? . . . and where can I get some?" Percival murmurs into her ear and Gwen laughs.
"I think you've drunk enough suspicious substances, thank you."
Percival looks at Lucan in shock, "You told her we were making our own mead?" he hisses, exasperated.
"No!"
Percival makes a motion for him to lower his voice. "Well, you're the biggest gossip," he waves a hand to Lucan's goblet, "especially once the mead starts flowing."
Lucan cocks his head, turning to gaze further down the table at the other young knights. "My money's on Gareth."
Percival grit his teeth, listening as Gwen's breathe evened out. "Well, lets just hope he doesn't tell Arthur or we're all screwed," he says, quietly.
"I'll drink to that," Lucan picks up his goblet and drains it. Keeping Gwen balanced against his chest, Percival leans forward to snag the urn.
"I'm going to cut you off now, before you start dancing on the table . . . like last month."
With a sad look at the bottom of his goblet, Lucan sighs. "It's probably for the best."
_ _ _
“Arthur!”
The prince turned on his heel, waiting for Agravain to catch up.
Upon reaching him, his friend rolled his brilliant green eyes in mock irritation. “Arthur, why for the sake that of all that is good, are always in such a hurry?” Agravain puffed. “Are we under attack? No. Therefore, you should try taking your time, smell the roses. Meet a girl . . . or two. Instead of all this paperwork and procedure.”
Arthur smacked the documents onto Agravain’s nose. “This is important.”
“You’re turning into your father.” Agravain pushed the papers back. “And I find it distressing.”
Arthur made a face. “Well, I can’t spend all my time gallivanting around if I’m going to be King one day,” he reasoned.
“Yeah, we’re all dreading that day.” The young noble pushed his short black fringe from his face. “But it’s alright coz I’ll be there to advise you,” Agravain grinned.
Arthur laughed.
“Lord help us all, then.”
The Prince accepted the whack to his shoulder with a snort.
“Look, was there something you wanted? Father’s waiting.”
“Hmm?” Agravain looked at him blankly for a moment before digging through his jacket pockets hurriedly. “Oh, yes. Um.” He tried his britches pockets. “Aha!”
Arthur watched as his friend produced a small piece of folded paper and frowned. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Agravain grabbed his hand and slapped the paper into Arthur’s palm. “Deliver it. I figured you could give it to Guinevere or Morgana, as you’ll see them first. Father’s taking me hunting,” Agravain gave a self-deprecating grin, “and we’re going to stay out there til I slaughter something of a ‘reasonable size’ for a boy my age, you know what father’s like,” he muttered, rolling his eyes again. “I have to measure up to my brothers.”
“Guinevere?”
He saw the side of Agravain’s mouth twitch, before he spoke. “Right . . . well, just give it to Morgana will you?” he started backing down the corridor. “She’ll know what it means.”
“Wait!” Arthur called after him, but Agravain turned and had already begun running off around the next corner.
“Just do it!” he called back.
Arthur looked at the note in his hand and scowled. He wasn’t about to pass love notes from his friends to the Ward, which he’d made perfectly clear time and time again.
With a sigh, he opened up the small piece of paper and stared.
What the hell did that mean?
‘Loose bricks on the far left of the hedge. Don't get me into trouble. You two owe me, big time.
xx A’
_ _ _
Arthur sat down next to a hassled looking Tristan.
“Hey, everything alright?”
Tristan looked up with narrowed eyes. “Girls shouldn’t be allowed to play cards. It’s unladylike.”
Arthur laughed and began scuffing the mud from his boots onto the stone steps. “Have you been playing Morgana, again? I warned you, she’s merciless.”
“Well at least Morgana’s predicable!”
“Predictable.” Arthur turned to regard his friend. “Unlike?” he prompted.
“Guinevere,” Tristan hissed and then rubbed his hands through his already mussed up hair. “A week ago she could barely play, so of course I offered to coach her - naively - and now I’ve been beaten so badly - for hours - that I should just throw myself into the moat, spare my family the shame.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Arthur protested.
“It is,” Tristan replied, darkly. “And now Morgana’s making up rhymes about it. So now I’m just sitting here trying to work out where I can exile myself to . . . preferably somewhere people haven’t even heard of cards.”
The Prince swallowed his question of just how one of these rhymes went and instead patted his friend on the shoulder. “She’ll get tried of you soon.” Arthur frowned. “And Guinevere? Is that one of Lord Eger’s girls?”
“No.” Tristan looked confused for a moment, before looking at Arthur skeptically. “You don’t know Guinevere?” he waved a hand, “Eh, suppose you’re too caught up playing heir, well you’re not missing out on anything but utter humiliation.”
“Is that right?”
Tristan stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go for a ride to clear my head. If I don’t come back I’ve made a run for it, don’t bother looking for me.”
_ _ _
"Go on, then," Morgana hissed impatiently.
So Gwen accepted the hand Arthur held out to her, frowning as she shook it.
“Nice to meet you,” she managed weakly and Arthur nodded.
“Yes . . .”
“Good,” Morgana grinned triumphantly. “Now, I’ll be back in a moment there’s something I have to do. Keep talking,” she added and slipped out of the chamber.
Arthur stared at the empty doorway. “Huh.”
Gwen let go of Arthur’s hand and chuckled. “In my experience, that sums up Morgana, well, my lord.”
Arthur turned back to her with a heavy sigh and then tilted his head. "You know . . . you look familiar, actually."
She laughed uncomfortably, "Um, perhaps you are remembering the river?" Gwen offered, wondering how far back she should go. It was hardly the first time the two of them had crossed paths. But it was the first thing that sprang to mind.
"Oh," Arthur said with wide eyes. He leant closer, as something finally settled in his mind. "Is Gwen short for something?" he asked with a strange smile.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Part Seven of Eight.
Other responses to this prompt:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
I hope we get to meet some round tablers (other than Lancelot) soon. I think Arthur needs some HOT HERO friends, before Merlin drives him mental.
As you've probably realized by now, they're all unbeata'd XD
Oh and guys, sorry to change tenses on you. I'm tired, though and there's SO MUCH LINKING. I can't handle anything more.