#(arthur threads)

arthur had gotten used to being up early while he had been at home and it was something that hadn’t stopped now he was back at school. he liked being up early enough to have some quiet, to spend a little time with his thoughts. the first thing he did that morning, though, was get himself a cup of tea. he smiled as he spotted another person close by, “i didn’t expect anyone else to be up this early.” he chuckled slightly. “can’t sleep or up for the day?” 

❝Here  --   ❞

Arthur held out a slightly pathetic looking bouquet of flowers.  He had actually picked them himself though  --  which between that,  and the way he’d been holding them in his hand for awhile explained why they looked that way. 

❝How much of it was true?❞

While Arthur knew the risks of being in the presence of a woman who had proved willing to manipulate situations to suit her own vengeance,  he could not help wanting to take the risk.  He wanted to trust Merlin,  and trust his own father,  but things weren’t adding up.  Perhaps his father thought that he was stupid.  Or thought that Arthur was going to blindly follow his father’s lead,  as he had proven to do before  ( mostly to avoid confrontation between he and his father  --  to   make things  easier,  but nothing about this was easy. ) 

There was something on Morgana’s expression that reminded him of the person he had always known.  The one who fought for whatever she thought was right.  The one who cared about the lives of others.  Not the person she had become,  who brought destruction and death to her  home.

He was frustrated with both Morgana and himself though.   There were so many times when he had promised himself that he wouldn’t be like his father,  and yet he was still holding onto so many of the things that he had merely been taught or told.   He hung his head for a moment,  inhaling a deep breath when he looked back up.

Arthur was on a  big  and  very serious  rant about a horse being borrowed by a knight and returned to the wrong area of the stable.  He was so angry about something so minimal,  that he wasn’t paying attention to where he was flinging his arms as he went on and

   --   SMACK   --  

right into the water pitcher,  spilling out all over the table.