#atdusk

they weren’t cawing anymore. 

there’s that prickling sensation on the back of his neck again, and link is still and silent for a moment longer before he draws his sword and pivots on his heel quickly, his stance defensive as he scans the area around him. navi hovers beside his head nervously, and he’s confident that she’ll call out anything the moment danger shows itself. but there’s nothing and no one as far as he can see. not that he’s not fooled. he’s dealt with too many poes, too many phantoms and monsters jumping out at him from the dark and manifesting from the air to know better.  “ who’s there? ”   he asks, fully expecting for some henchman or monstrosity of ganon’s to pop out at him at any moment.    “ come out and face me! ”

“H-hey!!”

pain: your muse looks after mine when they have a headache

“—and the citizens talk amongst themselves!  about how much they–” she focuses on Arthur’s eyes, determinedly not staring at the floating jar of ink dancing behind the king’s shoulder.  there’s no exaggeration; the quill was wobbling around in rhythmic circles, ever in danger of slipping out and staining the man’s ears. “–love you!  and your recent actions as king!”

“Oh?” he asks in a low, even voice, as if everyone in the castle couldn’t hear the satisfied purr in his voice whenever sweet words reaches his ears.  which was fine, great, she needed him focused on her, because now a pair of socks ( more specifically, two mismatched socks, one of which should have been washed weeks ago ) has joined the ink, swirling around the dancing feather like fish around a rock.  and now leaping over the jar, like fish.  

“What are you looking at, Iris?”  his nosiness begins to turn ( oh now the ink is floating like black waves oh will you look at that ) and she reaches out before thinking, putting her hand on his left cheek to guide him back.  to his merit, he doesn’t immediately knock her off or have her put in the stocks again—no, he settles for moving her wrist aside gingerly, giving her a look warring between confusion and disapproval.  “Listen, I know you’re from a far off kingdom, but—”

“Sorry, your majesty, I just wanted to tell you how much your people love that you’re—taking measures to ensure that the people have enough to eat, unlike kings who take most of the crops.”  oh the ink is back thank merlin wait no that’s wrong dammit

his prattiness straightens up slightly, standing just a little centimeter taller.  “Of course.  A king should never—”

the ink is plopped back down on the table with a loud clang.  she watches with horror as he spins around rapidly; and she tries to reach for him again.  she really does.  except one infuriating teen boy has now floated HER into the air.  that’s it.  from this day on, she’s not censoring herself from using merlin as a curse word.  his buttheadness surveys the room with a puzzled glance, somehow missing the socks dancing right above his feet.  with one more look at the feverish merlin, apparently writing him off as the source of the sound, he turns back, only to meet empty air.  “Iris?  where did that girl go?” he frowns, looking left and right, then marches towards the door.  she watches from her totally and completely not obvious spot pressed against the ceiling as the king bids merlin a speedy recovery, then leaves, presumably in search of explaining honorable duties as king.  at the door, the yellow sock twists in what almost looks like a wave goodbye.