Really, it was ridiculous to think that he couldn’t handle a bit of drink, just because he was a woman. Arthur was getting sick and tired of attentive and semi-petrified knights trying to pry him away from his ale. He was Crown Prince, damn it - or Princess, for now - and he could celebrate his twenty-first birthday as he sodding well pleased.
"You’re embarrassing yourself," hissed Merlin, after the good Sir Gawain caught himself staring down Arthur’s bodice, went red in the face, and staggered away from the table like a man in fear for his sanity.
"I’m enjoying myself." Poor Gawain. He was such easy prey.
"You’re flaunting your breasts.”
"Isn’t that what they’re for? Morgana flaunts hers an awful lot."
Merlin’s face contorted in an interesting way, and he glanced around the hall as if to check for Morgana’s presence. “I can’t believe you just said that,” he whispered fiercely, “and also, I can’t believe you’re competing with Morgana over… over this!”
"We’ve always competed, ever since we were children. Drove Father quite mad."
"I can imagine," Merlin muttered.
"And mine are bigger, anyway. They are, aren’t they?"
