[HUMILIATIONS GALORE], [HUMOR], [ARTHUR, GWEN], [G] (part 1 of 2 due to LJ comment restrictions)
Gwen froze just inside the door to Morgana's chambers. It would be easiest just to go back the way she had come, but it was possible that she would attract more attention if she moved, than if she just stayed still. Yet, he had to turn around sometime, and he would definitely spot her if that happened. Should she make a run for it? Even if he noticed movement, she could possibly get away before he realized that it was her. He was quick, though, and could certainly catch up before she got too far--
As Arthur turned toward the mirror, the decision was made for her. She was dead center in the reflection from where he was standing. Escape was no longer possible.
At least he froze when their eyes locked in the mirror, as she had done upon entering. That was some (slight, very slight) consolation.
After several moments of silence, each more awkward than the last, he finally spoke. "Guinevere," he greeted her, not remotely succeeding in trying to sound casual. But then, how casual could he possibly sound when wearing one of Morgana's gowns, two of her pearl necklaces, and a woven headpiece over his hair?
"...Sire..." she managed to choke out.
Silence again.
Finally, she blurted, "I won't say a thing. I will just leave, and we can pretend the whole thing never happened. You even chose her loosest dress; that's good, since it will not be too stretched out" --lies, the way the thing strained across his chest spelled disaster for both the seams and the fabric, itself, but she was hardly about to say so-- "and it was smart of you not to even attempt the sleeves; we'd never get you out of them (though it does not look very comfortable, wedged under your armpits like that. Not that I'm saying how your armpits should feel; they're probably fine, I know, or you would not be doing it.) And the color works well on you, too--"
"Guinevere," he finally managed to cut in, pausing for a beat to make sure he had her attention. Then, for another beat, as disbelief flashed across his face. "You think I'm wearing this of my own accord?!"
Her eyes went wide. Urging herself to simply hold her tongue failed as usual, and without knowing she was about to do so, she pointed out, "Well, you are the only one in here." Oh god, oh god, why...?
Arthur blinked, then dipped his chin in acknowledgement. "That was my one demand."
What sort of answer was that? Gwen's eyebrows raised, and she cautiously asked, "Sire?"
"It was a bet, Gwen. I lost a bet." He looked back to his reflection, scowling as the headpiece slipped. The rough way he shoved it back on top of his head made Gwen cringe, but for once, she managed to remain quiet. "So, it matters not whether you mention this to anyone, as I'm about to run around the training field. Or, try to; how does Morgana move in this?" His scowl had gone to his legs, and Gwen noticed that, despite its being Morgana's loosest dress, it was clinging desperately to his thighs, his bottom, his... oh, dear. The image was burned into her mind, permanently recorded when she wished it were not... did she not...?
Gwen froze just inside the door to Morgana's chambers. It would be easiest just to go back the way she had come, but it was possible that she would attract more attention if she moved, than if she just stayed still. Yet, he had to turn around sometime, and he would definitely spot her if that happened. Should she make a run for it? Even if he noticed movement, she could possibly get away before he realized that it was her. He was quick, though, and could certainly catch up before she got too far--
As Arthur turned toward the mirror, the decision was made for her. She was dead center in the reflection from where he was standing. Escape was no longer possible.
At least he froze when their eyes locked in the mirror, as she had done upon entering. That was some (slight, very slight) consolation.
After several moments of silence, each more awkward than the last, he finally spoke. "Guinevere," he greeted her, not remotely succeeding in trying to sound casual. But then, how casual could he possibly sound when wearing one of Morgana's gowns, two of her pearl necklaces, and a woven headpiece over his hair?
"...Sire..." she managed to choke out.
Silence again.
Finally, she blurted, "I won't say a thing. I will just leave, and we can pretend the whole thing never happened. You even chose her loosest dress; that's good, since it will not be too stretched out" --lies, the way the thing strained across his chest spelled disaster for both the seams and the fabric, itself, but she was hardly about to say so-- "and it was smart of you not to even attempt the sleeves; we'd never get you out of them (though it does not look very comfortable, wedged under your armpits like that. Not that I'm saying how your armpits should feel; they're probably fine, I know, or you would not be doing it.) And the color works well on you, too--"
"Guinevere," he finally managed to cut in, pausing for a beat to make sure he had her attention. Then, for another beat, as disbelief flashed across his face. "You think I'm wearing this of my own accord?!"
Her eyes went wide. Urging herself to simply hold her tongue failed as usual, and without knowing she was about to do so, she pointed out, "Well, you are the only one in here." Oh god, oh god, why...?
Arthur blinked, then dipped his chin in acknowledgement. "That was my one demand."
What sort of answer was that? Gwen's eyebrows raised, and she cautiously asked, "Sire?"
"It was a bet, Gwen. I lost a bet." He looked back to his reflection, scowling as the headpiece slipped. The rough way he shoved it back on top of his head made Gwen cringe, but for once, she managed to remain quiet. "So, it matters not whether you mention this to anyone, as I'm about to run around the training field. Or, try to; how does Morgana move in this?" His scowl had gone to his legs, and Gwen noticed that, despite its being Morgana's loosest dress, it was clinging desperately to his thighs, his bottom, his... oh, dear. The image was burned into her mind, permanently recorded when she wished it were not... did she not...?
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