Teulu (3/?)
Title: Teulu (3//)
Author: nightchaser_sla
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, OMC/OMC
Warnings: future!fic; au; voyeurism; mild BDSM.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: "So you are to be my heir?" His strong Welsh accent rolled from his tongue, and he placed his hands on his hips as he stepped towards where Arthur was standing against the mantle.
The King was in residence, the green griffin of his crest was flying above the Castell Coch Keep, and that thought made the usually unflappable Arthur feel just a little nervous. Behind him the engine of the Bentley which had brought him up from Caerdydd airport started its engine, and there was the sound of gravel crunching as it slowly moved back down the sweeping drive. Turning to watch it leave Arthur knew that with it went his last chance of living a 'normal' life, before settling his gaze back on the castle in front of him.
The enormous wooden gates which were the main enterance to Castell Coch were open, and a woman was standing there watching him. She was maybe in her mid-sixties with long silver grey hair which was piled on top of her head artfully, her build was slender and upon it she was wearing finely tailored clothes. It was clear that in her day she was once a great beauty, and even now he could see that she was an extremely attractive lady for her age.
"Good morning," he said, stepping forwards and extending his hand in greeting. "I'm ..."
"Arthur Pendragon," she finished for him, shaking his hand warmly. "My name is Lowri Lloyd-Morgan, and we expected you three hours ago."
So this was the infamous Lowri Lloyd-Morgan, step-mother to the King, one of the most powerful and influential women in Europe. Just from looking at her you couldn't tell that she was anything more than a wealthy, elderly woman who looked just a little frail yet her temper was legendary.
"Yes my plane was delayed from Heathrow due to fog," he answered.
"I am aware of this." She smiled and took his elbow in a firm grasp, leading him through the gates and into a courtyard. "That is why we didn't send out security looking for you."
"Well also because Kynan claimed that if he's going to be heir apparant he's got to be able to find his way around Caerdydd."
Arthur swung around at the sound of the deep voice to find himself face-to-face (well more like face-to-chest) with what appeared to be a professional wrestler in a pair of levi's and a armani shirt. Trying to appear non-chalant about suddenly finding himself in the presence of this intimidating American bohemith, Arthur stuffed his hands in his pockets and raised his eyebrow.
"Brett, behave," hissed Lowri, still standing at his elbow and he felt her nails digging into his flesh.
"Sorry." Brett gave a low bow, however his face still held a look of amusement.
"Just what would the King say?" demanded Lowri, her voice still sounding angry.
Brett shrugged and his grin seemed to broaden.
"He's the one that said it," he answered.
Arthur knew that he was probably gaping like a right idiot, but even in the circles he had travelled in one never talked about royalty in this manner. Yet here was the King mother and what must be a servant of some description squabbling over something which their ruling monarch had more than likely meant to be a private conversation.
"My step-son has a slight problem with authority," said Lowri, and Arthur turned back to her in surprise.
"But isn't your step-son the King?" he asked quietly. "Doesn't that make him the authority?"
Brett started laughing at that, deep booming laughs that echoed around the courtyard and made Lowri turn disapproving eyes in his direction.
"I don't think Kynan will ever have authority over Lowri," he chuckled. "He's terrified of her."
"Yes ... well." Lowri had a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "I am his mother."
*
The King of Wales was one of the least known and most private entities there was when it came to European royalty. He did not very often travel from his own lands, and when he did it was generally under the strictest of covers, even this countries press allowed their monarch his privacy. It was something unheard of in most of the world, and indeed something which Arthur knew many other families envied.
However due to all this secrecy not much was known about King Lloyd-Morgan, except that he was twenty-four years of age and had lost his fiance' three years ago in a car accident. The impression which Arthur had garnered about this man was that he was a strange, ugly man currently on deaths door due to the recent assassination attempt. In truth Kynan was so very different from what Arthur had expected; he was a maybe two inches taller than Arthur himself, slender and long legged with black hair, blue eyes and skin so pale it was almost transparent. He looked almost otherworldly standing in a pristine pin-stripe three piece suit by the enormous bay window.
"So you are to be my heir?" His strong Welsh accent rolled from his tongue, and he placed his hands on his hips as he stepped towards where Arthur was standing against the mantle.
"Yeah, that Swedish bird told me that the next in succession wasn't suitable," answered Arthur. "Or something like that."
Kynan had stopped his pacing and instead was leaning against an oak table, an amused look on his face as he took in the blonde Englishman standing in his drawing room. Arthur didn't know what to make of this man, he had incredible wealth and power yet did not have any arrogant airs, this was something which he wasn't used to.
"Finnish."
"What?" demanded Arthur, leaning further into the mantle.
"Johann is the Finnish princess." Kynan seemed close to laughter. "I was engaged to her younger sister for a time last year."
"I didn't know that," said Arthur.
"Not many people do." He ran his fingers through his hair. "So you're to begin training on how to act like a Crown Prince."
He had received a crate of books within twenty-four hours of discovering his legacy, all of them long winded and clearly written by somebody with far to much time on their hands and no imagination. Halfway through the first one he had given up, and having grown up in awe of the English royals had decided that this was probably something he could make up as he went.
"That's what I was told," he answered.
"Good." Kynan nodded slowly, and then held up a Olympic gold medal he fished out of his pocket. "What do you know about practical jokes?"
Author: nightchaser_sla
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, OMC/OMC
Warnings: future!fic; au; voyeurism; mild BDSM.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: "So you are to be my heir?" His strong Welsh accent rolled from his tongue, and he placed his hands on his hips as he stepped towards where Arthur was standing against the mantle.
The King was in residence, the green griffin of his crest was flying above the Castell Coch Keep, and that thought made the usually unflappable Arthur feel just a little nervous. Behind him the engine of the Bentley which had brought him up from Caerdydd airport started its engine, and there was the sound of gravel crunching as it slowly moved back down the sweeping drive. Turning to watch it leave Arthur knew that with it went his last chance of living a 'normal' life, before settling his gaze back on the castle in front of him.
The enormous wooden gates which were the main enterance to Castell Coch were open, and a woman was standing there watching him. She was maybe in her mid-sixties with long silver grey hair which was piled on top of her head artfully, her build was slender and upon it she was wearing finely tailored clothes. It was clear that in her day she was once a great beauty, and even now he could see that she was an extremely attractive lady for her age.
"Good morning," he said, stepping forwards and extending his hand in greeting. "I'm ..."
"Arthur Pendragon," she finished for him, shaking his hand warmly. "My name is Lowri Lloyd-Morgan, and we expected you three hours ago."
So this was the infamous Lowri Lloyd-Morgan, step-mother to the King, one of the most powerful and influential women in Europe. Just from looking at her you couldn't tell that she was anything more than a wealthy, elderly woman who looked just a little frail yet her temper was legendary.
"Yes my plane was delayed from Heathrow due to fog," he answered.
"I am aware of this." She smiled and took his elbow in a firm grasp, leading him through the gates and into a courtyard. "That is why we didn't send out security looking for you."
"Well also because Kynan claimed that if he's going to be heir apparant he's got to be able to find his way around Caerdydd."
Arthur swung around at the sound of the deep voice to find himself face-to-face (well more like face-to-chest) with what appeared to be a professional wrestler in a pair of levi's and a armani shirt. Trying to appear non-chalant about suddenly finding himself in the presence of this intimidating American bohemith, Arthur stuffed his hands in his pockets and raised his eyebrow.
"Brett, behave," hissed Lowri, still standing at his elbow and he felt her nails digging into his flesh.
"Sorry." Brett gave a low bow, however his face still held a look of amusement.
"Just what would the King say?" demanded Lowri, her voice still sounding angry.
Brett shrugged and his grin seemed to broaden.
"He's the one that said it," he answered.
Arthur knew that he was probably gaping like a right idiot, but even in the circles he had travelled in one never talked about royalty in this manner. Yet here was the King mother and what must be a servant of some description squabbling over something which their ruling monarch had more than likely meant to be a private conversation.
"My step-son has a slight problem with authority," said Lowri, and Arthur turned back to her in surprise.
"But isn't your step-son the King?" he asked quietly. "Doesn't that make him the authority?"
Brett started laughing at that, deep booming laughs that echoed around the courtyard and made Lowri turn disapproving eyes in his direction.
"I don't think Kynan will ever have authority over Lowri," he chuckled. "He's terrified of her."
"Yes ... well." Lowri had a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "I am his mother."
*
The King of Wales was one of the least known and most private entities there was when it came to European royalty. He did not very often travel from his own lands, and when he did it was generally under the strictest of covers, even this countries press allowed their monarch his privacy. It was something unheard of in most of the world, and indeed something which Arthur knew many other families envied.
However due to all this secrecy not much was known about King Lloyd-Morgan, except that he was twenty-four years of age and had lost his fiance' three years ago in a car accident. The impression which Arthur had garnered about this man was that he was a strange, ugly man currently on deaths door due to the recent assassination attempt. In truth Kynan was so very different from what Arthur had expected; he was a maybe two inches taller than Arthur himself, slender and long legged with black hair, blue eyes and skin so pale it was almost transparent. He looked almost otherworldly standing in a pristine pin-stripe three piece suit by the enormous bay window.
"So you are to be my heir?" His strong Welsh accent rolled from his tongue, and he placed his hands on his hips as he stepped towards where Arthur was standing against the mantle.
"Yeah, that Swedish bird told me that the next in succession wasn't suitable," answered Arthur. "Or something like that."
Kynan had stopped his pacing and instead was leaning against an oak table, an amused look on his face as he took in the blonde Englishman standing in his drawing room. Arthur didn't know what to make of this man, he had incredible wealth and power yet did not have any arrogant airs, this was something which he wasn't used to.
"Finnish."
"What?" demanded Arthur, leaning further into the mantle.
"Johann is the Finnish princess." Kynan seemed close to laughter. "I was engaged to her younger sister for a time last year."
"I didn't know that," said Arthur.
"Not many people do." He ran his fingers through his hair. "So you're to begin training on how to act like a Crown Prince."
He had received a crate of books within twenty-four hours of discovering his legacy, all of them long winded and clearly written by somebody with far to much time on their hands and no imagination. Halfway through the first one he had given up, and having grown up in awe of the English royals had decided that this was probably something he could make up as he went.
"That's what I was told," he answered.
"Good." Kynan nodded slowly, and then held up a Olympic gold medal he fished out of his pocket. "What do you know about practical jokes?"