I... Love Poetry
Original Post
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Arthur/Gwen
Character/s: mention of Leon and Gwaine
Summary: Arthur really doesn't love poetry. S5.
Word Count: 601
Prompt: "roses are red and other dirty poems"
A/N: For ag_fics Team Fic Battle.
A rumor was going around Camelot, that King Arthur loved poetry.
As killing Leon would likely only serve to confirm that story, Arthur settled for starting a rumor of his own, regarding Leon and a silk dress. (He may not have seen the sight personally-- thank God-- but he had heard about it.) It was the perfect revenge, since Leon was now receiving anonymous gifts of hair ribbons, bits of lace, and in one wonderful instance, an ornately decorated pair of velvet slippers.
They were even big enough to fit him.
Meanwhile, there was the business of everyone and their brother reciting Arthur poems, composing poems for him, and asking him about his favorite poems.
If he heard one more rhyming couplet, he was going to run somebody through.
"I need a way to stop this," he groaned, slumping over the table in his and Guinevere's chambers so that his face was resting on the tabletop. "Sir Lamorak composed a series of sonnets and taught them to the rest of the knights, and they performed them for me before we started training."
The sound that came from Guinevere was suspiciously snort-like, and he raised his head to stare at her. He was in the mood for sympathy, and she was appearing to be far too amused. "Were they good sonnets, at least?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.
"How should I know?" he exclaimed. "They're sonnets."
She came over and patted him on the shoulder. "You know, you could just tell everyone that the rumors were false, and you don't like poetry."
Arthur mentally reviewed the situation that had started all of this. If he said he did not like poetry, then Leon might wonder what he and Merlin had actually been doing, wandering around the castle that night. And whilst Arthur could merely put any questions to rest by refusing to answer them, as the king, he would rather avoid that altogether. "I'm afraid that's not an option."
"Then, I guess you'll have to learn to like sonnets-- or, find poetry you do like."
He sighed. "I don't dislike sonnets; it's only that I do not understand them. What's the point of writing about feelings all the time? Much less making them rhyme."
Guinevere rested her hip against the table near him. "Not all poetry rhymes."
"It's not the rhymes that bother me, even if they're weird." Arthur slouched back in his chair.
"I know. Some poetry doesn't deal with feelings."
"Really?"
She thought about it for a minute. "Perhaps."
He dropped his forehead on the table again.
Suddenly, Guinevere stood up. "I have an idea. Wait here."
Some time later, Arthur tracked Gwen down near the kitchens. "There is poetry I like."
She smiled as he kissed her head and slipped an arm around her waist. "Problem solved, then?"
"Uh, no." He chuckled. "I cannot publicly admit to liking a single poem that Gwaine taught me today. In fact--" he gave her a little squeeze "--you have surprised me once again, for knowing that sort of poetry exists."
Her cheeks turned pink. "I grew up with a brother and in a forge, and have worked around knights my entire life. And, I figured if anyone knew a lot of it, Gwaine would."
"You were certainly right about that."
As they strolled down the corridor, she said, "So, it doesn't help with your poetry problem."
"Well, it might," he allowed.
"Oh?"
"The next time someone starts reciting something all mushy, I'll just recite a few of these in my head."
Gwen laughed. "I suppose it's as good a plan as any."
*
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Arthur/Gwen
Character/s: mention of Leon and Gwaine
Summary: Arthur really doesn't love poetry. S5.
Word Count: 601
Prompt: "roses are red and other dirty poems"
A/N: For ag_fics Team Fic Battle.
A rumor was going around Camelot, that King Arthur loved poetry.
As killing Leon would likely only serve to confirm that story, Arthur settled for starting a rumor of his own, regarding Leon and a silk dress. (He may not have seen the sight personally-- thank God-- but he had heard about it.) It was the perfect revenge, since Leon was now receiving anonymous gifts of hair ribbons, bits of lace, and in one wonderful instance, an ornately decorated pair of velvet slippers.
They were even big enough to fit him.
Meanwhile, there was the business of everyone and their brother reciting Arthur poems, composing poems for him, and asking him about his favorite poems.
If he heard one more rhyming couplet, he was going to run somebody through.
"I need a way to stop this," he groaned, slumping over the table in his and Guinevere's chambers so that his face was resting on the tabletop. "Sir Lamorak composed a series of sonnets and taught them to the rest of the knights, and they performed them for me before we started training."
The sound that came from Guinevere was suspiciously snort-like, and he raised his head to stare at her. He was in the mood for sympathy, and she was appearing to be far too amused. "Were they good sonnets, at least?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.
"How should I know?" he exclaimed. "They're sonnets."
She came over and patted him on the shoulder. "You know, you could just tell everyone that the rumors were false, and you don't like poetry."
Arthur mentally reviewed the situation that had started all of this. If he said he did not like poetry, then Leon might wonder what he and Merlin had actually been doing, wandering around the castle that night. And whilst Arthur could merely put any questions to rest by refusing to answer them, as the king, he would rather avoid that altogether. "I'm afraid that's not an option."
"Then, I guess you'll have to learn to like sonnets-- or, find poetry you do like."
He sighed. "I don't dislike sonnets; it's only that I do not understand them. What's the point of writing about feelings all the time? Much less making them rhyme."
Guinevere rested her hip against the table near him. "Not all poetry rhymes."
"It's not the rhymes that bother me, even if they're weird." Arthur slouched back in his chair.
"I know. Some poetry doesn't deal with feelings."
"Really?"
She thought about it for a minute. "Perhaps."
He dropped his forehead on the table again.
Suddenly, Guinevere stood up. "I have an idea. Wait here."
Some time later, Arthur tracked Gwen down near the kitchens. "There is poetry I like."
She smiled as he kissed her head and slipped an arm around her waist. "Problem solved, then?"
"Uh, no." He chuckled. "I cannot publicly admit to liking a single poem that Gwaine taught me today. In fact--" he gave her a little squeeze "--you have surprised me once again, for knowing that sort of poetry exists."
Her cheeks turned pink. "I grew up with a brother and in a forge, and have worked around knights my entire life. And, I figured if anyone knew a lot of it, Gwaine would."
"You were certainly right about that."
As they strolled down the corridor, she said, "So, it doesn't help with your poetry problem."
"Well, it might," he allowed.
"Oh?"
"The next time someone starts reciting something all mushy, I'll just recite a few of these in my head."
Gwen laughed. "I suppose it's as good a plan as any."
*