Clara's easy familiarity is something of a novelty to the vaguely medieval, particularly to the vaguely medieval royalty. Most people wouldn't ordinarily have the nerve to direct him about or tell him what to do, but he can't say he minds. He might admit to himself and no one else ever, if pressed, that something about it all reminds him of what it was like to have Morgana around -- before everything went to hell.
He peers over the bank himself, spotting the other small boy attempting to be sneaky. Sneaky, in this case, meaning crouching next to a half-finished snowman about half his height.
"You know," Arthur suggests, "there's no shame in surrender."
When the little boy's eyes meet Arthur's, he abandons all pretense and makes a dash for them. Clearly, the time for diplomacy has passed. Arthur scoops together a snowball and lobs it at the child, his aim true.
(He's not petty enough to get payback on a child, but you know.)
no subject
Clara's easy familiarity is something of a novelty to the vaguely medieval, particularly to the vaguely medieval royalty. Most people wouldn't ordinarily have the nerve to direct him about or tell him what to do, but he can't say he minds. He might admit to himself and no one else ever, if pressed, that something about it all reminds him of what it was like to have Morgana around -- before everything went to hell.
He peers over the bank himself, spotting the other small boy attempting to be sneaky. Sneaky, in this case, meaning crouching next to a half-finished snowman about half his height.
"You know," Arthur suggests, "there's no shame in surrender."
When the little boy's eyes meet Arthur's, he abandons all pretense and makes a dash for them. Clearly, the time for diplomacy has passed. Arthur scoops together a snowball and lobs it at the child, his aim true.
(He's not petty enough to get payback on a child, but you know.)