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Entry tags:
Merlin - Falconry
Title: Falconry
Genre: friendship, background Arthur/Merlin
Length: ~2,000 words
Rating: PG
Warnings: mention of injury and treatment thereof
Spoilers: through the end of Series 3
Synopsis: It’s a beautiful day, so of course something had to go wrong.
Author’s Notes: I wanted to write a fluffy Earth Day-type fic. This happened instead. Set in the nebulous post-Series 3 future. Thanks go to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
threnodyjones for helping with terminology when my brain failed.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Gwaine was actually enjoying the day, for a change. True, he was stuck playing escort to an over-privileged noble and his kind who had done little to nothing to earn his respect, but the day was bright, the sun was warm, and he knew for a fact that there was a fine feast awaiting them upon their return from this little excursion to the borderlands. It made dealing with the pissants almost worthwhile.
The cry of a falcon drew his attention, and he looked above to find a rather familiar looking bird swoop and soar. It was small, brown, and fittingly called a Merlin. This one was different than most though, as it had the oddest bit of red about its neck and breast, a colouration that told Gwaine who it really was. He bit back a grin at Merlin checking up on them, and found Lancelot doing the same.
“Bored, is he?” Gwaine guessed.
Lancelot nodded. “Must be no prey today, and no fledglings to sort out,” he commented. Gwaine knew what he meant: all was well at the castle, possibly too well as Merlin had nothing to do save for spy on them and their progress not harming the nobles.
By the time he heard the click, it was too late. An arrow pierced the blue of the sky, and the bird narrowly avoided it with a quick swish to the right and a cry of distress. Gwaine whipped his head around to find Eldric, the idiot from the south, with his crossbow primed and ready once more. “Stop!” he ordered, but the second arrow already flew free. He watched in horror as feathers flew through the air and the bird coursed towards the earth.
He dismounted in a flash and barely remembered the three steps it took him to reach the man and wrench the weapon out of his grasp. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of sport,” the lord complained and tried to reach for his bow back.
Gwaine held it up and away, grateful when Owain took it from his grasp so he would not be tempted to use it against the man before him. “We are not here to hunt,” he spit out. He knew he appeared to be overreacting even as he knew Lancelot had taken off in search for their friend. “That ‘sport’ is under royal protection, and you had better hope to your god that it was not seriously injured.”
“Royal protection?” Eldric scoffed. “How can a bit of fluff and feathers be so important?”
Gwaine was tempted, so very tempted, to tell him exactly how, but thankfully was saved by Owain once more. “Falconry is the sport of kings,” he advised, easily taking the bow apart. “A bird that size is usually the pet of a prince. It may be hard to see from here, but if he had leather ties about his feet, you may well have committed an act of war.”
Gwaine knew he was speaking solely of the birds, their worth, and their current presence near a neighbouring border, but he also knew the more hidden truth in those words, whether Owain himself did or not. He took no small satisfaction in the way Eldric paled and pressed his advantage by shoving him with only a fraction of the force he wanted to towards his fellow knight as he ordered, “Stay here. I will see if Lancelot has found the creature yet and whether or not we need to make amends towards royalty for your foolishness.”
He raced towards the trees where he had seen the bird fall and Lancelot disappear. It was imprudent for two knights to see to a bird while a single knight stayed with the noble and his entourage, but Owain had provided a sufficient cover story for the time being. That, banked with the fact Eldric was well and truly stupid, should be enough to not raise too much suspicion should the issue be raised with the king.
He skidded to a stop at the riverside where he found Lancelot crouched over a supine Merlin. The sorcerer in question kicked his feet and tried to sit up, but Lancelot seemed resistant to the action. Gwaine breathed a sigh of relief, and commented, “You are one lucky son of a-” but cut himself off when he was finally close enough to take in the full scene.
Merlin was soaked through, the river most likely breaking his fall as much as any magical means. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead and he coughed up what appeared to be lungful after lungful of water. He clutched his arm to him, and Gwaine could make out a darkness on his sleeve that was most definitely not from the water. He traced the bloodstain upward and found the feathered bolt of the arrow still securely embedded in Merlin’s upper arm, the metal tip protruding from the other side.
“This is going to hurt,” Lancelot warned.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Merlin grimaced. He held his sodden sleeve to his mouth and bit down on the fabric while Lancelot snapped off the end with the fletching, but even still a grunt of pain escaped.
Lancelot looked at him knowingly, hand at the ready, and said, “This is going to hurt worse. Are you sure you don’t want to lie down?”
Merlin’s response was to take the broken bit of bolt and hold it between his teeth. He nodded to Lancelot, who took it as his signal to push the shaft the rest of the way through. To Merlin’s credit, his scream was barely audible, but that may have been in part due to the fact his jaw appeared to be locked around the piece of wood, crushed down hard enough for Gwaine to see the indents even from his current distance.
Merlin finally prised the piece free, pale skin looking distinctly gray even in the bright sunlight. “Okay, going to lie down now,” he managed between deep heaves of breath. True to his word, he flopped to the ground, only Lancelot’s quick reflexes preventing him from injuring himself further.
Gwaine removed his friend’s ever-present scarf to be used to wrap the wound and asked, “Is there anything you can do to help yourself out here?”
Merlin’s head lolled to the side and, with a flash of gold and the wiggle of the fingertips of his good hand, a satchel appeared at his side. Gwaine dug through it, knowing better than to ask about the gift of supplies over simply healing the wound. Had Merlin been cognisant enough to heal the wound, he would have done so by now and saved himself a lot of pain. Instead, he resorted to the bag of herbs that usually hung near his bedside, likely knowing exactly where it was and what was in it and therefore making the summoning far easier than anything else.
He recognised what was what from experience on the road as much as Merlin’s murmured comments. He smeared salves and packed leaves and wrapped it all neatly in the red cloth of the scarf. Meanwhile, Merlin looked as though he would much prefer to pass out, but managed to remain conscious throughout the ministrations. By the end, some of his faint colour had returned, and his eyes lost the worst of their glassy sheen.
“Arthur’s going to kill me,” the injured man lamented. With Lancelot’s help, he had sat up again, but he listed too much to the side for Gwaine to be convinced he was truly doing better.
Gwaine shared a look with Lancelot over Merlin’s head and offered, “He’ll do something, to be sure, but I doubt death will be involved.” He could only imagine the way Arthur would fuss and fret and the way Eldric would suddenly find things completely randomly, and completely innocently, far less comfortable than he had before.
“Told him I was going to go pick some herbs, not take magical flight and be shot by an arrow,” Merlin groused.
Gwaine rummaged around in the grass beside him and grabbed a handful of something leafy and hopefully not poisonous. He shoved the lot into the satchel and said, “There, cover story fulfilled.”
Merlin snorted, but looked like he regretted the action if his wince of pain was anything to go by. He muttered an incantation that left him mostly dry, and then let the other two help him to his feet, wobbling more than slightly along the way. Lancelot wrapped an arm around Merlin’s waist to support him, Gwaine grabbed the satchel, and the trio made their way back to the waiting party.
Eldric’s eyes opened wide upon their arrival and he stuttered, “I- I shot a bird, not a boy!”
“Your first arrow went wide, and this is more than a boy,” Owain pointed out. He motioned to the Pendragon crest on the blood-soaked cloth. “This is Merlin; you may of heard of him.”
If possible, Eldric’s eyes managed to open even more, and he paled even further. Behind him, his men whispered back and forth, Gwaine only picking up bits and pieces of, “the prince’s servant,” and “open secret,” and his personal favourite, “illicit affair.”
“But what is he even doing out here?” Eldric demanded, finally finding his voice again.
Gwaine held up the satchel and replied, “Merlin is also the physician’s assistant. His duties often take him out of the castle in search for the herbs needed for Gaius’ cures.” The words rolled easily off of his tongue. The best part was it was not even a lie, not to mention it further solidified the cover story of a certain someone’s flight of fancy.
Eldric hemmed and hawed and made a noise most commonly associated with a bleating goat, and eventually offered one of his own men’s horses, not his own of course, for Merlin to ride back to the castle. Gwaine was tempted to have Merlin ride with him, especially since he appeared to struggle just to stay conscious, but Merlin decided it was in the interest of diplomacy to accept Eldric’s offer.
A page was sent ahead to warn Gaius that an injured party was on its way, and likely to give Arthur fair notice as well. The rest of the group rode at a bit slower pace in deference to the injured, but nary a word was said along the way.
It was not until they reached the courtyard and Arthur himself was there to help Merlin dismount and to fuss over him and pretend to berate him while clearly looking him over for further injury, that Eldric thought to ask, “And what of the bird? You spoke of aggrieved royalty – are there amends to make?”
Lancelot opened his mouth to respond, but Gwaine beat him to it. He watched the way Arthur supported Merlin, who dutifully nodded at every little thing he had to say, likely a laundry list of conditions of ever leaving the castle on his own again. “Oh, I am certain that there is royalty aggrieved, just as I am certain that the bird got away.”
Lancelot smirked but Gwaine merely shrugged. It was the truth of the matter as far as he was concerned, and he knew absolutely no one would question it.
That night at the feast, the prince’s servant was noticeably absent. Also noticeable was the way Arthur begged off early, and the way he did not even bother to come up with a real excuse. Eldric continued to ply his hosts with wine and ale and Gwaine easily drank toast after toast, though he also strongly hinted that a gift of a flagon to the prince’s rooms may be warranted.
Eldric readily agreed and sent his personal aide up with the gift. When the boy returned, wide eyed and stuttering as he babbled in his lord’s ear, Lancelot nudged Gwaine and offered, “That was unkind.”
“No it wasn’t,” Gwaine drawled with a smile. Eldric may have received confirmation of both the rumours and the full extent of his trespasses, but Gwaine had just guaranteed a far more exciting day of negotiations on the morrow.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: friendship, background Arthur/Merlin
Length: ~2,000 words
Rating: PG
Warnings: mention of injury and treatment thereof
Spoilers: through the end of Series 3
Synopsis: It’s a beautiful day, so of course something had to go wrong.
Author’s Notes: I wanted to write a fluffy Earth Day-type fic. This happened instead. Set in the nebulous post-Series 3 future. Thanks go to
threnodyjones for helping with terminology when my brain failed.Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
Gwaine was actually enjoying the day, for a change. True, he was stuck playing escort to an over-privileged noble and his kind who had done little to nothing to earn his respect, but the day was bright, the sun was warm, and he knew for a fact that there was a fine feast awaiting them upon their return from this little excursion to the borderlands. It made dealing with the pissants almost worthwhile.
The cry of a falcon drew his attention, and he looked above to find a rather familiar looking bird swoop and soar. It was small, brown, and fittingly called a Merlin. This one was different than most though, as it had the oddest bit of red about its neck and breast, a colouration that told Gwaine who it really was. He bit back a grin at Merlin checking up on them, and found Lancelot doing the same.
“Bored, is he?” Gwaine guessed.
Lancelot nodded. “Must be no prey today, and no fledglings to sort out,” he commented. Gwaine knew what he meant: all was well at the castle, possibly too well as Merlin had nothing to do save for spy on them and their progress not harming the nobles.
By the time he heard the click, it was too late. An arrow pierced the blue of the sky, and the bird narrowly avoided it with a quick swish to the right and a cry of distress. Gwaine whipped his head around to find Eldric, the idiot from the south, with his crossbow primed and ready once more. “Stop!” he ordered, but the second arrow already flew free. He watched in horror as feathers flew through the air and the bird coursed towards the earth.
He dismounted in a flash and barely remembered the three steps it took him to reach the man and wrench the weapon out of his grasp. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of sport,” the lord complained and tried to reach for his bow back.
Gwaine held it up and away, grateful when Owain took it from his grasp so he would not be tempted to use it against the man before him. “We are not here to hunt,” he spit out. He knew he appeared to be overreacting even as he knew Lancelot had taken off in search for their friend. “That ‘sport’ is under royal protection, and you had better hope to your god that it was not seriously injured.”
“Royal protection?” Eldric scoffed. “How can a bit of fluff and feathers be so important?”
Gwaine was tempted, so very tempted, to tell him exactly how, but thankfully was saved by Owain once more. “Falconry is the sport of kings,” he advised, easily taking the bow apart. “A bird that size is usually the pet of a prince. It may be hard to see from here, but if he had leather ties about his feet, you may well have committed an act of war.”
Gwaine knew he was speaking solely of the birds, their worth, and their current presence near a neighbouring border, but he also knew the more hidden truth in those words, whether Owain himself did or not. He took no small satisfaction in the way Eldric paled and pressed his advantage by shoving him with only a fraction of the force he wanted to towards his fellow knight as he ordered, “Stay here. I will see if Lancelot has found the creature yet and whether or not we need to make amends towards royalty for your foolishness.”
He raced towards the trees where he had seen the bird fall and Lancelot disappear. It was imprudent for two knights to see to a bird while a single knight stayed with the noble and his entourage, but Owain had provided a sufficient cover story for the time being. That, banked with the fact Eldric was well and truly stupid, should be enough to not raise too much suspicion should the issue be raised with the king.
He skidded to a stop at the riverside where he found Lancelot crouched over a supine Merlin. The sorcerer in question kicked his feet and tried to sit up, but Lancelot seemed resistant to the action. Gwaine breathed a sigh of relief, and commented, “You are one lucky son of a-” but cut himself off when he was finally close enough to take in the full scene.
Merlin was soaked through, the river most likely breaking his fall as much as any magical means. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead and he coughed up what appeared to be lungful after lungful of water. He clutched his arm to him, and Gwaine could make out a darkness on his sleeve that was most definitely not from the water. He traced the bloodstain upward and found the feathered bolt of the arrow still securely embedded in Merlin’s upper arm, the metal tip protruding from the other side.
“This is going to hurt,” Lancelot warned.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Merlin grimaced. He held his sodden sleeve to his mouth and bit down on the fabric while Lancelot snapped off the end with the fletching, but even still a grunt of pain escaped.
Lancelot looked at him knowingly, hand at the ready, and said, “This is going to hurt worse. Are you sure you don’t want to lie down?”
Merlin’s response was to take the broken bit of bolt and hold it between his teeth. He nodded to Lancelot, who took it as his signal to push the shaft the rest of the way through. To Merlin’s credit, his scream was barely audible, but that may have been in part due to the fact his jaw appeared to be locked around the piece of wood, crushed down hard enough for Gwaine to see the indents even from his current distance.
Merlin finally prised the piece free, pale skin looking distinctly gray even in the bright sunlight. “Okay, going to lie down now,” he managed between deep heaves of breath. True to his word, he flopped to the ground, only Lancelot’s quick reflexes preventing him from injuring himself further.
Gwaine removed his friend’s ever-present scarf to be used to wrap the wound and asked, “Is there anything you can do to help yourself out here?”
Merlin’s head lolled to the side and, with a flash of gold and the wiggle of the fingertips of his good hand, a satchel appeared at his side. Gwaine dug through it, knowing better than to ask about the gift of supplies over simply healing the wound. Had Merlin been cognisant enough to heal the wound, he would have done so by now and saved himself a lot of pain. Instead, he resorted to the bag of herbs that usually hung near his bedside, likely knowing exactly where it was and what was in it and therefore making the summoning far easier than anything else.
He recognised what was what from experience on the road as much as Merlin’s murmured comments. He smeared salves and packed leaves and wrapped it all neatly in the red cloth of the scarf. Meanwhile, Merlin looked as though he would much prefer to pass out, but managed to remain conscious throughout the ministrations. By the end, some of his faint colour had returned, and his eyes lost the worst of their glassy sheen.
“Arthur’s going to kill me,” the injured man lamented. With Lancelot’s help, he had sat up again, but he listed too much to the side for Gwaine to be convinced he was truly doing better.
Gwaine shared a look with Lancelot over Merlin’s head and offered, “He’ll do something, to be sure, but I doubt death will be involved.” He could only imagine the way Arthur would fuss and fret and the way Eldric would suddenly find things completely randomly, and completely innocently, far less comfortable than he had before.
“Told him I was going to go pick some herbs, not take magical flight and be shot by an arrow,” Merlin groused.
Gwaine rummaged around in the grass beside him and grabbed a handful of something leafy and hopefully not poisonous. He shoved the lot into the satchel and said, “There, cover story fulfilled.”
Merlin snorted, but looked like he regretted the action if his wince of pain was anything to go by. He muttered an incantation that left him mostly dry, and then let the other two help him to his feet, wobbling more than slightly along the way. Lancelot wrapped an arm around Merlin’s waist to support him, Gwaine grabbed the satchel, and the trio made their way back to the waiting party.
Eldric’s eyes opened wide upon their arrival and he stuttered, “I- I shot a bird, not a boy!”
“Your first arrow went wide, and this is more than a boy,” Owain pointed out. He motioned to the Pendragon crest on the blood-soaked cloth. “This is Merlin; you may of heard of him.”
If possible, Eldric’s eyes managed to open even more, and he paled even further. Behind him, his men whispered back and forth, Gwaine only picking up bits and pieces of, “the prince’s servant,” and “open secret,” and his personal favourite, “illicit affair.”
“But what is he even doing out here?” Eldric demanded, finally finding his voice again.
Gwaine held up the satchel and replied, “Merlin is also the physician’s assistant. His duties often take him out of the castle in search for the herbs needed for Gaius’ cures.” The words rolled easily off of his tongue. The best part was it was not even a lie, not to mention it further solidified the cover story of a certain someone’s flight of fancy.
Eldric hemmed and hawed and made a noise most commonly associated with a bleating goat, and eventually offered one of his own men’s horses, not his own of course, for Merlin to ride back to the castle. Gwaine was tempted to have Merlin ride with him, especially since he appeared to struggle just to stay conscious, but Merlin decided it was in the interest of diplomacy to accept Eldric’s offer.
A page was sent ahead to warn Gaius that an injured party was on its way, and likely to give Arthur fair notice as well. The rest of the group rode at a bit slower pace in deference to the injured, but nary a word was said along the way.
It was not until they reached the courtyard and Arthur himself was there to help Merlin dismount and to fuss over him and pretend to berate him while clearly looking him over for further injury, that Eldric thought to ask, “And what of the bird? You spoke of aggrieved royalty – are there amends to make?”
Lancelot opened his mouth to respond, but Gwaine beat him to it. He watched the way Arthur supported Merlin, who dutifully nodded at every little thing he had to say, likely a laundry list of conditions of ever leaving the castle on his own again. “Oh, I am certain that there is royalty aggrieved, just as I am certain that the bird got away.”
Lancelot smirked but Gwaine merely shrugged. It was the truth of the matter as far as he was concerned, and he knew absolutely no one would question it.
That night at the feast, the prince’s servant was noticeably absent. Also noticeable was the way Arthur begged off early, and the way he did not even bother to come up with a real excuse. Eldric continued to ply his hosts with wine and ale and Gwaine easily drank toast after toast, though he also strongly hinted that a gift of a flagon to the prince’s rooms may be warranted.
Eldric readily agreed and sent his personal aide up with the gift. When the boy returned, wide eyed and stuttering as he babbled in his lord’s ear, Lancelot nudged Gwaine and offered, “That was unkind.”
“No it wasn’t,” Gwaine drawled with a smile. Eldric may have received confirmation of both the rumours and the full extent of his trespasses, but Gwaine had just guaranteed a far more exciting day of negotiations on the morrow.
Feedback is always welcomed.
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