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Merlin - A Guard's Tale
Forgot to mention the comment fic I did for ![[info - community]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
camelot_fleet. Cleaned it up a bit to post it here, but the original is available here.
Title: A Guard’s Tale
Genre: Gen
Length: ~ 560 words
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through 2.08
Synopsis: Sometimes the guards need a break too.
Disclaimer: I do not own this particular interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Cyntaf sat down at the makeshift bar with a huff. “Oi, what a day,” he moaned, holding his head in his hands. He took the mug of ale sloshed his way gratefully, downing half before he muttered, “Much appreciated, thanks.”
Amrantiad looked at him curiously. “What’s wrong with you then?” he finally asked when Cyntaf motioned for another mug. They were in a cellar deep within the bowels of the castle where few ever dared to venture. It was a respite from the day to day and was a bit of a secret for simple sake of privacy. He was fairly certain the Prince’s servant knew about them as he had caught him sneaking around more often than not, but the boy seemed fit to keep a secret well enough for the price of some privacy of his own.
Cyntaf held the second mug between his hands for a moment, as if contemplating the greatness within. “Was assigned the East Gate today,” he sighed as if that explained it all.
In a sense it did. The East Gate was the one most favoured by the Lords and Ladies for their clandestine meetings and less than subtle escapes off into wherever it was they snuck to without wanting the King to know about it.
Amrantiad himself had been assigned it only three weeks ago, and still had the bruises to show for it. On the one hand, the beautiful maid Guinevere was rescued despite King Uther’s official orders. On the other, maybe it was time to tell the Prince and his ilk that they were willing to be paid off to look the other way. Even a skin of Winter Wine was preferable to the concussion he suffered that night.
Trydydd set down another round and asked, “How much clean up duty this time?”
“Not much,” Cyntaf admitted. “Though we might want to make sure the stable hands remember to clean up under the Prince’s windows next time. Poor lad is going to smell awful until the Lady Morgana tracks him down and perfumes him.”
The others nodded in sympathy, but knew it could be worse. “Who’s got it next then?” Trydydd asked after a moment.
“Pedwaredd,” Cyntaf replied.
“Oh, the poor thing’s too young to have to deal with all of that,” Amrantiad pointed out. He then looked a bit frightened as he asked, “Which one of us is assigned with him?”
“You,” Cyntaf answered with only a hint of a smile. “Better remember some extra padding that night, and we’ll keep a keg for you both,” he promised.
Amrantiad shook his head, possibly already feeling the aches and pains he was to look forward to. “Better make it two,” he requested. “If it was a quiet night tonight, there’s no way it will be tomorrow.”
Cyntaf laughed in agreement. They then began their nightly game of one-upmanship, each telling tales more outrageous for their validity than anything else. By sun-up, should anyone venture to that tiny little cellar cell, all they would find would be a simple board and a few empty kegs, and far less cobwebs than any other corner of this leg of darkened corridor, just the way it should be.
~~~~~~~~~~
[Apologies for those that know Welsh, my sense of humour got the better of me and yes, their names are First, Second, Third, and Fourth. Awesome site is awesome: http://www.geiriadur.net/.]
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
camelot_fleet. Cleaned it up a bit to post it here, but the original is available here.Title: A Guard’s Tale
Genre: Gen
Length: ~ 560 words
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through 2.08
Synopsis: Sometimes the guards need a break too.
Disclaimer: I do not own this particular interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Cyntaf sat down at the makeshift bar with a huff. “Oi, what a day,” he moaned, holding his head in his hands. He took the mug of ale sloshed his way gratefully, downing half before he muttered, “Much appreciated, thanks.”
Amrantiad looked at him curiously. “What’s wrong with you then?” he finally asked when Cyntaf motioned for another mug. They were in a cellar deep within the bowels of the castle where few ever dared to venture. It was a respite from the day to day and was a bit of a secret for simple sake of privacy. He was fairly certain the Prince’s servant knew about them as he had caught him sneaking around more often than not, but the boy seemed fit to keep a secret well enough for the price of some privacy of his own.
Cyntaf held the second mug between his hands for a moment, as if contemplating the greatness within. “Was assigned the East Gate today,” he sighed as if that explained it all.
In a sense it did. The East Gate was the one most favoured by the Lords and Ladies for their clandestine meetings and less than subtle escapes off into wherever it was they snuck to without wanting the King to know about it.
Amrantiad himself had been assigned it only three weeks ago, and still had the bruises to show for it. On the one hand, the beautiful maid Guinevere was rescued despite King Uther’s official orders. On the other, maybe it was time to tell the Prince and his ilk that they were willing to be paid off to look the other way. Even a skin of Winter Wine was preferable to the concussion he suffered that night.
Trydydd set down another round and asked, “How much clean up duty this time?”
“Not much,” Cyntaf admitted. “Though we might want to make sure the stable hands remember to clean up under the Prince’s windows next time. Poor lad is going to smell awful until the Lady Morgana tracks him down and perfumes him.”
The others nodded in sympathy, but knew it could be worse. “Who’s got it next then?” Trydydd asked after a moment.
“Pedwaredd,” Cyntaf replied.
“Oh, the poor thing’s too young to have to deal with all of that,” Amrantiad pointed out. He then looked a bit frightened as he asked, “Which one of us is assigned with him?”
“You,” Cyntaf answered with only a hint of a smile. “Better remember some extra padding that night, and we’ll keep a keg for you both,” he promised.
Amrantiad shook his head, possibly already feeling the aches and pains he was to look forward to. “Better make it two,” he requested. “If it was a quiet night tonight, there’s no way it will be tomorrow.”
Cyntaf laughed in agreement. They then began their nightly game of one-upmanship, each telling tales more outrageous for their validity than anything else. By sun-up, should anyone venture to that tiny little cellar cell, all they would find would be a simple board and a few empty kegs, and far less cobwebs than any other corner of this leg of darkened corridor, just the way it should be.
~~~~~~~~~~
[Apologies for those that know Welsh, my sense of humour got the better of me and yes, their names are First, Second, Third, and Fourth. Awesome site is awesome: http://www.geiriadur.net/.]
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.