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Merlin - Noble Pursuits
Finished the one I wanted to finish before the Finish-a-thon. That so totally counts, right? (No, it's not one of the three I put up for voting - oops.)
Title: Noble Pursuits
Genre: Gen, hint of Arthur/Merlin if you squint
Length: ~ 3,400 words
Rating: PG-13
Synopsis: Arthur is beginning to rethink not taking a knight or three along on his hunting trips.
Warnings: A bit of violence, but not a lot. Do I need to warn for my sense of humour?
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur could not believe he had been overpowered. He did not even want to call the men that did so brigands; buffoons were more like it. It was pure and utter chance that they had bested him and had absolutely nothing to do with him shouting at Merlin to get out of there while he could and then sparing one last glance as he left. Certainly the fact that his sword was knocked from his hand only moments later was happenstance and nothing more.
“So, what do we have here?” the head buffoon asked.
Arthur counted his blessings that they apparently did not know the value of their catch. “A hunter, nothing more,” he replied. The man behind him tightened the ropes about his wrists with a flourish, and he ignored the instinct to wince at they bit into his skin.
“A hunter?” the man asked doubtingly.
Arthur nodded. It was, after all, the truth. He had been on a quiet hunting expedition, just himself and Merlin with the need for an escort refuted, when they were surrounded. He rather wished he had not been so adamant in his refusal of the accompaniment of a guard or three as they most certainly would have come in handy right about now.
The fist that connected with his jaw was a bit of a shock, but he took comfort in the fact the man had to shake out his hand after his little display of strength. Of course the buffoon attempted to appear cool and collected though as he reasoned, “I don’t think so. You hold yourself with far too much nobility and dress far too regally to be a simple hunter.”
“Hunting is a very noble pursuit,” Arthur offered. This time he was expecting the punch, but that did not stop him from licking at the now split lip that resulted from it.
“Check his belongings,” the man ordered. “Let’s see just how noble this ‘simple hunter’ really is.”
Arthur resolutely stared straight ahead as his bag and his purse were brought forward. The coin was dumped out, and earned a raised eyebrow at the amount, but it was the bag that sealed his fate. Aside from the sigil on the leather itself, more than one item within held his family crest, blatant and obvious and damning.
The man held up the bag and waved the crest in front of his eyes. “This is from the House of Pendragon,” he accused.
“It was a gift,” Arthur answered honestly. His father had given it to him to mark a particularly successful hunt. The hide was of the very beast he had slain.
The man smacked him upside the head with the bag which, thankfully, was empty so it did little other than muss his hair. “Uther has but one son, a man said to match your exact description,” he seethed.
“I cannot help it if this supposed son of his is extraordinarily attractive,” Arthur shrugged with a smirk.
This time the man ignored him, seemingly talking to himself more than his captive. “The son of a king will fetch an impressive price indeed,” he mused. “But the question is, why would so valuable an asset be allowed to wander the woods without an escort? Just where are your knights, princeling?”
Arthur made a face. “You are working under the assumption that your conclusions are correct. I could be but a knight, or simply someone who served the king in such a way to be rewarded. If either of these are the truth, you would both make no profit from me and suffer embarrassment in front of the king and his true son.”
“He had but a single man with him,” one of the other buffoons spoke up.
Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had hoped to keep Merlin out of this.
“So now the question is whether you are telling the truth, or if a prince’s hubris led him on an excursion with far too little assistance for what was needed?” the first man mused once more. As for Arthur, he was musing as to whether or not the man knew he had some sort of green bit caught between his two front teeth.
“He matches the description and carries the sigil,” the second buffoon reasoned. “I say we try it.”
“And if the single man who was with him escapes to tell Uther, then we will have all the more basis for our claim,” a third one chimed in. He looked very proud of himself. Arthur would have been too; he had not known it was possible for a mule and a hedgehog to mate.
“Alas, he did not escape,” a new, fourth voice spoke from the trees to Arthur’s left.
He fought the urge to openly sigh at the sight of Merlin being pushed forward into the little debacle. The idiot even had the gall to look pleased with himself.
Merlin looked over to him quizzically, obviously taking in the way Arthur was bound, bleeding and on his knees in front of several armed men, his own sword safely out of reach. “Who’s this then?” Merlin asked, apparently pretending to be as naïve as he looked.
“Oi, not another one,” the supposed leader of the merry little group of men huffed. He waved his hand in the direction of the second man and ordered, “He’s wearing Pendragon red, search him for a sigil.”
At that Arthur nearly did sigh, but at himself. He had gifted Merlin with one of the ridiculous scarves he favoured so much, but this time in the House colours. It had seemed a good idea at the time. So had giving him a tiny little replica of the crest on a string that Merlin usually wore beneath the scarf so, really, he had just guaranteed his own fate. On the other hand, Merlin had been extremely appreciative at the time, hadn’t even called him a prat for a week, so there was that.
The second buffoon found the sigil after what Arthur viewed as perhaps a bit too much manhandling of his servant, and held it up to the light. It was still tied around Merlin’s neck, and the leather cord cut a red line into the eerily pale skin of his throat in the process, but Merlin stayed remarkably still through it all.
“Still claim not to know him?” the first man baited.
Merlin once again proved his idiocy when he responded with a glare and, “I didn’t say I was asking about him.”
Arthur smiled despite himself and calmly said, “Merlin, these buf-, men are apparently brigands of some sort and wish to ransom the prince of Camelot.”
Merlin nodded amiably and said, “Oh, okay then,” as if that answered any further questions he may have.
“Was there anyone else?” the supposed leader demanded. When he got shrugs for his trouble, he turned to Merlin and repeated, “Was there anyone else, boy?” He even held up a threatening fist as if ready to swing out if he did not like the answer.
Merlin simply shook his head. “No, no one else,” he answered honestly. The man lowered his fist and smiled, or at least did until Merlin added, “Because no one else is needed.”
The men guffawed at the thought that the skinny little thing before them was so confident, but Merlin easily ignored them and instead addressed Arthur as he asked, “With your permission, sire?”
“By all means,” Arthur agreed, giving nothing away.
The head buffoon opened his mouth, a look of glee upon his face as if Merlin’s “sire” had just confirmed everything for him. That glee turned to shock when he realized, belatedly, that his second captive was not yet bound. Arthur was not certain what surprised him more, the now raised hands, or the golden glow that now emanated from the man he had so easily written off not but moments ago.
Arthur closed his eyes against the burst of bright light, feeling the ropes around his wrists crumble to dust that slid harmlessly through his fingers. He was up and on his feet in moments, taking in the sight of the blinded and scattered brigands even as he grabbed his sword where it lay at the leader’s feet.
The men recovered far faster than he would have given them credit for, two already with blades in their hands, two picking themselves up off the ground, and the others still too far away from the initial confrontation to be useful as of yet. Unfortunately, one of the ones with a sword was right behind Merlin, who did not seem to notice him at all as he turned his attentions on the leader instead.
Arthur both appreciated and was a bit embarrassed by Merlin’s need for vengeance on his behalf, but was not about to let it cost him his life. He shouted a warning as he lunged, Merlin stepping neatly away in time for Arthur to engage the man that would have sliced right through him.
Arthur parried and thrust and listened with half an ear to the guttural sounds of a language he had heard but never understood as it was directed at another foe. As he spun around to regroup, he caught sight of the leader on the ground, bloodied and not fully conscious, and another man raised in the air, ready to be tossed against a handy tree. Figuring Merlin had things well in hand, for now, he returned his attentions to the man he was fighting, who apparently had received reinforcement during Arthur’s distraction.
He dealt with the two of them easily enough only to turn to find a third and a fourth and to have to mentally try to remember just how many had been gathered at the other side of the clearing during their leader’s little introduction. He could not come up with anything more specific than “more than four, less than fourteen,” so he continued to slice and occasionally punch as needed until there were no more to be had.
The muttered and mumbled language that wove around the clearing was a reassuring hum in his ears, right up until the point it was interrupted with a harsh, “Ouch!” His head whipped around to find Merlin dripping blood from a gash across his thigh, but he did not have time enough to even take a single step towards the injured man before said injured man sought his own retribution complete with glowing eyes and impalement upon a handy tree branch. He had to admit the setting fire to the corpse afterward was new though.
“Alright then?” he called over his shoulder as he returned to his own engagement.
“No,” Merlin grunted. “The damned blade was rusted. I’ll probably get an infection from the thing.” He raised a hand at another man foolish enough to challenge him. Arthur watched as the man paused and nearly gave him credit for being bright, right up until he charged right on ahead and joined the increasing number of bloodied and unconscious men littering the clearing. “No pride anymore, Arthur. No pride at all,” he huffed.
Arthur glanced at his own blade, the metal gleaming where it was not covered with blood and ichors, and realized that Merlin probably took it as a personal insult that someone had not taken care of their gear. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw the man he just felled attempt one last lunge. He sliced, Merlin tossed, and the man was no more.
Wary of Merlin’s mood though, Arthur did take a moment to wipe his own blade on the tunic of one of the unconscious men before he tucked it at his belt and turned to face Merlin. The other man was glaring down at his injury as if that alone would erase it from existence. Arthur knew for a fact that such an effort was not possible, at least not yet. Merlin’s healing spells were improving, at least when it came to others, but he tended to do himself more harm than good, and was forced to rely on the traditional methods of herbs and time, much to his displeasure.
Arthur looked down at the fair-sized wound that was currently dripping freely enough to warrant at least cursorily medical attention. “Is it deep then?” he asked.
“Deep enough,” Merlin replied with a wince. He poked at the gash and his fingers came away stained red. “Managed to ruin another pair of trousers as well,” he pouted.
Arthur said nothing about Merlin’s obvious displeasure as he gathered his belongings that were scattered across the small clearing and shoved them back in his pack. He found some scraps for bandages and kept those and a pot of salve out, as well as tugged his skin of water closer. He patted the ground next to him and watched as Merlin lowered himself carefully beside him. Up close he could see the way the fabric had soaked up the blood and had to agree the pair was a likely a loss. “You’ll just have to get a new pair then,” he shrugged. He ripped the fabric further, earning a glare, and began to wash the wound.
“Ah yes, with the vast sums I hide under my mattress,” Merlin said snidely through clenched teeth.
Arthur knew what Merlin hid under the mattress, and it was not coinage. He also knew the supposedly simple servant was not as hard up for funds as he would like people to believe. It helped he rarely if ever had to buy anything aside from gifts and specialty items. Instead of pointing any of this out, Arthur simply said, “I’m sure we can find something in the coffers for you. A new pair of trousers seems simple enough reward for helping to save the prince’s life.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes at that. “I expect more than clothing for this. I could be lame, never to walk without a limp again, if the leg survives at all,” he pointed out with a bit of melodramatic flare. One eye peeked open a bit further as he added, “That’s worth at least a week’s time off and first dibs on the mince pies waiting back at the castle.”
Arthur wrapped the bandage tightly around the leg and pointedly ignored the whimper the action caused. “Three days, and we split the pies,” he offered.
“Five and the split is three for me for every one you get,” Merlin countered.
Arthur brushed his hands off on his own trousers and offered a Merlin a hand to get back to his feet. “Five days, pies are split half and half since you will steal from my plate anyway, and you get your damned pair of trousers,” he offered in settlement.
Merlin made a face, but eventually nodded. “Deal,” he agreed.
He turned and started to hobble his way out of the clearing, leaving Arthur to carry his own bag of goods. Arthur simply sighed and shouldered the pack, knowing it was no use trying to get him to carry it now. It was far easier to take the slight weight versus listen to Merlin complain about being injured and abused for the entire trek back to the castle.
Instead, he watched as his supposed servant headed in the correct direction for a change, limping heavily and stumbling over both a root and then a rock along the way. A glance found him what he needed and Arthur hefted a fair-sized piece of deadfall, just shorter than himself in length and roughly the width of his four fingers squeezed together. “Here,” he offered, tossing the thing at Merlin.
The other man caught it easily, surprising them both. “What’s this for?” he asked, eying it warily.
Arthur was tempted to say, “So you don’t fall on your arse,” but instead simply shrugged and offered, “Every wizard needs a staff, right?”
Merlin saw through the ruse anyway, a grin threatening to split his face in two as he leaned against it and let it take some of his weight. “Thanks!” he said with genuine gratitude.
Arthur opened his mouth to reply when he heard several twigs snap behind him. He dropped his bag and whipped around, sword already in hand, to find one of the buffoons from the clearing making a pathetic attempt at a final attack. He had barely taken a single step forward into a standard defensive stance when he watched the man fly backward in a blast of golden light, head making a sickening sound as it collided with the tree behind him.
He turned back to his companion to find him with his hand extended and both eyes and staff glowing a faint gold. Merlin blinked back to himself and eyed the wood with consternation as it finally faded back to plain and simple brown. “That’s new,” he commented. He picked up the wood for a moment to examine it closer before his body reminded him why he needed it in the first place and he nearly toppled to the side as his injured limb betrayed him.
“That’s not,” Arthur smirked, glad to see some things never changed. He picked up his belongings once more and returned to Merlin’s side, less than subtly glancing at the wound to make sure it had not reopened, and then at the stick to make sure it was not glowing once more.
Merlin broke into a laugh but, before Arthur could think it was due to his own fine wit, he waved a hand and said, “It’s rowan.”
Arthur waited for further explanation, but Merlin seemed to think none was necessary. “Which means?” he prompted.
“Oh,” said Merlin, catching on. He was still snickering, so Arthur really hoped the payoff was good. Instead, what he got was, “It’s one of the sacred woods of the Druids.”
Okay, so magical wood of magical people might explain the glowing, but not whatever Merlin was still finding so hilarious. “Which means?” Arthur prompted again.
“Which means the future king just awarded his wizard with a sacred staff,” Merlin chuckled.
This time Arthur gave in and rolled his eyes. “Only you, Merlin,” he sighed as he began to walk back towards the main trail once more.
There was a shuffling sound interspersed with a rhythmic thudding, and he knew Merlin was following him again. “Don’t you get it?” he asked, hurrying to catch up. “You just bonded your kingship to both magic and the land,” he added with mock solemnity.
“I gave you a stick so you wouldn’t fall on your arse,” Arthur corrected. He would have thought the idiot was serious about the bonding thing, but Merlin could not keep a straight face to save his life and was currently still chuckling at his own joke.
“Close enough,” Merlin shrugged, and nearly fell once more. Arthur grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled up fully upright, steadying him until he got his feet under himself once more. “See, it’s already working,” he grinned.
Arthur rolled his eyes, but did not let go of Merlin’s arm. The fool would only fall again, aggravate his injury, and make even more of a mess of things. “I’m not holding your hand all the way back to the castle,” he warned.
“No,” Merlin agreed amicably. His own hand was clutched around Arthur’s belt, careful not to jostle the sword that hung there, as he navigated a particularly difficult area of roots and debris. “It would look quite odd, especially to the knights waiting on the other side of that rise.”
Arthur did not question how he knew such information, as he had rarely been wrong before. The next rise would bring them within tossing distance of the main road and, as a quick glance at the sky confirmed, it was about time for his father to send someone after him. Instead, he mused, “I wonder if they brought any pies.”
Merlin graced him with another grin and an enthusiastic, “We can hope, right?”
Arthur knew the trained men would bring nothing so frivolous along on a potential rescue mission. He also knew a whispered word would have a scout sent ahead and both pies and Gaius waiting for them upon their return. He said none of this, but instead simply smiled back, and was still smiling when the first red cloak came into view. He noticed he had not yet let go of Merlin, but did not truly care as he finally agreed, “There is nothing wrong with that.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: Noble Pursuits
Genre: Gen, hint of Arthur/Merlin if you squint
Length: ~ 3,400 words
Rating: PG-13
Synopsis: Arthur is beginning to rethink not taking a knight or three along on his hunting trips.
Warnings: A bit of violence, but not a lot. Do I need to warn for my sense of humour?
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur could not believe he had been overpowered. He did not even want to call the men that did so brigands; buffoons were more like it. It was pure and utter chance that they had bested him and had absolutely nothing to do with him shouting at Merlin to get out of there while he could and then sparing one last glance as he left. Certainly the fact that his sword was knocked from his hand only moments later was happenstance and nothing more.
“So, what do we have here?” the head buffoon asked.
Arthur counted his blessings that they apparently did not know the value of their catch. “A hunter, nothing more,” he replied. The man behind him tightened the ropes about his wrists with a flourish, and he ignored the instinct to wince at they bit into his skin.
“A hunter?” the man asked doubtingly.
Arthur nodded. It was, after all, the truth. He had been on a quiet hunting expedition, just himself and Merlin with the need for an escort refuted, when they were surrounded. He rather wished he had not been so adamant in his refusal of the accompaniment of a guard or three as they most certainly would have come in handy right about now.
The fist that connected with his jaw was a bit of a shock, but he took comfort in the fact the man had to shake out his hand after his little display of strength. Of course the buffoon attempted to appear cool and collected though as he reasoned, “I don’t think so. You hold yourself with far too much nobility and dress far too regally to be a simple hunter.”
“Hunting is a very noble pursuit,” Arthur offered. This time he was expecting the punch, but that did not stop him from licking at the now split lip that resulted from it.
“Check his belongings,” the man ordered. “Let’s see just how noble this ‘simple hunter’ really is.”
Arthur resolutely stared straight ahead as his bag and his purse were brought forward. The coin was dumped out, and earned a raised eyebrow at the amount, but it was the bag that sealed his fate. Aside from the sigil on the leather itself, more than one item within held his family crest, blatant and obvious and damning.
The man held up the bag and waved the crest in front of his eyes. “This is from the House of Pendragon,” he accused.
“It was a gift,” Arthur answered honestly. His father had given it to him to mark a particularly successful hunt. The hide was of the very beast he had slain.
The man smacked him upside the head with the bag which, thankfully, was empty so it did little other than muss his hair. “Uther has but one son, a man said to match your exact description,” he seethed.
“I cannot help it if this supposed son of his is extraordinarily attractive,” Arthur shrugged with a smirk.
This time the man ignored him, seemingly talking to himself more than his captive. “The son of a king will fetch an impressive price indeed,” he mused. “But the question is, why would so valuable an asset be allowed to wander the woods without an escort? Just where are your knights, princeling?”
Arthur made a face. “You are working under the assumption that your conclusions are correct. I could be but a knight, or simply someone who served the king in such a way to be rewarded. If either of these are the truth, you would both make no profit from me and suffer embarrassment in front of the king and his true son.”
“He had but a single man with him,” one of the other buffoons spoke up.
Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had hoped to keep Merlin out of this.
“So now the question is whether you are telling the truth, or if a prince’s hubris led him on an excursion with far too little assistance for what was needed?” the first man mused once more. As for Arthur, he was musing as to whether or not the man knew he had some sort of green bit caught between his two front teeth.
“He matches the description and carries the sigil,” the second buffoon reasoned. “I say we try it.”
“And if the single man who was with him escapes to tell Uther, then we will have all the more basis for our claim,” a third one chimed in. He looked very proud of himself. Arthur would have been too; he had not known it was possible for a mule and a hedgehog to mate.
“Alas, he did not escape,” a new, fourth voice spoke from the trees to Arthur’s left.
He fought the urge to openly sigh at the sight of Merlin being pushed forward into the little debacle. The idiot even had the gall to look pleased with himself.
Merlin looked over to him quizzically, obviously taking in the way Arthur was bound, bleeding and on his knees in front of several armed men, his own sword safely out of reach. “Who’s this then?” Merlin asked, apparently pretending to be as naïve as he looked.
“Oi, not another one,” the supposed leader of the merry little group of men huffed. He waved his hand in the direction of the second man and ordered, “He’s wearing Pendragon red, search him for a sigil.”
At that Arthur nearly did sigh, but at himself. He had gifted Merlin with one of the ridiculous scarves he favoured so much, but this time in the House colours. It had seemed a good idea at the time. So had giving him a tiny little replica of the crest on a string that Merlin usually wore beneath the scarf so, really, he had just guaranteed his own fate. On the other hand, Merlin had been extremely appreciative at the time, hadn’t even called him a prat for a week, so there was that.
The second buffoon found the sigil after what Arthur viewed as perhaps a bit too much manhandling of his servant, and held it up to the light. It was still tied around Merlin’s neck, and the leather cord cut a red line into the eerily pale skin of his throat in the process, but Merlin stayed remarkably still through it all.
“Still claim not to know him?” the first man baited.
Merlin once again proved his idiocy when he responded with a glare and, “I didn’t say I was asking about him.”
Arthur smiled despite himself and calmly said, “Merlin, these buf-, men are apparently brigands of some sort and wish to ransom the prince of Camelot.”
Merlin nodded amiably and said, “Oh, okay then,” as if that answered any further questions he may have.
“Was there anyone else?” the supposed leader demanded. When he got shrugs for his trouble, he turned to Merlin and repeated, “Was there anyone else, boy?” He even held up a threatening fist as if ready to swing out if he did not like the answer.
Merlin simply shook his head. “No, no one else,” he answered honestly. The man lowered his fist and smiled, or at least did until Merlin added, “Because no one else is needed.”
The men guffawed at the thought that the skinny little thing before them was so confident, but Merlin easily ignored them and instead addressed Arthur as he asked, “With your permission, sire?”
“By all means,” Arthur agreed, giving nothing away.
The head buffoon opened his mouth, a look of glee upon his face as if Merlin’s “sire” had just confirmed everything for him. That glee turned to shock when he realized, belatedly, that his second captive was not yet bound. Arthur was not certain what surprised him more, the now raised hands, or the golden glow that now emanated from the man he had so easily written off not but moments ago.
Arthur closed his eyes against the burst of bright light, feeling the ropes around his wrists crumble to dust that slid harmlessly through his fingers. He was up and on his feet in moments, taking in the sight of the blinded and scattered brigands even as he grabbed his sword where it lay at the leader’s feet.
The men recovered far faster than he would have given them credit for, two already with blades in their hands, two picking themselves up off the ground, and the others still too far away from the initial confrontation to be useful as of yet. Unfortunately, one of the ones with a sword was right behind Merlin, who did not seem to notice him at all as he turned his attentions on the leader instead.
Arthur both appreciated and was a bit embarrassed by Merlin’s need for vengeance on his behalf, but was not about to let it cost him his life. He shouted a warning as he lunged, Merlin stepping neatly away in time for Arthur to engage the man that would have sliced right through him.
Arthur parried and thrust and listened with half an ear to the guttural sounds of a language he had heard but never understood as it was directed at another foe. As he spun around to regroup, he caught sight of the leader on the ground, bloodied and not fully conscious, and another man raised in the air, ready to be tossed against a handy tree. Figuring Merlin had things well in hand, for now, he returned his attentions to the man he was fighting, who apparently had received reinforcement during Arthur’s distraction.
He dealt with the two of them easily enough only to turn to find a third and a fourth and to have to mentally try to remember just how many had been gathered at the other side of the clearing during their leader’s little introduction. He could not come up with anything more specific than “more than four, less than fourteen,” so he continued to slice and occasionally punch as needed until there were no more to be had.
The muttered and mumbled language that wove around the clearing was a reassuring hum in his ears, right up until the point it was interrupted with a harsh, “Ouch!” His head whipped around to find Merlin dripping blood from a gash across his thigh, but he did not have time enough to even take a single step towards the injured man before said injured man sought his own retribution complete with glowing eyes and impalement upon a handy tree branch. He had to admit the setting fire to the corpse afterward was new though.
“Alright then?” he called over his shoulder as he returned to his own engagement.
“No,” Merlin grunted. “The damned blade was rusted. I’ll probably get an infection from the thing.” He raised a hand at another man foolish enough to challenge him. Arthur watched as the man paused and nearly gave him credit for being bright, right up until he charged right on ahead and joined the increasing number of bloodied and unconscious men littering the clearing. “No pride anymore, Arthur. No pride at all,” he huffed.
Arthur glanced at his own blade, the metal gleaming where it was not covered with blood and ichors, and realized that Merlin probably took it as a personal insult that someone had not taken care of their gear. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw the man he just felled attempt one last lunge. He sliced, Merlin tossed, and the man was no more.
Wary of Merlin’s mood though, Arthur did take a moment to wipe his own blade on the tunic of one of the unconscious men before he tucked it at his belt and turned to face Merlin. The other man was glaring down at his injury as if that alone would erase it from existence. Arthur knew for a fact that such an effort was not possible, at least not yet. Merlin’s healing spells were improving, at least when it came to others, but he tended to do himself more harm than good, and was forced to rely on the traditional methods of herbs and time, much to his displeasure.
Arthur looked down at the fair-sized wound that was currently dripping freely enough to warrant at least cursorily medical attention. “Is it deep then?” he asked.
“Deep enough,” Merlin replied with a wince. He poked at the gash and his fingers came away stained red. “Managed to ruin another pair of trousers as well,” he pouted.
Arthur said nothing about Merlin’s obvious displeasure as he gathered his belongings that were scattered across the small clearing and shoved them back in his pack. He found some scraps for bandages and kept those and a pot of salve out, as well as tugged his skin of water closer. He patted the ground next to him and watched as Merlin lowered himself carefully beside him. Up close he could see the way the fabric had soaked up the blood and had to agree the pair was a likely a loss. “You’ll just have to get a new pair then,” he shrugged. He ripped the fabric further, earning a glare, and began to wash the wound.
“Ah yes, with the vast sums I hide under my mattress,” Merlin said snidely through clenched teeth.
Arthur knew what Merlin hid under the mattress, and it was not coinage. He also knew the supposedly simple servant was not as hard up for funds as he would like people to believe. It helped he rarely if ever had to buy anything aside from gifts and specialty items. Instead of pointing any of this out, Arthur simply said, “I’m sure we can find something in the coffers for you. A new pair of trousers seems simple enough reward for helping to save the prince’s life.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes at that. “I expect more than clothing for this. I could be lame, never to walk without a limp again, if the leg survives at all,” he pointed out with a bit of melodramatic flare. One eye peeked open a bit further as he added, “That’s worth at least a week’s time off and first dibs on the mince pies waiting back at the castle.”
Arthur wrapped the bandage tightly around the leg and pointedly ignored the whimper the action caused. “Three days, and we split the pies,” he offered.
“Five and the split is three for me for every one you get,” Merlin countered.
Arthur brushed his hands off on his own trousers and offered a Merlin a hand to get back to his feet. “Five days, pies are split half and half since you will steal from my plate anyway, and you get your damned pair of trousers,” he offered in settlement.
Merlin made a face, but eventually nodded. “Deal,” he agreed.
He turned and started to hobble his way out of the clearing, leaving Arthur to carry his own bag of goods. Arthur simply sighed and shouldered the pack, knowing it was no use trying to get him to carry it now. It was far easier to take the slight weight versus listen to Merlin complain about being injured and abused for the entire trek back to the castle.
Instead, he watched as his supposed servant headed in the correct direction for a change, limping heavily and stumbling over both a root and then a rock along the way. A glance found him what he needed and Arthur hefted a fair-sized piece of deadfall, just shorter than himself in length and roughly the width of his four fingers squeezed together. “Here,” he offered, tossing the thing at Merlin.
The other man caught it easily, surprising them both. “What’s this for?” he asked, eying it warily.
Arthur was tempted to say, “So you don’t fall on your arse,” but instead simply shrugged and offered, “Every wizard needs a staff, right?”
Merlin saw through the ruse anyway, a grin threatening to split his face in two as he leaned against it and let it take some of his weight. “Thanks!” he said with genuine gratitude.
Arthur opened his mouth to reply when he heard several twigs snap behind him. He dropped his bag and whipped around, sword already in hand, to find one of the buffoons from the clearing making a pathetic attempt at a final attack. He had barely taken a single step forward into a standard defensive stance when he watched the man fly backward in a blast of golden light, head making a sickening sound as it collided with the tree behind him.
He turned back to his companion to find him with his hand extended and both eyes and staff glowing a faint gold. Merlin blinked back to himself and eyed the wood with consternation as it finally faded back to plain and simple brown. “That’s new,” he commented. He picked up the wood for a moment to examine it closer before his body reminded him why he needed it in the first place and he nearly toppled to the side as his injured limb betrayed him.
“That’s not,” Arthur smirked, glad to see some things never changed. He picked up his belongings once more and returned to Merlin’s side, less than subtly glancing at the wound to make sure it had not reopened, and then at the stick to make sure it was not glowing once more.
Merlin broke into a laugh but, before Arthur could think it was due to his own fine wit, he waved a hand and said, “It’s rowan.”
Arthur waited for further explanation, but Merlin seemed to think none was necessary. “Which means?” he prompted.
“Oh,” said Merlin, catching on. He was still snickering, so Arthur really hoped the payoff was good. Instead, what he got was, “It’s one of the sacred woods of the Druids.”
Okay, so magical wood of magical people might explain the glowing, but not whatever Merlin was still finding so hilarious. “Which means?” Arthur prompted again.
“Which means the future king just awarded his wizard with a sacred staff,” Merlin chuckled.
This time Arthur gave in and rolled his eyes. “Only you, Merlin,” he sighed as he began to walk back towards the main trail once more.
There was a shuffling sound interspersed with a rhythmic thudding, and he knew Merlin was following him again. “Don’t you get it?” he asked, hurrying to catch up. “You just bonded your kingship to both magic and the land,” he added with mock solemnity.
“I gave you a stick so you wouldn’t fall on your arse,” Arthur corrected. He would have thought the idiot was serious about the bonding thing, but Merlin could not keep a straight face to save his life and was currently still chuckling at his own joke.
“Close enough,” Merlin shrugged, and nearly fell once more. Arthur grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled up fully upright, steadying him until he got his feet under himself once more. “See, it’s already working,” he grinned.
Arthur rolled his eyes, but did not let go of Merlin’s arm. The fool would only fall again, aggravate his injury, and make even more of a mess of things. “I’m not holding your hand all the way back to the castle,” he warned.
“No,” Merlin agreed amicably. His own hand was clutched around Arthur’s belt, careful not to jostle the sword that hung there, as he navigated a particularly difficult area of roots and debris. “It would look quite odd, especially to the knights waiting on the other side of that rise.”
Arthur did not question how he knew such information, as he had rarely been wrong before. The next rise would bring them within tossing distance of the main road and, as a quick glance at the sky confirmed, it was about time for his father to send someone after him. Instead, he mused, “I wonder if they brought any pies.”
Merlin graced him with another grin and an enthusiastic, “We can hope, right?”
Arthur knew the trained men would bring nothing so frivolous along on a potential rescue mission. He also knew a whispered word would have a scout sent ahead and both pies and Gaius waiting for them upon their return. He said none of this, but instead simply smiled back, and was still smiling when the first red cloak came into view. He noticed he had not yet let go of Merlin, but did not truly care as he finally agreed, “There is nothing wrong with that.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
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And heee! Arthur gifting Merlin with the rowan staff! Is that awesome or what? *g*
He had gifted Merlin with one of the ridiculous scarves he favoured so much, but this time in the House colours. It had seemed a good idea at the time. So had giving him a tiny little replica of the crest on a string that Merlin usually wore beneath the scarf so, really, he had just guaranteed his own fate. On the other hand, Merlin had been extremely appreciative at the time, hadn’t even called him a prat for a week, so there was that.
So... not only Arthur gave Merlin a gift in his house colours, he also gave a Pendragon pendant? Oh Arthur, this is called courting. You do know what it is, don't you? *g* And in what other ways did Merlin show his appreciativeness, hmm? *waggles eyebrows* *g*
What sacrifices do I have to offer the TV gods so that you get to be on the show's writing staff? (I am amenable to performing sex rituals also *g*)
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You really don't want me writing for any show - it'd be like half of one episode and then suddenly switching to another and then maybe going back and no one would know what in the world was going on.
Still giggling about the sex rituals comment. *g*
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Also, as a potentially irrelevant sidenote, I have been holding off on eating a pie all day and this is making me hungry. NOM NOM NOM
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Great story.
Renee
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Mmmm, pie...
*happy dance*
Re: Mmmm, pie...
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