Entry tags:
Merlin - Birth of Flight
Just remembered I forgot to post this last weekend. Oops? Cleaned up a bit from the original post at the fleet.
Title: Birth of Flight
Genre: Mainly Gen, Hint of Arthur/Merlin Pre-Slash
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~ 1,940 words
Spoilers: 2.13
Synopsis: A part of you that makes you something more.
Author’s Notes: For![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
briar_pipe over at ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
camelot_fleet, who wanted wing!fic. Original post here.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin’s birth was not some dramatic, dark and stormy night with shadows lurking and demons about. It happened, in fact, on a sunny afternoon at the beginning of Spring.
The women of the village had gathered for a picnic and perhaps illicit celebration of the Old Ways. Not that magic was banned in Ealdor, but it was close enough to lands where it was that they tended to not want to raise trouble. Camelot had so recently went on a rampage and no one wanted to risk their wrath by waving a large banner in their faces writ with the words “Here there be magic,” so they kept it a bit quieter, a bit more low key than they had in the past.
So it was a sunny afternoon with the Ostara revelry about her that Hunith noticed that the child within her wished to be within no more. She was lucky that there was a midwife who had happened through town several days before on her way back to the Druids where she made her home. Sarah had taken one look at Hunith’s bulging belly and offered to stay on a few days instead, and so Hunith had all the help she needed as her dear, sweet child was born.
Several of the women had returned to the village to fetch a cart to ease her return, and several more had scampered off for supplies, so it was only Hunith, Sarah, and the young girl Sarah was responsible for who were present when Hunith made the final push, bringing new life into the world.
Sarah’s eyes had grown wide and she raised her fingers in blessing before handing the child to a still panting Hunith. The baby kicked and screamed and fussed like any normal child. The baby spread its tiny little wings like no other.
Hunith cuddled the babe to her breast as she looked up to the sky, not at all surprised to see a bird soaring above, wings the same shade as her son’s outstretched in greeting, and laughed. “Ah, Balinor, I should have known there was more to you than Dragonspeak,” she whispered. The bird above her screeched in response.
“Your child’s father was a Dragonlord?” Sarah asked in surprise. “I had thought they all but perished.”
“He was,” Hunith confirmed. Her eyes prickled with tears as she added, “He was chased from here by Uther’s men, never to be seen again.” The words were a lie and she knew it. The day Balinor left, a large, falcon-like bird appeared upon her windowsill and had followed her around since.
“Then he is doubly blessed,” Sarah smiled.
The girl that followed her, that was not her daughter but was her responsibility all the same, ran to them, barely sparing a glance at the brown wings as Hunith adjusted them ever so. “The men are coming with a cart. Lest you wish them to think you enchanted or worse, you need to wrap the feathers and keep them from view,” she warned.
Sarah gave Hunith a blanket and helped her do just that. “Thank you, Mor-” she began, but never got to finish as Eldric and his horse appeared at the top of the rise.
The girl leaned low to Hunith, tiny blonde braids tickling her ears as she whispered, “Teach him these words to hide the wings from others, until the day he can be free again.” Hunith memorized those words, hummed them under her breath and felt the feathers melt away beneath the blanket.
The girl ran away and Sarah looked down appreciatively. “And what will you name the babe?” she asked.
Hunith looked to the sky, heard the falcon cry more than screech at what was done, what had to be done. “Merlin,” she breathed.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin went about his life like any other child. His mother whispered the words to him nightly, until their rhythm was ingrained within. There were still times where, much like his magic, his true form struggled to break free, and so he took to wearing tunics even on the hottest of days, a heavy jacket when even that seemed like it would not be enough.
No one seemed to know of his secret, save his mother and the Druid woman who disappeared before he could even learn her face, so it was a surprise when, upon his first days in Camelot, while Gaius tended to the scratches on his back, the old man tsked and said, “Now show me the rest.”
“But,” Merlin protested. If magic was forbidden here, surely being of magical origin would be banned as well.
“I cannot heal what I cannot see,” Gaius reminded him.
Merlin reluctantly let his wings free, sighing as they stretched out to their fullest, the tiny little cramps he always associated with their hiding fading to the background. Gaius looked impressed even as he gently prodded at them, straightening feathers and looking for hidden wounds. Sooner than wanted though, there was a knock on the door and the words were whispered, feathers drawing tightly and disappearing from view once more.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin had saved Arthur’s life on eight separate occasions thus far, he thought as he trudged up the hillside where the prince had so recently disappeared to. One would have thought it would have taught the man caution, to have his life at risk so often. No, instead, it seemed to encourage him to do foolhearted things even more, likely thinking he was invincible. When Merlin had signed on as manservant and guardian to the future king, he had not expected things to ever be quite so... exciting.
Merlin’s breath caught in his throat as he took in just how exciting things had turned out this time. The other side of the rise was less of a hill and more of a steep drop of cliffside, ending in rocks and other rubbish below. Arthur clung on to a tiny little handhold, feet skidding across a quickly crumbling ledge as he sought purchase.
“Don’t just stand there, do something!” Arthur yelled from below.
Merlin stepped just out of view, thankful it was just the two of them and no knights on this little sojourn, and conjured up a rope that he quickly tied to a convenient tree. He dropped the end down to Arthur, who attempted to secure it about himself one-handed while he still clutched to his little anchor. The rope slipped at the same time he did and somehow the two parted by the berth of at least one man. One large man, Merlin amended that to as he attempted to throw the rope closer without looking as if he were using magic to do so.
The hillside, of course, chose that moment to crumble, and Merlin went flailing over the side, rope in hand. He ended up near where Arthur now clutched nothing but dirt, his own hands bloody and bleeding, but still secured to their apparent lifeline.
“Merlin!” Arthur gasped. A glance and the prince seemed certain his servant was lightly injured, but otherwise fine. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or to curse you for your incompetence,” Arthur admitted after a breath.
Merlin was not certain what to say to that, so instead he simply asked, “Can you climb?”
Arthur held out his left hand and, for the first time, Merlin realized he had not been using it to hold on. The angle of his wrist was wrong and blood dripped from a gash along his palm. “Not well, I suppose,” Arthur offered self-depreciatingly. Another glance to Merlin, this time to the raw damage of his hands and he sighed, “And it does not appear you are to do much better.”
Merlin spared a look to the rough land below, very far below, and it was his turn to sigh. Neither could climb and the fall would kill them. He had a way to save Arthur, but it would mean his own death as well. He should have known it would one day come down to this.
“I guess this is what I signed on for,” he muttered under his breath. He turned to Arthur, who was watching him with unease. “Take the rope,” he ordered, handing it to him.
“I hardly see...” Arthur began, but obligingly took it. “A fat lot it is going to do for either one of us,” he finished in a huff.
“Tie it about your waist,” Merlin continued. He offered his own bloodied hand to help and soon it was knotted in place. Before Arthur could question why, he added, “Just in case I can’t do this; it’s been a while, after all.”
He tore off his tunic one-handed and tied the sleeves about his waist. Bloodstains he could get out, large rips in the shoulders would look even more suspicious on the off chance this did work and he was not killed within an instant of his return to Camelot.
With one final look to Arthur, he whispered the words to undo the spell, watching as the prince’s eyes grew wide and feeling his wings stretch out behind him, the tips of his feathers brushing against the dirt as he turned and tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Shall we try this then?” he asked.
He took Arthur’s mute nod as the only permission he was going to get. He let go of the cliffside and flapped his wings once to steady himself, knowing there was no way he could support Arthur’s weight if he could not even support his own. A breath and he hovered in place, another and he wrapped his arms around Arthur and lifted.
He soared upwards and, okay, so Arthur was a bit heavier than he expected and so he resorted to trying to use a bit of magic as well, a task made harder by the fact he couldn’t use his hands and had been taught most of his power was focused there. Eventually, panting, heaving, and sweating, he managed to deposit both of them back on hillside, nearly collapsing atop Arthur in the process.
He rolled off and tried to catch his breath, sitting up when the wings beneath him became too uncomfortable. He didn’t have the energy to cast the spell again, not quite yet, anyway. Just when he was trying to figure out how to move his sluggish body away from the possible wrath of one magic-hating prince, he felt the gentle brush of fingers carding through his feathers, the warmth of a hand pressing against where they joined with his skin.
Arthur let go and Merlin instantly missed the touch, so few daring to ever do anything but cringe away when they saw his true self. Arthur crouched before him now, injured wrist cradled to his chest, eyes still wide, but full of wonder and awe and not disbelief or fear. “Wings, Merlin?” he asked, breathless.
“Maybe?” Merlin said meekly, knowing there was no hiding the obvious.
Arthur grinned, wide and true, before he laughed, throwing his head back and releasing the sound to the sky. “Only you, Merlin, only you,” he chuckled when he dared to look at him once more. Then, with a far more hesitant grin, he asked, “Is there anything else you can do?”
Merlin, taking the fact that he was still alive and breathing and not impaled by the sword at Arthur’s side as a good sign, raised his head to look Arthur in the eye, knowing his own were glowing gold as his magic surged within. With his own grin playing at the corners of his mouth, he replied, “Want to see how just how much?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: Birth of Flight
Genre: Mainly Gen, Hint of Arthur/Merlin Pre-Slash
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~ 1,940 words
Spoilers: 2.13
Synopsis: A part of you that makes you something more.
Author’s Notes: For
briar_pipe over at camelot_fleet, who wanted wing!fic. Original post here.Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin’s birth was not some dramatic, dark and stormy night with shadows lurking and demons about. It happened, in fact, on a sunny afternoon at the beginning of Spring.
The women of the village had gathered for a picnic and perhaps illicit celebration of the Old Ways. Not that magic was banned in Ealdor, but it was close enough to lands where it was that they tended to not want to raise trouble. Camelot had so recently went on a rampage and no one wanted to risk their wrath by waving a large banner in their faces writ with the words “Here there be magic,” so they kept it a bit quieter, a bit more low key than they had in the past.
So it was a sunny afternoon with the Ostara revelry about her that Hunith noticed that the child within her wished to be within no more. She was lucky that there was a midwife who had happened through town several days before on her way back to the Druids where she made her home. Sarah had taken one look at Hunith’s bulging belly and offered to stay on a few days instead, and so Hunith had all the help she needed as her dear, sweet child was born.
Several of the women had returned to the village to fetch a cart to ease her return, and several more had scampered off for supplies, so it was only Hunith, Sarah, and the young girl Sarah was responsible for who were present when Hunith made the final push, bringing new life into the world.
Sarah’s eyes had grown wide and she raised her fingers in blessing before handing the child to a still panting Hunith. The baby kicked and screamed and fussed like any normal child. The baby spread its tiny little wings like no other.
Hunith cuddled the babe to her breast as she looked up to the sky, not at all surprised to see a bird soaring above, wings the same shade as her son’s outstretched in greeting, and laughed. “Ah, Balinor, I should have known there was more to you than Dragonspeak,” she whispered. The bird above her screeched in response.
“Your child’s father was a Dragonlord?” Sarah asked in surprise. “I had thought they all but perished.”
“He was,” Hunith confirmed. Her eyes prickled with tears as she added, “He was chased from here by Uther’s men, never to be seen again.” The words were a lie and she knew it. The day Balinor left, a large, falcon-like bird appeared upon her windowsill and had followed her around since.
“Then he is doubly blessed,” Sarah smiled.
The girl that followed her, that was not her daughter but was her responsibility all the same, ran to them, barely sparing a glance at the brown wings as Hunith adjusted them ever so. “The men are coming with a cart. Lest you wish them to think you enchanted or worse, you need to wrap the feathers and keep them from view,” she warned.
Sarah gave Hunith a blanket and helped her do just that. “Thank you, Mor-” she began, but never got to finish as Eldric and his horse appeared at the top of the rise.
The girl leaned low to Hunith, tiny blonde braids tickling her ears as she whispered, “Teach him these words to hide the wings from others, until the day he can be free again.” Hunith memorized those words, hummed them under her breath and felt the feathers melt away beneath the blanket.
The girl ran away and Sarah looked down appreciatively. “And what will you name the babe?” she asked.
Hunith looked to the sky, heard the falcon cry more than screech at what was done, what had to be done. “Merlin,” she breathed.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin went about his life like any other child. His mother whispered the words to him nightly, until their rhythm was ingrained within. There were still times where, much like his magic, his true form struggled to break free, and so he took to wearing tunics even on the hottest of days, a heavy jacket when even that seemed like it would not be enough.
No one seemed to know of his secret, save his mother and the Druid woman who disappeared before he could even learn her face, so it was a surprise when, upon his first days in Camelot, while Gaius tended to the scratches on his back, the old man tsked and said, “Now show me the rest.”
“But,” Merlin protested. If magic was forbidden here, surely being of magical origin would be banned as well.
“I cannot heal what I cannot see,” Gaius reminded him.
Merlin reluctantly let his wings free, sighing as they stretched out to their fullest, the tiny little cramps he always associated with their hiding fading to the background. Gaius looked impressed even as he gently prodded at them, straightening feathers and looking for hidden wounds. Sooner than wanted though, there was a knock on the door and the words were whispered, feathers drawing tightly and disappearing from view once more.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin had saved Arthur’s life on eight separate occasions thus far, he thought as he trudged up the hillside where the prince had so recently disappeared to. One would have thought it would have taught the man caution, to have his life at risk so often. No, instead, it seemed to encourage him to do foolhearted things even more, likely thinking he was invincible. When Merlin had signed on as manservant and guardian to the future king, he had not expected things to ever be quite so... exciting.
Merlin’s breath caught in his throat as he took in just how exciting things had turned out this time. The other side of the rise was less of a hill and more of a steep drop of cliffside, ending in rocks and other rubbish below. Arthur clung on to a tiny little handhold, feet skidding across a quickly crumbling ledge as he sought purchase.
“Don’t just stand there, do something!” Arthur yelled from below.
Merlin stepped just out of view, thankful it was just the two of them and no knights on this little sojourn, and conjured up a rope that he quickly tied to a convenient tree. He dropped the end down to Arthur, who attempted to secure it about himself one-handed while he still clutched to his little anchor. The rope slipped at the same time he did and somehow the two parted by the berth of at least one man. One large man, Merlin amended that to as he attempted to throw the rope closer without looking as if he were using magic to do so.
The hillside, of course, chose that moment to crumble, and Merlin went flailing over the side, rope in hand. He ended up near where Arthur now clutched nothing but dirt, his own hands bloody and bleeding, but still secured to their apparent lifeline.
“Merlin!” Arthur gasped. A glance and the prince seemed certain his servant was lightly injured, but otherwise fine. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or to curse you for your incompetence,” Arthur admitted after a breath.
Merlin was not certain what to say to that, so instead he simply asked, “Can you climb?”
Arthur held out his left hand and, for the first time, Merlin realized he had not been using it to hold on. The angle of his wrist was wrong and blood dripped from a gash along his palm. “Not well, I suppose,” Arthur offered self-depreciatingly. Another glance to Merlin, this time to the raw damage of his hands and he sighed, “And it does not appear you are to do much better.”
Merlin spared a look to the rough land below, very far below, and it was his turn to sigh. Neither could climb and the fall would kill them. He had a way to save Arthur, but it would mean his own death as well. He should have known it would one day come down to this.
“I guess this is what I signed on for,” he muttered under his breath. He turned to Arthur, who was watching him with unease. “Take the rope,” he ordered, handing it to him.
“I hardly see...” Arthur began, but obligingly took it. “A fat lot it is going to do for either one of us,” he finished in a huff.
“Tie it about your waist,” Merlin continued. He offered his own bloodied hand to help and soon it was knotted in place. Before Arthur could question why, he added, “Just in case I can’t do this; it’s been a while, after all.”
He tore off his tunic one-handed and tied the sleeves about his waist. Bloodstains he could get out, large rips in the shoulders would look even more suspicious on the off chance this did work and he was not killed within an instant of his return to Camelot.
With one final look to Arthur, he whispered the words to undo the spell, watching as the prince’s eyes grew wide and feeling his wings stretch out behind him, the tips of his feathers brushing against the dirt as he turned and tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Shall we try this then?” he asked.
He took Arthur’s mute nod as the only permission he was going to get. He let go of the cliffside and flapped his wings once to steady himself, knowing there was no way he could support Arthur’s weight if he could not even support his own. A breath and he hovered in place, another and he wrapped his arms around Arthur and lifted.
He soared upwards and, okay, so Arthur was a bit heavier than he expected and so he resorted to trying to use a bit of magic as well, a task made harder by the fact he couldn’t use his hands and had been taught most of his power was focused there. Eventually, panting, heaving, and sweating, he managed to deposit both of them back on hillside, nearly collapsing atop Arthur in the process.
He rolled off and tried to catch his breath, sitting up when the wings beneath him became too uncomfortable. He didn’t have the energy to cast the spell again, not quite yet, anyway. Just when he was trying to figure out how to move his sluggish body away from the possible wrath of one magic-hating prince, he felt the gentle brush of fingers carding through his feathers, the warmth of a hand pressing against where they joined with his skin.
Arthur let go and Merlin instantly missed the touch, so few daring to ever do anything but cringe away when they saw his true self. Arthur crouched before him now, injured wrist cradled to his chest, eyes still wide, but full of wonder and awe and not disbelief or fear. “Wings, Merlin?” he asked, breathless.
“Maybe?” Merlin said meekly, knowing there was no hiding the obvious.
Arthur grinned, wide and true, before he laughed, throwing his head back and releasing the sound to the sky. “Only you, Merlin, only you,” he chuckled when he dared to look at him once more. Then, with a far more hesitant grin, he asked, “Is there anything else you can do?”
Merlin, taking the fact that he was still alive and breathing and not impaled by the sword at Arthur’s side as a good sign, raised his head to look Arthur in the eye, knowing his own were glowing gold as his magic surged within. With his own grin playing at the corners of his mouth, he replied, “Want to see how just how much?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
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[Sorry for such a late response, I either lost or did not receive the LJ notice - sorry!]
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