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Entry tags:
Merlin - House in the Woods
Title: House in the Woods
Genre: Het (be afraid), Merlin/Freya, slight AU
Rating: PG
Length: 685 words
Spoilers: 2.09
Synopsis: It wasn’t always easy, but with the help of friends and a spell or three, they had made it this far.
Author’s Notes: For a prompt over at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
camelot_fleet of: something sweet and romantic, pairing of your choice, and to try to include cinnamon, clover, summer rain, and wool. You have no idea how hard it was not to add angst. Edited slightly to clean up the typos.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
The rain had just started to sprinkle down when he left Camelot and, by the time he got back to their little house at the edge of the woods, he was more than a bit dripping. The patter of the water on the roof was echoed by the gentle slosh of waves from the nearby lake, lulling and comfortable, cooling after the sharp heat of the summer day. Freya’s laughter added to the melody, and made Merlin smile, even as she teased, “You look like a drowned rat, you know.”
He shook himself, letting little droplets of water spatter about and fling themselves at both the floor and her face in equal measures. She wrinkled her nose and now it was his turn to chuckle, “Just sharing the wealth, that’s all.”
She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was not truly angry as she offered him a cloth and suggested, “Why don’t you dry off and I’ll get supper started?”
He took her wrist instead of the cloth and pulled her closer until he could wrap his arms around her waist and press her tight against him. “I have other ideas,” he told her. He felt the fine linen beneath his fingertips, a gift from Morgana when she saw the roughhewn wool Freya had been wearing at her last visit. Servant’s wages were not much, but they did well enough, especially with the gifts of friends.
“You’re getting me all wet,” she protested, and he raised his eyebrows suggestively in return, which awarded him a giggle.
“I brought dinner since I knew you would be busy all day,” he explained. He breathed deep into the hair tucked beneath his chin, and smelled the sunshine and herbs from the garden, the hint of clover from the tincture she had been working on, and the faint hint of smoke from the fire she had tended to in the hearth.
He pulled away reluctantly to show her the little basket of goods, not resisting the urge to grin at the Merlin-shaped outline pressed into her dress. The table was still full of her herbs and experimental cures, so he did not protest when she grabbed a blanket from the bed and spread it out on the floor for them to sit on. It was near enough to the fire to dry off, but the windows were still wide open to allow the moist breeze inside and keep things cool.
She tugged him down beside her and wasted no time freeing the basket from his grip. A blink of her eyes and the plates lowered themselves from the cupboard to the blanket, and another made the heavy earthenware mugs follow. Table set, such as it was, she finally peeled back the lid as Merlin peeled off his sodden boots and tossed them to the side.
She pulled out the dried meats and fresh cheeses and the small flagon of wine to find the true prize buried at the bottom. Her eyes lit up at the little cakes Gwen had tucked in as she saw him leave, fingers darting out and snatching one, bringing her favourite treat to her lips without hesitation. Her tongue darted out to trace the crumbs away and she declared, “We need candles. To make it authentic and everything.”
Merlin had not been certain she had remembered the date, but should have known better. One year ago, to this very day, he had freed her from the bountyhunter’s cage and began this adventure of a life together. It had not always been easy but, with the help of friends and a spell or three, they had made it thus far.
“Candles it is,” he agreed. He murmured the words and the objects in question floated down from their sconces to dance about them, flames a handsbreath above their wicks. He leaned forward and kissed her gently, the light a halo around them as he licked the last bits of cinnamon and sugar from her lips. He pulled away and whispered, “Better?”
She raised another little cake, this time to his own lips, and smiled, “Perfect.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback always welcomed.
Genre: Het (be afraid), Merlin/Freya, slight AU
Rating: PG
Length: 685 words
Spoilers: 2.09
Synopsis: It wasn’t always easy, but with the help of friends and a spell or three, they had made it this far.
Author’s Notes: For a prompt over at
camelot_fleet of: something sweet and romantic, pairing of your choice, and to try to include cinnamon, clover, summer rain, and wool. You have no idea how hard it was not to add angst. Edited slightly to clean up the typos.Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
The rain had just started to sprinkle down when he left Camelot and, by the time he got back to their little house at the edge of the woods, he was more than a bit dripping. The patter of the water on the roof was echoed by the gentle slosh of waves from the nearby lake, lulling and comfortable, cooling after the sharp heat of the summer day. Freya’s laughter added to the melody, and made Merlin smile, even as she teased, “You look like a drowned rat, you know.”
He shook himself, letting little droplets of water spatter about and fling themselves at both the floor and her face in equal measures. She wrinkled her nose and now it was his turn to chuckle, “Just sharing the wealth, that’s all.”
She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was not truly angry as she offered him a cloth and suggested, “Why don’t you dry off and I’ll get supper started?”
He took her wrist instead of the cloth and pulled her closer until he could wrap his arms around her waist and press her tight against him. “I have other ideas,” he told her. He felt the fine linen beneath his fingertips, a gift from Morgana when she saw the roughhewn wool Freya had been wearing at her last visit. Servant’s wages were not much, but they did well enough, especially with the gifts of friends.
“You’re getting me all wet,” she protested, and he raised his eyebrows suggestively in return, which awarded him a giggle.
“I brought dinner since I knew you would be busy all day,” he explained. He breathed deep into the hair tucked beneath his chin, and smelled the sunshine and herbs from the garden, the hint of clover from the tincture she had been working on, and the faint hint of smoke from the fire she had tended to in the hearth.
He pulled away reluctantly to show her the little basket of goods, not resisting the urge to grin at the Merlin-shaped outline pressed into her dress. The table was still full of her herbs and experimental cures, so he did not protest when she grabbed a blanket from the bed and spread it out on the floor for them to sit on. It was near enough to the fire to dry off, but the windows were still wide open to allow the moist breeze inside and keep things cool.
She tugged him down beside her and wasted no time freeing the basket from his grip. A blink of her eyes and the plates lowered themselves from the cupboard to the blanket, and another made the heavy earthenware mugs follow. Table set, such as it was, she finally peeled back the lid as Merlin peeled off his sodden boots and tossed them to the side.
She pulled out the dried meats and fresh cheeses and the small flagon of wine to find the true prize buried at the bottom. Her eyes lit up at the little cakes Gwen had tucked in as she saw him leave, fingers darting out and snatching one, bringing her favourite treat to her lips without hesitation. Her tongue darted out to trace the crumbs away and she declared, “We need candles. To make it authentic and everything.”
Merlin had not been certain she had remembered the date, but should have known better. One year ago, to this very day, he had freed her from the bountyhunter’s cage and began this adventure of a life together. It had not always been easy but, with the help of friends and a spell or three, they had made it thus far.
“Candles it is,” he agreed. He murmured the words and the objects in question floated down from their sconces to dance about them, flames a handsbreath above their wicks. He leaned forward and kissed her gently, the light a halo around them as he licked the last bits of cinnamon and sugar from her lips. He pulled away and whispered, “Better?”
She raised another little cake, this time to his own lips, and smiled, “Perfect.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback always welcomed.