Fic: For Fertility (part one)
Title: For Fertility
Fandom: BBC's Merlin
Pairing: none yet (will be Merlin/Arthur, Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Morgana)
Rating: this part PG13
Summary: Arthur wants Merlin to participate in a traditional custom
This is the first part of a longer oneshot (not the first of many chapters), posted now because it is written for the tamingthemuse prompt Chiwara, the closing date for which is Sat 13th December. I am about to go away for the weekend (YES I WILL BE MISSING THE FINALE! I will watch it on iplayer on Monday *sob*)
As such, this fic will not be posted to the Merlin comms until I've written the second part too.
I have stolen all sorts of bits of customs from all over the place to create this festival. It's about as historically accurate as, well, the show. And yes, the historian in me is hugely ashamed. Please forgive me.
The twin fires burned like a pair of eyes on the hillside. Merlin could see them from his window, growing brighter and more golden as the sun sank across the sky. By the time the hill itself was nothing more than a shadow, and the town of Camelot was spread out below his window, delineated in flickering lamps and shining windows, his masks were ready.
It had taken three days to prepare. He’d hurried to gather supplies as soon as Arthur informed him that they’d be attending the festival. And, Arthur being Arthur, that was only three days in advance.
“Well, of course we’ll be going,” was, in fact, what Arthur had said. “I’m the prince, it’s my duty to attend.”
And then, as an afterthought, “I’ll expect you to come with me. You don’t actually have to have any grace to do this kind of dance.” He’d accompanied the words with a dance of his eyebrows that left Merlin wondering exactly which bit of the festivities he was referring to…
Merlin had made most of the masks by hand - painstakingly and with great labour. Gaius has stuck his head around the door on several occasions and laughed at the way in which Merlin stuck his tongue out while concentration. Which Merlin considered rather unfair. Gaius informed him that it was the duty of the old and wise to mock the young, especially in advance of fertility festivals, since the old and wise were no longer encouraged to go dance on the hillside with nubile young ladies.
Merlin had frowned at him. He was busy worrying about the dancing part, and didn’t need any reminders of the other part of the night’s events.
“You dance, with masks on,” Arthur had told him. “Did they not do this in Ealdor?”
Merlin had shaken his head, although technically that was a lie. People had done it in Ealdor, Merlin had just been considered too young to participate. And making Arthur explain was far too much fun to avoid.
“It’s an old ritual, to encourage the gods to give us a fertile crop. The dance incorporates the actions of sowing and reaping the crops - don’t pull a face, you’ll have a mask on and nobody except me will know it’s you that messes up - and then the men and women join hands and pass between the sacred fires. After that, um.” Arthur had paused, going slightly red, and Merlin had looked at him quizzically, managing to hide his laugher rather admirably, he thought.
“After that?” he prompted, straight faced, remembering the giggles and flirtation he’d seen in Ealdor.
“Then the couples go off into the woods and, uh, copulate,” Arthur explained.
“Oh,” Merlin said, pretending to be surprised.
“It’s all for the fertility of the earth,” Arthur said hurriedly, although he’d previously expressed his disbelief in such an idea, preferring to describe the whole event as a traditional custom.
“I see,” Merlin said slowly, trying to stop the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.
“You should um, you know, try and avoid an unwanted pregnancy,” Arthur continued, waving his hand vaguely in front of is groin. “Although, of course, noblewomen aren’t permitted to take part. Still, um, spill your seed on the ground, if you catch my drift…”
He was getting more and more uncomfortable, shifting in his chair, while Merlin was getting more and more amused.
“I understand,” he said with all the sincerity he could muster. “Now about these masks?”
Which was how he’d come to spend every waking minute for the past few days carefully gluing and tying things to the wooden frames he’d constructed. He had used magic - occasionally, when no other alternative presented itself - but only when he was sure that Gaius wasn’t close enough to catch and chastise him.
And now, on the evening of the festival, the masks were finally ready.
He propped them up against the wall and sat back to look at them. They were both stags, with twisting antlers and eye-slits for them to see through. There was something wild and menacing about their faces, constructed of swirls and sweeping lines.
Arthur’s mask was, of course, the more magnificent. Merlin’s was more understated, but no less beautiful.
And, Merlin thought, he’d look like less of a prat.
Fandom: BBC's Merlin
Pairing: none yet (will be Merlin/Arthur, Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Morgana)
Rating: this part PG13
Summary: Arthur wants Merlin to participate in a traditional custom
This is the first part of a longer oneshot (not the first of many chapters), posted now because it is written for the tamingthemuse prompt Chiwara, the closing date for which is Sat 13th December. I am about to go away for the weekend (YES I WILL BE MISSING THE FINALE! I will watch it on iplayer on Monday *sob*)
As such, this fic will not be posted to the Merlin comms until I've written the second part too.
I have stolen all sorts of bits of customs from all over the place to create this festival. It's about as historically accurate as, well, the show. And yes, the historian in me is hugely ashamed. Please forgive me.
The twin fires burned like a pair of eyes on the hillside. Merlin could see them from his window, growing brighter and more golden as the sun sank across the sky. By the time the hill itself was nothing more than a shadow, and the town of Camelot was spread out below his window, delineated in flickering lamps and shining windows, his masks were ready.
It had taken three days to prepare. He’d hurried to gather supplies as soon as Arthur informed him that they’d be attending the festival. And, Arthur being Arthur, that was only three days in advance.
“Well, of course we’ll be going,” was, in fact, what Arthur had said. “I’m the prince, it’s my duty to attend.”
And then, as an afterthought, “I’ll expect you to come with me. You don’t actually have to have any grace to do this kind of dance.” He’d accompanied the words with a dance of his eyebrows that left Merlin wondering exactly which bit of the festivities he was referring to…
Merlin had made most of the masks by hand - painstakingly and with great labour. Gaius has stuck his head around the door on several occasions and laughed at the way in which Merlin stuck his tongue out while concentration. Which Merlin considered rather unfair. Gaius informed him that it was the duty of the old and wise to mock the young, especially in advance of fertility festivals, since the old and wise were no longer encouraged to go dance on the hillside with nubile young ladies.
Merlin had frowned at him. He was busy worrying about the dancing part, and didn’t need any reminders of the other part of the night’s events.
“You dance, with masks on,” Arthur had told him. “Did they not do this in Ealdor?”
Merlin had shaken his head, although technically that was a lie. People had done it in Ealdor, Merlin had just been considered too young to participate. And making Arthur explain was far too much fun to avoid.
“It’s an old ritual, to encourage the gods to give us a fertile crop. The dance incorporates the actions of sowing and reaping the crops - don’t pull a face, you’ll have a mask on and nobody except me will know it’s you that messes up - and then the men and women join hands and pass between the sacred fires. After that, um.” Arthur had paused, going slightly red, and Merlin had looked at him quizzically, managing to hide his laugher rather admirably, he thought.
“After that?” he prompted, straight faced, remembering the giggles and flirtation he’d seen in Ealdor.
“Then the couples go off into the woods and, uh, copulate,” Arthur explained.
“Oh,” Merlin said, pretending to be surprised.
“It’s all for the fertility of the earth,” Arthur said hurriedly, although he’d previously expressed his disbelief in such an idea, preferring to describe the whole event as a traditional custom.
“I see,” Merlin said slowly, trying to stop the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.
“You should um, you know, try and avoid an unwanted pregnancy,” Arthur continued, waving his hand vaguely in front of is groin. “Although, of course, noblewomen aren’t permitted to take part. Still, um, spill your seed on the ground, if you catch my drift…”
He was getting more and more uncomfortable, shifting in his chair, while Merlin was getting more and more amused.
“I understand,” he said with all the sincerity he could muster. “Now about these masks?”
Which was how he’d come to spend every waking minute for the past few days carefully gluing and tying things to the wooden frames he’d constructed. He had used magic - occasionally, when no other alternative presented itself - but only when he was sure that Gaius wasn’t close enough to catch and chastise him.
And now, on the evening of the festival, the masks were finally ready.
He propped them up against the wall and sat back to look at them. They were both stags, with twisting antlers and eye-slits for them to see through. There was something wild and menacing about their faces, constructed of swirls and sweeping lines.
Arthur’s mask was, of course, the more magnificent. Merlin’s was more understated, but no less beautiful.
And, Merlin thought, he’d look like less of a prat.