Fic: Flying Hats and Disney's Lies [Merlin/Warehouse 13 | PG, Merlin/Arthur]
Title: Flying Hats and Disney's Lies
Author: angelqueen04
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Artie, Myka, Pete | Merlin/Arthur, Excalibur/Hat
Word Count: 1,492 words
Summary: "Describe the hat." "Uh, it was red, kind of poofy. It was covered in feathers too."
Disclaimer: Merlin and Warehouse 13 are the property of their respective owners. I make no claim on them and write this purely for entertainment purposes.
Author's Notes: This fic if a fill for this prompt over at the Merlin kink meme. This is purely cracky fluff.
One of Myka and Pete’s more annoying habits, Artie had discovered over the years, was their tendency to synchronize their voices when they were thrown or upset about something. While that wasn’t unusual - Claudia did it all the time when she was singing along with that infernal racket she called music - Pete and Myka’s synchronization was at just the right pitch that made Artie’s ears ring. Very painfully.
Today was no exception.
“Artie!”
Cringing, Artie looked up from the computer in front of him. “What?!” he bellowed at them as they rushed through the door.
“What is -”
“This hat -”
“- hit me -”
“- flying -”
Artie stared at them incredulously. Had they gotten their hands on an artifact that made them babble inanely? “Stop!” he ordered, throwing his hands up. Thankfully, they did as he ordered and stood there, their mouths open in mid-rant. Now feeling more in control of the situation, he pointed at Myka, saying, “You. Explain. Slowly.”
Myka glanced at Pete, who was looking at her as well. After taking a deep breath, she started again. “We were shelving Cleopatra’s scarab broach when we spotted… something… darted across the aisle. We followed it and saw that it was a hat -”
“- a flying hat -” Pete interjected.
Myka shot him a quelling look before continuing. “It was flying at about head level, so we tried to grab it so we could put it back, but it kept darting up out of reach every time we tried. Then Pete grabbed Darwin’s butterfly net and tried to use it to get a hold of the hat -”
“- and then it attacked me!” Pete finished, his voice a little shrill.
Artie sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “All right,” he said slowly, “did you put the butterfly net back?” He was relieved when they nodded. He didn’t want to deal with Darwin’s net attempting to capture anything it came across on top of everything else. “Describe the hat,” he ordered.
“Uh, it was red, kind of poofy,” Pete said. “Had feathers all over it too.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Looked like something out of a Renaissance faire?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
Artie nodded. “I know what it is. Where did it go after slapping you around?”
Pete blinked, surprised, but then shrugged. “It went up high in the air and then started flying over the rows to our… right.”
“And you were over in the Museum, right?” The Museum was the area that housed the relics that remained from the Warehouses that had been lost, like Warehouse Two in Egypt.
“Yeah,” Myka confirmed, her expression curious. “What is it, Artie?”
He didn’t answer her, just stood up and moved around them, leaving the office to go into the Warehouse proper. He didn’t have to look behind him to know that the two agents were following him. As he led them through the various aisles, both of them peppered him with questions.
“Where are we going?”
“You going to tell us what we’re dealing with here?”
“You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?”
“Lost the ability to talk, Artie?”
He ignored them both, keeping a quick pace. Finally, he came to a halt in front of the area known as the Armory. Weapons of every kind were often stored there. Glancing around, Artie strode forward. “Let’s see,” he muttered, “Brutus’ dagger, no. Vlad Dracula’s stake, no.”
“Come on, Artie,” Pete almost whined from behind him. “Tell us what you’re looking for and maybe we can help you find it!”
“Fine,” he snapped, unwilling to keep listening to them. Very likely they wouldn’t stop until they were mimicking eight-year-olds or something. “Look for Jean Rombaud’s sword.”
He continued down the aisle, hearing Pete ask Myka who Jean Rombaud was. She too had no idea, not recognizing the name. “Jean Rombaud was the Executioner of Calais in 1536,” Artie called over his shoulder. “He traveled across the English Channel in May of that year at the order of Henry VIII. He was the one who executed Anne Boleyn.”
There was a brief silence behind him. Then Myka spoke up, her tone full of awe. “You mean we actually have the sword that killed Anne Boleyn here?”
“Yeah,” Artie answered. “Turns out that whenever it falls into a woman’s hands, she ends up trying to kill every man in her life in revenge for reasons real and imagined.” He kept searching, his eyes flying over the shelves.
“Wow,” was all Pete could say.
It took them a few more minutes, but eventually, they did find the sword. “All right then,” Artie said. “If I recall correctly, it was just two rows down and three across from here.” He set off at a quick pace, going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Armory. Finally, he stopped in a dark, shadowy corner. “Here we are,” he said quietly.
It was true. They’d stopped in front of a sword on display, albeit a sword that was much more elaborate than most of the others. Part of the blade was made of some type of golden metal - not gold, certainly, but some type of material that Artie had never managed to identify - with letters of an unknown script etched into it. That wasn’t what made the sword so unusual, though. There was this indefinable something that seemed to just roll off of the weapon in waves. Leena had told him several times over the years that the sword’s aura was one of the most beautiful she’d ever seen, but also the saddest. It was a sword that had witnessed a great deal of happiness, but also a great deal of tragedy too.
Of course, the fact that a bright red hat was wrapped around the hilt of the sword also added to its oddity.
“Artie,” Myka spoke up from behind him, her voice barely above a whisper, “what sword is this?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. Both Myka and Pete stood there, their eyes riveted on the sword. They looked almost drawn to it, much like Leena had. “It’s Excalibur, of course,” he said simply.
That drew their gazes away from the weapon. Their eyes widened comically. Pete opened his mouth, but Artie didn’t give him a chance to speak. “That’s Merlin’s hat,” he continued. “It does this about the same time every year, insists on leaving Macy’s for the Armory. It’s never happy to be separated from Excalibur.”
“Wait, wait,” Pete cut in, “I thought Merlin’s hat was supposed to be this blue cone like thing, with yellow stars and crescent moons all over it!”
Artie rolled his eyes. “Never trust anything that came from Disney,” he told him. “They always get it wrong.” The hat rustled, catching their attention. It didn’t separate from Excalibur, but its movement left you feeling like it was irritated.
Pete looked a little crestfallen. “So, Merlin wasn’t an old man who raised Arthur to be the biggest badass of all time?”
Artie snorted. “Hardly. Arthur was actually a few years Merlin’s senior. Merlin started out as Arthur’s servant, protecting him in secret because of a ban on magic at the time. It wasn’t until many years later that Arthur made Merlin his court sorcerer. The hat was worn by Merlin mainly when Arthur wanted to tease him. Merlin couldn’t stand wearing it. Some of his irritation rubbed off on it, and now it always wants to go and harass the sword.”
Myka nodded, looking amused. “Because the sword is the embodiment of Arthur. Right.”
“Er, partly,” Artie admitted. “Both the hat and the sword gained some of the personalities of their bearers, including the bearers’… feelings for each other.”
The two agents were silent for several seconds, gaping at him. Finally, Pete stuttered, “Y-You mean Merlin and Arthur were…” he trailed off.
Artie nodded. “Exactly,” he said brusquely. Turning back to the hat, he gave it his best stern look. “Behave yourself this time,” he told it. “Then we won’t have to tie you to the Macy’s aisle again.” With that, he turned on his heel and brushed past Myka and Pete.
They hurried along behind him, and Artie could hear them muttering to each other.
“Excalibur! Man, that is so cool!”
“I can’t believe it. So many of the legends talk about Merlin as an old man, but if he was the same age as Arthur and they were…”
“Next thing you know, Artie will be telling us that Arthur and Merlin are off in the Bronze sector!”
Artie grunted, shaking his head. “Not… exactly. They’re in a secure, private area that is only to be accessed in the event of the world ending. Only then are Merlin, Arthur, Guinevere, and Morgana to be woke up.”
He heard them both stop in their tracks, completely shocked, but Artie kept going. Maybe he’d make it back to the office before they bombarded him with even more questions.
“Artie!”
He winced. So much for that hope.
Author: angelqueen04
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Artie, Myka, Pete | Merlin/Arthur, Excalibur/Hat
Word Count: 1,492 words
Summary: "Describe the hat." "Uh, it was red, kind of poofy. It was covered in feathers too."
Disclaimer: Merlin and Warehouse 13 are the property of their respective owners. I make no claim on them and write this purely for entertainment purposes.
Author's Notes: This fic if a fill for this prompt over at the Merlin kink meme. This is purely cracky fluff.
One of Myka and Pete’s more annoying habits, Artie had discovered over the years, was their tendency to synchronize their voices when they were thrown or upset about something. While that wasn’t unusual - Claudia did it all the time when she was singing along with that infernal racket she called music - Pete and Myka’s synchronization was at just the right pitch that made Artie’s ears ring. Very painfully.
Today was no exception.
“Artie!”
Cringing, Artie looked up from the computer in front of him. “What?!” he bellowed at them as they rushed through the door.
“What is -”
“This hat -”
“- hit me -”
“- flying -”
Artie stared at them incredulously. Had they gotten their hands on an artifact that made them babble inanely? “Stop!” he ordered, throwing his hands up. Thankfully, they did as he ordered and stood there, their mouths open in mid-rant. Now feeling more in control of the situation, he pointed at Myka, saying, “You. Explain. Slowly.”
Myka glanced at Pete, who was looking at her as well. After taking a deep breath, she started again. “We were shelving Cleopatra’s scarab broach when we spotted… something… darted across the aisle. We followed it and saw that it was a hat -”
“- a flying hat -” Pete interjected.
Myka shot him a quelling look before continuing. “It was flying at about head level, so we tried to grab it so we could put it back, but it kept darting up out of reach every time we tried. Then Pete grabbed Darwin’s butterfly net and tried to use it to get a hold of the hat -”
“- and then it attacked me!” Pete finished, his voice a little shrill.
Artie sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “All right,” he said slowly, “did you put the butterfly net back?” He was relieved when they nodded. He didn’t want to deal with Darwin’s net attempting to capture anything it came across on top of everything else. “Describe the hat,” he ordered.
“Uh, it was red, kind of poofy,” Pete said. “Had feathers all over it too.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Looked like something out of a Renaissance faire?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
Artie nodded. “I know what it is. Where did it go after slapping you around?”
Pete blinked, surprised, but then shrugged. “It went up high in the air and then started flying over the rows to our… right.”
“And you were over in the Museum, right?” The Museum was the area that housed the relics that remained from the Warehouses that had been lost, like Warehouse Two in Egypt.
“Yeah,” Myka confirmed, her expression curious. “What is it, Artie?”
He didn’t answer her, just stood up and moved around them, leaving the office to go into the Warehouse proper. He didn’t have to look behind him to know that the two agents were following him. As he led them through the various aisles, both of them peppered him with questions.
“Where are we going?”
“You going to tell us what we’re dealing with here?”
“You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?”
“Lost the ability to talk, Artie?”
He ignored them both, keeping a quick pace. Finally, he came to a halt in front of the area known as the Armory. Weapons of every kind were often stored there. Glancing around, Artie strode forward. “Let’s see,” he muttered, “Brutus’ dagger, no. Vlad Dracula’s stake, no.”
“Come on, Artie,” Pete almost whined from behind him. “Tell us what you’re looking for and maybe we can help you find it!”
“Fine,” he snapped, unwilling to keep listening to them. Very likely they wouldn’t stop until they were mimicking eight-year-olds or something. “Look for Jean Rombaud’s sword.”
He continued down the aisle, hearing Pete ask Myka who Jean Rombaud was. She too had no idea, not recognizing the name. “Jean Rombaud was the Executioner of Calais in 1536,” Artie called over his shoulder. “He traveled across the English Channel in May of that year at the order of Henry VIII. He was the one who executed Anne Boleyn.”
There was a brief silence behind him. Then Myka spoke up, her tone full of awe. “You mean we actually have the sword that killed Anne Boleyn here?”
“Yeah,” Artie answered. “Turns out that whenever it falls into a woman’s hands, she ends up trying to kill every man in her life in revenge for reasons real and imagined.” He kept searching, his eyes flying over the shelves.
“Wow,” was all Pete could say.
It took them a few more minutes, but eventually, they did find the sword. “All right then,” Artie said. “If I recall correctly, it was just two rows down and three across from here.” He set off at a quick pace, going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Armory. Finally, he stopped in a dark, shadowy corner. “Here we are,” he said quietly.
It was true. They’d stopped in front of a sword on display, albeit a sword that was much more elaborate than most of the others. Part of the blade was made of some type of golden metal - not gold, certainly, but some type of material that Artie had never managed to identify - with letters of an unknown script etched into it. That wasn’t what made the sword so unusual, though. There was this indefinable something that seemed to just roll off of the weapon in waves. Leena had told him several times over the years that the sword’s aura was one of the most beautiful she’d ever seen, but also the saddest. It was a sword that had witnessed a great deal of happiness, but also a great deal of tragedy too.
Of course, the fact that a bright red hat was wrapped around the hilt of the sword also added to its oddity.
“Artie,” Myka spoke up from behind him, her voice barely above a whisper, “what sword is this?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. Both Myka and Pete stood there, their eyes riveted on the sword. They looked almost drawn to it, much like Leena had. “It’s Excalibur, of course,” he said simply.
That drew their gazes away from the weapon. Their eyes widened comically. Pete opened his mouth, but Artie didn’t give him a chance to speak. “That’s Merlin’s hat,” he continued. “It does this about the same time every year, insists on leaving Macy’s for the Armory. It’s never happy to be separated from Excalibur.”
“Wait, wait,” Pete cut in, “I thought Merlin’s hat was supposed to be this blue cone like thing, with yellow stars and crescent moons all over it!”
Artie rolled his eyes. “Never trust anything that came from Disney,” he told him. “They always get it wrong.” The hat rustled, catching their attention. It didn’t separate from Excalibur, but its movement left you feeling like it was irritated.
Pete looked a little crestfallen. “So, Merlin wasn’t an old man who raised Arthur to be the biggest badass of all time?”
Artie snorted. “Hardly. Arthur was actually a few years Merlin’s senior. Merlin started out as Arthur’s servant, protecting him in secret because of a ban on magic at the time. It wasn’t until many years later that Arthur made Merlin his court sorcerer. The hat was worn by Merlin mainly when Arthur wanted to tease him. Merlin couldn’t stand wearing it. Some of his irritation rubbed off on it, and now it always wants to go and harass the sword.”
Myka nodded, looking amused. “Because the sword is the embodiment of Arthur. Right.”
“Er, partly,” Artie admitted. “Both the hat and the sword gained some of the personalities of their bearers, including the bearers’… feelings for each other.”
The two agents were silent for several seconds, gaping at him. Finally, Pete stuttered, “Y-You mean Merlin and Arthur were…” he trailed off.
Artie nodded. “Exactly,” he said brusquely. Turning back to the hat, he gave it his best stern look. “Behave yourself this time,” he told it. “Then we won’t have to tie you to the Macy’s aisle again.” With that, he turned on his heel and brushed past Myka and Pete.
They hurried along behind him, and Artie could hear them muttering to each other.
“Excalibur! Man, that is so cool!”
“I can’t believe it. So many of the legends talk about Merlin as an old man, but if he was the same age as Arthur and they were…”
“Next thing you know, Artie will be telling us that Arthur and Merlin are off in the Bronze sector!”
Artie grunted, shaking his head. “Not… exactly. They’re in a secure, private area that is only to be accessed in the event of the world ending. Only then are Merlin, Arthur, Guinevere, and Morgana to be woke up.”
He heard them both stop in their tracks, completely shocked, but Artie kept going. Maybe he’d make it back to the office before they bombarded him with even more questions.
“Artie!”
He winced. So much for that hope.