Fic: Decorations
Title: Decorations
Author: sidhefaer
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin, sort of
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1154 words.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: In which Merlin tries to be sneaky, and fails, but succeeds a little too. Silliness ensues.
Notes: Beware: gratuitous use of italics. I have no idea if they did this in medium-sized evil Britain, but, hey, considering the show doesn't give a rat's arse about historical accuracy, we can pretend. Right? Right?
"Arthur?"
"Merlin!" Arthur snaps, without looking up. "How many times have I told you: knock first!"
"Sorry," Merlin says, not sounding very sorry at all.
"Just -- " Arthur pauses, turning a page. "Stoke the fire, or something."
Merlin moves into the room; Arthur can hear every footstep but still doesn't look up to observe Merlin's slow path through his chambers, occupied with the pretense of reading. Only when Merlin trips over something and makes an absolute racket does Arthur raise his head.
"What in the hell are you doing?" Arthur says, because really, who the blazes did Merlin think he was, setting great fat lumps of produce down in front of the hearth?
"Erm," Merlin says. "Decorating?"
"I don't think I gave you permission to stick things anywhere you bloody like," Arthur rises from his seat. He walks over, stops, turns to Merlin with an exasperated frown and points an accusatory finger down. "There are holes in this pumpkin."
"Oh, noticed that, did you?"
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur says, with little venom. "What makes you think I'd want a pumpkin, let alone one with holes in it?"
"Erm," Merlin explains.
Arthur waves a hand dismissively. "I don't want it. Get it out of my sight. Put it somewhere else to rot. Take it to Gwen, and -- and make pie out of it or something."
He's about to spin on his heel regally, but Merlin holds up a hand and employs The Kicked Manservant look and Arthur's forced to stay still and suffer for a second. "For God's sake," he says, with feeling. Irritated feeling.
"Hold on," Merlin says quickly, bending down to the hearth. "Just, hold on, wait a second -- " And he takes a piece of tinder from the fire and takes the top of the pumpkin off and lights a pile of sticks inside of the pumpkin, so that light suddenly bursts forth from the holes cut into it, and what Arthur hadn't seen clearly before is now illuminated in ruddy orange.
Oh, well now it all makes sense.
"A dragon," he says dryly, ignoring the very simple beauty of it. He most definitely will not say, by god, Merlin, well rendered, or, how unexpectedly clever of you, because Merlin still needs to learn about not bursting in on Arthur at his every whim and interrupting very serious political contemplations with pumpkins with dragons on them.
He manages, "Huh."
"Yeah, you know," Merlin motions vaguely, excitedly, "Your crest. Er, coat of arms, rather. I thought -- do you like it?"
And Merlin will probably burst into tears like the girl he is unless Arthur says yes, so glares off somewhere into the distance in a very princely, important way. "Well, you're not completely useless."
Merlin grins lopsidedly. "Really? We, erm, my mother and I, we used to do this every Samhain. We carved gourds, too. And if we could afford it, we bought some pigments and put faces on the gourds, and -- " He removes a small pouch from his belt. "We took the seeds out and cooked them to eat."
Arthur makes a decidedly un-princely face. "That's..."
"No, they're really good! Gaius and I made some for you last night. I know the king doesn't allow most of the traditions now, but I thought I could at least do this."
Arthur eyes the pouch. "Thanks but no thanks, Merlin."
But seemingly against his own will, he reaches out and takes the little pouch from Merlin anyway, and most certainly does not notice how Merlin's lips quirk like he knows something Arthur doesn't, and by now Arthur's just plain cross with himself.
Curses.
"If you poison me..." Arthur trails off threateningly, but reaches into the pouch and slips a golden seed into his mouth and chews on it. His eyes narrow. They're delicious, but of course it won't do to tell Merlin so.
"Barely tolerable," he says.
Merlin beams. "Glad it meets your approval. Sire." Then, he smirks with his eyes, which should be impossible, but apparently not for Merlin, and Arthur barely manages to avoid smiling back.
Instead, he pockets the pouch, fully intending on relocating the contents to his stomach when Merlin can't see, and looks back to the hearth, where the Pendragon Pumpkin sits, staring fiercely up at him. He teeters dangerously on the edge of telling Merlin to take it and leave, but it's rather endearing, and, well. Merlin had carved it for him, and Arthur is not one to say no to a free gift. Overgrown fruit or no.
So to avoid saying so, he turns back to his books, one half-open with a stack of papers next to it concerning his thoughts on the latest Mercian treaty which his father had asked him to look over -- look over, meaning find a loophole, any loophole -- and stares at it. Bloody boring stuff, would put any man asleep. Any other man, rather, because Arthur had definitely not dozed over it for the better part of the morning. Not in the least. He's above such things.
"Arthur," and Merlin's continuing on anyway, "You probably know this, but there's a festival outside. Gwen and I were planning on going, and I wonder if you wanted...?"
Arthur crosses his arms and puts on his Thinking Face, which is actually more of a Royal Pout. Merlin has his eyebrows raised, as if he knows the answer before Arthur actually says it, and hell, Arthur knows the answer before he says it. Mercian treaties be arsed. And it wouldn't do to get Merlin's hopes down, no, not at all.
Wait.
What?
"Get my cloak," he orders, before he can possibly look further into that. And while Merlin does so, Arthur picks up the pumpkin -- the fire has long gone out, there's only so much time twigs can burn before scorching the pumpkin's hollow bottom -- and analyzes it, much in the way he had been perusing his reading material.
After a moment, he takes a candle from the candelabra on the table and places it inside the pumpkin, so that the light bringing the dragon to life will remain until the wax melts. Which should be a long time, Arthur thinks, and places the pumpkin on the mantle.
"Here's your..." Merlin's eyes flicker to the pumpkin. Arthur glares at him, as if daring a snide comment, but Merlin keeps his mouth shut and just smiles.
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur mumbles.
"I didn't say anything!" Merlin protests.
"You were thinking it," Arthur says, and lets Merlin fasten the cloak around his shoulders. He feels rather than sees Merlin shake his head.
"Obviously, I'd forgotten you can read minds."
"I'm skilled enough that I don't need to," Arthur retorts good-naturedly.
Merlin chuckles and heads for the door. "Right."
And if Arthur has more fun at the festival than he intends to, it is most definitely, unequivocally, undeniably all Merlin's fault.
Author: sidhefaer
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin, sort of
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1154 words.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: In which Merlin tries to be sneaky, and fails, but succeeds a little too. Silliness ensues.
Notes: Beware: gratuitous use of italics. I have no idea if they did this in medium-sized evil Britain, but, hey, considering the show doesn't give a rat's arse about historical accuracy, we can pretend. Right? Right?
"Arthur?"
"Merlin!" Arthur snaps, without looking up. "How many times have I told you: knock first!"
"Sorry," Merlin says, not sounding very sorry at all.
"Just -- " Arthur pauses, turning a page. "Stoke the fire, or something."
Merlin moves into the room; Arthur can hear every footstep but still doesn't look up to observe Merlin's slow path through his chambers, occupied with the pretense of reading. Only when Merlin trips over something and makes an absolute racket does Arthur raise his head.
"What in the hell are you doing?" Arthur says, because really, who the blazes did Merlin think he was, setting great fat lumps of produce down in front of the hearth?
"Erm," Merlin says. "Decorating?"
"I don't think I gave you permission to stick things anywhere you bloody like," Arthur rises from his seat. He walks over, stops, turns to Merlin with an exasperated frown and points an accusatory finger down. "There are holes in this pumpkin."
"Oh, noticed that, did you?"
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur says, with little venom. "What makes you think I'd want a pumpkin, let alone one with holes in it?"
"Erm," Merlin explains.
Arthur waves a hand dismissively. "I don't want it. Get it out of my sight. Put it somewhere else to rot. Take it to Gwen, and -- and make pie out of it or something."
He's about to spin on his heel regally, but Merlin holds up a hand and employs The Kicked Manservant look and Arthur's forced to stay still and suffer for a second. "For God's sake," he says, with feeling. Irritated feeling.
"Hold on," Merlin says quickly, bending down to the hearth. "Just, hold on, wait a second -- " And he takes a piece of tinder from the fire and takes the top of the pumpkin off and lights a pile of sticks inside of the pumpkin, so that light suddenly bursts forth from the holes cut into it, and what Arthur hadn't seen clearly before is now illuminated in ruddy orange.
Oh, well now it all makes sense.
"A dragon," he says dryly, ignoring the very simple beauty of it. He most definitely will not say, by god, Merlin, well rendered, or, how unexpectedly clever of you, because Merlin still needs to learn about not bursting in on Arthur at his every whim and interrupting very serious political contemplations with pumpkins with dragons on them.
He manages, "Huh."
"Yeah, you know," Merlin motions vaguely, excitedly, "Your crest. Er, coat of arms, rather. I thought -- do you like it?"
And Merlin will probably burst into tears like the girl he is unless Arthur says yes, so glares off somewhere into the distance in a very princely, important way. "Well, you're not completely useless."
Merlin grins lopsidedly. "Really? We, erm, my mother and I, we used to do this every Samhain. We carved gourds, too. And if we could afford it, we bought some pigments and put faces on the gourds, and -- " He removes a small pouch from his belt. "We took the seeds out and cooked them to eat."
Arthur makes a decidedly un-princely face. "That's..."
"No, they're really good! Gaius and I made some for you last night. I know the king doesn't allow most of the traditions now, but I thought I could at least do this."
Arthur eyes the pouch. "Thanks but no thanks, Merlin."
But seemingly against his own will, he reaches out and takes the little pouch from Merlin anyway, and most certainly does not notice how Merlin's lips quirk like he knows something Arthur doesn't, and by now Arthur's just plain cross with himself.
Curses.
"If you poison me..." Arthur trails off threateningly, but reaches into the pouch and slips a golden seed into his mouth and chews on it. His eyes narrow. They're delicious, but of course it won't do to tell Merlin so.
"Barely tolerable," he says.
Merlin beams. "Glad it meets your approval. Sire." Then, he smirks with his eyes, which should be impossible, but apparently not for Merlin, and Arthur barely manages to avoid smiling back.
Instead, he pockets the pouch, fully intending on relocating the contents to his stomach when Merlin can't see, and looks back to the hearth, where the Pendragon Pumpkin sits, staring fiercely up at him. He teeters dangerously on the edge of telling Merlin to take it and leave, but it's rather endearing, and, well. Merlin had carved it for him, and Arthur is not one to say no to a free gift. Overgrown fruit or no.
So to avoid saying so, he turns back to his books, one half-open with a stack of papers next to it concerning his thoughts on the latest Mercian treaty which his father had asked him to look over -- look over, meaning find a loophole, any loophole -- and stares at it. Bloody boring stuff, would put any man asleep. Any other man, rather, because Arthur had definitely not dozed over it for the better part of the morning. Not in the least. He's above such things.
"Arthur," and Merlin's continuing on anyway, "You probably know this, but there's a festival outside. Gwen and I were planning on going, and I wonder if you wanted...?"
Arthur crosses his arms and puts on his Thinking Face, which is actually more of a Royal Pout. Merlin has his eyebrows raised, as if he knows the answer before Arthur actually says it, and hell, Arthur knows the answer before he says it. Mercian treaties be arsed. And it wouldn't do to get Merlin's hopes down, no, not at all.
Wait.
What?
"Get my cloak," he orders, before he can possibly look further into that. And while Merlin does so, Arthur picks up the pumpkin -- the fire has long gone out, there's only so much time twigs can burn before scorching the pumpkin's hollow bottom -- and analyzes it, much in the way he had been perusing his reading material.
After a moment, he takes a candle from the candelabra on the table and places it inside the pumpkin, so that the light bringing the dragon to life will remain until the wax melts. Which should be a long time, Arthur thinks, and places the pumpkin on the mantle.
"Here's your..." Merlin's eyes flicker to the pumpkin. Arthur glares at him, as if daring a snide comment, but Merlin keeps his mouth shut and just smiles.
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur mumbles.
"I didn't say anything!" Merlin protests.
"You were thinking it," Arthur says, and lets Merlin fasten the cloak around his shoulders. He feels rather than sees Merlin shake his head.
"Obviously, I'd forgotten you can read minds."
"I'm skilled enough that I don't need to," Arthur retorts good-naturedly.
Merlin chuckles and heads for the door. "Right."
And if Arthur has more fun at the festival than he intends to, it is most definitely, unequivocally, undeniably all Merlin's fault.