A thing with feathers
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: A Thing with Feathers
Rating: G
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Hunith
Warning: none
Summary: There were sacred things that should be treated with respect, not that Arthur wasn’t above twirling some of them around like toys, the git.
Word Count: 1095
Camelot_drabble Prompt: 507 respect
Author's Notes: unbetaed,
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
------------------------------
When Merlin was growing up, his mum often told him that some things were precious, almost sacred. In the woods, there was an oak tree with faces carved deep into the bark that would sometimes whisper to Merlin of things long past. Or she would point to a standing stone on its lonely hillock, the wind howling around it when there was nary a breeze below and no explanation beyond a shrug and worry. Or a cave full of crystals that she studiously avoided, threatening Merlin with dire consequences if he went inside.
Things, too, that she’d murmur of when festival time drew near. The headman would display them, one by one, and tell stories-always untrue according to Hunith- of how the stone bowl once held the waters of an unnamed lake full of pixies and Sidhe, that a scrap of cloth bloodied and fraying had been the last legionnaire’s before Albion’s defenders drove the Romans back into the sea, that a knife made of glass once resided in a king’s tomb. Ribbons and knotted charms and dried flowers and each with a story.
She would tell Merlin to treat them with respect, that there might be curses hidden there, or magic. And the worry in her face would keep Merlin from asking further.
That changed when Merlin got to Camelot.
Yes, there were things that were best left alone. Merlin could feel the wrongness sometimes and he was glad that the artifacts were hidden behind steel bars and guards.
Other times, much as they were steeped in magic, Arthur, the arse, kept twiddling with them. At least with the unicorn’s horn, Prat Pendragon accepted that he’d made a mistake and treated it with respect.
But once in a while, Arthur would have to go down into the vaults, looking for whatever his tyrant father wanted, and Merlin would come along as dogs’ body. They would trip over magical things from their past, the snake head from Valiant’s shield, or a claw from the almost invincible Griffon or worse, use the feather duster made from Sigan’s black cloak to clean things up before taking them back to Uther.
“Could you just not?” Merlin muttered. “Some things are best left alone, you prat.”
“Oh, are you scared, Merlin? Afraid of a few feathers?” Arthur shoved the black plumes into Merlin’s face and twirled it around a bit, scattering feathers everywhere.
Spitting out the worst of it, Merlin just glared at Arthur. “Leave off. I know you’ve been trained to kill since birth but really, death by feathers?”
Arthur grinned. “I would think a merlin would just pluck them out and feather its nest.” He shook the duster once more, then tossed it in Merlin’s direction. “Here you go, idiot. Now help me find the Fisher King’s trident.”
Merlin kicked the duster aside. “I don’t see why. It’s got magical qualities. I would think Uther would want to keep it hidden or at least kept under lock and key so no one could steal it. Not display it like some kind of trophy,” Merlin muttered. He kept remembering the Fisher King, remembered the pain on his face and the resignation, how he had let the trident go as he let go of life.
It was both sacred and profane, that trident, and still brimming with magic. If anyone else got hold of it, it could be bad. The Perilous lands had once been fertile and was beginning to be so again, but if someone used the trident in the wrong way, any place could become dangerous.
Arthur shrugged. “My father wants to prove a point, that since I brought it back, the Perilous lands belong to Camelot. He’ll be displaying it at the peace treaty negotiations.” Reaching over, he picked up the trident and began twirling it around, like a toy. “Of course, we won’t ever be discussing that quest, right? I accomplished it all on my own and you were picking herbs.”
Glaring at Merlin, much as Arthur was quick on his feet, it was tight in the vaults, and before Merlin could say prat, Arthur knocked over several shields, a suit of armour, and five gold plates.
“Right?” Merlin’s voice squeaked a little, then he sighed, a long put-upon sound. It looked like Merlin would be cleaning up more than feathers. “Could you put that down before you stab someone?” Merlin grumbled.
“I will have you know that I’m perfectly capable to using it properly,” Arthur said, glancing around the room, then scowling at Merlin. “You distracted me.”
Feeling how the trident was vibrating with magic, that it wanted to be used, that in the wrong hands, it could be a weapon of dark magic, Merlin itched to hold onto it. He wanted to keep it safe, to keep Arthur safe, the git.
“Obviously, I made you clumsy,” Merlin said, holding out his hand as Arthur started to sputter. “If I carry it for you, you can swish your robe around and look all regal and snooty while your poor servant trails behind you. Will make you look even more like a prat than usual. And if someone trips, you can blame me for everything.”
“I didn’t trip,” Arthur muttered. “However, with a proper outfit, you would be the perfect servant for the job.” Still holding onto the trident, Arthur picked up the feather duster and shook it. “I know how much you like feathers, Merlin.”
“No, Arthur, no,” Merlin backed away in horror. There were somethings more important than deadly tridents.
“Well, I know you destroyed the first hat and don’t bother denying it,” Arthur said, shaking the duster so hard that more feathers floated to the ground. “But being the magnanimous prince that I am, I used my own funds to order you a new hat. With black feathers this time. And of course, red, blue, and green. You will be the talk of the town.”
“I don’t want to be the talk of the town. Or wear that stupid thing,” Merlin snapped.
“Well, as official trident carrier, I’m sorry to say that it is out of your hands. I’ll expect you in my quarters just before dinner. Don’t be late,” Arthur said, and with that, he shoved the trident, the feather duster, and one of the gold plates into Merlin’s hands.
Merlin didn’t stab Arthur with the trident, although it was a near thing.
But in the end, he wore the hat, he kept the trident safe, and he made Arthur’s arse break out in boils for a week, just because.
Title: A Thing with Feathers
Rating: G
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Hunith
Warning: none
Summary: There were sacred things that should be treated with respect, not that Arthur wasn’t above twirling some of them around like toys, the git.
Word Count: 1095
Camelot_drabble Prompt: 507 respect
Author's Notes: unbetaed,
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
------------------------------
When Merlin was growing up, his mum often told him that some things were precious, almost sacred. In the woods, there was an oak tree with faces carved deep into the bark that would sometimes whisper to Merlin of things long past. Or she would point to a standing stone on its lonely hillock, the wind howling around it when there was nary a breeze below and no explanation beyond a shrug and worry. Or a cave full of crystals that she studiously avoided, threatening Merlin with dire consequences if he went inside.
Things, too, that she’d murmur of when festival time drew near. The headman would display them, one by one, and tell stories-always untrue according to Hunith- of how the stone bowl once held the waters of an unnamed lake full of pixies and Sidhe, that a scrap of cloth bloodied and fraying had been the last legionnaire’s before Albion’s defenders drove the Romans back into the sea, that a knife made of glass once resided in a king’s tomb. Ribbons and knotted charms and dried flowers and each with a story.
She would tell Merlin to treat them with respect, that there might be curses hidden there, or magic. And the worry in her face would keep Merlin from asking further.
That changed when Merlin got to Camelot.
Yes, there were things that were best left alone. Merlin could feel the wrongness sometimes and he was glad that the artifacts were hidden behind steel bars and guards.
Other times, much as they were steeped in magic, Arthur, the arse, kept twiddling with them. At least with the unicorn’s horn, Prat Pendragon accepted that he’d made a mistake and treated it with respect.
But once in a while, Arthur would have to go down into the vaults, looking for whatever his tyrant father wanted, and Merlin would come along as dogs’ body. They would trip over magical things from their past, the snake head from Valiant’s shield, or a claw from the almost invincible Griffon or worse, use the feather duster made from Sigan’s black cloak to clean things up before taking them back to Uther.
“Could you just not?” Merlin muttered. “Some things are best left alone, you prat.”
“Oh, are you scared, Merlin? Afraid of a few feathers?” Arthur shoved the black plumes into Merlin’s face and twirled it around a bit, scattering feathers everywhere.
Spitting out the worst of it, Merlin just glared at Arthur. “Leave off. I know you’ve been trained to kill since birth but really, death by feathers?”
Arthur grinned. “I would think a merlin would just pluck them out and feather its nest.” He shook the duster once more, then tossed it in Merlin’s direction. “Here you go, idiot. Now help me find the Fisher King’s trident.”
Merlin kicked the duster aside. “I don’t see why. It’s got magical qualities. I would think Uther would want to keep it hidden or at least kept under lock and key so no one could steal it. Not display it like some kind of trophy,” Merlin muttered. He kept remembering the Fisher King, remembered the pain on his face and the resignation, how he had let the trident go as he let go of life.
It was both sacred and profane, that trident, and still brimming with magic. If anyone else got hold of it, it could be bad. The Perilous lands had once been fertile and was beginning to be so again, but if someone used the trident in the wrong way, any place could become dangerous.
Arthur shrugged. “My father wants to prove a point, that since I brought it back, the Perilous lands belong to Camelot. He’ll be displaying it at the peace treaty negotiations.” Reaching over, he picked up the trident and began twirling it around, like a toy. “Of course, we won’t ever be discussing that quest, right? I accomplished it all on my own and you were picking herbs.”
Glaring at Merlin, much as Arthur was quick on his feet, it was tight in the vaults, and before Merlin could say prat, Arthur knocked over several shields, a suit of armour, and five gold plates.
“Right?” Merlin’s voice squeaked a little, then he sighed, a long put-upon sound. It looked like Merlin would be cleaning up more than feathers. “Could you put that down before you stab someone?” Merlin grumbled.
“I will have you know that I’m perfectly capable to using it properly,” Arthur said, glancing around the room, then scowling at Merlin. “You distracted me.”
Feeling how the trident was vibrating with magic, that it wanted to be used, that in the wrong hands, it could be a weapon of dark magic, Merlin itched to hold onto it. He wanted to keep it safe, to keep Arthur safe, the git.
“Obviously, I made you clumsy,” Merlin said, holding out his hand as Arthur started to sputter. “If I carry it for you, you can swish your robe around and look all regal and snooty while your poor servant trails behind you. Will make you look even more like a prat than usual. And if someone trips, you can blame me for everything.”
“I didn’t trip,” Arthur muttered. “However, with a proper outfit, you would be the perfect servant for the job.” Still holding onto the trident, Arthur picked up the feather duster and shook it. “I know how much you like feathers, Merlin.”
“No, Arthur, no,” Merlin backed away in horror. There were somethings more important than deadly tridents.
“Well, I know you destroyed the first hat and don’t bother denying it,” Arthur said, shaking the duster so hard that more feathers floated to the ground. “But being the magnanimous prince that I am, I used my own funds to order you a new hat. With black feathers this time. And of course, red, blue, and green. You will be the talk of the town.”
“I don’t want to be the talk of the town. Or wear that stupid thing,” Merlin snapped.
“Well, as official trident carrier, I’m sorry to say that it is out of your hands. I’ll expect you in my quarters just before dinner. Don’t be late,” Arthur said, and with that, he shoved the trident, the feather duster, and one of the gold plates into Merlin’s hands.
Merlin didn’t stab Arthur with the trident, although it was a near thing.
But in the end, he wore the hat, he kept the trident safe, and he made Arthur’s arse break out in boils for a week, just because.