One Prison is much like another - part 3
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: One Prison is much like another - part 3
Rating: PG-13
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: He doesn’t remember much. Well, really nothing at all.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 881
Camelot Drabble Prompt #578: Generous
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
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As Blondie turned away from Sarc for a second, he seemed to be gazing down at him kneeling there on the floor. If he didn’t know better, he would have said Blondie looked as if he was going to be sick or maybe murder someone. He just hoped it wasn’t going to be him on the sharp end of Blondie’s sword.
But then the rich prick sniffed as if annoyed, and glaring back at Sarc, said, “For him?”
He must have imagined that Blondie would ever feel sympathy for him.
While Sarc sputtered out his indignation, Blondie, looking down his nose at him, probably seeing how scrawny he was, how bruised and bloodied and broken he was, sneered, “He can barely stand. What use to me is he? He wouldn’t last a day in the mines.”
One of the others, reddish curly hair and tall, leaned over and whispered into Blondie’s ear. Giving a little hum of annoyance, Blondie said, “I doubt he could read or write. Look at him. He’s obviously a peasant from one of those backwater villages. If he can count higher than one of my dogs, I’d be surprised.”
Sarc sputtered again, almost as if offended. It was all an act, of course. He’d seen Sarc play with his clients before, trying to be all indignant so he could demand more money for his slaves. The man really had no honour at all.
Finally, Sarc said, “My lords, I have other customers. If you cannot see his worth, then I wish you a good day.”
Grunting at Sarc, Blondie looked like he didn’t appreciate being lied to. “I am feeling generous this morning and we’ve time. I doubt he would last a day as a servant at court. More like trip over his own feet. However, my second-in-command has reminded me that we could always use a fool. That one might be good for a laugh.”
He might be a nobody from nowhere but he knew when he was being insulted. Sending the wanker a glare, muttering under his breath that if he had the chance he’d feed the arsehole rat stew and see if he liked it then, he must have said it a little louder than he thought.
Impossibly, Blondie must have heard him. But rather than beating him for being so insolent, Blondie shook his head just a little, barely noticeable, and turned back to Sarc. “I’ll take him. But a hundred gold is absurd. A slight wind would blow him over. I’ll give you ten and count it as generous.”
Sarc sputtered at that, and the real haggling began.
It was humiliating to hear them insult him as if he were nothing but meat, then as he knelt on the stone floor, there wasn’t much he could do other than seethe at such degradation. At least he would be away from Sarc and his rank, soul-sucking maggots. And the tall one was looking at him with sympathy so it might not be so bad. Blondie, however, seemed a bit of a pompous git.
Finally, as Blondie handed over a purse with coin and a gemstone, too, he looked as if he’d just stepped in dung, but the rich arse nodded for the tall one to help him to his feet.
And yes, he did trip over his feet again because hell, he’d been beaten and his muscles weren’t working all that well.
But Blondie just harrumphed, and gripped his other arm, a surprisingly gentle touch, and hurried them all out of the hall.
The tall one started to say something but Blondie just said, “Not now, Leon. They’re still listening.”
That shut him up but neither of them let go, force-marching him down a few hallways and out into the courtyard. There were horses there, enough for Blondie and his men and one extra. Had the rich prick thought ahead of time about it? Usually, slaves were supposed to run behind their masters, or maybe tossed over the saddles like sacks of meat, certainly not travel on such fine steeds.
Blondie turned to him, whispered into his ear, “Merlin, can you ride?”
Who the hell was Merlin?
But he wasn’t going to ask. Instead he just nodded. Even if he couldn’t ride and he didn’t have a clue if that were true, he wasn’t going to stay behind, not when he had a chance to escape. So instead, he tried to clamber up. Never mind that his chest was on fire and his legs kept folding up under him.
Finally, when one of the soldiers started to come over, he wasn’t sure whether to help or just toss him aside, he gritted his teeth and pulled himself up onto the saddle.
Except for the fact that he’d been beaten and bloodied, it almost felt right. He even knew where the stirrups were and how to use them, which was a miracle in itself, and the reins seemed to rest easily in his hands.
Beside him, Blondie gave a grunt. “Still riding like a sack of potatoes. When will you ever learn, you idiot?”
But before he could snarl back, the arsehole shouted to the others. “Let’s go.” And the lot of them rode out into the darkening sky and away from Sarc’s fortress.
Title: One Prison is much like another - part 3
Rating: PG-13
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: He doesn’t remember much. Well, really nothing at all.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 881
Camelot Drabble Prompt #578: Generous
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
------------------
As Blondie turned away from Sarc for a second, he seemed to be gazing down at him kneeling there on the floor. If he didn’t know better, he would have said Blondie looked as if he was going to be sick or maybe murder someone. He just hoped it wasn’t going to be him on the sharp end of Blondie’s sword.
But then the rich prick sniffed as if annoyed, and glaring back at Sarc, said, “For him?”
He must have imagined that Blondie would ever feel sympathy for him.
While Sarc sputtered out his indignation, Blondie, looking down his nose at him, probably seeing how scrawny he was, how bruised and bloodied and broken he was, sneered, “He can barely stand. What use to me is he? He wouldn’t last a day in the mines.”
One of the others, reddish curly hair and tall, leaned over and whispered into Blondie’s ear. Giving a little hum of annoyance, Blondie said, “I doubt he could read or write. Look at him. He’s obviously a peasant from one of those backwater villages. If he can count higher than one of my dogs, I’d be surprised.”
Sarc sputtered again, almost as if offended. It was all an act, of course. He’d seen Sarc play with his clients before, trying to be all indignant so he could demand more money for his slaves. The man really had no honour at all.
Finally, Sarc said, “My lords, I have other customers. If you cannot see his worth, then I wish you a good day.”
Grunting at Sarc, Blondie looked like he didn’t appreciate being lied to. “I am feeling generous this morning and we’ve time. I doubt he would last a day as a servant at court. More like trip over his own feet. However, my second-in-command has reminded me that we could always use a fool. That one might be good for a laugh.”
He might be a nobody from nowhere but he knew when he was being insulted. Sending the wanker a glare, muttering under his breath that if he had the chance he’d feed the arsehole rat stew and see if he liked it then, he must have said it a little louder than he thought.
Impossibly, Blondie must have heard him. But rather than beating him for being so insolent, Blondie shook his head just a little, barely noticeable, and turned back to Sarc. “I’ll take him. But a hundred gold is absurd. A slight wind would blow him over. I’ll give you ten and count it as generous.”
Sarc sputtered at that, and the real haggling began.
It was humiliating to hear them insult him as if he were nothing but meat, then as he knelt on the stone floor, there wasn’t much he could do other than seethe at such degradation. At least he would be away from Sarc and his rank, soul-sucking maggots. And the tall one was looking at him with sympathy so it might not be so bad. Blondie, however, seemed a bit of a pompous git.
Finally, as Blondie handed over a purse with coin and a gemstone, too, he looked as if he’d just stepped in dung, but the rich arse nodded for the tall one to help him to his feet.
And yes, he did trip over his feet again because hell, he’d been beaten and his muscles weren’t working all that well.
But Blondie just harrumphed, and gripped his other arm, a surprisingly gentle touch, and hurried them all out of the hall.
The tall one started to say something but Blondie just said, “Not now, Leon. They’re still listening.”
That shut him up but neither of them let go, force-marching him down a few hallways and out into the courtyard. There were horses there, enough for Blondie and his men and one extra. Had the rich prick thought ahead of time about it? Usually, slaves were supposed to run behind their masters, or maybe tossed over the saddles like sacks of meat, certainly not travel on such fine steeds.
Blondie turned to him, whispered into his ear, “Merlin, can you ride?”
Who the hell was Merlin?
But he wasn’t going to ask. Instead he just nodded. Even if he couldn’t ride and he didn’t have a clue if that were true, he wasn’t going to stay behind, not when he had a chance to escape. So instead, he tried to clamber up. Never mind that his chest was on fire and his legs kept folding up under him.
Finally, when one of the soldiers started to come over, he wasn’t sure whether to help or just toss him aside, he gritted his teeth and pulled himself up onto the saddle.
Except for the fact that he’d been beaten and bloodied, it almost felt right. He even knew where the stirrups were and how to use them, which was a miracle in itself, and the reins seemed to rest easily in his hands.
Beside him, Blondie gave a grunt. “Still riding like a sack of potatoes. When will you ever learn, you idiot?”
But before he could snarl back, the arsehole shouted to the others. “Let’s go.” And the lot of them rode out into the darkening sky and away from Sarc’s fortress.