One Prison is much like another - part 46B
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: One Prison is much like another - part 46B
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Morris
Summary: Dragons are a handful, whether they be days old or centuries. Arthur wasn’t having any of it.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 653
Camelot Drabble Prompt #630: Reveal
Author’s notes: With Uther dead, Arthur is king, true, but he still has a stick up his butt about Merlin. And dragons. And magic.
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Looking around, then leaning closer, Morris said, “Is it because of your magic?”
Morris mentioned it so offhandedly that Merlin stared at him, stunned. He stammered out, “I… you… magic?”
Morris nodded. “Yeah, figured that was the problem. Himself can be a bit of a prat about it.” Then as if the revelation of magic was just an everyday occurrence, Morris looked at Merlin with a little bit of speculation in his eyes. “Did you use it to keep him from throwing things at you?”
Merlin didn’t know what to say. Gobsmacked, he stammered, “No, although I was tempted. I used it to keep him safe and he… he didn’t take it well when he found out.” Then it finally caught up with him. Morris wasn’t terrified, he wasn’t running for the hills, he was just standing there, having a normal, everyday conversation with a sorcerer. It was mind-boggling. “How long? How long have you known?”
“Maybe a couple of weeks after you started. You aren’t that subtle.” Morris didn’t seem all that upset. He did roll his eyes a little, though.
“You didn’t turn me in.” Obviously. Merlin still couldn’t wrap his head around it. All this time?
Morris just shrugged. “To Uther? No, what good would it have done? Besides, you seemed a good sort and Uther was insane. A lot more people have magic than he knew or Arthur for that matter. My sister had to flee because of his incessant sweeps of his and I haven’t seen her in so long. Those feasts of Uther’s.” Scowling at Merlin, his voice was hard as steel and just as sharp. “Every time, I wanted him to choke on a bone and die. But at least he’s gone now and good riddance.”
Good riddance, indeed. Merlin could certainly sympathize. He’d also dreamed of Uther’s death, many times over.
But it wasn’t Uther but Arthur who had the final say.
Trying to keep the despair out of his voice, Merlin said, “Arthur won’t let me stay, Morris. He’s too angry at me. Even if I save him again and Camelot, too, he’ll never forgive me.”
“I don’t know.” Letting out a little snort, Morris pointed toward the clothes he’d brought in. “They’re his, you know. For you to change into.”
“His?”
That didn’t make sense. When did Arthur ever worry about Merlin’s shabby things? Merlin figured Arthur had ordered someone to go through the rag pile and pulled out something that didn’t drip mud everywhere. Something disposable, something unimportant.
Morris rolled his eyes again. Then going over to the table, pulling up a purple shirt of finely woven linen, one he’d seen Arthur wear on feast days, and dark wool breeches fit for nobility, he shook them a little.
“Yeah, and I doubt he’d give a sworn enemy such fine things. His things,” Morris said, then shook his head as he looked at the dried mud on Merlin’s shirt and the dirt in his hair. “Even if you look like something the cat dragged in.”
Merlin started toward him, reaching out to look more closely at the clothes. He remembered mending the purple shirt, and Arthur saying that it was his favourite and not to ruin it.
But Morris pulled it out of reach, glaring at Merlin as he said, “Before you go touching them, with your dirty hands and dirtier face, I’ve water for you to wash up.” He nodded down toward the bucket of water. “We don’t have a bath, obviously, and the water’s cold but at least you’ll be clean.”
Merlin didn’t know what to say. The implications were so out of his understanding that he felt as if the world had gone mad. “I didn’t think it would matter if I were clean or not.”
“I don’t know. He can be petty as hell. But with you, well, there’s something about you, Merlin,” Morris said, handing a small bar of soap to him and nodding. “Maybe you’re the saviour of us all.”
Title: One Prison is much like another - part 46B
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Morris
Summary: Dragons are a handful, whether they be days old or centuries. Arthur wasn’t having any of it.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 653
Camelot Drabble Prompt #630: Reveal
Author’s notes: With Uther dead, Arthur is king, true, but he still has a stick up his butt about Merlin. And dragons. And magic.
-----------------
Looking around, then leaning closer, Morris said, “Is it because of your magic?”
Morris mentioned it so offhandedly that Merlin stared at him, stunned. He stammered out, “I… you… magic?”
Morris nodded. “Yeah, figured that was the problem. Himself can be a bit of a prat about it.” Then as if the revelation of magic was just an everyday occurrence, Morris looked at Merlin with a little bit of speculation in his eyes. “Did you use it to keep him from throwing things at you?”
Merlin didn’t know what to say. Gobsmacked, he stammered, “No, although I was tempted. I used it to keep him safe and he… he didn’t take it well when he found out.” Then it finally caught up with him. Morris wasn’t terrified, he wasn’t running for the hills, he was just standing there, having a normal, everyday conversation with a sorcerer. It was mind-boggling. “How long? How long have you known?”
“Maybe a couple of weeks after you started. You aren’t that subtle.” Morris didn’t seem all that upset. He did roll his eyes a little, though.
“You didn’t turn me in.” Obviously. Merlin still couldn’t wrap his head around it. All this time?
Morris just shrugged. “To Uther? No, what good would it have done? Besides, you seemed a good sort and Uther was insane. A lot more people have magic than he knew or Arthur for that matter. My sister had to flee because of his incessant sweeps of his and I haven’t seen her in so long. Those feasts of Uther’s.” Scowling at Merlin, his voice was hard as steel and just as sharp. “Every time, I wanted him to choke on a bone and die. But at least he’s gone now and good riddance.”
Good riddance, indeed. Merlin could certainly sympathize. He’d also dreamed of Uther’s death, many times over.
But it wasn’t Uther but Arthur who had the final say.
Trying to keep the despair out of his voice, Merlin said, “Arthur won’t let me stay, Morris. He’s too angry at me. Even if I save him again and Camelot, too, he’ll never forgive me.”
“I don’t know.” Letting out a little snort, Morris pointed toward the clothes he’d brought in. “They’re his, you know. For you to change into.”
“His?”
That didn’t make sense. When did Arthur ever worry about Merlin’s shabby things? Merlin figured Arthur had ordered someone to go through the rag pile and pulled out something that didn’t drip mud everywhere. Something disposable, something unimportant.
Morris rolled his eyes again. Then going over to the table, pulling up a purple shirt of finely woven linen, one he’d seen Arthur wear on feast days, and dark wool breeches fit for nobility, he shook them a little.
“Yeah, and I doubt he’d give a sworn enemy such fine things. His things,” Morris said, then shook his head as he looked at the dried mud on Merlin’s shirt and the dirt in his hair. “Even if you look like something the cat dragged in.”
Merlin started toward him, reaching out to look more closely at the clothes. He remembered mending the purple shirt, and Arthur saying that it was his favourite and not to ruin it.
But Morris pulled it out of reach, glaring at Merlin as he said, “Before you go touching them, with your dirty hands and dirtier face, I’ve water for you to wash up.” He nodded down toward the bucket of water. “We don’t have a bath, obviously, and the water’s cold but at least you’ll be clean.”
Merlin didn’t know what to say. The implications were so out of his understanding that he felt as if the world had gone mad. “I didn’t think it would matter if I were clean or not.”
“I don’t know. He can be petty as hell. But with you, well, there’s something about you, Merlin,” Morris said, handing a small bar of soap to him and nodding. “Maybe you’re the saviour of us all.”