Greater than Gravity
Title: Greater than Gravity
Type: fandom
Pairing: gen
Word Count: 1234, exactly :)
Rating: PG
Author’s Note: This is a continuation of the squirrel scene in Disney’s The Sword and the Stone, which you can watch here.
Summary: Merlin has lived a good portion of his life in the woods. This does not, in fact, mean that he has any sort of ability to hike through them without knowing exactly where he’s going.
Merlin has lived a good portion of his life in the woods.
This does not, in fact, mean that he has any sort of ability to hike through them without knowing exactly where he’s going. That’s the real trouble with magic. You see the person but not the place. You see the place but not the why. You see the why but not the when. Everything comes in parts and pieces, like a million piece jigsaw puzzle that he’s expected to know how to solve instantaneously.
As the years have gone on, his knowledge and acquaintance with magic has grown to be more intimate than any before or after him. These days, he can maybe look at the puzzle and quickly understand how a hundred pieces fit together, but that’s still just one percent.
“Dash it all,” he growls as his robes get caught on yet another thorn bush. He grabs his cloak and yanks as hard as he can, cringing when a sharp, ripping sound emits from it. His brow furrows darkly, and he thrusts his hand at the bush, shooting the magic into it with such a force that its molecules bust apart, and the thing disintegrates. Triumphant but still upset, he glares at his hands and the magic that emerges from them. “You really couldn’t have made it easy on the old bones?”
He feels his fingertips prickle and can’t tell if it’s the magic’s response or if it’s just static electricity. He decides on the latter, feeling that magic would not be so kind as to give him an actual response.
“Chikku, chikchik,” he calls out, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth. “Cheeka!”
Merlin can see little eyes popping out of holes in rotting trees, from behind bushes and nests of leaves. “Good, very good,” he says with a smile. “Now that I’ve gotten your attention, would you please direct me to one of your kind? She’s about yea high,” he gestures a height between his hands, “with big brown eyes and some of the reddest hair I’ve ever seen on a squirrel of your particular species.”
The eyes stare at him, none of them running away but none of them speaking, either.
“Oh, come, come,” he says soothingly. “I have no intent to harm her. She is of vital importance to me. In exchange for this information, I’ll be glad to do something for you in return. I’ve heard that it has been a particularly dry year, too dry for the berries, nuts and fruit to present themselves. I could make it rain, if you’d like.”
The eyes flick quickly back and forth, each squirrel watching and waiting on bated breath.
Finally, a young squirrel, rounded with pregnancy, comes to the forefront. “I need to feed my children, when the time comes,” she explains in a heavily northern squirrel dialect, eyeing him warily. “The squirrel of which you speak is in the large oak fifty paces to your left. She is mourning the loss of her lifemate.”
Her fellow squirrels erupt in excited chatter, some saying traitor, some thanking the heavens that they hadn’t had to do what she had done, know that in five, ten seconds, it would have been them.
“As I promised, it will rain whenever it is needed in this place. This forest will never have seen such fertility before, my friend.” Merlin bends down to the squirrel that spoke to him and extends a hand to her. She presses her tiny black nose to his palm, then scatters away, back into the trees.
She has sacrificed the safety of numbers for the safety of offspring, he thinks as he watches her go. He already knows that she will die from a hawk after her second brood because she will not have any assistance from the others, but he also knows that her line will go on to populate all of Europe and, eventually, America. He knows that she would have wanted that and moves off to search for his redhead without remorse.
Merlin finds the tree rather easily, pushing aside underbrush with his walking stick as he goes. As he comes closer, he can hear her soft, pained sobs.
He smiles and extends his hand up the trunk of the tree. “Chikku,” he calls softly. “Dear, would you mind coming out here for a moment?”
The sobbing ceases, and the little squirrel peaks out of the hole just out of Merlin’s reach. He can see that the fur around her eyes is absolutely drenched with tears. “Oh,” she says, surprised. “You’re that man from before.”
“Indeed I am,” Merlin responds, “and if you would kindly come down for a moment, I wish to meet you properly.”
Her expression darkens then, and she growls. “You’re the one that took him away.”
Merlin’s kind expression seeps away to one of stoicism. “I had no part in that, really. He is a boy, a human, and he is a very important one at that. I merely returned him to the state in which he is most needed. Which, might I add, is the proposition I am trying to make you, if you’ll only come down for a moment.”
She purses her lips, hesitating, then slowly crawls down the trunk of the tree. Merlin thinks, Even her movements are sad.
She places herself in his palm, and he lowers her so that they’re eye level.
“Now,” his smile returns to his face. “I am Merlin, the greatest wizard of all time. The boy you met as a blond squirrel is named Arthur. One day, he will be the greatest king that’s ever walked the earth. And you, dear squirrel, will help him do it. I will teach you everything you need to know, and you will be with him for as long as your heart desires, if you accept my proposal.”
“What do you want from me?” she asks, her shoulders drawn, her face a mixture of fear and curiosity.
“I want to make you a human,” Merlin says. Almost before the words are out of his mouth, she grasps his index finger tightly and says, “Do it.”
“As you wish.” He lowers her to the ground and waves his hands over her. “Snick, snack, snorum.”
In a puff of white smoke and sparks that pop like fireworks, a young girl appears in a seated position where the squirrel had been. She looks up at him. Her eyes are by far the fairest he has ever seen. Her hair is long, softly curled and as red as her fur ever was. She’s naked, and he drapes his cloak over her, despite the knowledge that she is not ashamed. Nakedness is all she has ever known.
“Everything feels different,” she says, then clutches her throat. “Oh! What is this language?”
“Human English,” Merlin responds, offering her his hand. “It will make the going a lot easier, trust me.”
She looks around, then down at her own hand. After a moment, she places her hand in his, and he helps her up.
She’s unsteady on her feet and falls forward. Startled, he catches her. “Whoa, whoa, there. Let’s take it steady, all right?”
She nods as he helps right her, gently pushing her into a standing position.
He smiles at her as she rights herself. “Welcome to the human world, Guinevere.”
She smiles weakly at him. “Thank you, Merlin.”
Type: fandom
Pairing: gen
Word Count: 1234, exactly :)
Rating: PG
Author’s Note: This is a continuation of the squirrel scene in Disney’s The Sword and the Stone, which you can watch here.
Summary: Merlin has lived a good portion of his life in the woods. This does not, in fact, mean that he has any sort of ability to hike through them without knowing exactly where he’s going.
Merlin has lived a good portion of his life in the woods.
This does not, in fact, mean that he has any sort of ability to hike through them without knowing exactly where he’s going. That’s the real trouble with magic. You see the person but not the place. You see the place but not the why. You see the why but not the when. Everything comes in parts and pieces, like a million piece jigsaw puzzle that he’s expected to know how to solve instantaneously.
As the years have gone on, his knowledge and acquaintance with magic has grown to be more intimate than any before or after him. These days, he can maybe look at the puzzle and quickly understand how a hundred pieces fit together, but that’s still just one percent.
“Dash it all,” he growls as his robes get caught on yet another thorn bush. He grabs his cloak and yanks as hard as he can, cringing when a sharp, ripping sound emits from it. His brow furrows darkly, and he thrusts his hand at the bush, shooting the magic into it with such a force that its molecules bust apart, and the thing disintegrates. Triumphant but still upset, he glares at his hands and the magic that emerges from them. “You really couldn’t have made it easy on the old bones?”
He feels his fingertips prickle and can’t tell if it’s the magic’s response or if it’s just static electricity. He decides on the latter, feeling that magic would not be so kind as to give him an actual response.
“Chikku, chikchik,” he calls out, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth. “Cheeka!”
Merlin can see little eyes popping out of holes in rotting trees, from behind bushes and nests of leaves. “Good, very good,” he says with a smile. “Now that I’ve gotten your attention, would you please direct me to one of your kind? She’s about yea high,” he gestures a height between his hands, “with big brown eyes and some of the reddest hair I’ve ever seen on a squirrel of your particular species.”
The eyes stare at him, none of them running away but none of them speaking, either.
“Oh, come, come,” he says soothingly. “I have no intent to harm her. She is of vital importance to me. In exchange for this information, I’ll be glad to do something for you in return. I’ve heard that it has been a particularly dry year, too dry for the berries, nuts and fruit to present themselves. I could make it rain, if you’d like.”
The eyes flick quickly back and forth, each squirrel watching and waiting on bated breath.
Finally, a young squirrel, rounded with pregnancy, comes to the forefront. “I need to feed my children, when the time comes,” she explains in a heavily northern squirrel dialect, eyeing him warily. “The squirrel of which you speak is in the large oak fifty paces to your left. She is mourning the loss of her lifemate.”
Her fellow squirrels erupt in excited chatter, some saying traitor, some thanking the heavens that they hadn’t had to do what she had done, know that in five, ten seconds, it would have been them.
“As I promised, it will rain whenever it is needed in this place. This forest will never have seen such fertility before, my friend.” Merlin bends down to the squirrel that spoke to him and extends a hand to her. She presses her tiny black nose to his palm, then scatters away, back into the trees.
She has sacrificed the safety of numbers for the safety of offspring, he thinks as he watches her go. He already knows that she will die from a hawk after her second brood because she will not have any assistance from the others, but he also knows that her line will go on to populate all of Europe and, eventually, America. He knows that she would have wanted that and moves off to search for his redhead without remorse.
Merlin finds the tree rather easily, pushing aside underbrush with his walking stick as he goes. As he comes closer, he can hear her soft, pained sobs.
He smiles and extends his hand up the trunk of the tree. “Chikku,” he calls softly. “Dear, would you mind coming out here for a moment?”
The sobbing ceases, and the little squirrel peaks out of the hole just out of Merlin’s reach. He can see that the fur around her eyes is absolutely drenched with tears. “Oh,” she says, surprised. “You’re that man from before.”
“Indeed I am,” Merlin responds, “and if you would kindly come down for a moment, I wish to meet you properly.”
Her expression darkens then, and she growls. “You’re the one that took him away.”
Merlin’s kind expression seeps away to one of stoicism. “I had no part in that, really. He is a boy, a human, and he is a very important one at that. I merely returned him to the state in which he is most needed. Which, might I add, is the proposition I am trying to make you, if you’ll only come down for a moment.”
She purses her lips, hesitating, then slowly crawls down the trunk of the tree. Merlin thinks, Even her movements are sad.
She places herself in his palm, and he lowers her so that they’re eye level.
“Now,” his smile returns to his face. “I am Merlin, the greatest wizard of all time. The boy you met as a blond squirrel is named Arthur. One day, he will be the greatest king that’s ever walked the earth. And you, dear squirrel, will help him do it. I will teach you everything you need to know, and you will be with him for as long as your heart desires, if you accept my proposal.”
“What do you want from me?” she asks, her shoulders drawn, her face a mixture of fear and curiosity.
“I want to make you a human,” Merlin says. Almost before the words are out of his mouth, she grasps his index finger tightly and says, “Do it.”
“As you wish.” He lowers her to the ground and waves his hands over her. “Snick, snack, snorum.”
In a puff of white smoke and sparks that pop like fireworks, a young girl appears in a seated position where the squirrel had been. She looks up at him. Her eyes are by far the fairest he has ever seen. Her hair is long, softly curled and as red as her fur ever was. She’s naked, and he drapes his cloak over her, despite the knowledge that she is not ashamed. Nakedness is all she has ever known.
“Everything feels different,” she says, then clutches her throat. “Oh! What is this language?”
“Human English,” Merlin responds, offering her his hand. “It will make the going a lot easier, trust me.”
She looks around, then down at her own hand. After a moment, she places her hand in his, and he helps her up.
She’s unsteady on her feet and falls forward. Startled, he catches her. “Whoa, whoa, there. Let’s take it steady, all right?”
She nods as he helps right her, gently pushing her into a standing position.
He smiles at her as she rights herself. “Welcome to the human world, Guinevere.”
She smiles weakly at him. “Thank you, Merlin.”