Kink Me! #11 - Project Diversity
Kink Me! #11 - Project Diversity
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Welcome to Kink Me! Merlin #11! Project Diversity
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This one is different!
As we announced earlier, KMM11 is two sides of a coin: Project Old School ( Read more... )
I used a French Arthurian source for the name Arthur's horse, figuring it wouldn't be Hengroen or Llamrei as he's still prince and Llamrei was a mare ^^
Written for Never Have I Ever
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The voice was soft and sweet, like meadow grass in summer. Passelande could remember the feeling of galloping in the fields without a care in the world. His mother watched over him and his friends, guarding them with a wary flicker of her ears, but they were lucky ones. The humans watched over them, kept them protected from the wolves and bears and in return a horse would give their heart to their human.
Passelande was harnessed for the prince, a fact that he carried in every stride, picking his feet up and holding his neck curved. The prince - Arthur - was a kind master, one who allowed him his head to run yet could control a situation when Passelande needed it. Arthur was everything he and his stablemates had wanted in a rider and Passelande was so very lucky to have Arthur.
Except, then the woman came along. She was blonde, smelt of wild open fields and water, and Passelande suddenly wanted more. She reached out to stroke his cheek, her touch softer than Arthur's ever could be, and whispered in his ear, eyes flashing gold. Oh Passelande knew what she was, he had been trained to recognise magic, but his flanks quivered and it didn't matter. She was what he wanted, she was perfect.
As Passelande took a step forward, the woman moved away. He flicked his ears in interest, hoping she'd come back, but then she was up and away on her own mount - and how lucky that mare was, did she even know it?
The days passed in a strange motion. Passelande was confined to the stables, only taken out once a day for exercise in one of the training paddocks. It wasn't Arthur who rode him and so Paddalande felt no shame in throwing each and every young squire that tried to mount him. None of them were the woman who'd enchanted him and the only other he'd have tolerated was Arthur.
Then a day came when Merlin stumbled in, taking the reins from a stableboy's hands and leading Passelande out of the stable, into the yard. Though he'd never allow his rider's manservant to ride him in the current state, Merlin was a kind soul. He was the sort to add a carrot or two into his visit, the kind who would scratch behind Passelande's ears when he grew tired and irritable.
Merlin had his own horse though, something for which Passelande was greatful for. He could feel a tug building in his chest and there was no way he'd allow anyone but his prince to ride him. Even then it was a struggle to keep calm and steady, when all he really wanted to do was bolt, follow the trail and see the witch who'd ensnared him.
The trail that Passelande could feel in his blood and bones was not one Arthur trusted. He could feel the tug of impatience at his bit, but Passelande simply shook his head, adjusting his gait until Arthur gave up. He could hear indignant mutter from Merlin, chiding about the horse knowing more than Arthur did, but Passelande knew Merlin had it in Arthur's best interest and had nothing personal against him.
When they finally reached the castle he'd been enchanted to find, Arthur and Merlin left them. Passelande turned to Merlin's horse, nostrils flaring. He'd come all this way, been through so much and Arthur had just dumped him here? Without Passelande, they would never have even made it here, and this was all the thanks he received?
It wasn't enough.
He was slow footed and hot headed, jerking back at the reins as Arthur tried to settle him on the way home. Something was wrong with Arthur and he kicked Passelande's sides harder than he should have, jerking the bit until Passelande gave up and surged forward, throwing his head and giving a squeal to tell Arthur how unhappy it was.
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That evening, Arthur came to his stable in the dead of night. It was something he hadn't done since they were young, when Arthur was in his early teens and Passelande was still a shy colt. He sat huddled against Passelande's side, saying nothing but playing with sections of his mane, and Passelande decided that he could forgive Arthur.
For a while after, Passelande felt no tug, no call and no name whispered in the wind. He almost forgot the enchantment upon him until one night, in the very thick of darkness, there was a calling and a whisper. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the feeling, but the urge dug deeper and deeper, like a tick burrowing under the skin.
The entire city fell asleep while Passelande kicked at his door, whinnying in anger for someone, anyone, to let him out. Arthur was gone - his other mount had been taken for the journey - but Passelande could feel him moving around the castle.
It was under a spell, he could tell. He could tell becausethe witch behind that was behind the curse on him and Passelande needed to see her.
He didn't though. For months and months he never saw the woman. Each time someone with blonde hair came into the stables, Passelande would start, rushing to the stable door even though he knew it wasn't her.
The magic placed upon him began to fester, winding around his legs and neck, binding him to the woman and the woman only. He didn't even know her name yet he was becoming out of control. Stableboys he'd known for his entire life were scared of the beast he'd become and even Arthur had commented on his brutal behaviour once, much to Passelande's shame.
He'd hoped Merlin would have seen it though, his obsession to get to that woman, to see her and be around her. Passelande knew it was a spell and knew Merlin was magic, so why couldn't he help Passelande?
He grew irritable, turning away food until he was trotted infront of a physician, bled and prodded for signs of illness. There was talk of slitting his throat and it was only after that that Passelande muzzled at his food, not wanting to but the other choice was to die.
Each and every day the burning need to find the witch was building until one day, years after the curse was placed on him, after an immortal army had stormed the stables and cut down more than one of his herd and in a time of great change, when Arthur took him for a ride. They were alone aside from Merlin and the gentle mare he rode, and Passelande could feel Arthur's uncertainty to where they were going.
Passelande chose the route, letting the humming magic lead him to Morgause. Her magic was weaker than it had been, but he could still feel the burn of obsession. He had a great rider and a wonderful life, but he needed Morgause.
So set on his course was he that Passelande didn't realise their small party was being attacked until Arthur was drawing his sword. At the sound of metal, Passelande did something that no pureblood warhorse should - he bolted, not caring for anything but the whisper of magic, the pull that the witch had laid upon him.
He came to a small cottage in a glade, scenic and everything the magic was not. He called out, needing her and wanting her, but the witch didn't appear. Instead a thin and wan woman Passelande recognised as Morgana exited the cottage. She stared at him, brow furrowing and hand moving out.
Somehow, though Passelande wasn't sure how, in lowering his head he managed to convince Morgana that he meant no harm. She lowered her hand and called behind her, over her shoulder. Passelande's shoulder twitched as he shooed a fly that landed there, hoping that she'd called his witch, the woman he'd wanted more than his rider, and his hopes were finally, finally answered.
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"Arthur's horse," Morgana said bitterly, and Passelande threw his ears back, snorting in anger. He may belong to the witch now, but he was also still Arthur's.
"But why come here?" the woman said aloud, stroking his nose softly.
"Morgause-" Morgana began, but the witch (Morgause! Passelande finally had a name!) cut her off with a gentle hand to her arm.
"Here," she whispered, pressing a kiss to Passelande's soft nose. Instantly Passelande felt the magic drop and he backed in fear, the horror of what he'd done kicking in as the spell melted away.
He shied away, squealing as he pivoted on his hind legs, leaving the glade and the cottage without a moment's hesitation. He'd left Arthur, left his rider for that woman? She was evil, she was bad and a kinslayer. What had he done?
He made straight for Camelot, a shining beacon in his soul that spoke of home. Horses of Camelot were trained to home back to the centre so that only death would ruin a horse of the fabled knights. Passelande was ansty when he returned, pacing his box and waiting - praying - that Arthur would visit him.
His prayers were answered when Merlin entered the stables, bee-lining for his stall and stroking his nose.
"You seem happier," he said and Passelande couldn't help but agree. It was Merlin who reassured him Arthur was safe and now, knowing that his rider was safe, Passelande could relax.
He had been stupid and blinded by magic, but he remembered the longing for Morgause, the need to find her. A small part, only a very small part at that, wanted the enchantment back, wanting to feel as though he was needed somewhere and Passelande burrowed his nose into the straw around him, closing his eyes in disgust of himself.
How could he think that after all Morgause had put Arthur through? Arthur had his loyalty and love, always would and that should have been the end of it.
Yet, and Passelande would be lying to himself if he tried to conceal the fact, he knew there would always be that small part that longed for Morgause, enchantment or otherwise.
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