Kink Me! #28
Kink Me! #28
closed to new promptsWelcome to Kink Me! Merlin #28!
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“Come here,” he says, and before the man can duck out of his reach, he's grabbed a ridiculous neckerchief from around his neck that's honestly more grime than cloth, and pulled it up around his eyes. Then he grabs him by the shoulder and spins him round until he's getting dizzy just watching him.
“Now,” he says. “Tell me which way is north.”
The peasant makes a face, and Arthur snorts in triumph.
“Not so easy now, is it?” he says.
But then the peasant's arm shoots out towards the docks, with not a moment's hesitation. “It's that way,” he says, slowly and clearly, like he's talking to a simpleton. “And by the way, you're a giant prat.”
Arthur feels his mouth drop open a little and he turns to the mate to see the same expression on his face. When he turns back to the peasant, he's pulled the neckerchief down again and is looking generally irritated.
“Are you two going to piss off and leave me in peace, now, or what?” he says.
Arthur closes his mouth with a snap. A new idea has occurred to him, one that makes him think perhaps he will see the Adriatic before the year is out, after all.
“What's your name?” he asks.
“Merlin,” says the peasant. “Not that it's any of your business.”
“Well, Merlin,” says Arthur. “I'm Arthur, son of Duke Uther of Cornwall, and your little trick with the compass has cost me a hundred silver marks in repairs to my boat.”
Merlin's eyes go wide. “I don't know what you're talk-” he starts, but Arthur raises a hand.
“Now,” he says, “I suspect you don't own a purse, let alone a coin to put in it, so I suppose I'll have to call the sheriff.” He peers around as if looking for someone, and Merlin grabs his arm.
“You can't do that,” he says. “I've done nothing wrong!”
“Well, we can let the sheriff decide,” says Arthur. “Or--” and he gives Merlin a speculative look, as if an idea is only just occurring to him. “Or, there is an opening on my crew. You could work your passage to Venice, see how you get along.”
Merlin's face stills. “Venice?” he says.
“That's right.” Arthur claps him on the back. “How does cabin boy sound?”
Merlin manages to look doubtful and hopeful at the same time, and Arthur grips him by the shoulder and delivers him into the arms of his mate.
“Take Merlin and find him something to wear,” he says. “We sail as soon as the hull's patched.”
“Aye, my lord,” says the mate, and steers Merlin away down the street. Arthur watches them go until they disappear into the fog, then follows the needle of the compass, fascinated to see it turn even though he's standing still.
It's odd, he thinks, but despite the grime and the idiocy and the lack of respect, apparently there's something about Merlin.
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