Day 1 - Marzipan
Day 1
Title: Marzipan
Rating: G
Pairings: None, unless your slash-goggles are working overtime.
Warnings: Slightly OOC Morgana
Disclaimer: I do not own this version of Merlin, nor am I making any profit from it.
Prompt: This was written for Merlinadvent 2009 Day 1, using the prompts: Food & the master/servant divide
There is something about Merlin today; something different.
Arthur chews his breakfast thoughtfully. Why does Merlin have his hands in his armpits? It's cold, but not that cold. Considering that it's almost Christmas it is practically warm today - not a nip of frost in the air.
Merlin takes his hands from his armpits to poke at the fire and they look - red. Chafed.
"What's wrong with your hands?" Arthur asks.
"Oh just the marzipan, you know."
Arthur allows his face to convey the inadequacy of this response.
"In the kitchen?" Merlin elaborates. "Cook is making marzipan for the feasts, so we're all expected to help with the almonds."
As far as Arthur is concerned, marzipan appears on the festive table for each of the twelve nights of celebration - usually wrought into fantastical shapes which draw applause and admiration from the assembled feasters - is scoffed in about five minutes by every sweet-toothed noble and that's an end to the matter. He's fond of it himself, of course, but nowhere near as fond of it as Morgana, who used to stuff her pockets full when she was little and ration the stolen treats out as far through January as she could make them last.
"What about the almonds?" he asks. He should have remembered Sir Leon's maxim: 'Ask, but only if you REALLY want to know'. Leon created it in honour of Geoffrey of Monmouth, who is suprisingly well-informed on everything, but today it might well apply to Merlin.
Apparently, huge sacks of almonds which have been shelled over the past few months and placed in vats are now at the point where they have to be skinned, and skinning involves soaking them for at least a day before popping each wet almond out of its skin by hand. As Merlin illustrates the popping action with his hand he waves it in front of Arthur's nose and Arthur seizes it.
The fine-boned, long fingers are red and chafed, and there are blisters on Merlin's thumb and first two fingers. Arthur takes Merlin's other hand to compare and finds that he is evidently ambidextrous where almond-skinning is concerned.
"You are not to help in the kitchens again," he says imperiously, still staring at the wreck of what are - normally - rather nicer hands than any peasant should own.
"I can't do that!" Merlin protests. "I have to help! It's hard enough to get them to like me with my coming in from nowhere to be your manservant and all! If I don't help out when every other servant has to..."
"I don't see Morgana letting Guinevere's hands get like this!" Arthur protested.
"Then you haven't seen Gwen's hands in the last couple of days. Of course she helps out!"
Now that, Arthur just doesn't believe. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and stands. "Come on Merlin! I want to see Morgana before training this morning."
Morgana doesn't quite meet Arthur's eyes as she says blithely, "Of course Gwen helps with the almonds. All the servants do, Arthur. It's nothing new."
Arthur looks at Gwen's delicate hands - never as daintily soft as her mistress' pampered hands, but beautiful in form - and winces. "For marzipan?" he jibes. "You'll see her hands bloody for a sweet?"
"It's once a year, and it has been the same for every Christmas of your entire life!" she lashes out. "You just never noticed before!"
He is stung by the truth. No, he never did. Except perhaps... "Is that why old Edda used to wear gloves at Christmas? I always thought she was just cold." Edda was his nurse when he was very little. She always smelled of lavender water, and even now Arthur finds the scent of lavender inexplicably comforting on a bad day.
"Probably," Morgana says. "Now go away. I have better things to do..."
"... than be reminded of your selfishness. Yes, Morgana. I understand."
As Arthur stomps out of the room he sees Gwen reach out to touch her mistress's shoulder, but Morgana ducks her head and fidgets out of her reach. Good. She's feeling guilty. She should.
At his shoulder, Merlin is making protesting noises, but Arthur's not listening. Next on his route is the kitchen.
As soon as Merlin figures that out, he dances in front of Arthur and tries to block the way. "No, Arthur! You can't!"
Arthur stops and gives him one hot glare. "I am the Prince and I can do whatever I damn well like, Merlin - and today I am going to the kitchen to tell Cook that you are not permitted to skin almonds."
A noble of the court passes by, forcing Merlin to lean in closer and hiss at him. "Please don't! Honestly, Arthur! It's fine!"
Arthur grabs the nearest waving hand and spreads it before their eyes. "This is not acceptable."
"You're making a fuss about nothing! You will humiliate me in front of everyone if you do this. Just imagine if your father told the knights not to leave bruises on you - that's what it would be like for me!"
And Arthur stops. He raises his eyes to Merlin's imploring ones.
That... unfortunately... makes sense.
"How much longer?" he says through gritted teeth.
"We're almost done. Two more days, that's all."
Arthur considers.
"This morning you will clean out the stables. When you have finished that, I need you to exercise the dogs. You are to report to me when that is finished and if I find you anywhere near the kitchens I will have you put in the stocks. Overnight.
"Tomorrow we will be hunting. All day. Make sure my gear is ready - we leave at dawn."
Behind his back Arthur hears Merlin give a huge sigh of relief as Arthur wheels about and heads for the armoury.
Arthur tries very hard not to look, but his eyes are drawn to the hands of every servant in the castle for the next week, until blisters subside and reddened hands fade back to normal.
He doesn't think he'll ever eat marzipan again.
Title: Marzipan
Rating: G
Pairings: None, unless your slash-goggles are working overtime.
Warnings: Slightly OOC Morgana
Disclaimer: I do not own this version of Merlin, nor am I making any profit from it.
Prompt: This was written for Merlinadvent 2009 Day 1, using the prompts: Food & the master/servant divide
There is something about Merlin today; something different.
Arthur chews his breakfast thoughtfully. Why does Merlin have his hands in his armpits? It's cold, but not that cold. Considering that it's almost Christmas it is practically warm today - not a nip of frost in the air.
Merlin takes his hands from his armpits to poke at the fire and they look - red. Chafed.
"What's wrong with your hands?" Arthur asks.
"Oh just the marzipan, you know."
Arthur allows his face to convey the inadequacy of this response.
"In the kitchen?" Merlin elaborates. "Cook is making marzipan for the feasts, so we're all expected to help with the almonds."
As far as Arthur is concerned, marzipan appears on the festive table for each of the twelve nights of celebration - usually wrought into fantastical shapes which draw applause and admiration from the assembled feasters - is scoffed in about five minutes by every sweet-toothed noble and that's an end to the matter. He's fond of it himself, of course, but nowhere near as fond of it as Morgana, who used to stuff her pockets full when she was little and ration the stolen treats out as far through January as she could make them last.
"What about the almonds?" he asks. He should have remembered Sir Leon's maxim: 'Ask, but only if you REALLY want to know'. Leon created it in honour of Geoffrey of Monmouth, who is suprisingly well-informed on everything, but today it might well apply to Merlin.
Apparently, huge sacks of almonds which have been shelled over the past few months and placed in vats are now at the point where they have to be skinned, and skinning involves soaking them for at least a day before popping each wet almond out of its skin by hand. As Merlin illustrates the popping action with his hand he waves it in front of Arthur's nose and Arthur seizes it.
The fine-boned, long fingers are red and chafed, and there are blisters on Merlin's thumb and first two fingers. Arthur takes Merlin's other hand to compare and finds that he is evidently ambidextrous where almond-skinning is concerned.
"You are not to help in the kitchens again," he says imperiously, still staring at the wreck of what are - normally - rather nicer hands than any peasant should own.
"I can't do that!" Merlin protests. "I have to help! It's hard enough to get them to like me with my coming in from nowhere to be your manservant and all! If I don't help out when every other servant has to..."
"I don't see Morgana letting Guinevere's hands get like this!" Arthur protested.
"Then you haven't seen Gwen's hands in the last couple of days. Of course she helps out!"
Now that, Arthur just doesn't believe. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and stands. "Come on Merlin! I want to see Morgana before training this morning."
Morgana doesn't quite meet Arthur's eyes as she says blithely, "Of course Gwen helps with the almonds. All the servants do, Arthur. It's nothing new."
Arthur looks at Gwen's delicate hands - never as daintily soft as her mistress' pampered hands, but beautiful in form - and winces. "For marzipan?" he jibes. "You'll see her hands bloody for a sweet?"
"It's once a year, and it has been the same for every Christmas of your entire life!" she lashes out. "You just never noticed before!"
He is stung by the truth. No, he never did. Except perhaps... "Is that why old Edda used to wear gloves at Christmas? I always thought she was just cold." Edda was his nurse when he was very little. She always smelled of lavender water, and even now Arthur finds the scent of lavender inexplicably comforting on a bad day.
"Probably," Morgana says. "Now go away. I have better things to do..."
"... than be reminded of your selfishness. Yes, Morgana. I understand."
As Arthur stomps out of the room he sees Gwen reach out to touch her mistress's shoulder, but Morgana ducks her head and fidgets out of her reach. Good. She's feeling guilty. She should.
At his shoulder, Merlin is making protesting noises, but Arthur's not listening. Next on his route is the kitchen.
As soon as Merlin figures that out, he dances in front of Arthur and tries to block the way. "No, Arthur! You can't!"
Arthur stops and gives him one hot glare. "I am the Prince and I can do whatever I damn well like, Merlin - and today I am going to the kitchen to tell Cook that you are not permitted to skin almonds."
A noble of the court passes by, forcing Merlin to lean in closer and hiss at him. "Please don't! Honestly, Arthur! It's fine!"
Arthur grabs the nearest waving hand and spreads it before their eyes. "This is not acceptable."
"You're making a fuss about nothing! You will humiliate me in front of everyone if you do this. Just imagine if your father told the knights not to leave bruises on you - that's what it would be like for me!"
And Arthur stops. He raises his eyes to Merlin's imploring ones.
That... unfortunately... makes sense.
"How much longer?" he says through gritted teeth.
"We're almost done. Two more days, that's all."
Arthur considers.
"This morning you will clean out the stables. When you have finished that, I need you to exercise the dogs. You are to report to me when that is finished and if I find you anywhere near the kitchens I will have you put in the stocks. Overnight.
"Tomorrow we will be hunting. All day. Make sure my gear is ready - we leave at dawn."
Behind his back Arthur hears Merlin give a huge sigh of relief as Arthur wheels about and heads for the armoury.
Arthur tries very hard not to look, but his eyes are drawn to the hands of every servant in the castle for the next week, until blisters subside and reddened hands fade back to normal.
He doesn't think he'll ever eat marzipan again.