Day 2 - We few
Day 2
Title: We few
Rating: G
Pairings: None. Morgana and an OC
Warnings: None
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 2, using the prompt: Magic, Knights and Snowball fights
OK - I'm sorry! I know that I promised something more cheerful today, but Colm went all reflective on me. I only used the 'knights' part of the prompt.
There are days when Sir Colm feels every one of his fifty-plus years, and most of those days are in winter, but not today. Today is as sunny as springtime, and if the nip in the air comes straight from the mountains it is amply countered by the clear blue skies above Camelot. It is no wonder to Sir Colm that the Prince has taken most of the knights hunting - a day like this was made for romping through the woods and coming home successful and exhausted with venison for the kitchens.
Sir Colm has seen many such days, and he does not begrudge them to the youngsters. He is aware that even some of the younger ones know the same way that he does that tomorrow will bring snow - they know by the ache in bones which have been broken in the service of the kingdom, and which will never be the same. The Prince himself, riding out lighthearted and eager, rubbed unconsciously at his shoulder as he did so. That man of his would be rubbing liniment into his shoulder this night.
Colm aches in too many places to count. But he is still here.
There are days when that is a source of pride to him. He rode with Uther when Camelot spanned half the land that it now holds. He remembers the Lady Igraine riding into Camelot beside her father, banners waving and bunting crisscrossing the streets to welcome their future queen. Half of the knights now plunging through the forest this day were trained by him, or by those he trained. It is a good legacy.
But he also trained many who now lie dead, and many who live crippled on tiny pensions in remote villages, boring all their acquaintances with tales of their youth.
Those of his years who are still whole, still hale, are mostly retired to their own lands now, with wives and hopeful families. He never sought lands, never sought more than to serve Camelot. Never wanted a wife, either. There was a man once - but he is dead too. He was a gentle soul, but the sickness took him five years ago. His fellow knights had pretended not to know, except Kay and Egbert, who attended the funeral and took him drinking afterwards, bless their innocent souls.
Colm wonders what he is still doing here sometimes - but where else would he go? The other knights treat him as a bit of a mascot. He supposes that he will serve his king until the day comes when he is too slow to get out of trouble, and that the Castellan will see to his burial on behalf of the King. He deserves that much at least.
But today he has taken his shield out to the orchard, where he can re-paint his shield in peace. His squire would do it, but he likes the task, likes to bring the colours and shapes of his blazon up fresh again. Carefully he outlines the divisions of the shield in black, then sits back to let that dry before colouring in the backgrounds.
"Good day, Sir Colm," says a voice behind him, and he looks around to see the Lady Morgana and her maid, come to enjoy the sunshine as he has. There's another soul who is adrift, he thinks.
"Don't get up," the lass says, seating herself beside him on the rough bench. "Can we help you?"
The poor child has little to do, and it doesn't come naturally to her. Most lasses her age are long married. Colm has seen them come to the court, marry at sixteen or so and leave - a perpetual parade through the castle.
Lady Morgana saw her first playmates marry years ago, while she was left behind as too close to the throne for casual dalliance, too dangerous to marry lest it be seen as a bid for prominence or for future claims to the kingdom. There had been rumours that she was for the Prince - another deterrent to even the most ardent suitors - but the king had never confirmed them and meantime the Lady grew no less beautiful, but as out of place among the young maidens as an orchid among roses.
"Perhaps you would like to colour in the red segments?" he asks, although this is a task he does actually prefer to do alone. She does a good job of it though, her maid passing her the pigments and wiping away any paint from her hands when she has finished.
"You should make the most of the sunshine," he tells her. "It will snow tomorrow."
"Really?" she asks, as if she means it. When he confirms that he is serious she looks at her maid. "We should..." she says, and the maid nods. Secrets. Well, it is good that she has a friend to share secrets with, even a maid.
Colm gives his attention to the shield after they leave, and then realises that he has missed the midday meal, without the other knights to clatter and bang around to remind him of the time. The sun is beginning to drop low. He'll have to stop by the kitchens and see if they have any pasties to spare before the hunting party returns and strips the kitchens bare of food.
Gingerly he hoists the shield over his shoulder, paint carefully to the outside, and heads back to the castle. It's been a fine day, today. He couldn't have asked for a nicer.
Title: We few
Rating: G
Pairings: None. Morgana and an OC
Warnings: None
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 2, using the prompt: Magic, Knights and Snowball fights
OK - I'm sorry! I know that I promised something more cheerful today, but Colm went all reflective on me. I only used the 'knights' part of the prompt.
There are days when Sir Colm feels every one of his fifty-plus years, and most of those days are in winter, but not today. Today is as sunny as springtime, and if the nip in the air comes straight from the mountains it is amply countered by the clear blue skies above Camelot. It is no wonder to Sir Colm that the Prince has taken most of the knights hunting - a day like this was made for romping through the woods and coming home successful and exhausted with venison for the kitchens.
Sir Colm has seen many such days, and he does not begrudge them to the youngsters. He is aware that even some of the younger ones know the same way that he does that tomorrow will bring snow - they know by the ache in bones which have been broken in the service of the kingdom, and which will never be the same. The Prince himself, riding out lighthearted and eager, rubbed unconsciously at his shoulder as he did so. That man of his would be rubbing liniment into his shoulder this night.
Colm aches in too many places to count. But he is still here.
There are days when that is a source of pride to him. He rode with Uther when Camelot spanned half the land that it now holds. He remembers the Lady Igraine riding into Camelot beside her father, banners waving and bunting crisscrossing the streets to welcome their future queen. Half of the knights now plunging through the forest this day were trained by him, or by those he trained. It is a good legacy.
But he also trained many who now lie dead, and many who live crippled on tiny pensions in remote villages, boring all their acquaintances with tales of their youth.
Those of his years who are still whole, still hale, are mostly retired to their own lands now, with wives and hopeful families. He never sought lands, never sought more than to serve Camelot. Never wanted a wife, either. There was a man once - but he is dead too. He was a gentle soul, but the sickness took him five years ago. His fellow knights had pretended not to know, except Kay and Egbert, who attended the funeral and took him drinking afterwards, bless their innocent souls.
Colm wonders what he is still doing here sometimes - but where else would he go? The other knights treat him as a bit of a mascot. He supposes that he will serve his king until the day comes when he is too slow to get out of trouble, and that the Castellan will see to his burial on behalf of the King. He deserves that much at least.
But today he has taken his shield out to the orchard, where he can re-paint his shield in peace. His squire would do it, but he likes the task, likes to bring the colours and shapes of his blazon up fresh again. Carefully he outlines the divisions of the shield in black, then sits back to let that dry before colouring in the backgrounds.
"Good day, Sir Colm," says a voice behind him, and he looks around to see the Lady Morgana and her maid, come to enjoy the sunshine as he has. There's another soul who is adrift, he thinks.
"Don't get up," the lass says, seating herself beside him on the rough bench. "Can we help you?"
The poor child has little to do, and it doesn't come naturally to her. Most lasses her age are long married. Colm has seen them come to the court, marry at sixteen or so and leave - a perpetual parade through the castle.
Lady Morgana saw her first playmates marry years ago, while she was left behind as too close to the throne for casual dalliance, too dangerous to marry lest it be seen as a bid for prominence or for future claims to the kingdom. There had been rumours that she was for the Prince - another deterrent to even the most ardent suitors - but the king had never confirmed them and meantime the Lady grew no less beautiful, but as out of place among the young maidens as an orchid among roses.
"Perhaps you would like to colour in the red segments?" he asks, although this is a task he does actually prefer to do alone. She does a good job of it though, her maid passing her the pigments and wiping away any paint from her hands when she has finished.
"You should make the most of the sunshine," he tells her. "It will snow tomorrow."
"Really?" she asks, as if she means it. When he confirms that he is serious she looks at her maid. "We should..." she says, and the maid nods. Secrets. Well, it is good that she has a friend to share secrets with, even a maid.
Colm gives his attention to the shield after they leave, and then realises that he has missed the midday meal, without the other knights to clatter and bang around to remind him of the time. The sun is beginning to drop low. He'll have to stop by the kitchens and see if they have any pasties to spare before the hunting party returns and strips the kitchens bare of food.
Gingerly he hoists the shield over his shoulder, paint carefully to the outside, and heads back to the castle. It's been a fine day, today. He couldn't have asked for a nicer.