A complication: chapter 6
The horses tread carefully into the quiet around Asidore. It was past midnight and the villagers who lived on the outskirts were sleeping, leaving only cricket-song to disrupt the boys’ thoughts, until they rode further and singing men poured out of a Free House ahead of them.
The chants were similar to those of drunken Camelot after a hard day fighting, and Arthur knew the spirit all too well. And so did Merlin, though his prince was unaware of this fact.
As the boys drew nearer, faces replaced the voices of the villagers, and upon seeing two people on horseback, the singing men started shouting.
“Loooooooooook! Look, look! Visitorrrrrrrrrrs!”
Arthur rolled his eyes at Merlin, and shot a stare which demanded “ignore them.”
Merlin complied, but the men began to surround the horses in their cheerful way, light on their feet but loud on their tongues.
“What you twos guys doooing on here now?” one man drawled, holding onto Arthur’s horse to stop himself from swaying to the floor.
The prince immediately jerked the animal away and the man fell onto his back while his friends fell laughing.
“Tha’s not ver’ nice!” The man on the floor pointed a finger at Arthur, who simply raised an eyebrow.
“Come on Merlin,” he called to the wizard in a low voice, and moved to lead the horse forward, but the men would not stand back.
“Look look! This one’s got himself a crown!!!! Do yee think yerself a princ...ess then?” he hiccupped.
At this Arthur narrowed his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
Merlin couldn’t help then the smile that found its way to his mouth, but he bit his lip and no sound escaped. Glancing at Arthur’s expression, he saw in it that very first meeting between himself and the prince, but this time, no hint of a smirk tugged at Arthur’s features. Instead the prince was smouldering. Very, very hot. And then Merlin realised that he was biting his lip so hard he tasted blood.
Arthur lifted one leg, almost knocking Merlin flat, and swung it over his horse, landing with a thud and a hand on his sword.
“Arthur!” Merlin whispered harshly when he realised what the prince was intending, “they’re drunk, they don’t know what they’re saying.”
Arthur pretended not to hear, stepping forwards a footprint a second, each one bringing him closer to the stale smell of ale and sweat. The man who had spoken hiccupped again, then swayed.
“Arthur! We’re guests here!” Merlin tried again, this time leaping off his own horse and stepping as closely behind the prince as he dared.
“Woa, this one’s lookin’ for a fight!” the man roared with laughter, mirrored by his fellows, and he took a swaggering stand, fingering the hilt of his sword.
“Looking for a fight?” the prince repeated, the smirk flashing through his features. He took out his sword in one quick manoeuvre and swung it in his hand half-heartedly; it was a waste to show off when your opponent was too drunk to take notice.
Arthur looked so menacing then, even in jest, even with his sword pointed at the ground, so powerful... and so very something-Merlin-shouldn’t-think-about, that the wizard felt the need to step between the prince and the drunken fool.
“Actually... we were looking for a room,” Merlin didn’t stop to think about what he was saying, nor how suggestive his tone had sounded, because he was now standing in the middle of a sword sandwich.
The laughter bellowed again. He heard Arthur sigh angrily behind him, and only then did Merlin realise what he had implied.
“I mean...”
“Aww, look he’s protecting his boooooyfriend!”
At this Arthur’s sword went up again. It was Merlin’s turn to sigh, but his was exasperated.
“No, you idiot,” he mumbled to the drunkard, “I was protecting you.”
He stood aside. All it took was one blow... and Merlin had known that Arthur would never harm a helpless man; he just wanted to spare the man the bruises. But now the man was floored, and neither sword had even been used.
“Get yourself home!” Arthur ordered, disgust dripping from his words. This, this was somehow more familiar to the fallen man than the crown had been, and a change occurred in his face so instantly and violently that Merlin did a double take. It was in the light of the moon and in his steady stance that the crown prince was recognised, and each man standing landed on his knees.
“Forgive us, sire,” their chant was different now, their heads bowed. The disgust on Arthur’s face vanished, but something similar took its place, to Merlin’s surprise.
“Get up, and get home,” the prince said, but his voice was softer, and he climbed onto his horse again.
The men scattered, the breeze and the royal encounter sobering them quickly, and then they were lost to the wind.
Merlin took to his horse and took a glance at Arthur. They met each other’s eyes and Merlin felt his cheeks burn immediately, cursing under his tongue for the stupidity of the reaction. They stared at each other for a few more seconds, and then the prince burst into laughter.
“Merlin,” he shook his head, “I never want to see you become that inebriated.”
The wizard raised his eyebrow at this.
“No, I mean it,” continued Arthur, “you’re insolent enough when you’re sober; I’d hate to think of what trouble you’d land yourself into when drunk.”
Merlin flushed, thinking back to the last time he’d had alcohol. One sip was all he needed. One sniff was all he needed, come to think of it.
“Don’t worry,” Merlin cleared his throat “you don’t need to warn me.”
Arthur smirked again.
“You’ve not been to Asidore before, Merlin... its beach isn’t all it’s famous for.”
He looked pointedly at his friend, and then at the Free House. Merlin followed his stare to a sign outside the building which had been engraved. The message read: “Asidore, home to the best Ale in all of Albion.”
“Oh.”
“Well then,” Arthur nodded his head towards the Inn next door, “Onward.”
Merlin blinked. An Inn?
“Um...” he began, but was at a loss with words.
“Well go on! Unless you want to camp out here tonight?”
“But... I thought that was the plan?” Merlin’s confusion found a home in his creased forehead.
Arthur sighed, moving his horse beside Merlin’s, then taking the reigns from the wizard’s horse out of his hands, and leading both animals towards the Inn. After dropping to the ground and tying off the reigns, he explained.
“I didn’t realise you were going to bring along a map... so... I took sleeping provisions just in case we had to stay in the forest.”
Merlin could see the effort required for the prince to admit to predicting he would get lost, it was evident in the way he rubbed his neck and looked at each spot but the wizard’s face.
“Right...” the wizard grinned.
“We’ll take two rooms, and leave Asidore after greeting the village leader in the morning,” said Arthur.
Perfect. The prince would be staying in one room and Merlin in the other. All would be well.
And he absolutely did not feel anything other than total relief at this moment. Nothing at all. He felt no disappointment whatsoever. And neither did Merlin. What.So.Ever.
The chants were similar to those of drunken Camelot after a hard day fighting, and Arthur knew the spirit all too well. And so did Merlin, though his prince was unaware of this fact.
As the boys drew nearer, faces replaced the voices of the villagers, and upon seeing two people on horseback, the singing men started shouting.
“Loooooooooook! Look, look! Visitorrrrrrrrrrs!”
Arthur rolled his eyes at Merlin, and shot a stare which demanded “ignore them.”
Merlin complied, but the men began to surround the horses in their cheerful way, light on their feet but loud on their tongues.
“What you twos guys doooing on here now?” one man drawled, holding onto Arthur’s horse to stop himself from swaying to the floor.
The prince immediately jerked the animal away and the man fell onto his back while his friends fell laughing.
“Tha’s not ver’ nice!” The man on the floor pointed a finger at Arthur, who simply raised an eyebrow.
“Come on Merlin,” he called to the wizard in a low voice, and moved to lead the horse forward, but the men would not stand back.
“Look look! This one’s got himself a crown!!!! Do yee think yerself a princ...ess then?” he hiccupped.
At this Arthur narrowed his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
Merlin couldn’t help then the smile that found its way to his mouth, but he bit his lip and no sound escaped. Glancing at Arthur’s expression, he saw in it that very first meeting between himself and the prince, but this time, no hint of a smirk tugged at Arthur’s features. Instead the prince was smouldering. Very, very hot. And then Merlin realised that he was biting his lip so hard he tasted blood.
Arthur lifted one leg, almost knocking Merlin flat, and swung it over his horse, landing with a thud and a hand on his sword.
“Arthur!” Merlin whispered harshly when he realised what the prince was intending, “they’re drunk, they don’t know what they’re saying.”
Arthur pretended not to hear, stepping forwards a footprint a second, each one bringing him closer to the stale smell of ale and sweat. The man who had spoken hiccupped again, then swayed.
“Arthur! We’re guests here!” Merlin tried again, this time leaping off his own horse and stepping as closely behind the prince as he dared.
“Woa, this one’s lookin’ for a fight!” the man roared with laughter, mirrored by his fellows, and he took a swaggering stand, fingering the hilt of his sword.
“Looking for a fight?” the prince repeated, the smirk flashing through his features. He took out his sword in one quick manoeuvre and swung it in his hand half-heartedly; it was a waste to show off when your opponent was too drunk to take notice.
Arthur looked so menacing then, even in jest, even with his sword pointed at the ground, so powerful... and so very something-Merlin-shouldn’t-think-about, that the wizard felt the need to step between the prince and the drunken fool.
“Actually... we were looking for a room,” Merlin didn’t stop to think about what he was saying, nor how suggestive his tone had sounded, because he was now standing in the middle of a sword sandwich.
The laughter bellowed again. He heard Arthur sigh angrily behind him, and only then did Merlin realise what he had implied.
“I mean...”
“Aww, look he’s protecting his boooooyfriend!”
At this Arthur’s sword went up again. It was Merlin’s turn to sigh, but his was exasperated.
“No, you idiot,” he mumbled to the drunkard, “I was protecting you.”
He stood aside. All it took was one blow... and Merlin had known that Arthur would never harm a helpless man; he just wanted to spare the man the bruises. But now the man was floored, and neither sword had even been used.
“Get yourself home!” Arthur ordered, disgust dripping from his words. This, this was somehow more familiar to the fallen man than the crown had been, and a change occurred in his face so instantly and violently that Merlin did a double take. It was in the light of the moon and in his steady stance that the crown prince was recognised, and each man standing landed on his knees.
“Forgive us, sire,” their chant was different now, their heads bowed. The disgust on Arthur’s face vanished, but something similar took its place, to Merlin’s surprise.
“Get up, and get home,” the prince said, but his voice was softer, and he climbed onto his horse again.
The men scattered, the breeze and the royal encounter sobering them quickly, and then they were lost to the wind.
Merlin took to his horse and took a glance at Arthur. They met each other’s eyes and Merlin felt his cheeks burn immediately, cursing under his tongue for the stupidity of the reaction. They stared at each other for a few more seconds, and then the prince burst into laughter.
“Merlin,” he shook his head, “I never want to see you become that inebriated.”
The wizard raised his eyebrow at this.
“No, I mean it,” continued Arthur, “you’re insolent enough when you’re sober; I’d hate to think of what trouble you’d land yourself into when drunk.”
Merlin flushed, thinking back to the last time he’d had alcohol. One sip was all he needed. One sniff was all he needed, come to think of it.
“Don’t worry,” Merlin cleared his throat “you don’t need to warn me.”
Arthur smirked again.
“You’ve not been to Asidore before, Merlin... its beach isn’t all it’s famous for.”
He looked pointedly at his friend, and then at the Free House. Merlin followed his stare to a sign outside the building which had been engraved. The message read: “Asidore, home to the best Ale in all of Albion.”
“Oh.”
“Well then,” Arthur nodded his head towards the Inn next door, “Onward.”
Merlin blinked. An Inn?
“Um...” he began, but was at a loss with words.
“Well go on! Unless you want to camp out here tonight?”
“But... I thought that was the plan?” Merlin’s confusion found a home in his creased forehead.
Arthur sighed, moving his horse beside Merlin’s, then taking the reigns from the wizard’s horse out of his hands, and leading both animals towards the Inn. After dropping to the ground and tying off the reigns, he explained.
“I didn’t realise you were going to bring along a map... so... I took sleeping provisions just in case we had to stay in the forest.”
Merlin could see the effort required for the prince to admit to predicting he would get lost, it was evident in the way he rubbed his neck and looked at each spot but the wizard’s face.
“Right...” the wizard grinned.
“We’ll take two rooms, and leave Asidore after greeting the village leader in the morning,” said Arthur.
Perfect. The prince would be staying in one room and Merlin in the other. All would be well.
And he absolutely did not feel anything other than total relief at this moment. Nothing at all. He felt no disappointment whatsoever. And neither did Merlin. What.So.Ever.