Merlin - All Things Equal
It's a bit early, but the challenge is going on now and not in a month, so...
Title: All Things Equal
Genre: Gen (more if you squint)
Rating: PG
Length: ~2,600 words
Season/Spoilers: General series one
Synopsis: The seasons are changing, in both Camelot and beyond.
Author’s Notes: For the cliche_bingo entry “religious/other festivals”. Mabon is a festival of the Autumnal Equinox (in the Northern Hemisphere).
Disclaimer: I do not own this particular interpretation of the myth and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin could feel it. In his bones, in his blood, he knew the seasons were changing without daring to look out the tiny window set high in the hovel he currently called his room. The air was thick with heat during the day, like a damp woollen blanket upon his skin that he could not quite shake off. At the night, the day’s sweat cooled until he shivered, made him torn between reaching for a coverlet or relishing the reprieve from the earlier swelter.
At home in Ealdor, the village as a whole would be shifting, the tasks of Summer fading into those of Fall and the preparation of the Winter to come. His mother would move from the fields to the kitchen, baking away and preserving what she could while the meats dried on pegs set safely away from all but the most persistent of animals and children.
He would be helping with the fields, bringing in everything they could before it had the chance to rot, shoring up the house against the coming cold, chopping stacks of firewood to see them through the worst of it. He would check on Will and his mother even as Will checked on Thom’s ailing widow down the lane, the village banding together as one giant family to make sure everyone was ready, everyone doing everything as needed, knowing there would be the ultimate payoff at the end.
He pushed those thoughts out of his head with an inward sigh, focusing instead on the present, on Camelot and everything it held. His tasks never changed here; the same thing day in and day out. He woke with the dawn to begin his chores, getting a verbal list from Gaius before even making it to Arthur’s room to get a longer and far more involved set of tasks.
He wasn’t sure why Arthur bothered to list everything every day; it was rarely differed. Fetch breakfast and any laundry that had been completed the day before. Make sure the proper attire was laid out and help him into it if necessary. A brief respite if Arthur had meetings, during which time he was to tidy the room and attempt to fit in Gaius’ tasks. Serve lunch and prepare either the riding gear or the armour depending on the day’s events. After that, another break to finish the healer’s requests and any odd thing Arthur had thought up before removing the now filthy gear and cleaning it for its next use. Then dinner, and twice weekly, though more often with the heat, a bath. Finally, he got the chance to curl up with his book of magic and read before drifting off again.
This day though, was different. Arthur stopped as he was tying the cords of his shirt, caught him in he act of purposely turning his back to the window and blocking out the thoughts of home. “What are you doing?” he asked, striding over as if the cloth in his hands were far more important than a set of napkins and sheets.
“Your laundry?” Merlin asked as much as answered in reply.
“Not that,” Arthur brushed it off, walked past him to the open window. “It is a beautiful day outside and you have not even bothered to look, not even once.”
Merlin paused. “Are you certain you are feeling alright, sire?” he asked. Arthur was not known for random acts of nature appreciation.
“I’m fine, but you seem... off,” the prince replied. Turning now to face him, he added, “Did you know I have not caught you mindlessly staring out a window, or hanging over the edge of a balcony, or even wandering outside for the sake of anything more than a required visit in three days?”
Merlin made a face. “You counted?” Perhaps a visit to Gaius was in order after all.
“Oh, shut up,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “I was simply concerned. It’s not like you and you know it. I feared you had fallen ill or some such thing. Then again, it’s not like you’re actually focused on your tasks that much more, but simply focused on not doing something else.”
Merlin made another face. When did Arthur become a student of human nature? When did Arthur notice anything not directly related to Camelot or the crown? “I have things to do,” he answered instead.
Arthur leaned against the stone, watched him carefully in a way that was making him nervous. “And if you did not?”
“If I didn’t?” Merlin repeated, not quite sure what he was getting at.
“If you did not have these ‘things’ to do, what would you be doing?” Arthur asked.
“I would probably be doing other things that need to be doing,” Merlin replied, folding a napkin with perhaps a bit more force than was strictly necessary. “Despite what you may think, being both your personal servant and Gaius’ apprentice is actually a rather fulltime job.”
Arthur huffed out a breath and looked dangerously close to rolling his eyes again. “Without the tasks put upon you by Gaius or myself,” he clarified. “If you were home, right now in Ealdor, what would you be doing?”
Merlin was torn between wondering when Arthur suddenly decided to show an interest in his personal life and running in fear from the change. Instead though, a traitorous tidbit of thought snuck its way in while he was distracted and answered honestly, “At home we would be preparing for the festival of Mabon.”
Arthur looked intrigued. Again, this was not a good sign. “And what would that entail?” he pressed.
“The same thing it does in pretty much every village, I would suppose,” Merlin sighed, putting down his folding as a lost cause. “You tend to the harvest and make certain the stores are prepared and in good enough condition to hold the food throughout the winter.”
“And?” Arthur prompted.
“And you take stock of what you have and what you will need, separate out the tax for the king, that sort of thing,” Merlin shrugged. It was all pretty basic; he was not certain why Arthur was taking a sudden interest in it.
“And?” Arthur repeated.
Merlin made yet another face. “And what?” he asked.
“And then what?” Arthur clarified, or at least did what he must have thought of as clarification. He wandered over to the table, but did not sit. Instead, he leaned forward with his elbows braced upon the wood and watched Merlin knowingly. “When the crops and stores and taxes and homes were as prepared as you could make them, what did you do then?”
Merlin smiled, just for a moment, as a memory came to him unbidden. There was music and laughter and sweet treats and honey wine and what passed as dancing with far too many left feet and exhaustion of a far better kind than what came from toiling in the fields. “We celebrated,” he said, more to himself than to the man he supposedly served. “We ran to the woods and picked the fruits and berries, gathered as much as we could carry, and the women baked and the men prepared a space and we were thankful for the bounty and hopeful that we would survive and maybe a bit drunk and maybe a bit frivolous and maybe just a bit happy to be in the now and not to worry about what was to come.”
It all came out in a rush and he wasn’t sure if he should be shameful or embarrassed or feel far less civilized than the man now standing next to him, but what was done was done and what was said was said. It was a time when he could be himself, when the magic of life itself was high enough in the air that no one questioned the fire pit lighting itself any more than a piece of pie disappearing before their very eyes.
A hand fell upon his shoulder, squeezed it softly. “Then why aren’t you doing that now?” Arthur asked, not judging, just curious. “Why are you hiding from what was quite obviously a bit of fun and excitement if the look on your face is anything to go by?”
Merlin grabbed a blanket, folded it into a precise square, felt the memory slide back into its hiding place along with a hundred and one other things he was not supposed to share or want or need. “Because this is not Ealdor and things are done different here,” he replied with a forced shrug.
The king’s page chose that moment to interrupt, calling Arthur to a meeting with his father. Just before he disappeared out the door, Merlin could have sworn he heard a whispered, “But it doesn’t have to be.”
He tried not to think much about it over the next three days, the days that would have led up to the beginning of the festivities back home. If he happened to pause in the corridor just a bit longer, gaze out at the changing colours of the leaves with a wistful smile, no one bothered to call him on it nor did they try to stop him.
He had almost forgotten the strange conversation with Arthur on the morning of the fourth day when he brought him his breakfast. Instead of sitting in his dressing gown waiting for his clothing to be laid out for him, the prince was already dressed, a bag of gear at his side. He tossed a smaller, lighter, bag at Merlin and ordered, “Let’s go.”
Merlin fumbled with it before catching it properly, looking longingly at the tray of food he had just brought up. It was not precisely protocol, but Arthur always allowed him his fill of the leftovers and he had grown accustomed to the late breakfast of sweet things and heavier fare than what was standardly available for the servants in the kitchens. “But...” he protested, mind running through the list Gaius had given him mixed with the list he could have sworn Arthur had given him the day before.
“There’s plenty in there for the road,” Arthur called over his shoulder, disappearing through the doorway.
Merlin glanced in the bag to see that yes, there truly was. This did not stop him from grabbing a sweetbread from the table and stuffing it in his mouth as he rushed to follow.
Arthur led him past the stables to the main gate, not even pausing to take his horse for whatever journey he had planned. He wore no armour, only a blade, so he was either not expecting trouble or not planning on going far. Crossing the threshold out of Camelot, the two men were joined by a smiling Morgana and Gwen, a handful of what appeared to be an equal mix of guards and servants trailing behind them.
Now Merlin truly was thoroughly confused. He opened his mouth to voice this, but was hushed by a grinning Gwen. She placed her finger to her lips, then to his own, before replacing the finger with a little sweet candy from a pouch at her side. “You’ll ruin the surprise,” was all she said, tugging him after her.
They reached the boundary to the forest where Arthur finally paused. He looked to the trees, then back to Merlin with a serious expression on his face. “This frolicking you did; was there a pattern or instruction to it, or did you just have at it?”
Merlin blinked at the surreality of it all, but managed to answer, “It’s usually the nature of frolicking to have no pattern, sire.”
Arthur nodded as if that was an acceptable answer and gestured to the forest as a whole. “Well then, have at it,” he ordered in the same serious tone, his face finally breaking into a grin at the end.
“Really?” Merlin asked, dubiously.
“Really,” Arthur assured him.
Morgana appeared at his side, one of Gwen’s candies in hand. “We all deserve a bit of fun sometimes, Merlin,” she told him with a wink. She held up the sweet and for a moment he thought she was going to offer it to him. Instead, she popped it into her own mouth with a mischievous quirk of her lips. With that, she took off, Gwen at her heels and a trusted guard behind them trying his very best to keep up.
That appeared to be the signal the others were waiting for as the group as a whole seemed to dissolve into the trees, the echoes of laughter bounding off the branches and leaves and sounding like music to his ear as well as heart.
He raced for hours, gathering berries and nuts and apples and filling his pockets and pouch. He ran into others, some he had not even known had come with on this little adventure, sharing what they found and searching for more. Arthur himself had found a hive complete with honey, offered him a piece of the comb even as Morgana stole some for herself and licked her fingers indulgently.
Sometime later, just as he looked up to see the sun beginning to dip below the canopy of trees, adding new hues to the artistry already on display, he heard a horn blow in the distance. He knew as well as the others that this signalled the end of their fun, that it was time to return to their duties once more.
Sweaty and sticky and pleasantly tired, he joined the others on their trek back to the castle. The warmth of the sun was fading, but he could still feel it in his bones, knew it would carry him through even the coldest night the oncoming winter had to offer. He paused just before the main gate, watched the sun set the forest and path and even Camelot itself ablaze in a cacophony of colours, burned it into his mind to add to the little corner of memories of things he never wanted to let go.
He found himself joined by Arthur, and shortly by Gwen and Morgana, the light bathing them in the same golden light, as if the magic of nature itself reached out to grace them all. They watched in silence until the glowing disk had nearly disappeared below the horizon.
Arthur leaned forward, voice no more than a whisper and told him, “You’re going to miss the best part.”
There was a less than gentle tug on his sleeve and he found himself juggling to save an apple at the cost of a bundle of berries. Gwen caught it before he could and offered it back, stealing one for herself in payment and one for her mistress just because she liked them. Morgana rolled her eyes at Arthur’s impatience, laughing, “Of course he would think this the best.”
They led him to the main hall where a feast was prepared. He could smell the roasted meats and something that seemed suspiciously like the little pies his mother used to make. Looking around, he could see flagons of what he was certain was honey wine and could hear the beginnings of far finer minstrels than anything Ealdor ever had to offer.
Arthur was at his side again, offering him a cup of meade and munching on a sweetbread. “You’re not the only one with traditions,” he confided.
For the first time in a long time, Merlin felt something loosen around his heart. The pomp and circumstance and finery and such was not same as his simple life in Ealdor but, as he took in the people laughing dancing and the sense of celebration in the air, he could not help but think it was something he could learn to appreciate.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: All Things Equal
Genre: Gen (more if you squint)
Rating: PG
Length: ~2,600 words
Season/Spoilers: General series one
Synopsis: The seasons are changing, in both Camelot and beyond.
Author’s Notes: For the cliche_bingo entry “religious/other festivals”. Mabon is a festival of the Autumnal Equinox (in the Northern Hemisphere).
Disclaimer: I do not own this particular interpretation of the myth and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Merlin could feel it. In his bones, in his blood, he knew the seasons were changing without daring to look out the tiny window set high in the hovel he currently called his room. The air was thick with heat during the day, like a damp woollen blanket upon his skin that he could not quite shake off. At the night, the day’s sweat cooled until he shivered, made him torn between reaching for a coverlet or relishing the reprieve from the earlier swelter.
At home in Ealdor, the village as a whole would be shifting, the tasks of Summer fading into those of Fall and the preparation of the Winter to come. His mother would move from the fields to the kitchen, baking away and preserving what she could while the meats dried on pegs set safely away from all but the most persistent of animals and children.
He would be helping with the fields, bringing in everything they could before it had the chance to rot, shoring up the house against the coming cold, chopping stacks of firewood to see them through the worst of it. He would check on Will and his mother even as Will checked on Thom’s ailing widow down the lane, the village banding together as one giant family to make sure everyone was ready, everyone doing everything as needed, knowing there would be the ultimate payoff at the end.
He pushed those thoughts out of his head with an inward sigh, focusing instead on the present, on Camelot and everything it held. His tasks never changed here; the same thing day in and day out. He woke with the dawn to begin his chores, getting a verbal list from Gaius before even making it to Arthur’s room to get a longer and far more involved set of tasks.
He wasn’t sure why Arthur bothered to list everything every day; it was rarely differed. Fetch breakfast and any laundry that had been completed the day before. Make sure the proper attire was laid out and help him into it if necessary. A brief respite if Arthur had meetings, during which time he was to tidy the room and attempt to fit in Gaius’ tasks. Serve lunch and prepare either the riding gear or the armour depending on the day’s events. After that, another break to finish the healer’s requests and any odd thing Arthur had thought up before removing the now filthy gear and cleaning it for its next use. Then dinner, and twice weekly, though more often with the heat, a bath. Finally, he got the chance to curl up with his book of magic and read before drifting off again.
This day though, was different. Arthur stopped as he was tying the cords of his shirt, caught him in he act of purposely turning his back to the window and blocking out the thoughts of home. “What are you doing?” he asked, striding over as if the cloth in his hands were far more important than a set of napkins and sheets.
“Your laundry?” Merlin asked as much as answered in reply.
“Not that,” Arthur brushed it off, walked past him to the open window. “It is a beautiful day outside and you have not even bothered to look, not even once.”
Merlin paused. “Are you certain you are feeling alright, sire?” he asked. Arthur was not known for random acts of nature appreciation.
“I’m fine, but you seem... off,” the prince replied. Turning now to face him, he added, “Did you know I have not caught you mindlessly staring out a window, or hanging over the edge of a balcony, or even wandering outside for the sake of anything more than a required visit in three days?”
Merlin made a face. “You counted?” Perhaps a visit to Gaius was in order after all.
“Oh, shut up,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “I was simply concerned. It’s not like you and you know it. I feared you had fallen ill or some such thing. Then again, it’s not like you’re actually focused on your tasks that much more, but simply focused on not doing something else.”
Merlin made another face. When did Arthur become a student of human nature? When did Arthur notice anything not directly related to Camelot or the crown? “I have things to do,” he answered instead.
Arthur leaned against the stone, watched him carefully in a way that was making him nervous. “And if you did not?”
“If I didn’t?” Merlin repeated, not quite sure what he was getting at.
“If you did not have these ‘things’ to do, what would you be doing?” Arthur asked.
“I would probably be doing other things that need to be doing,” Merlin replied, folding a napkin with perhaps a bit more force than was strictly necessary. “Despite what you may think, being both your personal servant and Gaius’ apprentice is actually a rather fulltime job.”
Arthur huffed out a breath and looked dangerously close to rolling his eyes again. “Without the tasks put upon you by Gaius or myself,” he clarified. “If you were home, right now in Ealdor, what would you be doing?”
Merlin was torn between wondering when Arthur suddenly decided to show an interest in his personal life and running in fear from the change. Instead though, a traitorous tidbit of thought snuck its way in while he was distracted and answered honestly, “At home we would be preparing for the festival of Mabon.”
Arthur looked intrigued. Again, this was not a good sign. “And what would that entail?” he pressed.
“The same thing it does in pretty much every village, I would suppose,” Merlin sighed, putting down his folding as a lost cause. “You tend to the harvest and make certain the stores are prepared and in good enough condition to hold the food throughout the winter.”
“And?” Arthur prompted.
“And you take stock of what you have and what you will need, separate out the tax for the king, that sort of thing,” Merlin shrugged. It was all pretty basic; he was not certain why Arthur was taking a sudden interest in it.
“And?” Arthur repeated.
Merlin made yet another face. “And what?” he asked.
“And then what?” Arthur clarified, or at least did what he must have thought of as clarification. He wandered over to the table, but did not sit. Instead, he leaned forward with his elbows braced upon the wood and watched Merlin knowingly. “When the crops and stores and taxes and homes were as prepared as you could make them, what did you do then?”
Merlin smiled, just for a moment, as a memory came to him unbidden. There was music and laughter and sweet treats and honey wine and what passed as dancing with far too many left feet and exhaustion of a far better kind than what came from toiling in the fields. “We celebrated,” he said, more to himself than to the man he supposedly served. “We ran to the woods and picked the fruits and berries, gathered as much as we could carry, and the women baked and the men prepared a space and we were thankful for the bounty and hopeful that we would survive and maybe a bit drunk and maybe a bit frivolous and maybe just a bit happy to be in the now and not to worry about what was to come.”
It all came out in a rush and he wasn’t sure if he should be shameful or embarrassed or feel far less civilized than the man now standing next to him, but what was done was done and what was said was said. It was a time when he could be himself, when the magic of life itself was high enough in the air that no one questioned the fire pit lighting itself any more than a piece of pie disappearing before their very eyes.
A hand fell upon his shoulder, squeezed it softly. “Then why aren’t you doing that now?” Arthur asked, not judging, just curious. “Why are you hiding from what was quite obviously a bit of fun and excitement if the look on your face is anything to go by?”
Merlin grabbed a blanket, folded it into a precise square, felt the memory slide back into its hiding place along with a hundred and one other things he was not supposed to share or want or need. “Because this is not Ealdor and things are done different here,” he replied with a forced shrug.
The king’s page chose that moment to interrupt, calling Arthur to a meeting with his father. Just before he disappeared out the door, Merlin could have sworn he heard a whispered, “But it doesn’t have to be.”
He tried not to think much about it over the next three days, the days that would have led up to the beginning of the festivities back home. If he happened to pause in the corridor just a bit longer, gaze out at the changing colours of the leaves with a wistful smile, no one bothered to call him on it nor did they try to stop him.
He had almost forgotten the strange conversation with Arthur on the morning of the fourth day when he brought him his breakfast. Instead of sitting in his dressing gown waiting for his clothing to be laid out for him, the prince was already dressed, a bag of gear at his side. He tossed a smaller, lighter, bag at Merlin and ordered, “Let’s go.”
Merlin fumbled with it before catching it properly, looking longingly at the tray of food he had just brought up. It was not precisely protocol, but Arthur always allowed him his fill of the leftovers and he had grown accustomed to the late breakfast of sweet things and heavier fare than what was standardly available for the servants in the kitchens. “But...” he protested, mind running through the list Gaius had given him mixed with the list he could have sworn Arthur had given him the day before.
“There’s plenty in there for the road,” Arthur called over his shoulder, disappearing through the doorway.
Merlin glanced in the bag to see that yes, there truly was. This did not stop him from grabbing a sweetbread from the table and stuffing it in his mouth as he rushed to follow.
Arthur led him past the stables to the main gate, not even pausing to take his horse for whatever journey he had planned. He wore no armour, only a blade, so he was either not expecting trouble or not planning on going far. Crossing the threshold out of Camelot, the two men were joined by a smiling Morgana and Gwen, a handful of what appeared to be an equal mix of guards and servants trailing behind them.
Now Merlin truly was thoroughly confused. He opened his mouth to voice this, but was hushed by a grinning Gwen. She placed her finger to her lips, then to his own, before replacing the finger with a little sweet candy from a pouch at her side. “You’ll ruin the surprise,” was all she said, tugging him after her.
They reached the boundary to the forest where Arthur finally paused. He looked to the trees, then back to Merlin with a serious expression on his face. “This frolicking you did; was there a pattern or instruction to it, or did you just have at it?”
Merlin blinked at the surreality of it all, but managed to answer, “It’s usually the nature of frolicking to have no pattern, sire.”
Arthur nodded as if that was an acceptable answer and gestured to the forest as a whole. “Well then, have at it,” he ordered in the same serious tone, his face finally breaking into a grin at the end.
“Really?” Merlin asked, dubiously.
“Really,” Arthur assured him.
Morgana appeared at his side, one of Gwen’s candies in hand. “We all deserve a bit of fun sometimes, Merlin,” she told him with a wink. She held up the sweet and for a moment he thought she was going to offer it to him. Instead, she popped it into her own mouth with a mischievous quirk of her lips. With that, she took off, Gwen at her heels and a trusted guard behind them trying his very best to keep up.
That appeared to be the signal the others were waiting for as the group as a whole seemed to dissolve into the trees, the echoes of laughter bounding off the branches and leaves and sounding like music to his ear as well as heart.
He raced for hours, gathering berries and nuts and apples and filling his pockets and pouch. He ran into others, some he had not even known had come with on this little adventure, sharing what they found and searching for more. Arthur himself had found a hive complete with honey, offered him a piece of the comb even as Morgana stole some for herself and licked her fingers indulgently.
Sometime later, just as he looked up to see the sun beginning to dip below the canopy of trees, adding new hues to the artistry already on display, he heard a horn blow in the distance. He knew as well as the others that this signalled the end of their fun, that it was time to return to their duties once more.
Sweaty and sticky and pleasantly tired, he joined the others on their trek back to the castle. The warmth of the sun was fading, but he could still feel it in his bones, knew it would carry him through even the coldest night the oncoming winter had to offer. He paused just before the main gate, watched the sun set the forest and path and even Camelot itself ablaze in a cacophony of colours, burned it into his mind to add to the little corner of memories of things he never wanted to let go.
He found himself joined by Arthur, and shortly by Gwen and Morgana, the light bathing them in the same golden light, as if the magic of nature itself reached out to grace them all. They watched in silence until the glowing disk had nearly disappeared below the horizon.
Arthur leaned forward, voice no more than a whisper and told him, “You’re going to miss the best part.”
There was a less than gentle tug on his sleeve and he found himself juggling to save an apple at the cost of a bundle of berries. Gwen caught it before he could and offered it back, stealing one for herself in payment and one for her mistress just because she liked them. Morgana rolled her eyes at Arthur’s impatience, laughing, “Of course he would think this the best.”
They led him to the main hall where a feast was prepared. He could smell the roasted meats and something that seemed suspiciously like the little pies his mother used to make. Looking around, he could see flagons of what he was certain was honey wine and could hear the beginnings of far finer minstrels than anything Ealdor ever had to offer.
Arthur was at his side again, offering him a cup of meade and munching on a sweetbread. “You’re not the only one with traditions,” he confided.
For the first time in a long time, Merlin felt something loosen around his heart. The pomp and circumstance and finery and such was not same as his simple life in Ealdor but, as he took in the people laughing dancing and the sense of celebration in the air, he could not help but think it was something he could learn to appreciate.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.