Merlin ficlet whut
Dec. 6th, 2009 01:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyErm. A ridiculous idea that I just had to write? Unfinished, and I have no idea if I'll continue it... really, obviously unbetad.
The first thing Merlin saw when he woke was the small barred window above his head, and he moaned faintly; this had never ended well, and the throbbing pain just behind his eyes suggested that this just might be the not-well ending. How had he - ?
The good thing about stone walls was that there were plenty of finger holds. He just about managed to pull himself upright, concentrating on the small patch of floor between his feet until lifting his head didn’t make him feel like he was going to instantly vomit or leak brain matter from his nostrils. It was a reassuring sight, too; the usual mixture of sawdust and straw, although there was a strangely seamless black cord running across the corner. The light was wrong, too, far too bright for your usual prison cell, and Merlin couldn’t see a torch from where he was standing.
(The fact that he had criteria for what was usual when it came to prison cells sometimes made Merlin question his life choices.)
He couldn’t, actually, see much from where he was standing; other than the window – too high to see through – the only path outside was the door which, unlike Camelot’s helpful barred view of the escape route and guard positions, was almost entirely wood. The only space in the heavy-looking oak was a small barred gap, and Merlin’d get across to see what was outside just as soon as his stomach stopped threatening to down tools and make a break for it, honest.
The stone was cool through his clothes and Merlin hissed gently as he leaned his head back against it. He’d have been grateful to have kept his neck cloth, but whoever’d put him here hadn’t outfitted him cruelly. The strange blue garment covered him from neck to ankles; it was gathered oddly at the waist, around his wrists and at the cuffs of his trousers where they met the heavy laced boots; he wouldn’t be cold, at least.
Steady deep breathing over a few more minutes finally allowed Merlin to lift his head. It was still threatening to fall off, but really no worse than the morning after that banquet Arthur’d forced him to attend, the one when he’d kept grinning and refilling Merlin’s cup. Resting one hand against the wall as he moved – just in case – he walked over to the opposite side of the cell, which was the apparent focus of the, frankly painfully, bright light.
The door and what was outside it were momentarily forgotten as Merlin examined the strange device. A piece of wood, borne through with many small holes and scattered with obstacles, was mounted on axles that allowed it to tilt forward and backward, side to side. It was apparently controlled by two small handles, and a small silver ball rolled indecisively backwards and forwards in time with his experimental twists. None of that, though, was nearly so interesting as the centre of the maze; a faceted crystal, a strange and unnatural, blocky thing, was trapped underneath the surface. It was covered by something equally as odd, a material that was clear as the crystal but thudded dully when he grabbed for it.
A crystal. There was something about – it was important, he was –
“Leave it out, mate.”
Merlin spun around, staggering a little as he lost contact with the wall. Outside was a wide face, friendly and grinning, the oddest hat Merlin’d ever seen covering red hair cut close to his skull.
“What?” he said, stupidly.
“You’ve had your go,” the man went on, nonsensically. “No point fiddling with it now. Plus the electric’s off, and those things’re a bugger to open without it.”
“Why am I here?” Merlin asked, not a little desperately. “How do I get out?”
“Claustrophobia, is it?” He pulled a sympathetic face. “I’m the same with heights. We’d let you go to the green room,” he said, glancing down at something Merlin couldn’t see, “but to be honest I’m pretty sure that captain of yours is the noble type. Give it a few more minutes and – “
A shatteringly loud, impossibly amplified blast of music went through Merlin’s head like a battering ram, and he clapped his hands over his ears. It didn’t help.
“Hello,” the guard was saying when he gingerly pulled them away again, “sounds like your hero’s come to save you.” He ducked quickly away before Merlin could ask any more, and Merlin staggered over towards the door.
“Hey,” he shouted, uselessly. “Hey!”
“Yes, alright,” called back a bloody wonderfully familiar voice, “we’re coming!” Merlin rested his forehead against his hands, wrapped as they were around the bars, and let out a shaky breath of relief. He hadn’t dared think about where Arthur might be in all of this, how Merlin might have ended up in an unfamiliar cell. It was difficult to think past the overwhelming pain in his head, but when he tried to get some idea of what had happened he just got a strange and cloudy blank spot; it was an impossible relief to know that Arthur, at least, was okay.
“Arthur,” he said softly, as he came into view; Arthur was dressed much as he was, only in the bright red that he knew suited him. With him was a strange man dressed in oddly layered finery; clothes in rich fabrics but no style that Merlin knew. Not that he was paying all that much attention, since the keys in his hand were by far the most interesting thing about him.
Arthur started towards the cell door, towards Merlin, but the strange man put up a hand to block his way.
"You're sure about this?" he asked. "You want to give up one of your crystals for him? Think carefully." When he shot a disdainful look at the cell door, Merlin took an involuntary step back; was that a flash of gold? "Remember," he continued, "Merlin didn't win his game, didn't manage to get his crystal out in time."
Arthur smiled ruefully.
"I'm sure," he said. "He might be an idiot, but he's our idiot."
"Oi," Merlin protested automatically, as Arthur was handed the key, and bent to open the door.
[for the uninitiated among you, the music].
The first thing Merlin saw when he woke was the small barred window above his head, and he moaned faintly; this had never ended well, and the throbbing pain just behind his eyes suggested that this just might be the not-well ending. How had he - ?
The good thing about stone walls was that there were plenty of finger holds. He just about managed to pull himself upright, concentrating on the small patch of floor between his feet until lifting his head didn’t make him feel like he was going to instantly vomit or leak brain matter from his nostrils. It was a reassuring sight, too; the usual mixture of sawdust and straw, although there was a strangely seamless black cord running across the corner. The light was wrong, too, far too bright for your usual prison cell, and Merlin couldn’t see a torch from where he was standing.
(The fact that he had criteria for what was usual when it came to prison cells sometimes made Merlin question his life choices.)
He couldn’t, actually, see much from where he was standing; other than the window – too high to see through – the only path outside was the door which, unlike Camelot’s helpful barred view of the escape route and guard positions, was almost entirely wood. The only space in the heavy-looking oak was a small barred gap, and Merlin’d get across to see what was outside just as soon as his stomach stopped threatening to down tools and make a break for it, honest.
The stone was cool through his clothes and Merlin hissed gently as he leaned his head back against it. He’d have been grateful to have kept his neck cloth, but whoever’d put him here hadn’t outfitted him cruelly. The strange blue garment covered him from neck to ankles; it was gathered oddly at the waist, around his wrists and at the cuffs of his trousers where they met the heavy laced boots; he wouldn’t be cold, at least.
Steady deep breathing over a few more minutes finally allowed Merlin to lift his head. It was still threatening to fall off, but really no worse than the morning after that banquet Arthur’d forced him to attend, the one when he’d kept grinning and refilling Merlin’s cup. Resting one hand against the wall as he moved – just in case – he walked over to the opposite side of the cell, which was the apparent focus of the, frankly painfully, bright light.
The door and what was outside it were momentarily forgotten as Merlin examined the strange device. A piece of wood, borne through with many small holes and scattered with obstacles, was mounted on axles that allowed it to tilt forward and backward, side to side. It was apparently controlled by two small handles, and a small silver ball rolled indecisively backwards and forwards in time with his experimental twists. None of that, though, was nearly so interesting as the centre of the maze; a faceted crystal, a strange and unnatural, blocky thing, was trapped underneath the surface. It was covered by something equally as odd, a material that was clear as the crystal but thudded dully when he grabbed for it.
A crystal. There was something about – it was important, he was –
“Leave it out, mate.”
Merlin spun around, staggering a little as he lost contact with the wall. Outside was a wide face, friendly and grinning, the oddest hat Merlin’d ever seen covering red hair cut close to his skull.
“What?” he said, stupidly.
“You’ve had your go,” the man went on, nonsensically. “No point fiddling with it now. Plus the electric’s off, and those things’re a bugger to open without it.”
“Why am I here?” Merlin asked, not a little desperately. “How do I get out?”
“Claustrophobia, is it?” He pulled a sympathetic face. “I’m the same with heights. We’d let you go to the green room,” he said, glancing down at something Merlin couldn’t see, “but to be honest I’m pretty sure that captain of yours is the noble type. Give it a few more minutes and – “
A shatteringly loud, impossibly amplified blast of music went through Merlin’s head like a battering ram, and he clapped his hands over his ears. It didn’t help.
“Hello,” the guard was saying when he gingerly pulled them away again, “sounds like your hero’s come to save you.” He ducked quickly away before Merlin could ask any more, and Merlin staggered over towards the door.
“Hey,” he shouted, uselessly. “Hey!”
“Yes, alright,” called back a bloody wonderfully familiar voice, “we’re coming!” Merlin rested his forehead against his hands, wrapped as they were around the bars, and let out a shaky breath of relief. He hadn’t dared think about where Arthur might be in all of this, how Merlin might have ended up in an unfamiliar cell. It was difficult to think past the overwhelming pain in his head, but when he tried to get some idea of what had happened he just got a strange and cloudy blank spot; it was an impossible relief to know that Arthur, at least, was okay.
“Arthur,” he said softly, as he came into view; Arthur was dressed much as he was, only in the bright red that he knew suited him. With him was a strange man dressed in oddly layered finery; clothes in rich fabrics but no style that Merlin knew. Not that he was paying all that much attention, since the keys in his hand were by far the most interesting thing about him.
Arthur started towards the cell door, towards Merlin, but the strange man put up a hand to block his way.
"You're sure about this?" he asked. "You want to give up one of your crystals for him? Think carefully." When he shot a disdainful look at the cell door, Merlin took an involuntary step back; was that a flash of gold? "Remember," he continued, "Merlin didn't win his game, didn't manage to get his crystal out in time."
Arthur smiled ruefully.
"I'm sure," he said. "He might be an idiot, but he's our idiot."
"Oi," Merlin protested automatically, as Arthur was handed the key, and bent to open the door.
[for the uninitiated among you, the music].
