aquestionthatsneverbeenposed:
“Oh, Goddess, whatever will I do with all that faith you’ve got in me?” Merlin rolled his eyes, and a little sigh slipped out of his mouth, but he could hardly blame Ella for it. Much as she sounded like Arthur right now, he knew she, at least, only said it out of love, and he really couldn’t get too put out with her when he thought about it like that. And, Goddess knew, much as he hated this every time Arthur did it, too, he had often felt the other way ’round. If only he could just teach the prat a little magic, just the smallest bit, just a shield and a smattering of defense spells, maybe then, his king would actually be in with a chance against all the hordes upon hordes of evil sorcerers left, right and center.
Still. Merlin didn’t need a sword. He would never need a sword. His magic was the one thing in the world he could count on–it would never run out or dry up or fade away on him. He could never use it all up, not really. Even if he could–and did–wear it out a bit too much.
Merlin swallowed a sigh and shook his head–no need to take it out on Ella–and pushed his mouth back up in a smile. “Well, it’s pretty amazing that you taught yourself. Don’t know many who can do that.”
He gave the heavy sword in his hand a clumsy little swing, around in the air–nope, still nowhere near as quick or elegant as Arthur. “A short sword?” He flicked a glance back up at Ella, a bit startled. Was he that obvious? “I-I don’t know. I suppose I could try. I’m up for anything if I can get rid of this one, honestly.” He shifted the sword to his left hand and flexed his sore, empty fingers with a little wince. More than ten years to the day he had broken his right hand, and it still ached like mad if he held a sword or a quill for longer than ten minutes. Just his luck. He curled his fingers up in a fist and stretched them back out again. Yeah, a short sword might not hurt as much, at least. “Definitely up for a short sword. This one’s murder.”
“Keep it in a pocket of your mind when you inevitably go to do something stupid.” She replied dryly, but smiled to take any sting out of the words. She watched him closely, he didn’t seem happy with this little exercise of physical rather than magical. She knew he needed it though, she knew times when magic could fail you or you risked exposure and death by using it. Sometimes one was in so much pain that one cannot focus enough to send magic out. She’d let it go for now if he insisted but she’d bring him back again and do this.
“Yes, I can tell how impressed you are by my abilities.” She replied sarcastically, still smiling though in response.
She nodded at the question, “Yes a short sword.” She sheathed her own sword and waited for him to decide. “Then we should try a short sword, especially since if someone if close enough to you a short sword can be hidden easier. “ She watched him clutch his hand and clucked her tongue at him, “You’re in pain? Why didn’t you say anything you absolute cabbage head?.” She walked over to him, and held her hand out in a silent command so she could see his hands, “I can wrap your hands and wrists, that should help some, and when we finish I will re-wrap it with some salve so it won’t hurt when we’re done. Tell me where it hurts.” She carefully pressed on different parts of his hands, watching him.
All right, now Ella sounded like Gaius instead of Arthur, and Merlin couldn’t pick if it was worse or better--at least she didn’t look like she was going to fuss at him about his abysmal swordplay, but she certainly did look like she might fuss at him for everything else. “Well, I’m sorry to hear making sure the entire kingdom doesn’t fall to evil is ‘doing something stupid’,” he huffed, “but I don’t have very much choice, you know. It’s destiny.” He pulled a little face. The truth of his own fate here in Camelot was still bitter in his mouth, but he had taken it on the night he had saved Arthur from the withered old witch with the sharp silver knife, and he wouldn’t go back and do it over again, even if he could.
He had made the choice to follow his destiny, no matter the dark and dangerous roads it dragged him down, and now he had to live with that choice.
“Well, we all know an endless capacity for mindless brutality with sharp objects is just so lovely,” Merlin laughed. “You should come ’round here and fight Arthur sometime. I’d like to see that. It would certainly knock him down a peg.” He was pretty sure Arthur still hadn’t gotten over the fight with Morgause. To be bested by a lady again would probably prove more than the poor man could take.
He scowled--cabbage head was his word, honestly, she was as bad as Arthur, and at this rate, he would have no good insults left--but he brushed it off. “It’s not that bad, honestly,” he said, hastily, when she headed for him. He had the sudden, and very childish, urge to hide his hand behind his back so she couldn’t touch him. “It’s normal, it’s always like this every time I hold a sword too long. It’s not a big deal.” He tamped down the reflex, and let her take his hand--previous experiences with Gaius told him she would only fuss at him more if he didn’t--but he couldn’t hold back a little wince when her fingers pressed into the skin.
“It’s--” he broke off, with a sharp, sudden gasp, when she hit the right point, “--it’s just the knuckles, it’s not that bad. Don’t worry about it.” He mustered up a little smile. “I hold a sword much longer than this every day when I spar with Arthur, and I haven’t died yet.”
