Feast or Famine part 1
Author: 
archaeologist_d
Title: Feast or Famine - part 1
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: none
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, Morgana
Summary: Merlin was horrified at the utter waste of food fights
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1309
Camelot drabble Prompt 527: feast
Author's Note: based on that one line about food fights in season 1, episode 4.
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
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At least the king wasn’t there. He and Gaius were smart enough to withdraw before the whole fiasco started, the greybeards along with them, and quite a few of the ladies.
Morgana was still ready for battle, though, throwing an herb-encrusted capon at Arthur, hitting him full in the face, and escaping before he could exact revenge, Gwen in her wake. And once she was gone, there was more food flying through the air, the hall thick with it.
It was chaos, it was appalling. Frankly, it was madness.
Only hours later, the hall finally cleaned of sticky mush, all that food gone to the pigs, did Merlin make it to Arthur’s room.
Merlin didn’t say much. What could he say? Growing up, food was a luxury. At times, children and the old starved to death when Essetir’s troops rode through, stealing everything in their paths. Or marauding bandits or the weather or taxes that their poor village didn’t have. Hunger was a fact of life and the poor villagers paid for it in small ways and large.
Now, watching Arthur laughing about such waste made Merlin sick.
“Oh, come on, Merlin, don’t pull that face. You look like a wounded bear,” Arthur said, pointing to his own hair, waiting for Merlin to brush out the food remnants still stuck there. “It’s all just a bit of fun. No harm done – well, except I’ll have to get back at Morgana somehow. And you’ll have to clean my jacket. Those wine stains won’t come out on their own, you know.”
As Merlin cleaned Arthur up, combing through his hair to get out the last of the crumbs, pulling out a clean nightshirt and shoving it over Arthur’s head and then yanking it down, he couldn’t help saying, “Of course, sire.” But his voice was full of derision. Did Arthur really think it was nothing?
“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a food fight before,” Arthur said, reaching over and popping a grape into his mouth. “We have them at least once a week.” With that, he pushed at Merlin’s head, shoving him away. Grinning, as if he’d just thought of the most brilliant plan, the arse said, “Tell you what. I’ll give you a few things – maybe some honey cakes - to throw at Morgana. She’ll never see them coming.”
“No, thank you.” Jerking out of reach, Merlin shook his head, then grumbled, low enough that he thought Arthur wouldn’t hear, “Gods above, you are such a prat.”
“What was that you said? Come on, speak up, Merlin. Don’t let the lateness of the hour keep you from telling me off, like no servant should do. Ever,” Arthur said, mock-glaring at him.
For a moment, Merlin thought about it, just letting it go, letting Arthur have his fun. After all, the arse did try at times to be less of a bully, to be less of a bored condescending prince and more understanding of what others felt. But those times were few and far between, and right now, Merlin wasn’t sure he wouldn’t just start yelling at the git and maybe get thrown in the stocks again for his effort.
But it might also be the perfect time. “Do you ever think about Camelot? The people under your protection?” Merlin knew Arthur did, he took it more to heart than Uther ever did, but sometimes the man was just so oblivious.
Arthur blinked at him, clearly not expecting that kind of response. Looking affronted, sounding it, too, Arthur said, “Of course, I do. All the time. You know I do. What kind of question is that?”
Sighing, putting down Arthur’s jacket – really the pillock had spilled a whole flagon of wine on it, and it would take magic to clean -, Merlin turned to him. “You know a windstorm blew through Willowdale and destroyed their crops and there was flooding at Anark’s bridge, wiping out the fish weir there. I heard you talking about it with Sir Leon. It’s been colder than usual, too, some of the fruit freezing and there was talk of a rat infestation in the granaries.”
“What of it? We have more than enough to feed the citadel,” Arthur said, scowling at him.
“But the outer reaches? The villages along the border? It’s a hard line between feast and famine, Arthur,” Merlin pointed out.
“You worry too much,” Arthur grumbled, although he seemed to be thinking – which was a change for him. “We always keep enough in stores. What’s wrong with a little fun? It’s not like we throw it into the cesspits. The pigs fatten on the remains.”
Arthur would never understand having to chew on leaves just to put something in a starving belly. “Of course. Silly me. How could I possibly know what fun is when I’m too busy cleaning up after you?”
“Well, you are the worst servant in the Five Kingdoms, an honour you seem to delight in,” Arthur replied. “Besides, watching you scurry around picking up after me is entertaining. You wind up so easily.” He popped another grape into his mouth and chewed.
Sending Arthur a thunderous glare, Merlin grunted, “I am here to serve, my lord. Is there anything else I can do for you, maybe peel a grape for you first so that you don’t have to chew? After all, throwing food around can be such hard work.”
“What is it with you and food? It’s no big deal, Merlin,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.
Furious, Merlin scowled at Arthur. “It’s a very big deal, you toad. Have you any idea of what going hungry feels like? Or watching people starve to death because their crops fail or the weather turns bad or bandits steal their grain? Do you?” Merlin waved his arms about. “Of course not. Instead, you have food fights once a week. For fun.”
Arthur looked at him, startled. Grabbing onto Merlin’s sleeve, he said, “Did that happen to you? In Ealdor?”
Breathing hard, trying not to remember the horror of it all, Merlin said, “We lost five kids one year, including Will’s sister. My mum would feed me her portion and I watched her grow so thin, so thin, and I was just a kid. I didn’t know what to do. I almost lost her.” He shook himself free of Arthur’s grip. “So don’t tell me that a food fight is fun, not when… just don’t.”
“All right,” Arthur said, his voice clipped. He was thinking again, that little frown line hard on his forehead, but he didn’t say anything about it.
Instead, he began listing more chores. “I’ve training in the morning and there’s a delegation coming in two days. Lots to do. I’ll need my suede jacket and my best cloak cleaned by then. Mend my armour, walk my dogs. My horse needs grooming. I’ll let the stable mucking go for now since you will also be helping with the next feast. And I want you to look over my speech. It could use a polish.” Nodding toward the door, Arthur said, “Off with you now. I’m for bed and your face is annoying me.”
So, Arthur was going to ignore what Merlin had said and keep on doing what he did best, make Merlin’s life a living hell. The absolute pillock.
Merlin just nodded, then escaped into the hallway. Sometimes he hated Arthur Pendragon.