Character/s Arthur and Merlin
Summary: A snippet of conversation from a lazy afternoon in Camelot's Golden Age.
Word Count: 350
Prompt: #39 ~ Silver
Author's Notes: Post Magic Reveal, Canon AU. I think the Holiday Exchange fic I wrote for mushroomtale last week inspired this little ficlet. :D
A warm spring day in Camelot found the High King and his Court Sorcerer out on the battlements. They stood side by side and idly watched the goings on in the market of the Lower Town. People milled about, shopped for wares, stopped to chat and otherwise made the most of the unseasonably pleasant weather.
After several minutes of fond observation of his subjects, Arthur turned to lean his hip against the stone wall and instead studied Merlin’s profile. It spoke to the men’s close connection that Arthur’s staring did not discomfort Merlin in the slightest as his sharp cerulean eyes still followed the movements below.
“Merlin?” Arthur spoke at last.
“Hmmm?” Merlin responded, his eyes still fixed on the streets beneath them, his voice sounding far away and distracted.
Arthur crossed his arms across his chest and smirked. “I thought you told me you were supposed to be immortal, Merlin.”
A crease of confusion appeared between Merlin’s eyebrows as he finally turned his head to meet Arthur’s eyes. “Yes, I did. Why?”
“Well, if you’re so immortal, what’s the meaning of this, then?” Arthur pointed his finger at the side of Merlin’s head, ran it lightly along his friend’s temple and traced the streaks of silver that blended with the ebony.
“What’s the meaning of what, Arthur?”
“You’re going grey, Merlin!” Arthur chuckled, highly amused. “Is this your attempt at finally looking distinguished?”
Merlin’s eyes twinkled and his lips twitched. “Oh, that…” he said, just a bit too innocently to be believed. He patted Arthur on the shoulder sympathetically before his own slender finger prodded at the King’s sideburns. “I just didn’t want you to feel alone in your agedness, Sire…”
By the time Arthur had processed the fact that Merlin had just made fun of his own grey hair, his Court Sorcerer had already sprinted halfway across the grassy knoll; his gleeful, teasing laughter floated back to Arthur on the light breeze.
Arthur shook his head and rolled his eyes at Merlin’s antics. “Damn cocky warlock…” he grumbled as he tried to hold back a smile…and failed miserably.