Good King Arthur
AN: Inspired by singing Good King Wenceslas one too many times. Enjoy and review? Sorry if a little repetitive.
Good King Wenceslas looked out
on the feast of Stephen,
when the snow lay round about,
deep and crisp and even.
Merlin shivered as he left the warm comfort of the castle and the snow started settling on his shoulders. What on Earth had possessed Arthur to go out on such awful a night... and worse drag him with him? Maybe he should check for possession, after all, it would only be a crazy sorcerer willing to risk frostbite who would dare venture out in such weather! No, make that three people; one crazy sorcerer, one dunderhead royal and one overworked warlock.
Brightly shone the moon that night,
though the frost was cruel,
when a poor man came in sight,
gathering winter fuel.
"Hey Merlin, cheer up, it's a great night and visibility's good."
"Yay, so at least I can see while shiver to death."
"Stop being such a girl – it's not that bad."
"You admitted it's bad, see you're not liking it. Lets go back to the nice, warm, safe castle where we're unlike to freeze to death!"
"Shut up."
"Hither, page, and stand by me.
If thou know it telling:
yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Merlin, who's he?"
"Sorry what, I was just shivering to death quietly."
"That guy over there. Who is he? Why isn't he at home?"
"Why should I know?" Merlin squinted at the distant figure. "Huh", he intoned after a moments pause, "it looks like one of the local hun-"
"What was that Merlin? Because I thought you were going to say "hunter" and "hunters" aren't allowed in that neck of the woods were the royal game is."
"No, no I was going to say hu – hu- honey-makers who live peaceful existences with bees and not hurting anyone!"
Merlin received the stare. It was so famous and full of personality that the castle staff privately called it Gladys after his own great-aunt who's portrait had once ruled the throne room with its steely, you're-going-to-be-in-trouble gaze until one of the King's stewards cracked and had it burnt.
"Merlin, tell me where he lives."
"Sire, he lives a good league hence,
underneath the mountain,
right against the forest fence
by Saint Agnes fountain."
"Nearby."
Gladys returned again.
"Okay, he probably lives in one of those small hamlets near the border and probably has only come here because its the only place you can pretty much catch anything at this time of years and really needs some food for the table. It's tough in the small villages in winter. You get desperate. And its not as if a few rabbits is going kill anyone especially since it wouldn't do the palace harm to eat a bit less once in a while. To see how the people feel."
Arthur opened his mouth, closed it again. And thought for a while. It had almost sounded as if Merlin was speaking from experience. Not a thought he was comfortable with.
"Bring me flesh, and bring me wine.
Bring me pine logs hither.
Thou and I will see him dine
when we bear the thither."
"While I don't agree that hunting on royal grounds is a good thing to do because it's against the law, an exception could be made on the basis that it is a dark night ad we couldn't be sure it was a hunter, could we Merlin?"
"Umm, no, no we couldn't."
"Instead we see a citizen of Camelot who may need some assistance in order to stay alive to work and pay taxes though the following year and be a productive member of society."
"Yes, that sounds about right. After all, with looking after the bees and everything they would have got a chance to visit the market this week."
"Which means it is my duty as heir to assist this peasant for the good of the kingdom."
"Yes sire."
"Merlin, wipe that smug look off your face, it doesn't suit you."
Page and monarch, forth they went,
forth they went together
through the rude wind's wild lament
and the bitter weather.
"Arthur, it's getting really dark now and the snow has gotten worse. Shouldn't we do this in the morning when we can actually see what we are doing?"
"Sire, the night is darker now,
and the wind blows stronger.
Fails my heart, I know not how.
I can go no longer."
"I can't feel my toes, or hands, or ears or nose. Ahh!" Merlin stumbled over and branch and into a snow drift. Arthur stooped and pulled his shivering servant out.
"Mark my footsteps my good page,
tread thou in them boldly:
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
freeze thy blood less coldly."
"What footsteps? I can't see the trees let along any footsteps. There could be a whole bandit army with horns and drums following us and we wouldn't notice! Fine, fine, maybe idiocy protects you from being cold."
In his master's step he trod,
where the snow lay dented.
Heat was in the very sod
which the saint had printed.
"Ermm, Arthur that's the same lightning-struck tree as two hours ago and … I can't get up."
"That's it, I've had enough of you falling over and complaining, we are going back."
"To Camelot?"
"No! To King Cenred's kingdom!"
"Sorry for asking a perfectly reasonable question, sire!"
Therefore, Christian men, be sure,
wealth or rank possessing,
ye who now will bless the poor
shall yourselves find blessing.
It turned out in the end that Merlin actually did get, if not hypothermia, than at least a high fever from the weather and the "high stupidity of not heading out in a cloak when it snowing a blizzard Merlin and for not heading back as soon as his fingers turned blue which for further reference, Arthur, is not the correct colour for such frostbite vulnerable appendages!" (Gaius really hated frostbite cases). Merlin didn't stop telling Arthur "I told you so" until he threatened to tell the knights about the bridal style carry he had been forced to give Merlin. (Again.) The peasant was mysteriously gifted with some salted meat that would last all winter and careful instructions where he could hunt if he should wish, e.g. not in the part delegated for the castle where people are likely to spot and arrest him.