Merlin Advent Prompt: Day 2 – Breaking the ice
Word count: 859
Rating: G
Genre: adventure
Character: Arthur
Summary: Five year olds love icicles. Princes are no exception.
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 credits have changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I am doing a series of Merlin Advent prompts this year. Some will be longer stories; some will be drabbles.
Icicles make the best swords!
He'd found the biggest one in Camelot. Of course, it was – the biggest and the best. He was the prince after all and princes always get the best swords, even if they're just old icicles. He couldn't help it if his father wouldn't let him play with real swords, not just yet. He couldn't help it if he was only five. Soon he'd be six and then he'd get a sword that a prince could use and then he'd show them all. He'd be the best warrior in Camelot.
Never mind, though. Right now, he had a mission. Rescue the icicle sword and use it for the love of Camelot. Just like the knights would do. He'd make his father proud and maybe he'd even talk to him, just him and Arthur. Maybe even smile at him like the other fathers do with their sons.
He had to think, though. He knew his mission would be difficult. The icicle was taller than him even and all glisteny. Clear, too, and thick enough he had a hard time putting one hand around it but two did the trick. Mittens kept sliding on it but oh how it looked a proper sword in the sunlight. It took all of his strength just to pull at it and it was stuck, right alongside the other icicles.
He pulled and pulled but it wasn't working. An axe or sword would be just the trick but then he'd be caught and there would be yelling and sending him to his room and no icicle sword for him. But if he could smash it a bit, it would break off and he'd have the best sword in Camelot.
Of course, he could use his head to smash it. But that would hurt.
He didn't know what to do. He could kick it but he couldn't reach up that high. There were no stones around; they were all buried under the snow and he was getting cold, too. And his tutor would be looking for him any minute now.
Getting mad, he shoved at the icicle next to him, the smaller one, not the one he wanted but almost as good. It wobbled and broke off. Nearly smashed his foot, too but he could hold it in one hand and it was long but not too long. For any other kid, it would be perfect. But he was the prince, not just any kid. He had to have the best.
He thought hard about how to get his perfect icicle, almost hurting his head with all the thinking and frowning and getting mad. Still, he got an idea. It might not be the best idea, he wouldn't admit it to anyone even if there was someone around, but if he ran toward the icicle at full speed, he might be able to smash it. Shoving had worked with the other one. Faster shoving should work with this one!
He walked back a good ways, then taking a big deep breath, he charged, yelling like the knights did when they were practicing going into battle. This was his battle and he was going to win it.
His shoulder hit the icicle full on. He could hear a snap and his side hurt a lot but it didn't matter. The icicle came tumbling down, barely missing his leg as he fell backwards into the snow.
It had worked! He now had the best icicle in Camelot.
But then he heard a rumble and the rest of them were falling fast, fast. He shoved himself out of the way just in time and there were a million pieces of ice around him and it was scary how close some of those had come but it didn't matter.
Reaching out for his icicle, the best one in Camelot, he could see that it was big and perfect and…
Broken into pieces.
Princes didn't cry. Arthur kept telling himself that. Princes didn't cry.
They did sniffle, though, and sometimes eyes got watery from the cold or there would be a piece of dirt or maybe a snowflake got in there. He kept wiping at his eyes, telling himself it was just the cold.
As he picked himself up, shuffling his way back, knowing that all the icicles were smashed and useless and he'd never have a good icicle sword now that they were all ruined, he kicked out at the snow and all the mess. He was mad and not crying because princes never cry.
Something skidded, something long and shiny, and as he blinked back the tears, he could see in the snow that one icicle had survived. One. The one he'd broken off earlier. The one that fit just right into his hand and wasn't too long and was clear and beautiful like a proper sword.
Picking it up, Arthur gave it a thrust forward and then a little twirl and he laughed because it was perfect.
So maybe the best sword wasn't the biggest one after all.
Maybe the best sword was the one that was right for him.