8 Simple Rules...
Author's Note: Obviously, this is based on that show 8 Simple Rules for Dating my Teenage Daughter. Actually, the first two rules are the same, save for a few pleasantly disturbing tweaks. The rest, alas, did not seem to fit well with the Arthurian themes so I had myself a little fun being sadistic.
Tom was working, banging some shape back into a castle guard's new shield, when he saw him. The tall, big-eared, daft-looking, head-like-an-upside-down-pear manservant to Prince Arthur. He looked innocent enough, with his chicken legs, a big grin, raggedy scarf, and little pink flower held gently between two bony fingers...
But Tom knew better. Gwen liked this boy, unable to chatter about anything but this Merlin character since he had arrived at the castle, and that was reason enough to arouse his overprotective suspicions. Tom had asked questions about him, such as how did they meet and if he was a hard worker. The answers ("He was in the stocks" and "He works hard when Arthur isn't being horrible, I'm sure") did not earn any sort of blessing from the disgruntled blacksmith.
That was why, when Gwen came home from work prancing and humming as though she were just crowned Queen of bleeding Camelot, Tom knew the boy was coming over. It wouldn't have been the worst situation, though. He figured Gwen would just overcook some pigeons again and the three of them would have a nice, civil sit-down at the table. Perhaps they would have some pleasant conversation in which he did not strangle the boy so hard his quilt-sized ears flapped.
But when Gwen announced that she was making sandwiches for them to have a picnic by the lake, without him to chaperone, Tom tore a hole straight through the shield he was making. He'd spent the whole afternoon trying to repair the damage, blaming Merlin the whole time. That was why when Merlin walked right past him, unaware that he was the father of the innocent girl he had his sparkly, scoundrel eyes on, Tom may have accidentally-on-purpose kicked an iron shaft into the cobblestone street.
"Ahhh!" The boy tripped and fell flat on his face. The townspeople, kind and caring people that they were, helped him up and brushed him off. This was normal behavior in their neighborhood, something Tom always used to be glad for. This friendly quarter of the city was part of what made his Gwen grow up to be such a wonderful person, after all. Clearly they had not received notice that this buffoon was trying to seduce his daughter.
"Excuse me, was this yours?" The boy picked up the iron pole and held it up to him. He was smiling, the charming smile that probably ensnared his poor, naive baby. "I'm sorry for stepping on it. I didn't see it. I hope it isn't ruined or anything."
Was this simpleton actually apologizing for tripping? What kind of...?
"Yes. It's mine," Tom said gruffly. He grabbed the shaft back and noticed with a tinge of triumph that the rascal's little pink flower was broken at the stem.
"Sorry again, sir," The boy bowed uncertainly.
"It's fine." He tried to give him his best scowl, which he rarely ever used and was desperately out of practice with. He could not deny that the boy was polite. Friendly. Apologetic. Unafraid? That made him either brave or stupid, standing there talking to a cranky blacksmith holding a hammer that was probably heavier than his entire body. But Tom was determined to hate him, so he went with stupid. "Go on, don't you have somewhere to be?"
The boy nodded and stumbled hurriedly a few feet over to the front door of Tom's house. He knocked, still holding the pathetically broken flower.
Tom heard Gwen shuffling around frantically inside with the cooking. "Coming!" she called through the door.
"No worries," the boy said, staring determinedly at the door and not the big, scary man glaring fiery holes into the side of his head.
"I've got it!" Tom shouted, putting his hammer down. "Don't worry, Gwen, take your time. I don't want you burning the house down."
"Thanks, Dad!" Gwen called back. The rushing noises inside ceased and the boy blinked at him owlishly, his eyes wide. It seemed he'd only just noticed that the blacksmith's forge was coincidentally connected to Gwen's house. Evidently, the stupid verdict was quite appropriate.
"You're...?"
"Tom," he answered, trying his best to sound menacing. He had a deep voice with the potential to be terrifying, but like his menacing scowl, he just never had any practice intimidating anyone. "Gwen's father."
It all seemed to work; the boy now seemed sufficiently afraid of him. Pleased at this, Tom removed his gloves and walked over. He held out his hand.
"You are?"
"M-Merlin...?" He took Tom's hand and shook it. Unimpressed, Tom tightened his grip and showed him how to do a real handshake. Merlin whimpered.
"The Prince's servant," Tom clarified.
"Y-yes, sir."
"I see," Tom squinted down at him, wondering if he looked as dangerous as he was trying to look. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Meg, his neighbor, roll her eyes from her window. Tom broke his terrorizing gaze on Merlin for a moment to shoo Meg away. Along with being excessively nice people, the townsfolk where also excessively nosy.
"Oh please, Tom," Meg huffed. "Merlin, don't be fooled. That man wouldn't hurt a fly. He's just really overprotective of Gwen."
"Meg, kindly mind your own business," Tom grumbled.
The girl snorted and then turned her head into her house. "Mother, come look, Tom thinks he can scare away the new boy - "
"Meg!"
"All right, I'm going. Goodness..." Meg disappeared from the window, no doubt to harass her own parents. Tom turned back to glower at Merlin, whose amused expression at Meg quickly evaporated. Before he could say anything else, he was interrupted again by his daughter, who threw open the door merrily.
"Ready!" Gwen practically sang. Tom couldn't help but smile at the appearance of his Guinevere. "Hello, Merlin! I've brought the sandwiches."
"Excellent," Merlin grinned, grateful that her father was no longer glaring at him. He took the sack from her with the pink hand that Tom had greeted him with. With the other, he held out the broken flower. "Uh, I brought you this, but I...tripped. I kind of smushed it."
Gwen looked at it and laughed. "That sounds like something you would do. But look..." She snapped the stem the rest of the way and placed the shortened flower behind her ear. "What do you think?"
"Lovely," Merlin laughed. "If only I always had you around to fix my mistakes."
"I hope you don't end up making many," Gwen teased. "Prince Arthur is very particular sometimes."
"Ahem," Tom cleared his throat loudly, in case either of them forget he was standing there. Gwen looked up at him.
"Father, we'll be at the lake. Not too late, of course, I must see Morgana early in the morning."
"Of course," Tom said, giving Merlin a look that made him wince. "Gwen, you'll need drink for supper, won't you?"
"I suppose, but - "
"Here," Tom took her hand and placed a few coins in it. "Fetch some ale at the market. It won't be closing for another half hour, at least."
"But - "
"Gwen, please," he said, planting a bit of false cheer in his voice to fool Gwen and scare Merlin to his very soul. She looked at her father oddly.
"Well, all right..." Gwen turned to Merlin. "I won't be ten minutes, the market is just that way. Please, make yourself at home."
She left, but not before looking over her shoulder and shooting her father a look that plainly stated "Be nice." He returned it with an expression of utmost innocence and when Gwen turned the corner, he glared down at Merlin with an intensity that seemed to subtract about six inches from the boy's height.
"All right, Merlin. If you're going to do this, you must know the rules."
"Do what...?"
"My daughter is very important to me. She's all I have in this world, and my entire life is dedicated solely to her happiness. I feared this day would come," Tom sighed. The fact that Gwen was a woman was never going to settle right with him. "But I cannot stop my baby girl from growing up. I can, however, fend off any idiots and lowlifes that make her unhappy, and thus I have spent the last twenty years devising a set of rules to ensure her safety."
"Rules...?"
"Rule number one. You keep your hands to yourself, or they will belong to me. I am a blacksmith. My profession involves creating instruments designed to maim and kill."
Merlin gulped.
"Rule number two. You make her cry, and I will brand a teardrop into your forehead with a hot iron for every minute that she weeps."
Merlin was sweating now. That didn't sound like a rule per se, but he wasn't about to point that out.
"Rule number three. You must have a job. You must make a living. My daughter is a beautiful girl and she deserves beautiful things."
"No argument there," Merlin said, in a feeble attempt to get on Tom's good side and avoid being murdered in broad daylight. Surely the townspeople would stop him, though. Or at least, Meg could serve as a witness...
Tom ignored his statement and continued. "Rule number four. If you put her in any form of danger, that iron pole you tripped over earlier will be put to very creative use with a part of your anatomy that has never seen the light of day."
"I-I would never - " His mouth snapped shut when Tom crossed his large, thickly muscled arms in front of his chest. Tom wasn't much taller than Merlin. In fact, he may have been a hair shorter. Yet somehow, his elbow brushed the tip of Merlin's nose ever-so-threateningly.
"Rule number five. You must be able to protect her from danger. Allowing her to be hurt is the equivalent of you hurting her yourself, and thus the punishment will be the same."
Merlin had learned at this point to not say anything at all and just focus on the large, snake-like vein in Tom's massive right arm. The arm that wielded a hammer like some kind of angry god and slammed into hunks of metal for several hours every day. He was trying very, very hard not to imagine what an arm like that could do his face.
"Rule number six. Her priority is her duty with the Lady Morgana. If you do anything to compromise her employment at the castle..." In truth, Tom hadn't really thought out all the violent penalties he'd hand out. It was getting harder to think of creatively frightening ways to do harm to the boy. He decided to leave it vague, figuring Merlin was already about to wet his trousers anyway. "...you will again face my wrath. The same goes for rules seven and eight. She is to be home before curfew every night, and if you take her out with just the two of you, it must be in a well-populated place with eye-witnesses present."
Merlin was practically shaking in his boots as he nodded in agreement to all the rules. He was prepared to sign in blood, if it meant Tom would stop looking at him like that.
"So, now that you know the rules, I trust that when courting my daughter - "
"Courting?!" Merlin yelped. "I'm not...I'm not!"
"You're not?"
"No!"
Tom's brow furrowed.
"Well, why the hell not?" Did this sod think he could do better? There was no such thing as better than Gwen. She was fit for a bloody king.
"I mean, she's lovely, don't get me wrong. Absolutely fantastic, very pretty, intelligent, charming - "
"Yes?" Tom prompted, growing impatient.
"It's just, we're more friends. Very good friends," Merlin tried to explain. "This dinner isn't just for us, its for a bunch of the servants of the castle."
Tom blinked. "Really?"
"Yes, sir. This is an awful lot of food for just the two of us, don't you think?" Merlin held up the sack of sandwiches. It did seem like quite a bit. Gwen always had a regrettably unremarkable appetite, and obviously this string bean didn't have eating very high on his list of priorities.
Tom set his jaw.
"Are you sure you're not just saying that because I could squeeze your head in my fist?"
"P-p-positive, sir."
He considered this. Why had it taken so long for Merlin to realize that Tom thought he fancied Gwen? What kind of idiot was so socially inept that the simplest hints all flew over his head?
Apparently, the Merlin kind. In fact, Tom would wager now that he didn't even have any idea Gwen fancied him. There was potential for his daughter to be hurt in that situation, but at least she had her father watching over her to pick up the pieces.
"Swear to me you have no romantic interest in my daughter," Tom said finally.
"I swear it, sir," Merlin said looking him directly in the eye like an honest man would. Tom believed him. Even though the boy was a fool for an entirely new reason – not fancying Gwen – this reason was not one that aroused Tom's somewhat overprotective instincts with his baby. "I want nothing more than for us to be the best of friends."
"That's a good man, Merlin." He grinned and patted him on the back gently, but apparently strong enough to knock the boy forward a little. He snorted and held him up by the wrist. "A good man. Don't lose your balance there, son."
"Th-thank you, sir?" Merlin seemed baffled by his sudden change in demeanor. Someday he would learn, though. He'd learn that being slightly mad was part of any dedicated father's job description.
"One more thing. You'll tell me if any of the other servants have eyes for my Gwen, won't you?"
"Uh...sure."
"Atta boy. Come, let's go inside. I'll show you around," Tom chuckled cheerfully and led a bewildered Merlin into the house.
When Gwen returned, she found Merlin and her father sitting at the table, laughing like old friends.
"What's going on?" she asked curiously, setting the ale on the table.
"Nothing, Gwen," Merlin said, still trying to catch his breath after a particularly raucous bout of laughter. "Tom's just telling me some funny stories."
Gwen narrowed her eyes at her father. "Not about me, I hope."
Tom grinned innocently. "Of course not, dear."
His eye flinched. Gwen groaned. "Father, you didn't!"
Merlin got up and held out his hand, "Well, Tom, it was a pleasure meeting you. Thank you for inviting me into your lovely home."
"You're always welcome here, Merlin," Tom said, shaking it.
Merlin bowed to Gwen. "Ready to go...Egg-cheeks?"
"FATHER!" she cried, horrified.
Tom kissed her daughter on the forehead. "You'd better go if you're going to be back before too late."
"Ugh." She stormed out of the house in a huff. Merlin started to go after when Tom stopped him.
"You forgot the ale."
"Oh, right," Merlin reached over to pick it up, but Tom grabbed his wrist. Merlin looked at him, confused. Gwen's father did not say a single word. He just looked at the boy, asking a question that didn't need to be spoken.
"She'll be safe with me, sir," Merlin promised. "Always."
Tom rolled his eyes. "That's not what I'm wondering. I'm making sure you're clear that the rules still apply."
"I...oh, er, yes."
"Good."