I should probably be NaNo-ing, but I couldn't resist this little idea when it popped into my head! It's just a short little ficlet, but let me know what you think!
Arthur returned to his chambers with markably higher spirits than he'd last left them. The sun was shining, Gwen was alive, and his idiot manservant was clearly still suffering from a day at the tavern.
"Polish my armor, Merlin, I want to see myself in it," commanded Arthur brightly, seating himself at his writing desk and picking up a tax report with less apprehension than normal.
After a few minutes of skimming, he couldn't help but hear something that sounded a bit... off. Specifically, the lack of any armor being polished nearby. He peeked over the paper.
"Merlin." He summoned the most disapproving voice he could muster, for Merlin sat staring blankly at the floor. Arthur shook his head. He had little doubt in his mind that his manservant was too hungover to register much of anything.
So Arthur went back to work. He was in a forgiving mood; no need to get worked up over an insignificant little task such as that not getting done.
A voice mumbled, "I never want to get old."
Arthur peered over the paper again - honestly, he was spending more time looking over it than at it. He regarded Merlin curiously. "What on Earth is this about?" he inquired, pleased to hear how condescending he sounded.
Merlin gave a start. "Oh. Umm." Arthur got the impression he hadn't meant to say anything out loud. "I just... that sorcerer, he... wrinkles. And beard." He pulled a face. "God, that awful beard. I never want to look like that. Ever." He looked positively ill.
Suppressing a sigh, Arthur curled his lip. "You do realize you won't actually look like that, right? It tends to differ from person to person." Since Merlin didn't look at all encouraged and still looked about to be sick, he added, "Besides, who says you're going to live that long?"
Merlin blinked slowly, as though thinking it over, then brightened. "You're right! Hanging around you so much, I can't possibly live to be that old!" The green hue to his face was all but gone, leaving a ridiculous grin and an overwhelming expression of relief.
"Well, there you have it," said Arthur dryly.
Times like these made him wonder if that mental illness he'd made up didn't have some merit after all. He didn't see how being dead was better than being old.
But then, that Dragoon fellow hadn't been a very pretty sight to behold. Arthur amused himself for a moment, imagining Merlin really would grow to look like that someday.
Nah, he concluded. Merlin could never hope to grow a beard of any length, let alone one of such... powerful proportions.
He chuckled, earning an innocently confused look from the decidedly beardless Merlin across from him, and went back to work.