Fair Game
Summary: Being left in the stocks overnight can be dangerous. Luckily, there are still good friends left in the world. Gwaine and Merlin friendship. One-shot.
Rating: T.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin nor its characters.
"For sure, they don't teach you this in history class, but in colonial times, the person who got left in the stocks overnight was nothing less than fair game for everybody to nail. Men or women, anybody bent over had no way of knowing who was doing the ram job, and this was the real reason you never wanted to end up here unless you had a family member or a friend who'd stand with you the whole time. To protect you. To watch your ass, for real." –Chuck Palahniuk.
"I can't thank you enough, Gwaine," Merlin said gratefully, craning his neck as best he could to view his friend, who was leaning casually against the stock post.
Gwaine grinned, taking a large bite out of his apple. He'd been carrying several in his pocket since that morning, and since it was well after sunset his supplies had begun to dwindle. But he certainly wasn't going to leave Merlin in the stocks alone—nor was he going to break him out. Arthur had been in a bad mood recently.
"No problem, mate," Gwaine said cheerily. "You can count on me."
Merlin paused for a moment, wondering if he should bring up that Gwaine had an early morning patrol. But he certainly didn't want to be left alone in the night. Not after the serial bum-molester, as they called the mysterious man, had come along.
The bum-molester didn't actually rape anyone. It was just reported by the last five or so people—four men and one woman—who had borne the overnight stockade punishment that someone had come up behind them and, well, spanked them black and blue. Merlin hadn't been spanked since he was a very young child, and even that had been because he had mistakenly been accused of setting free all the game from the local traps.
Needless to say, Merlin didn't want to be spanked, least of all to a black and blue condition.
Gwaine threw the apple core in the general direction of a pig-sty. He crouched down to Merlin's level, eyebrows raised. The smell of rotten vegetables wafting up from the juices and pieces of flesh that clung to Merlin's hair and skin didn't particularly bother him. "What do you do to pass the time when you're in the stocks?"
Merlin thought. "Well, when I'm not keeping points for the kids throwing things at me, I usually just think. There's nothing much else to do, especially now when everyone's asleep."
The knight nodded. "Well," he said seriously, "that sounds incredibly boring, my friend. Allow me to entertain you."
With that, he cleared his throat, then took a deep breath. At the top of his lungs, he burst into a loud, brazen rendition of a popular tavern song:
Bring us some good ale, and bring us some good mead!
And bring with that some pickled eggs, and that is all we'll need!
We'll drink and laugh the night away,
And with the maidens fair we'll play—hurrah!
Bring us some good ale, and bring us some good mead!
And bring with that some pickled eggs, that we have decreed!
We'll drink and sing the night away,
And later perhaps our tabs we'll pay—ho! ha!
Bring us some good ale, and bring us some good mead!
And bring with that some pickled eggs,
And that is all we'll need—
That we have decreed—
Indeed!
Merlin laughed, eyes twinkling with humor. Those living nearby, however, were not so amused, and one man had come out in search of the noise to shut it up. Seeing that Gwaine was a knight, however, he went back inside with his tail tucked between his legs.
"Ornery, that lot," Gwaine said, shaking his head. "Can't know a good song when they hear it. I'll have you know, Merlin, my friend, that this song has won me many a night with a lovely lady or two."
The warlock snorted. "I'm sure it has," he answered dryly.
It was Gwaine's turn to laugh at that. "It's true! Let me tell you the story of when I was in a Mercian tavern about eight years ago…"
Merlin rolled his eyes, knowing he was to be regaled with a long-winded, exaggerated tale of drinking, women, and fighting. It was going to be a long—but safe—night.
END.