Ship(s): Merlin/Arthur
Rating: R
Author's Notes: One of the most popular Twelfth Night traditions was to hide a pea and a bean within the cake. The man who discovered the bean would be proclaimed Lord or King of Misrule, while the lady who found the pea would be Lady or Queen of Misrule. The Lord of Misrule was usually a peasant or commoner who lead the drinking and debauchery, as Twelfth Night was one of the few times of the year where servants were allowed to mix with their masters, sometimes even switching roles through disguises or by virtue of the coveted bean.
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
"I won't do it," Merlin said, his eyes narrowed, arms folded. Immovable.
Arthur, the pillock, was shaking that damnable feathered hat at Merlin again, and insisting that since Merlin had found the bean—what bean, Merlin didn't see any stupid bean, Merlin would be the King of Misrule for the night.
There were so many ways it could go wrong.
Merlin had heard about the custom before. The Romans used to do something like that, but the Misrule king was killed afterwards, and Merlin wasn't ready to die, thank you very much.
Arthur said that their traditions weren't quite so blood-thirsty. Merlin wasn't sure about that. After all, they had gallows and pyres and drowning and that was pretty blood-thirsty if you asked him.
When Merlin showed no inclination to change his mind, Arthur seemed to relent, not ordering but trying to wheedle himself into Merlin's good graces. Merlin wasn't falling for it.
"Merlin, you get to order everyone around, even the king. Although I'd go easy on my father. He tends to remember slights after," Arthur said, shaking the bloody hat again. As if that were an inducement. As if Arthur thought that Merlin liked wearing the thing. Merlin loathed it. He should have burnt it when he had the chance.
"If anything goes wrong, my head is on the block. So no thank you. Find some other bean—whatever servant. One who knows the rules and won't end up dead."
"Merlin, you can't say no. It would be an insult to the kingdom. My father would understand even less than you making a few mistakes." With a final shake of the dreaded hat, Arthur tossed it aside, then lifting one eyebrow in challenge, he said, "Besides, you get to order me around. Just think of it as a bit of fun."
That was a point in being king for a day, bossing Arthur around. Merlin was already thinking about what kind of chores he should make Arthur do, cleaning the fireplace, mucking out the stables—although maybe not the most noxious of chores because Merlin would only have the one day and Arthur the other 364 to exact his revenge.
Still, ordering Arthur around had its own secret pleasure. Merlin had been thinking about it a lot. How much better to voice all those commands in real life… although maybe not all of them. Merlin wasn't sure Arthur would take kindly to Merlin insisting that Arthur strip naked and bath Merlin while feeding him grapes.
Or maybe he would. This might be a good time to find out.
"Okay, I'll do it but on one condition. That I'm not blamed if anything goes wrong. Because it won't be my fault." Merlin crossed his arms and tried to look stubborn.
It didn't work. Whooping a little bit, Arthur reached over and plopped that dreadful hat on Merlin's head.
"Perfect," Arthur said, grinning.
Merlin just glared at him.
Merlin got to wear a pointy hat—not the feathered monstrosity, thank goodness, and some semi-non-scratchy royal robes. At least, that's what Arthur told him, and he wasn't the most reliable of princes when it came to helping Merlin out.
Gwen giggled when she saw him, so Merlin suspected that Arthur was a lying supercilious, aggravating liar who lied, but he gave her a quick smile and a shrug. She did curtsey, though, then whispered, "Nice hat. I heard Arthur had it made special. Not that you aren't already special, I mean, you are special to me… err, you look nice."
"Thanks, Gwen. Arthur's a clotpole. I can't believe I agreed to this. I have no idea what I'm doing," Merlin muttered.
Taking pity on him—Gwen's the best, she said, "Well, you just have to wave your hand when asked to start the feast, nod a bit, then drink every time someone toasts Camelot." She leaned in. "Last year, we ran out of mead, and Prince Arthur fired his manservant for looking at him the wrong way, but I'm sure he won't do that this year. I mean, he's run out of servants willing to put up with him and you… err, well, you've lasted much longer than most. I'm sure it will be fine."
"Well, I've a list of commands to make while I'm king. A day off once a week, no throwing things at the servants, doubling of the food rations, umm and…" Merlin trailed off as Gwen bit her lip. He guessed that commands weren't exactly what he was supposed to do. The whole thing was stupid anyway.
"Well, Merlin, those are all lovely but you're only king for a day so you might think of smaller things. Mostly keeping the wine flowing and looking the other way when couples start… umm coupling?"
"Oh hell, people do that? In public?" Merlin said, his voice squeaking higher.
"It's the one night where people can let their guard down a little bit. Even nobles and servants are allowed this time to… umm… reflect on their relationships. Not that there are any relationships to speak of. That's not… but glances can get heated and sometimes more." Her lip was going to fall off if she didn't stop biting it, but Merlin wasn't going to tell her that. "Sometimes the halls get a little full with moving bodies and… oh, my, I think Lady Morgana needs me." And she hurried off, her face flaming.
Not that Merlin was a prude. He'd grown up in a village without much to do but watch the pigs copulate and getting drunk on the local brew, but he'd never found someone to well, move bodies with. And if he was supposed to oversee it? What the hell?
The clotpole showed up, looser than normal, smiling at Merlin as if he had a secret and didn't want to share. It was clear he'd been in the sauce already.
It was going to be a long night.
Deciding to test the waters of this whole misrule thing, Merlin gestured Arthur closer. "Peasant, bring me cake and a glass of your finest wine. And hop to it."
Arthur just looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "That's Prince Peasant, my… lord." Then Arthur leaned forward, whispering into his ear. "Don't push it, you idiot. My father is watching."
Looking up, Merlin saw Uther glaring at him. Gulping back panic, Merlin half-shouted, "Of course, my lord, thank you for instructing me in my duties. I'll have a cup of mead, please, for I have worked up a kingly thirst." Then he muttered, "Clotpole, this isn't going to work. I have no idea what I'm doing."
Patting his knee, Arthur just smiled. "Of course, my King of Misrule, cake and mead coming right up."