Work Text:
Part One:
Merlin prides himself on his ability to sense danger, that innate magical ability to know when something is amiss and to subtlety impart this knowledge to his king, thereby averting disaster.
Does he listen? No, of course not.
Three-foot-high lollipops in the middle of the forbidden forest, that’s not strange at all, is it Arthur?
‘I’m hungry, Merlin. I haven’t eaten all day, Merlin. Don’t be such a girl’s petticoat, Merlin’.
Now look at him, the King of Camelot, crawling on his hands and knees stuffing his face with sweeties, gorging on candy and filling his once toned tummy with cake.
This must stop.
Merlin tries everything. "Think of your waistline Sire."
"Nonsense, Merlin, someone with a physique like mine can afford to overindulge from time to time."
In desperation Merlin grabs Arthur’s free arm (the one not glued to his mouth) and tries to pull him away. So intent on this task is Merlin that he fails to see the danger, fails to sense the real threat: a surprisingly spritely old witch with a giant club.
Thwack!
“Merlin?”
Thwack!
“We will eat well tonight, Geoffrey.” The old crone cackles to the cat as she drags her dinner into the cottage.
Part Two:
Arthur presses his head against the bars. This was all Merlin’s fault; if he’d not sabotaged the hunt Arthur wouldn’t have succumbed.
The royal picks up a stick, shoving it through the railings to rouse his unconscious servant. With horror, he realises it’s a human bone and tosses it away.
Merlin’s eyelids flicker, slowly opening. “I warned you! A gingerbread house, festooned in sweets - it was a trap! Only you were too busy devouring the roof to listen.”
“I was enchanted!”
“Your stomach was.”
“What?”
“I said, I’ll look for something that will get us out.”
Arthur had been doing that whilst his servant slept; there wasn’t anything useful - just a cauldron and some vegetables.
The door flies open and the witch bangs the floor with her stick.
“Now, now, children.”
Arthur rattles his cage.“What are your intentions, crone?”
Her lips smack together.“The fat one will make a tasty pie.” Facing Merlin, she runs her tongue over black teeth, thrusting her hips suggestively.“For you my pretty, I have other plans.”
A clawed hand shoots towards his crotch - it’s too much. Merlin flings the cauldron.
She screams as the fluid hits, slowly dissolving the hag in plumes of putrid black vapour.
They stare at her smoking shoes - all that’s left of the witch.
“Next time I have a ‘funny feeling’ will you just believe me for once?” Merlin huffs.
Arthur grunts.
“What was that?”
“I said, alright! Now let me out.”
“Oh course, Sire .”
The End