Work Text:
Severus sighed and kicked at the small stone before him, knocking it down the sprawling stone steps below him, its tinkling descent echoing up the tower. Life sucked sometimes, just plain sucked. It just wasn’t fair!
“What seems to be troubling you young wizard?”
Severus jumped, letting out a small squeak at the aged voice that interrupted his moping. Staring to wall where the voice came from Severus let out a sigh of relief seeing the image of the great wizard Merlin staring back at him from within his gilded frame. The legendary wizard stood in the midst of a rocky battle field, a sturdy looking staff at hand and his trademark long silver hair and beard swaying slightly in the wind.
“It’s nothing Merlin,” Severus said with a shake of his head.
Merlin cocked his head to the side giving Severus a clam and patient smile. “It certainly looks like something Severus.”
Severus opened his mouth to respond when a loud shout echoed down the long stairwell. “Merlin!”
Squinting upwards Severus could see a commotion coming his way through the paintings lining the ancient tower. “Sir,” Severus queried squinting harder at the figure barging through the Battle of Bosworth depiction. “Is that…?”
“Ignore him.” Merlin waved an impatient hand. “Now tell me what is on your mind.”
“Merlin!” the loud voice came again. “Merlin where is my sword?”
“Oh, for the love of,” Merlin sighed skyward, hands placed on each hip. “Two centuries since I was his servant and he still expects me to pick up after him.”
“Merlin!”
“Have you tried your sword belt, my lord?” Merlin simpered loudly, muttering, “idiot,” under his breath as an afterthought.
“Who are you calling an idiot?” called the loud voice and soon enough the great King Arthur finally swept into the side of the painting, his red cape flying regally behind him.
Merlin seemed to barely withhold his eye roll as he turned to meet his visitor. “You, your highness.”
King Arthur snorted, flicking his now unsheathed sword at Merlin’s long silvery beard. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“My beard is distinguished!” Merlin spluttered, flattening back down its wispy white tendrils.
“It’s white.”
“At least I can grow a beard,” Merlin scoffed. “All the while you’re stuck in a permanent state of pubescence.”
“I could grow a beard!” King Arthur huffed drawing back his shoulders.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Prove it.”
An odd snort escaped his mouth. He stared through watering eyes at the Legendary King of Camelot and the most Powerful and Famous wizard of all time, chest to chest, practically nose to nose, arguing over facial hair.
Then Severus couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing, startling the duo with his sudden mirth. Their returning glares only made Severus laugh harder.
“Thanks guys,” Severus finally said once he got his breath back, having completely forgotten what he had been so upset about. “You made me feel much better, see you around!”
Severus waved over his shoulders and he jogged down the stairwell back to the great hall, feeling much better than he had all week.
*
Arthur stared after the small child as he skipped down the stone steps of his castle still chortling.
“Did he…” Arthur began, still processing. “Did he laugh at me?”
“I believe so Arthur,” Merlin sighed, falling despondently to his jagged sitting stone.
“He can’t laugh at me,” Arthur huffed as the boy went out of eyesight. “I am the King!”
“Would you like to chase after him and explain that to the boy?” Merlin sighed lazily waving a sleeved arm in the general direction of the boy’s trajectory. Arthur quickly mentally calculated the possible route the boy could take, his most likely points of destination, the path through the paintings himself could take to catch up, remembering some useful short cuts…
In the end he heaved a great tired sigh and let his knees drop him into sitting beside Merlin.
“How long do we have to stay here?” Arthur whined.
“Until the world needs you again,” Merlin huffed staring miserably around the rocky scenery painted around them. “Or until I go senile, whichever comes first.”
Arthur pulled at the neck of his armour as it cut into his chin. “You think they could have immortalised me in something a bit more comfortable.”
“You’re uncomfortable?” Merlin shot back, his eyes glinting in annoyance. “I stop one battle with this bloody beard; one out of hundreds and this is how they remember me.” The great warlock sighed rubbing at his aging joints. “My knees always ache.”
They both sighed and turned to watch the quiet corridors of Hogwarts castle for a moment, side by side, dodgy joints, uncomfortable garb and all.
Eventually Arthur groaned and pushed off the rock perch. “I think Gwaine is bothering the maids in the banquet portrait on the fourth floor again. You wanna go?”
“Sure,” Merlin shrugged pushing himself a tad more slowly from his seat. “Why not?”
Arthur watched his old friend push himself to standing, groaning as his aged joints popped. “You want a lift?”
“God, yes,” Merlin sighed and gratefully hooked his gnarled hands around the King’s neck, hitching his knobbly knees to Arthurs hips.
As one they left the painting, off to fight the perils of injustice and tyranny elsewhere… or perhaps just watch as Gwaine attempted to get drunk on acrylic ale… again.