srin
in
mad_poetics
Not A Farcical Aquatic Ceremony
Title: Not A Farcical Aquatic Ceremony
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur and Gwen/Morgana, though it's mostly gen. Cracky, cracky gen.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Crack, rampant anachronisms, crack, broken fourth wall, potentially dodgy characterisation, crack, social commentary, socialism, use of the word "bourgeois", crack.
Length: ~2200 words.
Summary: In which there are baby animals, social and economic revolutions, and happy cows.
Note: Complete and utter crack inspired by a discussion at merlin_anon. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. (Also, someone really needs to write the serious fic where Gwen and Morgana run Camelot.)
Being king isn’t as great as it’s cracked up to be, Arthur thinks. For one, the crown’s really sodding heavy but assorted advisers tend to glare at him a lot and tut disapprovingly if he turns up to official functions without it. And the official functions are really sodding boring, not to mention all the paperwork he has to do…
And then there’s Merlin. Arthur makes Merlin go to official functions with him, because he’s good for entertainment and occasionally advice and thwarting the odd assassination attempt, and that’s all well and good, except the assorted advisers keep grumbling about how it’s inappropriate for the king’s manservant to sit at his right hand and act like a council member himself. So Arthur tries giving Merlin a new title, to appease the assorted advisers, but then Merlin gets all upset because he doesn’t want a title, and then as soon as Merlin’s been mollified the assorted advisers are complaining that someone with Merlin’s title shouldn’t be dressed like a simple manservant and then Arthur has to try and come up with a new set of clothes for Merlin that Merlin won’t not-so-accidentally set on fire…
And anyway, the point is, after about a month of this rubbish Arthur’s had quite enough.
“Right, I’m going on a quest,” he announces in council one morning.
“A quest, your majesty? Of what sort?”
“Oh, I don’t know, save some maidens, aid some distressed villagers, maybe conquer something?”
“I see,” says one of the assorted advisers. “And how many knights shall accompany you?”
“Merlin,” says Arthur.
“I’m sorry?”
“Merlin shall accompany me, and Merlin alone. More noble that way. Knight errant sort of thing, only I’ll have Merlin to wash my socks and such. The knights can stay behind to protect Camelot.”
“I see,” says another assorted adviser. “And who shall you appoint to rule in your absence?”
“Um,” says Arthur, who really hasn’t got much past the leaving-Camelot part.
“How about Morgana and Gwen?” Merlin suggests. “Morgana’s the next best thing to royalty, and Gwen’s the most sensible person I’ve ever met.”
“Right! Morgana and Guinevere it is!” Arthur agrees quickly. He’s not entirely sure how good of an idea it is to let Morgana be in charge of his kingdom, but he knows it’s an even worse idea to voice such doubts now she’s got the idea in her head.
“Why thank you, Arthur,” Morgana says.
“It would be an honour, sire,” Gwen adds, looking startled. (Morgana just looks smug.)
“Brilliant! That’s that settled. Come on, Merlin, let’s go,” Arthur says, over the noise of the assorted advisers’ objections.
A week into their quest, Morgana sends word to Merlin via some arcane early form of telegraph.
“She says she’s sacked all your assorted advisers,” Merlin announces.
“They can be sacked?” Arthur demands, incredulous.
“Apparently.”
“Bloody hell, why didn’t anyone tell me that?”
“Who would’ve told you? The advisers?”
“…Fair point.”
(Arthur tries to rescue a maiden, but it turns out she’s up in that tower because she likes her privacy and really doesn’t appreciate “mangy armoured scoundrels damaging the masonry with their potentially anachronistic grappling hooks.” Merlin says a lot of very sympathetic things but Arthur suspects him of sniggering while Arthur’s back is turned.)
A week after that, Merlin gets another message.
“Gwen says they’re doing a bit of social reformation, and Morgana’s sacked some more people,” he says.
“Anyone important?”
“No one you liked.”
“Good.”
(Merlin magically defeats a magical beast conjured by some magic-wielding person of ill intentions, and receives the gracious thanks of a middling-sized township; Arthur rescues a puppy from a lake, and receives the gracious thanks of an eight-year-old girl with a runny nose and very large eyes. Arthur is rather put out, until he notices Merlin sulking over the fact that he didn’t get any tiny bouquets of dandelions, and then Arthur feels a bit better.)
“Apparently they’ve disbanded the aristocracy and dissolved feudalism,” Merlin tells Arthur three weeks into their quest.
“What’s feudalism?”
“I’m not sure, I think it involved surfing? But Gwen assures me it wasn’t very good and the people are all much happier now.”
“Disbanded the aristocracy, you say?”
“Indeed. And melted down the crown.”
“Really?” Arthur asks, sounding rather more excited than might be considered appropriate.
“Yes. Morgana says it was symbolic of centuries of nepotism, repression, and undeserved class privilege, so it had to go.”
“I have no idea what any of that means, but if it adds up to me never having to wear the damn thing again, I fully support it. Clearly putting Morgana in charge was the best idea I ever had.”
“Clearly,” says Merlin, without a hint of sarcasm.
(A man in this one awful little village they visit is extremely rude to Merlin, so Arthur makes a token effort to conquer the place in retaliation. It goes alright until someone points out that it’s already in Camelot’s jurisdiction, but seeing as Arthur’s the only one there with a sword they’ll be happy to cower a bit and tell everyone he conquered them anyway. Merlin thanks them for their consideration while Arthur has stern words with the rude man, and then waves apologetically when Arthur stomps off in a snit upon learning that the rude man is actually French and only knows the English people have hurled at him insultingly since his arrival from the continent. The unintentionally rude man gives Merlin a fork by way of apology.)
There are no more messages after that, and so six weeks after leaving Camelot, Arthur and Merlin reluctantly return home, just to make sure everything’s alright.
Near the outskirts of the city, they find a group of women with a bonfire and a heap of bizarre fabric contraptions. The things consist of two pouches, vaguely reminiscent of those in codpieces, connected to one another, with fabric bands protruding from either side and narrow straps coming off the tops and connecting to the bands. The women, several of whom are wearing trousers, are gleefully hurling the things into the flames.
“Erm, excuse me, but what’s going on here?” Merlin asks one of the women.
“We’re burning bras,” she tells him.
“Um, what’s a bra?”
“We don’t exactly know, but Lady Morgana - sorry, just Morgana now, bit hard to get used to that - Morgana assures us they’ll one day be symbolic of the subjugation of women throughout history, and also ridiculously overpriced, so we’re demonstrating our independence from the shackles of male domination and bourgeois capitalism by burning them.”
“I see,” says Merlin, who doesn’t really. Arthur doesn’t say anything, because he’s just noticed that some of the women who are wearing trousers aren’t wearing anything other than trousers. (They’re certainly not wearing bras.)
Eventually Merlin manages to drag Arthur away, and they meet the girls at the city gates. They’re both wearing trousers and looking extremely pleased with themselves.
“Hello Morgana, Guinevere,” Arthur says, a little warily. “What have you been up to since we last heard from you?”
"Oh, you know, nothing much, Gwen invented socialism and women's lib and hydroponics a few centuries early," Morgana says, and Gwen chimes in with,
"Well, Morgana helped with the women's lib, invented bras just so we could burn them and all that, plus she opened up diplomatic relations with the Byzantine empire..."
"What," Arthur says, "I have never heard of the Byzantine empire."
"Yes, dear, that's why we give you a sword and don't let you talk to people," Morgana says kindly. "And what have you accomplished?"
"Well we had a lot of sex in tents," Merlin says, "And once Arthur rescued a kitten."
"A kitten?" Gwen asks.
"It was up a tree and couldn't get down on its own," Arthur huffs.
“How terribly noble of you,” Morgana says, patting his arm.
“Hydroponics?” Merlin asks Gwen.
“Well you see, we instituted a system of crop rotation, but of course that means some fields must lie fallow each year and that’s a hardship for the farmers who own them - we returned ownership of the land to those that work it, of course - but I thought, well, some plants can survive for a period of time in only water, so we did some experimentation and worked out a way of raising crops in water with an added mineral solution, and actually the yield is rather higher than in traditional farming so it’s really quite lovely, and now we’ve a number of hydroponic farms set up that the people will cultivate while their regular fields are resting,” Gwen explains. Merlin blinks at her, several times.
“Come along, gentlemen,” Morgana says, waving them into the city proper. “We’ve a lovely supper, all organic greens and free-range fowl and these delightful things called oranges that the Moroccans sent with their envoy, and after that the performing artists’ union has agreed to put on a show.”
“I’m told you destroyed the crown,” Arthur says.
“Oh, yes. Important symbolic gesture. But if you like you can have a yellow hat, to wear when you make a speech at the opening of the new dairy cooperative next week.”
“A yellow … dairy cooperative? What? Are the cheeses collaborating with the butter to knit scarves or something? And why do I have to make a speech about it?”
“You don’t have to,” Gwen says, ignoring the first question. “We just thought it might be nice if you showed your support, that’s all.”
“Couldn’t I slay something instead? Or conquer it, I’m good at conquering.”
“Yes, you did a brilliant job with that village with the Frenchman,” Merlin says dryly.
“Shut up, Merlin.”
“There’s really no need for conquering,” Morgana tells them. “We’ve treaties with everyone worth having a treaty with, and the Vikings have agreed to provide advanced warning before raids, keep the pillaging to a minimum, and only rape the willing.”
“I’m not sure it’s strictly possible to rape someone who’s willing,” Merlin says dubiously.
“I believe the Vikings understand ‘rape’ to mean ‘have sex with someone who is not a Viking,’” Gwen explains.
“Oh.”
“We don’t need any slaying, either,” Gwen adds.
“Maybe not now, but some rampaging mythical beast is bound to turn up one of these days-”
“We are no longer slaying our misunderstood magical brethren,” Morgana says primly. “We are engaging in friendly dialogue to determine their needs and desires, creating mutually beneficial working arrangements, and providing counselling and rehabilitation to those individuals who are truly so troubled as to have no wish but to destroy.”
“We had another griffin a few weeks ago, and now he’s transporting people who need to travel long-distance in exchange for hunting rights in the forest,” Gwen says.
“And that creature with the tentacles makes a wonderful lifeguard for children playing in the lake.”
“You can fight in the tournaments?” Gwen suggests, when Arthur looks stricken. “We are still having tournaments, though they’ve been opened up to anyone who wishes to compete, regardless of birthright.”
“Well, I suppose that’s alright then.”
A week later, Gwen and Morgana make Merlin and Arthur get married. They’ve legalized weddings between same-sex couples, and feel it is important to demonstrate to the people that even the (former) royalty supports the new legislation.
“Explain to me again why it is that you two aren’t getting married?” Arthur demands, while the tailor fusses with his (fair-trade) silk doublet.
“Because marriage is an out-dated institution tied to archaic notions of property and ownership and I want no part in it,” Morgana says promptly.
“But it’s very important to many people, so we aren’t about to abolish it simply because of our personal feelings on the matter,” Gwen adds.
“Look at it this way,” Merlin says soothingly. “We get to have a honeymoon after, yeah? We can go to France. I hear they still need some dragons slain-” he hesitates at Morgana’s black look “-or scared off in France.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You can wear your armour and everything. There might even be someone to rescue. It might not even be a baby animal.”
Arthur perks up a little at that, and doesn’t even complain when they make him give a speech at the new dairy cooperative before the wedding. (“For shared resources and happy cows!” he shouts, feeling a bit silly, but then everyone cheers so it’s alright.) It’s certainly much better than fighting with the advisers or doing paperwork.
When Merlin and Arthur are about to depart on their honeymoon, Gwen says,
“Just stay away from Marseilles, would you? They’re having a bit of plague there, and we’re working on a cure but it isn’t quite ready yet.”
“The plague?” Merlin asks. “As in, the plague? Are we even in the right century for that?”
Gwen shrugs. “We have forks and Vikings and hydroponics and Byzantium. I don’t think this is really the time to start worrying about historical accuracy.”
“Fair point. Come on, Arthur, let’s go to Paris. Morgana says they have some crusaders in Paris who haven’t got the message and might need to be persuaded to lay down their arms.”
“What message?” Arthur asks.
“That the crusades have been cancelled.”
“What are crusades again?”
“Something very nasty that the girls have averted, I understand. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
“Have a nice time, boys!” Gwen calls, waving as they ride away.
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur and Gwen/Morgana, though it's mostly gen. Cracky, cracky gen.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Crack, rampant anachronisms, crack, broken fourth wall, potentially dodgy characterisation, crack, social commentary, socialism, use of the word "bourgeois", crack.
Length: ~2200 words.
Summary: In which there are baby animals, social and economic revolutions, and happy cows.
Note: Complete and utter crack inspired by a discussion at merlin_anon. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. (Also, someone really needs to write the serious fic where Gwen and Morgana run Camelot.)
Being king isn’t as great as it’s cracked up to be, Arthur thinks. For one, the crown’s really sodding heavy but assorted advisers tend to glare at him a lot and tut disapprovingly if he turns up to official functions without it. And the official functions are really sodding boring, not to mention all the paperwork he has to do…
And then there’s Merlin. Arthur makes Merlin go to official functions with him, because he’s good for entertainment and occasionally advice and thwarting the odd assassination attempt, and that’s all well and good, except the assorted advisers keep grumbling about how it’s inappropriate for the king’s manservant to sit at his right hand and act like a council member himself. So Arthur tries giving Merlin a new title, to appease the assorted advisers, but then Merlin gets all upset because he doesn’t want a title, and then as soon as Merlin’s been mollified the assorted advisers are complaining that someone with Merlin’s title shouldn’t be dressed like a simple manservant and then Arthur has to try and come up with a new set of clothes for Merlin that Merlin won’t not-so-accidentally set on fire…
And anyway, the point is, after about a month of this rubbish Arthur’s had quite enough.
“Right, I’m going on a quest,” he announces in council one morning.
“A quest, your majesty? Of what sort?”
“Oh, I don’t know, save some maidens, aid some distressed villagers, maybe conquer something?”
“I see,” says one of the assorted advisers. “And how many knights shall accompany you?”
“Merlin,” says Arthur.
“I’m sorry?”
“Merlin shall accompany me, and Merlin alone. More noble that way. Knight errant sort of thing, only I’ll have Merlin to wash my socks and such. The knights can stay behind to protect Camelot.”
“I see,” says another assorted adviser. “And who shall you appoint to rule in your absence?”
“Um,” says Arthur, who really hasn’t got much past the leaving-Camelot part.
“How about Morgana and Gwen?” Merlin suggests. “Morgana’s the next best thing to royalty, and Gwen’s the most sensible person I’ve ever met.”
“Right! Morgana and Guinevere it is!” Arthur agrees quickly. He’s not entirely sure how good of an idea it is to let Morgana be in charge of his kingdom, but he knows it’s an even worse idea to voice such doubts now she’s got the idea in her head.
“Why thank you, Arthur,” Morgana says.
“It would be an honour, sire,” Gwen adds, looking startled. (Morgana just looks smug.)
“Brilliant! That’s that settled. Come on, Merlin, let’s go,” Arthur says, over the noise of the assorted advisers’ objections.
A week into their quest, Morgana sends word to Merlin via some arcane early form of telegraph.
“She says she’s sacked all your assorted advisers,” Merlin announces.
“They can be sacked?” Arthur demands, incredulous.
“Apparently.”
“Bloody hell, why didn’t anyone tell me that?”
“Who would’ve told you? The advisers?”
“…Fair point.”
(Arthur tries to rescue a maiden, but it turns out she’s up in that tower because she likes her privacy and really doesn’t appreciate “mangy armoured scoundrels damaging the masonry with their potentially anachronistic grappling hooks.” Merlin says a lot of very sympathetic things but Arthur suspects him of sniggering while Arthur’s back is turned.)
A week after that, Merlin gets another message.
“Gwen says they’re doing a bit of social reformation, and Morgana’s sacked some more people,” he says.
“Anyone important?”
“No one you liked.”
“Good.”
(Merlin magically defeats a magical beast conjured by some magic-wielding person of ill intentions, and receives the gracious thanks of a middling-sized township; Arthur rescues a puppy from a lake, and receives the gracious thanks of an eight-year-old girl with a runny nose and very large eyes. Arthur is rather put out, until he notices Merlin sulking over the fact that he didn’t get any tiny bouquets of dandelions, and then Arthur feels a bit better.)
“Apparently they’ve disbanded the aristocracy and dissolved feudalism,” Merlin tells Arthur three weeks into their quest.
“What’s feudalism?”
“I’m not sure, I think it involved surfing? But Gwen assures me it wasn’t very good and the people are all much happier now.”
“Disbanded the aristocracy, you say?”
“Indeed. And melted down the crown.”
“Really?” Arthur asks, sounding rather more excited than might be considered appropriate.
“Yes. Morgana says it was symbolic of centuries of nepotism, repression, and undeserved class privilege, so it had to go.”
“I have no idea what any of that means, but if it adds up to me never having to wear the damn thing again, I fully support it. Clearly putting Morgana in charge was the best idea I ever had.”
“Clearly,” says Merlin, without a hint of sarcasm.
(A man in this one awful little village they visit is extremely rude to Merlin, so Arthur makes a token effort to conquer the place in retaliation. It goes alright until someone points out that it’s already in Camelot’s jurisdiction, but seeing as Arthur’s the only one there with a sword they’ll be happy to cower a bit and tell everyone he conquered them anyway. Merlin thanks them for their consideration while Arthur has stern words with the rude man, and then waves apologetically when Arthur stomps off in a snit upon learning that the rude man is actually French and only knows the English people have hurled at him insultingly since his arrival from the continent. The unintentionally rude man gives Merlin a fork by way of apology.)
There are no more messages after that, and so six weeks after leaving Camelot, Arthur and Merlin reluctantly return home, just to make sure everything’s alright.
Near the outskirts of the city, they find a group of women with a bonfire and a heap of bizarre fabric contraptions. The things consist of two pouches, vaguely reminiscent of those in codpieces, connected to one another, with fabric bands protruding from either side and narrow straps coming off the tops and connecting to the bands. The women, several of whom are wearing trousers, are gleefully hurling the things into the flames.
“Erm, excuse me, but what’s going on here?” Merlin asks one of the women.
“We’re burning bras,” she tells him.
“Um, what’s a bra?”
“We don’t exactly know, but Lady Morgana - sorry, just Morgana now, bit hard to get used to that - Morgana assures us they’ll one day be symbolic of the subjugation of women throughout history, and also ridiculously overpriced, so we’re demonstrating our independence from the shackles of male domination and bourgeois capitalism by burning them.”
“I see,” says Merlin, who doesn’t really. Arthur doesn’t say anything, because he’s just noticed that some of the women who are wearing trousers aren’t wearing anything other than trousers. (They’re certainly not wearing bras.)
Eventually Merlin manages to drag Arthur away, and they meet the girls at the city gates. They’re both wearing trousers and looking extremely pleased with themselves.
“Hello Morgana, Guinevere,” Arthur says, a little warily. “What have you been up to since we last heard from you?”
"Oh, you know, nothing much, Gwen invented socialism and women's lib and hydroponics a few centuries early," Morgana says, and Gwen chimes in with,
"Well, Morgana helped with the women's lib, invented bras just so we could burn them and all that, plus she opened up diplomatic relations with the Byzantine empire..."
"What," Arthur says, "I have never heard of the Byzantine empire."
"Yes, dear, that's why we give you a sword and don't let you talk to people," Morgana says kindly. "And what have you accomplished?"
"Well we had a lot of sex in tents," Merlin says, "And once Arthur rescued a kitten."
"A kitten?" Gwen asks.
"It was up a tree and couldn't get down on its own," Arthur huffs.
“How terribly noble of you,” Morgana says, patting his arm.
“Hydroponics?” Merlin asks Gwen.
“Well you see, we instituted a system of crop rotation, but of course that means some fields must lie fallow each year and that’s a hardship for the farmers who own them - we returned ownership of the land to those that work it, of course - but I thought, well, some plants can survive for a period of time in only water, so we did some experimentation and worked out a way of raising crops in water with an added mineral solution, and actually the yield is rather higher than in traditional farming so it’s really quite lovely, and now we’ve a number of hydroponic farms set up that the people will cultivate while their regular fields are resting,” Gwen explains. Merlin blinks at her, several times.
“Come along, gentlemen,” Morgana says, waving them into the city proper. “We’ve a lovely supper, all organic greens and free-range fowl and these delightful things called oranges that the Moroccans sent with their envoy, and after that the performing artists’ union has agreed to put on a show.”
“I’m told you destroyed the crown,” Arthur says.
“Oh, yes. Important symbolic gesture. But if you like you can have a yellow hat, to wear when you make a speech at the opening of the new dairy cooperative next week.”
“A yellow … dairy cooperative? What? Are the cheeses collaborating with the butter to knit scarves or something? And why do I have to make a speech about it?”
“You don’t have to,” Gwen says, ignoring the first question. “We just thought it might be nice if you showed your support, that’s all.”
“Couldn’t I slay something instead? Or conquer it, I’m good at conquering.”
“Yes, you did a brilliant job with that village with the Frenchman,” Merlin says dryly.
“Shut up, Merlin.”
“There’s really no need for conquering,” Morgana tells them. “We’ve treaties with everyone worth having a treaty with, and the Vikings have agreed to provide advanced warning before raids, keep the pillaging to a minimum, and only rape the willing.”
“I’m not sure it’s strictly possible to rape someone who’s willing,” Merlin says dubiously.
“I believe the Vikings understand ‘rape’ to mean ‘have sex with someone who is not a Viking,’” Gwen explains.
“Oh.”
“We don’t need any slaying, either,” Gwen adds.
“Maybe not now, but some rampaging mythical beast is bound to turn up one of these days-”
“We are no longer slaying our misunderstood magical brethren,” Morgana says primly. “We are engaging in friendly dialogue to determine their needs and desires, creating mutually beneficial working arrangements, and providing counselling and rehabilitation to those individuals who are truly so troubled as to have no wish but to destroy.”
“We had another griffin a few weeks ago, and now he’s transporting people who need to travel long-distance in exchange for hunting rights in the forest,” Gwen says.
“And that creature with the tentacles makes a wonderful lifeguard for children playing in the lake.”
“You can fight in the tournaments?” Gwen suggests, when Arthur looks stricken. “We are still having tournaments, though they’ve been opened up to anyone who wishes to compete, regardless of birthright.”
“Well, I suppose that’s alright then.”
A week later, Gwen and Morgana make Merlin and Arthur get married. They’ve legalized weddings between same-sex couples, and feel it is important to demonstrate to the people that even the (former) royalty supports the new legislation.
“Explain to me again why it is that you two aren’t getting married?” Arthur demands, while the tailor fusses with his (fair-trade) silk doublet.
“Because marriage is an out-dated institution tied to archaic notions of property and ownership and I want no part in it,” Morgana says promptly.
“But it’s very important to many people, so we aren’t about to abolish it simply because of our personal feelings on the matter,” Gwen adds.
“Look at it this way,” Merlin says soothingly. “We get to have a honeymoon after, yeah? We can go to France. I hear they still need some dragons slain-” he hesitates at Morgana’s black look “-or scared off in France.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You can wear your armour and everything. There might even be someone to rescue. It might not even be a baby animal.”
Arthur perks up a little at that, and doesn’t even complain when they make him give a speech at the new dairy cooperative before the wedding. (“For shared resources and happy cows!” he shouts, feeling a bit silly, but then everyone cheers so it’s alright.) It’s certainly much better than fighting with the advisers or doing paperwork.
When Merlin and Arthur are about to depart on their honeymoon, Gwen says,
“Just stay away from Marseilles, would you? They’re having a bit of plague there, and we’re working on a cure but it isn’t quite ready yet.”
“The plague?” Merlin asks. “As in, the plague? Are we even in the right century for that?”
Gwen shrugs. “We have forks and Vikings and hydroponics and Byzantium. I don’t think this is really the time to start worrying about historical accuracy.”
“Fair point. Come on, Arthur, let’s go to Paris. Morgana says they have some crusaders in Paris who haven’t got the message and might need to be persuaded to lay down their arms.”
“What message?” Arthur asks.
“That the crusades have been cancelled.”
“What are crusades again?”
“Something very nasty that the girls have averted, I understand. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
“Have a nice time, boys!” Gwen calls, waving as they ride away.