Is This The New Version Of The Red-Headed League?

Is this the new version of the Red-Headed League?

Happy Dracula Jonathan Harker Day

From the US but i spell grey with an e because e just feels like a much greyer letter than a

promt for merthur, merlin schedules a hunting trip but it's really a miny vacation in a farm house where they play pretend and relax from all the responsabilities

I forgot to clarify that I don't really write slash, sorry!

I hope you still like it what I did with the prompt, though : )

AO3

“You kidnapped me.”

Between whatever Merlin had slipped into his wine and the jostling of the farmer’s cart Merlin had probably stolen, Arthur was finding it very hard to think, but he was awake enough to know that this was not the hunting trip he had been on the previous evening.

Merlin was a blasted traitor.

“It’s for your own good,” Merlin said. “You need a break.”

“You kidnapped me. I’m the king. I just can’t leave Camelot!” There were missives to have Merlin write, speeches for Merlin to edit, and chores for Merlin to do.

“I asked Gwen. She said she would take care of running things until we got back. In fact, she’d probably do a better job at it.”

“Excuse me?”

Merlin lightly snapped the reins, and the horse picked up its pace. “We’ll be there in a few hours. Just try to relax until then.”

“I resent this entire operation.”

“You’ll get over it,” Merlin told him cheerfully as though that made everything better. 

Arthur crossed his arms. He would not get over it. He wasn’t going to speak a word until Merlin took him back to Camelot. And then he wasn’t going to speak to Gwen for apparently being in on this entire coup.

Traitors, the lot of them.

…

They did not arrive at their destination a few hours later because Merlin got lost. Instead, they arrived in the middle of the night.

Somewhere off in the distance, Arthur heard a cow mooing, but it was probably just his imagination.

He hoped.

It appeared to be a worn cabin with grass in place of a proper roof. In the corner was an old iron stove in which Merlin lit a fire and tried to cook something that was probably originally meant to be a cake but ended up looking like…

Well, Arthur wasn’t going to go there.

It tasted fine, though, but he also wasn’t going to admit that to Merlin. “This is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever had,” he informed his manservant as he tore off a piece with his fingers.

“Oh, really? I wouldn’t know. It was all gone before I could get to it.” 

“I saved you from a horrible fate.”

Merlin snorted.

After his last slice, Arthur was feeling rather tired. While Merlin went back outside to retrieve a blanket from the farmer’s cart, he found a cot in the corner and collapsed into it. Despite having been traveling all day, he was exhausted. 

Briefly, he was aware of Merlin gently draping a blanket over him before he dropped off.

…

The next morning, Arthur woke to a demonic noise in his ear.

Wildly confused, he shot up and looked around.

This was not his castle.

Everything - the cart ride, the cake, Merlin’s insubordination - came flooding back to him.

“Good morning!” Merlin removed a pot from the stove. “The coffee is all ready.”

“What was that?” Arthur demanded. “Are we under attack?”

“Nope. That was Uther the rooster.”

“You named a rooster after my father?”

“Why not?”

Arthur thought about it, couldn’t think of a good enough reason not to name such a hellish beast after his father, and got up to get a mug of coffee. “Where are we, anyway?” he asked as he took a seat at the sole table in the room. “It was too dark last night.”

“My mother’s farm in Ealdor. She wanted to visit a friend in another village for a week, so I told her we would take care of the animals until she came back.”

That was a very uncomfortable we. Horses and dogs, Arthur could deal with - other animals (if they were dead) sometimes, too.

Whatever was on the other side of the cabin wall, however…

He’d rather not think about it.

“I already milked the cows,” Merlin said. “They get upset if you don’t do it at the same time every day. But you can help me get the eggs from the chickens.”

Arthur coughed.

If this was Merlin’s idea of a vacation, he was sorely mistaken.

Arthur wasn’t setting foot near that chicken coop.

…

“She pecked me!” 

“What did you expect? You’re stealing her eggs.”

“That’s what you told me to do! Why don’t you do this?” Arthur yelled.

“You want to switch places and hold Uther back yourself?”

At his name, the rooster tried to flap his wings and murder Merlin at the same time, sending feathers flying across the coop.

By the time they were finished gathering the eggs, Arthur’s arm was covered in red wells from furious chickens, and somehow it hurt worse than if he had been stabbed by a barbarian.

“I hate them,” he seethed. “I hate their beady little eyes and their talons-”

“Here.” Merlin plunked a pail down in front of him.

Arthur eyed it suspiciously. “What’s this for? You don’t have chickens hiding somewhere else, do you?”

“No. We’re going hunting.”

At the word hunting, Arthur perked up. He knew how to hunt. And he was infinitely more skilled at it than collecting eggs.

“Berry hunting,” Merlin clarified at the expression on his face. “There’s a good berry patch about a mile south of the fields.”

Arthur frowned. “I’ve…I’ve never been hunting for…berries.” Naturally, he could tell the difference between poisonous and edible ones, but it was usually in a survival situation. Not purposefully trapezing around looking for them.

“Don’t worry,” Merlin said. “This is going to be fun.”

…

Five hours later, Arthur collapsed in one of the chairs back at the cabin.

He couldn’t tell if his fingers were stained from blood from thorns or berry juice. 

If anything, he was more tired than when he had first arrived at Hunith’s farm, but it was the same lassitude he felt after a long day of training with the knights or a hard-won quest.

Perhaps farming wasn’t as bad as it initially seemed. He could see himself as a farmer, growing plants instead of diplomatic relations, fighting chickens instead of Saxons, and picking berries instead of picking battles with the nobles.

It wasn’t a bad life at all.

Merlin had been rather thoughtful to drag him out there with him when he simply could have taken a few days off.

Contented, Arthur leaned back in his chair and sighed.

Not a bad life at all. 

…

By the two, two buckets of berries sat.

Despite the humongous number of berries that had been picked that afternoon, neither were full.

Uther: Sorcerer!

Merlin: Where??