A.N.://  Prompt by: @sylvanao222007
I hope this is kind of what you had in mind :) 
I'll probably add a second chapter too. That ending is by no means an actual end.

as for the art, visit me on
tumblr: @changelink
Or instagram: @changelink23

I know it doesn't completely fit the story.... but man - i just wanted to get the colors right, okay!?

Now enjoy :)


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Preening was one of the most sacred practices in the entire world. Every culture, every religion, every person knew the importance of self maintenance.
Preening is, when one person decides to completely trust another person. To be preened is putting yourself in a vulnerable position. Because yes, dirt and stones within your feathers hurts a lot. But an accidentally pulled out feather hurts about as much as breaking a fingernail.
Wings were extremely sensitive.
And not only that – their entire appearance could put you in danger or raise your status at the court.
Colorful wings could make you a royal – while brown and green colors made you a peasant by default.
If the tips of your feathers were black however – you were marked a sorcerer and burned at the stake.
White tips and your fate would be even worse. But warlocks were rare.

The color of wings could change throughout your life. They could intensify in their color or become dull. Your tips could become black when magic came to you later in life.
That is why it was important to make sure you took good care of them. And to let someone take care of them whom you trusted.
You could hardly take care of your wings yourself, because they were attached to your back.
And you couldn't dress them up, because to wrap up your wings was like walking around handcuffed.

Even the knights had trouble protecting their wings with armor. Of course it was important to protect your most sensible areas. But to add metal plates on top of your wings took away your ability to fly. One of the reasons why it was so important to train their back muscles every day.
To fly while fighting could decide whether of not you made it out of a life or death situation – or it helped you ambush people.
However, to fight while flying meant a huge amount of stress for both your physical and mental abilities.
Being fought from all sides had a different meaning when your wings were flapping mid air.

Wings were also the first thing that would be taken from you, when you were tortured. Hurting or breaking wings was one of the most effective methods to make a captured person talk.
Hurting the wings was easier, because it exhausted the tortured to a point where they could hardly move at all and they could easily be removed without risking the captive to die an immediate death.

All in all – wings were vital points in society, painful points in your physics, important for survival, but unimportant for self preserving.
They were an easy target. And thus – most protected.

Arthur Pendragon prided himself with the fact that his wings were of the upmost red. They were the brightest in the entire country. Small golden feathers were woven within. But they were so golden, he could use them to pay food with. That was how rare golden feathers were.
Not as rare as pure white ones maybe – but still pretty rare.
And that was how his wings were viewed. Arthur had a hard time finding someone to preen him who didn't take his feathers away.

He might not have been so happy when his father assigned this peasant country boy to be his servant – with his muddy wings that were definitely only ever preened from stones and maybe small branches. Merlin definitely didn't look like someone who knew how to maintain his own wings. Maybe Merlin's feathers were just naturally colored this way.
But at least Merlin was not a thieve. Not once had Arthur heard that Merlin was paying for food with golden feathers. And he was pretty good at avoiding to pull them out.
His last manservant had been so harsh in his care taking that Arthur had been playing with the thought of firing him multiple times before Merlin stumbled along.

If saving your life could be called stumbling along.

Needless to say the job of a manservant required an amount of loyalty that almost equaled those of the knights. Even knights were sometimes reluctant to help each other out with preening.
Arthur made sure that new knights were eased into this level of trust. Knights needed to trust each other. Preening was just one way of proving they did.
Not that Arthur ever had to preen anyone in his life. He tried with Morgana once, but the girl had almost kicked him out as soon as he held his first purple feather in hand.
No – the only person Morgana trusted enough to be preened by was Gwen. Her maidservant.

He wondered who preened Merlin sometimes. Maybe Merlin let himself preened by anyone. Merlin trusted people easily. It wasn't hard to imagine that anyone may have a go at his feathers.
Arthur shuddered at the thought. To let yourself be preened by just anyone was frowned upon.
For good reasons. You could be seen as a slut for just offering your services.
You know – if something like a platonic slut existed.

Not that Arthur cared much about the services itself.
He just didn't like the thought of Merlin being – well...
He wondered when it had happened. His own jealousy towards anyone who touched Merlin's feathers.
He didn't even like the color of Merlin's wings. They were brownish – blue. Like Merlin just bathed in dirty lake water each morning and rolled around in the sand right afterwards.
And yet – Arthur would love to just spend some time helping Merlin maintain his wings the way it should be.
He would love to comb out the dirt, the occasional bugs, the rocks, the branches.
Merlin's wings were full of them sometimes.

Mostly right after the boy disappeared to who knows where for a couple of days.

Speaking of disappearing for a couple of days – Arthur and the knights were preparing for another hunt. Of course they would take Merlin with them.
He was the best person when it came to making food, differentiating between poisonous and edible plants and of course – preparing camp.
(Not to mention that Arthur loved it when Merlin worked on his wings.)

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Taking horses on missions was actually just an act of royalty. They were much faster without them. When they were flying and all. Since horses rarely had wings to begin with (Only Arthur's horse was a Pegasus, but he hardly ever brought him along because that would just be showing off. Falcon was a horse for tournaments or other princely events. Not hunting.).
But they were practical in other ways. They could carry the weapons – the food – their necessities. And that without loosing their mobility within the forests.
Like they would with carriages. However, they didn't use the horses during the hunts itself. Which meant that Merlin would have to take care of them at camp, while Arthur and the knights made sure they would have enough to eat for the evening.

Arthur always enjoyed these hunts. He knew Merlin didn't. The man was always grumpy. He hated it when Arthur came back with a bunch of bunnies or a whole deer to show off with.
Especially the first nights were always difficult. Merlin was always moping then. And always a bit harsher when he began preening Arthur's wings.
After hunting the preening was very essential to them. Admittedly, Arthur got preened more often than he needed to – but he liked it. It was a luxury only few could afford. And Arthur was one of the few who could.

His knights always shook their heads at the sight – before they began preening each other as well.
For a while it was quiet, while Merlin's already careful hands became even softer while they took out small rocks and branches from Arthur's wings.

"Hey, Merlin -", finally Gwaine asked as he had given Merlin's wings a once over.
Arthur tensed, not seeing Gwaine and therefore not expecting him to speak up. Arthur sat with his back to Merlin on the log in front of the fire and simply enjoyed the attention.
"There are bugs in your wings. Can I take them out?" Arthur and Merlin both turned around as Gwaine reached out for Merlin's wings already. But Merlin practically jumped as he realized what Gwaine was doing.
And with practically jumping I mean – he flapped his wings to fly about two meters above them. His breath hitching in shock as realized all eyes were suddenly on him.

"Sorry – I didn't mean to -", Gwaine sounded hurt as he raised both his hands in defense. Arthur blinked. That was – certainly strange. Gwaine was one of Merlin's best friends. And if Percival's comments were anything to go by – quite good at preening.
Why would Merlin of all people -
Except he didn't let other people preen him? But that didn't sound right!

Arthur shook his wings, they were clean enough, he decided. "Merlin, it's fine. Calm down.", he rolled his eyes, but his confusion was evident.
Reluctantly, Merlin landed gently on his feet. A few loose feathers rained to the ground, shaken from Merlin's sudden use of his wings. He really didn't preen them often, when his feathers could just rain down like that.
"Sorry.", Merlin mumbled. "I'm not used to others -", he ran his hands over his wings absentmindedly.

Arthur blinked. "You mean – you preen yourself?", he asked and almost laughed. But Merlin wasn't laughing along. After all- wings were attached to a blind spot on your body. You couldn't exactly reach very far.
"I think I've only been preened by three of four people in my life.", Merlin admitted.
"My mom, Will, Gaius and Freya-", he stopped himself. "Yeah – that's basically it.", he shrugged and sat down. His wings still moving slightly. Merlin stretched them a little to get the stiffness out, before he tugged them back in.
'Who the hell was Freya?', Arthur asked himself in wonder. 'All in due time!', he decided finally.

"Do you want to talk about it?", Gwaine asked and sat down in front of Percival this time, so they could reverse roles now.
Percival didn't hesitate to start working on his boyfriend's dark blue shimmering wings, but he listened anyway.

Merlin sighed and curled up in his position. He didn't like being the center of attention.
"Not really.", he said and sighed.

Arthur nodded. "That's okay, Merlin. But should you change your mind – we'll listen.", he said carefully. He wouldn't pressure Merlin on the subject.
After all – wings were most sensitive subjects. Even in casual conversation.

Merlin stood there between them, awkwardly shuffling his wings behind him.
"I'll – er – I guess I'll go fetch some more water, alright?" And with that – the conversation was practically over.

The river wasn't too far. But they already had enough water, Arthur thought and shook his head. Maybe Merlin just needed some time to himself.
"Don't let this drag you down, guys.", Lancelot interrupted them, as he helped one of the newer knights clean their shield.
"He doesn't even let ME do it.", Lancelot sighed. "And I've been trying to do it for him for years."

Arthur nodded and absentmindedly put one of the fallen feathers into his hand.
He frowned upon inspecting it. It truly did look like someone had just put the feathers into muddy water and then dragged it through sand.
In fact – Arthur frowned even further, as he rippled off some of the sand.
Lancelot was still going on over his convictions why Merlin was so stoic over his wings, as Arthur uncovered something beneath all the dirt.
He jumped to his feet, his own red wings flaring in surprise.

"Holy shit.", he muttered and once again all attention was directed at him again.

"What?", Lancelot asked, but his eyes widened at the feather in Arthur's hand.
It wasn't at all brown. Not at all the sand color they were all used to.

"Gwaine – give me your water. I need to clean this.", he said without thinking too hard. But Gwaine just frowned. "I never have water with me, you know that.", he said, but drank a sip from his flask.
Percival raised an eyebrow.
"Then give me percival's water or something! Now!", Arthur decided and Percival threw his flask at him.

Arthur caught it with eased practice and opened the flask with his teeth since he had his other hand full.
Then he used the water to clean the rest of the dirt off the feather.
The dusty color he had revealed to himself earlier was almost glowing now. Clean and light blue. Like the brightest sky on the clearest day. It was like a neon color – visible from miles away.
Almost more prominent than the bloody red Arthur prided himself with.

"This color -", Arthur began. And it wasn't like he had ever seen such beauty before. No, he hadn't in fact. But a color like this was bound to belong to royalty! Merlin's mother had dark brownish wings – how had Merlin -
No. This didn't make sense.

"Why would he hide something like this?" Gwaine and Lancelot sat up as well now. So did the other knights, but their eyes were the biggest of them all.
It was then that they heard a scream and a splash.

Arthur turned his head in the direction it had come from. And it distracted him momentarily from the arrow that almost hit his head, but now hit the tree behind him instead.
Arthur's head snapped around.
"Shit -", he muttered and grabbed for his weapons. "DOWN!", he yelled, so his knights would know that they were just ambushed.

Just in time, because as the knights howled to the ground, bandits appeared within the trees. Arrows almost hitting them.
Arthur maybe had a dozen knights with him – but right now the bandits outnumbered them at least three to one.
Arthur tried to protect his head with his wings. He knew he practically exposed himself like this, but better his wings were hurt then his head chopped of.
What was worse was – the scream must have been Merlin's. And he was alone at the river bank. No knight with him. No weapon. Nothing!

"And look who we've got here! The brave knights of Camelot! And the prince himself, as I see.", a dirty voice chuckled behind him.
Arthur had never met this man before. But he had met his kind. His brownish feathers showed his status easily, but the black tips at the bottom of his wings marked him a sorcerer.
That and of course the yellow in his eyes, as he managed to paralyze Arthur and his men with a mere glance.

Arthur's sword fell from his grasp, as the man grabbed him by his collar and raised him to his feet.
"Golden feathers. How nice that must be. You must be the prince. What do you think – care to share your nice little gift with me?"
His yellow eyes were unwavering as he grabbed one of Arthur's golden feathers and pulled them out.
Arthur hissed in pain and almost screamed.
"So well maintained. Sadly not all of you royals know how to take proper care of them."

What was it with bandits and evil people to always hold speeches? Arthur spat into his face and the man tossed him to the ground again.
Arthur muffled a groan as he saw his knights be tied up as well. At least they weren't killed.

Well – royals and knights (which often were the same thing) had the most beautiful wings of all. Their wings were valued highly on the black market. Simply as trophies.
It made sense that the bandits were actively trying to capture them.

"You know – by the looks of that idiot at the river – I really thought you guys were a bunch of peasants. I hope you don't mind that we shot him down."
The man now cleaned his fingernails with his knife.

How had Arthur not noticed them sooner? How could he have let Merlin go to the river all by himself? He had been so careless – so foolish.
"I would have loved to take his wings too – but you know.", the man laughed again.
"We don't have enough hands to carry them." His grin was bright, with teeth white as unicorn hair.
"Also – peasant wings don't make much on the market."

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With each hour that passed, Arthur cursed himself more and more. He had wanted to fight those bandits. It wasn't fair that he couldn't move. Couldn't defend himself.
The bandits were very sure of themselves as well.
Here and there they picked on his wings. They loved the golden feathers. They would make a great collection – surely. Gwaine's dark blue one's were also a sight to behold.
They shone silvery in the sunlight.

Percival's were a bit more grayish. Since he wasn't born a royal. Not that that said a lot. Lancelot was a commoner too – yet he had reddish feathers as well. Not as deep red as Arthur's – but a less bright color.
The other knights had just as colorful wings. Colorful and bright. Reason enough to be tugged out.

The bandits however – their wings were less expensive. One of them was missing one half of his wings as well. And in so – he had trouble walking correctly. He had his wing tugged in at all times.

But that was hardly important. Important was that with every hour – Arthur feared they had passed their chance to save Merlin.

"So – who do you think we should ease of their extra weight first?", the leader said again. The one with the yellow eyes. He wasn't the only one with black feathers though.
Sorcerers. The bunch of them. Dangerous men. Too dangerous for Arthur and his knights to have a chance against.

"How about yours?"
Odd. That is what Arthur had thought. But it wasn't him who said it. That voice sounded more like -

There he was. Merlin. He looked like he'd been through hell. An arrow still sticking in his right wing, and his clothes barely dried from his swimming excourse.
However – what baffled Arthur the most weren't the wounds – weren't the dark circles under his eyes or the way he held his side with a heaving breath.
It were the wings.

"Who the hell are you?", the sorcerer asked, eyeing him. But with every blink of his eyes, he seemed to realize that the man in front of him was the same man they had ambushed at the river.
Moreover – he was a completely different man now.

Merlin dragged his wings behind him, but they were widened in a defensive mode. The red from his wound coloring his wing almost purple and red.
Purple in the blue's that practically shone in the light the fire had provided. And red were his tips began. And boy did they began.
White. White as unicorn hair. White as the sharp teeth of their captor. White like snow in winter. Blinding like the sun.
"Warlock.", Arthur deadpanned as he realized why Merlin had covered his wings in dirt.

Nothing about these wings was usual. Nothing about them was common. Every single feather must be worth more than a few golden coins.

The bandit stepped closer in awe, as he realized how rare the blue color was. Only then did he recognize what white feathers meant.
"You -"

"Let. Them. Go.", Merlin said slowly through gritted teeth. "Before I blow up each and every single one of you.

"Don't listen to him!", the bandit said and raised his arm at Merlin. A few foolish ones of his companions listened to that and mimicked his stance.
But Merlin's eyes flared once, the gold traveling through his feathers and it was like he shot magic itself at them. Like arrows, they hit their targets, as Merlin jumped into the air – faster than Arthur had ever seen him do before.
And Merlin was fast. Fast like the Falcon that had given him his name. But without the extra weight of the dirt and the rocks and mud stuck on his wings – he could fulfill his true potential.

The bandit leader screamed as he as well jumped into the air. He had trouble avoiding the branches of the trees, but Merlin evaded them easily. Even with an arrow stuck in his right wing – he was still faster than the armed bandit behind him.
Merlin halted in the air, hands outstretched to blast another magical attack at the man.

Arthur realized how his ties loosened. Of course! The bandit leader was the one holding them captive with his magic! They could move again!
"Knights!", he said quietly, as he saw how distracted the other bandits were. "NOW!", he screamed and saw his man grab for the nearest weapons.
This was their chance. This was their distraction! They could fight the bandits now!

And so they did. And yet – somehow Arthur knew – the end of this match depended entirely on Merlin's fight with the bandit.