A/N: Firstly, I just want to say thanks to Whirlwind421 for inspiring me to write a fic that mocks whump - sorry whumpers, but you had it coming... Now, I know the anti-whump has been done before, and I'm sure it was done very well - I don't know if anyone's ever had Merlin exact whumping revenge on the whumpers, though... Please review! Let me know if you want to read more, let me know if you don't; let me know if you think you are/know of a whumper deserving of Merlin's revenge in this fic; let me know if you've written something that you think is much better than this, and you think I should go away and stop leaving long author's notes that are essentially just begging you to review. Finally, thanks to Kitty O - who gave me permission (for what, you ask? stick around and you might just find out...) - because I always ask nicely before torturing people. My parents done brought me up properly.
Merlin rubbed the massive, throbbing knot in his tense shoulder; trying to work it free with his fingers.
"Aarrrghheeeeooommmpphhaaa!" he exclaimed rather suddenly whilst wriggling his head manically, startling a passing kitchen maid, who sped up after throwing him a concerned look.
Oh! He was so tense!
It was all Arthur's fault, of course.
Merlin had spent his entire morning hauling the armour of half Camelot's knights all over the castle; he'd had to bring them down to the training grounds, only to be met by a smug Arthur, who told him - through a grin so wide it didn't seem possible - that they didn't need the armour today, Merlin must have got mixed up. So, in addition to being called an idiot in front of a large group of chuckling nobles, Merlin then had to drag everything back up the three flights of stairs to the armoury single-handed. And then, when he was finally finished, Merlin (being Merlin) was prepared to put it all behind him, and went to go and help Arthur with his princely activities for the day, his trademark goofy grin firmly in place. That was when he very nearly lost control. Arthur had the nerve to say to him, very slowly, that he had 'Specifically ordered him to take the armour down for the knight's training. Honestly, did he not listen to anything at all?' and, with a condescending pat on the back, he sent Merlin off to go and carry the armour back down to the training grounds. Again.
That was why Merlin had now lost all feeling in most parts of his back, and was plotting his revenge against Arthur in the form of numerous magical spells (he'd found a good one in a book of Gaius' that made your trousers three times too small - that had endless possibilities…)
And then, all of a sudden, Merlin heard the great, clomping footsteps from around the corner that signalled the arrival of his master.
No. Merlin thought to himself, as pain shot through all of his angry limbs. There is absolutely no way I am mucking out his horses, or tidying his chambers and I am definitely not going to polish his stupid armour!
As much as Merlin would have loved to say all of this to Arthur's face, he did have some (limited) sense of self-preservation; so instead he frantically scoured his surroundings for a suitable hiding-place.
Merlin let out a quiet curse as he realised that there were no cupboards for him to clamber into…
But there was a door.
It presumably led to a room.
Merlin had never been in the room before, but then he didn't spend much time in this part of the castle…
"Where is that moronic servant of mine? Have you seen him?"
Merlin decided he didn't have any time to waste: in he went.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Grumble. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Grumble. Stomp.
Merlin relaxed his back into the door as the sounds of an infuriated Arthur faded away into the distance.
He allowed his eyes to skim the room he suddenly found himself in.
It was dark.
Frankly, it looked rather suspicious.
Merlin took a few steps further in. There were shelves and shelves of peculiar looking objects; on the wall opposite him was a large piece of paper depicting the very lifelike image of a skinny man standing next to a big blue box. How odd.
In the centre of the room, on an otherwise uninteresting table, was a strange, silver device.
Merlin pulled a chair up in front of it, and studied the contraption carefully.
What on earth did it do?
He lifted the lid, and was intrigued by the light that flooded the screen.
"Magic…" he whispered dreamily to no one in particular.
He slid his finger over the mouse pad, and was delighted to find things opening up for him.
Merlin huffed at the bizarre, tinny noises that filled the room following his clicking on that button. That was not music. He couldn't hear a single lute.
As peculiar and indecipherable as a large portion of it was, Merlin enjoyed himself immensely. Eventually, he clicked on "Internet".
Scrolling through a list of websites the owner of this odd device apparently liked to look at, Merlin found himself confronted with several 'search engines'.
He could search anything?
The desire to Google oneself is something that appeals to the modern and the medieval alike: Merlin was no exception. He was more than a little baffled by what he discovered…
Something deep within Merlin's stomach - call it a warlock's intuition - told him to leave it alone: no good could come of clicking on anything alliterative. But he clicked on it anyway.
Oh, how he wished he hadn't.
The second he did, he jumped back from the contraption in horror.
Why would anyone write about him and Arthur doing things like that?
He stood in a far corner of the room, eyeing the creation with a great deal of suspicion. It merely sat there, unblinking. Try as he might, he could not resist the urge to click. The hold it had on him was too powerful… Merlin felt himself being drawn back towards it, even though he knew it would do him no good.
Merlin pushed his concerns as to how these people knew so much about his life and his magic - wait, what? Who told them? - aside for the moment, he would have to read more to understand their motivations, and whether they were friends or foes…
How To Accidentally Kill A Warlock?
That sounds amusing…
Merlin was sorely disappointed, for amusing it was not. It might have been highly satirical, and Merlin was sure it was hilarious: as long as it wasn't you being stabbed in the back with broken goblets and tortured by evil witches…
It just got worse from there on.
There was story after story after story.
He even found one that described Arthur sending him on pointless errands carrying armour up and down staircases for an entire morning - whoever had written that was going to get a strongly-worded email expressing his discontent!
He was punched, poisoned, pelted with fruit; and, the greatest blow of all: after each and every disgusting one, the sadists would leave comments complimenting each other on how very well they had done at being cruel to him!
Merlin thought back over all the times he had ever suffered… All the times he had ever writhed in pain that had, at the time, seemed oddly melodramatic, poetic or ironic. He narrowed his eyes. It was their fault, not Arthur's! These people! Whoever they were, they were torturing him, and he was going to have to put a stop to it, one way or another.
Merlin opened up that Microsoft-whatever-thing again, cracked his knuckles, and started typing, cackling a little as he did so.
"1…2…3…4… I declare a whump war!" Merlin muttered, grinning madly as he conjured up all kinds of bizarre and painful plot devices.
He was going to give these writers a whumping they would never forget.
Starting with you, 'Kitty O'…