[ID: A playlist titled "spock explains pon farr to kirk" by user taken from amok time. The playlist is 4 hours and 5 minutes long and uses song titles to spell out an entire conversation, here transcribed in plain text:
"Captain, there are some things which transcend even the discipline of the service." "Would it help if I told you that I'll treat this as totally confidential?" "It has to do with biology." "What?" "Biology" "What kind of biology?" "Vulcan biology" "You mean the biology of Vulcans?" "Biology, as in, reproduction?" "Well, there's no need to be embarrassed about it Mr. Spock. It happens to the birds and the bees." End ID]
thanks to @nebulations for the ID recommendation to increase accessibility :)
It should have been fatal, Arthur knew, but not like this. The blade would have pierced his own heart, at that angle—a brutal end, but relatively painless.
He was not the one dying, so why did it feel like he was being torn apart?
"Merlin," he whispered. "Please." His voice sang reverence, a prayer, but he knew not what he was praying for. He knew only that this should not have been possible, that only some cruel miracle could have yanked his manservant across the field's expanse, and into the path of that sword.
A miracle. He wished it had been a miracle. He wished he could replicate it through sheer power of will, some divine intervention, because the alternative…
The alternative was sorcery, an instrument of fate; a doom laid upon the Pendragons, that they must lose all that they hold dear.
Merlin smiled up at him. Red dotted the edges of his teeth, trickled from the corner of his mouth, painted Arthur's hands. Even now, he knew he could never wash the stains out.
The sounds of fighting faded to the background—perhaps the fight was over—but it did not matter to Arthur, not while he was holding the world in his arms, and the world was fading.
"It doesn't hurt," Merlin told him, and Arthur knew that was just another lie. He also knew that when Merlin wanted to, he chose his words carefully, and that Arthur would carry them with him for as long as he lived.
A shaking hand settled against his cheek. Arthur covered it with his own. Merlin's eyes never left his, even as his breath rattled and he wasted his precious energy on moving his thumb against Arthur's skin, some feeble attempt at comfort. It almost worked. Arthur despised himself for it. All he could do sit there, breathe in the scent of iron, and watch as Merlin's eyes turned to glass.
Merlin would never know, but he would have preferred gold.
"I'll live as your sword," Merlin whispered. His eyes never strayed from Arthur's, even as the light faded from their depths. "And I die your shield."
.
.
It was in that same position, hours later, his knees numbed by the cramped pose and rendered unfeeling by the enormity of the ache of his heart, that Arthur felt his sword draw breath once more.
Arthur knew that, but it didn't feel like a particularly pressing matter, not with the moonlight bouncing off Merlin's porcelain skin and turning his eyes into cerulean puddles.
The townspeople—all men—had been missing for a couple days, trapped beneath the surface of the mirror-glazed lake. What harm would it bring them to wait a few minutes longer? Rumor suggested that they had followed a young woman into the shallows, and allowed her delicate laughter and trailing hem to coax them into the deeper waters.
Such foolishness, Arthur thought. He would not be so easily tempted.
For now, though, he allowed Merlin to take him by the hand. He let Merlin tug him closer, let him capture Arthur's full attention with just a smile and a flash of his pointed teeth.
The water was at his waist.
"Careful, now. Don't trip." Arthur did not return the grin when he spoke—one of them had to stay alert to their surroundings, and all the gods knew it wouldn't be Merlin—but his tone held all the fondness that he would be able to pack into one. "She'll drag you under, and you'll only have your clumsy self to blame."
Merlin just smiled again. The rest of the world melted away; there was nothing to think of aside from his hand clutching Arthur's, the water lapping at the sides of his neck, the deep pools of Merlin's eyes yawning open and swallowing him up.
.
.
.
From a distant place, someone screamed in a voice raw with fury.
The webbed fingers were torn harshly from his skin, and when Arthur protested the loss of contact, bubbles streamed from his mouth instead of words.
And though his lungs burned with empty hunger, he couldn’t fathom why.
attributed to Lily Tomlin; Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky; ilene_cecelia, reddit; Pratchett, Night Watch; Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky; Pirkei Avot 2:21; Ursula K. le Guin, Tehanu
Centuries of waiting is not the only cruelty that drives this wedge between them.
Language changes slowly; the shapes of the sounds, the diction, the written word, the smallest bits swapped out one by one until the ship is unrecognizable. And by the time Arthur returns, Merlin remembers the myths of Theseus better than the distant, time-worn truths of his own king.
Merlin's eyes alone had said all he needed to know. His arms, they way they had wrapped around Arthur, fingers digging into the back of his tunic as if the strings of Fate would once again draw taut across Arthur's throat. One expression should not be able to neatly sum up the whole of fifteen-hundred years, but Arthur thinks he understands.
But Merlin doesn't.
And Arthur doesn't, not really. Not in a way that feels like it's enough. The details are all lost in the foreign, jarring sounds that form into wistful sentences whenever Merlin opens his mouth. The world has changed too much. He hopes his friend has not.
When the night falls and Arthur is the only one awake, he pores through the many books in the house, running his eyes over their pages until they burn. For all the years Merlin spent saving him without him knowing, Arthur can spend a few secret months sleepless until they can know one another again.
the thing is, im always interested in The Paperwork. whenever The Characters moan and groan about The Paperwork and whenever it's left unspecified what The Paperwork entails i go aw... The Paperwork... u dont deserve this attitude, The Paperwork... im sure you're very interesting and important... this is because i like my job at The Paperwork factory and because i like homework and it's also because The Characters often hold positions of power attained through superhuman abilities and enforced with violence and i know that The Paperwork is there, aspirationally, to document their actions and protect people. from institutional neglect and from The Characters. when The Characters ignore The Paperwork to fuck each other on The Desk i think less of them for it. i do.
just a friendly new year’s eve reminder that if you accepted a challenge from a green knight this time last year you’re due tomorrow at the green chapel to get beheaded. time to get a move on
Some libraries can even get you hooked up with social workers and local aid programs. The important thing is investigating what YOUR library can do for YOU.
After all this time, Arthur had come to take little pride in sustained injuries. Such things became less a badge of honor, and more a nagging reminder of his own slow reflexes or poor focus during a skirmish. Just another way his training had failed him—or, how he had failed his training. To the young knights, they were symbols of status. Medals, signs of hardships faced and overcome, trophies in the flesh to boast of and compare after a long day of drills.
The dark bruises that decorated his knuckles now were none of these things. In Arthur's mind, they didn't merit a second glance. Too superficial for Gaius's attention, he knew, though perhaps too visible to ignore outright.
But as Merlin's hands ghosted over his own, turning the palms to face the ground with a gentle grace that was hardly recognizable, Arthur's attention drifted to other things: the bandit's motionless body laid out in the dirt, a lump swelling on the side of his face; and Merlin's pale skin, unmarred and intact despite the unconscious man's best efforts.
His swollen knuckles were trivial, but perhaps Arthur could find other things to be proud of.
