kmm repost: ficlet
counting heartbeats - 420 words, Merlin/Arthur, PG, major character death (sort of), written for this KMM prompt - here is how the legend ends
French translation by Aelorian found here
Podfic by curlupandlisten found here
[one]
here is how the legend ends:
[two]
fragile as a baby bird, hollow-boned with furled wings, dreamy-eyed
(this is how Arthur dies)
[three]
blood spills into the earth, clogging her with it until each footstep comes away thick with gore
the morning bleeds her despair into the sky: dark reds, sickly yellows, the sun nowhere to be found
bodies strewn across the fields, little dolls, their limbs mangled in obscene angles
(this is how Camelot falls apart)
[four]
there are screams as Camelot burns
the hazy hang of morning, sour with soot, acrid with ash
the skies split open, but the summer rains aren’t enough: the rain burns in the air, raining ash
(this is how Albion mourns her king)
[five]
there’s a boy with dark hair and eyes as blue and vast as the seas
he says: you’ve lost, all of you
he says: your king is dead
he says: I am your king now - long live the king
(if you asked him his name, he would tell you
my name, he would say, bright with malice - my name is Mordred)
[six]
and of course there is a sorcerer
he is dead, says Mordred curiously - why do you kiss him so gently?
the sorcerer smoothes the king’s hair away from his face and says, he is my king
he is dead, says Mordred again - I am your king now
the sorcerer smiles and says, you will never be my king
you are wrong, Mordred says angrily - he is dead, I am your king! what are you doing?
and the sorcerer presses his ear to the king’s chest, taps out an unsteady rhythm: faltering at first, cautious as a baby bird learning how to fly, and then stirring stronger, stronger, until it is as strong as the sea breaking upon the shore; sure as the stars glittering in the night skies; real as the first glimmer of sunlight just before the dawn; beautiful as a baby’s tiny fist with its curling fingers
one, Merlin says, two, three, four-
five
what are you doing, demands Mordred
and Merlin says, I’m counting heartbeats
a hitch of breath
the pitter-patter of a heart
the skies sigh in relief, the sun comes out of hiding; the rain washes the world clean; the earth claims her lost children, folding them in loving embrace; a child laughs; a fawn trembles on unsteady legs before she takes a tentative step forward
(and Arthur wakes)
[seven]
you see, they were all wrong
because this isn’t the end of a legend
(this is where the legend begins)
*
French translation by Aelorian found here
Podfic by curlupandlisten found here
[one]
here is how the legend ends:
[two]
fragile as a baby bird, hollow-boned with furled wings, dreamy-eyed
(this is how Arthur dies)
[three]
blood spills into the earth, clogging her with it until each footstep comes away thick with gore
the morning bleeds her despair into the sky: dark reds, sickly yellows, the sun nowhere to be found
bodies strewn across the fields, little dolls, their limbs mangled in obscene angles
(this is how Camelot falls apart)
[four]
there are screams as Camelot burns
the hazy hang of morning, sour with soot, acrid with ash
the skies split open, but the summer rains aren’t enough: the rain burns in the air, raining ash
(this is how Albion mourns her king)
[five]
there’s a boy with dark hair and eyes as blue and vast as the seas
he says: you’ve lost, all of you
he says: your king is dead
he says: I am your king now - long live the king
(if you asked him his name, he would tell you
my name, he would say, bright with malice - my name is Mordred)
[six]
and of course there is a sorcerer
he is dead, says Mordred curiously - why do you kiss him so gently?
the sorcerer smoothes the king’s hair away from his face and says, he is my king
he is dead, says Mordred again - I am your king now
the sorcerer smiles and says, you will never be my king
you are wrong, Mordred says angrily - he is dead, I am your king! what are you doing?
and the sorcerer presses his ear to the king’s chest, taps out an unsteady rhythm: faltering at first, cautious as a baby bird learning how to fly, and then stirring stronger, stronger, until it is as strong as the sea breaking upon the shore; sure as the stars glittering in the night skies; real as the first glimmer of sunlight just before the dawn; beautiful as a baby’s tiny fist with its curling fingers
one, Merlin says, two, three, four-
five
what are you doing, demands Mordred
and Merlin says, I’m counting heartbeats
a hitch of breath
the pitter-patter of a heart
the skies sigh in relief, the sun comes out of hiding; the rain washes the world clean; the earth claims her lost children, folding them in loving embrace; a child laughs; a fawn trembles on unsteady legs before she takes a tentative step forward
(and Arthur wakes)
[seven]
you see, they were all wrong
because this isn’t the end of a legend
(this is where the legend begins)
*