[fiction] fandom report
Remembrance post. Nothing to see.
.merlin
(31_days) Seven Year Itch. PG-13ish. Lancelot steps out on Gwen. (Lancelot/Gwen, Lancelot/Elaine, Arthur/Merlin, Morgana)
When Lancelot steps out on Gwen, it comes as a shock to everyone - even Morgana. And Merlin’s heart aches because it’s Gwen, and she’s trying to put a brave face on it, sitting beside Arthur on her throne and smiling at Elaine like it’s some sort of honour to greet her ex-lover’s glowingly pregnant wife when she first comes to court.
“I hope she dies,” Morgana says over tea. It’s a pow-wow between the three of them: Merlin, Morgana, and Arthur, all in the stupid cave Morgana has set up as her “magic lair.” The neat silver tea service and clean table linens show that the cave is within five minutes of Camelot and is really for Morgana to indulge in her love of the theatrical, as she still sleeps and takes all her meals at the castle.
“I hope his dick falls off,” says Merlin.
“Ummf,” says Arthur, but that’s because his mouth is full of biscuit.
Later, because the pow-wow didn’t really accomplish anything, other than come up with increasingly appalling ways for Lancelot and Elaine to die, Merlin makes the mistake of asking Arthur, “How could we not see this coming?”
Arthur is in the process of removing his jacket, his crown already off for the day and haphazardly laying on the window ledge; he ducks his head, but not before Merlin can see the sudden shifty turn in his eyes.
“You knew,” he says, advancing towards Arthur. “You knew, and you did nothing. That’s despicable. That’s lower than low. That’s - “
“I knew he was unhappy,” Arthur interrupts. “But I swear I didn’t know he was going to do that.”
“Unhappy.” Merlin crosses his arms across his chest, noting that Arthur has the good sense to wince. “How on earth could Lancelot possibly be unhappy? What with the job he’s always longed for and the woman of his dreams?”
“I know it sounds stupid,” Arthur says. “That’s why I didn’t mention it. It’s something that used to happen to the older knights and now that, well - “ and yes, Arthur and Lancelot are the older knights now, and Merlin’s become one of those old trusted advisors, “-Elaine probably makes him feel young again.”
And Merlin has a terrible, terrible thought, something that makes the rage he feels at Lancelot seem wan and pale in comparison. “Arthur,” he says, voice crisp and calm and nothing at all like the turmoil in his gut that is quickly rising to wretch his heart in two, “you wouldn’t be having any similar feelings of unhappiness, would you?”
He tells himself it’s anger he’s feeling. Anger at himself for thinking that there was any sort of permanence or fidelity when Arthur’s the fucking king and a prat and - forget telling himself things. He’s heartsick and thinking of the younger knights and the way they look at Arthur and the long nights of an empty bed when Arthur and the knights are out on patrol. And then he really is angry, angry at Arthur for fucking up everything good in his life, and if this is the end of them like it’s the end of Gwen and Lancelot, he's not going to let it go quietly, like Gwen is. It’s going to be an end with a bang so loud and sharp that Arthur won't know what hit him.
But Arthur’s gazing at over at him with those wide, surprised eyes of his, as if he’s never even thought of it, and then that stupid, drawling voice asking Merlin if he’s joking.
And when Merlin doesn’t answer, Arthur’s across the room in two quick steps. “You’re an idiot,” he says, shaking Merlin twice for emphasis. “And obviously suffering from a severe mental affliction if you think I'd ever be so stupid as to step out on you.”
(31_days) Waiting. PGish. Arthur isn't very good at this waiting thing. (Arthur, Merlin).
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Merlin hears the horror in his voice and hopes his face looks as equally horrified. After a thousand plus years of solitude, he’s not quite sure if his eyes and mouth remember how.
“No,” Arthur agrees, and then, with something almost like but never quite - never quite - guilt, he adds, “But I was bored. Extremely bored. And that was entirely your fault, by the way, palming me off on a bunch of dour old druids who wanted me to sleep all the time.”
Merlin wants to remind Arthur that Arthur is the once and future king and thus is obliged to follow the damn rules, but he knows Arthur believes this title to be 1) a grammatically incorrect statement and 2) stupid.
“Anyway, I thought we could have a holiday,” Arthur continues, moving away from pesky things like rule breaking and onto more important things like playing hooky and - oh say - unraveling the entire future that generations before and after them have used sweat and blood and magic to keep safe.
“Are you mental?” Merlin asks, because even though he knows (oh yes, he knows) the answer, he can’t possibly stop himself.
“After a millennia of Morgana watching me sleep?” Arthur says. “Quite possibly, yes.”
Merlin frowns. “It can’t be as bad as all that,” even, when Arthur puts it that way, it does sound rather creepy.
Arthur waves a hand, dismissing logic as unimportant. “Look, aren’t you sick of being shut up in this cave?”
“That’s not the point, Arthur,” Merlin says. “The point is - “ And there’s a long, lovely point involved that he’s already explained to Arthur, about destiny and needing to follow certain proper paths to make sure the future is one that guarantees mankind’s future survival, but Arthur, apparently, feels that this speech is as quite unnecessary the second time as it was the first and cuts him off with a proposition.
“Look, I’m sure we can save Albion or the world or the universe or whatever just as easily from a hotel in Mallorca as from Avalon or this cave.”
And drat, Arthur has an equally valid point there, unfortunately. Merlin wishes it was just his own boredom talking, but he’s pretty positive it’s not. Still he’s not going down without at least the pretense of an argument.
“And just what do you know about hotels in Mallorca, what with being asleep?”
Arthur looks shifty. “Gwen and Lancelot might have mentioned it. When they last visited.”
“Last visited?” And Merlin’s not upset they didn’t think to visit him; he’s not. It’s not like he advertised to anyone what cave he’s in. Not like Arthur and his heroic mortal wound and subsequent sailing off for Avalon.
“Morgana says it’s boring watching me sleep. She’s right. I’m the one sleeping, and I know it’s boring.” Arthur looks round the cave. “And you can’t possibly convince me that this is in any way stimulating.”
“All right,” Merlin agrees. “I admit it. Sarte was wrong. Hell isn’t other people, not even you; it’s this place.”
Arthur gives his little-boy smile, the one Merlin loves as much as he hates the terrible (though Arthur would argue brilliant) ideas that always come after it. Still, he’s smiling back as Arthur slings a companionable arm about his shoulder.
“So,” Arthur says. “First off, you need to magic us up some proper passports, yeah? And those wonderful credit card things. We need lots of those. And some sort of cover…what would you study at university, anyway?”
.merlin
(31_days) Seven Year Itch. PG-13ish. Lancelot steps out on Gwen. (Lancelot/Gwen, Lancelot/Elaine, Arthur/Merlin, Morgana)
When Lancelot steps out on Gwen, it comes as a shock to everyone - even Morgana. And Merlin’s heart aches because it’s Gwen, and she’s trying to put a brave face on it, sitting beside Arthur on her throne and smiling at Elaine like it’s some sort of honour to greet her ex-lover’s glowingly pregnant wife when she first comes to court.
“I hope she dies,” Morgana says over tea. It’s a pow-wow between the three of them: Merlin, Morgana, and Arthur, all in the stupid cave Morgana has set up as her “magic lair.” The neat silver tea service and clean table linens show that the cave is within five minutes of Camelot and is really for Morgana to indulge in her love of the theatrical, as she still sleeps and takes all her meals at the castle.
“I hope his dick falls off,” says Merlin.
“Ummf,” says Arthur, but that’s because his mouth is full of biscuit.
Later, because the pow-wow didn’t really accomplish anything, other than come up with increasingly appalling ways for Lancelot and Elaine to die, Merlin makes the mistake of asking Arthur, “How could we not see this coming?”
Arthur is in the process of removing his jacket, his crown already off for the day and haphazardly laying on the window ledge; he ducks his head, but not before Merlin can see the sudden shifty turn in his eyes.
“You knew,” he says, advancing towards Arthur. “You knew, and you did nothing. That’s despicable. That’s lower than low. That’s - “
“I knew he was unhappy,” Arthur interrupts. “But I swear I didn’t know he was going to do that.”
“Unhappy.” Merlin crosses his arms across his chest, noting that Arthur has the good sense to wince. “How on earth could Lancelot possibly be unhappy? What with the job he’s always longed for and the woman of his dreams?”
“I know it sounds stupid,” Arthur says. “That’s why I didn’t mention it. It’s something that used to happen to the older knights and now that, well - “ and yes, Arthur and Lancelot are the older knights now, and Merlin’s become one of those old trusted advisors, “-Elaine probably makes him feel young again.”
And Merlin has a terrible, terrible thought, something that makes the rage he feels at Lancelot seem wan and pale in comparison. “Arthur,” he says, voice crisp and calm and nothing at all like the turmoil in his gut that is quickly rising to wretch his heart in two, “you wouldn’t be having any similar feelings of unhappiness, would you?”
He tells himself it’s anger he’s feeling. Anger at himself for thinking that there was any sort of permanence or fidelity when Arthur’s the fucking king and a prat and - forget telling himself things. He’s heartsick and thinking of the younger knights and the way they look at Arthur and the long nights of an empty bed when Arthur and the knights are out on patrol. And then he really is angry, angry at Arthur for fucking up everything good in his life, and if this is the end of them like it’s the end of Gwen and Lancelot, he's not going to let it go quietly, like Gwen is. It’s going to be an end with a bang so loud and sharp that Arthur won't know what hit him.
But Arthur’s gazing at over at him with those wide, surprised eyes of his, as if he’s never even thought of it, and then that stupid, drawling voice asking Merlin if he’s joking.
And when Merlin doesn’t answer, Arthur’s across the room in two quick steps. “You’re an idiot,” he says, shaking Merlin twice for emphasis. “And obviously suffering from a severe mental affliction if you think I'd ever be so stupid as to step out on you.”
(31_days) Waiting. PGish. Arthur isn't very good at this waiting thing. (Arthur, Merlin).
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Merlin hears the horror in his voice and hopes his face looks as equally horrified. After a thousand plus years of solitude, he’s not quite sure if his eyes and mouth remember how.
“No,” Arthur agrees, and then, with something almost like but never quite - never quite - guilt, he adds, “But I was bored. Extremely bored. And that was entirely your fault, by the way, palming me off on a bunch of dour old druids who wanted me to sleep all the time.”
Merlin wants to remind Arthur that Arthur is the once and future king and thus is obliged to follow the damn rules, but he knows Arthur believes this title to be 1) a grammatically incorrect statement and 2) stupid.
“Anyway, I thought we could have a holiday,” Arthur continues, moving away from pesky things like rule breaking and onto more important things like playing hooky and - oh say - unraveling the entire future that generations before and after them have used sweat and blood and magic to keep safe.
“Are you mental?” Merlin asks, because even though he knows (oh yes, he knows) the answer, he can’t possibly stop himself.
“After a millennia of Morgana watching me sleep?” Arthur says. “Quite possibly, yes.”
Merlin frowns. “It can’t be as bad as all that,” even, when Arthur puts it that way, it does sound rather creepy.
Arthur waves a hand, dismissing logic as unimportant. “Look, aren’t you sick of being shut up in this cave?”
“That’s not the point, Arthur,” Merlin says. “The point is - “ And there’s a long, lovely point involved that he’s already explained to Arthur, about destiny and needing to follow certain proper paths to make sure the future is one that guarantees mankind’s future survival, but Arthur, apparently, feels that this speech is as quite unnecessary the second time as it was the first and cuts him off with a proposition.
“Look, I’m sure we can save Albion or the world or the universe or whatever just as easily from a hotel in Mallorca as from Avalon or this cave.”
And drat, Arthur has an equally valid point there, unfortunately. Merlin wishes it was just his own boredom talking, but he’s pretty positive it’s not. Still he’s not going down without at least the pretense of an argument.
“And just what do you know about hotels in Mallorca, what with being asleep?”
Arthur looks shifty. “Gwen and Lancelot might have mentioned it. When they last visited.”
“Last visited?” And Merlin’s not upset they didn’t think to visit him; he’s not. It’s not like he advertised to anyone what cave he’s in. Not like Arthur and his heroic mortal wound and subsequent sailing off for Avalon.
“Morgana says it’s boring watching me sleep. She’s right. I’m the one sleeping, and I know it’s boring.” Arthur looks round the cave. “And you can’t possibly convince me that this is in any way stimulating.”
“All right,” Merlin agrees. “I admit it. Sarte was wrong. Hell isn’t other people, not even you; it’s this place.”
Arthur gives his little-boy smile, the one Merlin loves as much as he hates the terrible (though Arthur would argue brilliant) ideas that always come after it. Still, he’s smiling back as Arthur slings a companionable arm about his shoulder.
“So,” Arthur says. “First off, you need to magic us up some proper passports, yeah? And those wonderful credit card things. We need lots of those. And some sort of cover…what would you study at university, anyway?”