Though The Legends Cannot Be Trusted 1/1
Title: Though The Legends Cannot Be Trusted
Fandom: Merlin, with Greek mythology.
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, Achilles/Patrocolus
Spoilers/Warnings: spoilers for The Iliad; canon character death.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count ~2,400
Disclaimer: This incarnation of Merlin and Arthur is owned by Shine and the BBC. I don't think The Iliad is owned by anyone, but I certainly didn't come up with it. And I don't own Sherlock Holmes either.
Summary: Arthur would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he's always quite liked reading. Because Merlin/Arthur and Achilles/Patrocolus are basically the same ship.
Notes: An idea from
j_apollo. She thought of it at dinner and then turned to me saying "you have to write that!" Then she read it through and gleefully added a few Us. It's her payback from having to live here, under the oppression of American grammar. Beta'd by latenightcuppa, who is awesome and also encouraged me to write this in the first place. Some knowledge of Achilles and Patrocolus is kinda sorta required.
THOUGH THE LEGENDS CANNOT BE TRUSTED
Arthur would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he's always quite liked reading. Not so much histories and boring accounts of ancient wars and the political maneuverings of the Romans, but the fiction that the so-called civilized people from a peninsula almost a thousand miles away had brought with them when they had come to Albion, replacing the Old Religion with their own gods and setting up their own system of government, putting themselves in charge because they said so.
For four hundred years the Romans had dominated Albion and given the land all the stability it had. Then, when the political situation in Italia had become too shaky for anyone to care about their little far away province anymore, they had pulled out and gone home, leaving Albion in a power vacuum which gave way to the warring kingdoms still dominating well into the reign of Uther Pendragon. Arthur knows that there were many who still look back on the good old days with the kind of fondness that can only exist generations later and others who still resent the Romans for abandoning them and leaving them at the mercy of ruthless kings who only look out for themselves. But Arthur cannot rightfully resent the rise of the kingdoms for one day he will rule one, and that would not do. All Arthur really thinks of them is that he is thankful for the stories of war and of heroism and bravery, which were infinitely more exciting then the tales the bards brought with them to court around feast time.
Not too surprisingly, his favourites have always been the tales of Trojan War. Arthur would never want to be taken away from Camelot on a ten year campaign, he wouldn't wish that on any man (and all for the love of a woman! It's ridiculous, and Arthur would never in a million years go to war over such a thing.), but he found he could relate to the story of Achilles, a great and ferocious warrior who was just out to prove his honor and bring glory to his people. He's reading of Achilles now, imagining himself dragging Hector's lifeless body around the walls of Troy as even more revenge for the killing of his dear friend Patrocolus. Hector should not have slaughtered Patrocolus like that. Patrocolus should not have died, not like that.
In Arthur's mind, the memory of Patrocolus bears a striking resemblance to Merlin. It's not surprising. He's the natural counterpart. Arthur looks down at the boy's sleeping figure curled up against his own side and sighs. If someone were to ever hurt Merlin, well, Arthur isn't really sure what he'd do. But it wouldn't end well for the one who did the hurting.
+ + +
"Don't, Merlin."
"Hmmm?" Merlin responds distractedly, putting the finishing touches on the application of Arthur's armor.
"Don't follow me and the other knights out to the battlefield," Arthur elaborates and, at Merlin suddenly pulling an expression of extreme indignation, quickly adds, "and don't try to tell me you won't, idiot, I've known you long enough now to know that you can hardly help it."
"Well," Merlin says cheerfully, all traces of indignation gone, "if I can't help it, then you might as well not even try and stop me."
"I mean it, Merlin," Arthur insists, voice stern and possibly louder than necessary. "You will obey me and you will stay here. I can't be worrying about you out there." He puts his hand on Merlin's arm and pats it rather awkwardly, hoping to convey his affection for the boy. But Arthur's never been particularly good at conveying affection. It's really a miracle he and Merlin ended up as anything more than a master and his servant in the first place, considering how rubbish they both are at discussing their emotions. (That's not really a bad thing though, Arthur reminds himself, it's not like they're a pair of girls.)
Merlin's expression makes it clear that he realizes how much Arthur cares and Arthur sees a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, this will be the one time his manservant listens to him and stays behind. He kisses Merlin quickly on the lips, with a passion suited for a much longer kiss, trying again to reinforce his message of stay here, stay out of trouble and then turns and leaves to the room to join his men at the front door of the castle and ride out to battle.
+ + +
Merlin doesn't listen to him and he doesn't stay behind. Of course. Arthur had been foolish to ever think that maybe he would in the first place.
The only time he sees Merlin during the fighting is when he happens to glance to his left and see the boy a few feet away, clashing swords with a soldier wearing Mercia's crest. As Arthur watches, the opponent's sword turns bright orange, like it's heating up, and the man drops it, burned. Arthur looks away in a rage and a panic. This just proves that Merlin is the first among idiots, to come out here and use magic so obviously! Here, where anyone of his father's army could see him (the knights may be under Arthur's command, but there's no denying the fact that their loyalty lies with the king, not the prince).
In the middle of a swing of his own sword, a flash of white light momentarily blinds Arthur and the man he is dueling almost lands a blow. It only lasts a second, but for that one moment Arthur is far away, standing instead in a tent which he knows to be his own but isn't the one he slept in the night before. Merlin is there, wearing armor that is Arthur's but not any that he's worn in this life. Merlin is going into battle in Arthur's stead. He's under explicit orders to come back once he's done, but this is a memory, so Arthur remembers that this is the last time he'll see him alive. He wishes he had reached out and kissed the man one more time, but that's not how it happened and the man who looks like Merlin just walks out of the tent, only looking back once, with a small, reassuring smile on his face. He's not going to come back, but he never did listen to orders anyway.
Later, when the fighting is over (a victory for Camelot, and Arthur can return home with his head held high and without dread for his father's expression), he finds Merlin unconscious in the camp's impromptu medical tent with one of the women who'd tagged along with the army to care for the wounded leaning over him, trying to stem the bleeding from the gaping wound in the boy's side.
"Is he--?" Arthur asks in a panic, the thrill of the win fading fast.
"He's going to be okay, sire," says the reassuring voice of Sir Kay comes from behind him. It's a very poorly kept secret that Merlin is more to Arthur than just his manservant, or even just his friend and it is clear Kay knows how potentially devastating this is to his crown prince. "He's lost a lot of blood, but it is not a mortal wound."
"It's true, sire," said the maid behind Kay as she stood up from leaning over Merlin, "this boy will be shaky on his feet for a few days, but soon he'll be good as new. The dagger was just plunged right into his stomach, it didn't hit anything important, and now we've got the blood to clot."
But as she moves away from Merlin and Arthur sees him lying there, it happens again. The light is back, and Arthur is back in that familiar tent that was his but wasn't. Antilochus comes through the door. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, son of Peleus. Patrocolus, dearest of your friends and closest to your heart, has been killed. Struck down by Hector, the son of Priam." And just like that, Arthur's world is shattered.
But just as quickly as it had come, the strange deja-vu is gone and it is only Merlin, lying wounded but not dead on a bed roll in a dingy tent. Arthur brushes it off.
+ + +
Arthur finds it difficult to sleep that night. Merlin is still in the medical tent and so Arthur is alone, but that's not it. No, it's a name that is keeping Arthur awake, nothing more. Patrocolus. Arthur knows the name, of course, knows it from those stories of that ancient war. But that's all they are--stories. So why is that man--character--creeping, unbidden, into Arthur's annoyingly distracting and poorly timed daydreams? If Merlin hadn't been such an idiot and gotten himself stabbed, Arthur could ask him.
With that thought, Arthur sighs and rolls to his side and falls asleep at last.
+ + +
Only it doesn't stop. Merlin brings in Arthur's breakfast in the morning, and Arthur has a vision of Patrocolus serving tea. Arthur training with a sword, with Merlin watching off to the side, and then suddenly they're both throwing spears at the mark, practicing together, because now they're both warriors. They're lying in bed at night and suddenly they are transported to another bed in another time in another place. Patrocolus who looks like Merlin calls Arthur "Achilles." And Arthur has never been more confused, not when he realized that maybe he didn't care so much about women and would rather be bedding men, not when he found that he had somehow fallen a bit in love with his idiot manservant, and not even when he discovered that said idiot manservant was actually a powerful sorcerer and therefore in contradiction to everything Arthur had ever been taught.
One night, with Merlin in his arms as they're drifting off to sleep, it happens again. Suddenly, Arthur and Merlin are Achilles and Patrocolus. Afterwards, when they are returned to their own bed, Merlin's questioning gaze is looking up at Arthur. "You too?" Merlin asks and Arthur feels for the first time that maybe he's not alone in this after all.
Arthur just nods. "I..." it's hard to actually talk about this, to acknowledge that maybe it's true, maybe he's not going crazy. "I thought it was just a story."
Merlin nods into Arthur's neck and Arthur feels it rather than sees it. "I thought so too," he mumbles. "But now I think that maybe...maybe we are them."
"How is that possible?"
"Have you ever read any Pythagoras, Arthur?" Merlin asks.
"I prefer fiction."
Merlin chuckles at that. "What, not enough excitement in your own life?"
"Shut up," Arthur mutters darkly, but with more than a hint of affection in his tone.
They lie there together in companionable silence for a few moments and then Merlin seems to remember himself and clears his throught. "Anyway," he says, "the Pythagoreans believed that there was a clear division between the soul and the body. After the body died, the soul would enter into another body and complete that life and then another and another forever."
"Did you get that in one of Gaius' books?" Arthur asks.
"I prefer science to fiction."
"So," Arthur begins, trying to wrap his mind around this new concept. "what you're saying is that the reason I keep having these weird flashes of memory things is that...I used to be Achilles."
"Yes." Merlin's voice is level and sure, obviously meant to keep Arthur calm.
"And you..." Arthur continues, still not quite believing it, "used to be Patrocolus."
"Yes."
"Woah." That's really all there is to say to something like this.
"Yeah," Merlin agrees. "I know."
They lie there in silence for a some time, Arthur can't tell how long it is because his head is hammering almost as much as his heart. He still can't quite believe it yet, but there's one thing he knows for certain. "Merlin," he says, voice deathly serious, "I don't ever want to to hear you've been killed. Do you understand me? Never."
Merlin nods against his chest. "I understand."
+ + +
Neither Arthur nor Merlin ever fully remembers Achilles and Patrocolus. They only get flashes of their time together without any real cohesion. But Arthur knows that he had loved Patrocolus fiercely and that the viciousness with which he had killed Hector and defiled his body had been all but completely necessary and he knows that if anything were to happen to Merlin, the culprit would find a similar fate awaiting him.
+ + +
It's years later, at Camlann. Mordred is there, and Morgana, and there's a big fuss because Arthur is lying in the mud, gasping for breath. This time the wound is mortal. And Merlin pushes his way through the small crowd forming around Arthur to come and kneel by his side.
"I told you not to come," Arthur says.
Merlin tries to smile but can't quite manage it. "You knew I wouldn't listen to you."
For a moment, they both just look at each other, not quite sure what to say. Then Merlin leans down and presses a quick, chaste kiss to Arthur's lips. "I'll see you again," he says. "This is not the end for us."
Arthur grimaces up at him, the pain is becoming too much. "It won't be the same," he tells the warlock.
"No," Merlin agrees, sad, "but that doesn't mean it'll be bad."
"I love you," Arthur whispers and then he is gone.
Merlin slowly gets to his feet and walks slowly back into Arthur's empty tent.
+ + +
Holmes lies in bed, watching as Watson carries in the breakfast tray he'd gotten up to fetch from the kitchen. For a moment, he doesn't see Watson but instead a skinny boy with black hair and a red scarf standing with a different tray in a bedroom that is not Holmes'. But as soon as the vision came, it's gone and once again it's Watson standing in the doorway in his dressing gown. Holmes shakes his head and tries to ignore the strange visions which are becoming more and more frequent. He puts down his copy of Le Morte D'Arthur--he's always been fond of the Arthurian stories--and sits up a bit straighter.
"Ah, Watson," he says, "I had the most peculiar dream."
+ + +
Always in these friendships
one serves the other, one is less than the other:
the hierarchy
is always apparent, though the legends
cannot be trusted --
their source is the survivor,
the one who has been abandoned.
-from The Triumph of Achilles by Louise Gluck.
finis.
the excessively long endnotes;
01. I cannot tell you how good it feels to finally have finished something and gotten it posted. I have two or three much longer stories which have been ~in the works~ for ages now and are basically coming along at a snail's pace. This, on the other hand, came together over the span of a weekend and it's awesome.
02. My English professor would probably have an aneurism if he ever found out one of his students had written this. He dismissed the possibility of Achilles and Patrocolus having anything beside a platonic friendship in about ten seconds. But ten seconds on Wikipedia taught me that even the Greeks themselves assumed that their relationship was sexual.
03. Incidentally, it's very strange to be writing this at the same time as my major, formal paper on The Iliad. I'm finding it difficult to get back into the paper now. Also, I'm still not quite over the fact that I BASICALLY JUST WROTE FANFIC FOR THE ILIAD WTH.
04. This whole thing is a combination of definite and purposeful historical accuracy and wild inaccuracy. Do I really think they had any idea about blood clotting back in the day? Of course not. And I highly doubt Uther's Camelot would have access to the works of Pythagorus or even The Iliad, since that and the rest of the Roman and Greek lit didn't make its way back into the west from Byzantium until a bit later than when I would date Merlin (the early to mid sixth century). But I'm taking a course called "the medieval world 400 to 1000" and that beginning bit about the downfall of Roman Britain is straight from that class. I really enjoyed writing that bit. (And I must admit that I definitely paused when I used the word "government" because we totally had a discussion in that class on Friday about how there was no real concept of government at the time because it was just taken for granted.)
05. The use of Pythagoras was totally me just Wiki-ing something quickly because I needed some way to explain it all. I was like, "quick, Greek reincarnation. Ok. got it." So if I screwed that up, it's because I don't really know what I'm talking about.
06. I knew that I wanted to use another similar pairing for the very end, and it took me about twenty minutes of brainstorming to come up with Holmes and Watson. It needed to be a pair that had the dominant/submissive thing going on (but not like that, come on!) and I initially thought of Bruce Wayne and Alfred but then immediately rejected it like OH GOD NO EW WTF. I felt a bit weird writing that part, though, since I know basically nothing about Sherlock Holmes. So hopefully I didn't include anything that is in glaring opposition to that canon. (I am excited for that movie, though!)
07. The poem at the end (which is also, obviously, where this story got its title) was handed out to me in English as part of our discussion of The Iliad and when we got to that stanza I could hardly believe it wasn't written about Merlin/Arthur. It was the icing on the cake of proving that Merlin/Arthur and Achilles/Patrocolus are the SAME EXACT SHIP and therefore needed to be included here.
Fandom: Merlin, with Greek mythology.
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, Achilles/Patrocolus
Spoilers/Warnings: spoilers for The Iliad; canon character death.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count ~2,400
Disclaimer: This incarnation of Merlin and Arthur is owned by Shine and the BBC. I don't think The Iliad is owned by anyone, but I certainly didn't come up with it. And I don't own Sherlock Holmes either.
Summary: Arthur would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he's always quite liked reading. Because Merlin/Arthur and Achilles/Patrocolus are basically the same ship.
Notes: An idea from
j_apollo. She thought of it at dinner and then turned to me saying "you have to write that!" Then she read it through and gleefully added a few Us. It's her payback from having to live here, under the oppression of American grammar. Beta'd by latenightcuppa, who is awesome and also encouraged me to write this in the first place. Some knowledge of Achilles and Patrocolus is kinda sorta required.
THOUGH THE LEGENDS CANNOT BE TRUSTED
Arthur would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he's always quite liked reading. Not so much histories and boring accounts of ancient wars and the political maneuverings of the Romans, but the fiction that the so-called civilized people from a peninsula almost a thousand miles away had brought with them when they had come to Albion, replacing the Old Religion with their own gods and setting up their own system of government, putting themselves in charge because they said so.
For four hundred years the Romans had dominated Albion and given the land all the stability it had. Then, when the political situation in Italia had become too shaky for anyone to care about their little far away province anymore, they had pulled out and gone home, leaving Albion in a power vacuum which gave way to the warring kingdoms still dominating well into the reign of Uther Pendragon. Arthur knows that there were many who still look back on the good old days with the kind of fondness that can only exist generations later and others who still resent the Romans for abandoning them and leaving them at the mercy of ruthless kings who only look out for themselves. But Arthur cannot rightfully resent the rise of the kingdoms for one day he will rule one, and that would not do. All Arthur really thinks of them is that he is thankful for the stories of war and of heroism and bravery, which were infinitely more exciting then the tales the bards brought with them to court around feast time.
Not too surprisingly, his favourites have always been the tales of Trojan War. Arthur would never want to be taken away from Camelot on a ten year campaign, he wouldn't wish that on any man (and all for the love of a woman! It's ridiculous, and Arthur would never in a million years go to war over such a thing.), but he found he could relate to the story of Achilles, a great and ferocious warrior who was just out to prove his honor and bring glory to his people. He's reading of Achilles now, imagining himself dragging Hector's lifeless body around the walls of Troy as even more revenge for the killing of his dear friend Patrocolus. Hector should not have slaughtered Patrocolus like that. Patrocolus should not have died, not like that.
In Arthur's mind, the memory of Patrocolus bears a striking resemblance to Merlin. It's not surprising. He's the natural counterpart. Arthur looks down at the boy's sleeping figure curled up against his own side and sighs. If someone were to ever hurt Merlin, well, Arthur isn't really sure what he'd do. But it wouldn't end well for the one who did the hurting.
+ + +
"Don't, Merlin."
"Hmmm?" Merlin responds distractedly, putting the finishing touches on the application of Arthur's armor.
"Don't follow me and the other knights out to the battlefield," Arthur elaborates and, at Merlin suddenly pulling an expression of extreme indignation, quickly adds, "and don't try to tell me you won't, idiot, I've known you long enough now to know that you can hardly help it."
"Well," Merlin says cheerfully, all traces of indignation gone, "if I can't help it, then you might as well not even try and stop me."
"I mean it, Merlin," Arthur insists, voice stern and possibly louder than necessary. "You will obey me and you will stay here. I can't be worrying about you out there." He puts his hand on Merlin's arm and pats it rather awkwardly, hoping to convey his affection for the boy. But Arthur's never been particularly good at conveying affection. It's really a miracle he and Merlin ended up as anything more than a master and his servant in the first place, considering how rubbish they both are at discussing their emotions. (That's not really a bad thing though, Arthur reminds himself, it's not like they're a pair of girls.)
Merlin's expression makes it clear that he realizes how much Arthur cares and Arthur sees a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, this will be the one time his manservant listens to him and stays behind. He kisses Merlin quickly on the lips, with a passion suited for a much longer kiss, trying again to reinforce his message of stay here, stay out of trouble and then turns and leaves to the room to join his men at the front door of the castle and ride out to battle.
+ + +
Merlin doesn't listen to him and he doesn't stay behind. Of course. Arthur had been foolish to ever think that maybe he would in the first place.
The only time he sees Merlin during the fighting is when he happens to glance to his left and see the boy a few feet away, clashing swords with a soldier wearing Mercia's crest. As Arthur watches, the opponent's sword turns bright orange, like it's heating up, and the man drops it, burned. Arthur looks away in a rage and a panic. This just proves that Merlin is the first among idiots, to come out here and use magic so obviously! Here, where anyone of his father's army could see him (the knights may be under Arthur's command, but there's no denying the fact that their loyalty lies with the king, not the prince).
In the middle of a swing of his own sword, a flash of white light momentarily blinds Arthur and the man he is dueling almost lands a blow. It only lasts a second, but for that one moment Arthur is far away, standing instead in a tent which he knows to be his own but isn't the one he slept in the night before. Merlin is there, wearing armor that is Arthur's but not any that he's worn in this life. Merlin is going into battle in Arthur's stead. He's under explicit orders to come back once he's done, but this is a memory, so Arthur remembers that this is the last time he'll see him alive. He wishes he had reached out and kissed the man one more time, but that's not how it happened and the man who looks like Merlin just walks out of the tent, only looking back once, with a small, reassuring smile on his face. He's not going to come back, but he never did listen to orders anyway.
Later, when the fighting is over (a victory for Camelot, and Arthur can return home with his head held high and without dread for his father's expression), he finds Merlin unconscious in the camp's impromptu medical tent with one of the women who'd tagged along with the army to care for the wounded leaning over him, trying to stem the bleeding from the gaping wound in the boy's side.
"Is he--?" Arthur asks in a panic, the thrill of the win fading fast.
"He's going to be okay, sire," says the reassuring voice of Sir Kay comes from behind him. It's a very poorly kept secret that Merlin is more to Arthur than just his manservant, or even just his friend and it is clear Kay knows how potentially devastating this is to his crown prince. "He's lost a lot of blood, but it is not a mortal wound."
"It's true, sire," said the maid behind Kay as she stood up from leaning over Merlin, "this boy will be shaky on his feet for a few days, but soon he'll be good as new. The dagger was just plunged right into his stomach, it didn't hit anything important, and now we've got the blood to clot."
But as she moves away from Merlin and Arthur sees him lying there, it happens again. The light is back, and Arthur is back in that familiar tent that was his but wasn't. Antilochus comes through the door. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, son of Peleus. Patrocolus, dearest of your friends and closest to your heart, has been killed. Struck down by Hector, the son of Priam." And just like that, Arthur's world is shattered.
But just as quickly as it had come, the strange deja-vu is gone and it is only Merlin, lying wounded but not dead on a bed roll in a dingy tent. Arthur brushes it off.
+ + +
Arthur finds it difficult to sleep that night. Merlin is still in the medical tent and so Arthur is alone, but that's not it. No, it's a name that is keeping Arthur awake, nothing more. Patrocolus. Arthur knows the name, of course, knows it from those stories of that ancient war. But that's all they are--stories. So why is that man--character--creeping, unbidden, into Arthur's annoyingly distracting and poorly timed daydreams? If Merlin hadn't been such an idiot and gotten himself stabbed, Arthur could ask him.
With that thought, Arthur sighs and rolls to his side and falls asleep at last.
+ + +
Only it doesn't stop. Merlin brings in Arthur's breakfast in the morning, and Arthur has a vision of Patrocolus serving tea. Arthur training with a sword, with Merlin watching off to the side, and then suddenly they're both throwing spears at the mark, practicing together, because now they're both warriors. They're lying in bed at night and suddenly they are transported to another bed in another time in another place. Patrocolus who looks like Merlin calls Arthur "Achilles." And Arthur has never been more confused, not when he realized that maybe he didn't care so much about women and would rather be bedding men, not when he found that he had somehow fallen a bit in love with his idiot manservant, and not even when he discovered that said idiot manservant was actually a powerful sorcerer and therefore in contradiction to everything Arthur had ever been taught.
One night, with Merlin in his arms as they're drifting off to sleep, it happens again. Suddenly, Arthur and Merlin are Achilles and Patrocolus. Afterwards, when they are returned to their own bed, Merlin's questioning gaze is looking up at Arthur. "You too?" Merlin asks and Arthur feels for the first time that maybe he's not alone in this after all.
Arthur just nods. "I..." it's hard to actually talk about this, to acknowledge that maybe it's true, maybe he's not going crazy. "I thought it was just a story."
Merlin nods into Arthur's neck and Arthur feels it rather than sees it. "I thought so too," he mumbles. "But now I think that maybe...maybe we are them."
"How is that possible?"
"Have you ever read any Pythagoras, Arthur?" Merlin asks.
"I prefer fiction."
Merlin chuckles at that. "What, not enough excitement in your own life?"
"Shut up," Arthur mutters darkly, but with more than a hint of affection in his tone.
They lie there together in companionable silence for a few moments and then Merlin seems to remember himself and clears his throught. "Anyway," he says, "the Pythagoreans believed that there was a clear division between the soul and the body. After the body died, the soul would enter into another body and complete that life and then another and another forever."
"Did you get that in one of Gaius' books?" Arthur asks.
"I prefer science to fiction."
"So," Arthur begins, trying to wrap his mind around this new concept. "what you're saying is that the reason I keep having these weird flashes of memory things is that...I used to be Achilles."
"Yes." Merlin's voice is level and sure, obviously meant to keep Arthur calm.
"And you..." Arthur continues, still not quite believing it, "used to be Patrocolus."
"Yes."
"Woah." That's really all there is to say to something like this.
"Yeah," Merlin agrees. "I know."
They lie there in silence for a some time, Arthur can't tell how long it is because his head is hammering almost as much as his heart. He still can't quite believe it yet, but there's one thing he knows for certain. "Merlin," he says, voice deathly serious, "I don't ever want to to hear you've been killed. Do you understand me? Never."
Merlin nods against his chest. "I understand."
+ + +
Neither Arthur nor Merlin ever fully remembers Achilles and Patrocolus. They only get flashes of their time together without any real cohesion. But Arthur knows that he had loved Patrocolus fiercely and that the viciousness with which he had killed Hector and defiled his body had been all but completely necessary and he knows that if anything were to happen to Merlin, the culprit would find a similar fate awaiting him.
+ + +
It's years later, at Camlann. Mordred is there, and Morgana, and there's a big fuss because Arthur is lying in the mud, gasping for breath. This time the wound is mortal. And Merlin pushes his way through the small crowd forming around Arthur to come and kneel by his side.
"I told you not to come," Arthur says.
Merlin tries to smile but can't quite manage it. "You knew I wouldn't listen to you."
For a moment, they both just look at each other, not quite sure what to say. Then Merlin leans down and presses a quick, chaste kiss to Arthur's lips. "I'll see you again," he says. "This is not the end for us."
Arthur grimaces up at him, the pain is becoming too much. "It won't be the same," he tells the warlock.
"No," Merlin agrees, sad, "but that doesn't mean it'll be bad."
"I love you," Arthur whispers and then he is gone.
Merlin slowly gets to his feet and walks slowly back into Arthur's empty tent.
+ + +
Holmes lies in bed, watching as Watson carries in the breakfast tray he'd gotten up to fetch from the kitchen. For a moment, he doesn't see Watson but instead a skinny boy with black hair and a red scarf standing with a different tray in a bedroom that is not Holmes'. But as soon as the vision came, it's gone and once again it's Watson standing in the doorway in his dressing gown. Holmes shakes his head and tries to ignore the strange visions which are becoming more and more frequent. He puts down his copy of Le Morte D'Arthur--he's always been fond of the Arthurian stories--and sits up a bit straighter.
"Ah, Watson," he says, "I had the most peculiar dream."
+ + +
Always in these friendships
one serves the other, one is less than the other:
the hierarchy
is always apparent, though the legends
cannot be trusted --
their source is the survivor,
the one who has been abandoned.
-from The Triumph of Achilles by Louise Gluck.
finis.
the excessively long endnotes;
01. I cannot tell you how good it feels to finally have finished something and gotten it posted. I have two or three much longer stories which have been ~in the works~ for ages now and are basically coming along at a snail's pace. This, on the other hand, came together over the span of a weekend and it's awesome.
02. My English professor would probably have an aneurism if he ever found out one of his students had written this. He dismissed the possibility of Achilles and Patrocolus having anything beside a platonic friendship in about ten seconds. But ten seconds on Wikipedia taught me that even the Greeks themselves assumed that their relationship was sexual.
03. Incidentally, it's very strange to be writing this at the same time as my major, formal paper on The Iliad. I'm finding it difficult to get back into the paper now. Also, I'm still not quite over the fact that I BASICALLY JUST WROTE FANFIC FOR THE ILIAD WTH.
04. This whole thing is a combination of definite and purposeful historical accuracy and wild inaccuracy. Do I really think they had any idea about blood clotting back in the day? Of course not. And I highly doubt Uther's Camelot would have access to the works of Pythagorus or even The Iliad, since that and the rest of the Roman and Greek lit didn't make its way back into the west from Byzantium until a bit later than when I would date Merlin (the early to mid sixth century). But I'm taking a course called "the medieval world 400 to 1000" and that beginning bit about the downfall of Roman Britain is straight from that class. I really enjoyed writing that bit. (And I must admit that I definitely paused when I used the word "government" because we totally had a discussion in that class on Friday about how there was no real concept of government at the time because it was just taken for granted.)
05. The use of Pythagoras was totally me just Wiki-ing something quickly because I needed some way to explain it all. I was like, "quick, Greek reincarnation. Ok. got it." So if I screwed that up, it's because I don't really know what I'm talking about.
06. I knew that I wanted to use another similar pairing for the very end, and it took me about twenty minutes of brainstorming to come up with Holmes and Watson. It needed to be a pair that had the dominant/submissive thing going on (but not like that, come on!) and I initially thought of Bruce Wayne and Alfred but then immediately rejected it like OH GOD NO EW WTF. I felt a bit weird writing that part, though, since I know basically nothing about Sherlock Holmes. So hopefully I didn't include anything that is in glaring opposition to that canon. (I am excited for that movie, though!)
07. The poem at the end (which is also, obviously, where this story got its title) was handed out to me in English as part of our discussion of The Iliad and when we got to that stanza I could hardly believe it wasn't written about Merlin/Arthur. It was the icing on the cake of proving that Merlin/Arthur and Achilles/Patrocolus are the SAME EXACT SHIP and therefore needed to be included here.