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I really just have to summarize Thomas's entire life:
He was in a committed relationship with a male swan named Henry for 18-24 years before a female swan named Henrietta showed up and mated with Henry.
Thomas was initially jealous of the pair and attacked them, breaking 2 of the 5 eggs Henrietta had laid. However, once the remaining eggs hatched, Thomas warmed up to them and helped raise them.
Henry couldn't fly because of an injured wing, so Thomas taught the cygnets how to fly.
When they needed to reduce the goose population in the pond where Thomas and the swans lived, they dyed Thomas's feathers red so he wouldn't be separated from Henry.
Henry, Henrietta, and Thomas remained in their happy throuple for years and raised 68 cygnets before Henry died in 2009. After Henry's death, Henrietta found another swan and flew away, leaving Thomas alone.
Thomas finally met and mated with a female goose in 2011 and had his own babies. However, another goose named George stole them and raised them himself.
As Thomas grew elderly and blind, he was relocated to a wildlife center where he raised orphaned cygnets.
His caretaker at the center described him as "pretty high maintenance."
Thomas died in 2018 at the age of around 40. He had a funeral that included a small coffin and a procession that was led by a bagpiper. He was buried under the stone where Henry was buried, the two finally reunited in death.
Before and after his death, Thomas has been celebrated as an icon of the LGBTQ+ community for obvious reasons.
The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.
Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.
So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.
Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.
As the OP of this post, I’m going to threaten that if this gets to one million notes by the 10 year anniversary on 1 June 2026, one year from today, I will get a lower back tattoo of the loch ness bear monster.
Listen, we have to keep this thing circulating on the internet for at least another two decades, because I have to believe that one day that little girl will be grown enough to stumble upon it and She Will Explain
very disappointing when someone says "the bird app" and for one lovely moment I think they are talking about Merlin Bird ID by Cornell Lab, the free app that allows you to identify birds by appearance or sound, make a list of birds you have seen, and explore all the birds native to your region.... and then I realize they are talking about twitter.
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No but seriously what the fuck did Merlin and Arthur talk about on the way home from the Labyrinth of Gedref. Did the two of them just ride back to Camelot in dead silence waiting for the other to bring up that they're now seemingly prepared to to die for each other no questions asked ???
For those who have missed it, a tourist in Hawaii decided it would be fun to chuck a rock (a BIG rock) at a monk seal. He missed, but he was captured on video, and when told it was illegal to interfere with them, said "I'm rich, I can pay the fine."
Is the best part that he got doxxed? No.
Is the best part that he got tracked down by a local and beaten? No.
Arrested on state at federal charges, looking at up to 5 years and 50K? Nope.
The best part is the local city council's reaction.
And the best part of that is the look on the attorney's face.
Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU
Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 (You're here) , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10 , Part 11 , Part 12 , Part 13 , Part 14 , Part 15 , Part 16 , Part 17 , Part 18 , Part 19
In Morgana’s Lair
A bird arrives. For a moment, Morgana’s stern expression softens, thinking it's a long-awaited message from Merlin. But as it lands, her brow furrows. This is not the raven she has given him.
She unties the scroll with quick, impatient fingers. It's from the Dochraid.
The King of Camelot knows your slave. He seeks the Cauldron of Arianrhod to cleanse Emrys.
Morgana: (in disbelief and fury) No!
She crushes the note in her fist. The mandrake root is supposed to be irreversible! It cannot be undone! But it seems she was mistaken. If Arthur succeeds… if Emrys is restored, his magic will return, and with it, his loyalty. He will be Arthur’s weapon and shield once more. Her doom.
The sound of hurried, limping footsteps break through her spiraling thoughts. She turns.
Merlin: (emerges from the treeline, disheveled and breathing hard) My Lady!
Morgana: (stares, momentarily thrown) Merlin?
Meanwhile, in Camelot.
Arthur: (almost shouting, angry) I gave you one task. ONE! He is a single man. Unarmed. We have guards on every stair. Every corridor. How on earth did he escape?!
Leon: (his report is flat, professional, but his eyes are shadowed with failure) Sometime after the third watch, he braided a rope from his bindings and the bed linens. He went out the window.
Percival: He knows the castle as well as you, Sire. He used that.
Arthur’s knuckles are white. He has the urge to roar, to cast blame, but chokes it down. Rage won’t find Merlin.
Arthur: Search parties. Now. Every road, forest path, and hovel within a day’s ride. He’s on foot. He cannot be far.
Elyan: (shifts uncomfortably) Er…
Gwaine: He also stole a horse.
Arthur: WHAT?!
Leon: (quickly adds) Riders are already on the main roads. We found the trail. It leads east, into the White Mountains.
East. Toward the mountains. Toward Morgana.
Arthur: Saddle fresh horses. We ride within the hour.
Leon: (steps forward,his voice firm but respectful) You have just returned, Sire. The kingdom requires its king, if only for a moment. Give the orders, leave the city secure. We will follow the trail. You can rendezvous with us by nightfall.
Arthur wants to argue. Every instinct screams at him to move, to chase, now, before he loses Merlin again. But he can't deny Leon’s logic no matter how desperate he is. The king can not simply vanish. He closes his eyes, a wave of sheer exhaustion battling with the frantic need to act.
Arthur: (a defeated, ragged sigh) Fine. Go. Do not lose his trail. I will meet you at the eastern fork by dusk.
Back with Morgana.
Merlin: (stumbles forward and drops to his knees before her, head bowed) Forgive me, my lady. They discovered me. I was imprisoned… I couldn’t send word.
Morgana: (her momentary surprise hardens back into icy displeasure) Did you administer the poison?
Merlin: (doesn’t look up, voice thick with shame) My plan was small daily doses… but the physician was giving him an antidote without my knowledge. I failed you. I’m so sorry.
The last thread of Morgana's composure snaps. With a scream of pure rage, she sweeps her arm across a small stone table, throwing a clay vase and scrolls to the ground, both scattering and shattering. Merlin flinches.
Morgana: (shouts) You incompetent fool! You lasted mere weeks! How the hell did you manage to hide your magic for years? Now you have no magic, no closeness to the king left. What use are you to me now?! (Turns her back on him)
Merlin: (a desperate, broken whimper) I know…I know. I failed, I'm useless. But please. Please don’t cast me out. Don’t let them take me back. (crawls forward, his fingers clutching desperately at the fabric of her gown) They kept lying! They treated me like a fool, like I was sick! I hate them!
Morgana: (rolls her eyes, exasperated, thinking) Don’t worry. I’ll kill you before Arthur can get a hold of you, Emrys. At least I’ll have that pleasure.
Merlin: Arthur is the worst! With his manipulations… he even pretended to have feelings for me, just to try and win me back to his side.
Morgana: (goes very still, and then turns around, her eyes wide) What?
Merlin: I said he’s the worst.
Morgana: No. The other part. About his… feelings.
Merlin: Oh, that (his jaw tightens). That idiot thinks that because we kissed once while drunk, I’d fall at his feet for a few words. But I see his disgust for me. I always have.
Morgana: (even more surprised) YOU KISSED?! 😨
Merlin: Twice, my lady. (wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture of pure revulsion) I want to scrub my mouth clean just remembering it.
Once the shock passes, she feels a wave of pure, incandescent fury. Arthur. He took Guinevere from her, claiming love. And now this? His own manservant?
Then, the fury cools, hardening into a crystal-clear realization.
If Arthur truly has feelings for Merlin… then Merlin is not useless. He is a vulnerability. A way to torture the king in a manner far more intimate than any blade or spell.
She looks down at the so-called mighty Emrys, still kneeling in the dirt, clinging to her skirts like a child. A calculated smile begins to curve her lips.
Morgana: (orders) Get up.
Merlin: (obeys immediately, pushing himself upright, but winces as he puts weight on his injured leg)
Morgana: (her expression softens into one of performative concern and reaches out, her touch hovering near his arm) My dear, you are injured. What happened?
Merlin: To escape, I had to make a rope to climb from the window… But it wasn’t long enough. I had to jump the last stretch.
Morgana: You fell. (gentle, with pitying warmth) My poor dear. You must have been so frightened. I’m sorry I yelled at you. (Cups his cheek, a deliberate gesture of comfort) You are still precious to me.
Merlin: (almost melts at her touch, leaning into the contact, his eyes closing for a second in sheer, grateful relief)
Morgana: (smiles, her thumb stroking his cheek before she withdraws her hand) Now, let’s have you healed.
Back in Camelot.
Arthur: (stands by his horse, hastily checking straps and saddlebags, his movements sharp with frantic energy)
Gwen: (arrives) Arthur.
Arthur: (doesn’t stop, his hands move from buckle to stirrup) Guinevere. Not now. He’s out there.
Gwen: I know, I was the last one to see him. We need to talk.
Arthur: Whatever it is, it can wait until I bring him back.
Gwen: It cannot.
Arthur: (Finally looks at her, his eyes wild with urgency) Merlin already has a head start. Morgana could have him by now—
Gwen: (shouts) NO! It cannot wait!
Silence crashes down between them, heavy and cold.
Arthur: (his voice drops, wary) What is it?
Gwen: Merlin told me. That you two kissed.
Arthur: (thinking) That bastard! (A long, heavy pause. Then says, filled with shame) It’s true.
Gwen: (the confirmation physically shrinks her, the last of her composure crumbling into a devastated acceptance)
Arthur: (looks past her to the dying sun,his jaw tight) I swear, we will talk. I will explain everything. But not now. Right now, he’s running straight into the arms of our enemy.
Gwen: (in angry disbelief) You will leave me? Now? After telling me that?
Arthur: This isn’t about leaving you! Morgana could be twisting him further as we speak! He is alone and in danger!
Gwen: (angry, with tear-bright eyes) Then let him!
Arthur: (eyes wide) Guinevere!
Gwen: If you ride out that gate right now, Arthur, we are finished!
The words hang in the air. Arthur stares, torn in two. On one side, his queen, his wife, and on the other….
Arthur: (voice strained) I am just asking for time.
Gwen: Arthur!
Arthur: You also betrayed me, Guinevere. With Lancelot.
Gwen: (flinches as if struck at the low blow, any rebuttal dying in her throat)
The king doesn’t wait for a response. He moves, swinging himself up into the saddle. Then digs his heels into his horse’s flank and he is gone.
Arthur: (curses to himself, regretting his words as he rides) Fuck.
Meanwhile. In Morgana’s Lair.
Morgana leads Merlin through a narrow passage that opens into a vast, hidden cavern. In the gloom, a pale, serpentine form shifts.
Morgana: There. She is—
Merlin: (Eyes widening with recognition,voice filled with awe) Aithusa! (limps forward and reaches a trembling hand toward the dragon’s snout)
Aithusa: (nudges against his palm, a low rumble vibrating in her throat)
Morgana: (Stunned, her eyes narrowing) You know her?
Merlin: (as if stating the most natural fact in the world) I called her from the egg.
Morgana: (a pause, then hushes with dawning realization) You are a Dragonlord.
Morgause taught her about Dragonlords—men born with the blood-gift to speak to dragons, to command them. One of the many communities Uther wiped from the earth in his magic persecution… Well, it seems not all.
Merlin simply nods, his attention wholly on Aithusa. His fingers traces the line of her jaw, then falters as they move over the twisted, malformed ridges of her spine. His breath hitches.
Merlin: (voice breaking, thick with guilt) I’m so sorry. I wasn’t there. I let this happen to you.
Aithusa: (lets out a soft, pained whimper, nuzzling his hand as if offering forgiveness)
Morgana: (thinking) You are full of surprises, Emrys. (Says) Come, Aithusa. Your friend is hurt. He needs your breath.
Aithusa: (shifts her head, and bends low, noticing the awkward angle of Merlin’s ankle, the grime and swelling. Then exhales softly)
A warm, golden light emanates from her breath, wrapping around Merlin’s injured leg like a gentle, luminous bandage. The pain ebbs instantly, the swelling receding before their eyes. Merlin lets out a shuddering sigh of relief, his tears now falling freely—for the healing, and for the crippled creature who offered it.
Morgana: (watching, curious) Can you still speak her tongue, Emrys? Can you command the dragon?
Merlin: (closes his eyes in concentration and then opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Looks down, defeated) No.
Morgana: (already expected it, gives him a reassuring smile) Do not trouble yourself, my dear. Once Arthur is gone, all that was taken from you will return. Your voice will shake the mountains. You’ll see.
Merlin nods, a fresh, sharp hatred for Arthur hardening his features. Morgana smile turns into a smirk. It is a promise she intends to keep.
Time skip. In the Woods.
The search party find the horse wandering, saddle askew, in a mist-choked clearing. The trail ends as abruptly as if the earth had swallowed Merlin whole.
A raw, guttural scream of frustration tears from Arthur’s throat, startling birds from the trees. Of course. Merlin knows their methods. He has anticipated the trackers, the hunters. At some point, he surely slipped into the forest and sent the horse on a false path, a trail leading to nothing.
They search the area for days, beating the underbrush, scanning every ravine. They find nothing.
Leon: (quietly, face lined with exhaustion) Sire. We’ve lost him. We must return.
Arthur: (doesn’t respond, his back to his knights, his shoulders bowed with a crushing distress)
Leon: Our men are exhausted. Our supplies are low. We can regroup in Camelot and plan a wider search.
Arthur: (turns, his voice flat and drained) I know, Leon. I know. (Thinking) It’s what awaits me at home that worries me. (Says) Let's go back.
Time skip. In the Royal Chambers.
Arthur enters, the heavy door closing with a soft, definitive click. The room is lit by a low fire and shadows are dancing across Gwen’s rigid form where she is sat in their marital bed, her back to him.
Arthur: (exhales) Guinevere.
Gwen: (doesn't turn) Did you find him?
Arthur: No. We lost the trail.
Gwen: I see.
Arthur crosses the room slowly, coming to stand before her. When she still doesn’t look at him, he sinks to one knee, putting himself in her line of sight. It was a posture of supplication, not of a king, but of a penitent husband.
Arthur: Guinevere, I—
Her hand moves faster than he can blink. The slap is sharp, a crack that echoes in the quiet room. His head snaps to the side. He stays there for a moment, then slowly straightens, meeting her gaze.
Arthur: (quietly) Okay. I deserved that.
Gwen: I didn’t force you to take me back after Lancelot! You chose to. You don’t get to wield my past against me whenever it suits you!
Arthur: I know. It was unfair to bring it up. I’m sorry.
Gwen: (takes a deep, shuddering breath, the anger draining from her frame to be replaced by a weary sorrow) I owe you an apology as well.
Arthur: (looks up, confusion clear on his face)
Gwen: What I said…about letting something happen to Merlin. I didn’t mean it. Of course I don’t wish him harm. The way he told me was cruel, but I know that cruelty isn’t him. I was just… hurt. And angry.
Arthur: (takes a deep breath) About the kiss, I can expl—
Gwen: (lifts her hand,cutting him off) No. You were right before. We can’t speak of this until Merlin is here. He’s part of it. Once he’s back, and he’s himself again… then we will all talk. And then I will decide what to do.
Arthur: (blinking, not understanding) Decide to do what?
Gwen: (looks at him, her expression softening with a pity that is somehow worse than her anger)
Arthur: (realization dawns) Oh.
Gwen: Until that day, I will be staying in the guest chambers. (doesn’t wait for a reply, turns and walks to the door, pausing only once with her hand on the latch) Find him, Arthur. Bring our friend home.
Then she is gone, leaving Arthur alone in the too-large room, kneeling on the cold stone floor, the ghost of her slap still burning on his cheek.
Time Skip. With Morgana.
The days bleed together in the dim light of her lair. In the quiet moments between planning and spite, Morgana finds herself watching Merlin, not as a weapon, but as a puzzle. The enchantment holds him firmly, his hatred for Arthur and devotion to her unwavering. Yet, beneath the surface, the ghost of the boy she once knew lingers in small, telling ways.
It begins with idle curiosity. Since when have you had magic? His answer—since birth—is simple. But her questions soon sharpen, probing the wounds of their shared past.
Morgana: Why did you poison me?
Merlin: (his face contorts, as if the memory were a physical burden) I never wanted to hurt you. Only to stop the sleeping curse. I was told… Morgause was using you as its vessel. That it was the only way.
Morgana: (angry) That’s a lie!
Merlin: (shakes his head, earnest) I swear it, my lady. I have no reason to lie to you.
She is about to argue, but the certainty in his enchanted voice stops her. It’s true, Merlin is not able to lie to her in this state. And he believes this utterly. And if he believes it, then perhaps it is… true. A painful realization settles in her stomach. Did Morgause use her?
Seeing her doubt, Merlin’s expression hardens, the enchantment swiftly repurposing the truth into another layer of grievance.
Merlin: Or perhaps that was one of their lies. Another trick to turn me against you.
Morgana: (quickly, smoothing over the crack in her own certainty) Yes. They have always sought to pull us apart, my dear.
Merlin: (Fiercely) Never again.
She learns more, piece by piece. His reasons for opposing her, for choosing Arthur’s side. Does she understand him better? Yes. The frightened, powerful boy trying to navigate an impossible path is clearer to her now. Does it justify his actions? No. Understanding is not absolution. Merlin still looked into the eyes of a sister in magic and decided to see an enemy. He still chose Arthur over her. Just as Gwen did. Despite her feelings toward her, forgiveness for Guinevere has been impossible. Therefore, for Merlin, it is unthinkable.
Later, as she sits by the faint glow of a brazier, she feels Merlin's careful hands in her hair.
Merlin: (softly, as he works through a knot) Your hair is beautiful, my lady. I don’t know any fine styles, but… I can at least keep it untangled for you.
Morgana glances up at his reflection in a polished piece of dark stone. Merlin's face is serene, focused on the simple, kind task. A faint, genuine smile touches her lips.
She will never forgive the real Merlin. That boy is a traitor, a living testament to her loneliness and betrayal.
But this Merlin…this one, shaped by her own magic, who looks at her with utter devotion and infinite care. This one, she can keep. This one, she can almost believe is her friend again.
...
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!!
You're probably hating on Arthur very much now. Not saying it's not justified. But let's remember he's a man from a medieval—Or really, Pre-medieval—world. It was inevitable he would hold what happened with Lancelot against Gwen at some point, as any man would even in modern time. At least he has the decency to feel sorry. He is also a pre-mediaval man who is just beginning to understand his feelings for another man in a very stressing situation, so yeah... he is having it hard.
What do you think is going to happen next? Let me know in the comments ;)
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>Particularly among Gen Z, our data shows an interesting duality: they are both the group most likely to agree that women who have a successful career are more attractive to men but are simultaneously most likely to agree that a wife should always obey her husband and that a woman should never appear too self-sufficient or independent.
I know these two things seem contradictory, but there’s nothing a conservative man loves more than to tear off an angel’s wings. There are plenty of women that would willingly choose the obedient SAHM lifestyle, but these kinds of men always seem to go for the opposite. Why? Because it’s a power play. There’s no need to break a horse that’s already broken, and that would do nothing to validate that man, his ego, and his place in a world he sees as designed for him.
Another factor is that these men avoid dating conservative women who already want the lives they want them to have because those women's standards are too high. Specifically, such women expect to be the obedient stay at home mum, but they also expect their men to be the masculine ideal from the other half of the equation -- they tend to look down on their men if they cry, they expect them to be able to financially provide for the household, they want them to uphold their end of the bargain. You see this again and again in groups of conservative men who go out of their way to date liberal women; there is a power play, to tame someone untamed and bring her into line with his expectations, but there's also her lack of expectations of him. They want a woman who will do all the household and keep the home but ALSO will not reject him for not being able to afford to finance the family alone. They want a woman who'll respect and obey him but ALSO be fun and relaxed and let him show whatever emotions he wants. They want the Perfect Trad Wife who won't expect him to be the Perfect Trad Husband.
You see the same thing in conservatives who complain that all their leftie friends are abandoning them, but who won't just hang out with right wing friends instead. They don't want to hang out with other righties because a group of righties quickly becomes judgy and hateful and socially competitive, and is only fun to hang out with when they want to vent, whereas their leftie friends were more relaxed and fun. They want license to be unpleasant and expect unreasonable things of others, but want the people around them to be pleasant and not expect unreasonable things of them.
We have some excellent commentary here, but I want you to keep in mind an adage that will serve you well on the modern internet.
"If something immediately makes me feel anger, repulsion, or joy, with even a simple blurb, it's probably manipulating me."
First off, Newsweek is hardly an unbiased source these days. The majority shareholder is Dev Pagrad, is exceptionally wealthy, and has been repeatedly pushing newsweek to be an arm of the right wing's propaganda machine. It is HARD LINE far-right, Anti-trans, anti-woman, anti-immigrant, anti-science
To cite the Southern Poverty Law Center (by way of Wikipedia)
In November 2022, the Southern Poverty Law Center reported that Newsweek had "taken a marked radical right turn by buoying extremists and promoting authoritarian leaders" since it hired conservative political activist Josh Hammer as editor-at-large. It noted the magazine's elevation of conspiracy theorists, publication of conspiracy theories about COVID-19, views such as support for a ban on all legal immigration to the United States and denying adults access to trans-affirming medical care, and failure to disclose potential conflicts of interest in the content published on Hammer's opinion section and podcast.
https://web.archive.org/web/20221106005834/https://www.splcenter.org/hatewatch/2022/11/04/newsweek-embraces-anti-democracy-hard-right
Newsweek, when even linking to the study it cites, doesn't... actually link to the study. It just links to newsweek's "study" tab. It does MENTION the study, which allowed me to track it down.
https://www.ipsos.com/en-uk/almost-third-gen-z-men-globally-agree-wife-should-obey-her-husband
IPSOS is a MARKETING FIRM, whose CEO Jean Laurent Poitou, was the former head of Accenture, under whose leadership, sure did a lot of fraud, engaging in tax avoidance, and other such conservative-leaning behaviors, and who generally is affiliated with the traditional right.
Let's add another one.
The group "Global Institute for Women’s Leadership at King’s Business School, King’s College London" just so happens to be at the school that the Current CEO of newsweek is not just an alum of, but is a major contributor to the funding for. It's always weird when something extremely polarizing comes from, a group that's directly funded by the CEO or owner of the conservative newspaper that's publishing it, as well as from research done by a Marketing firm in the pockets of wealthy conservatives! Funny how that always seems to happen!
But if we actually look at IPSOS's study, you'll see that a lot of the numbers have been gently massaged and their methodology is EXTREMELY opaque. After all, they're not a scientific institution. They're a MARKETING FIRM.
The biggest conclusion if you read their own paper, is ACTUALLY, that MOST PEOPLE seem to hold progressive views on women's autonomy, but think that THEIR COUNTRY still majority holds draconian views on women's autonomy.
Things their own study says:
A Majority of Gen Z believes that women shouldn't "always obey" their husbands.
A Majority of Gen Z has concerns that their society holds draconian beliefs about women.
What the results of the SPIN on this facts, as well as how many in the comments are reacting, is actually perpetuating the Traditional Right's views on Gender and Marriage.
I need you to understand that it actively benefits the traditional right when you lean into gender essentialism and believe that Men Are Evil. That Men Are Monsters. It makes the default assumption of men be that they will always be predators, meaning that when they DO do something predator, nobody's surprised; well that's just how men are; when he finds the RIGHT woman who can Tame Him, then he'll behave; that's the duty of a woman after all; to put up with men abusing her until she finds one who is the Right One, who she can handle.
What this article ALSO does, is scare progressive women, scares queerfolk, scares young folk, and makes conservatives feel emboldened and empowered.
You need to ALWAYS, ALWAYS, remind yourself: "If something immediately makes me feel anger, repulsion, or Joy, with even a simple blurb, it's probably manipulating me."
And more than that, you need to remember the follow up:
There was not a headsman in Camelot that would fell Merlin.
“Sir, when Gaius did his rounds in the villages, Merlin saw to my wife. It took him four days. I cannot raise an axe against such a man, magic or no.”
“He spoke to my brother on the fields after the battle. There was nought he could do, but he spoke with him. Gave me his last words. My lord.”
“He sharpened my blade last, sire. I was out for a cough and he did it himself. I can’t kill a man with the axe he sharpened.”
In fact, Arthur hadn’t asked for the headsman, just as he hadn’t asked for Merlin to be in the dungeons. He wasn’t entirely sure when his kingdom decided to plod along without him, but Arthur seemed to have blinked and everyone decided to just carry on.
If Arthur had half a mind, or even a quarter, he supposed it was because that look Merlin had given him in the dungeons still hadn’t left him. It had frozen him, stunned him more throughly than a blade. The confession he hadn’t so much as suspected. I have magic.
He’d known something was wrong for months, or at least, the two months it had been since his father died. Merlin had pulled him aside after the mourning had finished and asked him to take a day off with him in a month. Arthur had tried to get a rise out of him, the king’s manservant for two minutes and you’re asking for a break already, but it had been met somberly, with none of the matching humor.
Arthur had been like a groomer before putting down a hound. Merlin had woken him late, fetched all his favorites, and told him they were going out into the woods. He’d already gotten the horses saddled and packed, all they had to do was leave.
It was the first real breath Arthur had taken since putting on this suffocating weight of the crown. The endless meetings and decisions and people trying to test how long his patience would last.
It was a perfect day, which was why he knew something was wrong. They had chatted endlessly, about nothing. Merlin told him snippets of gossip and Arthur had the freedom to choose his words about fellow nobles carelessly. The freedom of honesty over diplomacy.
Merlin had set up a sort of camp for them by the river, pulling out all sorts of foods and a blanket. To sit and bask in the sun for a while, watching as Merlin ran his hands through the grass as he did Lamerei’s mane.
Too soon they were due back. Though they did not allow that to spoil their enjoyment.
When the horses had been returned to the stables and Merlin had brought up their dinner, tossing grapes at Arthur with the accuracy of someone who spent time in the pillory and not aiming for it, their enjoyment gentled. There was a peacefulness in the dark that wasn’t the same brightness as the noon sun on a clear day. Arthur had allowed a single glass of wine for them both, though Merlin hadn’t seemed to finish his.
It has been a soft day, a warm one. Theirs above all else.
“I have one last thing for the day, sire. Though I must apologize that it will quite ruin the mood.”
Merlin had led him out of his chambers and towards the dungeons. And still Arthur could fathom no reason why.
Not until he had walked himself into a cell, a hound putting itself down, and confessed.
I have magic.
Merlin did not look as though he would be moved, and Arthur could not divine what to say. He felt submerged beneath ice. Rigid and airless, unable to claw his was towards the surface. Towards sense.
He’s shown little courtesy, though he wasn’t sure Merlin would fault him, dazed as he was. Arthur had drifted back up into the castle, leaving Merlin to the quiet cell. Merlin hadn’t offered him anything else, but then Arthur hadn’t asked him too. It was not the sort of thing that could be settled, no score would calm that piece of himself, and he suspected for Merlin, it was the same.
His morning had begun with a sort of parade. First, the headsmen, who had made it clear none in the citadel or lower town would be bought for any price. Maybe even the whole of the kingdom. Though Arthur had not offered one.
Next, his staff. George had no prattle for him, the kitchens only scraps. The steward would not meet his eyes and the laundresses had tinted his tunics.
The guards would not acknowledge him or so much as look at him. But then, he knew it would be the knights he had to worry about. Gwaine found him in the middle of listening to all the castle staff.
“This is how you reward his loyalty?”
It could be none but Gwaine who said this, interrupting Arthur’s dawning understanding that Merlin has spent the last month putting his affairs in order. Putting Arthur’s affairs in order by speaking to almost every staff member he could about what to do in his absence. Who to have take on Merlin’s tasks, since he’d guessed that Arthur would decline all attempts at taking a new manservant. And Merlin’s own reluctance to suggest one since none could guarantee their loyalty. Oh yes, Gwaine had said something.
“What would you have me do?”
Gwaine looked like he would fight his way through the laundresses and throttle him.
“Getting him out of that blasted dungeon would be a start.”
Arthur gestured for the laundresses to leave, he didn’t want to risk Gwaine’s direct approach being too direct.
“To what end?”
Gwaine was standing before him now, before the throne, and Arthur was focused on his sword. Not drawn, but there all the same.
“The ban.”
He nodded, because of course Gwaine of all people would get to the point. Arthur looked from the sword to Gwaine’s face and no longer saw outrage.
“You didn’t put him in the dungeons.”
Arthur was tempted to laugh.
“No. He did that himself, last night. Closed the door behind him.”
Gwaine blew out a breath and muttered a few words under his breath that Arthur himself had often cursed, selfless, idiot.
“And you let him?”
At this Arthur did laugh.
“When has he ever given the impression that he listens to me?”
Gwaine seemed to be really looking at him now.
Considering him.
“So how do you plan to get him out?”
And that was the question, wasn’t it.
“Well, the headsmen won’t execute him. The staff have been trying to impress upon me that there really is no one who can take over his responsibilities. His duties to the king. My guards won’t acknowledge me and so far only one of my knights has turned up to discuss treason. Where are the others?”
Gwaine shot him a grin.
“I pulled the short straw. The rest are down with him, though I think there was a line last I checked.”
He still hadn’t thawed completely. He felt numb as one did after a blow, though he could still move his arms. Gwaine has forcing him through his range of motion, conversationally leading Arthur through his paces. Not letting him falter or quit the session altogether. Not after only a single blow.
“Could you send someone to the kitchens? Don’t say it’s for me but have it sent to the library. And ask Gaius to meet me there. I think we’ll have to have a long talk with Geoffrey.”
if u ever think ur being overly petty and bitter just remember there once was a portuguese prince whose dad assassinated the woman he loved & when he became king he literally had her body exhumed & placed upon the throne as his queen & forced the portuguese nobility (aka most of his father’s supporters) to pledge their alliance to her & kiss the hem of her clothes so that they would “render her when dead that homage which she had not received in her life” (x)
okay so like, this is one of my favorite parts of Portuguese history
and it’s not because I have the same name as her or anything (even tho it’s definitely a factor - because how cool is that?!? - and I kinda used - and sometimes still use, let’s be real here - that as an excuse to call myself a queen because reASONS and shut up you would do the same)
but because that shit is like the stuff of legends and there is a whole myth surrounding their love story and the supposed place where she was killed - on the king’s orders near a fountain in the farm where she secretly lived with prince Pedro - because there’s a red stain there and it’s said that when she was stabbed she cried for the king’s men to spare her children (if memory serves me right) and her tears landed on the fountain and turned red because she was terribly devastated and in pain thinking only of her children and how she was going to leave them without a mother when in the last moments of her life…
and also, you know that prince? before he did that thing when he exhumed her just to make her ~officially~ his queen - and have everyone who ever opposed to them and their love kiss her clothes to pay her homage and the respect she did not have in life?? like that shit savage bro - he did another thing, even more savage than that
he searched the whole country for the two dudes who stabbed her (there was a third but I think he died or smth), even went to spain because one of them fled the country after the king died, and he fucking RIPPED their hearts out (one from the front and one from the back, because Inês was stabbed from both sides too) and tortured them in public, y'know, as you do
and that, my dear friends, is why the story of Pedro and Inês is considered one of the best love stories on our country (and I would say the world too because that shit better than anything Shakespeare or Nicholas Sparks ever wrote and it was fucking real)
my boy Pedro didn’t fuck around when you fucked with his lady, and you lyin’ if you say you don’t want you a freak like this - this Extra™, this ride or die, this savage - when it comes to love.
listen up, girls and boys, take note: follow their example and get yourselves a freak who would crown you queen after you were killed
TL;DR: basically Portuguese history has the best love story in the world and its the most savage thing you could imagine. go look it up - the story of Pedro and Inês. *mic drop*
People thinking this is fake is genuinely why I insist there is more history outside BBC shows about the Tudors. Yall are missing on some prime telenovela shit here on the little iberian peninsula
This is one of my favorite posts because that cat’s fucking name is fucking meatloaf
Let us just appreciate that this person’s dad didn’t know when they would be home and so he couldn’t plan for them to be able to join the family for dinner, but he knew with no doubts that dear sweet Meatloaf staying in that exact position for hours was an absolute in this scenario. Truly, that cat was named well.
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