#vainglory.closed

They didn’t remember much. Not out of choice, but in that Khaos was a being that connected to forever. They didn’t think it possible to retain memories when new ones were so easily given. However, there were a few souls that existed, and moments that were too enjoyable to forget. Lucky for those people, such a being as unremorseful as Khaos would take the time out of forever to see them. 

It was quite the feat that the invitation managed to lure them here. The only reason being Khaos happened to be in Marbrooke for the last decade or so and caught onto it. There was one person whom had to be seen, perhaps because Khaos wondered if they are the reason they are being asked to stay longer than desired. They appeared on the front stoop of a well hidden house, charming in it’s own unique way. The sun was rising soon, the edge of it on the horizon painting the sky already in its pastel hues.  

They sat down on the step, waiting and watching the sun rise up, knowing eventually the other would stumble upon them. 

“i cannot imagine how busy you are right now,” merlin announces, the words coming along with two cups of tea, steam curling up from the surface. “thus why i’ve sworn off of politics for the last few centuries, and i think i’ll do it for a few more.” the joke is obvious in his tone, but it is something of a serious threat. at this point, the only advising he does is for friends, and of course for arthur. it’s the old patterns. with the harvest looming on the horizon, both close and distant at once, it’s not surprising that people are looking for guidance, especially those too young to remember the last one. the tea cups clink softly as they touch the tabletop, and one of the cats winds their way across the apartment towards arthur steadily. the cats by now are familiar with arthur.

even now, centuries later, they find time to talk every so often, or when it seems most necessary. and sometimes for no reason at all. merlin finds himself fond

how many years does it take to forget something? or maybe forgive is the better word, but it sounds more dire.

the answer varies, really, especially when it comes to anyone longer lived than the average mortal lifespans. everything seems to intensify: love, hate, grief, all of it. and then eventually things level out. they numb. you get far enough away from the event and look back. it almost seems quaint then. strange, to have invested so deeply. and then there’s the round table, which is something that still lingers in merlin’s mind, as clear as the day it was formed. it took machinations and schemes and plans and one simple thing to destroy it, which, of course, was love.

not that he entirely blames lancelot. it’s become clear that the heart does what it will, and that’s part of the reason that he sometimes invites lancelot over to tea.

“i hope there’s not a scarf hidden somewhere on you,” he says to her, half-distracted by the arranging of mugs, varying degrees of ugly and mangled. “at this rate i’ll have to start making requests. maybe a blanket for one of the cats. nina’s frightened easily and likes to burrow under things.” the cat in question peers out from under merlin’s coat, left hanging on the back of a chair and pulled down by unruly claws, her ears back. he pulls his coat back up and shoos her away from the chair. “ah — how have you been? well, i hope?”

“don’t scare thelonious again,” merlin says halfway through opening the door, one foot shoved aside to keep billie and nina from skittering out. they love morgana. in fact, three of them do, minus thelonious, who is the most skittish and anxious of all the cats and thus merlin’s favorite. something about projecting yourself onto your pets, maybe, a critique morgana would probably make if he ever voiced this opinion. but he keeps it to himself, the little creature comforts he’s made, and he moves about the smallness of his apartment like he could do it without a single sense at all. it is hard to escape patterns, after you’ve lived long enough. morgana would know, but at the same time, she’s better at changing things up than he is. then again, she brings chaos everywhere with her.

much to his many and varied complaints.

things are busy where they weren’t previously. and that in itself is something that irks him. the easiest thing in the world is to create a kind of precision when it comes to a schedule. a routine. you do certain actions to ward off certain things, like boredom or too much quiet. merlin has spent years perfecting his routines, and building them in such ways that they’re elastic. they can work with just about anything. except, well — this. he spent more than enough time wandering and the whole point was to settle, and now he feels unmoored. old friends. old enemies, as rarely as he commits to enemies any more. enemies were for back in the era of chivalry and knights and myth that he managed to outlast, and now things are ever so more complicated, even when he would prefer them to be anything but.

the future is something he could look into, if he wanted, but things are too murky. it would be like peering into the depths of a clouded pool and trying to see the bottom from the surface. pointless. a waste of time.

one of the cats winds between his legs, meowing, and merlin mutters a reprisal under his breath, no real fire behind it. “alright,” he says mildly. “i assume you want something. neither of us are the type to catch up, i’d say, and if you’re going to ask what’s going to happen then — well, i’m not a magic-8 ball. the best answer you’ll get from me is that the answer’s unclear, wait and see.”