The more rational side of Arthur realises how absolutely absurd, completely impossible, entirely ridiculous the whole of the situation is, but then the man claiming to be Albion punches him in the shoulder with a cheeky grin and an offhand insult, and all rationality is lost in lieu of tackling his own country to the ground - a concept he's sure to have a headache and a bloody nose over later on.
There was a moment, just once in the first decade away from Asgard, where Mimir looked up from his work to find Honir in the courtyard helping the castle maids hang sheets up to dry, laughing as he undoubtedly coerced them into gossiping about whatever lord or lady had last slept in them, that made the god of philosophy wonder exactly how far they'd travelled from home.
He was so much like Arthur and his bullheaded Knights that it was terribly easy to affix her trademark smirk, lean in just so, and murmur "Please, don't let me keep you from your bedtime, Dean Winchester."
She stopped for one second, just one second too long, that a hand reached out for hers and Kate looked up to find Arthur equally out of breath, bruised, bloody, grinning, and she took his hand knowing they would make it through just fine.
Arthur's only thought as he watches Rose in his cloak and crown, swinging Excalibur about haphazardly, is that she is never going to let him hear the end of this.
Merlin knows the fire's gone out when Arthur snuffles discontentedly in his sleep and curls closer around his body like he isn't wearing thirty pounds of armour and chainmail in the presence of five of his Knights on a mission for the King, so he sighs and sleeps and pretends to be put out when Arthur complains in the morning.
The King is too young and the Doctor is too old and they've both been on the wrong side of too many wars, but the only thing left to say to each other is a hand on the shoulder when the warning bells start ringing.
Arthur shifts uncomfortably, uncertainty burning in his throat, but Dean says to trust him and Arthur does, so he breathes in deep, relaxes, and throws the amber liquid into the back of his throat with a hiss.
There's something to be said for destiny and fate and being born into a divine purpose, yet with all the power of the world at their fingertips, they sit and watch their friends make fools of themselves and it's enough, for awhile, just be able to smile.
If someone were to ask, Buffy would be entirely fault for their standing in front of a large metal fan, but all fingers point to Gwaine's obnoxious grin for the shirtlessness.
He's seen her only once, felt her cold ( deathly cold, unearthly cold ) fingertips brush across his forehead just the once, but every now and then, Arthur looks in the mirror and doesn't see tired lines or shadows of exhaustion and a burden too great for one man to bear but sees instead the eyes of a mother filled with wonder, pride, love, and he looks away.
They call each other Lord and Lady; they speak of celestial bodies and the wonders of the sky; they pretend they're normal and stay in fairy tales and science fiction for just one moment longer; but for all that they spend their time talking about the things they aren't, River knows what they are, and the magic is in Merlin's smile.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject