#surgeon merlin

[theroundbartable]

Arthur: what the HELL are you doing, Merlin??? You're killing him!!!!

Merlin *through the coms*: Arthur, I need you to stay calm. I know what I'm doing

Arthur: you just cut that guys chest open!

Merlin: Arthur, I need you to breath. Caleb, keep the wound open; Sarah, get the heart ready

Arthur: you're taking out his HEART?

Merlin: I am a physician, Arthur, I know what I'm doing

Arthur: you're cutting that man's heart out!!!!

Second surgeon: Dr. Emrys, should we have the trespasser removed?

Merlin: does he have a sword with him?

Surgeon: ... No?

Merlin *very calm*: good. The entrance is protected by several medicine students and Arthur's lacking sense of direction. But Excalibur can kill the undead, so I'm not sure if a bulletproof window could stop him.

Surgeon: i beg your pardon?

Arthur: MERLIN, I know you can do magic, but this is dark, even for you!

Merlin: Eddie, we're ready for the exchange. Arthur, calm down. This is science, not magic. Science has evolved since you've last been around.

Eddie: when has he last been around?

Arthur: *hectically searching for something to break the window*

Merlin: Five minutes ago if he doesn't shut up. Alright, Eddie, we're good to go.

Arthur: *throws chair and fails to break the glass*

... Later... In the wake up room

Arthur: Sir? Sir! Can you hear me? Do you still feel like the same person?

Patient: *dizzy from Anaesthesia* you got golden hair mate. You must be rich

Merlin: Arthur, you are trespassing. You should not be in here.

Arthur: look at what you did! He's lost his mind! Has no idea who he is!!!

Merlin: that's cause he's on drugs. I'm gonna wait til he's fine and tell him he got through it all okay.

Arthur: wait- he slept through all that?

Merlin: it's one hell of a drug

[pollyna]

au in which Goose is a Navy surgeon, Mav flies with Merlin and the pair Iceman and Slider is infamous because of Iceman abilities but for all the scandal Slider takes with him, dating so openly another man's wife.

Or how Mav gets to know Goose after the first night at the O-Club because his wife runs all the way to the tall man drinking beer and laughing at something the Iceman said, before kissing him in front of everyone.

[dollopheadedmerlin]

I think it's so funny when people draw Merlin characters with stuff like top surgery scars because it carries the implication that Gaius is a leading medieval gender confirmation surgeon

[oneknightstand-if]

I need angst

What would the RO's reactions be if they saw a serious MC having a mental breakdown?

A lot of this depends upon the situation. Are they alone with the MC or with the others? Are they in a safe spot or in the middle of an emergency? High affinity? Romance? Subplot completed?

Assuming high affinity, but still relatively early in the plot...

Merlin: *another tuesday, another mortal having as mental breakdown* There, there, yes, get it all out of your system. I can't lie and say it will be all right, but still-- *gets dropkicked by Adrian*

Adrian: *is the most freaked out here since he's the one who understands how out of character this is for the MC* *rubs MC's back -- unless this is touch averse MC -- and insert one of the scenes already in the game where Adrian comforts hyperventilating MC*

Arthur: *drapes his cloak over the MC and waits nearby for them to calm down so they can talk things out*

Percy: *hand on MC's shoulder, random guinea pig left in MC's hands*

4̵0̷4̵ ̶E̸r̵r̸o̶r̶ ̷N̸o̶t̶ ̵F̶o̶u̵n̷d̸: In the end, this is what you willingly ̷̢͗c̵̫̖͚͛h̴͕͋̃͂o̴̘͔͂̓̾s̷̢̞̩̣͝e̶͉̐̋.̵̹̞͂̏̉͝. (Oh boy, don't expect sympathy coming from this corner)

Cassandra: *quietly agrees with Merlin's assessment of the situation if not exactly the way it's being handled* It's all right... you've earned the right to a bit of a break, haven't you?

Gwen: *may or may not also be having a sympathetic breakdown right next to the MC*

Vivian: There's always a way out of it. Shall I take this burden from you? (Surgeon General's Warning: Deals with the fae can have unfortunate consequences)

Lorelei: *is standing protectively nearby, but will be leaving the comforting words to someone else who's better at it*

Broderick: Yeah... yeah...it's like that *sympathetic hand on MC's shoulder from one of the other sane party members*

[foursthemagicknumber]

Krel: My hungry ass could never be a brain surgeon

Steve: What do you mean

Jim: Dude what?

Blinky: An explanation is necessary

Merlin from beyond the grave: What the hell?

Douxie: Mood.

[epic-sorcerer]

Transcript of a conversation I just had with my freind:

Me: Merlin x Arthur x gwen is pretty popular, and like conceptually I guess it makes sense why but I just can’t get into it. Like I feel like it would be so clear Arthur isn’t pulling his weight. Imagine being Merlin and having both Arthur and gwen together and like…having them side by side. they couldn’t compare. I feel like it would immediately dispand

Friend: yeah, like what does gwen even see in him?

Me: yeah like at least Merlin and Arthur make some sense bc of destiny and stuff. Merlin is extremely obsessed. Alos like they would totally be trapped in the same special ed room together. Forced to do group projects. God what did we even do in special ed I can’t even remember….idk talk about Feeling Words?

Friend: yeah lol just talking about how they’re feeling. What would giaus be, like the councilor?

Me: idk i mean I guess he’d be the school nurse?

Freind: idk I kind of see giaus as a councilor

Me: I mean to be fair if you were a medival docter you did everything. Like you were a psychologist, psychiatrist, surgeon, gynocologist, pediatrician, etc. like you did everything. That’s why it’s just giaus doing that job like it takes a lot.

Friend: that’s not overwhelming at all!

Me: haha yeah…idk what would gwen be? Idk I feel like she has strong kindergarten teacher/social worker vibes- wait. That’s why they got together Arthur needs a social worker lmao

[sporadicnerdunknown]

Merlin fanfictions I would like to write (but I won't because I'm too lazy)

Merlin adopting Mordred instead of bringing him back to the druids (I don't remember if Uther had seen Mordred's face but even if he had, that issue could be solved by Merlin using a spell or a potion to change Mordred's face). Arthur could get to know Mordred and realise magic isn't evil ?

Blue Monday by ExpectNothingGainEverything is probably one of my favourite fic and I think a merthur version could be amazing

Soulmate Au where you instinctively get/buy what your soulmate need : Arthur would be confused everytime he feels the need to get bandages/magic books/etc

modern AU where Arthur and Merlin are both med students and Arthur is trying to become a surgeon because his father wants him to, and Merlin helps Arthur understands that it's okay to do whatever he wants to do

Merlin casting a spell to make sure every major wounds Arthur should be getting is transferred to Merlin's body

[merlinjoyer]

What if Merlin just stopped time for Arthur

In the most desperate moment he didn't realize how he stopped time for Arthur so Arthur wouldn't die. Of course in this condition Merlin wouldn't feel his heartbeat or his breathing — it is impossible if the time is frozen

And the piece of dragon sword is still there. Magic is useless to pull it out... so Merlin is waiting for some top surgeons to help Arthur

[fictionalmedicshowdown]

Gaius (Merlin)

The Court Physician of Camelot. He has a great knowledge of sorcery and the legends associated with it, having studied and practised it for many years before the Great Purge. [source]

vs

Hiiro Kagami (Kamen Rider: Ex-Aid)

Known as a "genius surgeon", he beats up diseases and also does actual doctor things too. He performs surgery on his rival to save his life and it is very gay.

[theroundbartable]

After Camlann, years, years after, Merlin keeps searching for Arthur.

He will return when Albion needs him most.

That's why Merlin decides to serve. In fact, he's the reason why people call going to war 'serving' because Merlin refuses to call his own days as trauma surgeon anything less. He's searching for a reckless leader, a moron who'll jump right into fire if given the chance.

The soldiers know they need Merlin. And it almost seems like Merlin is immortal with how lucky he gets on each mission. He never finds him, but he saves a bazillion lives in all the countries and battlefield's in the world.

The world, however, stopped needing war heroes a very long time ago.

Arthur is, instead, reborn as a very funky looking influencer, who's been shooting insults at the government for years when he suddenly decides to Interview war veterans.

[daisymintt]

Gwaine: You're in good hands with Merlin. Nimble, agile hands. Surgeon's hands, really. He once removed a boil from his own thigh using a paper clip and a warm can of Sprite.

[mercyfuls]

⊠    ɪᴅ  .  .  .  ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ    ›› DOMNHALL MACRUAID ;

• fifty2 + cis man + he / him . • tactical agent ; on the payroll for thirty1 years . • agent merlin : probability perception .

mathematical  equations  scrawled  across  a  blackboard,  not  one  inch  free  of  chalk  ;  a  story  before  bedtime,  read  sitting  in  a  beanbag  chair  with  children  curled  on  either  side  ;   soft  singing  lulling  you  to  sleep,  a  promise  of  a  brighter  future  whispered  and  forgotten.

PERSONAL DETAILS ;

a. full name : domnhall alasdair macruaid b. preferred name : dom / domnhall c. aliases : none

d. age : fifty-two ( 52 ) e. date of birth : 5 october 1996 f. place of birth : glasgow, scotland

g. gender : cis man h. pronouns : he / him i. orientation : bisexual

j. hometown : glasgow, scotland k. current residence : apex city, united states

l. first language : english m. subsequent languages : scots gaelic, german, dutch

n. highest education : doctor of molecular and cellular medicine

EMPLOYMENT DETAILS ;

o. years employed : thirty-one ( 31 ) p. faction : tactical q. previous faction : biomedical r. codename : merlin

s. mutation : probability perception — the ability to view the probability of any particular outcome. t. strengths : mathematics, biology, strategy u. weaknesses : lack of empathy, ruthlessness, public speaking

FAMILIAL DETAILS ;

v. father : alasdair iain macruaid ( eighty-seven, retired surgeon ) w. mother : niamh o'neill ( eighty-four, retired history lecturer ) x. siblings : cormac eoin macruaid ( fifty-eight, aeronautical engineer ) ; aoife caitriona macruaid ( forty-nine, chemistry lecturer )

HISTORY ;

born in glasgow on a rainy afternoon, the second child of one of the glasgow royal infirmary's top surgeons, dom was a remarkably average baby. this averageness continued throughout his childhood, school marks just high enough to prevent his siblings taunting him, and extracurriculars — football & piano — only narrowly squeezed in to the family schedule between cormac's maths competitions, aoife's titration competitions and their parents' work.

things changed once dom started university. with aoife still in high school, and cormac having moved out to pursue his own career, there was less competition for their parents' attention, and fewer siblings to be compared to and found lacking. and dom had found something that genuinely interested him — medicine. though it was following in his father's footsteps, he did so at oxford, moving to england for his studies, and thus escaped the shadow of familial achievements.

dom was scouted while at university, a tactical agent recruited from the same faculty having visited to investigate whether there were any promising students. ( the answer to that question was obviously yes, because dom's here, isn't he ? ) it was his first year of the clinical portion of his undergraduate studies, and they saw something in him that they didn't see in others — maybe it was the way he handled patients, or his attitude towards dire situations, or something else entirely. dom doesn't know, and neither does anyone else, but the fact remains that he passed all the training as a junior agent with flying colours, moving to the role of a biomedical agent as soon as he had completed his doctorate.

he was part of the biomedical faction of mercy for fifteen years, something of a legend for his willingness to push the boundaries of what should be possible — all thanks to his mutation of probability perception. knowing what actions will and won't lead to worse outcomes is a very valuable skill in medical fields, particularly when working with an experimental drug such as solaris.

two years ago, dom was moved from the biomedical to the tactical faction of mercy. now, he uses his ability, along with those fifteen years of experience, to strategise and plan missions — as well as reviewing the work of his once-protegés, and investigating potential future recruits.

APPLICATION ;

⊠    ɪᴅ  .  .  .  ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ    ››    [    david  tennant    /      fifty2    /    cis  man    /    he/him    ]   mercy  headquarters  is  pleased  to  officially  introduce  DOMNHALL  MACRUAID.  they  have  been  apart  of  the  organization  for  thirty-one  years,  serving  as  A  TACTICAL  agent  and  has  been  assigned  the  codename  AGENT  MERLIN. it's  worth  noting  that  their  file  indicates  they  have  undergone  the  solaris  treatment  and  host  PROBABILITY  PERCEPTION.  according  to  our  dossier,  the  agent  exhibits  a  combination  of  JUDICIOUS  and  CALCULATING,  fitting  for  someone  reminiscent  of  mathematical  equations  scrawled  across  a  blackboard,  not  one  inch  free  of  chalk  ;  a  story  before  bedtime,  read  sitting  in  a  beanbag  chair  with  children  curled  on  either  side  ;  soft  singing  lulling  you  to  sleep,  a  promise  of  a  brighter  future  whispered  and  forgotten.  prior  to  embarking  on  any  mission,  the  find  solace  in  listening  to  the  song  “weather with you“  by  CROWDED  HOUSE.  (  thyme.  twenty1.  they/them.  aedt.  none  )

[whatevergreen]

A satyrical prose poem by Judy Grahn that I came across earlier (and is probably well known to some). It's funny. And grim. But very funny.

THE PSYCHOANALYSIS OF EDWARD THE DYKE

"Behind the brown door which bore the gilt letters of Dr. Merlin Knox's name, Edward the Dyke was lying on the doctor's couch which was so luxurious and long that her feet did not even hang over the edge.

"Dr. Knox," Edward began, "my problem this week is chiefly concerning restrooms."

"Aahh," the good doctor sighed. Gravely he drew a quick sketch of a restroom in his notebook.

"Naturally I can't go into men's restrooms without feeling like an interloper, but on the other hand every time I try to use the ladies room I get into trouble."

"Umm," said Dr. Knox, drawing a quick sketch of a door marked 'Ladies'.

"Four days ago I went into the powder room of a department store and three middle-aged housewives came in and thought I was a man. As soon as I explained to them that I was really only a harmless dyke, the trouble began…"

"You compulsively attacked them."

"Oh heavens no, indeed not. One of them turned on the water faucet and tried to drown me with wet paper towels, but the other two began screaming something about how well did I know Gertrude Stein and what sort of underwear did I have on, and they took my new cuff links and socks for souvenirs. They had my head in the trash can and were cutting pieces off my shirttail when luckily a policeman heard my calls for help and rushed in. He was able to divert their attention by shooting at me, thus giving me a chance to escape through the window."

Carefully Dr. Knox noted in his notebook: 'Apparent suicide attempt after accosting girls in restroom.' "My child," he murmured in feathery tones, "have no fear. You must trust us. We will cure you of this deadly affliction, and before you know it you'll be all fluffy and wonderful with dear babies and a bridge club of your very own." He drew a quick sketch of a bridge club. "Now let me see. I believe we estimated that after only four years of intensive therapy and two years of anti-intensive therapy, plus a few minor physical changes and you'll be exactly the little girl we've always wanted you to be." Rapidly Dr. Knox thumbed through an index on his desk. "Yes yes. This year the normal cup size is 56 inches. And waist 12 and 1/2. Nothing a few well-placed hormones can't accomplish in these advanced times. How tall did you tell me you were?"

"Six feet, four inches," replied Edward.

"Oh, tsk tsk." Dr. Knox did some figuring. "Yes, I'm afraid that will definitely entail extracting approximately 8 inches from each leg, including the knee-cap…standing a lot doesn't bother you, does it my dear?"

"Uh," said Edward, who couldn't decide.

"I assure you the surgeon I have in mind for you is remarkably successful." He leaned far back in his chair. "Now tell me, briefly, what the word 'homosexuality means to you, in your own words."

"Love flowers pearl, of delighted arms. Warm and water. Melting of vanilla wafer in the pants. Pink petal roses trembling overdew on the lips, soft and juicy fruit. No teeth. No nasty spit. Lips chewing oysters without grimy sand or whiskers. Pastry. Gingerbread. Warm, sweet bread. Cinnamon toast poetry. Justice equality higher wages. Independent angel song. It means I can do what I want."

"Now my dear," Dr. Knox said, "Your disease has gotten completely out of control. We scientists know of course that it's a highly pleasurable experience to take someone's penis or vagina into your mouth - it's pleasurable and enjoyable. Everyone knows that. But after you've taken a thousand pleasurable penises or vaginas into your mouth and had a thousand people take your pleasurable penis or vagina into their mouth, what have you accomplished? What have you got to show for it? Do you have a wife or children or a husband or a home or a trip to Europe? Do you have a bridge club to show for it? No! You have only a thousand pleasurable experiences to show for it. Do you see how you're missing the meaning of life? How sordid and depraved are these clandestine sexual escapades in parks and restrooms? I ask you."

"But sir but sir," said Edward, "I'm a woman. I don't have sexual escapades in parks or restrooms. I don't have a thousand lovers - I have one lover."

"Yes yes." Dr. Knox flicked the ashes from his cigar, onto the floor. "Stick to the subject, my dear."

"We were in college then," Edward said. "She came to me out of the silky midnight mist, her slips rustling like cow thieves, her hair blowing in the wind like Gabriel. Lying in my arms harps played soft in dry firelight, Oh Bach. Oh Brahms. Oh Buxtehude. How sweetly we got along how well we got the woods pregnant with canaries and parakeets, barefoot in the grass alas pigeons, but it only lasted ten years and she was gone, poof! like a puff of wheat."

"You see the folly of these brief, physical embraces. But tell me the results of our experiment we arranged for your last session."

"Oh yes. My real date. Well I bought a dress and a wig and a girdle and a squeezy bodice. I did unspeakable things to my armpits with a razor. I had my hair done and my face done and my nails done. My roast done. My bellybutton done."

"And then you felt truly feminine."

"I felt truly immobilized. I could no longer run, walk bend stoop move my arms or spread my feet apart."

"Good, good."

"Well, everything went pretty well during dinner, except my date was only 5'3" and oh yes. One of my eyelashes fell into the soup - that wasn't too bad. I hardly noticed it going down. But then my other eyelash fell on my escort's sleeve and he spent five minutes trying to kill it."

Edward sighed. "But the worst part came when we stood up to go. I rocked back on my heels as I pushed my chair back under the table and my shoes - you see they were three inchers, raising me to 6'7", and with all my weight on those teeny little heels…"

"Yes, yes."

"I drove the spikes all the way into the thick carpet and could no longer move. Oh, everyone was nice about it. My escort offered to get the check and to call in the morning to see how I had made out and the manager found a little saw and all. But, Dr. Knox, you must understand that my underwear was terribly binding and the room was hot…"

"Yes, yes."

"So I fainted. I didn't mean to, I just did. That's how I got my ankles broken."

Dr. Knox cleared his throat. "It's obvious to me, young lady, that you have failed to control your P.E."

"My God," said Edward, glancing quickly at her crotch, "I took a bath just before I came."

"This oral eroticism of yours is definitely rooted in Penis Envy, which showed when you deliberately castrated your date by publicly embarrassing him."

Edward moaned. "But strawberries. But lemon cream pie."

"Narcissism," Dr. Knox droned, "Masochism, Sadism. Admit you want to kill your mother."

"Marshmallow bluebird," Edward groaned, eyes softly rolling. "Looking at the stars. April in May."

"Admit you want to possess your father. Mother substitute. Breast suckle."

"Graham cracker subway," Edward writhed, slobbering. "Pussy willow summer."

"Admit you have a smegmatic personality," Dr. Knox intoned.

Edward rolled to the floor. "I am vile! I am vile!"

Dr. Knox flipped a switch at his elbow and immediately a picture of a beautiful woman appeared on a screen over Edward's head. The doctor pressed another switch and electric shocks jolted through her spine. Edward screamed. He pressed another switch, stopping the flow of electricity. Another switch and a photo of a gigantic erect male organ flashed into view, coated in powdered sugar. Dr. Knox handed Edward a lollipop.

She sat up. "I'm saved," she said, tonguing the lollipop.

"Your time is up," Dr. Knox said. "Your check please. Come back next week."

"Yes sir yes sir,” Edward said as she went out the brown door. In his notebook, Dr. Knox made a quick sketch of his bank.

Judy Grahn (published in Edward the Dyke and Other Poems, 1971)

[h50europe]

LOVE IS A STRANGER - #MERTHUR AU now Chapter 1 + 2 on AO3 - Merlin Emrys is a brilliant trauma surgeon who, after divorcing his husband, decides to swear off men. A resolution that doesn't last long. While vacationing at his beach house, he meets a new, handsome neighbor, Arthur Pendragon. He is captivated by this mysterious man who is charming, smart, funny and probably a professional killer, given his nocturnal activities. In any case, he tends to have a dry, if not arid, sense of humor that completely unsettles Merlin. The tables are set for a hilarious, romantic cat-and-mouse game that changes into drama fueled by intrigues. Oh, and then there is Arthur's little daughter Amelia… (no magic involved in this plot)

[cbk1000]

Ok, listen, since I am a bad person who said I would post this two weeks ago, and since Ao3 is down, here are the first few pages of the vet fic, and I will try and be the change I want to see by editing the first part and posting it this week.

The Dales in the morning light were ethereal. Less ethereal was the flat tyre which Merlin received, courtesy of a nail which some berk had jettisoned from their flatbed, and left in the road for such innocent recipients as a man barreling along at the speed of It’s a Bloody Nice Day, and singing accompaniment to Lady Gaga. So what had started off as a day of impossible sun, which brought out every colour there was, now was a little more dingy; now had assured that the lustre was off not only his mood, but his person, which had to crawl about under the truck to get on the spare with some cursing as multihued as the hillsides. There was a reasonable expectation of muck in his line of work, but he had not thought to be wearing it before getting down in it with whatever animal was ailing, and especially not before he had made an impression of youthful competence on some clients who had been used all these long decades to that shuffling figure of experience which had been bringing their livelihood into the world and seeing it humanely out for all their working lives.

So he had had to wipe off the worst of it with the paper towel in which he had carried his breakfast, holding the toast in his mouth whilst he used its wrapper to make himself vaguely presentable, and then going along in a slightly more subdued manner, for the sake of the spare, in the sunlight which urged him to speed. He made the drive for Pendragon Farm Stud fifteen minutes later than he had meant to make it, and parking outside the stables, got out of the truck with his kit and his wellies, turning back his sleeves and kicking the door shut with his heel. There was a man coming on down the drive, bearing the presence of Ownership; a blonde and rather fit-looking man round Merlin’s age, when he had thought to meet with one near Gaius’. The man stopped at the same moment Merlin stopped. He was dressed in tailored slacks and jacket, and looking at him as if Merlin had done something dreadful to him. Now he was closer Merlin noticed he was not rather fit but extremely fit; and his jawline was modelled from stone. In the sunlight his hair was one with the dazzle, as if he were wearing a cap of it; and then he opened his mouth, and spoke from the depths of Eton, turning himself, immediately and alarmingly, into one of those posh precious bollocks whom Merlin had brawled at uni. 

“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded.

“Er, Uther? Pendragon? I’m Merlin. My uncle Gaius said he’d told you to expect me? Sorry. He swore to me he remembered to tell you.”

“I’m not Uther, I’m his son, Arthur. Where’s Gaius?”

“Back at the practice. He’s sent me to do his rounds.”

“So Gaius has sent some--lackey to check on our multimillion-dollar horses?”

“No, he’s sent his nephew. I’ve come to help him with the practice. He’s reducing his hours. He’s going to have me start picking up a lot of the livestock work.”

“Why on earth is he doing that?” Arthur snapped.

“Because he’s old as fuck?” Merlin replied, shifting the bag in his hand to the other hand. He would have liked to hit Arthur in the nose with it. It was a rather big nose; shaped for his face, and also for punching.

“He’s what?”

“He’s really old!” Merlin shouted, enunciating helpfully. “So he’s sending me, his far younger, more charming nephew, to start picking up the work that’s getting too hard on him anymore.” And he dimpled, to show that the charming bit was not mere empty wind.

Arthur ignored the dimples. “And what exactly are your qualifications?”

“Six years at the Royal College of Veterinarian Surgeons, like every other qualified vet. And about five years practising.”

“You look young.”

“I’m nearly thirty. I’ve been out of school nearly six years.”

“Well,” Arthur said imperiously, “Gaius has been practising nearly thirty years. So he’s just handing off his life’s work to some…little--upstart…baby?”

Now the urge to punch him was not only fomenting but seething; he had a little height on him, and practical muscle, gotten from wrestling pigs who did not want to be castrated, rather than the gym, and fancied he could give this bloke some manners before his fat head had registered there was any such lunacy as politeness being drubbed into it. He shifted the bag again. “Yeah, you sure look like you’ve got ages and ages on me; or is that just posh skincare? Are you actually an old, withered knob, or just acting like one?”

“Am I what?” Arthur blurted out, and spontaneously invented a new shade of purple; then there was a woman wedging her way between them, and saying, “What’s going on?”

“He called me a knob!” Arthur cried.

The woman looked at him from out of a face that turned his bisexual heart for a moment heterosexual; if she had stabbed him, rather than spoken to him, he would have graciously thanked her. “Hello; the new vet, I assume?”

“Yeah. Merlin.” And he held out his hand, as he would have done to Arthur in the spirit of human civility; except that Arthur had met neither the standards for humanity, nor civility, which included such difficult requirements as not being a rotting limp prick. 

“Morgana,” she said, giving him a small, smooth hand, which crushed out the life from his bones. And to Arthur she said: “Were you being a knob?”

“He was,” Merlin offered helpfully.

“Well, there you go. No surprise, really. Terribly sorry Arthur was your first impression of the farm, but you can always ignore him, and if that doesn’t work, run him over a little with your truck.”

Arthur was outraged. “You’re just going to take his side? He’s a complete stranger; I’m your brother.”

“Yes, but his claims are in line with your behaviour. Why don’t you run along and look at yourself in a mirror? I’ll show Merlin where to start.”

“How about the bloody gate where he came in?” Arthur snapped. 

“Gaius isn’t coming out. So I can look at your horses, or nobody looks at your horses till you find a vet who doesn’t mind changing your nappy to put you in a better mood.”

“Oh, excellent,” Morgana said gleefully. “I didn’t realise I’d be witnessing a murder today.” And then she put her arm through Merlin’s, and led him away, a thrilling experience, full of her perfume, and side breast. So he had got the flat tyre, and nearly come to blows with a twat; but otherwise the day was looking to be lovely.

Arthur had come down the drive to see a man who was not Gaius, getting out of Gaius’ truck; that was what he had registered, firstly: the dark head where there ought to have been a grey one, and the unfolding of a body at least a head taller than Gaius’ body. Then the man had turned back his sleeves from some forearms which had taken their shape from honest labour, rather than dumbbells, and looked up, and Arthur’s brain, very nearly audibly, had shut down its seething processes. He had been thinking about one of the mares to be sold; and then he had been thinking about nothing. He felt that all his systems had hiccoughed. He was stood in the centre of the drive, waiting as if for a reboot, whilst the man waved his face about in the sunlight. It was under a good head of black curls, with a few of them wild on his brow; and he had cultivated for some cheekbones that would have stood out on a model enough stubble to meet those standards which Arthur had heard were the standards of godliness. 

Then the man had lashed out at some perfectly reasonable questioning, and showed that those minor advantages of genetics were the only advantages of his person; and now he had taken himself off on the arm of Morgana, to subject the poor mares in their delicacy to his personality and fumbling. Whilst they were nearing their foaling, he would be putting the ungainly hands on them, where they had been used to the graceful touches of Gaius, who had known not only how to handle a horse, but how to handle society. This man had arrived from the backwoods, without his bearings, or manners, and thought he could treat regular men the same as he treated what sows or sheep that he housed with. 

Arthur stormed into the office, and took off his jacket, and very reasonably threw it. It brought the lamp down on the floor, and Uther down on him.

“What was that?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Arthur said. “I missed the coat hook, is all. Why didn’t you tell me there was a new vet coming?”

“I’d forgot,” Uther said dismissively, and turned back to his own office, and paperwork.

“Are you sure he’s qualified?” Arthur demanded, bulling through the door he rarely dared even to enter, let alone storm. “He’s very young.”

Uther was turning over some pages on his desk, looking at them, rather than Arthur, the same division of attention which Arthur had been getting all through his childhood, expecting it was manhood would make him worthy of eye contact; and feeling now, though the anger was still hot in him, the same smallness of being which he always had standing before the work that was Uther’s true love and only love. “He’s Gaius’ nephew. I’m sure he’s adequate.”

“He’s only been out of school a few years.”

“Gaius tells me he’s practised for nearly six years, Arthur. If you have concerns after seeing his work, then bring those to me. Otherwise your reservations are pointless. They’re horses. They’ll make do with anyone competent enough to keep them alive and healthy.”

So that was the matter, done and dealt with; and he had to go back into his office feeling troubled in himself, in his reaction to the lean figure getting out of the truck instead of the squat; and his reaction to his reaction. He had possibly behaved a bit abysmally. He had possibly made a small but reprehensible knob of himself, because some strange man had come to see to his loved ones. He sat down at his desk, and picked up a pen, and fiddled it round in his fingers, and set it down, and picked it up, to fiddle it some more; and then because there was still a boiling in him, because he was still unsettled in the roots of him, he went out the door and into the sun with his hands in his pockets, and made for the stables at the very casual pace of a stroller, out for a walk, and not an apology. He heard Morgana laughing, and strange laughter following it; and stopped outside of the barn from which it was emanating, thinking to turn back, or go on as if in oblivion. And he turned and walked into the opening, where the daylight turned itself in a flash of brilliance to dimness, and he was amongst those cool black pockets of solitude in which the horses drowsed or nosed at their fodder. He saw Morgana at the far end of the aisle, leaning on one of the stalls, and speaking, and laughing, over the partition which was between her and the cheekbones which apparently had blinded her to the wretchedness of their owner. Then she was tearing herself away, to give him a look; or rather, to slap him with it. “Be polite,” she said. “Or I’ll toss you out on your arse.”

He scowled at her “I’m twice your size.”

“Yes, but so are all of the grooms, and they like me better than you.” But she had shifted aside to make room for him, so that he could see over the door and into the workspace which Merlin had set up in the hay, where he had laid out the ultrasound machine, and now was lubricating the probe and his glove. 

“Be careful,” Arthur warned.

“Oh, crap. I guess you don’t know; the schooling’s changed since Gaius went. Yeah. They teach you just to ram it up there and stir it round a bit. Really, if the horse isn’t shrieking, you’re doing something wrong.” He looked up from under the curling fringe, going round behind the mare, and speaking to her in a far lovelier tone than he had used on Arthur. “Someone want to hold her? And by someone, I mean the person who didn’t call me a useless infant baby who has no business touching his precious capitalist wet dreams.”

Arthur frowned at him. “I just said you looked young, is all.”

“You literally called me a baby, which is ironic, considering you were acting like one.” He gave the mare’s hindquarters a little firm pat. “What’s her name?”

“Something dreadful like Enchantress, but Arthur and I call her Mellie,” Morgana replied, whilst Arthur with his hands still safely in his pockets continued to look over the scene with a critical eye, to see whether and where Merlin was failing her. But he was saying in the accent which Arthur couldn’t quite place, “Mellie, ok, you look like a Mellie don’t you, no, we’re not anything dreadful like ‘Enchantress’ are we; why are the humans giving us these silly little names, hmm?” and giving her a fond enough stroke down the spine, to quiet the flesh that was flinching there. Then to Morgana, he said: “Would you hold her, please?” And Arthur, slipping in through the door before Merlin could do anything more than make a face which people did not make when they were about to be gifted with Arthur’s proximity, said, “I’ll do it.” He had taken hold of the halter already, and was rubbing the fine velvet nap of her nose. If they had been alone he would have kissed the soft tip which he was soothingly stroking, and murmured to her as if they were confidants; but here under the judgement of one of the blue eyes, and the eyebrow doubtingly pointed at him, he gave her the little scratch, and some wretched trite rallying, which he did by clearing his throat, and saying in a firm voice, rather than a tender one, ”Good girl.”

“Just so you know, I’m the haunting type. If you let this horse kick me to death, I’ll come back. You’ll never know a moment of peace again; I know every sea shanty there is, and I’ve invented some of my own.”

Arthur wrinkled up his face. “She’s not going to kick you to death, you great girl’s blouse. And why are you inventing sea shanties? Can we expect you to be going to sea any time hopefully soon?”

“To prepare for haunting, obviously. You don’t want to be roaming round in the afterlife without the means to annoy people.”

“You don’t seem to be in any danger of that,” Arthur said, giving the lips which roamed over his palm a little fond tickle.