Sommerchallenge Päckchen #5
Sep. 7th, 2010 11:38 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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120_minutenTitle: See you on the other side
Genre: War/ Drama, Merlin!AU
Characters: Merlin, Arthur
Challenge: Szenario: gefesselt
Rating: M
Warning: swear words this time. In general you can expect a bit of violence.
Summary: They meet in the wrong place at the wrong time. They have one night. Christmas Eve 1914.
Comment: Right, it's been a while since part 2 and I'm sorry for that, but I was a bit preoccupied with Bigbang and exam paper. But hopefully all the next parts will come up a bit quicker. No beta.
das mit dem Gefesselt hat nicht ganz so hingehauen, wie ich es wollte, aber naja^^.
part 1
part2
Blackfriars had for some reason become La-la-Land. Someone had even scratched the name into the wooden plank with his bayonet and crossed out the Blackfriars. The lieutenant had yelled at all of them because all of them had apparently been the culprits. The high command could tolerate sections of the trenches named after London underground stations and counties but if they fucking believed that they could smear it in the high command’s faces that they were all fucking going mad out here, hoping to be fucking send home than he would personally stick the stupid fucking sign up all of their arses one after the other and the last in line would be sent out into No Man’s Land with it shoved so high up his arse that he could only hope the Germans take pity on him and fucking shoot him. They had had to step on each other’s feet to stop themselves from breaking out in laughter. Billy had managed a very good imitation of the lieutenant and had them all laughing in their dugout in the evening. Of course, no one had dared touch that sign again, in fear of being thought the original culprit. The lieutenant might have made his shoving-up-arse threat true if it was only one man and not the whole platoon. But then it had only taken about two weeks before the lieutenant referred to that part of the trenches as La-la-Land and all was good.
Someone had draped some sort of plant over the sign. It looked like mistletoe, at least in his imagination.
“Right, boys. I’m pretty sure the Germans have Christmas as well, so there might be a chance they get so pissed tonight they won’t think about bombing us, but we’ll never know, so let’s start with our drinking and enjoy it as long as it lasts. Sergeant, would you take the other bottle and help me pour out the drinks?”
The platoon was filling up the area, making it hard for the lieutenant and sergeant to actually reach everyone. Usually when they were all huddled up together like this it was with panic in the air, sitting like trapped animals inside the dugout, about 15 men each, waiting and listening for the shells. To Arthur it felt surreal to sit this close together in the open air. He couldn’t help thinking that if a bomb fell into their midst, the German would have manage to do in a second what they usually need 30 machine gun belts for. Wipe out a platoon. He shook his head to dismiss the thought. His stomach was tense and he knew he was on the edge of being sick.
He coughed and tried to settle on one of the ladders, but the snow had made it rather slippery and he kept sliding of whenever he tried to actually sit.
“DAVIES!”
Davies jumped up. “YES SIR!”
“Stop your yelling and play us a song on your mouth organ.”
“YES… yes sir!” He nearly kicked over his cup and spilled his brandy in his eagerness to oblige. His mouth organ was slightly dented, and they’ve all heard how off it sounded, but it was all they had here after the lieutenant’s gramophone had been bombed to pieces in a shell attack. One couldn’t complain, and Davies was a pretty good player. He made it sound decent enough.
Arthur threw a quickly made snowball at two of his comrades whose whispers carried over to him. He put a finger on his lips to indicate that they should shut the fuck up. He wanted to listen. Close his eyes, listen and imagine he was back home, impatiently waiting for his mother’s Christmas dinner to be put on the table.
Davies finished and someone asked him what the song was.
“It’s a lullaby that my mother always used … to…” He fell silent, looking at the ground, his cheeks as red as the poppies in summer.
“How about Silent Night, Davies? Can you do that?” asked Arthur to take his mind of his embarrassment.
He perked up. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.” He started playing, and he hadn’t gotten far when the lieutenant started singing the words. And then he looked at them, ordering them with his eyes to sing along. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself.
“Willi, listen.” Merlin could barely hear, especially with Peter brawling all over the place, but he was quite sure that he could hear music. “And singing. Willi, they’re singing.” Merlin looked up at the sky, forgetting the walls of mud, the cold, the smell, and he smiled.
He sang along with them in his head, knowing the English words to the song. He heard a few of the others humming along. And when he looked down and around the trench it suddenly felt like Christmas, the trees doing their bit. They had been worth it after all.
The song ended and Merlin could hear the English applauding. And he didn’t even think about it, but suddenly he was whistling his approval across No Man’s Land. The other men looked at him, some of them like they thought that he was fraternizing with the enemy.
“How about it, lads? Does anyone know a good Christmas song?” The lieutenant was calmly drinking from his cup, looking at them over the rim of it.
“How about ‘Es ist ein Ros entsprungen’?” it came from out of the shadows in the far corner. The lieutenant nodded and the soldier started to sing with a clear, beautiful tenor. Merlin closed his eyes again. The cold prevented him from properly slipping into a vision about Christmas at home, like it used to be: his mother sitting at the piano and playing for him, his father sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, reading a book but secretly listening, the smell of the Christmas dinner still in the air.
The singer held out the last note, and Merlin’s head cleared of the pleasant image, bringing him back to where he didn’t want to be. It was quiet at first, everyone too stunned or still too far away, immersed in dreams, to react quickly enough.
But the English cheered, and they were loud. Merlin smiled again.
“Hey, Jerries!”
They all looked at each other, at the lieutenant, unsure of what to do. The lieutenant’s face showed the conflict he was in. His men had to approve or he’d lose his respect and he could only know that when one of them made the first step.
“Merlin, go on.” Hans pushed him off his seat and into the middle.
“Why me?” He felt self-conscious and he knew exactly why him.
“’Cause your name is English. Go on.”
Merlin looked towards the lieutenant and could discern a small nod.
“Hello, English,” he cried back, and after a short hesitation he added, “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas to you, too!” Merlin thought he could hear them talking amongst each other, as if they were discussing what to do next. “What’s your name?”
“Merlin!” Unconsciously he used the English pronunciation for his name, although for the past months he’d been so careful to pronounce it the German way. No one seemed to be interested though. They were all waiting for an answer.
A different, higher, voice replied. “Hey, Merlin. You’re on the wrong side, King Arthur’s with us.” And the English broke into laughter.
Genre: War/ Drama, Merlin!AU
Characters: Merlin, Arthur
Challenge: Szenario: gefesselt
Rating: M
Warning: swear words this time. In general you can expect a bit of violence.
Summary: They meet in the wrong place at the wrong time. They have one night. Christmas Eve 1914.
Comment: Right, it's been a while since part 2 and I'm sorry for that, but I was a bit preoccupied with Bigbang and exam paper. But hopefully all the next parts will come up a bit quicker. No beta.
das mit dem Gefesselt hat nicht ganz so hingehauen, wie ich es wollte, aber naja^^.
part 1
part2
Blackfriars had for some reason become La-la-Land. Someone had even scratched the name into the wooden plank with his bayonet and crossed out the Blackfriars. The lieutenant had yelled at all of them because all of them had apparently been the culprits. The high command could tolerate sections of the trenches named after London underground stations and counties but if they fucking believed that they could smear it in the high command’s faces that they were all fucking going mad out here, hoping to be fucking send home than he would personally stick the stupid fucking sign up all of their arses one after the other and the last in line would be sent out into No Man’s Land with it shoved so high up his arse that he could only hope the Germans take pity on him and fucking shoot him. They had had to step on each other’s feet to stop themselves from breaking out in laughter. Billy had managed a very good imitation of the lieutenant and had them all laughing in their dugout in the evening. Of course, no one had dared touch that sign again, in fear of being thought the original culprit. The lieutenant might have made his shoving-up-arse threat true if it was only one man and not the whole platoon. But then it had only taken about two weeks before the lieutenant referred to that part of the trenches as La-la-Land and all was good.
Someone had draped some sort of plant over the sign. It looked like mistletoe, at least in his imagination.
“Right, boys. I’m pretty sure the Germans have Christmas as well, so there might be a chance they get so pissed tonight they won’t think about bombing us, but we’ll never know, so let’s start with our drinking and enjoy it as long as it lasts. Sergeant, would you take the other bottle and help me pour out the drinks?”
The platoon was filling up the area, making it hard for the lieutenant and sergeant to actually reach everyone. Usually when they were all huddled up together like this it was with panic in the air, sitting like trapped animals inside the dugout, about 15 men each, waiting and listening for the shells. To Arthur it felt surreal to sit this close together in the open air. He couldn’t help thinking that if a bomb fell into their midst, the German would have manage to do in a second what they usually need 30 machine gun belts for. Wipe out a platoon. He shook his head to dismiss the thought. His stomach was tense and he knew he was on the edge of being sick.
He coughed and tried to settle on one of the ladders, but the snow had made it rather slippery and he kept sliding of whenever he tried to actually sit.
“DAVIES!”
Davies jumped up. “YES SIR!”
“Stop your yelling and play us a song on your mouth organ.”
“YES… yes sir!” He nearly kicked over his cup and spilled his brandy in his eagerness to oblige. His mouth organ was slightly dented, and they’ve all heard how off it sounded, but it was all they had here after the lieutenant’s gramophone had been bombed to pieces in a shell attack. One couldn’t complain, and Davies was a pretty good player. He made it sound decent enough.
Arthur threw a quickly made snowball at two of his comrades whose whispers carried over to him. He put a finger on his lips to indicate that they should shut the fuck up. He wanted to listen. Close his eyes, listen and imagine he was back home, impatiently waiting for his mother’s Christmas dinner to be put on the table.
Davies finished and someone asked him what the song was.
“It’s a lullaby that my mother always used … to…” He fell silent, looking at the ground, his cheeks as red as the poppies in summer.
“How about Silent Night, Davies? Can you do that?” asked Arthur to take his mind of his embarrassment.
He perked up. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.” He started playing, and he hadn’t gotten far when the lieutenant started singing the words. And then he looked at them, ordering them with his eyes to sing along. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself.
“Willi, listen.” Merlin could barely hear, especially with Peter brawling all over the place, but he was quite sure that he could hear music. “And singing. Willi, they’re singing.” Merlin looked up at the sky, forgetting the walls of mud, the cold, the smell, and he smiled.
He sang along with them in his head, knowing the English words to the song. He heard a few of the others humming along. And when he looked down and around the trench it suddenly felt like Christmas, the trees doing their bit. They had been worth it after all.
The song ended and Merlin could hear the English applauding. And he didn’t even think about it, but suddenly he was whistling his approval across No Man’s Land. The other men looked at him, some of them like they thought that he was fraternizing with the enemy.
“How about it, lads? Does anyone know a good Christmas song?” The lieutenant was calmly drinking from his cup, looking at them over the rim of it.
“How about ‘Es ist ein Ros entsprungen’?” it came from out of the shadows in the far corner. The lieutenant nodded and the soldier started to sing with a clear, beautiful tenor. Merlin closed his eyes again. The cold prevented him from properly slipping into a vision about Christmas at home, like it used to be: his mother sitting at the piano and playing for him, his father sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, reading a book but secretly listening, the smell of the Christmas dinner still in the air.
The singer held out the last note, and Merlin’s head cleared of the pleasant image, bringing him back to where he didn’t want to be. It was quiet at first, everyone too stunned or still too far away, immersed in dreams, to react quickly enough.
But the English cheered, and they were loud. Merlin smiled again.
“Hey, Jerries!”
They all looked at each other, at the lieutenant, unsure of what to do. The lieutenant’s face showed the conflict he was in. His men had to approve or he’d lose his respect and he could only know that when one of them made the first step.
“Merlin, go on.” Hans pushed him off his seat and into the middle.
“Why me?” He felt self-conscious and he knew exactly why him.
“’Cause your name is English. Go on.”
Merlin looked towards the lieutenant and could discern a small nod.
“Hello, English,” he cried back, and after a short hesitation he added, “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas to you, too!” Merlin thought he could hear them talking amongst each other, as if they were discussing what to do next. “What’s your name?”
“Merlin!” Unconsciously he used the English pronunciation for his name, although for the past months he’d been so careful to pronounce it the German way. No one seemed to be interested though. They were all waiting for an answer.
A different, higher, voice replied. “Hey, Merlin. You’re on the wrong side, King Arthur’s with us.” And the English broke into laughter.
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