Title: In this form in which I am not (nor are you)
Spoilers: speculations on 7x17 after Misha's last tweets.
Summary: They think he must have been a scholar of some kind before; they say he's knowledgeable, that he holds secrets in his head about the world and all of its creatures. But he thinks that as long as he doesn't even know who he is all the rest is pretty useless.
Author's note: Misha tweeted this a couple of days ago. My TL exploded (and it was beautiful) and this is what came out of a very stimulating exchange with triedunture. As always a huge thank you to my bb darkforetold for the beta work. She is awesome and even Misha knows it.
Finally, the title is from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII. It is beautiful, you should read it.
(I'm using this fic as part of my 10iloveyou prompt table. Specifically the Broken prompt.)
( Too often it all feels like waiting, but since he doesn't know for what he can ignore the feeling a bit longer. )