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Chapter Text

Endings are not always bad. Most times they're just beginnings in disguise.

Kim Harrison

King Arthur was dying. Granted, Arthur decided to accept that fact just as he realised that his former knight -Mordred, trained by Arthur himself, whom he thought of as a son- plunged a sword forged in dragon's breath into his side. But that thought was easily overlooked by the secrets brought to light by his manservant -friend- brother- s orcerer! - just as easily as one could ignore the white hot pain at his side, the feeling of a piece of metal ripping his organs and making its way to his heart. 

But yes, Arthur could ignore the pain just for a moment, a moment to take a look at his friend, tall, lanky fellow with hunched shoulders that could have been used as a hat stand and boney elbows that could have been weapons in itself. Why didn't he notice the waves of weariness that were rolling off from the other man before? How didn't he notice the lack of spark in the younger man's eyes before all this had happened?

But Arthur did, didn't he? The way how Merlin lacked the genuine smiles he used to wear every morning? How he seemed to have aged more in the last few months than the years Arthur had ever known him? He did notice it. But he didn't want to accept it. A lot of things changed over the years. Arthur turned from being a prince seeking for his father's approval to being a King serving his kingdom. He changed from being an absolute royal prat to being someone who is worthy of being the people's hope. His family, his kingdom, his knights, everyone changed over the years. There were betrayals, murders, love, friendship. But one thing that stayed constant by his side was Merlin's presence. Arthur wasn't embarrassed to admit it. When he was at his deepest, it was Merlin who brought him back from the darkest state of his mind. Merlin, who became his friend, his advisor, his brother. But had Arthur been so wrapped up in his own head that he didn't want to accept that his friend was running ragged?

Magic .

Merlin's magic.

That explained everything .

Betrayal stung, more than anything in the world, it stung that Merlin, the person whom Arthur trusted most in the world didn't trust him back with his life. It hurt. But wasn't Arthur to blame for it at the same time? Did Arthur give a good enough reason for Merlin to trust him with his magic? He couldn't say.

Tears gathered at the end of his eyes as Arthur watched his servant search the perimeter of their little camp in search of the spooked horses that were long gone. Beside Arthur, Morgana lay, her skin as pale as snow, her face as peaceful as she had ever been. Arthur wondered if she had ever been peaceful before her- before her death .

Agony ripped at his side as he shifted in his place, and Arthur knew that he didn't have long. Everything hurt. Breathing hurt. Talking hurt. He had no strength left in his body.

"Merlin"

The king called out to his servant, his friend, which brought the lanky man out of his stupor, and hurried to attend to the needs of his master. Black spots danced at the edge of Arthur's vision as he felt Merlin's boney hands curled around his shoulder, bringing the king up to his feet.

"Come'on," said Merlin, as he helped his king to put his feet in front of the other. "We have to get you to the lake."

He pushed himself for a few feet, Arthur tried, he really did. But he was dying, he was tired. His grip on the other man's shoulder was sagging, and everything was painful. "No." The King gasped, staggering down to his knees, his friend by his side. "Not without the horses."

"Arthur,"

The golden haired man's eyes trailed on his friend's lanky figure, whose face was weary and tired and eyes brimming with tears. "Listen to me, Merlin-"

"I'm not going to lose you!"

Arthur's heart ached, both from the agony of his wound and seeing his friend so broken. He needed to tell him how much he valued him. How sorry he was for not believing him. But Arthur was tired. He knew there was no time for him to say that.

" Just, Just Hold me, please."

Arthur’s hand reached out to Merlin, curling his fingers around the back of his neck, trying to brace himself for the inevitable. Arthur wasn't afraid of death, years of being a knight of Camelot meant to accept whatever that came his way. But he was afraid. Afraid to leave his friend, to leave his brother in a world where he had lost his hope. Arthur looked up to Merlin's eyes, blue eyes as deep as the depths of the ocean, hurt and filled with tears of sorrow.

"There's something I want to say."

" You're not going to say goodbye- "

Arthur hissed, the pain on his side blurring his vision as he struggled to find his words. "No Merlin, everything you've done, I know now." He wondered though, did he? He doubted he would ever know everything. " For me, for Camelot, for the kingdom you've helped me build"

They say when you die, you will see your life flashing before you. Arthur saw two boys, a prince and a peasant, a noble and a servant, a King and a sorcerer. Without his friend, there would never be a King Arthur. Without Merlin, there never would be a Kingdom for Arthur to rule, to serve. He knew that now.

"You'd have done it without me."

Arthur smiled, a painful sad smile as he met his friend's eyes. " Never. I- I want to say... something I've never told you before. Thank you!"

His eyes blurred, Merlin's blue eyes swimming in his vision. His body shuddered with total agony, but he wanted to keep speaking. " I just... wish I could have been there for you, all these years. '' The golden haired man sighed, his hand reaching from his friend's neck to his cheek, and giving him a sorrowful smile.

The metal piece that was forged with the dragon's breath found his heart, as the Once and Future King let out his final breath, his final wish on his lips.

" Wishes are words of power, Once and Future King"

"The Old Religion cannot ignore the plea of a dying man pure of heart"

"Yet alone that of a man tethered to the destiny of the Land of Albion"

"A man willing to change for the good for the sake of his friend"

"A man wishing to make things right"

"The Goddess has been Merciful Arthur Pendragon"

"Be Merciful as the Goddess herself has been"

"Be Cautious, for all is not as it may seem"

"Be Grateful, for the Old Religion has yet to grant this wish to any other"

"Be Wise, for there are many paths ahead of you"

"Be Loyal for those around you, for they will do so in return"

"Be Strong, for there are many trials ahead of you"

"Heed our words Arthur Pendragon, Courage, Once and Future King"

"For the Old Religion cannot ignore a wish of a dying man pure of heart"

"Heed Our Words"

Chapter Text

He watched, as a golden haired boy grow up under a firm tutelage of his father, as years of propriety got drilled into his mind, letting him believe that no peasant was better than him. He watched, as the young man's father, his tutors, warp his mind on his thoughts of magic, teaching him to hate it, to fear it. He watched as the young prince grew up, acting on his father's behest, the sole purpose of his life being a son his father was proud of. He watched as the young prince led raids against innocent men, women and children. He watched as the boy became a man, as he found friends within commoners and peasants, fell in love, and got betrayed. He watched as the young prince became a King, -a King who was loved by his people- with his friends by his side, his heart extending to those that are very dear to him. He watched as the young King's heart prioritised his brothers in arms, he watched as the golden haired King claimed his best friend -a peasant- as the brother he never had. He watched as the prince won tournaments, as the King won battles and wars. He watched as the King gave away his trust, and most of the time ended up being betrayed. He watched as the King finally fell from the sharp end of a sword by one of his former trusted knights. He watched as he realised that his brother had been lying to him, but all the while as his heart ached that the King was not trusted enough by his brother to be enclosed in the secret. He watched as the King closed his eyes, his last breath leaving his lips, making one last wish to the Goddess for his friend.

Blue eyes flew open to catch a glimpse of sunlight filtering down to the ground from the canopy of trees above him. Arthur groaned as he stirred from his slumber, trying to grasp the feeling of not having a crippling agony from the wound at his side. A moment passed as he stayed still to gather his bearings. 

There was no pain at his side. Come to think of it, Arthur felt perfectly fine given the fact that he had just died. Curiously, he poked his finger on his side, the place where he had been mortally wounded. But no. The pain had receded to a feeling of an annoying bruise. 

Where was he? Blue eyes trailed around the place that he rested, but the golden haired King still had no idea where he was.

He had died, Arthur was sure of it. He remembered Merlin's boney arms holding him, he remembered the agonising pain, and how his life flashed before his eyes. Now, he had somehow ended up here. Where was here anyway? Why was he alone? Shouldn't there be someone to greet from the Otherside when one crossed over? Some sort of a Guide? Or should he find his way to whatever the place he was needed? If Merlin was here Arthur would have received a cheeky smile and a ' No special treats in the afterlife you prat!'

Thinking about Merlin brought the young King to move himself up from his place on the ground and sit up, and groaned again when he felt a familiar pain of a bruise on his back. Huh, that was something. So the mortal wound had receded to a bruise, but also added a back pain as well? Granted, he was very glad he was alive, er- well dead , but Arthur would like to know what was happening thank you very much.

He glanced at himself, the familiar weight of his armour comforting him for a moment. Except, this was not the armour that he wore to his last battle. Arthur was sure of it. His eyes travelled to his surroundings, drinking in the calmness, his skin pickling as a feeling of liveliness etched into his skin. He was sitting in a narrow valley between the roots of trees, dimmed sunlight dripping through the canopy of leaves above him. As he looked around, his vision settled on a small dying fire to his right, still cracking and popping and smoke emitting from the burning kindling.

Was someone here waiting for him? There was something familiar about this place, as if he had been here before. Beside him, there was something that resembled a poultice, wrapped in leaves and tied together with a string. On his other side, there was a familiar piece of clothing that Arthur had been using as a pillow before he woke up. Blinking rapidly, and scrambling to gather the worn brown jacket in his hand, Arthur realised it for what it was. It was Merlin's jacket. He was certain of it. It smelled of herbs and polish and there was something- something very Merlin esqe feeling in the jacket made him certain of his discovery. But what was Merlin's jacket doing in the Afterlife? With Arthur?

No. No. There was something he was missing here. What was he missing this time? Despite what Merlin used to say, Arthur was neither stupid, nor a fool. He had ruled Camelot for five glorious years, had been regent on his fathers behalf for another year and was known to keep his head about at the stress of battle. Now he just had to figure out what was exactly wrong with everything around him. Really, he shouldn't have expected to have a little good time even now that he was dead.

A snap of a twig and a crunch of dry leaves made his head turn away from the jacket on his hands towards the sound, instincts of a battle hardened King taking over his mind. Somewhere at the back of his consciousness there was a voice that said there would be no harm to him since he was already dead, but another different voice, which might have been strikingly familiar to Merlin, told him that he was about to discover something that would change his life. Or death in his case.

Arthur sat up from his place on the rock, hoping silently to wait for the intruder to walk through. But suddenly, he felt disoriented, as if he felt like a stranger in his own body. So instead of standing up, Arthur toppled back to the hard ground beneath him, his back hitting the wet soil and earning a groan through his lips.

Another snap of a twig and a second of anticipation later, a figure appeared out of the entrance of the path, and Arthur felt his breath leave his body.

As the sun's rays glimmered down on the figure standing on the footpath, Arthur's eyes met with the familiar striking blue eyes of his best friend. The tall gangly fellow stood there for a second, seemingly taken aback either by seeing him or being spooked by something else. Arthur's heart thundered in his chest, wanting to do nothing more than to hug the boy and never let go, but if Merlin was here that meant either the sorcerer had somehow cured him, or the idiot himself had died and wherever this place was the afterlife. Arthur didn't really want to believe the latter, because he was certain that the former didn't happen, as the golden haired King knew that he had died. But if the latter of the options were true, which meant that his friend either had given up all hope or someone had hurt him.

Tears picked to his eyes as Arthur stood up from his place on the floor, waiting a moment to get his bearings and stumbled towards the raven haired man standing, hovering - at the entrance as if in a trance, -without a hint of a smile on his face- who looked paler than Arthur had ever seen, but younger than he could remember.

A grin broke from his lips, because dead or not, Merlin was familiar so and god help him, if Arthur could rely on one man, it would always be Merlin.

" Merlin "

The King exhaled a laugh with relief, not knowing if he should be happy to see him or to reprimand him for following him even to his death, as his muscled arms wrapped around the younger man's torso. Arthur felt the man go rigid and stiff as he touched him, as his chin rested on the black mop of hair. It took him five seconds to get a response from his companion, and boney arms wrapped around his own torso rather stiffly for Arthur's liking.

Was something wrong? He thought that Merlin would be happy to see him. Arthur was happy to see him, his heart swelled with so much happiness that he felt as if he could take over the world if he had Merlin by his side. Probably could, but he's not going to think about that.

"Arthur, you're hugging me"

His rambling thoughts came to a halt as he heard the response, the familiar voice of his friend came as a muffled croak, as if he was trying to stop from crying. But that was okay, Arthur could look past that, if Merlin wanted to, Arthur could be the shoulder for him to cry on, no matter how bad he was at feelings. That was the least he could do for the man who had done so much for him. If he needed to ignore his vulnerability, Arthur could work with that too.

"So?" The King asked, shrugging, but keeping his hold on the scrawny man.

"You never do that! Did you hit your head when that arrow knocked you out?"

Arrow knocked me out? What?

Arthur released his hold on him, stumbling back, and meeting the younger man's eyes with confusion. Surely Merlin knew that Arthur had died didn't he? What was this about the arrow knocking him out? The younger man himself looked concerned, his eyes speaking a whole other story than what his face showed.

" Arrow knocked me out? Mer lin, stop lying to me. I died ! You were there! Is this the Afterlife? Are you dead too?"

"You didn't die !" said Merlin firmly. If Arthur wasn't looking, he wouldn't have seen the dark shadow pass across Merlin's face. It had gone the next moment, but it was there. If possible, the man looked paler than he had been before. "I won't let you!"

Arthur had a sudden urge to laugh. Not because he doubted Merlin's words -never that- but because he knew that he had died. He knew that Merlin was there holding him as he took his last breath. He saw his life flashing before him. There was no doubt that he had died. So why was Merlin so hell bent on denying it? 

Merlin, now that Arthur took an actual look at his friend, who looked as if there was a world on his shoulders. He looked very pale, with a haunted look in his eyes. Now that Arthur really looked, the Merlin standing in front of him looked different. Y ounger. Still scrawny, still boney, but he hadn't yet lost the boyish looks that Arthur had seen in Merlin’s youth.

What happened?

"Well, you tell me then, what happened?"

The other man sighed, walking past Arthur as if he hadn't heard him, and picked up the jacket from the floor that Arthur had been clutching like a lifeline before he met its owner. Arthur was not going to tell his friend that he had smelled the thing to be certain of what it was. He waited patiently for his answer, all the while watching Merlin with sharp eyes to detect a lie in his words.

"The arrow didn't pierce your armour. You knocked yourself out" said Merlin, halfway through pulling his jacket on him. There was a moment of silence, where Arthur tried to remember a time he got knocked himself out with an arrow, only to come up with nothing. Merlin seemed to have noticed his confusion, because when Arthur met his eyes again, there was concern in his eyes with a sheen of fear in his furrowed brow.

"Don't be ridiculous Mer lin," the golden haired man said, trying so hard to ignore the dread pooling in his stomach and to bring about some amount of normalcy between them. "What even is this place?"

"Woah, you really don't remember do you? We were chased by bandits. We're somewhere in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. 'Trust me' you said, ' they'll never follow us in there' you said, now look what we have, you knocked yourself out, and you don't even remember what happened!" There was a hard edge along with an undercurrent of concern in the dark haired man's voice, and Arthur was almost taken aback by the ferocity of it.

Arthur staggered back, closing his eyes, taking a moment for himself and not willing to look at his companion. He did not know what was going on, and this wasn't simply him dying and waking up in the afterlife with Merlin by his side. There was more to this, but Arthur had no idea what to do about this.

"Arthur?"

His voice was closer to him than before, and Arthur opened his eyes to meet concerned blue eyes peering at him from above. What was he doing on the ground?

"So, I'm not dead yet?" he managed to croak out, trying a vain attempt at humour, just to bring him back to the present.

"No." The other man said firmly as if there could be no other argument. "I don't want to lose my job" there was a ghost of a smile there which Arthur could see, although it didn't reach his eyes.

"Huh. Could have fooled me, I thought you hated being my servant."

"Someone needs to keep your head from getting bigger."

There was a quirk of his lips, and although Arthur didn't know what exactly happened to him and why his friend who was standing in front of him looked so young, he thought maybe things might be a little okay.

"Come on then," said Merlin, walking back and dosing the smoking kindling with water. "We're leaving this place."

"I'm the one who gives orders here, remember?" Arthur raised his brow, falling back to his usual persona which Merlin happily named the prat. It's easier to be there in the moment than to think about how he certainly died and ended up in the Valley of the Fallen Kings seemingly alive.

"Yeah. Are you ready? Let's go"

Arthur slowly nodded, unusually silent, because usually he would reprimand Merlin for that, and usually Arthur would have his wits about him in the situation. But this was not usual, Merlin was strangely on edge, and he now knew better than to doubt his instincts. Besides, Arthur could feel something deeply unsettling on his skin which made him want to leave the place sooner rather than later.

As Arthur began to walk beside his servant, he decided, while he should think more of the fact that they were nowhere near the Valley of the Fallen Kings the last time he checked before he died, he would rather pay more attention to the fact that he as alive with his his much younger friend by his side.

His eyes fell on the man next to him, whose shoulders were tense, fingers digging painfully into his palms. There were slight tremors wracking his body, although it would have been unnoticeable if Arthur didn't know of the man walking beside him. Merlin was silent, his pace was fast, even Arthur had trouble keeping up with him with the slight disorientation he felt with his own body. Why or how is a matter that Arthur should look to sooner rather than later, but now he couldn't bear the tense silence between them.

"Anything in your mind Merlin?" he asked casually, his eyes fixed on the back of the head of the man now walking at the front.

"Nothing"

Did Merlin know what happened to Arthur? Did he have anything to do with coming back to life? Arthur had every right to believe that this was not the Otherside of the Veil, and that he was alive. He just needed more evidence.

"Is it because I told you that I died?"

"For the last time, you didn't die ! Stop talking about dying and think of what you want to report to the King!"

Arthur ran his hand through his hair. He could feel a headache building from the back of his head. Wait- He stopped in his tracks.

"T-The King?"

Because Arthur had been the King the last time he checked. Because he had been so for the last four years. Because his father had been dead for the last five years. Why did Merlin speak of another King?

"Sire, are you alright?" Concerned eyes fell on him, and Arthur did his best to ignore them. The ache at the back of his head didn't get any better either.

"Yes," Arthur said instead. "No need to keep him waiting anymore do we?"

His friend nodded without another word, but decided to slow his pace for Arthur to catch up with. Normally, the silence would have been filled with banter between them, or Merlin's usual prattle about the latest castle gossip, but it seemed neither of them had any mind for a talk. For Arthur, it was the never ending questions that his mind provided, and the headache that seemed to worsen with his every step.

They somehow managed to reach the Citadel, the castle of Camelot stood proudly before them. Arthur had no time to admire his beloved castle, his home that he ever thought he would see again, as he felt as if someone was pounding his head with a mace- repeatedly. Everything felt as if it was too bright, and he wanted nothing more than go to sleep and never wake up. If it wasn't for Merlin's shoulder that he managed to hold at the top of the castle steps, Arthur would have collapsed right there without a care.

"Let's get you to your chambers. I'll make someone inform the King that you're back" Merlin's voice was soft against his ear, and Arthur could only nod, and concentrate on trying to keep one foot in front of the other, until he reached his chambers. He had closed his eyes somewhere between the stairs and his chamber. The last thing he knew was laying on the soft familiar mattress of his bed.

Chapter Text

Arthur

Arthur Pendragon

Listen

Think

Watch

Not everything is as it may seem

There are things that you know and the things that you don't

The future's not set on stone

Believe in who you are and what you can do

Believe in those who are around you

Not many souls would get to set things right

You are the Once and Future King

The chance is yours

The choices are yours to make

Choose wisely

Change is coming

Accept Help

Arthur Pendragon

Watch

Listen

You will not be alone

The Voices were eerily calm, echoing in his mind. He didn't know if he was floating or flying. He could see nothing, not even the darkness that one could see when they closed their eyes. There was nothing. He was simply standing, floating in a Void. Strangely enough there was no panic building in his chest. It took another moment to realise he was not breathing.

He waited. There was nothing else he could do. There was no reality, there was no actuality in the place where he was. Where was he? Who was he?

Arthur

Pendragon!

Oh. He has a name. Arthur. He supposed that was a good enough name. Familiar. He would take it. Now, what was he doing here?

Healing

There was only one Voice instead of a choir of different tones. This Voice was quite familiar, feminine but he couldn't quite remember where he had heard it from. He waited, listening instead of demanding answers, quite the opposite of what he did in his first Life.

First Life? Where is this then? If not Life? Death?

Not Death

You are merely taking a pause from Life

Well, that was enlightening.

Listen Pendragon!

Remember your Life.

If he had a body, he would have rolled his eyes. But he didn't, so he could only make do with sarcasm. If he could remember his Life, he wouldn't be here would he?

Remember your Purpose.

The Voices came back in full force, louder than he was used to.

Remember your Destiny.

That brought his thoughts to a stop. Destiny. Somehow, instead of being reassured, the words brought him a feeling of foreboding. Destiny. There was something that he wanted to connect with that word. Something he was missing.

Destiny was what brought him here. Right?

Destiny was what got him killed.

NO Arthur Pendragon!

It was Fear, Love, Selfishness and Loyalty that got you killed.

It was Love, Loyalty, Mercy and Selflessness that brought you here.

He didn't understand.

You will understand soon, Arthur

It was one Voice, gentle, eerie, familiar.

Remember your wish, Your Choice to come back

Things could be different, things could be the same

The Goddess has been Merciful to grant your dying wish

Be Pure, as you always have been

Trust yourself, and trust those around you

He was still sceptical. What was going on? His Choice to come back?

You must Awake now, Courage

For, Magic is waiting.

Love is waiting

Loyalty is waiting

Wisdom is waiting

Nobility is waiting

Honour is waiting

Strength is waiting

Bravery is waiting

Awake now Courage.

"...st exhausted..."

"...sire everything..."

"...awake? "

It was the silence around him that made him realise he was awake. He waited, still trying to recall the last thing he remembered. There were no Voices this time. Darkness surrounded him, but his head was clear. No confusion. He was comfortably warm, and he felt at home.

Arthur slowly opened his eyes to find himself in his chambers that were bathed in darkness. The curtains were closed, no sunlight pouring from the windows, the only source of light came from the fireplace, casting shadows on the walls.

He sat up, slowly, not wanting to disturb the silence that was only broken by the popping and cracking of the kindling, all the while needing to know what happened for him to end up in his bed.

"You're awake" The familiar voice next to him spoke softly, but with relief. It took Arthur a moment to realise it was Merlin, his boyish features showing more sharply in the shadows of the light. Gently, the young man showed a goblet in his hand. "Drink this, it's just water"

Arthur drank gratefully, savoring the liquid in his mouth as it washed away the dryness of his throat. "Thank you" he said, handing it back, and rolled his eyes as he noticed the baffled expression on his servant's face. Has Arthur always been ungrateful? Surely Merlin knew that Arthur valued his opinion more than anyone else, did he not?

"What happened?" the golden haired man asked, gesturing to the darkened room, as he tried to pry the bedsheets off from him to stand up. His companion stood up from his place on the floor and went ahead to light the candles placed around the room, talking softly as he worked.

"You swooned like a right lady at the top of the castle steps is what happened. We had to almost carry you here. Those sausages that you have every morning? They don't do any good for you weight sire" The joke fell flat as concern overlapped his teasing. "How are you feeling? Headaches? Double vision?" 

The younger man made way to his master once he made sure that the room was bright enough to examine him. He gently peered at Arthur's eyes, his fingers prodding up his eyelids. A thorough physician's examination. Arthur realised. Merlin was Gaius's Apprentice. Even with ten years in his service, he hadn't connected the dots.

"I'm fine," he said stiffly, but truthfully. There was no ache in his head, and no disorientation in his mind. Now, if only he could figure out what was happening, Arthur would be fine and dandy. He turned to his servant. The room was still dark enough to not bother his eyes, but he could see the paleness of Merlin's skin and the dark bags under his eyes. "How long have I been out?"

"About ten hours I think. We have a few more hours until dawn. I don't think you would have wanted to miss Morgana's birthday. I'll prepare a bath for you. Maybe a snack if you're hungry?"

Morgana's- huh?

He looked at Merlin, critically eyeing him to see if there was a lie in between the words, because why on earth would the castle celebrate Morgana's birthday? But there was nothing in his expression that gave anything away other than concern and annoyance.

Remember your wish, your Choice to come back.

Oh.

Oh.

It was a good thing that he was still sitting on his bed, because he was sure he would have toppled to the floor now that he had connected the dots. His hand reached for his temple in expiration, simply feeling tired of emotions. Tired of everything.

"Arthur?"

"Merlin?" Arthur looked up to his friend standing before him, looking so young, but still weary. "Can you please tell me what today's date is?"

Maybe it was the way he asked the question, or because he saw the desperation in his eyes, Merlin gently answered. "Wednesday, Third week of Spring, Twenty Eighth Year of King Uther's Reign"

Arthur swore colourfully under his breath as he buried his face in his hands, but he was sure Merlin had heard him. He didn't care, because he didn't know how else to deal with- all this- whatever this was.

"Impressive for a royal" Arthur heard the mocking voice of his servant. "What was it you said the other day about being too disciplined to use such uncouth tongue?"

Arthur didn't rise to the bait, although he really wanted to quip back to keep his mind clear. To realise that he had gone back- what- six years? makes a man go for a bit of a shock for a while.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" Merlin. Good gods, what he would give for some good Merlin wisdom this time. He raised his head to meet the eyes of the sorcerer, his friend, who looked young and weary and tired but concerned and determined. Arthur made a decision for the time being.

"I'm fine," he said finally. "The bath can wait until morning. Go home and get some rest Merlin. You look like you're about to kneel over. I can take care of myself." For now at least.

When the dark haired companion opened his mouth to retort, Arthur gave him a look which ended all arguments, that surprisingly shut him up. Which was quite odd. But Arthur wasn't complaining. He wanted time to think. Few hours before dawn seemed like a perfectly good time.

"Merlin," Arthur said softly before the servant disappeared out of the door, his voice just above the popping and cracking of the fire. He was facing away from the door, but he could feel Merlin's inquisitiveness through the door.

"Yes sire?"

"When you want something so much and finally get it to your hands, what would happen if you have no idea what to do with it?"

There was a pause before his friend finally spoke. "I think, you have to think about why you wanted it in the first place, and then go from there"

Arthur nodded, indicating he had heard but made no other acknowledgement otherwise. He listened to the popping of the fire, until he finally heard the soft click of the door closing behind him, the sound of his friend leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Camelot castle always had places with picturesque views. But of course, there are some locations that had the best views at certain times of the day. The view overlooking the castle battlements always was a sight in the evening, just as the sun sets through the horizon. But the forest overlooking the abandoned tower in the eastern end of the castle at pre dawn was what Arthur would call as breathtaking. It wasn't always that he got to watch the sunrise, -mostly because he never liked the mornings- but when he somehow did get the chance, he would get this satisfaction in him that he never thought he wanted.

Back when he was a young prince who tried to escape his strict tutors and training, he used to explore the castle, through servants' corridors and abandoned towers. Morgana used to join him more often than not when he invited her, he being no more than a boy of ten years and she a mischievous eleven year old. It was in one of those expeditions that he managed to find the spot in the abandoned tower.

Those were good days. Neither of them had a weight on their shoulders. Neither of them were forced to choose what they wanted. Those were simpler times. Not like the present. Not like the future. Arthur wondered, as he sat on the stone windowsill letting the chill of the dawn settle into his bones, when had everything had gone to hell? The possibilities were endless.

But now, but now, he had a chance. Not just to help his friend, but to save Morgana, to save his own kingdom however he could. All his life, Arthur wanted to do what was right. But every time he tried, apparently ended up making the wrong choice. Every time he made a choice he ended up being betrayed, or lied to. Morgana, Agravaine, Merlin.

Not that he really blamed Merlin. Arthur was just- hurt. Arthur was hurt that his friend had not trusted him enough with his secret. Arthur was hurt that he was not good enough for his friend. He trusted Merlin with everything in his life. From his emotions, to secrets to insecurities- so why didn't Merlin deem him worthy enough with his own secret? Had he not given him enough reason for Merlin to trust him?

Had he?

Blue eyes stretched to the horizon as he watched red lines streak though the dark sky, heralding a dawn of a new day. Arthur was already exhausted, and he still hadn't figured out how to face this new situation. He was no longer King now, and his father was- oh gods - his father was alive!

Arthur had so many conflicting thoughts regarding his father. Uther Pendragon was a good king. The thing is, now that Arthur had ruled a kingdom for nearly five years, he knew the weight of the people's lives was balanced just by his words. Now that he had died with a revelation that went against all his father's teachings, he can say that his father could be unreasonable.

Well.

Uther Pendragon was a good king before he decided that every man must die for having a lick of magic in them. Yes. Arthur wasn't stupid. His father no longer frightened him, but there was something-

"How can I be proud of a son who ignores everything I taught him? Who destroys my inheritance?"

"I won't allow you to destroy everything I built!"

Arthur breathed , the memory so felt fresh and raw along with the hurt that he felt of his father's disappointment. No! He will no longer look for his father's approval. His father sometimes could be wise, but his own hatred became his own downfall. Arthur was no longer the crown prince waiting to please his father. His father no longer had that hold on him.

He could do this .

He could face the day. Face his no-longer-dead-father , his might-be-evil-sister and his still-weary,-traumatised-best-friend. He could save them this time.

What was the point of coming back if not to make things right?

Arthur walked purposefully back into his chambers. His back was straight, his face showing a façade of confidence overlaying his exhausted and doubtful mind. Pushing open the wooden doors, Arthur was not surprised to see Merlin bustling around his chambers and looking up to meet his eyes as he entered.

"Where have you been, you royal prat? Why did you think it was a good idea to leave without letting anyone know? If you somehow get hurt it'll be on my head like always!"

Arthur grinned, slipping into the easy banter as a duck took to water. "Oh shut up Mer lin. Don't get into a frenzy. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Says the one who needs someone’s help to dress himself-"

"What was that Mer lin?"

"Nothing sire. Your bath is ready."

Arthur hummed, peeling off the tunic he picked up that morning before he decided to go on his expedition to the abandoned tower. Breakfast laid on the table, a small loaf of bread along with some other assortments. It was quite early in the morning, earlier than the usual time when his servant comes to wake him up in the morning in all the years that Arthur had known him. Now he had a warm breakfast on the table and a bath ready behind the screen, curtesy of his usually incompetent manservant. Arthur had an inkling that Merlin may not have slept the night -or the morning- before.

"You're early" Arthur commented disapprovingly, instead of making light of his other observations.

"What! Honestly there's no pleasing you sometimes. Every time I'm late you decide to practise your aim with goblets, but now for once I'm early, prepare you a hot bath -because I am feeling generous - and you decided to be a prat about it?"

Arthur turned his attention to the prattling servant, and didn't fail to notice the hunched shoulders and the dark shadows under his eyes. Cobalt eyes looked back at him with disbelief and amusement, and was that flecks of gold that Arthur saw in his friend's irises?

"Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked, blinking away and breaking their gaze and moving his way towards the screen.

"I- yes"

That was a lie if he ever heard one. Arthur hadn't taken lessons on how Gaius did The Eyebrow, but he had his own way of confronting Merlin in his lies with his very own Blank Stare. That was precisely what he did.

"Maybe?"

Arthur could feel a headache coming his way at the end of the day.

"Just tell me my schedule Merlin" he said with a sigh as he lowered himself to the -still warm- water in the tub behind the screen, -because he didn't want his servant to know that he was worried about him.

"Schedule cleared in the morning because the King needed you in the throne room if you're feeling well enough" so long for trying to avoid meeting his father. "You have lunch with Lord Appleby? Alpebly. I think he wants to talk about the trade routes to his estates" Ahh. He never liked that pompous old bat. "And Lady Morgana's feast in the evening. To which I think you need to get a gift, if you don't want to feel her wrath" Morgana's wrath was not something he wanted to deal with again. But he somehow knew that he would yet to see an end to it.

Arthur never said his thoughts out loud as he listened to Merlin's voice, instead focused on removing the grime on his skin from the day before. On his

side, where there was supposed to be a mortal wound, only held a decade old scar that would irritate him for the rest of his life. The bruise on his back felt almost healed and Arthur had to wonder if Merlin had something to do with it. 

Actually, he wondered what exactly happened on the day before when he found himself in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Merlin had looked like he had seen a ghost despite Arthur's own relief to know that his friend was alright. He will have to figure out. But now, he had to face his long dead father, who didn't seem to be happy with how he ruled his kingdom the last time Arthur talked to him.

Arthur didn't doubt his life could get any stranger.

Chapter Text

Chin up.

Stand straight.

Breathe.

He could do this.

He could do this!

Arthur unclenched his hands as he stood in front of the wooden double doors that lead to the throne room. What was wrong with him? He had been a king! He had won battles, fought sorcerers, died! But he couldn't even walk into a room with his previously dead father?

"There are certain things that are more important than love. It is your duty to strengthen and protect the kingdom. You failed."

Gray eyes. Ghostly pale skin.

"How can I be proud of a son who ignores everything I taught him? Who destroys my inheritance?"

Uther Pendragon suddenly stood in front of him, his skin ghastly pale, almost translucent in the sunny hallway with a disapproving glare aimed directly at Arthur, and the blond haired man took a step back with sudden alarm. He closed his eyes waiting for another round of his father's accusing words.

Only they didn't come.

Arthur blinked, only to find himself back in front of the door to the throne room, and no sign of his father's ghostly apparition.

What was that supposed to be?

Memories- his mind provided.

It felt as fresh as he heard those words the first time, and it had been years since he tried to drown the face of his father's ghost. What was happening to him?

He would only be meeting his father! W ho just wanted to kill him the last time they met.

He felt a presence at his right three steps behind, and Arthur realised it was Merlin. Without a word, the dark haired man stepped forward, handing Arthur a neatly rolled scroll. Before he could ask what it was, the wooden double doors suddenly pushed open revealing the throne room, cutting off all of Arthur's wandering thoughts and making him feel a sudden sense of foreboding.

He would be fine.

Arthur was not fine.

Uther Pendragon sat on the throne greeting his son with the barest hint of a smile, and all Arthur wanted was to turn around and leave his presence. Because all he could think back was to the day the ghost of his father attacked and tried to kill him in the same room they were now, and as much as Arthur tried to think past it, he just- couldn't do it.

"Arthur!" His father's voice was warm and happy and not angry and disappointed and he sounded not like the King, but his father. Arthur curled his hands into fists and pulled his face into a mask covering his internalised monologue, and gave his father a well practised bow.

"Father. I apologise for the delay of the report regarding the last day's expedition near the Valley of the Fallen Kings." Arthur said, although he had no idea what they were doing there in the first place. He should have asked Merlin about it that morning. But he did know how to talk his way through the court, and he would be fine.

Confidence was what he wanted to show the court.

"Yes. I did hear you were ill. I hope you're feeling up to your strength now."

Arthur stood straight and met his father's eyes, cold grey with a little hint of warmth. This was not his ghost. He was real, alive- and not broken as he was in his last moments.

There was a pause as he watched his father's face. There was no anger now. And it had been so long since he had heard his father's voice in such a manner.

"Arthur?"

He blinked, and cleared his throat. Right. Arthur was in the throne room. He shouldn't lose his composure. "I- Yes my Lord, nothing a little sleep couldn't mend"

The King nodded and waited, until Arthur realised that he was waiting for him to deliver the report. He looked at the scroll in his hand. When he was unable to inform the King immediately after his quests out of the castle, his father always demanded a written account of the expedition.  As such was the case here, Arthur was suddenly very grateful for Merlin, because he knew it was the dark haired man who documented the report when Arthur was unable to do so.

He held his father's gaze as he passed the scroll to Lord Eldrich the Court Scribe, an upright and stiff old man whose face Arthur hadn't seen in a long time. "Our trail was picked up by a group of Bandits somewhere near the Valley of the Fallen Kings. They probably have a stronghold somewhere in the White Mountains'' Arthur spoke, with all the courage he could muster. "How we escaped, I would never know. However, some credit must go to my servant, Merlin."

The King's cool gaze met his own and Arthur had to repress the strong urge to glare at him at his nonchalance when the now- Prince tried to credit his servant. It wasn't new, years of knowing his father made him realise this, but Arthur couldn't say he wasn't disappointed.

"Dispatch a patrol. I want these men caught and brought to justice," Uther commanded, and Arthur could only nod in solemnity.

"Right away, My Lord."

Arthur's gaze flickered behind the king's throne to his left, fixing on the graceful figure with raven black curls.

Lady Morgana stared back at him with steel green eyes, and a smile that Arthur could've sworn was bordering on a smirk.

He almost had to take a step back as he realised this was not the kind hearted Morgana that he knew in his childhood. The woman who sat in front of him was a traitor seeking the kingdom's downfall. How did he not notice this before? How long had she been like this?

Arthur suddenly felt his throat go dry. "I—" he cleared his throat and masked his surprise of seeing the woman who was his sister and who tried to kill him numerous times in his past with a broad smile. "I do also like to wish Lady Morgana a wonderful birthday, and may this day bring all your heart desires."

At this, his father let out a laugh and a warm smile rising from his throne. "Court adjourned!" he said as he walked forward clapping Arthur on his shoulder. The once-King had to exhale and blink away the involuntary tears gathering at his eyes at the familiar, warm, steady grasp of his father's hand. "We feared you would have been too ill to attend the feast today Arthur."

He could feel his heart drumming beneath his ribcage. His father's friendly voice and Morgana's not too friendly presence brought on too many feelings , and all Arthur wanted was to leave the room to the comfort of his chambers. He curled his fingers and gritted his teeth, willing himself to ground him back. "It would take me more than a little headache to take me away from a feast in honour of the Lady I would call my sister. " He offered her a forced smile that looked a little strained, what was he to do when the last time he saw her she was just a corpse?

"Oh Arthur, we both know that you would never turn down a feast lest if it be on my name or not," said the witch in disguise with a quirk on her lips. It took the now-Prince all his willpower to not let out the simmering anger that he felt under his skin.

His father let out a booming laugh as he nodded at the both of them, a proud glint in his eyes, all the while Arthur was torn between wanting to smile back at his father and sending a withering glare at his sister's direction. This was enough. He had enough for the day, done with seeing dead people who wanted and tried to kill him at one point or another in his life, or rather his past life .

"For once in your life Morgana I think you're right," Arthur started, wanting to end the conversation and knowing that there was no other way other than to give away the victory in the verbal spat. "It is always quite entertaining to see you turning down the hopeful nobles waiting for your hand." Without waiting for her response, Arthur stepped back, and held the gaze of his father. "I'm afraid I have another appointment in my schedule My Lord, may I be excused?"

Arthur stumbled into his bedroom not before ordering Merlin to walk his dogs because no matter how much he valued the man's presence, he wanted nothing more than to be alone that moment. He had to gather himself together.

He sat on the foot of his bed, planting his feet on the large chest on the floor, and clutched his head as he began to separate his thoughts.

He had thought he was ready to meet his father. He had thought he was ready enough to meet his sister, and ye gods what a fool he was! When he saw the woman's face all he could imagine was the hollowed battered pale figure of Morgana, half mad with revenge and bitterness.

It was not hate that filled his heart. Anger was a familiar feeling for him, but beneath that there was pity and sympathy for the woman that he lost. He wanted his sister back. The kind compassionate and fierce woman who loved tormenting him. Was he bad for not hating the woman who became the reason for the loss of so many lives?

His hands found their way to his temple, trying to ease the pain of an upcoming headache. There were so many things that he needed to sort out.

What happened to you Morgana?

Arthur stared blankly at the wall in front of him, as if it could give him any answers, only to realise that the wall stared back at him with the same expression. The man sighed. He was going nowhere with this. If only he could-

" You've made it perfectly clear how you feel about me and my kind. You're not as different from Uther as you'd like to think."

There. In front of him she stood, dressed in a tattered black dress with unkempt hair and hollow cheekbones, a complete contrast to the woman he talked to mere moments before. He blinked owlishly, to shake the image of his dead sister, but the image didn't seem to shake away from his head. He wasn't as surprised as when he saw his father's apparition before he went into the throne room. It seems very little could startle a mind once you've died and brought back to life.

"That is not true. You didn't give me a chance," Arthur altered, eyes softening as he spoke to the pale figure of Morgana.

" You didn't accept what was offered to you. You didn't like what was there in front of you. Your ignorance became the cause of your death!"

Arthur had no answer to that. Because in his heart of hearts, he knew that everything that had happened was more or less his fault. If he hadn't been so oblivious to what had been happening in front of him, if he actually paid attention to his most trusted friend, and actually listened to him rather than being wrapped up in his own pride -

"Ah, that's right brother" the cold mocking voice of Morgana brought back memories within memories of his failings. "It's your own pride that brought the suffering of everyone around you. You've always been your father's son with your ignorance, and your blind hatred. How fun it was for me to see you get fooled by everyone around you Arthur."

Arthur gulped, tears gathering at the end of his eyes. What kind of torture is this? To have all his failings shove straight to his face? A cold shiver went down his spine, and he knew that it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

He had to stop his line of thinking. He had been there before. He remembered navigating a cold dark labyrinth of tunnels looking for a safe haven, with the same thoughts wrapping around his conscience. That time, a dark haired lanky man helped him to get out of his stupor and made him see sense. This time, there was none other than the ghostly presence of his sister that his mind had conjured, who did nothing but to push him back into the darkness.

‘All I know is that, for your many faults, you are honest and brave and true hearted, and one day you will be the greatest King this land has ever known.’

Merlin's words and his utter faith all those years ago brought him back from that darkness. Arthur knew now that those words were void now. What good of a King was he when his most trusted friend didn't even trust him back in return?

Then it's a good thing that you have another chance to prove him right. His mind supplied, and Arthur paused.

He will prove Merlin right. Unlike the last time, Arthur knew better than to make trouble and leave Merlin to clear his mess. This time, Arthur vowed to be a better King, a better friend. This time, Arthur would save Morgana because he refused to believe that the old Morgana was gone from this world. He saw her in her eyes when she let out her dying breath. The desperation, the sorrow, he had seen it all. He knew that there was a chance for her to come back to him.

He wiped a traitorous tear that spilled from his eye, - what was this? Has dying made him go soft with his feelings?- and took a breath . He would make things right. Starting with a certain sorceress.

Arthur raised himself from where he sat on his bed and walked over to his desk, knowing that there was something that he needed to do. Opening the drawer, he picked up a wooden box that sat innocently inside and opened it, letting a small smile grace at the corner of his lips. It looked almost perfect, and all it needed now was a touch of silver, a touch of jewels.

He was now in need of a silversmith.

Chapter Text

It was a furious looking Merlin Arthur met on the other side of the doors when he stepped into his chambers later that afternoon. He looked like a mother bear waiting to reprimand her kids for wandering off without letting her know, and Arthur couldn't help but snort at the image formed in his head.

"Where have you been?" asked the dark haired man, his shadowed eyes narrowed at Arthur with accusation. "Didn't you hear me this morning about your lunch date with Lord Appleby? Do you have any idea how many excuses I had to come up for you because you thought it was a good idea to skive off your princely duties? As if I have no other work to do!"

Ah. Arthur did not -in fact- forget about it. It was just the fact that commissioning a silversmith took a lot of his time, and he wanted his gift to be perfect, so he stayed at the forge to see the progress with his own eyes. It was just that he didn't remember to inform Merlin of his whereabouts.

"Well then," Arthur said, squaring his shoulders and placing the box in his hands on the nearby table, "have you done my clothes for the evening?" He was certainly not changing the subject of his missing appointment with Lord whatshisname, but merely speculating what his servant did in his work hours.

His question seemed to strike the dark haired man into silence, and Arthur raised both his eyebrows with veiled amusement and the silent victory of winning another verbal battle.

"Ah— no" was Merlin's genius reply, and Arthur inwardly smirked.

" No ? Well, what have you been doing? Other than reminding me of where I should be?"

The man in question looked dumbfounded, at a loss of words for his question and it painfully reminded Arthur how young Merlin looked. There was still a sparkle in his deep blue eyes that Arthur had seen missing in the eyes of his old friend, and his heart gave a painful throb. He looked away, unable to hold the other's gaze which painfully reminded himself of his failures, and found himself looking at a pile of clothes sitting on a chair at the table.

"Right then," Arthur continued, with a hint of a smile at the edge of his lips and walked towards the aforementioned chair. "You can start by pressing my robe" tossing the said crimson robe at the younger man, Arthur didn't hide the smirk that came over him. Secret sorcerer or not, Merlin could still be an idiot. "And cleaning my shirt and my boots"

Arthur's hand gently hovered over the carved wooden box on the table and didn't miss the questioning glance Merlin sent at it. He wanted to wait until the dark haired man's curiosity got the better of him and questioned him about it, but Arthur was bouncing on his heels to show off his present that he ran out of patience. "Oh alright, Merlin" he huffed exasperatedly and signalled him to come closer as he opened the box. "Take a look at what I got for Morgana!"

Inside the small chest rested a sharp, well balanced dagger with its crimson grip and sheath embossed with gold and silver highlights of swirls. It's pommel decorated with a cut ruby which glistened in the sunlight. The design was quite similar but different from what he got for her the last time, but nonetheless, the weapon was beautiful. It cost Arthur a small fortune, but it was for Morgana, his sister, who he dearly loved and wanted back in his life. He knew that maybe it would come back to bite him, but he desperately wanted for her to know that he cared for her. He didn't want to see her being wasted into a half mad, vengeful woman she had been.

"What do you say, Merlin?"

Arthur glanced at Merlin who seemed to have quietened for some reason, only to realise that man had gone dreadfully pale with a look of fearful apprehension in his face. He was looking at the blade with dread in his eyes, and Arthur had to wonder what had happened to make Merlin to be that way. Sometimes Arthur could only imagine what was going on in his servant's head.

Sighing to himself and rolling his eyes, Arthur resisted the urge to cuff his companion at the back of his head, instead went to clasp his hand on Merlin's shoulder, trying to pull the man out of whatever stupor that he was in. True to this, the dark haired man blinked, and gave Arthur a very strained smile as he met his eyes.

"Well," the younger man said, trying and failing to pretend that there was nothing that was bothering him. "That's what every woman wants isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, don't ladies like things like jewellery and not— you know — stabby things?"

"This is Morgana we're talking about! She would adore a pretty dagger like this!" ' She would, if she could surpass the temptation to stab everyone in the back. Arthur thought bitterly as he remembered dark halls filled with immortal soldiers and Southron men, killing innocent men and women just for being the citizens of his kingdom. For a moment he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Wouldn't it be easier to kill the woman who would be responsible for so many of their deaths?

Could Arthur work up the courage to kill the woman that was his sister?

Could he justify an execution of someone who was yet to do an evil act just because they would do so in the future?

Morgana.

Mordred.

How could he judge someone for the crimes that they were yet to commit?

His companion didn't seem to hear the raging thoughts swirling in the golden haired man's mind, instead stiffly picked up the pieces of clothing that were thrown at his face by his master. Arthur did not stop him as he left, his fingers curling around the hilt of the ornamented dagger that he had commissioned for his sister.

The silver of hope he had for Morgana diminished every time Arthur stopped to think about her. Can he forgive the woman who was responsible for the torment of everyone in his life including himself? Can Arthur be selfish enough to give her a chance? The Morgana whom he saw that morning hadn't done anything that he was aware of, but Arthur knew that she was still a traitor. Her changed demeanour was plain as day, and Arthur cursed himself for being so foolish in the past to be fooled by her.

Arthur sighed, his hands reaching to his temple as he realised there was another headache building at the back of his head. This was ridiculous. He thought he had a plan this morning. but the doubt that had creeped in his mind as time passed was more than just a passing thought, and if anything goes wrong, Arthur wouldn't know how to fix things on his own.

He- He needed to stop thinking of possibilities, else he might go mad.

A break was all he wanted! Death was supposed to be freeing. Not being thrusted into his past and shovelling his mistakes into his face!

The confines of his chambers no longer felt comforting, and Arthur felt strangely trapped. Not that he felt anything other than trapped since he woke up in the living nightmare that was his past, and all he wanted was to get out of this trap. Or sooner or later he knew that he might snap.

It wasn't long after that Arthur found himself once again wandering - patrolling - around the hallways of his castle, getting out of the way of servants hurrying along in preparation for tonight's feast. He desperately wanted to stretch his muscles, to feel the strain in his arms, to feel the familiar grip of the sword in his hands. But alas, he had missed that morning's training, and he had only but a few minutes until Merlin would find him again to coax him into going to the feast that evening. Not that it meant that he couldn't go to the training grounds, his servant had no say in what he could or couldn't do, except he did , and Arthur didn't want to be on the receiving end of the disappointed look in his friend's eyes again no matter how amusing it sounded.

He turned another corner in the hallway and from the corner of his eye he got a glimpse of dark brown curls framing a familiar face with a warm smile.

Guinevere-

Arthur sucked in a breath, and his heart skipped a beat -several beats- when his eyes met hers on the other end of the hallway. She looked young, beautiful and radiant as ever, even though she was dressed in the simple yellow dress that matched her beautifully. His love, his wife, his Queen .

He desperately wanted to go to her, to take her to his arms and kiss her gently, to press a loose curl of her dark brown hair behind her ear. His heart fluttered, soared, he felt as if his heart suddenly filled with something he was missing all this time, but couldn't understand. But he knew now, he missed his Guinevere, his radiant Queen.

Things had been a whirlwind of events since he had last seen his Queen, in the doomed fields of Camlann, before his final battle. He had been stabbed, betrayed, died, brought back to his past, had been forced to confront his father and his evil half sister, but it didn't excuse the fact that his mind had slipped the thoughts of the love of his life.

Not forgotten. Never forgotten.

His lady stood at the end of the hallway, holding a basket of dirty laundry at her hip, her head nodding in his way and giving him another sunny smile. The golden haired man wanted nothing more than to embrace the woman and pour his heart out, to tell her of the absolute disaster of life that he was now living. He took a step towards her, but as soon as he did, reality crashed on him like a heap of rocks as he realised that this Guinevere was not his Queen, not the woman whom he crowned on the throne room, not the woman who fought with him to take Camelot back from Morgana's clutches.

But-

But she was still the woman he fell in love with. She was still Guinevere, Blacksmith's daughter, the woman who fearlessly, furiously spoke her mind about his rude behaviour when he was a guest at her home, the woman who trained an army of common women to defend their home, and the woman that Arthur was hopelessly still in love with.

But- again, this was too much, Arthur wanted to get away, away, away from all this. Back to his Camelot, back to his Guinevere, back to his Merlin.

But in the back of his mind, Arthur was glad he was back here, trying to help in any way he could.

Except he had no idea how to.

Not for the first time that day, Arthur took a breath, determination filling his veins. He is not running away again. Time to face things head on. He needed to face things as a King.

He would not force Guinevere to love him, because Arthur was mature enough to realise that she still had a place in her heart for Lancelot. No matter how much that hurt him, he would give her the choice.

He would not force Merlin to reveal his secret to him. He would give him time, let him know that Merlin could trust Arthur, that he would choose his best friend over his father at any given time, because Arthur knew that the dark haired boy had suffered more than he let on, and the only thing he could do was to be there for him.

Except-

Arthur didn't know if he could survive without the two of his most treasured people at his side.

He didn't know how to stay sane without having to confide in anyone.

A King must rule alone. That was his father's policy. Never Arthur's. Arthur believed in equality. In mercy. He would be nothing without his most trusted people by his side.

CLANG!

The sound of a loud long ringing noise of a metal plate hitting the floor brought Arthur to the surface of his sea of thoughts, and when he blinked and looked back at the end of the hallway, Guinevere was nowhere in sight.

Arthur tried not to let his guilt and disappointment show.

Chapter Text

The feast was as sumptuous and extravagant as Arthur knew it would be, but he wished he was anywhere other than sitting next to his father - the King - at the high table pretending to enjoy whatever meal that was placed in front of him. Even the exquisitely prepared grilled venison tasted nothing more than ash on his tongue, and the wine that he took to wash it down only gave him a bitter aftertaste.

His eyes searched for the people he was familiar with, a look for his Knights made him realize that The Round Table didn't exist yet, and his loyal Knights were either banished -in the case of Lancelot and Gwaine- or haven't been introduced yet -like Elyan and Percival-. Only his attempt at searching for Sir Leon proved to be more fruitful. The ginger haired Knight sat in the midst of his fellow comrades with a goblet full of wine, yet still vigilant for any attack or disturbance. As if feeling his eyes on him, Sir Leon looked back at the golden haired man, and Arthur offered him a genuine smile with a tilt of his head, showing both his acknowledgement and appreciation to his attentiveness.

Guinevere and her sunny, strong presence behind Morgana soothed his wandering mind. She was dressed in pretty dainty pink instead of the dark extravagant colors she wore once she became his Queen. The light colors suited her better, if Arthur was being honest with himself. Darker shades meant duty, responsibility, and he wasn't blind as to how she changed as the years passed. The weight of a crown could do that to a person.

Arthur wondered if in a way it was him who doomed his friends' lives. He had been so wrapped up with himself that he didn't see the straining friendship, how duty contradicted doing things right and how friendship collided with duty.

Oh, wasn't hindsight a terrible thing! It would've been better for them if he hadn't invaded their lives since the beginning. He was born to doom the lives of the people he loved.

The sound of shuffling feet a few paces behind Arthur signaled him of his manservant's presence, squashing his previous trail of thought. It wouldn't do any good to bring about his doubts in the middle of a banquet. Merlin shifted behind him again, probably waiting to fill his cup, which was still brimful of wine. It was as if he had somehow known that Arthur wasn't in the mood for celebration, and the servant didn't question it.

Arthur couldn't wait to get away from this place.

Finally, when the toast was done and the King had presented his gift to his ward, Arthur decided it was time to present his own, which was why he attended the feast in the first place. Instead of asking for a page to bring in his gift this time, Arthur stood up from his place at the King's right and walked over to Morgana, pulling out a smile which he hoped didn't look false.

The King's ward looked beautiful glimmering in a dress made up of silvery silk and white pearls woven into her dark curls. Arthur had a hard time comparing the pale witch who fought tooth and nail for his demise to this lady standing in front of him, and neither could he forget the similarities between the younger, kind Morgana to this traitorous woman with steel in her gaze. His heart ached painfully for the loss of his friend and his sister, and the only thing he knew he should do was to make things right. Even if he didn't know how .

The now-Prince pulled out the carved wooden box from the inner pocket of his doublet and presented it to her, his smile becoming more genuine. He gently grabbed her hand and placed the box on her grip, while noticing a bracelet that he had seen her wear before, but didn't take particular interest in. Instead, he met her eyes, sincerity pouring out of his soul.

"Happy Birthday Morgana," Arthur said smiling, and reached in to kiss her cheek. They had never shown affection to each other like that, neither in front of the whole court nor amongst themselves, and the attention that he gained and the inquisitive stares that he felt at his back made him tense. "Never forget that you have a family here who loves you." He whispered in her ear, genuinely meaning every word he said.

The now-Prince stepped back, ignoring the whispers that he could hear among the crowd, and subtly glanced at Morgana who looked stunned in place and didn't seem to have realized that Arthur had stepped back. "Don't look so stunned," he said in jest, to cover up the fact that he had proved his vulnerability to the whole court and hoping that she wouldn't be offended by what he did. Even if she was, that was too bad. "I can do nice things, you Harpy!" A smile tugged at his lips, and he could see her blinking in bewilderment as she pulled out of her trancelike state.

"How nice of you Arthur," the dark haired lady replied in kind, and the golden haired man didn't miss the undercurrent of warning in her tone. He watched as she opened the carved box, picked up the silver engraved dagger. The cut ruby embedded in the pommel reflected the light in the room. Arthur had to agree, it was a beautiful piece of work.

Despite the fact that he had faced death, somehow traveled back in time and had a loyal magical idiot for a friend, Arthur had never been much of a superstitious person. Although he had learned his lesson by respecting relics and sacred magical places with the incident of the Druid camp, he didn't put his belief on certain things that he couldn't explain. Nevertheless, he knew more about properties of gemstones than he knew about magic as a subject, so it was with deliberate thoughtfulness that he gifted his sister the ruby dagger and he hoped that she understood what he couldn't say in words.

Protection.

Positive Dreams.

Nobility.

'Take care Morgana' Arthur thought to himself as he gave her another strained smile, and excused himself from the feast claiming to have another pounding headache.

Arthur entered his chambers with little fanfare after he dismissed Merlin for the night -when he saw how the boy had turned pale and looked spooked at the feast-, claiming that the now-Prince could take care of himself for the night. Arthur didn't know whether to be offended or not when Merlin looked dubiously at him when he said that, not minding how his heart ached at the familiar mannerisms of his friend.

"Are you sure you're not coming down with something?" Merlin had asked with a teasing lilt in his voice when Arthur had released him for the night, but despite the tone he noticed the lack of spark in his eyes. The dark haired man looked haggard and worn.

"Clearly, your eyes needed to be checked, Merlin. I am at the peak of my health. You, on the other hand..?"

"Aww are you worried about me?"

"Certainly not. I just can't afford to give you days off if you somehow fall on your feet. You're no use to me dead."

"So you do care about me!"

"Shut Up, Merlin!" And that was that.

Arthur sighed as the doors clicked shut behind him, taking a moment for himself as he placed his flaming forehead against the wood and closing his eyes. He knew that there were a lot of things he needed to talk about with Merlin, but talking has never been one of his strengths.

" Running away again?"

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice behind him. He turned around in one swish moment, and reached to his non existing sword at his hip, only to find himself facing a familiar head of raven hair, pale skin, dressed in a ratty red neckerchief and a faded blue tunic, sitting at one of the chairs at his table.

"I thought I gave you the night off?"

" Oh? I'm sure you and I both know that thinking is never your strong suit Sire." It was said in such a monotonous deadpan that Arthur had to blink to make sure that he was actually seeing his friend in front of him. Now that he looked for it, the golden haired man was sure that he wasn't his servant. The intruder's eyes were unreadable, and he looked older, more weary than the Merlin he had his last conversation with. In fact, this one resembled more of the  Merlin that he left behind.  

"You're not Merlin." Arthur blurted out, stepping away from the door, and walking cautiously towards not-Merlin.

The figure merely shrugged his shoulders, and met his eyes. " It doesn't matter does it? You've always thought of me as a fool. What difference does it make? "

"What are you talking about?"

A bitter laugh was the response to his baffled question, and it looked and sounded so out of place on Merlin. It sounded harsh, unforgiving. " You don't want me to answer that, believe me." This, whoever they were, they weren't Merlin. Arthur was certain. No matter how similar they looked, Merlin would never sound so bitter.

"You- you're not Merlin" Yes- That's right. He was imagining things. As he was in the morning. Like Morgana. Like- Uther.

"I'm sure that would help you sleep at night" Not-Merlin wasn't sitting at his table anymore. He was—

—leaning on the wall next to the fireplace, head cocked to the side, looking back at Arthur with dead, haunted eyes.

" You think I'm not real? Well, go on. It isn't hard to convince you. After all, you only needed me just to serve you. Just a fool to entertain your guests"

The golden haired man felt his face drain of color. This was what Merlin thought of him? That cannot be real. "No, " Arthur whispered, not wanting to disturb the eerie quietness in the room. " No! That is not true. I— I value you. You're my friend! "

Another bitter laugh echoed in the chamber. The sound of footsteps made the now- Prince look behind him. "Not enough to trust me, apparently," it was the first time Arthur heard a barest hint of amusement in the phantom's tone, but it wasn't teasing. It was just- bitter. Arthur felt a dull pain of anger.

"Neither did you, as it seems," He couldn't help but force his opinion on the phantom, for that is what not-Merlin was. Apparently Arthur was still bitter about the betrayal which he thought he got over with now that he came back from the dead.

" Defensive are we? " the phantom had the audacity to smirk at him, but the dead eyes made him much more fear inducing. " But wasn't that what you have been doing all these years? Running away, just because your little heart got hurt? Leaving someone else to clean up your mess? "

Fury engulfed Arthur's senses as he tried to control his actions. He curled his hands into fists and took a swing at the phantom, only for it to connect with nothing but thin air. He fell onto his knees, miscalculating his balance. He could feel the dull ache of his knees hitting the floor, but his mind couldn't get rid of the loud, bitter laughter of the phantom that echoed in the chamber.

"Shut up!" The golden haired man called out to the empty room, curling his hands to his ears to block out the ringing laughter. He did not acknowledge the tears that swelled in the edges of his eyes. Nothing was true. " Shut Up! "

Something metal and heavy crashed on the corridor outside of his chambers but Arthur took no care for it. He didn't have the energy to bring himself to care, not to get up from his place on the floor. If it were an assassin, let them come. Arthur could do with beating up someone.

The wooden doors crashed open, and Arthur braced himself for an assassin, only to find himself face to face with the subject of his thoughts.

"Arthur!" Merlin's eyes were wide, worried and fearful and his skin several shades paler than usual, but still looked livelier than the phantom Arthur just witnessed. Which made him let out a breath in relief. "It's Morgana! She's-"

The golden haired man said nothing as he looked blankly at his friend, who had finally located him on the floor in the middle of his chambers. "What are you doing on the floor?" Merlin asked, his brows furrowing in concern as he walked towards Arthur with steady steps, extending him a hand.

Years before, Arthur wouldn't have accepted it, not wanting to bruise his pride. But now he was tired, and simply only cared for a good night's sleep.

Arthur shook his head at Merlin's question, simply grabbing his extended callused, sweaty hand and pulled himself to his feet. His knees ached, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Arthur placed out his hand on the other man's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "I'm glad you're my friend, Merlin" He said sincerely, meeting the raven haired man's eyes. A myriad of expressions filtered through the younger man's eyes, confusion, guilt, hope, gratefulness, guilt again, and finally settled to a mask of amusement.

"I'm sure no one else can put up with you, Sire."

Arthur hummed without objection, and rounded back to Merlin. "What was it you said about Morgana?"

The now-Prince saw another expression filter though the blue-gold irises. Guilt.

It was going to be a long night.                          

Chapter Text

The rising sun was hidden by dark rolling clouds when Arthur made his way towards the training grounds, a blunted sword clutched tightly in his grip. The shadows under his eyes spoke of a story beyond one sleepless night and the unkempt golden hair was not the only thing that faced the now-Prince’s frustration. Despite his need for an uninterrupted sleep, Arthur did not get an opportunity to shut his eyes. Morgana was as safe as she could be, if they could ignore the crack on her skull, the damage to her cranium.

Three days before, Arthur was preparing for his inevitable death, waiting for the shard of sword to pierce his heart, his thoughts only consisting of leaving his friend and his kingdom behind. But now, his half sister was at death’s door, and Merlin was as skittish as a startled horse, entirely avoiding Arthur’s line of sight.

Arthur raised his sword and plunged it on the straw dummy in front of him with blunt force, clenching his jaw as his muscles groaned, miscalculating his own balance and strength. In theory, Arthur knew that his body was nearly a decade younger than the last time he held a sword in his hand. He felt the difference in his body the first time he woke up in his past, but now at the training grounds, it was quite a notable difference for him, as he realized the lack of aches and pains he was used to having in his body over a decade of being a warrior. Both literally and  in a manner of speaking, Arthur felt younger and stronger. But of course, if he were to admit this to Merlin, - which he wasn’t - he would simply say that Arthur was used to being old. Which was, of course, false. 

Thunder rumbled in the distant sky. It wouldn’t be long before raindrops would fall upon the cobblestones. Three days ago, Arthur never thought he’d be alive to see another rainfall in Camelot. The golden haired man knew that he should be grateful for it, but the excitement and the stress hadn’t yet worn off from being pulled back into his past.

Morgana was dying, and Arthur didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He would have rejoiced at the news several days ago, but now, he just felt numb. He had promised to himself that he would save Morgana from her path of destruction, but now, she was dying. Wasn’t her death a better solution than watching her stumble into the path of destruction?

Arthur’s conscience didn’t seem to agree with that.

A drop of water fell on the tip of his nose as he was about to take another strike at the straw dummy, which Arthur ignored. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a familiar lanky figure stumbling his way towards the training grounds. But as much as Arthur wanted to talk to him, shake him and ask the man to look him in the eyes, Arthur ignored him too, opting to thrash the straw dummy with the blunted sword. 

Arthur relaxed his grip, relishing in the familiar burn of his muscles. The sound of metal connecting the dummy’s armor was soothing, helping him to clear his tired, foggy mind.

He remembered what happened last time. Last time, somehow miraculously Morgana got better while she was at death’s door. His father had claimed it was thanks to Gaius’ expert skill that she survived, but Arthur now had to wonder how much of it was magic. If so, how much influence did his father have about using magic to save Morgana? How much of her survival depended on Merlin’s magic?

Fury at his father’s hypocrisy burned in the pit of his stomach and he hurled the blunted sword with more force, savoring the ache in his muscles. But was Arthur right? Did Uther order Gaius to heal her, or did the two physicians heal Morgana out of their own free will? Knowing Merlin, a stubborn man who always disturbed their hunt so that the animals would save their lives, refusing to help anyone if he had the means to do it did not sit right with Arthur. But then again, this was Morgana, the one Merlin probably knew was betraying Camelot even then.           

The light drizzle had now turned into a steady pitter patter, and Arthur knew it would soon follow with pouring sheets. He huffed, gave a final blow to the straw dummy ending his training for the day. Or for the morning- depending on his mood later that day.

A glance at the other end of the training grounds once again reminded Arthur that he was not alone. Merlin was leaning against a nearby wall, looking terribly miserable and completely disregarding the rain that was steadily gaining momentum. Arthur huffed. That idiot! What was he thinking? Staying under the rain would magically solve problems? 

Arthur blatantly ignored that he too was drenching in the rain. He was training, not moping about and feeling pity for his own self like Merlin seemed to be doing.

Grumbling, Arthur found himself walking towards his friend, his feet moving faster now that the rain was steady. The training actually did him some good if Arthur could say so himself. His head was clear, he didn’t see any hallucinations of his dead sister, his father or worse, the bitter version of his old friend. 

Now he had his mind made up, and while he didn’t know what he could do to Morgana, there was someone else that he needed to talk to.

An idiot.

A magical idiot.

Because Arthur knew, as realization dawned upon him, that waiting until his friend to trust him with a secret that would cost him his life would be a cruel way to repay him. Arthur, no matter how betrayed he felt about the lies and the deception of his friend, knew that Merlin was just as lost as he was. 

It has been less than three days, but Arthur was already feeling the weight of secrets on his shoulders. The utter helplessness and the loneliness that he felt, he couldn’t imagine keeping such a secret for such a long time. He couldn’t imagine how lonely Merlin felt.  

But he understood now, at least a little.

Arthur only wished that he came to this conclusion several months , several years ago, when his old friend needed him the most.  

But all Arthur did was die on him, and leave Merlin in a kingdom where its people hated his existence. 

Well , he thought, as he approached the younger man who was drenching in the rain and looking like a wet chicken, he would not fail Merlin this time.  

From the corner of his eye, Morgana stood in the rain, dressed in her usual black lace dress and wild hair, a smirk across her lips and a maniac glint in her eyes.  

“Merlin,” Arthur huffed out, snapping the younger man out of whatever stupor that he had been in. “You look like a wet chicken. What are you doing out here?” He twirled the sword in a familiar motion, hoping to gain a reaction from the other man. But Merlin only blinked back at him in a way which reminded Arthur of a strange owl with big, blue eyes. “I swear Merlin, if you somehow catch a flu to get out of chores, you have another thing coming.”

It did nothing much, but Arthur managed to get a small upward quirk of lips from the other man, so he counted it as a victory. 

“Get out of chores?” Merlin grumbled, but the smile on his lips didn’t drop. “Me? No sire! Never  have I even thought about getting out of washing your smelly socks!”

“Merlin, My socks do—”

 “—Smell like they've been pulled out from the privy?”

”You idiot —”

“In fact—” Merlin smile was bigger, more teasing now, it baffled Arthur how long it had been since he had last seen that smile. “Even deadly assassins seem to be keeping away from you to avoid those smelly socks.”

Arthur guffawed, his laugh echoing amidst the rain, as he hit the back of the younger man’s head without much force and threw his arm, -chainmail now wet from the rain- around his shoulders. Oh, how he had missed this. What happened to this cheerful young man in six years’ time? Where was this cheerful young man in his old friend whom he left behind?

“But, that’s why I’m keeping you around, Merlin,” Arthur said, pulling the  younger man away from the stone wall he was leaning onto and towards the blessed shelter. “You’re supposed to clean them so those assassins could actually try to do their job!” 

“ Ha! — Fat chance if you think that would make me clean your socks, Sire. ”

 “ Of course not! What was I thinking?”

“You never do! I always have to do your thinking for you.”

“ Merlin?”

“Shut up?”

“Got it in one!”

If Arthur saw another pale lanky figure in a ratty red neckerchief and a blue tunic staring at him in the middle of the training grounds as they left, well, it was no one’s business.

Arthur ordered Merlin to change out of his soggy clothes and attend to him back in his chambers. He himself avoided the physician’s quarters, the pale figure of Morgana laying on the patients’ bed brought back memories of her death that he hadn’t yet gotten over.

He stumbled into his chambers once again, water dripping down his soaked chainmail, padded tunic and breeches. He was sure that Merlin would have a hissy fit for dirtying up the washed stone floors, but Arthur only had the energy to pull up a quirk of his lips and nothing more than that at the mental image of his friend.

Arthur somehow managed to get rid of his soaked chainmail and clothes, picking out an outfit from his wardrobe, -he didn’t care which one, he just wanted to b comfortable- a white tunic and brown breeches, and put them on without much trouble ‘See Merlin, I could change my clothes without help! ’

When he finally perched himself on a chair at his table, he waited for Merlin, and wondered how much he should tell his friend about the whole— dying thing.

It wasn’t long before the lanky man peeked through the doors to his chambers, and Arthur gestured to him to take a seat opposite him at the table. Merlin had a hunch in his shoulders, and the smile he had before they parted was lost to a frown marring his face.

“I’m sorry about Morgana,” Merlin murmured as he picked his chair at the table, guilt underlying his blue gold irises that were swirling with sincerity.

Arthur’s mouth clicked shut, the complaint he was about to make dying on his tongue. What was he supposed to say to that?  That he’d have given anything to save Morgana? Perhaps once, he might have given up his throne for her, but now? After witnessing the destruction that was brought upon by her? 

Sure, Arthur might have been able to stop her from descending into darkness, but he could never be sure of that. Morgana had always been unpredictable, even before she turned into darkness. So maybe this way was better? Maybe if he told Merlin what happened, he’d have the choice whether or not to save her.

“What was she thinking? Dressed up and wandering down the castle in the middle of the night?” Arthur did not expect an answer, but now that he had pointed it out, he really wanted to know. “Hang on! What were you doing out there when she fell? I gave you the night off!”

He fixed his eyes on Merlin, who seemed to be doing anything but looking back at him. ‘Come on, Merlin. Tell me! Trust me!’

But Merlin seemed to do none of that when he finally looked Arthur in the eyes, guilt and self loathing swirling in their depths. It only lasted a second before hardening into something entirely different that Arthur couldn’t quite read, but strangely familiar with. 

“I was— Uhmm.”

Arthur stared at Merlin blankly until he could come up with a better explanation, or rather waited until Merlin could give him the truth which didn’t seem to be an option for him for a reason Arthur couldn’t quite figure out.

“I was— on my way out to pick out herbs for Gaius?” 

‘You liar!’

“In the middle of the night?”

“Yeah— he needs this special flower which grows under the moonlight for a concoction that helps to cure boils that would grow on people’s—”

“Tell me the truth Merlin.” 

“I’m not—”

Disappointment churned in Arthur’s stomach like spoiled milk. Merlin was never going to tell him the truth was he? How could Arthur help his friend when he wasn’t willing to let him?

Arthur let out a sigh.

“The truth Merlin. ”

 The younger man in front of him went silent, and the expression on his face that Arthur couldn’t quite read turned into something Arthur had seen on others’ eyes, but never on Merlin.  

Fear.  

Or more specifically, Terror.  

Suddenly Arthur didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t want Merlin looking at him in such terror ever again in his life.

The question he was about to ask died on his lips.

Arthur should tell him what happened. He should tell him that Merlin had nothing to fear from him, because there was nothing to fear from Arthur. He should. He really should.

“Merlin—”

Words died on his tongue.

“—Were you peeking on Morgana?” Arthur blurted out the first thing that came to his mind other than what he was about to say.

“—What! No!”  

The terror on Merlin’s face turned to horror at the implication, but Arthur did not have it in him to be amused. Arthur was disappointed in himself. The chance that he should have taken was lost from him, all because he couldn’t find the right words. A strained smirk was all he could manage. 

“ You were!”

The younger man had gotten beet red by this point, but as much as Arthur enjoyed the opportunity to jibe at Merlin, he wanted to know what happened. But the chance was lost, and so was Arthur’s courage.

“I wasn’t! I was minding my own business!” 

“So what, you just passed her by as she fell down the stairs?”

“I saw her fall!”

That was not a no. There was guilt in Merlin’s eyes. Terror. 

Arthur realized, why hadn’t he come to this conclusion sooner? That Merlin must have been the one to cause Morgana’s injury?  

He leaned back on his seat, fingers curling around his armrest. Why exactly Merlin wanted the need to stop her? Where was she going in the middle of the night? An assassination? After all, his father was still alive. Arthur was still alive. That shouldn't be far off the mark. Arthur needed answers. 

“Is there any way to save her?” Arthur asked, defeated. 'Tell me yes Merlin. Tell me you can heal her.’ 

“Gaius is doing everything he can.”

Arthur nodded, his shoulders slumped. “I need answers from her. Of what she was thinking, dressing up and going out at that time in the night. There’s been too many assassin attempts in  the last few months.” He said, vailing the lies with the truth, just as Merlin used to do when he lied to him all those years. 

But Arthur could no longer look Merlin in the eyes.  The disappointment in himself was too much to bear. “Go on Merlin,” he said, bringing his hand up to his forehead trying to numb his upcoming headache. “Gaius needs all the help he could get.”

The now-prince heard a screech of a chair, and then a soft “yes. Sire” that was then followed by the click of a door, letting Arthur know he was now alone in his chambers.

“How does it feel to be a coward?”

Arthur tensed, his hair stood on end at the voice. He did not look up.

“What? Afraid to look me in the eyes, your Majesty?”                

No. Arthur just didn’t want to see some different twisted version of his friend that he left behind.

“Come on Arthur, you were never afraid to speak your mind. What happened to you today? Cat got your tongue?” 

The tone, the teasing. It all sounded so much like Merlin, that Arthur’s heart ached. 

He looked up to meet the cold, steel eyes of his old friend. 

“Why are you— what happened to you, Merlin?”

Because these cold eyes never belonged to the Merlin he knew.

The apparition let out a cold, bitter laugh. The smile he gave after, chilled Arthur to the bone. 

“What hadn’t happened Arthur?” For a moment, there was a glimpse of the friend he knew. “I lost everything. I lost my friend.  I lost— F-Freya. My father, Lancelot, Gwaine, Morgana. Y-you.” 

Tears picked at Arthur’s eyes. But he refused to let them fall. This wasn’t real. This— this apparition was never Merlin. Never.

“You can’t be him—”

“The last time you looked me in the eyes Arthur, you called me a coward!” 

“No. No. That’s not true I—”

“—Called me a coward even when I gave up everything for you.”        

“No. You’re lying.”

“Doesn’t matter now does it? I don’t exist anymore.”

“What?” 

But the apparition only shook his head, his hand reaching out to run a hand through his dark hair. 

“What happened to your promises Arthur? Are you going to be true to your words or are you going to be the coward that you once called me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Figure that out. I know you’re not as stupid. Think about what brought you here.”

Arthur’s chest tightened, his friend’s tear-filled broken blue eyes flashed before his eyes. No. He did not forget. He never intended to.

When he looked back at the apparition of his friend, Arthur found no one, only himself alone in his chambers.