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Chapter Text

*

Arthur began to notice something was strange when the same servant spilt wine upon his lap for the forth night running.

He had jumped up, as he had the previous four, harrumphing in anger. The servant had then blurted out the same wobbly-voiced apology, and Arthur had found himself snarling out the same curse before muttering words of an apology as he excused himself from court.

Each step away from the grand hall and up the staircase left him with an unquiet feeling. He immediately suspected magic of course, for what other reason could time be manipulated in such a way? He was aware that despite the wine spillage each day had been different. Training with his men, feasting, the Lord visiting from a far off vassalage. All had occurred, but each night had ended the same.

Yet… none of the others had found it odd, each night his father had nodded and waved him away, Leon had bitten back a grin, while Gwaine had outwardly laughed at him.

Lost in thought he had allowed someone to sneak up on him, feeling arms slide around his waist just as he realised someone had been following him. Merlin’s face appeared underneath his arm, twisting his neck so he could look up Arthur, never had his blue eyes been so bright.

It was… new.

Of course not his feelings, they had unfortunately always been there since the beginning. A small spark as some mouthy peasant had dared pretend to be his equal. Then every day since, proving himself again and again, not just as a loyal (and handsome) servant, but as a dear, dear friend. It had taken every strength to remind himself continually that Merlin was a servant. He was a prince. But every time his life had been endangered Merlin was there, offering himself as tribute every single time. He knew his knights were loyal and would most certainly die for him in battle. But he doubted, somehow, that any were as loyal as Merlin.

Gods…

It had begun several nights prior, the usual lingering hand as he undressed him had not been ignored this time. He had reached out and caught Merlin’s wrist between two fingers. “What are you doing?” He had demanded, thinking back he felt guilty at the anger in his words. But he was angry, angry that Merlin had never said anything despite the years spent together. All that wasted time…

Merlin had stammered an apology, red blossoming high across his cheekbones.

Others had commented upon Merlin’s overfamiliarity, that as a servant he ought to be put back in his place. He were a Prince, one day he would be King. It did not bode well to let your manservant call you ‘prat’ and ‘dollop head’. But Arthur could never bring himself to reprimand Merlin, instead he would offer his own retort and turn away biting back a grin. The knights were used to their banter, odd as it was.

“You mean to tell me what… that this was a mistake?” Arthur imitated Merlin’s gentle brush of his bare shoulder and Merlin’s blush only intensified.

“I’m sorry sir I…” He floundered and looked away. “It was an accident.” He bit his lip and Arthur felt himself ache, and so he let his hand linger upon Merlin’s shoulder and Merlin did not pull away. Instead he glanced upwards, though thick eyelashes. A plea… or…

Arthur was no good at signals, he needed someone telling him straight.

So he had decided to do whatever Merlin said afterwards, promising to himself to fix whatever mistakes were made afterwards. He lumbered forward, for there was no grace in his actions, as his hands came up to grip Merlin’s shirt and he aimed for Merlin’s mouth.

He tasted exquisite, just like he had dreamt of. Hands came up to encircle his back, clinging to his own shirt. Merlin’s mouth moved around his own, and clearly more experienced he realised with a tinge of embarrassment.

For Princes need worry about their country, not dalliances, and even better as women did little to interest him.

Finally, Merlin pulled back, but let his forehead press against his own. “Arthur,” Merlin panted out his name and he almost kissed him again.

“Was that unwanted?” He demanded, needing more than Merlin not squirming away from his embrace, as both arms were now tight around him.

Merlin laughed at him, “never, never unwanted.”

And so it had begun. Stolen kisses in corridors, or lingering touches when putting on his armour. Arthur had never felt so much want in his body as he had since the kiss. Merlin’s wide-grin almost made him forget about the wine-spilling servant, he instead tugged Merlin around so he could rest his arm around his shoulders.

“Are you alright, sire?” Before it had always sounded like a mockery of his rank, now it sounded like a prayer. Full of reverence.

“Fine, fine. I’m merely going to bed.”

Merlin remained beneath his arm the entire way, his fingers coming up to entwine themselves tightly with Arthur’s and he said nothing but hid away a wide grin.

*

“Harder!” Arthur called out.

He raised his shield as Percival landed another blow, the shield cracking beneath the blow.

“Again!” He demanded.

For an army was always at the borders and it was his job to protect always. His father had spoken to him recently about the need for readiness no matter what. And it had scared him a little, the implication. That Uther would not always be there for him. That someday soon he would have to take the mantle upon himself…

It made him train twice as hard, for there would be no one who would dare say he was unworthy…

“You’re killing us Arthur!” Gwaine complained from the sidelines, his own shield and sword had been abandoned as he drank greedily from a water skin. “You might want to ease up a little.”

The men around them practising their movements, again and again… out of the corner of his eye he saw a flicker. A knight raising his sword and coming down to meet the shield of his opponent… but he never reached his target. Instead his arms seemed to reappear, at the moment of striking. Again and again.

The wine-spilling servant returned to his mind suddenly, as did an uneasy feeling that left the hairs on the nape of his neck raised.

“Do you see that?” He hissed to Percival and Gwaine who spun around, searching the crowd of soldiers.

“See what?” Percival asked, still panting slightly.

Arthur rubbed his own eyes only to have lost the man, movement had resumed, and he was unable to point out the man stuck as though he were in a loop.

“Nothing, just a good swing.” He shook his head, waving a hand, “right, that’s it for today.” He mostly wanted to return to Merlin, hoping he would be in his room. Mending his clothing or shining armour, something he could abandon in favour of himself. He was the King after all.

King?

No he was the Prince, crown prince, but not King, not yet.

The concept coursed through him, like bitter poison. “Gwaine, have you seen my father today?” He tried, casually enough, so as to put his mind to rest.

Gwaine face collapsed into a frown, “Arthur? Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine why?”

“Arthur?” Percival was behind him, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder and suddenly he found it hard to breathe, their faces both creased in concern, like he was the one losing it and not like the three of them had been conversing with his father the previous night over the merits of various tactical drills.

He pulled away, heading towards the armoury to rip off the heavy helmet and breastplate, both he dropped at the entrance and found his hands were shaking too badly to undo the gambeson. Merlin was there, appearing suddenly as he always did, pushing away shaking fingers and taking over for him.

“What’s wrong?” He urged, blue eyes flickered with concern.

“I think I’m going insane?” He tried to pull away, but Merlin held him still, always surprisingly strong despite his lean figure. His fingers went to brush back a stray strand of hair, brushing past his temple. As always Merlin’s mere touch calmed him, their foreheads pressed together.

“You’re not, I can promise you that. What’s Gwaine said?” He offered the second part with a small laugh, trying to alleviate Arthur’s intensity.

“My father… he…” Suddenly, as though he had always known, he thought of his father and the last time he had seen him. How tightly Uther had held his hand as he faded from this world into the next, the funeral, the coronation. It was all there, he had experienced it all.

So why had he forgotten?

He held Merlin closer, trying to stop his brain spinning endlessly.

Merlin said nothing, only holding him as tightly as he needed until he pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he gasped out, still a little shaken and breathless from it. He remembered how his father had been in the end, how the magic had stolen his mind from him.

He saw Merlin had been crying, and he wiped the tears from his face. “I just hate you see you in pain.” He explained without needed Arthur to even ask, he let out a sad little laugh.

“You don’t think it’s magic do you?” He had to ask, Merlin would know, Merlin always knew with magic. Something niggled at the back of his mind but it was swept clear away.

“I’d tell you if anyone was trying to do you harm Arthur, Gaius and I would sniff them out and hang them by their feet from the stocks.” Both men laughed at the image it produced.

“Come on, I’ve got you meal ready for you in your room.” He tugged him away by hand, Arthur feeling stupid for even feeling worried.

Unbeknownst to Arthur the knight remained upon the training field, stuck in a timeless loop of striking his sword down but never reaching its target, again and again. Waiting to be fixed later.

*

Gwen reached for a blackberry and fed it to Lancelot whose head rested upon her skirts, while a fiddle rested upon his chest from which he plucked a tuneless melody.

Across from them Arthur rested his hand upon Merlin’s, hidden by the large basket he had brought. Merlin’s thumb traced up and down his own and Arthur felt his fill of contentment once more.

Even despite his irritation at the servant the previous night who had spilt red wine all down his freshly clean white shirt. Nothing could spoil his good mood today.

“Merlin, do you know any good tunes?” Lancelot asked, waving the fiddle in the air. In return he laughed.

“I’m afraid music was never my forte.” He did take the fiddle from Lancelot though, holding it gently in his hands he followed Lancelot’s guidance and plucked a few notes. Arthur found himself missing his touch and wanted him to give the fiddle back so they could hold hands once more. Especially considering the maudlin look that Merlin’s face held.

“What’s up with you?” He nudged him asking quietly, while across from the Lance and Gwen whispered poetry to each other.

“Nothing,” he looked as if he had been broken from a spell.

“Do you play?” He offered the fiddle to him and Arthur could only laugh.

“Imagine, my father insisted on music lessons amongst the letter lessons, the weaponry training, the diplomacy training… I simply would have had to have given up sleep.”

“At least you don’t have language training in that too. Imagine having to learn French and Spanish and Italian… all at once…”

The three figures had frozen, all listening to Merlin speak. “French? What’s that Merlin?” A frown creased Gwen’s forehead and Merlin looked far away.

“I meant Gaulish… you know Gaul?”

Lancelot was the only one to laugh at him, “I know Gaul but I’ve never heard of those other places. Tell me Merlin, do you travel often?”

The four of them broke into quiet laughter, and like that, the strange moment had passed. Although Arthur made sure to remember the names he had spoken, to hold them close in his mind and not forget them. For he was sure there was a deeper meaning. Of course he knew Gaul, he had seen the map, the country across the narrow sea. He had never seen it of course, but he had even once met Gaulish traders. They spoke strangely in broken Mercian which was translated for their ears by two men. Their stories were fascinating but they had only stayed a night or two, and Arthur had only been a boy.

The picnic had been nice, with a cake Gwen had made for them all, and other various foods dished out by Merlin who looked happy and content. They finished the evening with Merlin’s head in his lap, Arthur’s fingers entangled in his hair, and Merlin singing a song in a strange language while Lance picked at the fiddle.

*

He was alone for once, almost bored at how safe Camelot had been recently. He trained constantly, yet there were no threats, no Cenred threatening to march on Camelot, or strange magical occurrences that threatened his life.

Arthur laughed to himself at the thought of himself wishing for something to threaten him or Camelot.

As if in response to his thoughts, the horse beneath him spooked, rearing up twice before bucking madly. He fell heavily from its saddle, landing upon his side, his ribs ached in protest as he scrambled to his feet. Ignoring them he gathered himself, checking for injury as he stood quickly and tried to calm the beast. But it fled, deep into the forest and Arthur found himself cursing, realising his mistake at his stupid wish.

He then realised his next odd mistake… he was alone. Never had he been alone, well, he had never been allowed. Either Leon had trailed behind him, huffing at having been dragged out of the castle once more, or his knights, ever his willing travel companions. He never left the castle alone. Ever. For it wasn’t safe, especially not for a King.

He could not begin to understand why he had chosen to come out alone, or how he had been allowed.

That thought was cut short as the temperature dropped suddenly, his breathe cut an icy path through the air. He drew his sword and began to circle around the path, ready for brigands or ruffians to attack. But no one appeared to attack him, only a singular figure emerged that emerged from the woods moving slowly, they were cloaked and Arthur could not make out any more.

“Who goes there!” He demanded, raising his sword.

Only when they reached the path did they throw back their hood to reveal a small, wizened old woman. Skin pulled taunt across her skin, with a shock of white hair, she moved with a slow shuffle.

“Arthur!” She hissed and in that moment he knew her.

The person who had been missing from his life at Camelot, who he knew had made so many attacks at Camelot, and demanded the crown for herself…

“Morgana…”

His fingers slackened and the sword dropped from his hand, shock had frozen him, or was it her magic… But she raised no hand to him, no twisted words of sorcery fell from her mouth. Instead, she paused to lean against a stump, breathing heavily. “I know,” she wheezed, “I look awful. But this is what happens when you’re stuck outside.”

She reached for him and he dropped to the ground, hands scrambling in the dirt for his sword, whatever magic she had done to look like this it meant she still had magic and was powerful. But it was gone, appearing in her hand, the blade trailing upon the floor.

“Explain yourself?” He demanded, standing tall as he could against a woman with more power than he had even known anyone to ever have in his life.

“It’s Merlin!” She hissed, finally reaching his side, he found her without threat. She looked so frail, as though she were moments away from turning into dust, ashes, nothing more. “It’s Merlin!” Her hands clutched at his cloak, the other shoving his sword back into his hands. “It’s all Merlin…”

“Wh…

*

“Morning, I brought you breakfast!” A smiling Merlin loomed over him, having slipped from their bed before dawn.

“Urgh,” he grunted, rolling over to hide from the bright morning sunlight. “Why must you torture me?”

Merlin only laughed at him .

“You’re jousting today don’t forget.” He groaned again, why had he bothered with a stupid tournament when he would must rather lie in bed with Merlin tucked beneath his arm. But he had spent weeks on it, improving diplomatic relations or whatever Leon had said.

When he finally got out of bed he saw half his breakfast had already been eaten by a yawning Merlin. “You look awful, did you get any sleep last night?” He grabbed Merlin’s chin, eyeing him with suspicious eyes. For two black circles had etched themselves into Merlin’s skin as though overnight.

“I’ll be fine,” he tried a smile that came out more of a tired grimace, but still kissed him.

“You’re more important today, you must be my champion.” And from around his neck he tugged his red scarf and passed it to Arthur. “A token my Lord.” Arthur’s hand circled around the scarf and he considered keeping it forever, a bit of Merlin forever his own.

“I shall win it for you,” he dropped to one knee as he took it from Merlin’s hand, kissing his hand so gently.

*

He found himself in his room, not quite sure how he got there.

The last thing he remembered had been the tourney, mounting his horse and being handed the lance in readiness to beat his opponent.

But he was here.

In his room.

The small mirror showed the black eye he had gained in the sword fighting section, but he had no memory of returning to this room.

Merlin appeared, as in one second he was alone and suddenly Merlin was beside him.

“Are you feeling alright?” He questioned and Arthur found himself staggering away from him. A memory tugged at the back of his mind. It’s Merlin…

“You stay there.” He demanded, both hands coming to cradle his head which began to pound.

Guilt wormed its way through him as Merlin looked as though he had been punched, until he spoke, quietly and to himself, “not again”. At these words a deep fear wormed its way into Arthur’s heart, as he tried to fight back but it was impossible. Darkness fell as he felt a gentle hand encircle his back, while the other hand came to his temple, the gentlest touch.

*

Arthur began to notice something was strange when the same servant spilled wine on him for the forth night running. He jumped up, as he had the previous four, harrumphing in anger. The servant then blurted out the same wobbly-voiced apology, and Arthur found himself muttering the words of apology as he excused himself from court.

Each step up away from the grand hall and up the staircase had an unquiet feeling. He immediately suspected magic of course, for what other reason could time be manipulated in such a way? He was aware that despite the servant each day had been different. Training with his men, feasting, the Lord visiting from a far off vassalage. All had occurred, but each night had ended the same. Although none of the others found it odd, his father each night nodded and waved him away, Leon bit back a grin, while Gwaine outwardly laughed at him.

Lost in thought he allowed someone to sneak up on him, and felt the arms around his waist before he realised someone had been following him.

Merlin’s face appeared underneath his arm, twisting his neck so he could look up Arthur, never had his blue eyes been so bright.

It was… new.

But it wasn’t new.

He stopped the thought in its tracks, even coming to a stop himself. He reached for Merlin and held him in front of him, Merlin's eyes grew grey and sad the longer he held him there.

“Merlin, tell me please… what is happening?”

*

He awoke unhappy, illness still plagued him, for several days now he had remained in his room on something that Gaius had called ‘bed-rest’. He had a hacking cough that left him breathless and he was unable to keep anything down.

His knights had visited and cheered him up, one by one, but after each time they left he found the strange band around his head tightening.

His room became a prison.

The only positive was Merlin, Merlin who stood over him and never slept a wink, always changing the wet cloth upon his forehead or encouraging him to eat a mouthful of broth. He was charming as always and kind, always kind. Arthur complained about how disgusting he was and he felt, but Merlin shrugged, and instead slipped into bed beside him resting Arthur’s head upon his chest and reading him a story while he slipped into a deeper sleep. He awoke once to find Merlin crying, but he found himself unable to speak to ask him if he was alright, instead sleep stole him away once more…

“Do it!”

Someone was in the room with them, Merlin was heavy beside him, his head resting upon Arthur’s and the book they had been reading had slid further down their laps. The candle beside the bed remained lit, flickering near its end, only enough light to illumine the figure who stood over him. Sword raised upon high.

“No!” He cried out, but it was too late the sword was brought down and he braced himself for pain only none came.

Instead the room exploded in light, an odd, intense, blue light, clearly magical in origin.

Beside him Merlin had stood and Arthur saw who the sword had really been meant for, as it remained impaled through his chest. Blood quickly wept from the wound creating intricate patterns like a spiderweb upon the linen shirt.

But Merlin spared him no glance, instead his arms were raised and he spoke in a strange, dead language. The language of the Old Religion.

Merlin had magic.

But… as soon as he realised this, he knew something that he had already known this.

A forest, he lay dying, Merlin changing the smoke from a fire into a dragon in a pathetic attempt to show Arthur he could do no harm…

That caught Merlin’s attention, as though he could read Arthur’s mind, a wounded look cut across his face before it hardened and Arthur found he could not longer find Merlin in it.

The assassins were caught at the other end of his chambers caught in Merlin’s magic, a bright yellow that held them in place. Arthur recognised one of them, the old woman, Morgana. And then the other memories filled themselves in, how it should have happened…

Camlann…

Mordred and Morgana coming together to end the Pendragon line. He recognised the other assassin too, not from his looks, but by his role in the story. Mordred was a grown man now, time had ravaged him as it had Morgana. He was grey-bearded, and much older than he had ever reached in his life.

“Merlin, stop it.” He reached Merlin, and heard the gasping breathe he was taking. The sword must had collapsed a lung and Arthur could only imagine how much pain he was in. “Merlin,” he wrapped a hand around Merlin’s wrist, “stop…”

And like that everything stopped…

The two figures collapsed to the floor, panting heavily, the blue light vanished and suddenly it was daylight outside. The light illuminating his room.

Merlin dropped to his knees and Arthur was there beside him, no matter what had happened or that he had magic… it was still his Merlin and the unthinkable was happening, he was dying. Arthur held him tightly in his arms as he fell back, his breathing came slower now, juddering and pained. Merlin’s hands found his and they tightened around his.

“I always loved you Arthur, you know that.”

He was crying, they both were, Arthur’s tears falling upon Merlin. It was too soon, they hadn’t had enough time, they had barely begun to grow together. Arthur had envisioned forever with Merlin, he wanted Merlin as a husband much in the way men had wives. He wanted Merlin by his side as he ruled, ever the fair and wise against Arthur’s brashness and boldness. Two sides of the same coin, brought together. But that future had been stolen away cruelly, and Arthur came closer in that moment to understanding his father than he had in his entire life.

Arthur would never rest till he had avenged Merlin. Little else mattered. Even his kingdom’s importance lessened as heartbreak tore its way through his heart, like a sickness.

He reached up to brush away Merlin and his own tears that had mingled together upon Merlin’s face, and it was then he felt his insides shatter into a million pieces. For Merlin drew breath no longer, but lay more still and quiet than Arthur had ever seen him. He buried his face into Merlin’s neck, heaving sobs wrecked his body and…

“Get it together!” Mordred was tugging him away. “He’ll be back in a moment and we have to think of something.”

He reached for his own sword, the only thought was of revenge for Merlin, words passed over his ears like water. He was a deaf man for no other words mattered, nor would they ever again. For Merlin would never speak again.

And he owed Merlin that much. Revenge.

He ran at Mordred with Excalibur raised. A flick of Morgana’s finger had him frozen in place.

“Be serious now Arthur, now is no time to settle old scores.” She hissed at him.

Beside her Mordred laughed, “otherwise I’d have this sword in your side again!” He raised the blade that was bathed in blue light, and Arthur strained to remember.

Morgana sighed, an unfamiliar look passed over her face and she reached out both hands and held them against his face, her fingers at his temples. “Remember!” She commanded. And suddenly he could. He remember the truth, how everything had really happened. How it had all ended in Camlann.

He bit a snarl at Mordred.

“Clearly I’ve had much longer to put our feud to bed.” Mordred laughed at him again.

“Stop wasting time. Feud or not!” Morgana hissed and began to search Merlin.

“At least explain what’s going on?” He demand, still sick to his stomach as he could barely tear his eyes away from Merlin. While beneath his skin a deep unease began to spread. He was dead, he had died, he should be dead right now.

“This isn’t real,” Mordred placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Merlin must have…. Created it all, from his memory. But he can’t control us, can he Morgana? He can’t control those with magic.” He called to Arthur’s sister who continued to ignore him. Mordred turned back to him, serious as the grave. “We all died. You remember this? We all killed each other. We ended the vengeance cycle.” He waited for Arthur to nod.

He could barely move. Everything sounded insane but… he had nothing to refute it.

He remembered how it should have been. What actually happened. How Arthur had never called Merlin on his lingering touches, how he had pretended never to see it and pushed any feelings away. How he had instead married Gwen, darling and kind as she was. She was not Merlin. And how it had finally felt to be held by Merlin for the first time overlooking the Isle of the Blessed. How much time he had wasted, how much regret….

But Mordred’s words were true.

“Why are we alive then?” He found himself snapping. He had lived and died so long ago, he could feel it now, that sickness that had plagued his mind and body for days was no normal, human sickness. But a magical one. He was so tired. He had been gone from this plane for so long every second felt like eons….

“He feels it now Morgana…” Mordred spoke past him, a grim look on his face. “We’ve got you… you don’t know how many near misses we’ve had over the years,” he laughed at Arthur again. And Arthur was beginning to get sick of being laughed at. “Each time, Merlin would appear and reset everything and you’d forget.”

“It was fucking exhausting I’ll tell you that!” Morgana snarled from the floor before giving up.

“There’s nothing… no amulet or power source…. Nothing.” She shook her head.

“You mean he’s just this powerful?” Mordred hissed, both sorcerers surveying Merlin with a horrified kind of awe.

Arthur found himself unable to stand any longer. His legs like dead weights. The mortal wound his body had sustained all that time ago began to bleed slightly, he could feel his side begin to reopen. The other two did too, their own wounds began to weep simultaneously.

“Quick! Help me bind him.”

Unable to stand he watched Mordred heave Merlin onto a chair binding his arms behind him and his legs to the chair.

“Give me Excalibur!” Mordred turned to him, hands open, “we’ve never had Excalibur before!” He crowed excitedly to Morgana.

She ignored them both.

“We should wake him before he wakes himself. Hopefully we’ll get to control the situation…. At least for a little while.” She let out a deep, exhausted sigh and watched in horror as she pulled out Mordred’s dragon breath sword. She handed it back to him and he wielded them both with ease.

Arthur remained upon the bed, defenceless.

His head span. Magic whirled around him in plumes. He knew in that moment he knew nothing.

“At least tell me the basics?” He found himself begging, and in an odd moment of connection, despite the years that had passed. Despite the hatred and envy. Morgana looked at him with pity. She tugged him to the window, or as much as she could tug, for her grasp was weak.

She gazed out the window before turning to him, “look at it. Really look. And tell me what you see?”

The request was no odder than the situation at hand, so he complied. Staring out his window with an odd intensity, and there he saw it…. A flicker. An imperfection in the design.

“It’s like a painting.” He realised.

For outside it appeared to be a perfect summers day. Like ones sung about in epics, not ones in real life.

“I see you noticed the magician mark too,” she almost sounded impressed, as she pointed toward the flicker of imperfection. “No matter how hard we try, magic is never perfect.” She explained to him, next she went to the door and opened it, to expose more brick. “His powers are limited right now so I can show you the truth.” She explained.

“So the servant who spilled the wine and the knight stuck in an unending loop? That was the magician’s mark.” She had no idea what he was talking about, but it made sense to him. The wine spillage had been the flaw in an otherwise perfect design. “But Mordred killed him? He died in my arms?” He continued on, the words stammering out unable to vocalise the pain he had just experienced.

She only laughed in his face, Mordred joined in from beside Merlin.

“He’s not dead. Merely incapacitated. He’ll awake any second. But it’s you Arthur!” Her eyes lit up suddenly with an idea. “It’s always been you. You have to convince him to end this charade. To free us. To let us return to peace!”

Her hand twisted in his shirt and he realised then that she was scared. He had not seen her scared since she was a young girl, when she realised her visions were prophetic and she was at the mercy of Uther. And that had been a very, very long time ago. She and Mordred, because of their magic, were able to break free of the curse. They had existed outside the world Merlin had created. Time had passed, many, many years Arthur realised now. But it had not touched him.

He glanced down and saw he had aged too. His hands were thin and sun-spotted, he suspected if he sought a mirror he would see himself with grey hair. A sight he was not particularly interested in seeing.

“We’ve waited years for this Arthur…. Please!”

He looked at the woman who had once been his sister. Who he still loved despite it all. The woman who now begged to be set free so she could be at peace.

He approached the chair, apprehension filled him now, but he still saw Merlin. How despite the spell beginning to shatter, he remained unchanged, as old as he had been the night of the battle. Stuck in time.

“Merlin,” his voice was older, deeper and raspier.

He touched a hand to his love’s cheek and watched half in awe, half in horror, as life filled his body once more. The wound had healed itself, the breaths he drew in were deep and healthy. His eyes flickered and he tried to move. Instantly he was awake. He snatched his head away from Arthur’s touch as he fought against the bonds.

The black circles beneath his eyes remained however and Arthur knew whatever magic he was casting cost a great swathe of his strength.

“Hello Merlin…..” he whispered again and Merlin’s eyes sought him, he stared at him through narrow eyes that didn’t recognise him.

“I told you to stay away!” Merlin’s voice reverberated around the room, echoing through his chest. The bonds fell away with ease, the chair blasted against the wall, and he stood.

Behind him Mordred and Morgana fell back as far as they could from him.

Arthur saw the sorcerer from Camlann once more.

The terrifying figure who could kill without thought, and who now could create worlds from his mere thoughts.

“Merlin!” He spoke louder this time, moving in front of the two sorcerers to protect them. As soon as his hands came into contact with the sorcerer’s arms he felt the years fall away once more, and he was young.

“Arthur?” He looked shocked, as if he truly had been unable to see him.

A wave of relief that he was alive filled him before he was able to speak.

“You have to stop this…” he spoke gently, as though to a spooked horse, or worse, a grieving mother.

“You don’t understand!” He tried, pulled away from Arthur’s grip.

“Merlin it’s not right. We’re not real. We died long ago and you have to free yourself of us…” as he spoke the words he knew them true. He had died long ago, whatever or whoever he was now was not Arthur.

The sorcerer before him dropped to his knees, still staring up at Arthur.

“Please don’t go,” he began to cry again, tears tripping down his face. “Please Arthur, don’t make me go back….” He reached for his love, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s neck he let him cry.

“How long has it been?” It was Mordred who asked, still terrified and pale, for his own future had ended long ago like Morgana’s… and like his own.

“Over… over a thousand years….….” Merlin wiped his face while the other three considered his words.

Over one thousand years….

“You’ve been alone all that time?” He whispered, a hand still resting upon Merlin’s tear-streaked face.

He nodded once before gripping Arthur’s hand even tighter.

“I can’t….” He stumbled over the words, overcome with emotion several times. “I can’t die…”

Arthur held him tightly as he wept.

“I’ve tried, so many times, but I keep coming back. And I’m alone. So alone.”

Behind him Morgana and Mordred shared a look of pity. For despite their power they could never match Merlin’s, in life or death. For better, or worse…

“I miss you Arthur,” he spoke the words so quietly and Arthur understood then. He had been giving them the life they could never have had during his lifetime. It had been a kindness for them both.

“I always loved you Merlin, after all, the way you spoke to me? Any one else would have had their head upon the chopping block long ago.”

He was able to hiccup a laugh.

“I’m sorry I never acted on my feelings, but I’m glad we had this time together….” He paused for the words he was about to speak he knew would cost him everything, “but it’s time to let us go Merlin. Let Albion go, let us rest….”

“I’ve always loved you Arthur.” He began, before pausing, unable to continue with whatever words he wished to share with him. Once again he considered the idea of spending one thousand years alone, and wondered how Merlin was even recognisable as himself. “I’m sorry Morgana and Mordred… for what I did to you.” As Merlin spoke they were still unable to tear their eyes from one another. Unwilling to miss even a moment.

“Know I love you Arthur… know this… and go in peace…”

He felt a kiss upon his cheek before he felt himself began to fade, it was not at all horrible. But rather like was slipping back asleep after a long hard day, when your bed called out to you and your eyes closed without issue and soon you were gone from this realm.

Merlin held onto him as it happened, their hands entwined so tightly. It was the last thing he was aware of as he returned to whence he had come, and peace filled his spirit once more.

“I’ll come back to you one day Merlin, I promise you that… I’ll come back…”

FIN.

Chapter Text

He awakes, unsure if up is down or down is up. All he knows is that he is drowning, once more, water filling his lungs while he helplessly gasps for air that does not come. He knows it is not supposed to be like this. He had peace. Where was the peace?

The peace, and the quiet and the beauty.

It had all been ripped away, and like the violence of being born again, he is thrust into the cold and the pain.

A hand is upon him suddenly, wrapped around his hands he is being pulled free of the water and his lungs gasp. This time air fills them, and he splutters and gasps some more, still blind like a newborn kitten. The light is too bright.

The hand thumps against his back letting him cough and splutter the water from his lungs, the air is cold and the water upon his skin is even colder. While grass is grasped beneath his fingers. Finally, he turns, wincing against the light, to look to his saviour.

He knows who it should be, who he had missed so desperately. Who he wanted nothing more than to hold tightly against his chest and to apologise to for being gone so long.

Merlin.

A stranger’s face stares down at him, questions are being asked of him in an unfamiliar tongue yet the questioner seems so intent. The misery is crushing. He wanted… “Arthur…” He recognises his name, and slowly, through the mist, he stares past the stranger’s face, he lengthens his hair and removes the beard and the strange clothing the man sports.

“Leon?”

The man’s face cracks in two, beaming, and arms come out to hug him and hold him tight.

Arthur recognises him now, can see the first knight once more as he pulls away. Still he speaks, but Arthur can only shake his head, “I don’t understand…”

There is a pull, to return to the lake, to its lady and its inhabitants. Already he is shivering. There was no cold and no pain in the beyond. His side aches from a wound that had long healed.

“Ah no, Arthur… wait!” The word falls unfamiliar from Leon’s tongue, as though it is a foreign language and Arthur recoils. He pulled something from his pocket, tapping it intently and placing it against his ear, before more words. All the while he kept a hand upon Arthur’s shoulder, holding him there, in that place, in that time. As though he were to disappear if Leon let go.

“Wait… five!” He held up his hand, “five!”

Leon was smiling still, like a mad man. The usual restraint was gone from his face.

“Eh… I miss… I…” He mutters something that sounds like a curse than an apology.

“You’ve missed me?” He supplied, watching as Leon pauses as though to parse meaning from the words before nodding, and repeating the words back to him.

There is a loud noise behind them and they both jump, Leon meets the figure halfway, who had practically ejected himself from the carriage, stumbling towards them. He stares, cupping his hand across his face to protect it from the still too-bright sun.

All he wants is…

“Merlin!”

He does not need to peel back the years or the changes with Merlin. He is Merlin, he would know him blind. He stands, feet unsure and unsteady, like a newborn colt, before tumbling back against the cold earth. All he knows is Merlin, Merlin, Merlin. He is everywhere. Arms tight around him, and both bodies are shaking, Arthur’s from the cold and Merlin’s from the tearing sobs that tear from his chest.

“No, no more crying, please. I’m here…” He is whispering unsure if the man before him knows his language any longer. But this only seems to make Merlin cry more.

Finally, Merlin pulls away, still touching him, hands upon cheeks.

“Does it hurt?”

Arthur wants to laugh. Of course it hurts, everything hurts, so much more than it did before. Each touch is like a burn, the cold eats through his skin, the light is blinding. But as he does laugh, large and booming, he beings to remember. This is just what being alive feels like.

The pleasure and the pain are one.

And all the more sweeter because finally Merlin is here. After all he had promised… promised that he would return. Finally they are together, and so he leans forward to press his lips against Merlin’s and he is whole.