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Merlin wonders what he even did to the universe to deserve the most difficult path to walk on.
The moment the Emperor whispers his name Merlin knows this is his Arthur again. His Arthur dying from a wound Merlin gave him. It is too much, too cruel, and he just can’t. For a second he only stares at the confusion in Arthur’s eyes, and then his magic reacts without his command. Maybe it knows Merlin doesn’t have it in himself to do a fast enough decision for somehow suddenly all his power is pouring out of him, to Arthur. He knows even without looking that this time there is no shard from the sword, nothing to make him fail. And he doesn’t.
As the gold disappears from Arthur’s body there is no more wound. Slowly Arthur pushes himself up to his elbows and looks down to his chest with almost puzzled expression. When he lifts his head Merlin turns his head away for he can’t bear to meet Arthur’s gaze. Instead he curls to himself and weeps and sobs and wails, and in between, when he can squeeze the words out, he whispers “I’m sorry,” over and over again. Arthur doesn’t say anything.
Eventually there are no more tears to cry. It is then, as his breathing slows down almost reluctantly that there is a brief touch to his shoulder as Arthur scrambles up, using him as a support.
His face is white as winter snow when he picks up the phone from the table. He fumbles and curses quietly, and brings the phone to his ears with shaking hands. Merlin can never understand how his voice doesn’t waver.
“Change of plans,” he says to the phone. “Give out the medication and vaccinations. Immediately.”
Apparently the one receiving the order is so relieved that he doesn’t even question it for Arthur doesn’t elaborate before ending the call. His hands stop shaking and his movements turn slow and deliberate as he sits down to his chair and looks down to Merlin. His eyes are glistening with unshed tears. This time Merlin doesn’t dare to look away, but neither can he find it in himself to explain.
“Where were you?” Arthur asks, both accusation and a plea.
Merlin wishes he could turn back time, to go back to the young reborn Arthur, and show him a different path. But it is something he can’t do. If he could Arthur wouldn’t have died the first time around.
“Waiting,” he answers, for that is the one thing he never stopped doing after Kilgarrah prophesised Arthur’s return. “Fighting,” he adds because he has fought more fights he knows how to count.
“When did you remember?”
It is painful, to realise how much Arthur doesn’t know. Though he now carries the weight of two lifetimes, the crimes of two lives and two fathers, he only knows a small fragment of Merlin. The most important one to be sure, but not even a decade with Arthur can completely drown centuries. Centuries Arthur doesn’t know he lived.
“I didn’t,” he says, but he doesn’t want Arthur to ask so he continues. “I never forgot.” He hopes that it will be enough for now and to his everlasting relief Arthur is too preoccupied to question his answer.
And then there is the most heartbreaking question of all.
“Why?” Arthur asks, now clearly becoming angry, red spots rising to his cheeks and his eyes, though still wet with unshed tears, narrowed to slits.
Merlin doesn’t know how to explain that he wanted to spare Arthur from this. Arthur has never backed away from challenge, no matter the cost to himself, and Merlin knows that though he is even know somewhere deep down grateful that Merlin interfered. This is about the way he chose to do it.
Helplessly he gestures to the screens and stands up. He gestures to the tears that managed to escape from Arthur’s eyes and he gestures to the phone on the table. Arthur picks it to his hand.
“Get out,” he says dangerously and throws it to one of the screens. It clatters threateningly but by some miracle doesn’t fall or break.
When Merlin doesn’t move, his limbs too numb to obey properly, Arthur lets out a vicious hiss and marches out himself, locking the door behind him. Merlin sits back to the floor and stares at the blood on Excalibur’s edge.
Eventually Merlin tells Arthur everything. How can he not, when the first question Arthur asks when he has calmed down is about Merlin’s loyalty. It is not easy to explain, especially when he has to see the pain flash through Arthur’s face every time he mentions the Emperor’s deeds, but his loyalty has always been to Arthur and always will be, and he needs Arthur to know that. So he speaks about living on across the centuries, waiting, making new friends and losing them and fighting in wars to save lives and his humanity.
When Arthur asks about what became of Guinevere and Camelot afterwards Merlin laughs bitterly and says all he can remember is that she ruled and that eventually Camelot fell. He doesn’t even remember when. He speaks about Freya, her message and seeing the Emperor for the first time. He tells him how he wanted to give them both peace and leave the world fight for itself.
“Figures you couldn’t even manage a proper suicide attempt,” Arthur says with a rather hysterical sounding chuckle and Merlin chuckles with him and doesn’t say this was hardly the first suicide attempt he failed.
Arthur’s sudden change of policy doesn’t unsurprisingly go without a hitch. The Emperor’s rule had been a combination of cold efficiency and remorselessness and those are also the qualities most of his officials possess. They protest openly against their leader’s sudden benevolence and whisper about Merlin, always standing behind Arthur’s left shoulder. Those who refuse to leave quietly, naturally under surveillance, are executed for treason. For though Arthur has found his past and Merlin his king, neither of them can claim to be an idealist, and neither of them is a fool even if Arthur sometimes calls Merlin one. They cannot afford to be either if they want to succeed in fixing the world.