Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I like to believe that somehow, all this time that has passed hasn’t been for nothing. That somewhere deep and dark, he’s following the unfolding tale of the world that he left instead of simply being in limbo. As he floats there, protected and waiting, I like to picture him watching what I do; where I’ve been; how I’ve lived… Of course, there are things that I would rather he didn’t see. Those are the times I’m glad he’s not with me. They are few, but it would be dishonest of me not to mention them.

The world has sharp teeth, and the older you get, the more it sinks them into you. The older you get, the more people believe you can tolerate. It is true that many must bear this sharp bite from a tender age. Perhaps age isn’t the determining factor for everyone. I, myself, was lucky enough to wait until adulthood before facing any truly difficult or dangerous situations. That I am grateful for. Looking back to my childhood, as shrouded in time as it is, I remember only my mother’s loving hand and gentle spirit. I never felt unsafe; never unloved; never alone. If only I had understood then how blessedly lucky I was. Again, my experience is unlike many. Youth does not always offer safety or comfort, but I am unerringly thankful that mine did. Had it not, I don’t know that I could have beared what followed.

I often plan how I would tell the tale if need be. I have a handful of times, but not to anyone who I imagine believed me completely. Many know the legends of the story that I was a part of. They know the names and symbols as well as the most defining relationships, but they do not know enough to understand. I doubt anyone would. Well, except for one.

But even after a thousand years, there is no sign of his return. I look for signs, of course. I have been looking ever since I sent him floating across that mystical lake. I believe I hear his voice, even after centuries of its silence. I convince myself that his eyes are staring at me, even after over a millenium of them being closed in slumber. I feel him in my arms, taking his final breaths, even after so many lifetimes have passed. It has taken its toll on me. I see it in myself, though I try to deny it. Humor used to come for me even in the most trying times. I could laugh if nothing else. I was loyal to many and did all I could to see those I loved thrive. I had hope for the good.

I am not sure if he would recognize me now. It worries me at times. Perhaps he is looking for me and cannot find me. But then I remember that outwardly, I look at least partly how I did then. My hair is the same ebony, my skin still pale, my eyes still light. I have grown a bit in size, but not so that I look entirely different from the gangly manservant who spent his time trailing his young king. It’s just that I’ve found strength to come in handy, whether it be for physical defense or a particularly trying spell. Even with the size difference, there were times I could not win.

No, the changes that have taken place in me are mostly inward. My demeanor is different, my personality subdued. The achingly long life I have been assigned to has proven much more deadening than one would imagine for someone who is immortal. But as it turns out, breathing in and out cannot keep one’s spirit refreshed. Breathing can, at times, be an unfortunate anchor tethering you to a place that refuses to let you leave, no matter how much you may want to; no matter how hard you may try.

And in the midst of that unforgiving struggle, there is still an inkling of hope that one day, all of this won’t have been for naught. That one day, perhaps soon, perhaps far in the distant future, I might see him again. While I cannot leave this earthly plain by any force or will, that hope periodically breaks through my stupor. It encourages my soul to keep trying; to not just exist, but to live. For a time, it breaks the chains that bind me to this existence. Because there are in fact chains.

And perhaps, one day, they might be broken for good.

Chapter Text

Too many cases. There were far too many cases piled up in front of me on this bland Tuesday. They made my head ache. Normally, treating the pains and illnesses that found their way onto my desk took next to no brain power. But today, the stack of medical files seemed incredibly daunting. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t bothered trying to sleep the night before.

Instead, I had sat in my favorite overstuffed reading chair and pored over a new volume of magic I had recently acquired. When dealing with unfamiliar magic, however minute, my body has a habit of amping itself into overdrive. My skin prickling, my lungs aware of each breath I draw, the world opens me up to the new source of energy. I’m considering putting a comparison here, perhaps to a flower blooming, but I think you get the picture.

As you can imagine, it makes it quite hard to sleep.

So I hadn’t.

To be honest, there are very few things that bring me so much feeling anymore. This job certainly doesn’t. But after 1500 years of existence, I’ve figured out that sitting alone at home isn’t exactly healthy. This at least fills the day and makes me focus on someone other than myself. And I am technically a physician by trade.

Resigned, I began pulling files off the top of the stack in twos.

* * *

Many hours later, honestly I’m not certain exactly how many, I grasped the handle of my waiting Corsa and swung the door wide. Slipping into the seat, I was startled by a yawn that split my face in two. God, I needed sleep. Immortal or no. The engine purred to life, and I began my quiet drive home.

The English countryside was a blur as I drove, shades of green turning grey-blue as the sun set. Many years ago, I had chosen to live in seclusion, far from any other dwelling. Then, it had taken me several hours on horseback to reach any kind of settlement. However, as time spun her wretched, merciless clock around me, everything seemed to encroach. People re-entered long-abandoned lands and built houses which turned to towns and then cities. Stragglers on horseback became automobile traffic on flattened roads which turned to roaming highways that criss-crossed every region of the area. And with all these changes, my safe, secluded lands became a slightly out of the way home that could be reached in a half hour by car.

At first I had been angry at the changes. For many they seemed gradual, only one or two major advancements happening in most people’s lifetimes. But for me, it was all at once, all the new developments doing their utmost to invade what I had built for myself. In time, though, I came to appreciate the nearness of things and people. Yes, I still craved solitude, but in those moments when I needed something or someone, it was far more convenient to meet that need. So I made my peace with the new world that grew outside my hamlet. Besides, no one could deny that a journey in the plush seat of a car was far preferable to the same journey on a galloping steed.

I neared my lands and felt energy hum lowly through the air. While I no longer hated others being so close, I had still taken the precaution of warding my home and the area around it with many layers of protective shielding. No use in being the most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the earth if the job didn’t come with perks. I had been the only one with the ability to grant entry to this area for the last 600 years. It was exactly as I wanted it. Crossing the boundary of my land, I felt the hum increase in intensity. Layers of magic were pushed aside like thick syrup as I passed through the warding and pulled onto my drive, a long stretch of pavement surrounded by greenery and rambing gardens. Those directed my car for nearly a kilometer before the road widened, and I was met with my home.

The structure had started simply enough: only a room or two to sleep and eat and exist. But time - there it is, that word again - time. Time is a recurring issue for me. Because time changed my simple home. Time made needs arise. Time required that I add new rooms, new furnishings as they became available. Sure, you say, I could have gotten on without them. But what would you rather sleep on: a thin straw mattress or a plush orthopedic mattress (more akin to a structured cloud, really) snugly fitted into a smooth, sturdy frame?

That’s what I thought.

Eventually, enough time had passed that the simple two-room shack had grown into a comfortably-sized modern house complete with a living room, eat-in kitchen, study, two sizeable bedrooms and bathrooms, a small gym, and a rooftop greenhouse. Every room was furnished with comfortable, modern decor. If someone were ever to lay eyes on my home, they would see these predictable things. They would walk through the place and not think anything of it, unless of course they stopped to read the titles on the books in the study.

Even though the land was out of the way, and even though I had the place warded to the nines, and even though the house sat so far back from sight of the road, and even though after all of that, I kept the appearance of the structure so very normal, I chose to further hide the bit that truly made the house my home.

In the back of the building, the study has its place, housing the volumes I reach for the most in my research. Tomes of magic and medicine line the walls, surrounding my desk and my reading chair. It is my favorite place to be. You would assume that’s because of the knowledge housed there or perhaps the comfortable, productive space.

You would be half correct.

Yes, the books are often what keep me sane on my worst days, but there is another reason I prefer to be in that room. It’s because there is another part of my home that contains far more precious things to me than all that paper and ink. It contains my past, my heart. For beneath the study floor is a staircase. And beneath that staircase is Camelot.

I’m being dramatic.

What I mean is that everything that remains of that once great kingdom, any tidbit of importance to me or to the king I once served, is housed there. I spent years salvaging things, hunting them down so that they would remain safe. Remind me that I did once live that life. Sometimes I think I forget. When those times come, I descend the stairs and find myself surrounded by ancient things, memories so old I think they may disintegrate as they flit across my vision. In total, there are more square feet in the expanse of storage below my house than in the living space itself. I have precious magical books, journals of my life, papers and research dating back from Gaius’ time. I have a cape, preserved, shining red and gold, a crown, polished and gleaming, and a seal, carrying such a heaviness with it that it’s a wonder I don’t crumple under the weight it holds. These things, along with others from that time, are the items I cherish most. Of course I also have more practical things. A safe with more wealth stored there than any person could ever spend. Passports and documents required for modern life and travel, all impeccable counterfeits. Everything I keep in that space below the main house is precious in some form or another.

And so I protect them. The entrance is hidden, but it is also encased in a solid shell of impenetrable blood magic. Unless you have the right DNA, you cannot pass through. For me though, it’s as simple as taking a step forward. Because I seem to spend the majority of my time in the study, I found it the best area to conceal the doorway. It would have the highest security in existence: it would have me. I may not seem like a weapon to passersby, nor even to those who know a bit about what I am. But believe me, you don’t want to be on the receiving end of my wrath. The power I’ve gained since losing everything I held dear would be difficult if not impossible to accurately describe. And if my home were breached, I would have nothing left to lose.

Almost nothing.

I silenced the engine, stepping out into the cool evening air, instantly feeling my chest lighten being in this comfortable space. Funny how that worked. There were times when I felt that my existence was crushing me, and the only way to fix it was to go somewhere new. But there were other times, like today, when all I wanted was to be here. Life tip: don’t be immortal. The depression and anxiety it brings are highly unpredictable and aren’t recommended for the sane. Relief spread through me as I shut the front door and it locked securely behind me. I kicked off my boots, dropped my coat and scarf heavily into a heap, and plunked my brown leather work satchel against the wall. As I walked further into the house, there was a rustle of fabric, my outerwear hanging itself neatly on the hooks nearby, boots righting themselves underneath.

Tea. Blessed tea was my first priority. Soothing and milky and sweet. I browsed through my phone as the water boiled and the bag steeped, scrolling through current events and various messages from coworkers about office goings-on. When the color was right, I doctored the drink and took a slow draw from the mug. Damn near bliss. Often, it’s the little things that keep me in the present and out of the depths of my mind and moods.

Food was next. What did I want? Not much, but I could do with some beans and toast. Simple. Filling. Always on hand. The entire meal was so bloody English I could have screamed, but I enjoyed it as I always did. I had embraced the new countries, new civilizations. There was no point in being the strange, never-aging man who claimed to be from Camelot when you could be the strange, never-aging man who was just another born and bred Englishman. That, plus my current accent matched with little alteration.

After dinner, I stacked my few dishes in the sink where they began washing themselves and departed for my bedroom. Different clothes were donned, much more comfortable than my business casual work attire. One of my favorite developments in the last thousand years was loungewear. Truly a miracle. Next, more tea. To the study. Sit. Read. Routine. Comfort. No darkness. No darkness here. Safety. Ease. I picked up the magical text I had been poring over the night before. I had finished it entirely, but now I wanted to research the details of the writing, the spells, the theories. Cross-reference it with other texts from the same time period, from similar sorcerers and sorceresses. Do everything I could to understand the heartbeat of the pages and what they were trying to breathe into me. The feeling would be nowhere near as invigorating as it had been before, but it would be something. It would exist. It would ground me. Research was also the absolute most important part of each new volume that came into my collection. Context was as vital as content.

Four hours into the process, a yawn worse than the one this afternoon overtook my body. I instinctively stretched my tired limbs, a loud groan humming low in my throat. As my legs straightened, the book slipped from my lap and flopped gracelessly on the thick carpet. Sure. Okay. I collected my limbs and picked up the large text from where it lay, placing it equally as gracelessly on the desk beside me. It bumped my empty tea mug, which slid across the smooth surface and hit the floor soon after. Ah, fuck. My hand waved lazily and the cup flew out of the room into the kitchen, where it was soon washed and placed back in the cupboard. I was done for the night. The feeling of easy comfort was being pushed out of my chest by exhaustion and replaced with a leaden weight. Again. I had hoped it would stay away for a bit longer.

Leaving my reading chair, I abandoned the book and padded out of the study. Behind me, lamps flicked off and curtains slid closed. Before me, new pools of light streamed from my bedroom. The glow soothed me as I entered, even as the weight made itself comfortable on my sternum. I kept my room simple. Clean lines. Dark wood with light blues and grey tones for accents. I slid into my en suite bathroom and prepared for sleep, wondering, as I always did, about the use of brushing my teeth when surely the benefits were minimal for me. Tea though. Stains. Better to keep brushing, just in case.

The bed was waiting when I emerged, plush and clean. I slid into it, plugging my charger into my nearly-dead phone. I set the alarm even though I rarely required it. I needed much less sleep than when I had been mortal, usually only four to five hours at most. Don’t ask me how that worked or why. I couldn’t tell you. All I knew was that sometimes it came in handy for research, and sometimes it left far too much time for the darkness to strangle me. No telling which. Tonight, I hoped, would be the former, as the research was already done. Settling further into my chest, the weight begged to differ. My eyes drifted closed and I breathed deeply, doing my best to expel the heaviness as I exhaled. Inhale. Heavy. Exhale. Light. Inhale. Heavier still. Exhale…

Heavy. Still heavy. Pressing, pushing on my chest. This wasn’t how meditative breathing was supposed to work. I did this every time I went to sleep, and yet, I had somehow lost control. Inhale. Heavy. Exhale. Crushing weight. What the hell? Inhale. An anvil pushed down, down into my ribcage. Exhale. No change. The weight worked at my chest until it seemed to breach my skin, filling me. A cold, deadly weight slithered around me, clutching me tight. Inhale. Pain lanced through me at the sheer intensity of the sensation. Buckling of ribs and flattening of lungs. Exhale…

I was broken, breaking as the weight pushed me lower, lower. I wasn’t in bed. Wasn’t in my bedroom, in my house, on this earth. I was sinking deeper into… darkness? Just darkness. Shrouded, freezing… why was I freezing? The slithering sensation. The cold. I knew the feeling, but my clouded mind couldn’t place it. As the intensity built, the realization struck me. Wet. I felt wet. Soaking, deadening weight pushed still harder when the recognition came. Was I drowning? Had I drowned already? There had been no sensation of water entering my throat, coming in my mouth. It had just… encapsulated me. I was in it, and yet had no memory of entering it. Slightly curious, I let the scene play out, knowing on some level that this was likely a dream. I had been incredibly tired; sleep could very well have taken me.

The weight of the watery abyss was less painful now with the knowledge that I was asleep. That, or I had simply gone numb with cold. Also possible. When it seemed that I would be sinking forever, the sensation changed. Now I was stationary in an expanse of deep pitch darkness, no current or movement around me. Hovering, I waited for a change to come. Surely my dreams wouldn’t go to the trouble of dragging me down this far unless some fate was near. I can’t be sure of how long I stayed in the darkness, but after what seemed like it could have been an instant or an eon, I rose. The water grew lighter in both color and weight, and eventually I could make out what looked like moonlight glowing through the placid surface above. My chest seemed to reinflate as I neared it, my ribs knitting themselves back together as the pressure lifted. I shut my eyes against the current. Pain returned, then vanished altogether. There was a feeling of being pushed upward, shoved toward the shallows, and a voice seemed to say, “It’s time.”

Time? Time for what? An inkling flexed in the back of my mind. Something ancient, tucked away centuries ago for safekeeping. It was so familiar, I nearly growled with frustration, but I couldn’t pull it to the forefront of my thoughts. It’s time. But what is it time for? Had I been waiting for something? Had something been coming? Coming. Time for something to come. To come back-

My train of thought was abruptly cut short as the water ran out, and my face breached the surface. I tipped my chin up so that my lips were safely over the rippling liquid. They parted. Breath was sucked over my teeth, my tongue, into my throat and waiting, screaming lungs. I hadn’t realized how much I had needed it until this moment. There had been no desperation for it while I was under the water. But now, now I was ravenous. More, I needed more. I gulped breath after breath as my body re-adjusted to the air that gave it life. It was like I hadn’t felt this in… a very, very long time. Like I had been down there for a lifetime or more.

The inkling that had curled to life under the surface returned. It had been more than a lifetime, I was sure of it. Whatever was coming back, it wasn’t new. It was old, so old that it had been forgotten. Recognition was screaming at me now, urging me to connect the dots in my freezing, waking brain. Clues. I needed more clues. Now that I had been breathing steadily for a few moments, I dared to awaken another sense, lifting my eyelids and blinking back drops of water. Moonlight danced around me on the crests of the tiny waves I had made. I could see nothing besides that, no landmarks to show where I had risen. With some difficulty, I swiveled my neck, the muscles stiff and icy. At a glimmer of silver, I stopped. Focusing just below the waves, I examined the shine. It was right next to me, suspended in the water by…

By me. I was holding something that gave off the glint of silver. No, not just silver. There was gold there too. I moved my attention to my hands, trying to get enough feeling back into them to raise the object and get a better look. Slowly, so slowly, the silver blade of a sword came into clear view. I had been holding a beautiful, gleaming sword, somehow untouched by my long stay in the watery depths of this place. The gold etchings near its hilt struck something in me, and again, that inkling struggled against my skull.

And then, like a spell had broken, I heard his name. And I awoke.

“Arthur.”

Chapter Text

Awake. I was completely awake in half an instant. My mind returned to the present, but my body was still in the dream. I shook violently as I sat up, cold and shock stunning my system. The weight that had been on my chest before had switched from pressing to squeezing. I could have sworn my heart was about to burst. Waves of tight pain wrapped around my torso, and I put the dream to the back of my consciousness for the moment. I needed to calm down.

Ducking my head to my knees, I wound my shaking fingers into my hair and began to breathe deeply. Inhale. Exhale. No weight this time. Just calm. Inhale. That’s it. Just like I had done countless times before. This was the same as any anxiety attack, any bout of paranoia. Breathe. Control. Inhale. Exhale. My fingers clutched the dark strands as I focused on easing the chest pain, filling my lungs with air. I was not drowning. I was here, in my bed, in my house, on the same earth I had been tied to for longer than should be allowed. Safe. I was safe.

As my body began to relax, I allowed the memory of that dark, frigid water to reenter my mind. I was safe, yes. The dream couldn’t hurt me. Not the water and the cold, anyway. But the memories it stirred… Those could. Those held a knife to my throat. The more I thought about what I had seen, the harder the tip of that knife pressed into my flesh. The name I had uttered. It had in fact been me saying it. I hardly dared to think it even now. Hardly dared to think about him.

At the prickle of remembrance, I stood hastily and grabbed my phone from the bedside where it lay plugged in. Four o’clock in the morning. I had gotten a solid five hours of sleep, traumatic though it was. That was enough. Out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. More tea. Always more tea. When I had been somewhat soothed by the hot liquid, I returned to my study and the overstuffed reading chair. I needed to think.

The issue was not so much the dream itself. In fact, it was not the first of its kind. The issue was the timing of said dream. Many years ago, when Camelot had fallen and I had been forced to move forward, similar dreams had plagued my sleep. Always, he needed me. Always, there was pain and suffering. Always, I awoke in a panic, sometimes sobbing, sometimes numb. And always, I was alone. I never seemed to be reminded of the happy times or the future that was waiting, full of hope. No, never that. Only sorrow and loneliness. This had continued for nearly half a millenium, off and on. I sought help with meditation and mindfulness, though that wasn’t what the experts called them back then. Through the years, I worked to control my mind, and slowly I made progress. It was now rare for me to have a dream like this, for it to cause such a disruption in my thoughts and responses. When was the last time? I couldn’t remember.

I finished the tea and brewed more. Yes, I was aware I had a problem. It wasn’t the only one.

Why now? And why that specific dream? It had felt far more real than the others, if memory served. And the setting in this one… It unnerved me. I couldn’t help but picture his body on that boat, floating away from me. Excalibur as it flew over the water, caught before being pulled down. How had so much strayed from me, so many faces erased by time, but his on that day… I could see every feature. Hear every word he managed to choke out. I heard them all again.

Fuck the tea.

Returning to the kitchen, I pulled a heavy bottle out of a high cupboard. I took a swig of the amber liquid. And another. Another. It never hit me quite as hard as I hoped it would. I could barely get drunk anymore even when I tried. My tolerance was astronomical, special thanks to immortality. The drink was more for comfort than effect, but I continued downing it just the same. I sat at the built-in dining nook in the corner of the kitchen, bottle grasped firmly in my hands. There was a question hovering in the air, one that I didn’t want to ask. Or answer. Another deep drink. Could I do this again? Dredge all that up further? More than just memories. It would be reality again.

In my first few hundred years of life, when the dreams would strangle me, I took it as a sign. A sign of something happening, of his life returning, of him needing me. I was desperate for that to be the case. So I dropped everything. I traveled however far I needed to to stand by that miserable lake and look out over the water and hope to see him. Spoiler alert: it never happened. And now… Now I was considering doing the same thing all over again. I gulped down another burning mouthful. Two. Four. The bottle was half empty. It wouldn’t take long if I did go. The land I now lived on was very close to the spot by car. Two hours at most. So different from the time of needing horses to ride and natural daylight to guide the way. The question in my mind changed gradually from “How could I go through that again?” to “What happens if I don’t go through that and he is back?” He’s not. Couldn’t be. Hadn’t been any other time I’d looked. It made me angry to remember how many times I had stood, so hopeful, on the banks of that blasted lake. Every time, my chest had shredded at the realization that nothing was going to happen. It spun me into a depression time and time again. Eventually, I would just turn to numbing the pain. I’ll let you put your imagination to work on that one.

Hell, I was going to do this, wasn’t I? My old anger flared at the prospect. Such frustration and agony. Another deep swig from the bottle, and I stood. Not even slightly tipsy. Good. It would make the driving easier. And faster. Begrudgingly, I returned the bottle to its place in the cupboard, turning toward the hallway and my bedroom. I donned something warm and heavy, wanting to help keep out the chill night air. My chest was already ice. I made it to the hall again, and then the entryway and my waiting outerwear. Boots. Scarf. Coat. Gloves? Still in the deep coat pockets. A thought struck me, and I hastily returned to the kitchen and refilled the kettle. Tea might help a bit. Into the thermos when it was ready, and back to the front door. As if it were encouraging me, trying to ease my discomfort, the lock clicked open and the knob turned. Yes, magic door, brilliant plan. I sighed and allowed it to swing open for me, then stepped outside. The car waited, its blackness blending in with the obscenely early morning. Once inside, I turned up the heat, sipping my tea and letting it warm me. Time to go.

I knew the way from anywhere in the region. I’d been there more times than I could count. I drove silently. No music, just my thoughts rampaging in my head. Silencing them was futile, so I let them squabble amongst themselves. It was a two hour drive for anyone going the speed limit, but I possessed the ability to hide my vehicle from radar, rendering the limit useless. I flew over hills and valleys, across land that was so vibrant in daylight. Now it looked void. Eerie. A half hour passed. An hour. Anxiety was crawling in my chest, blocking my throat. I continued. It was so close now, I swore I could feel the power of the place emanating through the countryside. I forced myself to take deep breaths. Damn, I should have brought the whiskey. An hour and fifteen minutes. With the bit of pre-dawn light available, I could see the curve the road was about to take. Knew what it meant. And as I followed the pavement, I glimpsed a large expanse of midnight water in the distance. My eyes dropped to the road, and I panted, something more than anxiety filling my soul. Despair. It was utter despair. I couldn’t do it. I had to turn back. If I were to stand at the edge of those murky depths for the umpteenth time and be disappointed, I might break. For the first time in a long while, I felt raw emotion clutch at my throat. Hot tears stung the backs of my eyes and threatened to spill, anger coursing through me. No. No, I would not cry. Not now, when I had lived through so much. This would not break me.

Lake Avalon was in full view before me. I parked, taking deep breaths once again. Open the door. My boots touched earth, and a stunning amount of power ran through me. I had forgotten. It had been so long. I watched the ground as I made my way across overgrown foliage, rocks, muddy gouges in the earth where animals had dug. It looked so normal, like any other patch of lakeside; if you had just been looking, you wouldn’t have thought any differently. But for me, and others like me, the place reeked of magic. It seeped into every facet of land and water. I breathed it in, hoping to draw a bit of strength that would help combat the churning trepidation.

When I reached the bank, I finally drew my eyes up from the earth. I felt a crack in my resolve, and the familiarity of the situation flooded my mind. Deep breaths. I started on my left and scanned the surface of the water, moving to my right. No risen kings at first glance. It meant nothing; the sun had not yet fully risen, and the lake could easily be cloaking what I sought. Instead of relying on my vision, I closed my eyes. In my innermost being, I accessed the language that would still be understood by the guardians of Avalon. The Sídhe. Tiny, often angry creatures, but handy. The harsh, ancient words of the Old Religion returned to me from times past, and I volleyed them out across the water.

“You know who I am, and you know what I seek.”

Silence for many, many moments, then my senses prickled, and I tilted my head to listen.

“Emrys. High sorcerer of ancient days.” The voice was almost a vibration rather than something audible. I felt it as much as I heard it. “You have come to seek he who is destined to return from the grave.”

I waited to make sure there wasn’t more before replying, “I have.”

More silence, and then, “And do you see him standing before you?”

Bloody Sídhe. “I do not.” They would be sure to mock me before turning me away. “But that holds no meaning. You possess great power, and you were tasked with protecting him until he was called. Surely you would shield him from passersby. You would be foolish not to.” Chainmail would most definitely confuse the lake-goers.

“And why do you believe the king has returned? What signs have you witnessed?”

They wanted proof. They were being cautious, which was odd. Why hadn’t they sent me away yet? “I had a dream that felt different than any I’ve had before. I seemed to be him, could see where he was. I felt and saw him rise.”

“Show us.”

I hated this already. Bracing myself for the discomfort I knew was coming, I bowed my head and closed my eyes, focusing on what I had felt and seen only a few hours ago. I opened my mind, releasing the images and experiences into the ether. A moment passed, and then something gripped my consciousness.

If you have never had your mind violated by a magical lake guardian, consider avoiding the experience. It isn’t pleasant.

I gritted my teeth, clutching my head as it ached under someone else’s control. Evidently they were not satisfied with what I had offered. They wanted more. They dug, pulling up my memories from the moment I had closed my eyes in bed. I felt the weight, the cold, the wetness seeping through my skin, wrapping around me. I began quaking again, dropping to my knees with the force of it. Helpless, I watched the dream as it played before my mind’s eye, feeling everything once more. Finally, it was over. I felt the grip loosen and sagged on the ground, chest heaving. “Are you satisfied?” I hadn’t intended for the words to be a growl. Breathless as they were, they had bite to them.

The voice that answered was indignant. “Do not forget that it is you who are the servant, Emrys. You have been appointed a crucial task, and you must see it to completion.”

This had definitely never happened on any other visit. Still regaining my strength from the mental invasion, I raised my head and looked out over the now sunlit water. “Does that mean my task is finally upon me? Is-” I swallowed hard, fighting the emotion that engulfed me once again. “Is he-”

“You have survived for only a fraction of the time that we have seen the world turn. What assurances can you give that you will not falter in your task? That you will serve to bring King Arthur’s destiny to fruition?”

The name knocked the wind out of me. But some deep, incredibly old, familiar feeling crept into me, and I found myself huffing a laugh. “If it is indeed time for you to return him to me, I have no doubt that I can,” a flat look, “serve him.” Old memories spun in my head, quickly dousing the tiny bit of humor I had found in the comment. What had made me think that? After all, he had died the last time my sole purpose was to serve him.

“You words are sure, but you carry much doubt.”

Solemnity colored my features. I knew the gravity of the situation. I knew the power the Sídhe held. They could hide him in that damn lake for as long as they wished. “The years have been trying for me. But as I understand it, the only reason I have been here that long, experienced those things, was because it is I who am destined to help him.” They didn’t interrupt, and I steeled myself, continuing. “If it is his time to return, then release him. Do not play mind games with me.” Because I’ll lose was the bit I wanted to add. I was still exhausted from my second go at the dream.

Humming vibrations flew back and forth too fast for me to comprehend. Tuning my senses, I attempted to eavesdrop as they discussed the situation. Nothing. I could pick nothing out of the din. They didn’t want me to overhear. I tried to stand from my kneeling position, shuffling my feet under me, but as soon as I straightened, sickening dizziness washed over me, and I dropped once more. Why the hell did they have to invade my mind like that? Though I asked the question, I knew why. To be sure. I just wished their magic hadn’t been strong enough to scramble my faculties. It would wear off, but not for a bit. I focused on the chatter again, trying to gauge whether a decision had been made.

Another few minutes, and a voice was directed at me. “Emrys.”

“I’m listening.”

“Though we have reservations about your ability to fulfill your duty, it is written nonetheless that you are to help the king return to glory. However,” I could have sworn the speaker looked me up and down, “should you need assistance, return to us. Arthur must not fall into dangerous company. Protect him at all costs. Do you swear to do this?”

So this was it, then. I was dizzy all over again at the gravity of the words I was about to speak. But my voice was strong. Sure. “I swear on my life.”

“As you are immortal, your declaration is unnecessary.” A bow from the speaker. “But we appreciate the sentiment.” He flitted back over the water with his brethren. I waited, crouched on the bank. There was movement before me. A haze that I hadn’t noticed before seemed to be shifting, revealing specks of landscape that hadn’t previously been visible. I knew it. They had been cloaking the entire area, hiding its true appearance. I watched the haze as it drew back further, further, until all that was left was the shoreline. And then it vanished entirely, the Sídhe with it. And I was left staring at the Lake of Avalon, ordinary, shining in the early morning sun. Alone.

I had expected a figure to emerge before me when the fog was lifted. A cold, wet man clothed in rusty chainmail clutching a sword. But nothing. There was just nothing. I fought back tears as they threatened to spill from my tired, aching eyes. Why go to all the trouble of digging in my head, of making me swear allegiance to a task I had been dedicated to for fifteen hundred years already, if it wasn’t time yet? If he wasn’t here? I couldn’t take this. Not again. I would break. I already was breaking. I sat back on my heels on the cold, damp earth, lifting my gaze to the sky. I let a persistent tear fall. Just one. Only one. Shutting my eyes, I breathed deeply and prepared myself for another attempt to stand. One foot under me, I leaned on my knee and teetered a bit. Damn this dizziness. I shook my head, opening my eyes and bracing myself more sturdily on… I had reached for the ground, but something in my peripheral vision caught my attention. And then I heard a name that I had not heard for a very, very long time.

“M-Merlin?”

I went so still that I wasn’t sure my heart was beating. Frozen, I stopped drawing breath. My eyes slowly lifted from their lowered position. A hand. Bare. Pale. Resting nearby on the dew-heavy grass.

No. No, it couldn’t be. This wasn’t real. But a quick examination of the arm attached to that hand, and I knew it was. Chainmail. Yes, the lake-goers would certainly be confused if they dropped by right now. I forced my eyes to continue traveling up the figure. Up his arm, his chest, his neck, and finally, my tired, emotion-filled eyes settled on his face. When I truly took it in, I felt myself shatter.

The Sídhe must have dried him off, because he did not appear to have just exited a lake. There was no rust on the chainmail, no water rolling down the pale skin. The blond hair was dry. Messy, but dry, blowing every which way in the breeze. His face was the same. More knowing, somehow, but the same. I scanned over most of his features, but when I landed on his eyes, I couldn’t look away. Narrowed in confusion, corners tilted upward, as blue as the sea on a sunny day. He was studying me as I knelt clumsily in the grass. I’m sure I was a sight.

When I didn’t say anything, he spoke up again, voice gravelly from disuse. “Merlin.”

I tried to say something, but choked on the words.

His eyebrows knitted together in what looked like genuine concern. “Are you all right? You tried to stand a moment ago…” When I didn't respond, he moved closer. “Merlin.”

“I-” I tried clearing my throat. “I… A-Arthur?” It was the first time I had let that name pass my lips since just after the fall of Camelot. It felt strange, wrong to say after so long. Stranger still to say to the man himself. To my king. I felt faint. Shit, I couldn’t pass out here. All the times I had pictured this moment, not one of them had involved me unconscious next to a resurrected knight in chainmail. But the dream and the Sídhe and the whiskey on an empty stomach were making the cloudiness in my head thicken. I felt heavy, and I dropped a bit, both hands going to the ground. The grass blurred in and out of focus as I registered Arthur nearer still, his hand reaching for my arm. He spoke, but I didn’t hear what he was saying. My ears were blocked now, too. Breathe. I needed to breathe. To calm down. I shifted so I was sitting on my backside, knees drawn up under my low-hung head. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I felt the hand still on my arm, a voice murmuring, “Honestly, I didn’t expect to be the calm one.” Despite my light head, I barked out a laugh and heard a breathy one in response.

Several deep breaths later, I could raise my head with no repercussions. When I did, I saw his face. Arthur. It was truly Arthur. Not a mirage, not a dream, but actually my king.

“Hi.”

Hi. Hi was the first thing I managed to get out. Maybe fainting wasn’t a terrible idea.

His lips quirked up at the corners. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” I began, “it’s just-”

“I was dead.” He looked thoughtful.

I met his gaze again. “Yes.”

He pursed his lips. “And now I’m not.”

“Yes.”

“And that… startled you.” Brows raised in silent question.

“Ah,” I shifted position so I was ready to stand once more. “A bit.”

“Maybe you should…” A hand gestured vaguely to where I crouched. “Should you sit a bit longer? Or…”

In answer to his question, I rose to my feet, stepping back once, twice. His hand was once again at my arm. I gripped his arm as well for a moment, making sure I would stay up. When I steadied, we let go and turned to each other. He spoke first.

“You’re bigger than I remember.”

“It’s been a while.” I looked him over. He seemed exactly the same. Same size, same age, same everything. Same Arthur, suspended for fifteen hundred years. “Arthur,” I began, “what do you know? What did the Sídhe tell you?”

“I assume that’s who kept me… where I was.” I nodded. “I know that a great deal of time has passed. They made sure I understood that.” Good, that was a good start. “And I know that…” He faltered. “I know that Camelot…”

“It thrived for many years, Arthur. I want you to know that.” He nodded once, keeping his eyes down. “How about we go to my house. We can talk there.” Another nod. “I for one would love to be sitting down for this.”

“You sure you won’t fall over on the way there?” Those blue eyes had snapped back up to my face.

“Well, we won’t be walking.”

Arthur looked puzzled. “I didn’t see a horse…”

“No horses either.” His expression was dubious. “You’re about to get your first taste of the world you’ve woken up in, Arthur Pendragon.” I began walking carefully in the direction of my waiting Corsa, Arthur trailing at my back. “Allow me to introduce you to the car.”

Chapter Text

“What. The hell. Is that.” Arthur stopped several yards shy of the vehicle waiting in the grass.

Still focused on keeping myself upright as I stumbled through the foliage, I waited to address that question until I was standing beside him. My foot hooked on a root as I reached his side, and I careened into him. I really needed to sit down. This was all too much effort for the moment. He rolled his eyes as he caught me once more.

“Really, Merlin, we don’t need to leave right away. Sit and wait for… whatever this is… to wear off.”

“The thing about cars is that I can sit. Comfortably.” I watched his face to see what the reaction would be. It was doubt. Moving forward once more, I crossed the short distance and gripped the car door handle. He was wary, but followed. “You go on the other side. There’s another door.” He did. “Now pull the handle like I’m doing.” I popped the door open. When he mimicked my action, his eyes went wide and he backed away a bit.

“Is this…” I waited as he met my eyes. “Is it magic?”

Serious as the question was, I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “No,” I assured him. “No, this is just a bit of modern technology. It doesn’t even take magic to make it work.” No response, so I added, “You could drive it if you learned how.” He was studying the interior, the dark fabric of the seats, the steering wheel. I slid inside and shut my door, waiting for him to do the same. Slowly, he did, sword at his hip clanging on the door jamb. When we were settled, I spoke again. “I’m going to turn it on. You’ll hear it and feel it, but it’s perfectly safe. I promise.” Wide eyes on me. “Not magic.” I turned the key, and the engine sprang to life. I waited a moment for him to adjust, then backed out of my spot in the grass.

“Merlin, it’s-” He was completely on his guard, hands braced against the door and the armrest. He swallowed. “How is this moving.”

How was I meant to explain this? I scrambled for something, anything that he could relate to. God, the sixth century was so bloody long ago. “In the winter,” I began blandly, “when the air is dry, you know how you get shocks?” A blank stare back. “When you touch something metal or someone else…”

“Yes, Merlin, I know about bloody shocks in the cold. Where are you going with this?”

He’s been dead. Patience. “The same energy that causes those small shocks can be… harnessed in different ways. It’s called electricity.” No reaction. “Everyone uses it for everything now. They’re a bit helpless without it.”

Arthur was quiet, contemplative. Then he relaxed a bit in the seat. “How about this. For the time being, unless you tell me to worry about something, I’m going to do my best to ignore it. I realize a lot has happened. And the world… has moved on. Surely there will be many changes, and I won’t understand them. I’m sure I’ll need explanation later but,” he took a breath. “For now, just tell me if something isn’t right.”

Bizarre. That’s what this must be for him. I had no idea if he had felt the passage of time or just woken up as from a dream with bits of knowledge from the Sídhe. “I can do that.” And with that, we pulled away from the lake. I drove the speed limit, not wanting to jar him further by rushing or, even worse, making him carsick. But when I glanced toward his side of the vehicle after half the journey, he had his eyes closed. Perhaps it was too late for the latter. “Are you alright? I know it’s faster than you’re used to.”

“How much longer?” Carefully controlled panic laced his voice.

“An hour, but I can cut that in half if I go faster.” I had scared him, but he considered. “There are some people who feel sick in cars though, so if you’re not feeling well-”

“Do it. I’d rather be on solid ground again. I feel fine, just…”

Terrified, I finished for him. I sped up. I always preferred to fly down these roads anyway. There was never anyone around to get in the way. For the first time in a long while, I appreciated how smoothly the Corsa handled the worn motorways. This would have been a very different journey in a Model T. Finally, the roads narrowed, and I was nearing the border of my land. I slowed. Arthur took this as a sign that he could peek at the world again, and when I glanced over to check on him, he was looking out the window. “We’re almost there.” A nod at the glass. Winding lanes led past mossy trees, rocks, and unkempt grass, and eventually, my drive. I gently turned onto it, the first layers of magic caressing the car.

“Why does it feel like that?”

I cocked my head a bit in his direction but never took my eyes from the road. “Like what?” Most humans couldn’t feel magic.

“Like we couldn’t move faster even if we wanted to. Like we’re wading through honey.”

“I’m surprised you can tell. Most people who come here don’t notice a thing.”

He finally turned in my direction. “Does that mean this is… magic?” He sounded doubtful. Likely due to his incorrect assumption about the car.

“Yes. Yes, this is magic. It’s protective shielding. It covers my property and blocks entrance for anyone who doesn’t have permission to be here.” We were nearing the house. “Actually, Arthur, many things in my house have elements of magic to them. For cleaning, generally, but there are others. They won’t be intrusive, just helpful for the most part.” I had no idea what he was thinking. “Alright?”

“Hm.” Uncertainty. When he realized I was waiting for confirmation, he answered. “I’m fine, Merlin. It would surprise me if the house of a sorcerer didn’t have magic.”

We’ll see if you’re fine. I certainly wasn’t. I dropped the subject and drove the last few meters up to the front of the house, parking before it. As I stepped out of the car and into the crisp morning air, Arthur did the same. He took in the sight of the house. It was plenty big for today’s standards, but it must have looked very humble to someone who grew up in a castle. “Well, what do you think?”

“It’s a bit odd.” He was studying the structure carefully, paying so little attention to me that when I barked a laugh, he jumped.

“Sorry,” I rubbed my still grinning face. “It’s not technically a normal house anyway, what with the greenhouse sitting on top.”

“Exactly. Bit odd.” He leveled his gaze on me, following me to the front door.

We entered, light flooding the dim hall and the heat kicking on as soon as we were past the threshold. I removed my coat, scarf, and boots, but took care of them properly this time. No more magic than necessary. When I was done, I turned to Arthur. “I think it’s time to take off the sword and chainmail. You’ll be more comfortable, and they haven’t been used in a solid five hundred years.” I received a questioning look at that, but he didn’t argue as I carefully removed them. The sword I leaned against the wall, making a mental note to put it underground later. Then the mail. In the process of folding it sloppily, my eyes caught sight of a rip in the torso. A gash. My finger traced it, seeing the sword slice through it again. So easily, it had gone through. This slice. This opening had begun my long, miserable life. I hated it. And now, it was here in my hand, nothing but a remnant of that horrible day. Unbidden, the sight of Arthur lying in my arms, dying…

“Merlin.”

I snapped back to the spot where I now stood, eyes shining, and lifted my gaze to the wholly healed risen king standing in my entryway. I cleared my throat. “‘M fine.” A mumble. Entirely unconvincing. But I finished with the mail and tossed it next to my boots for the time being. “Come on, let’s get you into something a bit less…” He raised his brows, waiting. “Medieval.” Not waiting for a response, I took off down the hall toward the guest bedroom, Arthur trailing behind. I went straight for the chest of drawers tucked against one wall. I’m not going to lie and say I hadn’t prepared for the possibility of him standing here with me needing modern clothing. Because I had. I always had. This second bedroom had been kept up through the years, always stocked with the essentials: comfortable, up-to-date clothing, basic shoes and undergarments, hygiene items. It made me feel better to have it, just in case. Just in case today ever came. And I was glad I had, for when I opened the drawers, I was met with exactly what I needed. Or rather, what he needed. I went for loungewear, deciding to give him the best possible impression of what we wore. Soft joggers, a long-sleeved, brushed cotton henley, thick socks, boxers. Simple enough. As I laid the items on the bed, Arthur watched from the doorway. I turned to him. “Just something comfortable. We can focus on fashionable a bit later.” He nodded, eyes drifting around the room. This must be incredibly overwhelming.

“Did you… know? Did they tell you when I would…”

I shook my head. “Not even a hint. I think I would have handled it better if I’d known.”

A hollow smile, and then, “Are you alright now?”

“I’m fine. The ride helped.”

He scoffed. “Glad it helped one of us.”

“It got you away from that wretched lake anyway,” I muttered as I went to the bathroom to check for towels.

“The lake kept me safe for all this time.”

I placed a towel amidst the clothing. “I’ve hated that lake since I sent you across it.” He was quiet. “But that’s over now, and it’s time for what’s next.” From the bathroom came the sound of the shower sputtering on.

Alarm registered on Arthur’s face, but when he saw I was calm, he asked, “Magic, or…?”

I shook my head. “Technology. A shower. It’s the modern version of a bath.” I cocked my head at the open doorway, beckoning him over. “The water falls over you, and you can wash yourself under it. There’s a bar of soap inside already. You shower, and I’ll make us some food. When you’re done, just step out, and it will turn itself off.” I paused. “That bit’s magic.” I handed him the towel. “Alright?”

He looked unsure, but accepted the towel. “I think so.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen. We passed it on the way down the hall.” I waited, making sure he didn’t have any questions. Though unprompted, I asked anyway, “I know everything is strange, and it will take time. But is there anything you need to know right now, at this moment? I can try to make this easier.”

The look I received was one of barely contained emotion, but he said, “No. Thank you.” Ever the mighty king. I offered a small smile and ducked out of the room, leaving him alone.

In the kitchen, I stared at the open fridge, deliberating. What do you feed someone who’s been dead for fifteen hundred years? What would his system tolerate? I was being silly. I had brought him every meal for nearly a decade when he had been alive before. Chicken and vegetables. Simple. Familiar to him and gentle on his stomach. Opening the freezer, I scanned the shelves. Two chicken breasts stared back at me, each individually sealed. I pulled them out and tossed them on the countertop before moving to the pantry. Potatoes were a requirement at all times. I knew they were there. Several baby potatoes flew into my waiting hands from the bag, and I set them next to the chicken on the counter. While in the pantry, I grabbed simple spices and herbs for the seasoning. Salt, pepper, onion and garlic powder, sage. Thinking twice, I returned the onion and garlic powder. Today my goal was edible, not flavorful. Last was carrots to be cooked with the potatoes. I prepped the veg, halving the potatoes and chopping the carrots before sprinkling them with salt and a drizzle of oil. They went into the waiting oven. The chicken I thawed with a few spoken words, cutting it into bite-sized pieces and readying a pan for sautéeing.

Twenty minutes later, a savory aroma floated through the house, seeming to warm the place. It was much less lonely when I cooked. Evidently I had timed it well, because as I was pulling the roasted vegetables out of the oven, Arthur appeared in the doorway. I glanced up and set the baking pan on the empty half of the stove. His hair was still fairly wet, but he had donned the clothing I had selected, which fit him well. “How was the shower? Do the clothes feel okay?”

He continued farther into the kitchen, eyeing the waiting food that had just finished cooking. “The shower was… different.” A pause. “I did however enjoy the endless supply of hot water.”

I grinned a bit. “That’s the electricity again. Handy stuff.”

“Agreed.” Arthur wandered over to the pan of potatoes and carrots, picking up half a potato and popping it into his mouth. “I suppose that’s how you were able to prepare these so quickly?”

“That, and a bit of magic to thaw the chicken. It was frozen a few minutes ago.” It too was now ready to be plated. I scooped chicken and vegetables onto two plates, set them on the tabletop, and sat down, inviting Arthur to do the same. Slowly, he did, still wary as he picked up his fork. I watched as he took a bite, then another. Another. Relieved, I began working on my own serving. Simple as it was, the food was filling and warm, and we ate in companionable silence for several minutes.

Finally, Arthur spoke. “This is good. Thank you.” He waited a beat, then added, “Thank you for the clothing as well. Though I’m not sure how it fits me.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you’re bigger, Merlin, but you’re not that much bigger.”

His voice was teasing, so familiar that I felt my chest clench. He was attempting to retain any bit of normalcy. For a second, we were right back in Camelot. I sputtered a laugh, trying to shake off the deja vu. “Actually, they were always intended for you.” I continued eating. Arthur did not.

“I thought you said you didn’t know when I would be… back.”

My eyes went to my plate. “I didn’t. I just… like being prepared.”

“For how long?”

If my pupils could have drilled holes into my plate, they would have.

“Merlin.”

I forced myself to look up, face betraying me, I was sure. “You may want to prepare yourself, Arthur.”

“Just tell me.” He ducked his gaze a bit, quietly adding, “Please.”

“When you died,” I swallowed. “It was early in the sixth century. I don’t know the exact date; time wasn’t as well-recorded as it is now. But the century that you have been risen in is the twenty-first.” I waited, watching his face as the message sunk in. He continued looking down, brows furrowing as he contemplated my words. It was a lot. It was a lot for me, and I had lived through every aching moment of it. But to be thrust back into such a changed world and be told that it had been so long… I don’t know how I would have reacted. For clarification, I offered a highly unnecessary, “That’s fifteen hundred years, give or take.”

He was silent. He must have spent five minutes lost in his thoughts before he softly said, “Fifteen hundred.” I didn’t respond. It wasn’t a question. Finally, his eyes rose to mine, and ever so quietly he said, “And you’ve been here alone that whole time?”

Suddenly, I was stripped bare, bleeding out in front of the man who had once been my closest friend. Who had fought and died with no complaints. Who had always put others first. And who now, despite his recent resurrection of all things, was thinking of me. Shit. I couldn’t handle this. Had never had to handle this. I was never the one people worried over. Something so heavy, so hollow filled my chest. It took me several moments to recognize it as sorrow. Because despite the acquaintances I had picked up through the centuries, despite the rare friendships and even rarer lovers, the answer to his question was undoubtedly “yes.”

I was certain my answer was clear when I neglected to respond, but instead of confirming what he already suspected, I went with, “Not always here. I traveled, studied, explored the world as it changed.” When we looked at each other again, I added, “But generally, yes. Alone.” There was no point in being dishonest. Not after everything.

I had expected another silent nod, perhaps for him to raise his eyebrows, but he did not. Instead, a look of concern filled his face. “I’m sorry, Merlin.” Quiet. Sincere. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” The name still burned my throat. “I could say the same thing to you. Waking up after so long to find everything completely changed. It must be disorienting. But you appear to be handling it well.”

“I can’t tell, honestly.” Arthur pushed back from the table, hands rubbing his face. “What I do know is that I could use some sleep. Thank you for the food. That helped a bit I think.”

I glanced down at his plate, seeing that he had in fact eaten almost everything. Good. I was sure that his body was in need of nourishment after so long. He had barely been able to eat anything in the days leading up to his death. “Of course.” Rising across from him, I left the dishes and food scraps to tidy themselves and followed Arthur back down the hall to the second bedroom. He stopped in the doorway. Turned to look at me. “You alright?”

There was no answer for a few moments as his eyes roamed my face. He must not have found what he sought, because he simply said. “Yes. I think so.” Meandering into the room, he took in the bed, the glowing lamp, the plush area rug over the smooth wooden floor. “This is a nice room. Do you keep it for guests?”

“In theory.” I hovered by the door, also looking around. “I wanted to have a second bedroom… for when…” Of all the times for my voice to crack. I cleared my throat. “If someone needed it.” Very good. Clever. He’ll never figure it out.

The look I received was such a soft one, I found myself blinking to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. I had expected the same Arthur with the same flippant valor in his words and actions. That same sarcastic tongue and same determined eyes. But the creature before me was not him. Instead, this man was discerning, careful. He was slow and meaningful in what he said and did. So different from the man I knew. He took the few steps across the room so that we were much nearer and forced my gaze. “You’ve really been waiting all this time for me.”

Well, shit. Yes. Yes I have. I chose not to answer out loud, lest I let out a pained sob. So I simply ducked my head a bit, bringing it up again in a reluctant nod. I couldn’t hold that gaze anymore. As his sky blue eyes bored into me, my own ocean ones dropped to the floor.

“Because you felt you had to?”

“Because the great dragon spoke it as my destiny.” It was nothing more than a croak, such emotion flooding through me at the memory.

A beat, then, “The great dragon said this to you?”

“Kilgarrah. His name was Kilgarrah.” I finally lifted my head a bit, still not enough for him to see how badly this was hurting me. “He told me many things; helped me many times. You would have died much sooner if it weren’t for him.” A laugh choked me. I’m sure it sounded like a cough.

He repeated the name, testing each syllable. “Kil-gar-rah. I always thought he was just a beast.”

“You also thought you killed him.” I couldn’t help it.

His eyebrows shot up. “Because I did. You told me I-” Realization dawned on his surprised face. “You told me.” Piecing the situation together, he rolled his eyes. “You lied. That dragon got free, didn’t he?”

“Not quite.” I felt a smile tug at my lips. “I ordered him to stop his rampage. To leave peacefully.” At his wondering look, I finished with, “I’m a dragonlord.”

“Of course you are.” Arthur backed up to the bed, plopping down on the edge. “Although that does make a bit more sense.” He paused. Bounced a bit where he sat. And again. “This feels marvelous.”

This time, I allowed the smile to surface. “Despite how strange things are compared to what you remember, there are definitely some things that have much improved since you left.” I nodded at the bed. “Like that.” And some that haven’t, I could almost hear him thinking as he looked at me. I chose to take my leave, offering, “I’ll let you rest. If you need anything, I’ll be in the study at the end of the hall.”

“You’re not going to rest as well? You almost keeled over several times already.” A disapproving glance.

“I told you, that was… different. I’m fine. Also.” I gestured at the heavy curtains covering the window. They immediately slid apart. “It’s morning.” Light sliced through the room, making both of us squint. “So you sleep a bit. I’m going to get some work done.” The curtains reunited, and the room was left bathed in dim lamplight.

“Fine.” Arthur leaned back a bit on the bed, arms behind him, propping him up. “But if you fall over while I’m asleep-”

“Goodnight, Arthur.” I closed the door. As I walked away, I could have sworn I heard a muffled thump as an object hit the wood behind me.

Chapter Text

Despite my few hours of sleep the night before, I was in fact tired. But it wasn’t the type that I could sleep off. It was just… Arthur. Arthur was back. The feeling was overwhelming relief and such mental drain that for a while all I could do was sit in the kitchen, tea in hand, and feel it. Think. Of what I had just seen, experienced. Every moment replayed before my staring eyes. That dream, the lake, the misery and fear and then my king, crouching before me and breathing, breathing once more.

All that time. So many moments. All for this. And it didn’t feel like no time had passed. It didn’t suddenly feel quick or fleeting. Still far too long. Far too painful. But at least now, he was here. Asleep in the room across the hall. When only a few hours ago, I had been lying down to sleep, just another night in my forever. Now everything was different. Or the same. Who knew. I suppose it would depend on what happened next.

Next. We could move forward from that horrid day so long ago. Once Arthur adjusted to the new world, we could focus on why he was back, what our larger purpose was. There must be one. “When Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.” The words rang through my head. Again. Again. What need? Was something so bad about to overtake the world that we needed a long-dead king to lead us to victory? I mean, hell, everything was so different now, how would Arthur even know how to help? Me. That must be where I came in. I had lived when he did, knew where his mind was. But I had also lived in between then and now. Learned slowly what he must now learn quickly. We would need to be a team once again. As we always had been. Only now…

Now I would receive recognition for my actions, I supposed. I huffed a quiet laugh into my tea mug.

But could it be that easy? Step back into those old skins? Arthur seemed very much like himself, albeit shaken by the resurrection. But me… While his physical wounds had been healed by our time apart, I had ripped open ever-fresh emotional wounds. Mental wounds. For me, the time had been detrimental. I doubted all of that damage would simply disappear now that he was back. I had become skilled at managing my issues, but I had never been able to overcome them, and I had spent countless lifetimes trying.

For the third time in a row, I tried sipping from my mug and came up empty. I blinked. My eyes focused on the room I was in. The light had changed. Warming instead of blinding. How much time had passed since I had sat down? Enough for my tea to be long gone. I stood to make more and glanced at the clock on the stove. Three hours. It had been three hours since I had left Arthur to sleep in the other room. It wasn’t unusual for my thoughts to distract me for long periods of time, but I would have to be more aware of that with Arthur back. Bit rude.

With a whispered command, I quickly warmed the water in the kettle to boiling and refilled my mug, plopping in a new teabag. Abandoning the sunny kitchen, I made my way to the study and my loyal reading chair. No books this time. Too much thought. Instead, I pulled my Macbook from its slim desk drawer and set it on my lap. Administrative bits would keep my mind pleasantly blank. Sipping my tea slowly, I scrolled through my work emails, answering those that only required simple responses. I left the others for a time when my king had not just returned from the dead.

As I was typing my third reply, a sound drew my attention. Soft, slow steps from the hallway moved to the kitchen, then stopped.

“I’m back here. In the study,” I said loud enough for him to hear me. More steps made their way toward me, eventually ceasing as I saw Arthur stop in the doorway.

He surveyed the scene, eyes pausing for a few moments on the thin metal computer resting on my legs. “That looks…” Drawing nearer, he examined the Macbook, circling around to face the illuminated screen. “I know better than to assume it’s magic, so… what is it?”

“You’re learning.” I grinned a bit as I tipped the screen back to give him a better look. “It’s called a computer. Not magic, just more technology. It’s how I communicate with other people when I’m at home or at work.” Pausing, I added, “Well, one of the ways I communicate.” I dragged my finger down the response I was working on. “I can write words here with this,” tapping keys, “and then send them to other people.”

Arthur bent closer, mystified. “Why go to all this trouble instead of simply writing a letter?”

“Ah, that’s the best bit.” I finished my current reply and hit send. “It’s instantaneous. The other person already has it.”

Blonde eyebrows raised. “It’s so… small though…”

“If it makes you feel any better, it took over eighty years for them to become this small. They used to be much, much larger.” I closed the laptop and set it on the desk. “Did you sleep alright?”

Arthur sat back against the nearby desk. “When I actually managed to fall asleep, yes.” Before I could ask, he added, “It was very comfortable. My mind was just… it wouldn’t shut off.”

“That’s understandable. I sat in the kitchen for three hours lost in thought before coming in here.” I reached for the tea at my side, enjoying the last long draw from my nearly empty mug.

“And this is your library?” Arthur’s blue eyes flitted around the room, taking in the bookshelves lining the walls and reaching to the ceiling. He strode to one of them, tipping his head to read the title.

“It is. Also my study, where I do research. Sometimes my bedroom if it’s a late night.” I watched him examine the books. “I could show you the house, if you’d like. It’s…” I swallowed. “It’s yours now, too.”

He turned to look at me, abandoning the spine he had been examining, and nodded. “I’d like that.”

I stood, stretching a bit. “First, let me get more tea.” Returning to the kitchen with Arthur at my heels, I refilled the kettle and flipped it on, once again boiling it too quickly to be natural. A second mug flew from the cupboard and landed next to mine; he wanted tea as well. Handy, that magic. “Would you like some?” I was already filling his mug, knowing what the answer would be.

“I would say yes, but I think the house has answered for me.” There was a slight smile in that voice.

I smiled as well. “I think that’s my favorite enchantment I’ve ever laid on anything. Saves a lot of time and effort.” As our tea steeped, we stood by the counter, each of us glancing at the other from time to time. As if to make sure we really existed. To make sure we weren’t both simply caught in a convincing dream. I was sure we’d both had it many times. I know I had. When the color was right, I asked, “I like mine rather sweet and milky. How do you want yours?”

He watched as I expertly concocted my perfect drink, then said, “The same, I suppose. I’d like to try it like that.” His was complete in another few moments, and I watched as he took a careful sip. He took another, weighing the flavors on his tongue. “It’s very sweet.”

I chuckled. “I can make yours a bit less sweet next time. I always add a lot of sugar to mine.”

“How many of these do you drink in a day?” Despite his criticism, he was still taking steady sips.

“It depends. If I’m at work, only a few. I stay much busier there. But if I’m home...” I took another swig to illustrate my point. “There’s no telling, honestly.” Opening my cupboard, I gestured to my generous supply of tea boxes. “I keep a lot on hand.”

“Clearly.”

“It’s become one of my addictions at this point.” The words were light, but I was serious. Tea was such an important part of my life. It was comforting. It always helped.

“Do you ever drink water? You can’t survive on this stuff all the time.” As soon as he said it, we both felt the words hang in the air. Then, “Well, maybe you can.” Lighter. “But still, it can’t be good for you.”

“No,” I relented, “I suppose it’s not. But I do mix it up with water every once in a while. Mainly at work or when I’m exercising.”

He perked at that.

“We can start there then.” I began walking toward the hallway.

He grabbed his mug and followed at my heels. “Where exactly?”

“In my gym. Where I work out.” Catching myself, I clarified. “Where I exercise.” Phrasing. Watch the modern phrasing. Back toward the front door, we entered a room tucked off to one side of the entryway. My gym was efficient; it had what I needed and nothing else. A treadmill and cross trainer for cardio, free weights as well as a weight machine, body rollers for easing sore muscles, and odds and ends such as a yoga mat and exercise ball along the edges of the room. The floor was covered in heavy duty mats to protect both me and the hardwood underneath. When we were fully inside, I stepped back and let Arthur look around. Bewilderment was the only thing I saw on his face. I would need to explain this a bit better. “This is where I do my exercises. Depending on what I want to work on - endurance, strength, flexibility - I can use different equipment to achieve that.”

With understanding beginning to overtake the confusion, Arthur circled the room. He studied the cross trainer, then moved to the free weights and picked one up. Surprise washed across his features as his arm sagged. “This is heavy!”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Shut up, Merlin.” He returned the weight to its home and moved on to the weight machine. Sitting in the designated spot, he set his mug on the ground and began pulling the bar hanging above his head. “Is this meant to be difficult? It’s very easy.”

Of course he had immediately figured out how to use the weight machine. Jock. “Here, let me uh…” I crouched behind him and inserted the pin into the weight marked 80 KG. “There. That should help.” Again he pulled. This time, however, the bar didn’t move nearly as quickly. He huffed in frustration, and I chuckled. “You can set how much weight you want to use. I gave you a fully-grown man.”

Abandoning his seat, he stood and stretched his wrists. “Yes, well I have been dead for quite some time. I’m sure it’s normal to lose some muscle.”

“I’m actually not sure there is a bar for normal in that situation.” He looked at me then, and I could have sworn we were back in the castle. The mood was the same, the quips still filling the space between us. I felt lighter than I had in far longer than I could remember. I savored the feeling, deciding not to question it after so many, many years in the dark. “Alright, so this is the gym. Let’s keep going. I have a couple of other rooms I think you might like.” I waited while he collected his mug, and we moved across the hall. On the opposite side of the entry was my living room. It was seldom used for more than the entrance to the greenhouse, but I kept it decorated all the same. It made the place feel complete.

Arthur followed me inside, immediately plunking down on the espresso-colored sectional. I could have sworn he gawked a bit at the feel of the cushions. “Is this for sleeping? It’s an odd shape for that…”

This whole experience was proving to be much more entertaining than I had ever pictured it. “No, actually. That’s a couch, and it’s just for sitting. Being comfortable.”

“What do you call this room, then? The sitting room?”

“You’re remarkably close. It used to be called that, but the more recent term is ‘living room.’” I gestured to the flat screen affixed to the wall across from him. “You can also use this to keep up with news and watch things for entertainment.” This should be good. Snatching up the remote, I switched the television on. A news blurb splashed across the screen, and Arthur’s eyes went wide.

He immediately stood, walking up to the screen. “How the hell…?” Blue eyes squinted and blonde brows narrowed. Baffled, he leaned against the wall to peer behind the contraption. “What is this? I’m sure it uses ‘electricity,’” he spoke the word mockingly, “but what on earth?”

Amused, I leaned against the room’s framed entry. “There are some things in the modern world that even I can’t help but marvel at. Television is one of them.” I flipped the screen off and set the remote down. “Come on, we can explore this more in depth later. I want to show you the greenhouse.” Not waiting for an answer, I set out for the corner of the room that housed the spiral stairs to the roof. It took a moment for Arthur to drag his eyes away from the now black screen on the wall, but eventually he followed me. Up we went, circling until we reached the door to the roof and the glass enclosure that topped my home.

I held it open for him, stepping back to let him see what I had created. Besides the basement, I was most proud of the greenhouse. Rows upon rows of herbs, vegetables, and legumes filled the space before us. Each item was in its prime, waiting in a magically induced slumber until its time came to be picked. They would never wither, never die. Much like me. Above us, the glass and metal roof glinted, streams of yellow light cascading down to illuminate the sun-warmed space.

Arthur stared down the rows, stepping between two of them and examining what was growing around him. Flowers of burdock and comfrey met his fingers as he traced their shapes. Further down the row, bilberry and elderberry draped over their planters. Echinacea and catmint completed the row. “These are very familiar,” he said softly as he moved from plant to plant.

Joining him, I supplied, “You’re in the medicinal section.” They had always been incredibly familiar to me, as well. It was why I chose to keep them even with so much modern medicine available. They were a comfort. “Many of these were used even before Gaius’ time. You’ve surely seen them before.” I lifted an echinacea bud. “Well, maybe not all of them. Some hadn’t made it to these lands yet.”

“And they’re still used? To cure ailments?”

Gently, I released the bud. “Not usually. There are so many new forms of medicine and treatments that most of these plants have been forgotten with time.”

“And yet you still keep them.”

“I like them. They remind me of those days.” Dangerous territory. Time to change the subject. “Most of the plants I use are the ones over here. Vegetables and beans and other food.” I led Arthur across the greenhouse to where I grew my potatoes, bell peppers, corn, and the like. “I like coming up here to collect food for meals. It’s always fresh. The herbs for cooking, too.” Basil, oregano, mint, rosemary, and thyme, among others, stood in neat lines along the back of the structure. All except cilantro. Horrid stuff. Tasted like metal.

Arthur frowned at the tall green stalks topped with tassels. “What are these?” Investigating the plant, he peeled back the leaves on the closest ear of corn. Plucked the whole thing from the stalk. I had to subdue the humor I found in just how confused the poor man was. He finished shucking the ear and deposited the leaves on the ground. They floated themselves to the compost bin. “Seriously, what the hell is this?”

I took pity on him. “It’s corn. Didn’t show up in this part of the world until about a millennium ago. You can use it for all sorts of cooking.”

“But it’s food? It seems quite hard to bite.”

“It’s softer when you cook it. Very good, too,” I assured him. “I’ll make some with dinner tonight.”

After completing the tour of the greenhouse, we descended the spiral stairs and moved to my bedroom and bathroom. I had kept our rooms similar in design and contents, but given them different color palettes. While Arthur’s room had the same dark wood and bright en suite, his accent colors were tans and creams where mine were blues and greys. Sunlit wheat to my blustery seas. He approved of the room, testing my bed to see if it was as comfortable as his.

“It’s the same mattress,” I watched as he pushed his hands down into it before sitting on the edge.

“Why is yours so much smaller than mine?”

Ah. “I like it that way. Smaller beds are cozier.” Better for anxiety, sleeping off depressive episodes, not as much room for others to invite themselves in… “Plus you were used to unnecessarily large beds anyway.” There was also a certain satisfaction in giving a king-size bed to Arthur.

He ignored the quip, checking the view from my window instead. When he had circled the whole room, we returned to the kitchen where Arthur deposited his empty mug into the sink. I took the opportunity to refill mine while Arthur looked on disapprovingly. “On the subject of water-”

“Which we weren’t.” I sipped my tea.

He rolled his eyes and continued. “Where might I get some of that in this modern world? I didn’t see a well or a spigot when we were outside this morning.”

“That’s because it’s in here. Time for a kitchen tour anyway.” I approached the sink, turning the handle for the cold water. Above, a cupboard opened and a glass flew out, hovering under the stream of water until it was full. It then settled on the counter before Arthur. “And believe me, it tastes much better than it used to.” The extra filters I had added to my pipes also didn’t hurt.

He took the glass, examining its contents as if checking for contaminants. Slowly, he brought the glass to his lips and drank. “Alright, so it does.” He finished the glass and refilled it, once again draining the water. He gestured to the mug in my hand. “I don’t understand why you choose to drink that when you could be drinking this.”

“I told you, I drink water sometimes. Now, kitchen tour.” I made a circuit of the appliances, showing Arthur how each worked. The microwave was of particular interest to him. I made a mental note to pick up some microwave popcorn the next time I made it to town. That should be fun. After the microwave, he was most curious about the fridge and freezer. Prepackaged food was a marvel. Finally, we ended in the pantry. “There are snacks in here if you get hungry. I don’t think I trust you to cook yet.” He shot me a look, but I ignored it. “The only thing I don’t think I’ve shown you is the toilet, but I’m hoping you already figured that one out.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, Merlin, I’m not an idiot. That one was quite obvious.”

“It lifted the lid for you when you had to pee, didn’t it?”

“It might have.”

I chuckled. “Just make sure you wash your hands every time you use it. For anything. And before you eat. Turns out not doing that is one of the ways people get sick.”

“Seems like a lot of fuss. Are you sure it’s that important? I mean-”

“I’m sure. I’ve been a physician for over fifteen hundred years, remember. There have been quite a few developments since you’ve been away.” Tea once again gone, I decided to take a break from the refills for the final part of our tour. My stomach churned a bit at what I was about to reveal. But he deserved to see it. Deserved to have that part of my, of our history, just as much as I did. After all, I had built him into the spell protecting it.

I turned to him, face devoid of humor. “There’s one more place I need to show you.”

“If it’s the study, I’ve seen it, remember? Magic books and that…” He mimicked a laptop opening and closing. “...Silver thing.”

“Computer, yes. I know you saw that. But you haven’t seen the whole room.”

When he looked at me this time, I saw him register the seriousness of my demeanor. His own features grew solemn in response. He had no idea why the mood had changed, but he didn’t question it. “Perhaps you should show me, then.” Wary eyes, overwhelmed by the new world flooding him. He was about to be thrown back to the one he knew.

I nodded and led the way down the hall to the back of the house. We entered the study, lamps flicking on, but instead of leading him back to the central part of the room, I approached a side wall, bookshelves covering it. Magic thrummed from it, the feeling comforting and old, so old. I took a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I laid my palms against the shelves, the books. Whispered words sounded in my head, and power emanated from me, wrapping around the room, the wall. Eventually, I felt a shift. When I opened my eyes, the shelves had moved to the left, and in the now open space before me, stairs circled down into a warmly lit cellar. I turned to take stock of my companion who was gaping at the opening. “Alright Arthur, your turn.”

His eyes shot to me. “What?”

Magic was roiling in the small space, eager for what it knew was coming. “I wove this spell to protect what I’m about to show you. Unless I add your blood to it, you won’t be able to enter.” His eyes grew wide. “Just a drop,” I assured him. “The spell knows who you are. It always has. But to allow you through, you must prove your identity.” I held my hand out, inviting Arthur to give me his. Slowly, timidly, he did. I gently guided him forward, to the edge of the opening. My hands covered his, quiet words uttered into the silence of the study, and then I released him. “Hold your hand over the staircase.”

As willing as Arthur had been to accept magic since he had returned, he hadn’t been faced with such a blatant display yet. I knew this was no small task for him, trusting me like this. Trusting the magic itself not to harm him. He hesitated, hand hovering where I had left it. “Arthur,” I laid my hand on his shoulder. “I promise you, this poses you no danger. What this will allow you to see…” I searched for the right words. “It may be as close as you can come to revisiting home.”

“Home. When you say that…”

“Camelot,” I clarified. I squeezed his shoulder a bit, backing away, encouraging him to step forward. When he did a moment later, I felt such a force grip him that I was stunned in its presence. Here was the king, the one it had been waiting for. The other piece of the spell that bound the space beneath. With Arthur here, the spell was truly complete; whole. Arthur, I could tell, felt almost none of what I did. He looked into the space where his hand now hovered, then looked back at me. The spark and crackle of power rippled eagerly through the room, and as soon as it hit me, I sank. Such energy, electric in my veins, so excited was the spell to finally have Arthur standing before it. I panted as the magic washed through me. Of course I had made it the strongest damn blood magic I could. Now it knocked the wind out of me. “I’m fine,” I spoke as loudly as I could when I hit the floor. “Don’t move.” He looked like he very much wanted to move, but he did as I instructed, eyes darting from me to the magic doorway. A minute later, the power began to wane, returning to the opening and settling. “It’s done.”

Arthur pulled his hand back, examining the surface and flexing the joints. “I didn’t feel anything…”

“It got what it needed,” I took the hand that was offered and stood. “You didn’t feel anything because it didn’t break the skin.”

“You’re going to need to stop falling over like that. I’m telling you, it’s not normal.” His voice was light but there was an edge to it. I had scared him.

“When it comes to magic, I’m probably the most sensitive person you’ll ever meet. Can’t help it.” I offered a weak smile. “But I’m fine. Promise.” He muttered something about my needing to drink more water, but left it at that. With the hard part out of the way, we faced the staircase. “You’re now free to pass through here whenever you like. The bookcase will also move for you when you want to enter.”

“I suppose that’s what the blood was for?”

Nodding, I stepped onto the top stair. “It was your key. Now the door will be unlocked for you as it is for me.” He was peering down into the glowing chasm, trying to make out what was beneath. “You’ll be able to see a bit better from down here. Follow me.” With that, I turned and descended the stairs. I heard him following as I neared the bottom, heavy footsteps sounding on the iron treads. When he had caught up, I led him into the largest and most precious part of my home.

Out of all the areas in my house, this was by far the heaviest laden with ancient magics. They seeped from every relic, every book; I swear the air was flavored with them. Arthur didn’t feel the same way, I’m sure, but he was transfixed all the same.

Before us was what resembled a large yet cozy cave. I hadn’t finished all the surfaces when it had been built, so the walls and ceiling were rough, hewn from stone. Despite the harsh building materials, the space remained warm and bright, lit by countless oil lamps built into the walls and ceiling. I had added rugs to some areas, wanting to both cushion objects sitting on them and provide some comfort to anyone treading on the hard floors. Until now, that had only been me. But as Arthur’s sock-covered feet carried him forward, I was glad I had decorated. Not wanting to interrupt whatever was going on in his brain, I stayed where I was, watching him wander into the open space. His eyes didn’t know where to land. The modern vault to his right? The library and research area to his left? No, he passed those. Further into the cavern, he came upon newer antiquities, those collected in the past thousand years or so in my travels. They weren’t what he sought. Next came my personal library, or rather, the journals that I kept as I moved through time. He paused at those, trailing a finger down the spines as they changed from wood to vellum to modern leather, noting the date stamps on the surfaces. Although he lingered on those, they weren’t his ultimate destination. No, that was coming next. The last section of my secret chamber was the most precious to me. To Arthur too, I was certain.

At the back of my collection, past where anyone could see by merely glancing, were the oldest items I possessed. Some I was so afraid would be affected by air or touch that I had encased them in glass. Some I kept in protective boxes or lined up on sturdy shelves. Organized and secure. It was these that Arthur gravitated toward. As he moved out of my line of sight, I began following, wanting to be nearby in case he had any questions. In the middle of the items, he stopped, eyes moving from object to object. Reaching the edge of the area, I stood still, quietly observing. His eyes, I could see now, were glassy and his complexion wan. This must be so strange for him. As many times as I had stood where he did now, it was still strange for me.

He was staring at one case in particular, head shaking slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Inside was the torso of a mannequin, red and gold cloth draped over it so as to keep the timeworn material from crumpling. A gold dragon sat proudly on the shoulder of the mannequin, wings extended. Arthur reached out as if he could touch the cape through the glass that shielded it. His fingers brushed the case, then dropped to his side. When he moved again, it was to the next case on his left, the one containing two shining crowns. I watched him take a deep breath, almost certainly looking at the one that used to sit atop his queen’s head. Such deep sadness filled his face that I felt like I should look away; as if I were intruding on a private moment. Rather than leaving him alone in a strange cavernous basement, I ducked my head, giving him as much privacy as I could from where I was. After a minute, I looked up. I found him staring at me. His face seemed to ask a million questions, and I was sure I could provide only a few satisfactory answers. Instead of asking him something that would sound dense and unnecessary, I walked over to where he was and approached one of the nearby shelves. On it rested a small but heavy metal box, and I lifted the lid to expose plush velvet lining. The item that was waiting inside was one I looked at often, even now. I rarely removed it from its soft home, but it felt appropriate to do so now. Gently gripping the seal, I turned, holding it out to Arthur.

If he hadn’t shown any blatant outward emotion yet, this was the tipping point. His eyes grew glassy once more as he focused on the gold in my hand, and this time, a tear slid quickly down his cheek. He didn’t even seem to notice. That seal was all he could see. When he had taken it from me, despite the new tears joining the first, he spoke. “You…” Voice rough, he cleared his throat and tried again. “You saved… all of this. Preserved it. For Camelot.”

Noble. My king was trying so hard to be noble, upright. It made my throat ache and my eyes sting with want of my own tears. “No,” I corrected him. He needed to know. Arthur looked surprised, but I continued before he could say anything. “No, not for Camelot.” Quietly, I explained, “Camelot was falling. It had many good years after your passing, but it was time for it to fall. I had seen it coming. Knew it would happen soon. Larger kingdoms were absorbing its lands. So no, I didn’t do it for Camelot.” There were the tears. Like Arthur, I let them fall. “I did it for you, Arthur. Only for you.” He looked like he wanted to respond, but he was silent, taking in what I had said.

Gesturing to our surroundings, I went on. “Everything here is something I took from the citadel before it fell. From my quarters, from Camelot’s vaults… I tried to get anything of importance. But ah, some were just things that I wanted. Like the cape. I didn’t want to…” I swallowed. “I didn’t want to forget anything. In case it was a long time before you returned. I wanted them here, so I could remember. I preserved many of them with spells so that they wouldn’t fall apart over time. Others, like this,” I touched the surface of the seal in Arthur’s hand. “I didn’t need to. They lasted just fine on their own.”

I don’t know what I had expected from Arthur. More questions perhaps? Lamenting, reminiscing about the past? However, he only nodded, staring at the seal, arguably the most precious item I could have saved from Camelot’s ruin. After a few moments of silence, he raised his head and met my gaze. “Thank you.”

It was all he was going to say in that moment, and I understood. Eyes still heavy-laden with emotion, I ducked my head a bit. For a moment, I wasn’t going to say the words on my tongue. But I opened my mouth, and softly I answered, “Thank you for coming back.”

His mouth curved upward a bit. “Anytime,” was what he said, but we could both read the meaning behind my words. The desperation there. We left it, neither feeling the need to vocalize what we already knew. And like that, something clicked into place. For there in the cavern underneath my house, surrounded by Camelot and old, broken feelings, a wholeness that I had not felt in a very, very long time returned. I wasn’t sure if it would last, but for that moment, the two halves of our bond, the coin, as Kilgarrah had put it, were rejoined. As if he felt the same thing, a calm settled over Arthur’s features. He passed me the seal. “Better put this back in its home. It’s kept it safe for this long, after all.”

I did as he said, snapping the metal case closed and placing it back on the shelf. “You can visit anytime you like. Everything here is yours as well as mine.”

“Technically more mine.”

I raised my brows. “I’m pretty sure death made you forfeit that right.”

“But you knew I was coming back.” He crossed his arms.

He had me there. “Sure, it’s all yours.” I began walking back toward the staircase.

“Where are you going?”

“Back upstairs. Now that that’s over, I need more tea.”

I could practically hear him roll his eyes, but he followed after a moment. “How about some food as well? I’m starving after this tour.”

I rolled my eyes just as hard, but I found myself smiling. Maybe I was okay now. Maybe I could go back to being the Merlin from Camelot. A part of me doubted it, but I shoved that part down. Only time would tell. For now, a light feeling rose in my chest, a release on the weight there, and it took me a moment to realize what it was. But when we reached the top of the stairs and I turned to face Arthur, the recognition came.

It was hope.

Chapter Text

Dinner would be a bit more impressive tonight. Now that I knew that Arthur wasn’t having any adverse reactions to food or drink so far, I wanted to make something with a bit more flavor. I settled on a cottage pie with corn on the side. Normally, I mixed the corn in, but I wanted my guest to get a good taste for the grain. After all, it was one of my favorites. He would likely see it on the table a good deal. I sent Arthur up to the roof to gather the ears of corn while I began cooking the potatoes. Our trip to the basement had eased something between us, as if we needed to be with the remnants of Camelot together, process everything together, for the tension to settle. It was the only way I could explain it. I had been trying to find peace for so long, and I never had. There had certainly been a good deal of closure for both of us in that cellar. Maybe now I could.

My hopeful musings were cut short by the slam of several ears of hairy corn on the countertop. “Is this enough? I peeled the leaves off, but there’s quite a bit of this…” Arthur’s fingers tried to brush the hairs but got stuck. “String,” he finished blandly.

“Yeah, that needs to come off as well. Unless of course you want to eat it.”

“No thank you. I still have my doubts about the rest of the stalk, let alone the string.”

I poked my head in the freezer to double check for ground beef. “If you don’t like it, I’ll be very surprised.” Beef went onto the counter, quickly thawing as my eyes flashed gold.

As he finished cleaning the hair off the corn, Arthur eyed my increasing pile of ingredients. “Just what is that going to be?”

“It’s called cottage pie. It’s a mix of all these things with potatoes on top. Classic British staple food.” I paused, a thought coming to mind. “You’re British now too, just so you’re aware.”

“And what, may I ask, is British?”

“Britain is the part of the world in which we now live. England, more specifically. So if anyone asks, you are one hundred percent English.”

“I thought you said British.”

“It’s both.”

“What?”

“Go with English. It will make everyone’s lives easier. This country is England. You’re English.” Potatoes were taken off the burner and beef was put on.

Arthur leaned against the counter, fresh glass of water in hand. “If you say so. You’ll have to draw me a map sometime.” Actually, that was a fabulous idea. “Are you sure this will be good? That meat doesn’t look very fresh.”

“Well, I’ve been tweaking the same recipe for about two hundred years, so it better be. And it is fresh. Besides the fact that it’s been frozen, all the food in this house is spelled to be fresh and safe to eat.” The look on his face changed to wary. “Trust me. I haven’t changed the food itself, just sort of... held it in its best state.” He let out a “hmph” but didn’t press the matter further.

I continued cooking, Arthur watching as I browned the meat and began chopping vegetables. Once assembled, the pie went into the oven, and I set water to boil for the corn. We spent the time chatting, waiting for the pie and the corn to cook. Despite Arthur’s unease this morning, he seemed to be relaxing as the day continued. By the time I had the food plated and we dug in, he was smiling broadly.

“This is amazing, Merlin. And I do very much like…” He picked up a kernel on his fork, examining it closely. “Corn. At least when it’s cooked.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll never have to eat it raw.” I was smiling as well, the rare expression welcome on my face. “And thank you. This is one of my favorite meals.”

“I can see why.” His plate was nearly empty, and it flew back to the counter to reload itself. “I do admit, I like that bit of magic. Saves me from having to get up.”

That was another point. He hadn’t asked me to do anything at all for him since he returned. “About that, you seem quite okay with not having a traditional manservant anymore. I mean, you bathed and dressed all by yourself,” I said with a smirk.

Eyeing me, he retorted, “I was never incapable of taking care of myself, Merlin. It was your job.” More cottage pie went into his mouth, and I waited while he chewed. “But I am aware that that isn’t the case anymore. I know things are different… in this time.”

Here was one of the things I had always wondered about. Arthur had mentioned that he knew time was passing while he was gone. Did that mean the he knew other things? What had he been told? “How did you know? That things were different, I mean.”

I waited while he considered. “It wasn’t… words, exactly. More a feeling. I knew time was passing, and they made it clear to me that things were changing in the world even though I couldn’t see it. At first, when I realized I was somewhere… else… it was like a dream. I didn’t take what they were telling me seriously. I was just in a daze. But gradually, I felt more awake; aware. Curious.” He leaned back, second plate almost gone. “Also bored, I suppose.”

“But you didn’t feel time passing as slowly as you would have here. You were surprised when I told you how much had gone by.”

“No, I didn’t feel it like that. It wasn’t anything I could have counted in seconds or minutes. It was more just the knowledge that it was so.” Something wistful came over his face, expression far away. “I knew when Gwen…” Struggling for a moment to speak the words. “I knew when she passed. Felt it. Even mourned her as much as I could in that state.”

Carefully, I interjected. “I had wondered why you hadn’t asked about her. I wasn’t going to bring it up until you were ready.”

Arthur nodded, face stoic. “I appreciate that.” His plate was empty, chair pushed back a bit from the table. “And dinner. Again. I didn’t expect to enjoy it that much.”

Clearly he would rather not linger on the subject of Gwen. I took the hint. There was plenty of time yet for that. Instead of prying, I went with, “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Realizing their time was over, the dishes began moving themselves to the counter, leftovers being packed into the fridge. I stood and stretched, the events of the day beginning to catch up with me. So surreal still, seeing the blond man opposite me. “It’s still a bit early for me to get any real rest, so I’m going to work on my computer for a bit.”

He stood as well, face looking as weary as I felt. “I doubt I could fall asleep yet if I tried. It’s quite light outside.”

“In that case, how about I work in the living room, and you can take a closer look at the television? It would help you to watch the news, I think.” While he considered, I fetched my laptop from the study and brought it back to where he stood. “It will help you understand the world you now live in; the goings-on in this area and beyond.” Arthur nodded his confirmation, first refilling his water glass and then following me to the front of the house. I took my usual seat in the corner of the sectional, one leg tucked under me, and grabbed the remote to flip to BBC News.

When the screen lit up, Arthur sat, watching the figures and headlines that flashed before him, all vying for his attention at once. That would definitely take some getting used to. Nothing had to move fast, be flashy in Camelot. Not unless you were fighting an army or undertaking a quest. Now, everything in daily life was made to get your attention. I watched as his eyes flew over the screen, trying to take everything in. Even the written language would need explanation, English changing as much as it had. Though he was being swarmed, Arthur seemed relatively relaxed as he studied everything. He asked few questions, content to observe for now. I opened my laptop, turning my attention to the emails I had left unanswered this afternoon.

It was nice, not being alone in the house. The sounds were the same; my fingers clacking on the keyboard while the news chattered and nighttime bloomed outside, crickets and owls singing their respective songs to the darkening world. It was the same as most nights, save for one difference. Even though my eyes rarely strayed from my computer screen as I worked, I felt Arthur next to me. Companionship after so long alone. Odd. Comforting. I could get used to this. As the evening wore on, we flipped channels, different news stations and prime time programming chattering through the room. Eventually I ignored my laptop and began answering questions Arthur had. How did the screen work? How many stations were there? Who were the people in the programs? Where did they live? Were the stories real? When I heard Arthur ask what “Brexit” was, I decided it was time to retire for the evening.

“Alright, I think it’s time we both got some rest. I’m officially worn out from today.” I stood, stretching in place. “I promise I’ll answer more tomorrow. I’d rather not overwhelm you on your first night here.”

He was yawning, though trying to hide it. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, but very well. I think that television gave me a headache.”

“It probably did. Your brain doesn’t know what to do with the images.” I’d had similar experiences. “Go sleep it off, and we’ll mix it up tomorrow. Spend some time out of the house.” We began to part ways, but just before he disappeared into his room, I added, “Oh, and brush your teeth.”

That halted him entirely. “Excuse me?”

“Another one of those hygiene things. Here.” I backtracked to his doorway and led him to the en suite. “You take this,” holding a spare toothbrush, “put this on top,” squirting toothpaste, “and get it wet. Then you brush your teeth with it. Thoroughly. Spit the excess into the sink when you’re done.”

“Honestly, this seems like a lot of trouble. I still have all my teeth.”

I had forgotten how low the standards were in that time. “And wouldn’t you like to keep it that way?”

He rolled his eyes but took the brush and wet it before beginning to scrub his teeth. A surprised look, then, “It tastes… cold. Odd.” He considered before deciding, “I like it. You do this every day?”

“Ideally two or three times a day. But yes, every day.” I had never thought about these little things Arthur would need to be taught. I wondered how many more we would run into in the days to come. “Alright, I’ll leave you to finish up and go to bed. Remember, don’t swallow it. Spit it out and rinse the sink.” A mumbled “hrmph” was his only response as I slid from the room.

In my own bedroom, I donned comfortable old sweatpants and a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt, softened from the many washes it had endured. After brushing my own teeth, I decided to sit down and do something I hadn’t done in well over a year. I settled myself in the small armchair in the corner, reaching over to the squat bookshelf I kept tucked beside it. A leather-wrapped book met my fingers, and I tugged it out of the mess of volumes and into my lap. The journal’s cover was dusty from neglect. Plucking a fountain pen from the utensil cup I kept on the shelf, I opened the book and turned to the first clean page.

***

"I scarcely know how to write these words, so long have I wished to speak them. They became more a reverie than anything real. But as I sit here, on a night like any other, Arthur sleeps in the next room. He is safe and alive, completely healed by the Sidhe, and he seems to be adjusting well after less than a full day in the twenty-first century. Watching him today has brought about a new feeling in me. I thought I was lost to my demons, most of this time suffering as they wracked me with depressive thoughts and moods, anxieties that were often too strong to control. But today I’ve felt lighter than I can remember feeling since Arthur died. That weight on my soul has finally lifted.

"Perhaps it is only the option to focus on someone other than myself that helps, but I’ll take whatever reprieve I can get. I do so hope that this is more than just the result of a distraction. That it’s not only temporary. I need more good days. Having Arthur here will help with that, I think. I don’t expect the millenium and a half of damage to all be repaired in a day. Not even the strongest magic can fix a mind like that. But I hope for progress, slow as it may be. May this day be the first of many good days for both myself and Arthur.

"We need to get him a new name. Andrew? Aaron? Asshat? We’ll work on it."

***

Grinning, I dated the entry and closed the book. Time for sleep. I replaced the journal and pen and slid into my bed, a contented calm settling over me. All was well tonight. I had made it through the hardest part, and now I wouldn’t have to be so alone. I was still smiling a bit as I turned off the lamp and let my head hit the pillows, eyes closing. Out of habit, I focused my breathing; deep, slow breaths to ready my mind for sleep. How many more nights would I need to do this? The idea of just laying down and drifting off peacefully had been absurd before. Now… I tried to stop counting breaths, to let my body lull itself off to sleep. Less control. It was nice, just laying there sleepily. I had no idea how long it lasted, but at some point, my consciousness at last left me.

I could tell it was some time later when I heard the sounds of feet creeping across the wooden floor of the hallway. I listened for a moment. When the footsteps reached the kitchen, I assumed Arthur was simply thirsty again. I relaxed, enjoying the silence of the night. Several minutes passed, and I didn’t hear return footsteps. Maybe he was hungry as well? I decided to get up and check if he needed help. Most of the food in my house required cooking of some kind, and I didn’t trust my great king with a toaster, let alone a stove or an oven. I rose and stepped outside my door. Despite Arthur being up, the hall was still dark. Strange. The house usually knew to turn the lights on when someone needed them. I’d need to check that spell in the morning. Making my way to the kitchen, I looked around, expecting to see Arthur with a glass of water in hand, a snack in his mouth, or frantically putting out a kitchen fire. Instead, I was met with an empty room. It looked like someone had been in here, yes. A couple of drawers were slightly open, a cupboard standing ajar. What had he been looking for? I took a quick inventory of the items that had been rooted through. No food, just kitchen equipment and supplies. He had gotten into the utensils in one drawer, serving spoons and salad forks in another. The contents of those seemed untouched. I moved to the cupboard, swinging it open completely and taking stock of what was inside. Cutting boards, mixing bowls, some serving dishes that rarely saw the light of day. None of this should interest Arthur.

I felt like I was forgetting something. Something so painstakingly obvious that my mind was skipping over it. A moment later, I turned my eyes to the inside of the cupboard door. A magnetic bar was affixed to it, several of my nicer knives hanging there. I took in the line of them, stopping almost as soon as I had started. There was a large gap in the collection, my chef’s knife missing from its place. Something cold washed over me then, and I noted for the second time that the kitchen was empty. Where had Arthur gone? Why did he need my knife? I didn’t let myself dwell on that thought as I began checking rooms. No wonder the lights hadn’t been on; no one other than me was in the main living area.

A sudden thought, and I made my way to the study. The bookshelf that concealed the basement doorway had been moved, a light emanating from the stairwell beyond. I made a beeline for it, feet flying down the steps and into the warmly lit cellar. At first glance, everything was in order. I passed bookshelves and collectibles, reading nooks and my journals, and still no Arthur. It shouldn’t have come as a shock then when I did finally find him; I had searched almost everywhere else in the house. But I entered the section of my oldest relics, the artifacts of Camelot, and was frozen where I stood at the sight before me.

I had indeed found Arthur. He was in the middle of the collection, crouched on the floor surrounded by the remnants of his home. In front of him was the case containing his and Gwen’s crowns. Next to it should have been the case displaying the knight’s cape, but this one I found shattered. Instead, the cape was with Arthur on the floor, grasped tightly in his hand. In his other hand, I found the chef’s knife from the kitchen. I began to step closer to him, trying to figure out how to approach the situation, when I saw something shiny on Arthur’s crumpled form. Moving closer still, I tried to make out where the shine was coming from. Two more steps and I saw it. Mixed with the red of the cape was another red, this one deeper, moving. It was blood. A second glance at the knife showed red on its blade as well.

I didn’t dare speak yet; didn’t announce my presence. Not until I was closer. Not until I could take the knife from him. I considered using magic to stop him; move the knife farther away. If he didn’t let it go, I would. I would rather him put it down on his own though. I didn’t want to destroy what little trust in magic he had. Slowly, so slowly, I approached him. The blood was flowing from slices on his wrists. I grimaced as I realized he had cut them vertically. He wasn’t playing games, and he wasn’t seeking attention. Not that I thought he would do either of those things anyway. I needed to get closer, stop the bleeding. When I was a few feet away, I dropped to my knees where he could see me. With a calm, even voice, I spoke. “Arthur.”

He froze where he sat, shaking a bit, and turned his head to me. “M-Merlin?”

God, his face had no color. How long had he been sitting here? It had felt like only a few minutes… had I fallen back asleep? “Let me help you, Arthur. Your arms…” I held my hand out, offering my help, but he shrank back.

“No, no, you can’t help me. You have to leave me. I can’t-” A sob cut him off. He tried again, “I can’t be here. I don’t b-belong here. Not without…” He squeezed the cape fiercely, more blood gushing with the effort.

Not without his people. His knights. Gwen. His entire kingdom was just gone. I couldn’t imagine. “I know, Arthur. The loneliness, the strangeness. It didn’t happen for me like it did for you, but I can try to understand. But you’re needed here. You have a purpose for being here-”

“Then what the hell is it? Why did it have to be me and you? What makes us so special that our lives had to be disrupted like this?” He was shaking harder, the knife gripped just as tightly as the cape.

How many times had I wondered the exact same thing? More than I could count, surely. And how many times had I tried to end my misery? More than I cared to admit. The issue with Arthur doing the same was that I was confident that he would die. And that was unacceptable. “I have absolutely no idea.” Just being honest. He looked up at that. “But I know that it is so.” Daring to move, I scooted closer to where he sat. “I’ve been where you are, Arthur. Trust me, I have. When it gets bad, you just have live breath to breath. Instant to instant. Get through the hard parts.” I was such a fucking hypocrite. “It’s not worth it to give up.” Mainly because I always stayed alive anyway. I reached out toward the knife, silencing my inner monologue. I had laid my hand atop Arthur’s when he tried to draw back. I held on. “Don’t, Arthur. You don’t need to do this.”

So much blood was pooling from those deep slits in his wrists. They were in just the right place to do real damage. Dammit, Arthur, why couldn’t you have picked a less dangerous place? Done horizontal cuts? “Arthur, please. Give me the knife.” I tugged a bit.

He tugged back. “No, Merlin, I can’t. Just let me go. I can’t be here, please.” The pleading edge to his voice made a sharp pain bloom in my chest. “Please, just let me go. Please.” He pulled harder, freeing himself from my grasp.

That was it. I focused my attention on the knife, magic flaring in my eyes for a moment. It immediately left Arthur’s hand and met my own. I tucked it behind me. Though I felt a bit of relief in that victory, I sensed my companion’s unease. I forced myself to look at his face, the pain and desolation there. He was so pale now. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to be here, Arthur. I know it’s not fair. But I don’t want to be here either. Not alone, at least. I’ve been alone for so long. Please, stay with me. Be here with me.” In a last-ditch effort, I added, “Don’t leave me all over again.”

He lifted his eyes to me, and I saw an apology there. An almost imperceptible shake of the head. And before I knew what was happening, he had reached out and grasped a large shard from the shattered case, swiftly burying it in his gut. He let out a choked noise, his eyes widening in surprise at the feeling. Though he was sitting, he swayed, and I lunged forward to catch him before he hit the ground.

“Arthur! No, no, you’re going to be fine. Shit…” Magic, think, use magic. I pulled the first words I could into the forefront of my mind and sputtered them out, demanding they heal him. As much as I spoke, however, nothing seemed to be happening. “Heal, dammit, why aren’t you healing?” Was I saying the wrong things? Mispronouncing the words? In the midst of my panic, I felt a cool hand touch my cheek. Forced myself to look down.

Gathered in my lap, Arthur looked strangely relaxed, his face calm as more blood oozed from his wounds. He opened his mouth, and I had to focus to catch the words. “It’s alright, Merlin. I shouldn’t be here.”

“No, that’s ridiculous. I’ve waited, the world has waited for you for all this time.” Tears left my eyes. Hot, frustrated tears that held all the sorrow I’d endured. All for it to end in this? “You can’t- I can’t watch you leave me again. I can’t bear that.” I took a sleeve to my eyes and nose; it didn’t help.

Though he was slipping from me, his hand lingered, fingers remaining on my face. “You’re stronger than I ever knew. You’ll-” A cough interrupted him, blood now spilling from his mouth. “Be okay.”

Again, I tried to force magic out of me. Grasped Arthur still more firmly as I muttered desperately. He can’t die like this. Please, not now. I don’t know who I was begging. The Sidhe, maybe. The earth in general with all her magic. But it wasn’t working. He was dying in my arms. Again.

Solidifying my fears, Arthur spoke once more, this time struggling hard to get the words out. “Merlin.” His hand fell, no strength left to hold it up. “Thank you. For all you’ve done.” His eyes closed then, and he heaved a final breath.

“Arthur! Arthur!” I shook his shoulders, tried to get him to pry open those heavy lids, but nothing happened. And then, as if I could feel it happen, his short new life left him. And again, I was alone.

My eyes flew open. The room was dark and still. Around me, I heard the calm sounds of the woods outside, the central heat humming quietly through the house. I, however, was not nearly as serene. Though I was frozen in place in my bed, sweat drenched my clothing. My heart shook my chest with its violent rhythm, my breath ragged as it tried to keep up. Aching waves of ancient grief flooded me, prompting unwanted tears. I moved onto my side and pulled my knees up closer to my chest. Slowly, I transitioned my halting breaths to regulated ones, shaking as I waited for the dreadfully familiar feeling to subside.

Fuck. So much for progress.

I suppose it was naive to think that one day with Arthur would repair what was broken in me. It had taken fifteen centuries to do the damage; why would it all be fixed so easily? So I waited. When the shaking subsided and my breathing quieted, I relaxed enough to stretch out of my curled position. God, my body was tight. Every muscle seemed coiled, tensed. Finally, I reached my hand out, feeling for the lamp and tugging the chain that would light it. I blinked at the sudden brightness. Picking up my phone, I squinted at the screen, trying to find the time. It was very early morning, too early for the sun or the birds. Could that really have all been just a horrific dream? Probably, but… Too paranoid to take it on faith, I stiffly slid from the bed and crept out into the hallway.

At Arthur’s door, I stopped. Laid my hand on the knob and turned. Just a sliver, just enough to check and see if he was safe in bed. As soon as I could make out his silhouette under the covers, I shut the door again. He was there, sleeping soundly, ignorant to what I had just experienced. Good. I moved instead to the kitchen. Memories from the dream surfaced, urging me to check the cupboard with the knives. But everything was in its place, knives lined up exactly as I’d left them. A sigh of relief left me as I sank into the nearest chair. What the hell had prompted my subconscious to do that to me? In theory, yes, I knew why I’d seen what I’d seen. It was just fear, anxiety. The usual. But I had felt so good yesterday. Had fallen asleep with little issue, which was a rarity. Sadly, that good fortune hadn’t held.

I felt alright now, though. I wasn’t shaky or sobbing. That was good. Just a setback, I decided, and rose to make tea. Surely I would improve. Surely this was a fluke. While the tea brewed, I reached for my ever-handy whiskey bottle and took a swig. Another. One more for good measure before replacing it in its home. I was fine. Arthur was fine. There was no normal for this situation; I would need to be patient. God knows I could be patient.

When I was sure I had calmed enough, I moved with my tea to the study. Taking my place in my favorite chair, I leaned back, picking up the discarded magical tome I had been working on before all of this took place. Still so much to do with it… It would be hours before Arthur should wake. Normal people slept far longer than I did. Though how normal he was, I wasn’t certain. For the moment, I put it out of my mind, instead allowing myself to be pulled back into the thick book in my lap as the morning sleepily dawned around me.

Chapter Text

By the time the birds started to warm up their voices, I was exhausted. Barely any sun yet. It had been two hours at most, but the events of the night before had made me weary. The book in my lap wasn’t helping. The thrill of this one was spent; now all that remained was in-depth research. While that usually excited me, my mind and body were telling me to give up for the moment. Heavy research wasn’t my current priority.

On that note, I stood and stretched. To the kitchen. Make breakfast. My king would undoubtedly be up soon. In Camelot, he used to sleep until I woke him, but something told me that wouldn’t be the case in this new world. What best to make for breakfast? He was accustomed to large plates of meat and cheese, bread and vegetables. Ah. Full English, then. The greenhouse had some lovely tomatoes in bloom. I set about gathering ingredients, making a pile on the countertop. It wasn’t until the bacon and sausage were sizzling together in a frying pan that I heard sleepy movement coming from Arthur’s room. He didn’t emerge immediately. Probably trying to figure out what he should wear. If only the man knew how often I remained in loungewear all day.

Several minutes later, he appeared in the doorway. By then, eggs had joined the meat in the large pan, spitting bits of hot grease as they fried. In a separate pan, I had tomatoes and mushrooms going, all the aromas creating a heavenly bouquet. “That smells so good I can’t actually explain it.” Arthur leaned over the pans and studied the collection of food. “When will it be ready?”

“Soon,” I promised as I pulled out several slices of bread. The toaster slid from its spot on the counter, waiting. “Put these in those slots, will you?” I handed Arthur the bread and pointed to the waiting toaster. He did, watching as the slices were pulled down into the appliance. “Don’t expect this kind of breakfast every morning, but I wanted to do something special for your first proper day here.”

“It’s appreciated,” Arthur said as he eyed each pan hungrily. “What do you normally eat in the morning?”

“It depends on the day. Work days, I’ll usually just get tea and maybe toast. If I’m not working, I’ll do something a bit bigger. In between that and this,” I gestured at the pans. “I don’t usually make all of this for myself.” With everything but the toast done, I began plating two servings, Arthur’s much more generous than my own.

“Why not?” He sat while I made tea.

I peeked at the toast as I stirred my mug. Bit more. Almost there. “I don’t usually eat much.”

He frowned. “So you can have a cup of tea and a bit of bread and you’re satisfied with that? What exactly do you do at work?”

I sensed a bit of condescension but didn’t comment on it. “I work at an office with other physicians. We see patients, run tests, do research… often I receive the more difficult cases that need a bit more time and attention. The ones that are harder to diagnose.” Before he could speak, I added, “It’s more mental work than physical work.”

“But you’re still a man. You’re still human. Don’t you get hungry?”

“Not always.” As with every conversation we had had since his return, it made no sense to be dishonest with Arthur. “Sometimes I forget to eat for a day or more. Sometimes I’d rather not. And some days I eat perfectly normally. It just depends.” Good. Toast was done. I buttered it quickly before adding it to our already-full plates. “I’m human, but I’m… different. My body doesn’t seem to always need what other people need.”

He didn’t answer right away, but he watched me. I could have sworn I saw his eyes roam my frame. Though whatever response he had been considering, he let it go, instead focusing on the meal before him. Several minutes passed before he felt the need to ask, “What other ways are you different?”

Where to begin with this? “I sleep much less than a normal person, for starters. Usually only four hours a night. Five if I’m really tired.” I paused to let him interject, but he didn’t. “I can also… my body can take a lot. Before I feel any repercussions.”

That peaked his interest. He put his fork down. “What exactly does that mean?”

I followed suit, setting my cutlery on the edge of my plate. “It means that a lot of damage would need to be done to actually hurt me.”

“So you don’t feel pain?”

“No, no I absolutely feel pain. It’s just that if you were to stab me with a sword, I wouldn’t die. I would be injured by it, and it would need time to heal, but it would heal no matter how bad the wound was.” He was silent; I had no idea what was going through his head. Maybe if I gave him more examples… “If someone were to poison me, the drug would knock me out, make me sick, do whatever drugs do. But I would recover.” I waited. Still nothing. “Sometimes it does take quite a lot to have an effect on me though. I can practically drink my weight in alcohol and not feel drunk.”

“Did the dragon tell you this as well?”

Hadn’t expected that question. “No, he didn’t.”

“Well, then how do you know? How do you know that you’d recover from any wound? Or that you can’t be killed by poison?”

Shit. “Some things I figured out over time.” Evading seemed pointless, but I did it anyway.

He didn’t like that answer. “How?”

“I’ve made many enemies over my lifetime, Arthur. I’ve been in danger, had experiences that would have been deadly if not for my resilience. Honestly, there are too many to list at one time.” Please leave it at that. Please just leave it.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, leveling his gaze with mine. But he didn’t ask any more questions. He simply picked his fork back up and said, “Alright.” I waited, but he seemed to be willing to drop the conversation there for now. Good. I wasn’t ready to finish that discussion yet.

We finished eating and cleared the table, me automatically refilling my tea mug while Arthur pointedly got himself some water. “I have an idea for today, if you’re up for it.”

“Do tell. Although I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to go back to work one of these days.”

“In order to help you navigate being back, as well as figure out why, I’m taking a sabbatical, or rather, a bit of a break from work. I’ll go back, but not for some time. I want to focus on things here for the time being.”

He looked doubtful. “Are you allowed to just stop going to work?”

“In some jobs, yes. Mine is one of them. I also got permission last night, so we’re all set.”

I could see the gears in his head turning before Arthur said, “Computer?”

I grinned at him, nodding approvingly. “Yeah, good job.”

“Alright, well now that you have all of this free time, what are we doing today?”

“If you’re interested,” I began, “I thought we might take a tour of the area you now live in. Familiarize you with your new home a bit.”

Before I could even blink, he spat, “Not in that car.”

“I understand that you don’t like the car-”

“Damn straight.”

“-but honestly you’re just going to have to get over it.” That surprised him. His blond eyebrows were at his hairline as soon as the words left my mouth. “Look, Arthur, that’s the main mode of transportation that people use day to day. The world is now designed for cars, trucks, buses, and all manner of speeding things with wheels. But,” I stopped him from interjecting with a look. “I do have a compromise for you.”

“Such as?” He was pouting.

“We use horses for most of the tour.”

That surprised him. The pout vanished, a look of interest replacing it. “Why didn’t you begin with that?”

“Because we have to take the car to get to the horses.”

“Bloody hell, Merlin.”

About that. “And there is one more stipulation. One that is non-negotiable.” When he didn’t interrupt, I continued. “I don’t use that name. It’s too strange and raises too many questions. In this world, my name is Morgan. Morgan Emerson. If you want to go out into the world, you must call me by that name.”

He considered. Waited a moment before responding. “How long have you gone by that name?”

“Hundreds of years… When our story became more legend than fact to those who heard it, I decided I should keep Merlin in the past. I became Morgan instead. Similar, but different enough.”

“Haven’t people… noticed? The man who never ages with the same name? Sounds like a whole other legend to me.”

“That’s one bit that I find quite funny, actually. I do appear to age. I change my appearance over time so that people don’t wonder. I grow old and eventually disappear. Everyone assumes I’ve died. Then I start working somewhere new several years later, appearing as my actual age.”

Arthur finished his water before saying again, “But surely someone would remember. Someone would figure it out.”

“There are some people who remember me, yes. They see a resemblance. But not many are still around. They just assume I have a very similar family lineage. In essence, I’ve made my own generations.” I sipped my tea. “You popped up right as I’ve started a new generation. Good timing.” My own mug finished, I placed it in the sink next to Arthur’s glass. “And we’ll need to make you a new identity as well. It’s much more in-depth now than it used to be; there are identification cards and such. ‘Arthur Pendragon’ needs to be tucked away with ‘Merlin’ for safekeeping.”

“Because someone might recognize the name? Surely no one would-”

“Everyone would. Both our names are legend now, Arthur. We can’t risk the wrong person finding out you’ve returned before we’re ready.” I left the kitchen then, heading down the hall to Arthur’s bedroom to prepare him for the day’s events. He trailed behind me. “Start thinking of names if you’d like. I can help find some on the computer later.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason. It has to be believable for modern times. And nothing from Camelot or your knights.” I opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of long johns, then jeans. A long sleeved t-shirt and a warm sweater. Thick socks. A down coat from the closet. “Put these on. It’s cold today. It will be colder on horseback.” He began sifting through the clothes as I slipped from the room to go find my own garments.

A few minutes later, I emerged in my own outerwear and knocked on Arthur’s door. He opened it dressed in everything but the down coat. “What am I meant to wear for boots? Mine are well-suited for riding if-”

“I’m afraid we need to retire your boots. I’ve got some that will work well, and we can get you some new things soon.” At his flat look, I added, “It’s about blending in, Arthur. You need to appear just like everyone else.” Though he looked like he wanted to argue, he did not, instead shaking his head a bit and making his way to the front of the house. In the entryway, I sifted through the collection of boots and shoes there, eventually pulling out two pairs of slim leather riding boots: a mid-calf pair for his majesty and a short pair for me. “Here, try these. I think they should fit.”

He tugged the boots on as I donned my own. Coats came next, scarves and riding gloves after that. When we had been bundled to my satisfaction, I held the door for Arthur, and we entered the chill of the morning. Despite the cold, the sun was shining brightly, and the world seemed much more alive than most winter days. Arthur squinted at the sun and then at the Corsa waiting ahead of us. “Remind me why we have to take that to get to the horses. Why not just keep them here?”

“While I do have the space to keep them on my land, I don’t always have the time to take care of them properly. Instead they live with other horses on a farm nearby. I pay to keep them there, and they get the care and attention they need.” We were in the car once more, and I reminded Arthur to buckle his seatbelt. “I did used to keep horses here before I worked away so much. There’s still a barn and fenced-in pastures back behind the house. Though I’m sure they would need some work to be usable again.” I put the car in reverse, and we began backing out of my parking spot before I turned the vehicle to face my drive. Arthur already had his hands against the door and the armrest, bracing himself. He kept his eyes open this time, however. Progress. I drove slowly, taking the winding turns and rolling hills gently rather than how I usually drove. Fifteen minutes and only one complaint from Arthur later, we pulled up to a pair of iron gates with a bucking horse wrought into them. I braked and rolled my window down, pressing the button for the intercom at my right. In a moment, a voice greeted me. I gave my name, and soon we were through the gates and on the road that led to the stables.

I had expected Arthur to ask questions about the farm, the horses, why on earth people kept horses only for sport now, but he was silent. As we passed pasture after pasture, he craned his neck watching trainers and their riders, horses playing and running after each other, others running laps on the track to our left. “Is this place only for horses? There are so many people who seem to be focused only on them.”

My eyes roamed where his did, and I smiled softly. “Horse training and riding is a very big business for some people. This is a farm that makes its living doing just that. Though there are several independent owners like myself who board their horses here. They’re well taken care of. Get plenty of fun and exercise.” I felt a thoroughbred thunder past as he circled the track. “This is one of my favorite places to come when I need a break from… everything.”

Finally tearing his eyes away from the window, Arthur turned to look at me. I flicked my eyes to his for a moment, then faced the road that turned toward a small car park. We had arrived at the impressive stretch of stables. Outside the Corsa, the brisk air was flavored with the scents of freshly-turned earth and livestock. It hit me in the face, brought back a thousand happy moments riding for sport, for exercise, to hunt, and even with the knights so long ago. Being atop a half-ton animal as it attuned itself completely to you, to your body and commands, flying across land and stream, over hills and through valleys with ease… no car would ever be able to match the feeling, the satisfaction. It would always bring me comfort. Familiarity. I sensed Arthur felt the same.

“My horses are in this row of stalls.” I reached the correct stable, sliding the heavy door open and ushering my companion inside into the warmth. Climate control, while not strictly necessary for the horses, eased my mind all the same. I liked knowing they were comfortable where they lived. We moved down the line of nickering and shaking manes, me pointing out the animals I especially appreciated. Eventually, we reached the far end of the stable and the four stalls that my horses occupied. “Arthur,” I gestured to the first horse, my stoic Cleveland Bay stallion. “Meet Leon.”

I suddenly felt shy as I received a warm glance from Arthur before he reached out to stroke Leon’s velvety muzzle. “Good morning, Sir Leon. You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” His hand traveled along the horse’s neck and down to his shoulder, taking stock of every muscle and arch beneath it. “How old is he?”

“This one is the old man of the group. He’s sixteen.” I pet Leon’s forehead as Arthur continued his examination. “We’ve had some fun, he and I. Gone hunting a few times. Mostly exercise riding though. Exploring the area.”

“He looks a bit different than the horses we had in Camelot.”

“His breed has only existed for about four hundred years. Originated in this part of the world. They’re very versatile and strong. I usually have at least one at any given time.” I moved on to the second stall, this time greeting a dappled grey colt. “This is one of my favorites to ride recently. He’s the youngest, but he’s catching onto all his training twice as fast as his brothers.”

Arthur joined me at the neighboring stall, again moving to evaluate the feel of the Connemara. “And what’s this fellow’s name?”

I grinned. “Percy.”

“Short for Percival, no doubt.” Arthur gave a wry smile back, catching on to this group’s name theme. “He’s muscled enough for the name; I’ll give him that.”

“Only two years old. He’ll be surpassing the rest soon, I imagine.”

Next to Percy was my other Connemara, this one a buckskin gelding. “Can you guess his name? It’s a bit harder than the first two.” The horse’s black mane swished as he shook his head at us.

Arthur considered. “He’s older than the last one but younger than the first. He seems solid. Ready for an adventure by the way he can’t stand still. Though that does describe the vast majority of my knights.”

“I named him Lancelot.” I waited for judgment from Arthur. It came.

“Why on earth would you choose Lancelot? Of all the knights who served and didn’t vy for the affections of my wife?” He snorted, eyeing the mount with distaste.

“She wasn’t your wife at the time, and Lancelot was a friend.” I reached out and stroked the horse’s strong jaw. “He knew about my magic and helped me many times. Protected me.” This animal was so loyal and willing to do what I asked of him. Such a gentle spirit and yearning for approval. He also loved a good frolic. I had no choice but to name him after my friend. “He saved my life more than once. Died a hero.”

When Arthur had stopped watching the horse and started watching me, I didn’t know. But he stared at me, something like hurt showing on his face. “You told Lancelot you were a sorcerer?”

Ah. That. It hadn’t been entirely my choice. “I didn’t have another option at the time. We were in danger; I used my magic to save us.” Knowing where his mind was going, I added, “I would have told you too, Arthur, if you’d seen me blatantly using my power. If I’d had no other choice but to show it. That’s why you found out when you did. It was worth more to me to save you all then to stay hidden.”

He was silent, but nodded. I knew he understood; I also knew he couldn’t help but feel slighted. “I know why you waited. And I can’t say I’d have done any differently.” Slowly, he reached out and rubbed Lancelot’s forehead. “I suppose you’re alright, Lancelot. The horse you, anyway.” He offered a small smile before pointedly moving on to the next stall. “Is this one yours as well?”

It was progress. I would take it. “My wild child, yeah.” Shifting my attention to the final one of my current herd, the pitch black Andalusian shuffled excitedly in his stall. “I’ll give you one guess for this fellow’s name.”

Less than five seconds later, Arthur narrowed his eyes at the brute and declared, “This is Gwaine.”

If anyone else were in the stable in that moment, I’m sure I would have startled them with the laugh that exploded out of me. As it was, I made Arthur jump and surprised even myself. “Good guess.” I cleared my throat and turned behind us to the tack room. “Alright, Arthur. Who do you want to ride?”

“Leon, I think.” He followed me inside, and I handed him his saddle. “He seems the most… well-suited for me.”

“I’m inclined to agree. He’s sturdy. Reliable. He won’t give you any unwanted surprises.” I took the bridle and reins before joining Arthur. Returning to Leon’s stall, I stepped inside and began tacking the stallion, eventually leading him outside to where Arthur waited with the saddle. When Leon was ready, I handed over his reins and moved to get my own tack.

Arthur fiddled with his stirrups while he waited. “Which horse will you be riding, then?”

From the tack room, I called back, “I’ve been working with Percy a lot lately. I think I’ll take him out this time. Gwaine’s due for a romp as well though.”

“Not your precious Lancelot?

Saddle in hand, I emerged, glaring mildly at the blond man. “Not today, no. I want to give Percy a chance to show off what he’s been learning.” I received no response, so I turned to my horse, tacking him as well and walking him over to where Arthur waited with Leon. “Ready?”

In answer, Arthur heaved himself up onto his stallion. “I think so. Does all of this work the same as it used to? It seems more complicated than I remember.”

“Basically, yeah. But that’s another reason I wanted you on Leon.” I too mounted my waiting horse. “If you screw up, he won’t.” With that, I began walking Percy outside, Arthur following behind.

Where to take him first? I settled on a couple of premade paths around the property, just so he and Leon could get acquainted. It shouldn’t take long. Leon had never had an issue with any rider on his back. We walked for a while, neither of us talking much as we got our footing. Passing the first pasture, I began trotting, watching to make sure Arthur could communicate with his horse. He nodded at me, easily slipping Leon into a seamless trot at my side. By the time we reached the furthest point on the farm’s property line, I decided it was time to canter. Leon would make sure Arthur didn’t fall on his face. No warning, I decided.

And we were running.

Behind me, I heard a muffled “Hey!” as our shadows began to follow suit, but Percy and I were already far ahead. The land before us didn’t belong to the farm, no fences or trainers in sight. Instead, it was unkempt fields; hills and valleys rimmed with trees and hedges that grew without restraint. This was where I loved to run. Percy did too, I knew. So we did. Despite the chill morning air, sun beamed down on the landscape, warming the colors that blurred as we flew past. Tall grass waved in the slight breeze of the day, and we stampeded through it, leaving a trail for Arthur and Leon to follow.

Life simplified out here. The problems I had became whisps in the wind we stirred. When we ran like this, it felt like I might still be in Camelot, out on a journey with the knights at my back. Unless I looked down at my modern attire, I might be wearing the same simple clothing I wore for so many years, my neckerchief twisting around where the air whipped it. Sometimes I missed that blasted neckerchief. But not today. Today I was here with my long-lost friend, my king. Today I was at peace with the twenty-first century.

Evidently, so was Arthur. He and Leon came up beside me and Percy so fast that I did a double-take. Grinning, he met my eyes before urging his stallion into a full gallop. They thundered ahead, earth spitting behind them. Prat. We’d have to remedy that. I, too, coaxed my horse to gallop, and we careened along Arthur’s trail, icy wind stinging my eyes. It was worth it. Though I wondered how on earth I had done this so long ago with such poor winter clothing. Used to it, I guessed.

We rode for long while, eventually slowing to a canter again and then a trot as I showed Arthur the nearby landscape. Atop a hill, I pointed out my lands, just barely visible in the sea of greenery below us. I showed him the nearest town in the distance, the direction opposite my home. The collection of squat buildings appeared flat from our height. “You can’t see it from here, but the office where I work is over to the left of that cluster. It takes about a half hour to drive there. I’ll take you at some point; when you’re ready.”

When there was no response, I moved my gaze to Arthur on my right. His eyes were tipped up at the corners as he squinted against the sunlight. Thoughtfully, he stared at the patchwork of greenery below, then out at the places I had indicated. “If you don’t look too closely at the village in the distance or at the clothes we’re wearing, we could be back home.” He turned to me. “How far are we from there?”

I almost didn’t want to answer; what if he wanted me to show him? There was nothing left… “A few days on horseback. A few hours by car. But Arthur-” He was waiting so patiently, hopefully even. “Nothing survived. There were ruins for a time, then nothing. I wish I could tell you something better, but…” I lowered my gaze to where he had been staring, the expanse of land below us. “But I know what you mean. About it feeling the same. I was thinking the same thing when we left the farm this morning.”

Quiet wrapped around us then, no more sound than the wind in our ears. As long as he needed silence, I wasn’t going to interrupt. Waiting was something I excelled at. When at last he was ready, he turned Leon around, descending the hill. The ride back was somber; still. We let the horses’ rhythmic hoofbeats be our conversation until we had neared the farm again. Back inside the stable, we dismounted and began readying Leon and Percy to return to their stalls. This, too, I found therapeutic. Not just the riding, but everything surrounding it.

“How long did it take you?”

Arthur’s voice startled me, my hands ceasing their methodical movements. “How long did what take?”

“How long before you didn’t miss it? Or before,” He seemed to be measuring his words. “Before you were able to make peace with everything just being… gone.”

What a loaded question. Despite the fact that I knew how to act to hide the truth, there had been very little true peace in my life. Sure, I wasn’t crying about Camelot at night, but that didn’t mean I had made peace with it being gone. All those people, all those lives I had been entwined with, I missed them every day. I had never stopped missing them. While that was true, I also didn’t want to leave Arthur with no hope. “Peace will come, Arthur. It won’t come as soon as you’d like it too, but it will. As for not missing everything… I’m still working on that.” When his response came, I was sliding Percy’s stall door closed. I nearly slammed my fingers.

“Is that what you were dreaming about last night?”

Shit. Back still turned, I fiddled with the latch to buy myself time. Should I tell him? No, not the whole thing. Unnecessary. But I’d been honest with him every other time he’d asked me something. Did he need to know how messed up I really was? Useless to try to hide everything, perhaps. We lived together. Slept next door to each other. How much did it make sense to hide? “Not exactly.” Behind me, I heard Arthur lead Leon into his stall. When the door slid shut, and he didn’t speak, I knew he was waiting for more. I turned. “It’s not… rare… for me to have dreams like last night. But it wasn’t a dream about missing people; it was a dream about… losing people.”

“You sounded upset. Scared, even.” Though his eyes were downcast, his furrowed brows, crossed arms, and rigid stance told me he was worried, uncomfortable.

“With everything I’ve witnessed in my lifetime, a lot of it haunts me to this day. Some I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over. And often, like last night, it manifests into dreams. Fears replayed over and over.” He had lifted his eyes to my face. “It’s not all the time. And it’s not always the same things. But it does happen regularly. I’m sorry if I woke you up.” Or if you heard me call for you as I watched you die in my arms again.

Of all the reactions I had expected from Arthur, anger hadn’t been one of them. Discomfort, a bit of sympathy, sure. But not anger. Yet he was shaking his head, eyes hard and jaw set. “You don’t need to be sorry, Merlin. Morgan. Whoever you are. What reason do you have to be sorry? You have no control over it. You had no control over being left here. You had no control over what happened while you were forced to watch. So don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry you were stuck with all of this for so long by yourself.”

Definitely hadn’t expected that. I didn’t know how to answer. It turned out I didn’t need to, though, because Arthur didn’t wait for a response. In the next moment, he was on his way out of the stable toward the waiting car. Striding quickly behind him, we made our way to the Corsa and slid inside, neither of us speaking yet. I turned the key and got the heat going for the short journey back home.

He didn’t even react as we drove, face placid and unmoving. He was still angry, I was sure. If there was one thing I knew about Arthur, modern or no, it was that he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he believed himself to be. It was just the why that I was missing. Outside the house, I parked in a patch of early afternoon shade and stepped out of the car, my sullen king doing the same. This couldn’t carry on all day. It couldn’t. As soon as we crossed the threshold into the entryway, I turned on him. “Alright, drop the angry Arthur routine. Why are you so upset?” Incredulity replaced the anger. “I mean, I get it in general. I get that you just got here and you’re just learning about what happened while you were away and you don’t think it’s fair that I was here so long. I understand that. But why anger?”

“Because you didn’t deserve that! You don’t deserve to have so much misery follow you around when you did nothing to earn it. You don’t deserve to be plagued by nightmares of things that you only experienced because it was some sort of prophecy. I’ve been here for all of a day and a half, and I know you’re different. I could tell the moment I saw you again. It shows on your face and in your voice and in how you react to things. You’re not the same Merlin.” He quieted and added, “And I’m just very sorry that there was no one to help you. Lot of good I did floating in that lake.”

Well, I had my answer. Evidently, he had been picking up on a lot more than I had given him credit for. “We each had our roles to play. And believe me, I would rather mine have been different, too. But for whatever reason, that’s what happened. It’s not like yours was pleasant. I mean, you died.”

A solemn nod. “I did die.” His lips quirked up at the corners, much to Arthur’s chagrin. “I suppose it could have been better for both of us.”

“For what it’s worth, you seem to be adjusting much better than I did.” Tired of standing in warm outerwear, I began disposing of the unwanted items. “I was a mess when you died.”

“Not helping my guilt, but thanks.”

When we were both left standing in our regular clothing, I led us to the kitchen for food and tea. I needed so much tea right now. Whiskey wouldn’t hurt, either, but I decided to let that habit be a secret for a bit longer. Tea in hand, I slumped down at the table and let my body rest from the morning’s events. “I promise I’ll make food in a bit. But frankly, I haven’t ridden for that long in years. I could take a nap right now.”

“Some things never change.” Arthur retrieved his standard glass of water and sat with me. “Your bum could never handle a day on horseback.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t deign to reply.

“Merlin?”

“Hm?”

“I would be, too.”

I sat up a bit. “Would be what?”

Setting his glass down, he rested his hands in front of him, arms on the table. “I’d be a mess if you died.”

At the words, a warmth spread in my chest; it hurt a bit, but I didn’t mind. It wasn’t the pangs of depression that kept me buried. It wasn’t the tight coil of anxiety. It was just… warm. Nice. Yet another tether to this man for whom I had already endured the unimaginable. I let the contentment from his comment show on my face as I said, “I always knew you cared, Arthur. You never hid it as well as you thought. But I appreciate you saying that.”

Clearly uncomfortable with the outpouring of emotion, Arthur simply stood and began opening cupboards. “I think it’s time for food. I’m starving.”

I stood as well. “As you wish. Though you’re looking in all the wrong places.” Ignoring the glance he threw over his shoulder, I disappeared into the pantry for ingredients to feed my cantankerous king.

Chapter Text

“What about ‘Anthony?’” Arthur leveled me with such a reproachful look that I nearly laughed. “What? It’s modern. It’s the same first letter you already have.”

“It’s flourishy. And long.” He ran his fingers down the spines of magical tomes as he walked the length of the bookshelves in the study. Pausing at one, he squinted.

“It’s only one more syllable than ‘Arthur.’”

Arthur turned from where he was examining the worn cover of the old grimoire he’d pulled out of the shelf. “One more what?” 

Oh, right. Those weren’t a thing either. “Syllable. Never mind. The point is that you’re very picky, and you’re not exactly offering any suggestions of your own.” Me, I was browsing baby name websites.

“I did offer a suggestion, but you turned it down quite hastily.”

I rolled my eyes. “‘Alistair’ is not a common name. Let’s try something that people know how to spell.” Realizing something, I added, “And it’s just as long as ‘Anthony.’” 

Bickering was all we’d accomplished with regards to name choice. Anything I suggested was too “modern” or “contrived” for Arthur’s approval. Alexander? Too long. Adam? Too severe. Austin? What in the hell was that? I’d also suggested names that didn’t begin with the letter “a,” but those had produced far more mocking reactions from my roommate. We would stick with “a.” 

I began the rapid-fire portion of our conversation. “Aiden, Adrian, Albert, Ashton, Andrew, Alan, Anderson, Aaron, Alec-”

“Wait, what was that one?”

“Alec?” 

Utter disgust. “No, Merlin, the one before that.”

“Aaron?” 

When the disgust faded, I knew we had found it. “I like that. That’s my name. Aaron.”

Well, good. That wasn’t too painful. “Aaron what? You have to choose a surname as well.” I prayed that this wouldn’t elicit another lengthy name volley. 

Seeming to consider, Arthur slid the grimoire back onto the shelf. “Can’t we just use yours? It didn’t seem awful.” 

“You’re too kind.” 

“I’m aware.” Though he knew he was being mocked, he didn’t appear to mind. “I mean it though. Couldn’t we just use the same name? We could be brothers…” He eyed me up and down. “...by marriage.”

Yes, of course. Two drastically different-looking men with the same last name living alone in a secluded house on a vast acreage in the English countryside. Just brothers. “I think it would be better for you to choose your own name. Have your own identity for your new life.” When his face fell a bit, I added, “It’s not that I don’t want to share my name. It’s that it wouldn’t mean what you’re thinking in the world today.”

Incredulous brows rose. “Have times changed so much that two men with the same name couldn’t possibly be brothers?”

“Not when they don’t look anything alike, no. No, they would assume we were…” I gestured between the two of us. “Together in a different way.”

Of all the ways Arthur could have reacted, I hadn’t seen a belly laugh coming. When he had collected himself, he gestured as I had and stammered out, “The two of us? Is the new world so daft that it would assume something so preposterous before even asking questions?”

“Well, it’s been a long time, Arthur. And… it’s not so preposterous anymore.” He quieted. “One might even call it common. People are much more open to different ways of living now.” No response, so I moved on for him. We could get to this later. “Do you have any surnames that you might like to use?”

“I don’t know many on my own. Not that I’d want to take, anyway. They likely wouldn’t pass your inspection, either.” Sitting in the wooden chair next to me, he rested his folded hands on the desktop. 

“Actually, I have one that we could both live with. It’s English, too. Short. Fitting.”

“And what might that be?”

I grinned. “King.”

That got a smile. I knew it might. Fighting against the satisfaction now swarming him, Arthur fidgeted in his seat. “Aaron King?”

“I think it suits very well. You?” 

“I could tolerate it.”

Finally. Good. I shut the laptop and set it on the desk before grabbing my phone from its place in my pocket. “Then it’s picture time. You need IDs.” At the blank stare I received, I added, “Identification.”

The next half hour consisted of me posing Arthur against a plain wall, coaching his expressions, and explaining what photography was. The phone camera I didn’t fully understand myself, but I was able to give him the gist of the inner workings. He very much enjoyed studying the pictures and then changing his features at the last minute before I snapped the next image. 

When it happened for the fourth time, I lost patience. “Damn it, Arthur, hold still! We need good ones so that your IDs will look real.”

That caught his attention. “Are they not going to be real?”

“No. With secret identities and immortal slash risen people, you can’t exactly get the real ones. They’ll be good fakes, but not with ridiculous pictures attached. Now, come on.” I motioned for him to get back into place. Finally, he granted me a few somber, straight-faced photos and one with a bit of a smile. “Perfect. Thank you. I’ll get these where they need to go, and you’ll have a modern identity before too long. Until then, you’ll have to refrain from taking the car out for joyrides.”

When I looked over to where he stood, his face had taken on a sour expression, eyes narrowed and lips pursed a bit. “I think I can live with that.” 

The day had been a quiet one after our excursion in the morning, and we were both content to laze around, conversation light. By the time dinner was over, I was ready for bed. Arthur, however, seemed ready for another horseback ride. We had retired to the living room, television on once again, and the dulcet tones of BBC News filled the area. I had a hunch that this may become a habit for us. Fine by me. Arthur needed to learn about the world, and this required little effort. As the news droned on, I felt myself growing heavier, sleepier, enough so that I jolted when I felt a poke in my side.

“Oi, are you this tired from the horses? You need to exercise more. I feel fine.”

I slid him a flat look. “You’ve been suspended in a magical lake for all this time. It’s harder to keep your endurance up when you’re alive. And I do exercise, just not on horseback.”

“If you were exercising everything, you wouldn’t be tired from riding. You can’t just…” He hovered his hand over my frame. “...Bulk up and expect your body to be well-adjusted.”

Ugh. I was too tired for this scrutiny. Glad as I was that Arthur had actually noticed my physical progress, his judgment killed my mood. “I’ll be sure to work on endurance the next time I’m in the gym.” I let out a wide yawn before rubbing my face with my hands. “For now, though, I think I’m going to bed before I fall asleep sitting here.” I shuffled to the edge of the couch and stood slowly, teetering for a moment on my clumsy feet. Rather than giving Arthur the chance to make a comment, I called a “goodnight” and continued on down the hallway to my bedroom. With the door closed softly behind me, I sluggishly completed my nightly routine, finishing with a wholehearted collapse onto my soft bed. Maybe I would stay like this. Covers weren’t strictly necessary. I was warm enough. Faintly, I made out the sounds of Arthur readying himself for bed in the next room. As my eyelids became heavier, I used the last bit of energy I had to reach out and tug the chain of the lamp, immersing myself in darkness. With it came unconsciousness. 

Unlike last night, I could tell when I slipped into the dream. This one was very different than the other. Forceful. Deliberate. It wanted me to recognize the fantasy of it. The other disparity was that the subject of the dream was not Arthur, but me. I was alone, swathed in darkness, existing somewhere void. There was no Arthur, no house, no earth below me. Instead, just blackness. For a time, I found it safe and comforting, like being inside my unconscious mind. Nothing could hurt me. If this was how my dreams were going to be now that Arthur and I had settled in, I would happily take it. However, I was about to realize my error in judgment. 

What had at first felt close and comforting soon encroached, pressing in on my throat and chest. When I reached out to get some distance, some separation from the abyss, I found myself held in place. Panic rose in me, further increasing the strain on my breathing. Where was this coming from? Why disrupt my rare, peaceful dream? I thought I may suffocate before the answer was given. But before I sagged downward, before I could give up my struggle for air, I felt something at my back. It roused me for a moment, distracting me enough that my reflexes took over. Instantly, my lungs filled, and I felt a bit of momentary relief. I took a test breath, letting the choking sensation diminish before focusing again on the presence behind me. I was still frozen, still couldn’t turn and look, but I threw out my magic in an invisible net around me to sense what I could. 

The first thing I noticed was that it wasn’t an “it.” I felt personality there, something that struck me as innately human. At the same time, though, “human” wasn’t right. Something more… In answer to my prodding, the presence cast its own magic out, which immediately rushed around my form. It buzzed high in my ears, a din of crackling energy. Seeming to latch onto me, the whirling power grew closer. Now I could pick out phrases, questions floating through the magic. They hissed in my ears, and I strained to hear clearly. 

“You are the one.”

“Are you the one?”

“Are you the one who has him?”

“He who died and yet lives.”

“Does he live?”

“Where do you harbor him?”

“He who sank and yet rose.”

“Tell me.”

“Tell me.”

“Give me the answers I seek.”

“ Tell me .”

Any curiosity I’d had about the presence disappeared the moment questions were pelted at me. Whoever this was, all they wanted was Arthur, and I no longer wanted anything to do with them or the veil of magic that still spun around me. Rather than giving any answers or showing any reaction, I began using my own magic to poke holes in their net. Focused bursts of energy broke from me and punctured my assailant’s net, slowly shredding it. There was a force then, a shockwave that rammed into me when they realized what I had done. Anger. All I felt was untempered anger. Rage. The sheer intensity of it translated in my ears as screaming. Deafening. Piercing. 

“Tell me!”

“Tell me your name!”

“Tell me where you reside!”

“Tell me where to find your wretched risen corpse!”

Stop, stop, stop. I had to make it stop. I needed to wake up. Wake up! Though I knew it was a dream, it would not release me. Though the foreign magic was no longer surrounding me, I still couldn’t move. Blasted dream prison. Fifteen hundred fucking years of mastering my power, and it was useless when I dreamed. I could never bend dreams to my will the way I could with things in nature. Normally, it didn’t shake me this much. But then again, this wasn’t a standard dream. Something about this felt potent, real. This person, whoever it was, felt as real to me as I did. No. No chance. It was just my mind torturing me because Arthur was back. Same as last night. 

Then why didn’t it feel the same? 

“I have no time for your balking, you insolent fool!”

Honestly, just shut up.

“Tell me where to find Arthur Pendragon!”

See, this was why we were changing his name. All the magical annoyances knew it.

“Do not ignore me!”

Well, too late. I really would rather not ride this dream out. Who knew how it would end if I let it escalate? With me waking up in a blind panic, no doubt. No, better to cut it off as soon as possible, while I was still feeling somewhat myself. Now if I could only figure out how. 

“Heed my words, sorcerer! You cannot escape me!”

Oh, for the love of… “Give it a rest! I’m busy!” Trying to find my way back to the land of the conscious. “Can’t you bugger off and find your way into someone else’s dream?” 

“You think this is all in your head? A dream, even?”

I paused, considering the words. “Are you implying that it’s not?” How the hell else would you describe someone hallucinating while sleeping?

“You cannot comprehend the trouble you have brought upon yourself with the return of your fallen king, sorcerer. You will soon learn that this encounter, and all that will follow, are indeed quite real.”

As if to punctuate the ominous statement, something whipped out from the presence and came down hard on my abdomen. Sharp. Slicing. Claws? Talons? It could have been a handful of paring knives for all I could tell. What was clear was that it hurt, and I was surely bleeding. All the more reason to wake up. 

“I’ll leave you now to come to the proper conclusion. And hear me, warlock. If you do not give me what I want, the consequences will be severe.”

As promised, with its final utterance, the creature vanished into nothingness, leaving me alone once again. This time, when I tried forcing myself into the real world, my eyes shot open, and the blackness around me became tangible. Ceiling. Walls. Doors. Furniture. Me on my bed. I was in exactly the same spot I had fallen asleep in, yet the bedding around me was mussed. When I reached to light the lamp, I found a pillow on the floor, another at my feet. Clearly I hadn’t held as still as I’d thought. More evidence came from the fact that my shirt and the bedclothes around me were wet. Damn cold sweats. At least I wasn’t shaking with panic or curled up in an anxiety attack. I leaned forward to heave myself into a sitting position but stopped short as a screaming pain erupted in my gut. Daggers of white hot agony lanced through me, and I felt rather than heard my cry of distress. 

The wetness, the soaked feeling, it wasn’t sweat at all. It was blood. When I at last found the strength to rise a bit and look down at myself, all I saw was crimson. Shit. Shit shit shit. How could this be real? The wound I had endured in the dream… it was here. It covered my abdomen, five long slices across my flesh. Deep, too. I was still hemorrhaging all over my duvet. Though I wasn’t exactly worried for my life, the sight jarred me. Gingerly, I eased myself sideways to the edge of my bed, attempting to keep pressure on the injury. Another reluctant outcry. Damn, this hurt. 

I don’t know whether he had been asleep for the first wail of pain or whether he simply wasn’t sure of what he was hearing, but at that moment, Arthur decided to investigate. I heard the footsteps echo down the hall and stop at my door, hesitating before opening it a crack. A split second, and it was banging into the wall behind it. He didn’t say anything, not a word, but his face was suddenly set; grim. I could see him clenching his jaw hard as he neared me. Reaching out a pointer finger, I choked out, “Bathroom. Can you get my medical bag? C-Closet…” I was getting a bit woozy from the blood loss. Words were becoming difficult. He followed my direction, rummaging for a moment before drawing out the large brown leather bag and returning to me. I slid down onto the floor from the edge of the mattress, landing hard and letting out a gruff noise of discomfort. Arthur still said nothing but kneeled at my side and ripped open the bag, scattering items around him. 

“That.” Again, I pointed, this time at a mound of sterile gauze. “P-Put p-p-p-” Fucking hell. I growled a bit and forced out the words. “Put p-pressure on the w-wound.” I was shaking now as well as getting dangerously lightheaded. My tongue refused to cooperate as I tried to direct the blond at my side. “Stop the b-b-”

“The bleeding, right.” Finally, Arthur spoke. His voice matched his face. Tight. Serious. If I had any control, I would tell him not to worry; I couldn’t die anyway. But I was losing that battle, and I felt myself slump a bit against the bed. Tired. I just needed to sleep for a- “Wake up, Merlin!” A solid smack on my cheek. Rude. “I think I found the dressing, but I can’t find any clips or anything to make it stay.”

I tried to respond, but my voice was hardly there. A whisper was all I could manage. “The rolls.” He picked one up. “They’re sticky. It will stick… to itself…” So tired. And cold. The shaking had become almost comical. I would really be worried if I knew I couldn’t die. Thankfully, Arthur seemed to realize what he was meant to do, pulling the end of the wrapping and testing its sticking power. Satisfied, he pulled the blood-soaked gauze off of my abdomen and lifted my shirt, pressing fresh gauze over the oozing slices. I wasn’t quite ready for his next action. Gripping my shoulder, he heaved me forward so my head rested on his shoulder while he wound the dressing around me. That hurt. The movement released another moan from me which made Arthur stiffen before continuing his first-aid. 

Around and around he brought the roll until eventually it ran out. He leaned me back then to examine his handiwork. When my head lolled to the side, I felt him catch it; reposition it correctly. “Merlin.” A shake. “It’s wrapped. Are you still with me?”

Mmmmm. No. Not really. “Hm,” was all I could muster. Just let me pass out. I would be fine. Some rest sounded splendid right now. 

Another shake, this one rougher. “Merlin!”

Really, Arthur. Calm down. I told you I couldn’t die. With all the energy left in my body, I breathed, “‘M fine. I’ll heal.” And that was the last bit I managed before giving in to unconsciousness.

*   * * 

I don’t think I was truly out because I sensed everything happening around me. I heard Arthur gathering the bloody supplies and tossing them in the bathroom trash. I heard him collect the contents of my bag and put everything back in its home. I felt as he gingerly peeled my drying shirt off and cleaned as much blood as he could from my skin. Soon, a new shirt replaced the first, and I was gently lifted off the floor. Several steps, and I was laid down on what I assumed was Arthur’s bed. 

Then I think I did succumb because the next time I heard something, it was a bird outside the window welcoming the day. Loud. So loud. Sing somewhere else, why didn’t it? I lie there for a long time just feeling myself breathe in and out against the wrapping wound around me. It ached badly, but I’d had much worse. I could handle it. Eventually I grew bored. Focused my energy on opening my eyes and moving my limbs. Ugh, everything was leaden. With a concentrated effort, I lifted one arm and pulled the covers back a bit. Moved a leg. Just a bit more and I would be out of the bed. As my toes touched the plush area rug on the floor below, a voice caught my attention.

“I was going to ask how you were slashed open in the middle of the night while dreaming, but now I think it’s more important that I ask why you’re trying to walk around.”

Ah. Let’s leave that first bit for a moment. “I thought I might go for a run. Work on endurance.” The words were nothing more than a gravelly rasp. 

Arthur didn’t even crack a smile. He leaned in the doorway, still that serious look on his face. “I think you may want to wait until you’ve healed first.”

Clearing my throat, I tried to speak a bit more clearly. “I was just going to change the dressing. Clean it out a bit.” I waited. So did he. “No running.”

“Are you going to tell me how that happened?”

“Ah.” Once again, I reminded myself that I had decided to be open and honest with Arthur. But for this, truly, I didn’t have many details. “I’m afraid I don’t have a great explanation beyond ‘magic dream’ at the moment.” Standing was my next goal, and I scooted forward a bit, biting back a curse at the sudden pain. By the time I reached the edge of the bed, Arthur had moved next to me, obviously doubting my capabilities. Well, he was here now. Might as well make good use of him. I gripped his nearby shoulder and heaved myself up. This time I did curse. Couldn’t help it. 

“Oh, for the love of-” The shoulder I had been clutching was suddenly gone, and a strong arm looped around my middle instead. “Where do you want to go? Because you’re not getting there alone yet.”

He did have a point. When I’d steadied a bit, I pointed toward the bathroom. “Let me take a look at the cuts. Then I promise I’ll rest for a while.” He didn’t respond, but we moved forward slowly. With each step, I felt the energy leaching from me, and I was grateful when Arthur deposited me carefully on the closed toilet. Taking deep breaths, I lifted the edge of my shirt to reveal the bandages. They were bloody again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arthur get my medical bag from the closet. As I peeled the wraps back, he piled the supplies he’d used before on the counter next to me. I added some of my own.

“What are those for?” 

I unscrewed a bottle and poured its contents over a cotton pad. “To prevent infection. Might as well add some now since nothing’s healed over yet.” Pressing the pad to my wounds took the wind out of me, and I found myself shaking again. Probably not yet over the blood loss from before. 

Arthur watched, his expression carefully controlled. “I don’t think those qualify as simple cuts. Violent gashes, maybe.” 

I chose not to say anything. He wasn’t wrong. When everything had been dabbed clean and coated with antiseptic, I reached for a handful of butterfly closures. No use going to the trouble of stitching for this. Next, more gauze. Arthur beat me to that one. He already had several packs of gauze open and waiting, and he passed them over before finding another roll of wrapping. The whole process went much more smoothly than it had before. At last, I was swaddled again in cotton and bandages. Shirt replaced, Arthur graciously let me use the toilet in private before scooping his arm around me again. 

“Help me get to the study, if you don’t mind. I need to do some research.” 

“Research into why a dream sliced you to ribbons? Or do you already know the answer to that and just haven’t enlightened me yet?” 

Touchy, weren’t we? I supposed I would have said the same thing if the roles were reversed. If I had gotten used to the idea that Arthur had hidden his true self from me for years. “I have some ideas, but I don’t know anything for sure.” Though we were moving agonizingly slowly, it was still too fast for me to keep up, and I tripped on my left foot as we entered the hallway. 

With his quick reflexes, Arthur kept me up easily, but I swore I saw him roll his eyes. “Are you going to tell me the ideas? Or even what the dream was about? I heard you talking to someone before I heard you screaming. Who was it?”

“That’s one of the things I don’t know.” My answer was breathless, but we were almost to the study now. “It was some sort of presence asking questions about… well, about you.” No response. “And when I wouldn’t tell it anything, it got angry. It said this wasn’t just a dream.” I sat heavily in my overstuffed reading chair, wincing at the shockwave the motion sent through me. Arthur sat across from me in the desk chair. “When I didn’t believe it, it decided to prove it to me. Thus…” I gestured at my throbbing abdomen. 

Arthur was looking past me, considering my words. “Has this ever happened before?”

“I’ve never had a dream physically harm me, no. I’ve had other things happen in dreams… information, messages, discoveries that came to me. I’ve even dreamed about the future, but nothing like this.” This had been different. Like someone trying to hack my brain, steal my thoughts. “Whoever this was just wanted answers about you, but it couldn’t get them. It ripped my flesh, yes, but it couldn’t break into my head. Maybe it’s easier to attack physically than mentally.”

“It shouldn’t be possible to attack anyone in a dream at all.” Arthur leaned back, face a mask of frustration. 

“If it’s a choice between the two, I’d much rather have a physical attack than a mental one. My body will heal from just about anything, but my mind holds a lot that I’d rather keep away from people I don’t trust.” I tried to lean back like Arthur had but found that it pulled my skin painfully. Instead I shifted awkwardly where I sat. “But if anything, this proves that we need to change your identity as soon as possible. The fewer people who know you exist, the better.”

“But why? I have no power here. I’m no longer a king. I’m not even a bloody court jester! What value could I possibly hold here?”

Sighing, I reached carefully toward the desk beside me for my MacBook. “That’s the ultimate question, it seems.” Too much movement. Pain shot through me, and I dropped my arm before it reached the computer, instead grabbing the edge of the desk. Arthur must have seen my white-knuckled grip because I heard him stand and move toward me. “S-Sorry. Surprised me. I’m fine.” Although I was still trying to regain my composure, I let go of the desk and forced my face into a calm expression. “It’ll heal. For now, I’m just going to sit and work, but…” I pointed lamely at the MacBook. “Could you pass me that?”

Useless. I was currently useless. Arthur complied, but not before asking, “Don’t you have some sort of magic potion to help with the pain? To speed healing?” 

“Actually, modern medicine could essentially eliminate the pain. The healing though, even magic can’t fix that completely.” Finally settled with my computer, I flipped it open and swiped over to the baby name search I had been using the day before. Now, I began typing other things in the search bar. Many students of sorcery ignored modern search engines, but I had found many a useful answer to a magical question on Google. In myths and legends, if nothing else. 

“So why don’t you use some modern medicine if it works so well?”

Because I generally just drank a bottle of whiskey instead. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel. Like I’m not in control of my body or mind.” Ironic, actually. Whiskey did the same, but in a way I enjoyed. It was warm and familiar. An old friend.

The way my other old friend was looking at me told me he thought I was an idiot. After a moment though, his face softened, and he said, “I can understand that. If it was between feeling pain and not being able to do what I needed to, I would choose pain every time.” He looked back at the desk chair, considered for a moment, and decided, “I’m going to get water and something to eat. I assume you want tea.”

Bless him. “If you think you can handle it, I would love tea. Do you remember how to use the kettle?” 

“If I don’t, I’m sure the kitchen will do it for me.” With that and a twitch of a grin, Arthur disappeared down the hall. 

To my surprise, his return brought not only exceptional tea, but also bread and cheese. I appreciated the effort, but couldn’t eat much. The tea, though, was gone almost instantly. I saw the disapproving glance Arthur cast at my full plate, but thankfully, he said nothing. Instead, he decided to delve into my research with me. 

“What did the being in your dream say to you? How did you know it was trying to get to me?”

“Well, the fact that it said ‘tell me where to find Arthur Pendragon’ was a pretty good hint.” 

Arthur was thumbing through random books on the shelves. This, I had learned, was his favorite activity when we were in the study. “I’m surprised it was so obviously put. I had thought that evil beings would be a bit more mysterious.”

Chuckling, and then wincing, I nodded. “Some are. Though this one did also call you my ‘wretched, risen corpse.’ That may fit your assumption a bit better.”

“Indeed.” His back was turned, but as he moved to a new shelf, I saw the frown plastered on his face. 

“It may not necessarily be evil, either. Those who practice magic aren’t always so apparent. And often, there are genuine reasons for everything they do, good or evil. We may just not agree with those reasons.” When I lifted my eyes from my computer screen, I found Arthur staring at me. “What is it?”

“Well, you’re defending evil-doers. It took me by surprise.” His arms were crossed now. Oh boy.

“Arthur, it’s not that simple. And I’m not defending them. I’m just saying that it’s usually a lot more complicated than good versus evil.” Carefully, I tried adjusting in my seat. The cuts were aching more now. Too much talking and drinking and moving. “That’s one thing I’m sure of after being on this earth for so long. I’m also sure I’ve done things that you would categorize as evil in my lifetime.” I would be so much more comfortable if I could just lean back a bit. Sitting up required far too many muscles. Why was this blasted chair so deep? 

“I’m sure I’m still ignorant to a lot of things about magic. And it will probably take me a long time to learn them. But I’m trying… It’s very difficult to change your mindset so quickly.” As his words left him, he unfolded his arms and sank back into the desk chair beside me. “I’m trying,” he repeated. 

Though my gut was throbbing by this point, my focus was on the ache now blossoming in my chest. “I know you are. And I promise I’m trying to make this an easy transition for you. I think the problem is that it just isn’t one.” 

Arthur leaned forward, ran his hands over his face. “For now, let’s just keep you from having any more life-threatening dreams. Then we can focus on other things.” When he lifted his gaze back to me, his formerly weary countenance morphed into confusion. “Are you warm? It doesn’t feel too warm in here to me.”

Puzzled, I responded, “...No, I’m fine. A bit achy, but-“

“You’re sweating.”

Oh. Well, then. “I’m probably just running a fever, that’s all. I’m fine. If it was really bad, I’d feel cold, and I don’t.” To illustrate my fineness, I tried slouching back in the chair yet again. Still couldn’t. Gasped a bit.

“You’re ridiculous. Come on.”

I looked over at his outstretched arm. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Living room. You can rest on the couch, and I’ll watch more television. I’ll even make you more tea.”

“I’m honored.” I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. “But I’m bringing my computer.”

“Whatever you like. Just stop trying to lean back in that awkward chair.” With that, he took my laptop and hoisted me gently to my feet. 

“Yes, sire.” 

The whack on the back of the head that I received was well worth the old, familiar feeling the words stirred.

Chapter Text

It took a few days for me to be somewhat independent again. By the end of my invalid period, Arthur had become an expert caretaker. He was even becoming comfortable making simple foods, a huge improvement over the initial day of uncooked snack meals. Now I had the choice of eggs, toast, various sandwiches and paninis, or anything that could be cooked in a microwave. With those options, we had fared well, and neither I nor Arthur had had any real complaints. Finally, though, a morning came when I found myself able to sit up and stretch with relatively little pain, and I knew I was well on the mend. It was with almost a tangible glee that I hobbled awkwardly to my shower and carefully bathed before dressing and emerging with no assistance. I think everyone understands how much you appreciate being able to take care of yourself and function normally after not being able to do so. Such contentment.

The dreams had quieted a bit while I was healing, likely because of the sleep aids I had downed nightly. Say what you like about self-medication, but I hadn’t wanted to deal with another round of dream injuries while I was healing from the first. And the pills had thankfully helped quite a lot. I felt refreshed and confident that I could at least wander the house solo today, perhaps do some cooking and give Arthur a break. The first place I made it to was the kitchen. Arthur’s door had been open when I’d passed it, and I’d assumed he would be here. But no, I was the only one in the room as I set about making tea and something for breakfast. Thinking he would probably pop in at some point soon, I made an extra omelette and sauteed vegetables and left them steaming on a plate. The three-step journey from the counter to the table was tricky with my plate and mug and slightly hunched posture, but at last I was seated with my food. I pulled up the news on my phone, savoring the quiet morning.

Fifteen minutes later, I had run out of tea, omelette, veggies, and headlines, and I was beginning to wonder where Arthur had gotten to. I hadn’t heard anyone in the gym or the living room. I doubted he was up in the greenhouse; he hadn’t shown much interest in it beyond his first day here. He could have been in the bathroom when I walked past his room, then gone back to bed… but surely he would have kept his door closed if that were the case. The only places left to check were really the study and… the basement. After the first day downstairs, he hadn’t gone back, but maybe he had grown curious. Either way, time to find him. I stood again, still moving glacially slowly on my own. Instead of washing my dishes, I left them for the house to take care of and headed to the study.

As soon as I arrived in the doorway, I knew I had been correct. The entrance to the cellar was open, a light glowing from beneath the staircase. Just as I reached the back wall though, a blond head bobbed up the spiral and met me at the threshold. His brows rose, color flooding his face for a moment as if he’d been caught doing something illicit. Then a huff of a laugh and he said, “You surprised me.”

“You as well.” I backed up to give him room to exit the stairway and sat on the edge of the desk. “I made breakfast if you’re hungry. Yours is on a plate in the kitchen.”

He glanced down at my arm loosely wrapped around my middle. “You sure you’re alright to be moving around on your own? You couldn’t do much yesterday.”

“I’ll not be going for any runs today, but yeah. I can manage.” He looked unconvinced. As proof, I stood and shuffled slowly out of the room, hand on the wall for a bit of support. I heard him follow closely, probably to make sure I wasn’t overestimating my abilities, but we reached the kitchen without incident. While Arthur ate, I downed a second cup of tea and readied a third, at last settling in a chair at the table. “What made you finally head down to the basement? I didn’t think you went there much.”

Swallowing his bite, Arthur shook his head and said, “I don’t, no. But I wanted to take a look around.” I had been adding to it for a long time. Every few years, I’d fill another journal or find something or other that I wanted to keep safe. “Your journals…” Arthur fiddled with his fork. “Have you kept them since Camelot?”

As interesting as my artifacts were, I had suspected that my journals were the draw for Arthur’s curiosity. “Yes, though some were destroyed before I learned how to properly preserve them.” When he didn’t respond right away, I asked, “Is that what you were looking at this morning?”

“Actually, the last few mornings.” A beat, then, “I hope that’s alright.”

Gulping the last swallow of tea, I set the mug down and pushed it aside. “It’s fine. I knew you would be curious. But just be aware…” How to phrase this? “There are going to be a lot of things in there that you won’t like.”

“I have no illusions, Merlin. You’ve told me before that your life wasn’t always pleasant. That you were alone for a lot of it. But I want to know what I missed.” Also finished, he stood and gathered our empty dishes.

I followed his lead and stood too, albeit slower. There were several things in those journals that I wasn’t too keen for Arthur to read, but again, I had opted to be honest with him. Though I wondered how he would react to the darkness in my writings. It went much further than a bit of loneliness and angst. As I ambled in the direction of my room, thoughts of all the things Arthur would soon learn swam in my head. Open and honest. No turning back now.

“Where are you going?”

The thoughts abruptly scattered as I turned back to Arthur. “To put on real clothes. I thought I might go into town for food. If you haven’t noticed, we’re running low on nearly everything.”

Suddenly in front of me, Arthur said, “Don’t you think maybe you should heal a bit more first? At least until you can walk at a normal pace?”

“Relax, Arthur. I won’t need to walk at all. And I’ve missed driving these past few days.” Even if I had to hold still, it would be nice to get out of the house. At my door, I refused to stop, forcing Arthur to move out of my way so as not to squish me. “I’ll call ahead and order what I need. Someone will bring everything out to me when I get there.”

My large blond shadow trailed behind me into the room. “Call ahead?”

“Mhm.” An absent-minded murmur.

After a few beats of silence, he repeated more slowly, “Call ahead?”

Right. We hadn’t gotten to that one yet. I had rarely used my phone as more than a miniature computer in front of my new roommate. “Yeah… This,” pulling out my phone, “is a mobile phone, which you’ve seen me use several times for research or news headlines.” I waited for him to acknowledge his familiarity with the device, then continued. “It can also put me in contact with anyone else who has one. I just need a specific set of numbers to reach their particular phone. When I reach out to someone with this, I’m making a ‘call’ to that person.”

“So you can talk to someone with it.”

I nodded, already pulling up the number for the local grocery. “I’m going to call now and order some things.” With Arthur peering over my shoulder, I dialed the store and put the phone to my ear. When I had rambled off everything we needed, I ended the call and turned to Arthur. “I’m going to get ready so I can pick everything up. Do you want to come with me or stay here?”

“And I assume we wouldn’t be getting out of the car the whole time.”

“Correct.”

“I’ll stay.”

“I’m shocked.” I turned to my wardrobe to find an outfit. When I turned back to the doorway, clothes in hand, Arthur had left me to change. As soon as I was dressed and ready, I slowly approached the front door, pulling my keys out. “Arthur?” I heard a muffled “what” in response. “I’m leaving. Don’t burn the house down. I should be back in a little over an hour.” When again the muffled answer came, I opened the door and stepped into the sunny day.

As cold as it was, the blinding sunlight had warmed the interior of my black car, and I relished the break from the chill. This was a much-needed trip. Not only for groceries, but also because I typically didn’t shut myself in the house for quite so long. It had been over a week since our horseback ride, and though I hadn’t felt capable of going anywhere until today, I had still wanted an outing of some kind. This was the perfect one. I didn’t even have to move. Down my long drive I crept, following the curves in the road. Winter had a beauty of its own, much different than the other seasons. Each tree was a skeleton, dark against the bright sky. The world seemed still; peaceful. In the warmer months, everything thrummed with life and energy, inviting you to come closer and celebrate. But winter was poetic. Introspective. Serene. I almost preferred it. Plus there was something so much more satisfying about a hot cup of tea when it was freezing out. Meeting a need rather than fueling an addiction.

Finally I turned from the end of my drive onto the smooth motorway that would carry me toward the town where I worked. I tried to enjoy the feeling of the car moving, the road beneath me, but my thoughts instead turned to Arthur back at home. Was this how parents felt when they left their children alone for the first time? Even though Arthur was an adult, he was, at least in this modern world, essentially a child. He still had so much to learn about everything around him. It didn’t help that I had no way of contacting him if something went wrong, nor he me. Perhaps a pit stop for a second phone before heading back…

Another thirty minutes of sprawling winter landscape, and I arrived to pick up my foodstuffs. I tipped the young woman who brought my bags out generously before pulling back onto the road and driving to the nearest phone retailer. Might as well get him an iPhone. It was what he had seen me using and played with himself. More familiar. Parked, I summoned my strength and eased myself out of the warm leather seat. Shit, I was heavy. Sitting still for so many days had affected my strength more than I would have liked. Though my arms shook as I raised myself to stand, eventually I was up and walking into the store. Fifteen minutes later, I emerged with a bag containing a multitude of paperwork, a clear protective case, and a bright red iPhone XR. I had gone with the colored option for two reasons: it was a bit cheaper than my model, and I didn’t want to get our phones mixed up. Arthur would enjoy having his look flashier, I was sure.

As I retraced my route back to the house, I checked the time. I had been gone longer than anticipated, no doubt due to the phone errand, and when at last I opened the front door, I expected Arthur to be nearby, waiting. Instead, I found emptiness. Rather than making many strenuous trips back and forth to get the bags, I murmured a command and watched the groceries carry themselves into the kitchen. I could put those away in a moment. Right now, I wondered where Arthur had gone. Like that morning, I made the effort to wander the house, checking rooms as I went. Again, no Arthur.

Ah. Basement, then. Sure enough, the doorway was open as it had been earlier. This time, however, my roommate didn’t emerge. Probably preoccupied. Carefully I took the stairs, easing myself down one by one until at last I reached the hard floor. I had been correct. Surrounded by pools of glowing light at my large reading table sat Arthur, musty volumes open around him. When I grew closer, I realized that they were in fact my journals. He had evidently started with the oldest ones I still possessed and was steadily making progress. How long had he been doing this? Clearly not just today. He was quite far along. I grimaced inwardly at the content I knew he would soon reach if he hadn’t already. Not wanting to interrupt, I quietly approached the table and slid into an armchair nearby.

Arthur was so focused that he didn’t even flinch when I took my seat. With furrowed brows, he kept his eyes trained on my scrawled words. Whatever he was reading seemed to be making him very unhappy. Either that, or he just couldn’t make out the script. Both were possible. I just sat. Sat and watched as he slowly moved from page to page. Which journal was this? I angled my head a bit, straining to make out the words from where I sat. When he flipped the page again, I caught sight of a date. I froze. The top of the page read “14 July, 736.” I knew that day. I didn’t want to watch him read those words, but if I stood now, surely he would notice. So I waited.

Minutes passed. Arthur’s eyes bored into the book as he moved downward line by line and onto the next page. The next. The next. And then he stopped. His eyes darted back to the last few lines on the previous page. Checking to make sure he had read it right, no doubt. He had. There was little chance of misinterpreting a story where someone is burned at the stake. Though the fact that I remained alive to write the tale was likely throwing him off kilter a bit.

If it was possible, his brows knit closer together. When he had lingered on the same few lines for over a minute, I decided to speak up. Quietly, so as not to startle him, I sat up straighter in my chair and murmured, “I can recommend much better stories. That’s never been one of my favorites.”

He startled anyway. The page he was holding nearly ripped as he jumped where he sat. “Bloody hell, Merlin! How long have you been sitting there?!”

Keeping my grin small, I answered, “About twenty minutes, I’d say. I wasn’t planning on surprising you, but you didn’t notice when I got here.” I paused, then added, “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Good job of that.” Arthur rolled his eyes and settled back into his chair. As he looked again at the journal, his demeanor shifted. He pointed to the words he had been staring at, his gaze on me imploring. “This…” Silence for a long moment. “When you told me you couldn’t die… Is this how you found out?”

I considered the question. “One of the ways, yes. Besides the fact that I had already been alive for over two hundred and fifty years without aging past about twenty-eight.” I offered a slightly wider grin. “That was a dead giveaway.” Despite my attempt at humor, Arthur didn’t sway in his seriousness. In fairness, it wasn’t a funny situation. Not at all. But I had never had to share this with anyone. My promise to be open with my king was beginning to smart a bit.

“You were captured by enemy kingsmen, flogged, tied to a stake, burned, and somehow lived, and you’re trying to make a joke.” Disbelief. Utter disbelief left his brows low and his mouth slightly agape. “Since we’ve already established that you do feel pain, I’m not sure how you’re treating this subject so lightly.”

“Two reasons, actually.” My smile dropped. “One is that it’s been a long time since then. I can’t feel the whips or the flames anymore.” Though in that moment, saying those words, I could. “The other...” I shifted uncomfortably in my very comfortable chair. “That instance, and others that followed… changed me,” I finished lamely. “All this time, having lived all those experiences, created a lot of anxiety and, later, depression. I’ve been struggling with both for a very long time.” My pause felt dramatic, but I needed it to collect my thoughts. Mental illness hadn’t exactly been a hot topic in the 500s. No one had understood it or talked about it, unlike now. Your problems were yours and you were expected to overcome them. “Which is why I try to approach memories like these...” I laid a hand on the table beside the journal. “Lightly. And as seldom as possible.”

I waited then, giving Arthur the opportunity to digest what I had told him. His eyes dropped to the tabletop, a faraway look on his face. “The man I’ve been living with since coming back… I’ve known he was very different. He tries to be the same, but he’s nothing like the Merlin from before. Not really. Not past the surface.” Returning to the present, Arthur brought his attention back to me. “I’m sorry about what happened to him. And that he had to experience horrors like-” He looked to the journal. Refrained from finishing the sentence. I was thankful. “I can’t imagine it. Feeling it. And then not-” He stopped himself. “You’re incredibly strong, Merlin.”

“It took an awful lot for you to admit that fact.”

I was trying to lighten things again, but he ignored the attempt. “I’d actually worked that out after the battle at Camlann, when you revealed your magic to me. This is just… confirmation.” He leaned back and relaxed his posture a bit, trying to expel some of the seriousness in the air. Then he had a thought. “This isn’t the only horrific story in these journals, is it?”

Eyes on the floor, I shook my head. “Far from it. Though it is the only attempt to burn me alive, thankfully.” Inwardly I flinched at the words; I was desperate for a change of topic. Remembering the bags of groceries in the kitchen above us, I readied myself to stand. “Perhaps we should save the rest for another time. Come help me put away the food, and I’ll show you what I got you.”

Arthur made no move to put the journals away, but he stood. I was sure he’d be back before long to continue digging. He watched me prepare to get out of the chair for a moment before rolling his eyes and offering his arm. “It’s painful to watch that, honestly.”

“I’m fine. Just tired from the trip to town.” I took the proffered arm and let it hoist me up.

As we began moving, Arthur kept his arm nearby. “If you were fine, an hour long trip to town wouldn’t make you tired. Especially in that plush car.” I refrained from answering.

In the kitchen, the groceries were waiting patiently, as expected. Arthur left me to unbag everything and began putting things in their homes. We were nearly finished when he found the bag from the phone store amidst the empty grocery sacks. Thoroughly distracted, he abandoned the rest of the food and fished out the phone box instead. Puzzlement covered his face. “You got another?”

I set a carton of eggs in the fridge and turned to him. “Ah, actually you got one.” I took the box from his hands and slid the lid off. “I want to be able to contact you if I’m away for a long time.” Phone in hand, I went about putting it in its case and setting it up. When I looked up again, Arthur was leaning against the counter staring at me. “What?”

“What you mean to say is that the hour we were apart made you worry.”

If he didn’t wipe that flat look off his face… “It was more than an hour. A lot can happen in that time.” The look remained. I ignored it and plugged the phone in to charge.

* * *

I don’t know why I’d expected that night to yield restful sleep. Perhaps because despite the events in the cellar that day, we’d gone about our afternoon and evening perfectly normally. Arthur had made progress with his phone while I had made zero progress on my research into my previous dream invasion. Later we’d eaten, talked, watched the news, and readied for bed before going our separate ways. Again I had downed my sleep aids, not wanting to leave anything to chance.

However solid my intentions, chance, it seemed, would have free reign that night.

It started like any normal, healthy dream from my days in the past. Research occupied much of my free time then, and I had been hunting medicinal plants in the forest around my cottage. With my bag overflowing with the day’s finds, I made my way back home. Looking back on it, I was sure I had sensed something out of the ordinary, but that night, I ignored it and continued my work. I was confident that I could handle whatever may be lurking nearby. I was wrong.

All was quiet for several hours. By the time my herbs and fungi and blooms were stowed away or drying from the ceiling, I was ready for sleep. The day had been peaceful and productive, and I was in a rare happy state of mind. My bed felt especially comfortable, the night air cool on my face. So seldom was it not stifling in July. Within a few minutes, I had slipped into slumber. So heavy was the sleep that I didn’t hear the muffled footsteps and gentle swish of chainmail as my captors neared. I didn’t notice how figures blocked the moonlight streaming from the shuttered windows or how the breeze stopped coming as men circled closely round my cottage. All the world was safe to me in those fateful moments; safe and dark and warm. And then I woke.

Awfully underhanded to come at a man in the dead of night when he’s secure in his own bed. My peace was interrupted by the cold clink of heavy shackles being buckled around my wrists. Before I could open my eyes to investigate the unwelcome sensation, a spell hit me so hard I couldn’t breathe for several seconds. My eyes stayed shut as I tried to shake off the stunning effect, but it held firm. Finally, I opened my eyes. At least six heavily armored men were gathered near my bed, though the man closest to me instead wore layers of fine tunics. Even in the limited moonlight, I could see bits of gold embroidery glinting from the fabric. His eyes flashed as he added layer after layer of binding magic to his initial spell. Scarcely any words were spoken aloud, but his lips were moving furiously. This was a sorcerer. Their sorcerer, evidently. The magic coiled around my body, rendering me completely useless both physically and mentally. When I reached for a counter-spell, none came. I was frozen, swaddled by the invisible force. So I watched and listened.

I saw the mens’ mouths form words, plans of action. They were taking me from here and bringing me to face their king. A few hours’ ride, they said, and I would be taken to the city center and cleansed before the populus. Cleansed. I doubted that meant I would be given a bath. More likely have my magic stripped from me in some way. I needed a plan, a spell, something to free myself, but each time the binding loosened a bit, their sorcerer reinforced it immediately. Essentially, I was stuck.

The ride was in no way comfortable. I was slung over a horse in front of one of the armor-clad men. On the neighboring horse sat the sorcerer, eyes on me when they weren’t on the path ahead. Slowly, we moved through the thickets and brambles that encircled my cottage, later moving into more sparsely forested land where they could make the horses run. That was an unpleasant experience, to say the least. I panted tightly through the binding as the wind was knocked out of me again and again. I must have been absolutely covered in bruises from the journey. When at last we reached the gates of the city, the horses were brought to a halt and my captors dismounted before pulling me roughly to the ground. From there, I was dragged.

Hoards of people lined the streets, spitting, shouting, kicking me as we passed. Body aching and covered in dirt and scrapes, we arrived at what must have been our destination. I was dumped face-down on a cobbled square in the midst of a great throng, more jeering meeting my ears. As I was still incapable of moving, I lay where I had landed, breathing in dirt and struggling to cough. Soon I was hauled to a kneeling position. Before me stood more armored men, whips in hand. Shit, this cleansing would not be pleasant. Behind them on a raised platform, their king watched with his family and guards. Judging by the distance we had traveled and the size of the city, we were in Mercia. Which king was ruling now? Ceolred? Aethelbald? It was difficult to keep track, not that it mattered much. Whoever was standing up on that platform wished me harm.

This dream never seemed to linger on the dryer bits, no matter how many times it played in my head. Therefore I missed the words exchanged, the crimes listed, and the judgment that came clamoring down upon me. I didn’t hear what was spoken, but I remembered the realization that came with the words. I always remembered. The cleansing was to be worse than I had anticipated. Much, much worse. For what I didn’t see when I was facing the armored men, what had been behind my back all the time, was the most important part of the picture. The crowd, yes, that was bad. The whips were foreboding, certainly, but those were bearable. Survivable.

Not so the jagged wood pile topped with an eight-foot stake.

From the moment I saw it, the rest of the details faded. They’ve stayed dim in my memory ever since. All I knew was that I would die, burned alive as a sorcerer, an evil-doer in the eyes of the populus. I had escaped the fate of a magician in Camelot just to die the same death hundreds of years later. Camelot’s progress hadn’t mattered. The fact that I had been Court Sorcerer hadn’t mattered. Not here in front of this king who wanted to punish my gifts despite having a sorcerer of his own. Here, it was the same as it had been so long ago. My old fear flooded me, and I desperately wished for Arthur to appear, resurrected and whole, and put a stop to this.

Too fast for my eyes to follow, the first whip lashed out and struck me. Hot pain lanced across the left side of my body, and I cried out in surprise. I hadn’t even seen the man flinch. Still bound, I tried to curl in on myself but failed. Instead I tipped over and landed on my right side. The other whip-bearers took that as an open invitation, and soon my body was screaming with pain. The whips curled around my exposed legs, my left arm, my throat and stomach and back. Two hit my face. Through the agony and the tears streaming unwillingly from my eyes, I focused as well as I could on the crowd around me, hoping for some form of help to appear. Many faces were angry or solemn, some flinched when the whips landed, and still others couldn’t bear to look. Parents held their children closely, either hiding their faces or making sure they bore witness to my consequences. But I saw no help.

The flogging, though miserable, was over too quickly. I knew what came next. I hoped that perhaps their sorcerer would lift his spell so I could be tied up more easily, give me a few seconds to work some magic of my own, but no. While I remained tightly wound, my captors strode forward and grabbed me up off the cobbles. Roughly they dragged me up the woodpile to the waiting stake. Back against the wood, fresh panic flashed through me. Ropes were tied securely around my chest, my middle, my legs. I hadn’t thought it was possible to feel less in control, but here I was being proven wrong. Breaths passed my lips faster and faster as anxiety and adrenaline throttled my system. Words were thrown out around me, shouts from the onlookers. Speaking over the noise, the king issued an order then, and many things seemed to happen at once.

The cacophony from the crowd rose to thunderous levels, yet somehow my own heartbeat was louder in my ears. One of the armored men appeared before me holding a torch. Stepping carefully, he navigated the wood pile to stand beside me, and I thought I may pass out from sheer panic before they lit the pyre. Desperately, my eyes shot from person to person, begging for someone to intervene. Begging their sorcerer, the man somehow exempt from the hateful law he condoned, to release my binding so I could free myself. The sorcerer refused to meet my gaze; he only stood muttering, maintaining the spell. The torch was held next to my feet as the king uttered one last command, and then the wood caught.

Of course I had imagined what burning would feel like when I lived in Camelot. Each time I had seen some poor soul tied up and awaiting their punishment, I had put myself in their place. I had felt for them as they struggled and then screamed when they could no longer stand the pain. Or rather, I thought I had felt for them. It turned out that my imagined feeling of burning had paled in comparison to the real thing. Almost immediately, the flames licked my bare feet and ankles and shins, and it was instant agony. I bit back a scream for as long as I could, body quaking from the pain and the heat and the panic, but I couldn’t keep myself quiet. I scarcely knew when I began to wail, but within a few seconds, I heard my shrieks echoing around me. The word “pain” cannot describe the sensation of feeling your own flesh bubble and split and char. Torture. Horror. Anguish. Torment. Those come closer. Still not enough, though. My brain could not accurately process the enormity of what I felt, and so I screamed. I thrashed as best I could against the spell that still held me; I was probably barely moving. The blaze reached my nightclothes then, and I lost all semblance of myself. I was only searing pain, only the cruel fire, and I was dying.

I felt my faculties slipping as I lost control. Though only moments ago I had been frantic, my frying body had no energy left for that. I sagged against my restraints, unfocused eyes moving over the crowd before me. Not much shouting anymore. Perhaps they had tired as I had. I knew I was about to lose consciousness, making these my last views of the world. I took in as many as I could. The sky clouding with smoke as it billowed up from my body. The peaks of roofs and turrets rising up from the city around me. And the people. So many unfamiliar faces staring at the wicked sorcerer dying in their city center. Good riddance, they seemed to say. Except one.

There was one face I caught sight of in the crowd that roused my energy for a split second before it waned again. Tousled blond hair. Light skin. And those eyes; I knew those eyes. Blue as the sea on a clear day. But how was he here? This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He was dead. Or was he?

Yes, quite dead. This must be wishful thinking. My broiling brain showing me what I wanted to see. Even so, I let the familiar visage soothe me in those last moments. One. Two. Three. Four. Arthur stared back at me. Five. My eyelids sank. And before I counted six, everything faded.

Chapter Text

Reentering the waking world was nearly as traumatizing as the dream itself. At first I thought I was still dreaming, for when I’d woken from the pyre, everything had been dark, much like the room I was now lying in. I was awake, but my eyes squeezed tightly, hot tears running down the sides of my face. I flashed back to the moment I had woken from burning. I had barely been human, only alive because of my wretched immortality. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t feel… I had burned past my nerve endings. With furrowed brows, I tried desperately to get the memories out of my head and away, but they flooded me. So long ago had this happened, yet I remembered every second. When I had recovered enough from my burns to feel, to clearly think, I registered the decayed mass that was my body. The pain had returned at that stage, my nerves regaining function. And they had screamed.

I turned over onto my side in the bed, hugging my knees to my chest, my healing wounds smarting. Good; perhaps it would help ground me. I felt the mattress under me, the clean sheets and blankets, the soft pillow beneath my head. Repeatedly, I reminded myself of these realities; I was no longer burned, forgotten flesh. The tears flowed as the memories continued crashing over me. I had been left somewhere on the outskirts of the city with other trash and other bodies burned down to bones so there was no need to bury them. It was a miracle I hadn’t been buried or eaten by animals. Even now, the thought made me sick. Nausea washed over me in waves, anxiety worsening its effect.

Enough of this. I couldn’t just lie here for the thousandth time and let my past wreck me. Instead, I opened my eyes to my dark bedroom. This was the present. This was real. I was fine. It took a great deal of effort to yank my consciousness from the sea of memories swarming it. When at last all I saw and felt was my twenty-first century surroundings, I closed my eyes again and sucked in a deep breath. Another. Another. Slowly, the adrenaline vacated my system, allowing me to relax a bit. It was then that I heard a quiet rap at my door. I was still just trying to breathe, unsure if my voice would work. The knock sounded again, and this time I cleared my throat as best I could. “Yes?” It was hardly more than a rasp. It must have been audible though, because in the next moment, the door opened a crack, dim light shining in from somewhere in the house. I tried to sit up a bit as the room grew brighter.

“Merlin?” Arthur pushed the door open further, leaning in to look at me. “Is everything alright?”

Shit. What had he heard? “Fine,” I lied. I forced myself to sit up all the way and gave him a weary half-smile. “Why do you ask?”

He stood still for a moment longer, then said, “Because usually when one hears screaming, things aren’t ‘fine.’” His tone was dry.

I dropped the half-smile. Letting out a deep sigh, I relaxed back into a comfortable posture and rested my chin in one hand; sitting up so suddenly had sent my head spinning. “Sorry about that.” The words were a bit breathless and weak.

Arthur didn’t like the sound of them, and he moved closer to the bed. “I’m just glad you’re not sitting in a pool of your own blood this time.” When he was close enough, he lit my bedside lamp. “Though by your ghostly appearance, I don’t think this dream was much better.” He took a seat at the end of my bed.

Unable to ignore his eyes on me, I opted to meet them. “Not exactly, no. Though I do appreciate the lack of flesh wounds.” I tried for another smile. Arthur wasn’t amused. “I’m sorry I woke you. I didn’t realize I was making any noise.” Now that I had calmed down, I felt myself trembling where I sat. Residual effects of panic. I wondered if he noticed.

If he did, he said nothing about it. “Why were you screaming?” His light eyes were downcast, brows furrowed.

Fuck it. Why keep secrets at this point? “Because I was burning alive.” I, too, kept my eyes down, focused on the duvet bunched up in my lap. My shaking fingers gripped the fabric in an effort to stay still.

That he noticed. His gaze moved from the floor to my hands, then back up to my face. “This is because I was reading your journals. I made you think about-”

“No, Arthur, it’s not your fault. God, you were dead when all this happened! If I had been dead all that time, I’d want to know every detail of what I’d missed.” Gripping the blankets wasn’t having the desired effect, so I switched to fidgeting with my hands. “I’m just a mess, that’s all. It’s not because you went looking for answers. Those things happened whether or not you found out about them.”

Frustration settled on his features, his shoulders tense. “It was still an unnecessary reminder.”

Unsure how to respond, I let silence build between us in the lamplit room. He was right; I hadn’t had a dream about the pyre in months. Revisiting the memory had triggered the dream, absolutely. But I didn’t want him to feel guilty about that. It wasn’t his fault. Nothing was his fault. As I moved to pick at the skin around my nails, a hand covered both of mine. I found Arthur sitting closer to me than he had been a moment ago.

“Stop, Merlin.” He must have realized that he was essentially holding my hand because he pulled back then. “This isn’t doing anything to help you.”

He was right, of course. All it was doing was keeping my hands busy. Giving me control over some tiny aspect of my life, my stupid immortal body. “I know, just… habit.” We sat for a moment, neither of us looking at the other. Too quiet. Too still. What would I do if I was here alone? No question, I would be knee deep in whiskey before I had time to think about it. If my goal was honesty, I might as well show him the rest of my personality flaws. “How about a drink, then?” Without waiting for his confirmation, I vacated the bed.

“More tea?” Arthur asked tiredly.

“If you’re already tired of tea, you’re not going to enjoy living with me long term. But no. No, I need something a bit stronger.” I left him to follow me as I made my way to the kitchen. Reaching up to fish out the familiar bottle was a bit of a struggle with the healing wounds stretched across my abdomen, but determination won that fight. I set the bottle down on the table. Briefly I considered fetching glasses, but they were far too small for me, and I doubted the Arthur had any hangups about drinking after each other. The word “germ” hadn’t even been in his vocabulary. I sat heavily, legs grateful they no longer supported my weight.

Arthur approached and took the seat opposite me at the table. He surveyed the brown glass. “I’m guessing this isn’t mead.”

Without hesitation, in fact a bit greedily, I unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig. Closed my eyes as the eager burn filled my throat, my stomach. One more good swallow, and I replaced the bottle, sliding it toward the other man. “Arthur, meet my good friend whiskey.”

To say he was dubious would be an understatement. Gingerly, he lifted the bottle and sniffed its contents before coughing once and quickly setting it back down. “What in God’s name is that?”

“The modern equivalent to mead. Just… stronger. Won’t kill you, promise.” I demonstrated by taking the bottle back and drinking again, long and slow. Not even a hint of discomfort showed on my face. Just relief, each drag supplying forced calm to my frayed nerves. I may have given him a false impression of the taste because the next time I set the bottle down, he reached for it and brought it to his lips.

To his credit, he did manage to swallow before he let his reflexes take over. Spoken in between choking coughs, he spat, “How the… HELL… do you drink that so calmly?”

“Practice.” Slight amusement lit my tired eyes. “You may as well know that I’m a bit of an alcoholic.”

Arthur paused, finally quiet enough to focus again. “Alcoholic.” I nodded, waiting for him to realize the implication of the word. He may not have known the exact meaning of the modern term, but he was smart enough to fill in the gaps. “I haven’t seen you drink anything like this since I’ve been here.”

“That’s because we alcoholics are sneaky bastards.” Again I pulled the whiskey to myself and took a drink. Another. “I’ve only drunk it once since your miraculous return. I try to manage with other things if I can. But sometimes…” I let the sentence hang there while I fiddled with the bottle cap on the table. “Sometimes I need to be numb. To stay sane.”

Considering, Arthur eyed the bottle again. Then he surprised me by reaching out and taking it. Once more, he tipped it back and took a swallow of the fiery liquid. This time, nothing more than a grimace showed his discomfort. “Is it helping now?”

“Mmm. Yes. Though it would take two bottles to get me properly intoxicated.” Arthur’s wide gaze set me chuckling. “I’ve had a long time to build up a tolerance.”

“Ah, yes. You did spend quite a bit of time at the tavern, if I recall.”

It was meant to be a joke, a jab. But the reality was that I had never been at the tavern when he’d believed I was. It was always a cover, a lie to make sure I kept my identity secret. “Actually, I rarely drank back then. Usually I just used that to avoid telling you I was doing something magical.” The whiskey was once again in my hand. “Except for the times I won all your money, of course.”

This clearly surprised him. “So when did you start building that tolerance, then?”

The perfect opening for me to let him in. Openness. Honesty. Two mates gathered around a whiskey bottle in the middle of the night. His question had been so casual, I almost didn’t want to ruin the levity of it. “After the pyre.”

And there it went. His demeanor immediately sobered.

“I owe you these stories,” I continued. “And I’ll tell them to you. But I do have one request.”

Silence, but he nodded. Then, “You don’t owe me anything, Merlin. But if you’re willing, I’d like to hear more.” A pause. “I need to hear more.”

“This bottle’s for you, then.” I pushed the half empty vessel into Arthur’s hands. “I’m getting a full one.”

He watched as I rose and retrieved a fresh brown bottle from the high cupboard. “What’s your request?”

Settling back into my seat, I worked at the seal between me and my whiskey. “If we’re doing this, we’re both going to be drinking.” I pointed. “Your bottle.” Gestured at the now uncapped full one before me. “My bottle.”

“Yes, I understand,” Arthur replied wryly. Leaning back in his seat, he tipped the bottle back again and sipped at its contents. No grimace this time.

How to even begin this? There were far too many stories to tell in one lifetime, let alone one night. Should I stick to the low points or the high? There weren’t too many high points. Perhaps just start from the moment I awoke from burning. Let him ask questions. Yes, good. “It took several days for my body to heal enough for me to regain consciousness after that day.” No need for specifics. Arthur already knew. “But when I could finally somewhat function, everything was just… roaring pain. It was all healing, but God did it hurt.” I guzzled a bit of whiskey. “Maybe a week and a half later, I could start to move from where I had been placed. It was away from the city, closer to the forest surrounding it, so I went towards that.”

“You-” Hesitation. “You could walk after a week and a half? You healed that quickly?” He had seen plenty of burned bodies; had no illusions. He knew what I must have looked like.

“Not walk, no. But I had regained enough muscle to… drag myself. Though even reaching the forest took almost a day.” Another deep drink. One bottle may not actually be enough for this. “I stayed there for a few days more, until I could manage to get upright.” Arthur didn’t need to know about the flesh sloughing off, the bodily fluids and other materials leaking from me as I healed. With each came relief, yes, but enough stomach-turning gore to ensure I lost whatever food I managed to get into me. At the memories, I took a moment to clear my mind. If I dwelled on those too long, I would end up losing the whiskey as well.

Taking a deep breath, I continued. “Then, slowly, I tried to get back to my cottage. I wasn’t sure of the exact direction; the city where they had taken me wasn’t one I had visited before. After two weeks of slow progress, I located my home, or what was left of it.” When I set the bottle down this time, I saw it was nearly half empty. They needed to make the blasted things bigger… “Unbeknownst to me, as I had been a bit distracted, the men who took me decided to set fire to my home before they rode away. All that was left were the stone walls.”

Across the table, Arthur’s brows were furrowed. “You had already left Camelot by this time.”

I nodded. “Camelot had fallen several years before.”

“But if your home was burned to ash, all but the walls, how did all of that-” Here he gestured below us. “Survive? Had you moved it elsewhere?”

Ah, that. “This isn’t the first cellar I’ve built under a home. That cottage had one too, albeit much less grand. The doorway was buried under the four inches of packed dirt that made my floor.” Thankfully, the clutching anxiety that had been trying to get its claws in my chest since I had awoken was beginning to quiet. The whiskey was doing its job. Arthur was drinking much slower than I, though he likely would have had alcohol poisoning already if he had been going at my pace. Switching to patient sips, I continued downing my bottle. “The first thing I did was dig up the trap door and check its wards - protection spells. All were in place, so I left it and started rebuilding the living space. It took weeks. I was functional, but not back to where I had been before. I relied heavily on magic to help me, but that drained my energy even faster. Truth be told, I spent most of that time sleeping.”

When I glanced over to gauge how Arthur was reacting, I saw that he had set the bottle over to the side. It was only an inch or so lower than it had been at the start. Probably plenty when you were accustomed to mead. He noticed my gaze, but I quickly looked back to my own bottle and resumed speaking. “Until then, I didn’t really have trouble with my mental health. Anxiety and depression, I mean,” I clarified. “But after burning like that… it was like someone dumped a fresh batch of horrors into my mind. I couldn’t sleep without seeing them. Feeling them. I wasn’t great at dealing with that.”

“So you used alcohol?”

“Not quite. That came later, but first I used other means to try to silence my mind.” It had been far too long since I’d taken a drink, and I did so then. Arthur wasn’t going to like any part of what came next. “Until then, I’d had only a vague notion of the fact that I was immortal. I had been told, of course, by Kilgarrah and others who knew my story, saw my destiny… but I didn’t truly believe it until I didn’t die on that pyre. The torture that overcame my mind after that… I couldn’t imagine living with it any longer. I couldn’t stomach the idea of never sleeping without waking up in a panic.”

Quietly, as if already knowing the answer, Arthur asked, “What did you do?”

I stared at my nearly gone bottle, finally beginning to really feel its effects. “I tried again.”

* * *

Under the guise of it all being for science, for experimentation, I had tried twice in the next weeks to end my life. The first time had been the result of poison: a cocktail of hemlock, belladonna, and wolfsbane that I mixed up for the occasion. Any one of those should have killed me without treatment, but the mixture of all three was a sure death sentence - for anyone else, that is. I made sure the dosage was high, lied on my newly replaced bed, and swallowed it in one go.

In hindsight, I should have done this outside, perhaps under the cover of a nice tree rather than in my clean house. It created, shall we say, a bit of a mess. I’d had the foresight to supply myself with a wooden bucket beside the bed, but it was only used a handful of times before I lost the control to grab it in time. Abdominal cramps were first, forcing my body into the fetal position on my bed. Then, as if my body wanted to get all this over with at once, I was hit with a barrage of vomiting, diarrhea, and seizures before my breathing went shallow and ragged. I felt my heartbeat slow, my eyes unfocused and blurry. Soon I could no longer see my cottage around me, shapes melding and reforming into other places, other people. I saw my mother leaning over me, placing a cold cloth on my burning brow. She stroked my cheek, murmuring comforts in a soothing voice as I shook again with a new seizure. When it stopped, she was gone. In her place stood Gaius, asking why I hadn’t finished my rounds for the day. There were people who needed medicine, people who were in pain. Why hadn’t I finished them before lying down? I couldn’t remember. He chastised me gently and gave up, leaving me sweating and trembling as I was sick again over the side of my bed. Nowhere near the bucket, of course. The hallucinations continued, various figures from my past materializing before me only to leave again.

Two hours after the onset of my symptoms, I was barely alive. I registered a heartbeat once or twice per minute, breath nearly nonexistent as my lungs synced to my pulse. Sweat and other fluids had drenched my bed to the point that they sat atop the thin mattress, squelching with every minute movement. Most of the visions had died down, but I still watched passively as they played intermittently before my eyes. Silence choked the cottage in the stillness of the afternoon. Outside, surely the world continued. Surely the birds called and the trees rustled in the gentle wind. But I couldn’t tell from where I lay. Vision still blurred, ears blocked save for the occasional thump of a heartbeat, I was far away from that world. The world of life. I should have been dead. Would have preferred death to this shell of a life.

As if in answer to my dark thoughts, a new face formed from the unfocused mishmash my surroundings had become. At the first spark of recognition, I opened my bleary eyes wider. Tried as hard as I could to make them see clearly. Some part of me knew this was fake; another hallucination from the poison I had shoved down my throat. But I didn’t care. Because there was Arthur, standing in the middle of my cottage, Excalibur gleaming at his side. I felt tears well and fall, adding to the wetness beneath me. Arthur. My Arthur. God, how I missed him. How I missed the brusque orders. The humor that was more Merlin-deprecating than anything else. The sense of duty so strong that it bested my own a hundred times over. The more I thought about him, the more the image I saw sharpened, honing in on his straw-blond hair and fair skin, his blue eyes tilting up as he smiled down at me, as they always did before. Before. Before he died. Before I was alone.

Before this mess.

It was minutes before the visage I saw faded, leaving me in my familiar home. It was hours before I was breathing correctly, heart rate still low, but normal. I had evidently fallen asleep in that state because when I opened my eyes again, I felt nearly normal. I reeked, yes. The smell made my weak stomach turn over. But I wasn’t sick. Wasn’t dying. Wasn’t poisoned anymore. I was… fine. I was fine. Shit. Shit, I was fine. A shuddering disappointment hit me, and again, my eyes filled.

* * *

The bottle was well and truly empty by the time I finished my tale. I debated getting another one, but I was afraid Arthur may think me actually insane. So I simply sat and waited for him to speak.

He had been very quiet as I’d told him about my experience with poison, and now he sat still, perhaps deciding how he should react. Eyes focused on the bottle beside him, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, he said, “Please tell me you don’t have more stories like that.”

“Stories featuring poison? No. Stories about me trying and failing to end my life…” Daring to meet his gaze, I offered an apologetic expression.

To my surprise, he huffed, half a dark laugh, half an angry outburst. When he spoke, his words were too calm. “How many other times?”

“A handful.”

“When?”

‘How long ago,’ the single word seemed to say. “Once right after the time I just told you about. I didn’t eat or drink for over a week… wondered what would happen. The others… scattered through time. When I would have a… curiosity. What would happen if I did this to myself?” I considered. “Though once was attempted murder.”

Arthur pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “What were the others?”

“Are you sure you-”

“What were they.” Not a question. Not a request.

“A jump from a high bridge.” I began ticking them off mentally. “Cutting. Drowning - that was the attempted murder. Bastards used a trial by water for suspected witches in the seventeenth century. Then I shot myself.”

He uncovered an eye and gazed questioningly at me.

“Not with an arrow. There are guns now. Metal barrels that fire metal pellets at extremely high speeds using explosive powder.”

The eye was covered again.

With a bottle of whiskey in my system, the whole topic was strangely easy to talk about. I could have told the full account of whatever suicidal notion he’d requested information about. But he never did. Never asked me to go down the list, one by one, and bear my soul. He simply removed his hands from his face, capped the whiskey bottle he’d left at his side, and let out a breath.

“Okay.”

I waited, but he didn’t expand. “Okay?” This was easier than I thought. Much easier. Just acceptance. No guilt about being dead while I suffered or unnecessary apologies or-

“I was hoping the passage in your journal was the worst of it. But there’s so much more. More I’m sure you’re leaving out in an attempt to avoid overwhelming me.”

I didn’t deny it. There was no point. “And how’s that going so far?”

“I know you’ll dislike me saying this,” he started. “Because you seem to think it ridiculous for me to feel guilty about leaving you alone to endure all this… pain.”

I rubbed my face. “Because it does neither of us any good now. You were dead.”

“It still shouldn’t have happened. Not like that. Not at all.” He let out a dark laugh. “Honestly the things you’ve described to me, now and in your journal… they’re preposterous! They sound like the dark descriptions of a crazed storyteller. I try to imagine you going through those things… feeling what you must have felt…” He eyed the whiskey he’d pushed aside. “And it makes me sick. Knowing you’ve endured all that. I was useless. Dead at the bottom of a lake. I couldn’t protect you from any of it…”

Arthur trailed off, suddenly looking so vulnerable that my chest clenched. Protect me. I don’t know why I was surprised; he had always been a protector. A strong leader, willing to suffer and die for any one of his people. The fact that he would do so for me shouldn’t have been a shock. But it was. I had been alone for so long, taken the full force of every blow, shouldered every burden, that I had forgotten what it was like to have a partner. A comrade who just so happened to be my king. “Trust me, it’s made me sick for centuries.” I cleared my throat, emotion choking me momentarily. “But something stronger than us decided this was the plan. Our destiny. And while I would love to sit that something down and have a strong word, that’s not an option. So we have to just… keep going.”

“Merlin-”

“And I’m open to sharing my experiences with you. Owe it to you, even if you don’t agree. You’re part of this. But if you can’t handle hearing them, I can stop. It’s a lot for anyone to take in.” I borrowed his abandoned whiskey bottle and took three generous swallows. “Though I’ve already touched on most of the really horrific ones, thankfully.” At long last, the whiskey began truly doing its job. I’d hit my tolerance threshold, and my head began to swim as I sat there. Not completely drunk, but definitely buzzed.

To my surprise, Arthur too took the bottle and swallowed more. “I don’t want you to stop. I’m here now, and we’re in this together again. I’m just sorry it took me so long.” With slightly clumsy fingers, he once more capped the bottle, this time standing and returning it to its home. He didn’t need to say anything. I was cut off. “I do believe that drink made this a bit easier, but I don’t know how you’re still making sense with how much you had.” A drunken smirk, and then, “You’re still not that big.”

Sliding from my seat, I gripped the table and heaved myself up. “Time is a more important factor than size. But if it helps, I can’t quite see straight. Could just be that I’m tired.”

Disbelieving eyes scanned mine. “I’m sure that’s it.”

For the first time since awakening, I squinted at the nearest clock. The stove read 3:32. What time had we sat down? “I’m going to try to sleep a bit more.” A yawn stretched the last word into a moan. “I’ll try not to wake you again. Usually when I’ve had a decent amount of alcohol the dreams quiet down.”

“Don’t worry about me.” I couldn’t help but notice the slight slur to Arthur’s words. “Just go get some sleep. The first couple of hours you had couldn’t have been restful.”

Too true. I felt exhaustion like a weight wrapped around me. I nodded in agreement as we began walking back toward the direction of the bedrooms. As I turned out of the kitchen, I felt my foot catch on the doorframe, my toe stubbing hard on the solid wood. How had I missed that? I’d only lived in this house for hundreds of years. Throbbing pain shot through the limb. I tried to get my foot back in front of me but only succeeded in losing my balance, body twisting to avoid the inevitable. Then I fell sideways, shoulder slamming into the wall opposite the kitchen entryway. “Fucking hell…”

“I don’t think you needed that whole bottle.” A hand gripped my arm, another my ribcage as Arthur righted me. He kept his hold on me for a few seconds until I appeared to be standing successfully, then slowly withdrew, as if he thought I might fly sideways again. In fairness, I could. I had misjudged how sober I would feel after that much whiskey on an empty stomach. Typically I had food, too. “Can you get back yourself, or do you need me to carry you?”

Snarky, that’s what he was. A haughty, snarky zombie king. When his eyebrows shot up and a tiny confused smile lit his face, I realized I had muttered the words aloud.

“What exactly is a zombie?”

“You have a phone now. Look it up.” I took my newfound temper in the opposite direction, toward the living room. It was closer, anyway. “And you couldn’t carry me. I’m much heavier than you remember.” I was certain there was an eye roll at my back. I felt him trail me to my destination before I plunked down on the large sectional, grabbing a throw blanket slung across one end and gracelessly flinging it over myself.

“Whatever you say, Merlin.” A smile to his voice. “See you in the morning.”

Through the fog of my stupor, I thought I felt him adjust my blanket before turning and leaving the room.

Chapter Text

Easy sleep was never hard to come by when I was inebriated. Alcohol had a lovely way of dropping my carefully constructed anxious walls and leaving me absent of feeling. Sometimes this wasn’t true. Sometimes I felt too much. Sometimes even whiskey couldn’t wipe my complex emotional slate. But tonight it had, and I warmed to the blanket atop me on the oversized couch. As drowsiness swept over me, through me, my previous dream disappeared from memory. No pyre. I had fixed that with my pretty amber bottle. 

Outside my scant nest, the chill of the night floated through the room, brushed along the bits of skin I’d left exposed. I curled deeper into my blanket. Felt the steady rise and fall of my chest as I breathed the crisp air of the obscenely early morning. Cocooned in that perfect state between sleeping and waking, I let my body relax completely, mind emptying. Soon, I drifted into slumber. What was once the familiar sounds of my longtime home became nothingness; void. An endless black expanse stretching around me in all directions. Though its reach seemed endless, it also drew close to envelop my senses, cloaking them in a fog so that all I knew was darkness. I became that darkness, melding with it in my unconscious state. Warm and tight to me, it seemed to offer comfort. And after a moment of reluctance, I acquiesced. 

Such a long life you’ve endured, the darkness seemed to say. Lay down your burden.

“Mmmm… at least my burden has meaning again,” I mumbled. My tired body relaxed against the gentle binding. 

If all my dreams were like this, this lulling presence, I would have no complaints about leaving the waking world. I would sleep like I had when I was still a child, all those long lifetimes ago. Only the sounds of my own breathing and heartbeat filled my ears as I was nestled so softly. 

“And what burden is that?”

“The same one as always,” I replied blearily. Was this my imagination? Simply exhaustion speaking?

“Still that corpse, then?”

I tensed, muscles going rigid. Weariness began to leave me as I answered, “I’ve no idea what you mean.” It hadn’t been my imagination. It hadn’t been merely a feeling coming from the blackness. The abyss around me was talking, and its cadence was eerily familiar. As subtly as I could in my tipsy dream state, I attempted to distance myself from the skin-tight dark. Tried to shrug off the hold it had on me. As soon as I felt I had made progress, it would slink back into place, covering me. Dull panic settled in my chest.

The thing tsk’d at me, then said, “And where do you think you’re going when we’ve only just begun?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. That voice. It was the same damn voice as before. “If you’re going to keep interrupting my dreams, you may as well tell me who you are.” 

“Where would the fun be in that? If I don’t know your name, it’s hardly fair that you know mine.” 

Though I still wondered how it had even found me if it didn’t know my identity, I let the query rest for the moment. Best keep everything anonymous while I still had the chance. Instantly, I threw up every magical shield I could think of on the spot, though it wasn’t many. I was foggy, my brain still firing at half speed thanks to the alcohol. Still, any protection was better than none at all. Last time I had been attacked, the force hadn’t been able to get into my mind, so it had settled for injuring my body. Something told me it wouldn’t make the same concession twice. Focusing specifically on mental shields, I worked as fast as I could to lock myself up.

Before I could snap the final ward securely, I felt something press against the crown of my head. With a sensation somewhere between discomfort and pain, it trailed down the back of my head to my neck, twining around it. More pressure. Again, I pushed to close that last shield. Squeezed. But the thing around my neck popped it back open again, and the ward dissipated into nothing. 

Unprotected. I was very nearly unprotected, exposed here in this black plane. That ward was the deadbolt to my mind, and now I was left with a shoddy doorknob. Enough jigging, and the modest mental block would spring free. As if it had heard my thoughts, the tendril wound around my neck tightened.

“Last we met, you seemed to think this was only…” The thing shook me. “A dream,” it purred. 

“You were far less direct then.” My answering words were barely a squeak.

“That is because we were not well-acquainted.” 

The words, like the last time, hissed in my ears, through my skull. I tried my voice again. “And you think that’s changed somehow?” Still nearly soundless, but I needed to buy myself time to break the dream’s hold. I scrounged through my memory for any piece of a spell, a command, an enchantment, anything to get myself out of this with my head intact.

“How could you say such a thing when I’m practically in your mind already?” Silence as the presence wrapped its noose up to my chin. “None of those spells will work, warlock. You’re going to have to be creative to escape me again.”

It had heard me. Or sensed me grabbing for any magic I could. Yet it must not be able to dig too deeply, or my mind would be empty already.

“Now let us continue our discussion from my last visit.” 

With those words, all pretense of civility vanished from the encounter. The inky darkness that surrounded the area rushed forward, bent on drowning me where I stood. It blocked my ears, my eyes, my mouth, choked my lungs, forced me down to my knees as I gasped at the lack of air. At the same time, a thick coil branched from the blackness and gripped me hard around the abdomen. It jerked me back up to a standing position, squeezing out any breath I managed to suck in. 

“You have one chance, sorcerer, to answer me swiftly and thoroughly! Where is Arthur Pendragon!”

It didn’t even sound like a question, ferocity coloring every syllable. I would have given some sort of retort, except that I couldn’t speak, and even if I could, it would likely only result in pain. So I settled on suffering in silence. I put all the energy left in my body into maintaining the meager shields I had managed to place around my consciousness. They felt thin; brittle. 

Fabulous.

“Speech seems to be difficult for you. Let us try another means of gathering information.” 

This was it. If my wards were going to fail, they’d fail here. Bracing myself, I focused solely on those walls, that protection. Urged them to strengthen. And then the presence struck.

I have felt more types of pain in my life than I can remember in more places than I care to share. Burning, stabbing, crushing, squeezing, aching, you name it. But what was unleashed on me in the darkness of my consciousness on that early morning was a pain of a whole other nature. When you add magic into an equation, things are rarely simple. The agony that hit me then is genuinely indescribable, but I’ll do my best. If you took a blunt metal rod, soaked it in flame until it glowed, and then shoved it through your head, you would get close. Add my inability to move to the mix, and the whole experience was nearly unbearable. All I knew was that I wanted to scream. Wanted to wail and thrash and curse the thing responsible. But I couldn’t. I was still choked and bound, senses cut off. Inside, though, my body roared. 

The mental magic lanced my head over and over, each time a shockwave bounding through me. Could this really hurt like this? Surely not. But then it would hit again. Whoever was running this dreamscape had only one purpose: find Arthur. They would achieve that by any means necessary. And as their magic blew into my mind again and again, their conviction unyielding, I felt my wards begin to crumble at the edges. 

I was unprepared for this. Hadn’t worked on my shields since the last dream. Hadn’t thought it was nearly this pressing. The last invasion had been sloppy, unsure. The presence had danced around the true objective - getting inside my mind. But this time… this time they were frighteningly determined. And the fact that very soon they may get the information they sought was entirely my fault. My edges crumbled a bit more at the realization.

As my shields wavered, my attacker seemed to step back. The tongues of blackness unraveled from my body, and I fell into a mess of weak limbs. I curled instinctively, trying to do whatever I could to protect myself, hands clutching my head. The pain lessened as the dark presence retreated further. Sagging where I lay, I prayed they were done. Prayed they would leave in frustration and let me wake up. When I woke, if I woke, I wouldn’t sleep again until I had mastered my shields. 

But they weren’t done. Evidently they just wanted a moment to really gather their strength for a proper assault, because I felt the abyss around me pull back as if taking a deep breath. It held there for a moment, and I tensed every muscle in my body again, gritted my teeth for what I knew was coming. For too long, everything around me was still. Anticipation nearly suffocated me as I lay there, but the stillness ended too soon. Too soon, I felt the void rushing for me. This time, it didn’t waste effort binding me up. No, it wanted to use its full force on my mind, my shields. Where before the pain was raging heat, now I felt the tips of sharp, icy swords place themselves on my temples. Two pinpricks at either side of my head, making my wards shudder. 

“Would you like to save yourself the torment of this next stage? Or shall I continue?”

A few weeks ago, I would have let the thing into my mind immediately at that point. I would have bared my soul to it in hopes that it would leave me alone. I would have thought any more pain would break me entirely. But now… Arthur was back. For what purpose, I had no idea. But he was there in my house, and I was responsible for his safety. It was the whole point of my life. And I couldn’t let something as fleeting as pain dismantle that. I’d made it this far. So with as much gusto as I could manage, I answered, “Have at it.”

That comment had the twin spears plunging through my temples faster than I could register the shift. No sound left me, no gasp or outcry. The mental attack was so thorough this time that I could scarcely remember my own name. I cradled my splintered head between my hands, mouth held open in a silent scream as tears streamed from my eyes. I knew my shields were cracking. Pieces were surely floating out into that hungry void as I lay there forgetting all but the pain. Seconds. Minutes. Hours? It seemed endless. Something shook me. Called my name? I wanted to die. Surely this had to end soon. Another shake, and- yes, that was definitely my name. Who was saying my name? With a violent shudder, my body reacted as a particularly miserable stab went through my head. A wail burst from me, howling that radiated to my bones. In response to my cry, I heard my name again, panicked this time. Recognized the voice. Arthur was trying to wake me. It was he who was shaking me where I lay. God only knew the awful noises I was making in my living room. I must have woken him.

Distracted by the real world, I hadn’t noticed as the thing swarming me calmed its overall barrage. Instead, it honed in on one small piece of my consciousness, focusing the torment there. By the time I knew what was happening, which weak spot was being loosened, it was too late. The wards shattered and fell around me. 

The blackness didn’t hesitate. Now with its shallow foothold inside my head, the pressure magnified again. I felt it prying, looking for any tidbit it could use to ascertain Arthur’s location. No. No, it couldn’t end like this. 

“Oh, but it will, warlock.” Silent for so long while it had concentrated, now the thing gloated. “A few moments, a few…” It stroked something inside my mind. I jolted. “...touches, and I will know where to look.” 

Wrapping itself around me once more, it began shuffling through my brain like files in a drawer. Each grab at my mind sent an electric current through me, and I shuddered where I lay. Between the shudders, I felt Arthur shake me again. 

“Who is that interfering? I can hear them…” When I tensed, it added, “Perhaps we should add them to our game.”

“No.” It was more of a moan than an actual word. 

“That’s him by your side right now, is it not? The corpse is right there trying to wake you.” 

I felt its excitement as the presence eagerly picked up its pace. How was my head still attached to my shoulders? Surely it had been severed with the amount of pain I felt. Get out. It had to get out. Before it found something really damning. What was left in me? How could I push it out? Between the shocks of pain, I focused what little attention I had on my magic. Tried to snatch fluttering bits of it from the air around me. Pieces of my shredded shields, my essence, free-floating power from the darkness pummeling me. I was told long ago that my magic could never be taken from me; never run out. That I was part of the wind and sky and sea. That I was magic itself. If that was true, as I’d seen it proven time and time again over the course of my life, then while I still existed here, I still had power to spend. As long as I lived, my magic was available to me. 

There was no particular spell that I could bring to mind that would cast me out of this dreamscape. But if I could try to throw the thing back, perhaps I could scuttle away, return to my body lying there on the couch. It needed a distraction; something to focus on for a split second so I could have some tiny chance at surprise. Arthur… it was obsessed with him. Perhaps if I could feed it something to draw its attention… 

“Please,” I rasped. That was no charade. I barely had a voice. “Leave him alone.” It already knew he was with me. Had guessed that Arthur was in the same room. No point in denying it when the thing was elbow-deep in my head. Instead I fixated on it, letting myself sink into worry and panic. I pictured Arthur finding me, shaking me, calling for me to wake up. 

“Ahhhh, I see him.” It was hungry now, watching what my mind conjured up for it. “He looks good for a dead man.” 

My agony lessened a fraction as I distracted my audience of one. The more attention it gave to the scenes I played, the less it rifled through new areas of my mind. Nevertheless, I acted out my part as the tortured victim, crying out and pleading for it to stop. It was largely ignoring me, only concerned with the blond man I showed it. 

Good. Time for the finale. 

Breathing deeply, I began to tug on each speck of magic that I had been able to draw close. One by one, they bound themselves to me. It wasn’t a lot, and the overall power wouldn’t be able to do anything catastrophic, but it would be enough, I hoped, to separate us. I felt my strength grow as the magic gathered. One more solid image of Arthur, more detailed this time, though still not giving too much away, filled my consciousness. I felt the thing latch to it. Drawing a breath, I summoned every ounce of strength I could, willing my power to hold. Around me, magic crackled as I gave it form and intention. And when I had crafted my orders, it flew from me, my tired wet eyes flashing gold in the blackness. 

Half a heartbeat. Then something was ripping, someone was screaming. My magic felt utterly spent, but I sensed that it had done its job. No longer did I feel the presence in my head; now it was across the expanse, likely scrambling to right itself and retaliate. It wasn’t going to get the chance. During those precious seconds that I was free, I shrugged off the still-searing pain and threw myself as hard as I could back to reality, back to my living room couch and the man frantically trying to wake me. I felt him again. His grip was firm on my arms, his words now desperate. The sensations grounded me, and soon I felt soft fabric beneath me. As I settled into my body and left that realm, I took note of my condition. The mental invasion had evidently done some damage, and I realized why Arthur was so alarmed.

Not even fully awake yet, I was still disoriented where I lay, but I could feel the aftermath of the dream singing through my body. Though the attack had been purely mental, it was clear that the effects were largely physical. Despite having fallen asleep stretched out, I had pulled my knees up so that I was curled on my side. Every inch of me was tensed, even my feet arched against the onslaught. Because I was so rigid, my muscles ached, and I shook violently as I lay there. Where before my arms had been tucked against my chest under the blanket, I had pulled them up to uselessly defend my head during the attack. The blanket, it seemed, was long gone; evidently I had writhed so much that it had been discarded. Sweat drenched my clothes, the absence of movement making it icy against my skin. And my head. Dear God, my head.

When the Sídhe had trespassed in my mind before, I had thought it painful. Not unbearable, but most certainly not comfortable. It had made me woozy for over an hour. If I were to compare that experience to what I felt lying on that couch, it would be like comparing a mosquito bite to an amputation. I’d had migraines before after stretching my magic without adequate preparation, but they were nothing like this. Throbbing bursts of undiluted misery pounded through my head and echoed against my skull. Too much. It had all been too much for my brain, my magic, and now I was reaping the consequences. Thud. Thud. Thud. I was surprised the beats didn’t rock me back and forth, cause a vibration to run through the house. Dully, I picked up sounds beyond the gong thundering in my head. Rapid breathing punctuated by tearful whimpers and moans. Shit, was that me? Most likely… With the amount of pain I felt, it was a wonder I didn’t make more noise. There was also Arthur, still holding me, trying to get me to respond. He was muttering. I picked a “come on” and a “please” out of the din. 

In an attempt to show him that I could hear, that I was back with him on this plane of existence, I found the muscles I needed in my scrunched-up face and blearily cracked an eye. To my dismay, he had switched on the nearby lamp, and it glowed unforgivingly in my face. I didn’t see Arthur, couldn’t focus on him, though I heard his muttering stop. All I saw was the harsh light, felt it amplify the pain in my head. My eyes snapped shut again. 

“Merlin?”

Too loud.

“Merlin!”

Oh, God, please stop it. 

“Are you awake? Can you hear me?” These words were accompanied by another shake. It rattled my head further.

Something I hadn’t quite noticed amidst the chaos was another sensation which was quickly becoming problematic. Between the aching of my muscles and the pounding in my head, nausea was curling in my stomach. The headache would have been plenty to cause it, I knew, but I was sure the whiskey hadn’t exactly helped. It roiled dangerously, and I groaned partly in complaint and partly as a warning to my companion. 

That only worried Arthur more, his hands tightening a fraction on my arms as he said, “Talk to me, Merlin. I can’t help you unless you talk to me.” Blessedly, his voice was quieter this time. More intense. 

At the words, I gingerly pried open an eye once more, this time preparing myself for the brightness. It didn’t help. I tried to focus through the light and let my gaze settle on his anxious face. My plan was to say something along the lines of, “I’ll explain later, but right now, please get me a bin of some kind before I throw up all over you and my living room,” but when I opened my mouth to attempt it, my stomach lurched. Out of time. Instead, all I managed was a pitiful syllable. “Sick,” I croaked. 

Confusion at what I had said, then recognition. He removed his hands from my arms. “Sick.” 

Yes, good. Glad you can comprehend modern English. Again I tried to say more, but this time I gagged and clamped a hand over my mouth. That he got. Finally, understanding colored his features. He was out of the room in the next instant, returning after only a couple of seconds with the trash bin from the kitchen. Not a moment too soon, he placed it by my head as I turned and retched into it. 

Ever the courtly gentleman, Arthur didn’t back away or make a noise of disgust. He’d seen much worse in his time as a knight. Instead he disappeared again only to come back with paper towels from the kitchen. He placed one in my eyeline on the coffee table.

When the wave of nausea at last began to subside, I raised my head, shaky arms pushing my body back to a comfortable position. Reaching out slowly, I took the paper towel from the table and wiped my mouth. “Sorry. Thank you.” It was barely a whisper, my head still thumping with intense pain. The vomiting had made everything worse, though my stomach had settled a bit, and I began to shake anew from the cold sweat all over me. 

“You don’t need to apologize.” Arthur’s tone was tight, worried. “Just…” He faltered as he looked me over. “Tell me how to help you.” 

Shutting my eyes once more against the lamplight, I felt new tears leak out the corners. My trembling palms rose up to cover my face, wipe away some of the sweat. Almost imperceptibly, I shook my head. It hurt. It all just hurt too much to focus on anything else. “My head.” Almost no sound. “Another attack.” A particularly violent throb hit my temple, and I felt my stomach twist again. Shit. This was going to be a long morning. I had no idea if Arthur understood exactly what I’d meant, so I added, “Head hurts. Making m-me sick.” A downright wordsmith. 

Between my covered eyes and my words, Arthur must have realized his mistake, because he leaned over me and switched the lamp off. “Dark is probably better, then.” 

Eternally grateful as I was, there was nothing the darkness could do to stop the new round of nausea I felt working its way through me. Even with my much milder migraines, I’d generally felt sick. This was going to be a doozy. My mouth watered, and again, I barely made it over the bin in time. Another paper towel made an appearance in front of me. Minutes. This time the wave lasted minutes before ebbing long enough for me to catch my breath.

When I was lying down again, Arthur made a move to pick up the trash bin, likely to empty it. I stopped him with a shaky hand. Faintly, I said, “Don’t… You don’t have to.” 

Even in the darkness, I could feel the exasperated look he shot me. His words were quiet but full of ire. “Oh sure, I’ll just let you do it, then.” 

I wanted to roll my eyes but feared the wrath of my headache. Instead I gave a shallow sigh. “The house will.” Honestly, what was the point in a magic house if it couldn’t take care of you when you were sick? Before he could reply, I added, “But I do need your help.”

Bin set back in place, Arthur sat on the coffee table. “Anything you need.”

“Get me to my bathroom, please. I have a feeling this will last a while, and it will be much easier with a toilet.” 

He considered. “Won’t that be uncomfortable? And cold? You’re already shaking so hard I can almost hear your bones knocking together.” To my surprise, he brought a hand to my clammy forehead. “And I think you have a fever.” 

I could have sighed again at the warmth of his hand. I really was freezing. “Dry clothes will help. And maybe a blanket.” 

He removed his hand, clearly dubious, but didn’t argue. Instead he pushed the bin aside to scoot closer to me on the edge of the coffee table. “Well then let’s get you up while you have a break.” 

An arm slid gently beneath my shoulders, and I braced myself and my stomach for the movement that was about to happen. Gripping him as hard as I could, I let him ease me up off the cushions until I was vertical. Everything spun, my head careening so hard I had to pause to take deep breaths. Arthur stopped when I did, waiting. Just get to the bathroom. Not far. Just down the hall. It seemed miles away. When I showed signs of movement again, Arthur held me tighter and helped me stand. My knees buckled instantly. 

An iron hold braced my middle. “You’re sure you want to move?” 

God, no, I didn’t want to move. But I would feel much better if I wasn’t lying in my own sweat next to a bucket of vomit. So in answer, I planted my unsteady feet and did my best to hold my body weight on my own. He shook his head, but we began the trek across the house. Turning into the hall, I had to stop again, dizziness hitting me like a brick. Oh, this was so much fun. Just don’t throw up. Hang on. More deep breaths and I signaled to him to move again. This time I noticed he held most of me up so we could go faster. Finally at the bedroom, I sagged in relief and pushed the door wide. 

I’d left the blasted lamp on.

The light stunned me for a moment before pain lanced me again. Was it always this bright? It seemed so dim when I didn’t have a migraine. Once inside the room, the throbbing overwhelmed me. I shut my eyes, covered them with a hand, but I knew it was too late. Such a sharp pang hit my stomach that I grimaced and made a noise of discomfort, Arthur turning to examine me. 

Despite how many times I’d implied otherwise in our youth, the man was no fool. He had me in the bathroom in the next moment, gently lowering me to the tiled floor. He had been right about the cold; I was shaking furiously now. When the third round of vomiting hit, Arthur made sure I was more or less upright before he let go of me. He gave my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, disappearing into the bedroom and closing the door. Suddenly I was encased in pitch blackness. Bliss. 

Outside the door, I heard Arthur moving around my room. Drawers opened and closed, items selected and discarded again. Finally the glow beneath the door disappeared, and it opened wide. The man knelt beside me, a small pile of clothes in his arms. He politely waited for me to stop heaving and wipe my mouth before passing it to me. Painstakingly slowly, I pushed myself back to the wall and leaned there while I fought to remove the shirt that was plastered to my body. It stuck around my shoulders. 

Then there were more hands moving mine out of the way. The shirt pulled free, and I worked to put on the dry one. So much warmer already. With my shaking lessened, Arthur helped me to a halfway standing position and let me tug on dry sweatpants. Last, he reached outside the door and handed me a blanket from my closet. I pulled it up to my chest, leaning back against the wall.

“Better?” 

The breath I drew turned into a wide yawn. “My head is still killing me, but yes. Better.”

To my surprise, he stood and walked out, leaving me alone in the dark. Rude. But a minute later he returned holding something I couldn’t quite make out. 

“Drink some of this, then.” 

A cold glass was pressed into my hand. Reluctantly, I obliged. I tipped the glass slowly, in case it was full, but Arthur had only filled it an inch or so. Manageable. Sipping slowly, taking deep breaths between the swallows, I drained the cup and passed it back to him. “Thanks. I’ll do my best to keep it down.” 

He huffed at laugh at my side. “Just as long as you drink more if it comes back up.” 

“Deal.” It had tasted amazing, in any case. Water always did after being so sick.

For a while we just sat there on the bathroom floor, listening to the sounds of early morning outside my window. Even in the dead of winter, there was so much life in those woods. It had always been a source of comfort to me. While the robins and thrushes warbled in the trees, I kept rhythm with the steady thrumming in my head. It was still painful, sometimes enough to make me curl up, panting as a wave of nausea washed over me. Twice I lost the fight, though there was nothing left in my aching stomach but acid. After that, the sickness dwindled down to dry heaves. 

Each time Arthur adjusted his position, I expected him to leave. To go back to bed or go get something to eat. Things had certainly calmed down; he could have left me. 

And yet he stayed. Perhaps trying to make up for the years I’d been alone. More than once, I assured him I was fine if he wanted to be elsewhere. That I had everything I needed. But there was no point, and each time I brought it up, he quickly shot me down. 

Fine. I was tired of being alone, in any case.

It had been hours, the outside light growing strong enough that Arthur had to crack the bathroom door to shut it out, when my head began to nod. Against my will, my eyelids drooped, and all of me relaxed enough to feel heavy, exhausted. For a few moments, I relished it. So nice. It was so nice to feel well enough to relax a bit. 

But as I started to drift, a red hot flash of panic went through me, and I sat bolt upright.

Arthur, once more on his guard, startled to a sitting position as well. “Merlin?” When I didn’t answer right away, he turned to me in the gloom. “What is it?”

“I almost fell asleep.” 

Clearly that was not the response Arthur had been expecting, his reply dripping with sarcasm.  “Oh God, no. Not that.” 

He didn’t get it. Didn’t understand that the whole reason this was happening was that I had fallen asleep without proper defenses in place. This had been preventable. And it wouldn’t happen again. “Arthur, if I hadn’t fallen asleep with no protection, that… thing… wouldn’t have gotten into my mind. I wouldn’t be sick, and it-” Frustration flooded me, and I could feel hot tears behind my eyes. “It wouldn’t know you were with me.” Silence. “I didn’t keep my guard up… It got in. It’s my fault.” To my dismay, my voice caught as I uttered, “I’m sorry.” 

A sigh next to me. Arthur rubbed his face before saying, “The fact that an evil creature broke into your head when you were unconscious is in no way your fault, Merlin.” He sensed I wasn’t buying it, because he asked, “Did it know where we were? Or just that you were with me?” 

“I… I don’t think it could have seen the location. I have too many wards around this place.” Quickly I added, “But I knew something was trying to get in. It was the same thing as before. I should have been ready.”

“And that’s why you don’t want to fall asleep now. You want to be ready.” Not a question. “Merlin,” Arthur moved closer and fully faced me, laid a hand on my shoulder. “I know next to nothing about magic. Not nearly as much as you, I’m aware. But it seems to me that after being attacked like this, attacked so badly that it’s been hours and you’re nowhere near recovered, rest is the way to fully heal you.” Flatly, he asked, “And you won’t do that?”

I knew he was right. Knew that sleep would be the only true fix for this kind of mental onslaught. But sleep was also the only way so far that my adversary could attack again. And I knew what my decision would ultimately be. Leaning my tired head against the wall, I sighed, “No. Not yet.”

Not until I had a way to keep it out. 

However long that took.

Chapter Text

DAY ONE

Even behind my lowered lids, my eyes teared at the light that seeped in. Tired. Drained. I knew I was, but I had no solution to that problem at present. After quietly accepting the fact that I wasn’t going to magically recover sitting on the bathroom floor, I had enlisted Arthur’s help to move into the library. Now seated at my desk with books spread around me, I struggled to focus. It was the damned daylight’s fault. The closed curtains didn’t eradicate it fully, and I cursed myself for not buying blackout shades when I had learned of their existence. This was one of the times I wished my hideout wasn’t quite so secluded. If I had been a normal person with a migraine, I could have hopped on Amazon and had my problem fixed within a day. As it happened, delivery services had a bit of a hard time even finding my road on a GPS, let alone the house itself. I suspected they would be blind to the drive entirely if they came close, thanks to its enchantments.

I brought my hands up and pressed my palms against my closed eyes. Too hard. I eased the pressure. Better. Let’s not reignite the horrendous headache. Though it hadn’t disappeared, it had become manageable; less nauseating. A few deep breaths brought me through the bad moments. But while the pain itself had eased, my eyes had grown dry and weary from the night and the books laid before me. I turned the pages slower and slower as my attention waned. If I only knew how to build a magical cocoon around my consciousness, I could rest. But so far, I had made little progress. 

This was a trick I should have learned as court sorcerer, really. It would have been a smart way to spend my time, protecting my thoughts and guarding my immortal secrets. But, frankly, I hadn’t thought of it. I had been too content serving my queen, too comfortable in my plush quarters, too utterly secure in my position to feel threatened. As time went on, I had worked a bit on small mental shields, but truth be told, magicians had grown weaker as the world aged. People lost touch with the Old Religion, and I found my scant defenses to be sufficient. 

How wrong I had been.

My first question was how they had managed the brain heist. Whoever this intruder was, they knew strong magic. Old magic. The kind of magic that I had been brought up on. The kind of magic that had destroyed the army at Camlann. And yet, I hadn’t heard a peep about this sorcerer. Not until they had stolen into my mind. Twice , I reminded myself. No more settling. Next time they attacked, I would be ready. 

The other question was, of course, how had they known that Arthur was with me in the first place, that he had risen. Even I, having been so closely entwined with Arthur’s life from our youth, hadn’t truly known that there would be someone waiting for me at Lake Avalon. In fact, I had sorely doubted it. So who was this stranger that they could sense it with such certainty? I supposed I should have asked these questions after the first dream, but it had been so unexpected, I half believed it hadn’t truly been directed at me personally. After all, even after the second dream, the presence hadn’t known my identity. For all I knew, they were simply sensing Arthur’s presence and delving into the magical mind nearest him. Stupid , I lectured myself. Stupid to be convinced it was random. No matter how my nemesis had found me, they had, and now they had solid insight. I had given them confirmation of Arthur’s existence in this world. Stupid, irresponsible, unthinking-

The soft thunk of a mug on wood interrupted the insults rattling in my head. Surprised, I removed my hands from my eyes to investigate. A fresh cup of piping hot tea greeted my eyes. A pale hand withdrew from its handle, tired blue eyes meeting my own. “If you’re going to insist on working without rest, you could at least drink one of these.” I glanced at the two other mugs that littered my desktop, both full of icy tea. “Or eat something.” A plate joined the steaming mug, buttered toast upon it. “Or both.” 

My gaze turned guilty as I lowered my eyes to the book open in front of me. “Thanks.” My voice came out hoarse, and I struggled to clear my throat as I adjusted in my seat to take the tea. When the first sip hit my tongue, I wracked my brain for why I had ignored the first two mugs. Scared their contents would end up on the rug beside me, no doubt. But it had been some time since my headache had intensified at all. It had settled into a dull twinge that was more irritating than anything. Encouraged when no nausea hit me, I took another drink. “This is great.” Wrapping both my hands around the steaming mug, I glanced up to where Arthur stood next to me. “Thank you. Really. For everything.” I paused for another swallow. “I’m sure this morning was as much fun for you as it was for me.”

As he took the seat nearest me across the desk, Arthur humphed. “Oh, I don’t think I had nearly as much fun as you. Though it looks as though you’ve recovered a bit from that.” He nodded toward the mug in my hand. “You didn’t even try to drink either of the other ones.” 

Busy swallowing, it took me a moment to respond. “Until about a half hour ago, I don’t think I would have been able to keep them down. But my head seems to have calmed for the moment.” Pleased with my tolerance to the drink, I picked up a piece of toast and nibbled the edge. Warm, salty butter met my tongue. Delicious. The slice disappeared little by little. 

“Do you have any idea how this presence keeps entering your mind?”

I paused. “My shields failed. I didn’t make them strong en-”

“No, I mean how did it know to focus on you at all?” Annoyance was plain on his features. “I’ve seen how carefully you conduct yourself. Even with all that, it knew where to look that first night. It was so sure it was right, it sliced you open as a warning.” 

I knew the frustration was sympathetic. He hated that I blamed myself for anything, ever. And he did have a point. “I… don’t know,” I admitted. “I had thought about that. I decided they must have sensed your return and focused their energy on your location…”

“But it’s so well-guarded, they found you instead?”

“Mmm.” I switched back to my mug of tea. “Maybe. Since you aren’t a magic-wielder, it may have been impossible to connect directly to you.” Finishing my drink, I focused again on the book before me. “Even so, I’d like to construct a shield for you as well as me. I don’t want either of us vulnerable.” 

Arthur leaned forward and lifted the cover of the text I was using. He frowned at the archaic language gracing the binding. “Is this going to help with these shields?” 

“Possibly, if I can find the right framework to craft them. Though it will likely take many more books along with some creativity.” Books I had; creative thinking would be the larger issue here. I had only been awake for a few hours, functional for even fewer, and already my cognition was suffering. 

“Any way I can help with that?” 

God, his concern stabbed me in the chest. I had no doubt he wanted to shut the book, escort me to my room, and force me to sleep for the next several hours. “Sorry, not that I can think of. Though if you want to gather some books for me, I’d appreciate it.” I wrote a list of titles I thought might help and passed it to him, making sure the ancient spelling matched the spines. For fun, I added, “...Unless you’d rather we begin magic lessons, in which case you could-”

“I’ll find the books.” Hastily he stood and began scanning the library shelves. “Are they all here, or will some be in the cellar?”

“Probably a couple. But most will be in this room.” Not that that helped much; my shelves were extensive and reached the ceiling. “I do have a favor to ask before you get started.” He turned, expectant. “Is there any chance you would be willing to find it in your heart to-”

An eye roll. “Merlin.”

“More tea?”

That earned me a look of relief, then a nod as he collected my abandoned mugs and empty plate. “I’m bringing you water as well. I didn’t make you drink nearly enough this morning.” 

I couldn’t remember whether hydration had been well-understood in the sixth century, but perhaps Arthur had figured out its importance by trial and error. Either way, he was right. Tea wouldn’t be sufficient. I decided not to argue. When he left for the kitchen, I settled back into my chair and let my eyes focus again on the words before me. I had only read one line before a rhythmic buzzing interrupted my concentration. It took me a moment of searching to track it. Buried under my computer case and a stack of research notes was my phone, a number lighting up the screen. I stared for a few seconds, debating whether to ignore the call. It would just ring again, I knew. Should I get it over with now? It was several seconds and at least three additional buzzes before I decided not to open up that particular can of worms just yet. I silenced the buzzing and flipped the phone screen down. 

Minutes later, Arthur returned with a new steaming mug and a glass full of water. Grateful, I took a sip of each. He said nothing, but watched me swallow before returning to his book-gathering task. I, too, resumed my work. Facing the pages spread around me once again, I took a deep breath and rubbed my tired eyes. Maybe the research wouldn’t take as long as I thought.

DAY TWO

Under the best circumstances, a healthy person will be tired from studying for a full day. The mental focus required to actively engage the brain for that length of time takes a toll on the body’s energy stores. At that point, sleep is the best option to reset the system and bring the body’s energy levels back up to normal. Concentration, memory, and decision-making skills are crucial to the brain’s ability to study material and connect ideas, and unfortunately, they are some of the first to go when sleep is lacking. 

These were not the best circumstances, however, and my battered and exhausted body laughed at the idea of forming complete thoughts. Not literally laughed, of course. That would require too much energy. Plodding along was all I could manage. I only read a few sentences before I needed to shut my eyes against the dryness and weariness that assaulted them. I couldn’t keep them closed for too long though. Just for a moment. I couldn’t let myself get too comfortable behind my lids; it was dangerous. Eyes open once more, I pressed on. 

Yesterday, I was hopeful that I could construct a sturdy enough shield in time to get some much-needed sleep. By evening, I told myself. By evening, I would know enough to protect myself, at least. Yet the evening had come and gone. Light had disappeared from behind the library curtains, and the sounds of night soon surrounded the quiet house. Motivation began to wane as the moon rose, frustration and anxiety leaking into my words and actions. 

My leg shook as I bobbed my foot up and down on the carpet. My right hand gripped the page I was reading, my left picking at my eyebrows and rubbing at the skin on my face. I hunched over the book. My hair flopped a bit too close to my forehead. Though I brushed it back into place, it again fell forward, and a surge of anger rushed through my chest. I sat straighter, shoving the hair away. 

If only the right spells would just show themselves, this could have all been fixed by now. I could have slept, showered, and began my studies anew with more focus and patience. But all I had gathered were a few wisps of a plan that I held together with hope and conjecture. I still needed the connecting spell that could lace the pieces into a solid layer of protection, a mental corset that would keep my mind cinched in all the proper places. Right now I was walking around in only my drawers and chemise. Unacceptable.

I stopped. Changed my train of thought. 

The books. Read the books. The books won’t steer you wrong. Again I saw the words before me. Good; they weren’t blurring yet. I needed to make progress while I was functional. 

And so the night had continued in waves of lucidity and fogginess until at last rays of sunlight lit the curtains from behind. It was the first thing to draw my limited attention in what seemed like hours. Arthur had face-planted across from me some time ago, and he was snoring softly against the arm he used as a pillow. I summoned the energy to grin a bit. With a mighty effort, I stood from my seat, plodding the few feet to the nearest window and separating the curtains. Soft dawn light coated the room around me, and I welcomed the bit of energy it brought to my exhausted body.

Much to my relief, night had brought the end of my slowly receding headache. It had almost been enough of a reprieve for me to relax my vigil; maybe allow a short nap. Perhaps the hold had been broken. Surely my adversary wouldn’t try again so soon. But just as I had convinced myself to give in, the utter panic of reason overwhelmed all contentment. For all I knew, the enemy was lying in wait for such an opportunity. So I had returned to my books.

Now I peered around the waking garden that enveloped the house. There had been a new snowfall overnight, coating the world in glistening white. I loved sleepy, snowy mornings and evenings; they were the perfect times to read with a mug of tea, listening to the silence they wrought. I wished I had tea now. Or maybe… 

Carefully I picked my way to the library entrance and stepped into the hall, Arthur still snoring. As soon as the door was shut behind me, I flicked my hand; the house did the rest. I heard every curtain slide open, every shade rise, and then the electric lights joined them, casting a yellow glow on the otherwise daylit interior. The light helped, and I tried to shake off my bone-deep exhaustion. In the kitchen, I hunted for several items I hadn’t used in well over a year. I needed to make progress today if I wanted any chance of saving myself, otherwise I wouldn’t have any mental faculties left, and the quickest way to jump start my brain was a triple shot latte. The pantry held my prizes, and I pulled a bean grinder and espresso machine from its depths. I lugged the heavy machine to the table, then took a short break to catch my breath. The past couple of weeks had made me incredibly weak. As soon as I was able, I vowed to get back in my gym. Eventually, I set the espresso bar and bean grinder on the counter, then turned to the freezer and retrieved a well-sealed bag of fragrant beans. Even after being frozen for months on end, the smell filled my nose as soon as I had unsealed the top. I resisted the urge to stick my nose in the bag. 

Let me make something clear. From the first moment I tasted coffee over 300 years ago, I was intrigued. In Europe they had called it the devil’s “bitter invention” when it first appeared, but I always had a fondness for the sharp drink. It quickly became a staple in my daily routine, and I seldom found myself without a cup of coffee nearby. Two hundred or so years later, on a trip to London, a colleague treated me to dinner at an elegant bistro in the city’s West End. The food was miraculous and extravagant, and by the end, I didn’t think I could be more impressed with the meal. Then out came dessert, and with it, what my companion called “caffé crema.” Already attached to regular coffee, the taste of the fresh espresso and steamed milk rang bells of ecstasy on my tongue. Dessert forgotten, I relished every drop of the tiny shot and ordered a second when it was gone. On that night, my marriage to espresso was cemented. 

What followed in the few years after that night could only be described as an unhealthy obsession. I managed to find a café relatively close to home that served the drink, and in my leisure time, I would pack up my work papers and spend hours at a cramped table in the busy venue, sipping what would later be dubbed “espresso.” When at last I’d had too much and the strong drink soured my stomach, I would leave, only to return at the next opportunity. Finally the machines became more readily available to purchase, and soon, I had an espresso bar set up in my kitchen. Learning from the instruction manual, trial and error, and observing the practiced baristas at my favorite coffee haunt, I diligently worked to master the craft of the perfect latte. One might say it was a welcome distraction from the bigger picture, a small tidbit pleasantly separate from my destiny. A perfectly brewed and frothed latte after a hard day of being became my respite. Then it was a morning and an evening latte. Then several in the morning and two in the evening. Then I never seemed to find myself far from the strangely soothing beverage. 

As the number of daily lattes increased, my quality of life decreased in possibly the most precise negative correlation I’ve witnessed. The obvious side effect was my inability to sleep with all the extra caffeine coursing through me. Then there were the stomachaches. While not as bad in the beginning when my espresso consumption was sparse, near the end it genuinely interfered with my life. Eating helped somewhat, but I always felt unsettled and slightly sick. My anxiety increased next, no doubt aided by the added stimulant. I grew paranoid and fretful, unable to take anything lightly. The acid reflux was the final straw. Something delightful had turned into a blight on my mental and physical health, and I worked to eliminate it from my lifestyle. It wasn’t easy. I suffered many a migraine and bout of bad temper while I returned to my pre-espresso state. But after a couple of months, I again recognized myself as the old me. I sold my state-of-the-art equipment to a local restaurant and returned to my tea-drinking ways. 

The comfort of a constant warm drink, it seemed, was hard to deny myself. And so my tea-obsession began. It wasn’t until several years later that I caved and bought a new espresso machine, complete with all the bells and whistles. The way I would limit myself, I decided, was to only allow myself a single bag of beans. I hadn’t given myself a timeline for the beans, and I managed to only treat myself occasionally as time went on. All the while, the bag sat nestled in my freezer, waiting for the next time I would give in to my tempered obsession. 

It was this bag that I held before me now, hands turning icy from the frozen beans inside. Tired as I was, it was with a certain amount of glee that I cleaned the bean grinder, wiped the espresso machine, and ran a cycle of water through to clear out any dirt or dust. At last, it was time. I set about gathering supplies: a handful of beans, milk, a touch of sugar, and my most recent addition, a bit of rich caramel syrup. True, it made the drink less nostalgic, but it was damn good. Grinding the beans put a giddy smile on my face, and I grinned like a fool as I moved to measure milk. I was just replacing the cap on the carton when I heard shuffling footsteps behind me. I paused. Turning my head, I quipped, “Good of you to join us.”

“Us?” Arthur turned his bleary gaze to the rest of the kitchen. “I only see you, though I’m pleasantly surprised by this sudden...” He gestured vaguely at me. “...energy. Did you finally manage to sleep?” 

Hope lit his features, but it quickly vanished when I answered, “No, can’t yet.” He was busy rubbing his neck, undoubtedly sore from sleeping on his tabletop arm pillow. His countenance now showed defeat. “But actually I was referring to my espresso bar.” 

“What?”

“Us. Me and my espresso machine here.”

This earned me a blank stare. He turned to the gleaming apparatus on the counter. “Oh, good. For a minute I thought you had gone daft.” If his tone could roll its eyes, it would have.

I returned to my work, the movements practiced and smooth despite my exhaustion. This drink would be well worth the effort. “Your sarcasm is noted, though I don’t have any witty replies at the moment.” Steam hissed as I worked to froth the milk. 

“What is it you’re doing with that?” A pause, then, begrudgingly, “It smells nice.”

I would have been gleeful with anticipation if I’d felt normal. Even now, I couldn’t wait to make Arthur taste the latte I was working on. “It’s like if you brewed tea but made it more powerful. It will help keep me going.” When the drink was assembled, I placed the cup in front of Arthur. “Take a sip.” Not waiting for his reaction, I began work on my own cup; three shots instead of one this time. The smell was intoxicating. I leaned close, placing my nose next to the stream of fresh espresso. When I rose to add milk to the machine, I glanced beside me. Wide blue eyes stared back. I waited, but he didn’t say anything. He just sipped again. “Thoughts?”

“What is this?”

“It’s a latte - steamed milk mixed with espresso, which is a drink made from beans.” 

“This is beans ?” Arthur lowered the cup to examine it. 

“A specific type of bean, yes. Do you like it?” My own milk was frothing now. I focused again on the machine. 

“More than your tea, that’s certain.” He continued to sip slowly, watching me craft my latte. “Have you had that machine the whole time I’ve been here? I haven’t seen you use it.” He considered. “Or heard you use it.” 

Chagrined, I nodded. The machine was a bit loud. “Mm-hm. But I try not to pull it out when I don’t need to.” I took a sip of my now complete drink. The concoction was heaven on my tongue, and I had a hard time not moaning as I swallowed and sipped again. “I developed an unhealthy obsession some time ago.”

Arthur’s own portion was disappearing quickly. “I didn’t understand your love of tea or…” He grimaced. “...The whiskey. I do appreciate this though.” 

So he was a coffee drinker. Not to say that a person couldn’t be both, but it seemed like most people chose one over the other. Coffee suited his personality, I decided. Bold. Strong. Excitable. An acquired taste. I would have to make him a cup of regular French press and see how he liked it. 

Maybe it was the caffeine, or more likely the psychological effects of my addiction taking hold again, but I felt my energy spike as I finished my cup. Mood lifted, I moved to the fridge and went about making breakfast. I couldn’t very well say I was actively hungry, but the thought of food didn’t make me recoil as much as it had yesterday. I should eat something real while I could stomach it. 

When the food had been eaten and several more shots of espresso drunk, Arthur and I retired to the library again, each of us taking our respective seats from the day before. I had new motivation; I didn’t want to waste my clear mind. For an hour or so, I didn’t. The jolt of caffeine persuaded the synapses in my brain to keep going, keep firing. I scrawled notes on paper, flipped ancient pages, and dug as far as I could on the internet, all the while trying to balance the equation that would let me block the presence. 

My progress was mediocre at best. The issue was that there wasn’t a single perfect answer. There was no magical solution that would be simple. I would have to weave spells and learn their intricacies, practice the incantations, use trial and error to find the best combinations. It would all take time. And I didn’t have that luxury. On and off during the day, my phone buzzed insistently, drawing me out of my state of flow. Each time Arthur looked to me questioningly, but I let it vibrate. I knew who it was; there was no point in looking. Ordinarily, I’d pick up the phone, check in, have a chat about the goings on at work or with my garden or horses. But not today. Today, the conversation would be different, and I didn’t have the time or the strength to participate. On the sixth call, I pressed “decline” before it could buzz any more.

I saw the sideways glance from Arthur and turned, expectantly. He turned back to his book. “It could be important,” he said to the pages. 

“Not as important as this.” When he gave up and returned to reading, rubbing his eyes tiredly, I offered to make more lattes and returned to the kitchen. We drank at least 20 shots of espresso between us that day, but somehow the problem still hadn’t been solved. My large bag of beans was running on empty, and I was still struggling to connect A to B and 9 to 10. Right now, the solution was mismatched and shaky, no better than what I had tried to craft on the spot in my dream. It may hold for a few minutes, maybe a bit longer, but it was juvenile. Weak. And I didn’t know how to fix it.

DAY THREE

Unfortunately, the first thing I remembered doing the next morning was biting Arthur’s head off. He held a withered grimoire under my nose, pointing fervently at a passage about dreamwalking. 

“Look how similar this is. It describes someone being in your dreams that doesn’t belong and gives instructions on how to ban them from eavesdropping. Is that not what we’ve been trying to do for these last two days and nights?” 

He was frustrated, as was I. I couldn’t fault him for finding the surface similarities between dreamwalking and dream intrusion. Magically, though, they were continents apart. All I could seem to think about in that moment was how utterly wrong he was and how much time he was wasting. I knew Arthur was by no means stupid, but his ignorance of my world was more than I could take in that moment. “It’s wrong. Keep looking,” I snapped before returning to my work. 

If I had looked up at him just then, I’m sure I would have seen disbelief plastered on his face. His tone certainly reflected it. He waited a beat, then said, “You’re so sure.”

I didn’t wait. “Yes.”

“How.”

Irritated, I asked, “What do you mean, ‘how’?”

“Tell me how you know it’s wrong. It looks right to me.”

I hit the point of no return. “It’s wrong because only an ignorant dimwit would think that dreamwalking is in any way similar to what’s been happening to me. It’s wrong because I have over fifteen hundred years of direct magical experience whereas you have no more than a child who’s overheard an adult conversation. It’s wrong because even I can’t seem to find a counterspell after two full days of looking for one. It’s just wrong!” Anger and exasperation coursed through me, so much that my pages blurred in front of me and I felt the thudding of my heart in my ears. How could he be so stupid? Why didn’t he trust that I know better than he did? What reason had I given him to question my expertise? 

I fumed over these questions as Arthur stood next to me, dumbstruck. When at last I lifted my eyes to his, my anger disintegrated, falling to ash around me. He stared at nothing, face downcast. He was not angry back at me, as I had expected. Just… resigned. I had hurt him. Out of all the jabs we had made at each other over time, we had always known the other understood our intentions. We had jeered and joked at the other’s expense, made bets, picked at one another good-naturedly. This was different. I couldn’t remember a time when I had opened my mouth and deliberately spewed words that were meant to degrade, defeat. But that’s what this had been. Exhausted or not, I had said those things intentionally. I couldn’t unsay them. 

I was instantly sorry. Though guilt settled on me, I somehow couldn’t find the words to express it. Adrenaline lingered from my outburst, heart pounding as I sat there. I had to move elsewhere, get myself under control away from Arthur’s presence beside me. “I need more coffee,” I mumbled, standing abruptly. I watched his large form move aside sedately to let me pass. Six shuffling steps and I was in the doorframe. I paused. “Arthur,” I began, wanting to let him know I hadn’t meant it the way it had come out. He turned but didn’t say anything, waiting. I opened my mouth to continue, but was distracted by my thudding heart. When I tried again to focus, to keep talking, a wave of nausea passed through me. Oh God, I knew what was coming. I had moved too quickly. Sure enough, in the next moment the world was grey. The room slid sideways as I fell, then I only saw black. 

* * *

I must have awoken only moments later, but to me it felt much longer. There I was, staring at the legs of the armchair closest to me. Arthur was over me, hand on my shoulder, jostling me gently. He was speaking, too, but I couldn’t make out the words. A high pitched chime sounded in my head, and it blocked out all other noise. Blearily, I rolled my eyes up to his face. It came into focus, pinched and troubled. I really needed to give him a break from worry. With questionable clarity, I forced out a lethargic, “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry for fainting?”

My tongue was so heavy as I spoke, I wasn’t confident I would be understood. “For being mean.”

Arthur’s face relaxed a fraction as he sat back on his heels. He sighed. “I appreciate that. But no matter how you said it, you weren’t wrong. All of this is over my head.” He watched me for a minute, letting me come back to my senses. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone better suited to helping you than me? Someone else you trust?” 

Clumsily, I moved to rub my face. “No one who I can bring into all this without putting them in serious danger.” 

“That’s not what I asked.”

I paused, focusing on him. “You want me to risk someone else.”

“If it’s going to save your sanity, yes. Absolutely.” Not even a hint of hesitation. “It’s been days without you so much as napping. How long do you plan on continuing?”

“As long as it takes.” I didn’t hesitate either. “The longest recorded sleep deprivation lasted over eleven days. I think I can go a few more without any trouble.” I didn’t mention that even one day more would likely come with hallucinations and memory slips. Better not to bring it up until absolutely necessary. “If I can just find the right texts, I can solidify my framework and protect both of us, conscious or not.” Shifting so my hands were against the floor, I tried to heave myself up to a sitting position. Arthur made sure I didn’t crack my skull against the doorframe, easing me into a stable posture. My head spun a bit, but the sensation faded quickly. 

“Look, if there’s someone you think could help with all this, you need to at least ask. Maybe your body can survive longer without sleep, but your mind is already disappearing.” Arthur ignored my objection, continuing, “You think I haven’t seen you reading the same pages over and over as if you can’t grasp the meaning? Or circling your pen in the same spot while your eyes follow the same line on your computer for minutes at a time?” He shook his head and said slowly, “Are you sure there isn’t someone who can help?”

I let myself slump into the doorframe, relinquishing a bit of my stubbornness. “Arthur,” I began. How did I answer him? Yes, I did know a couple of people who likely possessed the skill to help. Having been around for so long, it would have been nearly impossible to avoid other magic-wielders with the energy they gave off. But I didn’t trust those people; I didn’t know them well enough to put my and Arthur’s lives in their hands. Not nearly well enough. But then… my mind settled on the name I’d been avoiding. The name I’d seen light up my phone screen time after time in the past two days. The name I’d guarded with such ferocity since I’d learned it twelve years ago. The name I would withstand every torture I’d ever felt to keep hidden. That person might be the only one who possessed both the skill and trustworthiness to help. But I couldn’t ask for help. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. Should I? Fear twisted my gut at the thought of reaching out, but a remote corner of my brain reminded me that it may become unavoidable. As much as I couldn’t fathom pulling someone else into this, I couldn’t risk Arthur. Never. I sat for several moments, debating back and forth while my companion waited.

When I remained silent, Arthur sighed. “I’m not going to let this go, but for now let’s just get you some food and water. You haven’t had anything but your lattes since yesterday afternoon.” He knelt and offered a hand, which I accepted. Slowly we rose, me easing myself to my desk, him making sure I was seated before disappearing down the hall.  

I laid my head in my hands and took several steadying breaths. My heart was racing from the mild exertion of movement, my pulse a thrum in my ears. Weak from the constant struggle of the last few days, I allowed myself a few quick moments of rest. Fighting my better judgment, I closed my eyes. Instant relief flooded me, my body relaxing into blissful numbness. The sounds of Arthur moving about the kitchen faded, as well as the soft noises of the garden outside. Everything silenced so that all I knew was the rise and fall of my own chest and the contentment of my light doze. Perhaps the presence only hunted at night, or perhaps it assumed I wouldn’t sleep in the light of day, but either way, my mind remained my own while I rested. Time slipped past. I floated where I sat, unaware of how long I slept or how uncomfortable the position must have been for my body. I didn’t care. 

In the distance in my blank dreamscape, I felt a vibration. It ran through my elbows and up my hands. It stopped, then started again. Stopped. Odd… The pattern ended, and I focused again on the blankness in my head. So nice, just to be here, safe. How long could this last? Not nearly long enough to catch up on my lost sleep. Soon, the safety would end. I tried to prolong my impromptu nap, but even in my dream-like state, I felt my chest tug with anxiety. Like when you hear a strange noise at night or when you need the bathroom, I quickly became more aware of my body, my surroundings. Once again, I was sitting awkwardly in my desk chair, hands supporting my heavy head. 

When the last hope of sleep had drained from me, I forced my head to rise and my eyes to open. The library came into focus, books strewn and stacks of papers scattered over the wide desktop. My computer screen had gone black, I realized. I ran a finger over the trackpad and tapped the spacebar. Dead. Reaching beside the desk, I plucked the power cord from where it had fallen. When I settled again in my seat, Arthur was there. He must have stepped out to get water, because he was returning to his own seat, full glass in hand. He also held my phone, which he placed on the table next to me. Strange. He had his own phone; maybe he had misplaced it. I meant to ask, but my face split suddenly in an enormous yawn. My eyes squeezed shut, a hushed roar filling my ears. 

“I was hoping you’d sleep longer, but I suppose twenty minutes is better than nothing.” Arthur sat and watched me, drinking his water and flipping back to his place in the book before him. 

I straightened in my chair and stretched, trying to push the last bits of grogginess from me. “It shouldn’t have happened at all. I slipped.”

There was no immediate response, then a quiet, “Did it help at all?”

“Yes.” It was the truth. I’d had no real rest, but the break had allowed me to fully relax for the first time in days. It gave my mind a much-needed vacation, though short. “I feel a bit better than before. Only a bit, but… it helps.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” 

The food and drink Arthur had brought during my nap was lukewarm now, but I ate and drank in hopes that it would give me energy. He didn’t mention the phone, and I soon forgot to ask about it as we took up our research once more. It wasn’t until that afternoon when a text flashed across my screen that I remembered he’d had it at all. I broke out of my fog to pick up the device and read the message before setting the phone down with a thud. 

The sound startled Arthur, who jumped in his seat and looked at me. “What’s wrong?” 

“Did someone call earlier?” I asked dully. I knew they must have, but I tried not to sound overly accusatory.

Arthur hesitated. “When you were asleep, yes.” I waited, giving him a chance to elaborate. He did. “I answered so it wouldn’t wake you up. It was loud against the wood…” He eyed the phone still lit with the recent message. “I said nothing, Merlin. I answered, but I turned it off after only a second.” 

I was so spent. I wanted to blame him for the text I’d received, but I knew I would have gotten this message whether Arthur had answered the call or not. I sat back from my desk, slouching and rubbing my face. “The person who has been calling is… worried… that I haven’t answered. When you picked up and then immediately cut off the call, I think that was his limit.” Standing on shaky legs, I picked up the book I was done with and made my way to its shelf. When I’d found my next victim, I plunked it down on the desk and returned to my seat. “You did nothing wrong, Arthur. I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark like that. I just… wanted to protect him. It didn’t work like I had hoped.” Maybe it never could have.

Beside me, Arthur too closed his book and moved to a new one. “Are you going to tell me who he is?” He spoke with feigned disinterest, not wanting to pressure me into giving an answer.

I did anyway. “His name is Rhys.” Arthur continued working, but glanced up to show he was listening. “He’s a young sorcerer, very gifted. I’ve been training him for twelve years.”

“Do you think he can help?” He didn’t let his voice betray him, but I knew he was hopeful.

“You can ask him yourself,” I said. Before Arthur could ask the question, I added, “He’ll be here in less than an hour.”

Chapter Text

It was pointless to dissuade Rhys; I knew that. So rather than waste my time and any shred of energy I had left, I sent him a list of items to pick up on the way. We’d burned through many of the resources I’d had on hand days ago. Now we were living on rice, potatoes, canned goods, and whatever meat was left in the freezer. Arthur was quiet as my thumbs flew over my phone screen. At last I looked up to find him watching me. “Hm?”

“Are you talking to him?”

“Mm, I’m giving him a list of things to bring with him. We’re getting low on food.” I paused, thinking. “And toilet paper…” I sent another quick text message. Soon the phone was back on the table, my smarting eyes returning to my work. “If he insists on endangering himself against my advice, the least he can do is bring my shopping.”

“Whatever you say, Merlin. I’m just ready for some qualified help.” Arthur shook his head and went back to reading. He seemed more at ease than earlier. The lines of his bent posture weren’t stiff with tension anymore, his face no longer pulled into a wan scowl as he concentrated. For the first time in days, I saw my own exhaustion reflected in him. Now that he had relaxed, it was clear that he had been pushing himself almost as hard as I. How I hadn’t noticed before this point was beyond me. Selfishness, apparently, is a symptom of immortality. 

Soon, I told myself. Soon, Rhys would arrive and, amongst a barrage of questions and sarcastic comments, fill in the missing pieces of my spell. We’d sleep safely under its protection, and then we could work to identify our new adversary, well-rested. Good plan; maybe it would happen. Or maybe Rhys would be clueless and lose all motivation to help us. Maybe he’d take issue with Arthur. Oh god, how would I introduce Arthur? I glanced over at the man working beside me. Aaron. Definitely as Aaron, an old friend. I was a mysterious enough figure to get away with that level of ambiguity. Though I was sure Rhys would challenge my claims. 

I sighed, already tired from the impending introductions. “Arthur,” I began. When he showed he was listening, I said, “I think for now, you should be Aaron.” 

“Aaron,” he repeated, not understanding.

“Instead of Arthur. At least in the beginning.”

Realization dawned. “Oh. Alright, then. But-” He stopped himself. Shook his head.

“But what?”

Arthur frowned. “You trust this man?”

“I do.” Almost completely, though I doubted Rhys knew it. 

“So why lie?”

Good question. Paranoia was the answer. “It’s good practice for you, for one thing. Though the more important reason is that to Rhys, I’m not Merlin. I’m Morgan.” I waited for another bout of realization, but none came. I elaborated instead. “Rhys believes that I’m a thirty-something-year-old doctor, Morgan Emerson, who’s well-trained in magic and just happens to live alone because I haven’t found a partner yet. When we met, I barely looked twenty. He thinks we’ve grown up together.” My lip quirked. “Actually, you met me around a very similar age.” 

“My condolences to Rhys,” Arthur quipped. Then he sombered. “I understand, though if you really trust him, I suggest you stop lying to him.” He offered a half-smile. “If you think he’ll tolerate the truth, it would be better for everyone if he knew.”

Point taken. I gave a shallow nod, eyes on my papers. “For now, let’s continue to call me Morgan. You be Aaron, and I promise that when the timing is right, I’ll tell him who we really are.” I cocked my head, considering. “Well, in some capacity. I doubt he needs to know every detail. Sound fair?”

Arthur conceded, shaking his head a bit. “Fair enough for now, yes.” We left it at that, our haggard minds returning to the work before us. 

* * *

It had been well over an hour when I felt an uncomfortable tugging on my awareness. Alarmed, I started, thinking that surely I had drifted off where I sat, and the presence was back for more. But no, I was awake, books spread around me as they had been for days. Arthur was eyeing me, having seen me move in his peripheral vision. I concentrated for a moment, pulling back on the slight but insistent tug, and was suddenly drenched in a wave of exasperation. Then came impatience. Ah, yes. The tug did not signal some malevolent force, merely someone trying to wade through my protective enchantments. It appeared that Rhys had arrived. I couldn’t completely stifle my reluctant grin at his temperament. No patience, that one. Closing my eyes, I lifted most of the layers of magic encircling the property so he could drive up to the house. 

“You alright?” 

I raised my lids. “Just letting Rhys onto the drive.” With that, I pushed out of my chair carefully, so as not to upset my delicate sense of balance. Regardless, my head swarmed with a dizzy fog as I forced my body to walk. Behind me, I sensed Arthur. Whether concerned about me keeling over or curious about our guest, I wasn’t sure. Didn’t matter; I very well might keel over. On the other side of the front door, someone was tramping in the snow, their muttered expletives rising and falling in pitch. The blunt words were punctuated with what sounded like crinkling plastic bags. So he had picked up the shopping after all. Grasping the handle, I opened the door and saw my guest. 

* * *

I’d known Rhys for half his life, had watched him grow into a capable man, well-versed in magic and hard-working in all endeavors. Yet somehow, despite his intelligence and skill, I could never quite see him as anyone but the spindly adolescent who had crash-landed into my life. I had been about twenty, had just magically unwound my aging clock for what seemed like the thousandth time. After lying low for a while, updating my identification, and tweaking my persona to match the current expectations, I had taken a position in the local hospital as an administrative assistant. Though I could have easily worked as a doctor, I looked too young, and I needed more time to acquire the appropriate paperwork to practice medicine as my new self. In my spare time, I brushed up on current research and developments in the medical field so that I would be ready when I “graduated” from medical school in a few years. 

To those I worked with, I was Morgan Emerson V, grandson of my former self. My father had died in a tragic windmill accident when I was very young, God rest his soul. I’d grown up with my mother – from whom I was now estranged – in Wales, and had set out on my own to find my father’s family as soon as I was able. I had been staying with my grandfather when he’d passed. Oh, how I wish I’d had more time to really get to know him. Wonderful man, him, and I found it difficult to answer any questions about him without getting too emotional. Thankfully, most of my coworkers were respectful of this. The women fussed over me; they made sure I was looking after myself and offered to bring me meals when they made too much food at home. Men offered a clap on the shoulder, an invitation to grab a pint after work, or simply nodded stoically and helped the conversation move to other topics. 

One particularly slow afternoon, I was manning the admissions desk, reading an article about a new laparoscopic technique for aortic surgeries. I was engrossed, automatically tuning out any distractions, as I often did when studying. As if someone had zapped me with a cattle prod, a shock went through me. I jumped. Straightened. Tore my eyes from the computer screen. What the actual bloody hell was that? I looked around the hospital lobby. No one else seemed to have noticed a change in atmosphere. There were people milling around, talking on phones, one elderly man was swearing quietly at the coffee machine in the corner, but no one was bothered. I realized then that it must be a me problem and sighed internally. Magic. Magic was the only reasonable cause. 

Turning to a coworker, I excused myself, offering a rushed explanation of forgotten university work I’d left in the lounge. Once out of sight of the admissions desk, I ducked into the nearest bathroom and locked myself in a toilet stall. I closed my eyes. Water rushed from a tap, a stall door creaked, people shuffled past out in the hallway, meanwhile the scent of disinfectant and urinal cakes swarmed the claustrophobic stall. Slowly, I began shutting out the unwanted stimuli around me. I focused on the electric jolt I had felt, sought its source. Interestingly, I didn’t sense any ill-intent behind the power. More… confusion? Frustration? Fear, even? When I was satisfied that I would learn nothing more, I exited the bathroom and began meandering through the halls. 

Fifteen minutes later, I had tracked the magic to the urgent care clinic housed near the hospital’s south entrance. I scanned the faces in the waiting room, tried to feel the energy of each person. Nothing. Not even a remnant. The source had to be in an exam room, then. I had worked in the clinic a handful of times when they had been short-staffed, so my presence shouldn’t be overly suspect. Even so, I pulled my phone from my pocket and flipped it open, pressing it to my ear. “No, not yet, but I think I may have left it in the clinic. I’m checking now.” I offered the nurses on duty a sheepish smile as I ducked behind the reception desk and shuffled through a stack of folders. “I don’t see it. Do you think it could be in the back?” I eyed one of the nurses as I asked the question. Holding the phone to my chest, I addressed her. “You haven’t seen a stack of research on amnesia, have you?” It was the first thing I’d thought of. She shook her head no, clearly too busy to care much about my bumbling. Good. I returned to my one-sided phone call. “I’m going to check the back. I remember setting it on a table somewhere.” With that, I disappeared into the bowels of the clinic.

It was almost too easy to pinpoint the source of the magic once I was near the back rooms. The door I sought was the third to my right, an unassuming room if not for the vestiges of pure magic emanating from inside. I paused outside the door, listening for a few moments to determine if it was decent to enter. I could always feign confusion, pretend I had the wrong room. When I heard nothing but quiet shuffling, I swung the door inward. 

I’m sure it was clear from my expression that I was surprised by what I saw, or rather who I saw, waiting inside. Thankfully, there were no other people in the room; the doctor hadn’t arrived yet. Alone on the papered exam table sat a boy, legs dangling above the floor. His head popped up as I entered. Not a boy, I decided, but rather a teenager. Just barely, though. His hunched frame hid a good deal of height, though he was clearly scrawny. Under a mop of dark hair, green eyes pierced me from his pale face. I could see that he had been in some kind of fight; his shirt was dirty and mussed as if someone had yanked it, and there was dried blood on his swollen top lip. One arm was streaked with dirt and blood, the fist on the same side clearly battered. It had gotten some use, then.

I sat on a stool across the room, trying to look like I was supposed to be there. “I’m Morgan.”

“That’s nice.” 

I resisted the urge to grin, instead asking, “What happened? You look like you’ve had a rough day.”

He shrugged. “Fell off my pet zebra. They’re rubbish at doing jumps.”

He hadn’t missed a beat. “As much as I appreciate your sarcasm, and I do, believe me, something’s telling me there’s a bit more to it than that.” I waited, but he didn’t bite. “I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.” I studied his expressionless face. “What’s your name?”

“Shouldn’t you already know that?”

“If I was your doctor, yes. But I’m not.”

That piqued his interest. “Nurse?”

“Nope.”

“Orderly?”

I shook my head. “Not so many of those in the clinic.”

He lifted his head a bit. “Are you here to kidnap me?”

“I think I’d be doing a pretty bad job of it if I were.”

“Agreed.”

We sat in silence for a few moments as he dutifully ignored my gaze. Finally I filled the quiet. “You don’t have to talk to me. I’m obviously a stranger-“

“Insightful.”

I ignored that. “But I think it might be a good idea for you to tell me what happened today.”

At last he looked at me again. “And why is that?”

“Because I can explain it.” 

Immediately his brows lowered, a stormy mask settling on his face. He looked at me sharply. Before he could utter a word, though, footsteps stopped on the other side of the door. Two people chatted quietly about something, likely the boy in the room with me. I heard the doorknob rattle, then stop as one of the voices, a woman, asked a question. Watching the door, I asked, “They’re here for you, yeah?” I kept an eye on him, meanwhile locating a pen on the cluttered countertop beside me. 

He nodded, then demanded, “What do you mean you can explain it? Explain what?”

He wanted to make sure I wasn’t tricking him into admitting anything. “What you can’t.” 

Frown deepening, he muttered, “It was just a fight. Nothing major.”

“Maybe I’m wrong; maybe it wasn’t anything weird or strange.” I kept my tone calm, conversational. I was taking a risk. There was a chance that he hadn’t even noticed the magic or already knew what it was. His parents could be sorcerers, though it was highly unlikely in this day and age. Real magic was so rare… Unable to locate a notepad, my eyes fell on a gauze dispenser. I tugged out one of the paper packages. “But I’m pretty good at sensing things. Do you know what I think?” No movement or response. “I think you did something today. Something unexplainable. You felt a strong emotion, and something happened that was out of your control.” He was looking away, toward the door. Reluctantly, he met my eyes, his expression guarded. I took a moment to scrawl with the pen on the package of gauze. 

As I finished the note, I heard a click and looked toward the door. The knob was turning. We were out of time. I handed the boy my crude message, meeting his eyes as I did so. A slight nod on my part, then I returned to my seat. As the door opened, my demeanor changed. I quickly crouched and began rummaging around in the storage cupboards near my feet. 

“I’m sorry, can I help you?” 

The voice was polite but irritated. I turned, holding a random array of supplies in both hands. “I’m so sorry, I was sent to look for—” I looked up at the elderly doctor who had spoken and the clearly angry woman beside him. “Well, I’m not finding it either way. I work upstairs, so sorry to bother you.” I scrambled to my feet, shoving things back where they had come from and slamming the cupboards noisily. 

“Who told you to look in here, young man? There’s been a patient here for several minutes.” I began to answer but was cut off. Clearly annoyed, the doctor held the door open. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t your decision. But use your judgment next time, hey?” 

Meekly, I nodded and left the room, doing my best to look embarrassed. The woman’s lips were pursed as she stepped aside so I could pass. As the door swung closed behind me, I walked a few paces away, but doubled back when it had shut. I opened my phone again in case anyone walked past but listened intently to the conversation in the room I had vacated. The woman was not the boy’s mother, as I had assumed, but a representative from his school. His parents, it seemed, couldn’t be reached. From the bits I was able to gather, there had been an initial fight – likely this had done the damage I’d seen – and then the boy, Rhys they called him, had gotten into it again with his classmate before they had been put in separate exam rooms. That second argument must have been the source of the power I’d felt. Apparently, the other boy was much worse. Sounds about right, I thought. 

Two nurses approached, and I closed my phone and hurried back the way I’d come. I had enough for now, and the boy had my contact information. I hoped he’d kept the gauze. If not, I was sure I’d see him again. Magic had a way of drawing like people together, especially those who didn’t know they were being drawn. 

* * *

Rhys was struggling; that much was obvious. Clearly he had employed the one-trip-only approach and had bags slung down both arms and grasped awkwardly in his hands. This was despite the fact that his wool peacoat and insulated gloves prevented him from having full range of movement, so he appeared to be in a never-ending war with the slippery plastic. Bags slid down his arms and hung at his wrists when he stooped to pick up his car keys which had fallen on the doorstep. At last he straightened, and we faced each other. He spent a moment appraising me before announcing, “Wow. You look like absolute shit. Long day?” Behind me, I heard Arthur shuffle to peer around my shoulder. Rhys moved to study my companion instead. “Or long weekend?”

Was it the weekend? I’d lost track. “It is possible to make multiple trips when carrying bags.”

“Waste of time.”

I eyed his miserable state. “Waste of effort.” He dropped his keys again. The corner of my mouth twitched. 

“Oh, shut it.” He barreled past me and Arthur into the entryway. Toeing off his boots, Rhys shoved them harshly into place by the doormat before trudging into the kitchen with his load. 

Arthur stared after him. “Is he always so… brash?”

Stooping at the threshold, I grabbed the abandoned keys from the snow and shook them off. “I think you mean ‘brusque.’” 

“I mean ‘rude.’”

Rhys, apparently still within earshot, called from the kitchen, “Not always. Sometimes I’m petty instead.”

I rolled my eyes and stood, swinging the door shut and hanging the wet keys on a nearby coat hook. “I won’t argue with that.” My pulse hammered behind my eyes with every movement. I swear… if I passed out again, I’d never hear the end of it. Focusing on my steps, I led Arthur in the direction of the kitchen where Rhys was slamming my fridge and cupboards with abandon. I leaned against the doorway, watching as he worked. 

Despite his obvious annoyance at being asked to run errands, my new houseguest finished putting everything away with surprising speed and accuracy. I didn’t know whether the house had helped him put things in the right places, or he had simply been in my kitchen more often than I’d realized. Arthur was hovering beside me when Rhys turned around. I waited for another sarcastic and/or inappropriate comment about my companion, but instead Rhys said, “Alright, your turn.”

I blinked at him for a moment. “My turn.”

He began pulling off his gloves, unbuttoning his coat. “I’ve been trying to text you for days now about nothing in particular.” The coat was off. It was flung across the table as he moved on to the knotted scarf. “I called your office and was told you were taking a brief sabbatical. I thought ‘Oh, he’s probably fine. Probably just off discovering some novel use of a toad’s left eyeball.’” Here he paused to gather his winter layers and bring them back down the hall to the coat hooks. Both myself and Arthur turned and watched him. “But you still didn’t answer any message I sent. I used email, voicemail, actual mail – that one’s still on its way – and nothing. When I tried to contact you through your coworkers, they had the same luck as I did.” Rhys reentered the kitchen. Arthur and I pivoted again. “Namely, none. I tried to think of other people who may know you more personally, and the list was scarily short, as in nobody. You need to get out more.” Now he sat, crossing his arms. “So I had to pester you until you answered. And then you did, but you demanded groceries. So I got them, And now I’m here, and it’s your turn.” 

My turn, indeed. I moved carefully from the kitchen entry to an empty seat at the table across from Rhys. My hand was shaky as it pulled out the chair. “I’m sorry I didn’t pay much attention to my phone. I was…” I looked at Arthur, the events of the last couple of weeks playing in my mind. “Distracted.” 

Rhys rolled his eyes. “So more than just a long weekend, then.”

I sighed. “Rhys, I’d like you to meet my friend Aaron.” I put emphasis on the word “friend.” “He’s new to the area and needed somewhere to stay.”

“Good reason to abandon your life.”

To my surprise, Arthur was the one to jump in. “I’ve had some… difficulties lately. Morgan has been helping me… adjust.” 

I hoped Rhys wouldn’t notice how Arthur had said my name. He’d sounded thoughtful, like he wasn’t sure if he liked how the word felt in his mouth. Rhys must not have noticed, because he answered with, “Okay, so he was helping you. Fine. He likes to help people, I know. But why has it been so long, and why does he look like that ?” 

“Like what?” I was only vaguely insulted. I knew I must have looked rough.

“Like you just got back from a month in an internment camp.”

At that, Arthur looked to me for explanation. I just shook my head. I would explain later, preferably when Rhys wasn’t looking between us like we were hiding things from him. In fairness, we were. He didn’t know the half of it. “Listen,” I began. “I had you come here 

because-”

“You were out of eggs?”

“Because I’m out of ideas. Out of options.” I paused to let him know to please shut it and let me talk. I didn’t have the energy for a verbal scrimmage. “There’s something going on that I need to tell you about, but I need you to promise not to speak or give an opinion until I’ve explained everything. Deal?”

He had the same stormy look on his face as he had in that clinic so many years ago. He nodded, silent for once.

I continued. “Aaron came here, but I think something followed him. Something with power. He doesn’t have magic, but whatever wants him does.” I took a deep breath. “It’s been attacking me to get to him.” Rhys’ brows furrowed, anger flicking to life behind his eyes. To his credit, he kept quiet, waiting for me to continue. “It’s tried to get to me twice so far, both times through dreams. It-” I readjusted a bit, sitting up. I could have sworn I was getting winded just from speaking. “It cut me a few weeks ago; sliced my chest. I recovered though, and nothing bothered me until the other night. The second time, it was a mental attack. I think it got stronger while I was healing from the first dream.”

To my surprise, Arthur cut in. Maybe he’d heard me running out of breath for no reason. “This attack was much worse, and he had terrible headaches for a day afterward. Since then, he’s been trying to find a spell to block the dreams.” His gaze, which had been mostly downcast, lifted to Rhys. “He won’t sleep until he finds a way to keep this thing out of his head. Today is day three.”

For several moments, the table was quiet. Arthur had drawn back in his seat and folded his hands on the tabletop. I was watching Rhys, waiting to see what he would say. Rhys, in turn, was staring disbelievingly back at me. I realized after several seconds that he wasn’t going to speak unless given permission, unsure if that was the whole of it. My voice came out gravelly as I said, “Thoughts?”

He remained silent longer than I thought he would. He too leaned back, uncrossing his arms. The disbelief had yet to leave his face; in fact, it seemed to be morphing into something more accusatory. To my surprise, his gaze moved to my side, where Arthur sat quietly. There was blame on Rhys’ face now, blatant fury, and even a hint of disgust. When he finally spoke, I wasn’t ready for the words he chose. 

He spoke softly, but the words had strength. “How dare you bring this to him.”

Arthur tensed beside me, my own body still as death. I spoke before Arthur had a chance. “What on earth do you mean?”

Still, Rhys didn’t look at me. His eyes stared holes into Arthur. “I understand Morgan would help anyone however he could, but that doesn’t give you license to carry darkness and danger into his home. If you had some maleficent stalker, it was your responsibility to deal with it, not drop it on your friend’s doorstep.” 

I spent several seconds in pure shock before I opened my mouth to defend Arthur, but Rhys shot me a look and continued. 

“I’m not sure how well you know Morgan, but I can assure you he has enough of his own demons and doesn’t need to be battling yours. Seeing as it’s been so long, and Morgan looks like that, I assume you’ve told me all this because you need help.” Bit rude. Then again, Rhys had never been one to sugarcoat anything. Tact was not his area of expertise. I thought he was done, but he added, “You should have asked sooner, before it got to this point. Obviously I’ll help if I can, but just know that it’s for Morgan, not for you.” Rhys crossed his arms again. “And you,” he shot at me, “one of the first things you taught me was to recognize when I needed help, when I was in over my head. I didn’t realize you sucked quite this badly at taking your own advice.” 

I wasn’t going to pretend that Rhys was wrong, in any capacity. Yes, I had a slew of inner demons always eager to win a fight against me. Yes, I spent more of my time either depressed, anxious, or both than I did happy or content. And yes, Rhys knew all about it. It was nearly impossible to hide mental illness from someone who has grown up with you – well, in his eyes – and experienced your magic with you. In being my pupil, Rhys learned more about my essential self than I had ever cared to share out loud with anyone. In that way, I was almost certain he knew me better than Arthur ever could. I knew I should have called him sooner, but my reasons for leaving him out of it still seemed relevant. Still, I didn’t disagree with Rhys’ arguments. When at last I opened my mouth to respond, I found I was too late. As I drew breath to begin my defense of the man sitting beside me, he surprised me by speaking first. 

“Rhys, while you have never met me before, I can assure you that I have known Morgan for some time.” Arthur’s tone was that of a politician, a neutral party to some disagreement. A king, I realized belatedly. “We were very close in the past, but I was forced to leave for a while. I only just got back a few weeks ago. Morgan found me, quite unexpectedly, and immediately brought me to his home.” He paused, taking a moment to meet Rhys’ gaze. “Please understand that I had no way of knowing there was something trying to get to me. Had I known it was there, that it had this kind of power, I would never have brought it into this place. That being said, I have no way of fighting it or even recognizing its existence. In order to get rid of it, we need to find a way to block it. I don’t know what needs to happen after that, but for now, that’s my goal.” Now he turned and glanced at me, eyeing my face before continuing. “It was his decision not to ask for help. I’ve tried to respect it, but I agree it’s gone too far. He’s a mess. He needs sleep, and to get that, he needs help. We both do.” Arthur stared steadily across the table. “I get it. I want to protect him too. Before I knew he used magic, I thought that was my job.” His mouth twitched at the corner. “Turns out it was always the other way around.” 

Down a deep well of memory, I saw Arthur with a sword on horseback, leading the way into whatever danger he’d decided to visit that week. I’d always been with him, right there on my own horse, supposedly defenseless. True, I’d been his servant. But he never seemed to take any other servants with us on our expeditions. Whether fate or friendship, he’d made sure I went. “Not always,” I added quietly. Because regardless of all my sneaky magic tricks, Arthur had used strength and steel to keep me alive more times than I could count. 

The three of us sat for several breaths, all weighing what the others had said. They were the two most important people in the world to me, and at last we were all together. I couldn’t say I had pictured it often, but I desperately needed it to work now. They were, in some ways, very similar, but drastically different in so many more. 

Rhys was the first one to break the silence. I had expected another point of contention, but he seemed to have accepted what Arthur said. “That explains the espresso beans.” He glanced over to the counter where two bulging metallic bags sat. “Is that how you’ve been getting on, then?” 

This was directed at me, and I lifted my head to look at him. I was losing focus a bit, and I strained to see his face clearly. I blinked, rubbed my eyes. “Sorry, yeah. Eyes are a bit dry..” I, too, looked at the fresh espresso beans. “I think I’m going to make a latte before we get started.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what you need,” Rhys deadpanned. “More legal speed.” 

Arthur missed the reference, but rose from the table and began gathering ingredients. “I’ve seen you make a hundred lattes in the last couple of days. I’ll do it; you familiarize Rhys with your research.” 

I wanted to argue, but Arthur was already turning on the machine and measuring beans. I supposed he had seen me craft enough drinks to make an adequate copy. With measured movements, I, too, prepared to stand, planting my feet firmly and grabbing the edge of the table. 

Rhys watched me disapprovingly. “You know thirty-four-year-olds aren’t supposed to move like that.” 

I ignored the quip, but exchanged a quick glance with Arthur. If the bugger only knew how good I looked for my age… Finally on my feet, I eased myself through the doorway and began down the hall. I felt Rhys at my back as we walked. Surely he saw every shaky step I took, watched as I braced myself with a hand against the wall. He said nothing though, and soon we were in the study, and I was sinking gratefully into my chair. 

When Rhys had taken the seat beside me, I spread out my most promising pages of research, fragments and frameworks I thought could work well with the spell I sought to build. He spent a minute or two shuffling through the papers, stopping here and there to read a scrawled note more carefully, before sitting back and running a hand through his dark hair. “It’s a lot.”

“It is,” I agreed. Arthur entered then and set a steaming mug next to me. I thanked him and took a sip. My eyebrows rose. “I’ll do my best not to underestimate you ever again,” I said, a small smile playing at my mouth as I drank once more. It was nearly perfect. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he answered, sitting with us. 

I looked back at Rhys, who hadn’t seemed to notice our exchange. He was engrossed in the page he was currently reading and didn’t speak until he had set it down a minute later. He shook his head. “It’s too complicated.”

Frowning, I began, “You’ve been adept at casting protection spells since-“

“Not too complicated for me, too complicated in general. No wonder you haven’t gained any real ground these past few days.” At my blank look, he elaborated. “You truly believe that not only can you craft a flourishy, fanciful spell with your current mental capabilities, but that you can maintain it while unconscious?” 

I sighed tiredly, lowering my head to rest on my crossed arms. Both Arthur and Rhys looked at me, waiting for me to say something, to defend the work I’d compiled. But I was so tired. My brain power had dried up; I was just biding my time now. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I thought I had a clear idea when all this started, but it’s gotten completely out of hand. I don’t know what to do. I can’t think or read anymore. I’m exhausted. Anytime I move, I get dizzy. I can’t eat or drink without feeling ill. Truly, I just need help, so any suggestions you have, please share them.” With effort, I raised my eyes to my audience. Arthur was staring at me, worry etched into the lines of his pale face. Rhys though, Rhys just looked determined. 

“That settles it, then,” he said. “We’ll do this my way. No frills, no elegance, just the necessities.”

“And how might that work?” I asked, my mouth partially muffled against my arm.

“You’ve been trying to build a neat, tidy spell. All-inclusive, moldable, but strong. A spider’s web, if you will, to cover multiple people at once. But I think we can make something much simpler and just as effective, if not so widespread or attractive to look at.” 

Resigned, I waited to hear the words I suspected were coming.

“We’re going to build a huge fucking wall,” Rhys announced, satisfied. 

Part of me was impressed with myself. I had even guessed the expletive he would use.

Chapter Text

Structural integrity was the main issue, of course. Not that a huge fucking wall lacked integrity in and of itself, no. No, it could surely be strong. As strong as it needed to be for its purpose. As strong as we made it. The issue, rather, was that walls, as impenetrable as they were, had a flaw. They could withstand innumerable attacks directly, but as soon as the enemy figured out how high to fling their stones, all would be lost. Height was the issue; ceilings. My original spell had been complicated, sure, but it was a cocoon. 

Walls only had the advantage so long as there were soldiers prepared to defend them, to drive the enemy back when they got a little too close to success. And we… we barely had the man power to erect the blasted thing in the first place. Assuming we could get it constructed, we would have to keep it up, keep it strong. How was that meant to work? The whole point of my self-sustaining spell was that it would reinforce itself against attack. But this wall… no, no, no, we would need to keep thinking. Surely the enemy would find the empty space above the wall before I could prevent it. We would be asleep, defenseless while our attacker poked and prodded and found the top. It would be far too late to shift the spell by the time I was awake enough to do so. That thing would be in my head again, clawing me to bits. 

I shuddered where I sat. I couldn’t let it in. This wouldn’t work, this wall was too simple, too-

“Oi. You don’t have the brain power to be thinking so hard.” 

My foggy eyes rose from the spot on the table where they had been staring. Head still on my arms, I tilted it a bit to get a good look at Rhys. “No top,” I mumbled eloquently. 

Two sets of confused eyes settled on me. Arthur shifted in his seat. “No top,” he repeated.

Truthfully, I could sympathize. I must be making little to no sense by now. I rolled my tired gaze back to Rhys and tried again. “Your wall. It has no top.” 

The look Rhys gave me was reminiscent of a parent whose child has just explained to them that his teddy bear is stealing his socks. A bit of exasperation, a bit of pity, but mainly a lot of doneness. He rubbed his face as he said, “Neither does the Great Wall of China. Still seems to be an effective defense.”

I snorted halfheartedly. “Against everyone except for the Huns, the Mongolians, the Manchus-”

“If properly defended, this spell should have no problem-”

“-all of the Imperial Japanese Army-”

“Oh, you absolute wanker, you really have no hope for me at all, do you?” Rhys paused to make sure I remained silent before continuing. “Obviously, if we left this spell to fend for itself, it wouldn’t fare any better than an unmanned wall. It’s a good job, then, that it will have someone reinforcing it the whole time.”

I stared. He stared back. Across the desk, Arthur stared at each of us in turn. I suppose he knew not to get in the middle at that precise moment. Taking a deep breath, I began the huge undertaking of sitting up. When I had risen to an upright position, I once more addressed my snarky pupil. “What did you have in mind?”

“Teamwork,” was his reply. “One holds down the fort while the other is vulnerable.”

“So not as strong as my plan, then.” 

“Yes, your plan involved only one person. Your plan was also so complex that you couldn’t even finish it.” I tried to interject, but he cut me off. “At least for now, my idea will work much better, seeing as it’s straightforward, it involves two people, and it’s, what’s the word? Ah, yes. Complete.” Drumming his fingertips on the desk, he added, “Unless of course you’d rather take a stab at your expert-level spell on negative four days of sleep. By yourself.”

Had he always been such an impertinent bastard, or was that new? Not trusting what language might come out of my mouth, I refrained from answering. Instead, I grabbed up my notes and shoved clean paper in his direction. Retreating back to my arms-crossed position, I laid my head down once more to rest until I was needed.

*           *          *

Redrafting the spell couldn’t have taken longer than an hour, but by the time Rhys and I had stopped making edits, I felt a bit like dying. Shaky limbs, body that weighed a thousand kilos, pounding head, and stomach soured by too much espresso and not much else. On the other side of the room in the reading chair was Arthur, volumes spread around him. Rhys had put him to work finding a few random bits for the spellwork, but all three of us knew it was more courtesy than necessity. He had stopped “helping” half an hour ago and was now listening intently as Rhys fiddled with finishing touches. I was nearly useless myself, only contributing when asked. 

Finally, my protégé decided he was satisfied. He passed the finished spell wordlessly in my direction, then stretched like a cat. “It better be done,” he groaned. “I’m exhausted.” 

I refrained from throwing a stink eye his way. With as much attention as I could muster, I read over what we had come up with. I tried to find flaws, weak points, wording errors, but soon I set the paper down and leaned back. “It’s good, I think.” At my appraisal, Rhys raised his brows, surprise on his face. I added, “And if it’s not good, I can’t tell anymore.”

His expression slackened. “It is good. That I’m sure of. I just won’t be able to tell if it’s good enough for your mind rapist until we put it to the test.” With that, he rose from his chair. “So that’s our next step.” 

The desk was pushed away before I had time to register what was happening. It, along with Rhys’ chair and, once he had ushered me out of it, mine, were set along the back wall to free up enough room for maneuvering. Arthur seemed to understand what Rhys was aiming for, because he, too, tugged his former seat out of the way. Books were replaced on the shelves, papers were gathered into stacks, and suddenly we were surrounded by empty space. I backed up to the nearest bookshelf and grabbed on to avoid falling over. 

“Pick your poison.”

It was Rhys who said it, though it must have been several seconds before I registered that he was speaking to me. “You’re going to have to try that again.” I rubbed my eyes as I stifled a yawn. “What poison exactly?”

“Well, as you’re becoming more and more useless by the second, I’m not confident that you can send or receive any magical blows right now. But you’re also the only option I have unless blondie here is a secret wizard.” 

Arthur huffed, but remained silent. 

“So,” Rhys continued, “Would you rather attack me while I try to hold the wall, or do you want to do the defending?” 

Ah. Test it. Pick your poison. Finally catching up with the conversation, I considered my options. Crafting and holding the wall was an untested spell, though straightforward. Lobbing offensive magic, on the other hand, was familiar yet required more thought and creativity than I was certain I could supply at the given moment. At least if I held the wall, I would have a cheat sheet right there in front of me. Wall it was. I heaved myself off the bookcase and took the scrawled notes from Rhys. “I’ll put up the wall. You attack. But,” I met Rhys’ eyes. “If it doesn’t work-”

Rolling his eyes, Rhys backed away across the room. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve sprained the ankle on your last leg and don’t want to offend me. Don’t worry, sensei. I know it’s a good spell. Once you get some sleep, you’ll be back to magicking circles around me in no time. Now,” he lifted a finger, white fire flickering on the tip. “Shall we dance?”

I would have loved to shoot back a few sarcastic comments of my own, but they had all abandoned me. This room, this magic, were my priority. Throwing a reassuring glance at Arthur, rigid by the window, I took a deep breath and moved to the wall opposite Rhys. I snapped my eyelids shut. My human brain worried then that I would lose my balance with my eyes closed, that I would get too sleepy and succumb to exhaustion. It yelled loudly at me as I began to wake the other part of my brain. The magic part. Unlike the task of using a knowledge base to make sensible instructions on how to use magic, the act of actually tapping into the source was easy on my ragged mind. My only job was to pull the cork caging the power of the natural world, and from there, it was a deluge. My human brain quieted.

Such energy, such relief after not accessing magic these last few days. I let it fill me, felt my body relax in its presence. It lent me its strength, and I knew I was smiling. Pity I couldn’t just stay like this and enjoy the feeling. No, all too soon, I’d lose my grip on the magic, it would spool itself back the way it’d come, and I’d be left in a pile on the floor. Reluctantly, I turned my mind to the task at hand, opening my eyes and using the newfound energy to focus on the notes in my hand. I began to speak, first quietly, then louder, stronger as I saw the spell take shape. I wish everyone could see spellwork – it would be so much more gratifying for the caster. But unless you have a talent with the supernatural, and a strong one at that, magic is invisible. Arthur, I’m sure, was looking between Rhys and me, waiting for something to happen. But if he couldn’t already see the ethereal golden shield now hovering before me, there was little chance he ever would. 

It was beautiful, truly. Less of a huge wall and more of a shimmering screen. Rhys’ design was simple but sturdy, and it seemed pliable enough to be adjusted. Testing, I willed it to move, to bend one way and then the other. It obliged, yielding immediately to my intentions. 

“Say when.” Rhys held a ball of energy aloft, more of that white fire, waiting for my signal. When I gave it, the bundle of brightness flew at me. 

Instinctively, I raised my hands. The shield went with them. I broadened its width and covered myself in time to block the attack, the fire dissipating like mist in sunlight. It worked. It worked well, in fact. I experimented, now elongating my barricade and twisting it to cover more of myself. It couldn’t go all the way around, but it was more coverage than I had expected. I rode out the barrage of magic Rhys began throwing - mostly projectiles and mild curses - behind my malleable golden wall. One attempt after another failed, each disappearing almost as soon as it came near the shield. Next he threw out mental attacks similar to what I’d described to him from my dreams. These never reached me, either. Not even a whisper of someone else in my mind. Good. While I was certain my adversary had used advanced techniques, Rhys should have been able to at least roughly mimic the intrusion. 

At last, I lowered my hands and faced Rhys. “I think it works,” I said dryly. “Though…” I had one more thing I wanted to test. I slowly moved the protective screen away from my body, pushing it forward. “We need to make sure it can protect someone other than the caster. Otherwise, this was all for nothing.” Rhys put his hands down, standing still as I worked to mold the shield around his body. It was more resistant to my commands than it had been when I was protecting myself; I stepped forward with the shield to lessen the strain. Even so, a tremor shook my arm with the effort. I breathed, deep and slow, and took another step. Now my legs quaked, weakness beginning to bleed into them. The magic was ebbing. I forced another step, thrusting the shield forward until it was close enough to Rhys for adequate protection. Was it really this difficult to hold the wall for someone else, or was I just too spent to maintain it? My answer came when I tried to test its protection on my own. An energy ball formed from my trembling hands, spitting and flickering as it fought to keep its shape. A spell like that should have been an afterthought, a reflex, but it was almost more than I could manage. This was it, then. One chance before my strength left me. With all the magic I could draw in that moment, I launched the glowing orb at the shield. The ball disappeared on contact.

For a split second, I was so relieved that I could have laughed, given out back-slaps and high-fives for a job well done. It had worked, and worked so well that even in my half-conscious state, I’d been able to draw the wall up easily. As the relief washed over me, I let myself drop the shield. I let go of the magic, feeling it settle back into the earth around me. I think I was smiling as I looked at Rhys in that next moment, but he wasn’t smiling back. I switched to Arthur, thinking surely he would recognize what an achievement this was. After all, he’d been right next to me all these days. But he didn’t return my sentiment either. Instead, he walked forward, scanning me from head to toe. Puzzled, I took a step toward him, wanting to assure him that this was good news, that we should be okay for the time being. But before I could get any words out, I was interrupted by a buzzing in my ears. Odd. I tried to ignore it, but it morphed into a high keening which was accompanied by the strangest floating sensation. The bookshelves around me shifted, merging and moving on their own.

Ah. That was unfortunate. As I had predicted before we’d tested the wall, the loss of the magic must have drained me. My head began to ache, heavy and spent. Now likely came the part where I would end up in a pile on the floor. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I must look pretty bad if both of them were staring at me so attentively. If I could, I wanted to avoid the floor altogether; passing out was surprisingly unpleasant. I thought maybe I could just sit down somewhere, but my study had been rearranged, and the motion of turning to find a chair was my body’s last straw. The bookshelves swam, spinning so fast that I shut my eyes and stumbled where I stood. The floating feeling intensified, my feet no longer finding the floor beneath them, and I dropped.

I expected carpet to the face, but instead someone grabbed my waist. He was talking, whoever it was, but I couldn’t make out the words. Someone responded, and the arm supporting me tightened and hoisted me up to standing. Arthur, then. Rhys wouldn’t have been able to do more than keep me from face-planting, god bless him. We were moving now, likely to my bedroom, my head lolling to the side and my feet half dragging along the floor. Arthur had to readjust several times so I didn’t slip from his grasp; I tried anyway, useless as I was. Eventually he gave up, not making it two feet out of the study before muttering something and putting his other arm under my knees; up I went. ThIS was fabulous. Just what I wanted, Arthur carrying me bridal style to my bedroom. This was because I had mocked him all those days before, wasn’t it? If my eyes had been open, I would have rolled them.

As the gentle sway of being carried mingled with the hushed tones of my companions, the world grew distant, fuzzy. My consciousness narrowed to almost nothing. Some instinctual worry bloomed in my chest, knowing I shouldn’t let myself pass out, but it was very nearly drowned out by the heaviness of my body and soul. I was so, so tired. It would be okay, I assured myself. I could sleep now, surely. Rhys would put up the wall, and I could sleep. I wanted to cry for want of it. Need of it. And even though that bit of worry put up a good fight, I’m happy to say I hushed it.

For a while.

For maybe an hour, to be exact. Because although I did fall asleep before I made it into bed, and although I was as relaxed as I had allowed myself to be in days, that blasted pit of anxiety and worry reopened the moment it felt I’d gotten some rest. Recharged a bit, are we? I felt it ask. Great. Let’s begin.

It started with one of those all too familiar chest-being-crushed dreams that had frequented my sleep since the day Arthur had died. Of course, it switched up the presentation. Sometimes I knew it was the result of anxiety even as I dreamt, sometimes I thought there was a pylon crushing me. Today it was my unknown foe pressing a dagger to my heart. As much as I knew it was my imagination and not a dream intrusion, the feeling still pushed the breath from my lungs. I panted against the weight of the blade plunging down, down through my clothes and into my skin. There wasn’t any sharp pain or spray of red; nothing but that horrendous aching pressure I’d never fail to recognize. Panic: blinding and all-encompassing. Formless as it was, I could have sworn I saw the thing holding the dagger grin at me before driving the sharp instrument through my sternum.

Cold sweat was the first sensation I recognized from the real world. The next was that I had no air in my lungs. I sucked in breaths as fast as I could, knowing it was counter-productive but unable to slow my pace. My chest was on fire, burning for want of air and tight from what I now recognized as a panic attack. The realization is scary the first hundred or so times, but when you’re up near the hundred thousand mark, it’s more of an inconvenience. I knew the medical and psychological reasons for my issues. I knew how to stop the attacks - theoretically. The problem was that in practice, it was very difficult and sometimes impossible if you weren’t thinking clearly.

I tried to focus on other things to distract myself: the fact that I’d slept safely and uninterrupted for a significant length of time, for one. Rhys’ wall must be doing well. For another, I could hear birds outside my window. A lot of birds here, on my property. I had gotten used to their songs at all times of the day, and I often listened for the different calls. Nearby were other sounds, too. These were inside the house, some very close to me. Shuffling. Muttering. Another voice answering the mutters. Someone walked off down the hall. I decided to crack my eyes open, now curious about who remained here with me. I assumed it was Rhys, mostly because he had to maintain the wall, but I soon discovered I had guessed incorrectly.

Glowing gold greeted my eyes as they slid open. It encased me impressively, wrapping around my head and stretching all the way to my toes under the blankets. Simple as the shield was, it was undeniably moldable. Rhys had done well. It must be maintainable from a distance, too, because he was nowhere in sight. However, leaning forward in my reading chair was Arthur, forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped together. He was facing me, though in the dim light, I couldn’t see his expression. I refocused on my breathing, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” came the tired voice from the reading chair. “You alright? You were breathing hard.”

Well, shit. “Bad dream,” I rasped. My breath was returning, my body calming. I cleared my throat. “But first I got some sleep. Where did Rhys go? Or did you learn how to hold the shield yourself this fast?”

Arthur straightened, rubbed his face. “You’re hilarious, Merlin.” His voice was flat, almost as rough as mine. “You seem to get those a lot, the dreams.” When I said nothing, he added, “He went for a drink, but he’s still holding the spell. He said it’s easy to maintain.”

Good to know for when I’d need to do the same. “I’d need a drink if I had to babysit me, too.” I started to sit up, adjusting my mussed blankets and running my hands through my disheveled hair.

“Sorry, sensei. Four days don’t get fixed in one hour.” By the time I looked up, Rhys was through the doorway and had arrived at my bedside. He held a mug out to me. “Drink up.”

I took the mug and peeked inside. In the low light of the bedroom, the contents appeared to be murky, maybe brown? I sniffed at the drink. “What is it?”

“You’re more broken than I had assumed. It’s tea, you dimwit.” He moved to the foot of the bed, adjusting parts of the shield that had shifted in his absence.

“It smells like poison.”

I got a quiet chuckle out of Arthur at my very accurate statement, but Rhys didn’t laugh. He leaned on the footboard of the bed, leveling me with a face full of annoyance. The glow of the spellwork lit the contours of his squinty eyes from below. “It’s chamomile. I’m sorry I don’t prepare tea with the same diabetic tendencies as you do. It’s actually not supposed to smell or taste like pure sugar.” Before I could say anything, he added, “Just drink it. It will help relax you so maybe you can get more than an hour of sleep before another panic attack interrupts.”

He had a point there. Rhys, out of all the people I’d been somewhat close to in my life, had been one of the only ones to understand what I struggled with. Maybe it was because modern times demanded more education about mental health, or maybe it was just Rhys as a person, but regardless of why he’d understood, I’d always appreciated it. Of course, it could also be that Rhys worked as a pharmacy technician in town. He’d seen enough to know how many people struggled with it. It would forever irk him that I wouldn’t take any medication. It’s fine. I have whiskey , was my usual argument. Truthfully, I didn’t want to dull the pain because I often needed it to ground me. To remind me that I was still here, alive, miserable as that usually made me.

Surrendering, I took a sip of the hot liquid. I nearly spat it back. “This is bitter. ‘Disgusting’ might actually be a better word for it.” I mean really, what had he expected? There was a reason I always added so much sugar. Though even for plain tea, it seemed more distasteful than I remembered.

“You’re a big boy. Drink it anyway.” Rhys backed up a step and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s half a mug. Four big gulps ought to do it.” He paused, considering. “Or I can just take down the wall and cast a quick sleeping spell, and we can-”

“Oh, shut up, I’m drinking the sodding tea…” I grumbled. Staring into the abyss of bitterness in my mug, I sighed. I didn’t know if it would help at all, but it was a small price to pay for Rhys’ satisfaction. After all, he was the only reason I hadn’t already been visited by my “mind rapist” as he liked to phrase it. It was, unfortunately, an accurate description. As efficiently as I could, I downed the tea in, funny enough, four swallows. I promptly gagged upon finishing the drink and handed the empty mug back to Rhys. “Happy?”

“Fucking thrilled.”

Arthur, still in his chair, shook his head. “Both of you are equally impossible. And you curse a lot.” He stood and stretched, heading toward the door. “I’m going to shower and take a nap of my own.” As he turned the corner into the hallway, he added, “Get some real sleep, Merlin,” before disappearing out of view.

I didn’t even recognize the faux pas until I looked back at Rhys to find him raising his brows. 

“Merlin, eh?” He asked.

“It’s a nickname. I’ve known him for a long time.” I hoped he would leave it at that, but of course he didn’t.

“And I suppose you call him Arthur, then?” He quipped jovially.

Damn those stupid Arthurian legends. Most of them were complete nonsense, anyway. And they always got their Merlins irrevocably wrong. “If I did, would you come up with a series of clever jokes at our expense to pepper into conversation?”

“Of course.”

“Then, no.” I slouched back down into my bedding, plopping my head on the pillow. Dream or no dream, I was still exhausted. Maybe I would get more sleep this time.

“Whatever you say, Merlin.” Rhys took Arthur’s abandoned chair, fiddled with the shape of the glowing shield for a moment, then pulled out his phone and Air Pods. “Night.”

I was dismissed. He would now watch hours of YouTube or Netflix while I dozed, happily consuming content on conspiracy theories or historical quandaries for as long as he needed to mind me. And even though I hated being vulnerable, even though I detested needing someone’s help so badly, I gave in and shut my eyes. Like before, when I had fallen asleep after almost passing out, that heavenly weighted feeling overtook me. I let it in without complaint this time. Maybe it was the tea (unlikely), or maybe it was the fact that I’d already had a panic attack, but my whole body was finally relaxed. This time, when I slipped under, no dreams woke me.

*           *           *

If I’m being completely honest, I’d never experienced sleep quite like that. And that’s saying a lot for someone who has been sleeping on and off for a millennium and a half. I don’t think the sleep was magical; I would have sensed something. But it wasn’t completely normal – for me anyway. It could have been the sheer level of exhaustion, but I felt, as I lied there, that nothing could have woken me for the world. If I’d heard a loud noise, I don’t think it would have phased me. If I’d needed the loo, I probably would have had an embarrassing revelation upon waking. If someone came and shook me, I can’t guarantee I would have noticed.

I didn’t dream, at least not that I could remember later. I didn’t toss or turn. I didn’t get a tight chest or even the slightest bit of uneasiness. Frankly, it was the weirdest sleep of my life. It was an almost forced relaxation that kept me under, never once lifting. For those reasons, it also seemed like one of the shortest sleeps I could remember. Was this how mentally healthy people slept? What a foreign concept. I couldn’t say I hadn’t enjoyed it. Eerily empty, though.

When the last of the heavy sleep had drained out of me, I lied where I was for longer than probably necessary. I still felt separate from the real, waking world. I was warm, comfortable, and safe. Nothing was hurting me; nothing could hurt me beneath Rhys’ Great Wall. I felt secure, and I soaked in that sensation for as long as I could.

It was a small sound that stirred me at last. Faint metallic clangs and clicks floated in from somewhere outside the room. After a moment, I recognized them as the familiar noises of someone making a shot of espresso. I listened as the shot brewed, liquid streaming delicately into a cup. I smelled it, too; benefits of the bedroom door being left ajar. I forced my eyelids to unglue themselves. Bleary-eyed, I squinted into the room. The shield was still over me, the chair in the corner empty. I had expected it to be night, maybe very early morning, but surely not as bright as what I was seeing. Broad daylight filtered in around the shade and curtains on the window. Either I hadn’t slept long at all, or…

“Look who’s finally returned to the land of the living!”

I didn’t need to recognize the person or the voice to know who had said it. Rhys sauntered in holding two large mugs, both steaming, and set one down next to me on the nightstand. In another moment, he had the wall down, my glittering golden blanket evaporating. I sat up and grabbed the steaming mug appreciatively, already knowing he’d filled it with the good stuff. No poison tea this time. The first sip across my tongue was heavenly. It no longer tasted like desperation and last-ditch efforts; once again, it was joy in a cup.

“Good sleep?” Having reclaimed his old seat, Rhys was also sipping his latte. However, unlike my daisy-fresh self, he looked rough.

“Good all-nighter?” I shot back. More like a 24-hour shift, most likely. I hoped he hadn’t missed work. I took a break from guzzling my drink to kick back the covers and stretch against the pillows, yawning loudly.

“I’ve had worse,” he shrugged. “At least I didn’t have to write a research paper while I deprived myself of sleep. I don’t miss those days.” We sipped in companionable silence for another few moments before he asked, “Did you sleep well? I barely saw you move, let alone heard a peep from you.”

“Suspiciously well, actually.” I hadn’t meant anything by the remark, just to say that it was odd for me to get such restful sleep. But Rhys’ mouth twitched then, and my body tensed. “Rhys.” He took another swallow, dutifully ignoring me. “Do you know why I slept suspiciously well?” 

I half expected him to dodge the question or change the subject, but instead he said, “I do.” 

“Care to share with the class?”

He fiddled with a loose thread in his trousers. “I may have drugged you.” 

I froze, thinking. The previous day was so fuzzy around the edges. Then I remembered. “The bitter tea. You put something in the god awful chamomile tea, didn’t you?”

He shrugged again. “Just some sleeping pills.”

I sat up. “ Some? You gave me more than one?”

“Two, to be exact. And forgive my word choice; they weren’t so much ‘sleeping pills’ as… sedatives.”

Well, it would at least explain the odd sleep I’d gotten. And I’d woken up feeling fine, so clearly I hadn’t had any severe reactions or issues. But still… “So instead of trusting me to sleep on my own, you decided to dope me with some mild sedatives instead. Of course. Great idea. You know, we should give them to children who won’t stay in bed, too.”

“I never said they were mild.”

He let the words hang there, baiting me while he returned to his mug. I didn’t bite. It was over now, and truth be told, I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t have done something similar if I had been in his position. I took another drink before asking, “Where did you even get the pills on such short notice? I didn’t tell you anything about my sleeping when I texted you.”

Rhys stared at me. “You don’t know my life,” he said. Then, “Besides, it got you eighteen hours of sleep. You couldn’t have done that on your own, and we both know it.”

Eighteen. So less than I thought, but yes, much better than I could have managed without help. Quadruple what I got on a normal night. “I’m not angry, I don’t think,” I sighed. “Just promise no more drugging people without their consent.”

Now he changed the subject. Slimy bugger. “So your pal Aaron is interesting.”

I almost choked. “Oh?” 

“Yeah. It’s like he has a wrestling match in his head before he answers anything. He’s obsessed with the tv. Oh, and he didn’t know who Posty was.” Rhys shook his head in bewilderment, staring into space. “Where did you say he’s from?”

Posty. AKA Post Malone, Rhys’ personal favorite musician. I was sure Arthur had insulted him by not knowing every lyric to every song. “He’s from here, but… his parents… raised him a little differently. It’s best to just ignore the oddities here and there. He’s a good man.” One more big swallow of coffee in my mug. I tipped it back contentedly.

“Did you know he can see magic?”

Now I did choke. The bit of coffee I hadn’t managed to swallow dribbled out of my mouth as I coughed. Rhys grinned, standing and grabbing the hand towel from my bathroom. He tossed it onto my splattered shirt while I regained my composure. When I was breathing air and not latte, I sputtered, “What?” No, in fact, I didn’t. Since when was this a thing? And why hadn’t he mentioned it?

“He asked about the shielding spell I used on you. Wanted to know why I’d called it a wall when it was so flexible and thin.” I’m sure Rhys was thoroughly enjoying my dumbfounded expression, as he was still smiling. “And then he asked if magic changed colors or if it was always golden.”

I was in shock. This was shock, surely. Arthur had never said a thing about seeing spells and magical warding. The only time he’d mentioned it directly outside of these last few days was when- when he asked why the air felt thick driving onto my property. Like we’re wading through honey, he’d said. I hadn’t questioned it. I’d assumed he’d felt it because he’d come from the time of the Old Religion, the time of dragons and swords and druids. But even back then, he’d been oblivious, always so quick to overlook the spells I cast and the tricks I pulled. He never knew I had done a thing. What had changed? Why now, in this new world? And how had I missed it? Why hadn’t he asked me the questions he’d asked Rhys? 

“Since your face has been frozen for the last twenty seconds, I’m going to assume you had no idea.” Rhys was rifling through my dresser, tugging out a long-sleeved t-shirt. The shirt landed on my lap in a pile. “Here. You should change. You got coffee all over yourself.” He shut the drawer, collected his mug, and turned to go. “I’ll be in the kitchen making us a second round.”

“Wait,” I managed before he slipped out the door. “Did he seem… okay with it? What else did he say?”

“Not sure. You know him better than I do. And not much; he’s been watching reruns of Doctor Who for a while now.” He paused, thinking. “I don’t think he’s ever seen it before. He seems very confused. Then again, even the Whovians are confused half the time, eh?” 

With that, he left me alone with my empty mug, my splattered shirt, and my stunned thoughts. Arthur could see the invisible world that was so precious to me. He’d been seeing it for weeks now and hadn’t said a thing. Why? Did he not want to bother me? No, he loved bothering me. Was he embarrassed to ask? And what had changed? Was he truly more oblivious in Camelot, or had he just written those instances off when he saw them? I needed to talk to him, that much was obvious. Preferably alone. I looked down at my rumpled, stained clothes. Rhys was right. Before anything, I needed to change. Still stretching my stiff body, I slid from bed and haphazardly straightened the blankets. First toilet, then shower, then food. Then we would have a conversation. 

If Arthur could see magic, it meant two things. One, that something about him had likely changed. Or that he was just very very dumb before. Both were possible. And two, that he might be a lot more useful in this fight than I had assumed. If you could see magic, you were part of the limited population that was attuned to that world. And if you were in that population, you could do more than just see. 

You could interfere.

Chapter Text

The scent of espresso was thick in the house by the time I emerged, clean and fresh, from my room. Did everything seem brighter? Sharper? Or was it perhaps that I was more well-rested than I had been in months, if not years? My head was clear, my chest was light; physically, I couldn’t have come up with a complaint if I’d been asked. In the kitchen, Rhys was sitting at the table, eating the hash he’d made likely only moments before. Each bite steamed as he raised it to his mouth. I caught a whiff of the food mingling with the coffee, and an almost painful growl ripped through my stomach. 

“Hungry?” Rhys rolled his eyes at my still gurgling stomach and made to stand.

“No, you sit. You’ve done too much already.” I blocked his path, forcing him to reclaim his seat. “Besides, you look almost as bad as I did yesterday.”

“Nah, impossible. No one could look as bad as you did.” He returned to eating, letting me fill my own plate and join him. When I was seated across from him, he asked, “Will you survive while I go get my own sleep?”

“I think I’ll manage,” I answered dryly. “I did want to ask if you had to miss work last night. You were here for a long time.”

Rhys shrugged, taking a generous gulp from his mug of coffee. “Some of it. I was on my break when I got your text yesterday.”

Damn. I thought it was a bit strange that he’d been able to get here so quickly. “Don’t do that next time; I could have survived another four hours until your shift ended. And let me reimburse you for the hours you missed.”

“Nope,” he said cheerfully, rising and placing his empty dishes in the sink, where they began cleaning themselves. “Modern jobs have this thing called sick time and paid leave. I’ll live. And you wouldn’t have made it an extra five minutes, by the way.” Brushing past me, bag in hand, he added, “You’re welcome,” before heading toward the front of the house. I heard some mumbling between Arthur in the living room and Rhys while he fumbled with his jacket and boots. Finally, there was a shout of “be back later” before the front door opened and shut. Well, alright, then. 

I was happily finishing my own plate of food when I heard shuffling down the hall. A few moments later, Arthur materialized in the doorway, empty plate in hand. He leaned there as he looked me over. “Well, you look functional.”

“I certainly hope so, after Rhys drugged me.” At the alarmed look I received, I offered a wry smile. “He put some medicine in the tea. Made me sleep.” I stretched where I sat, pleasantly full and enjoying the energy coursing through me. 

Arthur eyed me as I got up. “And you’re… okay?”

Standing at the sink, I turned on the hot water to wash my dishes. Magic was great, but sometimes I liked the duller chores. “Of course. No harm done; it’s not like I didn’t need the sleep.” 

He shifted. “Sure. It’s just… you said you didn’t like taking medicine.” When I lifted my eyes from the sink, he asked, “But you don’t mind that he gave you some without telling you?”

“A little, but he meant well. And he wouldn’t have given me anything that would hurt me.” At least that was the assumption I was sticking with. “And besides that, I know I can be a stubborn bastard at times. I never would have agreed, no matter how much I needed the help.”

“I’m not arguing with you there.” Arthur stepped around me, adding his plate to the sink and grabbing a dish towel. He dried the dishes as I washed them, then gestured to the coffee mug still on the table. “That one?”

“Thanks, but I plan on drinking at least two more lattes now that I can enjoy them again.” He shook his head, replacing the clean dishes in their respective homes. When the kitchen was tidy and my mug full once more, Arthur followed me to the living room. On went the BBC news, and I plunked down on the cushions to enjoy my drink. I let a few minutes pass in comfortable silence. Arthur, sitting on the edge of the couch, had his eyes fixed on the scrolling titles moving across the bottom of the screen. I could tell he was always trying very hard to keep up when I watched the news, likely why he chose entertainment programs when he was alone. His brain probably needed a break from the constant learning and adaptation. 

As we sat, my mind worked restlessly. I needed to broach the subject of magic, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want him to think there was something weird about him for being able to see what I saw; on the contrary, I was beyond thrilled to have someone who could share my experiences. Well, some of them. Part of the loneliness I’d accepted as a part of life stemmed from my isolation in my magical world. That had been true even in my early life, before any immortal pain had interfered. No one could quite understand what it was like to see what I could and feel the magic of the world around me. No one but other sorcerers, that is. And they were scarce in Camelot, for good reason. And now, here was the king I had served for a decade of my young life, the man I had journeyed with and joked with and fought with. He was sitting on my couch in the twenty-first century after surviving death, and lo and behold, he could see into my magical universe. That was more precious to me than I would ever admit. Something light swelled in my chest just looking over at where he sat. 

It promptly flattened when I realized he was staring confusedly back. Arthur sat back a bit. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sorry.” He kept staring. “It’s just…” 

“Spit it out, Merlin. You’re looking at me like I have two heads.”

He had a point. So I said simply, “You can see magic.”

The room seemed to still. Arthur, movements slow and deliberate, reached for the remote sitting on the coffee table and pressed mute. He didn’t immediately turn to me or meet my eyes. “I think so, yes.”

When I knew he wasn’t going to elaborate, I spoke again. “Rhys and I were talking after I woke up, and he mentioned it. He wasn’t trying to pry or anything, just-” I chose my next words carefully. “The ability to see magic in its raw form isn’t common; actually it’s quite rare, especially nowadays. He was surprised because if you can see it, it means you’re attuned to that world.” I paused to take stock of my companion. His eyes were staring at nothing, hands restless in his lap. “How long have you…”

“Just since I’ve been back.” Arthur backed against the couch cushions, his body remaining tense. “I thought… I assumed it was because you weren’t… hiding it anymore. But you’re saying it’s not normal. To see it at all, I mean. You didn’t even know I could…?” Now he looked at me, a clear question on his face. Is something wrong with me, he seemed to say.

“I didn’t know, and no, it’s not normal. But it’s also not a bad thing, at least I don’t think so. In fact, I would say it’s a blessing most days.”

“Why only most days?”

I sipped my mug, staring out the living room window at the snow-covered garden and icy treeline in the distance. “Because some days, especially when you’re the only one, it can be very lonely. But it’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my entire life. Magic comes from the natural world, and when it’s expressed by people who can make that connection, it’s something like joy incarnate.” 

If Arthur thought my description was an exaggeration, he didn’t say so. He sat still, his eyes moving from me to the window I was still peering through, perhaps trying to envision the world as I saw it. We sat in silence for a minute before he spoke again. “I don’t know how I feel about it yet. I see you use it, and Rhys, and it seems so normal for both of you. Like breathing. Like me swinging a sword. And I know you’re not hurting anyone. I know the world is different than it was before…” But. His lips formed the word, but no sound came out.

I helped. “But?” He said nothing. I tried again. “You won’t hurt my feelings, Arthur.”

He kept his eyes downcast as he finished, “But something in me still fights against it, even now. Even after magic raised me from the dead. Even after it kept you alive all this time. I didn’t want to bring it up because I don’t know how I feel about it. I want to understand why you love it so much. But I’m not there yet.” He seemed to struggle against his words, but then finished with, “And it can still be evil. I mean for god’s sake, you’ve been attacked by magic twice just since I’ve been back! It’s ripped you open in more ways than one. I can’t…” He paused for a deep breath. “I don’t know how to see it the way you do when so much darkness gets in the way.”

I didn’t respond at first, letting the sounds of the snowy morning interrupt our conversation. Ice crackled as it broke from the eaves near the window and plunged to the ground. Sharp, that icicle. But beautiful, too. “You swinging a sword,” I started, “you compared it to breathing; to me using magic.”

Arthur shrugged. “It’s as natural to me as how you describe using sorcery.”

“Right. But it’s also the same idea.” I leaned forward a bit where I sat, cupping my half full mug in both hands. “You were trained for your whole life how to use a sword. For self-defense, for war, for protection, but also for entertainment - for those fucking melees I’m so glad went out of fashion.” I could tell I’d irritated him there, but I pressed on. “Swordsmanship was also a thing of beauty in the right situation. It was for style and to show mastery of the skill. But it wasn’t reserved for the good guys. Anyone could learn to use a sword if they had the talent. For every courageous fighter with a heart of gold, there was a dark knight hellbent on slaughtering his way through the world.” I held out my hand, palm up, and kindled a small flame. Arthur watched attentively. “Magic, it’s just a tool, like any other. It depends on who’s in command of the situation. It’s neither good nor bad. It’s just a way to borrow power from the earth that only certain people can access.” I let the flame flicker before disappearing altogether. “We just hope that, most of the time, those people have good intentions.” Now I met his gaze, trying to decode his thoughts. “Much like we hope the good guys have the swords.” I left my face as open and non judgmental as possible, hoping he would keep talking and not shut me out.

“What you just did,” Arthur began, “was that- could anyone have seen that?”

I nodded, rekindling the flame. “It would appear as fire to anyone who looked. It’s not spellwork though. It’s just a small flame, like any other. Now this,” I opened my palm until it lay flat. “This would be invisible to most people.” Above my hand, I crafted a delicate web of magic, glowing strands knitting together and undulating in a nonexistent breeze. “It’s a simple protection spell, though at this size, it would only be suitable for a mouse.” When I looked to Arthur, he was focusing directly on the web, blue eyes lit by the radiant fibers. 

“When you and Rhys made your wall yesterday, how was it different than this? The shape was a little off, but it was so similar.” He reached out a finger, stopping just shy of the web and glancing at me questioningly. 

“Go ahead.” I pushed the spell in his direction, stretching it taught. “It’s only meant for something simple like if someone tried to punch you- er, the mouse. This would do nothing against mental attacks. Rhys’ spell was much more complex.” 

Arthur poked the magical netting, his finger springing back as if it had struck a tiny trampoline. Grinning a bit, he knit his brows and tried again. This time he pressed harder with a few fingers; again they rebounded. “So someone who couldn’t see it would still… feel it? If he touched it? It would do the same thing?”

“He wouldn’t know what the hell had happened, but yes. He would be pushed back just like you were.” I let the shining filaments drop from my hands, the spell broken. In a blink, there was only empty space. “To be able to see magic doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. It doesn’t mean you’re cursed or broken. It means you’re more complete than almost everyone else living on this planet. And if you ask me, that’s an advantage.” 

Arthur stared at the place where the web had disappeared, like he could still see it in the air. “It doesn’t look how I pictured it when we were in Camelot. I had assumed it was blackness or flames. Or some kind of invisible evil energy.”

“I mean, it can be flames. It can be blackness. And for those who can’t see it, it can absolutely feel like invisible evil energy. But it can also be streams of light, sparkling cords, glowing that seems to come from nowhere, probably anything you can think of. It just depends on what you’re using it for.”

“A tool,” Arthur muttered.

“I may have simplified it a bit,” I admitted, “but yes. A very moldable tool that keeps the earth alive and functional. Magic is everywhere, to be used by anyone with access.” I raised my brows, considering. “And, not to scare you off, but it appears that that now includes you.”

Sitting back against the couch, Arthur sighed. “But why? And why now? I mean, what changed between my old life and this new one? I look the same. I feel the same. Nothing else seems to be… off. So why this?” 

“I wish I could give you a good answer, truly I do. But I have just as much experience with magical resurrections as you do.” Arthur glanced sidelong at me. “None,” I clarified. 

He rolled his eyes and dropped his head in his hands. Mouth muffled against his skin, he mumbled, “You’re supposed to know everything, Merlin. You’ve certainly had enough time.”

I returned his eye roll, not that he could see it. “Excuse me for having better things to do with my time than practice necromancy.” Though it had always been my belief that necromancy should not be fiddled with. Ironically, I hadn’t batted an eye at the idea of Arthur coming back, but I figured the Powers That Be had a better grasp on the process than a sorcerer. “What I do know is that you were protected by the Sídhe in Avalon or somewhere similar. But seeing as how I’ve never been to the other side myself, I can’t offer much more. Perhaps your body had to undergo changes in order to survive there, to rise again.” I shook my head, just as mystified as him. “I’m sorry I can’t offer more.”

“Obviously you aren’t expected to know everything.” He shook his head. “It’s just frustrating. I feel like I know nothing at all. I skipped all these years, and when it was finally time to come back, no one prepared me. If I had magical guardians, wherever I was, shouldn’t they have given me some information before throwing me on earth again? Especially seeing as how I was part of some grand destiny, you would think they might be more organized.” 

Arthur had some good points, several of which I had also considered. The trouble was, I was just as baffled as him. The whole plan really should have been executed better since it was, as he had said, “some grand destiny.” 

I started to say as much, but Arthur stood before I got a word out. “I think I’m going to take a walk. I haven’t seen much besides the inside of this house since I got back.” 

I wanted to offer to go with him, to suggest I place a protection spell around him, but I held my tongue. The man was a seasoned warrior about to walk in arguably the most protected spot on earth, enchantment-wise. I had no real reason to worry. So instead I said, “That sounds nice; this land is beautiful in winter. Just do me a favor and take a warm jacket? There are some in your room.”

He sighed, but said, “Yes, Merlin. Would you like me to bring a blanket as well?”

“No, but some gloves wouldn’t hurt. Also a hat, if you’re willing.”

“A hat.” 

“A winter hat. Woolen; cozy.” I stood as well, stepping into the entryway and grabbing some of my warmest winter gear. “Put these on.” 

“You know, we never wore anything like this before. Neither of us, none of my knights-”

“Yes, and how many of them ended up getting sick on long journeys or having a toe cut off because of frostbite?” Ah, the perks of living in the sixth century. 

“Not nearly as many as you seem to think.” Arthur took everything I offered, then left to retrieve the jacket. “You wouldn’t be worrying about me, would you?” He called back over his shoulder. 

“No, of course not,” I yelled back. I plucked a scarf from one of the coat hooks and followed his path down the hall. Outside his room, I held out the scarf. “This too. Wrap it around your neck.” When he had snatched it reluctantly from my hand, I continued down the hall. “I’ll be in the study while you’re out. And likely after you get back.” I had some work to do, now that I was fully functional. But first, tea. The good kind, not the drugged kind. I needed to re-wean myself off of lattes while I had the strength.

When I was settled in front of my MacBook, tea beside me, I turned to my abandoned stack of research from the past few days. Now that I could think properly, I had endless ideas about how I might complete the self-sustaining spell. Rhy’s wall was an absolute godsend, but I couldn’t expect him to come watch me sleep night after night.

Down the hall, I heard Arthur emerge from his room, clunking steps on the hardwood signaling that he’d found the snowboots I kept in his wardrobe. I listened as he thudded to the front door and crunched out into the snow, leaving me alone in the house.

Odd to be alone. I hadn’t been even semi-alone for weeks now. How many had it been? It felt like a small lifetime since Arthur had come back, what with the magical attacks and all. Before completely settling into research mode, I took a quick field trip to my bedroom to look in my journal. I had written an entry the night after Arthur rose, hadn’t I? Flipping through the book, I found where my pen had last stopped writing and checked the date. 23/1/19. I squinted at the numbers, thinking surely I had read them incorrectly. I had glanced at the date only moments before, when I’d flipped open my computer; it had claimed it was the third of February. Had Arthur truly only been back for less than two weeks? Twelve days for all the nonsense that had happened? One thing was for sure: we were going to make a solid effort to slow all nonsense the fuck down. No more magical violence, no more injuries, none of that. Now that we had a good shield and Rhys looped in, it would be different. Surely, it had to be.

Right?

* * *

Creative types sometimes get into what is called a state of “flow” when working. Ideas come to them easily, sometimes to the point where they can barely write them down fast enough. The outside world falls away as they fill their surroundings with the scratch of a pencil or the blunted click of computer keys. A state of flow won’t always last a long time, but it can. Musicians compose entire symphonies, authors tie up the loose ends of their books, and for some, like me, the perfect bits of magic fall into place for a spell. When I am in one of these states, I might as well be in a trance. This is usually a good thing, as I tune out the world until I’ve completed my work, but it can also lead to a fair bit of ignorance on my part. Once, I’d set the kettle on the stove to boil and immediately had a stroke of genius, abandoning the kitchen and the kettle to fend for themselves. That day, I’d been very glad my house could clean itself. Since then, I’ve invested in an electric kettle with automatic shut-off.

Today wasn’t quite as bad as that day, but I was still a bit out of it when a sharp sound jarred me from my work. As you may have been able to guess from the kettle story, sounds don’t always pull me out of my state of flow. This one did, however. I had to sit still for a moment and get my bearings before I even realized a sound had been the cause. I lifted my head and listened, at first hearing nothing but the ever-present birds and the breeze through the snow-clad garden. But then, there it was. A clang, resonating and metallic. So familiar, that sound; I’d know it even if it had been ten thousand years instead of fifteen hundred. A sword landing a hard blow. Against what, I had no idea. Had an enemy swordsman appeared behind my house? Likely not, but as I stood to investigate, I tried to keep an open mind. Who knew anything these days?

Since I couldn’t find the source of the sound from the study window, I trekked to the living room and up the spiral staircase to get a better vantage point from the greenhouse. With the tree covering and various winter foliage, I couldn’t see much of anything but white and grey and black. I walked around the greenhouse, peering from different sides, until I at last narrowed down the location. Through tree branches coated with ice and snow, there was movement in the distance. A flash, another clang, a dark form taking a fighting stance. There was no doubt the figure was Arthur; I recognized the outline even from here. As he moved again, I glimpsed the long weapon he was grasping expertly in his right hand. A sword, as I’d assumed from the sound. But this was no ordinary sword. I could tell from the length and shape of it, the gilded decoration on the pommel flashing in the afternoon sun. Excalibur.

Arthur moved again and again, striking blows through imaginary enemies as his footfalls printed patterns in the snow. When he didn’t strike the air, he struck the metal post of my old clothesline, creating the sounds I’d been hearing. Even against the unmoving opponent, the match was entertaining. Fighting, when it was done properly, usually resembled an intricate dance. Each partner followed rules and common courtesy so as not to step on the other’s toes, even as he aimed to slaughter him in cold blood. It was the only part of swordplay that I had appreciated. The rest of the time, it was just men being brutes. The display I witnessed now though, watching thoughtfully from my vantage point above the house, was the farthest thing from brutish I’d ever seen. Every movement was executed with care, fluid grace, and obvious agility. It was clear that Arthur had been well-preserved in death. Even with the past several days of little exercise and even less sleep, he didn’t seem affected. The sword floated in his hand, surety in each swing.

I stood where I was for a while, just watching, thinking back to the last time I’d seen him fighting. Camlann, that horrible army and that blasted mortal wound to his chest. His face when he’d seen the sorcerer high on the bluff above him harnessing the most devastating power he could; I could. He hadn’t known, in that moment, that it was me. But he’d only taken a second to absorb my presence before charging ahead, accepting the help I offered. When it mattered, he put aside his personal beliefs and did what was best for his people. God, he would have been such a great king - for so much longer than he got to be one. With Gwen at his side and me as court sorcerer…

Something wet dripped on my arms where they were crossed stiffly against my chest. Focusing again on the present, I took a slow, controlled breath, swallowing the grief that threatened to rise. Watching Arthur train with my clothesline was enough of a juxtaposition to prod me, rearranging my chaotic thoughts until they straightened out into one direct pinprick of realization. Regardless of how he dealt with the fact, Arthur had lost everything and everyone he loved in the blink of an eye. And instead of letting him grieve and deal with that fact, I’d dragged him along on my dramatic walk through Evil Magic R Us. And he was too good of a man to complain, to ask for space, to let himself heal properly. No, he just stood by me. Even when he was grappling with his existence, with magic, with so many changes… I needed to talk to him; to apologize, to make sure I was doing everything I could to help him adjust. If he wanted to dig into why he could see magic, we would. If he wanted to explore his limits, his new world, whatever it may be, we would. And if he just wanted to practice something he used to love in a snowy garden alone, that could be arranged as well. 

Waiting for my sudden tears to subside, I practiced my breathing until I had calmed. Then down the spiral staircase I went, through the living room and to the front door to get my boots and a jacket. No back door; that was the one flaw with my house. I’d been so focused on the basement entry that I’d neglected to create a back exit. Now it seemed silly, since I was used to using the front. Plus, having a magic house solved most problems where a back door would come in handy, like for burglars or electrical fires.

Out in the clean winter air, I felt a bit better. I focused on the snow underfoot, following Arthur’s boot prints around the house to the back garden. The clanging had ceased, now replaced with crunching footfalls that echoed my own as I trekked closer. They paused as I drew nearer, then Arthur materialized from behind a snow-capped bush.

He leaned Excalibur against a nearby tree and approached where I stood. “Decided you wanted some fresh air?”

“I heard you practicing, actually.”

Guilt flashed across Arthur’s face, and he looked back at the shining sword. “Should I not have…?”

I was confused for a moment until I remembered that I’d put the sword in the basement for safe keeping. He must have retrieved it sometime before. “No, Arthur, it’s fine. It’s your sword; I just wanted to make sure it had a safe place to be stored.”

His expression lightened a bit. “Did I disturb you? I know it can be a little loud, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be so bad back here.”

“No, not at all. It was… nice… hearing those sounds again. It’s been a long time.” I walked over to Excalibur and wrapped my fingers around the grip. Heaving it up into the air, I huffed a laugh. “I forgot how heavy these were.” Much heavier than the more modern medieval versions. Experimentally, I swung it sideways through the air, then back the other way, twisted it in a figure eight.

“I don’t know that you could have even managed that much before.” Arthur had his arms crossed, watching me from a few feet away. “You were pretty scrawny.”

“Yes, well I was a lot younger and ate more poorly than I do now. We castle servants were basically peasants with guaranteed housing.” Excalibur dropped a bit as I relaxed my grip.

Arthur tipped his head and nodded a bit. “That’s fair.” He watched me for a little while as I let myself get lost in thought, seconds turning into a minute while I grappled with what to say. “Merlin.”

“Hm.”

“What’s wrong.”

I don’t know why it still surprised me that he could read my inner turmoil on my face. It was damn near routine at this point. “That seems to be the only thing you ever ask me. It really isn’t fair.” I dragged the tip of the sword through the snow, shaping a rune.

“I- What?”

I sighed. “It’s not fair that you’ve had so much change in your life, so much loss, and you only focus on what I’m feeling.” I guess we were doing this; I had no chance of stopping now. “I mean, you must need some time for yourself, a good pint of mead, maybe a quest across the land on horseback to clear your mind. But no, you only make sure I have what I need, and I feel alright. And I’m just so sorry, Arthur.” I paused, making sure my next words were clear and pointed. “I’m sorry for neglecting you since you’ve been back.”

For a second, I thought Arthur might throw something at me. There was a ferocious irateness in his face that I hadn’t expected, and I stood still, waiting to see how it would manifest. At last, the intense look faded, and Arthur took a few steps closer. “Look,” he began, “I’m going to say this one more time, because it’s clear you didn’t believe me the last time I said it. And that is that you have nothing to be sorry for. We both went through a lot, but the reality is that my waking up in a new world is not as hard as what you experienced. Right now, it’s clear that you’re having a much harder time than me. And that’s not because I’m hiding my suffering or… or trying to ignore it so I can focus on you. I’m focusing on you because that’s what makes sense. That’s where my attention should be.”

I started to interrupt, but he held up a hand.

“If I decide I need to take some time and focus on myself, I will tell you. But until then, you need to believe me when I say I’m doing okay. I’m managing. I’m not secretly suffering. And even if I were, after all the time you spent serving me, cleaning up after me, putting up with my nonsense, don’t you think it’s my turn?”

Silence bombarded my ears, white noise that took all my attention. “Your turn,” I repeated dumbly.

“Yes, my turn. To take care of you, for a change. To pay you back. Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a king here. I’m just a man with no clue as to what I should be doing. So it makes sense for me to put my energy into helping you however I can. It’s not a sacrifice, Merlin. It’s not a punishment. It’s not me pretending to be okay. I am okay, for now. And while I’m okay, I think that helping someone who is not okay is a good use of my time. Besides,” he added, “you know it’s what you would do.”

I didn’t know how to respond. What rebuttal could I offer? There wasn’t one single exaggeration that had come out of Arthur’s mouth. Not one bit of his speech had been false or thrown in for effect. It was simply true. So how could I argue? I wanted to argue, to say that he was just in denial of his own pain, that I was being selfish asking for so much help and attention. But I didn’t know that I wouldn’t be lying. Hadn’t Arthur always been more self-assured than I had? Hadn’t he led with conciseness and been forthcoming with the truth? Why would he be any different now?

I must have been silent for longer than I realized, because in the middle of my internal monologue, Arthur offered a gentle, “Merlin?”

Refocusing on the current moment, I let my cluttered thoughts disperse. “I’m sorry.” The words were nothing more than a puff of cloudy breath from my cold lips.

Softly, reassuringly, Arthur said, “You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to accept that I want to help you and stop feeling guilty for it. Deal?

I cleared my throat, hoping my voice would be a bit more audible as I rasped, “I’ll do my best.”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask for,” Arthur stepped in front of me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’re in this together. Whoever needs help at the given moment is who we help. Does that sound alright to you?”

“Sounds awfully kingly.” I hoped the forced humor would mask the emotion in my voice. It didn’t, but I still hoped.

“Yes, well,” Arthur released me, taking the sword from my limp hand. “I was a king, after all.”

“You’re still a king. It just so happens that you don’t have a kingdom at the moment.” I paused, considering. “Though you do still have a loyal subject, if you want one.”

It was his turn to try to hide his emotion. He did it better. “I’d rather have a friend, I reckon. Seems more handy.”

“That’s fine as well. I already thought I was both, so…”

Arthur swiveled the sword in his grip, extending the pommel-end to me. “That’s because you are. Have been for a very long time, even though I was too proud to admit it at first.”

I took the sword, running my eyes over its flawless craftsmanship. There were no seams where metal had been forged, no signs of aging or wear; it was as bright as the day it had been made. I couldn’t broach the subject of our friendship at the moment without bursting into tears, so instead I asked, “Have I ever told you about this sword?”

Surprised, Arthur said, “Of course, when we found it in the wood.”

In the wood. In the rock, where I had placed it. “What if I told you I put it there, with magic, then helped you free it when the time came?”

“Oh, for the love of-” He rolled his eyes heavenward, planting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “Is there anything else in our past lives about which you’d like to enlighten me?”

“No, that’s it for the moment.”

“Great. That’s great.”

Finally the tears behind my eyes calmed, the lump in my throat dissolving. “I got the best sword I could from Gwen’s father’s forge. It was finished especially for you by Kilgarrah, burnished in a dragon’s breath. It’s capable of slaying anything, living or dead.” I looked down at where it rested by my side. “It’s why I could kill Morgana. The same kind of sword is how you were injured at Camlann.”

“You’re just full of surprises.” Arthur continued shaking his head, but his lips quirked at the corners.

“Well, it’s not like I had time to tell you much before… everything happened. You’d barely forgiven me for having magic by the end.” Just for a bit of fun, I raised the sword, maneuvering it deftly and circling until I struck the metal clothesline pole. I retreated a bit, using the only footwork I could remember as I spun the other way for a second attack. At last, I turned back to Arthur, flourishing the sword in my hand and presenting it to him as he had to me. When I looked at his face, it was a mask of shock. I couldn’t help the silly grin that split my face, so satisfying was that reaction. “What?” I asked innocently.

“When did you learn how to do that?” Arthur took the sword back, eyes moving from it to me in stunned disbelief.

“I’m just going to start saying ‘I’m very old’ when you ask things like that from now on.” I tucked my hands into my coat pockets, shivering as a particularly strong burst of wind blew past. “Now that we’ve had this enlightening talk, I’m heading back inside to keep working. Enjoy your sparring with the clothesline.” I lifted my shoulders and nestled my chin into my collar, trying to thaw my icy neck as I began backtracking across the garden.

“I will, thanks. Say, are you chilly?” Arthur called after me.

“I’m very old,” I returned over my shoulder.

“Where are your gloves? Your hat? You could have at least worn a scarf; it’s a bit nippy out here.”

“Bite me,” I yelled as I neared the house. There was a retort from my king, but thankfully I couldn’t hear it as I rounded the house and opened the front door. Blessedly toasty air hit me in the face, warming my ears and fingers immediately. I stripped off my outerwear and stopped at my room for some thicker socks and a hoodie to rewarm myself. One large refill of tea later, I was seated again at my desk in the study. Not even a minute had passed before the front door opened again, a new pair of boots clunking in the entry. Soon he appeared in the study doorway with his own drink - shocker, it was water. Unlike me, Arthur seemed plenty warm without the aid of extra layers and hot drinks.

He took his old seat nearby, draining half his glass before asking, “You’re working on the same spell from before?”

“Mm, I think I about have it, too. Just a couple of things I want to run by Rhys when he gets back. Then we can see if it works.” I continued making small edits on different parts of the spell, changing wording here and there. For a few minutes, Arthur sipped his water and fiddled with his phone, but eventually he stood and opened the doorway to the basement. I watched from the corner of my eye as he disappeared down the stairs, soon emerging with one of my journals in hand.

He sat again, meeting my gaze as he did so. There was a beat of silence before he asked, “Do you mind?”

“As long as you promise not to look at me like a wounded puppy when you read the bad bits. Otherwise, have at it. It’s the fastest way for you to learn what you missed.” I returned to my notes, breaking eye contact before he could respond.

“I’ll do my best,” was his reply. 

I smiled a bit. “I suppose that’s all I can ask for.” 

One of my favorite periods in my life was the last time I was in medical school. I’d chosen to live in a student building since I never had before, and I thought it might make the experience a bit more interesting. Not to mention it would have looked highly suspicious for a student to single-handedly rent out a flat in London. Loans helped, but it was very rare to live alone. I’d had a flatmate named Killian, a young man from Scotland whose work ethic immediately impressed me. At first, we spent most of our time in our separate accommodations, only working in the shared living space for a change of scenery. But slowly, we realized that it was nice studying alongside each other. We were both very quiet and driven, preferring the sounds of the busy streets below us to any music or ambient noise. We were both solid introverts, opting to stay in when we knew the restaurants and clubs would be packed, spilling people onto the streets in waves. Takeaway was better, anyway. That way we could continue with work.

Perhaps most importantly, Killian was one of those rare acquaintances who didn’t ever require your attention or disturb the peace. Whether we were revising or cooking a meal, we knew how to coexist without demanding anything from the other. It was a refreshing change from other times I’d been in school or in close proximity to people “my own age” the many times I’d been young. Maybe it’s the preference of an old curmudgeon to want peace and quiet when he’s around others. If that’s true, though, then Killian was a curmudgeon right alongside me. We opted to remain flatmates for the remainder of medical school, seeking familiar routine and occasional emotional and physical comfort from the other. It was one of the fastest periods of my life, passing in a contented blur until somehow we were standing in front of each other, preparing to turn in the keys to our flatshare after graduation. If Killian had been magical, I think I could have called him perfect.

What Arthur and I had developed over these last few days of chaos and companionship was a similar kind of rhythm. We had naturally learned to work next to each other, each focusing on a different assignment, in comfortable silence. There were no awkward moments where we wondered why the other person was making that face. No one ever expected the other person to begin chatting and ruin the quiet. It just worked.

In his past life, I’d easily considered Arthur an extrovert, thriving when he was surrounded by his people. But since coming back, I’d seen the opposite side of him. Whether it was just while he grew accustomed to this new world, or whether there simply hadn’t been any opportunities for him to be a social butterfly, I was enjoying the introverted Arthur. He greatly reminded me of Killian in these moments where we were both preoccupied but sharing the same space. Subtly, I glanced over to where Arthur sat in his reading chair, poring over the open journal on his lap. When I moved my eyes back to my own pile of papers, calm settled over me. I don’t know if it was the memories of Killian, or if it was my and Arthur’s discussion in the back garden, but something was much more peaceful in me than it had been in a while. Choosing to believe it was my current study companion, I let the thoughts fall from my mind as I focused once more on my spell.

* * *

It was well past six when the magic in the air shivered, and I felt someone brush up against my home protection shielding. Again, Rhys’ impatience was the first sensation to hit me, and I sent back a wave of annoyance before letting him in. When the front door burst open a couple of minutes later, it was just in time for a blast of winter wind to fill the hallway. From where I stood at the entrance to the kitchen, I felt it blow up the loose sleeves of my hoodie and hit me head on, momentarily freezing my face. “You really had to open the door all the way and let that in, did you?” I sipped from my newly refilled tea mug, glad I was holding it as the steam warmed my chilly skin.

I’d expected a witty comeback, but Rhys didn’t give my comment any attention. Instead, he dumped his bag and boots beside the door, dropped his jacket on an empty hook, and tossed his gloves and scarf in a heap in the corner. When he faced me at last, stripped of his winter trappings, I almost poked fun at his disheveled demeanor. But he stopped me by taking a breath, staring me dead in the face, and opening with, “Is there something you want to tell me about your friend Aaron?”

Ah, well. There went my good mood.

Chapter Text

Everything in me halted. Instant dread curdled in my stomach, panic flashing through me white hot, battling the icy feeling spreading through my limbs. I tried not to stutter as I did my best impression of a normal person. “Not that I can think of. Why?” I forced myself to sip from my mug, lean against the kitchen doorway. Chill. We were doing chill vibes. There may as well have been a lo-fi playlist streaming behind me.

Rhys ignored my chill. “After my nap, I got curious and decided to do a little profile stalking on Aaron. But somehow, I can’t find any profiles to stalk. Nothing on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, not even Tumblr, though that was a long shot.” He shook his head, sadly pronouncing, “Banning the porn was really the kiss of death for them…” He brushed past me into the kitchen, heading straight for the espresso machine.

“I had no idea you were such a fan of coffee,” I lied.

“Bullshit,” he said simply.

True, that. It had been a stupid way to change the subject. A bit more quietly, so that Arthur might not overhear, I tried to explain, “Aaron’s a private person. I told you he was raised a bit differently.”

Rhys rolled his eyes up to me disbelievingly. “Private, sure. Nonexistent, more like. You know I couldn’t even find any history of him anywhere online. Not from any school accomplishments or legal issues. Not even a bloody birth announcement. It’s weird. He’s weird.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic? You barely know Aaron. I, on the other hand, have known him for years.” Roughly fourteen hundred and ninety-two of them. “Not having made the papers or used social media is hardly reason to think ill of someone.”

To my utter horror, Arthur appeared outside the kitchen doorway, empty water glass in hand. “Social what?” He looked from Rhys’ disbelieving face to my mortified one. “I heard my name,” he added, confused.

“Just checking to make sure you’re actually human,” Rhys muttered.

“That’s not what he means,” I tried. “He just-”

“I mean you’re a little off, and I want to know why.” Rhys, leaning against the counter, crossed his arms.

I could have pummeled him for the stare he leveled at Arthur. Arthur, though, took it in stride. He walked to the sink, refilled his glass, and said, “Isn’t everyone a little off? I mean, you can do magic. If you were to tell a stranger that, I’d bet they’d look at you a bit funny too.”

Oh, thank god. Why had I worried so much that everything was about to fall apart?

Rhys shot back, “Magic I could see. But I also know a normal amount about the world I live in, and I don’t watch the news like I’m about to take an exam on it.” He straightened. “Did your parents raise you in a cave? Were you like those Amish people who live in America and only use horse-drawn carts? Were you kidnapped and held captive for an extended amount of time before you escaped as an adult? Explain it to me, because I have a lot of theories I’ve come up with over the past day.”

Ah. That was why.

Rhys’ jabbering only served to overwhelm Arthur, who held up a hand and said, “Just stop. None of that is true, and I don’t think you would be capable of guessing what my childhood was like. It’s not important for you to know that. What’s important is that we focus on everything happening right now, at this moment, to Morgan. If you don’t want to do that, you’re welcome to leave. But we aren’t going to focus on me right now because I don’t need the attention.” He sipped his water, perfectly calm while Rhys twitched and I disintegrated beside him.

All business, Arthur walked out of the kitchen, returning to the study with his new glass of water. I turned to Rhys. “What he said,” I sighed before following Arthur. The speech had been eerily similar to the one he’d given me in the garden. It was a better comeback than I’d had prepared, so I tried not to think too hard about it.

When I arrived back at my desk, Arthur was already sitting. He’d swapped out my journal for a less conspicuous book, thankfully, and he eyed me as I joined him. “You alright? You’re pale.”

“Oh, fine. Just having a heart attack. You handled that much better than I did.” Opening my MacBook and spreading my notes around me, I tried to quiet my anxiety. Focus on the spell. I wasn’t hiding anything, just amped up from so much sleep and so much pressure to finish the spell. By the time I’d convinced myself to relax, Rhys had finished making his latte and was walking into the study. He didn’t say anything as he sat across from me, but his face clearly declared that the matter was far from over. I chose to ignore it. “So,” I said, “I think I’ve almost got my version of the shielding spell complete. There were just a couple of things I wanted to ask you about before I finish up.”

He may still have been salty about his earlier dismissal, but if there was one thing Rhys put above anything else, it was magic. Though he shot Arthur one final glare, he asked with a surprising amount of civility, “And what’s that?”

“Did you feel anything try to break through your spell last night? Any presence pushing against your magic?”

Rhys paused where he held his mug in the air, then slowly lowered it. “I was going to wait until we’d had some pleasant conversation to discuss it, but yeah. Definitely something. But as soon as it realized I was awake and aware of it, it disappeared.” He leaned forward a bit, arms resting on the desk. “But the thing wasn’t happy. I would have told you this morning, but I knew you’d want to analyze it to death, and I still had to make it home without falling asleep at the wheel, so.”

“No, it’s fine. I knew you were exhausted this morning. But now that it’s getting to be night again, I want to work out the kinks in my spell and make sure it will be effective without someone guarding it.” What he’d told me lined up with what I already knew about our new enemy, so I saw no reason to analyze it to death. Theoretically, my spell should work. “Right, then let’s go over this and make sure we won’t have any unpleasant surprises.” I passed Rhys my notes, rewritten today to leave out the random musings of an overtired old man.

“Does this mean you’re going to sleep again tonight?” Arthur, clearly surprised, piped up from his chair.

“Debatable, but I’d like the option.” I offered an apologetic glance as Arthur slumped back a bit. He obviously didn’t approve.

Rhys didn’t seem to notice our exchange. He was already busy with the papers I’d handed him, flipping through page after page, then starting over once he’d finished the stack. Arthur and I were quiet as we watched him mouth the words to himself, tracing the lines of the spell with his fingers in the air. After he’d gone through my work for the third time, he finally looked up. “It looks good.”

I waited, sure there would be more. When no other comments came, I asked, “Is that all? No critiques? No suggestions?”

“I don’t know if you were aware, but you’re actually weirdly skilled in magic for your age.” I quickly glanced at Arthur, but did my best not to draw attention. Rhys went on. “I mean, I’ve never met anyone who knows as much as you do about random magical nonsense. So, yeah. It’s good. I can’t find anything wrong with it. I can’t see any holes in your wording or weak points in the framework. As far as I know, it should work exactly as you’ve planned. And if it doesn’t, it’s not something I would know how to fix.” He paused, drumming his fingers on the desktop. “Though you probably would.”

A little dumbfounded, I asked, “What, that’s it?”

Brows lifting, Rhys asked, “Did you want me to perform a soliloquy?”

“I- no, but are you sure you didn’t see any weak points? Any non-specific verbiage? I wasn’t hunting for compliments when I asked your opinion. It needs to be better than good. It needs to be foolproof, so anything that you think could possibly cause an issue, tell me.”

“Well, alright.” Rhys pointed to a spot on the top page, part of the initial incantation. “Change this word.”

I peeked over at where he was pointing. “Why that one?”

“I don’t like how it sounds.”

Lips pursed a bit, I stared dully at him. “I meant anything that could cause an issue with the spell, not with your personal preference.”

“Oh, got it. Nothing, then.” He neatened the pile of papers and slid them back to me. “As I said before.” I sighed, but accepted the papers. Rhys continued, “So how are we going to test this one? Will you cast the spell, then I get to knock you out and see if it stays strong?”

I noticed Arthur shift in his seat then, but I quickly countered, “Or, I cast the spell, then I put myself into a sleep-like state, a reverie. I’d rather avoid the head trauma.” Not that I wouldn’t recover just fine. “I’ll still be unconscious of my surroundings or any danger, just tucked inside a magical fog instead of actually out cold.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Arthur was obviously concerned. I couldn’t blame him; I must sound like a crazy person to anyone who wasn’t practiced in sorcery. “What’s a rev…”

“A reverie,” Rhys said before I could introduce the topic. “Lucid dreaming for magicians.”

Clearly, this was supposed to clear up any confusion, but it had the opposite effect. Shocker. Arthur stared at Rhys, annoyance plain on his features. I might have laughed, but I decided a calm explanation would fare better. “It’s like a dream state, but I can somewhat control what I’m seeing. I can enter and exit the trance at will and influence how strong it is. Some people use it for meditation or to solve a problem; some just like how it feels. But it’s harmless, generally.”

“Generally?” Arthur’s tone was dubious.

“Literally always,” Rhys cut in.

I rubbed my temples. “Not always, Rhys. There have been plenty of times that sorcerers have used reveries and become addicted, gone dark, raised demonic entities-”

“-I’m sorry, demonic entities ?” Arthur enunciated each syllable with exaggerated clarity.

Rhys was shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of that happening. It’s safe; Morgan’s not an idiot.”

I deadpanned, “If Morgan’s not an idiot, why are you contradicting everything he’s saying?”

The room grew so silent, I listened for crickets. As it was winter, I heard none, but it would have been a golden opportunity for them. At last, Rhys conceded, “Fine. Sure, some idiots can get carried away with it, but I’ve never heard of any in my lifetime.” He paused and looked to me. “Or yours.”

I met Arthur’s eyes, but thankfully, he stayed quiet. “Okay,” I tried to refocus the conversation. “So let’s just stick to what I suggested. Rhys, you keep an eye on the spell and make sure there are no holes. Try to attack me; mental attacks mostly, but feel free to get creative. Sound good?”

In response, Rhys lobbed a wave of intrusive energy at me. I rocked back a bit as it neared, but, to my utter delight, was able to reverse its trajectory before it hit me. Instead, it went careening back towards Rhys, who wasn’t so lucky. He was slammed backward, falling off his chair and spilling in a heap onto the rug.

As if nothing had happened, I said, “Should we begin?”

Only Arthur seemed to appreciate my antics.

* * *

This round of spell-testing was arguably much more boring for Arthur to watch than the last one. At least before, he’d had the added drama of my collapsing at the end. Now, I simply sat still surrounded by a clingy magical blanket while Rhys took out his pent-up anger on me, to no avail. It was a wonderfully relaxing few minutes for me, locked in my magical dreamscape, and it ultimately passed far too quickly. Soon, Rhys gave up, panting as he called out, “Olly olly oxen free!”

As if I were underwater, his call came to me, mumbled and distant. Time to go, then. Reluctantly, I said goodbye to my imagined surroundings, taking in the sight one last time. I’d opted for a safe option, easy to bring to mind - Kynance Cove in Cornwall. I didn’t go many places anymore, but that was one I always loved. Now, with the salt air on my face and the sight of the crags scattered around me in the early morning sun, it was so real, so refreshing. Every sense was convinced of what I’d conjured up. Why didn’t I do this more? I’d made it all so concrete that at first the reverie ignored my command to diminish. The waves pounded determinedly forward, washing away most of my resolve to bid them farewell. A bit more prodding, though, and I began to see through the cracks. The sky seemed to split, and the brilliant colors surrounding me faded, dripping away like thinning watercolor paint. 

As the illusion dissolved, my eyes worked to focus again on the real world. The bookshelves materialized first, then Rhys sitting on the floor with his arms propped on his knees, looking tired. Arthur was against the back wall, overseeing the whole exercise. When I was fully surrounded by the study again, no fragment of beach left to be seen, I stretched slowly, yawning as if waking up from a good nap. Almost as an afterthought, I pulled the threads of the protective cocoon spell, tugging and unwinding until it fell into nothing on the floor around me.

“Well?” Arthur walked closer, crossed his arms, and examined me.

I thought back to my time in the reverie, trying to remember if anything felt off, if I’d noticed any other presence. I shook my head, smiling a bit. “Nothing. I couldn’t feel a single thing Rhys was doing. And the reverie itself… I should do that more often; it’s very calming.” My body tingled all over, a known aftereffect of reveries. Some people had compared it to coming down from a particularly good high; I couldn’t argue. I enjoyed the lightness that filled my limbs.

“I’m thrilled for you.” Rhys stood, limbs a bit wobbly. He really had tried to break in, then. “Your spell is strong; I think you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who could penetrate it. I certainly can’t.” He reached over and grabbed Arthur’s glass of water, downing it in one go. “Though I haven’t gotten to ruthlessly attack anyone like that in a while, so it was worth it.”

“ A while ?” This from Arthur, which Rhys chose to ignore.

“Magic is a muscle,” I offered. “You get stronger the more you use it. And you’re by no means weak, so you must have gone all out if you’re that tired.” I was still tingling; how long was this supposed to last?

Arthur walked back to his old reading chair. “There were glowing arrows, at one point.”

I braced one hand on the desk above me, preparing to stand, but my legs didn’t seem to be attached to my body anymore. I tried shifting my grip on the desk, placing my other hand on the floor to push myself up.

“Morgan?” It was Arthur, though for some reason he sounded very far away.

“Hm.” I moved to my knees, but the pins and needles in my body intensified, my head floating uncomfortably.

Arthur abandoned his chair, circling the desk and stopping near me. “You don’t look great.”

“Rude,” I said breathlessly. I was beginning to feel sick, and I swallowed compulsively.

“That’s because he’s an idiot.” Rhys this time, also moving closer to me. “Have you never gone into a reverie before? You seemed like you knew how they were.”

I wanted to shake my head, but I couldn’t feel it on my shoulders. The room rolled. “R-Read about them. Never done one myself.” My tongue was leaden, and I felt sure they hadn’t understood my words.

The next thing I knew, there were hands on my shoulders. Rhys’, I think. He said something I couldn’t understand to Arthur, and together, they pushed me back down to the floor; I guess Arthur got the drama of my collapsing after all. Rhys’ face hovered over mine. “You’re fine, but you can’t just get up after coming out of a deep reverie like that. You need to ground yourself.” I was, quite literally, on the ground completely now. Rhys pulled my legs out from under me so they were flat on the floor, Arthur doing the same to my arms. “Close your eyes,” Rhys said. “Take deep breaths. Unless you want to puke and then faint and feel like shit for the next few hours.” I didn’t, so I obeyed. 

Lying on the rug, breathing slowly in and out, the tingling began to fade. First from my core, easing the worst of the nausea, then slowly my arms and legs stopped floating. In, out. In, out. I breathed as steadily as I could while normal feeling filled my body. At last, it was only my fingers and toes that still prickled. My head was still light, but I felt well enough to open my eyes again. Blearily, I stared first at the ceiling, then at the two men sitting next to me. Rhys was on his phone, not even looking my way. Arthur’s features were drawn and anxious, eyes roving my face.

Although he didn’t seem to be paying attention, it was Rhys who spoke first, thumb still moving over his phone’s onscreen keyboard. “I’m not going to say you deserved that, but it was a little funny.”

Arthur shot him a murderous look, and I decided it was a good time to attempt to speak. “I’m glad it amused someone, but I’d rather avoid it in the future.” I held my hand out to Arthur, and he took my silent cue, grabbing it and putting his other hand under my arm to help me sit up. Still slightly dizzy, I backed up until I hit the bookshelf directly behind me and leaned against it. “Thanks.” A near-whisper, but Arthur nodded and settled back against the same shelf. “To be fair, my books never mentioned that part.”

“You’ve been reading the wrong books,” Rhys said simply. To my surprise, he rose and headed toward the door. “I’m going to make some food. It will help you get back to normal, plus I’m hungry. It’s nearly half seven, anyway.”

I watched him go, eyes doing their best to focus on his retreating form. When he was out of sight and earshot, Arthur spoke at last. “You have got to stop doing that.”

“Honestly, I didn’t start until you came back. There just seem to be a lot of reasons to pass out lately.” I tried for a smile from him, but quickly realized there was no chance of that. “I didn’t know the magic would stay so…” I held my hands in the air, miming a billowing cloud. “Present like that. Magic almost always returns to the earth once you’re done with it. This just seemed to keep gaining momentum.” I could practically hear Arthur’s heart rate return to normal as he realized I could function again. I didn’t want to stand just yet, but I said, “I can understand why people get addicted. It’s an amazing feeling.” Arthur frowned. “Before you lose all control of your body,” I amended.

Beside me, Arthur seemed to be considering something. He looked over at me curiously. “Is this what it was like for Gaius all those years? Is that why you two were so close? He worked on magic with you?” Turning his head a bit, he added, “Or put up with your magic, perhaps…” 

The name hit me harder than I’d expected, a shard of ice in my heart. My chest ached, but I tried to answer lightly. “For a lot of it, yes. He helped me with magic, sometimes kept me from it. But he’d always put me back together if I went too far.” I tried to swallow the lump in my throat that Gaius’ name always put there. It didn’t budge. “But he was also like a father to me. Might as well have been one.”

“I knew that part,” Arthur said softly. “You never talk about him. Gwen, the knights, the bloody dragon, even Morgana, you say their names. You tell me things about them. But not Gaius.” He was quiet, giving me space to say something. When I didn’t, he asked, “He’s the hardest one for you to think about, isn’t he?”

God, my chest hurt. My heart was a stone in my ribcage, still and heavy. Yes, I wanted to cry, yes . If I could bring one single person back from any point in my history, it would be him. I’d want him . But I couldn’t say that, not unless I wanted to start sobbing. I managed to make my voice audible as I mouthed, “Always.”

That was all I could do, and Arthur knew it. So rather than spur a breakdown, he stood, offering me a hand. I accepted, slowly easing myself to my feet on shaky legs. Arthur didn’t let go until I was solid enough to begin moving toward the door. He followed close at my back as we walked to the kitchen, where heat from the stove already filled the space.

Rhys would never talk about it, but he was a good cook. The handful of times I’d eaten meals he’d prepared had told me that much. Now, he was standing at the counter, overseeing a pan of sautéing chicken while he sliced onions and bell peppers into neat piles. “We’re having fajitas,” he announced. Into the pan went the piles, along with a handful of seasonings.

Arthur peered at the stove, eyeing the vegetables. “I’m not sure what that is, but it smells good.”

At this, I received an incredulous stare from Rhys. I said nothing, just shook my head and sat at the table. Instead I addressed Arthur while he got a new glass of water to replace the one Rhys had drained. “It is good, and that’s all that matters.”

My young apprentice sighed, sipping his replenished latte before moving the contents of the pan around with a pair of tongs. “So why hasn’t your bad guy attacked Aaron?”

Arthur and I looked at each other across the table, both surprised by the question. “I’d assumed it was because it found me first,” I said. “It’s a good thing, really. I have no idea what it would have done to him. I was at least able to block it a bit at first.”

“But Aaron’s connected to magic, too. He should have been just as easy to find.”

I hadn’t told Rhys that I’d talked to Arthur about his magical sight; the buggar was just being petty now. I was sure my irritation came across in my tone as I said, “Aaron has no idea how to use that connection. Our new friend may not have even sensed there was one.” I added, “Which, again, is a good thing.”

Unphased, Rhys continued. “Or it didn’t attack him for some other reason.” He went to the pantry and secured a package of tortillas. “How do we know Aaron didn’t have something to do with it?”

Arthur nearly choked on his water. “Because I didn’t, that’s how. Why would I ever do that to Mer-Morgan?” I didn’t need to say anything. He lowered his gaze, cringing at his mistake.

“Oh, Morgan mentioned your nickname for him earlier. You said it as you were leaving his room this morning.” Rhys continued tossing the ingredients in the pan, adding salt and pepper. “But despite you having horrible nicknames for each other, something in me knows you’re hiding something big. And maybe that big thing is your talent with magic. I mean, if you’ve really known Morgan for as long as you both claim, how did he not know you could deal with magic? I feel like that’s the sort of thing close friends tell each other.” He considered. “As long as they both already know about magic, but you get the idea.”

“Rhys,” I warned, but Arthur cut me off.

“He didn’t know because it’s not something I’ve always had. It’s… new for me.”

Removing the pan from the heat, Rhys set it aside and squinted at Arthur. “That’s not possible.”

Arthur didn’t miss a beat. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

“It’s true, Rhys. We talked this morning after you left.” I made sure to throw him a look that said not that you checked whether I had before blurting out your theories . “Aaron couldn’t see magic at all until a couple of weeks ago. I mean, he would have said something to me a lot sooner if he could. I’ve been doing magic around him for years.”

“ Visible magic?” Rhys pushed.

“Yes. Completely visible, in your face, impossible to ignore magic. I even saved his life a time or two. He never suspected anything supernatural at play.” I glanced at Arthur. “Did you?”

He shook his head. “Never. I just thought I got lucky.” A wry smile, then, “Plus I’m sure I would have interrogated you endlessly if I’d seen anything.” A private joke, as I likely would have been tortured and questioned before being executed. They would have wanted to know what I’d done to Arthur, Uther, Morgana, anyone in power I’d come into contact with.

“Yep, glad I managed to avoid that.” I shifted in my seat, trying not to imagine it.

Grabbing sour cream from the fridge, Rhys argued, “Magic isn’t something you develop an affinity for this late in life. If you started trying to practice it and built up skill, that’s one thing. But you’re saying you put in zero effort, and you just woke up one day and could access that world.” He shook his head, more confused than disbelieving. “It’s rare even for children to have that kind of… awakening. But an adult…”

“I know,” I agreed. “I’ve never heard of it happening. But something must have, because he’s noticing things he never did before, even small things. I made a miniature protection spell this morning, and he stared right at it.”

As he plated the food, Rhys was quiet, clearly thinking. Fajitas distributed, he slid into a seat at the table, coffee mug in hand. “It might not be a bad idea for you to work on covering both you and Aaron with your new spell at night. If your enemy isn’t able to get to you anymore, they might try getting to him. And from what you’ve said, he would have no way to defend himself.” He took a generous bite of a fajita, spilling a third of its contents onto his plate before resignedly turning his fajitas into burritos.

I nodded, swallowing my bite. “I’d always planned for the spell to cover both of us, just in case. After we eat, I can work on expanding it. I’m not sure exactly how to stretch it, but I’ll figure it out.”

Arthur, already mostly through his plate of food, contributed, “It’s fine if you can’t; I don’t think I need it.”

“Yes, you do,” Rhys and I said at once.

Pausing with a new fajita halfway to his mouth, Arthur corrected, “Or I do.”

We halted our discussion while we all cleared our plates, also effectively demolishing the remaining fajita components left on the stove. Arthur was responsible for most of the damage, but Rhys was right behind him. My appetite hadn’t fully returned yet, so I offered my leftovers to the two vultures sharing my table. Rhys quickly obliged, scraping the food onto his own plate while Arthur cast a disapproving look in my direction. I shrugged back in apology. When every last piece of chicken, bell pepper, and onion had been consumed, I stacked our plates and pushed them out of the way. Either the house would take the hint, or I’d get to them when we decided to move.

Rhys, sipping his latte and staring ahead at nothing, interrupted Arthur’s and my discussion about the origin of fajitas by asking, “Did anything happen the first day you noticed magic?”

Clearly, he’d been asking Arthur, but I tried to think of a plausible story in case he froze. Arthur, though, looked at me and said, “It was the day I came to stay here. I could feel the magic around the house, but Morgan was with me, so it didn’t stop me like it would an intruder.”

“He was with you? What, like he picked you up?”

Before Arthur could give away that he didn’t know the proper context of “picked up,” I answered, “Yeah, I drove him here. He doesn’t have a license.”

“Shocker.” This from Rhys, who followed it up with, “You didn’t happen to pick him up from the Otherworld, did you? Because that’s about the only thing that would make sense at this point.” He shook his head, huffing a small laugh. “Either that, or he’s best mates with Daghdha.”

Now I was confused. “Daya?”

My protégé rolled his eyes, enunciating, “Daghdha. You know, father of the Otherworld.” He must have really thought I should know this, because he raised his brows and added, “…Celtic mythology?”

Now I knew how Arthur felt every time I had to explain a widely-known concept. “You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, still gazing at me unbelievingly. “Sorry, just a second. First I need a moment to appreciate the fact that I know something magical you don’t know.”

I cast a long-suffering look at the ceiling, waiting for him to finish enjoying his moment. “Oh, sure. Take all the time you need. It’s not like there’s an evil presence lurking just outside my consciousness.”

“You’re no fun,” Rhys said sadly.

“I’m lots of fun.” I chose to ignore how Arthur seemed to be considering this beside me. I tried again. “Otherworld?”

“Yeah, it’s just this massive interconnected dimension run by Celtic gods and goddesses where time moves differently and people are said to go after they die.” 

I blinked, drawling, “Is that all?”

He smirked and pushed back a bit from the table, crossing one leg over the other. “That’s the abridged version. Supposedly, humans can visit the Otherworld before death by accessing one of the many entrances scattered across the world. One of the by-products of visiting is sometimes an increased sensitivity to magic.” He paused, taking in my frozen expression. “But I was kidding. Calm down.”

There was a nagging thread of familiarity tugging at my awareness. I’d never heard the word “Otherworld” before, but the people who practiced the Old Religion and so many like it could have called it other things. Because what Rhys had just described sounded an awful lot like what I imagined another place to be, a place I had hated for the better part of my life. I had no proof; I’d never been where they kept Arthur in death. I’d never set a foot outside the natural world, never thought to try to enter a supernatural one. Frankly, I hadn’t thought I could. Otherwise, you can bet I’d have tried to raise Arthur on my own damn schedule.

Trying not to sound too unlike myself, I asked carefully, “Did you say there are entrances in different parts of the world?”

“Yes.” Rhys answered slowly, as if talking to a small child.

“Do they have names?”

“What, like every entrance? No clue, but I’m sure some must. Why do you look like that?”

I hadn’t realized I looked like anything, but as Arthur leaned forward to study my face, I could feel how wide my eyes had grown. “Do you know where the entrances are? Any of them?” Still in my eyeline, Arthur, too, seemed eager for this answer.

It was clear that Rhys thought I’d gone daft, but he humored me. “Mounds sometimes, like burial mounds or naturally-occurring hills. Certain cities are supposed to be connected, London, Paris, a few scattered over Russia for sure. Then there are scholars who mention island entrances, which-”

He continued jabbering, but my ears had filled with static. Island entrances. Mounds. What about an island that was a mound in and of itself? “The islands,” I interrupted, “are there any in England?”

Obviously peeved that I’d cut him off, Rhys ruefully changed course and answered, “Rumored to be, yeah. But there’s a lot of disagreements about which ones. Some say the main ones are in Ireland and Wales, some say the literature points to England because of its location in the isle of Albion. Some say-”

“Albion,” I murmured, tuning him out completely. That was a word I hadn’t heard in a long time, not since shortly after Arthur’s death. The term had gone out of fashion around the fifth century, only remaining in use by literary scholars and enormous dragons imposing weighty destinies on impressionable young men. There was no way this was a coincidence. The Otherworld must have an entrance near Avalon, or be Avalon, and this must be the explanation for Arthur’s sudden magical tendencies. I had no details yet, no confirmation, but the pieces fit too perfectly to be anything but the truth.

“Oi.”

It was Rhys, finally realizing I’d stopped listening. I blinked. “Sorry, just… thinking…”

“You sure your brain’s not still scrambled from that reverie?”

“Mmmm no, actually. Very possible.” I did feel a bit spacey. I sat in silence for several moments, still lost in thought, while Rhys and Arthur stayed quiet next to me. At last, I lifted my gaze to Rhys. “Back now, I think.”

“Great, care to share what just happened in your little world?” Again, his tone was ideal for a child under the age of five.

“Not yet,” I said. “But I do have some more questions for you, if you’re willing.”

Rhys crossed his arms, giving me a tight-lipped smile. “I have a feeling you’re going to pester me even if I’m not willing, then stare off into space while I give my answers, only to ask something completely unrelated when you return to earth. Am I close?”

I stood, reached for a fresh mug in the cupboard, and pulled the espresso from where it was stashed next to the machine. “Scarily close, I think.”

Arthur, who hadn’t moved or spoken for several minutes, stood as well. When I looked at him curiously, he just reached past me and topped off his water glass at the sink before sitting again. He took a drink, then motioned to Rhys’ and my coffees. “It’s my latte,” he said.

I hid my grin, turning back to the counter and finishing my drink before reclaiming my seat. When I had taken the first, soul satisfying sip, I looked again to Rhys. “Okay,” I began, “I want you to tell me everything you know about the Otherworld. The unabridged version this time.”

Chapter Text

It turned out that the unabridged version of what Rhys knew of the Otherworld was somewhat anticlimactic. In fact, it was rather similar to the abridged version, save for some stray details about the rumored atmosphere of the place. 

“So it’s a prison?” I asked.

“It’s been compared to a prison, but it’s not actually a prison in the traditional sense. But there are elaborate cells, guards, protocols that have to be followed.” Rhys rubbed his temples, yawning. “And since its inhabitants are mostly dead, obviously they can’t just walk freely in and out.”

“But they’re… aware? If they need guards, it reasons they’ve tried to escape.” I longed to ask Arthur a few questions about his experience, but there was no way I could broach that subject when Rhys was in the room. Better to wait. 

Rhys, fingers still pressing circles into his temples, shrugged slightly. “I would think so, at least to some degree.” He opened his mouth in another yawn, this one preventing him from speaking for several seconds.

“Rhys.” 

“Hm?” 

He looked at me, and I noticed for the first time that his eyes were bloodshot and watery. I’d been so distracted, I wasn’t sure how long they’d been like that. “I appreciate the information, and I’ll definitely ask you for more, but let’s call it a night. You’re getting an overextension headache, and your eyes look like you just did a lot of illicit drugs.”

Arthur looked over at me, then studied Rhys’ face closely. “Overextension headache?” He asked no one in particular.

I answered while Rhys released another yawn. “A bad headache when you’ve done too much magic at once. Like what I had a few days ago, but not to that degree.” 

Rhys sat up straighter, trying to blink away the wetness in his eyes. “It’s not that bad. I’m fine, just need to take some ibuprofen.” 

I stood, disappearing from the kitchen for a minute before returning with three small red pills, which I placed before Rhys. “Take these, and I’ll drive you home.”

Quickly downing the pills, Rhys gulped the rest of his latte before protesting, “And leave me carless for work tomorrow? Nah, I’ll be alright.” He stretched before he stood from the table. “But I do have a question for you before I leave.” I waited, totally unsurprised by the words that came out of his mouth. “Why do you care about all this? Besides learning something new, what’s in this for you? Because the look on your face during my lecture was very entertaining.” I trailed him out of the kitchen and down the hall to the front entry, stalling before I gave an answer. I passed him his bag and scarf after he’d shrugged his coat on, but he refused to take them until I’d answered his question. “Come on. Until the last minute or so, I hadn’t suspected an ulterior motive. Now you’ve got me wondering.”

My arms, still holding his possessions out to him, drooped a little. “And if I were to tell you it was just similar to something I’d heard a long time ago?”

“I’d say that sounded like a half truth, but I’ll take it for now.” He took his items, relieving my arms of their weight. “But I would also say after all the mysterious trouble you’ve been in recently, I’d appreciate the other half of the truth at some point.” Eyeing me, he called to where Arthur stood near the kitchen, “I’m not finished digging on you, yet,” before stepping out into the icy night.

“Digging?” Arthur crossed his arms, shuffling toward me. 

I shook my head. “Gathering information. Don’t worry, he could dig all the way to China and still not find anything.” I turned back toward the kitchen, Arthur on my heels.

“But that’s because of the new name, because of Aaron King. You said both our real names are legend; that everyone knows them. How do you know he wouldn’t make that connection in his ‘digging,’ especially since he knows we call each other by those names?”

In the kitchen, I was pleasantly surprised to find the dishes already being scrubbed in the sink. Sometimes I had to re-cast the housekeeping spells… they got lazy. “He thinks they’re nicknames, just for fun,” I explained. “Trust me, he doesn’t actually think we are those people. When I said ‘legend,’ I meant it. Big legend. Massive legend. So much a legend that no one believes it to be truth anymore.” I set the kettle to boil, adding, “Even if we tried to convince him, he wouldn’t believe us. He’d have us committed.”

To my surprise, Arthur plunked a mug down next to the one I’d set out for tea. “Committed?”

“Put into a hospital that treats people with mental illness.”

Arthur watched the water bubble in the kettle, holding his hand above the steam that began to rise. “Have you ever tried one?” When I didn’t answer, he elaborated. “For your depression. Anxiety. You said those were mental illnesses. Have you ever tried one of the hospitals?” 

I made a mental note not to make so many quips that required explanation. “Ah, no. Not exactly.” Before he could ask why, I explained, “The way they help people in places like that is by getting to the root of your issues; trying to find out where your problems stem from and then working out how best to help you overcome them. If I were to tell them the root of my issues, I think they would find me rather insane.” I reached for the kettle as it switched off. “Besides, only recently have mental hospitals offered decent care. For most of their history, they’ve been more inhumane than helpful.” Putting it lightly, but Arthur didn’t need to know the extent of past asylum brutalities. 

He nodded, watching as I filled his mug and then my own. “Probably better to keep people out of your head anyway. They might trip on some nonsense.” Arthur turned from me, trying to solidify his joke with a good exit, but I took that moment to ruin it for him. Almost as an afterthought, I flung out my magic, blocking the doorway with a quick shield of air. Arthur promptly collided with it, tea splashing out of the mug and decorating both Arthur and the floor. He took a moment to survey the mess, the now obvious magical shield, and finally turned to me. “See?” He gestured to it all. “Nonsense.”

I shrugged. “I never disagreed.” I pulled the shield down, allowing him into the hallway. 

Arthur left his mug on the counter and walked away, shaking his head. “I’ll leave all this for you to clean.” His footsteps faded as he closed the door to his bedroom. 

The ungrateful bugger hadn’t even thanked me for cooling his tea before it spilled. Huffing quietly, I glanced at the mess; I had no intention of taking care of it. “I’ll leave all this for you to clean,” I repeated, this time to the house. Carefully, I stepped around the puddles of spilt tea and made for the study.

* * *

I did have every intention of sleeping that night. Before ten, I retired to my room, firmly securing my protection spell over Arthur and myself. I went through my evening routine, drawing out my shower to enjoy the hot water before donning my coziest pajamas and curling up to write a bit in my journal. Around midnight, I was in bed, a laughably early evening for me. And for a little while, I believed I might actually fall asleep like a normal person. 

But when my intrusive awakeness had annoyed me to the point of turning to look at my phone where it lay on the nightstand, I gave up all pretense of tiredness. 2:42. I had been fighting my internal clock for nearly three hours, and it was time to give in. Up I got, quietly putting on warm wool socks and another layer of sweatshirt. The house was so silent and still, I could have believed I was alone again if I hadn’t felt the tug of Arthur’s half of the protection spell. Shedding my half, I slipped out the door.

I hoped the sound of the kettle in the dead of night wouldn’t wake Arthur. From what I could remember, he slept like the dead, but he had also been remarkably talented at waking up just before we were ambushed on trips. To be on the safe side, I masked off the sounds coming from the kitchen with a quick word of command. Might as well make a snack, too, now that I was sound-proofed. 

Toasted cheese sandwich and massive mug of tea in hand, I sat once more in my well-worn seat in the study. Before bed, I’d been trying to learn more about Rhys’ Otherworld theory. Well, he didn’t know it was a theory, but it fit too perfectly for me to ignore. A few quick Google searches had given me sources for in-depth research, and I’d left the web pages pinned open while I’d tried to get some sleep. Now I returned to those pages, pulling out clean sheets of paper and a good pen before hunkering down in front of my MacBook. 

Almost immediately after I began reading, red flags started popping up in my head. I first looked into the basics - what the Otherworld was, where it was, and how it came into being. Some results were murky at best, but there were other passages that froze me as I devoured their contents. The first few articles I scrolled through only parroted back what Rhys had described: a big, connected, mystical network where dead people lived with guardians in a warped reality. But once I was able to get past the candy-coated wiccan wannabe websites and dig into the deeper source material, my findings became eerily conclusive. 

Perhaps the most significant black hole that I dove into was research on what many authors regarded as the most powerful Otherworld entrance. Its main doorway was located in Scotland, at the mouth of the River Clyde. The entrance could also be accessed in an area further south, a place dubbed “holy” by the ancient civilizations who lived there. It was historically referred to as Avalon.

All I felt were chills along my arms as my mind worked at the puzzle of parallels. I decided to assume that my suspicions were completely correct and that Arthur had been held in the Otherworld, what I knew as Avalon. Earlier, Rhys had mentioned a name when he’d been joking about Arthur’s magic. Day? Daya? No, it was more complicated than that… A couple of searches yielded a likely match riddled with fun Celtic spelling: Daghdha. I clicked the link. 

Father of the inhabitants of the Otherworld. Expert in anything relating to magic, druidry included. All-knowing, blah blah blah. Whoever this Daghdha was, he was clearly the highest power in that realm. More than a god; he’d have to be higher to take charge of all the gods and goddesses that lived and worked in the Otherworld. He apparently liked horses (okay?), and possessed a magical club that could kill or- I blinked, rereading the words. The club had two ends, one rough for ending life, and one smooth for- for resurrecting. Daghdha held the power of reincarnation and rebirth and could bring back a resident of his realm. Was it that simple? Had he looked at his calendar and realized it was time? I pictured him in all his ugly glory (he was rumored to be disgusting to behold), frowning down at his schedule. “Ah, yes. Need to send that blond back to Earth.” But why not give Arthur some idea of what his mission was in this new day and age? Why not prepare him even a little? I kept reading, slightly irked at Daghdha for not informing either of us better. I focused on the resurrection bit, since that was the only probable connection I had. 

Soon, though, I learned that Daghdha didn’t often resurrect people the same way they had shown up in the Otherworld. He nearly always changed them, their physical form or even their entire consciousness, before dropping them back with humanity. The reasons for this were plain: don’t draw attention, don’t scare people by making ghosts suddenly appear in the streets. And in order to reincarnate someone, he had to have their express permission. So then, Arthur had to have allowed Daghdha to bring him back; it couldn’t have been done without his knowledge. But of course Arthur would have said yes, right? 

My biggest question now was why Arthur had been allowed to come back exactly the same as he had been in his previous life. Did the prophecy allow for that? Did Daghdha not want to risk making any massive or noticeable changes to Arthur because of his great destiny? It had been a long time, but I knew his face, I always did. The same face had greeted me on the bank of Lake Avalon as the one I had sent across it. Arthur was unchanged. Every hair on his head laid the same as it had. Every movement and gesture. Every facial expression. All of it brought overwhelming feelings of familiarity, as if this interim had been a strange dream for both of us, and now we were both waking up. 

I felt as though my fingers were grazing the edge of something slick. Each time my brain tried to grasp on, it would slip away out of reach again. Abandoning my spot on the page, I scrolled down to the references listed and began clicking. Every article I read seemed to dance around the questions I had. There had to be something I was missing, some obvious link. Yes, being in the Otherworld can change a person. Yes, Daghdha can reincarnate a person. But why was Arthur so blatantly identical to his past self? And where were the Sídhe in all of this? 

I kept waiting to reach a conclusion, but the blow never landed. Maybe my intellect was still catching up from the last few days. Several minutes later, my frustration reached its peak. I closed my laptop and rubbed my screen-tired eyes; I had been staring at the backlit screen for so long, I had lost all awareness of time. When I bothered to look at the clock on my phone, it read 6:04. The night was gone, and with it, any chance of me sleeping. I was too wired anyway, too many thoughts and ideas swirling in my brain. Leaning back in my chair, I stretched, trying to wake my useless limbs. God, it felt amazing. When was the last time I’d had a proper stretching session? Probably the last time I’d had a proper workout. And that was… how long had Arthur been here?

Flooded with sudden motivation, I stood and gathered my empty dishes. They went straight to the sink for the house to clean, and I went to change. Two minutes later, I emerged in tracksuit bottoms, a long sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of trainers. It felt strangely nice to wear workout clothes again, and I found myself excited as I walked to my home gym. This was normal. This was routine. I used to always start the morning, sometimes very early morning, depending on how I slept, with a long bout of exercise followed by a shower and a big mug of tea. With Arthur here, my routine had gone in the bin. Apparently it had very much affected me. 

Now I huffed through warmups and cardio before moving on to my weight machine. Legs first because they were dreadful, next core strength, finally ending with arms and shoulders to complete a solid full body workout for my first day back. I would be thoroughly sore later, I knew, but it had to be done. The soreness would fade soon, and I would be back to my former good health. I was a bloody doctor, yet I’d let myself forget how sluggish you feel when you stop a good workout regimen. Surely some of my failure to thrive could be attributed to my lack of exercise. 

I was pressing the weighted bars together in a consistent rhythm when I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. Trying not to disturb my flow, I glanced over to the doorway where a large figure now stood. “If I woke you, I’m sorry. The weights can be loud, I know.”

“No, you didn’t.” Arthur walked around to the front of the weight machine, circling with crossed arms as I continued my presses. “It just surprised me, when I realized where the sounds were coming from. This is the first time you’ve used this room since I’ve been here.” 

“Yeah, well,” I panted, “I haven’t exactly felt like myself.” Push, release, push. “What with all the injuries, brain invasions, and the like.” I panted again, catching my breath from speaking. 

“How long have you been exercising? You seem…” Arthur regarded my sweat-soaked form. “Tired,” he finished delicately. 

I huffed a laugh. “I’m out of shape, you can say it. It’s been a solid month since I had a proper workout session. My endurance is pitiful.” Finishing my last set, I leaned back in the padded seat and focused on breathing. Sweat trickled into my eyes, and I wiped it with my already drenched shirt.

“I don’t need to say it because I technically already did. With the horses.” He moved to the free weights and began picking them up, lightest to heaviest. “Can you really exercise your whole body in this one small room?”

“Every bit of it. Endurance, muscle gain, strength, flexibility… you just have to know how to use the equipment.” I gestured to the cross-trainer he was now scrutinizing. “I could show you if you like, set up a workout regimen for you.” A blank look greeted me. “A routine for you to follow. If you want.”

I could have sworn Arthur brightened a bit at that. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Especially since you keep your horses so far away.” He crossed his arms, kept his tone disinterested, but I had seen the excitement at the prospect of working out. Jock. 

I finally stood from the weight machine, wet shirt hanging limply from my frame. A chuckle made me pause. Arthur was grinning, surveying me from his spot by the cross-trainer. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, no. You look like you were thrown in a lake is all. And you’re moving like you did as the old warlock.” He mimicked the movements, taking a few stiff steps across the room. 

I ignored that, continuing my awkward trek out of the room and down the hall. “I’m taking a shower.” 

“Good idea,” he called back. 

He was right, of course. A quick look in the mirror revealed a tomato-red face, wet clothes and hair, and an expression of sheer exhaustion. Right. Into the shower, then. 

Ten minutes later, with fresh clothes and gelatinous muscles, I emerged from the bedroom. The steady clank of the weight machine met my ears, and I followed the sound back to the gym. Unsurprised, I surveyed Arthur as he mimicked the last exercise I’d been doing. He seemed winded, to my delight, and I crossed my arms and watched him from the doorway. “Not as easy as you thought?”

“I added more weight.” 

Damn bastard didn’t even break his rhythm to answer me. I peeked around the machine to look at the settings. Decided not to look any longer. “While you’re just sitting around,” an eye roll from Arthur, “I want to ask you something.” 

“And what might that be?”

“What do you remember of your time in Avalon?”

That broke the rhythm. 

I waited while he let the weight machine settle back into its default position and leaned back in his seat, hands resting on the tops of his thighs while he caught his breath. “I wondered when you would ask. I thought it would be sooner.”

“It’s rude to ask people about being dead. And you did tell me a little, at the beginning.” I broke eye contact and walked to the window. Better to let my gaze rove over the winter garden, try to ease the sudden tension in the room. “But now you’ve had time to adjust. And I need to know everything. Everything you can remember.”

I waited in the heavy silence while Arthur digested my request. What emotions were playing across his face right now? Tension, frustration, anger, grief? I relied too heavily on being able to read his expression. 

It was only thoughtfulness that colored his voice when he said, “I remember being kept safe and comfortable. I don’t remember anything concrete; it’s more like a dream that keeps slipping away. I have a general impression, but nothing specific has stayed with me.” I turned then, relieved the silence had been broken. Arthur was watching me, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. “I remember a sense of time passing… sometimes quickly, like being asleep. Sometimes in moments, like being alive. There were long stretches of just… quiet existence. Then there were moments of realization.”

“Realization?”

“When they would tell me things. Make sure I knew key events from the world above. That’s how I knew… certain things when I awoke. But it wasn’t as direct as speech. It was more that the knowledge just was .” Arthur shook his head. “That’s probably incredibly unhelpful.”

“No, it helps; anything helps.” I leaned against the wall. “Anything is more than I had before.” I waited for him to go on, but when it was clear he was done talking, I said, “Do you remember anything about your guardians?”

Arthur closed his eyes, fingers interlaced over his face. I was silent while he fought to remember, trying not to even breathe too loudly in the room. Minutes later, he spoke into the stillness. “I remember a feeling of power, more power than I’d ever felt before. More than at Camlann, even. Nothing clear comes to mind… no faces or names. But power. And…” He looked thoughtfully at me, clearly trying to riddle something out. “Attachment.”

That hadn’t been my first guess. “Attachment?” 

“That’s the best way I can describe it. Like someone wanted me. Badly.” He shook his head. “But don’t ask me why, because I haven’t a clue.” He resumed his position on the weight machine, poised for more presses. “Sometimes I wish you could just look inside my head. It would help fill in the gaps for both of us.” 

The machine began clanking anew, Arthur returning to his steady rhythm, but I didn’t move. I stared straight ahead, words and ideas already swarming my thoughts with possibility. The right framework, the right amount of delicate pressure… “Arthur.”

“Hm?” He continued pressing the bars together.

“I think I can.” 

Clearly not caught up with where my brain had gone, Arthur asked, “Can what?”

I stared at him, mind half distracted by the magic I would use to get our answers. “If you really mean that, I think I can do it.”

“Do what?”

Taking the few steps to the weight machine, I held out a hand and stopped him mid-press. “I think I can look inside your head.” 

Arthur let the machine reset, finally grasping what I’d been saying. I’d expected him to seem dubious, perhaps laugh in my face. But he just looked at me, face open, expectant. “Tell me more.”

“I’ve never done it before, mind you. And there’s a chance your magic will have its own defenses in place… So I could be kicked out before I’ve even gotten in. The wording is also incredibly specific for mind spells, so much so that it may take me a few tries to even get close to-” 

“Merlin.” 

“-the information we need,” I finished. “It’s complicated.”

“I see that.”

“It could go horribly wrong if I’m not careful.”

“Clearly.”

“I’m just trying to cover my bases.”

“Bases?”

“Never mind.” I took a deep breath. “I’ve never done this before.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched. “You said that already.” 

“I need you to understand what you’re volunteering for.”

He studied me, mouth quirking up as if he knew a secret. Then, “You’re nervous.” 

I waited. Surely his revelation would contain more than that. When he said nothing else, I replied, “About digging in your head with magic? Yeah.” More silence. “What?”

“You’re not usually nervous. Not about magic. It’s the one thing you’ve only ever showed confidence in.”

I decided not to laugh out loud, settling instead for a look of disbelief. “If I ever doubted your ignorance of my magic before, I definitely don’t now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I was an idiot! A blundering fool who magicked his way through life without understanding the consequences of his actions! Half the time, the only thing Gaius did with his day was fix my mistakes.” The name stung, but I moved past it. “If you only knew the amount of times I misjudged a situation or got someone hurt…”

“Yes, but Merlin, you were barely a man then! I mean, for god’s sake, I was barely a man, and I was older than you.” I nearly cracked a smile at “ was older,” but I decided against it. “I did horrible, selfish things every day. If I’d had magic, you can bet I would have abused my power even more.” He had a point there. “What I’m trying to say is that you won’t find anyone on this earth who has had more time to study magic than you. You are the best person for this job, and you’ve had lifetimes to earn that title. So why are you nervous? Would you rather have someone else fishing inside my head?”

“I wouldn’t compare it to fishing, per se-”

“Would you?”

A beat, then, “No.”

“And this is important, isn’t it?”

“I think so, yes. It could be hugely important to find out who’s trying to get to us.”

“Then it’s settled.” Arthur stood. “Come on.” He walked briskly out of the room.

I followed. “Where are we going?” 

“To the living room.” Arthur was already there, taking a seat on the couch. “In case I have a fit of some kind or follow your example of passing out. I’d rather not be surrounded by heavy metal objects.”

He did have a point there. Before taking my own seat, I turned back to the hall, making a beeline for the study.

“Oi! Where are you going?” 

I smiled at the irritation in the voice. “I’ll be right there!” A few moments later, I rejoined Arthur on the couch, arms laden with notes, books, and my laptop. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” I spread a few pages before me, opened a book to the side. “I’m not risking your brain just because we want answers.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but said “How kind of you.” He flipped on the news, allowing me my time to study. 

“My Lord,” I muttered, studiously ignoring any reaction as I began my work.