Chapter Text
CLASH. CLANG.
Merlin woke up to the sound of striking metal, to the grunts and groans of men outside his window. A small part of his still sleepy mind thought, this is familiar. He couldn’t quite place it, just where he had heard this before. Blearily, he blinked, staring up at the white ceiling. Whatever time it was, it was too early. Sunlight bathed his room a soft yellow and he rolled out of bed. His feet hit the carpeted floor with a soft thud. The sounds grew louder as he approached the window, the voices more distinct. He could make out Gwaine’s tired moan, Tristan’s exasperated grunt, Percy’s soft complaints. Sticking his head out the window, he spotted half of Arthur’s round table sprawled on the grass, sweaty and worn. Lancelot and Tristan were still at it.
After months of practicing with wooden swords, Arthur had reluctantly graduated them to the real thing. At least, Lancelot and Leon were, the others hadn’t picked it up as easily as they had. The pair crossed swords, grunting as they tried to force the other to surrender. A harsh clang and they broke apart, only to whirl around and strike one another again.
A familiar sound. A familiar sight. Merlin drank in the scene before him, his eyes pricking as the nostalgia washed over him. It had been eons since knights practiced, since swords were swung in public for actual purpose and not for sport. All it took was the ringing of metal and Merlin was transported back to his youth, to when Camelot had stood and Arthur had been the pinnacle of all that was good. To the time when kings and queens ruled the land, to when magic was brimming in secret and the world was a simpler place.
Then the king had fallen, Camelot had collapsed, and magic had waned.
You did not fail, Kilgharrah had sworn, his voice kind. Magic is not lost.
The king will be back, the lady of the lake promised, her impossibly bright blue eyes boring into his. You saved him.
Yet years turned to decades turned to centuries and nothing changed. No kings returned from the dark void like Lancelot had. As usual, Arthur liked to keep him waiting. Merlin saw the Dark Ages and witnessed the Renaissance and finally, after the roaring twenties and multiple wars, he had arrived to a present that Gaius would have loved to live in. A time when science had finally overtaken magic, proving that the impossible was possible.
No, to be exact, a time when magic had disappeared. There was no magic left, none except for Merlin’s.
He turned away from the window, back to his crowded room. Towering piles of books claimed every free inch of floor, swaying this way and that when the slightest breeze blue through the unstable piles. Merlin carefully weaved a path to the door, dancing and twirling as he tried not to topple anything over. His house was a modest structure, made with a little magic and thirty years of engineering and architecture studies. It was time that he expanded his room, or at least his house, especially if he was going to house Arthur and all of his knights.
Something he could probably do on his own, his studies weren’t that long ago. Somewhere in the house was his diploma, neatly sitting in a stack with the other degrees he received. With all of eternity stretched out before him, he had too much time on his hands and too little to do. If only Gaius could see him now, could find out that all of his crackpot theories were true. Or were false, but there was a still some of his science behind the phenomena. Merlin wasn’t sure which one would impress the old man more. Just take the combustion process, creating smoke much like the one that was tickling his nose right now—
Shit. Something was burning.
Merlin ran.
-x-
“I was trying to make breakfast,” Elyan admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He stood in the center of the kitchen, surrounded by the wreckage of his attempt. A mountain of dirty dishes filled the sink while the stove was dosed in fire extinguisher foam. Something charcoal-like sat on a plate near the front.
Merlin frowned deeply, trying not to imagine just how long it would take to clean everything up. Considering how often it happened, he nearly had it down to an art. “Seriously? I expected this from Arthur, not you.”
“…in my defense, I don’t cook much,” Elyan muttered, his tone a mixture of contrite and defensive. He shuffled to the right a bit, as though to hide the black food from Merlin’s gaze.
It was too late, Merlin had seen everything. He crossed his arms, channeling his inner Gaius. “That was the best excuse you could come up with?” His head pounded lightly, the beginnings of a headache, and Merlin tried not to sigh too loudly. “Arthur literally learned what a stove was the other day and he doesn’t cause half as much trouble as you or Gwaine.”
It was strange, really. Arthur was the only one who had been brought back to life exactly as he had been, with all of the knowledge of a medieval man and nothing of the modern era. Yet somehow, it was his knights, who had been reborn in the modern age, who had grown up with technology, no somehow, they were the ones that caused the most trouble. Initially he had thought it that maybe the newly resurfaced memories of their past were interfering with their present selves, threatening to overwhelm them.
“That’s because he had less time to destroy things,” Elyan countered, jabbing a finger at the garbage can. “You’ve seen what he’s done with a microwave, just multiply that by ten.”
Now they’d been here for months, Merlin had to accept the cold hard truth: reincarnation was no cure for stupidity. A headache was definitely growing and he raised a brow. “The man was a king, he never had to do this for himself before. Seriously. It’s like an adult comparing themselves to a toddler. Are you sure you want to do that?”
“A toddler?” Laughing, Elyan grabbed the counter to stabilize himself. “Can you imagine his face if he heard it?”
The flare of his nostrils. The furrow of his brow. The growled Merlin. Unable to help himself, Merlin chuckled. “He’s been here a year, so maybe ‘baby’ is a better word?”
A howl of laughter broke out of Elyan. “Much better. The king is a baby.”
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Merlin took a deep breath and turned back to the kitchen mess. Gingerly picking up a piece of charcoaled food, he realized it was bread. “You burnt toast?”
“French toast,” Elyan corrected, his shoulders still shaking. “Thought Gwen would like them.”
“I don’t think anyone would like this.” Merlin took the plate to the trash can. The compost bin was right next to it, and he turned from one bin to the other before finally dropping it into the trash. As amazing as mother nature was, even she couldn’t find nutrients in that thing.
“It’s my first attempt.” Shrugging, Elyan stretched his arms above him. “I’ll just try again.”
Next to the stove was a bowl filled with egg and several slices of bread. Enough attempts to possibly burn down the house, despite the protection Merlin had weaved into its construction. Maybe he should construct an outdoor kitchen. Or at least move all the appliances outside. Maybe he should get Leon to supervise. Merlin certainly didn’t have the time to, not now. “…just try not to kill yourself?”
Elyan snorted. “That’s not possible.”
Somehow, that didn’t reassure Merlin as much as it should have.
-x-
“Merlin!” Lying flat on the ground, Gwaine perked up as Merlin approached the impromptu training field. Without missing a beat, he bounced onto his feet with a roguish grin. “Bout time you woke up.”
Whatever else might be different about this Gwaine, he still had the same limitless energy. It was infectious and Merlin couldn’t resist the tugging of his lips as a happy smile slid onto his face. “I like sleeping in.”
“You mean Arthur doesn’t force you to get up with the rest of us.” Gwaine grimaced with a shudder. He glared at the general direction of the house. “I’ve had teachers less strict than him.”
Merlin hummed in agreement. It was best not to mention the hex he’d left on his room—every time Arthur came to wake him up, he’d remember some important task or the other. If only he had learned to use that back in Camelot. Then again, Gaius would have reproached him, his old basset-hound eyes baleful.
Reaching down into the long grass, Gwaine grasped the hilt of his sword. His tongue sticking out to the side, he grunted softly as he picked up the heavy weapon. Stepping back to fix his balance, he proudly grinned as he showed off the sword. “Ain’t she a beaut? Finally convinced Arthur to let us use the real things.”
“...are you ready?” Merlin watched as Gwaine swung the sword excitedly. Sunlight glinted off the polished metal as he went through his paces, fighting an imaginary foe. There was something rough about his movements, something unrefined, in a way that contrasted completely with Arthur’s form. The difference between childhood training and a drunken brawler, perhaps. But it was also different from how he used to be, from the Gwaine of Camelot, and this version of him was slower, less sure of himself. The cocky bravado had always been a façade but never more apparent than now. “It might be better to practice if you aren’t—”
“I’ve been polishing this damn thing for weeks.” Gwaine stopped, turning to glower at Merlin. His arm, tired of holding up the sword, stuck the weapon into the dirt in a way that would have made Arthur wince. “You’d better not change his mind.”
“I won’t, I won’t.” Merlin sighed, rolling his eyes. Some things never changed and this was one of them—Gwaine’s rash, headlong charge into anything that interested him. It could get him killed. It had gotten him killed. Worrying wouldn’t convince him otherwise. Merlin would just have to keep a close eye on him. “You’re totally ready.”
“Good.” Satisfied, he yanked the sword out of the earth. Dirt streaked the tip, dulling the bright silver into a muddy steel.
While he’d never really cared for swords, Merlin couldn’t help the wave of disgust that ran through him at the sight. He’d cleaned too many of Arthur’s gear. His fingers were already itching to grab a cloth, muscle memory from a time long gone returning to him. Turning away, Merlin observed the now empty training field. At some earlier point, the other knights had drifted off. Probably when Arthur had left for his daily wooing session. “Have you seen—”
“Lancelot?” Gwaine completed, switching swordhands. He shook his now cramped right hand and raised a brow at Merlin’s surprised expression. “What? You think I haven’t noticed? The man looks like he’ll drown himself and you keep trying to throw a life preserver.”
Maybe he should have taken some acting lessons at some point. Not bothering to rebuff him, Merlin sighed wearily, his shoulders slumping. “I thought he was getting better, after he and Gwen became friends again.”
“Lancelot and Guinevere,” Gwaine mused, sticking his sword into the earth again. Leaning forward on it, he smirked rakishly. “I think I know where that’s heading.”
“Don’t.” Merlin shot him an angry glare, his tone sharp. “He’s beating himself about that enough, don’t add to it.”
“Hey, I didn’t—” His hands held up in front of him, Gwaine shook his head apologetically. “I haven’t said a word to him.”
“It’s just…” Merlin lowered his eyes, staring at the ground pensively. His hand clasped his wrist, his thumb rubbing circles as he slowly gathered his words. “You said your memories are like a dream, right?”
“Yeah.” Gwaine bit his cheek, his hand gripping the sword tightly. “Most of it, at least. Like a dream you remember still. Only the bits at the end…with Morgana…those, those feel real.”
“You all have such different reactions. Tristan’s memories overtake his current ones, Elyan has merged them together—” Merlin cut himself off as he started to get off topic. “Lancelot…even though it wasn’t him, even though it wasn’t his fault back then either, he can’t stop blaming himself.”
“…I know that feeling,” Gwaine muttered softly, his expression dark. Before Merlin could press him, he let go of his sword and approached Merlin. “And you’re trying to change that.”
“I just can’t stop remembering how he smiled when we first found him. How free it was.” How happy. Merlin remembered the hopeful young man present-Lance had been as he had walked the streets of Paris, hand-in-hand with his girlfriend. And how it had all changed when he’d spotted Arthur, when the memories had flooded in. “I just…I wish we had never awoken him.”
“It’s the fate of the world.” Gwaine swung his arm around Merlin’s back, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. His voice was gentle, soothing. “You didn’t have a choice.”
“Maybe.” Unconvinced, Merlin refused to lean into the comfort his friend gave. “There might have been another way.”
“Or there might not have been.” Gwaine ran his free hand through his hair. It was almost as long as Merlin remembered now, but he couldn’t tell if that if Gwaine was trying to look like he used to or if his present self just liked it. “I mean, I could have been loafing around in Australia with my sister. I’m missing her birthday because of this.”
Merlin’s eyes widened. He’d been so caught up with Lancelot’s mess, that he hadn’t considered if any of the other knights were happy with it. Especially Percy and Gwaine—Gwen had made it very clear how she didn’t believe any of this, Tristan had always had issues, and Elyan had been happy just to be reunited with his sister. “I’m sorry, I—”
“There would have been cake, she makes amazing cake,” Gwaine cut him off, his tone light and airy. Pulling Merlin up to stand straight, he continued, “and her hot coworkers—it’s like the model industries’ rejects are there. Beautiful women. Handsome men. Can you just picture it?”
Peeking to his right, Merlin studied his face, the teasing smirk, the bright eyes. It had been a long time since someone had tried to cheer him up. Since someone had been close enough to do it. Leaning closer now, he scoffed. “And what are we, chopped liver?”
“Hmm…I’ll grant you that, there’s a lot of attractive gents and lady here,” Gwaine admitted slowly. “Even a silver fox.”
“Tristan?” Merlin stared at him, not sure if he was joking.
“Silver fox,” Gwaine confirmed sagely, letting go of Merlin. “But your cooking’s gotten worse.”
“Still miles better than yours,” Merlin snapped back.
“And my sister is better entirely, so we should all just pop by her place later. Guarantee Lancelot will be smiling by the end of it.” Gwaine clapped him on the back hard. “So don’t worry too much about it, we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Together. Merlin had almost forgotten that was a word he could use now. “I like the sound of that.”
-x-
Gwen and Leon. Merlin stopped on the path to the lake, surprised by the duo ahead of him. The pair were relaxing on a grassy toll next to the dirt path, facing the castle on the other side. While Leon was just sitting there, Gwen had her sketchbook out. Noticing him, Leon waved. “Merlin.”
“Leon.” Merlin approached them.
Gwen set down her sketchbook at his approach. Folding her hands on her lap, she greeted him with a nod. “Hi.”
Somehow, Merlin couldn’t get used to that. To the distance that Gwen set up between them. At one time, he had been her closest advisor. But then again, out of all the reincarnated friends he’d found, she alone was unique. This Gwen had no memories of the past. This Gwen had no connections to Camelot. She was an ordinary girl who only knew of the present. As far as she was concerned, their tale of heroes and myths were just crazy lies. “Drawing something?”
“The lake.” She ran a hand through her hair, smoothening down stray locks that were ruffled by the cool breeze. “If there’s one good thing about this place, it’s the view.”
“One?” Merlin frowned, glancing back at his house. At his painstakingly, personally crafted house. “My home’s not that bad.”
“Well…” Gwen bit her lip, a tell-tale sign that what she was about to say wasn’t going to be nice. Despite the differences between this Gwen and his Gwen, some things stayed the same. “It’s a nice place. And it has a roof.”
“But?” Merlin asked, gently prodding her.
“Yet you have absolutely no wi-fi and a terrible signal.” She sighed, leaning back to stare up at him. “I don’t understand it. You have magic. You have a fridge, for gods sake. Why is it impossible to contact the rest of the world?”
Merlin winced. Right. Modern needs. Considering he had no friends to contact before now, he hadn’t really cared about the lack of cellular service. “Hey, in my defense, I made this by hand. No company really covers this area.”
“How?” Gwen stared at him incredulously. “I know you’ve “cloaked” this place, but it’s still in the middle of England. Is there even a place in England were you can’t use your cell phone or access the internet?”
“…see,” Merlin explained slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “This place is kinda…blacked out of maps. So even though the networks can come really close to this place, they don’t really know it exists…”
“…magic.” Gwen sighed, flopping backwards onto the grass. She shielded her eyes with her hand, staring up at the sky. “Such a convenient excuse.” Glancing at him, she added, “No matter how many times I see it, I still can’t believe it’s real.”
“Despite what Merlin showed you?” Leon asked, cocking his head. “I know there’s a lot of magicians out there, but juggling several heavy crates and performing something out of The Magician’s Apprentice is pretty out there.”
“Isn’t he the magician in this case?” Gwen asked off handedly. Biting her cheek, she carefully worded her next sentence. “It’s…it’s hard to explain. Part of me believes—I can’t really say otherwise the magic and Morgana’s disappearance, but…well, I’m constantly pinching myself, waiting to wake up from the dream. Or have a camera pop out and someone scream You’re punked.”
“I get the feeling.” Leon nodded, staring at his hands. “I get the same sensation every time I remember my past lives. I’m just hoping it isn’t real.”
Merlin reached down and squeezed Leon’s shoulder. Sometimes he wondered if the druids shouldn’t have used the Cup of Life on him, giving him the ability to remember each past life. “I’ll find a way to block those memories. I promise.”
Leon covered his hand with his own, smiling softly. “I believe you.” He paused. “Though I can’t say the same for Tristan.”
“…he was looking for me again, wasn’t he?” Merlin asked, trying not to groan.
“Yeah. It’s been months, and without a single sign of Morgana or Mordred.” Leon shrugged. “He really wants to forget his past life.”
“…I’d do it, but…it’s just dangerous.” Merlin’s shoulders slumped. If he could, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Especially for Lancelot. But they’d been awoken for a reason and he didn’t want to make a mistake. Not again. Sometimes his life felt like a series of mistakes—not killing Mordred, telling Morgana about her magic, failing to save Arthur and magic.
This time around, he didn’t even have Kilgharrah or Gaius to advise him. Just himself. He had to be careful.
“Morgana and Mordred are not dangerous,” Gwen interrupted sharply, her dark eyes squinting at the two intensely.
Merlin shook his head. “You don’t know who they were—”
“And you don’t know how they are now,” Gwen interrupted, sitting up now. She crossed her arms, her expression just daring him to say something bad about her two childhood friends. “No matter what they did in Camelot, in your past, that’s not who they are now. Now they are my friends. Now they are good people. And when you find them, you’ll give them a chance to explain everything and not just attack.”
“…I’ll try.” It was as close to a promise as he could manage. Maybe Gwen was right. He’d already seen with the other reincarnated knights how similar yet different they were with their past selves. And at one point, Mordred had been a child. At one point, Morgana had worked for Camelot.
At one point, in this world, they had been children, completely unaware of the legacy they held. Until Merlin had recognized them. Did he awaken their powers? Their memories? Would they have been ordinary otherwise? It was a question without an answer.
“You’ll do more than try.” Not completely placated, Gwen begrudgingly accepted his words. “Oh, and if you find Arthur, try to teach him the concept of ‘other people’s stuff’. I know he was a king and all, but there are levels to idiocy.”
Merlin didn’t want to ask what his friend did this time. In Arthur’s attempts to court Gwen, Merlin was reminded of the very early days when Arthur had him do everything from setting up a room to arranging a picnic. Only, this time Merlin refused to lift a finger and Arthur was realizing the limitations of a king’s knowledge.
It was a disaster. He almost felt pity for him, but the comedic value was really cathartic.
“Do I even—” Merlin cut himself off, his hairs standing up. Magic was being used somewhere, strong magic, and there were only two other mages in this world it could be.
-x-
Morgana raised her hands. Blue sparks jumped off her skin, electricity in the air. A small breeze swirled around her, lifting her hair as she softly chanted a spell under her breath. Magic coursed through her veins, running through her spine and along her bones. It was interweaved with her and there was no way to change that, no matter what Uther had wanted.
If only he had wanted something else. Despite it all, she still felt a tinge at his name, a wash of sadness at tragedy of it all. Pushing that feeling aside, she concentrated on her powers, pushing the magic into the spell. Her eyes were glowing by now, she was sure, and the breeze grew stronger until it was a gale.
“Done yet?” Mordred asked, poking his head into her room.
Just like that, the spell stopped, and she glared at him. “It’s hard enough as it is without you interrupting every five minutes. Don’t you have a game to play?”
“I caught all the pokemon here and my switch needs recharging.” Mordred stepped into the room, whistling at the messy sight. They were in a cheap hostel, the best they could afford with their meager funds. At least it was the last place a king would look—there was no way they’d expect them somewhere like this.
Pushing the hair out of her face, Morgana examined the common room. Papers were scattered all over the floor, pots and pans still clanging from the momentum. A chair had overturned and she picked it up. “No one’s around, right?”
“Nope, sent them away.” Mordred grinned, a spark running over his fingers. Magic again. She didn’t really want to use it like this, but they didn’t really have a choice. “So, did you do it?”
“I think so.” Morgana, pulled out a map and a pencil. Letting her muscle memory guide her, she drew several small x’s. “It was very faint, but I sense some of the old ones here. Here. Here. And here.”
“Only four?” Mordred’s face fell, disappointed. Peering closer to the map, he glanced at the x drawn on England. “We can’t check there. Merlin would find us.”
“He would. We’ll leave it last. Hopefully we wont’ have to use it at all.” Morgana stretched her neck, trying to force the crinks out. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find someone at the first site.”
“They used to be everywhere,” Mordred mused. His people used to be nomads, she remembered. He probably knew the locations of old magic better than she did, though his current body had a harder time using it. “The old witches, the unicorns, everything. Do you think they’re extinct now?”
His voice broke at the end and she hugged her little brother tightly. “They might just be hiding. You know how people are, how we are. Bet the unicorns don’t like the smell and are just staying away.”
Mordred didn’t pull back like she expected—for years he had complained that she babied him too much. After a long silence, he slowly nodded. “Maybe.”
-x-
Merlin stared at the sorry sight in front of him. Arthur sat on the porch steps, his normally rim-rod straight posture hunched over as he rested his chin on the back of his hands. His gaze was fixed onto the lake, his jaw set as he ground his teeth grumpily. Sitting down next to him, Merlin looked at his friend, amused. “What did you do this time?”
“What makes you think I did anything?” Arthur kept his eyes glued in front of him, barely acknowledging Merlin aside from shifting slightly to the side. His interlaced fingers dug into his skin at the suggestion.
“Everything?” Merlin raised a brow, not sure where to start. Leaning back on his hands, he stared up at sky. The clouds were rolling in, it’d rain soon. “You don’t have that good of a poker face.”
“Your lieg—” Arthur started to correct before cutting himself off. Realizing the futility of making a gaggle of 21st century people use medieval addresses, he had given up on the proper use of his title. As the two people who could remember to use it, Leon and Merlin had both rejected the proposition immediately. “Poker…that card game, right?”
“Right.” Merlin bit his cheek, trying to think of an example Arthur would understand. “I can read you like a book.”
“Funny, that means there’s actually something you could read,” Arthur mocked, finally straightening up and turning to Merlin. With a sigh, he gestured at the room above them, the one that Gwen had claimed. “I gave her flowers.”
“Flowers,” Merlin repeated. He should have known it was Gwen. Almost nothing else was left on the planet that could put this expression on Arthur. Leaning back, he looked around Arthur to where a small bouquet of wild flowers was crumpled together. It was a messy group, the colours clashing between the bright yellows and dark reds that wouldn’t have looked out of place next to a corpse. Still, nothing too incongruous, and if anything it was part of Arthur’s charm to be oddly clumsy like that. “And?”
“She hated it.” Arthur threw a dirty look at the flowers, as though it were their fault. “Told me never to do it again.”
“…are you sure it was the flowers?” Merlin asked. It was the first time that Gwen had thrown him out with an exasperated sigh—Arthur had tried every archaic trick in the book, not quite accepting modern updates to dating. Or courtship as he called it.
Arthur snapped, “Of course I’m sure it was the flowers. What else could it be?”
“You,” Merlin answered bluntly. It was nice to not worry about the stocks anymore, or the dungeons, or whatever unusual punishment Arthur or Uther would think up.
“Me?” Enraged, Arthur raised his hand before taking a deep breath and calming himself. Reaching out, he squeezed Merlin’s shoulder tightly, his hand a vice-like grip. With a tight smile, he chuckled. “Think again.”
Ouch. Merlin had almost forgotten what it felt like, to have Arthur’s fingers digging into his skin. Puling off his hand, he directed it instead to the flowerbed down the hill, thirty metres away. “See that?”
“Flowers?” Arthur asked, raising a brow. “I’m not blind.”
“Just a little.” Merlin picked one of the discarded bouquet flowers. The blue iris had seen better days, its petals wrinkled and ruined from misuse. A few scattered pink petals from another flower scattered in the wind from the disruption. Waving the poor flower in front of Arthur, he asked, “Do you notice something?”
“I got it from there, if that’s what you’re asking.” Arthur’s eyes widened as he realized something disastrous. As he looked from the garden to the flower and then back, Merlin silently counted down. 3. 2. 1. “It’s a garden.”
“Yes, Sherlock, it’s a garden.” Merlin patted his friend on the back. While Arthur was as dense as a brick, he wasn’t entirely stupid. “And?”
“Shit.” With a groan, he buried his face in his hands again. His next sentence came out as more of a statement than a question. “It’s hers.”
“She said it was a good stress reliever.” Merlin laughed, picking up the rest of the ill-fated bouquet. “Too bad she didn’t realize her number one source of stress would do this.”
“Shut up.” Arthur glared at him through the cracks of his hands, his voice a deep grumble. “I thought she’d like it.”
“Like her hard work going to waste?” Merlin snorted, happy to have the upper hand. Picking the most intact flower, he started to pull out petals. “She’ll forgive you. She’ll forgive you not. She’ll forgive you. She’ll—”
“Merlin. Not helping.” Finding a source to vent his anger, Arthur directed most of his attention to Merlin. “You can fix them with magic?”
“Not at all.” Merlin picked up a flower with a broken stem. “Please tell me you didn’t give them to her like this.”
“Of course not.” Arthur worried his lip, moving from anger to concern. His fingers drummed his cheeks as he contemplated it. “There’s a way to fix this.”
“Probably. If you don’t do something else stupid.” Merlin had to give Arthur one thing—persistence and an oddly upbeat persistence. Most people would be depressed to find out that their wife’s reincarnation didn’t remember them. Nor cared about them.
“Oh, that’s great advice,” Arthur drawled sarcastically. Spotting something, he sat up and tugged one of Merlin’s hairs. “Is that a white hair? And here I thought it was a sign of wisdom.”
“That’s impossible, I don’t have white hairs.” Behind them were big bay windows, allowing plenty of sunlight into the living room. Here, at the edges of Avalon, it was eternally summer and without having to fear winter, Merlin had been free to optimize his house for summer use. Leaning close to the window, Merlin squinted as he tried to make out his reflection. A young man in his late twenties looked back. Beside his eyes, which revealed his age no matter what he spell he used, Merlin looked the same as he had ten, thirty, a hundred, several hundred years ago. Shorter than Arthur. Lanky build. Dark brown hair.
A strand of white. On his right side, a strand of white hair stood out amongst the dark and Merlin gingerly took it between his fingers. An impossible white hair. He couldn’t have it. He’d stopped aging centuries ago. Yet despite all logic otherwise, the proof was undeniable.
Somewhere inside him, a clock started ticking forward again.