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“Someone’s here to see you,”
When Morgana appears in tow, Merlin glares at Arthur, betrayed. Morgana looks sheepish, something like trepidation in her eyes. At least he’s not alone in that. “Hello, Merlin,”
“Merlin, meet my sister Morgana. Morgana, meet Merlin. I’ll leave you two alone, shall I?” Arthur gesticulates at the kitchen door behind him, ignoring the telepathic no absolutely the fuck not Merlin is desperately trying to send. “She’s not Morgana that you remember, Merlin, I promise.”
“You owe me,” Merlin hisses venomously at Arthur as he leaves.
“Merlin, behave,” Arthur scolds him, as though Merlin was a child. There’s a mischievous grin on his face, and as much as it brightened Arthur’s face, Merlin hates it.
Morgana glances at the two of them with evident discomfort. Merlin refuses to feel bad. There’s an awkward silence when Arthur left the room. Merlin crosses his arms and regards her coolly.
“Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for everything I did, back then,” Morgana rushes without preamble. “I did it all wrong. I can see that now. I have caused you and Arthur—“
“As well as everyone in Camelot,” Merlin supplies, unable to stop himself.
“—as well as everyone in Camelot, much suffering.” Morgana finishes. She looks outright miserable, and Merlin can tell that apologising doesn’t come easily to her. “For what it’s worth, I repented, I swear I did.”
“I’m sorry too,” Merlin tells her, looking her in the eyes. She was his friend, once, cherished and held dear. For all his bitching, he was always going to forgive her—he can’t possibly ignore the role he played in her downward spiral. It kept him awake for many nights, back then, wondering if he could’ve done more to help her from becoming what she was. How it could’ve been, had he told her his secret. “I’m sorry I never told you. You could’ve used a friend, and I—“
“Yeah,” Morgana admits with some lingering bitterness. “Probably. But it also could’ve been a lot worse.”
“It is what it is,” Merlin agrees. “I’d say I’ve more than made up for it,”
Morgana quirks an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Chained and left for the serkets,” Merlin reminds her, counting off his fingers, “I had a nasty scar from that, you know. There was also the time when you inserted a live, mind-controlling creature into me, and then the time you had me poisoned—“
Morgana inclines her head, acknowledging Merlin’s point.
“You did what?” Arthur barges in before she could say anything. Merlin rolls his eyes, because of course Arthur was listening to their conversation the whole time. Arthur holds an accusing finger at Morgana, bright with outrage. “You never told me this.”
“It’s in the past, Arthur,” she replies evenly, though she refuses to meet his eyes. “This is a new life, now. We all committed sins in our past life—or have you forgotten about all those people you wrongly executed?”
Arthur winces at her accusation.
“She’s right, Arthur,” Merlin interjects before Arthur could open his mouth. Morgana glances triumphantly at him, but Merlin carries on, “well, about this being a new life, in any case. We made our mistakes, you perhaps more than most—“ Merlin looks pointedly at Morgana. It’s her turn to flinch, and Arthur’s turn to look triumphant. “But if you said you have atoned, then I believe you.”
Arthur, on the other hand, refuses to back down. “Why are you so defensive then, if you have atoned for it?”
“I just can’t understand why you’re being like this without being angry at Uther for everything he did! He drove me to become what I became!”
“Merlin lived with the same fears as you, the same powers as you, and he didn’t go the way you did, now, did he? That was all you!” Arthur replies, his voice rising into a shout. “This isn’t about Uther, this is about you. It was you who killed Merlin. And tortured him too, when he was alive, apparently. I forgave you for everything else, a long time ago, but for this—”
Morgana jerks back as if struck.
“Look,” Merlin starts. He could feel the beginnings of a headache pounding at his temples, and he’s not keen on standing between the rowing siblings. “Morgana. I understand why you went the way you did. Anyone would, I think, to some extent. But don’t think for a second that it made everything you did alright.”
“Yes,” Morgana concedes. “I suppose that’s fair enough,”
“If we go about comparing our list of sins, then we’ll never move on.” Merlin finishes, eyeing Arthur and Morgana in turn. “It’s in the past. All right?”
“Fine,” Arthur grouses, though there are still traces of rage written in the hard glint in his eyes and the tense line of his shoulders. God, but Merlin loves Arthur like this—fierce in his fury, steadfast in his righteousness. On the two occasions where Arthur is actually correct, of course. The rest of the times, it’s just plain annoying.
Not for the first time, Merlin’s heart twinges with the regret that he wasn’t there to see the Arthur that destiny promised.
Later, when it’s just the two of them, Arthur says, “what else haven’t you told me, Merlin?”
“Does it matter?” Merlin sighs. “You’ll only kill yourself thinking about your imagined failures in protecting me,” Merlin says, because he knows Arthur, and Arthur really isn’t as hard to read as he likes to think.
Arthur goes quiet. Merlin shifts to lie closer to him. “I knew what I was doing,” he adds.
Arthur snorts in disbelief but then turns sombre again, quick enough to give Merlin an emotional whiplash. “Did you think it was worth it?” Arthur whispers. His voice is so soft, barely audible, and there’s a trace of fear there that he couldn’t quite hide.
“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin turns to face him, hearing the was I worth it that Arthur didn’t say. He likes to think that after all this time, they understand each other before they ever understood themselves. Arthur is resolutely staring at the ceiling, refusing to look at Merlin. “Don’t be daft, of course it was.” Of course you were.
“All the things you’ve sacrificed for me, Merlin,” Arthur chokes out. “I often wondered if I was worthy. Surely no man is worth that. Even now, I’m—“ he breaks off, his voice shaky. “I’m scared,” Arthur admits in a small voice. “That you’ll see that I didn’t deserve everything you did.”
Merlin slings an arm across Arthur’s chest, pressing a chaste kiss on his shoulder and pulling him close. You’re breaking my heart, Merlin doesn’t say. Instead, he says, “you are. You always were.”
Arthur’s breath hitches. “Merlin—“
“Not because destiny made it so,” Merlin continues, “but because of who you are, Arthur. Because of who you always were.”
Arthur makes a broken noise in his throat. “Promise me again,”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Merlin vows.
If this is Arthur now, Merlin doesn't dare to think what he had been like in Camelot, immediately after the battle. It was pretty bad, by all accounts. A part of him wants to be angry that Arthur never showed much by way of appreciation when Merlin was alive, angry that Arthur never said anything until it was far too late. It was everything that Merlin had ever wanted—he only ever wanted Arthur to see.
Now, though. Seeing what his death has done to Arthur, Merlin knows better than to give in to that anger.
Arthur shifts and buries his face in Merlin’s chest. He presses a kiss right over Merlin’s heart and then turns his head so he can listen to Merlin’s heartbeat, strong and steady and wonderfully thrumming with life. “You are so loved,” he murmurs earnestly. “Every bit of you.”
There’s no stopping Arthur when he gets like this. Tears prick at Merlin’s eyes. He buries his hand in Arthur’s hair, feeling the fine strands with his fingertips as he strokes Arthur’s head softly. He breathes deeply, slowly, willing Arthur to follow his lead.
Then, because Arthur is still Arthur, and thus crippled with the compulsion to add an insult whenever he says anything nice, he adds, “even if you’re an idiot most of the time.”
Merlin smiles. There was a time when the insult would smart, impossible to ignore, but that was so long ago.
“You are too,” he replies, whispering the words into Arthur’s hair, meaning it with all his heart. “Even if you’re an arrogant wanker most of the time.”
Merlin feels, rather than see, Arthur’s echoing smile.
It’s truly staggering, how much things have changed. Arthur is no longer king, for one, and Merlin no longer his manservant. The change to their dynamics is inevitable. In this life, Merlin never has to run around saving Arthur’s life from magical beasts and would-be assassins. He never has to worry about Arthur sending him away if he finds out about the magic. He never has to worry—well, not as much, in any case—about his magic being found out. He’d be lying if he said that it wasn’t good for his blood pressure.
And Arthur, well. Arthur spent most of his previous life without Merlin—he only knew Merlin for a short while, after all. Merlin finds it jarring, sometimes, to reconcile this Arthur lying pliant in his arms and the king that he remembered. This Arthur is more reserved, more world-weary, even if he’s only so young. He’s not as brash as Merlin remembered, and infinitely more willing to listen. And though Arthur is not someone Merlin would ever describe as someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s always so eager to show Merlin his appreciation. Always so quick to say “thank you” and “sorry”, as if making up for all the times he didn’t, before.
Knowing Arthur now, it’s difficult to believe that Merlin ever thought that Arthur would send him away. On the other hand, if Merlin was being honest, there’s also a small part of him that is relieved that Arthur never had the chance.
Merlin hates to think about the lonely days Arthur said he spent—surrounded by people, he said, but none of them Merlin. Hates that Arthur learnt about the truth the way that he did, hates that Merlin wasn’t there to tell him. A part of him would never forgive Morgana for taking his life—at all, really, but particularly before he could tell Arthur. For stealing the destiny that they were promised.
Yet somehow, they both ended up here. It’s equally staggering to note how some things remained the same. Underneath all the new experiences and all the new life, they are, at their core, all the same people. Arthur is fair and brave and compassionate, Merlin would still follow him everywhere. And despite all the insults they hurl at each other on a daily basis, Arthur really isn’t that enormous of an arse.
Merlin had many regrets from before--most of all, he regrets the decisions that led them to Camlann. But if there’s one thing that he would never be regretful of, it’s saving Arthur’s life. Even if it meant that he couldn’t stand by Arthur’s side as he accomplished all the things he was meant to accomplish.
Now, though. Knowing how much he had put Arthur through—all the pain and all that grief—Merlin wished that he could take some of it away. If he’d known how much it would affect Arthur, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so reckless with his life.
Arthur once swore that he’d make up for all the things he hadn’t said and done. All the things that Merlin died without knowing. Arthur's not the only one making any such vow, though.
Merlin kisses the top of Arthur’s head, listening to the soft breaths of his sleeping king. And then he swears, with all his being, that he’d always be there by Arthur side, for all the times that he wasn’t.