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The first time Arthur met Merlin, he was still a youth, wandering through the thick bustle of the marketplace, eyeing the fresh fruits of one stall and the tender roasted meat of another. He almost didn't notice the other: a tall young man, too skinny by half, clumsy and bumbling, and yet moved with a sort of purpose that said he knew exactly what he was looking for. He wove through the crowds until he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Arthur, in front of the fruit stall.
"Looks good, huh?"
Arthur nodded slowly and turned to look at the young man, who had a wide grin on his face and eyes that were like the hint of an island in the horizon of a misty morning--lonely and grey. The young man reached out and nicked an apple, flicking a coin at the owner who caught it deftly. He offered the piece of fruit to Arthur.
"I'm Merlin."
"I-"
"I know. Arthur."
When Arthur didn't take the fruit, Merlin just shook his head, laughed, and tossed it at him. Arthur caught it by reflex, held it to his breast as he watched the boy take two steps back.
"I think we'll get to know each other very well from hereon in," he said, and disappeared into the crowd.
#
Merlin turned out to be Arthur's new manservant, which was how, Arthur figured, he knew who he was and where to find him. He was a strange man, Merlin, but many people liked to appear mysterious and strange at first, and once he was familiar he would likely be no different than any other manservant he's had.
Merlin, though, was an enigma.
He did things with an inexplicable efficiency, and he liked to talk as he washed and cleaned and polished. He could spout a lecture on any topic under the sun, at times speaking so passionately that Arthur was convinced it was from experience. He helped Arthur with his studies; anything he could possibly have trouble with, and during his training, stood on the sidelines and occasionally yelled cryptic advice. He told Arthur stories when he was bored, parables when he needed advice, and loud, bawdy jokes, accompanied by a well-aimed pillow when he was pensive.
And when he thought Arthur wasn't looking, he would carefully consider him, as if trying to memorize everything about him, as if he would never see him again.
#
They were sitting on a field, making whistles out of tall stalks of grass, when Merlin told Arthur about his magic. He showed it to him, making baubles of lights in the sky and the grass twisting itself into patterns. He told Arthur that he trusted him, that one day he'll be a great king, that he'll always be by his side for anything he needs. Arthur held his jaw and pushed their foreheads together, whispering to him that he would never betray him, that he's glad Merlin trusted him, that he can use his magic in front of him.
Merlin smiled, and in the bright of the sun, his eyes were like a reflection of rainclouds in the water, deep and dark and too far to reach.
#
Merlin was hunched over Arthur's desk the next day, pretending to help Arthur with the tax problems when he was actually just doing it himself, his fingers flicking deftly over the beads of the abacus, when Arthur asked idly, because he couldn't help but wonder.
"What was troubling you?"
Merlin froze, and turned his head slowly to look at Arthur.
"Nothing was," he said.
"Yesterday. When you told me about your magic."
Merlin's face was blank and carefully cautious, as if he was treading on very fine ice and he did not want a misstep. "...Yesterday?"
Arthur stared at Merlin for a few minutes, Merlin regarding him back warily, and finally looked away, wondering what else Merlin could possibly hide from him.
#
The first time they kissed, it was sweet and slow, as if Merlin was savoring every second, and when they pulled away, his eyes were red and clouded, and he refused to meet Arthur's eyes. Arthur tilted Merlin's chin up, forcing the other to look at him.
"Merlin?"
And Merlin smiled again, the same lonely smile, even though he was right by Arthur's side.
"Tell me, Merlin. Please. Please trust me."
"This isn't about... Sorry, this isn't about trust. This isn't about anything... important." He turned his head gently, until Arthur's hand was resting on the side of his jaw. "This is just about... me."
"You're important."
Merlin chuckled, and stopped, and brought a hand up to his eyes, hiding them, and didn't say anything for a long time. Then finally he spoke, and his voice was brittle and weathered, like the cracked plateau of a desert.
"I live through time backwards. My memories of the past is your future."
Arthur stopped and felt coldness wash over him, the clicks of pieces falling into place, the confusing conversations, the gaps in Merlin's memories, the feeling that Merlin has lived through a different time, and the loneliness; because,
"The day we met..."
"...will be the last time I ever see you."
Merlin leaned forward and touched Arthur's face gently, then wrapped his hand about the back of his neck and pulled him forward until he was leaning over the arm of his chair and his forehead was resting on Merlin's shoulder.
"Don't worry about me, Arthur. You'll be a great king, one day. I've seen it."
#
The last time Arthur saw Merlin, he was in full armor, rain pouring down on him relentlessly, beating on the hollow of the steel like war drums. The red flowed like wine and wept into the earth where Merlin knelt, holding him carefully. A hand was on his face, and one was on his chest where the blood wouldn't stop, and Arthur noticed that Merlin looked at him and the blood that had seeped into his own clothes with tense concern, but also confusion, as if he didn't know what he was doing there.
Arthur smiled and reached up to touch Merlin's cheek, and saw his eyes, blue and clear as a summer day.
"I'm Arthur," he said softly.
"I-"
Arthur coughed, a wet, sputtering sound, and in his mouth he could taste the sharp tang of his life slipping away.
"I know. Merlin."
Merlin didn't say anything, his hands soft and nimble as his brushed the hair from Arthur's face and the blood from his lips.
"I think we'll get to know each other very well from hereon in," he said, and disappeared into the dark.