Archive of Our Own ^beta

Day 36

Arthur can pinpoint the exact moment he changed, right down to the second. 

Some say it was slow, in stages, but he knows that’s not true. He changed the exact moment he saw Morgana standing in front of him in the- in the which room? God, he doesn’t even remember where, but he remembers the way she stared at him, cool green eyes, flickers of brown threaded between, going straight through everyone else, right onto him. Was she alone? He’s not sure. Maybe there had been some druids with her, maybe they had all fled. But, at that time, all he had focused on was his sister, and the burns on her body and the gaping lack of the man who was usually at her left. And when he had raised his eyebrows in a question, where is Merlin? What happened? Are you alright? , she had closed those same eyes. 

That. 

That is when he knew, that is when he realized he would never see him again. That is when a part of him, the best part, died and withered away into nothing. 

He sort of, floated through everything after that. No, that’s- that’s not right. He felt everything, the grief and the hate and the anger and, most of all, the loneliness. He was never left alone, not really. He had a new manservant, after he fired George, and the officials, while they knew to give him space, tried to remind him they had a kingdom to run, but it didn’t help. 

All he had was Gwen and Morgana. After three years of working together on bills and laws and serving this kingdom together, the four- three of them know each other like they know Camelot ( Their Camelot) and he knows he can reach them. 

But there was something behind what he and Merlin had. At some point, their relationship had twisted itself into something different from their steady and comforting friendship. These new feelings, he will admit, happened gradually. From his being broken up with Gwen, and Merlin revealing his magic, to Merlin becoming a member of his round table, things were changing. 

Everything was changing. The kingdom, themselves, their entire world had. Their usual banter involved more gazing into each other's eyes than yelling about who was a better friend to the knights (it was still there, but it had less snap). Everything he knew about Merlin shifted. Merlin’s pacing when excited went from his best friend’s weird quirk to him thinking it was sort of cute to watch. There was so much happening, and they didn’t have enough time to focus on their feelings. Just as things were starting to calm down, and they could finally end up together, Merlin had to leave. 

Merlin and Morgana living in the druid camp hadn’t been planned, it had been a decision made within half an hour. A druid had shown up with a message declaring they wanted to strengthen the bond between them and Camelot, now that it openly accepted magic. 

It turned out to be the worst decision he ever made. 

No. He refuses to think of it that way, he can't. It had been a last moment decision, made in the spur of the moment under pressure. Merlin had insisted on going, it wasn't anyone's fault. It was a coincidence; nothing had been planned. It was all fine. It was all fine. 

At least, that is what he is trying to believe. Because it was his fault.

 His.

 Fault. 

His head is spinning and his breaths are becoming shorter and he is trying to calm down. Trying to even his breathing and think about something-anything- other than the fact that his best friend is dead. 

It isn't working.

 He falls onto the bed underneath him- he didn't even realize he was standing- and grips the bed sheets so tightly his fingers start to ache, his teeth are clamped down hard and his head hurts and aches and he can't think of anything. Anything at all. Anything except that Merlin is dead. He is dead and he is never coming back. No. 

No that's not true. 

Merlin will come back to him. Merlin will always come back to him, he had promised. He had too. If he didn't, Arthur would bring him back himself. 

His hands have let go of the sheets now and they are balled up so tightly, his fingernails are digging into his skin and he doesn't know- doesn't care- if they are drawing blood. He stares up at the ceiling, his eyes teary. He misses him. He misses him so much. He flops onto his back, he is starting to calm down just as fast as he had reached the state of panic, his eyes are slowly drooping and he is so tired and he is so miserable and all he wants to do is sleep, sink into the dreams, the only place he can still meet Merlin, the only place where everything is right. 

Day 1

Dear Merlin,

I hope this letter finds you well. I also hope that you are not being an utter idiot in the camps, lest you embarrass us in front of the druids. Nevertheless, if you have been exiled, please do not bother replying to this. I do not want the druids to think I am an accomplice to your crimes. Do tell Morgana that Guinevere says she misses her. And you. Not that I miss you, I am merely informing you that Guinevere does. Don't let that get to your head, know that it was most probably her being polite. Good day.

Signed,

Arthur Pendragon,

King of Camelot.

Merlin smiles as he reads the last few lines of the disappointingly short message from the Clotpole. He knows that Arthur does miss him, but his pride won’t let him say it outright. It’s a shame, he would liked to be appreciated a bit more.

“What are you grinning at?” Morgana asks, her breath cold on his neck.

He jumps, still skittish from years of paranoia. “You’ve got to stop doing that, it’s annoying,” he grumbles, turning around to face her. She’s beautiful, of course, pink lips, kohl-lined blue eyes, long dark hair, but he doesn’t feel that way for her. Not anymore, at least.  Arthur had been so condescending about his crush on her a few years ago, maybe even a little jealous (or maybe that is just what Merlin likes to imagine). He’s sort of gotten used to her beauty, and he loves her, always will, just not in the way he does Arthur. 

She smirks, dangling earring making a musical noise as she steps back. “You didn’t answer my question.” He remains silent, moving his hand behind his back. It’s not that he’s embarrassed, exactly, but he’s a private person, and he would rather not . Morgana knows this, she relates too, but ever so often she likes to tease him a bit; he knows she’s not serious so he ignores it. Mostly.  She notices, though, and somehow manages to look even more smug. “Is it a letter from Arthur dearest?”

He sets his jaw. “It might be,” he says. “Not that it is any of your business.”

“Oh come on!” She tilts her head. “He’s the only one who gets to send any messages, and they’re always for you! He’s too besotted to even acknowledge me, his sister.”

He stares at her, defiant, and she stares back. Finally, he sighs and gives up. “Gwen says she misses you.”

Morgana positively lights up, like she always does when Gwen is mentioned. He wants to make fun of her for it, but that would be too hypocritical. He is in the same boat after all. “She did?” He nods, holding out the letter for her to read. She accepts, and hands it back with a: “He’s so annoying, you know he does miss you right?”

“I do, just wish he would say it sometime.” 

“Well, in a few days, he won’t have to write it down. I love the camp and all, but I miss Camelot.” He hums in agreement. “Want to go for a walk? It’s deceptively sunny today, really cold though.”

“Wait, just let me-” he points to the letter. 

“Don’t take too long.” He jots down a quick reply, much shorter than his usual letters, places the pen down and pockets it to give to the delivery boy. 

She grins and holds out her arms, he takes it as they walk out, barely getting any stares. Or, at least, not as many as they would have gotten at first. He passes the delivery boy, who takes his letter on his way out. 

The druid camp is pretty great. They’re all so nice and excited. The first day, none of the children left their side. It is disappointingly empty, though. The Purge affected their numbers greatly. Now, all the druids left in Albion are gathered here, and there’s not a lot of them. If he had to guess, he would say a thousand or two at most. 

But all of them are helpful. He’s learned more about his destiny and magic in the three months he’s been here that he ever learned from Kilgharrah in 7 years.

Apparently, being Emrys is a bigger deal than he thought. And they had actually given him an answer as to the question of his immortality. He would only live forever if he had to wait for Arthur. But he had managed to prevent Camlann and the foretold destiny. He had saved them and now he was free to do what he wanted without the shackles of fate preventing him from moving forward.

And honestly? It felt great, 

He's gotten his ‘groove’ (a word he learned from Daegal, still in Camelot) back,  no longer having to worry about death and assassins and other stuff that was not good for his mental health and well-being.  He even has tea in the evening and sits down to draw (definitely not sketches of Arthur, shut up) and chats with a Mary (a  barkeep/druid who he’s gotten along with phenomenally)  and makes fun of Arthur with Morgana. 

He loves it. A lot.

"What's got you smiling like that?" she asks, a small smile spread on her face. "Arthur, maybe? Him and a bed-" she wiggles her eyebrows in a way that looks extremely weird as he mimics vomiting.

"Never," he says, "Wouldn't do *that* with anyone, let alone Arthur." He pauses. "Not that I dislike Arthur, but you know I don't think of him like that."

She laughs a little and nods in understanding. They’re walking on the border of the lake now, on the wet dirt, trampling all the weeds. He peeks down to see his reflection, but then turns his focus towards her, "That, I relate to. Don't understand why people hype it so much, but I couldn't give up on an opportunity to make fun of you. Once is never enough, I am sorry though." She punches him on the shoulder to cheer him up, in a way so reminiscent of a certain prat, his heart aches. 

"Was that supposed to be comforting?" He asks, indignant, trying to hide how much he longs to meet his friend again.

He would never find out the answer to that, because just as she opens her mouth to speak, a deafening scream-like sound comes, and the fire overtakes them.

Day 55

He stares down at the letters in the box in his lap, each one thick and heavy on his hand as he takes them out. Merlin had always been more talkative than him, and it translated onto paper. While his letters were short- the longest one had been a full page maybe- his had been any but. He wrote pages upon pages describing the camp. How the druids were so nice and how his destiny was much more flexible than a certain dragon had originally told him, how the food there was heavenly, how much Morgana missed Gwen, how much he missed Arthur, everything was there.

Everything good, at least.

While people generally thought that Merlin was more capable at expressing his feelings, they weren’t always right. Merlin was stupidly loyal, even in the smallest of ways. He would hide from them, so that they wouldn't worry, as if that was not what they were supposed to do. They were his friends, had been for over a decade, and he still didn't trust them with his thoughts, wanted to protect them. It was- it was frustrating. He hid his emotions so well, his pain and his anger, everything. 

But Arthur would take that over not being able to see him again at all.  

He opens the last one he had received, it had been written the day that- he swallows, a wave of sadness rising into his throat, a sob threatening to escape through his mouth- the day that Merlin had died. It had arrived just a mere hours before Morgana had. He hadn't opened it until after he had found out, and reading it had been terrifying. No, that's the wrong word. It hadn't been scary; it had been heartbreaking. Merlin had sounded so happy, so hopeful. He had talked about how he could just say he missed him directly (and he should have; god, he should have told him how much he missed him, loved him) and how he was looking forward to seeing him again soon how he had things he needs to speak to him about, how he hoped Gwen found his hair serum recipe good. 

He sets the box aside; he can't bear to look at it anymore.  He has read the words a hundred times, maybe more, memorized every sentence, looked for every meaning there could be, but he can't do it anymore. He needs to set it away and start being king again. His kingdom needs him, his sister and his friends need him. He needs to try moving on. For others, eight weeks was nothing. But for a king, eight weeks of absence was a sign of weakness to other rulers, and he didn't want a war. 

He isn't the only one affected by Merlin's loss, he knows. Gwen and Morgana (and Gaius) loved him just as much as he did- maybe even more. And they had been supporting each other, had tried to support him, but he had isolated himself, and it was time to stop. 

He closes his eyes and tilts his head upwards, hands gripping the edges of the sheets and tries to remember everything he still has. Everything he lives for. He has lost Merlin, but he will bring him back

Bring him back. 

No.

God, could he? Was it really possible?

His eyes fly open and he rushes out of the chambers he hasn't walked out of for almost 2 months, not caring that his hair is uncombed, his clothes dirty, the fact that he stinks and hasn't taken a bath in so long. No, he doesn't think of the image he creates to his people, all his mind is focused on is getting to Gaius' chambers. 

The physician looks at him questioningly as he enters, his eyebrows raised. His eyes are red-rimmed and his quarters are a mess, not the organized like it used to be. 

"What can you tell me about necromancy?" 

Gaius' glasses slide down his face, which would have been a funny sight some other time, but right now he doesn't even notice. He clears his throat. "Well, uh," he starts, then stops. He paces a little bit, and then sits down on a wayward chair. "Sire, it does exist, I will admit but the consequences are not worth it. The conditions are, well, they're not ideal, to say the least-"`

"Just tell me how to do it." He must sound whiny and impatient, like a child. But if this is to work, he must do it as soon as he can.  

"To bring back a life, you must sacrifice another. And- no don't look at me like that- the sacrificed life, if you mean to bring back another human, must be human too. And if you do succeed in this, which itself is almost impossible the life you bring back will not stay for long. Their body will have to be in the state it was when you brought it back. Meaning, if you are talking about Merlin, it would be impossible because not only do we not have Merlin's body, which is vital, even if we did it would be rotting.

"He wouldn't be the same, he wouldn't have the same consciousness. In the few recorded times of it being done that we know of, all the people brought back were missing organs. If you're lucky it might be one kidney or a spleen, if you're not, it'll be a heart or a brain. In which case, they will die within minutes of being brought back. So I'm afraid, m'lord, that we don't know much about necromancy, and I hope we never will." 

Arthur swallows, all his hope diminishing.

Great.

Just.

Great. 

He will never have him back, and he needs to accept that. 

He gives Gaius the barest of nods, acknowledging that he has heard his words, and starts to slink back to his room, when a squire runs in.  

The squire leans back onto the wall, panting as if he just ran from here to the lower town and then back. "My- my liege," he huffs, "It's Merlin. He's, he's uh, well, he's waiting for you in the throne room." 

Day 1

Merlin doesn't know where he is. Everything around him is some strange, whirling mix of green and blue and silver with dots of other colors mixed in between. He thinks he's running, he's not sure, thinks he's running to a place where he'll be safe- is he not safe right now? His clothes are wet and sticky, clinging to him in a way that is not highly uncomfortable, but downright threatening in this cold, cold temperature. It's so cold, chilling him down to the very bone.

His feet make resounding 'thumps' on the ground as he moves, and he's almost sure he's looking for someone.

No, not just someone. He's looking for Morgana. He doesn't quite remember how he lost her, but he has memories of him pulling her backwards, of fire and of screams and of falling down, down, down.

His legs are starting to slow, his vision is still blurry, his shivering is getting worse. He thinks he's reaching a point where the forest is no more, where towns will start soon. He hopes someone will be there, and that someone will save him.

Save him from whatever he needs to be saved from.

He skids to a stop in front of a dark blob. He blinks, trying to figure out exactly what it is. It's vaguely tall, maybe it's a person? Or a rock. Maybe both? He shudders at that. He fought rock-humans once. Not fun.

"Oh my god, you're bleeding," says the rock. Or, not, considering it's talking.

Merlin smiles a little. It's a person, and a person will save him.

"You'll save me won't you?"

"You-" they started, but that was all the confirmation he needed to trust the person. He starts to stumble forward, and his eyes close.

Day 55

Arthur didn't think it was possible for anyone to run as fast as he did when he heard the words come out of the squire's mouth, but he proved himself wrong. It was, apparently, possible to move at the speed of light. It isn't very kingly of him, to run from his chambers to Gaius' and then to the throne room, all while looking like a troll. But there was a possibility that Merlin was back, that he was standing in the castle at this very moment, and that was something he would defy the laws of physics for. 

He could hear Gaius right behind him, although it was slightly more difficult for him to catch up. He slows as they reach the door, the guards move to open it, but he holds his hand up to tell them to stop. He glances towards his uncle (Merlin's father, for god’s sake) and gives him the barest of nods, as if asking a question. Gaius pauses, then shakes his head in affirmation.

He drops his hand.

 The room is populated, a round table filled with his knights talking amongst themselves, Gwaine looking particularly peaky. One of the four thrones has Morgana on it, with Gwen sitting on the it's arm, although she already has her own  next to it. They're talking between each other, low whispers that he can't make out from the other side. 

"Where is he?" he asks, breathlessly. Everyone quits talking immediately. "Where is he dammit?'' 

Gwen looks up, not having heard his words, and her eyes widen. She jumps out of her seat, starts to point behind him, lips opening to scream something, but no matter how loud it was, he doesn't hear her when he turns to look at Merlin. 

He has a small smile on his face, no visible sign of injury but tired eyes.

 "Miss me much?" he asks, right before he's tackled by Gwen and Arthur into a hug, Morgana not far behind. 

Day 40

Merlin wakes up to a mud wall and the figure of a man whose features aren't as blurry as he expected. His eyesight, thankfully, is just fine. He flexes his hands and feet  first, just to make sure they aren't tied, and then tries to assess himself for injuries. His head hurts like a bitch, but he's not sure whether it's because he hit it on something or because he's tired,  he is leaning towards the former. His whole body feels sore, but not because of injury. Sure that he has no life-threatening problem, he moves onto the man.

The man has dark skin and long hair, with a gray strand or two here and there (although those could be a trick of the light) his eyes a shade of light brown with flecks of golden honey woven in. His face seems ageless, Merlin can't tell whether he is 25 or 60 or older, maybe younger. He flashes a broad smile, perfect, straight white teeth, when he sees him awake.

"Emrys." He sounds kind and warm, but that doesn't mean anything. Kindness doesn't mean anything when you're lying in the hut of some stranger. 

He stiffens when he hears him say that, on the alert. Saying his prophetic name is the easiest way to put him on edge. Back when his magic was still a secret, it was only used by sorcerers who meant him or his destiny harm, and it still made him anxious when said out loud (being said in his mind made him beyond anxious, it made him terrified).

"How do you know who I am?" he asks. His voice is hoarse and brittle, barely above a whisper, but he seems to understand.

"I understand you are apprehensive, and I while I cannot blame you, I can promise you I mean to do you no harm."

"Bullshit." He has not made it this far without being at least a little paranoid. As soon as he has concrete proof that he doesn't mean him harm, he might relax. But so far? Nothing, other than the fact that he is still alive, has shown him that.

"My name is, well, my name is a complicated matter but you can call me Kay, if you want. I'm a druid."

"You're lying," he says, chin raised in defiance. "All the druids left were in the camp. And that camp is currently nothing more than some scorch marks on the earth-'' the words leave him just at the realisation that the people he had spent months with were dead, except for maybe the delivery boy, enters. It hits him that Morgana might be dead, but he needs to ignore that, or he will flatter and 'Kay' will know that he is not in his prime state, if he didn't already "- and I saw them all die. You can't have survived that, no one could have."

"You did."

It's a simple sentence, but it does make him feel slightly better. He did survive, and Morgana had jumped into the lake with him, she might have too. The druids had been around for centuries, and no matter how much their numbers had started to decrease, they were survivors.  "I didn't see you around, ever."

"That's because I stayed out, protecting you. I'm the gatekeeper."

He pauses. That is, somehow, believable. He has a vague memory of Alator speaking of gatekeepers (more than one, actually) and how they protected the camps from those who might harm anyone inside. "How do I know that?"

Kay doesn't seem irritated or annoyed by his many questions. Instead, he nods, and pulls off a side of his sleeve to reveal a tattoo. It is sort of like the triskelion, but smaller, more inconspicuous. It's arms extend in the wrong direction, and, most noticeably, it is inked in gold, not black. Merlin feels his own tattoo burn a little, but not in the bad sort of way. As if it has found a friend, a sort of warmth runs through it.

Merlin doesn't trust much, but he trusts his magic.

Day 55-56

That night, they drank. Percival, Elyan, Leon and Gwaine pour into the room where Gwen, Morgan and he already sat. Mordred  had opted out, unable to look at his once-thought-to-be-dead friend without crying, and he’s a bit too young anyway, so he chose to coax Daegal (still in shock from the news of everyone he knew being dead) out of his room.

He hasn't seen Merlin since that morning, after Gwaine and Lancelot whisked him away. He had wanted to follow, but he knew he couldn't. People noticed his absence from the throne. A lot of them. They knew he was in mourning, but he had no excuse now. 

Besides, he's not sure the three of them would have allowed him to come with. It's something he used to be jealous of, the trio, but jealousy was promptly followed by the realization that the dynamics of their friendship were a bit too messy. 

While they were all extremely close, there were still circles. Elyan, Percival and Gwaine were one. Lancelot and Leon another. 

And then there is the four of them. 

God, he loves them so much, he’s not sure he can explain it. If he was to go blind, he could tell the three of them by touch . He would rather lose a limb than let any one of them chip a nail. What they shared was something rare, something found once in a lifetime, once in centuries maybe. Whenever one of them was down, the rest were there to cheer them back up. 

They had started from being just four kids, oblivious and naive. And then things had become more difficult, the infighting in their kingdom, two of them unwilling magic and afraid for their lives, a wicked king, a prince who couldn't choose, and a girl who just wanted to save her friends. It all used to be so complicated, so difficult. 

The other nobles and peasants used to tell them that they knew nothing, that they were young, usually directly to their faces. They used to tell him that a king was not to feel, that he was to rule and no more. They used to tell Morgana that she was too headstrong, that the purpose of a princess was to produce heirs if the king and his wife couldn't. They told Gwen she was just a serving girl, nothing. They told Merlin he was disgusting, that his very existence was wrong.

And all four had believed them, but when they found each other, everything changed. They believed in each other, even if others didn't, and that was enough. They knew that what they shared was wonderful. They just, did. He is making it sound like it was hard for them, but the truth is, it wasn’t. With the four of them together, everything had been easier. 

He knew more when he was young that they had ever known, than he knows now. He wants to be that age again, when he had just been crowned king. When the four of them would spend sleepless nights pouring over papers to find out how to bring back magic. When they believed they could change the world, and they did. They believed in everything back then, Even now, they are sitting together, with a distance between them and the others, although that may just be him looking into it a bit too deeply. 

And beyond that, the relationships started to change. While Morgana and Gwen started to touch each other more and always chose to stand by each other,  he and Merlin held hands during meetings and had small, private moments. It doesn't mean that he cares for Merlin more than he does for Gwen and Morgana, all it means that he cares in a different way. 

And now they can finally express that through words, he can finally tell Merlin how he feels, because Merlin is alive and he has come back to him, just like Arthur knew he would. 

He lets out a small, delighted laugh. His knights give him an odd look, but Gwen squeezes his hand, and Morgana laughs with him, like it’s an inside joke and not just him being a little drunk.

Because they understand. They always do. They always will. 

He's beginning to worry now, though, he's been lost in thought for almost half an hour and there has been no sign of Merlin since this morning. 

 Maybe it was a hallucination, maybe he drank more than he thought the did, maybe- his heartbeat is starting to rise, and Morgana shoots him a worried look, but then Gwaine ,Lancelot and Merlin walk in. They're holding hands and talking, smiles playing on their faces. Merlin breaks away from Lancelot to sit next to them. He shifts to accommodate him, trying to hide how scared he had been just a seconds ago, until Merlin has his head on Morgana's lap, with her and Gwen's heads placed on Arthur's shoulders, and Arthur hands threading through his hair. 

There will be a time to ask how  Merlin is back, where he had been, why he didn't tell them he has been alive the whole time, but that time is not now. Right now, yelling 'to Merlin!' and raising his cup, listening to Gwaine's dreams and Elyan's stories and dancing with all the people he cares about gathered in one room is the best feeling in the world, and he will choose to worry when he wakes up tomorrow evening, a sure hangover waiting for him. 

Day 60

Five days. It's been five days since Merlin's miraculous return, but he refuses to tell them anything about how he survived, how he's back. They don't push, but late in the night (so late, it verges on the edge of dawn) when Merlin turns in, too tired to speak anymore, they whisper about how he seems unchanged.

 It's sort of unnatural. Arthur and Gwen come to the conclusion that Merlin was mourning all his friends, but was just hiding it. Morgana didnt seem convinced. She says that it may not be him, that he may be possessed. Or that it wasn't him at all, yet someone who had taken on the appearance of his body. 

“How do you even know if it’s possible?”

She raises her brow, but it doesn’t look as elegant as it usually does. Her eyes are tired, with dark bags pulling them down. “Need I remind you of Mary Collins? Or, dare say, the troll.” All of them shudder at that, it hadn’t been a good time. The castle had smelled like dung and horse manure for weeks afterwards. 

“But this is Merlin we’re talking about,” he protests. “He looks the same, acts the same, everything. Those two were strangers, he is not. If there was something wrong with him, I would know.” 

She sighs. “Believe me, there is no one in this world who is more glad that Merlin is back-”

“Debatable,” Gwen says. 

“-and I love him, I really, really do. But if it’s just an illusion and there’s some imposter sleeping in my best friend’s bed, then I don’t want to get my hopes up. Besides, there are no side effects to this on anybody, there's no harm in confirming.”

Gwen stays silent for a minute. “All right, I’m convinced, but how do you find out?” she says finally. Arthur raises his thumb as if to agree. 

Morgana smiles, as if she knew they would go along with her plan eventually. “It’s a simple spell really. All we need are  some herbs, a pot to mix in, some flowers, although those I can easily arrange for, and some moonlight. Luckily, it’s a full moon today, so it shouldn’t take too long. Meet me in thirty minuted by the edge of the forest, and come with nightshade and rosemary, also some turmeric and chilli and-” she continues to list of some names, most of which were easily found in the apothecary next to the physician’s quarters, or in the kitchens.  They divide up the ingredients, and go their separate ways. 

Arthur, unfortunately, is assigned the grossest ingredients, a couple of dead leeches, a maggot (how?) and other disturbingly disgusting amounts of insects to catch, mostly dead. What’s even more disgusting, however, is the fact that the apothecary  has all of them. He really should talk to Gaius about why exactly he possesses all of these, but that is a conversation for another day. 

He gathers the ingredients into one jar and stuffs it into his jacket, pulling it around him as he tip-toes out of the castle through the kitchen entrance. His guards nod at him as he leaves, deciding not to question his obvious failure at being inconspicuous. 

He inhales deeply as soon as he leaves, a puff of smog of breath escaping him. It’s so cold , and the biting sharp numbness that accompanies the cold isn’t really helping him, even with his thickest clothes on. He somehow manages to remember the dizzying array of directions Morgana had given him, and arrives just before the other two do. 

They’re holding half the amount of stuff that he is, and have a hand empty each, which they have joined with the others. Their interlocked fingers are somehow much more interesting than the fact that Morgana somehow managed to change clothes in half-an-hour, or that Gwen is sporting a flower tucked behind her ear. 

“What’s that about?” he whispers to Gwen, once Morgana starts ordering them around while setting down the pot on the ground. 

He can make out her blush through the moonlight, but her reply is disappointing. “Later,” she whispers. “There have been some… recent developments I need to talk to you about.” 

He smiles a little, everything else may be going to shit, but at least his two best friends have found some comfort during this time. 

“Alright,” Morgana says, “Gwen, pass me the herbs in the order I tell you, and Arthur, well, you can open those jars and spread those insects around, they’ll fertilise the soil well enough.”

“What.” It’s not a question, but more of a threat. The way she said it, made it seem like these bugs weren’t actually needed for the spell. But that was ridiculous, he hadn’t touched this stuff for nothing. Right?

“Those bugs weren’t as vital as I thought they were, apparently. Must’ve messed up.”

He’s going to kill her. She deserves it. He feels his fists ball up as Morgana sticks out her tongue. Gwen ignores them, preferring to actually work. Bless her, they would never get anything done without her. 

“How does this work exactly?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Murder can come later, after all. He takes off his jacket, placing it on the side. Despite how cold he had been feeling just a few second ago, he feels uncomfortably stuffy now, and the jacket wasn’t helping. Maybe because the weather had changed in three seconds (not entirely implausible), or because spying on his best friend and crush wasn’t exactly his favourite activity in the world.

Surprisingly, Gwen answers. “We need the suspect body to be present if we perform the spell made specifically for finding out someone’s true body, but, obviously, Merlin is sleeping so that’s not possible. But what we can do is use the scrying spell to see where the real Merlin is, and if the image they show is of him lying in his bed, then we know it is real. Or you know, if it’s of him wandering in the forest in the clothes we last saw him in, because we all know he has a habit of doing that. If it’s of,” she looks uncomfortable, “a dead body, or someone not in Camelot, then we’ll know that the  person we’ve been talking to is an imposter.” 

Arthur stares, he always thought he and Gwen were partners in being clueless about magic: not entirely, of course, they had read all the books to offer about magic when Merlin and Morgana had told them that they possessed it, but that didn’t count. One, because all the books were told through the lens of burning sorcerors at stake. Two, because both of their friends didn’t posses the normal sort of magic, being two of the most powerful beings to exist and all that. 

“How do you know that?” he asks. 

She shrugs, unconcerned. “Morgana told me on the way here.”

“Actually,” she interjects, “I only told her it was a scrying spell we were performing and she connected the dots by herself, because, unlike you, she’s smart.” 

“Whatever,” he mutters. 

Morgana rolls her eyes. “Let’s move on, shall we?” She adds the remaining ingredients to the pot, whispering incantations under her breath as she went along. Once she was satisfied with it, she made them stand around it in a circle. “Join hands,” she instructed, they obeyed. Gwen’s hands felt soft and warm to his own, while Morgana’s nails dug into his. “Now, I need you all to picture Merlin, not since he’s come back, but before. Choose either your happiest memory of him, your worst, or your first meeting with him.” She grips his hand tighter. “It’s okay, you can take your time, it’ll happen on it’s own.”

Arthur thinks hard, staring vacantly at the mess inside the pot. Happiest, worst or first meeting? He knows it doesn’t really matter, but the easiest choice is worst memory. His first meeting with Merlin, almost exactly a decade ago, was basically with a completely different person.They have both changed since then. The happiest memory is hard too, because there’s so many amazing moments with him, so he elects the second choice she had given. 

It’s something he remembers quite distinctively when he looks back, although the actual thing had been fuzzy when he had been experiencing it. It’s a domestic sort of memory, doesn’t seem as bad in comparison to the rest of their moments to an outsider, but it was. It really was. 

They had both almost died in each other’s arms, multiple times, but the night when they had stayed up for hours finalising the bill on the legalization of magic is when it had happened. 

They had been frustrated and tired, it had been an in-the-moment type of thing. Arthur had made some dumb comment on whether the work was even the worth the end result, and Merlin had blown up, saying that it was, that he would never understand. Arthur had been angry too, and had lashed out in return. They had both screamed at each other, refusing to stop. Everything in the room had started to levitate,  but he hadn’t even noticed then, too focused on yelling. And then they had just. Stopped. Gotten it out all, and ceased. He had sighed and jumped back onto the chair. Merlin had huffed, and all the items dropped to the ground. 

It had been sort of, terrifying to see how much power his friend had, that he could levitate stuff without even noticing. It had taken them two hours to clean everything, but they had both apologised in the span of that. It’s fitting how even his worst memory of Merlin has a happy ending. 

“It’s happening,” Morgan whispers next to him, drawing away his attention. He was about to ask exactly what was happening, when he saw it. The air particles were starting to glow, a faint thrumming blue at first, but then they started to join together, creating an image. 

It was beautiful.

Slowly, the image formed, and Arthur could make out exactly what it was trying to show, and it’s heartbreaking. It displays, in vivid detail, Merlin sitting up on his bed, clutching the sheets with one hand and holding his head up with the other, while sobbing. He can’t hear anything, but it is obvious that Merlin’s sobs are loud, despite him trying to muffle them. He looks so depressed, hunched over, that he can’t bear looking for long. He turns his head away, and it disappears. He can tell that it is his room in Gaius’ quarters, his bed, his cupboard, all of it where he is supposed to be, and that is enough. 

“Can we leave now?” he asks, his voice rough. Morgana and Gwen are frozen, staring at the spot where the image had just been. 

“We have to go to him,” Gwen says, Morgana nodding behind her, speechless for once. They seem shaken, just like him. He knew Merlin had been through something traumatic, but in the euphoria of having him back, he hadn’t realised how it could have affected him.  

“No.” They glare at him, as if offended. “We can’t. This is something personal, we shouldn’t have seen it, he’s mourning, but we can’t help him. He definitely wouldn’t want any of us there, you know how he is.” They don’t seem to agree, but they don’t storm off either, so he takes it as a good sign. “Now, can we leave?”

“You go ahead, we’ll clean up first.” He only listens to half of their sentence before he stalks away. 

Halfway through trekking through the forest with just a sleeveless shirt and thin pants intended to be slept in, he realises he forgot his jacket. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. He would have to go back for it, because there’s no way he can go the rest of the route without. He turns around, footsteps loud and deliberate. He wants to sink into his sheets and sleep, but alas. He turns around the bend to the clearing and scans the area for his jacket and- 

“Oh my god!” he shouts. They break apart, just as stunned as him. He looks at Morgana, at Gwen, and then at everything but them. He knew it was already a thing, but to seeing them together against the tree was, to put it simply, gross. That was his sister and his best friend and they were kissing and doing things that couples did. In theory, he was happy for them, but for him to see it with his own eyes- just. No. Absolutely not. He takes a step back, and points at them. “You- and you and- that- oh- I- Wow- uh, um, that was, it was- ugh- unexpected and I-” 

“Arthur, we-” Gwen starts, looking impossibly shy and sort of impatient. 

“I am going to leave now.” He turns around, and almost breaks out in a run to get away. 

He skids to a stop in front of a particularly large tree, trying to calm down his heart. He doesn’t know why he’s so shocked. Maybe it’s because they were basically (and technically, too, when you look at Morgana) his sisters, maybe because it was so weird to look at them, because he didn’t realise that people actually did that, and that they enjoyed it. Kissing, he could get, but all of… that ? It felt weird. He should stop thinking about it. Focus his thoughts away from all his best friends, those in love and those crying in beds both.

As he starts to walk away, he curses. He forgot his damn jacket again . 

Day 49

Merlin doesn’t want to admit it, but he likes Kay. He is kind to him, gives him shelter until he’s back up on his feet (from the looks of it, his head had hit a rock), and, most importantly, cooks good food.

 He knows he shouldn’t get too comfortable, he will eventually go back to Camelot, where he belongs, but this is enough to keep him healthy, to keep him going. 

Kay doesn’t let him fall into depression over Morgana, over his friends, overy everything really. It is sort of hard not to though, despite his best efforts. Especially when you factor in the facts that his friends probably think he’s dead, considering Kay nursed him back for weeks before he woke up, his magic isn’t back yet, and he usually isn’t even awake to process it fully. 

Today, is one of the rare times he can stay awake for longer than three hours, his head still hurts and he can't move without cramping everywhere, but it’s better than yesterday, where even his dreams were painful. Kay is nowhere to be found, and he’s still not strong enough to go looking. 

He stares down at his hands. He can do it, he just has to concentrate. He inhales, closes his eyes and tries to conjure the image of fire in his hands. He whispers the spell, relaxing his entire body. His hands start to heat up, and he feels the corners of his mouth lift up. It’s back, it’s back. He opens his eyes, wet drops gathering in their corners. He hadn’t realised how worried he had been about losing his powers, of living without them. 

It was irrational, sure, but he wasn’t the most logical of people. He was instinctive, his magic was too, and he didn’t think he could live in a world without it. A flood of pure, unbridled joy fills him. Everything else is going wrong, but if he can find his magic, he can find Arthur. He can find Morgana and Gwen and Gaius and Gwaine and everyone he loves. 

He focuses a bit more on the fire, trying to make it bigger, hotter. It works, and he finds himself juggling the fireball between his hands.

“Magic himself, huh?” Comes Kay’s deep voice. Merlin looks up to see him leaning against the doorway. 

He gives him a teary laugh. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Magic himself.”

Day 62

It's been seven days since Merlin arrived. Seven days, and it's almost unnerving how… similar he is. Except for the image they had seen the night before yesterday, there was no reaction from him. Clearly, Merlin was not okay, but he didn’t know how  to approach it. Morgana had been scared and she had been guilty. It had taken Gwen to coax her out of her shell, to tell her that she was alright. While they have given up on trying to find out how he’s still alive, they haven’t given up on the man himself. 

 While he knows that Merlin handles grief better than the- No, that's wrong. It makes it sound as if it's a scale, as if there's a thing such as 'better' when you lose someone. 

Merlin is simply the best at pretending it doesn't affect him, at staying quiet and hiding it. Arthur can usually tell (it used to be much worse when he first started losing people, if only Arthur had done something about it back then, things would have been much easier much faster), there's some telltale signs like him taking heavier breathes, rubbing the edges of his eyes, tapping his foot, and looking back and forth between the door and window. He may be doing one or two, but unless he is doing most at the same time it doesn't indicate much.   

If Merlin has genuinely moved on, he will be glad. But if he's just bottling this all up and keeping it all in because he doesn't want them to worry, then, well, he just wants the best for Merlin. And if the best is in the form of an intervention, then he will do so. He has proof that it is needed, after all, although he won’t tell Merlin that they saw him crying, that they had suspected him to be an imposter. It would break all their trust, he will save it for another day. 

He calls for a squire* and tells him to send for Merlin. Mentally, he recites the speech in his head, the words he will say.

“Merlin I hope you know you can let loose with us.” “You can cry with me, you know? We won’t judge.” “It’s fine to cry around us.” 

No. That didn't sound right. 

“Merlin we love you. I love you. And It’ll be fine.”

Getting there, but not nearly enough. 

“You are not fine.”

That sounded like he was telling Merlin what he was supposed to feel. That just wouldn't do. 

He's trying so hard to think of what he can say, that he doesn’t even notice him sitting right down at the table. 

"What are you thinking of?" Merlin asks, his eyes are shifting, and Arthur will bet all his money that he is fidgeting under the table. 

Arthur mentally runs through all the speeches he had prepared, but they seem to have left him, so he chooses on almost nothing. "It's okay if you're not okay." 

Merlin blinks, once, twice.* "What makes you think I'm not?" He doesn't dispute it. 

Arthur sighs. "You saw all the druids die, some of whom were your friends. Most of them were people you knew. You spent months around them, and you almost died with them. Not a lot of people can bear that, let alone be unaffected." 

Merlin moves his head toward the side, looking anywhere but at him "Of course I'm not unaffected. Why would you even-" He doesn’t finish his sentence. His eyes seem glassy, and his shoulders are starting to shake. Before he can say anything to comfort him, a sob escapes. 

Arthur stands up and sits on his knee on the ground in front of him. Merlin's head is bowed, and Arthur can't do anything but hold his hand, whispering that he'll be fine. He holds Merlin's head close to his heart, the tears soaking his jacket. He strokes his hair as Merlin says, "I want to be normal again. Why can't I move on?" His heart breaks a little, Merlin doesn’t deserve this, nobody does.

"Oh Merlin,” he whispers, “you don't have to move on right now. Take your time. Besides, you're Merlin, the best juggler to ever walk the Earth. WIth those skills, you've never been normal." He cracks a smile at that, and lets Arthur hold him. 

Day 51

“I think it’s time I leave.” Merlin observes the way Kay reacts, how he stands up a little straight, how he knits his eyebrows together as if he’s a little surprised, but then how he relaxes. They’re sitting together around the table on the ground, eating fish and fruit, a meal that both of them had spent the entire evening on.

“Okay,” he says. He blinks. 

“Wait, that’s it?” 

He looks a little confused. “I mean, yes. I thought you would be happy.” 

‘’I am!” he exclaims, a little too loud. “I just thought you’d say something about how I’m too injured still or something.” 

He shrugs. “If you think you’re better, then I trust you.”

“Oh.” That makes him feel better actually. “Well then, I better start packing.” 

Kay looks like he’s about to say something, but is trying not to, so Merlin gestures for him to continue. “I would prefer it if you didn’t tell anyone about me.” He seems apologetic, as if it wasn’t a completely reasonable request. “It’s just that, I don’t think the explosion was a coincidence, someone was specifically targeting druids, and if they find out about me or the delivery boy or even Daegal, then we could be in danger. Please don’t take this personally, I know you may not want to hide anything from your friends but-”

“Of course I don’t mind!” he protests. “I promise you, no one will know of your existence, except for maybe Daegal. If you want some company though, you know where to find me.” 

Kay smiles, and they continue eating their (exceptionally delicious) meal. 

He cries for a good two, three hours, Arthur doesn't move the entire time. His face is covered with dried tear tracks and his eyes are red and swollen by the end of it, but his shoulders are visibly more relaxed, his smile brighter. 

“It’s getting dark outside,” he notes. 

“Oh,” Merlin says. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even notice I just- I’m sorry you must be tired.”

“No, no. It’s fine. Don’t worry, it’s not your fault, I’m not even sleepy. If you want to sleep then you can go to your chamber or-” He feels shy all of a sudden, not sure if he should continue his sentence "you could share the bed with me?" He finishes lamely. He feels flushed from head to toe, it sounds so dumb. Why would Merlin want to share the bed with him? He had no reason to want to. Ever since he had come back, Arthur wasn't sure where they stood.

There was a part of his brain that said that it was silly to second guess, that things are still the same, but another part told him that they had mourned Merlin, that there was no going back from that. He knew that his brain was just being stupid and overthinking again. His brain had a habit of doing that, being abso-bloody-lutely useless and wondering about things not under his control. 

Objectively, he knows not much has changed between him and Merlin, but he can't help wondering. 

Merlin blushes, barely noticeable otherwise, but with the small fire shining onto his already warm face, the faint pink dusting his cheeks stands out. "No, I want to stay with you.” he pauses. “Unless you don’t want me to, of course.”

He smiles. Maybe, if they still have this sort of effect on each other it's still there. The love, the like, whatever it is. They can work it out, they can finally dance to a different song. Maybe not today, tonight, but sometime.

"Well then," he says, opening his cupboard (and wow, he really should have someone clean his cupboard, it's a mess) and throwing his loosest pants and shirt  at Merlin, "Get dressed." 

He takes out his own, and changes himself as Merlin does the same behind the dress. Merlin walks out just as he starts to open the sheets. 

His clothes are too wide on Merlin, yet short. The shirt feels like a crop top and the arm seems incredibly baggy, the pants stop right above his ankles, but hang loosely around his waist, held together with his smallest belt. He looks so silly, that Arthur bursts out laughing. 

Merlin grimaces. "That bad?" he asks, and sticks his tongue out when Arthur's reply is just more laughter. "Look. it's not my fault you're built like a cow. You've got the fat and the muscle, but you're like,” he gestures towards him,"short. Tiny. A Baby." 

Arthur gasps in a way so dramatic and reminiscent of how their banter used to be before he became king, that he feels almost nostalgic. 

He has been lying to himself, he and Merlin weren't perfect before he went to the camp. For the year since magic had been legalized and Merlin had left the role of his manservant to become the Magical Advisor of his court, and a member of his round table, they had been too busy to meet. Their banter, although still sharp-cutting and hot, was not as frequent, they met each other everyday, but Merlin didn't spend late nights like he used to. They drank, but went their separate ways to their rooms afterwards. 

Maybe it was because they were becoming older, or something. Arthur knew that was a myth, he remembers quite clearly how often Gaius and Uther used to party in their forties when he was a young child. He was quite sure that Gaius still had a larger amount of friends than all of them. 

It was the stress, most probably. But at least the stress isn't as much anymore. 

"At least I'm not a stick like you. No mass, but enough of a height that they would consider you a half-giant." Merlin lets out a small huff, or at least he's in the middle of one, before Arthur throws a pillow at him, smacking him right in the face. "See," he continues," with reflexes like that, being as clumsy as you are, they- Wha'' Merlin tackles him, pushes him to the ground and starts to tickle the part of his belly that he knows is sensitive from previous tickle fights. "Stop! Sto- laugh- stop!" Surprisingly, Merlin listens. Arthur beams at him, Merlin does too, and it's comfortable. It's good. It's so, so good.

Only once they turn out the lamps, and open up the covers, does Arthur realise how cold it is. It's January, so it should be expected, but with the thick jackets and scarves they or during the day, and the open lamps to provide some short comfort, they weren't hit as hard, but now, in their thin bed clothes with one sheet each? It's a whole different story. Despite the fact that Merlin was the one who grew up on floors in villages, and Arthur the one being raised in a castle, Merlin is more sensitive to the cold. He shivers constantly, and, Arthur notes as he turns on his side, is doing so right now too.  

"You're ridiculous," Arthur says. Merlin opens his eyes, even though he could tell that the sorcerer wasn't even attempting to sleep, or if he was, he clearly wasn't getting too far with how loud his teeth were chattering. 

"What do you mean?" Even his voice is starting to sound hoarse and dry.

"You know if you wanted to cuddle, you could have just asked. didn't have to act so much." Merlin started to protest, but Arthur had already opened up his arms. It's not only for the cold, but because he knows Merlin needs some comfort right now, and although both of them are affectionate with those close to them, they rarely seek it out by themselves. He knows that unless he reaches out and hugs Merlin, he would suffer in silence, desperately wanting human touch , but being too prideful or too worried to annoy someone to ask directly. 

Merlin stays still for a moment, but then shifts in, he groans immediately upon doing so.

"Oh my god, you're so warm."

"I know," he replies, "It's a Pendragon thing, runs in the family.  I bet you anything, Gwen would be doing the same with Morgana right now too. Us royal-bloods are just like that." Merlin chuckles (and it sounds so musical and perfect, even though he can make out the undertones of deepness that comes from crying, it sounds perfect, like everything Merlin does is) and hits his chest lightly.  

Arthur huffs, then adjusts so that they're both more comfortable. He's lying on his back, with Merlin resting his head right over his heart, their legs are entangled neatly, and Merlin arms circle him, encasing him with a protective cover (or at least, that's what it feels like.) Besides the fire in the fireplace, the only other source of light in the room is of the candle places next to his bed, but it’s bright enough that he can make out Merlin’s features, how bright his pupils are and how the bridge of his nose slopes downward, how his lips are curled back into something resembling a grin, how amazing he is in general, really. Although his opinion may be a little biased.  

It strikes him, for the upteenth time, that he loves this man. That he would move heaven and Earth for him, just for a smile. But smiles come so easy to him, that it won't be necessary. And now that he's back, and that he's obviously feeling better, maybe he should voice this to him. 

“You know,” he says. “I did miss you when you were gone.” Merlin looks up questioningly, but doesn’t interrupt, for which he is grateful. “I mean, even before, well, you know.” This sounds so stupid, he should stop. But he doesn’t. “Gwen did too, but I think it was in a different way. Merlin, I,” he should just say it, just say it dammit, “love you. I mean, I always have, but I think that this time, it’s different. I’m in love with you.” 

Merlin stares up at him with those lovely blue eyes of his, a paradise within themselves, mute. Arthur begins to wonder if he’s done something wrong, if this was the wrong time, if he’s ruined everything, but then Merlin speaks up. 

“I think I’m in love with you too.” Their bodies had been pressed up to each  other in the bed, but they had sat up at some point during his talk. Their faces are getting closer and closer to each other, until there’s barely any distance inbetween. Arthur takes the liberty of bridging the gap. 

His lips taste just right, so sweet, like honey. so soft and plush, Arthur sinks into them. They could have been doing this much longer ago, doesn’t know why they didn't, because it feels amazing, this feels just right. This where he is meant to be, doing what he is supposed to be doing. 

Arthur touches his forehead to Merlin's, breaking away just for a second, before leaning in to kiss him again. And he can tell, he just can, that Merlin is his destiny, and not because of some bullshit a dragon had spewed, but because he can feel it right in the hollows of his bones.

 It feels like he’s dreaming, and maybe he is, but he doesn't care. Not if this is what his dreams are like. He doesn't want to leave this position, ever. They say that out there, there is someone made to match you perfectly, to complete your soul. If he had ever doubted it, he didn’t anymore, because him meeting Merlin had been a sign that it was true.

This was the kind of love he had read about, the kind his he used to think his parents had, the kind of love that was etched into walls by the cavemen, written by authors who had wanted it all for themselves, encased into gold in the form of a pendant to gift, in the food a baker made for their one love. Those were all good, but this was better. This was what the poets had longed for, what the actors had done in all their plays, it was everything, it was more. 

And maybe this is just him being too excited, but he knows it's true. Not because of the kiss, that is just an added advantage of being with him, but because he has known Merlin better than he knows anything else, even himself, and he knows that this isn't nothing for him either. Not in the way he had said “I’m in love with you too”, not in the way he is kissing him right now.

Merlin pauses, then stills. Arthur immediately feels anxiety rising in his throat, but he pushes it down, and smiles.  "What's wrong?" he asks. He doesn’t reply for a second,a s if thinking of what to say. “Did I do something wrong-”

Merlin stops him before he can dig himself any deeper. "No," he says softly. "It's not you, you're perfect, it's I- I need to tell you something. I don't- I don't feel those types of feelings." he stumbles a little over his words. 'No that's not what I meant. That sounded wrong, so wrong. I meant, uh, I like kissing you- love it actually, can’t even tell you how much- but doing anything further, with anyone really, anything more, it- it grosses me out. I just can't imagine doing that, or wanting to do that. I'm-" he voice cracks a bit "sorry." 

"Merlin," he tries to think of what to say, "I never want you to feel that you need to, well, sleep with me. It is not something I need, barely something I want at all actually. And I don't want you to feel like you owe that to me, because you don't. You don't have to want to want it, it kind of makes me feel better actually, because I don't want it much either, And I uh, wow, I'm not even making sense, but, I don't think it's something we have to do." 

Merlin smiles tentatively. He cups his face, presses another kiss to his forehead, and blows out the last candle placed right next to them, and it feels like the world has shifted. Because everything is now right, because he and Merlin are together in every sense of the word, they are together and they are here, they are real, and it is better than anything he could have ever hoped for, anything those before them could have ever hoped for.