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Merlin had forgotten a lot of things about Camelot over the years. He had forgotten the smell of freshly baked bread in the kitchens. He had forgotten the air of excitement and nervousness when there was a tournament, and the taste of Gaius strawberry mush in the summers. He had forgotten the voices of Gwen and Lancelot and Gwaine and Morgana. He had even forgotten the voice of Arthur.
But there were things he could never forget. He remembered rubbing the sleep out of his eyes on horseback when Arthur decided to go for an early morning hunt that, for some reason, Merlin was needed for. He remembered his sore arms after days of Arthur working him to death, and the immense headache after spending a night in Arthur's chambers just drinking wine hours after they should have gone to bed. He remembered the nights he lay awake, unable to forget how he had failed Morgana. He remembered crying alongside Gwen about her betrayal. He remembered Gwaine's drunken adventures that almost always ended with fistfights and running from the law. He remembered Gaius yelling at him in a stern yet amused manner every time he came close to revealing his magic, which, mind you, was quite often. Merlin did not remember the color of Arthur's eyes, or Gwen's smile, or Gwaine's laugh. He remembered how Arthur's eyes lit up when he was happy. He remembered how Gwen would smile at Arthur's stupidity. He remembered how Gwaine would put his hand over his chest and throw his head back when he laughed. No, Merlin did not remember the simplest of things about his friends and family. He remembered only the important parts.
He remembered that December 25th the year 804 was sunny and had no snow at all. The lake of Avalon had a very thin layer of ice on it, strong enough to hold perhaps a hare or a fox yet not strong enough for a deer. The sun had been present all day, and the snow had gone away two days prior. Merlin knows this, because December 25th, 804 was his first Christmas without any snow at all. Merlin knows this, because December 25th, 804, he was alive and alone.
April 4th, 1245, was a rainy Tuesday. Merlin knows this because he fell off his horse and sought shelter with a family in a nearby village. He had, in the heat of the moment as his wounds were being tended to, kissed the daughter of the family and gotten himself kicked out. He had been chased by the father through the entire village and vowed never to return.
June 12th, 1575, was a Thursday, and Merlin knows this because he had visited an old friend called John. John and his wife Mary had a son called William that Merlin spent the day with, and when 9 year old William told him he already knew how to spell and then proceeded to misspell the word "cabbage" , Merlin smiled at the child and recalled that it was the first time he had genuinely smiled for a very long time. That boy made a lot of other people smile over the years, as he grew up to be a famous playwright. Merlin never would've guessed that the little William Shakespeare he met would still be remembered 400 years after his death.
April 14th, 1912, Merlin was on ship, crossing the Atlantic. He had only gotten a third class ticket, so when the ship suddenly hit an ice berg and began to sink, he could not get to a lifeboat. He was alerted of the crisis only when he woke up in the night and noticed his room was filled with water. Using his magic, he got out and found a piece of wood to float on. Three days later, another ship caught sight of him and picked him up. They were gobsmacked. How could this pale little man be alive?
And at 23:45 on April 26th, 2021, Merlin was in his flat, trying desperately to fall asleep and failing miserably to do so. He had been plagued with uneasy nights for weeks with no idea why or how to repress it, other than sleeping pills taken with glass of whiskey. The law firm he worked at had a big merger coming up, and he was responsible for seeing it through.
He rolled over to his side. Exhausted yet unable to rest, Merlin lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. His raven hair had begun to gray. After over a thousand years, his body was finally taking a toll. As he at last began to drift off, a sharp knock filled the silent apartment. Rap-tap-tap.
Merlin sat bolt upright. Who would come visit him at 01:00 in the night?
He went over to the door, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, undid the chain, and swung the door open.
The man in front of him was dripping wet. He wore a chain armor, and a broken and frayed red cloak. He was breathing heavily, panting as if he had been running in fear. Running away from something. Or towards someone.
"Merlin?" he said. His voice was hoarse, shaking, unsteady. As if he hadn't spoken in years.
Wet, dripping, blond hair hung on his head and obscured his eyes from view. But Merlin could still see his eyes. They were blue. Bright blue, worried, shocked. But more importantly, there was a twinkle in them. A twinkle Merlin knew by heart. A twinkle that not even a thousand years could erase from his memory.
Merlin flung his arms around the man in front of him. He clutched him tightly, holding onto him as a man lost at sea would hold on to a lifebuoy.
"Arthur," he breathed.
And Merlin forgot everything he had experienced. Every memory, every person he had met faded away. None of it mattered. In all the lifetimes Merlin had lived, in all the countries, in all the seasons and the empires and adventures and disasters, only one thing mattered. Only Arthur mattered.