Chapter Text
A Spaceman came travelling on his ship from afar.
T’was light years of time since his mission did start.
And over a village, he halted his craft.
And it hung in the sky like a star.
Just like a star.
~Prologue~
It’s Christmas Day, 25th December 2023.
The cars outside the old, crumbling block of flats honk loudly. Parents are coming home with their children from their outings in local parks, filled with some kind of festive spirit as they go about their business; carving up the Turkey and sharing in the joy of the season.
So many did not believe, not truly. Not anymore.
The only thing important this time of year was the manufactured happiness (oftentimes accompanied with exasperation) that accompanied the union of families at this supposedly jolly time of year.
How the children scrambled with innocent greed to unwrap their presents.
How the adults drank themselves silly one more time to forget and become hopeful again that next year…
Next year would be better. It had to be.
That’s how Christmas generally played out in the United Kingdom.
On a tired, creaking bed, a young-looking man with bones older than the architecture shuffles to make himself more comfortable. Another year spent in pain, lying on his side. Another Christmas, hearing the festivities of the other residents; banging on the floors above and below him. This old man had tried in the past to spend some time with his neighbours over Christmas, but now… now he harbours no further desire to participate in the sham festivities.
Another fucking wasted year spent pining for his old friend.
Alone.
All his friends lived and died. All his dreams died with them. Reincarnations of Arthur Pendragon, of the fierce and brave Guinevere, of the Knights of the Round Table, returned at random points across the centuries. Time and again. To taunt him with their mortality.
At one point, the bitter man had thought to drown his woes in drink too. On that Christmas day, following the death of the latest Arthur on a hospital bed in a respiratory ward, Merlin truly felt there was no point to his immortality. Perhaps the numbing alcohol sliding down his throat would prepare him for his self-imposed fate; perhaps he would face his oblivion and truly look at himself for the first (and last) time through shards of shattered glass.
But, in the end… Merlin is a coward. He is the boy who ran. Running so far and so fast. All the time running, denying the Sun, denying the Truth.
Because it felt too much like owning up to a betrayal.
Albion. It had been a dream, an impossible dream.
Closing his eyes, does Merlin the magician at last feel the slightest relief as deep sleep takes him. Moaning quietly, his bushy head falls back upon a moth-bitten pillow.
Oh, but would this be the sleep that takes him at last from this world. Would this sleep be the one to carry him with the angels up into heaven, his Avalon. There to be reunited with his best friend, his truest friend. The one that was so difficult to love, but in the end, the only person who could ever have owned his artificial heart.
In the darkness of Merlin’s last night on this plane of reality, a warm breeze of air gusts in through the half open window of the decrepit flat.
Life.
Its essence moved in the flow of the currents, in the depths of the equator, in the movement of the wind through the branches of trees. Merlin’s immortal soul senses this, his earth magic is at one with the Mighty Spirit spilling into the room… but the child that is Magic Itself had simply denied the entire reality of what that Spirit truly is for many bitter millennia.
Which is why Arthur took so long to return.
The vibrational frequency of a power beyond time curls around the spent warlock. Cradling and comforting, sending a sudden shiver down his spine-
Merlin bolts up awake, dark eyes confused, trembling. Afraid.
A man is sitting on the side of his bed.
The darkness elongates.
A tongue wets a pale quivering lip.
“W-who…. who are you? How did you get in? What-”
The sound of foil wrenched from a small circular object fills the stillness.
Merlin freezes.
At last, a warm, rich baritone voice speaks.
“Christmas. Huh. Oh, you hate it don’t you? I knew you would, Merlin. All these fake displays of joy and reconciliation. The world makes itself a promise to be good next year, knowing full well it will not. Take this coin, for example.”
The blond man raises his head. In the shadows surrounding him, Merlin cannot see too much of his features, but his eyes…. his eyes are the most terrifying.
The light in his eyes is vast and endless.
The King inclines his chin. “This coin, Merlin. Pay attention. I have taken the golden wrapping off. Do you want to know what lies underneath?”
Shaking his head, mouthing a ‘no’, does the blond huff and draw closer. But only a little.
“Hmm. Don’t be so distrustful, Merlin. This coin is special. It is vastly more valuable than anything those idiots who pray at the altar of spendthrift could ever admit.”
Lifting the coin to his mouth, the child of the Sun cracks the brown object between his teeth.
“Hmm. Not bitter. Not bad at all. See? You can eat money. Well... so long as it is the right kind. A chocolate coin is very delicious….”
The blond laughs lightly. The sound carries.
“If only my father paid his servants with chocolate instead of useless pieces of metal. Do you want some? You could use a bit of chocolate, you look exhausted. Here.”
Throwing another coin in the direction of his soulmate, it is only Merlin’s sharpened instincts that allow him to catch the silver wrapped treat in time. The King nods approvingly.
“Take. Eat. This is truly the tastiest food I have come across in the many years I have lived on this earth. Eating chocolate always makes things better.”
And – too overstimulated to do anything else – Merlin complies. The bite into the chocolate is exquisite. Merlin’s coin was silver, so white chocolate is his delight. The blond meanwhile had been eating something that varied in between milk and dark cocoa. The sounds of their mutual enjoyment fill the room for a moment.
Despite the surge of serotonin, however, after a while the silence grows too heavy again.
Merlin crumples the silver foil in his fist. His aura radiates unease, distrust… but also the faintest shivers of hope.
“Arthur. Arthur, it is you… what are you doing? Why like this? I have waited so long for you. Why do you mock me? Why… are you playing games with my heart in the darkness?”
Why don’t you hug me, the emotional soul that is Merlin thinks; but doesn’t dare to say.
He doesn’t need to, for his soulmate knows his mind.
The King purses his lips in thought.
“Life and death. Death and life. The cyclical nature of the natural world. Is that truly your reality, Merlin?”
The warlock pauses. This is not going the way he had wanted.
The blond sitting on the edge of his bed is very patient.
Eventually, the magician sighs, and the tired circles under his eyes grow ever more pronounced.
“Well, yes. I’ve always followed the patterns I saw in nature, Arthur, to try and better understand you. I documented the movement of the stars for your signature. I listened for your return in the footfalls of the deer moving through the forest, and the padded paws of the wolf following close behind. I thought I knew you Arthur, I thought you would return to me like this, like-“
“Like a benevolent old friend who would sweep you off your feet and kiss you soundly.”
The galaxies revolving in those bright, too bright, eyes, shift a fraction.
Such is the power of Merlin. He can bend reality to his will. He can take the stars and make them shine ever brighter… or die out in their droves. But he just doesn’t understand how yet.
Because the King hides his own secret.
The blond cannot weep for the losses experienced by his truest friend anymore, but the sentiment is there. On some level, Merlin wants to be saved, and he would be saved.
If he allowed his soulmate to save him.
But he would have to surrender everything he is and everything he was in order to be able to do that.
The King nods just the once.
The shining tears kept back for so long in Merlin’s eyes are at last, finally, leaking out. The depth of the warlock’s emotion is bare and naked for the supernatural entity to see and the blond could not, would not and never ever will not be moved by the sheer well of tenderness he bears towards this man.
He rises up from his seat on the bed. Kindness and purpose modulate the neutrality of before. The necessary evil of distance was there in order for their meeting to even occur.
Because a true friend is not one that simply tells you what you want to hear.
A true friend tells you what you need to hear.
“It is time then, Merlin. The Gods and Goddesses have granted me a special honour to let me bring you home. And that is because I have lived long enough to be able to grant you this favour. I have enjoyed and suffered so many lives of hardship, grief and the fleeting moments of joy to reach this point to bear you hence.”
The King hums, and there is only the slightest trace of smug satisfaction in his voice.
“You claim to be old, weak and fragile… and wise. But I am older than you, Merlin. I have always been your elder. You have lived only one life. I have lived many. Simultaneously. From the dawn of mankind until its end. I continue to live at this very moment. You will understand why when I take you with me to the place we must go to now.”
The warlock breathes. His heart pangs painfully in his chest.
“Avalon.”
Whispered like a prayer; the name sounds like the benediction for his cursed immortal life. Oh, now he can rest. Now, he will be entertained with music and fountains of water and the blessed reunion of all his old friends gathered together in one place, ready to greet him. To take him up and relieve the despair of his loneliness.
The blond smiles a little sadly as he hears the yearning in his friend’s voice. His voice though, is filled anew with patience and understanding.
“Yes, Merlin. We go there now. Side by side. As friends.”
“But Arthur!”
And the old immortal is suddenly enervated by such joy that he bolts upright out of his bed, frailty and pain fully forgotten.
“Why can you not hold me? Please. Why will you not hug me? If we are friends as you say, surely you would not be so cold-”
The King pauses. Sorrow, of the deepest, darkest variety, again fills his ageless heart.
The light of a billion stars flickers, wavering briefly in the galaxies in his eyes.
“Merlin… Merlin. You see, but you still don’t understand.”
The King sighs.
“You still cling to the promises of a life that is circular and cannot lead to anything new. I am the answer to the question that has never been posed before. I am the multiple Truth that you sense, yet reject, because deep down… you have always held your beloved closer to your heart than my people.”
Turning to face the warlock at last, the blond takes his soulmate’s hand in his. This world is not long for either of them.
“I am not your Arthur Pendragon anymore. I am the Once & Future King.”