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Merlin was like any other man. Like any other man. That’s what he told himself. So what if he’s yet to die? And so what if he hasn’t aged in as long as he can remember? So what if he can’t remember his life before… Before whatever was before. So what if he couldn’t remember his father’s eyes? Or his mother’s smile? It’s completely ordinary to forget such things! He’s normal. He is.
In fact, he knows, without a doubt, that he is completely regular. He knows this because he remembers him. Not his name, or his face, or anything much really, but he remembers his words. How he spoke. How he loved. Yes, Merlin knows he is normal, because he remembers the man told him so. Told him to always be himself. He told Merlin that he loved him, always.
Should Merlin trust this ridiculous, most likely mediated memory of a man he can’t remember the name of? Probably not. He really shouldn’t. But he does. And he can’t bring himself to regret that.
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Merlin was sitting at his ordinary table, enjoying his ordinary breakfast, when suddenly the wind was knocked out of him. It felt like a blow straight to the gut. That was not ordinary. Then, all at once, he knew he wasn’t alone in this world anymore. And he knew nothing would ever be ordinary again.
He was back. Arthur was back! He could feel it. He felt the exact moment Arthur touched the waters of the lake. And it was life giving.
When he arrived at the lake, Merlin was at a loss of what to do or look for. He only went to the lake because that’s where he was drawn. It’s where his gut told him to go. It’s where he knew the man in his memory was. Arthur was his name, he supposed. Who was he to deny his gut? He hadn’t this far.
So he was here, at the lake. Lake…whatever it was. He was here, not knowing what to do next.
Who was he looking for? Where was “here” again? What was he doing here? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything.
Then he felt it again. A blow to the gut. It was so shocking that he almost doubled over in pain. But he couldn’t do that. It would look strange (even if he was alone). And Merlin was not strange.
So he didn’t double over in pain. He did, however, spin around so quickly that he almost fell over.
And there he was. A beautiful blond man. A man so familiar to him that this must be Arthur. The name spills from his lips.
“Arthur,” his voice just above a whisper.
“Merlin!”
And then they're running towards each other at lightning speed, too afraid to slow down for fear that the other will disappear. They embraced, hugging the other as if their lives depended on it. In some ways, they did. For one glorious moment, everything is perfect and right in the world. And all too soon, that moment ends.
Like a flash, Merlin shoves the stranger off of him. He backed away quickly. Why was he hugging a stranger? Why was the stranger holding him so tightly? And why did he look so hurt? Why did Merlin feel the need to console him? The need to hold him and tell him that it’s alright. That he’s here. That they’re here together.
What is going on? Who is this? Merlin’s head hurts. Everything is spinning. Black dots swim into his vision. He thinks he hears Arthur calling. Wait, who is Arthur? No time to figure it out. Everything's black. And he’s out.
When Merlin comes to, it’s not at the lake. In fact, he’s not sure where he is. Or why he’s not at home.
“Merlin?” Someone calls. A man. It all comes rushing back. The memories. The punch to the gut. The name. The face.
Said face abruptly comes into his field of vision. A face framed with short golden hair and a worried expression. “You’re awake!”
“Umm…who are you?” His expression turned devastating. “Don’t worry! Don’t be sad! I remember your name. Arthur, right? I don’t know exactly who you are, or who you were to me, but I know I don’t want you to hurt,” Merlin’s rambling as his voice grows shakier. Arthur is getting more and more upset, walking closer to Merlin slowly. “So who are- who were you, to me?”
Arthur takes a breath; moving closer. “I’m Arthur Pendragon. I am- I was your master. You were my servant,” Merlin’s head was spinning. Arthur took another deep breath, “And… We were lovers,” he was right in front of him now, close enough to touch. So he does. Arthur reaches out and holds Merlin’s face.
The reaction is instant. Merlin gasped while Arthur’s hand retreated in retaliation. Nervous he had made everything worse. Merlin was breathing heavily; lost in his subconscious, in his memories.
All of it comes flooding back. The sneaking around. The stolen kisses. The rotten fruit and the pillows and the cups, all being thrown at him. The wars. The battles they lost. The friends who died. (How could he ever forget his friends?) Merlin remembers his secrets. His magic. Merlin, Merlin has magic. No. Merlin is magic. How is that possible?
But there’s more. So much more. He remembers Camlann. Fighting Morgana. Killing her. And he remembers Arthur. Arthur and his unyielding courage. Arthur who he fought with day in and day out. Arthur who he loved more than anyone. Arthur who told him to always be himself. Arthur who he couldn’t save. Arthur who was back. Wait…Arthur’s back!?
Merlin snaped out of his memories just in time to see that Arthur was about to leave. He jumps up and runs toward him. Arthur turns around in time for Merlin to jump into his arms, surprising them both and making them fall.
“Arthur!” he shouts, “You’re back! I remember now! I’ve been waiting so long, centuries long, for you. And now… you’re back.” Merlin was surely crying by now, but he didn't care. Arthur is back, here with him in the present. And he remembers.
"Merlin,” it’s breathless, and annoyed, and so full of affection that he couldn’t possibly hate him.
“Come home with me,”
“You won’t forget me again?”
“I don’t know how I did the first time."