Work Text:
*
Emrys. Emrys.
The voice comes to Merlin as they cross the border into Queen Annis’s lands, following the gorge to a small village that at first seems abandoned… until they see the bodies of the villagers, cut down as though they had no warning of an attack.
Emrys. Emrys.
The voice is haunted, a hollow whisper that only he can hear. He leaves Arthur and the knights searching for survivors, and follows the whisper into a nearby cave. There’s a chill in the air, but not like that of winter, but that of sorrow, of death… of a burden so heavy it seeps into your very skin and becomes part of who you are.
Emrys.
There is magic here. Merlin can feel it, and is certain of it when he walks deeper into the cave and finds an elderly man, slumped by a small pool of water and close to death.
“What happened to you?” Merlin asks, startling a little when the man grasps his wrist in a surprisingly tight grip. “Who did this to your village?”
“That it happened at all, is all that matters,” the man answers, his eyes tormented but clear. “I have been haunted by this moment for many years… since long before you set foot on this Earth, Emrys, I have waited for its arrival with sorrow in my heart. For even as Camelot flowers, so the seeds of her destruction are being sown. The prophets speak of Arthur’s bane. You would do well to fear it, for it stalks him, like a ghost in the night. Unless you act quickly, Emrys, even you cannot alter the never-ending circle of his… fate.”
Merlin’s heart trips on a frightened beat, his blood turning to ice in his veins when the man’s eyes close with a finality that Merlin can feel, his hand falling into the pool that then begins to ripple.
At first nothing, but then… the vision of a battlefield and the sound of steel clashing against steel.
There’s fire and so much bloodshed Merlin can taste it in the air like he’s standing in the midst of that terrible battle. There’s a young man, with dark curly hair and piercing blue eyes and then Arthur, covered in dirt and blood, betrayal a shadow across his face.
The clash of swords and then the sickening sound of metal piercing metal… and then muscle, Arthur’s sharp intake of breath as he falls to his knees.
Wounded, bleeding and—
Time passes, winter is coming, but Merlin can’t get the images out of his head.
He feels hollowed out, haunted. Stalked like a shadow by a battle that has not yet come to pass— a battle that surely spells Arthur’s doom.
He can’t stop thinking of the words he himself spoke to Kilgharrah after what the druid seer had shown him.
There was a battle. A terrible battle.
Arthur was fighting for his life.
I saw him wounded.
I saw him fall.
That was all he saw, because then Arthur had been standing in front of him in the tiny cave, concern written all over his handsome face, the vision in the rock pool shattered like glass. The contrast between his current reality and the future he has seen that may yet unfold image by horrifying image is so stark it tears the bottom right out of Merlin’s stomach, leaves him breathless, teary-eyed and trying desperately to force the aching back inside his chest where Arthur won’t ever see it.
That’s when the emptiness, the darkness returns.
Merlin is no stranger to it, the black hole that expands inside of him until he’s numb, listless, struggles to do even the most mundane of tasks like bring Arthur his breakfast on time or wash his own face before bed.
Eventually it passes, sometimes for several years, but one way or another it always returns, and each time the darkness is harder to fight— no matter how many hours he spends riding through meadows with Arthur under the heat of the summer sun.
This time is no different except that it is. Different because the feeling never subsides, doesn’t ease for even a few hours. Instead it spreads rapidly within him like a disease, wraps around him like a never ending nightfall.
With each passing week the emptiness grows until Merlin can barely stand to see Arthur smile at him without wanting to break down in tears.
It’s too much. Everything is too much. And when the man in the vision of the future turned out to be Mordred, a man who Arthur has since knighted and started taking out on patrols, Merlin wonders how he’s still standing the weight of his destiny is so great.
Mordred is destined to play a part in Arthur’s death, of that Merlin is certain, and it’s more than he can bear. Yet through it all he keeps everything deep inside, locks his ribcage around the terror that fills his heart more with every beat it takes, keeps his true feelings hidden behind a carefully constructed smile and just enough blundering and sarcasm to keep Arthur unaware of the storm building in his soul.
Merlin wonders when destiny became less about Albion and more about keeping Arthur safe and alive because Merlin doesn’t know how to live without him anymore, isn’t sure he can — and he most certainly doesn't want to have to find out.
Merlin wonders when exactly it was that he’d fallen in love with his king.
Maybe it has always been there, an unbreakable enchantment beneath his skin, threading through his veins until his blood sings with it, desperate to be acknowledged, nurtured in daylight rather than hidden, pressed into the dirt under his boots like a wilted flower.
But sometimes the most beautiful flowers bloom after rising from the mud.
Merlin loves Arthur; it’s as simple and as complicated as that.
He yearns to tell him everything. From how much he feels for him to the destiny that binds them together— Merlin wishes it could all be something more than a secret that weighs his heart down.
“Are you ever going to tell me?” Arthur asks one night, when Merlin is turning down Arthur’s sheets to ready him for bed and Arthur is rearranging pillows just for something to do with his hands.
It’s a habit he has whenever he needs to talk about something and isn’t quite sure how to go about it; Merlin finds it oddly endearing.
“Tell you what?” Merlin asks, confused.
“Why you’ve been so melancholy since we returned from Ismere,” Arthur tells him and Merlin turns away, love for the man in front of him and the darkness stemming from the terrible things he knows at war inside his chest.
“I’m not melancholy,” Merlin can’t look him in the face as he speaks, as he lies.
“Really?” Arthur doesn’t sound at all convinced. “Because I can’t remember the last time I saw you smile,”
Merlin scoffs, a hollow, bitter little thing full of darkness and grief over a loss that doesn't yet exist. “I’d be more surprised if you remembered or noticed anything about me at all, sire.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur asks, and Merlin spares a glance at him to see that he looks as taken aback by the way Merlin snapped just as much as he is.
“Forget it,” Merlin swallows hard, turns away again before he can say something else foolish. “It doesn’t matter,”
I don’t matter, are the words that shiver through Merlin’s heart, settle across his weary soul.
Arthur walks around the bed to where Merlin is still standing with his arms wrapped around one of Arthur’s pillows. “I can’t do that Merlin, and it does matter. You know it does, so tell me. Please.”
The way Arthur rests a hand on Merlin’s arm and squeezes gently has the truth balancing on the tip of Merlin’s tongue, wild and dangerous.
“It may matter to someone Arthur, but I’m certain that someone isn’t you,” Merlin swallows the truth that burns like fire and spits poison to keep it hidden.
The hurt on Arthur’s face is enough to break his heart.
“You think you don’t matter to me, is that it?” Arthur demands but Merlin doesn’t answer. “Do you really think so little of yourself, of me?” Arthur pulls the pillow from Merlin’s arms. “Answer me,”
“I’m afraid,” Merlin blurts.
“Of me?” Arthur flinches like Merlin has struck him.
Merlin shakes his head. “I’m afraid for you, Arthur. That druid seer—”
“I already told you Merlin, I won’t listen to the last words of a dying man who didn’t even know me, much less the words of a sorcerer.”
Fear and darkness, anger and the weight of a destiny that’s slowly crushing him— it unfurls in Merlin’s chest and winds around his heart like a poisonous vine. “Why does magic make a man’s word less believable?”
"Because magic is an evil, Merlin. You know that."
"Do you really believe that?"
"It doesn't matter what I believe,"
"Of course it matters!" Merlin is shouting now, hands shaking and tears in his eyes. "Arthur, you're the king!"
"Merlin that's the end of it," Arthur warns, clearly exasperated.
But Merlin can't stop now he's started. "There you go, dismissing me like the things I say don't matter, and yet you stand there wondering why I think you don't care about me. This, Arthur," Merlin gestures wildly between them. "This is why. You're becoming a hypocrite just like your father was."
"Excuse me?" Arthur looks both angry and wounded, and Merlin hates himself for being the cause of it but he has been choking on darkness for far too long.
He needs to set it free before it consumes him.
"Your father hunted and murdered those with magic like a sport, and maybe you don't slaughter them like he did but even under your rule they live in fear of being discovered and yet you have used magic yourself to try to save your father's life!"
"That was for the sake of the kingdom—"
"It doesn't matter what it was for, you don't deserve to be helped by magic when you condemn those who have it," the words cut his throat to shreds like the blades of daggers when he utters them. "Camelot is a better place without Uther anyway,"
"Merlin, I'm warning you—"
"What are you going to do, have me arrested?"
Arthur grabs both of Merlin’s shoulders tightly. "What on Earth is wrong with you tonight? Why are you being like this?" he looks as upset as Merlin feels but all Merlin can think is: I love you and I'm sorry but I need to hide.
Hide.
Hide.
Hide.
Seconds later the candles and the fire go out at the same time, plunging the room into total darkness save for the silvery light of the moon spilling in through the window and across the bed.
A look of sheer horror passes across Arthur’s face. “Your eyes turned gold,” Arthur takes several steps backwards. “You have magic.”
“I was born with it!” Merlin shouts, conviction in his voice even as stands there trembling with fear. “And I’ve used it to save your life more times than I can count,”
“Why would a sorcerer save the life of a king who hates him?”
Even in the darkness Merlin can see the regret on Arthur’s face the moment the words leave his lips, but it’s too late. The damage has been done.
“Merlin I didn’t mean-“
Merlin reignites the fire and candles without uttering a word. Arthur flinches, though he tries to hide it. It’s more than he can stand. Tears on his face now, Merlin does the only thing left to do; he runs.
He runs from Arthur’s chambers, down the long corridors he knows by heart, out onto the courtyard and into the forest. Merlin runs until despair brings him to his knees beneath a large tree.
He screams. He cries. He begs for destiny not to crush him.
Merlin knows this forest like the back of his hand, but he has never felt more lost.
He lights a fire, uses magic to keep it burning in the rain and wonders why the truth had to be revealed in the most ugly of ways.
“I don’t hate you Merlin,” Arthur’s voice sounds from nearby, startling Merlin out of his reverie. “I could never hate you, and I couldn’t let you leave thinking that I do.”
Merlin stares blankly at the flames and doesn't acknowledge Arthur right away. “Just the way I was born then,”
“No,” Arthur insists. “Look at me. Merlin please, look at me.”
The pleading edge to Arthur’s voice has Merlin turning to look at him; he’s dressed in nothing but loose fitting sleepwear, even his feet are bare. “You should’ve put boots on. You’ll tear your feet to shreds out here.”
Arthur looks down at his feet, a little bashful. “I didn’t really think about it. Merlin, what I said—”
“Stop, Arthur.” Merlin interrupts. “I already know how you feel about magic. Believe me, I don’t need to hear it again.”
“But you have no idea how I feel about you!”
Merlin laughs humourlessly. “Is this the part where you tell me that you’re sorry and that you’ve been in love with me all along, even though every word and action screams the opposite?”
When nothing but silence answers him, Merlin actually looks at Arthur properly. He’s half shrouded in shadow, but the fire still illuminates him enough for Merlin to see the flush of embarrassment crawling across his cheeks.
“Oh,”
“Yeah, oh.” Arthur wraps his arms around his own body and it makes him look oddly vulnerable. “I didn’t intend to tell you like this,”
“Did you intend to tell me at all?”
“Did you intend to ever tell me about your magic?” Arthur counters quietly.
“I wanted to, so many times.” Merlin admits when Arthur comes to sit beside him, warming himself by the fire. “I was afraid,”
“Me too,” that catches Merlin’s attention, but Arthur continues before he can say anything. “I was scared of what I was feeling and what those feelings meant. I tried so hard to make them go away but nothing ever worked, you’d come to me every morning with a smile and my favourite breakfast and I’d fall in love all over again. Stupid, I know.”
Merlin shakes his head. “Love is never stupid, Arthur.”
“It is when you dare not speak of it, or when the person you love so much doesn’t feel the same way.”
“You think I don’t feel the same way?”
“Do you?” Arthur’s blue eyes look violet in the firelight, full of a hope and yearning that Merlin knows all too well.
“There’s so much you don’t understand— so much you don’t know, I fear you won’t feel the same once you do.”
“Then tell me.” Arthur all but begs, grabs one of Merlin’s hands and squeezes tightly. “Tell me and I’ll prove to you that I still love you- that nothing you can tell me will change that.”
“You said magic is evil—”
“Because that is what I’ve been raised to believe,” Arthur cuts in. “It doesn’t mean that I’m right.”
Merlin looks at Arthur for a long moment, searches for doubt in his eyes and finds none. He swallows hard and nods. “The druid seer I met on our journey to Ismere, he didn’t just tell me things— he showed me.”
“Using magic?”
“Yes,”
“What did you see?”
That question is all it takes for the long hidden truth to come spilling out like a river swollen by torrential rain finally bursting its banks. “I saw a battle and I saw you , fighting for your life. I saw you mortally wounded—”
“By who?”
“Arthur I’m not sure it’s—”
“Please Merlin,”
Merlin takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment and lets it go. “Mordred,”
“Mordred?” so many emotions flicker across his face Merlin can’t pinpoint a single one. “But the future isn’t set in stone, right?” he doesn’t ask when, where, why?
Merlin wouldn’t know what to say anyway.
“Arthur,” Merlin sighs heavily. “All I have ever done since the day I arrived in Camelot is try to keep you safe. It hasn’t always been easy, but this time I fear that even with my magic I cannot alter the path that destiny has decided for us,”
“Us?”
Merlin nods, gives Arthur a small smile. “You are Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King, destined to unite the lands of Albion, and I am Emrys, or so the druids call me, destined to help you become the king you’re meant to be. It was written long before either of us drew our first breaths, our—”
“Destiny.” Arthur finishes. He looks overwhelmed but not angry or confused, and it makes Merlin feel lighter somehow. Like a heavy burden has finally been lifted.
For good or ill, Arthur finally knows the truth.
“Is that why you’ve seemed so sad lately?”
“For even as Camelot flowers, so the seeds of her destruction are being sown. That’s what the druid said to me before he died and the words have haunted me since. Sometimes I think the Gods are punishing me. Falling in love with you wasn’t part of their plan, and now all I see when I close my eyes is you, wounded and bleeding on that battlefield. Arthur I’m so scared of losing you,”
“That I’m here right now is what matters Merlin, that we’re here is what matters,” Arthur tells him, reaching out to wipe away the single tear that rolls down Merlin’s cheek. “Anything else we’ll deal with as it happens but I won’t leave you. I swear it.”
Merlin so desperately wants it to be true that he nods, shifts to pull Arthur into his arms and can’t bite back a sob when Arthur doesn’t resist and lets himself be held.
“I’m sorry this burden was placed on you, Merlin,” Arthur whispers, bringing his arms up to hold Merlin just as tightly.
“You’re not a burden Arthur,” Merlin speaks into Arthur’s rain-dampened hair. “No matter the weight of destiny and Fate, you could never be a burden to me. I love you far too much to even think it.”
Arthur pulls away, looking at Merlin in a way he never has before. Or at least, a way Merlin has never noticed. “Merlin,” Arthur says his name softly, the word a caress rather than a bite. “Can I kiss you?”
“Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin smiles, heart beginning to race so hard it skips several beats and leaves him short of breath. “I feel I’ve been waiting a thousand years for you to ask that question,”
“Then I won’t keep you waiting a moment longer,”
If thinking of kissing Arthur leaves Merlin short of breath, then actually kissing him leaves him completely breathless. It’s raining and the fire is burning low but Merlin doesn’t care and Arthur doesn't seem to either, the warmth shared between them each time their lips meet is more than enough.
It’s perfect.
Fate and Destiny be damned- Merlin is exactly where he’s supposed to be.
“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice lilts in question when he pulls away a while later, cheeks flushed, mouth red and kiss-swollen.
“Hm?”
“You were right,” Arthur says softly. “With what you said earlier.”
Merlin looks at him and almost loses himself in the way Arthur gazes right back. “Which part?”
Arthur smiles, a cheeky curve to his lips. “I should have put boots on.”
The darkness lifts, just a bit, and Merlin laughs into Arthur’s next kiss. “Let’s go back home then, can’t have the king spending the next week walking around with sore feet.”
“Home. I like the sound of that,”
Merlin kisses Arthur once more simply because he’s beautiful and he can. “Me too.”
The future Merlin saw in that pool may yet come to pass or may be one of many. Perhaps in the end, there’s nothing he can do to prevent what is coming. But either way it’s a future they’re now walking towards together.
Come what may, that’s all that really matters.
*