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Arthur woke slowly.
His death had been quicker and easier than falling asleep. His subsequent awakenings had been similar.
But this. . . This was different.
The guardian of Avalon – Freya, who said she knew Merlin – was not there, for one.
For another, he could feel stuff. When he woke in Avalon, he could hear the voices of his friends and see them, and feel happiness at that, but now – now he could feel the light on his face, the grip of his fingers on his sword, the water above him---
The water above him?
Arthur propelled himself up desperately, and then his head crashed through the surface of the water. . .
And he could breathe.
In death he’d forgotten many of the simple pleasures of life – like breathing. How marvellous it was to feel the gulp of his throat to take in the fresh air.
He turned to take stock of his surroundings and what he had.
He was wearing his chainmail over jeans and a red tunic with leather cuffs – and ever reliable Excalibur was in his hand. He was in the middle of a lake, and on the bank of the lake was. . . .
Arthur’s vision tunneled. In that moment, a meteor could have crashed, the world could have ended, the galaxy could have imploded, and he wouldn’t have noticed. All that mattered was the pair of oh-so-familiar blue eyes that were fixed on his.
The waves of the water suddenly tossed him up and carried him to the shore. Years in Avalon of getting used to magic had suddenly come in useful.
“Thank you, Freya,” The man muttered. Then he looked at Arthur. His eyes were filled with tears – trepidation and hope. “… Arthur?”
Arthur didn’t know what to say. His head was still spinning, not fully adjusted to being alive. But anyway, what could you say to someone like what Merlin was to him? His dearest friend, the person who, besides Gwen perhaps, was most important in the world to him? What could you even say in a reunion like this?
He decided to go simple. “Hey, Merlin.”
Merlin covered his face with his hands, leaving a gap for him to see. “You absolute clotpole.” He choked out. “You are the worst.”
“Says the idiot of a servant who thought following the orders of a dragon would get him anywhere,” Arthur retorted and immediately regretted it.
Merlin laughed tearily. “Now I know you’re Arthur. Only you’d say something as thoughtless as that.”
“You can’t speak to me like that Merlin,” Arthur grumbled, trying to hide how much that affected him. “I’m the king.”
“Of what exactly?” Merlin mocked.
“Well, of you for one! What exactly is going on?” Arthur demanded. “Where – where am I?”
“You’re in the twenty first century – God, I can’t believe this is happening,” Merlin swore by the New Religion now, apparently. Christianity, Arthur remembered it was called. The enormity of what he’d missed, of what was going on suddenly crashed on him, making him feel light headed.
“Guinevere,” He whispered.
Merlin’s face creased in empathy and shared grief. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”
Arthur took a deep breath. Gwen might be gone, but. . . “It’s – well, it’s not okay, but you’re here.” He shook his head, dazed. “Merlin, you’re here.” Arthur couldn’t stop himself. He hugged his ex-manservant.
Merlin laughed again shakily. “I missed you,” He whispered. “So much.”
“Believe me,” Arthur’s voice was thick. “I missed you too.” And he had. More than he could express. He’d watched over Merlin occasionally with everyone else in Avalon, but it was nothing compared to having him in front of him, being able to talk to and touch him. “I’m sorry.”
Merlin laughed, this time disbelievingly. “What are you sorry for? Arthur, I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been so mistrustful, so secretive, so – like you said – believing in Kilgharrah—”
Of course Arthur had managed to put his foot in his mouth again.
“I didn’t mean that,” He said quietly. “You know I didn’t.” Because Merlin had always, always known what was in Arthur’s mind; he’d always understood that what Arthur had said when he’d caught him in the cave after Agravaine was the absolute truth even though he’d put on a pretense of denying it. “And anyway, if I had overturned the laws – if I had been a better friend— you didn’t even consider telling me, you obviously didn’t know I’d have rather eaten Excalibur whole than harm you--”
“We can’t go on like this,” Merlin said gently, interrupting his self-flagellating, looking touched. “Maybe we should just distribute the blame,” He grinned cheekily.
“If His Highness Merlin says so,” Arthur drawled, though he felt rather relieved. “Is there – I mean, can we leave—”
“Right!” Merlin said. “I have a house here.”
“I know,” Arthur grumbled. “When you got William Shakespeare here staying with you and got him to yell at me for making you wait. . .”
“You did make me wait for quite a bit, Sire.” Merlin said with a smirk. Then it faded. “Wait, how did you know about that?”
Arthur rolled his eyes fondly. It was so like Merlin to snark back before focusing on the actual sentence. “I was in Avalon for – certain periods. From there we can watch the modern world and the people we love sometimes.”
“So that’s how you speak Modern English!” Merlin said triumphantly. Arthur nodded. “Does that mean – in Avalon, were there—” He continued, hesitating.
“Gwen and Gwaine and Lancelot and our parents and all the others? Yes, yes it does mean that.” Arthur said honestly. Merlin didn’t hide his longing look soon enough. Arthur continued hurriedly, “Because of the prophecy, I wasn’t entirely alive or dead. So I was mostly asleep, but I got to see Avalon quite a few times.”
A guilty look passed across Merlin’s face. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Merlin continued over him. “I tried begging Freya, yelling at the Cailleach—”
“You what?”
“And bargaining with the Sidhe and Destiny and Prophecy, but it was dead ends everywhere, and—” The man rubbed a hand over his beard, looking exhausted. “I’m sorry. I should have tried harder.”
Arthur looked at his friend, and for the first time, actually thought about what he had gone through. Before, he’d mostly had a quiet envy that Merlin had been able to help Gwen afterwards and raise his son. He was ashamed of it, but that didn’t make much of a difference.
He’d been there when Merlin had talked enthusiastically about magic becoming legal, cried about the dragon’s death, fumed about the Traditional Avalon Order, rejoiced when democracy became common in Albion, tripped over his words as he tried to describe his adopted child, fanboyed about Harry Potter and Star Wars, sat and sobbed desperately about the Black Death and the Witch Burnings and the World Wars and the Magic-User Registration Act, grieved when his friends died and celebrated their milestones and those of the world.
Merlin had been through so much. He was the most emotional, loyal and friendly man Arthur knew, and it was the most unfair thing in the world that he had to watch everyone around him die.
“Merlin.” He tried. “Get this through your thick head: none of what happened was your fault. None of it. At all.”
Merlin looked at him hopefully, even as they walked across the grass. Arthur found it odd that there was no one else around, but didn’t pay that much attention. He was too intent on getting the message across. “Yes, we made mistakes. But we’re human. It’s fine. Especially when you’re being manipulated by Destiny and Prophecy.”
“Not exactly human here,” Merlin mocked, raising an eyebrow.
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You slept in, ate and were an idiot most of the time. Human enough.”
“You may have a point,” Merlin allowed.
“If I’m not enough, maybe Gwen will be,” Arthur mused. “She was always one of the only people you listened to – in addition to your Mum.”
“Well, she was my best friend, but how would we talk?” The sentence went from amused to bewildered.
Arthur hesitated. “There’s this spell,” He said. “On Samhain, when the Veil between worlds is thinnest, and near Avalon, you can raise the dead to speak to them. A bit like the Horn of Cathbhadh.”
“Arthur Pendragon, suggesting magic,” Merlin said, clearly trying to be amused and/or mocking, but missing the mark and slipping into disbelieving awe instead. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was at the thought of being able to talk to their dead friends or at what he had said, so he decided to go with the second.
“I stopped hating magic the moment I realized it was part of you, Merlin,” Arthur said softly. “Of course I did.”
“You didn’t act like it.”
He hesitated. “The lies were what was most. . . well. It wasn’t much the magic.”
“It was more the betrayal,” Merlin finished, able to understand Arthur like no one else as usual. “I’m sor—”
“Shut up. We’ve already discussed that, idiot.” Arthur cuffed his friend around the neck.
“Well, I can say, your capacity and tolerance for emotional talks has clearly increased.” Merlin said, shoving Arthur’s hand away.
Arthur took a deep breath. “Then let me say this,” He said. “You are and have always been my dearest and best friend, and closest confidant, no matter the magic and no matter our station difference. Having to even just occasionally watch you from Avalon suffering alone here was the worst sort of torture anyone could concoct, watching you be happy made me happy, and my joy at being able to reunite with you like this is … beyond words.”
His chest heaved, scrambling to deal with the emotions and the verbosity. Merlin blinked, looked away and then looked back. “You are too,” Merlin said lowly. “Well, Will and Gwen and Gwaine and Lancelot will always be my best friends, but you are. . . we are. . . as you put it, beyond words.” He had that sappy look again, that Arthur would always have his devotion and loyalty no matter what he did.
And Merlin was right. Arthur loved Gwen fiercely, but Merlin would always be his first and best friend, the person he went to with things first. There was a certain irony in that Gwen would always do that as well, seeing as Merlin had been her best friend too. Arthur had no desire to kiss Merlin or romance him, but he could never deny that he and Merlin had had a connection since the day they’d met, that Merlin had been dearer to him than his knights and friends and perhaps even his father and Guinevere. And he didn’t want to, at last.
When Lancelot had disappeared and had been said dead, Arthur had been devastated, but had accepted it. When Morgana had been dying before he’d known she’d betrayed them, he’d never once considered using magic. But when Merlin had disappeared, Arthur had completely lost it. When the Dorocha had nearly killed the manservant Arthur had been willing to go back despite the quest still being incomplete. For Merlin, Arthur would have turned to anything, the way he had done for his father.
It wasn’t a question of more or less love. He loved his knights - Leon and Gwaine and Lancelot and Percival and Elyan and Kay had been the best friends he could’ve asked for – but Gwen and Merlin had just been different. Guinevere because of the romantic love he held for her, he supposed. Merlin … was more complicated.
Arthur squeezed his friend’s arm, hoping he understood. Merlin smiled back.
They reached the house, a cottage Arthur remembered seeing from Avalon. “Small house you’ve got there, Merlin.” He teased.
“For you maybe, Sire,” Arthur had missed the sarcastic way Merlin said the word more than he cared to admit. “Today, the price for something like this would be off the charts.”
“I mean that you have magic, Merlin. Why wouldn’t you use it to expand it or something?” Arthur said, looking at it. The cottage was charming, messy and utterly Merlin. He loved it, not that he would ever tell his friend that.
“Magic has its rules too, you know.” Merlin drawled, rolling his eyes.
“Even for the great Emrys?”
Merlin grimaced. “Fine. I just don’t like using spells like that for frivolous stuff like wanting a bigger house. I’ve only used them for important stuff.” The darkness in his eyes belied what sort of ‘important stuff’ it was. Arthur wondered what to do, but Merlin continued, “Besides, we won’t be staying here for long.”
Arthur blinked. “Right. Where are you living right now?”
“London. ‘Bout a three hour drive from here,” Merlin said. “I have an apartment, but it’s pretty small, and I have a larger one there too, so we can shift there if you want.”
“I’ll be fine wherever you’re staying, Merlin,” Arthur insisted as Merlin led them inside. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Says the ass who ran me ragged for my entire tenure as his servant,” Merlin said with a fond smile as Arthur looked around. He flipped Merlin off, and the man laughed delightedly. They were in the living room. There was a fireplace that Merlin lit with a flash of his eyes.
Arthur’s heart jumped. He no longer feared magic, but seeing his best friend’s eyes light up gold was not pleasant. He forced himself to continue looking around. There were three couches, a beanbag and a coffee table. There was a computer on a desk and a. . . “That’s a telyyvision right?” Arthur asked, pointing at the bulky thing.
“A television, though people usually call it a TV or telly,” Merlin said. “C’mon. The garden’s through here, the kitchen’s here,” He led them around briskly. “This is my bedroom. . . And this is yours.” He pushed the door open. There was a large bed with red covers and fairly transparent curtains. There was another computer, a writing desk and a closet. Arthur’s throat closed at how much it resembled his chambers in Camelot. “I can make modifications if you don’t like it,” Merlin was saying anxiously, wringing his hands together.
Arthur recalled what the other man had said about using spells for aesthetic only when it was ‘really important’ and had to swallow the lump in his throat.
“No, Merlin,” He said hoarsely. “I love it.”
Merlin blinked and smiled tentatively. “I – I’m glad.” He cleared his throat. “Well, upstairs is the library which acts as a study and storage closet in the attic at the same time.”
“Right.”
“It’s getting dark,” Merlin said slowly. “And you look –” He cleared his throat again. “You should get some sleep.”
Arthur blinked. Then he realized how exhausted he felt. He wasn’t used to having a corporeal body. “Are you sure you. . .”
“Am I sure about what?” Merlin asked, confused.
Arthur just shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Doesn’t matter. Night, Merlin.”
Merlin got that dopey look on his face again. “Goodnight, Arthur.”
Despite the tiredness, Arthur slept fitfully.
He supposed it was the consequence of sleeping for more or less a thousand and five hundred years. There was also something that kept disturbing him, jerking him out of sleep. He could feel someone looking at him and hear wind whooshing, but there was nothing in the room.
More than a little creeped out, Arthur got up and paced the room. He decided to go to the place he hadn’t been in the house – which may have been an odd decision, but hey, it worked for him. He made his way up the creaky stairs to the upper floor.
It was beautiful. The ceiling had been transformed into a starry sky, with fluorescent lights giving some brightness to the room. There were so many books he became cross-eyed. Not just books – there were ancient scrolls made of parchment and papyrus, and memorabilia Merlin had obviously collected over the years from different places. There was a desk with a laptop, pen stand, notebook and calendar on it. Arthur could see what he had meant by saying the room acted as a library, attic, storage closet and study all at once.
He came to a side chamber and pushed open the door. The room had a very different vibe to it than the rest of the library. There were floating candles, and it was done up in black.
A mourning room, Arthur thought in horrified realization. He looked at a family portrait -- of Gwen, their son, Merlin, Leon and his wife and children and Percival – feeling so much longing he had to swallow. There was one portrait of all the members of the Round Table they had had commissioned right after he’d become king.
But the centerpiece of the room was a portrait of him. Arthur was smiling brightly, drawing up the reins of his horse with one hand and wielding Excalibur with the other.
Feeling uncomfortable and ashamed and so loved and brought to tears, he moved to some of the others. He knew he was invading his friend’s privacy, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
There was a whole shrine of works of William Shakespeare and a portrait of his with a First Folio. A portrait of Cosimo Tura. There was also a painting with a photo of Leonardo da Vinci. Amelia Earhart grinned, arm-in-arm with Merlin in a photo.
Arthur came across a black-and-white photo of a dozen men in army uniforms, all of them grinning. Merlin was standing in the back row, a man’s arm flung across his shoulder. He was smiling too – the one with his whole face and eyes, which he did when he was genuinely absolutely happy.
“That was Richard,” A voice said from behind.
Arthur spun around, startled. He’d been so engrossed he hadn’t even noticed Merlin entering the room. He berated himself for that, but quickly focused on how Merlin’s eyes were fixed on the photo, clearly lost in distant memories. “Who was he?”
“The one next to me,” Merlin jabbed his thumb at the man who had his arm around his shoulders in the photo. “He was – well, he was pretty amazing.” His face was wistful.
“You loved him,” Arthur noted.
Merlin’s eyes flicked to his face in surprise. He shrugged uncertainly. “I suppose. We dated for a while – but. Well. My heart has always ultimately belonged to Freya. He died during the war.”
“I’m sorry.” Arthur said inadequately. His head spun for a moment. Freya had said she had known Merlin, but she’d never said. . . .
Merlin waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Immortality may have its perks, but I got used to the cons a long time ago.”
“Does it ever get easier?” Arthur asked softly.
Merlin laughed. “No. Never. I get close to someone, then they die, I scream and cry and swear I will never do this again. . . .”
“And then you do it all over again.” Arthur said sadly, noting how many people were memorialized in this room.
“Pretty much,” Merlin said wryly. “What made you come up here, anyway?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Arthur admitted. “Something kept disturbing me—”
“Ah,” Merlin said in that sheepishly guilty way of his.
Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes. “What did you do?”
“You don’t need to look like that, it isn’t that bad,” Merlin said defensively. “It was me, probably. I kept opening the door.”
“So you’re the one I felt was looking at me! Why on earth would you do that?” Arthur asked exasperatedly.
“I just … wanted to confirm that you were really there,” Merlin said in a small voice. “I’ve been waiting for this for centuries.”
Now Arthur felt terrible. “I’m sorry,” He said. “I didn’t think.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Merlin said. “If you’re uncomfortable here—”
“Why on earth would I be?” Arthur asked, bewildered. Merlin’s eyes flicked to the center – his portrait, and the pieces of the sword. “Okay, I don’t like that the sword that killed me is sitting three feet from me—”
“It’s more like five,” Merlin muttered.
Arthur ignored him. “But we can go when you’re ready. I don’t mind. Really.”
“You’re sure?” He asked dubiously.
“Yes, Merlin. I know my own mind. I’m not you, idiot.” Arthur drawled. Merlin flipped him off. He smirked, before it faded, looking around the room again.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just. . . Can’t stop thinking about all this. How much you’ve lived. . .” And suffered, his mind added. Merlin clearly didn’t want to discuss that though, so he tried to move on. But to his surprise, Merlin actually surprised.
“Sometimes, I can’t wrap my head around everything myself,” The man laughed sadly. “I’ve lived so many lives. . . God. I grew up a peasant and now I have more money than I can ever spend. I’ve travelled everywhere – I went for charity work to Africa, I moved to the New World after World War Two, had to get away from it all, I spent centuries in Asia at the beginning – they have a lot of different beautiful traditions of magic, still – I even spent a couple years in Antarctica on the research station there. I’ve done everything, I’ve been an author, a physician, a nurse, a surgeon, a musician, a professor, a historian, a zoo keeper, a scientist, a soldier, an advisor, a court sorcerer, a labourer. . . .” He shook his head.
Arthur didn’t know how to help. He went forward and put his arms around his friend. Merlin leaned into him, looking exhausted but also. . . somehow relieved. Like he’d wanted to get that out. “What are you doing now?”
“Like I said, I’m back in Albion now. London.” Something dark flashed on his face. “Just couldn’t stand to be in America after Covid and everything. I’m a real estate agent.”
“Wow,” Arthur’s eyebrows rose.
Merlin laughed self-consciously. “I know, right?”
“Not really. You’ve always been charming. And everyone loved you. I could see you as that,” He said thoughtfully.
Merlin looked flattered, but he smirked. “Is Arthur Pendragon actually complimenting someone other than himself?”
“Shut up, Merlin.”
“I was a doctor in my last life, actually,” Merlin said pensively. “Richard Elric.” Arthur didn’t miss the connection to the Richard in the photo. “But then Covid happened, and I don’t think I can work in a hospital again for a good long while. So I. . .”
“So you what?”
“You know what?” He said suddenly. “We should stop talking about all this. You should go back to sleep, Arthur. I won’t disturb you again.”
“Stop deflecting, Merlin.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “So what did you do?”
“We really don’t have to—”
“Merlin.”
Merlin looked immensely weary as he complied, “What I always do. I died under perfectly ordinary circumstances, had a mysterious motherless nephew crawl out of the shadows to inherit everything, and tada! I’m Martin Elric, from London.” He smirked. “I can do pretty good accents of just about anywhere by now.”
Arthur was overcome by sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Merlin. That you have to live like this. . .”
He shook his head. “Don’t be, Arthur. It’s not always flowers and unicorns, sure, but I do like living. I like watching progress. I like visiting places, and making new friends and having new occupations. I have about a hundred degrees now.” He smirked.
“Maybe I’ll get one myself.” Arthur said loftily.
“In what?” Merlin asked, blinking in mock confusion. “Being a prat?”
“If an idiot like you could buy a degree, then I’m sure I could.” Arthur said in an arrogant tone.
“Buy?” Merlin’s voice rose in outrage. “I’ll have you know I spent years slaving at Juilliard for acting and violin degrees. And I didn’t spend years writing a dissertation on fungal cycles for a useless PhD to be insulted like this! Or get ten Masters in Magical Theory!”
Arthur hummed, sounding absolutely unconvinced.
Merlin pouted at him. “What would you get a degree in, anyway?” He asked.
Arthur shrugged uncertainly, the banter flooding out of him. “I’ve had a while to think about this,” He admitted. “But honestly, it depends on why I’ve been brought back.”
Merlin froze. “Yeah,” He said in a very controlled tone. “I suppose.” He sighed and shook his head. “I was … so happy, I think I forgot about that.” He said, worried. “What do you reckon is big enough for you to be brought back?”
Arthur could practically feel Merlin’s panic, and he summoned every inch of the ‘don’t worry, I’ve got this, we have a plan’ charisma he’d used as king, saying, “I don’t think there’s much need to be very worried.”
“Don’t think there’s need?” Merlin asked incredulously. “Arthur! What if MU rights is going to take another setback?” He ranted. “What if something worse than Covid’s coming? What if my enchantments hiding Avalon and the Isle of the Blessed and the White Mountains are discovered?” Arthur now realized why there had been no people around the lake. They couldn’t see it. Merlin’s magic was too powerful. “What if there’s another World War?”
“Whatever disaster there may be,” Arthur said, raising his voice so it was heard above Merlin’s. “We’re here. We’re together. There was plenty of completely mental stuff happening back in the day, and we managed to save the day then, didn’t we?” As he said it, the pretense faded, and he realized he actually did believe that. He wasn’t worried. He had Merlin.
“As I recall,” Merlin said sarcastically, though he had that dopey look on again. “I did most of the saving.”
Arthur rolled his eyes and punched his friend on the arm. “I’m going to join the military,” He said. He tasted the words and thought about what he’d seen from Avalon, and felt satisfaction and none of the usual indecision at the declaration. “So maybe I’ll get better at it.”
Merlin’s eyebrows creased with worry. “Arthur. . . .”
Arthur grabbed his friend’s arm reassuringly and pulled him closer. “Hey. Don’t worry about it. We’re going to be fine.” The reassuring speeches were more Merlin’s thing. He hoped he’d done alright.
Judging by the way Merlin’s face relaxed, he’d done pretty well. “You’re right. I – we can worry about that later.” He looked so awed at changing the I to we that Arthur felt a pang of pain in his chest. He rubbed at it with his other hand. Merlin’s eyes were filled with tears again. “I’m so happy you’re back, Arthur,” He said hoarsely. “You have no idea.”
Arthur looked at him, at his dearest friend, the one who had been like a missing limb throughout all his years in Avalon. The one he would have to abandon someday, but whom he would stick with till then. The one who had waited for him all these years. The other half of his soul. “Believe me,” He said, sincerity dripping from every word. “Reuniting with you is better than any other blessing I could’ve gotten. I'm happy - deliriously, insane happy - too.”