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“You need to get out more.” Morgana announces, marching into Arthur’s bedroom. Arthur’s calm, peaceful, bedroom. A place meant for sleeping, not… whatever this was.
It’s 4 am.
“Whuh,” Arthur says, bleary. “Morgana?”
“Yes, it’s me, good job,” Morgana claps. “Now get up, you big oaf.”
Arthur grunts and buries his head into his pillow.
Morgana smiles coldly. She leans in and whispers, “If you’re not awake and fully ready to listen to what I’m about to say I’ll tell all your coworkers that when you were ten you decided to eat a jack o’ lantern and ended up getting it stuck on your head for two hours.”
Arthur shoots out of bed.
“Morgana!” He shouts, scandalized. “We promised not to talk about that!”
“Do be quiet, it’s 4 in the morning,” Morgana drawls. “You wouldn’t want to disrupt the neighbours.”
Arthur chokes out a laugh, a short huff of anger. “Disrupt the neighbours? What about disrupting me and my sleep?”
Morgana ignores this statement, sitting down with grace at Arthur’s desk. She turns to face him. Arthur sits down on his bed, burying his head in his hands.
“You need to get out more, Arthur,” She says. There’s a serious note in her voice.
“I do get out,” Arthur protests half-heartedly, his voice muffled.
“Those snobby business parties don’t count.” Morgana sighs. “Arthur, your life shouldn’t just revolve around the company.”
Arthur frowns, looking up at her. “It’s my duty to inherit and run Camelot Inc. some day. I have to be good at my job.”
“This is exactly what I mean,” Morgana says, but her tone has softened. “You need to do things for yourself sometimes. When was the last time you did something truly, completely unrelated to Camelot Inc.?”
Arthur says nothing.
Morgana scoots her chair closer so that she can look him in the eye. “Arthur, we’re just worried about you.”
Arthur sighs. “Alright. I see your point.”
“Brilliant!” Morgana grins. “The next step is to get you out of this musty house.”
“Hey!” Arthur says, insulted. “My house isn’t musty.”
Morgana ignores him. It’s at this opportune moment that Arthur’s phone lights up on the desk. He picks it up.
Gwaine
hosting a halloween party this friday! will be drinks, a feast, and magic
The message was followed by a concerning number of pumpkin and zombie emojis.
Arthur
Magic isn’t real, Gwaine.
Gwaine
dude, trust me
it's gonna be great
“You should go.” Morgana’s voice says, millimeters away from his ear. Arthur jolts.
“When you said I should get out more, I wasn’t picturing something like this.” Arthur says flatly.
“What were you picturing?”
Arthur hesitates. “... the park? Grabbing a coffee in the morning?”
Morgana narrows her eyes. Arthur became increasingly aware that something bad was about to happen. His hunch becomes true a moment later, when Morgana lunges for his phone. Arthur yelps, flailing to move to safety.
Morgana wins the scuffle. Just like she always did.
She types rapidly over Arthur’s cooling body.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” Morgana scoffs. “I just told him you were definitely going and would never let down a friend.”
Arthur would much rather be dead.
As soon as Morgana leaves the house, Arthur regains his strength. He hauls himself off the floor. Morgana had already told Gwaine he was going, but she had no power over whether he actually went or not. He could just… not show up. Gwaine’s parties always had such a high attendance number that surely, one missing Arthur among the crowd wouldn’t be noticed.
With this thought to console himself, Arthur trudges into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.
Morgana wouldn’t hunt him down. She was a busy person herself.
Arthur decides that Friday is a good day. A good day to not go to Halloween parties. He reclines on his sofa. There were 5 minutes left until the party started. Here he was, triumphant, relaxed at home. The party was miles away. Morgana was nowhere to be seen. He’d ordered takeout for dinner.
Things were looking good for Arthur.
The doorbell rang. He stands, stretches, and heads slowly to the door. That must be his takeout arriving. The delivery was pretty quick. He made a mental note to give the company a good review. He unlocks the door and opens it with a yawn, and comes face to face with Morgana.
“Shit.” Arthur says.
Morgana smiles. “Hello, Arthur.”
Arthur slams the door and bolts it. He watches in horror as the door unlocks. The door swings open, revealing Morgana dangling a few familiar-looking keys in her hands.
Morgana laughs. “How foolish. I have your spare key, dear brother.”
Arthur scrambles backward.
Morgana calmly enters his house. “I knew this was going to happen, so I’ve specially come to pick you up.”
“I don’t have a costume.” Arthur says desperately.
“I know,” Morgana’s smile turns sinister. “That’s why I got one for you.”
She slowly pulls a pair of fuzzy gray ears from the paper bag she had been carrying.
“Is that a donkey costume?” Arthur asks incredulously. “I’m not a five year old.”
“You sure act like one.” Morgana replies without missing a beat. “Your options are this, or a pink fairy of love.”
She pulls out a bundle of garish pink sequins and tulle. The wings on the back are iridescent, with chubby baby cupids printed all over them. Arthur gapes in horror.
“The clock is ticking.” Morgana says in a sing-song.
He grabs the accursed ears quickly.
Arthur decides that Friday is not a good day. He sits, stone still, in the passenger seat of Morgana’s car. She hums along to Michael Jackson’s Thriller on the radio. Arthur does not hum. A song of impending doom rings inside his head. Arthur looks down at his gray shirt. He looks over at Morgana, dressed in an emerald green dress and a pointed witch hat. She still manages to look gorgeous, while he looks like a clown.
“I hate you.” Arthur says. “You are the worst sister.”
“I’m your only sister, therefore the best sister.” Morgana returns. “Just relax and let loose tonight.”
I look like a literal donkey, Arthur does not say.
They pull up to Gwaine’s. The house is decorated in wispy cobwebs, skeletons, and caution tape. Arthur can see the flashing lights from outside.
He makes no move to get up. Morgana lets out a long suffering sigh. She marches him out of the car and up to the door.
Morgana rings the doorbell as Arthur stares at the pumpkin by the front door. It’s quite well carved, Arthur has to admit. The face of anguish and misery matches his almost exactly. It’s strange to feel kinship with a jack o’ lantern, but this pumpkin seemed to understand Arthur.
He dubs it Merlin. He didn’t know why he had chosen the name, but it seemed to click.
The door opens and Arthur winces at the blasting music and chattering voices.
“Morgana! Arthur! Glad you guys could make it.” Gwaine grins. Two pointed teeth peek out from his smile and he swirls his long black cape with a flourish as he ushers them inside.
Morgana ditches Arthur as soon as they are inside.
“I’m not going to babysit you all night,” Morgana says. “See you later.”
Arthur watches her disappear among the throng of people with a dull sense of betrayal. He sighed. Now that he’s here, he might as well find something to do. He skirts around the mass of people dancing and chatting in the living room, and heads towards the drinks.
Merlin had imagined seeing Arthur again countless times over the past centuries. It usually contained a fair amount of tearful greetings and a hug, because the jerk had gotten himself killed and taken this long to return.
It was easier for Merlin to make jokes about Arthur than acknowledge the bone deep grief.
So he liked to imagine various ridiculous ways Arthur might return. Flamboyantly, shooting from the lake like a rocket? Knocking on his door at 1 am?
Whatever he imagined, it certainly didn’t involve Arthur with donkey ears, drunk out of his mind at a Halloween party. Yet there he was. Donkey eared or not, it was undeniably Arthur. His stupid nose, thick blond hair, and honest blue eyes.
Merlin crosses the room in a heartbeat.
“Arthur,” he breathes.
Arthur rolls over from where he was slumped over the table. Their eyes meet.
“Who?” Arthur manages to ask.
Merlin's face falls, just a little. He’d known this could have been a possibility. He could get to know him again, just like he had Gwaine and the other knights. It didn’t matter that Arthur’s return potentially signaled danger to Albion.
“Took you long enough,” Merlin can’t help saying, because it had been. “My name’s Merlin.”
Arthur’s brow scrunches. “Like the pumpkin?”
“What?”
“The pumpkin by the front door,” Arthur says. “His name’s Merlin.”
“Did you name it?” Merlin asks, hesitant. Hopeful.
Arthur nods, accidentally knocking his head on the table in the process. Merlin coughs to hide his smile. Even if Arthur hadn’t recognized him, there was something too coincidental about him choosing the name Merlin for a pumpkin of all things.
“You’re laughing.”
Oh god, Arthur was pouting and the expression was so familiar that Merlin wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.
“Yes, you prat, I’m laughing,” Merlin replies. “You’re a donkey.”
Arthur frowns indignantly. “A donkey costume.”
“Yeah, a donkey,” Merlin says innocently. He can see Arthur trying to figure out what’s off, and failing to come up with something.
“What are you supposed to be, anyway?” Arthur says at last.
“I’m a sorcerer.” Merlin’s surprised by how easily the words slip out of his mouth. Arthur squints.
“The hat’s stupid.” He decides.
Merlin laughs, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
“It’s strange,” Arthur mumbles over a pile of empty beer cans. “I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.”
“Sappy.” Merlin grins. Arthur hasn’t realized that he’s been drinking water for a while now.
Arthur suddenly stands up. “Let’s dance.”
“What?” Merlin asks.
“Dance, obviously. It is a party.” He says, matter of fact.
“You’re drunk,” Merlin snorts.
Arthur does a pirouette, knocking into the counter and collapsing onto the floor.
“Ouch.”
“I think it’s time to call it a night,” Merlin says. “You can’t even stand, let alone dance.”
Arthur sits up, sluggish. Merlin hauls one of Arthur’s arms over his shoulders. The last time he had been helping Arthur walk like this had been—
Merlin stops.
“Merlin?” Arthur turns his head toward him. Merlin holds on to him. He can feel the beat of Arthur’s heart. It's steady.
“Nothing.”
They get past the crowd and all the way until the front steps before Arthur turns so fast they almost topple.
“Merlin!” Arthur shouts.
“What?” Merlin asks, confused.
“Merlin!” Arthur points towards the pumpkin by the door. “We can’t leave him.”
Merlin stares at the pumpkin. He looks back at Arthur. He looks at the pumpkin.
“The things I do for you,” he sighs.
Merlin
apologizing in advance
we’re stealing your pumpkin
Gwaine
“we”?
omg merlin
go for it
The message was followed by a concerning number of inexplicable emojis. Merlin could feel his face turning red.
“It’s not like that!” He hollered back towards the house.
“Like what?”
Merlin’s about to respond when he notices that Arthur’s speaking towards the pumpkin.
“Arthur,” he says.
“Yes, Merlin?” Arthur says, still facing the pumpkin.
“Over here,” he replies flatly.
Merlin grabbed Arthur and dragged him down the front steps.
“Even after all these years, you’re still so heavy.” Merlin grunts.
“Are you calling me fat, Merlin?”
“Yes.”
Arthur’s wearing armour. It’s heavy, and yet his dream self moves with ease. He’s throwing knives at a target with legs. Scratch that, it’s a guy holding a target. Oh, man. Dream Arthur’s a jerk.
He’s relieved when someone intervenes. It's a twig of a guy, with a funny red scarf and brown jacket.
“You’ve had your fun, my friend.” The guy says.
“Do I know you?” His dream self asks.
“Uh, I’m Merlin.” Merlin holds out his hand.
“So I don’t know you.” He ignores the hand.
Merlin pauses, drops his hand. “No.”
“And yet you called me friend.” Arthur hears the hostility in his own voice.
“That was my mistake,” Merlin says.
Arthur smiles without humour. “Yes, I’d think so.”
“Yeah, I’d never have a friend who could be such an ass.”
A flash of amusement arises in both Arthur and his dream self.
“Or I one who could be so stupid.” Arthur responds.
Arthur awakes confined in a roll of blankets, head pounding. A sticky note has been slapped onto his forehead. There's a pumpkin beside him, on his pillow.
It takes him 10 minutes to free himself. He groans.
Plucking the note off of his head, he peers at it in the dark.
Prat, it reads, in a thin scratchy handwriting.
He flips the note to the back, but it’s blank.
“Huh,” Arthur says.
He has a missed call from Morgana.
Arthur
Sorry, was out cold
Got home fine
Her response is near immediate.
Morgana
oh, i know
gwaine told me you left with your arm around some guy?
Arthur stares at the message. Oh shit. Merlin. The guy, not the pumpkin. He had brought the pumpkin home.
Merlin helped him steal a pumpkin?? Arthur recalls the events of the previous night in horror.
His phone beeps, and he fumbles, nearly dropping it in his shock. There's a new text message on his phone.
Merlin
hey arthur! it’s merlin
hope you don’t mind that i inputted my number
Arthur
MERLIN I am so sorry about last night.
Merlin
no worries!
how’s merlin
*the pumpkin
Arthur took a picture of it sitting on his table.
Arthur
Pumpkin Merlin’s sleeping in
I can’t believe I made you commit pumpkin theft with me
Merlin
you can make up for it with lunch :)
Arthur
Guinevere’s, 12:30? They have good soup
Merlin
see you there!
“When you said they had good soup, I didn’t think you meant pumpkin soup.” Merlin looks into the bowl.
Arthur shrugs. “It’s good soup.”
“Can’t believe you’re doing this behind Pumpkin Merlin’s back.” Merlin says. “This could be his great great aunt’s sister’s friend’s son’s daughter.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Arthur says. “Just try it.”
Merlin drinks a spoonful of soup.
“Oh damn. This is good.”
Arthur smirks.
“Oh, shut up,” Merlin says.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Your high and mighty smug expression indicates your ego is swelling.” Merlin slurps his soup loudly.
Arthur laughs. “I’ll have you thrown in the stocks for that.”
Merlin cracks his neck turning that fast. “What did you say?”
“What did I say?” Arthur asks, confused.
“You said something about the stocks…” Merlin prompts.
“Sorry,” Arthur frowned. “I don’t know why I said that.”
He misses the way Merlin’s face falls.
Arthur’s ordering Merlin to clean the stables. He’s laughing at the dirt smudged on Merlin’s face and his disgruntled expression. Merlin’s sassing him.
Merlin and Arthur stay in contact. They go out to eat often, and eventually they’re so close that Arthur’s almost sure that they’ve known each other all their lives. The dreams are weird, though. Vivid and full of life.
Merlin’s always in the dreams. Arthur reasons that it must be one of those psychological things about dreaming about things you think about. He does spend an awful lot of time around Merlin.
Arthur’s watching Merlin give a girl flowers. They’re pale blue, ordinary flowers. Nothing special. Nothing to be jealous of. Yet, he is. He’s jealous, he realizes with a start.
Okay, maybe it’s weird to be dreaming about Merlin giving other people flowers and then getting upset over it. Why should he be bothered about Merlin’s love life? They were friends.
Arthur’s scolding Merlin for spending so much time in the tavern. Merlin tended to go missing for some period every time there was some kind of danger, but he always had Arthur’s back. Arthur trusted him with his life.
They were just friends, Arthur reminds himself when Merlin sits shoulder to shoulder with him to watch a movie on the spacious couch.
They were just friends, Arthur thinks when they go on a not-date to the amusement park to try out the new rollercoaster and he holds Merlin’s hand on the more daunting rides.
They were just friends, Arthur repeats as Merlin steals sips from his coffee.
Arthur’s hurt. Merlin had lied to him about having magic. The same magic he had been taught to hate for his entire life. The magic that killed his parents. The magic that the person he trusted the most had been hiding from him.
Arthur awoke with a dull pain. That was the strangest thing about it. The dreams felt so real. There was no way his brain was coming up with this stuff. It was serialized for goodness sake.
He decided to bounce a few ideas off of his dearest sister the next time she visited.
“Morgana, do you believe in past lives?”
Morgana looked over, unimpressed. She’d raided his kitchen because she wanted to make pancakes. She put her mug of tea down on the kitchen counter. “If there was a past life, I hope I didn’t have to deal with you.”
“Hey!”
“Shut up and eat your pancakes. I made them out of the goodness of my own heart.”
“They’re made of pancake mix, Morgana.”
Morgana punched him, then paused.
“Do you need me to refer you to a psychotherapist?”
Arthur thought about it for a moment. “Just been having some weird dreams.”
Morgana raised a brow.
“Not like that, gross, Morgana.”
Arthur’s dying. He knows it from the cold seeping into his limbs, the heaviness of his eyelids. Someone’s stumbling along, carrying him.
“Just… hold me.”
Arthur wakes up. He remembers.