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There's a shaggy man on the grounds. Wart squints at him through the foggy glass windows. Shaggy man dances around in a big, old cloak and a pointed hat, hands pointing towards the sky, shouting incoherence. Maybe he's mad. Or maybe he's sad or lonely, Wart doesn't know. Why else would anyone scream at the sky at night in the middle of a blizzard? Even Ector's not mad enough to go out in the storm, and Wart thinks Ector's plenty mad.
Shaggy man jerks his head around: right; left; down. Wart giggles until Shaggy man turns his head to look straight at Wart. He gasps and retreats. Through the window, Shaggy man keeps looking at him, then falls on the ground. Wart runs back – presses his nose against the glass pane, his eyes wide.
Is Shaggy man dead?
He runs to the door, barefooted and in his jim-jams. But, by the time he opens up to the wind and the snow and peeks out, Shaggy man's gone.
"So, I'll meet you in February, all right Arthur?"
"Yes, Father." Arthur shifts from leg to leg, nodding his head.
"Don't give Mr Ector much trouble, or you know he'll have to call me. I trust you'll behave."
"Yes, Father. I'll be good."
"That's a good boy. I have left you some presents under the tree, you will open them tomorrow – and share the chocolates with Kay. I'm serious, Arthur, there's not a single dentist around here for miles if you wake up at night with toothache."
Arthur smiles, excitedly bouncing on his feet. "Yes, Father!"
"You don't want Ector to pull out all your teeth, right?"
Arthur stops bouncing, face frozen.
Uther smiles, and stretches his arms wide "Come here." He hugs Arthur one last time and walks out the door.
Arthur sighs when Ector's voice echoes through the house, "Wart! Enough dawdling, boy! These trinkets aren't gonna hang themselves!"
Arthur spots Shaggy man again the next day. Except, instead of dancing around in the night or getting mad at a blizzard, he's perched on a rock in broad daylight, picking at the seams of his robe.
Arthur drops the piece of wreath he's hanging and scurries as fast as his bare feet can carry him. He stops just behind Shaggy man, breathing loudly through his mouth.
Shaggy man turns. And he's not just shaggy, he's old. Older than the manor, the lake, the streets – even Ector, Arthur reckons. Snow-like beard dangling to his toes; ends brown from dragging in the mud. A cloak and pointy hat, but Arthur can see now it's purple – purple with yellow stars.
Odd fashion sense. Like a wizard. So, maybe he's not Shaggy man, he's the Wizard. Arthur looks into Mr Wizard's eyes – the colour like one of Morgana’s mum's jewels, but deeper.
They mesmerise Arthur. His breathing comes faster, cheeks turning hot, and he promptly turns around and runs away.
He pants as he comes to a stop, plucks a daisy from Ector's garden, and hurries back. Mr Wizard is still watching him from beneath the silver hair when Arthur slows down and holds the daisy forward like a shield.
"For you."
"What?" Mr Wizard cups his hand on his ear and speaks through his nose.
"Uhh…"
"Who're you?"
"I… I'm –"
"Wart? You're Wart. Heard the old oaf yell for you."
"Erm…"
"You got tongue boy?" Mr Wizard's gruff, his voice like paper on sandpaper. Arthur’s just about sure he's completely mad. But he can't help it – he's never seen those eyes before. Arthur puts his hand down. "Er, I… I am Mr Ector's ward. My name is –"
"Wart, yes. Speak !"
"Nevermind. I got this for you!" Arthur shoves his hand out again, offering the daisy.
"Eh, what? What will I do with a daisy?"
"You… You are here every Christmas, alone, by yourself. Through wind and rain. And I see you through the windows, and you never get any presents, so I thought – I thought…"
Mr Wizard is looking at him with narrowed eyes, Arthur hopes it's curiosity, not annoyance like his Father. His mouth is dry and he doesn't know what else to say to Mr Wizard.
"Eh, it's good." Mr Wizard takes the daisy with long, bony fingers, praising him and Arthur feels his chest expand with happiness.
Arthur spots Mr Wizard sobbing in the moonlight that night. He hopes it isn't because of the flower. He also wants to go give Mr Wizard his blanket but doesn't move.
Arthur’s having a particularly bad Christmas this year. He sits by the lake skipping stones when Mr Wizard comes sits beside him. It's only the second time he's appeared during the day in all these years, but Arthur's too distraught to care.
"What's the worry, Wart? Heh."
"Not funny. Aren’t you cold, Mr Wizard? Also, how do you even know that? You’re like a million years old."
"So?" Mr Wizard huffs, "Worrywart's been around a long time. So has donkey, clotpole, dollophead and prat."
Arthur smiles through his tear tracks. "You're funny."
"Just old man tricks. To cheer sad children up like you."
Arthur sniffles; speaks out, suddenly outraged. "I'm not a child ! Everybody thinks I'm a child! They never tell me anything, even though it's my family and my father and my sister!"
"Oh. Seen that before."
"What?"
"Don't know. Can't remember."
"My dad always does this. My uncle died, and I didn’t even know he wasn’t really my uncle. My cousin is my half-sister and my Father’s been lying to me all along. It sucks."
"Heh. Then it must suck that much more for your sister then, eh?"
Arthur pauses, stone in hand. "I didn't think. She –"
"Enough with the excuses boy, did you ask her how she felt?"
"I don't know. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her."
"Relationships are tough. Love is tough. Love makes you do great things. And shallow things. It requires patience and sacrifice. Oh , to sacrifice for love. It's what I've learned in all my time walking these lands. You'll understand when you're older."
Arthur opens his palm, let's the stone drop and faces Mr Wizard. "Were you ever in love Mr Wizard?"
"I was. Though they never acknowledged it in my time."
Arthur's cold. He doesn't like it. Still, he asks, "Do you remember who it was?"
And then it’s silent. Like everything stopping. Arthur is sure he can hear a pin drop all the way across the lake if he tries. Beside him, Mr Wizard's breath stutters, stops, then comes out in a long groan again.
Mr Wizard strokes his hand through the grass, feeling the soil and caressing the blades. He croaks, slowly, as if in pain. " I… don't… remember… "
Arthur feels the cold go away. He’s not sure he likes that either. He asks something less painful for Mr Wizard. "But what's your name? Why does everyone call you Mr Wizard?"
Mr Wizard scoffs. "Heh, nobody calls me Mr Wizard. I have a name!"
"What's that?"
"They call me," Mr Wizard thinks long and hard, "Aha! They call me Emrys."
"Emrys…" Arthur rolls the syllables around his tongue and marvels. He likes it. It's better than Shaggy man and Mr Wizard. Mr Emrys sounds like a friend. A friend he can share his thoughts with; talk to about his day. Someone apart from his mates, and Gwen and Kay and Morgana.
Arthur's doing Gwaine’s art assignment and cursing him ten ways to Sunday when he sees Mr Emrys floating about. He walks aimlessly, dazed, in the general direction of the woods. Arthur caps his pen, winds his scarf around his neck and runs after Mr Emrys.
"Mr Emrys!"
He follows Mr Emrys deeper into the woods. And, even though Arthur's lived here ten months and every major holiday a year since he was four, he's somehow never ventured here. The vegetation is unknown, with roots curling along the path in the moonlight and bushes filled with glowing flowers. His heart is working in his chest over time, but he isn't nervous.
"Mr Emrys!"
Arthur's ventured far enough that he's starting to worry he's not going to know when Ector calls for him. The path he came through before is now indistinguishable – dark, except for the glowing flowers. Mr Emrys has finally taken a seat on a rather large overgrown root in what's supposedly the brightest part of the forest, illuminated at every corner, and is swinging his legs merrily.
Arthur walks over. "Here I thought you liked to stick by the lake. But guess I was wrong."
Mr Emrys ignores him.
"We studied about these in class. Phosphorescence or some kind of chemical."
"It's magic." Mr Emrys' voice sounds hoarse, as if he hasn't spoken for a year, which, Arthur guesses, he hasn't.
"Yeah, but magic doesn't exist."
Mr Emrys looks at Arthur then, says, "Magic exists all over you, around you. We come from magic, and when we die, we give it back to nature."
"Right… Very pagan. But, tell me, Mr Emrys, if magic is real, why can't we use it for everything? You don't have to stay old. If magic is real, you can just magic yourself back to your younger self. I often wonder how you looked when you were young. You can't be worse than any of my classmates. They're all asses, so however you'll be, you'll be better than them."
Arthur shrugs – it makes perfect sense to him. But Mr Emrys jerks, fire in his eyes. He stalks towards him, towering over Arthur's still-growing frame. "Vanity kills, Wart."
"Oh-kay… Mr Emrys?"
"Too many dead. Too many. The voices. The screams. The indifference."
"Mr Emrys?"
"Leave."
"What?"
"I said leave! "
Arthur hurries out of Mr Emrys's sight. He eventually manages to find a way back to the house, right on time – just before dinner. Arthur pulls himself together and stalks inside, sketchbook still in hand. His thumb keeps rubbing the rough edges and he can't help but place a narrow face, with high cheekbones, and deep blue eyes over Mr Emrys's raging expression. Arthur thinks if it were some other life, he’d have fallen for Mr Emrys.
"So, what if you had a crush on someone older than you?"
"Older as in Mr Pellinor?"
"Shut up, Gwen."
"Or what, Wart?" Gwen and Morgana giggle. Accomplices. Witches. Both of them.
"It's Arthur."
“Yeah, and Arthur has a crush... Arthur has a crush... Arthur and Mr Pellinor, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I--" Morgana starts singing.
"It's not Mr Pellinor! Gosh. Someone else. Hypothetical ." Arthur interrupts, waving his palms around in the air.
"Okay, that's a bit better. Mr Pellinor's like your uncle anyway."
Arthur groans loudly. “He’s older than Mr Pellinor. Probably even that old codger, Killgarah.”
Gwen sighs beside him, “Oh, Arthur. What have you gotten yourself into?”
Morgana tsks . "Well, way to go, Wart. Pretty sure it’s in the family. After all, I turned out to be your sister, so--"
"Half-sister. Honestly, Morgana, what's your point?"
"Arthur, our point is, exams are close. Do you really think it's a good idea to distract yourself right now?"
Arthur gawks. How can Gwen say that?
"So it's okay when you do it? When you flirt around with Lance and doodle his name on your desk?"
"What? Me and Lance? We're sorted."
"Oh, so it's okay 'cause it’s sorted."
"Arthur, you know I didn't mean that. I'm just saying if you don’t excel in your exams, your father won't be happy. It’s sixth form."
"Yep, she's right. Uther can be quite a bitch."
"– okay, for once in your life, Morgana?"
"Just saying."
Gwen holds his hand, and looks at him with big doe eyes. "Arthur, just... pay attention to your exams. You can think about this crush all you want, later. You'll have plenty of time."
Arthur closes his eyes; bangs his head on the desk. "I won't. He only appears one day a year -- on Christmas. Then, poof. Then I see him next Christmas. I thought, maybe this one... Forget it."
"Arthur, it's gonna be okay." Gwen assures. "And, if you're gone so bad about it, forget Morgana, I'm actually dying to know what he looks like."
"Ah,” Arthur sighs, “Why do you wanna know?"
"Cause it’s spicy?" Morgana remarks from somewhere.
"There's literally nothing else to tell. He’s weird. Wears a pointy hat." Arthur smiles through the heat in his cheeks.
" Aww , he’s adorable!"
"Oh God, you two, shut up!"
"Alright. So, what does this mystery man do on Christmas? Some rendition of Santa Clause?" Gwen says.
"No. He just keeps wailing, actually."
They all double over, laughing.
Arthur's eighteen and writing his A-Levels when he feels it: a longing from somewhere deep within him. Like an enormous sigh from the land itself. It’s chaotic and all-consuming and Arthur suddenly can't breathe.
He grabs his water, gulping like a man parched. Caps it and slams it on the table. His vision's swimming and Arthur just about manages to submit his paper and leave the room before he doubles over and starts heaving.
What the fuck’s happening to him? Also, Arthur didn't complete his paper – Uther will kill him.
And, why the hell does he feel so weird?
Arthur needs to fucking get out. He launches into a sprint; gets out of the school gate. He dodges traffic; bumps into office-goers, apologises, and somehow ends up back home at the lake. The chaos and the pit in his stomach aren't killing him anymore, but everything's still in two's and Arthur cannot, for god's sake, get it to stop moving.
He spots Mr Emrys wandering by the lake and jogs towards him. Arthur’s surprised, it's not Christmas, far from it actually. What’s with everything today? It’s weird, but the sight of Mr Emrys is enough to distract Arthur away from his own problems.
He squints at Mr Emrys. Asks, "What happened? What are you doing here? It isn't Christmas."
Mr Emrys ignores him. He moves as if in trance. When he speaks, it’s stoic and disjointed. "It's there. Get it. Get it out. "
“Get out what Mr Emrys?” Arthur asks, half-groaning.
Mr Emrys sighs and it echoes within Arthur. The gasp of the Earth – it's ancient and unending. The rope held taut, about to break any moment. Arthur doubles over. "What's? agh !"
"The Sword."
Arthur looks up, head pounding. He’s on fire but at the same time, the adrenaline fuels him and keeps him standing. This is crucial. Beside him, Mr Emrys gazes at the horizon, his bony finger pointed at the Lake. Arthur gets sudden tunnel vision.
“ Excalibur .” Mr Emrys speaks again, very slowly. And Arthur dives .
The older, brain-not-about-to-leak-out-of-his-nostril-Arthur would be baffled. This Arthur feels like it’s the rightest thing he's done all day. Mr Emrys’ words ignite something within him: a direction to the chaos that's been driving him insane all day.
The water in the Lake is murky and cold, even in the Summer. And gets colder and murkier as he gets closer to the depths. But, the same guiding instinct that’s brought Arthur this far helps him finds his way to sword. He puts his palm out, feeling soft silt and the blanket of weeds. He doesn't know how he does it, but his hand hits something and Arthur grabs what he thinks is a hilt of a sword – Excalibur – and everything stops.
Before this, his thoughts were going at a thousand miles per hour. Everything that’s happened to him today: Mr Emrys; his failed test; Uther; this chaos inside of him. Arthur doesn't even know what he's doing. Fuck.
But the moment he touches the sword, everything calms down. The chaos subsides, the Earth rejoices and mends itself, and his mind’s peacefully blank.
Arthur closes his eyes and just floats.
…
" It is my responsibility to protect the people of this kingdom, whoever they may be. "
" If I need a servant in the next life – "
" For not only do we fight for our lives, we fight for the future. The future of Camelot. The future of Albion. The future of the united kingdoms. "
" I am a sorcerer, I have magic… and I use it for you Arthur, only for you ."
" Sometimes I think I know you, Merlin. Other times… "
" I want to say something I’ve never said to you before… Thank you. "
" Come on then. I warn you, I've been trained to kill since birth. "
" I swear I'm going to rescue my men, or die trying. "
" Shut up, Merlin. "
" Just hold me – please ."
Arthur opens his eyes. He feels the water push him upwards and rises .
Arthur breaks the surface, gasping. Then, he sees Merlin sitting on the beach and remembers everything else, too. The wandering and dancing in the cold in nothing but a useless robe; the yelling; the loneliness and the sacrifice.
Once he finishes waddling out of the Lake, he will make sure Merlin knows not to endanger himself.
Merlin jerks his head up from his spot on the beach and looks at Arthur, eyes wide. He pulls himself up slowly, beard dragging on the sand.
Good. Perhaps Merlin remembers Arthur’s strong distaste for anything putting his manservant’s life in danger, even, sometimes Mer lin himself. Arthur grins.
Merlin staggers back as all of Arthur – sopping wet and enraged, almost slams into him.
“Idiot! You mulish idiot! What have you done now?”
“I – Who… Wart?”
“ Arthur .” Arthur growls.
Merlin’s mouth forms an o as his expression morph from confusion to surprise to recognition. Merlin looks at him as if really seeing him, Arthur, for the first time. His eyes, full of wisdom and pain, light up with comprehension. He looks behind him as if searching for somebody and then looks at Arthur again. Brings his hand up to his waist and grunts, “But… But. The Boy. What happened to him?”
“I am the boy.” Arthur feels like growling once more. Perhaps if he shook Merlin he’d be able to get sense into him. “What’s with all the dramatics? Surely you could’ve done your yearly trips on a warm –”
But Merlin isn’t listening anymore. He chokes, cutting Arthur off mid-sentence. Embraces him with all his might and lets go .
Merlin cries and Arthur’s soul tears up. Deep, heart-wrenching sobs coming from the earth itself. This Merlin doesn’t feel or sound old to him right now. He sounds so utterly young and afraid and Arthur’s heart breaks all over again. He envisions the man he last saw: broken by grief, but strengthened by love and friendship.
“ I don't want you to change. I want you, to always be you. "
Arthur wants to protect this Merlin – keep him away from the sorrows and injustices of the world. He knows it’s too late, but he sinks to the ground, Merlin’s limp body – except for the deep hitches – following suit, and just holds on. Holds on to Merlin, to himself, to his past, his present and his future.
“So, I see you’ve made this getup permanent. I must say, purple suits you much better than red.” Arthur says, a while later. They’ve settled on the beach watching the sun disappear over the horizon – arms and legs touching, Merlin’s head resting on Arthur’s shoulder.
“Don’t be a prat. How was I supposed to know? It just happened with the millennia. I can probably turn myself back, if you want?” Merlin says in the same gruff voice, but now there’s a lightness in his tone that’s all his Merlin.
Arthur flicks Merlin’s nose. “Nah, I like it. Besides, we can always change it later.”
The slant rays of the sun hit them. Arthur puts an arm around Merlin and rests his head on Merlin’s, sighing . “What happened to the rest of them, Merlin?”
But before Merlin can say anything, Arthur jumps up in excitement. “Wait, did I tell you Morgana, Gwen, Lance, Gwaine, Kay and Father are all here? Well and good?”
Merlin jerks his head up, “What?”
“Yes! Morgana’s my cousin and shit! – oh no , language – remember the time when I was skipping stones on Christmas and sulking? We’d just lost her mum. Merlin,this might actually get somewhere. I haven’t found find everyone yet, but if they’re here, then everybody else must be too.”
“Like Sir Leon and Sir Elyan and Sir Percival.”
“Yes.”
Arthur keeps eye contact the whole time and sees Merlin’s face transform with joy, hope and determination. He’s grinning ear to ear by the end of Arthur’s speech and Arthur can breathe easy . This is how it’s supposed to be.
He pulls Merlin up by the hand, mindful of the robe and starts marching.
“Okay, but where are we going?”
“To find the rest of them.”
“Now?”
“Of course not. I’m joking, Merlin. We can’t find everyone in a day. There are so many things to do, so many things to arrange. We’re just going to Morgana and Gwen now.”
“Morgana and Gwen. Wait, me too?” Merlin asks.
“Yes, Mer lin, you too. Don’t be daft! A thousand years and it’s like you haven’t changed a bit.”
“Well, you told me not to change.” Merlin huffs beside him.
“Yes, and it brings me genuine pleasure to see that you haven’t,” Arthur adds. “Did you know little Wart me had a crush on you?”
“What?” Merlin asks in astonishment. “You mean the… W – Wart?”
“Yes!” Arthur laughs. “Merlin, you should look at your face!”
“But – but…!”
“Don’t worry, I think I still do.”
“Arthur. If this is a joke – Arthur! ” Merlin calls, face incredulous.
“It’s not, I promise!” Arthur dodges as Merlin shoves him, grinning. He bumps him with his shoulder.
“You made me wait fifteen hundred years for this? And you’re saying it now?”
Arthur laughs harder, “What can I say, Merlin? I enjoy torturing you. And there is no better torture than love.”
“You ass! ”
They walk away, grinning and shoving, just like old times.