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It had nearly been a whole year since King Uther had banished Merlin from Camelot, when he was discovered using magic. He was spotted healing a deep wound on a servant’s arm with an enchantment, and the moment the king saw the fading golden glow in his eyes, his sword was drawn.
Arthur had barged in then, dragging his father far, far away from the servants’ quarters.
“Goddammit Merlin, I told you to be careful!” he hissed, as he pushed past Merlin.
Arthur had managed to save Merlin’s life, but no amount of begging and pleading on both his and Morgana’s part moved the king’s decision to banish ‘the sorcerer menace’, as he called him. Merlin was not to step foot in Camelot, or have any correspondence with anyone in the kingdom, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Merlin was outraged, but was quite honestly not surprised. He did not shed a tear while saying his goodbyes; the red-hot resentment he felt overshadowing everything else he was feeling. But when Arthur insisted on walking him to the palace gates, silent and blinking back tears furiously for the entire distance, Merlin felt the pinprick of tears in his own eyes.
At the gates, Arthur turned to Merlin, placing a shaky arm on his shoulder.
“I tried. Truly. But… I’m so sorry, Merlin.”
“It’s not your fault, Arthur.”
Arthur sniffled and pulled Merlin into a tight hug, nearly knocking the breath out of him. Merlin could feel the prince’s erratic breath warm against his skin.
“When I am King…”
Arthur began, before stiffening and pulling away, eyes downcast as he rushed back in, without a single glance backwards, and Merlin was on his own once more.
He trudged his way to the only place outside the border he could think of- the druid encampment deep in the forests. The druids had greatly rejoiced, for their Emrys was returned to them, while Merlin was just content to have found some semblance of stability in his life.
In the months that passed, Merlin focused on strengthening and gaining a deeper understanding of his magic. He continued to be amazed at the extent of his powers, much to the amusement of the people around him. He would help the younger druids with their spells, he would teach and learn of the potency of medicinal herbs mixed with magic.
Merlin relished in his new-found appreciation of nature, and the very intimate bond it shared with magic. He could spend hours standing perfectly still, soaking in all of the life that nature has to offer.
In Kilgharrah’s absence, he turned to the Elders among the druids, who he found to be decidedly better at holding conversations and offering sound advice.
He resolutely avoided thinking of his old life back at Camelot, except for when his treacherous mind would, in his slumber, conjure up images of a certain set of piercing eyes blue as the summer sky and hair golden as the last hour of sunset; and try as he might to shake them off, the images stuck.
Oftentimes, Merlin would find himself surrounded by children begging him for stories about Camelot, and he’d try to excuse himself. A lot of times, he’d succeed, but when the demands grew insistent, he would relent and tell them stories of deadly beasts and noble knights. He spoke of Lancelot, of Gwaine, of Gwen and Gaius.
“What’s the prince like?” A little girl had once asked, eyes wide and curious.
Merlin grimaced.
“Well, he… he’ll make a great king one day.”
“But what’s he like?”
“He’s… blond, and…” he sighed, “He’s as stubborn as he is arrogant, and yet his kindness would disarm anyone faster than his sword would. He’d rather lay down his own life than watch his people suffer. He is incredibly loyal to his friends, but is bound by a warped sense of duty to the crown…”
“Did he know of your magic?” the girl continued, insistent, when he had trailed off.
“He did.”
“Then why didn’t he support you?”
“He did,” he repeated, shuddering, “But Uth- the king forbade it.”
“And he just… gave up?”
“Oh no, quite the contrary. I…. I hope, at least, once he becomes…”
Merlin trailed off again, unwilling to voice out his hesitations. He was much relieved when the children were ushered off to bed, leaving him to his thoughts.
When he had first revealed it to the prince, he had been more curious than anything else. Shocked, yes, but not frightened. What if all these months that Arthur was fully under Uther’s control had changed his stance on magic again?
What if, whenever they would meet again, Arthur views him as an enemy, a monster, as the king did?
Merlin made his way to the grove he had come to call his own little abode. Laying back against the moss-covered bark, he felt a sense of calm wash over him as the gentle breeze brought with it a faint smell of jasmine, and soft tendrils caressed his cheeks as the cicadas lulled him into a fitful sleep.
A couple months later, one evening, Merlin walked towards his grove lazily, having just attended a particularly rich feast held in honor of Aiofe, an Elder in their community.
As he neared, he heard sounds of a scuffle and immediately became alert. Quietly, he crept close and peeped from behind some bushes at whoever had invaded his sacred space, and beheld a cloaked man struggling to calm his horse down.
Something about the horse and the deep blue cloak felt achingly familiar, the sensation only growing overwhelmingly stronger the closer Merlin got. When the man threw back his head in frustration, revealing a head full of golden hair and a strong jaw, Merlin nearly cried out.
“Arthur…” he whispered, and instantly clamped a hand over his mouth when he saw the man in question stiffen.
Arthur peered around and Merlin had just enough time to duck behind the bushes. After a long moment, Arthur shrugged and turned his attention back to the agitated horse.
Merlin ached to run up to the man and hold him tight, gaze at him endlessly and ask him a million questions, but….
He sighed softly.
It wasn’t time, yet.
Carefully peeping out again, he recognized the horse to be Llamrei, a particular favorite of Arthur, saddled with hunting supplies.
Ah, Merlin thought, the turniphead lost his way hunting, then.
How Arthur had managed all these months without Merlin, mystified him.
Llamrei seemed to have sensed him too, for the horse was fighting against the reins, making her way towards the very bushes he was hiding behind.
Merlin tried to shoo her away with desperate little hand movements, to no avail. She inched closer, still tugging at the reins, dragging Arthur along.
Merlin began taking hurried steps backwards, when he felt something wrap around his ankles. He looked down to see the forest vines closing in on him and pulling him forward gently, almost as though beckoning him out of his self-imposed hiding.
Still hesitant, he tried to remove the vines around him when a gust of warm air blew into his face, startling him. He looked up, only to stare into the beady eyes of the horse, who had begun sniffing him curiously. He held his breath, for he knew very well just how excited she got around something it liked, and Merlin had spent ages in the past indulging her with the reddest of apples he could find.
He tentatively held out a hand, stroking her face softly. Oh, how he had missed this, the simpler moments of his life at Camelot.
“What is it, Llamrei?”
The voice jolted Merlin out of his dreaming, and the horse mercifully remained still. Arthur moved her face to a side and stared, his face mere inches away from Merlin’s.
Merlin was sure he’d discovered him, but Arthur’s face showed no such signs. The vines had nearly completely masked him by then. He let out a relieved breath as Arthur began pulling back, immediately causing him to still.
“Is it… why do I feel like…” Arthur shook his head, before stepping back into the grove. The horse, now calm, let out a tired snort.
“Alright, Your Majesty,” the prince relented, tying her up to a tree, “We shall rest here for a bit before finding our way back home. We are well and truly lost, surely a couple more hours would not make a huge difference.”
Content that she was finally calm and grazing, he sat against the moss-covered tree that Merlin had had total claim over, up until then.
“Still stealing my stuff then, you clotpole?” Merlin murmured, smiling fondly.
He watched on as Arthur stretched his entire body, much like a cat, before settling himself in a comfortable position against the tree. He took a deep breath and sighed contentedly.
“Hmm… jasmines,” he breathed.
His fingers brushed against the smooth grass as he watched a squirrel dart up a tree.
“You know, Llamrei,” the prince said, nodding at the very disinterested horse, “There’s this thing Merlin used to say, when we came out to places like this.”
Merlin felt his breath catch in his throat as he stared at Arthur, so close, yet so far away.
Unaware, Arthur continued.
“He’d say that he could feel all the spirit that nature has to offer; that every bug, every little blade of grass has so much life to offer, like the world itself was vibrating. I thought it was because of his magic, but… I feel it too. I understand him, now. This feels like one of those places. This feels… sacred.”
Merlin felt his eyes well up. He couldn’t believe Arthur actually remembered; that he had not just dismissed his admission as whimsy.
He reached forward and touched Arthur’s cheek reverently.
Arthur leaned into the soft touch of tendrils.
“Oh, Merlin,” he moaned softly, “I miss you so, very much. Every day. I think about you every day, every moment.”
Merlin stifled a sob, stroking his cheek tenderly.
“Gods, Merlin, even now, I can feel you here. Close, watching over me, like you always do. Or rather, like you used to, I suppose.”
Arthur raised his hand to hold it against the tendril, but Merlin pulled his hand away, lest he betray himself to his prince.
Arthur turned his head sharply, momentarily disoriented, before sighing dejectedly.
“Serves me right, I reckon, for not fighting enough. I was so angry at my father, I could have just…” he shook his head rapidly, “No. Stopping you then would only have meant a lifetime of fear and hiding. For you, for so many more. So I let you go. And you left.”
The prince broke off then, standing up abruptly.
“What on earth am I even doing?” he muttered, “Talking to empty air? I’m going mad.”
He strode to Llamrei as Merlin helplessly reached out to grab at him. Having untied the horse, he made to walk her out of the grove. He looked around, trying to figure out which way to go.
Merlin suppressed a fond giggle. For all his posh talks and regal bearing, the man could really look like a lost puppy sometimes.
Careful to not rustle the leafy coils around him too much, he stepped closer to the prince, and gently tugged at his little finger in the direction he knew Camelot to be in.
He heard Arthur suck in a sharp breath and waited, willing for him to take the hint.
When Arthur continued to stand still, Merlin grew bolder and tugged at the lapel of his hunting coat. Arthur frowned down at the solitary vine on his coat, freckled with near-blossoming buds. He leaned into the oddly familiar touch and made to hold the vine close to his chest, like he used to with Merlin’s hand when he got too anxious about getting discovered.
But once again, Merlin pulled back reluctantly.
With a resigned huff, Arthur, having finally taken the hint, walked in the direction he was being tugged at, Llamrei patiently falling in step.
And so it went for over an hour, with Merlin tugging and pushing Arthur, sometimes soft, sometimes impatient, longing to get away from Arthur so he can breathe again, but yearning for more of him all the same.
Merlin was secretly disappointed when they finally made it to the edge of the forest, just a few miles away from Camelot’s borders.
Arthur made a small noise of triumph as he spotted the outline of the castle in the distance. He started to heave himself onto his horse, but stopped as Merlin looked on, puzzled.
“Merlin?” he whispered, “I don’t know if you can hear me. But if you can, then… stay safe, and stay strong. I swear that you will get the life you deserve, even if I have to lay down my life for it.”
Merlin smiled as he pressed a soft kiss to the young prince’s forehead. Arthur smiled at the soft press of petals on his face, and with one last look behind, made his way home.
Merlin yearned for his Arthur to see him, to hold him and take him home.
But no, he smiled to himself, wistfully.
Not Yet.