Chapter Text
When he is in Avalon, he spends a great deal of time at the side of a certain woman. He never recognizes her, though he feels as if he should, but he can tell her hair is long and dark and she wears a gown of deep violet. But, he can never make out the features of her face – like looking at the reflection of a face in water, it constantly ripples and wavers.
But she seems familiar and she is kind, so he stays at her side and looks out over a land that seems to change every time he blinks.
He spends a good amount of time as a bird as well, however. Thoughts are different when he is a bird, everything seems foggy and distant, but occasionally he will circle over something that seems familiar, around and around and around as he wonders. Sometimes it is a castle or a town, a forest or a set of large stones, and sometimes, actually more often than not, it is a man, who seems to grow from young to old and back again, over and over. And there was a long period of time when he could not see the man, though he felt drawn to a certain expanse of rock and tree in the forest. He circled over from time to time, but there was never any movement, so he always returned to the lake sooner rather than later.
Sometimes he will find himself sitting on the throne, and the woman will be sitting at his side. And, at first, he looked at her, dragging his eyes from the strange Court before them and she said, “We are Queen and King here at times.” And he looked down at his bare ring finger and she laughed, adding, “Not that way.”
But his fingers felt bare now that he looked down at his hand, and there was a weight missing from his hip, and from time to time his chest would ache badly until she put her hand on him and the pain eased.
There came a time when was flying over the land, swooping low over a river, and he noticed a group tip their hats to him as he passed by. “That be King Arthur, as a chough,” one of them said as he circled by again.
And, yes, he was King Arthur – he was Arthur Pendragon, once-called King of Camelot, once-called Knight of the Round Table, once-called husband to Guinevere. He circled over a road, focusing on a figure traveling along the path.
And friend to Merlin.
Merlin was old again beneath him, had been for the past several times Arthur had flown over, and Arthur thought of crying out until he realized he knew no way to change back to human form – and there was a feeling deep down that this was not the time to do so.
So he returned to the lake instead and found the woman and announced to her eagerly, “I’ve seen Merlin.”
She seemed to smile – a flash of white in the ripples – and said quietly, “Quite the sight from above, isn’t he?” She grew quiet when he tried to ask more and he took a seat on the grass beside her, to wait.
And then came the time when the woman looked him full in the eye as he sat upon her arm and she whispered, “Go now, he has waited long enough.” With a thrust of her arm, he launched up into the air with several strong wing beats.
He flew up quickly, towards the shining blue above them. In the span of a breath, he burst through the surface of the water, droplets sliding down off his feathers as he beat his wings again rapidly.
The dusk light reflected off the water beneath him, lighting his way for a moment as he coasted over the water, caught an updraft across the lake, and swooped up into the air.
It was easy to find Merlin, trudging through the edge of a wooded area in the middle of the city, tugged there as he was by the feeling inside Arthur always followed to find the other man.
And a breeze caught him just as he coasted down towards Merlin, ruining how he planned his descent to land on Merlin’s shoulder. He caught himself quickly and landed on a nearby rock instead.
Merlin turned to look at him, muttering under his breath about making it this far only to get taken out by a crow. Arthur tilted his head to look at him, and he watched curiously as Merlin’s hand squeezed tight around something at his neck.
Nothing happened for a breathless moment and he started beating his wings again in hope that Merlin would do whatever it was he was supposed to and then, well then it happened.
And when the change was complete and Arthur was wearing strange trousers and Merlin was blinking at him tearfully – he just managed to hold back the ‘don’t cry like a big baby, Merlin’ because, well, he was almost relieved to the point of tears to see Merlin too, almost – Arthur gave Merlin’s shoulder a firm pat then crossed his arms over his chest. Because it was chilly in amongst the trees.
The small smile fell from Merlin’s face and he narrowed his eyes at Arthur suspiciously again. He lips were moving and by leaning in close Arthur caught him muttering, “ – after all this time, now, like this? When the land is as quiet as it is?” And so Arthur cleared his throat and Merlin blinked at him again. He spoke up suddenly and said, “Not that it isn’t, you know, but why are you back?”
He had expected that, had expected it and thought to prepare, but he honestly had no idea. All he remembered was the feeling like itching under his skin and the way the Lady had looked at him – as if this was to be a farewell – and how he had needed to find Merlin, right away, and appear at his side. Arthur shrugged slightly and replied, “I thought this sort of stuff was your area of expertise.”
Merlin shot him a dirty look – and Arthur briefly wondered if Merlin had always been giving him those sorts of looks behind his back before – and stepped towards the far bushes. “Look,” he ordered, gesturing through the gap in the branches, where Arthur could peer through and see a street, rather crowded with people walking as it were. “See, Albion is fine.”
Arthur glanced over the groups of people – rushing about in the strange clothes he had seen from above for a time, moving in what seemed to be some sort of pattern as they hurried across wide, wide roads and passed by those strange horseless carriages. “There sure are a lot of them just wandering around. Why aren’t they working in the field or something?” Leaning back, he glanced at Merlin, lowering his voice as he asked, “Am I to find them all work?” Which sounded daunting even to his ears, but there had been that one winter after a poor harvest he, and Merlin, and a few of the knights, had walked through several villages on foot and in plain clothing, gathering up those without work and bringing them back to Camelot to at least spend their days training in the fields with the foot soldiers – so they could at least receive a meal at the end of each day.
Merlin glanced between him and the people for a moment and then replied slowly, “I really don’t think that’s it.” He was giving Arthur his ‘you are so detached from the real world’ look, and Arthur glanced back out to see that, well, there were quite a bit more people than he had first noticed. But surely there was something for them all to be doing.
“Well,” Arthur said with a shrug, “Looks like we’re both in the dark then. But, personally, I’d rather get out of the dark and into a shirt, so if you would, Merlin.”
Shaking his head, Merlin pulled off his coat and tossed it at Arthur, who sniffed it with a grimace but quickly pulled it on when Merlin raised a finger towards him.
Arthur shucked the coat on up over his shoulders and crossed his arms back over his chest when he encountered the same metal fastening that had been on the pants. With enough time, he could fumble it closed again, but he would rather avoid looking like a fool in front of Merlin again. He looked up to find the man glancing at him out of the side of his eyes, looking surprised every time he saw him, as if he still truly did not believe Arthur was there. He was sure he would feel the same, if he had not spend the past few centuries spying on – checking on, more like – him from above. “Well?” he said, jutting his chin towards the road.
Merlin’s forehead scrunched up as he replied slowly, “Well, if you’re really here to stay –” another questioning glance at Arthur, who nodded firmly, “ – I guess we should get you some clothes.” He took a step towards the bushes, then glanced back over his shoulder to see if Arthur was following.
Scooping up the bag Merlin had left on the ground in one hand and picking up the little rock with the other, Arthur mused as he stepped forward, “That’s probably the first idea of yours I’ve ever agreed with.” He tucked the rock, running his thumb over it briefly to feel how smoothly it was worn, into the front pocket of the bag and then tilted it a bit in Merlin’s direction for him to take whenever he noticed.
They stepped out onto a firm path, Merlin pulling the bag from Arthur’s arms so he could hold the fabric closed over his chest again, and Arthur added, “Though, really, I’d like to have Excalibur back.” Because it was his, it was his and might be the only thing left in the world that he could call his own anymore, because Merlin was changed, and he could no longer tell if he could truly call him his man anymore. And besides, he had spent quite some time down under the water in that place clenching his hand at his hip as if there was something there he should be gripping onto.
Merlin blinked at him, repeated, “Excalibur?”
“My sword,” he answers, mimicking swinging it with one hand, “Surely you remember. It was in a stone and I pulled it out.”
“Only with my help,” Merlin commented, blinking again with some color returning to his face.
Arthur laughs and replied, “Yes, Merlin, with your little cheers from the side as I lifted the sword out.” And more than that – but surely Merlin would remember that.
“I forgot you were such a prat.”
He continued over the mutter, elbowing Merlin less roughly in the side than he once would have, “I spent a lot of time thinking about having that sword back. I’ve never held a blade that fit more perfectly in my hand.”
Merlin glanced away and Arthur peered at him as the loud, fast carriages of this time – something he had once been shocked at watching from overhead – dashed by at the far side of the path. “You do still have it, don’t you?”
The other man kept his eyes fixed on the ground and, with one of his hands coming up, he seemed to be counting something under his breath. Eventually, he replied, “I know where it is.”
“You’d better.”
“I think.” Raising his head before Arthur could speak, Merlin added quickly, “We’ll find it. Clothes, then Excalibur.”
“You can’t just,” Arthur waved his hands before himself in what he imagined resembled something mystic, “Magic it up?” Because, honestly, that story about the sword being put in the stone had never been something Arthur really believed, and after thinking about it for quite some time, Arthur had decided it made far more sense that Merlin had made the sword for him in the first place.
Merlin laughed – the first real laugh Arthur had heard from him – and replied, “If I could ‘magic it up,’ I would have magiced you up long ago.” Arthur frowned at the drop in Merlin’s tone and opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin gestured at a building and said, “Here.”
Arthur peered in the window, looking at the inside of the shop, and immediately shook his head. “Merlin,” he said slowly, turning to address the man, “I need something I can fight comfortably in.” He gestured behind himself with a flung-out arm, “These are the same as this,” a shake of his leg, “And I know I’d never go into battle with this on.” Everything was tight, and flimsy, and Arthur remembered the last time Merlin had stuffed him into clothes like this and he had ended up trying to fight in them. Fabric had gone places it should never be when a man is holding a sword.
Several of the passersby were now staring at Arthur, slowing in their walks, and he realized his coat had fallen open again. Merlin glanced around as well and said mockingly, “Alright, Sir Prat, come this way then.”
They made their way quickly forward then, Arthur nodding and smiling at those they passed and Merlin occasionally putting his arm up to halt their progress as carriages passed by before them.
Finally, Merlin grabbed Arthur’s arm and tugged him down into a dark space between two buildings. Arthur pulled back on his arm, but was unable to free it, almost surprised at how strong Merlin was. Almost, because after all, he had never been blind and Merlin had been beside him all those years when he tossed his armor into his arms. “Where is this?” he asked as they approached a black door set into one of the walls.
“This,” Merlin replied, glancing back over his shoulder with something almost mischievous in his eyes, and it was good to see that again, even with the dark circles that ringed beneath them, “Is where we can get your clothes.”