Archive of Our Own ^beta

Somewhere in the forest, Merlin’s shoes sunk into the wet mud beneath him, leaving footprints in his wake as he wandered. The birds around him chirped and sang, the wind whistling gently between the trees. The sun speckled the bottom of the forest floor, lighting the grass and wildflowers with golden light.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he found himself asking aloud, voice soft so as not to disturb the peace of the forest. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, letting the breeze tickle his cheeks.

“It is,” a voice answered back. Merlin opened his eyes and turned around, seeking out the owner of the voice.

His hair glowed in the shade of the trees, falling into his eyes like liquid gold dripping from a statue. His eyes were blue, blue and vibrant against bronzed skin. He was wearing red, a soft and worn shirt that laid across broad shoulders. He smiled, and his teeth were just a little crooked.

“You aren’t even looking,” Merlin told Arthur, stepping towards him until he was close enough to see the small smile lines around Arthur’s eyes.

“Yes, I am,” Arthur said back, voice gentle in a way it rarely was. Arthur’s gaze was trained on Merlin, studying his face as if it held the secret to the universe. Merlin tilted his head.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, bringing up a hand to cup Arthur’s cheek. The curve of his jaw fit perfectly in Merlin’s pale fingers, and Arthur leaned into Merlin’s touch with a content sigh.

“You,” Arthur whispered, resting strong hands on Merlin’s waist and pulling him closer. “Always you.”

Merlin closed his eyes, and for a moment felt like he was falling. His heart jolted back into place, and when he opened them again, Arthur was gone, and he was staring at the stone ceiling above him.

He knew it was a dream, of course. He never got to have Arthur the way that he could in his mind. Still, the warmth of Arthur’s hands on his hips, the gold of his hair, it felt real. Real enough to have brought tears to Merlin’s eyes, though he blinked them away quickly.

The cave around him was cold and wet with morning, the sun’s light only just starting to peak in from outside. Merlin stretched his hands above his head and felt the satisfaction of his shoulders and back popping, loosening from another night on the rough mattress he had cobbled together from straw and rags.

Running his fingers through his hair, Merlin pulled on his worn leather boots and tawny jacket. He picked up his red neckerchief and flattened it out, before fitting it to his head and tying it at the nape of his neck so that it held the majority of his hair out of his face. Not for the first time, Merlin missed Gaius’ haircuts, despite the fact that they were always too short.

Outside of the cave, the forest was waking up. Birds chirped in the trees, and a family of deer picked their way calmly through the brush. The stag stopped when he saw Merlin, black eyes trained on him for a moment, before lowering his head in a bow. The doe and fawns did the same, and Merlin gave them a polite nod back, before picking up his walking stick and setting off deeper into the forest.

The sun wasn’t high enough in the sky yet for it to come through the canopy of leaves, so Merlin placed a small ball of light on the top of his walking stick so it cast a faint glow on everything around him. On his right, a bunny sprinted through the shrubbery, rustling the leaves that rested on the ground.

Merlin continued his way through the forest, the path well-familiar to him. His walking stick thumped against roots and rocks as he moved, joining the ambiance of the forest around him. 

Finally, he came to a clearing. The trees opened up to a small field of wildflowers and berry bushes, the rest of the thick forest around it. Merlin made his way to a stump, in which a seat had been carved. He sat carefully, and rested his walking stick against the side of the makeshift chair. Leaning back, he rubbed at the short beard on his chin absentmindedly. Across the clearing from him were two foxes, who had yet to notice him. Instead, they were running through the flowers, tackling each other and yipping excitedly.

Merlin felt a small smile tug at his lips. He watched them play for a moment more, before fully relaxing into his seat and closing his eyes, settling in for his day.

Some ways away, in a bustling capital city, Arthur was laying in his bed.

He was propped up on his side by his elbow, giving him a better view of the man laying beside him. He traced the pale skin of his companion, running his fingers over sharp cheekbones and a defined jawline. He smiled to himself, watching the way the other man’s eyelids fluttered, before slowly opening, revealing pretty blue eyes.

“Good morning,” Arthur whispered, pressing his thumb to the tip of Merlin’s chin.

“Morning,” Merlin answered back, voice low and raspy with sleep. He blinked a few times, then smiled at Arthur, the dimples in his cheeks appearing just the way Arthur liked. He poked a finger into one, and Merlin laughed lightly. The sound wormed its way into Arthur’s chest, right next to his heart.

Arthur sank down until he was laying on his pillow, face to face with Merlin, who nudged closer to him. Arthur laid his arm across Merlin’s shoulders, so he could feel Merlin’s warmth seep into his front.

The sun peeked through the blinds on his window, and settled across the burgundy comforter. Arthur tried to trace its progress with his eyes, but inevitably ended up back gazing at Merlin, who had closed his eyes again.

Arthur leaned his head forward and pressed his lips against Merlin’s forehead in a dry kiss. Merlin breathed out a contented sigh and pushed impossible closer, until Arthur wasn’t quite sure where he ended and Merlin began.

“What were you dreaming about?” Arthur asked quietly. Merlin’s lips pursed a little, and Arthur watched as his dimples popped for only a moment.

Merlin opened his eyes, the blue so light it was almost gray. Arthur could stare at Merlin’s eyes for hours and never get tired of the sight, the way that they changed shades and colors. Really, Arthur could stare at Merlin himself forever and never be bored of him.

“You,” Merlin whispered in answer. “Always you.”

Arthur pressed his face into the top of Merlin’s head and blinked his eyes shut. When he opened them, there was a pillow in his arms, the smell of the castle in his nose, and Merlin was gone. He knew it wasn’t real, knew he could never have his fantasies, but it never stopped the wanting.

A knock at his door rang out, and Arthur had just enough time to take a steadying breath before his manservant was shuffling into the room and pulling the curtains back. 

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” the boy said politely. Arthur said nothing in response. In the light, his bed looked emptier than ever. Arthur turned away from it and swung his legs out from under the covers, shivering as his feet pressed into the cold stone under him.

His manservant didn’t speak as he helped Arthur into his underclothes, and then regular garments, and then finally his overclothes and cape. The only sound as Arthur dressed was the rustling of the fabric and his own breathing, infinitely loud in the pressing silence of the castle.

His breakfast was made up of porridge, with diced apple mixed in. While he ate, he stared at the flowers in the middle of the table. They were just beginning to wilt, brown creeping in on the edges of the petals. Still, the middle of the flowers were bright and colorful, blushing at him as he shoveled the porridge in his mouth. Without saying anything, his manservant carefully stepped forward and plucked the wilting flowers out of the vase. Arthur clenched his teeth, and stared at his porridge for the rest of the meal.

The castle woke up around him as he walked from his chambers to the throne room. Maids and servants rushed through doors, chattering and filling the morning with the sounds of work. As Arthur strode through the hallways, they stopped their jobs to give him a quick bow or curtsy. Arthur just nodded back, jaw tight and back stiff. 

The throne room was empty. Arthur approached the throne, turned, tucked his cape behind him, and sat. He spread his legs out until he was comfortable, and rested his hands on the armrests. He tapped his golden signet ring on the polished wood, and the sound rang out in the cavernous space.

Quietly, a small servant girl peered through the large double doors across the room from Arthur. He nodded at her, and she quickly pushed the doors open.

Arthur clenched his hands on the edge of the armrests, straightened his back, and nodded again at the people entering the throne room, crown heavy on his head.

Somewhere between these two places, a witch pulled her hair back into a bun, set her hands on the ancient tome, and hummed.

Immediately, light shone through her fingers. It arced through the decrepit shack she was sitting in, illuminating the dirty corners and cobwebs. The witch paid it no mind, instead humming a different chord, so that her voice overlapped on top of itself. Glittering tendrils reached out of the book, twisting through the air and through the walls of the shack. One headed north, one south, they both snuck through the ground and sky to their destinations. 

The witch hummed a lower note, sealing the song together as it reverberated around the room. Her hands burned, and started to die, but she did not move them from the tome. It shook under her grasp, bucking and jerking as the light reached a crescendo. 

In the blink of an eye, it ended. The light disappeared. The golden tendrils vanished. The tome fell to the floor, the heavy leather cover slamming the old pages shut. The witch, too, fell onto her back, her head tilted to the side. Her eyes open, but empty, as the magic she had summoned stilled.

Stretching across the country, invisible to only but two, a golden thread solidified. It curled and wound around the countryside, draped through the trees, and decorated stone halls as it came to be. On one end, it got stuck on a knot in a walking stick. On the other end, it sat snugly next to a gold ring.

For those involved, it felt like the world had ended. A cataclysmic event, a cosmic awakening. The sky tore itself in half and was born again. The earth swallowed itself until it turned inside out. All living things lost the breath in their lungs, only to have it violently returned. The sun exploded into color, the moon overtook the stars, until they reversed into themselves. Their hearts were ripped out of their chests and swapped, placed into their new home reverently.

Somewhere in a forest, Arthur blinked his eyes open, gasping for breath in a field of wildflowers.

Some ways away, in a city, Merlin groaned and pulled himself up onto a polished throne.

In all, it took six days for them to find each other. Merlin, his magic unfamiliar to him in Arthur’s body, ordered the guards to let him leave on his own. He rode on horseback with nothing but the wealthy clothes on his back, following the trail of gold on the dirt road. Arthur, the ache in his bones from Merlin’s body new, trekked through forests and fields. He leaned on the walking stick for balance, allowing the golden thread to guide him.

The sun set in the distance, painting the sky a brilliant orange. The horse kicked up a small cloud of dust as it galloped through the sprawling countryside. The walking stick left an indent in the ground when it was used. The green of the tall grass had dulled into a faint yellow due to the sun, and it glowed and swayed in the breeze.

“You’re here,” Merlin said, Arthur’s voice carrying it across the few strides that were left in between them. It was strange, viewing himself from the outside. He studied the long hair, no longer held up with the neckerchief and resting on thin shoulders, the sharp chin and cheeks, covered in the short beard, the eyes, almost gray with lack of color.

“You’re here,” Arthur repeated from Merlin’s mouth. He watched the crown glint, buried within strands of unkempt blonde hair, the mouth, framed by a tanned and cut jaw, the eyes, bright and vibrant blue.

It was quiet for a moment. The sun faded under the horizon, leaving only a pink dusk behind. Between them, the gold thread shortened, until it was pulled taught, linking their pinkies together.

“I’ve dreamed of you,” Merlin finally said, his gaze guarded behind Arthur’s eyes.

“I’ve seen you,” Arthur replied, and offered Merlin’s hand.

Their skin brushed, and it wasn’t like before, wasn’t a grandiose display. It was just natural, the breath in and breath out of coming home to a place you have missed. They closed their eyes, briefly, and when they opened them, there they were.

“I want to be with you,” Merlin said, clenching his pale fingers in Arthur’s dark ones.

“I want you to be with me,” Arthur agreed, tugging Merlin forward until they folded into each other. 

Somewhere in the west, the sun sank below the horizon line. The grass lost its glow, and the sky lost its hue, until the only thing to see was the twinkling stars against the black night.