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It’s funny, Arthur thinks, how hard it is to forget.
He didn’t know they were memories, not at first. As a child, he’d always thought that he merely had a vivid imagination. Therapist after therapist had told him that he was sick - that his dreams were signs of a mental disease. He doesn’t want to remember all the time he spent in doctors’ offices and how much money his father wasted on medications and treatments that never did anything to help - that never could do anything to help.
Now, he knows why.
In these dreams, he is a king. He has his own castle, knights, and servants. He’s respected and loved by his people. In these dreams, he sees himself fighting monsters he never thought existed, and he sees magic.
He sees it being used to hurt and he sees sorcerers being burnt alive at the stake.
There is, however, one thing that does not change from one dream to the next. There is always someone standing by his side, guiding him. Arthur doesn’t know his name. He only knows that his hair is black as the night sky and his eyes the same shade of blue as the deepest oceans. Arthur knows how they twinkle when he smiles and how they turn stormy when he’s angry.
He knows what his lips feel like when they lay on Arthur’s own.
Arthur also knows that he has magic, which makes no sense at all because from what he remembers, magic is outlawed.
It takes him a while, but he eventually pieces together that he is King Arthur of Camelot; that Morgana is his sister there as well as well as here. He knows that they fought each other and they both ended up dying in the struggle. He thinks that that man who is always next to him might be Merlin.
He wonders how it is possible for someone to retain all of their memories after about a millennium and a half - because there is no doubt in his mind that that is what they are, especially after somehow being able to recognise people he’s sure he’s never met before in this life.
Arthur wonders whether the mess of turbulent emotions he feels whenever he thinks of the man who is always beside him is love, even after all these centuries.
~oOo~
Arthur’s never held onto the hope that that man - Merlin? - is alive. He’s always tried to get on with his life (except for the nights he spent writing down every single detail of every single memory).
He doesn’t expect to ever see the man - especially not when he is walking home from work. All it takes is one quick glance for Arthur to know that it’s him - something that a little voice in his head says is impossible.
Arthur tells that voice to shove it. He’s spent so many years memorising Merlin’s face, Merlin’s posture, and every other aspect of Merlin that it’s easy to recognise him now.
He’s sitting on a bench in the rain, with his head leaning back and his eyes closed. He looks almost as though he’s sleeping, except that no one could sleep outside in weather like this, not with soaked clothes and soggy sneakers. Arthur briefly panics, thinking that Merlin may have hypothermia, but he dismisses that thought as soon as it appears. Merlin has always had an uncanny ability to avoid illnesses of any kind.
Arthur’s heart is running a marathon in his chest, and, for the smallest second, he does not know what to do - which in itself is odd because he’s never had a problem with on-the-spot decisions before. He doesn’t know how long he stands there in the rain, the drops splattering against his umbrella, before he finally musters up the nerve to walk up to Merlin. Merlin doesn’t react to his approach at all. He probably doesn’t think that Arthur’s anyone other than a random pedestrian, at least not until Arthur puts his umbrella over Merlin’s head.
It’s then that Merlin finally opens his eyes. Arthur searches them for a second, looking for the slightest sign of recognition, but finds nothing.
“Let’s get you home,” he says, reaching out his hand. He’s honestly surprised when Merlin takes it. Arthur pulls Merlin up, trying to ignore how freezing cold his hand is, and holds the umbrella up over the both of them. He shrugs out of his coat and wraps it around Merlin’s shoulders, moves one of Merlin’s hands to make sure that it doesn’t fall, and latches onto the other like it’s his lifeline.
It suddenly seems like with every beat, his heart is saying, Merlin’s here. Merlin’s here.
Arthur pulls him along, maneuvering through the crowd of people rushing home through the rain with ease, all the while keeping his grip on Merlin’s hand tight, irrationally fearing that if he lets Merlin go, he won’t find him again.
Then again, considering the fact that he’s at least a little bit sure that Merlin has magic, his fear may not be so irrational.
They walk and walk until they finally reach the building Arthur’s flat is located in. When they’re in the lobby, he briefly flits his eyes in the direction of the elevator for a moment to check to see if they’ve managed to fix it, but there’s no such luck. He’s going to have to call the building administration in the morning because the elevator has been in that state for at least a week, and something should have been done by now.
Arthur goes for the stairs. He slows down when he notices that Merlin isn’t able to keep up with him, that he seems to stumble every few steps, and catches him a few times when his feet suddenly slip out from under him.
When they finally get into his flat, Arthur wastes no time in sitting Merlin down in the most comfortable armchair in his living room, not caring that his wet clothing will destroy the leather. He looks at Merlin, huddled in the chair and trying to suppress his shivers. First thing’s first - he needs to get Merlin out of those clothes and into something he won’t be catching his death in.
“I’ll be right back,” he says. He almost runs to his bedroom and starts rummaging through his wardrobe in the hopes of trying to find something for Merlin to wear that won’t be at least three sizes too big. As an afterthought, he grabs two fresh towels from his bed - he’d done the laundry that same morning and hadn’t had the time to put his things away yet.
It’s impossible to describe the relief he feels when he sees that Merlin hasn’t left and is still obediently sitting in the armchair. Arthur approaches him cautiously.
“The bathroom’s that way,” he says, gesturing in the direction of the hall and at the open door to the bathroom. Arthur pulls Merlin up and hands over the pile of clothes and towels he is holding. “Go take a shower to warm up.”
He watches Merlin go.
After the door clicks shut and the shower turns on, Arthur goes to turn up the heating. While it’s not really cold, it could stand to be a few degrees warmer, especially considering Merlin’s state right now. Having finished that, he retreats to the kitchen to make something for the both of them to eat.
Arthur isn’t sure when Merlin finally gets out of the bathroom because he’s turned with his back to the doorway and is putting the finishing touches on the sandwiches. He doesn’t know what it is that gives Merlin away in the end - maybe it’s the breathing, too loud in the silent kitchen, too raspy to be healthy.
Magic or no, Arthur is sure Merlin’s going to end up with a cold at best.
He stares at Merlin, trying to commit him to memory now that he has the real thing in front of him.
Or maybe his therapists were right and this whole situation is just a figment of Arthur’s imagination, because it seems as impossible as anything can get. He takes a step closer to Merlin, then another. When Merlin doesn’t move away, Arthur gently wraps his arms around him.
Merlin’s body surely feels real enough against him.
He feels Merlin tense briefly, but then he relaxes and gives in to the embrace. He doesn’t hug back.
“Gods, Merlin, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he whispers into Merlin’s ear. Is it possible to miss someone you don’t really know? Does he not know Merlin? His dreams - the memories - they’re a part of him. Merlin is a part of him.
He’s disappointed when Merlin pushes him away with a frown on his face and takes a few small steps back, putting some distance between them.
“Do I know you?” Merlin asks, and Arthur can swear that he feels his heart shatter into a million jagged pieces. He sobs. Or laughs - he doesn’t know what the sound that comes out of his mouth really is, but that doesn’t matter because either of those is suitable for the situation. He wraps one of his arms around his chest, where it hurts the most (and why does it hurt so much?) and hold the other one up to cover his eyes and keep the tears from spilling over (why is he crying?).
“You don’t remember. Of course you don’t remember. I’m such an idiot,” he says. He should have realised earlier. The Merlin he knew could never keep quiet for long, especially around people he knew.
His Merlin was always smiling.
Or maybe Arthur had been wrong. Maybe the man standing before him isn’t who he was looking for. Maybe Arthur is just delusional and his dreams really were nothing more than fiction. Maybe Merlin doesn’t remember because the visions aren’t memories, but something Arthur made up.
But then Merlin takes a hesitant step forwards.
“Who are you?” he asks. His voice is the same as the one in Arthur’s dreams, and he can’t be wrong about this - he just can’t!
Then, Merlin’s eyes - what little Arthur can see through the gaps between his fingers - are suddenly awash with gold and Arthur feels himself become surrounded by something. It’s both familiar and not at the same time, but it’s warm and it’s light and it’s the last shred of proof Arthur needs to know that he hasn’t just made a mistake - that he’s still not making one.
Arthur puts down his hand and looks at Merlin, into his eyes; into those bottomless pools of the purest gold he has ever seen, both in this lifetime and the last.
But then Merlin’s eyes dart in the direction of the door and he takes a few more terrified steps back and the spell is broken. Arthur panics.
“Please, don’t go,” he begs, which is a first, because he’s never been able to get the ’p’ word past his lips before, but he’s willing to do anything to get Merlin to stay here with him. “I only just got you back.”
Arthur sees Merlin’s hesitation and how he considers to pros and cons.
He’s thankful to whatever deity is out there that Merlin decides that the pros outweigh the cons.
“Who are you?” Merlin asks again. His voice is trembling. Arthur wonders whether it’s because of the exhaustion or the fear that is still present in the tension of his muscles.
“Arthur. My name is Arthur,” he breathes out in a rush, hoping that the sound of his name might jog Merlin’s memory at least a little. Because of Merlin’s retreat, they’re divided by half the length of the hall. It’s too far. Arthur wants to get closer. He doesn’t, though, because he’s afraid that the slightest movement might scare Merlin off and he’ll run away somewhere Arthur will never be able to find him again.
“You know me?” Merlin asks, obviously curious, but still wary.
“You’re my best friend,” Arthur answers. He mentally berates himself when he sees Merlin frown again.
“But I don’t know you,” Merlin says, but Arthur shakes his head, trying to tell Merlin that he’s wrong, that they knew each other once - that they loved each other once, and Arthur, for one, still loves him.
He doesn’t say any of this aloud and instead gestures for Merlin to come back into the kitchen and sit down at the table, moving slowly so as not to scare him off.
“Sit down with me?” Arthur asks. He is relieved when Merlin listens and moves past him to take a seat. Arthur, in turn, sits down right next to the kitchen entrance, in a prime position to stop Merlin should he try to run.
He doesn’t want it to come to that - using force against Merlin would never get him to trust him, nor to believe what Arthur is about to explain to him.
“Who are you,” Merlin asks for a third time, and Arthur can barely restrain the urge to tease Merlin about repeating himself, but now is not the time for this. There will hopefully be time for teasing and catching up later, once all of this is over.
Arthur decides that now is as good a time as any to elaborate.
“You knew me as King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot,” he says, gritting his teeth when he sees the confused and dubious and slightly betrayed expression on Merlin’s face. Maybe he shouldn’t have started with that. He should have gone with something a little less unlikely.
“I’m leaving,” Merlin states, glaring at him. Arthur’s heart is threatening to beat its way out of his ribcage all of a sudden, and he’s got half a mind to get on his knees in front of Merlin and beg him to stay so that Arthur can explain properly. It doesn’t come to that because the moment Merlin attempts to stand up, he collapses. A second attempt proves to have the same result.
“What have you done to me?” Merlin demands. Arthur freezes in place, not knowing what’s going on (but surely Merlin has to know on some subconscious level that Arthur would never hurt him). But then Arthur notices the flickering of gold in Merlin’s eyes and the pain prominent in the clench of his jaw and the furrow of his brows. The moment Merlin closes his eyes, Arthur is able to move again and he rushes to Merlin’s side. He kneels next to him and reaches out his hands, not sure what to do, not sure where he can touch so that it won’t be taken the wrong way or cause Merlin more pain.
“Are you alright?” He asks when Merlin’s eyes open again and they’re focused on him. They’re still flickering, gold flooding the blue at least once a second. He reaches forward to move aside the strand of hair that’s fallen in front of Merlin’s eyes and tries not to show how hurt he feels when Merlin flinches away.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur says. He doesn’t know what he’s apologising for. Maybe it’s for overstepping his boundaries, maybe it’s for the whole situation in general.
Silence reigns between them, and Arthur slowly get up and turns away. He figures that now is as good a time as any to finish up the sandwiches and tea, since Merlin is obviously not going anywhere and he is not in any state to focus on whatever is being said to him.
By the time he finishes the food, Merlin’s eyes are flickering much less and the pained expression on his face has receded. He picks up the plate and two mugs and walks over to the table, but with each step he takes Merlin is gritting his teeth harder and harder and the flickering is becoming more rapid. It’s the whimper that involuntarily slips from Merlin’s mouth that makes Arthur rush to Merlin’s side barely caring that his movements caused some of the tea to spill out and splatter onto the tiled floor.
Then, all of a sudden, he’s struck with a memory of Merlin telling him about holding back magic and the terrible effects it could have and he knows what’s happening to Merlin.
“Let it go, love,” Arthur says. Merlin must be trying to rein in his magic. Although Arthur’s never seen it happen personally, he has no doubt that this is it, just as he has no doubt that it’s going to get worse if Merlin doesn’t release it.
“W-what,” Merlin asks, rasps.
“Your magic. Let it go. You’re only going to make it worse.” Arthur is not a physician - or, more specifically, he is not Gaius - and he doesn’t have the slightest clue what to do if Merlin’s state gets any worse. Arthur doesn’t think that taking him to hospital would be a good idea.
He watches as Merlin lets out a shaky breath and his eyes turn completely gold. The furrow of his eyebrows eases and his shoulders sag. He’s still tense, and Arthur grabs Merlin’s hands and starts rubbing calming circles with his thumbs. He’s thankful that Merlin doesn’t tear them away when he realises what Arthur is doing because he need this close contact right now (which is funny considering he’s never been a touchy-feely kind of person).
“How do you know about my magic?” Merlin asks him, and Arthur is about to reply that the gold of his eyes is a dead giveaway and that he would have to be blind not to notice, but then he remembers his past ignorance and decides that this is not the sort of reply the situation calls for.
“You told me about it,”he says, eyes searching Merlin’s own (still gold). “Back in Camelot, over a millennium ago.” He needs Merlin to believe this. He needs his Merlin back.
But if Merlin doesn’t remember, Arthur isn’t going to give up on him. He’s never going to leave him alone, because while Merlin may not remember, Arthur does, and he’ll be damned if he let’s Merlin get away. They can be friends again, and maybe eventually something more.
He doesn’t think he’s capable of living his life without Merlin in it in one way or another, not now after having found him.
“I…” Merlin trails off, but after a few seconds of silence Arthur sees the resolute set of his lips and hopes that maybe, just maybe, Merlin is starting to believe him. “How are you still alive? Are you like me?”
Arthur’s about to reply that he thinks he’s been reborn when Merlin asks the second part of his question. Arthur is confused.
“Like you? No, I died,” he says. How else would he be here today, kneeling in front of Merlin. Then, a horrifying thought hits him. “You’ve been alive, all this time?”
Whatever had been left of his heart shatters when Merlin nods. He’d left Merlin alone. Merlin has been walking the Earth for centuries, all by himself, all because Arthur had left him alone.
That realisation brings with it a large amount of guilt. He did this. It’s his fault Merlin wound up the way he did - because he was stupid and refused to listen to reason.
“You... I…” he breaks off, not knowing what to say. He runs his hand through his hair. It gets caught on a few tangles. “All this time,” Arthur repeats. Merlin’s lived for close to 1500 years. Arthur, counting both his lives, has lived only a little over fifty.
He’s torn from his thoughts when Merlin removes one of his hands from Arthur’s grip to grab a sandwich. It’s out of reach, and his magic reaches out to get it for him.
The moment the sandwich touches his hand, Merlin stares at it as though he’s been burned.
“I’m sorry I left you alone,” he says, the guilt overflowing. When Merlin turns to look at him again with his still-gold eyes, Arthur drops his gaze. “I’m so, so sorry,” he says, begging for forgiveness.
He looks up when he sees the sandwich hit the ground.
“Merlin?” he asks, worried that something may have happened when he wasn’t looking, that the pain was back and Merlin’s magic was fighting to tear him to shreds again.
“I’m fine,” Merlin answers, and Arthur lets his shoulders sag the slightest bit with the relief he feels. “Just a little winded.” Arthur nods, but he’s still looking Merlin over for any sign of pain or discomfort.
But then Merlin leans closer to him and rests his forehead against Arthur’s own, his eyes closed.
He leans forward even more and his lips meet Arthur’s in a kiss. Arthur doesn’t dare to move, doesn’t dare to breathe, terrified that he’ll scare Merlin off, but when Merlin doesn’t move away, Arthur surges forward, letting out an almost inaudible sob, and presses against him. He embraces Merlin for the second time that day, and it’s just like all those times in his dreams, in the memories, except that it’s so much better now that it’s real. Arthur reaches up with one hand to tangle his fingers in Merlin’s hair and presses against the small of Merlin’s back with his other one. The position is awkward and Arthur’s legs are starting to hurt, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is Merlin’s body in his arms and Merlin’s hair between his fingers and Merlin’s lips on his own.
It gets even better when Merlin finally deigns to wrap his own arms around Arthur’s neck.
He doesn’t know how long the kiss lasts. Maybe just a minute, maybe more. He doesn’t pull away until he’s starved of oxygen, and even then it’s the minimal amount he needs in order to catch his breath. He watches Merlin as he lays his head on his shoulder, and presses him even closer, despite the fact that being any closer in this position should be impossible.
“I can’t believe it,” Merlin whispers, breaking the silence. Arthur lightly runs his hand down Merlin’s side, and Merlin eases himself off the chair to kneel in front of him. “I forgot you. How could I have forgotten loving you?”
Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever felt happier and more elated than at that moment. Merlin remembers. His Merlin is back.
“I still love you,” Merlin says, moving to sit on Arthur’s lap. He winds his hands around Arthur’s torso and Arthur buries his face in Merlin’s sleeve so that he won’t be able to see his tears, but it’s of no use because Merlin moves back so that he can wipe them away with his thumbs.
“That’s good,” he replies. “Because I still love you, too.”
~oOo~
That night, when Arthur goes to sleep wrapped around Merlin, he dreams again. But this time, he doesn’t dream about the forests and open fields and trips and his knights and his subjects.
He dreams about Merlin and only Merlin - about the time they spent together and about how much they loved (still love) each other.
Despite the fact that he has Merlin here now, with him, safe and sound in his arms, Arthur doesn’t want these memories to end. He never wants to stop reliving them, not even the painful ones, because they’re all a part of him and they’re all a part of Merlin and he can’t bear the thought of not remembering the smallest of details wherever Merlin is concerned.
Not that he thinks he will. Not in this lifetime, nor the next, nor any other.
Merlin is the one thing he will always remember, and he wouldn’t change these memories for the world.
It’s funny, Arthur thinks, how hard it is to forget.