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Arthur knew very few things were assured in his life as Camelot’s prince. Ever since he was a young boy, his father had beaten the same messages into his head, which he heard in every step he took. Trust… no one… Trust… no one. He knew that as a prince, every person who approached him could very well be plotting to kill him, which happened more frequently than he’d predicted it would back when he was just a naive child who wanted to understand why he couldn’t play with the servant’s children. So yes, Arthur understood that princes were born to have many subjects but no friends. He was fine with that. It was his duty after all.
And then, Merlin came swinging into his life.
He was…odd. A gangly, uncoordinated mess who made a terrible manservant. However, despite Arthur’s frequent complaining, he found it hard to ignore that childish voice in his head that perked up hopefully every time Merlin made another blunder or misstep in propriety. It whispered that surely, surely a man who didn’t know a salad from a dinner fork must not be deeply entrenched in politics. Surely someone who made such rash declarations of faith and disdain alike must be truthful (or insane).
Arthur tried to stamp down on these trains of thought, but to no avail. With each passing day of Merlin’s unfortunate employment, he found himself longing to see those dumb ears and stupid, beautiful eyes more and more. After Arthur had downed poison and felt a surge of relief that at least Merlin is here with me while I die, he was forced to face the writing on the wall. Merlin was certainly not a typical servant to him. In fact, he might even be inclined to call him his friend.
Or a lifeline, a second heart, a safe harbor, and a reason for living wrapped up in bright red neckerchief. Arthur wasn’t really one for semantics.
But in any case, it wasn’t the sort of feeling that was easily ignored. Arthur found himself gravitating more and more toward the orbit that was Merlin. Merlin who insulted him. Merlin who never showed up on time. Merlin who looked at him with such faith in his eyes, Arthur felt he could take the whole world on if only he could see those eyes again. For the first time in his entire life, he felt the foreign feeling of trust build in-between himself and his servant. And really, wasn’t that just absurd? Surely, Arthur thought, he must be addled in the head to feel such things for such a ridiculous… clotpole of a man. But nevertheless the feeling persisted. It sometimes felt as if Arthur didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He was Merlin’s. Pure and simple. An undeniable truth.
Of course it all had to come falling apart.
-
It started on what should have been a glorious return. Arthur had traveled with a small handful of loyal knights to the kingdoms surrounding Camelot. (Excluding of course, Cenred’s kingdom as Morgause surely would have killed him the second he stepped foot in the door.) He had been successful in his negotiations with the other rulers, and was excited to report back to his father. (And if the prince wished to be honest with himself, he would admit that it was his report to his manservant he was most anticipating.) While on the road home, Arthur had chosen to take his party the long way in order to visit some of the smaller villages around the borders of Camelot. Though publicly he insisted it was to see how they fared after winter, he truly did just want to see the looks on the faces of the villagers when their golden prince rode into town. Of course, Gwaine, Elyan, Lancelot, Percival, and Leon weren’t fooled for a second. But they simply rolled their eyes at him while Arthur accused them of treason under his breath. And it truly had been a wonderful detour. The people were delighted to see them, and insisted on having them spend the night. And so, weary from their long journey, they accepted. They spent the evening drinking and laughing together, and Arthur felt full with the feeling of friendship between himself and his men. Privately, he contemplated the shift in relationship from formal deference to friendly companionship and found he had to give the credit to Merlin’s stubborn insolence and endless faith again. Arthur shuddered at his sappy thought, and knocked back the rest of his ale in order to ignore that nagging voice which seemed singularly dedicated to prodding him about his manservant.
The next morning, the retinue continued onwards toward Camelot. Around them, the forest sang with signs of the blooming spring. It truly was a beautiful day, and the knights felt the sunlight seep into their frost-weary bones. Suddenly, while Gwaine was teasing Lancelot over how he pined for Gwen, Arthur felt as if he had been struck in the chest with a sword. He gasped and doubled over on his horse, as his men turned with furrowed brow.
“What’s wrong Princess?” Gwaine asked hesitantly. All three men had pulled their horses alongside his as he struggled to catch his breath. In lieu of a response, Arthur dug his heels into his horse and raced off into the forest towards Camelot. It felt as if his very soul was steeped in a deep, primordial fear that rattled him to the bone. Distantly he heard the sounds of five horses picking up speed, and he registered his knight’s voices calling for him to slow down. He ignored them, spurred onwards by the illogical yet ever-present feeling that back within the walls of Camelot, something had gone desperately wrong.
Despite his furious riding, Arthur didn’t reach Camelot until nightfall. He would have ridden straight to the castle had he not caught sight of Gwen, sobbing and waving him down.
“What happened?” Arthur demanded roughly, sliding off his horse.
“Arthur…” Gwen seemed to be at a loss for words. Behind him he heard the sound of another horse halt suddenly, and in a moment Lancelot had a protective arm around Gwen. Lance looked reproachful at his harsh tone, but at that moment Arthur couldn’t care less. That feeling of pure wrongness was still bouncing around his head.
“Gwen, what’s going on? Is it my father? Is he in danger?”
Surprisingly, Gwen’s expression hardened at the mention of Uther in a way it hadn’t since the months following her father’s death. She spat her next words at Arthur’s face, angrier than he had ever seen her.
“Your beloved father sentenced Merlin to death. For sorcery.”
Arthur reeled backwards as if struck. Merlin? His Merlin? A sorcerer? And yet even as he grappled for some other answer that would set the world to rights, he found that the word settled naturally in his chest, and he knew it must be true. Then like a lightning bolt, Arthur was hit with the full meaning of Gwen’s words and grabbed her shoulders forcefully.
“Death? When? Where is he? Answer me!”
Beside her, Lancelot had paled significantly, looking not as if he had received a great surprise but rather as if some dreaded thing he had foreseen had finally come to pass. Gwen gently took Arthur’s hands off her and held them in her own, tears gathering again in her soft brown eyes.
“I'm so sorry Arthur. It’s too late. He… he was announced dead just before sundown. Uther… he didn’t want a public execution. Too many people in this citadel owe Merlin too much for them to simply go along with his- his death.”
The word was an arrow through his heart. Lancelot and Gwen lunged forward to catch their prince as his knees buckled beneath him. For a long moment, all Arthur could do was stare at the ground as the world spun under him. He felt something in him splinter and crack as the word echoed through his mind. Death. Death. Death. Merlin dead. Merlin alone. Merlin, his body thrown into a criminal’s grave, with no stone or flower to mark the spot. His Merlin.
Distantly, Arthur registered the sound of horrible, heaving, choking sobs. It took him a while to recognize them as his own.
-
Seconds, days, centuries later, the world came back into bleary focus, Arthur found himself in Gwen’s home instead of the side of the road. Around him, his knights sat in a mockery of the round table, stone statues cramming the cottage from wall to wall. At the window sat Gaius, his face wearier and more ancient than Arthur had ever seen it. On either side sat Gwen and Morgana, each girl gently leaning against the old man as if the physician would collapse without their support. None of them were watching him, each occupied with their own thoughts. It felt as if a dark shadow had been cast on them all, the ghost of grief sitting next to each and every one of them. Breaking the somber silence, Gwaine suddenly stood up swiftly, knocking his chair over in the process.
“What are we all sitting around here for? We should go up to the castle and kill that godforsaken tyrant where he stands.” His bold declaration was undercut by his choked tone of voice, and the tear tracks running down the length of his face.
Ever-steady Leon looked up from his spot near the fire, helplessness written all over his face. “We can’t Gwaine. Merlin… Merlin wouldn’t have wanted us dead.”
Gwaine snarled, grabbed one of Gwen’s vases, and threw it at the wall next to Leon’s head. Leon only looked on, grief painting his features. Breathing heavily, Gwaine whirled around to face Arthur.
“And what of you, Prince Arthur? Going to march right up to the castle and complement your daddy on catching the big bad sorcerer?”
The buzzing in Arthur’s ears sharpened into a roar as he shoved Gwaine into the wall and thrust his sword at his throat. “Don’t you dare speak to me that way. Merlin…” and like a spell, Merlin’s name drained the fight out of the two men. Arthur’s sword hit the floor with a soft clunk. “Merlin was my everything.”
Gwaine dropped his gaze, and silence filled the house once more. After a moment, Arthur spoke again, level and calm.
“Sir Gwaine. I know you did not choose Camelot for me. If you wish to leave, I will release you with honor.”
Gwaine looked up at that, a bitter half-smile across his face. “And leave my king here alone? Never.” With those words, he dropped onto one knee at Arthur’s feet. “To you and you alone I swear my allegiance.” Across the room, the other men did the same, lowering their heads. At the windowsill, Gwen, Morgana, and Gaius looked at him with pride and solemnity. At that moment, Arthur understood what had always been true. These were not Uther’s knights. Nor were they Camelot’s knights. No, these were his knights. And they had been Merlin’s knights too. Arthur felt the cold chill of sorrow harden into a grim determination as he looked upon his friends.
“I, Arthur Pendragon, heir to the throne, hereby renounce my allegiance to Uther Pendragon, and declare him unfit to rule over Camelot and her people,” He met Gaius’ eyes as he continued to speak, “Uther has persecuted those who practice sorcery past the point of reason. He has proven himself to be cruel and cowardly. From this day forth, he is no longer King of Camelot! My friends, today I claim my birthright. Arise, knights, for today tyranny dies!”
Gwaine stood, fire reflecting in his eyes. “For Merlin!”
“For Merlin!”
-
The five knights of Camelot, filled with hunger and hope, swung open the door of Gwen’s cottage with determination painting their faces. As their horses processed slowly towards the castle, other people began creeping out from the shadows and joined their group. They were bakers, gardeners, merchants, and servants. Each person carried a candle, lighting up the dark with thousands of tiny flames. All of their lives had been affected by the inexorable force that was Merlin. And all of them bore their King’s grief as if it was their own. Arthur looked down upon his people and felt love swell in his heart for their courage and strength. This was what Uther failed to see. This was Camelot.
(In his heart, Arthur knew that it had been Merlin who had shown him what Camelot truly was. It was like he could still feel his hands holding his own, guiding him towards his destiny.)
They encountered no resistance from the guards around the castle. They simply swept open the gates, allowing Arthur to enter the castle, knights in tow. Together with his sister at his side, the doors of the throne room were flung open, where Uther stood looking upon the people in the courtyard. Uther turned toward them, face softening when he saw his son. “Arthur. Welcome home. I trust that your journey was well?”
Without acknowledging his father’s words, Arthur drew his sword and pointed it at him. “Uther Pendragon. As heir to the throne I declare you unfit to rule.” Uther blanched, swaying slightly at the force of the declaration. “What is it that you think you are doing? Is this about that cursed servant? Arthur-” He was cut off by the point of Arthur’s sword, gently placed against his throat.
“One more word about him, and I won’t hesitate to have your head.”
Uther’s eyes darted back and forth, fury filling his gaze as he looked at Morgana and the knights. “Why are you all just standing there? Stop him!”
At that, Morgana pulled up taller and lifted her chin, eyes hardened and cold. “Stop my king? No Uther, I don’t think I will,” Next to her, each knight unsheathed his sword and stepped forward, not toward Arthur but beside him. “Arthur has the support of the people. If you know what is good for you, you will stand down. If you do not, Arthur will be wearing a blood-soaked circlet on his coronation day, and not a soul will begrudge him for it.”
Uther didn’t resist as Leon pulled his hands behind his back and walked him towards the door. He simply stared at Arthur, who looked a thousand times older than the boy who had left the castle just days prior. “I- I don’t understand.”
Arthur, looking every bit the king he was meant to be, looked at his father with rage, grief, and the barest hint of regret. “No Father. You never do.”
-
They couldn’t have a coronation straight away. There were foreign dignitaries to alert and argumentative nobles to subdue. But Arthur walked the halls of Camelot as her King, and the rest of his kingdom treated him as such. Within weeks, magic had begun creeping steadily out of hiding, as people remembered the peace and prosperity magic supported before the Purge. It seemed all of Albion was rejoicing at Uther’s downfall, with spring filling the marketplace with flowers and laughter.
And through it all, Arthur grieved.
The first time the King stepped into his own chambers, he found a basket of his laundry spilled onto the floor. Lying next to it was a red neckerchief, like a white flag of surrender. At the sight, he collapsed and buried his face in his hands. He cried like a baby, clutching the fabric with his hands as he tried to breathe. It was at that moment it truly sunk in. He was never going to see his Merlin again. He would never be able to hear his laughter or smell that lavender Merlin was so fond of. It was as if a whole universe had vanished from his chambers without a trace, leaving him grasping for the pieces it left behind. The better part of his heart had left with Merlin, and it was only through Merlin’s memory that he held onto the rest.
The next morning, George had pushed open the door with breakfast in hand. When Arthur had awoken, for the briefest of moments he thought it was Merlin, there to drag him out of bed and into the sunlight. When he realized, he flew into a rage, screaming at George to get out as he threw a goblet at the door. It hit the floor with a clang as George rushed out of the room. From then on, Arthur attended to himself. The whole of Camelot knew he would never take on another manservant ever again.
Over the next several days, Gaius was in Arthur’s chambers almost constantly. The King had insisted that he wanted to know every last thing Merlin had sacrificed for him without his knowledge. Through tales of destiny, witchcraft, bravery and lies, Arthur learned what sort of a man Merlin truly was. Of course, he had always suspected that his servant was braver than he seemed, but now he knew the full and honest truth. Merlin had been the best of all of them.
One day, Gwen came up to him with a request. They couldn’t know where Merlin had been laid to rest, as he had been buried as a criminal. However, she wanted him to have the funeral he deserved. Arthur asked why Gwen was going to him with the request instead of Gaius or Hunith. She hesitated for only a brief moment for looking Arthur right in the eyes. “You were his everything too. I know you were.”
The funeral was a quiet affair. Only the knights, Gwen, Morgana, Hunith, and Gaius gathered at the shore of Lake Avalon. They filled a boat with flowers, leaves, and all of Merlin’s things that they could bear to part with. Arthur, after much hesitation, added the red neckerchief to the pile. If these things truly were going to Merlin in the afterlife, he would appreciate having it back. As the lonely boat floated away into the distance, Arthur felt loneliness and longing fill him. If he didn’t have a kingdom to take care of, he would have climbed onto the boat and sailed to the end of the world to find Merlin again.
Late that night, he had a much worse thought. If he had only taken the direct route home, instead of preening like a peacock in front of those villagers all those lifetimes ago, he would have arrived in Camelot in time to save his other half.
-
Arthur looked upon his wildly cheering people with a smile across his face. After months of delegating, dragging his father’s supporters by the ear into Camelot’s future, he was finally crowned King of Camelot. In the days leading up to the coronation, Camelot had gone wild with celebration, covering every inch of the citadel with red and gold. It was a beautiful summer morning, and it seemed the earth itself was beaming with possibility and light.
In that moment, all Arthur could wish for was for Merlin to see his people. Their people. The absence of a soft grin and glowing eyes took the long-awaited moment and twisted it slightly. Arthur knew that he hadn’t built Camelot on his own. His every step had been followed by the ghostly step of ragged, worn out boots, catching on every small bump in the road. (Sometimes, when particularly worn, Arthur turned his head to look back at Merlin. All he ever saw was dust swirling through the empty halls of his castle.)
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Arthur held up his hand before his people to quiet them.
He cleared his throat and began to address his people. “My fellow citizens. Today, I stand before you not as your King but-” He was cut off by gasps from the crowd. Looking up, he saw the unmistakable shadow of the ancient dragon soaring high above their heads. Arthur put a cautious hand on his sword as the dragon swiftly flew down and landed roughly on the balcony of the castle. For a brief moment he was distracted by the sheer power that emanated off of the beast, and failed to notice what his knights were staring at. Then, he raised his gaze to the dragon’s back and the world froze.
Somewhere in the dawn of time, destiny snapped into place.
When Arthur was much younger, his nursemaids had told him what it meant to have a soulmate. A soulmate was a person you held onto throughout lifetimes, who you would know without touch, sight, hearing, or smell. Uther had dismissed the stories as childish myth, but to a young and naive Arthur, the idea of a soulmate sounded pretty good. Until one of the women told him, with sorrowful eyes, that to have a soulmate was dangerous. A human heart could not withstand the pain of losing something so intrinsically woven into one’s being. To lose one’s soulmate was to lose everything that made life meaningful and good. It was pain that surpassed all human experience.
That day, Arthur found out that losing a soulmate was a pebble in a pond compared to the overwhelming tidal wave of regret grief shock love that was finding one again.
As a pair of boots hit the palace balcony, Arthur gazed upon soft black hair and piercing blue eyes and nearly blacked out from the emotions that rushed through him.
“Merlin?”
And oh there was that smile that haunted all his dreams and nightmares alike, an impossible miracle in and of itself.
“Hi Arthur.”
And all at once the world exploded into motion.
The knights rushed forward, gathering Merlin into hug after hug, laughing and crying in equal measure. Gwen followed closely, sobbing profusely. Morgana swept Merlin up and cried that he better not dare do that again or she would kill him herself. Hunith approached Merlin as if he was a vision, slowly touching his face to assure herself that her son, against all odds, had returned to her once again. Gaius hit Merlin over the head for worrying them so before grabbing the sorcerer as if he would be taken from him again at any moment.
And through it all Arthur could only stare, his heart pounding a steady rhythm of Merlin… Merlin… Merlin… Merlin. After the others had drunk their share of the miracle, long after the courtyard below had cleared of excited and nosy people by Camelot’s prudent guard, they filed past Arthur back into the castle, like the tide pulling from the shore. Arthur was left standing, facing Merlin with his heart in his throat. Merlin looked sad and apprehensive, unsure of how Arthur would react.
“Arthur… I know it’s been so long and I’m so sorry for leaving you. I’ll explain everything later but just know that I would never hurt you on purpose. I know you’re probably angry for my lies and my disappearance and I know that there’s so much we left unfinished. I missed you so much all these weeks, you have no idea, and I can’t believe how much you’ve accomplished. Please Arthur-” Merlin’s ramblings were cut off by soft lips against his own. It was not heated or desperate or harsh. It was a sweet and loving kiss, slow and unhurried as if they were simply picking up where they had left off lifetimes ago. Merlin melted, clutching onto his King’s shoulders as he gently brushed the hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck. In the kiss, they poured years of lies and anguish along with years of pining and faith. To Merlin it tasted like coming home. To Arthur it tasted like finding it. Around them, the sky itself sighed as if placing down a heavy burden after a long while.
When they finally broke apart Arthur’s eyes were shining with tears.
“By the Gods Merlin. I could never be angry at you. I can’t believe you’ve come back to me. I thought I’d lost you forever”
Mirror tears welled in Merlin’s eyes, and to Arthur he glowed in the light of the setting sun.
“I won't leave you again. I promise.”
And Arthur believed him, with every ounce of his soul.