Work Text:
Oh, but he was still breathtaking. Arthur looked sadder, older, weary, but he was still so beautiful. He still stood tall, brave, undefeated.
Merlin still loved him.
He loved him so much, he was lost in it sometimes. His heart bursting, even as his tongue turned to lead, too heavy to express every feeling Arthur evoked in him. Merlin was tired, so tired of it all. Tired of destiny, curses, and denied want.
Arthur turned toward him with a raised eyebrow, “Stiles? Coming?”
Merlin sighed. Right. He couldn’t afford to forget himself like that. He had a hundred lives’ memories playing in his head every time he closed his eyes. He could easily pass an hour remembering a battle in WWI or the feel of the earth the first time he stepped off the exploration mission to the New World. Merlin had lived many adventures, many histories, because Arthur was attracted to world-changing events. Where Arthur went, Merlin followed.
It was the same in this life, this April afternoon. His Arthur was walking in front of him and Merlin was following. Here, Merlin was called Stiles, and Arthur had been given the name Derek.
He shook his head, hoping to push his thought back again, before nodding to Derek, “Let’s go, Chewbacca.”
Derek rolled his eyes, but continued.
Arthur was different in this life. Sometimes, through their reincarnations, Arthur looked the same as he originally had. This time, however, Arthur’s hair was black and his eyes were light, but not the pure blue Merlin was used to. Arthur looked nothing like himself, and Merlin couldn’t decide if this made it easier to be around him or just made him miss Arthur that much more.
They’d played this game countless times before. Merlin would awaken around the age of five, reborn. Suddenly, he was an old soul in too young a body. The day he remembered was the day the search for Arthur began.
He had found him in every reincarnation, recognizing him at first sight. It was his fate.
The first ten lives, Merlin had told Arthur who he was directly after finding him. As soon as he was told, Arthur would recall everything in perfect detail. Merlin would watch life come back to Arthur’s widening eyes. He’d relive every insult, kiss, and peril they had shared in one instant.
Then, oh then, came Merlin’s favorite part. Arthur would reach cautiously forward to touch Merlin. He’d stroke hesitantly down his face like he was worried Merlin would somehow not want him. When Merlin didn’t pull away (he never pulled away), a smile would stretch across Arthur’s face. It was the simple joyful smile of someone finding something infinitely precious that they thought they’d lost. He would stare at Merlin, trying to believe he was real then let out a giddy, excited laugh before kissing him.
The dark days, Merlin would hold onto these memories. It had been hundreds of years since Arthur, the real Arthur, kissed him. He missed not only the physical contact, but the complete and total devotion that Arthur offered.
Those first few lifetimes were spent with days in sunlight and nights in love. They were happy, but short, because Arthur’s story, it seemed, was already written. Every reincarnation of Arthur was arrogant and beautiful, but there was always a sadness in his eyes. He was consistently forced to grow up too fast due to some childhood ruin. Originally, it had been his mother dying, but in this current life, his whole family had been claimed.
Another recurrence was something that always hurt Merlin to have to watch Arthur go through. He would always gain leadership through tragedy. The two were in WWII when their squad leader died, and Arthur took command as he had when his father died. This time, Derek had lost both his sister and uncle before taking control. Merlin would watch the man he loved swallow down tears and grief in every life, so he could lead the people that needed him.
The final inevitability, he would always die young.
It took ten lonely lives lived out to old age without Arthur for Merlin to realize that whatever they were trapped in wasn’t a gift. It was a curse.
It had been a mistake that alerted Merlin to the “rules”. He didn’t find Arthur in one life, not until they were both well into their twenties and Arthur was married with a child. Merlin had taken one look at Arthur gently kissing his wife’s forehead and decided he wouldn’t remind Arthur. He could stand to wait a life. Arthur was nearly thirty anyway and, morbid as it was, would probably be gone soon. Why not let him live his last days with his wife and kids peacefully?
Merlin had befriended Arthur in that life and, naturally, become extremely close. They went to the tavern together, laughed loudly, and generally caused a ruckus...and continued to do so for fifty years.
Arthur didn’t die that time, but rather lived to the ripe age of seventy-five. Merlin was with him when he took his last breath as an old man.
Now, Merlin was suspicious. This was his life, you can be damn sure he was going to experiment. If there were tricks, he needed to know them.
It took a hundred years and countless tears for him to learn how to play the game. If Merlin told Arthur, he would remember instantly. His face would lose the lost look it always wore and melt into something warm and easy. He would be Arthur again, and it was lovely. They would spend hours wrapped in each other and laughter, until it happened, and it always did. As soon as Merlin tells Arthur who he is, the final part of his life is set in stone. Arthur would be doomed to die in battle.
If Merlin didn’t tell Arthur, he would continue on. He would live happily and fully until he died naturally of old age. After it was discovered, Merlin always chose this option for Arthur. Having a life was better than paying with it to remember the past. Well, at least that’s the mantra Merlin whispered to himself on lonely, cold nights.
Some lives, Arthur still fell in love with Merlin, but some he fell for a beautiful girl and raised a family. Honestly, Merlin didn’t know which hurt him more. Merlin hated seeing anyone else with him, but having Arthur to himself was a constant practice in self-restraint. He could have Arthur’s heart, body, and soul, but it still never felt like all of him. Merlin was walking around with so many adventures, stories, and shared love that even wrapped tightly in Arthur’s arms, he felt alone. It didn’t ease Merlin’s temptations that Arthur was guaranteed to remember as soon as Merlin said a word about Camelot. Guaranteed to return to that annoying prat he loved so dearly.
He tried sometimes to not find Arthur. He travelled to China once and lived there for years until a rich British blonde came there on a business trip. He lived in the highlands of Scotland, surrounded for miles only by fields. It was midnight when a knock sounded on his door- a familiar man looking for shelter. He moved to Germany, Mexico, Alaska, and even Australia, before he finally gave in. Arthur was destined to find him and, whenever he did, refuse to let Merlin go. This too was apparently part of the curse or perhaps just part of Merlin and Arthur. Their fates were so heavily intertwined, they literally couldn’t be separated.
Stiles walked through the wooded path, his memories like chains. They wrapped tightly around him, Stiles feeling their constant weight. There was no way to release them, and nowhere to run. He had to keep stepping slowly after Arthur, hoping one day that Arthur would realize just how long Merlin had been following.